Title: Do Unto Others…: Sanctity of Sunday
Author: DC Luder
Summary: Gotham City's protectors must defend it against a new predator.
Rating: M for language, violence and adult themes
Author's Note: All recognizable characters belong to DC Comics, not DC Luder.
A/N 2: This chapter has been modified from its original version.
^V^
Wayne Manor, May 2nd, 9:01 a.m.
Something was ringing.
Something I desperately wanted to pummel.
Reluctantly, my hand reached out and felt for the phone on the bedside table. After knocking the alarm clock onto the floor and cursing under my breath, I managed to locate and retrieve the ringing pest.
In a raspy voice, I answered, "What?"
"Ah… Did I wake you?" a familiar voice teased.
Despite the fact that she had, I remarked , "No, been up since the crack of dawn."
"Right," she mused, "I bet you didn't get to bed before four."
"Six," I corrected her.
Soft laughter greeted my ear as I slowly sat up in bed, a smirk doing battle with the frown on my lips. She had probably been up since six and already treated herself to a morning iced latte, an hour of yoga and another hour of morning talk show. Never one to face the day sub par, her green eyes were probably already highlighted with chocolate eyeliner and shadow that was faded meticulously from dark brown to a deep purple. It had been years since she had chopped off her long, black waves, but her short hair was most likely tussled with precision.
I, on the other hand, was tangled in bed sheets, hair chaotic after fitful slumber. My mouth tasted awful and running a hand over my face left my palm tingling against rough stubble. My stomach had already started rumbling even though my eyes had only been open for less than a minute.
When in doubt, order out…
"What time is it?" I managed to ask as I peered over the edge of the bed in search of the overboard clock.
"Little after nine," Selina hesitated before inquiring, "Are you concussed?"
"Not that I know of."
"That doesn't say much… Well, now that I know you are fresh out of bed, would it be safe to assume that you have yet to eat?"
I pushed the blankets aside and rose to my feet, "That would be correct. But I generally try to avoid eating this early in the morning. In fact, I prefer to sleep."
"Then… sleep while I eat."
"What?" I questioned as I scanned the room for my robe. Finding it on the chaise, I donned it while holding the phone between my cheek and shoulder.
I heard a horn honk sound from outside the house and in the same moment over the phone. Crossing the room to the large window that overlooked the drive, I stared in partial disbelief that she was leaning against the driver's door of her coupe. When she spotted me, Selina blew me a kiss and then said, "Meet me in the kitchen in ten minutes," before hanging up.
So much for sleep.
Less than a year earlier, I had finally revealed my identity to her in the midst of tracking the villain Hush, who it turned had been none other than my childhood friend Thomas Elliott. During that time, I had allowed myself to grow close to her, allowed myself to become intimate with her and above all else, allowed myself to trust her. After having my enemies tricked into working together in order to rattle my nerves, the final confrontation had ended with a reformed Harvey Dent saving my life whilst shooting the murderous Hush. My world had been turned upside down and instead of coming home and finding comfort in Selina's companionship, I had accused her of being a pawn in Hush's plan, getting me to let my guard down so he could defeat me.
Offended as she had been at my outrageous claims, Selina had said that eventually I would come to trust that we were together because of who we were and not because of anything else. It had taken months of punishing myself as well as others before I came to realize she had been right. But like any cat, she didn't need me, she wanted me and only on her terms. My apology had come in the form of one hundred Alba roses being delivered to her penthouse anonymously. The next day, Bruce Wayne had received a large cardboard box of the flowers shredded to potpourri and a note saying: I like shiny things.
From there, we had slowly started a relationship, normal by some standards, and yet completely beyond our realm. Dinner, dancing, quiet evenings together strolling Robinson Park or helping Leslie at the Free Clinic. We shared plates of sushi on her living room floor while recalling the decade and half we had spent with one another without even knowing it. Although she had practically resigned from her criminal career, Catwoman still thrived, prowling the East End for predators and without patience for bats interfering.
Once a handful of weeks had passed, I felt myself growing close to her once more, almost too close. There was rarely a morning I didn't wake up in her penthouse or with her in my arms at the Manor. She was at my side at every social function and I rerouted my patrols in order to cross paths with her at least twice a night. Doubting myself, Alfred had encouraged me to listen to my heart while Dick told me to listen to mind and then promptly tell it to shut up.
On one of Dick's sporadic ventures to Gotham, we had shared a patrol together and light conversation. He had said at one point in the night, "Look at all the time you've wasted running around in circles… there's no point in letting that vicious cycle go on indefinitely. You two are getting too old to be alone."
I had then replied curtly, "I'm sorry, were talking to me about Selina or to yourself about Barbara."
After rolling his eyes, he had departed, "Selina deserves a medal of honor for loving you…"
Love.
I had never said the word to her, nor had she directed it to me. Deep down, I had never thought myself capable of loving anyone given the fact that the emotional attachment would only lead to suffering. Starting our relationship again, we had settled on the fact that since we weren't normal, we didn't intend on the normal path. Ultimately, it wasn't serious, for neither of us desired it, but we offered each other companionship. She was a constant in a world of violence and chaos and I was an anchor her independent spirit could look to.
In the weeks that had passed since Dick's advice had sent my thoughts into a turmoil, Selina and I had exchanged the infamous three letter words. She had said it first, after apologizing for being the cliché romanticized girly girl. Although she had told me not to say it, I had, admitting what I had known for years. I loved her, unlike any other woman in my life, and yet I couldn't quell the worry that uttering it aloud would make her a target for my enemies. Especially once the brutalized bodies of young women started turning up in February…
It took five minutes to splash water on my face and find a pair of loafers to make the trek to the kitchen in. I took the three flights of stairs two steps at a time, reaching the ground floor just in time to follow the trail of fresh coffee. Passing through the open archway of the kitchen, I smirked to see Selina already hard at work at the stove with three burners fired up. One skillet had simple scrambled eggs cooking while the second was searing bacon and the final pan crackled with hash browns.
"I was going to make stuffed French toast but I don't think I love you that much," Selina remarked without looking back.
After admiring her fitted jeans and dolphin gray silk chiffon top, I stepped up behind her and looked over her shoulder, "Is that so?"
"Tis…" she said before smacking me square in the forehead with the spatula. When I stepped back to wipe my brow, she turned and grinned, "Respect the cook."
"I thought it was 'kiss the cook'?" I tried to put humor in my voice but it fell flat.
Selina shook her head as she looked over my disheveled form. Once she returned her attention to her work, she asked, "You look like hell. Over easy."
I leaned against the counter a few inches away from the stove and replied, "Busy night."
Turning the burner down on the eggs, she nodded, "Yeah, it was all over the news this morning. Poor girl… Figured I'd come cheer you up… keep you from spending the entire day in gloom."
"I appreciate it."
Selina looked up at me with a devious smirk, "You better."
Although she refused to let me help cook based on orders Alfred had given her the day before, I went about making fresh orange juice and setting the table in the nook. For the better part of thirty minutes, I tried to be amicable and social while veering my mind away from what waited for me in the Cave. Usually, whenever Selina had caught me drifting into dark waters, she would lure me back by rubbing her toes against my shin under the table or even pinching my kneecap with her manicured nails.
That morning was an exception.
We cleared the table together and did our best to properly rinse the dishes before placing them in the dishwasher. Wiping her hands on towel, Selina smirked sadly, "I guess I couldn't convince you to go back to bed?"
Rather than coldly turn her away, I stepped forward and set my hands on her hips, "Are you going to make me?"
She laughed, then set her hands on my chest to stand on her toes, kissing my rough cheek before saying, "As much as I would love to, I know we both would rather you focus on something else…"
Something odd came over her eyes and I felt guilty for being the reason behind it.
I offered to walk her out but Selina declined and made me vow to behave myself while I was home alone. Although I told her I would visit her after patrols that night, we both knew it was hollow promise. I waited until the sound of her car faded before filling a carafe with coffee and making my way to the study.
^V^
First National Bank, May 2nd, 10:10 a.m.
"You got a minute?"
Pete looked up from the newspaper he had been reading and found the uniform-garbed man who stood in the doorway. Charlie Morgan, a fellow security guard and recent employee of the month. Musty aftershave and a bad nicotine addiction that he fought with patches under the long sleeves of his shirt. Before replying, Pete looked back down at the police blotter once more, "I'm on break for another five minutes."
Opting to sit on the edge of the break room table, Charlie continued, "Well, you know I'm going to go to up north to visit my mother tomorrow, it's her birthday. I should be back but… would you mind helping open on Monday morning if I don't?"
Although he had no reason to, Pete doubted that Charles was going to see his mother. Most Monday mornings when he took his break, Pete overheard Charles bragging to the male bank employees about his weekend, namely his sexual concurrent of some young woman. It wasn't polite to eavesdrop, Pete's mother had drilled that into him at a young age. But technically it wasn't his fault since Charlie's words grew louder the more intimate the story became…
Glancing up, Pete nodded and said, "Not a problem," before looking down to finish reading about a domestic disturbance that had occurred less than six blocks from his gym.
"Thanks, Pete, I owe you big time," Charlie grinned before hopping off of the table and heading out the door.
It was nice to be nice, Pete mused as he returned to the front page. He had been doing so all morning, stealing a glance when no one was looking. The bold type of the headlines declared caused his heart to skip a beat, declaring another young woman had become the victim of Gotham's latest predator. The body of the article was just as dull as every other story featured in the periodical mere ink on thin paper trying recreate what had transpired…
With a minute to spare, he folded the paper and placed it underneath his shirt, tucked into his waistband. The bank had stopped supplying free newspapers and magazines forcing employees to bring their own reading materials from home. Since he hadn't finished reading it, Pete wasn't willing to leave his paper behind to be wrinkled, ripped or saturated with spilled coffee. Being a Saturday, there were only three tellers, the assistant bank manager, three loan offices working the half-day shift, along with himself and Charlie. Surely one of them brought something else to read.
Pete quietly resumed his post just to the left of the main entrance. Charlie was on the north entrance off of 52nd Street. The size of the bank and its significance to the city allowed for its security guards to be armed with .38's. Where Charlie and the other guards liked being armed and dangerous, Pete despised it.
He could hardly touch the one holstered at his hip without a foul taste rising in his throat.
Even as a young boy where children his age had battled one another with toy guns and imaginary ones alike, he would hide in jungle gyms or run home with his hands over his ears. As expected, his odd behavior had only encouraged his peers to tease and taunt him, making sure to elaborate the sound of their pretend gunfire to get a rise out of their prey.
When that had become boring, they had started calling him Peepee to make fun of his initials. It wouldn't have been so bad if it was just playful banter, but it hurt him on a very personal and visceral level.
His father's words still echoed, "Christ Pete, you're ten years old, you're too old to be messing your bed…"
His mother would have defended him, had she still been alive.
After one particularly rough day of teasing at school, Pete had told his father about the way the other kids treated him. Rather than try and offer comfort or to explain why they picked on him, his father had said that he needed to toughen up and take action rather than running away from his problems. That in the end, confronting those that posed a threat would make him a stronger person.
As a child, he hadn't heeded his father's advice.
As a man grown… it was the only code he lived by.
^V^
Wayne Manor, May 3rd, 10:21 a.m.
"Master Bruce?" a voice called.
I had all intentions of ignoring Alfred's return. Selina, on the other hand…
Having returned to the Manor a little after six in the morning, I had not made it to my bedroom until nearly eight. Exhausted after a busy patrols on top of trying to put the latest murder into perspective, I had capped the night off with two hours in front of the computer, reproducing the crime scene and trying to find a connection between the three girls. When I had finally climbed into bed, I found it already occupied. Selina had rolled over the second I reclined beside her, burying her face into my neck while she slept.
Sanctity of Sunday, had been my final conscious thought before I joined her in slumber.
"Good morning Alfred," she greeted him warmly.
"Ms. Selina. Always a pleasure."
Although I was still in bed, she had risen an hour earlier to shower and dress for the day, claiming she had errands to run. Had it been any other Sunday, we would have spent the day together doing whatever we wanted. Instead, she was lying to try and keep me from feeling guilty over working…
"Shall I prepare brunch?" Alfred inquired, ignoring the fact that I had yet to acknowledge him.
"Oh, thank you… but I have to get going," she explained apologetically.
"Of course, my dear… perhaps Master Dick and Ms. Barbara will be willing to join you, sir…"
At that, I lifted my head and scowled at him, "What are you talking about?"
"Ah, yes… After taking Dr. Thompkins home this morning, I took a slight detour to the airport to retrieve them… they suggested a trip to the manor was in order given the tragedy that took place in their absence."
I responded, "Let me guess, on the way here… you retrieved Tim and Cassandra."
Alfred commented before leaving the bedroom, "Your deductive reasoning is to envied by all, Master Bruce."
Selina sat on the end of the bed just as I rose to my feet. After I disrobed and jumped into the steamy shower, she appeared in my peripheral vision. While I lathered my hair, I heard her say, "Well, I'm going to go…"
There was something in her tone that made me instinctively say, "No… stay," I let the water hit the crown of my head, sending rivers of suds down my face, "We'll have brunch."
"It's okay… Not too keen on listening to the shop talk while eating…"
Looking at her through the foggy glass door, I could barely make out her silhouette. Opening it, I stared directly at her, "Selina."
She shook her head at me, arms crossed over her chest, "Bruce." After closing the distance between us, she carefully wiped soap off of my face before kissing my lips, "Shower. Eat. Catch a bad guy. Plenty of time to fawn over me after that."
Reluctantly, I replied, "Okay."
She kissed me again before promptly turning on her heels and walking out the door.
Although the others were most likely gathered in the informal dining room after convincing Alfred to work his magic in the kitchen, I proceeded directly to the study and into the Cave. Without wasting a moment, I seated myself in the computer bay and went to work bringing up the file I had been slaving over for the last twenty-four hours. Since I had first donned the cowl, I had done my best to try and keep a distinct separation between the lives of Bruce Wayne and Batman.
Not only was it necessary to keep a clear mind while in the midst of dangerous situations, it also prevented the dark part of me from seeping into what normalcy I had. For years, it had been forbidden to discuss matters of questionable nature anywhere but the Cave but recently, I found my protégés slowly letting things slip through the invisible barrier. I had even started to let my guard down and I hated myself for thinking it was because of my relationship with-.
"Sir?"
I looked up to see Alfred's reflection on the monitor approaching slowly with a small serving tray. Upon setting it down on the workspace's counter, he proceeded to pour coffee from a steaming carafe, "So kind of Ms. Selina to keep you company this weekend."
"She was only here last night," I corrected him before taking the proffered mug.
Alfred then ushered the tray towards me, hoping to entice me to eat before the others came downstairs. A coconut croissant sat beside a steaming vegetable omelet and potato and ham hash. I hadn't eaten since Saturday afternoon and that had been turkey sandwiches and two apples. As appetizing as the meal looked, I had work to do.
Not yet admitting defeat, Alfred asked, "Will she be returning this evening, sir?"
I took a tentative sip of the dark roast before shaking my head.
Before he could inquire further, I heard the elevator doors open on the far side of the Cave, followed by Barbara and Cassandra's quiet voices. Not ten seconds later, footsteps raced each other down the granite steps, ending in a cacophony and Tim complaining, "Or you could not trip me."
My protégés were quick to gather around Alfred and I, each dressed as casually as any person would have been on a Sunday. Rather than ask how the wedding had been or if Tim had plans with his father and step mother, I rose to my feet and started bringing them up to speed. Alfred excused himself quietly, looking back once as everyone moved into action.
Barbara naturally moved to the computer to help bring up visuals on the massive display screen.
Cassandra watched on silently, studying the faces of the three victims, before and after they had been murdered.
Tim was quick to ask about the walk through of the crime scene from the night before while Dick brow furrowed at the meager list of practical evidence listed on the screen.
I was no longer home alone.
^V^
Residence of Peter Placido, May 3rd, 12:35 p.m.
Sundays were his only day off.
Unlike others that resided in the quiet residential borough of Nelville, Pete did not don his nice khakis and blue silk tie in the morning and attend any of the local places of worship. He did not race others to the market to get the freshest produce and be the first out the door with whatever was on sale. He did not sleep in until noon and rise, slightly hungover nor did he lounge around all day watching sports and drinking beer.
He woke, as he did every morning, at precisely 5:15 a.m. He put on a clean pair of socks, his running shoes, a pair of nylon shorts and a plain gray cotton tee shirt. He stretched in the kitchen, using the tabletop to rest his ankles upon as he stretched the backs of his legs. Then, he stepped out of the side door, locked up, pocketed the keys and proceeded to trot out to the sidewalk. Within eleven minutes, he would be a mile and a half away, jogging smoothly along a quiet county highway. Alone, always alone. He found that rarely anyone would travel this road at such an hour, the sharp curves and hills warding off early morning drivers.
After running his circuit, he would find himself at his doorstep just in time to take the newspaper from the local newspaper boy. Often, they would talk briefly, usually about how school was going and what exciting things were in the horizon of summer.
By seven, he was always showered, dressed, shaved and ready for the day. Over a cup of coffee, two spoons of sugar, two pieces of wheat toast, two eggs over easy and a bowl of sliced fruit, he would read the paper and listen to the news report on the television in the next room. That day, it was pineapple and sunny with clear skies and another front-page article about the newest slasher victim. It summarized the events over the last three months and reiterated what the police had come upon to that point. No matter how they dressed it up, there was no suspect in custody which was a worrisome thought for Gothamites.
On days he worked, once he finished breakfast he would always wash the dishes by hand, turn the television off and then lock the house before leaving. turned the radio to a classic rock station and stepped outside. Given that it was Sunday, he washed the dishes, shut the television off and then left the door unlocked as he stepped out into the warm spring weather.
Since it was supposed to be nice out, Pete had outlined the entire day with outdoor projects to spruce up his modest home. He tended young budding flowerbeds with fresh plant grower, fertilizer and weeding nuisance flora. Hands and knees dirtied, he then moved on to mow the front, side and back lawn, reciprocating a wave from one of his neighbors who was doing the same. Pete didn't know anything about said neighbor except that he was too fat and too lazy to mow a lawn properly and rode around on a lawn tractor.
The sun began to beat down on Pete just after eleven in the morning. Rather than break for lunch, he opted to hose off and wash both the lawn mower and his well used Jeep Cherokee. Once both were spotless and drying in the sun, he felt he was ready for a break. Opting not to track dirt and grass clippings in through the kitchen, Pete made his way through the garage entrance, immediately removing his soiled shoes and socks and leaving them in the small laundry room. As a second thought, he disrobed completely, putting every scrap of clothing he had on in to the washer.
As he measured dry laundry detergent, he heard them.
Setting the small plastic scoop on the lid of the washing machine, he listened carefully to the heated words that drifted down the corridor. They were arguing, just as they always had. Holding his breath, Pete moved slowly in the direction of the voices as they grew angrier.
"You treat like an infant, coddling him like a goddamned baby, locking him in the house all day… How will he ever grow up if you won't let him?"
"He's perfectly fine staying here with me, he doesn't want to-"
"You won't even let me give him the chance, all I wanted to do was take him to see the football game!"
"He doesn't even like football-."
"Hannah, I swear to God-."
"Why don't you take your whore with you and leave my baby alone!"
When he had first overheard that argument as a five-year-old boy, his father had promptly ended the argument by slapping his wife across the face. He had been just outside of the living room in their old house, peering around the corner as they screamed at one another. After his father had struck her, his mother had spent the remainder of the day locked in the master bedroom, sobbing. Pete had gone to the game at Hudson University and his father had bought him a football right there at the stadium.
The Whore had gone as well but Pete had pretended she wasn't there.
He had spent his whole life reliving his troubled childhood, not dwelling on how bad it had been but only because they were the only memories of his mother. There were good things he was able to recall if he tried hard enough but the bad ones surfaced all on their own.
Pete stared into his living room, frowning to see it devoid of life.
Just as he had been for a long, long time, Pete was alone.
^V^
