Gotham's Angel of death

Helpless

Brianna's POV

My hands fly up to grip the helmet hugging my head, and I pull it off quickly feeling a sting in my ears after the motion. As I walk I set it on a metal table, not paying attention to anything else.
My mind was running wild, and I didn't know what to do with myself.

So many emotions and feelings.
So many thoughts screaming.
So many memories surfacing.

Passing by Bruce, Tim, and Dick, that all stood around the computer, I hear there voices– but I can't make out any words.
It's like I had wax ear plugs in and I was numb in the sense.
My instincts had taken over. To process, to survive— to plan.

I need quiet.

I jog towards the exit of the bat cave leading to the dining hall, and I take a right to go to the training room— or gym, whatever the hell Bruce and Dick like to call it.
When I get a glimpse of Damian also in the room I acknowledge him with a nod but nothing else. I try and make my way to my punching bag, but I don't make it that far. Before I could even grab my gloves I feel a tug on my wrist and in retaliation my right hand thrusts to the side. But I didn't feel any weight hit my arm, meaning they got out of the way just in time.

Turning my head I see a person I hadn't expected.

"Spar with me."

5 minutes ago~ change in POV

Bruce's eyes are glued to the screen as he plays back the fit age taken from security cameras, that were lined up around the building where Jason and Brianna had just fought together. The click of a mouse it rapid as he replays certain parts, saves some, and zooms in on certain images.

While Tim is nibbling on his thumbs cuticle, waiting in anticipation for his best friend to drive around the corner, no doubt in some sort of mood. He was preparing for all as he paced.

Dick Grayson however sat still as a stone. Which was an odd sight to see. Normally he was almost as fidgety as someone with ADHD. Bruce had even gotten him checked as a child, doctors however said it wasn't the case. Dick apparently just always want to move.
But at the moment he wasn't moving as all. Not pacing like the younger bird, not a slight fiddling of a pencil, or even the tapping of a finger or foot.
He was still.

And in the kitchen was the Butler. Alfred was quite antsy as well, he was stubborn enough to make himself prepare dinner. Somewhat in hopes to calm the atmosphere, wanting desperately for a normal— okay abnormally normal— family dinner.

Damian was irritated with being in the unknown and currently was taking his frustrations out in the training room, throwing daggers at varied targets— hitting the goal every time.

But everyone's positions changed once she drives in.
Within seconds everyone shifts, even for a second, just to see her walk by.

Bruce watched as she moved towards the exit, knowing it would be unwise to speak. He had a job to do. One that she gave him.
Not to mention he knew it wasn't his place. There was someone better for the job. So he would stick to his, and do his very best to help in the way he knew how.
Catching people.

Tim had stopped in his step, also watching as she passes by, and when she's merely five feet from him his mouth opens and he asks a question so soft he has to repeat himself— but even then she doesn't seem to pay any kind.
"Anna do you need to talk–?"
Not overly shocked, or fond, of her reaction he set his eyes on one of his many thought out plans he had set up with varied scenarios in his mind. He knew that face, that walk, and the speed in which she moved.
She couldn't decide what she felt, and she was going to decide.
Tim just hoped it was more positive then what he expected.