A/N: Thank you all again so much for the awesome reviews/favs/follows and for reading this little tale and sticking with it! This is more or less a transition chapter after the scene-setting of the last one...like we're approaching the top of a roller coaster and then starting that descent. Hopefully you enjoy and if you do (or don't) please let me know what you liked (or didn't)!
I don't own 'Gotham' or 'Batman.'
Chapter 20
The flurry of activity in his apartment was mind-numbing—or perhaps it was that he still wasn't completely coherent after the concentrated gassing from the previous night; either way, Captain James Gordon sat at a stool in his kitchen, swirling a glass of ice water as an army of forensics analysts and several police officers scoured his apartment for any and every piece of evidence of The Joker's visit. Barbara's room was completely taped off, as was his master bedroom. The front door was gone, removed from its hinges completely by the hostage rescue team when they kicked it in just after eight that morning. Gordon appreciated the enthusiasm to a point—it was also several hours late, which irritated him to no end. That sort of property damage was unnecessary if the target was already long gone. Later, when forensics arrived at the secured scene, they hauled the door off for processing.
A hand brushed across his shoulders, pausing to squeeze one as someone sat down on the stool next to his. Jim looked up, relieved to find his ex-wife sitting there. The horror in her eyes was far less comforting.
"Jim…are you okay?" She asked quietly.
"I'm fine, but Lee…he took Barbara! And I just let it happen."
"Stop it, Jim. You couldn't have possibly known he would be that brash."
Jim clenched his fist and pounded it on the counter. "But somebody had already been here! There had to have been signs that I missed. Somebody planted the canisters under my bed and—"
"—And now we'll get her back. You don't think I feel guilty too? I told you to take her this week on Monday. She shouldn't have even been here!" Leslie rolled her eyes and fought a valiant, but losing battle against tears. "I let her down—I'm so sorry, Jim."
The former detective downed the rest of his water and shook his head. "Both feeling sorry about it won't help find Barbara, though."
"No, it won't," agreed Leslie cautiously, an edge to her voice. Jim turned, noticing the change in tone.
"But you think you know what can?"
"Not what, Jim: who."
His eyes widened, realization dawning. The Joker's words from that night about wanting to include the 'pet bat' in their deadly game of cat-and-mouse lurked in the back of his mind. "I don't know if that's a good idea; how do you know we can trust him?"
"Because he saved my life. And we're a little beyond that at this point, don't you think?" She jerked her head in the direction of the GCPD analysts and investigators scurrying to and fro through the door-less entry. "They won't find our daughter before midnight, but he might."
Gordon nodded, resigned to the impossible situation in which the spectre of their past had placed them. He silently cursed Jerome Valeska, swore that he would find and kill him—again—since somehow the first attempt didn't seem to do the trick. But before he could fulfill that vengeful fantasy, he had to actually locate the man, and without a lead to work off of, that was going to be nigh impossible in the next…Gordon gritted his teeth as he checked his watch and noted it was fourteen hours until the deadline.
"Alright, Lee, so how do we contact him?"
The doctor smiled thinly and stood, extending a hand. "Follow me."
Gordon pushed open the emergency exit door leading to the roof of his apartment complex and led Leslie out into the rain, popping open an umbrella to keep the two of them relatively dry—the fierce crosswind relegated his efforts to marginally effective. They took two steps away from the door so it could slam shut behind them as Gordon quickly scanned the rooftop for their expected guest; the rain and large air conditioning units and exhaust ventilation shafts weaving up and down across the roof greatly impaired his ability to make a thorough search.
"I'm glad you both came," a gruff voice said from behind them. Gordon whirled, pulling the revolver from his waistband and thrusting the gun out, training it on the dark figure lurking in the shadows to the side of the emergency exit. His cape was pulled tight across his chest, the rain streaking down the sharp tips of his cowl and dripping from the wickedly curved ends of the cape.
"Jim, put the gun down," the doctor said in a calm voice from just behind his shoulder. After a moment when he was still holding his revolver out like it could ward off the demons crushing in around him, Leslie reached out and delicately pressed it down towards the gravel. Gordon blinked, regaining his senses.
"What do you want?" he called out skeptically.
"The same thing you do: Barbara returned safely and The Joker caught."
"I want him dead!" snarled the police captain.
"Vengeance solves nothing. Especially now," reprimanded the vigilante as thunder cracked to the north. "We don't have much time."
"So what do you suggest we do?" Leslie asked, yelling to be heard. She shivered and shuffled closer to Jim, her arms crossed against the chill.
"We split up. This has all been a game to him since the beginning, and this is the final test. We just have to find him."
"It's not exactly a small city," Lee pointed out. "Where do we look?"
"It's not so big if we think about who we're dealing with. Captain, you and The Joker have a history together; where in Gotham would hold specific importance to that?"
Gordon furrowed his brow, trying to focus on the distant past. "Uh, well where we thought he died, I guess."
"The old Bowery Savings Bank," the shrouded figure nodded slightly. "Galavan's penthouse?"
"I don't think so," Gordon scratched at the back of his neck. "The tycoon Rupert Thorn purchased it a couple years ago for cheap and has been living their ever since. Even Jerome—The Joker—isn't insane enough to take Barbara there." His comment about the villain's insanity clicked like tumblers aligning in Gordon's mind. "Arkham: where I sent him after he was arrested."
The masked man stared at Gordon intently. He nodded imperceptibly and flicked his eyes between them. "I'll go to Arkham. Check out the old bank building. If you don't hear from me by sundown, assume the worst."
"Wait!" Gordon shouted as their cloaked caller spun and stepped up onto the ledge of the rooftop. He crouched, turning slightly to acknowledge the police captain. Jim spoke up once more, "How will you contact me if you find anything?"
"You'll know," Batman growled, throwing himself into the abyss and disappearing from view. Gordon handed the umbrella to Leslie and ran to the edge of the roof, climbing up onto the ledge and looking down at where their visitor was gliding through the air, cape spread like large glossy wings in the rain. He dove into an alley and vanished from sight once more.
"What did you say he called himself?" Gordon said over his shoulder, staring into the lightning-filled Gotham sky.
"The Batman."
"Right…Batman, huh?" Gordon carefully hopped back onto the gravel of the rooftop and walked, soaked, back to his ex-wife. He tried to smile wryly; however, it felt closer to a pained grimace. "I'm glad he's on our side."
"Oh, you have no idea," asserted Leslie as she ushered Jim back into the stairwell and slammed shut the door.
"You're sure about this?" Alfred asked with a glance at the rearview. "You're sure you don't want me to spend my day driving you somewhere else?"
"I may need to go somewhere else if he's not here, yes," Bruce responded levelly. He looked out the rain-streaked window at the large distribution facility behind which the Rolls was parked, nearly a half mile down the road from the front gates to Arkham Asylum. "I doubt he is here, but The Joker's also shown a flair for the theatrical; he may have left a clue here. I should be back rather quickly."
Alfred watched grimly as his charge donned his mask and stepped out into the rain before running past the hood of the car and beginning to climb a ladder up to the top of the warehouse ahead of them.
Pausing to glance back down at the car as he crested the roof, Batman tossed a two-fingered salute down to the butler and started jogging across the sloped surface. To no one, he griped, "I have got to get my own car."
The teal-and-cream tiled floor of the security guard's station just inside the main doors of Arkham was caked with a coat of grime so thick it turned the lighter colored tile squares brown. Outmoded screens and displays for the security sensor systems on the property were jammed floor-to-ceiling in the space, a double-layered cage wrapping around the front of it where a thin gap in screens allowed visitors to approach and state their business. One of the two swivel chairs in the guard shack spun slowly, creaking as it made its absent-minded revolution. Two screens on the front panel were shattered, their black screens unnatural voids in the midst of greenish visuals emanating from the other ones in the room.
The grimy floor behind the two chairs was further marred by streaks of red—and the unconscious and bound but injured body of the one Arkham security guard assigned to that afternoon's watch rotation. The second of the two chairs was occupied by a clown-masked thug, his baseball bat's blood-stained barrel sitting propped in the corner out of sight. He was typing rapidly when movement on a screen to his left drew his attention. He turned and watched the next display: moments later, a black shape moved past the camera in a blur before that screen disappeared, a line of static across the middle of it suggesting that the occurrence was no accident.
Another display on the other side of the room suffered a similar fate, unbeknownst to the goon sitting, still watching in rapt attention the bank of screens in front of his mask. One by one, the roof cameras went offline and then he saw, on a screen near his knee, the mysterious intruder approach and drop into the fenced-in courtyard in the middle of the compound.
The goon grinned. "Just like Boss predicted," he mumbled and began his next set of predetermined actions by slamming his palm down on the large red alarm on the main panel near his elbow. Then he spun around and stepped over the real guard and began flicking switches. "Night, night, Mr. Bat."
The knocked out guard was oblivious to the menacing chuckle the goon tacked onto the end of his rambling as throughout the high-risk wing, doors began unlocking seemingly of their own accord.
In the courtyard, Batman froze as a loud wailing of klaxons pierced the storm. Metallic grating began falling over doorways and bars slid up in front of windows as speakers in the corners of the courtyard blared the alarm. He frowned and slowly backpedaled to the middle of the courtyard as a door in the corner opened. Batman paused for a moment, but nobody entered the courtyard. Carefully, he walked towards the pillars lining the courtyard and pressed himself to one, peering around it at the empty doorway beckoning him to enter the Asylum itself. After another minute of solitude and constant alarm wailing, Batman finally swallowed and strode out from behind the pillar and into the open doorway.
His cape was barely through the portal when it swung shut automatically and a locked door in a fence at the next intersection popped open. Batman pushed the gate open fully and stepped onto a landing overlooking a long cell block below, a single wrought-iron set of steps leading up from the concrete floor below to his vantage point. One-way glass lined the wall to his right—below to his left, the line of cells stretched on for nearly fifty yards to the far side of the room. Batman cracked his knuckles and clenched his fists.
Every cell door was open and a line of massive, angry inmates were snarling up at him. The nearest one foolishly tried to rush up the stairs and attack the newcomer; Batman casually pivoted and planted a kick in the man's chest, sending him tumbling back down the stairs. As the prisoner finished his somersault onto the concrete below, two more rushed up the stairs. Batman raised his gauntleted fists and met the first one, parrying a wild punch with a blow to his gut. The man doubled over in pain and a jab kick to his knee sent the man sprawling and rolling back down to the ravenous pack below the landing. The second inmate sidestepped a punch and reared back with a shiv, intending on stabbing the Caped Crusader. Batman dodged the first off-balance lunge, grabbing the wrist and bringing his gauntlet down, shattering the man's hand. He screamed and dropped the impromptu weapon—his scream only increased as he found himself hurtling through the air into a sea of fellow inmates.
As the third of the first wave of attackers landed bodily on top of several inmates below, Batman picked a small black sphere out of a pouch on his utility belt and spiked it into the metal beneath his feet: there was a flash and black smoke filled the landing, billowing out over the cell block. The inmates coughed and shielded their eyes, stumbling towards the stairs. As the smoke dissipated, they realized the landing was empty and the gate was slammed shut once more—the first group of inmates to climb the stairs discovered a small bat-shaped shuriken wedged into the locking mechanism to prevent them from leaving the cell block.
Batman ran to the end of the hall, eyes searching for the door control panel. Finding it on the wall opposite the door, he carefully pulled off the cover and rewired the controls—behind him, the door hissed open. Whirling, he ran back into the courtyard, feeling like the last several hours were an incredible waste of time and resources wasted on a dead end.
Just as he was about to aim his grapple gun towards the roof, the speakers crackled and a tapping noise was cast across the courtyard. "Test…test…are you there, Batsy?"
He froze as the harsh voice of The Joker surrounded him. "Of course you are. I'm so glad you decided to drop in and play! Oooh it's so exciting. You, a man who dresses up like a bat—and a whole asylum filled with people who wish they could do the same! Heeheehee…but you and I know better. They'll never ascend to our level, hmm? And unfortunately, I think our dear friend James is going to be ascending to a much, much higher plane in no time. So maybe I can arrange a little father-daughter reunion for them? Touching, don't you think?" There was a smacking sound and Batman could picture the crazed murderer hitting himself in the forehead. "I really must stop with these rhetorical statements! Ah, well, I think I've delayed you long enough, Bats. Welcome to the madhouse!"
There was a piercing screech across the sound system and then it went dead. Rain fell heavily on Arkham and Batman paused, turning around in a slow circle before whipping his cape and his head back around the opposite direction as dozens of clown-masked goons and massive asylum inmates that slowly stepped out from under the eaves on either side of the courtyard during the speech closed in around him. Several held crow bars and pipes; others knives and misappropriated billy clubs. Batman snatched his grapple gun off of his belt, pointing it towards the tower atop the front of Arkham—and dropped it with a shout of pain as one of the clown-masked goons threw a large rock, hitting him in the hand. Realizing his options were now severely limited, Batman fell into a fighting stance, fists up around his chin as every lesson at the hands of martial arts masters and his own butler coursed through his thoughts. He continued circling slowly—and waiting for one of his countless opponents to make the first move.
They didn't disappoint.