Chapter Text
Rose wasn't used to feelings of vulnerability, but the residual effects of adrenaline overdose still haunted her whenever she closed her eye. It hadn't taken her this long to shake free when Will's mind control gunk was storming her veins, Clock King certainly knew what he was doing. Rose laughed bitterly, dropping down from her balcony to the parking lot below. She'd already been for a run today, it hadn't helped. What she needed was a fight, or a drink... perhaps both. Together would be ideal. Rose checked her watch. Was it too early for a bar fight? Mentally debating this very important question, Rose found a back alley bar that was already serving down by the Gotham docks. She sauntered in, eye fixed on the drink counter like a drowning man heading for dry land. She sat herself down on the stool and signaled for the aging bartender.
"Whiskey on the rocks, something cheap, and keep them coming." She knocked back the first drink without even a shudder for the burning liquid, swirling the ice in the glass to get the bartender to return. Leaning against the bar, she got comfortable. The plan was for this to be a long night, and she was more than ready. The whiskey kept coming.
Hours later, Rose blinked her eyes, blearily looking around her. She didn't remember passing out during her drunken binge the previous night, but she was most definitely lying on a bench at a dirty bar now. It wasn’t the first time she’d woken up in this condition, and it likely wasn’t going to be the last. She pulled herself up, a touch unsteady on her feet as the world swirled and spiraled around her. Once she had her feet under her, Rose headed across the park, stumbling over the uneven ground. She wasn't just hung over... she was still drunk. Fuck. In fact, she was so drunk she didn't even notice that she wasn't alone. For lack of a better place to go, she headed to her safe house, it was closer than the flat she was staying in.
Carefully punching in the numbers on the keypad, the white-haired girl heaved a sigh of relief as the door swung open. She hadn’t been entirely certain that she was getting the numbers right. Luckily muscle memory triumphed where alcohol-soaked brain cells faltered. Listing to one side slightly, she dragged her intoxicated body through the door, unhooking the sheathes for her katanas, and dropping them on the floor to one side. Half way through rolling out her shoulders to stretch them, she froze.
"Now, is that any way to treat a weapon?" Rose turned, startled to see a figure in her doorway. She took in his costume and scowled. He looked like an idiot. "No wonder you're daddy's little disappointment, baby girl, if that's all the greeting you can muster."
“Fuck.” Rose dove for her blades, despite the whiskey muddling her mind. The lightly armored gentleman stepped into her path, and Rose pivoted, changing directions. She had spares here, and he wasn’t standing between her and them.
"Now now, baby girl, I have a score to settle with your old man, and you're gonna be my surprise play. Maybe we’ll work on that potty mouth of yours while I got you." He stepped aside and a trio of henchman came inside. "Get her, boys." Reactions delayed, finesse all but gone, Rose struggled enough with the goons, their numbers nearly a match for her hindered skill, but once their boss entered the fray, she was overwhelmed.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
She woke in the dark, arms and ankles tied to a rather uncomfortable wooden chair. Rose grimaced, straining against the bonds, testing the strength of them. She heard the fibres creak and stretch, but even with her strength they did not snap. A hiss of irritation escaped her lips. At the sound, a light flickered on, momentarily blinding her. She blinked several times against the visual assault. Maybe there was still a touch of alcohol in her system, because she idly considered whether someone with one eye could actually blink, or if it was all winking at this point.
"So glad you could join us, baby girl." That voice, dripping with sarcastic good cheer, that arrogant tone, it was enough to make a patient person snap, and Rose was many things, but patient was not one of them. She snarled out a curse, only to have the back of a hand crack sharply against her cheek, splitting her lip with the force of the blow.
Sportsmaster's voice returned, hard and stern this time. "I don't know what kind of discipline your father manages, but my daughters know not to speak to me like that, even Jade." He reached for her face, clasping her jaw in a strong grip, the velcro from his hand pads abrading the delicate skin of her throat. He turned her face to the side, inspecting the scar that crookedly bisected her missing eye. He made a clucking sound of disapproval. "Not your cleverest move, eh baby girl? Ruined that pretty face of yours, and for what? Betcha it didn't make Daddy any more impressed with you."
The expletive that crossed her lips next caused Crock to drop her face abruptly. The next blow that caught her across the face made her see stars. The asshole had upgraded from slapping to a closed fist punch to her temple. Rose closed her eye for a moment, letting the pain clear the last of the booze from her system. No one got to lay a hand on her and walk away unharmed. This fucker had sealed his fate from the second he stepped through her door. "Last warning, baby girl. We don't have to make this unpleasant unless you insist, but your smart mouth is gonna cause you a world of trouble."
Rose glared at the masked man, but went silent. Taking stock, she began the mental checklist for what needed to happen next. She needed to break herself free, and that would be imminently easier if her ears weren't ringing. She gritted her teeth, biting back the fury raging within her, but just barely. He patted her bruising cheek with an amused chuckle. "Good girl."
Rose hissed, enough was enough. This arrogant goon actually thought he had gotten the better of her, and she could only bear so much. She wasn’t anyone’s fucking ‘good girl.’ What a gross, disgusting creep. "He won't come for me, he'll expect me to free myself." She bit out, hoping to distract him from the way her muscles tensed as she fought the ropes holding her to the chair. She was strong, and her father’s serum had made her stronger. She could do this. She could set herself free, and be rid of arrogant, idiotic men and their petty squabbles. Maybe once she wiped the floor with Crock, she’d take another run at dear old dad. It wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it.
Lawrence laughed. "Whether he comes for you now, or comes for me in revenge once you're gone matters very little to me, child. My purpose will still be served. And if you think he won't retaliate, then he taught you nothing of respect, which I have already begun to suspect." The big man turned his back on her, moving to a table at the side of the room. Foolish of him, having so many sharp implements such a short distance away from the young assassin.
Just then all Rose's efforts paid off, and the satisfying sound of rope snapping echoed in the suddenly silent room. Her eye lit with triumphant rage. "He won't need to come after you, because I'm gonna kick your arse right the fuck now, douchebag." She shot to her feet, shattering the chair with a carefully placed kick. She hefted two chair legs, grinning triumphantly at Sportsmaster. "Not so tough without your little pals, eh old man?" He was still beside the weapon table, and she wanted her hands on something a little more fun than hunks of broken wood.
When he turned he came at her, a dagger in one hand, and some kind of long wooden bat in the other. Even now, the idiot had to stay on brand she supposed. She dodged and rolled, catching the blade of the dagger in one of the chair legs and tossing it clear across the room. Anger focused her, but it appeared to make her opponent stupider, as she danced past him and towards the table. She laughed, a whole new world of hurt laid out before her like a banquet.
The fight didn't last long after that, and Rose pulled her phone out of her pocked, adding insult to injury by snapping a picture of Sportsmaster's broken and bleeding body. She texted the image to her father, the accompanying message simply read: Tell your arsehole friends to leave me out of your pathetic squabbles.