ANGELS WEEP || bruce wayne

the seventh

🦇

Stacey hadn't seen Batman for a good part of a month.

The interaction had faded into a wisp of memory, and Stacey had often thought that it had been nothing but a dream. Seriously, a huge, pale vigilante in her bathtub, letting her stitch up and clean his wounds? It seemed ridiculous when she thought to imagine it.

But the fondness that she felt when she saw his cowl on the news reminded her that it was, in fact, a real event that occurred. His dark silhouette against the blood-red horizon lingered in her mind, and she couldn't stop herself from looking up to the sky whenever she helped an injured person in.

Lorenzo didn't mention anything about a vigilante, so it was safe to assume that he had forgotten her.

The days bled together, Stacey's routine of going to the hospital in the morning and returning home in the evening to attend to Gotham's injured now the norm. She looked haunted, purple blue bruises growing darker beneath her eyes the more the days went by with minimal sleep.

And still the Batman was a mere wisp of a memory, something Stacey saw in the shadows of her room as she slept and in the wide recesses of her mind as she dreamed.

The rain let up briefly in increments, the streets growing drier and drier.

Another week later, someone found her.

Stacey struggled against her captors, screaming through the cloth in her mouth. Lights blinded her and she strained to see through the fabric, but to no avail.

"Is this really the way to treat our esteemed guest?" A thick voice, accentuated by the faintest Italian accent was like smooth butter in her ear, and the blindfold slid from her eyes.

Stacey blinked, squinting at the flashlight shined into her eyes.

"So, Stacey Alicia Maroni. The princess of Gotham. What made you decide to return?"

A hand reached out in front of the blinding white light and tilted her head upward, the cool metal rings stroking the hot flesh of her jaw.

"Money?... Power?... Or, rather, are you here to avenge your father?"

The ringed fingers pulled the cloth from Stacey's mouth.

"My father?" Stacey spat. Her body was sore, tied to a chair; her mind was trying to make sense of the last hour since she was abducted getting out of work. Gotham's criminal underworld was getting bolder, unafraid to do dealings in the evening hours instead of the enveloping night. Nights were becoming more dangerous with the Batman around, so twilight was the safest.

Fingers returned to tuck loose strands of hair behind her ear. "Your father, Tace. Or is it the little prince who you've come back for? He hasn't left his tower since you ran away."

"Leave Bruce out of this." Her voice was raw. "And don't call me that. You're not allowed to call me that-"

"C'mon Falcone, just kill 'er already."

"Shut up," Falcone replied. Stacey was just beginning to make out the shadow of his face behind the flashlight when suddenly it left her vision. "This is a warning. A courtesy from family to family. Think of it as a gift, your life. I know you've been through so many hardships, cara. I can help you."

Stacey surveyed the dark room around her, books stacked onto ornately done bookshelves, the gothic windows providing a snapshot of the city. She was in the Iceberg, judging by the view.

"Vuoi aiutarmi o farmi del male?" She replied in Italian. Do you want to help me, or hurt me?

"Aiutarti, cara. So che non hai famiglia, ti offro la mia." He replied. Help you, dear. I know you have no family, I am offering you mine.