Just a quick update. (Or rather, how many quotes can I cram into one chapter. *shot*)
Well time has a way of throwing it all in your face
The past, she is haunted, the future is laced
Heartbreak, you know, drives a big black car
Swear I was in the back seat, just minding my own
-Gregory Alan Isakov, "Big Black Car"
Now.
"The Bat Signal is not a toy, Ms. Brown."
Startled, Stephanie swerved around at the sudden emergence of a man swathed in black from the shadows, cloak whipping wordlessly in the wind. She hadn't even heard him arrive on the rooftop.
How does he do that?
"You know my name?"
She asked, flustered.
"I make it my business to know. You're Stephanie Brown, daughter of Crystal and Arthur Brown, a.k.a. Cluemaster. …Tim Drake's girlfriend."
Stephanie blinked, sighing before lowering her mantle and removing the guise's (apparently ineffectual) inner layer, letting luminescent locks fall free around her shoulders. (Reasoning that if the cops hadn't come up to bust her by now, then it seemed rather unlikely they'd show up anytime soon.) …Wish I knew what the heck to do with my hair under this thing, she thought idly as she combed her hand through the tangles. Maybe I should try putting it in a ponytail or something.
"Then you probably know why I called you here then. Sorry about the theatrics," she gestured towards the spotlight, "But I figured this was the fastest way to get your attention."
"Tim told you about our history together."
"Some of it. He wouldn't tell me why you two split up."
There was a palpable beat.
"If he didn't see fit to explain, then it's not my place to intervene."
"Please, Mr. Wayne." Those crescent slits narrowed at equally intimate address. "I think I deserve to know at this point."
"This isn't any of your business, Ms. Brown. I suggest you go home, and get rid of that silly costume."
Like yours is any less ridiculous.
"This isn't a game. Quit before you get yourself into trouble."
Holy déjà vu.
She crossed her arms frankly, standing firm.
"Tim said the same thing. I'm getting real sick and tired of hearing it."
"He's right. The streets are far too risky, especially for someone like you." There was a rough rigor to his tenor; like a razor blade scraping severely against the grain, incisive and insistent. Deliberately rubbing salt and steel into the wound until it irritated. "I've seen how you operate: rash, reckless, impulsive, impetuous – not thinking before you act. You might believe you're being brave – that you're endeavoring to prove something by jumping directly into danger, putting yourself in the constant thick of threats – but you're just behaving brashly like a child. A person of your kind doesn't belong in this field."
Stephanie bristled at the blunt onslaught, blue irises burning boldly defiant.
"You don't understand: My dad was supposed to be dead, and now he shows back up again in Gotham like nothing happened – except now he's committing crimes without even leaving clues. I couldn't just stand aside and let him get away with it. I had to do something. After all, I've got a stake in this."
Batman made a smothered sound, like a pained grunt – as if someone had just punched him in the gut.
"You sound just like he did. All you stupid kids, don't know what you're getting into."
"I know that without me you wouldn't have been able to figure out the next place my father was planning to hit."
Admit it, that "chopping mall" clue was a stroke of genius.
"And your assistance in bringing him down during the heist is appreciated. But this ends tonight. You should leave the crimefighting to trained professionals."
"I just wanted to help…"
Batman took a step forward, looming ominously over her. His voice was dangerous.
"You don't know what you want. None of you ever did."
Despite the fierce menace in his tone, she staunchly stood her ground, eyes stubborn and challenging as she declined to back down. Her opponent carried on lecturing:
"You've accomplished your mission; succeeded in putting your father in jail. Now that you've gotten your revenge, there's no more reason for you to continue this fight anymore. I suppose you're just doing this now for fun, for the thrill. Because you think it's 'cool'."
Stephanie clenched her fists. He had struck a chord, but she didn't take kindly to being patronized either, her entire motivations being put down, brushed aside just like that.
"That's not the only reason. I mean, yeah this just kinda started out as a goof to get back at my dad of course, and sure I'll confess I do get a kick out of the rush – but there's more to it than that. I may not be all that smart or skilled at… anything really. But this – this is something I can do to help others. People in need. For the first time in my life, it feels like I'm really doing something worthwhile, that I'm doing some good. Like I'm making a real difference. I'm doing this… I don't know. Not even for me." She turned towards the skyline, surveying over the (for the moment at least) peacefully sleeping city, lights reflecting above and below. "I'm doing this for all of them."
Batman stared at her.
"Regardless, this isn't your responsibility."
"And it's supposed to be solely yours? You're just one man in a batsuit, you're not in charge of this town. You may be able to handle all the crimes within the city limits, but the suburbs don't have anyone. Not even you can be everywhere at once. Hell, no one can carry the weight of the world by himself."
"This is a vow I took on my own shoulder's, no one else's. I work alone."
"If you really thought that, why'd you agree to take an apprentice on in the first place?"
While visibly there was no noticeable wince, another wounded growl escaped from the cowl.
"That was a mistake."
"Oh really? I've seen how you operate: Ever since you've gone partnerless, you've been colder, harsher, overly aggressive, and more unforgiving than ever before. Everyone's noticed; it's been all over news reports everywhere, criminals claiming to be the 'victims' of vigilante violence. All the tabloids assume you've gone off the deep end, that you've finally cracked – or that you were off your rocker all along. That's why they say even the police won't cooperate with you anymore." She looked towards the tarp lying on the ground, which had been covering the searchlight up to now. Lucky for her they hadn't removed the apparatus entirely. "You accuse me of being hotheaded, but I could say the exact same of you. Heck, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you seem to have some sort of death wish."
"How I conduct myself is none of your concern."
"It is when there are people suffering for it. Tim included. The truth is Batman needs a Robin, doesn't he? Since your parents died, you need – want company. Otherwise you'll go crazy, doing what you do all the time. Anyone would."
Way to play psychoanalyst with the most famous and powerful – not to mention richest – man in Gotham, girl.
Batman held her undeterred gaze.
"…You really do sound just like him."
Grudgingly, he gruffly acknowledged the comparison – though it wasn't quite a concession.
Still, Stephanie seized on the opening.
"Seriously, just what the hell happened? You two used to be such a great team. You guys were a legend, the 'Dynamic Duo' and all that. Nightwing and Batgirl too, whatever happened to them?"
His answer was aggravatingly simple.
"Things change."
Why do I get the feeling I've heard that somewhere before?
She exhaled in exasperation, sensing the discussion was going in circles. She wasn't about to allow such curt tautology cut her off though.
"You used to mean something to people. This," she pointed purposefully at the symbol in the sky, before jabbing at the mirrored center of his chest, "…used to mean something. Sure, you could be scary sometimes, but it was clear that you cared. Now, it's like all the lives you save don't even matter anymore. All that exists in your mind – or your heart, whatever's left of it – that is, assuming you even still have one – is darkness and dread. Am I wrong?"
Her assertive allegation was met with stony silence. Tentatively, she tried to uplift the weight on the conversation somewhat.
"Not everything has to be about fear. There's room in our line of work for hope too, you know."
Again, he merely remained mute, scrutiny slanting into the distance.
All right, fine. Don't answer me.
Growing annoyed by such obstinate reticence (which she recognized all too well at this point; it was no wonder where her boyfriend got it from) and desperate for some sort of reaction, she attempted to return again to the original topic – her whole goal for summoning this guy's big broody butt in the first place.
"Look, I'm sure you're as aware as I am this isn't just about me trying to barge in on your territory – your private little crusade – is it? I don't mean to pry open old wounds just for the sake of sating my curiosity either. Something obviously happened between you two – something that changed him – that changed the both of you – and I need to know what in order to get through to him." She placed a palm on her breast, clutching and curling fretful fingers against cloth as she bit her lip, baring honest emotion. "I want to be able to understand what he's going through, but every time I try to get him to talk about it, he won't let me near. Refuses to open up, shuts me out just like you've been doing all night."
His vision panned back slowly, restoring rapt concentration. Again, those slim slivers of snow were silent, searching – scant headlights scanning in the dark. Stark and cold against coal, yet somewhere within seemed to spark a vestige of warmth; like stoking, coaxing the burnt out ashes of an old flame to stir and rise again. To remember.
"Tim means a lot to you."
"The whole world. He's a great guy."
"Greater than he knows."
"Please," she begged, "Let me help him at least. I'm worried about him."
He regarded her unwavering expression, gauging sincerity.
"…You really care for him, don't you?"
She nodded, thinking to herself that- despite his still-outwardly icy demeanor, there was indeed a thaw in his throat, a slight swell of sympathy slipping through the grave gravel.
He rotated with a sharp whisk of cape, heading for the edge of the roof.
"Come with me."
She followed, taking cue to simultaneously fumble for her cheap grapple as he reached for his own (no doubt state-of-the-art) device. Whilst descending down the decel line, Batman pressed a button on his utility belt, and a rumble hummed from down the road as a long, sleek, jet-black vehicle charged along the street, skidding to a stop right in front of them as they alighted on the sidewalk. The hood automatically slid back upon recognizing its owner, inviting within the depths of its leather wings.
HolycraptheBatmobile.
She hesitated as he walked round to the driver's side and climbed in, casting an expectant – impatient – glance at his guest.
"Well. Hurry up and get in."
"O- okay."
Dear Diary, whatever you do, don't tell my mom I agreed to get into a strange car in the middle of the night with a shady man wearing a mask. Pretty sure she'd flip her shit.
She hopped in after, settling against the cozy cushions. Leave it to a billionaire to be able to afford the best quality sitting material. Admiring the impressive array of controls on the dashboard, she figured the machine in itself probably cost more than her whole house combined.
"Hang on," he warned as they lurched forward, "And don't touch anything."
Stephanie hastily withdrew her itchy fingers from the nearest knob, sweating nervously.
"Can I ask what this does at least?"
"Passenger seat ejector."
She shrank back sullenly, leaning slumped into the lavish upholstery.
Mock me at your peril, masked man.
As they sped past buildings and streetlamps, Steph inquired with a hunch as to their destination:
"So are we going to your hideout?"
"I prefer to think of it as a lair."
She couldn't tell whether that was supposed to be a joke or not. Either way, she couldn't help but feel a hint of giddy excitement at her current situation. Not many people could proudly proclaim they got to ride in the freakin' Batmobile once during their lives.
Cool.
Hope was a letter I never could send
Love was a country we couldn't defend
And through the carnival we watch them go round and round
All we knew of home was just a sunset and some clowns