April Yang and Dick Grayson share deep-rooted connections to Gotham, even if they prefer not to give them much thought and keep their emotions to themselves. When Dick turns up in Devon City, where April works towards becoming a surgeon, she inevita...
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April took a life for the first time when she was only fourteen.
She was never a violent child. Weird? Sure. Obsessively interested in human anatomy? Sure—but she could never harm a soul. She would always put out a shallow bowl with water for the stray cats to drink, and would sometimes adopt injured butterflies if even for the mere two days they would manage to survive.
This act—killing—back then, didn't feel like it belonged to her. It didn't belong to April's hands. The same ones that had the ability to nurse others to health, and the hands she used to wave to her few friends.
The same ones were holding onto the gun she had been given. So hard, so desperately, that her skin had broken as she dug in her nails.
It wasn't her choice to use that particular weapon. She was trained to bear swords—katanas—and knives, and maybe a rope if necessary. Primarily, though, her body was groomed to be the weapon. The gun felt strange in her grasps, almost as if it wanted to slip away and find itself a better bearer.
But she took the shot. It was quick; She hit the aorta just barely but enough for the man to choke on his screams. He was dying whilst the party went on in his own mansion, not that anyone was surprised that such a nasty man had been killed.
He was a bad man, Pamela would tell April, and she believed her. How could she not? She was just a child with hands that of a cunning snake and mind sharp as a blade. Her heart, though, was all over the place until Pamela put it back together to her own liking.
"I have to kill him now, don't I?"
Dick wasn't a bad man. He was at the wrong place at the wrong time, but he wasn't wrong.
Noah made an apologetic face. It was dark again. They sat on opposite sides of their round table, wagering a life that was not theirs.
"He's seen you, April," Noah said reluctantly. "I saw it in his eyes—he was pretty lucid when you were dragging him."
He was indeed, and April knew that. She had looked into his eyes when the car was burning, promising herself that it will be the last time, that after destroying this piece of evidence she would disappear into Devon's shadows.
"I'm sorry." April hid her face in her hands, shielding her eyes from the world. "I can't."
"Sure you can." Noah reached out for her elbow, trying to comfort her somehow. "I'll help you. It will be over before you know it."
This wasn't even a job—it was an afterthought. A whim.
"We don't even know if they have a serious lead," she tried to argue. Noah nodded.
