A/N: This is the first part of a two to three part miniseries I had an idea for just a few days ago. Originally, it was gonna be a oneshot, but I pretty much just started writing and I looked up and it was twelve pages long on Microsoft Word and the main conflict hadn't even started yet. So, I decided to break it up into parts. Hope you enjoy!

A Dark Knight: A Pair of Thieves

A dark silhouette raced across the rooftops in pursuit of a scream resonating through an alleyway. Bruce Wayne was in full vigilante gear, from his new armored jacket to a dark hood and a metal mask that wrapped from the bridge of his nose all the way around his face, leaving only his eyes uncovered. Alfred had modified the mask with a voice changer so when he spoke it sounded deeper and scarier. He bounded from the edge of one building and flew for a few seconds before reaching out and gripping the side of a fire escape. He climbed a few stories, using the railings as a ladder and pulled himself up onto the flat roof.

Now at his destination, he crept to the opposite side of the building and made his way down the fire escape silently. A voice from below demanded, "Hand over anything valuable: watches, jewelry, money, wallets, whatever you got. Do it quick and you can all go home tonight."

Bruce quickly assessed the situation. The robber was around 5'10" and had broad shoulders. He was holding three people, one older man and two younger women, at knifepoint. Seeing no other threat, Bruce descended to the second floor.

He jumped from his perch and landed on the ground kneeling. He slowly lifted his head up as the robber took two steps back in surprise. In his deep, distorted voice, Bruce commanded, "Drop the knife."

Typically, the dark attire and deep voice, paired with him appearing from out of nowhere would scare off Bruce's targets. However, this one was different. The assailant was wearing a mask that exposed his mouth, and Bruce saw him…grin. He called, "Walk away, mate. This doesn't involve you." He brandished his knife and claimed, "I'm just tryin' to survive…"

Bruce cut him off, "Well this isn't the way to do it." When no more words were exchanged, Bruce made a move towards the mugger.

He had the entire fight planned in his head. He'd grab his opponents wrist and make him drop the knife, twist him so that he had full control of his body, and then judo throw him onto the ground head first, which would usually knock the other person out. It'd be just another mugger stopped, nothing special.

He never reached his opponent

A white-hot, burning sensation shot through his right calf. It was so painful that he didn't even scream, Bruce just dropped to the floor in agony, cradling his injured leg. The three innocents were all screaming their heads off for help, but the robber barked, "Shut it and fill the bag!" After a few seconds, which seemed like an eternity to Bruce, the man thanked the three before whispering something to the older man and then stabbing him around his collarbone area. The masked mugger whistled loudly up into the alley and then sprinted out onto the main road.

Bruce didn't fully remember what happened next. He assumed that when he didn't respond to Alfred, his guardian had found him in the alley and whisked him off to Wayne Manor.

Two days later, Bruce woke up in his own king-size bed. He felt drugged, like he'd been given something to ease the pain in his leg… Bruce almost panicked. He couldn't feel his leg. Ripping off the covers, he saw that his right leg was wrapped heavily, but was still attached to the rest of his body.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Bruce called out, "Alfred?!"

A few seconds later, the butler came bustling with a small smile. "Finally awake, are we, Master Bruce? It's about time," he checked his watch for dramatic effect. "For a while there I thought I'd given you too many pain meds."

Bruce asked, "What happened?"

Alfred nodded. "You were shot through the leg, Master B."

"Did the mugger get away?"

Alfred nodded. "Yes, he did get away. However, I think you may be happy that you didn't stop him, Master B."

Utterly confused, Bruce questioned, "I'm sorry, what?"

"The man that the mugger was robbing was a certain Councilman George Alvin."

"Does that mean something?" Bruce asked.

"Well, I'll have you know that Mr. Alvin is a known pedophile and those two young ladies were a part of an underage sex-trafficking ring that the police busted just this morning. So, it seems that the man that you confronted was actually doing the same sort of work that we do."

Bruce shook his head. He asked, "Do you know who shot me?" Alfred appeared confused, so Bruce elaborated, "The man who I confronted, he wasn't holding a gun. I think there may have been two people in that alley with me."

Alfred shrugged, "Well, the second one must've been a pretty damn good shot. The bullet missed every major vein and bone that could've crippled you. Now, you'd better get some rest. It'll be some time before you should walk around on that bloody leg of yours."

Alfred made to leave, but Bruce called him back. He requested, "Alfred, can you bring me any files on vigilante activity in Gotham? I'd like to see if there're any other similar cases to this one."

Alfred nodded. "I'll get right on it, Master Bruce."

Ted Grant was going through the bag of loot that he'd stolen from that old creep, Councilman Alvin. He wouldn't keep any of it, just sell the lot and then split the money with his partner. He asked himself, "What's taking Floyd so long?" He heard light footsteps on the fire escape and a few seconds later the window cracked open. "Speak of the devil…"

Another teen climbed through the window and into the small apartment. He was African-American and skinny, but very fit. He'd pulled his afro back into a bun to keep his wild hair out of his face.

"That could've been bad," Floyd stated.

Ted shrugged, "It went fine. We didn't get a ton off the old man but I'm just glad we took that son of a bitch down."

Floyd nodded. "Yeah, that part went great. I'm talking about the other guy…in the hood."

"Yeah, who was that anyways?"

"No idea. What did he want?"

"I think he thought I was mugging them…"

"Which you were," Floyd pointed out.

Ted shrugged, "True, but I think he thought the Councilman was innocent. Nice shot, by the way."

Floyd scoffed. "We've known each other for our entire lives; have I every missed?"

Rolling his eyes, Ted responded, "No, but it was still a great shot." Ted sighed. "It kinda sucks, though. The other guy seemed like he was just trying to help."

"That's too bad for him, really. He was gonna attack you, so I fired."

Ted nodded. "Anyways, we probably got a couple hundred bucks from that one. I'll go sell it to Nicky the Fence tomorrow morning." He glanced up at his friend who seemed bothered. "You alright, Floyd?"

He nodded. "It's not like I did anything wrong, just that something about it feels…off, ya know?"

Ted shook his head. "Floyd…he rushed me. You were just watching my back is all. There's really nothing to it, so don't beat yourself up over shooting some wannabe vigilante in the leg."

"Vigilante?" Floyd questioned.

"Yeah, I think that's what he was. He was a vigilante trying to make Gotham a safer place," he scoffed and raised a soda can in a toast, "and all the luck in the world to him."

It'd only been a week since Bruce had woken up before he was up and walking back and forth between his study and his room. Granted, he was on crutches, but he was still overjoyed at having mobility again. Many nights, he'd end up sleeping in the study, and sometimes he wouldn't sleep at all.

One particular night, he felt a familiar draft come from the far window and he knew he wasn't alone. He waited a few seconds, pretending that he didn't know she was there before saying, "Hey, Cat."

He heard her arms drop to her sides in disappointment and she whined, "You're no fun anymore." She jumped over the side of the couch and landed next to him gracefully, eyeing his cast. "What happened, B? You trip over a spare gold bar or something?"

He scoffed. "It's a long story. What're you doing here, Cat?" She typically only dropped by when she needed something nowadays.

"Jeeves," which was her nickname for Alfred, "called me and basically said you hadn't talked to or seen anyone other than him in over a week. Figured I'd stop by. Besides, I needed to ask you something," she stated in a serious tone

"What?" Bruce asked, a little nervous now.

"How do you keep getting hurt? I mean, I get that you used to box and stuff and that's why you were always scratched up and whatever, but what're you doing now?"

"Why do you ask?" Bruce asked. He had already prepared an excuse a long time ago if someone asked why he was always hurt or where he spent his nights, but this was Cat. She'd see right through him if he lied.

She sighed and pulled out a photo from her coat pocket. His eyes widened as he stared at a picture of a black armor-clad figure in a dark hood and mask.

It was a photo of him.

She saw his reaction and knew right then and there what the answer to her question was, but she wanted him to answer her. "Is this you?"

He froze, and then nodded. "Yes."

She slammed the picture onto the coffee table and scolded, "Damn you, Bruce! I can understand going after Jerome, or even that Strange guy, but…this!? Do you want to get yourself killed?"

Bruce looked up at her and their eyes met. He could see that there was no anger in her eyes, just fear. He spoke quietly, "I've been doing this for over a year, Selina. This," he gestured to his leg, "is by far the worst thing that has happened."

"But…why? Why do you do it?"

He sighed and then blurted out, "Because no one saved me." She froze when he admitted this, completely unable to look at the younger boy. "Do you remember a few years ago when you told me bad things just happen, and there's nothing I can do about it? Well, I disagree, and I am doing something about it." He paused. "Selina," he reached out to take her hand, and she surprisingly let him, "I have this… calling. I just can't sit here and act like everything is great when there're people out there who are dying because no one will help them; because no one cares enough. If all I could do is save one person from experiencing what happened to me…that'd be enough."

She shook her head and told him, "You're full of shit, you know that?" He looked down and nodded. She kissed him on the top of the head and then said, "I gotta go." She started to march off. Switching into a teasing tone, she told him, "Try not to die…hero." And then she was gone.

Bruce stared at the floor. Even though she was gone, he responded to her in a whisper. "I'm not a hero."

Selina quickly descended down the tree that led to Bruce's study, desperate to get as far away from the place as possible. She practically ran back to the main road and climbed onto the motorcycle she'd borrowed from Tabby and raced back to Gotham. She kept repeating in her head, "Oh God, oh God, oh God…this is bad."

She had taken the picture herself while on reconnaissance for a few friends of hers. She'd known both boys since childhood, one of them had even given her a place to sleep a couple times, but in that moment she wanted nothing to do with either of them. She wondered aloud, "What did I just get myself into?"

Eventually, she arrived back in the city and pulled up to the Sirens Club. Climbing off the bike, she got a few looks from some older men looking for…entertainment. She'd gotten used to the looks since she started wearing an all leather suit with a whip. To put it simply, it tended to attract eyes. One catcalled at her and she flicked him off as she entered the club. She was greeted by a familiar sight: Barbara and Tabby bickering over God knows what.

She passed them with a quick, "Hey," and climbed up the spiral staircase to her room above the club. Making her way to the window, she climbed out onto the fire escape and sat on the railing with her feet dangling off the edge. She was easily three stories up, but it was fun to mess with fate. After all, fate seemed to always be messing with her.

In an odd way, Selina had known that the Vigilante, which is what people from the Narrows had started calling him, was Bruce and she just didn't want it to be true. Bruce had been through some serious shit in his life, but nothing anywhere close to this. There were some dangerous, powerful people in the Narrows, and if they found out that a billionaire was running around in the back alleys at night, there's no telling what they'd do.

At the same time, she knew that Bruce was a big boy and could take care of himself…most of the time, at least.

Who was she kidding? That kid had nearly gotten himself killed countless times, and, most of the time, he would've if she hadn't saved his ass.

Why did she always save him? Honestly, he was probably more of a nuisance than he was worth.

Even then, she'd always go back to him no matter what he'd do to her emotions, and he'd always forgive her no matter what she did to him. She whispered, "Goddamn that boy."

A voice from behind her asked, "I hope you aren't talking about me, Cat."

She nearly fell off the railing where she was seated. Once she was stable, Selina whirled around and saw a familiar face grinning at her. She rolled her eyes and said, "I hate it when you do that, Floyd."

He chuckled and said, "Well, I learned from the best, didn't I?"

She knew that he was talking about her. When they were a bit younger, around 11 or 12, Selina had started teaching Floyd how to move silently in exchange for him teaching her how to use a gun effectively. The slightly older boy walked up to the railing where Cat was sitting and leaned up against it.

Selina asked, "What're you doing here? You know that Barbara and Tabby don't like you."

He shrugged. "They'll never know, and I'm here because I need your advice."

Selina cocked an eyebrow. She mockingly asked, "So, the student has yet to learn everything from the master, huh?"

He scoffed and said, "It's not a big deal, really. It's just…" Selina could've sworn that she saw his darker cheeks tint a little bit red.

"It's just what?" she pushed.

He shook his head. "Never mind, this was a bad idea. I'll just go…"

"Oh, like hell you will. You aren't leaving this platform until you ask me what you came to ask me." To make a point, she climbed off the railing and stamped her foot on the platform they were standing on.

He sighed. "Fine. It's just…there's this…girl. She goes to Gotham Central and I'm considering trying to enroll."

Selina tried to hold in her laughter, she honestly did, but she couldn't help herself but cackle at the older boy's expense. He looked extremely uncomfortable, which was a nice change as Selina had always gone to him with boy stuff. They were kind of honorary brother and sister when it came to stuff like that. When she finally got her laughter reined in, she asked, "W-why would you do that?"

He shrugged. "I'm eighteen, which means I can legally live by myself. Until now, I'd be taken upstate since I was underage. But now…" She shook her head and he quickly said, "Never mind. It's a stupid idea. There's actually something else." He nodded towards her and asked, "Were you able to identify the Vigilante, yet?"

She lied. "No. My…informant didn't have anything. I'll keep trying though." She grinned slyly and said, "On the other thing though, I don't think you'd be able to get through a metal detector with your…condition." She pointed at his right eye.

Floyd sighed. He'd only ever told two people about the machine that replaced his right eye and Selina was one of them. Five years back, he'd been in an accident in which the majority of his right eye had been destroyed. He had been approached by a scientist who was testing out a new technology for soldiers that, to put simply, gave them superhuman vision and aim. The man offered to pay for all his hospital bills and make sure he ended up back on the streets instead of upstate, but only if he agreed to be used as an experiment. Thinking that it was a win-win scenario, Floyd agreed. Years later, he would hear the name of the doctor again, this time, as a fugitive and criminal: Professor Hugo Strange.

They sat in silence for a few moments before Floyd nodded. "Well, keep trying to find the Vigilante. You know where to find me or Ted if you do." Selina nodded, listening but not really hearing.

She told him, "You know, if you wanted to get this girl, you could probably manage without going to her school." He stopped nodded for her to continue. "I think most girls would find you attractive, to be honest."

He smiled and said, "Thanks Cat." He pulled her into a side hug and planted a kiss on her temple before ascending up the fire escape and out of sight.

Selina shook her head. What was she going to do? Neither Floyd nor Ted would tell her why they wanted to find Bruce so badly, which meant that she didn't know whether or not it'd be safe for Bruce. Sitting on her windowsill, her hand unconsciously drifted up to where he'd kissed her. It was a totally brotherly kiss, nothing like anything she'd had with Bruce, but it warmed her to the core anyways.

Floyd stormed into his apartment and threw himself into the couch across from where Ted was passed out. The sudden, violent movement shook his best friend awake and he asked in a sleepy tone, "How'd it go?"

Floyd responded sharply, "She lied to me. She knows who the Vigilante is and she won't tell me. She must know him or something…"

Ted asked, "Why are we looking for this guy again?"

Floyd huffed, "Because he's doing the same stuff we are, and I think we should…I don't know… form a working relationship?"

Ted scoffed. "But why is he so important?"

Floyd sighed. "Because people are afraid of him…criminals are afraid of him. He appears, attacks, and then disappears without a trace. Fear is a powerful thing, Ted. Me and you, we're just criminals who target the rich and corrupt. He, on the other hand, scares all criminals. He's an enigma."

Ted asked, "What's an enigma?"

Floyd told him, "Go back to sleep, Ted."

His friend shrugged and turned over, and it wasn't a full minute before he was snoring again.

Floyd, left alone to his thoughts, let his mind wander. Who is the Vigilante and how is he connected to Selina? Why is she not telling me who he is? I just want to let him know we aren't the bad guys. However, he knew that the last part wasn't true. Some part of him, some twisted part, couldn't let go of the fact that he'd only tagged the Vigilante and not killed him. He'd never told anyone before, not even Ted, but sometimes he wanted to kill, like it was a form of release. This guy, he seemed like a challenge, and Floyd was a predator that enjoyed hunting dangerous prey.

No! some part of his mind screamed at him. Don't let those thoughts take over your mind. You remember last time…what happened…what you did. Floyd felt like his mind was at war with itself, like the light and darkness inside of him were both trying to take control and he was caught in the crossfire. He decided to take a page from Ted's book and try to nap the conflict away.

After six weeks, Bruce finally ripped off his cast. No bones had been broken, but his calf muscle had been severely wounded and needed time to heal properly. He looked at where the bullet had entered and noticed a scar. Probably the first of many, Bruce told himself. He stood from his bed and made himself walk. His leg wasn't as weak as it probably should've been. Whenever Alfred hadn't been looking, he'd always try and walk around without the crutches to attempt to keep its strength up. Bounding from rooftop to rooftop to stop criminals wasn't a task for the weak, after all.

He glanced at the scar and thought of something that he hadn't before. "Alfred!" he called into the house. When the butler showed up, Bruce asked, "Did you keep the bullet that I was shot with?"

Alfred nodded and said, "It is down in the 'basement'."

By 'basement' he really meant the cave beneath his father's study, but they'd started referring to it as the basement so neither would slip up around Selina or someone else visiting the house.

"Do you know what kind of gun it was shot from?"

"It was a Smith & Wesson Model 19 revolver, sir."

Bruce stopped dead in his tracks and asked, "The second man shot me in the calf from a rooftop with a revolver?"

Alfred nodded. "Which means either he was very lucky or his is very dangerous, which is why I implore you to let this one go, Master B."

"You know I can't do that, Alfred. They may've attacked a bad man, but that might've just happened by chance. They may be no better than the councilman was." Bruce entered the study and removed the remote from its hiding spot in a carved out book. Pushing the button, classical music started playing and the fireplace moved from its original location, revealing a passage into the cave below. Bruce asked, "Were there any fingerprints or forms of identification on the bullet?"

"There were no fingerprints, but Mr. Fox was able to extract partial DNA from something on the round."

"That's great! We'll be able to identify him then."

"Yes, Master Bruce, that's what we had thought. However, the match it came back with couldn't have been possible."

"Why?" Bruce questioned, starting to get frustrated at his butler.

"Because, the man that it matched near perfectly with has been dead for 9 years."

Bruce asked, "Any relatives? Sons or daughters?"

Alfred shook his head. Bruce sunk into the office chair and sighed. "Well then, I guess we're starting from scratch."

"Not quite from scratch, Mr. Fox set up a program that is constantly going through police reports and old files looking for similar instances of vigilantism, not counting yours of course. Four other rich, corrupt politicians have been mugged and exposed in the last two months alone, all with similar MO's. A man in a mask comes out, robs them at knifepoint, injures them in some way, and then leaves, sometimes leaving a file of evidence for the police to find at the crime scene. However, the police believed the other vigilante was working alone, until now at least."

Bruce nodded. "We better get to work then. I don't like the sound of another vigilante in Gotham. He might not have the restraint that I do."

After three hours of combing through files on vigilante activity, Bruce finally found something worthwhile. "Alfred, look at this." He handed his guardian a picture of a man that had been brutally beaten. "Our guy usually just stabs and runs right? Well, this man was stabbed and then nearly beaten to death with what the police thought to be a pair of brass knuckles."

"Who was the victim?" Alfred asked.

"Thomas Caesar, a doctor from the Narrows that'd been selling fake medicine to the homeless and poor."

"Do you think this was our guy?" Alfred asked.

Bruce compared the measurements of the knife wound in Dr. Caesar to another knife wound in one of the vigilante's attacks. He nodded. "It was most likely the same knife, they also both had almost the same entry point near the collarbone. From the direction of the stab, the attacker would've been around 5'10, and had to have been pretty strong to do as much damage as he did to Caesar with just his fists." He sighed. "All the evidence points to this being our guy."

"But, why would he do so much harm to this doctor and not the other politicians?"

Bruce shook his head. "I have no idea." Bruce paused and thought for a moment. "Alfred, aren't brass knuckles illegal in Gotham?" His guardian nodded. "Then, the other vigilante must've gotten them illegally..." An idea dawned on him. "And I think we know someone who'd know where you can get a pair."

Alfred shook his head disapprovingly. "Would you like me to invite Miss Kyle over for a cup of tea while I'm at it?"

Bruce rolled his eyes, but then shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

A/N: I'm currently working on two other stories that exist in a different universe from this one and follow two of these main characters (Floyd Lawton and Ted Grant) that aren't (currently) in GOTHAM. So, this story exists in a completely separate world from the other two which should come out quite a while after this story.

Thanks for reading! Make sure to R&R as any feedback at all literally means the world to me!