Work Text:
To the Batman
Bruce opened the red envelope Jim Gordon handed over to him, he extracted the card placed inside.
It was a pretty card, with a thick paper and a neat colouring: not a cheap letter you send to distant cousins you haven't seen in ages, rather the kind you reserve for beloved, close relatives. An image of the Cheshire cat was portrayed on the first page, its large smile glowing like a crescent of the moon, striking in comparison to the rest of the mainly blue and purple creature dancing over a dark background.
On the inside of the card were inscribed two simple sentences, the first in a bold emerald green ink at the center:
You're welcome
The second equally green phrase was scribbled on the lower right corner, almost a last-time message added in a rush:
PS: I love pumpkin pie.
A line of numbers followed the specific pastry designation.
"It's from our informer," his partner clarified, then revealed they received another call on the morning.
Yesterday evening, they successfully arrested a group of shooters dressed with loose military green clothing and the most ridiculous masks the GCPD ever saw from low-ranked thugs, what could have honestly been crafted straight out of a solid plastic trash bag.
Bella Réal won the elections with a feeble gap of points. Both her and her adversary, the former Mayor Don Mitchell, had to evacuate in emergency when a militia attacked the Square... an intervention that was quickly handled by the police force plus Batman before it caused damages.
"Technically speaking, he saved the elections," Gordon mentioned casually. "Probably a part of the town from getting flooded, too. Nothing proves we wouldn't have found these vans filled with explosives by another mean, but thanks to him, we can claim we prevented a disaster."
"Him?" The Bat repeated, turning the fancy card between his gloved fingers to eye its every angles in order to hopefully catch supplementary clues about their faceless ally.
"There's nothing to actually prove it," the cop conceded. "Statistically speaking though, both murderers and undercover agents are more often men than women. Moreover... I don't know, call that instinct from a former solider of the US Army: I believe this man is a wild card that must be watched over but that at the same time, he sincerely tried his best to help. Intriguing fellow, to say the least."
Visibly, their mysterious informer has grown into Jim's esteem.
This sufficed for Vengeance to answer the stranger's demand: the numbers he indicated are geographic coordinates located in town and a precise hour plus day of the week.
Without a doubt, their caller wants to meet the Batman.
"It's alright! Just don't screw it up," Stephanie smirked three days later, when Edward apologized not to spend the evening with his two little guests.
"Yeah," Jason reinforced, a mischievous grin on his lips. "Ya won't have another occasion ta make a good first impression!"
Eddie tried (and failed) to evacuate the tension bulging in his organism.
He crossed the line: he... officially asked Vengeance out. Whereas it doesn't match his initial design, this is even better. He will see him outside, like pen pals who finally meet in real at a café, instead of their first face-to-face encounter occurring at Arkham Asylum like what would have happened if he stuck to his original scheme.
The first version of his plan seemed... distant, in his head, what may appear a tad paradoxical given the fact it should have taken place over the past days. It resembled the vague memory you keep of an unpleasant dream after waking up sweating and uncomfortable in your bed. You need an instant to remember where you are, to identify where your profund sense of malaise comes from. Then you realize your brain barely saved a blurry vision of a disagreeable scene that polluted your subconscious and forbade you from enjoying a restful slumber.
Eventually you get up, sometimes you splash cold tap water on your face to get rid of the nasty feeling.
Afterwards you go on, either with your night if it's too soon to properly start a morning routine, or with your day by having an improvised early breakfast.
This is... all Edward remembered from the Riddler: an unpleasant dream, no more than an aborted mistake that would have ruined his life. Just like a nightmare, it suffered no consequences and vanished in his mind, faded like a dense mist frayed after dawn by the rising sun above a natural landscape.
He left what he could have done behind.
Now it's time for him to become who he wants to be.
That brighter, new future ahead of him starts by meeting the Batman.