Bruce watched, enthralled as Helena took the stage. She moved with her mother's grace, but when she raised her eyes to the audience and smiled, he felt his heart stop.
That was his mothers smile on her face. And those were his eyes.
He wanted to sob, wanted to catch the little girl to his chest and defy the world to take her, wanted to take her to the cave and make her forget about any family but his.
But he just curled his hands into helpless fists, feeling tears track down his face as the little 'sugarplum' danced offstage.
His daughter, raised by strangers who were surely clapping for her in the audience. He stood, leaving the darkened auditorium in a swirl of dark coat and haunted eyes.
His child had a family. And she would stay with them, because he saw them, smiling at each other, and he saw the parents he could barely recall in them. He'd let her keep them. But if (when) she needed to prowl the streets, the kitten would be met with a guardian Bat.
. . .
Helena watched as the man left, even as she pirouetted.
He'd come to every showing, of every ballet she'd been in.
Since kindergarten.
She was in fourth grade, now, and top of her ballet class and also her math class. She sighed.
He wasn't a stalker, of that she was sure. Every time she saw his dark, haunted eyes, she knew that whatever he was, he was not bad.
That other man, though... the one who came to rehearsals, too, and watched her all the time, she didn't like him. Not one little bit.
She skipped down the sidewalk, resisting the urge to do a cartwheel and flip.
She wanted to move, to dance, to just... be. It itched in her body, the hatred of being still, the love of motion.
The man was following her. Not the man with the sad eyes, no; the man with the hungry eyes.
She moved faster, her jump rope clutched tightly in her hand.
"Here, kitty," he crooned in his nasty voice. "C'mon, little puss. Got something nice."
Helena very nearly snorted and did not look back. Something nice. She hadn't been in foster care her whole life for nothing, stupid.
Her first family had been wonderful, she barely remembered them, but they had to give her up.
The second was ok.
The third was, too. She was with them, now. They were nice, she was the only girl, and she'd gotten a ballet scholarship through Wayne Enterprises endowment for the arts.
It was for her whole life, for any and every school she went to.
She started to run, dropping her backpack so she could run faster, her strong dancers legs propelling her.
The man swore, and started to run, too.
The street was utterly deserted, and she wished she had listened to her friends and not stayed late for practice.
She was running as fast as she could, but she could hear him gaining.
Stupid! The man was right behind her now, so she jumped and spun mid-air, lashing her jump rope across his face as hard as she could, twice, before lashing it around his legs and running again. She filled her lungs to scream when she heard a sharp, whirring sound and a bat... bird... something! flew by her head.
She heard the man scream, and she looked up from the cracked pavement to see HIM standing in front of her, the metal bat-thing in his hand.
"Get home." He rasped, and she stared at him.
He didn't have the blank lenses down, and she saw his sad eyes.
"Go."
"You." She whispered. "It's you."
He narrowed his bright blue eyes, and charged past her, and she could hear him hurting the nasty man.
Then he was next to her again, looking down at her. "Are you.... You're not hurt?" his voice was gentler now.
She shook her head.
There was still no one on the street, just the hero and Helena.
"Why do you watch?" she asked, scared to know and scared not to know. "Why me?"
"Because." He took her arm and walked her home, quickly.
"Why? Tell me why, or I swear I'll tell the cops!" she yelled at him.
He was gone in a swirl of black cape and haunted eyes.
"I know who you are!" she shouted. "I do." She whispered, feeling the empty place in her heart ache as he left her alone.
. . .
Helena sighed, staring at her suitcase.
Yet another foster home-move. Lovely. Just when she?d figured out how to open her door, she had to leave. (lift, and yank and then shove it back down)
She sighed again. Her caseworker looked at her over her glasses. "You're very lucky, Helena."
"These folks will probably end up adopting you. That's how they work." She pushed her glasses up, shifting in her seat. "They usually only take in boys, though." The glasses fell back down.
Helena looked at the dossier the woman was reading. Wayne.
Hmmph. She wasn't going to be another charity publicity case for Bruce Wayne and his new wife, Selina.
No way in hell. She was going to run away first chance she got. Gotham would take care of her, she was sure of it. She'd become a hero. Like Batgirl. Or maybe Catwoman...
"Ready to go, Helena?" she looked up into sad blue eyes and nearly shrieked with shock.
It was the man.
It was the Batman.
"I... yes." She timidly put her arms around him, hugging him, and his arms tightened around her, gently. She could hear his heartbeat, thump thump thump, so steady and strong...
She looked at the beautiful woman standing beside him, and lowered her eyes. Selina Kyle was just so beautiful, so... strong looking and yet classically beautiful, with striking figure and posture and one time Helena had seen her dance for an exhibition.
She'd nearly cried at the beauty of the motion and known she had to learn it.
The woman had looked at her, as she stood off to the side with all the other little ballet rats, and she had smiled so sweetly and shown her how to focus on the 'spot' on the wall as she turned. Helena had smiled for weeks.
Selina put her hand on her shoulder, and she looked up at her. (the social worker was gone) "I've missed you, kitten." She whispered, and clasped Helena close.
Helena inhaled, deeply... the woman was so familiar, she smelled safe and like home and comfort and...
"Let's go home." Bruce rumbled, and lifted her suitcase.
Running away could wait until she knew why he watched, and why Selina looked like something from a dream.
"Guardian Bat" belongs to stalinglim and is used with permission.