Same Bat-Time, Same Bat-Channel
DC and Marvel involved in ownership, not me!
And here we have a continuation of the Brooklyn Wayne saga! This is based mainly on animated series stuff and comics but it could incorporate movies too, I think.
Batwoman listened to the thunder roll on and on like the waves of the churning waters below her perch. The stone monsters in the tower stood watch alongside her as water beat against the ground endlessly outside her tiny sanctuary. The sharp crack of lightning split the sky in too bright a light and shook the ground with the following boom. It was quite the storm, perhaps enough to keep even the criminals inside for a while. That would be advantageous to be certain since Brooklyn Wayne had an appearance to make in two hours.
Steppin forward and spreading her cape, letting the current of electricity turn the material into a glider - perhaps not wise in a storm like this, but faster - she let gravity and air guide her all the way to the ground. The rain beat against her, reminding her to be thankful her variety of tech was waterproof as well as bullet resistant.
A gasp to her left made her head jerk to the side, feet instinctively spreading into a fight ready stance. The crash of thunder sounded more like a shot and it took effort not to jump, not to snatch the person by the neck in response. It was an old man using the building to wait out the worst of the storm; he might have been homeless or he might have been just another person walking home from work, it was hard to tell in this portion of town.
The man huffed an embarrassed laugh, thumping a hand over his heart, "Thought you were one of those demons from above coming to life for just a second."
"Perhaps I am." The corners of her mouth twitched up just slightly, just for a minute before she swept away to the Batmobile and jumped inside with the push of a button. That was what the Bat was, inhuman, made from stone, a protector that watched in silence.
Brooklyn Wayne swayed her hips as she walked through the crowd, silk dress clinging in all the right places. The dress was very fashionable but she honestly thought it could just as easily have passed for a long, classy nightgown a woman might keep around for the first few months of marriage when she was still trying to impress rather than the tattered nightshirt that would likely appear a year into the marriage. It was just the sort of thing Brooke would be expected to wear to a party. Sex appeal was everything in the world of young socialites. The shawl she kept around her shoulders did a lot to tone down the hints that she was ready to fall into bed at a moments notice but modesty was not the reason she kept it on, hiding a few scars and a deep fresh cut was.
Feathers, huge and long adorned the center of most of the tables and were a frequent addition to many of the stylish, lavishly extravagant masks settled atop the faces around the room. The identities were easy enough to pick out even with those additions. They all had signature rings, jewelry, clothing, mannerisms, or an annoying laugh that made it simple to tell who they were. Brooke's own mask covered her entire face because she was not foolish enough to only cover half of it when she spent too many nights with the only skin showing under her nose to her chin.
The colors in the room were loud and obnoxious. It resembled Mardigras more than some high-class masquerade as far as the looks and horribly shiny colors. The only difference was how expensive it all had been. If people started exchanging tacky beaded necklaces she was decidedly leaving, image or not.
Even with the storm outside, she felt it would have been more pleasant to have remained on that rooftop. It was stuffy inside thanks to all the hot air coming from puffed up windbags that knew more than every other puffed-up windbag in the room. The harpies, young and old, clustered in their little flocks, sharpening their painted claws and clacking their lipstick stained beaks. Crows, magpies, vultures, every last one of them. As a Wayne, she knew how to fit in with the latex bodies and the surgically enhanced smiles, knew how to stay just out of reach of a sharp beak and long claws but it was draining.
As a businesswoman, she could swim with the sharks and killer whales as well but she hated being near when there was a hint of blood in the water even if it was rarely her blood. Those men in pressed suits and sharp smiles made her sick, worse was if they flirted. They all thought they were a rare find, a splendid catch even though they were all cookie-cutter copies of each other. No original thoughts. Even when they considered themselves rebellious all they were doing was the same stunts a million others had done before them.
The inner Bat screamed and raged every time Brooke attended because half the people in the room were just as bad as the criminals she locked up on the streets. These criminals dressed better and burned money, but they were crooked and vial. Many of them were cruel for the sake of it, sociopaths that were given freedom to move because they could buy their way out of trouble. Their children, entitled teenagers, and early twenty-somethings were even more frightening. Not one of them cared about anything other than the bottom line and what might benefit them personally. They made her sick.
She took a tall glass of champagne from a passing trey even though she had no intention of drinking it. Reputation dictated that she have something bubbly and alcoholic in hand at all times in order to fit the mold. Truthfully she hated anything that might make her even slightly fuzzy. Having a haze in her mind had been unwelcome since she took on her alter ego but since her time being fed drugs not long enough ago she hated that lack of control all the more. In a place like this, even a momentary lapse in judgment could be deadly in many ways.
Brooke often did not like her peers. They were inferior to her eyes a good eighty percent of the time as far as she was concerned. There were a few rare and grand people that she could stand or even liked. They were hard to find but they did exist. Those were the ones she felt protective over and did her best with her considerable influence, to ensure they were as protected from the poison as she could get them.
A long head of shocking red hair caught her eye and she found herself veering that direction without thought. She slid easily into the seat beside the woman in the long velvet green gown, mask secured over her face, but it was not disguised enough that Batwoman could not spot blindfolded. The slight green tint to the skin and the build of the woman would have been all she needed. Brooke spent enough time with her to know her on sight too, even without the face.
"Here to remind everyone to go Green?" Brooke asked playfully as she pretended to sip champagne. It felt awkward to face Poison Ivy as Wayne again after far too many instances where she indebted herself to the woman. Batwoman had no debt, theoretically, but Brooklyn did. Arkham was not her proudest moment but all her enemies witnessed the entire ordeal. The Wayne blood was proud and that hangup had not skipped a generation if anything she was worst of all.
Pamela tilted her head for a side glance before she shrugged, "Couldn't hurt." She turned in the chair to fully face her companion then, "And don't you clean up with a flair, Wayne? A big step up from all that gray I'd say."
"You don't look too bad either." She wanted to get to the real reason the lady was at the party but she was not Batwoman so direct was not the correct style. "Anything I can do to help ease your transition into the colorful world? We don't have doctors asking us how we feel out here, generally speaking. I can tell you to stay away from the caviar tonight, for starters, it tastes a bit off so it's hardly worth the risk."
Isley chuckled, reaching up to delicately slide her mask further down her nose so she could see better, "It's rather good to see you, Brooke! I missed your wit... when you weren't chasing dust particles, that is."
Brooke clinked her glass with the other woman's, "Good times! What brings you over here anyway?" This was so hard! She wanted her mask to hide behind! This woman had seen her hugging the porcelain throne every night for months while the drugs made her worse and worse.
"Would you believe the decor?" Ivy smirked.
"I am not sure anyone came for that. Though I think over half came to partake in the open bar, if I were to make an educated guess. Some of those people have been at the bar all night judging by the covert glares from the wait staff. The guy on the far left stole a bottle from behind the counter about ten minutes ago and refused to give it back."
"Drunk and rich! A simply enticing combination if ever there was one! Think you could point any out that might be less intoxicated? I'm in the market for a man. I was thinking I could go for a guy that likes long walks in forests rather than a beach." Ivy leaned closer, conspiratorial, "Handsome, smart, not utterly insufferable would be nice too, if you could point me at them. Oh, and funny, but not too funny. I'm not generally a fan of clowns."
Brooke allowed herself to look highly skeptical, "You're looking for a date? Or..." she nearly said 'mark' but cut herself off.
Ivy nodded, "Normally, I would not have considered it. I always thought the rich were all brainless, egocentric, weak, forest burning jerks, but you are rich and I like you, so not all rich people have to be bad."
What was she supposed to say to that? "You escaped, didn't you?"
Ivy's laugh was sultry and low though honest enough, "No, no! It's totally on the level, honey! I'm cured." Somehow it feels like she had heard that song and dance before but again, what could she really say?
"And you're looking for the domestic life?" Brooke daintily slid the mask to one side so she could face Ivy more directly since it felt like that kind of conversation.
Pam eyed her, studying a little more intently that was comforting, "Something like that." There was a moment's pause before, "I guess I wanted to see what it would be like, just once, to live like that. Rich people are eccentric, they like to spice up their boring lives with some danger so they might be the only crowd that would let me in."
Not exactly a bad observation. This was Gotham they were talking about. The low class consisted most often of desperate crime rings so they would only look at her for what she might be able to do for them, want her as close to a gang member. Middle-class people balanced on a thin line and a wrong step would mean a fall in a place they cared not be forced into so they would hold a grudge, would never forget who she was because they could not afford to risk someone like her shattering what they managed to scrape together in the world. The rich were expected to have strange hobbies and it was not at all incorrect to think they enjoyed the element of risk. The rich could afford to gamble the way no one else could. She recalled a situation when a couple of bored socialites pulled Cobblepot into their circle just for the fun of running the risk of what he could do to them or their friends; stupid, and it backfired, but a stunt like that surprised no one.
The filthy rich had nowhere to go other than down but they could buy their way out of danger and they knew it. Once you were high enough nothing mattered because it would take an awful lot to shoot them out of the sky even if a few managed to bring them out of the clouds. Staying afloat was a game and one that they knew they would probably keep winning. A rich husband might just be a chance for someone like Ivy to live a real life. A rich man could buy her into his crowd even if many did not initially find his little gamble amusing. If Ivy played it right she actually could make a comfortable nest for herself and she was smart and spunky enough to handle what was thrown at her.
If Ivy played it right she actually could make a comfortable nest for herself and she was smart and spunky enough to handle what was thrown at her. It should have worried her more that she believed Poison Ivy so readily and that she was so quick to acquiesce. It should send chills up her spine to realize that she wanted it to be true, that she wanted a little danger at the typical party, wanted Pam to find that elusive happy ending and make it all her own. She wanted to watch something flower, so to speak, from something that should be twisted and wrong, but like Gotham, could turn into a beautiful thing.
"I don't generally play matchmaker," Brooke said into her glass, remembering at the last second to fake the sip rather than drink.
Steel Blue eyes took a quick inventory of the room, mentally making a few lists. Ivy asked if she could point her in the right direction and she kind of wanted to. She did not know what kind of person that made Brooke Wayne that she would help Ivy find a man... but Pam couldn't be all bad, she was human enough while she was in Arkham, so there had to be good in her somewhere. Did that mean she deserved a chance, a real life if she could land it? If she did not believe people could change, never tried to help them, what was she even fighting for? The point of everything she did was to save people, even if it was from themselves.
"I might be able to give you some hints... so long as you promise me something..."
Pam grinned wide, "I won't kill any of them if that's what you're worried about. I won't tell anyone you helped me either."
"...try to find the one that makes you happiest." Brooke propped her chin on her hand, "In this crowd, it can take a while to find a diamond past the sludge. Some are good and some just play good. People here were taught to be hard, hard to get to know, hard to reach, hard to get close to. You might not guess it, but rich people have major trust issues so what you see initially might not be the truth. You have to dig till you find the real person under..." she slid the mask back around and into place.
Ivy blinked at her for a moment but then smiled, "I can see that."
"And yeah, don't kill any of them, that's a good thing too." Brooke made herself chuckle even though she did not really feel it, not with things as they were.
Most likely she was playing traitor but she could not decide which side she was betraying. Her inner Bat had been shocked into silence some time ago and she was not sure where that decision would ultimately land, probably not the way Brooklyn would like. The debt she owed Isley was hers, not the Bat's.
"What if they're really annoying?" Ivy was teasing her openly and that was a strange feeling.
"I'm still going to have to vote no. The annoying ones have their place. They are fun to humiliate, I know from experience."
Pam's laugh was low and quietly amused, "I bet you do. A girl like you, in a man's world, has to know how to knock them down."
She picked a guy she honestly thought might fit with Ivy. He had two sons, still young, but that did not seem to bother the redhead in the slightest. Pam looked almost more alive at the prospect. Happiness, hope for a future yet to be plotted must look like that. God help her, she believed Poison Ivy, and she was making an effort to help her get what she wanted. Brooke swept around the room, skirt dragging along sensually, and lead her former sloe-eyed roommate right up to the man. It was not hard to get things moving when she had experience in manipulating the flow of conversation and she had Ivy to help.
They oddly worked well together. If things worked out positively she would not mind seeing the other woman at parties like this one. She already knew she would be one voice on the side for Ivy in the crowds of vultures. Ivy could handle herself the way many would not be able to.
Maybe she could redeem someone as Brooke rather than the Bat just this once.
Batwoman dragged Crane into the GCPD around two in the morning. Both of them were a hint or three on the wrong side of worse-for-wear. Without that horrible mask, he seemed more human by far even if he was stark raving mad. By in large, he looked like a monster with it on, nothing resembling a human. She could only hope she pulled off the mask so well. It always came as something of a shock when she fought him, the way he could switch from cunningly placid to livewire in seconds. The man was like fighting a strange mixture of a tiger and a snake, or maybe an owl. His shrieks were easy enough to hear even after she wound her way back into the night when she slipped out Jim's window.
In the morning she found herself crawling to see Gordon, running on absolutely no sleep and without a mask besides the Wayne name. Who could say what possessed her to do it? Why she walked in with a few believable lies and reasons to visit while simply hoping to see the Halloween reject and check on him. Something likely as wild as that man's insanity drove her to the station but she could not deny it if only it would make the nagging voice grow silent. The voice was not the Bat, it was Brooklyn, the one born in Arkham, the foolish little creature that trusted easily and saw a friend in those most detrimental to her ongoing lifestyle.
Sentimentality, even a mild sort was really so dangerous. That wide-eyed innocent girl that died in an alleyway had been reborn, only probably even worse, for she knew the hazards, knew her own future and did not fear nor care. The Bat within found the new addition highly disturbing and Brooke agreed. Crane had nearly gotten her with his gas once during the night because a very untimely flashback of watching a horror movie with him distracted her.
Jim led her from his office when she requested coffee and it is then she ended up seeing the spindly man that made his home in nightmares. Big, strong officers flanked him, glaring and grim as he yelled and cursed, wriggling like a worm. They escorted his writhing figure down the hall and she drifted to the edge in order to watch, cup off coffee gripped in her palms, warm and grounding.
"I am the master of fear!" Jonathan bellowed, that broken glass, gravel voice pitched too high, "The lord of despair! Cower before me and witness terror!"
She found she could not resist the temptation as he came near to speak to him, and she waved a hand, a smile she felt sure she might have worn while on those drugs eased onto her face, "Hi, Professor Crane."
The vicious snarl untwisted from his face to leave it looking that same sort of human she struggled to reconcile, a smile sliding onto his face, "Good day, child!"
The enraged scowl seemed more at home on his face, she would say, because it is easier for her to look upon than a more gentle thing like the smile he offered. Something about the asylum and spending time within seemed to create a bond. It equalized everyone because they had a common ground: insanity. Take about a club no one would want to join! Making friends at the cost of ones mind? But there he was, smiling. It was not one of his threatening ones, just a normal friendly curl of lips. It shook her more than anything should have. They could easily have crawled onto a couch again and watched another movie with a smile like that.
"You are looking far better, I see!" He cocked his head just slightly in that owl aspect she often thought of with him, "Color's back in your skin."
Brooke nodded, unsure what she had to offer as a response.
Just as soon as his guards twitched the smile was lost and he returned again to his raving, "Worship me, fools! Worship me!" They dragged him away but he continued the rant loudly until he was out of earshot.
Gordon sighed, leaned against the doorframe, and glanced at her, "I think he's getting better."
She handed the cup back to him with a grin, "Thank you for the coffee, I needed it."
Jim moved with her when she made to leave, "How bad was it in there? I mean... really?"
There were times it was so obvious that he had a daughter all his own. Sometimes it made her uncomfortable that she could recognize the same looks he gave Barbara Gordan as ones he would occasionally give her. It was almost frightening when she noticed the "fatherly worry" look when he warned Batwoman to be careful. He was too kind-hearted for their city, he honestly was. He cared. It had to have been hard on him when they locked her away, maybe as hard as it had been on Alfred.
Brooke made her eyes widen in innocence, "I couldn't say. I think half the time I was hallucinating."
"And the other half?" He pressed, not seeming to believe her innocent act entirely.
Again, she had no idea why she tipped her hand, maybe just that look in his eyes, but she could not take it back, "Crane and I watched horror movies on the couch when I was not too sick to hold down water or too lost in the burning need to chase pretty lights. It was generally when I was too exhausted to move after around twelve hours of being incapable of holding still that he would turn the television to some obscure channel that played movies like that. Having been a doctor once, I suppose he knew when the downward swing would hit me. Everyone in Arkham learned my schedule as well as my caretakers."
"Horror movies? With Scarecrow? Sounds horrible." He pulled a face, "I find it hard to believe he never tried to kill you."
She grinned, propping open the door, "Ivy would not let him." And then she skipped away, leaving him with his puzzled expression.
The screen was bright and flashy as the news bulletin flashed with headlines before a little blonde reporter began to excitedly babble. It took Brooke all of a few minutes to find a suspect in her considerable list of known offenders. The trouble lay in her lack of desire for it to be true. A well-known competitor to Wayne Tech had been racing them to complete a project for the better part of a year. A healthy portion of her people believed the plans had been stolen from Wayne Enterprise to begin with but there was no proof. The lab for the new line of prototype sonic technology in question had apparently been blown to shreds very late at night. The newscaster said it was an accident with a water heater but Brooke's rather overly developed sense for trouble was running on alert.
She had been suspicious even before the Bat took a look and found some very typical traits of Harvey's people being the culprits. Rather than turning over the evidence as would be Batwoman's general Moda Operandi, she hid it away in the cave. After a good few hours of staring at the rock wall, she waltzed herself up to the mansion and began to dress according to the fashion of her intended party. All it had required was a few clicks on the computer to find what she sought, managing to track him down was the simple part. Strolling into the Iceberg Lounge as Brooklyn Wayne, dressed only to proverbially kill rather than actually toating weaponry the way instinct screamed she should when entering enemy space, that was the challenge.
The Lounge was overdone to the point of being tacky the way many restaurants were. It was a common mistake most places that were not real deep pockets, only pretended to be, made. Things were crafted to look expensive without actually being quality. Things glittered and winked but the crystal was fake just like the gold plating. The fountains were plaster, not marble the way they were intended to look. The chandeliers were harvested off old buildings. She did not want to think about the seating.
Penguin was easy enough to spot along with many, many other of Batwoman's enemies. All her muscles wanted to cord and knot instinctively but she refused to allow it in her posture. Her eyes stayed fixed and she worked to keep her expression light and without hints of any form of concern.
It had been some time since she saw her old friend since leaving Arkham. His escape had been only a few weeks prior to the explosion. The fluttering of nerves was an uncomfortable sensation in her stomach. The nerves and simple apprehension made her head want to spin. Seeing an old friend turned enemy was far from easy with the protection of a mask, without one it was like being the fish invited to dinner.
Her expression did not betray her skittering heart when she slid into a booth beside Harvey Dent very blithely. She sat on his good side, the white half of his suit and tie mostly because that was the side in front of her but also because she hoped it would bring out Harvey rather than Two-Face. It increased her chances and she had never been anything less than strategic.
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye but did not seem exactly surprised to see her. He took a drink of his bourbon and seemed content to let her strike up the conversation.
"Tell me you didn't bomb my competition, Harvey, huh? If you did, do you think you could lie to me and say I'm crazy?"
He did not turn his head, keeping his good side to her and that made it easier to see the slight smirk just before he flipped the coin to decide something she is unaware of, "I might have read something about that mishap at their factory. I heard no one got hurt though. Tough luck for them on that project, I guess, right?"
Her eyes started to sting and she had no idea why but she blinked it away viciously. Facing him had as herself had been easier drugged she would admit. He avoided her now like he could not stand to be around her like she was poison. Arkham was the first time they really had the chance to be anything close to friends again. It stung something deep within her she hoped she killed off some time ago.
She did something she had not done since they were maybe preteens and she tipped her head to rest on his shoulder. He tensed considerably but he did not pull away and even relaxed after a moment, "How about you promise my competitor's luck doesn't have anything to do with you from now on?"
Harvey was quiet for a while before he flipped the coin, "No promises." He told her quietly, voice rough as always.
Brooke knew full well she should be able to find it in herself to be angry with him but she couldn't scrape it together. Her arms coiled around his to give her more room to really lean on him. Being in Arkham reminded her of what she lost the day Harvey became Two-Face. A bit of distance had prickled at them when Harvey had taken such a strong dislike to Batwoman even if he had no idea she took that a bit personally; he was one of the few people in the world she craved approval from even if she never admitted it even to herself. But once Two-Face surfaced it was severed suddenly and absolutely.
She lost her closest friend and she lost around half of her hope for Gotham's future. It was selfish and painful to admit the loss of her friend had been the harder part to accept. As much as she wished she could be as grand and good as Batwoman or Gordon, Brooklyn had to privately admit that she was much less than that. Truthfully she was less than Harvey Dent used to be as well. If she was a better person she would have stormed in as the Bat and taken him in with those bits of evidence she found. Still, she owed him one for that information she knew he supplied to Dick that got her out of Arkham.
This was another debt she owed, one that went a hundred times deeper than any other she had. She hugged his strong arm a bit tighter, pushing away a stray memory of his fists, then another of him scooping her up in Arkham when she was too weak to make it to her room to be sick.
"What if I say pretty please?" She countered, and she could feel the rumble of his laugh.
"Are we ten again?" He asked with a slight smirk.
"Would that be so terrible?"
She felt the shift in his posture and she knew he was slipping away.
"You shouldn't be here. You look too much like a mark."
"Worried about me?"
He did not answer.
"You'd protect me." She offered with a grin.
He turned so she could see both sides, "Would I?"
She looked him dead on, "Yes." She cocked her head and smiled, "We're friends." And yes, that was why he destroyed her competition and hurt no one. It was why she had yet to say a word about what she learned. She still saw him as a friend even if he was also her foe. This was Harvey, a complicated man that fit into both Brooklyn's life and Batwoman's. Nothing would ever be easy but perhaps half of her could get half of him. It would be better than nothing to even get a piece of that shattered relationship back. Part of her knew, in shame, that she would do quite a lot for that. Arkham had reminded her of dangerous, dangerous things. It made her remember those feelings she locked away so very carefully. It broke more in her than she cared to admit, but it freed that selfish part of her she wished did not exist. The part of her that wanted her friend back had been revived. She wanted to feel more than just pain when she thought of him.
There would always be pain in anything connected to Harvey but if she could only get a piece of happiness from it the pain would be worth it. She missed him, she really did.
"I... missed you, Harvey." The honesty, the rawness she never meant to show must have shocked him.
He jerked out of her hold as if she burned him and she struggled not to let show the stab of pain that sent through the open part of her that still wanted to believe. Something must have shown, probably in her posture if not her face. His expression fell, perhaps like hers had, and something softer replaced it. Harvey leaned back in the next breath, dropping his thick muscled arm over her shoulders. "I guess, since you're here, you might as well order something."
Brooke tried not to be obvious about the way she snuggled into his hold and simply rested on him like they were fifteen and could care less what anyone thought of them. While her smiles were far from blinding the way Joker's would be, the little upturns of her mouth had always been enough for Harvey to read. He was her friend, the closest she had to a family other than Alfred. Shamefully, she would take any crumbs of that he would offer her and be absolutely thankful. It seemed like she used to be a lot stronger before Arkham.
Maybe they both had been stronger before her stay in the asylum. Or maybe they had always been weak and starved for those tiny crumbs but had forgotten to think of it before. Neither of them had much left anymore. They were different people, they battled tooth and nail to get where they were and they lost everything and lost a little more every day. Such were life's cruel twists.
They could forget for one night, just be younger for a while until the Bat needed to surface and Two-Face had his day again. It would never stop and she knew that the same way she knew the sun would set over the horizon. Arkham had been dangerous because it reminded her of happiness, and happiness was a difficult allure to shake. Reality was harsh at the best of times and some tiny part of her longed for the oblivion. One evening, she told herself, just one evening, then she would return those feelings to the cage.