ISSUE #10 (October 2018)
Written by Emma Woods Featuring: Batgirl
Red Robin
Flamebird
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"WHERE GOTHAM FROZE OVER"Stephanie Brown was not prepared to admit that she had been unaware that the ‘Iceberg’ was a thing.
As a prestigious Nightclub that inhabited the entirety of its own, offshore island, the ‘Iceberg Lounge’ dominated the skyline on this side of Gotham, its extravagance enough to make her feel nauseas, even from a bird’s eye view. She observed the monument to one man’s ego from the ledge of a high-rise estate, one of Gotham’s infamous gargoyles crouched to her left, the ever alert Red Robin standing to her right. Batgirl sat in the middle, resisting the urge to look down, perfectly aware that doing so would be a bad idea. Gotham had always appeared grandiose from a distance, up close it presented her with a sense of scale that she just wasn’t accustomed to. If the second vigilante was aware of her discomfort, he kept it to himself. She drummed her fingers slowly upon the stonework she was sat, pursing her lips as the minutes passed, trying her best to not appear impatient. So far Red Robin’s request for assistance had resulted in a fair bit of sightseeing, and not a great deal else. At a loss for something else to do, she looked to the raven haired teenager she had met a week previous, observing his posture critically as he stood impassive, a pair of slim line binoculars held up to his mask. Unable to resist any longer, she broke the monotony, “You stand like him, do you know that?” Red Robin dropped the visor he was holding, looking at Batgirl with an air of puzzlement, “Like him?” “You know, Him,” Stephanie emphasised the word, clearly referring to only one man. “Are you doing that on purpose?” For the barest fraction of a moment, the more experienced vigilante looked genuinely uncomfortable and increasingly self-conscious. Stephanie could almost see the battle being fought in his head, to remain how he was or to deliberately alter his bearings. The moment passed quickly enough, Red Robin reasserting his previous posture before answering simply, “No.” “You’re such a dork,” Batgirl concluded, not unkindly, her smile disarming him before he could think to take offence. Red Robin cleared his throat in answer, evidently uncomfortable. “Here, what do you see?” the raven-haired vigilante offered Stephanie the binoculars in an effort to change the subject. Batgirl both took the hint and the proffered visor, zooming in on the entrance of the Iceberg Lounge, all manner of Gotham’s elite in attendance. One Gentleman in particular caught her attention, as she was certain it was supposed to, a man so round in appearance that it was almost satire, squat with a low centre of gravity and a nose that protruded sharply from his features. He grinned with far too many teeth, his eyes small and scathing, clearly enamoured with his own, self-importance. “Diabetes,” she reported, “I see diabetes.” “That’s Oswald Cobblepot,” Red Robin filled in with an ever so slight air of frustration, “to his associates at least. Otherwise known as the Penguin.” “Bad news?” Batgirl queried, not feeling overly impressed based on appearances. “The worst,” her companion confirmed. “Don’t underestimate him.” “If you insist,” Stephanie did not sound convinced. “When do I get to meet him?” “Ideally,” Red Robin replied whilst reclaiming his binoculars, “never. He’s leaving for the evening,” he reported after a few moments further of observation, satisfied once the Penguin had entered his Limo. “We’re going in.” The Narrows For Detective Nicolas Gage, it wasn’t in his nature to be timid, if nothing else, his profession wouldn’t allow it. And yet, as he marched up the rickety stairs of one of the Narrows many, barely habitual apartment blocks, he did so with an almost palpable air of trepidation. He counted the floors as he reached each one, passing apartments that boasted more locks than many vaults, listening to the half heard mutterings of an underprivileged district as the people continued to grind out a living. He was almost forced to sidestep quickly as a duo of children suddenly burst out from behind a corner and ran past him down the corridor, the pair scarcely reaching his hip and joyful as only children could be. Both of them wore blankets about their shoulders whilst one of them, a girl, boasted a homemade cowl obscuring her features. They were gone as quickly as they appeared, off to best some imaginary foe, an air of melancholy returning upon the passing of their innocence. Nicholas shook the moment off, realising that he had reached his destination and, with a great deal of trepidation, he inhaled deeply and chose to bite the bullet. He knocked once, finding himself hoping that she wasn’t home. That would certainly have been easier. Several moments passed before the sounds of several deadbolts being opened confirmed that someone was indeed in, followed by the door creaking open. As Bette Kane stood before him, the blonde haired young woman who had been so integral to his life supported by a pair of crutches, he felt the blood drain from his features and the bottom fall out of his gut. The two stared at one another for what felt like an eternity, one a Detective, the other formally a vigilante, one night diverging their paths indefinitely. “Detective,” Kane greeted without a great deal of warmth and a passing moment of surprise, “you look pale.” “Bette,” Gage returned the not exactly cordial greeting as a man searching for something suitable to say. “It’s been a while,” Kane continued, accusation in her tone, “wouldn’t you say?” Nicholas cleared his throat, intensely uncomfortable. “I suppose I should invite you in,” Bette observed although, for several heartbeats, it seemed as though neither one were about to follow up on such an offer. Eventually Kane sidestepped, reluctantly inviting the Detective into her home. “Come on then,” she urged, clearly impatient, “evidently you have something to say.” The Iceberg Lounge Gotham never slept, and Batgirl could well believe it, the thrum of the Nightclub several floors beneath her feet emanating through the floor, every beat in rhythm with the music. She scarcely noticed it, the youthful vigilante doing her utmost to at least not appear agape as she paced slowly about Oswald’s expansive office, surrounded by an embarrassment of riches and lavish architecture. She had never seen the like, not with her own eyes, and such luxury was difficult for her to process. “This is,” Stephanie struggled to find something appropriate to say as she tilted her head upwards, the ceiling impossibly high above them, arching into an extravagant dome. “This is something else.” Red Robin didn’t share his own opinion, occupied as he was behind Cobblepot’s lavishly adorned desk, brow furrowed in thought as he accessed the Penguin’s personal computer. Batgirl tilted her head to look at him, a young man with the weight of world on his shoulders. Stephanie had to wonder why. “I don’t want to know how he can afford all of this, do I?” Batgirl queried with a perking of her own brow, turning on her heel to meet the Dark Knights protégé behind Oswald’s desk. “No,” Red Robin replied, his attention otherwise undivided as he tapped his digits upon the keyboard with practiced dexterity, searching for his digital quarry like a bloodhound. With her hands tucked behind her back, Stephanie leant forwards beside him to get a better look at what he was he was doing, failing to notice his own momentary distraction and the low, clearing of his throat following her sudden, close proximity. Batgirl made the smallest of frowns as she continued to observe, a multitude of screens and browser windows both opening and closing rapidly upon the widescreen monitor, reams of indecipherable text flashing by faster than she could ever hope to make sense of. Gibberish, she decided, before repressing a deeply frustrated sigh upon her failure to follow what was going on. “I have no idea what you’re doing,” she confessed, fishing for a clue. “It’s nothing complicated,” Red Robin dismissed, immediately regretting how condescendingly he had done so, almost feeling the inadvertently wounded pride of the young woman beside him. He cleared his throat, scrambling internally for the means to swiftly make amends, “When you know how.” “Uh huh,” was all Stephanie was willing to surrender under the current circumstance, feeling increasingly out of place on the wrong side of Gotham. “Just do the thing so we can go.” Red Robin hesitated, his digits hovering above the keys, opening his mouth to apologise before the door to Cobblepot’s office burst open, a flurry of irate individuals bursting into the room. Tall, broad and uniformed in suits, the Iceberg Security immediately identified the vigilantes who had broken into the office and moved to intercept, negotiation clearly not an option they were willing to employ when concerning the brood of Batman. “Oh, hey,” Batgirl perked up, recovering with commendable swiftness given the sudden arrival of hostile forces, vaulting over the top of the desk with one arm whilst reaching behind her back with the other. “I’m guessing you guys are the reason that I’m here,” she landed at a sprint, immediately moving to intercept the Penguin’s security before they could apprehend Red Robin, pulling her collapsible staff from her belt and, with a trigger, snapping it out to its full length. “I hope you’re not averse to a solid beating!” The Narrows Bette’s hospitality, it seemed, was only going to stretch so far as, after finding a stool beside her kitchen counter, she set aside her crutches and sat down, pouring herself a shot of whisky without offering a glass to her guest. Instead, she kept her gaze level on the Detective, waiting for him to get to the point. Nicolas, it seemed, was in no hurry to get there, intensely uncomfortable as he remained standing, taking in the small, ramshackle apartment with an eye that missed nothing. Like most of the Narrows, it looked fit to collapse, the walls only standing due to the tenants willing them to do so, while the furnishings were slightly above grade from what those living in the District would typically be able to afford. Gage was expected to break the silence, so he did so, “I was surprised to find out that you’d moved here, given who you are.” “And what happened,” Bette gave voice to the topic that the Detective clearly wanted to avoid, measuring her words with a deliberate lack of tact. She changed the subject before he could protest, holding but not drinking her shot of whisky, “I live where I please, comes with being wealthy. My Aunt owns most of these buildings, not that she cares. At least one of us should have an invested interest in what happens to them.” Nicolas looked as though he was about to follow up before thinking better, clearing his throat before moving to the window. He regretted doing so almost immediately, the usually claustrophobic view within the Narrows not the case here, this side of the building looking clean out across the docks. He refused to believe that was a coincidence, nor did he believe that it was healthy. For all intents and purposes, a Vigilante had died on that pier… “You disappeared,” he voiced suddenly, not turning around, “after you were released from the Hospital, you dropped off the map until a few weeks ago.” “I live where I please,” she repeated her earlier sentiment in response, “comes with being wealthy. Besides,” Bette leaned back on her stool, feeling the ever-present ache at the base of her spine flaring, “I was easy enough to locate while I was in physio, learning to walk again.” She downed her shot of whisky before refilling the glass, still not offering her guest the same, “peculiar how you weren’t looking for me then.” “You know why I couldn’t come,” Nicholas answered quietly. “I know why you didn’t come,” Bette countered, her tone dangerously sullen, “not quite the same.” With a brief, flash of annoyance, Gage was prepared to defend himself with a heated remark, before he let it go with a deep sigh. Instead he turned about and rubbed his eyes before shoving his hands into his coat. “Kate has been asking after you,” he changed the subject to Bette’s cousin. “Kate now is it?” the young woman flashed a rueful smirk, “how very familiar of you Detective Gage, working your way around the family?” She quickly held up her hand to stall his immediate protest, the closest she was going to come to issuing an apology. “She knows where I am.” “She’s concerned,” he insisted. “She’s many things, Nicolas,” Bette downed her second shot of whisky, resisting the urge to pour a third. “And she can feel free to come hash them out with me the moment I rate highly enough on her schedule. I was never terribly important on the list of her priorities, evidently matters haven’t much changed.” The silence that followed was less than golden, Gage regretting everything that had been said right up to this point. “Come along now Detective,” Bette sat up straight, hiding the discomfort such a posture inflicted upon her, “let’s get to the point. Why are you here?” The Iceberg Lounge Muscle memory was a beautiful mistress when one didn’t have the time to overthink what you were doing, Batgirl internally thanking her Uncle for the hours upon hours upon hours of repetition that hammered his lessons home into her very fibres. She was the embodiment of perpetual motion, a locomotive of short, sharp attacks that lay knees, elbows and fists into the most vulnerable of places, a miniature tank of unleashed violence at odds with her diminutive stature. Stephanie Brown was no Belle of the Ball, but a Bull in a China Shop. Batgirl deflected a blow aimed for a forehead and, before she had even fully followed through on the block, surged her body forwards to slam knee into her assailants unprotected groin. He doubled forwards, cheeks reddening an embarrassing shade of crimson, where he found himself a prime target for the same knee, reloaded for another blow, to connect with the underside of his chin. His mouth was forcibly snapped shut hard enough to crack three of his back teeth, and he fell to the deck without further complaint. Stephanie spun, pivoting in a sharp circle whilst she brought her staff up high, the weapon whistling with a high whine above her head in a dangerous, whiplash arc. It didn’t connect, but then, it wasn’t really supposed to, the wide circle of its trajectory instead convincing two of her would be foes to back peddle rapidly to avoid getting hit, thus giving her the room that she needed. Brown dashed forwards into the gap created by her two retreating foes, zeroing in on a third who was busy pulling a baton from his belt. She could hardly begrudge him reaching for a weapon of his own, but she would just as soon not be battered about the head with it, and so it was that she smacked his wrist with the tip of her staff and forced him to release the stick from his suddenly numb fingers. She followed up with a twist of her own weapon, striking the opposite end clean across his cheek, knocking him senseless and to the ground. As she turned about once more, she found her sudden proximity to her opponents to be far too confined to make best use of her staff, so she dropped it without a second thought as both remaining goons came at her at once. They had thought to catch her off guard with overwhelming force, and they very well could have succeeded were she to panic in the face of their hostility, but she was now well beyond the girl who had first dropped into an alleyway wearing a bandanna. She blocked the first blow and then the second, surrendering one step and then two, blocking out the grunts and threats of the duo as she listened only to their body language. She leapt on the spot, compacting into a small ball before exhaling sharply and throwing both of her legs out at the same time. The unexpected dropkick slammed the soles of both of her reinforced boots deep into the chest of one of her assailants, emptying his stunned body of air and forcing him to collapse ass backwards through a glass table. As Batgirl returned to earth upon her own back, which was in itself not an entirely soft landing, and she didn’t hesitate for a single moment as she rolled onto her shoulders, tucked up into a ball before kicking out with her legs, dramatically kipping her lithe frame right back up to vertical with a billowing of her cape. She was on her feet in time to see the right hook coming and, with a deft reflex, she caught fist of her last opponent before he could make contact. They stood there for a moment, in silence, Stephanie offering the goon a smirk as she criticized his technique, “Hey, not bad.” As compliments go, it was the only one she was willing to give before she forcibly twisted his limb sideways and followed through with a blistering right hook of her own. Batgirl’s connected, knocking the man both senseless and sending him to the deck, a knockout worthy of a Title win if there ever was one. Stephanie stepped back, breathing heavily now that she had the room to do so, observing her handiwork with a satisfied eye before she poked the tip of her boot beneath her fallen staff and flicked it back up into her grasp. She blinked, swallowing ever so slightly as the last, blistering few minutes caught back up at her. Her hands were shaking. She did her best to still them. She turned about to check on Red Robin, only to find herself slightly vexed to discover that he had evidently completed his appointed task long ago. He was sat back in the chair, his posture relaxed from where he had watched the unfolding conflict. “Didn’t feel like stepping in, huh?” Stephanie queried, motioning to the bodies left splayed out around her. “Didn’t want to get in the way,” Red Robin confessed, the young man unexpectantly displaying a levity that Batgirl found to be at odds with his usual demeanour. “You had them under control.” “I did,” Stephanie leant on her staff, still feeling slightly winded, her momentary annoyance fleeting in the face of the other vigilante’s praise. “Didn’t I? I’m getting good at this.” Red Robin didn’t answer, his mood returning to sombre as he titled his head ever so slightly. “Time to go,” he reported, collecting his data stick as he got up. “Oswald is on his way back.” “Who, Diabetes?” Batgirl straightened her shoulders, “I can take Diabetes.” “Not tonight,” Red Robin ended the debate, moving to the window with a purpose, “we got what we came for, there’s no value in further confrontation.” “If you insist,” Stephanie conceded, not entirely convinced that she agreed but, as Batman’s protégé made to leave, she decided to follow suit, for tonight at least. Besides, there were worse views to follow out of a window… The Narrows “You know why I’m here.” Nicolas had made the statement flatly, pressing his knuckles down on top of the counter, finally cutting to the chase as he refused to break eye contact with the woman before him. It made his gut heavy to do so, but this was no time to blink, he had fished too many bodies out of the water to do so again. “Do I?” Bette teased the glass in her hand, refusing to be cowed by the Detectives shift in demeanour. A pregnant silence hung in the air between them before a smile, one absent of humour, found its way to Kanes features. “You wanted to see for yourself, didn’t you? You want to know if I’m her. The Batgirl.” And there it was, the crux of the matter, the very reason the duo, formally so close, were being forced to confront their daemons. Bette put down her glass before delivering a sideways glance to her crutches, before returning her full, withering gaze back to Gage. “You want to know if they are just, what? A façade? A clever disguise? That certainty would make it easier wouldn’t it, the thought that I really could walk this entire time? Wouldn’t seem so bad, would it, leaving me to fend for myself when I needed you most? Well, I’m afraid not, my good Detective,” Kane leaned back, all hints of her smile having vanished. “I can barely navigate this building, Nicolas, I am hardly prone to navigating rooftops these days.” Gage said nothing, not at first, gauging her reaction not as a former lover, but as a man trained to discern the truth, no matter how much he wanted it to be false. “Do you know who she is?” he put forth, his penetrating gaze unflinching. “Hardly,” Bette dismissed out of hand. “Do you know who she is?” Gage repeated. “Why the sudden concern, Detective?” Kane attempted to disarm. “You know damn well why,” Nicholas betrayed his first hint of anger, his knuckles turning white upon the counter. “She’s going to get herself killed, they all are. I can stop this now, before it happens. I can stop her from…” “Being me?” Bette interrupted, her tone low and dangerous. “Yes,” Nicholas didn’t beat around the bush, not anymore, “I can stop her from being you, or worse.” Kane opened her mouth to reply, before thinking better, mulling over her words carefully before finally doing so. “I don’t know who she is.” Nicholas sighed deeply, pushing himself away from the counter and standing straight, “And if you did?” “I would tell her to avoid you, Detective.” Gage nodded, after several moments of uncomfortable silence, before he sighed deeply, feeling weary to the bone. He moved to the door to let himself out before stopping at the threshold. He considered speaking, to say one last utterance, anything that could set the world to rights. There were none, so he left without another word… Beneath the Narrows As the motorcycle purred to a slow stop, the light fixates high above flickered into life upon their arrival, casting the long-abandoned subway station into life. Retrofitted these past few months to serve as the base of operations for the Narrows very own Vigilante, it served as a home beneath her home for the Batgirl, a place within which she could plan her next move. The cavernous chamber echoed back at them as the two entered, sounds that Stephanie had come to find oddly welcoming. The moment that they were stationary, Batgirl knew it was time to let go, dismounting the most beautiful motorcycle she had ever seen in her life, however reluctantly. “You know, something occurs to me,” Stephanie piped up as she stepped away and pulled back her cowl, allowing the cool air to brush against her features. She briefly fidgeted with her helmet hair as best as she could before allowing her blonde mane to do what it wanted, focusing instead on finishing her thought, “the fact that you not only know who I am, but also where I live, isn’t exactly fair being as I haven’t even seen your face.” Red Robin sat up straight, Batgirl noting how suddenly uncomfortable he was, regretting that she had put him on the spot, “Stephanie…” “I know, I know,” Batgirl waved off his concerns, not wanting to hold it against him. “If I know who you are, then I might know who he is,” she raised her hands to place them to either side of her head, pointing her index fingers up to mimic bat ears. The irony that she wouldn’t need to do so were she still wearing her own cowl was apparently lost on her. It was not, however, lost on Red Robin, who could not hide his amusement no matter how much he tried to. Instead, after furrowing his own brow in indecision, he reached up and removed his own mask, the raven-haired vigilante extending an olive branch of trust. “Tim,” he said simply, “my name is Tim.” Stephanie was taken aback, momentarily at a loss for words, not only in the face of Red Robins reveal, but also the sheer change in his demeanour. It was as though the removal of his duel identity also removed the weight of the world from his shoulders, his manner now easy, his posture open, and his eyes… Inquisitive and kind. She had to wonder if he was even aware of the transformation. To her credit, Batgirl recovered quickly, blinking a few times in light of the unexpected development before a smile found its way to her features. “Just Tim?” “Just Tim,” the young man smiled back with a knowing look, one that made it clear that the young woman before him would not be prying more information free tonight. Stephanie bit her bottom lip before smirking coyly, “like Timothy?” “Yes,” Red Robin sighed before slumping his shoulders, feeling slightly embarrassed yet remaining in good humour. “Like Timothy.” Batgirl nodded to herself, still taken back by the magnitude of what was being offered. She didn’t know who he was, but that didn’t matter, this was a level of trust that had not yet been offered by the others, and now she wasn’t sure what to do with it. Biting her bottom lip once again, she backed up a few steps before she got carried away. “Goodnight, Timothy.” “Goodnight, Stephanie,” Red Robin replied, returning the mask to his features and revving up his motorcycle, Batgirl watching as he turned about to leave. As he shot off down the tunnel, the echoes of his presence lingering long after his exit, the teenager allowed herself to process the last few minutes events. “Timothy,” she said out loud before spinning on the spot to face the other way, her stride feeling lighter. “Timothy,” she repeated to no-one but herself, savouring the sound of it as it bounced off the walls. She liked that name a lot… |