Earth-349:
Batwoman
by
Anton Psychopoulos, Ph.D.
Disclaimer #1
This story is set in a hypothetical parallel world within the pre-Crisis
DC Universe, based on a story in Superman #349, but not limited by that
story or any other.
Disclaimer #2
Some characters appearing in this story are based on copyrighted
characters owned by DC Comics, Inc., Marvel Comics and others. Their use here is not intended to infringe
or disparage those copyrights.
Disclaimer #3
This story is not recommended for persons under 18 or the easily
offended.
The guy
in the Gotham Knights T-shirt stepped over his unconscious buddy with hardly a
hesitation. He hefted his billy club
and grinned at Robin.
"I'll let you in on a little secret, kid. I'm the one who did Batbitch.
And I'm gonna do to Batbitch Boy what I did to her, and I don't mean
just the part where I broke her knees."
The Boy
Wonder grinned back, showing considerably more teeth.
"Oh, you're gonna do what you did when you met Batwoman, are
you? I hope you're wearing rubber pants
this time."
The
guy's grin just got wider, and he tightened his grip on his club. He took a step forward, there was a flash of
yellow, and he was clutching at his stinging, empty hand. He looked up in time to see the boy coming
at him, a swirl of bright colors in midair, and then he was on the floor, his
body immobilized by pain, the boy's booted feet pressing the last air from his
lungs.
Robin
reached up and snatched the spinning club from the air. He leaned down and prodded the thug between
the buttocks with his own weapon.
"Wanna tell me again what you were going to do to me?"
"Aw, man, aw, maaan!"
Robin
bound the man's wrists and ankles with green zip ties, tucked the club down the
back of his pants, retrieved his throwing disk from a corner and left the
building, making sure to trip the alarm on his way out.
As he
stepped into the alley, he froze, then smiled and opened his mouth to speak as
he recognized the silhouette looming above him.
A
black-gloved hand shot out a warning finger, then pointed upward. Robin nodded and watched the cloaked figure
of Batwoman climb the building's fire escape.
He followed, wincing as he noted that her ascent was nearly silent, and
his was not.
He
reached the roof in time to see Batwoman crossing to an adjoining
building. He caught up with her two
blocks away, on the roof of the tallest building in the neighborhood. She was waiting in silence while he crossed
the tar beach quietly, but puffing with exertion.
"Mask," she hissed, the first word he'd heard from her.
Robin
obeyed, untying the thong which held his green domino in place.
"My name is Dick --"
"Gordon, I know. Son of
Police Commissioner Gordon, brother of Barbara Gordon alias Batgirl."
"Um, yes."
After a
moment's pause, Batwoman pushed her long-eared cowl up and off her face.
Dick
took in the woman's tight mouth and watchful blue eyes. With her face set with such grim intensity,
her hair matted and sweaty, without makeup or earrings, it was difficult to
recognize her as --
"Roberta Wayne? You were my
number two choice for Batwoman, after Kathleen Kane."
Something happened to the thin line of Batwoman's mouth.
"Second out of how many?"
"Five. Barbara had seven
candidates. You were her first."
The
something turned into a smile for a fraction of a second.
"Listen, Batwoman -- Ms. Wayne -- I'm so glad to meet you, so glad
to know that you're . . . ."
"Not dead?"
"Or crippled, or captive. I
hope you're going to let everyone know you're back. A lot of people in Gotham really admire you."
"Yes, I know. I've been
watching developments over the last year.
It's been very flattering to see just how many people have been pinch
hitting for me: you, your sister, Anarky, Nightwing, the Creeper."
Dick
winced inwardly at being classed with the other vigilantes. He considered some of them to be little
better than criminals themselves. He
said nothing, deferring to Batwoman's judgment.
"But now that you're back," he forced himself to begin.
"You're afraid I'll tell you to cut it out."
This
time Dick winced visibly, but Batwoman shook her head.
"Not exactly. What I want
you to do is stop acting on your own."
She
pulled a sliver of blackness from a pouch in her utility belt. It unfolded silently into a scalloped
bat-shape. She tossed it with a
seemingly negligent throw. It circled
around them and she snatched it from the air without looking.
"I
have equipment you could never afford on lunch money or whatever you're using
for a budget. I have experience and
training you don't. I want you to
accept me as your teacher, your sponsor and your commanding officer."
Dick's
jaw dropped.
"That . . . that would be . . . everything I could have hoped
for. I . . . .
"Are you making this same offer to all the others?"
Wayne
shook her head.
"No, just you. And Barbara,
since she's so close to you. You're
something special, Dick. I've been
watching. You've got talent,
intelligence, courage and good morals.
I admired the way you handled yourself with Crazy-Quilt. You could have killed her easily, but you
didn't."
Dick
shrugged, embarrassed.
"I
didn't have to."
"There's another reason you're a special case, though. One you deserve to know.
"One night, some seventeen years ago . . . ."
Thomas
Wayne had taken a train to Star City for a meeting that morning. Martha Wayne had spent seven hours in
surgery. They were both more than ready
for bed by the time the movie let out.
Their daughter, on the other hand, was still full of energy, among other
things, zigzagging up and down the block, covering three times as much ground
as her parents on the way home. The
movie had been exciting, to say nothing of the cartoons, but what had really
revved her motor had been the first chapter of a new serial, Zorro's Black
Whip. Swinging in a tight circle
around a lamppost, she gushed at the tired couple.
"Did you see her? A girl
being Zorro! That is so swell! And did you see how she --"
Roberta's orbit of the lamppost halted abruptly as she took in the man
who stood in the middle of the sidewalk before the Waynes, a pistol aimed
directly at Roberta.
"In the alley," he snarled, gesturing with the gun.
Roberta
Wayne was to remember that move many times in the years to come. Using a gun as a pointer was a sloppy,
amateurish act. It was probably what
inspired Thomas Wayne to try to disarm the man.
Wayne
calmly ushered his wife and daughter before him into the alley, and as he
passed the hoodlum, made a sudden grab for the gun. They struggled over it for a moment, and it fired.
Thomas
Wayne stepped back, eyes wide, mouth open, his hands moving only gradually to
cover the bleeding hole at the crotch of his pants.
Wayne
fell against a wall, mouth working as though he were trying to force out a
scream, though he made no sound.
"Brought it on yourself, asshole," the thug said, amused. He put the muzzle of his gun to Thomas
Wayne's forehead and fired again.
The man
turned towards Martha Wayne, and his malicious smile turned to a look of utter
disgust. Dr. Wayne was lying in the
alley, her slackening hands falling away from her chest, obviously dead.
"Shit, I was lookin' forward to having some fun with that
one."
He
looked at the last of the Waynes and shrugged.
"A
little young, but I guess you'll do."
With no
more word than that, he approached Roberta Wayne. She had already backed into a doorway as far as she could go, and
merely stood, frozen, as the killer pushed up her pleated plaid skirt and
pulled her white cotton briefs down to her saddle shoes.
She
said nothing. In fact, it was three
days before she spoke to anyone.
Dick
Gordon looked out over the rooftops, shaking his head.
"Oh, God. I knew it had to
have been something . . . major that led you to become Batwoman, but I never,
well . . . ."
"They found me in the alley an hour later, sitting beside the
bodies. Our butler was there almost at
once, fortunately for me. He took
charge of me, moved me from the downtown penthouse to our old place outside the
city. I was beginning to recover when
we realized I was pregnant."
Dick
turned back to her, gaping.
"Then you must have . . . ."
"No, we didn't. The
following March, a month after my fourteenth birthday, I gave birth to a
healthy boy. With my butler's help, I
arranged for him to be adopted by friends of my parents who already had a
child."
"In March, seventeen -- no, sixteen -- years ago?"
"On the Ninth."
Dick's
mouth slowly formed the word, "Mother?"
"No. Ellen's your
mother. And Jim's your father, not . .
. that man."
"Yes, of course, but . . . ."
"I
gave birth to you, yes. I've watched
you grow up, taken as much pride as I thought I deserved in your
accomplishments. And when I figured out
that you and Barbara were Batgirl and Robin, it was the happiest day of my
life."
She
stared into the night, shook herself and spoke again.
"There's more, though.
"A
year ago, I became engaged to Harvey Dent."
Dick
remembered that. They had seemed an odd
couple, the all-business District Attorney and the madcap millionairess. Now he saw just how much they'd had in
common.
"Harvey was trying to convince me to give up being Batwoman after
we were married. He had me about half
convinced to do it. Also about
half-convinced to break it off with him.
"Then I was captured by the Joker and placed in a deathtrap. Must have been the sixth or seventh
time. But that time was different. Once he had me stripped naked and tied to
the frame, he raped me.
"I
escaped, of course. The deathtrap,
anyway.
"Afterwards, I told Harvey the truth about what had happened. I told myself it wouldn't be right to hide
it from him, but maybe I was testing him, or trying to drive him away.
"He was a very old-fashioned man in some respects. We had been planning to wait until our
wedding night to have sex, but now he said he wanted to consummate our
relationship then and there. Maybe he
wanted to stake his claim on me. Maybe
he wanted to confuse the possible issue of paternity.
"It was the third time in my life.
The first time with a man I loved, or even one I didn't hate.
"Well, you know what happened to Harvey about two weeks after that.
"I
don't know when I'll feel up to telling my daughter she can take her pick of
daddies: the Joker or Two-Face."
Dick
lifted his head. Roberta frowned at the
tears flowing freely down his face.
"Daughter?"
"Born a month ago, during my six-month 'round the world
cruise'. Next week I'll formally adopt
her, the child of an anonymous birth mother.
"That's another reason I want a close relationship with you as my
pupil. At fourteen I wasn't capable of
being a mother to you; I don't want to give Delia up, or let her grow up while
I'm busy. I need someone I can trust to
share Batwoman's burden while I'm raising her."
She
drew something else from her utility belt.
"Here, put this on."
Dick
unrolled the tiny black object into a domino mask that felt slightly sticky on
one side. Smoothed against his skin, it
stayed in place until Roberta showed him how to pinch it up at one corner.
"Something one of my scientists at Tyler Chemical came up
with. Consider it the first installment
of your new equipment."
Roberta
pulled her cowl back over her face, unlimbered her grapnel and scanned the
neighboring buildings, considering where to direct it.
"Think it over, talk about it with Barbara. Call me at the Wayne Foundation, leave a
message about 'the project we discussed on Friday'."
"Well, okay, but I'm pretty sure Babs' answer will be the same as
mine. I can't tell you how good it
feels to have your support, your approval, to know that what we've been doing
is the right thing."
Batwoman fired her grapnel at a distant cornice. She looked over her shoulder at Robin.
"I
wish I knew that."
Dick
watched her swing away into the night.