Changes
Scott Iskow
Foreword:
This story takes place during No Man's Land. There's no violence or swearing, so it's rated PG. The characters are not
mine. I do not profit from them, nor do I have any hope of realizing my dream of writing for them professionally.
"Is it all right if I talk?"
Of course, Batgirl didn't answer. She couldn't. She was mute, just as Jean-Paul once was. They had a lot of other things in common too. For one thing, they understood the language of fighting. Only how they'd come to learn it had been different: He had been programmed, and she had been trained. But they understood the language of fighting better than they understood words. Maybe that was why he felt like he could talk to her more than anyone else. That, and she knew nothing about him. Everyone else—Batman, Robin, Nightwing—they disapproved of him. They judged him. And Jean-Paul was beginning to wonder if he would ever be forgiven for the mistakes he made during his brief and disastrous career as Batman… and during his significantly larger (and slightly more disastrous) career as Azrael.
It was then, while he and Batgirl were on stakeout, that he found an opportunity to finally talk to someone who wouldn't judge him. All his other friends, up to and including Bryan and Oracle… Well, he was cut off from them. And somehow, the fact that Batgirl wasn't really his friend made it easier to talk to her.
"I've been going through some changes, you see. This," and he gestured at his costume. "This isn't really my costume. This isn't Azrael. Azrael is bigger than Jean-Paul Valley, he exists on a plane above—or below—me. But the costume's just an outward change, I think. Superficial. The real change is going on inside." He grinned as he remembered. "I used to be the silent type myself. All that really mattered was the fight. But that was when I was Azrael. Now I'm… more… less… I don't know what I am. But I'm not just Azrael anymore. Jean-Paul Valley is coming to life. I can tell because Azrael never thought about things as much as I do now. Azrael wasn't a thinker, he was a doer. I'm sure you can understand that."
Batgirl just stared at him.
"And now, as Jean-Paul Valley becomes more… more alive, I've lost my sense of direction. I feel remorseful for things I've done in the past, things I didn't—things I couldn't—feel remorseful about until I started thinking more. And now I'm wondering, maybe I'm thinking too much. I'm doing so much thinking, but I'm not really getting anything done. I haven't made a life for myself outside of being a vigilante. I thought maybe I could become a doctor or a nurse or something. Something that would let me help people without fighting. But I can't completely disregard the fighting either, because it's such a large part of who I am. Or it used to be. I don't know. I just don't know. You think I'll ever figure this stuff out?"
Batgirl answered by pointing toward the street. Several men arrived to make an exchange—a crate of weapons destined for the Penguin's. She then did something a little strange, something she did when she and Azrael first met. She showed him her fist. It took him a moment to realize what this meant, but that instinctive part of him took over. He met her fist with his own.
"You're right. The time for thinking is over," he said. "Come on. Let's make the Bat proud. If that's even possible."
And so the angel and the bat leapt out of the shadows and into the night.