Part One | Part Two| Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve|
Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen
Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen
Bruce stood as still as he could through the whole stripping of his armor, sweaty hands carefully touching him as the last pieces were taken off his body. They dressed him in a black jumpsuit. Fitting, Bruce thought, even if the reasons behind the color had nothing to do with him being Batman. The jumpsuits had color codes for the guards, warnings really. There would be no warnings for them, Bruce thought, because they just won't know it when it happens. In the back of his mind he could feel the rage seeping into his veins, but it was vacant for now, leaving Bruce some control. There is only real reason for that, and it was to get to where Bruce needed to be.
In the belly of Arkham.
He hadn't exactly planned it this way. Of course, to be fair to himself, he hadn't exactly planned anything at all. His only thought was to finally kill the Joker and whatever happened after that didn't matter. Except, Bruce had been tricked and lied to – a trap. But maybe this will be better, Bruce. We're going to be here for a long time anyway, why not make some use of it? Joker is here... somewhere. You'll get you're chance. Yes, yes he would. Arkham was meant to hold the insane, not people like Bruce Wayne. If the Joker was able to escape on a semi-constant basis, why couldn't Bruce?
Not that you want to escape, Bruce. Just get out long enough to get your hands around the throat of that damn clown. Maybe a few others while we're at it. Bet there are at least a handful more where the Joker came from.
Oh there were at least that many, if not more. But none of them made Bruce's boil more than the Joker. The Joker took everything form him; every hope and dream he once knew could have been reality. It wasn't enough that Bruce lost his parents when he was young, and it wasn't enough that Ducard burnt down the house his family had lives in for years and years. No, Bruce had to suffer more by losing his best friend, the one woman he ever loved along with the hope that Gotham was going to turn a new leaf. Gone. All of it, Bruce. You need this.
Someone started to tug on Bruce's arm, and he snapped back into the reality of the situation. Gordon was pulling him out the door and down the dimly lit halls, a few of the lights flickering as they passed. It was vaguely familiar to Bruce, having felt he'd done this walk before. The guards were behind them, keeping a few feet distance. Gordon pulled on Bruce's arm a little harder as he began to slow. All of this was...
They came to the stairs and Bruce set one barefoot down on the cool pavement. It felt like a shock-wave running through him, his heart began to beat faster in his head. What was this triggering? Bruce stopped for a moment, and Gordon pulled on his arm a little harder to get him to keep moving. Bruce shook his head to clear the daze that was seeping over his eyes, a blank darkness fogging his sight. His feet were still moving, he could feel them taking each step diligently, but he couldn't control where they went or how they moved.
Finally they reached the bottom, and Gordon leaned in to Bruce and whispered quickly; “Are you okay?”
Bruce wasn't sure if he could answer, or if he did answer. His mouth felt sandpaper, and he couldn't really find the answer he wanted to give Gordon. He shook his head again, bringing his cuffed hands to his eyes to try and wipe away the blackness. And when he opened his eyes again he was met face to face with a memory, or ghost, he wasn't sure. Rachel.
He had taken careful time to binge this memory from his brain after Rachel's death. He didn't want to be reminded of all the times he'd saved her, all the wasted moments – all for nothing. Bruce felt Gordon's hand pull on his arm to move him along, the guards behind them were growing impatient, snickering comments about the mental status of Gotham's Prince. Bruce didn't care. He just didn't. Because at that moment, there was only Rachel.
This memory – this thought of his – was when he had saved her from Crane, just after he had doused her with fear toxin, and left her for dead. Bruce remembered that day, and how much rage he felt towards Crane. If Rachel had died, if Crane did do that, he'd be going after him, too. Lucky for Crane he was just a weak pawn in Ducard's game.
Bruce squeezed his eyes shut, he hated seeing the way Rachel's eyes grew wide, the fear taking her over her brain, clouding her. The way her lips twisted in an unknown fear as he had been unable to help her at the time. God it was... It was too much. Just that image, over and over in his mind. Bruce felt himself fumble over his feet, falling to the ground on his knees. He covered his eyes again with this fists, trying to claw out the images. You don't want to remember, Rachel?
“Not this way,” Bruce blurted out in a heated cry, yelling at the air in front of him as Gordon and the guards were feet behind him. He really just wanted to remember Rachel the way she was that night before he decided to turn himself over to the police, before Dent ruined everything. Before the explosion.
Explosion. The Joker. Stay on track, Bruce. This is just detouring you from the present course. Rachel is no longer important except for avenging. She is gone, Bruce. Gone. Yes, she was. The two guards were pulling Bruce up by his arms, dragging him down the hall. He could hear Gordon's soft footsteps behind him. Bruce finally opened his eyes and everything, the visions of Rachel, were gone. He was left seeing spots in a dimly lit corridor.
Finally, they stopped at one of the cells, a raggedy white room with actual padded walls. One guard spoke first. “Here's your new homee, pretty boy.” The other guard unlocked the cell, they were about to just toss Bruce in when Gordon took hold of Bruce's shoulder. He motioned for the guards to back off a minute. He walked Bruce into the cell and unlocked the cuffs.
“I don't know what you're thinking this is going to accomplish, but whatever it is, I hope it works,” Gordon said as he let out one of those distraught sighs Bruce had come to recognized. Gordon seemed very conflicted, but there was no way for Bruce to explain to him just exactly what was going on. Gordon would try to stop you, Bruce. It's enough that he knows you were after the Joker, to kill him. If he knew your real plans for being in here, you'd end up as a high security risk. You don't need that trouble.
“We both knew it would come to this. Sooner or later,” Bruce said simply, keeping his face straight and emotions in check. Bruce pushed on Gordon's chest so that he was outside the room, closing the door on himself. “Lock it.” He watched as Gordon's gaze never left his and he twirled the handcuffs between his fingers. Bruce hated to do it. But, really, soon or later he would have made it here anyway. This was home for Bruce now. You belong here.
-----
One step at a time, Jim. One step at a time. It was always easier said than done. He knew he could repeat the phrase over and over until his head popped, but it wouldn't make a difference. He took each step back up the stairs to the main hall way of Arkham as if it were his last, that maybe the next one would crumble and he would fall through into a pit of darkness. And then maybe he would wake up and it would have all just been one bad dream.
He reached the top step and strolled out of Arkham, feeling like he's just left a huge piece of himself behind. Wayne didn't seem too off now, but Gordon knew it was because he was around. Wayne had a sense of reality when Gordon was near, but they both knew he couldn't stick around forever. Gordon also thought that Wayne was trying to get rid of him, as if some stupid plan the mentally unstable playboy came up with didn't include him anymore. Whatever that plan was, it couldn't be good.
Can't do much about it now, Gordon thought. He walked out the door, keeping his eyes on the steps downstairs. He stopped when suddenly someone touched his arm, sending him spinning to meet the soft blue eyes of an older gentleman. Alfred. Gordon let out startled sigh, and shook his head in disbelief.
“Pardon me, Sir,” Alfred said apologetically. “I did tried your cell phone, but it kept going to your voice mail.” The gentleman seemed very lost to Gordon, as if he, too, had just misplaced a huge piece of his heart.
Gordon grimaced, he'd completely forgotten about his phone. “Dead battery,” he replied and then with the look on Alfred's face he knew without a doubt that the butler knew where Wayne was. “How did you find out so quickly?”
“I did figure it was only a matter of time. Master Wayne was bound to end up here after his raging this evening about killing the Joker,” Alfred said matter-of-factly. He then sighed, bringing a hand up to his face and shaking his head sadly. “I honestly didn't want to believe it was true when I saw it on the news.”
Gordon saw the turmoil on Alfred's face. How much could this old man endure with Wayne? Raise him from a boy to man. Wayne disappears for seven years with no word to the man who raised him. Gordon didn't know much more than that about Wayne's life or Alfred's, but being a father himself, he could down right imagine how hard the situation had become. Gordon put his hands in his pockets and looked out down the street for a few seconds before he let his gaze meet Alfred's again.
“You look as though you could use a drink.”
Alfred let a small smile cross his lips; It was entirely grateful and warming.“That I could.”
“I know a place a few blocks from here. Walk with me,” Gordon said as he tugged on the sleeve of Alfred's jacket. They started to walk across the street towards O' Malley's, a pub the officers at MCU went to every Saturday evening. Alfred walked next to Gordon, hands behind his back.
“How is he?” Alfred asked quietly, not wanting to draw attention to them, even though there weren't very many people walking the street with them at this hour. Gordon reached into his coat pocket to find his emergency pack of cigarettes. He didn't smoke unless the stress had become too much. A promise he made to both his kids a few years back.
“Still fighting a battle he's not likely to win,” Gordon explained. Alfred looked down at the sidewalk as they continued to walk. Gordon pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “Do you mind?”
Alfred shook his head. “Not at all.”
They were both silent for a while, listening to the sound of cars rushing by and the soft whispers of people in their apartments just above them. It was almost calming, except they both knew they were thinking about Wayne. Gordon didn't even know if he and Alfred anything other than the billionaire in common, but it felt good to have someone who understood the situation. He couldn't imagine how awful Alfred was feeling, how scared and worried he was for Wayne.
Gordon snubbed out the cigarette as they approached the pub, opening the door for Alfred. They entered, taking seats at small table near the back. They both ordered doubt shots of scotch.
“I don't know what's going to happen,” Gordon said finally when he had had enough of dancing around the subject. “I have to talk to Sanders in the morning, see if he's going to take the case against Bruce.”
“Master Wayne can hold his own in court. He has the best lawyer money can buy,” Alfred tried to explain, but Gordon knew that the older man wasn't really getting it. Wayne would be all over the newspapers, the media, gossip columns. Wayne's life was over if any of it ever got out. Gordon had to try and delay the hearing, to see if he could get the billionaire out of there. Something had to be done.
“We have to get him out. Prove everyone wrong,” Gordon said, turning to face Alfred more pointedly. “We know that Bruce isn't crazy. He had a fall out with his conscience and he's having a hard time regaining control. He won't listen to you because he thinks you're trying to hold him down, and keep out of sight. He won't talk to a therapist because he feels he's it's too repetitive. And I can't get any more out of him. In fact, I'm pretty sure he silently told me to 'fuck off' when I left him in his cell.”
Alfred raised an eyebrow. “That doesn't seem very characteristic of Master Wayne. He's always spoken so highly of you, sir.” Alfred squinted his eyes in thought, straightening his posture. “I dare say he has some plans we don't rightly know about. And, you and I, sir, are getting in the way.”
Gordon nodded. “More me than you it seems.” The waitress placed their tumblers down on table and Gordon took his and downed it. Enjoy it? Yeah right. “Someone has to get through to him. Arkham isn't going to do him any good. They're going to medicate him to keep him calm and it's not going to fix anything. None of that is going to help him.” Gordon paused for a moment, thinking of someone or something that might help that neither he or Alfred had thought of before. He found he had really didn't know enough about Wayne. He looked at Alfred, maybe he there was more Alfred knew about. “He spoke of Ducard, and how he helped him to control this... rage of his. He needs that again. A reminder of who he is.”
Alfred looked as a contemplated look on his face, swirling his drink in his hand for a moment. He looked down at the table and then met Gordon's eyes. “There is one person that Master Wayne might listen to. He doesn't speak of him, not often anyway. There was a bit of a falling out between them when they were last together a few years ago.”
“Do you think this person would talk to Bruce?” Gordon wasn't nearly as curious as to who it was Alfred was talking about, as if the person would actually be helpful. Alfred nodded slowly, taking a sip of his drink.
“They were very close for years. The problem is going to be finding him. He's doesn't stay in one place for long,” Alfred explained, scoffing a little. “Performers.”
“We have a pretty extensive computer system at the precinct. I'm sure with a name I could be able to track him down,” Gordon suggested. He didn't want to waste time on this, the sooner they could help for Wayne, the better.
“No need, sir. Master Wayne usually keep tabs on Master Grayson with his tracking system. It's just a matter of actually getting a hold of him.” Alfred sipped the last of his drink before setting it down.
“Grayson?” Gordon asked. Where had he heard that name before? Of course, the traveling circus artist that came into town two years ago, shortly after the first Joker fiasco. Gordon didn't remember hearing anything about Wayne knowing that man though, or of their friendship. That didn't mean anything though. Wayne was able to cover up a lot of things he didn't want people to know about.
Alfred nodded. “Yes. Richard Grayson.”
In the belly of Arkham.
He hadn't exactly planned it this way. Of course, to be fair to himself, he hadn't exactly planned anything at all. His only thought was to finally kill the Joker and whatever happened after that didn't matter. Except, Bruce had been tricked and lied to – a trap. But maybe this will be better, Bruce. We're going to be here for a long time anyway, why not make some use of it? Joker is here... somewhere. You'll get you're chance. Yes, yes he would. Arkham was meant to hold the insane, not people like Bruce Wayne. If the Joker was able to escape on a semi-constant basis, why couldn't Bruce?
Not that you want to escape, Bruce. Just get out long enough to get your hands around the throat of that damn clown. Maybe a few others while we're at it. Bet there are at least a handful more where the Joker came from.
Oh there were at least that many, if not more. But none of them made Bruce's boil more than the Joker. The Joker took everything form him; every hope and dream he once knew could have been reality. It wasn't enough that Bruce lost his parents when he was young, and it wasn't enough that Ducard burnt down the house his family had lives in for years and years. No, Bruce had to suffer more by losing his best friend, the one woman he ever loved along with the hope that Gotham was going to turn a new leaf. Gone. All of it, Bruce. You need this.
Someone started to tug on Bruce's arm, and he snapped back into the reality of the situation. Gordon was pulling him out the door and down the dimly lit halls, a few of the lights flickering as they passed. It was vaguely familiar to Bruce, having felt he'd done this walk before. The guards were behind them, keeping a few feet distance. Gordon pulled on Bruce's arm a little harder as he began to slow. All of this was...
They came to the stairs and Bruce set one barefoot down on the cool pavement. It felt like a shock-wave running through him, his heart began to beat faster in his head. What was this triggering? Bruce stopped for a moment, and Gordon pulled on his arm a little harder to get him to keep moving. Bruce shook his head to clear the daze that was seeping over his eyes, a blank darkness fogging his sight. His feet were still moving, he could feel them taking each step diligently, but he couldn't control where they went or how they moved.
Finally they reached the bottom, and Gordon leaned in to Bruce and whispered quickly; “Are you okay?”
Bruce wasn't sure if he could answer, or if he did answer. His mouth felt sandpaper, and he couldn't really find the answer he wanted to give Gordon. He shook his head again, bringing his cuffed hands to his eyes to try and wipe away the blackness. And when he opened his eyes again he was met face to face with a memory, or ghost, he wasn't sure. Rachel.
He had taken careful time to binge this memory from his brain after Rachel's death. He didn't want to be reminded of all the times he'd saved her, all the wasted moments – all for nothing. Bruce felt Gordon's hand pull on his arm to move him along, the guards behind them were growing impatient, snickering comments about the mental status of Gotham's Prince. Bruce didn't care. He just didn't. Because at that moment, there was only Rachel.
This memory – this thought of his – was when he had saved her from Crane, just after he had doused her with fear toxin, and left her for dead. Bruce remembered that day, and how much rage he felt towards Crane. If Rachel had died, if Crane did do that, he'd be going after him, too. Lucky for Crane he was just a weak pawn in Ducard's game.
Bruce squeezed his eyes shut, he hated seeing the way Rachel's eyes grew wide, the fear taking her over her brain, clouding her. The way her lips twisted in an unknown fear as he had been unable to help her at the time. God it was... It was too much. Just that image, over and over in his mind. Bruce felt himself fumble over his feet, falling to the ground on his knees. He covered his eyes again with this fists, trying to claw out the images. You don't want to remember, Rachel?
“Not this way,” Bruce blurted out in a heated cry, yelling at the air in front of him as Gordon and the guards were feet behind him. He really just wanted to remember Rachel the way she was that night before he decided to turn himself over to the police, before Dent ruined everything. Before the explosion.
Explosion. The Joker. Stay on track, Bruce. This is just detouring you from the present course. Rachel is no longer important except for avenging. She is gone, Bruce. Gone. Yes, she was. The two guards were pulling Bruce up by his arms, dragging him down the hall. He could hear Gordon's soft footsteps behind him. Bruce finally opened his eyes and everything, the visions of Rachel, were gone. He was left seeing spots in a dimly lit corridor.
Finally, they stopped at one of the cells, a raggedy white room with actual padded walls. One guard spoke first. “Here's your new homee, pretty boy.” The other guard unlocked the cell, they were about to just toss Bruce in when Gordon took hold of Bruce's shoulder. He motioned for the guards to back off a minute. He walked Bruce into the cell and unlocked the cuffs.
“I don't know what you're thinking this is going to accomplish, but whatever it is, I hope it works,” Gordon said as he let out one of those distraught sighs Bruce had come to recognized. Gordon seemed very conflicted, but there was no way for Bruce to explain to him just exactly what was going on. Gordon would try to stop you, Bruce. It's enough that he knows you were after the Joker, to kill him. If he knew your real plans for being in here, you'd end up as a high security risk. You don't need that trouble.
“We both knew it would come to this. Sooner or later,” Bruce said simply, keeping his face straight and emotions in check. Bruce pushed on Gordon's chest so that he was outside the room, closing the door on himself. “Lock it.” He watched as Gordon's gaze never left his and he twirled the handcuffs between his fingers. Bruce hated to do it. But, really, soon or later he would have made it here anyway. This was home for Bruce now. You belong here.
-----
One step at a time, Jim. One step at a time. It was always easier said than done. He knew he could repeat the phrase over and over until his head popped, but it wouldn't make a difference. He took each step back up the stairs to the main hall way of Arkham as if it were his last, that maybe the next one would crumble and he would fall through into a pit of darkness. And then maybe he would wake up and it would have all just been one bad dream.
He reached the top step and strolled out of Arkham, feeling like he's just left a huge piece of himself behind. Wayne didn't seem too off now, but Gordon knew it was because he was around. Wayne had a sense of reality when Gordon was near, but they both knew he couldn't stick around forever. Gordon also thought that Wayne was trying to get rid of him, as if some stupid plan the mentally unstable playboy came up with didn't include him anymore. Whatever that plan was, it couldn't be good.
Can't do much about it now, Gordon thought. He walked out the door, keeping his eyes on the steps downstairs. He stopped when suddenly someone touched his arm, sending him spinning to meet the soft blue eyes of an older gentleman. Alfred. Gordon let out startled sigh, and shook his head in disbelief.
“Pardon me, Sir,” Alfred said apologetically. “I did tried your cell phone, but it kept going to your voice mail.” The gentleman seemed very lost to Gordon, as if he, too, had just misplaced a huge piece of his heart.
Gordon grimaced, he'd completely forgotten about his phone. “Dead battery,” he replied and then with the look on Alfred's face he knew without a doubt that the butler knew where Wayne was. “How did you find out so quickly?”
“I did figure it was only a matter of time. Master Wayne was bound to end up here after his raging this evening about killing the Joker,” Alfred said matter-of-factly. He then sighed, bringing a hand up to his face and shaking his head sadly. “I honestly didn't want to believe it was true when I saw it on the news.”
Gordon saw the turmoil on Alfred's face. How much could this old man endure with Wayne? Raise him from a boy to man. Wayne disappears for seven years with no word to the man who raised him. Gordon didn't know much more than that about Wayne's life or Alfred's, but being a father himself, he could down right imagine how hard the situation had become. Gordon put his hands in his pockets and looked out down the street for a few seconds before he let his gaze meet Alfred's again.
“You look as though you could use a drink.”
Alfred let a small smile cross his lips; It was entirely grateful and warming.“That I could.”
“I know a place a few blocks from here. Walk with me,” Gordon said as he tugged on the sleeve of Alfred's jacket. They started to walk across the street towards O' Malley's, a pub the officers at MCU went to every Saturday evening. Alfred walked next to Gordon, hands behind his back.
“How is he?” Alfred asked quietly, not wanting to draw attention to them, even though there weren't very many people walking the street with them at this hour. Gordon reached into his coat pocket to find his emergency pack of cigarettes. He didn't smoke unless the stress had become too much. A promise he made to both his kids a few years back.
“Still fighting a battle he's not likely to win,” Gordon explained. Alfred looked down at the sidewalk as they continued to walk. Gordon pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “Do you mind?”
Alfred shook his head. “Not at all.”
They were both silent for a while, listening to the sound of cars rushing by and the soft whispers of people in their apartments just above them. It was almost calming, except they both knew they were thinking about Wayne. Gordon didn't even know if he and Alfred anything other than the billionaire in common, but it felt good to have someone who understood the situation. He couldn't imagine how awful Alfred was feeling, how scared and worried he was for Wayne.
Gordon snubbed out the cigarette as they approached the pub, opening the door for Alfred. They entered, taking seats at small table near the back. They both ordered doubt shots of scotch.
“I don't know what's going to happen,” Gordon said finally when he had had enough of dancing around the subject. “I have to talk to Sanders in the morning, see if he's going to take the case against Bruce.”
“Master Wayne can hold his own in court. He has the best lawyer money can buy,” Alfred tried to explain, but Gordon knew that the older man wasn't really getting it. Wayne would be all over the newspapers, the media, gossip columns. Wayne's life was over if any of it ever got out. Gordon had to try and delay the hearing, to see if he could get the billionaire out of there. Something had to be done.
“We have to get him out. Prove everyone wrong,” Gordon said, turning to face Alfred more pointedly. “We know that Bruce isn't crazy. He had a fall out with his conscience and he's having a hard time regaining control. He won't listen to you because he thinks you're trying to hold him down, and keep out of sight. He won't talk to a therapist because he feels he's it's too repetitive. And I can't get any more out of him. In fact, I'm pretty sure he silently told me to 'fuck off' when I left him in his cell.”
Alfred raised an eyebrow. “That doesn't seem very characteristic of Master Wayne. He's always spoken so highly of you, sir.” Alfred squinted his eyes in thought, straightening his posture. “I dare say he has some plans we don't rightly know about. And, you and I, sir, are getting in the way.”
Gordon nodded. “More me than you it seems.” The waitress placed their tumblers down on table and Gordon took his and downed it. Enjoy it? Yeah right. “Someone has to get through to him. Arkham isn't going to do him any good. They're going to medicate him to keep him calm and it's not going to fix anything. None of that is going to help him.” Gordon paused for a moment, thinking of someone or something that might help that neither he or Alfred had thought of before. He found he had really didn't know enough about Wayne. He looked at Alfred, maybe he there was more Alfred knew about. “He spoke of Ducard, and how he helped him to control this... rage of his. He needs that again. A reminder of who he is.”
Alfred looked as a contemplated look on his face, swirling his drink in his hand for a moment. He looked down at the table and then met Gordon's eyes. “There is one person that Master Wayne might listen to. He doesn't speak of him, not often anyway. There was a bit of a falling out between them when they were last together a few years ago.”
“Do you think this person would talk to Bruce?” Gordon wasn't nearly as curious as to who it was Alfred was talking about, as if the person would actually be helpful. Alfred nodded slowly, taking a sip of his drink.
“They were very close for years. The problem is going to be finding him. He's doesn't stay in one place for long,” Alfred explained, scoffing a little. “Performers.”
“We have a pretty extensive computer system at the precinct. I'm sure with a name I could be able to track him down,” Gordon suggested. He didn't want to waste time on this, the sooner they could help for Wayne, the better.
“No need, sir. Master Wayne usually keep tabs on Master Grayson with his tracking system. It's just a matter of actually getting a hold of him.” Alfred sipped the last of his drink before setting it down.
“Grayson?” Gordon asked. Where had he heard that name before? Of course, the traveling circus artist that came into town two years ago, shortly after the first Joker fiasco. Gordon didn't remember hearing anything about Wayne knowing that man though, or of their friendship. That didn't mean anything though. Wayne was able to cover up a lot of things he didn't want people to know about.
Alfred nodded. “Yes. Richard Grayson.”