Summary: 'The clock struck one and the mouse fell down...'
Rating: PG13-15, this part only. Some violence and mention of the consequences of drug abuse.
Notes: See above.
Also, many thanks to all who've sent me notes of encouragement, or have just generally nagged me to get stories finished over the last few months/year.
CALL OF DUTY
Obstacle Course
7. Mousetrap
I promptly froze, and Smokes released his hold on Tim's throat. A little. Even from where I was, I could see that his grip was still so tight that Tim could just barely breathe.
I glanced back to Eddington in time to see his cruel, calculating smile make a reappearance. "So. We find his weak spot."
Damn. I knew protecting Tim was going to come back to bite me.
Protecting people was as instinctive to me as the whole vigilante gig. It was something I did as easily as breathing. Not exactly something I could turn off.
Except that I'd never met an individual so capable of turning that instinct against me. Sure, many had tried. The Joker was one. Two-Face was another. But no one had really succeeded. I'd always managed to out-think and out-maneuver them.
Until I'd met these four.
Okay, so it was more like 'these two', seeing as how Jax and Pedro were lying unconscious at my feet, but still. Somehow, they'd managed to counter my every move before I could make it. I tightened my grip on the crutch and made a firm decision that it was going to stop. Right here and now.
I leveled my best Nightwing glare at them. It was, paradoxically, not as strong as my cop glares. Nightwing had the advantage, after all, of a suit and a face-mask that covered his eyes. As a cop, though, I had a uniform that most criminals didn't quite respect (except insomuch as it represented an arrest they didn't want) and an unprotected face. Of course the cop glare was worse. I was literally trying to stop criminals in their tracks with it.
This time, I was more concerned with intimidating them than with stopping them. (Although stopping them would have been nice, too.) I had to show that I wasn't too bothered by what they were doing, that my alleged 'weak spot' wasn't as weak as they believed.
"So. He's a hostage. Any cop would hesitate if you directly threaten the life of a hostage." That is, any decent cop would. I had my doubts about some in my precinct. However, I still lacked the hard evidence I needed to bring them to justice, and mentioning it would only muddy the issues at hand.
"Ah, but when the hostage is your...little brother, I believe he is?" Eddington's pale blue eyes glittered. "What then? What do you do?"
Start making plans for your immediate destruction. I smirked at him, knowing the bruises on my face didn't make it a pretty picture. "Wait. You... you thought he was my brother? Oh, sheesh. Buddy, are you ever barking up the wrong tree. He just hangs out with me from time to time."
He stared at me for a long moment. I met his gaze steadily, determinedly not looking at Tim, fully aware that it was all hanging on my acting abilities right now.
In the background, I could hear Tim gasping for breath.
Finally Eddington gave a slight nod. "Say I believe you. Say I believe that this kid doesn't mean much to you." His lips curled in a way that wasn't at all friendly. "Does that mean that you won't care if I kill him?"
Anger flared, deep inside me, at how callously he had delivered that suggestion. I swallowed it with difficulty. "Maybe. Or maybe it means that he really is my little brother and all this is just a ruse to confuse you. And I will kill you if you do it." I delivered the threat without compunction, because in this, I wasn't lying. I let the good side of my mouth curl up slightly. "Are you willing to take that risk?"
He looked me up and down, his gaze lingering on the crutch and the braces around my bad leg and hand. His eyes rose to met mine and one eyebrow raised. "Not much of a risk, is it?"
I snorted and lifted my chin. Defiant to the end, that's me. "Are you sure? I'm the ranking law enforcement officer here, pal. Tick me off and I'll call down snipers on your head quicker than you can blink." I gave him a level stare. "Are you sure these windows are bullet-proof?"
I was bluffing, of course. But there was an element of truth in it. If Gotham's new police commissioner was any good, I was willing to bet he'd have SWAT outside, with snipers stationed on the surrounding buildings. The only problem was that they'd probably no idea where the gunmen were...and thus they'd have no idea where to aim. Me, I was just hoping that said gunmen had watched plenty of TV.
Eddington hesitated, and shared a look with Smokes...who kept the knife firmly pressed to Tim's throat, damn him. Finally, they seemed to come to a decision, and Smokes dragged Tim further away from the windows. Not that Tim made it easy for him, but he managed.
I almost laughed. Almost. Looks like I was making two someone's very uncomfortable with my threat. Well, good. About time something went my way.
I stared at Eddington, knowing my eyes would be showing a little of my glee through the swelling. "Feeling a little self-conscious?" I taunted.
I had to give him credit, he met my gaze. "Just considering your advice," he retorted coolly.
"Then here's another piece: make the hostages comfortable. Especially if you want me to put in a nice word for you with the judge when you're sentenced."
Smokes gave me a confident smirk and finally spoke. "Who says we'll be sentenced?" He jerked Tim's head to the side so he could see me clearly. "We ain't never going to no jail. Especially if we don't leave no witnesses."
I tightened my grip on the crutch and gave him the same flat stare I'd given Eddington earlier. "It's a only matter of time before you get caught." Especially with Tim and me in the room, working together as a team. "And when you do, they'll call me up to the stand, and they'll ask me how you treated us." I gave them a glimpse of the Grayson Special #5, aka my I-can-take-you-down-permanently smile. "And I'll tell them. In detail."
They exchanged a long look.
Then Smokes eased his grip around Tim's throat. A little. Enough for Tim to theatrically gasp for air, at least.
It was also enough for me to glance Tim's way and slightly lift an eyebrow. 'Are you okay?'
Tim's lips quirked. 'Never better.' Even though Smokes had Tim's legs ostensibly pinned with his own body, the kid was able to subtly move his hips enough to show to my trained eyes that he could free his legs if he needed to.
I frowned, so as not to alert Eddington and Smokes to what I'd seen. I also made a show of leaning my poor abused body against the nearby bed. Actually, to be honest, it wasn't that much of a show. My bad leg really did need the rest if I wanted to do anything major with it later – like fight. Which I was pretty sure was going to happen, no matter how we played this.
Leslie was probably going to yell at me when this was all over.
Eddington smirked a little, his sharp eyes missing nothing. "Feeling a little under the weather, are we?"
I smirked right back. First rule of thumb when dealing with clever bad guys: always reply in kind if at all possible. Second rule of thumb was to conceal exactly how much it hurt you to do so. It was okay if you wanted to show it, but not okay if they picked up on it themselves. And if they did pick up on it, downplay it, so that they wouldn't know that you wanted them to know.
Yes, it was complicated. That was kind of the point.
Habit made me glance over at Tim again, and I couldn't help noticing the slight shake in Smokes' hands. It was barely discernable unless you knew where to look. My smirk widened. "I bet I'm feelin' better than Charlie over there. Needs a hit about now, eh?" It was a tactical drop of not just the name, but also my knowledge of the habit. See, Batman had suspected he was smoking more than just run-of-the-mill cigarettes, and I wanted to know what I was dealing with.
"How do ya know 'bout that?" Smokes - Charlie - demanded, just as Eddington ordered him to shut up.
Pay-dirt. I rolled my eyes and leaned a little more against the bed, playing the nonchalant card to the hilt. "Oh, please. You reek so much I could smell you from a mile away—" his arms twitched and Tim choked and I quickly amended, "—okay, so its more like twenty yards. But still. I know that smell intimately." I deliberately softened my smile. "And besides, I know what's like, yeah? The hunger inside and the ache..."
"What are you saying?" Eddington demanded. "You've smoked MJ too?"
Bingo. MJ aka Mary Jane aka cannabis – marijuana. "You can't have a habit and be a police officer." I said mildly. It was the simple truth. That sort of thing got drummed out of recruits by eight-months at the Academy. But if they wanted to infer from that that I'd had a habit at one time...well, that was up to them.
Eddington looked at me for a long moment, his pale blue eyes thoughtful.
The seconds stretched out.
I almost dared not to breathe.
Smokes stayed still. Even Tim seemed to sense this was an important moment.
Finally, Eddington spoke: "I don't believe you."
'Sh*t.' I kept my face calm and shrugged. "Up to you. Can't lead a horse to water and all that jazz."
He shook his head. "Not that. I've never heard of you. A druggie-turned-copper makes waves. Lots of waves. And I've never heard any. So it never happened."
I smiled. Smile number 20: innocence personified. "Who said the drug thing happened in Blüdhaven, anyway? I wasn't always in this town, ya know."
"Where, and what?"
"NYC, and it was smack. Took two long weeks for withdrawal." Actually, it took Roy two weeks, but who was counting? Or naming names?
Eddington considered for another eternity. "Say I believe you," he said finally. "What then? I snitch on you to the authorities?"
I shrugged as easily as I could – as if the thought didn't scare me – and then did my best to look casually menacing. "To do that, you have to get out of here. Alive. And to do that, you have to get through me."
He looked me up and down again, much like he had before. "Not much of a problem." He snapped his fingers with his free hand. "Come on, Smokes. I think we've dallied here enough." Keeping his gun on me, he started to back towards the door. With Tim.
Okaaay. Time for Plan B. (Or were we up to C by now?)
Thinking quickly, I leaned over and nudged the body of Jax on the floor with my crutch. Still out cold. I must've hit them a bit harder than I'd thought. "What about these two? Just gonna leave them here? With me?"
The British gunman smiled wolvishly. "Why not? I'll lock you in with them. Won't that be a pleasant surprise for them to wake up to?"
This was getting worse and worse. "I thought you needed them for the hostages in the lobby."
"Already taken care of," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "You coming, Smokes?"
Uh-oh. My thoughts immediately went to Roy and Donna – whom I'd sent to the lobby – before I forced myself to focus back here again.
"Yep. I'm'a comin'" Smokes dragged Tim across the room. Not that Tim made it easy, cursing him the entire way and making all sorts of scuff marks on the carpet. Not that it helped. Smokes outweighed him by about fifty pounds by my estimate, and I was willing to bet it was mostly muscle. To get free, Tim needed the elements of distraction and surprise – both of which I would have to help provide.
I tensed. They were about five yards away from the doorway now. I had to find some way to stop them. There was no way that they were hauling Tim away without me. Allowing them to do that would be tantamount to signing Tim's death sentence. I've already been to too many funerals. I'm damned well not attending Tim's.
"And what about Diablo?" I asked, firmly suppressing any sign of desperation threatening to come out in my voice.
Finally, they stopped. "What about Diablo?" Eddington asked, a note of suspicion in his voice. No doubt wondering where I was going with this.
"I'm guessing that your presence here is connected to his being in this hospital. But you do realize that he's in a secure area, right?" I paused. "You'll need my help with that." Okay, so I was reaching, really reaching, for a way to stay with Tim.
They froze.
I barely suppressed my urge to roll my eyes. Ding-bats. They'd planned the entire siege, but they hadn't realized what they'd need to do to get to Diablo? Idiots. Things like that were why the prison populations kept increasing. I decided to help them out. A little. "I'm the one with the badge and the authority. And I'm the one who put him here in the first place. He's here on my say-so. You're going to need me to get him out." Actually, to be honest, I strongly doubted that the guards up there would be willing to listen to me – especially since I wasn't exactly wearing a badge – but it gave me an excuse to be near Tim. Right now, that was all that mattered in my book.
The two exchanged a long look. Eddington raised an eyebrow. Smokes nodded slightly.
Then Eddington turned back to me, looking for all the world like he was faintly amused by something. "You're that eager to see him again?"
I shook my head and decided to dole out a little more truth. "Hell, no. Given a choice, I'd rather be anywhere else." Then I smiled. "I just don't want to be here when these two wake up."
He chuckled. "Alright. Fine. You get your wish, Grayson. You're coming with us. And so's the kid...for insurance."
Since Smokes had Tim, it was Eddington who directed me away from the bed and out of the room. He had the sense, though, not to grab hold of me, and instead simply pointed at me with his gun. Efficient man.
On the one hand, I was quite happy for them to direct me out of the room. I hadn't lied to Eddington. I really didn't have any desire to be near Jax and Pedro when they woke up. Actually, I wouldn't have liked to be near them period, once they realised that they'd been left behind – especially in a building with a bomb in it.
On the other hand, walking with the crutch by myself? Not so fun. It went pretty much like it had the last time I'd tried it, but without the falling over part. And that was only because I knew what was coming, and managed to catch myself before I face-planted. Again.
Still, it was pretty clear to everyone – even me – that my body wasn't really up to walking. Duh.
It also meant that Eddington was forced to take up the role that Tim had occupied earlier, that of human crutch. I wasn't complaining. To be honest, I made it obvious that I was more focused on walking. My earlier...fall...had bruised a few more body parts than I liked to admit, and I was starting to feel it. My head was still sore, both from hitting the floor and from being pistol-whipped earlier. And my bad leg...hated me, I swear. I really shouldn't have been walking. Period. But, mind over matter, and all that.
Bruce would be so proud.
And Leslie...was definitely going to yell at me for this.
Still, it was...interesting, having Eddington haul me around. If 'interesting' was the right word for it, considering that he was helping me at the same time as he was holding me hostage. That probably explained the awkwardness. And my highly developed awareness of the gun he had pressed against my side the entire time.
Ah, well. Couldn't have everything.
I judged we were far enough away from our starting point when we stopped before the elevators. Longest walk of my life. I was so not looking forward to being in a confined space with everyone.
It was there that the gun fell away from my side to point towards the floor, and Eddington shifted my weight a little – probably preparing to let me lean against the wall while he called for the elevator.
Then the lights went out.
At long last, something was going right. The administrators had finally noticed what was going on and triggered the lock-down procedures. At any moment now, the generators would kick in, the lights would come back up, and the hospital would run on back-up power for however long this hostage situation lasted. It was risky, especially if they had patients still in intensive care, but what an opportunity!
Naturally, I took full advantage.
I immediately grabbed for the gun in Eddington's hand, forcing it out of his grip. In the same movement, I twisted on my good leg, moved out of his reach, and pivoted around so that my back was against the wall instead of facing it.
And, yeah, okay, so I could've thought things through a little more. Holding a gun with my left hand in a brace wasn't my brightest idea. But I managed. Police training had a lot to do with it. I felt the fingers of my good hand curl automatically around the gun and fit into place, and my body shifted to brace against the anticipated recoil. A part of me savoured the feel of the cool metal against my flesh.
It was...reassuring, in some ways.
Darned training.
By the time the lights flickered back on to half-strength, thanks to the back-up generators, my back might have been to the wall, but it was simply something for me to lean against. More to the point, I had the gun aimed squarely between Eddington's eyes. There wasn't much of a gap between his face and the end of the barrel.
Eddington looked at the gun, almost crossing his eyes to do so, and blinked. Very slowly. "Well. This is a surprise."
I smiled. "I'm full of surprises. Let Tim go."
Another slow blink. "Is that his name?"
I paused to think, about whether I'd mentioned Tim's name aloud before. Then I shrugged. "Does it matter? Let. Him. Go."
Eddington raised one eyebrow and smiled that small smile of his, almost bemused. He was obviously completely unfazed at having his own gun aimed at him at close quarters. It reminded me abruptly that these four had a history of working under the Joker, and it made me wonder how many times it had happened to him before. His words confirmed my suspicion. "And is this supposed to scare me?" he asked calmly.
I grinned at him wolvishly. "Well, I can guarantee that I won't miss." Not that I had any intention of firing, but I knew my marksmanship scores...
He matched the grin, and I had a sudden feeling, like the two of us were involved in a strange game of symbolic poker, and he'd just called my bluff. "And I can guarantee that before you can fire, your brother's throat will be slit."
I narrowed my eyes. "Never bring a knife to a gunfight."
He smirked. "And never waste time talking when action will do."
As if in slow motion, I looked over, and saw the edge of the blade sinking into Tim's soft neck...saw red welling beneath it, running in a crimson trail down silver and flesh...
The tension in the room spiked, and I suddenly couldn't breathe. I knew they would do it. I knew they would take perverse pleasure in killing Tim, in front of me, here and now, just to see my pain and rage. They would do it, unless...unless...
And I knew instantly what I had to do.
With my eyes fixed on the Brit, I straightened and raised my chin. I forced myself to ignore everyone else in the room, even Tim. Instinct told me that Eddington was the man I had to worry about. A rushing noise filled my ears, drowning out all other sounds in the room, even Tim's shouted denial, but it could not drown out the sudden calmness in my mind. Eyes still locked with his, I tightened my grip on the purloined gun.
Inside my head, the ticking clock fell silent.
Cliffie, much? TBC...
Next/Teaser: The mousetrap snaps shut...
