Part II. III – "Debts"


His blood roaring in his eardrums, Bruce hastily started the chronometer on his watch, counting down from two hours. If you can restrain your controlling nature, I can surely restrain my own recklessness, he recalled her words in the cave, just before she'd made her rule about the backseat… for which she had just made a confession… which he was not going to think about now. Looking at the rapidly decreasing numbers on the digital display, he focused on the plan, and called her father again.

"Jason, send me your exact position," he ordered, surveying the area. The SAR party had just left the shore, and Gordon was at the coast alone, as a few feet away from him Lawton, together with another agent from his team, was standing at the background. The hard-faced redhead woman was talking to the phone, her dark suit coat impeccably neat in the heat of the moment. Bruce recognized the DHS agent from the files. Monica Gray, codename Mercy; a testament that her last stroke was her only mercy; an interrogator's mercy. Those nine Al-Qaeda operatives Lawton had ended always had her helping hand.

His lips flattened as the thought of Valerie at the hand of these people ran through his mind like a fire. "Rory," he barked out, "Move to the hideout, and pick up the van," he ordered, "Jason, go to the hospital. I'm sending your position to Gordon."

"I've secured her at the shore," Jason said, "Moving now."

Bruce shot a look at the northern side, as Gordon took his phone out and checked his message. There was nothing he could do here anymore. He should move to the hospital, too, and get prepared. Soon the coroners from the Metropolitan Hospital would arrive and bring her to the morgue.

To the morgue…

Chasing away the morbid thoughts and preoccupations, he steeled his mind. She was going to be okay. In less than two hours, she was going to open her eyes, and crack a joke with a smile. In answer, he was going to…he didn't know what he would do. He might kick her ass or kiss her senseless, he wasn't sure. As of the moment, both seemed like good options.


The Commissioner adjusted his glasses over the body that peacefully lay over the pebbles on her back, making the micro camera inside the rim of glasses focused on her, a last gift from Batman.

Batman.

Gordon pushed the thought away as soon it entered in his mind. Fifteen minutes ago, he had received the message for her exact location, and moved a little group to find her at the shore toward the northern side of the gulf. A crowd though now was gathering around them.

A medical examiner was crouched at her side, checking her vitals, as Sawyer stood behind a few feet away from them with the new arrival, Homicide's chief, Major Bullock. Lawton was still next to him, together with his red haired deputy.

The medical examiner opened Reese's or Spectre, or whatever-she-called-herselfs' eyelids, flashing a penlight inside her orbs, then checked her chest. Standing up, the middle aged man shook his head. "Sorry," he said, without a trace of the emotion in his tone, the long years of the job having taken the sympathy out of his voice, leaving only hard cold facts, "Probably died before she swam to the shore. We can know for sure after autopsy."

Gordon nodded briskly, his eyes casting a look at her. Beyond the obvious differences, she still looked different, even though Gordon couldn't exactly explain. The black wig lost, her hair was now red; a dark fierce red with dark brown streaks, her features a bit softened.

He'd seen a fair of amount of death in his time in the force. He knew how dead looked, and the woman that was laying at his feet certainly looked it. There was that ashen paleness of her skin, and glazed eyes, purple lips…Maybe, maybe she was really—dead. Mentally, he shook his head. No. No, he wouldn't allow that. Gordon had seen how he had reacted.

Batman.

This time, Gordon couldn't stop himself. His thoughts swirled around the Dark Knight.

It all made sense now, all the pieces falling into place. She had worked for, or tried to steal from Wayne Enterprises. She must have stumbled on something, had discovered something. Maybe Batman can save you, his words echoed in his ear again. He had really done it, he had saved her. The way they had looked at each other, for a fraction of moment, the way she had stared at him at the crash scene, Gordon had taken it as a side effect of shock and surprise of almost dying, but there was more to it. She'd been looking at the man she had just tried to ruin his life. Batman.

Bruce Wayne.

His heartbeat fastening, he pushed the thought away again. No, he wasn't going to think about it now. Batman was what he was. Gordon had never cared for the man underneath the mask, it was enough for him to know what he was; the man who had saved his son's life.

"Get her to the hospital," Gordon ordered, his eyes leaving the enigmatic woman, toward the damn man that stood next to him, "Will you come?" he asked Lawton, even though he damn knew the DSH agent certainly would. There was no escaping from him now, so he had decided to play along.

Lawton merely nodded, and instructed his deputy, "Mercy, prepare the car."

The redhead woman nodded without a word, and walked away toward the Black BMW that had taken serious hits during the chase. Turning away from her, Lawton stared at him with unblinking eyes. There was something uncommon with his eyes, something he wasn't sure of. At the close proximity, the blue of his left eye seemed more glazed than the right one, clear like a cloudless sky, like a glass…

Gordon almost flinched, understanding what was wrong. His left eye, the cold sky-blue eye wasn't seeing. And he'd never noticed it until now. Gordon pressed a shudder. As if understanding he'd discovered his—secret, Lawton did something Gordon had never seen the man do before. He smiled.

"I was after an Al-Qaeda operative for two years," the DHS agent started telling, "I'd sighted him at Boston, Seattle, New York—" he paused for a second, "even in Gotham, but never managed to get him at the time. Finally we got a lead three years ago, and Mercy provided me what I needed. An address, somewhere he was going to be at a specific time. Then we finally met." The half-blind man looked at him, unblinking, "He took something from me, and in return I stole from him."

"What?" Gordon asked.

Again there was that thin smile over his lips. "His life," he answered, turning away, "I'll see you at the hospital, Commissioner."

His eyebrows pulling into a frown, Gordon returned ahead, and looked at the woman in front of him, as medical examiners started picking her up to place her in a body bag, and zipped her inside.

The sound echoed in his ears loud.


As he watched the scene from his palm screener in the room next to the operation room for the autopsy, Bruce almost broke his cover.

She was lying over the operation table, her body covered with a white sheet, the plastic name tag hanging over her bare foot. Leslie Thompkins washed her hands in the counter behind, then slowly walked over to the metal table, her eyes trained on her "patient", never giving even a glance at the intimidating company around them. Bruce knew in her time with Doctor without Borders in the war-tore-part, god-forgotten places in the South Africa and Middle East, the silver haired doctor had seen some intimidating figures. More than anything, Bruce was trusting that. That, and her friendship with his father.

Leslie Thompkins had been trying to live his father's dreams even when things kept getting worse and worse, never giving up. Aside her duties in the Metropolitan hospital, she was also running a clinic in the Narrows for the homeless, street kids, and addicts. As she stopped at the metal table, Bruce made a mental note to question her about the Unheards, too.

The doctor pulled the white sheet, exposing her ashen face and chest, just the sheet lowered until her breasts. Despite all the things, despite the all danger and perils, Bruce felt glad for the older woman's consideration. No one could accuse Valerie of being shy, but he preferred the current company in the room didn't see her—And why the hell he was thinking about her breasts when there was a possibility that she might never open her eyes again.

No!

The urge to break something was so strong that Bruce fastened his hands into tight fists in a stance of defiance in order to keep quiet. No. No…no…he shouldn't think such things. She was going to be okay. She was going to open her eyes, and crack a joke, and Bruce was— He let a small, quite angered breath out. Why, why on the God's green earth she never listened to him! "Jason," he hissed, "Report."

"I'm in the mechanical room," he said, "waiting."

"Rory," Bruce asked the next.

"At Faraday Street," Rory answered immediately, "I can be at the back exit in ten seconds."

"Keep the motor running," Bruce instructed, even though he knew the motor was already on.

"Well, she's dead, as you can see," the doctor said, lifting the folder toward Gordon, "I need your signature in the papers, Commissioner," she continued, turning her gaze toward the Majors, then the Homeland Security agents, "then I'll start the autopsy."

As Gordon took the folder, and started signing the witness reports, Lawton took a step to the metal table. The man leaned toward her, and looked at her closely, with an owlish interest, eyes never blinking. His hands rose, and he examined the back of her neck. Then he turned toward to Leslie, "What are these, doctor?" he asked, pulling up from her, "there are tiny faded scars running across at the base of her neck."

For God's sake! Bruce evened out another sharp breath. The damn man had noticed her scars from the operation. The almost invisible scars were running across the back of her ears, neckline, and the base of her neck, little half inch lines. The skin mask had covered most of them, but for the line at the base of her neck where the root of her hair started, there was no way to place the skin mask, and Lawton had noticed those little scars.

Gordon snapped his head down at her too, his eyes taking a studious curiosity.

Bruce let out another sharp breath, full with his arising anger and worry. Nothing, nothing was going well with this op. If they discovered her operation… The doctor shook her head.

"Perhaps some scars from an accident, or residues of rhytidectomy or something like that," Leslie answered, as his jaw almost snapped. Danger flashed red in his mind. He quickly checked his watch. 00.28. The transfer to the hospital had taken too much, and now they were even wasting more of their precious time threading dangerous waters.

Major Sawyer pursed her lips down. "She's too young for a facelift job," she commented, looking at Valerie.

"We can't know for sure without her medical record," Leslie closed the discussion with an authoritarian tone, for which Bruce was glad. He wondered briefly what Fox had told her about the situation, how he had exactly convinced her to help them tonight.

Lawton's deputy inclined down toward Valerie, not interested with Leslie's stern voice. "They're not old," she said, running her fingers across her neck, too, "maybe a year or so, but not more."

The doctor's lips flattened. "I can tell more after the autopsy. You can read the details from my report," she said, then ran her eyes over them, "Now, if you'll excuse me," she said, gesturing with her hands at the table.

Gordon, and the rest of his company nodding, started walking away, but Lawton and his deputy stayed motionlessly. Something turned even colder in his insides. "Go ahead, doctor," Lawton said slowly, "We'll also witness the autopsy."

As his sight darkened with anger, it took all of his reserves not to punch the metal door in front of him.


For all the unexpected turns this op had taken, that had been always at the first lines of his risk matrix. He was angered things had completely gone south, but at least this time they had gone with a routine he had predicted.

Quickly he switched his channel to Fox, who was together with Alfred in the cave. "Fox, tell the doctor to stall," he ordered with a rasp, "Alfred, prepare cut off the power at my word," he continued, punching the necessary codes in his palm pad to infiltrate the hospital's system, then he pressed his ear again, "Jason, the auxiliary units?" he questioned as he hacked into the systems.

"Offline," the older man answered without missing a beat, "You're good to go."

Bruce didn't waste time any longer after then. He took the balaclava where he'd hung it around his tool belt, and pulled it down over his face. "Alfred, cut the power."

The next second, all was in the dark, expect the ER and ICU sections of the building that were tied to another auxiliary systems. "What's happening?" Bruce heard Major Sawyer's voice.

"The power—" the doctor answered, "the power's gone. Don't worry the generators will run shortly," she continued, as the lights turned on for a second before they faded again.

Bruce pressed the code to start the emergency protocol to evacuate the building, but before the alarms went off and he left his cover, the lights flickered another time, before they came alive again, and stayed at that way.

Something cold in his insides turned to ice. "Jason, what's happening?"

"I've got no idea," Jason fired, "The generator is still out of line."

"There must be a second generator in somewhere," Alfred said.

"No," Bruce rasped out, his anger rising, "I checked it." He shook his head. "Check the logs, see if there's something newly bought, something hasn't entered in the inventory yet."

Alfred stayed silent for a second, then said, "None, sir."

Then why the hell the lights were still online? He shook his head again. No matter. It didn't matter. Leslie had started stalling, preparing her tools as slow as she could under the circumstances. Sawyer and Bullock left the room, but Gordon stayed, possibly to help him if there was a need. When her tools were ready, the doctor started slowly pulling the white sheet over her, revealing her naked (and so pale) body, Bruce decided that they had stalled enough.

"Jason," he called in, "move to the back exit, I'm taking her out."

"I knew this was a bad plan," Jason muttered, but Bruce didn't have anything to say to that. It was even worse, but he wasn't going to let anything happen to her, no matter what. Never. "Rory," so he said, as Leslie fixed the tape recorder, and reported the basics about the day and post-mortem, "bring the van," he ordered, his tone taking a notch, stern but fierce.

But there was no response from the other side. "Rory," Bruce rasped as Leslie took a scalpel in her hand.

Still no response. "Rory!" Bruce hissed, "Report now!"

Leslie leaned toward Valerie—Bruce took the flashbangs and tear gas capsules in his hand, before he broke in the operation. If he survived tonight, he was going to have some serious talks with every person in his so-called "team". Serious conversation.

He pulled the tips at the flashbangs, but before he crashed into, suddenly the agents and Gordon's phones started squalling at the same moment. Leslie pulled back from Valerie, as the law enforcement agents looked at each other, before they answered. Bruce quickly tapped into Gordon's phone.

"Batman!" the disembarked voice from the police radio exclaimed, "Batman's been sighted on the way to the Metropolitan Hospital."

Suddenly all the world around him stopped, as the words boomed and flashed in his mind, stronger than any flashbang, momentarily incapacitating him. Batman's been sighted.

The words turned and turned in his mind, until the monotone voice broke the spell, bringing him to the moment… "I knew he wouldn't let it go," Lawton said, smiling at her deputy, then his smile faded off, "Regroup your men," he ordered at the redhead woman, "We have him this time."

Then without another glance at the room, they left. Gordon exchanged a brief look with the doctor, before he walked out, as well, already calling him.

"What's going on?" the Commissioner asked.

"I don't know," Bruce growled, "Can it be a boogie?"

"Is there anyone else in this city riding that bike of yours?" Gordon asked back.

Bruce opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the voice he heard stopped the words dead at his lips. "It's me," Rory said, "I took the suit you'd hid in the safe house."

The Suit hidden at the Faraday Street's hideout, where Rory had been laying low with the getaway car, along with the Batpod. "You. Did. What?" Bruce bit off each word, his voice dangerously low, and sharp as razor.

"I told you one day I'm gonna pay my debt," Rory remarked, as the memory flashed in his mind nine months ago, in ramshackle hotel in Belfast…

"I won't forget what you did for me, and one day I will pay my debt."

"You take her out, Bruce," Rory said, "I got this one."

The line went dead as the reality sat down with all of its gravity. Another Batman, not a copy-cat or supposed-to-be, but a—different Batman was at loose in his city. And soon all the police force and Homeland Security were going to be on him.