(FIC) Kisses leaving scars (Gotham, Batfamily, PG)
Only two more ficlets to go from the music meme after this! (I KNOW, I'M SLOWWW). There shall be Clone Batman fic, because he broke my heart. I can't believe these have taken me so long... anyway.
Title: Kisses leaving scars
Rating: PG
Characters: Gotham, Dick, Steph, Jason, Babs, Tim, Cass, Damian, Selina and Bruce.
Word Count: 1900+
Summary: Gotham is the mother of all the strays. She's not easy to please.
For starsandsea and the song 'Leif Erikson' by Interpol. Beta by the ever wondrous mithen, all other mistakes are mine, all mine! BWHAHAHA!
The night closes around him. Shadows reach for him as he runs, inky fingers trying to hold him as he jumps, somersaults through from one building to the next. The darkness never grabs him, instead, it's always just behind him, pushing him forward. Half the time the city stalks him, gets in his way, watches him. The other half she carries him, cradles him like a baby in her arms, hushing his wails when he cries, loving whispers like the breeze at the docks.
But when he runs -when he's dressed in darkness himself, black for her deepest shadows and the ties that bind him to his almost-father, and blue for his hope, his heart, a brilliant flame that's fueled by laughter, the careless tumble of strangers in her streets- he has no reason to wail, no reason to cry. He's free, flying, jumping without a net, a dangerous game that he never stops to think about twice. He flies like the alien, the one that does-not-belong, the one that painted wonder in the heart of this adopted son of Gotham.
She pushes him and holds him and follows him with darkness in her heart. She knows he's not fully hers, and sometimes she doesn't even care and treats him like a son, a loving mother to her oldest nightingale. Sometimes she resents him for not giving in to her, for not embracing her and protecting her and it drives her a little mad. Stern and cold, she's a rebuffed lover, and she hurts him, makes him bleed and drives him out of town.
Even when she hates him, she loves him. She could never let him go.
---
She's a daughter of her madness, and for that alone she feels a little rueful, sometimes. But much like the city, she's strong and resilient, and she has laughter in her eyes even when death is staring back at her. A curtain of bright blond hair falls over borrowed armors, but she defies definition and refuses to be told who to be, what to become. She borrows their faces, their movements, their strength and she makes them her own.
When she is herself, she glides over pain with grace and compassion, and she soothes the wounds of the city with her joy for life, her taste for danger. When she borrows the passion of others the city tempts her, distracts her, plays with her like a cat with a mouse. She's still pliable and hopeful and Gotham loves her children, loves their dedication to hope. This daughter is not devoted to pain, but she will acknowledge it, will bring out a smile to the grieving. She is not wonder and laughter, but she carries wonder and laughter in her heart, and the city embraces her, her hands strong as she holds this daughter to her, her lips red with blood as she kisses her forehead when she puts her to bed at the first light of dawn.
---
Downtown Gotham is a grid of great stone buildings, their Gothic and Neo Classic facades interspacing with modern and contemporary works of steel and glass. Her streets are concrete, asphalt, the kingdom of cars and motorbikes, but there's also cobbled streets, brick paved streets, streets made for walking.
In her alleys, in her dilapidated buildings, in her abandoned warehouses, in the lonely piers, she hides night blooms of hope, left there almost carelessly, waiting to be found, waiting to give solace to a broken soul. In seedy bars, in forgotten red zones, she hands out a few honest smiles, pearls of laughter echoing in the darkness. Even the lost have a place in Gotham. Especially the lost.
Jason dances a dangerous piece, balancing on the tip of the blade in her hands. Sometimes he falls down, and no matter if she reaches to catch him, he'll get cut. He'll bleed, self defense wounds pouring scarlet as he tries to hold on. But sometimes he doesn't fall, sometimes he balances there, at the tip of her blade, like an angel of death on the head of a pin. He wanders, he's looking for answers, but he's not lost and is asking the right questions, the only questions worth asking.
There are no answers for those.
He fell into the darkness of forever-sleep, to the embrace of the timeless stones and the ever present winds, he drowned in the immortal tide. He doesn't remember it, doesn't remember her, but when he died she held him to her bosom and told him about the secrets of the night.
There is no madness in his eyes, only the clarity of her voice, ringing forever in his ears, fanning the fire inside him and urging him on.
---
In the spaces between buildings, in the alleys and the streets, there are places made for flying. Young and old, she teaches her children how to fly, how to open their wings and reach her skies.
She loves this daughter in a special way, gives her access to her secret corners, to the whispered confessions and fears. She taught her how to fly, gave her wings to soar, and in a moment of madness, of laughing scarlet and mirthless white, she took them from her.
Gotham regrets nothing. She's a spoiled child, a proud maiden, a fickle lover, a stubborn mother, a watchful crone. She took her wings but not her ability to fly, and she's proud of her. She smiles at the fall of fiery hair and the glint of emerald eyes each time she takes off, reaching for the sky, leaving behind her heavy body and the betrayals of the flesh.
---
Gotham knows all about broken dreams and bitter hopes, but she's mastered the art of turning them into faceted jewels of pain, into cold blades and precision tools to dissect secrets and lies. She's done what she's fancied with this son of hers, took him tumbling into the night, following dreams and childhood visions of wonder. She taught him to listen, to see beyond faces, to hear beyond words.
And then she saw him be beaten by the world outside, saw him stripped bare until only pain and danger remained, the road to madness open to him in every direction. She put a hand to his dark hair, put her lips to his temple and took his father away from him as well.
She could deal with pain. And she could deal with hope.
Long before he knew he would need another one, she had found him a family. She found him a love, found him a string of lovers, but her son turned them away. She smiles, because this is how it goes, this is how it is. They already have her, there is no place for any other.
There is no corner of their hearts that she doesn't know, that she doesn't own. But because she loves them back -oh, she loves them very much- she finds them what they need, makes room for others in their hearts.
It's only when they leave her, when they leave Gotham, that she turns jealous and tears them apart.
---
It's not easy, to belong to the city. Many leave disheartened because they don't understand her, they fear her, they think her only stone and glass and steel. The people that belong to Gotham never leave, can't leave. The strangers that belong to Gotham find their way to her, hear her calling like a siren's song.
She came to Gotham running, like a child to her mother's arms.She took her in, embraced her, connected her. She had already been baptized in blood, so she baptized her with love and laughter. She found her a family, friends, joy. Made a place for her among the madness and the chaos, between the hectic life of the big city and the excitement of the night.
She became her daughter. Hers, and hers alone.
When she couldn't give up her past, Gotham drove her insane. When she couldn't forget the blood on her hands, when the blood on her hands became more important than the blood in her streets, she set her adrift. Negated her. Closed her heart to her, closed the city walls against her, and her children forgot about Cassandra, about her black hair, her brown eyes, her hands that could kill but would not.
Gotham cannot be denied.
But Gotham also forgives, always forgives. With a mortal caress, with a stabbing kiss, she forgives and forgets. With blood in her heart she takes her children back, takes her daughter back, embraces her and welcomes her to the pits of her darkness. She leaves her alone to play with the shadows until the chaos subdues and the open skies remember her again.
---
He is blood of her blood. His flesh is Other, but his eyes belong to her. Gotham is full of legacies, of families that go back generations. Her soil is a magnet that pulls at the iron in their blood. To belong to Gotham is to truly belong, to know her streets and her corners. To belong to Gotham is to weather her winters, cold and harsh, and to survive her summers, the heat and the storms. To belong to Gotham is to have a home, an anchoring of the soul.
No one belongs to Gotham if they don't want to. There must be a calling, a void in their hearts, some place that needs filling where the city can nest and become part of them so they can become part of her.
Damian doesn't belong to Gotham. But he flirts with her, he jumps and runs and fights. He builds for her -for the Mission, which is just another name for her as far as she's concerned, and she has had so many names- and he fights for her. But he can stop if he wants to, and that makes him fun to flirt with, a playmate that makes her laugh with his intensity and his devotion.
Gotham indulges him, gives him shadows to hide in, roofs to run in, wind to carry him. She favors him, tempts him. Damian doesn't belong to her yet, but he will. It only takes a moment to fall in love with her.
---
All strays are children of the city. She feeds them, keeps them hidden, keeps them warm. When it's cold, she covers them with eternal sleep and spares them the pain. When they die, she buries them in her entrails, devours their pain, keeps them company.
All cats are masters of the city, or so they claim. She makes her bargains with them, lets them roam and keeps an eye for them as long as they always return home and share their heat with her when she's cold and lonely.
All strays become family, and that's perhaps what her children have failed to grasp. They become pack, the ties of hardships and loneliness stronger than blood. Strangers become brothers and sisters, enemies become lovers and confidants. Strays only have themselves, and the streets, and each other. Anything else they might want, they have to steal or make for themselves, be it food or shelter or purpose, happiness and love.
They own the alleys, the fire escapes, the rooftops and the streets. They make their own rules, they offer her sacrifice. They are her jesters and her knights, her willful children, the joy of her heart.
She will break them and make them anew. And if the world shatters them, she will mend them, wounds knitting closed with fog and moonlight, her caresses like whispers, her kisses leaving scars.
Title: Kisses leaving scars
Rating: PG
Characters: Gotham, Dick, Steph, Jason, Babs, Tim, Cass, Damian, Selina and Bruce.
Word Count: 1900+
Summary: Gotham is the mother of all the strays. She's not easy to please.
For starsandsea and the song 'Leif Erikson' by Interpol. Beta by the ever wondrous mithen, all other mistakes are mine, all mine! BWHAHAHA!
The night closes around him. Shadows reach for him as he runs, inky fingers trying to hold him as he jumps, somersaults through from one building to the next. The darkness never grabs him, instead, it's always just behind him, pushing him forward. Half the time the city stalks him, gets in his way, watches him. The other half she carries him, cradles him like a baby in her arms, hushing his wails when he cries, loving whispers like the breeze at the docks.
But when he runs -when he's dressed in darkness himself, black for her deepest shadows and the ties that bind him to his almost-father, and blue for his hope, his heart, a brilliant flame that's fueled by laughter, the careless tumble of strangers in her streets- he has no reason to wail, no reason to cry. He's free, flying, jumping without a net, a dangerous game that he never stops to think about twice. He flies like the alien, the one that does-not-belong, the one that painted wonder in the heart of this adopted son of Gotham.
She pushes him and holds him and follows him with darkness in her heart. She knows he's not fully hers, and sometimes she doesn't even care and treats him like a son, a loving mother to her oldest nightingale. Sometimes she resents him for not giving in to her, for not embracing her and protecting her and it drives her a little mad. Stern and cold, she's a rebuffed lover, and she hurts him, makes him bleed and drives him out of town.
Even when she hates him, she loves him. She could never let him go.
---
She's a daughter of her madness, and for that alone she feels a little rueful, sometimes. But much like the city, she's strong and resilient, and she has laughter in her eyes even when death is staring back at her. A curtain of bright blond hair falls over borrowed armors, but she defies definition and refuses to be told who to be, what to become. She borrows their faces, their movements, their strength and she makes them her own.
When she is herself, she glides over pain with grace and compassion, and she soothes the wounds of the city with her joy for life, her taste for danger. When she borrows the passion of others the city tempts her, distracts her, plays with her like a cat with a mouse. She's still pliable and hopeful and Gotham loves her children, loves their dedication to hope. This daughter is not devoted to pain, but she will acknowledge it, will bring out a smile to the grieving. She is not wonder and laughter, but she carries wonder and laughter in her heart, and the city embraces her, her hands strong as she holds this daughter to her, her lips red with blood as she kisses her forehead when she puts her to bed at the first light of dawn.
---
Downtown Gotham is a grid of great stone buildings, their Gothic and Neo Classic facades interspacing with modern and contemporary works of steel and glass. Her streets are concrete, asphalt, the kingdom of cars and motorbikes, but there's also cobbled streets, brick paved streets, streets made for walking.
In her alleys, in her dilapidated buildings, in her abandoned warehouses, in the lonely piers, she hides night blooms of hope, left there almost carelessly, waiting to be found, waiting to give solace to a broken soul. In seedy bars, in forgotten red zones, she hands out a few honest smiles, pearls of laughter echoing in the darkness. Even the lost have a place in Gotham. Especially the lost.
Jason dances a dangerous piece, balancing on the tip of the blade in her hands. Sometimes he falls down, and no matter if she reaches to catch him, he'll get cut. He'll bleed, self defense wounds pouring scarlet as he tries to hold on. But sometimes he doesn't fall, sometimes he balances there, at the tip of her blade, like an angel of death on the head of a pin. He wanders, he's looking for answers, but he's not lost and is asking the right questions, the only questions worth asking.
There are no answers for those.
He fell into the darkness of forever-sleep, to the embrace of the timeless stones and the ever present winds, he drowned in the immortal tide. He doesn't remember it, doesn't remember her, but when he died she held him to her bosom and told him about the secrets of the night.
There is no madness in his eyes, only the clarity of her voice, ringing forever in his ears, fanning the fire inside him and urging him on.
---
In the spaces between buildings, in the alleys and the streets, there are places made for flying. Young and old, she teaches her children how to fly, how to open their wings and reach her skies.
She loves this daughter in a special way, gives her access to her secret corners, to the whispered confessions and fears. She taught her how to fly, gave her wings to soar, and in a moment of madness, of laughing scarlet and mirthless white, she took them from her.
Gotham regrets nothing. She's a spoiled child, a proud maiden, a fickle lover, a stubborn mother, a watchful crone. She took her wings but not her ability to fly, and she's proud of her. She smiles at the fall of fiery hair and the glint of emerald eyes each time she takes off, reaching for the sky, leaving behind her heavy body and the betrayals of the flesh.
---
Gotham knows all about broken dreams and bitter hopes, but she's mastered the art of turning them into faceted jewels of pain, into cold blades and precision tools to dissect secrets and lies. She's done what she's fancied with this son of hers, took him tumbling into the night, following dreams and childhood visions of wonder. She taught him to listen, to see beyond faces, to hear beyond words.
And then she saw him be beaten by the world outside, saw him stripped bare until only pain and danger remained, the road to madness open to him in every direction. She put a hand to his dark hair, put her lips to his temple and took his father away from him as well.
She could deal with pain. And she could deal with hope.
Long before he knew he would need another one, she had found him a family. She found him a love, found him a string of lovers, but her son turned them away. She smiles, because this is how it goes, this is how it is. They already have her, there is no place for any other.
There is no corner of their hearts that she doesn't know, that she doesn't own. But because she loves them back -oh, she loves them very much- she finds them what they need, makes room for others in their hearts.
It's only when they leave her, when they leave Gotham, that she turns jealous and tears them apart.
---
It's not easy, to belong to the city. Many leave disheartened because they don't understand her, they fear her, they think her only stone and glass and steel. The people that belong to Gotham never leave, can't leave. The strangers that belong to Gotham find their way to her, hear her calling like a siren's song.
She came to Gotham running, like a child to her mother's arms.She took her in, embraced her, connected her. She had already been baptized in blood, so she baptized her with love and laughter. She found her a family, friends, joy. Made a place for her among the madness and the chaos, between the hectic life of the big city and the excitement of the night.
She became her daughter. Hers, and hers alone.
When she couldn't give up her past, Gotham drove her insane. When she couldn't forget the blood on her hands, when the blood on her hands became more important than the blood in her streets, she set her adrift. Negated her. Closed her heart to her, closed the city walls against her, and her children forgot about Cassandra, about her black hair, her brown eyes, her hands that could kill but would not.
Gotham cannot be denied.
But Gotham also forgives, always forgives. With a mortal caress, with a stabbing kiss, she forgives and forgets. With blood in her heart she takes her children back, takes her daughter back, embraces her and welcomes her to the pits of her darkness. She leaves her alone to play with the shadows until the chaos subdues and the open skies remember her again.
---
He is blood of her blood. His flesh is Other, but his eyes belong to her. Gotham is full of legacies, of families that go back generations. Her soil is a magnet that pulls at the iron in their blood. To belong to Gotham is to truly belong, to know her streets and her corners. To belong to Gotham is to weather her winters, cold and harsh, and to survive her summers, the heat and the storms. To belong to Gotham is to have a home, an anchoring of the soul.
No one belongs to Gotham if they don't want to. There must be a calling, a void in their hearts, some place that needs filling where the city can nest and become part of them so they can become part of her.
Damian doesn't belong to Gotham. But he flirts with her, he jumps and runs and fights. He builds for her -for the Mission, which is just another name for her as far as she's concerned, and she has had so many names- and he fights for her. But he can stop if he wants to, and that makes him fun to flirt with, a playmate that makes her laugh with his intensity and his devotion.
Gotham indulges him, gives him shadows to hide in, roofs to run in, wind to carry him. She favors him, tempts him. Damian doesn't belong to her yet, but he will. It only takes a moment to fall in love with her.
---
All strays are children of the city. She feeds them, keeps them hidden, keeps them warm. When it's cold, she covers them with eternal sleep and spares them the pain. When they die, she buries them in her entrails, devours their pain, keeps them company.
All cats are masters of the city, or so they claim. She makes her bargains with them, lets them roam and keeps an eye for them as long as they always return home and share their heat with her when she's cold and lonely.
All strays become family, and that's perhaps what her children have failed to grasp. They become pack, the ties of hardships and loneliness stronger than blood. Strangers become brothers and sisters, enemies become lovers and confidants. Strays only have themselves, and the streets, and each other. Anything else they might want, they have to steal or make for themselves, be it food or shelter or purpose, happiness and love.
They own the alleys, the fire escapes, the rooftops and the streets. They make their own rules, they offer her sacrifice. They are her jesters and her knights, her willful children, the joy of her heart.
She will break them and make them anew. And if the world shatters them, she will mend them, wounds knitting closed with fog and moonlight, her caresses like whispers, her kisses leaving scars.