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I want to take this moment to let everyone know about plagiarism. This is a rampant epidemic in fandom (fics, art, you name it). Recently, I helped a few people work out an elaborate chain of plagiarism, which came down to one person with 13-15 dummy accounts on this site, 13-15 dummy accounts on LiveJournal, and over 22 plagiarised stories from several authors. Please keep an eye out for this. If you know you've read a similar story elsewhere, please contact the ORIGINAL author and notify them. Sometimes there are just cases of similar plots. (How many stories on here, including this one, are just about making two characters hook-up?) It's important to let the original author make this determination. Then, you can head to the LiveJournal community Stop_Plagiarism, report your case, and get help. There will always be plagiarists, but we can still help cut down on them.
Coffee
by Jack Velvet
Batman didn't really like hanging out in the sewers. It wasn't just the clinging, penetrating smell that only four showers could cure (with some elbow-grease from Alfred for the Batsuit), it was the ever-changing size, shape, and temperature of the moist environment that he griped over the most.
The lack of light certainly suited his needs, but hiding in the shadows still required the space to do so. The wide bits of the sometimes curved, sometimes jutted, waste-filled tunnels would be nice if they offered any nook or cranny for him to hide in. Sometimes he'd be able to find a well-placed pipe to cling to, but most of the time, he had to risk digging into the ceiling itself, which came with its own structural and tactical risks.
The narrow parts of the sewers didn't offer his enemies much room to maneuver without running into him. The skinny, concrete walk-ways that ran alongside the river of sewage barely left enough space for criminals to walk side-by-side. Though constricting paths often let him funnel his enemies into a position for easier take-downs, he still didn't have a good place to hide to do so, lest he dip his toes in the water and hang onto the already slippery path with his fingers (a feat which was difficult to pull off for more than a few minutes without extra support anyway).
The narrowest sections of the sewer could hardly fit a child, let alone a bulky man dressed in a Kevlar suit. Structural cubbies prevented flooding, and the rest of the spaces houses large pipes that he'd certainly risk drowning in during the wrong time of day.
The water was the worst. The intricate electrical equipment integrated into the Batsuit functioned well in rain, but hadn't been tested in fluids with a high ratio of particles to water. Batman preferred not to test the suit during a high-risk situation like this—a last resort only.
Then there were the sounds. Water rushed, water drained, water dripped, which meant that every surface had its own layer of water. The splish-splash of even the tiniest of tip-toes could be heard over the roar of the other unique sounds of liquid. The acoustics of the tunnels themselves amplified each audible vibration, making even the rats sound like monsters at times.
The cherry on top of this botulism-infested sundae of a tactical-disaster area was the quiet, sometimes dead transmission signal, caused by both the depth and the series of metal pipes draining into the channels.
Batman really, really didn't like hanging out in the sewers.
He wondered if that's why Croc chose them as his new base of operations, or if it was just a cool lair to boost his namesake. A smart decision either way, not only because Batman hated them so much, but because the sewers provided access to pretty much anywhere in the entire city. The sewers did lack a method of fast travel, but it also lacked buildings, stop lights, traffic, pedestrians, and cops. A criminal outfit with a decent knowledge of the sewer's layout no doubt has the advantage underground.
Batman counted himself among the fortunate when he heard Croc and his gang approach one of the few perfect hiding spots he'd managed to find.
The crook walked amidst a group of five thugs, his tall figure jutting out like a castle overseeing the shoddy homes of peasants. Though their formation appeared to be for protection, everyone knew that Croc could probably take them all out in one fell swoop. The circle was about status, even in the sewers.
Still, Batman knew that he couldn't take them all out at once. Silently as he could, he followed them at a distance, hoping like hell that the pipe he crawled along didn't suddenly stop.
"I want Crane by midnight tomorrow," Croc stated. "Or I start hiring. Got it?"
"But boss, we ain't got no leads!" said a thug to his right.
Croc sneered in his direction. "I don't care what you think. Just get it done."
The man shook. "R-right, boss."
The group continued on, footsteps echoing throughout the cavernous channels, and they reached one of those narrow paths. The nervous fellow let everyone else take lead, knowing that Croc would punish him if he didn't put himself at risk at the back of the line.
It was a bad decision.
The man felt his legs go first. Lifted before he could scream. A hand clasped over his mouth. Croc and company didn't flinch. Unnoticed, Batman lowered himself and his captive with a strong cable, dipping their heads somewhat close to the water that started rushing by. The move had the thug quaking in his shoes, but its actual purpose was to mask their sounds.
"Why is Croc after Crane?"
The man broke easily. "I uh...I dunno!" He received a shake for being so loud. "He's uh...working for that Isley! Pamela Isley!"
Who? "What's her game?"
"I dunno! I swear it! She just wants a chemicals man!"
Pamela Isley. Pamela Isley. Pamela Isley. Batman gripped the man's shirt hard. "And if I find out you're lying—"
The cable shook. The two rose from the water, face to face with Croc.
"Into the drink for you, Jonah," Croc stated, ripping his former muscle from Batman's grip and throwing him into the river of waste. "And now, Bats...we deal with you."
Croc's horde stood guard, guns trained on Batman, as Croc flung his foe into a wall. Charging, Croc misstepped, ill-timing his swipe at Batman. Batman took the opportunity to roll, and remembered that he didn't quite have a place to roll to. He decided to take out some of the other men to make room, throwing their weapons into the water where a frantic Jonah screamed for Batman's help.
But Batman's plan was not without flaws. He knew that Croc was not an honorable fighter, but he still left himself open as he took out the men, thinking that by paring down the count of his enemies that he'd have an advantage. Croc didn't care. His men were disposable, and he proved that when he threw two more of them into the water just to take down Batman.
Yet those men remained loyal, clinging to Batman, attempting to drown him. Only Jonah stayed frantic, splashing about, until Croc silenced him. Batman couldn't do much about it. The men pulled, and Croc taunted, happy to just watch as his minions fought both the water and the Bat, while Jonah's lifeless body drifted away, probably off to clog a drainage pipe.
And then Batman couldn't bear it. Try as he could, he couldn't break free, so he did the next best thing and played dead. The men cheered, waiting as they watched Batman, just to be sure that he wasn't faking, and eventually crawled out of the water.
Batman didn't defeat Croc, but he still got the information he needed.
...
Le Café was quiet—too quiet—when Bruce entered. He briefly wondered if the stench of the sewers still clung to him, and scared away all of the patrons. Bored, Lucy even waved at him when he came in. The lack of her usual disgust eased the fear that the smell of the sewers brought him.
"Hey," she said. "What's up?"
What's up? "Uh..." Bruce blinked, taken back by her demeanor. Of all things to catch him off-guard, Lucy's out-of-character statement got him. "Just another morning."
"Staying today?"
Bruce looked for Jon. He really, really, really wanted to see him. Especially after the kiss yesterday, and especially after hearing Croc's plan to kidnap him by tonight. Jon's absence worried him. Should I stop by his apartment again? After what happened? "No."
"Oh." Lucy seemed dejected. "Okay. Same?"
"Just the drink, please."
"Oh. Okay."
"What's wrong?"
"Tara's not here yet, and I only had like three people this morning. All to-go orders." She sidled over and started Bruce's drink. "And Jon keeps coming in later and later." She set the finished drink on the counter. "And you know what? I kind of like seeing you two everyday. I mean, Tara has this massive crush on both of you, and teasing you about your crush is the highlight of my day. I've been so bored today that I've actually considered going back to school."
There she is. "Going back to school is a good thing. Teasing me probably is not."
"But in a perfect world, you'd stop being Bruce Wayne and see how much he likes you."
Heat generated in Bruce's collar. "What about Tara?"
"She's way young." Lucy sighed. "It's like I have to watch over her all the time, and she gets these lame crushes on famous people. Meanwhile, there's this kid she had class with last semester who totally wanted her, and she's oblivious."
"This a whole new side of you, Lucy."
"Yeah well...I'm bored, okay?" she huffed. "Anyway, I guess I'll give you that for free today, even though you can afford it. Just like...I guess payment for listening to me. I know I'm overusing the word, but just don't tell anyone I was so bored today, alright?"
Bruce winked. "Alright." You're better for me than Crane. Why him? "Tell Tara I said hi. See ya tomorrow, Lucy."
"See ya, Bruce."
...
For all of the paperwork on Bruce's desk, one piece got his attention: a plain, yellow sticky-note with "Pamela Isley" written on it. He didn't have a lot of time to research her after peeling the sewer from his skin last night. To put it bluntly, he badly wanted to rescue Crane, but fell asleep at the keyboard in the Batcave. He woke up to Alfred nudging him, and then saw the hodge-podge of articles he'd researched while asleep. No matches were found for "asdfhtu4" and "nvjmg99#$mnas," but the computer wondered if Bruce meant "asphalt" and "Nevada Miles Per Gallon Route 99" instead. He did not.
His plan for the night: get home, do his own research, then track down Gordon and let him know of the lead.
A knock on the door prompted his eyes to move. He swore at himself, thinking that perhaps someone sought the paperwork, and then beckoned the guest in. It was Crane, dressed in a rather nice, dark suit that glistened blue when the light hit it just right. The man neglected to wear a tie, but the attire fit the building. A carry-tray of coffee balanced in his hands.
"That assistant of yours is dreadful," he complained. "She took my coat this time, but didn't bother to check your appointments. Her boyfriend is outside, as well."
Bruce stood, still shocked and relieved that Crane was okay and came to visit him. "She's a temp. The other girl needed an extra two weeks."
"This is the same woman you sent out with Lucy for a dress?"
Word gets around that little shop. "No. I have an assistant and a secretary."
"I see." Crane smirked as he closed the space between them. "So, Mr. Wayne. I believe we have much to discuss."
Was he followed? "About the gala again?"
"Charming. No." Jon handed him a coffee—this time, the correct order—and sat on the edge of Bruce's desk. It was both sexy and unprofessional. "Bruce Wayne likes boys. How will this play out for you?"
Not well. Unfortunately, the media might care less about your criminal record than they do your gender. "Who said anything about my preferences?"
"Should you be caught in this affair that we'll most surely engage in, it wouldn't be favorable to this image of...stupid playboy you play pretend with." Crane's smile stayed as he sipped his drink.
"One boy, then," he admitted, realizing the ridiculousness of hiding underneath the eye of a trained professional. He had to focus on concealing Batman more than he did his sexuality.
"Oh, but that's not what the headlines will say. Besides, one boy or all boys, sexuality isn't as clear-cut as the mainstream would have you believe. Anyone who has studied psychology should know that."
Wide-open windows; Bruce wondered how many peeping-toms stole a look into his office every day. It didn't matter. Engaging in anything with Crane, at least in his office, would be a very, very bad idea. But...
"I can at least take you to dinner tonight," Bruce offered. Though it'd put him out in the public, it might keep Croc's thugs away.
"Is that the best of ideas?" Jon asked, earnest. "The papparazzi will be all over you. If you so much as glance at me in the same way you do at the café, our faces will be in the paper."
You know they will recognize you, and that "Bruce" will find out who you really are. "Maybe something more private?"
Jon's eyes lit up with a ferocity that had Bruce wondering if Jon was just feisty or out to rob him. "My cooking skills involve paying Lucy and Tara to do it for me. Of course, there are other take-out spots on Elmwood that—"
"I can take you to my place." Just don't snoop around. "Say...once I get out of here."
Jon shifted even closer, but his smile faded into something more genuine and peaceful. Nope, clearly not out for Bruce's money, which offered a worrisome prospect. "And you get out when?"
"Six or seven."
"Make it six?"
Perfect. I'll have enough time to get ready at night. Bruce nodded. "Meet here?"
"Pick me up?"
I don't like the idea of you being home alone. "How about the café? We can get coffee before dinner."
A soft brunet eyebrow dipped. "Coffee before dinner? How unconventional."
Suddenly, a panic hit Bruce. What was he going to do with Crane once night fell? Would things escalate? Can I hide who I am from him if they do? He couldn't just rightfully send Jon back home to meet Croc's gang, despite knowing that he'd be out there as the Bat to protect him. If things go wrong...if they get him before I do...
Another knock. The door opened quickly. If Bruce's temporary secretary was any good, she would have warned Lucius that Bruce had a guest already.
"Mr. Wayne." What should have been a normal greeting came out with a tinge of skepticism. Mr. Fox instantly recognized the man so close to Bruce. He felt he knew Crane a bit more intimately than most, since he successfully deciphered his formula. The components—and where to get them—told Lucius a lot about the man.
"Ah, Lucius," Bruce said, stepping back from Crane. "Come on in. We were just finishing."
Jon took Bruce's hand and shook. "Good day, Mr. Wayne," he said, slipping past Lucius on the way out.
"You wanna tell me what that was about?" Lucius asked, condemnation in his voice.
"Just research," Bruce lied. When did it become more? Why did it become more?
"I don't like him," Lucius said. "You know what he did. You know what he's capable of. Being his friend isn't going to be bad for just Bruce Wayne."
"It's fine, Lucius. I appreciate your concern—"
"But you're just going to ignore me anyway." The man shook his head, disappointed. "Anyway, I need those papers signed soon, Mr. Wayne. We've got investors coming in tomorrow."
"And the sewer plans?"
"Down in archives, next to that God-awful stench of a suit—which I tested and is okay, by the way. Police got the anonymous tip about that corpse. From what I gather, they're investigating the drainage pipes now. Hush hush, of course."
"Listening to the police radio again?" Bruce asked. "Thought you weren't big on breaking the law."
"I'm not, but from what I figure, you get the police down there fast, this Croc of yours will have to surface. Just looking out for your...best interests."
"Nice thinking," Bruce replied. He sat back down at his desk and picked up his first real piece of paper for the day. "I'll have these to you soon."
"Great. Tread carefully, Bruce."
"Absolutely."