Bat Appétit
A Batman Begins/Dark Knight/Dark Knight Rises Fanfic by SouthernImagineer/ecto1B
Chapter Ten - dedicated to E.S. Posthumus, the musical sensation that makes mundane tasks seem extremely crucial to the fate of the world.
"I never understood why Clark Kent was so hell bent on keeping Lois Lane in the dark." – Audrey Niffenegger
It took another year before Bruce let it slip. Naturally, it had come at a moment of great weakness, at a point when Bruce felt raw with sentiment and just as bare as his own bones. He had grown so used to Monty De Luca's company over the long two years, he, just reaching thirty-two, and she, settling into twenty-nine. Both persons had long since rid themselves of any inhibited instincts, and were competent enough to uncover themselves in manners fit for the other's understanding. Things had progressed enough for Bruce to do some of the listening; Monty had her fair share of qualms with the world, and she never thought twice about telling Bruce her woes.
Like evenly distributed weight on a scale, the billionaire and the chef took turns fulminating.
Bruce wondered if this regal affinity was to blame for what happened.
"You look nice."
Monty flinched a bit, turning around and giving the man an amused look. She'd been quick to detect his humor and disbelief. "I was at a party, okay?" Grinning, the woman set the plate of linguine before him. "I left early so I could bring you this. Linguine with shrimp and lemon oil." She kissed her fingertips dramatically, stepping back. "My grandfather's favorite dish! Bon appétit!"
He echoed a toned down version of her smile and let his eyes graze across his friend. Much unlike what she usually wore to visit, Monty now donned a simple black dress and a pair of sparkling earrings (she'd left her pumps at the door, complaining about how many blisters she'd acquired over the past few hours). Though he'd seen her in many forms, Bruce thought she looked quite lovely that night. "We've just reached the two year mark, and you've still got it in you. I don't know how you do it, Monty. The meal looks wonderful."
Like an actress graced with an Oscar, the woman brushed her shoulders and pretended to hold the golden statue in her hand. "Oh, thank you, thank you, you're simply too kind!"
Now Bruce was chuckling. He took a bite of the food, chewing it methodically and letting his taste buds soak in the flavor. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pause, studying him, waiting for the habitual compliment he always gave her.
Bruce didn't disappoint.
"Fantastic, Monty. As usual. Thank you."
As was customary for the two friends, the next few hours were drenched in animated discussion, complete with hand motions, fluent gestures, and strong voices. Tonight was Monty's turn to ramble aimlessly, and she brought up a topic Bruce wasn't too fond of hearing…
"Honestly. Honestly, though." Bruce watched as she paced beside the table, her bare feet padding across the floor. It made for a comical display; a short blonde woman, barefoot, treading back and forth in a classy black dress, prattling haphazardly about the Batman as if she knew him personally (and, ironically, she did). "I always had faith in that guy. Always. When he first showed up, I was thrilled, you know. I loved that sense of fiction in his existence, the secure feeling I got when walking around the city, knowing he was there somewhere, protecting us. And when they said he'd killed a bunch of guys, and then bumped off Dent…" Perhaps she'd noticed Bruce's face fall, for she lowered her voice and stopped pacing. "I didn't believe it. The Batman was not too good to be true, and I had every right to believe he would come back. I mean, dammit, I thought—" Here, she paused completely, facing Bruce. Significance soared with her words, no matter how quiet they were; Bruce was almost taken aback by this. "—I thought that maybe… maybe the city mattered to him. Maybe we meant something to him."
Bruce felt his body go numb. "Of course he cares about Gotham. Why else would he do all the things he did? Risk his life so many times?"
"You see, that's what I don't get about him. If he cared so much, why go into hiding? Why save himself when the city needs saving?" She stepped deeper into the room, motioning wildly. "He spends all this time fighting crime, being the good guy, and the second his name is blackened, he vanishes like a dog with its tail between its legs. What kind of hero does that?"
Again, the man shuddered as a surge of annoyance rocketed through him. He restrained his urge to yell, and instead tried channeling his energy elsewhere by squeezing the handle of his cane. "The police are after him. It doesn't do him much good if those he's trying to help want him dead, too."
"If he stands for good, why would he run?" Monty asked, turning to look at him once more. Bruce, at first, mistook the look in her eyes as ferocity, a look that enraged him. "If the whole point of Batman is to stand up for what's right, even when things are wrong, doesn't the whole 'hiding out' thing completely negate Batman himself? It's stupid. That's what it is, stupid. I mean, I love the guy for what he used to do, but now… now I keep thinking he's got a screw loose."
Bruce could feel his insides churning with every word.
"It's stupid of him to abandon the city like that. No matter what shit went down. No matter what he thinks. He gave Gotham a symbol of hope, and then suddenly demolished it. That's harsh and totally unfair."
He thought he asked her to stop. He thought he'd spoken the words, thought he'd narrowed his eyes angrily at her and demanded she quit talking. He swore he'd heard himself ask her to leave…
"I wonder if he'll ever come back." Monty carried on, not noticing how bunched Bruce's face had become. "I wonder if he even cares that there might be some places that still need him, people that still need his help—"
Everything happened so fast. One minute, Bruce was seated in the wooden chair, gripping his staff, and the next, strength had appeared in his legs and he was standing, leaning on the table, unintentionally channeling the Dark Knight's throaty growl, bellowing a warning to the blonde woman there. When he stood, his chair tipped over, producing a loud crack against the floor; the entire room froze into a frightening, dismal limbo where no one but Bruce moved a muscle.
"The Batman is never coming back," he snarled, his voice thundering. "The Batman doesn't exist any more."
Monty's face crumbled.
"Oh my God. Y-You're…"
Bruce watched the woman piece everything together. He could see it in the way her eyes crossed in contemplation, her lips pressed into an almost invisible line…
Shit.
Quickly (or as fast as a man with an injured leg could), Bruce hurried to pick the chair from the ground and sit back down. He hung his head in silence, hiding himself from her gaze, and briefly he hoped she wouldn't get it. Monty was smart, he knew, but maybe his outburst translated into something else—
"You're… him."
Double shit.
"I can't… b-believe… I didn't see it before. You both h-have been gone for the same amount of… time." Her hands flew to the sides of her face, pressing inward until her lips pursed like a cartoon fish. Her next words, because of this oddly shaped face, were mashed together awkwardly. "YouaretheBatman. Holyshit." Now, her hands went to cup over her mouth. "And… I said… all of that. God, Bruce, I'm so—"
"Sorry," he finished for her, his words hollow. "I know you are."
"Then—"
"Now you know why I haven't left this house. Now you know why the Batman turned his back on what he stood for. First, I lost Rachel." The words choked from his throat. "Then, all of Gotham wanted the Batman arrested. I couldn't…"
He heard Monty pad over to him and begin to rub his shoulders.
"I get it," she murmured. "Jesus. I've been talking to the goddamn Batman for two years. A friggin' superhero… I'm so sorry. I must've insulted the hell out of you. Forgive me?"
Bruce looked up at her.
"No, no. I forgive you. I just hope you understand… why I did what I did. Why I haven't come out of hiding. Why I choose this for myself."
When she nodded, he went on. "I never meant to translate into a coward. I just couldn't take the burden any longer. I didn't think anyone needed me. The Dent Act—"
"Did you kill Harvey Dent?"
Widening his eyes, Bruce continued to stare up at her.
Her question was valid.
"No. He brought about his own death. He was… about to kill Jim Gordon's son…"
Monty tilted her head. "But you didn't kill him," she summarized. "And he killed those cops, then, too. You didn't."
He dipped his head.
"I don't kill."
"And your injuries are not from heliskiing, like you told me."
"No."
"Fighting crime, then. Beating up baddies."
"Yes."
Content with his answers, she exhaled. "So Gotham is after you for no apparent reason, then, and Harvey Dent is being held as a hero in your place. Wonderful. And it makes me look like a complete idiot now for saying all that stuff before." Her eyebrows curled downward. "I'm sorry for that, I didn't know. I always did have faith in the Batman, and you must think I never did…"
"You have nothing to be sorry about, Monty." His free hand curved across his chest and tapped her hand, which still sat atop his shoulder. "Nothing to be sorry about. Now." Slower than before, he stood. "I hate to ask you to leave, but—"
"No no, I understand, Bruce." She smiled warmly. "Rough night. You need rest." She removed her hands from his bathrobe, stepping back. "Wow. Can't get over the fact that… you're him." Shaking her head, Monty continued. "Anyway. Stay up here, head straight to bed. Alfred can show me out."
"Same time next week," he rasped. "I still enjoy your company, after two years."
"Same time next week," she repeated, smirking. "And I won't tell anyone, Bruce. My lips are sealed." She slid two fingers across her lips and threw the 'key' over her shoulder. "I promise."
"Monty?"
"Yes?"
He shut his eyes. "Thank you."
"For what?"
Bruce thought it was obvious. "For believing in the Batman. Back when he existed. I really—" he paused, swallowing, "he… really appreciates that."
Monty's response was slow—slower than what Bruce had expected. At first, she took a few steps toward him, fidgeting with her left earring as she walked, and once she'd reached him, her arms immediately pulled him close. The cordial embrace was simple, yet demonstrative, and Bruce could do nothing but hug her back.
"Well," she began in his ear, "you be sure to let him know I never stopped."
"Never stopped?" Bruce echoed, confused.
She pulled away a bit to look at him.
"I never stopped believing in the Batman. In fact, I still do!" Giggling, Monty released him and started for the door. "Get some sleep, eh? I'll be back next week with enough pizza for all of us! I'm sure Alfred won't mind." With a wink, she slipped out the door and down the staircase. "Bye, Bruce!"
His cane thumped against the ground as he limped to the balcony, peering down.
"Bye, Monty."
She knew. At last, his two year long companion knew the truth behind his reclusion, knew why his body was so broken, knew the madness behind the man.
It was like a huge weight being heaved from his chest, knowing she knew.
He was pleased.
A/N: Another short one, but for good reason! The next chapter, ladies and gents, will be the smut chapter.
Yupp! So be prepared for this to change to M. And no, I will not be writing EVERYTHING. I'm setting it as M because of what I WILL write. Pieces will be implied.
And I think someone mentioned something about seeing Monty/John somewhere in here... (evil laugh)... you wait and see, eh? Hang around a bit. I promise, once we hit TDKR, things will get pretty interesting! Right now, this story is mainly leading us up to a main plot... Mr. Handsome Cop will show his face soon, I promise! He's pretty important to my idea of TDKR!
Still wondering about a good song to fit this story. I love "Burn It Down" by Linkin Park... got any ideas, anyone?
Thanks for reading!