#ellethots

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

II. “research”

parts: previous / next

plot: you make a very… rash decision about who you will interview, and when.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, head injury, substance use, threat of violence

words: 2.2k

You were helped into the police car by two men, one in a typical police uniform and one that looked more like a detective. The uniformed one had shined a flashlight at the back of your head and told you to take a cold shower when you got back. "The head always bleeds more serious than it is," he chomped away on gum and shooed you into the vehicle. They said they'd escort you back no problem, peppering you with some questions along the way. You didn't really have much of an answer for them. You'd never been to the club before, you hadn't seen the gunshots, didn't remember what a single face looked like in the club besides the vigilante's. Which set off a lightbulb for you. Holy shit, Batman. I could do my paper on him. I need an interview.

"Uh I do know the guy that saved me," you prattled. The uniform in the passenger sneered at you. "Uh huh, was it a big asshole in a mask?" The driver didn't share his humor towards the Batman.

"Yeah," you agreed. You didn't quite know how to phrase this next part, so you just put it bluntly. "I was wondering if you knew how to get in contact with him?"

"He sends up a bat signal, hotshot." The uniform was getting worked up, and you could tell you couldn't press the issue much longer. "What you need an outlaw for anyway?" The sarcasm turned to suspicion and you realized that the crimefighters of the town seemed out of harmony. Why didn't they like Batman?

"I've just never seen him before, I'm new here." You hoped they didn't prod you on how new; it might prove embarrassing to admit you'd been here over a year and hardly went out enough to know more than hearsay about Gotham's second claim to fame... behind the reclusive Bruce Wayne.

The rest of the short drive was quiet as the officers talked quietly amongst each other. You turned to look out the window at the pouring rain, mulling over the events of the evening. Shit. Your ears began to ring with anxiety. You went to grab for your phone but couldn't find it. Damn. You needed to contact Mar. What if she didn't make it? What if she's injured? What if she's still lying there, waiting for someone to save her?

You hastily thanked them for their time as the car pulled up to your street. You ran in the lobby and had to explain to the doorman that you'd lost your wallet, keys, and phone at the club that had been shot at this evening. This was common for them, and they knew you, giving you a spare key. You didn't have time to be worried about your belongings, you needed to know if she was safe.

You kicked yourself for not coming to your senses sooner as you opened your apartment door. You flung it open and shut behind you, racing through your kitchen as quickly as your busted scalp would allow without screaming throbs. Rummaging through the sheets you found your school iPad, opening the notifs to find 25 missed calls from her number, the last one only five minutes prior. You gasped a sob of relief and quickly pressed call. It was immediately answered.

"Y/N!!" Mar squealed from the other end, barely containing herself. You were so glad to hear her voice. You talked for the next ten minutes before you told her you had to get off and take a shower. "My head got like, split open. The officers said it was superficial, but the Batman guy—"

Mar gasped on the other end, rattling off run-on sentences of questions. She was shocked that you'd had an encounter, and wanted to know every excruciating detail. "I've heard his voice is super intense, is it?"

"Mar, I'm sorry, my head is burning. I'll text you after the shower, okay?" Reluctantly she wished you good vibes in the shower and to make sure to message her before you went to sleep so she knew you didn't slip. "Again, I'm sorry for forcing you to come with me tonight."

The shower burned your scalp even when it was cold. You felt the sting of every individual water droplet, and tried your best to trust the policeman who said it was okay. After an excruciating shower that felt good everywhere but your scalp, you went to grab your iPad and tried to take photos of the back of your head in your mirror. It was barely effective, only so much so that you could tell it wasn't bleeding anymore. You gently wrapped your hair and head in a towel and laid back against the pillow, going onto Verizon's site and requesting a replacement phone after sending a quick "I'm fine!" text to Mar. You thanked your precious self for getting insurance on your phone so you could get it replaced for free. After selecting 2-day shipping on an iPhone 14, you took an edible and tried to relax.

And relax you did. The small dose that normally chilled you out affected you differently tonight, making your body light with giggles and warmth. Maybe you were so exhausted it was hitting harder. After all, the rush of adrenaline and cortisol that had hit your system tonight were off the charts. You had a brush with death. You tapped along on your iPad aimlessly, until going into your notes app and typing up a few mock questions for the Batman. It would be really cool to get an interview with him. No one has ever spoken to him before outside of the police chief, Gordon. And it seemed like he liked to keep it under wraps, as the rest of the squad didn't much appreciate him. How would I get to see him? You didn't have much more time to think before you passed out, falling into a deep, restful slumber.

You woke up in the late afternoon with drool all over your cheek. Without thinking you tried pulling the towel off your head and then winced at the pain. You'd almost forgotten about the day before.

After getting some food in, you resolved to learning more about this masked madman running around in the night. Did he only come out at night? Where was he spotted most often? You only got a direct answer to one question: yes, he only came out at night. After hours of meticulous google searches and forum scrolling, you learned only a few things:

1. He only came out when it was dark

2. He responded to a bat signal, which was loosely placed in the sky above where criminal activity was present

There were a few stalkers in the forums who dedicated many nights a month to chasing crime in Gotham, hoping to catch a candid shot of Batman at work. A few had succeeded, since there was so much crime here. But it was very hit or miss, and largely depended on chance. If you wanted to find him you would have to spend nights prowling around Gotham, which didn't seem like a great way for a woman in her twenties to stay safe. Then it struck you: a ride-along.

You walked down to the lobby to use their public phone to dial Gotham PD. An annoyed receptionist answered, his voice gruff. "Gotham police department, how can I help you?"

"Hi uh, my name is Y/N and I'm doing a journalism project at GU. Do you do ride-alongs?" You tried to keep your voice clear and strong, like you could handle it. The men in this town seemed to greatly underestimate women, and you didn't want them to deny you based on stereotypes.

"Sorry ma'am, you'll have to ask the chief." He stayed on the line, loudly snacking on something that sounded dry and crisp. You cleared your throat. "Can I be transferred to him?"

You swore to god you could hear him rolling his eyes on the other line. He did a loud chew and swallow before responding in the affirmative. "Stay on the line."

You waited, helplessly counting beeps as another tenant stood behind you waiting for their turn at the phone. The lobby was so quiet you could hear the clock strike each second, mocking you for losing your cell, each one more frustrating than the next. Just as you were about to call it quits and go make up some random topic, a man answered the phone. "Chief Gordon speaking."

"Oh hi," you stammered, twirling the phone line between your fingers. "I'm a student at GU and wondered if I could ride along sometime, I'm doing a journalism project —"

A loud sigh interrupted things. "Let me guess, you want to see him."

The apples of your cheeks turned bright red and prickling warmth traveled up your spine. "I—"

"Listen kid, you gotta stay out of trouble. A school project isn't worth this, I promise." His accent was thick and just further proved to you how much you stuck out in this city. Gordon hung up on you and you tried not to hang around, hastily handing the phone to the woman behind you as you made a beeline for the elevator. He can't just do this. You grew more frustrated with every syllable. The paper was still sitting fully unwritten with only a week and a half left until the end of the term. You needed answers. If they weren't gonna help you, you'd go out yourself.

You went to your iPad and searched for the Gotham police scanner. You remembered a few people from the forums had mentioned using it to help track him, but you had to be online the moment they said the address otherwise you'd never catch it. This is how the few people who caught sight of him had managed to do it — keeping constant nightly tabs on the city, drowning out their lives with the sound of Gotham PD, only going to sleep once the sun began to rise. You sat there for about an hour, restless, thumbing through socials to try to find any leads. There seemed to be a lot going on in town tonight, people posting videos of themselves in the club with every single one full. It was a Saturday night, of course. The people in the city didn't have anything to do on Sundays, it was informally known as 'hangover day'. You could tell who the Dropheads were, their pupils wrecked, slumped over getting an energy drink at the corner store the next morning. It seemed like a normal Saturday until the most peculiar code came up on the scanner.

"Chief, 10-79, 10-80. 10-87 Fischer and Stark." The line started buzzing with inactivity, and you scrambled to write it down. Fischer... Stark... you pulled it up on your map and saw it was a fifteen minute walk north of your apartment. But before heading there, you needed to know what the code meant. Google searches came up with 'bomb threat' and 'explosion', prompting you to swallow your nerves and get ready.

You grabbed your taser, rain boots, and a rain jacket. You rummaged around your junk drawer to find your old Apple watch to have in case of emergency, and you needed 911. It also had a voice recorder in case tonight went how it should. Thankfully it still held a charge, however meager, and you clasped it around your wrist.

The rain was nearly a monsoon tonight, with wind whacking you side to side. Once again, what was common in Gotham was new to you.

You knew how unsafe this was, but you really didn't care. You knew you should care, but you were too stubborn for your own good. A part of you wondered if you got into enough trouble, the Batman might swoop in as he did the night before. The air was chilly, even cutting through the supposedly 'windproof' jacket you bought last year to help you acclimate to the harsh weather. There was no way he wouldn't show up to a bomb threat, right? Especially if there had been an explosion? How important is this paper? It is really worth risking my life all to get to interview a random dude? But this wasn't just some random dude... this was the Batman. While many members of the public had seen him, no one had talked to him. You picked up the pace and started jogging, ignoring the dull throb of the back of your scalp. If you were able to score this interview... it would look so good on a resume. But besides the material things, a part of you was excessively excited at the prospect of getting to see a side of someone no one had seen before. To be let in like that... priceless.