Fic: (Un)Safe | DCU | Bruce, Steph, 2 surprise characters | PG-13 | 1/1
Title: (Un)Safe
Fandom: DCU
Characters: Bruce, Steph, 2 surprise characters
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,250
Prompt: For hc_bingo: Minor Illness: Cold, Allergies, etc; For au_bingo: Alternate History: Personal Life Changed; For kissbingo: Time: Young
Summary: The girl's eyes are darker than Bruce expected.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything. The schmucks!
Author's Notes: Eleventh in the (Un)Familiar-verse; follows (Un)Resolved. And I've finally done it, I've finally written Steph, the one Bat I've resisted for so long. XD
(Un)Safe
The girl's eyes are darker than Bruce expected.
Not in color, they're actually a pale blue, but... he's seen it too many times to not recognize it. It's as if the youth and light has gone out of them, and all that's left is a shell that passes for a living person, all hard anger and bitter disappointment on a face crossed by old, faded bruises and scars from near-misses-or possibly abuse?
But her seemingly dead eyes flick just the barest fraction of a centimeter to the left, and suddenly Bruce realizes there's more there than just a body running on rage and fumes, more than a heart fueled by the same sense of vengeance and broken spirit that brings out most of Gotham's costumed crazies. He knows it was a mistake to track her back here, when he hears the quiet rustle and whine of a restlessly sleeping child coming from inside the apartment.
Releasing the girl in the purple spandex-not a single piece of real armor in her cobbled-together costume, what has she been thinking?-he backs off, tries to melt into the shadows of the fire escape as his last question to her bounces around inside his head.
Who the hell are you?
But the girl doesn't move, doesn't even try to fix her hooded mask back into place from where he'd yanked it back and off when he caught up with her, only cants her head in silent warning, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulders.
“Go,” he barks at her then, wishing he'd just let her be, instead of following the girl he'd found finishing off a bunch of thugs with no backup.
When she still doesn't move, tensed again and ready to fight him to the death as what seemed once like fear has morphed to rock-solid determination, Bruce scowls from the shadows.
That clinches it.
She isn't the stupid, reckless little girl he'd assumed her to be at first, despite looking no older than sixteen, maybe younger. She's a mother, ready and willing to defend her child and their home from any threat.
Even so, and even being tough as nails and damn good at the job, she sure as hell doesn't belong out here, trying to raise a child in the worst, broken-down neighborhood in Gotham, the one place that even the Joker won't touch. She needs security. She needs armor and proper equipment.
At the very least, Bruce can give her a fighting chance, just as he gave Jason and Tim, and Dick, so long ago.
And any complaint from Alfred will just have to be noted and ignored; the girl and her child will be safe at the Manor, especially now that Tim and Jason have cooled off from their feud, and maybe the lingering tension and guilt in the house will dissolve with new people around. It won't be easy, but it will certainly be better than the first few weeks after Tim came home with them.
Reaching up as he steps forward from the shadows then, he does the unthinkable, knowing a gesture of good faith is the only way to gain her trust, even if he would never do this otherwise, and slowly pulls his own cowl down. “You don't have to stay here,” he says, dropping the graveled voice of the Bat. “What's your name?”
At last, the girl relaxes marginally, standing just a little straighter from her fighting stance. “What's yours?” she demands, tones clipped and defiant.
Bruce can't help a small chuckle, his lips curling up slightly in amusement; of course she probably hasn't seen his face in the media, living in this sector, living this life. “Bruce Wayne,” he answers.
The girl's eyes narrow for a second, before she raises an eyebrow and purses her lips at him. Then again, maybe she's at least heard of him.
“Stephanie,” she says, pausing and huffing out a breath. “Brown.”
“Stephanie,” he repeats. “I apologize for chasing you.”
Scrutinizing him with her hard gaze for just a moment, she nods, “Good.” Then, “What did you mean, that I don't have to stay here?”
“In Crime Alley. It isn't safe for your child here. You can come back to Bristol with me, both of you, and stay as long as you like. I can build you a better costume, provide equipment... and you can join my team, if you want to.” Somehow, the invitation feels like personal redemption, like he's repairing damage done in another lifetime, and a sense of relief washes over him for it. This is right, possibly more so than when he took Jason in.
Eyes widening at the offer, the girl's face shows every bit of her shock and disbelief as-
A sudden piercing wail from inside the apartment carries out to them, Stephanie's child-Bruce realizes it can't be more than an infant-waking up and letting the whole building know it. The girl climbs in through the window in a flash, maternal speed carrying her to the source of the cries, and when Bruce gets to the window behind her, she's already lifting the baby from its crib, blanket and all, soothing it with a low, melodic murmur and quick kisses to the top of its head, nuzzling it close.
The baby's wailing sounds pained to Bruce, and he thinks that if there was light in the room beyond what little shines in from the street, the bare bulb on the ceiling shattered, he'd see the flush of fever on its face. Clearly, the infant needs medical attention, possibly antibiotics.
“If he's sick, I can help, you know,” he says quietly from his place on the fire escape, noting silently how bare the room is, with nothing more than a crib and a makeshift changing table, a few stuffed animals strewn across the torn carpet, and an old mattress on the floor with a few blankets and pillows. Stephanie and her baby deserve better than this. This whole neighborhood deserves better than this, but he can make a difference for these two, at least.
The girl studies him for a moment, still cradling her infant close and nuzzling its head, then whispers harshly, “She has an ear infection.”
Bruce can't help the little lift of one corner of his mouth. “I stand corrected. And I can still help.” By now, the baby's cries have quieted to gurgling whimpers of general discontent, and Bruce asks, “Will you come?” He knows the offer sounds crazy, and she'd be smart to turn him down, but he holds onto hope that she's willing to accept the risk, for the sake of her daughter's health, if nothing else. Still.... “I give you my word that you'll both be very well taken care of, and I ask absolutely nothing in return.”
Looking uncertain as she gently sways with the baby, she glances at the shadowed open doorway leading to the rest of the apartment, where Bruce realizes another figure has been standing, silent, for some time, a fresh bottle of formula in her hand. It's another girl about the same age, with cropped black hair and olive skin, clad in only a gray t-shirt and shorts, her whole body seeming tensed for a fight.
“What about Cass?” Stephanie asks then.
With just a second of hesitation and a twitch of the muscle in his cheek as he silently berates himself for not seeing the girl in the doorway earlier-she could be a good asset for the team, and she's clearly a part of this little family, so what's one more?-Bruce nods.
And Stephanie's eyes don't seem so dark anymore.
~*~*~*~
Fandom: DCU
Characters: Bruce, Steph, 2 surprise characters
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,250
Prompt: For hc_bingo: Minor Illness: Cold, Allergies, etc; For au_bingo: Alternate History: Personal Life Changed; For kissbingo: Time: Young
Summary: The girl's eyes are darker than Bruce expected.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything. The schmucks!
Author's Notes: Eleventh in the (Un)Familiar-verse; follows (Un)Resolved. And I've finally done it, I've finally written Steph, the one Bat I've resisted for so long. XD
(Un)Safe
The girl's eyes are darker than Bruce expected.
Not in color, they're actually a pale blue, but... he's seen it too many times to not recognize it. It's as if the youth and light has gone out of them, and all that's left is a shell that passes for a living person, all hard anger and bitter disappointment on a face crossed by old, faded bruises and scars from near-misses-or possibly abuse?
But her seemingly dead eyes flick just the barest fraction of a centimeter to the left, and suddenly Bruce realizes there's more there than just a body running on rage and fumes, more than a heart fueled by the same sense of vengeance and broken spirit that brings out most of Gotham's costumed crazies. He knows it was a mistake to track her back here, when he hears the quiet rustle and whine of a restlessly sleeping child coming from inside the apartment.
Releasing the girl in the purple spandex-not a single piece of real armor in her cobbled-together costume, what has she been thinking?-he backs off, tries to melt into the shadows of the fire escape as his last question to her bounces around inside his head.
Who the hell are you?
But the girl doesn't move, doesn't even try to fix her hooded mask back into place from where he'd yanked it back and off when he caught up with her, only cants her head in silent warning, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulders.
“Go,” he barks at her then, wishing he'd just let her be, instead of following the girl he'd found finishing off a bunch of thugs with no backup.
When she still doesn't move, tensed again and ready to fight him to the death as what seemed once like fear has morphed to rock-solid determination, Bruce scowls from the shadows.
That clinches it.
She isn't the stupid, reckless little girl he'd assumed her to be at first, despite looking no older than sixteen, maybe younger. She's a mother, ready and willing to defend her child and their home from any threat.
Even so, and even being tough as nails and damn good at the job, she sure as hell doesn't belong out here, trying to raise a child in the worst, broken-down neighborhood in Gotham, the one place that even the Joker won't touch. She needs security. She needs armor and proper equipment.
At the very least, Bruce can give her a fighting chance, just as he gave Jason and Tim, and Dick, so long ago.
And any complaint from Alfred will just have to be noted and ignored; the girl and her child will be safe at the Manor, especially now that Tim and Jason have cooled off from their feud, and maybe the lingering tension and guilt in the house will dissolve with new people around. It won't be easy, but it will certainly be better than the first few weeks after Tim came home with them.
Reaching up as he steps forward from the shadows then, he does the unthinkable, knowing a gesture of good faith is the only way to gain her trust, even if he would never do this otherwise, and slowly pulls his own cowl down. “You don't have to stay here,” he says, dropping the graveled voice of the Bat. “What's your name?”
At last, the girl relaxes marginally, standing just a little straighter from her fighting stance. “What's yours?” she demands, tones clipped and defiant.
Bruce can't help a small chuckle, his lips curling up slightly in amusement; of course she probably hasn't seen his face in the media, living in this sector, living this life. “Bruce Wayne,” he answers.
The girl's eyes narrow for a second, before she raises an eyebrow and purses her lips at him. Then again, maybe she's at least heard of him.
“Stephanie,” she says, pausing and huffing out a breath. “Brown.”
“Stephanie,” he repeats. “I apologize for chasing you.”
Scrutinizing him with her hard gaze for just a moment, she nods, “Good.” Then, “What did you mean, that I don't have to stay here?”
“In Crime Alley. It isn't safe for your child here. You can come back to Bristol with me, both of you, and stay as long as you like. I can build you a better costume, provide equipment... and you can join my team, if you want to.” Somehow, the invitation feels like personal redemption, like he's repairing damage done in another lifetime, and a sense of relief washes over him for it. This is right, possibly more so than when he took Jason in.
Eyes widening at the offer, the girl's face shows every bit of her shock and disbelief as-
A sudden piercing wail from inside the apartment carries out to them, Stephanie's child-Bruce realizes it can't be more than an infant-waking up and letting the whole building know it. The girl climbs in through the window in a flash, maternal speed carrying her to the source of the cries, and when Bruce gets to the window behind her, she's already lifting the baby from its crib, blanket and all, soothing it with a low, melodic murmur and quick kisses to the top of its head, nuzzling it close.
The baby's wailing sounds pained to Bruce, and he thinks that if there was light in the room beyond what little shines in from the street, the bare bulb on the ceiling shattered, he'd see the flush of fever on its face. Clearly, the infant needs medical attention, possibly antibiotics.
“If he's sick, I can help, you know,” he says quietly from his place on the fire escape, noting silently how bare the room is, with nothing more than a crib and a makeshift changing table, a few stuffed animals strewn across the torn carpet, and an old mattress on the floor with a few blankets and pillows. Stephanie and her baby deserve better than this. This whole neighborhood deserves better than this, but he can make a difference for these two, at least.
The girl studies him for a moment, still cradling her infant close and nuzzling its head, then whispers harshly, “She has an ear infection.”
Bruce can't help the little lift of one corner of his mouth. “I stand corrected. And I can still help.” By now, the baby's cries have quieted to gurgling whimpers of general discontent, and Bruce asks, “Will you come?” He knows the offer sounds crazy, and she'd be smart to turn him down, but he holds onto hope that she's willing to accept the risk, for the sake of her daughter's health, if nothing else. Still.... “I give you my word that you'll both be very well taken care of, and I ask absolutely nothing in return.”
Looking uncertain as she gently sways with the baby, she glances at the shadowed open doorway leading to the rest of the apartment, where Bruce realizes another figure has been standing, silent, for some time, a fresh bottle of formula in her hand. It's another girl about the same age, with cropped black hair and olive skin, clad in only a gray t-shirt and shorts, her whole body seeming tensed for a fight.
“What about Cass?” Stephanie asks then.
With just a second of hesitation and a twitch of the muscle in his cheek as he silently berates himself for not seeing the girl in the doorway earlier-she could be a good asset for the team, and she's clearly a part of this little family, so what's one more?-Bruce nods.
And Stephanie's eyes don't seem so dark anymore.
~*~*~*~