Batman and Her Daughters, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl
Part 2 (rough draft)
As she has for many, many nights, Alberta Pennyworth eats a quiet dinner by herself while listening to an international news program on the radio. She reads for an hour in a comfortable chair in her suite. She readies herself for bed and does one final check of the property, making sure the security system is functioning as it should and that she has not left any dangerous appliances on. She is reaching for the light switch in her bedroom when she hears something out in the house.
She brings her handgun and her phone, its screen already glowing with the command that will activate the alarms if she touches it. The noise is coming from the front hall.
At least, it was. There's nothing there now except for a discarded pair of muddy boots and a trail of rainwater heading toward the stairs.
Alberta lowers the gun, struggling to get enough air to her lungs. Only one person could enter Wayne Manor without tripping the security system. She rushes up the stairs, not even bothering to glance at the trail; she knows where it will lead.
Bryce, halfway through the doorway of her childhood bedroom, pauses. She steps back out into the hall, her eyes soft and moist. "Alba."
"Mistress Bryce!"
The gun is hastily holstered and Alberta seizes her young charge by the shoulders, seeking injuries, drinking in her face, noting the changes. Bryce smiles a little. "I'm home."
"Get out of those wet clothes at once, Mistress Bryce, before you catch your death of cold."
o.o.o.o.o
Bryce Wayne has changed considerably in the years since she's been gone, and not just because she's physically older, with combat scars on her body and hair cropped ruthlessly short. The lost, angry teenager has been replaced with a grim, disciplined young woman.
Her first morning home, she rises long before Alberta does in order to train and meditate. After a quiet breakfast, she moves her personal possessions into the manor's master suite, symbolizing her new role as mistress of the property and head of the family (not that there is, technically, a Family anymore). With Alberta's help, she finds new places for her parents' things, ways to continue honoring their memory even as she claims their old spaces for herself.
She spends about half an hour contemplating Thomasina and Martin's headstones in the family cemetery. Then she goes back into the house, dresses up like the socialite she's supposed to be, puts on a luscious long wig and tasteful makeup, then goes out shopping to announce her grand return to Gotham.
o.o.o.o.o
Glad as Alberta is to see her young mistress home again, she is bewildered. It is as if there are two Bryces - a shallow, air-headed society girl indistinguishable from her useless peers except for the fact that she has the largest bank account and a marginally more sincere approach to charity; and a minimalist warrior deeply concerned about her city who spends whole nights, when she's not out suveying the streets in the worst parts of town, obsessing over plans.
Alberta wishes that Bryce would sleep more. The young woman spends her days at Wayne Enterprises, learning how Lucia Fox has been running the business in her absence. She spends her evenings partying and cultivating a public persona that Alberta finds distressingly vulgar and useless. And she spends her nights driving around in a black car and a black coat and a black mask, stopping whenever she sees a crime in order to put a stop to it with her fists. She only averages about three or four hours of sleep a night, it can't be healthy.
However, Mistress Bryce is no longer a child, and Alberta can no longer dictate her bedtimes, so the woman simply cooks and cleans and makes the bed as comfortable as she can and listens tensely to Bryce's grunts on the two-way radio, wishing there was more she could do.
o.o.o.o.o
Bryce waits and periodically tests until months have passed and there is no possible way she could be pregnant. There was no baby growing inside her. Talian's claim had simply been wishful thinking.
From the start, she had always meant to have the procedure done - a warrior who has dedicated her life to battle has no need of monthly physical complications, no business bringing a child into a life where it will not be cared for as it deserves. She doesn't bother to hide the hysterectomy, claiming the threat of cancer when asked by reporters or acquaintances. If nothing else, perhaps it can encourage other women who truly do need the procedure for the sake of their overall health. She is still a woman regardless of whether she is capable of making babies or not.
Even so. Despite all the justifications, her resolve, how long she thought she had mentally prepared herself. Still. For two straight days, as she's healing from the procedure. She weeps. 'I couldn't have taken care of them, anyway. I could never be a good mother.' Two straight days. 'It was the right thing to do, why does it have to hurt so much...?!'
o.o.o.o.o
'They're not afraid of me.' Bryce is frustrated, sitting in a dark room, looking at a bust of her mother. 'It's not good enough to simply stop their crimes. I have to scare them so much that they won't want to commit anymore crimes in the future.' Unfortunately, criminals don't seem to be afraid of a lone woman in a ski mask. Angry when she breaks their fingers to disarm them and starts kicking out the teeth of their friends, but not afraid. There is nothing about her that will make them think twice the next time they get the urge to break the law and hurt people.
'I need an image. A persona. The opposite of Bryssie Wayne. Something to project so they'll see me the way I want them to.' Unlike the airheaded socialite, Bryce's more comfortable mask needs to be one that's larger than life.
There is a high-pitched screech, and then something crashes through the window. A huge, elderly bat staggers through the air and lands on the bust, bleeding and panting for breath.
Bryce stares at the black wings overshadowing the marble likeness of her mother's face. 'Yes. I shall become a Bat.'
o.o.o.o.o
It never occurs to Bryce to name her persona, other than vaguely thinking of herself as 'the Bat' when she goes out at night. Clad now in sturdy black armor, a cowl that both hides her face and contains advanced detection technology, a specialized belt for all her tools, and a bat-wing cloak that she hopes to eventually develop into a glider, Bryce is actually having success now in frightening her opponents before she even throws a punch.
It is the rumors that circulate first, but eventually, stories about a new Dark Knight in Gotham City start to make it into the newspaper.
Batman, they call her. They have no reason to think she is a woman - her thick armor hides her feminine curves, her gloves hide her elegant hands, her cowl hides most of her jawline. She does not often speak on the streets, but when she does, it is in a variety of deep voices she has developed specifically for her night work. Most people, or at least most men, tend to assume that others are male unless proven otherwise. The assumption that 'Batman' is male helps to protect Bryce Wayne's identity and also boosts her threat level in the eyes of usually-sexist criminals, so she makes no effort to correct anyone.
With each passing night and every new criminal caught, Batman's reputation grows. Her arsenal grows as well, as Bryce continues to construct her workspace in the caves beneath the manor, and to stealthily turn her company's R&D department onto paths that will ultimately aid Batman's work.
Bryce Wayne does her best to make donations and support causes that will help the people of Gotham. Batman does her best to protect and defend those same people of Gotham. For the first time in her life, she feels something close to satisfaction. The preparation is over; her Mission has begun, and although she will probably never again know true happiness, her life once again has meaning.
o.o.o.o.o
It is a long chase across the rooftops, Batman grimly staying on the tail of a jewel thief in a skintight cat costume.
'Catman,' as the newspapers have dubbed him, slips his pursuer at last - or at least, he thinks he does, until he turns away and the grin drops from his face. Batman is looming in the doorway like a vengeful shadow, mouth in a tight, disapproving line. "My, my, aren't you persistent," Catman pouts.
"Hand over the jewels and surrender."
"Not a chance, Bats."
An hour later, Catman is cuffed and being pushed into a police car. Batman stands on a rooftop, the ragged hem of her cloak fluttering in the wind, her eyes watching the captured criminal for far longer than she usually bothers with.
TBC
A/N: I had Bryce grieving her hysterectomy as a matter of characterization, not ideology.