The Old Guard(ian)
By Alekto
Summary:
Missing scene from Batman: Gotham Knights #42 as a former guardian of Gotham city takes over the job of protecting the city during Batman's absence.
Disclaimer:
DC owns 'em, I don't. The exchange of dialogue at the end of the piece that takes place on the roof of Gotham's police department is taken directly from GK#42 as written by Scott Beatty.
Acknowledgement:
Many thanks to Syl for taking the time to beta read this for me.
Rating: PG
****
The Old Guard(ian)
For four days the feared Bat that haunted Gotham's nights had been notable by his absence. Rumours abounded through the city's sub-culture as to why he was gone, and perhaps more importantly - for how long. For many of them the Bat's absence was a cause for relief, if not outright rejoicing. Sure, they would admit among themselves, there were still the other vigilantes around: the Huntress, the Bat's brat sidekick, even Nightwing who for a long time had been more often seen down the coast in Bludhaven.
But the Batman was missing, and despite the others' best efforts, the denizens of Gotham's underworld seemed intent on taking advantage of the fact that their long time nemesis would not be around to stop them.
It had been raining all day: the slow, steady drip of rain that seemed like it could go on for ever. As night fell, the soaked walls and pavements glittered with deceptive beauty in the orange glow of street lamps, while the blue-white of car headlamps reflected off sheets of water lying across the roads. The few people that dared the night hurried by, bundled up in coats and hunched under the protection of umbrellas. Others, less fortunate, huddled in doorways or in alleys, given no option but to endure the cold and the wet.
The harsh edges of the city seemed somehow muted in the rain, quiescent, as if waiting for something.
Distant shouts competed with the wail of a siren as the shrill scream of an alarm echoed through the stark canyons of the streets and alleys. All were punctuated by the dull, flat crack of gunfire. Gotham City by its nature seldom lay quiescent for long.
A car burst from an alley, heedless of the fleeing street people who had tried to shelter there from the rain and the wind. It skidded across the all but empty road, its tyres throwing up spumes of water as they sought traction on the wet, oil slicked pavement. A man leaned precariously from the side window, pumping shell after shell from a shotgun at the police car that surged from the alley after it, its lights flashing and siren blaring.
The police car bounced over debris onto the road only to have to fight for control as the road conspired against it. The transients from the alley scurried for cover, interested in the chase only so far as it was just one more thing that endangered their safety.
The two cars careered through the streets, so close they could have been connected, the pursuer defying all efforts of the pursued to loose him. A handgun might have replaced the shotgun, but still the pursuing cops didn't return fire, concerned for the safety of people who might have the misfortune to get caught up in the chase.
A lucky shot hit the police car's engine and an explosion of steam erupted from under the hood. The driver who moments earlier had been intent on catching the escaping crooks, mashed down on the brakes as blinded by the steam he struggled to stop the car before he crashed into someone or something. It was a fight he lost as the car slammed to a halt against a lamppost. The driver exchanged a long, wordless gaze with his partner, both of them grinning with the sheer relief of being alive and unhurt before the chagrin of losing their chase took over.
Free of pursuit, the escaping crooks sped down the street, accompanied by peals of exultant laughter. On other occasions they might have feared seeing the massive bulk of a dark car following them, hunting them, or seeing an unmistakable black silhouette land on the hood of their car just before a black armoured fist smashed their windshield with impossible force.
But the Bat had been missing for days, so they laughed.
They stopped laughing when their car was engulfed in a blaze of eerily silent green flame and brought to a halt. By the time they became aware of the gaudily clad, caped figure hovering before them, surrounded by a flickering corona of green flame, laughter was the last thing on their minds.
"What the f--" one began, his words cut short by a tendril of green flame that curled around him and hauled him out of the car's window. He saw his companion being similarly handled, but not before he managed to pull out a gun out and throw a couple of shots at their captor.
The gunshots did nothing more dramatic than cause tiny ripples in the green corona surrounding the man who casually gestured in response. At his bidding, fingers of the green flame reached into the gun, bursting it apart from within. "Are you boys quite finished?" he asked mildly, his voice crisp and resonant, like that of an old time radio announcer.
The crooks raised their arms in surrender.
High above, a circle of light punctuated with the silhouette of a bat blazed into life against the low cloud. The man looked up and an odd half- smile crossed his face. As if it were the most natural thing in the world he soared upward, the two protesting criminals trailing helplessly after him tightly swathed in bonds of green flame.
He set his course to the source of the spotlight that lit up the clouds: a tall building, light still blazing from its windows so late in the night. A lone man stood waiting on the rooftop next to the bulk of the lamp, visibly starting when a cultured voice called from above. "Watch yourself!"
Two struggling figures bound in glowing green flame thumped inelegantly onto the roof at the waiting man's feet. He looked down at them frowning in confusion, then back up to the source of the voice.
The cloaked figure, his garish costume of red, green and purple somehow not detracting from a mien of dignified middle age alighted easily next to him. "I know you were expecting a different cape, Commissioner," he began calmly, only to pause as he noted the stunned look on the Commissioner's face. "I'm on file. Under 'G' mainly. A little before your time, I would imagine." He paused again as if awaiting some sort of response, but none was forthcoming, so he went on as if by way of explanation. "The regular fellow is unavoidably preoccupied at the moment. He'll be back soon enough."
He waited a few seconds longer, perhaps a little unnerved by the unabashed shock still apparent on the Commissioner's face and the man's continuing silence. Thoughts ran swiftly through his mind: possession? Maybe some form of mental control? He'd come across stranger things in his long career. "Commissioner Akins...?" he asked carefully.
"I... I had your decoder ring when I was a kid," Akins murmured in a small, awestruck voice. "I got it out of a box of crackerjacks."
Alan Scott, the man once known as Green Lantern sighed, suddenly feeling the weight of his years.
He was sure Batman never had this difficulty.
-Fin-
By Alekto
Summary:
Missing scene from Batman: Gotham Knights #42 as a former guardian of Gotham city takes over the job of protecting the city during Batman's absence.
Disclaimer:
DC owns 'em, I don't. The exchange of dialogue at the end of the piece that takes place on the roof of Gotham's police department is taken directly from GK#42 as written by Scott Beatty.
Acknowledgement:
Many thanks to Syl for taking the time to beta read this for me.
Rating: PG
****
The Old Guard(ian)
For four days the feared Bat that haunted Gotham's nights had been notable by his absence. Rumours abounded through the city's sub-culture as to why he was gone, and perhaps more importantly - for how long. For many of them the Bat's absence was a cause for relief, if not outright rejoicing. Sure, they would admit among themselves, there were still the other vigilantes around: the Huntress, the Bat's brat sidekick, even Nightwing who for a long time had been more often seen down the coast in Bludhaven.
But the Batman was missing, and despite the others' best efforts, the denizens of Gotham's underworld seemed intent on taking advantage of the fact that their long time nemesis would not be around to stop them.
It had been raining all day: the slow, steady drip of rain that seemed like it could go on for ever. As night fell, the soaked walls and pavements glittered with deceptive beauty in the orange glow of street lamps, while the blue-white of car headlamps reflected off sheets of water lying across the roads. The few people that dared the night hurried by, bundled up in coats and hunched under the protection of umbrellas. Others, less fortunate, huddled in doorways or in alleys, given no option but to endure the cold and the wet.
The harsh edges of the city seemed somehow muted in the rain, quiescent, as if waiting for something.
Distant shouts competed with the wail of a siren as the shrill scream of an alarm echoed through the stark canyons of the streets and alleys. All were punctuated by the dull, flat crack of gunfire. Gotham City by its nature seldom lay quiescent for long.
A car burst from an alley, heedless of the fleeing street people who had tried to shelter there from the rain and the wind. It skidded across the all but empty road, its tyres throwing up spumes of water as they sought traction on the wet, oil slicked pavement. A man leaned precariously from the side window, pumping shell after shell from a shotgun at the police car that surged from the alley after it, its lights flashing and siren blaring.
The police car bounced over debris onto the road only to have to fight for control as the road conspired against it. The transients from the alley scurried for cover, interested in the chase only so far as it was just one more thing that endangered their safety.
The two cars careered through the streets, so close they could have been connected, the pursuer defying all efforts of the pursued to loose him. A handgun might have replaced the shotgun, but still the pursuing cops didn't return fire, concerned for the safety of people who might have the misfortune to get caught up in the chase.
A lucky shot hit the police car's engine and an explosion of steam erupted from under the hood. The driver who moments earlier had been intent on catching the escaping crooks, mashed down on the brakes as blinded by the steam he struggled to stop the car before he crashed into someone or something. It was a fight he lost as the car slammed to a halt against a lamppost. The driver exchanged a long, wordless gaze with his partner, both of them grinning with the sheer relief of being alive and unhurt before the chagrin of losing their chase took over.
Free of pursuit, the escaping crooks sped down the street, accompanied by peals of exultant laughter. On other occasions they might have feared seeing the massive bulk of a dark car following them, hunting them, or seeing an unmistakable black silhouette land on the hood of their car just before a black armoured fist smashed their windshield with impossible force.
But the Bat had been missing for days, so they laughed.
They stopped laughing when their car was engulfed in a blaze of eerily silent green flame and brought to a halt. By the time they became aware of the gaudily clad, caped figure hovering before them, surrounded by a flickering corona of green flame, laughter was the last thing on their minds.
"What the f--" one began, his words cut short by a tendril of green flame that curled around him and hauled him out of the car's window. He saw his companion being similarly handled, but not before he managed to pull out a gun out and throw a couple of shots at their captor.
The gunshots did nothing more dramatic than cause tiny ripples in the green corona surrounding the man who casually gestured in response. At his bidding, fingers of the green flame reached into the gun, bursting it apart from within. "Are you boys quite finished?" he asked mildly, his voice crisp and resonant, like that of an old time radio announcer.
The crooks raised their arms in surrender.
High above, a circle of light punctuated with the silhouette of a bat blazed into life against the low cloud. The man looked up and an odd half- smile crossed his face. As if it were the most natural thing in the world he soared upward, the two protesting criminals trailing helplessly after him tightly swathed in bonds of green flame.
He set his course to the source of the spotlight that lit up the clouds: a tall building, light still blazing from its windows so late in the night. A lone man stood waiting on the rooftop next to the bulk of the lamp, visibly starting when a cultured voice called from above. "Watch yourself!"
Two struggling figures bound in glowing green flame thumped inelegantly onto the roof at the waiting man's feet. He looked down at them frowning in confusion, then back up to the source of the voice.
The cloaked figure, his garish costume of red, green and purple somehow not detracting from a mien of dignified middle age alighted easily next to him. "I know you were expecting a different cape, Commissioner," he began calmly, only to pause as he noted the stunned look on the Commissioner's face. "I'm on file. Under 'G' mainly. A little before your time, I would imagine." He paused again as if awaiting some sort of response, but none was forthcoming, so he went on as if by way of explanation. "The regular fellow is unavoidably preoccupied at the moment. He'll be back soon enough."
He waited a few seconds longer, perhaps a little unnerved by the unabashed shock still apparent on the Commissioner's face and the man's continuing silence. Thoughts ran swiftly through his mind: possession? Maybe some form of mental control? He'd come across stranger things in his long career. "Commissioner Akins...?" he asked carefully.
"I... I had your decoder ring when I was a kid," Akins murmured in a small, awestruck voice. "I got it out of a box of crackerjacks."
Alan Scott, the man once known as Green Lantern sighed, suddenly feeling the weight of his years.
He was sure Batman never had this difficulty.
-Fin-