"Type":Crossover/Mainstream
Subtext:No. Subtext? What subtext? Never heard of the stuff. ;-)
Rating: PG-13 SC, V, L
Spoilers:Possible spoilers for "Callisto".
Continuity Placement:Following "Callisto" but prior to "Return of Callisto".
Historian's Note:There may be some inconsistencies in regard to alcoholic drinks in ancient Greece, and a certain variety of birds in that area as well. I know there is no excuse for not doing one's research, but I'll ask to be excused anyway. ;-)
Synapses:If you can't at least guess from the title and type of story it is... ;-)
Author's Note:I wrote this little ditty in November of 2000, it's taken this long for it to go through all the stages necessary for public consumption. Hey, for me this is blazing speed. ;-)
To date, this is my most extensive fan fiction. I hope someone, somewhere, thinks it at least mildly cool. Please… ;-)
Also, in posting this story to this site I've had to make a choice between keeping fonts but giving up formatting, or keeping formatting but giving up fonts. I've chosen the former, so you'll have to make allowances for paragraphs not lining up. Hey, the price one has to pay to keep bold and italics. ;-)
Archival Permission:Yes. But I'd like to know first. (Like anyone would want this tripe! ;-)
Disclaimer:All characters within are the sole property of Studios USA and/or Renaissance Pictures and AOL/Time Warner. The use herein of these characters is for private use only. No infringement is intended, either expressed or implied. All rights reserved. Copyright 2003.
A Dark Knight's Day
GOTHAM CITY PRESENT DAY
"Hurry up, will yaz? We ain't got all night ya knows."
"Gettoff my back. It ain't like I've never done this before."
'This' being the jimmying of a lock. A lock which was attached to the door in front of them, which in turn was connected to the back of a jewelry store. Which contained, oddly enough, jewelry. Jewelry which the two men aimed at getting this night.
But no Sunday shoppers were these, no, no. They weren't searching for an anniversary present or graduation gift, no; these two were what are known as 'burglars'. And at this moment they were attempting to 'burgle'.
A faint click signified that they were in. Putting his pick away, the first man e-a-s-e-d the door open. The alarm had already been taken care of. Taking a quick look around, the man entered, clearing the way for his partner to slip in and close the door behind them. Retrieving sacks they had hidden under their jackets, the pair 'went to work'.
They were obviously professionals. Thug #1 headed for the display case, while Thug #2 headed into the back for the safe. Careful not to make too much noise, they set about their appointed tasks.
Retrieving the mini crowbar he had stashed in a coat pocket, Thug #1 broke out the flimsy lock that held the display case shut. Having done that, he set to 'liberating' the jewelry within. His partner, however, wasn't having such an easy time of it.
The safe wasn't the model he'd thought it'd been, but no matter. All it meant was five, maybe ten more minutes tops. And contrary to what he'd said earlier, they did have all night.
Ten minutes, and a few swear words later, they'd cleared the place out. The contents of the safe stuffed neatly in the sack over his shoulder, Thug #2 signaled that he was ready to go.
Thug #1 gave him a thumbs-up and they made to leave. Being pros, they listened to hear if anybody had taken notice of their little nocturnal escapade. Not likely, but one never takes chances in this business.
Nothing seeming amiss, they opened the backdoor again and slipped out single file, just as before.
Checking both ends of the alley, and seeing the coast was clear, they emerged from the doorway, closed and re-locked the door, and stood still to listen again.
Still nothing. Finally satisfied that they were in the clear, they let out their collective breaths. Giving his partner a grin, Thug #1 readjusted the sack of loot he was carrying, and headed for the end of the alley and the street beyond.
Preoccupied with thoughts of their heist, neither man noticed the shadow that fell over them.
The first indication of trouble Thug #1 became aware of was the gasp of his partner behind him. Puzzled, he turned around to see—Nothing. His partner was gone. Vanished into thin air.
Becoming more puzzled, he turned back toward the street again. This time he saw something. Though it wasn't his partner.
What he saw made his blood run cold and his mouth go dry. What he saw was a demon, a nightmare out of the collective psyche of Gotham's underworld. A sight that made everyone from the penny-ante street hustlers to the highest Mafiosos break out into a cold sweat.
Quaking with fear, the thug managed to croak out a single, strangled phrase:
"The Batman!"
There are two reactions to fear: Fight or Flight. And one never knows which one will end up doing until the time comes. For Mr. Thug, it was 'Fight'.
In wild-eyed desperation, he lashed out at the figure before him and hit—nothing. There was nothing there, his fist connected with air. Frantic, he whirled around once more…. just in time to receive a blow that crushed his nose. Clutching at his face, he never saw the knee that came up to strike him in the solar plexus, robbing him of much needed air. And neither did he see the blow to the back of his neck that mercifully rendered him an unconscious heap at the feet of his assailant.
But Thug #2 was made of sturdier stock. A thick bull of a man, he was just beginning to shake off his assault.
Though he had heard the same tales, and frequented the same circle of people as his compatriot had, his was a decidedly different response to the figure before him, the one they call 'Batman'.
As opposed to fear, he felt rage. He didn't appreciate being manhandled, and the phrase 'you do the crime, you do the time' was utterly lost on him. He did what he wanted, when he wanted, and wherever he wanted. He was sore, he was angry, and he had an over-inflated opinion of his fighting skills.
Bellowing like a wounded moose, he charged the back that the figure had turned to him. Only, by the time his arms got within reach, there was nothing to grasp.
Unable to halt his momentum, he slammed face first onto the pavement, helped along by the foot the figure had used to trip him. But as was said before, Thug #2 came from hearty stock.
Spitting out a couple of broken teeth, he got back to his feet, wiping the blood from his nose at the same time.
Rage can cloud even the smartest man's thinking, but not being a smart man in the first place, it doubly affected Mr. Thug.
Seeing the bored, almost indifferent look on the face before him sent Thug #2 into an even more heightened pique of rage. Roaring once more, he hurtled forward like a freight train, his arms extended and murderous thoughts in his heart. This time the figure merely stepped aside, allowing the thug to run into the alley wall full tilt. The sickening crunch could have been heard all the way from the street.
Though dazed and unsteady on his feet, Mr. Thug wasn't finished. While being a murderous, thieving, double-dealing bully, you had to admit that he had determination. For whatever it was worth.
So, working though the haze of pain, and trying to focus his eyes (which would not stop seeing triplicate), he came at Batman once more.
Swinging a meaty fist, Thug #2 tried to land a haymaker. The figure ducked. Shaking his head to clear it, he tried again, this time with his left. This time there were satisfactory results, though not for him.
The shadow had caught the arm in mid-swing, and using its momentum, flung the thug over his shoulder and into a stack of garbage cans, causing quite a ruckus. The irony of garbage in garbage wasn't lost on the silent figure.
The thug was spent, laying back amongst the trash in blissful slumber. Sirens could be heard blaring in the distance, getting progressively closer. That was his cue.
Giving the two would-be robbers a last look, the dark specter turned away and headed for the other end of the alley. But not before a stray moonbeam fell upon his chest, lighting, for all to see, a great black bat outlined against a yellow orb of its own.
MACEDONIA 46 B.C."I'm not in the mood for games old man! Where's the Eye of Abrixus?"
"Let's cut 'em some, see if we can't 'loosen' his tongue." The men gathered about laughed at their companion's suggestion.
"Hear that old man? Start talk'n or I'll let Maximus here have a go at you."
The old man's voice rang out like steel, "Never! I'll not tell you a thing. The Eye will never be held by the likes of you!" He nodded his head, indicating the group around him. They merely chuckled.
"'The likes of you.'" Mimicked the leader. Dropping the old man with a thud he turned imploringly to his comrades, mock despair on his face.
"Looks like this old bird is too tough for us boys. Whatever shall we do?"
From somewhere in the group a voice piped up, "Flog 'em!" Another chimed in, "Skin 'em alive!" And before long a chorus of suggestions were aired, each more horrendous than the last.
Their leader pretended to act dismayed at what he was hearing.
"'Boil 'em in oil?' 'Chop of 'is nose?' Gentlemen, gentlemen! I'm appalled at you. You'd treat our good friend here as though he were a common criminal? Shame on you! No, no, such things shouldn't even be thought of. No, if our friend doesn't want to talk to us that's his right. Let's see what his daughter has to say instead." Signaling his men, they brought the old man's daughter into the room, kicking and screaming.
"No!" The old man leapt forward, only to be restrained by one of the thugs. His entire bearing had changed.
"What do you say boys? How about we ask her where the Eye is?" The suggestion was met with low chuckles and leers in her direction.
"She doesn't know anything! Leave her alone!" Again the old man struggled against the arms that held him, again to no avail.
"Ho, ho. Looks like our friend here wants to talk after all," the leader grinned to his band.
"Tell us, where is the Eye of Abrixus?"
"You looking for this?" Xena stood in the doorway of the tavern, holding a sparkling gem in her hand.
It is a fact that those who turn to a life of crime tend to state the obvious. The leader of this particular band of marauders was no exception.
Whirling around at the voice, he pointed, "It's Xena! She's got the jewel! Get her!"
"Chiyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" Issuing a war cry, she leapt into the air, her legs and body forming a 'v', catching the first two thugs in the face, knocking them out.
Sensing movement from the corner of her eye, she dodged to her left, barley avoiding the blade that had been meant for her head.
Still clutching the jewel in one hand, she swiftly detached the chakram from her belt. The round blade's keen edge had served her well over the years. With the briefest of glances, she threw it toward the large chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The chakram snapped the rope it was connected to and sent it crashing among the knot of men under it.
But there were still plenty left, and they rushed the raven-haired combatant. Unsheathing her sword, she slashed viscously at the nearest, dropping him where he stood.
Two more came at her from opposite sides. An idea having formed in her head, Xena kicked out at the table to the left of her, sending it skidding over the floor and tripping one of the thugs. She then turned her attention to the other one.
Steel clashed with steel as she met his first strike. Her war face grinning savagely, Xena kicked out, catching the man in the mid-section, temporarily stunning him. Taking the opportunity, she sent him to the floor with a backhand, and down for the count.
"Get her you idiots! Get her!" The lead thug roared. Not that it was doing him any good. The Warrior Princess held off all comers, beating them into submission. Swords, whips, round killing things; all manner of items were used to overwhelm the men. The very environment itself seemingly conspired against them. In the end, men were lying on the floor of the tavern in jumbled groaning heaps, unable to fight. Leaving the ringleader the only one left.
Having already drawn his sword, he grabbed the old man and raised it to his throat. "Stay put Xena! One step closer and the old man gets it!"
"So what do you want?" She regarded him with an almost bored look.
"I see you've got the jewel," he nodded toward Xena, who still had the gem tightly clamped in a fist. "And I've got this old man. What do 'ya say we call it a trade?" And though he tried to sound calm, a hint of desperation had crept into his voice.
"How about you give me the old man," Xena countered, "And I let you walk away alive. Otherwise…" She spread her arms, mock sympathy all over her face.
Licking his lips, the thug barked out, "No deal Xena. You can't do anything as long as I've got this old geezer. I've heard the stories; you've gone soft. 'Turned over a new leaf' and all that. You try and get me, the old man dies. And you're not willing to let that happen. Nah, you're not going to do anything."
"You're right," she replied, careful to keep her eyes fixed on his face, "I'm not."
At that moment the thug pitched forward, dropping his sword and falling to the floor senseless.
"It's about time," Xena remarked dryly, as Gabrielle stood over the man she'd just hit from behind.
"Doesn't look like you need any help," the blond responded, looking about the huddled masses littering the tavern.
"Still, punctuality is a virtue." She smiled at her companion.
Seeing the gang thoroughly rounded up and off on their way to prison, the duo made their good-byes and started out upon the road once more.
"That went well," Gabrielle said, twirling her staff and humming a tune. "Where to now?"
"Home". Xena stated.
Slightly puzzled, Gabrielle turned to her traveling companion, "Huh?"
"We're heading for Amphipolis to see my mother. Unless of course you have any objections…" She raised an eyebrow at the bard.
But she was far from objecting. She was already lost in the thought of fresh warm nut bread straight from the oven. Xena couldn't help but laugh at the rapturous look on her friend's face. And as the sun shone from overhead, the two made their way along the trail.