Batman: Armistice
Chapter Twelve
February 19th
The warm summer rain that soaked Bruce's skin did little to warm the chill that gripped his soul as he gazed down at the bodies before him before him: A man and a woman, laying in a pool of their own blood. The man he had shot twice in the chest, the woman once through the throat when he realized that raping her would take too long after his gunshots were heard. If he gave into his lust he would be caught for sure. The man gazed listlessly at his already dead wife, seemingly gathering his strength for a final word to the woman he had failed to defend.
"Martha..." He sighed the word with his final breath, then laid still. Their young son knelt beside them, numb with shock. After what seemed like ages, he lifted his head and locked his tear-stained eyes with Bruce's,
"Why?" The boy asked in a frail, broken voice.
"I-I had to." Bruce's excuse sounded pathetic even to himself. "I didn't want to but... In war, people die. It's horrible, but it happens. There was nothing I could do."
"What are you talking about?!" The child screamed at him. "What war?! You killed my Mom, my Dad! What did they ever do to you?!"
"Th-they tried to kill me! It was me or them!" He shouted back through the pounding rain, desperately seeking to justify the sick feeling of guilt that burned in his guts.
"You liar!" The boy howled. "You're Batman! No one can hurt you! You're invincible!"
Bruce gazed mournfully down at his blood-splattered front, suddenly cognizant of the many wounds he had suffered over the years. Not the forceful heat of the bullets that had pierced his skin, nor the dull impact of the blows that bruised and split his flesh or even the searing pain of the blades that had sliced into his body; but of the wounds of guilt and shame and grief that were carved into his very soul. Drugs and alcohol hadn't numbed them when he had tried them, meditation hadn't quieted them and therapy had never been an option. Even his attempts at seeking healing in love had failed every time, leaving him alone in his pain. "No, no I'm not." He whispered.
But the child was hearing none of it. He pulled is mother's and father's head's onto his lap, stroking their hair as Bruce imagined they might have done to him mere hours before. He once more raised his face and spoke.
"Please don't leave me alone." He sobbed. "Finish it. Kill me too." The child bowed his head and cried over the bodies of his parents, leaving Bruce to his choice. Seeing no other option, Bruce raised his gun and pulled the trigger. The sound of the gunshot nearly deafened him as the bullet flew from the barrel faster than the eye could track, puncturing the poor boy's skull and blowing his brains out the back of his head in a shower of blood, bone and gore.
And so it was done. The dynasty of the Wayne family had ended in the space of a few brief minuets. As Bruce turned away from the scene of the massacre and prepared himself to flee the police who he could hear fast approaching, he happened to catch a glimpse of himself in a broken mirror that rested against the alley wall and was startled when the person that looked back at him didn't have his face at all, but rather bore the visage of Joe Chill.
Bruce awoke from the nightmare and rubbed his face in in both weariness and annoyance. The dream was one he had had before, and would surely have again. Once such dreams would have horrified him, making him jerk awake with a cry and covered in sweat; but after so many years he now found them simply exhausting. Of course, it didn't take a genius or even a bottom-of-the-barrel psychologist to tell him what it meant: He felt guilty over the many people he had killed or otherwise caused to die; pitied the children he had stolen a parent from and the families he had shattered. Sometimes he made a serious effort not to think about the consequences and casualties of his war, but it never worked for long. After all, understanding was the curse of intelligence; and Bruce was more intelligent than most... Doing his best to put the dream out of his mind, he glanced at the clock on his bedside table and saw to his great annoyance that he had awoken nearly two hours early. He briefly considered attempting to sleep again, but quickly discarded the notion. He knew from experience that there could be no sleep after such a nightmare.
"Mmmph..." A stirring beside him caught his attention, and he smiled as the memories of the previous night came back to him. Caitlin lay beside him, stretched out across chaotic mess of a bed, her tanned skin and dark hair contrasting beautifully with the white silken sheets. He noticed with no small amount of interest that she had pulled the blankets down, exposing her voluptuous breasts to his view. It seemed the air wasn't chilled enough to cause her any discomfort, but was just cold enough for her dark, chocolate-colored nipples to stand enticingly erect. Perhaps he'd take advantage of this when he briefly woke her up, as it was only polite to let her know that he was leaving before he vanished; especially after the day they had had. They had fought bitterly the previous morning, but there was a lot of truth to the old adage that "make-up sex was the best". They'd gone at it like animals for hours, and even he was feeling a little sore this morning... Which meant she would be incapacitated for some time yet. But while she could afford to sleep, he knew there would be no rest for him today.
"Hey, Caitlin... Wake up Honey." He whispered as he shook her gently by the shoulder. When the only response he got was an incoherent grumble, he leaned over and gently kissed her bronze shoulder. This lead to a slightly more contented noise, but she was still out like a light. Emboldened by his lack of success, Bruce finally caved to temptation and lightly nibbled her firm nipple.
"Eeep!" She squealed, jerking awake. Partially to mollify her and partially to sate his own lust, he sucked hard on her nipple, eliciting a highly erotic moan from his lover's lips.
"Bruce..." She groaned, running her hands through his hair before making a vain attempt to hold him against her when he pulled away.
"You can go back to sleep in a moment; I just wanted to let you know that I was leaving."
"You sure you can't stay? I'm fine with doing it again." She told him in a voice that was decidedly more sleepy than sultry. He laughed and gave her a quick kiss.
"You sleep Love, and I'll call you when I'm on my way home from my conference."
"Ok." She yawned. "Oh! Don't forget about our date this evening!"
Bruce grimaced internally in spite of the smile he kept plastered to his face. Their "date" that evening happened to be a double date with Congressman Frank LoBiondo and his wife, making it far more politically charged than he preferred for a night on the town; especially since the primary topic of conversation would most likely be campaign strategies.
With the recent election of Jack Ciattarelli to the office of governor, the state of New Jersey had been governed by two Republican governors in a row, breaking a long line of Democratic power in the state... At least at the top. In spite of this, Democratic hopeful Hilary Clinton had soundly defeated President Trump in the state with sixty-three percent of the vote; a clear signal that the Blue Party still had a significant power-base in the state, even accounting for some fairly shady voting behaviors. These facts, when taken together, made running as a Republican who advocated such radical change as he did a dicey proposition. It would likely be inevitable however; as the changes he advocated and beliefs he espoused had completely alienated him from the political left, and the Libertarian Party still wasn't powerful enough to give him a serious chance at election...
"No worries, I won't forget." He told her before kissing her again.
"Ok. Call me..." She murmured, then she rolled over and promptly fell asleep. He chuckled lightly as he arose and pulled a set of gym clothes from their designated space in his walk-in closet. Truthfully, he held no particular fondness for politics and had been shocked by Caitlin's passion for acquiring political power and influence. She seemed almost fanatical in her devotion to his fledgling campaign, so much so that he actually found it somewhat distasteful. He might not have cared as much if she had been equally as interested in his many philanthropic projects, but she had never viewed them as particularly worthy of note. Power seemed to be the end to her, rather than the means. Power and wealth, hence their argument yesterday.
Bruce shook his head, clearing the unpleasant thoughts from his mind. There was no point in spoiling a good mood with bad thoughts, and he still had a long day ahead...
A few minuets later, Bruce was sitting in the gym and training room that adjoined the Batcave, holding a syringe in his hand as he debated which leg to use today. Both his left and right thighs were covered in track marks, though he had be focusing a little more on his left leg of late. Making up his mind, he pushed the needle into his muscle on the right and injected his body with the steroid compound it contained; taking care as he did so to avoid any major veins. It wouldn't do for the drug to metabolize too quickly. He'd made that mistake before and paid for it with a week of heart issues before his body had cleaned itself out. Thankfully, he was now down to two injections a week; a huge step down from his original ration of six. At this rate, he'd be clean in just a few more months. A little weaker and less energetic perhaps, but what strength and power remained would be all his own.
Once that was done, he stood up and paced briskly about the room, helping the drug to work its way into his system; though he knew he would still need almost an hour before he could begin his exercise. As he paced, he went over his checklist for the day: After working out and properly disguising himself, he would be heading over to Gotham General to ensure that Harleen's outing went off without any issues, especially of the green-haired clown variety. Then he'd have a meeting with a certain "businessman" before his flight to the Tower for the monthly "Justice League Review and Report", a meeting that amounted to socializing with some of his best friends as often as not. And then dinner... He knew it was patently ludicrous, but he almost hoped that some world-threatening monster would appear just so he could take a rain-check. Compared to the shady, underhanded world of politics; another fight with Doomsday or Solomon Grundy seemed almost enjoyable, and less likely to make his ulcers act up.
"Excuse me Sir, I'm not interrupting any deep philosophical musings am I?" Alfred called from the door. Bruce had been expecting him and the tray he carried, but had been so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed him arrive.
"No, just going over my schedule for the day." He replied, walking over to meet his friend. "Well, that and walking off my injection. I'm down to two a week by the way."
"Oh good, I was beginning to wonder whether I was serving Bruce Wayne or Bruce Banner."
"Oh I'm a comic-book character now am I?" Bruce replied with a roll of his eyes.
"Of course not. Now as you can see, I have your pre and post workout alchemical sludges here, as well as your 'I-have-the-stomach-of-an-eighty-year-old-man' juice."
"Well, when you put it that way, who could resist such a bounty?" Bruce wryly retorted. "Go ahead and set them aside for the moment, we have an appointment in the lab first."
"Oh good Lord, not again..." Alfred groaned, rolling his eyes as he set the tray aside.
"Yes, again." Bruce said grimly as he marched down the hall to the laboratory. "Come on Alfred, we've been doing this for months now, twice a week like clockwork. I need to build up an immunity to this new toxin." He heard Alfred halt in his tracks behind him and turned about to face the visibly upset old man.
"And has it occurred to you that perhaps I don't enjoy locking the person I care most about in a tube full of poisoned gas that drives him out of his mind?" The butler spat. "Besides, in all this time there has been no change or improvement worthy of note. It may be that one cannot become immune to this toxin. In fact, knowing Dr. Crane as we do, it's likely that he designed it that way! You have the antidote, that should be enough!"
"The antidote has to be injected and still takes several minuets to work! That's too long if I get hit in a fight!" Bruce shouted back. Upon seeing his friend's expression, he softened his tone and reached out, laying a soothing hand on Alfred's shoulder. "I know you hate it. Believe me, I hate it a lot more."
"I just... I can't stand hurting you like this Bruce. Seeing you in such pain." Alfred whispered. "I wish there was some other way."
"So do I Alfred." Bruce replied as he released his butler and continued on into the laboratory. "So do I. But if we do it now, my workout will flush this crap out of my system all the faster. And anyway, you know what they say. That which doesn't kill you..."
"Drives you stark raving mad apparently." Alfred grumbled. Bruce laughed and stepped into the vertical, tube-like capsule; pressing himself against the cool vinyl and taking care to rest his limbs between the holes where the restraints would appear.
"Alfred!" Bruce hollered as the old man took his place at the computer. "Whatever happens, whatever you hear, don't let me out early."
"Yes Master Bruce." He replied as the tube closed with a hiss and the mechanical restraints shot out around Bruce's legs, wrists and waist. He could already feel the first twinges of fear creeping upon him and steadied himself as the fist scent of the gas reached his nostrils. This toxin caused his brain to behave oddly, altering his world perception if he could move or pulling him into an illusionary nightmare if he couldn't.
His vision blurred as the poison took hold of him, then morphed into a familiar sight: Himself and Caitlin in the Conservatory, just like they had been yesterday. At first their lips moved without even the barest whisper of a sound, then their voices grew like a swelling tide in his ears.
"You made the paper." Bruce told her, tossing the newspaper on the glass tabletop before him; his eyes like daggers.
"I know! Chantel showed me at the office!" She beamed, oblivious to the frigged aura that permeated the air about her lover.
"Riches to Rags, Gotham City Millionaire Elliot O'Toole looses it all in divorce!' Quite the headline. One of Gotham's greatest men ruined by a two-timing whore."
"I thought you'd be proud of me. This was a big case, an important step up for me!" Caitlin snapped, her good mood vanishing in an instant.
"Proud of you?!" As Bruce watched the scene unfold, every emotion struck him again with the same force they had before; hurt, rage, confusion and betrayal in equal parts churning within him. "Your 'big step up' used an innocent man's life as a footstool! I checked the files, he was innocent of every horseshit accusation made against him and you knew it!"
"Never mind that those files were confidential and fuck knows how you got into them," She ranted, her face contorted with rage. "What was I supposed to do huh?! Pass up my big chance to break into divorce court?! It's one of the most profitable courts out there; and this was an open and shut case! The courts always favor women, especially pretty ones! And yeah she was screwing around but come on, who doesn't cheat? She was done with his old ass, and they had a shit-load of differences anyway... So I got her what she was entitled to, got a damn good check for myself and made a name for myself! Nothing wrong with that, nothing wrong with doing your job!"
"Jesus Christ, do you hear yourself?!" Bruce shouted incredulously. "Yeah, the courts do favor women... So you'll just run with that? Cash in on people's ignorance and prejudice? And what the hell do you mean 'what she's entitled to'?! Like she should be able to take everything he spend his entire life building just because she spread her legs?!"
"Someone like you wouldn't understand." She sneered. "Or maybe you're just worried that it could be you someday!"
"I'm worried that you don't have a conscience! And 'someone like me' meaning what exactly?" He retorted. "Someone who's rich? I wouldn't understand what it's like to sell out my morals for a few lousy bucks?! Is that it?!"
"Someone who's never gone through anything hard in his whole fucking life!" She screamed in his face. Her eyes suddenly widened in horror as she realized what she had said. "Oh God... Bruce, I'm so sorry..." Without another word, he struck her with an almighty blow, sending her sprawling to the ground in a spray of blood and broken teeth. He straddled her and wrapped his hands around her throat, throttling her with all his strength. He grinned viciously as he felt her windpipe being crushed in his grip, her pleading eyes rolling back into her purple head as her heels beat a death-rattle on the ground behind him. The sounds grew weaker and weaker, and finally she lay still...
Bruce closed his eyes and shook his head, clearing the vile images from his mind. That wasn't what had happened at all, he would have never done such a thing. After her final words, he had stormed out and they had made up later that same day; each apologizing for their harsh words and her promising never to take a case like that again. He hadn't laid a finger on her and never would.
As he opened his eyes, he found himself staring at the clean floor of an emergency room hallway. A young girl was in the next room, having a charred and melted suit peeled from her seared flesh. Tears ran down his face as he listened to her screams, screams that reached him even in the hall. He closed his eyes once more, praying to the Gods that it would end. The screams died away, and he dared looked again.
Another hospital, this time he was standing beside the quiet form of Barbara Gordon. The doctor was speaking to him, but he could only catch a phrase here and there. Severed nerves. Shattered spine. Total paralysis. She would never walk again. Tortured, raped... He squeezed his eyes shut again. He wished he could say it wasn't real, but it was. Goddamn his wretched life, Crane's nightmare gas didn't even need illusions to screw with his head. A scream shocked him out of his attempt at meditation and opened his eyes.
Another hospital... It was always a hospital. Once more he sat in the hall, once more he listened to the wails and shrieks of a young woman, only this time it was Harleen. He was still in his suit, and they were preparing her for surgery. She had shaken off the initial anesthesia and the new dose hadn't kicked in yet. She would be in unbearable agony every second she was awake. An unexpected feeling struck him in the heart like a bullet: Guilt. It didn't make sense... Why should he feel guilty for her pain?! But Gods above, he did. He would have given anything to have traded places with her, for it to be him suffering on that table... Bruce shut his eyes again, feeling tears begin to stream from them. He couldn't bear it anymore, couldn't take one more second of-"
"Hehehehe..." A wicked chuckle known all to well to him caught his attention. He opened his to see a face he hadn't seen in so many years...
"Jason." He whispered. Jason Tod, dressed as 'Robin", was striding through a darkened warehouse to the young woman who bound and gagged a few meters away from him. He looked handsome, confident, powerful... So sure in his youthful invincibility and wearing a cocky smile that said he ruled the world and would live forever to do so. And behind him crept a dark, sinister figure bearing a crowbar and vicious eyes that gleamed with a baleful light.
"Jason!" This time Bruce yelled the name aloud and tried to reach for the boy, but found himself held fast. He looked down to see a pair of pale, cracked hands holding each of his arms. In terror, he glanced frantically to either side and nearly fainted. He was being held back by his own parents, or rather by their fetid corpses.
"You can't save the dead Bruce." They spoke as one, their voices gravelly and oddly soft; as though their throats were packed with dirt from their now empty graves. "You can't save the dead, you can't save the dead youcan'tsavethedeadyoucan'tsavethedead!"
"Run!" Bruce howled at the boy. "For God's sake run! Leave her and run! Leave me and run!"
But Jason was def to his cries. Bruce watched in abject horror as the Joker swung his crowbar, bashing the poor boy in the back of the head and sending him sprawling to the floor in front of the now openly weeping man. Bruce could practically feel his heart breaking as he watched the scene unfold, powerless to stop it. Memories flashed through his mind like a million frames from a out-of-control projector: Meeting Jason at the Wayne Foundation orphanage, training him, laughing as they wrestled; casting all their skills aside in the name of fun. Jason's blush when Bruce teased him about girls, staying up all night eating popcorn and watching old horror flicks, or his cry of triumph when he beat Bruce at video games; even though this was the usual result of their matches. The night Jason had confided in Bruce that he'd finally made it to home-base with his girlfriend and their conversation about whether or not they might get married; and how Bruce had advised that they try attending college together to test adulthood as a couple.
"You know, I'm thinking that your head must be totally empty to have missed me!" The Joker gloated over the fallen young man. "Let's see, shall we?" With that the cackling devil brought the bar down again on Jason's head, cracking his skull and denting his head. Blood poured from the wound, along with the sticky yellow of his cranial fluid. Jason looked upwards, his once handsome face gruesomely distorted. One eye bulged horrifyingly in its socket, while his good eye pleaded for a rescue that would never come.
"Bruce..." He groaned in mortal agony, reaching out with a single hand. "Dad..." Down came the crowbar, shattering the back of his skull and splattering Bruce with the blood and brains of the boy he had raised as his own child.
"Nooo!" Bruce screamed in vain as Jason died before his eyes. But still the hellish assault continued, the bar smashing down again and again, until nothing was left of his precious, beloved son's head but the unrecognizable pile of gore he had later found strewn next to his headless body. "Gaaaaahhhh!" Bruce shrieked until he could feel his throat tearing and his mind cracking beneath the strain of a horror and grief to great for words. Unable to scream anymore, he babbled and sobbed incoherently, casting his thoughts about as he pleaded for someone, anyone, to save him...
"Shhhh. It's OK. It's gonna be fine. Please don't cry..." That voice... He knew it. Suddenly he felt the pain and fear leave him, replaced by warmth and comfort and something else he couldn't put a word to. It was more profound than safety, deeper than any feeling of protection, greater than simple trust. If he had to put a word to it, he'd have to call it... Peace. He was suddenly aware of the warm, soft feeling of an ample bosom against his cheek as a gentle hand lovingly caressed his hair.
"I know it hurts... He hurt us both." Harleen whispered as she held him close against her heart. "But we'll suhvive. We'll make it though this crap. I'll be here for ya the whole way. It'll be Bruce and Harleen forevah." He could hear her heart beating against his ear, and his spirit soared knowing that it beat for him.
"Yes, she understands." He thought as he reveled in the peace that her words and touch gave him. She could reach him on a level no other woman ever could... They were a perfect match, and he had seen how unconditionally and selflessly she loved. He knew that if there was ever a woman he could love and trust with no fear, it was her...
Bruce felt a sudden pain in his left arm, and a icy feeling spread through his veins. His eyelids fluttered spasmodically as the serum did its work and returned him to reality. Eventually he was able to make out the form of Alfred standing in front of him and gave the man a shaky smile; desperate to conceal the panicked confusion he now felt. As his toxin-induced fantasies collided with his now sober mind he found himself seriously considering suicide-by-weight set; His worn mind barely able to process the shame and confusion he felt at the direction his thoughts had taken.
"Bruce! Bruce, are you alright?" Alfred asked him, snapping his fingers in front of his face.
"I... I don't know." He answered honestly as he rubbed his sore throat.
"Your readings this time were remarkable! The first four minuets were as... Unpleasant as usual. However about fifty seconds from the end your vitals suddenly stabilized! Come and take a look at this!" Bruce dutifully followed the unusually excited old man to the computer, where his biometric readings were recorded on the screen.
"Here we are at the beginning." Alfred said, pointing at the numeric and chemical readings as the associated graphics progressed, displaying the results of his scan. "Here we can see some minor changes in heartbeat, temperature and neurological activity as the toxin begins to take hold... And here, at about twenty-three seconds in: Drastically elevated heart-rate, a release of cortisol and adrenaline along with a massive glucose spike; all signs of a full fight-or-flight response. However, your neurological patterns seem to be more associated with grief..." Alfred smiled sadly at Bruce, his eyes shining with sympathy. "What a nightmarish combination."
"Nightmarish is a good word for it." Bruce readily agreed.
"But see here at the end!" Alfred continued, his voice once more giddy with excitement. "At exactly four-minuets and ten-seconds we see sudden and dramatic shift in brain-activity; with massive releases of dopamine, oxytocin, serotonin and endorphins! You were happy... Nay, positively blissful! What were you thinking about?!"
"I d-don't really remember." Bruce stammered, the lie sounding pathetic even to him. The look on his butler's face said that he clearly wasn't the only one who thought so.
"Well, whatever you did, whatever you thought about, it broke Crane's hold on you. All that fear, all that grief, washed away in an instant! Whatever it was, it was enormously powerful... And no doubt rooted deeply in your subconscious." The more of this Bruce heard, the less he liked. The idea of some kind of deep, soul-level attraction to the Joker's ex girlfriend struck him as the stuff of nightmares, or at least several intensive therapy sessions.
"Well, save the readings and we'll evaluate them later." Bruce said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Come on, I need to down my pre-workout swill and get this over with; and my workouts always take a little longer without Tim here to swap out with me."
"You know, I could adjust your weights for you between sets."
"Don't be ridiculous. I won't make you do that." Bruce objected as they walked down the hall. "I may be a bastard, but even I'm not that insensitive."
"You know," Alfred mused aloud. "That was always a matter of some debate."
"Come again?"
"Well you were over a month premature, though you seemed perfectly healthy. A number of people, myself admittedly included, often wondered if you hadn't been present at the wedding; in a manner of speaking." Bruce halted in his tracks right as they crossed into the gym. He had certainly never heard that before.
"Well, thanks for that little bombshell." Bruce wryly retorted as he picked up his -pre-workout drink. He glared distastefully at the vile liquid. Oh well. Through the teeth and over the gums, look out stomach, here it comes...
"Your woman is still asleep upstairs... You must have really worn her out." Bruce halted as the back door closed behind him and breathed a long-suffering sigh. That sultry voice was one he knew all too well, and once upon a time he would have been overjoyed to hear it; but that time had long since passed.
"Hello Talia." He replied simply, turning from his vehicle to face the woman. She was beautiful as always: Dark hair dancing in the morning breeze, almond-shaped emerald eyes beneath coyly arched brows and a lithe form that exuded a false sense of docility as well as an all-to-accurate air of raw sensuality.
"My condolences on your recent argument however." She continued, ignoring his greeting. "Such disagreements are never pleasant."
"I suppose you would know... In point of fact, you seem rather well informed on the nuances of my personal life."
"It is the duty of a wife to be abreast of such things, wouldn't you agree?" She asked as she reached out and gently caressed his face. He reached up and grabbed her hand, halting her attempts to mollify him.
"You are not my wife." He he growled. Her persistence was oddly flattering, but he knew they could never make it as a couple. Their disagreements ran far too deep for that.
"Tell that to my Father; he's the one who gave me in marriage to you. Not that I disagree mind you, but it's the truth." She retorted sourly.
"Yes, how is the old man?" Bruce asked dismissively, already beginning to turn away from what he considered a pointless discussion. Debates with his stalker usually were.
"Dying." She stated bluntly. Bruce froze in his tracks. Now that got his attention.
"What do you mean?"
"Three days ago, my father entered the Lazarus Pit... And emerged unchanged. He has reached the limit of what the Pits can do for him. He gives himself a year to live... Perhaps less." Bruce carefully evaluated the young woman before him: Her posture, her tone, the structure of her words and the minuscule detail of her facial expressions. She didn't seem to be lying, but she had successfully deceived him before. He would have to be cautious; and opted for calling her bluff.
"Well you should be happy then. After all, with Ra's dead and gone I'll have to-"
"Enough!" She shouted, tears springing to her eyes. This was certainly new; he had never seen her cry before, not even when they broke up. "You may view the love he and I share as cold, but my grief is real! He's my father, and I love him with all my heart... And surely you of all people can understand what it is to lose a parent. To become an orphan."
"Talia, I'm so sorry." He reached out to embrace her, but she raised her hand to hold him at bay.
"Wait. I must finish my message while I can." She took a deep breath, then plunged on. "Confronting his own mortality thus has humbled The Demon's Head. He has realized that he can no longer afford to wait for you to come around to his views. So he asked me to deliver this message to you." She handed Bruce a scroll, which he unrolled and began to read.
"Detective:"
"If you are reading this, then you already know that I am dying. For five-hundred years I have fought for the future of our species, for a world without war or greed or bloodshed. For a world unified under a single, benevolent government. But it seems that no one can cheat death forever, not even I.
"So now, as the grave calls me to whatever judgment awaits men such as us, I send you these words from the hands I love above all others. I know you fight for the cause, that your heart beats with the same virtue and courage as mine. And though we have had our differences and still do, I know that no one can lead the League like you can. I ask you not as a leader, or an enemy or even as a man who would have called you son: Take care of them. Lead them, guide them. Without a head, the League will perish... And perhaps my dream of a New World Order will die with me regardless. It seems that the dreams are yours now. Dream for us, live for us, and carry mankind into the brightest future you can imagine."
"I do not expect a reply, for you must consider my words; and there is life in me still as of now. But I hope that you will reach your decision soon. Please, take my name, bear my burden and my light. I give you my world, give you all that I am... Bruce."
"~Ra's Al Ghul"
"And as to my daughter... I ask that you love her the best that you can. Lover or friend, watch over her as I have. Let her find shelter in your shadow, comfort in your embrace and trust in your heart."
Bruce lowered the letter in awe. If this were all true, and he was fairly sure that it was, Ra's had truly been brought low to take such a meek tone with him. He looked at Talia, and saw that she was now openly weeping. A sudden realization struck him as he watched the tears roll down her cheeks: He stood on the precipice of a storm that would change his world forever. While there wasn't a single event to which he could point for this belief, he somehow understood it from the bottom of his soul. His confused feelings from this morning and the shifting alliances they had already resulted in, the end of his time as Gotham's Knight, his coming political career, his crusade to end the villains of this city and now the fate of the League of Assassins... He breathed deeply, choosing his words carefully.
"I see... I thank you for bringing me this. My answer remains the same; and it seems that your father has already accepted that."
"So you still refuse to lead us?" She snapped. "You will abandon us?"
"I have never refused to lead the League of Assassins. I will accept; but conditionally." He replied with quiet conviction.
"You would dilute our cause! Pervert my father's dream!" She howled hysterically.
"You can't force people to be moral Talia! It's never worked, and it never will!" He shouted back at her before calming himself. An argument now would serve no one and accomplish nothing. He rubbed his eyes in exasperation, then softened his tone. "This is neither the time, nor the place for this argument; nor is this a decision to be made in haste. Let your father know that I shall... Consider his request. And that I promise to visit him in person before the end."
"I will do this." She said with a nod. Suddenly a dam seemed to burst and her weeping lost its silence. She covered her face in her hands and began to sob loudly. He reached out and embraced her, an embrace that she returned with a low cry.
"B-Bruce, I'm afraid! Call me a fool if you must, but I cannot bear the thought of losing him! He's always been there for me and n-now h-h-he's-"
"Shhh... You're not a fool Talia." He comforted her, tenderly rocking her back and forth in his arms. "You were wrong though, I don't understand; I can't. I lost my parents so suddenly that it didn't seem real. To have to watch them go slowly, to be helpless to stop it... I can't even imagine. But I promise that no matter what I decide about succeeding your Father, I'll be there for you; I swear it." She nuzzled into his chest, her tears beginning to subside. They stood there for a long minuet, undisturbed by the world about them and unaware of the eyes that watched them from the window above.
"Someday, you will be mine My Love." She whispered as she finally parted from him. "Only a woman with a heart of gold and a will of iron could be your match, and there are none in all the world who can match me in that. Certainly not the girl who now warms your bed." Bruce smiled and even chuckled a little at her words. Some things never changed, and Talia Al Ghul was most definitely one of those things.
"We'll see where fate takes us from here. I haven't given up yet." She smiled and nodded, then turned away and left him to his day. He sighed as he watched her go, a dull ache throbbing in his chest. Even if they could never again be what they once had been, a part of him would always love that girl as long as he lived. He heaved another forlorn sigh, then headed straight for the locked room that adjoined the motor-court. He had an appointment to keep, and it wasn't one that he cold make as Bruce Wayne.
"Jessica's a hairy gonad!" a young boy by the name of Kevin yelled at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing in the hospital lobby. Bruce had watched and listened enough to know his name, that he was ten years old and an extremely bright young man with a keen interest in biology. He seemed to normally be the quiet type; though he was clearly not without a mischievous streak, one that a beautiful young woman of questionable maturity and highly suspect sanity had just exploited. Bruce looked up from his cellphone and smirked slightly as the boy's mother charged after him like a bat out of hell. He was clearly in trouble, but had evidently decided for whatever reason that it was worth it. And that insult... He chuckled. It had been a long time since he had heard anyone called a "gonad." Kid got points for a creative vocabulary too.
Harleen and Pamela rushed out in the ensuing chaos, neatly dodging the attentions of the attendant on duty. They were both giggling like a couple of convent novices who had just managed to sneak in a bottle of tequila. Harleen in particular looked happier than he had seen her in a long while, radiantly beautiful in her glee...
Bruce closed his eyes in a gesture that was almost a wince. He shouldn't have come today, not after that shameful episode this morning. However, the horrible visions of Crane's fear toxin had reinforced the necessity warning Tim about the potential threats of his mission that rose above and beyond the norm. And there he was, opposite the lobby and facing out the window with Stephanie by his side, both of them dressed in motorcycle leathers. The fact that they hadn't recognized him was gratifying testament that his skills with disguise remained untarnished by the years.
As he watched them, he noted with some surprise how low-cut the corset that Stephanie wore was. Not that this would normally be worth noting, but he hadn't seen her show much cleavage since-
Bruce grimaced again, remembering the screams that had reverberated in his mind this morning. The very second memory he had visited had been of her. After Barbara had been crippled, she had taken on the mantle of Batgirl; only to be burned by Garfield Lynns, a.k.a "Firefly", a few months in. She had recovered and returned to action, but had still been horribly scarred by the event. Even from across the room he could detect the spiderweb of scars that reached up to her collarbone; scars that he knew reached down over her left breast and covered nearly a quarter of her body. At least she hadn't lost any functionality, unlike her lover...
Tim turned briefly to the room around him, and Bruce felt a sickening pang of guilt. His face was handsome to the point of being beautiful, but for a single scar that stretched from the bridge of his nose to his right temple and across the milky-white of his ruined right eye. It had been Jervis Tetch who had cut his eye out; and even now Bruce could hear the panicked words he had repeated over and over again.
"I can't see. I-I can't s-see!" He had muttered as he fought the urge to give in to shock and pass out. Bruce had told him all the traditional lies: That it would be alright, that they'd patch him up good as new. But one gimps of the oozing wreck in his eye-socket told him that Tim would never see out of that eye again. It had taken him some time to grow used to the change in his vision and the impairment of his depth perception, but Tim had trained himself consistently until he was every bit as dangerous with once eye as he had been with two.
"Going to call it in?" The blonde girl asked, her voice barely audible from across the lobby.
"I think it's about time, yeah." Tim replied before pressing on his earpiece. "The cuckoo had left the nest, I repeat, the cuckoo has left the nest."
"So I noticed. Meet me outside by the large oak." Bruce whispered into his phone. He waited patiently as the couple shuffled outside, then followed.
"Holy shit!" Tim swore with a laugh as Bruce approached them beneath the emerald boughs. "I totally didn't recognize you!"
"That was the idea." He said with a smile and a failed attempt to completely erase the smugness from his voice.
"Jesus, you totally look black; even your bone structure looks different! Amazing!" Stephanie exclaimed in wonder.
"Thank you." He replied, nodding politely. "Ms. Brown, always a pleasure. And may I say you look especially lovely today." He said, taking her hand and bending to kiss it like a nobleman from a bygone era.
"Such a gentleman..." She murmured archly, looking over at her boyfriend. "You're taking notes, right?"
"Hey now, quit moving in on my girl!" Tim joked, making flippant shooing motions at his mentor. They shared a brief laugh before Bruce brought up something that had been nagging at him for the last few minuets.
"The Cuckoo'? Seriously?"
"Well, she is isn't she?" Tim replied with a vicious grin. Bruce felt a sudden and surprising twinge of irritation.
"From what I have seen she's made a phenomenal recovery thus far; both physically as well as psychologically." Bruce stated in a defensive tone. It was true though, he had spoken to her therapists a number of times as well as tracked her progress with his own eyes, and she had healed with remarkable swiftness and displayed a lightness of spirit throughout the process that made her rehabilitation seem almost effortless. Tim threw his head back and laughed heartily at his mentor's reply.
"Of course, I'd expect nothing less from her number-one stalker!"
"I am not stalking her!" He snapped angerly, shocking everyone present; including himself. "She is a high-risk informant and must be considered to be in danger until such a time as the Joker is apprehended!"
"Alright, I know! Sorry; it was just a joke. Honest."
Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry Tim, you didn't deserve that. I've just had a... Rough morning." Of course neither of them needed to know that said rough morning had involved events that made his casual jest strike far closer to home that he cared to admit. And besides, how many times had he found himself questioning his own motives? How many times had he needed to reassure himself that he was watching over her for her safety and not to see her smile, hear her laugh or see how angelic she looked as she slept... To his supreme annoyance, he felt his heart skip a beat at the memory and felt himself getting hot around the ears. Clearly this was an issue he'd have to address, but there was no way in hell that he'd talk to Tim about it... Or Alfred or Dick or any of them. He'd honestly rather chew glass.
"It's alright, I get it." Tim reassured him.
"No, you really don't; and that's fine because I don't want you to." Tim stared quizzically at Bruce's reply, but he didn't elaborate. "I came here to warn you to be careful, and I want you to look me in the eyes when I say it. I know you're hoping to tangle with the Joker, but don't get cocky."
"Don't worry so much, I'm not exactly new to this." Tim objected, looking slightly offended.
"Besides, I doubt he'll even show." Stephanie added. "No one has seen the Joker in months."
"Exactly, and I'm not shamed to admit that it scares the hell out of me." Bruce told his protege, who now looked thoroughly taken aback. "I haven't ever told you two much about this but... The man you know as the Joker wasn't always the grinning maniac you've seen. He used to be far different... Cold, calculating and driven. In fact, when I first met him as the Joker I didn't even recognize him. The Joker is a danger to anyone in arm's, or bullet's, reach. But he's little more than a rabid animal, snapping and clawing at everyone nearby. The man he was before was a problem on a much larger scale. If his absence is a sign of a return to his former self to any degree, then you'll be in infinitely more danger than you otherwise be."
"I... understand." Tim replied with a grim nod, a gesture that Stephanie seconded. "We'll be careful."
"Good. If you see him, kill him. Show no mercy, because you'll receive none. Now I have to go, but I'll meet you later to discuss surveillance data regarding the disappearances and terrorist cells. Take care."
"You know..." Tim called out as Bruce turned and walked away, after a quick scan of the area to ensure that no one else was in earshot. "I've got to say, it's been a long time since I saw you personally drive anything but the Batmobile."
"Armored Pursuit and Capture Vehicle." Bruce grumbled through gritted teeth. He knew Tim was just doing it to get a rise out of him and he shouldn't take the bait but Goddamn that stupid name...
"Batmobile." The boy repeated with a mischievous grin.
"Get out of here!" Bruce growled with an irate wave of his arm. Tim laughed and walked away with Stephanie in tow. If he lived to be a thousand, he'd never understand how he managed to surround himself with so many smartasses. Anyway, it was time to return home. He had an appointment for noon and a flight afterwards, and he could afford to miss neither.
On his way back to Wayne manor, he received a text message from Ms. Isley. "I gave it to her." it read.
"Good. Did she like it?" He had replied, but had received no response; though that was expected. Still, at least she had done as he had asked. The bracelet he had given Harleen through Ms. Isley contained a tracking chip in one of the charms; and while this wasn't particularly useful at the present moment, it could potentially save her life if she was abducted after being released from the hospital. Of course, he hadn't told Isley that there was a chip in the bracelet; but she was easily intelligent enough to ascertain this on her own. What he doubted she realized was that he also genuinely hoped she liked the gift, even if she never knew it came from him and not her. Oh well. As long as it brought a smile to her face, that was enough for him.
This uncharacteristic thought lead him right back to the events of this morning and quickly dispelled the beginnings of what could have been a good mood.
"What in the actual fuck is wrong with me?!" He wondered aloud as he fought his way through traffic. He had a girlfriend, and he was determined to make their relationship work! Harleen was a recovering maniac, the Joker's ex-girlfriend and someone who had tried to murder him on numerous occasions! He'd have to be completely insane to even consider a relationship with her!
And yet... As much as he hated to admit it, Alfred was correct in stating that his feelings must have come from deep in his subconscious in order to have freed him from the toxin's effects. And to be perfectly honest, it wasn't all that difficult to imagine how such feelings could develop; even without accounting for her exceptional beauty. He'd seen her dauntless determination as she recovered, heard about her kindness towards the other patients, even going so far as to walk extra laps to encourage those who fell behind.
He'd seen her virtually unshakable devotion to those she loved, and watched how she freely shared her affections in a way that was almost childlike in its innocence. He remembered one occasion in particular; the first time she had managed to complete a lap around the beginner's circuit. How she had laughed and thrown her arms around her therapist in joyful abandon before kissing her on the cheek. To call it charming would be a disservice to how deeply the sight had touched him. Did he really feel so starved for genuine female affection that such a simple gesture had affected him so greatly? After all, his and Caitlin's relationship was certainly not lacking in affection; especially the physical variety. Primarily the physical variety. Only the physical variety...
"Gah!" Bruce cried out in frustration, slamming his head into the steering wheel and leaving a pale, crescent arch in the makeup on his forehead. It wasn't true that their love was only skin deep, it couldn't be; despite the fact that some part of him, on some level apparently wanted to throttle her. It had to be the gas. It was the gas; the stuff was designed to make people crazy and it fucking worked!
"That does it." He thought as he pulled onto his estate through the concealed rear gate. "I'm done with that bloody gas. I simply cannot afford the risk to my relationships and psychological well-being. Especially with everything else on my plate right now..."
He sighed morosely, turning into the motor-court on auto-pilot. One thing was for certain, he'd have no shortage of things to discuss at this afternoon's conference.
"Mr. Wayne, you're finally here!" His secretary, a mousy little brunette named Deirdra exclaimed; rushing to greet him and catching her heavy, coke-bottle glasses as they slid to the end of her nose and forcing them back up.
"Finally? I thought I was almost and hour early."
"You are but..." She lowered her voice. "...He arrived almost twenty minuets ago." She explained with a gesture towards the luxurious waiting room to the side. A quick glance through the one-way window confirmed what he suspected and explained without a word why she seemed even more nervous than usual: The room's sole occupant was none other than Roman Sionis, easily one of the most evil and dangerous men in Gotham. His early arrival indicated the value he placed on this meeting; though he hadn't brought any guards, which clearly indicated that he didn't view Bruce as any kind of a real threat. Whether that would play a positive or negative role in their negotiations remained to be seen; but it would certainly factor in.
"I see..." Bruce muttered. "I'll deal with him momentarily. Is there anything else going on?"
"God yes..." She ejaculated, her eyes widening in horror when she realized what she'd done. "I'm sorry, that wasn't very professional." Bruce laughed and tussled her hair playfully.
"It's OK kid, I know I over-work you. But I swear that you're getting a raise next quarter and an assistant to lighten the load."
"Really?" She said hopefully.
"Cross my heart. I've even got a few candidates in mind already." He replied with a smile. The truth was that he only had one candidate, and he'd already decided on her months ago; but Little Deirdra didn't need to know that. "I don't have time today, but what's on the docket?"
"Well," She began as she fiddled with her iPad, bringing up the applicable files. "Mr. Fox needs to speak with you ASAP about a revision of the Takahara merger, Ms. Vale and Mrs. Kent both sent a message saying that their respective agencies would like to have you on for an interview regarding your campaign, the NRA and NAGR have both been pushing for a statement regarding your plans to tackle gun-control laws, and this note was on your desk this morning. Something about campaign speeches?" She seemed oddly uncomfortable as she pulled out a small slip of paper. Bruce grabbed the sticky note from her and read it.
"Bruce,"
"Things going well with the new buyers, should have solid info soon. But the general atmosphere down here is tense. Check the NYT; word about rich-boy power-grab, anti-working class. All bullshit, I know. Make a few appearances soon to calm people down. Will get word out for you on my level."
"B."
"P.S: Saw a picture of your secretary on the desk. She's cute. Is she single?"
Bruce snorted with laughter and crumpled the note before tossing it in the bin. "Don't worry about him, he's... Mostly harmless."
"Who was it?
"Long story. Can you pull up the New York Times for me really quick?" He asked, steering her and her insatiable curiosity away from his brother." I'd like to see what he was talking about." As she went to the website, he pulled out his burn-phone, the third in two months, and sent a message to Bane.
"Meet me tomorrow, usual time and place. Want to discuss best locations to appear first, as well as other recent events. Been an eventful couple of days."
"Also, she is single... And 5 foot, weighs 90lbs in a wet trench-coat. You'd kill her."
"Here it is." She said as she handed him the iPad, her voice indicating that it wasn't pretty. She was right.
"Another Alt-Right Billionaire's Power-Grab: How Bruce Wayne As Governor Would Destroy the Poor." Bruce face-palmed in response. He'd read the article later, but he doubted it would sound any better the more he read. He was also quite sure that this was payback for his refusal to do an interview with them, as they had taken a fairly neutral tone with his campaign thus far. But if they had an issue with his disinclination to speak with them, they needed to look into the mirror. After all, it wasn't his fault that most people considered the paper to be barely more than a gossip rag these days.
"Alt-right huh?" He muttered with a derisive snort. "That's fascinating; last week they were calling me a 'Classic Liberal'. Whatever; at least they aren't calling me a clansman or anything like that."
"Yet." His secretary said pointedly as she retrieved her iPad. Bruce chuckled and nodded.
"Yet." He agreed. "Please wait for two minuets, then send Mr. Sionis in. And please make sure that we have some tea in there, preferably Chai." She nodded, looking nervous again. "Don't worry, I won't let him hurt you."
"Got it." She whispered. He turned away and entered his office, taking his place in the supple, burgundy-leather chair that sat behind his opulent cherry-wood desk. Though he didn't come in often, preferring to leave the day-to-day business to Lucius, he still tried to put in several hours a week; as well as working to ensure that employee morale remained high. Desk work really wasn't his thing, and frankly neither were public relations. But he often viewed the people who worked in Wayne Tower as a sort of extended family, and caring for his family was certainly something he could do.
"Especially Little Deirdra." He mused with a smile. She'd only worked for him for two years, but had already shown herself to be amazingly competent, not to mention being cute as a button. The guy who finally managed to break through the wall of nervous silence she threw up for most folks and win her over would be a lucky man indeed. His phone vibrated, no doubt a reply from Bane. "Damn." Was all it said. He laughed softly as a gentle chiming noise caught his attention, signaling that his two minuets were up.
"He's on his way. So is the tea."
"Thank you." He replied simply, releasing the paging button seconds before the door opened and Roman Sionis entered. The man was the dictionary definition of tall, dark and handsome; but his eyes and smile were both cold as ice. A more insensitive person might have failed to notice the sinister air that he gave off, but anyone who did notice would either be cowed or repulsed. In Bruce's case, it was the latter.
While they had never met face-to-face, they had crossed paths many times as Batman and Black Mask. In many ways, these meetings were far more honest than this one would be, as both of them were their truest selves when hidden behind a mask; One being Gotham's Crusader and the other a ruthless warlord who reveled in the pain he inflicted on others. But it wouldn't do to give any indication of that impression here. Bruce arose and extended his hand to his enemy, a false but highly believable smile plastered on his face.
"Mr. Sionis! Bruce Wayne, I'm glad that you could make it in today." He said, shaking the snake's hand with a warmth that was entirely feigned.
"Thank you for making the time for me." He responded with a smile and shake that were slightly less believable than Bruce's. As they took their seats, Deirdra entered with a small platter containing an elegant Persian-style tea set. She quietly placed the tray on the table between them and stepped back, looking not-unlike a frightened fawn preparing to flee for its life. She was no fool, and obviously had seen right through Sionis' fine clothes and smooth smile; and was just as obviously terrified by what she saw.
"Thank you Ms. McInnis, you may leave us." She nodded and rushed out as hastily as she possibly could without making a scene. With her gone, Bruce turned his attention back to his guest.
"So, what brings you here today? You mentioned it had something to do with my bid for Governor?"
"Indeed, and I would first like to wish you the best of luck in your campaign." The man replied with yet another bone-chilling smile. "I can't remember the last time a Gothamite ran the state, and I'm willing to admit to more than a little in-house preference. Say what they will up north, but no city exemplifies the great state of New Jersey half as well as Gotham; both in its virtues and its vices."
"I couldn't agree more. Tea?" Bruce asked, raising his cup. "It's chai. A bit of a change of pace from the more traditional coffee, but I became rather addicted to the stuff during a vacation to Nepal."
"No thank-you." Sionis declined with a polite gesture. Bruce nodded and sipped his own tea, barely noticing the rich flavor as he evaluated the man across from him. This refusal, though minor on the surface, set the tone for whatever discussion would follow. Sionis was here to get his way, not to negotiate; and by drinking his own without regard to his guest, Bruce indicated that he would be maintaining the upper-hand that the location of their discussion provided him and would not easily cave to pressure. The air subtly thickened around them, each aware of the others unwillingness to bend.
"While I am naturally excited about the implications of your candidacy, "Sionis continued "I was somewhat concerned by a few points on your stated platform, as well as a couple of talking points from last week's speech, hence my visit. And by concerned, I mean from a strictly professional angle as a businessman."
"Of course." Bruce agreed, barely containing the temptation to snort in disgust. The Sionis family hadn't been legitimate businessmen for at least two generations, but keeping up the pretense clearly still mattered to the current head of the household. "By all means, let me know what your concerns are and hopefully I can lay them to rest."
"As I'm sure you are aware, Sionis Industries has evolved over time from a production company to one specializing in Personnel Placement as well as Foreign Imports. I'm concerned that a combination of deregulation on some aspects in concert with an increase in the regulation of others might adversely effect my company. I'm sure you can understand." This time the impulse Bruce had to control was the urge to laugh in the man's face. So that was how he classified massive dealings in illicit drugs and being the primary supplier of muscle for Gotham's most blood-soaked clientele? Imports and Personnel Placement?! Very well, he could play the semantics game too.
"Well, as to the imports issue, you needn't worry." Bruce told him with a winning smile. "Assuming I'm able to implement any of the changes I want to, the cost of imports and exports will be drastically reduced. I'm all too aware of how important the sea and its bounties are to the state's economy; and I believe that promoting a healthy economy will benefit everyone in the long run."
"Indeed, though the possible adverse effects of a sudden reduction in the... Price of available goods cannot be understated." Sionis countered. "In fact, I've heard rumors of plans by the Falcone family to expand into import marketing as well; or perhaps I should say to a previously unheard of level."
"While I'm certainly flattered in their estimation of my chances, the Falcones are smart people. I'm sure they are just hedging their bets. That said..." He continued after taking another sip of tea. "I can certainly see how the prospect of such competition from another illustrious family could be daunting. We'll just have to raid the wave together and see who sinks and who swims. The free, and legal market will decide." Sionis nodded harshly, his smile gone and a muscle in his cheek twitching spasmatically in anger. The implication, that Bruce had no intention of backing down on the legalization of recreational drugs, was clearly not lost on him. Unless he wanted to compete in the free market, and he clearly did not, he'd lose his market almost overnight. Religious conservatives and drug dealers, ironically enough, both wanted the same thing; though for totally opposite reasons: A ban on drugs. And Roman Sionis was no exception to this rule.
"As well it should." The angry man concurred, the smile returning to his face; only now it was less of a smile and more the feral grin of an animal about to lunge for your throat. Though it was unlikely, Bruce vaguely wondered if Sionis would dare attack him here, right in the middle of a crowded office floor. He doubted it, though Sionis wasn't exactly the most stable person in Gotham. Hell, he wasn't even the most stable person in the office, and that spoke volumes. "I was wondering what your plans were regarding regulations on hiring, particularly security personnel. Sionis Industries is, after all, the city's number-one supplier of security." Well, that really depended on how one looked at it. They were a major player, but LexCorp was the Gotham's number-one provider of security guards... Assuming you didn't account for thugs, drug-barons, illegal corporate warfare or political assassinations; in which case Sionis Industries won by a landslide.
"Well obviously I'd like to relax restrictions and make hiring easier across the board, even beyond what the federal government has done the last two years. That said, I'd like to see the regulations regarding Security Personnel followed more stringently; especially given the unfortunate death of Mayor Sharp last year. Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't it a member of your staff that killed him? Strangled with copper wire in his office as I recall." Sionis' grin widened disturbingly, the exact opposite of how any even remotely moral person would have reacted to having the memory of such an event thrown so casually in their face.
"A third party, contracted through us. We would have dealt with the situation ourselves but, as I'm sure you'll remember, the man failed to escape alive." Bruce watched as the man across from him heaved a theatrical sigh, assuming an air of defeat that Bruce didn't buy for even a second. "Well, you seem very set on your platform. I'll admit to some disappointment, but certainly not enough to stop me from throwing my lot in with 'Gotham's Prince'. I have a rather substantial contribution to your campaign ready to transfer as we speak; it requires only authorization from yourself or Mr. Fox."
Bruce shook his head slowly and began to speak, speaking slowly to emphasize each and every word. "I'm afraid I cannot accept your offer, grateful as I am. You see, in much the same manner as our president, I intend to fund my own run for election. If I were to take contributions from anywhere, it might give the extremely incorrect impression that my platform, and beliefs, are for sale." The smile fled once more from Sionis' face, and his cheek twitched even more noticeably than before.
"I see... Well then, I wish you the best of luck. Transitions from the political norm to a more privatized and business-centered leadership can be difficult, so I hope you'll take care. And," He continued , snatching up the teacup that hand previously languished unused before him. "I believe I will take some of this tea after all. It does smell delicious, and I confess the scent has finally gotten the better of me." They rose to their feet, and Bruce offered his hand. Sionis refused to accept the gesture, returning instead a stiff nod of the head before turning and leaving the office. A small flash of white caught Bruce's eye, turning his gaze to the table. In the exact spot where the teacup had sat was now a small slip of paper adorned with the symbol of a crimson serpent, twisted into a figure-eight and consuming its own tail.
"Ouroboros..." He whispered. Now what in the blazes was this about? Sionis had obviously left it on purpose to send a message, but what? He couldn't ever remember Sionis using such an esoteric symbol; guns and skulls were more his style. He frowned, folding the paper in half and slipping it into his pocket. He'd definitely need to look into this, but now wasn't the time. He still had a few more appointments for the day, and he needed to move. With that in mind he strode from his office, noting that Sionis had already vanished. Dierdra approached him, holding a cup of tea and bearing a look of relief on her face, no doubt in regard to the departure of their "guest".
"Well, from what I heard that went pretty well!" She said with a naively hopeful smile. Bruce ignored her comment and rapidly issued her orders.
"I want a sixty percent increase in security by close of business on Friday and a twenty-four-seven perimeter on the building, including EOD technicians with dogs doing sweeps of the parking lot between every shift. By Thursday morning, a checkpoint on all parking entrances and a strict curfew enforced; no more working late and no excuses or exceptions. Tomorrow I also want a buddy-system implemented; no one goes anywhere alone, especially you. I mean it, not even to the restroom. As of this minuet, we are officially at war." The tiny girl had gone pale as a sheet and was attempting to record everything on her iPad while juggling the cup of tea. "By the way, did Sionis give you that?" He asked, indicating the cup.
"Y-yes. He said he didn't want it, but thanked me anyway."
"Go dump it down the sink, it's poisoned." Bruce commanded as he marched away, leaving his dumbstruck secretary behind him. This outcome was expected, but it still angered him. His people would be frightened and confused, but that was still a damn sight better than being dead. Not that it mattered anyway in the long run. Sooner or later, Sionis would give in and don the mask again. He wouldn't be able to resist the call of violence and death forever... And when that happened, when he exposed himself that way again, Bruce would kill the man with his own two hands.
Author's Note: Hello all! I believe this has been the longest chapter I've ever written; and would have been even longer if I had included the full day! For practical reasons I opted to split it into two. And Harleen thought she had an eventful day!
