The first time I can remember a boy taking any interest in me was in the fifth grade. 

I went to a private school on my own, my brothers having been sent off to boarding school. If St Bridget's Girl's School was not in Sunset City I'd imagine I would have ended up miles away as well.

Instead I was allowed to stay home. My dad was rarely around, always working, as well as my mother doing what debutantes do. It meant I had to entertain myself whilst being stuck with the family staff and young siblings.

In the end it was that process that helped me discover my powers, so I suppose I should be slightly grateful.

St Bridget's was the sister school to St Matthew's. Every week classes would meet for some reason, the only opposite gender contact for those who lived at the school.

At that hellhole I was somewhat royalty because of my idiot father. I don't remember any specific friends. I was usually on my own which never bothered me. I was used to being alone.

There was a boy whose name I don't remember, but he insisted on following me around all through the fifth grade during connected school events, until I broke his heart in front of everyone. 

I had a reputation after that.

Another boy, new and unaware of the coldness people assumed surrounded me decided to try. It was the tenth grade. Something worked and it was my first relationship even though I didn't care about it.

Three months later I ghosted him, only furthering my reputation.

After that it was rich boys I met at my father's soirées, surprisingly never Richard Grayson. Whether it was ten minutes in a closet down the hallway or a night out in the yacht, nothing mattered. It was just fun.

The lifestyle disgusted me and before I knew it the Marines were my goal. I waved goodbye on my eighteenth.

There was a member of my squad who I try not to think about these days. He's probably the most prominent, only one that mattered. And why wouldn't he? I was older, braver, bolder and we could have died the next day.

Until he did.

In High School, boys never mattered. Girls never mattered. Friends never mattered.

As an adult friends and teammates and families have become important. They mean more. I am not simply that cold teenager who was sick of the spotlight and lonely.

But when I got home, I decided I'd never be in a relationship or love ever again.

Not after losing Jack.

So why does this marriage have me feeling so betrayed by my father? I dismissed falling in love, but now that it is being taken away from me even for a while, I hate my father more than before.

"I thought Mai managed to find the magic pills that stop you from zoning out," a voice calls over my shoulder, shattering the glass box of my past that had caught me in the waves.

The gentle rocking of the ocean doesn't help to ground me, but the firmness of my board does. I look to the side to see Ethan paddling over, stopping beside me.

I don't know how long I've just sat here, out in the water where the legendary clearness of Sunset Bay finally loses its visibility. It's deep and I unconsciously wonder if I was out here to lure the sharks in to save me from this nightmare.

"It's been almost an hour. Mai was going to come out but I was already dressed for it."

An hour? It feels like minutes. Then again, it always does in the water. I could be here forever and to me a day would pass.

"What does she want?"

"Oh, nothing. Just to drag you in."

I roll my eyes, "She's always telling me to do what makes me happy. Here I am."

Ethan lets out a small chuckle, which is rare from my brother. 

There are two types of personalities among my siblings and I. The ones like me; cold, closed and stubborn, and ones like Demitri; kind, loud and energetic.

Myself and Ethan are the same, though his is born of somewhere else. I wasn't home when my dad found out his third child was gay but I wish I had been.

Apparently it wasn't as bad as it could have been. He made Ethan leave the family house and was reluctant to keep training him to take over the company. 

Demitri threatened to leave if that happened.

It was my mother who eventually convinced my father (convinced is a gentle term for it) to return things to the way they were.

"We've finished planning; Chris and I. Are you sure you're okay with this?" He presses.

"Of course I am. It was my idea after all," I say, scooping some water up to douse it over my head.

"Yeah...but dad might not forgive you. The people there to witness it will be pissed. And worse, he might try to-"

I don't mean to scare him, or grip him so hard, but before I know it I have one hand grasping Ethan's face, chin pressing into my palm and nails digging into his cheek.

"Ethan, he can do what he wants to me, but not to you. Not anymore. He's reigned over you for too long. I'm the oldest, and it's my job to protect all of you. If that means taking this thing on then I will, but he doesn't get to drag you guys down into the depths his lie created. Do you understand? This is me doing what I was born to do; protect you."

The rest remains unspoken, but he knows. I wasn't there to do exactly that for many years and I'm trying to make up for it.

Green eyes stare back at me and I see relief there. Was he so afraid I was going to cast him aside? I could never do that. There's only one family member that deserves that treatment.

Smiling softly, Ethan reaches up and touches my hand, prompting me to release him.

"I know, I'm sorry."

I shake my head, looking away and telling him it's fine. I'd be happy to just sit there for a few more hours and watch the sunset, but Ethan brings to my attention the shoreline.

Glancing over my should turns into an eye-roll upon seeing the Waynes there with my father.

"If he keeps springing them on you like that what are you going to do?" Ethan asks.

I mumble something he doesn't hear. When he asks me to repeat I don't.

"Well then, shall we go in?" He questions. I give him an irritated look and it's his turn to roll his eyes. "This is your life until one of us kills dad."

"This is my life until I kill my husband," I counter, watching the shore over my shoulder. I wonder how long they've been there? "I'm not going in. I haven't tempted enough sharks yet."

"Sure sure, fine with me, but what about her?"  The tone he uses reads loud and clear to me that he's talking about Mai. I know she's probably standing there like a pole, straight and obvious out of the sand. "If you don't go in now she'll kick your ass when you finally do."

I'm not afraid of Mai. I'm not afraid of anything. But I do worry about her and the amount of stress I cause her, I suppose. Another pleading look from Ethan is the prompt.

Reluctantly I flip around to lay on my stomach on the board before paddling in shore. Ethan can't keep up, not nearly on the same level of surf that I am. 

In the shallows I slip off of my Gun board, tossing it up under my arm before pushing my hair back. I suppose I should feel self conscious in a black bikini, war scars on display, but I imagine they have much more than I after years of crime-fighting.

"Cleo, honey! Richard has something for you," my father says when I'm in range. He has obviously forgotten neither of us are children. He's acting like we're at a tea party and Richard is a blushing toddler handing over a present, in need of guidance.

Sighing, I plant my board into the sand in front of them, hearing Mai and Ethan come up behind me.

My fiancée steps forward with a small box in his hand, boasting a Marc Jacobs label. I simply hold my hand out and take it from him politely, though my expression doesn't shift from bored.

When I open the box I expect what I asked for.

Nope.

That's not me being a spoiled brat. That's me realising he really doesn't listen to me on our 'dates'. Inside is a sapphire and diamond triple-stone ring.

"It's uh... 12 carat sapphire, sided by two 7 carat diamonds. The band is white gold and also embedded with a sapphire and diamond pattern," he explains awkwardly.

Okay so he went overboard with the sapphires because in his mind he thought 'She likes sapphires, I'll get one covered in them!' because he thinks that I said it.

Did I say sapphires?

Are my eyes blue?

No. I said amethyst. Because my eyes are purple. We were on the date at that seafood restaurant on the beach, when he was constantly texting 'Babs'.

I don't know if it's that or the guilt that fills me over this over-priced symbolic gesture. It's at least over the half-mil mark. I don't know much about jewellery but I know that. 

"Thank you," is literally all I can say, because what's the point of saying on a scale of one to ten how much of what I say do you actually hear? 

"You're welcome," he responds and I have no doubt we're both in considerably awkward pain.

As he backs off my dumbass dad adorns a wide smile, waving his arms wide.

"Isn't it brilliant, Cleo?" He asks, giving me his best genuine smile. It pisses me off. I'm staring blankly at his stupid grinning face.

You're destroying me, can't you see that? Ruining my public reputation all to fix your own mistakes. 

I move my gaze from him, down to the box in my open hand. You know what I should do with it?... 

Mai takes a sharp breath when I turn my head towards the ocean. The movement from item to target must put everyone on edge and the idea of confirming everyone's fears by tossing the box into the sea is right there. 

Instead I toss it into my left hand, so I can hook my right around my board, lifting it back to where it's supposed to be.

After that, there is only one thing to do.

A deep, dark, terrifying glare takes on my face, eyes glowering, eyebrows creased, lips in a tight line. Every ounce of hatred and disgust builds into that expression.

There is so much pent up rage and detained violence in that look that it makes a couple of the Waynes flinch.

This is the look I intimidated Amanda Waller with. This is the look I hold in a battle where I am about to die. This is the look I faced my greatest enemies with. This is the look that summons my deepest, darkest power.

This is the look I stare my father down with, making flabby arms drop and fear grow in green eyes I wish my siblings didn't have.

It feels like slow motion as I turn to the side, never once looking away or faltering. I imagine Ethan with the exact same look, moving behind me and Mai trying to hide. I maintain in my walk, watching him, embedding this image in all their minds.

Only when I step up to the deck do I left my face relax as I turn around, surprised like everyone else to find my younger siblings, Gordon, Hallow, Ignatier, Jeremy, Klover and Logan staring out the back door with almost equal expressions.

Their's are trained on the Waynes more than my father, but Hallow and Gordon who understand more stare at our least favourite parent.

Welcome to the family, Richard Grayson.

◊

◊

I spend the rest of the night with Heather, much to Mai's chagrin. Though my 'bodyguard' would prefer for me to turn my back on anything to do with the Elite Marines, Heather is a close comfort I can not let go.

This is someone I drowned in mud with. This is someone who had my six and killed before I could be.

It's two am when we're driving back into the city. Sometimes it's nice to leave Sunset for one of the smaller surrounding towns. Heather is drunk off her head, but I had barely sipped at a cruiser. 

Most of the other members of our old squad coped that way. I did for maybe the first week, before I realised how worse it made me feel.

So I'm driving while she hangs out of the window singing along to High School Musical, which isn't even what's playing through my speakers.

When we reach the city I have to drag her back in, pinning her back into her seat and putting the window up. The streets are scarce as we weave through them, but eventually we reach my penthouse.

She's fine walking by herself into the elevator, though she's mumbling something about her 'hoes not being loyal', which is more funny than annoying. 

On the way up to my apartment is when I start to feel a little odd. Suspicious, almost.

The telling ding of us reaching home puts me on alert, because, well, there is no ding. Like someone has hacked my security. This makes Heather giggle as we both walk in through the kitchen.

And simultaneously we both feel it, stopping to stare at each other. It's a knee-jerk reaction, her snapping out of drunk mode. 

The smell of blood and hushed whispers from the hallway. I punch the ornament on my dining room table and the compartment slides open, Glock 18 jumping out at me. I catch it and Heather reaches into her jacket for the pistol she keeps on her.

I take point, leading my teammate down the hallway, her back to me. The noises are coming from my bedroom, whimpering among them. I realise that those voices are familiar. 

Leaning around the corner of the doorway, my heart lurches at the sight.

Ignatier, mask gone, is laying on my bed. Hallow and Jeremy are leaning over her desperately trying to stop the blood coming out of her side in a gash through her uniform. Gordon and Klover are standing back from the scene.

"I've been calling you for almost an hour!" Gordon shouts at me, as I tuck my gun in my belt.

"I must have left my phone in Parley Beach," I respond, rushing over to the bed. Heather takes some initiative and starts to push Gordon and Klover out of the room.

"Jeremy, go," I say, pushing Hallow aside so that I can take a look.

"But-"

"Go!" 

I don't watch him leave as I lean in to observe the injury. It's a deep cut beneath the ribs, not just a scratch that's bleeding can be stopped through pressure. It's about five inches long.

"I'm sorry," Hallow cries from beside me, "We thought we could take him. We were distracted when-"

"That's not important right now! Go out and be with the others, send Heather," I say, pushing her harshly. She falls having been kneeling. I ignore the distraught look sent my way in favour of checking our younger sister for other injuries.

"Cleo, please d-don't be mad..." Ignatier whimpers.

"Does this hurt?" I ask, pressing against the ribs above her wound.

"N-No..."

Good, not broken then.

Heather collapses at my side, pushing her hair back. I shove a cloth into her hand and she gently covers the gash, before slowly applying pressure.

Now we just have to...I don't know. I don't know. We can't call a doctor or go to a hospital because how do we explain such an injury? We can't call our family doctor because he'd just rat out to my father.

I chant a string of curses, balling my fists up. I'll have to call her, but there is no doubt in my mind that she'll disapprove enough to also tell my parents.

Dammit. 

"Cle....Cleo I can't," a slurred whisper draws my attention from wiping away Ig's tears.

"What?" I ask, turning to look at Heather.

Whom, in the past few seconds, has managed to go from seemingly drunk to definitely insane. She's staring down at her blood-covered hand with big, afraid eyes. I know that look. It's the one you get when you see something that reminds you of hell.

Where we have both been.

Panic rises when she starts hyperventilating, which in turns freaks Ignatier out.

"We're not there! We're not there Heather!" I shout, trying to grab her hands as they clasp around her ears hard enough to bleed. She starts muttering words between pants, rocking back and forth violently.

"Cover! Take cover! Clear! Hostiles! Sacrifice!" She hollers. I'm stuck between Ignatier crying out of fear and pain and Heather having a PTSD attack.

Shit. Shit. Shit. What do I do?

Just as I'm about to call Hallow in, both a saviour and a problem appear at the door. Mai takes in the scene at first, before giving me the most soul crushing glare of disappointment I have ever seen.

"Get her out of here," she snaps, pointing at Heather. I stand up and reach under Heather's arms, half-carrying half-dragging her towards the door. Mai calls Gordon back in, likely because he's the most collected at the time.

I continue pulling Heather out into the living-room where Hallow, through tears, helps lift her onto the couch. Once lying there she starts reaching for me, panicky still.

"I can't, I can't, I don't wanna die! Please, please!" She whispers frantically, clawing at my collarbone. With no other immediate option my fist connects with her face and she's out like a light.

A second after that's over I have both Klover and Jeremy collapsing in my arms, obviously frightened by what they've witnessed.

These kids go out every night against my wishes to protect the city from issues often caused by our father. And this is what they get for it?

Fuck you, Richard Grayson. Fuck you, Dad.

You're taking me away from where I am needed most.

Plus, Heather. What if that happens to me? What if I got into a frenzy like that in front of them? What if Mai is not enough to prevent my suicidal countdown?

They are taking me away from them.

They will not be safe when I'm gone.