A Batgirl among Batmen.

A Dark Knight/Batman Begins Fanfiction

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Chapter Two:The Difference between you and me

"I was never able to comprehend why Gotham was chosen as the Crime Capital of America until I had seen crime first hand when I was ten years old. I guess that I lived a sheltered life until then. I could barely remember anything about my encounter with crime except that I escaped with only a few scratches. I know better know,"


"I'm what?"

"Fired."

I frowned, crossed my arms and refrained from throwing my apron on the floor. How could I be fired? I had been on time that day, and for the past few days, I'd been a good employee, I'd even been nice to the flirt as he'd finally come back and tried to ask me out again.

"But—but why?" I inquired, wide-eyed.

"You're being too nice to the customers…some of them are staring, some have asked if you've been put on drugs. I can't have that effect our business." Gino explained, holding his hand out for my apron and nametag.

I tried to wrap my head around this as I numbly took off my nametag and picked up my apron. I was being fired for being nice? What a wacky world we lived in. I dropped both items to the ground, looking as though I was ridding myself of the dust of the place.

"I don't work here, so I won't pick it up," I explained simply, talking hurting the fading bruise on my face. "Arrivederci, Gino." I shouted, not bothering to ask if I was getting my paycheck as I ran out the door. I was already formulating a plan for a new job. That job consisted of a camera, freelance photography, and me.

"How much are you asking for these photos, kid?"

"Five-hundred."

"Pretty cheap for freelance in Gotham." The editor's eyebrows rose as he flipped through my photos. "You sure these are the only pictures ya' got?"

I handed over one last picture, one of the floodlight shining on the clouds over Gotham, a bat marking the middle. That picture was done in black-and-white, my best work. "This is my most recent, done with my father's old Nikon."

The editor bit on the cigar in his mouth to keep it in as he laughed. "You got spunk! I like that! I'll give you six-hundred for the lot and offer you a job as a photographer for two months. I don't like you by the end of the period, I'll let you go, I like you, I keep you on."

My jaw dropped. "I don't think that's possible for a girl of my age!"

"Which is?"

"Eighteen in a few weeks, sir."

"You're hired!"

My jaw hit the floor. "Sir!"

"I insist! You start tomorrow with Janet's interview with Harvey Dent."

I gasped and tried not to faint. "But I'm seventeen! I'm not fit to take pictures of Harvey Dent." I said, believing this was a joke.

The phone on the editor's desk buzzed. "Chief, we have a hot new story, Batman reported dead my the Mayor's office." A voice on the other end said, almost bored. "We need to send a photographer and a reporter."

"Ha! This is bigger than Lau re-appearing outside of MCU! I have a photographer all set right here, send Janet to the site right now."

My hand went to my mouth in shock; my other hand squeezed my camera. "Why are you sending me there? A rookie?"

"Go or you're fired and I don't use the photos"

I sighed. "I see, Chief. I'll go there now."

The sight of the man was terrible. The man himself someone I had seen on the night I had been slapped so hard I was left bruised for weeks. He had been killed Phantom-of-the-Opera style or hung, I couldn't tell. (I was too busy trying to hold down my lunch.) His face had been painted white, a long, red smile painted over his lips and up his cheeks. Blood dripped from the hand-made cowl. I wanted to throw up and-or cry all at the same time. None of that should happen to anyone.

"Take the damn picture, kid, before the medics take it!" Janet hissed as she scribbled a description of the man. I'd hate to have to be a reporter there. It was hard enough to be a photographer.

I quickly took a picture as the cops asked reporters to step back.

"There's a card on his suit," I said softly, pointing to the card as I placed the camera on my chest, hanging by a thick black woven band around my neck.

"Very observant, kid." Janet spat, still scribbling.

Janet was a middle-aged woman with dyed-black hair (her blonde roots showed through—her dye was going to have to be touched up) and cobalt blue eyes. She had several wrinkles on her forehead despite the slightly obvious Botox done on the lower half of her face. She was short, about as tall as I, and slender.

"Can all of you please back away from the body, your articles should be about done by now." A rougher voice sounded from behind me.

"Lieutenant Gordon's right, step away from the body so that we can take it to the morgue."

I turned around to face an older man with graying brown hair. "Lieutenant Gordon, sir?"

"How did you get here?"

"I was hired as a photographer."

"You must have a strong stomach."

I nodded. "May I ask you a question, sir?"

"Just one."

"Do you think that the Joker what something to do with this murder?"

He chuckled. "You're an observant kid. I think that the Joker has a lot to do with this. I hope you have a good therapist, 'cause if the paper keeps you on, you may have to see a lot of stuff like this."

Janet shouted at me over the crowd. "KID! GET OVER HERE!"

"Thank you for listening, Lieutenant." I thanked him graciously before running after Janet.

"Do you like parties, Strange?" Chief asked me as I returned to the office with my camera in hand ready to develop the photos.

"Well…it depends. Who's throwing the party?"

"Bruce Wayne."

My eyes widened, "Oh."

"I want photos of the D.A., I want pictures of Mr. Wayne. I want pictures of everyone who's there that you can." He ordered.

"But I haven't even gotten my photos developed yet!"

"Well I don't care! Bring extra film, whatever!"

"I don't have any extra film, sir. This is my last roll."

"Your last roll? Maybe you should pick up another."

"I don't have the money!" I argued, stepping in front of the editor.

"You do-hon't have the money," he laughed, pushing me aside. "Good one, kid,"

"No sir."

"Then pick up some from one of the other photographers, ask around."

"The image is disturbing." I stopped to look up at one of the many TV screens in the newspaper offices. On the screen was the man who had been murdered.

"Tell them your name."

"Brian…Douglas."

"Are you the real Batman?"

"No."

"No?" Joker.

"N-no."

"No! Then why do you dress up like him?" A mysterious purple glove pulled the cowl off Brian's head and played with it, making sing-song sounds with it.

"Because he's a symbol that we don't have to be afraid of scum like you."

"Oh, you do, Brian, you really do." The man onscreen started whimpering. I covered my eyes and looked away as the interrogation in a butcher's meat locker went on. How could one man be so twisted? An innocent man, being tortured in such a cruel way. It wasn't right, not right at all. I froze when I heard his threat to the Batman and Gotham.

"People will die. Starting tonight. I'm a man of my word."

"Frightening what haunts Gotham nowadays," Chief said, cringing. I nodded, clutching the nearest desk for support.

"That man is so twisted…I can't believe anyone here could do that, not even the worst Mob Boss."

"I doubt the body was that bad—?"

"Did you see the body up close? I did, it made me want to loose my lunch and cry all at the same time. It was so terrible!" I said softly as I headed towards the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To dig out a dress. I have a party to go to."

"Good evening, Miss. May I offer you a drink?"

"Oh, no, thank you. I don't drink." I shook my head as a passing waiter held a glass of champagne out to me.

"Wise choice."

"Good evening, Miss Strange. You must be the photographer from The Gotham Times." A new voice said from behind me. I squealed softly and turned around to see an elderly gentleman in a nice black suit and bowtie.

"Yes, sir. But, if I may, how did you know me?"

"I keep up-to-date on the Times, Miss Strange, including its website. You were added a few hours ago," he replied, giving a small dip of his head.

"Well then, I feel honored, Mister…um…"

"You may call me Alfred, Miss Strange."

I chuckled. "Please, call me Nicole." I insisted, lifting up the camera. "I'm only a photographer, shhh…" I put a finger to my lips before backing into the crowd as the elevator dinged. I stood, looking more than a little awestruck, by the large windows. The guests were all high profile—but I was saving my film for Bruce Wayne and the D.A., Harvey Dent himself. I looked up as helicopter blades whirred in the air. I prepared my camera for Wayne's arrival. When I peered out the window, it wasn't all that shocking to see two cover girls with him.

"I'm sorry that I'm late. I'm glad to see that you all got started without me," Mr. Wayne said, walking through the crowd and leaving the girls behind. I lifted my camera and snapped a photo as he continued, "Now, where is Harvey? Where–? Harvey Dent, the man of the hour," I snapped another photo, "Where is Rachel Dawes? She is my oldest friend. Come here. When Rachel first told me she was dating Harvey Dent, I had one thing to say: 'The guy from those God-awful campaign commercials?',"

I couldn't help but chuckle a bit.

"I believe in Harvey Dent. Yeah, nice slogan, Harvey. But it caught Rachel's attention. And then I started to pat attention to Harvey…and all that he's been doing as our new DA. And you know what? I believe in Harvey Dent. I believe that on his watch Gotham can feel…a little safer, a little more optimistic."

I smiled to myself, "If I had a glass I would toast to that," I nodded.

"Look at this face. This is the face of Gotham's bright future. To Harvey Dent. Let's hear it for him." Bruce concluded, beginning to clap for the DA and getting everyone else to do the same. I snapped one last picture and backed towards the elevator, pretty sure that nothing else was going to happen.

Just as I was about to press the button, the doors slid open a hand rested on my shoulder. I clenched my fists while closing my eyes as I spoke. "Hey, buddy, I don't want any trouble." I said wearily, sighing. I opened my eyes to find myself looking at a police officer who then nearly toppled on top of me. "Good grief!" I cried, jumping out of the way.

"We made it," the Joker said airily, pushing me aside.

I started to run past him, shouting, "The Joker!" before he grabbed the collar of my dress and pulled me back, cutting off my second shout. He threw me to the floor without hesitation. "Jerk!"

"That's my job, toots." He kicked me in the side and rolled me over with his foot. After that I didn't hear much besides a shotgun firing and the Joker talking. "Where is Harvey Dent?"

I gasped and tired to get to my feet, already feeling sore where I'd been subjected to an equivalent of or full-on whiplash and being kicked in the side by a murdering maniac. He couldn't have been in the room, Harvey, I mean. I couldn't hear him.

I started down the hall, knocking on each door, calling out "Mr. Dent?" softly while trying to figure out what was going on. It was by the third door that I heard Batman's voice over everything along with Joker taunting him, followed by the crashing of glass.

At last I found a double-door with a bar through the handles. Pulling out the bar out, I opened the door to find Dent. "Mr. Dent!" I breathed, relieved. "I swear to, I mean–I was scared that the Joker had"–

"Did someone call for a Joker?"

I gasped and turned around, now face-to-face with the maniac. "Good Gotham you're everywhere!" I whispered, slapping my hand across his face before he could do anything. His hand mimicked my action.

"Now what was this about Dent?" he said with a laugh, pulling me closer by my dress neck. "I heard you say his name and then mine. Not talking to the cheese puffs, are we?"

"No, that's something you'd do. You're insane enough," I mumbled to myself, feeling like the Joker had missed something. Looking over my shoulder, I noticed that Harvey Dent was gone. "I was imagining things, I guess. I thought I saw Harvey Dent in there. I was going to tell him to get out, but then you came and you cleared my mind,"

Wow, that sounded awkwardly flirtatious at the end. I wanted to smack myself, if it were possible, seeing as I was now about half a foot off the floor because of how I was being lifted by my dress.

"So, you're a little nutty,"

"I had some champagne! I'm a little drunk," I grimaced.

Joker's grotesque and mangled lips curled up into a smile. "I think I have a little job for you honey-bunch."

"If it involves me and you in a dark room don't even try it," I whispered fiercely, being half-pulled, half-dragged behind the Joker out of the building. As we passed a group of police officers, he drew a knife from his pocket and placed it to my neck as he pulled me close to him and held my hand behind my back.

"Be cooperative," he growled in my ear before nudging me forcefully forward.

I was now officially a hostage.