I don't own Batman Begins, The Dark Knight, The Dark Knight Rises, or any of the characters or plots found within the movies. Eleanor Black, her family and backstory, and all the plot points that are not from the movie are mine. The fic is rated for language and violence. It is a rewrite and reorganization of my two previous Nolan-verse fics "Superhero's Confidante" and "Chances Are." It will go through all three movies in the trilogy and feature time from before and after as well.
In the Shadow of the Bat
—The Dark Knight
Silence stretched on for what felt like hours, but could only have been minutes. Seconds, even. I was aware of Lucius moving back to his side of the console, but I couldn't take my eyes from the screen in front of me.
I saw Batman climb to his feet and I exhaled, sagging against the machine in relief.
"I'm fine," he said, almost too quiet for me to hear.
"Bullshit." I wiped at my cheeks, which I was only now realizing were wet with tears. I didn't know when I'd started crying, but I hoped it stopped. "Bullshit," I repeated, putting some more force behind my words, but I was glad he was alive. It could have been so much worse.
I pushed myself away from those screens and bent over, bracing myself with my hands on my knees. When I had gathered myself together as much as I was going to be able to, I grabbed the motorcycle helmet from where I'd left it and made for the door Batman had made his exit from only about an hour or two ago. I had to get back to the bunker. I had to be there when Batman returned.
"Eleanor."
I stopped with the door opened and turned to face Lucius, who was looking at me with concern in his eyes. "Make sure he gets home," was all I could think to say before I climbed the steps out of Research and Development and returned to where I'd parked the motorcycle. In a burst of clarity, I remember the helmet was connected to the headset back in the bunker. I switched it on before I pulled the helmet over my head and started the bike.
"Gotham needs its true hero," Batman's voice rumbled. His words sounded strained. He wasn't fine. Not even close.
"You? You can't!" That was Gordon. His voice may have been much quieter than Batman's, but I could still make out the words okay, and even though I had missed the beginning of the conversation, it didn't take a genius to figure out what Batman was planning. "You can't do this."
"I can. 'You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain,'" he quoted. He sucked in a deep breath and the pain he must have been feeling was even more obvious. I cursed under my breath, both at the situation and at the fact that I couldn't drive any faster without putting myself at risk. "I can do those things, because I'm not a hero like Dent. I killed those people. That's what I can be."
"No, no, God damn it Bruce," I muttered.
"You're not—"
"I'm whatever Gotham needs me to be."
I was starting to feel panicky and I almost missed the alleyway housing the entrance to the road that would lead back to the bunker. I turned hard, pressing the button on the handle of the motorcycle to open the door.
"They'll hunt you."
"You'll hunt me. You'll condemn me, set the dogs on me, because that's what needs to happen."
That was the last I heard of the conversation. I brought the bike to a stop and only barely remembered to put the kickstand down before I climbed off, pulling the helmet off and setting down with more force than was probably necessary. Alfred turned sharply, as if he hadn't known I was coming or had already entered the bunker. I crossed the room to stand beside him. He was watching the GPS dot symbolizing the Batpod as it sped through Gotham, back towards the bunker. I was completely unaware of how much time passed between my arrival and Bruce's. My eyes only left the computer monitor when he turned down the hidden road and I could hear the rumble of the Batpod's engine.
He stumbled as he climbed off the vehicle, though he tried to remain upright. My heart leapt into my throat as I darted forward, ducking under his arm and taking as much of his weight as I could; it took almost all my strength to keep from tumbling to the floor as he leaned into me. Alfred ran to clear off a table and somehow, I managed to get Bruce over to it without either of us falling. I noticed droplets of blood decorating the concrete in a trail from the Batpod to the table and the side of Batman's armour was covered in it, semi-dry and sticky. The side of my sweater I had had pressed against Bruce was covered in blood. Bile rose in my throat at the sight of it, so I pulled it off and left it in a heap on the floor before moving to help Alfred remove the armour from Bruce's upper body.
"I will use local anesthetic," the butler said when we had exposed the bullet wound. "It's a shallow wound, but it is still going to hurt." He retrieved his medical supplies and set to work preparing what he'd need. "Talk to him, Ms. Black, keep him distracted."
I walked around the table until I was standing at Bruce's head. My chest was tight and I could feel my eyes itching, my throat burned and I was shaking, but it was nothing compared to what Bruce was about to go through. I put a hand on either side of his face, pushed some of his sweat-dampened hair away from his side. His eyes locked onto mine.
"Bruce," I breathed, finding myself at a loss for words for the first time I could remember. Tears sprung to life in the corners of my eyes and my shaking grew more pronounced. I leaned closer, my thumbs running over his cheeks. "Bruce."
He gnashed his teeth together as Alfred began to remove the bullet, but he kept his eyes on mine. "Ellie, you're going to have to find something more interesting than my name if you want to distract me," he said from between his teeth.
Fresh sweat broke out across his brow and I grabbed for the damp cloth Alfred had set out, even as I gave a ragged laugh. I wiped the cloth across Bruce's forehead and cheeks. "Do you want me to yell at you about how you've made a really bad decision?" I asked.
"That would probably work."
I closed my eyes briefly as Bruce gave a strangled cry of pain, but kept my hands on him. "What do you think you're doing?" I started, trying to make my voice steady and strong. "You can't take the responsibility for Harvey's actions!" I found a vein of anger and latched on, despite the small sounds of pain coming from Bruce's mouth. "He let his grief and pain drive him mad and he should have to pay for it, regardless of what happens." Bruce opened his mouth, though I wasn't sure if it was to reply or a reaction to Alfred digging out the bullet. "You are Gotham's hero."
He reached up with the hand opposite the side Alfred was working on and wrapped it around my wrist. "I can't let the city descend into madness after all Dent's work has achieved. Dent needs to remain a hero in the eyes of the public so they believe in what he did."
"You are going to get yourself killed."
Bruce exhaled a shaky breath, most of the tension leaving his body. I looked up and saw that Alfred had retrieved the bullet and was now working on cleaning and closing the wound. Bruce changed his grip on my arm so he was holding my hand instead of my wrist.
"Batman is going to disappear," he said, his words now muddled from the pain of the stitches.
"Well you already know how I feel about that." I squeezed his hand. "This city will still need Batman. Dent didn't get rid of all the criminals."
Bruce gave a bit of a laugh and I continued moving over his face and neck with the cool cloth. "Things will change now. Gotham doesn't need a vigilante who's confined to the shadows."
There didn't seem to be anything else to say to that. I was feeling a little calmer and Bruce was handling the pain of the stitches with almost his usual indifference. Alfred finished closing the wound and taped a piece of thick gauze over it before quickly checking his charge over for any other serious wounds, but other than deep bruising and minor cuts, there didn't seem to be much else wrong.
I left Alfred and Bruce as the butler helped him change, and started walking through the bunker, concentrating on breathing deeply and trying to calm myself down the rest of the way. Bruce was alive and the Joker was in custody. The panic and fear that had held Gotham City would vanish and the city could move on. Despite all that, tears started falling again, a little more freely. My hands and shirt were covered in droplets of blood and some had leaked through my sweater to stain the cloth over my side. I was exhausted, all the adrenaline having left my body.
After a few minutes, Alfred came over and asked me to drive Bruce back to the penthouse while he cleaned up in the bunker. I agreed, anxious to not only get Bruce somewhere he could rest, but to get myself somewhere I could shower and change and sleep.
Bruce must have given in and taken some heavy duty painkillers. He dozed in the car most of the way back to the penthouse and he leaned quite heavily on me in the elevator. I saw him into bed before I went to the guest room to retrieve a pair of the plaid flannel pants and baggy t-shirt that served as my pyjamas. I showered as quickly as I could under too-hot water, changed and threw the sweaty, bloody clothes into the laundry, and fell into bed, hoping sleep would quickly pull me under.
It didn't.
My mind was still racing, my body still trying to move, to keep up to events that were no longer happening. The adrenaline was gone and my muscles ached, but my mind wasn't ready to surrender. With a sigh, I climbed out of bed and padded through the penthouse, my bare feet making next to no noise on the hardwood and tile of the floors. I almost went downstairs to make myself a cup of tea, but as I passed Bruce's bed, I stopped.
He was lying on his back, one hand on the pillow beside his head, his fingertips resting against his forehead. The blankets were still lying relatively flat, so I would have bet money on the painkillers knocking him out. With a small smile, I settled in the chair beside the bed, pulling my legs up under me and finding a semi-comfortable position in which to sit. It was the first time I could remember seeing Bruce look so peaceful. Granted, the drugs probably canceled that out, but I was going to enjoy not having to worry for that moment.
My mind brought back what he'd said while Alfred was operating on him: that Batman was going to disappear. I was sure Bruce had some plan thought out, though I probably wouldn't agree with it. I wanted Batman around because I was damned near positive Gotham would need him again, but I made myself think about what Bruce could do when he wasn't concerned with his alter-ego. Maybe he would help the city as Bruce Wayne: donate money, resources, time, his intelligence. Maybe he would get Wayne Enterprises projects specifically meant to help Gotham, the world. Maybe he would work with the police, the justice system , to improve prisons, improve the non-lethal weapons and protective gear the GCPD used. He certainly had experience in those areas.
And it would nice not to have to listen to him getting shot and blown up and beaten.
"Ellie?"
I gave a small start at the sound of his voice and smiled at him. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."
"Wasn't you," he answered groggily. "What are you doing out here?"
"I couldn't sleep." I unfolded my legs and sat in the chair properly, leaning forward slightly. "So I came to check on you and then I just started thinking—my brain won't shut up." Realizing I might be keeping him up, I shook my head and pushed myself to my feet, tucking some hair behind my ear. "I'll just go downstairs and read and let you sleep."
"Ellie."
I turned back to the bed and met Bruce's sleepy gaze. He didn't move or say anything, but I sat on the edge of the bed anyway, stretching out with my head on the other pillow after a moment and rolling onto my side to face Bruce. He didn't move anything but his head—I suspected it would hurt if he tried to roll onto his side—and he gave me a small smile. I returned the expression, though I found sleep pulling at the corners of my consciousness and knew my eyes were fluttering closed. The bed was so comfortable and warm.
"What woke you?" I mumbled.
"A bad dream."
"You have those?"
"More often than you'd think."
I laughed because I thought he'd meant it to be funny, though I apologized almost immediately. I tried to open my eyes to smile at Bruce again, but found the task almost impossible. When I was finally able to open them a sliver, I found that I had moved closer to Bruce, close enough for his warmth to make the rest of the room feel chilled. I closed my eyes again and nuzzled into the top of the blankets.
"Come here," I thought I heard Bruce say.
I climbed under the covers and curled up against his uninjured side, my head on his shoulder and my hands folded between us. His arm wrapped around my shoulders, a comforting weight, his fingers tightening around the fabric of my t-shirt, holding on as if he thought I might slip away when he'd give in to sleep again. There was no rush of electricity or attraction or anything in that moment. It was completely about finding comfort, and for the first time, I thought Bruce might need me there as much as I needed him. When he placed a soft, sleepy kiss on my forehead, I knew he did. I moved as close to him as I could without being afraid I'd hurt him and let sleep finally pull me under.
And we have reached the end of The Dark Knight!
