I want to start out with an apology. I completely abandoned this series due to some real life issues, and it has taken me this long to get interested again. Updating may be a little slow, but I do have quite a storyline to get through. If, for some reason, things go weird again, I will let you know, and possibly open the series up for another author to take over.

Also, this series is directly connected to the previous stories in the Exile storyline. In fact, most of this story has been sitting on my hard drive for a while. My writing style may have changed a little, but it should flow pretty well. You are going to want to read the previous Exile stories, if you haven’t yet.

I’ve been out of comics for a while, and pretty much everything that has happened in DCU since 2003 hasn’t happened in my world and probably won’t. Anything that I choose to work in will be different. Which from what I can tell, is probably a good thing. Damien who? Cass did WHAT!?

DISCLAIMER: Everything belongs to DC, who with all their money from Dark Knight, really shouldn’t bother chasing after me… regardless, this is intended for enjoyment (mine, mostly) and I am not making any money off of the use of DC’s characters.

Chapter 1: Rituals

I woke up with the oh so wonderful feeling of sunlight streaming right into my eyes. Even my mind was sarcastic this morning. That did not, generally, bode well for the rest of my day.

I rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom for a shower. I was stiff. You would think that you would use roughly the same muscles for running and martial arts than you do for acrobatics and roof wandering, but apparently not. Still, the soreness was not unbearable, and unfortunately, it was not going to get better until it got more not better.

No, I don’t care to know how badly I just mixed that metaphor.

I needed more sleep. Sleep that I couldn’t allow myself to have. I’d have to settle for coffee, because I needed to practice. I didn’t know exactly what the standards Bruce was going to be holding me to, but although I was certain that my martial arts were up to speed, there were other things that needed some work. Things like getting updated on the current state of affairs in Gotham, catching up on the technological advances of the last three years, and definitely a couple of good acrobatic workouts.

Dick had just plain embarrassed me last night. I was just slow. Acrobatically, he’d always been better than me. In all actuallity, he was better than anyone else in the world, and I wasn’t likely to ever be in his league, but I was disturbingly far behind in comparison to where I had been before leaving Gotham. Oh, I was stronger, and was able to pull some moves that I hadn’t been able to do before, but the reflexive, constant movement of a cross-city dash had shown me some serious holes in my techniques.

Even the shower wasn’t enough to wake me up, since I resisted turning the water to ice cold like I should have. It would have woken me up all right, but I was too much of a wimp. I didn’t even bother drying my hair, it would have taken too long and coffee of the high-octane variety was necessary, and fast.

I made my way downstairs, not surprised in the slightest that the omnipresent Alfred was waiting with a cup of hot, black coffee. I saw him stifle a smile at the look of anticipation that I sent the cup as I wrapped my hands around it. Ahh, caffeine. Feeling somewhat more alive, I managed to make like a normal human being and greet Alfred. “Good morning, and thank you, thank you, thank you for the coffee.”

“Good morning. You are quite welcome. If you prefer a certain brand or strength, please inform me, and I will see to the matter.” Oh. Well, that was nice. I could get used to this, I think.

“Well, if it’s no trouble, I do like it a little stronger and with sugar, but please don’t…” My voice trailed off as my taste buds woke up and I realized that this was no mere coffee, this was the expensive stuff. Bruce Wayne coffee. Ahhh. Heaven on earth.

“It is no trouble at all.” He gave me a slight smile. “Master Bruce recently purchased a coffee maker of the industrial variety. I shall just utilize one of the other pots. Now, breakfast is waiting.” He shooed me toward the dining room. I entered and froze in the doorway. I had forgotten how intimidating some of the manor rooms could be. A football field could have practically fit in the dining room. I about-faced abruptly, and headed for the kitchen.

Alfred looked up in surprise as I entered his domain. I felt kind of embarrassed, but that dining room was just too formal. “Uhhmm, do you mind if I eat in here?”

“Of course not. The dining room can be rather daunting.”

I grinned. Trust Alfred to give me an easy out. “Rather.” Especially when I’m tired. I don’t think that I could relax in that huge room. So, Alfred served me my toast and eggs in the kitchen and I was perfectly content. After finishing, I offered to help around the house but Alfred gave me a glare and informed me that he was perfectly capable of handling matters. I escaped into the cave.

I hadn’t had the chance to talk to Bruce last night, since Dick had left to finish up the night in Bludhaven at about three AM, and I had returned to go to bed, while Bruce probably hadn’t gotten in until five or so. Still, the note that I had left for him on the center console was gone and there was no note to me in its place, so I assumed that everything was fine. He would have told me if he’d had a problem with either the name, or the rough basics of a costume that I had outlined. Very basic, but Bruce was the one with the contacts that could make my general ideas into a workable, useful design.

I made my way to the gym area, and whistled under my breath. This area had been expanded since I’d been gone. It now sported a huge bar set, spanning at least thirty feet and reaching at least two stories into the darkness of the cave. Wires, pipes, and boards were dispersed throughout the maze of bars and I could tell that these could be moved around to create variety in the workout. I grimaced to myself. Something told me I was going to be spending a lot of time on those bars.

But not this morning. I continued on, finally finding what I was looking for. A grate hung from the ceiling about eight feet from the floor. Suspended from it were a variety of punching bags. I leaped up and caught the edge of the grate and pulled myself up. I managed to rearrange three of the lighter bags in the positions that I wanted, a rough triangle, with a three to four foot space in the middle. A few adjustments to the chains and it was perfect.

Dropping back down to ground level, I donned a pair of lightweight protective gloves and stepped into the center of the bags. Darkness fell over my eyes as I pulled a blindfold over my eyes. I stood in the center of my circle and stretched out, touching each of the light bags, feeling them sway as my fingers brushed them. Once I had each one located, I slipped my headphones on and randomized the MP3 player in my pocket.

My workout had originated in Switzerland, actually, where there were exactly two punching bags, three treadmills, and a rowing machine in the gym three miles outside of my school where I snuck out to get some real workout time in. The school mandated “one period a day” of physical education was generally taken up with tennis, polo, or fencing, none of which really kept me in the kind of shape that I wanted to be in. Although, I must admit, fencing had its moments. There had been a bit of trouble keeping anyone interested in a match with me, though.

Those two bags and my MP3 player had become a workout routine that I still found usable and returned too often. I had added the blindfold as soon I was away from Switzerland, and the third bag about six months ago in China. The player had about 700 different audio clips, ranging from loud music and nature sounds, to gunshots and screams. My job was to keep my attention on the bags and keep them moving regardless of the distractions of the various sounds and to do so while blindfolded.

To make matters even more challenging, some of the sounds were command sounds, and told me to do something specific, such as roll if a gunshot was heard, or change my fighting style according to different music clips. As difficult as this workout was, stepping into the center of the bags felt familiar. I couldn’t count the nights that I’d practiced just like this, alone. For the most part, I hadn’t had anyone to spar with, and this was something that I could do alone.

It was a very good physical workout. Unfortunately, I hadn’t done it for quite a while. And since this was a very good workout, my lack of recent practice meant that this was going to hurt. Quite a bit, probably. It’s not like I’m not already sore from last night or anything.

Is it just me or is the phrase, ‘no pain, no gain’ just innately depressing.

The music, well, technically, the sounds of a busy street, started playing in my ear. I started striking two of the bags, and they began to move, swaying in and out based on how much force I put into my blows. I was trusting in my memory and instinct to keep them moving and not slamming into me. They were light, but if swung back and hit me, it would knock the breath out of me and make it that much harder to recover and keep going. The sound changed into a bass heavy trance song and I added the third bag to the mix. I let my mind focus solely on the bags and on keeping them moving.

Minutes passed and I started to get short of breath. Gunshot, duck, roll, whirl, kick, and strike fast to catch that third bag. The chimes that told me to only use my feet until the next command. Back kick, nature sounds, slow it down, disco, speed it up, jazz, on the ground. The movements and sounds began to flow together almost without thought, as muscle memory and practice sharpened instinct took over.

I was getting close to the point of quitting, since my legs were beginning to feel like wet noodles and I was already well past the thirty-minute mark. Not as good as I had been doing overseas, but not too shabby, either.

Suddenly, the first bag slammed into my back, surprising me. What? I’d just hit that one, and… uhhufff! This time it was the third bag and I knew that something was wrong. With one quick move, I yanked the blindfold and headphones from my head. I rolled quickly out of the circle of the bags and grabbed the person who had been sabotaging my practice.

And then, since it was Cass, I was the one who ended up flat on my back. She perched on my chest, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Morning.” She chirped.

I didn’t say a word. I just calmly watched the second bag swing towards the back of her head.

Hey, she started it.

“Oof.” Plus, it didn’t really hurt her, but it did give me the opportunity to push her off of me and switch places with her.

Only then did I grin and answer, “Morning.” I knew that I couldn’t hold her, as winded as I was, so I saved myself the humiliation of being dumped on my butt again, and stood, hand outstretched to help her to her feet. “So, how long were you watching?” That was the definite downside of that particular exercise. Since I was blindfolded and was wearing headphones, anybody could sneak up on me.

Cass stood and grinned back at me. “Since you started.” Oh. Well, maybe she could sneak up on me even when I wasn’t otherwise occupied. Interesting, if a little humiliating. “What you doing now?”

I shrugged. “I don’t really know. I guess I’ll start reviewing some files.” I sniffed. “After I get a shower…”

“Files boring. Come visit Babs with me. She wants to see you.” Cass looked at me expectantly.

Well, that did sound like a lot more fun than files. I thought for a second. I could look at those files later. “You’re on.”

Cass wrinkled her nose at me. “Shower first. I pull out car.”

I nodded and headed for the showers. Then it hit me. Cass was driving? That could be interesting…

Or deadly…

Comments and suggestions and even constructive criticism appreciated. I am shooting for posting at least once a week, maybe more often as time allows.

krtshadow