Title: Forced Endurance
Author: Tearsofamiko
Rating: K+
Disclaimer: I own nothing about Batman Begins or The Dark Knight, their characters or plotlines, including any recognizable dialogue.
Spoilers: Definite for both movies.
Summary: "There's no Justice. There's just us." -- Terry Pratchett. A study of what lies between a city and perdition. (I saw where Bovineorbitor1 used the quote in one of her chapters and liked it as a summary. :) I couldn't think of anything else.)
A/N: This is just to tide myself over until White Collar's back. Don't expect too much of it or my new infatuation. :)
Along the same lines as 'Pieces of Eight,' meaning it's a series of drabbles based on one-word prompts. I will only feature characters from the Chris Nolan movies or minor OCs (in other words, no Catwoman, Robin, or any of the other Batman-series characters, not even their alter-egos); I don't know anything about the comics leading up to the movies, so I'm not going to make a fool of myself. No slash and very few 'ships (only those mentioned in canon). And these'll probably all be Bruce/Batman centered and very serious, because I have a hard enough time writing humor and these movies are serious. :)
"And...here...we...go!"
:)
.:::.
1. Ring
When he thinks back to that night, he shies away from any memories of the actual event. He knows the facts, has lived the horror, and understands that it is a very integral part of him. He knows all this, but cannot bring himself to focus on the murders themselves. Instead, when he thinks about that night, he remembers the little things.
(How the cruel sound of the gunshot seemed to echo forever off the walls around him.
The strange glow of the blood-stained pearls scattered around the alley.
The single, tiny star just barely visible overhead, glittering faintly in the clouds above the city.
How he couldn't stop shivering in the too-warm office the policemen placed him in later.
The way the light glinted off the simple gold wedding band worn by a compassionate officer, the only one to look past the cumbersome new label orphaned Wayne heir and see the terrified, hurting child underneath.
The warmth of Alfred's hands as he picked him up and carried him out of the precinct, an action so reminiscent of his father that he finally, finally felt the tears burn his eyes.)
He remembers the little things and, somehow, they are what anchor the memories, what make everything feel real, what remind him that it was never just a nightmare.
.:::.
2. Hero
"He's the hero Gotham deserves, but not the one it needs right now. So we'll hunt him because he can take it. Because he's not our hero. He's a silent guardian, a watchful protector. A dark knight."
For the first time in his life, Jimmy Gordon doesn't agree with his dad.
It's not that his dad has said anything wrong, exactly -- even Jimmy can recognize that his father's logic is inherently correct. But he can't believe that the Batman is anything but a hero. Because Jimmy knows what a hero is.
A hero is someone who does the right thing, all the time, no matter what he wants. A hero is kind and honest and helpful. A hero never hurts an innocent person, only the bad guys. A hero is strong, not just in body but in mind, able to withstand everything the world throws at him. And Batman is everything a hero is; Jimmy's seen it, heard it in the crusader's gruff voice.
He wonders why no one else does.
.:::.
3. Memory
Something in the way Bruce is standing at the window is familiar, Lucius thinks to himself as he steps into the boardroom. It's in the set of his shoulders, the confident way he holds himself, and the distracted, contemplative expression on his face as he stares down at the city. He pauses for a moment, studying the scene, then finally realizes what's so familiar about it all.
In this moment, he looks exactly as his father did, twenty years ago.
He wonders if the younger man ever sees it, how similar he and Thomas Wayne are. But then, Bruce might be too close to the matter to be able to observe objectively, too many memories and forgotten hopes and dreams blotting out the simple reality of the matter. Bruce Wayne is his father's son. In his determination to save Gotham from itself, his love for the blighted city, his dedication and drive and willpower, he proves himself the capable recipient of his father's mantle. And with his skills, his loyalty, his ability to shoulder far more than an ordinary man could handle, he paves his own way, cleaving through the layers of grim and corruption coating the city's fair face. He is Gotham's incorruptible champion, the only one willing to stand for her honor, his father's son and so much more.
Lucius thinks Thomas would be proud.
.:::.
4. Box
Since the Joker's reign of terror, the penthouse echoes like a tomb each time Bruce takes off into the night. To keep himself from going crazy in the resounding silence of the glass-enclosed spaces, Alfred occupies his time cataloguing the box of items recovered from the immolated Wayne Manor, sifting through the artifacts and memories to keep his mind off of the many-varied ways his reckless charge could find danger on Gotham's streets.
With reverent fingers, he reaches into the cardboard confines and pulls out a tarnished silver picture frame. It's warped, the original shape of the silver deformed by the heat of the blaze, the glass bubbled and browned. Ignoring the slight tremor in his hands, he gently polishes away the soot and grime, revealing a delicately filigreed design along the edges and his heart clenches as he realizes exactly which frame has survived the fire. Peering closely, he slowly begins to make out the photograph barely visible behind the tainted glass.
Badly discolored and almost completely faded, but just discernable are Thomas and Martha Wayne's smiling faces. In his mind's eye, Alfred sees the picture as it was: the affectionate way Thomas' arm wraps around his wife's waist, the gentle glow present as always in Martha's eyes, the sense of quiet love and grace and royalty that surrounded the family almost tangible behind the glass of the frame. Squinting slightly, he's just able to make out the shadows and voids in the picture, ghosts of the image once imprinted on the paper. Sighing, he sets the frame aside, deciding he'll take it to Lucius and see if there's anything to be done with it.
With an aching heart, he digs back into the past as he waits for the future to return.
.:::.
5. Run
The day is bright and beautiful, shaded golden by the bright sunlight of a spring day. It's warm, but not hot, the perfect temperature for adventure and mischief, the perfect day to play outside.
She's running, the exhilarating feel of adrenaline and excitement flowing through her as she flies over the manicured lawn, heading for the corners of the estate and the mysteries of the greenhouse. She hears him behind her, panting just as she is, the thud of his footsteps barely audible in the thick grass. They duck into the greenhouse, the smells and colors nearly overwhelming in their foreign brilliance. Their game continues within the bright, warm, living alcove they've discovered, entrancing in the way that only a children's game can be. She ducks behind a row of flowers, giggling softly at the expression on his face as she disappears, and then--
A crack breaks through the clear daylight and a shiver runs through her at the ominous portent held within the sound. She stands in the sudden gloom, the beauty of the greenery no more, the sinister echoes of the city streets filling the air with cloying darkness. She begins to run again, a different emotion driving her feet, driving her away from the stately house and resplendent grounds, driving her to seek safety in the dingy streets of the city proper. There is a clatter behind her and she looks down to see a single pearl roll past, the dark stains on it unmistakably blood. She feels a scream building in her throat as she sees the broken bodies haloed by streetlight. She meets the haunted eyes of the child kneeling next to them and feels terror and guilt and shame take her over as she bolts straight upright out of sleep.
Panting, the bedclothes clutched to her chest, Rachel can't help but cry for the small child of her memories and the haunted man that roams the same streets that made him.
