SilverKnight
06-10-2001, 06:54 AM
Red roses.
Always her favorites.
He stood vigil by the alley for several moments, renewing his vow upon their death. He sighed. Twenty five years. It sounded so hollow, so cold, when he thought of it that way. Hell, he could see it happening right in front of him. Hardening his heart, he turned away from the dirty street.
The winter wind burned his exposed skin. He grimaced at the stinging; a minor annoyance. He had withstood far more pain than a small bout of frostbite. He still had rounds to finish, after all. He was the Dark Knight, the defender of Gotham; he had no times to squabble over a twinge of pain.
He leapt off the slick roof, landing expertly upon the one several feet lower, even with snow piled on top. Years of training taught him to expect the unexpected—although you could hardly call late November snow unexpected. He shook his head. He was thinking too much, musing when he shouldn’t be. That is exactly how people in this line of work would be killed. He was not about to become one of those casualties. Using the cape as protection from the icy air, he raced along the rooftop. He needed to stay on guard, to keep his eyes and ears open—
He froze in mid step. He just heard something. Not a gun shot or scream; the normal sounds that would catch his attention, but another one altogether. A voice. A singing voice.
A beautiful singing voice.
Memories returned unbidden. Memories—up to this point—he hadn’t even realized existed. His mother…she sang him a lullaby when he had awakened from a nightmare. He could now vividly remember how her face slowly moved from side to side as she sang the different notes, how her eyes locked with his, the emotions running within pure and true. Mostly, though, he remembered her voice. It was that of an opera singer; clear, bold, true. Her voice soared like a dove’s, strong as a lions when need be, and gentle as a mother’s touch when she wanted. Her voice entranced him; he became concerned with nothing else other than the continuation of those notes, and it lulled him to a deep, peaceful sleep. When she sang, the whole world melted away, and he felt safe and secure within her music.
This voice was so much like that of his long forgotten mother’s, that he had to take several deep breaths to slow his heart rate, for surely it had to be her standing in the alley. Part of him said to leave her and go on. ‘You’ve heard plenty of operatic voices, why should this be so different?’
He couldn’t shake the feeling though; that long lost feeling that arose whenever he was near his mother. He couldn’t shake the yearning for that feeling of unconditional love. The woman’s voice soared to a note so high it seemed as if the very music were touching the velvety sky above. That clinched it. The want—no the *need* to listen to this heavenly voice was paramount. If just for a moment…
He continued along the building until he found the source of the music—a girl. A young girl. Couldn’t have been older than sixteen. She faced his way, and if she were just to merely look up, she would see him like a sore thumb against the powdery snow. If she had seen him, she made no move to show it. She continued singing, undaunted, as if she were in front of a crowd at the Met. Batman stood, watched in awe of her magnificence, and her true love for her voice, to be singing it in a darkened alley. Maybe music truly *did* soothe the savage beast. Song after song she sang, carrying the melodies with such grace and skill that he had never seen on a Broadway stage. Time passed, and he realized he needed to be moving. No one would be doing anything in this alley tonight.
Time and time again, Batman stopped by the small alleyway, even if just for a few minutes, to listen to that pure voice. It brought back a lot of old hidden memories that hurt, but at the same time felt good to remember. It brought a sadness to him, thinking of what he lost due to his own foolishness, but those moments brought a brief respite from the pain. For weeks, Batman returned to the alleyway, never speaking a word, just listening silently; the notes entrancing him as they had done so many years ago. She sang a wide variety of pieces, from "Ave Maria", "Habenera", and "Phantom of the Opera", to "Amazing Grace", and various Christmas songs. All she sang with perfection, calming the fire within him. All due to the woman’s voice.
One night, much like any other during the Christmas season, he returned to that spot to find an odd silence he hadn’t heard in this area in a while. Searching the area, he found no one. Something happened to him that he never allowed to happen for anyone save his "family"—he became worried. He dropped to the slushy ground, his eyes darting back and forth. He found her quickly behind her normal perch. Rushing over to her side, he lifted her up slightly, to check on her. She was alive, and breathing. However, her lips were powder blue, and the thin cloak she wore could not hide her frail body. Her eyes opened up partially, staring knowingly at the man before her. Then she did something very unexpected in her condition—she smiled. "I was wondering when you were going to show yourself," she whispered hoarsely.
"Shh," he replied softly. He immediately took his cape off, wrapping it around her shivering body, lifting her up. "Don’t try to speak."
She didn’t listen to him. "I’m…glad you enjoyed my songs," she croaked.
He smiled down at the girl in his arms as he pulled out a jumpline. "Hold on, I’m going to get you to a hospital."
She chuckled lightly. "Thank you, but I’m far too gone for your help." She coughed, wheezing in for air, as snowflakes began fluttering down from the sky above. Batman did not heed her advice, soaring up to the rooftop. "…you can’t help me…"
"Let me try," he pleaded. She nodded slowly.
"You know…" She began, sucking in a breath. "I’ve noticed you up here…since the first night you arrived. I figured you wouldn’t…show yourself until you were ready."
He raced across the roof, careening down to the Batmobile. "I…didn’t want to disturb you," he sputtered.
"I reminded you of someone," she said matter-of-factly as he placed her in the passenger seat. He froze momentarily at such a blunt yet still accurate remark. He crossed over to the other side getting inside. Leslie’s was several blocks from here, but was the nearest place. "I did that with a lot of people in the alley. My voice…was my one saving grace. People who heard me…gave me food to eat, water to drink, and a bed to sleep in." Batman winced involuntarily. ‘When people still could live in those buildings,’ he thought. The houses surrounding her alley were all condemned, and would not provide much food, water or shelter for anyone.
She continued haltingly. "Had I not started singing…the gangs around surely would have raped and killed me by now." She coughed again, taking more time to suck in for air. "When I sang to them, they thought I was worth being spared. One of them…actually called me a ‘mockingbird’." He zoomed out of the alley, making incredible time considering he was driving in foot deep snow. She gulped in air, her eyelids becoming heavier. "May I ask…who did I remind you of?"
Batman paused. "My mother." He sighed wearily. "Your voices seemed so similar…she had the most beautiful voice…"
"I’m sure…you do too…"
He shook his head tiredly. Still another few blocks to go. "I haven’t sang since…she died."
"Too many memories?" He nodded silently. "That is why I sing…" She began before gulping down more air. "My parents died in that alley when I was a child…murdered…they both had wonderful voices. I don’t…begrudge the man that killed them…he was hungry and needed food…he looked guilty for what he did." She blinked back tears. "I sang…to honor their memory…"
So many similarities, it hurt. He couldn’t bear to look at her, it would be looking at everything he was not. As well, in the past weeks, he began to associate this young woman with his mother; to see her dying before him would be akin to letting his mother die all over again. "…do something for me…" She murmured, her eyes halfway closed.
"Anything," he answered without hesitation, the cold edge to his voice completely melted away.
She sniffled, licking her chapped lips. "Sing to me."
He winced inadvertently at the request. He hadn’t sung in years. He wasn’t even sure if he could. He slowed the car due to the thick blanket of snow, eventually stopping. The drifts were far too large to pass through by car. Even by *his* car. Carefully pulling the girl out of the seat, he held her close as he continued down the street. Only two more blocks.
"Please," she muttered, shivering from the cold.
Silently, he acquiesced. He held her as tightly as possible without hurting her, trying to keep her warm. His voice was scratchy and rough as he began, which was little more than a hum. The snowflakes came down harder, and his vision was reduced to a short few feet. He felt her relax slightly in his arms, which oddly gave him confidence. Still hoarse, his voice became slightly louder, and the words became audible. More memories resurfaced as he sang the only song he’d ever really known…
His mother was sitting, curled up in a chair, reading a book. "What’cha reading mom?" He had asked, looking up at her aquiline face.
Her eyes left the pages, traveling down to the young boy of four. She smiled gently, putting the book down in her lap, using her thumb as a bookmark. "To Kill A Mockingbird," she replied quietly.
He pursed his lips. "What’s it about?"
"It’s about a girl," she told him, her smile widening.
Bruce’s face scrunched up in disdain. "Eew, girls!" She couldn’t help but chuckle at the look on his face. He gazed up at her, wondering why she was laughing. "What?"
Her laughter died down, and she rubbed her slender fingers through her baby’s raven hair. "Oh, nothing. You just remind me of her, that’s all."
His jaw dropped, and his eyes widened in horror. "Do *not*!" She began to laugh again, which didn’t help the boy’s mood any. "*What*?"
Her eyes caught the boy’s terrified ones, soothing him instantly. "It’s not a bad thing, Brucie. You’re like her in a *good* way. She’s smart and *really* strong too!"
He thought for a moment. "You mean she’s a Tomboy?"
Martha shook her head slightly. Tom’s doing, no doubt. "Yes...and she reminds me of you. My little mockingbird."
Now Bruce was helplessly lost. "Whoa, she was a *bird*?"
She resisted the urge to laugh at his exaggerated facial expressions. One of the many joys from a child who wanted to grow up to be an actor. "No, no…there is this line in the story…" She fished through the book, her eyes darting back and forth, searching for what she wanted. Her full lips curled in a smile, and she read it aloud. "’Mockingbirds don't do one thing but make music for us to enjoy. They don't eat up peoples gardens, don't nest in corncribs, they don't do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That's why it's a sin to kill a mockingbird.’ That’s what you are, Brucie."
He blinked, confusion in his eyes. "*I’m* a bird?"
Her smile—if it were possible—became even brighter, and she picked the boy up, plopping him down on her lap. "No, honey. What that meant was a mockingbird doesn’t do anything bad. It’s a good bird, and it never hurts anyone. That’s you, Bruce. You are my little mockingbird." She then pulled him into a tight hug, singing softly in his ear. "Hush little baby, don’t say a word…mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird…" After a few moments, she had lulled him off to sleep.
She was way off the mark.
He entered quickly through the back door to find Dr. Leslie packing up her things for the night. Her eyes widened when they stopped upon the bundle in his arms. "Lay her down," she ordered quickly, pulling out her tools. He did so swiftly, pulling his cape off of her. Leslie murmured something under her breath when she looked at the shivering child. "Where did you find her?" Leslie asked.
"A few blocks from here," he replied, in a soft—almost singsong voice. "Can you do anything?"
Leslie checked her pulse and her blood pressure quickly, her face falling. She looked up at him, shaking her head. "I better call an ambulance," she said, quickly leaving the room.
She looked up the Dark Knight, and smiled gently. "Thank you…"
He caught her gaze, and couldn’t break it. Suddenly, he was back at the alley, watching his parents bleed to death in front of him. He hadn’t stopped humming the quiet melody since they had entered, minutes before. So many feelings rushed through him, fighting for control of him. He kneeled down, staring sadly at her unseeing eyes. He sucked in a breath, and pulled back his cowl. "I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice full of emotion. "I should’ve seen your condition earlier—done something to help you—"
The girl—with what strength she had left—rested her hand upon Bruce’s gloved one. "It’s alright," she murmured, her eyes half closed. "I’ve enjoyed my life, I’ve sang to my heart’s content…my job is done…"
"But—"
Her eyes finally met his true cerulean ones, filled with fire and determination. "Don’t remember me for what you’ve lost…remember me for what you’ve gained."
Amazingly enough, in his mental haze, her words made sense. He brought his other hand up, putting it overtop hers. With a smile on her face, her eyes closed for the final time. The Dark Knight stood solemnly, draping his long black cape over her entire body. Placing his hand on her covered shoulder, he closed his eyes. "Rest in peace," he whispered huskily.
Leslie returned to the back room moments later, her eyes falling upon the girl covered in his black cape. She crossed the room slowly, wrapping her arms tentatively around his shoulders, offering comfort. She knew that behind the icy facade, Batman—*Bruce* was a very emotional person; she knew he felt the death of every person in the city as if they were of his own blood. The sounds of an ambulance wafted through the crisp night air as he, unmasked, returned the hug with one arm, the other still resting on the child’s shoulder.
---
The snow had begun to melt away, the lush green grass beginning to poke out of its icy captor. The blustery wind still remained, however; it wasn’t spring *yet*.
He stood in front of the small tombstone, clad in all black. The long leather trenchcoat protected him somewhat from the biting cold, but his exposed face tingled painfully. He ignored it, though, holding one white rose in his hand. He had already visited his parents’ grave, and decided to pay homage to the girl that opened his eyes so many nights ago. "Don’t remember me for what you’ve lost, remember me for what you’ve gained," she had told him.
Her last words. He couldn’t really decipher how exactly she made his life better, only that she…well, *did*. Those words she had uttered to him had a profound impact on him, for no one had ever really put it that way. Alfred, Dick and many others attempted to tell him that every anniversary of his parents’ murder, but it never really reached him. And for a girl he’d never met before to put it so simply boggled his mind. He finally understood what everyone had been trying to tell him all those years.
Oh, he still went out on patrol. That would never change for as long as he could help it. But now his motive was slightly different. Instead of fighting to make the criminals pay for what he had lost, he now fought to preserve those who would create those happy moments, however fleeting. He hummed as he knelt down in the cold earth, resting the fragile flower upon the small headstone. He closed his eyes, remembering her pure voice wafting through the cold air, allowing the sheer memory of her powerful songs to calm the fire within him for a moment. He had always remembered—his memory was an amazingly acute one—however now he tried to keep those searing memories in balance with the few good ones he had obtained over the years.
Breathing in the crisp mid-March air, he stood, a song about his lips. He took one last look at the small gravestone, a single word engraved upon it: MOCKINGBIRD. Smiling, he turned down the winding path in the darkening afternoon.
--There ya go!--
Always her favorites.
He stood vigil by the alley for several moments, renewing his vow upon their death. He sighed. Twenty five years. It sounded so hollow, so cold, when he thought of it that way. Hell, he could see it happening right in front of him. Hardening his heart, he turned away from the dirty street.
The winter wind burned his exposed skin. He grimaced at the stinging; a minor annoyance. He had withstood far more pain than a small bout of frostbite. He still had rounds to finish, after all. He was the Dark Knight, the defender of Gotham; he had no times to squabble over a twinge of pain.
He leapt off the slick roof, landing expertly upon the one several feet lower, even with snow piled on top. Years of training taught him to expect the unexpected—although you could hardly call late November snow unexpected. He shook his head. He was thinking too much, musing when he shouldn’t be. That is exactly how people in this line of work would be killed. He was not about to become one of those casualties. Using the cape as protection from the icy air, he raced along the rooftop. He needed to stay on guard, to keep his eyes and ears open—
He froze in mid step. He just heard something. Not a gun shot or scream; the normal sounds that would catch his attention, but another one altogether. A voice. A singing voice.
A beautiful singing voice.
Memories returned unbidden. Memories—up to this point—he hadn’t even realized existed. His mother…she sang him a lullaby when he had awakened from a nightmare. He could now vividly remember how her face slowly moved from side to side as she sang the different notes, how her eyes locked with his, the emotions running within pure and true. Mostly, though, he remembered her voice. It was that of an opera singer; clear, bold, true. Her voice soared like a dove’s, strong as a lions when need be, and gentle as a mother’s touch when she wanted. Her voice entranced him; he became concerned with nothing else other than the continuation of those notes, and it lulled him to a deep, peaceful sleep. When she sang, the whole world melted away, and he felt safe and secure within her music.
This voice was so much like that of his long forgotten mother’s, that he had to take several deep breaths to slow his heart rate, for surely it had to be her standing in the alley. Part of him said to leave her and go on. ‘You’ve heard plenty of operatic voices, why should this be so different?’
He couldn’t shake the feeling though; that long lost feeling that arose whenever he was near his mother. He couldn’t shake the yearning for that feeling of unconditional love. The woman’s voice soared to a note so high it seemed as if the very music were touching the velvety sky above. That clinched it. The want—no the *need* to listen to this heavenly voice was paramount. If just for a moment…
He continued along the building until he found the source of the music—a girl. A young girl. Couldn’t have been older than sixteen. She faced his way, and if she were just to merely look up, she would see him like a sore thumb against the powdery snow. If she had seen him, she made no move to show it. She continued singing, undaunted, as if she were in front of a crowd at the Met. Batman stood, watched in awe of her magnificence, and her true love for her voice, to be singing it in a darkened alley. Maybe music truly *did* soothe the savage beast. Song after song she sang, carrying the melodies with such grace and skill that he had never seen on a Broadway stage. Time passed, and he realized he needed to be moving. No one would be doing anything in this alley tonight.
Time and time again, Batman stopped by the small alleyway, even if just for a few minutes, to listen to that pure voice. It brought back a lot of old hidden memories that hurt, but at the same time felt good to remember. It brought a sadness to him, thinking of what he lost due to his own foolishness, but those moments brought a brief respite from the pain. For weeks, Batman returned to the alleyway, never speaking a word, just listening silently; the notes entrancing him as they had done so many years ago. She sang a wide variety of pieces, from "Ave Maria", "Habenera", and "Phantom of the Opera", to "Amazing Grace", and various Christmas songs. All she sang with perfection, calming the fire within him. All due to the woman’s voice.
One night, much like any other during the Christmas season, he returned to that spot to find an odd silence he hadn’t heard in this area in a while. Searching the area, he found no one. Something happened to him that he never allowed to happen for anyone save his "family"—he became worried. He dropped to the slushy ground, his eyes darting back and forth. He found her quickly behind her normal perch. Rushing over to her side, he lifted her up slightly, to check on her. She was alive, and breathing. However, her lips were powder blue, and the thin cloak she wore could not hide her frail body. Her eyes opened up partially, staring knowingly at the man before her. Then she did something very unexpected in her condition—she smiled. "I was wondering when you were going to show yourself," she whispered hoarsely.
"Shh," he replied softly. He immediately took his cape off, wrapping it around her shivering body, lifting her up. "Don’t try to speak."
She didn’t listen to him. "I’m…glad you enjoyed my songs," she croaked.
He smiled down at the girl in his arms as he pulled out a jumpline. "Hold on, I’m going to get you to a hospital."
She chuckled lightly. "Thank you, but I’m far too gone for your help." She coughed, wheezing in for air, as snowflakes began fluttering down from the sky above. Batman did not heed her advice, soaring up to the rooftop. "…you can’t help me…"
"Let me try," he pleaded. She nodded slowly.
"You know…" She began, sucking in a breath. "I’ve noticed you up here…since the first night you arrived. I figured you wouldn’t…show yourself until you were ready."
He raced across the roof, careening down to the Batmobile. "I…didn’t want to disturb you," he sputtered.
"I reminded you of someone," she said matter-of-factly as he placed her in the passenger seat. He froze momentarily at such a blunt yet still accurate remark. He crossed over to the other side getting inside. Leslie’s was several blocks from here, but was the nearest place. "I did that with a lot of people in the alley. My voice…was my one saving grace. People who heard me…gave me food to eat, water to drink, and a bed to sleep in." Batman winced involuntarily. ‘When people still could live in those buildings,’ he thought. The houses surrounding her alley were all condemned, and would not provide much food, water or shelter for anyone.
She continued haltingly. "Had I not started singing…the gangs around surely would have raped and killed me by now." She coughed again, taking more time to suck in for air. "When I sang to them, they thought I was worth being spared. One of them…actually called me a ‘mockingbird’." He zoomed out of the alley, making incredible time considering he was driving in foot deep snow. She gulped in air, her eyelids becoming heavier. "May I ask…who did I remind you of?"
Batman paused. "My mother." He sighed wearily. "Your voices seemed so similar…she had the most beautiful voice…"
"I’m sure…you do too…"
He shook his head tiredly. Still another few blocks to go. "I haven’t sang since…she died."
"Too many memories?" He nodded silently. "That is why I sing…" She began before gulping down more air. "My parents died in that alley when I was a child…murdered…they both had wonderful voices. I don’t…begrudge the man that killed them…he was hungry and needed food…he looked guilty for what he did." She blinked back tears. "I sang…to honor their memory…"
So many similarities, it hurt. He couldn’t bear to look at her, it would be looking at everything he was not. As well, in the past weeks, he began to associate this young woman with his mother; to see her dying before him would be akin to letting his mother die all over again. "…do something for me…" She murmured, her eyes halfway closed.
"Anything," he answered without hesitation, the cold edge to his voice completely melted away.
She sniffled, licking her chapped lips. "Sing to me."
He winced inadvertently at the request. He hadn’t sung in years. He wasn’t even sure if he could. He slowed the car due to the thick blanket of snow, eventually stopping. The drifts were far too large to pass through by car. Even by *his* car. Carefully pulling the girl out of the seat, he held her close as he continued down the street. Only two more blocks.
"Please," she muttered, shivering from the cold.
Silently, he acquiesced. He held her as tightly as possible without hurting her, trying to keep her warm. His voice was scratchy and rough as he began, which was little more than a hum. The snowflakes came down harder, and his vision was reduced to a short few feet. He felt her relax slightly in his arms, which oddly gave him confidence. Still hoarse, his voice became slightly louder, and the words became audible. More memories resurfaced as he sang the only song he’d ever really known…
His mother was sitting, curled up in a chair, reading a book. "What’cha reading mom?" He had asked, looking up at her aquiline face.
Her eyes left the pages, traveling down to the young boy of four. She smiled gently, putting the book down in her lap, using her thumb as a bookmark. "To Kill A Mockingbird," she replied quietly.
He pursed his lips. "What’s it about?"
"It’s about a girl," she told him, her smile widening.
Bruce’s face scrunched up in disdain. "Eew, girls!" She couldn’t help but chuckle at the look on his face. He gazed up at her, wondering why she was laughing. "What?"
Her laughter died down, and she rubbed her slender fingers through her baby’s raven hair. "Oh, nothing. You just remind me of her, that’s all."
His jaw dropped, and his eyes widened in horror. "Do *not*!" She began to laugh again, which didn’t help the boy’s mood any. "*What*?"
Her eyes caught the boy’s terrified ones, soothing him instantly. "It’s not a bad thing, Brucie. You’re like her in a *good* way. She’s smart and *really* strong too!"
He thought for a moment. "You mean she’s a Tomboy?"
Martha shook her head slightly. Tom’s doing, no doubt. "Yes...and she reminds me of you. My little mockingbird."
Now Bruce was helplessly lost. "Whoa, she was a *bird*?"
She resisted the urge to laugh at his exaggerated facial expressions. One of the many joys from a child who wanted to grow up to be an actor. "No, no…there is this line in the story…" She fished through the book, her eyes darting back and forth, searching for what she wanted. Her full lips curled in a smile, and she read it aloud. "’Mockingbirds don't do one thing but make music for us to enjoy. They don't eat up peoples gardens, don't nest in corncribs, they don't do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That's why it's a sin to kill a mockingbird.’ That’s what you are, Brucie."
He blinked, confusion in his eyes. "*I’m* a bird?"
Her smile—if it were possible—became even brighter, and she picked the boy up, plopping him down on her lap. "No, honey. What that meant was a mockingbird doesn’t do anything bad. It’s a good bird, and it never hurts anyone. That’s you, Bruce. You are my little mockingbird." She then pulled him into a tight hug, singing softly in his ear. "Hush little baby, don’t say a word…mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird…" After a few moments, she had lulled him off to sleep.
She was way off the mark.
He entered quickly through the back door to find Dr. Leslie packing up her things for the night. Her eyes widened when they stopped upon the bundle in his arms. "Lay her down," she ordered quickly, pulling out her tools. He did so swiftly, pulling his cape off of her. Leslie murmured something under her breath when she looked at the shivering child. "Where did you find her?" Leslie asked.
"A few blocks from here," he replied, in a soft—almost singsong voice. "Can you do anything?"
Leslie checked her pulse and her blood pressure quickly, her face falling. She looked up at him, shaking her head. "I better call an ambulance," she said, quickly leaving the room.
She looked up the Dark Knight, and smiled gently. "Thank you…"
He caught her gaze, and couldn’t break it. Suddenly, he was back at the alley, watching his parents bleed to death in front of him. He hadn’t stopped humming the quiet melody since they had entered, minutes before. So many feelings rushed through him, fighting for control of him. He kneeled down, staring sadly at her unseeing eyes. He sucked in a breath, and pulled back his cowl. "I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice full of emotion. "I should’ve seen your condition earlier—done something to help you—"
The girl—with what strength she had left—rested her hand upon Bruce’s gloved one. "It’s alright," she murmured, her eyes half closed. "I’ve enjoyed my life, I’ve sang to my heart’s content…my job is done…"
"But—"
Her eyes finally met his true cerulean ones, filled with fire and determination. "Don’t remember me for what you’ve lost…remember me for what you’ve gained."
Amazingly enough, in his mental haze, her words made sense. He brought his other hand up, putting it overtop hers. With a smile on her face, her eyes closed for the final time. The Dark Knight stood solemnly, draping his long black cape over her entire body. Placing his hand on her covered shoulder, he closed his eyes. "Rest in peace," he whispered huskily.
Leslie returned to the back room moments later, her eyes falling upon the girl covered in his black cape. She crossed the room slowly, wrapping her arms tentatively around his shoulders, offering comfort. She knew that behind the icy facade, Batman—*Bruce* was a very emotional person; she knew he felt the death of every person in the city as if they were of his own blood. The sounds of an ambulance wafted through the crisp night air as he, unmasked, returned the hug with one arm, the other still resting on the child’s shoulder.
---
The snow had begun to melt away, the lush green grass beginning to poke out of its icy captor. The blustery wind still remained, however; it wasn’t spring *yet*.
He stood in front of the small tombstone, clad in all black. The long leather trenchcoat protected him somewhat from the biting cold, but his exposed face tingled painfully. He ignored it, though, holding one white rose in his hand. He had already visited his parents’ grave, and decided to pay homage to the girl that opened his eyes so many nights ago. "Don’t remember me for what you’ve lost, remember me for what you’ve gained," she had told him.
Her last words. He couldn’t really decipher how exactly she made his life better, only that she…well, *did*. Those words she had uttered to him had a profound impact on him, for no one had ever really put it that way. Alfred, Dick and many others attempted to tell him that every anniversary of his parents’ murder, but it never really reached him. And for a girl he’d never met before to put it so simply boggled his mind. He finally understood what everyone had been trying to tell him all those years.
Oh, he still went out on patrol. That would never change for as long as he could help it. But now his motive was slightly different. Instead of fighting to make the criminals pay for what he had lost, he now fought to preserve those who would create those happy moments, however fleeting. He hummed as he knelt down in the cold earth, resting the fragile flower upon the small headstone. He closed his eyes, remembering her pure voice wafting through the cold air, allowing the sheer memory of her powerful songs to calm the fire within him for a moment. He had always remembered—his memory was an amazingly acute one—however now he tried to keep those searing memories in balance with the few good ones he had obtained over the years.
Breathing in the crisp mid-March air, he stood, a song about his lips. He took one last look at the small gravestone, a single word engraved upon it: MOCKINGBIRD. Smiling, he turned down the winding path in the darkening afternoon.
--There ya go!--