Chapter Text
Private investigation was never meant to go this far, Julie couldn't help but think as she laid flat atop a dingy apartment building, binoculars trained across the street, pointed at the roof of the museum. When she began the business 14 years ago, she had anticipated low-level crime - even enjoyed it for a short while. But, as with most aspects of her life, she couldn't help but reach for more, always flying closer and closer to her indefinite goal for a greater mystery, a greater chase. Julie is not stupid. She understands the story of Icarus, and - more often than not - can feel her own wings start to melt. This knowledge does not quell her desire for the greatest mystery of all time. If Julie were to ask herself, honestly, what the greatest mystery of all time was, she could not define it at all. It is certainly out there though and, for now, the Cat has been entertaining enough for her.
The mystery of the Cat was what had dragged her out to this miserable vantage point in the first place. An infamous jewel thief, untraceable to most, striking terror into the hearts of all the richest folk across San Francisco. Julie was well aware of the Cat long before she was approached by a coalition of various shareholders, but, due to the aforementioned melted-wings Icarus predisposition, she (or rather, her assistant) had chosen to not chase this mystery in favour of a “work-life balance” (Megan's words, not hers). Hence, the private investigator had jumped at the opportunity when the scared shareholders - “scareholders” if you asked Charles, which you shouldn't - had walked through the door of Kovalenko Investigations. The chase had quickly led her to the most boring aspect of private investigation: observation. Understanding the enemy is vital: days and nights of work can be wasted in a moment of miscalculation without appropriate preparation. Julie fidgeted with her cowl, nudging carefully at the pointed leather where it met her cheeks. So far, it was the most comfortable iteration of the mask that had been presented to her; the seams laid flat against her skin, the brow fit tight enough to hold but not too tight to distract, and a kevlar-reinforced crown - the first prototypes had purely leather crowns, Julie discovered after she faced a pickpocketer brandishing a plank of wood as his weapon of choice.
If Julie had a say, she would not be caught dead wearing the stupid cowl and cape combo she finds herself in on a nightly basis. Unfortunately, Julie didn't get a say. The combined pressure of her assistant, Megan, and Charles’ insistence of her becoming the Bat whilst she undertook night-time investigation had forced her into this slightly ill-fitting suit and lifestyle. The pair had started implying her need for a disguise when private investigation began slipping into vigilantism - which, Julie had conceded was necessary - and the stupid bat-ness of it all came along when Charles, ever helpful and ever nosy, had become too chatty with Julie’s source/mother and discovered that the so-called Criminal Underworld was whispering about a shadowy figure dressed in black interrupting their various crimes, dubbed “The Batman”. Julie was quick to point out that this Criminal Underworld was more than likely her mother’s friends, who more often than not were more guilty of shoplifting lip gloss than the serious crimes she investigated under the cover of night. Nonetheless, her helpful employees had wasted no time in crafting her a cape and attaching ears to the cowl. This, combined with Julie’s highly specific needs (grapple-hook holder, material not too scratchy but not too soft, a safe spot for her camera) led her to tonight’s outfit, approximately version 26 of the batsuit, getting dusty and ruined on the roof of this building, watching the glass dome of the museum for a cleverly named cat-burglar. Private investigation is truly the slippiest slope.
The cold of the night was beginning to reach Julie’s bones through the leather of the suit. She huffed a little as the museum rooftop showed no motion after 4 hours of keen observation, and the suit was beginning to cling onto her calves slightly too tight. It was stretching out to 5am; 2 hours until sunrise, and with three meetings before 1pm, it was time for Julie to pack up and save the last few hours of sleep. The Cat would not show herself tonight. Quietly, she strapped her binoculars to the leg of her suit and began her climb down the building, every bit of disappointment multiplying as her tiredness set in. It was a quiet drive across the city to her office in her black sedan, and Julie flopped onto the sofa at 5:37am sharp, falling into sleep with her cowl still on her head.
The sun shone bright into the Kovalenko Investigations building. Too bright, bright enough to wake Julie from her nap, temporarily blinding her as she attempted to look around through bleary eyes. In a few seconds, the shadows formed into a slightly blurry, very annoyed-looking Megan and Charles, towering over her. Megan took a deep breath, and began her rant.
“We go to all the trouble of making that cowl, making that outfit, and erasing your plate from every damn camera in the state for you to- to what? Come to the office with your own name splashed across the front of it in a costume which basically shouts, ‘hey everyone! I'm an illegal vigilante!’. And you’ve creased the cowl.” She waved the cowl as if Julie could see the minute creases whilst it was moving, let alone without her contacts in. Julie simply groaned and twisted her body around, pulling the cape over her head to block out the light. She heard Megan’s defeated sigh, listened as she added much softer, “Boss, go shower and sleep for a few more hours. You've got two hours until your first meeting, and you’ve run out of contact lenses in your drawer. Go home.”
Charles, less annoyed now that Megan had cheered up (presumably only annoyed at Megan’s behest) added in his unhelpful manner, “Hey, isn't it great we put those lenses of your prescription in the cowl? No more sleeping on the sofa with your contact lenses in!”
Julie sat up and gave him a grimace. He beamed back, far too cheerful for eight in the morning. Charles was harmless enough, and a useful ear on the ground even if the cost of his information was him insisting he was Julie’s sidekick. After they heard Julie was being called the Bat, he had become obsessed with his sidekick name, despite the fact he had yet to be invited out into the field of vigilantism with her. Julie stretched out, cracking her fingers through the gloves. At last, she spoke, voice gravelly from sleep.
“Thanks Charles.” Slowly, she turned to Megan, and nodded. Relief was visible on Megan’s face, who smiled gently back.
Megan Chagughlaight Accourse was one of the few people that truly understood Julie. A simple nod, which could mean anything to anyone else, is all Julie needs to communicate with her. She and Julie had met when Julie had been sent to live with her grandparents soon after her mother had been imprisoned. Her grandparents were old and unwell, unsuited to the care of an 11 year old with all the trust issues expected of a preteen with a criminal for a mother. Megan was the nurse responsible for the care of her grandmother, and inadvertently cared for Julie. In the early days, the only person Julie spoke any words to was Megan, running translation for her Russian grandmother, and eventually Megan earnt her trust and friendship through detective novels and pirated video games. Her grandparents passed when she was 22, leaving enough in their inheritance for Julie to begin her private investigation firm. There was very little choice for her when it came time to find an assistant. Megan knew her - eliminating the awkwardness of teaching someone new all of her quirks - and was already skilled in computing. Since then, Megan had basically kept her alive, reminding her to eat and to sleep, as well as keeping the logistics of the company in good shape.
Julie collected her car keys from the coffee table with another yawn, opening the door to the office before she was stopped by Charles’ call.
“Julie! Just to let you know, you should have your baby back by this afternoon.”
For the first time in a while, Julie felt childlike excitement bubble up, and if she walked a little faster to the parking garage, and drove a little faster home, then that’s nobody’s business.