Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Batman universe.
"Happy birthday, Mr. President," I sing, swinging open Bruce's door. He turns around and smiles at me, fixing the bow tie on his tuxedo.
"Well?"
"Do I even need to say anything?" I ask sardonically. He looks dashing, as always.
He fiddles with the tie again, but shrugs, "I always hated these stupid things."
"Not quite a cowl, is it?"
"Nothing close," Bruce grins crookedly, "Why aren't you dressed?"
"Dr-dressed? For what?" I sputter.
"The party. Aren't you coming down?"
"Yeah, let me just throw on a cocktail dress and slap on some quick makeup," I laugh at him.
"You could come down for a minute, meet some people, mingle. Who knows, maybe you'll make a friend. I'll get one of those white chef's jackets and you can wear that," he suggests light-heartedly.
"No. The cook hates me anyway. I burned his shrimp poppers." I had wanted to withhold that piece of information from him, but oh well.
"So no shrimp poppers?" he pouts mockingly.
"Nope. And no Breezy at the party either."
"For my birthday?"
"No!" I exasperate, "'Sides, you got your present last night." He laughs a little and gives up. What was he thinking anyway? "When does it start?"
"In about two hours. I was just making sure the old suit fits," Bruce says. There is a shadow of worry in his eyes that I very much doubt has to do with his old suit.
"What's the matter?" I ask.
"It's Rachel. She went to Arkham Asylum today to talk to Crane. I'd hoped she would call by now and tell me she's alright."
"Worried?"
"Yes. Very."
"Maybe you should go check it out. Make sure everything's okay," I suggest. Either that or he's moody for the rest of the night.
"I was just thinking that myself," he says darkly. On the way to the piano, Alfred catches up with us.
"But, Master Wayne, the guests will be arriving," he shouts after Bruce. Bruce yells a retort, but it's lost in the creak of the old elevator. For one brief second on uncertainty Alfred looks like a man who fell into the ocean, had a life saver thrown to him, and then realized the thing had a hole.
An hour later, those few people who are always really early to any party show up. I greet them, one of Alfred's butler jackets thrown on. I'm swimming in it, but the lumps protruding from my back are nearly unnoticeable.
"Hi. Hello. Welcome. Gutentag," I smile at the man who I thought looked slightly German.
"Thank you," Alfred says as he sweeps past me. Even though he's annoyed at Bruce, he's in his element, talking up rich people and offering champagne. The next man to walk past me has a beautiful, talkative woman on his arm, but as I smile and say "'Sup", much to Alfred's brief chagrin, I notice the subtle difference between this man's eyes and the ones around me. I have seen empty eyes like these before, and I wonder what they're doing in a place like this. But it couldn't be. It couldn't.
About ten minutes after the last guests arrive, Bruce struts into the grand hall.
I hurry to be near him. "Finally," I mutter as he walks past.
"Look who made it," he retorts.
People swamp him and we can't exchange any more loving greetings. I see him mutter something to Alfred, who signals to me, his fingers hinting at the room with the piano. Bruce shakes his head minutely at Alfred when he sees the gesture, and I know he doesn't want me down there in case I freak out again. It makes me a little angry, my pride sufficiently hurt, and I tramp angrily through the crowd towards the room. I do my best not to touch anyone, but a man bumps into my shoulder. I glare at him in passing, only enough time to notice his eyes. There's no way, so I don't even think twice on it.
I ensure that no one's coming, and slip through the bookcase. Cave-side, laying on one of Bruce's worktables and light up like a modern-day Ophelia, I recognize Rachel Dawes. She's passed out, but breathing hard. I gawk at her for a few moments, and then Alfred joins me.
"What are we supposed to do?" I ask.
"Take her home. Bruce gave her the antidote and a sedative already," Alfred hoists her up onto his shoulders and grunts under the weight. I flutter around him uselessly, trying to help.
"Just … just go back upstairs," he finally says. I obey, glad to be of no use. I get back to the party just in time to see Bruce's back stiffen as he greets an Asian man. An older lady fawns at him, but I bet that if he had to repeat her words back he couldn't for his life. Of course, he is full of surprises. A hand clamps down on my shoulder as I make a move to join him, a deep, scary feeling as potent as a boulder in my gut. I spin around and fight with all my willpower to hold back my scream. I'm dragged away to a side room before a thought can register in my brain.
"What are you doing here?" I snarl after the door closes behind us quietly, ominously.
"Our job," the man growls back.
"Not here," I sniff, tears pooling, and think to myself "Geez, have I gone soft or what?" They've ruined my whole life, and they're back to ruin this too.
"Gotham is corrupt. It must be destroyed," the man says mechanically.
"Over my dead body," I knee him ruthlessly in the balls. He must be a newbie, because he doubles up from pain. I attempt to rush out, but the man's arms encircle my waist, trapping my own arms. He's not as weak as I thought. I try to whack at him with my wings, but they're still stuck under the jacket. We struggle at an impasse for a few seconds, neither gaining, neither giving up. Finally, I muster up the strength necessary to break his hold and grab a candle stick while he's still wondering how I escaped. I'm not as weak as he thought. Before he can react, the candle stick connects with his forehead with a stomach-emptying thump. He falls. I throw the jacket over his bleeding face, abstaining the sight from my eyes.
Out in the grand hall, the party is in shambles. All of the guests have left and Bruce is talking calmly with some men. They're everywhere, I realize. Every corner of the room houses a watching man. It is them.
Ducard turns to look at me and smiles, a hint of sadness hidden in the cold folds of his face. Bruce looks like his world is shattered and raining around him in tiny, bite-sized pieces.
"Interesting company you keep, Mr. Wayne," Ducard notes dryly. I start towards Bruce, but Ducard holds up his hand to stop me, "Not another move, Breezy." I wonder idly what exactly is trained on me now and how much it will hurt. Another section of my mind, one that hasn't seen the light of neurons in ages, starts analyzing just what I could do to escape.
"Really. Quite interesting that she's here. For all your 'sparing lives' ideals that is," Ducard smiles evilly, coldly now. Bruce doesn't reply and I half-hope that he hasn't heard. "Bruce? Didn't you hear me? No matter, I'll tell you the rest anyway. Or hasn't your little girlfriend told you already?" Bruce shakes his head slowly back and forth, stalling, I realize. Getting the bad guy to talk so Bruce has time to make a plan. Only he's sacrificing me to do it.
"No? She never told you how many people she's killed? How many lives she's ended, single-handedly? But she is a liar, isn't she. She probably told you that I, what was that term, Breezy? Ah yes, manipulated her into the League of Shadows, didn't she. Lies, Mr. Wayne, all lies. People were dying by her hand, and I was sent to check it out and found her, reckless angel, covered in righteous blood." I start to twitch nervously. Bruce is staring at me now, and the look is so real it can't be part of his plan. "I didn't manipulate her into it. I gave her a purpose for killing, structure, if you will. So I'm just curious as to why you so hypocritically keep her company."
"No," I whisper, hatred for Ducard filling my brain with red mist. I know this mist. This mist feels like coming home, it's been suppressed so long.
"She's not stable, Bruce, mentally. Something to do with the DNA battling within her," Ducard says this now softly, like he regrets it.
"That's not true!" I shriek, my entire body trembling with a mixture of anger and fear as explosive as dynamite. Ducard just nods understandingly, as if that proves his point. A man approaches me, and my leg flies out of its own accord, knocking him into a wall. I make a dash for specifically anywhere but here.
"Run, Breezy, like always," Ducard's voice carries to me and rings in my head as I leap into the night sky. Tears are streaking down my face, leaving angry red lines in their burning wake. Memories, repressed memories bombard my mind. Fresh, warm blood flowing between my fingers. Strangled voices begging for help. Evil draining out of their eyes like a plug had been pulled. A wind buffets me around, my concentration lost in it. I am facing Wayne Manor again in the distance. It's in flames. Bruce.
I haul back to the mansion, flying as fast as I can. A man is slumped at the doorway, a gun still cocked on his lap. I barrel through the front door and see Alfred struggling with a beam and shouting, his words lost in the witches' cackle of flame. A dark body wriggles under the beam. Together, Alfred and I lift the log off of Bruce and Alfred grabs him and helps him to the unknown elevator. My hands are so heavy with guilt I cannot raise them to assist Alfred. Bruce hasn't taken one glance at me.
In the cool seclusion of the falling elevator, Bruce shakes his head forlornly and says words that my ears are too dirtied with memories and shame to hear. We slam to a halt and I am the first one out of the elevator, collapsing at the water's edge for a drink to rid my lungs of soot.
"And why do we fall, sir?" Alfred's voice strains to be heard through the gloom in my mind. I dunk my head under the water so I don't have to hear the rest.
I surface to hear Alfred say, "Never," and smile tiredly, helping Bruce to his feet. I wander back over to them, my eyes carefully analyzing the cracks in the cave floor.
"Breezy?" Bruce's question, his simple acknowledgment of me, startles me against a cave wall. "It's okay," he holds out his palm, showing me a gesture of peace.
I slap the silly gesture away and mutter something that was supposed to be "I'm fine."
He understands me, though, and says, "I know. But I need your help now. Can you help me?"
I only respond with a nod because the answer is obvious. I'd do anything for him.
"Good. I need you to go to the Narrows and start protecting people."
"From what?"
"Themselves. Inject the ones you think are the most dangerous with these." He hands me some syringes. "… And don't … hurt anyone too badly."
Guilt rips through me and I can't stay there, under their judging eyes anymore.
A/N - You guys can thank insomnia for this one :P