That Which is Infinite
8.
This time, she's not knocked unconscious. She's taken from the room by two men in clown masks before the shooting starts and dragged physically down the stairs and thrown into an ancient car (what the hell is all of this, anyway?) where her wrists and legs are bound and a leather gag placed over her mouth. She tries to struggle – they are only two men and she can't just be complacent now that she's been kidnapped from her kidnapper – but one of them pushes her down.
"Shut up, princess," he growls in her ear. "You're better off with us anyway."
An eternity stretches before the Joker and several others cram themselves into the car and they take off, speeding down dark alleyways and abandoned city streets.
The sun is on the horizon – it must be near dawn. She has been in captivity for at least twelve hours.
And somehow, she is still alive (she is not so sure about Maroni).
After some time, they arrive at an abandoned factory. She thinks she must be somewhere near the Narrows if not in it and that doesn't surprise her at all. She is taken forcefully out of the car and she doesn't really fight because there's no real point when she's bound and gagged.
They deposit her in a dark room, throwing her on the floor. She scurries back against a wall (at least I can use it to stand if something happens…). The leather pushed against her mouth tastes horrible, but someone removes it and she can't help it – she speaks first.
"What do you want with me?" she asks, because this can't be about her uncle and leverage. This has to be about something else.
"Sorry to break it to you," the Joker says, smiling and it's deranged and horrifying, "but if you haven't figured it out already, none of this is about you." He approaches her from the corner of the room, every step menacing and closer to her and this is a nightmare.
"I've guessed as much," she says, "but seeing that I've been taken hostage twice in one day, I'm starting to wonder what exactly makes me so special." She feigns confidence and looks him straight in the eye. "You're not after my uncle so what exactly do you need me for?"
"I'm impressed," he responds, crouching down so that they're eye-level. "Clever girl."
She doesn't know how far is too far to push him, so she doesn't say anything and her lack of response keeps him talking. He leans forward, and she tries not to cringe (she has never liked clowns).
"I know about your friend," he whispers in her ear, "the Batman."
"Really now," she responds calmly.
"Really." He stands up again, and one of the goons hands him several glossy papers. He cuts her hands free and gives her the photographs.
They're surveillance photos, long-lensed shoots of her rooftop over the past month.
"My hair looks like shit," she tells him even as she cringes at seeing these interactions caught on film. She can't believe she was naïve enough to think no one would come after her, and she would be safe.
"In the last one, yes," the Joker agrees but skirts that issue entirely. "Now, princess, all I really need is the identity of your friend. I'm sure you know that, right?"
For the first time in her life, she's grateful she doesn't know something. "Actually, I don't. He never told me, and I never asked. Didn't want the spell to be broken," she says, glancing down at the dark figure in the photos.
"Are you sure?" her captor asks, and she can hear the annoyance in his voice.
"Absolutely positive. I tried to figure it out for a while, but he's very good at covering his tracks," she tells him honestly.
There is a pause, and he starts laughing. It's a frightening, hysterical laugh that makes her realize her usefulness is almost up and she may very well die here in an abandoned factory where the rats will pick her dead body apart before anyone finds her. Her lip quivers and she's on the verge of tears when he stops laughing and studies her.
"Pretty girl," he says, "and I'm sure your Bat friend won't let a pretty girl like you go to waste." He orders his men to untie her legs.
"What's going to happen to me?" she asks in a whisper.
"You'll be my leverage," he says with a grin, and then they leave, the door is slammed shut, and she is left in total darkness.
She can't hold out any longer, as the tears (tears she did not shed in Maroni's presence) threaten to overwhelm her.
…
Lucius arrives unexpectedly at 8, waking him from his light doze. He brings with him a large box, and Bruce can't help but speculate about what is inside.
"I heard about Ms. Gordon," he says. "I have something for you."
He opens the box to reveal new armor, and tools.
"It's ridiculous that you've been traipsing out to the manor as often as you have. Store the Tumbler in Wayne Tower, and I'm going to install some sort of changing room for you here. And try on the new armor while you're at it. Lighter and more durable – and see how the cowl moves."
It is nicer than his other suit, and he's grateful that Lucius has the presence of mind to come and help him like this.
"Thanks," he says, removing the cowl.
"You're welcome. Now, direct me to a spare closet in this spacious abode," Lucius orders him with a smile.
He nods, and points him down the hall.
Alfred soon arrives with the morning paper and coffee. Barbara's face is all over the front page, a causal picture of her with her family, smiling and holding her little cousin. There are more pictures inside, pictures from college and work and he can't stand to look at her happy (pretty) smiling face anymore.
"You need to stop blaming yourself," Alfred tells him.
"What if it was my fault?"
"You best not tell the reporters that," he responds. "They've been calling all morning."
"About what?" Bruce asks, reaching for the phone that Alfred is holding.
"Your name is being linked with Ms. Gordon's, since you alerted the police to her disappearance."
Bruce turns on the television. More images of Barbara greet him, along with the scrollbar which proclaims her to be a potential love interest.
"This certainly does complicate things," he says.
…
Gotham City PD is bursting with reporters, and Bruce elbows his way past them and into the hall.
"Bruce!" someone calls out, and he sees Rachel hurrying toward him. He had called her, asked her to come to the station with him and help him get out of this mess. It seems she's brought her boss as well.
"Harvey," Bruce says, shaking hands with the DA.
"Missing white girl syndrome," Dent says, looking around the station. "The newspapers and television stations latched on to the fact she's attractive and now they're looking for every angle possible. Hence that little ticker this morning."
"I heard they'd like to interview me for a five-minute segment," Bruce says sarcastically, and Harvey cracks a smile.
"Gordon's a wreck," Rachel says. "Hasn't slept at all and the worst part is – shots were fired at a warehouse in the Narrows this morning. Cops found several of Maroni's men dead. Barbara was gone."
Maybe it's the incessant drone of phones ringing and people talking around him, maybe it's the tight alcove they're squeezed into, maybe it's something else, but he feels dizzy and nauseous.
"You alright?" Rachel asks, placing a hand on his arm.
"Claustrophobic," he responds,
"Well look at that," Dent says, as the television sets in the station go dark, then static, then a face appears.
It's Barbara. She's bound, and gagged, her eyes puffy from crying. A man crosses in front of her.
"Hello, Gotham!" he proclaims loudly, cheerfully. His face is white, painted with cake makeup. Red lipstick traces the scar that mars his visage, and his hair is green.
"You may call me the Joker." He smiles for the camera, and Rachel gasps.
"Now, you may be wondering what this is all about, and the name of my lovely assistant." The camera pans to Barbara, whose frightened eyes go between the camera and the Joker. "This, kids, is Miss Barbara Gordon, and she is here today to help me with a little magic trick."
Bruce hears Gordon in the background, sees him elbow his way to the front of one group and stare at the television screen.
"Is someone recording this?" he shouts.
"Yes, sir!" someone responds.
"You see, Miss Gordon has graciously volunteered her time while I try to perform a little illusion for you," the Joker says. The camera pans away from Barbara, and follows him as he paces sideways. "I like to call this trick 'how to pull a Batman out of thin air'."
He laughs manically, and Bruce feels fear in the pit of his stomach. This isn't about Gordon and leverage for a crime boss – this is about him, and his actions. And Barbara is in the middle of it…
"Now, I know that Batman wouldn't want a lovely young thing like Miss Gordon here to suffer," the Joker says, tracing a finger along her cheek. Barbara flinches visibly, and the Joker smiles because of it. "No, he seems like a noble sort. Which is why he'll turn himself in – expose himself to Gotham…" he trails off, then stares at the camera, "or I'll show you all another trick, one that I'm sure Miss Gordon here will find hilarious."
"No!" Gordon shouts across the room, pounding a desk with his fist. It is only Rachel's hand on his arm that restrains Bruce from doing something similar.
"You have twenty-four hours to come forward, Batman. We don't want to spoil it for the children now do we?"
The screen goes blank before the newscasters come on, and the police station roars to life.
"Did we tape it? I want analysis – how he's broadcasting it, how long ago it was taped, what's going on at the news station, everything!" Gordon yells. The other officers in the station scurry about quickly, because unlike Maroni, they can go after the Joker.
Rachel pulls Bruce into a nearby doorway. "What are you going to do?" she whispers.
"I…." he stutters, unsure. Never in his plan did he expect to expose himself but if Barbara's life is at stake, he may have no choice.
"You know as well as I that Batman can probably find this guy," she says. "He doesn't need to expose himself if possible."
"He didn't even give a reason for wanting to find Batman," Dent says, suddenly entering the conversation.
"Yeah," Bruce responds. "But I mean, those crazies – probably meant for each other."
"Yeah," Dent says, looking away. "I have a feeling those news stations probably won't want your interview now – you lack the requisite crazy hair."
"Probably not. I'll go home then." Bruce catches Rachel's hand.
"We'll be in touch," she tells him, and he wonders how she feels about all of this, and his alter-ego now.
…
At first she thinks she can't sleep, and then she finds herself nodding off. She can hear rodents scratching in the walls, and thinks she feels a tail across her leg, but it might just be her imagination. She's hungry again, and doesn't trust what the Joker might offer her. He doesn't need her for very long, has already threatened to kill her in that tape she's sure has made it to the tv stations by now. She hates to think she's grateful for the kindness of Maroni, but she is.
She feels numb. She tries to piece this together, tries to understand what exactly is going on. The Joker stole him from Maroni, who he must have been working with. Joker wants to know who Batman is, for some reason – probably to take him down.
She works over ways to escape, ways that she can be saved in her mind until the door opens and that familiar figure of terror leans in the doorway.
"Your brilliant performance as my assistant is all the rage in the city," he says. "I might just keep you for an encore. I should have known that even grown men are a sucker for a pretty girl's tears."
"Okay," she says, her lips dry and chapped and hurting as she speaks.
"I had expected a smidge more enthusiasm, buttercup," he tells her. "Next time, kick it up a notch."
"What do you expect to gain from all this?" she asks, feeling hopeless.
"The removal of that pest from my city," he says. "The sooner he comes forward, the sooner things can get back to normal."
"What if he asks like the pest he is, and tries to rescue me?" she asks. She tries not to sound too hopefully, because the way things are going, any rescue attempt will probably end disastrously.
"Well, like any pest," he says, with a smile, "we've already taken care of laying the traps. You better hope he's not that stupid."
"Wouldn't you want that, though? To kill him?"
"Buttercup," he says, "I don't really want to kill him, not that badly. Maim him, maybe, torture him for a bit, but the best form of torture would be to expose the anonymous vigilante to the city he loves to protect, and see how kindly they open their arms to him."
She doesn't say anything. It's a brilliantly insane plan, echoing all the characteristics of the man they've come to realize over the past four or five months.
Instead, she hopes against all hope that he doesn't act the fool and come after her alone, but that's almost too much to ask for.
…
It is nearly noon, and Rachel's stomach growls. They've been at the station since nine, waiting for news of anything on this case. As public defenders, they can be there but they stay in the shadows, paying attention to what's going on. This is all Harvey's idea, and he's been nice enough to bring her coffee but she could really go for a sandwich right now.
"Hungry?" he asks, and she notices that he's a bit distant.
"Yeah. Think we could go grab some food, take a break?" she asks. "I mean, even if they get a lead, we'll hear the sirens down the block."
"Yeah, we could do that."
The streets are full of newspaper reporters, and so they take the back exit down and out into an alley.
"There's a sandwich place around the corner," she tells him, and that's when she notices that he's stopped.
"I think I'm going to turn myself in," he says.
"What?" she asks. Where did this come from?
"As Batman. I'm going to tell him I'm Batman."
"But you're not," she says.
He looks confused. "How do you know I'm not?" he asks.
"Because Batman's been here longer than you," she says. "That much is common sense."
"But he's not going to turn himself in. A man who goes through that much effort to protect his identity won't be willing to part with it."
"But that doesn't mean you should take the responsibility on your shoulders." No one should.
Harvey looks away, and looks back agitated. "He could kill that girl."
"He could," she says, stepping closer to him, "but he could also kill you. And you've helped this city so much, just as much as Batman. We can't lose either of you." She means it, because as much as she doesn't like what Bruce does, she can't help but be grateful for the effort he's put into it. And with Harvey, she feels like she's actually serving justice these days.
"I know," Harvey says. "I just…"
"What if I arranged a meeting with you and him? Batman?" she asks. Job aside, she thanks god that it's just Bruce, not someone else, so she can make sure Harvey doesn't sacrifice himself unnecessarily.
Harvey's eyes widen. "You know him."
"I've been here longer than you. I've got some connections that know how to reach him," she says, exaggerating the truth. "We could feasibly arrange something - after you buy me lunch."
"You drive a hard bargain, Rachel Dawes," Harvey says with a smile, "let's go get some food."
As they make their way to the restaurant, Rachel hopes that they'll be in time, and that Bruce hasn't turned himself in yet. By the looks of things, Barbara Gordon makes him vulnerable, and it's disconcerting (and oddly appropriate) for a hero to have such an obvious flaw.
Author's Note: Sorry about the long time between updates! I've been moving and very busy, and I hope this makes up for it :) Thank you to all reviewers, and I'm sorry I haven't individually replied to you - I do appreciate your comments, and once life slows down I'll try to respond more.
