Mary Wayne

Danielle was the first, happy and optimistic. She smiled and Mary turned away because it had taken her years to learn how to smile again and she, she, acted like it was natural. It made her wonder if the fault was with her and not the world as she watched the young girl swing and twist through the air. Danielle was the heart she had forgotten how to use.

Jason was the second; the one nobody trusted and so the one she trusted the most. The one who was everything she ached to be and was afraid to turn into. She was dark and surly and understood, although Mary never spoke of it to her, the ache and rage of losing someone. A child who reminded her of the child she should still have. Jason was the anger that curdled into fear in the pit of her stomach at night.

Tim was the third. The one who tracked her rather than stumbling across her, planning ahead in life as he did in their chess games where silence fell except for the rustle of clothing and the clink of the pieces on her frosted glass board. He was calm and collected and intellectual and reminded her, in odd little moments, of Ra’s. Tim was the mind that had kept her alive all these years.

Each of her little birds eventually flew away and it was a sweet sort of agony to know they could fly on their own. They didn’t forget her; there were flowers on Damian’s grave and a shadow that followed her on patrol and ciphered messages sent to her email inbox in case she was lacking a challenge.

Such dutiful observations of gratitude.

They were all so careful of her.

She remembered when Jason first arrived – Joanne, back then – and Danielle showed him around. Jason had spotted one of the few pictures of Damian she – well, no, Alfred – kept up and started to ask, only for Danielle to shush him quickly.

“That’s Damian. He… He died. Don’t ask about him.”

Danielle had a girlfriend now; she moved in with Commissioner Gordon’s daughter and they’re going through police academy together.

Jason was quiet and slipped away from her like a shadow, but there were rumours of a vigilante called the Red Hood when the sun sets, and when it rose again he was working on anything and everything and getting by and, most importantly, keeping off the streets. Keeping away from the mob and from gangs and from killing.

Tim was an honours student at school with a bright, bright future ahead of him. Intellectual and calculating and just – just a little bit cold, but the rest of her birds keep him warm enough to laugh and smile and let them think he’s restricted by moral codes rather than just choosing to keep to them because it’s just that bit easier than breaking them.