Saving Grace: a Batman fanfiction

Chapter 6

            Patrol was going slow. Other than an encounter with Killer Croc that required Nightwing's help (Red Hood had perched on a nearby building and was clapping and cheering every time one of the Batclan took a hit), and a few petty burglaries, nothing much was happening tonight.

             "Maybe we can go home early," Batman said to Robin. "You're looking tired."

             "Tt," Damian scoffed.

             "I'm heading back to Bludhaven," said Dick, landing besides the duo. "Maybe I'll stop by tomorrow to see the kid, though. How's he settling in?"

             "She," Bruce corrected with a groan. 

             "She is a female of the weak and pitiful variety," Damian explained scornfully. 

             "Mean, Damian," Dick reprimanded quickly.

             "She's a little mean," Tim agreed, landing besides Dick. "Kind of like, I don't know, a bit of a Regina George."

             Dick laughed.

             "Well, maybe I'll stop by tomorrow or some time this week."

             "You're welcome anytime," said Bruce warmly. "We should head home too; nothing else is happening tonight."

             After Batman, Robin, and Red Robin were patched up in the med bay in the cave by Alfred-- really just a few scratches from Killer Croc, nothing serious-- they all headed back to the manor for some needed sleep.

             

             Grace had screamed herself hoarse an hour ago and was just curled up sobbing against her door, pounding at it with a fist occasionally.

             Her wrist throbbed from punching the wood and her sides throbbed from shouting for Bruce and Alfred.

             What did they want with her? Why was she trapped here, contained like an animal… But what was that, footsteps? Her heartbeat raced.

             Bruce was making his way to his room when he heard the crying, and then a dull thud. He quickened his pace, pulse rapid, hoping Grace wasn't hurt. (Because it would make him look bad, he told himself. She detested him and he didn't like her back.) Pulling out his phone, Bruce unlocked her door and pulled it open.

             He was shocked by what he saw.

             Grace was slumped on the ground at his feet in pink satin shorts and a matching tank top, head between her knees and sobbing, hyperventilating. His eyes scanned over her, checking for injuries.

              He didn't see any, and knelt down in front of her. Because right now, she didn't seem mean. She seemed like a kid. A crying kid.

             "Are you okay?" He asked in what he hoped was a comforting voice. She picked her head up from her knees and glared at him, eyes and nose a startling red, face glistening with tears. Her expression was so angry, so hurt. Bruce felt bad for her, even though he didn't want to.

             "W-why--" she hiccuped, but she couldn't calm her breathing enough to talk. He reached out to pat her ribsy, shivering back, but it was the wrong move and she clambered away from him, avoiding his touch. He lowered himself so he was sitting cross legged on her pink carpet and watched as she twisted her fingers through the shaggy rug, fighting desperately for control of herself. "Why didn't you come when I called?" She finally managed, voice shrill. 

             "You were calling?" He said, brow furrowed in confusion, and she snorted and shook her head in disbelief.

             "There's no way you didn't hear me," she snapped, eyeing him wearily.

             "I'm sorry," he said honestly.

             "You can't l-l-lock me in here, Bruce," she said, voice wild, fresh tears running down her face.

    “I’m sorry,” he replied honestly. “It’s for your own safety.”

    “Y-you mean you’re going to do it again?” she said, voice incredulous. Bruce shrugged sympathetically.

    “Just at night,” he said consolingly. “Until early morning. It’s safer that way.”

    “N-n-no,” she said, leaping to her feet and swaying, off-balance. “I can’t- can’t stay here if you’re going to lock me in here every night. I c-can’t--” Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

    Locking her in her room was the easiest way to ensure that she didn’t find out about Batman, or Robin and Red Robin. And it was safer for all of them, including her, if she didn’t know. And he was so tired. His patience was wearing thin.

    “You’re going to have to,” he said blithely, and he should have known from the second she tossed her glance to the door behind him that she was about to run; but he was so tired from patrol. 

    “Well, I c-can’t,” she said, voice still shaky, and then she darted past him and down the hall.

    Grace burst through the front doors of the manor (thank God she’d actually found them instead of just running circles around the huge mansion) and took in huge swallows of the crisp night air. Adrenaline pulsed through her veins and she sprinted towards the woods. She didn’t hear any footsteps, so when she finally stopped running and sagged against a tree to catch her breath, she wasn’t expecting Bruce to be standing right behind her when she turned around.

    She screamed.

    He shrugged drily.

    “Are you done running?”

    Her eyes darted around her, around Bruce. There were so many places to run to but he’d catch her every time. He was too damn huge. 

    “How’d you do that,” she demanded breathlessly, voice surprisingly steady. The running must have steadied her erratic breathing somewhat. Or maybe it had just tired her out so much she didn’t have the strength to be hysterical anymore.

    “Do what?” he said, but his lips were quirked in a way that made her think he knew exactly what she was talking about. She narrowed her eyes at him.

    “I didn’t hear you behind me.”

    “Yeah? Maybe you weren’t listening.” Grace scoffed at this answer and shook her head in disbelief.

    “Look, I’m sorry for not telling you that I was going to lock your door. I didn’t realise it would-- alarm you.” He seemed sincere enough, but Grace still snorted at that.

    “I’m a foster kid, okay, Bruce? You have no idea-- of course it would alarm me.” Grace threw her hands up frustratedly and averted her stare to the sky. Bruce’s expression softened. 

    “Yeah.” 

    “I wasn’t scared,” Grace said, angry eyes snapping back to him. 

    “Never said you were.”

    “I don’t like you. And if you keep locking me in, I’m going to dislike you even more,” she snarled, suddenly defensive.

    “I have to. But I’ll tell Alfred to stay nearby so that if you call anyone, he can come and answer you.” Bruce replied, trying to appease her. Grace sighed, obviously agitated.

“Whatever, Bruce,” she said, and stalked past him to return to the manor.

She didn’t think he was following her because he didn’t make a sound, but when she glanced over her shoulder two minutes later, there he was, right at her back. 

Ridiculous.

Later that night, Bruce pulled up the security feed from the camera right outside of his room. He didn’t like Grace, he reminded himself, but he still felt sick inside when he heard her shouts for Alfred, for him. 

(He fell asleep with her shouting echoing around in his head.)