The Recovery - Part One

a/n - this chapter and the next chapter (The Recovery Part Two) are gonna get a little weird. but it's a good weird. there will be a note at the end of this chapter, so please read that. anyways my snowflakes : happy reading, comment, vote, and may the odds ever be in Mara's favor.


Β°six weeks laterΒ°


β–‘Maraβ–‘


The last few weeks have been hell to say the least. I was discharged after two weeks in the hospital, and then was told to recover at home.


Not a lot of schoolwork was given to me during this period of weeks, so I guess that wasn't hell. Just reading some lessons and watching videos over what we've gone over. But only the important stuff, Dick told me. Plus the homework assignment that were more important as well.


The hell that I'm talking about is the pain and the pain meds.


It's harder to breath, talk, and even sit. Every breath I take is short and choppy, leading to my words being cut off randomly, and my sentences being small. Even if I'm sitting, it hurts. The pain surrounds my ribcage, around my back, and even electrifies up and down my spine whenever I go upstairs.


It sucks.


And now I have to go up the spiral stairs, to my room. I stare at them for a while, just standing and thinking.


I could just stare at them long enough until I magically appear in my room.


Or I could ask someone to carry me, but that's embarrassing and stupid. I'm hurt, not dead.


Or I could just go up the damned stairs, and face the pain.


I think my best option is the third one. So, I start my long journey up the spiral stairs.


"Sister, take it slow. You should not rush, as you could injure yourself more, and we need you healthy." Damian's pestering voice rings through the large staircase, and I roll my eyes.


He has literally never left me alone since I got home. Granted, at least one of my brothers and Alfred have always been at home with me, but that doesn't mean he's got to be around me twenty four seven.


I was told this Manor was the safest place in Gotham. I don't need personal body guards as I go to the freaking bathroom.


Seriously, Damian stands a couple feet away from the bathroom door and paces my room until I get out, and then goes to the room next to mine until I head somewhere else.


It's annoying. And unnerving, but only slightly, just because now I feel even more watched. What with my killer and Damian breathing down my neck, it's getting super creepy.


And I haven't been able to go out of the house because of my killer, which is what's really gotten me all screwed up.


I need to go outside and breath other air, but I'm not even let outside the front steps before Damian yanks me back inside. This goes for the back and the sides too. It's really stupid. And I hate it.


But I guess I'm still alive, so I'll give them that.


"Damian, why are you talking to me?" I ask, stopping myself on the stairs. I'm halfway up the first flight of stairs, from the doorway.


"Sister Mara, I am just trying to protect you."


"Okay, Damian, just hear me out. Don't interrupt me, don't make a face, just listen for once. And use your head. This manor is the absolute safest place in Gotham city. I don't see why I can't just recover in peace without you always following me and breathing down my neck. Also, I AM taking it slow, you're just going too fast for me."


Damian, as always, answers within seconds.


"Sister, I am not breathing down your neck. All I am doing is watching you, making sure you aren't shot in the head from your killer."


"Oh my god, did you NOT hear what I JUST said?! This is the safest place in Gotham why would they come HERE-"


Shit.


Okay, here's two things you need to know about the next three seconds.


One, I was wrong.


And two - it's my favorite form of humiliation - I had impeccable timing.


Because then three ear shattering noises came crashing through the window.


Suddenly Damian's covering me with his medium frame, half dragging half sprinting as I'm still confused on what the hell that noise was. I hear more noises like that when I realize they aren't plates hitting the floor. Alfred's not home, so he wouldn't be in the kitchen. And other than that, it's just me and Damian here. So the best possible explanation to those sounds are gunshots.


They went through the window. The pain surges through my body, my heartbeat off the charts, my legs feeling like they're on fire, and my whole upper body - Jesus, you know what, my whole upper body isn't even a thing anymore.


My head pounding, my ears ringing, everything just hurts so damned bad. And everything keeps going in and out as me and Damian move through the house. I can feel myself starting to slip and slow down; my body is failing me.


My breathing is barely recognizable, as it sounds like I'm dying - it's just inhaling like I'm choking, and exhaling like I'm coughing.


My legs dip out, I'm falling towards the hardwood floor, I feel a sharp prick that quickly laces my right arm with searing white hot pain, and then the ground meets my face.


β™ οΈŽN.J.Jβ™ οΈŽ


You know, all this chaos and confusion is a lot more fun when she knows me. Knows what I'm doing, to be more specific. What I'm after.


My niece, whom I'm talking about, is a very pleasant young lady, accept I hate her. Okay, I don't hate her - hate is a very strong word. I just...dislike her. A lot.


But that's okay, because I'll have my fun with her when the time comes. That will be in just a little bit now.


My kid on the other hand, my little birdie, she hates that whole side of the family. But at least she doesn't have to deal with them all the time, as I do. Though I do make it all fun and games.


Their always out doing something, going places, protecting people. It's tragic. Seriously - not seriously - after what I did to one of them, they should've backed off. But I guess they didn't. Didn't learn their lesson either.


So today, as usual, I'm headed to a certain someone's grave. I go to his grave, lay down a lovely flower and a note, and wait for my dearest brother to come and pick it up. He drives by this graveyard everyday, so I can go whenever I please.


And then, he usually picks up the card, flowers, and burns them. That's why my little birdie hates them. Hates him. He burns my flowers and cards, my only expression of gratitude.


So now today we wait once again, but not from a distance. No, I want to see him today. Face to face. Have a little chit chat with my little brother. I left my birdie at home with my dearest queen, where they do as they please.


I spin, facing the man who stares at me. I heard him before I saw him. A smile grows on my face, while his frown grows deeper.


"Why - "


He doesn't let me finish, he just attacks me. I'm on the ground before I know it, laughing. A deep growl escapes him, and he just starts talking away, whilst gripping my shoulders harder. You know, if it weren't for him specifically being on top, I would've enjoyed this!


"What the hell do you think you doing here?!" I laugh some more at his question, but he then starts punching me.


Bad idea.


Seriously.


...


Just kidding.



HA. HA. HA.


I whip out a knife, stab him in the side quickly, then bring it up to his face, and make a small cut right where I want it. He shifts, blood starting to ooze out of the wounds. Then, I knee him where it hurts, slam my forehead into his, and shove him off of me.


Standing up now, I put my hands up in surrender. He's up just as quickly, accept with the slightest of a lean to his left, the side with the wound. My knife drops to the grassy ground, and I smile.


"See? I'm just here to talk."


He shakes his head, hands making their way inside his dark black trenchcoat. I sigh for his obvious stupidity.


"I wouldn't do that. Wouldn't want our little girl to die now would we?" I taunt, knowing exactly what buttons to push and exactly not pushing them.


His face stays the same, and he stands completely still. He blinks a couple of times and then both hands drop to his sides. I smile once more.


"That's a good little birdie - oh I mean Ba - "


"You have thirty-"


"Seconds? Yeah I know. Your pretty repetitive my brother, you truly are -"


"I'm not your brother."


"Fine, whatever. I just wanted to ask a favor. Well, more a statement. Give me Mara, and we won't have a problem. I'll call my men off, and we'll leave this city forever. With Mara of course." I finish, leaning from one side to the other, giving a little character to my ultimatum.


"No."


Well, quick as always.


"Then I kill her."


"That's not going to happen."


"Okay."


And I walk away, leaving Bruce Wayne standing there. Mara, my dearest niece, is already dead. Or close to dead. Left for dead. Something along those lines.


Either way, I'm not going to make it any farther. Bruce is going to ask another question, and I'm going to answer with a question too. But my question, well, it'll rattle him.


"You think you can stop me?"


B


I


N


G


O


.


G O T C H A.


I stop, chuckle, smile. Then I'm dead silent for a moment, building the tension.


"Hey, doesn't Damian hate guns?"


And then I disappear, leaving him with that wonderful inquiry.









a/n - so, uh, you might have a few guesses as to who N.J.J is >:) also, I wrote this chapter the way I did to show how N.J.J's brain thinks through scenarios, and to show how far off the rocker he is. also, I don't think the odds will be in Mara's favor ... yikes! 😬

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