Three weeks had passed, and things had changed. Joker and Harley Quinn laid low. Bruce and I laid low, keeping our bi-weekly dinner-dates on the down-low, and always at the manor. I had my own room set up in the manor, thanks to Alfred, and Bruce completely replaced my wardrobe with clothes that I had requested and with styles that he and Alfred thought that I would like. I lived with Devyn in her small home until I could find a new apartment. She graciously opened it up to me, and her parents lamented the fact that the Joker had destroyed everything that I owned.
In the meantime, I had finally returned to work, much to my own joy and my coworkers who welcomed me back.
"Welcome back, Price," our Fire Chief Arden Lowe greeted me.
"Thank you, sir. Good to be back," I smiled back to him.
"By the way," he stops me. "You've received this from the courts."
I accept the letter, noting the fact that it was indeed from the Gotham City Courthouse.
"Thank you."
I open the letter, a request for a testimony in the death of Roger Godell, the guard from Arkham Asylum that had been killed in the line of duty by the Joker or by Harley. I looked at the letter in confusion, wondering why on earth I was needed for a testimony. I sighed, and scanned the request for the hearing date: July 17. Great, I had four days to gather all of my documentation about Godell and memorize it all to testify. I rolled my eyes slightly, but knew that I had to go.
And five days until the worst anniversary of my life.
I sighed again, rubbing my eyes.
"Price!"
I whirled around, seeing our Battalion Chief, Reed Flanch, marching toward me.
"Sir?" I stood up a bit straighter.
I quickly and surreptitiously unfolded the small crease in my shirt near my shoulder.
"Good to have you back. Lowell is nearly done with his training, but I want him with you again. He said he learned quite a bit from you."
"Thank you, sir."
He curtly nodded to me before brushing past me, quite literally hitting me with his shoulder as he did so.
"And don't forget about that court date!" he shouted to me.
I squinted at him in slight confusion. How would he know that I had been summoned to testify?
I shrugged it off, immediately logging into the station's computer system with my credentials and set to work scanning my personal documentation records for one person in particular: Roger Godell.
After a few moments of searching and digging, I found all of the notes, a compilation from myself, Jon, and even Chris.
"Hey, V," Jon's voice greets me.
"Hey, yourself," I greet him, turning over my shoulder and smiling at my friend.
"What's that?" I see him looking toward my court summons.
"Courthouse wants me to come in and testify for Godell's death."
"Godell? The guy from Arkham?"
"Yeah. Don't know why, though."
Jon just shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe since he died because of the Joker?"
"Hm," I grunted thoughtfully. "That's about the only thing I can think of…"
I saw Jon fold his arms in front of his chest beside me and furrow his brow.
The sound of my personal cell phone going off distracted me from my notes.
"Bruce?" Jon asks me with a huge smirk on my face.
I check the phone quickly, seeing it was indeed a text message from Bruce: 'be safe at work tonight, let me know when you're on your way back to Devyns'
"Maybe…" I evasively answer, laughing a bit.
"Ugh, it's so gross," Devyn's teasing voice reached us.
"Ha, yeah, but you know what – for once things are going my way," I hit the print button on our notes and got up to go get them from the nearby printer.
"You shouldn't've said that," Jon shook his head, laughing.
"Yeah, they're still out there, you know," Chris joined us now.
I heard a quick slap.
"Yeah. I know," I quietly replied.
My cell phone went off again, indicating another text from Bruce: 'how's your shoulder?'
He had found out about my shoulder because he had walked in on me changing the gauze and making sure that it wasn't bleeding one day before dinner at his house. I remembered how he had been so livid, but seemed to calm himself down fairly quickly and volunteered to take care of it since it was at a bit of an awkward angle for me to do it myself.
I quickly sent him a response: 'I'll let you know when I get to dev's and it's fine for now'
A few seconds later Bruce's response came through: 'okay, don't push yourself too hard'
"Blech!" I heard Chris, Jon, and Devyn mock-vomiting, making my head snap back up and away from my phone.
"Wipe that smile off of your face, girl!" Devyn laughed.
"Shut up," I laughed.
But our happy atmosphere quickly disappeared when the station's emergency notification system went off, indicating that there was a three-car collision on Dillon Avenue in the Upper East Side.
"Station 17, code 901T."
The two loud beats sound before the ambulance is announced.
"A8."
"Be careful, guys," I shout to the already-running Devyn and Jon.
They acknowledge me by waving their hands back to me over their heads.
The alert goes off again, moments after my friends depart.
"Station 17, code 245 at 56476 Cameron Avenue. 17-21."
Assault with a deadly weapon. Faaaantastic.
"Alright, Lowell, let's go," I jog to our assigned ambulance for my very long 14-hour shift.
I jumped into the driver's seat, Chris in the passenger's seat.
"Radio ahead for me, will you?" I ask, flipping on our lights and siren as we exit the station.
"Station 17 this is 17-21, en route."
"17-21, 10-4."
I speed off in the direction of the Upper West Side and Chinatown, our destination being between the two. After a few minutes' drive, we crossed the Finger River and into the Diamond District, and soon onto Cameron.
Bruce, meanwhile, was busy in the Bat Bunker in the warehouse district, looking for anything that might portray to him the location of the Joker or Harley Quinn. He rubbed his eyes a bit, the bright light of the computers making them hurt after staring furtively at them for hours on end.
"Anything yet, Master Wayne?" Alfred asked him.
Bruce couldn't suppress his frustrated grumble. "No, nothing. I don't get it."
"In the meantime, sir," Alfred approached Bruce from behind. "You should eat a proper meal."
Alfred had presented Bruce with a simple yet filling dinner.
"Thanks, Al," Bruce greedily picked up the food, stuffing some of it in his mouth eagerly.
The sound of his personal phone ringing caught his attention.
Bruce unlocked the screen, pulling up the text message.
"Miss Price, I presume?" Alfred half-smiled at his master.
"Yeah. She's back on duty tonight," he half-grimaced, typing a quick response before sending it.
"She'll be alright. I have a feeling that Miss Price is full of more surprises than we know, sir," Alfred wisely said. "But, if I may ask."
Bruce turned his head toward his butler, relocking his phone and placing it on the desk in front of him.
"Have you thought about how to tell her?"
Bruce knew exactly what he meant.
"I… I don't know," he admitted.
"Just think it over, Master Wayne," Alfred said, turning on his heel and walking away.
Bruce turned his attention back to the monitors, surveying everything that he could get his hands on to try and find the homicidal madman.
Before he knew it, three more hours had passed while he perused traffic camera feeds from two days ago. He stood up, rubbing his eyes once again and stretched out his now stiff back. He then dropped to the floor, feeling the immediate need to work out a bit. He pumped his arms, doing push-ups on the cold, hard concrete floor of the bunker.
He had gotten to 24 when Alfred reentered the room.
"Master Wayne," Alfred's English accent riddled with concern.
Nothing else had to be said. Bruce immediately knew that he was needed. Well, not him, but Batman.
Chris and I were on our way back to the station after our fourth call in five hours.
So far we had that assault with a deadly weapon, an unconscious drunk who had passed out in a street, a hit-and-run, and drug-induced overdose.
"They're really making us work for our pay tonight," Chris grumbled as he drove through the streets.
I resisted the urge to yawn, instead brushing off the gesture by stretching my arms in front of me. It was only 2am, but it felt like it was much later than that.
"Yeah. It's a full moon," I joked.
"17-21, this is Station 17, please respond."
I gave an exasperated sigh before picking up the receiver.
"17-21, proceed," I spoke into the radio.
"17-21, 17-8 needs emergency assistance at their location, please verify."
I briefly shot a glance toward Chris, who nodded his head.
"17-21 confirmed."
"Copy that, 17-21."
They briefly gave us their address and Chris had to turn the ambulance back around, turning our lights and sirens on in the process.
"17-8, this is 17-21, please respond," I once again pick up the radio, having switched to the ambulances-only frequency.
"17-21, go ahead," I heard Devyn's voice respond.
"17-8, we are en route ETA eight minutes, please acknowledge."
"17-21 10-4," I heard her respond hurriedly.
I sighed once again, sweeping my hand over my head before rubbing my temples.
As we pulled into the area, unmistakable since there were police cruisers and Devyn's and Jon's ambulance, we both glanced at each other.
"17-21, on the scene," I radioed dispatch, throwing off my seatbelt and exiting the ambulance as soon as it was placed in park.
"17-21, 10-4," the dispatcher responded, sounding just as tired as us.
Chris and I walked to the back, retrieving our medical bags that we had been forced to restock already. We slung them over our shoulders and set off toward our friends in a brisk walk.
"Jon, Dev," I called out to them as we ducked under the police tape around the area.
"Commissioner," I greeted Gordon, who looked as tired as ever. He nodded his head curtly in response to my greeting, but that was just him being business- and professional-like.
Chris and I walked to Devyn and Jonathon, the all-too-familiar smell of copper and iron in the air.
"Eve," Devyn called out to me. "Need your help."
I set my bag and myself across from her, examining our patient.
I pushed myself to see things other than the terribly obvious new scars on the victim's face. It only reminded me of the Joker, but maybe that was the intention.
"What have we got?"
"This is Bob. Lacerations to the arms, legs, and face. Gunshot wound to the abdomen. He got it only slightly better than his friend. We needed the assistance because the coroner's office is practically overflowing and couldn't out a time until later."
I steeled my eyes, practically feeling my determination radiating from me.
"Okay. Let's get to work."
Devyn and I immediately set to work, me handing her supplies from my bag as she needed them and I cleaned our patient's wounds.
"Appears to be a handgun wound," I note aloud. "But from the stippling of his skin and this residue on his abdomen I'd say it was close-range."
"Trace will tell us," Commissioner Gordon was suddenly behind me, and he must have heard my comment. "My guess would be that your gut is right."
I nodded my head tersely, setting back to work in cleaning one of the deep lacerations on Bob's right forearm to try and make it easier for the coroner.
But a sudden, quiet whoosh-ing sound above me caught my attention, my head snapping upwards. Gordon must have heard it too, as we both looked at each other. I quirked a brow at him, and mouthed him one single thing: Batman?
He gave me a barely noticeable nod, and he began to walk toward the alleyway a few yards from us. My brain was telling me to stay with Dev, but my body decided that I was going to follow Gordon.
I tried to control and minimize the sounds of my footsteps as I traversed the alleyway, finding Gordon quickly at the other end.
"Commissioner," I started, but he quickly silenced me by holding up a hand.
I understood the gesture, and closed the distance between us and found Batman in the dark, near pitch black corner.
"Batman," I gaped.
"I should go," I heard him rasp in an unnaturally gruff voice.
"She's an admirer," Jim spoke up for me. "I trust her."
I felt the Bat's steely gaze look me over before he spoke again.
"Those two men. What happened?"
I looked at Gordon, chewing the inside of my cheek.
"Joker," he quietly responded.
"The victims had … facial scars," I added, hesitating slightly.
"Facial scars?"
"Just like the Joker's," I nodded slightly.
A sudden gunshot pierced the night air, and Batman was suddenly in front of me and I was pressed against the wall. Gordon launched himself toward the wall adjoining us.
"Uh," I stammered, Batman being so close. "Th-thanks."
He remained silent and stoic, looking at me in the eye.
Those eyes. That familiar shade of hazel. That jaw and chin. I know this man.
I felt my eyes widen, and then narrow, my mind going at a million miles an hour.
My mind raced as I began to connect the dots.
Bruce Wayne is Batman.
I began to open my mouth in shock, but he gently pressed a gloved finger over my lips and sent me a look that begged me not to say anything.
Bruce…
If anyone had asked Bruce why he reacted the way he did when that gunshot rang out in the night, he would have just said that it was the right thing to do. But as soon as he realized that Evangeline was there, right in front of him, and he couldn't talk to her like he normally would, his mind told him to protect her. Protect her with his life, if he had to. His body naturally pulled her away from the mouth of the alley and into the wall, pressing himself slightly into the wall and into her.
His fatal mistake was making eye contact with her. He saw as she pieced the puzzle together, looking rapidly from his eyes to his jaw and mouth. He knew he had been found out.
Evangeline knew he was the Batman. He watched as she opened her mouth, no doubt to confirm his identity to her, but he quickly pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her and he mentally screamed, pleaded that she wouldn't say anything.