Legendary

I hastily and discreetly looked at my clothes to make sure that R'as hadn't put anything on them but couldn't see anything. I thought the risk was low, though; Ra's had to know I'd be suspicious and I had every intention of taking off my clothes and examining them more closely. In private. Aside from that, I had no idea what was going on, but I was pretty certain that it was deliberate.

As dinner was cooking, I changed and laid the clothes out on the living room floor. Eira joined me in looking them over and neither of us could detect anything. Regardless, I bundled them up and placed them first in a bag, then a box. I waited until Damian had eaten his dinner and told me about his day before mentioning Ra's. He didn't like it. His eyes narrowed and looked at the clothes and my hair but agreed that nothing was there. Still, he tossed them in the washer and asked me to take a shower.

"You're sure he recognized you?" he asked, combing my hair after I'd gotten out.

"Yeah." I'd had time to think about it. "He looked at me for my reaction, I'm sure of it. Maybe to see if I recognized him. I didn't, not then. You don't have a strong resemblance to him besides the skin tone, and even then, yours is nicer. Richer." I stroked his cheek, and he grinned. "Well, Talia did ensure that your phenotype was the best available from the material." He guffawed and grabbed me in a hug.

"The old man's up to something," he said, kissing my temple. "I'll need to check this out." I nodded and gave him a light kiss before he stood up, scratching Eira's ears before going out for his extracurricular work. I picked up a book on Belle Epoch architecture in order to get more information for my thesis. I was going to examine the embassy in detail that summer and Loki had introduced me to the building manager, who had agreed to talk to me about the challenges of maintaining a historic property and what they'd had to do to make it into the embassy. Of course Ms Nelson was going to talk to me because both Loki and Thor had asked her to, but she seemed pleased by the opportunity to talk about her work to an appreciative audience.

A week later, Damian was no closer to the information he was seeking, and Ra's had seemed to go to ground after our encounter. "Something's up, though," he said, stripping off his domino as I eyed him appreciatively. "The lower-level crooks are still out in force, but the kingpins are nowhere to be seen." He frowned, unsatisfied with the conference that he'd had with Nightwing and the Batmen.

There wasn't anything I could do but keep my eyes open and stay sharp. I'd been alert during the run up to Ragnarok, but this was different; I hadn't worried about anybody coming up and stabbing me in the back in a crowd, for example. This was an unwelcome reversion to the days when I was afraid of the Joker. Who'd also gone to ground somewhere. I started taking my physical training more seriously. Bucky noticed, of course, and he was silent after I'd told him my worries.

"Damian's a good guy, sweetie, but none of this could have happened if you'd never met him," he finally said, blocking my attack with effort. "Too late now to change anything." I was a little stung on Damian's behalf, but I understood where he was coming from. If I'd never met Damian in high school, the Joker would never have known about me. Of course, without Damian, there'd be no Martha or Xander, and therefore no Mark or Daniel either. And I wouldn't be as happy as I was.

Instead of tracking down what-ifs, I focused on my new internship. I was doing a lot of scut work, but there was value to that too. Putting away blueprints showed me how they were stored and maintained in a real-world environment. And if I had to get coffee for a meeting, I was also allowed to attend the meeting. I could sit in on project meetings and observe the conservators, interior designers, and architects in action. I watched and started to learn how they considered what materials to use in a project and how to select the craftsmen. How to talk with clients to determine what they wanted and whether it was possible to provide it. How to explain why what the client wanted wasn't going to work in a protected building. How to prepare a budget, where to look to stay current in new technology and materials. "Your best asset can be your connections," one preservation professional told me. "Not just in terms of attracting new clientele, but also keeping track of trends. With buildings that are just old but not on the registry, you have considerably more scope in how you approach retaining that period character. A rising sculptor might like the challenge of making appropriate art or might like to dabble in plasterwork, creating new art out of traditional materials, like a subtle frieze or fresco. And it's crucial that you understand the building trades and how the way people use their spaces has changed over time. It will help you to reframe a neo-Classical monstrosity into a livable place that allows the least signal loss throughout the building, with enough electrical outlets and power for whatever the client wants to do. And always overplan the electrical needs of your clients; they never really realize how much they'll use when they have more access to the power grid. And they always acquire more ways to use it."

I worked really hard at being as sponge-like as possible, absorbing everything I could from the hours I spent in the office. It was immensely fulfilling, and by the end, I had been able to make a few small contributions to one of the projects. One was the suggestion of a music student I'd met in the fencing club to compose music for the lobby of the public building; I'd heard her noodle around and she'd had a modern take on baroque music that I really liked. I'd also proposed floor to ceiling speakers in the largest room that could make presentations or parties really something special with that much capability for good sound; the fabric could be painted with a new special acoustic paint that wouldn't change sound. My acoustics professor had been provided with small samples of the paints prior to its release so we'd all had a chance to test it for ourselves. The marble of the room could be duplicated easily in trompe l'oeil and the pores of the acoustical fabric were minuscule, adding to the effect. The client responded favorably to these suggestions that would add luxurious touches to their renovation; a lot would come down to cost, and my internship ended before they made the decisions.

But I was glad to be back in school; the end was in sight and I was really eager to be out and doing, rather than studying. I'd met a couple at one of the parties Damian and I attended who were renovating their mansion, and they invited me to have a look at the work in progress. There were different choices being made for a residence rather than an embassy, and they were able to introduce me to a couple more people who were doing the same thing. I got to see a variety of approaches to common problem, everything from state of the art pest control to mold remediation and refurbishing ornate details. I started to write my thesis before I could forget anything.

In the lab, Damian was busier than ever. We'd had a successful test run out in the Pacific and our Phase One product was good enough to go to market with. Ann and her team had been able to show that when the organisms ran out of plastic to eat, they just died off and the plastics that they had consumed were converted to organics that biodegraded just like anything else. The two major beverage companies were chomping at the bit to try it, and Tony was busy creating the bots that would deliver the organisms. Damian was looking at properties to begin manufacturing in conjunction with Wayne Enterprises as part of the agreement Stark had with them. I was starting to wonder what their next projects would be.

I borrowed a very high resolution camera from the department and trudged through the city, getting pictures of architectural features in need of repair and details that had been repaired or replaced. My tour included St. Patrick's Cathedral, Trinity, the Woolworth Building, the Flatiron Building, Grand Central Terminal, The Met, and the Brooklyn Bridge. I was frowning at the crumbling facade of the main branch of the New York City library when someone stopped beside me at the curb. "Quite ornate," a cultured voice said. I snapped a picture of the top of a column.

"Rash," I acknowledged, raising the camera again.

"Raysh," he corrected, with only the slightest edge to his voice.

Click. I started up the stairs, Ra's following me. I went over to the information desk, delighted to see Barbara sitting there. She stood up and would have hugged me, but I cut my eyes to the right and she saw my shadow. She settled for a smile and I explained that I wanted to take some pictures for my thesis, and she said that anything public was fair game. In the main reading room, I raised the camera and flinched at a few spiderwebs and the paint flaking. It looked a lot better from the floor. Click, click.

"And how is Damian?" Ra's asked, a little impatiently.

I gave him a sly smile. "He's been looking for you. You could just ask him yourself," I said, then set off again. I needed pictures of the woodwork and ironwork too.

"Irritating woman," he muttered as he set off after me. His voice was lighter than Damian's, but carried power.

"What do you want? Damian's not coming back to the family fold," I said absently as I smiled at the wealth of architectural detail before me. Ra's huffed. "Blame Talia, she's the one who dumped him on Bruce. She had to have known that he wouldn't put up with having his son taking over the Junior League."

"League of Assassins!" Ra's snapped. I smirked. "Perhaps he would be more amenable to meeting if I had something he wanted." His voice turned supple and dangerous, like a serpent.

I transferred the camera to my left hand; my right shot out with precision, placing the blade of my knife right over one of the large vessels in his neck. "Perhaps not."

He shot me a look, then leaned back far enough to get a glimpse of the blade. "That is a fine weapon. Where did you get it?"

"In my afterlife," I said easily. I wasn't going to tell him I'd made it myself although internally I preened at the compliment.

"Will you carry a message to my grandson?" he asked with a sigh.

"Depends on what you want. If you intend to harm him, well, hell no. Maybe, for anything else."

"I want a meeting."

"You may not get one," I said honestly. "Not unless you've given up the ecoterrorism business."

Ra's frowned. "So many perished during the long winter. It was a good start. But then all those people returned, and the Earth is is trembling at its limits."

I just gave him a Look.

He took a handkerchief from his coat pocket and wrote on it in an exceedingly retro fountain pen. "Here," he said, extending it. "Have him call me. It is a flag of truce." My lips turned up unwillingly. Then I grinned as ink leaked from the pen nib, staining Ra's' fingers. He glared at me and I laughed, taking the handkerchief and putting it in the camera bag.

"I'll tell him," I said, and turned away. This time he didn't try to follow me.

I gave the hankie to Damian when he got home from work. He frowned at it and laughed when I related my conversation with his grandpa, and we had dinner and settled into the living room comfortably. I pulled out my schoolwork and got to work. Damian scratched Eira's ears, then after a furtive glance at me, got up. I put my earphones on, smiled at him, and returned to my work. And asked Eira to follow him as he went to the farthest room, the bedroom we used as a clinic for beat up superheroes.

She followed happily, she was curious herself, and she wanted him to continue with the ear skritches. Possibly add some tummy rubs. And that is how I knew that Damian was going to go meet Ra's at a warehouse, that old staple of bad guy haunts. I heard him grunting as he put on his costume, and quickly texted Nightwing that Nightie was going off on a solo mission. I was back at my reading when Damian tapped me on the shoulder. I looked up at him and frowned, pulling down the headphones. Then I spoke.

"If rehabilitation isn't particularly sensitive, should you still advocate that original materials be used? We can do so much better than lathe and plaster, for example, let alone horsehair insulation. Where do you draw the line between being true to the character of the building and being enslaved by the past?"

Initially startled, Damian laughed and kissed me lightly. "No idea, Petal. That's your problem. I'm going out tonight, but hopefully I won't be too late." He yawned. "I've got meetings tomorrow."

"I saw Barbara today at the library," I said. "She looks stunning, all glowy. Is she pregnant?" She had, too, I realized. It wasn't just a distraction.

Damian looked confounded. "I don't know. I don't think so."

"Oh, I thought Dick might have said. Ask him, will you? If she is, I've got to get knitting." I gave him a kiss and he discreetly exited the apartment, a little flummoxed. But more importantly, diverted from any suspicions he might have been harboring. My communicator lit up and I talked with Nightwing, then changed to dark gray clothes, geared up, and trotted out the door.

I met Nightwing a couple of blocks away from the warehouse in question and followed him in. Skulking was his specialty, not mine. I'm more of a full-frontal assault kind of gal.

We found access through a small window in the roof and quickly moved into the shadows. On the main floor, Damian was sitting across a table from Ra's, nicely illuminated by a spotlight. I listened absently as Ra's tried a blend of cajoling and threatening out on his grandson and Nightwing and I looked around for Ra's' back up. I didn't know Ra's but he didn't seem the type to risk Damian just getting up and walking away. Nightwing melted into the shadows as he went to do reconnaissance and I stayed put, as we'd agreed. I got my weapons ready. I hoped not to have to use them, but it's unprofessional not to be prepared. I saw several men in the shadows behind Ra's and planned how to eliminate them if necessary. Bruce might think that Arkham was a no-kill shelter for any criminals who could put together an insanity defense, but I hadn't been as profoundly affected by Bruce's creed as the Robins had been. I wasn't going to try to kill anybody--this time--but if I didn't have a choice, my conscience was clear. My husband or a criminal? No choice. Even the courts would agree with me.

My interest perked up when a shadow detached itself and joined the table. Talia. Oh, yay. I mouthed a bad word. I've never gotten along with my mother-in-law. My eyebrows raised as I saw yet another shadow move and Bruce take a seat on the last unoccupied seat. I saw movement up on my level, but it was just Nightwing. He jerked his head toward the table and raised his eyebrows. I shook my head and silently asked him the same question. He also shook his head. It must have been Talia or Damian who invited Bruce. Nightwing showed me numbers with his fingers and pointed out positions where the hired help lurked before vanishing to take up his position where we could provide the best coverage. Then I tuned into the conversation but kept my eyes on the shadows.

"But surely you understand the appeal of a family business, Detective," Ra's...appealed to Bruce? He must be desperate.

"Certainly," Bruce said equably. "I felt fortunate that Damian succeeded me at Wayne Enterprises. But that is a legitimate business. Ra's, the best that you can claim is that some of your businesses were legal enough to launder money or provide a cover for illegal activities. Damian's an ethical businessman. Besides, he's creating his own business opportunities."

"And it's legal to run around in costumes, risking yourself in a vigilante situation, beloved?" Talia asked Bruce pointedly. He shrugged, unconcerned.

"I protect the city, as does Damian. We operate by a code."

"Ah, yes, your no killing doctrine." Talia sighed. "So tiresome. But as it happens, Damian, we are branching out into legal businesses. If you're squeamish... you could direct those enterprises. I am certain that they would flourish under your expert hand. You could relocate to our base in North Africa, where we have a complex with every comfort. I've met a woman who would be an ideal mate for you, beautiful and intelligent, she can give you strong sons. A new chapter in the book of the al Ghuls."

"Oh, Jesus, Mother," Damian finally spoke, leaning back and looking at the ceiling. "Enough. I'm happy in this city, one of the major nerve centers of the world. I'm not going to exile myself to the desert wastes. I'm going my own way in this lifetime. I'm not dependent on you or Father. Or Grandfather. And as for me leaving Alex, that's never going to happen. She is my life's blood, prize of the gods, my heart's delight and my soul's completion. We have had children--the natural way, made in love--from which descended the family of my choice. Which is not the al Ghul legacy."

"Accidents happen," Talia said silkily.

"Listen to my words, Mother, and understand my intent. Should anything happen to my wife, I will come after you with every art and every trick that I've learned in two lifetimes and an afterlife. I will not rest until you and Grandfather are dead and burned and left to blow away in an indifferent wind, your enterprises torn down and ground away to nothing, your legacy nothing but a tainted memory. For that alone I would kill you with my own hands without the slightest trace of mercy, and no words would stay my hand." Damian's velvet baritone was kind of a scary growl.

"Enough, Talia," Ra's spoke sharply. "The woman has a certain animal vitality and she's bright enough. A certain level of fighting skill, even if it's crude battlefield brawling. The wings were an abomination although they served her well enough, and it seems that she no longer has them. Do not let your antipathy toward her blind you to her qualities. She may be common, but she's not the worst choice the boy could have made."

"You don't like her because she can beat you in a fair fight and you blame her for diverting Damian's devotion," Bruce observed. Talia snarled at him.

"Enough." This time it was Damian who laid down the word. "I don't know what I have to say to make you believe me, but I have no intention of associating myself with the al Ghuls," he said impatiently. "I'm not a terrorist and I have no intention of becoming one or associating with any. You have your philosophical principles, Grandfather, but the ones that guide my path are not yours. Threats against my Alixzandrya will be met with extreme prejudice. I will not give up my life here, doing work that I choose, in my home, with the woman I prize above all else. Do not attempt to divert me from my choices." His voice was cold and hard, and he stood up.

"Your participation is not requested, Damian," Ra's said, standing as well. His voice was as unbending as rock. "You will accompany us back to our stronghold. If you comply, you have my word that your wife will be unharmed."

"If not," a horribly familiar voice said from the dark margin of the room. "I'll be happy to show her the error of her ways." The Joker ambled into the light. My lip curled.

"You'll come willingly or not, my son," Talia said. "You may have a moment to say farewell to your father, and then you will be brought along with us. Beloved, know that you may visit him in time," she said as Bruce surged to his feet. She opened a black kit and two men pounced out of the black to grab Damian's arms.

Oh, hell no.

I let my fingertips roll off the bowstring as Hawkeye had taught me and nailed Talia in the shoulder with an arrow. My next targets were the men holding Damian; I only got one because Damian was struggling and I didn't want to hit him by accident. But the one went down with an arrow in the butt. My third arrow also wasn't where I wanted it; I got Ra's in the chest rather than his shoulder. It might have pierced his lung, but that was survivable, with medical care. The Joker flinched, crouching slightly, and the arrow I'd aimed for his junk went through his side instead. I cursed and jumped to my feet, facing the goons coming toward me.

The thing about goons is that they're usually not very good and they might know how to throw a haymaker or have some rudimentary karate, but they're not serious threats unless they have some sort of weapon. And these didn't. I went through the three of them easily, then looked around. Nightwing stood on the rail and fell backward, dramatically and gracefully, tucking at the last instant and landing on his feet. Showboat.

"No idea why people want you so bad, Nightgown," he said, patting Damian on the shoulder. I grinned and trotted down the stairs.

"Petal," Damian said in resignation when he saw me. He shook his head. "So did you answer your question?"

"Yeah. My duty is to comply with the rules and regulations concerning historic structures and designations and to provide my clients with a full and balanced explanation of their options." I trod over to him for a hug and light kiss.

I looked over with a frown when there was a tearing sound followed by an agonized grunt and a sucking sound. Ra's had torn out the arrow and it had indeed punctured his lung. "Dumbass," I complained as I looked around. Bruce was bending over Talia and Nightwing had his foot on the goon with the arrow in his butt. Everybody else, including the Joker, damn him, had vacated. I saw a plastic bag by the door that proved to contain somebody's dinner and dumped this out. I slapped the bag over Ra's' wound and placed his opposite hand over it, temporarily sealing the lung. "You don't remove a penetrating object yourself, you wait for medical attention," I lectured him. I picked up the arrow and saw that Damian was breaking the shafts of the arrows as carefully as he could to avoid the weight of the arrow tearing the flesh more as they moved, but they were aluminum so it caused a certain amount of pain for the goon and Talia. Then he wiped the remaining shaft stump to remove any of my fingerprints and handed me the rest.

"I'll see you later, Sweet pea," Damian said. "Batman's calling for an ambulance." I nodded and headed for the door. As I left, I heard him warn his mother against identifying me as the archer. When I got home, I popped my clothes into the washer and got back to studying.

When Damian got home, I was working on my thesis and looked up after I finished my sentence. "They were picked up and taken to the hospital," he said. "They'll be ok, and the police are guarding them. Hopefully they won't escape." He settled beside me and put his arm around me.

"I'm getting tired of them not taking no for an answer," I said, saving my file and shutting off the computer. "And I won't be used as a weapon against you."

"I understand, Petal," he said.

"The next time I put them down, they may not get back up again," I warned, and he nodded.

"I really don't like the idea of the Joker being in on this," he said with a scowl. "Dad said he'd start tracking him down, but I'll be doing my own work too." He snuggled me to him. "You were right, though. Barbara is pregnant. They haven't announced it yet. Dick's a bit irritated that you figured it out." He smirked, and I laughed.

'I'll have to get some patterns for baby gear," I said. "And some nice soft yarn."

"Tomorrow," he said. "I'm tired and cold and it's been a rather crappy evening and I'd like to warm up wrapped around you under the covers."

"As long as you put on some socks," I said, and we got up and walked to the bedroom. His feet can be just icy cold. As we were getting settled, Eira hopped up on the bed and put her head on Damian's feet. I laughed and snuggled back against him.