Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Batman universe.
Pounding fills my head. It takes me a few moments to shake the comfortable blanket of sleep off and realize that the noise is actually outside my mind; someone is pounding ferociously on the greenhouse door, which I had locked before passing out.
I fly, literally, to the door, and wait for some indication of the identity of the pounder.
"It's Alfred, miss, let me in, please," the butler demands.
I snap open the deadbolt quickly and throw the door wide, revealing Alfred still dressed in his butlering clothes, even though it is well into the night.
"Master Wayne insists that you come in for the night," Alfred says invitingly as he holds his arm out for my hand.
"No thanks," I reply shortly.
"Please?" Alfred tries. I just shake my head at him and start to close the door. Alfred has surprisingly quick feet though, as I find out when the door will close no further, "Ii have a nice, temper-pedic mattress set up for you, with feather-down pillows and a heated blanket. It's king-sized," he baits. I snatch the worm and smile faintly at him, but mainly because I know there is no winning against this man. Bruce has told me a lot about him.
"You had me at heated blanket," I say weakly. Alfred grins a wide, toothy smile and holds his arm out for me once more. I take it and let him lead me into the house, or castle as I call it in the safe confines of my own mind.
My room is humongous. It's probably five times the size of my closet back in the mountains. It's colored with deep, earthy colors, like mahogany and chestnut. I collapse on the bed and am out promptly.
In the morning, the smell of cooking eggs and sizzling bacon seeps through the walls. They put me next to the kitchen, gee, thanks Bruce. Probably because he knew that I'd sleep all day in that wonderful, warm cocoon of a bed if I didn't smell that food.
There is a large vanity mirror on the back of the door that I cannot, no matter how hard my efforts, avoid looking into. My short, dirty blonde hair is spiked on one side, completely flat on the other, all in all very attractive. My face is dirt-streaked, and my clothes rumpled. I consider a shower before breakfast, but my stomach starts to laugh scornfully at me by way of gurgling.
The kitchen is a big, open affair with numerous cabinets, two fridges, and an extra-long stove that is currently hosting a dozen eggs and probably a full pig's worth of bacon. It's any mutant bird-girl's dream.
Bruce isn't there, but I don't care. All my eyes see are those eggs. If I were a cartoon, which I do sometimes wish, because that would make life so much funner, my eyes would be pulsating hearts. Drool pools at the sides of my mouth.
Alfred looks up and chuckles at me, "Good morning, miss. Care for some eggs?"
In response, I dramatically lick my lips and sit at the high counter.
"You might want to wake Master Wayne before you dig in. He'll be very unhappy if he misses his breakfast. Especially with the likes of you at the table."
A giggle escapes my lips. Alfred has a sweet talent for making me laugh. He tells me what room is Bruce's, and I flounce up the steps hurriedly before giving up halfway and flying the rest. I'm too hungry to walk.
I burst through Bruce's door and immediately set about trying to figure out the curtains. I don't have to say a word, because the racket I make sends Bruce from blissful sleep to complete awareness in two seconds. I finally master the blinds, pulling them from their hold forcefully and throwing them to the ground in a manner that suggests that I would very much like to burn them if I had the chance.
"Good morning to you too," Bruce mutters, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, "You'll have to pay for those, you know."
"They're not broken," I protest, surveying the down-trodden lump of fabric at my feet, "And it's not my fault, anyway. They started it." But then my stomach remembers our mission, and I yank Bruce from his sitting position. "Hurry up! Breakfast is waiting!"
"Give me a few moments," Bruce huffs, grabbing his silky, striped robe.
"No, no moments," I snatch the robe from his hands and race downstairs. Bruce follows irately. He's not much of a morning person, but he came between me and breakfast, and no sane man wants to be there. Of course, the jury's still out on whether Bruce is sane or not.
Alfred hurries back into the kitchen when he sees me reach the gigantic table first and skillfully immigrate the whole dozen-egg omelet to my plate, and then my mouth, chunk by chunk. Bruce watches on in amazement as I shovel away at the food, more inhaling then tasting.
"'S a good omelet," I say between mouthfuls.
"You weren't kidding when you said you ate a lot, were you?" Bruce comments as his smaller omelet is brought out a minute later. I don't grace him with an answer. We start out sitting at opposite ends of the long table, but Bruce moves to my side when he sees that I will not go to his.
After breakfast, we settle back contentedly in our stiff-back chairs.
"I like that look on you, I really do," Bruce jokes, reaching out and ruffling my hair. It's probably an improvement.
"Whatever," I roll my eyes, "So, how was risking your life combating criminals on the streets until the wee hours of the night?"
Bruce laughs at the table penitently, his eyes not meeting mine, "Good, I guess. How was the greenhouse?"
"Aromatic," I answer after the necessary pause I need to gather a more brilliant reply than 'whatever'.
"I'm glad you stayed, Breezy," Bruce says, going all serious on me. These are the worst times for my verbal diarrhea, because my emotions get all tangled and overwhelmed and the brain cells that usually control my communication skills have to go and reinforce the ones holding back whatever emotion is trying to break loose.
"Um, yeah," I say, and it is my turn to scrutinize the table. After a short pause, I say, "Listen, if this is what you want to do with your life, fine. I understand. You're just … a guy in a cape with bats in his belfry. Why bats, by the way?" I sidetrack.
"Because that is what I fear. Or feared rather."
"Bats?" I ask incredulously, "What, did you watch one of those vampire bat flicks when you were younger that scarred you for life?"
"No," Bruce chuckles again, "I … fell down a well this one time."
I listen to his story patiently, my real question poking at my brain the whole time.
"Oh," I say when Bruce stops. I guess that makes more sense now. Then I get to my more important question, "Anyway, what I was getting at before was, I just want to know why."
"Why?" Bruce gives me a look like the answer should be obvious, "Don't you know how my parents died?"
"Yeah," I say. Can that be his only excuse? "They were murdered right?"
"Yes," Bruce says curtly. I guess that is his only reason.
"Bruce, plenty of people have lost loved ones to murderers," I try to make sense of this out loud, "But they don't … do this. What you're doing."
"But how many of those people watched their loved ones die, right in front of their young eyes, all the while knowing it was their fault, and believing it for many years? And how many of those people almost killed that murderer, and would've if they hadn't been beat to the punch? And, tell me Breezy, just how many of those people came back to find their city in the same exact state that they left it in, if not worse, and had the training and skill necessary to end that misery so that no one else ever has to feel what they've felt?" Bruce spurts, the words flowing flawlessly from his mouth. I sort of envy him that talent.
"I guess just you," I say. The overflow of knowledge is almost too much for me, and I get the informational equivalent of a brain-freeze. I hadn't known that he had watched his parents die. That puts things in an all-new perspective. Bruce nods affirmatively at my silence.
"Now do you understand?"
"Yeah," I flash a sudden grin, "I understand that you have an over-developed sense of justice."
"At least I have a sense of justice," Bruce replies quickly, flashing a similar grin, "I heard about that convenience store break-in of yours."
Bruce's quick smile leaves me virtually breathless. I'm not used to seeing it, so when it comes I have to take a few moments and replay it back in my mind to enjoy it more, but then I shrug and say "I had to."
"Ah, you had to make the man shit his pants by breaking through his protective glass window that he believed unbreakable just because you knew how to," Bruce mocks.
"He shit his pants?" I say gleefully. I didn't know that.
Bruce nods, "I saw the security tape. Speaking of, you should be more careful if you plan on breaking into anymore convenience stores. They caught your face quite clearly."
Security, or my lack of, reminds me of my claim to fame. I rush to my room without a word, and Bruce follows.
"Check this out," I thrust the grimy newspaper in Bruce's hands. He reads the headline and scoffs.
"World Weekly News?" he questions my news source.
"Yeah, flip to page 15," I prod him in the belly. He doubles up slightly because said belly is very full.
He mouths the words, and then shakes his head sadly, "You're proud of this?"
"Yeah! Isn't it exciting! I'm famous!"
"Take it from someone who knows, it's not that fabulous," Bruce says. He isn't enjoying my fame as much as I am, and I don't know why.
"Aw, come on, Bruce, lighten up," I try to joke.
"I'm a creature of the night. I'm not even supposed to know what light is," Bruce jokes back. I sigh, relieved. I like Bruce so much more when he's not all gloomy.
"Master Bruce?" Alfred's voice echoes down the hallway, "Mr. Lucius Fox is on the telly for you."
"I have to take that," Bruce says. I tag along, because I have nothing better to do.
"Hello, Lucius. Yes, it worked wonderfully. Just the right amount of pull for … spelunking. Yes, yes, thank you, again. Alright," Bruce pauses and looks at me for a long moment, "Actually, Lucius, I have someone here I would really like you to meet." I swiftly kick his shin, and he grimaces at me, but manages to keep the pain I know he's feeling out of his voice when he says, "If you would be so kind. Okay, three o' clock. See you then."
When Bruce hangs up the phone, I make sure that the face he turns back to is not a pleasant one. I try my hardest to cock one of my eyebrows up while glaring, but alas, I am no Clark Gable.
"Lucius knew most of the men that … worked on you. I thought he would enjoy seeing the product."
"Excuse me, sir, but did you say worked on her?" Alfred butts in.
"Yes, Alfred. You see, our friend Breezy here was a result of the Avian Experiment," Bruce turns his full body around to see Alfred's reaction, which is worth it. He drops the pan he was washing onto the floor, splattering water everywhere, including a humorous spot on his pants.
"You don't say," Alfred breathes, disregarding the mess, "Yes, I think that Lucius will find her most interesting."
"Well that's all very well," I begin a rant, but Bruce stops me mid-sentence, clapping a hand over my mouth.
"There's no room for argument," he warns. My glare intensifies.
"Ah now, don't do that," Alfred says to me, removing Bruce's hand and patting my head affectionately, "It'll put wrinkles in your pretty little brow."
"Fine," I growl, and then pull away from them, my objective a hot shower.
A half-hour and some very bad singing later, I finish dressing in clothes from God-knows-where that fit nicely after I tore two big holes in the back and set out on a quest for Bruce. I find him in his room, talking to Alfred.
"Have you seen her lately?" Bruce asks.
"Not in quite a while," Alfred responds, "She was most devastated when you left. I'm actually surprised she hasn't been here to see you for herself." So there is a girl. Of course. I mentally hit my head against the wall for being so stupid and fantasizing about something I'll never have.
"Hey," I announce my presence, rapping lightly on the door frame and swinging the door open. Bruce is looking out of a high window, and he doesn't seem at all ashamed to see me. He must not have guessed that I was eaves-dropping.
"I thought you'd like a tour of the grounds before Lucius gets here," Bruce offers. I decline gently, saying that I need time to prepare myself for meeting someone new. Bruce swallows the lie whole. I go back to my room and spend the next few hours contemplating why I feel so horrible about Bruce having a girl.
"Lucius is here," Alfred comes to get me and ushers me to the large parlor.
"You won't believe me if I told you, Lucius. This is something you have to see with your own eyes. But you will be blown away, without a doubt," Bruce is prepping this Fox man for me. I smile smugly on the inside when I hear the ridiculous pride in Bruce's voice.
"You certainly have intrigued me, Mr. Wayne," an unfamiliar voice says. It is deep and husky. Bruce turns around and sees Alfred in the entrance and gets up to bring me in.
"Lucius, it is my great pleasure to introduce you to Ms. Breezy," Bruce takes my arm and leads me to the man. His skin is dark and speckled with age and his eyes are old. Those dark eyes take on a new light when they take in my wings, much like Bruce's did when we first met. They seem to be analyzing me, deciding if I'm a trick of the mind or really there.
"Hi," I say lamely.
"Hello," Lucius says, curiosity raging from every fiber of his being, as he takes my hands and raises it to his lips. Blood rushes to my cheeks, and I feel Bruce vibrate with a laugh next to me.
"You'll never guess," Bruce challenges, looking confident that Lucius will not.
"The Avian Experiment?" Lucius asks, but he already knows the answer, I can see that in his eyes.
Bruce scoffs, but I can tell that he knew that Lucius would know, "I figured I wouldn't catch you off-guard. Amazing, isn't she?" Again, that pride flushes his voice and flutters in my heart.
"Absolutely stunning," Lucius responds, "Are they functional?"
"Completely," I say airily, like having a fourteen-foot wingspan is no big deal.
"I'd love to see it," Lucius hints. I shrug and head for the door. After a flight and then an encore, Lucius peppers Bruce and me with questions essentially about how I work. I think his mind is overloaded, because he keeps switching the question.
Finally, he says, "You know, if you don't mind of course, why don't I just run some tests on you? That will answer my questions more effectively." I grimace and Bruce squeezes my hand, "But only if you want," Lucius adds quickly.
"Um," I look to Bruce for help getting out of this. One of my main reasons for my life of mostly-solitude is avoiding getting tested like an animal by scientists who don't care about my well-being more than they care about the rats in the sewer. Lucius probably isn't like that, but my mind has already branded him and sent him to the "Automatic Dislike" corner.
"It'll all be done in secret," Bruce says, "No one but Lucius will know."
"It will also be a great success for the field of genetics," Lucius says.
"No," I say quickly, my eyes now wide in fear. Lucius looks a little hurt, more disappointed really, but I couldn't care much less. Bruce looks slightly disappointed too, but he should know better. Lucius leaves soon after that, and I won't lie. I'm glad to see him go.
Later on, Bruce tells me that he has a date tonight and that lucky lady will be arriving any minute. I tense.
"It's only with a couple of super-models," he tells me.
"A couple?" I glower. He doesn't know why I'm getting worked up about this, and he finds some sort of humor in it.
"It's purely a show," he says, "Alfred says that Bruce Wayne must keep up his playboy persona, even if Batman is prowling the streets. I probably won't even have fun. Super-models are all the same, full of nothing but hot-air."
"Don't act too happy about it. You might strain a muscle," I growl.
"What's the matter?" Bruce asks, smiling slightly. I shake my head, nothing.
Bruce looks at the floor then. He takes a while to speak again, "Is this about … what happened when you left?"
Oh. He does remember.
"Yeah, sorry about that," I mutter, though I'm far from it, "Spur of the moment, you know?"
"Okay, if you say so," Bruce says, not believing me by a long shot.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, taking the defensive.
"That you care for me a whole lot more than you let on," Bruce says. I gasp, but that doesn't stop him, "Why else would you save me, risking your own life, and then drag your butt all the way to Gotham to check on me?"
"Because you're my friend," I defend.
"Alright, friend," Bruce agrees. Just then, the doorbell rings, and women's laughter floats from the outside. He sighs, and I half-believe that he won't enjoy himself this evening. Then he leans in and pecks me on the cheek, "Goodnight. Friend."
I flee before Bruce can see that my face has turned a red that a tomato would envy.
Author's note – Yeah, this is a long one. Another nerdy quote in there. "Guy in a cape with bats in his belfry," was a line from some comic. Knightfall, if I remember correctly. So props to those guys for giving me one of my favorite quotes.