Chapter Text
Being Tim Drake-Wayne's personal assistant came with many perks, Marie mused to herself.
This seventeen-year-old boy is by far the best boss she has ever had.
He regularly gave out bonuses, always paid her on time, did not sexually harass her, and never held her at gunpoint whilst rambling about how he was gonna blow up the building and kill everyone because his mommy didn't love him enough (yes that was a deeply personal attack fuck you, Joseph).
For Gotham, this is as good as it will ever get, his insane wealth (which Marie firmly believed inherently made anyone a suspicious individual) aside.
The only danger her boss posed, was to himself. He was self-destructive in the way only a teenager could be - drinking copious amounts of suspiciously, unnaturally, chemically bright liquids called he called his "energy drinks", sleeping (or not sleeping) only at the weirdest hours, (made evident by his panda like eye bags,) and rolling around on his skateboard-like contraptions that occasionally had boosters on it.
He was very clearly a walking disaster, held together by his caffeine addiction and his unending urge to make Lex Luthor's life a living hell.
(Marie had heard all of his cackling and snide comments he made under his breath, not to mention the deranged deadpan murder eyes he made whenever the anything related to Lex came up. No that she could fault him for that, Lex Luthor sucks.)
If it was any other person, perhaps Marie would be screaming and running for the hills about a new supervillain in the making.
But she had to consider the excellent welfare benefits, the great salary, and the fact that she has had the displeasure of encountering Luthor once (and hopefully never again).
These three things made her close one eye and look the other way, pretending that her boss was definitely not the next supervillain in the making. Just one eye.
Her life is fine. Perfect, even.
Well, as perfect as it could get in Gotham.
She has a stable job (probably, hopefully,) is paid well, and has a mostly safe apartment to get back to.
She graduated college early and debt-free.
She could even afford groceries on a weekly basis, with the occasional splurge on the expensive ice-cream and fresh fruit.
The library hasn't burned down in two months (a new record,) and everything was calm.
She was thriving as best as she could. This should have been her era, where she invested time and money into herself, and also accidentally seduce and have a meet cute with THE Red Hood and his beautiful, beautiful thighs.
Okay, maybe her lack of success in her love life was getting to her a little, but, who needs real men when you could be delusional and marry Red Hood AND Nightwing in your head.
Clearly, Marie was onto something here. After all, the men in her head would never disappoint her (because as fine as she finds those two to be, there is something clearly very wrong with them - made evident by the fact they swing around a murder city beating up criminals in skintight suits. And thank Lady Gotham for those skintight suits.)
Her life was going perfectly fine, so pray tell, why is she on the sandy beach of an island in the middle of fuckass nowhere, with her laptop grasped in her hands like she was some work addicted freak, with her boss sprawled pathetically on the sand, face down mind you, probably unconscious.
This would be perfectly somewhat normal (kidnappings were a common thing at the Wayne Industries, especially when one was a very competent PA whose Wayne kid seemed kinda mostly maybe fond of) occurrence, had there not been THE Red FUCKING Hood, sprawled a couple metres away from them, face up, either knocked out or absolutely delirious as he mutters the occasional expletive in his…sleep?
He was like a deranged angry sleepwalker, without the walking part. Perhaps a sleep paralysis demon, Marie muses hysterically, as she attempted to survey her surroundings that was just sand, trees and ocean. Great. Very specific.
while THE Red Hood, crime boss extraordinaire, yells at him about how this was all his fault like a jilted, very bitter and pathetic divorced man, which really didn't align with the silent, dramatic image she had of him in her head.
Like really, what the fuck? Was a peaceful day at work too much to ask?
And to really add the cherry on top, there is a giant ship looming ominously in the sea, waving a funky skull flag - that had a fucking mustache by way (that was definitely designed by a man because, ew,) that seemed to be sailing towards the whatever they fuck they were stranded on.
Her sixth sense, honed by the perilous nature of Gotham and being a survivor and resident of Crime Alley, told her she was fucked six ways to hell, which she definitely agreed on,
Fuck.