Mistakes had happened, and at this point Camille Jaffe was convinced, she was a self-proclaimed expert at making them. The first one this week was quite simple. Camille had her credit card stolen. She presumed it had happened while she was trying to do some grocery shopping in an alleyway not far from her home.
She wasn't living in the worst possible area of Gotham, but then again, Gotham wasn't the best to live in general.
Camille was quite happy with her little apartment, not terribly far from the city center. As she was living on her own, she didn't need much space. Only enough to accommodate her, and the tons of paper she used for her job.
Currently, she worked as a short story writer for one of the lesser known papers. The job was steady, almost rewarding, and it paid well, which was something most jobs in the city lacked. Sometimes she wondered would the crime rate drop, if the employers paid their employees actual money to sustain a decent life. Instead, the rich stayed rich, and the poor could only look up from the streets at the skyscrapers rising above their heads.
Although, Camille really wasn't the one to talk.
Her parents, while alive, made quite a fortune providing medical supplies to the army. After they had died, everything landed in Camille's less than able hands. Until her parents untimely demise, Camille was living alone in the same apartment. After she realized she could buy half of Gotham and still have money for a coffee in the morning, not much has changed. She despised her fortune, convinced that too much money would sooner or later eat her brain away and leave her to be a spoiled brat. On top of that her fortune made her an easy target for all the gangsters swarming the city. That's why most of her money stayed on her bank account untouched, safe for the monthly donations to an orphanage.
She had sold her family's company just days after her parents' funeral. It was transferred to much more capable hands of Wayne Enterprises.
Camille liked peace and quiet. She had realized early on, that too much money would strip her of both.
The procedure regarding her missing credit card went by smoothly, mostly because at the mention of her family's name, the woman servicing her almost fainted. Her parents were widely known as literal angels walking the Earth. They had the most humane working conditions, even for the lowest of their workers. They had given ungodly amounts of money away to charities and had traveled the world, advocating peace on Earth.
One of those trips ended in their death, and so Camille made a mental note, never to board a plane.
After finishing her business and wishing the woman at the counter a good day, she packed all her documents into a backpack and made her way towards the exit.
It was a beautiful, sunny day, and rays of sunshine were falling into the building through gigantic glass windows, warming Camille's head full of curly, brown hair, that fell slightly below her chin. Her fingers were almost grazing the cold, metal handle of the door, when she looked up and saw them.
Three men were quickly making their way towards the building. They were wearing clown masks, that vaguely reminded Camille of Snow White and her Seven Dwarfs. She saw the big blue bags at their hips and guns in their hands, and she felt her heart sinking down to her stomach in realization.
For a split-second she thought she could just slip past them and run away until her legs gave out. In only she could push through. And she tried. She opened the door right as one of the men reached out for the handle, and she immediately realized her plans were for nothing. A rather large man with a mask that vaguely resembled Sleepy from Snow White put out his arm, effectively trapping Camille in his strong hold.
- It's your lucky day, sweetheart - the man said lowly into her ear, as he turned her to face the small crown inside the bank.
She felt something hard and cold press into her cheek and with a strangled whimper she realized she was, in fact, held at gunpoint.
There was a small moment of heavy silence, where she could feel her heart in her throat, slamming away at a fast pace. A second later she heard shots, too close to her ears. The robbers started to shoot at the ceiling, demanding, that everyone got on the ground. Pieces of concrete were falling from above in a white cloud of dust.
Sleepy raised his weapon, screaming at the terrified people, although Camille could barely hear him through the ringing in her ears. Before she had the time to react, she was being shoved roughly to the ground. She collided with a wooden desk, and clumsily scrambled away, to the other side of the furniture, trying to stay out of sight.
She could hear them talk and split up. With her back to the desk, she fought to calm her breathing. It wasn't going as easily, as she expected, but after a couple of deep breaths she maintained control over herself.
That was one of her superpowers. Since her earliest days on this world, she could calm her emotions almost instantly. There weren't many things that actually phased her. Alfred used to say, that she had a natural calmness about her. That she could tame a lion with one look. She never agreed with him. Calmness wasn't what she was every day in her bathroom mirror.
Slowly, Camille put out her head, and watched quietly, as the three men started to run around the place. The smiling one disappeared in the vault, presumably to open the safe and steal all the money. Sleepy and a clown, with the grumpiest expression ever depicted on a mask were pacing through the room, keeping a close eye on the people cowering on the floor.
Camille sighed a sigh of relief. They didn't seem to notice her head peaking out the side of the desk.
Grumpy opened a bag, that was supported on his hip and pulled out a round object, roughly the size of an apple. As soon as she saw the shape in his hand, all her hopes of surviving turned into dust.
Grenades. They had fucking grenades, and apparently they were now giving them to people.
Camille ducked down under the desk, placing a hand over her mouth to muffle her erratic breathing coupled with a few strangled whimpers. She really didn't want to die. Her body was shaking against the cold wooden desk. Beads of sweat ran down her back. But she wasn't crying. If she was going to die, at least she saved some dignity.
She could hear the heavy footsteps of the attacker, and a metallic pull of the pin, whenever he moved from one person to another. She didn't dare looking out again. Pulling her knees to her chest, she bit down on her bottom lip to stop any sound from traitorously escaping them.
A short, strangled cry got her attention.
She looked to the right and saw a blonde woman in her thirties, pushed against the marble counter. She was looking at the advancing man with pure terror in her eyes. Camille looked over her shaking form. "Roselyn" said the tag on her chest.
Camille almost choked on a laugh. God really works in mysterious ways, not that she ever believed in his existence. It took her a solid few moments to recognize that this wasn't her Roselyn. Her Roselyn was shorter and chubbier, with soft hands and pursed lips. Her hair, although blonde, was almost fried with man attempts to lighten it. Her Roselyn wasn't there.
Suddenly the other Roselyn was obscured from Camille's vision by a rather large, purple coat and a mass of greasy hair, that looked as if someone had tried to die them green, but failed miserably. The man didn't see her yet. All she could make out was his broad back turned to her and an absolutely terrified Roselyn. For a split-second Camille thought that maybe, just maybe, he won't notice her.
But then, right as the man started to reach for another grenade, Roselyn looked right at her. Those blue eyes, glossy with tears met Camille's, and she could see the recognition flash in them. The man followed her gaze and slowly turned towards Camille.
Many things happened at once in that exact moment.
Camille froze in her spot, unable to move. Even her breath flattened, as she saw dark eyes looking at her with what she later gathered, was curiosity. The man in the Grumpy mask tilted his head slightly to the right and made one big step in her direction. She still couldn't move, even though her brain was screaming at her to go, to run. And so, unable to do anything else, she met his inquisitive gaze.
Calm. Calm. She has to be calm.
She has to live and buy Bruce that little Batman plushie he absolutely despises. She had to.
The man reached into his bag to retrieve a grenade, his eyes not once leaving hers. And then another shot rang out, and Camille instinctively planted herself on the ground. Grumpy ran to the other side of the desk, falling onto the ground and taking cover. Camille risked a look, just to see the bank manager flailing a gig rifle around, shooting almost blindly. One of the shots was fired in the general direction of the counters, right where the other Roselyn was shaking in fear.
The woman gave a sharp scream, drowned by the sound of another couple of shots. Camille picked up her head to look at the woman, and she saw with horror, that the other Roselyn was bleeding quite heavily.
Her leg had been hit right in the middle of her thigh. It looked like a bloody mess. Underneath her writhing form a pool of blood was beginning to grow. Camille watched, as the woman moved her lips, breathing heavily, even though she was obviously loosing strength with every passing second.
Calm. Calm. She has to be calm.
Another shot made Camille plant her head on the ground again. And then silence, heavy with the smell of gunpowder and blood. So much blood.
Camille risked rising her head. Some smaller pieces of wood and glass fell from her hair and onto the ground. The other Roselyn laid on her back, barely holding her head up.
AT this moment, Camille decided that living was overrated anyway. Shooting a sidelong glace at the robbers, she crawled over to the other Roselyn, checking her pulse with a shaking hand.
The woman was looking at her with tears streaming down her face, mascara smearing all over her cheekbones. She was pale. Paler than what was considered healthy. Camille could feel her trousers begin to dampen with blood where she was kneeling.
- Shhh - Camille put her hands on the woman's shoulders, turning her slightly towards the warm light - It's gonna be alright, you're gonna be alright.
- Hey!
Camille froze in her spot, slowly turning her head towards the shouting man. It was Sleepy, walking fast towards them with a gun in his hand, Grumpy following right after.
- Get away from her, now! - Sleepy shouted, pointing the gun at Camille.
- She's hurt? - she shouted back, rising her hands up, just in case.
The man looked briefly towards the other Roselyn. She could see the hesitation in his movements.
- Get away! - he shouted again, waving his gun around.
- She's bleeding out! - Camille's voice rang out through the hall.
She looked at the men wide-eyed. Grumpy watched her with a curious tilt to his head, just like moments ago. She could feel his eyes burning into her soul. From that moment, she knew, she couldn't rely on his help in this situation. So she moved her eyes towards Sleepy, who, with an exasperated sigh turned away.
- Whatever - he said low, while walking away - Keep an eye on them - he said to his Grumpy companion.
Camille let her eyes close of a split-second. She let out a shuddering sigh of relief. Without a second look to the still observing her man, she turned to the other Roselyn.
Camille sat straight on her knees and quickly unbuckled a belt, that until now, was supporting her jeans on her hips. She pulled the leather in a couple of quick motions and launched forward, to wrap a makeshift tourniquet around the woman's thigh. The other Roselyn whimpered, as Camille tied a secure knot, effectively cutting off the blood flow out of the woman's leg.
- Listen - the other Roselyn whispered in a voice so low, Camille had to lean down to hear it - My name is Roselyn Johnson. If I die, tell my mother I love her.
Camille could feel a wave of shuddering ripple through her. Her shaking hand found the woman's shoulders and squeezed tightly.
- You will tell her yourself - she said with such force, that the other Roselyn looked up at her face.
Her lips quivered and a flood of tears left her eyes. Camille turned her focus back to the abused leg. She tore a piece of cloth from her thin, white shirt and tied it around the bullet wound. The piece of material turned red almost immediately.
Camille tried her best to remain calm. She controlled her breathing and swallowed tears, that threatened to come up to the surface. A soft click, that sounded like thunder in her ears was heard behind her. Immediately she turned around and was met face to face with Grumpy, pointing his pistol at the other Roselyn. He was still looking at Camille, curiosity clear in his black eyes. Waiting for her to react. And boy, did she deliver.
In a flash of courage, Camille shifted on her knees, shielding the woman's body with her own. Silence fell around them, tension rising to a cutting point, where you could almost feel the air shift subtly in the building.
He watched her, tilting his head to one side, and then to the other. Not a word left his lips. There was something about his movements that seemed almost inhuman. Like a predator, slowly observing his prey. Camille has never faced anyone like that.
In her life, she was met with cruel men. With temper tantrums, chaotic bursts of violence, even with cold and calculating evilness. But this was something different entirely. The man moved like a bag full of hornets, just waiting for a tear in the fabric. Camille felt hopeless. She felt like she won't survive this. That none of them will. The other Roselyn was crying loudly behind her back.
Before any of them could react, Sleepy returned from the vault with all the blue bags filled. Grumpy turned away from the two women like nothing had happened, and began to walk towards the collected money. Camille shifted in her seat, as she felt a hand squeeze her arm. The other Roselyn looked at her with tears streaming down her face. Her lips were trembling and her body was shaking violently.
- Thank you - she rasped out so weakly, it was almost impossible to hear.
Camille clasped her hand around the woman's wrist. She gave her a weak smile, trying to calm her down, to show her, that maybe they will both live to tell this story to the police. Their brief moment of silence was cut short by a loud crashing noise coming from the other side of the room. Both women looked terrified towards the source of the commotion.
A school bus.
A whole fucking school bus came crashing through the wall on the far side of the building, killing Sleepy in the process. The bus driver jumped out the back door and immediately started to load the blue bags filled with money. As soon as every bag was in the bus, Grumpy shot the driver without sparing him as much as a second glance.
- Think you're smart, huh?
Camille's head snapped towards the bank manager, lying on the ground, right where she used to hide before the shooting had started. For some reason she hadn't seen him before.
- The guy that had hired you, will do the same thing to you - the manager choked out through pools of blood spitting from his mouth - Uh, criminals in this town used to believe in things. Honor, respect...
Grumpy was getting dangerously close to the bleeding man. His gloved hand was searching for something behind his coat.
- Look at you. What do you believe in? WHat do you believe in?!
Before the man let out his last shout, Grumpy lowered himself to his level and stuck a gas grenade into the manager's mouth.
- I believe - started the masked robber with a weirdly high pitch to his voice - That whatever doesn't kill you...
Grumpy reached to his mask and pulled it off in one quick motion.
-... Simply makes you stranger.
Camille's heart jumped right to her throat, as she took a good look at the man's face. It was painted to resemble a terrifying version of a clown face. With black around his eyes, white face and blood-red lips, that expanded almost all the way towards his ears. Suddenly his eyes flashed to her, and Camille froze.
The darkness in his eyes and the sinister smile he wore on his face told her everything she needed to know. She was going to die here. There was no other way around it.
In a flash of motion the man stood up. His posture was slightly hunched over, his dirty green hair were framing his face. There was an edge to him, like at any given moment he could charge and attack you, but at the same time, he could not. Camille stared at him through the hair that had fallen in front of her eyes. The other Roselyn's fingers were biting into her hand painfully. The silence was almost suffocating.
Camille took a deep breath through her nose, sensing that the end was closer and closer. She could see him move, reach back, towards the belt of his trousers and pull out a gun. She sighed. Held Roselyn's hand. And closed her eyes.
A shot rang out, but no pain came.
When Camille opened her eyes, the man was already waling away towards the bus. Only after her jumped in, did Camille realized, that her hand was no longer hurting. She looked back at the other Roselyn.
The woman was laying in the ground in a pool of her own blood. Camille suddenly became sickly aware of a sticky feeling on her back. She didn't need to check, to know it was blood. The other Roselyn's chest was burst open with one bullet, right through the heart. Her blue eyes were looking up, glossy and dead. A single tear ran down her cheek.
Camille fell down on her hands and knees, shaking violently. Now she was crying. She was crying, and shaking, and screaming. And between her screeching and the deafening ringing in her ears, she could hear something, that she swore, sounded like a high-pitched laugh.
The police came right after the bus had left.
They found Camille still hunched over the other Roselyn, whimpering through gritted teeth. Gentle hands pried her away from the woman's blouse. Someone pulled her to her feet, but she couldn't tell who. All she could see was the other Roselyn's face, staring up at the ceiling with a face twisted in eternal pain and fear. Her blood was still on Camille's fingers, when a police officer walked her out oh the bank and sat her on the sidewalk. The feeling of sun on her face calmed Camille ever so slightly. Paramedics were running around her, checking her for any injuries.
- Camille Jaffe? - asked a man, crouching in front of her.
It took her a solid few seconds, before she recognized Jim Gordon.
- Are you alright? - Gordon asked with concern clear in his voice.
Slowly, she turned her head from her scraped knees, looking up to the man. His presence calmed her like nothing else. They knew each other through a friend of Camille's, who was working under Gordon in GCPD. Everyday Camille made her way towards the police building to drop off Roselyn and go to the paper to pass her manuscripts. Then, when the day was done, she would pass by police department and pick up Roselyn to drive her home. This was a sort of everyday ritual for both women. They always split gas change and usually went for dinner together.
Jim was introduced to Camille the first day she and Roselyn came to a driving understanding. He was a gentle man, with always tired eyes and a sad smile permanently trapped on his lips. And he was a good boss, from what Camille had heard. She didn't doubt it. He was the one who visited her in the hospital after the accident.
- I'm fine, Jim, don't worry - Camille sighed, holding her knees tightly to her chest.
Gordon nodded slightly and sighed as he looked over the gigantic hole in the side of the building.
- What a mess - he muttered under his breath - Not a first job of this... This clown.
Camille visibly shuddered, which made Gordon stop the thoughts he was chasing and turn his focus back to her.
- I'm sorry this had happened to you - he said, placing a gentle touch on the woman's shoulders - Bailey will take you home.
Camille nodded, still in shock sfter what had happened. Her fingers were still red from the blood, when she tried to stop the bleeding on the already dead woman's chest. She could still feel the smell of gunpowder, feel his eyes on her.
Jim rose to his feet and gave her his signature sad smile, before making his way towards the building.
She shuddered again, but stopped immediately as she noticed a familiar head of fried blonde hair, making their way through the crowd.
- Why is it always you? - asked Roselyn Bailey with a heavy sigh, as she knelt on the pavement in front of her friend.
- Just get me home, please - Camille pleaded with tired eyes.
Roselyn sighed heavily and offered her hand to Camille with a small smile. The chapped tooth in front was visible in the sunlight. Another story to tell their nonexistente children.
- Yeah, I'll do that, but you gotta move your ass from the pavement - noted Roselyn, before rising to her feet.
Camille took the woman's hand without hesistation and found comfort in the strong hold. Roselyn pulled her up to her feet and threw her arm on the woman's shoulders. Camille smiled and pressed her chin to the other woman's forehead. Roselyn was small. Just absolutely tiny. And it made her look adorable, with her chubby cheeks and brown eyes, flickering curiously from side to side.
- Oh wait! - Camille maneuvered herself out of the woman's embrace and skipped towards a nearby kiosk.
On the front, standing like a silent, adorable army, were little Batman plushies with a simplified version of the costume and the most precious from on their stuffed faces. Camille couldn't just walk past them without getting one, and so she did, already imagining Bruce's face, when he finally got his present.
- You know, I'm aware of you being in a shock after all this - said Roselyn, al Camille was paying for the plushie - But this is just... I mean...
- Don't tell me what to do with my money, Rosie - Camille felt like smiling for the first time since the robbery - Besides, look at that face!
She held up the plushie and imitated the fron on her own lips, earning a genuine snort of laughter.
- Come on, let's get you and Mister Bat-Boy out of here - said Roselyn, walking Camille towards the police car.
When they got to the apartment, Roselyn took a bottle of soda out of Camille's freezer and made her way to the car, saying her goodbyes and promising to always be around, if Camille needed her.
Camille on the other hand knew exactly whose voice she needed to hear at this moment. And so, just after Roselyn had shut the door behind her, Camille took out her phone and dialed a familiar number.
- Camille, Jesus, why haven't you picked up before? - came a very distressed, very deep and rough voice.
- It's four in the afternoon, what in the world are you doing in your super suit? - the woman asked with a raised eyebrow, hearing the telltale voice of none other than Batman.
- I was checking the crime scene in the back - Bruce said, slowly coming back to his regular tone - You had a lot of luck.
- I wouldn't call it that way - said Camille bitterly, taking a bottle of beer, and settling herself on the couch in her living room.
Bruce sighed on the other side. She could hear the concern in his voice, and she regretted thet she didn't phone him sooner, before getting home.
- Listen, that clown - Camille shuddered at the mere mention of the painted man - This wasn't his first robbery. Most of them, fortunately, had fewer casualties.
Camille straightened her back, suddenly much more interested that terrified.
- What are you saying?
Bruce went silent for a split-second, like he was thinking something over.
- I say the camera footage from the bank - said Bruce slowly, weighting his words - I think... Well it looked like he tried to taunt you, in a way. With the murder on Roselyn Johnson.
Camille felt a cold wave of fear wash over her. Had the man shot the other Roselyn, just because she tried to save her that badly? Was this whole thing orchestrated specially to make her suffer?
- Great - said Camille with a deadpan expression.
She was feeling more and more tired. In her mind, a good sleep was able to fix everything and give a much-needed perspective on things. She eyed her pillow greedily, already feeling the fabric against her cheek.
- Well, anyways, I'm glad nothing happened to you, but I'm still gonna come by tomorrow.
Camille sighed with an exasperated look on her face.
- Should I get a first aid kit? - she asked, only half joking, and heard Bruce laugh on the other side.
- Hopefully no. Keep safe, Millie.
- Yeah, you too. And say hi to Alfred for me.
- I will - said Bruce before hanging up.
Camille threw her phone onto th epillow and soon after her head followed. She looked tiredly at her writing machine, sitting idly on a desk. She should probably finish her text, but then again, she went through hell today. Might as well take some time to rest. Ignoring the pang of guilt tugging at her heart, she closed her eyes and drifted into sleep, face down on the pillow.
A.N.
So dudes and dudettes, I have to put a little disclaimer here.
English is not my first language, and although I am breaking my back in here trying to sound like it is, there are going to be mistakes. Grammar, vocabulary, all that jazz. If y'all find anthing, let me know, but be kind. I'm just a little Polsih girl with a lot to say.
This fic is more of a challenge, mostly 'cause it's the first time writing a whole story only in English, for me.
And one more thing, there will be not so nice words thrown in here (which you probably noticed), and maybe, just maybe I'll write some... adult scenes later.
Anyways, I hope y'all will have a blast reading this story, as much as I had a blast while writing it.
Enjoy!
