Chapter Text
Something was wrong with the universe.
At least, there must've been something wrong with its sense of humor, because Maps's day started with a natural one on the dice, and it only went tumbling downhill from there.
When Maps reluctantly cracked her eyes open that morning, it took a moment for her to collect her bearings. Blinking blearily against the light, she cast her gaze out the window to run her daily calculations of the approximate time based on the angle of the sun and the time of year (a skill she had made up her mind to perfect because that was WAY cooler than looking at a clock), only to groan at the finding that it was cloudy and drizzling outside. So, begrudgingly, she looked at the clock hung up on the wall, only to find that it was 8:00 in the morning already.
Oversleeping wasn't out of the ordinary for the young vigilante. During the night there were secrets to explore and mysteries to solve, not to mention all the evil-doers with dastardly schemes to foil! Just last night, she'd worked with Batgirl, Batman, and the other Robin (it still amazed her to think that she was also Robin now) to resolve a case the four of them had been tracking for weeks. In other words, it was just about the coolest night ever. She'd also gotten to meet Poison Ivy in person, and immediately decided that the kinda-sorta-reformed villain (anti hero? She wasn't clear on the details, but Batman seemed to consider her a tentative ally these days) was awesome. Not only that, Ivy had actually helped them fight, after taking personal offense that the trafficking ring they were after had stolen and altered some of her pollen to make a powerful heat inducer– which was why Batman sought her assistance with this case in the first place. She'd even complimented Maps’s strategy as they planned before the fight! So as much as Maps liked her teacher this year, her usual nighttime activities simply seemed far more important than consistently arriving at first-period English on time (Sorry, Ms. Bertinelli!).
So it wasn't unusual in the slightest for Maps to wake up late. But she did typically manage to get out of bed just before school started at 7:30, even if she arrived ten minutes late or so. What was unusual was for her slumber to persist through every one of her alarms (of which she had precisely seven) and finally break more than halfway through English class entirely.
So as soon as her exhausted brain made sense of the position of the hands on the clock, she bolted straight upright, wings flaring out behind her while her eyes flew wide.
"Oh my crap!" She burst, scrambling to get out of bed quickly. Instead, in her haste, she managed to tangle her legs in the sheets and fall on her face.
“Crap…” She groaned again, rolling over and rubbing at her cheek. She'd definitely have a bruise there later. But there wasn't time to worry about that now. She extricated herself from the sheets to stand up– far more carefully this time– and yanked her clothes on, almost jabbing herself in the head as she shoved her flower clip into her hair as an afterthought while running out the door. It was only when she burst out onto the balcony at the end of the hall that she remembered it was raining, and it had gone from sprinkling to pouring in the few minutes she'd taken to get outside.
There were two kinds of rain here on the outskirts of Gotham where the academy was located. The first– which she quite enjoyed– was when a storm blew in from the north and brought with it crisp winds and a rain which felt refreshing and cleansing. A rain that was followed by a wonderful smell wafting up from the damp earth, as if the land itself were breathing a sigh of relief. The second, and unfortunately far more common, type of rain occurred when the storm brewed over Gotham herself. When the clouds took their time absorbing the muck and chemicals which polluted the city's air, and the rain they released always carried a faint, acrid stench and only seemed to make everything seem dirtier, including her when she felt it soak into her hair and feathers and skin. It was that sort of rain which had often made her think– even before meeting her– that of all the villains in Gotham, reformed or otherwise, Ivy was the most justified. It always seemed to Maps as if the sky itself were weeping, lamenting what had been done to it in the city and punishing humanity for its corruption of the world.
Today was of that sort, and a dismal smog hung heavily overhead. In other words, it was horrible weather for flying, so there was no hope of making it to catch the last few minutes of English. Which would disappoint her on any day, but to make matters worse, she'd promised to take notes in English for Katherine so her friend could stay in and rest on the last day of her heat. Resolving to go to Ms Bertinelli's room after school to ask what they'd done in class that day, Maps reluctantly took the stairs which descended along the side of the building instead of leaping off the balcony like she would if it weren't raining, and began the miserable trudge across campus to her next class.
The walk was made more miserable by the fact that she'd forgotten an umbrella in her rush, and she hardly had the time to go back for it. So the rain dripped onto her completely unobstructed, seeping into her hair and feathers and soaking through her clothes. Each droplet which made contact with her flesh seemed to prickle uncomfortably, and the faint chill she'd felt since waking up crept deeper, as though the cold were sinking its teeth and claws into her being and burrowing into her bones to carve a permanent place for itself. She thought about skipping the rest of her classes entirely– go back to her dorm, take a nice, long, hot shower, and cuddle up in bed, cozy and surrounded by soft blankets for the remainder of the day– but while Ms. Bertinelli was oddly lenient about her constant tardiness, her other teachers were not nearly so forgiving. Ditching would almost certainly mean a call home to her parents. A call home would give rise to questions about why she was tired enough to start playing hooky, and she couldn't exactly tell her parents what it was she did at night, so it really seemed best to avoid that entirely, and she begrudgingly kept walking.
By the time she arrived to pre-calc, sliding into her seat just as the bell rang, Maps was shivering as if she'd just gone toe to toe with Mr Freeze. Distantly she wondered whether the man had tampered with the school's air conditioning for some reason– there was little else she could think of to explain how cold it was– but she was relatively certain he was still in Blackgate. But there would be time to ponder that later, she thought, as she pulled her notebook out of her bag (thank the seven she'd been wise enough to buy a waterproof bag) to follow along with the example problem that Mr. Martin had already started writing on the board.
That proved a difficult task. It was challenging to focus on anything other than the sensation of what must've been liquid nitrogen coursing through her veins. Her jaw began to ache with the effort of keeping her teeth from chattering. She tried shifting her wings to cover her arms as much as was feasible while still being able to write, but found that it made little difference. Her usually-soft feathers were just as damp and cold as the rest of her felt. And the longer math dragged on, the more sensitive she became. The same prickly feeling she'd felt with the raindrops outside seemed to bloom with every touch, until the brush of her feathers against her arms became downright unbearable and she was forced to abandon that strategy altogether.
Her body was like a live wire, frayed nerves sparking and misfiring at the slightest stimuli. It wasn't just touch, either, though that seemed to be the worst; She was hyper aware of every sound, too. The tap tap tap of someone's pencil grated on her ears, and the squeaking of the marker on the white board was akin to nails scraping across her skull as her head began to ache. The monotonous, repetitive noises were bad enough, but any unexpected noise seemed to make her wings twitch and the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end as if electrocuted. She hadn't been this jumpy since she'd been recovering from exposure to a small amount of fear toxin. Every part of her being was on edge and she found herself shifting in her seat, a restless urge to do… something bubbling within her. She needed to be somewhere else, her frazzled instincts seemed to whisper, somewhere safe, somewhere protected.
Unfortunately for her instincts, Mia Mizoguchi had classes, so that would have to wait.
When the shrill tone of the bell echoed through the stone halls, Maps only barely managed to suppress an alarmed whistle and not fall out of her chair. After a deep breath to steady herself, she gathered her things to walk to her next class. As she slumped through the corridors, trying to ignore the chattering and whistles of other students which seemed to ping pong off the walls and directly to her brain, she was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder.
“Hey, have you seen Pom arou- woah- hey-” Coulton broke off, his orange wings flaring out in surprise as Maps whirled around, her lips parting as two conflicting urges warred for control. To… bite or hiss? Luckily the moment of indecision between the two gave her time to tamp both instincts down. And to ponder how she'd failed to notice the omega's smoke and apricot scent as he approached. Holy failed perception check, Batman!
“...You good?” Coulton asked hesitantly. Maps took a deep breath and nodded, giving her best attempt at her usual cheerful grin.
“Yeah, just tired! Long night, y'know?” She rubbed her neck sheepishly, almost wincing at how tender the skin there was. “And I haven't seen Pom today, sorry! I wish you good fortune in your search, my friend! Gotta get to class!”
She turned and hurried off, barely noticing Coulton's uncertain “Uh, right, sure-” or the concerned stare which followed her until she turned the corner.
If pre-cal had seemed to last forever, chemistry was somehow even worse. The day seemed determined to drag by as a dull slog with no end in sight. It also seemed determined to grow more and more miserable by the hour, because it was during that third period chem class that the cramps started. They began as a dull ache, low in her stomach, and worsened over the next twenty minutes, becoming some of the worst period cramps she'd had. Her lower back and stomach radiated waves of pain and nausea through her body until she wanted to cry. She'd thought her period had ended two days before! But– she supposed– it wasn't exactly regular yet. And she was incredibly active thanks to the demands of being a vigilante. So even if her period hadn't exactly stopped for a day before resuming in the past, this probably wasn't too unusual. So she gritted her teeth against the intense discomfort and tried to distract herself.
Thank the seven she didn't need to deal with heats or ruts. Periods were trouble enough as it was.
Maps lived under a sort of general, looming fear of the day she presented, and all the inconveniences and expectations that could come with it. Her mother was an alpha and her father an omega, they were in most senses a traditional family– something which her mother was keen for her children to emulate. So Maps kept her fingers figuratively crossed that she, much like her older brother, would be a beta. The ins and outs of hierarchy and etiquette were already annoying and confusing enough as it was! She didn't need another layer of smothering rules to uphold. The best case scenario was that she was a beta, and nothing would change. Absolute worst case… she'd be an omega, but she tried not to think about it. She believed she'd probably be capable of handling the expectations of being an alpha– begrudgingly so– but an omega? 'Demure' wasn't a word she thought much suited her, and it never would be. She shuddered at the very idea of her mom trying to find a proper alpha suitor for her. She could just imagine being taught to be all pretty and polite and obedient for them, and she was quite determined never to live like that. And if she were an alpha, she'd be expected to court an omega, to fulfill a different set of roles and expectations and restrictions, which, while seeming far less claustrophobic than those of an omega, still didn't particularly appeal to her.
As a beta though, she'd have more freedom. To date whoever she wanted, to live how she wanted. Of course, at the end of the day, she knew her parents wouldn't ever force her into anything; They'd eventually make peace with whatever decisions she made regardless of what she was, but… there was bound to be disappointment along the way. It was complicated, but as a beta she'd not need to deal with most of it. It would just be easier. And at that point, the possibility of any other outcome was so slim she'd practically put it out of her mind entirely. After all, it had been almost a year since she'd started puberty, long enough that the chances of a presentation were close to zero. In about two months, if she still hadn't presented as alpha or omega, she could safely be declared a beta. It was while she pondered those thoughts (and tried not to think about just how badly she felt) that the next bell rang, so she stumbled out of her seat and pushed on despite how wobbly her legs now felt.
The longer the day stretched on, the more it felt like she was wading through honey to focus on anything her teachers said. Their words were relegated to a distant droning which pressed in on her brain and made her head pound more painfully while she sat there, wishing more than anything, to be back in her room. Lunch break was a small mercy, which she opted to spend alone in her next classroom. She didn't have an appetite anyway, and it was a small break from the noise which made her head feel the slightest bit less like there was a hacksaw dragging across her skull, even if everything else felt progressively worse.
She was so sluggish and tired then that she barely noticed as the teacher and the other students filtered into the room, and probably wouldn't have if not for how sensitive she seemed to every miniscule input from her surroundings. She didn't even have the energy to properly greet Damian when he took his seat next to her, only to raise her hand in an approximation of a wave before grabbing her notebook from her bag, feeling entirely weak and uncoordinated. It almost slipped out of her fingers before she could set it on top of her desk, and she didn't even bother to open it as class began.
Her head felt heavy, so she let it rest in her hands while she tried to tune everything out and imagine she was anywhere but here, anywhere but here…
She was startled back into reality by the feeling of Damian's hand closing around her wrist and pulling her out of the classroom. The most startling thing was that it didn't seem to almost hurt the way every physical sensation had that day. It actually felt… better. Steadying. It seemed to drive away a fragment of the chill that had settled within her. A brown speckled wing wrapped around her shoulders as the owl led her away, and radiated a blooming warmth through her skin, leaching the tension that had gathered through the hours she'd spent shivering. She stared, dazed, at the point where his fingers encircled her wrist for the rest of the walk, hardly noticing anything else until– what felt like seconds later– they were finally, blessedly, back at her dorm.