Monday, January 12th, 2009, 07:45
New Jersey
Gotham City
Gotham Academy
The Advanced European History classroom at Gotham Academy smelled like old money and fresh privilege, a combination of leather-bound books and the kind of confidence that came from never doubting your place in the world. Malik sat in his usual spot near the back, listening to Brandon Thorne hold court about his family's upcoming ski trip to Switzerland.
"Dad says the slopes at Verbier are perfect this time of year," Brandon was saying to his usual circle of admirers. "Of course, we're staying at the family chalet, not one of those tourist hotels."
Jessica Whitmore, whose father owned half the Fashion District, giggled appropriately. "That sounds amazing. I'm so jealous."
Malik found himself studying their conversation like an anthropologist observing a foreign culture. These kids worried about ski conditions and spring break destinations, while he spent his evenings learning to pick locks and identify surveillance patterns. The disconnect felt enormous.
"What about you, Robinson?" Brandon's voice cut through his observations. "Any exciting vacation plans?"
The question carried the particular edge that meant Brandon was fishing for ammunition. Ever since Malik had shown him up in calculus class, Brandon had been probing for weaknesses, looking for ways to put the scholarship kid back in his place.
"Nothing planned yet," Malik said evenly.
"Of course not. I imagine your guardian is too busy with her... business ventures... to worry about family vacations." Brandon's smile was poisonous. "What exactly does she do again?"
Malik felt the familiar flare of anger but kept his expression neutral. "Import and export. She travels a lot."
"How mysterious." Brandon's tone suggested he knew there was more to the story. "Must be lucrative, considering where you live."
Before Malik could respond, Professor Cambridge called the class to order, saving him from having to navigate Brandon's probing. But the exchange left him feeling exposed, like there were cracks in his cover story that sharper eyes might eventually see through.
The lesson was about the Italian Renaissance, and Malik found himself automatically translating key phrases into Italian as Cambridge spoke. Three months of language lessons with Selina had given him a foundation in Spanish, a working knowledge of French, and the beginnings of Italian. The progression felt natural, each language building on skills he already possessed.
"The Medici family's influence on Florentine politics was subtle but decisive," Cambridge was saying. "They understood that real power often worked from the shadows, through patronage and careful manipulation rather than direct confrontation."
Malik made notes in French, partly to practice the language and partly because it made his observations less obvious to anyone who might glance at his notebook. The parallels between Renaissance politics and modern Gotham weren't lost on him. Different tools, same games.
After class, he found Becca waiting by his locker with the kind of expression that meant she had something to say.
"You looked like you wanted to punch Brandon in the face during history," she said without preamble.
"I always want to punch Brandon in the face. That's just baseline frustration with privileged assholes."
"Fair point." Becca leaned against the lockers, studying his face. "But this seemed more personal. What was that about your guardian's business?"
Malik closed his locker and shouldered his backpack, buying time while he decided how much truth to share. Becca was smart, observant, and one of the few people at Gotham Academy who treated him like a human being rather than a curiosity. But she was also civilian, someone whose biggest concerns involved homework and future college applications.
"Brandon thinks he knows something about Selina," Malik said finally. "He's fishing for information he can use against me."
"And is there information to find?"
The question was casual, but Malik caught the genuine curiosity underneath. Becca had probably wondered about his home life, about the woman who could afford Fashion District apartments and private school tuition but never appeared at parent-teacher conferences.
"Everyone has secrets," he said, which was true without being specific.
"That sounds like something someone with interesting secrets would say."
"Maybe it is."
They walked toward the main entrance together, joining the stream of students heading home or to after-school activities. Malik's day was far from over. Ted was expecting him at the gym in an hour, and after that he had language lessons with Selina.
An hour later, Ted's gym provided its usual antidote to academic frustration. The heavy bag didn't care about his family background or his guardian's mysterious profession. It only cared about proper form and committed follow-through.
"Better," Ted said as Malik worked through a combination that had been giving him trouble for weeks. "You're starting to understand that power comes from your legs, not your arms."
"It feels weird, using my whole body for one punch."
"Everything in fighting is connected. One movement flows into the next, one muscle group supports another." Ted demonstrated the combination slowly, his movements economical and fluid despite his age. "Same principle applies outside the ring. Every choice you make affects every other choice you'll have to make."
Malik paused, gloves still raised, sensing deeper meaning in the comment. "Are we still talking about boxing?"
"We're talking about whatever you need to hear." Ted's expression was knowing. "You've been carrying tension in your shoulders for weeks now. Want to talk about what's eating at you?"
The question was casual, but Malik had learned to recognize when adults in his life were fishing for information. Ted might look like a simple boxing trainer, but his connection to Selina suggested depths that weren't immediately obvious.
"Just school stuff. Rich kids being rich kids."
"And how's that sitting with you?"
"Like trying to speak a foreign language where everyone expects you to already be fluent." Malik returned to the heavy bag, channeling his frustration into controlled violence. "Sometimes I feel like I'm playing a part in a play where nobody gave me the script."
"Identity's a funny thing," Ted said, holding the bag steady as Malik worked through another combination. "Most people spend their whole lives trying to figure out who they really are. You're getting a head start on that process."
"Is that supposed to be encouraging?"
"It's supposed to be realistic. Fighting teaches you things about yourself that you can't learn any other way. How you react under pressure, how you handle pain, how you deal with failure." Ted's voice carried the weight of experience. "Those lessons transfer to everything else you'll ever do."
The training session continued for another hour, but Ted's words stayed with Malik as he made his way home. Identity as something fluid, something that could be chosen rather than simply accepted. It was an idea that felt both liberating and terrifying.
Selina was waiting for him with dinner and a stack of books that suggested his language education was about to expand in new directions.
"How was school?" she asked as he settled into his chair.
"Educational. In more ways than one." Malik studied the books she'd laid out. Italian histories, French crime novels, and what looked like Spanish literature. "What's all this?"
"Context. You're learning languages, but languages are just tools for understanding cultures. Tonight we're going to explore some famous heists while practicing your Italian." Selina's smile was sharp with anticipation. "I thought you might enjoy learning about the 1911 theft of the Mona Lisa."
For the next two hours, Selina walked him through the details of Vincenzo Peruggia's audacious theft from the Louvre, conducting the entire conversation in Italian. But more than just language practice, it became a masterclass in criminal psychology and operational planning.
"Peruggia worked at the museum," Selina explained, her Italian fluid and natural. "He understood the building's layout, the guard schedules, the bureaucratic blind spots that made his plan possible."
Malik found himself asking questions that surprised even him. About timing and contingencies, about how Peruggia had managed the social engineering aspects of his plan, about why he'd waited two years before trying to sell the painting.
"You're thinking like a professional," Selina said, switching back to English with evident satisfaction. "Most people focus on the glamorous parts of heists. You're asking about the boring details that actually determine success or failure."
"It's just logical," Malik said, but he could see the approval in her expression.
"Logic is rarer than you think, especially under pressure." Selina gathered the books, but her movements suggested the evening's education wasn't finished. "Which brings us to tonight's practical exercise."
Before she could explain what that meant, the apartment's intercom buzzed. Selina glanced at the security monitor and smiled in a way that suggested both amusement and mild annoyance.
"Speak of the devil," she said, pressing the button to let Holly up.
Holly Robinson arrived like a small hurricane wearing platform heels and a dress that left very little to the imagination. Her makeup was dramatic, her hair was teased into an impressive sculpture, and she carried herself with the particular confidence that came from knowing exactly how attractive she was.
"Working tonight?" Selina asked, taking in Holly's appearance.
"Late appointment. Pharmaceutical executive with mommy issues and a wallet the size of Manhattan." Holly settled onto the couch with practiced grace, somehow managing to look elegant despite the aggressive sexuality of her outfit. "Thought I'd stop by and check on the kid's progress."
Malik found himself staring despite his best efforts to maintain composure. Holly in work mode was different from Holly in casual clothes, more dangerous and somehow more honest about what she was.
"You're staring, honey," Holly said with amusement. "It's okay, I'm used to it. Part of the job description."
"Sorry," Malik managed, his face burning with embarrassment.
"Don't apologize for being human." Holly's expression grew more serious as she studied him. "But let's talk about something important. How are you handling your double life?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean the way you're learning to move through different worlds. Rich kid at school, street fighter at the gym, criminal in training at home." Holly's voice was direct without being unkind. "Those are three very different identities, and eventually they're going to conflict with each other."
Malik glanced at Selina, who was watching the conversation with interest but no intention of intervening.
"I'm managing," he said.
"For now. But what happens when you have to choose?" Holly leaned forward, her expression intent. "Because eventually, you will have to choose. The nice normal life or the dangerous interesting one. You can't be both forever."
"Why not?"
"Because this city doesn't let people straddle the line indefinitely. Eventually, Gotham forces everyone to pick a side." Holly's smile was sad and knowing. "Trust me on this one, sweetie. I've seen what happens to people who try to keep one foot in each world."
The conversation continued for another hour, ranging over topics that felt too adult and too immediate for someone who was still technically a child. But Malik found himself engaging with Holly's challenges, thinking through scenarios and implications that hadn't occurred to him before.
By the time Holly left for her appointment, Malik felt like he'd been given a preview of decisions he'd have to make sooner than he wanted. The comfortable routine of school and training suddenly felt less stable, more like a temporary arrangement that couldn't last indefinitely.
"She's right, you know," Selina said as they cleaned up the dinner dishes. "Eventually you'll have to decide who you want to be."
"What if I don't want to choose?"
"Then the choice gets made for you, and you probably won't like the results." Selina's voice was gentle but firm. "But you've got time, Malik. Time to learn, time to grow, time to figure out what matters most to you."