Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Batman universe.
The kitchen floor squeaks as I whisper across it, my feet barely touching the floor. I slam myself against the cabinets, a ready story flying to my lips. But I am still the only one in the penthouse.
I could not bring myself to take money from Bruce, even though he has so much he probably wouldn't notice, but I will take some food with me.
The pantry door creaks open with all the noise of a rusty dungeon door, and I cringe. Anxiety leaves my body with the sweat that drips down my forehead. I've never been so nervous in my entire life.
Raiding the pantry, my hands take over. They have done this many times before, and know what food to take and what will spoil. As I close the door, my last job finished, the light flicks on, and a gasp cuts the air behind me.
I swirl around, the same story on my lips. I need to go check up on some friends, but I'll be back soon. It's lame, but hopefully will get me out the door.
But the gasper in the doorway is not sweet, old Alfred, or my Bruce. It is that woman, Bruce's woman. Rachel.
"Wha – What are you?" Her face is frozen in shock, her mouth hung in a perfect O.
"Um," is all I can muster. Relief is coursing through me, smoothing my frayed nerves. I can still escape. My relief is cut short, though, as Rachel grabs a black box from the purse slung around her shoulders.
"Don't move," she warns, but her voice cracks with fear.
I stare slack-jawed at her. Who is this tiny woman with her walkie-talkie that thinks she can order me around? But I don't move.
"Who are you?" she rasps, trying to sound tough.
"My name is Breezy," I say slowly, holding my hands out in front of me, palms to her.
"What are you?"
"I'm … Bruce's friend," I say reluctantly. I feel anything but that right now.
"Really?" her voice drips with sarcasm, "Let's go get him then."
"No!" I jump at her, but she shakes the box at me again.
"Don't move!" she shrieks. Too loud, we're too loud. He'll come for sure.
"Please," I whisper, falling back into my previous position, "You can't get him. He can't know I'm leaving." The box droops slightly, pointing at the floor instead of me. I take advantage of the lapse and cross the room in three long strides, twisting the box, a taser I realize, from her hand. She whimpers in pain. I must've twisted her wrist a bit too hard. "Please," I whisper again, "I'm not gonna hurt you. I just need to leave."
She glares up at me, but something about the way my face looks, or maybe the fact that she is glaring at me like she did before, sparks recognition. "You're that girl, the one that was at Wayne Manor."
"Yes, and I'm leaving." You get him all to yourself.
"You have wings." The question throws me off guard, but it shouldn't. It's always one of people's first responses when they see me.
"Um, yeah. Make Bruce explain. But not too soon. He probably won't want to talk about me for a while."
"Why not?" Even if I didn't feel ridiculous competition from her, she's too nosy for my liking.
"Because he doesn't want me to go …" I pause, suddenly unsure of my strife. Does he want me to leave? He seemed so mad earlier … But Rachel and her never-ending string of questions interrupt my thoughts.
"Then why are you leaving?" Is it that obvious that I don't want to? Did she pick up that tinge of regret?
"I have to," I scoff, unwilling to explain myself. Again. But she just stares at me, uncomprehending.
I want to tell her. I want to tell her the truth. I can't, but I want to. I just want somebody to understand, somebody to throw some pity my way, somebody to sympathize with my situation, I just need someone to understand. Maybe this woman who I portrayed in my mind as the enemy, maybe she's the someone. I dive off the cliff.
"I'm a coward," I exhale, "I can't stand to be in love, I can't stand to be immobile, and I can't stand having someone else in here with me. If Bruce … if he loves me too, then I'm right where he is in my heart. Close to it, close enough to crush it. I can't be given that power, can't be trusted with it."
"Love is a many-splendored thing," Rachel says, trying to soothe me. What a mess I must look. "Just because you have someone's heart doesn't mean you'll hurt it."
"We've never met before, have we? Well, I'm Breezy, and I fuck everything up." Ah, cynicism, my best friend.
"If Bruce … loves you," the words are as hard for her to say as they are me, "you shouldn't run away from him. He's great."
"I know," I say defensively, "But, I don't even know if there's a Bruce in there anymore really, and Batman, well, Batman has enough axes hanging over his head. He doesn't need one held by me."
Rachel nods, contemplating, but a crippling sadness tears her face apart. Shit, she loves Bruce. And I just told her that he probably disappeared inside himself. Well, prime example of how I screw everything over, at least.
"Bruce knows what's best for him. If it was best that I stay, he would have caught me by now. But he didn't, and you, of all people, did. If anything, this is Gotham's door hitting me in the ass on the way out," I crack a little smile at Rachel, but she glares at me some more. "Listen," I continue, "don't believe what I said. I'm sure once this Batman phase passes over, he'll be back to his old self."
Rachel nods again, but she doesn't believe me. She can't leave him too! Shit, what have I done?!
"Promise me something," I shoot at her. Like she owes me anything, like she has to promise me anything, "Promise you'll always be there for him, like I never could be. Please."
She hesitates. Shit. "I will," she tells me. Tells me. Lies. There is nothing more I can do.
"Give him this," I shove a note into her hand. I never got to pass notes like all the other eight-year-olds on this planet, but Bruce needs to know this, and I can't tell him. "And don't … read it … and tell him …ask him …" My mind carries me away on a magic carpet through time and space, dumping me off in a cold, deathly, dark monastery.
The doors are thrown open, the wind howling through the room in an instant, and an entirely clothed figure falls inside … The man, it must be Wayne, looks around the room … Ducard smiles and puts a genial hand on the man's shoulder, before punching him in the gut … I lean over Wayne and look into his fading brown eyes. There is still some life in there, for he reaches up and touches my face, confused by the presence of a woman, before moving his hand to stroke the feather-covered structures sprouting from my back.
"What is an angel doing among the shadows?"
"Ask him what an angel is doing among the shadows."
Looking back at Gotham from the open sky, it is hard to believe what has happened in this city, or at least around it. I have lived happier than ever before, have been closer to death than ever before, and have loved harder than ever before. It may look like a normal, albeit corrupted city, but all of its secrets, good and bad, are waiting, if only you are willing to dig for them.
Author's note – Stick around for the epilogue. Like always, tell me your thoughts :)