Deadshot fired into the smoke. Both shots went wide, the gunfire tracking Bruce's last position rather than his current one.
Bruce came out of the smoke on Deadshot's right side, driving forward with his shoulder into the bigger man's ribcage.
Thud!
The impact drove Deadshot backward toward the rooftop's low wall. His legs hit it and he went over.
Batman's hand shot out and grabbed Deadshot's wrist before he fell.
Six stories up. Lawton hanging over the edge, his full body weight suspended by Batman's grip. He could feel the strain in his arm where the knife had cut, blood making his grip slick.
Deadshot looked up at him. A long, measuring look.
"You could drop me," Lawton said. "Six stories. Case closed. Batman deals with the Deadshot problem permanently."
"I could," Bruce agreed, his arm burning from the cut and the weight. "But I'm not going to."
"Why not? I would."
"Because that's not what this is."
He pulled Deadshot back over the edge with a grunt of effort. Lawton landed on the rooftop and Bruce immediately moved to pin him, one knee on Deadshot's chest, a batarang pressed against his throat.
Both of them were breathing hard. Both of them battered from the exchange.
"You could have killed me three weeks ago," Bruce said. "Multiple opportunities during my operations. You chose not to."
"Maybe I just wanted a better shot," Deadshot said, but his voice lacked conviction.
"You wanted a worthy opponent. Someone who'd actually push you." Bruce applied slightly more pressure with the batarang. "How'd that work out?"
A beat of silence.
"Better than expected," Deadshot admitted. He didn't move to escape or fight back. Just lay there, looking up at Batman with an expression that was equal parts professional assessment and something almost like respect. "You did your homework. Neutralized my range advantage, used my own psychology against me, fought smart instead of hard. Whoever trained you did exceptional work."
"I trained myself."
Deadshot laughed. Actually laughed. A short, surprised sound. "Of course you did."
Bruce sat back slightly, keeping him pinned but reducing the pressure. "I'm not turning you over to GCPD. Not tonight. You'd be out in 48 hours with the legal representation your contract money buys."
"Smart read. So what then?"
"You leave Gotham. Tonight. And you tell whoever hired you that Batman isn't available as a target."
"Nobody hired me for this. This was personal."
"Then make a personal decision to redirect your interests elsewhere. There are enough targets in the world that don't require you to come back here."
Deadshot studied him for a long moment. "And if I come back anyway?"
"Then I'll be better prepared than I was tonight. And tonight nearly killed you twice."
Another measured pause. Bruce could feel his arm throbbing where the knife had cut. He needed to treat that soon or blood loss would become a problem.
Deadshot reached a decision. Bruce could see it happen in the shift of his posture. "You're an interesting problem, Batman. Most interesting I've encountered in years."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It was one." Deadshot glanced at Bruce's arm. "You should dress that. Blade caught something important. You're losing blood faster than you think."
"I know." Bruce stood and took a step back, giving Deadshot room to rise. "We done here?"
Lawton got to his feet slowly, assessing his own damage. A cracked rib or two from the rooftop impact. Cut lip. Bruised pride, which was probably the worst of it.
"We're done," Deadshot said. "For tonight."
He walked to the rooftop edge on the far side, produced a grappling line from somewhere Bruce hadn't identified, and disappeared over the edge.
Batman stood alone on the Henderson Building rooftop. The smoke had cleared. Gotham spread out below him in every direction, lights glittering against the dark sky.
Bruce looked at his arm. Deadshot had been right. The cut was deeper than he'd initially assessed, and the blood was coming fast enough that the sleeve of the suit was soaked through.
"Medical assessment," he said to NEXUS through the earpiece.
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