Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Batman universe. Or the names of my chapters which are various classic rock songs. Or the phrase "Are you mental?". That belongs to the wonderful creators of Wayne's World.
My outstanding ability to plan has yet again shone through.
It is night, and I am alone in Gotham, on the streets, with barely any money. Brilliant.
I'm getting looks from the hobos around their barrels, and three drunkards have already asked me how much a night would cost. After the third time I finally grasped that they thought I was a prostitute. I have a knee-length, black jacket on, and they think I'm a whore? Cities, I guess they do that to you.
I feel very unsafe. My muscles feel lacking, because I've barely used them in a month. They are squishy and soft and probably wouldn't do much to a grown man, especially a drunk one. Those ones always get up for a second round.
The other half of my mind is strangely pumped. It believes that I could do anything, take anyone. Cities.
I could go to Bruce's home, if I knew where that was. This is a large city, I'm coming to realize, and finding one house in this many seems absurd. I could ask for directions. That feels like a good idea, at least in my gut, so I stalk to the nearest gas station and let myself in, bells chiming by my head.
The man behind the counter looks up and then says dismissively, "Sorry, no one here wants any."
I shake my head and scoff slightly but pursue my purpose, "Where does Bruce Wayne live?"
"Oh, you're going to Wayne Manor?" the man looks sort of interested now, and he studies me more, "You'd think, with the money that man's got, he could get someone prettier. But then why he would need …"
The man stops abruptly, mostly because I have elbowed through the thick glass and grabbed him by the neck. So much for me previous feeling of weakness. I just elbowed through "bullet-proof" glass. I hit it at the weakest spot, but still.
"Just tell me where the hell Bruce Wayne lives," I snarl, in no mood for human head games. I have no place to sleep, my last coins have been spent, and I'm hungry.
"Um, 14 miles east of here, past the city limits," he gulps.
I nod and take some cash from the open register and leave promptly. As soon as I'm out of sight, I pull the jacket off my shoulders and leap into the air, wings catching the slightest breeze and lifting me far over the city. I seem to be following a highway to this Wayne Manor. I continue to, letting that be my only marker. It's a lot easier than following my instincts.
I start passing mansions, but only a few seem to be up and running, most just look old and worn down. Finally, I land in front of a home I presume o be Wayne Manor because of the words written in the ironwork of the massive gates. My jaw drops as I look upon the palace. There is a fountain in the middle of what, for lack of a better word, is the driveway. The only thing it's missing is a red carpet.
There are turrets and a large set of steps leading up to the front door. And the whole place is surrounded by a wall that could give the Great Wall of China a run for its money.
I'm not sure how to go about getting Bruce's attention. Usually I would just jump the wall, but, in truth, I'm kind of scared of getting shot or tasered by some invisible security guard or fence. So I opt for the little speaker on the guard house thing. It has a button on it and I push it half-heartedly. I feel really out of place and rude for not at least calling first.
I laugh out loud at the thought. This place must be bringing out that higher society blood that's in us all.
It's a full minute before someone answers on the speaker.
"Hello?" a voice crackles over the intercom.
I push the button and hold it down, "Um, hi. I'm here to see, um, Bruce."
"Don't hold the button down, dearie," the voice says kindly.
"Oh, sorry," I reply quickly, "Um, I'm here to see … Mr. Wayne."
"Oh," the voice says shortly, "And for what?"
"I'm, uh, an old friend," I grimace at the words. This little speaker voice is making me feel incredibly stupid.
"And where do you know Master Wayne from?" the speaker man asks.
"Um," I hesitate. Yeah, I know him from that time he spent in a clandestine league of assassins becoming a master of martial arts. Um, "A while ago?"
"Name?" the speaker asks briefly. I have the sense that whoever is on the other side wants to be done with this quickly and get back to his previous, and probably more interesting, work.
"Breezy," I say quickly.
"Ah," the speaker seems to understand now. Good! Bruce has probably talked about me! I don't know if I'm more excited because that means they'll let me in, or just because Bruce has talked about me. "Listen, miss, I'm afraid that Master Wayne doesn't take to that kind of thing, no matter what the tabloids say."
"What kind of thing?" I wonder aloud.
"Well, you know, ladies of ill repute," the voice hints gently.
"If you're calling me a damn whore," I begin, anger rising in my voice.
"No, no, not at all," the voice says quickly. A back round noise captures my attention and then a few moments later Bruce's familiar voice comes out of the speaker.
"Breezy?" he asks tentatively.
"Yes?! Yes! Bruce?" I reply eagerly.
"Come on in," there is a little laugh to Bruce's voice, and it makes me smile. Suddenly, all of the anxieties that I have spent that past few days repressing are surging through my mind as one, like a tidal waves of nervous energy. Do I want to do this? Make myself see that Bruce has fully become a member of the League of Shadows before giving up hope for him? I don't wait for the gates to open. Tasers and BB guns be damned, I hop over the wall and rush up the stairs, my face only three feet from their surface. I come to a brief halt at the door that is thrown open just as I arrive.
"Breezy?" Bruce's face peers out at me. He looks … good. Well, he always looks good, but I mean healthy. Bright, almost. Confusion ripples through his eyes, like he can't fathom just what I'm doing standing breathlessly at his doorstep. I grin at him, and the confusion triples.
"Who does it look like?" I laugh happily. Bruce pulls me into a big hug that sucks my breath away. Before the joy of reunion fully settles in me, I remind myself what I'm here for.
"Bruce …" I begin, but I'm not sure how to finish. What can I say? Bruce, you didn't by chance throw your life away, did you?
"Come in," Bruce interrupts, pulling me by the arm into the castle that is his home. I gape at the tapestry-covered walls and various, expensive-looking vases.
An older man steps out of a room and walks stiffly to us. I can almost tell by that walk that the man is a butler.
"Alfred?" I ask. Bruce had told me all about this man who raised him like a son.
"Yes," Alfred smiles at me, but there is apprehension in his eyes. "Sorry about that little case of mistaken identity when you were outside," he says genially.
"Hey, don't worry about it," I sigh, "It wasn't the first time I got a comment like that tonight."
"Other people thought you were a prostitute?" Bruce asks, his eyes sparkling. The twinkle fills me with an unexplainable joy, and it takes me a few seconds to respond.
"Um, yeah, apparently long, black jackets are in," I shrug.
"Alfred, make our guest up a nice room, and plenty of food for later," Bruce says to the butler.
"I'm on it, sir," Alfred nods and bustles away. There must be something in the water here that helps these Wayne Manor men keep their composure. Alfred didn't comment or even stare at my snowy white and incredibly noticeable wings.
"You know me well," I grin and my stomach growls its happy remark as well. A tiny, half-smile pulls up one corner of Bruce's lips.
"What are you doing here?" Bruce asks, leading me to a couch.
"Um, I just wanted to check on you," I admit swiftly.
Bruce understands immediately and he says, "The League of Shadows … didn't suit me."
My heart leaps into my mouth, and I must force it back down so I can speak, "You didn't go through with it?"
"As much as you motivated me, no," Bruce says. This has to be a joke, so I giggle. Bruce gives me a funny look, like he would never expect that sound to come out of me. I remember then that the Breezy that Bruce knew was a different one sitting across from him on this extremely uncomfortable couch. I had never laughed, or really smiled, in front of Bruce.
"Good," I say. This is better than anything I could've hoped for. I'm with Bruce, and he's not dead or an assassin. Who says you can't have your cake and eat it too? A thought nudges at my conscience, trying to get my attention, "So, how did you get out?"
"I burned down the monastery," Bruce says bashfully.
"Nice! Ducard?"
"He's alive. I made sure to save him," Bruce says seriously.
"Why?" I laugh again.
Bruce doesn't look very happy with that, and he glares at me.
"What?" I haven't picked up on his mood quite yet.
"Because he was a friend."
"A friend? Are we talking about Henri Ducard here?" I'm still chuckling at the thought of Bruce burning down a centuries-old monastery full of ninjas.
"Yes," Bruce says tersely. Killjoy, I think. It seems to be a sore spot, and I don't press the issue.
"What about the Ra's man?" I ask offhandedly.
"Who?" Bruce asks, confused by my nickname.
"Ra's? Ra's al Ghul," I correct myself.
Bruce hesitates, but then says, "Dead."
"Good. Wonderful job," I grin. The headquarters of the League of Shadows has been destroyed. This is better than I ever could've dreamed.
Bruce doesn't seem as happy as me. He's brooding about something but my good mood makes me too lofty to do anything about it. Just then, Alfred hurries in.
"You're needed, Master Wayne," he says shortly, hinting at something I can't comprehend. Bruce looks up at him and nods then bids me goodbye. I watch them go with curiosity. Where would Bruce be needed at this time of night?
"Batman?" I say my conviction out loud. I leap from the couch and run after Bruce and Alfred.
They're in a study, hovering over a piano.
"You're Batman?" I say incredulously. Bruce stares at me and then looks at Alfred for help.
"Well, technically," Alfred starts.
I interrupt him though, "Are you shitting me?"
"No," Bruce replies defensively, "Let me explain."
"I've heard the stories, Bruce," I butt in, "Are you mental?"
"Master Bruce, it's urgent," Alfred says softly.
Bruce is offended now, and he says, "I thought you, of all people, would understand. I guess I should've known better." Ouch. He didn't even say it scathingly or anything. Just softly. Disappointed. That is so much worse.
"What?!" I yell at him as a bookshelf opens and Bruce steps into an elevator. Alfred doesn't follow him, but stays and tries to console me.
"He's just in a rush, miss," Alfred says.
"Yeah right," I mutter. Alfred is looking at me like I'm going to cry, which I'm not, but he hands me a hanky.
"Your room's ready," Alfred sighs when I don't accept his offering, "And so is your dinner."
"Forget it. I'm leaving," I growl. He has no right to talk to me like that! Yeah, I would totally understand dressing up in a bat-like suit to one-handedly take on the criminal underworld at great personal risk just to save a lousy city that just happens to be home.
Oh.
I do understand, sort of. But I'm outside the door already, with no intention of going back tonight. I have too much pride for that. I slam the door behind me, and survey the large yard.
A greenhouse attracts my attention, and I sneak over and stealthily let myself in.