As promised, here's Jeremiah's bit.
Bryce Wayne hadn't so much walked into his life as she had prowled.
He had barely spared her a glance initially. A quick flick of his gaze – identifying, categorising, an unpleasant twist to his stomach at those bright, familiar blue eyes – and then moving on. Not quite dismissing, but not actively acknowledging.
She was quiet, fading into the background easily. He was more preoccupied with Gordon, with the virtual army of strangers invading his sanctuary, with Jerome – to pay her much attention.
And that was rather silly of him, looking back on it.
It hadn't helped, of course, that she'd looked like nothing more than a rich socialite, with her wealthy practically dripping from her clothes and the traces of makeup on her almost too-young face.
He'd been following her activities ever since his brother had first displayed an interest in her – both out of his own curiosity and connection to her father, as well as his desire to know all he could about Jerome's plans.
He'd seen her spiralling descent, had seen the weeks spent drinking and partying and making a fool of herself in front of the paparazzi. He'd heard the rumours of her arrogance and attitude and general disinterest in applying herself to anything beyond the next scandal.
Jeremiah didn't have time for people like her. For spoiled little girls that wore ankle boots and pristine white blouses and delicate jewellery. For big doe eyes and red-painted lips.
He honestly hadn't understood what Jerome saw in her, beyond what she represented in Gotham. He hadn't understood the ravenous fascination his brother had with her mere existence, why Jerome cared enough to put her right next to Jeremiah on his list of demands. And he'd had very little intention of finding out.
But.
Then she moved.
And it was like gravity, how completely his focus shifted to follow her.
There was a sharp grace to her movements, something raptorial to her that drew him in immediately. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up; some long-nurtured instinct rumbling to life deep in his chest, telling him that he was in the presence of another predator.
Oh, he thought with sudden clarity, this is why.
Jeremiah found his attention split between rebuffing Gordon's heavy-handed attempts at coercion and watching this odd creature loosely circle around his office, each step slow and deliberate and singing of danger as she took in his life's work.
It was impossible to ignore her, impossible to focus on the police, when all he could concentrate on was the easy way she mouthed the scrawl of his writing, her lips never once stumbling over the pronunciations no matter how obscure the words were.
There was intelligence in her eyes. The same spark that her father had had, yet so uniquely different at the same time that it was jarring to witness. She was hardly stupid, he knew that from her school records, but to see the glimpse of her true mind working beneath those long lashes finally gave credence to her father's praise.
Jeremiah's fingers drummed nervously along the side of his glass, feeling more exposed with each turn of her gaze.
The conversation devolved from there. Gordon's dim-witted prattle derailing his study of Ms. Wayne, the man's patronising platitudes grating on his already fraying nerves.
It was only her sudden greeting that stopped him from throwing them all out – an interjection so smooth and perfectly timed that he knew she knew what she had prevented.
"Mr. Valeska." She said, her voice wrapping around his true name like she owned it, sweet as honey and entirely too warm considering it was his brother that had marked her for death.
Her hand was outstretched when he turned to look at her, incapable of ignoring her call. He hadn't even heard her approach, which was a remarkable feat when taking her ridiculous heeled boots into account. It spoke of intent though, the natural silence she carried. You had to train yourself to move like that.
His opinion of her crumbled swiftly, his mind rushing to re-evaluate everything he thought he had known about her.
"I'm Bryce Wayne. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Jeremiah shook her pale, thin hand, marvelling briefly at the callouses he felt there. "Likewise," he told her, the words sticking to the roof his mouth, sounding clunky as he continued. "I wish the circumstances were better."
The corner of her red lips quirked up a little in wry amusement, a secret for his eyes only.
This close, he could see how tired she was. The makeup hid it well, and most people would likely miss it unless they were looking for it, but he was intimately familiar with the signs of exhaustion.
There were the beginnings of rings under her eyes, and the palpable air of tension that clung to her form revealed the high toll the last few days had had on her.
It humanised her, quite suddenly. Made her seem less like some untouchable, mythical sprite and more like a young woman on the cusp of adulthood.
The effect Jerome had on her was obvious, and it bothered him more than he had anticipated. To be able to see, how underneath her unflappable mask, there was a heavy weariness, like an unseen weight rested squarely on her shoulders.
It irritated him that Jerome somehow thought he was even worthy of crawling his way into her life. That his brother thought he could just run his bloodied fingers all over her shining presence like he had the right.
It was when Bryce asked him about his work, question a little too pointed and with an almost exaggerated glance at Gordon – who was suspiciously quiet now, lurking behind them, watchful but brought to heel by a girl less than half his age – that Jeremiah knew why she was here as well.
Gordon was using her, in a more subtle method than he'd though the man capable of. Dangling Bryce in front of him like a carrot to get him to perform a trick.
It was underhanded. It was manipulative. And it was a little insulting that Gordon thought Jeremiah would fall for such a cheap tactic.
But Bryce clearly understood her role too. He could see it in the way her expression was so carefully constructed, even as her eyes emitted disapproval.
Oh, she believed what she was saying well enough – that Gordon would protect her, that standing up to Jerome was worth the risk it posed – but she also seemed to find Gordon's attempts at using her to coax Jeremiah distasteful, if the little glares she shot the man's way meant anything.
She knew what was expected of her, knew why Gordon had brought her here instead of having them meet at the sight – and she wanted Jeremiah to know too.
He wanted to refuse on principle. To show Gordon that he wouldn't be led like a lamb to the slaughter; that he wouldn't place his neck on the chopping block like they were asking him to. They were fools if they thought he would confront Jerome so openly, so recklessly, and on his brother's turf no less.
But –
"You have a brilliant mind."
So genuine. A brief lick of sincerity in the middle of a labyrinth of lies.
Jeremiah had never lacked for compliments in his life. At the circus, where even from a young age he so clearly destined for greater things. At his school, where he excelled at whatever task they put him on. At work, where even Thomas Wayne himself had requested his talents.
He was a genius. A master in his field. And compliments had long lost their lustre for him.
But there was something about her saying what he had heard countless times before that had a warmth blossoming in his gut.
He was reaching for his jacket before he could really think.
OoO
The ride there was tense.
Jeremiah sat beside her in the back of Gordon's car, listening with half an ear as the man and his loyal sidekick reiterated the details of the clobber-together plan.
He tuned them out after the first minute, instead allowing his focus to shift to Bryce.
She was silent, sitting with her legs crossed and her hands balancing on her lap, looking for all the world like she was sprawling on a cashmere lounge rather than being driven to her potential death.
Her face was tilted enough so that she could stare blankly out the window, her eyes scanning the passing scenery with a passive sort of interest.
She looked, honestly, bored.
Like this was all an inconvenience. Like she had everything under control, and she couldn't understand why everyone was making such a fuss.
He would have believed it too, if not for the slight clenching of her jaw – the only sign of her unease.
Jeremiah wished he had even a sliver of her composure. He felt like he was going to throw up at any moment.
Gordon finally seemed to run out of things to say; or he'd simply realised neither of them were listening. The man's eyes periodically darted to them through the rear-view mirror.
Jeremiah turned to Bryce, finding the sudden quiet suffocating. "For what it's worth," he murmured earnestly, hands picking at his trousers for want of something to do. "I'm sorry for what he's done to you."
Bryce looked at him, and strangely enough, she smiled. "I appreciate the gesture, Mr. Valeska, but I hold no one but Jerome responsible for his actions. My experiences with your brother had no influence on my opinion of you."
The knot he hadn't even known was in his stomach released at her unexpected reassurance. "Some might argue that he's not in control of himself." He said quietly, aware that the two men in the front could hear every word. "Insanity is a wonderful security blanket. It relieves people of things like accountability."
He was curious when his words seemed to bring a frigid sort of humour to her face. It was the first real emotion he'd seen on her. "Insane?" She echoed, like she was tasting the word and deciding its value. "Maybe."
He blinked. "You disagree?"
She raised an eyebrow. "I've had several in-depth conversations with Jerome, Mr. Valeska, and he's hardly unaware. His mind is like a steel-trap, and he knows precisely what he's doing at every moment, knows what laws he's breaking and the trauma he's unleashing on people. He could easily claim responsibility for his actions, he just chooses not to."
She looked back out the window, the cityscape flashing passed them. Her right hand was clasped across her left forearm, her fingers digging into the fabric of her coat in a protective way.
Her hair shifted, pulling back away from her neck just enough for Jeremiah to glimpse at the paper-thing scar there.
It could have meant anything, any number of accidents could have led to such a wound – but something in his gut knew that it was Jerome who had left that mark on her.
His brother had always preferred knives, after all.
The car pulled to a stop.
Gordon shut off the engine and turned in his place to stare at them. His eyes, understandably, lingered on Bryce.
"Are you sure you want to do this, Bryce?"
Of course he only asked her. Never mind that he was likely the one responsible for dragging her along in the first place. Never mind that Jeremiah was the one here largely against his own wishes.
He could hardly bring himself to be shocked though. He had seen the way Gordon had offered himself up in Bryce's place. Had seen how readily the man had tried to throw himself on the sword for her – his loyalty and love for her was so painfully obvious as it was blasted across the screen for all of Gotham to see.
He remembered the newspaper declaring Thomas and Martha Wayne's murders. He remembered James Gordon being one of the lead investigators.
Jeremiah was honestly more surprised that the man who looked at Bryce like one would a daughter was asking her to do this at all, even with Jerome's threats looming over the hostages.
"Thank you for your concern, Detective Gordon," Bruce said with a dip of her head, "but I'm sure. Jerome doesn't scare me, and if doing this saves even one life, then I'm satisfied. It's my fault he's even alive right now to terrorise Gotham. I have to face the consequences."
Jeremiah glanced at her sharply. This was the first time he had heard about that. Nowhere in the reports had it said that Bryce had once held Jerome's life in her hands.
"Bryce –" Gordon began softly.
"Mr. Fox?" She held out her hand, effortlessly cutting Gordon off.
The other man obediently handed his device over. The three of them looked away as Bryce shifted herself enough to pin the device under her clothes and out of sight.
"Remember," Gordon said, apparently resigned to Bryce's choice, "you have to be close for it to work."
"Trust me, Jim," Bryce said, dropping the professionalism, allowing a small spark of her affection to coat her voice, "closeness won't be an issue."
She stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut.
OoO
The crowd around them was packed, and Jeremiah tried to swallow the rock in his throat at having so many people pressing in on him. After years of solitude, being so exposed made his skin crawl.
He looked to the stage, catching sight of Jerome once again.
His brother was still as warped as he remembered, the skin of his face puckered and white and stretched thin.
He'd already seen it for himself, up close and personal, and he'd studied any pictures he could get his hands on. Had poured over the footage as his brother wreaked havoc on Gotham like the devil himself.
But still, seeing it in person was –
He wanted to be sick, and he wanted to laugh. To sneer and proclaim that finally the outside matched the inside.
Someone brushed against his side, but unlike the others, Jeremiah found himself relaxing at the light touch. Bryce stood beside him, her gaze fixated on Jerome with an intensity that made him uncomfortable.
And his brother had always been unnerving, but the way his eyes locked onto the two of them within moments, over the mass of faces between them, was somehow the most terrifying thing he'd ever done.
The delighted smile that crossed his face was a close second.
Jeremiah tried to ignore the taunting, gargled voice. He tried to ignore Gordon's whispered words of encouragement that meant absolutely nothing. He tried to ignore that way the crowd seemed to shrink back from him like he was a disease – the way he'd known they would ever since Jerome's face stained their television screens.
Everyone had, at one point or another, even Gordon and his bulldog of a partner.
The only one who hadn't was Bryce.
She'd looked him in the eye and smiled and shaken his hand. She hadn't recoiled. Hadn't feared him or flinched when she'd first seen him.
The memory of her words, said so simply yet carrying some indefinable sense of acceptance, strengthened his resolve. He focussed on her, taking in her straight back and the confident strut to her steps as she went to the stage. How her head was held high and her mask was firmly in place.
The crowd parted before her easily, like she was Moses reborn, and they were the sea. They moved for her like she was royalty – and she was, in a way.
Gotham's very own princess. It's crowning jewel.
His gaze drifted from her upwards to the deranged, twisted figure grinning down at them. Jerome's voice slithered down his spine.
"Hi, brother."
And just like that, everything went to hell.
Shots rang out, and Jeremiah ducked with everyone else, but his eyes were fixed on his brother standing tall above them all as Gordon's plan was reduced to ashes within a heartbeat.
Jeremiah closed his eyes in anger and resignation.
He forgot, sometimes, that while he might be the prodigy of their family, Jerome was his own brand of genius.
He should never have come. He should have stayed where he was safe and locked the doors. He had known it wasn't going to work, but he'd let himself believe for an instant that maybe it was possible. That his years of hiding in the shadows and removed from society could come to an end.
But now there was nothing standing between him and Jerome. After all this time, there was nowhere to run. No distance. No anonymity. No walls.
He didn't bother resisting when Jerome's men came for him, said nothing while they dragged him on stage and strapped a bomb to his neck. Kept his silence even as they pushed him into a chair and tied his hands in place.
He knew how Jerome worked, knew how his brother craved attention, and he refused to give him the satisfaction. He'd rather bite off his own tongue then let Jerome have this.
But the urge to yell and curse and thrash about roared to life when Bryce was brought up as well.
She wasn't handled roughly, not like he had been. In fact, the two men on either side of her weren't even holding her. They merely floated by her side as escorts, oddly respectful in their manners as she was ushered into place.
She was so small compared to them all, like some delicate china figurine. He hadn't seen it before but now it was difficult to miss how they all towered over her. She'd been so fearless and regal since they'd met that he'd begun to forget how young and breakable she really was. He'd be tempted to call her dainty right now, if not for the rage burning in her eyes, so fierce and bright that it banished the thought from his mind.
Jeremiah's jaw ached from how hard he clenched it, unable to do anything but watch as Jerome approached her with a swagger. His brother's hands came up to hover close to her, but never reached out to touch. A too-large smile and too-hot appreciation dominated his face.
"Hello again, darlin'." Jerome purred, leaning towards her, only stopping when there was barely an inch between them. It was like there was a thin line between them that he wouldn't cross – like Jerome was waiting for Bryce to do it. To launch herself at him, to claw and snarl and paint the ground red with his blood.
Bryce pressed her lips together and didn't answer.
Jerome groaned in disappointment, body slopping obscenely away from her as the noise tore its way free from his throat. Acting like a child that had been denied his favourite toy. "Fine." He whined, and quick as a snake, his free hand wrapped around her neck.
A gasp erupted from the crowd, and Jeremiah strained against his bonds.
Jerome's hand was big, curled around the entire back of her neck, his gloved fingers resting along her fluttering throat. It looked wrong against her skin.
Bryce stiffened, every muscle in her slight frame pulled taunt as he plastered himself against her.
He was murmuring to her, mouth anchored against her ear, but the words were too faint for Jeremiah to hear. Whatever was said caused Bryce's face to twist, her mouth pulling into a ferocious sneer.
Jerome's smile was equally venomous as he placed a kiss to the side of her head, right against her fragile temple.
The thing under Jeremiah's skin writhed.
"Be a good girl for me, hmm, Princess?" Jerome asked, still speaking softly as he guided Bryce over to the chair in the middle. He gestured grandly at it, and Jeremiah watched as Bryce sat herself down, the very picture of cooperativeness.
She sat still as her wrists were tied.
Jerome's hands hung over her shoulders, before they dropped down to rest on the chair's arms instead. He leaned forward. "A throne, just for you. Don't I get you the best presents, darlin'?"
Bryce looked up at him disdainfully, and her lips peeled back to show her teeth. There was barely a hair's breadth between them.
"I'd rather you in handcuffs." She whispered.
Jerome smiled, and it was somehow so much worse because it looked genuine. "Kinky. Let's put a pin in that, though." He tapped her on the cheek with no force, more of a caress than anything. "Sit back, enjoy the show, and try not to be a hero, okay?"
OoO
And then –
After Jerome's little speech and display, after his brother's fist had slammed into his head, Jeremiah woke up to find that it was all over.
He saw the blimp still circling in the sky. He saw the car. He saw his brother's body splayed out with that smile still in place.
He thought he should feel sad. It was his brother after all – they had shared a womb, and, though they were few and far between, they had had good times together too.
But all he felt was a blissful sense of relief, and a mild drop of annoyance.
He doesn't know why, but he'd expected more.
Jerome had, ironically enough, disappointed him. All that build up, all the careful planning and terror he had sown into the city, and then nothing.
It was boring. It was pathetic. It was anticlimactic.
Jeremiah couldn't help but think that he could have done so much better.
OoO
But if there was one person who hadn't disappointed him – and he wondered if it was even possible that she could at this point – it was Bryce.
Bryce, who had called out to him. Bryce, who had turned her back on Jerome's corpse. Bryce, who had offered her hand. Her help. Herself.
And Jeremiah hadn't made it as far as he had by turning away an opportunity. Certainly not an opportunity gifted to him by someone like her.
He took her hand, because once again, he was helpless to ignore it.
Looking into her blue eyes, he felt something bud to life between them. Could feel the thin tendrils of a connection start to form. And for the first time in his memory, he welcomed it. Basked in it.
They were going to do great things together, he knew. They were going to change the world.
Tomorrow, though.
They'd start tomorrow.
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