Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Batman universe.
It's been a few days since mine and Bruce's little blowout. He hasn't talked to me since. Like, not even one word. I'll give him one thing; he has excellent self-control.
I wander down the halls on my way out of the monastery now, because he is set to start practice in just a few minutes. I'm still going to watch him, even though he doesn't come to me for help anymore.
I don't know how he's patching himself up, because I've seen him take quite a few hard hits from Ducard.
Bruce is more determined than ever, though, and I can thank that to the act I pulled those couple of days ago. He takes his hits in stride, not showing his pain like he's been taught. Ducard is ecstatic. He must know that I've done something to spur Bruce on like this.
I have almost escaped the building without noticing my horrid surroundings. But a man cries out to me.
"Angel! Please!" he calls, his hands white-knuckling the bars of the cage he is held in.
I stop in my tracks, shocked that he is talking to me. But then again, I get angel a lot.
"Please, Angel, help me," he pleads. I shake my head fervently and try to walk past him, but it's like walking past a man sitting homeless on the streets. I cannot resist another glance at him.
Tears have welled in his eyes, and I can't tell if they're because he's scared or glad to see me. Instantly, it's as if I am bonded to the man and I cannot ignore him more than I can ignore the need for food. I turn swiftly and stalk to his small prison.
"Thank you, Angel. I knew you would save me," the man laughs, insane with hope. I risk a peek around me. Just as I thought, everyone is watching.
Before I can respond, Ducard walks up behind me, "She is no angel. She is one of us."
As I watch the man's world crumble once more behind his hopeless eyes, I stew over Ducard's words. I am not like him. Ducard puts a hand on my shoulder, leading me away from the convict.
Yes, I know he's a convict. I know he has done some "unspeakable crime against humanity that cannot be excused", that was probably in self-defense or something. That was mine's "crime". I also know that he will be Bruce's last test. I know that Bruce will have to kill him, to prove his quest for true justice. I know, because I killed a man just like him.
"And, whatever you have done Bree, has worked wonders on Mr. Wayne's willpower," Ducard gushes over his next prodigy. I tune him out as we walk together to where Bruce is stretching and occasionally parrying with a bo staff against an invisible opponent in between stretches.
The wind forces itself into my lungs, and I let it fill me with its promises of my coming freedom. Soon, I will be soaring away over these mountaintops, racing with this very wind.
Bruce nods solemnly to Ducard, but fails to notice me at all. They are in front of the monastery building now, warming up. I stray to the edge of the cliff gingerly to peer down at the valley far below.
I imagine what it would feel like to jump off right now. I can feel the wind styling my boyish hair as I hurtle straight down, before pulling up sharply as the ground rises up to catch me. I won't let it though; I dance in the air, just beyond its reach.
"Breezy!" Ducard pulls me from my day-dreaming once again, and he looks annoyed.
"What?" I snap back at him. Both of us look shocked when I do.
"You should get out of the way. We're about to start," Ducard says, anger evident in his voice. He's used to my sheep-like attitude. He wasn't expecting some fire.
But I give it to him anyway, "Oh, really? Because I was planning on standing here while you two beat each other to a pulp two feet away." I even throw in an eye-roll. Is this … sarcasm? It feels nice.
Now Ducard looks thoroughly cowed. I'll get it later though. I move to the side, and they commence, fighting with long bo staffs. This was my favorite part of the training, because I took so well to the bo.
At the first break, Ducard tells Bruce what he's doing wrong, yada yada. Bruce doesn't seem too thrilled with the bo staff. Maybe later I'll give him some pointers … or not. It's hard now, not to think of Bruce as a friend. Our bond was strengthened because of the dire situation that held us both in our places, and now it refuses to disappear.
He seemed so pissed that I was using him to escape. You'd think the man would've learned some perspective towards other people. But he also doesn't know what it's like to spend ten years in hell.
The second time they go out, Bruce does better. A small stab of pride takes a shot at my heart before I can suppress it. How silly.
I walk back up to the monastery so that I can sit on the steps and not on the cold snow. Bruce gets a shot off on Ducard and I cheer internally. I don't care how much Bruce hates me, if he gives Ducard a bruise to think about he'll be my hero.
And Ducard must've felt it. He winces slightly and rubs his rib. Then the ever-present fire that burns in his eyes grows fiercer. From a pouch at his side, he throws some powder at Bruce's feet, where it explodes and sends up a screen of smoke. Then Ducard goes low with his bo staff, swiping Bruce's feet out from under him.
I see the peril as Ducard reaches into the pouch and I am almost halfway there when Bruce goes sliding off of the cliff.
My legs push against the steep ground, adrenaline already pumping through my blood. My eyes are trained on the spot where Bruce disappeared. My face is set in determination, unthinking and life-saving determination. I rush past Ducard, and he tries to make a grab at me, trying to stop me.
"No! Let him die!" Ducard roars at me.
No, I have to save Bruce. He can't die. He can't. I won't let him. A small part of my brain, a part separate from the part that's controlling the rest of my body, makes small, insignificant observations.
Bruce didn't scream. Not once. Ducard probably could've grabbed me; he must not want Bruce to die either. My stomach lodges a complaint of hunger. Why do I care so much if Bruce dies or not? Why am I reacting this way? Hey, they're going to kill me for this.
In the moment that I throw myself off of the cliff, only one thought dominates my mind. I don't want to live in a world without Bruce Wayne. And I'll do my damndest to make sure I won't have to.
I squeeze my arms and wings tight against my body, making myself as aerodynamic as possible. Bruce is fifty feet below me, and falling fast.
My day-dream from earlier is proving itself true. The winds rips threw my hair, and my eyes would be watering if it wasn't for the extra protective membrane that covers them. Or if they were normal human eyes.
I'm gaining on Bruce, thank God. Only twenty feet until I will reach him. Only one hundred before he becomes a permanent part of this landscape.
I catch a glimpse of his face. God, he is beautiful, notes that irrelevant little person in my brain. He looks so … peaceful. Resigned, yet peaceful. And I'm the freak? The man's about to die and he looks like he's about to fall asleep.
But then Bruce sees me, hurtling towards him. Hope breaks apart his composed face, and he is reaching for me. I strive against the wind, the only thing I feel holding me back.
Five more feet. Two. One. My arms feel like they've been ripped from their sockets. Oh, it hurts. As I grasped under his shoulders, I pulled my wings sharply away from my body, halting our progress slowly and tearing them from my back. Well, that's what it feels like at least.
Bruce latches onto me with his legs around my waist and his arms around my shoulders. My trivial little brain laughs darkly at the position and how much I would like it under any other circumstance. But I ignore it.
I flap my wings ineffectively as I struggle upwards. It's so hard to carry him and I don't know if my wings are up to the challenge. I'm gasping now, probably sounds more like hyperventilation to Bruce but that's me for you, and I'm striving for a purchase in the wind that buffets around us. Just one little breeze in the right direction and we'll be able make it.
It comes, and I seize it, twisting my wings so that they will catch the current. We soar out away from the mountainside and then double back. I land ever so gracefully on the ground, probably crushing poor Bruce underneath me. But he's alive, and that's all that matters. I roll off of him and collapse in the powdery snow that broke my landing, still gasping for air.
Ducard is walking towards us, taking his sweet time. Ninjas poured out of the monastery when Ducard started yelling, and now they watch as Ducard surely comes to seal my fate.
But it was worth it.