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Chapter 18: A Quiet Night Before Something Goes Wrong
The mansion had settled into that usual late-night silence that only came after everything important had already happened, and after most of the people in a home were asleep or too busy and or too tired (most likely a healthy mix of both) to do anything else. The Lights of the mansion dimmed in its hallways, almost fully dark, but still very quiet.
A stillness that someone would have felt that they have earned after a longer day. and for Beryl . .
She had never been one for the whole "make your room a sanctuary" thing, but after nearly six years at Cranston Estates, her space had become its own layered autobiography. Her room had changed.
A lot. someone might even say . .
What used to be "temporary guest space" had long since become hers, a personal way of someone who stayed long enough that their life just… filled the space.
There were books everywhere. Not messy, just… present. Stacks on the desk, a few on the nightstand, one under the bed that she kept forgetting about. Some were school texts, some were in languages most people wouldn't even try to pronounce, and a few were things she absolutely was not supposed to have but had anyway.
A few mugs, including one battered Batfamily mug with a chip in the handle, sat next to her laptop, filled with pencils and the occasional screwdriver, loose change, and a glow stick. A faded Polaroid of her and Kairo, both in party hats, was pinned to the mirror. There was a fencing mask hooked on the foot of the bed, and a slingshot tucked into a drawer where she kept snacks. The room looked lived-in, and Tonight, the house was wrapped in the hush that she found out from spending so much time here, only arrived when the last of the staff had gone to bed, and the floors had finished creaking their evening complaints. Even the weather outside had settled into a moody, comforting drizzle that tapped on the windows without any real intent to be noticed.
Beryl sat with her back against the headboard, sat cross-legged on her bed, laptop balanced in front of her on her knees, a single sock clinging to her left foot while its mate had apparently vanished into the void that was her room's floor. She was half-writing, half-daydreaming, letting her thoughts drift between the hum of the screen and the comfort of the covers. Her reports to Barbara had gotten longer over the years, more honest and less filtered. There was something about talking to Oracle that made her braver, or at least less likely to sugarcoat things, not that things needed much sugarcoating.
Her gear was off to one side. Neatly arranged and Always ready.
The combat slingshot, polished and tuned. Her fencing gear has been upgraded over the years.
A few things she'd picked up during her occasional trips into Gotham. Not so much souvenirs but more like Tools and Reminders.
Those trips weren't fun and They were never going to be fun.
If Batman called, it meant things had already gone sideways in a way most people didn't come back from clean.
She still remembered one of the worse nights, standing on a rooftop while the city below laughed in the wrong way, the kind of laughter that wasn't joy, wasn't even madness, just… broken. Something about gas in the air and too many people smiling when they shouldn't be.
Yeah. . .Not fun.
She shook the memory off, cracking her knuckles as she refocused on the screen in front of her.
"Right," she muttered to herself, fingers already moving. "Let's make this sound official and not like I'm writing to complain."
The report was already half done. She tapped out the status update, pausing now and again to edit for honesty or, occasionally, for plausible deniability.
She'd been doing this long enough that it came naturally now, slipping between casual and professional without really thinking about it.
To: Barbara Gordon From: Beryl Hutchinson Subject: Weekly Status Report – Wakati Estate
She thought about that, then changed it . . .
To: Barbara Gordon
From: Beryl Hutchinson
Subject: Weekly Status Report – Wakati Estate
Beryl leaned back slightly, rereading what she had before continuing.
Kairo is stable.
Kairo's still growing at a pace that would make me worry for my grocery budget if I were in charge of all that. No new time-warp incidents, nothing that would make the League twitch or anything. He's sharp, sometimes worryingly so . He keeps beating me at chess and twice now has solved my cryptic crosswords. I'm not holding back either; I work hard on those word puzzles. Mostly, though, he's lonely. The mansion's full of people, but none of them are his age. It sits on him, quiet and invisible, but I can see it in the way he lingers at windows, the questions he doesn't quite ask.
Again, he is still growing like a weed, still smarter than he has any right to be, still absolutely convinced he's being unfairly imprisoned in what he calls "the world's fanciest cage, he isn't wrong. He doesn't say it outright, but it's there. Kid's got a whole house full of people who love him, but none of them are his age. It shows.
She paused, smiling a little despite herself.
Behavior-wise, he's good. No major incidents. No temporal spikes worth panicking over. Training is progressing steadily across all areas.
Emotionally… he's fine. Mostly.
I need to mention this again, A bit lonely, if anything.
She stopped typing for a second there.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, her expression softening just a little.
We're working on that.
She exhaled quietly, then kept going.
Tomorrow's a big one. He's being allowed outside. Properly outside. First time.
She leaned back again, rubbing the back of her neck.
"Still can't believe they actually agreed to that," she muttered.
We'll be attending a birthday party for one of the local families in Cranston Estates. Name: Penderghast.
Mother's the type who . . . .well . .You know the kind.
Kid's turning seven.
And apparently, it's a themed party. Something about "classic storybook tea party nonsense." Hats included.
I didn't ask questions.
There's also a son. Overachiever. Already exhausted just reading his schedule.
She snorted softly to herself.
After that, we're heading into Gotham for a zoo trip.
Yes, I'm aware how that sounds. No, I'm not thrilled about it either.
but it's on Kairo's list and I'm not about to say no to something that simple. He deserves a day that isn't about powers or prophecies or who's watching from the shadows. I'll keep him safe. I always do.
She paused, tapping her pen against her lip.
I believe I can handle it. But it's Gotham. So I'm saying that with the appropriate amount of caution and a mild sense of impending chaos. I'll keep him safe, but I'm more worried about the people around him.
She clicked send, feeling a little of the day's tension drain away. The reply was nearly instant.
Fast, Beryl said to herself, but then again. . .Of course it was fast.
Barbara Gordon didn't sleep like normal people.
Oracle:
"Zoo trips in Gotham. What could possibly go wrong?"
"Keep comms open."
"And Beryl?"
"Good call on getting him out. Kids need more than walls."
Beryl grinned, the kind of smile that made the corners of her eyes crinkle. "Yeah. They do."
She shut the laptop, stretched hard enough to pop her back, then she slid off the bed, stretched standing until her spine popped again, and padded barefoot to the bathroom. The routine, teeth, face, hair. She traded her jacket for an oversized T-shirt and leggings. She checked her phone; there were no new emergencies, no Bat-signals, nothing but the low battery icon persistent on the home screen.
Her routine was Simple and mostly Normal.…which was exactly why she didn't trust it.
She stepped out into the hallway, quiet as ever, moving on instinct more than thought. Still, her feet took her down the hall, almost on autopilot, to Kairo's room. The door was cracked, the faint blue glow of a monitor painting strange shadows on the walls. She leaned in, arms folded, and watched for a minute before announcing her presence.
She told herself she was just checking on Kairo.
Which was true.
Mostly.
Beryl raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, that tracks."
There he was: headset on, posture perfect, face lit by strategy and righteous frustration. She caught the end of a tirade.
She pushed the door open just enough to peek in some more, and for Kairo's part, he sat cross-legged on his chair, completely locked in, the glow of the screen reflecting in those sharp silver-grey eyes.
On screen? was Chaos. Absolute chaos.
"COME ON, WHAT ARE YOU DOING . . . " Kairo snapped into the mic, voice sharp and focused. "We don't need three DPS, we need a tank, I literally said that thirty seconds ago . . .no, don't flank, DON'T FLANK . . ."
He paused, Then sighed Deeply. The sigh of someone already disappointed in humanity.
Beryl leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him for a second with the kind of fond, tired amusement only an older sibling figure could have.
"Having fun?" she asked as she knocked on the doorframe. "You know, if you keep yelling at strangers online, they'll think you're some sort of tiny dictator."
Kairo didn't look away from the screen. "I'd settle for competent teammates, honestly. Is that so much to ask?" Then he shrugged. "And for the tiny dictator comment, I would be," he said, completely serious, "if people would listen to basic strategy."
Beryl smirked, stepping into the room. "For Gotham servers? Absolutely." She snorted, "But, Yeah, good luck with that."
He huffed, a sound that would've been adorable if he wasn't so serious about the business of winning. "They should listen. I'm trying to help them win."
She ruffled his hair. "You're five, Kairo. Maybe just have fun?"
He shot her a look, it was equal parts affront and affection. "Winning is fun."
She grinned, arms looping around him in a quick hug. "Okay, you've got me there."
Now he turned fully to her, but just enough to glance at her and his computer, "You say that like it's unreasonable."
"It is unreasonable," she said, stepping into the room. "You're asking random strangers online to think."
He considered that, then nodded once,"…fair. . . i guess . ."
She was still resting a hand on his head while ruffling his hair more just enough to annoy him.
"Wrap it up soon, yeah? Finish this match, then bed. We've got a big day tomorrow."
"I know," he said, already turning back to the game. "One more match."
She gave him a look.
He paused, then He hesitated, eyes flickering between her and the computer. For a second, he was all stubbornness, then he nodded. "One more game. Promise."
Her face didn't change, "Bed after this one," she said.
He hesitated, then sighed, giving up.
"Fine. One."
"Good." Beryl straightened, giving him a mock salute. "You're the boss, Commander. Last game." Like it was his idea in the first place.
She leaned down, hugging him from behind for a second, quick but warm. "You're doing good, you know."
He froze for just a second at that, "Wait, like at the game or . . .," he asked, not used to Beryl saying cryptic stuff and honestly just not expecting it, "…I know," he said, quieter this time.
She smiled, stepping back toward the door, "Don't stay up all night yelling at strangers."
"No promises," he shot back, already back in full focus mode. "We're fixing this team."
She paused at the door, watching as he leaned back into his headset, the quick-fire rhythm of his trash talk picking up again. She heard, "No, no, that's not the comp we agreed on . . .guys, we talked about this. You're killing me here . . ."
As she left, she could already hear him again, "No, no, NO . . .who picked that character?! We talked about this . . ."
Beryl thought about shutting the door fully, laughing under her breath as she left the door open a crack, letting the sound of his voice filter into the hallway as she headed back to her room. There was something comforting about the chaos, a reminder that for all the weirdness in their lives, some things . .like arguing about team comp at midnight . . were just plain normal.
Behind her, in that bright, noisy, ridiculous little pocket of chaos… that was a boy and his games . . And as she slipped under the covers, Beryl let herself hope that tomorrow really would be just a normal day. But in Gotham, even the quietest nights always carried the promise of something just waiting to go spectacularly wrong. Still, tonight, all was well. The boy who could stop time was busy yelling at strangers on the internet, and for once, that was exactly how things should be.
Kairo Victor Fugate Wakati - - -
the boy who could stop time - - -