Disclaimer: Young Justice character names belong to DC Comics (and so on) unless stated an OC which in case belong to the author, Quarter 'till Class. No copyright infringement is intended. Plagiarism is theft so is prohibited. Do not copy or create a reproduction of this work in any language without express written authorization of the author, Quarter 'till Class. Thank you. Please enjoy.
No Pairing
Gotham City
June 2, 8:21 EDT
She had been walking steadily, her expression vague and attire catching no attention among the wealthy and formally dressed. There were several stares prodding at her back, ones of indifference and question rather than the more obvious suspicion of her age. What was a girl who appeared no older than seventeen doing in a place like this? A charity ball for the rich and loathed who dressed like millionaires but only gave such a measly amount to the charity itself? No one knew, not even she fully knew of her presence. She felt like a sideshow freak amongst these perfect plastic people who all stood so much higher above her.
Her heels wobbled ever so slightly and her dress seemed just a tad bit too loose. Her lengthy clutch was squeezed tightly in her grip; the width reminding her that it was void of anything but a crumpled five dollar bill and an old lipstick tube. It was severely obvious, as well as her immature appearance, that she was in no possible way wealthy like the assembly of people round her…the ones who were staring and leaning into each other to whisper inquiries of what in the name of god she was doing. The sight of her barely managed hair, her pasty complexion, her unmanicured nails that were chewed to nearly nothing; it was almost pathetic. Yet strangely bold.
"Oopse sorry!" A young blonde girl, barely her own age, spelt a glass of champagne on the chest of her crème gown with a smug expression, a delicate hand covering her pashmina pink lips as if it were truly an accident. The daughter of Cross Industry's financial support; Livian Reed. A man, who spoiled his daughter rotten to the core, was unintentionally making her more of a monster than a proper successor.
"Maybe you should leave before someone actually notices you…" The blonde again smiled and a much older woman besides her grimaced at the situation before walking away; lightly toying with the string of pearls around her neck. No one said a word, not even in spite of the terribly childish behavior at a rich man's charity event where the catering alone could fund an entire hospital. They all just ignored the poverty stricken girl as if she were invisible and continued on with their evening, and the beautiful Ms. Reed winked before placing the empty glass on the closest table and turning to leave.
She felt hurt...as if completely humiliated by a superior's actions as well as overwhelmed by her emotions. The girl said nothing and instead hastily walked to the back of the room, pushing herself further behind a pillar of this obscenely large mansion and hiding away from the rest of the monsters just as tears managed to skim the bottom of her eyes. She shook her head and blinked a few times before looking over the crowd in hopes of finding the man she was looking for. The insecurity and embarrassment she suffered making her uneasy and want to leave.
There he was…Bruce Wayne himself, in all of his charisma-oozing, playboy, billionaire glory. A dark tuxedo: finely pressed to the near form of perfection, expensive watch, well-manicured skin and hair. Yes, anyone could easily look at this man and tell he hadn't worked a day in his life. Maybe signed a few documents, made a couple rules…but nothing over pushing papers. He probably never loaded a truck, or made a goal, or fired a gun in self-defense. No, he was probably a coward…and that's why so many people wanted him dead. She pulled the gun out of its strap from her leg, the Beretta feeling heavy in her grip as she raised it.
But then there was that moment, the moment he forcibly smiled at the young lady he was talking to…and he lied. There was that familiar face, a face she'd seen so many times in a mirror or on the grungy streets and corners of Gotham. That face of an emotional liar that very few could portray without having passed through hell. And it made her job and want to kill him a little less gratifying.
But she shot anyway, and just at the right moment…that pretty lady pulled him forward as a playful invitation to dance. And the girl failed with a strong sense of regret and ignominy even before she realized that the shot had skimmed past him. The bullet hit another man in the shoulder, and then suddenly everyone was screaming and shoving and trampling to get away, to stay safe and dodge whatever other projectiles were launching themselves through the air. She responded quickly and ran with everyone else, her eyes meeting Wayne's for a split second in a theatrical moment of coincidence. His eyes narrowed, and she knew her day had gone from terrible to deadly.
She slammed her heel into the back of a man's leg, his knees buckling just as she stepped passed him in an attempt of a quicker escape. People filtered through the doors like the herds of animals they truly were, shoving and tearing through whoever they could to reach the street. She made a right, her heels clicking uncomfortably beneath her as she attempted to wobble out of one mid-run. She tripped, scraping her calf over the rugged textures of the road before jumping up and kicking off the remaining shoe while sprinting down the concrete like a bat out of hell. Pale green eyes glanced hesitantly over her shoulder as the wind assisted in whipping around her hair to obscure her vision; legs moved faster and breathing became quicker as the scorching pain in her leg finally registered. A man stood back there...one of her shoes in his grasp as he looked on towards her retreating form. She prayed it wasn't Bruce Wayne...but of course her life had never been so convenient.
Gotham City
June 2, 11:54 EDT
"A fucking failure..." He had said. Spit it, more adequately.
Mumbles seethed through his clenched teeth, rage and irritation visually coursing through every tendon he had. A dark atmosphere was quickly created around him, and the most intimidating growl erupted from the back of his throat. He paced around the darkened room, pondering over his next move in an attempt to rid the local society of one of its most pompous and egotistical assets it had; Bruce Wayne. The man had his hold over Gotham, intentional or not...it was obvious. He did too much good and too much shady work beneath the surface, he knew. He could tell...just how the face of Wayne Enterprise would only make limited public appearances, how he would hardly ever be seen unless either attending or hosting some shallow and degraded charity event. All an act. A mask he hid behind. And for some odd reason it beckoned him to further investigate.
The girl waited, sitting on a wooden stool set to the side of the room. Her hands were fisted tightly, gripping at the loose material of her pant legs as she tried her best not to hyperventilate; her attention wavering from his moving shadow to the large cracks of light being let it from the poorly boarded window. The man was so angry...she could cut the tension with a knife.
"D-did the deal with...with Black Mask go we-"
"Hnn." He grunted, not even bothering to let her finish.
"What a-about Joker-"
"-Shut the fuck up!" He waved a violently dismissive hand, as if slapping the air behind him in an attempt to quiet the girl. She heaved another sigh, shaking as she curled her toes inside her tennis shoes to try and fight the anxiety. A knot bundled itself in the pit of her stomach just as he turned to face her, the expression over his features being one of odd mirth. He was a taller man...black hair, brown eyes, beautiful all around and pale...his skin looking like porcelain and ill to the sun. She bit hard into her lip for the millionth time, eyeing him as if he'd had a gun against her head.
"What if...we eliminated a small section of law enforcement? Maybe six stations, or eight?"
"That s-sounds like a great idea." She managed a difficult smile. His grumpy expression changed as he set a gentle hand atop her head, making her cringe at the heavy feel of the many rings adorning his fingers.
"Yes. Yes it does." His grip on her hair became violent, tugging her off the chair and flinging her into the creaky ground of the apartment floor. The girl could feel the splinters scraping her cheek, the floorboards so squeaky and old that they smelt disgusting beneath her nose. He set a heavy boot on her neck, pale green eyes wide with some unexplainable emotion that briefly described pain and terror behind her gaze. She was shaking, and that feeling was so delicious under his foot. The pressure against her increased and he had to thank Bane for giving him the idea of threatening henchmen so toughly. It really did put some eagerness into their duties.
He lifted his hold and kicked her in the side, watching her curl up and squeak; rolling his eyes at the dramatics. A little pain made you stronger...so he was technically doing her a favor, right? Of course. He saw it no other way. She was just another pathetic, ugly, disobedient, and incompetent soul like the rest of them, like everyone inhabiting Gotham and its sister cities. Like the monsters that populated the world.
"I'm sorry." She cried it out...seeming so shaken and hurt as her hands covered her face in a shame he wouldn't question. Her lip was bleeding against her teeth as she bit harder into it, the taste coarse and fluid. The man sighed, and he couldn't help but feel pity for such a lost and stupid creature.
"Make it up to me later. I have other plans for you..."
He began walking away, rather disgusted by the mere sight of her.
"By the way, negotiations with Joker went...smoothly."
The door slammed shut, making the entire room shake from its old and abandon age. She finally breathed out a quivering breath she hasn't even known she was holding...and even though he was gone she still felt afraid. The others that worked for him had always described their treatment fair. Now she knew they were all liars…just like everyone else.
Gotham Police Department
June 4, 9:12 EDT
"Gordon."
"Batman." The older curtly nodded, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat as he turned back to flashing lights and scattering officers of his crew. Several eyes looked to the vigilante, some welcoming and relieve, countered by glares of malice and the rolls of eyes.
"You called." He glanced quickly to the bat-signal before restoring his focus on the Commissioner.
"Bomb subject. Female, teen years, has a bomb strapped to her body and threatened to let it off if she didn't speak with the Batman." The older groaned and stepped forward, grabbing a Megaphone from the hood of a police car and offering it over to the vigilante.
"You'd be surprised at how many fans you have..."
"Don't need it." He waved the horn away stiffly, his cape flowing behind him as he walked between the men and cars parked around the exit of the alley.
"You sure?"
"Always." Bruce hadn't even bothered turning. Gordon knew when he was serious…he should have known better than to ask.
She cried, each trailed tear burning the newly achieved cuts on her face just as she quickly wiped them away. The girl huffed, attempting to look proud of her 'decision'. She sat at the base of the stairs in an alleyway beside the main police department, her heart throbbing and battering relentlessly within her chest, the ache spreading into each limb as the brunette bit harshly into her lip. She looked terrible with bags rounding under her eyes, her complexion worse than it was at the charity event and her hair mangled and sticking up in random knots. She was scrawny even under her baggy hoodie that may have coasted less than a dollar off the shelves of a thrift store. Her jeans were skin-tight, exposing the definition of her knee caps as she hugged her legs closer to her chest. She sat straighter, seeing the form of a man approach from the dark end of the alley as red and blue lights illuminated the opposing.
Any other day he would have assumed this girl was a homeless beggar...but now...in the face of an adolescent in such a grim situation, Bruce could only hold his breath and approach her as he recalled the briefing given by Gordon. His cape rippled against the breeze, his boots tapped dryly against the cement of the alley, and he made hardly a noise even when his nose crinkled from the smell of garbage. Tim had been sent with Barbra to investigate the other stations when seeing that one girl, set idly in the shadows of a main station, had an active bomb strapped to her chest. The situation screamed that there were bound to be more despite the lack of reports.
He crouched in front of her, eyes making contact through his mask as he quickly recognized who this girl was. The one who'd shot at him during the event...the one who had nearly murdered another man and had planned against him during the charity ball. Coincidence? Of course not. She didn't even have a trigger much less control over the bomb, as predicted.
"Who did this to you?" He quickly asked, examining the object of destruction attached to, thankfully, her wrist. He'd thought it be worse and possibly attached to her ribcage.
"You don't need to do that Mr. Wayne. I'm happy with what I'm doing." Her voice cracked mid-sentence, nearly making him cringe. She was maybe Tim's age...a kid. His eyes suddenly went wide behind his mask. Wait...Wayne?
"I don't think you are."
"You're not surprised? I am." She smiled modestly, considering the irony as it stung her like karma. "I only just realized who you are. Seeing Bruce Wayne and Batman up close in less than a few days...that's just luck."
"You could tell?" He attempted small talk, still eyeing the device made up of metal parts, a ticking timer, a few cables, and a tube of liquid before realizing that it wasn't at all an explosive.
"Your acting's amazing. But the same jaw, same height, same build...and expression? Those are things that you can't really hide. It was hard not to."
"What is this?" He asked with a tone of urgency, a wave of tension overwhelming him at the thought of all the possibilities at what it could be. His identity was the least of his problems right now; seeing as this unknown device was counting down from a little less than five minutes.
"Do you know why I tried to kill you?" Pastel green eyes focused on the ears of his cowl for a moment, then to her shoes as if embarrassed.
"..."
"Wayne Enterprise stopped donating to the free clinic on 5th and Crusely because of false accusations against the doctor. Rumors saying that she was using and distributing illegally obtained drugs to her patients. We couldn't afford a real hospital, and by the time we found another non-profit clinic...my sister had died." She fiddled with her thumbs, the word 'bomb squad' echoing in her ear from an officer nearby. Probably the Commissioner.
"I didn't care though. I hardly knew her...she was born sick and she was the favorite. Once she was gone I thought that we'd be a big happy family again...but my parents just 'mysteriously' went missing after and left me waiting for them to come home. They didn't even mention the foreclosure. I was so angry...that I tried planning revenge. Word on the street was that a man with the alias 'Miles' had been looking for people like me. When I found him he hired me to kill you at my own convenience."
"What is this?" He asked again, raising his voice while standing as if to appear a little more intimidating than he already was. Her story was...heart-breaking. Alfred would have easily embraced the girl as he had Bruce the day he returned him after the incident. The incident that left the Wayne manor nearly empty, with the exception of himself and Alfred, for countless years. He pretended to ignore her, trying to seem more intrigued with saving her life than giving her comfort.
"This should be the last of your worries, Mr. Wayne." She shook her wrist violently, watching as he took a firm step backwards.
"You know...right now, Wayne Enterprise is in its prime; using the best, safest, and newest technology, donating countless amounts and earning the trust of nearly every sensible person in Gotham. You, Mr. Wayne, along with every important executive of Wayne enterprise have Gotham city in the palm of your hand. Whether you like it or not. It's funny...because Batman does too." Bruce narrowed his eyes, expressing that infamous glare that nearly every villain in his path had seen. She wouldn't tell him what it was...he would have to find out on his own.
"What would killing me do?" He jumped forward again and began fiddling with the attachment once more while watching the dried blood on the edges of the device flake off when the brunette adjusted her arm, more of the fresh red substance leaking from the sides.
"Really? The world's greatest detective asks a stupid question? Or do you already know? Kill Bruce Wayne and other important associates and you take away a major part of the income, the power, the reason...then kill Batman and Commission Gordon for sport and take away the security and hope. After eliminating a good portion of the police you just cause more turmoil. The city will be dead in less than a year with the people in such a fragile state. And you and I both know that the residents of Gotham are the most submissive, selfish, dumb, and terrified people in the country. There'll be no strong and funded rebellion, people will die...and Gotham will too."
"..."
"And this! This is just a small step in their huge plan. After Gotham maybe Star City, then Central City, and even better; Metropolis. It's a nation-wide congregation that plans to eliminate the Justice League along with their little team of sidekicks. You'd better be prepared."
"Who are these people?" He was blunt, she noted, serious with an air of indifference to everything and everyone. Dried lips pursed as she shooed his hand away, acting as if he was hindering the process.
"You're familiar with 'The Light' aren't you?" Again, eyes narrowed, almost threateningly.
"See...I know it's frustrating you, because you can't figure out what kind of bomb this is. A timer...no juice, no excess wiring, no powder. By now you've probably figured out that this isn't even a bomb."
"...I know what it is."
"Oh. Then you're just confused..." She unintentionally insulted him.
"...This was supposed to go on Commissioner Gordon's arm. I sat here and I waited for him to walk out to his car. But I changed my mind." She toyed hesitantly with the tube on her wrist, wincing at the pain of the thick needles stabbed into her skin and keeping her attached to the device. The blood leaked a little more...and she managed a stiff laugh at her stupid idea.
"Then why'd you latch it onto yourself?" He sounded angry. He shouldn't have, though. One less criminal to deal with.
"If it didn't eject the toxins by a certain time...then Miles would have suspected something and killed me anyway. I guess got involved with the wrong crowd." She laughed.
How ironic.
"What's the timer for if the toxins are already in your system?" His cape hid his body, making him bland in with the cool night air as if a nightmare.
"One minute, sixty-seven seconds. The timer's for appearance, I think. There's no cure or whatever. That's how long I have."
For a moment, he was thoughtless. This was Ace all over again...her death still forcing regret on him. Still shifting his thoughts from bad to worse even when he abruptly woke in the middle of the night. How would this leave him? How would he react to this? Yes, he was always in mourning and yes, he was always brooding in his own hatred and anger. How could he overcome anything if things like this continued happening? Easy; he couldn't. Because the moment he did...the movement that he was at peace and he wasn't angry and grieving...he wouldn't be Batman anymore. He would be Bruce Wayne, playboy billionaire who enjoyed his pedestal. The thought still ceased to amaze him.
"There's one bomb in each station on the west side of Gotham. They're all in the holding cells and inside new inmates about to be transferred into prison, and they don't go off until 12am. So you should leave. You can't help me anyway." A pain tightened itself in her abdomen, squeezing her stomach and flopping it over as tears stung her eyes again. She breathed deeply, blinking and letting the feel of her crying morph into comfort. It would all be over...and she thought she preferred it that way. Although the girl flinched at the memories of such wasted time. She had never explored the world, or ate fancy foods, or extracted her revenge. She was left with sorrow, unfulfilled dreams, a timer, and a wasted life.
"I'm not leaving." Blunt again. It made her smile though...feel as if she were important. Delicate, bloodied, fingers picked at the edge of the device again before twirling a strand of tangled hair. She was just...waiting.
He touched a finger to his temple, his communicator springing to life with a barely noticed 'beep'.
~Barbra, new tip. Check every station off the west side. The bombs are located inside new inmates about to be transferred out of the stations.~
~Ah, plenty of time. We're on it.~
The girl smiled, somewhat sarcastic as he released his finger from the device.
"I don't wanna be here when the news says that the League is gone. It would mean a lot though...if you forgave me." Her life...her existence would end, being separated from everything in a state of forever. The least the brunette could do was apologize to a man she'd nearly killed.
"..." A stiff nod was her answer, comfort seeming to ooze from the gesture as the girl leaned back into the wall; relieved. Pain struck her arms, making them numb as Batman sat beside her, a scowl on his lips and an air of failure plaguing him as he held her hand.
"This is stupid…I know..." She laughed. "…but would you tell Nightwing 'good job' for me? I've always been a big fan...even when he was Robin. And now that I know the Batman's past...I'm sure he's an even better hero with you as his influence." She smiled, her chest feeling heavier as the poison seeped into her heart.
"Ten...seconds." Bruce tightened his grip, the feeling of her last dying breath beside him setting something...anything off. He cringed, watching as Gordon ran towards them with a gun in hand, several armed men behind him. His weapon lowered at the sight, pale green eyes staring up into the muggy fog of Gotham's sky instead of the stars she should have been seeing. Batman raised a quick hand up, making them freeze in their tracks. This was all completely wrong.
The timer beeped accordingly, and guns were raised again.
This was so, so wrong.
Mount Justice
June 6, 1:32 EDT
"How is it?" Dick asked with his arms crossed while he leaned stiffly against the wall of the base.
"Good."
"It doesn't sound good." Nightwing narrowed his eyes as accustomed in the Bat-family. His gaze switching back and forth between Tim and Bruce as he observed the present and future.
"A couple of bombs set to blow...luckily no casualties thanks to a leak."
"Heard about that. Special source?"
"Something like that." Bruce mumbled, an act he usually wouldn't do unless stationed in front of a computer for days. Always looking through files and watching Gotham more like a hawk than a bat.
"...I met a fan of yours the other day." He again mumbled through his brooding, watching Tim and Cassie train from afar. "Amelia Rowe."
"Really? Was she hoping to meet me?" His slick arrogance poked through the usually and recently humble defense he'd built up with his maturity, the small smile on his face exposing the sense of pride he was feeling despite the serious appeal. It was rare to meet a Nightwing fan...especially when standing in the infamous shadow of The Batman.
"No..." He stiffened, a small silence forming between them with that appreciative smile on Dick's face falling slightly but still holding its pride.
"...She just says 'good job'."
~Fin
Alright, hope you all enjoyed this One-shot. ^^ Sad, I know. :c
Had this stuck in my head for nearly a month now. Put it together last night instead of sleeping...and here we go! My first non-romance/pairing story yet. Yay! ^^
Again, hope everyone liked it.
Please provide feedback and review! c: