Batman Begins/Dark Knight 1. I: Prologue Part I

**_The Crooked Kind_  
**by Hallow Bird

* * *

**Opening Author's Notes:** Hello, and welcome to my new story. A while ago, I watched the Dark Knight Trilogy for the first time and was struck with a tiny idea. Over time it began to expand and grow which resulted in this story. This will be the first installment in a (currently) three story series I like to call _The Moral Spectrum Trilogy. _The meaning behind this title is that these stories will explore three different levels of morality–the white end, the grey middle, and the black end–through different characters (original and canon).

This story begins Pre-Batman Begins and will cover through the movie and a little of the aftermath. This story will also be a bit of an AU, because of the addition of my original characters and also because I'm adjusting some of the timeline in the movies to fit certain plot lines better. For example, this prologue is set a little under a year before Bruce returns to Gotham. It was never specified how long Bruce trained within the League of Shadows. For my purposes, I decided he trained with them for a year. Another change I would like to point out to avoid confusion is that I will be including characters in the story earlier than when they appeared in the movies. The biggest example of this is John Blake. He will have a role later in this story, as well as one in the sequel that covers The Dark Knight. You'll have to read and see how.

**Story Details:  
****Title:** The Crooked Kind**  
Rating:** Rated T for violence, language, sexual content, darker themes. Rating has potential to change.  
**Disclaimer:** The Dark Knight Trilogy and all of the characters therein do not belong to me. Any original characters or content does.  
**Spoilers/Warnings:** Spoilers for all the movies. Story includes time alteration, OCs, OC parings, and darker themes.  
**Pairings:** Jonathan Crane/OC  
**Special thanks:** This story would not be possible without the help of Starcrier and breath1926 who have helped me edit, brainstorm, and perfect plot points. Without them listening to my rants, this story would not be what it is today. Thank you.

Readers, I hope you enjoy the story that follows. Please read and review; I would love to hear from you. And now onto the story...

* * *

**Act I  
****The Swan and the Crane**

* * *

**I  
Prologue - Part I  
Consign to Shadow**

_Shadow is ever besieged, for that is its nature. Whilst darkness devours, and light steals. And so no one sees shadow ever retreat to hidden places, only to return in the wake of the war between darkness and light.  
_–Steve Erikson

* * *

Anger is a powerful emotion, no matter what source creates it, whether it be the grief of a ghost or the hatred of an enemy.

Anger is a consuming emotion. It grows and envelops. It _burns, _though in different ways. Sometimes it's the slow burn, the warm embers that pulse and heat as a constant presence inside. Other times it's the almighty burn, the quick ignition through your veins, the roar in your ears, the rush deep in your bones, the blinding of your mind, and the searing of your soul.

Bruce Wayne felt that sudden, colossal rush of familiar, fiery anger when his mentor, Henri Ducard, accused Bruce's father for the deaths that took both Thomas Wayne and Martha Wayne from their young son.

Bruce stared at Ducard. He was the ninja who'd said he would teach Bruce how to become truly invisible. He was the warrior who'd said he would teach him how to engage six hundred men. He was the mentor who'd said he would teach him how to confront the guilt of his parent's death. Apparently, the same man also placed the blame –blame that had weighed heavily on Bruce for years and later been swallowed up by anger– onto the father Bruce had loved, lost, and missed so dearly.

The accusation stunned Bruce for a moment, his focus on the training slipping and allowing Ducard the opportunity yank the sword from Bruce's grip and send it skittering a few feet across the ice of their training cove.

Anger sparked and quickly augmented, spreading throughout his body and replacing the sting of the claim. The hot emotion filled him with strength and action. He began to _burn._

Even without the sword, Bruce pressed forward and continued the fight with his armored body as his weapon.

Ducard, the master truly in his craft, easily defended himself. With a few masterful blows, he fought back Bruce, sending the younger man to slide across the ice on his back.

That anger still burned. It still ran hot. It still burned Bruce. It still kept him fighting. Soon, he was up again, rushing forward into another exchange of punches and blows.

And again, Ducard defended with ease and precision. While Bruce grunted with the exertion, Ducard remained silent as he deflected a punch and grabbed onto Bruce's wrist. With the grip, Ducard flipped the younger man, landing Bruce's back onto the ice again.

He spoke once more, stating that Bruce's anger couldn't have changed the outcome of that terrible night nor the fact that Thomas Wayne had failed to act.

Acting as a loyal son, Bruce pointed out the man behind the tragedy, the person Bruce hated dearly, the criminal he had intended to murder–Joe Chill–had a gun. Thomas had been defenseless against the man behind the trigger and the piercing bullet.

Ducard simply discarded what Bruce said. He replied that Bruce would have acted despite those circumstances.

As he scrambled to a stand, soles scuffing against the ice and eyes glaring at Ducard, Bruce tried to make Ducard understand that, unlike him, his father had no training.

The mentor lunged forward. He rebutted with an exclamation that the training was nothing and with a quick slice of his sword, aimed to cut through Bruce's head.

_Will is everything._

As word swung down, Bruce Wayne raised his arms to deflect the blow. The steel sung a sharp note when it collided with the armor of the gauntlets, the last line of protection and defense Bruce had while his own sword laid on the ice a few feet away.

Although Bruce managed to deflect the sword and land an offensive punch on Ducard, the older man returned it with another blow that sent Bruce sprawling on the ice once more.

Quickly, Bruce moved to rise again. He regarded Ducard as the man just paced across the ice, expression calm and eyes hard. Bruce's body remained tensed, waiting for Ducard to come charging at him again. But the man's sword stayed at his side.

He simply spoke.

_The will to act._

For a second, Bruce paused, considering his words. Inflaming wrath leapt to life as he surged forward. With an elegant turn, Ducard's sword swung through the air. Bruce ducked under the blade, the sharp edge narrowly missing his head.

Tucking into a roll, Bruce shifted his body onto his knees and slid backwards across the ice. His hand stretched out behind him, not to brace himself, but to retrieve his own blade. His fingers tightened quickly around the grip while his eyes watched his opponent.

Ducard moved forward, following Bruce's movement. The younger man slipped onto his back, arms raising to bring his sword up to receive Ducard's sure to be deadly stroke.

Steel collided against steel in a harsh sound. Bruce's leg swung up, striking Ducard and pulling a grunt of exertion from the student and a grunt of pain from the master. Bruce twisted his body, bringing his other leg to hit Ducard's body and push his own upwards.

For once, Ducard fell to the ice. Bruce stood above and sure on his feet, sword held threateningly over the man. The anger was accompanied by another rush. This time the feeling of accomplishment and pride in one's self warmed through his aching body and hurting soul. A slight smile on his lips, the student called for Ducard's yield–for Bruce's victory.

The master spoke, but it was not the words Bruce wished to hear.

_You haven't beaten me._

Confusion quickly clouded any euphoria or any rage. Ducard lectured his student that in order to obtain his 'victory,' he had sacrificed his sure footing. Hearing his words, Bruce glanced down at the ice supporting him from beneath. A low rumble sounded around him and Bruce remembered another lesson.

_Always mind your surroundings._

With a simple tab of Ducard's sword, the ice shattered.

Bruce fell.

All anger, fire, and heat was lost in the icy grip of the water.

He sunk like a stone, quickly falling into the dark and cold depths.

For the first time, he was consumed by silence, darkness, and cold.

For he first time, he froze.

* * *

Slowly, his conscience stirred.

The overwhelming blackness of his mind began to fade away as more and more of his senses began to return to him.

Sound returned, filling his ears with a sharp crackle, a low hum, and a quick beat.

Smell returned, filling his nose with the familiar scent of the thin mountain air spotted with the new scent of oil.

Taste returned, filling his mouth with the bitterness of bile.

Sense returned, filling his body with the feel of warmth and clothing on shivering skin.

Sight evaded him.

As his vision still resided in darkness, his body became more aware. His entire being trembled as ice continued to settled within his bones. A soft warmth seemed to try to soothe away the cold, but its work was slow.

With a flutter, Bruce's eyes blinked open. Bright light first quickly blinded him. With a small grunt, he blinked rapidly to clear the brightness. As it faded, blurry vision greeted him for a moment before focus began settled in to leave Bruce staring at a concrete ceiling instead of open sky he would have expected.

Bruce looked down towards his chest first, seeing that his body was tightly wrapped in a bundle of blankets and a heating pad. Turning his head, he then observed his surroundings, trying to figure out where exactly he was.

The couch he laid across was soft beneath his back and was surrounded by an assortment of small heaters, humming and burning to try to alleviate the frost settled his veins. Closest to his head, a computer turned heart monitor stood propped up on a slender, moveable stand. The blue screen displayed medical information like his pulse-rate and blood pressure. It beeped quietly in tune to him. A wire attached to his chest beneath the blankets and clothes and a band wrapped tightly around his upper-arm connected him to the computer. His still slow mind seemed to register the fact that the heartbeat was faster than normal.

Beyond the circle of heaters, a make-shift fireplace was carved into a well. The hearth roared with a bright crackling fire, trying to add some heat for his cold body. The sight of a stone block rising from the floor and a large bucket near the fire surprised Bruce for a moment. The unexpected sight brought curiosity from his confusion.

Where was he?

Slowly, Bruce began to sit up, working his arms free from the cocoon of blankets. He glanced over the back of the couch and was surprised by what the rest of the room looked like.

Cast in either bright light or in shadow, the room appeared to be an odd cross of a mechanic's workshop and a computer lab. Metal tables cluttered with equipment, tools, scraps of metal, circuit boards, and various other items, stood around the room in odd clumps that seemed random to Bruce. Shelves lined one dark concrete wall, each set of shelves containing something different. One was stuffed with well-worn books; another housed pulled apart computers and brightly colored wires. Another was filled with medical supplies and bottled medicine. Next to where a half-made engine sat raised in a corner, a rack attached to the wall held the standard tools of a machine shop, although many of the designated places where missing its piece. Four computer screens glowed dimly from a desk placed in another corner. Though he couldn't discern what half of the screens contained, he thankfully recognized the home pages of Google and Youtube.

Rather quickly, Bruce noticed the lack of windows within the room. The little light in the room came in bright spots from the occasional ceiling light, sparsely placed lamps on the tables, or the burning hearth near Bruce. The freezing man finally spotted two doors, one to the far wall behind, the other next to the rack of tools.

Seeing the doors, Bruce's head turned back toward the fireplace while his legs shifted to placed his feet on the concrete ground. He moved to stand up, but a soft new wheeze to his right distracted him. He glanced to the side and nearly jolted back when a cup was held in front of his face, clasped in three prongs attached to a long metal arm, wrapped with a few wires.

Dark eyes followed the silver arm back, tracing along the path up where it ended and angled down into a trunk connected to a square body. As Bruce started at the strange machine, another wheeze came from it as the arm jerked the cup forward, almost as if it was insisting he take it.

Blinking with surprise at the action, Bruce lifted a hand and easily took the cup from it. Water filled the small glass, and Bruce gratefully drank it, draining the glass empty to ease his parched throat.

The machine wheezed once more while the prongs rotated and clapped together. Turning, the machine rotated before rolling off. The bulky body knocked into a table, sending a box of metal to the floor with a loud crash. Bruce winced at the shrill clanging sound. Metal skittered across the floor, ringing.

"That's Watts." A soft voice came from behind him.

Jolting, Bruce's head nearly whiplashed as he turned to find the origin of the unexpected sound.

In the open door way stood a young woman. Light from the hall behind her lit up her blonde hair, which was pulled back into a messy bun. Black streaks of grease smeared her pretty face, although the streaks seemed faded and blurred as if she had tried to wipe it away. Her clothes though were covered in the grease and littered with stains and small burns. The top of beige worker's jumpsuit was undone and tied around her slender hips to reveal a black tank top covering her torso. Bright grey eyes studied him as dark brown eyes studied her.

After a moment, she walked across the room, the boots on her feet making no sound as she easily weaved through the tables and avoided the clutter. She moved with grace, familiarity, and confidence through the workroom. _Her workroom_, Bruce realized, noticing how she comfortably entered and blended in with the surroundings.

When she walked around the couch, approaching him, it brought Bruce out of the stupor her unexpected appearance casted him into. Remembering she had spoken, he tried to respond, but too many questions to focus on filled his head and the undecided words caught in his throat. Eventually he managed to grunt out a pathetic _huh?_

"Watts," she repeated and gestured a hand in the direction the machine had rolled towards, eyes following the path it had taken. "He's a robot, but he's not the brightest bulb. Can't seem to do anything without knocking something over. Bolts is much better at maneuvering around, but that may be because I used newer parts, a different arraignment to guarantee easier movement, and more efficient program when I built him." Then, the girl woman started to ramble, describing specifically the class and model of some type of lever in a jargon Bruce didn't quite understand.

Grey eyes shifted away from her robot and settled on him. Suddenly the warm lightness in her eyes hardened into steel and her mouth abruptly shut, silencing her rant. Pink dusted her cheeks while steely eyes casted to the ground towards her nervously shifting feet.

Silently she moved towards the computer that displayed his vitals. Her small fingers tapped along the keyboard, bringing up new charts and information.

She remained quiet.

Not once did she try to speak to him again.

The silence was thick between them, only sounds of machines, hearts, and fire filled the room. It weighed on him, filling his still shivering body with questions of _who, what, where, _and _why. _

Who was this girl?

What was she doing?

Where was he?

Why was he here?

She wouldn't speak, so Bruce did instead. "Where am I?" He tested the waters with a simple question.

Beats of his heart sounded during a moment's hesitation. "M-My workshop." She stuttered out quietly. He waited for a moment, waited for more explanation. But she did not speak again.

He tried another question. "Why am I here?"

"You fell into the water," she softly said, her voice trembling with awkwardness. The slender body that had been at ease around the tools and machines was now tense and stiff around another human being. "You were freezing. He brought you h-here to warm and recover."

"Ducard brought me here?"

He had to confirm that Ducard knew where he was, that he was somewhere in the base the League of Shadows had established within the mountains. In the week or so he had already spent with the League, training and learning, Bruce had never seen a room like this. He had never seen a young woman like _her _either. For all he knew the League was only made up of ancient men and silent soliders. Not little girls and their machines.

There was another hesitation, the longest yet. "Yes...D-Ducard brought you to m-me," the woman confirmed. There was a question in her voice as she said the name of Bruce's mentor, as if unsure about it.

Bruce paused before his next question. Now the uncertain one, he slowly asked, "And who are you?"

It seemed like she had stopped breathing. Her entire body went still. The little world–_her _little world–confined in these concrete walls, froze for a moment too, so in tune with her.

There was silence once more from her, it filled his ears and quieted the questions in his mind.

Then to his surprise, she answered.

"I'm Elli."

He nodded, seeing her glance at him through the reflection of her computer screen. He gave her a friendly smile. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Bruce."

He had hope the sign of friendliness would ease her tension, but her awkwardness still remained. If anything it probably increased. Steel eyes turned back to the computer and its data. Her little fingers danced on the keys. Seconds later, she reported. "Y-your vitals look fine. I'll leave you alone. Rest and warm."

With those words, Elli stepped away from the computer and headed towards the door. Her steps were light and quick, moving like a ghost through the chaos of the room.

Before he could speak, she was gone, the door closed silently behind her.

Bruce Wayne was left alone, surrounded once more by artificial signs of life and a burning fire.

Anger is a powerful emotion.

Anger is a consuming emotion.

_But _curiosity is also a powerful emotion.

Curiosity is a compelling emotion.

And he was very curious about the girl with steel eyes.


	2. I: Prologue Part II

_**The Crooked Kind**_

**I  
Prologue - Part II  
Little Talks**

_Speak in words you picked up as you walked through life alone…Tell me a piece of your history you've never said out loud.  
_–Bastille

* * *

Curiosity is a powerful emotion.

Curiosity is a compelling emotion.

It sits in your mind, scratches in your muscles, itches in your skin. It stays and irritates and persists until it is fed, soothed, and satisfied. Relief only comes with indulgence.

Bruce was very much aware of his curiosity. With a sudden appearance, it settled deep in his body. With silence, it grew and infected. With a glance of steel, it became apart of him as much as bones, blood, and skin. With distance, it overwhelmed and ached.

Endless question and boundless curiosity seeped into his conscious like the warmth of the heaters and fire. While the heat cracked away the ice, the curiosity only stirred without answers.

Two days passed torn between hours of drowning sleep or consuming awareness for Bruce. Much to his disappointment, Elli–the mystery, the mechanic, the girl with steel eyes–did not make another appearance while Bruce stayed within her workroom, relaxing and thawing and questioning. The only evidence of her existence appeared whenever Bruce roused from dreams and into the quiet world. Within the hearth, the fire danced bright and crackled loudly, replacing the dying embers Bruce had stared into as he fell asleep. Another robot, built in lighter metals,–_Bolts, _he distantly thought of a name mentioned in a passing ramble–,waited beside the couch with a tray holding warm soup and fresh bread.

When Bruce awoke on the third day after he fell into the ice, he saw a wooden ceiling above, felt a small familiar bed, and realized he was in the small room Ducard had given to him when Bruce agreed to go through the training and process to become a part of the League of Shadows.

With his body warmed, rested, and healed, Bruce was immediately thrust back into the days of rigorous training. His mentor, Ducard was strict, forceful, and calm as ever.

As Bruce became immersed within the routine of lessons, a part of him still remained focused on the mechanic, his curiosity reminding him of her as he wandered through the base during the few moments of his own time not spent with Ducard or in his room, distantly thinking of the workroom and its owner tucked away somewhere. That same part of him tensed his back, felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise with an acute awareness of eyes, distant and watching as he sparred with one of the League members.

Whenever Bruce finally looked over his shoulder to search across the room, there was nothing but empty space. Though, sometimes he believed he saw a blur of brightness or a glance of grey before it slipped into shadow.

A few days afterwards, when his curiosity had festered and compelled, Bruce asked Ducard about the girl who took care of him, in the middle of a sparring match between teacher and student. The question had slipped out of his mouth as Bruce directed a blow to Ducard's face.

Easily, the master raised an arm to block the attack, but instead of returning it with a punch, Ducard's entire being tensed and stilled into stone. His eyes–the only truly expressive part of him–turned to ice, the pure coldness of the blank stare causing a shiver to race through Bruce. He was suddenly reminded of cracked ice and cold waters that had once consumed him.

Then in the blink of an eye, suddenly white spotted Bruce's vision. With a rush of motion, air was pushed out of his lungs and pain ached through his back with the force that slammed him into the training mat beneath. Winded and gasping, the pain spreading, Bruce stared up at Ducard as the mentor stood over him.

"The girl is none of your concern," Ducard finally spoke, his tone matching his demeanor of frost and stone. "Focus on your training. How do you expect to battle evil if you are distracted by a woman? Rise and start again." He commanded.

And that was the end of the conversation.

After that unexpected reaction, Bruce did not dare question Ducard or any of the others within in base about the mechanic. He didn't want to risk being slammed into the ground again. Although, the reaction–that quick dismissal–only added to the Mystery of Elli.

A question stirred once more.

_Who was she?_

Bruce had begun to realize the answer that would soothe the ache his curiosity hollowed within him could only come from Elli herself.

If he only found her.

If she only spoke.

* * *

It was by chance he found her.

When the world was cast into darkness of night and everything was silent and still, Bruce wandered the halls.

Familiar restless had kept Bruce awake again. Memories of long ago and questions of now kept his mind occupied and denied it rest. When the walls of his small room became too claustrophobic, he ventured into the halls upon habit. Throughout his childhood, whenever nightmares of swarming bats woke him with a fright, Bruce had left his room to seek the comfort of his father down the hall, who would always embrace him with gentle touch and soft words to ease away the fear. When the terrors shifted from creatures of night to monsters of men, he left his room and went to find Alfred, ignoring the empty bedroom he passed. The old butler readily comforted the young master of the house, often with a warm dessert in the kitchen.

Now, years later, Bruce was in a similar situation–walking through the corridors but in a place far from home, both in atmosphere and in distance. Like before, his wandering footsteps unconsciously and unexpectedly led him to a person.

Turning sharply around a corner, Bruce ran into them. Literally.

The sudden collision and the shock of it sent Bruce stumbling back a few steps. A box crashed to the ground, sending strips of metal and circuit boards to the ground. Wrapped in a napkin, pieces of bread fell also, rolling across the aged wooden floor.

Recovering from the surprise, Bruce looked to see who he'd run into and quickly felt the shock return when grey eyes stared back at him, wide and bright in the streaks of moonlight leaking into the room from a window. For a brief moment, time stilled, suspended in starlight and bewilderment at the sheer chance of the meeting.

Elli, then, blinked and quickly her eyes fell to the ground. Tilting her head to see the mess at her feet, she kneeled on the floor and began to collect the fallen metal and circuits and place them within the box.

Bruce's gaze followed her movements for a second before he kneeled and began to help her. He noticed her body language tensed and she kept her head down. Her loose hair formed a curtain around her face to hide any and all expressions. While they collected the items, she said nothing.

When each piece of equipment and scrap was back in the box, Bruce retrieved the rolls and bundled the napkin around them. Standing, he held it in his hands and watched the girl lift the box. A quiet noise of exertion slipped through her lips as she heaved the large box in her arms. Underneath its weight, her limbs trembled.

"Here, let me get that," Bruce quickly said when he noticed the weight was too much for her slender body to hold without strain. At the sound of his voice, Elli finally looked at him with surprise. She made a noise of protest when he reached out his hands to grab the box, but he ignored it. He wasn't about to let her struggle, especially if he could easily help her. Handing her the bread, he adjusted the box in his arms, making sure he had a good hold on it. "So where does this need to go?" Bruce asked.

Steel regarded him, cold and guarded. Though by the slight downturn of her lips and the little furrow in her brow, she seemed torn with uncertainty, confusion, and...curiosity? Her lips parted and Elli looked like she was about to speak, but quickly her mouth clamped shut and her eyes casted away.

Quietly, she walked passed him to continue down the hallway from where he came. Bruce's head turned to follow her back and he once again watched her walk away. Like before, she was a ghost drifting through shadow and moonlight, steps silent and quick.

Unlike before, she stopped.

All bright and pale, shining and shaking in another leak of light, she turned to look back at him. "A-are you coming?" Elli questioned. In the silence of night her words were whispers on the wind, soft and stuttering. Bruce strained to hear them and when they registered, surprise struck him once more. Blinking as if to rid the stupor her action and words caused in his mind, Bruce's feet move on their own, tracing the footsteps leading to her.

Once he was close enough, she turned with a streak of pale hair and continued forward into the night.

Bruce had to follow carefully behind for she moved too easily between shadows, blending and merging in their darkness as she traveled with familiarity through corridors, around corners, and down stairs. The twisting turns and look-a-like hallways made Bruce feel like he was caught in an ancient maze. Only the girl whose home was this labyrinth kept him from losing his way.

All the turns and all the stairs finally led them down through the compound, deep into the mountain, to a dark hallway. The small place seemed hidden away from everything, even the light of the sky.

Entering the corridor, Elli's hand flicked a light switch upon passing without even a glance towards it. Artificial light blinked on to replace the dark and to illuminate the door on the other end. Elli crossed the hallway quickly with Bruce trailing behind.

Pausing at the door, her small hand slipped into a pocket of her jumpsuit to retrieve a bronze key. With a heavy click, the lock slid open. Elli pocketed the key, opened the door, and stepped into her workroom.

It was just as Bruce remembered. Following Elli through a winding path between tables, Bruce took notice of the features and objects that had surrounded him during the few days of his recovery–the organized chaos, the burning hearth, the robots. Watts stood beside its counterpart, Bolts, and upon Bruce's and Elli's entrance, it had turned to look at them, knocking over an empty oil can in the process.

"Where do you want this?" Bruce asked, nodding his head to the box cradled in his arms.

Elli moved around one cluttered table, easing into a chair behind it. Wordlessly, she placed the bread down and cleared a space on the table by pushing aside notes, pens, stray wires, and tools. Understanding her intention, Bruce set the box down gently and once Bruce had removed his hands, Elli immediately went to work. Turning on a lamp to light the small space, her hands then delved into the box and rummaged through the metals and equipment. She brought various pieces of machinery, and after collecting everything she needed, the mechanic begun her work.

Like in most things, the girl worked silently. Only the wheeze of machines, the clang of metal, and the snap of fire broke through the deadened silence. With fluid movements of nimble fingers, she effortlessly took apart pieces only put them back together to create something new.

Bruce stood awkward and out of place within the room of machines, but he couldn't make himself leave. Curiosity rooted his feet within the concrete, keeping in the room hidden from light and with the girl who dwelled in its shadow. Endless questions without answer had plagued him only to grow and fester without relief. Now that the opportunity for a salve was right in front of him, building her machines, he could not walk away.

So, Bruce grabbed a chair and rolled it to him before taking a seat across from Elli. For a brief moment, the girl tensed and paused to glance at him. She met his stare, confusion and surprise bright in her eyes, before her head ducked down. Steel eyes focused on the machine and her hands resumed their movement. Only any ease she had felt now stiffened her limbs and drew her body taunt with tension.

Bruce relaxed within his seat and continued to watch the enigma in front of him as seconds of silence passed. The quiet irritated his curiosity that craved words and information to unravel the mystery of the girl.

Taking the initiative, Bruce asked a simple question to ease into a conversation hopefully. "What are you working on?" He tried to appeal to her work, remembering how freely and unguarded she accidentally spoke about it before. He wanted to see if he could find the girl beneath the steel walls he'd glimpsed at.

Elli didn't respond.

Disappointed but not discouraged, Bruce smoothly proceeded to speak as if she had answered. "Then why are you up so late? Can't sleep? Don't want to sleep? Are you nocturnal?"

Silence.

Pursing his lips, he regarded her quietness, his mind spinning with emerging frustration and expanding inquiry.

A new tactic came to mind when her answers never came. Even though she would not speak, he could. Any silent questions in the air, he could answer. Reveal information about himself. Let her learn about him. Let her grow comfortable with his presences as she was with her machines.

Maybe then, when the tension faded and the walls lost their defense, she would speak.

It was a worth a shot.

"I've never been one for sleep," he mentioned. He smiled slightly, allowing her to see his casual, friendly, and non-threatening demeanor. She needed to learn he wasn't some enemy there to harm her. "Ever since I was a kid," he distantly thought of a nights filled with the terror that rose from a gaping hole with swarming bats and that pierced the dark with two gunshots. Quickly, his mind moved on from the tragedies of his childhood before the grief and anger could infect him. Instead he thought of more recent times. "As I've traveled, it's gotten worse. Time shifts and jet lag can really mess with your internal clock. The worst was when I first flew across the Atlantic. I couldn't sleep properly for days."

As his words became a part of the quiet sounds of the workroom, Bruce's eyes never left Elli. He observed her carefully, taking note of each minor action in search of a reaction. When he first mentioned his travels around the world, Elli had glance at him quickly, her expression filled with curiosity. Quickly, she had adverted her eyes back to her working hands, but Bruce had seen her interest in the world beyond the mountains. Taking advantage of it, he indulged her with stories of the far away places he'd dream of as child and wandered through as an adult. Of the people he'd seen and met. Of the cultures he was introduced to and experienced.

It was a small victory for Bruce when he saw the tightness of her hunched shoulders relax a fraction. Another victory came when Elli stopped her work to watch and listen to him as he spoke of Italy.

The night passed quickly. Bruce shared a few of his stories. Elli shared her attention, and also her bread when his stomach had interrupted with audible growl. Bruce had been unaware of the time that had slipped by until a computer screen came to life with 5:30 flashing and alarm blaring. The sudden noise had nearly knocked Bruce from the chair. As he tried to recover from the disgraceful slip, he caught a brief flicker of a smile from Elli out of the corner of his eye.

"How time flies," he commented, with a shrug that would have made him appear sheepish if not for the slight smirk on his lips. Rising to a stand, Bruce said, "Thanks for the bread. Sleepless nights are better with food and company. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to find my way back before Ducard thinks I've mastered invisibility."

With a few words and smile, Bruce left Elli's workroom and quickly became lost as he tried to follow memories of turns and corridors. Of course Ducard had been the one to find Bruce wandering the lower halls. The mentor had regarded his student in silence for a moment, narrowed eyes biting with coldness and suspicion. The expression had passed quickly as it came and Ducard simply ordered Bruce to follow him. Training had immediately begun with a surprise attack from multiple adversaries when they reached the center of the compound.

While his body was consumed by the lessons of the day, his mind still remained in the conversation of night.

* * *

The sleepless nights continued.

Naturally each night, Bruce sought out company to fill them.

It had taken a few days to memorize each turn and staircase between his room and Elli's workroom. Whenever Bruce's mind could not find peace in dreams, he found solace in conversation. At first, only his voice filled the empty hours. For a few nights, only one side of the conversation was heard.

One night, Elli responded.

He spoke of the world and of its people. He mentioned Gotham (Elli had particular fascination with the city) and the brighter memories of his life there–his father's kind attention, his mother's gentle smile, Rachel's childish games, Alfred's loyal service.

She asked questions of him, seeking more information from his life and experiences. She spoke of her machines, talking of them as one would of close friends. When he asked of her projects, she explained in extensive detail of the process she took to create the gadgets of the League. Even though most of her words were long terms of a engineer's jargon he was slowly coming to understand, he smiled in his cluelessness and enjoyed the simple pleasure of her voice, especially when its nervous stutter faded.

Familiarity quickly established itself with the passing nights. The door to Elli's workshop left unlocked. Watts served food for two. A soft voice settled in confidence and comfort. Steel started to lose its sharpness.

One night, Elli spoke first.

"W-why?"

The question had taken him by surprise as Bruce had settled onto the couch. Blinking, his complete attention focused on the girl in the seat next to him. Her steel eyes followed his expression carefully. "What do you mean," Bruce asked, trying to find the meaning behind the word that could refer to anything.

Elli licked her lips and then clarified. "Why are you here? In the League?"

Once more her questions surprised him, especially the tone of confusion in her voice. As if she couldn't understand any reason to be there. "To learn the means to fight injustice," Bruce repeated, the questioning and the words familiar. Not long ago, he barely stood, out breath and shivering from his climb up the mountain, before Ducard to answer the older man's inquiry, to prove himself suitable for the training with words and a blue flower. "How to turn fear against those who prey on the fearful."

She watched him, quiet and pensive. Steel reflected a deepening confusion. "Why?" Elli repeated. "What would motive you to leave your home and come here to learn these ancient ways? You could have done anything in Gotham. Why leave it? Why chose this path?"

When Ducard had beaten him to the ground for the first time, talking of death, fears, and dance, he had stood over Bruce as the younger man began to lose consciousness from the exertion of the climb and impromptu fight. Black had started to fill his vision and the fleeting question entered his mind and quickly settled.

_What do you fear?_

Once more a question plunged his mind into memories lurking in the farthest corners of his mind where his nightmares of bats and men dwelled and thrived in the darkest moments of his childhood.

Suddenly, all he saw was the darkness and the grime of the alleyway. Tension suspended in the air. Two gunshots and a scream deafened the noise of the city. Pearls–bright, pure, and broken–scattered. Last words barely heard over the ring in his ears. _Don't be afraid._

Past and present, Bruce felt a tightness in his chest, an agonizing grip on a hallowed heart. Emotions filled the empty place of him that his parents left. Grief strangled him, blocking the air to his lungs and choking his throat with silent sobs. Guilt poisoned him, tormenting his mind and breaking his heart anew. Anger burned him, consuming his being and burying the guilt.

It had taken years for him to learn to cope, since it was impossible to be truly rid of cracks once something has been broken, even if you put back together with the upmost care and skill. You simply have to learn how to live with them, because you can't ignore or forget forever. It took time, but Bruce had learned how to allow the messy emotions and the fault lines to shape him, to motive him, to lead him from Gotham, across the world and to a League and a girl within the mountains.

"Because you lost someone."

Her soft voice pulled him from the recess of his mind with a shock. Blinking away the memories, dark, distant eyes focused on the burning hearth before him. Bruce turned his gaze back to Elli, surprise continuing to fill him. Her pretty face held an odd expression, something old, gentle, and empathic he'd never seen before.

For once, it was Bruce who was silent and Elli who spoke. "Nothing motives quite like love. Especially love lost." She added with a new quietness, her stare never leaving him. It felt like she could see straight through him and at all the little fractures beneath his skin. When his unspoken question of _how _entered the conversation, Elli answered. "I recognized the signs. The grief. The guilt. The anger. Even when you don't want to, they always show, like scars on the skin." Unconsciously Bruce's eyes darted to Elli's neck. Even in the low light of the fire he saw the raised white line marring the skin. It had taken him a few days to find the little mark, questions and scenarios filling his mind with its unknown origin. After he'd seen it, it had been hard not to notice it, the physical flaw only adding to her intrigue.

"Scars you just have to learn to live with," the mechanic continued. "Some fall into grief and stumble into self-destruction. Some lash out with violence as if hurting others will help their pain. Some distract themselves, allowing work to consume their minds and emotions. Some seek a new purpose to dedicate themselves to." A corner of her lips lifted in a kind, barely there sort of smile that gave him the comfort and warmth of a hearth. Then she blinked and the smile fell. For the first time since she began to speak, her eyes left him, casting back towards the ground. "And some forget," Elli quietly stated. "Allow the memories to slip away until there is no pain." Emotions fluttered over her features, so many in so little time Bruce couldn't read them.

After that, Elli once again fell silent. Moments of fire and breath passed and Bruce found his voice again. Clearing his voice around the block in his throat, Bruce managed to say, "My parents." His voice caught Elli's attention and her eyes quickly darted back to him. "We were walking home from the theater, and there was a man–Joe Chill. He threatened us with a gun. It went off when he was mugging us. Both my parents were killed."

Taking a breath, Bruce admitted. "I felt guilty for the longest time. It was my fault, I made them leave the theater. I had gotten scared...eventually anger overcame my guilt when Chill's sentence was suspended so he could testify against a crime lord. I planed to kill him, to get vengeance, but Falcone beat me to it. After that I was lost. I left Gotham, abandoned my lifestyle. I wanted to learn more about criminals and the nature of the underworld so I could combat it. I may not be able to avenge my parents, but I can protect what they stood for." He then added, "That's why I'm here."

Elli nodded in a gesture of understanding as she carefully watched him. Silence filled their conversation. Bruce thought over her reactions–the deep understanding she had used to see the cracks of him most would not. She had lost someone, he had easily concluded from the empathy in her descriptions.

"Who did you lose," he asked when he worked up the courage, making sure his tone was gentle and kind. "You don't have to tell me, I just wish to know more about you," Bruce quickly added, making it clear she had a choice in the matter.

The girl paused for a moment. "M-my mother," she admitted shakily and hesitantly. "I was just a child. Eight? maybe...and after she...passed, my father left me here and went back to his work with the League. Since then, I've stayed here. Just me and my machines," Elli trailed off, looking at her hands wringing together in her lap–a nervous habit of hers.

"And now me," Bruce added. With a sudden surge of impulse and confidence, he reached over and grabbed her hand gently. All of her movement stilled instantly and then tensed as he cradled her hand. The skin of her fingers and palm rough with callouses from her work, but the back of her hand was smooth and soft as his thumb rubbed it. Elli's surprised look shifted from their hands to his face. He smiled at her with the gentleness of a friend.

Slowly, the tension in her shoulders faded and a smile tugged at her lips.

Steel became brittle.

Silver eyes greeted him.

* * *

After he'd barred his cracks and she'd softened her steel, their friendship only grew. A new level of closeness and comfort had formed with the connection of loss, and Bruce enjoyed the new openness of Elli. She began to share a little more personal information about her mother when she was comfortable. He quickly noticed how she avoided any mention of her father, and while his curiosity to why grew, he never asked, he never pushed her more information in fear of ruining their progress.

Weeks passed, days spent in training with Ducard, nights spent in conversation with Elli. The routine of life in the compound settled in as Bruce became accustomed to it.

One night, everything changed.

In retrospect, Bruce should have noticed the warning signs. An unease saturated the atmosphere of the base, the sort of tension that fills the air before a storm breaks. Ducard spoke and moved with an eerie coldness. Each of his attacks and blows struck Bruce with such force, the student had thought for a moment he'd angered Ducard somehow. But through the training, his expression of immovable stone and eyes of grey glaciers never faltered.

As the darkness consumed the day, Bruce walked with bruised skin and aching limbs through familiar shadows and corridors to a door tucked deep in the mountains. When he stepped passed the unlocked door, his eyes immediately sought out a head of blonde hair. Spotting Elli on the coach, he quickly moved across the room, dodging tables with ease.

When he neared her, his eyes were drawn to Bolts standing beside the couch with a tray holding an open first aid kit. It was then Bruce noticed Elli and how the mechanic was finishing off a bandaged wrapped tightly around her right hand. The sight of was nothing new–over the weeks both of them had sustained injuries from his training and her work. More than once, Elli had played doctor to him.

Taking a seat beside her, he quipped, "Daydreaming while crossing wires again?" Her body went rigid and her head remained down. As her silence continued, the smile slowly slipped from his face.

Finally warning signs blared and flashed red in his mind.

Something was wrong.

"Elli," he whispered her name, using a gentleness he hadn't since the night she first started the conversation. "What's wrong?"

The tension never left her, it seemed to seep from her body and infected the air around her. Quietly, she finished bandaging her hand and packed up the gauze and supplies.

Not once did she speak.

He tried to question her again, this time with a hint forcefulness. "What's wrong?"

She did not respond. She did not even look at him, keeping her head down and hiding behind a curtain of blonde.

After weeks of words, the silence pained him.

"Please say something," Bruce nearly begged. Desperation and worry aged his voice.

There was a moment of hesitation. "I-it's nothing," Elli finally said, the stutter and unease of her voice surprising him. "Just...a mistake. I-I'm fine."

"Then why won't you look at me?"

Another hesitation. Slowly, she raised her head and turned to look at him.

After weeks of warm silver, the sight of cold, guarded steel killed him.

Something was wrong. So, so wrong.

"Elli. What's going on?" He tried to reach for her hand but she flinched away. Quickly, he sat back, providing the distance. "Elli...please."

Her head turned away, staring blankly at the fire. Shadows and light danced across her pale face as she paused. The quiet became suffocated as he was forced to wait and anticipate what she could possibly say. Already his mind was torturing him with a million worst case scenarios, most of them involving the numerous ways she could be dying.

He had thought of every possibility except for the truth.

"I'm leaving."

Pure surprise stunned him like one of Ducard's blows. Immediately his mind exploded with different reactions and inquires to the sudden news. Undecided words melded and fought. Eventually Bruce managed to say a simple _what _that exclaimed his confusion and shock.

"My father decided it," she explained efficiently and quietly. It seemed like her father's decree had been carved in stone because of its finality. "I'm leaving at dawn."

No words came to Bruce. He simply sat and stared, completely stunned a stupor. She was the only one could surprise him like this...The thought of the workshop empty, of nights with out her soft voice, of the hearth dying carved an ache in Bruce. Over time, he'd grown found of the mechanic and of their nightly talks. She had always been an intriguing distraction away from the training and lessons. Imagining his new life without that saddened him.

"I'm going to miss you," he finally admitted, feeling a need to _say something_. He couldn't let their last night be consumed with silence. "But I wish you luck." Giving her a friendly smile when her head turned, Bruce added, "Maybe after I finish my training, we could meet again. Maybe in Gotham?"

There was a gleam of silver and flicker of a smile.

"I would like that."

"It's a date."

Bruce never expected the next time he would see those steel eyes would be through the shadows of the longest night, when screams filled the air and fear reigned the darkness.

* * *

**A/N: I don't own anything apart of Nolan's incredible trilogy, only my OCs and original plots. **

**Any thoughts? Questions? Comments? Concerns? Review and let me know!**

******Special thanks to my wonderful, beautiful beta, **Starcrier. She has been a tremendous source of help and support.**  
**

**Also, thanks to** Starcrier, Jasmine Scarthing, LoverOfTheMusic, Lousy Llama, EveryoneHasDarknessIEmbracedIt**, for review. And thanks to**** anyone else who favorited or alerted! **


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