Themes In The Key Of B

Chapter 1: Bad Weather

Chapter Summary

Chapter Notes

There are reports of a storm, tail end of a passing hurricane, that is due to hit Gotham in the next few days.

Bruce hears the about it while watching the news late one night, and he falls asleep on the couch as the weatherman drones on and on about cold fronts, the volume of the television turned down low.

He dreams of rain.

Bruce finds himself staring out the windows of Wayne Tower during the day. The storm has not come yet, and the sky is still light, a quiet sort of white-gray.

“Mr. Wayne?” one of the board members asks pointedly, at one of their many meetings, his fingers folded neatly on the polished wood of the table. He’s old, old enough to have remembered Bruce’s father and old enough to find Bruce lacking.

Bruce smiles his most vacant, charming smile and knows that whatever good will he may have garnered for putting Fox in charge is being squandered. “Sorry,” he says.

He doesn’t give a reason for his distraction. He’s sure they’ll be able to come up with one on their own.

Gliding becomes dangerous. All high winds and dark clouds. From one of Bruce’s perches on the tips of his city’s skyline, he can see the storm approaching in the distance.

A shiver of anticipation runs down his spine.

“Will you be going out tonight?” Alfred asks the first day it rains, concern clear in his voice. He still remains the master of the roundabout question, layers of meaning piling up. Are you going out into dangerous weather to get yourself nearly killed?

Bruce frowns and inspects one of the freshly shipped batarangs, testing for sharpness and balance. “Yes,” he says and turns away, so that he will not see the sadness and resignation just behind Alfred’s eyes.

The thug goes down with one elbow to the face as a crack of thunder sears across the night sky.

He finds himself waiting, standing over the fallen bodies, though he knows he shouldn’t be idling. In a flash of lightening, he sees the crumpled bodies around him and thinks of his parents, laid out on the dirty ground like this.

It makes him grit his teeth until his jaw throbs in pain.

The rain never seeps under his armor, but he’s still always wet with sweat when he comes back to the cave.

Tonight, he sits for a moment on one of the cave’s natural rock formations, cowl off, and watches as the water pours over the edge of the waterfall, as the suit sticks to his back, before going over the work bench to look over the maps of Gotham’s sewer systems one more time.

The sound of water is so loud he no longer hears the thunder outside.

He does not think of the storm when when he goes to work, except for when the wind blows the rain so hard the drops splatter loudly against the windows. The noise wakes him, once, when he is nearly about to fall asleep on his desk. He looks out the window and only sees a mass of swirling gray water.

When he does fall asleep, napping after reading half of the latest financial reports, he dreams of drowning.

It’s harder for him to patrol in the storm, since criminals don’t seem to like getting wet any more than regular citizens do, but he still makes the rounds.

He catches a car jacker on 35th, who looks terrified as the rain pours down his face like tears and swears up and down that he’ll never do it again. Batman lets him go with just a warning and a promise.

Later, he will wonder if he did the right thing.

The storm passes more quickly than it comes. The next morning, Bruce wakes to sunshine and the fresh, clean smell of wind. He gets out of bed carefully, so that the bruises on his ribs only make him slightly wince in pain. His mouth still slightly tastes of blood (busted lip yesterday, a punk got in a lucky punch) and sleep.

He pulls a robe on and walks over to the window, carpet soft under his feet. It’s a beautiful day, but as Bruce looks up into the bright, cloudless sky, he wishes it were raining.

Chapter 2: Unfamiliar Territory

Chapter Summary

Chapter Notes

You do not understand Gotham City. It is too big, too different for you to understand.

At the moment, you’re here on business, which makes it easier to bear, the strangeness of Gotham. They put you in a medium-sized hotel. Not ostentatious, but not crummy, either. All around you, skyscrapers spring up from the ground, reaching out to touch the sky. In the morning, it can be beautiful, the rising sun reflected off panes of glass. The sight is alien: new and unnatural in a way you can’t quite explain.

On the ground, it is similar. The crowds of people, the cars, the stores. It almost overwhelms you every moment you are out. You always wince at the word provincial but you can’t help but think of it when you walk around Gotham. You feel like the country bumpkin lost in the big city.

Maybe you are.

It is late, you think, and the clock on a nearby building (an office, you think, since it looks closed) confirms that it is one in the morning.

You also think that you may be lost, since all of the streets around you look alike. You think you’ve passed the same small grocery store three times already. It is surprisingly bright out, the street lights, car headlights, store lights all still on. It doesn’t help, however, with getting you back to the hotel.

A few people walk past you, always straightforward, always purposeful. They know where they’re going. You don’t.

It’s a wrong turn, somewhere, and you end up in an alley, with no idea of where to go. Dark garbage, a blank, brick wall blocking the way.

And then there’s something pressed against your back and a voice yelling at you to give them all your money.

You’re frozen on the spot, unsure of what to do. Well, you do know, but you’re so paralyzed by fear that your body refuses to do what you tell it to do.

He’s still yelling, snarling, and you finally manage to get your hand to your wallet to give to him, when there’s a thud and the pressure at your back is gone, and he’s shouting in surprise.

It takes you a few moments to realize that you can turn around now, and when you do, you can only see a black shape fighting your would-be mugger.

When the dust settles (rather quickly, you think, though time has taken on weird shapes), you finally get a clear look at your rescuer, and your mouth drops open in shock.

Batman.

You thought he wasn’t real, one of those things that the Enquirer loves to make up, but he stands in front of you, calm and cold. It’s hard to make out much of him besides his “ears”, his mouth, and his eyes; everything else is hidden in the shadows.

“Are you all right?” he asks, voice low and raspy.

You nod mutely, not sure what to say.

He turns to leave, but you manage to gather your wits. “Wait!” you call after him.

He waits.

“Um, do you know how to get to the Renaissance Hotel?” you ask, feeling very pathetic and very stupid.

He doesn’t laugh, doesn’t call you stupid, doesn’t leave you behind. “Go down twenty-fifth, and when you reach Park Avenue, take a right. It should only be a few blocks further down,” he says instead.

You start walking before you realize that you haven’t thanked him, and when you turn around, he’s already gone.

“Thank you,” you say anyway, to the night air. You mean it.

Even from an airplane, Gotham seems too big, too massive to ever be fully understood.

As you watch it shrink into the distance, sunset casting the entire city in an orange glow, you think that even though you do not understand it, you cannot wrap your mind around Gotham, maybe there is someone out there who can, who is willing to.

The thought makes you smile.