Okay, I lied. It isn't all sappy stuff from now on. But, hey, why not explore the inner depths of Bruce's psyche and wrench Ella's emotions into every shape imaginable? Disclaimer: I own nothing Batman/D.C.
...
Ella decided she had been in bed quite enough. It was nearing 6 p.m., and she did not intend to spend the evening alone in her room. A shower sounded terrific and she indulged, letting the hot water soak into her aching muscles. Why did a person's entire body have to hurt during a cold? Wasn't it only supposed to affect the head and chest? Twenty minutes later, Ella was lacing her high tops and feeling remarkably better. She knew deep down that was the DayQuil doing its job, but she preferred to believe it was because she had miraculously been cured.
Throwing the blankets across the bed in what Alfred would have described as "the cob-job of an impatient hedonist without the wherewithal to realize they are avoiding the joy of satisfaction," Ella slipped from her room and started off to find Bruce. Her first stop was his bedroom since it was closer than the first floor, but it proved to be empty. She considered going down one of the back stairwells, but it was always dark in the halls this time of night and she felt uneasy walking through the immense mansion by herself. The main staircase was still lit up and Bruce would probably have been using that one to go between herself and Alfred. Running down the hallway (she ran everywhere in the mansion so it wouldn't take her ten minutes to reach the nearest bathroom), Ella almost missed the sound of voices echoing against the walls. An unusually loud shout stopped her in her tracks and she stood still, straining to hear what was being said.
"Who is that?" she whispered to herself. One of the voices was definitely Bruce, an angry Bruce at that. The other voice was familiar but she couldn't quite place it. It was angry, too.
The words "flesh and blood" bounced down the hall, and Ella furrowed her brow. Who on earth was yelling, and what were they yelling about? It sounded like they were talking in the main entryway, and she knew she could make it at least to the landing of the grand staircase without being noticed. The banisters were enormous enough to hide behind during her descent.
Stepping as lightly as possible, Ella crept down another hall and hurried down the stairs, stopping just behind a pillar on the landing. The yelling never stopped, and now it was clear as day.
"I'm telling you, Wayne, if you don't give her to me right now, I am going to blow you to pieces!"
"And prove what?" came Bruce's voice. It was angry but quieter than the other man's. "If you kill me and take my daughter, they will trace you before tomorrow morning."
"Oh, yeah," said the second man, his voice softer now. "I read something in the paper last week about you adopting her. Suppose that was a good publicity boost for you."
"Why do you want her?" asked Bruce.
"I explained that already," came the annoyed voice, "she belongs to me. She's my sister!"
Fear exploded through Ella's veins, and the world was suddenly dark and cold. It felt like the ceiling was collapsing down on her and the walls were closing in on every side. She tried to take a breath, but her chest wouldn't rise and the air seemed too heavy to provide oxygen anyway. An unusually high pitched ring was shrieking in her ears, but her hands couldn't lift to block the sound out. The ground seemed to disappear, but she felt no pain when she hit the floor. Only then did she find movement and covered her head, silently crying for it all to stop.
A gunshot sliced through the wall, and Ella scrambled to her feet, the ringing silenced, but the air even more oppressive than before.
"No more chances, Wayne! Give me the girl!"
Ella ran. She turned and went back the way she came, using every ounce of her strength to push her forward. She couldn't go with Vince. She wouldn't go with Vince! The mere mention of his names gave her chills, and to hear his voice again was terrorizing. The man that had murdered her parents was in this very house and threatening to kill the only chance she had left.
Ella stopped.
Bruce. She was running away from Bruce, and he needed help. Surely he wouldn't turn her over to Vince, but would he die refusing to oblige?
"The gun," Ella whispered, spinning to look down the hall to Bruce's bedroom. "I need the gun."
The gun was a Taurus 85 sitting in the far right top drawer of Bruce's dresser. Ella had seen it beneath Bruce's undershirts while searching for the envelope with her adoption papers in it the morning after he fought the Joker. She turned and ran down the hall, but every step seemed to take more effort and for a minute, Ella almost believed she was having a nightmare. Weren't dreams like this? Everything is deranged and unattainable, and the end is always in sight but never quite in reach? No, she was in Bruce's room now. This wasn't a dream.
Pulling open the drawer, Ella pushed aside the neatly folded shirts and felt the bottom of the drawer. There was nothing there. A quick search of the rest of the dresser proved fruitless, and Ella slumped to the ground with a cry. Bruce must have moved the gun! What was left to do?
Ella knew the exact answer to that question.
"I've got to go with him," she sighed, pulling her knees tight against her chest. "I've got to go with Vince and save my dad's life. I've got to. I have to. I need to." She said the words over and over, but the ability to stand and leave the room seemed impossible. "Get up," she whispered, rocking back and forth. "Get up. Get up. Go help my dad. Get up." Still, she sat on the floor by the dresser, pulling her knees so tightly against her chest that her upper arms began to ache from the tension.
It seemed like hours passed, but in reality, it only took seconds for anger to begin budding in Ella's soul. It started in her stomach and bubbled up to her heart before shooting straight into her eyes and causing her to leap up from the ground.
"Vince killed my parents once," said Ella out loud. "He's not going to do it again." She left the room, not even daring to think for fear of losing this sudden burst of courage. Or was it stupidity? Whichever one, she didn't want the fire that pushed her forward to go out, so she kept her mind focused on the image of her brother's face in her mind.
Before she even knew what had happened, Ella was at the top of the grand staircase, but going down was unnecessary. Bruce and Vince were already halfway up.
"Well, well, well," laughed Vince, a broad grin stretching across his face. "If it isn't my baby sister. It's been a while, kid."
"Hello, Vince," said Ella, focusing on the fire and ignoring the fear that was frantically knocking on the backdoor of her mind.
Vince, gun pointed at Bruce, took a step forward, switching his glance between father and daughter, "Wayne here reminded me you were his kid now. I'd forgotten about that."
"Yes," nodded Ella, stepping down one step. "He's my dad. If you want me to go with you, I can't. You have no legal ties to me."
"Legal is a foolish word," sighed Vince, taking another step toward Bruce. He was still out of the man's arm length, but Ella wasn't sure why that was stopping Bruce from taking him down. Vince was looking directly at her and she was quite sure Bruce could quickly get the gun away from him from where he stood. She supposed it was a whole different playing field when you weren't wearing a bulletproof suit. Vince put his hand out and rested it against the same column Ella had been hiding behind. "See, I haven't appreciated the word legal since I was twenty-years-old. Do you remember the night our parents died, Ella?"
"You mean the night you killed them?" she shot back, glaring daggers at the man.
"A harsh way to put it, but yes," shrugged Vince, standing upright again and running his free hand through his light brown hair. It was straight and combed back like Bruce's, but with much less style in mind. Vince's whole look did anything but suggest style and the suit pants he wore featured a tear across the left knee. His white dress shirt was tucked in but obviously hadn't been ironed and if there ever had been a tie and suit coat, they were long gone.
"What about it?" asked Ella, frantically trying not to remember that night.
"It's one of my favorite memories," chuckled Vince. "I hated our parents. They never loved me, and I knew it. Why else did they go and have you when I was fifteen? I was almost grown up and they wanted another child to dote on. You realize I saved you from outgrowing their care? The same thing would have happened to you. Of course, they would have been too old to have another child but they could have adopted a cat or something. By killing them, I saved you the pain of watching another take your place like I watched you."
"That's not true," said Ella. "They did love you. Dad was heartbroken when you were fired. I can still remember him crying."
"Heartbroken?" shouted Vince. The sudden volume made Ella flinch, but she still held on to the fire, pushing her forward. Unfortunately, it was starting to run low on fuel. Vince chuckled and shook his head, "You know Dad was the one who had the circus fire me to begin with."
"Yes, I know," responded Ella. "He did it because he was scared you would get hurt if you kept doing all those crazy stunts during the show. He did it for your own good."
"No, he did it because he didn't want me to outshine his act," said Vince. Another step closer to Bruce. "Dad knew I was better than he was, and he hated it."
"Not true," replied Ella.
Vince smashed his fist against the column and roared, "How would you know? You were only a baby?"
Ella stepped back up to the top of the staircase and felt the walls begin to close around her again. "I wasn't a baby, I was five," she said. "I could see how much it hurt him to lose you."
"Lies you have told yourself over the years," nodded Vince. "I can't hold that against you. How else could you cope with moving in and out of those crack houses for years? You know, I saw an old foster parent of yours the other day. Remember the Nolan's? Did you know there is a warrant out for Mr. Nolan's arrest? He was caught with a ridiculous amount of marijuana in his possession. Real great foster care system we have in this city. You oversee that, don't you Wayne? You're doing a wonderful job!"
"No, he doesn't oversee that," snapped Ella, the fire rekindling from Vince's degrading remark to Bruce. "Look, Vince, this is all a bunch of talk. What are you here for? Why do you want me?"
"Oh, sweetheart," said Vince, a laugh rumbling through his chest. "You know what I do! Money is my name, and blackmail is my game. You'll only be with me for a few nights at the most. Your sweet daddy here just needs to post your bail. Anywhere between 300 to 400 million will do me just fine. I'm really not particular, you can pick the price, Wayne. We are honestly taking far too long to do this. Ella, dear, why don't you go grab one of your priceless jackets and let's hit the road. I haven't had a cigarette in almost an hour and it's getting to be that time again."
Ella glanced at Bruce and began to honestly wonder what he was doing. Vince's attention had been so focused on her that there was no reason for Bruce to have not taken the man down. What was he waiting for? Ella looked at Vince and shook her head, "I'm not going with you."
"Well, I guess I'll just kill your daddy then," shrugged Vince. He aimed the gun at Bruce's head, and Ella's heart lurched.
"No, stop! No, don't do anything. Okay, I'm coming," she started down the stairs, the fire almost out wholly. It was replaced by a pinball machine, bouncing its ball against her fear, terror, and love for Bruce at a million miles an hour.
"Good girl," nodded Vince, holding out an arm to her. When she was close enough, he took hold of her shirt and began to back away from Bruce, still holding the gun on him. "Okay, Wayne, I'll leave the instructions downstairs. I've really made it incredibly simple for you, and if you play fair, this worthless brat will be back here in three days. Take care of that shoulder, huh?"
Ella wrenched around in Vince's grip and finally got a good view of Bruce. He had been standing sideways to her the entire time she and Vince had talked, and it was only now that she saw the blood soaking his left sleeve and the distinct glimpse of a bullet wound right below his shoulder near his chest.
Bruce had been shot. That was why he hadn't made a move against Vince. Ella's heart sank, and she couldn't even bear to meet Bruce's eyes.
They made it to the bottom of the staircase, and Vince pulled a folded paper from his back pocket, letting it drop the ground. "So long, Wayne!" he called. "Nice meeting you. Thanks for taking care of the kid for a while." Vince let go of Ella's shirt and immediately replaced his grip with her right ear, pinching it tightly.
"Ah, Vince, no!" she cried, rising onto the balls of her feet as he tugged her along. "Ow, please, Vince!" They were across the entry now and Vince was opening the door. He was taking her away from Bruce. Now they were outside and almost to the bottom of the porch steps. Where on earth had that gun been? Why had Bruce moved it? "Vince!" cried Ella, her hands clasped over his fingers as they threatened to tear her ear clean off.
"Get in," he muttered, shoving her inside of a sleek, black sports car.
Ella slipped into the passenger seat and immediately pulled open the glove compartment, somehow hoping there would be a gun stashed there. She breathed a sigh of relief when there wasn't, and knew that she was just as glad that Bruce's gun had been missing. There was no way she could have shot her brother, even if he had tried to kill Bruce. It made Ella sick to think about and she pulled her knees against her chest again, burying her face in her arms.
"Shut up, listen up, and do exactly what I say, and you'll be fine," said Vince, slamming the driver's side door shut and firing up the engine. He revved the gas as a farewell jeer to Bruce, then sped away from the manor, slipping his gun into the pocket of his door. "And don't start crying or anything. I don't need to deal with that right now. Say, what are you, anyway? Ten? Eleven?"
"Thirteen," mumbled Ella.
"Oh, gosh, really?" asked Vince. "It really has been a long time, eh, lil sis? Last time I saw you was probably two years ago. I gave you a candy bar, remember?"
"Yeah, I threw it in a fountain," replied Ella.
"Smart," nodded Vince. "Never take candy from strangers. And, honey, there is nobody less known to the world than me. I'm invisible. That cracked up old billionaire won't be able to trace me with the best army in the world. Not even Batman could figure out where I'm taking you."
"Where are you taking me?" asked Ella, lifting her head slightly and deciding she should probably pay attention to the landscape. It might come in handy to know where she was.
"Someplace special," said Vince, adjusting the heat. "Warm enough? I told you to grab a jacket. It's the middle of February, you know."
"Yeah, shouldn't you slow down?" asked Ella, looking out the windshield at the empty roads. Wayne Manor was a reasonable distance from the city, and not much traffic passed by. The streets here were white with the recent snow, and it seemed plows hadn't bothered with the backroads in a few hours. Ella suddenly became aware of the fact that they were traveling away from Gotham City, and her stomach turned. Hopefully, they were going somewhere the police could find them. But what police? Did she really think Bruce would call the police? Of course, not. But what would he do? He had been shot, for goodness sake! Bruce was probably lying on the landing of the grand staircase bleeding to death and Alfred was battling a high fever. There was no one to help her. Ella was alone with her murderous brother traveling away from the only people in the world that cared about her. "Vince, please don't!"
"I can drive a car," scoffed the man. "Settle down."
"No, I mean, please don't take me away from them!"
"Them?" asked Vince, turning on his windshield wipers to battle the gathering snow in his vision.
"Alfred and Bruce," said Ella, slumping down in her seat. She was exhausted. No more fire inside of her tonight. It occurred to her that the DayQuil was probably wearing off. A cough confirmed her suspicions. "I'm sick."
"What?" asked Vince.
"Why did you shoot him?" asked Ella, sitting upright again. "He didn't even have a gun."
"Yes, he did," said Vince. "That's why I shot him. He pulled a gun on me, and I honestly don't know why he didn't kill me. I wasn't even looking at him. Typical spoiled rich boy. He's probably got the courage of a scared kid."
So that's where Bruce's gun had gone to. But why had he been carrying it? And why hadn't he defended himself against Vince?
"Batman doesn't kill."
Alfred's words flew through her mind in a flashback to one of their conversations a few weeks before. It had been Bruce's first night out on patrol since his incident with the Joker, and Ella been asking Alfred scores of questions about how Bruce operated, chiefly why he hadn't just killed the Joker to begin with. Batman didn't kill. It was the reason Bruce had gone over the roof with the clown to begin with.
That not-so-long-ago night had started out as a vengeance job, with Bruce's full intent being the deaths of Vince Ferrera and the Joker. He had only made it as far as Gotham City before realizing he could not do it. After tracking down the Joker and battling it out, he had almost sliced the man's throat twice, but something held him back. Why couldn't he kill this lord of terror? This lunatic who had murdered the woman he loved and countless others was at the tips of his fingers, accessible for whatever the Batman wanted to administer, but he couldn't do it. And he knew why, too. The Joker wanted him to. It was a psychological game of wits, and the Joker would not stop until he had broken every last rule the Batman abided by. But could Bruce Wayne kill? Were Bruce and the Batman even separate identities? As he had struggled with the Joker, Bruce wasn't entirely sure he could answer that question.
Of course, Ella knew none of that. She didn't understand Bruce's reasoning, and it even further confused her that he had been carrying his gun.
"Hey, reach into the back and grab my coat," said Vince. "You haven't stopped shivering since we left. What's wrong with you, anyway? I've got the heat all the way up."
"I told you I'm sick," replied Ella, turning in the seat and pulling Vince's suit coat from the back of the car. She welcomed the extra warmth as she tried to tuck her entire body under the jacket, pulling it tight around her shoulders.
"That's quite excellent, actually," said Vince. "With any luck, you'll do a lot of sleeping and leave me in peace. Or I could just knock you out myself, but this might save me the trouble."
Ella coughed again and groaned. She was starting to feel downright awful again, and she longed for the horrible taste of that terrible medicine. Sleep seemed like a delightful idea at the moment. The pressure of her sickness, mixed with the adrenaline highs and lows she had just gone through, had created intense exhaustion and her eyes seemed to close on their own accord. The warmth of the car and the rocking of the vehicle quickly lulled her into a sleepy state and the last thought she had before drifting off was Bruce lying in a puddle of blood and whispering her name.
...
If a chapter has ever written itself, it was that chapter right there. I turned that sucker out faster than Hogwarts goes through DADA teachers. Leave a review and let me know if you enjoyed it! Thanks for all the wonderful support, everyone! It means the world to know people enjoy reading my silly old stories.