Faith in Gotham, part twelve.
It's been more than a month, but I finally got some stuff into the order it happens.
(Parts one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten and eleven.
Part the twelfth, in which the villain broods and the heroes finally get round to teaming up
"G-man."
"Faith. You look... tenderized."
"You look ill."
"Massive blood loss has never really agreed with me. But this hospital has a wonderful range of cable channels, and our mutual friend is paying for some quite wonderful drugs. How are you?"
"Eh." Faith held up five fingers on her right hand and two on her left. "Hate hospitals. Never thought they'd get me back into one of these places, y'know?"
Giles nodded.
"When I saw all those guns I must confess I was a little concerned. You weren't shot?"
"Only once. Brewster says it happened while we were running away. And if you tell B I did that we will be officially over."
"Naturally. Where did they hit you?"
"In the face, mostly."
"I meant the bullet."
"Does it matter?"
Giles simply looked at her.
"... In the butt, okay?"
Giles didn't quite have to physically bite his tongue, but it was close. His mouth twitched slightly. Faith scowled.
"Laugh and I break your arms," she said.
***
She paused at the door, fumbling with words. He spoke to her back.
"I am very glad you're alive."
"Thank you. So am I. Glad you're alive. And... well, you know."
They didn't touch each other.
***
The robe was the dark red of old blood on white cloth. Wrapped in it, his face masked, the vampire that called himself Nicolai Tepes felt stronger. He had cast aside the vestments of humanity, and with them his human face.
The chamber in which he stood was a vast subterranean cavern. In its upper reaches brickwork could be seen, the lower foundations of the house he had taken in the Palisades. Its lower reaches his minions had decorated with great banners and wall hangings the same colour as his robe. It was lit only by candles - a matter of practicality as much as atmosphere; the cave had been made by a subterranean river, and its depths were still dangerously damp. At one end of the room was a rough-hewn block of stone, carved with symbols far older than Tepes himself.
This was his altar, and his bed.
Sitting in his temple home, Tepes allowed himself to think on the defeat he had suffered.
"More than a mere child," he said quietly.
"My lord?" It was Danut who stood by his side, similarly robed but bare-headed. Danut had stood by his side these six decades past, through the long years of skulking in the shadows. Danut had helped him plan their ascent to the light. Danut, and Yelena, and Fyodor.
Yelena waited back in Europe, the far end of a long chain along which they passed drugs and women and guns, stolen passports and cloned credit cards and brutal young idiots eager to prove themselves worthy of a share in his empire. All the ingredients of the wealth they needed to wrest this corner of the world from the cruel and small-minded humans who thought it was theirs by rights.
Fyodor had fallen to dust nine hours before, his heart torn asunder by a slender shaft of wood, wielded by a woman-child who fought like a demon.
"The Slayer we fought this night, Danut. She was more than the others. Stronger. Braver."
"I remember." Danut did not walk among the mortals. Danut could not walk among the mortals. Long ago, long before he had made his way to Moscow, and to Tepes, a Slayer's blade had sliced away a part of his face, flensing flesh from bone, and somehow the scars had never truly healed.
Danut knew, far better than Tepes, what the Slayers had once been.
"We have become complacent," he said. "Too used to easy victories. The children you killed..."
"Were exactly that." Tepes nodded thoughtfully. "We have been treating America as a playground, when we should have been more... businesslike. This Slayer cannot be allowed to endanger our undertaking. We must not appear weak. You have your telephone?"
Danut handed over his cell. "Who are you going to call?"
"A time like this we need... professional help."
"You mean an assassin? Against a Slayer? You really think..."
"Not a human. There are... creatures with which I have associated. Some of them can be bought."
"Cobblepot will not like it."
"Cobblepot is an irrelevance. A pimp with pretensions, trying desperately to snatch the coat-tails of Gotham's next ruler. If he objects, we can flay him alive and make a soup of his blood.
***
Beneath the penthouse window, Gotham sprawled out before her. Even with daylight still clinging to the buildings the city had a decrepit quality, as if it was sliding slowly into decay. It felt strange to be above it all, instead of lurking in the shadows.
"Enjoying the sunset?" Bruce asked.
"Thinking."
"About Mr Giles?"
"A little. Bad thoughts. I need to get out there."
For a fleeting moment he thought she might be referring to Gotham's legendary night life. After all, Saturday night...
"Are you sure that's a good idea? You were knocked about quite a bit."
"Right now I'm in better shape than you'll ever be. Only one problem."
"What's that?"
"Aside from our boy Nicky, there's not much out there to hunt. Not demonic, anyway."
He found himself smiling, just a little.
"I never have much difficulty finding work."
"You mind if I tag along? I promise to only punch really bad guys." Her voice was a study in casualness.
"Three rules."
"Rules are for losers," she said, but it sounded like a rote response.
"My city, my rules. Rule one, you wear a mask. You've already been seen with Bruce Wayne; you can't then be seen with the Batman."
"I'm gonna get helmet hair, aren't I?"
"It's actually surprisingly comfortable. Rule two, I don't intend to boss you around - but I use some quite nasty devices. If I say duck, you duck. Are we clear?"
"I guess. You better not order me to do anything kinky, though. Rule three?"
"No killing. Don't hurt anybody more than you have to, no matter what you've seen them do. We're not here to judge. We're here to protect."
Faith nodded slowly to herself, then seemed to brighten up.
"Speaking of protection, any chance I could get some of that nifty armour you wear?"
He smiled. "You wouldn't believe the effort Alfred's put into this."
***
Ten minutes later...
"This is your car?"
"It's a modified urban combat vehicle. I rebuilt it from the ground up. Chobham armour, a computer uplink to the cave, nought to sixty in under six seconds, and I'd tell you about its brakes but your eyes are glazing over. Let's just say that anything out there it can't outrun, it can run over. I call it the Batmobile."
"Wow. Just... wow. You must have the smallest weiner ever. Can I drive?"
"With that attitude? You're riding in the trunk."
(Parts one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten and eleven.
Part the twelfth, in which the villain broods and the heroes finally get round to teaming up
"G-man."
"Faith. You look... tenderized."
"You look ill."
"Massive blood loss has never really agreed with me. But this hospital has a wonderful range of cable channels, and our mutual friend is paying for some quite wonderful drugs. How are you?"
"Eh." Faith held up five fingers on her right hand and two on her left. "Hate hospitals. Never thought they'd get me back into one of these places, y'know?"
Giles nodded.
"When I saw all those guns I must confess I was a little concerned. You weren't shot?"
"Only once. Brewster says it happened while we were running away. And if you tell B I did that we will be officially over."
"Naturally. Where did they hit you?"
"In the face, mostly."
"I meant the bullet."
"Does it matter?"
Giles simply looked at her.
"... In the butt, okay?"
Giles didn't quite have to physically bite his tongue, but it was close. His mouth twitched slightly. Faith scowled.
"Laugh and I break your arms," she said.
***
She paused at the door, fumbling with words. He spoke to her back.
"I am very glad you're alive."
"Thank you. So am I. Glad you're alive. And... well, you know."
They didn't touch each other.
***
The robe was the dark red of old blood on white cloth. Wrapped in it, his face masked, the vampire that called himself Nicolai Tepes felt stronger. He had cast aside the vestments of humanity, and with them his human face.
The chamber in which he stood was a vast subterranean cavern. In its upper reaches brickwork could be seen, the lower foundations of the house he had taken in the Palisades. Its lower reaches his minions had decorated with great banners and wall hangings the same colour as his robe. It was lit only by candles - a matter of practicality as much as atmosphere; the cave had been made by a subterranean river, and its depths were still dangerously damp. At one end of the room was a rough-hewn block of stone, carved with symbols far older than Tepes himself.
This was his altar, and his bed.
Sitting in his temple home, Tepes allowed himself to think on the defeat he had suffered.
"More than a mere child," he said quietly.
"My lord?" It was Danut who stood by his side, similarly robed but bare-headed. Danut had stood by his side these six decades past, through the long years of skulking in the shadows. Danut had helped him plan their ascent to the light. Danut, and Yelena, and Fyodor.
Yelena waited back in Europe, the far end of a long chain along which they passed drugs and women and guns, stolen passports and cloned credit cards and brutal young idiots eager to prove themselves worthy of a share in his empire. All the ingredients of the wealth they needed to wrest this corner of the world from the cruel and small-minded humans who thought it was theirs by rights.
Fyodor had fallen to dust nine hours before, his heart torn asunder by a slender shaft of wood, wielded by a woman-child who fought like a demon.
"The Slayer we fought this night, Danut. She was more than the others. Stronger. Braver."
"I remember." Danut did not walk among the mortals. Danut could not walk among the mortals. Long ago, long before he had made his way to Moscow, and to Tepes, a Slayer's blade had sliced away a part of his face, flensing flesh from bone, and somehow the scars had never truly healed.
Danut knew, far better than Tepes, what the Slayers had once been.
"We have become complacent," he said. "Too used to easy victories. The children you killed..."
"Were exactly that." Tepes nodded thoughtfully. "We have been treating America as a playground, when we should have been more... businesslike. This Slayer cannot be allowed to endanger our undertaking. We must not appear weak. You have your telephone?"
Danut handed over his cell. "Who are you going to call?"
"A time like this we need... professional help."
"You mean an assassin? Against a Slayer? You really think..."
"Not a human. There are... creatures with which I have associated. Some of them can be bought."
"Cobblepot will not like it."
"Cobblepot is an irrelevance. A pimp with pretensions, trying desperately to snatch the coat-tails of Gotham's next ruler. If he objects, we can flay him alive and make a soup of his blood.
***
Beneath the penthouse window, Gotham sprawled out before her. Even with daylight still clinging to the buildings the city had a decrepit quality, as if it was sliding slowly into decay. It felt strange to be above it all, instead of lurking in the shadows.
"Enjoying the sunset?" Bruce asked.
"Thinking."
"About Mr Giles?"
"A little. Bad thoughts. I need to get out there."
For a fleeting moment he thought she might be referring to Gotham's legendary night life. After all, Saturday night...
"Are you sure that's a good idea? You were knocked about quite a bit."
"Right now I'm in better shape than you'll ever be. Only one problem."
"What's that?"
"Aside from our boy Nicky, there's not much out there to hunt. Not demonic, anyway."
He found himself smiling, just a little.
"I never have much difficulty finding work."
"You mind if I tag along? I promise to only punch really bad guys." Her voice was a study in casualness.
"Three rules."
"Rules are for losers," she said, but it sounded like a rote response.
"My city, my rules. Rule one, you wear a mask. You've already been seen with Bruce Wayne; you can't then be seen with the Batman."
"I'm gonna get helmet hair, aren't I?"
"It's actually surprisingly comfortable. Rule two, I don't intend to boss you around - but I use some quite nasty devices. If I say duck, you duck. Are we clear?"
"I guess. You better not order me to do anything kinky, though. Rule three?"
"No killing. Don't hurt anybody more than you have to, no matter what you've seen them do. We're not here to judge. We're here to protect."
Faith nodded slowly to herself, then seemed to brighten up.
"Speaking of protection, any chance I could get some of that nifty armour you wear?"
He smiled. "You wouldn't believe the effort Alfred's put into this."
***
Ten minutes later...
"This is your car?"
"It's a modified urban combat vehicle. I rebuilt it from the ground up. Chobham armour, a computer uplink to the cave, nought to sixty in under six seconds, and I'd tell you about its brakes but your eyes are glazing over. Let's just say that anything out there it can't outrun, it can run over. I call it the Batmobile."
"Wow. Just... wow. You must have the smallest weiner ever. Can I drive?"
"With that attitude? You're riding in the trunk."