A/N: This chapter was a bit longer, and features Batman and Deathstroke's first harrowing encounter plus a glimpse at Deathstroke's softer side. Hope you enjoy. Don't forget to review!
The music box played that simple, sweet tune once more. Deathstroke had wound it again for nearly the thirtieth time as he poured himself another drink. The soft burn of the scotch did noting to ease the pain. An almost never ending ache in his chest was all he had felt these ten long years, and it begged to be filled with the one who was taken from him all that time ago. In the dim light of his hideout, he watched the little figure spin again at an agonizingly slow pace. It was almost like his soul were wrapped around that little figure and with each turn more and more of his humanity went with it. He sang the words softly while the music continued to play and the alcohol began to dwindle:
"Hush, little baby, don't say a word.
Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird,"
He lightly ran his fingers down the length of his knife and listened to the metallic ring of his touch moving against the blade.
"And if that mockingbird won't sing,
Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring,"
He stared at his own grim face reflected in his mask, and it stared back at him mockingly as the tears left a burning trail down his cheeks.
"And if that diamond ring turns brass,
Papa's gonna buy you a looking glass,"
He grabbed the hilt of his knife and gripped it so hard his hand shook under the force of it, causing his knuckles to turn a stark white against the surrounding darkness.
"And if that looking glass gets broke,
Papa's gonna buy you a billy goat,"
The tip of the blade carved absentmindedly into the wood of his desk, tracing unseen patterns in a quick and hurried manner and his jaw clenched tight at what he saw etched into the dark grain,
"And if that billy goat won't pull,
Papa's gonna buy you a cart and bull,"
His eyes ached almost too much for him to make it out, yet there it was, as plain as day. A name. A name he knew all too well.
ROSE.
'And if that cart and bull fall down,
You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town,'
The last lyrics went unsang as he stared down at his daughter's name carved raggedly onto his desk, and his breathing became quick and heavy while images of her played in his mind. His hand quickly stroked over his face to wipe away the stray tears and his fingers brushed against the large scar on the right side of his face where his eye would've been. And suddenly his daughter wasn't the only resident in his mind.
Steven Piercy.
Robert Calzotti.
Hershell Durham.
All men he once considered friends, before he knew what they were involved in. A low growl emnated from his chest and he flung the empty scotch bottle against the wall where it shattered into peices before flipping over his desk in a drunken rage. Papers and gun supply magazines flew everywhere and his mask clattered to the floor as he scrambled to grab up his grandfather's WWII Luger pistol to blast the music box to shards. He couldn't stand to face it anymore. Again and again he fired, until his ears rang and the room echoed with the last remnants of the thunduerous gunshots. And even after the gun was empty, he kept squeezing the trigger as he stumbled in his inebriated sorrow, dropping with a thud to his knees to scream out what was left of his hatred for the men who removed his little girl from his life.
"Rosie baby, I'm so sorry. . ." He murmered softly, falling over onto his side to curl up onto the cold hardness of the concrete. He gladly succumbed to the blackness of drunken unconsciousness, not wanting to be haunted by something he failed to prevent, something he hated himself for. All he knew in his final moments of consciousness was that there'd be hell to pay. Tonight. . .
Bruce jerked awake with the sound of knocking on his office door, he had fallen asleep reviewing the evidence from the assassin murders strewn across his desk. He hastily gathered it up and stowed it away into a drawer before allowing the knockee entrance through the large mahogany doorway. "Come in." He said, clearing his throat. His assistant, a slender auburn haired woman named Sarah strolled casually into his office carrying a tray with a large mug of coffee and some bagels.
"Here you are, Mr. Wayne." He gave her a warm smile which was returned as he thanked her, eagerly accepting the coffee but declined when she offered him a bagel. "Oh, and I was to remind you that you have a meeting with Mr. Fox in ten minutes sir." Bruce thanked her again and sent her on her way before standing to adjust his suit which had become crumpled as he dozed against his desk.
Bruce sipped at his coffee, enjoying the rich taste and added caffeine boost he needed to keep him on his feet while he walked quickly to the elevators. He gave a half-hearted smile or "good morning" to those he passed in the almost maze like hallways, taking an occaisional drink of his steaming beverage along the way. The elevators that led to the sub-basement level of Wayne Enterprises was very much out of the way of the normal route of many employees, and even then only a very select few had access to them. Complete with their own key-card reader and seven number passcode that changed every half hour, the sub-basement level was close to being the most secure area of the building.
He entered the master code that overrided the security measures to allow him entrance into the elevator. Only he and Lucius knew this override code, and it certainly came in handy when trying to carry a steaming hot cup of coffee. Once he got to his destination he continued into the dark passage, the lights activating as he made his way to the retinal scanner. Unfortunately, the retinal scanner was a necessay precaution and couldn't be bypassed by the master code. Although it did make unauthorized entrances a little harder, were they to be attempted. Bruce leaned over the device and allowed it to do its job while a loud hiss denoted the airlock's compression and the tumblers activated to allow the door to slide open slowly, revealing the Applied Sciences division of Wayne Enterprises. As Bruce stepped inside, the doors closed and locked behind him, and he spotted Lucius leaning over a cluttered table on his right, "Good morning, Mr. Wayne. I assume you require my services?" Bruce chuckled as the elder man smiled at him from his place at the table,
"Morning Lucius." Bruce said politely as he shook hands with his friend. Lucius scribbled something down on a piece of paper before speaking,
"So what is it you need?" The elder man asked, slipping his hands into his pockets.
"I was wondering if you had any kind of high end data processing devices, something to scan in trace amounts of evidence and store it for later use?" Lucius nodded thoughtfully and strolled over to a large case in the corner, buried under various other boxes and covered with a tarp.
"I've got this," he said as he snapped open the large black case and revealed a small visor with multiple electrical leads attached to a small device meant for carrying on a belt or harness. "It acts as a Heads-up Display or HUD. It can process and catalog everything you see as well as let you review it during use. It can be outfitted for face recognition, as well as detect the makeup of various substances such as chemicals, fingerprints or genetic material. It was designed for CIA operatives to use in the field while searching for wanted criminals, but the government didn't want to pay to outfit entire teams of armed men when there are plenty of capable intelligence workers who can do the same thing without the risk of damaging expensive equipment." Bruce eyed the contraption thoughtfully, finishing off the rest of his coffee.
"Do you remember the sonic lenses I had you integrate into the cowl a while back?" Lucius eyed him warily, "Is there any way you can modify this tecnology to fit that design?" Lucius smiled while he thought, shaking his head at the young man before him.
"I can try. It's gonna take some time though." Bruce nodded and shook his hand again.
"Thanks Lucius, take all the time you need." Bruce decided to take his leave, his schedule wasn't too full so that meant he could get back to reviewing his evidence. Or sleep, he thought sarcastically, whichever comes first. He continued down the same path he had taken earlier back to his office. Tonight there was work to do.
Bruce sat perched atop a neon sign and listened with his directional microphone to the mobsters moving about at the far end of the street below, loading boxes into the back of a van.
"You hear about those guys down at the docks?" A tall, skinny man asked. An equally tall but muscular man answered, throwing another box into the van.
"Yeah. Ten guys. You know, they say Batman did it. Said he cut one guy's head clean off." His partner began to laugh,
"Ah, man the Bat ain't never killed nobody, let alone cut a guy's head off. Just beats the fuck outta ya to make you wish you were dead. Then hands you over to the cops." The muscular man laughed, though it lacked sincerity. He was most definitely shook up by the assassin's recent exploits.
"How do you know?" Said another man, appearing from behind the vehicle carting a dolly with at least three more boxes piled upon it. The skinny man lit a cigarette before answering,
"Cause I seen him, that's how. Me 'an a couple guys were trying to get a fix right? 'An he just appears outta fuckin' nowhere and hands me and the other guys our asses. Got me put in Blackgate for a while. If I see that scary fucker again, I'll put a bullet right between his eyes." The others laughed as he took a drag from his cigarrette and there was a few inherent words muttered between them. But the rest was lost as he put away the mic, activating the winch to the grapnel that pulled him upwards to the roof of the building he was on to get a better vantage point of the criminals below. When he regained stable footing he glanced to his left to eye another building about three feet across and another three feet shorter than the one he currently occupied. Taking a chance, Bruce cleared the short space between buildings as he ran, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet so that his movements were as quick as they were silent, moving towards his target like a menacing shadow.
Bruce crouched at the edge, silently catching his breath as they loaded the rest the the items into the van. He could hear them clearly now withot the assistance of the mic, yet much of their conversation yeilded little information that could. . .
POP!
One of the men dropped to the ground, the box he was holding crashing against the ground to reveal various stolen items packed inside, the man groaned as he rolled to his side, picking up something off of the ground.
"What the fuck is-" His question was cut short as the object in his hand exploded, enveloping him in a ball of flames. The others rushed to put him out to quell the screams and stench of burning flesh, but Bruce was already moving, trying to locate the source of the shot. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the glint of a metallic object on the roof of the building just opposite him. His mind raced, trying to think of a way to get across without the men noticing his prescence. But just then, a shadow detached itself from the darkened alleyway across the street just behind the men who was now frantically trying to gather up the dropped supplies.
Bruce reacted on impulse, attaching the magnetic end of his grapnel to a sign on his right and stepped off of the edge, using the winch to stop his descent with an ungraceful and rather painful jerk. He hurriedly unlatchced the grapnel from its anchor point and made his way toward the assassin.
He watched as the men were dispatched quickly by the edge of the assassin's katana. The masked man was of small stature, but very atheletic build, wearing military style pants and boots with a simple black t-shirt tucked properly into the waist of his pants. He wore shoulder and hip holsters for his guns and a metallic helmet, one side orange, one side black. The men were already dead as Bruce walked up and the assassin calmly placed his blade back into the scabbard. Giving a half-hearted two finger salute, the assassin spoke.
"I was starting to think you weren't real. Glad you proved me wrong, just stay outta my way and we'll get along just fine. My buissness doesn't concern you, I'll be out of your hair before you can blink." Bruce stared sternly at the smaller man, indecisive about what his next move should be, he hadn't counted on the assassin to not put up a fight.
"You've killed these men. You're a murderer." Bruce growled and the man nearly doubled over in laughter.
"Then-then what does that make them? Fuckin' delivery men? No. No. These men are the murderers. The rapists. I'm doing this city a favor, you shouldn't be so lenient." The man almost danced backwards, back into the cover of the shadows, "They call me Deathstroke by the way, pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'll be seeing you." The voice said from the shadows. Bruce charged into the dark after him, but the man was already gone up the fire escape that ascended the side of the building. Bruce dashed after him, leaping onto a Dumpster before latching onto the ladder to climb it as fast as he could. He flung himself over the edge of the building and onto the rooftop, running at a dead sprint after the shinking figure of the heavily armed man.
Bruce cleared several wide gaps between buildings as he chased after the agile man, but he always seemed to be a step ahead of him, expertly traversing the building's rooftops at an almost inhuman speed. Getting an idea, Bruce pulled several of his bat-shaped projectiles from his belt and flung them in the direction of the assassin and all but one flew by him, the other embedding itself into his thigh. He uttered a quick grunt as he tripped and fell, rolling to a stop in front of a door that led into the building he was now on.
"God-dammit. . .motherfucker. . ." Bruce heard him mutter under his breath as he dropped down onto the roof, his breathing heavy from the chase. "You mother-fucker. . .You just couldn't stay the hell away could you?" He yanked the metal object from his leg and stood on shaky legs to take up a fighting stance, one Bruce couldn't recognize. Bruce advanced and swung a wide right-hook, one that the assassin quickly ducked and danced away from, despite his injured leg. Deathstroke landed three blinding stikes, two to his ribs and one to the jaw before Bruce even knew to react, making him stumble back in amazement at his mysterious foe.
The assassin attempted a roundhouse kick, but Bruce leaned away from it and landed a solid elbow to the side of his mask, knocking him completely off his feet.
The dark knight leaned down and hammered Deathstroke's back with another elbow before grabbing him by the neck, hauling him off his feet to ram him into the door and but the assassin used the opening of being drawn back for a sweep, kicking Bruce's legs out from under him.
Bruce landed hard with a grunt onto the hard astro-turf as the assassin's foot meant to come down on his chest but he quickly rolled away, getting only to a crouched position when Deathstroke landed a stunning knee, sending him reeling back over the edge of the building and careening down to crash against the fire escape and all the way down to slam into the cold, hard concrete below. Bruce was aching everywhere, his ears were ringing and lights were dancing before his eyes as he struggled to heave himself up, holding his ribs from his unfortunate meeting with the guardrail of the fire escape. He looked up, the assassin was gone. Bruce had greatly underestimated his new foe, he'd have to be more careful in the future. Bruce breathed hard as he made his way back to his waiting vehicle, leaning heavily against the worn brick of the darkened alley, through the labyrinth of backstreets. He finally managed to limp his injured body to the pod, starting the roaring engine to start making his way back to the cave.
"Are you alright Master Bruce?" came Alfred's concerned voice from the bottom of the cave. He had overreacted as he saw Bruce's injured form sitting up against the meshing around the lift.
"It's nothing Alfred." The elder man strode over at an unusual pace and helped haul him to his feet to carry him over to the desk chair that sat in front of the massive computer.
"It doesn't bloody look like nothing." Bruce removed his cowl and Alfred dissapeared up the steps into the manor, probably to retreive medical supplies. He adjusted himself, testing his aching ribs for any signs of breakage. He assumed they were fractured, judging from the pain they were giving him. The major bruising would come later, only serving to exacerbate his already suffering social life. Alfred came down a moment later, carrying a clear plastic tray adorned with multiple first-aid items.
Once the upper portion of his armor was off Bruce struggled to sit still as Alfred wrapped his torso and shoulder with fresh bandages.
"I ran into him tonight. He was better than I anticipated. There was some men loading stolen supplies into a van and he slaughtered them all before I had time to get to him. When I confronted him, he started telling me that he was doing this city a service by killing them and then he ran off. I chased him to a rooftop and managed to injure him but he knocked me off the roof and got away. He told me to leave him to his buissness." Alfred was silent for a long moment as he finished with Bruce's bandages and handed him a small cup filled with an anti-septic rinse. He quickly swished out his mouth, the alcohol burning his busted lip as Alfred dabbed at it with a cloth, removing most of the dried blood from around the wound. He spit the rinse back into the cup and observed the once clear liquid now swirling with red.
"Maybe you should take his suggestion next time. You almost got yourself killed out there tonight, you're lucky he didn't come back to finish the job." Alfred said quickly, controlled anger lacing his words.
"I can't just let him roam free Alfred, he's killing people. They may be criminals but they're still people and they deserve the same chances as anyone else." Alfred gathered the used medical supplies and put them back onto the tray.
"That may be true Master Bruce, but those men still died out there tonight because of him. Nothing you could have done would've changed that. In fact, if that wasn't the case you'd most likely be dead along with them." The elder man placed the tray onto the desk as he began picking up Bruce's armor to place it back into the case. Bruce stood, stretching himself out cautiously as his body ached in protest.
"It doesn't matter. I could've stopped him, I could've kept him from killing them, if I die protecting people, if it saves a life and allows at least one person to live it's worth it. I owe the city that much." Alfred turned and stared at Bruce sternly before speaking,
"No sir, the way I see it, this city owes you. More than you'll ever know." Alfred finished with putting away the armor and picked up the tray of supplies and disappeared up the stairs, leaving Bruce alone with his thoughts. Bruce blinked and sat back down slowly, wincing as his ribs ached from the movement. He sighed, leaning back into the chair as he pondered Alfred's words. It was going to be a long and sleepless night.
A/N: So any thoughts? Hoped you liked Bruce and Alfred's little arguement, I wanted to show Alfred's parental like protectiveness over Bruce. Next chapter is in the works!