Wow. I didn't update for four whole days! But to make up for it, I present to you the longest chapter yet. Also one of the funniest, at least in my opinion.
Just a warning: Jack, Jon, and Tory do extremely fluffy things in this chapter. You may perceive the twins to be acting slightly out of character. This is because they are brothers and therefore always behave like idiots around each other. Anybody who has siblings...you know what I mean. Furthermore, I feel justified in writing a chapter of fun stuff because a) the first half of the chappie is serious and b) Part Three of this fic is almost uniformly dark, bloody, angsty, and just plain messy. So enjoy Part Two while it lasts.
"Thank you for coming in so early," Lieutenant Miller told them.
"Do you have news? Have you found our daughter?" the small, red-headed woman asked anxiously, clutching a purse so tightly her knuckles were white. The blonde man next to her wrapped his arm around her shoulders comfortingly.
Lisa Reisert sat slightly apart, watching the distraught couple. It gave her a slight pang to see them comforting each other that way – the way her own parents had before the divorce. Yet at the same time, she was glad that Tory would eventually come home to such a loving family.
Her own father had wanted to come to Gotham as well, but Lisa had firmly forbidden it. This was something she needed to do on her own. Besides, the city wasn't safe. In fact, it was just about the worst city she'd ever lived in. Before she'd come here, she'd wondered how someone as obviously corrupt as Jonathan Crane could have gotten away with his "favors" for the mob. She didn't wonder anymore.
She turned her gaze from Tory's parents to Lieutenant Miller. The wooden-faced, straight-laced agent had been her almost constant companion since the hostage situation at Arkham nearly four weeks ago. He'd asked Lisa to remain through the ongoing investigation, and she'd readily complied. So far, she didn't think she'd been a lot of help – all she could do was offer vague guesses as to Rippner's course of action. Still, she didn't mind sticking around. In fact, she would have stayed anyway, regardless of the FBI.
She wanted to be there when they took Jack down.
In the meantime, she'd made friends with the Godwins. They didn't blame her at all for leaving Tory, even though Lisa blamed herself. They'd simply welcomed her as the last person to speak with their daughter - had desperately clung to every word Tory had said before she ran down the hallway with Crane in pursuit. When the FBI had called them early this morning with news about Tory, they'd immediately requested that Lisa accompany them. Lisa had happily complied, almost as eager as they were for Tory's return.
"No, we haven't," Miller told them. "I called you here for another reason."
"What?" inquired Tory's father.
Miller took a deep breath, as if bracing himself. "The security video for Arkham has been released to the press."
The first thought that sprang to Lisa's mind was, "So?" From the looks on their faces, Mr. and Mrs. Godwin agreed.
"That footage contains evidence that we," another deep breath, "perhaps unwisely, did not share with you."
"Our daughter being raped," said Mr. Godwin flatly. His tone was dull, but underneath it lay hideous anger.
Miller took yet another deep breath. If he kept this up, he was going to hyperventilate. "Your daughter was never raped, Mr. Godwin."
Stunned silence was the answer to that shocker.
"We watched the video. Victoria was having a breakdown, and Crane was trying to calm her. Rippner merely took advantage of the conversation."
Relief flooded through Lisa. Tory hadn't been hurt. She hadn't suffered the hell Lisa had once gone through.
"And you didn't tell us?" asked Mrs. Godwin angrily, rising and swinging her purse like a weapon. "You let us think our daughter had been raped!"
From the look on Miller's face, this reaction was exactly what he'd needed all those deep breaths for.
"Please, Mrs. Godwin," he said, and for the first time Lisa noticed a pleading tone to his stoic, unemotional voice. "Sit down. There's more."
She sat down, glaring furiously at the agent. Lisa didn't blame her at all. She'd have been furious as well, if the FBI had let her think that her daughter had been sexually abused.
Miller seemed to be steeling himself for something. He glanced Lisa's way, and she raised her eyebrows inquiringly. What else was there?
"Do you remember the John Doe we found dead at the scene?"
"He was strangled with a thin cord – probably a shoelace," said Mr. Godwin with a frown. "That's all we were told."
"It's what they said on the news," added Mrs. Godwin, eyes still flashing with contained rage. "I suppose you lied about that, too?"
Miller winced almost imperceptibly. "No, we didn't. But we didn't reveal all the facts."
"Which are…" Mr. Godwin said through gritted teeth.
"We have identified the John Doe. He is the General, the leader of a loosely bound organization comprised of nearly all the assassins in the Americas."
Another silence.
"What does that mean?" Lisa broke in.
"We think that the General was trying to kill Rippner for failing to assassinate the Keefe family."
So, indirectly, Lisa thought, the General's death is my fault. Well, isn't that just too bad.
"It explains something that puzzled us previously." He nodded at Lisa, including her in the "us." "It would have been easier for Rippner to simply escape with Crane than to take hostages. We couldn't understand why he'd gone to so much trouble when there was a simpler solution. But if the General was waiting for them in Gotham, and Rippner knew this, then his reaction makes sense. He couldn't leave the Asylum without being killed, and he certainly couldn't stay there undiscovered for long. His only chance was to make a fast and completely untraceable getaway, which is what did in the helicopter."
"I still don't understand," broke in Mr. Godwin. "Surely it would have been easy to track the chopper? How did he manage to escape?"
Lisa answered for Miller – they'd discussed this before. "They were being tracked, of course. But the FBI couldn't pursue them as closely as they'd like, because they might have killed Tory. When the chopper landed in a field, it took the police ten minutes to arrive at the landing site. By the time they were there, the brothers and Tory were gone."
"Disappeared. Into thin air," added Miller grimly. "No car rental, no plane ride, not so much as a stolen bicycle. No one even remembered seeing them."
Mr. and Mrs. Godwin still looked disgruntled. Miller looked uncomfortable. Lisa sympathized with them both. It had not been a shining moment for the FBI.
"But how does our daughter come into this?" Mrs. Godwin asked. "Why are we here?"
Miller straightened up in his chair, squared his shoulders, looked straight at the wall, and delivered the words with the courage of one who was willing to die for his country.
"Neither of the brothers killed the General. Victoria did."
Lisa's jaw dropped and her eyes grew wide. She was completely floored. No one had even hinted about this. What did it mean? Her brain whirled rapidly and came to a startling conclusion. Tory was not an injured innocent. She may not even be a proper hostage. She was, to a certain degree, a co-conspirator.
Lisa's stomach sank. Had Tory fooled her all along? Was Tory as much a monster as Rippner and Crane? Had she always been on their side?
No. Lisa ran through their conversations that day and her general impression of Tory. No, Tory had been working towards the greater good. She'd believed that what she was doing was right. And she had been right – if Tory hadn't come up with the plan and distracted Crane, Lisa would never have been able to rescue the hostages.
"Our daughter killed someone?" whispered Mrs. Godwin.
"That can't be right," protested Mr. Godwin. "For Heaven's sake, she can't even kill spiders. She always takes them outside and lets them go!"
"I can show you the video," said Miller softly.
"No," Mrs. Godwin whispered, shaking her fiery head. "No, not now. Not yet. Soon, but…not yet."
"Our daughter isn't a murderer!" Mr. Godwin said angrily. "If she strangled him, it was in self-defense!" His voice broke down and Lisa watched tears trickle down his cheeks. Mrs. Godwin hugged him, her own body shaking with sobs.
Lisa remained silent. Surely Tory's own parents would know if she was a killer. Yet Lisa disagreed with them. In the brief time she'd known the girl, Lisa had sensed that they – despite all differences in age, dress, and occupation – were very much alike.
She popped the cap off the pen and gripped it so tightly her knuckles turned white.
"No," she told him. "That it would never happen again."
A queer expression flickered in his blue eyes at her unexpected comeback. It might have been pity, or it might have been respect – she couldn't tell.
There was a melodic little beeping sound, and Jackson Rippner raised his eyes to see the "Seatbelts On" sign turn off.
That was when she raised the pen and stabbed him in the throat.
Lisa jerked herself out of her memories, breathing slightly harder.
She wasn't a killer, either. Yet she'd tried to kill Jack, and she had killed Jack's little pet assassin. If she and Tory were as much alike as Lisa thought they were…then, yes. She could see Tory pulling the laces out of her sneaker and wrapping them around a man's throat. She could see Tory pulling them tight until the man died.
Yes, Tory could kill. And so could she.
The Godwins left, their arms wrapped around each other, supporting each other. Lisa rose to follow them.
"May I speak with you for a moment, Ms. Reisert?"
"Of course," said Lisa, sitting back down. The door closed and they were alone.
Miller leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers steepled. "Ms. Reisert, you have been an enormous help during this investigation."
Lisa shook her head, soft curls flying. "Not really, Lieutenant. I wish I could do more."
"You saved the hostages," insisted Miller. "And you were the one who brought down Rippner in the first place."
"Fat lot of good it did," said Lisa. It came out much more bitterly than she'd intended.
"It did a lot of good," said Miller firmly. "You are a life-saver, Ms. Reisert. You have consistently demonstrated incredible grace under pressure, as well as an amazing tenacity in pursuing your goals."
"Okay, why are you buttering me up?" asked Lisa with a slight laugh, watching the Lieutenant with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.
Miller smiled. It was the first time she'd ever seen him do so. There was a certain splintery quality to it, as if his lips might shatter from the unexpected action. "Because, Ms. Reisert, I am about to offer you a job."
When she walked out of the police station an hour later, Lisa had to pinch herself to make sure she was still awake. No more working at the Lux. No more Miami. No more Dad. No more Cynthia. She wasn't part of that anymore.
She was Agent Reisert.
Not that it was quite that easy. She would have to attend the Academy and undergo substantial training. But the FBI, for all its perceived rigidity, could be surprisingly flexible sometimes. They were willing to hire her now, on the assumption that she would attend their school after Rippner and Crane had been captured. In the meantime, she would get weapons training and would continue to assist in the investigation.
The sun was shining for the first time in her stay in Gotham. Lisa stood on the sidewalk and took a deep breath. The pigeons were cooing, the taxi horns sounded almost melodic, and Jack was going down. For the last time.
She wondered where Tory was now, and prayed that she wasn't suffering.
"Ow!" Tory yelled as her arms were yanked over her head. She stared up in terror at the man sitting astride her waist, pinning her to the floor. He laughed wickedly, blue eyes glinting with glee at her pain.
"Time to teach you a little lesson," he breathed into her ear. Tory swallowed another yelp of pain as he wrenched the object out of her hands.
"We do not watch Invader Zim in this household!"
With that statement of doom Jack rolled off of Tory and plopped himself back on the couch. Smirking, he pointed the remote at the TV and changed the channel.
Tory remained on the ground for a moment, regaining her breath. Then she launched herself into the air and onto the couch.
"Aaah! Get off me, woman!"
"Give me the remote, you jerk!"
"I am not watching that stupid show!"
"It's not half as stupid as you are!"
They fell off the couch – again. The remote went flying and they both scrambled for it on all fours.
"Ha!" crowed Tory triumphantly, flinging herself bodily upon the precious object. Jack grabbed her by the ankles and pulled her off of it, then also flung himself bodily upon it. So Tory flung herself on him.
"Oof. Christ, Tor, what are you eating these days?"
Tory sat on his back. She started bouncing up and down. "Did you," bounce, "just," bounce, "call me," bounce, "FAT!"
"OWWWW! GET OFF!"
As Tory bounced, the remote's buttons got pressed by Jack's stomach and the channels changed. Suddenly, Tory heard her name.
"New evidence has come to light about Victoria Godwin, the hostage taken by the fugitive brothers Jackson Rippner and Jonathan Crane one month ago."
Tory bounced on Jack one last time and got off. She sat on the couch, watching the newswoman intently. Jack got up and sat next to her, taking the remote with him.
"Police recently released the security tape of Arkham Asylum. The tape shows that, contrary to popular belief, it was Godwin who murdered the dead man found at the scene. Furthermore, although Rippner insinuated that his brother raped Godwin, the footage reveals that Victoria was never sexually assaulted."
"So now everybody knows," said Tory dully.
"What? That you weren't raped?"
"Not that, although I still can't believe you told that to the police. I meant, now everybody knows I killed the General."
"Anyone with half a brain already knew," said Jack, leaning back and making himself comfortable. "They already publicly declared he was strangled with a shoelace."
"So?"
"So, if Jon and I had had the chance to kill him, you think we would have used a shoelace?"
"You might have."
"Yeah, right. We'd have gone for a gun or Jon's poison or, all else failing, used some martial arts. You're the only one who didn't have any of those weapons."
"True," said Tory, pulling her knees up to her chin and studied her sneakers. Jon and Jack had brought the shoelace with them when they'd escaped, and she'd threaded it back into her left shoe. She was still trying to make up her mind as to whether it was her Good Luck Shoe or the Shoe of Doom. "Well, I didn't then. I do now."
"Mmm," said Jack noncommittally. Then, "Don't get too cocky. You've got a lot to learn."
"I know. But I've got you and Jon to teach me." Tory picked at the couch's covering. "At least for a while."
Jack tore his attention away from the screen long enough to frown at her. "What do you mean?"
"Well, you're going to South America, aren't you?"
"That's the plan. As soon as the heat dies down." Jack nodded his head at the TV screen. "In another month we won't be news anymore. Sure, the police and the General's people will still be looking for us…"
"That's a scary thought."
"Get used to it. They're dangerous, all right. But you know what's more dangerous? The hick waitress at the greasy spoon who saw you on TV. But pretty soon we'll be an old story, people will forget our faces…"
"Face, really," said Tory with a smile.
"Faces. Yours, too."
Tory straightened up abruptly. "Wait. What are you talking about?"
Jack looked at her as if she was stupid. "You're coming with us."
"Oh, am I?" Tory flared. "Don't you think you should ask me if I want to move to another continent?"
Jack sighed and laid his head on the back of the couch. In a bored voice he intoned, "Oh Mighty Mistress Victoria, would you be so kind as to accompany my brother and I to a beautiful and exotic continent, filled with friends and opportunities and notably empty of countries which extradite murderers back to this intolerant homeland of ours."
"Well, when you put it that way," said Tory, pretending to preen. She was, truthfully, a bit flattered that Jack had asked her to come. She'd expected Jon to, of course – but then, she and Jon had a very different relationship. A very different relationship. Not one that had progressed particularly far, though.
She didn't know what to do. She loved Jon. She couldn't deny that to herself anymore. She loved his intelligence, his subtle humor, his cool and collected air, his sudden smiles. And frankly, she lusted after him something terrible.
So why couldn't she do anything about it? Why couldn't she take that final step? They hadn't even properly kissed. Why was she holding back?
A delayed reaction to something Jack had said suddenly interrupted her thoughts."Friends? You have friends in South America?"
Jack shifted. He looked suddenly vaguely embarrassed. "One."
"Oh." Tory started to grin. "Is this a…special friend?"
One look at Jack's horrified face disabused that notion.
"Okay. Wrong. Sorry."
"Yeah, about as wrong as you could get. Unless you're Freud."
Tory blinked, then got it and giggled. "Let me get this straight. Your mother is down there?"
"Not our mother. Our nanny. But it's basically the same thing, because she pretty much raised us."
Tory started to smile. Then she started to laugh.
"What?" asked Jack, sounding pissed.
"It's just…you're running home to your nanny?"
Jack glared at her. "Yes. Fine. We're running home to nanny. And you'd better be nice to her when you meet her."
"When am I ever not nice?"
Jack just gave her a Look. "Brat," he threw in for good measure.
"Not as big a brat as you, Mr. Park Avenue." Tory paused for a second. "Hey, that rhymes."
Jack glared at her, his hair falling into his eyes. Tory glared back.
Jack shrugged and looked away.
"Hey? Why are you giving up so fast?"
"You're Jon's girl. I'll cut you some slack."
"First of all, nothing is official yet." Jack gave her an Oh, Please look. "Second," continued Tory, ignoring the disbelieving expression on his face, "exactly how much slack are we talking about?"
Jack's eyes grew wary. "Uh, not much. Why?"
"Enough slack to give me the remote?"
"Put it this way, Tor," Jack told her, laying one arm along the back of the couch and snuggling further into its soft cushions. He carefully enunciated each word. "Over…my…dead….body. OW!"
"That can be arranged," said a nearly identical voice from behind them, and they both looked back. Jon stood by the back of the couch, still in his pajamas and holding a large pillow in one hand, with which he had just hit Jack on the head.
"What was that for?" Jack demanded, rubbing his head and mussing his hair.
"Payback. For moving my coffee."
FLASHBACK
Jon had suffered a very strange sleeping schedule during his breakdown, and consequently, for the first few days after his recovery, had gotten up exceedingly early each morning. Then his normal sleeping pattern had reasserted itself and it was all Jack, Tory, and Jorge could do to get him up before ten o'clock in the morning.
Tory had finished her barre exercises, eaten breakfast, and practiced at the home-made, outdoor shooting range by the time Jon stumbled into the kitchen. Eyes closed, hair tousled, he felt his way to a chair and collapsed into it, resting his head on his folded arms.
Without a word Tory poured a large mug of coffee and placed it by his left elbow. She knew better than to try to get a coherent sentence out of Jon before he'd had his morning caffeine. As she set it down he murmured something that might have been "Thank you," had it not been muffled by his arms. She squeezed his shoulder and went back to cleaning the kitchen up from everyone else's breakfast.
Just then, Jack walked into the kitchen. As soon as he saw his brother, an evil smirk crossed his face. Carefully, without making a sound, he picked up the mug and put it down on the far side of the table, out of reach.
Jon's left hand reached out and felt for where the mug usually was. The searching fingers found nothing, and Jon's hand paused in confusion.
"Other side," said Jack calmly, with perfect innocence.
Jon carefully tucked his left arm back under his head and reached with his right hand to the right. No coffee there, either.
"A little bit forward. A bit more. Now a bit to the right. No, too far, you went too far. Okay, warmer…warmer…nope, missed it. It's more in front of you. Closer to your head. No, not that close to your head. Jon, it's right there!"
"Jack, you are so mean!" Tory, who'd been watching the show, finally laughed. Going back to the table, she snatched the mug up and handed it to Jon. He briefly raised his head, eyes still closed, and pulled the coffee closer to him. Then he stuck one hand in his sweatpants' pocket and pulled out a straw. Plunking it in the coffee, he supported his head with both his hands and began to slurp the coffee through the straw.
"You're so weird," Jack told him.
The fingers of Jon's hand all curled into his palm until only the middle one was left standing.
END OF FLASHBACK
Jon whacked Jack again with the pillow.
"Ow! Son of a bitch!"
"Wimp," said Jon with a smile.
Jack grabbed a pillow off the couch and struck back. Within seconds it wasn't just a pillow fight. It was a pillow war.
Tory watched them for a few minutes, laughing hysterically. They were the best pillow fighters she'd ever seen. This wasn't just about standing there and whacking each other. Oh, no. They were everywhere: up on the couch, on the coffee table, dodging behind chairs and in general behaving like five-year olds.
Suddenly Tory had a delicious idea. Getting up from where she'd taken cover under the coffee table, she ran into the kitchen.
"Yes, they are here," Jorge said into the phone. "Yes, they are fine. Jack had his nose broken by Senorita Reisert, and Jon was ill for a time, but now they are both much better." He paused to listen. "Ah, yes, the chica is here. She is a good kid. One of us, I believe. Or perhaps like you. I do not yet know. But as it is, she and Jon are…well, perhaps I have said too much." Jorge had to take the phone away from his ear due to the sheer volume of the violent protests on the other end. "But yes, she is good enough for him. Too good, I think." Jorge listened again. "Yes, of course. I will arrange everything. They will never know. They will be taken completely by surprise."
He heard a commotion. Phone still to his ear, he walked down the hall.
"They have not been so bad. They whine when I make them exercise and shoot, but otherwise they have been quite good. Except... ah." He stood in the open door of the living room and watched the ensuing chaos. "They are having a pillow fight. Yes, quite right, they are running around like five-year olds." Jorge sighed. "Sometimes, my friend, I think that the chica and I are the only adults in this house."
He paused to listen, and while he was doing so he politely moved out of the way for Tory. She was, for some strange reason, carrying a bucket full of water.
"And the other times, my friend?"
He watched as Tory threw the bucket of water at the battling twins, completely soaking them. The twins immediately stopped. Slowly, they turned to Tory. Four menacing blue eyes glared at her small frame.
"Heh. Heh. Oops," said Tory, and she ran. Jorge flattened himself against one adobe wall as the girl fled down the hallway, the dripping twins in hot pursuit.
"The other times," Jorge said, shaking his head, "I know that I am the only adult here."