Chapter Text
The fire cannot touch me,
for I have burned one too many times.
The sea cannot harm me,
For I have been drowning all my life.
Oh, but you could rip my heart open…
For I have never known love before.
- R. | ASTHRERIA
Tricorner Island– February 13 th, 3:45 am
Everyone said he was the real villain.
Reporters claimed Batman was a cancer upon Gotham. The crime rate was higher than ever in the city ever since the flood. The flood he reportedly caused. He created far more fear than he quelled, they said. He wasn't the hero the people so desperately wanted him to be.
But Evelyn never saw it like that.
Batman was a savior.
He was the one thing keeping Gotham from crumbling to the ground. Even the GCPD couldn't stop the rising crime rate- not that they tried all too hard to do so. Batman had been a looming presence ever since Evelyn moved to Jersey. He'd always been behind the scenes; keeping the city safe. In a way, that meant she was safe too.
But that didn’t mean she liked walking alone at night- especially in a downpour like the one that cold winter.
Soaked to the bone, Evelyn hurried down the dimly lit streets of Tricorner Island, an expert at hiding in the shadows and keeping her steps silent. Years of training made her paranoid about what could be hiding around every corner. Her keys were kept tightly tucked between each finger; in her opposite fist, a can of pepper spray where her finger lay on the trigger.
The buses had stopped running hours before she clocked out for the night. And if the taxis weren’t so insanely overpriced, she might have hailed one a few miles back. But with a mere eighteen dollars to her name, Evelyn braved the rain and trekked the two hours home.
The knot between her shoulders eased as the awning of her apartment building broke through the sheets of rain. All she wanted was to curl up with her quilt and a nice, warm bowl of canned soup. But she paused, her sneakers squeaking to a stop.
A child sat curled into the fetal position as if to shield himself from the rain leaking through the fabric awning.
She knew better. She knew how common of a trap this was; leaving a helpless child in the street for some Good-Samaritan to tend to, only for them to end up bloodied and beaten in an alley. Her hand flew to her hip before she could take a moment to think. Her fingers grasped for a gun that no longer lived on her person.
Through a shaky breath she steadied herself. She wasn’t on tour anymore. She was safe. Relatively safe.
She sighed, her lungs tight as if they’d just run a marathon without the rest of her. She continued her way home, only passing a fleeting glance at the child on the floor. Her chest tightened even more at familiar black curls dangling from the hood.
“Tiago?”
The child perked up, scrambling to his feet with a toothy grin. Well, mostly toothy. He’d lost the front two a few days before, leaving the boy with a gap and a lisp. It never stopped him from babbling on in Portuguese every chance he got; whether she understood him or not.
“Eva!” Tiago wrapped Evelyn’s legs in a crushing embrace for an eight-year-old. She embraced him best she could, her head on a swivel. No one lurking in the shadows. No one was waiting for her to let her guard down. Safe…
“Eva! Venha rápido! Ele precisa da sua ajuda!” Tiago grasped her jacket sleeve, almost yanking her arm out of its socket.
“Tio- Hold on!”
But Tiago never let up. They turned sharply down the alley beside their building- the kind with barely enough room for the fire escape and a dumpster to fit yet people still park their cars as if it weren’t a hindrance. He kept her sleeve balled in his fist, babbling just low enough the rain washed his words away.
Towards the end of the alley, he broke away just to scramble forward and hang on the rusting edge of the dumpster. He waved for Evelyn to join him, a giddy and gap-tooth grin plastered on his face.
“What the hell am I doing?” Evelyn mumbled to herself as she stalked closer towards the dumpster, lid slightly ajar. Bracing herself for the stench, she lifted the lid tenitavly. Holding her jacket sleeve over her nose she peered in only to find a mass of wet, black trash bags and a box or two soaked through and tucked in the back. Nothing new...
But one thing caught her attention. A copper taste on her tongue. The smell of trash tasted funny, sure. But not like this.
She fumbled to unzip her jacket, pulling the flashlight from the pocket of her scrubs. The light was dim, but just enough for Evelyn to see blood. Far too much blood.
A gasping sound could be heard in rhythm with the downpour, and Evelyn’s grip on her flashlight went limp.
“Shit!”
Evelyn dove in practically head-first; fumbling for anything to grab in the pitch black. Cool metal and leather were slick with blood and rain, her fingertips slipping around until they could find any traction. She hooked her arms beneath the limp figure’s armpits and lifted them out, straining her jaw as she struggled with the weight on her own.
She laid them on the ground, watching the figure yet again begin to blend in against the asphalt. She felt along the minimally exposed flesh, unable to tell their pulse from her own. Shuttered breaths escaped the body as soon as her cold fingers found clearance upon the soft skin beneath their ear.
Evelyn sighed in relief. They were alive at least.
Tiago tugged at her hood before she could celebrate. Evelyn squinted up at the boy, rain dripping from her eyelashes. He was beaming excitedly down at the body.
“É ele,” Tiago whispered excitedly as he pointed to the pointed tips on the man’s cowl, “Batman, pois não?”
Somehow she hadn’t noticed before, but once he had said it, it was obvious. The bat emblem on his chest gleaned silver in the lights of a passing car, standing out just as Gordon’s spotlight did against the night sky.
“Pois não,” Evelyn parrots, her words not nearly as excitable as her companions.
Anyone could be hiding in the shadows.
Anyone could be watching them.
Trap , her instincts screamed. Trap, trap, trap.
Swiftly, she stood and hooked her arms under Batman's shoulders. With some help from Tiago -and coaxing of what Evelyn now realized was armor- she carried her new patient on her shoulders in a fireman's carry. Confidently, she found her way back to the front of the apartment building with Tiago just a step behind her. Passerby's wouldn't be a problem they knew. No one called the police in this neighborhood unless there was a shooting, and sometimes not even then.
She shuffled into the building doors, thankful no one was lurking inside. Tiago hurried to the elevator and threw open the grated door. Evelyn hated the thing- being built in the twenties and just barely passing inspection. But she knew ascending three flights of stairs would perhaps kill the three of them. Tiago -ever the gentleman- closed the gate behind Evelyn and pressed the button for their floor.
The metal beneath them groaned at the weight, and she sent up a prayer that the box wouldn’t drop all three of them into the abyss. What a way to go, Batman...
Mr. Matos stood at the elevator door, arms and face crossed. He was a rather large and gruff Brazilian man; intimidation incarnate. Even in just his pajama pants, Evelyn felt a pang of fear in her chest. He threw open the door with a large CLANG before the elevator officially made its stop. But whatever anger had been there before faded at the sight.
“Eve?” Mr. Matos warily asked with a raise of his brow and the gruff of his voice, “What do you think you’re doing?”
“He’s hurt.”
Those were the only words Mr. Matos needed. He hurried his son toward their apartment at the end of the hall, Evelyn trudging behind them. Mr. Matos had already opened her door when she arrived, barking orders to his son.
“My first aid kit is under the sink,” Evelyn breathlessly said. She set the Caped Crusader down carefully on her dining room table before slumping into one of the seats herself. She shrugged off her jacket, her navy scrubs still clinging to the skin where the rain had not been kind. Mr. Matos came to her side, first aid kit open and ready. Tiago had already brought over every towel she owned.
“Are you sure you can do this?” Mr. Matos eyed his neighbor warily. She only nodded in return and stood to be at her patient's side.
“Yes.” Shakily, Evelyn pulled on her gloves and nodded for Mr. Matos to do the same. Then her sole attention was turned to the man on her table.
She assessed as much of his injuries as she could around his armored suit. The bleeding at his shoulder and his side were from stab wounds she was sure would need sutures. She carefully pulled off his cowl, feeling around the back of his head for open wounds.
"You lucky son of a bitch..." She sighed in relief as she only found a fresh but mild burn on his neck. “You’ve got a guardian angel on your side.”
With the help of the Matos boys, Evelyn was able to shred every piece of armor he wore -decency be damned. The bleeding at his shoulder wasn’t easily stopped, causing a fleury of curses to fall from her lips. Mr. Matos only told his son not to repeat a thing she said.
“He needs stitches…” Evelyn sighed. “Quite a few actually.”
“You think you can do it?” Mr. Matos asked with raised brows.
“I don’t do stitches on the living in my line of work,” she quipped. “Not like he’ll complain.”
Soon, she began making slow, steady work along the wound- eight stitches in total. It hadn’t pierced deep enough to harm much more than the muscle. From the looks of him, Evelyn assumed he got hurt like this often. Must come with the job, she assumed.
She stepped back as soon as she was finished, watching Mr. Matos methodically clean the wounds.
“Tio,” Evelyn whispered between gasps of breath, “Bottom drawer of my dresser, there’s uh- moletom and a uh… camisa . Grab those for me, please.”
Tiago did so without question, coming back with clothing in hand. Mr. Matos was quick to clothe the man on the table, letting Evelyn catch her breath. Once decent again, the adults moved the limp figure to the mattress on the floor.
And there they let him be.
Tricorner Island– February 13 th, 1:27 PM
Pain roared in Bruce’s head.
His skull felt ready to burst open.
What the hell happened?
He snapped his eyes open at the sound of barely-there footsteps pacing the floor. His vision blurred. The room was completely dark save for what light escaped from the curtain.
He struggled to sit up, his brain feeling as if it was sloshing in his skull. A low moan of pain left his lips as he held his head in his hand, willing the pressure away. Soft shushing eased the ache in his skull briefly. A gentle hand laid on his back, the thumb rubbing in soft circles.
"Hey…" a voice whispered, soft and silken. "Glad to see you're up. Are you nauseous?"
Bruce shook his head slightly. Another hand came to his chest, laying him back again. A rattle was enough noise for him to squeeze his eyes tight and lock his jaw in a grimace.
"You need to take these…" the gentle voice spoke again. "They'll ease the pain. Are you allergic to any medication like oxi or acetaminophen?"
"No…" Bruce croaked out, his throat dryer than he had expected.
"Good."
He parted his lips just slightly, letting her place the pills between them. She then urged him to drink water, encouraging him with what sounded like melodies. He never had a nurse so calming or so reassuring.
Shit .
Nurse?
If he were at Gotham General Hospital, the media would be right outside the doors. His life as a vigilante would come to an end. His life's work would be gone in an instant.
Shitshitshit .
Bruce bolted upright again, regretting it moments too late. His caretaker soothed him as he grabbed for his head again. But as his vision cleared, he found the situation was far worse.
The room was practically a closet with pale yellow paint peeling in the corners. He was laying on an air mattress, covered in piles of old quilts and crocheted blankets. Barely two steps ahead was a table covered in peeling teal paint, and two chairs to match.
Not a hospital. But… not precisely the kind of room he expected was used for torture.
"It's okay," the gentle voice soothed in his ear. "You're safe here."
"Where's that?" He forced through gritted teeth.
"Tricorner."
Yup. He was going to die.
He turned his head slowly, the woman coming into view. Her dark hair was pulled up, tendrils hanging loose around her face. Once glowing, copper skin now sullen and ashen from the exhaustion that plagued her. Yet despite how tired she was, her dark eyes smiled at him.
Frozen for merely a moment, he held her gaze.
"I found you in the dumpster on my way home from work." She said softly, her eyes heavy with worry. "Any idea how you got there?"
“It’s… a blur…”
“Well, don’t strain yourself too much.”
She hurried to the kitchen, making the only breakfast she knew she had enough of, oats.
Bruce tried to relax, replaying the events in his mind until it all became too fuzzy. A man in a mask just like always. Then a sharp pain in his neck. Kicks and blows, though whether he was taking them or dealing them he wasn’t sure anymore.
Then a kid.
A kid, crying and screaming. No more than eight, maybe younger. Bruce rubbed at his temples, eager to ease the oncoming headache. Then he froze, his blood running cold.
“You’ve seen my face?” He struggled to sit up again, trying to focus his gaze. Instead, the woman kept puttering around the kitchen, humming ever so lightly to herself.
“It’s not nice to ignore people you know.”
“Do you want milk?” She asked, glancing over her shoulder at him. Her face pinched into a frown. “I told you to relax.”
“And I told you it wasn’t nice to ignore people.”
She cocked her head to the side like a lost puppy, mouthing along. Bruce only scowled in return.
“Ah fuck!” She was beside herself with apologies as she fumbled with something he couldn’t quite see on the counter. He heard the softest of clicks as she tucked something behind her ears. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t hear you.”
Bruce grimaced at his behavior. Alfred would have knocked him upside the head were he there. His savior had been reading his lips the whole morning. His mother had taught him some basic sign language when he was a child; what would she say were she still around.
“Sorry…”
“It’s okay.” She smiled at him so forgiving, his heart skipped a beat. “Milk?”
“No... Thanks.”
Bruce let her be after that. She resumed her humming as she worked, soft and soothing sounds with no specific melody. Comforting. She returned to his side minutes later, extending a bowl filled with warm oatmeal and various types of berries atop it. His fingers shook as he took it, the warmth bringing a comforting nostalgia to his chest.
“You don’t recognize me, do you?” Bruce asked, a slight break in his voice.
“Duh, you’re Batman.” She raised a brow with a playful smirk. She took a messy bite of her own food as she settled on the floor beside him. “Better question, do you recognize me?”
“Should I?”
“We work together, Mr. World's-Greatest-Detective.” The woman laughed, low and sweet.
No… He was sure he’d remember her.
“We do?”
“Tragically,” She heaved a sigh, a playful tease. “Is there anyone I can call for you?”
“I…” Bruce winced as he moved to stand. “I can get home.”
“Yeah right,” She chuckled as she pressed him back into the pillows. “You can crash here for a while.”
Bruce sighed again, pondering the risks of his options.
“There’s a phone in my suit…”
“I’ll get it.” Evelyn walked over to the table, grabbing a paper grocery bag. She passed it over, his broken and bloodied armor neatly folded inside. He looked it over quickly before digging for his phone. She excused herself to the hallway as he held the phone to his ear. Alfred picked up after only one ring.
“Master Wayne, where have you been?”
“Long story… We’ve got a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“A liability.”