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
—Plan B
The chase that followed the escape from City Hall was a mess of explosions and flying debris and Batman yelling directions through the earpiece that I could barely hear over the sound of my heartbeat in my ears. More than once I was pelted with little bits of stone, or narrowly missed being hit by a rocket or a chunk of the vehicles in front of me as the Bat chipped away at them, and twice I almost spun myself right off of the Batpod. It was chaotic and scary, and hard to keep everything straight, especially since I was having trouble shaking the pressure of getting to our goal on time; there was no way we had more than a dozen minutes left. A small voice in the back of my head kept telling me we weren't going to make it in time.
An even smaller voice was telling me we weren't supposed to make it. That Plan B was endgame.
I was alarmed at how ready I was to believe that, given how much I really didn't want to put Plan B into action; too much could go wrong and there was so, so much riding on our success with either plan. It was so much pressure.
Bruce had come up with the details of Plan B somewhere between leaving Bane's prison and arriving back in Gotham, but I knew he'd been thinking about it far longer than that. Maybe not in the exact context of Gotham being in danger of destruction by a nuclear bomb, but Plan B was his way out—his way out of being Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy, and his way out of being Batman, an entity he'd never intended on embodying forever, or for very long—and I knew he'd been looking for that for a long, long time. I couldn't say I blamed him for wanting a way out, or that I didn't understand his motivations, but I didn't agree with it.
Regardless of my stance on the matter, Bruce had informed me of Plan B after returning to the bunker from his reconnaissance run the previous afternoon, and I had to admit, though I was scared, he'd thought the thing through as well as he could and far, far better than I would have.
Didn't make me any less terrified though.
Eight hours earlier.
"What do you mean you fixed the autopilot function? When could you have possibly done that? And why haven't you told Lucius? Why didn't you tell me? Just how much did you actually get done before you were imprisoned? And when, for that matter, did you fill the motorcycle up with gas? How did you know I would use it?"
Bruce kept his level gaze on me as he waited for me to centre myself. These runs of questions had been coming pretty constantly since we'd both wound up back at the bunker. Bruce had seen all he wanted to of what Gotham had become, and he'd convinced me to come back and get an hour or so of rest before we went after Bane; it was oddly funny that he was the one convincing me to get some rest. Oh, how the tables had turned. As I took a breath and calmed down, he dropped onto one of the cots we'd pulled out of storage and stretched out on his back.
"I didn't know you would use the motorcycle, but I felt it would be a good idea to keep it filled up and in working order just in case of an emergency. It was back there for some time before Bane blew the city to hell. As for the autopilot, I fixed it shortly after I had the Bat in my possession, and I didn't tell Lucius, or anyone, in case it didn't actually work. I didn't have time to test it," he said, voice level as if his answer should have been obvious. Maybe it should have been. Maybe it would have been under more normal circumstances.
"Oh, like you ever test anything." I huffed. I crossed my arms and paced a bit, trying to work off some of the excess energy so I could actually get some sleep. "So what are we going to do with this fixed autopilot function? Strap the bomb to the Bat and set the plane to fly out over the ocean?"
"Something like that."
The tone of Bruce's voice brought me up short. I turned and found him still lying on his back, though he was watching me closely, face carefully blank. "No one else knows the autopilot works, do they?" I asked, voice thinner than I'd expected. You'd think I was shocked or something.
"No."
"So that's it—Plan B is your ticket out," I mumbled as I sunk onto the other cot, my back to Bruce.
During Batman's hiatus, and even before that, when Rachel had still been in the picture, Bruce had talked about finding a way out, about having a normal life, and I'd heard countless times that he'd never intended to be Batman forever, but I hadn't actually thought he'd stop. Not for good. I knew it made sense—the human body couldn't keep up with the torture of being Batman forever—but it just didn't seem right. Bruce was Batman, and Batman was Bruce.
No sense in arguing about it though. It was clear Bruce had made up his mind.
"I would have thought you'd at least leave someone to take your place before you pretended to blow yourself up," I said. "Batman as an eternal symbol of Gotham's refusal to be bullied by criminals or whatever."
Bruce's hand appeared on my back, a warm and comforting weight; we'd set up the cots as close together as we could, since they really weren't made to hold two people. "Blake," was all he said.
I huffed again, this time in exasperation, and lay down on my side, facing Bruce. He'd rolled to face me as well, and the hand that had been on my back moved to my side, moving down to my hip and then back up, over my shoulder, his fingers sliding through my hair. I closed my eyes with the contact. "Do you pride yourself on your ability to come up with covert plants? On never forgetting a detail?" I asked quietly.
I heard a noise that might have been a chuckle and opened one eye. "Yes," he said, straight-faced. I opened both eyes so I could roll them and Bruce gave me a small smile. He dropped his hand and took hold of one of mine, our fingers entwining without a second thought.
Something had changed in Bruce in the six months he'd been gone. Physical contact had never been awkward between us, not really, but it had never been commonplace. Even after we were together, it wasn't common, and most of the time, I initiated it. I didn't mind. But the Bruce who had returned from Bane's prison, the Bruce who had come so close to death, he was more open, and physical contact felt easier. Everything felt easier; you know, besides trying to stop the crazy masked man attempting to blow our city into oblivion. I wasn't sure that anyone else would notice it, but that didn't matter. I squeezed his hand and shifted a little closer on the cot, wishing I could curl up to his chest and seriously considering testing the limits of space on one cot.
"So what comes after strapping the bomb to the Bat and flying off into the sunset?" I asked instead.
Bruce gave a small shrug with his shoulder that wasn't pressed to the cot. "We disappear, Batman and the masked woman, believed to have died in the explosion. If Blake takes up the mantle, Batman will reappear, adding to the myths surrounding him. Maybe someone will take up your mask, as well." He gave my hand a small squeeze and his mouth twitched upwards in another smile. I briefly wondered if anyone would ever want to take my place. As far as I knew, I didn't have a persona like Batman. There was no name or costume or symbol associated with me. It would have been… nice, in a very odd way, if someone had wanted to take my place. "You and I fly somewhere far away," Bruce continued. "Bruce Wayne will be believed dead in the conflict, but in a few weeks, you and I will surface in France or Italy, totally oblivious to what's happened here and to our supposed deaths. There will be too much chaos and confusion as they try to figure out who was killed or who escaped, or what, and we'll be able to slip away."
I found myself smiling in spite of everything Bruce was talking about, my mind running wild with the possibilities of a life after this mess. "What will you and I be doing in Italy?"
"Whatever we want," Bruce replied in a tone that thrilled through me. Or maybe it was the look in his dark eyes.
For a moment, I shared that look and I let my mind run free, let myself be happy knowing Bruce saw something for us in the future. Was it too late to have the life we'd talked about years ago? Was it too late to find something peaceful? I hoped not. But as that moment passed, I let the doubts and questions in. We weren't there yet. There was still so much to be done.
"What about my parents? What if the autopilot doesn't work? What happens if we blow up? What if we're caught or spotted before we can get out of the city? What if—"
Bruce squeezed my hand again, harder this time, enough to draw me out of my head and cut off the stream of questions. "You can tell your parents whatever you want, but not until we're clear of the city. I don't know about the rest, Ellie; we'll think on our feet, like always. It's a risk, a huge risk, but I've planned it out the best I could, and if we can't get the core attached to the reactor in time, we need another plan. We need a Plan B."
"We couldn't have found a more reliable Plan B?"
"We don't have a lot of options."
"I know."
Bruce was silent for a few heartbeats before he said, "You don't have to risk your life for the city anymore, Ellie. I'm not going to ask you to climb into that plane with me and leave your life to chance. You could meet up with me after." His tone told me he wasn't suggesting I wait to keep me out of the way, or because he didn't think I could handle myself, not like before. It was out of legitimate concern.
And, because of that, I seriously considered the offer.
A younger me, a me who hadn't been through the No Man's Land, would have jumped down Bruce's throat for suggesting an easier path, for suggesting a place somewhere other than at his side, but I'd been through so much, most of which I hadn't been trained or prepared for. I'd spent the last six months being terrified, running on adrenaline, barely sleeping. I'd spent the last six months on what was nearly the hardest path I could have chosen for myself, and the offer of a break, however small, was tempting. But there was no way I could stand on the ground and watch the bomb explode, knowing Bruce was at the heart of it. There was no way I could watch that, if that's what it came down to. There was no way I could spend however many hours wondering if he'd survived, watching the water for his body or whatever had made it out.
And, at my core, I believed that Bruce had come up with a plan that would get him and me out of Gotham safely. I believed in him and his abilities and I believed my chances were higher with him than without him.
"Thank you," I said quietly, "but you know I couldn't watch that. It might be stupid to risk my life too, but… I've never claimed to be smart, especially when it comes to all this." I gestured vaguely around the bunker after freeing my hand from Bruce's. "It'll be terrifying, if we have to go to Plan B, but I'll be in the Bat with you."
That strange mix of curiosity and wonder filled Bruce's eyes again, but just for a second. He pulled me to him, shifting back so I could squeeze on his cot beside him, and kissed me. The metal frame groaned under my added weight, but I barely noticed. My hands, pressed between us, balled into fists around the fabric of his shirt as I returned the kiss, and I slid my foot between his, hooking my heel behind his like I would had we been sparring and I intended to knock his legs out from under him. His arms tightened around me, one hand sliding up along my spine under my shirt, fingertips tracing the scars that had appeared on my skin over the last six months. He never broke the kiss though, and I wished we had more time. More time so I could show him the rest of my new scars, so I could tell him the stories behind each one. So his hands could trace each pattern of scar tissue.
I kissed him harder, suddenly feeling every day of the six months without his touch and wanting to make up for lost time, Gotham's troubles be damned. At least for a little while.
We pulled free of each other at the same time, the sudden air between us cold. I exhaled and then shifted down so I could curl up to Bruce's chest as I had been thinking of doing before. His arms remained securely around me.
"I thought we came back here to rest," I said.
I felt Bruce's laugh more than I heard it. "Then rest."
I closed my eyes and pressed my face into his shirt, wrinkled from my grip, and breathed in the familiar smell of him, let myself feel safe, though I knew it wasn't true. "This plan is insane."
He pressed his lips to my forehead. "I know."
It had been easier to accept Plan B in the bunker, in Bruce's arms, where I felt safe and secure and could remind myself that I believed in him with everything I was. I'd known it was insane, that it was risky, that it was crazy, but it wasn't as urgent then. I wasn't in the middle of it.
Not like I was now.
I rounded another corner, the Batpod tilting dangerously low. Ahead of me, the truck carrying the bomb barreled down the street, its tumbler guardians recently dispatched by the combined terrorizing of the Bat and Batpod. I didn't know if the men who had been driving the tumblers were alive, and right then I didn't really care, but I'd thought I'd seen movement when I'd driven past the out-of-commission vehicles. I pushed the Batpod faster, attempting to close the distance between myself and the truck.
"We need to go left at the next intersection or we'll never get to the bunker in time," Batman said, the sudden appearance of his voice in my ear the only reason I heard it.
"Right."
I moved to the right and up alongside the truck, knowing full well that whoever was in the passenger seat, if anyone, would see me coming. I fired the canons at the ground beside the front tire, wondering how much ammo was left, how much time we had left before the bomb exploded. The truck veered slightly and I fired again, the tire exploding with a loud pop and the sudden grind of the rim against the asphalt filling the air. I gnashed my teeth against the noise as I fell behind, following the truck as the driver—it looked like it was Miranda from the small glimpses I could get—tried to correct the unexpected direction the truck was taking, veering sharply to the left.
"Stay on her right."
I positioned myself between the buildings and the truck, giving myself a good view of the upcoming street and all the possible alleys and streets Miranda could turn on to. I tried to keep clear of the sparks flying from the exposed rim, but I felt a few hot shocks to my cheeks anyways. We were headed towards one of the openings in the street looking down into a tunnel, and Miranda seemed to be losing control of the vehicle, skidding and wavering towards the hole. Shots from the Bat blew out one of the rear tires, and a second volley hit the road near the driver's cab, Miranda swerving in an attempt to avoid being hit; I heard metal hit metal anyways. The back of the truck swung around in response to her frantic driving and I had to move, fast, or else be sent flying. I ended up far enough away that I had a good view of the truck colliding with the barrier around the opening and plummeting down to the lower level, the metal crunching against the pavement with a sickening sound.
I took the Batpod down the ramp into the tunnel, pulling a swift U-turn so I could dismount next to the wreckage. Before I paid any attention to the cab however, I ran around back to check on the bomb. It was an incredibly stable device, but I was still nervous, and we were getting close to the end of our allotted time. Plus, the truck had just run a gauntlet of sorts after all, and there was no telling what that had done. As I reached the back of the truck, I heard the doors rattling and felt heat, even through the thick walls. Frowning, I hauled myself up and yanked the door open, just as Batman was bringing the bat in to land at the mouth of the tunnel several feet down the road. Gordon nearly fell out as soon as the door was open, wide-eyed and shaken.
"Was it really necessary to run the truck off the road?" he asked as I helped him onto the pavement.
"All we did was blow a couple tires. She was the one who lost control of the vehicle." I put a grin on my face, but I wasn't really feeling it. My mind was still racing with thought of how fast Plan B was becoming our only option. "Are you all right?"
Gordon waved me away. "Bruised, maybe a cracked rib, but I'm fine."
"How much time is left?" Batman asked as he joined us.
I looked at the bomb, forced my eyes to focus on the digital numbers through the wavering air. "Five minutes, twenty seconds."
"We've still got time," Gordon said. "If we attach it to the plane."
Batman took a few steps towards the plane, but was brought up short when a weak laugh drifted out from the cab. "Check out the cab. I'll get the core hooked up."
I swallowed the hard lump in my throat and nodded before I headed to the crushed front of the truck, Gordon following in my wake. He pulled the door open and we found Miranda watching us, slumped down in the seat, her legs crushed beneath the dash and a piece of metal stuck through her stomach. It looked like she might have caught a bullet at some point in her arm as well, or maybe it had been lacerated by broken glass. Either way, her shirt was soaked with blood and her face was approaching colourless. She didn't have much time left, but you wouldn't have known it judging by the expression on her face: it was full of pride. She thought she was victorious.
I had so many questions. So many questions about her involvement in all of this, about why she wanted to blow up Gotham, but I couldn't ask them of her. There wasn't time. Bruce would fill me in later, if I had to drag every answer out of him.
"They gave me the passcodes for the reactor. Taught me how to use it." Her lips split in a ghastly grin, teeth lined in red as blood filled her mouth, dribbled over the edge. "And Fox showed me how to activate the remote flood."
"Shit," I huffed. Plan B was it now. Really it. There was nothing else.
"You have lost." A strangled groan escaped her lips, her eyes fluttering closed and her smug smile faltering. "My father," she said, voice thinner and weaker than it had been. She was fading. She gave a feeble cough, all airs of superiority and friendliness I'd seen from her in years passed gone and replaced by vitriol in her eyes as she opened them, as she glared at Gordon, at me. I couldn't believe this was the woman Bruce and I had had a business relationship with for years. "My father's work is done. Gotham will fall." She kept up the glare, the smile even as the light began to fade from her eyes.
I stepped up onto the twisted floor of the truck and positioned myself over her, my face close enough to smell the blood on her chin. "You haven't won yet," I hissed. "And you won't live long enough to see you and your father's plans fail."
"R'as al Ghul does not fail." Miranda sucked in a breath that wheezed and coughed as she exhaled, blood bubbling around the corners of her lips. "This corrupt… corrupt city you would die to protect… It will fall."
"Not at your hand," I snapped. "And not without a fight."
She might have tried to say something else, but I didn't spare any brain power to try and figure out the words. I stepped back down to the road and exchanged a brief look with Gordon before heading back to where Batman was finishing up. The timer had to be close to three minutes, maybe less. We were cutting it close. I gave my head a shake, ridding my mind of the new questions filling it—Miranda was the daughter of the man who trained Bruce? Of the man who tried to make Gotham destroy itself ten years ago?—and the apprehension, so I could try to focus on what Bruce and I were about to do.
"Miranda is dead," I informed Bruce.
His gaze was level. "Talia. Her name was Talia."
I climbed up to the cockpit of the Bat. "So many questions," I muttered before maneuvering a little less-than-gracefully into the back seat. "So little time."
"What are you going to do?" Gordon asked, just an edge of panic leaking into his voice.
Batman stopped halfway into the plane and turned to look down at Gordon. "Take the bomb out over the bay. We should be able to get it far enough away so the blast doesn't hit the city."
"What about you two? Will you get far enough away?"
I looked between Batman and Gordon, and chewed on the inside of my cheek. Gordon looked confused and increasingly shocked as he realized what the plan was before Batman had even said anything. I wanted to tell Gordon we'd be fine—or we planned to be fine—but I kept my mouth shut. If Batman had wanted Gordon to know the plan, he would have told him, but for our disappearing act to work, everyone had to think we were dead.
"I never cared who you were," Gordon said after a few seconds of stunned silence, "But if you're going to give your life to protect this city, shouldn't the people know who saved them?"
Batman climbed into the cockpit and started the ignition sequence, the plane whirring to life around us. "A hero can be anyone—that was always the point. Anyone from someone who develops a persona to fight crime down to a man putting his coat around the shoulders of a young boy to let him know the world hasn't ended." He closed the canopy, sealing all but the slightest drone of noise out.
We were silent as we lifted into the air, but even from that distance, I could see the look of satisfaction in Gordon's eyes as he mouthed Bruce's name. He was an intelligent man and he'd had his suspicions about Batman's identity, especially after I'd joined the fight, and he'd just had them all confirmed. I sent a small smile in the police commissioner's direction, even though he couldn't see me, and hoped that Plan B worked out as planned. I liked Gordon and would like to see him again, maybe explain what we'd really be planning.
I turned my attention forward as the Bat moved quickly towards the bay, the weight of the bomb swinging around and breaking through deserted buildings in the business sector making the ride far more turbulent than it would have been otherwise. My stomach was in my throat, my hands were balled into white-knuckled fists in my lap, and my heart was hammering louder and louder in my ears as I imagined the timer ticking down on the reactor core beneath us, as I imagined I could feel the heat wafting up.
Then there was nothing but water around us and I knew it was time.
"Twenty-five seconds until we jump, twenty more until the explosion," Batman said, fingers moving deftly over the control panel. As he spoke, the growl fell out of his voice and it was Bruce talking to me, not Batman. "The plane will dip down to thirty feet when we jump and then rise as it flies out over open water."
"Okay." My voice was shaky. I wished I could have sounded as calm as Bruce.
I pushed myself up as the canopy ejected, flying away from us and into the bay. I held tightly to the back of Bruce's seat. He finished setting the autopilot's course, and then he stood and turned to face me, taking my gloved hands in his. We held each other's gaze. I could almost see Bruce counting down in his head.
"Three."
I took a deep breath. We weren't that far above the water. We'd be fine.
"Two."
I exhaled slowly and squeezed Bruce's hands.
"One."
We jumped, up and out, and for a second, it felt like we were floating. Bruce pulled me close as we fell and turned so he, with his armoured suit, would hit the water first. I held on as tight as I dared.
The rush of air and my pounding heartbeat filled my ears.
The water rushed closer; the Bat flew further, faster.
And then the world went white.
I can feel the end. We're close. I am both sad and excited.
And very, very distracted by the MCU, which is kind of ridiculous to say in the end note of a fanfiction based on a DC franchise, but wahtcha gonna do. I've also had "The Star Spangled Man" from the first Captain America movie stuck in my head for about three weeks.
Hopefully you guys like this chapter and I'll see you next time!
