NO CELESTIAL / dick grayson

fourteen, what we are

WHEN REMIEL WENT down to the Batcave the next morning (or afternoon, since it was basically twelve), Barbara was sat next to Cecily's cell, the two girls deep in discussion. Barbara swiped away at the holographic screen before her, and Cecily's eyes were fixed on it too.

Remiel raised a brow as she strolled over.

"Your friend here is good at technology," Barbara said admiringly.

"Nothing to do with me, I assure you," Remiel said, tilting her head. "Did the League teach you?"

"Self-learnt," Cecily said with a shrug. "There were times when I went months without a single mission. Had to do something with my time."

"How's the leg?" Remiel asked, handing Barbara a cup of coffee. Extra black, the way she liked it. Alfred had asked her to bring it down.

Barbara took it appreciatively. "A waste of talent if you don't do something with all that, Cecily."

Barbara was taking Cecily under her wing. Remiel could already foresee the future off that one sentence. Perhaps it wasn't the worst thing in the world. It would certainly keep Cecily out of trouble, give her a better life, provide her a different kind of path ahead.

She'd encourage Cecily towards that path.

She'd be comfortable, fully comfortable with leaving Cecily in Barbara's care. She trusted Barbara with her life, though the two girls hadn't spent much time together since Remiel had gotten back. They hadn't had the time, simply put.

She and Barbara didn't have the same kind of rift between them. There were no hard feelings, nothing overcomplicated. They had been friends. Good friends. But not the kind where Remiel's departure felt like true betrayal. It did not feel like, to Barbara, that Remiel had twisted a knife deep into her heart. It might have stung, but it was the kind of pain that disappeared the moment Remiel reappeared again. An annoyance, but nothing worth being explained or dealt with.

But at the same time Remiel felt guilty. Remiel felt an overwhelming sense of guilt at not having been here during Barbara's toughest hours, and for being unable to give an answer now.

But at the same time, Barbara didn't seem like she was seeking an answer in the first place. She just seemed to... understand. She just always seemed to understand everything without a word needing to be said. It was always so easy being around people like Barbara, who always knew what to and what not to say. You didn't need to worry about being judged, didn't have to worry about being asked questions you didn't know the answers to. She made people at ease. Around her, Remiel was never tense. At the worst moments, Remiel never doubted that Barbara would take her in and put everything down to help her if she decided to ask for it. But Remiel never did.

She didn't want to feel like she was using Barbara. And she couldn't offer anything back in return.

"Well, I won't bother you two, then," Remiel hummed.

Bruce was up too, near one of the workbenches, out of sight from Cecily's line of vision. He glanced up as she approached, offering the slightest of a nod.

"Bruce."

"Remiel."

"Has there been any news from the League? At all? Either Deathstroke or the al Ghuls?"

"I'd tell you if I had any," Bruce replied. "Nothing so far. How's your search for the Lazarus Pit?"

Remiel hissed. "I don't even know if it's in Gotham. It's a pointless quest, Bruce. We're just grasping at straws here, I hope you know that. I'll continue trying to look for it, but I doubt I'll even succeed."