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Chapter Text

To My Hope; Preview
Words: 1689

Thursday, October 31st.

You usually take the ‘day shift’, as Vengeance is always the shadows of Gotham’s streets under the cover of the night’s darkness. The people of Gotham know who you both are, as vigilantes, but in slightly different lights. There’s The Batman, a dark and mysterious character you never see coming, someone who can scare off the toughest of thugs just by seeing his symbol highlighting the sky with a hollow circle, a bat in its centre. He’s Vengeance, something fitting that he identifies himself as too, prepared to fight whatever and whoever persists in disturbing the peace, causing chaos, causing violence.

Of course, the violence and chaos still run rampant, but with Batman around, there are very few who dare to carry on through the night. He has terror on his side. You, on the other hand, have odd admiration and support.

Maybe it’s the way you go about things, with your pure white suit outlined in gold, the hood that covers your head and goes perfectly over the top half of your face not quite as menacing as Vengeance’s darkness and destruction. You’re out in pure daylight most of the time, on rooftops, too high to be noticed, ready to jump down and stop the threats and attacks. Fight off the gang who’s messing with a vulnerable older woman, then give her a hand up and get her home safely, smiling and waving at the stunned faces who see you leaving the scene with a friendly grin.

They called you Hope after just a few weeks. And that fits perfectly. That’s what you want to be, Hope, because without hope, there’s no strength to carry on persevering and believing in better. But no one knows who you truly are as a normal citizen of Gotham, the same as them not knowing who Vengeance is under his mask.

It’s a surprise to everyone that you and The Batman get along. Truthfully, you and he made the decision to be vigilantes together. Bruce Wayne and yourself have had a brother-sister relationship for as long as you can remember. You share similar pains and understand each other without too many words. He’s exactly like a fiercely protective and trustworthy brother, and you’re the positive and determined sibling, practically opposites, but it works for you, always had.

But it’s Halloween today, which means a lot more petty crimes and daring attempts of disorder and fighting. So you’re both out tonight, stopping a gang from the subway from beating down a random man who got off the train at the wrong time. A younger boy is the last one left in the end, staring up at you and Batman with wide brown eyes, and you give him a small, sympathetic smile, as if to say, “This isn’t the way to live your life, is it, really?” He seems to get it, and stumbles backwards onto his feet before sprinting off. You watch after him with an unfocused gaze, and The Batman nudges you from your side.

“What’s wrong?”

You frown, shaking your head. “Nothing. It was just something I did yesterday. Well, someone I helped out.”

“You saved their life,” he assumed. “They were probably starstruck that they got to meet Hope.”

But you shake your head again. “No, it wasn’t like that.”

It really wasn’t. It was an incident similar to the one you had just come across tonight: you were just finishing up, ready to get back home and call it a day in the late afternoon, when a man walking with his head down was suddenly yanked from the main street into an alleyway. You were quick to spot the action, easily overpowering the young, drunk thugs demanding money, and the man you had saved watched in complete awe the whole time.

You just can’t seem to forget that look.

Round green eyes behind clear-rimmed glasses, neat, soft bronze locks, simple clothes under his jacket. But he had stared at you while you fought in absolute wonder, his mouth open in disbelief. You had smiled at him warmly, taking his hand and pulling him up.

“You alright?”

And he’d simply stared at you for another long moment, before nodding slowly, stunned.

“I’m alright,” he breathed, his eyes wandering your hidden face, a smile tugging at his lips that grew with the next comment. “You’re Hope.”

“That’s me,” you’d agreed with a smirk. “And you’re a bit hurt, aren’t you? If it’s not too serious, you should probably go home and patch anything up. So, it was nice meeting you…?”

“Edward,” the man had responded instantly. “I’m Edward.”

“Nice meeting you, then, Edward,” you replied with a smile. “I love your glasses.”

Edward’s cheeks dusted pink, and his smile twitched in shyness as he looked down. “Thanks.”

“I should get going,” you told him with a nod. “See you around!”

And Edward had looked back up with a mixed, unreadable, intense look in his eye, his smile matching it almost unsettlingly.

“You will, Hope.”

And that was it. Why what he’d said and how he said it is confusing you at this point seems stupid to you now, and you brush it off, giving a reassuring smile to Batman.

“Whatever. I guess I’m still getting used to things.”

Batman nodded, not entirely convinced, but deciding not to push it. Instead, his dark eyes glide up to the skies to take in the warning sign.

“Come on,” he says, and you nod, following him to the rooftop, where James Gordon was waiting impatiently.

“Hope,” he addresses you with a weary smile. “Batman. I need you to see something.”

That something leads you to the Mayor’s house. Or, the late Mayor’s house. Because, as you and The Batman walk through the hallways, the FBI and GCPD crowding the rooms and flashing photos make it clear that Don Mitchell is, in fact, dead. Murdered.

You and Batman receive the usual questioning stares from the officers, though some who meet your eye nod approvingly at you. The officer guarding the door to the main room gives you a hesitant glance when Gordon leads the way, but shakes his head and puts a hand out to stop Batman from going any further.

“Woah, woah, woah,” he stops him. “Police action.”

“He’s with me, Officer,” Gordon assures him. “So’s she.”

“Are you kidding me, sir? You’re gonna let him in here?”

Vengeance stares at the officer silently, and you watch with an uncertain, halfhearted smile.

“Martinez,” James insists, “let them through.”

Martinez sighs as he lowers his hand, and they carry on walking into the room. You smile properly at the officer in an attempt of calming him down, and he nods at you in slight approval before glaring at Batman.

“Goddamn freak,” you hear him mutter, but you walk on, into the scene.

And, quite frankly, you’ve never seen anything like this.

It’s the Mayor, one of his hands in a paper bag, his head wrapped in silver duct tape, with the red, bloody lettering of 'NO MORE LIES’ written on the front.

“What do we know?” Gordon asks one of the detectives, his torch aimed at the once Mayor of Gotham as he snaps his notebook shut. His eyes follow Batman and then you, as you both get a better angle, your brows furrowing and face screwing up in disgust. All over the walls, the same writing of 'LIES’ is scribbled

“Detective?” Gordon regains his attention.

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” he starts, “we got blunt force trauma. Lacerations on the head. He got hit a lot of times. And hard.”

Gordon examined the head with his own torch. “All this blood is from his head?”

“No,” the detective continues, stopping abruptly before he bumps into Batman. “Excuse me. Most of it’s from his hand.” He pulls the paper bag away to reveal Mitchell’s cold hand.

“Thumb was severed. Killer may have taken it as a trophy.”

“He was alive when it was cut off,” Batman observes, and the men look back at him. “Ecchymosis… around the wound.”

Cameras flash and snap while you look around, spellbound at the sight. There’d never been anything as bad as this in Gotham. Never like this.

“Security detail downstairs said the family was out trick-or-treating,” the lead detective says, “the Mayor was up here alone. Killer may have come through the skylight.”

“You said there were two cards,” Gordon asked, and the detective agreed, pulling out two green envelopes.

To The Batman

To My Hope

He opens the first one, where a cartoon image of a skeleton and an owl are on the card.

“From your secret friend,” Gordon reads, “Whoo? Haven’t a clue? Let’s play a game, just me and you. What does a liar do when he’s dead?”

“There’s a cypher, too,” the detective points out, handing him a sheet of paper with an odd type of code written on it in a plastic covering. Gordon hands you the second one when you reach for it, the one addressed to you, and he and the detective watch as you open it, Batman behind you with a focused glare.

It’s a card similar to the one for The Batman, but there’s a cartoon picture of a girl with a shining halo above her head, hands clasped innocently, big eyes staring. The title reads 'YOU’VE ALWAYS BEEN MY ANGEL!’

Your brows twitch in confusion as you open it up, and identical writing to the other card is written inside, this time with a much sweeter riddle, messy hearts scribbled inside.

“Made by God in pairs, separated at birth on Earth, found after years of search, inseparable for the rest of the time. What are we?” you read quietly, and you feel Batman tense from behind you.

“Soulmates,” he says under his breath, and you look up at the disturbed, equally confused stares from the detectives. You look back down with a short sigh, studying the writing and looking back at the envelope.

To My Hope…

This killer, whoever they are, might just be making everything a whole lot more difficult. Because this killer, whoever he is… likes you.

Chapter Text

To My Hope; Drive
Words: 1689

It wasn’t a surprise to you when Peter came striding in and stopped dead when he caught sight of you, and specifically The Batman. He’d immediately questioned Gordon in frustration, accusing Batman of being involved, then looking to you in exasperation.

“They’re goddamn vigilantes! They could be suspects! Especially him!”

But Batman wasn’t paying any attention to his furious rants. Instead, he stared at the now-dead Mayor in thought, his quiet murmur cutting through their dispute.

“He lies still…”

“Excuse me?”

Gordon nodded slowly, explaining the riddle, and Peter left with a string of annoyed comments as he stomped off to meet the press downstairs. You couldn’t stay any longer, and while Gordon shows you out, your eyes linger on the boy who’s lost his father, sitting wounded and downcast as the police ask him questions as gently as they can. The Batman stares too, a slither of emotion breaking his blank, hard-set stare.

“There’ll be a funeral,” he tells you once you’re both out. “I’ll pick you up and take you… if that’s alright.”

You nod slowly, a brow raising. “Bruce Wayne is going to take me to the funeral in one of his fancy cars? With the press snapping photos and bugging you about who I am? Secret girlfriend? You know they’ll do it.”

A scoff of amusement leaves him, and he shakes his head. “I know. But I want you there, and I want you where I know you’re safe.”

“With you, you mean,” you say with a smile, used to his protective nature by now. “Okay then. Don’t give Alfred a hard time when you get back to the manor, and say hi to him for me.”

He nods again, patting you on the shoulder before disappearing into the night. You stare after him with a light sigh, looking away from the wide city screens presenting Pete Savage’s heartfelt promise to find the killer for his lost friend.

There’s not much to do now, except go back home and try to get a bit of sleep. But it’s not easy, with jumbled riddles and puzzling words that make no sense whizzing through your brain, and the image of that old, cartoon angel from the card.

Soulmates. My Hope.

You’re jerked out of your lazy thoughts early the next morning, your phone ringing persistently from the bedside table, Bruce’s name on the ID.

“Bru-”

“Alfred found something,” he interrupts, clearly wanting to get straight on with it. “I need to catch you up. When does Hope plan on getting back out?”

You groan groggily, sitting up and brushing the hair out of your face. “Mm… let her have her coffee first.”

Batman had quickly shown you the complicated method of breaking down the cypher to reveal a hidden message of ‘DRIVE’ when you met up a little later. This was only the beginning, after all. You don’t know where this is heading, but it can’t be anywhere good. Especially if you’ve caught the attention of this riddling killer in a way you really shouldn’t have.

You’re taken to the private garage of Don Mitchell’s, Gordon and Batman walking by your sides as you take in the excessive amount of shiny sports cars.

“I’ve got an emo friend who could afford all this fancy gear,” you joke quietly to Batman, and he glares at you softly.

“Yeah, he’s got a car,” Jim Gordon mutters sarcastically. “Guess it’s good to be a mayor. Where to even start?”

“We should look for things that shouldn’t be here,” you think aloud, examining the cars in turn with a small frown.

“You sure this isn’t a leap?” Gordon asks uncertainly. “'Drive’ could mean anything.”

“You don’t trust me?” Batman questions.

“You mean like you trust me? It’s been two years now, and I don’t even know who you two are, man.”

You stop in your tracks suddenly, going over to a silver car with something jammed above a tyre. It’s long metal in a scissor shape, and you pull it out, handing it over to Batman, who nods at you approvingly.

“What are we looking for?” Gordon asks as you unlock the door for Batman to get in, his blue-white flashlight illuminating the darkness.

“A USB port,” The Batman answers.

“USB?”

A gloved hand pushes a button, and a compartment slides open to reveal the port… and a special keyring that makes you groan in disgust, rolling your eyes. Gordon looks at you in confusion.

“What?”

Batman holds up the USB stick, along with the mayor’s missing thumb.

“'Thumb’ drive,” Batman clarifies, and Gordon curses as he gets out his laptop, inserting the stick. An error message quickly flashes up on the screen.

“It’s encrypted.”

Batman holds up the keyring with the dangling thumb. “Try this.”

Gordon pulls a similar face to yours, taking it reluctantly.

“Oh, this guy’s hilarious,” he breathes in annoyance, as the drive opens to reveal a thumbprint scanner. He gingerly places it on the scanner, and the error message is replaced with several photographs of a blonde woman, the mayor beside her in them all.

“Well, well, well,” Gordon whispers. “So much for family values.”

“Who is she?”

“No idea,” he replies, leaning in closer to the screen to point out the Penguin, Falcone’s right-hand man.

A whooshing sound of notifications from emails interrupts, and Gordon panics, swearing.

“The drive! It sent out the photos from my account…”

“He lies still,” Batman recalls.

“You should ask the Penguin about it at the Iceberg Lounge,” you tell him. I know some of the girls there, if that helps.“

And so the three of you part again, you going back to being Hope and trying to forget the chaos and confusion that’s going on behind the scenes, and Batman off to the Iceberg Lounge.

You don’t get much peace before the news comes up later in the evening, with questions about the blonde woman, now revealed to the public from the drive, and a disturbing video from… The Riddler.

Your eyes are fixed on the screen as you hear his heavy, shaky breaths and take in the white question mark on his murky green coat. He pulls the camera away to reveal his face, which is covered along with his head in a similar coloured green mask. A pair of clear glasses are over the bridge of the nose, and you frown, unnerved. This is the man who sent you the letter. This is the man who called you his soulmate.

"Hello, people of Gotham,” his deep, modified voice sounds through your TV’s speakers. “This is the Riddler speaking. On Halloween night, I killed your mayor because he was not who he pretended to be. But I am not done.”

The camera flips, and you gasp in disbelief as you see Peter’s face caged in a clear trap, rats scuttling in a compartment at his chest.

“Here is another,” the Riddler continues, Pete hyperventilating from behind the silver duct tape over his mouth, “who will soon be losing face. "I will kill again, and again, and again, and again, until our day of judgement, when the truth about this city will FINALLY…! Be unmasked.”

The camera zooms out to show the both of them, the RIddler evidently grinning from behind his mask. “Goodbye!”

And then his face is off the screen, and you’re left staring at the TV blankly, a shiver running down your spine.

Your phone vibrates from a nearby table, a message from Bruce asking you to meet him to examine the body and the Riddler’s clue in his trap. You don’t move for a long moment, and when you do, you switch off the TV and stare at your shaded reflection in the black screen. You stare at the figure of hope… and now that you know that the Riddler might have been watching, obsessing, for who knows how long… it doesn’t quite feel the same.

Chapter Text

To My Hope; You Came
Words: 2336

“I was Hoping that you’d come last night,” Bruce says as you drive to the funeral, smirking slightly at his name joke, to which you roll your eyes with a light scoff. “But I understand. It’s a lot to take in.”

“I just couldn’t face it,” you tell him with a shrug. “The person who’s supposedly obsessed with me… you saw the news, about Pete.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to go with The Batman and Gordon last night, to look at the scene of Pete Savage’s death, left by the Riddler. You were too distracted with the letter, the Riddler himself when he appeared on your TV screen… absolutely everything. But you’re Hope. You’ll manage, like you always do.

“Well, Pete’s not a good cop,” Bruce states, and you frown, listening. “Looks like he got greedy. I think he was in on the drops business. The Riddler’s targeting the corrupt, especially people to do with that case. There are more photos,” he continues, passing them to you and glancing at the car windows, their reflective film blocking out any random, prying eyes from outside. You shuffle through the photos with a sigh.

“I managed to get someone in the lounge,” he adds, “to the club below it. Colson, the DA, he was there. Talking about an informant on the Maroni case. A rat.”

“A rat,” you repeat slowly, and Bruce nods. “Okay, that kind of makes sense, what with the Riddler putting rats in that cage yesterday…”

“I got a card,” he responds, and you can see the dull annoyance in his gaze immediately after he mentions it. “Another riddle. ‘Follow the maze until you find the rat. Bring him into the light, and you’ll find where I’m at.”

“Bring him into the light?”

“We’ll work on it,” Bruce assures you. “I, um, I met a girl from the Iceberg Lounge,” he adds. “Selina. You’ll get on well with her. She’s friends with the blonde girl from the pictures with the late mayor. She talked to Colson.”

You smile with a nod, giving the photos back, the frowning as you notice his hesitation to mention something else.

“Okay… What is it?”

He pulls out an envelope from his pocket, handing it to you. You bite your lip as you stare at the familiar handwriting from Mitchell’s house, the angel card.

To My Hope

You quickly pull the card out of the envelope, and stay frozen in your seat as your eyes trace the words on its cover. It’s another old fashioned love cartoon, with two silhouetted figures holding hands, standing under a large green heart with curly white words written inside.

'I HAVE ALWAYS LOVED YOU,

'I ALWAYS WILL,

'LOVED YOU YESTERDAY,

'LOVE YOU STILL.’

You open the card up properly to see the same riddle The Batman got, but the obvious difference between his and yours is the faint, messy hearts drawn in the background of the writing in pencil. Bruce looks away, annoyed.

“I don’t like the idea of him thinking of you like that. Stay close, okay? I know you can handle yourself, but this is different.”

You smile at Bruce fondly, tucking the card away in your jacket pocket. “Alright, worryguts.”

Chanting and clamouring can be heard clearly from outside, as Bruce Wayne’s car drives to the entrance of the church. As you peer out the window, you can see a group of people chanting “No more lies!” and holding up boards with the Riddler’s question mark symbol sprayed on it, signs held up saying 'OUR DAY OF JUDGEMENT’. Bruce stares too, retreating into silence as he steps out, going over to your side to give you a hand, and choosing to keep it in his.

Reporters are quick to clamour around you, cameras flashing.

“Is that Bruce Wayne?”

“Who’s the girl with him?”

“Mr Wayne, is that your girlfriend?!”

You bite back a smile, looking up at him. “Told you.”

He shakes his head at you, but he’s not seriously annoyed. The amusement fades as you look over at a car, where Falcone himself steps out, a young woman beside him. Bruce follows them, pulling you with him, and you frown, trying to tug him back before one of his men notice.

“Hey, hey! Give us a wide berth here, would you, slick?” a bodyguard jumps in, and Falcone turns, the girl looking back at you both.

Falcone calms them down in a second, reassuring them of who Bruce Wayne is, about knowing his father. You avoid eye contact with the man, instead, your eyes wander to the group of protesters with Riddler gear at the entry’s barricaded area.

“Come on,” Bruce’s voice draws your attention back, and you go on inside. Bella Rel greets Bruce and you almost as soon as you get in, and you let her pull him away, smiling at the look he gives you as you scan the large number of people there to pay their respects.

“What good’s a safety net that doesn’t catch anybody?” A man behind the barricades indoors mutters to himself, and you look over at him with a small frown. “Didn’t help my daughter when she needed it, I can tell you that. The guy was just another rich scum-sucker. He got what he deserved.”

His eyes meet yours suddenly, and then it’s his turn to frown. “Hey, don’t I know you? I’ve seen you somewhere-”

A hand on your shoulder makes you flinch, and you’re met with Bruce, who glances at the man before leading you away.

The faint music of Ave Maria in the background somehow made you uneasy, and you glanced around at the mayor’s son and the people… before your attention was immediately caught.

Panicked, muffled screams sound from outside, along with the roaring of an engine and crashing sounds. Bruce grips your hand tightly, stepping in front of you protectively as the noise grows louder, drawing out the conversation and singing from within the church. You follow Bruce’s stare as he looks up at a balcony, where the silhouette of a man stands calmly, peering down at the scene. Your breath catches in your throat as your fingers trace the card from your pocket, and the loud smash of the breaking of the paned doors makes you jump.

People scatter screaming to get away from the big black car, as it speeds down the aisle. Bruce shoves you to the side, making you lose your balance but miss the car’s route as he sprints towards the boy, pushing him out the way and rolling over as they stumble. The car crashes into the thick, poled walls, and when you look up again, the man’s figure is gone.

The GCPD flock around the car, bashed up and spray painted in white with lettering. Gordon yells at the driver to get out of the car… and when he does, you close your eyes in disbelief.

It’s Colson, duct tape around his mouth muffling his cries, and attaching a phone to the palm of his hand. He’s still there when you open them, dried blood trickled down his forehead as his words are muffled under the tape. A large, clunky collar is around his neck, and when someone points it out, everyone screams. The phone rings, and another chorus of screams sounds, the ID simply stating that it’s an unknown number.

Colson holds up the phone, showing the envelope taped onto his shirt.

To My Hope & The Batman

The guests clear out instantly, and you look over your shoulder at Bruce, who looks straight back at you, nodding.

You’ve never gotten changed into Hope so quickly.

You’ve never wanted to stay hidden away in your apartment so much.

Night falls over Gotham as Batman insists you two go out to answer later in the day, the police now surrounding the building, sending a robot in to scan the bomb and survey the scene. The Batman stays close to you as you walk side by side back into the church, and Colson looks up at you with wide, tired eyes. Batman takes the tape off his mouth, and Colson gasps, shaking his head and apologising over and over.

“Please, he made me do it,” Colson insists tearfully. “He told me if I didn’t do exactly what he said he’d kill me, I’m so sorry!”

“Looks like a combination lock,” Batman observes the collar, and you nod.

“Can’t we just cut it off?”

“Not if you want to keep your head.”

Colson sighs shakily, and you take the envelope off his shirt, pulling out the card with a 60s style blonde woman holding an oversized telephone.

“In these troubling times, never forget,” you read quietly, opening it up, “I’m only a phone call away. Answer.”

Colson raises his hand as he offers you the phone, and you glance at Batman in confirmation. He nods, and you reach out to answer it, tapping the green icon on the screen.

The same room from last night’s news is in the video call’s background, heavy breathing close to the camera, as the masked man leans into the frame.

“You came.”

“Who are you?” Batman questions calmly.

“Me? I’m nobody,” the Riddler breathes, “I’m just an instrument, here to unmask the truth about this cesspool we call a city.”

“Unmask?”

“Yes,” the Riddler agrees, his eyes gliding from the Batman to you. You swear you can see them soften as he stares at the screen from his side, his breathing picking up again.

“Oh, Hope…” he whispers, “you look so beautiful up close… did you like the cards I sent you?”

Batman tenses beside you, and you open your mouth before closing it, your mind completely blank of any way to answer.

“Let’s do this together, okay?” The Riddler continues. “I’ve been trying to reach you. You’re both a part of this too, lovely.”

“How are we a part of this?” Batman asks.

“You’ll see,” Riddler responds darkly, adjusting his camera as he sits down. “Say hello to my followers. We’re live. They’ve heard a lot about Hope, here… and they’re here to watch our little trial. At the moment, the man across from you, Mr Colson… is dead! But-”

“Jesus, can we get somebody out here, this psycho’s gonna kill me!” Colson interrupts in pure terror, and you hear the Riddler sigh.

“Wait a minute- SHUT UP! You deserve to be dead after what you did- you hear me? YOU HEAR ME?!”

“Okay, okay,” Colson whimpers, and you watch the screen in shock as the Riddler’s groan turns into a hyper laugh, his face close to the camera.

“I’m giving you a chance,” the Riddler tells him, before jerking away from the camera dramatically. “No one ever gave me a chance. Now. Ever since I was a child, I’ve always loved little puzzles. For me, they are a retreat, from the horrors of our world. Maybe… they can bring some comfort to you too, Mr Colson.”

“You want me to do puzzles?” Colson questions, and the RIddler agrees excitedly.

“Three riddles in two minutes. You give me the answers, and I’ll give you the code for the lock - do you understand?”

Colson agrees nervously, and the shrill beep of the bomb makes huim jump and whimper in fright.

“Riddle number one! It can be cruel, poetic, or blind, but when it’s denied, it’s violence you may find.”

“W-wait, could you repeat that? Cruel… poetic…?”

“Justice,” you pipe up, and Colson turns to you desperately.

“Huh?”

“The answer, it’s justice!”

Colson repeats it, and the Riddler confirms the word happily.

“Yes! Justice! Isn’t she clever?” He coos adoringly at you, and you watch in uncertainty. “And you,” he turns his attention back to Colson, “were supposed to be an arm of justice in this city, along with the late mayor and police commissioner, were you not, Mr Colson?”

“Yes, yes, of course, of course,” Colson agrees quickly.

“Riddle number two,” the Riddler carries on gleefully. “If you are justice, please do not lie. What is the price for your blind eye?”

“Price?” Colson repeats cluelessly.

“Bribes,” Batman repeats, and Colson tries to repeat it.

“No, he wants to know how much it cost for you to turn your back,” you clarify.

Colson hesitates in despair.

“Fifty-eight seconds!” The Riddler yells impatiently.

“Look, how much was it?!” you demand worriedly.

“Nothing!”

“How much!” The Batman raises his voice.

“Ten grand,” Colson caves in, “Ten Gs a month, I get a monthly payment just not to prosecute certain cases!”

“What cases?”

“He didn’t ask me that, come on! Ten grand!”

The Riddler laughs in amusement. “Okay, okay - don’t lose your head, Mr Colson. Just one more to go before your time runs out. Last riddle! Since your justice is so select, please, tell us which vermin you’re paid to protect?”

“The rat,” Batman tells him instantly. “The informant you all protect from the Salvatore Maroni case.”

Colson’s face goes pale. “How do you know about that?!”

“What’s his name?” You ask, and Colson shakes his head, as the Riddler announces the twenty seconds left.

“No.”

“He’s going to kill you, Colson!” You point out with round eyes.

“I’m a dead man either way,” Colson replies, and repeats the statement as Batman grabs hold of him. “If I go out this way, it’s just me, but if I give over that name, I have family, people I love… he’ll kill them too,”

“Who will?”

“People are watching-”

“What people?!”

“It’s so much bigger than you can imagine,” Colson says miserably, “it’s the whole system.”

“Five seconds! I’ll see you soon, my Hope - I love you! Goodbye!”

The deafening book of the bomb exploding cuts off Colson’s pleas for mercy, and the Batman jumps in front of you as it goes off, shielding you from the damage as you’re both blown back. Your breaths are shaky and uneven as you hear echoed, fading voices, and the voice of the Riddler, before darkness consumes your mind.

Chapter Text

To My Hope; Hopeless
Words: 1090

“Who do you think they are under there?”

“Take it easy-”

“I wanna see…”

A torch flashes brightly in your eyes, and you squint, pushing away the hands and sit up quickly, taking in the cluster of policemen who crowd around you and a half-awake Batman.

“Let’s just take it off!”

“Don’t,” you warn them, but just as a hand reaches out, The Batman shoots up from his spot and shoves the officers out of his face, resulting in yells from them all, James Gordon raising his hands to calm them down.

“Relax, God damn it!” He shouts, standing between you and Batman and the other police. The Batman glances at you with a look that says, ‘are you okay?’ to which you nod, turning your attention back to the GCPD.

“You’re protecting these guys, Jim?” The chief questions coldly. “He interfered in an active hostage situation. Colson’s blood is on his hands. And now it seems it’s on this young woman’s too.”

You frown incredulously. “What?!”

“Maybe it’s on yours,” Batman interrupts bluntly.

“What’d you say?”

“He would rather die than talk. What was he afraid of? You?”

You sigh, drowning their voices out as your hand instinctively goes to your pocket, the curved corners of the envelope and the card still there. It makes you shift uncomfortably as you think of the man who wrote it out for you, sent it so lovingly… before murdering in cold blood.

A chorus of shots erupts again as another officer attempts to pull off Batman’s mask, and you dodge out of the way, glaring at them impatiently.

“Hey!” Gordon snaps, shoving Batman against the barred wall. “What’s the matter with you? This ain’t the way to do this!”

“You too now?” Batman questions, and you watch as Gordon convinces the officers to leave the room for a minute… and help you get out.

“Take this key,” he mutters, “through that door. Hallway to the stairs that go to the roof.”

“Who’s the moustache with the broken nose?” Batman breathes, glancing in his direction.

“That’s Kenzie, Narcotics.”

“He’s one of the guys I got into it with at the Iceberg Lounge.”

“What are you saying? Kenzie moonlights for the Penguin?”

“Or he moonlights as a cop,” you correct him, looking in the direction of the door. “Let’s go, come on.”

The Batman swings his fist, knocking Gordon back as he grabs your hand and rushes to the door, pulling you up to the roof as a mob of police come after you in anger.

“I’m gonna find the Penguin,” Batman calls to you, as you ready yourself to jump off the rooftop. “Coming?”

You shake your head breathlessly. “I need to… clear my head. Get a fresh perspective on things. I’ll call you when I figure something out.”

“So will I,” The Batman acknowledges, hesitating for a moment before he jumps to turn back to you. “Stay safe, Hope.”

And then he’s gone, swooping down the building and advancing forwards through the lit up, night roads. You jump after him, sliding down poles and hopping down rooftops until you reach the ground, and run to your apartment, getting out of your Hope suit and changing into something comfier.

God, you don’t want to be at home. You need to get out. Eat, have a drink, somewhere.

You roll your eyes at yourself as you grab your keys and purse, going back outside and wandering the streets in apprehension… until you stop outside a diner. There are only a couple of people in there - a man hunched over at the front bar, another older woman in a corner reading a newspaper.

So you go on in, smiling at the tired-looking waitress and ordering a drink as you sit at the front bar. A couple of seats away from you, the man hardly notices, his eyes trained on the notebook in front of him as he scribbles in it furiously. Your eyes widen a fraction as you realise who it is. It’s Edward, the guy you, or Hope, had saved from those thugs just a few days earlier. He’s recovered, for sure. That’s good.

Breaking news flashes up on the TV screen in the diner, and you stop yourself from sighing in annoyance as the camera circles the damaged church and shows footage clips of the Riddler’s stream and you and the Batman watching Colson. The man’s attention is completely caught now, and he closes his book as he quickly looks up at the screen, an unreadable expression on his face. At one point, the camera focuses on Hope… and you frown in confusion as you hear Edward moan.

At least, that’s what it sounded like.

Your eyes flicked to his soft brown hair and clear-framed glasses, making him look nerdy and small. There was something else though, maybe, but you couldn’t place it.

“The GCPD are suspicious of The Batman and Hope being directly involved in these murders, as this serial killer is said to have contacted them by a growing series of cards. It seems unlikely for 'The City’s Hope’ to have a hand in such gruesome crimes, as she seems to stand for the opposite! But answers remain unsolved for now. Back to-”

A dopey smile tugs at Edward’s lips, and you lean a little closer to him as you let yourself speak up.

“What do you think about all that?”

He jumps, startled, finally noticing you as his eyes meet yours. His brows twitch slightly in what seems to be confusion and wonder, and then he looks down again bashfully, realising he’s been staring instead of giving you an answer.

“I think she’s an angel,” he admits quietly, looking back up to the screen with an admiring smile. “Hope… Hope.”

“Hope?” You repeat, nodding slowly in interest. “But… the Riddler’s targeting her.”

The man scoffs in disbelief, shaking his head. “He’s not 'targeting’ her. He loves her. Everyone does. Without Hope, we’re…” He giggles to himself as he says the last word, practically giddy. “Hopeless.”

You stare at Edward in bewilderment, and that’s when he snaps out of it, looking at you in awareness, before getting down from his chair.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, not meeting your eyes. “I tend to, um, ramble.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you respond with a slight, weary smile. “I’m glad she inspires you.”

He whimpers, nodding with another large smile, before hurrying out the door and down the street, notebook clutched firmly in hand.

Hopeless…

'Yeah,’ you think to yourself amusedly. 'Sounds about right.’

Chapter Text

To My Hope; The Big Picture
Words: 1442

As soon as Edward scurried out of the diner, leaving you watching after him in mild confusion, your phone rings, Bruce's ID coming up on the screen.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

To My Hope; Blowing Up
Words: 1166

The news of Wayne Manor's terrible fire was plastered on TVs as soon as you get to the diner, deciding to give Bruce some space. He texts you soon after, letting you know that Alfred's in hospital, and to meet him on the roof when the next signal came up in the air. He attaches an image of his floor spray painted with a mind map of the whole case, and you stare at it for a few moments in interest, before responding.

- That'll be a lovely surprise for Alfred when he gets home -

Bruce likes the message a moment after, and you put your phone back in your pocket, going to look back up at the diner TV. A man staring at you intently from right beside you makes you jump, and he watches in curiosity as you recognise his face. It's Edward, his green eyes partially hidden behind his glasses, the nerdy but unreadable look on his face as you smile slightly.

"Oh, hi, Edward. Didn't see you there."

"Oh, I..." his bashfulness returns, snapping him out of his stare as he looks down at the table, searching for the right words. "It's just... I feel like I know you. F-from before, I mean. I don't... never mind."

You nod slowly, turning your attention back to the diner TV. "Awful, isn't it? The butler's really hurt, apparently. He could have died, with everything blowing up like that."

"It wasn't meant for him," Edward responds quietly. "It was for Bruce... Wayne."

Your gaze flicks back to him at the odd change of voice, and Edward catches on, looking back down at the table nervously.

"That's what they, um, said, didn't they?"

"Yeah," you agree in slight confusion. "I'll be glad when this whole thing is over. It's so... it's just too much. Everything's blowing up, really, isn't it? Still, at least The Batman can help deal with things."

Edward takes in your words with a small frown. "Yes. And Hope."

"And Hope," you repeat, biting back a smile. "Poor girl."

"I know," Edward breathes, "she's been waiting so long, and all she's gotten are letters..."

"Um... that's not really what I meant," you say, confused again. "I meant that they've got a lot to deal with because of the murders and Hope being harassed."

"H- Harassed?!"

Edward's voice suddenly raises, and you flinch as a couple of other people in the diner look up at him in questioning. Edward's eyes widen in realisation, and he flushes in nervousness, quickly getting up and nodding briefly at you before rushing out of the diner.

What the hell was that about?

Your phone vibrates, and you answer Bruce's call with a bewildered frown on your face.

"Meet me on the roof. I want you to meet Selina."

He ends the call before you can answer, and you roll your eyes, getting up and paying before going back to your apartment to get changed into Hope's suit. The skies of Gotham are ironically peaceful, peach shades mixed with warm blues, and The Batman stands at the edge, watching it as you come up and approach him.

"How's Alfred?"

"Stabilising," is Batman's reply. "He'll be alright."

The door of the elevator behind the two of you draws your attention, and a young woman all in black steps out, pulling off her mask.

"Cat burglar pulling another score?"

"What?"

"Wasn't sure I'd see you again. You know who this is," Batman adds, glancing in your direction. Selina's eyes focus on you, lips twitching up into a tired smile.

"Yeah, you're Hope, right?" she says in interest. "Selina. Nice to see another pretty girl take control for a change."

You smile back, nodding. "Sorry about your friend. He's kept me updated."

She shakes her head in disgust at the mention of it. "I mean, how could they do that to her? That piece of shit cop Kenzie..."

You can't help tuning out to their conversation as you think about the letters you've kept from The Riddler back at your apartment, the photo album with all the candid shots of you from around the city. You imagine the beautiful thoughts of you helping people, making a change... and a future serial killer watching it all giddily, snapping photos in dark corners, tainting the beauty of it all until that dark corner spread throughout the entire experiences.

"-Because he's my father!"

You look up from where you're gazing out at the sky, eyes round.

"Who?"

"Falcone," Selina says, voice lower now. "My mother worked at the 44 Below. Just like Anni."

Your phone vibrates again as she talks, and you sigh, answering it and moving away from them with a quick apology before you answer the call.

"Hope? It's Gordon."

"How'd you get my-"

"With a lot of hard work. Look, I need you to come to the station. I need to show you something, okay?"

"I've got to go," you tell Batman and Selina. "Sorry. Gordon's asking."

"What for?" The Batman asks, and you shrug.

"Not sure yet. But I'll meet you after."

"Hey- hang on," Selina says, going over to you and taking your phone, adding a new contact. "Call me. You know, if you're interested."

You look up at her dark eyes with a raised brow. "Interested?"

"Yeah."

You nod with a smile before leaving, heading to Gordon's office in the GCPD building. He waits impatiently for you, a video up on his computer.

"You've seen the video The Riddler's made about Bruce Wayne, haven't you?"

"No, no yet-"

"I'll send you the link. But I need to show you the one about Hope."

"About what?!"

Gordon shakes his head, pressing the play icon in the middle of the screen, and the all too familiar, ominous voice of the Riddler plays with the slideshow of similar shots to the ones in the photo album and news reports of your past successes.

"Hope. The one source of light in such a cesspool of a city. She came out of nowhere to help the scum who didn't need it, and the weak who did. Amongst all the chaos and confusion in Gotham, an angel is amongst you doing the work that everyone is so undeserving of. There's only one way that all will be as it should."

The video cuts to The Riddler then, his face at an odd angle on the screen, eyes blown wide in emotion and twisted happiness.

"Soon, My Hope and I will be one, and when that time comes, the day of judgement be upon you all... Goodbye, My Hope. Soon... so very soon."

The video stops, the triangular play icon reappearing on the computer screen, and you stare at it numbly, your breaths trembling between your lips.

"What does he mean, 'soon'?" you whisper in questioning, as Gordon forwards the videos to your phone.

"Nothing good," Gordon responds. "Maybe it's when we find him. All of this will end in us finding out where he's hiding. I promise you, Hope, I won't let him do anything."

"How can you promise that, Jim? At some point, I'm gonna have to face him."

"You've faced worse than this," he insists. "I believe in you. You'll be alright."

But you're not so sure. Everything's truly blowing up, and there's no way to stop it.

Chapter Text

To My Hope; Rat Trap
Words: 1249

As you walk back from the police station, you take in the dark, dirty streets of the city you've spent over two years to try and salvage, to bring hope, quite literally. And you could have been certain that it was starting to work, people were going to get better... but now everything's shattered into a million puzzle pieces, and how to put them back together is a headache to think about.

You try sticking to the shadowy areas of the streets, not wanting Hope to draw too much attention from those still out and about. A small group of teenagers with spray cans in their hands glance at you and their eyes widen a fraction, backing up, the smallest looks of guilt in their gazes. But you look away with a small, distracted smile, just wanting to get back in the safety of your own home. Maybe you can make more sense of things when you're sitting down, alone, and can go through what you know to try to get to what you don't.

A shiver runs down your spine from the typically cool evening breeze, but you find yourself frowning slightly, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. You look behind your shoulder briefly, greeted by the empty street, and bite your lip. No one's following you. No one's watching you. You're just tired, so walk faster.

Walking past a tall hotel building, the main, run-down double doors open heavily, just as you're going, and to your surprise, there's Edward from the diner, seemingly flustered, his murky green eyes blown up wide behind his glasses. They meet your gaze instantly, and he stops in his tracks, breath stuck in his throat as he stares in wonder.

"Hope," he exhales, an amazed, almost adoring smile on his face only widening as you smile back lightly at him.

"Hi. Are you alright?"

Edward nods eagerly, scarcely blinking. "I- you remember me... don't you?"

"Sure," you agree, "I helped you out with those drunk thugs, didn't I? Have you been alright since?"

"I've been wondrous," he whispers giddily, and you raise a brow in bemusement, nodding slowly with a small smile.

"Well, that's good. I should get going, but-"

"But it's getting late," Edward points out, shuffling a little closer to you, "and I'd hate to keep you waiting. I- I did promise."

You blink, confused. "What do you mean?"

But Edward's stopped talking, his eyes fixed on a sight behind you. Your frown deepens, and as you turn around to face it, a sudden strong grip, like a vice around your chest, pulls you back into him, material soaked with something strong and eyewatering making your shoves and harsh grabs at his arms weaken. Your screams are muffled by the flannel, and as you uncontrollably drop into Edward's arms, you stare up at him in shock, horrified by the look of pure adrenaline and lust in the unlikely captor's arms.

It was Edward. It's always been Edward. How could you have been so blind?

All those obsessive stares at the clips of you on the TV in the diner, the way he said your name. Everything. Edward Nashton, a man who you could have sworn was a vulnerable, normal citizen of Gotham from when you first met and saved him, is the notorious psychopath who goes by The Riddler. And you've fallen right into his rat trap.

But it's too late now, too late now that the darkness of the night is fading into pure blackness, eyes fluttering shut and consciousness fading as Edward cradles you tenderly, his actions not matching his crazed expression.

That's all you can remember. Up until an hour later, when you finally blink yourself awake, groggy from the drug that the flannel was laced with, ears ringing for a long moment.

A muffled, modified voice slowly makes its way to your ears from a room not far from where you are, restraints digging in uncomfortably around your arms and legs, and wound around your middle. It's not duct tape, it's some kind of rope, and you shift to no avail in your seat, eyes open properly now, senses heightened. You can feel that your mask is still on - something that gives you a bit of relief - along with the rest of your Hope outfit, but your phone is on the other side of the room, probably turned off.

Where the hell are you?

The room you're sitting in the midst of is as dark as it is outside, but cluttered with books and papers and random objects piled in a messy but organised manner. A long piece of dark green material is hung up on a wall, an ominous question mark sprayed in its centre. You raise your eyes up to the ceiling in disbelief. You're trapped in The Riddler's hideout.

The nearby voice is growing louder now, and you stay as still as you can, trying to listen in to the raised, angered tone.

"...change now! We've spent our lives...  suffering!!  Wondering 'why us?' Now they...  'why them?!'"

He sounds deranged, an absolute genius madman, and as you struggle in your bound state, trying not to say anything or make any noise to draw his attention, you hear the sound of The Riddler ending his video, whatever it is, and footsteps coming closer.

There's no point in feigning unconsciousness as the masked man appears at the door, and you can see a hidden smile lighting up his eyes at the sight of you.

"Hi, beautiful," he murmurs dotingly, and you look down at the floor apprehensively. "How are you feeling?"

Violated,  you want to say.  Confused. I don't want to be here. I don't trust you. I can't.

"I'll get you some water," he says after a moment's silence, "I suspect you're still feeling a little dizzy. I tried to give you as small a dosage as possible to get you here without a fight. It doesn't hurt too badly, does it...? Hold on, angel, I'll be right back."

And then he's gone again, and your stare after him incredulously. Is he that delusional to act so loving and casual after you've just been kidnapped? How can a psychopath like The Riddler really love you? He can't, can he?

But it's proving hard to answer in your head, as he reappears a minute later with a glass of water, his gloved hands hesitating around the ropes.

"I didn't have the heart to use duct tape," he clarifies, "and that's really only for the scum of this city. And you're nothing like scum, are you? But I need to know that you won't try to run if I let these loose. I've taken the battery out of your phone for now, and no one can hear you if you scream. I'm sure it won't come to that though, will it, lovely?"

You muster the courage to look up at him, into Edward's eyes that are so full of fondness and awe, and that dangerous, dark glimmer to them clashing with his naturally nerdy look behind it all. You don't want to push it, to push him to do anything else than he's already done. For now, you need to play along. He can't keep you here forever, and so you reluctantly nod, an action to which his smile grows approvingly.

"It won't come to that," you mutter, and just like that, you're free. Free, but trapped all the same.

Chapter Text

To My Hope; No More Lies
Words: 1353

You don't know what to do with yourself when the ropes fall to the hard floors, under The Riddler's intense stare. You try to avoid meeting his eye, and focus on the room you're in instead. Maybe if you get an idea of where you are, you'll know the best way to get out?

And the best way to get out is if he's not watching your every move, expecting you to do something to get yourself out of his grips. If you act like it's alright, in a way, listen to what he says, let him do his thing, he'll let his guard down?

After all, now you know that The Riddler who's been terrorising the city is a man you'd met on several occasions, someone you'd never suspect, seemingly defenceless and innocently nerdy and quirky. But that man you'd spoken to in the diner is hard to imagine hidden under the dark greens of his mask and jackets. It doesn't make it any easier to communicate with him, to be around him, in such a vulnerable position. Hope's never vulnerable.

The Riddler waits for a moment, expecting you to say something, but when you don't, he fiddles with his mask covering his face, fixing his hair and putting his glasses back on. He shrugs off the coat and keeps the hoodie underneath it on, for the time being, tugging off his gloves and taking your hand in his. You flinch at the sudden contact, but follow him warily as he leads you into the main room, which is just as cluttered and dark as the ones connecting to it. A laptop is left open at the main, large table, where dozens of news articles about The Batman and Bruce Wayne catch your eye. Your breath hitches as you stare at the crazy wall, a pang of worry pinching you as you wonder if he's connected the two of them. If he knows what only you and Alfred knows.

"D-don't be offended," Edward, The Riddler, seems almost ashamed as you take in the scene before you. "They get this wall, but I wanted Hope to be a little closer to home. Here, I'll show you."

And so he leads you onwards, past the tiny bathroom and the smaller window space opposite it, to what you presume is his bedroom, books and papers all over the floor and mattress. When you look up and catch sight of the hundreds of Polaroids, just like the one in your scrapbook, newspaper reports with 'Hope' highlighted in a faded green, with various riddles about love and hope and light and angels written in that same ominous writing as those cards. Hearts have been drawn in dark, inky pens, and you feel yourself go cold briefly, staring at the biggest proof of his obsession over you.

This isn't right. None of this is. It can't be, can it?

"Do you like it?" he asks with a dopey smile, and your eyes widen as he boldly hugs you from behind, the warmth from his embrace making you shiver. His lips are dangerously close to the skin of your neck, and all you can manage to do is stay looking straight ahead, at the wall of Hope, not a spot of bare walling to be seen amongst the chaos collected. "I like it."

It's only when he suddenly slams his lips on yours that you grip his arms, attempting to push him off. But he's stronger than he looks, and keeps going, your back against a wall as Edward lets out broken hums of pleasure, trying his hardest to deepen the kiss. When he pulls away, you look down in shame, a blush dusting your cheeks.

"You can't fight what's meant to be," he says sweetly, nuzzling against your face as you stand there, stunned. "Don't lie to yourself, darling. You know I love you... and you know you could love me back."

Commotion from outside interrupts him, and you blink out of your daze, looking over at the window. Edward's expression goes scarily blank, and you frown.

"What?"

"Your phone battery is in the top drawer in the room you were sitting in," he tells you, not looking away from the window. "We're running out of time here, my Hope, but I'm not done."

You leave the room, heading for your phone quickly. Who do you call first? Bruce? Gordon? Could they track its location?

As you root through his messy heaps of things in the drawers, feeling for the battery, a near slam makes you jump, turning to the door. The door that's now closed and locked behind you, with The Riddler on the other side.

"Edward!" you raise your voice, trying to open it, but to no avail. "Edward, let me out now!"

No answer. Just the scuffling of things being moved around and the window pushed open. You sigh in annoyance and worry, grabbing the battery and quickly putting it back in, watching as your phone starts up.

There's a BANG.

There's shouting from outside, and another door from the apartment closing.

And then there's silence.