Story Rating: M
Story Warnings: violence, possible triggers with emotional/psychological/mental/physical/sexual abuse (domestic and other), AU, coarse language, prostitution, [see Chapter Warning(s)]
Story Note(s): Originally began as a story for myself, now is being used as a fill on the YJAnon Meme.

All characters, settings etc associated with Young Justice and DC are not owned by me. I am not making any profit off this fiction venture.

Chapter Warning(s): physical/verbal bullying, murder, mentions of prostitution, domestic abuse, coarse language

Edit: 04/02/13

Maelstrom

Sha'lain'a

"My will shall shape the future. Whether I fail or succeed shall be no man's doing but my own. I am the force; I can clear any obstacle before me or I can be lost in the maze. My choice; my responsibility; win or lose, only I hold the key to my destiny."

Elaine Maxwell

1

Miami, Florida : January 3, 1994 – 22:47 EDT

"David."

Nothing.

"David. David listen to me," I grab the 20-year-old's shoulder, using my superior strength to stop him in his tracks. He turns and, as expected, glares at me. I glare right back and tighten my grip on his shoulder, "Just because you do not agree with what some of the people have done does not mean that the entire group is bad and discriminatory."

I learned that from the few people who weren't suspicious in Atlantis.

"You're actually defending them?" David's expression turns incredulous and he shoves my hand off his shoulder. "You're defending your parents even though they hated you from the moment you were born just because of the colour of your hair?"

My eyes widen instantly then just as quickly narrow, "I am not defending my parents. I am not even defending yours."

His eyes narrow at the mention of his parents. The ones who could never deal with his autism. The ones who left him to his own devices, which, ultimately, led to his trip to Hell.

"I am defending the people who have not and will not hurt us because of things we cannot control," I finish, wary as I instinctively watch for the familiar movement signalling an incoming hit.

"You're an idiot then," he snaps, his hands clenching but not moving from his sides. "There isn't anyone where I come from who hasn't looked at me like I was some sort of freak and there's no one from Atlantis who hasn't looked at you as if you're some sort of freak."

I flinch at the reminder and the clear fact that he believed he knew everything about my time in Atlantis. He knew bits and pieces. He didn't know everything. No one did.

I flinch as his hands rest on my shoulder and squeeze in what I'm certain is meant to be a reassuring gesture but is the exact opposite, "Are you with me Sha'lain'a?"

That's the name he helped me pick out, in stark contrast to my birth-name. 'Unbreakable.' That's what it means. I figure I should probably exemplify my chosen name. I stiffen and step away from him, hissing, "You want to take over this country. You want to take over Atlantis. You want to do all of that to punish everyone. That is the only reason. Tell me I'm wrong, David. I dare you."

He doesn't take the bait.

"It'll be better," he promises. The promise rings hollow. I know that what he promises can't come from doing the same thing the people who hurt us did. Doing the same thing and expecting different results is…well it seems idiotic. It doesn't make any sense.

Besides, what he's planning will result in a war. I'm not about to risk entering a war. Not now. I probably would have before but now…No. I'm determined to give my – our – baby an actual childhood. Not a warzone. I can't give my baby – our baby, our baby, our baby – a proper childhood in the middle of a warzone. I won't be a perfect matim, a perfect mother. I don't have any examples of perfect matims to draw from but I figure that giving birth in a warzone or a warzone-to-be would not be a good place to start.

Then there are the innocent people to consider. I know, I'm lucky to even know this, I know that just because the majority of a population think you're less than dirt doesn't mean that everyone in that population is evil. I had friends in Atlantis. I don't know where they are now. It's too dangerous for us to contact one another. But I had friends. There were people who didn't think that I was evil just because I was, apparently, cursed. There were people who hugged me without expecting anything in return. I know that there are surface-dwellers who try to help people. The disenfranchised. The discriminated. The abused. I know that there are people who try to help, even if they may not understand all of the issues. At least they're trying. If David gets what he wants then he'll kill those people too. He likes killing. He won't ever stop and if I let this continue…these murders – he killed two people tonight when it was supposed to be a simple B&E – if I let them continue then would I really be any different than what patera and matim told me I was?

Cursed.

Demon.

Evil Incarnate.

Just as my birth-name says I am. Kor'dia'ax.

"No, David," I'm shaking my head and acting on instinct now. "I cannot let you do this."

Confusion flashes across his face, quickly followed by anger, "What the hell are you talking about Sha'lain'a?"

"The killing has to stop."

He glances back at the bloody bodies of the once-living, "Fuck, Sha'la, they were in our way!"

I can feel my courage gathering as my fingers instinctively begin to reach for the water – the ocean, "You did not have to kill them, David."

"Yeah, I did."

"No. You did not. You never had to kill anyone. Stop it."

An odd look crosses his face and he tilts his head, studying me, "What the hell's gotten into you, Sha'la?" He frowns, "You're acting like one of Them."

I punch him.

His nose breaks under my fist, my strength courtesy of my Atlantean physiology. He swears violently, clutching his nose.

"Do not call me one of Them," I hiss, the adrenaline from the punch still rushing through my veins. "They are murderers, abusers, jackass psychopathic assholes with arrogantly ignorant and bigoted beliefs that cannot seem to comprehend that they might be wrong."

Water rises from the ocean and wraps around David, restraining him, freezing him to the dock next to the corpses of his victims. He's still swearing at me.

"What you are proposing will cause a war. I can't let you do that, David. Not now."

His eyes go buggy and a garbled exclamation erupts from his mouth. I only catch the word 'pregnant' when I realize that my hand is over my stomach and, well, I've been a bit off for a while and David's smart. He probably connected the dots.

I don't confirm or deny the accusation that I'm pregnant. I just stand, resolute. In moments I'm in the water dodging where our lookouts will be watching and I'm swimming until I can't swim any longer. Then, I hole myself up in an underwater cave, return to my just-kicked-out-of-my-house state when I was 10, and cry. I have no idea what I'm supposed to do now. No home. No family. No money. Pregnant.

I wind up crying myself into a nightmare-ridden sleep.

Vancouver, British Columbia : August 3, 1994 – 02:03 PDT

When you live underwater you have to have at least moderately enhanced senses to navigate your way down there. The ocean floor is very dark and water doesn't work as air does in relation to sound waves. The people who know Atlanteans are aware of this. They're aware of our enhanced hearing, our enhanced sight, our sensitivity to certain smells etcetera. That's why, unlike most humans, I have less trepidations with living where I do, with an infant.

A month ago I gave birth to a girl. I cried more than she did. Partly from relief, partly from utter terror, partly from more fear, partly from pain etcetera. Naturally, I gave birth underwater, in the North Pacific Ocean. I hadn't returned to Atlantis since I had left the South Atlantic when I was 14 courtesy of those soldiers – and the small stint along North America's East Coast when I left David and wound up swimming all the way to Quebec. I was still terrified that, even with my new name and changed appearance and location, they would find me, hunt me down and hurt me baby. I was still carrying the Curse of Kordax, after all. But I couldn't stomach the thought of giving birth on the surface. It was just too strange. It wasn't right. My instincts demanded that I give birth underwater, so I did. By myself.

Most terrifying experience of my entire life.

I had been living in the waters around Vancouver Island, occasionally drying off and making my way on land to get some different food, some money, some information on raising a child when you're an 18-year-old impure Atlantean cursed by Kordax and on the run from Atlantean and various surface-world law enforcement – there's very little information out there for a girl in my predicament, unsurprisingly. But when I gave birth and found myself staring at a tiny baby girl who suddenly relied on me for more than merely feeding I realized that I did not have what I needed to care for her. I needed some sort of support system or I'd go insane. I needed a stable-ish home. I needed someplace I could get a steady income, or at least steal from relatively easily. I needed a community of some sort.

Thus, my move into what I lived in now. I was squatting in an abandoned, decrepit building which was probably not the best place for a newborn but it was the best I could grab while having gills, being an 18-year-old girl with a baby and having more Atlantean coins than Canadian. My obvious biracial heritage probably played a part as well, unfortunately. However, with my magic and physiology the building is better than other options. It's one of our best options, in fact. I can make a decrepit building more structurally sound with my magic and ensure that no assholes wind up busting into our place and fucking with me and my daughter.

Despite the protective spells and wards, I can't sleep tonight. I keep on waking up, terrified.

While Mai – a kind woman who collected scraps of paper and then folded them together to create various creatures that needed a second chance and then used her magic to bring them to life – looked after my daughter I was doing my usual run through the garbages and prepping to sell the best stuff off I ran into. I ran into, not unusually, Joa.

There are a few types of street people. The ones I like to be around are the ones who have the most interesting stories. The ones who aren't mean for no good reason, the ones who know about the other worlds, about magic, about spirits, about karma and such and, to put it simply, are willing to see things that most people aren't willing to see. Like, for example, the pixies that came out of one of my buyer's telephones one afternoon and tore his store apart just for kicks. He called the cops to report a break-in. He didn't see the pixies, or the signs of the pixies. I did. So did Joa.

Joa likes to say that she has better eyesight than I do. That she sees things even I don't see. I go with it. So when she said that she saw a darkness, an ooze, following me and my daughter throughout the day I didn't disregard it like most people would. I believe her when she says she can See things. So I'm rightfully concerned when she mentions the darkness, the ooze that keeps on creeping up on my daughter and I.

Clearly, I'm still hanging onto her words. Either my mind is playing tricks on me because of what Joa said or my gut is telling me that there is something wrong.

I go with my gut to be safe.

My daughter is still sleeping – amazingly – in the plastic bin I had found, cleaned, patched and filled with water. I learned very quickly that she sleeps much better in water than not. Her instincts, I suppose, telling her that water is better, just like my instincts told me when I gave birth to her.

There are two other tubs of water in the room. One is by the door. The other is by the window. Her bed is in the closet – just in case I need to hide her quickly – and my bed is beside the closet. I have my clothes hanging in the corner of the closet that isn't right above her bed and her clothes are on the shelf above. There's a pile of blankets – not that we need them, we're built for cold, but I was paranoid – in the corner while another pile makes up my bed. Our food is mainly in the fridge and on the counter and shelves in the corner opposite our beds and by the window there is a collection of collapsible and retractable weapons. A collapsible sword. A retractable staff. A small handgun. Etcetera. My money is always on me, always, and I always try and keep this place as clean as possible.

I know every inch of our room and I know every sound that every millimetre makes.

Instinctively, I turn from my daughter's bed and through the darkness – it gets dark at the bottom of the ocean – I can see and sense the door opening. That was what had woken me up. The wards being triggered by whoever was trying to get in our room.

I move immediately, shutting the closet door, snapping to my feet and snapping up a length of water that wraps around the person's wrist on the doorknob and sends them stumbling into the room right into my grip. I grab them and twist their arms behind their back immediately.

He glares at me.

My eyes widen.

"You!" I hiss, ensuring that my voice is low. I force him to his knees and snap, still quietly, "What the fuck are you doing here David? I would have thought that freezing you to the dock gave the message 'I never want to see you again' pretty clearly."

"Hello to you too, Sha'lain'a," he responds, oddly calm. "I just thought that a father should get the chance to see his daughter."

I nearly break his right wrist. He gasps in pain and nearly falls on his face. I hold him up and twist him around, slamming him against the wall and pinning him there with my forearm against his throat.

I don't hate him. I can't. He's half the reason for my baby girl.

"How do you know about her?" I hiss.

He splutters and I lessen the pressure between my forearm and his throat. He explains, "I've been talking to your friends. They don't seem to care about your gills or her gills. Nice people."

I raise an eyebrow sharply, "Since when have you called anyone 'nice'? What do you want David?"

I have no idea where my brashness is coming from. Where my demanding attitude is from. Maybe it just came, a sort of package-deal, along with motherhood?

"I want to see my daughter."

"No."

His eyes flick to the window, "They are nice people aren't they? They don't hate you, not Joa, not Mai, not Brian." He was a skinshifter, could trade in his human skin for the skin of a black bear. I'd only seen him shift once but I knew there were others out there. Joa, Mai and Brian were all sweethearts. It was obvious that David was threatening them and if I knew David I knew that the instant he got out of prison, or off that dock, whatever, that he would have rallied all the people he got on his side and they were now watching my people, waiting for whatever order David was going to give them, an order which was decided on when I decided what I was going to do.

I can't do that to them. The only one of them who'd have the means to defend himself against David effectively was Brian and even then he'd need to shift skins first.

She's crying now too.

I shoot him a look that ensures he knows exactly what I think of him and what he's doing before I step back from him and stride to the closet. I pull her out of the water and into my arms, murmuring softly in Atlantean. I don't know any Atlantean lullabies but I've been trying to translate some English ones into Atlantean. It isn't working very well.

David steps forward, his arms out. I hesitate but one look at him reminds me of Brian and Mai and Joa. Carefully, I hand her to him.

"What's her name?" he asks, his expression unchanging as he cradles her in his arms, silent. She stopped crying the instant I picked her up. She isn't fussy at all. She knows exactly what she wants and, usually, I know as well.

"Kalladura'ham," I answer.

"No surname?" he questions, staring at me.

"No," I respond. "Surnames generally aren't used in Atlantis."

If he didn't know before then he knows now that I don't consider him a part of her life beyond conception.

I watch him warily, taking in her tiny gills, the little webbing between her fingers and toes, the complexion darker than mine but lighter than his, the green eyes that are mine and the nose that will slowly turn into his, and the soft snatches of blonde hair brushing across her scalp. I almost cried, again, when I found out that she had the Curse of Kordax as well. I've since decided that it doesn't matter. I'll just teach her that it isn't a bad thing. The Curse means nothing. She can either ignore or kick the ass of anyone who says otherwise.

She doesn't reach out for him. She's not a baby who seeks out cuddling. She's perfectly comfortable being by herself, entertained by whatever is around her. It's a relief, usually, having a baby who isn't particularly fussy, who isn't constantly wailing for my attention. At the same time though, it's puzzling. All I know about babies are the ones that are wailing for attention and won't stop. I was terrified in the beginning that something was wrong with her but I've since realized that there isn't anything wrong with her, she's just content, adaptable.

I suppose that means that I'm doing something right.

David hands her back to me. I adjust her position in my arms and she lies comfortably against my chest and arms. I stare at David, "There, you had your chance. Now go and don't ever try and get near me or my daughter again."

His eyes flash and I know that I've said the wrong thing.

"I'll go," he says. "But I deserve to be a part of her life. I deserve to see her grow up." He takes a step forward. I turn slightly so that I'm between him and Kalladura'ham. He shakes his head, "What if she's like me, huh? You have no idea how to deal with that."

"I'll figure it out," I snap. Kalladura'ham's tensing. She knows that something's wrong. She knows that I'm angry and scared. I force myself to relax. I don't want her crying now.

"I'm half the reason she even exists. I'll give you my contact information and you will send me, every year, every – every single one of her birthdays you'll send me a photograph and a letter. A letter about my daughter."

"You're killing people, David, I can't…"

"I'll kill more, Sha'la. I swear I will."

"Fine!"

Kalladura'ham whimpers. I turn to her quickly, my gaze softening, and run my webbed fingers over her scalp, murmuring softly in Atlantean. I stroke the edge of her ear and with that and the murmurings she slowly quiets.

I sigh and turn back to David, "Fine. I'll do it."

"I'll be in touch," he promises then strides towards the door. He pauses at the door and adds, "By the way, don't call me David anymore. I'm going by Black Manta now."

He leaves. I'm shaking.

The door swings open a second later and Calvin walks in. He was with David – Black Manta – when I left. A year younger than me. It was pointless to say that his home life wasn't the best. None of our home lives were the best. He was a human and I never found out the reason why but he was loyal to David, like everyone else.

Maybe, once upon a time, David was a nice man. But I suppose that there's only so much a person can take before all the meanness of other people rubs off on them and they have to scream and punch and find a way out of it all. Even if it means they'll hurt a few people along the way. Maybe that's all they know. Meanness and feeling pain and handing pain out and crying and wondering whywhywhywhy.

Calvin was always a sweetheart. A nice kid who, I think, never really understood what was going on or how he got into it. The B&E, the vandalism, the murders, the manipulation, the loyalty to a man who had enough meanness from others that he learned the only way to survive was to become just as mean, if not worse.

Calvin stops and stares at me, two metres away. He plunges his hand into his jacket and I catch a glimpse of a gun before he pulls out a thick yellow envelope from his inside jacket pocket and puts it on the ground. I just stare at him. When he straightens he looks at Kalladura'ham and smiles, "Cute kid."

I don't say a word.

He looks at me, too old for his 17 years, all sad eyes and unbreakable jaw, and gestures vaguely to the envelope, "Might help with Princess there."

He walks out.

I don't move for ten minutes. When I do I put Kalladura'ham back in the tub and carefully raise a water-shield around her. Joa knows she's here. So do Mai and Brian. They'll check.

I crouch in front of the envelope and slowly, carefully, rip it open. I freeze upon the sight of what's inside. Money. So much money. Canadian bills. American bills. Atlantean coins.

Oh Poseidon…what…was this Calvin's idea or David's – Black Manta's?

It's blood money, I know that. They stole it or got it for doing shitty stuff. I can't use it but, at the same time, I need it. I don't want to be a thief and a prostitute for the rest of my life to support my baby girl.

I can feel a lump in my throat so I sit back, let the water-shield fall, and lean against the wall, the money still resting innocently in the envelope. Before I know what's happening, I'm sobbing. Sobbing like I was when my baby girl was born.

Kleftiko, Milos : October 29, 1999 – 18:47 EET

::: Matim… ::: a yawn interrupts Kalladura'ham's telepathic communication. She rubs at her eyes with small webbed fists and winces. Scrunching her eyelids she grimaces, freezing in her movements.

::: Rini. ::: Angelfish. I murmur through the same telepathic connection, borne of our apparent 'Curse of Kordax'. I rub a comforting hand up the small of my daughter's back, kneading her small muscles meditatively. Kalladura'ham exhales and leans forward, resting her head on her knees, causing her blonde braids to bob on either side of her head.

Soft blue light spreads from my hands as I run my hands softly down Kalladura'ham's left arm, touching the tattoos winding around it. The brand new markings are necessary. Kalladura'ham's control over her magic is less than optimal and through no fault of her own. The amount of strain the sorcery put on her body is staggering and with the sorcery gift that I have it's nearly inevitable that she held the same potential. Suffice to say, it's a lot of potential. The problem is that her patera is a human and therefore biologically not as suited to using sorcery as an Atlantean is. The first time Kalladura'ham used sorcery was when she was 2 and attempting to mimic one of my spells and move water up and out of the tap to clean up a spill.

She electrocuted herself instead. Apparently, my daughter inherited my affinity for electrical spells as well.

The problem lies in the fact that while most Atlanteans can channel their sorcery through their innate biological channels – which appear on our skin as glowing, winding markings – Kalladura'ham cannot. She was not born with those channels. As a result, the sorcery, or, the electricity as it was when she was 2, darted off its predetermined path and shot through her body like thousands of pinballs, assaulting every part of her it could reach.

There are still small patches of scar tissue on the bottom of her feet and palms thanks to her adventures with magic that her body cannot handle.

I had, in desperation, grabbed every piece of information I could on half-Atlanteans, half-Humans and Atlantean sorcery and quickly determined that without some sort of channel within or upon her body to help her sorcery stay on track and not rip her apart from the inside-out, Kalladura'ham would simply have to never perform sorcery. Which is ridiculous. Sorcery is just as much a part of her as her physiology is. It's like breathing. It's a part of her. Not something she can reject and simply not do.

Thus, the 26 month long process of applying the tattoos across Kalladura'ham's back and arms. I needed to create the channels that most Atlanteans are born with and place them upon my baby girl. The tattoos are those artificial channels.

The process, unfortunately, is as painful as it sounds. I have to essentially carve away layers of Kalladura'ham's skin in the place where the channels would go and then replace the skin with magical prosthetics that will immediately gather the energy from Kalladura'ham's sorcery and channel it along her back, arms and hands to be released, ideally, along the channels.

It's taken two months to place the channels along her back. Plus another four months for Kalladura'ham to heal completely. Four months to place the channels along her right arm. Six to heal. Four months to place the channels along her left arm. Another six to heal. To make it even more agonizing I will have to go back and strengthen the older channels to keep them viable. It'll become an annual thing.

At least now, finally, the wrappings from my baby's left wrist and hand are off and I'm applying the final recovery spells to the markings and the skin around them.

The glow from my magic fades away and with big pale green eyes my baby turns and stares at me, silent. I grin and announce through our telepathic link, ::: Done. :::

Kalladura'ham beams. She flexes her hand experimentally, her grin growing wider and wider until she lunges at me, flinging her arms around me and squealing in excitement. I fall backwards into the water, hugging her tightly, laughing.

We celebrate by playing tag under the water and then lie half immersed in the sea with me pointing out various constellations. In the middle of the story of Orion she falls asleep comfortably with her head on the sand and water lapping up her belly and chest. I sleep next to her.

Shayeris, Atlantis : July 2, 2002 – 15:13 UTC-03

I don't even care that one of my guests said I was impure. Again.

Apparently, even though I was prepping myself and Kalladura'ham for mocking and abuse based on the Curse of Kordax, a majority of Atlanteans moved past hair colours in the time since I was among them and decided to start in on visible differences from Homo sapiens. Thus, gills and webbing such as my own and my daughter's are hideous things that warrant verbal assault. Which is ridiculous. We're Atlanteans. We aren't supposed to look like Humans unless we have Human blood.

At the moment, I could not care less. I am going to pick up my daughter from home and we are going to go on our annual trip to the surface for her birthday.

Whoa. Maybe not.

I stop and swim backwards, my eyes widening at the sight at the north entrance to Shayeris. I remain where I stopped, watching as the man with the large gills and shaved head enters the city. He looks shaken. All scared eyes and unbreakable jaw set in a dark coffee complexion.

Calvin?

I swim towards the 25-year-old. He would have to be 25 by now. He's a year younger than me; he'd have to be. I slow as he moves past the guards and spots me. His eyes widen and flick to the left as his hand – it's webbed now, that is bizarre – makes a quick sign. I understand immediately. I won't ever forget the sign language David – Black Manta – devised for us.

I head east, towards home. Calvin – it's definitely Calvin, no mistake – follows me as expected. I sincerely hope that Kalladura'ham is not home when we get there. This would be difficult to explain to her. She has a bullshit detector a league wide, even at only 8.

I do not have to wait long in the house before Calvin is coming in, eyes wide. He stops two metres from reaching me. All we do is stare.

Very little about him has changed. He's older, obviously, but his eyes are still the same, his jaw is still set, he's still slightly taller than me but he has webbing and gills. Webbing and gills. He's a human, he isn't supposed to have either and even if he did they weren't supposed to work!

He's speaking Atlantean. That isn't as strange as the webbing and gills but is still odd enough that it takes me a moment to register that he's actually speaking Atlantean and not English.

"Sha'lain," he uses the correct shortened version of my name, not the one that David – Black Manta – used. "I-he wanted…I can't do it now."

"Calvin, what are you talking about?" I ask, moving forward and helping him to a seat. He looks sick.

He swallows, "David."

I shut my eyes, "Did he give you the gills?"

"Yes." Calvin hesitates, "He – he wanted me to infiltrate Atlantis. Poseidonis specifically. The Palace. He wants to take over Atlantis, Sha'lain."

"Why are you here then?"

"David thinks you're still on the surface. I thought so too, same with Zed, Sierra, Keith…but I heard rumors of a half-Human child and rumors of you. I had to see if it was you."

I can't breathe when he stares up at me, his eyes echoing regret perfectly. He's desperate.

"David…I don't think he'll care if by taking over this place he hurts you and..." he pauses, clearly not remembering her name. I don't give it to him. He repeats, "I don't think he'll care if by taking over this place he hurts you and Princess."

"He probably doesn't. He just likes using people and pretending he's in control," I snap, crossing my arms. "Why are you here Cal?"

"I understand if you can't but…I need help. If he finds out what I've done, that we've met-"

"He'll make you tell him where we are and then he'll kill you."

His silence tells me I'm right.

"You've managed to stay hidden from him for years even while sending a letter to him every year. You're the best person I know at hiding and staying hidden. I just need to find some way to get him off my back, to think I'm dead or something."

My jaw tightens. I exhale heavily. He's right, of course. I have over a decade of experience in operating from underground or hiding in plain sight and my success rate is pretty impressive. If I want to hide someone or something no one, except perhaps my daughter, will find it.

Abruptly, I straighten up, sensing my daughter's entry into the house. Alarmed, I quickly move to Calvin, not entirely certain what to do with him. My alarm quickly turns to fear and anger as Kalladura'ham comes into my view and I see cuts and bruises, a bloody nose, a broken finger and a chunk of her hair missing. Calvin forgotten I rush over to her even as she curls into herself and bites her lower lip, trying to not cry.

My concerns are expressed both telepathically and verbally as I begin to take her bag from her – its strap is torn completely off, she's clutching it so tightly I have to pry her fingers off it – and murmur healing spells, ::: "What happened? Who did this to you? Rini, it's okay sweetheart, it's okay, Matim's here." :::

She doesn't bother speaking verbally, just sends images and words through our telepathic link. I hug her tightly as the taunts of the bullies and the assaults – they kicked my baby, they punched my baby, they made my baby bleed and broke her finger! Even as the images and words – pain, fear, whywhywhywhywhy, stopstopstopstopstop – rush through my mind I know that she's holding back. She's holding back the emotions that went along with the attack. She always holds back her emotions. When she came home from her first day of school and said that she hadn't made any friends, she held back. When she came home from the third month and said that she was playing with some of the younger kids and spending break with one of her instructors because he was nice, she held back. When she said that the other kids didn't like her much, said she was too smart, said she was impure, one did – to my surprise – mention the Curse of Kordax, she held back.

It's what she does.

She cries now though. She's crying against me, even though she's trying not to, and I'm fighting the urge to start going to each of those kids' houses and either yell at the kids or punch their parents for letting my baby be hurt.

"I'll leave."

I nearly jump, having forgotten that Calvin is still here. I raise my head sharply as Kalladura'ham peeks out from my arms and stares, wide-eyed, at Calvin. I shake my head, "No, it's alright. Make yourself at home. I need to…"

"Take your time," he nods and waits for me to move Kalladura'ham to the kitchen so he decides to move to the living area to stay out of our way.

Within thirty minutes I'm in the living room introducing Kalladura'ham to my friend Calvin. As expected, she stares at the ground and clings to me.

Calvin crouches to her level, the tightness in his jaw dying away as he smiles warmly, "You know how to kick those bullies' butts?"

Kalladura'ham stares at him. She tightens her grip on my hand and says softly, "Sorta. Matim taught me some stuff."

"I was smart in school too, you know. People used to pick on me a lot."

Her eyes widen, "Really?"

"Oh yeah, Princess."

She ducks her head again, scuffing the ground with her toes and I can sense her embarrassment rising, "M'not a princess."

He reaches out and cups her chin in his hand. She lets him lift her chin so that she's looking at him, still hesitant. He smiles, "Trust me, you're a princess to somebody."

She doesn't seem satisfied by that answer but lets it go with a frown, "Why are you using English?"

Calvin and I freeze.

"Lots of Atlanteans know English, Kalladura'ham," I say, switching back to full Atlantean instead of Atlantean interspersed with English names and titles.

"No they don't."

Calvin smirks, "You are smart, aren't you?"

Kalladura'ham crosses her arms, "Who are you really?"

It takes another twenty minutes to convince her that Calvin is a half-Atlantean who spent a lot of time on the surface with his human family (he's adopted Kalladura'ham, of course) and is nothing else. She accepts the explanation grudgingly and then we travel to the surface with Calvin accompanying us. Calvin distracts Kalladura'ham while I send David – Black Manta – the required letter and photograph.

We sit on the beach with ice cream cones in our hands and watch the sun go down. I never stop glancing over at Kalladura'ham and the healing cuts and broken finger. She knows how to fight. I taught her myself. Yet, she didn't fight back and I'm not entirely certain I know why. The thought keeps me up more effectively than helping Calvin find a way out of David's ranks does. After all, I have experience in keeping people hidden. I don't have nearly as much experience in deciphering my daughter's motivations.

A/N: This story became a tad larger than originally intended. Originally, it was just going to focus on fem!Kaldur in a oneshot or similar. Then Sha'lain'a grabbed me and demanded inclusion. Then I began re-reading Spirits in the Wires by Charles de Lint and reignited my love for the Urban Fantasy genre - thus the Vancouver, B.C. part of this chapter and Sha'lain'a's interpretations of magic. Then Legend of Korra began and fem!Kaldur declared that she looked like Korra, except with gills, webbing, tattoos and blonde hair. It spiraled. The Character Bunnies - yes, I got Character Bunnies instead of Plot Bunnies for this story, they're worse, I swear - attacked. It got messy. I have about 15 different versions of this thing on my computer - including crossovers because crossovers are my kryptonite - so I'm not entirely certain where this is heading but the next chapter should be from Kalladura'ham's perspective if all goes according to my (admittedly, rather chaotic) plan.

FYI, this story, for the moment, is taking a backseat to The Warriors of the Deities (my small crossover between Class of the Titans and Young Justice, *cough*shameless self-plug*cough*), which should be finished in a couple weeks as I've got the bulk of it written out already. So, unless the Character Bunnies attack again, don't expect the next chapter for another week at the very least, probably two weeks.

R&R