Long chapter warning. At least long for me.
My thumb is feeling much better, in case anyone's wondering. Again, thanks for reading. My friend and I discovered something today: if she's Ironman and I'm Batman, together we would be IronBat or ManMan.
Quote of the day: "I just wish I were a British man. *sigh*". This, too, was a she.
Disclaimer: Sometimes I tell myself that I own The Dark Knight. Then I (as opposed to I) tell myself that I don't. And much sadness is induced.
Crest jogged to the end of the alley into which he'd seen Batman disappear. At first glance, he thought it was empty, that Batman had already gone, but then movement to the left caught his eye. Batman was still limping steadily down the alley, leaning on the grimy brick wall for support.
"Wait!" called Crest, quickening his pace.
Batman ignored him, and started limping faster.
'"Batman!" No response.
Crest cast a surreptitious glance over his shoulder. "Mr. Wayne!"
There was no visible change in the Batman's demeanor. He didn't stop and turn dramatically, he didn't start running. To Crest's acute dismay, he did nothing incriminating at all, just kept limping away.
"Wait!" Crest pleaded again, running now. Some detached part of his brain registered that this was almost exactly what had happened after the press conference when he'd tried to talk to Bruce Wayne, and an even more detached part found some encouragement in this realization.
Batman didn't wait, but Crest caught up with him a moment later. "Mr. Wayne, I told you. I understand discretion." He stared at Batman's mouth and chine, trying to replace the black, intimidating mask with Bruce Wayne's hooded eyes an dark brows. It was hard when the mouth was turned down and snarling.
"Stay away from me!" he growled, with such ferocity that Crest actually took a step back.
"I'll find proof, Mr. Wayne!" Crest promised as Batman pushed past him. "It's up to you whether you're on my good side or bad when I do." Feeling rather pleased with his threat, Crest spun on his heel and started back towards the lights and sirens on the main street.
As he approached the mob of cops and reporters, his cell phone rang. "Hello?"
"Louie, did you hear? They caught the Joker!" said Philip hysterically.
"I know, I know," said Crest, suddenly feeling incredibly weary. "I'm here."
"Oh my God! Are you okay!" cried Philip, making Crest instantly regret his words. Philip had a terrible habit of blowing even the smallest problems into the most enormous of issues, and an occurrence such as this, with cops dead and police cars reduced to cinders, was bound to warrant a long night of needless, incessant coddling.
"Yes, I'm fine. I'm coming home now," Crest sighed.
"Okay. I'll make you some tea."
"Thanks."
"I love you." Crest caught the slight crack in his boyfriend's voice, the lack of conviction in the familiar refrain. It tore at his heart, and made him feel guilty for putting him through all of this, just for his story.
"Okay. Bye." Crest closed the phone, rubbing his temples with the tips of his fingers. Maybe this whole mishap had come at an opportune time. He and Philip had been on rocky ground for awhile now. Maybe what they needed was something which they could work through together, rebuild old foundations.
oOo
Crest returned to his and Philip's apartment half an hour later, still buoyed considerably by his satisfaction about the Batman investigation. However when he entered the main room still wearing Philip's uniform, to see his boyfriend sitting on the couch with his arms crossed and a glare fixed to his tan face, his cheerful feeling shrank to the size of a raisin and skulked away. He smiled sheepishly.
"You're wearing my uniform," said Philip, tapping his foot.
"I was going to tell you," Crest apologized. "I swear. I needed it for the…investigation."
"You're a reporter, Louis, not a cop, and you could've gotten killed." Philip stood up and walked over to Crest. He knew he was in trouble when Philip used his full name. "It doesn't even look good on you. Too loose in the shoulders."
"I'm sorry," sighed Crest. "I know I screwed up."
Philip held his gaze for a moment, and then rolled his eyes and smiled. "I'm terrible at staying mad at you," he said, and hugged Crest tightly. "I'm just glad you're okay."
Crest hugged him back, relieved, and then they went together into the kitchen, where Philip poured them each a glass of wine.
"So, which investigation was this, exactly."
Crest took a swig. The wine was cheap, but surprisingly good. His buoyant, satisfied feeling was returning. He grinned, knowing he must look cocky, but he didn't care. "I know who the Batman is."
Philip's eyes widened. "Who!"
Crest paused dramatically, then leaned forward and whispered, "Bruce Wayne."
This earned him a hysterical snort of laughter from Philip. "Bruce Wayne!" he roared. "I thought you were serious."
"I am!" Crest insisted. "I know it's him. I just need proof."
Philip's smile faded. "You're serious. Bruce Wayne. Billionaire playboy douche bag Bruce Wayne."
"The one and only."
"Louie, you can't expose him!" Philip's tone was intense now, almost fearful. "He'd bury you! You do realize you're going up against the most powerful man in Gotham and the guy who single handedly beats the shit out of the big-ass scary guys who'd snap you like a twig!"
Crest shook his head confidently. "He can't touch me. He knows I know."
"Louie, listen to yourself! This is Bruce Wayne! He's not gonna let you destroy him like this. No one will believe you anyways! This is a no fucking win situation!"
"I can do it!" said Crest. "I'm not stupid. I know what I'm doing."
"No, you don't!" Philip was almost in tears. "You're playing with dynamite! Lit dynamite. Please, Louie, just leave it lie. No good will come of this. The city's happy not knowing who he is."
"But I'm not."
"You know.""
"I don't have proof."
"For God's sake, do you need any? Please drop it."
"I can't!"
"Then God help you." Philip stood up from the table and stalked away into the bedroom.
oOo
Bruce had always speculated that Alfred must have been trained as an assassin, because there were times when even Bruce with his highly trained hearing did not notice his presence until he addressed him.
"I see Lieutenant Gordon has returned from the dead."
"It was a good plan," said Bruce without looking up from the bandage he was wrapping around his forearm. "He's got the Joker locked up and we can now turn to other issues."
"What other issues, sir?"
"The reporter." Bruce pressed a few keys on the nearest keyboard and one screen filled with a dozen articles, all written by one person: Louis Crest. "He's following me."
"Following you or following Batman?"
A beat. "Both."
"Does he know?"
"He suspects," said Bruce dismissively. "He has no proof."
"Then why are you worried?"
"I'm not. But I'd like to know if and when he does find proof."
"Are you proposing I get a day job, sir?"
"I thought you'd want something to do to fill those long lonely hours alone at the penthouse." Bruce raised his eyebrows at his butler.
Alfred smiled. "I might be glad for that, Mr. Wayne."
oOo
Crest was awoken the next morning by the front door slamming shut as Philip left for work. He sighed, knowing he had not been forgiven, rolled over, and fell back asleep.
Several hours later, he was woken again by a loud, insistent rapping on the door. He pressed the pillow over his ears, but the knocking came again, even louder. With a groan, he slid his sore body out of bed and walked bare foot through the small TV room to the door and opened it a crack, leaving the chain in place.
"Yeah?" he croaked.
"Good afternoon, sir," said a chipper voice with a British accent. Crest blinked sleep from his eyes and peered again at the man who stood in the hallway. He was quite old, judging by the pervasive wrinkles on his face, but his dark blue eyes sparkled with vitality and intelligence. His hair was thick and well-groomed, albeit pure, fluffy white, and he had a neat, white mustache to match. He stood a little shorter than Crest, but impressively straight for his apparent age, although his figure was not at all complimented by the cheap, navy blue coveralls he was wearing.
What do you want, was the first phrase which ran through Crest's mind, but even in this half-awake state, some part of him spoke in his mother's voice and hissed, impolite.
So, instead, he said, "Can I help you?"
"Yes, I'm here to fix your cable, sir," said the man, still in his bright cheerful voice, far to lively for-Crest checked his watch- two-thirty?
"My cable's just fine."
The man held up a slip of paper, bearing his address, accompanied by Philip's name. "We received a call this morning from Philip Gunn requesting we check your cable box."
Crest squinted at the paper, recognizing Philip's cell number. Why hadn't he told him? Because he'd not speaking to me, his mind supplied dully. He yawned.
"Alright, come on in." Crest pointed unnecessarily at the small TV set against the near wall. "There's the thing. Um…" he stood there helplessly, staring at the repairman.
After a moment, the man said, "I'll get to work then, shall I?"
"Yeah." Crest remained where he was, watching the repairman open his tool box and set to work, whistling softly. After another moment, Crest plodded into his bedroom to get dressed, having just realized that he was wearing nothing but boxers.
oOo
When Alfred returned to the workshop near the docks, Bruce was seated before one of the many screens, a pair of head phones over his ears, watching a video feed. He seemed to hear Alfred, however, because he turned around to see the old man peeling a fake mustache off his lip and fold up a pair of dark blue coveralls.
"I trust the bug is functioning properly, sir?" he asked.
Bruce nodded.
"Good," Alfred tossed the coveralls and mustache into the fireplace set into the wall. "I hate those bloody things."
All reviews appersheated.
Hey, here's a fun trick to try on your friends. I got Caspian and Mr. You-Know-Who-You-Are both in one day. You bet them that you can get them to say the word "no" in x amount of minute, for example, 10. You start by asking them yes or no questions, which they'll easily deflect. (My favorite is, "Do you love me?"). Then you say "whatever" and appear to dismiss the subject, and begin asking them a series of either/or questions. I usually start with, "You're robbing a bank. Do you rob Key Bank or National?" then "The police come. Do shoot your way out or sneak away?" etc. etc. Lead them on a wild loop asking random questions going along with the story of the bank robbery for four minutes or so, and then ask, seemingly completely off topic, "Wait, have you heard this joke before?" and nine times out of ten, they'll automatically say, "No," and you've got them. Actually, with Cas, she caught me when I asked that, so I went back to asking, "Do you love me?" and she laughed sarcastically. "No, seriously, do you love me." "Haha." "I'm serious." And do you know what she said? "No you're not." HA! I got her! With Mr. YKWYA I didn't even get to the story. The first question I asked was "Do you love me?" and he said, "Not in a sexual way, no." And I laughed muchly. Course, Caspian spent the rest of the day telling me how much she hated me, but hey, to make an omelet you gotta break some eggs. I hope you have enjoyed Trickery 101 with esking. Use it wisely. Good night and good luck.