Underneath

Rating: T for later chapters

Brief Summary: After making his escape from Gotham after the Chill trial, Bruce Wayne crosses paths with a student of archaeology in Morocco, where she helps him in a rough spot. He doesn't think much of the encounter until he's back at home seven years later and meets her again. However, this time, his alter-ego will need her help as a perplexing series of murders occurs in Gotham. Really, it's a lot better than it sounds.

Hey there! I'm Sasha, and this is my first published story here (or anywhere). It's also my first Nolanverse Batman fanfic. That said, I do not own Bruce Wayne (sigh), or any of the characters you will recognize. They belong exclusively to DC Comics, Warner Brothers, and the Nolan brothers. I do, however, own Zoë and the characters you won't recognize. This is merely the prologue, so I swear that Batman will make his appearance very soon. Enjoy! ;)

ooo

Morocco, seven years prior

The first time Bruce Wayne, Gotham's prince, had to choose between stealing and going hungry, the image of Joe Chill flashed through his mind and stopped him before he even made it to the fruit vendor's stand. The pangs of hunger he'd been feeling for the past few days all of a sudden seemed to vanish, though just for a few moments. They were replaced with something far more painful: memories. He felt the same pain he experienced when Chill took his parents from him, and he felt the more recent sting of the bastard's trial and death (which he still, on some level, wished he'd been responsible for—despite Rachel's tongue-lashing). Even though he ached on account of his psychological scars, he realized that what he was about to do, what he thought he'd never have to do, was a choice. Everything which caused him pain in his life boiled down to choice. Chill chose to kill his parents, and he had chosen to try and shoot Chill as an act of vengeance. Whether he succeeded or not wasn't the point; what mattered was the fact that he'd almost done it. If he had been successful, he would have become a criminal himself. No matter what his intent and his own sense of justice were, he'd have made the choice of turning into the man he hated. He'd have become just one of many murderers in Gotham.

So, here he was, making yet another choice. Of course, it paled in comparison to contemplating murder. All he'd have to do was surreptitiously sneak a kumquat or two into his pocket. Either that, or he'd have to turn to panhandling. There were too many beggars on this dusty street; he'd be lost among them. It didn't matter that he was one of the richest men on the planet because he was presently sitting with his back against a building without a penny to his name, eyeing this one fruit stand through throngs of busy market goers. He could tell the people his name all he wanted, but he wasn't recognized in these parts. After all, he certainly didn't look the part of a playboy billionaire. His face was caked in dust, his clothes were torn, and he'd grown a beard. If anyone did know who he was, they'd not believe him in a million years. So he needed to make a decision quickly. He closed his eyes, racking his brain for any alternatives. Call Alfred and go back to Gotham? No, he couldn't do that. The wounds were still too fresh, and he'd have a lot of explaining to do once he got back.

Unable to think of any other solution to his little problem, he made his decision. Now, he wasn't thrilled about it, but he was desperate to eat. He'd steal the food. If he ever returned to Gotham and his billionaire lifestyle, he'd come back and give the vendor all the money he wanted, but, for now, he needed sustenance. Before he could talk himself out of it, he got up and dusted his worn slacks off—not that it did much considering that the street itself was nothing but dust. He bided his time, only walking through the crowd when he could easily blend in. For his whole life, he was used to sticking out in a crowd because of his status as the heir to an empire. Now, he was one of many. The only difference between him and the majority of the people here was the colour of his skin. He was in Africa, after all, and now considered a minority. Hopefully, that wouldn't draw too much attention.

The stand had a steady stream of customers when he got there. Perfect. The vendor was distracted by them and their various questions about the quality of his wares. While the man tended to his customers, Bruce's hand began to creep slowly toward the kumquats he was eyeing. Everything was going according to plan. That is, until a hand placed itself on top of his own as he grabbed the first piece of fruit.

"You know, they don't take too kindly to thieves around here."

Shit, Bruce thought. It appeared that he'd be panhandling for his food after all. He looked up at the voice, his expression almost like a deer in headlights. What he saw definitely threw him for a loop.

The hand and voice belonged to a young woman who was probably his age or slightly younger. Her face was partially shaded by a New York Yankees baseball cap, though he could see a few wisps of pink-streaked brown hair which had escaped from under it. Her skin was pale, which surprised him on account of Morocco's constant sunlight. She probably used sunblock religiously. He continued eyeing her, almost unsure of what to say. He noticed the way she held herself. She stood up tall and straight, suggesting an air of confidence. Her frame was feminine, almost like a slender hourglass, but her arms were well-muscled. She wore a faded t-shirt with a band he'd never heard of in the front of it, and she had on a pair of black cargo shorts and sandals. A canvas bag with a picture of a panda hung over her shoulder. Even though her look didn't scream maturity, he could tell that she was a serious individual. Perhaps she was a student.

"Anyone home in there?" she asked, noticing his eyes inspecting her. "Do you speak English?"

"Uh...yeah, I-I do. I just thought that..."

"That you'd get away with it? You probably would have if I didn't see you there." Her way of speaking was calm and her expression soft. He thought he saw her lips pull into a small grin. "Sorry to foil your plans."

"It's fine. I'll just go now. Don't worry." He turned away from her, making sure that he put the kumquat back in its place. He only made it a few steps before he heard her voice again.

"Hey, wait! You look hungry. I can buy some of those for you. I don't mind."

Bruce stopped, surprised once more by this young woman. "No, you don't have to. It's not necessary; I shouldn't have to impose on you when I was about to..." he said, gulping before he continued, "to steal."

The woman shifted her weight to one side and gave him a skewed smile. "Yeah. Desperate times, though." With that, she reached into her panda bag and pulled out some money and extended her hand. "Take it."

"I can't."

"You can, but you just won't," she countered, sticking it into his hand anyway. "So, I say you will. Oh, one more thing." She reached into her panda bag once more and pulled out a small loaf of bread. "I just bought it, but I think you need it more. Anyway, bread sits in the stomach. I probably should've thought about that before I bought it!"

"No. I draw the line there," Wayne said, reluctantly taking the money. "You keep the bread."

Suddenly, another voice sounded near them.

"Zoë!" said another young woman, stopping right in front of them. She took a few seconds to catch her breath before continuing, "Where the hell have you been? The professor's found something huge! It's an old grave marker, and he needs a second opinion on the translation. So, move it!"

Zoë looked between her friend and Bruce before saying to the latter, "Yeah, I have to go. Try to stay out of trouble, yeah?" Despite his protests, she stuck the bread in his free hand and turned on her heels to follow the other woman. Within seconds, she was lost in the crowd.

Dumbstruck by what had just transpired, Bruce turned to the vendor and wordlessly bought enough food for at least three days, if he'd rationed it well. Though he remained curious about Zoë, she eventually faded to the back of his mind until their paths crossed once again years later in Gotham.

Well, I hope you liked it! If you have any nice comments (or constructive criticism—I'll take that, too), please review! The next chapter will have Gotham in it. :)