I neither own nor created Batman/Bruce Wayne, Dr. Leslie Thomkins, Alfred Pennyworth, or Dead-Shot. I did create Alice and Madge.
This story is for entertainment purposes only, so please read and be entertained.
Baby blue eyes she knew all too well blinked at her. The familiar rat was tightening into a ball, pressing herself into the Bat's chest-piece, and whimpering like a puppy. Madge grit her teeth.
Dr. Thomkins just spoke over her shoulder.
"Is that my patient?"
The Bat nodded. He began to stride towards them still carrying his cowering burden. Madge's jaw dropped.
"You can't let her in here!"
The vigilante paused. His gaze hardened as he met hers.
"She needs to be examined by Dr. Thomkins."
Madge spread herself out. She planted her feet and hands against the door-frame. Batman's eyes narrowed.
"Stand aside."
Sparks lit Madge's eyes. Her mouth curled into a snarl.
"If she gets back to him she'll blab everything! Then the entire city will be in here after you!"
The Dark Knight's gaze and tone gentled.
"We'll take precautions against that. Now, I need you to move."
The red-haired woman glared back at him while raising her chin.
"No."
Something prickled against Madge's skin. She froze. The Doc's voice came from behind her, cold and steady.
"I was going to use this to make my new patient sleep through the night, but I can get another dose."
Madge stopped breathing for a moment. Her fingernails dug into the doorway. Her last objection came out as a hiss.
"She'll get you both killed."
The older woman's voice remained the same.
"She's an injured human being, and I'm a doctor. Move."
Madge stepped forward out of the doorway and away from the touch of the needle. Then she sidestepped, slammed her back into the wood paneling, and crossed her arms. Leslie stood aside, and Batman carried Alice in. Minutes later, Batman came back out. Madge was sitting on the floor, fuming. He knelt down beside her.
"She needed medical treatment."
"You got that right."
"The sedative keeps someone her weight unconscious for eight to twelve hours."
"I hope the doc can pack in that time."
"The victim won't be able to walk without intense pain for more than a week."
Madge gave a bitter half-smile and sniff.
"Hasn't stopped any of us yet."
"Dr. Thomkins is also a psychologist."
Madge's head whipped around to stare at him. The Bat's return gaze was emotionless.
"She'll attempt to help Alice overcome her emotional dependence on Samson."
Madge flung her arm out. Her voice rose to a near shout.
"If it doesn't help, she'll go crying back and tell him everything! And we already know who he tells don't we?"
Madge lowered her chin into her knees and glared into the darkness. The Batman stood up and spoke down to her in a low, even tone.
"She can't tell anyone everything, because she doesn't know everything. We'll keep it that way."
"What about the Doc?"
"I'll discuss further precautions with Dr. Thomkins, but she makes those decisions for herself."
Madge closed her eyes again, and leaned her head back against the wall.
"You both are morons."
The deep voice spoke a final time before his presence slipped away without a sound.
"We are all who we were born and chose to be."
Seconds later, the cars engine hummed to life and sped away. Madge's eyes snapped open as it disappeared.
"Alice, I will strangle you if you get them killed."
. . .
Deadshot threw a few silk shirts into the suitcase and slammed it shut. He paused to slug down a shot of scotch. Champagne was his usual beverage of choice, but there was nothing to celebrate tonight. That didn't usually happen to him.
A grin flashed over his face. They always said the kill hardest earned provided the greatest thrill. Perhaps he really owed this "Batman."
His watch chirped. Deadshot began to drag his luggage towards the door. Everything else would have to be left behind. He needed to vacate these accommodations immediately. When he found lodgings elsewhere, he would sign in under another name, with a different look, and speaking with another accent. His french usually got the ladies attention.
. . .
Bruce Wayne donned a wig, glasses, mustache, and hard hat. Then he leaned over to grab the I.D. of a safety inspector with the face he had just created gracing it. That was shoved into the back pocket of his jeans. He was lacing up one of his work-boots when a voice interrupted.
"You should get some sediment on those before wearing them out."
Bruce glanced over his shoulder. Alfred had stepped in to fetch his breakfast tray. The younger man turned and studied his footwear. They were worn, brown-leather, and clean, almost immaculately so. He nodded before continuing.
"I'll do that."
"Going out today then, sir?"
"I have an investigation that needs to be made in the daylight."
The butler nodded, picked up the tray, and turned to leave, Bruce raised his voice while lacing up the other boot.
"Alfred."
The Englishman turned half way around.
"Yes sir?"
"Dr. Thomkins has another in-house patient."
Alfred eyebrows lifted.
"Oh?"
Bruce nodded.
"She may need your aide with her. The patient's hands are recovering from holding her weight for hours."
"I see."
"She's now stable physically, but not mentally."
"And how does my student feel about this?
Bruce's mouth tightened.
"She has a history with the patient, a bad one. She was a fellow victim and information gatherer for their abuser."
"Well, that does rather put a wrench in things, doesn't it?"
. . .
Madge stabbed at the scrambled eggs she'd made for herself. She scowled at the forkful as if it was scum. Her head shot up as the door to the basement creaked open. Leslie Thomkins stepped in. Madge went back to staring at her plate with a bored expression.
"Has sleeping beauty woken up, yet?"
The physician nodded.
"She needed a little help to the toilet, drank some water, and now needs something in her stomach."
Madge stuck the bite of egg into her mouth without replying. Dr. Thomkins walked towards the toaster. She retrieved a loaf of bread from the cabinet above it, and then began to speak in her psychologist voice.
"Is it simply concern for us, or is personal experience another source of your anger towards her?"
Madge slammed her fork down on her plate.
"She may look like the most innocent thing on earth, but she hands you over to a monster."
"I see."
"Don't try to shrink my head doc. You have all you can handle with her."
Leslie looked up from the bread browning in her toaster. The younger woman had refused to make eye contact with her their entire conversation. Leslie looked away with a soundless sigh. She had no intentions of giving up on the other girl, but, she feared attempting to help this new patient might undo all the progress of the old.
. . .
Within sight of the bridge, Bruce got out of the pick-up with the Gotham Department of Public Works insignia on its side. He studied the structure from the parking spot. The night before he had taken the shortcut via his submarine. Today he would take the long way around.
. . .
"Believe it or not, caring for this young woman is an excellent opportunity. Several employer's take on servants because they can no longer do for themselves. You may end up in a position similar to the one we find ourselves in today."
"Yaaaaaaaay."
Madge did nothing to change the scowl on her face. Not only did she have to live with the twit under the same roof again, she had to wait on her hand and foot, literally. Her teacher acted as if she had replied with full sincerity.
"Now the first thing to do is make a tray."
. . .
Bruce stepped out onto the bridge walkway where he had thought he was dying hours before. After a brief inspection, he found the bullets wedged in the iron. His eyes widened.
They were high-impact even for sniper-caliber. He pried them out with tweezers, studied them, and then dropped both into the plastic bag. Sealing the bag shut, he turned to stare at the buildings across from the impact point and made a list.
. . .
"I am so, so sorry!"
Alice's bottom lip was quivering. Big drops were filling her baby blues. Madge leaned against the doorpost feeling like she was going to throw up. Mr. Pennyworth, however, sat with perfect posture while lifting a spoonful of soup toward the young woman's mouth.
"Not to worry, Miss. I once had to do this for a chap who had both his arms blown off during the war."
Madge and Alice's jaws dropped. Alfred took the opportunity to stick the spoon inside the patient's mouth. Eventually, Alice swallowed and her eyes widened again.
"Is . . . is this homemade?"
"That it is."
Madge blinked at the pair, her brow re-furrowing. Alice was suddenly beaming.
"I haven't had homemade soup in forever! What did you put in it?"
"Can you guess?"
Alfred stuck another spoonful into her mouth and the young woman chewed and swallowed more slowly.
"Fresh parsley and home-made noodles!"
Alfred nodded.
"Anything else?"
After another taste Alice replied.
"Garden grown carrots."
The manservant nodded.
"Indeed."
Madge spun away and left the room.
. . .
Bruce stood on the top of the last building on his mental list, nothing. He turned to look up at the skyscraper behind it. Higher, a good view for the view-seeker, but for a shooter? After he arrived there, he changed his mind. Hours blown to learn what he now realized he should have known from the beginning.
. . .
"I could not help noticing your mind was not fully on our lessons today."
Alfred and Madge were doing the dishes side by side for the twentieth time and the latter was maintaining a stony silence she had only broken that day to spew sarcasm.
"I'm not overly fond of my homework."
"Can I trust you with it?"
"It's not me you should worry about."
"Would it interest you to know that Dr. Thomkins briefed me on why I should exercise caution around the young lady downstairs?"
"You could have fooled me."
A sly smile crept over the man's face.
"If you are truly concerned about her loyalties and tongue, Miss Robertson, might I suggest a different strategy?"
"Such as?"
"The best way to put an enemy on their guard, is to make it clear you are their enemy. If you wish them to plot in your presence, you must seem either on their side, or no threat."
"And you know this because?"
"My dear, there are some questions you do not ask."
. . .
Deadshot
It had to be. There was no other this good or this arrogant. The only thing missing was the casing, but then . . . Bruce smiled to himself. He left those behind when he hit his target. The grin disappeared with vigilante's next thought.
His reputation is to never miss . . .
Bruce rubbed his chin in thought. Deadshot only worked on contract, no personal vendetta, until now. He had not fulfilled the contract. Another could be taken out on him. It would be the smart thing for the assassin to leave. But would the assassin do what would preserve his health, or his pride? Bruce's hand dropped from his face as his eyes slid shut.
Deadshot would not be leaving.
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God Bless
ScribeofHeroes