Fic Post! "Damage Control"
Title: Damage Control
Author: miri_away
Date: 9:34 PM-9:52
Rating: PG-13
Type: Fanfiction (DCU)
Genre: Gen
Summary: Gar does not need his animal instincts to know this was going to be bad.
AN: For ‘Ella and the future of this Ship: Beastboy/Batman. Written a while ago and editted with little sucess in making it fun to read. To me at least. I’m sure she wanted some drama, maybe even smut (bad fetus!), but a little meeting was all I could muster. If I continue the main plot it'd be fun, but the initial meeting just had to be vague and complicated and I lost something in favor of awkwardness.
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Damage Control
miri_away
It was a little past midnight and a Redhood wannabe had already robbed and blown up the bank. Common sense would have it that said wannabe turn himself in to protective custody but common sense obviously abandoned the poor excuse for a vigilante: if he’d had it, he’d know that facing the Real Redhood’s wrath was far worse than any alternative. Nonetheless, Beastboy had it on good authority that said nutjob was off playing tag with an assorted group of heroes. All the same, Robin had sent him to investigate, which, in Robin-speak, meant: play messenger boy.
Apparently, this guy had an identity crisis of Duela proportions. Just last week, he’d dressed up as a lesser known hero and attempted to kidnap a senator-to-be. It was by no mistake on the Titan’s watch that he’d gotten away. The transport towards the closest prison had underestimated his arsenal of weapons-it had only taken ten cherry bombs, one strip down, and a raised thumb on the side of the high way for him to elude the officers-- but, given the fact the maniac had slipped passed their net and landed in someone else’s city, they were morally bound to at least tip the next team or man off. Conflicting reports aside, the man was a minor, mobile annoyance on everyone’s radar.
Tracking him had not been hard at all. His final destination made Gar wonder if he’d have to do any work at all besides what he realized would be a very intense interrogation.
Batman would not be in the best of moods but Gar had to chance it.
Gotham is unnaturally warm for an October night, but the overcast that had surprised everyone but the sailors and suffocated the already dark city for two days said there would be a storm. There had been something disquieting in the atmosphere before, something Gar could not put into perspective: Gotham is nothing like the jungle, nothing like California, and, yes, it could be compared to New York City except for the fact that the tension is actually a lazy one. At least in New York City there was plenty of movement to distract oneself; here, he’d had to spend an entire morning feeling as if he was supposed to be mourning something and half a night pretending the red-tinted clouds really weren’t made up, in some degree, of rust. Yeesh.
Before he can cut off communication with his leader, the show begins. The thief is dispatched within a minute and Gar can only think how a mediocre criminal can make his life simultaneously less stressful and a hell of a lot more complicated simply by being caught by one Pissed Off Bat. Gar does not need his animal instincts to know this was going to be bad.
Bat-binoculars out, cowl melting into shadow, and the man still smelled like half-gone cologne. Gar tries to forget he smelled that and stays still long enough to let every Bat (and ex-bat) in the area know that he is not trying to sneak up: is, in fact, horrible at sneak attacks. He purrs because his paw hurts and hopes those lenses will notice that his fur is green, actually green, because the last thing he needs now is Batman blaming him for identity theft, fraud or…false advertisement.
Sometimes these things are funny. He remembers poking at Dick (and, well…no, just Dick) whenever some goon had failed at the patented Bat-Disappearing act and remembers, vaguely, being too spooked to even smile whenever Tim did it. Gar tries to forget the Christmas carols and the jokes he’d ever belted out because Batman has managed to grab him by the scruff of the neck (How did he get here from all the way--?) and maybe the rumors are true: maybe he can read minds. Or worse: maybe he’s Santa, all dressed in black and…"tights" (bleagh), looking at all of the tally marks that make him bad. (Dear Gawd he’s tall). So Gar pretends to be as blank and innocent as he can and offers a meek, “Meow.”
Batman does not even pretend to be gentle as he strolls towards the door of the roof.
Gar feels like that’s a hint or maybe a threat to get out of his fur; he can’t just morph into human form while being hauled off the roof’s edge by a very scary man. At least in cat form he can scratch back…and manage to pull of just being “adorable” doing it.