Bruce Wainright has (onerule) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-06-09 02:46:00 |
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Entry tags: | batman, catwoman, door: dc comics, iron man |
Who: Batman, Catwoman, and Iron Man
What: Fear gas-induced shenanigans, and Tony Stark invades the Batcave. Batty is none too pleased.
Where: The Batcave. Gotham.
When: After the Arkham doc I'm too lazy to link to.
Warnings/Rating: Mild, really.
It was a short trip from Arkham to the Batcave, as it had been officially christened, due to the Tumbler’s speed and sheer destructive capabilities when it came to removing obstacles in its path. Time was of the essence with Crane’s fear gas, and the Bat had no patience for red lights and stop signs and slow-moving vehicles. He’d kept an eye on Selina throughout it all, and her condition worried him because it was familiar, because Crane had done this before, and the result of the machine he’d used on her had likely worsened what sort of impact the gas would have on her body. Madness and hallucinations were the least of his worries in comparison. The cave was empty when he arrived, which failed to ring any alarm bells simply because Damian could have been elsewhere in the mansion, or out, or perhaps not even on this side at all. He had no idea the boy had gone to Wonder City, no idea Jason intended to go after him, which might have been for the best just then. Having to choose between Selina and his sons, even if Jason hardly viewed him as anything resembling a father and he wasn’t sure if the adoption still stood in this world. Regardless, he was the only Bruce there was, and he felt responsible for the boy even if it was a different man who’d recruited him and allowed him to die in the first place.
Once the Tumbler was stationary and the doors, which constituted as more of a roof, slid back, the Bat wasted no time. He eased Selina out of her seat and carried her to one of the numerous hospital-like tables in his space, this one padded more like a bed, and he immediately set about collecting all the antidote he had in his possession. It was silent, the cave, other than the two of them and some bats who’d made their home high above, almost as if to observe what went on below. He only spoke to reassure her that she would be fine; otherwise, he was all sharp purpose and relentless intent.
She remembered nothing of the trip to the cave, which was probably a good thing.
The kitty cat’s world was made up of shadows and nightmares, but the dosage of the fear gas had been so high that she was helpless to do anything but stay in her head to fight them, twitching and convulsing and thinking she was fighting off things that weren’t actually there. The shock treatment made something that was already hard harder. She had moments of nothing inside her mind, where she didn’t remember who she was or why the terrors were after her. She remembered nothing of the ride in the Tumbler, and she remembered nothing of him putting her on the table in the dark cave.
The movement, however, the slide from the car and onto that flat surface jarred her enough to make her green eyes fly open. She could hear him reassuring that it would be fine, but he wasn’t himself, he was her father, and the reassurance did not help. He wasn’t the man who had raised her for those short years when she’d had a nightmarish excuse for a home. No, he was her true father, and she managed to get herself off the table in a scramble of newly functioning limbs to find the nearest wall and press against it.
For someone with no offensive ability, fear gas was dangerous. For Selina, it was worse. The first time she’d experienced fear gas, her Bat had no choice but to tie her up. This Bat, unfortunately, was about to figure out why.
“Why did you bring me here?” she insisted, her gaze already taking in her surroundings, looking for something to wield. She was still wearing the orange scrubs from Arkham, but she’d managed to free her arms of the straightjacket that held her, and she glanced above her head, looking for footholds in the craggy wall behind her. Up, that was the Cat’s favorite method of escape. It was sheer will that kept her upright; it could help her scale too, if she needed to.
The Bat paused in the middle of filling a syringe with manufactured antidote, a version he’d attempted to improve upon in light of Crane’s new formula, though he was wise enough to keep it out of sight as he turned towards her. There was no surprise, nothing to suggest that this was an unexpected turn of events. She had no weapons within reach, which was intentional, and he took note of her upward glance in silence. While he would prefer to avoid restraining her if possible, he wasn’t adverse to those measures if that was what it took to counteract the fear gas already in her system. One way or another, she was getting that antidote.
“Selina,” he said, each syllable deliberately pronounced in order capture her attention. “Try to remember. You were in Arkham Asylum, and Crane hit you with a full dose of fear gas. I brought you here because you need the antidote. I’m Bruce, despite whatever the gas is causing you to see,” he informed her, opting to use his real name. “Let me help you.”
Selina didn’t buy it.
It wasn’t his controlled movements, and it wasn’t the deliberately careful pronunciation of her name. It was the fact that Selina couldn’t remember anything he was telling her, and she trusted her senses too much to believe they were failing her. In her profession, senses and reflexes were everything, and she pretending to be listening, pretended to be doing precisely what he wanted her to do. Pretended, pretended, and the kitty cat had always known staying away from her father was important. She was no more inclined to become embroiled in the family business than Damian was to be a pawn of the al Ghuls, though she’d never admit the idea frightened her.
“Bruce,” Selina repeated, as if she believed every little word he was saying. She was a good Cat, willing to cooperate, and she let him get close before she jumped up and grabbed onto that handhold she’d found only seconds earlier. She swung both her feet, catching him under the chin - a known weak spot, because she might not remember the asylum, but she remembered her “pretend” Bat in the dark at the hotel. Both feet made sharp, precise contact with that tender, unguarded spot, and she didn’t reign in the impact. A second later, she was scaling the rock, experience and slightness making her progress much quicker than his could ever be. He shouldn’t underestimate kitty cats.
As for hiding, Selina was wonderful at that too. What kind of Cat would she be if she couldn’t disappear when she needed to?
It was perhaps unfortunate that the Bat had never given much thought to Selina’s history, at least not that which extended beyond the comic books and televised animated series he’d studied in order to educate himself. He knew about her parentage, but he failed to factor it in as she should have, not that it would have made much of a difference just then. He should have restrained her from the start, yet it was too late to do so now, despite not being wholly convinced by her pretense. Only a fool would believe that gaining her trust through the haze of chemical-induced fear would be so easy.
“Yes,” the Bat said, regarding her warily. “Do you remember?” As he spoke, the Bat moved closer, and just when he was close enough to utilize the syringe hidden in the palm of one had Selina chose to lash out. Had the blow landed anywhere else, he would have been able to withstand it, but the force against his chin snapped his head back and sent his weight back against one of the tables. He caught himself on his side, the crash of metal against the ground echoing loudly in the cave, and he watched her upward ascent in frustration. Very well. Never one to be deterred, the Bat struggled to his feet and bypassed instant pursuit in favor of ensuring that all possible exit routes were closed. There was the main one, of course, but there were others, some that only he knew of and others Selina would be familiar with, but he had security measures in place on every one. She could hide, yes, but not escape.
Then the Bat gave pursuit, and while he scaled the rock with obvious skill it was evident that, in this suit, he lacked Selina’s speed and fluidity. What he lacked in that he made up for in strength, however, and it would be no easy task to dislodge him from the rock.
If anybody, from Banner all the way to Pepper, found out that Tony was flying around in the suit (and that Silver was letting him) both of them would end up grounded for weeks. The stitches weren’t healed, he’d picked up a very small infection in Vegas that was now requiring another round of antibiotics, and to even be up and moving around he had to be on quite a lot of painkillers. However, Tony was the kind that didn’t take cabin fever all that well, and Silver really didn’t like the idea of somebody in Arkham that didn’t belong there, with all he’d heard about it.
Both of them were surprised to discover, upon entry into this exceptionally dark Door, that Batman had already done the job. Silver didn’t care for that idea, which amused Tony. Since Iron Man was already through the door and taken all this trouble to drug up and put the suit on, he figured he’d do a little sight-seeing and see what he could see. It took him about ten minutes to locate the Batcave. He highly doubted you could hide a tank in the city proper, which meant the outskirts, and some underground facility was the only place emitting frequencies and satellite signals that were more complex than really sexy HBO.
It took Tony five more minutes to find the entrance, though, and when the muffled explosion of his thrusters heralded his arrival seconds later, he pulled up short in midair still gleaming with water droplets. He was like a hovering cluster of spotlights, projecting a white scanning bar of light that was running over the craggy surfaces, and beaming the blinding triangle from his chest. The bats were making signals difficult, but he popped open his face-plate anyway and said, with the genial good mood of someone chatting in a coffee shop, “You’re taking the metaphor a little far, don’t you think?” He blinked, as only just now noticing that two of them were actually scaling the walls. “...Really?”
The thrusters worried Selina in a way the Bat’s obvious pursuit didn’t. She was near the top of the cave when the man in the red suit arrived, and she had no idea who he was. Her drugged mind didn’t even know what to turn him into, so foreign was he, and she stared for a few seconds and lost precious time glancing down toward the man that she didn’t recognize as the Bat, but who was at least a familiar terror, a child’s nightmare and the man who had been the cause of heavy fists raining down on her in childhood.
One or the other, and she decided the unknown threat was the least frightening. Unknown threats always were more manageable for Selina. She could handle anything that wasn’t personal. And the shiny red and gold thing? So not personal to the kitty cat.
The Cat didn’t have her whip on her, and the loose straightjacket straps along her back made her less graceful than normal, but she still managed a perfect flip to the opposite side of the cave, her grip on a craggy edge a momentary failure which she quickly remedied by dropping down onto an outcropping below. Bare feet and hands weren’t as useful as her boots and claws, but she managed, and she dropped down behind the tin man and went for the driver’s side door of the tumbler, which was just below her.
The Bat was an exceptionally private individual. There was a reason his headquarters were so difficult to find, after all, and even without the cowl, very few people could claim they knew the real Bruce Wayne. Even fewer could claim to have seen the Batcave itself under his permission. Therefore, he took any form of trespassing rather personally, and the muffled sound of rockets temporarily took precedence over his pursuit of Selina. An attack was his first assumption, and had he been more ruled by his impulses he likely would have lashed out with one weapon or another at the first sign of movement. Instead he waited, a black shape on the rocks that watched, unblinking, until the man in the red and gold suit appeared. His mind moved quickly, the Bat, and Luke supplied the necessary information for identification to be made.
Iron Man, he was called, though the Bat didn’t care what his suit was made of, iron or steel or some magical substance which only he possessed. Not a threat, but certainly an annoyance, and he could feel Luke’s disdain in the back of his mind-- which did have more to do with who this Iron Man was beyond the door. There was a faint, yet no less emphatic, son of a BITCH when Luke realized that a key must have been given in order for the man to be here at all, but he had no time for the boy’s jealousy just then. He regarded the intruder for a long moment, and when Selina went sailing through the air the Bat only gave a few seconds of his time to tell Iron Man to “Get out” before giving chase. If there was one thing he and Luke could agree on, it was that this superhero from another door did not belong here.
Graceful flips were not quite his style, so in lieu of Selina’s skill to rely upon a grapple gun specially formatted for rough surfaces. Granted, the Bat’s weight was a strain on even the best technology could offer, which meant that he only had seconds once becoming airborne to plan and execute a landing strategy. Instead of dropping heavily, he used his cape to glide into a smooth roll that allowed him to regain his footing quickly in order to prevent her from getting into the Tumbler. “No,” he said, sounding almost regretful, as though apologizing for what he was about to do-- which involved using the straps of her straightjacket to restrain her, in no mood for another round of tag around the cave.
Now, Tony didn’t know that Catwoman had been drugged. He’d been told that this was a rescue mission, and up until a split-second ago, he figured that he’d been beaten to the punch. He wasn’t exactly crying, since the slightest movement sort of made his back scream in agony and attempt to tear his spine to little bits, without even starting with the shoulder, but now it sort of looked to him like the two crazies with the ears were fighting each other which he hadn’t betted on. Fortunately, Silver had seen a Tim Burton movie once years ago and was of the firm opinion that Batman wouldn’t hurt her.
Still with his faceplate up so the critical stare and bright grin were apparent, Iron Man propelled himself to one side, crossing the cave and bobbing under stalactites like a lost red balloon in a parade. He watched the man struggle with the woman, who was really doing a brilliant job considering she was wearing a flimsy orange outfit. “Having a bit of trouble there?” he asked, while Jarvis took countless readings about the equipment in the cave as well as the two struggling figures below him.
The regretful tone had some impact, and Selina looked up at the man who was not the Bat for just a second longer than absolutely necessary, something filtering past the drugs and the memory loss that came with the ECT, but it was just that, a moment, fear bright in her green eyes. The sound of the thrusters chased it away, and she slid over the hood of the tumbler before the straightjacket straps could be pulled tight, not risking a hand-to-hand fight just then. The man in the metal suit spoke, and it drew her attention, but she didn’t linger on that long, either.
Instead, she grabbed the nearest thing that would move (in this case, a metal table), and she flung it at the Bat, who was the greater threat. The man in iron seemed intent on hovering, and he could stay there for the rest of the night, as far as the kitty cat was concerned. At least, that was the case until something about his hovering made her think of Owls, which made her think of Talons, and which made him a larger threat than the perceived mob-boss in black.
There was something to said for being smaller; Selina was fast, and within seconds she was winding her ways through the cave’s familiar drops and jumps, heading for Damian’s little green pool and the safety its circle provided. At the very least, it would get her closer to the surface, and closer to the surface was good. It was a challenging climb to get there, and the rear rim of the pool was narrow enough that either man would have trouble standing there without getting sucked in by the unforgiving green substance that seemed to have a mind of its own.
“Let me out,” she insisted.
For a moment the Bat had her, a perceived end to the madness, but then she was gone again, and despite his concern the cycle of run-and-chase was beginning to take its toll on his patience. There was a hint of it in his continued pursuit-- that when he caught her again it would be the last time, regardless of whether he had to restrain her or outright subdue her with some sort of sleep agent in order to ensure her safety. She was a danger to herself like this, not to mention others, and if she escaped out into Gotham it would be much more difficult to find her. Unlike the blow to his chin, he saw the metal table coming, and dodged easily to the side as it came hurtling towards him. The corner clipped his shoulder, but he let his weight go with the impact rather than fight against it. That made it easier to keep going, rather than allowing himself to be slowed down, and he used the solid frame of the Tumbler in order to push off into a lunge that gained him distance she could gain due to the speed he lacked.
“I told you to get out,” he snarled over his shoulder, the harsh order directed at the hovering Iron Man who was, at present, like a very irritating insect that simply wouldn’t leave buzzing around his head and compromising his focus. “Go back to your door and your world. You have no business being here.” Not only was he possessive of his property, the Bat, but he was also quite protective of Gotham, and outsiders were not appreciated. He was close, so close, but then he saw that she was headed towards the Lazarus Pit and skidded to a near stop, his pace quite visibly slowing.
The Bat hated the Pit. He hated looking at it, hated being near it, hated its very presence in his cave. Countless times he’d come very close to destroying it, refraining only because of the knowledge that Damian would see it as a betrayal and simply create another without telling him where. “Selina,” he called, now wary of pursuing, as the last thing he wanted as to drive her closer to the Pit. “Stop. I will let you go, but you need to stop. Get away from the Pit.” As he spoke, however, the Bat prepared a sort of last resort contingency plan; from this distance, he did have a grapple that would reach, one designed to take hold of people rather than buildings--similar to the one he’d utilized with the Joker, incidentally--and if his aim was true he was confident in his ability to pull her down and catch her before she hit the ground.
There was a faint clunking sound from behind as the faceplate resealed itself over Tony’s expression. Batman wasn’t going to be fun and banter with him, plus he needed Jarvis’ read-outs on the cave and the people in it. Jarvis identified several weapons the Bat was carrying on him, and several more items that he couldn’t identify, which naturally piqued his curiosity and had to be actively resisted. Iron Man’s thrusters died down to a compressed hum as he moved up and forward to pursue Selina and the guy with the pointy ears. Jarvis informed him that Selina’s detected vitals were elevated but there was not a baseline for her behavior and the readings could be because she was simply upset. Silver knew about the fear gas but he had no idea that it would be here, and his knowledge didn’t extend to the Lazarus Pit. Jarvis was sure that there was no exit that way, however, and Tony didn’t like that Batman’s pursuit had slowed. So the green smoke thing was dangerous, huh?
“You go left, I go right,” he said quietly through his speakers, obviously ignoring the Bat’s order to leave. He didn’t wait for a response, either, sliding through the air to one side and landing on the wet rock and enjoying the fact that his advanced non-slip treading seemed to be working. He’d used titanium and diamond chips, so it was always good to know an investment was paying off. He figured if he and the Bat left a hole between them while still staying in distance, maybe Selina would head back toward a safer zone. He had something that would paralyze her, but he was hesitant to use it because it was chemical in nature, and he thought that would piss of Batman. He also had a small harmless little shock, but he didn’t want to use that, either--for the same reason. So right now he was seriously considering something like a net with spider-fine weave he could shoot out of one arm. He’d made it to catch people falling in mid-air, taking the idea from Spider-man, even if the scrawny kid had endless webs and he only had the one.
Silver had nothing to say except that this scenario seemed an awful lot like the one that ended up with him getting a knife stuck in him. Tony agreed. His faceplate slid up and miniature lights lit up his scruffy face again. “You don’t want to go that way, darling,” he said, smiling at her. “I’m going to guess the bubbly green stuff is bad for your health.”
It was all overload for the kitty cat, who would have given anything to have her spiked boots or claws as she stood on the precarious outcropping of rock over the bubbling green pool. She wanted to believe the not-Bat, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Why would he let her leave? After all that work, why would he let her leave? Even drugged, even forgetful, the kitty cat wasn't stupid. No, he was going to catch her - or try - no matter what she did. She reached over her shoulder, as the Iron Talon spoke, and she hissed at him in warning - stay away - as she tried to reach the loose straps at her back, the ones that were going to make the precarious climb up more challenging than it normally would be. Above her, the bats cried and called, and it reminded her of the one Damian threw in the green pool below after killing it, the mad-crazy dash it made for their heads ingrained in her memory. The Cat didn't want to end up in that pool, but she didn't want to end up getting caught either.
Option A - Falcone. Option B - The Talon. Option C - The Pool.
Option D. Up.
She climbed, but the handholds were bad without the right gear, and it was only sheer skill that kept her from plunging into the green liquid. She slipped, and she groaned as she grabbed an edge and hauled herself back up. She wasn't stupid enough to go back. No, the Cat was never the type to just give up, even when she wanted to. And reality was slowly starting to filter back. Reality, and the fact that there was something she needed to be doing, something that wasn't this. She reached the topmost ledge, and she eyed the jump across. Across, over, and down, and then she could make a run for it. Over the pool, over them, and she was faster, even in Arkham's scrubs, without gear or a cowl, she was faster, the deceptively young looking girl with the short black hair. Right. She just needed to make the impossible jump, no grappling hook, no tipped whip, and no space for a run to gain momentum.
Still, she was stubborn. She jumped, and she tucked into a roll at the end, and she hoped for enough force in her legs to get her to the edge of that green, smoking liquid.
From beneath the cowl, the Bat scowled, but there was no third demand for Iron Man to leave. He seemed to resign himself to the fact that physical force would be required to get rid of the intruder, and as he was presently preoccupied and thus unable to kick the other man out himself it seemed his presence would simply have to be tolerated for a while longer. While he gave no outward acknowledgement that he’d heard the other man’s instructions, the Bat did move in the opposite direction in reluctant acceptance of the logic in the two of them being on opposite sides of the cave. At the very least, this Iron Man’s suit gave him an advantage, whereas he needed height in order to glide with any real efficiency. He was loathe to step back and let him intervene, but he couldn’t exactly stop him if he decided to interfere.
The Bat bristled at the thought of getting close to the Pit, something he had never done since Damian created it, but his concern for Selina overrode his sheer hatred of the green liquid and everything it represented. The jump was foolish, anyone could see that, and the Bat had already begun to scale when her feet left the rock face, and from there his reaction was pure instinct. The snap of the line echoed as it was fired, but it wasn’t aimed at her, not as originally intended. Instead the clawed end hit a point above her, part of the rocky ledge that offered the most traction, and the line hissed as it retracted and catapulted his weight upward with just enough force and a slight arc which made it possible for him to reach her in time. Whether or not she would have made it, he wasn’t sure, but that ceased to matter once he caught her mid-jump and they were both headed straight for the ground. The Bat slowed the impact as much as he could, though there was still a tangle of limbs and black before he managed to inject the antidote in one swift motion before she could fend him off. It wouldn’t be an instant recovery, he knew, but eventually she would recover, and that was all that mattered.
Selina saw the black thing, the not-Bat coming at her, but there was no time to change trajectory, to extend the jump, to roll sooner, nothing, and she really wanted her whip. That was the last logical, rational thought she had before he grabbed her, black and cape and struggling arms and legs. But there was something in her that was glad to be captured, grateful, born of that reality that was starting to slowly filter back into her mind. She hissed at the sting of the antidote, but then it was just soothing blackness, the absence of fears or shocks, and she was an unthinking, unresponsive weight in his arms, blissfully unaware of the bad angle of descent.
Iron Man saw what was happening even before it happened. Jarvis projected a rate of fall and angle and even if Batman did catch her, it wasn’t looking good for the return journey once gravity kicked in. He didn’t even have a chance for a cute quip, he just had to get there. He had a really bad feeling about the green goop, even more so because Jarvis hadn’t come up with a clear analysis yet. Iron Man propelled back through the narrow entrance and zoomed up over the Lazarus Pit. The alien blue eyes glowed in intensity as he got a handful of black cape and hauled. The ball of Bat and trapped Cat missed the Pit by inches and went tumbling over and over on the black cave as Iron Man let go with a very audible grunt of pained effort through his speakers.
The Bat had no time to draw the breath necessary to protest Iron Man’s intervention, which was probably a good thing considering that his landing might have been a little messy otherwise. While the Pit was capable of raising the dead, it was far from harmless to the living, and he wasn’t entirely sure what he would become if he did indeed fall in. He never wanted to find out. Because he was more protected than Selina was, he intentionally twisted in mid-air so his body was the one that hit the ground first, and when they rolled, he absorbed most of the impact. Her body had gone limp from unconsciousness by the time they stopped, and the Bat unfolded himself slowly, his jaw set in a firm line as his gloved fingers searched for a pulse. There was a barely audible sigh of relief when he found one, and with the antidote in effect there was little else left to do but wait.
For all his bulk and fearsome demeanor, the Bat lifted her with a surprising amount of care before he tipped his head back to seek out Iron Man. Gratitude, while being something he felt, was not often expressed. “I can take it from here,” he said, which was about as close to a thank you as he was going to get.
Tony landed on the gravel a few inches away and for a few moments he watched the man in the mask check the limp girl in the orange suit. The faceplate was down and about as communicative as Batman’s mask, and it was surprising how little there was to read without Tony’s usual distinctly human conversation. He didn’t respond immediately, clanking heavily over closer to get a better look at the girl and take a few more readings (slight temperature changes as she exhaled and so forth) before turning with a barely audible sound of discomfort and facing the bubbling green pool again. “Sure, Prince Charming, she’s all yours.”
Iron Man sounded distracted, and soon enough he was clumping away toward the edge of the green lake. He bent down (that was definitely an ow, but he didn’t use the speakers, implying he could control when they were on and off without touching any controls) and took a sample of the green liquid in a specially contained chamber on the back of his hand. “What is this stuff?” He watched his display as Jarvis ran tests on the tiny amount he’d scooped up. “Sulfuric...? No. What?”
The Bat’s response to the quip was a distinctly unamused grunt, and he turned away from the man in the metal suit in favor of finding somewhere else to set Selina down that was a little more comfortable than his clinical metal tables. Perhaps he should have kept an eye on his visitor instead, since during the thirty seconds it took to drag out a gurney-like contraption and, after restraining her as a precaution, ensure her vitals were stable, Iron Man was on the edge of the Lazarus Pit and was obviously not there to simply enjoy the view.
“What are you doing?” He needed no speakers to project his voice; the rock walls took care of that for him. When he was angry--raw, genuine anger--the Bat seemed more like some sort of black, cold-eyed demon than a man in a suit and cowl, and as he came to a sharp halt beneath the Pit his anger was almost palpable. “Get away from there, now,” he growled. “It’s nothing you have any right to concern yourself with. Leave, before I throw you out.” Iron Man may have had a technological advantage, but the Bat was stubborn, and his patience with his unwanted visitor was about to run out.
Iron Man was not intimidated. A Viking god had just attempted to boil him in his own suit, and he still called the guy names and questioned his existence to his face. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel fear, he just didn’t respond to authority, in any form. He kept the faceplate in place and took a step forward after straightening with extremely slow, careful movements. The suit was so well-built that the extra weight was easily borne for someone Tony’s size, and it exactly mimicked his movements. It wasn’t the suit that was the problem, it was Tony. So he took it slow.
“What the hell are you cooking up down here?” Tony asked, sounding puzzled and curious at the same time. The mocking was gone, and it appeared that Iron Man could be serious, if he wanted to be. “This is some kind of... sulfuric nitrate compound, and I bet if you dunked a cat in there it would come out inside out and preserved better than King Tut. You’re living down here with it next door? Do you have any idea how dangerous that could be?” The little compartment in the suit depressed and the a plate slid over and under it to reseal the suit. The suit was fully capable of deep sea submersion, but Tony was almost halfway sure the Pit would eat through it in the span of a few seconds. He took a precautionary step away, trying not to limp. “Oh,” he said, before the Bat could reply, “and give me some of that fear gas antidote you have so I don’t have to whip up any of my own. I was just getting around to it before Loki took my lab apart again.” He lifted his chin to get a better look at some of the equipment over Batman’s shoulder. “You make it yourself? I thought you were more jock than nerd, Batman.”
Even on a good day, the Bat and conversation didn’t quite go hand in hand. He had no intentions of discussing the Lazarus Pit with a stranger, even if said stranger was considered a superhero in his world, and so he glowered up at Iron Man without offering any information in response. During the silence he weighed his odds of victory in an actual physical confrontation, factoring in the metal suit and whatever it was capable of, and came to the grudging realization that his efforts were better spent against foes who actually intended harm. He still wanted Iron Man out, however.
Before he could respond, almost insulted that the other man spoke to him as though he was incompetent, the careless expectation that he would hand over the fear gas antidote made him bristle. The Bat was the one who made demands; they were not made of him. “Yes,” he said, his voice sharp and coiled tight in response to the question of whether or not he’d made it himself. “As you appear to be familiar with who I am, you should also be aware that I would not allow the Pit to exist if I did not understand it.” If it hadn’t been previously clear that he wasn’t accustomed to company, it was now. “I will allow you to take a sample of the antidote, and then you’ll leave.”
Iron Man walked right over Batman’s concerns about privacy and suitability. He even walked over his grumpy attitude, and if only he could have managed the saucy stride these days instead of the awkward, stiff movements he used to keep pressure off his back as he clanked across the cave to the massive consoles and tables. He located the vials of antidote, standing out as they were for Batman to use one on Selina, and neatly stored that in one of the many compartments on his arms. He watched Jarvis’ readings on the equipment and was impressed despite himself. He deemed the array, “a little sloppy but not bad,” and then clanked toward where Selina was lying, trussed up like a Christmas turkey and looking just about as healthy. “I’m going to make sure she’s okay, if you don’t mind.” He spread out a metal glove toward Selina’s neck and shoulder, saying as he did so, “I think you’re full of shit about that Pit, by the way. You don’t have a clue about it, or you wouldn’t have been so worried when she almost took a swim.”
One didn’t need to be able to see his expression to determine that the Bat was not at all impressed with, or by, the metal man traipsing around his cave. He watched him as though he was the equivalent of a young child, capable of causing an irritating amount of damage with practically no effort at all. Once Iron Man was gone, he made a mental note to run a full overview on his current security system and upgrade the measures he already had in place; too many people were finding it too easy to get in these days. Superhero or not, his proximity to Selina was what nudged the Bat forward, out of his stoic statue-like position, though his stride was smooth and controlled and lacking in even the slightest bit of urgency. As though he wouldn’t ensure she was okay, but if Iron Man wanted to determine so on his own, well, he was free to do so. Being told he didn’t ‘have a clue’ about the Lazarus Pit, however, was a blow to his already waning patience.
“You assume a great deal,” the Bat said, cold and hard. “My concern stems from the fact that I know very well what it’s capable of.” He waited until Iron Man’s examination or whatever it was seemed to be complete, or he decided it was, before stepping forward in a complete violation of the other man’s personal space. Physical intimidation was almost a reflex for the Bat. “You seem to have difficulty grasping simple concepts, so I’ll repeat myself one last time. Get out.”
Once the many-jointed red fingers were resting on Selina’s neck and shoulder, the thumb against her pulse point, the Iron Man seemed to stare off into the distance for a few seconds as Tony read the results. He also took her hand, as if she was a doll, running his fingers over hers, and read the results from a pulse oximeter. Tony wasn’t a doctor, but he knew what normal looked like and he knew what “get to better help now” looked like. None of this took long, and he turned away from her and almost bumped right into Batman’s chest. Tony was not a tall man, and neither was Iron Man (even with a couple extra inches in boots and shoulders). He had to give the guy credit; it was like bouncing off a solid wall, even in the suit.
The blue light gazed impassively into the Bat’s face. Jarvis provided some readings, but whatever lined that mask made it impossible to analyze facial structure. Impressed again, Tony waited for a second, and then stepped forward. It would take more than a man to stop the suit when it progressed forward. It weighed twice Batman and three times Tony. He had walked in it powered down before, and it was like dragging weights at the bottom of the Pacific. Pneumatics and similar systems helped Tony “drive” the suit. Where his muscles indicated, the suit went. He pushed past the guy in the Batsuit. “Nice place you have here. You could use an espresso machine, maybe some chairs for guests--and a better database array.” He just made that up to be annoying.
The boots fired up with the muffled blue accelerant, and Iron Man moved upward slowly. He caught himself on a solid stalactite overhead with an arm and a boot, grunting again in pain, and then, reorienting himself, he pushed off (leaving behind a very tiny device meant only to listen and gather harmless digital information) toward the cave’s exit.
No normal man would have been able to push past him, but the metal suit was an advantage the Bat couldn’t compete against. Still, he resisted solely on principle, with ensured that Iron Man would have to force him out of the way, rather than having it be made easy. Perhaps a conversation with Miss Maheu as to who she gave keys to and why was in order, because if Iron Man dared show his face here again, he would find the Bat far less civil. He did not need help, especially not from someone who belonged behind a different door with another separate set of problems. He made a deliberate effort to abstain from responding, which he suspected the other man would want; he seemed the sort to enjoy getting a reaction from people, even if it was negative.
He watched Iron Man leave, and perhaps he stood there a little longer than necessary, staring long after he’d left, though what his gaze was fixated on was anyone’s guess. When the Bat did move again, it was to check on Selina first before settling down to work once again. If he was aware of the device Tony had left, he gave no sign of it; perhaps, in a way, it was like the Lazarus Pit. Neither may have been put there by his hand, but he was the one in control, the one who monitored and placed conditions, and this was something he could easily use to his advantage. Foreign technology in his cave would be a dead giveaway; the other man should have known that. Arrogance left one shortsighted, however, and Iron Man struck him as the sort who had it in spades.