Intangible
Gotham
Midnight had come and gone. A steady rain drifted down through the stillness. Yellow police tape and hastily erected sheets of plastic blocked off the damaged entrance to the Opera House. The local authorities were done with their investigation, but the Batman wasn't.
Broken glass crunches under his boots, as he sifted through the debris for any clues. Blood was everywhere; the pock marked stone promenade and steps, the twisted railings, even in the air. It mixes so heavily with the rain he could almost taste the iron oxide. He gingerly picked his way among the ruins, haunted by the memory of the screams and cries he first heard over his monitor.
Usually he would have been in attendance at an event like this. As one of Gotham's most well-known citizens and members of its elite society, certain social obligations were expected. In years past he would have, but instead this year he'd been at home enjoying just talking in his study with one of his two recovering guests, Dinah Lance.
As he let his eyes moved slowly over the blood stained shards of glass, the streamers limply strewn over everything, he knew he'd been less than vigilante as the Batman. The easy excuse was that he had to be careful around the two women in his house, but he wouldn't allow himself the easy way out. The harder truth was he found himself attracted to Dinah and the past that seem to haunt her. While he knew parts of it, she was still something of a mystery to him. He'd let that interest subtly alter his normal vigilance. Now he stood in the results of those alternations.
He already knew who was responsible even before he arrived. The random, senselessness of all of it and the sheer horror it caused told him more than if the Joker had left a signed confession. The press had dubbed him the Clown Prince of Crime, but that was a misnomer, he was really an instrument of Chaos. His acts of violence and cruelty weren't means to an end, but the act was the end in itself. The scene around Batman told him so much. The shards of glass disguised as confetti was meant to inflict maximum injuries, not deaths. Too many deaths and there wouldn't be enough survives to bare witness. That was the motive, to create witnesses to the chaos. The horror they endured and witnessed all around them would spread like a virus as they told their tales. People would be frightened and some would panic which led to more chaos and panic.
The rain hadn't washed away all the blood; instead it had caused it to become little rivers that flowed down the Opera House steps towards the gutters. It left streaks in its wake, like snail trails as a reminder. The people that died or were injured tonight were his people, not Batman's but Bruce Wayne. He'd grown up in this social circle and had shaken hands or shared a joke with many of them at one social function or benefit. The illusion of a classless society was something America prided itself on, but it was just that, an illusion. Anyone that has spent even one day in any school knows this.
These people went to the same private schools, lived in the same exclusive neighborhoods, were members of the same clubs and attended the same parties as others in their elite social circle. If you weren't born into it, you probably didn't even know you would never be invited in. Bruce's family had been part of Gotham's elite for generations. Now the people of his social circle overflowed the hospitals. Ten were dead and a still uncounted number were injured. Bruce could already envision the aftermath. An endless parade of funerals stretches out in front of him. He hadn't been here to save them, so he would be there to grieve for them one. The handshakes and hugs, the hollow words of sympathy and the endless grief of the love ones, he would be there for all of it. It was one of the obligations that came with being part of this elite society.
His people had died in his city.
Gotham – Derive
The following morning found the magazine a hive of activity. While they were focused more on national and international news and culture, the attack on the Opera House was too close to ignore. The closer a tragedy is geographically the more you feel it. It might not make sense, but it's the way things are. The entire staff of Derive's main office lived in Gotham. They had all walked passed the Opera House and some had even met a few of the people that had been there last night. The names of the victims were as well known as the streets and buildings they adorned throughout the city.
No one called off sick today. Perhaps it's something built into our DNA when tragic happens, but all the latest, most amazing technology in the world isn't a replacement for simple human interaction. Being able to look into another person's eyes, to talk about what happened, your fears and worries or even something as simple as reaching out and touching someone else has yet to be replaced by anything better. So as the day went on, people just seemed to linger with each other a bit more than usual. Those that had formal offices, found themselves opening their doors and leaving them to gather in the more communal areas of the building.
It was these emotions that brought Vicki Vale to find Clark. Because of her unique position at the magazine as its face, she had been for the most part removed from the rest of the staff. She was also suffering a bit of new job syndrome. Vicki had made friends at her last job. It was just that once she left that job and got this new one, the connections with those old friends lessen. She found she wasn't as interested in the office gossip now that she wasn't not there. Those old friends weren't as interested in what's happening at her new job either. They running on different tracks, so it's easy to drift apart.
There was also the fact that Vicki hadn't been at the magazine that long, so it only added to the outsider feelings she was experiencing. The owners were the ones she spoke to the most, but they seemed to be groping their way through this like everyone else. She was wrestling with the same emotions everyone else was and needed to just talk to someone. She wasn't that different than the rest, at 25 she only a few years older than most, yet her position seemed to add distance between them. As she looked around the office she realized the person she'd spent the most time with out of everyone in the building was Clark.
She watched him for a while. He as sitting in his little cubbyhole they called an office, but occasionally he would stop to talk to those that wandered in. He was as new as Vicki, yet he'd apparently made friends with many of the other workers. As it approached the lunch hour, Vicki found herself walking across the large common room towards him. She was holding a coffee cup in her hand, but hadn't taken a sip from it for almost an hour. It was something of a prop, because she didn't know what to do with her hands. She wasn't sure what she would say; she just felt the need to talk to somebody. She stopped just outside his office and waited for him to look up.
"Hi."
"Hi" He replied. "How you holding up?"
It was a simple question, something he'd probably said several times before, but it gave her the opening she needed.
"Not so great,' she admitted, taking another step inside.
He gestured for her to come in and have a seat, as he got up and moved around to the front of the desk, leaned against it, his hands in his pockets.
"It's been a rough day for everyone,' he said.
Vicki sat down, still holding her coffee cup in her hand. She absently crossed her legs, smoothing her skirt with the tips of fingers.
"I know some of the people that were there last night,' she offered. "I met them through my last job."
"At the paper?" He asked.
"Yeah,' she replied, giving a feint smile. "I was put on the society beat when I started, so I would get all dressed up and stand out in front of those parties and interview the guests as they arrived. It didn't pay that much, like most first jobs. It was always the usual questions, who are you wearing, why is tonight important to you or your foundations, stuff like that. I think the editors just figured a pretty girl would look nice in the photos."
"It was a job though, a foot in the door,' Clark gently replied. "Besides I'll bet your were good at it"
"I suppose,' Vicki said with a small shrug. "I wanted to be a reporter and do hard hitting news stories and here I was playing dress up and interviewing the rich and famous."
"I can think of worse ways to start."
"Oh, don't get me wrong, it was exciting,' Vicki admitted. "I mean I was right out of college and it all seemed so glamorous at first. I was rubbing elbows with the mayor and Senators, captains of industry and the cream of Gotham's elite society. Most people would kill for a job like that."
"But not you, huh?" He asked.
"No, not me,' she admitted with a small smile.
There was a rap on the door before either could say any more. One of the other workers glanced in and then looked at Clark.
"Lunch time, Clark, some of us are heading down to the Metro if you want to join us,' he said. "Hi, um, Vicki, um, you can come too, if you want."
He didn't wait for an answer but moved off to catch up with the others. Vicki suddenly felt self-conscious like she was holding Clark up.
"I'm sorry, if you have lunch plans I'm holding you back,' she said as she started to get up from the chair.
"No, you're not holding me back from anything,' Clark replied. "I actually brown bagged it. This is my first job, remember?'
Vicki smiled as she stood in front of him. An idea formed in her mind and she just went with it.
"Would you like to have lunch with me, Clark?" She asked.
"I, ah, I'm kind of broke at the moment,' he reluctantly admitted.
Vicki's smile got a little bigger.
"I'll pay this time, what do you say?" She asked. "I remember what living on a first job paycheck is like."
"As long as it's only this time you pay, I guess okay,' Clark replied with a smile. "I don't make that bad a salary, really. It's just moving cost a lot more than I expected so I'm a little short at the moment."
"Uh-huh,' Vicki replied. "Oh, you're girlfriend's not going to mind is she?"
Clark knew she was teasing him.
"I told you before she's not my girlfriend, we're neighbors,' he stated.
"Interesting, don't you think? I didn't even mention her name and you immediately thought of her?" Vicki said, baiting him.
"We're neighbors, that's all."
Vicki smiled at him for a moment and then turned towards the door.
"Let's go to lunch, Clark."
Gotham
Rupert Thorne sat behind his desk staring down at the bandage on his hand. Mannheim had cut off his finger as some sort of lesson. The lesson Rupert took from it was that eventually he was going to kill Bruno Mannheim, but not just yet. His weapons were too valuable and Rupert needed them to shift the balance in Gotham, but he wasn't one to forgive or forget. His primary goal was still to take over the city from Maroni and Falcone. He would let those two hotheads deal with the Joker for him.
Rupert had been thinking hard about it since Mannheim left. He wanted to get the Joker for stealing from him and causing him to loss his finger, but now he realized he could use him too. The Joker had some of the pulse rifles. If Rupert just waited a little while until he used them then further attacks would be blamed on the Joker. That would leave Rupert's men free to stir up as much trouble as they wanted between Maroni and Falcone and they would both blame the Joker. As the two crime bosses' tempers were legendary, they would want revenge. The three would fight it out and for Rupert it really didn't matter which one came out the winner. They would be wounded and easy prey for him to move in and take over everything.
Only then would he get his own revenge against Mannheim. The man was an outsider to Gotham and for all his fancy hardware; he just didn't know the city like Rupert did. As he sat back and lit up a cigar, Rupert had visions of Mannheim down on his knees bloody and broken, begging for his life. Rupert smiled and exhaled a stream of smoke as he imagined pulling the trigger that ended Mannheim once and for all. Who knows, after it was done, Rupert Thorne might just move onto Metropolis and fill the void Mannheim's death would create.
Gotham – Wayne Manor
Dinah stood at the kitchen window looking out into the backyard. She was feeling a little stronger today, but her mind wasn't on her own problems. Bruce had been out walking around the large private lawn for the past hour. She had seen all the news reports about the attack. It didn't take a huge leap to know some of those injured or killed were probably friends of Bruce Wayne's. She knew a little about losing friends and loved ones, but she didn't really know that much about the man standing out in the garden. He had opened his home up to her and Ev while they recuperated and for that she would always be grateful. Now though, she felt like she wanted to do something, say something to help him, she just wasn't sure what.
"Is everything all right, Miss Dinah?'
She turned to see Alfred standing behind her.
"Hmm? What?' She asked.
"I asked is everything all right, but clearly it isn't,' he said. "Is there something I can do to help you?"
"Oh, it's not me I was thinking about, Alfred,' she replied. Dinah gestured towards the gardens. "I was wondering how he's doing after what happened last night?"
Alfred moved over next to her and followed her glance out towards Bruce.
"As well as can be expected, miss,' Alfred offered. "Master Bruce knew many of those injured and killed. He was supposed to be at that event last night, so I would imagine there's some guilt over not being there. Like all of us he's dealing with it in his own way."
"Do-Do you think he'd want to talk about it?' Dinah tentatively asked. "Or should I just leave him alone?"
"I'm sure he'd appreciate the offer either way, Miss Dinah,' Alfred said with a kindly smile.
Dinah nodded and then slowly opened the back door. She was still recovering, so her movements were slow, but she made her way outside and down the patio steps. Alfred stood at the window watching, a small smile on his face.
"A-chooo!"
Alfred picked up the tissue box and held it out, but didn't immediately turn. A hand reached for the tissues and grabbed a couple.
"Thank you,' a rather stuffed up voice said.
"You're welcome, Miss Ev,' Alfred replied.
"My head feels like it's going to explode it's so full,' Ev moaned. "Isn't it bad enough I've been shot without getting a cold on top of it?"
"Life is unfair at times."
"Is there any coffee?' She asked, sniffling and sneezing again.
"Of course, there's also hot soup if you would like it,' Alfred replied.
Ev leaned and gave him a quick hug.
"Thanks, Alfred, I'd kiss you, but I don't want you to catch what I've got,' she stated.
"I appreciate the gesture, Miss Ev."
"So what are you watching that's so fascinating?' Ev asked, glancing out the window as she poured a cup of coffee. She saw Dinah walking towards Bruce. "Oh."
"She's offering her sympathies,' Alfred explained.
"Right, the explosion at the Opera House last night,' Ev replied. "He knew a lot of them probably, huh?"
"Yes."
"Must be tough,' Ev offered.
She moved over and stood next to Alfred as she took a sip of the coffee. They were both looking out the window at Bruce and Dinah. Ev leaned in and nudged Alfred's shoulder with her shoulder.
"She kind of likes him, you know,' Ev said to Alfred.
"I believe Master Bruce likes Miss Dinah as well,' Alfred replied.
"That's good," Ev said. "She needs someone like him after being hurt by all the secrets and lies she'd had to deal with in the past."
This time Alfred didn't respond.