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
It's almost time, Bruce. Almost time. It had been one day since he had seen Dick, the memory of his friend haunting his sleep as he tried hard to push out the thoughts. Every word Dick said, everything he mentioned was true of Bruce and the billionaire couldn't help but wonder if something really wasn't right there. Why was he in Arkham? And the answer was clear every time: the Joker. This didn't used to be an issue before, but something changed in Bruce and the Joker was more of a threat now than ever. Before he was so willing to just keeping playing the game the Joker created, but now seemed a good time to end it. Bruce had killed two others, what was one more homicidal maniac too add to his list?
Well for one, you don't kill purposely, Bruce. What's gotten into you? This isn't you. Or was it? What was that new voice, or was it a new voice? Vaguely familiar.
No, no... stop listening, Bruce. You've already made it this far. Just clear your mind and focus on your revenge. Yes, revenge. That was why he was in here. Hate, anger, rage, revenge... all of it boiled down to one thing. The Joker.
Bruce looked out the small window of his cell to the dim lit hall, watching the change of guards. He knew in a few second the Joker would be dragged past his room to his therapy session. Bruce had it in good mind to ask a few second after that for a bathroom break, but it would seem too obvious to what he would be really trying to accomplish. Thus, he would wait until just a minute before the Joker's session would be over to ask. It would work; it had to work.
Like clockwork, Bruce saw two guards drag the Joker past his cell, except unlike other days, the Joker was actually giving them a little fight. He was pulling back on their arms just as he past Bruce's door, his eyes meeting the playboy's for a long, hard glare. The Joker managed to free a hand for a moment and waggled his fingers at Bruce, batting his eyes in an almost disgusting manor.
“Too bad the Bat can't come out to play,” the Joker's voice rang out in a sing-song tone, and if Bruce could have he would beat down the door right then and smashed the clown face into the pavement. Oh, that's it, Bruce. Feel that rage again. See what the Joker does to you? Keep that thought in your mind when the time comes to finish this. He watched the Joker be practically carried down the hall as he was laughing in hysterics.
Bruce mentally counted the minutes, seconds even. He had to be precise. One minute... He tapped the door twice, letting the guard know out front he had to use the restroom. The guard peeked his head to the glass, nodding at him. The door unlocked and the guard slapping handcuffs on him – the usual. Bruce had fought in worse case scenarios before, this one would be a piece of cake compared to some of the shit he'd done before. The guard started to walk him down the hall when the two guards in charge of the Joker suddenly walked up the steps with the Joker between them.
It was then the three guards ,all at once, realized they had been setup and there was nothing they could do about. Bruce was already looping his cuffed arms around his guard's neck, heading butting the man. The guard fell to the ground in a heap, and Bruce ran at the other two, kicking one back down the stairs and the other into a wall, hard enough that he smacked the back of his head. Bruce could have taken the handcuffs key, but he knew his time was limited and he had to take the chance.
“Well, well, well...” the Joker said dauntingly. “If my little bat hasn't found a way to come out to play after all.”
Bruce growled, words seeming so useless and wasteful when he was just going to beat the man to nothingness. He grabbed the Joker by collar of his jumpsuit, black just like Bruce's, and threw him against the wall. Vague memories of having done this for the first time in the interrogation room at MCU slipped into Bruce's mind, and just how angry he was then, how truly terrified he was that he would lose Rachel. And he did. The
Joker killed her. It's all his fault, Bruce. Kill him. KILL. HIM.
“You're finally going to do it,” the Joker laughed, and Bruce used his cuffed hands, balled them together and punched the other man in the face, busting his lip open. More laughing. “It was only a matter of time.”
No, we aren't doing this because he wanted us to. We aren't doing this because he knew we would break one day. We are doing this for revenge. For Rachel. Bruce took hold of the clown's head and began to smash it into the brick wall behind them, over and over until not even Bruce could tell he was doing anything anymore. It felt like he wasn't even trying, as if his hands had a mind of their own. He could hear the soft gargle of blood spurt from the Joker mouth, and Bruce looked down into the other man's eyes for the first time since he started his rampage. Vacant and dilated. He was still breathing though, a soft up and down rise to his chest.
Now, Bruce! One more hard blow to the head. Or you could choke him. Break his neck. It's so easy now, so easy to get everything you ever wanted. Bruce wanted nothing more at that moment then to watch the Joker's eyes go completely lifeless, slowly and brutally. So he wrapped his hands around the Joker's throat and began to squeeze, the choking from below him only making him want to do it harder. He could feel the tension in his arms and hands begin to release as everything slowly began to set into place...
But what Bruce didn't expect was the blow to his own head coming up from behind him. His grasp of the Joker broke and someone moved him away and Bruce fell to the floor face first, trying to grab the back of his head where he had been hit. He wasn't sure with what, but who ever distracted him, who ever did this was going to pay severely. He went to move, gathering his strength back in his legs, when he felt a sharp prick to his back, neck and butt cheek. He fell to his back, the last thing he saw was the three doctors and five guards standing over him, shaking their heads. He felt his mind numb and then complete darkness.
-----
Gordon thought he'd give it one last shot. Trying to convince the Mayor that he was wrong about Bruce Wayne was going to be hard given all the current charges against the billionaire. The mayor had been nice enough to drop all the past one, but these new ones weren't likely to fall off as easily. But, Gordon had to try. There was no reason for Wayne to be in Arkham of all places, and the longer he was in there, the more he was likely to stay. If he could get Wayne out, there was a better chance of Dick's efforts actually making an impact.
Garcia was looking out his window, hands clasped behind his back when Gordon walked into his office. It was oddly quiet, only the small ticking of the antique clock located on the mayor's desk. Gordon heard the other man sigh, turning his head just enough that he saw Gordon out of the corner of his eye.
“What can I do for you, Jim?” he asked coolly, returning his gaze to the streets below. Gordon thought perhaps Garcia already knew what he was for, his attitude suggested he already made a decision on it.
“To talk. About Wayne,” Gordon stated. He wanted it know that this was what he was here for, that he wasn't going to back down. Garcia turned around, hands still clasped tightly behind his back and tipped his head to the side curiously.
“I'm not sure how many times I have to tell you that Wayne is not your problem. He has been taken care of,” Garcia said plainly, as if he had already practiced this speech well before Gordon even arrived.
“Taken care of? I hardly see tricking him in to be sent to Arkham the correct solution to the problem –” Gordon started to retort, but the Mayor raised a hand to silence Gordon.
“There wasn't a correct solution, Gordon! You couldn't contain him, his butler couldn't contain him. There was no other choice.” Garcia's voice was on the verge of yelling, and though Gordon thought about backing up a few steps, he stood his ground.
“He doesn't belong in there!” Gordon said angrily. Garcia took a few steps towards Gordon, their gazes met, each trying to get the other to look away, to win this round. Gordon wasn't going to give Garcia that luxury. “Let him out.”
“Give me one good reason – besides that he doesn't belong there – as to why I should do this?” Garcia raised one eyebrow in question, taking the last step before they were glaring each other down just a few feet from each other.
Gordon had a million reasons, but none of them were reasons that Garcia would see as useful or any different from the 'he doesn't belong there' reason. Gordon swallowed the lump in throat, gritting his teeth in annoyance. On the spot he would never be able to come up with anything useful, and he knew it. Garcia smirked at him.
“I don't know what your fascination is Bruce Wayne, but I suggest you start rethinking your motives and loyalties.”
“My loyalties?” Gordon repeated, confused. It was surely Garcia who had his head up his ass and couldn't figure where his own loyalties should lie. But this was Garcia, he never liked Batman; Gordon found he wasn't as surprised at how quickly Garcia turned on him during the current events.
“Gordon, you have a choice. You can leave now and keep your job, or you can stand here and continue to argue with me about the insane reasons I should pardon Wayne from Arkham, and be put on suspension.” Garcia's smirk faded, showing the stone-cold gaze in his eyes and the seriousness of his choice of words.
“But, Mayor...please just –” Gordon started to say, but he knew just after the words fumbled out they were the wrong choice. Garcia shook his head.
“You're suspended, Gordon. Two weeks. We'll talk after that and see if you've decided to see things in the right perspective.” Garcia pointed at the door. “Get out of my office.”
------
“Jim!” Someone called from behind Gordon as he walked down the side walk to his car. He turned back to see Stephens chasing after him, a folder in his hand. He caught up to him, stopping next to Gordon. “Some of the detectives came across some information last night while doing the stakeout down by the docks. You might want to take a look.”
Gordon shook his head. “Give it to someone else. Garcia's suspended me for two weeks.” He pulled the keys from his pocket, and unlocked his driver's side door. Stephens' put a hand on Gordon's shoulder. If Stephens was surprised, he didn't show it.
“You'll want to see this though, Jim!” Stephens' said pushing the envelope into Gordon hands. “I won't tell if you don't.” And the detective left, leaving Gordon feeling a little awkward. He should probably look, but if he was caught or Garcia found out, Gordon could definitely getting fired. Stephens' behavior though made him feel that maybe this was more important than his own job. Gordon opened the car door and slid inside, placing the envelope on the passenger seat. He could look at it now or wait until he got to Wayne Manor.
That would depend on what the information in the envelope was about. In front of City Hall wasn't the place the do this, either way. He pulled away from the curb. He could at least look it over at Wayne Manor before his meeting with Dick Grayson.
------
Bruce opened his eyes to the nothingness in front of him. He rolled to his back, trying to stretch his arms, only to find he couldn't move them. Straight jacket, he thought sighing heavily. He kicked the heels of his feet into the ground, pushing himself into a sitting position against the wall. He couldn't see a thing in the room, just the sliver of light beaming in from under what he assumed was the door. It didn't take him long to figure out where he was, because it was obvious considering the last actions he remembered doing before waking up here.
Solitary confinement. Bruce dropped his head back against the wall behind him, it, too, was padded. They really did think of everything in Arkham, didn't they?
Just how long he was expected to be in there, Bruce wasn't sure. Long enough, he thought, to think about what I did. No, what I almost did. He knew that he didn't kill the Joker, he was close but that damn clown still had life in him when Bruce had been knocked off. You'll get another chance, Bruce. You're here forever... now.
“No...” Bruce said out loud, in a harsh whisper. Even with his hands bound tightly around him, he could feel the sting in his fingers from where they were wrapped tightly around the Joker's throat, and the look in the man's green eyes, hanging on the thread between life and death. Bruce closed his eyes; no this was not how he should be, this was not the Bruce Wayne he went away for seven years to become.
People don't change, Bruce. You're a killer. I murderer. You know you want to kill the Joker and you will, in time.
“No, you're wrong,” he whispered again. Bruce knew that in time he could overcome this, that what happened was purely an accident and given more time maybe he could have done things differently. But there was hostage, Gordon's daughter. How could he have risked an innocent life just to save two lives that were worthless? He couldn't.
Bruce... “No. Not anymore.”
The question now was, how to convince Gotham City he wasn't insane.
Well for one, you don't kill purposely, Bruce. What's gotten into you? This isn't you. Or was it? What was that new voice, or was it a new voice? Vaguely familiar.
No, no... stop listening, Bruce. You've already made it this far. Just clear your mind and focus on your revenge. Yes, revenge. That was why he was in here. Hate, anger, rage, revenge... all of it boiled down to one thing. The Joker.
Bruce looked out the small window of his cell to the dim lit hall, watching the change of guards. He knew in a few second the Joker would be dragged past his room to his therapy session. Bruce had it in good mind to ask a few second after that for a bathroom break, but it would seem too obvious to what he would be really trying to accomplish. Thus, he would wait until just a minute before the Joker's session would be over to ask. It would work; it had to work.
Like clockwork, Bruce saw two guards drag the Joker past his cell, except unlike other days, the Joker was actually giving them a little fight. He was pulling back on their arms just as he past Bruce's door, his eyes meeting the playboy's for a long, hard glare. The Joker managed to free a hand for a moment and waggled his fingers at Bruce, batting his eyes in an almost disgusting manor.
“Too bad the Bat can't come out to play,” the Joker's voice rang out in a sing-song tone, and if Bruce could have he would beat down the door right then and smashed the clown face into the pavement. Oh, that's it, Bruce. Feel that rage again. See what the Joker does to you? Keep that thought in your mind when the time comes to finish this. He watched the Joker be practically carried down the hall as he was laughing in hysterics.
Bruce mentally counted the minutes, seconds even. He had to be precise. One minute... He tapped the door twice, letting the guard know out front he had to use the restroom. The guard peeked his head to the glass, nodding at him. The door unlocked and the guard slapping handcuffs on him – the usual. Bruce had fought in worse case scenarios before, this one would be a piece of cake compared to some of the shit he'd done before. The guard started to walk him down the hall when the two guards in charge of the Joker suddenly walked up the steps with the Joker between them.
It was then the three guards ,all at once, realized they had been setup and there was nothing they could do about. Bruce was already looping his cuffed arms around his guard's neck, heading butting the man. The guard fell to the ground in a heap, and Bruce ran at the other two, kicking one back down the stairs and the other into a wall, hard enough that he smacked the back of his head. Bruce could have taken the handcuffs key, but he knew his time was limited and he had to take the chance.
“Well, well, well...” the Joker said dauntingly. “If my little bat hasn't found a way to come out to play after all.”
Bruce growled, words seeming so useless and wasteful when he was just going to beat the man to nothingness. He grabbed the Joker by collar of his jumpsuit, black just like Bruce's, and threw him against the wall. Vague memories of having done this for the first time in the interrogation room at MCU slipped into Bruce's mind, and just how angry he was then, how truly terrified he was that he would lose Rachel. And he did. The
Joker killed her. It's all his fault, Bruce. Kill him. KILL. HIM.
“You're finally going to do it,” the Joker laughed, and Bruce used his cuffed hands, balled them together and punched the other man in the face, busting his lip open. More laughing. “It was only a matter of time.”
No, we aren't doing this because he wanted us to. We aren't doing this because he knew we would break one day. We are doing this for revenge. For Rachel. Bruce took hold of the clown's head and began to smash it into the brick wall behind them, over and over until not even Bruce could tell he was doing anything anymore. It felt like he wasn't even trying, as if his hands had a mind of their own. He could hear the soft gargle of blood spurt from the Joker mouth, and Bruce looked down into the other man's eyes for the first time since he started his rampage. Vacant and dilated. He was still breathing though, a soft up and down rise to his chest.
Now, Bruce! One more hard blow to the head. Or you could choke him. Break his neck. It's so easy now, so easy to get everything you ever wanted. Bruce wanted nothing more at that moment then to watch the Joker's eyes go completely lifeless, slowly and brutally. So he wrapped his hands around the Joker's throat and began to squeeze, the choking from below him only making him want to do it harder. He could feel the tension in his arms and hands begin to release as everything slowly began to set into place...
But what Bruce didn't expect was the blow to his own head coming up from behind him. His grasp of the Joker broke and someone moved him away and Bruce fell to the floor face first, trying to grab the back of his head where he had been hit. He wasn't sure with what, but who ever distracted him, who ever did this was going to pay severely. He went to move, gathering his strength back in his legs, when he felt a sharp prick to his back, neck and butt cheek. He fell to his back, the last thing he saw was the three doctors and five guards standing over him, shaking their heads. He felt his mind numb and then complete darkness.
-----
Gordon thought he'd give it one last shot. Trying to convince the Mayor that he was wrong about Bruce Wayne was going to be hard given all the current charges against the billionaire. The mayor had been nice enough to drop all the past one, but these new ones weren't likely to fall off as easily. But, Gordon had to try. There was no reason for Wayne to be in Arkham of all places, and the longer he was in there, the more he was likely to stay. If he could get Wayne out, there was a better chance of Dick's efforts actually making an impact.
Garcia was looking out his window, hands clasped behind his back when Gordon walked into his office. It was oddly quiet, only the small ticking of the antique clock located on the mayor's desk. Gordon heard the other man sigh, turning his head just enough that he saw Gordon out of the corner of his eye.
“What can I do for you, Jim?” he asked coolly, returning his gaze to the streets below. Gordon thought perhaps Garcia already knew what he was for, his attitude suggested he already made a decision on it.
“To talk. About Wayne,” Gordon stated. He wanted it know that this was what he was here for, that he wasn't going to back down. Garcia turned around, hands still clasped tightly behind his back and tipped his head to the side curiously.
“I'm not sure how many times I have to tell you that Wayne is not your problem. He has been taken care of,” Garcia said plainly, as if he had already practiced this speech well before Gordon even arrived.
“Taken care of? I hardly see tricking him in to be sent to Arkham the correct solution to the problem –” Gordon started to retort, but the Mayor raised a hand to silence Gordon.
“There wasn't a correct solution, Gordon! You couldn't contain him, his butler couldn't contain him. There was no other choice.” Garcia's voice was on the verge of yelling, and though Gordon thought about backing up a few steps, he stood his ground.
“He doesn't belong in there!” Gordon said angrily. Garcia took a few steps towards Gordon, their gazes met, each trying to get the other to look away, to win this round. Gordon wasn't going to give Garcia that luxury. “Let him out.”
“Give me one good reason – besides that he doesn't belong there – as to why I should do this?” Garcia raised one eyebrow in question, taking the last step before they were glaring each other down just a few feet from each other.
Gordon had a million reasons, but none of them were reasons that Garcia would see as useful or any different from the 'he doesn't belong there' reason. Gordon swallowed the lump in throat, gritting his teeth in annoyance. On the spot he would never be able to come up with anything useful, and he knew it. Garcia smirked at him.
“I don't know what your fascination is Bruce Wayne, but I suggest you start rethinking your motives and loyalties.”
“My loyalties?” Gordon repeated, confused. It was surely Garcia who had his head up his ass and couldn't figure where his own loyalties should lie. But this was Garcia, he never liked Batman; Gordon found he wasn't as surprised at how quickly Garcia turned on him during the current events.
“Gordon, you have a choice. You can leave now and keep your job, or you can stand here and continue to argue with me about the insane reasons I should pardon Wayne from Arkham, and be put on suspension.” Garcia's smirk faded, showing the stone-cold gaze in his eyes and the seriousness of his choice of words.
“But, Mayor...please just –” Gordon started to say, but he knew just after the words fumbled out they were the wrong choice. Garcia shook his head.
“You're suspended, Gordon. Two weeks. We'll talk after that and see if you've decided to see things in the right perspective.” Garcia pointed at the door. “Get out of my office.”
------
“Jim!” Someone called from behind Gordon as he walked down the side walk to his car. He turned back to see Stephens chasing after him, a folder in his hand. He caught up to him, stopping next to Gordon. “Some of the detectives came across some information last night while doing the stakeout down by the docks. You might want to take a look.”
Gordon shook his head. “Give it to someone else. Garcia's suspended me for two weeks.” He pulled the keys from his pocket, and unlocked his driver's side door. Stephens' put a hand on Gordon's shoulder. If Stephens was surprised, he didn't show it.
“You'll want to see this though, Jim!” Stephens' said pushing the envelope into Gordon hands. “I won't tell if you don't.” And the detective left, leaving Gordon feeling a little awkward. He should probably look, but if he was caught or Garcia found out, Gordon could definitely getting fired. Stephens' behavior though made him feel that maybe this was more important than his own job. Gordon opened the car door and slid inside, placing the envelope on the passenger seat. He could look at it now or wait until he got to Wayne Manor.
That would depend on what the information in the envelope was about. In front of City Hall wasn't the place the do this, either way. He pulled away from the curb. He could at least look it over at Wayne Manor before his meeting with Dick Grayson.
------
Bruce opened his eyes to the nothingness in front of him. He rolled to his back, trying to stretch his arms, only to find he couldn't move them. Straight jacket, he thought sighing heavily. He kicked the heels of his feet into the ground, pushing himself into a sitting position against the wall. He couldn't see a thing in the room, just the sliver of light beaming in from under what he assumed was the door. It didn't take him long to figure out where he was, because it was obvious considering the last actions he remembered doing before waking up here.
Solitary confinement. Bruce dropped his head back against the wall behind him, it, too, was padded. They really did think of everything in Arkham, didn't they?
Just how long he was expected to be in there, Bruce wasn't sure. Long enough, he thought, to think about what I did. No, what I almost did. He knew that he didn't kill the Joker, he was close but that damn clown still had life in him when Bruce had been knocked off. You'll get another chance, Bruce. You're here forever... now.
“No...” Bruce said out loud, in a harsh whisper. Even with his hands bound tightly around him, he could feel the sting in his fingers from where they were wrapped tightly around the Joker's throat, and the look in the man's green eyes, hanging on the thread between life and death. Bruce closed his eyes; no this was not how he should be, this was not the Bruce Wayne he went away for seven years to become.
People don't change, Bruce. You're a killer. I murderer. You know you want to kill the Joker and you will, in time.
“No, you're wrong,” he whispered again. Bruce knew that in time he could overcome this, that what happened was purely an accident and given more time maybe he could have done things differently. But there was hostage, Gordon's daughter. How could he have risked an innocent life just to save two lives that were worthless? He couldn't.
Bruce... “No. Not anymore.”
The question now was, how to convince Gotham City he wasn't insane.