FIC: The Rooftops Where We Lived (REMADE: Bruce, various)
TITLE: The Rooftops Where We Lived
AUTHOR: Demon Faith
SERIES: Remade
CATEGORY: AU, Angst, Drama
CHARACTERS: Bruce, various
RATING: PG-13
WORD COUNT: 950
SUMMARY: Some problems are best solved with violence
NOTES: The first of the Remade 'Fragments' - what happened after 'Road to Nowhere'. (Delayed flights can have some benefits!)
He'd been tailing her for three blocks.
He told himself it was for her protection, but he knew he was lying. She didn't need his protection, never had - he had thought that acceptance would bring him closure, yet still he lurked amongst the gargoyles, watching.
Amie had come back to the café. She had been welcomed and fussed over, her "sick aunt" story falling completely flat. They knew the real reasons - or, at least, they thought they did and Bruce would do nothing to dissuade them.
He wasn't entirely sure what the two of them were doing, how the park could carry forward into real life by day, but they had spoken shyly together and she had joined him for a cup of coffee once or twice.
Yet he found his resolve slipping. He had promised her a relationship on her terms, but he found himself tempted to steal her away, unwrap her complexities and gaze upon Dick Grayson once more.
She was Amie, and yet she was Dick- he was Dick, but Bruce, a man accustomed to duality, could not quite distinguish where Dick ended and Amie began, what rang true and what felt false.
And he suspected she didn't know either.
He had told no one. It had seemed safest, after all. At best, they would think him mad; at worst, they might try to interfere, and this much protection he could afford her.
Which still didn't explain why Batman was following her down Gotham streets.
At first, he had wanted to make sure she was safe and staying in a reasonable part of town. Now it was a comfort to him, a ritual before he started out on patrol. He had been careful not to be seen but he thought she might have sensed him-
A fist knocked him off-balance, then a foot connected with his ribs. He parried the next blow, jumping away to regard his assailant.
"Slade," he spat, seething, terrified at his proximity to Amie, what that might mean.
"You know why I'm here." Bruce's heart sank, but Slade drew his sword. "We have unfinished business, Batman."
He hid his confusion and stared the man down.
"We have never had "business", Slade."
"We had Robin."
It was calculated to cut, but Bruce held his nerve beneath the cowl.
"No, you didn't."
Slade laughed mirthlessly. "Perhaps not." His voice dropped. "But I had more than you."
He would not attack; he would not give him the satisfaction. Slade smiled.
"An extraordinary repression. I'm impressed. It doesn't matter through. I'm here to finish this. You took John away, and so you will pay."
His body dodged the blade as his mind reeled. Did Slade…care about Dick? Enough to do this - kill him on Dick's behalf?
No - for Slade's own sense of vengeance, of…possession over Dick.
And now Batman was angry.
Slade deflected the Batarang with his blade, leaving himself open to Batman's neck strike. He spluttered but held his ground, swinging the sword wildly but only catching cape. With calculated precision, Batman kicked out Slade's left knee, bringing the man down, but the sword broke Batman's defences and struck his forearm.
The silk-sharp blade parted the Kevlar and his nerves screamed, but he had to fight on, get Amie away, survive-
"You never knew him, Batman. I owned him - and he knew it, in the end. That little errand to finish you was a tidy-up, nothing more. He loved me - he always loved me."
"You kidnapped him, tortured him. He couldn't love you."
Slade laughed as they danced around each other, idly flicking his sword when Batman moved too close.
"You know that wasn't me - my employer perhaps, but not me. She broke his body; I finished off his mind."
Batman's vision narrowed down to only Slade and he surged forward recklessly, rage consuming him.
And then Slade wasn't there.
The sword clattered onto the asphalt and a thin arc of blood cleaved the night sky.
"And I believed you. I trusted you. No more."
He had never heard that dead voice before, but it was Amie who stood over Slade, waiting. Slade rolled away from her, cursing, and stood, clutching his shoulder.
"Who the hell are you?"
Her waxen face shifted into a stiff smile.
"You do not own me. I did not love you. And your…employer cannot save you."
Slade's eyes widened and he took a step back. "John…?"
Another flash of metal, and a knife settled in Slade's thigh; he was on his back, writhing, as seven kicks were applied in precise places. This was a professional assassination, and whatever he thought of Slade, he could not let her do this.
And yet he wouldn't interfere either. This was her battle, not his.
"Amie, stop."
She struck Slade again, but Batman had distracted her and Slade hit back.
Golden locks tumbled from her head and Amie tackled Slade to the roof, pummelling him with knees and elbows.
"Amie, stop."
Slade threw her off and reached for his sword. Amie kicked it away, standing over him with ripped shirt and shed padding, as he struggled to his feet.
"You are nothing to me."
"John, please-"
"And you never were."
She pulled a knife from her pocket. Slade charged her and her glasses smashed at Batman's feet, but she pushed Slade away, screaming: "Theory three! Why three? WHY? She was right, all along she was right, Mary, Mary was right!"
And then Bruce knew.
"Dick - stop!"
He froze.
Then, he punched Slade twice and let the limp form fall. Breathing heavily, he let his hands drift: over his head, his face, his chest, his waist.
And then he looked up.
"Take me home," he said.
sorry for the flist spamming