Once we get back to Station 17, I immediately head upstairs to the flat roof. My usual place that I go to for solace and some peace and quiet. When we got back, Devyn was out on a call, so I didn't have my best friend to vent to. I just went straight up to my quiet place. I sat on the roof, the breeze blowing my ponytail over my shoulder and toward my face. The moonlight from a waning crescent moon doesn't shine harshly, something that I'm grateful for right now. I'm sure I look like a mess.
I silently let a few more tears fall.
Batman silently glided to Station 17, the hub of the ambulance that saved one man's life and lost another tonight. On the roof, he spotted a young woman, most likely in her early to mid-20s sitting on a ledge; her head in her hands. Her sorrow was practically radiating from her.
"You did everything you could," the raspy, deep voice of Batman calls out to her, making her jump to her feet and whirl around.
"W-who's there?" she calls out.
Once Batman stepped out of the shadows, she breathed a sigh of relief.
"Oh, Batman. You… saw what happened?" she peered at the Caped Crusader curiously.
Batman found himself nodding once in assent.
"You did everything you could," he repeated. "Not just anyone would do chest compressions on a man they don't know for five minutes."
The Dark Knight watched as the woman sighed lightly.
"Does it matter?" she asks. "I still lost him at the end of it all."
"But you saved another."
She has no response, instead staying silent.
"Why are you here?" she suddenly asks.
"Those men were attacked by the Joker. What happened?"
Bruce Wayne watches as the young woman turns around to face him once again, this time he notes her beauty – she has light skin, most likely from a Western European heritage. But even from here, thanks to the moonlight as a backlight, he can see golden-colored hair. The only thing that he found himself wishing he could know would be her eye color.
"I should notify my battalion that you're even here. You're still kind of a wanted criminal," she began. This immediately made Batman be slightly on edge. "But I believe you're innocent. I don't think you killed Harvey Dent."
For the first time, a small smile plays on the woman's lips, and Bruce's heart nearly skips a beat in response.
"Two victims," she began. "One had a gunshot wound to the right shoulder. The other – the one we lost, had a gunshot to the left bicep and a three-inch long wound from a knife near the jugular."
An alert rings out through the station, tearing the woman's attention away from Batman just long enough for him to silently slip away from the building. Batman activated the cape's technology allowing him to glide, and he soon landed on a rooftop only a block away from the station. He could still see the woman that he talked to on the roof, looking around, no doubt confused about his sudden disappearance; this made Bruce Wayne chuckle a little.
"Alfred," he calls out to his loyal family butler.
"Yes, sir?" Alfred Pennyworth dutifully and quickly responds.
"Joker hurt two men at Arkham. He killed one, the other managed to survive."
"Oh, my. But if I may say, sir, that seems to be slightly uncharacteristic of him."
The observational skills and the memory of the old man have never ceased to impress Bruce.
"I agree. Something's not right."
"Is anything right with that madman?"
I stumbled out of my car at the end of my shift, and into my apartment just past 5 o'clock in the morning. I'm used to the late night shifts, seeing as that's what shift I started with, but tonight I knew I was going to struggle as I normally do whenever I lose a patient. Somehow I was graced with only a six-hour shift last night.
I unlock the door with my key and immediately relock it once I step inside, purely out of habit. You can't be too safe in Gotham anymore.
I unlace my work shoes and toss them onto the small rug that I keep near the door before making my way through the small one bedroom apartment's living room to my bedroom to change out of my clothes. I let my hair out of the tight ponytail
I slip out of my work uniform and into a pair of shorts and a tank top, grateful to be in the soft fabric. I walk out to my kitchen and mentally curse myself for the lack of groceries – the only thing that I have to eat is some bread and only a few slices of lunch meat. I don't exactly get out to the supermarket on a regular basis anymore. That really needs to change.
So I make myself a small sandwich instead of leaving to go get some fast food. I sit down in front my television set to try and wind down before getting some sleep. Luckily I have the next two days off before I'm back to work.
"In other news, the Joker has escaped from Arkham Asylum once again," the news report states, a picture of Joker projected onto the screen. "He injured two guards in the escape, killing one. The other is stable condition."
"Residents are urged to be extremely vigilant. If anyone has information about the Joker's whereabouts, they are urged to call Gotham City Police Department," the co-anchor butts in.
I sigh, thinking about what the Joker did to the two men tonight. Sure, we may have saved the life of one person, but we also lost another. That's a sting that takes time to heal even though we did everything that we could.
I texted Devyn on the way back to Station 17 from Gotham General in our own made-up language: 'd post ra' – which translates to us as 'death post resuscitation attempt' so by the time Jon, Chris, and I got back to the station, she already knew what had happened and greeted me with a hug.
Devyn and I are so close just because of everything that we've gone through together. Her parents have become like my own, but they'll never truly replace my own and they respect that. That being said, Arnold and Diane Ambruster still treat me like one of their own, and Devyn and I are like sisters.
My text tone, a portion of a song by Demi Lovato called 'Nightingale' makes me snap back into reality.
Devyn: 'you doing ok?'
Me: 'i guess *shrugs*'
'how about we go out tonight, hit up the club?'
I smile at the text and my best friend's attempt to make me feel better.
'sounds fun (:'
'then dress yo best girl, we're gonna turn some heads tonight! ;)'
'it'd be you doin that not me, dear (;'
'what time? i need to catch some z's'
'not til late. get some sleep you hoe :*'
'haha, you love meeee'
I rise from my couch and head toward my bedroom to catch some z's. I flop onto my bed, a full-sized one, and almost immediately slip into dreamland.
On the far side of Gotham City, Bruce Wayne was just now climbing into his bed, too. Along the way to his room, Bruce's thoughts wandered back to the young woman that worked on Steve Gandom and Roger Bodell and the anguish that radiated from her after Mr. Bodell didn't survive. The way her hair flowed over her back as she faced him. How her voice personified her sadness that hinted at something more. No doubt, her job is difficult in every way. But Bruce can't help but wonder what she's seen, and what her life is like.
As Bruce exits the still newly-decorated study to trudge down the hallway toward his bedroom, he can't get the image of the woman out of his head. Even as he opens the door and peels off his shirt and collapses onto his bed, he can't help but feel drawn to her.
I awaken suddenly to my alarm, a frighteningly loud bell. It's only ten a.m., but I feel refreshed; five hours of sleep just seems to be the perfect amount for me anymore. I lay in my bed for a moment, enjoying the clean sheets draped over my body; however, I don't stay too long and throw the covers off of me and swing my legs over the bed. My feet pad across the worn beige carpet of my bedroom down the hallway to the bathroom.
I take my time in the shower, not feeling rushed since I only have to get some grocery shopping done today. After my 20-minute shower, I wrap a towel around my slender-yet-toned body and wrap another around my hair to help to dry it. I step out of the steamy bathroom, since I love taking showers that are so hot that my skin turns a bright red, and the feel the slap of temperature contrast between the bathroom and the hallway.
I walk to my closet and my dresser, pulling out my favorite matching panties and bra, my favorite jeans, and a mint colored v-neck shirt. I accessorize with my mother's necklace, a small pendant adorned with my mother's birthstone: the sapphire. I clasp the platinum chain securely around my neck, and step to my full-body mirror to examine how I look.
My body is something that I'm not ashamed of; I don't work out like I should, but the rigorous training in stamina and strength and endurance did indeed pay off. I'm naturally petite, and the muscle mass filled out my body perfectly; a beautiful blend of feminine curves and masculine mass. I admire myself in the mirror, noting though that I do need to get back to the gym. Oh, well.
I throw on some light makeup: a layer of foundation, a light purple eye-shadow to contrast my dark chocolate brown eyes, eyeliner, and mascara.
Going grocery shopping isn't something that I particularly enjoy doing, but it needs to be done. I sling my black purse over my shoulder and exit the apartment and walk to the curb to my Cruze.
I live in Midtown, off of Murphy Avenue, which means that I'm almost perfectly nestled in the center of Gotham City, and all of its problems. But I don't have to go far to get to my usual supermarket in the Coventry district.
"Hey, Evangeline! It's been a while!" I'm greeted as soon as I step inside. I smile and wave to the kind man and grab a shopping cart.
Meanwhile at Wayne Manor, Alfred Pennyworth is preparing to do some grocery shopping of his own. Fate would dictate today that Mr. Pennyworth would take the slightly longer trip to Midtown, some unknown, inexplicable force of some sort pulling him toward a popular market near Coventry.
The elder man walked up the stairs to Bruce's bedroom in order to inform him of his location for the next couple of hours. The climb up the stairs to the Master's room is quick, since he's still surprisingly spry and with a witty humor to boot – perhaps that's what keeps him so young, he chuckled to himself. He knocked on Master Bruce's door, but not surprisingly, he didn't respond. He must still be asleep.
He entered the room, drawing the curtains as he does so to permit the sunlight to shine into Bruce's eyes. The sudden appearance of the light causes him to childishly throw a pillow over his face in response.
"Bats are nocturnal," Alfred hears Bruce groan, making the elder man chuckle in response.
"I am well-aware, sir. I've come to inform you that I will be tending to some shopping this afternoon."
Bruce only rolled back over, away from Alfred and waved his hand as if to say 'okay.'
So, Alfred made the trip back down the stairs and into the large garage full of expensive sports and classic cars; however, Alfred really only used two of the classic vehicles while Bruce used the sports cars. There is an image that he has to maintain.
The Rolls-Royce that Alfred expertly drives with the utmost care and attention glides over the streets of Gotham, taking him to his destination. The market is quite busy, but since it's a beautiful June day, one where it's not too hot nor too cold, it's not really all that surprising.
If only Alfred had known what waited for him inside.
My shopping cart was getting pretty full. I had everything that I would need food-wise for the next couple of weeks. A paramedic's salary only really allows me to live two to three weeks ahead; I manage to pay all of my bills on time, though. Somehow. My walk through the market is a peaceful one. For the next two seconds.
An explosion tears through the store, the accompanying pressure wave causing me to fall. Screams and shrieks of terror ring out through the store and I get back up on my feet to run through the scattered debris. An eerie laugh echoes throughout the scene, one that any Gothamite can pick out and instantly have fear struck into the heart: the Joker.
"Ho ho, he, ah ha," he chuckles. A shiver runs down my spine.
A hand grabs my ankle, and I do my best not to scream. I look down, and see a man silently begging for help. There's a portion of an end-cap on top of him. From my vantage I can see that's he wearing a suit and appears to be older.
I silently pull the stand off of him, and he attempts to stand.
"Easy, easy," I whisper to him.
"Why would he attack a market?" I ask aloud.
"That madman," a voice thick with an English accent responds, "just loves to watch the world burn."
"I don't suppose Batman would be willing to make a daytime appearance," I wince, noticing for the first time that I rolled my ankle.
"Bats are nocturnal," the man half jokes, earning a smirk from me.
"Are you okay?" I ask him quietly, seeing blood ooze from his shoulder. "You're bleeding."
He casually glances at the site, and appears to shrug it off as nothing.
"I'm alright, miss."
"At least let me wrap it. I don't want it to get infected or bleed worse."
The man casts me a curious look.
"I'm a paramedic," I inform him. "Don't worry."
He tentatively gives me his shoulder to wrap, and I do so quickly and efficiently.
"It looks like a shallow cut," I whisper to him, smiling.
"Thank you. But are you hurt?"
"I'll be okay."
Joker and two of his men chat somewhere in the market. I can't make out anything they're saying, but I hear their voices.
Sirens approach our location, and the elder man and I join the people running out of the store to get to safety. We get separated in the process, but it's something that I'm not terribly concerned about; I know that the awaiting medical staff will take care of his shoulder. Meanwhile, I have to slow down and half-walk/half-jog because of my injured ankle. I suddenly realize that I'm the last one out of the market, leaving me the most vulnerable to the Joker.
Sure enough, a hand clamps down over my mouth and I am dragged back against my will; I'm thrashing about trying to fight off the attacker behind me until I feel the blade of a knife just pressing into the ribs of my right side.
"You, uh, don't want to do anything you might, uh," Joker whispers evilly to me before pressing the blade a little deeper. "Regret."
I immediately stopped trying to escape and focused on not getting stabbed. I stop moving and raise my hands parallel to my shoulders, showing him that I was unarmed and not going to pose a threat or fight back. The blade releases from my ribs and I am spun around, one of his hands grasping my wrist and twisting it at an extremely uncomfortable angle behind my back. The scars on his face are the things of nightmares.
"You're beautiful, just like my wife. I hated my wife," he snarled. "Wanna see how I got these scars?"
I whimper in response, fear taking hold and my knees begin to turn to jelly. I'm in the clutches of one of the most dangerous men in all of Gotham City.
"Like I said, she was beautiful, just like you. But she tells me I need to smile more…" I watch in pure horror as he takes out a switchblade, pressing it against the corner of his mouth. "So I take this blade, and do this."
I look away, trying to find a way to get away from him, but his hand forcibly snatches my chin, his fingers curling around my lips. He's forcing me to look at him.
"Hey, look at me!" He growls. "I did this to myself – and now, I'm always smiling."
I unconsciously let a tear slip down my cheek, scared out of my mind.
"Ah, sh, sh, sh, sh, sh," he starts gently slapping my face, making me flinch with each light hit in response.
He suddenly releases his grip on me and tosses me away from him.
"Go," he commands, but then suddenly places a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture. "But say nothing to Batsy."
I nod and scramble to my feet, racing out of the half-destroyed market. As soon as I exit, I fall to the ground, my ankle giving out on me completely. I wince, my hands scraping on the concrete slightly.
"Are you okay?"
I look up to see a handsome man in a business suit racing to me. He approaches me quickly and then kneels beside me. I can only shake my head no silently.
"Are you hurt?"
"Y-yeah," I stutter. "I think I sprained my ankle."
The man's face grimaced slightly. But suddenly the man laces his arms around me, one under my knees and the other under my back. I yelp in surprise, earning a smirk from the handsome man in response. That smirk makes my heart flutter; I curse myself mentally for gushing over a guy so suddenly.
"I, uh," I trip over my words.
"It's fine. You're light."
"Master Bruce!"
The gentleman turns toward the source of the voice. The same man that I helped get out of the market.
Wait. Did he say Bruce?
"Alfred, you're okay," the man sighs in relief.
"Of course, sir, thanks to the young lady in your arms," he gestures to me with his uninjured arm. "Of course, I wasn't expecting you to come down here to pick up girls."
'Bruce' chuckles. "Well, you know me, Alfred, some people come to the market to pick up groceries, I pick up chicks," he smirks.
I suppress a chuckle, but the slight movement reminds him that I'm still in his arms.
"Let's get you to an ambulance," his hazel eyes peer at me with concern. As he carries me to an awaiting ambulance, he smiles at me. "You helped Alfred?"
"Yeah, I couldn't just leave him there."
"He said you insisted on wrapping his shoulder even though it's not a deep cut."
I half-shrug. "I'm a paramedic, it's kind of in my nature."
"A modern-day hero," he mutters.
We arrive at an ambulance, and Bruce sets me down where the EMT's tell him to.
"Thank you Mr. Wayne," one of them said.
The two names Bruce and Wayne suddenly click in my mind. Bruce Wayne. Oh. OH. OH MY GOD. I am in the arms of a billionaire playboy!
"Bruce Wayne?" I sputter, shocked.
He sends me a lop-sided smirk.
"Yeah. You helped Alfred Pennyworth, my butler."
I nod in response.
A paramedic begins an examination on me to see if I'm hurt.
"Any pain anywhere?" he asks.
"My right ankle. I fell when the explosion went off and I think I sprained it."
"Okay. I'm going to take off your shoe, then, and look at it."
I glance back up, and see that Bruce Wayne is still standing there, but he looks like he's looking past us.
"Uh, Mr. Wayne?" I stammer.
He seems to be brought back to reality, his eyes suddenly refocus.
"I, uh, didn't think that you'd be the one to help. So, thank you Mr. Wayne."
"Bruce. Please call me Bruce," he leans against the entrance to the ambulance and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. He's standing only about a foot from me.
I nod, smiling a little. "Thank you, Bruce."
"You're welcome."
There's a slightly awkward pause.
"I'm Evangeline," I yelp halfway through my name, pain coursing through me as the paramedic touches my ankle.
"Sorry," the paramedic half-whispers.
"It's okay," I grit my teeth.
"Let me wrap this, and then I'd recommend getting to your doctor's and getting it checked out, okay?"
I nod in response. "Okay."
I look back up, expecting to see Bruce Wayne still standing there, but he's suddenly gone.
What on earth just happened?
If you had asked Bruce why he ran over to a woman he didn't even truly know and then carried her to an ambulance, he would just say that he was doing what he thought was right. However, there was something nagging at the back of Bruce's mind as he walked away from Evangeline and the paramedic that was examining her. There was something about her that felt incredibly important. Like she was someone who would play a significant part in Bruce's life. Hell, she helped out Alfred when he was hurt from Joker's attack today. There's just something about Evangeline that Bruce quite liked – maybe it was the fact that she is, as he had said earlier, a modern-day hero. But perhaps there was something more to it than that. Maybe it was the honey-blonde hair or the dark brown eyes that held so much emotion. Or maybe it was even the way she nervously yelped and blushed when Bruce held her.
When Bruce held her. He repeated that memory in his head quite a few times – somehow it felt almost natural. Like she was a missing piece to a puzzle. And oh, her sweet, blissful ignorance of not realizing that he was Bruce Wayne – he chuckled at that again. This was a woman who knew Batman and not Bruce Wayne; it seemed so backwards. And now that Evangeline had officially entered his life, his Bruce Wayne life, suddenly he found that he can't wait to see her again.