A/N: New chapter! I'm so happy about all the positive responses I've gotten. You guys rock the house! There's some more action in this chapter and the first (emphasis on first) appearance of Dr. Jonathan Crane. Enjoy!
Jim Gordon paced nervously around his backyard. He silently prayed his neighbors wouldn't wake up and figure out that the Bat-signal was emanating from his yard. He hadn't had time to make the modifications Lizzie suggested, so if he got caught, he was going to be in loads of trouble.
He zipped up his jacket and sipped his hot coffee in an attempt to stay warm in the chill of the night. He spied movement out of the corner of his eye from his son's window. He looked to the spot sternly, hoping to discourage his son from further inquiries.
"Nice house."
Gordon nearly choked on his coffee at the sound of the familiar, gravelly voice from behind him. Once he regained his breath, he pulled the lever on the floodlight, shutting it down.
"Sorry we haven't had you over for dinner," Gordon joked. "I was afraid you weren't coming."
"I was busy," Batman answered simply.
"Yeah, well, I've been busy today too," Gordon told him. "Someone broke Scarecrow out of prison about an hour ago."
Batman cocked his head slightly and said, "Jonathan Crane isn't much of a threat."
"That's not really what worries me," Gordon explained. "What's worrisome is that this break out looks more like a kidnapping."
"Kidnapping?" Batman asked doubtfully.
"Yes, according to witnesses, the perpetrators were wearing guard uniforms and black masks," Gordon told him.
"Black masks?" Batman asked. "None of the real guards thought that was strange?"
Gordon shrugged and said, "Hey, this is still Gotham. It only takes a fifty to make a prison guard turn the other way. Anyway, they opened Crane's cell and put a black bag over his head. When his cellmate tried to stop them, they shot him. The other prisoners say Crane resisted the whole way."
"Who would want Crane out of prison?" Batman asked.
"Not sure," Gordon answered, "but the masks are troubling."
"Why?"
Gordon swallowed hard before saying, "They were black and formed to the face. That's similar to a description we got of a guy who's behind a series of attacks connected to Coleman Reese. I don't know how much news you watch, but he's they guy who went on GCN claiming he knew your true identity."
"I remember."
"There's only been one other guy who's made his goons dress up like him," Gordon said.
"I know," Batman said, nodding.
"I, uh, I also wanted to thank you," Gordon told him. "You saved a young woman last week, twice. She's my goddaughter."
"I know."
Gordon grunted a laugh. "I thought you might," he said. "I'm not too sure about her new boyfriend, but if it weren't for you she wouldn't be around to make mistakes, so thank you."
"Black Mask and Crane are likely hiding in the Narrows," he told Gordon, shifting the subject back to the task at hand.
"And it's not safe for police in there," the commissioner answered.
"I understand."
With that, Batman turned and disappeared. Gordon heard a motor start and then speed away. He looked up at his son's window and saw Jimmy's face disappear back into the blackness. He rolled his eyes and finished his coffee before pushing the floodlight back into his shed and padlocking the door.
Bruce looked down on the mess of brick and iron that was the Narrows. The miserable press of humanity slowly moved through the streets. No one was running. No one was drawing extra attention to themselves.
A white van moved too swiftly through the streets. Bruce followed it from the rooftops. It stopped in front of a rotting house. Five men with black masks, formed to their faces got out holding rifles and a shotgun. They opened the side door of the van and pulled out a thin man wearing an orange jumpsuit with a black bag over his head. His arms were bound behind his back.
The men herding Crane inside were fast, but not fast enough. He grabbed the man in the rear before he even got to the door.
"Harry," one of the others called.
Bruce heard Crane's muffled laughter. "You've got trouble now," he warned them.
"Jesus!" one of them shouted as he raised his gun to the dark figure.
Bruce easily disarmed the man and knocked him out with the butt of the gun before the others started firing. He ducked into the shadows behind some decrepit furniture.
"Where'd he go?"
"The boss isn't going to like this."
Crane continued giggling. One of his captors tossed him into a wall, effectively silencing him. Bruce used the momentary distraction and grabbed the barrel of one man's gun and swung him into another. One of the goons dropped his gun and ran toward the door. The one who'd thrown Crane into the wall turned his gun on the deserter and shot him in the back. Bruce swung his gauntleted arm at the man, slashing his arm and causing him to drop the rifle. Bruce punched him in the face and the man crumpled in a heap on the floor.
Crane squirmed from his place on next to the wall and struggled to take the black sack from his face. Bruce watched him struggle for a few more moments before he squatted down in front of the man and pulled the sack from his head. If it was possible, Jonathan Crane looked more pale and gaunt than ever. But his icy blue eyes were still as penetrating as ever.
"We have to stop meeting like this," Crane said sarcastically.
Bruce's face remained grim. Apparently Crane's over-exposure and eventual acclimation to his own toxin had given him a derisive sense of humor.
"Did you plan this?" he asked the felon gruffly.
"Hell, no," Crane answered. "Why would I do this to myself?" He held up his bloodied wrists to show where the handcuffs dug into the skin.
"Who's behind this?" Bruce continued gruffly.
"I. Don't. Know," Crane answered, annoyed. "Now could you please take me back to jail before whoever paid these guys comes back?"
Bruce pushed him hard against the wall and his head collided with the paneling. Crane's head slumped down as he slipped into unconsciousness.
The bullpen at the MCU was bustling with activity. One of Gotham's most wanted was on the loose and everyone had been called in. It was the first real crisis Stephens had had to deal with since he took the unit over from Gordon, and he had to admit, he felt like he was in over his head.
"Hey, Detective."
Stephens looked up, surprised to see the woman in front of him. "Anna, what are you doing here?" he asked her.
"I heard what happened," Ramirez answered, "and I know I'm not a detective anymore, but I thought I could lend a hand."
Stephens smiled. "We can always use all the help we can get," he told her.
"That include the Batman?" she asked.
"What?"
"I saw the Bat-signal around midnight," she told him. "I thought you and the commissioner destroyed that thing."
"We did," Stephens lied. "It's probably just some prank."
"Right," she said, even though she sounded doubtful.
Yelling and screaming from the holding cells suddenly started being heard over the noise in the bullpen.
"I'll take care of it," Ramirez promised Stephens as she removed her side arm from its holster.
A few moments later, he heard Ramirez scream, "Shut up!" followed a few seconds later by, "Detective, I think you want to see this."
Stephens got up from his desk and headed toward the holding cells. Almost everyone else followed suit. He came to a sudden stop and smiled at what he beheld. Jonathan Crane was sitting on the floor outside one of the holding cells, his head lolling from side-to-side as he attempted to regain consciousness. The cuffs on his wrists were looped through one of the bars.
"That's one hell of a prank," Stephens concluded.
Bruce quietly opened the door to his bedroom and discovered there was no need for stealth. Lizzie was sitting on the bed still wearing his wrinkled shirt. Her knees were drawn to her chest and her head resting on top of them.
"Hey, you didn't have to stay up," he said as he sat down in front of her on the bed.
"I know," she told him. "I couldn't sleep. Alfred brought me some warm milk, but it didn't help."
Bruce sidled up next to her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "I won't tell you not to worry," he said. "I know you're going to no matter what I say."
Lizzie smiled and kissed him softly. "My mom always said it was part of her job to worry about my dad," she told him. "I guess it's part of my job to worry about you, and you're dumber than my dad."
"What?" Bruce asked, quasi-insulted. "First I'm mushy, now I'm dumb. Why are you in my bed?"
"I don't know, Mr. Wayne, why am I in your bed?"
"I guess because I love you."
"Do you really?"
"Yeah."
"That's good," she told him, "because I love you too."
He kissed her soft and long as he turned off the light and pulled the covers up around them.
