Rachel opened her eyes with a satisfied, quiet sigh. Her head was resting on Harvey Dent's chest, and she could feel him breathing, and hear his steady, redoubtable heartbeat pumping. She ran a hand over his ribcage, and smiled when she felt his hand cover hers. "You okay?" he asked.
"Never better," she replied, curling up closer to him.
He smiled down at her, wrapping a strong arm around her bare shoulders and pulling her closer to him, kissing the top of her dark head. He entwined his fingers with hers over his chest, leaning his head against hers, and smiling, closing his eyes. "Me, too," he said.
"Harvey," Rachel said, and Harvey opened his eyes and looked at her. She looked up at him. "Do you think Gotham is really a suitable place for two people… any two people… to start a family? Especially with everything that's been going on lately…?"
He frowned a bit, looking away, rubbing his hand slowly up and down her arm. "That's a good question, Rachel," he said. He glanced over at his bedside table, where his lucky coin sat, heads-up, dully glistening against the wood. He reached over and picked it up, then held it up for her to see. "Heads, we leave Gotham to start a family," he said. "Tails, we stay here and live in fear." She propped herself up on her elbows in interest as he flipped the coin, caught it, and turned it over. He looked over at her with a boxy smile. "Ready?" he asked. She nodded eagerly. He lifted his hands and showed her the coin: Heads.
Rachel stared at the coin for a long moment, then looked up at Dent. "But… we're not even married yet," she said.
Dent looked over at her. "That could be a problem," he agreed. Reaching over and taking one of her hands in both of his, he paused, his eyes locking with hers, and smiled. "Rachel Dawes," he said quietly, "will you marry me?"
Rachel did not know what to say. It was all so sudden. Harvey was a wonderful man, and she was very much in love with him, but there was always Bruce to consider. Bruce had been there for her, as a friend, as a lover, as a saviour, since they were both children. Then Bruce had become something entirely different; Bruce had become a vigilante, an obsessed caped crusader whose one goal in life had become to stop Gotham's countless criminals. His focus had shifted violently, and Rachel had been left behind in the dust. But she could not forget that she had promised him that if he were to give up his stint as Batman, she would be with him.
She had given him so much time, but he never seemed willing to give up his cape and cowl.
But she was still not sure she was ready just yet to jump, full speed ahead, into a marriage with the new love of her life.
She finally smiled sadly at Dent. "I don't know, Harvey," she said quietly. "I… would have to give it some thought."
His expression saddened, but he still maintained his smile. "That's fine," he said. He kissed her hand, then let go of it, staring over at her. "I love you, Rachel," he told her.
She smiled at him. "I love you, too, Harvey," she said. Then, with a sigh, she pulled the covers off of herself and started getting dressed.
Dent propped himself up on his elbows, watching her. "Where are you going?" he asked.
"I'm going home to get some sleep," Rachel replied, zipping up her dress. "I've got a busy day tomorrow."
"You could always spend the night here," Dent suggested.
Rachel turned and looked at him with a sceptical grin. "No, I couldn't," she said. "You would keep me up all night."
Dent chuckled, watching her pull her shoes on and pick up her bag. "You're not… mad at me, or anything, right, Rachel?" he suddenly asked.
Rachel turned to look at him. "Harvey," she said in a slightly scolding tone. "I could never be mad at you."
He smiled at her, then lay back down on his pillow. "I'll see you tomorrow, then," he said, closing his eyes.
Rachel stared at him for a long moment, smiling. "All right," she finally said, quietly. Then she moved to the door, opened it, and let herself out.
Rachel fished her keys out of her purse and moved to her car, putting the key into the door to unlock it, then noticing that it was already unlocked. She shrugged. She must have forgotten to unlock it before going up to Harvey's apartment. She took her key out of the door, let herself into the car, and shut the door.
Suddenly, she felt cold metal against her throat. "Hello, Rachel Dawes," a lilting voice spoke in her ear.
Rachel froze. This was the first time she had ever had any kind of encounter with the infamous Joker; he was so close she could smell him. He smelt of blood, liquor, and the strange, earthy smell of stage makeup. It was the blood that disturbed her the most. She swallowed. "My wallet is in my purse," she said slowly, pointing towards it. "I have money in there. You can have it. Just please don't hurt me."
"I don't want your money, Rachel," the Joker replied with a sceptical chuckle. "You insult me. You must think I'm no better than a common thug."
"No, I don't think that," Rachel said. "I know you're a very dangerous person."
"That's right," Joker replied. The knife moved slightly on her throat. "Now, you have something I need, and I'm determined to get it." He licked his lips. "Would you like to know what it is?" Rachel bit her lip. "Well, I'll tell you," he said without waiting for an answer. "You know about the Batman." His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth as he moistened it. "I want to know what you know." He wet his lips again. "I'm sure we can work something out."
"Please, don't kill me," Rachel pleaded.
"Kill you?" Joker laughed at this. "I don't want to kill you, Rachel. Not yet, anyways. Right now, I just want to pick your brain." He lifted a lock of her dark hair with his knife, then let it fall back to her shoulder. Then the knife returned to her throat. "Just drive, and I'll tell you where to go. It's a special place of mine, that I don't share with anybody… except very special people."
Rachel put the keys into the ignition with a shaking hand and started the car. She was almost certain she was headed to her own death. Would it not be better, she thought, to drive the car over a cliff and take out both herself and the Joker, therefore ending his reign of terror in Gotham? But there were no convenient cliffs anywhere remotely nearby, and besides, if she cooperated, he might let her go free.
It was a slim chance and probably a false hope, but it was the only hope she had.
She put the car into Drive and they started on their way.
. . .
Gordon unlocked the front door of his house and let himself in, hanging up his hat on the rack by the front door, then slipping off his coat and hanging it up as well. "Sarah," he called. "Honey, I'm home."
"Oh, thank goodness," said Sarah, walking out of the kitchen. She embraced her husband, then gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "We worry about you every day," she said.
Gordon smiled at her, then looked over her shoulder as a little boy, about eight years old, and a little girl, maybe nine, came rushing out of the kitchen as well. Sarah stepped aside as the children ran up to hug their father. Gordon laughed, taking one child in each arm and hugging them tightly.
"Dad, we heard there was a a-splosion an' a fire," James said, eyes wide. "They said there was the Joker there. Did you see the Joker, Dad?"
Gordon looked over at his wife, who looked just as interested, if a little hesitant, then between his two children. "Yes," he said in an enthused voice. "I did see the Joker!"
"Was he all dressed up like they say he always is?" asked Barbara, who seemed just as fascinated as James. "They say he dresses all up like a clown, Dad! Was he all dressed up?"
"Yes!" Gordon said again, looking at his little girl. "He was all dressed up like a clown. A really scary clown." He kissed both of them on the forehead. "Now go eat your supper, I'm sure your mother worked really hard making that for you." Both children scampered back off to the kitchen. Gordon turned to Sarah, who was watching him, apprehensive.
"Did you really see the Joker?" she asked quietly, a little doubtful.
Gordon nodded. "Scariest experience of my life, once I figured it out," he admitted.
Sarah nodded, too. "He wasn't dressed as a clown, was he?" she asked.
Gordon shook his head. "He was dressed as a fireman," he said. "Stole one of the uniforms. Probably killed the guy wearing it to get it."
Sarah cringed and looked away. "Jesus, Jim," she said quietly.
"I didn't want to tell the children, because then they'd start seeing him everywhere," Gordon explained. Then he sighed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you, either," he said, watching her. "I didn't mean to scare you - "
"What scares me is that it could've been you, Jim," she said, looking back at him.
Gordon stopped, surprised, his mouth hanging slightly open. He closed it, then said, "I'm careful, Sarah. And I've got Batman on my side."
"You can't always depend on Batman to back you up, Jim," Sarah said. "What if, one day, Batman ends up facing someone he can't beat? Then what? Then the bad guys will start coming for you. I don't want that."
"Well, what do you want, Sarah?" he asked, wringing his hands. "Do you want me to quit the force?"
She sighed, looking at him. Then she moved to him and put her arms around his neck, embracing him. "I just don't want to see anything happen to you," she said. "I love you, Jim."
Gordon put his arms around his wife. "I love you, too, Sarah," he said.
. . .
Bruce Wayne straightened his tie as he pushed open the doors of the closed-in balcony of the new Wayne Manor. The balcony - as it was called, even though it was just a room in the house that was panelled with huge windows instead of walls - was a large room with comfortable, squatty armoires and a calming blue carpet where Bruce liked to go to think. Alfred would often bring him afternoon tea in that room, or, if he chose to stay at Wayne Manor at night and not in the Batcave, breakfast.
But, looking up, he was met with a different visitor.
He stopped in his tracks, staring at the newcomer, who was looking longingly out the window. After a moment, Bruce cleared his throat, and the newcomer turned, hesitated, and then smiled at him.
"Mister Wayne," Lucius Fox grinned amiably at him. "I've been waiting for you to get back. I've got something to show you."
"Antidote for Crane's toxin?" Wayne asked, moving forward into the room towards the chairs and seating himself in one of them.
Fox took the other chair and pulled a suitcase towards him that had been leaning against it. "Not quite," he said, opening the suitcase. He turned it so that Wayne could see inside.
Wayne frowned. "What's that?" he asked, looking back up at Fox.
Fox's grin widened. "That," he said, "is my newest invention. Lucky for us, Crane has decided to lay low and not try anything new with his toxin. So…" He pulled one of the things out of the briefcase and held it up for Wayne to see. "I had a little bit of time to do some inventing."
"Using my funds," Wayne put in.
"I didn't think you'd mind," replied Fox, unfazed.
"I don't," said Wayne. "Go on."
"This little baby," Fox indicated it, "looks like a normal cell phone. But it's not. You slip this cell phone into somebody's purse, and you can see exactly where they are and where they're going, with the proper technology."
Wayne frowned. "Sounds like the cell tracking system the police have had for… ten years, now," he said.
Fox smiled knowingly at him, then turned on the phone. "You hold that, Mister Wayne," he said. Then he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a slim laptop computer and turned it on. "When I boot this up," Fox said, "we'll see if this is exactly the same as your cell tracking system."
Wayne watched in interest as Fox did his tech work. He had never understood how things like tracking systems worked, but had always been appreciative of the science, either way. He looked down at the phone in his hands, turning it over. It looked like any ordinary phone. There had to be a catch.
"Mister Wayne?"
Bruce looked up to see Fox turning the computer towards him. On the screen was a maze of blue lines and hypermetallic images that seemed to form…
"Is that… Wayne Manor?" Bruce asked, mesmerized.
"Every inch of it," Fox replied with a grin. "Mapped out in sonar readings."
Bruce looked down at the phone in his hand, impressed. "Nice," he said. Fox closed the laptop and stashed it back in his briefcase. Wayne looked up at him. "Say, Lucius, how are things?" he asked.
Fox looked up at him in surprised interest. "Things, Mister Wayne?" he asked.
"Yeah, things," Wayne said. "You know… things at home. Not all this work stuff."
Fox leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. "Well," he said, "my baby sister's in the hospital."
"Oh, that's awful!" said Wayne. "How old is she?"
"Forty-five," said Fox, nodding. He grinned. "Not really a baby anymore, but she's still my little sister."
"What's the matter with her, that she's in the hospital?" Wayne asked.
Fox frowned here, thinking. "Well, she used to be in Arkham - "
"You sister was in Arkham?" Wayne asked, intrigued.
"She worked there," Fox specified. "She's got… trauma, from a gunshot wound to the head." He indicated his own head. "Apparently the shot was fired at close range. She bled a whole lot, but they managed to call in a team in time, and they say she's gonna be a-okay."
"That's good, I guess," said Wayne, still frowning worriedly. "What's her name?"
"Jessica," Fox said with a smile, nodding. "Her name is Jessica. I was just on my way to go up to see her when I decided to stop by here and show you my invention - "
"Can I come, too?" Wayne asked, perhaps a little too quickly. "And… can I bring a friend?"
Fox blinked here, surprised and a little confused. "Uh… sure, Mister Wayne," he said. "Jessica loves company… I guess."
Wayne held up the cell phone Fox had given him. "Does this work as an actual phone, too, or just a tracking system?" he asked.
"No, no, it works as a phone," Fox said, still more than a little confused.
"Great," said Wayne, getting up from his chair. "You go on ahead, Lucius, we'll meet you there." With that, he walked out of the room, dialling Gordon's number.
Fox stared after him for a long moment, brow furrowed in confusion. Then he shook his head. "That Bruce Wayne is one messed-up cracker," he said.
. . .
Gordon was just sitting down to dinner when the phone rang. All four of the people at the table looked up, but only Gordon got to his feet, crossed to the phone, and answered. "Hello?" he asked.
"Who is it, Dad?" asked James. "Is it the station? Did they catch the Joker?"
"Did they? Did they catch the Joker?" asked Barbara.
"Shh!" Sarah put a finger to her lips, shushing her children. "Daddy's on the phone!"
Gordon put a hand over the mouthpiece and looked back at his family. "It's Bruce Wayne," he said, confused. "He says that he was talking to an old associate, and he was told something that he didn't know if it was a relevant tip or not, so he wanted to call me to see." He put the phone back to his ear. "Yeah?" he asked. "Okay, that sounds legitimate enough."
"Who's Bruce Wayne?" Barbara asked, turning to her mother.
"He's that real rich guy who burnded down his house last year," James said with a giggle.
"Burnt down his house," Sarah corrected him. She turned to Barbara. "Bruce Wayne is a nice man who helps your father in his job," she said. Then she looked back up at Gordon. "Though we aren't sure why," she added quietly. Wayne's involvement had always worried her, because she saw no reason for it. Then again, Gordon trusted him as a friend, and Wayne's money was enough to buy the Gotham police department five times over, and then some. If he wanted to help out, more power to him. But Sarah could still not help but feel a little uneasy whenever Bruce Wayne was brought up in the conversation.
Gordon hung up the phone and turned back to his family. "I'm real sorry, guys," he said, shrugging. "I have to go look into this, it might be really important to the Crane case." Then his eyebrows shot up as he remembered something. "Oh, I should call Maria to let her know!" he said. He turned and picked up the phone again, dialling Maria's number.
Sarah frowned worriedly. "Maria…?" she asked.
Gordon put a finger over his lips. "Hey, Maria," he said, speaking to her answering machine, "this is Jim Gordon. I just got a call from Bruce Wayne that he may have found something really pivotal to the Crane case, and I was wondering if you could come down and take a look. We're meeting up at Gotham General Hospital. Please try to come as soon as possible. Thanks a lot - see you soon!" He hung up the phone and turned back to his family.
Sarah was staring at him, a strange expression on her face. "Who's Maria?" she asked.
"She's a writer," Gordon answered plainly. That did not seem to lift Sarah's mood at all. "She was doing a story on Crane before he escaped. She's been helping with the investigations of both Crane and the Joker's disappearances since the beginning."
"And you're on a first-name basis with her?" Sarah asked slowly.
Gordon opened his mouth to speak, reconsidered, then closed it. "I… have to go," he said. He started out of the kitchen.
"You aren't gonna eat any dinner, Dad?" asked James.
Gordon ruffled his son's blonde hair. "I'll be back in no time flat, okay, sport?" he said. "Then I'll eat my dinner. Mom can heat it up for me when I get back."
"Catch the Joker, Dad!" Barbara said with a smile.
"I will!" Gordon said. Then he leaned down and kissed his wife's cheek. "I'll be back soon, okay?" he said.
Sarah nodded, but said nothing.
Gordon swiped his hat and jacket from the hooks by the front door, and then exited the house, making sure to lock the front door behind him.
. . .
Wayne sat in the waiting-room of the hospital, tapping his foot quietly, every so often checking his Rolex to see how much time had passed. He sighed and let his cuff down for what seemed like the hundredth time when he heard the doors of the waiting-room open and Officer Gordon came in. Wayne put on a tight smile and nodded greetings to Gordon. "Thanks for coming down," he said. "I didn't know if it was something good or if it was just a whim. I'm glad I was right!"
"I'll be even more glad if your whim turns out to be something really important," Gordon said, nodding and taking a seat next to Wayne. He sighed heavily. Then he turned to Wayne. "I called Maria," he said. "She might be coming down here, too. It depends."
"Depends on what?" asked Wayne.
Gordon shrugged. "Depends on whether she wants to or not," he answered candidly.
Wayne nodded, looking away. Then he looked back at Gordon. "Did you ever find her a place to stay?" he asked.
Gordon nodded. "Booked her a stay in a hotel. Gotham police department's paying all expenses."
"I'd be happy to cover those," Wayne said with a shrug. He sighed, folding his hands in his lap. "And the children?"
"They're doing just fine. They're here, at Gotham General," Gordon indicated the hospital as a whole. "I spoke with someone today about it. They said the two of them are going to be just fine."
"That's good," conceded Wayne. "By the way, did you find anything at Kitty's house?"
Gordon paused, staring at him. "That's right, you didn't come," he said in what could have been called an unimpressed monotone. "Get lost driving again?"
Wayne shook his head. "It didn't really sound like I was needed, so I just went home," he said.
Gordon nodded. That sounded reasonable enough. "So you have no idea what happened?" he asked. Wayne shook his head again. Gordon took a deep breath, paused, and then said, "Bruce… Kitty's dead."
Wayne quickly turned to look at Gordon, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. "For real?" he asked. "Not like before, where everyone thought she was dead but she wasn't…?"
"No," Gordon shook his head, "she's really dead this time. Someone blew up her house. It's gone, Bruce. There's nothing left."
"Blew up her house?" asked Wayne. "As in, literally blew it up? With explosives?"
"Logging dynamite, we think," Gordon nodded. "Took out the entire house. There's nothing left but the foundation."
"Logging dynamite?" Wayne frowned. "Why logging dynamite?"
"Because it's the easiest kind to get," explained Gordon. "All other types of explosives have all kinds of safety precautions and paperwork and things. You can't just waltz into a hardware store and buy construction dynamite. You have to have proof from the construction company that you need it."
"But apparently you can waltz in and buy logging dynamite," put in Wayne.
"Unfortunately," agreed Gordon. "There are lots of independent loggers, so logging dynamite is the most easily accessible dynamite there is."
"Wow," Wayne said, quietly impressed and mortified. He stared at his hands in his lap for a long moment. Then he looked up at Gordon again. "Do you think Maria will come?" he asked.
Gordon took a deep breath, then exhaled in a loud huff. "Well, we can only hope," he said.
. . .
The leather seats of Thomas' Buick were wearing horribly from hard use. The steering wheel cover that he'd installed probably a decade ago had holes in it that showed where he rested his hands. A few coffee stains and plenty of empty Starbucks mugs littered the floor of the car. The back bumper was dented in more places than usually considered appropriate for a car.
Thomas sighed and patted the dashboard. He'd probably be driving this car until the day he died, but that didn't mean he had to love it.
A quick appearance check in the mirror was in order; after all, one had to look one's best before one went digging for a breaking story. He peered into the rear-view mirror at the sleep-deprived bags under his grey-blue eyes, the pale color of his usually tan skin from spending too many days inside, the hints of untrimmed facial hair playing around his usually clean-shaven chin, and his ruffled sandy hair in obvious need of brushing, and wished that he hadn't checked.
He exited the and shut the door behind him with a slam, then stood on the curb of Gotham General Hospital. He held a sort of affection for the place. Seeing something so sterile compared to the rest of Gotham was comforting. He'd visited the place enough, too; both of his parents had been checked into the hospital at one point or another for various health issues before they passed away. In a way, the hospital was a home-away-from-home. But that didn't make this particular trip any easier. He took a deep breath of smoggy air, coughed, and went inside.
He leaned on the entrance desk and asked the receptionist in a friendly tone, "Bruce Wayne and police commissioner Gordon came in here a few minutes ago, right?" She nodded and motioned to the sitting area right behind him. He turned and, upon seeing both men calmly seated, gave a sort of resigned sigh. "Sorry," he told the girl with an apologetic shrug before heading over to the pair.
Taking an abrupt seat next to the commissioner, Thomas looked him over. The man was a good few years Thomas' senior, but there were a few worry lines that he didn't remember from their last meeting. Gordon looked exhausted. Thomas couldn't blame him; the guy had been after this new "Joker" baddie for the last few days, not to mention the numerous other criminals currently on the loose. He probably hadn't had a good night's sleep in a week. "Evening, Jim." Then he turned to Gordon's companion. The multi-millionaire Bruce Wayne. It was hard to believe that Wayne had tipped Gordon off, but his friend who worked at the hospital had sworn to his story. Thomas eyed him for a minute, then held out a hand. "Bruce Wayne, is it? I'm Thomas Hale."
Gordon glanced over at the newcomer. "Oh," he said, less than enthused. "Hello, Thomas." He turned back to staring at the wall, folding his arms. Whenever Thomas Hale made an appearance, that meant that bad news and even worse publicity was on the way. Unlike most things in life, Thomas Hale could always be counted on, if only to make a bad situation worse. Gordon and Hale had had many prior dealings, and they had never ended well for Gordon.
To Bruce Wayne, the man seemed friendly enough, despite Gordon's apparent cold shoulder. Wayne took the hand offered him with a tight smile. "Yes, it is," he said. "It's good to meet you, Mister Hale." He let go of the reporter's hand, still watching him. "You have impeccable timing," Wayne noted.
"It's a gift," Gordon said bitterly. "He made a pact with the devil so he could know exactly where the action is."
"Oh, Gordon, you kidder," said Wayne with a large, if false, grin. Then he turned back to Hale. If Gordon disliked him so much, there must be something not quite right about this Thomas Hale fellow. Wayne could not quite place it, on the surface, but, subconsciously, he felt that there was something a little bit… off about this reporter character, too. He decided it was just his Batman intuition acting up, and ignored it. "Officer Gordon has been hard at work on the Joker and Crane cases lately. Have you been covering those?"
"Didn't you see his articles?" Gordon asked, huffing acrimoniously. "'Homicidal Maniac Escapes from Prison'? 'The Joker Destroys Police Station'? 'City Suffers under Jester of Crime'? He sees and knows all."
"Jester of Crime, I remember that one," Wayne said with a smile, indicating Hale. "That was clever."
"Don't give him the big head, Bruce," Gordon muttered. "God knows he doesn't need it."
Just then, Fox walked into the waiting-room. He looked surprised to see so many people sitting with Bruce Wayne. He indicated Gordon and Hale. "These your friends, Mister Wayne?" he asked. "A cop and a reporter?"
"Uh, this is Mister Thomas Hale," Wayne indicated the newcomer.
"Oh, I know who it is," said Fox. "He's the guy who writes all those really negative stories about the police department. I'm surprised he and Officer Gordon here aren't tearing each other's heads off."
"Trust me, it hasn't been easy," Gordon replied, still staring ahead at the wall.
"Hm." Fox conceded. Then he pointed back the way he came. "Jessica's awake now, so if you guys want to come in and visit for a bit…"
"We're still waiting on someone," Wayne said, nodding, smiling at Fox. "She should be here any minute, though, so we'll be right in."
"Oh," said Fox, still a bit thrown. "Okay. Well, Jessica's ready to see you - all of you - whenever you decide to come." He looked at them for a bit longer, then shrugged and disappeared back the way he came.
Wayne paused, checked his Rolex, and then turned to Gordon. "You really think she'll come?" he asked. "After all she's been through?"
Gordon shrugged, sighing heavily. "I don't know, Bruce," he said.
Thomas gave Gordon a genuinely hurt look. "Good to see you too. Oh, come on, Jim, you know I respect you," he said earnestly, looking between the commissioner and Wayne. Then a dark look passed over his face. "It's your men I have a bit of trouble with."
He scowled again at Fox's comments. He was destined to be the black sheep at this little gathering, it seemed. Not that it had ever bothered him before. "Just doing my job, Mr. Fox," he said, justifying his actions with a sweep of his hand. It wasn't his fault the Gotham police deserved to be taken down a peg or two. He was just an agent of justice, so to speak.
He eyed the newcomer. So a friend or relative of Fox's was in the hospital, and Wayne and Gordon were visiting? Thomas knew that Wayne was pretty good friends with the man; Fox was his right-hand man at Wayne Enterprises. But why would Gordon have come? What did this have to do with the police?
He tucked a hand casually into the pocket of his black overcoat and quietly switched his hidden recorder on. Might be better if the men didn't think they were being taped. He focused again on Gordon and asked with great interest, "'She'? Some new friend of yours?"
"Actually, speaking of new friends, I was wondering if you could enlighten me about this." He pulled a photograph he'd taken the night of the Wayne Enterprises Gala from his pocket and handed it over to Gordon. The man and woman pictured were completely unremarkable, just your average high-profile individuals, but a closer look revealed a rather...interesting spattering of scars across the man's face, focused around the mouth. "Took this at the Gala, you'll remember it," he said, nodding at Wayne. "One of the guests told me they were foreign business entrepreneurs. Dolohov, I think she called them. But something about him," he pointed at the man, "seems awfully familiar."
Gordon took the photograph and stared at it, and Wayne looked over at it, too. Shit. How had this man gotten a picture of Napier at the gala? Wayne thought he had specifically banned all photography from the gala… but, then again, one of his security guards had also let Crane in, so his confidence in the security at the gala was less than zero. But still… of everyone at the gala that he could have possibly snapped a picture of, why had he zeroed in on Napier? Perhaps Gordon was right… maybe this man did have some eerie sixth sense to know exactly what to do that would cause the most stir.
"Uh, she's a friend of mine, Mister Hale," Wayne said distractedly. "I asked Officer Gordon to come along in case… she could identify her attacker. Since it was a gunshot wound."
"Which could very well be self-inflicted," pointed out Gordon.
"This is true," conceded Wayne. He stared at the photograph for another long moment before looking up at Hale. "This is Casper Dolohov," he said, indicating the man with the scars. "He's an old business partner of mine. We did a lot of public business dealings lately… maybe that's where you recognize him from." He pointed to the scarring around Napier's face. "He… got that in a car crash," Wayne said, hoping he did not sound too unconvincing. "He… wasn't wearing his seatbelt. He and his wife got hit by a drunk driver, and he went through the windshield." He handed the photograph back to Hale. "He's very sensitive about it," he added in an undertone. "He doesn't like to mention his scars."
"I think Mister Dolohov went home after the gala, didn't he?" asked Gordon, playing along.
"Oh yeah, Casper said something about… an important shipment, back in the… Czech Republic." He had no idea where a name like 'Dolohov' would come from, but it was best to choose a small, obscure place so the scrutiny would be minimal. "Something about… oil refinery."
"Well, hopefully Mister Dolohov's shipment will help lower gas prices here," Gordon said with a chuckle. "Heaven knows we need it!"
Livvy was figuring out that running with a leg and arm cast was difficult.
She scooted down the hallway as fast as she could, using a crutch with her healthy arm to propel herself along. She looked back every once in a while with a happy smile before continuing doggedly forward. No way was she going to let Nurse Jen find her. Hide-and-seek was her specialty.
The girl's broken limbs from the fire were healing quickly (she'd heard the doctors use the confusing phrase "the miracle of youth" a lot), but her spirit had recovered even faster. A few of the kinder nurses had taken it upon themselves to bring the shy little girl out of her timid shell, and they'd worked wonders. One would hardly recognize the confident spark in Olivia's eyes as she dodged passing nurses and doctors.
Finally she reached a suitable destination, the front lobby. There were plenty of places to hide around here, especially if you were small. She'd never been more proud of her height. Then she let out an excited squeal on spotting someone and limped over to the familiar face. "Mr. Gordon, Mr. Gordon!" she cried, latching awkwardly onto his leg. "What're you doing here?"
Gordon felt something attach itself to his leg, and heard a little, familiar voice. Looking down, he saw little Olivia clinging to his leg. "Livvy!" he smiled, picking up the little girl and putting her in his lap. "Look at you! You're doing so much better after the fire!"
"Hello, Olivia," said Wayne with a friendly smile. Wayne loved children. He had never imagined having any of his own, but he did not see why he could not enjoy others' children.
"Are you supposed to be out of bed, Miss Olivia?" asked Gordon, taking the hand of the arm that was in the cast and holding it in his much larger hand, putting his other arm around the little girl's form. "You're going to get in trouble for being up, especially when you've got so much healing left to do!" He smiled at her, looking at her arm and leg, both in casts, then added, "But I won't tell if you won't. Okay?"
"Her nurse is going to kill you, Gordon," Wayne chuckled.
Gordon laughed as well. "Yeah, probably," he replied.
Olivia ducked her head when Wayne addressed her. "Hi, Mister Wayne," she said shyly, some of her old timidity coming back. She looked at Hale, curiosity apparent on her face, but figured that he wasn't important. Then she turned back to Gordon with a frown. "I'm better already, I don't know why they keep me in that room still...did you see me run all the way down here? Besides, Nurse Jen was the one who wanted to play hide-and-seek," she explained. "And she never said I couldn't leave the room..." Just then, Livvy's head jerked towards the hallway she'd just run from and her eyes grew wide. "Oops."
Her nurse was standing by the front desk, hands on her hips, looking more than a bit upset. She spotted the girl within moments and began stalking over to the little group.
Livvy scrambled immediately off of Gordon's lap and dove under his chair, "shh"-ing him quickly before tucking her head under her arms and then freezing.
Frowning at the interruption, Thomas watched the little girl hide under the chair and tucked the photo back into his pocket. Maybe he had just recognized Dolohov from some business article. The car crash story made sense, and there was really nothing suspicious about the man's activities. But still, Thomas felt like he knew the guy from somewhere. He'd check Wayne's information once he got back home, maybe look for business partnerships with Wayne Enterprises. It couldn't be too hard to check; somehow he doubted that the Czech Republic had a lot of oil tycoons with the last name of "Dolohov."
And then there was the matter of the woman Wayne and Gordon had come to see. "A gunshot wound?" he asked, articulating clearly for the voice recorder's sake. "And you don't know if it's self-inflicted or attempted homicide? Why's the police getting involved at all? Seems pretty shaky to me." He blew out a sigh and shook his head. "I'd think the Joker and Crane cases would take chief importance right now. Unless, you know..." He paused at a sudden painful memory. "Maybe the police's priorities aren't as golden as they seem to be." It certainly wouldn't be the first time, he added to himself, twisting his ring.
Breath. In, out. In, out. There.
Todd's eye opened, letting in the blinding light. He rolled over, careful to put no weight on the right side of his face, and shielded himself from the bright sun. He'd told the nurse to keep the damn curtains closed. The sunlight was really annoying.
Finally he sat up and went through his routine. He moved each part of his body, from his toes up to his eyebrows, making sure that nothing was numb. His doctor had instructed him to do it every morning. Apparently, the beam that had broken Livvy's wrist and leg had also hit his head, thankfully not fracturing his skull but leaving his central nervous system damaged. His reaction time had slowed noticeably, along with his general muscle movement. He even lost control of his muscles for short periods of time.
Not to mention...
He put a gentle hand over his right eye.
He really should be thankful he was still alive, Todd thought as he slowly pulled on some loose hospital pants and a shirt. The doctors had saved him from severe mental trauma, and cared for a few of the more severe burns on his hands from trying to drag Livvy out of the fire. Being left with as much as he had was a blessing. He scowled and fumbled with his eyepatch. The light bandages on his hands that covered up scarring were difficult to work around. Screw blessings. They didn't fucking exist.
Checking the clock, he realized that it was past the time he usually saw Olivia. Stupid nurse hadn't woken him up, either, he figured angrily. Were they paid to be stupid? She probably thought he needed his rest or something. He carefully settled down into his temporary wheelchair (he refused to think of it as permanent; he'd get better, whether it took a week or a month) and rolled out into the hall. He'd been put in a room only a few down from his sister, so thankfully he didn't have to go far. Unfortunately, when he got there, the door was open and the girl was gone.
He snarled and turned the chair quickly, almost overturning it. Where had Livvy gone? Maybe the nurse had taken her around the halls for some exercise. He started off down the sterile halls, asking each nurse station along the way if anyone had seen his sister. They all reported that she'd headed to the front lobby a few minutes ago, and hadn't come back.
After what seemed like hours (he reminded himself forcefully that once he could walk easily again he'd be able to run the distance in half the time), he finally came out into the open front lobby. Sure enough, he saw his sister's nurse heading over to a group of people. One of the men's heads turned, and he groaned. It was Gordon. Todd hesitated for a minute, torn between seeing Livvy and having to talk to Gordon, and finally wheeled himself forward.
"Where could Olivia have disappeared to?" Gordon asked in an exaggerated questioning tone. "She was just here, but now she's gone! Have you seen her, Bruce?"
"I never saw her, Gordon!" Wayne replied, just as exaggerated. "You must be imagining things, there's no Olivia here."
"Gee, I guess you're right, Bruce," replied Gordon. "She must have just disappeared! How does she do it?" Then he turned to Hale. "We're doing all we can to stop the Joker and Crane," he said sharply. "We think this shooting might be linked to - "
"Falcone stragglers," Wayne cut over him. "The Gotham police department is trying to sweep up any remnants from the last crime outburst before moving on to this one, to ensure the… old ways… don't… come back, while they're busy with other things."
"Precisely." Gordon nodded. "We're finishing taking out Falcone's ring before we move on the putting our full focus on Crane and the Joker."
"And besides, there's only one police official here," pointed out Wayne. "They're playing it safe. In case this is linked to Falcone, we've got one officer here, and he can quickly call in an investigation."
"Right." Gordon nodded again. Then he turned to Wayne. "You seem to know this case better than I do," he said with a smile.
"I actually listened when you told me about it," Wayne replied.
"Really? I thought you were asleep," joked Gordon.
"I can listen in my sleep," Wayne replied. "Just ask Fox."
There was a long, awkward pause.
"I sleep in business meetings," Wayne clarified. "But I always manage to close the deal afterwards."
"Oh! Oh, okay, that's what I thought you meant," said Gordon, but he seemed a little relieved to hear it anyways. Then he looked up, and a somewhat pained smile fixed itself on his face. "Oh," he said in an odd, not-quite-happy voice, "hi, Todd."
Wayne looked up as well to see the boy wheeling himself towards them. He looked terrible, especially with that dour scowl on his face. Even with her casts, Olivia always managed to look so healthy because of her sunshiney disposition, but Todd looked like something that had just been dragged in out of the rain. "Hey, Todd," Wayne said, trying to be friendly. He had the feeling that the boy would probably ignore him.
"You're looking much better, Todd," Gordon added, a little nervous. He paused. Shit. You're looking better? How stupid could he be? "You seem to be getting much better," he said. "You used to be quite a sight for sore eyes." Shut up, shut up. "But it's really a good thing you didn't get more hurt than you did. Otherwise, they might not have been able to fix you up so nice. I guess it's all in the eye of the beholder." Another slip-up. Gordon bit his lip.
Wayne looked over at him, realizing his dilemma. He looked back at Todd awkwardly, then grinned uneasily at him. "Yeah," he said, in perhaps a little too friendly of a tone, "so… how about that Batman fella, huh? What a nut, right? Ha…"
Olivia giggled and stuck her head out from under the chair without thinking. "I'm right here, silly. I can't disappear, I'm not Batman." She went a bit starry-eyed; Batman was so cool. She wished she could see him again to say thank you. He'd gotten both her and Todd out of the building before it collapsed. They owed him their lives.
"Olivia!" The girl winced and looked up at her nurse, who was frowning at her. "You're not supposed to be running around out here!"
Livvy shook her head mutinously. "Didn't hear you say that." Jen didn't reply, though, so the girl sighed and crawled out from the chair with an apologetic look. Then she caught sight of Todd, and her eyebrows knit together in worry. He had that look, the one that said he was going to explode. She'd seen it before.
It didn't seem the nurse had, though, because she followed Olivia's gaze. "Young man, you were told to stay in your room unless you were with someone!" she scolded. "I don't care if you can move yourself around, you need a guardian at all times!"
Todd's eye narrowed with each word, and he clenched the arms of his wheelchair until his knuckles were white. His eyes flashed to Wayne, Gordon, his sister, the nurse, and back to Wayne again. "A nut," he repeated slowly, anger boiling below the surface. Whether it was anger at Wayne for being such an idiot, or his sister for leaving without telling him, or the nurse for scolding him, or for this whole fucked-up situation, he didn't know, but it wanted out.
Well, he was always one to oblige.
"Yeah, a fucking nut. Too bad he didn't show up on time for that fire like a real hero would have done. Then maybe all this shit wouldn't have happened." The nurse stood by, mouth gaping open. She seemed to be about to yell at him for cursing, but Olivia beat her to it.
"Todd, you're not supposed to talk like that," she said sadly, having finally struggled into a standing position. "And don't be mad at Batman, he helped us. He made sure we were okay."
"Okay? OKAY?!" Todd shouted. Livvy winced and looked down. "You think we're okay? Look at yourself, Livvy," Todd said, throwing his arms out towards her. "You're covered in scars and bruises and burns, and you broke two bones from that stupid fire."
"It's not so bad, Todd..." Olivia began, but Todd cut her off.
"Fine, then look at me!" He drew up the sleeve of his shirt to display an huge purple bruise spreading across his shoulder. "You call that okay, Livvy?" He let his shirt go and tore off the bandages on one hand, revealing a large, off-red discoloration stretching across the palm and back of his hand. "Is that okay to you?" The girl's eyes were swimming with tears by this time, but Todd wasn't through. He reached up and yelled, "How about this?" He ripped the eye patch off of his head.
The skin around his eye socket was red and puffy, and bloody tissue rested where his eye should have been. Tears were pouring out his left eye as he jerked a finger at the mess. "Is this o-kay?!" Olivia's bottom lip was wobbling by now, and her tiny shoulders shaking. Todd dropped the eye patch and pushed forward in the chair until he was half-standing. "Some guy who thinks he's a goddamn superhero lets that happen to us, to me, and you're fucking defending him?"
He breathed for a moment before pointing at the three men. When he started talking again, his voice was quieter, more ragged, almost choked. "People like them...people like Batman...don't really care about scum like us, get it?" He glared at Wayne. "As long as they can keep their pretty little homes and pretty little cars and keep living in their pretty little worlds, we could die, for all they care. And sure, they'll pretend to like you, and think you're cute, and spoil you, until they get bored, and then they'll just forget about you and move on. Because that's the way this fucked-up world works. Okay, Livvy?" He collapsed back into his chair and put his face in his hands.
Thomas wisely kept quiet throughout this exchange, and reached a shaky hand into his pocket to turn off the recorder.
There was a long silence. No one knew what to say. Wayne, especially, was in shock. He had gotten to the scene as soon as he had learned about it; there was no way he could have gotten there any faster. And he had saved the children's lives, even if they were a little battle-worn. But still this boy, this unhappy, ragged child, was saying that Batman was nothing more than a phoney - a flaunting idealist who liked to play with the oppressed people of Gotham like dolls, and tossed them away once their colours faded.
He did not know whether to be angry, or hurt. Then again, he reasoned, this boy was just speaking from the bitter point of view of someone who had just lost an important asset to them, and who knew that they would never look the same, and that people would never see them the same, and, most of all, that they would never see the world in the same way, ever again. He could not blame the boy for being bitter; but why did he have to have such a vehement objection to Batman? All Batman had ever done was try to help him.
"Batman saved your life, son," Gordon said suddenly. Wayne looked up, surprised. He thought he would be the first to come to Batman's defence, since he was pretty much known as a criminal of sorts in Gotham. "He went into that burning building when our fire department couldn't, and he saved your life. I bet you didn't know," he went on, moving forward slightly in his chair, "the Joker was also there, and he went up into that burning building. If Batman had not been there and had he not saved the two of you when he did, then you can bet the Joker would have killed you both." He nodded, satisfied with his explanation. "So you should be a little more appreciative of what Batman does for you," he added, for good measure.
Wayne stared at him, then looked over at Todd. "And besides," he put in, "Batman doesn't do anything for profit. He just does what's right because it's right. And he never stops looking after the people of Gotham. Especially those who need to be looked after the most."
"He's a saviour, really," Gordon said, nodding. "And it's a shame that he's been villainized the way he has. Batman never does anything but good. Even if his methods are a little unorthodox, he still manages to help Gotham police department catch its criminals."
Wayne looked over at Gordon now. "As I'm sure he's doing all he can to help you catch Crane and the Joker," he said. "Even now."
Gordon nodded in agreement to this. "Even now," he repeated.
Todd looked between the two men for a long moment, then bent over and picked up his eye patch. He fastened it back onto his head and turned the wheelchair to leave. The nurse hurried over, but quickly backed off when he snarled "leave me alone" at her. He rolled to the hallway, then turned around for one last look.
"Maybe it would have been better if I'd been killed," he spat bitterly. A sudden movement caused Todd to look at Olivia. She had backed up a step, crying fully now, staring at Todd with wide eyes. He looked despairingly at the little girl for a second, then turned and swiftly wheeled back off to his room.
Livvy couldn't move, or hardly breathe. Why had Todd said that? He wished he was dead? Was it her fault? She must have done something wrong. Something that made Todd so mad he wished he was dead, so he didn't have to see her any more. Maybe it was because of the fire. She looked blankly down at at her arms and legs; both were, as he'd pointed out before, a mass of bruises and scars. Todd had always called her his little cutie. Maybe now he didn't like her, now that she wasn't cute.
She didn't understand. She tucked her arm into her elbow and finally started sobbing.
Thomas tore his eyes away from the retreating boy when the girl started crying. "Maybe...maybe now's not the best time," he said, standing up and nodding his head at Gordon and Wayne. "I'll keep in touch." He spared one last concerned glance for Olivia, then walked out of the hospital.
"Ohh, Livvy," Gordon's fatherly instinct snapped into gear and he got up from his seat, moving to the little girl and taking her in his arms. He remembered too well the days when his own daughter had been this young, and how she had gotten so upset about such little things, and he had always been able to calm her down and let her know it was all going to be all right. Wayne watched as the reporter got up and walked out with an awkward, mumbled explanation that it was 'not the best time'. Well, that was the understatement of the year, Wayne thought. He looked back over at Gordon, watching the way he expertly dealt with the little girl. If Wayne ever had children, he wanted to be as good of a father as Gordon. Gordon was just the right mix of tough and gentle. Wayne wondered if he, Bruce Wayne, exerted any fatherly qualities at all; it was hard to imagine, but, he supposed, it was all in the eye of the beholder.
Gordon picked up Olivia and carried her, wrapping a warm, kindly arm around her little form, boosting her up into a sitting position in his arms, letting her cry on his shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Livvy," he told her, smiling gently. "Shh… everything's going to be okay. He's just mad. He doesn't mean it, really."
"Everybody says things they don't mean sometimes, Livvy," Wayne said, looking up at her on Gordon's shoulder. "He's just saying those things because he's upset. He doesn't really mean it."
"Shh, Livvy, don't cry," Gordon said, rocking slightly back and forth, calming Olivia. "Everything's going to be all right. I promise."
"Here, Olivia," Wayne said, standing up and taking off his Rolex. He held it out for the little girl to take. "A present for you. To remind you that everything's going to be okay."
Gordon stared at the exchange in shock, then looked up at Wayne with wide, surprised eyes. "Are you sure it's okay to give her that?" he asked.
Wayne shrugged. "I've got plenty," he said with a smile.
Gordon raised his eyebrows, grinning back. Then he looked down at Olivia again. "Look at that nice shiny watch. Now you can always know what time it is." He looked back up at Wayne, smiling. "Hey, if I break my arm, will you give me one?" he asked jokingly, in just above a whisper so Olivia would not hear him.
Wayne chuckled. "If you'll dress up in a little frilly hospital dress to get it," he answered teasingly.
Livvy's shoulders stopped shaking after a moment and she pushed her head into Gordon's collarbone. This was weird, she thought. She'd never been held like a daughter before. Her dad had never been around to do it, and her mom...she shivered and snuggled further into Gordon's shoulder.
She finally looked up at Wayne. She blinked, looked down at the watch, and then looked up again, smiling. "Thank you very much, Mr. Wayne, but..." She pushed the watch away. "I don't think Todd would be very happy about that." Because he'd either throw it away or try to sell it, she thought sadly. It was hard to understand her brother sometimes.
She took a breath and sighed. "I'm really, really sorry about what he said," she told them apologetically. "Todd..." She paused. She wasn't really sure how to say this. "We had to be by ourselves a lot, when we were little. Even our mom didn't help us with anything. So, I think that when you guys came along and tried to help us, even though you didn't know us..." She stopped again and frowned. "Maybe he didn't understand that. I mean, he's always just taken care of me and him...er, him and me..." She shook her head in confusion, and just went on. "Maybe he was...scared." It was hard to imagine her big brother being scared of anything.
But then Olivia remembered the night a few weeks ago that their mom, who was drunk, had tried to hurt her, and Todd had been away. He'd gotten back just in time to stop her, but Livvy had later found him sitting on his bed, arms wrapped around his legs and head tucked into his knees. He was crying. She'd asked what was wrong, and he'd simply replied, "She could have hurt you, Liv. And it would have been my fault." Now, she understood a little more what he'd meant.
She realized that she wasn't finished. "So he decided to trust you, back when we first met. And with Todd, if you do something bad to him, even if you didn't really do it and he thinks you did it..." She shook her head sadly. Then her mouth opened up wide in a yawn, and she settled her head back down on Gordon's shoulder.
Wayne took the watch back from the little girl, a little taken aback, but slipped it back onto his wrist without a word. If she thought her brother would be offended by the watch in any way, he did not want to risk it. It seemed a little strange to be offended by a watch, especially such a nice one, but Wayne did not know how the children worked; maybe it was something only the two of them knew. He decided to push the thought from his mind and instead smiled as he watched little Olivia fall fast asleep on Gordon's shoulder. "Cute," he commented.
Gordon glanced down at the little girl, then smiled. "They always do that," he told Wayne. "Strenuous stuff wears them out real easy."
"Me, too," Wayne said with a grin. "Is she really out?"
"Like a light," Gordon replied.
Wayne jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the way Fox had disappeared to. "I'm gonna go in and see Jessica," he said. He checked his watch, then looked back up at Gordon. "Are you gonna wait for Maria, or…?"
"I'll wait," said Gordon. "If she doesn't come in the next few minutes, though, I'm coming in."
Wayne nodded. "Sounds good," he said. Then he slipped his hands into his pockets and walked away towards Jessica's hospital room.
Gordon turned back around, facing the hospital entrance, holding Olivia gently on his shoulder, making sure not to wake her. "Where are you, Maria?" he asked quietly.