Barbara opened the door and quickly moved off to grab her handbag. "Just set the pizza over there," she instructed the man holding the square white box, indicating the dining table where a large bouquet of flowers stood predominantly in the center. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him walk past to the table as she'd indicated. Digging around the bag she muttered, "I know I had a twenty in here somewhere. Hold on a second."
"No hurry," the soft voice, rich and sweet, replied. "I see you received the flowers I sent."
"Oh here it is…what did you say?" She looked up. He was smiling at her as he reached up and removed the baseball cap, revealing the thick dark hair.
Slowly, never taking his eyes off her, he walked back over and closed the door. "You know, Barbara, you don't get out nearly as often as you should. You shouldn't let your disability hold you back."
"I don't," she replied weakly. "What do you want?"
"Simply to get to know you better." He smiled and moved closer to her. She grabbed the wheels of her chair and pushed back, rolling away from him. "Now, now, none of that please," he said pleasantly and reached out to grab her left arm. "We're just going to have a little chat."
Surreptitiously her right hand slipped underneath the chair, fingers searching, edging closer until she touched the stick. "Why are you doing this?"
He knelt down beside her. "You seem like a nice woman. Too bad your taste in men means you're a whore." Barbara flinched. "You actually remind me a lot of my mother. She was very intellectual, but that didn't stop the filthy slut from selling herself to Wayne." He tilted his head in inquiry. "Was it the money for you? I'm just curious, because he doesn't seem to be the most stimulating conversationalist. And I know his bedroom skills must be lacking. So what else is there to keep a girl interested?"
Barbara tried to work some saliva into her bone-dry mouth. "It was never like that between us."
He chuckled. "Sure. That's what they all said. They flaunt themselves with him for as long as it suits him and then they plead complete innocence. And they say money can't buy happiness." He laughed at his joke as he started to pull her towards the bedroom.
"No!" she cried and brought the escrima stick out from under the chair, swinging in a wide arc to connect against the side of his head.
"Argh!" he groaned and went down.
Gripping both wheels, she propelled herself forward, but he wasn't down for long. Jumping up and lunging for her, Dante grasped a handful of her hair and yanked back forcefully. The shift in weight and momentum caused the entire chair to tip backwards and she felt the frightening sensation of falling. The floor that came up to meet her was hard and unyielding, and her head bounced painfully once. Taking advantage of her dazed state, Dante kicked the chair out from under her, skidding to a stop at the doorway to her bedroom well out of reach.
"If you wanted to do it on the floor, all you had to do was ask," he mocked cruelly as he knelt down over her.
Her head cleared quickly and as he bent his face closer she raised a fist and slammed it into his nose in three quick, sharp jabs.
His head snapped back, blood flowing freely. With an annoyed look, he wiped the blood away, leaving a crimson streak. "I like you redheads, you're all feisty," he said grinning evilly. "That's going to make it all the more enjoyable when I break you tonight," he sneered.
"You don't have to do this," she tried switching to reason, wishing deep down her legs still worked so she could buck him off. Pinned down like this, she was as close to helpless as she could possibly be. "I'm not your mother."
The slap came fast and furious, leaving her ear ringing and her face on fire. "You don't know anything!" she spat at her. "You sold yourself to the highest bidder and turned yourself into a whore. You disgust me!"
From the corner of her eye she had spotted the escrima stick lying on the floor only a few feet away where it had dropped after she fell. Her hand crawled towards it very slowly, fingers searching blindly while she forced herself to look at his face, keeping him occupied and unaware. "I never slept with him," she cried pathetically, pretending the tear that slipped from her eye was part of the ruse. Blocking out the horrible images of the other crimes – pictures of Nancy's broken body and Rebecca's first-hand account of his brutality – she concentrated solely on escaping unscathed. I survived a bullet from that psychotic clown, I'm not dying at the hands of some freak with a raging Oedipal complex, she thought determinedly.
So close now, her fingertips brushed against the stick when he suddenly backhanded the other cheek viciously, sending jolts throughout her entire body and pushing the stick to roll even farther away, out of her reach.
"I have to protect the rest of the world from being contaminated by your filthy treachery, you bitch, but for tonight you are all mine!"
"She has other plans," an angry voice came from behind. Two gloved hands appeared on Dante's shoulders and heaved him back into a wall. The black-and-blue costumed figure bore down on him, picking him up and slamming him into the wall a second time. "You're through!" Nightwing yelled into his face.
"Not quite," the Trash Man responded, bringing a knee up against the vigilante's ribs with surprising force. Nightwing coughed and doubled over. Dante stepped around him and sent a debilitating jab into his kidney, and then brought both hands down hard onto Nightwing's back, forcing him to the floor. "Over a year spent in Juvenile Detention taught me a thing or two about fighting." He kicked at the prone body, but Nightwing blocked it and pulled, bringing Dante tumbling down to the floor as well. As Nightwing began to rise, Dante kicked him squarely in the face, the momentum sending him flying against Barbara's table. Flowers, pizza, and splintered wood scattered everywhere.
Barb rolled over onto her stomach and started dragging herself towards her wheelchair. Dante zoomed in on his prey and stepped in front of her, grabbing her hair and wrenching her head up. In his other hand a switchblade knife appeared. "Not exactly the way I like to do things, but you can't be too rigid, right?" Barb closed her eyes but the cut never came. The almost inaudible whoosh of a Batarang flying through the air was heard moments before the knife imbedded into her wall. Both pairs of eyes turned in the direction the projectile came from to see Batman rushing forward, nothing but black cape and glowing eyes, a vengeful demon seeking the most severe retribution. He hooked a hand under Dante's arm and sent him flying across the room, headfirst through a coffee table, lamp, and magazine rack like a bowling ball knocking down a set of tenpins. Batman charged after like an angry rhino. Nightwing picked himself up from the debris and rushed to Barb's side, helping her into the chair.
Dante started to pull himself up with the help of a nearby armchair, but Batman offered far more assistance, pulling him to his feet and wrenching an arm behind his back. "This ends tonight!" he shouted furiously.
"It'll never end as long as I'm alive," Dante replied. The blood from Barb's hits was joined by several oozing cuts from his face fault into the furniture, leaving him with a grizzly visage.
"Bruce Wayne had nothing to do with the disappearance of your mother."
"He did! My father told me!"
"Your father lied to you, to cover up her murder. The murdered he committed."
"You can't prove that," Dante hissed.
"I can and I will."
With his free hand Dante struck out at Batman, hitting him squarely on the jaw. Letting go of his arm, Batman returned the blow, knocking the young man to the floor. But he wouldn't give up, kicking the Dark Knight's legs from under him. Dante leapt on him raining blows down in rapid succession. Batman brought a foot up and sent Dante flying over his head. They both stood and faced each other. Dante threw a wide punch that was blocked easily and Batman followed by powerful blow to the chest, cracking several ribs. He coughed and staggered backwards, but stayed on his feet. "I'll kill you," he wheezed. He rushed forward again. Batman sidestepped and then kicked out, impacting hard on his leg. The crack of the bone was audible. Dante groaned and clutched his thigh, hopping on his good leg, and still he wouldn't give in. Diving forward, he clutched at Batman's throat. Finally losing his patience, Batman released the pent-up anger and frustration that had been growing since the attack on Rebecca.
With a growl of pure menace he pushed his hands up in between Dante's arms, breaking his hold. Fists flew steadily, each punch landing precisely, until the other man dropped to the floor, a quivering, sobbing mass, with all the fight finally beaten out of him. Batman stood over him, panting, not wanting to stop, but unwilling to allow himself to go a step further.
"Call the police," he said to the two people he knew were watching him.
He turned. Barbara, reinstated into her chair, rolled off quickly to place the call. Nightwing stood silently, simply staring at him, but even the black domino mask could not hide the message behind his eyes – You did this, you almost got her killed.
"Contact the others," Batman told him without any emotion. "Tell them to resume their normal patrols."
A/N: I just wanted to respond quickly to Josephine, the reviewer who very astutely pointed out that Bruce should have immediately gone to the police. It could be explained one of two ways: 1.) That under normal circumstances he no doubt would have, but at this point it's become incredibly personal and he's become more obsessed than usual so that his first instinct is to find this person on his own. Obviously things moved faster than could be anticipated, but he would have contacted the police sooner or later. 2.) It could just be a major plot hole (one of many I'm sure). Take your pick ;)
Stay tuned for the epilogue!