Fic: Five Days Gone 2/8 [DCU--Tim/Cissie]
Title: Five Days Gone
Authors: lady_sarai, zoe_chan
Continuity: Future AU.
Word Count: Total length: 31,500 This chapter: 4,000
Pairing/Characters: Tim/Cissie, Bruce, Dick, Kon, Bart
Rating/Warnings: Teen for language
Disclaimer: We do not own anything or anyone. We promise.
Note: As stated--this takes place in the future. Bart and Kon are alive (it's very handwavey as to how), Tim and Cissie are married. Tim has given up Robin and become Kestrel.
Summary: Cissie gets kidnapped.
Chapter 2: October 16th
Tim was the first one up the next morning-aside from Alfred. If he was completely honest, he wasn't sure if he'd slept, or just lain in bed for the appropriate amount of time before getting up again. He thought about heading down for some breakfast, but decided against it. He wasn't really hungry, and he didn't want to insult Alfred by just pushing his food around his plate.
He drifted aimlessly through the rooms of the manor, finally settling in the rec room. He didn't turn on the TV. Last night, the only news had been sound bites from the interview he and Bruce had done that afternoon, and he was in no hurry to relive that experience.
Tim heard a noise that he dimly registered as the doorbell. He didn’t move-Alfred would take care of it, send whoever it was away. He was staring blankly at the bookshelf across from his chair when the door to the rec room opened-there was a gust of air and Tim found himself yanked from the chair and into a hug. “I’msorryIwasn’theresoonerIcameassoonasIheard-therewasathingwithCanada.”
Tim blinked slowly. "Hi, Bart," he said finally. "Canada?"
Bart shrugged and set him down. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “A dam burst and they needed to evacuate the town. I stopped the water and fixed the dam instead.” He frowned. “I went to bed when I got home, so I didn’t hear until I was reading the papers this morning-you okay?”
He felt more than heard the sharp laugh that answered Bart's question. "Not really. What did the papers have to say?"
Bart smiled a bit sheepishly. “I didn’t really read them-I mean, I saw the headlines and your picture and-here I am?”
Tim gave him a wan smile. "Thanks. I don't know that there's a lot you can do, but thanks."
“I can be here,” Bart said earnestly. “And I can help, you know, however you need me.”
"Batman and Nightwing are doing most of the leg-work." He shrugged. "You might be able to help them if you want. Or you can help Kon and I sort through leads. Whatever."
Bart stared at him. “Wow. Tim… she’s okay. You know?”
Tim closed his eyes. "I'm… trying to tell myself that."
Bart pulled him in for another hug. “Maybe you should listen to yourself, too. And me-I’ll remind you.”
"Thanks. I just-I'm worried." He dropped his head against Bart's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm not really great right now. I'll try to be better."
“It’s okay, Tim. Really.”
Making a face, Tim pulled back. "I-sorry. You just got here. It's morning. Breakfast?"
Bart smiled sheepishly. “Well, I had some food before I left, but-you know me.”
"I know." Tim felt a small smile tug at his lips. "I'll show you where the kitchen is. Alfred makes the best French toast ever."
Bart grinned. “Awesome. Lead the way!”
~*~
“Whoa! This place is huge!” Bart exclaimed, following Tim and Kon down the stairs from the Manor into the Cave. Kon grabbed Tim’s arm as Bart sped off, nearly toppling them in his wake. A moment later he was back. “Iknewithadtobebigbutwow-howmanycarsdoyouhave?”
Tim smiled a little. "A few. We have bikes, too."
“You do? I missed them!”
"Those are mostly mine and Nightwing's."
“Where are they? Can I see-can I drive one?” Bart was practically vibrating in place.
Kon laughed. “Yeah, just what the world needs-Bart on a bike.” He turned to Tim. “Plus, if he gets to ride one, I want to ride one.”
Tim shuddered. "No, and no. I still remember certain Batmobile and Batwing incidents. I like my bikes."
“I have a license now!” Bart protested.
“Which is further proof that people from Massachusetts don’t know how to drive,” Kon pointed out.
"You don't have a motorcycle license." Tim paused. "And even if you did, I wouldn't give you my keys."
“Damn.” Bart sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. Then he brightened. “What about the gym, can we check that stuff out?”
“There’s a gym?”
“With, like, tumbling mats and rings!”
"Knock yourselves out." Tim grinned wryly. "Really." He shook his head as they wandered deeper into the Cave, exclaiming at some of the more interesting trophies Bruce kept down here. He remembered what it was like to not know everything here so well that his eyes just glazed over it all until he found what he was looking for-in this case, the computers that had been his post the night before.
With a brief, longing glance at the locker where he kept his Kestrel gear, he sighed and began moving toward the computers to set up for the evening. He would be glad for Bart and Kon's company by the end of the night, even if they were acting like a couple of kids in a candy store.
He heard Dick and Bruce talking quietly just as he was passing the cases and paused, frowning. He had thought they had already left.
“I just don’t think we have to resort to that yet,” Dick was saying-and not very convincingly.
"It would be irresponsible not to," Bruce said tightly. "You know the statistics as well as I do."
Dick made a frustrated noise, and Tim edged closer so he could see them where they stood on the other side of Steph’s case. “I do, but-every hospital in the state has her description, her fingerprints are on record-I just think we’d know if…”
Bruce hesitated a moment before speaking. "Hospitals get busy-not everything gets the attention it should. And a description wouldn't help if she was… not recognizable."
Tim felt sick. He put his hand out to support himself against Jason's case before his legs gave way and he slid silently to the ground. Cissie. They were talking about checking the morgues for Cissie.
“Jesus, Bruce,” Dick protested weakly. “Statistics aren’t… everything.”
"I know." Bruce sighed. "But it doesn't do us any good to ignore them, either."
There was a very long silence. Then Dick cursed quietly. “I guess. We’d better go, then. But while we’re in the hospitals, we’re checking for all Jane Does. Not just-” he stopped abruptly.
"Agreed. And Dick-I hope we're wasting our time, too, but I want to be certain."
“I know. Christ. Let’s-let’s just get this over with.”
Tim waited until he heard both the bike and the car leave the Cave before closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against Jason's case. They were checking morgues. For Cissie. They thought she might be… dead. His stomach felt like it was full of lead, and he wanted to scream, but he couldn't pull in enough air. Instead, he lifted his head and dropped it against the case again. Dead. Maybe he could give himself a concussion. Dead. Or knock himself out. Dead. Anything that might make him stop thinking. Dead. Or seeing. Dead.
Fuck.
Tim slammed his head once more against Jason's case and was gratified to see black spots dancing across his vision. Once more should do it.
“Tim!” Kon’s shout echoed a little across the Cave. Before Tim could beat his skull against the glass again, Bart was pulling him to his feet.
“What’swrong?”
He shook his head sharply and closed his eyes again. Damn Kon's hearing.
Bart gripped his upper arms tightly, and Kon’s hand closed around his shoulder. “Hey, man. What were you doing?”
Bart squeezed a little. “What happened? Did you hear anything?”
"I-" Tim shook his head again. "Nothing. I didn't-no."
“Then why were you trying to bash your brains out?” Kon demanded. Bart made a small protesting noise, but Kon cut him off. “We can’t help if you don’t tell us.”
Tim glared irritably at Kon. "If you wanted to help you would have let me get one more hit in-I had almost managed to knock myself out before I was interrupted."
Kon and Bart stared back at him. Kon asked incredulously, “What? Are you crazy?”
Bart shot a glare at Kon before turning back to Tim and asking carefully, “Why did you want to knock yourself out, Tim?”
"It was easier than thinking," he spat.
“Thinking about… what?”
Tim made a noise in the back of his throat and looked away into the darkness of the Cave.
Kon and Bart looked at one another. Kon drew a breath. “Well. I think we can assume it’s about Cissie…”
"Drop it," Tim muttered.
“You tried to give yourself a concussion-I don’t think so.”
“Kon,” Bart murmured in a warning.
“No. Either he knows something he’s not telling us, or he’s giving in to his paranoia and working himself into a panic attack and neither of those scenarios are acceptable on our watch, Bart. Cissie will kick our asses if we let him block us out like this.”
Tim felt himself sag in Bart's grip at Kon's words. Cissie wouldn't kick their asses-not if she wasn't coming back. A cold calm washed over him, taking away the sick feeling and leaving him frozen. "Cissie-" he said finally. "Bruce and Dick are looking for her in the morgues tonight."
Bart had him in a tight hug before he was finished his sentence.
Kon swore under his breath.
“They’re not gonna find her,” Bart said simply. “Not there.”
"Yeah," Tim said woodenly. He probably should have told them about the frozen feeling, too, but if he did, they'd try to take it away, and it was so much better than feeling. "Can you let me go, now?" he asked, nodding toward the computers. "I have a lot of work to do."
Bart glanced at Kon, who looked pained-but shrugged a shoulder, nodding jerkily. Bart hugged Tim once more and slowly let go. They watched him pull away and walk over to the computers without looking back at them. Bart shot Kon an urgent look, and Kon hesitated before following Tim. “Bart’s right, you know.”
"Yeah," he said again, not looking up.
Kon glanced back at Bart, who shrugged helplessly in response. Kon frowned, and settled himself in front of one of the other computers. Bart seemed to have the same idea, settling himself at Tim’s other side. If they couldn’t improve Tim’s spirits, they would at least be doing to do something.
~*~
The first thing Cissie noticed as she woke up was her throbbing headache-followed rapidly by her churning stomach. She pitched forward, throwing up violently until there was nothing left to throw up. She coughed a few more times and realized that she couldn’t lift her arms-and she couldn’t see. Why? There was something over her eyes; she could feel whatever it was wrapped tightly around her head-which did not help her headache. She pulled-there was something around her wrists, holding them down. Cissie shook her head, but it made her head throb even harder and her stomach protest again. She couldn’t think with this headache-she took several deep breaths and tried to shove aside her building panic. Think, Cissie. She was-sitting up, in a chair. She was tied to the chair-by the wrists and ankles.
She frowned. There were voices-muffled, as though coming from another room. She strained to hear them, but the effort immediately became moot-she heard the door to the room she was being held in slam opened.
"I say we solve the problem right now," came an angry voice.
“We can’t,” a second voice snapped. “Besides, did you really think they wouldn’t go to the police? And I’m not sure the police are who we should be worrying about.”
"I'm not afraid of the Bat," the first voice scoffed. "And we won't have to be if we dump the deadweight."
“Are you stupid?” A third person-a woman. Cissie was beginning to have a hard time keeping track of things, as her headache was worsening and she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t throw up again in a second. She tried to focus on what was being said. “We didn’t go to all this trouble just to cut and run at the first sign of trouble.”
There was a sigh. "We're not cutting and running-we're cutting our losses. This one's too high-profile. It was a bad idea. Wayne is already calling for our blood. That's why we dump her and try again with someone a little less well-known. It's smart."
Cissie tried not to hyperventilate or throw up again-she wanted to listen. They were talking about her. The First Voice wanted to get rid of her; she started silently twisting her wrists, checking to see how tightly she was restrained. She kept her head down; maybe they’d think she was still unconscious.
“Smart would have been starting with someone less well-known. Besides-you’re right. It is too high-profile, which is exactly why we can’t dump her now.”
First Voice made a disgusted noise. "Fine. But if we wind up regretting it, it's all on you."
“And whose brilliant idea was this? And what now?” Second Voice demanded.
"Now we use the disposable cell to make our demands." First Voice sighed. "I just wish they hadn't called the cops-it makes everything more complicated, because now we have to watch out for them. We should probably start moving around, too. It will make it harder to find us."
“Which is why our demands just got a lot more demanding,” Third Voice said coolly. “You hear the reward Wayne’s putting up for information? I’d say we just upped the price tag, wouldn’t you?”
Cissie managed to twist and push her right foot out of its shoe-whatever was tied around her ankle wasn’t tied very well; a little more wiggling and she maybe could free it or slip her ankle out. Her left wrist was similarly loose; if she tucked her thumb in, she could almost fit it under the rope-just a little further and she could free her thumb and the rest of her hand would slide out. She had to be careful; so far they hadn’t noticed her efforts while they argued. They didn’t seem to notice her at all, but that was bound to change.
"You're right-oh shit. Will you look at this?" First Voice sounded revolted. Cissie froze. Had he noticed…? "She puked all over the fucking floor. I'm not cleaning it up."
There was groaning and more cursing from the others. Cissie did her best to keep her breathing steady-as much as she wanted to hyperventilate, it would give her away. The Third Voice snapped, “The hell you won’t! I told you the ether would make her sick, but did either of you listen? No. One of you better take care of it, because I’m not.” Cissie took advantage of their raised voices to carefully slip her foot back in its shoe and slide her wrist back. She went carefully-gradually-limp, hoping they would think she had passed out. She hated not being able to see-the door slammed and she didn’t know who, if anyone, had left.
"Bitch," First Voice muttered. "Get the mop, John."
“I’m not doing it.”
"The fuck you're not. You like having all your teeth in your head?"
“Screw you,” Second Voice-John-grumbled.
"Whatever," First Voice sneered. "Just clean that shit up-it stinks." The door slammed again as, presumably, First Voice left.
Cissie listened to John mutter curses under his breath-and then he left, and Cissie realized she was alone. Nearly frantic, she began yanking at her restraints, twisting her wrists as she tried to slide her hands out from under the rope. She had no idea where they had gone, or when they would return-presumably John was coming back to clean up, and that could be any second. She managed to wrench her left hand free, scraping her thumb against the corner of the armrest and probably giving herself some rope-burn in the process. It didn’t register.
As soon as her arm was free, she yanked off her blindfold and immediately shut her eyes against the light. She forced herself to open them again, squinting as she worked to free her other hand; as soon as she had both hands untied, she started working on her ankles. She didn’t have long, and she didn’t know anything-where she was, when it was, what she was going to do or how she’d even gotten there-but she knew she had to do something and now.
The door opened again just as Cissie was frantically jerking the ropes off her ankles. "What the-" She looked up to see a slight young man with a mop and a bucket. His hair was dark, and his brown eyes were wide in shock. "Bill, Lynn! Come quick!"
Cissie looked around quickly-yes. Windows, and a second door. She stood and managed by sheer will not to topple over as the room seemed to spin around her. She grabbed the chair and shoved it at John as he came toward her. She stumbled, but caught herself and ran for the door. She grabbed a book from the desk and hurled it. Reaching the door, she wrenched it open as John cursed behind her.
She heard voices closing on the other door and threw herself through this one, slamming it shut behind her. Anything to slow them down, even a little. She glanced wildly around the room. Good. Another door. She dashed across the room and through the next door, throwing it shut behind her as well. A hallway, and-a door. An outside door. Almost sobbing with relief, Cissie threw opened the deadbolt and yanked the door opened.
The cold air hit her like a wall, burning her lungs as she ran. She didn’t stop, even as she stumbled over the uneven ground-she’d come out the back door. If she could make it across the yard, there was a house barely visible through some trees and brush. She heard the door slam open behind her and she put everything she had into running. She didn’t bother looking behind her; she screamed, trying to make as much noise as possible.
She had almost made it to the edge of the property, when something heavy slammed into her from behind, knocking her to the ground and falling on top of her. The breath was knocked out of her lungs, but before she could inhale to scream again, the person behind her pushed her face into the dirt, muffling any noises she might try to make.
"Damn it," First Voice-Bill-hissed, holding her down. "I told you she was too much trouble."
Cissie’s panic kicked in, and she struggled-she shoved against the ground, brought her elbow back with as much force as she could and drove it into Bill’s side. She used the momentum to roll, trying to push him off. She didn’t get very far, but she managed to turn her head and scream again. Bill swore loudly and clapped a hand over her mouth-she bit, hard, catching him off guard. In that moment, she didn’t think, she just acted-twisting, pushing and clawing, kicking and aiming for every vulnerable spot she could reach. In his surprise at being bitten, she almost got out from under him-almost.
Bill grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back before slamming it against the ground again. Cissie fell limp, stunned by the sudden blow. She felt fingers wrap around her throat, tightening and-almost-cutting off her air. He leaned forward and she could feel his breath against her ear. She would have shuddered if she could move. "Knock it off, bitch," he growled, tightening his fingers very slightly. "I don't have any trouble finishing this right now, and I will if you don't fucking behave yourself." He gave her another tight squeeze before easing off, leaving her coughing on the ground.
“Jesus, Bill, what the fuck did you do?” Cissie curled her knees up, dazed and feeling sick again now that the adrenaline was wearing off. She blinked through blurred vision, watching a blonde haired woman stalk toward them, followed by John, who was holding his head. The woman stopped a few feet away, crossing her arms. “Good. You didn’t kill her. Which one of you idiots tied her up?”
"John," Bill snapped. "What the hell kind of knots did you use? Did you even tie her?"
“Of course I did. Her wrists and her legs-she shouldn’t have been able to get out.”
The woman scoffed, glancing around the yard carefully. “Clearly she was. Get her inside, now-and Bill, you tie her this time.”
He picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. "No problem."
~*~
"Uh… Kon?" Bart shifted uncertainly from one foot to the other. He tried to move slowly, but he was concerned and frustrated, and it was telling in his movements, because he looked like he was vibrating in place.
“Hmm?” Kon asked. He cracked one eye open to look at Bart, but didn’t lift his head from the back of the couch where he’d collapsed after Tim had finally drifted to bed. “What?”
"I'm… kinda worried about Tim."
Kon made a face and sighed. “Me too.”
Bart threw himself onto the couch beside Kon. "I didn't like how he was tonight, when he stopped fighting us."
Kon scowled and turned his head to glance at Bart. “You mean when he tried to knock himself out? Or when he turned into the Man Previously Known As Tim?”
“Um. The second one.”
“Yeah,” Kon muttered. “The first one wasn’t exactly fun, either.”
"I know, but at least he was doing something." Bart scowled. "It wasn't fun to watch him try to knock himself out, but at least he wasn't a walking Tim shell."
Kon rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, he-I’ve never seen him like this.”
"Me either. I wish I could get through the-whatever it is he's doing-to reassure him." Bart brought his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them. "Cissie's okay. I know she is."
Kon kept his hand pressed over his eyes, exhaling heavily. “I’m not sure how to get through to him. And yeah. She has to be. You know?”
"She is," Bart insisted. "Do you think if we tied him down and said it over and over again…?"
Kon smiled a little at him. “I don’t think that would have worked when we were kids, but he might have pretended just to shut us up. And do you really think we can tie him down?”
He sighed. "Maybe. If he's empty shell-Tim, he might have forgotten his Bat-training and find himself unable to slip the ropes."
“That’s… not comforting at all, actually.”
“I know.”
They sat for a while without speaking. Kon glanced at Bart. “I think we just have to keep telling him it’s gonna be okay.” He paused and looked back at the ceiling. “It just-better be.”
"It will," Bart insisted. "It's Cissie. Everything's going to be fine."
Kon took a deep breath. “Except maybe for Tim.”
"He'll be fine, too," Bart said stubbornly. "Just as soon as we get Cissie back."
“I think that’s all that will do it,” Kon muttered.
Bart frowned. "I think you're probably right."
~*~
Authors: lady_sarai, zoe_chan
Continuity: Future AU.
Word Count: Total length: 31,500 This chapter: 4,000
Pairing/Characters: Tim/Cissie, Bruce, Dick, Kon, Bart
Rating/Warnings: Teen for language
Disclaimer: We do not own anything or anyone. We promise.
Note: As stated--this takes place in the future. Bart and Kon are alive (it's very handwavey as to how), Tim and Cissie are married. Tim has given up Robin and become Kestrel.
Summary: Cissie gets kidnapped.
Chapter 2: October 16th
Tim was the first one up the next morning-aside from Alfred. If he was completely honest, he wasn't sure if he'd slept, or just lain in bed for the appropriate amount of time before getting up again. He thought about heading down for some breakfast, but decided against it. He wasn't really hungry, and he didn't want to insult Alfred by just pushing his food around his plate.
He drifted aimlessly through the rooms of the manor, finally settling in the rec room. He didn't turn on the TV. Last night, the only news had been sound bites from the interview he and Bruce had done that afternoon, and he was in no hurry to relive that experience.
Tim heard a noise that he dimly registered as the doorbell. He didn’t move-Alfred would take care of it, send whoever it was away. He was staring blankly at the bookshelf across from his chair when the door to the rec room opened-there was a gust of air and Tim found himself yanked from the chair and into a hug. “I’msorryIwasn’theresoonerIcameassoonasIheard-therewasathingwithCanada.”
Tim blinked slowly. "Hi, Bart," he said finally. "Canada?"
Bart shrugged and set him down. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “A dam burst and they needed to evacuate the town. I stopped the water and fixed the dam instead.” He frowned. “I went to bed when I got home, so I didn’t hear until I was reading the papers this morning-you okay?”
He felt more than heard the sharp laugh that answered Bart's question. "Not really. What did the papers have to say?"
Bart smiled a bit sheepishly. “I didn’t really read them-I mean, I saw the headlines and your picture and-here I am?”
Tim gave him a wan smile. "Thanks. I don't know that there's a lot you can do, but thanks."
“I can be here,” Bart said earnestly. “And I can help, you know, however you need me.”
"Batman and Nightwing are doing most of the leg-work." He shrugged. "You might be able to help them if you want. Or you can help Kon and I sort through leads. Whatever."
Bart stared at him. “Wow. Tim… she’s okay. You know?”
Tim closed his eyes. "I'm… trying to tell myself that."
Bart pulled him in for another hug. “Maybe you should listen to yourself, too. And me-I’ll remind you.”
"Thanks. I just-I'm worried." He dropped his head against Bart's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm not really great right now. I'll try to be better."
“It’s okay, Tim. Really.”
Making a face, Tim pulled back. "I-sorry. You just got here. It's morning. Breakfast?"
Bart smiled sheepishly. “Well, I had some food before I left, but-you know me.”
"I know." Tim felt a small smile tug at his lips. "I'll show you where the kitchen is. Alfred makes the best French toast ever."
Bart grinned. “Awesome. Lead the way!”
~*~
“Whoa! This place is huge!” Bart exclaimed, following Tim and Kon down the stairs from the Manor into the Cave. Kon grabbed Tim’s arm as Bart sped off, nearly toppling them in his wake. A moment later he was back. “Iknewithadtobebigbutwow-howmanycarsdoyouhave?”
Tim smiled a little. "A few. We have bikes, too."
“You do? I missed them!”
"Those are mostly mine and Nightwing's."
“Where are they? Can I see-can I drive one?” Bart was practically vibrating in place.
Kon laughed. “Yeah, just what the world needs-Bart on a bike.” He turned to Tim. “Plus, if he gets to ride one, I want to ride one.”
Tim shuddered. "No, and no. I still remember certain Batmobile and Batwing incidents. I like my bikes."
“I have a license now!” Bart protested.
“Which is further proof that people from Massachusetts don’t know how to drive,” Kon pointed out.
"You don't have a motorcycle license." Tim paused. "And even if you did, I wouldn't give you my keys."
“Damn.” Bart sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. Then he brightened. “What about the gym, can we check that stuff out?”
“There’s a gym?”
“With, like, tumbling mats and rings!”
"Knock yourselves out." Tim grinned wryly. "Really." He shook his head as they wandered deeper into the Cave, exclaiming at some of the more interesting trophies Bruce kept down here. He remembered what it was like to not know everything here so well that his eyes just glazed over it all until he found what he was looking for-in this case, the computers that had been his post the night before.
With a brief, longing glance at the locker where he kept his Kestrel gear, he sighed and began moving toward the computers to set up for the evening. He would be glad for Bart and Kon's company by the end of the night, even if they were acting like a couple of kids in a candy store.
He heard Dick and Bruce talking quietly just as he was passing the cases and paused, frowning. He had thought they had already left.
“I just don’t think we have to resort to that yet,” Dick was saying-and not very convincingly.
"It would be irresponsible not to," Bruce said tightly. "You know the statistics as well as I do."
Dick made a frustrated noise, and Tim edged closer so he could see them where they stood on the other side of Steph’s case. “I do, but-every hospital in the state has her description, her fingerprints are on record-I just think we’d know if…”
Bruce hesitated a moment before speaking. "Hospitals get busy-not everything gets the attention it should. And a description wouldn't help if she was… not recognizable."
Tim felt sick. He put his hand out to support himself against Jason's case before his legs gave way and he slid silently to the ground. Cissie. They were talking about checking the morgues for Cissie.
“Jesus, Bruce,” Dick protested weakly. “Statistics aren’t… everything.”
"I know." Bruce sighed. "But it doesn't do us any good to ignore them, either."
There was a very long silence. Then Dick cursed quietly. “I guess. We’d better go, then. But while we’re in the hospitals, we’re checking for all Jane Does. Not just-” he stopped abruptly.
"Agreed. And Dick-I hope we're wasting our time, too, but I want to be certain."
“I know. Christ. Let’s-let’s just get this over with.”
Tim waited until he heard both the bike and the car leave the Cave before closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against Jason's case. They were checking morgues. For Cissie. They thought she might be… dead. His stomach felt like it was full of lead, and he wanted to scream, but he couldn't pull in enough air. Instead, he lifted his head and dropped it against the case again. Dead. Maybe he could give himself a concussion. Dead. Or knock himself out. Dead. Anything that might make him stop thinking. Dead. Or seeing. Dead.
Fuck.
Tim slammed his head once more against Jason's case and was gratified to see black spots dancing across his vision. Once more should do it.
“Tim!” Kon’s shout echoed a little across the Cave. Before Tim could beat his skull against the glass again, Bart was pulling him to his feet.
“What’swrong?”
He shook his head sharply and closed his eyes again. Damn Kon's hearing.
Bart gripped his upper arms tightly, and Kon’s hand closed around his shoulder. “Hey, man. What were you doing?”
Bart squeezed a little. “What happened? Did you hear anything?”
"I-" Tim shook his head again. "Nothing. I didn't-no."
“Then why were you trying to bash your brains out?” Kon demanded. Bart made a small protesting noise, but Kon cut him off. “We can’t help if you don’t tell us.”
Tim glared irritably at Kon. "If you wanted to help you would have let me get one more hit in-I had almost managed to knock myself out before I was interrupted."
Kon and Bart stared back at him. Kon asked incredulously, “What? Are you crazy?”
Bart shot a glare at Kon before turning back to Tim and asking carefully, “Why did you want to knock yourself out, Tim?”
"It was easier than thinking," he spat.
“Thinking about… what?”
Tim made a noise in the back of his throat and looked away into the darkness of the Cave.
Kon and Bart looked at one another. Kon drew a breath. “Well. I think we can assume it’s about Cissie…”
"Drop it," Tim muttered.
“You tried to give yourself a concussion-I don’t think so.”
“Kon,” Bart murmured in a warning.
“No. Either he knows something he’s not telling us, or he’s giving in to his paranoia and working himself into a panic attack and neither of those scenarios are acceptable on our watch, Bart. Cissie will kick our asses if we let him block us out like this.”
Tim felt himself sag in Bart's grip at Kon's words. Cissie wouldn't kick their asses-not if she wasn't coming back. A cold calm washed over him, taking away the sick feeling and leaving him frozen. "Cissie-" he said finally. "Bruce and Dick are looking for her in the morgues tonight."
Bart had him in a tight hug before he was finished his sentence.
Kon swore under his breath.
“They’re not gonna find her,” Bart said simply. “Not there.”
"Yeah," Tim said woodenly. He probably should have told them about the frozen feeling, too, but if he did, they'd try to take it away, and it was so much better than feeling. "Can you let me go, now?" he asked, nodding toward the computers. "I have a lot of work to do."
Bart glanced at Kon, who looked pained-but shrugged a shoulder, nodding jerkily. Bart hugged Tim once more and slowly let go. They watched him pull away and walk over to the computers without looking back at them. Bart shot Kon an urgent look, and Kon hesitated before following Tim. “Bart’s right, you know.”
"Yeah," he said again, not looking up.
Kon glanced back at Bart, who shrugged helplessly in response. Kon frowned, and settled himself in front of one of the other computers. Bart seemed to have the same idea, settling himself at Tim’s other side. If they couldn’t improve Tim’s spirits, they would at least be doing to do something.
~*~
The first thing Cissie noticed as she woke up was her throbbing headache-followed rapidly by her churning stomach. She pitched forward, throwing up violently until there was nothing left to throw up. She coughed a few more times and realized that she couldn’t lift her arms-and she couldn’t see. Why? There was something over her eyes; she could feel whatever it was wrapped tightly around her head-which did not help her headache. She pulled-there was something around her wrists, holding them down. Cissie shook her head, but it made her head throb even harder and her stomach protest again. She couldn’t think with this headache-she took several deep breaths and tried to shove aside her building panic. Think, Cissie. She was-sitting up, in a chair. She was tied to the chair-by the wrists and ankles.
She frowned. There were voices-muffled, as though coming from another room. She strained to hear them, but the effort immediately became moot-she heard the door to the room she was being held in slam opened.
"I say we solve the problem right now," came an angry voice.
“We can’t,” a second voice snapped. “Besides, did you really think they wouldn’t go to the police? And I’m not sure the police are who we should be worrying about.”
"I'm not afraid of the Bat," the first voice scoffed. "And we won't have to be if we dump the deadweight."
“Are you stupid?” A third person-a woman. Cissie was beginning to have a hard time keeping track of things, as her headache was worsening and she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t throw up again in a second. She tried to focus on what was being said. “We didn’t go to all this trouble just to cut and run at the first sign of trouble.”
There was a sigh. "We're not cutting and running-we're cutting our losses. This one's too high-profile. It was a bad idea. Wayne is already calling for our blood. That's why we dump her and try again with someone a little less well-known. It's smart."
Cissie tried not to hyperventilate or throw up again-she wanted to listen. They were talking about her. The First Voice wanted to get rid of her; she started silently twisting her wrists, checking to see how tightly she was restrained. She kept her head down; maybe they’d think she was still unconscious.
“Smart would have been starting with someone less well-known. Besides-you’re right. It is too high-profile, which is exactly why we can’t dump her now.”
First Voice made a disgusted noise. "Fine. But if we wind up regretting it, it's all on you."
“And whose brilliant idea was this? And what now?” Second Voice demanded.
"Now we use the disposable cell to make our demands." First Voice sighed. "I just wish they hadn't called the cops-it makes everything more complicated, because now we have to watch out for them. We should probably start moving around, too. It will make it harder to find us."
“Which is why our demands just got a lot more demanding,” Third Voice said coolly. “You hear the reward Wayne’s putting up for information? I’d say we just upped the price tag, wouldn’t you?”
Cissie managed to twist and push her right foot out of its shoe-whatever was tied around her ankle wasn’t tied very well; a little more wiggling and she maybe could free it or slip her ankle out. Her left wrist was similarly loose; if she tucked her thumb in, she could almost fit it under the rope-just a little further and she could free her thumb and the rest of her hand would slide out. She had to be careful; so far they hadn’t noticed her efforts while they argued. They didn’t seem to notice her at all, but that was bound to change.
"You're right-oh shit. Will you look at this?" First Voice sounded revolted. Cissie froze. Had he noticed…? "She puked all over the fucking floor. I'm not cleaning it up."
There was groaning and more cursing from the others. Cissie did her best to keep her breathing steady-as much as she wanted to hyperventilate, it would give her away. The Third Voice snapped, “The hell you won’t! I told you the ether would make her sick, but did either of you listen? No. One of you better take care of it, because I’m not.” Cissie took advantage of their raised voices to carefully slip her foot back in its shoe and slide her wrist back. She went carefully-gradually-limp, hoping they would think she had passed out. She hated not being able to see-the door slammed and she didn’t know who, if anyone, had left.
"Bitch," First Voice muttered. "Get the mop, John."
“I’m not doing it.”
"The fuck you're not. You like having all your teeth in your head?"
“Screw you,” Second Voice-John-grumbled.
"Whatever," First Voice sneered. "Just clean that shit up-it stinks." The door slammed again as, presumably, First Voice left.
Cissie listened to John mutter curses under his breath-and then he left, and Cissie realized she was alone. Nearly frantic, she began yanking at her restraints, twisting her wrists as she tried to slide her hands out from under the rope. She had no idea where they had gone, or when they would return-presumably John was coming back to clean up, and that could be any second. She managed to wrench her left hand free, scraping her thumb against the corner of the armrest and probably giving herself some rope-burn in the process. It didn’t register.
As soon as her arm was free, she yanked off her blindfold and immediately shut her eyes against the light. She forced herself to open them again, squinting as she worked to free her other hand; as soon as she had both hands untied, she started working on her ankles. She didn’t have long, and she didn’t know anything-where she was, when it was, what she was going to do or how she’d even gotten there-but she knew she had to do something and now.
The door opened again just as Cissie was frantically jerking the ropes off her ankles. "What the-" She looked up to see a slight young man with a mop and a bucket. His hair was dark, and his brown eyes were wide in shock. "Bill, Lynn! Come quick!"
Cissie looked around quickly-yes. Windows, and a second door. She stood and managed by sheer will not to topple over as the room seemed to spin around her. She grabbed the chair and shoved it at John as he came toward her. She stumbled, but caught herself and ran for the door. She grabbed a book from the desk and hurled it. Reaching the door, she wrenched it open as John cursed behind her.
She heard voices closing on the other door and threw herself through this one, slamming it shut behind her. Anything to slow them down, even a little. She glanced wildly around the room. Good. Another door. She dashed across the room and through the next door, throwing it shut behind her as well. A hallway, and-a door. An outside door. Almost sobbing with relief, Cissie threw opened the deadbolt and yanked the door opened.
The cold air hit her like a wall, burning her lungs as she ran. She didn’t stop, even as she stumbled over the uneven ground-she’d come out the back door. If she could make it across the yard, there was a house barely visible through some trees and brush. She heard the door slam open behind her and she put everything she had into running. She didn’t bother looking behind her; she screamed, trying to make as much noise as possible.
She had almost made it to the edge of the property, when something heavy slammed into her from behind, knocking her to the ground and falling on top of her. The breath was knocked out of her lungs, but before she could inhale to scream again, the person behind her pushed her face into the dirt, muffling any noises she might try to make.
"Damn it," First Voice-Bill-hissed, holding her down. "I told you she was too much trouble."
Cissie’s panic kicked in, and she struggled-she shoved against the ground, brought her elbow back with as much force as she could and drove it into Bill’s side. She used the momentum to roll, trying to push him off. She didn’t get very far, but she managed to turn her head and scream again. Bill swore loudly and clapped a hand over her mouth-she bit, hard, catching him off guard. In that moment, she didn’t think, she just acted-twisting, pushing and clawing, kicking and aiming for every vulnerable spot she could reach. In his surprise at being bitten, she almost got out from under him-almost.
Bill grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back before slamming it against the ground again. Cissie fell limp, stunned by the sudden blow. She felt fingers wrap around her throat, tightening and-almost-cutting off her air. He leaned forward and she could feel his breath against her ear. She would have shuddered if she could move. "Knock it off, bitch," he growled, tightening his fingers very slightly. "I don't have any trouble finishing this right now, and I will if you don't fucking behave yourself." He gave her another tight squeeze before easing off, leaving her coughing on the ground.
“Jesus, Bill, what the fuck did you do?” Cissie curled her knees up, dazed and feeling sick again now that the adrenaline was wearing off. She blinked through blurred vision, watching a blonde haired woman stalk toward them, followed by John, who was holding his head. The woman stopped a few feet away, crossing her arms. “Good. You didn’t kill her. Which one of you idiots tied her up?”
"John," Bill snapped. "What the hell kind of knots did you use? Did you even tie her?"
“Of course I did. Her wrists and her legs-she shouldn’t have been able to get out.”
The woman scoffed, glancing around the yard carefully. “Clearly she was. Get her inside, now-and Bill, you tie her this time.”
He picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. "No problem."
~*~
"Uh… Kon?" Bart shifted uncertainly from one foot to the other. He tried to move slowly, but he was concerned and frustrated, and it was telling in his movements, because he looked like he was vibrating in place.
“Hmm?” Kon asked. He cracked one eye open to look at Bart, but didn’t lift his head from the back of the couch where he’d collapsed after Tim had finally drifted to bed. “What?”
"I'm… kinda worried about Tim."
Kon made a face and sighed. “Me too.”
Bart threw himself onto the couch beside Kon. "I didn't like how he was tonight, when he stopped fighting us."
Kon scowled and turned his head to glance at Bart. “You mean when he tried to knock himself out? Or when he turned into the Man Previously Known As Tim?”
“Um. The second one.”
“Yeah,” Kon muttered. “The first one wasn’t exactly fun, either.”
"I know, but at least he was doing something." Bart scowled. "It wasn't fun to watch him try to knock himself out, but at least he wasn't a walking Tim shell."
Kon rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, he-I’ve never seen him like this.”
"Me either. I wish I could get through the-whatever it is he's doing-to reassure him." Bart brought his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them. "Cissie's okay. I know she is."
Kon kept his hand pressed over his eyes, exhaling heavily. “I’m not sure how to get through to him. And yeah. She has to be. You know?”
"She is," Bart insisted. "Do you think if we tied him down and said it over and over again…?"
Kon smiled a little at him. “I don’t think that would have worked when we were kids, but he might have pretended just to shut us up. And do you really think we can tie him down?”
He sighed. "Maybe. If he's empty shell-Tim, he might have forgotten his Bat-training and find himself unable to slip the ropes."
“That’s… not comforting at all, actually.”
“I know.”
They sat for a while without speaking. Kon glanced at Bart. “I think we just have to keep telling him it’s gonna be okay.” He paused and looked back at the ceiling. “It just-better be.”
"It will," Bart insisted. "It's Cissie. Everything's going to be fine."
Kon took a deep breath. “Except maybe for Tim.”
"He'll be fine, too," Bart said stubbornly. "Just as soon as we get Cissie back."
“I think that’s all that will do it,” Kon muttered.
Bart frowned. "I think you're probably right."
~*~