Chapter Text
Summer had yet to start but the weather was already miserably humid and warm. There had been an energy brewing in the air with dark clouds hanging over Gotham like a bad omen. I blamed the gloomy forecast for the dark thoughts I had allowed to creep to the forefront that week. Thoughts that had left me tense day and night, making me curt with my proteges, even rude to Alfred. There had only been one person I had shielded from my discontent and, oddly enough, she had been the root cause of it.
I sat perched atop Hart Tower, taking in the breeze while surveying the streets below. The night had been relatively quiet; a few dozen felonies aborted and avoided. There had been no need to visit the rooftop of GCPD headquarters, nor to coordinate extensively with the others patrolling, all of us steadily carving our own paths through the city. Watching from above as even the taxis below followed the law, I allowed myself to muse that it might be an early night.
That I might make it to her penthouse for the late-night dinner she had offered…
“I’ll cook… I’d say you could clean but we know that’s not happening,” Selina had said over the phone that afternoon, her voice light and teasing.
“That’s not very nice,” I had replied, my focus split between her and triaging my remaining meetings for the afternoon. She had a habit of finding the pivotal point in my day, where my mind would start shifting from one life to the other. I had reasoned she did so to assess there was room for her before or after the transition.
“Well, if you show up,” she had said softly, pausing to lower her tone, “I could be very nice to you.”
“You could?” I had countered.
““You should come find out…” she had replied.
Our relationship had taken a turn in a new yet familiar direction nearly six months earlier. As difficult as it was to accept, Selina had been there from the beginning and would likely be there at my end. After years of the same game, she had proposed that there was more to us than chasing one another over rooftops. I had resisted at first, but each following encounter had grown more intense, more challenging to maintain my composure, to uphold my barriers. And then it happened. Casting logic aside, I had revealed my identity to her, trusting her with my life and my secret. I had stood before her as Batman, my hands shaking as I pulled the cowl back to reveal Bruce Wayne.
At first, she had stood in silence, no doubt thinking of all the times we had crossed paths in and out of masks. When I had started to regret my decision, she had smiled, pressed her hands against my chest to stand on her toes, kissing me softly before calling me a jackass.
And every step after that night had been effortless. She was on my arm once again at social functions, her laughter echoed through the halls of the Manor, her perfume permeated from my pillows. We had still been the same independent creatures, but no longer suffering alone. I had slowly shared the update to the others, Dick joking that I would mess it up, Tim noting it was about time I had stepped up to the plate. Cassandra had been indifferent at first, but Selina had been determined to win her affections. Alfred had been elated, as expected, as had Barbara, their friendship blossoming more easily than I could have anticipated.
Everything had felt right. Natural. Uninhibited. And it scared me.
After months of bliss, I had felt myself approaching a crossroad, looking at our time together and questioning if I had wanted more. No, I had been wondering if I had deserved more. My life had never been one of joy and happiness let alone normalcy. Even as a child, I had been more serious than my peers and after the death of my parents, a chance at a normal life was gone.
I had sacrificed everything to become Batman. Friends, family, trust, love…
Feeling equilibrium for the first time in my life, I had been suddenly reluctant to embrace it fully, to trust it. As a result, I had started an internal debate on whether I had finally found comfort or if it had been complacency. I could not afford a shift in mindset, especially if it was one routed in a false sense of security and stability. In my work, I had always remained vigilant, taking steps to anticipate and mitigate risks, adhering to strict protocols and procedures to ensure my safety and the safety of others. Spending my nights in reflection over the course of the week, I had determined that the real question that had been plaguing me was simple.
Could I be happy and be Batman? Or would it be my undoing, or worse, someone else’s?
Contentment offered comfort, but it did not come without risk. Distractions or even divided focus was a direct path to near misses or actual incidents, if not fatal errors. My work was inherently embedded in putting myself in harm’s way on instinct, something that could easily be impeded upon if I started to question if the risk unwarranted.
Splitting my time and attention between Bruce Wayne, Batman, and Selina had been manageable, coming all too naturally. It had felt right. But how many nights of patrols had I distracted myself by talking to her, or thinking ahead to the end of the night to be with her?
Too many...
I had brought my dark thoughts to Alfred earlier in the week, confiding in him in a way I could not do with the others. He had listened quietly as he stitched a laceration on my lower back, allowing me the space to vocalize to the best of my abilities. After he had dressed the wound with gauze and adhesive tape, Alfred had come to stand before me, removing soiled gloves before crossing his arms over his chest.
When I had asked him what I should do, he had sighed, then offered, “Master Bruce… you have spent so many years in the dark, Ms. Selina has always been a light that has come and gone… much akin to a lighthouse, drawing ships in from the storm.”
“Alfred, I am being serious.”
He had nodded, “As am I, sir. You can choose to ride out the storm at sea, adrift and alone… or you can follow the light home, to warmth and safety.”
As droplets of rain started to bounce off my cowl, I looked up to see the clouds starting to finally weep. I heard a click over the comm. link, followed by and exaggerated voice, “This is Blue Bird looking for Smiles Are Frowns Upside Down, over."
"Nightwing," I replied hoarsely. He had made the trip to Gotham unannounced that day, visiting Alfred at the Manor before making an appearance in the Cave. He had asked to join in on patrols, a surprise, but not an unwelcome one.
"Well, Red Bird and I found some fun over by the Port Authority… GCPD has been tipped, bad boys are in custody, and the almighty Oracle has asked me to stop bothering her… reckon my work here is done and I'm headed north. I still have to put the Haven to bed before I can wrap myself up in a down comforter."
I should have thanked him. Instead, I asked if he needed Robin or Batgirl to assist with anything.
Nightwing grunted with effort, then said, "Nah, she has been behaving herself lately… for once… Someday, maybe your city will, too. Over and out."
As the drops of rain progressed into a steady drizzle, I admitted defeat and descended to the pavement, returning to the Mobile to continue patrols with a roof over my head. Between the four of us, every borough had been toured, a feat that had been impossible when I first started my war on crime. Driving side streets, I drifted towards Tri-corner as an incoming message sounded, the display showing it was Selina: What are you wearing?
Glancing at the clock, I noticed it was a little after midnight. I didn’t respond but found myself fighting back a half-smirk.
The beginning of my inner turmoil had been initiated by an act, not of hers, but of my own.
Alfred had spent much of my adult life complaining about the chaos of master bedroom’s walk-in closet, cluttered with chests in addition to the inlaid shelves, drawers, and clothing racks. They contained mementos of my brief youth, memorabilia of my travels abroad, and keepsakes I couldn’t part with but didn’t have the strength to look upon daily. However, it had offered the perfect secure hiding spot for a small, purple velvet jewelry box sitting in a yellow gift bag, hidden amidst spare sweaters.
A jewelry box in a bag that, once in my possession, had resulted in a cascade of inner reflection, doubt, and fear.
I had been in the jewelry boutique with the intent of buying a bracelet for Selina, to recognize her efforts in enduring me for six months. Where every action I took, every choice I made was routed in logic and reason, there had been none that particular day. Somehow, I had left with a four-carat solitaire diamond ring set in yellow gold. By the time I had made it to the Manor, I had realized the error in my ways, how I had veered off the path of reason and headed into the unknown. Bypassing Alfred, I had immediately gone upstairs, finding the furthest corner of the closet and hiding the gift bag from the light of day. And there it sat, in my closet, buried behind wool.
Just as my thoughts were buried beneath doubt.
Although I sacrificed myself to become Batman, I had begun to wonder what the cost would have been to have Selina at my side. Paralysis hadn't stopped me. My city falling to its knees time and time again had not dampened my spirit. The death of my colleagues and even protégés hadn't either. Of all the obstacles I had ever faced, nothing had ever forced me to consciously consider risking it all. It had always been a matter of readjusting course, driving forward, never admitting defeat.
An hour into the rain, my thoughts had run full circle twice, still not coming to a resolution. I stared at the empty street before me, then downshifted, the Mobile creeping forward slowly as I forced myself to regain focus.
As I turned left onto 87th, Oracle's face appeared on the center console's digital display, “You have a second?
Thankful for the distraction, I replied curtly, "Yes.”
She adjusted the glasses on the bridge of her nose, "GCPD stakeout in the French Quarter proved fruitful. Henri Pasqualle and his merry men are all in one location, it’s radio silent but SWAT and state police are moving into place as we speak. Dad's at his office still, but he'll be on his way down soon.”
I was a block from the GCPD Headquarters, prompting me to say, "I'll drop by there first."
"All right, Nightwing is already out of city limits, I can call---.”
"No, have Robin and Batgirl head to the location. Backup only."
"Got it, boss," she nodded before the image went black.
As I took cross streets towards my destination, I sighed, then gave the computer a verbal command to call Selina. She answered on the second ring, “Let me guess…”
I spoke softly, “I’m going to be late.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line, then, “Well, you are lucky it’s raining, else I’d come find you… I assume it’s for a good reason?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you can tell me all about it over breakfast. Don’t wake me up later, and if you do, make it count.”
Knowing the smirk it would bring to her face, I replied, “Yes, dear.”
Parking in a dark service alley, I activated the Mobile’s security system before shooting a grappling hook up into the sky, waiting for it to anchor itself before retracting the line. While airborne, I heard Robin over the comm. link, confirming they were headed to the French Quarter and would hold things down until my arrival. A moment later, I landed at a familiar stone ledge, silently pulling the window open before entering the room. As expected, Jim was on his feet, back to me as he was checking his service weapon. He sighed as he holstered the Colt and began reaching for his Kevlar vest.
With no time to waste, I cleared my throat, announcing my presence.
Jim jumped and cursed me under his breath, pulling his vest on while shaking his head. As he applied the Velcro straps, he turned to face me, “You know, one of these days you’re going to get shot doing that.”
Offering no humor in my voice, I replied, “Too late.” My eyes shifted over his desk, noticing the smoldering ashtray on the far corner.
He followed my gaze, "Oh, don't you even think of lecturing me. Nicotine is my only hope…” he paused to nod towards me, “Nicotine and you that is."
Deciding to move on to business, I asked hoarsely, "How many men?"
He sighed as he retrieved his jacket and pulled it on, "Vice detail counted twelve, give or take. Surveillance spotted four cars pulling into the rear-parking garage of a restaurant, but the tinted windows didn't give them a chance to count heads. As expected, the thermal imaging equipment the mayor cheated out on for us isn’t working. But we have SWAT, special crimes, DEA and State Police headed in, armed and ready."
Henri Pasqualle had been plaguing the eastern seaboard with imported European drugs for more than a decade under a number of aliases. Much like Falcone had once upon a time, Pasqualle had a string of officers among his ranks that gladly took the fall for him once apprehended, leaving him a free man. He had recently made his way into Gotham’s harbor, and Gotham’s protectors, masked and unmasked, had been doing our best to welcome him with open arms and shackles.
Jim continued, "La Belle Fleur, you know it?” when I nodded, he continued, “Good, we’ll see there.”
I made my way back towards the window as he strode towards the office door. Pausing as I set my foot on the ledge, I spoke quietly, "Careful, Jim."
And before I could leave, he smirked and said, "You, too, friend."
So much had come between us, from the law to broken promises, fallen allies, and tragedy striking his family and mine. Although we had spent the last decade in a steadfast alliance, there had been a time he had been foe. The fear in his eyes from our first encounter, and those that followed in our early days. The anger in his words from the night Two-Face had nearly beaten Dick to death. The hate he had towards me when I had abandoned Gotham after No Man’s Land had been declared.
Once upon a time, I had asked him to trust me. And by the grace of God, he finally had.
The fifteen-minute ride to the other side of town took eight in the Mobile, courtesy of running a few red lights. Once I found a concealed parking spot, I made my way towards the restaurant, quick to find higher ground. Closing in, I spotted Batgirl and Robin perched on a building’s edge, facing the barricaded street below. They were quick to spot me, coming to stand upright as I approached.
Robin noted, “They’ve been antsy.”
“The police?” I asked as I joined them in looking down, seeing the blue, wooden sawhorses on the ends of the street, tactical vehicles paired with them to act as a deterrent. Between them, I counted over a dozen marked and unmarked vehicles, including another tactical van.
“Yep, lots of movement, not using comms… They have the lookouts on edge.”
Glancing up to the brick building across the street, my eyes caught on the neon sign, pink roman script, "La Belle Fleur" glowing brightly in the dark. Activating my thermal-lenses, slightly better quality than what the GCPD had been outfitted with, I easily spotted three lookouts armed with Uzis.
One false move. That's all it took.
As I began to assess for an optimal point of entry, I found that Pasqualle's foot soldiers were visibly losing their patience watching the police assemble outside. Their movements were sharp, agitated, edgy. Their faces covered, it was difficult to see but they were shouting at one another. Without warning, one sniper pointed his AR-15 down, shaking his head slowly before opening fire. As shouts sounded below to take cover, I felt Robin step forward, coming to stand beside me.
I put my hand on this chest, stopping him from going any further. We had modified his suit the previous year to have more reinforced body armor plates, but there had been no point in having him test it. When he looked up at me, I shook my head, “Strictly back up.”
Leaving them behind, I leapt from the roof, soaring across the street, my sights set on an open third floor window. When the gunman that had fired the first shot spotted me, it was too late. I landed feet first onto his chest, breaking his collar bone before sending him flying to the ground. The others did not immediately realize something was wrong, giving me the advantage. I began to swiftly navigate the large open room, pummeling masked faces, breaking hands, crushing noses.
The scanner broadcasted in my ear noted that there were six wounded down below, but that the gunfire was no longer aimed at them.
As I continued to take the men stationed on the third floor out of service, I heard Robin on the comm. link, "Flush them out, we’ll catch them on the ground.”
“Third floor is accounted for,” I snared the remaining man with my grapple gun as he tried to flee, setting the retraction speed to high. As he flew towards me, I activated the release mechanism, catching him only to launch him out the open window behind me. He screamed the entire time, even after he had landed and bounced off the awning below. Appraising the room, I confirmed that I was the last man standing.
Glancing out the window, I spotted Robin and Batgirl on the other side of the street, eager to take action. Robin was standing tall, a determined look on his face, his hand at his ear as he managed the comm. link. Batgirl stood next to him, her head high, fists clenched, ready.
Tim and Cassandra. Dick and Barbara…
Anxious shouts and heavy footfalls sounded from the floor below. I found the stairwell entrance to the far left, closing the distance quickly as I reached for a compartment on my belt, “Second floor trying to move up, I will encourage them to go down.”
“Copy,” Robin replied before closing the connection.
To ensure those on the second floor would not reach higher ground, I leapt down the flight of stairs, tucking and rolling as I hit the landing. Before they could open fire, I dispensed a handful of tear gas capsules, filling the big, open space with thick, hazy smoke. The men took in a lungful of the gas, a quiet pause of confusion before the air was filled with painful screams. They bent at the waist with crippling nausea, their eyes watering, their mouth and nostrils on fire. Some of them even fell to their knees, dropping their weapons.
Crime did not pay.
I wasted no time using the night lenses to find them in the cloud of smoke, focusing on those still on their feet. They fired blind shots, as I took them out by their legs, mid-sections, and throats; painful, rapid strikes meant to disarm as painfully and efficiently as possible. Having developed a near immunity to the gas, I could have put my gas mask into place had I wanted to spare the ten seconds it took. Instead, I proceeded to latch on to as many limbs as I could, watching on as nearly half of them started retreating to the ground floor. It wouldn’t be safe for them, but likely safer than staying with me.
Checking in with Robin, he reported that SWAT was preparing to move in when a flush of coughing, limping men started coming out the front door. They were holding back for the time being, but still eager to advance. As I made my way down the last flight of stairs, I asked him to have Gordon give me five more minutes.
The first floor of the restaurant was filled with dust coated chairs, tables and booths, the restaurant had not had an active license to operate in six months. The gas from above had drifted down the stairs like a fog. Gordon had said the count had been at twelve men that had arrived not an hour earlier. Counting those I had encountered on the above two floors, I realized they had been a few off.
I spotted Pasqualle on the far side of the room, holding a cloth to his face, shouting at his men as they abandoned ship. Two remained at their posted positions, standing on either side of him; their bulky silhouettes suggesting they were bodyguards. All three had weapons drawn, looking around the open dining area, growling at each other. Looking to my right, I spotted the overhead light control panel and swiped all of the switches down, bathing the room in darkness.
Quietly, I stepped forward, coming to stand behind one masked man, his shaking hand causing his gun to quiver. I reached out and grabbed it from him, but rather than stroke him, when he turned to face me, I simply growled, “Run.”
He did, as did the three others that had been in the room, leaving only Pasqualle and one bodyguard.
“No!” Pasqualle shouted as they bolted out the front door and into the street. He spun around, searching for me in the dark before firing off three shots, “Damn this city!”
Robin’s voice came over the comm. link, “You okay?”
“Yes,” I replied quietly, “We’ll be out shortly.”
My whisper had drawn their attention, but to no benefit. As I continued walking forward again, I opted to push him further, deploying batarangs while keeping my stride steady. They landed home in his forearm, causing him to scream, Pasqualle then shoved his bodyguard, “Do something!”
With hesitation, the tall, broad man stepped forward, aiming his weapon at nothing. I circled to the right, taking cover behind a half wall. Coming to the end, I peered around the corner, smirking to see he was facing away. I took the opportunity, jumping up and then launching from the wall in order to land down on him hard, breaking his wrist first to deter firing the gun. Next, several fast-paced blows to his head, throat, and abdomen. He tried to brawl back, lashing out at me with big, but clumsy, fists.
It didn’t take much to put him to the ground.
In that minute of effort, Pasqualle escaped my sight briefly, but I found him blindly maneuvering into the kitchen. I went after him, seeing him clearly through Starlite lenses. He had his Smith and Wesson in one hand and six-inch switchblade in the other. In the dark, they were useless tools, for sight was required to use them. But in my case, darkness was the most useful tool, a tool, acting as a means of offense and defense. I watched him as he walked about the dark room, looking for light switches along the wall, softly calling out the names of his missing comrades, bumping into counters and cold ranges.
I moved counterclockwise to him, coming up behind him quietly. When he felt my presence, Pasqualle surprisingly opted to slash out with the knife rather than fire the gun. I grabbed both of his wrists, waiting until I felt them pop, prompting him to release them both. Metal clattered on the tiled floor as he stared up at me. I headbutted him, hard, but kept my hold on his arms. He fell backwards, but recovered, blood from his noose catching in his goatee as he steadied himself on his feet.
Pasqualle found it in him to smile at me, “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“You shouldn’t have come to my city,” I growled.
I hit him again, this time letting him fall to the floor. I dragged him by the foot to the front of the restaurant and threw him out the window, prompting shouting from outside. Stepping as close as I dared, I watched from the window as officers tackled him, pinning him down to the wet pavement.
Robin’s voice we in my ear again, “We have eight accounted for out here, SWAT is coming in for the rest.”
Scanning the street, I spotted him to the far left, standing behind Jim and Harvey Bullock, not fifteen feet away. Seeing Pasquale was out, Jim closed in, shouting that they would do it by the books, that his rights were read, that medical looked him over.
After offering a curt nod to Robin, a shrill scream drew my attention back to Pasqualle. Two of the three officers had recoiled, large shards of glass having been stabbed into their faces, the third blood pouring from a wound on his neck. I wasn’t horrified to see the violence he had unleashed, but that as he staggered to his feet, nose dripping blood over an eerie smile, he had taken up a tactical officer’s firearm.
With the smile still on his lips, Pasqualle extended his arms out, aiming directly at Jim. Although there were already officers aiming weapons and barking orders at Pasqualle, I knew he would be able to get enough shots off to get the job done.
Jim Gordon, wearing a Kevlar vest that likely met its end of use date years earlier.
Jim Gordon standing before me all those years ago, holding his infant son as we stood face to face in shallow water.
Jim Gordon standing on the rooftop of GCPD headquarters, sometimes with his pipe, sometimes with a few wasted cigarette butts at his feet.
Jim Gordon crying as I had saved him the Joker, his daughter waiting for him in a hospital bed.
Just like Selina, he had been there from the beginning and would be there at my end.
Without hesitation, I dove through the window and landed directly in front of the wide-eyed Pasqualle, the semi-automatic weapon painfully steady in his hands. Three shots fired in rapid succession, and I felt each one sink home into my body armor. Time crawled and I didn’t realize I was falling until my knees landed on the wet pavement. When I tried to recover, I found my balance continuing to falter, unable to move my arms as to counter-balance. Finally, I fell backwards, but slowly, someone’s hand latched onto my cape, slowing my descent.
Jim. It had been Jim that caught me, lowering me down. I couldn’t read his lips for some reason, but he looked terrified as he shouted silently.
Then Robin… his lips were moving as well but I couldn’t hear him. Odd, I thought to myself as Batgirl came into view, it wasn’t because of the sirens, they had faded as well. As had the shouts and calls for help and the gunshots ringing in my ears.
I had the faint sensation of someone grabbing onto my gloved hand, but I couldn’t squeeze back to signal I was okay. I thought it was Jim. Jim was okay.
The Kevlar held for the most part. I felt the abdominal wound where the plates met, a weak point in the body armor I thought as a bitter taste rose up the back of my throat. But at least it had held up otherwise. Alfred had spent years lecturing me as I balanced using adequate armor and protecting my range of motion. I had kept the symbol on my chest as a target, always ensuring the strongest level of armor rested beneath it.
As I started to cough, I mused it would have been bad had all of the bullets gone through…
I would be bruised and sore. Would have to call the Mobile around, my head was swimming, walking that far wouldn’t be ideal. They had Pasqualle and his men under control, I’d suffer Alfred’s lecture… or maybe even Leslie’s if needed. I could have Barbara let Selina know I wasn’t making it to her place later. She would tease me, conjuring up some insult like bull’s eye or show-off.
Robin disappeared briefly, then reappeared, something white in his hands. Jim was still there, but I couldn’t feel his hand any longer, could barely see his worried face…
Didn't feel like blacking out, felt like I was floating. I couldn’t have been losing that much blood…
Sleep, that was what I needed. I could have Barbara tell Selina to come up tonight… be nice to wake up to see her face… smell her perfume…
I closed my eyes, picturing Selina as if she were there, her voice would have been light with affection and worry, "If you didn’t want to have dinner, you could have just said so, Bats."
"Funny," I would tell her.
She would take me home, so I could sleep…
We needed to talk about our future, but not tonight.
I needed to give her the ring, but not tonight.
I hoped she wouldn't get mad at me.
I wanted her to be happy.
I would give her the ring.
Hoped Alfred wouldn't see it.
Wanted to be a surprise.
So tired. So quiet.
My eyes closed once more to see Selina's smiling face still there in my mind.
And then there was nothing.
^V^