A/N: So in hindsight, I primarily wrote Bruce-centric chapters throughout Season 1 and Selina-centric chapters throughout Season 2 (as the events of their respective seasons revolved directly around them). This Season, however, the plot follows them both, so there'll be a mix of both Bruce and Selina perspectives.
In fact, this chapter is a retelling of the events that led up to their meeting at the end of the last chapter, just from Bruce's perspective. (Also, there's a bit of a continuity error in these past three chapters: Bruce and Selina first meet up in Chapter 33 in the afternoon, they get food around five or six, and Bruce leaves the diner around eight. Just wanted to clarify)
So here's Chapter 35 of Roles Reversed. Hope you enjoy!
Bludhaven
Bruce stared at the beautiful girl sitting opposite to him. She'd changed so much over six months, so much so that he almost missed the little girl he'd first met at Wayne Manor. Well…almost. Three years earlier, they would've both died of embarrassment had they attempted to have a meal together, just the two of them. They'd changed so much in that time. They'd practically grown up together. So yeah, he missed the good old days, but nowadays was pretty great, too.
Over the past two hours, they'd talked about anything and everything; Ted's new job, Bruce's new job, Selina's talk with the Board of Directors, Alfred's thoughts on everything, Selina's school and whatever else they could think of. He loved every second of it. Sure, he'd grown up a lot over the past six months, too, but it'd been without her, making the growth far less fun.
Then, she got really serious, saying that the people she'd threatened were dangerous. He had to stop himself from laughing at the thought. Sure, they were probably legitimately dangerous, but so was he. He made some sarcastic remark about how he was always careful. She put her hand on his, telling him to be serious.
He forced the smile off his face and nodded, saying that he would be.
Then, his phone went off.
He moved his hand off of Selina's and reached for his jacket, not noticing the rapid internal struggle that flashed in her eyes. He removed his phone, flipping it open and reading a text.
He sighed, closing the phone and sliding it into his pocket. He grabbed his jacket that was strewn over the booth and went to stand up, telling her, "I have to go."
"What's that?" she asked, staring at the interior of the jacket.
He knew what she was talking about, his dagger hidden away at the base of the coat. As he pulled it on, he quickly explained the knife away, saying, "I did a job for a guy. It was part of the reward." He turned the topic away from his weapon, asking, "What about you? You still have your knife?"
She gave a small smile, halfway removing her switchblade from her sleeve. "Never leave home without it."
He grinned, leaning over the table and saying, "Atta girl," before planting a light kiss on her temple, discreetly dropping a twenty dollar bill on the table. He hated leaving her here, but this was important. "I'll call you later," he said. "We can hang out or something."
She smiled, the warmth of it seeping into him. "Okay. I'd like that."
He nodded and walked off, waiting until he was far out of earshot before dialing a number and raising the phone to his ear. It only rang for a moment before the other end picked up.
"What's up?" he asked.
Jean replied, "I got a text from Talia. She wants me to meet her at South Union Station, said you could come too if you want."
"South Union?" Bruce asked. "Where are we going?"
Jean chuckled darkly. "Bludhaven."
"Why the hell would we go to Bludhaven?"
"She didn't tell me, just that it was 'highly important and highly dangerous'. You in?"
Bruce scoffed. "You had me at highly dangerous. I'll bring my hood."
He hung up and started towards the nearest fire escape ladder, scaling up to the rooftops in a matter of seconds. He ran for a few blocks, eventually coming across an old air conditioner unit on the roof of a low-income apartment complex. He lifted the lid off and reached inside, dodging the broken blades and grabbing a sack hidden underneath. From the bag he removed a long, black cloak and an extra pair of brass knuckles. He put the sack back in the AC unit, rolling the cloak up and stuffing it into his back pocket.
He ran for a few more minutes, eventually reaching the South Union train station where he found Jean and Talia waiting outside.
Besides getting a bit taller and bulkier, Jean hadn't changed too much through the six months. His light blond hair was short and closely cropped as always. He was wearing a black v-neck, leather jacket, and dark jeans, sharply contrasted by a pair of white sneakers. He wore a few silver and gold chain bracelets, accompanied by a silver ring on his left middle finger (which he seemed to never take off). He looked like any normal teenage guy, other than the empty scabbard hanging at his waist.
Talia was a completely different story. Although he'd previously seen her wearing clothes befitting of a sixteen year old, she seemed to be going for more of an army-ranger meets goth meets medieval-knight kind of look. She'd already pulled on her cloak, just barely hiding her black body armor. She wore padded black pants, almost resembling a football player, and black combat boots, her long black hair braided down her back. She was tapping her foot impatiently, her cold expression remaining the exact same when she saw him coming down the nearby fire escape.
"You're late," she stated icily.
Bruce smirked. "Well hello to you, too, sunshine."
She rolled her eyes. "The train leaves in ten minutes. Do you even have your gear?"
"That's why I was late," he remarked. "And if you'd given me more than a five minute notice, I would've been early."
"You're just lucky to be here, Kyle. You're not even a member of the League."
"Oh really?" he started, keeping his voice light and unassuming. "Then why did you invite me?"
Her face went bright pink and she whipped around, marching inside the station without another word.
Jean finally let out a laugh he'd been struggling to hold back. "If I did that, she would kill me. Literally."
Bruce shrugged. "I'm not a member of the League," he repeated. "Her princess status doesn't mean shit to me."
"Speaking of princesses…" he started, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
Bruce rolled his eyes, starting after Talia. "What about them?" he asked, knowing very well what Jean meant.
"How was your date with Selina? Or should I say 'Miss Wayne'?" he mocked.
Bruce scoffed. "It wasn't a date. We were just–"
Jean cut in, "Getting dinner together, for two hours, just the two of you, after six months apart…"
"Okay. So what? Friends hang out."
"You ran out of the apartment," Jean stated in a flat tone. "You literally ran. You didn't even tell me why and I knew where you were going."
Bruce shook his head. "Whatever. It wasn't a date. Like I said, we're just friends."
Jean nodded. "Oh, yeah, of course. I mean, I always kiss my friends on the forehead after–"
"Were you watching us?!"
"Will you two shut up?!" Talia snapped at them. "People are staring."
"I'm pretty sure they're looking at you, Miss Amazon Warrior," Bruce retorted. She huffed and turned back around, leading them towards their train to Bludhaven. "What are we doing, anyways?" he asked as they boarded.
Talia slumped down into a seat, Bruce and Jean taking the row opposite of her. She waited until the train started to move before removing a blueprint from her bag. She spread it out on the table between them and started, "This is a warehouse on Bludhaven Bay. An auction is being held there tonight," she removed a file from her bag and plopped it down on the table, continuing, "And this guy is gonna be there."
Bruce picked up the file and fingered through it, reading aloud, "Edward Thatch, aka Blackbeard. Extortion, smuggling, piracy, arms-dealing, human-trafficking, arson, torture… Nice guy."
Talia took the file back from him. "He's arriving in Bludhaven tonight, his only stop before going south. He's bringing a very important object with him, something my father wants dearly. We're gonna get it for him."
Bruce nodded. "Okay, that's easy enough. What do you need me for?"
Talia rolled her eyes. "My father is still harboring some false hope that you'll see reason. He made me bring you."
Jean jumped in, optimistically saying, "But having three of us instead of two will make it a lot easier if things go wrong."
"Like they always do," Bruce finished. "So what's the plan?"
Four hours and a long nap later, their train arrived in Bludhaven. Jean had changed out of his white sneakers into a pair of black combat boots, more fitting for the occasion, and Bruce switched his light green shirt for a black one. This job would go best if they weren't seen.
When they stepped off the train, it was a few minutes to midnight and a drizzle of rain had begun to fall.
Talia led them through the hellhole of a city. If Bruce hadn't lived in Gotham his whole life, he would've been appalled at the state of the town. The streets were almost empty, besides the occasional patrol car or homeless person curled up on a park bench. It was almost similar to Gotham, except for the eerie silence, a sharp contrast to his constantly bustling home.
"Come on," Talia told them, nodding towards an alley. "Let's just do this and get out of here."
Bruce and Jean nodded, quickly ducking into the nearby alleyway. "Should we suit up?" Jean asked.
Talia shrugged. "Might as well."
Jean and Bruce both rolled out their cloaks. Inside Jean's was a European-style, double-edged sword, along with a black helmet, the mask of which was decorated with a dark red cross. He slid his sword into his scabbard, pulled on his helmet, and raised his cloak's hood over his head.
Bruce's roll wasn't filled with weapons or helmet, but a long, black cloth that covered the bottom half of his face. He wrapped it around his face, pulled on his cloak, and raised the hood. He removed a pair of brass knuckles from his pockets and pulled them on, putting his spare pair in his jacket pockets. He reached back into his inner jacket and felt for his dagger, making sure he could draw it cleanly if necessary.
Talia raised her own hood and wrapped a similar black mask around her lower face. She didn't look armed, but Bruce knew she had a pair of twin daggers hidden somewhere in her cloak. However, if he was being honest, she really didn't need them.
When they were done, they looked like a trio of desert wanderers. It was an odd aesthetic given that they were standing around in a back alley of Bludhaven.
Talia started towards the nearest fire escape, scaling it with inhuman speed and agility. Bruce followed suit with Jean, being the largest and least agile of the three of them, simply trying to keep up. They ran across the rooftops of Bludhaven towards the east end of the city, only a mile and a half or so from the train station. They arrived within a few minutes, scaling the roof of the warehouse and dropping inside onto a catwalk through a broken skylight.
The interior of the warehouse was both exactly and the dead opposite of what Bruce expected to find. It was dirty and dingy, the air seemingly filled with a smog of dust and smoke. It seemed just like the rest of the town: broken and run down.
But the people inside were a total different story. About twenty to thirty men and women stood about the room, laughing and shouting, smoking and throwing back beer bottles like they were sodas. Some of them looked like they'd never showered in their life while others wore suits more expensive than anything being sold at the auction. It was such an odd collection of people, yet they seemed to be having a great time.
They were all looking up at a platform towards the front of the room. A man was standing atop it, shouting down at the crowd as they bid. He was the only familiar face in the room.
"Blackbeard," Talia muttered.
Bruce nodded. "What should we do?"
Talia arched an eyebrow. "Oh, so now you're taking my orders."
Bruce shook his head. "No, I just want to hear your plan so I have a starting point to make a better one."
Talia rolled her eyes, scanning the room. There seemed to be four or five major groups of people, all with stacks of their own loot piled up behind them. She muttered a word in a foreign language, and Bruce got the feeling that it wasn't a happy word. She pointed at the pile farthest away from where they crouched. "It got sold already. I was hoping to steal it beforehand…"
"None of them are armed," Jean stated with certainty. "We could throw down some smoke pellets, rush 'em and steal it."
Talia shook her head, not bothering to ask how he knew they weren't armed. She and Bruce typically just took his word for it. "Too messy. My father doesn't want us to be seen if we can help it." She nodded towards the area behind the platform. "It looks like they're almost done. We'll steal it as they leave."
Bruce started "Why not try and sneak it away while–" but his voice caught in his throat.
He didn't continue his thought, so Talia and Jean turned to him. Talia followed his gaze, locked on the stage below them. He was staring at the last two things being sold off.
It was a pair of girls, neither older than sixteen. They were standing on the stage, chains wrapped around their wrists and necks, barely covered and appearing halfway starved to death. Blackbeard leered at them, grabbing one by her hair and pulling her to the front of the stage for the audience to get a better look.
Talia put a firm hand on his shoulder, warning, "Bruce, don't."
Bruce couldn't hear her.
"They aren't the mission," she insisted.
Bruce's gaze snapped from the girls to Talia. She flinched, almost falling backwards out of her crouch. She'd seen that look several times in her life, always right before her father proceeded to wipe out entire civilizations single-handedly.
Rage.
His voice was cold and constricted as he stated, "I'm not in the League. I don't take your orders."
Talia groaned in frustration. "And the only reason you aren't in the League is because you can't take them."
Bruce turned back to the stage. "Like you said, you don't need me for this. You can get whatever your dad wants by yourselves. I'm going after the girls."
Talia sighed. This was a bad idea, but there was no shaking him off of this. "Fine, but make it quick. The train is leaving with or without you."
Bruce watched as Blackbeard finally handed off the girls to a sleazy old man with three slicked back strands of grey hair. He wore a suit that was definitely expensive, but half of his teeth were missing. He looked old and frail, but the three bodyguards standing behind him sure didn't.
Bruce nodded. "I'll be there."
They waited for a few moments, watching as the crowd dispersed and went their separate ways, some groups having to bring in trucks to load their loot. Bruce followed after the two girls, the old man still holding the chain that connected the collars around the girls' necks. His three guards brought up the rear, kicking the girls from behind whenever they started to resist him.
As they exited through a side door, Bruce dropped from the rafters, sliding down a chain to the floor and managing to slip out the door just before it slammed shut. He crept over to a nearby crate and scanned the area, a narrow alley with a single dark van sitting at the end of it. The rain had started falling harder, making the moonless night even darker.
He climbed up into the fire escape and watched as the three guards loaded the girls into the van, the old man and one of the guards climbing in behind them. The other two men slammed the back doors shut and walked towards the front.
As soon as the driver closed his door, Bruce moved.
He dropped to the floor, whipping out his knife and slashing the back tires before returning to his perch in the fire escape. The van started up and the engine revved, but the car stayed in place. The driver stepped out and walked around the cars, checking for what was stalling the vehicle.
His first mistake was walking directly underneath where Bruce was perched. His second mistake was not crying out when Bruce dropped down on top of him. And in Bruce's world, two strikes meant he was out. He silently crumpled to the floor, the back of his head bloodied from where Bruce had hit him.
Bruce dragged the unconscious body around the car, leaving him next to the driver's side door. He ducked underneath the window and circled around the van, crouching up against the grill, hidden from the other guard's view. He waited for almost a whole minute before the other door opened, the second guard muttering something about the first one taking too long.
Bruce rushed him from behind, clamping a hand over his mouth and slamming his head into the brick wall of the alleyway. His eyes rolled back in his head and Bruce let him crumple to the floor.
Two down, one to go.
He circled around to the back of the van, knocking on the left door, the side the third guard had been sitting on. He stepped off to the side, hidden from view.
He heard a whiny, conceited voice (presumably the old, rich guy who'd bought the girls) yell, "What the hell is going on out there?! Why aren't we moving?!"
The door swung open and the third guard stepped out into the rain.
Bruce didn't hesitate, slamming his fist into the man's ribs and throwing a knee into his nose. As the third guard collapsed to the floor, the two girls inside the van screamed. Bruce moved quickly, throwing open the second door and grabbing the old man by his collar.
He cried out in surprise, unable to raise a coherent protest before Bruce threw him out of the van and slammed him down to the wet, muddy pavement. He wheezed in pain, but Bruce didn't stop there.
He removed his brass knuckles from his fists. He wouldn't need them to do this.
He stepped over the man, putting his knee on his chest and glaring down at him. There was true fear in his eyes.
Bruce reared back, raising his fist high before plummeting it down at the man's face. He did it again, and again, and again, and again. Thirty seconds later, the man barely resembled his former self, his lips both busted, his thin, pale skin stained with blood, his nose bending far too many different directions, but Bruce kept hitting him.
The man started muttering something as Bruce beat him, and it wasn't until he'd hit him well over a dozen times that he finally understood what the man was asking for.
"Mercy…" he pleaded, holding his hands up near his head in surrender. "Please, mercy…mercy…"
Bruce blinked, pausing mid-strike. He stared down at the man's broken, mutilated face.
"Mercy?" Bruce asked, his voice quiet.
"Please…" the man wheezed. "Just take the whores. They're yours. But please have mercy."
Bruce glanced up at the van. He saw the two girls huddled together in the back, utterly terrified. This man had tried to buy them, to violate them. This man had done this to them, and now he was trying to sell them to him to save himself?
No. Someone like him, someone who preyed on the weak...someone like him didn't deserve mercy.
Bruce raised the knife in the air. He hadn't even realized he was holding it.
Without a second thought, he plunged the knife down.
Everything slowed down. He saw the man's monstrosity of a face, the glint of the dagger's metal in the little light in the alleyway, the wet, muddy pavement that so closely resembled another alleyway...
The blade's tip struck the pavement. The man screamed as the dagger skewered his hand.
"No…" Bruce muttered as the man writhed in pain. The only sound Bruce could hear was his racing pulse. He pulled the dagger out of the ground and slid it back into his coat. He silently stood up and stepped over the man, his heart slamming around in his chest as he approached the van.
What had he just done?
He'd been half a second from putting the knife straight through the man's eye.
What was he thinking?
What if he'd done it?
He was half a second away from becoming a murderer.
He stopped at the entrance to the van. The two girls were still cowering in fear, their eyes large and terror-filled like wild animals, frantically searching for a way to escape.
But of course they were horrified, they'd just witnessed a masked figure beat a man within an inch of his life with nothing his bare hands. Who wouldn't be terrified?
Bruce pulled back his hood and lowered his mask, raising his hands to show that he was no threat. "Hi," he started slowly, his voice almost strained. "What are your names?" No response. "Are you okay?" Once again, no response. The girls stayed curled up in the corner, their eyes nervously darting between each other and Bruce.
Bruce sighed, muttering, "Hell with it," and stepping into the van. He grabbed onto the chain connecting the two girls' collars and fiddled with the lock the best he could. It was difficult with two terrified girls (who he was pretty sure couldn't speak English) trying to scramble away from him. Finally, he managed to pick the lock, opening it and dragging the chain out of their collars. He threw it out into the muddy streets, stepping out of the van and beckoning them to follow him. "Come on," he soothed. "It's going to be alright. You're safe now."
It took a few minutes, but the girls eventually seemed to realize that he wasn't there to hurt them. The taller of the two took the other by the hand and they slowly got out of the van. Bruce grabbed two of the bodyguard's jackets off of their unconscious bodies and handed them to the girls, having them cover themselves from the rain.
With a lot of patience and at a reasonable distance, Bruce managed to escort them out of the alleyway to a bus stop just across the street. He had them sit down under the awning as he called 911, telling them the situation. When the 911 operator asked who he was, he abruptly hung up.
He did his best to explain what was going to happen, how the police were going to arrive and take them to the precinct, how they'd be safe there. The taller one kept nodding and talking to the shorter, younger-looking one in a different language, so Bruce hoped they understood.
When he started to hear the sirens, Bruce gave them a small bow and ran off, disappearing up a fire escape and onto the rooftops. He watched from a distance as the two girls were wrapped in blankets, a female officer aiding them into a cruiser. A few more officers went into the alleyway, returning to their cars with the thugs in tow.
Bruce turned and ran off, crossing the town slower than he had half an hour ago. He kept reminding himself that he'd done the right thing. He'd saved those girls. That was all that mattered.
But how close had he come to killing that guy? Did the ends justify the means?
When he crossed that line, when he killed, he'd be just like them. A murderer.
But he hadn't crossed the line. He'd stopped himself. If all went right, that man would never see the light of day outside a prison cell again. And the only two people who'd seen Bruce's face had been the two girls he'd rescued. His mission had been a complete success.
So why was he eating himself up over it? What had he done wrong?
He sighed, dropping down into the alley where they'd first ascended to the rooftops. He pulled off his cloak and mask, rolling them up and stuffing them into his back pocket.
He walked across the street towards the train station, buying a ticket for the last train back to Gotham.
It was over. He was going home, and as were those two girls he'd just saved.
Half an hour later, Talia and Jean, soaked and muddied from the rain, entered the station. They were carrying a long, wooden crate between them. Talia glared him down as Bruce approached. He reached out to take the crate from her and she practically dropped it, forcing him to scramble to keep the crate from clambering to the ground.
"How was your mission?" she asked bitterly, blazing past him towards the train.
Bruce looked up and Jean, who shook his head violently. He sent a clear message: Not a good time to mess with Talia.
Like hell.
He responded cheerfully, "It went well, thanks for asking. How about yours? You didn't need my help, did you?"
Talia turned on her heel and within milliseconds there was a knife at his throat. "Shut. Up," she hissed, whipping back around and continuing towards the train as if nothing had happened.
Jean gave him another look, as if saying, 'Don't say I didn't warn you.'
Bruce shrugged. "Well, you got the box, so good job, Talia." She seemed to falter in her next step.
Jean slowly started, "Yeah it was…interesting, to say the least. Let's just say the guy who'd bought this really wanted it." He nodded down to his empty scabbard. "They fought like devils. How about yours?"
As they boarded the train, retaking their seats from earlier, Bruce chuckled. "None of his guards even saw me. But he sure did."
"Did you kill him?" Jean asked.
Talia cut in, "Of course he didn't. He can't."
"And I won't," Bruce agreed, his voice going a bit louder than he'd meant it to be.
Talia shook her head, sighing, "Bruce, one day you will see that we are right, and it will be too late."
"And that day sure as hell ain't today," Bruce replied firmly.
She rolled her eyes, turning to look out the window as the train started moving.
Bruce nodded to the crate, asking Jean, "So, what was it that her dad wanted so bad?"
Jean went to open the crate, but Talia's hand slammed it shut, her dark eyes fiery with forewarning. "Don't touch them. Especially not you two."
"Why?" Jean asked.
"Because they'll disembody the impure soul," she replied, completely straight-faced.
Bruce had to force himself not to laugh. "What does that even mean?"
Talia groaned, as if they were the ones talking ludicrously. "If you touch them and you're impure of heart, they'll kill you immediately. So, you can look, but don't touch."
"Okay, mom," Bruce replied sarcastically, nodding for her to remove her hand. She did so and Jean slowly opened the lid.
Inside were a pair of swords. They looked like scimitars, just shorter and with a very European-style hilt with a cross design. The blades were identical, the only difference being the blue gem on one and the yellow gem on the other, yet they felt so different.
Bruce's hand impulsively reached out to touch the one with the blue gem.
Talia slammed the crate shut, removing it from the table and setting it down next to her without another word.
Bruce glanced over at Jean. He'd also reached out to touch one of the swords, the one with the yellow gemstone.
Bruce dropped his hand, trying to act as though nothing had happened. But his head was racing. One question came to the forefront of his mind. He looked at Talia and asked, "What were those things?"
She kept her gaze outside the train's window, working her jaw side to side. Finally, she answered, "My father called them the Sword of Sin and the Sword of Salvation. They used to belong to a warrior named–"
"Azrael," Jean finished, his eyes wide. His hand was still in the air where he'd reached out for the yellow-gemmed sword. "They belonged to Azrael. They were given to him by the Order of St. Dumas."
"The Order? But didn't Ra's help you kill them all?" he asked Jean. No answer. He turned to Talia, asking, "What would your father want with those?"
Talia's gaze was still locked on the outside world, but Bruce could see the frustration in her eyes. "I don't know. He wouldn't tell me."
A/N: Sorry on the delay for this chapter. School is utter chaos right now and I got pretty sick this weekend and a lot was going on, so that you for your patience. I promise that next chapter you'll get to see more Bruce/Selina stuff, but I have big plans for the two of them, and now with the Swords of Sin and Salvation thrown into the mix, what'll happen next? Find out next time on Dragon B– *cough cough* Sorry, I don't know where that came from.
But in all seriousness, thank you for continuing on this journey with me. It honestly means the world. So I hope you enjoyed and if you did or have any comments/questions/concerns, please make sure to Review! Thanks for reading and ciao for now!
Also disclaimer: BrucexTalia will not be a thing in this story. I had multiple people PM me about that. Don't worry, I'm not pulling another Zee or Sterling. This season is about Bruce and Selina's initial romantic relationship, or at least their attempts at one. Just wanted to clarify.
