(FIC) Jaevel Av En Tango: (Ch. 4) Fear and Fire
...getting my title and papers is going to be more expensive than I thought it would be, like, WAY MORE EXPENSIVE THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE, and I am filled with rage!!!! I hate the freaking protocol. School, I thought the headaches induced by you were over! little did I know!!
So... fic!
Series: Jaevel Av En Tango (A Devil of a Tango)
Title: Chapter 4 - Fear and Fire
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Bruce Wayne, Tommy Wayne, Tim Drake, Harley, Joker
Word Count: 2100+
Summary: Tim delivers a message to the Justice Underground and sets disaster in motion, while Bruce and Tommy deal with an anniversary.
All chapters found here.
Fear and fire
Tim and Cassandra walked in silence as they crossed Robinson Park, enjoying the morning’s light after the cold and damp night. Tim would have rather been in bed, but he had to admit it was a nice morning. The park was full of runners and cyclists and the occasional tourist, but everyone made way for them. Even Robinson Park regulars were distrustful of the huge dogs before them, and would rather not tempt fate as they passed beside them.
Geri and Freki were well-trained, though, the passers-by didn’t have anything to worry about -not unless the dogs were commanded to attack. And if that happened, Tim thought with a smile, the dogs were the least of their problems. The Crows were Wotan’s personal agents -their job ranged from errands to interrogations and disposing of troublemakers, and both of them very good at their jobs. Tim turned towards Cassandra. She couldn’t speak very well, but that was because the language she spoke wasn’t made of words. She read people, how they moved, how they sounded, and she never forgot a face or missed a blow. Tim’s own training as the second Talon often came in handy with working with Wotan, and he far preferred to be a Crow, play the intrigue games and bring down the bad players, than to have meaningless scraps with the GCPD or regulate the favor bank with Owlman. Being Talon had its fair share of fun, true, but ge could have never stayed with Owlman once Renegade left Gotham for Bludhaven. The first Talon was the only reason why Tim had stayed with the man who had murdered his father. He couldn’t make himself have much resentment towards Owlman; after all, the favor bank was the favor bank and his father had been a rat, but Tim felt he owed him at least some kind of rebellious gesture towards the Gotham vigilante.
It had all worked alright in the end, anyway. Owlman had a new Talon after his first two quit the job, and Wotan had a new Crow.
Nothing but family business.
“You going?” Cass asked without looking at him, startling Tim. They were standing in the crossroad that led to the passageway to the Justice Underground quarters in Gotham.
Tim nodded, burying his hands in the pockets of his jacket. The wind was starting to pick up and was messing with his hair, just as Cassandra’s long bangs kept plastering to her face no matter how much she pushed them aside. “I’ll be done soon. Want to meet for breakfast later?”
She smiled.
“I’ll see you in the waffle place in twenty.”
“Race you,” she said with a wicked gleam in her eyes.
“Oh, you’re on,” Tim said, turning to run down the bridge and into a service tunnel. The floor was covered with drying leaves and puddles of stale rainwater, and his sneakers made a wet sloshing sound as he ran. It smelled of moss, damp earth and decay, and it grew darker the further he got himself into the maintenance tunnel system under Robinson Park. It didn’t matter; Tim knew the path by heart. One of the first things he had learned as a Crow was the lay of the city, not just the streets and the buildings and the subway tunnels -those he had gotten familiar enough while he worked with Owlman, but of the crevices and refugee spaces, of the abandoned tunnels and the sewers and all the secret passages the city had riddled itself with as it grew. Below Gotham was another city just as complex, just as monstrous, less populated but perhaps more dangerous because it didn’t just harbor people, but dreams and hopes. The underbelly of Gotham was full of promises that often ended up being paid in blood. But the secret dreams made the city below important, the low whispers lent it a soul, and Tim knew he was part of the dream. He could fan the spark of fire or put it out altogether with a blow.
That was the real pay of being a Crow. The power to help affect dreams, the chance to be something greater than the sum of its parts. That was something Owlman couldn’t give him, and Tim pitied the new Talon for having given up his chance to do something real, instead of just roughing up cops and nobodies who tried to screw the favor bank. Of course, Tim didn’t think very highly of Jason overall. That jerk had been very quick to take over Tim’s role as Talon and betray Wotan, like he had never really understood what his job meant, what it could mean if he was willing to push it.
Tim reached the concealed trap door, his breathing coming in deep breaths, loud in the dark. He knocked, and set himself to wait.
The door opened, a pretty blond standing in front of him and giving him a cold look. Tim grinned. “Special delivery, Miss Quinzel.”
“Really?” She asked, rising an eyebrow. “Barbara just left, and she didn't say anything.
“None of my business,” Tim said, rising his hands. He thought Barbara’s boyfriend was kind of jerk, but no one had asked him. “I have a message for Quizmaster.”
“Sing, then.”
“Can’t, miss. Message is for Quizmaster,” Tim said with a mocking smile. He enjoyed messing with her. She always treated him like a kid, it served her right.
“Well, you will have to wait out there with the rot, then, ‘cause Eddie isn’t here.”
Tim balanced in the balls of his feet, grinning, but the smile died on his lips at the sight of another figure behind Harleen.
“What’s going on, Harley?”
“Nothing, puddin’. Just one of the little birds, wanting to speak with Eddie.”
The man loomed behind Harleen, his hair a sick green under the halogen light flooding from the room. “What do you want, kid?”
“I just need to deliver a message,” Tim said, shuffling a little. He hated being around Crackerjack, the guy gave him the creeps. He was either a genius or a madman, or both. He was dangerous. How had he landed such a babe as Harleen was beyond his understanding, he couldn’t believe anyone would want to actually be with the guy. He made a pause, and decided to swallow his pride, games with Harleen be damned. “I really need to get going.”
“Then deliver your precious message and go, little bird,” Harleen said.
Tim took a deep breath. “Wotan has found a new player in the field, and he’s going to take him down this weekend. If it’s one of yours, he says you should clean the board for a few days, or be prepared for trouble. If it’s not, we’ll deal with him.” Tim frowned, holding Harleen’s cold gaze to avoid looking into the dead eyes of Crackerjack. “We don’t think it’s yours, but…
“But you guys are always very careful, aren’t you? Fine, we’ll pass on the message. We can’t promise you no trouble, kid, but tell your boss we’re also very careful, and we don’t let new agents around on their own. We know what happens to wanderers in Gotham,” Harleen said.
As the door closed, Tim saw Crackerjack turn around and start to leave, but before it closed down completely, Harleen’s face peeked out one last time, worry flashing in her blue eyes as she looked at Tim. “You should be careful with these messages, little bird. Sometimes they are not for all ears to hear. Even friendly ears.”
The door shut, the light it let escape into the maintenance tunnel dying out entirely, making the tunnels seem even darker than when he first got in. Tim stared into space for a moment, then took a deep breath. The air was dank and the darkness was oppressive, like it was trying to pour itself into Tim through his nose and his mouth and his ears.
Dismissing the thought, Tim turned around and started to run back to the park.
He could still make it to the restaurant before Cassandra if he ran like hell.
----
Bruce leaned forward, protecting the flame of his lighter with one of his hands as he lit his cigarette, the small flame the only light in the alley. Water trickled down the gutters; the night was cold and damp, gusts of wind picking up the tails of his coat, the fur of his scarf getting dangerously close to the flame before he clipped shut his lighter. The sky was clouded, the filtered moonlight shrouding more than revealing the figures that roamed the streets of Gotham.
“I thought you hated smoking,” a low voice spoke from the shadows.
Bruce took a deep draw, his gaze fixed on a spot in the darkness. “I do. I brought these for mom,” he said, producing a pack from one of the coat’s pockets. “I would have brought flowers, but I think she would have appreciated these more.” Bruce looked at the lit cigarette for a long moment, looking at the smoldering tip reduce to ashes before throwing the pack to the floor.
Owlman took a step forward. “Classy, little brother.” Owlman’s cape rustled as he took a small bottle from his utility belt, the armored feathers whispering in the night. “To mom, the woman who fucking tore us apart,” he said, turning the bottle upside down, letting its contents trickle down. The smell of bourbon filled the air, the silence broken by the splashing of liquor over the cardboard pack.
Bruce took another draw, then threw the lit cigarette towards Owlman’s feet, where the alcohol quickly caught fire, the small pyre making their shadows dance on the walls.
It was impossible to tell what Owlman was looking at through the goggles, but Bruce was pretty sure his eyes were caught by the fire, his thoughts going to a night like this one, many years ago, when Tommy had thought he had lost his family. He thought it was sentimental of Tommy to hold on to such memories, even though it had been years since Bruce had showed up again in Gotham, making short work of his mother's lie. He couldn’t see any reason why he ought to mourn the people who had screwed him up as a kid with lies and deception. Tonight ought to be a time of celebration: just like she had shaped Bruce by keeping him under her care, his mother had shaped Tommy by giving him a motivation that had culminated with the creation of Owlman. Sure, there was also all the hatred Tommy and Thomas Sr. had going on, but Bruce had learned a few years ago that it was best to stay out of that.
“We have a prowler,” Bruce said, breaking the silence. “Friend of yours. He’s making a lot of questions.”
“Oh?” Owlman seemed lost in the dance of the dying flames.
“He’s investigating a breach in territory.”
Owlman snapped his head towards Bruce. “Are you expanding your operation?”
Bruce nodded. “To Metropolis.”
Owlman set his jaw and shook his head. “Don’t. I don’t want to get your ass out of the fire there.”
“I didn’t think I was asking you to.”
Owlman paused, his gaze back to the flames. “You’re going to get caught, little brother.”
Bruce’s lip twitched, trying to suppress a smile. “That’s my problem, not yours. Your main concern should be the prowler, unless you want me to deal with him as well.”
“Who is it?”
“Clark Starr, Planet reporter. Your girlfriend’s husband, I suspect.”
Owlman chuckled. “Does the name check? Is he legit?”
“Yes.”
“Then your suspicions are wrong. He isn’t a Planet reporter. Hell, I’m not sure that dumbass even knows how to fold a newspaper.”
Bruce frowned. “He looks remarkably like him, and he’s asking the right questions in the wrong places. Maybe you should check him out.”
The fire by his feet was out, and Owlman put a heavy boot to the ashes. “I’ll take a look at him, if you want, but I can already tell you you’re wrong.”
Bruce straightened his scarf, looking away to the entrance of the alley, where the light of the street was stronger and he could see the occasional car drive by. He had to return to the Mist to meet the night crowd. “Then?”
“He’s yours, Vak. And that move into Metropolis,” Owlman turned to leave, firing a grapple gun to the fire escape of a building. “Just don’t get caught.”
Bruce did a mock reverence, and started to walk towards the light. His mind touched Tommy’s for a moment. ::As you wish, my lord.::
::Smartass::
With a smile, both Waynes left Crime Alley to meet with whatever Gotham had in store for the night.
So... fic!
Series: Jaevel Av En Tango (A Devil of a Tango)
Title: Chapter 4 - Fear and Fire
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Bruce Wayne, Tommy Wayne, Tim Drake, Harley, Joker
Word Count: 2100+
Summary: Tim delivers a message to the Justice Underground and sets disaster in motion, while Bruce and Tommy deal with an anniversary.
All chapters found here.
Fear and fire
Tim and Cassandra walked in silence as they crossed Robinson Park, enjoying the morning’s light after the cold and damp night. Tim would have rather been in bed, but he had to admit it was a nice morning. The park was full of runners and cyclists and the occasional tourist, but everyone made way for them. Even Robinson Park regulars were distrustful of the huge dogs before them, and would rather not tempt fate as they passed beside them.
Geri and Freki were well-trained, though, the passers-by didn’t have anything to worry about -not unless the dogs were commanded to attack. And if that happened, Tim thought with a smile, the dogs were the least of their problems. The Crows were Wotan’s personal agents -their job ranged from errands to interrogations and disposing of troublemakers, and both of them very good at their jobs. Tim turned towards Cassandra. She couldn’t speak very well, but that was because the language she spoke wasn’t made of words. She read people, how they moved, how they sounded, and she never forgot a face or missed a blow. Tim’s own training as the second Talon often came in handy with working with Wotan, and he far preferred to be a Crow, play the intrigue games and bring down the bad players, than to have meaningless scraps with the GCPD or regulate the favor bank with Owlman. Being Talon had its fair share of fun, true, but ge could have never stayed with Owlman once Renegade left Gotham for Bludhaven. The first Talon was the only reason why Tim had stayed with the man who had murdered his father. He couldn’t make himself have much resentment towards Owlman; after all, the favor bank was the favor bank and his father had been a rat, but Tim felt he owed him at least some kind of rebellious gesture towards the Gotham vigilante.
It had all worked alright in the end, anyway. Owlman had a new Talon after his first two quit the job, and Wotan had a new Crow.
Nothing but family business.
“You going?” Cass asked without looking at him, startling Tim. They were standing in the crossroad that led to the passageway to the Justice Underground quarters in Gotham.
Tim nodded, burying his hands in the pockets of his jacket. The wind was starting to pick up and was messing with his hair, just as Cassandra’s long bangs kept plastering to her face no matter how much she pushed them aside. “I’ll be done soon. Want to meet for breakfast later?”
She smiled.
“I’ll see you in the waffle place in twenty.”
“Race you,” she said with a wicked gleam in her eyes.
“Oh, you’re on,” Tim said, turning to run down the bridge and into a service tunnel. The floor was covered with drying leaves and puddles of stale rainwater, and his sneakers made a wet sloshing sound as he ran. It smelled of moss, damp earth and decay, and it grew darker the further he got himself into the maintenance tunnel system under Robinson Park. It didn’t matter; Tim knew the path by heart. One of the first things he had learned as a Crow was the lay of the city, not just the streets and the buildings and the subway tunnels -those he had gotten familiar enough while he worked with Owlman, but of the crevices and refugee spaces, of the abandoned tunnels and the sewers and all the secret passages the city had riddled itself with as it grew. Below Gotham was another city just as complex, just as monstrous, less populated but perhaps more dangerous because it didn’t just harbor people, but dreams and hopes. The underbelly of Gotham was full of promises that often ended up being paid in blood. But the secret dreams made the city below important, the low whispers lent it a soul, and Tim knew he was part of the dream. He could fan the spark of fire or put it out altogether with a blow.
That was the real pay of being a Crow. The power to help affect dreams, the chance to be something greater than the sum of its parts. That was something Owlman couldn’t give him, and Tim pitied the new Talon for having given up his chance to do something real, instead of just roughing up cops and nobodies who tried to screw the favor bank. Of course, Tim didn’t think very highly of Jason overall. That jerk had been very quick to take over Tim’s role as Talon and betray Wotan, like he had never really understood what his job meant, what it could mean if he was willing to push it.
Tim reached the concealed trap door, his breathing coming in deep breaths, loud in the dark. He knocked, and set himself to wait.
The door opened, a pretty blond standing in front of him and giving him a cold look. Tim grinned. “Special delivery, Miss Quinzel.”
“Really?” She asked, rising an eyebrow. “Barbara just left, and she didn't say anything.
“None of my business,” Tim said, rising his hands. He thought Barbara’s boyfriend was kind of jerk, but no one had asked him. “I have a message for Quizmaster.”
“Sing, then.”
“Can’t, miss. Message is for Quizmaster,” Tim said with a mocking smile. He enjoyed messing with her. She always treated him like a kid, it served her right.
“Well, you will have to wait out there with the rot, then, ‘cause Eddie isn’t here.”
Tim balanced in the balls of his feet, grinning, but the smile died on his lips at the sight of another figure behind Harleen.
“What’s going on, Harley?”
“Nothing, puddin’. Just one of the little birds, wanting to speak with Eddie.”
The man loomed behind Harleen, his hair a sick green under the halogen light flooding from the room. “What do you want, kid?”
“I just need to deliver a message,” Tim said, shuffling a little. He hated being around Crackerjack, the guy gave him the creeps. He was either a genius or a madman, or both. He was dangerous. How had he landed such a babe as Harleen was beyond his understanding, he couldn’t believe anyone would want to actually be with the guy. He made a pause, and decided to swallow his pride, games with Harleen be damned. “I really need to get going.”
“Then deliver your precious message and go, little bird,” Harleen said.
Tim took a deep breath. “Wotan has found a new player in the field, and he’s going to take him down this weekend. If it’s one of yours, he says you should clean the board for a few days, or be prepared for trouble. If it’s not, we’ll deal with him.” Tim frowned, holding Harleen’s cold gaze to avoid looking into the dead eyes of Crackerjack. “We don’t think it’s yours, but…
“But you guys are always very careful, aren’t you? Fine, we’ll pass on the message. We can’t promise you no trouble, kid, but tell your boss we’re also very careful, and we don’t let new agents around on their own. We know what happens to wanderers in Gotham,” Harleen said.
As the door closed, Tim saw Crackerjack turn around and start to leave, but before it closed down completely, Harleen’s face peeked out one last time, worry flashing in her blue eyes as she looked at Tim. “You should be careful with these messages, little bird. Sometimes they are not for all ears to hear. Even friendly ears.”
The door shut, the light it let escape into the maintenance tunnel dying out entirely, making the tunnels seem even darker than when he first got in. Tim stared into space for a moment, then took a deep breath. The air was dank and the darkness was oppressive, like it was trying to pour itself into Tim through his nose and his mouth and his ears.
Dismissing the thought, Tim turned around and started to run back to the park.
He could still make it to the restaurant before Cassandra if he ran like hell.
----
Bruce leaned forward, protecting the flame of his lighter with one of his hands as he lit his cigarette, the small flame the only light in the alley. Water trickled down the gutters; the night was cold and damp, gusts of wind picking up the tails of his coat, the fur of his scarf getting dangerously close to the flame before he clipped shut his lighter. The sky was clouded, the filtered moonlight shrouding more than revealing the figures that roamed the streets of Gotham.
“I thought you hated smoking,” a low voice spoke from the shadows.
Bruce took a deep draw, his gaze fixed on a spot in the darkness. “I do. I brought these for mom,” he said, producing a pack from one of the coat’s pockets. “I would have brought flowers, but I think she would have appreciated these more.” Bruce looked at the lit cigarette for a long moment, looking at the smoldering tip reduce to ashes before throwing the pack to the floor.
Owlman took a step forward. “Classy, little brother.” Owlman’s cape rustled as he took a small bottle from his utility belt, the armored feathers whispering in the night. “To mom, the woman who fucking tore us apart,” he said, turning the bottle upside down, letting its contents trickle down. The smell of bourbon filled the air, the silence broken by the splashing of liquor over the cardboard pack.
Bruce took another draw, then threw the lit cigarette towards Owlman’s feet, where the alcohol quickly caught fire, the small pyre making their shadows dance on the walls.
It was impossible to tell what Owlman was looking at through the goggles, but Bruce was pretty sure his eyes were caught by the fire, his thoughts going to a night like this one, many years ago, when Tommy had thought he had lost his family. He thought it was sentimental of Tommy to hold on to such memories, even though it had been years since Bruce had showed up again in Gotham, making short work of his mother's lie. He couldn’t see any reason why he ought to mourn the people who had screwed him up as a kid with lies and deception. Tonight ought to be a time of celebration: just like she had shaped Bruce by keeping him under her care, his mother had shaped Tommy by giving him a motivation that had culminated with the creation of Owlman. Sure, there was also all the hatred Tommy and Thomas Sr. had going on, but Bruce had learned a few years ago that it was best to stay out of that.
“We have a prowler,” Bruce said, breaking the silence. “Friend of yours. He’s making a lot of questions.”
“Oh?” Owlman seemed lost in the dance of the dying flames.
“He’s investigating a breach in territory.”
Owlman snapped his head towards Bruce. “Are you expanding your operation?”
Bruce nodded. “To Metropolis.”
Owlman set his jaw and shook his head. “Don’t. I don’t want to get your ass out of the fire there.”
“I didn’t think I was asking you to.”
Owlman paused, his gaze back to the flames. “You’re going to get caught, little brother.”
Bruce’s lip twitched, trying to suppress a smile. “That’s my problem, not yours. Your main concern should be the prowler, unless you want me to deal with him as well.”
“Who is it?”
“Clark Starr, Planet reporter. Your girlfriend’s husband, I suspect.”
Owlman chuckled. “Does the name check? Is he legit?”
“Yes.”
“Then your suspicions are wrong. He isn’t a Planet reporter. Hell, I’m not sure that dumbass even knows how to fold a newspaper.”
Bruce frowned. “He looks remarkably like him, and he’s asking the right questions in the wrong places. Maybe you should check him out.”
The fire by his feet was out, and Owlman put a heavy boot to the ashes. “I’ll take a look at him, if you want, but I can already tell you you’re wrong.”
Bruce straightened his scarf, looking away to the entrance of the alley, where the light of the street was stronger and he could see the occasional car drive by. He had to return to the Mist to meet the night crowd. “Then?”
“He’s yours, Vak. And that move into Metropolis,” Owlman turned to leave, firing a grapple gun to the fire escape of a building. “Just don’t get caught.”
Bruce did a mock reverence, and started to walk towards the light. His mind touched Tommy’s for a moment. ::As you wish, my lord.::
::Smartass::
With a smile, both Waynes left Crime Alley to meet with whatever Gotham had in store for the night.