Disclaimer: As always I own nothing but the original characters and the situations the characters find themselves in. Thanks so much for continuing to read and for giving me feedback on my work. It's muchly appreciated and I do read every review you send me!

Note: So very sorry for the lack of updates from me recently. Life was crap for two, and then months...I'm hoping it's getting better. Wish me luck! Also sorry this chapter was a little shorter than normal, but I wanted to get something out after so long.

Happy Early Halloween

Tactics is the Art

'Tactics is the art of using troops in battle; strategy is the art of using battles to win the war.' Carl von Clausewitz

Gotham City was not known as a safe place to live, much less one that showed real concern for the wellbeing of its citizens. But it did occasionally make it harder for the crazy people who lived there to kill themselves stupidly, which was why there was a stone wall-that should have been a couple feet higher up in Blake's opinion-to jump over before you could plummet to your potential death on the highway if you didn't stick your landing. Thanks to excellent aim and not being high, stupid, or afraid of heights, Blake easily managed to land on the base of the 'bridge' less than a minute after Roman had. That was solid concrete for a couple steps at least, and a moment of stable comfort before Blake stepped onto the much less steady and supportive metal beams of the decorative bridge.

The fact that Roman had only walked a meter and a half, then stopped to wait for him was not, in Blake's books, reassuring in the slightest. The other man had taken off his sunglasses as well, all the better to see him with, My Dear.

In a distant corner of his brain Blake was aware that his still healing knee was screaming at him in pain and fury. The support bandage/brace he was wearing under his pants was only designed to do so much. And fuck his life, of course this would happen now. He was also starting to feel the bruises blooming over various parts of his body thanks to his run through the crowded streets, which just added to it all. He'd been babying his body since the riots, under doctor's orders, or at least as much babying as he was capable of doing. And all that combined meant that he was really not up to physically going head-to-head with a psychopathic killer who no doubt very much wanted to kill him and had the training to do so. Russian prison didn't make you soft either.

Fuck his life sometimes. Really.

Thankfully, as well as really ironically, his opponent's father had taught Blake well when it came to how to compartmentalize pain and show no sign of physical or mental weakness. Blake used that training now to push all thoughts of pain and suffering aside for later-provided there was a later.

And there was the knowledge, screaming in the back of his mind, that reminded Blake that he wasn't without his weapons. That he was on desk duty, yes, but he still had his service revolver at his back. A knife in his boot. He could, in theory, draw the former right now and put a bullet between the bastard's eyes in the blink of said eyes. In theory. Odds were Roman was armed as well, but like him preferred to do things the old-fashioned way. Or wanted to play with his prey before killing it, more likely. But Blake knew that if he reached for either of his weapons Roman would likely do the same. And even if Blake was the faster draw that didn't mean he wouldn't take a hit that could send him tumbling to his death as well.

Plus shooting someone in broad daylight, with witnesses, was generally frowned upon if you didn't have a really good reason. Even in Gotham. Roman wasn't giving him that quite yet. He would, Blake figured, but not just yet. And here, in this moment, Blake was a cop-not the man who'd been twisted by the bastard's father years ago.

So instead of reaching for anything Blake continued to step closer to his prey while in the background he could hear his stepmother alternate between yelling at him for an explanation and calling for backup. Back up could be a problem on a number of levels, but there would be no point trying to stop her.

He was screwed either way, anyway.

"Noisy thing, isn't she?" Roman spoke in English, the words laced with an accent that instinctively sent chills down Blake's spine. He sounded so much like his father. It wasn't an accent that indicated a country or even region, it was a way of speaking that was unique to them, reflecting their constant traveling and multilingualism. It was a way of speaking that haunted Blake's nightmares to this day.

"Why were you following her?" Blake asked, cautious of giving away too much.

"I thought she might lead to more interesting prey." Was the man's simple response, flashing his first hint of fangs with his next words. "And so she did...Little Brother."

Eyes narrowing, Blake made his voice as cold and final as possible as he stated that they weren't brothers.

"What would Father say?" Was the taunting response.

Okay, screw it. "He'd say you were no son of his. That neither of us was."

That got a response, the way the other man's features tightened for a moment, the flash of something not sane in those dead eyes that watched him so closely. Then there was the way Roman's body language shifted ever so slightly, betraying his readiness to strike at the first opening. A cobra, poised and ready to bite.

"True. He wasn't your father." Roman agreed after a telling pause. "Never yours. You and your twin are the bastard offspring of a junkie whore. She probably didn't even know who your father was."

"Our mother died protecting us. Yours had to be paid to carry you to term."

Whatever comeback Roman had to that-and Blake was genuinely sorry he didn't get to hear it-was shelved as they both looked in the same direction in reaction to their instinctual awareness of just how not alone they were now. They looked to see men, Bane's, Blake was guessing, take up guard on the other side of the art installation. And there were also at least a couple with his stepmother now too, a fact Blake because aware of thanks to her demands to know who they were.

So now they all knew that there was no 'safe' way out that didn't involve getting through armed guards. The two of them were stuck in the middle with threats to Roman on either side and more cops, at the very least, no doubt on their way to intervene and provide Blake with backup.

A sneer of derision. "You called in backup."

"Pride goeth before a fall." And he'd rather not die today, obviously. He still had a lot on his 'To Do List'. Bane, for instance, had not suffered nearly enough for ghosting him yet. And they hadn't had sex yet either, which Blake was still working on how to change without letting the bastard get his hooks into him any more than he already had.

"We shall see who falls. Come, Little Brother." And cocking his fingers in provocation Roman started walking backwards, urging Blake to follow him further across.

Since falling from his present position would kill him just as quickly and easily as stepping out further across the bridge Blake saw no reason not to follow.

The wind wasn't too bad, thank God, but it still pulled at their clothing, through their hair. And sadly it wasn't blowing hard enough to drown out the way the art installation groaned and screeched under their weight. It was holding though, and Blake wasn't hearing anything that made him think the ugly piece of crap would give out on them any time soon.

"This city of yours...why do you stay here?" Roman asked in a conversational tone, as though they were just two men strolling down a street together rather than two idiots walking across a steel structure that could give out on them at any moment. "It's a filthy eyesore."

"I prefer to think of it as very early Tim Burton, actually. At least architecturally."

And given how often buildings and landmarks were harmed in the progress of a crime in Gotham surely whoever had made this monstrosity had over reinforced it, Blake tried to tell himself, mentally clinging to that belief. So maybe it wouldn't be the case of his untimely death. It would be nice if all he had to worry about was falling or death by Roman.

Permitting himself a brief glance below Blake wasn't surprised to see that the cars jamming the lanes weren't paying them any attention. His stepmother was no doubt trying to arrange to get blockades or something put up to clear the space below, but the odds of that happening before it was too late were slim to none. And hey, maybe a big transport truck would come by to 'soften' their fall. Like in 'Salt'.

Yeah. No. That would only happen in a movie.

"They say you were there, when he died."

No need to ask who 'he' was. And while Blake could have been a smartass about that he figured now really was not the time. "I was. Is that what you want to talk about? Want a blow by blow? Because the blade sliced through his neck cleanly. There was only the one."

Okay, maybe he couldn't not be a smartass. Bane would agree with that, probably.

A slight cocking of the head, Roman's attention remaining on him and him alone. "Are any responsible for his death still alive?"

"Nope." In truth you could argue that there were a couple of people besides him and Arthur who had chosen not to interfere with the beheading that could have...but Blake wanted those two people to remain where they were. Rotting in prison.

"What did he tell you of me?"

"Seriously?" Was the guy a masochist? Or did he want Blake to talk shit about him to give him some sort of justification for the smackdown that was about to happen? And dammit, now he had that stupid quote from 'Twilight' was going around and around in his head about the stupid lamb and masochistic lion.

Ugh. Bane probably saw him as a stupid lamb. Bane was no lion though, Blake silently acknowledged, getting distracted by the thought. Lions were lazy couch potatoes who didn't do much-

The foot that came flying at his face as Roman roared to not ignore him snapped Blake's attention back to the present just in time.

)

Opening his door before the car had even properly come to a stop Bane burst out of the backseat and hit the ground running. In Bane's ear was the sound of Robin's breathing, keeping Bane sane and focused as he zeroed in on his target. Barsad had patched him in as soon as Robin had raised the alarm that Roman had been spotted, and every ounce of focus Bane had had been focused on every breath and word that left Robin's lips since.

The growing crowd in front of the entrance to the alleyway barely registered, though Bane did note the cops trying to move them back and clear the space. He appreciated them being moved out of his way, Bane literally picking a man up and setting him down out of his way as he shouldered his way through the crowds with pure force and muscle and continued towards the wall where his men waited with a cop sandwiched between them. Robin's stepmother reacted to the way Bane's men came to attention, whirling around with her hand on her service weapon before dropping away as she dismissed him and went back to looking down.

In his ear Bane only just caught the assassin's demand to know what someone had told Robin about him. His father, presumably. It was hard to hear with the wind as Bane arrived at the wall, shoulder bumping Robin's stepmother over as he looked down and over and-

Fear. So much fear rose up to take Bane by the throat then.

Bane had only a few heartbeats to process that fact and then the fight began and Bane found himself a spectator while the man who'd beguiled and bewitched him fought for his life on a thin, half broken structure that threatened to give out on them at any moment. The battle playing out below them was one Bane knew well. It was a violent dance of grace and skill, of life and death. Survival of the fittest.

Bane had seen the clips from the riots. Had known that Robin was skilled in the field of combat, with a skillset well beyond the average cop. But it was only now that he truly saw his Robin for the warrior that he was.

The two men below them traded and evaded blows with what looked like ease but couldn't be at all, given that they were also standing on something only a few steps up from a tightrope. They not only had to pay attention to their opponent's every move, but anticipate where their feet would land and how every move they made affected their balance and position on the bridge. Their ability to keep from tumbling down into oncoming traffic.

If they were lucky the fall would kill them first.

Pivot. Feint. Spin. Punch. Kick. Block. Pain and blood.

And then at his side Robin's stepmother breathed the name of Robin's brother, and following her stricken gaze Bane saw what she saw.

Bane didn't know how he'd done it-there was no obvious spot on the other side of the road to indicate a point of entry-but somehow Arthur had managed to attach himself to the old, pitted concrete structure that ran the length of the highway across from them. The structure that held up the other side of the dilapidated art installation. As they all watched the younger man continued moving as smoothly as a well-oiled machine, no hesitation in every movement as Arthur all but hung from his arms, all his body weight on them as he got closer and closer to his target with masterful skill. Headed straight for the bridge.

The creative but under the breath cursing beside him was completely justified, and Bane absolutely related. There was nothing the twins' stepmother or Bane could do for either man. There was fencing on the other side that was keeping Bane's men from crossing the bridge or even reaching it safely from another point of entry. They didn't have Arthur's skills. None of them could lend aid to Robin or Arthur now. And no one could go on the bridge without risking its collapse. The noises it was making already made it clear that additional weight could be the end of both of them.

Bane was betting that Arthur was going to take that chance. Was going to come up from the bottom with hopefully the element of surprise. And there was nothing they could do to stop him, either.

Right now all of Roman's focus was on Robin. Nothing indicated that the other man was aware of what was happening behind him. In a twist of luck-though more likely by choice knowing Arthur-the line of indentation in the concrete Arthur was using for his handholds was low enough that Arthur would be coming at the two men from the bottom of the bridge once he reached his target. Out of Roman's line of sight even if he did turn around at some point.

If Robin could keep his attention and Arthur was successful in sneaking up on him...well then it would be two against one. And Bane didn't doubt that Arthur had a plan.

The question was...would it save them...or kill them?