Fic: Five Days Gone 5/8 [DCU--Tim/Cissie]
Title: Five Days Gone
Authors: lady_sarai, zoe_chan
Continuity: Future AU.
Word Count: Total length: 31,500 This chapter: 4,900
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 5: October 19th
"Wake up."
Cissie gasped, eyes flying open. Her gaze focused in on her female captor-Lynn-with some difficulty, recognizing her about the same time she registered the way her face stung from the slap she'd just received.
"Dinner time," Lynn said shortly. "You need to eat."
Cissie blinked up at her. Dinner time? Hadn't she just eaten? She definitely wasn't hungry-why was the room spinning? Her eyes slid shut against the headache that was rapidly making itself known.
Lynn slapped her again, forcing her eyes opened in hurt surprise. "You can sleep after you eat."
Cissie swallowed a groan. Before she could do anything else, Lynn grabbed her upper arm roughly and pulled her upright. Cissie swayed when she let go, realizing for the first time that she wasn't tied to a chair-she'd been lying down? Lynn turned away briefly, grabbing a TV dinner. Cissie made an involuntary noise when she smelled the turkey and her stomach turned.
"Don't puke," Lynn ordered. "Because I won't be cleaning it up, and I'm pretty sure you don't want to lie in it." She shoved a fork into the turkey and scooped out a portion of meat covered in gravy. "Open."
Cissie stared blankly at the food. With an impatient growl, Lynn reached out and grabbed Cissie's chin, forcing her mouth open. Cissie choked as Lynn forced the food into her.
"Now swallow," she snapped. "I don't think you really feel like drowning in turkey today."
Cissie chewed slowly and swallowed. She swayed a little, dizzy, and shut her eyes again briefly-her head was pounding, her stomach churned and she just hurt.
"Good. Now some potatoes." She didn't give Cissie the chance to object before lifting a forkful of the vegetable toward Cissie's mouth. "Open."
Cissie ate the potatoes, and several more forkfuls of food. She didn't have the energy to fight it, even though she felt sicker with every bite. It was hard to stay upright-the room kept spinning. And-wait. Hadn't she been in a basement or something? In a chair? She wasn't now; she was sitting on a bare mattress on the floor of… She frowned at the gray wall behind Lynn. It looked like a cubicle. Lynn held up another fork of potato and Cissie turned her head away, making a face.
Lynn looked like she was going to force the issue again, but then she paused and shrugged. "Whatever. You should have some water, too."
For once, Cissie agreed-she was thirsty, and if it would get rid of the taste of that turkey, she was all for it.
"We don't have any. Your idiot brother's not back yet."
"Yes he is," came John's disgruntled voice as he rounded the corner into the cubicle. He dropped a case of bottled water onto the floor and glared at Bill. "I'm not an idiot."
Bill went for the case, rolling his eyes as he tore back the plastic to grab a bottle. "That's a matter of opinion."
Lynn grabbed Cissie's shoulder roughly, hauling her back upright as she swayed dizzily. "Took you long enough," she snapped. "Did you have to go to Metropolis for that water?"
John rolled his eyes. "I was gone for twenty minutes, Lynn. Take a pill."
Cissie shut her eyes, wishing they would just give her the water and let her lie down again-her head was pounding and she was going to throw up the food she'd just eaten if the floor wouldn't stop moving under her. She did her best to block out the conversation around her. Lynn let go of her shoulder and she lost her balance. Throwing her hands out, she caught herself and realized that while her hands were still tied, they were at least in front of her now and she was able to prevent herself from landing on her nose. She opened her eyes and watched Lynn stand up and rummage through a bag on a desk, passing Bill a pill canister.
Pills? Why-oh. She watched Bill unscrew the cap of the water bottle and drop a small, white pill inside. Cissie let herself drop to the mattress, closing her eyes again. Now she knew why she couldn't think straight.
John made a noise in the back of his throat. "That wasn't what I meant," he muttered.
Cissie opened her eyes again, watching Bill screw the cap back on the bottle and shake it. He snorted, shooting John a dirty look. "How 'bout you say what you mean, then?"
"I just meant…" John sighed and pushed his hand roughly through his hair. "I meant Lynn should relax-not that we should keep drugging her," he said, jerking his head in Cissie's direction.
Lynn sat on the desk, raising an imperious eyebrow. "Drugging her relaxes me," she said coolly.
"But we don't need to," John protested. "We have her subdued, tied up. She's not going anywhere. Can't we just…"
"No," Lynn interrupted. "We can't. We tried it your way, now we do it our way."
He made another frustrated noise. "All right, well why didn't you just fucking tell me when you started, rather than tricking me into it?"
"Would you have given it to her?" Bill snapped.
"Of course he would have," Lynn said, waving a hand dismissively. She shot John a contemptuous look. "If you'd known, she would have realized you were up to something and found a way to not drink it."
"I could have made her drink it," he muttered, a sulky tone creeping into his voice.
"Right, like you made her eat the first two days," Bill snarled derisively.
"Well, it wasn't pressing!" he said defensively.
Lynn made an impatient noise. "Does it matter? It's done. We held off on the drugs for three days and she nearly got away three times." She nodded toward the mattress Cissie was lying on. "Hasn't it been nice not to worry about that?"
He lifted his shoulder in a slight shrug. "I guess. I just-we didn't have to."
"Better to keep her trussed like a turkey and gagged? And give her a chance to run off again?"
"Fine, you're right. Whatever." John folded his arms across his chest and stared into the middle distance.
Bill tossed the bottle of water at Lynn and began to juggle the pill container between his hands. "Yeah, whatever," he agreed. Almost conversationally, he added, "You know, we could always up the dosage."
John eyed him warily. "Why would we want to do that?"
"Why not?" Bill shook the pill bottle at him, smiling dangerously. "Gotta lotta illegal pills in here. Wouldn't want to be caught with 'em. Besides," he added, jerking a head at Cissie, "it'd be fairly painless. Comparatively."
"We're not killing her," John said flatly. "We're ransoming her."
"Oh, come on," Bill snarled, rolling his eyes. "You don't really think they're actually gonna pay up, do you?"
"Have you seen the look on her husband's face?" John asked. "He'll pay."
"Then why hasn't he?" Lynn asked.
"Because you keep calling and changing the amount!"
Lynn rolled her eyes. "I call once a day. That's more than enough time to get the money to us before a new demand is made." She leaned forward. "Listen to me, Jonathan. They are not going to pay. They're giving up. Even the police have given her up-they're dredging the river and the harbor, if you hadn't noticed."
"We're not killing her."
Lynn huffed and tossed the water bottle at him. "For now," she conceded. "Make sure she drinks most of that."
Shaking his head slightly, John opened the bottle of water again and stuck a straw in the top. He knelt down next to Cissie. "Time for a drink," he said grimly.
Cissie swallowed hard, her head spinning from the conversation she'd just witnessed. She looked warily at the bottle, keeping her mouth shut in a firm line. She was thirsty, but she felt so rotten and she couldn't think and she couldn't remember more than bits and pieces since the last time John had fed her in the cellar and-the police thought she was dead. She shook her head, feeling helpless and hopeless. If she drank the water, she was giving in. But she was afraid she wouldn't be able to stop them from forcing her to do so.
John looked impatient. "Look-drink it. I know you heard what we said about the drugs, and I'm sorry, but you have to drink this. You don't want Bill or Lynn to force the issue-trust me."
"For fuck's sake," Bill exploded. "Just sit her up and pour the damn thing down her throat. Jesus."
"Shut up, Bill," John snapped, glaring over his shoulder. "Lynn told me to do this, so leave it alone."
Bill swore and gestured angrily at him. "Remind me again why we're dragging this deadweight?" he demanded of Lynn. "Can't even give her water when she can't sit up on her own."
"Fuck you," John growled. "There's nothing wrong with being polite."
"Both of you shut the fuck up," Lynn snapped. "I'm sick of listening to you two. I'll give her the damn water if it's such a problem."
"Drink the fucking water," John muttered desperately under his breath. "Just drink it."
This time when he shoved the straw at her, Cissie opened her mouth and drank. She tried-futilely-not to think about the fact that she was willingly drinking drugged water. Drugged water that would make her completely useless and put her at the mercy of her kidnappers. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. She was not going to cry, not if she could help it-not so they could see.
When Cissie finished the water, John tossed the bottle in the rubbish and stood up again. He frowned as he caught sight of something on the desk beside the mattress Cissie was resting on. "Damn," he muttered. He glanced up at Lynn. "We have to go."
She looked up sharply. "Now? Are you sure?"
"I'm sure-the roof alarm just got tripped. Someone's up there."
Cissie's breath stopped. If they were still in Gotham, the someone on the roof had to be-
"Batman, fuck," Lynn swore, turning and beginning to shove things into the duffle bag on the desk. "Don't just stand there," she ordered, shooting a glare over her shoulder at Bill. "Start packing. How long do we have?" she asked, turning back to John.
He looked pale. "If it's Batman, we need to be gone ten minutes ago."
She swore again and turned, tossing the bag at Bill, who dropped the case of water so he could catch it. "Stop making so much noise," she snapped. "Let's get this stuff to the truck-now." She grabbed another bag, opened it and pulled out a roll of duct tape. She threw it at John. "Make sure she stays quiet. That's the last thing we need."
John nodded sharply, suddenly all business. He ripped off a strip of duct tape and slapped it over Cissie's mouth before she had time to react. "Sorry-can't have the Bat rescuing you before we get our ransom."
Cissie grunted and waited until he had turned away to pack up his laptop before trying to free her hands-when she couldn't, she reached up anyway and yanked off the duct tape, screaming as loudly as she could.
Quickly, before anyone else had a chance to react, Bill stepped forward and slapped her so hard that her jaw snapped shut with an audible click and she began to see stars. "Keep your mouth shut, bitch," he snarled, grabbing the roll of duct tape again. He wrapped a wide band of tape around her head. So that she wouldn't be able to pull it off again without cutting it.
Cissie flopped back on the mattress with a muffled groan when he let her go. She blinked blearily at the ceiling.
"We don't have time for this," Lynn snapped, slapping John upside the head as she shouldered a bag. "Grab the rest," she ordered. "Bill, bring her-and watch it," she snapped, scowling at him. "We still need her in one piece."
"Fine." He lifted Cissie and threw her over his shoulder. "Let's go."
~*~
Bart preferred newspapers, generally, to television as a news source. He could spend subjective hours watching a news broadcast without getting a tenth of the information he got from a single newspaper. And he read most of the major dailies every morning these days. You never could have too much information, after all.
Except now. There was way too much information these days about Cissie's abduction on CNN and all of the other news channels. And it was all pessimistic. It was as if someone had decided that the only thing worth talking about was how an Olympic medalist was being held hostage for her husband's family money.
It was driving Bart crazy, but he couldn't look away. Like a train wreck on a history show that you couldn't do anything to help with, and as the days passed, the talk and the speculation kept getting worse and worse. Bart hated it, and he hated the look Tim got whenever he thought about where Cissie was and what was happening, which was basically all the time. Tim was broken, and ohGodhewasopeningthedoor.
Bart raced to the television and turned it off-hopefully in enough time to keep Kon and Tim from seeing what he was watching.
"Higuys!" he said with a wide grin.
Kon narrowed his eyes, looking suspiciously at Bart. “Hey.”
“Hi,” Tim muttered, sinking into an armchair. He looked… listless. Bart bit his lip and exchanged a look with Kon.
Kon scowled at him quickly before following Tim and dropping a hand on his shoulder. Looking concerned, he said, “Tim? When we were downstairs, you said you wanted to go to bed-do you still want to, or…?”
Tim blinked up at him for a minute. "Okay," he said finally, standing again and heading toward the door. "It's… been a long few days." He gave them a look that might have been a tired smile if he'd had more life in his face and Cissie wasn't still missing. He shut the door quietly behind him, so quietly that he might not have been there at all.
Kon scrubbed his hands over his face before turning and glaring at Bart again. He stalked across the room and turned the television back on, making sure to turn the volume down at the same time. His scowl deepened as whoever was being interviewed began-for the zillionth time-talking about how the odds of finding Cissie alive were decreasing with every passing minute. He shook his head and had to cross his arms to keep from hitting the power button hard enough to ruin the television. “Why are you watching this bullshit?”
Bart frowned. "I just… wanted to see what the news was saying. I look every morning."
Kon stalked to a chair and dropped heavily into it. “They don’t know what the hell they’re talking about. And don’t you get enough news from all those papers? You read more than Tim.” He winced, and added, “Did.”
"Tim has a lot on his mind," said Bart, frowning again. "And newspapers-print media-it's old news the minute it comes out. I watch the news channels to keep up with any developments in the civilian arena. Batman and Nightwing can't be everywhere at once-there's a chance the police could find her. I'm surprised you didn't think about that-the newspaper thing-considering that you're related to Clark Kent."
“If the police find her, we’ll know,” Kon snapped. He continued scowling and grabbed the remote, turning the television off. “They all say the same fucking-” He stopped, clenching his jaw. “How can you listen to that?”
Bart made a face. "It's an addiction. You can't have too much information." He picked up a newspaper from the table and tossed it at Kon. "There's a great editorial in the Planet today, by the way. The one about the circling vulture attitude of many media outlets. Anonymous, of course, but you may recognize the style."
Kon scanned a few paragraphs and grunted noncommittally. “She’s right about one thing,” he muttered, dropping the paper and rubbing his forehead. “They need to back the hell off. Leave Tim alone. Stop-shoving damn statistics at us.”
"The statistics aren't for us. It's supposed to be human interest."
“Human interest?” Kon spat. He growled, shoving himself out of the chair and beginning to pace. “What kind of-is that what people really want to hear? All the ways Cissie-” He stopped and looked sharply toward the door Tim had gone through earlier. He began again, much quieter. “All the ways Ciss-that she could-fuck.”
Bart felt his eyes widen. "People are sick, Kon. They like to think about that stuff when it's happening to someone else. But it's not. Because it's Cissie."
“Yeah,” Kon said shortly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s-I’ve been telling that to Tim all week.”
"Well, you're right."
Kon exhaled sharply. “Yeah. I guess.”
"Kon-" Bart hesitated. "Don't-don't let it get to you. Tim, I mean. He's freaked out. You know how he gets. He can't see past whatever nightmare he's stuck in."
Kon ran a hand roughly through his hair. “I know. I do, it’s just-Christ, Bart, I keep telling him everything’s going to be all right. I just-if it’s not…”
"But it will be," he insisted. "I'm not just saying that. It really will be all right."
“It better be,” Kon murmured. “Tim… He’s a mess.” He hesitated and then looked at Bart. “You know, that-that’s partly our fault.”
Bart's eyes clouded and his gaze dropped to the floor. "Yeah. I know."
Kon didn’t say anything for a few moments, and then he squeezed Bart’s shoulder as he went back to sit in the chair. He shook his head and said in an undertone, “He’d be a mess even if we hadn’t…” He gestured indistinctly and stared at the floor. “She really has to be okay.”
"She will be." Bart dropped onto the sofa, frowning. "I really wish we hadn't died. It makes everything so complicated. I wish we were still immortal like we were back in Young Justice."
Kon managed a tight smile. “We were never immortal, Bart, we were just too cocky to know better.”
"I know," he sighed. "It's just… It's not only Tim, you know? Cass always flinches every time you or I do anything dangerous, and Cissie tries to hide it, but every time she stays at the Tower she holds her breath until we come back. It's just… it's our fault. I hate that."
“I know,” Kon muttered. “I do, too. I wish it hadn’t happened, but-I don’t know if I would change it, you know?” He made a face.
Bart grimaced. "Me either. Given the same choices, I'd do the same things all over again. But, dude. She practically counts his fingers every time he gets in. And Cass counts yours."
Kon exhaled. “I know. It’s-I hate it,” he admitted. “At least we know they care?” he suggested dryly. “I don’t know what to do about it. Except, you know, be careful.”
"I know. I'm always careful, now."
Kon smiled a little. “I know. I am, too. I don’t know, maybe it’s a good thing. It’s just-hard.” He paused for a minute, and then said, “But you know-I think even if we hadn’t… Tim still wouldn’t take this well.”
Bart gave a short, sharp laugh. "True. I just can't help but think that we… I don't know… took his hope away or something."
“I know,” Kon replied quietly. “In all fairness… it wasn’t just us, though. I mean-we didn’t help. But we aren’t the only people who have died on Tim. Which sucks.”
"It does. Wow, we're cheerful. I'm going to turn on the news again. Seeifthere'sanythingnew." Bart had already turned the TV on before he was finished speaking, and was staring intently at the screen.
Kon frowned-there was nothing new. Only the same shit everyone already knew and the same photos of Cissie-and Cissie and Tim-splashed across the screen, with the same clips of Tim at the press conference and Bruce offering his reward and the same experts saying the same bullshit about Cissie being dead or worse by now-Kon stood up abruptly. “I’m going to check on Tim.” He didn’t want to ask Bart to turn the TV off again-for whatever reason, watching the news helped Bart cope. But Kon couldn’t do it.
"Seeyou," Bart muttered distractedly, frowning at the expert currently discussing Cissie's chances of having survived the first day in captivity. A smiling picture of Cissie flashed over his shoulder. Bart recognized it-it was from the most recent JLA picnic. He'd been trying to convince her to join the game of softball.
Kon gave the television one last glare and headed for the door Tim had gone through earlier. Maybe he'd be able to coax his friend into eating something. Or he could head downstairs to see what Dick and Bruce had turned up while they were out-they had to be back by now. They'd said they were heading in just before Tim decided he wanted to go to bed. He shook his head sharply. He'd come up with something. Anything to get away from this.
~*~
"Damn it!" Bruce's fist made sharp contact with the console in front of him. He glowered fiercely and unseeingly at the display in front of him and punched the metal again. "God damn it!"
Dick's eyebrows shot up in surprise as he cut the engine to his bike just in time to overhear Bruce's outburst. He removed his helmet and climbed off the bike, approaching Bruce cautiously. "Bruce? What's going on?"
"I almost had them!" he growled, punching the console again. "A few minutes faster, and I would have! Fuck!"
Dick paled and removed his mask. "You-what happened?"
Bruce snarled and tossed something at Dick with a little more force than was necessary. He glanced down at it to see that he was holding an empty bottle of water. "That," Bruce spat. "Rohypnol."
"Ro-" Dick stopped, staring at the bottle. He looked back at Bruce. "You're sure it was them?"
"As sure as I can be," he bit off, sneering slightly. "As they got away before I could catch up to them."
Dick swore. "But, wait-" He held up the bottle. "You found this there? Tonight? That means-she's alive, Bruce!"
"She was an hour ago," he snapped furiously. "And who knows what's happened since then?"
Dick twisted the plastic bottle between his hands, looking somewhere past it. "They wouldn't have drugged her just to turn around and kill her."
"Plans might have changed," Bruce muttered darkly. "They were spooked."
Dick looked up. "That close, huh?"
"Yes."
Dick exhaled explosively. Bruce's jaw was clenched tightly and the tension radiated off him. Dick passed a hand over his face and then looked up and around quickly. "Where's Tim?"
"Not here-I checked. He went to bed after we signed off."
"Does he know?"
"No." Bruce exhaled sharply. "I didn't… when it happened, I didn't pass it along the radio. I thought we should wait to tell him, until we have something one way or the other."
Dick nodded slowly. He hesitated before saying, "We should tell him."
"No, we shouldn't," Bruce said flatly.
"Why not?"
"If she turns up dead, do you want to be the one to tell him that we were only a few minutes away from recovering her alive tonight?"
Dick sucked air in between his teeth. "Fuck," he muttered, turning away to glare over the expanse of the Cave. "I hate it when you're right."
Bruce didn't respond, didn't even move from where he stood-tense, still resting his clenched fist against the console. Dick stared blankly for a while, the silence stretching between them until he exhaled heavily and pinched his nose. "All right," he said finally. "Could you tell-how long they'd been there?"
"Not more than a day or two," he replied with a faint frown. "They've been moving around."
"Are you sure it was that close? A matter of minutes? You don't think maybe they just-moved on again?"
"The light bulbs were still warm."
"Crap," Dick muttered. He scowled at the water bottle again. "Did they leave anything that can tell us who they are? Where they went?"
"Just that," he said, nodding at the bottle in Dick's hand. "I have no idea where they went, but if they left fingerprints on that bottle, I'll sure as Hell know who they are."
Dick tossed the bottle and caught it again, shooting Bruce a grim smile. "What are we waiting for?"
"What are you waiting for?" a voice asked from behind him. Dick turned to see Kon entering the Cave-alone, thankfully. He faltered momentarily on the bottom step. Dick glanced behind him to witness the smoldering glare Bruce was leveling at him and turned around again in time to see Kon set his shoulders and finish climbing the stairs. "I came to see if there's anything I can do," he said.
"There isn't," Bruce said shortly. "How long have you been there?"
Kon shrugged. "Long enough to walk down the stairs? I heard something about fingerprints."
Bruce shot him a dark look. "Find someplace else to be, Kon."
Kon clenched his jaw and straightened his shoulders. "I want to help," he argued. "I can't just-Tim's sleeping, or pretending to and Bart keeps watching the news-I need to do something."
"Go see if Clark needs help in Metropolis, then."
Kon started. "Metropolis?" His frown deepened and he took a step forward. "No."
"Kon," Bruce said through gritted teeth, his voice a warning.
"I can help," he snapped. "No one's letting me, but I can!" He clenched his jaw again and scowled. "Cissie's my family, too," he ground out.
Bruce arched an eyebrow at him. "How can you help, Kon?"
"Give me something to do, I'll do it!" Kon opened and closed his hands in fists at his side. He looked at Dick and continued, "I can't sit with Tim and watch him do that to himself anymore-I'll go crazy, I swear I will. And if I have to watch another second of Bart's goddamn news programs-I don't care, just let me do something."
Bruce opened his mouth to object again, but Dick cut across him. "What we talk about tonight never leaves here, you got that, Kon? You don't tell Tim, or Bart, or Cassie, or anyone, are we clear?"
Kon's eyes widened and he paled a little, but nodded. "Absolutely."
Dick nodded sharply. "Good. Now get over here, and we'll fill you in on what we're doing as we go along."
Kon nodded rapidly, crossing the Cave quickly to Dick's side and doing his best to stay out of Bruce's way. Bruce took back the water bottle and began dusting it for fingerprints while Dick filled Kon in on the night's events. He scowled at the bottle, even as Bruce lifted another print. "So-where are they now?"
"We don't know," Dick admitted. He watched Bruce begin running the prints through the database.
"Damn," Kon mumbled. "Where will you look tomorrow, then?"
Dick shot him a narrow look. "Where do you think we should look?"
Kon bit his lip, frowning. "Well-you've covered most of Gotham by now, right?"
He nodded. "Yes-though we suspect they've been moving around all along."
"Hmm." Kon watched the computer run through possible print matches for a minute before hesitantly speaking again. "Well-if I knew Batman was after me, and that close? I'd get the Hell outta Dodge." He looked up at Dick. "I'd skip town."
Bruce made a noise at the back of his throat and Dick kicked him-perhaps a little harder than was strictly necessary. He turned his attention back to Kon. "You have a captive-and you don't want to be noticed. Where do you go?"
"If not Gotham?" Kon muttered dryly. He thought for a moment and grimaced. "Blüdhaven."
Dick's eyebrows shot up. Kon had reached the natural conclusion more quickly than Dick thought he would. "I think… you might be right." He didn't want to think about what that might mean for Cissie.
Kon exhaled slowly, looking pale and distressed. He glanced up and met Dick's gaze. "I was afraid you'd say that."
Bruce turned in his chair to regard Kon evenly. "I take it you know what it means."
Kon swallowed, his frown deepening. "Yeah, I do," he said shortly. "I know it means we have to find her. Soon."
"It means they're planning to kill her," Bruce said flatly. "Blüdhaven is where Gotham criminals go to dump bodies these days."
Kon winced, paling. "I know," he muttered.
Dick dropped a hand on Kon's shoulder and frowned at Bruce. "It means we're going to Blüdhaven."
"When?"
"Tomorrow night-first thing."
~*~
Authors: lady_sarai, zoe_chan
Continuity: Future AU.
Word Count: Total length: 31,500 This chapter: 4,900
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 5: October 19th
"Wake up."
Cissie gasped, eyes flying open. Her gaze focused in on her female captor-Lynn-with some difficulty, recognizing her about the same time she registered the way her face stung from the slap she'd just received.
"Dinner time," Lynn said shortly. "You need to eat."
Cissie blinked up at her. Dinner time? Hadn't she just eaten? She definitely wasn't hungry-why was the room spinning? Her eyes slid shut against the headache that was rapidly making itself known.
Lynn slapped her again, forcing her eyes opened in hurt surprise. "You can sleep after you eat."
Cissie swallowed a groan. Before she could do anything else, Lynn grabbed her upper arm roughly and pulled her upright. Cissie swayed when she let go, realizing for the first time that she wasn't tied to a chair-she'd been lying down? Lynn turned away briefly, grabbing a TV dinner. Cissie made an involuntary noise when she smelled the turkey and her stomach turned.
"Don't puke," Lynn ordered. "Because I won't be cleaning it up, and I'm pretty sure you don't want to lie in it." She shoved a fork into the turkey and scooped out a portion of meat covered in gravy. "Open."
Cissie stared blankly at the food. With an impatient growl, Lynn reached out and grabbed Cissie's chin, forcing her mouth open. Cissie choked as Lynn forced the food into her.
"Now swallow," she snapped. "I don't think you really feel like drowning in turkey today."
Cissie chewed slowly and swallowed. She swayed a little, dizzy, and shut her eyes again briefly-her head was pounding, her stomach churned and she just hurt.
"Good. Now some potatoes." She didn't give Cissie the chance to object before lifting a forkful of the vegetable toward Cissie's mouth. "Open."
Cissie ate the potatoes, and several more forkfuls of food. She didn't have the energy to fight it, even though she felt sicker with every bite. It was hard to stay upright-the room kept spinning. And-wait. Hadn't she been in a basement or something? In a chair? She wasn't now; she was sitting on a bare mattress on the floor of… She frowned at the gray wall behind Lynn. It looked like a cubicle. Lynn held up another fork of potato and Cissie turned her head away, making a face.
Lynn looked like she was going to force the issue again, but then she paused and shrugged. "Whatever. You should have some water, too."
For once, Cissie agreed-she was thirsty, and if it would get rid of the taste of that turkey, she was all for it.
"We don't have any. Your idiot brother's not back yet."
"Yes he is," came John's disgruntled voice as he rounded the corner into the cubicle. He dropped a case of bottled water onto the floor and glared at Bill. "I'm not an idiot."
Bill went for the case, rolling his eyes as he tore back the plastic to grab a bottle. "That's a matter of opinion."
Lynn grabbed Cissie's shoulder roughly, hauling her back upright as she swayed dizzily. "Took you long enough," she snapped. "Did you have to go to Metropolis for that water?"
John rolled his eyes. "I was gone for twenty minutes, Lynn. Take a pill."
Cissie shut her eyes, wishing they would just give her the water and let her lie down again-her head was pounding and she was going to throw up the food she'd just eaten if the floor wouldn't stop moving under her. She did her best to block out the conversation around her. Lynn let go of her shoulder and she lost her balance. Throwing her hands out, she caught herself and realized that while her hands were still tied, they were at least in front of her now and she was able to prevent herself from landing on her nose. She opened her eyes and watched Lynn stand up and rummage through a bag on a desk, passing Bill a pill canister.
Pills? Why-oh. She watched Bill unscrew the cap of the water bottle and drop a small, white pill inside. Cissie let herself drop to the mattress, closing her eyes again. Now she knew why she couldn't think straight.
John made a noise in the back of his throat. "That wasn't what I meant," he muttered.
Cissie opened her eyes again, watching Bill screw the cap back on the bottle and shake it. He snorted, shooting John a dirty look. "How 'bout you say what you mean, then?"
"I just meant…" John sighed and pushed his hand roughly through his hair. "I meant Lynn should relax-not that we should keep drugging her," he said, jerking his head in Cissie's direction.
Lynn sat on the desk, raising an imperious eyebrow. "Drugging her relaxes me," she said coolly.
"But we don't need to," John protested. "We have her subdued, tied up. She's not going anywhere. Can't we just…"
"No," Lynn interrupted. "We can't. We tried it your way, now we do it our way."
He made another frustrated noise. "All right, well why didn't you just fucking tell me when you started, rather than tricking me into it?"
"Would you have given it to her?" Bill snapped.
"Of course he would have," Lynn said, waving a hand dismissively. She shot John a contemptuous look. "If you'd known, she would have realized you were up to something and found a way to not drink it."
"I could have made her drink it," he muttered, a sulky tone creeping into his voice.
"Right, like you made her eat the first two days," Bill snarled derisively.
"Well, it wasn't pressing!" he said defensively.
Lynn made an impatient noise. "Does it matter? It's done. We held off on the drugs for three days and she nearly got away three times." She nodded toward the mattress Cissie was lying on. "Hasn't it been nice not to worry about that?"
He lifted his shoulder in a slight shrug. "I guess. I just-we didn't have to."
"Better to keep her trussed like a turkey and gagged? And give her a chance to run off again?"
"Fine, you're right. Whatever." John folded his arms across his chest and stared into the middle distance.
Bill tossed the bottle of water at Lynn and began to juggle the pill container between his hands. "Yeah, whatever," he agreed. Almost conversationally, he added, "You know, we could always up the dosage."
John eyed him warily. "Why would we want to do that?"
"Why not?" Bill shook the pill bottle at him, smiling dangerously. "Gotta lotta illegal pills in here. Wouldn't want to be caught with 'em. Besides," he added, jerking a head at Cissie, "it'd be fairly painless. Comparatively."
"We're not killing her," John said flatly. "We're ransoming her."
"Oh, come on," Bill snarled, rolling his eyes. "You don't really think they're actually gonna pay up, do you?"
"Have you seen the look on her husband's face?" John asked. "He'll pay."
"Then why hasn't he?" Lynn asked.
"Because you keep calling and changing the amount!"
Lynn rolled her eyes. "I call once a day. That's more than enough time to get the money to us before a new demand is made." She leaned forward. "Listen to me, Jonathan. They are not going to pay. They're giving up. Even the police have given her up-they're dredging the river and the harbor, if you hadn't noticed."
"We're not killing her."
Lynn huffed and tossed the water bottle at him. "For now," she conceded. "Make sure she drinks most of that."
Shaking his head slightly, John opened the bottle of water again and stuck a straw in the top. He knelt down next to Cissie. "Time for a drink," he said grimly.
Cissie swallowed hard, her head spinning from the conversation she'd just witnessed. She looked warily at the bottle, keeping her mouth shut in a firm line. She was thirsty, but she felt so rotten and she couldn't think and she couldn't remember more than bits and pieces since the last time John had fed her in the cellar and-the police thought she was dead. She shook her head, feeling helpless and hopeless. If she drank the water, she was giving in. But she was afraid she wouldn't be able to stop them from forcing her to do so.
John looked impatient. "Look-drink it. I know you heard what we said about the drugs, and I'm sorry, but you have to drink this. You don't want Bill or Lynn to force the issue-trust me."
"For fuck's sake," Bill exploded. "Just sit her up and pour the damn thing down her throat. Jesus."
"Shut up, Bill," John snapped, glaring over his shoulder. "Lynn told me to do this, so leave it alone."
Bill swore and gestured angrily at him. "Remind me again why we're dragging this deadweight?" he demanded of Lynn. "Can't even give her water when she can't sit up on her own."
"Fuck you," John growled. "There's nothing wrong with being polite."
"Both of you shut the fuck up," Lynn snapped. "I'm sick of listening to you two. I'll give her the damn water if it's such a problem."
"Drink the fucking water," John muttered desperately under his breath. "Just drink it."
This time when he shoved the straw at her, Cissie opened her mouth and drank. She tried-futilely-not to think about the fact that she was willingly drinking drugged water. Drugged water that would make her completely useless and put her at the mercy of her kidnappers. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. She was not going to cry, not if she could help it-not so they could see.
When Cissie finished the water, John tossed the bottle in the rubbish and stood up again. He frowned as he caught sight of something on the desk beside the mattress Cissie was resting on. "Damn," he muttered. He glanced up at Lynn. "We have to go."
She looked up sharply. "Now? Are you sure?"
"I'm sure-the roof alarm just got tripped. Someone's up there."
Cissie's breath stopped. If they were still in Gotham, the someone on the roof had to be-
"Batman, fuck," Lynn swore, turning and beginning to shove things into the duffle bag on the desk. "Don't just stand there," she ordered, shooting a glare over her shoulder at Bill. "Start packing. How long do we have?" she asked, turning back to John.
He looked pale. "If it's Batman, we need to be gone ten minutes ago."
She swore again and turned, tossing the bag at Bill, who dropped the case of water so he could catch it. "Stop making so much noise," she snapped. "Let's get this stuff to the truck-now." She grabbed another bag, opened it and pulled out a roll of duct tape. She threw it at John. "Make sure she stays quiet. That's the last thing we need."
John nodded sharply, suddenly all business. He ripped off a strip of duct tape and slapped it over Cissie's mouth before she had time to react. "Sorry-can't have the Bat rescuing you before we get our ransom."
Cissie grunted and waited until he had turned away to pack up his laptop before trying to free her hands-when she couldn't, she reached up anyway and yanked off the duct tape, screaming as loudly as she could.
Quickly, before anyone else had a chance to react, Bill stepped forward and slapped her so hard that her jaw snapped shut with an audible click and she began to see stars. "Keep your mouth shut, bitch," he snarled, grabbing the roll of duct tape again. He wrapped a wide band of tape around her head. So that she wouldn't be able to pull it off again without cutting it.
Cissie flopped back on the mattress with a muffled groan when he let her go. She blinked blearily at the ceiling.
"We don't have time for this," Lynn snapped, slapping John upside the head as she shouldered a bag. "Grab the rest," she ordered. "Bill, bring her-and watch it," she snapped, scowling at him. "We still need her in one piece."
"Fine." He lifted Cissie and threw her over his shoulder. "Let's go."
~*~
Bart preferred newspapers, generally, to television as a news source. He could spend subjective hours watching a news broadcast without getting a tenth of the information he got from a single newspaper. And he read most of the major dailies every morning these days. You never could have too much information, after all.
Except now. There was way too much information these days about Cissie's abduction on CNN and all of the other news channels. And it was all pessimistic. It was as if someone had decided that the only thing worth talking about was how an Olympic medalist was being held hostage for her husband's family money.
It was driving Bart crazy, but he couldn't look away. Like a train wreck on a history show that you couldn't do anything to help with, and as the days passed, the talk and the speculation kept getting worse and worse. Bart hated it, and he hated the look Tim got whenever he thought about where Cissie was and what was happening, which was basically all the time. Tim was broken, and ohGodhewasopeningthedoor.
Bart raced to the television and turned it off-hopefully in enough time to keep Kon and Tim from seeing what he was watching.
"Higuys!" he said with a wide grin.
Kon narrowed his eyes, looking suspiciously at Bart. “Hey.”
“Hi,” Tim muttered, sinking into an armchair. He looked… listless. Bart bit his lip and exchanged a look with Kon.
Kon scowled at him quickly before following Tim and dropping a hand on his shoulder. Looking concerned, he said, “Tim? When we were downstairs, you said you wanted to go to bed-do you still want to, or…?”
Tim blinked up at him for a minute. "Okay," he said finally, standing again and heading toward the door. "It's… been a long few days." He gave them a look that might have been a tired smile if he'd had more life in his face and Cissie wasn't still missing. He shut the door quietly behind him, so quietly that he might not have been there at all.
Kon scrubbed his hands over his face before turning and glaring at Bart again. He stalked across the room and turned the television back on, making sure to turn the volume down at the same time. His scowl deepened as whoever was being interviewed began-for the zillionth time-talking about how the odds of finding Cissie alive were decreasing with every passing minute. He shook his head and had to cross his arms to keep from hitting the power button hard enough to ruin the television. “Why are you watching this bullshit?”
Bart frowned. "I just… wanted to see what the news was saying. I look every morning."
Kon stalked to a chair and dropped heavily into it. “They don’t know what the hell they’re talking about. And don’t you get enough news from all those papers? You read more than Tim.” He winced, and added, “Did.”
"Tim has a lot on his mind," said Bart, frowning again. "And newspapers-print media-it's old news the minute it comes out. I watch the news channels to keep up with any developments in the civilian arena. Batman and Nightwing can't be everywhere at once-there's a chance the police could find her. I'm surprised you didn't think about that-the newspaper thing-considering that you're related to Clark Kent."
“If the police find her, we’ll know,” Kon snapped. He continued scowling and grabbed the remote, turning the television off. “They all say the same fucking-” He stopped, clenching his jaw. “How can you listen to that?”
Bart made a face. "It's an addiction. You can't have too much information." He picked up a newspaper from the table and tossed it at Kon. "There's a great editorial in the Planet today, by the way. The one about the circling vulture attitude of many media outlets. Anonymous, of course, but you may recognize the style."
Kon scanned a few paragraphs and grunted noncommittally. “She’s right about one thing,” he muttered, dropping the paper and rubbing his forehead. “They need to back the hell off. Leave Tim alone. Stop-shoving damn statistics at us.”
"The statistics aren't for us. It's supposed to be human interest."
“Human interest?” Kon spat. He growled, shoving himself out of the chair and beginning to pace. “What kind of-is that what people really want to hear? All the ways Cissie-” He stopped and looked sharply toward the door Tim had gone through earlier. He began again, much quieter. “All the ways Ciss-that she could-fuck.”
Bart felt his eyes widen. "People are sick, Kon. They like to think about that stuff when it's happening to someone else. But it's not. Because it's Cissie."
“Yeah,” Kon said shortly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s-I’ve been telling that to Tim all week.”
"Well, you're right."
Kon exhaled sharply. “Yeah. I guess.”
"Kon-" Bart hesitated. "Don't-don't let it get to you. Tim, I mean. He's freaked out. You know how he gets. He can't see past whatever nightmare he's stuck in."
Kon ran a hand roughly through his hair. “I know. I do, it’s just-Christ, Bart, I keep telling him everything’s going to be all right. I just-if it’s not…”
"But it will be," he insisted. "I'm not just saying that. It really will be all right."
“It better be,” Kon murmured. “Tim… He’s a mess.” He hesitated and then looked at Bart. “You know, that-that’s partly our fault.”
Bart's eyes clouded and his gaze dropped to the floor. "Yeah. I know."
Kon didn’t say anything for a few moments, and then he squeezed Bart’s shoulder as he went back to sit in the chair. He shook his head and said in an undertone, “He’d be a mess even if we hadn’t…” He gestured indistinctly and stared at the floor. “She really has to be okay.”
"She will be." Bart dropped onto the sofa, frowning. "I really wish we hadn't died. It makes everything so complicated. I wish we were still immortal like we were back in Young Justice."
Kon managed a tight smile. “We were never immortal, Bart, we were just too cocky to know better.”
"I know," he sighed. "It's just… It's not only Tim, you know? Cass always flinches every time you or I do anything dangerous, and Cissie tries to hide it, but every time she stays at the Tower she holds her breath until we come back. It's just… it's our fault. I hate that."
“I know,” Kon muttered. “I do, too. I wish it hadn’t happened, but-I don’t know if I would change it, you know?” He made a face.
Bart grimaced. "Me either. Given the same choices, I'd do the same things all over again. But, dude. She practically counts his fingers every time he gets in. And Cass counts yours."
Kon exhaled. “I know. It’s-I hate it,” he admitted. “At least we know they care?” he suggested dryly. “I don’t know what to do about it. Except, you know, be careful.”
"I know. I'm always careful, now."
Kon smiled a little. “I know. I am, too. I don’t know, maybe it’s a good thing. It’s just-hard.” He paused for a minute, and then said, “But you know-I think even if we hadn’t… Tim still wouldn’t take this well.”
Bart gave a short, sharp laugh. "True. I just can't help but think that we… I don't know… took his hope away or something."
“I know,” Kon replied quietly. “In all fairness… it wasn’t just us, though. I mean-we didn’t help. But we aren’t the only people who have died on Tim. Which sucks.”
"It does. Wow, we're cheerful. I'm going to turn on the news again. Seeifthere'sanythingnew." Bart had already turned the TV on before he was finished speaking, and was staring intently at the screen.
Kon frowned-there was nothing new. Only the same shit everyone already knew and the same photos of Cissie-and Cissie and Tim-splashed across the screen, with the same clips of Tim at the press conference and Bruce offering his reward and the same experts saying the same bullshit about Cissie being dead or worse by now-Kon stood up abruptly. “I’m going to check on Tim.” He didn’t want to ask Bart to turn the TV off again-for whatever reason, watching the news helped Bart cope. But Kon couldn’t do it.
"Seeyou," Bart muttered distractedly, frowning at the expert currently discussing Cissie's chances of having survived the first day in captivity. A smiling picture of Cissie flashed over his shoulder. Bart recognized it-it was from the most recent JLA picnic. He'd been trying to convince her to join the game of softball.
Kon gave the television one last glare and headed for the door Tim had gone through earlier. Maybe he'd be able to coax his friend into eating something. Or he could head downstairs to see what Dick and Bruce had turned up while they were out-they had to be back by now. They'd said they were heading in just before Tim decided he wanted to go to bed. He shook his head sharply. He'd come up with something. Anything to get away from this.
~*~
"Damn it!" Bruce's fist made sharp contact with the console in front of him. He glowered fiercely and unseeingly at the display in front of him and punched the metal again. "God damn it!"
Dick's eyebrows shot up in surprise as he cut the engine to his bike just in time to overhear Bruce's outburst. He removed his helmet and climbed off the bike, approaching Bruce cautiously. "Bruce? What's going on?"
"I almost had them!" he growled, punching the console again. "A few minutes faster, and I would have! Fuck!"
Dick paled and removed his mask. "You-what happened?"
Bruce snarled and tossed something at Dick with a little more force than was necessary. He glanced down at it to see that he was holding an empty bottle of water. "That," Bruce spat. "Rohypnol."
"Ro-" Dick stopped, staring at the bottle. He looked back at Bruce. "You're sure it was them?"
"As sure as I can be," he bit off, sneering slightly. "As they got away before I could catch up to them."
Dick swore. "But, wait-" He held up the bottle. "You found this there? Tonight? That means-she's alive, Bruce!"
"She was an hour ago," he snapped furiously. "And who knows what's happened since then?"
Dick twisted the plastic bottle between his hands, looking somewhere past it. "They wouldn't have drugged her just to turn around and kill her."
"Plans might have changed," Bruce muttered darkly. "They were spooked."
Dick looked up. "That close, huh?"
"Yes."
Dick exhaled explosively. Bruce's jaw was clenched tightly and the tension radiated off him. Dick passed a hand over his face and then looked up and around quickly. "Where's Tim?"
"Not here-I checked. He went to bed after we signed off."
"Does he know?"
"No." Bruce exhaled sharply. "I didn't… when it happened, I didn't pass it along the radio. I thought we should wait to tell him, until we have something one way or the other."
Dick nodded slowly. He hesitated before saying, "We should tell him."
"No, we shouldn't," Bruce said flatly.
"Why not?"
"If she turns up dead, do you want to be the one to tell him that we were only a few minutes away from recovering her alive tonight?"
Dick sucked air in between his teeth. "Fuck," he muttered, turning away to glare over the expanse of the Cave. "I hate it when you're right."
Bruce didn't respond, didn't even move from where he stood-tense, still resting his clenched fist against the console. Dick stared blankly for a while, the silence stretching between them until he exhaled heavily and pinched his nose. "All right," he said finally. "Could you tell-how long they'd been there?"
"Not more than a day or two," he replied with a faint frown. "They've been moving around."
"Are you sure it was that close? A matter of minutes? You don't think maybe they just-moved on again?"
"The light bulbs were still warm."
"Crap," Dick muttered. He scowled at the water bottle again. "Did they leave anything that can tell us who they are? Where they went?"
"Just that," he said, nodding at the bottle in Dick's hand. "I have no idea where they went, but if they left fingerprints on that bottle, I'll sure as Hell know who they are."
Dick tossed the bottle and caught it again, shooting Bruce a grim smile. "What are we waiting for?"
"What are you waiting for?" a voice asked from behind him. Dick turned to see Kon entering the Cave-alone, thankfully. He faltered momentarily on the bottom step. Dick glanced behind him to witness the smoldering glare Bruce was leveling at him and turned around again in time to see Kon set his shoulders and finish climbing the stairs. "I came to see if there's anything I can do," he said.
"There isn't," Bruce said shortly. "How long have you been there?"
Kon shrugged. "Long enough to walk down the stairs? I heard something about fingerprints."
Bruce shot him a dark look. "Find someplace else to be, Kon."
Kon clenched his jaw and straightened his shoulders. "I want to help," he argued. "I can't just-Tim's sleeping, or pretending to and Bart keeps watching the news-I need to do something."
"Go see if Clark needs help in Metropolis, then."
Kon started. "Metropolis?" His frown deepened and he took a step forward. "No."
"Kon," Bruce said through gritted teeth, his voice a warning.
"I can help," he snapped. "No one's letting me, but I can!" He clenched his jaw again and scowled. "Cissie's my family, too," he ground out.
Bruce arched an eyebrow at him. "How can you help, Kon?"
"Give me something to do, I'll do it!" Kon opened and closed his hands in fists at his side. He looked at Dick and continued, "I can't sit with Tim and watch him do that to himself anymore-I'll go crazy, I swear I will. And if I have to watch another second of Bart's goddamn news programs-I don't care, just let me do something."
Bruce opened his mouth to object again, but Dick cut across him. "What we talk about tonight never leaves here, you got that, Kon? You don't tell Tim, or Bart, or Cassie, or anyone, are we clear?"
Kon's eyes widened and he paled a little, but nodded. "Absolutely."
Dick nodded sharply. "Good. Now get over here, and we'll fill you in on what we're doing as we go along."
Kon nodded rapidly, crossing the Cave quickly to Dick's side and doing his best to stay out of Bruce's way. Bruce took back the water bottle and began dusting it for fingerprints while Dick filled Kon in on the night's events. He scowled at the bottle, even as Bruce lifted another print. "So-where are they now?"
"We don't know," Dick admitted. He watched Bruce begin running the prints through the database.
"Damn," Kon mumbled. "Where will you look tomorrow, then?"
Dick shot him a narrow look. "Where do you think we should look?"
Kon bit his lip, frowning. "Well-you've covered most of Gotham by now, right?"
He nodded. "Yes-though we suspect they've been moving around all along."
"Hmm." Kon watched the computer run through possible print matches for a minute before hesitantly speaking again. "Well-if I knew Batman was after me, and that close? I'd get the Hell outta Dodge." He looked up at Dick. "I'd skip town."
Bruce made a noise at the back of his throat and Dick kicked him-perhaps a little harder than was strictly necessary. He turned his attention back to Kon. "You have a captive-and you don't want to be noticed. Where do you go?"
"If not Gotham?" Kon muttered dryly. He thought for a moment and grimaced. "Blüdhaven."
Dick's eyebrows shot up. Kon had reached the natural conclusion more quickly than Dick thought he would. "I think… you might be right." He didn't want to think about what that might mean for Cissie.
Kon exhaled slowly, looking pale and distressed. He glanced up and met Dick's gaze. "I was afraid you'd say that."
Bruce turned in his chair to regard Kon evenly. "I take it you know what it means."
Kon swallowed, his frown deepening. "Yeah, I do," he said shortly. "I know it means we have to find her. Soon."
"It means they're planning to kill her," Bruce said flatly. "Blüdhaven is where Gotham criminals go to dump bodies these days."
Kon winced, paling. "I know," he muttered.
Dick dropped a hand on Kon's shoulder and frowned at Bruce. "It means we're going to Blüdhaven."
"When?"
"Tomorrow night-first thing."
~*~