Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Batman universe.
Curiosity mixed with boredom raging from my fingertips to my toes, I sneak into the parlor with the piano, and bang out the notes that I remember a few times before a section of a bookshelf swings open. I peer downwards into the gloom, and almost back out. A red elevator comes up to greet me. I step into it and my body starts to tremor. I don't feel safe.
The second the elevator touches ground I dart out of it, breathing hard. The scene that opens before me is one of awe. A waterfall pounds the rock on the far edge, and big lights are hanging from the rock walls, illuminating a table filled with various working devices and weapons, maybe? Probably. A big, black, for lack of a better word, car looms in the darkness by the waterfall. I stay far away from it. As soon as the awe wears off, though, the claustrophobia sets in.
Bruce's voice materializing out of the darkness startles me into flight, as if I'm not edgy enough, and I hit my head on the cave roof. I hear Bruce chuckle beneath me.
"Got curious?" he calls up to me. I land on the ground with a thump.
"A little," I admit.
"I've decided to call it the Batcave," Bruce says contemplatively.
"Fitting," I swallow thickly. Claustrophobia wraps its fat fingers around my lungs, my breathing again escalates, and my feet are rooted to the floor like those strange, demented plants that, through some case of mistaken identity, dwell in caves. Underground is not a good place for me to be. I don't know what I was thinking.
"Breezy?" Bruce says worriedly, "What's wrong?"
I wave half-heartedly in his direction with one hand, the other grasping at my throat, trying to open it up for breath again. Bruce moves like lightning to reach me before I fall to the cold, hard rock. He pats my face rapidly, attempting to shake me out of my daze. I push against his arms, but with a little more force than I intended. Bruce slams into the rock wall, and as soon as I see that flash of unexpected pain splash across his face my feet are moving once more towards the elevator.
I stumble into the cheery little parlor and the need to hit something overwhelms me. I curl my fists and bring them to my mouth to fight the urge. After a few calming moments and some twitching, I call down the still-open elevator shaft.
"Bruce?" I ask meekly.
"Yes?" Bruce's voice rises out of the murkiness, and he doesn't sound terribly annoyed with me.
"Um, are you okay?" I bite my nails shamefully.
"I'm fine," Bruce yells. I don't know where to go from here, so I walk quietly away.
When Bruce finally does come sunny-side, he seeks me out. I am out in the yard, weeding for Alfred.
"Alfred has you working?" Bruce asks skeptically, coming up behind me and spooking me again.
"Um, yeah," I shrug, "I felt bad." Bruce smiles a little bit and nods.
"Well, I'm going to take a swim in the pool, if you can tear yourself away from your weeds," he invites me, and I notice for the first time his multi-colored shorts and the towel slung over his shoulder, but I laugh at him. At Bruce's look of puzzlement, I explain.
"Look at me, Bruce," I pull at one of my wings, "Do I look like I'm made for the water?"
"About as much as you are for underground?" Bruce guesses jokingly.
"Yeah," I roll my eyes sarcastically at him.
Night falls, and Bruce departs his mansion once again. I watch his car blast out of the ground a few miles away and leave Wayne Manor, and the rest of us, in the dust.
"Is that thing safe?" I worry to Alfred, who is standing right next to me.
"About as safe as they can get," Alfred assures me. I nibble at my nails and Alfred reprimands me, "Nasty habit, Ms. Breezy, nasty habit."
"I know," I sigh. I could never get him to stop calling me miss. Boredom reigns over me for the next few hours. I bug Alfred for a little bit, and generally feel under-stimulated. I go into my room and sing to the radio for a while, but after about twenty minutes Alfred shows up and takes the thing, saying that he "couldn't bear it any longer". Gee, thanks. I turn on the tube, but those things have never interested me and I switch it off quickly. Alfred suggests reading a book when I find him again, but I am the world's slowest reader, and books are about the same as TV for me. I bore too quickly to read a book.
Finally, I settle on a flight. Alfred warns me on wear to fly, and I smile inside, because he sounds so fatherly. So, like any good daughter, I ignore his warnings completely, and head to the city.
"Going to the city, got you on my mind," I croon to myself while I'm flying, even though I'm the farthest thing from a "fool for the city". Gotham threatens the world as I draw closer to it. It is like a monster; scary, terrifying, but yet fascinating and unavoidable at the same time.
I wonder idly where Bruce, or rather Batman, is now. I stay far from the city street for as long as I can though. Gunshots ring through the air, reaching even me high in the sky. Gotham reels me in like a fish. Luckily, I'm wearing a hooded sweatshirt, and I pull the ample hood over me head, hoping it will shadow my face enough beyond recognition. I land on a building, and watch the scene that unfolds. Two mobs are facing each other off, guns already firing in the lower ranks. I guess that this is some sort of gang rumble, but a man stands in the middle, his face disfigured.
He is holding bags in the air for the watching people to see and shouting to them, "I have what you need right here!" There is a wicked smile that is only in his voice that I detect. It confuses me.
"What is it?" asks one of the punks standing closest to the man.
"A cure," the man says, and that strange tone doesn't change. The punk reaches out tentatively and takes one of the bags, exchanging a wad of money for it. The man with no face nods happily. He tosses the other bag to the other side when another wad of cash falls at his feet, and greedy hands grapple for a littler bag of the white stuff.
"How do we use it?" the first punk calls out. He is holding one of the white bags open, and there are traces of it on his face, "I don't feel anything."
"It has to be," the man who gave out the drugs pauses, and moves closer to the punk, "airborne." A mist shoots from the man's face and the punk screams and falls, writhing, to the ground. Did he just breathe on that guy? Talk about a bad case of rancid breath. I am about to give up on having some fun tonight and go back to Wayne Manor when a black shape hurtles into my eyesight like an inside-out comet. It's got to be Bruce. Protection instincts take over, and I find myself flying down to help him. A little part of my mind is screaming at me to cut the bullshit and leave before Bruce realizes that I'm here, but I shove it into a corner and tell it to shut up.
A man is coming upon Bruce's, errr Batman's, back and I land on him and then am forced to duck under Batman's flailing punch that was meant for the sneak attacker. I pop up after the fist passes harmlessly over my head and Batman grunts angrily. I turn my back to him and kick the crap out of an unskilled and easily disposed of punk. We fight like that, back to back, trying to reach the man with no face.
We both see him escaping down an alley; "Get him," Batman growls at me. Well, for one thing, he has definitely disguised his voice well. I leap into the air, and bullets fly around me. They're aiming for me, I realize with a shock. Bastards! I fly above the alley that the man disappeared down and locate his puny body hustling along it. What now? I freak out in my mind, because I don't know what to do. What if he breathes on me? What if I let him get away?
The questions almost halt my forward progress, but I drive on, thinking of how disappointed Batman would surely be if I came back without this man. I let my instincts take over, and hurtle downwards. I land right in front of the man and try to intimidate him with a growl like Batman had earlier, but it just sounds like a hairball is stuck in my throat. The man gazes steadily at me, and then I notice that what I thought was just a severely deformed face is really just a burlap sack.
"What have we here?" the burlap sack hisses, "The little birdie that whispers in the Bat's ear?"
"What?" I gape at him. I am terrible at this hero stuff.
"No matter," the sack says, and his voice again takes on that strange quality. I should probably be disabling him or something, so I aim a punch for where I think his nose is. The man ducks and hits me in the ribs. I double up with a gasp, and the hit angers me. The man is behind me now, so I pivot, but before I can raise my leg for a kick, a hissing fills my ears, and the mist erupts from his mouth-area. I stare at the smoke uncomprehendingly and by then it is too late. The man escapes down the alley, leaving me to wonder what he did to me.
A second passes, and then it hits me. He drugged me, that I knew, but in my experience, drugs never really worked on me, something to do with my birdbrain. My stomach contracts and I throw up onto my feet. My head is pounding and the alley walls are spinning around me.
Feet. Behind me. I start to run away from them, but a hand grabs my shoulder, spinning me about. A man with pointy, black ears gazes down into my wide eyes. His mouth is set in a permanent frown and I peer at his familiar eyes.
"What the fuck?" I mumble, trying to break his grasp on my arm. Fear, suddenly like iron, starts to crack when the pointy-eared thing whispers my name. I twitch at the familiar sound.
"Breezy," the thing says again. The voice is tearing apart my fear, replacing it with warmth.
"Bruce," I swallow. My head is still pounding, and my heart is beating a mile a minute, literally, but at least I am slightly rational. Bruce pushes a button on his arm, and then brings me against his chest, sheltering me from the world, and we wait. His car pulls up behind us. I can hear its growl. What is he doing? No. No! Bruce, no! I can't speak a word; my body is paralyzed by the return of fear.
"Come on, Breezy, its okay," Bruce urges me towards the car, but seeing that I won't budge, he picks me up swiftly and sets me in the seat. "I'm going to take you home," he says slowly, like he's talking to a dumb person. I manage to shake my head slightly. Batman jumps into the opposite seat and the roof settles over us with a groan. My mouth is dry and I can't remember the taste of water or the feel of wind. My stomach vaults forward at the first hint of a stop, and I hurl again.
"Ick," I hear my shadowy torturer mumble. The crisp, searing scent of the vomit frees my body. My mind, though, is still trapped in the icy fortress of fear.
"Lemme out," I gasp. The shadow ignores me. "Lemme out!" I scream shrilly. I thrash in my seat and the shadow reaches out to touch my face, to calm me. Desperation claims me, and I swing my arms about, trying to get out. The first thing I manage to do is unclasp the buckles that hold me in place.
"No, stop it!" the shadows cries. I reach for the buttons on the dashboard and start to push them rapidly. "Breezy!" the shadow cries again. I punch at the ceiling and where I thought the door should be. The little cabin shrinks around me, like a boa it squeezes the breath from my body. I have to get out. My attacks triple in intensity, like the last dying flame of a fire trying frantically to hold onto life. The darkness in the vehicle starts to move and shake. I have made it angry, but that makes me more distressed. I need to get out before it kills me.
The darkness reaches out for me, and I shrink in my seat, hiding from its searching tendrils. One finds me, and I go absolutely ape-shit. The monster shudders under my ensuing attack.
"Breezy, no!" the darkness commands urgently. But I can hear the fear in its voice and that gives me strength. Outside of the monster's belly, the world lights up again and again. Suddenly, the monster stops. I am thrown against the ceiling as it flips over and hits something else.
I can hear the darkness shriek and I know that I've won. No matter that I'm going to die now, the darkness didn't get me. I giggle manically as I stumble out of the monster's belly. Another figure does the same, but they don't find the same humor that I do. A warm liquid drips onto my face and eyes and my fingers come away covered in blood. I look at it impassively for a moment, before blacking out.