Bruce found himself waking up before his alarm that morning, unable to ascertain what had woken him, only that the back of his neck was prickling. He tensed on instinct and sat up, the blankets falling off his shoulders, pooling between his legs. Green eyes glimmered in the darkness as the brunet slipped one hand under the pillow, finding comfort in the knife he'd hidden there. Seconds past as his eyes adjusted, checking every corner, but there was no one. Just him and the dark and the chirping of birds outside his window.

Sighing in relief, the brunet's shoulders slumped, releasing the knife and cupping his hands in his lap. In the dark, he mulled over the past few days in reserved silence. He hadn't found Jeremiah yesterday. Or the day before that. His lead's had become so cold that Bruce was starting to worry that he wouldn't find the redhead. No one had seen him and, from what the brunet had witnessed, he knew him being off-grid was a bad thing. True, Bruce didn't know this psycho side of Jeremiah well enough to make assumptions, but he wasn't stupid. He'd lived through one Valeska before, no doubt Jeremiah would proceed in some similar way. Which meant that this lack of commotion meant planning. Surely a sinister plan for Gotham. Because of this, finding Jeremiah was the brunet's top priority.

Bruce closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Jeremiah would pop up eventually. He just had to keep looking. Had to try. The situation was too personal not too. All he could do was keep searching and pray he found him before Jeremiah's intent was enacted.

These thoughts had him muttering beneath his breath, wishing he'd known beforehand so to have saved Jeremiah from his cursed fate. Perhaps, in some alternate universe, he had been able to, and they were still close friends. Bruce almost laughed at the sudden surge of envy that overcame him at the mere thought of this possible scenario, while he was stuck trying to catch Jeremiah before he managed to murder any more people.

Life sure was funny when it wanted to be. It was this sarcastic thought that had Bruce climbing off the bed and dragging himself to the bathroom, pulling aside the curtain and turning on the shower. The water was set to hot and his skin burned beneath its spray when he stepped in. He let it, cupping a hand over his eyes and wished things were different, wished so hard that he broke out into a cold sweat underneath the water, and grit his teeth as tears pricked the corner of his eyes.

Bruce had remained in the shower long after the hot water had gone, only getting out when Alfred had come, knocking on the door and asking if he was alright. He'd responded with reassurance, prompting Alfred to leave-though he'd informed him of breakfast being nearly ready. Now, as he paced around his room, practically nude if not for the towel wrapped around his lower half, he was unable to get his mind off the Jeremiah problem. It was like a worm, writhing beneath his skin, prompting goosebumps as he dropped the towel, pulling on a pair of dark pants. He was in the middle of buttoning and zipping the fly when his cellphone rang. The brunet perked up at the noise, grabbing a hold of a turtle-neck (black, of course) and crossed the room, trying to pull the sweater on and grab the phone at the same time. He ultimately failed at this, cursing lightly under his breath before giving a good yank, the piece of fabric allowing itself to be slid into. The whole situation left a ruffled Bruce in its wake, his hair sticking up in strange places. He shook his head at the sight when catching it in the mirror-he'd have to deal with that later-and flipped the phone open.

"Hello?"

"Morning Bruce, I wasn't all too sure you'd be awake at this hour." Bruce blinked, it was Jim Gordon. Not that he minded if it were him, but, at the sound of his tense voice, words clipped as if he had something to tell him and was putting it off-Bruce knew something was wrong. The brunet's eyes narrowed. There was only one person he could think of that Jim would be calling about.

"What happened?" Direct. To the point. Bruce wanted to know. Needed to know. What had Jeremiah done now? Who had died? Where is he?

Jim sighed on the other end, a movement echoing through it as if he were rubbing his face. Whatever was going on, he clearly wasn't happy about it. "A body was found. They called it in. Brought it to the morgue." The very air seemed to abandon the room, tempting Bruce to yank off his sweater as he numbly dropped into the seat before his desk at the window. For a split second, all he could do was watch the grounds outside that were thick with early morning mist. His tongue felt like lead, and his hearing was fuzzy. Could it be? Was Jeremiah really . . . dead? For a second, Bruce entertained the thought until his brow furrowed. No. Jeremiah dying was too simple. Too normal. There was no way he'd die just like that after having embraced his insanity. But who could it be? . . . . Bruce suddenly closed his eyes, the hand not holding the phone curling into a fist where it laid on the desk's smooth surface. A prolonged exhale fell from his parted lips. He knew who it was. Because who else could it be? Both sound and speech came back to him at this realization, a dose of cold water down his spine. It took him a second to realize that Jim had continued talking, only catching a few words at the end before interrupting.

"It's Jerome." Jim went quiet at the brunets words, leaving the silence to permeate.

Bruce bit his lip. It hadn't even been three days since the incident, but he'd all but forgone any thought pertaining to Jerome having been unearthed, he'd been so concerned, so focused on finding the last remaining Valeska that he'd managed to completely forget. Now though, Bruce closed his eyes and he was back. He could picture the open-grave, where he'd been knocked unconscious and left to wake up in, lying on top of Jerome's corpse for hours before waking up to the caress of the moon. The brunet shivered at the recollection of the stifling silence of the graveyard, the scent of the earth, and the cold touch of the body beneath him. Oh, how Bruce wished they'd just left Jerome there, in that hole, to rot and decay like a normal corpse. Leave it to the maggots to eat, until it was but a skeleton. Another part wishes that they'd simply reburied the body. But no. No, instead, they had the bright idea to bring it back to civilization.

"I just . . ." Jim sighs, movement again, helping bring Bruce back to the present, he's not there. He's here, in his room. Safe. "I thought you'd want to know, Bruce." He's still dead. The last part is left unsaid but Bruce hears it anyway, clear as day in how Jim's voice lingers. It doesn't matter though, dead or not, whether it be Jeremiah or a damn corpse that can't seem to stay six feet under, Jerome still continues to haunt him without rest. Perhaps he'd always haunt him, maybe that had been Jerome's last dying wish.

A sudden creak of a floorboard has Bruce twisting in his chair, eyes searching the empty room in apprehension. In an instant, he's up, peeking into the bathroom, down the hallway. So on edge that, for a split second, Bruce swears he could hear a chuckle that sounds suspiciously like Jerome, or the scent of Jeremiah's cologne in the air, but there's no one. Only his own increased breathing and the occasional noise from Alfred making breakfast down in the kitchen. Fingers twitching, the brunet ducks back into his room, closing the door.

Now completely paranoid and heart pounding, the brunet sits back down, swallowing; he knows what must be done. Gripping the phone, Bruce sits forward slightly, the chair squeaking beneath his weight. "Which morgue is he being held at?" He had to check. Had to make sure -one last time-that Jerome Valeska was, without a doubt, dead.

Author: Believe it or not, I started writing this because of all my random Valeyne Prompts I'd posted to Tumblr. People liked them so I started playing around with the idea that, perhaps, I could put them all together and form an actual story that incorporated them, and here we are! I never would have thought, when I first started posting them, that I'd end up doing this! But I'm super excited to be working on this, mainly because I totally sold my soul to both Valeyne and Wayleska long ago. It also really helped me cope when no one was uploading new content for the pairings.

So you're aware, Valeyne is end game here though Wayleska will be sprinkled throughout it and this is an AU, set a few days after the incident between Jeremiah and Bruce in the graveyard. For the purposes of this story, No Man's Land has been put on hold until a later date.

Anyway, from what I'm seeing, the chapters will be short, but they should be posted in decent succession from each other (I hope so, anyway) so fingers crossed on updating regularly.
Please do leave a comment, I love seeing them, even if it's really super simple.
Thanks for taking the time to read this! Have a wonderful day, luvs!

-Jinx of the desert