Tonnage

Calming Some.

>>

Gotham. Saturday. 8:40 PM.

Hood: What the hell is going on, Oracle? The police band is a nightmare and I have sirens all over the place.

Oracle: Two-Face crashed the Gala. We're still trying to get good intel on the specifics.

B: Green Arrow and Arsenal are on site but out of costume, as is Tom. Dent took a few of his men to the hotel office and browbeat the manager into letting him into the vault. It seems that some of the guests were planning to do some clandestine business in the rooms after the Gala. Dent found out about it from Cobblepot. Forty-six million in untraceable bonds were in that briefcase we found on the chopper Tom pulled out of the sky.

Spoiler: I was a little worried there for a second. Thought Tom might actually kill him.

Hood: Would that be so bad? The guy is a convicted multiple murderer and a complete nut job. I get that there are people who aren't so bad and can be redeemed, but Two-Face? Him pushing up daisies is a civic improvement.

Spoiler: Honestly, I don't care one way or the other if Dent dies. I just don't want Tom to have to deal with the crap. It's going to be tough enough to get him out of here before the vultures descend. They are all busy getting sound bytes from the rich and famous, but it won't take them long.

Oracle: Might be better if he just gave an interview, rather than them making things up.

Spoiler: Especially after the chat he had with Two-Face. Pretty sure the microphones caught that.

B: Dent wasn't very lucid when I was interrogating him. I can check the recording later, but for now, what was the gist of the conversation?

Spoiler: He... Dent tried to make his excuse be his deformity, and Tom read him the riot act comparing their situations. Tom... He's a strong guy. In a lot of ways.

Robin: Of course he is. I wouldn't bother, were it other.

Orphan: (Typed Into Phone) He's leaving. Getting in the back of the police van.

B: Let's finish this up. The Gala is done, but some of us have roles that aren't and we need to reemerge from the fantasy 'panic rooms' soon.

>>

Sunday. 8:12 AM. Wayne Manor.

The Bat-Family who live on site are sitting down to breakfast when they get a global text on the BAT-CHaT.

Oracle: Channels 2, 4, 6, 28, and at least a dozen cable networks are covering the Gala and aftermath, but 4 got the chance to interview him. I'd start there, but I'll be recording it all for later if it's needed. Same as always.

Tim has his tablet streaming the channel to the television off to the side before Barbara is done talking, and they are dumped into an already live broadcast. More accurately, they are dumped into a commercial for Batburger, and then back into the ongoing interview. The woman doing the interview is a blonde bombshell, the same one, in fact, that had cornered him on the steps of the GCPD. One Vicki Vale.

“And we're back, talking with Thomas Wierzowski about his remarkable actions just this last night at the Wayne Gala event here in the city. Tell me, Tom, have you been made aware of the casualties from this?”

The camera zooms in on Tom, wearing a tank top and a pair of shorts at this point. “You mean the people that came for the Gala? I'd heard there was some minor injuries from ricochets. Most of those were coming off of me, and between going through my suit, jacket, and shirt, twice, plus the loss of momentum from coming off me in the first place, and tumbling the second time they had to go through all that cloth, nobody got hurt that bad from it. The only two people that got killed were two that Two-Face killed in the office.”

“Two-Face... Tom, that was an emotionally charged moment and I don't mean to put you on the spot. But is there anything you'd like to add to what you told him? To tell the rest of Gotham?”

Tom shrugs. “Just that bad luck isn't a good reason to be a murderous bastard. The guy had it all and he threw it away to be the villain just because his yearly portrait needs a hell of a comb-over. Compared to me, in a lot of ways he's normal.” He looks down at the floor for a moment, then looks back up at her, as if in challenge. “I don't think the specifics are very important.”

Vicki nods once. “That is fair, Tom. So are you still claiming to not be a hero?”

He shakes his head. “I'm not.”

Vicki grins, white teeth flashing in the dim light of Tom's tent home where the interview is taking place. “I was there, Tom. You saved my life right along with everybody else.”

“I'd do it again, too. But that doesn't make me a hero. That just makes me not a bastard. Heroes are dedicated. They train, they build up alliances, they gather enemies, they solve crimes. Sometimes they save the world.”

He looks up at her with a grim eye that dares her to disagree. “I don't do any of that. I'm just a guy with the meta version of whatever Andre the Giant had. If these jerks would just stop attacking people in front of me, I'd happily stay out of everybody's way and try to get ready for senior year. It's just that nobody seems to quite understand the concept of leaving me the hell alone.”

Vicki's smile never wavers as she hands him a tablet and pushes play. At the same time, a second window appears on the screen showing Tom, stripped to the waist and sitting on a curb, holding Lian in front of him once again hearing her take on how he doesn't get to decide if he's a hero, it's everybody else that does.

“Tom? I understand that you are trying to get a handle on your life, and I think that is a fantastic thing. That said?” Her smile cranks up to the megawatt range. “If you're taking applications, you are welcome to be my hero anytime. You don't need to dedicate your life to it to be a hero to me.”

“Oh. Um. Thanks?”

Vicki turns towards the camera directly. “Sadly, that is all the time we have today. Once more Tom, from Gotham on the whole, and myself in particular. Thank you.”

>>

Damian Wayne stabs viciously into a sausage. “Doesn't train? Does he think me so weak that...”

Bruce turns off the television and turns to his son. “I think it's likely that he is more speaking of the things he would use to solve a crime, Damian. Not just the bit at the end with the fighting.”

Robin sits back in his chair, chewing thoughtfully for a moment. Satisfied, he leans forward and begins eating again.

Cass turns to Steph, her fingers flying. 'How did he do? I was only in the ballroom for the aftermath.'

Spoiler smirks. “He did well, but those guys were baseline thugs for the most part. Sharing the same brain, and I think it was damaged long before they ever showed up. If they had caught on to shooting him being a waste of time quicker, things could have been a lot more bloody while they tried the hostage thing. We're honestly lucky that nobody else went that route. It could have been bad.”

Her voice had gotten more and more somber as she went until she was all but whispering the last of it.

Tim looks over at Bruce. “So, Tom's... Opponents. What's the word on them?”

Bruce looks a touch concerned, but answers quickly enough. “He shattered all three bones connected to the right elbow. Most will not be able to make a full recovery. A few will be unlikely to regain any significant use of the arm. Dent...”

The Batman sighs. It's easy to forget that Bruce Wayne had known Harvey Dent before he had become this twisted thing that kills on a whim. “Harvey will never walk again without medicine that is beyond the standards of today, and he's going to be carrying his right arm in a sling for months, at minimum. Assuming he ever regains significant control of it at all.”

Damian looks decidedly satisfied. “Good. He is removed from being a serious threat but still has one arm to deal with his own maintenance without unduly burdening another. Removing the limbs altogether would be a more secure choice, but this will work.”

Bruce looks at his offspring, decidedly annoyed.

>>

Tom is paging through property listings online on Sunday Evening when there is once again a knock on the crossbeam that holds the flap up. “Tom, you in there?”

The flap is moved aside and he can see Uncle Lou there.

“Yeah, I'm here, Lou. Whatcha need?”

Lou comes in and sits down on the bed. “We need to talk about your suit. Because I wasn't expecting miracles, maybe. But I was expecting better than one firefight to shred it into worthlessness. But I thought I'd come to you first because you have friends who might be able to get us better materials to work with. Run it by them when you get a chance. Willing to shell out some cash, not looking for a handout here.” Then he stands. “But that's for Tuesday, after your Monday night fights and you have a chance to talk to them. For now, I was wondering if you'd come with me. Running an experiment.”

Curious, Tom follows him out of the tent and back over to the shop. When he enters, he raises an eyebrow. “What the heck is this, Lou?”

The device is in three parts. The first is a massive, overbuilt, and immensely reinforced, stationary exercise bicycle. The crank though is attached to a chain that spins a giant metal disk, three inches thick and eight feet tall. Then an additional chain goes to a small generator from that disk.

“This, plus a bunch of solar panels, was what I was thinking we'd use for your power. I mean, you'll still need diesel to move it around, but once you are where you are going, if you didn't have to run a generator that would save you a lot of money. Noise, too. Generators tend to be loud. The idea is to put four or five of these behind the walls on either side and run the chain to the exercise bike. The thing is, Tom, you are strong.” He sits down at the workbench. “Crazy strong. I genuinely think that a half hour spinning up eight of these plus solar and a few day's worth of battery power will do well for you.”

“And it gives you an excuse to put tons and tons of metal in the walls of my home.” Tom says with a smirk.

Lou cracks a grin of his own at that one. “That's true. It's almost like I was looking for excuses to armor it when I came across the thought of making the interior space a vacuum. For insulation reasons, the steel would need to be thick to maintain a vacuum that size, and then the idea of using the space for power reared up, and this is the prototype. I just want to see what kind of power output we can get out of you cranking one of these up as fast as you can get it to go and then seeing what it produces as it spins down.”

Tom hops on it, to the irritation of the machine which creaks a touch under him, and begins pedaling. A few minutes later, after moving to the eighth gear, he has to stop because they are smelling something burning from the bearing that the whole thing is spinning on. Lou looks annoyed.

“Just let it go, Tom. We'll see what that gets us and I'll swap out the bearing for something more robust. We can try again tomorrow.”

>>

Gotham. Sunday. 11:17 PM

“What do you want, Cobblepot? Your auction isn't for another four days.”

“How would you like to get your hands on a free sample? I have me a fly in me ointment. A stone in me shoe, a man could say.”

The response is slow coming. “I'm listening.”

“A troublesome meddler that needs a talking to. Name is Thomas. Lives at the old scrapyard on Park Row. Thinks he's a player, that one. Decided that his patch was where me auction is going to happen. I could see to a sample finding its way to you if you could deal with him for me, Bane. I'd use me own men but the bastard is bulletproof.”

“This is the same Thomas that pulled a helicopter out of the sky and destroyed Dent yesterday?”

“Oh, yes. He's also put Croc in a hurt locker, stopped a runaway armored car by face-checking it, torn an arm off of one of Black Mask's men, and has both him and Hood so nervous that now both of them have flat-out said that they won't be bothering him. He's destroying the balance and believe me, Bane. We don't want that.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Because if we are ever hounded out of here, any other police force in the country would just shoot us. With cannons, if required. Why do I keep having to explain this to the rest of you?”

“Hmm...”

>>

Author's note:
Nothing huge. Aftermath of a big fight, watching where all the pieces fall.