Shadowboxing (Part Two)
By TheLostMaximoff
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I love it when people review so R/R.
(Author's Note): Adrian Manheim is an OC I use for detective stories. Be nice to him, it's his firstpublic appearance.
Timknew he had to get away. The leg where Cass had hit him was a little wobbly. It definitely wasn't going to help him against the impending fight against Shrike. He watched as Shrike pulled out two long, curved daggers and ran towards him.
"Gimme a break," muttered Robin, "That's all I ask." He had been framed for murder and now he was out in the middle of nowhere about to die. What was the purpose? What was the grand master plan that Cass, seemingly the villain, had?
"I see you and Miss Cain got reacquainted," sneered Shrike as he slashed at Tim's throat with one dagger, "At least you'll have some pleasant memories before you go." Robin began deducing some things. First off was that Shrike talked too much and this was coming from someone who was friends with Dick Grayson. Second was that if Shrike was here then it was possible the League of Assassins was involved. That would be just the type of clout a killer would need to influence the right people and complete the frame job.
"Not as pleasant as the memories I'll have of wiping the floor with you," quipped Robin as he leaned back to avoid the swipe and sidestepped to his right as the end of Shrike's other dagger headed towards his stomach.
"You couldn't do it last time in Bludhaven, kid," reminded Shrike as his blades clanked off of Robin's staff, "You had to call in Little Miss Batgirl. Where's she now, huh?"
"That was an off-day," assured Robin as he jabbed Shrike in the gut with his staff and then kicked him in the face. He wondered if Cass had told the League everything. The note had been addressed to Tim Drake, not Robin. No, she couldn't have told them that much. If she had then the League would've already coordinated a strike and taken down the whole Bat-family. Plus it wasn't like their leader, Nyssa, didn't already know Batman's identity, assuming that Talia had told her.
"Haven't seen much of anything different this time," declared Shrike as Tim blocked a kick with his bo and felt the ground drop out from under him as Shrike tripped him. His leg really wasn't feeling very good right now.
"She had to soften me up for you?" asked Robin as he caught both daggers before they impaled him, "What a loser you must be."
"I'm the best, kid," snapped Shrike as he forced the blades closer and closer to connecting with Robin's skin. Tim inwardly cringed. He had to break the stalemate soon or else.
"Gimme a break," retorted Robin, "You're just a hired gun, muscle for money. People point you in a direction and you kill. I've seen the best and it's not you, not by a long shot." He grabbed Shrike's wrists and moved the killer's hands apart before ramming his head into Shrike's face. It wasn't a pretty move and it gave Tim a headache but it got the job done. Tim couldn't be sure but he thought he heard a breaking sound.
"Just like the old days, eh?" quipped Robin as he watched blood run down Shrike's face from his broken nose, "Remember when Nightwing used to do that?" Shrike muttered a curse as he popped the bone back into place so it could heal properly. Robin didn't wait for a comeback. There were police sirens in the distance and they were fast approaching. He was already wanted for murder. This wasn't going to help his case.
"We'll finish playing tag some other time," assured Robin as he turned and dove off the roof, letting his grappling line break his fall and swing him towards where he had parked his bike. He quickly hopped on and gunned the engine. It was just about then that the police showed up.
"Not again," muttered Robin as he wheeled the cycle around and rode towards the woods behind the facility. This was so not going to be fun.
"Halt!" ordered an officer and Robin heard the crack of a pistol. The shot missed him, not that it would've made a difference since his costume was bulletproof. He had to get a look at that costume that Lynx was in. Maybe he could find a contact in the department that could help him. Robin didn't have time to strategize properly as he jumped a barricade and headed down the bumpy hill that got him back onto the road. He heard at least one patrol car giving chase, maybe two.
"Car chases suck," muttered Robin as he sped back towards the city. He glanced in one of his side mirrors and noticed two cruisers behind him. The rest of them were probably locking down the crime scene. Was anything really stolen or was it just a way to get him out here? He couldn't tell. What he could tell was that he was moving against the flow of traffic.
"Really suck," declared Robin as he skidded into a right turn and tried finding some road where he wouldn't feel like a salmon fighting upstream. Tim still heard the sirens. Why did people have to pull over for police cars? Couldn't Gothamites be more inconsiderate?
"Can't risk it," said Robin as he thought about calling for help. If Cass was working for the League of Assassins then they could possibly screw with everyone's communicators. At the very least, they could probably listen in and he couldn't risk revealing his position. He finally merged into a street where he wouldn't have to dodge so much. Robin sighed in relief as he weaved through traffic but the sirens were still behind him. He needed some way to lose them. Tim quickly scanned the area. It was then that he noticed he had a red light at the approaching intersection and that a large semi-truck was attempting to cross said intersection.
"Really hate 'em," muttered Robin, expressing once again his distaste for car chases. He had to time this correctly or he'd get run over. He turned sharply and sent the cycle into a power slide. He almost felt his body scrape against the pavement as he slid under the truck and came out on the other side.
"Wow, that was insane," huffed Robin as he exhaled the breath he was holding and righted the bike. He quickly sped off, making sure to weave through the city to shake potential followers. The two cruisers had already slammed on their breaks when they saw him pull his little James Bond impersonation. They wouldn't be giving him any more trouble. At least Tim could be glad about that.
XXXXXX
Detective Adrian Manheim wasn't the new kid on the block that everyone thought he was even if he had been working in Gotham for only a year. He had come to Gotham from Seattle where he had made something of a reputation there for being very good at what he did. However, Seattle wasn't exactly known for superheroes or crime-fighters although Green Arrow had a stint there some years ago.
"Doesn't look like anything's been taken," said one officer, "Just breaking and entering as far as I can tell." Manheim swept his flashlight around the empty building. This was no time of the night for a sane, normal man to be working. He thought about retirement and wondered if it could happen as early as his age of twenty-nine. He sincerely doubted it.
"Doesn't look like he was alone," mused Manheim as he studied the floor littered with broken glass, "Why would you bother to break a window if you had already forced the door open?" There was more going on here than they were being led to believe. Robin was the prime suspect in a high-profile murder investigation. Why traipse out here and cause more trouble with that already on his head?
"Have the CSI boys wipe this place clean," stated Manheim as he looked to the officer, "I want to know exactly what went on here." Manheim turned to exit the building and saw Commissioner Jim Gordon arrive.
"Pleasure, Jim," said Manheim as he greeted Gordon, "I'm afraid there's not that much to tell you though."
"Just humor an old man, Adrian," replied Gordon, "Think of it as an introduction into Gotham's colorful nightlife."
"Well, we got two parties from as near as I can tell," explained Manheim, "One comes through the window, the other through the front door. The boys only saw Robin at the scene when they pulled up. We've already lost him so there goes the easy way. What I'm wondering is why Robin would be out here and who else would be here with him."
"Trying to stop a break-in?" mused Gordon, "We did get that call earlier."
"That's what I'm thinking," agreed Manheim. Gordon nodded. It was business as usual for him. With this latest case coupled with the recent string of dead super-villains it was starting to feel more normal by the minute.
"I'd like to try and work on this Batgirl case," offered Manheim, "You know I've done good work here and up in Seattle."
"You've never dealt with costumes before though," reminded Gordon.
"I saw Green Arrow nab some bank-robbers once," said Manheim with a grin, "I didn't mention that on my application, Jim?" Gordon smirked and shook his head.
"If you think you're up for it then I can send you the files," offered Gordon, "God knows we could use some people stepping up what with all the stuff we've got going on lately."
"I'll look at the files first chance I can," assured Manheim, "How well do you know the Bat and his boys, Commissioner?"
"Well enough to know something's wrong with this whole thing," replied Gordon.
XXXXXX
Robin figured it was best to call it a night. He wheeled his bike into its space and then moved to his bedroom. He managed to get his cape, mask, and top off before collapsing onto his bed. He stared at the ceiling, visions of the fight flickering behind his eyes. He hadn't even gotten a hit on her. It was all he could've done to block her attacks. He felt like crying. Bad enough most of the people he loved were dead but now this. He couldn't remember the last time he cried. Perhaps it was when he heard that Stephanie was dead. Perhaps it was when he found his father's body. He couldn't remember anymore.
"I love you," whispered Tim Drake as he slipped into sleep, dreaming of Cassandra Cain in a gorgeous, purple dress, a dress that was soon stained with his blood.
XXXXXX
She had a routine. She used to perform it every morning upon waking up. In all her life, Cassandra Cain had only deviated from this routine twice. When she was Batgirl, she changed the ending of it so that she didn't have to practice a killing stroke. Now, she practiced the kill-shot and she did her routine before going to bed in addition to waking up.
The fight with Tim had gone as she had expected. His skills had improved in a year. There was more confidence in his stance, more assurance in his moves than when she had last seen him. She could tell he had been moving on. Good. It was best to forget old lives. Cassandra ended her routine in the manner she had done when she was a child, just as her father had taught her. She stared around the darkened room, taking solace in the shadows of the night. The Batman and his allies used darkness as a weapon, as a place of security from which to strike. In that aspect, they were no different than the members of the League of Assassins. The only thing different was who the two groups hunted and even then sometimes there wasn't a difference.
Cassandra Cain had come to learn some horrible truths about life. Perhaps it was leftover corrosion from the Lazarus Pit's chemicals or perhaps it was learning the final truth about her parentage, that Lady Shiva was her biological mother. But Cassandra had learned an ugly truth about life. Everybody dies. It didn't matter whether you were rich or poor, good or bad, innocent or guilty. Everyone died. For a long time, she believed she had done a horrible thing by killing that man. In order to make up for that, she had become Batgirl. But had she done any good? Night after night, she defended Gotham. But the world kept turning and people kept dying. No one could stop it.
'Why does everyone I care about have to die?'
'Because you care about everyone, Cass . . . and everyone dies.'
She remembered that while she was dead she met Stephanie. She remembered seeing Bludhaven burnt to the ground. She couldn't have stopped it if she had been there. She would've wound up as another casualty. She had no power to save lives. All she knew how to do was take them away.
"Everyone dies," whispered Cassandra Cain as she stared at a picture of Timothy Drake that was laying on her pillow. He knew the mantra as well as she did, perhaps better than she did. He had seen as much death as her. That's why she studied him so intently. She was searching for something in him, a potential. She wasn't quite sure she had seen it yet but she knew she would eventually.
"Everybody dies," repeated Cassandra Cain as she went to bed, "Especially me." She did not have pleasant dreams that night. She dreamt of wearing her mother's purple dress, the one that fit her so perfectly, and dying in Tim Drake's arms.
XXXXXX
The scrambled eggs and bacon were up to Alfred's usual standard of excellence but it wasn't doing much to help Tim's mood.
"Will you be going out tonight, Master Timothy?" asked Alfred as he took a seat at the kitchen table with Tim.
"I have to get into the police station," explained Tim as he took a sip of his orange juice, "I want to get a look at that costume."
"I must say I was quite shocked to hear of Miss Cassandra's reported demise," confessed Alfred. Tim nodded. In some sense, he didn't know which was worse. He couldn't live with himself if he had accidentally killed Cass. But now she had gone rogue and was planning God only knew what with the League of Assassins. That certainly wasn't helping him sleep well.
"It was Lynx," assured Tim, "Big mob boss. Guess someone wanted her out of the way." 'Someone like Cass.'
"But it begs the question of where Miss Cassandra is," said Alfred. Tim took a very large gulp of his orange juice and tried to dislodge the lump in his throat. If he told Bruce about Cass, Bruce would take her down without hesitation. He would hate himself but he would do his job. But she would be charged with murder, more than one even. They would execute her and Tim . . . he couldn't bear thinking about that. He refused to give up on her. He refused to believe she was just another faceless criminal that he had to bring to swift and absolute justice. For God's sake, it was . . . it was Cass.
"I fought her last night," confessed Tim quietly, "Cass . . . I think she's gone rogue and is with the League of Assassins." Alfred stared at Tim in order to comprehend the magnitude of what the boy had said. He knew of Cass's background but he had seen her time and again rise above that and prove herself a hero.
"Please," whispered Tim, "You can't tell Bruce. If someone has to take her in . . . take her down . . . then I'll do it." Alfred stared into Tim's eyes. The boy had always been unsure if he had everything it took to fill the shoes of both Dick and Jason, to be worthy of being Robin. From what Alfred had seen the young man endure, Timothy Drake had more guts and heart than any of them.
"You suspect she has orchestrated the murder?" asked Alfred. Tim simply nodded.
"I've never seen her fight that way," said Tim, "She wanted to hurt me . . . badly."
"But not kill you," offered Alfred, "Perhaps we can at least be thankful for that, Master Timothy."
"I remember her first birthday," said Tim quietly, almost as if talking to himself, "None of us even knew when her birthday was. We just picked a date. That was a really good day. She was really happy that day."
"I remember at Christmas time, you and Miss Cassandra would practice your detective skills by guessing what was in the packages," replied Alfred with a soft smile, "You and she made this old house young again."
"I . . . I can't kill her," stated Tim as he tried to hold back a sob, "I'm gonna have to and I . . . I just can't."
"No one is asking you to do that," assured Alfred as he gripped Tim's hand, "All that is required is that you do your duty. She would do hers if the situation was reversed."
"I know," replied Tim as he steadied himself, "I just hope to God that it never comes to that."