Batman: "Duty Calls" by briar_cat
Title: Duty Calls
Author: briar_cat
Fandom: Batman
Pairing/characters: Stephanie Brown ("Spoiler"), Poison Ivy
Rating: Oh, say PG to be safe
Disclaimer: None of the characters in this fic are mine, nor is any profit being made from their depictions.
Prompt: #39: Any comics fandom: Any character. When you're an LGBT superhero, you'd think it would be great learning that someone you know is also active in your local LGBT community -- only it's a supervillain.
Summary: Steph doesn't want to belong at this meeting.
Duty Calls
Steph is fidgeting.
It's just a meeting, Tim says in her head, backed up by the deep bass of his mentor. It would be good for one of us to be seen there. There's a new wave coming through Gotham. Coming out. It's not something Steph had really thought about, before now - coming out. She hadn't needed to. She hadn't thought she'd be the one bein sent to this meeting, this alliance of gay and straight superheroes, when Batman first told them about it. But everyone else is busy - and she's an obvious choice to represent the straight heroes. She's dating Tim, after all. The perfect couple. She can go there and smile - or maybe not smile, not that they'd see her smile anyway, but Batman would never smile and she's got to make it seem like Batman's emissary is in the room even if she really doesn't want to - go there, anyway, in her costume and her mask and just exist, in the meeting. She'd prefer not to wear the costume, but everyone else will be, and it's better not for her to be the odd one out. It's hard to argue with Batman when he lays down the law like that.
It's not that she doesn't love Tim. She does. It's not that she loves Cass, because she doesn't. They're friends, that's all, best friends, and adolescence is a time for confusion and experimentation, and she's had a confusing enough adolescence anyway, and it's hard enough without any more complication, and she can't tell anyone, anyone, that sometimes she wonders what it would be like to kiss Cass. Maybe someone there will understand what it's like, if she says anything. Maybe someone else can help her explain it all away. But that's not why she's going. She doesn't think about that kind of thing. She's the practical one, the one who thinks of what to do right here, right now. She wishes Tim had come, too. If he was here, her boyfriend, they'd look like any other couple. The odd ones out, maybe, but she doesn't want to fit in at this meeting.
It takes a long time before she can steel herself to go in, and by then they've already started. The hall is big and almost empty, as if a lot more people had been expected and not so many had turned up. There's about fifteen people, though, sitting in chairs in a circle. Steph has to choke back slightly hysterical laughter. It reminds her of the kind of Alcoholics Anonymous meetings you always see on TV comedies. There's an aura of nervousness in the room; some of the seated heroes and villains are fidgeting in their places. Among all the movement, her eyes are drawn to those who are still - a standing boy, talking quietly, resplendent in red and gold, and a woman Steph recognizes at once. She looks bored, lounging in her chair as though it's a throne. Her costume does not even try to hide her curves. Vines have wound their way up her leg, over her hip, snuggling around her shoulder and curling down her arm so that every now and then she can stroke them, idly. Her eyes are fixed on Steph, green as leaves, and her smile is unnerving. Poison Ivy. Femme fatale. Steph swallows, and chooses a chair as far away from the supervillain as she can manage. The legs scrape across the floor as she sits.
There's a lot of talking, and while Steph tries to listen, she's not really paying attention. Poison Ivy keeps watching her, and her eyes are hypnotic. When she catches Steph glancing at her she smiles, a slow seductive smile that makes Steph blush red and look away. She has never been so thankful for her mask and hood. She has never wished so much that her suit wasn't quite so tight. Poison Ivy's eyes travel up and down her body, as if there's no one else in the room, as if she's trying to work out the best way to undress her. Steph doesn't dare to look at her too often. She doesn't dare not to look, either. What might Poison Ivy do while she's not paying attention?
There is, eventually, applause. Steph joins in, a couple of beats too late. Poison Ivy doesn't clap at all. She holds up the vines, crooning to them, baby talk that Steph finds oddly fascinating. She's not alone. There are other women with their eyes fixed on Poison Ivy. Steph's suddenly, inexplicably, unfairly jealous. She thinks hard of Tim, trying to ignore the knotting tension in her stomach. She'll be home soon. The supervillain doesn't appear to notice anyone's stares. She looks up through her eyelashes as everyone starts to stand up, that slow smile curving her lips again. Steph can't look away from her. Behind the mask, she's biting her lip.
The boy in red and gold comes up to her, holding his hand out. She should recognize him, but she doesn't. Steph shakes his hand, smiles distractedly, remembers Batman wouldn't smile, and stops even though he can't see her face through the mask. 'It's so good to see you,' he's saying. 'Everyone here respects Batman so much, it's wonderful to have someone representing him - ' Not everyone, Steph wants to say. Poison Ivy's watching her, her head half-turned away but her eyes on Steph's face. Her smile is secretive, as if she knows something no one else does. Steph finds her cheeks heating again. There's no way to extricate herself until the boy's done talking. He's repeating himself, practically glowing with the joy of his success. No, he is glowing. Another boy glances their way and hurries over, tapping the boy on his shoulder and whispering something in his ear. He gives Steph an embarrassed smile as the red and gold boy squeezes her hand once more and finally leaves her alone.
The small crowd is dispersing. Steph breathes a sigh of relieg, pressure lifting off her. She's done it. Now she can go home, back to Tim, back to safety and a place where supervillains don't stare at you as though they'd like to eat you alive.
Soft fingers slide over her shoulder, dipping just a little under the costume covering her throat. Steph shivers, and turns to find Poison Ivy watching her. She can't stop the blush that rises like a tidal wave, hidden behind her mask. The supervillain smiles, her eyes locked onto Steph's, and she knows that Poison Ivy knows the real reason why she's come here. The corner of the woman's mouth quirks.
'Hello, little Bat.' Her voice is soft and husky and slides down Steph's spine like fur caressing her skin. Heat pools in her stomach. Poison Ivy pauses, her mouth half-open, her eyes dark with mischief. Steph shivers, as trapped as a mouse facing down a snake about to strike. But Poison Ivy doesn't strike, just tucks her fingers under the edge of the mask and tugs it up, gently, not far enough to take it off, not far enough to threaten Steph's identity. She brushes her thumb over Steph's mouth, her smile becoming a smirk when Steph's lips part at her touch. 'I think I'll be seeing you around,' she says, and there's an invitation in the words. The mask is let back down, gently. Steph stares as she turns and saunters out. As the last traces of the scent of roses fade, she shivers again. It's not from fear.
When she gets back to the Batcave, everyone wants to know how it went. Or at least they ask, when they remember, tearing themselves away from computers and machinery and gadgets. Steph shrugs, mutters 'it was all right.'
She doesn't say anything about Poison Ivy.
Author: briar_cat
Fandom: Batman
Pairing/characters: Stephanie Brown ("Spoiler"), Poison Ivy
Rating: Oh, say PG to be safe
Disclaimer: None of the characters in this fic are mine, nor is any profit being made from their depictions.
Prompt: #39: Any comics fandom: Any character. When you're an LGBT superhero, you'd think it would be great learning that someone you know is also active in your local LGBT community -- only it's a supervillain.
Summary: Steph doesn't want to belong at this meeting.
Duty Calls
Steph is fidgeting.
It's just a meeting, Tim says in her head, backed up by the deep bass of his mentor. It would be good for one of us to be seen there. There's a new wave coming through Gotham. Coming out. It's not something Steph had really thought about, before now - coming out. She hadn't needed to. She hadn't thought she'd be the one bein sent to this meeting, this alliance of gay and straight superheroes, when Batman first told them about it. But everyone else is busy - and she's an obvious choice to represent the straight heroes. She's dating Tim, after all. The perfect couple. She can go there and smile - or maybe not smile, not that they'd see her smile anyway, but Batman would never smile and she's got to make it seem like Batman's emissary is in the room even if she really doesn't want to - go there, anyway, in her costume and her mask and just exist, in the meeting. She'd prefer not to wear the costume, but everyone else will be, and it's better not for her to be the odd one out. It's hard to argue with Batman when he lays down the law like that.
It's not that she doesn't love Tim. She does. It's not that she loves Cass, because she doesn't. They're friends, that's all, best friends, and adolescence is a time for confusion and experimentation, and she's had a confusing enough adolescence anyway, and it's hard enough without any more complication, and she can't tell anyone, anyone, that sometimes she wonders what it would be like to kiss Cass. Maybe someone there will understand what it's like, if she says anything. Maybe someone else can help her explain it all away. But that's not why she's going. She doesn't think about that kind of thing. She's the practical one, the one who thinks of what to do right here, right now. She wishes Tim had come, too. If he was here, her boyfriend, they'd look like any other couple. The odd ones out, maybe, but she doesn't want to fit in at this meeting.
It takes a long time before she can steel herself to go in, and by then they've already started. The hall is big and almost empty, as if a lot more people had been expected and not so many had turned up. There's about fifteen people, though, sitting in chairs in a circle. Steph has to choke back slightly hysterical laughter. It reminds her of the kind of Alcoholics Anonymous meetings you always see on TV comedies. There's an aura of nervousness in the room; some of the seated heroes and villains are fidgeting in their places. Among all the movement, her eyes are drawn to those who are still - a standing boy, talking quietly, resplendent in red and gold, and a woman Steph recognizes at once. She looks bored, lounging in her chair as though it's a throne. Her costume does not even try to hide her curves. Vines have wound their way up her leg, over her hip, snuggling around her shoulder and curling down her arm so that every now and then she can stroke them, idly. Her eyes are fixed on Steph, green as leaves, and her smile is unnerving. Poison Ivy. Femme fatale. Steph swallows, and chooses a chair as far away from the supervillain as she can manage. The legs scrape across the floor as she sits.
There's a lot of talking, and while Steph tries to listen, she's not really paying attention. Poison Ivy keeps watching her, and her eyes are hypnotic. When she catches Steph glancing at her she smiles, a slow seductive smile that makes Steph blush red and look away. She has never been so thankful for her mask and hood. She has never wished so much that her suit wasn't quite so tight. Poison Ivy's eyes travel up and down her body, as if there's no one else in the room, as if she's trying to work out the best way to undress her. Steph doesn't dare to look at her too often. She doesn't dare not to look, either. What might Poison Ivy do while she's not paying attention?
There is, eventually, applause. Steph joins in, a couple of beats too late. Poison Ivy doesn't clap at all. She holds up the vines, crooning to them, baby talk that Steph finds oddly fascinating. She's not alone. There are other women with their eyes fixed on Poison Ivy. Steph's suddenly, inexplicably, unfairly jealous. She thinks hard of Tim, trying to ignore the knotting tension in her stomach. She'll be home soon. The supervillain doesn't appear to notice anyone's stares. She looks up through her eyelashes as everyone starts to stand up, that slow smile curving her lips again. Steph can't look away from her. Behind the mask, she's biting her lip.
The boy in red and gold comes up to her, holding his hand out. She should recognize him, but she doesn't. Steph shakes his hand, smiles distractedly, remembers Batman wouldn't smile, and stops even though he can't see her face through the mask. 'It's so good to see you,' he's saying. 'Everyone here respects Batman so much, it's wonderful to have someone representing him - ' Not everyone, Steph wants to say. Poison Ivy's watching her, her head half-turned away but her eyes on Steph's face. Her smile is secretive, as if she knows something no one else does. Steph finds her cheeks heating again. There's no way to extricate herself until the boy's done talking. He's repeating himself, practically glowing with the joy of his success. No, he is glowing. Another boy glances their way and hurries over, tapping the boy on his shoulder and whispering something in his ear. He gives Steph an embarrassed smile as the red and gold boy squeezes her hand once more and finally leaves her alone.
The small crowd is dispersing. Steph breathes a sigh of relieg, pressure lifting off her. She's done it. Now she can go home, back to Tim, back to safety and a place where supervillains don't stare at you as though they'd like to eat you alive.
Soft fingers slide over her shoulder, dipping just a little under the costume covering her throat. Steph shivers, and turns to find Poison Ivy watching her. She can't stop the blush that rises like a tidal wave, hidden behind her mask. The supervillain smiles, her eyes locked onto Steph's, and she knows that Poison Ivy knows the real reason why she's come here. The corner of the woman's mouth quirks.
'Hello, little Bat.' Her voice is soft and husky and slides down Steph's spine like fur caressing her skin. Heat pools in her stomach. Poison Ivy pauses, her mouth half-open, her eyes dark with mischief. Steph shivers, as trapped as a mouse facing down a snake about to strike. But Poison Ivy doesn't strike, just tucks her fingers under the edge of the mask and tugs it up, gently, not far enough to take it off, not far enough to threaten Steph's identity. She brushes her thumb over Steph's mouth, her smile becoming a smirk when Steph's lips part at her touch. 'I think I'll be seeing you around,' she says, and there's an invitation in the words. The mask is let back down, gently. Steph stares as she turns and saunters out. As the last traces of the scent of roses fade, she shivers again. It's not from fear.
When she gets back to the Batcave, everyone wants to know how it went. Or at least they ask, when they remember, tearing themselves away from computers and machinery and gadgets. Steph shrugs, mutters 'it was all right.'
She doesn't say anything about Poison Ivy.