Batman/Revolution Fic: Road to Redemption (1/1)
Many thanks to my beta IcyWaters without whom this story would have no title and probably ten times more errors in it. All remaining mistakes are mine. :-)
Title: Road to Redemption (1/1)
Author: immertreu
Fandoms: Batman (Nolanverse, no specific time frame) + Revolution (season 1)
Word count: ~2750
Road to Redemption
By immertreu
August 12, 2013
“Turn back!”
Miles Matheson whirled around, drawing his swords and falling into a fighting stance before he’d even had a chance to assess the situation. His gaze grew cold when he turned to find Charlie held hostage by a man who pressed a blade to his niece’s throat. The assailant, maybe a little younger than Miles himself, with dark, unreadable eyes and equally dark, slightly shaggy hair, kept her immobile with an unwavering grip, her hands trapped between her back and the stranger’s chest.
Charlie stood stock-still, her eyes wide but not panicked - yet.
“I said, turn back,” the man repeated, not even flinching when he met Miles’ furious glance.
Cursing himself for not noticing the attack, for bringing Charlie into danger by his carelessness once more, Miles took a step forward, but the stranger took one back in turn, dragging Charlie with him. “I don’t want to hurt her, but if you leave me no choice…”
Miles hissed in aggravation and stopped, unsure of what to do. He and Charlie had left the others behind to scout the area, maybe find some food, so no help would come from them any time soon. The stranger seemed to be alone, as far as Miles could tell, but who knew? He’d missed the man’s stealthy approach. Maybe he hadn’t noticed the arrival of the kidnapper’s companions as well. The ruins surrounding them could hide dozens of enemies.
Surrendering to the inevitable and knowing he couldn’t win this fight with Charlie right in the middle of it, Miles lowered his swords and took a step back, not letting go of his blades, though. “I don’t wanna fight,” he ground out, silently imploring Charlie to keep still and not antagonize her captor. “We’re just looking for food.”
The man scoffed. “Yeah, right, that’s what they all say. And then they come back in the dark to steal, maybe kill or have a little fun while they’re at it.” He paused, regarding Miles with a penetrating gaze, and said, “I know who you are.”
Miles didn’t react to that statement. The other man simply raised a brow and smiled a humorless smile. “You didn’t really think Miles Matheson could enter my domain and not be noticed, did you?”
He tried to hide the flinch he felt when the stranger spit out his name with enough venom in his voice to kill, but Miles knew he’d failed miserably. Damn! Charlie’s really rubbing off on me, he thought. I used to be better at this.
As if sensing his thoughts, the stranger continued, “I’m giving you this one chance to turn around and leave - not for your sake but for hers.” He nodded at Charlie, still pinned to his front by a muscular arm that didn’t look strained at all. “Your companion seems to be innocent enough, so I’m willing to let you go. Both of you.” His voice was cordial now, even calm, but Miles could feel the steely resolution behind it. “But if you ever come back this way, I’ll have no choice but to stop you. Forever. Is that understood?”
He gave in to the unavoidable and nodded. “Understood,” Miles replied curtly. “Now let her go.”
The stranger hesitated, obviously waiting for something, and Miles thought he knew what the other wanted. “I give you my word,” he added grudgingly.
The two men appraised each other, neither one moving until the stranger suddenly nodded and dropped his arms back to his sides, releasing Charlie. The girl immediately stepped away from him and all but jumped at Miles, glad to be free.
Tucking his niece in behind him with one arm, he raised the other still holding his sword, preparing for an attack - but none came. The stranger didn’t move, didn’t even blink, just stood with his own blade held in a grip that spoke of years of practise.
Miles frowned. Something about the man seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place it. He half-turned to Charlie. “Go!”
His niece didn’t have to be told twice. She turned and started walking back the way they had come, making a wide berth around her former captor who stood in the middle of the marketplace as if he owned it - which he probably did. She found the overgrown path they had used to enter this tiny village of rotting houses only a few minutes ago. Miles followed close on her heels, never letting the stranger out of his sight.
Only when they had rounded a bend and couldn’t be seen by the man still waiting in the place where he had ambushed them did Miles turn to his niece. “You okay?” he asked, not liking how his voice almost cracked right then.
Charlie smiled, a tight-lipped grin, and nodded. “He surprised me, that’s all.” She hung her head. “I’m sorry.”
“What?” Miles didn’t understand. “For what?”
“For getting captured again.”
He couldn’t help himself, he had to snort at that. Answering his niece’s incredulous glance, Miles said, “It wasn’t your fault. I should have noticed him much sooner.” He fell silent, still pondering the mystery man, but Charlie’s voice shook him out of it just a few seconds later.
“Shouldn’t we be going?” she asked.
Miles sighed and started walking again, looking back once every few steps to make sure they weren’t followed. As if he had done such a good job at it the last time…
After a few minutes of walking in silence, a shrill whistle to their right made Miles’ head snap around. A few seconds later, an answering trill from the village they had just left made Miles grin. So, the stranger wasn’t alone after all. Out loud, he said, “He’s good.”
Charlie stopped to look at him. “What do you mean?”
“The man back there,” Miles said. “He managed to surprise us both, evict us from his village or wherever he and his people live, and now he’s letting us know that we’re being observed. He’ll know if we don’t keep our end of the deal.” He paused, not able to shake the feeling that he had met the stranger before, but it wouldn’t come to him. Yet how else could the man have known his name? Sure, the name Miles Matheson was (in)famous enough in this part of the world, but not many people still knew the face that went with it. Not many of them were still alive, that was.
Still miffed that the man had gotten the drop on him but glad it hadn’t come to a fight about Charlie, Miles led his niece back to where they had left the others. They took a detour, just to be on the safe side, and it was already getting dark when they finally reached their campsite close to the stream. Nora and Aaron were waiting for them, their nervousness betrayed by Nora’s pacing around the fireplace and Aaron’s anxious glances into the dark.
“Where have you been?” was the first question out of Nora’s mouth, followed by Aaron’s “Did you bring any food?”
Miles just shook his head in reply to the latter and turned to Nora, but Charlie cut in. “Met an old friend of Miles’.” All eyes turned to her, and she grinned. Miles glared. “What?” she asked innocently, trying to lighten the mood.
Nora addressed Miles, “Care to elaborate?”
He grunted. “Not really, no.” Then he conceded, “Charlie got herself kidnapped - again - because we were trespassing on some guy’s territory. He kindly told us to leave. And before you ask, no, I don’t know who he is and what his agenda is.”
Charlie interrupted - again, “He seemed nice enough.”
“What?!”
Three pairs of eyes stared at the youngest member of their party in shock, and the girl blushed. “I mean, he could just have killed me and attacked Miles from behind. Instead, he tried not to hurt me and simply warned us to leave.”
“Right.” Miles shook his head to clear his thoughts. Shouldn’t Stockholm syndrome only set in after a few days or weeks of captivity? “Go wash up,” he told his niece. Much to his surprise, she did and went down to the water. Aaron followed close behind. No one really went anywhere alone these days.
Nora pounced on him the second they were out of earshot. “What did really happen? Who was that guy?”
Miles removed his hands from the hilts of his swords - he hadn’t let go of them during their trek - and raked his fingers through his hair, making it stand up on end. He really needed a haircut.
“I told you,” he said, annoyance finally bubbling to the surface. “He ambushed us from behind, held a sword to Charlie’s throat and told us to go to hell. Basically.”
Nora wasn’t satisfied. She knew him all too well. “And?” she prompted.
“And he knew my name. He knew who I was.”
That shocked her into silence. She sat down on the log they had rolled next to the fire and eventually asked, “How could he? Did you know him?”
Miles hesitated.
“Miles?”
He sighed and sat down as well. “No, I didn’t, but there was something familiar about him. I’m sure I didn’t train him, though. He’s good, very good. He managed to sneak up on me, and that’s saying something.” He grinned self-deprecatingly. “He knew exactly what he was doing, and he definitely wasn’t afraid of me.”
Nora’s eyebrows rose in wonder. “That’s a new one.”
He snorted. “Yeah,” he agreed. “It was as if we’d met before, but I can’t figure it out. He isn’t militia, though, that’s for sure.”
“How do you know?” Nora asked.
Miles jumped up, suddenly agitated. “Because any militia man would have killed me first, no warning, no questions asked, and taken Charlie for himself afterwards.” He bit back a curse and stomped off to make sure their camp was secure.
How had the stranger done it? He swore to find out. One day he would.
****************************************************
Bruce Wayne, known as Thomas Gordon these days, stood in the dark, observing the scene playing out in front of him. Satisfied that his feelings about Miles had been right, that the former leader of the militia had finally come to his senses and posed no threat to Gotham Village anymore, he left his hiding place among the trees and prepared to sneak back the way he’d come.
How else was it to be explained that Miles Matheson, the Butcher of Baltimore, ran around the country with a girl half his age who trusted him with her life, a beautiful woman who seemed to be able to hold her own, and an overweight man whose looks just screamed “geek” at the world?
Snorting at the irony of it all, Bruce took off through the forest. He didn’t take more than a few steps when he remembered another night like this one about seven years ago. Back then, Bruce and Miles had run into each other for the first time, but Miles didn’t know it had been him, of course.
Miles and his militia men had visited a small village and asked for their harvest. Everything went smoothly, at least for the militia, until a small boy decided to stand up to one of the soldiers who was about to take their crop. A small scuffle broke out that only ended when the boy manouvered himself into a dead end.
Bruce had been cowering in the shadows, trying to see if the residents needed any help - medicines, food - when the soldiers first appeared. He’d decided to stay hidden because there was nothing one single man could do against such a huge force of militia men, not without endangering the civilians. But the soldier attacking a four- or five-year-old forced him into action. He needn’t have bothered, though. The moment he swooped down from the roof - not in full costume but wearing a mask, his cape and with only the most essential equipment from his Batman days hanging from his belt - Miles stepped in and rescued the boy. He knocked out his own soldier and sent the child home to his parents, warning him not to try anything like this ever again.
Only when the boy had gone did he turn to pay attention to the moving shadow in the corner of the alley they stood in. “And who might you be?” he asked scornfully. “Trying to be Batman or something?” He laughed, but it was a mirthless sound, grating and sad.
Bruce regarded him with pity the other man couldn’t see in the dark. “Or something,” he agreed in his most gravelly voice.
Miles was taken aback for a second, but then he drew his sword and knife, letting both blades dangle from his hands in a show of nonchalance. “I see. You’re not dead then.”
Batman didn’t reply.
“Care to come in quietly?” the militia man asked, but there was no real conviction behind his words, and they both knew it. Although Batman had lost most of his special equipment and cutting-edge technology after the blackout, his fighting skills were legendary.
Batman didn’t react. “You don’t have to do this,” he rasped instead. “This isn’t you.”
Miles looked at him quizzically, then he replied scathingly, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Batman bent down and picked up the discarded sword the over-eager soldier had dropped. “Don’t I? I’ve been watching you.”
He raised the weapon as if in salute, saying nothing else. Then he pulled out a grappling hook, aimed it at a rafter above, and vanished into the night.
He left behind a man who would turn his back on the militia not even three days later, finally listening to his conscience, which had been screaming at him ever since this whole mess started.
Bruce shook himself from his memories when he heard Miles turning back toward the clearing. Curious, he followed the former militia man and saw Miles entering the camp not far from him, startling Nora who had just begun to cook their dinner - canned tomato soup - on the fire.
She jumped up and looked at him in surprise. “What is it, Miles?” Her eyes immediately started scanning the tree line, looking for any sign of pursuers, but Miles raised a hand to reassure her.
“I know who he is,” he said, sounding surprised but also calm, curiously detached.
“Well?” Nora inquired when he fell silent again. “Who is he?”
“It’s hard to explain, but I think he used to be…Batman. No, Nora, I haven’t lost my mind.”
Her expression showed clearly that she wasn’t totally convinced.
“I did meet him, I just didn’t know it was the same guy. I ran into him a few days before I - we - left the militia. He took a sword from one of my men, the same sword the stranger back at the village held to Charlie’s throat. And his movements were the same, too. I just didn’t see it earlier today.”
Nora still looked dubious. “Are you sure?”
Miles huffed and started pacing. “Yes, I am. How many men are there in this world who would recognize me and not try to kill me, but give me another chance instead?”
Nora’s silence was answer enough. She knelt down and added a few more branches to the fire to keep the flames alive.
Miles suddenly stopped and put a hand to his sword hilt, scanning the surrounding area for movement or shadows that didn’t belong.
Bruce thought it over for a moment, safely hidden behind the stump of a huge oak tree. Then he took a step, purposely breaking a bone-dry stick in the process.
Miles’ eyes immediately snapped to where the cracking sound had come from. Nora, on the other side of the sizzling campfire, didn’t react.
The two men stared at each other, eerie mirror images with their hands on their swords, poised to draw their weapons in a split-second, both with dark hair and similarly intent eyes. Yet one was bathed in light from the fire while the other stood in the shadows, silent and watching.
Deliberately, Bruce raised his sword hand and let it hang by his side. Carefully, his gaze never leaving Miles’, he nodded once, got an acknowledging dip of the head in reply, and turned to go. Alfred and his friends were waiting for him at home.
Only time would tell what kind of man Miles Matheson really was. Batman’s job here was done.
This time, he didn’t look back.
The End
Title: Road to Redemption (1/1)
Author: immertreu
Fandoms: Batman (Nolanverse, no specific time frame) + Revolution (season 1)
Word count: ~2750
Road to Redemption
By immertreu
August 12, 2013
“Turn back!”
Miles Matheson whirled around, drawing his swords and falling into a fighting stance before he’d even had a chance to assess the situation. His gaze grew cold when he turned to find Charlie held hostage by a man who pressed a blade to his niece’s throat. The assailant, maybe a little younger than Miles himself, with dark, unreadable eyes and equally dark, slightly shaggy hair, kept her immobile with an unwavering grip, her hands trapped between her back and the stranger’s chest.
Charlie stood stock-still, her eyes wide but not panicked - yet.
“I said, turn back,” the man repeated, not even flinching when he met Miles’ furious glance.
Cursing himself for not noticing the attack, for bringing Charlie into danger by his carelessness once more, Miles took a step forward, but the stranger took one back in turn, dragging Charlie with him. “I don’t want to hurt her, but if you leave me no choice…”
Miles hissed in aggravation and stopped, unsure of what to do. He and Charlie had left the others behind to scout the area, maybe find some food, so no help would come from them any time soon. The stranger seemed to be alone, as far as Miles could tell, but who knew? He’d missed the man’s stealthy approach. Maybe he hadn’t noticed the arrival of the kidnapper’s companions as well. The ruins surrounding them could hide dozens of enemies.
Surrendering to the inevitable and knowing he couldn’t win this fight with Charlie right in the middle of it, Miles lowered his swords and took a step back, not letting go of his blades, though. “I don’t wanna fight,” he ground out, silently imploring Charlie to keep still and not antagonize her captor. “We’re just looking for food.”
The man scoffed. “Yeah, right, that’s what they all say. And then they come back in the dark to steal, maybe kill or have a little fun while they’re at it.” He paused, regarding Miles with a penetrating gaze, and said, “I know who you are.”
Miles didn’t react to that statement. The other man simply raised a brow and smiled a humorless smile. “You didn’t really think Miles Matheson could enter my domain and not be noticed, did you?”
He tried to hide the flinch he felt when the stranger spit out his name with enough venom in his voice to kill, but Miles knew he’d failed miserably. Damn! Charlie’s really rubbing off on me, he thought. I used to be better at this.
As if sensing his thoughts, the stranger continued, “I’m giving you this one chance to turn around and leave - not for your sake but for hers.” He nodded at Charlie, still pinned to his front by a muscular arm that didn’t look strained at all. “Your companion seems to be innocent enough, so I’m willing to let you go. Both of you.” His voice was cordial now, even calm, but Miles could feel the steely resolution behind it. “But if you ever come back this way, I’ll have no choice but to stop you. Forever. Is that understood?”
He gave in to the unavoidable and nodded. “Understood,” Miles replied curtly. “Now let her go.”
The stranger hesitated, obviously waiting for something, and Miles thought he knew what the other wanted. “I give you my word,” he added grudgingly.
The two men appraised each other, neither one moving until the stranger suddenly nodded and dropped his arms back to his sides, releasing Charlie. The girl immediately stepped away from him and all but jumped at Miles, glad to be free.
Tucking his niece in behind him with one arm, he raised the other still holding his sword, preparing for an attack - but none came. The stranger didn’t move, didn’t even blink, just stood with his own blade held in a grip that spoke of years of practise.
Miles frowned. Something about the man seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place it. He half-turned to Charlie. “Go!”
His niece didn’t have to be told twice. She turned and started walking back the way they had come, making a wide berth around her former captor who stood in the middle of the marketplace as if he owned it - which he probably did. She found the overgrown path they had used to enter this tiny village of rotting houses only a few minutes ago. Miles followed close on her heels, never letting the stranger out of his sight.
Only when they had rounded a bend and couldn’t be seen by the man still waiting in the place where he had ambushed them did Miles turn to his niece. “You okay?” he asked, not liking how his voice almost cracked right then.
Charlie smiled, a tight-lipped grin, and nodded. “He surprised me, that’s all.” She hung her head. “I’m sorry.”
“What?” Miles didn’t understand. “For what?”
“For getting captured again.”
He couldn’t help himself, he had to snort at that. Answering his niece’s incredulous glance, Miles said, “It wasn’t your fault. I should have noticed him much sooner.” He fell silent, still pondering the mystery man, but Charlie’s voice shook him out of it just a few seconds later.
“Shouldn’t we be going?” she asked.
Miles sighed and started walking again, looking back once every few steps to make sure they weren’t followed. As if he had done such a good job at it the last time…
After a few minutes of walking in silence, a shrill whistle to their right made Miles’ head snap around. A few seconds later, an answering trill from the village they had just left made Miles grin. So, the stranger wasn’t alone after all. Out loud, he said, “He’s good.”
Charlie stopped to look at him. “What do you mean?”
“The man back there,” Miles said. “He managed to surprise us both, evict us from his village or wherever he and his people live, and now he’s letting us know that we’re being observed. He’ll know if we don’t keep our end of the deal.” He paused, not able to shake the feeling that he had met the stranger before, but it wouldn’t come to him. Yet how else could the man have known his name? Sure, the name Miles Matheson was (in)famous enough in this part of the world, but not many people still knew the face that went with it. Not many of them were still alive, that was.
Still miffed that the man had gotten the drop on him but glad it hadn’t come to a fight about Charlie, Miles led his niece back to where they had left the others. They took a detour, just to be on the safe side, and it was already getting dark when they finally reached their campsite close to the stream. Nora and Aaron were waiting for them, their nervousness betrayed by Nora’s pacing around the fireplace and Aaron’s anxious glances into the dark.
“Where have you been?” was the first question out of Nora’s mouth, followed by Aaron’s “Did you bring any food?”
Miles just shook his head in reply to the latter and turned to Nora, but Charlie cut in. “Met an old friend of Miles’.” All eyes turned to her, and she grinned. Miles glared. “What?” she asked innocently, trying to lighten the mood.
Nora addressed Miles, “Care to elaborate?”
He grunted. “Not really, no.” Then he conceded, “Charlie got herself kidnapped - again - because we were trespassing on some guy’s territory. He kindly told us to leave. And before you ask, no, I don’t know who he is and what his agenda is.”
Charlie interrupted - again, “He seemed nice enough.”
“What?!”
Three pairs of eyes stared at the youngest member of their party in shock, and the girl blushed. “I mean, he could just have killed me and attacked Miles from behind. Instead, he tried not to hurt me and simply warned us to leave.”
“Right.” Miles shook his head to clear his thoughts. Shouldn’t Stockholm syndrome only set in after a few days or weeks of captivity? “Go wash up,” he told his niece. Much to his surprise, she did and went down to the water. Aaron followed close behind. No one really went anywhere alone these days.
Nora pounced on him the second they were out of earshot. “What did really happen? Who was that guy?”
Miles removed his hands from the hilts of his swords - he hadn’t let go of them during their trek - and raked his fingers through his hair, making it stand up on end. He really needed a haircut.
“I told you,” he said, annoyance finally bubbling to the surface. “He ambushed us from behind, held a sword to Charlie’s throat and told us to go to hell. Basically.”
Nora wasn’t satisfied. She knew him all too well. “And?” she prompted.
“And he knew my name. He knew who I was.”
That shocked her into silence. She sat down on the log they had rolled next to the fire and eventually asked, “How could he? Did you know him?”
Miles hesitated.
“Miles?”
He sighed and sat down as well. “No, I didn’t, but there was something familiar about him. I’m sure I didn’t train him, though. He’s good, very good. He managed to sneak up on me, and that’s saying something.” He grinned self-deprecatingly. “He knew exactly what he was doing, and he definitely wasn’t afraid of me.”
Nora’s eyebrows rose in wonder. “That’s a new one.”
He snorted. “Yeah,” he agreed. “It was as if we’d met before, but I can’t figure it out. He isn’t militia, though, that’s for sure.”
“How do you know?” Nora asked.
Miles jumped up, suddenly agitated. “Because any militia man would have killed me first, no warning, no questions asked, and taken Charlie for himself afterwards.” He bit back a curse and stomped off to make sure their camp was secure.
How had the stranger done it? He swore to find out. One day he would.
****************************************************
Bruce Wayne, known as Thomas Gordon these days, stood in the dark, observing the scene playing out in front of him. Satisfied that his feelings about Miles had been right, that the former leader of the militia had finally come to his senses and posed no threat to Gotham Village anymore, he left his hiding place among the trees and prepared to sneak back the way he’d come.
How else was it to be explained that Miles Matheson, the Butcher of Baltimore, ran around the country with a girl half his age who trusted him with her life, a beautiful woman who seemed to be able to hold her own, and an overweight man whose looks just screamed “geek” at the world?
Snorting at the irony of it all, Bruce took off through the forest. He didn’t take more than a few steps when he remembered another night like this one about seven years ago. Back then, Bruce and Miles had run into each other for the first time, but Miles didn’t know it had been him, of course.
Miles and his militia men had visited a small village and asked for their harvest. Everything went smoothly, at least for the militia, until a small boy decided to stand up to one of the soldiers who was about to take their crop. A small scuffle broke out that only ended when the boy manouvered himself into a dead end.
Bruce had been cowering in the shadows, trying to see if the residents needed any help - medicines, food - when the soldiers first appeared. He’d decided to stay hidden because there was nothing one single man could do against such a huge force of militia men, not without endangering the civilians. But the soldier attacking a four- or five-year-old forced him into action. He needn’t have bothered, though. The moment he swooped down from the roof - not in full costume but wearing a mask, his cape and with only the most essential equipment from his Batman days hanging from his belt - Miles stepped in and rescued the boy. He knocked out his own soldier and sent the child home to his parents, warning him not to try anything like this ever again.
Only when the boy had gone did he turn to pay attention to the moving shadow in the corner of the alley they stood in. “And who might you be?” he asked scornfully. “Trying to be Batman or something?” He laughed, but it was a mirthless sound, grating and sad.
Bruce regarded him with pity the other man couldn’t see in the dark. “Or something,” he agreed in his most gravelly voice.
Miles was taken aback for a second, but then he drew his sword and knife, letting both blades dangle from his hands in a show of nonchalance. “I see. You’re not dead then.”
Batman didn’t reply.
“Care to come in quietly?” the militia man asked, but there was no real conviction behind his words, and they both knew it. Although Batman had lost most of his special equipment and cutting-edge technology after the blackout, his fighting skills were legendary.
Batman didn’t react. “You don’t have to do this,” he rasped instead. “This isn’t you.”
Miles looked at him quizzically, then he replied scathingly, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Batman bent down and picked up the discarded sword the over-eager soldier had dropped. “Don’t I? I’ve been watching you.”
He raised the weapon as if in salute, saying nothing else. Then he pulled out a grappling hook, aimed it at a rafter above, and vanished into the night.
He left behind a man who would turn his back on the militia not even three days later, finally listening to his conscience, which had been screaming at him ever since this whole mess started.
Bruce shook himself from his memories when he heard Miles turning back toward the clearing. Curious, he followed the former militia man and saw Miles entering the camp not far from him, startling Nora who had just begun to cook their dinner - canned tomato soup - on the fire.
She jumped up and looked at him in surprise. “What is it, Miles?” Her eyes immediately started scanning the tree line, looking for any sign of pursuers, but Miles raised a hand to reassure her.
“I know who he is,” he said, sounding surprised but also calm, curiously detached.
“Well?” Nora inquired when he fell silent again. “Who is he?”
“It’s hard to explain, but I think he used to be…Batman. No, Nora, I haven’t lost my mind.”
Her expression showed clearly that she wasn’t totally convinced.
“I did meet him, I just didn’t know it was the same guy. I ran into him a few days before I - we - left the militia. He took a sword from one of my men, the same sword the stranger back at the village held to Charlie’s throat. And his movements were the same, too. I just didn’t see it earlier today.”
Nora still looked dubious. “Are you sure?”
Miles huffed and started pacing. “Yes, I am. How many men are there in this world who would recognize me and not try to kill me, but give me another chance instead?”
Nora’s silence was answer enough. She knelt down and added a few more branches to the fire to keep the flames alive.
Miles suddenly stopped and put a hand to his sword hilt, scanning the surrounding area for movement or shadows that didn’t belong.
Bruce thought it over for a moment, safely hidden behind the stump of a huge oak tree. Then he took a step, purposely breaking a bone-dry stick in the process.
Miles’ eyes immediately snapped to where the cracking sound had come from. Nora, on the other side of the sizzling campfire, didn’t react.
The two men stared at each other, eerie mirror images with their hands on their swords, poised to draw their weapons in a split-second, both with dark hair and similarly intent eyes. Yet one was bathed in light from the fire while the other stood in the shadows, silent and watching.
Deliberately, Bruce raised his sword hand and let it hang by his side. Carefully, his gaze never leaving Miles’, he nodded once, got an acknowledging dip of the head in reply, and turned to go. Alfred and his friends were waiting for him at home.
Only time would tell what kind of man Miles Matheson really was. Batman’s job here was done.
This time, he didn’t look back.
The End