The white building, as it turns out, according to Jon, is some sort of Manor. "Wayne Manor, I think," the boy says, reaching up as if to adjust a pair of glasses and then dropping his hand when it meets only thin air. He's been squinting for the entire walk. "The Waynes are one of the most powerful families in Gotham," he explains to Thomas.
"Gotham?" Thomas asks, curiously. "Is that where we are?"
Jon nods. "Yeah," he says. "Anyway, we should probably knock on the door. Rumour has it the Wayne kid's a pretty okay dude, so hopefully he'll let us stay in a bit—it looks like a storm is coming on, and we don't want to be stuck outside in that."
Thomas hums. "Alright," he says, and makes his way up the white steps to the huge wooden doors, and knocks; once, twice, three times.
They don't have to wait long, because a few moments later, a man comes to the door. "May I help—?" he begins before freezing as he lays eyes on Thomas. " Thomas? " he whispers.
Jon blinks. "Do you know him?" he asks Thomas.
Thomas shakes his head. "I've never seen him in my life," he says, honestly. "Excuse me, sir," he says, adressing the man, "do you know me? "
"I..." the man hesitates. "I suppose not," he says, finally; but there's something in his tone that speaks to something more. Finally, he says, "It looks like there's going to be a storm outside. How about you two come on in."
"Thank you, sir," Thomas says, and grabs Jon's hand, pulling him to follow after the man. As they walk, he says, "How did you recognise me?"
The man doesn't say anything for a long time until they get to what appears to be the living room, where he goes over to one of the cabinets, and pulls out a photo album. "Here," he says, taking out a photo, and handing it to Thomas.
Thomas frowns at it; but over his shoulder, Jon lets out a sharp exhale. "That's a photo of you, " he says. "Except—it can't be, because it's dated from thirty years ago."
"Well, I'm definitely not thirty years old," Thomas says, firmly. "I'm...fifteen? I think? That's what the Doctor said…"
"The Doctor?" the man asks, sharply. "Please understand," he adds, at Thomas' look, "that I'm trying to figure out why, exactly, you look like a dead man when he was a teenager."
"Oh." Thomas blinks; and focuses on the inscription. "Thomas...Wayne? But I'm not Thomas Wayne. I'm Thomas...just Thomas," he finishes, lamely, when he realises that he doesn't know his surname. The man nods.
"Precisely," he says. "So you can understand my confusion."
Jon is quiet; and then he says, "Thomas, this Doctor...was his name Doctor Strange, by any chance?"
Thomas starts. "Yeah, actually. Why?"
Jon hesitates; and then says: "Because my dad was working with Doctor Strange on a very special project. He was trying to figure out how to clone humans and bring dead people back to life. I—I overheard him talking about it when he thought I was asleep," he admits. "I didn't think it was anything real, but..."
The man is wearing a grim expression now. "If that is the case," he says, "this may warrant looking into further. I shall notify Master Bruce. In the meantime—it's almost dinner. Would you two care to join us?"
Thomas turns to Jon; who nods. "Yes, please, Mister...?"
"Pennyworth," the man says, offering a smile for the first time; slightly strained but genuine. "Alfred Pennyworth." And with that, he leads them towards the dining room.
Jon and Thomas follow after him. Pennyworth leads them into a large dining room with a long table, and tells them to pick whichever seats they want, since there's plenty to go around. In the end, they choose two seats towards the middle, right next to each other.
Pennyworth disappears to get dinner from the kitchen; and a few minutes later, a lanky, dark-haired boy enters. Addressing them both, he says, "You must be the boys Alfred told me about." His voice is similar to Thomas', but a bit higher.
Jon, by Thomas' side, hisses, "Holy shit, that's Bruce Wayne!"
Wayne offers a thin smile and sits. "That is, indeed, me," he says, agreably. "Alfred said you two needed somewhere to stay the night, at least?"
Jon nods. "Yes, Mister Wayne."
Wayne waves his hand. "Please, just Bruce is fine," he says. "And since I am in a position to help, I thought I might extend an offer to the two of you—you're welcome to stay as long as you need to."
"Thank you, Bruce," Thomas says.
"We should probably introduce ourselves, huh?" Jon murmurs to him.
"Probably," Thomas murmurs back; and then louder, "I'm Thomas."
"I'm Jonathan Crane," Jon says. "But Jon'll do just fine."
Bruce nods. "Pleased to meet you two," he says; the picture of politeness; and Thomas wonders if it feels as exhausting as it looks. "Alfred should be here in a moment and we can get started on dinner. Tonight is roasted beef. Alfred is a very talented chef, so I think you'll like it."
Pennyworth does appear a few moments later, platters in hand. He places them on the table, and then disappears again, presumably into the kitchen, returning not too long after with a deep tureen of soup and a platter of sandwiches.
Bruce and Pennyworth begin to serve themselves; and, after a few moments' hesitance, Jon and Thomas follow suit.
The meal is, in fact, absolutely delicious; and both Jon and Thomas say so, bringing a smile to Pennyworth's lips. "I'm glad you're enjoying," he says. "Please, have as much as you want—I can always cook more."
The dinner conversation mostly goes over their heads; Bruce is talking about investigating the irregularities in the business ledgers of Wayne Industries with the help of a man named Lucius Fox. Eventually, though, the conversation comes around to Thomas and Jon.
"So," says Bruce, "how, exactly, did the two of you end up out here? We're kind of far away from the city proper."
Jon grimaces. "We walked," he says. "We were, uh, being kept in a building about...a mile from here, I think? My father was...conducting experiments there, and when he died, we were stranded there alone."
Bruce nods. "My condolences," he says. "For your father's death."
Jon shrugs. "It was an accident," he says. "He never did heed peoples' warnings about the danger of his experiments, and it came back to bite him."
He's protecting me, Thomas realises, after a beat; and his chest suddenly feels warm.
The rest of dinner passes in idyl chit-chat; but Thomas finds his attention drawn not to their hosts, but to Jon, by his side.
Essen sends Bullock home while she deals with Alan and Montoya. Jamie's rather glad for it, because it meands that no one's trying to wring her neck. "You're the reason a suspect escaped custody," Essen is snarling at the two detectives right now. "You can be assured that your higher-ups will be hearing about this. Pray you don't have your badges revoked and get put on parking duty."
"We were operating with the best knowledge we had at the time," Montoya protests. "How were we supposed to know that Gordon only faked Cobblepot's death?"
"I don't care, " Essen hisses. "Now get out of my sight before I throw something at either of you."
That does manage to get them to skitter out of her office, leaving only Jamie, Essen, and Osvalda. Essen pinches the bridge of her nose. "You two, too," she says. "I need some time alone." And then, more quietly, "And maybe a drink, too."
Jamie can't exactly blame her. "Come on," she says, to Osvalda. "My shift is over in a few minutes anyway—how about I take you out for a coffee?"
Osvalda nods. "That sounds good to me," she says. "Lead the way, my friend."
On the way out, Jamie runs into Ed. "Oh, thank goodness, you're alright!" the forensic analyst exclaims. "I heard about that kerfuffle with the MCU detectives. I assume it all got sorted out?" And then, her gaze falling to Osvalda, she greets, "Cobblepot."
"Nygma," Osvalda returns, with a nod.
Jamie frowns. "You two know each other?" she questions.
"We're...acquainted," Osvalda says; delicately; and a look passes between the two of them—something Jamie can't quite decipher.
"I was going to take Osvalda out for a coffee," Jamie explains. "Do you want to join us?"
Ed sort of—twitches. "I actually have some things to do," she says, apologetically. "But you two have—fun." And with that, she makes her way past the two of them.
Oh, Jamie thinks. Shit, are they exes? It would make sense—and now Jamie feels horrible for the blunder she's just made. There doesn't seem to be an enmity between them, exactly, but there is certainly a tension.
Pasting a cheerful expression on her face, she turns to Osvalda. "Well!" she says. "Let's go get that coffee, then."
When they get there, rather than her usual coffee, Jamie orders herself a sugar-filled passion-fruit syrup drink. Osvalda looks on in amusement, and orders herself a hot cocoa. Osvalda uses one of the absurdly long stirring spoons to eat her whipped cream, which elicits a laugh from Jamie. "You know you look ridiculous, right?" she says, smiling.
Osvalda shrugs. "I like to savour it," is all she says.
A few beats pass, and then Jamie says, "Thank you for coming in when you did. You saved my ass."
"I know," Osvalda says, simply.
"And humble, too," Jamie teases. "Seriously, though, how did you know Montoya and Alan were going to try and get me on murder charges?"
Osvalda shrugs. "Apparently, they visited Fish Mooney's nightclub for information," she says. "That sort of thing gets out. And they apparently questioned a man at the docks who works for Maroni about it, too. Eventually, it got to me. I wasn't sure if they'd already arrested you yet or not, but I figured I ought to come set the record straight in case they had."
"Well, thank you," Jamie says, earnestly. "I don't know how I can repay you."
"Friends don't owe each other debts," Osvalda reminds her; echoing her own words back at her. Jamie quirks a smile. "So," she says, "I heard you were working on the Hastings case."
Jamie nods. "Yeah," she says. "Unfortunately, the suspect I had detained managed to get away when Montoya and Alan cuffed me, so," she grimaces.
"Bastards," Osvalda hisses. "Do you need help finding him? I'm sure I can ask around and find out where he's been sighted."
Jamie blinks. "Actually," she says. "I'd appreciate that a lot. Uh, he's about...five foot three, with chin-length curly hair, wears a top-hat, and speaks in rhyme. Might be going by the alias Henry Marks, or Jervis Tetch, but I doubt it."
Osvalda nods. "I'll look into it," she promises. "It's getting late—I should return home. Thank you for the drink, Jamie."
Jamie waves her off. "It was no trouble," she replies. "I'm glad to spend time with you."
Osvalda's lips tilt. "The feeling is mutual," she assures Jamie; and rises. Jamie rises as well, and they bid their goodbyes. Jamie watches the other's retreating form for a few moments before she turns and makes her way back to the precinct.
Fetching her jacket from her desk, Jamie makes her way back down the steps and out the doors to the bus-stop. It's only a ten-minute wait until the bus arives, and when it does, she gets on and pays, settling into one of the seats towards the back and watching the scenery flash by as the bus begins to drive.
When she gets home, Selina's there already, reading a book. "How was school, Selina?" Jamie greets.
Selina shrugs. "Fine," she says. "Geometry was boring, but it's always boring, so."
Jamie nods. "I remember the feeling," she sympathises, making her way over to the kitchen and pulling out a container of leftover chili from the fridge. Ladling it into two bowls, she calls, "You want any cheese on your chili?"
"Yes, please!" Selina calls back.
Jamie sprinkles some pre-shredded cheese into both of their bowls and pops them into the microwave. Once they're heated up, she grabs spoons and the salt, and takes everything out to the table.
They eat in pleasant quietness, punctuated occasionally by bursts of conversation; and Jamie reflects that, for once, she feels alright.
There's a rap on the door; and Thomas, who had been drifting half in and out of lucidity, starts. "Yes?" he calls.
There's a beat of silence, and then Jon's voice. "Can I come in?"
Scrambling out of the bed, Thomas makes his way over to the door; the time it takes to cover the distance absurdly long. The rooms in Wayne Mansion are feel huge in comparison to the rooms he's used to being in.
He pulls open the door, greeted by Jon's pale face, eyes wide. "Come in," he says; moving to the side so that Jon can slip past him into the room. The other boy instantly makes a bee-line for the bed, and then stops, looking to Thomas hesitantly. Thomas nods.
"Nightmares?" he murmurs, getting in to the bed next to Jon; and the other nods. There's a long silence, and then Thomas says, "That man—your father—that wasn't the first time he did that to you, was it?"
Another pregnant pause; and then Jon whispers, "No."
Thomas swallows thickly. The moon, low in the sky—it's wending towards dawn—shines in through the window, casting an ivory glow on everything. "I'm sorry," he says, finally, the words feeling inadequate.
Jon laughs. It's not a pleasant sound. "I'm just glad he won't be able to do it again," he says. "I...thank you for that."
It wasn't on purpose, Thomas thinks; and then suddenly wishes it had been. "It's fine," he says, in the end; and then: "you can stay here for however long you need to."
Jon shifts; rolling over to face him. "You're kind of weird, you know?" he says, rather than replying to it. When Thomas opens his mouth, he hurries to add, "I mean, that's not a bad thing. The best people are kind of weird. And anyway, I like that you're weird."
Thomas' lips quirk. "Thanks," he says.
They awaken again a few hours later. The sun's come up properly by then, and Thomas drags himself out of bed to get dressed in the clothes that Pennyworth had provided him. Jon lazes in bed. "You know," Thomas comments, "you should probably get up. I think we're going to have breakfast soon."
Jon shrugs. "I'm not hungry," he says, "and anyway, I never get to have a lay in."
Thomas shrugs; pulling on one of the immaculately pressed white shirts. "Alright," he says, "but if you miss something really good, I'm not bringing any in for you."
"We both know that's not true," Jon says. "You wouldn't make me suffer like that."
He sighs. "Probably not," he admits. "Well, alright, I'm going now. Have fun with your...lie in."
Slipping out of the room, he makes his way down the labyrinthine halls. It takes a few tries to get to the kitchen, but he manages to in the end. The first morning, he had made for the dining hall before running into Bruce along the way, who had informed him that they take breakfast in the kitchen.
When he enters, it's to the scent of something frying in oil. Pennyworth is standing over a pot of oil, and Bruce is handing him cut out pieces of dough, which the man then drops into the oil.
Bruce is the first to notice Thomas lurking in the doorway. "Good morning, Thomas," he greets. "Alfred and I were just making some fried bread. Do you want to help?"
"I...I'd like that," he says, hesitantly, making his way over to the other boy's side. Bruce shows him how to properly cut out shapes from the dough, and in no time, they've managed to get all of the dough fried and put onto racks to cool.
Once the bread is all done, Pennyworth pulls out plates and lets them serve themselves, and they get out various jams and spreads and cheeses to put onto the bread. Sitting on one of the bar stools, Thomas does his best not to scarf down the delicious breakfast and instead eat in neat, minced bites like Pennyworth and Bruce are.
When Bruce finishes his plate, he clears his throat. "Thomas," he says, "there's something Alfred and I wanted to talk to you about."
Thomas nods. "Go ahead."
Pennyworth takes over. "The results from the DNA you allowed us to take have come back," he begins. "And it turns out Jon was right when he mentioned that his father had been working on cloning humans."
"I'm a clone, aren't I," Thomas says. It isn't quite unexpected, but it still leaves him feeling somewhat hollow.
Pennyworth nods. "Specifically, a clone of Bruce's father, Thomas Wayne," he says. "As far as we can tell, you were... created as part of a programme on human cloning. Thomas initially was a great supporter of the effort, but as time went on, he became disillusioned, and eventually wound up shutting it down the same year that Bruce was born."
An uneasy silence settles between them; and Thomas suddenly wishes Jon were there to break it. Finally, he says, "I don't think that it was shut down. Or," he adds, "if it was, I think it was started up again, because the way that Doctor Strange talked about it—what I could hear, anyway—definitely didn't sound like it was a thing of the past." Thinking for a moment, he says, "Strange mentioned a...Court of some kind? I think maybe they've been funding it."
Bruce and Pennyworth exchange a glance. "That doesn't bode well," Pennyworth says.
Bruce shakes his head. Grimly, he says, "No, it doesn't."
Jamie stretches, cracking her knuckles and her spine. She's just got in to work, and she's been looking to see if there's any leads on Tetch's location. So far, there's nothing.
Rising from her seat, she mutters to Bullock, "I'm going to go get a cup of coffee."
The other detective grunts. Jamie takes that as an acknowledgement—they haven't really been on speaking terms the last two days—, and grabs her jacket off the back of her chair, sliding it on, and making her way down the stairs and towards the lower levels where the break room is. When she enters, there's no one there, and she makes a bee-line for the coffee machine, loading one of the single-serve coffee containers into it and pressing the on button.
A few moments later, there's the sound of footsteps; and Jamie tenses herself in anticipation for the presence of another detective. Instead, though, when she turns around, she finds Ed making her way across the room towards her. "Ed," she greets. "You here for a coffee too?"
The other smiles sheepishly. "Er, yes," she says. "I've been staring at the results for Alvarez's case for the last hour trying to make heads or tails of them and they've started to swim before my eyes."
Jamie frowns. "Have you eaten anything?" she asks the forensic analyst. The other often gets so focussed on her work she forgets that she, too, is human, and that her body needs fuel.
Ed waves her off. "Had a croissant sandwich this morning," she says. "I don't need to eat anything for another few hours."
Jamie raises a brow. "Alright," she says, and pulls her cup out from the coffee machine, pouring a container of hazelnut creamer into it. "Sorry about the Alvarez case," she adds. "I know it's really frustrating for you when you can't figure something out."
Ed grimaces. "I'll get it in the end," she vows. "What about you? How's your work going?"
Jamie returns her grimace. "I'm trying to track down Marks—Tetch, whatever he's calling himself now, but I haven't been having any luck. Osvalda said she'd check with her contacts and see if anyone has seen him, but she hasn't gotten back to me yet, so." She waves a hand, taking a sip of her coffee, and grimaces. "God, this is too dark," she complains, grabbing a few packets of sugar and dumping them in.
The other stiffles a grin. "Who knew the stoic Jamie Gordon hates her coffee dark," she teases; and Jamie mock glares at her. Ed ignores it, moving to make her own cup of coffee.
They spend the next few minutes chatting idly over their respective drinks, and exchanging funny anecdotes. Finally, Jamie checks her watch. "I should probably get back to my desk," she says, apologetically. "But it was good to talk to you, Ed."
"Likewise," the other says, with a small smile.
When she gets back to her desk, her phone buzzes. When she pulls it out, there's a text from Osvalda with an image file attached. Opening it, she finds a low-res image of Tetch standing in front of a tall apartment building. Osvalda's text tells her that the photo is from ten minutes ago, at 34 Assumption Street.
Thanks, she texts back quickly, and then, to Bullock, "I'm going to the Narrows—got a lead on Tetch."
The other doesn't respond, so Jamie slips out from her desk and makes her way to the exit. She grabs one of the squad cars, figuring it'll be faster than trying to get there with public transport. Ten minutes later, she pulls up in front of the building in question and gets out, making her way inside.
The building is inhabited; and she runs into one of its inhabitants a few moments later as she's making her way up the stairs. "Excuse me," she says, politely, "have you seen a short man with a top hat come this way recently?"
The old woman she's talking to nods. "He got out of the elevator on the twelfth floor," she says.
Jamie nods. "Thanks!" she says, making her way to the elevator and getting in, pressing the button for the twelfth floor. The elevator judders its way upwards, and Jamie has a sudden horrible image of it plummeting to the ground and leaving her trapped in it.
Thankfully, it doesn't, letting her out on the twelfth floor without an issue. The twelfth floor only has a single apartment on it, and the door's ajar. Jamie pushes it open, the metal hinges creaking, and steps inside.
Making her way into the apartment, she pulls out her gun, holding it in front of her. Rounding a corner, she finds herself across from Jervis Tetch. The man smiles widely. "Detective, I've been expecting you," he greets. "After our last kerfuffle, we would meet again, I knew."
God. Right. The rhyming. Jamie's really not missed that. "Cut the shit," she says. "I'm here to arrest you and bring you in so you can be charged for the murders—"
"—Hastings, Copley, Lawson, yes, that figues," he completes. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid, I have no interest in being jailed—so I'm afraid you will not be able to say you have prevailed."
Letting out a growl, Jamie lunges at him. The slight man dances out of the way, laughing; and Jamie's momentum carries her into one of the walls. She falls to the ground with an uff! of surprise; and a second later, a finely-polished shoe comes down on her shoulder, a surprising amount of force behind it. Tetch looms over her, having produced a syringe of red liquid from somewhere, and he leans over, holding it against Jamie's neck.
When she tries to jerk her head away from it, he grabs her head with his other hand, admonishes, "Ah, ah, Detective, I wouldn't struggle. You wouldn't want more trouble."
And with that, he plunges the needle into her neck.
It doesn't take long for it to take effect; and suddenly, the world around her is warping into fantastical shapes. Tetch removes his foot from her shoulder, and the motion is tinged violet and the world around her rocks as she lays helplessly on the ground—
There's a sudden, nearly deafening crack, and Tetch, only a moment before grinning widely, looks down, expression morphing into one of surprise. "Oh dear," he says. "I'm done for, I fear." And with that, he topples over.
Thunderous footsteps make their way to Jamie; and suddenly, Bullock, his face a thousand shifting faces, is towering over her. "Gordon," he growls. "I'm gonna put you out of your misery so that the Don doesn't the both of us."
And with that, he raises his gun, aims it at her—
Without thinking about it, Jamie's hand shoots out and she grabs her own gun from where it's fallen to the floor, and shoot him point blank through the heart.
Blood wells up in his throat, blossoms sprouting from it, and his eyes hollow out into black pits, before he topples over and falls to the ground. For a few moments, he gasps for breath before finally going silent.
Jamie rises to her feet shakily; the world strange and shifting around her. She needs to get back to the precinct, ask Ed to administer an antidote to whatever it is Tetch drugged her with—
Her father flickers in the periphery of her vision. Leaning casually against the wall, he says, "Who knows what you'll do in this state. You killed Bullock—what's to say you won't kill Ed, as well?" His lips are twisted into a smug smirk.
Jamie snarls at him; the words coming out garbled; but the idea settles into her mind, and suddenly, she's terrified that he's right.
Alright. The precinct is out. So's home—Selina might be there.
There's only one thing she can do: get as far from the city as she can, away from anyone she might possibly hurt.
"I've planted one of my agents in his home," says Fish Mooney. She's sat at one of the tables with Don Maroni, just on the other side of the wall separating the kitchen and the dining area. Osvalda can't believe the Don was stupid enough to choose such a spot for his meeting with the woman who's apparently his inside man in Don Falcone's camp, but she's not about to complain.
"Within a few days," Fish continues, "we should have full knowledge of his routines and the layout of his home, and then we will be able to strike."
"Excellent!" booms Maroni. Osvalda can practically imagine him rubbing his hands. "Now, babe, about the way the land will be split up—"
"Don't fucking call me babe," Fish spits.
"Sorry, sorry." He doesn't sound apologetic in the slightest. "But about the land..."
"I'm sure we can talk that out once he's disposed of," Fish says, smoothly. Osvalda can practically see her planning Maroni's murder. Good, she thinks. If they take out Falcone, and she takes out Maroni, the only person left for me to take out is Fish herself.
Smiling to herself, Osvalda returns to her task of balancing the ledgers.