Rosa Ducard sat down at her desk, looking at the items collected on its surface and checking them against her list for the hundredth time.
One black cloth mask with the eyes cut out, a rudimentary red rose embroidered where the mask met the right side of her forehead, painstakingly sewn by Ashley.
One bullet-proof vest issued by the Gotham Police Department, for its undercover women officers. Pitch black, with a sweetheart neck and thin enough to fit under a dress or shirt of the same sort of cut.
One pair of black pants.
One long-sleeved black bolero.
Rosa ticked off the items on her list with a pencil, then looked at the vase sitting on the furthermost corner of her desk. It was hard to bring herself to look at its contents; even knowing they were sitting there was making her heart beat against her ribcage. But for the sake of formality, Rosa Duard looked over at the flowers in the vase, freshly watered and cut.
One dozen red roses.
ooooo
"You're certain that's all he asked you about?"
"Rosa, this is the tenth time I've gone over it with you. He wanted to know what it would take to bring down Carmine Falcone, I told him that the judge in charge was rotten, and it would take some leverage to make him cooperate."
"Anthony Faden, that prick," Rosa was pacing in front of her window, which was covered in blue tarp. It fluttered every so often as a strong gust of wind hit it. The first few times the tarp had moved, Rosa had instinctively jumped and aimed her gun, remembering the man who had jumped through it just the night before. Now, though, she was used to it. It even seemed to give her strength, this strange jerking of blue tarp that was so like the movements of someone jumping toward her.
Jim Gordon sighed and nodded. "I told him we needed someone who'd be brave enough to prosecute against anyone who belonged to Falcone…"
"… and he answered 'Rachel Dawes?'" Not for the first time, Rosa gathered her hair behind her head and then over her shoulder, the only tell of nervousness that she had. "How would he even know who she is?" She asked herself softly. "She's just begun to do her own trials; the D.A. has only given her one trial dealing with the crime lords," Rosa thought out loud. She had been waiting for Rachel the day they had tried one of Carmine Fdalcone's goons, and had shared Rachel's frustration when Dr. Jonathan Crane had again pronounced the man insane, allowing him to escape the prison system for a comfortable padded cell at Crane's own place of work : Arkham asylum.
She had never seen Rachel so enraged until that day, in fact. To come right out and accuse a man as powerful as Crane with corruption, or at the very least, collusion with Carmine Falcone, was often equal to a death sentence in the city of Gotham, and Rosa had mentioned as much.
"Rosa, come off it," Rachel had snapped after she was reprimanded slightly by her boss. "Just because you can't do anything about it without drawing attention to yourself gives you no excuse to get angry at me when I do."
There had been an awkward pause, where Rosa noticeably stiffened, staring determinedly at the ceiling tiles.
"Oh God, Rosie, I'm sorry, you know I didn't mean…"
"It's all right Rachel." The response came out in a rush, but in clipped tones.
"No, it's not, I wasn't thinking…"
"You're right. I can't do anything about it – not as myself, anyway. And unless there's been a magical appearance changing device suddenly invented…" Rosa trailed off, shrugging her shoulders and trying to laugh off the awkward situation.
Rachel had laid an arm on her friend's shoulders. "You're doing all you can, Rosie," Rachel shifted a file higher onto her hip, and then added, "Come on, without you, we wouldn't have even gotten close to this creep."
"Only to let him loose again at Dr. Crane's facility…"
Rachel looked at Rosa with compassion. Yes, she knew, it couldn't have been easy to be Rosalie Falcone, masquerading under the flimsy name of Rosa Ducard. Her father had been right, Rosa had grown up to look exactly like her mother : anyone who decided to take a closer look could see that.
"I'll start working on the transmogrification machine right away, 'kay Rosie?"
Rosa had given a half-laugh. "Right," she said. "Rachel…" she began, as Rachel started to walk toward her car to make her way back to the D.A.'s office. "You know how much I admire you, don't you? Past all the jealousy for your shockingly gorgeous good looks," at this, Rachel made to punch Rosa lightly in the shoulder, but with great practice, Rosa caught the fist in her open hand. "Short term memory – clearly a sign of losing a case," Rosa laughed, then pointed to herself. "Police officer, remember? Anyway," she continued her train of thought, "You're able to do something about all this, and I… I… I wish I could do that," Rosa whispered.
"You are, in your way," Rachel responded before lowering herself into her car.
Rosa thumped the top of Rachel's light blue car a couple of times before waving her off, then whispered to herself, "My way isn't good enough."
Now, talking with Jim Gordon, Rosa sat in the overstuffed armchair across from his. "And then he asked you about the drug imports," she confirmed. "Why nobody's there…" her voice trailed off. "D'you think that he might be trying to…?"
"Rosa, I don't know what to think anymore," Jim cut her off. "But whatever he's doing, he's going to do it without any help. At least, that was his impression."
Rosa's lips turned up. "His impression. Exactly."
"Rosie, is it worth trying to talk you out of this once more?"
Rosa Ducard reached for the cloth mask behind her and turned around, inviting Gordon to tie it in a knot just below her bun.
"I suppose that's my answer," Jim sighed, then gave the knot an extra tug. "Good thing I was a Boy Scout," he said.
"I wouldn't have expected anything less," Rosa said, laughing. Then she stood and turned slowly in a full circle. "Well, Gordon? What do you think?"
"You look like a highway marauder."
Rosa smiled, and ran her black-gloved hands over her stomach, encased in bullet-proof material. She felt for the revolvers in the discreet holster attached to her trousers, then bent down to feel for the knife hidden in her left boot. Well, if there's one thing I learned from dear old Dad, she thought, the making of an ironic smile on her face, it was how to hide deadly weapons effectively.
His forehead etched with equal parts of worry and admiration, Sergeant Jim Gordon walked over to Rosa's desk and pulled the dripping roses out of their vase, then methodically began to rip off the petals. The red roses were soon nothing but dark green stems with thorns, and Gordon carefully placed the petals in a black pouch, then handed it to Rosa.
"Before you go – there's one more thing."
"Perfect timing, Gordon," Rosa rolled her eyes. "What else is there? Does the guy have x-ray vision too?"
"No," Gordon replied, "but he told me… to watch for his sign."
"How cryptic."
"Yeah," Gordon responded, scratching the back of his head. "Hey," he said softly. "Good luck, you."
"Don't worry about me, Gordon," Rosa said bluffly. "Personally, I'd be more concerned with by my rusty Boy Scout skills if I were you. Better study your knots after I leave."
"Ha. Right," Jim Gordon said, then pulled the blue tarp aside, watching a slim figure in black make her way down the fire escape to the vacated street below.
ooooo
The docks of Gotham rarely saw much legitimate activity once darkness fell. During the day, these particular docks were owned by Wayne Enterprises for importation of goods and exportation of products. Because such a wealthy corporation owned the port, it was generally well-kept, its warehouses kept in neat lines with a clear grid path between them all.
No one knew if Carmine Falcone had a contact with Wayne Enterprises, or if he was using his own particular brand of getting all his ducks in a row. Either way, on the third Saturday of the month for the past five, a barge carrying what appeared to be stuffed bears and rabbits arrived at the docks, and were quickly hauled off the boat by the box and into two of the lesser used warehouses, to be transported to their final destination in less then twenty-four hours' time.
Each crew member involved was paid handsomely for his role, both in cash and drugs. The payment was exceptionally high, however, for those who chose to ignore the difference in the cargo. The innocent-looking stuffed rabbits, beyond being placed in a separate warehouse, were treated as if they were never there.
Every shipment ran like clockwork : the barge always arrived at the same time, the same crew members were always used; as were the same warehouses.
Tonight, however, a few things were different.
A luxurious black car sat at the entrance to the docks, while a much more beaten model drew up next to the workers and parked with a screech. But these things in themselves weren't the most unusual presences at the first step in Carmine Falcone's drug distribution.
For tonight, a tall man swathed in black, dark brown eyes shining out of a black mask with two horn-like points stood silently between the two warehouses.
And a pair of green-blue eyes stared out of a cloth mask, eagerly taking in the scene in front of her.
La Rosa Rossa was ready. So, though she didn't know it, was the figure who would come to be known as Batman.
Their eyes watched as a fat man got out of his car with not a little effort, his greasy hair shining with sweat. He walked up to one of the boxes, smiling at two of the crewmen, who were at a loss. No one had ever come to the docks while the animals were being unloaded : they were always paid by an anonymous white envelope appearing in their mailboxes the day after a successful delivery.
"What is this?" the fat man said, leaning over into one of the crates and pulling out a teddy bear. Deftly, he ripped its head off and examined it closely, then pocketed the contents. "Well, keep going!" His shout reassured the workers and they re-started the assembly-line of drugs into the warehouse.
Everything went back to its normal self. That is, until a hoarse shriek was heard from the maze of warehouses. The workers exchanged wary looks, and two of them set down their boxes and pulled automatic weapons out of nearby crates.
"Sykes?" One of them called warily, as they started to tread on the path into the warehouses, rickety lights swinging over their heads.
"Sykes?" The call went out again. In response, there was a sound of metal ringing against metal, and with a few sparks thrown in, the lights went out. One of the thugs knelt to pick up a steel object that had newly arrived on the floor. It had sharp edges – he quickly dropped it again to stick his newly bleeding forefinger in his mouth. His companion picked up the object more carefully, and looked at it closely. It resembled some sort of flying object. In his nervousness, he couldn't tell exactly what.
And something black suddenly dropped from the sky, then flew back up, leaving only the machine gun of the thug's companion behind.
Completely spooked now, the remaining worker let off a few rounds of his machine gun, which echoed infinitely against the metal of the warehouses. The echoes were accompanied by another sound – dimly, the thug looked up.
Someone was jumping from warehouse to warehouse.
Keeping his gaze on the murky ceiling above him, the remaining worker walked with agitation, frequently firing his gun at an echo, or what he thought must have been a step behind him.
Frustrated now, he yelled out, "Where are you?!"
A hoarse whisper came from behind him, "Here."
The man in black reached out his gauntleted hands to grab the worker and haul him to the top of the warehouses, but someone got there first.
The man fell to the floor, unconscious from a nasty kick to the head, and brown eyes met narrowed blue ones.
Still in mid-gesture, one black form wrapped its arms around the other, and both were sent skyrocketing to the ceiling of the main warehouse.
"What the hell do you think you're doing here?" An angry whisper came from the darkness.
The other reacted quickly, and turned to the source of the voice. "I would ask you the same thing, but I think the answer's rather apparent," she hissed back.
The black form seemed at a loss for words, but wasn't for long. "There are still at least eight men down there."
"Not counting Carmine Falcone," came the rejoinder.
The man's lips tightened and his jaw stood out. "You're not supposed to be here."
"Neither are you."
He ground his teeth a few times, thinking quickly. Clearly, the woman, for the form was female, wasn't going away.
"All right. I've got the workers, you've got…"
"… Falcone?" he could hear a smile in her voice. "Gladly."
"Fine." It was clear there was going to be no more talking, for the man in black held onto the woman in black. She felt a rushing, falling sensation, and once more her feet met solid ground.
"Do you make that a habit?"
But the man had already made his way to the crowd of workers, who had gathered together, their backs facing each other, weapons of various degrees of fatality out and ready.
Barely looking behind her, La Rosa Rossa made her way to the black car, noting that the figure in front was already slumped over the wheel. Fast work, she thought to herself, smiling.
The blazing of a car's headlights suddenly shone into her face, and La Rosa Rossa rolled underneath her Carmine Falcone's car, her heart pounding. She watched as wheels zipped past her line of vision. "Fleiss," she muttered to herself. "What a coward."
Carefully rolling herself back out into clear space, La Rosa Rossa slowly stood climbed to the the top of the car. Inside, she could her the sounds of a rifle cocked, waiting for its prey. The noise seemed to enrage her even further, and she drew the knife out of her boot, plunging it into the car's roof. She drew it back out again, then quickly leant back as a pair of holes appeared as well – clearly, her father hadn't appreciated the intrusion.
He was muttering nervously to himself, and La Rosa Rossa had leant forward again when the car rocked with the weight of a person landing on it.
"What the hell are you?!" came the call from inside the car.
Flicking her eyes toward the man in black, La Rosa Rossa cocked her head toward the holes in the roof, and the man plunged his hand in, then drew out Carmine Falcone by the collar so that they were inches away from each other's noses.
"I'm Batman," said the figure, and crashed his head onto Falcone's, who slumped immediately.
"Batman?" La Rosa Rossa hissed. "Out of all the names, you choose 'Batman?'"
"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware I should've consulted you on the matter," the man finally let his voice raise into a shout. "Do you like 'The Dark Fairy Princess' better?!"
"Yes," La Rosa Rossa mumbled rebelliously.
"Terrific!" The man shouted, the hauled Carmine Falcone out of the hole in the rood and laid him on the car.
"Are you going to put him in?" La Rosa Rossa said, smiling, gesturing to the trunk.
"No. I'm not." "Batman" had now bent toward the unconscious Falcone, and had taken his coat off. He began ripping it into strips.
"What do I do?"
"You can get out of here," came the sharp reply.
"Like that's really…"
"Look," the man lifted his head from his work. "I came here with a plan. You're not a part of it. So piss. Off."
"Right, I'll go tie the workers up then." She rose, and began to jog toward the unloading crew. "Oh, wait!" La Rosa Rossa shouted, then doubled back to the black figure on the car. "I almost forgot." Reaching into her right boot, La Rosa Rossa pulled out a black pouch and almost reverently opened it. Dipping a gloved hand in, she drew out a few rose petals, and tucked them in the shirt pocket of the prone Carmine Falcone. Finished, she once again began to run toward the dock workers.
"What was that for?" Batman shouted after her.
La Rosa Rossa stopped, turned around, and called back in what was an imitation of a male voice, "So that the Falcones should know that this is my job."
ooooo
They stood together, surveying their work.
"We haven't got much time," Batman murmured. "If you called the police when you said you did…"
"… which I did,"La Rosa Rossa snapped.
"… then they should be here any minute," Batman continued as if she had not interrupted. "Would you like to do the honors?"
"With pleasure," La Rosa Rossa smiled, then walked over to the huge light that, when on, marked the docks. She pulled the lever down, and thousands of watts' worth of light suddenly shone into the night.
Looking into the night sky, La Rosa Rossa spread her arms in imitation of the figure strapped to the enormous light. "Your signal," she whispered to herself.
"Yes." She hadn't been expecting a response, in fact, she thought she was talking too quietly to be overheard, but she turned and faced Batman after he responded.
"Bats, huh? Kinda creepy."
"It's better than… whatever you're supposed to be. 'Le Toreador,' perhaps?" he said, reaching out and fingering the sleeve of her bolero.
"Funny, but no." She gestured to the red rose petals that she had left sprinkled around the scene.
"La Rosa Rossa," she whispered. "The Red Rose."
"Well, 'Rosa,'" Batman began, "a word of advice." He drew close to her and reached down, thwapping his knuckles on her bullet-proof-covered stomach.
"Lucius Fox. Wayne Enterprises." He said, then turned around and began to walk away.
"Right," La Rosa responded. "Oh, Fairy Princess?" Batman whipped around, his jaw grinding.
"That cape makes you look like a girl."