Disclaimer: Not mine.
It is when we start working together that the real healing takes place... it's when we start spilling our sweat, and not our blood. -David Hume
The reclamation of Gotham City was a slow and arduous ordeal.
As the cloud of fear and oppressive 'liberation' cleared, as sanity and civility was restored, the people of Gotham came together to heal despite their weariness.
But could they ever become as they were?
Their lives had been saved, but what of their souls?
How many had reveled at the terror and suffering of others?
Some wondered if there was any way they could rebuild after the reckoning.
Others said there was nothing this city could not handle, even with the bodies slowly appearing from beneath the melting ice of the bay, heinous reminders of cruelty rising from the depths.
Still, they grieved for friends and family.
For the Batman.
Gotham mourned the loss of its Dark Knight, but through his demise they received their redemption, and it fell to Commissioner Jim Gordon to lead, reign in the chaos of the war torn city.
His lies and deception were forgiven, and the people once again put their trust in him to give them the peace they so desperately needed.
What was left of the police force scrambled to wrangle up the rest of the escaped convicts, their only saving grace was that island which held Arkham Asylum was never 'liberated'.
When spring awakened the earth, Gotham once again rose from the ashes. Schools and offices were reopened, crime retreated back within its normal limits, people returned to their livelihoods.
The city persevered.
Gothamites persevered.
Rebuilt.
Endured.
Survived.
Seven weeks after the Batman's Death
Commissioner Jim Gordon walked down the silent hall of Gotham General, his footsteps echoing along the walls. Despite the busy waiting room, the Chief of Medicine insisted on keeping the entire north wing of the hospital closed.
'We've had enough terror over the last six months,' he had said, 'I don't need a bloodbath in my ICU."
Gordon had agreed.
If the public found out about this, the backlash would be catastrophic. Only a select few knew what was occurring on the premises, and he hoped to keep it that way.
Slowing his steps, he rounded the corner to see four of GCPD's finest standing on guard. Gordon nodded at them before peeking through the narrow window in the door.
"They're already in there, sir," one of the officers said.
Gordon sighed and nodded a thanks before going into the room.
As soon as he entered, three of the four occupants in the room looked over at him.
The Chief of Medicine, Dr. Holmes, immediately greeted him grimly, his hands obviously clenched into fists as he buried them deeper into the pockets of his lab coat.
The nurse, Amelia Grant, smiled softly at the Commissioner before going back to checking the chart in her hands while the head surgeon stayed near the window, his expression dark.
The fourth laid motionless, eyes closed as the machine beside him beeped rhythmically.
"What's his status?" Gordon asked, glancing over at the unconscious, hulking form that was strapped down.
"The infection is gone," Dr. Holmes said, "he's finally stable enough to move."
Gordon sighed in relief, moving closer to the man who nearly wiped Gotham from the map. He was still more beast than man. Even with over a month of convalescence, his stature was daunting.
"The warden at Blackgate is aware of the situation," Gordon informed, "He'll be ready as soon as I give him the go ahead."
"He's not going to Arkham?" Amelia asked.
"No, a few shrinks want to take look at him, but we're recommending Blackgate. They have a hard enough time controlling the Joker over at Arkham, putting the two of them under the same roof would be a mistake," he replied, moving towards the man's injured side.
"We should have let him die," the surgeon, Dr. Reyes, said, crossing his arms over his chest.
Gordon's shoulders slumped for a moment, knowing that so many would share this belief.
"I've wronged the citizens of this city enough. They need closure and killing this man in a dark room will not give them that. If the shrinks deem him mentally competent, he'll be put on death row. The feds have been trying to snatch him from us, but the government left us to handle this on our own, and that's how we'll finish it. But until they stick that needle in his arm to kill him, we're doing this by the book. We've had enough lawlessness."
Reyes reluctantly nodded, turning his glare back onto their patient.
"We'll have him ready to be moved as soon as tomorrow."
"Have the ambulance ready at dawn. Less people around that way."
Dr. Holmes nodded as Gordon headed towards the door to leave.
"Commissioner?" Amelia asked, stepping towards him. When he turned to face her, she continued. "I've been meaning to ask. Whatever happened to the mask?"
"Locked away for now," Gordon answered, glancing at the prone man's face. "I only pray that it, like its owner, will never see the light of day again."
"What was it for?"
Since they found him laying in the debris, they never once allowed him to become conscious so speaking with him was not possible. Everything about the man was still a mystery.
"I don't know. We'll let him come out of the medically induced coma at Blackgate. Maybe then we'll get some answers," he mentioned, ducking his head before exiting the room.
Another nod was directed at the officers as he started down the long, lonely corridor, his hand digging around in his coat pocket for his cell phone. As he continued, gaining more distance from his latest secret, he dialed.
The phone rang a few times and he stilled as he came to the elevator, taking a weary breath as the other line picked up and ushered a greeting before Gordon responded.
"I need to talk to Victor Zehrhard."
"Donna!"
The portly, middle aged woman jumped at the sound of the shout, placing a hand over her chest as her heart fluttered.
Warden Williams, God rest his soul, never bellowed at her, even when he was stressed. He always politely called her name, was always well mannered and calm.
How she missed that.
Donna Kincaid had been the secretary to the warden of Blackgate Penitentiary for eight long years. While she never loved her job, it paid her bills. She had no family of her own, not many friends. Just a sick mother who has been in a home for two years. It hurt to go visit, but Donna couldn't help but be so very thankful that she had gone and visited her the day the inmates were freed.
The day so many guards were attacked and the day that her beloved boss, Warden Williams, was murdered by the convicts.
The man had his faults, sure, but he had always been kind to her.
And no one deserved to be beaten to death during a riot.
It was just barbaric.
Now, with the prison reconstructed, the new warden was looking to restore balance and order within the walls.
"Donna!"
Jumping again, she pushed back against the edge of the desk to roll her chair back before getting to her feet.
She just wished Warden Zehrhard didn't have to be so loud doing it.
Taking her pen and notepad, she stepped into the doorway of his office, her back slightly hunched from years of slouching. The meek secretary watched the bald man pace in front of her, his hand snatching his glasses from his face to clean them furiously.
"Yes, sir?" she muttered quietly.
"Get Major Jensen and Dr. Connolly up here."
"Yes, sir."
She ducked back out and went to her desk before lifting the handset of her phone and dialing.
"Doc, the Warden wants to see you in his office."
Dr. Alex Connolly glanced over her shoulder in acknowledgement as she continued applying pressure to the wound of the patient in front of her.
"Tell him I'll be right up," she answered, turning from the departing nurse and lifting the gauze to peer down and see if the bleeding stopped.
"Am I gonna make it?" her patient teased, laying down on the gurney.
Her green eyes flickered to meet his for a moment before lifting the gauze completely and throwing it away. She reached over and grabbed the antiseptic and a sterile cotton ball.
"This might sting."
She doused the white fluff and gently began applying it to the wound, ignoring the painful hiss of her patient.
Johnny De Luca was one of the many mobsters that were re-incarcerated after the breakout. He was as swarmy as they come and ever time he lecherously gazed at her she felt her skin crawl.
Alex, however, was skilled enough to not let it show. For two years now, she has been the primary doctor for Blackgate Penitentiary. One needs a tough exterior in order to last that long in this position.
"Sometimes I think you like to hurt us," he said, sneering before adding a "stupid bitch," to the end of his sentence.
"Hey!" the corrections officer standing behind her scolded. "Watch your mouth, con."
De Luca glared before glancing down at his leg where the doctor was now applying an ointment then taping bandage over it.
"Keep it dry overnight and let it breathe tomorrow. You'll be fine."
She rolled backwards on her stool and pulled the black nitrile gloves from her hands.
Johnny sat up and pushed his pant leg down before getting to his feet and strolling towards the door, the guard flashing her a small smile before following the inmate back towards the cell block.
Taking a deep breath, she went to the sink to wash her hands.
Once she was done, she stepped out of the examining room and into the main atrium of the infirmary. Two orderlies and two nurses were sitting near the little office that they all pretty much shared.
"I'm heading up to see the Warden. Can you guys hold down the fort while I'm gone?"
While she may be a stoic, unflappable robot with some of her skeevy patients, she was generally a warm individual, especially with her staff.
"Sure thing, Alex," Gemma, the older nurse said, picking up a stack of files. "Go see what our fearless leader needs."
Nodding, she circled around the group and left the infirmary.
She turned the corner and saw some of the prison industry inmates painting the walls of one of the reconstructed halls.
"Howdy, doc," she heard a friendly voice greet her.
A small smile came to her lips as she saw Archibald Walker wielding a paint brush.
Two of the three guards glanced at her, but most were merely observing and criticizing the work of the younger inmates.
"Hi Archie," she greeted, "how are your hands?"
Archibald had been an inmate for the last twenty-three years. Way back when he was on the outside, he had been a simple mechanic, divorced with a teenage daughter who never listened to him. One night she told him she was going to a friend's house to study, but instead she went out partying. He didn't hear from her for the rest of the night. After frantically searching for her, he finally received a call from the hospital. His daughter had been beaten and raped. When he saw what happened to her it broke his heart. The cops didn't do anything to help her, so he took it upon himself to make things right. His baby girl told him it was her friend's boyfriend who did it. So Archie hunted him down, and at first he wanted to see the boy who hurt her, then just talk to him, yell at him, find out why.
He hadn't planned on killing the boy.
But to this day he doesn't regret it.
Even with Gotham's corrupt system, it was his bad luck that the boy's father was a judge.
Archie's trial was, like most, a mockery and so began his incarceration. His wife eventually took his daughter and moved to Central City, away from the cesspool that was Gotham.
He received letters from time to time, even shows them to Alex when he needs to get shots of cortisone in his arthritic hands. Somehow, despite being here for so long, he can still smile whenever he gets a picture from his family.
By now, he's accepted his life and tried to make the best out of it. Alex helps, making sure that he's in the safer cell block, away from the especially violent and disobedient convicts.
Archie is the type of patient that made her decide to accept the position at Blackgate. Although there are only a few, some of the criminals deep in the bowels of this place still had some good left in them. They didn't deserve to die from sickness. Some only needed help.
Just like her father needed, but never received.
"Stiff as boards, doc. But I can move them all right, I suppose."
"Okay, well if they get too bad for you, come and see me."
"Absolutely."
"Okay, Archie, I'll see you," she said, continuing down the hall.
"You have a pleasant day," he called out to her.
She soon reached the Warden's office. Pushing her light brown hair back from her face, she smiled over at Donna, the Warden's easily startled secretary.
"Go right in," the woman said. "Major Jensen is already in there."
Alex had to fight to keep the scowl off of her face.
Major Jensen was, in her book, just as bad as some of the convicts.
Occasionally worse.
Brad Jensen was a brute. Not only was he physically intimidating to most, having both height, width, and strength, but he continually belittled and actively humiliated each and every inmate. He treated most of the staff as if they were servants while he swaggered down the halls like a king. Warden Williams never particularly liked him, but Jensen maintained order within the prison so he was allowed to assume control over the rest of the correctional officers. Some idolized the man, others merely tolerated him, being forced to stomach some of the demeaning tasks that Jensen forced the inmates into.
She knew because she witnessed the aftermath, she was the one that stitched up the lacerations, iced the contusions, called time of death on the suicides.
The only silver lining she had was that the instant anyone stepped into the infirmary, it was her call. No matter how big, how intimidating Jensen might be he had no power over her.
And he despised her for that.
The feeling was mutual, for there was not one person on the planet that Alex loathed more than Major Brad Jensen.
Alex entered the office and shut the door behind her. Zehrhard was seated behind his desk and Jensen leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.
"Took your time getting here," he commented.
Alex ignored him and sat in one of the chairs set in front of Zehrhard's desk.
"Jensen, sit down. Let's get this over with."
Once they were all seated, the Warden rubbed his forehead for a moment before resting his elbows on his desk.
"I called you both in here because I need you and some of your people to stay late. We're getting a new inmate at dawn."
Jensen frowned.
They never received unscheduled transfers, nor was it just one inmate.
"Why do I need to stay?" Alex asked.
"He's being transferred from a hospital. Apparently, he's been very sick and injured for quite some time. The doctors at Gotham General have deemed him stable enough to move, so once he's here we'll be putting him up in the infirmary. I need you to clear out an examining room. They'll bring some equipment and supplies for him when they bring him in so don't worry about that."
Alex nodded and absently took hold of the two pendants on her necklace.
"Jensen, I need you to go with her and make sure that the room is adequate to hold a prisoner for an extended period of time. You'll need restraints for the bed. Strong ones."
"Yes, sir."
"There's going to be a lot of commotion over this. Both inside and out of the prison. Tempers are going to flare up and that always incites violence. We all need to be prepared. I will not allow another riot to break out inside this prison and, Jensen," he said, sternly looking at the officer, "you need to quell any sign of pandemonium the instant it appears. Got it?"
"Absolutely, sir."
Alex closed her eyes for a moment, wondering if the Warden was aware that he just let a rabid dog out of its cage.
"Dr. Connolly, you just need to be extra cautious when he gets here. We have no idea how this is going to play out. You need to be ready."
"Sir," she asked, releasing her necklace. "Why are we being so careful?"
In all her time she's never seen something like this.
"Because the man they're bringing here at dawn is not only the one that broke all these convicts out six months ago, but the man who occupied Gotham and nearly brought it to its knees."
The color drained from Alex's face while Jensen's body tightened.
"He's is coming to Blackgate?" he asked.
"Yes, and we need to be prepared. The entire city will be watching us."
"But there's been no word about him for weeks," Alex said, "we all figured he was carted off to some military facility out in the middle of nowhere."
"According to my sources that was in the cards for him, but Gotham is keeping this mess in house. He's our problem, so let's not screw it up, shall we?"
Both Alex and Jensen agreed.
Once they were dismissed, Alex left the office, smiling shakily towards Donna as she hurried out into the hall and took a deep breath.
"Can you believe it?" she heard Jensen speaking behind her. "That piece of shit here, in my prison."
"If you have a shred of intelligence inside that thick skull of yours," she said, turning to face him. "you'll watch yourself around this one. He's no simple felon. We have no idea what he's capable of, so for the love of God, don't push him."
Jensen smirked cruelly and took a step towards her, towering over her 5'7" slender frame.
"I'm the one with the power in here, doc. I know you forget that when you're safely tucked away in your sterilized, ivory tower, but over here, I'm king."
Her green eyes darkened with anger, hating that he always crowded her, using his body to make her feel vulnerable.
"And you've already forgotten, he won't be 'over here'. He'll be in that ivory tower where I'm in charge."
His face reddened with fury, and before the spat could escalate Alex turned and left, walking back to the infirmary, her mind racing.
Four unmarked police cars surrounded the ambulance as it drove through the nearly empty streets. Jim Gordon sat in the passenger seat, watching the street lights pass overhead before glancing over his shoulder.
Dr. Holmes was tucked into the small space beside his patient, checking to make sure that the anesthesia would last the trip.
"Everything all right back there?" Gordon asked.
"Yes. It's all as it should be."
"Good. We're almost there."
Soon, the Gotham Gazette and Gotham Globe will both run front page stories about Blackgate's newest guest. There will be a swarm of people around the prison, most probably demanding a public execution. While the citizens of Gotham were healing, Gordon hoped that this won't reopen the wounds. God knows that this city needed a win. If only the majority of people will see this as such, instead of demanding blood.
The ambulance pulled up to the newly erected stone wall surrounding the prison. The razor sharp barbed wire glinted beneath the floodlights as the steel doors opened slowly. The squad cars followed the ambulance as it pulled onto the property, driving around towards the back entrance which was located closer to the infirmary.
As the vehicle came to a stop, Gordon jumped out as Victor Zehrhard came out of the doors, six officers following him.
"Cover him," Gordon ordered as he opened the back of the ambulance. "The world will find out about this soon enough. I don't want to risk anything until then."
Dr. Holmes covered the large man with a sheet then the cop driving the ambulance hopped out to help Gordon pull the gurney out and to the ground.
"Everything is ready. Just follow me," Zehrhard said, motioning them.
The rest of the officers left the cars and joined the guards, surrounding Gordon and the doctor as they pushed the gurney into the building. Not one man spoke the entire journey to the infirmary. All eyes were fixed on the hall in front of them or the stark white sheet shielding the prisoner from any unwarranted bystanders.
It felt like forever, but they soon turned a corner and there were the thick steel doors that were opened to the infirmary. Two guards held them open as the rest of the unit moved inside where Gordon saw two individuals standing nearby.
A large, imposing guard towered over the woman, his dark eyes stern as he crossed his arms over his wide chest, his feet shoulder width apart. Gordon was familiar with this type of man and immediately knew that this guard was probably looking forward to having this prisoner under his roof. Next to him was a young woman wearing a lab coat, the prison doctor. Her eyes were focused on the sheet, her brow furrowed slightly, looking hesitant but not wholly intimidated.
"Dr. Connolly," Zehrhard said, gaining her attention. "This is Dr. Holmes. He'll update you on your patient."
She nodded and turned to the man, taking the then proffered medial records and moving into the office to go over them.
"Major Brad Jensen," the bulky man said, offering his hand to Gordon, who shook it quickly before pushing the gurney a bit more.
"Do you have a room set up?"
"This way."
Jensen and Zehrhard led Gordon to the very back of infirmary where a single hospital bed was arranged in the center of a room.
"The doors reinforced and locks just as well as any cell. All medical supplies are kept out of the room, so nothing can be used as a weapon. May I assume that there is nothing on his person that can be considered contraband?"
Gordon nodded, looking around the windowless, gray room.
"Then let's move him."
The three men got into position and heaved the unconscious one from the gurney and onto the bed.
"When will he wake up?" Jensen asked.
"Whenever the drugs wear off," Gordon replied as he uncovered the patient. "I don't know the dosage he was on so I couldn't give you a time frame."
Jensen moved forward and began shackling the behemoth to the bed.
"No one can be sure how he will react to this. Have your people be careful."
"With all due respect, Commissioner," Jensen said, "We house thousands of the most dangerous and violent criminals, and until this piece of shit blew up part of the building, we did our job just fine. We don't tell you how to keep the streets of Gotham clean, so don't tell us how to keep our prison running."
Gordon stared at the man while Zehrhard stepped forward.
"Jensen, go check on the doctors."
"Yes, sir."
When the man left, the Warden rubbed his head tiredly.
"We lost a lot of men during the riot. A lot of good men died very violent deaths. Some of the COs haven't quite gotten over that yet, but he has a point. Gotham is more than happy to forget about the men they put away. Out of sight, out of mind. They don't realize that all of these men are still alive and forced to live under one roof. My roof. I will not allow chaos in my prison. The safety of my staff always comes before the safety of my prisoners."
Gordon nodded as the doctors entered the room, followed by Jensen.
"You all caught up?" Zehrhard asked the woman.
"Yes. It's nothing I haven't dealt with before."
Just the man who sports the injuries is.
"Then we will leave him in your capable hands," Dr. Holmes said, obviously wanting to get out of this place as quickly as possible.
"Right," Gordon added as Zehrhard led them out. As Gordon passed the young woman, he paused and turned to her. "If you could please keep me updated, I would appreciate it."
Her green eyes met his gaze, her expression softening as she stared up at the Commissioner.
"Of course, sir. It's no trouble."
He quirked his lips just a little, placing his hand on her shoulder and squeezing it as he left the room, leaving the doctor with the patient and Jensen.
She glanced over at the guard, seeing his sizing up the other who continued to sleep.
"I can't believe this is the motherfucker who caused so much damage," he said, scoffing.
"Unless you have something helpful to say, please don't speak."
Alex approached the bed, staring down at the patient before pulling the stethoscope from around her neck and putting the ear pieces in and placing the chest piece over his heart, listening to make sure that the drugs hadn't put him too far under where he'd be adversely affected.
Satisfied, she pulled back and settled the equipment back around her neck, holding onto the ends.
"When is he going to wake up?" Jensen asked.
"Whenever his body is ready."
"Fucking useless," he griped, leaving the room.
Alex continued to stare down at her patient, taking in his sheer size, the massive body covering the hospital bed. She glanced at his huge feet, his legs that were closer to the size of tree trunks in both length and girth, they were thick with muscle as were his arms, the tone and definition obvious despite being completely relaxed. His chest rhythmically rose and fell, pulling oxygen deep into his body. After seven weeks, he had facial hair covering his face and throat, some of it missing around his chin and upper lip, probably from scars hidden beneath the hair. His lips were full, but pale and chapped, his skin tone dull. Dark circles surrounded his eyes and she could still see a lump on the side of his head beneath the unkempt brown hair.
He certainly looked different, but it was him.
Sighing, she went and grabbed a chair, pulling it into the room before bringing some files with her. If she had to wait here until he awoke, she would, but she refused to let herself stand there and stare at him until the suspense was too much.
He'd wake up in his own time.
All she had to do was wait.
A/N: For those of you who know me, I know I should be writing my other story, and I am. I promise. It's just a little slow moving right now. For those of you who are benevolent enough to read this, please take a few moments to review and offer some insight/opinions/what have you. I'm willing to listen to anything. Thanks for reading.