Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Batman universe.
I finally understand the phrase that people use when something happens that is beyond the ordinary. The structure for said phrase is "the blank to end all blanks", insert whatever happened in the blank.
For example, this morning, I woke up with the headache to end all headaches (see how that works?). Before this enlightening experience, it was just a hyperbole for a really monstrous headache. But now I understand completely. The headache that tortures me at this moment in time will truly end all others, because my head is going to explode from it, and you can't have a headache without a head.
Morning sunlight tries vainly to cheer me up as I wander down the hall to the kitchen. Memories of last night skip through my head like demonic children, leaving death in their wake.
There is a note on the table. It is addressed to the gardener and says that Master Wayne and his servant Alfred have gone out for the morning and that he should continue with his regular activities. They left? Boy, do I feel loved. Well, I can say at least one thing about last night; I will never want to go back into Gotham again.
My throat is raw from throwing up, and my stomach is despairingly empty. I am covered in bumps and bruises and other little lacerations. But my real concern is my head. I inspect it in a mirror, the long, red gash running from just below the hairline above my right eye all the way to the middle of the back of my skull.
The doorbell chimes, interrupting my self-examination. I wait for Alfred's voice to greet the visitor, but it never comes. Right, Alfred has left me here to die, as has Bruce. I shall remember to give them much shit about it when they return.
I slump back to my room, and crawl under my blankets again, but the doorbell keeps going. Whoever is waiting better quit their persistent ways now, or they'll have hell to pay.
Of course, they don't desist, and, fed up, I wrap my sheet around my shoulders and pull a hat gingerly over my head. There are a few minor bruises on my face, and especially under my eyes, but those could pass as unusually dark bags.
I pull the door open, and a woman is standing on the other side, looking impatient.
"What?" I snarl. She looks shocked by my rudeness. I laugh at her on the inside.
"Is Bruce here?" she asks. Her voice is quiet, like muted bells, and I want to lift her puny body over my head and then punt her over the fence.
"No," I respond shortly.
"Oh," she bites her bottom lip and pops her eyes awkwardly, "I've been trying to get a hold of him all morning, but he hasn't answered so I figured he might still be sleeping.
"Yeah, he did have a long night," I mumble, "But he's out right now."
"Oh," the woman says again, but this time her eyebrows lift and she sniffs judgingly, "Well then, I'll just try again later when he's in more suitable company."
"You do that," I say, the insult not registering in my mind until after I've shut the door on her. I mouth her sentence back to myself and then throw open the door again, making sure to keep a tight hand on my makeshift robe no matter what, "Hey! What the hell is that supposed to mean?!" The woman is walking briskly down the steps now, anger in her very step. She doesn't turn around to answer me, so I flip her the bird and slam the door again.
Slamming not a good idea. Sharp icicles of pain lace through my brain again and I stumble back to bed. Some hours later, Bruce gently shakes me awake.
"How are you feeling?!" he screams at me.
"Shhh," I groan, covering my ears with one of the numerous, useless pillows that adorn my bed and turning my face away from him. He lifts the hat that I had forgotten about off and sighs unhappily.
"What's with the hat?!" he bellows again.
"Shhh!" I hiss, sitting up to glare at him.
"Why are you shushing me?! If I talked any quieter I wouldn't be talking at all!" Bruce yells.
"Lady came for you. Wouldn't go away. Had to talk to her, make her leave," I say, using as little words as possible.
"Who was it?" Bruce asks, his voice dropping down to a semi-normal tone.
"Dunno," I mumble.
"You want some breakfast?" Bruce says, and the word breakfast sparks some flicker of life in me.
"Yes," I say, standing up slowly and stretching my arms and wings out.
Bruce walks me out to the kitchen, holding onto my arm the whole way.
"Mm, Denver omelet," I say, the smell assaulting my nose, "My favorite."
"Good morning, Ms. Breezy. Had a bit of trouble last night, did we?" Alfred greets me cheerily. At least he's not screaming at me. I would say something sarcastic but the omelet absorbs all my attention. "Spent all morning cleaning up your mess," Alfred adds, probably looking for some gratitude.
"What mess?" I ask, momentarily distracted from the omelet, "The one in the car?"
"No, the one on the highway," Bruce says, "You destroyed almost an entire forest on the outskirts of town. Not to mention all the electrical wires you took down."
"Forest?" I say, wondering what he's talking about.
"Do you remember last night?" Bruce asks suspiciously.
"I remember going to Gotham, fighting with you, and then getting drugged by that burlap sack," I say.
"Scarecrow," Bruce interrupts me, "Still not quite sure who he is, but I'm working on it."
"Yeah, whatever. Anyway, the rest is pretty fuzzy. I remember you being there, sort of, but then you put me in that stupid car of yours and I think I blacked out or something."
"Oh, no," Bruce laughs cynically, "You definitely did not black out. You went nuts and half-destroyed my 'stupid car' while burning down a forest with the rockets and running us into every electrical pole between here and Gotham."
"Maybe if you hadn't made my ride in stupid car that never would've happened," I growl. I'm not in a good mood, obviously, and Bruce isn't catching it.
"You just overreacted," Bruce says with a shrug of his shoulders.
"Overreacted?!" I shout, "I was toasted on some wacky drug and you stuck me smack dab in the middle of my worst nightmare! What was I supposed to do, sing about rocking horse people and marshmallow pies?!"
"Rocking horse people?" Bruce was at first shocked by my outburst, but the phrase captured his attention.
"Yeah, you know, follow her down to a bridge by a fountain, where rocking horse people, eat marshmallow pies," I warble, sidetracked also. Bruce still doesn't get it, so I say, "Lucy in the sky with diamonds? Come on, Brucie."
"Don't call me Brucie," Bruce sighs.
"Don't piss me off," I retort.
"Fair enough," Bruce smiles. After a moment's pause he continues, "You know, I was really worried about all this. About the streak of evidence you left behind, about you, about my car. But I guess it was for nothing."
"You were worried about me?" I ask teasingly, but then Alfred sets the omelet down in front of me and my side of the conversation ends, but Bruce keeps going.
"Yeah, there was a time there when you really had me concerned," he admits, "Still trying to figure out what Scarecrow did to you. I got Lucius to take some blood samples. I hope you don't mind."
True, a shiver runs down my spine when Bruce mentions his scientist friend violating my personal space, but I just shake my head.
"Oh, and he's going to be here later to ask you some questions about it," Bruce adds quickly, maybe hoping that I will just nod vacantly. But I don't, and I look up at him from my omelet pleadingly.
"Don't give me that look, please," Bruce beseeches me, "We need to find out what Scarecrow's selling."
Lucius arrives after I had taken a nice, long, hot shower and scrubbed away the stench of Gotham that had stuck to me. Again, I find nice clothes set out for me, but I opt for one of my already prepared outfits.
"Nice to see you again, Ms. Breezy," Lucius greets me warmly, too warmly, "Although a little damaged, I might say."
"Had a rough night," I grumble at him. Bruce pinches my arm, hinting for politeness.
"I'd like to ask you some questions, if that's alright," Lucius says kindly. He really isn't a bad guy, I decide, but I have less than love for his line of work.
"What do you want to know?" I say, like the trooper that Bruce wants me to be. I catch him smile out of the corner of my eye, and I know that he knows that I'm only doing this for him.
"Can you describe some of the main things that stuck out in your mind while you were on the drug?"
"Well, having only hit up once," I begin, but Bruce interrupts me again.
"Breezy," he chastises.
"Okay, sorry," I mutter, "Um, I don't really remember much, but I do remember being scared of a lot."
"Scared?" Lucius repeats, scrawling something down in his ragtag notebook.
"Yeah, kind of like … kind of like all my fears were amplified," I put the feelings into words successfully. There is something else, and it is tantalizing the tip of my tongue, begging to be noticed, but I can't reach it. "That's why when Bruce put me in the car I really flipped my lid."
"What did you do to my baby?" Lucius asks Bruce pointedly.
"Her fault," Bruce points jokingly at me.
I point to myself disbelievingly, "I thought we had already hashed this out. And besides, it's just a car. Can we just get this over with?"
They both swallow their upcoming comments and Lucius says, "So, a fear-inducing drug?"
"Yes!" I suddenly shout, pointing excitedly at Lucius. They both stare at me like I'm high again, "Bruce!"
"What?" Mr. Smooth doesn't even jump at this sudden explosion, but curiosity fills his eyes.
"It was like …" I pause, unsure of how much Lucius know of Bruce's past, "You remember that one time, when you used that drug that that crazy old man gave you, and you ran around for days pretending you were a ninja and yelling about bats?"
"That wasn't obvious at all," Bruce tells me sarcastically after showing a much-confused Lucius the door.
"Sorry, I got excited," I say, too proud of myself for figuring out where I'd seen these affects before to let Bruce tarnish it.
"Nice work, though," Bruce says, "I wonder how Scarecrow is getting these."
"You don't think …" I leave the sentence open, knowing that Bruce will draw his own conclusions.
"Can't be," Bruce says, "It can't."
"Alright," I accept his belief, "So where do you think Scarecrow's getting them from?"
"I don't know, but I have a hunch on who he is. I'll find out tonight, I guess."
"Good luck," I say, unease coloring my tone.
"Don't worry," Bruce notes the alarm, "And that girl from this morning, that was Rachel Dawes. Remember when I told you about her? I talked to her on the phone while you were showering, and she seemed pretty upset about finding you here."
"Yeah, well, I was upset that she wouldn't leave when there was so clearly nobody home," I huff.
"Nobody but you," Bruce agrees, "Just be a little nicer next time you answer the door, okay?"
"Yeah, whatever," I say. Rachel. I grind my teeth forcefully. Bruce told me about Rachel and how she was a mega-bitch. Um, actually, he didn't say that, but that's the impression I got, both when he was telling me about her and this morning.
"Glad to see you back to your old self," Bruce smiles at me.
"Not quite," I mutter, rubbing my temples.
"Head hurts?" Bruce asks, even though the answer is obvious.
"That's an understatement," I correct him.
"It'll go away," Bruce says, taking my hand and leading me to the ample gardens that surround Wayne Manor, "Let's see how much some outside air helps it."
Even though the last thing I want to do right now is go for a walk through the gardens, I follow Bruce. We make some small talk, about what it was like growing up here, etcetera.
As we arrive back at the house, Bruce says, "There. How do you feel now?"
I could spare his feelings and tell him that the walk worked wonders, but I don't, "Still pretty crappy."
Bruce wasn't expecting anything less, I can tell by that ironic little smile, "By the way, Rachel's coming over tonight for a little bit." I try my hardest not to grimace, but a little frown slips through. "Please, try to make friends?" Bruce begs me.
"Um, I'll just go out for the night or something," I suggest. Anything to get me out of this house while she's here.
"What will you do?" Bruce asks.
"I don't know, go clubbing or something," I joke, "Alfred keeps on telling me I need a night out."
"You don't have to go," Bruce says, and I can see in his eyes he doesn't want me to leave. It makes me blush, and Bruce notices but doesn't comment.
"Maybe I'll go catch a movie or something," I say, seriously now, though I'll probably just end up crashing in the greenhouse.
"Alfred could go with you," Bruce contemplates, "He hasn't had a night off in a long time."
"Bruce, I don't need a bodyguard," I roll my eyes at him, "And besides, Alfred probably has to stay here to chaperone." I nudge his ribs and wink. Bruce just shakes his head at me, taking my joke sincerely.
"Things between me and Rachel aren't like that," he says. I knew that already, so I wonder why he said that. Maybe to quell my fears? Most likely to remind himself, no matter how much he wishes it was different.
My fingers are tapping anxiously against the door jam, "Anyway, my staying here is out of the question. She would probably get angry."
"Yeah, maybe you're right," Bruce cedes.
"I know I'm right," I grin triumphantly.
"You could stay at my penthouse in the city," Bruce proposes.
"Whatever," I shrug. That turns out to be one of the best decisions I have ever made. Bruce's penthouse is a lush affair, and I don't think I've ever slept in such a comfy, big bed. But the real kicker is that when Alfred's giant face appears on one of the walls, telling me that Bruce is in trouble, I'm already close by.