Part One
This is bet between issues #13 and #14 of Dark Knight
Adventures.
PROLOGUE:
To even the most untrained nose, Matthew Bradshaw stank
solidly of sweat and liquor. His appearance was equally
as nauseating and, in the best efforts of Gotham’s
civilized populace, equally ignored.
Matthew Bradshaw was a lowlife. A stinking bum. A
nothing. To the disappointment of the more liberal
minded, most of Gotham would have been quite comfortable
with the knowledge that in the next thirty seconds,
Matthew Bradshaw’s stomach was going to turn itself
inside out.
In thirty seconds, he would no longer be a problem to
Gotham’s working citizens - one less irritant on the way
to work. Just another "John Doe" to add to the ever
rising yearly number of unidentified deaths. The
homeless were a tragic problem, but at least you could
bury the dead. Even the people of Gotham's had certain
moral qualms about burying the destitute before they
were dead, not to say it hadn't occurred to most.
In the meantime, Matthew sat with a group of similar
unlucky denizens of Gotham, warming themselves around
the open fire they had made, deep in the dank areas of
the city that no one really cared to remember existed.
He would be the first, however ignorant he was of this.
He would no means be the last.
CHAPTER ONE:
Another bitter winter season had begun with all the
usual festive death in Gotham. Dr Leslie Thompkin nimbly
slipped another pin in her hair and finished the final
death certificate of the day. Life and death she could
deal with, paperwork however, was another matter
entirely.
She leaned back, immediately tensing as pain shot up her
spine. Her wounds from her encounter with the Bruce
Wayne creature were still a hindrance to her daily
routine. The circumstances in between the creature's
release from bonds and her rescue were vague at best.
The after effects, however, were remaining physically
rather memorable.
She recalled the creature breaking out of its cage deep
beneath Wayne Mansion. She remembered its speed and
anger. She remembered Tim being swatted aside by it’s
might and Alfred leaping in front of her, valiantly
trying to defend against it’s savage attack.
She smiled. Age had not mellowed Mr. Pennyworth. The
body may not have been the one of a superhero, but his
heart was.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the words of an
unexpected visitor.
"I’ve come about the job”
Leslie jolted in her chair, winced again and looked up.
A young redheaded girl was staring back at her from the
other side of the desk. Her large pale blue eyes burning
with furious intensity.
“I didn’t advertise a job, Barbara.” Leslie replied
softly. Barbara yanked the wheelchair round and
positioned herself closer to Leslie and the mountains of
paperwork. She stared at the pile of bureaucracy and
then back at Leslie. She repeated this movement a couple
of times before flashing a grin.
“You don’t need to advertise a job this size.” she
whispered conspiratorially.
Leslie got up and opened the window. The cold winter air
poured through the gap between the pane and the sill.
She shivered slightly and wondered why she had opened it
in the first place. A glance back at the tenacious fire
in the eyeballs of Barbara Gordon swiftly reminded her.
“What about your work for your father?”
“I quit.” Barbara shrugged and started leafing through
the outbox. “Your handwriting is worse than mine
Doctor.” She raised her eyes and grinned again. “but I
can get used to that.”
Leslie sighed and decided to face the cold air than the
complications of her office. “Doc-Leslie, please.”
Barbara wheeled over. “I need a place in the fight."
"What fight?" Leslie inquired with a slight hint of
fatigue.
“For Bruce, I was action, you know? On the offensive."
She took a breath and collected herself. Leslie wondered
quite how many times Barbara had practiced this speech.
Barbara continued.
"After that creature...” She paused again, momentarily,
reining in the emotional reaction to her own words.
“...Crippled me, I realized I could no longer serve the
fight in that way. I could no longer be on the
offensive.”
Leslie turned away from the window. The icy wind on her
neck made her wounds ache. “So what has this got to do
with me, Miss Gordon? You seem to be doing fine as you
are. You are out of the fight and it’s a fight - quite
frankly - I don’t think you should have been involved
with in the first place.”
Barbara swung her chair round and away from Leslie. With
a sigh, Leslie chose to let her bedside manner do some
work on this unwilling patient. “Barbara, you are doing
so well. You’ve always been a vibrant young lady, but no
one expected you to take such a change with such stride.
Forgive me if I don’t want to help you recapture any
'days of glory'.”
Another silence. An almost imperceptible shudder from
Barbara's shoulders gave a sign of the onslaught yet to
come. Leslie barely had enough time to brace herself for
it.
“I don’t want your help in recapturing my glory days and
I certainly don’t want your pity!” Barbara snapped,
swinging her chair around on a pivot of pure
frustration, blue eyes sparking. "I’ve come to terms
with my situation. I’m crippled for life. My physical
agility, something that I valued so much, has been
robbed from me. I can deal with that. What I refuse to
deal with is I have nothing to offer in the fight. I can
still fight the bad guys." Her volume lowered to a
normal speaking tone, but it still had the same
undeniable resolve. "I can still work for the side of
justice. I just need to change how I do it.”
“I’m listening.”
“Teach me, Leslie. I’ve never been great with medicine,
but I want to learn. I want to help. If I can’t be part
of that universal equation that demands action, let me
be like you, part that is reaction. Helping those who
have already got into trouble. Healing the wounded and
the sick. Doctor, I can’t fight the criminals and
psychopaths any longer, but I can help those affected by
them. I can still help the innocent.”
Leslie stood in stunned silence. Barbara hurried on,
insistently. “Leslie, I know you do a lot of work which
goes beyond your legal jurisdiction. Work with those who
can’t pay or can’t help themselves. I want to be your
right hand. Whether you like it or not, you are part of
the fight that you hate so much. I want in. If I can’t
help Bruce stop the criminals, then I want to help you
clean up after them.” Her hands gripped the armrests of
the chair, pushing herself forward. Now she was leaning
forward in her wheelchair, everything below her waist
still.
Leslie stepped away from the window and knelt down to
come face to face with the red-haired woman. She smiled
gently. “People truly underestimate you. I don’t know
what to say.”
“Say yes.” A mischievous look darted across Barbara's
face, somewhat reminiscent of Dick's when he made those
horrid puns all those years ago.
Leslie laughed and stood up. “Yes.” She couldn’t deny
she needed an assistant and quite honestly, she couldn’t
think of anyone better and keeping some of her more
intangible medical practices a secret than the lady
before her. “Seven AM sharp tomorrow morning. Oh, and I
can‘t pay much.”
Barbara smiled, her bright facade returning as if it had
never wavered. “Money isn’t an issue. The Wayne
Foundation is paying for the 'mountaineering accident' I
had with Bruce. Dad wouldn’t let me decline.”
“And so you shouldn’t. It’s nice to see Bruce still
cares. You don’t see many signs of that these days.”
“He cares, Doctor. In his own way, I kinda feel that
letting him care for me might help bring him back to how
he was.” Barbara fell silent again. The intermittent
whistle of the wing through the window punctuated the
silence. “I miss him Leslie.”
“We all do.” The two women stayed as they were for a
moment, both staring at the floor. They simultaneously
looked up and exchanged a friendly smile. Without
another word, Barbara expertly maneuvered to the door.
Leslie, a more wane smile on her face, sat down and
picked up her pen. |
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