Ashes
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There was little to be said of Gotham's ill-favored mayor. At least, nothing that would pardon him from his habit of performing badly when it came to first impressions. It didn't matter what the occasion was. From nerve-wracking public announcements to the decidedly lax environment of charity balls, he continued to repulse wherever there was a large crowd of people. There was no getting around the fact – Mayor Anthony Garcia was not a snake charmer, a trait often viewed as necessary in the political realm. Even in his personal life, he had few friends and even fewer acquaintances that could testify that his manners improved with a little acclimation and time. It was rumored in some circles that even his own wife hated his guts, though they could hardly blame her.
But those who had the misfortune of having to meet the mayor in his own home could tell you – he has one redeeming quality, and not even he can take credit for it.
He had a three year old daughter, Charlotte, born into that new generation of peace still alive and well in Gotham. She emphasized the traits that were often overshadowed by the egotism and tactlessness he displayed while under the watchful public eye. Even his worst critics couldn't deny that, around his little girl, he was charming - even likable.
Her existence was not widely known amid the common citizenry. In fact, he made it a point to purposefully hide her away from the media, a well-kept secret that he intended to keep. Being a selfish man, Garcia didn't want to have to share her with anyone (it was often said, with a certain dry wit, that he didn't even want to have to share her with his own wife). But he had good intentions, and you could even say that his motives were the mark of a true, loving father. The truth was, his position in society being one of power and susceptible to close scrutiny, she was vulnerable. His wife, too, but he never feared for her the way he did his only child.
Because the city had its fair share of madmen.
If ever any one of them tried to bring him down, they'd go straight for the heart.
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It was late when he arrived home, later than what was usual for a Saturday night. He looked up at the house as he got out of the car, noting, with some indifference, that the windows were all dark. No cause for concern – Kate often put the baby to bed early on Sundays for early morning mass. Often, he'd come into his room and find Charlotte nestled in the arms of her mother, both of them fast asleep. The faint yellow blush of the table lamp would be the only light in the pitch black room. Sometimes, he would stop at the door, admiring the way the glow draped softly over their still, peaceful faces.
Tonight, he was too tired to do much of anything but lock the door behind him, strip down and dive into bed. After the attack launched on the stock exchange earlier that afternoon, he'd been ruthlessly interrogated about his plans to find and identify the criminals. The reporters had been tireless, asking question after question, most of them hard to answer without admitting openly to the nervous public that he had no leads whatsoever to report.
For eight years, they'd lived in peace. The Joker's attacks, so many years ago now, had all but been forgotten – merely nightmares and nothing more to those who still lived in denial of the terrorist's existence. But here it was again – a new onslaught. As he pushed his keys into the door and turned the locks, he shook his head, muttering to himself as he found that the catch was sticking again. God damn locks, just got them fixed last year and now they're sticking again…
He finally succeeds in dislodging them, opening the door and sighing with relief as soon as he walks in. If he hadn't been able to get himself in, the only option he would've had left was to call Kate and wake the baby up…
It takes him a moment, but when it hits him he stops short – like he'd been hit in the face with a two-by-four. Something doesn't feel right. A tremble runs through him as all the blood in his veins runs cold, filtering through him like a heart-stopping chill. He moves his hand to the wall, groping blindly for the light switch.
When he finds it, he wishes he hadn't.
As soon as the lights flicker on, he realizes he's just walked into an ambush.
His wife is in a tangle of limbs on the floor, tied up and gagged and he can see the red marks of tears still burning in her cheeks. She's shaking her head at him, trying to speak through the gag, but to no avail. One of the men, a tall, imposing figure with an automatic weapon, hits her in the side of her head with the butt of his rifle. "Shut it, whore!"
The one nearest to him puts out a hand, as if to scold a misbehaving dog. It is a gentle gesture, one that wouldn't be so surprising if he weren't so enormous. Garcia had never seen a man so huge, so colossal. His arms bulge from beneath a thin, black shirt that clings almost intimately to the shape of his hulking body. Most strange about his appearance, besides the sheer enormity of his size, is the black mask that hides most of his face. Its front is fashioned to look almost like a mouth, but it is a cruel, inhuman design. The cylindrical shapes that sit over the filter almost liken to that of a cruel smile, teeth bared with a yawning black cavern behind it like an open mouth.
His voice filters through the mask, cold and bereft of all human likeness. "Now, now, Romme, that is no way to speak to your hostess."
At last, Garcia places him – he's the one who invaded the stock exchange earlier that afternoon, the one all of Gotham has been talking about. The mayor's knees go weak, threatening to collapse underneath him. He has to reach out and rest his hand against the wall in order to salvage what little strength his body can afford him. This is what he had feared all this time, since his daughter was born. That she should be endangered by his position, his power. Now the time had come and the fact that he couldn't do anything to save her made him want to curl up on the floor and die.
"Please," he rasps, feeling the tears push against the back of his eyes. "Please, take whatever you want from me. Just…just don't hurt my family."
A rough, barking laugh escapes the hidden mouth. "Oh, my dear friend. There is no bargain you can make that will earn my mercy." He takes a step forward; the entire floor seems to shake beneath his monstrous feet. "You will have to do much better than that."
He chokes on a sob, the tone in his voice almost pleading. "Must I beg?"
The madman contemplates his question, glancing up at the ceiling and nodding slowly as if considering a well-made offer. "I did not take you for a man of humility, mayor. From what I have heard, you are renowned for your pride and conceit in the eyes of your subjects – the traits of a true dictator."
Anger swells in him, an almost long delayed reaction to finding a hoard of barbarians gathered in his living room. "What the hell do you want from me? I don't want your stupid mind games…I want your answers! Tell me what you want!"
The giant laughs, throwing back his head and revealing a thick, fleshy neck as his hands clutch the straps of his vest.
When at last his cruel laughter subsides, he levels his eyes with the mayor's, taking slow, deliberate strides until he stands in front of him, towering over the man. In a soft, almost tender voice, he says, "Do not be troubled. I only want what you love most in this world."
Intimidating by the god-like figure looming over him, Garcia swallows hard and averts his eyes. "I will give you a million, ten million, fifty…whatever it takes to get you to leave this city and never come back."
In one swift, crushing motion the giant's fists have close around his throat, the grip loose enough so that he can still breathe, but he cannot mistake the power thrumming like a bloodthirsty pulse through the long, scarred fingers. "Must I repeat myself? I do not want your money. I do not even want your pathetic, worthless life. I want your most prized possession. And the longer you wait, the longer I will prolong your inevitable suffering."
Tears gather on the apples of his cheeks – he can't tell if it's from the pain radiating through his body or the ache that's begun to take root in his heart. "Why?"
The hint of a smile blooms in the madman's eyes. "Why not?"
In the back of the room, soft, shallow footsteps echo off the walls. A thin, bleary voice enters the room. "Mommy, I had a bad dream…"
All eyes focus on the tiny figure across the room, the ragdoll her father gave her dangling limply from her arms. Her eyes widen, tears welling in them, and she begins to back away slowly into the darkness of the hallway. The madman watches Garcia closely, glancing back and forth between the girl and the man choking slowly in his grasp. A laugh begins to curl like smoke from behind the mask.
"Oh, I see now…"
With one gesture of his hand, the room descends into chaos. As one of the rebels reaches for his little girl, the prisoner cries out and thrashes in the giant's arms, even as the crushing hold grows tighter and tighter around him. His hands extend toward Charlotte as she screams for him, the shrill screeches of terror trailing off into thick, rasping sobs that fade away completely as she is dragged down the street. Calmly, quietly, the giant waits until the girl has been safely taken away, tucked so deep into the black pit of the underworld that not even God himself could find her there. Even as he lingers on, still like stone, the body in his arms kicks and screams for release.
"Calm yourself," the giant murmurs, so serene. "She will not hear you now. Do not waste your limited potential for heroics on a lost cause."
He drops Garcia like a dead weight, but the man picks himself up as soon as he hits the floor. The giant sees that he is going to try to make a run for it, to clamor for the door and go after his little girl. In an almost bored, lazy fashion, he catches Garcia by the coattails and with matchless brutal force – sends him crashing to the ground with one strike of his fist.
"Kill the wife," he orders his right-hand man, a bearded, rough looking youth nearby. The man nods, pointing to the woman tied up on the floor, who has since roused from unconsciousness. She starts to beg for her life as she overhears the order for her execution. But mercilessly, without thought, one of the men puts a bullet in her forehead and she goes down like an empty sack of skin.
Standing over his victim, the giant tilts his head, watching the man breathe. It will be his last shred of peace before he wakes to the destruction of his home, the death of his wife, and the abduction of his daughter. It is a life undone, torn apart and all the pieces burned until they are but ashes fluttering through a darkened street. As his men file out of the house, he bends down one last time and straightens Garcia's tie. He must look his best when he wakes and faces the loss of everything he loves.
"You see, it is entirely too early for you to beg for mercy," he says. "That will come later."
As the sirens begin to wail off in the distance, the giant stands up and follows his retreating faction out of the house.
Leaving the ruins of Gotham's short-lived epoch of peace in his wake.
author's notes: this is inspired by the weird little one shot I wrote earlier. obviously, this one has a darker tone, but hopefully you'll like it all the same. let me know what you think! reviews are much appreciated, as are follows and favorites. :D
disclaimer - i don't own bane, barsad, or garcia. only kate and charlotte are made up for the sake of the story.