Chapter Text
Yelena Belova was drowning.
It felt like fire licked at her skin while she was held underwater. The scalding pain sheathed her skin, clawing and tearing at her, sinking bone-deep. But it wasn't water, she realized. It was too dense. Too murky. Her body was reacting to it like a poison, fatiguing her, leaving her limbs too heavy. She couldn't hold her breath, her lungs, and throat burning, and she knew she was too far under. She could hardly move at all.
It felt similar to regaining consciousness after heavy drugs were insinuated—something Yelena hadn't experienced since her days in the Red Room.
All at once, awareness crashed into her at the thought, and she began clawing her way out of the pit and onto solid ground. She could only manage to glance around and find that she was alone before she crawled up onto her hands and knees to cough up the remnants of what she'd just been in.
When she looked down, Yelena found herself staring at disgusting green sludge. More than that, it had a faint glow to it.
“Валовой,” gross, she muttered, coughing again. She then looked down at her ruined clothes. “Hey,” she scoffed, her accent a drawl on the word as she looked at the vile sludge like it had personally offended her. Which it had. “This was my third favorite uniform.” And it was tarnished. The white fabric was now embedded with the staining, revolting slime.
The uniform, she realized. She had been given a mission. She was going to the Alps. What was the mission? She couldn't remember. She couldn't remember anything from the last… What, a few hours? Days? How long was she in that… thing? Her eyes flickered over to the vat with disgust.
Her body still ached. Everything still burned. But it had lessened.
Yelena reached a hand to her throat, still feeling very much like she was being choked by the substance.
With a huff, she ignored the burn in her lungs as they expanded with oxygen and stood up, finding her balance. When she looked around, she found herself in a warehouse. The stranger part was that it was abandoned.
One glance back at the eerily glowing green vat had her muttering, “Неважно.” Doesn’t matter. The glowing stuff was weirder. Yelena scrunched her nose, still offended by the sludge and the experience it provided. “Это был бы не крутой способ умереть.” It wouldn’t be a cool way to die.
The warehouse was dimly lit, a few bulbs flickering along the walls, leaving the rest enshrouded in shadows. She knew she couldn't afford to stay here, without knowing how she got wherever she was in the first place. She moved further into the darkness, feeling along the wall as she moved, eyes examining the wide building for exits. There were a few windows, near the two-story roofline. There were a few skylights, telling her the sun had far since set. Her hand fell to her belt, to where her Widow's Line grappling hook was—but found nothing. She paused, looking down again.
“блять!” Fuck! Yelena scoffed quietly. The noticed absence of her grappling hook had her patting herself down, and finding herself… weaponless. Her favorite knives were nowhere to be found. Her Glock 26 wasn't strapped to her thigh, and her bō staff was gone. None of the many, many hidden weapons were on her. Not even in her boots. “Если бы я не отдалА жилетку Наталье…” If I had not given the vest to Natalia…
With a huff, she moved along the wall. When she reached a door, and slipped out, she wished she had her gun in hand. She kept firmly to the shadows, her breath even as she listened to distant sirens. She was in a city. Skyscrapers loomed in the distance, lights breaking through the thick fog. Further than that, a skylight shone on the clouds near the center of the city. It was a signal, she gathered. But she couldn’t make it out from here—it couldn’t have actually been a weird, bat-shape. It must’ve been something cooler.
Where she stood, however, was a street filled with empty-looking buildings and flickering light posts. Did the city not bother to pay for any working light bulbs? Apparently, everything went to the fancy looking signal.
The air was heavy with moisture and smog. Her senses were overwhelmed with the scent of rain and smoke. The air tasted of something metallic. Iron. Blood . She wondered, distantly, that if it rained, the raindrops would be crimson and sticky.
There was a crunch from the alley to her left. She pressed her back to the wall, disappearing deeper into the shadows as a man stumbled out, muttering to himself about being quiet before yelling, to himself, about being too loud. Drunk enough to put Alexei to shame. He then turned, wildly, unsteadily, staring into the shadows near where Yelena was hidden.
“Bats!” He whispered frantically to himself, turning again, his weight heaving him to one side as he dizzied himself. “The bats are here!” She watched as a patrol car turned onto the road, pulling to a stop near the man. The heavyset cop jerked him towards the car.
“It’s past curfew.” The cop barked, pulling out his baton.
“The bats are here!” The man repeated, bringing the hand the cop was trying to cuff to his bearded lips, “Shh, they’ll hear you!”
The officer scoffed, ramming the baton into the man’s back. “Get in the damn car,” he ordered, shoving the drunken man inside. Her gaze briefly caught onto the city name on the door. GCPD , Gotham City Police Department. The license plate read New Jersey.
She was already out of sight when the cop car started down the road again, slipping into the alley. “Это явно выдуманное имя.” It’s clearly a made up name. She muttered to herself, shaking her head. “Это омерзительно.” It’s disgusting.
“Y’know, you’re giving me a run for my money on my Russian, but this is Gotham.” A voice from somewhere behind her said. She wasn’t surprised to hear the voice—she’d heard the steps. As quiet as they were. “You must be a tourist, yeah? We don’t get a lot of those.”
“Was the city name chosen before or after the depression set in?” Yelena absently wished for her knives.
“Actually, believe it or not, it was because of how gothic the city was.” He quipped back. “Now, I feel it’s my duty to welcome you to our humble city,” the man said, spreading out his arms. “Welcome to Gotham, the city of taxes, curfews, and crime. In which staying out late is asking for trouble.”
“Ha,” she said flatly. “Funny. You… you are the bat he was talking about, yes?” She tilted her head, taking in the bluebird that stretched across his chest and shoulders. The rest of his suit was armor and… spandex. He wore a mask, which did very little to hide his face, only concealing the area around his eyes. And a utility belt. Useful. She nodded towards the symbol on his chest. “I can see how that would get misinterpreted, little… маленькая синяя птица.” Little bluebird. The edge of her lips tugged up slightly.
He sighed tiredly. “How many times do I have to tell people I’m not Batman? I don’t even look like him—I’m not even that old .” He shook his head, adding under his breath, “Sau fără umor.” Or humorless.
She had no idea who this Batman was—the name was not cool at all—but she gaped openly anyway. “You are not the Batman? This is most disappointing, I cannot even express it.”
He inhaled deeply, as if expecting the air to bring patience, but she continued before he could get a word in. “Mother Russia would never accept this. Вы очень разочаровываете.” You are very disappointing. She jeered, tilting her chin up.
He dropped his head in a sigh. “Well, Gotham does live to disappoint.”
“It seems you have that in common with it.”
“And here I thought I could take you wherever you needed to go…” he whistled lowly. Clearly, he expected this tactic to work, and for her to give into his offer. If she did that, however, it would take away the fun, and grant him the knowledge that she didn’t have identification, nor did she—legally—have somewhere to stay. All of which were annoying. He was already eyeing her ruined uniform. She didn’t need more questions.
“If you are not the Batman, I have no use for you.” She shrugged. “Besides, I know my own way, little bluebird. The only thing I need from you is to know where the nearest library is.”
He raised a brow beneath his mask, deadpanning. “It’s three am. Curfew was hours ago. Nothing is open, Anastasia.”
“For tomorrow.” She waved a hand. “Besides, why can you stay out past curfew, hm?”
He closed his eyes tiredly and blew out a breath. “Gotham Public is in the Diamond District. Now, where are you staying? I’ll take you there.”
Yelena’s lips ticked up in amusement as she shook her head.
He looked down at a screen on his wrist. “Listen–” when he glanced up again, she was gone. He gawked at her disappearance, grumbling under his breath, “Rușii.” Russians. Then, with a sigh, he touched his earpiece. “Oracle, you there?”
“Always,” the smooth voice replied.
Yelea’s amused grin stayed as she moved down the street, staying in the shadows.
Whatever side of Gotham City she was on—near a shipping port, she noted—had an abundance of empty and thoroughly abandoned buildings. Closest to the water were warehouses, similar, if not identical, to where she’d woken up. Further down the road, in the direction she was heading, were office buildings with boarded up, if not broken, windows.
As Yelena kept watch of her surroundings, she kicked in one of the boarded up windows with ease, before slipping inside. She carefully placed the board back, before looking through the empty floor of the twelve-story office building.
Moving past the abandoned lobby, past another set of doors, she saw the elevator—which she wasn’t going to test out—and the door leading to the stairs. Even with no one around to hear it, she carefully and quietly slid the door shut and made her way up to the last floor in silence.
When she found herself standing in the unfinished, empty office floor, she tilted her head. Everything was covered in plastic sheets. But, it was intact. There was a draft of cool air filtering through the windows on the North-facing side, but with some plastic coverings from the uncompleted office stations, it was held at bay. While she was at it, she layered the floor near the entrances—from the stairwell door, the elevators, to even the windows—with the sheets.
The light from the city managed to filter through, giving her glances of light that enabled her to poke around and find a few items of use, including a utility closet that didn’t overflow with supplies. She’d slept in worse, at least. She took some unused plastic wrapping and moved into the closest that, thankfully, wasn’t too cramped.
There wasn’t any heat, per se, but the enclosed space kept the building’s air, which was hardly better than the outdoors, away. She wrapped herself in the plastic, and just barely kept the door ajar with the end of a broom. At least, she would hear if anyone entered—the plastic made enough noise for that.
She listened as thunder fractured the atmosphere in the distance, the slow, constant rumbling she’d been hearing now a slow, constant, heavy rainfall that echoed through the building.
Yelena fell asleep to the sound of thunder, and her own breathing.