This took about three weeks which was about a week and a half longer than originally intended. Sorry. Big changes to the overall story occurred though. Let's just say that Ivy's story changed significantly based upon her popularity from what was originally envisioned. Want to know how and what was supposed to happen? Leave a review and ask me. I'll tell you in my response. Is this blackmailing for reviews? Absolutely.
Reviews only take a second and make things so worthwhile for us authors. So, take a second and let us know what you think. Insight is always welcome and encouraged and they certainly provide additional incentive to get that next chapter out.
A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.
"Jackasses," Brett Gardner muttered under his breath. He wound his way around another turn past a couple more of the closed, heavy steel doors before squinting to make out the lettering on the placard found at every one of the hallway's intersections. As usual, the series of coded letters and numbers were all but indistinguishable from simple gibberish. Whatever they signified, it eluded him completely.
The sub basement of Police Plaza was huge, spanning out and connecting the various buildings that made up the complex far beneath the city streets. It was also old, the main buildings dating back to the very founding of Gotham in the late 1800's when the Industrial Revolution took hold and turned the port city into a thriving metropolis. The classical, gray-white stone buildings common to that time period was indicative of most of the main civic buildings including the City Hall, Courthouse, and Police Headquarters. Later buildings and additions including the MCU came much later and took on more varied appearances.
These subterranean mazes originally housed the city's jail, medical examiner, and morgue in addition to an abundant amount of storage space. By burying them beneath the buildings and streets any means of escape and the...less than sanitary nature of the time period was hoped to be avoided. Through time those uses were eventually moved to less undesirable locations. Turns out nobody likes living or working in a dark, dank, windowless environment. With the completion of Blackgate and later Arkham Asylum the jail was emptied. The morgue and medical examiner found a home at Gotham General within another year or two, leaving these levels to slowly be forgotten because of disuse and inconvenience.
And here he was lost in their depths.
The next intersection revealed more of the same. A narrow hall punctuated regularly with heavy steel doors and dust covered filing cabinets and tables on either side. A single pipe ran down the center of the slightly curved ceiling with a single, bare light bulb strung out at fifteen foot intervals.
If nobody had ever used this place to film a horror movie they'd sure been missing out. The place was perfect. Nevermind the fact that there was almost assuredly real ghosts in a place that looked like this. There had been a morgue after all.
His own reason for being down here had been forgotten within ten minutes of arriving. It was a practical joke. There was simply no other explanation for sending him down here. The GCPD didn't store anything down here anymore that wasn't intended to be forgotten. All this place was good for was ghost stories and getting young, naive cops lost for fun and games.
Ever since he'd come to the rather obvious conclusion Gardner's new quest was just finding the damn stairs. It was a task at which he was utterly failing.
"Patrolman?"
The sudden question from behind him caused Brett to stumble, reaching out and catching himself on a nearby pipe that ran from floor to ceiling before he was able to regain any form of balance. Laughing nervously he turned around to find a rather small, scruffy man studying him curiously.
"Shit. Sorry to scare ya," the man managed, looking a little sheepish. "Just aren't usually too many people down here's all."
Brett waved it off, still trying to still his rapidly beating heart. Apparently this crazy place had his nerves up a little more than he'd realized and damn if the little man hadn't been quiet. "It's okay," he finally managed, straightening up and really looking at his surprise guest for the first time and his disheveled, but ordinary clothing with the gold shield clipped to his belt. "Detective?"
"Call me Ian," he said, holding out a hand and smiling to reveal a row of small, dirty teeth.
Okay. Must be a smoker.
"Brett." He shook the offered hand. "Good to meet ya."
"Likewise. Now, no offense, but what're you doing down here? You know there's a lot of restricted access stuff right? There's crap down here nobody wants to see the light of day."
Actually that was news to him, but the rookie nodded, glancing over to look down several of the gloomy passages that branched out in different directions. "I was sent down by my supervising officer to get something. I'm startin' to think it's a little bit of fun or rookie hazing or something. Send the new guy down and let him get lost for awhile, ya know? Either that or he just wanted me out of his hair."
Ian smiled that same crooked, stained smile and laughed. "Yeah, that happens. Which one they get you with? The one about the caged man-bat they keep down here or the giant unkillable zombie?"
Gardner frowned. Zombie? People believed that crap? "Actually he just asked for a stack of forms." Brett glanced at his note. "P-22's to be exact."
"Ah." There was that grin again. "The P series doesn't go above P-12. Sorry, mate. Just a bit of fun I'm afraid. You want me to show you the way out?"
Crumpling the note in annoyance and stuffing it back in his pocket Brett nodded, prompting the smaller man to turn and make a right down the next side corridor. After a left and another right the young patrolman was right back to being as turned around as he had been before. Thankfully Ian seemed to know exactly where he was.
"So," Gardner started, "a giant zombie that's..." From somewhere down the hallway they'd just passed a loud beep cut off his train of thought, stopping him in his tracks. "You hear that?"
The smaller, disheveled detective paused, cocking his head. "Yeah. So?"
"So there's barely even enough electricity down here to keep these things running," he said, absently pointing at the bare overhead lights. He was met with a blank stare. "So, what the hell was that then?" He stepped back to get a better look down the corridor. "Besides, that was definitely not something all that old. It sounded way too much like a computer or something electronic."
Ian frowned. "Like I said, there's stuff down here that's supposed to be kinda kept a secret. We're not supposed to be snooping around. Now, the stairs are right up here," he said, nodding in the direction they'd been headed. "You coming?"
"Give me a sec." He took another step forward, now entering into the side corridor. In the increased gloom his eyes adjusted rapidly, taking in details he'd missed at first glance. Further down he could just make out a dark shape sticking out from the wall ahead. One of the heavy doors that appeared periodically was standing open. The beeping noise chimed in again, definitely originating from further down in front of him.
"Hey man." The patrolman glanced at the nervously fidgeting detective. At this point he was throwing hurried looks up and down the main hallway. "Come on Brett, I'm sure it's nothing. Leave it."
He waved the warning away. The place was deserted except for the two of them. Who'd know. "It's fine," he said, starting forward again. "Relax and wait there. I'll be right back. I just wanna take a quick look."
"Patrolman..." the other man started. The voice trailed off when Gardner moved forward again further into the gloom toward the open door. Apparently the detective had finally come to grips and just let the issue be.
Upon closer look the door was rusty and slightly deformed with age. Almost two inches thick it had been a part of the jail system that was once in place. Probably solitary confinement. Weirdly, the handle was hanging strangely from its face with the keyhole nothing more than a small, blackened crater in the otherwise smooth surface.
Had the lock been blown apart?
The room itself was empty save for several pallets of unmarked brown bags stacked high beneath old, musty blankets. Larger than anyone would have guessed from the outside the room had two large concrete columns coming down near the center of the room. The pallets and a small table circled them.
Gardner stepped forward, nearly tripping on an extension cord that had been hardwired into the fusebox next to the doorway on the inside of the room and that snaked toward a briefcase sized metal container on the table.
The case beeped.
What the?
The metal was smooth and featureless with no latches or locks plainly visible, just a seam where the lid fit into the body of the thing. Removing it didn't exactly shed a lot of light on the matter. Far from being an engineer all Brett knew for certain was that there was a lot of wiring, a few circuit boards, a keypad attached to a blank LCD display and what looked like a wireless modem attached to the side.
"Weird," he muttered. This was so out of place in the dusty, neglected sub basement as to be truly a mystery. It also probably didn't mean anything good. He'd have to tell somebody about this.
"That's certainly one way to put it." Brett's head shot up. It was the same small detective with the awkward appearance, but the voice was noticeably different. Gone was the fluctuating nervousness and the hesitation, replaced instead with a calm, cool, assured quality that was almost menacing. He brought a lit cigarette to his lips, blowing out a small cloud of smoke as he leaned in the doorway. "That," he said, "would be a bomb. A very large one."
Gardner's whole body went cold. A bomb? And this detective knew about it? His mind spun. What had he gotten himself into. "The fuck?" he finally managed. "That's..." he slowly stood up, taking a hesitant step back from the device. "That's a goddamn bomb!
Ian smiled slightly, nodding. "And those," he said, pointing to the giant concrete columns, "are the anchorage point for the entire building. That's where it connects to the bedrock." He puffed lightly on the cigarette before smiling again. "It's a shame really. Nobody was supposed to find this down here." He patted the topmost bags on the pallet nearest the door fondly. "My little insurance policy."
"What the hell are you talking about? Why would you put that down here? You're a..."
"Cop?" the small, smug little man asked. "Actually that might be a wee bit of a...fabrication. It's actually surprisingly easy to play the part though. You have no idea the satisfying sense of irony I get when I actually arrest someone." A cold bead of sweat ran down between Brett's shoulder blades. The man was far too calm for having been discovered. "No, no...I'd actually describe my current profession as more of a...well, spy I guess." He smiled again, blowing out another puff of smoke. "I'm an independent contractor."
"What...what're you going to do?"
Ian frowned. "Actually, that's not up to me. Like I said." He patted the brown bag again. "This is all...just in case. A worst case scenario if you will. Yet another part of the game."
"Game?"
"Of course. What else would it be? Sadly, it seems as though you came woefully unequipped to participate. My apologies, but I just can't afford to have any uninvited interruptions." He produced a small, silenced handgun, holding it casually at his side and again took a drag from the cigarette. Gardner's entire body tensed, but his mind was still racing, trying to catch up to all that was happening around him. There was only one door out and it was too far away and blocked by the man bearing the gun. A small, shallow smile appeared on Ian's face and the false detective raised the weapon. "If it makes any difference, I assure you it's nothing personal."
The rushing torrent of the waterfall always managed to give the cave a kind of white noise, providing background to what would have otherwise been an eerily quiet environment save for the occasional chirps of its more natural inhabitants. It was an effect Alfred had always been glad for. The bunker had a kind of silent, simple, austere simplicity that was almost unnerving. A quality that the butler most certainly didn't miss. The cave's more organic nature with its rock walls and the constant presence of water was somehow more homey and comfortable.
The old man shook his head, chuckling softly to himself as he made his way down the metal stairs.
Had he just referred to the network of caves beneath Wayne Manor as homey?
Bruce was where he'd been for the majority of the past several days, on his chair perched over either the monitors or the latest print out of whatever file he thought might hold a clue. Other than the occasional venture out at night in search of other evidence or additional answers the young man had been practically spending all his waking hours down here. Apparently, as usual, the fact that the obsession driving him wasn't healthy wasn't enough to dissuade the man.
Two days previous the Joker had stolen yet another collection of demolition charges, this one from a large construction site in the Appalachians where a mining operation was being set up. The psychotic had left three security guards murdered and made off with the largest collection to date.
It marked his fourth such heist. The man now had in his possession several tons of high explosive and the wiring and detonators to actually do something with it. That thought alone was enough to send an extra chill down the old man's back.
Bruce also hadn't had more than a couple hours sleep since the second theft. Even the calls from Selina had been going unanswered.
The stress and worry lines had only deepened on his young charge's face when he'd uncovered even more damning information. In reviewing the various records to try and uncover further potential construction targets for the scarred lunatic Bruce had uncovered a sales receipt. Appearing genuine and bearing all the proper documentation and federal and state certifications he'd almost missed the company name.
Sionis Industries.
The same faceless corporation that owned Matakami Towers and several other properties around town. The supercomputers were already busy data mining the internet and any accessible servers to find what they could. Thus far though it had all the markings of some kind of false front. Finding what was beneath the surface, hidden away would be a challenge.
The signature at the bottom was unmistakable as well, Edward Nigma's scratchy handwriting easily legible at the bottom of each form. As was his name. That meant Sionis Industries, the Black Mask, and the Riddler were all somehow linked and they now had in their possession a good quantity of dynamite and nitrogen rich fertilizer which they'd somehow managed to purchase legally.
The why for both the Joker and the Riddler, however, remained a mystery.
Bruce had stayed awake for nearly thirty-six hours following the discovery of that bit of information. It had taken a lot of coaxing and the threat of a sedative to get the man to rest at all and even then it hadn't been nearly enough. People's lives were at stake so it was difficult for Alfred to fault him, but he'd do no one any good, least of all himself, if he couldn't be at his best.
Alfred paused at the top of the small staircase leading from the elevator to the computer center.
"The guests are beginning to arrive, sir," he said, resting one hand lightly on the cable railing. The younger man below him didn't move, his feet propped up on a railing alongside the bank of servers next to the computer workstation as he flipped through some kind of list while streams of data ran by behind him on several of the monitors. Alfred moved forward down several of the steps, his footsteps clinking hollowly on the metal grating. "Master Wayne?"
This time the billionaire did look up, his face worn and slightly unshaven as though he were almost surprised by the other man's presence. He sighed tiredly and blinked several times before nodding, dismissing his butler. "I'll be up soon, Alfred. Just another minute or two." And with that he went back to his list.
The older man frowned and continued moving forward though, coming to his employer's side.
"You said the same thing a quarter hour ago. I'm afraid that time has past." Bruce glanced up again, this time meeting his friend's eyes and paying attention. Alfred smiled. "Besides, a little time away from here might do you some good. Clear your head and such. Staring at these names and numbers for hours on end isn't going to suddenly reveal anything new." Bruce ran a hand over his tired face. "Wayne Manor needs a Wayne presiding over things, sir."
The younger man closed his eyes, but finally nodded, tossing the list to the nearby desktop and rising to follow the butler back up to the residence.
It wasn't until they were in the elevator with Bruce leaning against the car's cage that he spoke again, staring blankly into space.
"It's bad, Alfred. Riddler's one thing, but he's generally meticulous, surgical even." The young man sighed, running his hand again over his face. "It's Joker. I don't like thinking about someone that unstable with that much explosives in their possession." His eyes finally snapped down to focus on those of his mentor. "He's planning something. Something big. And I'm no closer to figuring out what that might be. We both know that man is capable of anything."
"I do, sir, and I understand the sentiment. The longer he's loose the more dire things become. Despite what you might think I do understand your drive and your reasoning, but you must also realize that you need to..."
"Know my limits," Bruce murmured, not meeting the other man's gaze as the car jerked to a halt and the bookcase parted in front of them to reveal the manor's study. Alfred followed him into the warmly lit room.
"I was going to say that you need to enjoy some aspect of your life. This drive will burn you out eventually if you let it. You need something...else. Despite what you think you see there is joy and happiness to be found, something beyond a faceless desire or the memory of your parents."
Bruce grinned sadly. "That's what I keep you around for, Alfred." Before he could come up with something to express how ridiculous that notion was the billionaire went on though. "Harvey Dent once made the statement that Batman didn't want to be Batman forever. How could he?" They exited the study, turning left for the back stairs. In the direction of the great hall and foyer one could already hear the low murmur of guests arriving. "It's true too," Bruce said, shaking his head. "I know that. I don't want this forever. I want something else eventually."
"Master Wayne, my worry isn't that you'll try and be Batman forever." The young man studied Alfred as the two continued down the hall before glancing back down at the carpet. "It's that you'll try and be him one day longer than you should. Because that one day may too late for us all." The two continued on a moment in silence. "I made a promise to your parents once. A long time ago not long after you were born to keep you safe. To protect you as best I can. It's a promise I've always intended to keep, but now I fear that may not be entirely up to me anymore."
His employer didn't look at him, simply continuing to eye the floor as they mounted the staircase, twisting up towards the master suite.
"Perhaps there's a chance he plans to move on from Gotham?" Alfred offered halfway up to the second floor, changing the subject. "Each of the thefts have taken place further and further away from the city. The last wasn't even in the same state. Could he be moving on?"
Bruce immediately shook his head firmly in the negative. "I'm still here. He's not going anywhere. The Joker won't go away, won't accept defeat until he's broken either me or Gotham. It's that simple. It's all a part of his madness. Maybe he's trying to lead authorities away and maybe he's just running out of places where he can get his hands on what he needs, I don't know. But the Joker isn't just going to go away. Not while we're still standing."
The pair entered the master suite, Alfred following his employer where the freshly pressed tuxedo was still waiting as the butler had left it. Bruce immediately crossed over to it, lifting the dark shirt he was wearing over his head in the process.
"Do we continue following the trail he's left then?" Alfred asked his retreating form from the doorway before following him in. "Attempt to guess his next stop?"
Bruce paused halfway through removing his jeans, his forehead lined in thought before finally shaking his head again. "Other than military caches there's not much left within three hundred miles for him to rob," he said. "We've already been through that. The things he's after were already hard to come by before and now he's hit most of the likely targets. No, let's start trying to figure out what he can do with it all."
"And what would a man like him do with it?"
Sitting down, the younger man shrugged as he pulled on the black slacks Alfred had handed him. "Chaos. The Joker wants chaos. Anarchy. He wants to prove that in the end man will operate on a baser level. That anyone can be...well, him I guess...given the right circumstances."
Alfred paused halfway through folding the discarded clothing. "Quite unsettling," he murmured, looking back towards Wayne.
Bruce went on as though he hadn't heard him though, absently speaking to the room in general as he mindlessly went about getting changed. By now he was as much developing his train of thought as he was speaking to his butler. Or anyone for that matter.
"Infrastructure, utilities, electronic records...anything that he can destroy to set people back even temporarily into a more primitive state. He wants to prey on the fight or flight response so he's going to need panic, a lot of panic if he wants to outdo his last attempt, which he will." He stood up, shrugging on the white undershirt before finally leveling a gaze at his confidante. "Let's look into the kinds of security that's in place for some of those things. The power grid, public transportation, water service...what will be the easiest for him to access? What will cause the most havok?" He stopped and glanced at his reflection in the nearby mirror on the armoire, putting his hands on his hips. "I should really be working," he finally said.
That comment elicited a sigh from the gray haired man behind him. "Need I remind you again that you are the host for this evening. This is your home. People will expect you to actually be here."
"So what if I just make an appearance then?" Bruce said, turning to look at him while he began buttoning up the white linen dress shirt. "Nobody'll notice if I'm not there all night. Mingle for a bit, make a speech or something and get back to it."
Alfred almost chuckled, remembering how prophetic those words could be. "Let's avoid any speeches tonight, shall we?" he quipped, prompting Bruce's features to screw up in confusion. "Lucius is still trying to repair the final bits of damage you caused the company the last time you made a speech in Wayne Manor."
Of course he hadn't been there personally to witness the infamous act Bruce had put on during his thirtieth birthday gala, but he'd certainly heard and read much about it since. "Perhaps we can try to keep tonight's festivities a little more...conventional than the last event the mansion hosted?" He smiled and winked at his charge, prompting a smirk in return. "I really hope to not go through another rebuilding project anytime soon."
"You're really going to keep blaming me for the fire, aren't you?" Alfred smirked at him. "I did what I had to. We both know that. Nothing that happened that night could really have been helped." Bruce slipped the piece of black fabric that would eventually become a bow tie around his neck and looked back at Alfred. "Besides, I got everyone out, didn't I?"
"The one fact that managed to save you from having to deal with me. Next time I may not be so benevolent."
That got a smile and slight chuckle out of the Bruce. "Oh, really? And what happens if I decide I need some time to myself tonight without any visitors?"
"Oh, I've taken precautions to ensure a repeat performance doesn't take place this evening. I think a drunken diatribe ought to be the last thing on your mind." He winked at Bruce. "I believe she should be arriving along with the rest of the guests."
In the mirror's reflection Bruce's eyes darted over to where Alfred stood near the bed, looking over the remainder of his employer's outfit. "She? Selina's here?" His question would have seemed nonchalant if not for the way he slipped while tying the bow tie.
The older man nodded as he brushed an errant piece of lint from the suit's jacket, smiling knowingly. "I phoned her and had her added to the guest list." His eyes met Bruce's in the mirror and smiled. "I thought she might prove a welcome distraction."
The car dropped her off in front of the wide, worn stone steps leading up to the mansion's main entrance amongst the rest of the other arriving guests. The line of cars snaking away was still dropping party goers off at a leisurely pace while black clad greeters opened doors and ushered people forward. Despite being thirty minutes late there appeared to be little rush to actually make it inside the building. Groups of well appointed, richly adorned people casually chatted away on the wide front walk as others made their way through an impromtu receiving line and into the brightly lit interior.
Christ, what was she even doing here? God knows the mere sight of her would probably send some tongues wagging and produce all sorts of new fodder for the idiot gossip rags. Bruce Wayne's latest conquest? The newest in a long line of gold diggers looking for their piece of the pie?
Nevermind what the tabloids theorized, there was still the question of what they were in reality? She'd immediately dismissed the entire notion of a conventional relationship. That just wasn't...her. Especially not right now. She had obligations.
Besides, who the hell would see her as the 'girlfriend' type anyway? Nevermind the woman you brought home to meet the folks. She was Selina. The one time street urchin that had brought herself up by all manner of random activities. The lengthy list included everything from waiting tables to bartending. There was even that period when she'd occasionally dance under the ever watchful eyes of her regulars. Thankfully, little by little, she'd gradually developed some more profitable skills.
Not that becoming a master thief was exactly above board. But it sure beat the alternatives.
And now she was standing on the front steps of Wayne Manor, about to rub elbows with Gotham's elite without an agenda or a goal in mind. For once she was simply invited to be...her. No parts, no marks, and for the first time in recent memory the flutter of nervousness in her gut.
Bruce. And how exactly would he react to her presence? Not much had been said since that morning when they'd eventually parted ways. The pair of times she'd called had gone unreturned. The fact that she found she even cared made her cringe with the way it reminded her of a damn schoolgirl.
Her eyes found one of the valets toting the bag to the curb that she'd had stowed in the vehicle's trunk before dropping it carelessly to help a nearby couple out of their own town car. She'd decided to bring her gear with her from now on whenever possible. There was no telling when her next opportunity at the penthouse might present itself or how long it would last and she'd need to be ready. After all, if nothing else, Selina Kyle was adaptable.
She sighed and turned back to eye the intricate brick and stone facade, snapping back to her previous line of thought and her rather unorthodox feelings toward the resident billionaire. God this was getting her nowhere. Again, she was Selina Kyle dammit. She didn't do pining. She didn't do overanalyzing. Indifference was normally a genetic trait with her right alongside a normally unflappable demeanor.
"Well, I see you're still managing quite well for yourself."
Clouded by her thoughts she hadn't noticed the figure that'd arrived several cars behind hers. Selina clenched her jaw, but forced an obviously disingenuous smile. It was an expression he returned.
"Alberto," she said, nodding at the man before quickly turning a cold shoulder to him. Apparently he wasn't going to be so easily dissuaded though, quickly stepping up to her side as the two faced the sprawling, lively mansion before them.
"I was wondering how you happened upon an invitation to this thing, but I suppose I don't really need to ask, do I?" he smirked. He cocked his head, thinking for a second before gesturing to the massive residence. "Guess I shouldn't feel too put out though. Can't say I really blame you for latching on to Wayne. His much larger bank account must be quite the draw. You're not the first woman." He faced her, a large, smug smile gracing his smooth features. "Lord knows you won't be the last either."
Selina rolled her eyes. "You know," she said evenly, "Bruce actually has quite a few attractive qualities beyond his wallet, Alberto. Most of which the two of you don't share." She smirked at the glare he was sending her, a fun thought popping into her head. Time to twist the knife ever so slightly. A thoughtful look overtook the annoyed one she had been wearing, her eyes narrowing as she looked Alberto over. "Though when it comes to things I'm after that are much larger than yours his money comes in a very distant second to...other things." Selina suggestively lowered her eyes to glance at Falcone's pants before cocking her head to the side and feigning contemplation. "Maybe third. You should see the size of his bedroom too."
Falcone glared at her. "Cute. You know, leaping from one bed to another is a fairly unbecoming trait in a woman. I believe they have a name for that."
"And we've apparently stooped to name calling now, have we?" Selina crossed her arms in front of her and cocked an eyebrow. "I guess I was just expecting...more from you. Though I suppose by now I should be used to you disappointing me."
Falcone scoffed and opened his mouth to rebut yet again when the large presence of his ever present shadow, Christian, stepped forward into his periphery, drawing his attention. The large blond man offered him a cell phone before whispering something quietly in his ear. Judging by the scowl on his face it wasn't especially good news.
"And he needs to bother me with this now?" he asked the massive bodyguard. It resulted in the man whispering again in his ear and again causing the smaller man's features to cloud up in annoyance. "Fine," he spat, "make the call and see that the plane is fueled." He snatched the phone away from Christian and put it to his ear, casting one final glare at Selina before stalking off. His shadow pulled out another cell phone and began dialing it while continuing to keep at his side.
So, Falcone was heading out of town. That meant an uninhabited penthouse. That also meant the least security possible. And like that Selina suddenly had a window of opportunity.
"Trouble?"
Her expression softened instantly, a genuine smile emerging on her lips as she turned to find a tuxedo clad Bruce Wayne coming up to her side. The smile only widened when he bent down and pressed a soft, leisurely kiss to her cheek.
"I honestly think you just enjoy watching him squirm," Bruce said, watching the man's back as he continued to hold a hushed conversation on the phone. "Oh, and you look beautiful too by the way."
Selina shrugged before leaning into his side ever so slightly. His hand ghosting lightly on her back was unmistakable in its warm, comfortable meaning. "Nothing I couldn't handle." She glanced up to meet Bruce's eyes. "You I enjoy making squirm. Him," she said, glancing back at Alberto one last time, "him...well, him I just want to strangle every time he opens his mouth." Selina smiled at Bruce. "Sadly, using you to insult his manhood is as close as I think I'll get."
His smile faltered adorably into a look of confusion. "Wait, what?"
Selina grinned. "Nothing. And don't worry, I made you look good." She took his arm as he continued to look on questioningly and directed him up the steps towards the front door trying to ignore the myriad looks being shot in their direction. Obviously her sense of anonymity was about to take a monumental hit. She chose to forget that fact for the night. May as well enjoy things while she could.
"Any more surprises in store for me?" she finally asked, playfully nudging his shoulder.
Bruce actually cringed ever so slightly. "Sorry about that. I was hoping to spare you any uncomfortable run-ins. Unfortunately, I wasn't exactly informed of your attendance until...recently." Selina followed his glare and chuckled when she noticed Alfred weaving amongst the crowd. "Either way, Alberto already had his invitation. And apparently I have...oh...zero control over who is actually invited to my own party."
Selina winked up at him. "Just another example of the price of being fabulously rich and famous I suppose," she said. "They always get you with the fine print, don't they?"
"Excuse me? Ma'am?" The two turned to find a very young valet walking quickly up to them. "Where would you like this, Miss Kyle," he said, holding up Selina's black bag.
She turned to look up at another questioning look from Bruce and smiled. "Oh...what say you take that up to the master bedroom for us. Thanks."
The valet's eyes widened and he glanced at Bruce. "Sir?"
Bruce blinked once. Then twice. "Uh," he managed. "You can give that to Mister Pennyworth. He'll make sure it gets where it needs to go." Both eyebrows quirked even higher when the man continued past, hustling with the duffel from Selina's town car. "Being a little presumptuous, aren't we?" he finally asked her, but it was with a good natured twinkle in his eye.
Selina shrugged and smirked at him.
Presumptuous was certainly one way of putting it. Just not in the way he was probably intending. She'd brought Catwoman's gear tonight on a whim, more as part of a new strategy than anything specific. A new habit she wanted to instill in herself. The fact that she may actually end up making use of it with Falcone going out of town was pure dumb luck. No sense in slamming the door on the the man's hopes entirely though.
Widening her smile she dug an elbow into his ribs. "Well, with an attitude like that only if you're a very, very good billionaire tonight, Mister Wayne." She cocked her head as though in thought. "Or very, very bad I guess depending on how you choose to look at it. And it's prepared by the way. I'm prepared. That whole sleep rumpled look won't be making another appearance if I have anything to say about it, got it?" Selina paused and grinned mischievously up at him. "So, you're not implying that you don't want my company tonight, are you?"
"I'm many things, but a fool isn't one of them." He bent down and brushed his lips against her temple. "It really is good to see you though. I'm sorry I've been so busy lately. Despite what the papers say I actually manage a day of work here and there. It's been...hectic lately."
They entered through the yawning, open doorway flanked by what appeared to be decades old columns into the well lit, cheerful foyer. She'd been here before, of course, back when she'd been in a bad place and had needed some reassurance. That time she'd been too preoccupied to really take the place in and appreciate what was all around her.
That the manor was huge went without saying. Somehow though it didn't seem oppressive or looming the way many large, overly worked structures can. Perhaps it was the throngs of people mingling about, but the building actually felt like a home more than it did a museum as well. Credit was probably due Alfred for that. Well him and the original manor's architect from long ago. She eyed the rich, intricate woodwork. This place must have been pure hell to put back together.
Halfway through the entry the large stairway came into view, its thick wooden balustrade traveling up to her right before turning ninety degrees and extending to the balcony that overlooked part of the first floor. Multiple ornate, ancient, wrought iron chandeliers hung down from the heavy timber beams arching overhead, casting brilliant light throughout the space while tiny, more modern spotlights illuminated each rare piece of art dotting the walls and sparkling on the polished marble floors.
Selina smirked. Okay, so homey was probably the wrong word.
No matter how she referred to it though, like the penthouse, it blended things together in a timeless way that seemed somehow both familiar and altogether alien to Bruce. Like he both belonged and didn't. As much as this was his house it was also still his parents and the other generations of Waynes stretching away into the past. It didn't strike her before, but despite being simply a copy of the original the air felt thick with memories and presence. This was as much, if not more, about them than it was about Bruce's home. His desire to somehow keep the past alive within himself.
"Love what you've done with the place," she whispered, her eyes still raking over every last detail as he took her coat and handed it to a waiting usher.
She couldn't help it, it was the thief in her that had her processing more than just the decor, taking in the access points and probable security measures. That level of attention though allowed for an even greater sense of appreciation than most. Everything was understated. Expensive to be sure, but unobtrusive and less gaudy than most with the Wayne family's wealth would have gone for. Selina almost regretted their situation not having fallen under different circumstances. Almost. Wayne Manor would have been one hell of an entertaining test for her.
"Anyway," Bruce said, breaking back through her silent musings, "something unexpected came up at the office and I needed put in the time. It's not often, but it does happen."
Selina nodded absently, still taking in the mansion as they moved into sprawling great room. "I read about the corporate restructuring with Gilchrist Trading. That must have been...well, I'm not sure fun would be the applicable term. Profitable?"
It was Bruce's turn to nod now. "Lucius certainly knows what he's doing. Normally all I have to do is put my signature on the paperwork when it's all done and things are wrapped up. With Riley being murdered though I felt like this deserved a little more personal attention."
"Oh?" Selina turned a questioning eye towards the billionaire. "Were you two friends?"
"No," he said, pursing his lips. "Acquaintances, I guess. Business colleagues. Our families go way back though. They both made their money in Gotham together. This city's been good to us both. Just felt like the thing to do, you know? Feels weird that the Gilchists are coming to an end."
There it was again. That preoccupation with the past and the Gotham that once was. Selina had never been one to live in years gone by. Her own childhood and time spent growing up was something she'd rather forget than a commodity she'd ever want to cling to. Like many, hell like Bruce, her own experiences helped shape her, forging her into someone consumed with the present at the expense of tomorrow or distant memories. Until Holly's death at least.
She couldn't begrudge Bruce his memories though. Not when he actually had something worth remembering.
Obviously he'd misunderstood her silence and thoughtful expression though, asking, "What?" when she didn't answer.
"Nothing." Selina shook her head and smiled, leaning into him just a little bit more. "Just, every time I think I have a part of you all worked out you show me something new. It's..."
"Disconcerting?" Bruce tried. He plucked a couple flutes of champagne from a passing platter and passed her one.
Selina shrugged. "No," she said. "Just...interesting is all. Don't worry though." She smiled and looked up at him. "I tend to like most surprises. Keeps me on my toes."
"I'll have to keep that in mind," he said wistfully, a small smile ghosting across his features.
With Selina off greeting Alfred the crowd seemed to grow a little more brazen and descend a bit on Bruce. Most of it was well intentioned enough, old family friends or those that still remembered his parents first hand congratulating him on bringing back the famous dwelling. He actually enjoyed some of that a bit, hearing about fond memories of Thomas and Martha and times within these walls.
Some of the attention directed from the younger, more female guests was a little more unwelcome though. Questions about his availability were even less subtle.
And so he found himself taking a break from the faux smiles and petty conversations, lingering near the giant tapestry dating back to the Norman conquest and trying to remain as inconspicuous as his status and stature allowed without actually hiding. These days spying on others seemed to come more naturally to him than actual human interaction anyway. It was a fact of life that Alfred would have hated and reproached him for.
He'd been left to his own thoughts for less than five minutes when Lucius Fox excused himself from a conversation with two of the other board members and made his way over.
"You know, it's funny how an internationally renowned playboy can manage to hide in plain sight." Fox grinned and extended his hand to Bruce in greeting. "Good evening, Mister Wayne."
"Lucius," he said, shaking the man's offered hand. "Enjoying yourself?"
"I am," Fox said, stepping sideways next to Bruce so he was shoulder to shoulder with the young man, affording both of them an uninterrupted view of the mingling crowd. "It's nice to see this place back to what it was. Somehow Gotham's just not the same without Wayne Manor."
Bruce frowned and sent him a sidelong glance. "You know, the city seemed to move on just fine with or without this place."
"That's what they do," he agreed, gesturing at the masses. "But, I didn't say that. I said it wasn't the same. There's just something about this place. I don't know. Either way it's nice to see the Waynes back where they belong."
"You know, I hadn't really stopped to think about it much while it was under construction. I just wanted to have it done, for my parents...and for me too. But now..." Bruce trailed off for a second. "It's just...it's an awfully big house for just me and Alfred."
"I'm sure you'll manage. Besides," he said, his eyes lingering on the sight of a familiar dark haired beauty on the far side of the crowd, "you never know where life might take you."
Bruce nearly choked despite not having anything to drink.
A loud peal of laughter from directly to their left managed to divert both of their attention from the topic at hand as well as negating the need for Bruce to come up with some kind of a response. If it had been anyone other than Alberto Falcone joined by several other prominent Gotham businessmen he'd have probably wanted to thank them.
The man who'd laughed, a lawyer for one of the city's larger banks and who seemed to be several drinks in clapped the young Falcone on the shoulder amicably. "Oh, come on," he slurred slightly. "You haven't exactly been subtle in your attempts to grab attention. Most people would try to distance themselves from a family name as notorious as yours. Much less the the city that made it that way." He laughed again. "God knows you have the money to stay far, far away from this place."
Alberto chuckled from somewhere almost behind Bruce. "Maybe," he allowed, "but I am not most people. I think I owe a certain debt for my family. One that I intend to repay. Besides, there are...other things I'm after as well. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't getting anything out of it." He trailed off after that, purposefully leaving it cryptic and baiting the others.
"Alright, I'll bite," replied one of the other men, one who'd remained quiet up until now. "So, what exactly is it you're after Falcone?"
"Simply put...Gotham." Bruce could hear the smile in his voice from where he stood.
Something is his mind clicked though. There was something...familiar about all this. A niggling thought akin to deja vu that he quickly filed away for more careful consideration later. For now he had to concentrate.
There was a smattering of chuckles at Alberto's choice of words, but there was also the unmistakable sound of one man snorting softly. "That sounds about right," the voice following it said icily. "I think your father wanted all of Gotham for himself too. Gonna employ some of his methods? A little of that Falcone ruthlessness?"
Alberto didn't miss a beat.
"Oh, nothing untoward, I assure you gentlemen," he said smoothly. "My motivations are entirely above board. The Falcone name already stands for all that is wrong in this city. My father and his father before him saw to that. I merely wish to change that. To reset the record. I want Falcone to stand for something the way the Wayne name does now. I want it to be synonymous with Gotham City the way Wayne and Monroe are. I want a legacy. That legacy. To change the way people see my family and its relationship to this city."
Another scoff. "You realize that the Waynes and Monroes have been at it for generations thought, right? That doesn't exactly happen overnight."
"Then I have some catching up to do, don't I? If it takes time...so be it. I just..."
The clearing of a throat next to him made Bruce jump slightly. Lucius merely smiled. "A little distracted tonight, Mister Wayne?" The playful look in his eyes shifted to glance at Falcone for a second before returning to Bruce. "But I guess I should also be used to you not taking a night off. Should I keep talking or do you need me to stay quiet?"
"No, it's okay. Just...a feeling of deja vu or something." Bruce shook his head. "I don't know. Probably not important. I meant to ask you though, the report's been leaked?"
Fox nodded. "And two regional networks have already picked up on it," he said. "With any luck it'll be on tonight's news. That's not even mentioning the irate posts going around on some of the better known environmental message boards and blogs. I bet protests will start outside the tower in another day or two. It'll be convincing enough until we release the actual documents later this week. Until then, you've got your bait. Now let's just hope you know what you're doing."
"And what exactly did I manage to do this time?"
"Oh," Lucius grinned, "you just approved the destruction of some highly sensitive saltwater marshes north of Sale Point for the construction of a new petrochemical plant. It's all very despicable. Lot's of destroyed habitat and expected soil and water pollution. You're quite the villain."
Bruce grinned. "And the real report?" he asked.
"Says the wetlands will actually become a preserve while the factory site is being relocated east instead to Mount Lansing where it will have little to no impact. By the way, you were also the one to nix the first deal. Congratulations." Lucius winked. "That was very responsible of you."
Bruce's grin widened. "All in a day's work."
"That was the easy part though. There's no telling when or where Isley's gonna show up and..." Mid sentence something grabbed his attention, causing his face to fall as he trailed off momentarily. Bruce immediately turned to follow his gaze.
Pamela Isley was threading her way through the crowded great room near the faceted windows along the northern wall that overlooked the formal gardens outside. The ordinary auburn hair she'd had during their meeting in his office was now a bright, flame red, the wig he'd spent so long tracking down making her stand out amongst the assembled masses as it curled and cascaded down her shoulders and back. Gone too were the glasses and everyday clothing he'd seen her in before, replaced by a shoulderless emerald green dress that almost seemed to make her pale, porcelain skin glow. If it weren't for her eyes she'd have been almost unrecognizable, but the eyes were exactly the same, hard and pitiless and driven.
She was playing the crowd, stopping to chat amicably enough as she made her way around the room. It was probably to establish an alibi...or she could use this to get access to even more targets Bruce realized suddenly. He'd managed to put most of Gotham's most powerful men, and by extension the ones most likely responsible for any ecological missteps all conveniently into one room and ever the predator, she was reaping the benefits to get in close with them.
Shit.
"...and apparently I'm a little too effective," Lucius finally finished somberly. He turned to Bruce. "How do you want to handle this? Another drunken spectacle? Get everyone out?"
The billionaire contemplated that for a second before he shook his head. "No. That won't work twice. People will just think I'm doing it for laughs this time." He watched her grin darkly and shake one industrialist's hand before kissing the man gently on the cheek. Based on the fact that he didn't go into convulsions at least she didn't seem to be wearing her special lipstick yet. "Get Alfred," he finally said. "He'll know what to do. Have him get ahold of the police too, but make sure to keep it quiet."
Fox nodded, setting down his drink. "And what're you going to do?"
"We made me bait for a reason. I'm her most likely target." Bruce shrugged. "I'll see if I can't stall."
A/N: A couple cameos. The rumors Nigma refers to are, of course, the Batman villains Man Bat and Solomon Grundy. Two of his rogues gallery that have zero business being in a relatively realistic take on Gotham. That said, I wanted to throw stuff like this in as cookies.
Not an especially action packed chapter, but hey...at least it's long. Now, who wants to know how Poison Ivy's story was supposed to end?