Disclaimer: I don't own the characters; they belong to DC Comics and the makers of Batman Begins. As for the boy's identity – this sort of became the back-story for Philippa's wonderful tale (with her permission of course). If you haven't already, I strongly recommend that you read her stories as soon as possible. You won't regret it.
"Bruce?" Rachel heard herself ask, her mind refusing to accept what seemed so incongruously obvious. But she saw the confirmation in his eyes – those blue eyes that she suddenly recognized from her fondest memories – just before he turned and threw himself off the building.
She watched him fall, a gentle smile - faint but real - forming on her lips. So Bruce was "more" after all. He wasn't the mindless playboy he seemed to be. The thought filled her with warm pride as he soared away through the mist.
"Who is he?" a small, breathy voice asked as a trembling hand slipped into hers.
She glanced down at the boy beside her. Smiling, she answered quietly, "He didn't say."
She could tell he was mildly disappointed, even through Crane's toxin; but he didn't say anything else, just stood clinging to her, gazing after the now invisible hero.
Hero, she repeated in her mind. Bruce had been her hero all through childhood. He seemed so superior to the other boys she knew. He could be a pest sometimes, it was true; but he'd never intentionally hurt her. She'd known, even back then, that she'd fallen for him.
But then It had happened and the young, affectionate, lighthearted Bruce she'd always known had disappeared, leaving a bitter, sorrowful boy in his wake. She nearly lost hope that horrible night of Chill's murder when he admitted just how low he'd fallen. But as the years passed, and even after his return, she'd kept her love for him, knowing that he couldn't stay away forever and one day the Bruce Wayne now known to the world would leave, letting the Bruce of old return.
Tonight had proved her right. Her Bruce was back.
Small sobs shook her from her thoughts, and she knelt down on the dirty concrete roof in front of the boy. His tear-filled eyes were darting back and forth through the haze surrounding them, the toxin coursing through him making unimaginable horrors come to life in his mind. He seemed calm enough just moments before, Rachel thought, wrapping him tightly in her arms. She'd almost been convinced the gas hadn't affected him or had run its course.
He jumped suddenly in her embrace and she could feel his heart thumping wildly against her. "Shh," she soothed quietly, tucking his head gently into her chest. "It's alright. We're safe now." She rocked him subtly back and forth, hoping desperately that Gordon hadn't accidentally lost the second vial.
"How do you know?" that same scared little voice asked.
"Batman left us here," she answered, remembering the unfailing trust the boy had in the man who seemed to be his idol. "He wouldn't leave us somewhere where we weren't safe."
It seemed to calm him, and Rachel marveled at the reaction. How did Bruce command such loyalty and trust from a complete stranger? How had the kid she'd grown up with become a city's hero?
She felt her heart skip a beat as the actual truth finally sank in, and her heart realized what her brain had already accepted. Bruce Wayne was the Batman. It wasn't some little quirk a friend of hers had that she could smile to herself about while the rest of the world remained perfectly oblivious; the entire city knew and feared him. He was more than just another man. Somehow, everything suddenly seemed more complicated and unreal.
It wasn't some faceless "Batman," it was Bruce.
Bruce had taken down Falcone single-handed.
Bruce had saved her life. Twice. No, three times.
Bruce, that wonderful, sweet eight-year-old boy, was now every Gotham City criminal's worst nightmare. And she knew with sudden and complete clarity that they would be after him. They would try everything to bring him down. But she also knew, deep in the core of her being, that they wouldn't succeed. Somehow Batman would survive untold hardships, just as he must have been doing for the last seven years.
She unconsciously tightened her grip on the child in her arms, needing more than giving comfort. Glancing down she found that he'd worn himself out and fallen asleep, fear no longer clouding his young features. She smiled despite her situation, her thoughts centered on another boy she'd known long ago. He'd been her best friend, her secret crush, her hero. But then he disappeared.
Her smile fell. The jerk had left her without a word, without a trace. He insulted her and her career; he declared his intentions to murder Joe Chill; then he left them all: her, Alfred, Gotham, and the legacy of his parents. He ran away to hide like the spoiled rich brat that he was. She frowned deeply.
Then he had the gall to show up suddenly, seven years later, after everyone assumed he'd died, and act like a complete buffoon in public to hide himself from her and the world. He hadn't changed a bit. He trusted no one; he'd lied to everyone; and he'd left her again! This time on top of some godforsaken building in the middle of a war zone while he ran off to do something stupid that could very likely get him killed; and it didn't appear that he'd be returning any time soon.
Still grumbling to herself, but resigned to her fate, she shifted into a more comfortable position, the boy cradled in her lap. There wasn't much else she could do, she groused silently. Until Bruce decided to be a gentleman and get her out of there, or until some real gentleman came along, she'd just have to sit and do nothing.
And so she sat, brooding angrily over her treatment at the hands of her ex-best friend, the man she'd loved since childhood, Gotham's favorite blockhead. Time seemed to pass with excruciating slowness. The sounds of screaming, explosions, and gunshots sounded unnaturally loud in the mist that was still wrapped around them all; but she felt strangely detached from the horrors occurring below. The child in her lap was still sleeping, his intermittent jerks and whimpers the only evidence of the nightmares he must have been suffering now that his sleep had deepened. But Rachel knew that to rouse him would only bring the dreams into the waking world, and in truth save him nothing. So she let him sleep, and even managed small cat naps to ward off her own growing weariness.
At long last, the sun slowly began to rise, helping dispel the lingering fog and bringing a more sure sense of peace to the surroundings as the screams slowly became more intermittent. Rachel felt the warmth on her back, and shivered at the pleasant change in the air that had been so frigid all night. The boy in her lap shifted, and she felt him slowly pull himself out of the sleeping world and back into their present situation. He tensed suddenly, his bright blue eyes catching her gaze in fear. "Who are you?" he asked softly, his voice trembling.
"I'm Rachel," she answered just as softly, smiling in the hope of reassuring him. "Batman brought us here, remember?"
His eyes clouded in thought. Suddenly he squeezed them shut and curled in on himself, trying hard to suppress the sobs that tore through him.
Rachel wrapped her arms tightly around his shivering form in a vain attempt to protect him from the demons in his mind; but he shoved her away and stumbled a few steps across the roof before collapsing in a heap. She watched in sorrow and pity, knowing full well what he was going through from her own experience the previous night; but unable to do a thing to help him. At last he seemed to calm down enough for her to approach without chasing him over the side of the building.
"Hey," she whispered, ignoring the protests of muscles stiff from sitting all night as she crossed to him. "It's okay. Pretty soon we're gonna get you all fixed up and sent back home where you belong. You'll see." Slowly, she helped him sit up, his gaze once more fixed on hers, but this time with hope. "What's your name?" she asked, brushing his dirty blond hair back from his sweaty forehead.
"Dick," he answered, his voice raw.
"Well, Dick," she replied with a smile, "what do you say we try to find our way out of here?"
He nodded, and she helped him to his feet. She paused, glancing around in disgust. Why couldn't Bruce have picked a building with a roof access?
At last she spotted the fire escape and started towards it, just as a cop stuck his head over the wall. "It's okay, lady," he began as soon as he caught sight of her, his hands up in a placating gesture. "I'm here to help you."
"Thank you, officer," she answered crisply, feeling the child pressing against her side in fear. "This boy needs the antidote. Where do we go to get him fixed up?"
The officer seemed taken aback at her calm and businesslike attitude. She assumed he'd been dealing with half-crazed people all night and hadn't been expecting anyone to be so level-headed. "Uh . . . yeah; we've got someone working on that. If you'll come with me, I can get you off the island and somebody'll direct you from there."
Rachel nodded, wrapping her arm more firmly around Dick's thin shoulders to reassure him before they reached the fire escape. "Here we go, kiddo," she said softly, accepting the hand the cop offered to help her over the guardrail. Dick likewise allowed the policeman to lift him over the wall before taking Rachel's hand firmly in his own once more.
The trip off the island was more or less uneventful. Pandemonium still inhabited some of the darker alleys as Gotham's Finest tried hard to subdue the still terrified victims; but for the most part, the island's inhabitants seemed more dazed than anything. She assumed the morning sunlight filtering through the ever-present Gotham smog had a part in that. Once they'd crossed the bridge, things seemed somewhat more normal, despite the heavy police presence and the hovering news crews who, thankfully, either didn't see or didn't recognize her, and allowed them to pass without incident.
They were directed by another officer to a nearby building that had obviously been on the market for sometime; but which was currently being used as a temporary clinic. Those that needed greater attention were rushed to the hospital, while the less serious cases were either sent home, or asked to take a seat in the makeshift waiting room.
When Rachel and Dick entered, an overworked nurse with a clipboard and a weary smile greeted them at the door. "Hello, ma'am," she said calmly. "May I have your name, please?"
"Rachel Dawes," she answered automatically. "Dick needs the antidote."
"Is this Dick?" the nurse asked, motioning to the jittery boy with her pen.
Rachel nodded curtly.
"Well, I'm afraid we don't have much here with us," the nurse told her sorrowfully; "but we're told another case or two should be coming in about an hour." She looked down at the boy who was once again jumping at shadows, his eyes wide and frightened. She sighed softly. "He's only a boy," she muttered, almost to herself. Turning back to Rachel she smiled as best she could, "Take a seat, please, dear."
Rachel nodded and led Dick to where a large crowd was seated on foldout chairs, tables, and almost every available space on the floor, most of them looking as terrified as Dick. One lucid young man of about eighteen caught sight of her and rose quickly to his feet, offering her his chair. She sat down, pulling Dick into her lap and smiling gratefully at the young man. She'd known that Gotham City had a gentleman somewhere in the crowd.
The thought brought her earlier ire bubbling back to the surface. Seven years, she muttered silently. She had believed herself to be his best friend, second only to Alfred; but it had been Carl who had told her Bruce was back in town. It was only by sheer luck that she had bumped into him several weeks later while he was out on the town showing the world what a moron he was. There had been no phone call, no sudden visit, not even a note in the mail! She felt certain that if it had been she who had gone missing for seven years, Bruce would have been one of the first people she got in touch with once she got back. She wouldn't have left it to fate. Surely Dr. and Mrs. Wayne had taught Bruce better manners than that.
The sound of her own voice from the past echoed suddenly in her mind, "Your parents would be ashamed of you."
She felt her anger cool a few degrees as she remembered her last words to him so long ago. She hit him where she knew he was the most vulnerable. His parents' memories had haunted him ever since they'd died, and any mention of them always brought anguish and suffering into his gaze. He probably deserved whatever pain it had caused; but who was she to say whether or not his parents would be proud of him? Even if it was true, she saw now that it probably wasn't the best way to get through to a wounded and confused young man. And he'd left without another word between them.
Something akin to shame began building within her, and it was with bitter sorrow that she recalled his words to her the evening before in the Cave, "I don't have the luxury of friends." Surely she had something to do with that. If friends were as cruel and uncaring as she must have seemed, a person was better off without them. Especially one who needed as much focus as she imagined the Batman needed to carry out his mission.
No, she decided; she wasn't Bruce's friend, much as she wished she was. He no doubt felt that she'd betrayed him with those few simple words that must have hurt him so deeply. Why else would he have run away from so much – from everything?
She sighed softly, forcing herself to leave her deeper thoughts for home, after she'd gotten Dick taken care of and slept for a full twelve hours. She glanced around the group of people surrounding her, catching snatches of the various conversations. She realized with a small amount of shock that most of them concerned the Batman. Those who weren't completely under the thrall of the fear toxin were discussing their personal experiences from the night before.
"He pulled Susie off the balcony before she could jump . . ."
"I saw him save an old lady from a mob . . ."
". . . saved Tommy from some punk with a gun . . ."
". . . thought he was the devil himself when he flew overhead; but later . . ."
". . . thought I was a goner 'til he showed up."
". . . stopped her from crossin' the street in front of that car . . ."
Rachel rested her chin thoughtfully on Dick's head, her gaze distant as she listened to complete strangers reveal their debts to the Batman. Each claim twisted the shame she felt like a knife in her heart. She'd been so wrong about him. He wasn't a spoiled brat, at least not anymore; he was selflessly giving himself to everyone in Gotham, at his own expense. No one had asked him to -- she was sure Alfred hadn't -- he was simply volunteering to serve his parents' legacy in the most spectacular way possible, and all without credit. He had sacrificed his own reputation to keep his anonymity, and she had scorned him for it.
She felt tears threaten; but blinked them forcefully away. Now's not the time, Rachel, she berated herself.
At last the next pitifully inadequate shipment of the antidote arrived, and the nurse of earlier began calling names from her clipboard. Rachel noted with some relief that most of those being called were children; surely Dick's turn would arrive soon.
Shortly thereafter, she and Dick were both escorted down a short hallway and into a small room where another nurse was waiting for them. Smiling as reassuringly as possible, the nurse rolled up Dick's sleeve and rubbed the area with an alcohol soaked cotton ball. "Okay, honey," she said softly. "Here we go."
Dick, seeing the needle coming at him, began to struggle against Rachel's gentle yet firm hold. He screamed as the needle was inserted in his arm; but as soon as the full dose entered his bloodstream, he stopped fighting and finally stood peacefully in Rachel's arms, his gaze clear. He sniffled a little, rubbing the back of his hand under his nose with a small smile. "Thank you," he said sincerely.
"You're quite welcome, dear," the nurse answered with a smile. "Now, how about you?" she continued, turning to Rachel.
"Oh, no; I'm fine," Rachel assured her. Seeing that she wasn't convinced, she reluctantly added, "The Batman gave me the antidote last night."
The nurse still seemed incredulous, but Dick's eyes shone with wonderment. "Batman gave you a shot?" he asked excitedly as Rachel led him from the room to make way for the next patient. "When? I didn't see him do it, did I?"
Rachel smiled at his exuberance. "No, it was before I met you. The bad guys had captured me and were going to kill me; but Batman came along and stopped them."
"Boy, you must be good friends with him," he stated innocently.
Rachel felt her guilt churn within her, but tried hard not to show it. "No, not really. But he has been making my job easier."
"What do you do?" he asked, his eyes alight with imaginings.
"I'm an assistant District Attorney," she answered simply.
His grin faltered slightly. "You're a lawyer?"
She chuckled at the disgust evident in his voice. "Not all lawyers are crooked," she defended, giving his shoulder a playful nudge.
He smiled up at her, obviously forgiving her for her profession, but his thoughts were probably centered firmly on the Batman once more. She left him to his imagination as they stepped out into the sunlight and started down the sidewalk. For herself, she was trying desperately to figure out what to do with him. She hated to take him down to the police department, knowing that they were probably extremely shorthanded; but she couldn't just take him home, either. Her apartment super didn't allow children; and besides, who knew how many strands of red tape she'd be ducking around? Assistant D.A. Rachel Dawes did not need to be charged with kidnapping; her life was hectic enough as it was.
Coming to a somewhat reluctant decision, she led him to the nearest train station and scanned the timetable for the next train headed toward the Gotham PD. "Uh, Rachel," she heard Dick start uncertainly, tugging a little on her hand. She looked where he was pointing – a large sign covered the ticket window announcing: Train Shut Down for Repairs.
"Strange," she muttered. "Oh well; I guess we'll have to grab a taxi, huh?"
Dick nodded and they set off yet again; but flagging down a taxi proved to be near impossible as demand far outweighed availability. She was losing hope of ever getting one to stop when Dick stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out a shrill whistle. Immediately a yellow cab pulled up to the curb beside them. Impressed, she smiled down at him as she opened the door; his own grin shone with impish pride. "Mom taught me that," he informed her roguishly.
"I'm glad," Rachel admitted. "Come on."
As they stepped through the door of the P.D., Rachel could already tell that she'd be enjoying Dick's company for another hour at least. The place was packed with desperate parents and scared children, all of whom seemed to be looking for someone else. With luck his mom will be in here somewhere, she thought hopefully as they took their place in line.
Dick seemed to have the same thought, and was craning his neck in ways Rachel hadn't thought possible in his search for a familiar face. But nearly an hour passed without any such luck, and at last Rachel found herself being addressed by the longsuffering PBX operator who brightened as a coworker passed her a steaming cup of coffee.
"May I help you?" she asked, taking an obviously much needed sip of her drink.
"Yes, my name is Rachel Dawes, and this is Dick . . ." Rachel glanced down at him questioningly.
"Huh? Oh, Grayson," he answered.
"Ok, Mr. Grayson," the operator said, typing furiously. "I guess you're looking for your parents, huh?"
"My mom," he answered with a nod.
"Alrighty then, if you and Ms. Dawes could step into that room right there," she said, pointing, "we'll have someone in to help you momentarily. Good luck, sweetie."
"Thank you," Rachel answered for him, leading Dick into the designated glass room. "Guess we get to wait some more, huh?"
"Yeah," Dick said, scuffing his shoe on the tile floor. "At least there're chairs in here."
Rachel sighed in agreement, dropping with a deliberate lack of grace into the luxurious plastic chair. She needed to get to bed. Soon.
Just as she was starting to dose off, the silence was broken by the sound of the door closing and the gruff voice of the officer who'd joined them. "Ok, I'm Officer Bullock, and I just need you two to answer some questions for me," he said, sliding his massive bulk into the seemingly inadequate chair. He took a gulp from the Styrofoam cup in his hand. "Your name's Rachel Dawes?" he asked, glancing up at her. At her nod, he turned to Dick, "And you're Dick Grayson?"
"Yes, sir."
"Right. Ma'am, I need your home address and phone number." Rachel supplied them, her eyes fixed enviously on his steaming cup. "ID, please," he added.
Rachel reached automatically for her purse, only to realize that she didn't have it with her. She hadn't expected to need her wallet while running errands for the Batman. "I don't have it with me," she answered.
He nodded in exasperation. "Seems to be the standard answer this morning," he groused, seeming more annoyed at how his day was going than at Rachel. "Okay," he continued, pulling a digital camera out of his pocket, "I'll have to snap a quick shot of you, just for the record." He did so without giving Rachel time to compose herself. She groaned silently, not even wanting to know how it had turned out; but the officer went on without a pause, "Now I just need you two to answer a few questions . . ."
At last all the necessary information was filled in and Officer Bullock hauled his heavy frame out of his chair and back out into the busy common area. Dick slipped from his own chair and sidled up to Rachel, looking nervous.
"What's gonna happen now?" he asked softly.
She tried to smile reassuringly at him, running her fingers gently through his hair. "They're gonna find your mom; but in the meantime, they'll put you with another family that'll take good care of you."
"Why can't I stay with you?" he asked plaintively.
"I wish you could, sweetie," she said, wrapping an arm around him and giving him a slight squeeze. "But I live in an apartment, and I don't think CPS will let you come home with me."
"Mom and I live in an apartment," he argued. "What's wrong with that?" He paused momentarily. "And what's PCS?"
"CPS," she corrected automatically. "Child Protective Services; they find homes for kids who need them." She paused to sigh heavily. "There's nothing wrong with living in an apartment; but some apartment owners don't like kids," she answered honestly, hoping he wouldn't take it wrong. "And besides, I haven't been approved to take in a child. The government wouldn't let me just take you without checking me out first."
He scrunched up his nose in distaste and confusion. "What do they care?" he asked bluntly. "They're not in charge of me."
"Actually, until we find your mom, yes they are." She shook her head to forestall any further arguments. "Much as I wish I could, Dick; I can't take you home with me. So I'd like you to be good and go where they tell you to, okay? It'll only be temporary, anyway."
He nodded disconsolately. "Will I ever see you again?" he asked.
"I hope so," she smiled. "As soon as you find your mom, you call me, okay? I'm in the phone book, and I'd love to hear from you."
He nodded again just as the door opened to admit a CPS agent. She smiled at both of them. "I'm Becky," she said, holding out her hand to Dick. "You're gonna come with me now, Dick."
Rachel felt him lean into her, his entire demeanor screaming reluctance. "Go on," she urged, pushing him gently towards Becky.
He suddenly turned and wrapped his small arms around her, squeezing tightly. "'Bye, Rachel," he whispered tearfully before releasing her and hurrying out the door. Becky followed him out, leaving Rachel to find her own way.
As she lay in bed, unable to sleep despite her weariness, Rachel's thoughts drifted back to Bruce, as it seemed they had every night for as long as she could remember. She'd spent years worrying about him as she watched him change more and more from the playmate she'd know in her childhood into a bitter, cynical young man; then wondering where he'd gone and when he'd be home. It was only recently that she'd actually begun to hope that the dreams of a six-year-oldgirl might actually come true. Maybe, now that Bruce had come back, losing his constant state of depression somewhere along the way, they could pick up their relationship where it had left off, and perhaps take it even farther. Even as she dreamed, she knew that she was hoping for the near-impossible; and that hundreds of other women around the world were probably longing for his attentions; but she also felt, during their brief conversation outside the hotel, that he wanted to see her just as much as she had wanted to see him. His irresistible smile and cryptic message about being "more inside", coupled with the way his eyes had lost their insipid blank expression and begun burning with an intense seriousness, had convinced her that he didn't want her to think of him as the rest of the world did, and that he felt he needed her approval before he could be truly happy.
She'd spent most of the evening in a daze, her thoughts centered firmly on those amazing blue eyes that had seemed to be begging her to forgive him – for what, she wasn't sure.
She'd heard the rumors and seen the tabloids. Janie, Carl's overly romantic secretary, had made sure to fill her in on all the sordid details outlined in every article Gotham Gertie wrote about Brucie Wayne, playboy extraordinaire. But none of it had mattered to her; she knew that given the chance she could tear him away from the less savory aspects of Gotham's elite, and together they could be happy. The problem was finding time to spend with him. He was always out living life to the fullest, or mysteriously busy at homewhile she was working furiously to rid Gotham of crime and corruption. Since the emergence of the Batman, she'd been insanely busy, with hardly an evening to call her own.
The Batman – he had also filled a great deal of her thoughts lately. When he saved her the first time, he seemed so dark and menacing, almost as if he was more comfortable dealing out punishment than carrying on a conversation. She had sensed an underlying cruelty in him, a thirst for vengeance that drove him to impossible feats. She wasn't ashamed to admit that she'd been scared to death of him. He embodied all her worst nightmares, and she had expected him to lunge at her, beating her to the ground just as he had her assailant. Instead he offered her a once in a lifetime chance to begin cleaning out Gotham for good; although his claim that they were two of a kind had incensed her. Later when she'd read what he'd done to Falcone and his men she'd been overjoyed; but the fear she harbored wouldn't be silenced. The man was obviously dangerous, and had to be somewhat off his rocker; what guarantee did she have that he wouldn't one day turn on her?
Comparing the two now, Rachel suddenly lost both her hope for Bruce Wayne's salvation, and her fear of the Batman. The false front of Bruce Wayne was simply that – false. She'd known that there was another man within the façade, but she could now see that he was even less appealing than the playboy. He was the Bat. Bruce wasn't a rich orphan lacking proper direction; he was simply a face for the Batman to hide behind. But the way he begged her to believe in him, the fact that he'd already saved her three times since he'd come home, and the strange light in his eyes despite the calm professionalism of his voice when she'd awoken in the cave, assured her that he did love her, at least as a friend. She couldn't fear him any more than she could save him from himself.
No, she'd been wrong. Her Bruce wasn't back; someone else had come home in his place.