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#13: capture their friends

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If there is one thing absolutely EVERYONE knows about Batman by now, it's that he simply does not appear during daylight hours. Never.

Ever.

Regardless of how much the GCPD Commissioner will plead, Batman is the creature of darkness; confined to its shadows just like the myth that surrounds him.

But some criminals apparently never got the memo.

Bruce clenches his teeth when the news rolls about a bomb with a new, improved version of Scarecrow's laughing gas that went off at the shopping mall, and filled the streets with helpless Gothamites laughing themselves unconscious. He's in the middle of a business meeting meant to secure a very beneficial overseas partnership for W.E. when the first information about 'message for Batman!' comes into the light.

Or, well. An invitation.

Big, bold letters made of smoking crates, the remnants of a freshly put out fire, spelling 'LET'S PLAY A GAME' over a ginormous, spray-painted bat symbol.

Really.

Despite the lack of the Maniax Eyes anywhere near it, the whole thing has Jerome written all over it, and in a particularly crass manner no less. Who else would try to engage Batman so obnoxiously, Bruce doesn't know, and in all honesty is a little afraid to think about. And well, with Crane's involvement it doesn't take a genius — or a Bat — to tell that the Joker is up to something, even before the GCPD gets his demand recording.

But it's the middle of the day and Bruce in the middle of a business meeting that he can't just pack up and leave without rising suspicion. It's not like he only has access to the GCPD internal feed because he's hacked into it to monitor major emergency events even while he's at work.

It's not like other people in the room have any inclination of what has happened in the Diamond District in the last thirty minutes and that the Bat's assistance is required ASAP, regardless of the bright sun shining in the sky. Or, well. Bright for Gotham anyway.

Nope. It's none of those things.

What it is, though, is Jerome's undoubtedly scratchy voice Bruce can't hear on the video preview he's sneakily watching, as he rambles about Bats and Cats and friends in need or else.

It's the way he sees a single cat claw glove brandished like a duel challenge and a set of parallel, bloody scratches on Jerome's cheek. It speaks of an encounter that certainly took place — resolution unknown — and the need for him to immediately move it.

Bruce is not actually worried about Selina; she can take care of herself fine even in the depths of the snake-pit that surely is the Maniax headquarters. Whoever got the drop on her and dragged her into their confinement must undoubtedly already be regretting their life choices. And Bruce doesn't believe Jerome wants to piss him off at this point. Not by seriously harming his closest friend.

Setting things on fire and sowing panic on the streets is fair game, but the Joker should know better than trying to put his paws on the Cat.

No, it can't be that.

Even if Salina were in any immediate danger — which. No. Just no — there's also Firefly. Jerome's right-hand woman with a fuse shorter than a stack of dynamite she adores so much, who wouldn't even blink setting the whole base on fire if she knew they'd let anything heinous happen to Selina.

What Bruce is worried about, enough to consider going full Bat on his wayward enemies like they clearly want him to, broad daylight or not, is the fact that — speaking from years of meticulously gathered personal experience — Selina has no patience for the stupid.

Surrounded by a bunch of raving lunatics, possibly tied and subjected to Jerome's annoying scheming habits? Yeah, if Batman doesn't hurry up and get there, there is gonna be blood.

So that's what he does.

One press of the emergency panic button sends the whole floor into evacuation mode and Bruce easily slips away in the chaos that ensues.

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The location of Jerome's infamous hideout is likely the worst kept secret in the entirety of Gotham City. Not because people actively gossip about it, but because keeping a high concentration of ever rotating clown-themed people on the down-low, at all times, even in Gotham — self-absorbed, desensitized Gotham — is a huge feat.

Not to even mention that after years of criminal activity and excessive drama, people know Jerome. They can sniff a clown-involved crime form a mile away and Meeting the Joker: How to Live to Testify Another Day is No. 1 in every Gothamite's unofficial survival guide.

It's no surprise, then, that when Batman shows up on the doorstep of the not-so-abandoned factory, none of the pedestrians unlucky enough to be passing by even looks at him funny.

What is a surprise, on the other hand, is a very distinct lack of Maniax in a certified Maniax Lair.

Batman did not expect his rescue mission slash thwarting of devious ploys slash flimsy excuse to hang out — because that's where they are, apparently, after their memorable tête-à-tête — to go spectacularly wrong, but the emptiness of the place does nothing to reassure him.

Jerome is nothing if not unpredictable and Batman knows he should never drop his guard around the man, but there is just something…

Something he can't quite explain, compelling him to do so anyway. Something that starts to taste dangerously like trust.

Batman isn't stupid; he knows that actually trusting the Joker is a death sentence regardless of who he might be. But there is this thin thread, always at the back of his mind, pulling him to step down a little every time he encounters the Clown. Pulling him to have faith that Jerome will not aim to kill or significantly maim him or those closest to him on a whim, like he's wont to do with all the others. Faith that the tentative — however crazy it may sound — budding maybe-not-enmity they share is not an elaborate ruse to take him down and dance on his ashes.

That he isn't just a fool caught in the web of lies; a blind moron who saw affection in deceit and interest in scrutiny.

Deep down Batman knows it's not likely. That Jerome is many things but amidst all the craze and murderous reflexes he's not that complicated. But walking down the empty halls of a place that's notorious for brimming with insane cult members doesn't exactly fill him with optimism.

It isn't until he reaches the back area of the factory and hears voices echoing from one of the more hidden rooms that Batman relaxes a bit. Not that voices necessarily mean a good thing — even though they aren't screams, miraculously — but if this really was a trap, surely his enemies would've been more careful at the very end.

"Shut UP clown boy."

That. Does sound like Selina.

Mission status: target successfully detected.

Only… Only suddenly a terrible thought occurs to Batman as he strides towards the noise. What if the base is empty not because of an impending ambush, but because something already happened here?

Batman cannot see any fresh scorch marks indicating the use of lethal fire-force, but that does not mean—

"I said SHUT UP!"

Yeah.

His pace speeds up.

When he finally reaches the half-open doors that seem to hold his target, Batman's jaw very nearly, very undignifiedly almost falls open. What he sees in the room (that is more like yet another, smaller, former production hall turned into somewhat functional living space) is nothing like what he expected.

There is no blood — well not any fresh one — on sight, no tortures going on, and certainly no massacre that Batman half-expected.

There is, however, Jerome, cuffed to the radiator by his wrists and lounging on the floor; a tightrope, cutting the room in half on waist level; Firefly on the tightrope, full gear and all, and Selina with a scornful expression on her face, posing as support.

It's… quite the sight to behold.

"Batsy!" Jerome lights up like a Christmas tree on fire when Batman — after a well earned second of shock — makes himself known.

Radiator-side of his face is not only scratched but also bruised red now and his eye already starts to swell. Batman knows Selina's handiwork when he sees it — that right hook is mean alright — yet for some reason it makes his gut clench.

As if—

As if Batman is disturbed by it. Subconsciously. Or something.

It's not like Batman holds any particular regard for Jerome's wellbeing; he's seen that face burned and bloody and torn to shreds — he even made it so on numerous occasions himself! He's seen it entirely ripped off for god's sake. And it was never… like that, before.

Batman doesn't have time to chew over the wicked nooks of his psyche right now, though. He can have a heart-to-heart with himself later, when he'll have already deciphered exactly what has transpired in this lovely place. And why is he here, since clearly, the only life potentially in danger seems to be Jerome's.

"What is the meaning of this?" Batman demands, straightening up and giving the room his best rendition of the Bat-glare.

Jerome beams from his corner and tries to wave his hands despite the cuffs. It doesn't work out well.

"C'mon, Bats, we're learning to cat-walk, obviously! Thought you might wanna join."

Yes. Batman can see that.

Doesn't explain much, though.

"You. Are not learning anything," Selina snarls in Jerome's general direction but doesn't move even an inch from Firefly's side. Who, in turn, is looking at Batman through her goggles, head cocked to the side, and visibly assessing his presence.

Batman didn't have much to do with her since his initial appearance in the city, nor did Bruce Wayne. He knows she's the main hit force behind the Maniax, ruthless and unforgiving, oftentimes already scarce before any authorities — himself included — show up at the scene. Privately, she's Selina's best friend.

Batman really doesn't want to get in between all that. He looks to Jerome for providing more context. Which, he's apparently more than happy to provide.

"Alllright-y. The ladies here are learning to cat-walk and I'm humbly providing helpful commentary."

Well, that certainly explains some things.

Like the black eye. And the scratches. And possibly even the radiator, too.

Still no clue what about this… situation, begged the need for such an elaborate luring-trap. Batman would've come even without the mall fire to urge him.

And isn't that a whole entire thought to unpack.

Batman sags a little, fighting the urge to rub at his eye-lenses.

"Jerome," he warns, arms crossed and full intimidation mode: on.

Jerome's smile grows wider, if that's even possible. But it's not him who answers.

"It's your anniversary," Selina says, longsuffering, and she must've moved when Batman was paying attention to Jerome, because her arm is now rubbing soothing circles onto Firefly's lower back.

What.

"Our what."

Jerome looks vaguely hurt at his deadpan tone. Selina only sighs.

"You met today," Firefly supplies. She must've decided Batman's not a threat, after all. Good.

"I told clown boy you wouldn't get it. 'T was a stupid idea anyhow."

Wait a second.

The day Batman met Jerome for the first time was the same day Jerome was murdered. Batman never paid much attention to that aspect of the evening, too overwhelmed by everything else (Alfred Alfred Alfred) that happened to dwell on Jerome's unfortunate fate. It wasn't until his Frankenstein-esque resurrection and the infamous night of the Black-Out that Batman considered actually meeting the Clown.

But maybe… maybe it isn't entirely right.

And if he thinks about it, Galavan's gala was, indeed, today.

Batman sighs.

Throws a batarang across the room to free Jerome's hands.

"Fine," he says, holding back a smirk. "Do your worst."

"YYEEEEEHHAAAAAW!"

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Turns out the Maniax didn't disappear into thin air after all. And that they're exactly as good actors as they are criminals, which is to say: not very. But Jerome looks happy reenacting his dramatic knife throwing performance and Selina looks happy seeing Firefly in a frilly dress (still worn over her signature costume, of course), and Batman…

Batman can think of much worse ways to spend his afternoon.