AN: I realize this has more limited appeal than my other work, because of the crossover-y nature requiring at least some knowledge/interest of another title entirely. That's what makes the feedback and hits I get even more precious, so thanks to those of you who are interested!
PS: Pardon if a section of this isn't as good as it could be; I had to recreate a large portion after a sudden document expiration took away my unsaved words (arrgh!). Hopefully, you won't be able to tell when it happens...
Batman dove for cover as the hail of machine gun fire pocked the wall behind him.
"Did I get him, Sugar?" The gargling voice that echoed from the other side of the warehouse vaguely resembled a cross between a stereotypical Edward G. Robinson and Robert DeNiro as Al Capone in The Untouchables. It certainly didn't sound like it came from a young woman with long blond hair and a sparkly red cocktail dress, especially since her lips weren't moving.
"I dunno," this woman replied in a pouty tone. "The nerve of some people, not just rolling over and dying like they're supposed to!"
Sugar Motta had always been spoiled. As the only child of powerful Mafia figure Al Motta, she was used to getting what she wanted; whatever wealth didn't buy, her father's reputation did. Then her path somehow crossed with that of Scarface. He too was a big shot gangster - only he was a little more... wooden than most.
That was because Scarface was a wooden dummy, barely two feet tall, carved in the shape of a mean-looking '20's gangster, complete with pinstriped suit, white hat, and functioning miniature tommy gun. Once operated by a nebbish, mostly silent man named Sandy Ryerson, aka the Ventriloquist, Scarface had risen as a feared underworld figure. Batman still wasn't sure how Scarface came into Sugar's hands, or what fate Ryerson had met, but in her tenure as the new Ventriloquist, the puppet's methods had become more violent than ever. Between that fact, and the major drug shipment Batman had come to cut off, he knew that neither puppet nor master was about to go quietly.
At the moment, he was being pinned down from two directions: Scarface himself, and a pair of enforcers with automatic weapons perched on a second floor landing on the opposite side of the warehouse. He could have dealt with just one of these with ease. Both together made matters more difficult.
"Come on out, y'freak!" Scarface's voice was equal parts enraged and mocking. "I got a little lead present waiting for ya!"
Batman's eyes darted about the dimly lit area, considering his options. There was much too much open space for his comfort; the crates he was hiding behind was about all the precious cover he had. He'd taken care of several of Scarface's goons outside, and a few inside before the boss him/herself appeared, but he knew that he didn't have a lot of time before more arrived, just as the two on the landing had inconveniently made their presence known just as he was about to capture the Ventriloquist.
"I'm bored!" Sugar complained. "He just won't come out!"
"Then we'll have to go to him!" True to the words, Scarface's voice became steadily louder as he continued. "The mug's a wimp, see? Doesn't even carry a piece! But don't get too close; he's a tricky son of a bitch!" The puppet's wooden neck doesn't strain as he turned behind him. "And you two! If he so much as shows his pointy bat ears, plug 'im!"
"Got it, boss!" one of them yelled out, much too quickly to be natural. Scarface's men (the ones still alive, at least) had long since learned to agree with anything he or the Ventriloquist said, eagerly. Most of them used to think the whole "cement shoes" thing was a long dead cliche. That notion was usually (and rather brutally) dispelled for most within a couple of weeks, either by whisper or by personal viewing - with no actual involvement, if they were lucky.
"You're being a real drag, Batman," Sugar said petulantly as she and Scarface carefully advanced, his tommy gun at the ready. "Tell ya what: my daddy will throw you a big funeral if you come out right now." Silence. "Okay, how about a wake too?" Still nothing. "Fine, you'll get a big fancy coffin! And that's final!" The nothing continued. She turned to Scarface. "You know, you're right; he really is a big ingrate. I hope he rots!" She stamped one foot in emphasis, the sound of her heel echoing against the corrugated metal walls.
"Then let's make 'im rot, Sugar. And quick! We got business to do, and this mug's making us waste time!" The two gingerly approached the pile of crates. "As long as we got the boys covering us, he's as good as..." Something flipped over the top of the crates and landed at the Ventriloquist's feet. It was black and spherical, shining in the harsh overhead lights. "What's th-" The sphere erupted in clouds of white smoke.
"Hey!" Sugar screeched. "No fair...!" To the goons above, it was as though the entire warehouse floor exploded into haze, swallowing both Scarface and Ventriloquist up in a single ravening gulp. A heavy, unnerving calm descended. The two gangsters glanced at each other nervously; one leaned forward a little, straining his ears.
"I don't hear anythin'..."
"B-boss?" the other asked tentatively. "You okay down there?" There was no response. The men raised their weapons, but neither fired, fearing Scarface's wrath. "Boss? C'mon, tell us if you're okay." The smoke was starting to dissipate, but there was still too much to make out anything more than vague shapes. "Scarface...?"
It was at that moment that a small object flashed by their field of vision. Before either could react, it hit the floor of the landing, shattering with a small tinkling sound. A burst of light that seemed to emanate from all around embraced the two thugs. Screaming, they dropped their weapons, their fingers rubbing at their eyes in a desperate attempt to drive the white from their vision. Thus, they never saw the grappling hook emerging from the mists below, clutching at a ceiling beam. Nor did they see the black-caped figure rocket out of the fog like a hungry demon rising from the depths of the abyss. They did, however, feel his fists against their jaws, not to mention the almost blissful unconsciousness that followed.
Batman kicked their weapons away as his smoke bomb dissipated. He glanced over the railing; Sugar Motta was still neatly bound and gagged on the floor, looking up at him with murderous eyes. Scarface lay beside her, inert without her guiding hand. Nodding to himself, he pressed a button on his handheld communicator; the signal would tell Oracle to send in the Gotham police to clean up the rest of this mess and arrest the remainder of Scarface's gang.
Satisfied that all dangerous elements would be safely under control until they arrived, Batman skulked from the warehouse like a shadow. He had an appointment, and he was already running late as it was...
Kurt sipped delicately at his wine as he glanced at his watch. Almost twenty minutes... David had called earlier, full of apologies, saying that he would be running "a tad late," and to enjoy a fine Cabernet on him while he waited. He shook his head and sighed; he supposed he should've expected this, considering the man's reputation. Still, it did give a welcome respite to gather his thoughts and plan an avenue of attack.
Simone's Grill was one of the fanciest restaurants in Gotham City, a steakhouse that regularly served the elite and famous. Just getting onto their reservation books was considered a sign of elevated status. Kurt shook his head as he glanced over the prices for the Wagyu filet mignon and New York strip that promised months of aging. The cost of a single dish, even a lousy appetizer, would've fed his family for a week. But then, one of the other highlights of Simone's touted by those in the know was discretion - no autograph seekers inside, no paparazzi outside, no whisper of anything done or said within its walls by any of its staff. That alone was enough to make the outrageous prices worth it for some, even without the melt-in-your-mouth beef.
Kurt had not been surprised that he was sitting here, waiting for one of the richest men in America to share a meal, but he was pleased; it just proved he hadn't lost his charm. He had, though, been a little surprised when it was David Karofsky himself who showed up on his doorstep, bashful grin and roses in hand. Usually, it was a secretary or servant who called and made arrangements, which always struck Kurt as so cold and impersonal. But there the man was, blushing like a teenager taking his dream girl out to the prom, asking for the honor of his company. What boy could resist a gesture like that from a multimillionaire?
He had, of course, done his research on the man before arriving. It was funny, though; for all that was written and said about David Karofsky, real substance was oddly lacking. Besides the occasional huge charitable donation, announcement of Karofsky Enterprises' new product or discovery, and rare testimony before some Congressional subcommittee or another, there was little indication that he was interested in anything besides globetrotting and being seen with a different beautiful man each week. Kurt couldn't bring himself to believe that someone, even one born as wealthy as Karofsky, could be quite that shallow.
Unlike, say, Batman... Now there was someone with way too much depth. Kurt frowned at himself in annoyance for letting his mind drift back to him, but he couldn't help it. Strength and intensity practically radiated off the man like heat. No wonder Kurt's stomach had dropped just at the sight of him, a stronger version of what happened that night he first saw David Karofsky. He still felt a little wrong for having kissed Batman like he did, what with the false gender pretenses (the contrasting irony of not feeling particularly bad for all those robberies he'd committed over the years was not lost on him). But, like so much of what Kurt did, it was an impulse - he couldn't help himself. And, God... everything that was attractive about Batman practically shot through Kurt's body the instant their lips touched. It was like the contact was stripping them both naked, down to the skin, yet without the barest hint of sex.
Kurt took another gulp of wine, willing that moment out of his head. It wouldn't do to mix business with pleasure, not at all; he'd already been burnt quite badly by trying, thank you very much. Energy thinking about a single moment of ecstasy that would never be repeated (after all, shouldn't he be hoping that he never runs into Batman again?) would be better spent thinking about how to get as close to David Karofsky as possible in the most efficient manner. The sooner he was on the millionaire's arm, visiting the homes of his wealthy and security-careless friends, the better, especially since a Lothario like Karofsky would quickly grow tired of him. Kurt was determined to get as much use out of this limited-time opportunity as he could.
His eyes flickered towards the entrance as he heard the muffled voice of the maitre d' say, "Mr. Karofsky! Good evening! So good to see you again!" Kurt straightened his tie and put on his most charming smile. Showtime.
David had always believed in never doing things halfway. He'd never said as much to Quinn or Sam, because he knew what their reaction would be: a roll of the eyes and some smartass remark whose meaning would boil down to "duh." But it was true nevertheless; he could still remember his father (God... Dad...) telling him to "go big or go home," to "grab a hold of life and never let go." So while he did feel a little embarrassed showing up at Kurt Hummel's door the way he did, he never once doubted its rightness.
Still, it did bring him back to that night at the gala, his reaction, his feelings. The... intensity had not gone down since then; that was the main reason why he was entering Simone's to begin with, not to mention taking a nervous glance at his reflection in the door to make sure his tie was straight. Here he was, World's Greatest Detective according to Sam (mostly joking, but with enough seriousness to annoy), and he still couldn't figure out what it was about Kurt Hummel that was so... captivating. Perhaps this dinner was a way to figure it out.
It was also a way to get his mind off of his still lingering confusion over his encounter with Catwoman. David was still fairly sure he was gay, and he knew that human sexuality was a lot more fluid than most people thought, but still... It felt as though there was a simple answer, nagging at the back of his mind, that he just couldn't quite reach out and grasp. Well, whatever it was, he'd figure it out during their next meeting (and he was certain he would find Catwoman again, and for the last time).
Even as he stepped into the dining room, he was aware of how many questions about Kurt Hummel he was ignoring: whether this could turn into anything serious, whether he wanted it to turn into something more serious, what it would do to his... other activities. The questions melted away as his eyes darted about, finding Kurt at a table near the back, giving him a cheerful wave. He nodded to the maitre d' and put on his easy, lazy smile as he approached his date.
"Hey. Sorry I'm late. I hope you haven't been waiting long?"
"Not really. You look great." Kurt gave a smile that instantly sent David's heart racing; he started invoking some of his meditation mantras to start slowing it down.
"Thanks. You too." He nodded thanks as Kurt poured him a glass of wine. "Ever been to Simone's before?"
"No, but I've heard a lot about it. It's a lovely place."
"Yeah. It's nice to be able to relax for a little while, out of the public eye and all. Get away from my responsibilities."
"Ah, yes. The responsibilities of being incredibly wealthy and famous. Must be tough not having to work a day in your life." David had no way of knowing, but Kurt stunned himself with the blade-like edge of sarcasm that came into his voice. What the fuck are you doing, Hummel? You're supposed to be seducing the man, not telling him what you really think! He realized with growing horror that his impulses were starting to steer him in directions he never intended, never wanted... or didn't think he wanted. He tried not to think too hard about this and get back into the now.
David, for his part, merely smiled. "I don't usually get that on the first date."
Kurt flushed. "I... I'm sorry, I don't know why I..."
"Actually... I kind of appreciate it."
Blink. Blink. "You do?"
David nodded. "I know that most people are at least thinking it. But you're one of the first men I've met who actually had the guts to say it to my face. I don't get that kind of honesty every day." He sipped at his wine. "There you go - that's actually one way being 'incredibly wealthy and famous' isn't all it's cracked up to be."
"Regardless, I could've been more tactful about it. I apologize."
"No need. Like I said, I appreciate honesty."
"Well, then, honestly, I'm starving!"
David chuckled. "Do you know what you want?"
"You're the the one in the know here. I put myself into your capable hands."
David nodded, the gesture both answering Kurt and summoning a waiter to their table. "Usual for me and my companion, please, Dwayne." The waiter nodded, taking the menus in a single graceful stroke and silently gliding away. "So... You and half the world probably know all about me. Tell me about yourself."
Kurt shrugged. "My life isn't very interesting..."
"It is to me. If it weren't, I wouldn't have asked you out." David regarded Kurt's face, shining like porcelain in the flickering candlelight. "Come on. I promise I won't sell your story to the papers."
Kurt laughed, the sound high and rolling like a bell. "Okay, you've convinced me. Where to start...?" He paused, and David, his eye for people sharpened by years of training, could almost see the gears turning, calculating how much to reveal and how. If he'd been a different man, the one he presented himself as to the public, he would've amused himself wondering what skeletons Kurt Hummel had in his closet. "I grew up in a small town. Just my dad and me. He ran a mechanic shop." David knew better than to ask about Kurt's mother; he, of all people, knew the pain he could cause by digging into graves that way. "I was out, even before I knew what that meant... I guess it never occurred to me to hide who I was. It was my dream to get out, to make it in the big city."
"Do you miss home at all?"
"The only thing I would've missed was my dad, and he died a few years back. Heart attack."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I've had my time to mourn. But in a weird way, it was freeing. I was able to leave and never look back. I went to New York, bounced between my various loves until I settled on interior design. I worked hard, damn hard. I paid my dues and then some. I clawed my way to the top of my game, and I did it on my own. No one to help me or pick up my slack." Kurt's bright blue eyes had turned hard, and immediately, David knew - knew where that spark, that instant attraction, had come from. It was Kurt's intensity, his passion and drive... His inner strength... All those things that shone through his every feature at this very moment. These were the qualities that he'd seen in Kurt in that one brief moment at the gala, the ones that touched him... the ones he always wanted - and drove to have - in himself.
"As opposed to having everything handed to me on a silver platter, eh?"
"You said it, not me," Kurt replied with an ironic smile. "I like this honesty business! It's so refreshing to turn off the filter for a while!"
Both laughed. "You're telling me."
"Oh? What kind of mask do you put on, Mr. Karofsky?"
David nearly choked on his wine; he had to forcefully remind himself that the question wasn't nearly as literal as it sounded. The guilty flee... "To tell you the truth..." His voice dropped to a low whisper. "I find building dedications really boring."
Kurt snickered. "Don't worry, I won't run to the tabloids." His face turned serious. "But seriously... What do you do with yourself? I read the papers, and... That can't be it, can it?"
David shrugged, a carefully calculated move designed to give the impression of a casual one. "Well, I also go to Karofsky Enterprises board meetings... Those are real fun, I'll tell you... I watch hockey..."
"None of that really answers my question. What do you do?"
"You'd be surprised," David replied with a small smile. "I guess I'd say... I do what I want to do."
"That's nice." Kurt's voice was half-sardonic, half-dreamy, but quickly turned serious as he continued. "But in a sense, I do too. I worked damn hard to get where I am, and I'm proud of what I've accomplished, even if most people don't see the value in it."
"Well, I think interior design is important. I can't imagine what life would be life if everyone's houses looked the same. Or like Ikea or some shit like that."
Kurt gave a somewhat odd, mysterious grin in return. "Well, thank you. Still... Let me rephrase my question: what drives you? What do you want to accomplish?"
David stroked his chin. "Well, I kind of said this back at the gala... I want Gotham to be the way I remembered. Before Batman and all the nuts came in and started turning everything to shit."
"Batman?" Kurt raised an eyebrow. "I thought he was supposed to be a hero around these parts."
"Yeah, some people think he is. Others think he's just a crazy vigilante. But... what if he's part of the problem? What if he's drawing all the crazy people like the Joker in to Gotham? I mean, he may be doing good cleaning up the streets, but is it worth the cost if he is?"
Kurt stared at him for a few moments, a gaze that caused David to shift uncomfortably as it went on - David, who had just spent a good part of his evening dodging machine gun fire. Finally, he spoke. "You really do care about this place, don't you?"
David shrugged. "I do. My parents did. The least I can do is continue what they were doing in their memory."
"Yeah, but that's still them. That doesn't say anything about you."
David opened his mouth to answer, but was, to his relief, interrupted by the arrival of the wedge salads. From there, the conversation took a lighter turn; they somehow got onto the topic of musicals over the salads, with David finding a lot of amusement in listening to Kurt's righteous rants over the popularity of Andrew Lloyd Webber ("You'd think that Broadway lived and died over Phantom and Les Miz! I mean, they were all right, but seriously, get a sense of history, people!"). He enjoyed Kurt practically having orgasms over his steak ("This is the best thing I've ever put in my mouth! If I had to go to a church, I'd find one that worshiped this steak!"), and chatted about the latest news over peach Melba ("Catwoman? I feel sorry for her victims, honestly. I'm sure they're hard working people like you, David...").
By the time they were having their after-dinner drinks, they were both consciously lingering, realizing that the evening was starting to draw to a close. David paid the bill with a sleek black credit card that made Kurt's eyes light up. Their conversation started to sputter as they reached for any topic that came to mind, any excuse to not look at the clock ("That waiter is cute. What do you suppose he does when he goes home? Sneak out leftovers?"). But as with all things defined by humanity, the time came when they both knew that it had to end.
David and Kurt rose at practically the same time. As they strolled towards the entrance, towards the real world, David coughed. "I, uh... I had a good time. Thanks for coming."
"Thank you for inviting me." Kurt tentatively reached out and held one of David's hands. "I had a good time too." The shine in his eyes, the slightest tremor in his voice, the warmth of his hand and its movements... David had long, tough-won experience reading people, reading their truths and lies. For the first time that night, he let his instincts read his own date. He saw nothing but sincerity in those sea blue eyes, eyes he was starting to get lost in...
He shook his head a little. "I, um... My schedule is kind of crazy..."
Kurt laughed. "I know what you mean."
"But... I'll call. I promise."
"I'll be waiting."
The two stared at each other a moment longer before David pushed the restaurant doors open, letting in a blast of cool evening air. William was already waiting at the curb, holding open the car door. David nodded towards it. "Do you want a ride?"
"No, it's a lovely night. I think I'll walk; it's not too far."
"Okay, then. I'll see you soon."
"See you." Kurt watched as David got into the car; David, even as he settled into his seat, watched back, not wanting or daring to break eye contact until the door shut. He stared out the window as William got back into the driver's seat and pulled away from the curb. As they drove away, he resisted the urge to look out the back like some schoolkid.
"Have a good time, Master David?" William asked. David couldn't be sure (William was one of those people he never could quite get a handle on, despite their long association and his training), but he thought he could hear the slightest hints of interest and smugness in the voice.
"Yeah." He loosened his tie and leaned back in his seat. "I did."
William nodded, as if the answer was only of minor interest.
They drove on.
Kurt watched the car go, shaking his head to himself. It had gone well... Much too well. He hadn't expected... what? So kindred a spirit? Someone with the same kind of ambition and determination as he? Karofsky... David... had try to downplay it, but Kurt could see it all too well, in his eyes, in his bearing. He'd seen that kind of strength in the mirror way too many times to not recognize it in someone else.
I suppose if you've always lived here, you might consider Gotham worth it, he thought as he started his way home. He obviously does care about this place. But it wasn't the whole story... That he could tell. But he had time to find out the entire truth...
Kurt made a disgusted snorting sound. Listen to him, anticipating their next meeting like some lovestruck high schooler. Had he forgotten why he started this thing in the first place? The kind of man Karofsky was? Yet that reputation doesn't jive with the man you just met, does it? No, it didn't, and there was another minor mystery right there.
Still, no matter what the outcome, it was a pleasant enough evening. He'd had a wonderful meal - for free, no less - shared pleasant enough company, and even found a new place to scout for potential targets in the bargain. All he needed now was some kind of nightcap to make his evening truly complete...
"Hey, lady boy." Kurt froze. Two men emerged from the alley ahead, each brandishing a knife and grinning wickedly. Both were rotund, one black and one white; the latter had light blonde curly hair while the former was shaved bald. It was the former who spoke, and the former who continued. "You're dressed up all nice and fancy, faggot. Bet you got a nice full wallet, don'tcha?"
"Hand over your money and your watch," the other chimed in. "Unless you want your pretty face all messed up." He swung his knife, the blade cutting through the air with a woosh.
Kurt began chuckling, a mirthful sound which wiped the smiles off the muggers' faces in sheer confusion. He cracked his knuckles in anticipation. A nightcap. Perfect.