FIC: Behind the Curtain (Batman, gen, PG)
Summary of today: paycheck yay. Boss back, also yay. Workload, NOT yay. I barely found the time to finish this.
Fandom: Batman Begins
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Bob Kane, DC, Christopher Nolan. I am none of these people.
Summary: In the world of the movie, where are the familiar faces? What's going on behind the curtain, in the wings, beyond the stage? Seven drabbles, requiring varying levels of Bat-canon knowledge.
BEHIND THE CURTAIN
I. Stray
"And you'll all say, oh! Well, I never... was there ever... a cat so clever..."
The woman danced along the sidewalk as she hummed, but somehow her heels never made a sound. Batman watched her from above; he had seen her at the dockside, where she had stared transfixed at the way he disposed of Falcone's goons. She did not look dangerous, but he could not take chances, and so he followed her just to make sure.
Her hair bounced around, hiding her face in the stray curls. A folder under her arm told him what she was doing by the docks: the Bagheera Cat Shelter was just around the corner from the oceanside, and she had just taken the shortest road to the railway station.
Volunteer, not full time, he thought, looking at the expensive shoes. And confidence enough to go through the docks. Maybe martial arts, from the way she moved, though what that dance reminded him most of was a prizefighter dancing in the ring at the start of a match.
He watched her until she came home. He saw the striped cat run out to greet her, and decided that if she had wanted to contact anyone, she would have done it already. He left, silent as a bat.
Selina Kyle lifted her head and smiled.
"Meow."
II. Mysteries
The steam was in his face, burning, whirling in strange shapes. He struggled out of it, ducked into an alley, slumped against a wall and took deep breaths.
London by gaslight.
It fit, fog and stench and everything. The Narrows looked as close to Whitechapel as you could get this side of the Atlantic. And that meant that somewhere in that crowd of milling bodies and panicked screams, there was a man with a butcher's knife-
No. Calm. Calm, damn it!
He knew it was a bad idea to even come here, no matter what Damien had said about how good that underground club was. Now he was stuck here, and people were screaming about Arkham being open.
What do they need an asylum for? The outside is crazy enough.
He shook his head. He needed to think clearly to get out of here in one piece. He had already seen the scarred men with knives - probably fugitives from Arkham's criminal wing, he remembered reading about it, trivia like that stuck to his brain, wonder if they'd see it if they smashed his head on the wall- The point. The point being, they were sure to home in on the slender geek with eyeliner. He would be lucky to walk away under his own power.
He felt the panic rising, overwhelming him. He looked at the alley walls, desperate for something to focus on.
There were thirteen rows of bricks between him and a dumpster at the far end. The dumpster was dented - a baseball bat? The marks fit.
His hands shook.
Behind the dumpster was salvation. A pile of old crossword puzzles, all unsolved. He wept as he sat down beside it, and wept harder when he found a pencil next to them.
When the paramedics found him, his eyes were dry. They commented on how well he had held up under the fear gas, and wondered at the reason; none of them noticed the puzzles, all filled and crossed out and improved.
He thought about this as he walked back into sane, safe Gotham. He tried shaping the words.
"Riddle me this."
III. Angel
The moment before the train went off the tracks, the thought running through Ra's Al Ghul's head was I was right. He is a magnificent creation.
Then the train was falling, and he had to take care of his own survival. The Lazarus Pits were powerful, but he had to leave them something to work on besides ashes. He closed his eyes and let his body relax. Be like water, he reminded himself, and an opportunity will come.
The first impact of the carriage on the iron beams of the car park threw him out into the air. He hit a rail track support pillar and slid down. There was a sharp pain in his face, but he ignored it and pushed away from the pillar. He even landed on his feet and took four steps away from Wayne Tower.
Then the microwave emitter exploded.
When Ducard's head cleared, he was lying on the asphalt. There was something on his face - a fine coating of powdered rock and ash. This had to be the street next to-
His hearing came back all at once, just in time to register a rumbling engine and heavy wheels, right beside his head. Crackle of flames nearby. Someone screaming.
Someone grabbing hold of him, lifting him up and dragging him away from the street seconds before the truck rushed by. He wanted to explain that it didn't matter, that the Pit could revive him as long as enough of him was submerged in it, but his mouth seemed strange.
A piece of debris had sliced his cheek open, he realized dispassionately.
"It's okay. You're going to be all right." A boy's voice, teenage, Gotham accent.
Ducard wondered how a boy had the strength to lift him, but his question was answered as soon as the boy propped him against a wall and wiped the blood from his eyes. His helper was almost as tall as him, with muscles that spoke of training - track, perhaps. Blond hair down to his shoulders, eyes hidden behind round lenses. So American it-
"My name is Jean-Paul. No, don't try to talk - you're hurt. Were you in the car park? You're lucky to be alive."
Ducard tried to snort, but the pain prevented it. Instead he used his functioning hand - the other was numb and hung limply - to dig around for his phone. The device was as damage-resistant as its manufacturer had promised, but once he dialed, he realized he could not speak clearly.
"You want me to talk to them?" Jean-Paul asked, reaching out for the phone. "Tell them where you are?"
Ducard nodded and leaned back, concentrating more on numbing his pain than on listening to the boy's side of the phone conversation. Talia could be trusted to get here by tracing the call alone, but the quicker he was out of this blighted city...
Jean-Paul folded up the phone and tried to hand it back, but Ducard's grip was too weak to hold it. "She - she says someone's on his way to pick you up. I guess he'll take you to hospital faster than an ambulance - they still haven't gotten here."
Ducard nodded. He wondered if the street lights were dying, or if it was just him.
"You shouldn't sleep, I think." Jean-Paul was looking at him, though it was hard to tell with those strange glasses. "I think I'm supposed to talk to you, but I don't know if I have much to say. I mean, you've been very lucky - you're alive. Your guardian angel must have been looking out for you." The boy smiled. "My father talks about them a lot - angels. They're supposed to bring punishment to the liars, betrayers and defilers. I like to think they protect the good people, too." He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but wheels screeched to a stop, and then Talia's heels clattered on the sidewalk.
Later, fading in and out of consciousness on the helicopter that took him to a hidden Canadian base that housed a Lazarus Pit, Ducard found himself wishing for Jean-Paul's voice again. If he could, he would have smiled. He had no need for a guardian angel.
IV. Gemini
"I can't believe doctor Crane would do something like that." The blonde sorority girl threw her hands up. "He's too pretty to be a criminal."
"Deep, really deep." Her red-haired companion pursed her lips. "He always looked strange to me. So..."
"Human?"
The redhead rolled her eyes. "As I was about to say, he did not look human. More like a frog, with these eyes."
The blonde shrugged. "I guess. But the costume stuff's really freaky, isn't it? I heard the Bat guy isn't the only one - when they arrested professor Crane, he was wearing a scarecrow mask. I mean, come on. He taught us."
"And I've never been happier that I abandoned psych for biochem." The redhead shook her head. "Come on, I need to check on the greenhouse."
The blonde paused in her tracks and put a finger to her mouth. "Actually, that kind of makes sense. To hide your face. It scares people. If I ever do something wrong, I'll wear a mask!"
The redhead's laughter was warm. "Right, and I'll be right behind you, concocting dastardly plans to enslave humanity. But now I need to water my plants."
"Pam?" The blonde put a hand on her companion's cheek. "Promise me that you won't go evil without me."
Pamela Isley nodded and touched her friend's face in turn. "I promise, Harleen."
V. Squire
The Narrows were still wild, but Batman had thought the locals had at least learned not to tangle with the Batmobile. The small figure bending over to inspect a hubcap proved him wrong.
"Step away from the car," he ordered.
The figure did so, but instead of fleeing it approached him. Small, young, light hair. Familiar. He remembered the boy on a Narrows balcony, and then hiding behind Rachel like a cub behind a lioness.
"I thought that was yours," the boy said. "I was watching it for you."
"It can defend itself." Batman touched the remote control and opened the car door. "You can't. You should be home."
The boy grabbed the edge of Batman's cape. "I want to. To be able to defend myself. And fight."
Batman disengaged himself, very slowly. He made sure his face was in the shadows, impassive as the night around them.
"Do - you know what you're talking about?"
"I want to fight the bad guys. Like you do. Make a difference." There was a familiar fever in the boy's eyes.
"You're a little young for that."
"I won't be forever." The boy tilted his head, as if he wanted to look behind the mask. "How old were you, when you started?"
"Younger than you," Batman muttered. Did he have right to judge?
Then he sank to one knee in front of the boy. "If you still want it in a few years, maybe we can talk. What's your name?"
The boy smiled. "It's Jason. Jason Todd."
VI. Vicissitude
Changes, changes all around her.
Rachel felt like she was on a runaway carousel, spinning on without aim or reason. Finch was dead, and in some crazy way that made her Acting District Attorney, and people kept telling her she had the election in her pocket. Youngest DA in Gotham ever, and wouldn't she like that?
The Narrows were gone. Bruce... Bruce was gone too, as good as dead to her. God, she envied him so much. It was all black and white to him, good and evil, right and wrong. He didn't have to think about politics, leverage, votes.
Sometimes it seemed to her that each time she made a decision, it was like running in a labyrinth. Too many options, too many strategies. She wanted it to be simple again. Back in college, she used to have a lucky coin that she flipped to decide if she'd study that evening or go to a party.
She still had it, hidden under the lining of her wallet. She spun it in her fingers.
Heads, she'd go into the courtroom like a good girl and use Bruce's - Batman's - information to put Salvatore Morani behind bars for life. Tails, she'd tell her secretary to file for a change of venue and go feed pigeons in the park.
Two options. She spun the coin.
Heads, and a faint chemical smell in the courthouse corridors.
Twotwotwotwotwotwotwo...
VII. Spotlight
The madman waits for the Batman on top of the stairs.
"Look at this," he says. "It used to be the biggest chemical company in the world. But no, WayneCorp bought it out, and then it turned out that it's much cheaper to make this stuff in China. I like the lights here best. It's like the real world. The real stage."
He takes two steps to the side, then one forward, a parody of courtly dance. "Isn't that what it's all about? Attention! A costume, a freakshow, and the spotlight turns to you for a second or a minute. You do you two-step and that's it, exit stage left. It's all a play, a game. Nothing is real."
The sky is clouded, providing a perfect backdrop to the searchlight and the stylized bat. He is proud of it; he painted it himself. Someone else's blood, though.
"But I don't despair!" he shouts out to all of Gotham. "And you shouldn't, either! Let me help you!"
He would smile, but he is already smiling. Behind him is another artistic masterpiece. He has painted the roof of the old Gotham Chemicals plant to resemble the card that gave him his name.
"Let me teach you how to laugh."
.
.
.
Author's notes:
Stray: Selina Kyle, Catwoman. Note the careful avoidance of defining her hair colour: I know Selina's supposed to have black hair, but I'll forever see Michelle Pfeiffer in that role.
Mysteries: Edward Nigma, the Riddler. Influenced by that one storyline with a way too handsome Riddler, who happened to be wearing eyeliner.
Angel: Jean-Paul Valley, Azrael (and Batman, once upon a time). If you haven't read any comics with Ra's, the Lazarus Pits are what he uses to gain immortality. They can restore youth, heal damage and even raise the dead. In one memorable case, Ra's offered to throw Thomas and Martha Wayne's caskets into one of them, but Bruce declined.
Gemini: Pamela Isley and Harleen Quinzel, Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn. For some reason I see them as having wacky college adventures, with possible sidekick-ness from Nigma the IT department postgrad student.
Squire: Jason Todd, Robin II (RIP). At first I wondered if the kid could grow up to be Anarky, but then it hit me - that's Jason, right down to the original light hair.
Vicissitude: Rachel Dawes, who should be Harvey Dent, Two-Face. Because all her storyline was Harvey's. Salvatore Morani was the mobster who threw acid in Harvey's face, disfiguring him and turning him into Two-Face.
Spotlight: The Joker.
Fandom: Batman Begins
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Bob Kane, DC, Christopher Nolan. I am none of these people.
Summary: In the world of the movie, where are the familiar faces? What's going on behind the curtain, in the wings, beyond the stage? Seven drabbles, requiring varying levels of Bat-canon knowledge.
BEHIND THE CURTAIN
I. Stray
"And you'll all say, oh! Well, I never... was there ever... a cat so clever..."
The woman danced along the sidewalk as she hummed, but somehow her heels never made a sound. Batman watched her from above; he had seen her at the dockside, where she had stared transfixed at the way he disposed of Falcone's goons. She did not look dangerous, but he could not take chances, and so he followed her just to make sure.
Her hair bounced around, hiding her face in the stray curls. A folder under her arm told him what she was doing by the docks: the Bagheera Cat Shelter was just around the corner from the oceanside, and she had just taken the shortest road to the railway station.
Volunteer, not full time, he thought, looking at the expensive shoes. And confidence enough to go through the docks. Maybe martial arts, from the way she moved, though what that dance reminded him most of was a prizefighter dancing in the ring at the start of a match.
He watched her until she came home. He saw the striped cat run out to greet her, and decided that if she had wanted to contact anyone, she would have done it already. He left, silent as a bat.
Selina Kyle lifted her head and smiled.
"Meow."
II. Mysteries
The steam was in his face, burning, whirling in strange shapes. He struggled out of it, ducked into an alley, slumped against a wall and took deep breaths.
London by gaslight.
It fit, fog and stench and everything. The Narrows looked as close to Whitechapel as you could get this side of the Atlantic. And that meant that somewhere in that crowd of milling bodies and panicked screams, there was a man with a butcher's knife-
No. Calm. Calm, damn it!
He knew it was a bad idea to even come here, no matter what Damien had said about how good that underground club was. Now he was stuck here, and people were screaming about Arkham being open.
What do they need an asylum for? The outside is crazy enough.
He shook his head. He needed to think clearly to get out of here in one piece. He had already seen the scarred men with knives - probably fugitives from Arkham's criminal wing, he remembered reading about it, trivia like that stuck to his brain, wonder if they'd see it if they smashed his head on the wall- The point. The point being, they were sure to home in on the slender geek with eyeliner. He would be lucky to walk away under his own power.
He felt the panic rising, overwhelming him. He looked at the alley walls, desperate for something to focus on.
There were thirteen rows of bricks between him and a dumpster at the far end. The dumpster was dented - a baseball bat? The marks fit.
His hands shook.
Behind the dumpster was salvation. A pile of old crossword puzzles, all unsolved. He wept as he sat down beside it, and wept harder when he found a pencil next to them.
When the paramedics found him, his eyes were dry. They commented on how well he had held up under the fear gas, and wondered at the reason; none of them noticed the puzzles, all filled and crossed out and improved.
He thought about this as he walked back into sane, safe Gotham. He tried shaping the words.
"Riddle me this."
III. Angel
The moment before the train went off the tracks, the thought running through Ra's Al Ghul's head was I was right. He is a magnificent creation.
Then the train was falling, and he had to take care of his own survival. The Lazarus Pits were powerful, but he had to leave them something to work on besides ashes. He closed his eyes and let his body relax. Be like water, he reminded himself, and an opportunity will come.
The first impact of the carriage on the iron beams of the car park threw him out into the air. He hit a rail track support pillar and slid down. There was a sharp pain in his face, but he ignored it and pushed away from the pillar. He even landed on his feet and took four steps away from Wayne Tower.
Then the microwave emitter exploded.
When Ducard's head cleared, he was lying on the asphalt. There was something on his face - a fine coating of powdered rock and ash. This had to be the street next to-
His hearing came back all at once, just in time to register a rumbling engine and heavy wheels, right beside his head. Crackle of flames nearby. Someone screaming.
Someone grabbing hold of him, lifting him up and dragging him away from the street seconds before the truck rushed by. He wanted to explain that it didn't matter, that the Pit could revive him as long as enough of him was submerged in it, but his mouth seemed strange.
A piece of debris had sliced his cheek open, he realized dispassionately.
"It's okay. You're going to be all right." A boy's voice, teenage, Gotham accent.
Ducard wondered how a boy had the strength to lift him, but his question was answered as soon as the boy propped him against a wall and wiped the blood from his eyes. His helper was almost as tall as him, with muscles that spoke of training - track, perhaps. Blond hair down to his shoulders, eyes hidden behind round lenses. So American it-
"My name is Jean-Paul. No, don't try to talk - you're hurt. Were you in the car park? You're lucky to be alive."
Ducard tried to snort, but the pain prevented it. Instead he used his functioning hand - the other was numb and hung limply - to dig around for his phone. The device was as damage-resistant as its manufacturer had promised, but once he dialed, he realized he could not speak clearly.
"You want me to talk to them?" Jean-Paul asked, reaching out for the phone. "Tell them where you are?"
Ducard nodded and leaned back, concentrating more on numbing his pain than on listening to the boy's side of the phone conversation. Talia could be trusted to get here by tracing the call alone, but the quicker he was out of this blighted city...
Jean-Paul folded up the phone and tried to hand it back, but Ducard's grip was too weak to hold it. "She - she says someone's on his way to pick you up. I guess he'll take you to hospital faster than an ambulance - they still haven't gotten here."
Ducard nodded. He wondered if the street lights were dying, or if it was just him.
"You shouldn't sleep, I think." Jean-Paul was looking at him, though it was hard to tell with those strange glasses. "I think I'm supposed to talk to you, but I don't know if I have much to say. I mean, you've been very lucky - you're alive. Your guardian angel must have been looking out for you." The boy smiled. "My father talks about them a lot - angels. They're supposed to bring punishment to the liars, betrayers and defilers. I like to think they protect the good people, too." He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but wheels screeched to a stop, and then Talia's heels clattered on the sidewalk.
Later, fading in and out of consciousness on the helicopter that took him to a hidden Canadian base that housed a Lazarus Pit, Ducard found himself wishing for Jean-Paul's voice again. If he could, he would have smiled. He had no need for a guardian angel.
IV. Gemini
"I can't believe doctor Crane would do something like that." The blonde sorority girl threw her hands up. "He's too pretty to be a criminal."
"Deep, really deep." Her red-haired companion pursed her lips. "He always looked strange to me. So..."
"Human?"
The redhead rolled her eyes. "As I was about to say, he did not look human. More like a frog, with these eyes."
The blonde shrugged. "I guess. But the costume stuff's really freaky, isn't it? I heard the Bat guy isn't the only one - when they arrested professor Crane, he was wearing a scarecrow mask. I mean, come on. He taught us."
"And I've never been happier that I abandoned psych for biochem." The redhead shook her head. "Come on, I need to check on the greenhouse."
The blonde paused in her tracks and put a finger to her mouth. "Actually, that kind of makes sense. To hide your face. It scares people. If I ever do something wrong, I'll wear a mask!"
The redhead's laughter was warm. "Right, and I'll be right behind you, concocting dastardly plans to enslave humanity. But now I need to water my plants."
"Pam?" The blonde put a hand on her companion's cheek. "Promise me that you won't go evil without me."
Pamela Isley nodded and touched her friend's face in turn. "I promise, Harleen."
V. Squire
The Narrows were still wild, but Batman had thought the locals had at least learned not to tangle with the Batmobile. The small figure bending over to inspect a hubcap proved him wrong.
"Step away from the car," he ordered.
The figure did so, but instead of fleeing it approached him. Small, young, light hair. Familiar. He remembered the boy on a Narrows balcony, and then hiding behind Rachel like a cub behind a lioness.
"I thought that was yours," the boy said. "I was watching it for you."
"It can defend itself." Batman touched the remote control and opened the car door. "You can't. You should be home."
The boy grabbed the edge of Batman's cape. "I want to. To be able to defend myself. And fight."
Batman disengaged himself, very slowly. He made sure his face was in the shadows, impassive as the night around them.
"Do - you know what you're talking about?"
"I want to fight the bad guys. Like you do. Make a difference." There was a familiar fever in the boy's eyes.
"You're a little young for that."
"I won't be forever." The boy tilted his head, as if he wanted to look behind the mask. "How old were you, when you started?"
"Younger than you," Batman muttered. Did he have right to judge?
Then he sank to one knee in front of the boy. "If you still want it in a few years, maybe we can talk. What's your name?"
The boy smiled. "It's Jason. Jason Todd."
VI. Vicissitude
Changes, changes all around her.
Rachel felt like she was on a runaway carousel, spinning on without aim or reason. Finch was dead, and in some crazy way that made her Acting District Attorney, and people kept telling her she had the election in her pocket. Youngest DA in Gotham ever, and wouldn't she like that?
The Narrows were gone. Bruce... Bruce was gone too, as good as dead to her. God, she envied him so much. It was all black and white to him, good and evil, right and wrong. He didn't have to think about politics, leverage, votes.
Sometimes it seemed to her that each time she made a decision, it was like running in a labyrinth. Too many options, too many strategies. She wanted it to be simple again. Back in college, she used to have a lucky coin that she flipped to decide if she'd study that evening or go to a party.
She still had it, hidden under the lining of her wallet. She spun it in her fingers.
Heads, she'd go into the courtroom like a good girl and use Bruce's - Batman's - information to put Salvatore Morani behind bars for life. Tails, she'd tell her secretary to file for a change of venue and go feed pigeons in the park.
Two options. She spun the coin.
Heads, and a faint chemical smell in the courthouse corridors.
Twotwotwotwotwotwotwo...
VII. Spotlight
The madman waits for the Batman on top of the stairs.
"Look at this," he says. "It used to be the biggest chemical company in the world. But no, WayneCorp bought it out, and then it turned out that it's much cheaper to make this stuff in China. I like the lights here best. It's like the real world. The real stage."
He takes two steps to the side, then one forward, a parody of courtly dance. "Isn't that what it's all about? Attention! A costume, a freakshow, and the spotlight turns to you for a second or a minute. You do you two-step and that's it, exit stage left. It's all a play, a game. Nothing is real."
The sky is clouded, providing a perfect backdrop to the searchlight and the stylized bat. He is proud of it; he painted it himself. Someone else's blood, though.
"But I don't despair!" he shouts out to all of Gotham. "And you shouldn't, either! Let me help you!"
He would smile, but he is already smiling. Behind him is another artistic masterpiece. He has painted the roof of the old Gotham Chemicals plant to resemble the card that gave him his name.
"Let me teach you how to laugh."
.
.
.
Author's notes:
Stray: Selina Kyle, Catwoman. Note the careful avoidance of defining her hair colour: I know Selina's supposed to have black hair, but I'll forever see Michelle Pfeiffer in that role.
Mysteries: Edward Nigma, the Riddler. Influenced by that one storyline with a way too handsome Riddler, who happened to be wearing eyeliner.
Angel: Jean-Paul Valley, Azrael (and Batman, once upon a time). If you haven't read any comics with Ra's, the Lazarus Pits are what he uses to gain immortality. They can restore youth, heal damage and even raise the dead. In one memorable case, Ra's offered to throw Thomas and Martha Wayne's caskets into one of them, but Bruce declined.
Gemini: Pamela Isley and Harleen Quinzel, Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn. For some reason I see them as having wacky college adventures, with possible sidekick-ness from Nigma the IT department postgrad student.
Squire: Jason Todd, Robin II (RIP). At first I wondered if the kid could grow up to be Anarky, but then it hit me - that's Jason, right down to the original light hair.
Vicissitude: Rachel Dawes, who should be Harvey Dent, Two-Face. Because all her storyline was Harvey's. Salvatore Morani was the mobster who threw acid in Harvey's face, disfiguring him and turning him into Two-Face.
Spotlight: The Joker.