Any others you don't recognize are mine.
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.
Rated PG : language; violence.
A few people have asked for details on the setup of this story. This really should be considered an AU; it's a 'what if', but also mostly based on the Batman comics of the 40's and 50's. To summarize:
This takes place in the present day, or perhaps a few years ago. Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson never met nine years ago when Dick's parents were murdered, therefore Bruce never became Dick's guardian, Robin never existed, and Batman and Robin never brought Boss Zucco to justice at that time. It includes *only* the Golden/early Silver Age characters: Bruce/Batman, Dick, Alfred, Commissioner Gordon, and Kathy Kane. The other members of the Bat-family never entered Bruce's life or took up costumed careers, perhaps because they didn't have the example of the first Robin. Bruce is relatively isolated, perhaps because he didn't have Dick's socializing influence.
Any differences from current canon are probably because I'm starting from the Golden Age version of the characters and their origins. Think of it as taking the Batman and Robin of the 1940's, modernizing them, and giving their story a twist.
All of that said, let's get on with it...
Reviews are appreciated, please take a moment to leave one.
"Come on, Bruce. You've hardly said a word for twenty minutes."
"Have I? Sorry. What would you like me to say?"
"Well..." She squinted at him in pretended concentration. "You could tell me how exquisitely wonderful I look."
He smiled at her. "Kathy, you know you always look great. You don't need me to tell you."
She stuck her tongue out at him briefly. She did look great. A soft, cream-colored dress complemented her dark hair and warm eyes, which at the moment were sparkling at him in amusement.
"I have to look good if I'm going out on the town with the famous Bruce Wayne."
Bruce grimaced slightly. "Just because some idiot wrote one article about me..."
"Gotham's most eligible bachelor. You should feel honored."
"Yeah, I'm honored all right. The whole idea's ridiculous."
"Well, I'm honored. Humble little Kathy Kane, dating Gotham's most eligible bachelor."
He leaned back in his chair and grinned at her, trying to let her teasing have its usual relaxing effect on him. He was out having dinner in an excellent restaurant, with a beautiful, intelligent woman. She deserved better than a man who couldn't keep his mind off the latest criminal he wanted to put behind bars. And maybe he himself deserved to have a good time once in a while.
"'Humble little Kathy Kane,' my ass. I seem to remember an article about you, recently. 'Beautiful ex-circus star becomes millionairess.'"
"No fair digging up my disgraceful past. And I can't help it if my uncle left me all that money." She frowned. "Sometimes I wish he hadn't. It's been quite an adjustment, going from poor to rich. From a circus tent to a mansion. Maybe I should have stayed where I was."
"I'm glad you didn't." She smiled at him. After a moment Bruce went on. "Is it really that hard to adjust?"
She picked up her glass of champagne, looking into the bubbling liquid thoughtfully. "Sometimes. It's a whole new life. A different kind of people. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever fit in. If I'll ever be like everyone else." Her face more serious now, she set the glass down.
"Don't." Bruce startled himself with the sharpness of his reply, and saw Kathy raise surprised eyes to his. He smiled, and tried to regain his casual tone. "You don't want to be just another empty-headed socialite, like me."
"Empty-headed? You? I don't think so." She gave him an uncomfortably perceptive glance as she picked up her fork again.
"Speaking of which, I completely forgot to mention I have an appointment later. I'll have to take you home after dinner."
"An appointment?" Again she eyed him sharply. "What kind of appointment could you have this time of night?"
"Some business associates -- in town for the night, I have to show them around..." He shrugged vaguely.
"Seems very late to conduct business."
"Well, you know how it is, have to do some socializing to grease the wheels."
"I'm not at all sure I know 'how it is.' You keep doing this." Some of the warmth had left her eyes.
"Look, I'm sorry, but I do have some duties for the Wayne Foundation, including things that tend to come up at the last minute. I'll make it up to you."
"Bruce Wayne, sometimes I think you keep things from me." But she didn't argue further, just smiled again briefly and returned her attention to her dinner. He was almost disappointed. This was one of the reasons he enjoyed their relationship; she put up with his unexplained absences and occasional hasty exits from their dates without much of a fuss -- but -- he had started to wish she cared enough to be upset, or to suspect he was seeing another woman.
Just for a moment, he wanted to tell her. To really talk to her, to share the deeper aspects of his life, to be honest. But of course that was impossible. Bruce Wayne didn't really have a life, in a sense Bruce Wayne didn't really exist. He was just a safe haven for the Batman. A twinge of longing came and went, for someone to confide in, someone who could understand what went on in his mind. There was Alfred, certainly, but there was no way he could know what it felt like, out there, behind the mask. No one else knew, no one else could understand.
Ah, the glamour of crime-fighting. Bruce tried in vain to find a more comfortable position on the barstool he was occupying, and stared moodily into his beer. A lot of it was just like this, hanging around some smoke-filled dive in the middle of the night, in disguise, pretending to get drunk, pretending not to be doing his best to listen in on the conversations around him. Waiting for a chance to talk to someone who might know something useful.
He was in one of his favorite disguises; 'Matches' Malone, a disreputable character who was often seen in places like this one, lurking around the edges of the various gangs, making occasional attempts to join in. Matches was a fixture in the Gotham underworld, usually ignored or brushed off, not considered a serious player but also not considered a danger. Which was exactly the way Bruce wanted it.
He moved slightly, leaning on the bar to get a better view of the three men who had walked in a few minutes ago and sat down at a nearby table. Two of them he recognized; one was descriptively nicknamed Snake, the other was his friend Mr. Ponytail from the previous night. The third -- was unfamiliar, a young man, late teens or early twenties, good-looking, dark-haired, a hint of youthful softness in his face, around average height and slim but athletically built. A newcomer to the Gotham crime scene. He couldn't have started out with a worse bunch of friends. And maybe he knew it; Bruce's perceptive eye caught a trace of nervousness in his expression as he got up and came to the bar.
A moment later they were next to each other as the young man leaned in between stools to shout an order to the bartender. As he waited, he seemed to become aware of Bruce's stare, and gave him a glance which was both curious and mildly hostile.
"New here?" Bruce asked. "Never seen ya before."
"Yeah. New." Now the man was staring back, not friendly, but not quite angry.
"Thought I knew everyone who hangs out in this dump. I'm Matches." He stuck out a none-too-clean hand.
The young man frowned at it for a moment, but then took it firmly. "Robbie," he said.
"Robbie. You don't say much, do ya?"
"Nope." But this time he smiled, his face coming alive with sudden humor.
"I see you're with Snake and his friend. Zucco's boys."
Caution hardened the young man's expression again. "You know them?" he asked.
"We're acquainted. Done a couple things together."
"Really?" Robbie's lids dropped over a sudden gleam of interest.
"Yeah, you know, I've done them a favor here and there." He leaned closer and dropped his voice conspiratorially. "Talkin' about their operations, aren't you? For tonight? The next coupla days?"
Now there was a suspicious light in the dark eyes that met his. "Why don't you talk about that with them in person?"
"Maybe I don't need to. Maybe I'm already in on it." He let his voice slur slightly and raised his beer to his lips.
"Yeah, maybe you are." Robbie shot him a look that contained a hint of contempt, almost completely hidden. He turned his head to look for the bartender.
"You new in town?" Bruce asked on impulse.
"Been here a while."
"And you're already in with Zucco. A tough crowd."
"Yeah. I guess they are." Again that expression of discomfort crossed Robbie's features.
Bruce said it against his better judgment, almost without thinking, but there was something about this kid... "You don't seem like the same kind as them, somehow."
Robbie's face closed like a shutter, his eyes becoming hard and cold. "Well, that's really none of your business, is it?" he said, tossing money on the bar and scooping up his drinks.
"Hey, no offense."
"Forget it." After a last glance, he returned to his companions.
"Well, that went well," Bruce muttered to himself.
It took the three of them another hour to finish their drinks, finish their conversation, and finally get up and leave. Bruce waited long enough for them to get a block away, long enough for it not to be obvious that he was following them, and then slipped out. Outside the door he paused, looking up and down the street. It was silent for the moment, with the hushed quality of late night in a dangerous neighborhood, where decent people dared not go out after dark.
Movement at the corner, three men getting into a dark blue sedan. It was them. Bruce hurried to his own car, a small, cheap model, meant to be inconspicuous. Seconds later he was pulling out, keeping a safe distance between himself and his quarry, following them down dark streets with barely enough traffic to conceal him from them. But the pursuit didn't last long; they pulled over in a side street in a different area, one which was poor and working class but respectable.
Another two men were waiting, moving a few steps out of the shadows cloaking the city night to confer with the three from the car. Bruce kept an eye on them as he passed by, turning the next corner and quickly finding a parking spot. Then he slipped back, finding a spot across the street where he could watch, hidden in the darkness of a doorway.
Robbie had already left the others, he was turning into a back alley that cut behind a closed and gated restaurant. As he disappeared, the other four produced the tools of their trade from various pockets; crowbars, pipes, guns... They approached the restaurant door, taking only minutes to pry the gate apart and force the lock, then vanished inside.
Bruce began to move away, searching for a more private pool of darkness where he would be safe from prying eyes, where he could take on his real identity...
"Hold it, creep." The voice was quiet, pitched too low for anyone else to hear. Bruce spun towards the source, startled, wondering who could have possibly sneaked up on him without being heard...
"You!" A dark form, black with a midnight blue 'V' across the chest. Up close, Bruce realized he was young, perhaps around twenty. Young -- but not to be taken lightly, judging by his performance the previous night.
"Glad you recognize me. And I know you. Matches, I presume?"
"Yeah... what do you want?"
"Just a little information. What's your connection with what's going down tonight?" He nodded towards the restaurant.
"Nothing. Just an innocent bystander."
"Yeah, sure. You know something. Tell me." Nightwing took a step closer, his attitude threatening despite his disadvantage of several inches of height and quite a few pounds of bulk.
"None of your business, kid. I got other things to do, so if you'll excuse me..." Bruce retreated, melting into the shadows. But Nightwing was too fast, he was on top of him in a heartbeat, grabbing for his jacket collar...
Bruce fell back, turned, blocked the grab, and kicked out, hitting Nightwing in the midsection just hard enough to stop him. The other man recovered quickly, dropping back a step and then pivoting and turning to kick back, aiming for his knees. Bruce dodged, to see Nightwing smoothly continue the motion and spin into a sweeping kick with the other leg, and then a lunge, hands reaching. A quick movement and Bruce had his opponent's wrist in his grip. A step to the side, and Nightwing's arm was twisted behind him. As a gloved hand reached back for one of the escrima sticks visible in holders on Nightwing's back, Bruce grabbed his other wrist, pushed him down to his knees, and heard him gasp with shock as he found himself helpless.
"You're good, kid. But you've got a way to go before you're as good as I am," Bruce said, deliberately letting his voice sink into the lower, silkier tones Batman used.
"Who -- who are you?" Nightwing's voice was pure astonishment and disbelief.
"I probably could have saved my own neck last night. But thanks for the help."
"Batman?"
"Not so loud. One of the first things you learn in this business is never to give yourself away."
"Like you just did?"
The kid was quick. With a low chuckle, Bruce released him. "You didn't give me much choice. What are you doing here, anyway?"
"The same as you, I guess. After Zucco and his boys."
"Well, now you can go home, can't you? I've got it covered."
"No way in hell, pal. I'm in on this."
They glared at each other. Bruce noted the way Nightwing's eyes were examining his face... "Forget it, kid. This isn't even close to the way I really look."
"Stop calling me kid."
Bruce smiled in spite of himself. "Well, if you won't leave, I guess at least I can make sure you don't get yourself killed. Go around to the back and take out the guy they posted back there-"
"I already took care of him."
"Okay. I'm going into this alley to change. You're going to wait right here. Then follow me. And try not to get in my way."
It was easy to pry a window open and slip in, with the amount of noise the gang inside was making. Batman dropped to the floor and found cover behind a table, hearing only a soft thump as Nightwing landed and joined him. They watched for a moment.
The four men were systematically vandalizing the place. Ponytail was moving down the bar, sweeping glasses off to shatter on the floor in a burst of slivers, sparkling in the flashlights they were using. Snake lifted a chair and smashed it over a small table, breaking off the back and a leg. He picked up another and repeated the process. A loud crash announced that the other two were in the kitchen, on a similar mission.
"Come on..." Nightwing said, half-rising.
"Slow down."
"We can get these two while the others are busy in the kitchen."
It made sense. "Okay," Batman said. "You take Snake, I'll take the guy with the ponytail."
Nightwing moved off immediately. Batman watched him for a few seconds, noting the way he kept out of sight, ducking from the shadow of one table to another. Satisfied, he started for his own target. Ponytail was still busy, now picking up bottles from behind the bar, inspecting each one before throwing it away, then stopping long enough to open one and take a long drink. He grinned, and lifted it again.
"Good stuff? Better than you're used to, I'll bet."
The ponytailed man froze in mid swallow and spun around, dropping the bottle. Batman stepped from the shadows, watching both of the vandals, and saw both reach into their jackets. He was ready, a quick flip of the wrist sent a batarang slicing into Ponytail's forearm, forcing him to drop the gun before he even had it clear. Snake jumped and cursed as one of Nightwing's modified throwing stars struck him.
A couple of running strides and Batman was reaching across the bar, grabbing and dragging his opponent over it, dumping him into the litter of broken glass on the floor. He heard a cry of pain without feeling remorse, kicked the man down as he tried to get back to his feet, and then hit him with controlled precision. A quick glance showed Nightwing using one of his escrima sticks, blocking Snake as he swung a clumsy punch, then rapping him on the side of the head. Both criminals dropped, to lie inert.
There was only time for them to exchange a nod and slide back into the shadows as the other two came running out of the kitchen. It wasn't much of a fight; Batman threw a bottle to shatter on the back of one thief's head and then knocked him out as he tried to locate his attacker; Nightwing abandoned his weapon, maybe in imitation, and took down the other man with a quick kick, chop, and flip. They stood for a moment, watchful, but it was over.
"Here." Batman tossed two pairs of handcuffs to his temporary partner and bent over Ponytail. "We'll cuff 'em to the nearest heavy objects and get out of here. I'll call the cops. I'm sure they'll be very interested in hearing these punks explain what they're doing here. Maybe they'll even give up something useful on Zucco-" When he looked up, the room was empty except for himself and the four unconscious gangsters, all now securely handcuffed.
Batman shook his head, lips twisting in a half smile. "Gone. Damn. Thought that was supposed to be my trick..."
TBC...