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
Gordon had been able to convince Wayne that he needed some sleep; that if he kept running on empty the voices and hallucinations weren't going to get any better. Alfred had handed Gordon a glass of water and two sleeping pills, suggesting that Wayne would likely take them if Gordon suggested it. Gordon stood at the door way of Wayne's bedroom, and looked over the man who was now sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over with his head in his hands. Wayne had stripped down to just a pair of sweats. It was the first time Gordon really got to see that Batman wasn't nearly as invincible as he had once thought. Wayne's torso was covered in old scars and new ones, purple and green bruising across his shoulders. He looked like a human punching bag, and it ripped at Gordon's heart just a little more.
Wayne looked up, running a hand over his face. He caught sight of the items Gordon had in his hands and sighed heavily, placing his hands behind him on the bed. “I don't need those,” he said rather impatiently, as if he couldn't really believe Gordon would dare.
Gordon shrugged. “If you're having trouble sleeping, I think it might be a good idea to at least give these a shot. I'd feel better knowing that you had at least one decent night's sleep.” Of course playing the guilt card on Wayne was probably not something Gordon would normally do, but he wasn't dealing with a normal situation either. He strolled over to the nightstand a few feet from Wayne and placed the pills and glass on it. He was painfully aware that Wayne was watching his every move, analyzing him. Gordon shifted his body to turn towards the younger man, who didn't say anything. He knew there was some tension between them now, an unknowing force that pulled them to each other and yet neither of them were sure what it meant or what to do about it now.
Hopefully it wasn't guilt or desperation that was the cause, because Gordon knew in the end it would end badly if everything were all for nothing. Wayne held a hand out, palm up. His eyes didn't meet Gordon's, but they didn't have to for the older man to know what it was Wayne was motioning for. Gordon picked up the pills and placed them gently into Bruce's hand, his fingertips brushing against the other man's skin softly. Wayne popped the pills in his mouth as Gordon handed him the glass. The billionaire took a sip of the water and placed it back into Gordon's hand.
“Thanks,” Gordon said, wanting to be sure that Wayne knew just how much it meant that he trusted the commissioner enough to act on the concern. Wayne raised his eyes to meet Gordon's, a blank, almost unsure gaze. Still, no words from the younger man, as if he couldn't find them or speak, afraid that nothing would turn out right.
Gordon placed a hand on Wayne's shoulder, feeling the tight ripple of muscles tense underneath his touch, then slowly relax. Wayne reached up and took Gordon's hand, pulling him down on the bedside him. Wayne turned his head towards Gordon's, their noses almost touching and their eyes meeting in a long, perfectly comfortable moment. It was the first time, perhaps, that Gordon had seen Wayne's eyes look clear and un-phased since the masquerade ball. Maybe the other man was right, maybe Wayne did have more control when Gordon was around. Wayne needed him.
The moment, that lasted longer than either of them anticipated, but neither one of them broke the gaze. Gordon felt compelled bend his head forward and kiss the young man sitting next to him, but he wasn't sure if it would be right. Wayne reached up his right hand and placed it on the back of Gordon's head, and pulled him forward. Gordon wasn't as surprised as he was relieved, letting out uncontrollable sigh into Wayne's mouth as their lips parted against each others, tongues searching deeper.
Wayne's fingers tangled into Gordon's hair, continuing to pulling him in closer, their lips sealed together and the only air they had was what they shared. Gordon's hands roamed over tight muscles on Wayne's chest, down his torso to his stomach. A part of him wanted Wayne right then, to push him over on the bed, straddle his naked body and take whatever the younger man was willing to give. And yet, that seemed a far cry from what Wayne really needed right then and they both knew it. Wayne pulled back, keeping his hands in Gordon's light brown strands, looking him over approvingly.
“You should get some sleep. Those pills should start to take effect soon,” Gordon said softly, pushing a piece of Wayne's hair out of his face, watching the hazel eyes reflect a bit of concern now.
“Yeah...” Wayne answered, dropping his hands back to the bed.
“I have to run to City Hall for a bit, but I'll be back later.” Gordon didn't really want to leave, but he had received a voice mail from Garcia and he knew he'd have to go in and do some explaining before the whole situation exploded into something more catastrophic than it was.
Wayne looked at him frantically, a little worry etched into the way his brows furrowed. “Jim...” He sighed uncomfortably. Gordon placed his hands on either side of Wayne's face and looked him straight in the eye.
“You will be fine. You'll be asleep during the time I'm gone,” Gordon reassured the other man, seeing how vulnerable and weak Wayne was at that moment. Gordon leaned in and placed a kiss on Wayne's forehead, a gesture he'd most likely give one of his kids and little odd given their situation, but it felt right and it seemed to calm Wayne for the time being. Gordon smiled softly and left one last kiss on Wayne's lips before standing to leave.
-----
Bruce walked along the side of the grated metal fence to his right, away from the sleek black car behind him, not even looking twice. The fence was that of what was typically used to keep people from getting in or in this case, out. As walked through the gate in the fence, he noticed the large red brick building, white trimmed with a cathedral towards the back. He stopped to stare at the magnificence of it, beautifully built and structured. A group of three boys walked up to Bruce, all dressed in the same khaki slacks, navy blue vests and button down white collared shirts. Bruce looked down at himself, his uniform the same but slightly better quality, nicer fabrics. Of course, Alfred had made sure of that.
Gotham's prestigious all boys Catholic High School. Bruce's family hadn't been very religious, but after he had been kicked out of Gotham High, Alfred opted to put him in a place he hoped Bruce wouldn't get into much more trouble. Of course, Bruce never intended to get into trouble, things just happened that way. He hoped this school would be different.
One of the boys with light hair with dark eyes approached Bruce, smirking. “Wayne, isn't it?” The boy had a smugness to his voice, as if he were better than Bruce.
Bruce nodded, control of his actions weren't there, as if he were replaying a sequence of his life all over again. “Yes,” he found himself saying quietly. Alfred had told him to keep to himself and things would go better than at the other schools.
The boy snickered to one of his friends, a dark haired boy who glared at Bruce with a long misgiving expression. “Look, Harry, we finally have the chance to meet the famous Bruce Wayne,” said the light haired boy, tauntingly. Bruce tried to walk away, headed towards the school doors, but the boy stopped him, pushing a palm into his chest. He looked Bruce straight in the eye, a cruel smile curling onto his lips.“Is it true that you're parents were killed by a mugger?”
Bruce set his jaw, trying to force back the flood of emotions. He had been working hard to control everything, to stop the pain and hatred that he felt when he thought of his parents – when he thought of the man that killed them. Bruce glared at the boy and didn't say a word, pushing the hand off his chest. He moved forward again and the boy caught him by the arm.
“Hey, I asked you a question, Wayne. Were your parents murdered?” The boy had a spark in his eyes that Bruce recognized; a want for a fight, to hit something or someone – almost like looking into a mirror for a split second. Bruce swallowed, blinking once to clear his thoughts, trying to remember what Alfred said that morning about progress and Bruce keeping to himself.
“Yes,” Bruce said simply to the kid, forcing his own arm out of the boy's grip and walking towards the school. The boy was laughing, saying something to his friend about how lonely Bruce must be, mocking him. The two boys finally stopped when they realized Bruce was already half way up the steps. The lighter haired boy called after him.
“And is it true, Wayne, that you're parents left your butler guardianship of you?” the boy asked, walking towards the steps where Bruce had stopped. Bruce turned his head and watched the boy approach him. Bruce wanted to control everything running through his veins just then, wanting to stop the heat in his head, the cold pit in his stomach and tje pain in his chest that pushed against his ribcage as the adrenalin started to pump through him. A little voice began to mock him from the back of his mind, telling him it would be worth it to punch this kid, because this kid didn't know anything. As true as it was, Bruce held his ground for a few seconds more, hoping and praying the boy backed off before Bruce could no longer control his temper. He really was trying.
“Yes,” Bruce replied again, this time through gritted teeth. The light haired boy seemed to understand that he had hit a nerve, and inched in a little closer to Bruce.
“How low of your parents. A butler taking care of a otherwise well bred child. What, you didn't have any other family?” The kid started to push on Bruce with his hands, testing his limits, and Bruce finally had had enough. It was one thing to talk about his parents, but when their decisions about how Bruce was to be brought up after their death came around and someone pushed Alfred into the situation, that was where Bruce drew the line.
Bruce let the kid push him one more time. Now, Bruce, just take that welled up anger and hatred and beat him down. You know you want to. You know you'll feel so much better. Just like all the others. The voice was moving forward into his brain, and Bruce couldn't decipher his own thoughts anymore. He acted quickly though, to make it stop – to make the boy stop. Bruce balled up his hand into a fist and punched the kid in the nose, sending him reeling backwards in surprise as to just how much force the young billionaire had behind his otherwise light-weight frame. Bruce kicked the boy in the stomach, watching him fall onto the step below him, hunched in pain. Next, he jumped down on the boy – aware that he was being watched by this kids friends and even a few others kids – and took a fist full of the kids hair. Bruce didn't care if he was being watched; if someone told an adult or not. He needed to have this out, to let people know he wasn't weak, and know that the Wayne name was not going to tarnished. Bruce was angry and he knew this was his only escape.
Bruce took the fist full of hair and began to beat the boy's skull into the pavement, the soft cracking of skull only making him want to do it harder and faster. He was yelling obscenities at the boy below him, something about his parents and how it was never his business and maybe from now on he'd keep his mouth shut. Bruce brought the kids head up one last time and just as he went to smash it back into the ground, for what would have been a devastating blow, someone pulled him up by the arms and off the boy, dragging him away. Another five adults went to the boys side, one running from the scene to call an ambulance, while the others checked for vital signs. Bruce knew he didn't kill the boy, but the voice in his head sure wished he had.
No, no I don't, Bruce thought. I don't want to be that person. Bruce was still so angry, so mad and distressed, that he began to cry, breaking down on the spot. He tore away from the arms that held him and dropped to his knees. He knew then what he had done. The voice, the angry voice was gone. He began to sob and everything turned dark...
Bruce woke in a panic of sweat and pain throbbing through his head. He jolted straight up in bed, searching the room around him. What was he looking for? Or, better yet, who? Gordon, he thought, where is Gordon? He glanced at the clock, he had only been asleep a few hours, Gordon wouldn't have been back yet. Bruce held a hand to his head, trying to calm the dizziness that was settling in quickly. He hadn't had that dream in... at least fifteen years. He never wanted to remember that incident, never wanted to relive it again. That was the point of the therapist all those years ago, wasn't it? To help him move on?
That was a lie, he never really moved on until he met Ducard and began to train and learn to control his mind, his fears; everything. But getting that kind of training and help again, was not likely. Ducard was dead. Bruce knew some how he knew how to control this, get a grip on everything, but somehow he couldn't seem to grasp it, even when it was just within his reach.
“Master Wayne?” Alfred asked from the door way, holding a silver tray in his hands with a cup of tea on it and what looked to be a sandwich. “Are you alright, sir?”
Bruce motioned him to come in. For now he still felt in control, aside from the dream and the trouble it was causing his conscience. “Do you remember when I was fifteen? You sent me to that all boys school?”
Alfred set the tray down on the nightstand, nodding. “Yes, sir, I believe I do. You didn't last but a morning there.”
“Whatever happened to that boy?” Bruce asked as he took the tea cup from the tray and sipped it. He was looking at Alfred steadily over the rim as the butler screwed up his expression to show he had to think about it. His expression softened a little.
“I believe he was in a coma for a few weeks. Paid a pretty penny to his family for that one. I think he was fine, though. What brings up this memory, sir?” Alfred looked concerned, a furrow in his brow set Bruce off a little, unwillingly. He really doesn't trust you, Bruce. He thinks something's wrong.
“Had the strangest dream is all,” Bruce explained sipping more of the tea. Alfred frowned a little, probably guessing what exactly Bruce had dreamed about. It wasn't a dream though, it was more of nightmare, a piece of Bruce's past he never wanted back.
“If you're having these nightmares again, Master Wayne, might I suggest taking the commissioner's advice and seeking some professional help?” Alfred offered gently, placing a hand on Bruce's shoulder. Bruce shuddered at the touch and glared at the older gentlemen. Oh, see now Bruce. He wants to get you on drugs. Keep you down and cooped up in this house. He doesn't trust you at all. Bruce pulled the teacup from his lips and stared at Alfred for a good long minute before he moved.
----
Gordon sat across from the Mayor Garcia, hands folded in his lap. He had waited nearly two hours just to see the man and now they were sitting in complete silence. Garcia knew there had been trouble, obviously, and Gordon knew that he had to find a way to tell him exactly what it was. There wasn't an easy way and there was definitely no dancing around it.
“Jim, if you have something to say, I suggest you do it. I have other meetings to attend to today,” Garcia said with a weak smile.
Gordon sighed. “I know you've already heard about the attempted bank robbery last night. And the... incident that occurred.”
“Yes. I am aware that there was some brutal force involved. The reports that came across my desk didn't specify exactly, but I imagine that you'll enlighten me.” Garcia had a smile on his face, and Gordon knew full well that the mayor was not stupid and he already guessed the situation.
“Bruce Wayne was out last night. Now, in his defense he really isn't stable right now and it is being taken care of as we speak,” Gordon assured, but Garcia was looking at him dully, flipping a pencil between the fingers of his left hand.
“How is it being taken care? And just how unstable is he, Jim? If we're talking Joker unstable? Or are we talking Nigma unstable?” Garcia asked. There was a difference. Nigma wasn't insane, but his ideas and faults were a little quacked, whereas the Joker was just down right... crazy.
“He's not quite Joker status but he's a bit past Nigma. It's a breakdown situation, Anthony. What happened the other night has somehow triggered something from his past and he's not having a lot of luck controlling it,” Gordon explained, adjusting his position in the seat, feeling Garcia's eyes on him. Gordon sighed, “I'm calling a professional the minute I head back.”
“Don't you think you're getting a little too close to this? Helping out is fine, but you knowledge of the situation suggests that you're in a little deep there, Jim. You don't want to get caught in something like this.” Garcia had some worry in his voice, but obviously wasn't telling Gordon what to do, just suggesting otherwise. “Get a professional there. But, if this happens again, you must take him into Arkham. Someone like Wayne, with his abilities, is dangerous on the streets.”
Gordon stood, raising his eyebrows a little in understanding. “Understood.”
----
Gordon returned to Wayne Manor a good thirty minutes after he left City Hall. The issue with the Manor was it was located so far out that through traffic and crossing the bridge, it took forever to get to. Gordon parked the car, getting out and walking to the front door. Alfred had given him a spare key before he left in case the older gentlemen happened to step out for a bit and Gordon happened to come back.
He slid the key in the lock and pushed the door open. It was pretty quiet at first, no sound coming from any part of the house. Gordon slipped the key into his coat pocket and started up the stairs towards the master bedroom, taking the steps a few at time. As he reached the top he heard the sound of something shattered against the wall and then an growl that sounded more like an animal than a man. Gordon picked up his pace, running to the master bedroom, pushing the door open just enough to see Wayne picking up a tray to throw at Alfred. Gordon stepped into the room quickly, pushing Alfred out of the way and getting into Wayne's path first. The tray hit Gordon, as he expected, in the chest and he fell backwards against the wall from the impact. The tray itself was pure silver and with Wayne's brutal force behind it, there was sure to be a bruise later. Gordon put his hand to his chest, to catch his breath and rubbing the spot.
“Damnit, Wayne,” he said breathlessly. Alfred was already at Gordon's side to check on him but he shrugged the older gentleman off. Wayne stood emotionless, glaring at Alfred with a hatred that made Gordon shiver.
“Get away from him, Alfred,” Wayne growled, chest heaving. Alfred looked from Wayne to Gordon, and Gordon nodded his head.
“I'll be fine,” Gordon replied, gesturing for Alfred to get out. The butler picked up the tray and left the room quickly. Gordon regained his own composure and took a few steps closer to Wayne, hoping that he was going to have the same effect as usually on the billionaire. Wayne didn't move, just watched Gordon closely.
“You shouldn't be here,” Wayne said as Gordon was a mere two feet from him.
“Yeah, I keep hearing that today,” Gordon mused, mostly to himself. “It's too bad that I don't listen well.” He shrugged off his jacket and threw it on a near by chair, unbuttoning the his cuffs and loosening his tie. He wasn't going anywhere.
Wayne looked up, running a hand over his face. He caught sight of the items Gordon had in his hands and sighed heavily, placing his hands behind him on the bed. “I don't need those,” he said rather impatiently, as if he couldn't really believe Gordon would dare.
Gordon shrugged. “If you're having trouble sleeping, I think it might be a good idea to at least give these a shot. I'd feel better knowing that you had at least one decent night's sleep.” Of course playing the guilt card on Wayne was probably not something Gordon would normally do, but he wasn't dealing with a normal situation either. He strolled over to the nightstand a few feet from Wayne and placed the pills and glass on it. He was painfully aware that Wayne was watching his every move, analyzing him. Gordon shifted his body to turn towards the younger man, who didn't say anything. He knew there was some tension between them now, an unknowing force that pulled them to each other and yet neither of them were sure what it meant or what to do about it now.
Hopefully it wasn't guilt or desperation that was the cause, because Gordon knew in the end it would end badly if everything were all for nothing. Wayne held a hand out, palm up. His eyes didn't meet Gordon's, but they didn't have to for the older man to know what it was Wayne was motioning for. Gordon picked up the pills and placed them gently into Bruce's hand, his fingertips brushing against the other man's skin softly. Wayne popped the pills in his mouth as Gordon handed him the glass. The billionaire took a sip of the water and placed it back into Gordon's hand.
“Thanks,” Gordon said, wanting to be sure that Wayne knew just how much it meant that he trusted the commissioner enough to act on the concern. Wayne raised his eyes to meet Gordon's, a blank, almost unsure gaze. Still, no words from the younger man, as if he couldn't find them or speak, afraid that nothing would turn out right.
Gordon placed a hand on Wayne's shoulder, feeling the tight ripple of muscles tense underneath his touch, then slowly relax. Wayne reached up and took Gordon's hand, pulling him down on the bedside him. Wayne turned his head towards Gordon's, their noses almost touching and their eyes meeting in a long, perfectly comfortable moment. It was the first time, perhaps, that Gordon had seen Wayne's eyes look clear and un-phased since the masquerade ball. Maybe the other man was right, maybe Wayne did have more control when Gordon was around. Wayne needed him.
The moment, that lasted longer than either of them anticipated, but neither one of them broke the gaze. Gordon felt compelled bend his head forward and kiss the young man sitting next to him, but he wasn't sure if it would be right. Wayne reached up his right hand and placed it on the back of Gordon's head, and pulled him forward. Gordon wasn't as surprised as he was relieved, letting out uncontrollable sigh into Wayne's mouth as their lips parted against each others, tongues searching deeper.
Wayne's fingers tangled into Gordon's hair, continuing to pulling him in closer, their lips sealed together and the only air they had was what they shared. Gordon's hands roamed over tight muscles on Wayne's chest, down his torso to his stomach. A part of him wanted Wayne right then, to push him over on the bed, straddle his naked body and take whatever the younger man was willing to give. And yet, that seemed a far cry from what Wayne really needed right then and they both knew it. Wayne pulled back, keeping his hands in Gordon's light brown strands, looking him over approvingly.
“You should get some sleep. Those pills should start to take effect soon,” Gordon said softly, pushing a piece of Wayne's hair out of his face, watching the hazel eyes reflect a bit of concern now.
“Yeah...” Wayne answered, dropping his hands back to the bed.
“I have to run to City Hall for a bit, but I'll be back later.” Gordon didn't really want to leave, but he had received a voice mail from Garcia and he knew he'd have to go in and do some explaining before the whole situation exploded into something more catastrophic than it was.
Wayne looked at him frantically, a little worry etched into the way his brows furrowed. “Jim...” He sighed uncomfortably. Gordon placed his hands on either side of Wayne's face and looked him straight in the eye.
“You will be fine. You'll be asleep during the time I'm gone,” Gordon reassured the other man, seeing how vulnerable and weak Wayne was at that moment. Gordon leaned in and placed a kiss on Wayne's forehead, a gesture he'd most likely give one of his kids and little odd given their situation, but it felt right and it seemed to calm Wayne for the time being. Gordon smiled softly and left one last kiss on Wayne's lips before standing to leave.
-----
Bruce walked along the side of the grated metal fence to his right, away from the sleek black car behind him, not even looking twice. The fence was that of what was typically used to keep people from getting in or in this case, out. As walked through the gate in the fence, he noticed the large red brick building, white trimmed with a cathedral towards the back. He stopped to stare at the magnificence of it, beautifully built and structured. A group of three boys walked up to Bruce, all dressed in the same khaki slacks, navy blue vests and button down white collared shirts. Bruce looked down at himself, his uniform the same but slightly better quality, nicer fabrics. Of course, Alfred had made sure of that.
Gotham's prestigious all boys Catholic High School. Bruce's family hadn't been very religious, but after he had been kicked out of Gotham High, Alfred opted to put him in a place he hoped Bruce wouldn't get into much more trouble. Of course, Bruce never intended to get into trouble, things just happened that way. He hoped this school would be different.
One of the boys with light hair with dark eyes approached Bruce, smirking. “Wayne, isn't it?” The boy had a smugness to his voice, as if he were better than Bruce.
Bruce nodded, control of his actions weren't there, as if he were replaying a sequence of his life all over again. “Yes,” he found himself saying quietly. Alfred had told him to keep to himself and things would go better than at the other schools.
The boy snickered to one of his friends, a dark haired boy who glared at Bruce with a long misgiving expression. “Look, Harry, we finally have the chance to meet the famous Bruce Wayne,” said the light haired boy, tauntingly. Bruce tried to walk away, headed towards the school doors, but the boy stopped him, pushing a palm into his chest. He looked Bruce straight in the eye, a cruel smile curling onto his lips.“Is it true that you're parents were killed by a mugger?”
Bruce set his jaw, trying to force back the flood of emotions. He had been working hard to control everything, to stop the pain and hatred that he felt when he thought of his parents – when he thought of the man that killed them. Bruce glared at the boy and didn't say a word, pushing the hand off his chest. He moved forward again and the boy caught him by the arm.
“Hey, I asked you a question, Wayne. Were your parents murdered?” The boy had a spark in his eyes that Bruce recognized; a want for a fight, to hit something or someone – almost like looking into a mirror for a split second. Bruce swallowed, blinking once to clear his thoughts, trying to remember what Alfred said that morning about progress and Bruce keeping to himself.
“Yes,” Bruce said simply to the kid, forcing his own arm out of the boy's grip and walking towards the school. The boy was laughing, saying something to his friend about how lonely Bruce must be, mocking him. The two boys finally stopped when they realized Bruce was already half way up the steps. The lighter haired boy called after him.
“And is it true, Wayne, that you're parents left your butler guardianship of you?” the boy asked, walking towards the steps where Bruce had stopped. Bruce turned his head and watched the boy approach him. Bruce wanted to control everything running through his veins just then, wanting to stop the heat in his head, the cold pit in his stomach and tje pain in his chest that pushed against his ribcage as the adrenalin started to pump through him. A little voice began to mock him from the back of his mind, telling him it would be worth it to punch this kid, because this kid didn't know anything. As true as it was, Bruce held his ground for a few seconds more, hoping and praying the boy backed off before Bruce could no longer control his temper. He really was trying.
“Yes,” Bruce replied again, this time through gritted teeth. The light haired boy seemed to understand that he had hit a nerve, and inched in a little closer to Bruce.
“How low of your parents. A butler taking care of a otherwise well bred child. What, you didn't have any other family?” The kid started to push on Bruce with his hands, testing his limits, and Bruce finally had had enough. It was one thing to talk about his parents, but when their decisions about how Bruce was to be brought up after their death came around and someone pushed Alfred into the situation, that was where Bruce drew the line.
Bruce let the kid push him one more time. Now, Bruce, just take that welled up anger and hatred and beat him down. You know you want to. You know you'll feel so much better. Just like all the others. The voice was moving forward into his brain, and Bruce couldn't decipher his own thoughts anymore. He acted quickly though, to make it stop – to make the boy stop. Bruce balled up his hand into a fist and punched the kid in the nose, sending him reeling backwards in surprise as to just how much force the young billionaire had behind his otherwise light-weight frame. Bruce kicked the boy in the stomach, watching him fall onto the step below him, hunched in pain. Next, he jumped down on the boy – aware that he was being watched by this kids friends and even a few others kids – and took a fist full of the kids hair. Bruce didn't care if he was being watched; if someone told an adult or not. He needed to have this out, to let people know he wasn't weak, and know that the Wayne name was not going to tarnished. Bruce was angry and he knew this was his only escape.
Bruce took the fist full of hair and began to beat the boy's skull into the pavement, the soft cracking of skull only making him want to do it harder and faster. He was yelling obscenities at the boy below him, something about his parents and how it was never his business and maybe from now on he'd keep his mouth shut. Bruce brought the kids head up one last time and just as he went to smash it back into the ground, for what would have been a devastating blow, someone pulled him up by the arms and off the boy, dragging him away. Another five adults went to the boys side, one running from the scene to call an ambulance, while the others checked for vital signs. Bruce knew he didn't kill the boy, but the voice in his head sure wished he had.
No, no I don't, Bruce thought. I don't want to be that person. Bruce was still so angry, so mad and distressed, that he began to cry, breaking down on the spot. He tore away from the arms that held him and dropped to his knees. He knew then what he had done. The voice, the angry voice was gone. He began to sob and everything turned dark...
Bruce woke in a panic of sweat and pain throbbing through his head. He jolted straight up in bed, searching the room around him. What was he looking for? Or, better yet, who? Gordon, he thought, where is Gordon? He glanced at the clock, he had only been asleep a few hours, Gordon wouldn't have been back yet. Bruce held a hand to his head, trying to calm the dizziness that was settling in quickly. He hadn't had that dream in... at least fifteen years. He never wanted to remember that incident, never wanted to relive it again. That was the point of the therapist all those years ago, wasn't it? To help him move on?
That was a lie, he never really moved on until he met Ducard and began to train and learn to control his mind, his fears; everything. But getting that kind of training and help again, was not likely. Ducard was dead. Bruce knew some how he knew how to control this, get a grip on everything, but somehow he couldn't seem to grasp it, even when it was just within his reach.
“Master Wayne?” Alfred asked from the door way, holding a silver tray in his hands with a cup of tea on it and what looked to be a sandwich. “Are you alright, sir?”
Bruce motioned him to come in. For now he still felt in control, aside from the dream and the trouble it was causing his conscience. “Do you remember when I was fifteen? You sent me to that all boys school?”
Alfred set the tray down on the nightstand, nodding. “Yes, sir, I believe I do. You didn't last but a morning there.”
“Whatever happened to that boy?” Bruce asked as he took the tea cup from the tray and sipped it. He was looking at Alfred steadily over the rim as the butler screwed up his expression to show he had to think about it. His expression softened a little.
“I believe he was in a coma for a few weeks. Paid a pretty penny to his family for that one. I think he was fine, though. What brings up this memory, sir?” Alfred looked concerned, a furrow in his brow set Bruce off a little, unwillingly. He really doesn't trust you, Bruce. He thinks something's wrong.
“Had the strangest dream is all,” Bruce explained sipping more of the tea. Alfred frowned a little, probably guessing what exactly Bruce had dreamed about. It wasn't a dream though, it was more of nightmare, a piece of Bruce's past he never wanted back.
“If you're having these nightmares again, Master Wayne, might I suggest taking the commissioner's advice and seeking some professional help?” Alfred offered gently, placing a hand on Bruce's shoulder. Bruce shuddered at the touch and glared at the older gentlemen. Oh, see now Bruce. He wants to get you on drugs. Keep you down and cooped up in this house. He doesn't trust you at all. Bruce pulled the teacup from his lips and stared at Alfred for a good long minute before he moved.
----
Gordon sat across from the Mayor Garcia, hands folded in his lap. He had waited nearly two hours just to see the man and now they were sitting in complete silence. Garcia knew there had been trouble, obviously, and Gordon knew that he had to find a way to tell him exactly what it was. There wasn't an easy way and there was definitely no dancing around it.
“Jim, if you have something to say, I suggest you do it. I have other meetings to attend to today,” Garcia said with a weak smile.
Gordon sighed. “I know you've already heard about the attempted bank robbery last night. And the... incident that occurred.”
“Yes. I am aware that there was some brutal force involved. The reports that came across my desk didn't specify exactly, but I imagine that you'll enlighten me.” Garcia had a smile on his face, and Gordon knew full well that the mayor was not stupid and he already guessed the situation.
“Bruce Wayne was out last night. Now, in his defense he really isn't stable right now and it is being taken care of as we speak,” Gordon assured, but Garcia was looking at him dully, flipping a pencil between the fingers of his left hand.
“How is it being taken care? And just how unstable is he, Jim? If we're talking Joker unstable? Or are we talking Nigma unstable?” Garcia asked. There was a difference. Nigma wasn't insane, but his ideas and faults were a little quacked, whereas the Joker was just down right... crazy.
“He's not quite Joker status but he's a bit past Nigma. It's a breakdown situation, Anthony. What happened the other night has somehow triggered something from his past and he's not having a lot of luck controlling it,” Gordon explained, adjusting his position in the seat, feeling Garcia's eyes on him. Gordon sighed, “I'm calling a professional the minute I head back.”
“Don't you think you're getting a little too close to this? Helping out is fine, but you knowledge of the situation suggests that you're in a little deep there, Jim. You don't want to get caught in something like this.” Garcia had some worry in his voice, but obviously wasn't telling Gordon what to do, just suggesting otherwise. “Get a professional there. But, if this happens again, you must take him into Arkham. Someone like Wayne, with his abilities, is dangerous on the streets.”
Gordon stood, raising his eyebrows a little in understanding. “Understood.”
----
Gordon returned to Wayne Manor a good thirty minutes after he left City Hall. The issue with the Manor was it was located so far out that through traffic and crossing the bridge, it took forever to get to. Gordon parked the car, getting out and walking to the front door. Alfred had given him a spare key before he left in case the older gentlemen happened to step out for a bit and Gordon happened to come back.
He slid the key in the lock and pushed the door open. It was pretty quiet at first, no sound coming from any part of the house. Gordon slipped the key into his coat pocket and started up the stairs towards the master bedroom, taking the steps a few at time. As he reached the top he heard the sound of something shattered against the wall and then an growl that sounded more like an animal than a man. Gordon picked up his pace, running to the master bedroom, pushing the door open just enough to see Wayne picking up a tray to throw at Alfred. Gordon stepped into the room quickly, pushing Alfred out of the way and getting into Wayne's path first. The tray hit Gordon, as he expected, in the chest and he fell backwards against the wall from the impact. The tray itself was pure silver and with Wayne's brutal force behind it, there was sure to be a bruise later. Gordon put his hand to his chest, to catch his breath and rubbing the spot.
“Damnit, Wayne,” he said breathlessly. Alfred was already at Gordon's side to check on him but he shrugged the older gentleman off. Wayne stood emotionless, glaring at Alfred with a hatred that made Gordon shiver.
“Get away from him, Alfred,” Wayne growled, chest heaving. Alfred looked from Wayne to Gordon, and Gordon nodded his head.
“I'll be fine,” Gordon replied, gesturing for Alfred to get out. The butler picked up the tray and left the room quickly. Gordon regained his own composure and took a few steps closer to Wayne, hoping that he was going to have the same effect as usually on the billionaire. Wayne didn't move, just watched Gordon closely.
“You shouldn't be here,” Wayne said as Gordon was a mere two feet from him.
“Yeah, I keep hearing that today,” Gordon mused, mostly to himself. “It's too bad that I don't listen well.” He shrugged off his jacket and threw it on a near by chair, unbuttoning the his cuffs and loosening his tie. He wasn't going anywhere.