The job was a lot smaller than Dahlia would have guessed. As cavernous as this branch of the bank was, it was occupied by around five people that Dahlia counted during their walk-through. Four were hauling large bags and crates, removing them from the vault down an equally spacious back hallway. They were being taken outside through a side door. One was typing away on a rather bulky-looking laptop with some kind of antennae attachments. Cameras were already smashed and a handful of tables were pushed aside or overturned across the multi-leveled floor. All men had rifles slung across their backs and the tech sported a pistol tucked in the back of his belt.
The primary feeling that itched in Dahlia's psyche was feeling like an outsider. At least on campus, she knew the devils and their usual halfwit plots. Here, these devils were free in a world without rules or constraints, and with much more efficient tools. And they didn't have to pretend to tolerate you or make niceties, and they certainly weren't obligated to exercise restraint. It sunk in that she was at the mercy of her own wits on this side of the world.
As things moved along and a few men barked orders at each other, the Scarecrow and a following Banshee moved to a spot with more seclusion near some lobby-facing offices. There, Crane said with a near whisper, "Keep alert and observant. See anything strange in the shadows or on the ceiling, let me know right away." She nodded. Crane added, his hand moving to her shoulder, "Exhale, Dahlia. No one here presently is going to bother you." Then he turned around and left towards the vault in the hallway.
It took a few more moments, but Dahlia realized and accepted that she was more nervous than she wanted to be. She realized she was carrying most of her weight on one leg, and was fidgeting her hands together and tracing her cuticles. Once the string of thoughts came together, she grew concerned that this might have made her appear vulnerable. Taking a deep inhale and exhale, she rolled her head in a circle, loosening up her neck. Then stood up straight with her head high, clasping her hands together comfortably. A hauler walking by gave her a curious gaze. The Banshee returned an intense stare, forcing the man to break eye contact. She was starting to feel a bit more warmth towards her fresh moniker and the courage it inspired.
... A sudden thought occurred to her ... Crane earlier said "no one here presently?"
The loud thud of a heavy sack dropping to the floor caught her intrigue. The Banshee took no risks - she moved herself into shadow at the edges of the room. She looked back towards the hallway and saw no sign of Crane.
Another two thuds, one right after the other.
That made a pattern. What was that?
The Banshee began walking towards the noises from the comfort of the dark, noticing that the other two in the room also had concerns. Far across the space was the tech and near him another hauler. Each began exchanging words, too far away and too soft to hear. They readied their firearms.
Then a sharp, whip-like sound rang out as ceiling lights disappeared. Dahlia gasped and dropped into a low crouch by a decorative column. Instinctively she knew the sound was some kind of projectile. Light debris sprinkled across the floor.
The tech at the front desk, now crouching as well, shouted impulsively, "What is that?!"
From over her shoulder, she heard Crane's voice respond.
"The Bat-man."
A few seconds later and another row of ceiling lights were taken out, small sparks sprouting from each lamp destroyed. The area was drowned in darkness. A metal object clinked somewhere on the travertine floor. The Banshee scanned the floor with squinted eyes, but the Scarecrow had no need for confirmation. He knew exactly what this presence was.
The tech cried out as he was lifted towards the ceiling at breakneck speed. The only hauler left in sight shot off several rounds into the ceiling from his M16, which made Dahlia jump in surprise. Hearing a shift from behind, Dahlia glanced over her shoulder to see that the Scarecrow had disappeared from her sight as well. A moderate dose of panic shot into her veins.
Another clatter, this time of the hauler's rifle to the floor. Her head whipped forward just in time to see a dark figure pummeling him towards the floor. The area was quiet again.
And the Banshee realized that she was alone with the Batman.
For this first time ever, she saw him in person, as clear as the night allowed. All black armor, two pointed ears atop the dome, just like in the sketches. And two dark and sullen eyes buried deep in the void. On paper, Dahlia remembered that the Batman sounded so puerile and superstitious. In the flesh, it was very much real and spine-chilling.
And then he began to approach her, taut lips pulling into a scowl.
Her fear begged her to look away, but she was locked on him, mesmerized by the beastly predator. Her body urged her to stay down and move away, but she slowly stood tall and straight, arms at the sides, ready to meet him head on.
But the opportunity was halted.
The Scarecrow popped up behind a nearby table and moved quickly to the Batman's flank. The caped crusader turned with an arm up and at the ready. Instead of a physical conflict as the Batman might have been expecting, a plume of white smoke hissed into his face. He drew back with knees bent, remaining on his feet but with eyes now casting scattered looks. They were wide with confusion. The Scarecrow slowly walked forward, hunching slightly to gaze the Batman in the face. The dark knight jerked backwards.
The Scarecrow boomed confidently, "Ahh, something wrong?" The Batman tripped down a short series of steps between levels, and continued to desperately push himself backwards while waving an arm about the air. "Seems like something's bothering you." The Scarecrow followed carefully, his route as tactful as a herding dog moving livestock. Dahlia was entranced by the unfolding scene, feet locked to the floor, heart beating hard.
Partway through the hall, the Scarecrow said menacingly, "You look like you could use some quality time by yourself to sort out your feelings."
Near the open vault door, the Scarecrow rushed forward at the Batman. There was no need for physical contact - the Bat scrambled backwards in panic. He tripped over the lip of the door and tumbled into the vault. Without wasting a moment, the Scarecrow grabbed the heavy door and yanked it shut with all his might.
What snapped Dahlia back to reality was Crane grabbing her wrist and pulling her quickly to the side door. With a more familiar tone of voice, he instructed, "We've done enough for now. Time to fly."
Outside lay the last hauler Dahlia recalled seeing, unconscious on the pavement. Crane paid him no mind and jumped right into the driver's seat of the getaway van, finding the keys on the dashboard. She didn't know why this unconscious man bothered her, but it gave her pause. It took a firm "Get in!" from Crane to snap her back again.
Dahlia got in on the passenger side of the van. As soon as the door shut, they sped off.
The rest of the night was a blur. She waited in the van, still masked and watching through the side mirror, while Crane exchanged pleasantries with a man Dahlia hadn't seen before. Men were unloading the haul and inspecting all items. Everyone seemed a bit ... rushed. She felt disassociated from it all, as if she were merely a distant spectator.
When the last crate was moved, Crane - also masked still - approached Dahlia's door and opened it. "Come on. We're catching a new ride back."
This car dropped them off at Crane's front porch.
Inside they removed their masks, undressed their extra layers, and found some time to unwind. Outside, the sky was turning a light orange.
They both moved with sluggish exhaustion. Crane filled the food bowl attached to Nightmare's perch with a nut and blueberry assortment before dropping into his favorite chair. Dahlia was in the seat next to him, head propped up with her knuckles. What an exhausting evening it was.
"You should feel proud."
Slowly she lifted her face up to look at him. Dahlia had fully expected some kind of scolding with her wandering at the GNB, and her lack of action with the Batman. But his voice was ... sweet, and reassuring. "The events tonight weren't anticipated quite so, eh, vividly. You handled yourself well. I apologize for putting you through that."
"It wasn't your fault," she replied, voice low and raspy with fatigue. "There are almost three million people in Gotham. How could we have known he'd be here tonight? I'm just sorry I didn't do more. I didn't even think to act and as a result, you had to bail me out."
Crane's brows furrowed. He sat upright and reached a hand out over Dahlia's. "And as long as you're with me, I'll make sure you're always bailed out."
Dahlia paused before her lips formed a small smile. That helped make her feel better. After the moment passed, Crane stood and yawned. "I'd recommend laying low and getting some rest here before heading home. You can take the spare room."
She didn't make anything of it. "Okay."
With a nod, he headed back to his own bedroom and closed the door. After a couple of contemplative minutes, she stood and headed to the guest bed.