Tell Me About It
Chapter 1-An Epilogue of Murder
Bruce couldn't recall ever breathing this heavily or ever being this distressed by the emotions that surrounded him as he tended to keep emotion out of his well…life. His cowled blue eyes shifted from the steel door in front of him, to each corner of the walls that surrounded him, to the threaded cables that held each of his arms stretched outwards to the side walls and breathed thinly of the air in the 7X7 cell the League had locked him in.
He would have asked; How could this have happened? IF he hadn't already overanalyzed every little detail. Ra's and he had played a dangerous game and Batman, had lost…everything. It had been five hours since he had become a prisoner of the Justice League and though a few members of the League had stopped by to look in, they hadn't said anything. They just either stared sadly in at him, pitying him, or they glared, hating him for what he hadn't done. Or had he?
…
He hadn't asked for anything since his imprisonment and, in turn, no one had offered him anything either.
Truthfully, Bruce Wayne believed that it was the first time in many years that he was…homesick. He wanted to be back at Wayne Manor, not the Batcave, not Wayne Tower, just the Manor. He wanted to be home.
The threaded wire had cut off the blood flow to his hands hours ago and Batman hated the numb feeling it left behind. His hands were useless and even though he had already theorized eight ways he could escape, there was still the League and the Watchtower security. Sure, bypassing it all was possible, but he was both physically and psychologically exhausted since even before the 'complications' had become reality. Even if he did manage to stop all the League members and override the security systems what would he do then? What was the point?
Oh yeah, his gloved hands were also still stained with the man's blood.
Maybe if he got to one of the temporary bases in Gotham City-No. Barbara and Leslie knew where all of them were.
Tim had left for Japan and by now, had already met with Cassandra. No such luck there.
Metropolis, Superman. No chance there. Star, Central, Jump, Steel, New York…no.
And Gotham was where all of this trouble had begun. What was with the city? It bled chaos.
It had been a long time since the Dark Knight had no plans for the future, and he hated it all with a sad passion. Though this time, he didn't want to just take out his anger on the scums of the Gotham City streets, he wanted to just be able to reach the back wall, let his head fall back and just do…nothing. Nothing, for all of eternity.
The sudden characteristic footsteps echoing down the hallway alerted Bruce that Clark was returning for the fifth time. So, that meant he must have his cousin patrolling Metropolis. Said footsteps stopped in front of the cell's door and Bruce raised his head to stare pointedly at it. The cell wasn't soundproof so…
The footsteps continued down the hall until there was a small scrape of red boots that let Bruce know that the Kryptonian had taken to floating instead of walking. Great. The silence was back. There wasn't much more to say about the silence, it was just…silence.
Just-SILENCE.
THUMP!
What was-
Bruce blinked beneath his cowl and listened closely for any other out of place sound. There were none…or at least, none that he could pick up on. So, it was surprising when the cell door opened and a familiar face slipped inside.
"Dick."
Wearing a visage of a stone-faced neutral air, the Dark Squire was standing in the doorway border-line glaring at the Bat in chains. The normally open, childish look the acrobat normally wore was gone, replaced by a stone coldness that even Batman was having a hard time reading. The younger man didn't say anything, just…stared.
Bruce cleared his dry throat and spoke again, "Nightwing."
No doubt, this would turn into a circumstance bound argument. His protégé would begin shouting, ranting, accusing him of what he hadn't done…or, once again, had he? The man's blood was still on his gloves, and he remembered a bloody Batarang lodged in the neck before being yanked and…oh, he was going to be sick to his stomach if he thought about that much longer and since there was nothing in his stomach, Bruce knew he would only end up dry heaving. It hurt. All of it hurt, the memory, the scrutiny he faced from the others, the emotions of betrayal that Dick would no doubt smother him with the moment he began the accusations.
So, it was shocking when his protégé simply walked forward, reached out and grabbed the wrist of his chain-forced outstretched right hand with an unnecessarily soft touch. Bruce just stared up at the masked eyes in shock until he saw the stone visage shift slightly. Immediately upon the change, Nightwing withdrew a vial of acid and without needing to confirm it; Bruce knew it was of low concentration. It would burn through the threaded metal slowly enough that he would be able to break it when it dissolved down to just a few threads, so he wouldn't end up with any of the acid eating through his gloves and skin. Ah, he was already starting to get some feeling back his right hand.
When the acid had dissolved enough on both ropes of the threaded metal, a quick jerk from each arm released the Dark Knight's hands. He glanced back up at his protégé, who was resealing the vial and slipping it back inside his left arm gauntlet.
Wow, he missed his utility belt.
THUMP!
Nightwing spun around to face the open cell door and reached for the ecrisma sticks on his back. A few seconds passed and nothing else was heard by either hero. Blue finger striped hands released their hold on the electricity powered weapons and fell to the younger hero's sides.
Another second passed before the acrobat turned his head sideways, one eye meeting the confused eyes of his mentor, "Let's go."
The Dark Knight nodded, his face falling into a similar neutral visage before following his child out into the hallways of the Watchtower. This…this could all be cleared up later…when they were somewhere safe.
When Bludhaven was destroyed, it took millions of lives with it and Bruce knew that returning to the still deserted city was a defected form of self-torture for Dick. Said acrobat was quick to answer the question in his eyes though.
"Yes, the radiation is still decaying, that's why they won't look for us here…not for a while at least," Nightwing said as he reached down through a pile of rubble to pull a hidden lever.
They had already sent the Bat Jet to New York City to fool the League into thinking Nightwing was taking Batman to his base there. They probably wouldn't go looking for them too soon; they'd think that the acrobat would want to talk to the Bat privately. Plus, after seeing how emotionally high strung the Dark Squire had been since the…event, they'd give them some time before they barged in and demanded their prisoner back. They were convinced that there was no way Batman would talk his way out of his protégé's scorn. At this point though, it didn't appear that Dick Grayson would be up to listening to anyone about anything anytime soon.
Batman didn't hesitate to follow Nightwing into the emergency bunker beneath the contaminated city.
To be fair, compared to the city, the small space was in good condition. The walls were lined with lead, keeping out the radiation and hiding them from possible x-ray eyes given it wouldn't hurt Superman or Supergirl to fly into the radiation filled city to look for them. Bruce only watched in something akin to pride as the younger hero, walked to the far end of the bunker, pulled open a panel and flipped a light switch that made the bunker a bit easier to scope out. A glowing keypad appeared beside the switch where Nightwing quickly typed the code:
6122 591 477 181 25 19 15 14
Hmm, clever.
A sliding steel panel covered the entrance and Batman took the chance to analyze everything around him. The bunker held a long metal able where three open medical kits were pushed to the edge. He chose to ignore the fact that the table already had a large number of bloodstains. Great way to unnerve him, knowing his protégé had used this place enough that the bloodstains couldn't be scrubbed away. Where Dick had just put in what Bruce assumed was a security code, stood a large cabinet that, no doubt, held various supplies. The entire place, through relatively orderly was covered in a fair amount of dust. So, it hadn't been used in a while. Just how old were those blood stains? There were two small shelves across from the metal table that held a fire extinguisher, a packet of powdered food, a bottle with a hole in the side, a broken dull knife blade, what appeared to be the wheel of one of those child red wagons, a dented pan, a coil of rope, a box of matches, a small canister of gas and a small heating plate. Overall, it was a cold place the Dark Knight could almost call home.
"Sit down."
The acrobat's voice broke Batman out of his thoughts and the older vigilante turned his head slightly to see that Dick was motioning to the blood stained table.
"I only used this place a few times, so we have plenty of supplies," Nightwing said, pulling one of the opened medical kits forward before turning to walk back towards the large cabinet.
In the next few moments Bruce wondered what was colder: The table beneath his now ungloved hands? Or the air between him and his boy?
A/N: I've now decided to make TMAI into a full story. See my Profile for "Tell Me About It"
~Moonsetta