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There was a silhouette in the doorway.
Backlit as it was, surrounded by the cracked and peeling wooden frame, all he could see was long hair, light billowing robes, and a sword half enveloped by the shine.
Batman, still on the ground amongst the falling dust and mafia enforcers, forced himself to stop holding his breath as he waited to see what this new player would do.
They stepped onto the creaking floorboards, holding themself with more poise than anyone who had entered this place had ever done before.
The goon beside him scrambled for his gun, pointing it at the newcomer.
Well, at least he knew whose side they weren’t on.
He rolled over, making sure to drive a sharp edge of his armor into the man’s thigh as he did so and started grappling for the gun. The figure, from what he could tell when he wasn’t being yanked to the side or rolling, brandished the sword and started making quick work of the enemies next to them. Numbers that had once felt near insurmountable were thinning, while a fledgling hope that he might actually make it out of this rose.
Then one of his opponents landed a lucky shot to his head and he was swarmed.
The next time he laid eyes on them the light was sitting harshly on the side of their body, yet hair shielded everything but their chin as they broke through the ranks of those surrounding him. They wrenched the man about to rush him aside, sending him into the wall with his own stumbling momentum. Batman kicked out the feet of the next man, rolled to avoid a retaliating stomp, then sprung up and tackled another one around the middle. A huff from behind provided just enough warning for him to sidestep and let his newly-sprawled opponent take what was supposed to be a surprise blow. He brought a fist back to finish that one off too, but froze when a blade sprouted from the man’s shoulder.
It retracted.
Howling in pain, the man fell to the side.
Batman saw dark eyes through a curtain of loose wavy hair.
Next thing he saw was long lashes, sculpted brows, a prominent hooked nose, full lips, and a strong chin.
“Did you kill them?” he breathed.
Those lips pulled up into a smirk. Self assured. Unwavering.
“I know of your reputation all too well, dear Batman,” she spoke. Smooth. Warm. If he were a poetic man he might say it reminded him of honey, but instead his mind was occupied trying to place her accent. She flicked her sword and his gaze flicked down with it, noting the blood that landed in a line below. “Worry not. They were hurt, never killed. I can do as Romans do.”
He narrowed his eyes. A truck passed by on the street below, rattling the thin windows in their frame. The cold made him feel each breath scrape against his ragged throat.
“You expected to see me.”
“I was prepared to see you. I expected to see them,” she nudged at the nearest lackey with her boot. Her accent was middle eastern, but he would have to hear more of those to place it.
“Why?”
“For the same reason you were, I’d presume.” He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, preparing to pivot when she reached into her robe’s inner pocket, but all she withdrew was a rag to stop the blood from ruining her steel. “They’re the ones smuggling weapons through the garage next door, as well as skimming funds from the city’s water purification plant to do so.”
When he looked up she was already staring him down. Waiting. Expectant. Her smirk grew into a smile.
“Didn’t know that last part, did you?”
She turned and set off the way she’d come in.
“Well, I’m off to go pull some information from their files. I would’ve done so earlier without incident, but someone didn’t know the meaning of subtlety and had to be rescued. You’re welcome,” she gave him one last superior look before slipping out into the hallway.
After a second of deliberation he tossed a knockout pellet behind him and closed the door on his way to follow.
–
He placed a hand over hers to still it on the keyboard.
“What will you do with it?”
Her eyes turned hard.
“Run them into the ground,” she replied easily.
“Why do you care?”
“Because water quality, especially in a city this big and near the ocean, has a severe impact on the environment,” she smiled blithely, like he was a curious child whose questions she was indulging. “But I presume you’ll want proof of that?”
“You presume correctly. Gotham City Water Department doesn’t hire mercenaries.”
“Tt- you say that with such certainty. Have you checked their policies lately? Maybe they’ve changed.”
He glared. The attempt at levity wasn’t appreciated. Besides, if the Water Department had the rights to hire mercenaries everyone would know by now. They’d be much more efficient.
“Alright, be that way then,” she tisked and went back to typing, heedless of the pressure still on her hand. When she was done scrolling through menus and copying files he grabbed the flash drive before she could and held it away. She crossed her arms and scoffed, “Oh, come now don’t be like this.”
“I can’t trust you.”
“What, saving you from a beating doesn’t beget a little bit of trust? Not even an inkling?”
“I’m making my own copy of their files.” He scooted around her to access the computer, keeping an eye on the woman in case she tried to take her drive back or destroy the terminal, but she did was lean back and wait.
“Thank you,” she said with saccharine sweetness, graciously accepting her device when he offered it.
“Thank you,” he replied. It wouldn’t be enough to convey the extent of his gratitude for her patience, but it was an attempt. Alfred might be pleased at that. For some reason she didn’t have a response to that, but apologizing for an expression of thanks could make it worse, so he proceeded to the stairwell exit. She followed.
“I suppose, then,” she spoke as a wave of cold wind eager to invade the newly-opened roof access door slipped past and brushed her hair back. “That you plan on accompanying me for the night’s next destinations?”
It wasn’t a question. She knew he would do it. She had cocked her hip and her attitude to match. Coming from her it seemed natural.
She stepped beside him onto the rooftop, then held out a crooked elbow.
He met her eye.
“Well? Don’t you know how to escort a guest?” she said.
Her smile was back.
“I usually have my guest’s name,” he said.
She turned up her chin, the picture of grace despite the wind snapping her hair this way and that. With the thousand random lights twinkling on reflective surfaces around them, she looked like a princess.
“Talia,” she declared like she was the only one with authority to have such a name.
“Talia,” he repeated–as though he’d ever be in danger of forgetting it.
He took her arm in his and let her lead the way.