Viktor awoke in a soft bed—a total contrast to the thin bedding he'd been forced to use back in the subway station. He usually felt foggy whenever he woke up in his old life, but now, his memory was perfect by his standards. His brain easily recalled the last thing that happened to him.
..
Shortly after killing Victor Zsasz, commotion broke out in the Iceberg Lounge. People were barreled through by this mass monster of a man, clad in midnight-black as he moved with feral rage. Viktor's first thought was that it was some wilder variant of Batman, but no—this was Wildcat. Ted Grant. One of the people that had mentored Bruce Wayne along his journey to becoming Batman.
Realizing on pure animalistic instinct that Wildcat was there for him, Viktor wasted no time and leapt onto his back when the opportunity arose. Though bewildered by his sudden and frankly unexplainable action, Wildcat took that chance and went to barrel right back out with him in tow. When Viktor felt huge hands on him, presumably trying to get him in a more protective hold, he clawed at them and snarled.
"Piss off!" he yelled in the moment. "Keep me on your back and I'll take the bullets, I'll heal anyway! Just get me the fuck outta here!"
...
Throat sore, Viktor immediately regretted his body's choice to groan. His tongue and entire esophagus were as dry as the great deserts, and the simplest movements made it feel like he was deepthroating a cactus. Sighing out of his nose, he hurriedly scanned the room he was in. If he was lucky, there'd be a sink for him to drink from...
He was more than lucky, it turned out. On the bedside desk was one of those sporty sippy cup things. Viktor didn't care about the chance of it being spiked or whatever-the-fuck—he just wanted the sore throat to piss the fuck off and stop bothering him.
He grabbed that thing right quick and popped the lid off, and the straw with it. The cool water blessed his mouth with holy moisture, and he made sure to drink slowly.
Eventually, the cup ran empty and Viktor felt refreshed. With a contented sigh, he got up from the bed and went to one of two doors. The one he avoided had light peeking through—bad sign for someone who wanted to be left alone. The other one was dark, and could be reasonably assumed to be a bathroom.
Claws bared on one hand, he opened the door to reveal... a perfectly normal bathroom. Toilet, shower, sink—the essentials. It was dark and dirty, but what the hell. Having the full set in Gotham was a damn miracle. He stepped in and locked the door behind him to take a good, long piss. It was as he relieved himself that a knock came on the other door.
"Bathroom!" he yelled in response.
There was a chuckle, and the bedroom door opened with an audible creak. Footsteps followed, along with something being placed on the desk. It was heavy, dense, and something metallic clattered as well.
"Brought you some food," said a deep, gravelly voice. "I was gonna eat it myself if you were still sleeping. Go ahead and dig in, I'll talk to you later."
Viktor waited for the bedroom door to audibly close before poking his head out of the bathroom. Now sure that he was alone again, he approached the desk and plopped his ass onto the rickety chair that came with it. There was a tray on the desk, with two bowls both covered with plates. The empty water bottle had been replaced with a full glass as well.
One of the bowls was smaller than the other, and there was a spoon as well. The larger bowl had this thick, chunky soup in it, and it smelled serviceable. Definitely a lot more homey than the mole-men's meals, and definitely would taste much, much better than hospital food. The smaller bowl had this mix of caramelized chicken, soft scrambled eggs, little chunks of tomato, and something green.
Viktor regarded the meals with curiosity and disbelief. "Huh... figured I'd be given more basic shit. This is fucking gourmet by my standards."
Thanking his lucky stars for the blessing, he dug into the stew first with very little hesitation. The flavor struck his tongue like the first meteoric blow he received from the 'training' that Finlay made him go through—only it was infinitely more pleasant. This sour sting struck the back of his tongue as he adjusted to the taste of the food. Soon, he was fighting his hardest to avoid scarfing everything down with little regard for his gullet's well-being.
Done with his meal, Viktor exited the room and found himself in a dimly-lit hallway. An old incandescent bulb was hard at work on the ceiling. It buzzed away, fighting to avoid flickering, yet it was a losing battle.
Directly across from the bedroom was another door. To one end of the hallway was a grimy, cracked window, and to the other was a steep set of stairs that seemingly led into the void. That very void resounded with rhythmic thuds, strained grunting, and the occasional unintelligible word. Knowing who Ted Grant was, Viktor chose to descend.
At the bottom of the stairs, he was greeted to what was essentially his wet dream in his old life. The world opened up into what was a fully-kitted-out boxing gym in his point of view. Workout machines, weightlifting stations, open mats and a handful of rings. None of it presented as fancy considering the standard 'dark and grimy' aesthetic that even interiors seemed to insist on, but it sure felt that way to him.
Besides the equipment, there were ten or so people in the gym, each doing their own training. Nobody paid attention to anyone else besides a single person.
Barking at a pair of rookies sparring in a ring was Ted. He had his arms crossed and his head held high, eyes wide open. They were set in a perpetual glare that intimidated Viktor even if he wasn't their focus.
After issuing a few more orders at the rookies, Ted split off and finally made it known, that he knew Viktor was there. Following his gut instinct, Viktor took a breath and made his way to meet Ted Grant.
"How ya feelin', kid?" Ted asked once the distance was closed. Standing much taller, he had to look down, leaving his face shadowed. This let his eyes come more into focus as they reflected light oddly, gleaming like an animal's in the dark.
"I'm alright," Viktor replied, resisting the impulse to shrink in on himself. "I'm a bit confused, but... yeah, I'm fine."
Ted nodded, seemingly in approval. The perpetual glower on his face made it a challenge to read his emotions. "Well, alright. You in any mind to talk about what happened?"
"Last night?" asked Viktor. When Ted nodded, he moved his head awkwardly, turning away but not completely. "No... don't wanna talk about it yet."
Again, Ted nodded. "Take your time. For now, make yourself at home, but don't leave. Gotta make sure you can take care of yourself out there before letting you go." He then called over someone who had just finished her sessions on a heavy bag. "Janine! Get over here and show the kid around. Coach him a little if he's interested."
As such, Viktor was left up to Janine. She gave him a quick tour of the place first, and didn't bother introducing him to any of the other boxers there. With Ted's permission, she also took him outside to show him around the block.
It was the typical Gotham affair—dark, grimy buildings, unfriendly-looking populace, and little businesses and rackets set up all around. Viktor's little field trip with Janine wasn't pure leisure, however; it served to familiarize him with the environment and make sure he wouldn't get lost in case of an emergency.
By nightfall, Viktor was taken back to the gym. Janine left him to Ted who was no longer busy with his day job, and she left to go home. After helping close up the gym, Viktor found Ted's arm wrapped around his shoulder.
"So... how'd you fancy her?" Ted asked with a telltale grin.
Viktor's only response was an aghast, totally flabbergasted, partially-disgusted face. It wasn't that Janine was unattractive—it was just his first time ever being teased about a woman.
...
Later that night while Viktor was asleep, Ted stayed up for a while longer. He sat on the roof of his gym, right at the edge. There was some fast food beside him, an opened can of beer, and a still-sealed can of coffee. In his mouth was half of a lit cigarette that highlighted his face with its ember, and in the sky was a bright yellow symbol that stuck out among the smog clouds.
"Any minute now," Ted mumbled with a drawl.
As he flicked some ash off his cig, a fluttering noise came up beside him.
"Finally," said Ted. "What took you so long?"
Batman approached, somehow looming over him despite having a smaller frame. "Emergency. There was a hostage situation up the highway on my way here."
Ted grunted, tilting his head in a 'whatever' gesture. "Figures. What do you have on the kid?"
"What I've told you before," Batman replied. "All I have now is confirmation of it. He has no family besides his father, who chased him off and murdered him in an alley."
Ted raised a brow. "Like the kid's not still alive?"
"Regenerative healing factor." Batman sat down on the building's edge and took the coffee can. "I'm sure you know of it. His father's actions wouldn't have left things at 'attempted' if he was normal."
"Well, you got me there," Ted chuckled. He raised his beer can once Batman opened his coffee, and they had a little toast. "Any consequences for that son of a bitch?"
Batman huffed out his nose, half-amused and annoyed. "Brutalized by some people he owed. Not sure if it was related, but it doesn't matter anymore. He was dead by the time I reached him."
"So justice is served," Ted remarked. "Now... what do you think I should do about him?"
"The boy? Keep him around," Batman answered. "What happened in the Lounge... it'll weigh on him. He'll need someone to lean on while he grapples with it."
Ted sucked in a deep breath of smoke, and sighed it out in a billowing cloud. "Won't be that easy. Kid's avoiding the topic. Would probably keep doing that for a while."
Batman tapped a clawed finger on his can, then turned it over idly. "Look... I'm sorry to put this on you, but you're the one who rescued him. Just look at both Robins—that's bound to have imprinted something in his mind. For a while, at least... do me this one favor."
Ted gave several small nods in succession. "So... I guess you'll work at something in the system? Pull some strings so he has somewhere to go."
"That's the plan." Batman stood up and chugged his beer, not wanting to waste a drop. "He's only fifteen, but he's also already fifteen. If he gets attached to you, we'll have to deal with that."
"Bridges and everything," Ted replied, some irritation apparent in his voice.
Batman's figure flickered, cape fluttering as if alive. And then—gone. All that Ted could make out afterwards was a tiny blip in the sky.
—=—=—=—=—=—=—=—
Sorry I haven't updated this fic in a while; been a serious shitstorm in my life lately.
Anyway, hope this chapter was good... and this is another part of my mission to write Batman as a more rounded character. I'm real tired of seeing him act like a total cunt in some fics owing to terrible representation in a lot of places. We all need to remember that he's human in the end. That means nuance. That's also a part of why it takes so long to update Gotham's Sabretooth; I need to think really hard since this won't be as glamorous as DC:SR is.