I don't own Batman, or any of the related franchises, no matter how much I wish I did. I still own Eleanor Black. This is a one-shot that goes along with the just finished comic series Bruce Wayne: The Road Home. For those who don't know, this was a series of eight one-shot comic books where Bruce, in a suit that gave him fantastical powers, went around to check up on those he cared about or trained after he time-traveled back to present day from the caveman times. He was dead. He got better. Anyways, it was a neat series that I really liked and it gave me the urge to write one about Eleanor in something resembling the same format as the actual one-shots. This has nothing to do with my other fics, okay? It is not in any timeline I'm writing. It's just a one-shot thing I really, really wanted to do, so don't try and connect it to anything. But it doesn't matter how much I say that, because no one is going to read this note because no one reads author's notes or disclaimers... This fic is rated T for language, violence and some romantic stuff. It's significantly longer than the actual one-shots would be if you wrote them out, probably. Huh. Enjoy.
Bruce Wayne: The Road Home
Darkshade
From the pages of the White Casebook:
I don't think anyone would claim that any of my relationships—familial, friendly or romantic—have been normal, but if I ever had a chance at a "normal" life, it would have been with her, with Eleanor Black, a life-long friend and companion.
That is, until she found out I was Batman.
After that, and her initial anger that I had kept such a big secret from her, she completely rearranged her life to work with Batman, with me, and I helped by having a product developed that could be used to give her enhanced abilities, an edge that would normally have taken years of training to achieve; any chance we had had at a normal relationship—if there had been any chance—was gone when she lifted that cowl off my face. She would have found some way to fight at Batman's side, and if I hadn't injected her with the biochemistry-altering nanomachines, she would have gotten herself killed in trying.
I turned her into Darkshade.
Because of this, I worried about her while I was gone, perhaps more than I worried about anyone else. I knew Alfred and Dick would try to keep her calm and under control, but with an already short fuse cut even shorter by my "death", it would be no stretch of the imagination to find her running recklessly around Gotham—or even gravely injured—when I returned.
I was however, surprised to find her working with Oracle and trying to keep Vicki Vale safe. Eleanor had never liked the reporter and she would not be happy that she was trying to expose the secrets of Bruce Wayne to the world.
Eleanor Black, better known to Gotham and to the red-headed reporter sitting on the chair across the room as Darkshade, crossed her arms and stared with black eyes at the woman, wishing that she could unleash the biting torrent of insults that was on the tip of her tongue. She couldn't do that however, because that would put her in danger of Vicki Vale discovering who she really was. Because she, like most heroes, always wore a mask, no one knew what Darkshade looked like, and because the nanomachines she'd been injected with all those years ago let her change her appearance at will, no would be able to tell that Darkshade was actually Eleanor Black, even if they got her mask off.
Why then, did she wear the mask? Well, it wouldn't do to have people think she didn't have anything to hide, now would it, especially when she was associated with the Bat-family, a group of notorious mask-wearers.
At the thought of the Bat, she gave a barely perceptible sigh and looked down at the black bat symbol wrapped around her arm like a band worn in mourning. Actually, that's exactly what it was. Once she'd stopped having hysterical fits after Bruce Wayne's death, and had been able to put her costume back on and return to fighting crime, she'd worn that bat. Dick had tried to get her to take it off, since he was supposed to be Batman and no one was supposed to notice that the real Batman was actually gone, but she'd insisted that, beyond a very small group of people, no one was going to think it was a bat worn in mourning—they would just think she was wearing it to identify herself as one of the Bat-family. As Eleanor was a stubborn little thing, she'd won. Or more correctly, Dick had just stopped fighting. Eleanor was difficult on the best of days.
"Why do you wear your bat on your arm?" Vicki Vale asked. "The rest of the family wears it on their chest."
Darkshade turned her lens-shielded eyes towards her charge and screwed up her face in a frown—she'd never mastered Bruce's ability to glare through the protective lenses of the mask. "Because my boobs are too big to fit a bat on my chest," she answered in a monotone voice.
Vicki's face actually gave up a small grin at that. "Who are you to Batman?"
"I'm not going to answer any of your questions, Vale," she snapped. "I don't need you snooping into my life."
"Well, that's just the thing. I've tried snooping into your life—I even found a picture of you without the mask—but I haven't been able to even pick up a trail. It's like you don't exist outside of that costume."
"It is not a costume and maybe I don't exist outside of it."
The reporter frowned and ran the fingers of one hand back through her red locks. "I don't suppose you'll tell me anything about Batman?" she asked with a sigh.
Vale is persistent... I suppose I should give her points for that. Or not. "Absolutely not." The vigilante strode purposefully across the room at that and situated herself beside the one window in the safe house, which was actually a small apartment. She touched her index and middle fingers on her right hand to the side of her mask, activating the communication unit built in and connecting her to Oracle. "Please, please tell me someone else is coming to take her somewhere else. And tell me they are coming soon." Her voice was tight with restrain because she so wanted to yell at someone. Unfortunately for Darkshade, who'd never really gotten along with Barbara Gordon, yelling at Oracle wouldn't get anything done.
"Batgirl will be there in about fifteen minutes. Then you have to join the patrol. We don't know who's coming after Vale next," was the crisp reply, "and we have to be ready." Oracle was no stranger to the dislike Darkshade held for her.
"Good. Patrol is easy compared to this."
"Just sit tight."
"What the hell else am I going to do? It's not like she offers up any sort of conversation I'm going to participate in. She's just questioning me."
"She's a reporter. That's what she does."
"No shit. Just tell Batgirl to hurry her ass up." Darkshade pulled her fingers away from her head, ending the connection but knowing full well that if Oracle wanted to talk to her, the computer genius had an infinite number of options that didn't require her cooperation at all. Thinking dark thoughts about how her life would be so much better if she just chucked Vale out the window now so she could continue the moving on from Bruce's death and the appointment of his son as his successor, Darkshade returned to her position, standing against the wall with her arms crossed, glaring at Vicki. "My replacement is going to be here soon. She's going to move you to another safe house."
"Maybe she can offer better company."
Darkshade actually grinned at that as she pictured exactly what Stephanie Brown's response to Vicki's questions would be. "I wouldn't count on that, Ms. Vale." Steph's more likely to give you a piece of her mind than I am. Bruce's training stuck better with me.
Thankfully, Batgirl arrived sooner than the promised fifteen minutes. Darkshade went to the door to meet her, the long black and purple coat she wore in place of a cape sweeping out behind her—the nanomachines also gave her a phenomenal healing ability which meant she didn't have to wear the specially designed body armour that most of the heroes of Gotham City did. Or, at least, not as much of it. She could still die after all. When she opened the door, the blonde Batgirl stepped into the room, a wide grin on her young face, all of the joy directed right at Darkshade and, presumably, at her misery. Darkshade just rolled her eyes at the younger woman in front of her and stepped out of the way so her friend could proceed farther into the apartment. The two heroes moved to stand by the window again, looking for a little privacy from Ms. Intrepid Reporter's wandering ears.
"So, have you seen him yet?" Batgirl asked, her eyes lighting up through the holes in her mask. She looked like she was about to explode.
"Seen who?"
Batgirl's jaw opened a tiny bit, showing her surprise. It was an expression quickly replaced with another wide grin that only Stephanie ever seemed able to achieve. "I won't ruin the surprise—he'd kill me. So how's Vale watch?"
Knowing she wouldn't get anymore out of Stephanie if the girl didn't want to share—Steph rivalled Eleanor when it came to being stubborn—Darkshade just answered the question. "Boring. Annoying. She'll try to pump you for information about Batman and about yourself—if she doesn't already think she knows everything about you. She'll try and get you to confirm her information." Darkshade narrowed her eyes behind the mask, knowing Batgirl would get the glare even if she couldn't see it. "Don't give her anything."
Batgirl huffed indignantly. "What do you think I am? Stupid?" She stepped closer to Darkshade and jabbed one finger into the older woman's chest; sometimes they bickered like sisters. "I'm not going to screw this up. How many times do I have to tell you that?"
Darkshade couldn't help but grin—so much about Batgirl reminded her of herself when she was young and relatively new to the Bat-game. "At least once more," she said, widening her smile.
"Oh, you suck!"
"So you keep telling me." Darkshade crossed back to the door—she would normally just have used the window, but she didn't want to compromise the safe house—and placed one hand on the knob. "I'm heading out on patrol," she told Batgirl. It didn't matter if Vale heard this stuff. "Red Robin's going to pick up the next watch, I think; I'm sure O will let you know anyways. Call me if you need me."
"Bye Lampshade."
Darkshade rolled her eyes for the second time that night and left the apartment, detouring to the roof access as soon as she could. There was a chilly wind blowing, but it felt good and very refreshing after being in the stuffy apartment with Vicki Vale for the past five hours, although patrol was almost more fun with Batgirl. She sucked in a deep breath and ran towards the edge of the roof, leaping into the air without a thought—launching the grappling line as she was flying through the air had long since become second nature. The soles of her boots struck the gravel roof of the building across the road and she was running full speed when she rose from her landing crouch, a smile on her face; she loved to run, a characteristic she had probably gleaned from Batman.
Batman... Bruce. Her smile faltered as she thought of the Caped Crusader, not for the first time and most assuredly not the last. It had been a while since his death, but it still stung and, she suspected, it always would. Damn you. Why'd you go and get yourself killed? Why'd you leave me? As if it was his choice...
Attention diverted as it was, Darkshade ran straight into a rather solid wall of some kind.
"Fuck!" she cursed, stumbling backwards.
Something crashed into her side and, at the last moment, she identified it as a kick. Darkshade shook the shock and dropped into a defensive stance in time to catch the second kick. In her gloved hands was a black, armoured boot. She pulled the boot towards her, trying to pull her opponent off balance, but he—for the black, armoured boot belonged to a black, armoured body with three glowing, red things right where the eyes shoulder be, was definitely a man—was prepared. He used the momentum her action gave to push her backwards, freeing his leg. Darkshade rolled backwards over her shoulder and into a fighting stance, her teeth bared and eyes narrowed behind her mask, but the three-eyed man was nowhere to be seen.
He reappeared to her right, a field breaking around his form—does he have a cloaking device? A powerful front kick caught Darkshade in the chest because she was surprised and she flew back into the roof entrance, the brick cracking slightly under her shoulders. Shit. Who is this guy? she wondered as he disappeared again. Darkshade dropped her hand to her belt, retrieving the bo staff and pressing the button to extend it to its full length before bringing it forward with a bit of a spin and wasting no time in lunging forward and bringing the staff down hard against the man's shoulder.
"What the hell do you want?" she barked, continuing with the attack. Even as she asked it, she knew he was probably after Vale, just like the rest of the criminals in Gotham.
The man blocked every assault, but he was stepping backwards, towards the edge of the roof. He didn't seem to care, but he didn't answer her question. She couldn't hear any noise from him or the suit actually.
Darkshade grunted in frustration and suddenly dropped, swinging the bo staff around and managing to move fast enough to strike the mysterious man's knees and knock him sideways. He recovered quickly, but Darkshade had the time to back out of his striking range. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?" she bellowed. She had her suspicions, but she wanted to know for sure. Not that she really expected an answer—villains, unless they were the egocentric type, didn't tend to monologue or talk at all.
This man was not the monologue-spewing type.
As his boots neared the edge of the roof, his movements increased in speed, and his next attack made Darkshade realized he'd been holding back.
I'm out of practice, she realized glumly as she blocked the kick. All that moping around the manor and now all this guarding and patrolling... "Let the others handle the villains," Alfred said; "It'll be good for you to rest," Alfred said. She was forced to drop the bo to better defend herself, but his blows still hammered against her forearms with frightening strength; even her enhanced biochemistry couldn't keep up with the bruises forming, but that didn't bother her. As soon as she had a few moments, she would heal. I should have been fighting. Bruce wouldn't have let himself get tripped up like this.
Darkshade realized, if a little belatedly, that he was fighting to kill her.
But there was something... familiar about his style, his reactions, the feeling she had while fighting him.
Darkshade couldn't place it.
She growled in frustration and aimed a roundhouse kick at the stranger's head. He deflected the blow, but the edge of her boot caught his head and he was forced to take a step back. Darkshade used the opening to step in close and ram her elbow into his gut. He attempted to wrap an arm around her neck, but she ducked out of the way and using all her weight and enhanced strength to knock him over backwards when she stood up again. He rolled back to his feet and then the stranger disappeared from view again. When he didn't reappear right away, Darkshade dropped her hands, but didn't rise from the fighting stance.
There was a hissing noise and a beam of scarlet energy shot passed her stomach.
Darkshade whirled in the direction the beam had come from and caught the glow of red eyes just before he disappeared again.
Another bolt of energy zipped in front of her face, coming from the other direction, singeing the tip of her nose like bad burn; no real damage was done and that confused Darkshade. If he fought to kill her hand-to-hand, why wouldn't he just burn her to a crisp? Unless he knew how hard she was to kill... Questions, questions, questions.
The beams of energy came quicker and his aim got sharper, the shots catching the edges of her limbs and coat and hair and filling the air with the scents of burning things. Darkshade found the acrobatics Dick had taught her were still at her fingertips, so to speak, but she was rusty. Once again, she cursed herself for not keeping in better practice while she hung around Wayne Manor, missing Bruce.
The stranger suddenly disappeared, the faint whir of whatever powered his suit the only thing she heard.
When he didn't show up after two and a half minutes, she stood up straight and looked around, but there was no sign of him. "Come out!" she yelled. "We weren't done!"
But there was no answer.
Eleanor was still taking my death hard, but I wasn't surprised by that. If nothing else, she clung to her family, to the people she loved. I was glad to see that she was working to move on, but she had let herself fall out of shape and that was going to get her hurt if she didn't pull herself together soon. She had not found someone else to push her or give her the drive to succeed, but I could think of no one who could do that job. Eleanor rarely made anything easy for anyone, least of all herself.
I was reluctant to reveal myself to her, to set back all the progress she had made. I knew Eleanor, and I knew that when she found out I was alive and more, that everyone had kept that fact from her, she would be angry. I hadn't revealed myself to Dick and Damien, but I would. They would both take it in stride; funnel whatever they felt into their work, even if they did yell at first. Eleanor would not. She would lash out with everything she had and let everyone know how hurt she was.
But I couldn't have her find out I was alive from anyone else. That would only make it worse and I didn't want to hurt her anymore.
Five hours later, exhausted after a long and boring patrol and angry at just about everything, Darkshade stuck her hands into the water and shifted the decorative carvings in the correct order and pushed aside the panel in the main pillar of the hideous monstrosity of a fountain in North City Park—the park closest to her loft—to drop into her Batcave.
Bruce and those he trusted had helped her design, finance and build her own secret hideaway underneath Gotham. It was about as large as one of Bruce's satellite caves and stocked with the same high-tech computers and other devices she had come to rely on in the main Batcave, as well as an assortment of weapons to keep her armed for the worst. It wasn't linked to the Batcave or Oracle's Clock Tower normally, but it could be. Usually, it wasn't. She still had unrestricted access to Wayne Manor and the Batcave, but she liked her private space, somewhere she could come to be by herself, the same reason she still had her loft even though she lived at the mansion. Since only five people in existence knew how to get in—Bruce, Alfred, Dick and Stephanie aside from herself—it was very private.
As the panel closed behind her, she made sure it clicked into place before pulling off the domino mask, tossing it on one of the stone slabs serving as desks before she unzipped her coat. The long and rather worse-for-wear garment fell to a crumpled heap on the floor as she continued across the room, her Darkshade appearance dissolving behind her: black hair became a deep reddish brown and black eyes turned cobalt blue. The anger didn't lessen with the transformation that had become so easy it took barely a thought.
The encounter with the stranger had shaken her. She knew she had fought him before. There was no other way she knew his fighting style so well. But she couldn't place him, even after an entire patrol racking her brain. Something kept telling her it was Bruce who fought like that, but that was impossible.
Wasn't it?
Chewing over that possibility, Eleanor stripped out of the rest of her burned and ripped vigilante outfit—she had spares—and pulled on a pair of well-worn knee-length jean shorts and a baggy black, long-sleeved shirt. She shook out her sweaty hair before once again binding it in a low ponytail. She gathered up and folded the discarded uniform for repairs and then dropped into her chair and stared at her computer screen. Oracle, as a favour, had e-mailed her everything she had on the stranger, who apparently had been dubbed as Insider, but the wheelchair-bound genius hadn't told Eleanor anything about where he'd come from or who he was, if she knew that; judging by the smug tone, Oracle did know something and she wasn't going to spill the beans.
She wouldn't tell you if it was Bruce.
Eleanor was inclined to agree with that voice in her head. But it couldn't be Bruce. Bruce was dead.
With a heavy sigh more than a little laden with tears, Eleanor pulled out the picture of her and Bruce at one of the last parties before his death and unfolded it. They were dressed to the nines, he in a perfectly cut designer, charcoal gray suit, and she in a stunning, deep blue dress that swept the floor around her strappy black sandals. The champagne may have been false, but the smiles were real. She kept it in the pocket of her jeans, even though she had been assured keeping a picture of Bruce with her would make it all the more difficult to move on. As she was taking in the small smile on Bruce's photogenic face and remembering how happy she had felt that night, she heard the gears at the door move and the soft clicking that indicated the door was opening.
Suddenly on full alert, she tucked the picture into her pocket and grabbed the wooden bat she kept tucked under her desk before heading back across the long room, prepared to meet whatever was there.
There was nothing.
Eleanor frowned. She had excellent night vision, but she wasn't picking up anything in the shadows. She was getting the same result from her other enhanced senses. Nothing. She scowled.
Did he follow me home? she wondered, her thoughts on Insider.
She looked for fifteen more minutes before she was somewhat satisfied there was no one else in her hideout. The door was back in place, but she could have been hearing things. That tended to happen when her thoughts and thus, the control on her senses, drifted. Eleanor dropped back into her expensive and comfortable chair to dig into the electronic Insider file, one ear open for any other strange noises, just like Bruce had taught her all those years ago. The thought of Bruce brought another sudden wave of emotion to the surface.
"Damn it, what is wrong with me? I thought I was passed this," she mumbled to herself, rubbing at her eyes vigorously.
"It'll take longer than a year."
Eleanor jumped, her hand sliding across the desk to grab something, anything heavy enough to be effective, as she turned around to face the intruder. She met with those three glowing eyes just as she thought she would and she growled in a very animalistic way. "How the hell did you get in here?" she snarled, hand still searching behind her.
"I knew you would come here."
"But how—"
He held up one hand, demanding silence, before moving his hands to the back of his mask, presumably where the latch or zipper or whatever was. Eleanor, for once, remained silent when asked and watched as he pulled the mask from his face, the familiar welling of anticipation in her gut. Despite her suspicions, however, she was not prepared for what was underneath the bizarre mask.
"Bruce..." she breathed, tears immediately filling her eyes and all the questions she would have thought she'd ask fell out of her head as she looked into his blue eyes, a cacophony of emotions warring inside. "How...? No, scratch that." Eleanor smiled and finally closed the distance to wrap her arms around Bruce. "I can't believe you're here... that you're okay. Why didn't you say anything?" She clung tighter to the man in front of her, sighing with contentment when he returned the embrace, memories of similar embraces and more intimate ones flooding through her mind.
Knowing the calm would not last, Bruce took his time in answering. He savoured the feel of Eleanor in his arms again, the feel of knowing that someone had missed him greatly and that his absence had gone noticed. He kissed the top of her head. "Ellie," he said after a moment, his mouth pressed into the hair by her ear. "I wasn't sure how you'd react."
She pushed back from Bruce, just enough to cast those cobalt blue eyes upward. They were narrowed in suspicion. "Why would I be anything other than happy?" The comment Stephanie made earlier came into new light. "Everyone else knows!" she yelled, disengaging fully from Bruce's arms with a loud groan of frustration. Eleanor glared at Bruce, showcasing just how well she'd picked up that skill from the man who'd trained her. "Why didn't you tell me when you came back from the dead or whatever? Why didn't you come and see me right after you got back?" she demanded, uncaring of how selfish she sounded.
"Dick and Damien don't know."
That brought Eleanor up short. "What?"
"Dick and Damien don't know I'm back."
"Why..." A bitter smile flickered over her face, chased quickly away by some unidentifiable emotion. "You didn't tell them because they can handle this knowledge without getting over emotional like me, even if they found out from someone else. Or it wasn't time. It didn't coincide with your great plan—whatever the fuck it is," she snapped, waving her hands in a bit of a clueless gesture. "What was that fight on the roof? A test to see how emotionally wrecked I was or some shit like that?"
Bruce nodded once.
Eleanor growled again, even though she knew why he would have reason—or thought he'd have reason—to test her. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides, resisting the urge to hit Bruce. Oh, she could do some damage, but he was still much more skilled than she, and the only reason she could and had survived fights with Batman was because of the nanomachines. "Why, no, how could you leave me in the dark, Bruce? If things were going okay without you, were you just going to move on? If it looked like you weren't needed in Gotham, that Dick was doing a good job as Batman, were you just going to find another city to save? Were you just going to leave Gotham? Leave me?" She had been pacing slightly, so she turned on her heel and stalked closer to the big man who had remained quite still. "Dick shouldn't be Batman anyway," she snapped with an odd sort of finality to that statement.
Bruce just raised an eyebrow in her general direction as she resumed stalking back and forth.
"He was doing perfectly fine as Nightwing."
"Batman couldn't just disappear."
Eleanor stopped and shot him an even darker glare than before. "Clearly you didn't."
"I was gone for almost a year."
"Fuck that, Bruce—you're back now and you would have found a way to recover Batman's reputation. Nightwing and the others could have kept Gotham in one piece without you and without Batman." Eleanor huffed loudly, her knuckles cracking as she tightened her fists.
Bruce watched her as she paced, knowing the more she walked and the more she thought, the less angry she would be. She stomped around a bit more before coming to a stop in front of Bruce, her arms crossed under her chest and her lips pressed into a thin line as she clenched her jaw. He returned a stoic look, waiting for her to continue speaking. When Eleanor was seeing red, the best thing to do really, was remain silent as much as possible.
"Are you going to tell me what your plan is?" she asked, voice still tight.
"I want to take Batman global."
"So you are leaving."
Bruce didn't say anything.
"Dick's going to stay here as Batman and you're going to leave."
Eleanor nodded, her face twisting into lines of anger again, and Bruce was sure she was going to start yelling again, or maybe attack him. That wasn't a reaction beyond her when she was furious. Her cobalt eyes stared hard at him for a moment, once again filling with tears and she dropped into her desk chair, her head hanging in her hands; other than a slight shaking in her shoulders, there was no obvious sign she was crying. Bruce moved to stand beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing slightly. She leaned into the contact and heaved a sigh. After a moment, she stood up, the proximity of Bruce to her chair making it so the two vigilantes were standing very close together.
Eleanor rubbed her hands over her face and leaned into Bruce, sliding her arms around his middle and pressing her face against the armour. She was still angry, if a little shamed by her reaction, but she didn't want Bruce to leave again. "You should have told me," she whispered.
He looked down at her, his face significantly softer. "Maybe." Bruce pulled her closer.
There was a brief second of silence before Eleanor giggled a bit. At Bruce's curious look, she said, "When I found out you were Batman, I almost said the same thing."
Bruce gave her a familiar small smile, even though the referenced situation had not been particularly humorous, but any reason to keep her from yelling. "I missed you Ellie," he said truthfully.
"That's good to know." That got her a small chuckle. She pulled back slightly from Bruce. "Alfred knows you're back, right?"
"Yes and I'm sure he's expecting to hear your thoughts on the situation."
Eleanor returned Bruce's grin, although hers was much cheekier. She ran one hand back through her brown hair as she sat back down in her chair, the exhaustion of her night's work evident in her face and the slump of her shoulders—the nanomachines could keep her going for a long time, but not forever. "I'm sure he is."
Bruce leaned down towards Eleanor, one hand on either of the armrests. "You should go get some rest," he said, well aware of how similar this situation felt, and it was comforting. His relationship with Eleanor didn't seem to have changed very much, and he was glad. He knew he'd be dealing with her anger for a long time, but that was something he had expected. "You're out of shape," he added.
"And whose fault is that?"
Bruce ignored the comment. "Just get some rest, okay?"
Eleanor leaned into him, brushing the tip of her nose against his. "I don't suppose I can expect to see you later?" she whispered. Before he could give her the "no" she knew was coming, Eleanor wrapped one hand around the back of his neck and pulled Bruce to her in a deep kiss which he happily returned. When they broke apart a moment later, she smiled at him, a warm gesture, and put one hand on either side of his face. "Just don't leave me behind this time, okay?" There were a few tears in her eyes again, but she was still smiling and evidently okay with putting her anger aside until there was more time for yelling, until Bruce's reappearance was known by everyone and the entire Bat-family wasn't trying to keep Vale from getting shiskabobbed in some back alley.
Bruce kissed Eleanor again, but didn't make any promises. "I've got to go."
"I know. You'll be around?"
He nodded and made a move like he was going to stand up, but Eleanor threw her arms around his neck, effectively holding him bent over. Using his not unimpressive strength, Bruce stood up anyways, his arms only moving to surround Eleanor when he was nearly upright. "I won't disappear on you again Ellie," he said into her hair.
"Not unless you have to, Bruce. Don't make promises you can't keep."
"That wasn't a promise."
"Shh." She kissed him once more, quicker, and dropped to the ground, for Bruce had been holding her a few inches above the floor. "Just go." Eleanor's smile was bigger and warmer than before; she was just revelling in having the man she loved back in her life. She didn't have to say that she was glad Bruce was home, because it was written all over her face and bright blue eyes.
After another moment, Bruce stepped away from Eleanor and pulled his bizarre mask back over his head. As Eleanor watched him go, she wondered how she hadn't realized it was Bruce under the alien costume: he moved the same, had the same attitude... the only thing that was missing was the intangible and otherworldly quality the cave and the ears of the cowl gave his walk. But he was still Batman, even in a different costume. She cocked her head to one side as she watched him leave her cave, chastising herself for thinking it could have been anyone other than Bruce, a small smile on her lips the whole time.
Author's Note.
So, it's not exactly in the same format, but I tried. I think I did a pretty good job of converting the comic book format into just plain words, but I'll leave that up to you.
There's more of a focus on the romance issue here, but I did incorporate the whole protection of Vicki Vale thing, which would put this one-shot somewhere around the Catwoman/Oracle/Commissioner Gordon one-shots. I also didn't want to focus on Vale very much because, if you couldn't tell, I don't like her. I never really have. She was pretty cool in the 1989 Batman movie, but other than that, I find her insufferable and so, by extension, does Eleanor. And this was more about Darkshade's struggle to find her place after Bruce's death and then adjusting to the fact that he's not actually dead. This isn't really about Vale since Eleanor is my OC and this is my story.
All in all though, I really like the whole Return of Bruce Wayne storyline. It's well done for what was set up in Final Crisis, even if some of it is a little bizarre and cheesy. Or something to that effect.
And I really like the Batgirl issue, when she slaps him across the face and then reams him out at the end. That made me smile so much. Stephanie Brown is one of my favourite comic characters and I love her as Batgirl.
Anyways, I really like the way most of this turned out. It's not written yet, but, like he does with everyone else he trains, Bruce spends a lot of time testing Eleanor and that continues here, especially since she has issues with change and so many other issues, especially when it comes to Bruce.
Hey Matt, it looks like Ellie agrees with you about Dick as Batman.
I hope you enjoyed this one-shot. Now back to my main stories!