ANGELS WEEP || bruce wayne

the sixteenth

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Stacey held on for her life as Bruce's motorcycle whipped through Gotham, the helmet he had shucked onto her head barely protecting her from the harsh winds.

"Almost there!" He called back, and she nodded the helmet into his thick jacket.

The sound of the howling wind changed, and the area around them grew enclosed. Stacey opened her eyes and took in the dark, dank walls coated in a thick layer of paint and grime from before the subway was abandoned.

The went down deeper, until the subway opened up to-

Stacey's mouth fell open and she marvelled at the underground world around her.

La caverna.

The catacombs.

Her father took her through the labyrinthine catacombs underneath Gotham only once, and that was to show her the belly of the underground business. Her father, at the time, was organizing the smuggling of weapons into Gotham for his henchmen to better defend themselves in case one of the other Families decided to start a war. With the knowledge of his newfound power, they had backed off, attempting to make deals with the Don to get in on the industry. None of them had known of his usage of the catacombs and he was content to keep it that way.

Bruce slowed as the dark subway tunnel opened into a cave, bats flashing their wings in the intrepid black against stalactites dripping water onto the ground.

This was more than Stacey had ever dreamed.

Bruce slowed his bike to a stop and got off, leaving Stacey to fend for herself as she got off the motorcycle on shaky legs.

After tossing the helmet onto the seat of the bike she joined him, gazing over the intense tech before her. Giant monitors, papers scattered everywhere filled with strange symbols. In the corner of the cave was a white tarp, surrounded by different modes of transportation. She counted at least three different motorcycles.

Stacey carefully peeled off her overcoat, business cards falling out of the pockets and onto the floor in wet clumps of paper.

"Oh- sorry..."

Bruce glanced over for a split second before returning to his screen. "Don't worry about it."

Stacey threw her overcoat over one of the chairs next to the long desk covered in monitors and took her place next to Bruce, looking curiously over his shoulder.

"Um, what are you doing?"

He looked at her. Bruce's eyes were covered in black coal, streaks running down his face in inky trails. Offering a rare quirk of his lip just short of a smile, he turned back to the screen. "Checking the ledgers of your father's business, seeing if any of the employees match up."

Stacey scoffed. "I doubt you'll find anything. Law of omerta, you know. Not allowed to talk about anything concerning business to anyone outside of the family. It's been written into stone for generations."

He nodded. "I'm just going to check what the police department records are for arrests concerning the gambling den, and then I'll cross reference it with the record of people seen reporting to your father or seen going into the Iceberg itself."

Stacey's eyebrows rose, watching him enlarge ledgers on the monitor and write the names on a piece of paper in front of him.

"You don't think the informant would've already found me?"

Bruce's eyes travelled to land on her jacket and the clumps of paper on the floor.

"They might."

Stacey flushed from embarrassment. "Sorry... I didn't think about the business cards..."

Bryce shook his head, turning back to the ledgers before him. "You didn't know."

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, Stacey scribbling notes in the margins of the paper Bruce was writing on, paying no attention to the names written there just yet.

Bruce set his pencil down when he finished, turning the sheet so it faced Stacey.

"Any of these look familiar?"

Stacey took it between her fingers, searching along the list for any names that stood out.

"No, nothing. They look familiar, but I don't know any of them personally. Do you think-"

Her eyes darted to the screen and she froze, starting forward in a burst of energy to stand between Bruce and the screen before him.

"Oh God."

Lorenzo's name stood out in hastily-written letters on one of the dozens of pieces of paper displayed along the screen. His unmistakable signature was scrawled at the bottom of the record; a warrant for a search of his apartment for a suspected gambling den- the property under the control of Salvatore Maroni.

Stacey turned her head, jumping at how close Bruce was, as he looked over her shoulder.

Her eyes widened. Pale blue sky hit cobblestone as his cool irises met her's, his eyelids dropping to stare at her mouth.

Stacey turned so she was leaning against the desk, though still facing him, placing some well-needed room between the two of them. But the tension didn't disappate.

Bruce looked at her, face flushed, fingers gripping the edge of the desk beside her.

"What is it?" His voice crackled out in a cool whisper.

He smelled like sweat and gasoline, but for some reason, Stacey wanted to move closer, to let it envelop her. She was close enough to where she could feel their breath mixing.

"Lorenzo. It's Lorenzo." Stacey turned back to the monitor and zoomed in on his record, studying the picture. "He worked for my father, and now he's helping me with the Angel business."

"Why didn't he just give you the fund?"

Stacey shook her head. "Not sure." She took in a breath, raking her hands through her hair. "I can't believe it! I trusted him. God, why do you spite me? Why did it have to be Lorenzo?"

Bruce's hands dropped to lay on her shoulders, fingertips stained with black kohl.

"Do you want to find out?"

She looked back at him, noting the seriousness in his voice and the vulnerability of his expression. He looked tired, like he wanted to sleep. But they had to keep soldiering on.

"Yes. But I'm not taking your damned bike this time."

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