AN: We all flirt with Bats. Selina's the only one who's serious about it, though. Well, Joker, maybe…we're not really sure. The rest of us just like to make him uncomfortable through any means possible.
SwordStitcher-I am not 'protective'. You have your moments... Name one. One. Having trouble? Coming up with JUST one, yes. Shall we go for the Walgreens employee? Or the Arkham guard? I have a reputation. Of course you do, love.
Just-Me-and-My-Brain-Just wait until later. That little misunderstanding... YOU SAID YOU WOULDN'T SHARE IT. I lied. You are evil. Yes. Besides, you have to admit that mistaking Bats for the...um...Witch-King-Whatever...was amusing.
Jasmine Scarthing-That's what I said. You were drugged out of your mind. I was not! You were. See, there's proof. You don't remember it. I remember everything. There was no drugging involved. Denial. I am not in denial! Shh, shh.
BAM!
"You know, I'd open if you'd knock."
Of course she had to be alone, lounged on the couch with a drink in her hand and wearing nothing but a raggedy t-shirt and…men's boxer shorts?
Right.
"You're late." she said. "Missed Jonathan by half an hour. Although…" She took a drink and stretched. "Since he won't be back for a while, and I'm here all by myself…"
No.
Batman threw a robe at her. It hit her in the face. Oops.
"Get dressed."
"I am dressed. I'm clothed, aren't I? It's hardly my fault that it's hot in here. Besides, wouldn't you rather have me like this? I can't hide anything up my sleeve this way."
As if that mattered. At one point she'd had a perfume that did the job just as well.
"Get dressed." he growled again. She pouted at him, downed the rest of her drink, and stood up.
"You're no fun at all."
And with that, she flung her hardback at him and vaulted over the back of the sofa. He didn't sprint after her-he made that mistake once before and got himself a faceful of fear toxin from Jonathan Crane.
He made his way around the couch, knowing there were only a few places she could be going. She might risk slipping out a back window, but only if she was really cornered.
The bedroom was empty. The window was closed and locked from the inside and there was nothing under the bed but dust bunnies. Behind the door? Nothing. So where…shower.
He flung the curtain open and was greeted with a shriek of, "You creep!"
Ow…eardrums…ringing.
She flung the scrubbie at him, grimaced, and reached for the shampoo. He yanked it out of her hand and pulled out of the shower, not at all caring if he knocked her ankles against the wall on the way.
"Back to Arkham."
"Unhand me, you sick monster! I'm not that kind of a girl!"
He looked for something to gag her with-she really didn't need to be screaming in his ear-and came up with nothing. Oh, well. Once she was in the car, he'd come back and look for…
"What in the world?"
Or not.
Jonathan Crane was standing in the doorway, his mask in one hand and his scythe, dripping blood, in the other.
"It's over, Crane."
"You look a little the worse for wear, Bats…and that solves the mystery of that missing shirt."
Really. They were going to do this now?
"I was too lazy to get dressed up, sorry."
He really didn't care. He started towards the man in the doorway, trying to ignore the thrashing, shrieking woman behind him.
"Let go of me, you sorry bastard!" She yanked at her hands before curling her legs around a chair. The chair fell over to be dragged along behind them.
"As amusing as this is, Bats, I really must ask you to let go." Where had that grappler got to? "If you don't, I'll cut your hands off."
Sure he would.
Ah! Grappler.
He was about to fire it when the chair knocked into his ankles. It didn't really hurt, but it was surprising.
"Sorry."
Sometimes he wondered if it would be worth it to kill them and make it look like an accident. He didn't want to stoop to their level, but…
"What was that?"
"Shut up, it's what I had!"
The scythe swung at him and he dodged, his grip loosening on Richardson's hands. She yanked them free and bolted for the door.
"Put the scythe down, Crane."
"And be tackled? Not hardly. I'm enjoying relatively good health right now, and you'll ruin it. God knows how many sick people you've come in contact with." He shuddered. "We'll just be on our way, if you don't mind."
He did mind, thank you very much.
Forget the grappler. He had what Alfred referred to as 'Batarangs' and what he preferred to call 'custom ninja stars'. (A holdover from a happy childhood spent playing Ninjas with his father.)
They turned and ran. They'd be going for the front door. He'd just meet them in the street.
…
Well? Where were they?
SLICE!
He ducked just in time and turned to catch another attempted swing in his arm gauntlet. Crane let him keep the scythe and backed off, already reaching for the fire escape behind him. But where was the other one…
THUD.
Ow.
Did she just hit him with a rock?
Yes. Yes, she did.
He angled himself to keep them both in his line of vision and put his foot on the scythe, just in case.
"Drop the rock."
"Make me."
Well, if she wouldn't be nice about it…
He grabbed her and flung her at Crane, sending them both into the brick wall behind them.
Two birds with one stone…
Before they could get up, he fired his grappling gun. There.
"Ow…"
"Back to Arkham."
"Fuck you." He'd just ignore that. "I'm cold."
She should have taken the robe, then. He did offer.
"You broke my glasses." Crane grumbled. "You should be grateful you didn't put an eye out."
No.
"We can walk, you know."
Yeah, but dragging them awarded him some small (petty) feeling of satisfaction.
THE END
