(FIC) Jaevel Av En Tango: (Ch. 2) What's in a name?
I know the first chapter kind of makes no sense.. I should probably make some notes! But hopefully this one clears the air a bit. Not much, but a bit!
Series: Jaevel Av En Tango (A Devil of a Tango)
Title: Chapter 2 - What's in a name?
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Bruce Wayne, Tommy Wayne (Owlman), Dick Grayson (Talon I)
Word Count: 3300+
Summary: Set five years ago, Talon and Owlman return from patrol to find a ghost from Tommy's past.
All chapters found here.
What's in a name?
Eight years ago:
“That’s the third time this month,” the masked boy mentioned. “Either they are very good… or we’re getting sloppy.”
“Sloppy, Talon? Do I look like a sloppy man to you?” Owlman’s humorless grin was too wide, and Talon shook his head, trying to keep his expression schooled. It never paid to let Owlman see he was making him uncomfortable. “Of course they are good, that’s what makes this interesting. Actually, that’s the only reason why I give a damn about this. So keep your mouth shut while I think.”
Dick retreated to his computer station and started going over the feeds. If Owlman thought he didn’t need a second pair of eyes, he could go fuck himself. Dick was damn good at his job, he had saved Owlman dozens of times in the two years he had been Talon; he wasn’t just some dumb kid, even if sometimes Tommy treated him like one. Oh, but the look on Owlman’s face when Talon delivered a well placed knuckle sandwich to the boys in blue! Tommy always was in a much better mood when they scrapped with the GCPD… at least when they won. And they had been winning a lot lately, the Commish couldn’t keep up with all the gangs warring against each other and Tommy’s schemes. But lately even their scraps with the GCPD weren’t enough to cheer up Owlman, not since the rumors of a storm coming to Gotham started spreading.
It wasn’t that Tommy was worried, or at least he didn’t seem very worried to Dick. He was just too absorbed following the rumor mill and putting together the clues they had started receiving three weeks ago. He was too busy to enjoy himself and celebrate with Dick, like this new game was just for him and no one else was allowed to touch it.
“Do you want me to give you the results the computer came up with?” Dick asked, not really expecting Tommy to say yes. Probably the older man would kick him off the chair and go over them himself.
“Go on,” Tommy said.
Dick beamed, quickly getting over his gloom, and went ahead to read the computer’s search results. “Fire Storm, terrorist operation based in South Africa. Tropical storm Edgar, headed towards Mexico’s Gulf. Tropical storm Fiona, headed towards Florida. Another bunch of tropical storms. Space Storm, Russian manned space defense project. Der Sturm, Germany based mob. Tormenta, Spain based metahuman with weather powers. Dreamstorm, Scandinavian urban art movement… do you want me to go on? The rest seem kind off-topic.”
“No. It’s probably too damn literal, anyway. ‘There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm.’ ‘The brightest thunderbolt is elicited from the darkest storms.’ ‘Skillful pilots gain their reputation from storms and tempests.’” Owlman removed his cowl and lay back on his chair, chewing his lower lip as he went over the clues that had been left in the crime scenes. “The only thing linking these together is the damn storm theme. It sounds almost like religious zealously, with all the talk about tempering and overcoming times of duress… find me a list of cults with weather-based gods and link me to the Tormenta file and the Fire Storm operation, Dick.”
The young acrobat did as asked, setting new search parameters, and turned his chair towards Tommy. “But why are they leaving notes? The robberies must be part of the clues.”
“Of course the robberies are part of the clues. Those were business under my sanction, they are trying to get my attention.” Tommy was tapping the table rhythmically and chewing his thumb of the other hand viciously, his gaze lost faraway. Dick couldn’t follow him there. All he could do was sit around and bore himself to death. He huffed.
“You know what you ought to do, Dickie boy, you should get me something to eat.”
“But Tommy-“
“Go get take-out or something, kid. Just bring me food and get out of my hair. You’re cramping the place.”
“I’m not cramping the place, you’re just being a jackass for no reason! Come on, Tommy, you know I can help you out with those clues! At least we should celebrate the beating we gave the cops, go get breakfast or something.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about, cramping the place like nobody’s business. Just scram, kid. I need to think without you yapping all the time.”
“You’re such a jerk, Tom,” Dick said, hopefully not too sullenly, and got up, starting to undress on the way down from the Belfry to the Penthouse where Thomas Wayne Jr. lived with his ward Dick Grayson. He threw his costume as he went down the stairs -first the blue domino, then the feather plate cape, the orange body armor, the blue shorts and boots. He grabbed money from Tommy’s wallet -enough for pizza (the kind Tommy hated, Dick didn’t care) and to get himself some movies later in the morning. Tommy could have all the alone time he wanted, as well as all the cold pizza he could eat, Dick couldn’t care less.
Tommy waited until he heard saw the red dot of Dick’s tracker leave the building on the computer screen, then turned around to face his unknown visitor. “I don’t know how the hell you found this place, but you just got yourself in a lot of trouble.”
“Nice kid, Tommy. You were always such a good big brother; I can see why you wanted to get a pet kid you could boss around.” The voice coming from the shadows had something odd to it. Almost as if Tommy knew it, but not quite. He reached back to put his cowl back on and activate the night vision, but the voice laughed.
Tommy knew that laugh.
“I don’t think you need to do that, Thomas. I know exactly what you look like. I see myself in the mirror every day, after all.”
The figure came into the light and Tommy felt his heart skip a beat, and it wasn’t either romantic or exciting, it scared the crap out of him. “A shape shifter. One of those white Martian jerks who mess up with minds and change their bodies, aren’t you? I have killed your kind before, jackass. Some nerve you have showing up here.” Tommy took a deep breath and smiled his favorite smile, the one that made people take a step back and reconsider their choices. The man in front of him looked exactly like him, but his hair was longer, white dyed locks stark against the ebony of his natural hair. An opal stud on his left ear. Ridiculous. For a copy, this was a pretty half-assed job. It was as if a White Martian had bought into all of Tommy’s playboy reputation and then tried to look the part. It was… ridiculous. “What I’m wondering is who told you where to find me? Was it Ultraman? That idiot can’t plan an assassination even if his life depends on it. I know all your weakness, and I can make your intrusion worth my while. So… you either tell me what I want to know,” Tommy said, taking three deliberate steps towards his visitor, “or I’ll make you tell me.” He smiled again. “Who sent you here?”
The other man opened his arms in a gesture of good faith. Of course he wasn’t carrying any weapons, he was a freaking shape-shifter, did he think Tommy was stupid? “No one sent me, brother. I am the Storm. I thought three notices were enough, I would have sent nine, but… that would have prolonged our stealth stay in Gotham another couple of months, and to tell you the truth, I was getting tired of waiting.”
Tommy shifted his head and narrowed his eyes, looking at his doppelganger all over again. The Martian’s were telepaths too, he could be reading into Tommy’s mind and digging up the references to the Storm… or he could have been in the room for longer than Tommy had noticed and heard him and Talon talk. “It doesn’t make sense. You make your introductions one notice a week, and then just show up in my secret base? What do you want?”
The other man smiled, and it was identical to Tommy’s smile. The vigilante swallowed hard, willing his heart to still. He remembered that smile.
“Let’s be honest, Tom. I was always the smarter one. You had your telepathy, but you screwed that up with all the shit you shot up your brain. If you still had it, you could be prodding my mind and finding your answers whether I wanted you or not. Though maybe I could have stopped you. I have done experiments, Tommy, believe me I have, but I don’t have any mental powers… but I could still talk with you, back then. I could call you or block you, but you had to mess up your deal and now I can’t hear you here,” he said, taping his forehead. “Still, no matter how much smart juice you fed your brain, I’m afraid you’re just no match for your baby brother.”
“It’s not true,” Tommy growled, not sure of what he was denying.
The other man shrugged, a gesture so painfully familiar that it hit Tommy like a blow. “I have a story to tell and a proposal to make you. But if you’re just going to gape we’re not going to get anywhere.”
“You’re dead.” Tommy stated, clinging to this fundamental part of his life. His baby brother -younger than him forty seven minutes, the second twin- had died eighteen years ago with his mother when the goddamn cops had opened fire on his stupid father and his little family. This aberration here was right: back then, Tommy had never been alone, he and Bruce had had their secret playroom in the back of their minds where they met and talked and kept each other company, and his father had taken that from him. His father had taken his mother and his brother from him.
“I don’t feel dead.”
“You and mother died eighteen years ago. Eighteen years is a long time. You’re dead.”
“Well, if you put it like that, I guess I am dead. Bruce Wayne is dead, that is. It’s not like I can resuscitate that identity without getting myself into trouble, not to mention dear old Dad... But Bruce is just a name, Tommy. I, on the other hand, am very much alive.” Tommy’s heart skipped another beat, and damn, but it was getting sickening to feel like that, as Bruce took a couple of steps forward and sat on Talon’s chair, crossing his long legs. He looked like an exact replica of Tommy… only he didn’t.
Tommy stared at him for a long while, looking for something in his mind, some disused synapses that had become weaker and weaker as he kept taking the neuro-cortex enhancers. Bruce just sat there, looking at him like he had all the time in the world, with that little smile he had sported when they were kids and he had a secret to share. Tommy found the back room, tasting blood in his mouth and feeling it trickling down his nose, and he called. ::Bruce?::
::Yes?::
::…you’re alive.::
::That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.:: A wash of affection rushed through the half forgotten link. ::I’m glad to be back, Tommy. I missed you.::
“How in the name of hell are you alive, you son of a bitch?” Tommy asked, his question breaking at the end with a chuckle. Oh, his father was going to have fit.
“You know how you were always Dad’s favorite?”
“No, you were always Dad’s favorite.”
Bruce snorted. “Maybe once I was dead, Tommy, but when were a happy little family, you were the light of Dad’s eyes. I always envied you that… but just like you were his, I was mom’s favorite.”
“I could have told you that. You were a spoiled-rotten little runt,” Tommy said, his voice laden with derision, but he reached out tentatively through their mental link, letting his emotions bleed into it.
Bruce chuckled, his mind reaching out for Tommy’s, awkward and ever so welcome. “You have to understand, Tommy. Mother never wanted to have children. Mother never wanted to marry father, either. But her own father owed Thomas Wayne a favor, and she had been very young. She wasn’t the woman she would become yet, didn’t know just how much power she had over men. So she married father and eventually bore him children. Twin boys, the double whammy. It must have made him happy to have a sure heir out of the both of us… but mother wasn’t made for the married life. Even when she wasn’t home, when she was living the life she was meant to, the high society events and the fundraisers and the parties, we were always there like ghosts. But it wasn’t us that dragger her down, it was our father. So she did what any modern woman would.
"She got a lover.
"I don’t know how long the affair lasted before the night of the shooting. I suspect less than a year, since when it happened, mother had already become the master manipulator that would control my life for the next eight years without getting a single objection. Adored out mother, Tommy, admired her… she was terrifying.
"You know her lover, I believe. One of the original Crime Lodge members, Alan Scott. Even then, father was on the fast track to becoming Commissioner, it must have been gratifying to know he wasn’t only a free roaming criminal, but nailing the commish-to-be wife. But mother conned him, too. A word of advice, Tommy: intelligent beautiful women are good to pin after, better for keeping close for a good view and sparkly conversation, but bad for taking to bed. They will be our downfall, we have too much of Dad in us for them not to be.
"With the help of Mr. Scott, mother planned her own death. She planned to leave me behind as well, but something went awry during the shooting; the cops they had bought to shoot her got trigger happy. The bullets were salves, mother’s blood was fake… and I guess no one checked me for blood in the hurry. I hit the wall and must have passed out. The cops took father in for questioning, but mother hadn’t just cheated her way out of her marriage, she had also conveniently gave Mr. Scott to the police. An anonymous tip informed the old commissioner that father was doing favors for the Crime Lodge, and back then the police worked different. Don’t think I haven’t kept an eye on you and dad, Tommy, or that I forgot about Gotham. These days, a stunt like that… Owlman would have caught on with mother quite fast, and disposed of all those involved… or maybe not. Maybe you would have given her a medal, she was quite the tigress.
"But back then, no one cared to check the bodies of Martha Wayne, formerly Martha Kane, and her son, until they had disappeared. And it was better not to make too many questions about bodies in Gotham then, just like its better not to make too many questions about bodies now. Too many thieves and hungry hoodlums and cults and perverts. Who wants to get mixed up with that?
"She had it all planned out. Plane ticket, money, a whole life set in a place far away for Gotham and its asphyxiating men. She just didn’t know what to do with me. I was still her favorite, and she didn’t have the heart to leave me to roam in the streets in Gotham once the ruse was over. So she got me a ticket to Europe with her, and we left Gotham.
"Mr. Scott proved to be a very resilient pursuer. He could do the commute from Gotham to Germany much faster than any ship could. To be honest, I don’t know why he didn’t just spirit mother away instead of send her on the boat, but I suppose mother didn’t want to depend on him for her freedom more than she needed to. He kept visiting, and mother kept growing colder with him just as Gotham was growing hotter until the Crime Lodge had to move out of the city. You remember? I think our dear old man had something to do with that. Mr. Scott never came back afterwards. Mother said not to worry about him anymore, so I didn’t. As far as I know, he had two kids he hadn’t seen in years and hadn’t looked for again, what was he going to care about his mistress and her kid? I wasn’t even his.
"While he kept up his visits, mother took his name. She would appeal to his ego and play the damsel in distress for him, and then turn around to live the life she had always wanted the moment he left. Martha Wayne was a name she never wanted, but Martha Kane people could still recognize, so she changed it to Martha Scott, and for two years I was Robert Scott of Cologne.
"When mother finally ditched Mr. Scott, we left Germany for Norway and settled down in Oslo. I was ten, and mother was thirty, and her social life was booming. I spent a lot of time in school and in workshops, and started to hang out in the thieves’ guild. It was a good time to be Robby Kane, but I missed Gotham. Little by little, mother’s money started to run out. She had a trust fund left from her parents that she had moved around to keep father from getting his hands into, even after her supposed death, but she wasn’t careful with money, and banks are the worst kind of thieves.
"Mother was diagnosed with lung cancer when I turned sixteen. She wasted away within a year; it was obvious she had been sick for a long time, and she had been smoking those thin long cigarettes since forever, do you remember them? I still always think of her when I smell someone smoking them. Cancer sticks; you should see what they do to a strong woman like our mother, full of life one day and then a thinning walking corpse, and you will never touch one of those again.
"Mother passed away nine years ago in a hospital in Oslo, and I turned seventeen without a krone. I turned to work full time with the thieves for a year, and then went to med school with funds from the guild’s master. A doctor is a handy profession to have if you want to work with the mob but don’t want to get too much in the way of bullets, and it suited me fine.
"It took me six years to rise up in the hierarchy of the guild and then set my own organization. The whole operation needs money and resources, as you well know, and eventually Oslo wasn’t big enough for the Storm and the old crime groups, so we moved back to Germany. I had worked on a proto-persona to lead the Storm back in Norway, but it was hard to stop being Robby Kane there. Frankfurt received Vak Báleygr, young patron of the arts, with open arms into their high society. Wotan the Storm was a man only met in dark rooms full of smoke, and never the twine shall meet.
"That is, until now. Two years in Frankfurt and I had become influential and rich enough to attempt to move the operation back home. Back to Gotham.
"This is my story, Tommy. I don’t think I have properly introduced myself yet. I am Vak Báleygr, the Watchful Flame Eye. I am Wotan, the man behind the Storm. Are you interested in hearing my offer?”
Series: Jaevel Av En Tango (A Devil of a Tango)
Title: Chapter 2 - What's in a name?
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Bruce Wayne, Tommy Wayne (Owlman), Dick Grayson (Talon I)
Word Count: 3300+
Summary: Set five years ago, Talon and Owlman return from patrol to find a ghost from Tommy's past.
All chapters found here.
What's in a name?
Eight years ago:
“That’s the third time this month,” the masked boy mentioned. “Either they are very good… or we’re getting sloppy.”
“Sloppy, Talon? Do I look like a sloppy man to you?” Owlman’s humorless grin was too wide, and Talon shook his head, trying to keep his expression schooled. It never paid to let Owlman see he was making him uncomfortable. “Of course they are good, that’s what makes this interesting. Actually, that’s the only reason why I give a damn about this. So keep your mouth shut while I think.”
Dick retreated to his computer station and started going over the feeds. If Owlman thought he didn’t need a second pair of eyes, he could go fuck himself. Dick was damn good at his job, he had saved Owlman dozens of times in the two years he had been Talon; he wasn’t just some dumb kid, even if sometimes Tommy treated him like one. Oh, but the look on Owlman’s face when Talon delivered a well placed knuckle sandwich to the boys in blue! Tommy always was in a much better mood when they scrapped with the GCPD… at least when they won. And they had been winning a lot lately, the Commish couldn’t keep up with all the gangs warring against each other and Tommy’s schemes. But lately even their scraps with the GCPD weren’t enough to cheer up Owlman, not since the rumors of a storm coming to Gotham started spreading.
It wasn’t that Tommy was worried, or at least he didn’t seem very worried to Dick. He was just too absorbed following the rumor mill and putting together the clues they had started receiving three weeks ago. He was too busy to enjoy himself and celebrate with Dick, like this new game was just for him and no one else was allowed to touch it.
“Do you want me to give you the results the computer came up with?” Dick asked, not really expecting Tommy to say yes. Probably the older man would kick him off the chair and go over them himself.
“Go on,” Tommy said.
Dick beamed, quickly getting over his gloom, and went ahead to read the computer’s search results. “Fire Storm, terrorist operation based in South Africa. Tropical storm Edgar, headed towards Mexico’s Gulf. Tropical storm Fiona, headed towards Florida. Another bunch of tropical storms. Space Storm, Russian manned space defense project. Der Sturm, Germany based mob. Tormenta, Spain based metahuman with weather powers. Dreamstorm, Scandinavian urban art movement… do you want me to go on? The rest seem kind off-topic.”
“No. It’s probably too damn literal, anyway. ‘There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm.’ ‘The brightest thunderbolt is elicited from the darkest storms.’ ‘Skillful pilots gain their reputation from storms and tempests.’” Owlman removed his cowl and lay back on his chair, chewing his lower lip as he went over the clues that had been left in the crime scenes. “The only thing linking these together is the damn storm theme. It sounds almost like religious zealously, with all the talk about tempering and overcoming times of duress… find me a list of cults with weather-based gods and link me to the Tormenta file and the Fire Storm operation, Dick.”
The young acrobat did as asked, setting new search parameters, and turned his chair towards Tommy. “But why are they leaving notes? The robberies must be part of the clues.”
“Of course the robberies are part of the clues. Those were business under my sanction, they are trying to get my attention.” Tommy was tapping the table rhythmically and chewing his thumb of the other hand viciously, his gaze lost faraway. Dick couldn’t follow him there. All he could do was sit around and bore himself to death. He huffed.
“You know what you ought to do, Dickie boy, you should get me something to eat.”
“But Tommy-“
“Go get take-out or something, kid. Just bring me food and get out of my hair. You’re cramping the place.”
“I’m not cramping the place, you’re just being a jackass for no reason! Come on, Tommy, you know I can help you out with those clues! At least we should celebrate the beating we gave the cops, go get breakfast or something.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about, cramping the place like nobody’s business. Just scram, kid. I need to think without you yapping all the time.”
“You’re such a jerk, Tom,” Dick said, hopefully not too sullenly, and got up, starting to undress on the way down from the Belfry to the Penthouse where Thomas Wayne Jr. lived with his ward Dick Grayson. He threw his costume as he went down the stairs -first the blue domino, then the feather plate cape, the orange body armor, the blue shorts and boots. He grabbed money from Tommy’s wallet -enough for pizza (the kind Tommy hated, Dick didn’t care) and to get himself some movies later in the morning. Tommy could have all the alone time he wanted, as well as all the cold pizza he could eat, Dick couldn’t care less.
Tommy waited until he heard saw the red dot of Dick’s tracker leave the building on the computer screen, then turned around to face his unknown visitor. “I don’t know how the hell you found this place, but you just got yourself in a lot of trouble.”
“Nice kid, Tommy. You were always such a good big brother; I can see why you wanted to get a pet kid you could boss around.” The voice coming from the shadows had something odd to it. Almost as if Tommy knew it, but not quite. He reached back to put his cowl back on and activate the night vision, but the voice laughed.
Tommy knew that laugh.
“I don’t think you need to do that, Thomas. I know exactly what you look like. I see myself in the mirror every day, after all.”
The figure came into the light and Tommy felt his heart skip a beat, and it wasn’t either romantic or exciting, it scared the crap out of him. “A shape shifter. One of those white Martian jerks who mess up with minds and change their bodies, aren’t you? I have killed your kind before, jackass. Some nerve you have showing up here.” Tommy took a deep breath and smiled his favorite smile, the one that made people take a step back and reconsider their choices. The man in front of him looked exactly like him, but his hair was longer, white dyed locks stark against the ebony of his natural hair. An opal stud on his left ear. Ridiculous. For a copy, this was a pretty half-assed job. It was as if a White Martian had bought into all of Tommy’s playboy reputation and then tried to look the part. It was… ridiculous. “What I’m wondering is who told you where to find me? Was it Ultraman? That idiot can’t plan an assassination even if his life depends on it. I know all your weakness, and I can make your intrusion worth my while. So… you either tell me what I want to know,” Tommy said, taking three deliberate steps towards his visitor, “or I’ll make you tell me.” He smiled again. “Who sent you here?”
The other man opened his arms in a gesture of good faith. Of course he wasn’t carrying any weapons, he was a freaking shape-shifter, did he think Tommy was stupid? “No one sent me, brother. I am the Storm. I thought three notices were enough, I would have sent nine, but… that would have prolonged our stealth stay in Gotham another couple of months, and to tell you the truth, I was getting tired of waiting.”
Tommy shifted his head and narrowed his eyes, looking at his doppelganger all over again. The Martian’s were telepaths too, he could be reading into Tommy’s mind and digging up the references to the Storm… or he could have been in the room for longer than Tommy had noticed and heard him and Talon talk. “It doesn’t make sense. You make your introductions one notice a week, and then just show up in my secret base? What do you want?”
The other man smiled, and it was identical to Tommy’s smile. The vigilante swallowed hard, willing his heart to still. He remembered that smile.
“Let’s be honest, Tom. I was always the smarter one. You had your telepathy, but you screwed that up with all the shit you shot up your brain. If you still had it, you could be prodding my mind and finding your answers whether I wanted you or not. Though maybe I could have stopped you. I have done experiments, Tommy, believe me I have, but I don’t have any mental powers… but I could still talk with you, back then. I could call you or block you, but you had to mess up your deal and now I can’t hear you here,” he said, taping his forehead. “Still, no matter how much smart juice you fed your brain, I’m afraid you’re just no match for your baby brother.”
“It’s not true,” Tommy growled, not sure of what he was denying.
The other man shrugged, a gesture so painfully familiar that it hit Tommy like a blow. “I have a story to tell and a proposal to make you. But if you’re just going to gape we’re not going to get anywhere.”
“You’re dead.” Tommy stated, clinging to this fundamental part of his life. His baby brother -younger than him forty seven minutes, the second twin- had died eighteen years ago with his mother when the goddamn cops had opened fire on his stupid father and his little family. This aberration here was right: back then, Tommy had never been alone, he and Bruce had had their secret playroom in the back of their minds where they met and talked and kept each other company, and his father had taken that from him. His father had taken his mother and his brother from him.
“I don’t feel dead.”
“You and mother died eighteen years ago. Eighteen years is a long time. You’re dead.”
“Well, if you put it like that, I guess I am dead. Bruce Wayne is dead, that is. It’s not like I can resuscitate that identity without getting myself into trouble, not to mention dear old Dad... But Bruce is just a name, Tommy. I, on the other hand, am very much alive.” Tommy’s heart skipped another beat, and damn, but it was getting sickening to feel like that, as Bruce took a couple of steps forward and sat on Talon’s chair, crossing his long legs. He looked like an exact replica of Tommy… only he didn’t.
Tommy stared at him for a long while, looking for something in his mind, some disused synapses that had become weaker and weaker as he kept taking the neuro-cortex enhancers. Bruce just sat there, looking at him like he had all the time in the world, with that little smile he had sported when they were kids and he had a secret to share. Tommy found the back room, tasting blood in his mouth and feeling it trickling down his nose, and he called. ::Bruce?::
::Yes?::
::…you’re alive.::
::That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.:: A wash of affection rushed through the half forgotten link. ::I’m glad to be back, Tommy. I missed you.::
“How in the name of hell are you alive, you son of a bitch?” Tommy asked, his question breaking at the end with a chuckle. Oh, his father was going to have fit.
“You know how you were always Dad’s favorite?”
“No, you were always Dad’s favorite.”
Bruce snorted. “Maybe once I was dead, Tommy, but when were a happy little family, you were the light of Dad’s eyes. I always envied you that… but just like you were his, I was mom’s favorite.”
“I could have told you that. You were a spoiled-rotten little runt,” Tommy said, his voice laden with derision, but he reached out tentatively through their mental link, letting his emotions bleed into it.
Bruce chuckled, his mind reaching out for Tommy’s, awkward and ever so welcome. “You have to understand, Tommy. Mother never wanted to have children. Mother never wanted to marry father, either. But her own father owed Thomas Wayne a favor, and she had been very young. She wasn’t the woman she would become yet, didn’t know just how much power she had over men. So she married father and eventually bore him children. Twin boys, the double whammy. It must have made him happy to have a sure heir out of the both of us… but mother wasn’t made for the married life. Even when she wasn’t home, when she was living the life she was meant to, the high society events and the fundraisers and the parties, we were always there like ghosts. But it wasn’t us that dragger her down, it was our father. So she did what any modern woman would.
"She got a lover.
"I don’t know how long the affair lasted before the night of the shooting. I suspect less than a year, since when it happened, mother had already become the master manipulator that would control my life for the next eight years without getting a single objection. Adored out mother, Tommy, admired her… she was terrifying.
"You know her lover, I believe. One of the original Crime Lodge members, Alan Scott. Even then, father was on the fast track to becoming Commissioner, it must have been gratifying to know he wasn’t only a free roaming criminal, but nailing the commish-to-be wife. But mother conned him, too. A word of advice, Tommy: intelligent beautiful women are good to pin after, better for keeping close for a good view and sparkly conversation, but bad for taking to bed. They will be our downfall, we have too much of Dad in us for them not to be.
"With the help of Mr. Scott, mother planned her own death. She planned to leave me behind as well, but something went awry during the shooting; the cops they had bought to shoot her got trigger happy. The bullets were salves, mother’s blood was fake… and I guess no one checked me for blood in the hurry. I hit the wall and must have passed out. The cops took father in for questioning, but mother hadn’t just cheated her way out of her marriage, she had also conveniently gave Mr. Scott to the police. An anonymous tip informed the old commissioner that father was doing favors for the Crime Lodge, and back then the police worked different. Don’t think I haven’t kept an eye on you and dad, Tommy, or that I forgot about Gotham. These days, a stunt like that… Owlman would have caught on with mother quite fast, and disposed of all those involved… or maybe not. Maybe you would have given her a medal, she was quite the tigress.
"But back then, no one cared to check the bodies of Martha Wayne, formerly Martha Kane, and her son, until they had disappeared. And it was better not to make too many questions about bodies in Gotham then, just like its better not to make too many questions about bodies now. Too many thieves and hungry hoodlums and cults and perverts. Who wants to get mixed up with that?
"She had it all planned out. Plane ticket, money, a whole life set in a place far away for Gotham and its asphyxiating men. She just didn’t know what to do with me. I was still her favorite, and she didn’t have the heart to leave me to roam in the streets in Gotham once the ruse was over. So she got me a ticket to Europe with her, and we left Gotham.
"Mr. Scott proved to be a very resilient pursuer. He could do the commute from Gotham to Germany much faster than any ship could. To be honest, I don’t know why he didn’t just spirit mother away instead of send her on the boat, but I suppose mother didn’t want to depend on him for her freedom more than she needed to. He kept visiting, and mother kept growing colder with him just as Gotham was growing hotter until the Crime Lodge had to move out of the city. You remember? I think our dear old man had something to do with that. Mr. Scott never came back afterwards. Mother said not to worry about him anymore, so I didn’t. As far as I know, he had two kids he hadn’t seen in years and hadn’t looked for again, what was he going to care about his mistress and her kid? I wasn’t even his.
"While he kept up his visits, mother took his name. She would appeal to his ego and play the damsel in distress for him, and then turn around to live the life she had always wanted the moment he left. Martha Wayne was a name she never wanted, but Martha Kane people could still recognize, so she changed it to Martha Scott, and for two years I was Robert Scott of Cologne.
"When mother finally ditched Mr. Scott, we left Germany for Norway and settled down in Oslo. I was ten, and mother was thirty, and her social life was booming. I spent a lot of time in school and in workshops, and started to hang out in the thieves’ guild. It was a good time to be Robby Kane, but I missed Gotham. Little by little, mother’s money started to run out. She had a trust fund left from her parents that she had moved around to keep father from getting his hands into, even after her supposed death, but she wasn’t careful with money, and banks are the worst kind of thieves.
"Mother was diagnosed with lung cancer when I turned sixteen. She wasted away within a year; it was obvious she had been sick for a long time, and she had been smoking those thin long cigarettes since forever, do you remember them? I still always think of her when I smell someone smoking them. Cancer sticks; you should see what they do to a strong woman like our mother, full of life one day and then a thinning walking corpse, and you will never touch one of those again.
"Mother passed away nine years ago in a hospital in Oslo, and I turned seventeen without a krone. I turned to work full time with the thieves for a year, and then went to med school with funds from the guild’s master. A doctor is a handy profession to have if you want to work with the mob but don’t want to get too much in the way of bullets, and it suited me fine.
"It took me six years to rise up in the hierarchy of the guild and then set my own organization. The whole operation needs money and resources, as you well know, and eventually Oslo wasn’t big enough for the Storm and the old crime groups, so we moved back to Germany. I had worked on a proto-persona to lead the Storm back in Norway, but it was hard to stop being Robby Kane there. Frankfurt received Vak Báleygr, young patron of the arts, with open arms into their high society. Wotan the Storm was a man only met in dark rooms full of smoke, and never the twine shall meet.
"That is, until now. Two years in Frankfurt and I had become influential and rich enough to attempt to move the operation back home. Back to Gotham.
"This is my story, Tommy. I don’t think I have properly introduced myself yet. I am Vak Báleygr, the Watchful Flame Eye. I am Wotan, the man behind the Storm. Are you interested in hearing my offer?”