"Gotham"
A 'Smallville' fan fiction
All characters are owned by DC Comics, Warner Brothers, and their respective partners.
'Superman' was created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster.
'Batman' was created by Bob Kane
Timeframe: The summer between "Vortex" and "Heat" in season two
Disclaimer: I own plenty, but not these characters (not even Kaminski, not yet anyway…)
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: Instead of having Bruce Wayne come to Smallville, I wanted Clark Kent to come to Gotham. I wanted to re-imagine Batman's origin to a very short extent. You will see many, many of the same things about Batman's past you've always heard. But if you look at it, there is room to grow in the origin of Batman, and since Smallville is all about origins, why not introduce another of the World's Finest? I'm not going to pull a JJ Abrams and make Bruce homosexual, have Alfred be a robot, or the existence of Wayne Enterprises a mere myth. I loved these characters since I was very young, starting with Batman: The Animated Series and with this fiction I am just putting the characters in different places. What if Clark Kent witnessed the murder of Bruce's parents, and who exactly was behind it? I'm only bringing you a "what if?" story that hopefully will entertain and make you happy when it ends.
Eight: Distracted
The sound of sirens filled the air as the helicopter skidded onto the hard concrete surface of the building. The aircraft spun around and the blades continued to turn and slam into the concrete until they were all bent out of proportion. Clark was the first to act, running up to the burning helicopter and pulling out the now unconscious Lionel. His sun glasses that covered his blind eyes were bent and he was covered in soot. The flames from the helicopter grew even larger, leaving Clark seconds to grab the pilot.
"Make sure he's okay," Clark gently laid Lionel in front of Lex, who was now in complete and udder shock. Clark watched for Michelle to look away as she bent down to help Lionel, and he sped up to the helicopter's cockpit door. He ripped open the door and flung the pilot over his shoulders.
"Everyone get down!" He yelled, speeding away from the helicopter. The screams from below were silenced by the helicopter bursting into a massive inferno, parts of the engine falling to the streets below. The force of the blast knocked Lex out of his subconscious shock and flung him over the edge as Michelle threw herself over Lionel.
Clark dropped the pilot near Michelle and sped up to Lex, grappling Lex's wrist into his fist and quickly picking him back up onto the building. Michelle was back up and assisting the paramedics to Lionel, as news helicopters surrounded the area as if territorial mockingbirds. Clark sighed and walked over to the pilot, lying unconscious; he kneeled over and examined him for any wounds.
"I need some help over here!" Clark yelled to the paramedics, Michelle immediately ran over and gasped at the sight of the pilot. "What's wrong!?" Clark yelled.
"That's…Bill."
The red armchair had always been his favorite, in the east wing family room anyway. Bruce sat, lost within the boundaries of his mind, staring at the enormous family portrait from many years ago. It stood above the cold dark fireplace, which as far as Bruce was concerned, would never feel warmth again. He would never feel warmth again.
The mansion reeked of death, it wasn't just the fact that all the lights were off and the extreme quietness that lingered in the air. But Bruce's mood seemed to seep into every nook, cranny, and wing of the mansion. Love was a fairy tale, folklore, a myth.
He continued to stare, his pupils slowly focusing more and more. His fists clenched the red fabric of the chair as he shuffled for a moment. The clock slowly gained the attention of his ear; the ticks of every second began to compliment every tock. A rhythm of extremely minuscule noises began to absorb his attention. And for a second he forgot the pain. He wasn't going insane. He was just going insanely irate.
The band of ticks, tocks, and his stare at the family he once thought would last forever were halted. His phone, and for a moment he actually considered that he may answer the beckoning of someone who may need to ask a question. No one needed him anymore; his phone was of no importance. He pulled the now unnecessary means of communication from his waistline clip and tossed it across the room. It smacked the wooded floor of the hall and broke into several pieces, silencing the inconsiderate ring.
No one needed him anymore. And he didn't need anyone anymore. All he needed was vengeance.
The gray solid, stainless, steel doors to Kaminski's cell slowly slid open to reveal the glass wall that gave him a glimpse of the hall to other patients.
He chuckled slightly at the sight of Michelle and Clark standing impatiently, "Oh…is it playtime already?"
"How did you do it?"
"The man was desperate, what can I say?" He leaned his head up against the wall, "and why am I always public enemy number one?"
"I hate to break it to you, Kaminski, but you aren't an enemy. You are dead weight, worthless scum, with information that we need." Michelle was always her best in times of dire need. She couldn't quite understand how after Bill was released from the hospital Kaminski was able to get him to hijack Lionel Luthor's helicopter and crash land it. Not to mention that Bill himself threw Lionel's assistant from the aircraft at takeoff. So now Lex and Lionel were both resting up at the penthouse, since they both walked away with mere scratches. But Bill was back at the hospital, although he was holding a one way ticket to Arkham.
"Oh you are a sweetie!" Kaminski hopped up to the glass, Clark stepped back out of admitted fear. "But too bad the looks don't come with smarts…"
"Intelligence is my specialty." Clark smiled, fighting his fear of Kaminski by teasing him.
"But you were never good at puzzles, obviously," Kaminski's voice sank, "I simply hate the rich and powerful."
"So you're going to kill all the rich and powerful from a jail cell!" Michelle sarcastically yelled, "It all makes sense now!"
"You silly little girl," Kaminski chuckled, "Perhaps this little incident I had Bill manage to pull off, even though his great pain did stop him from…executing…his original plan, were just a distraction for your little police force to beat a stick at?"
"Distraction for what?" Clark whispered, finally putting the pieces together.
Kaminski smiled at Clark's sudden loss in thought, "So the boy isn't so dumb after all…"
"What the hell?" Michelle pounded the glass.
"You ignorant, reckless, pitiful excuse for a law enforcer; hijacking Luthor's helicopter was just a yummy little bonus that gave room for my other "employees" to finish their work!" Kaminski broke into laughter, "Poor Bruce, he was Gotham's final hope…and now that dream is ruined."
"There's still time." Clark glared at Michelle. She was too busy gritting her teeth at Kaminski.
"You look tense, sweetie, can I interest you in a massage?" Kaminski taunted.
She reached for a blinking green button on the control panel for the cell, and Kaminski watched with a blank stare of udder confusion. "Clark, the minute the glass opens, restrain him."
Clark looked at her shocked and moved to stop her, "No, what are you-"
The glass zipped open and Kaminski hopped out with glee and lunged at Clark, Clark responded nicely by grabbing Kaminski's left arm and twisting it. He used his grip to bring Kaminski to the floor. Kaminski squirmed and moaned for a guard as Michelle called off the guards.
"This is a new approach to things…" Clark sighed.
Michelle bent down to Kaminski, "We are going to go and stop your "employees" from doing their job. And you, my psychotic buddy, are going to stop them!" She patted his head, and assumed that Clark would drag him along.
"Thanks," Clark grunted.
"We all must make sacrifices…let's go." She pointed to the doors and emergency exit, "There's no time."
"I am not going to participate in your games!" Kaminski roared, struggling to get free of Clark's inescapable grip.
"And neither will we!" Michelle turned, pointing directly at him.
"Did your mother teach you any manners? Pointing…so 1973!" Kaminski smiled, still struggling to get free.
"I suggest you stop squirming," Clark whispered into Kaminski's ear, "It only makes the bruise darker."
They burst through the doors and ran down the long wide concrete stairs to Michelle's cruiser. The officers nearby gasped at the sudden event and followed the group as Michelle motioned for them to follow. If this day was going to be hell, she sure wasn't going to burn in it.