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Morality, Like Art

"Morality, like art, means drawing a line someplace." Oscar Wilde

The problem with riots in Gotham was that the people of Gotham...they were pretty used to it. And very good at doing a hell of a lot of damage in a very small amount of time. These were hardened men and women who lived with violence and the threat of it every day, to the point where they wouldn't have survived if they hadn't made the effort to learn how to protect themselves. And gravely injure others. They also tended to be poor, which meant that the opportunity to help themselves to things that didn't belong to them, but would make their lives better somehow...was pretty irresistible. Especially in the heat of the moment when they were least likely to get caught or noticed. Add in sports rage, a six-year losing streak, and the winners most likely rubbing it in Gotham's face that they'd lost yet again-recipe for disaster.

Trying to call for order wouldn't do the job. Neither would flashing their badges. The citizens of Gotham were more inclined to show their police respect than they had when Blake had been a teenager, but that was only saying so much. At times like this it just meant that the rioters would gang up on them first before turning on each other again. Couldn't let the cops ruin all their fun after all.

So instead Blake joined his family in doing the most logical thing. They hugged the buildings to their left as they made their way to a nearby alleyway between two stores that featured a gap about the size of four men shoulder to shoulder. More important it was a dead-end alley so no one could come up on them from behind.

Once there they all immediately shed jackets if they were wearing any and then shirts. The material would be cut up to make bandages by Simon using Eames's switchblade. Aunt Charlotte would be assisted by Tai in providing medical aid as Blake's cousin was training to become a doctor like his parents. Eve would cover basic First Aid and look after the children with Simon. Grandfather and Father would stand at the mouth of the alleyway and keep people from getting to the wounded and their non combative family members. Eames, Arthur and himself would go into the crowd to retrieve the wounded and the bystanders who were trying to get away rather than participate in the insanity and chaos around them.

Pulling out his badge and securing it to his belt so that it would be on display-not that he thought that would stop anyone from assaulting him in the slightest-Blake hoped to use it to reassure the people he now set out to rescue that he could be trusted.

First stop was a car that had crashed not too far from the alley.

In the front seat, with no sign of additional passengers or injuries, sat a visibly terrified teenage girl of about seventeen or eighteen. Aside from her Ford's dented front her car's back window had already been smashed in at some point while a mixed race young man in his early twenties had been crowded up against the side of it and was getting his face pulverized by another, much larger male.

Oh, goody.

Running over Blake figured he better save the one guy before his face was permanently rearranged first, calling out that he was police just for form's sake. The fist immediately thrown at his own face was totally expected and easily dodged.

His kick to the man's kneecap, on the other hand, connected perfectly, as did the punishing uppercut that sent the face rearranger falling backwards and onto another rioter, who found himself pinned down by the weight of the now unconscious assehole. Since that rioter had been egging the other one on in the face smashing Blake thought it best to leave him pinned for the time being.

Turning back to the guy who'd been reduced to a punching bag to make sure he was okay-well he was now running off in the opposite direction. Fair enough. Hopefully he'd put some ice on his face ASAP.

And very much used to people running from him even when they hadn't done anything wrong that he knew about, Blake shrugged that off and then turned his attention back to the teenager, the girl of Indian descent and staring at him with wide, terrified brown eyes.

Pointing towards her passenger side Blake came around the hood and over to that door, motioning for her to come to him rather than try to get out onto the very crowded road. There weren't any immediate threats on the sidewalk at the moment and Blake wanted to get her to safety as quickly as possible. He saw a lot of other people in need of his help.

Thankfully she wasn't so lost in her terror that she couldn't understand and see the wisdom in his plan, the girl scrambling to get into the front passenger seat and unlock it. It only took her three attempts to manage it.

Opening the door for her as soon as she managed it Blake held out a hand to her. "I can take you somewhere safe. Come with me."

All but throwing herself at him the girl latched on and clung, babbling about how the car was her mother's, and she was going to be in so much trouble, and what was going on? Why was this happening? Was she going to lose her license? He'd tell her mom it hadn't been her fault, wouldn't he? She'd have to believe her if a cop backed her up.

Reassuring her that he'd be happy to back her story up if her mother didn't believe her Blake steered the teenager in the direction of the alley and started fast walking her there, his eyes naturally drawn to his twin when he spotted Arthur and Eames hurrying in the same direction. Eames had an unconscious woman in her mid-thirties slung over his shoulder, her blood dripping on his chest tattoos while Arthur had a kid in each arm, both boys.

The woman's offspring, Blake deduced, since they were both shrieking about mommy being hurt at the top of their very well developed lungs.

Glass broke nearby and a man cried out a woman's name. A woman's scream for help abruptly cut off.

Glancing behind him Blake's instincts screamed just as loudly at him that he needed to find those people NOW.

"Go into that alley. I need to help others. GO NOW!" Issuing the command in a voice that broke no argument Blake was relieved when the girl startled, stared at him for a moment, and then she let go and ran in the direction he pointed her in. Towards his father who nodded once in his direction and then motioned towards the girl to come to him.

Spinning around Blake flat out ran down the sidewalk, eyes searching and ears straining to catch another cry for help that matched the previous voices.

Given the noise everyone else was making it was hard to concentrate, much less find the source of the scream, but then through a broken front window of a shop Blake caught sight of a man, early thirties, lying on the shop's floor with blood beginning to pool under his head and face already discolored from violence. And stepping into the doorway-

To Blake's right was a man fumbling with his belt buckle one handed, the other hand wrapped around the neck of a very pretty young woman who was crying and looking at the man on the floor with love and fear written all over her face. No one else in the small room. Plenty of things in his vicinity he could use as weapons if need be.

"Oh you are fucked, Assehole!"

Baring his teeth at Blake the man told him to find his own whore.

"I prefer men. And if you want to keep those teeth-let her go. POLICE!"

In response the man yanked the woman forward and then slammed her head back against the wall before letting her loose to charge Blake.

"Fucking Faggot Cop!"

Since the fool had just thrown away his human shield Blake was more than ready for him, nimbly stepping aside and putting out a foot to trip the bastard. Who unfortunately proved to be just smart enough to stop before he ran into the cliché trap. But thankfully he wasn't quick enough to avoid the punches Blake was happy to deliver to the fucker's gut in quick succession, Blake getting in four before his opponent recovered enough to block and land a glancing blow off Blake's shoulder.

Given the gang and prison tattoos on prominent display, not to mention the pretty decent physical shape the man who looked to be in his late thirties was in, Blake wasn't surprised it wasn't going to be that easy. Which, given the two vics in the room, wasn't a good thing and Blake cursed as he found himself having to move out of range as the man tried to throw some punches of his own.

There was some skill and considerable strength behind those punches too, which would have been a problem if not for the little fact that the woman the man had planned to rape was not down and out for the count. No, she was on her feet once again and had gotten ahold of one of those big Buddha statues you often saw in Chinese restaurants. Or in this case maybe a yoga studio.

"FUCK YOU!"

The back of the man's head met fat Buddha belly.

Buddha won.

Still holding the statue the woman heaved it down with all her strength into the middle of her assailant's back and then with a sob leapt over him to throw herself down on the floor, hands shaking as she reached out for the man she called Matthew.

Then she looked at him with eyes that begged him for help.

"There's a doctor nearby. We'll get him help." Blake told her.

Crouching down Blake quickly confirmed that the head wound and facial bruising were the worst of it. The only other obvious injury was some very colorful bruising blossoming over the man's side from a vicious kick, apparently, but given its position Blake wasn't too worried about it. The woman, whose name was Dion, assured him that she was fine. Just some bruising and a killer headache. Blake made note to make sure she got X-Rays later. Just in case.

Given that Matthew was a good five inches taller than him and at least thirty pounds heavier Blake didn't try to carry him alone, accepting Dion's help as they each took a limp arm and placed in around their shoulders. Grabbing the victim's wrist with the hand farthest away from Matthew, Blake instructed Dion to grab Matthew's belt, doing the same as they crossed their arms across the man's back.

"Let's do this."

Together they maneuvered themselves and Matthew across the small space and through the door, Blake looking around to gauge the situation before stepping out. Then he made sure Dion knew where they were going, nodding in the direction of his family's patriarchs to give her a visible goal and the relief of knowing help was close.

And synching their steps as much as he could Blake led the way to safety.

)

Opening his eyes Bane stared at the ceiling for several heartbeats, orienting himself as pondered the question of what had woken him in the first place. Given the time changes he'd set an alarm to make sure that he arose at the right time...but that wasn't it. The curtains were drawn, letting no light in, and while a quick glance at the clock on the bedside table confirmed that he would normally be stirring around now Bane couldn't shake the feeling that-ah.

The knock at the door had Bane sitting up as Barsad's voice came through the wood, asking for permission to enter. He must have sensed or heard Barsad stirring in the other room.

"Come in."

Entering the room in the shorts and T-shirt Bane assumed the man had slept in, Barsad walked over to him in bare feet, cellphone in hand.

"It would appear your boy couldn't stay out of trouble for twenty-four hours."

Of course he hadn't.

And following quickly after that thought was worry and something uncomfortably close to fear. An emotion Bane preferred to believe he'd extinguished in himself long ago.

"Is he all right?"

"The worst is he re dislocated his right shoulder. His father put it back in for him. According to my sources the other injuries were all minor and should no longer bother him after a few days and proper care. There was rioting outside Gotham Stadium and he and members of his family were on their way to a restaurant nearby for dinner. They gave aid."

"Were any members of his family seriously injured?" Like the annoying twin brother Bane was less than fond of. He supposed he should hope that even Arthur was fine...but Bane wasn't feeling that charitable towards the man.

Though Robin would be upset and...

"No. Two of his cousins and his aunt were uninjured. His cousin Simon was the only one to break a bone. A toe. According to my sources the cop's father has a mild concussion and three badly bruised ribs while the grandfather required six stitches to close a gash on his left arm and also has bruised ribs. The twin's boyfriend has two broken fingers, a sprained wrist, and required stitches to close four separate cuts from flying glass to his neck and shoulder. The twin also required stitches, though not as many. He also sprained his right ankle and has a black eye."

"Robin's injuries were properly seen to?"

"His injuries were seen to by family members."

Having read the dossiers Barsad had put together on Robin's family members Bane knew the man's aunt and uncle to both be highly skilled and lauded doctors. That being said there better have been X-rays done at the very least.

"When did this occur?"

"The bulk of the rioting ended approximately two hours ago."

A look came into Barsad's eyes that Bane wasn't sure how to interpret.

"Do you want me to send one of the men to check in with him personally?"

"No." He trusted Barsad's information network. If they said Robin was fine than there was nothing to worry about. And if he wasn't fine Saito would no doubt be calling shortly to cancel their meeting because he would want to be there if his oldest friend's grandson was in mortal danger. In fact Bane should look at this as an opportunity to observe how Saito behaved when the Blake family had been harmed. Particularly it's patriarch. If Takahiro Kwada Blake was Saito's true weak spot, Bane wanted to know about it.

The nagging voice in the back of Bane's mind that stated he wouldn't-couldn't use that information as effectively as he would want to due to Robin was ruthless squashed. At least for that moment.

Stating that he was going to shower and get dressed-Barsad could accompany him to the gym if he liked- Bane threw aside the covers and headed towards the bathroom while Barsad acknowledged the invite and stated he would meet him in the main living room area.

Nodding Bane didn't spare his second another glance as he opened and then closed the bathroom door behind him.

Determinedly going about his morning routine with the single-minded focus that had allowed him to live and prosper as long as he had Bane looked in the mirror as little as possible. And refused to think about the fact that he'd left his cellphone in the bedroom which meant that if it went off while he was in the shower he might now hear it. Might cause him to miss an important phone call.

If someone called they would leave a message and he'd call them back afterward, Bane silently reminded himself.

Though now that he was thinking about it Bane realized that he hadn't checked to make sure he hadn't received any phone calls while he'd slept. Perhaps that was what had woken him up earlier, not Barsad's presence. Robin was intelligent enough to realize that it would be in his best interests to be the one to tell Bane he'd been injured, directly against Bane's previous orders. Hearing it from a third party had made it worse and Robin would know that. Had Robin called him? Could Robin call him? Hospitals tended to frown upon cellphone use and if Robin had been medicated or separated from his phone at some point then-

Hearing himself think Bane wanted to put a fist through a wall, he was so...irked at his line of thinking. He needed to shower and concentrate on keeping to his routine. And if he showered faster than normal, well what did it matter? It wasn't like he had hair that needed washing.

Exiting as quickly as he'd entered Bane briskly dried himself off and then wrapping the towel around his waist returned to the bedroom and headed straight for his phone to check if he had any messages.

He didn't.

Ergo Robin had been injured for hours at this point and hadn't seen fit to call and alert him to that fact.

Oh they were going to have much to talk about later.