Disclaimer: George, Amy, Mr. Bailey, Gracie, the Hendersons, and the Lees belong to me. All of the more interesting characters like Talia al Ghul and Jarvis Tech, and the more common known ones belong to Warner Bros. And if they don't belong to them, they still don't belong to me.
Chapter Six: Extractions, Distortions, and Affections
THURSDAY OF THE FIRST WEEK.
The day did not reflect the silent storms in Elizabeth's mind. Shifting through paperwork that suddenly swam over her usually organized desk, she could not place the sense of foreboding that seemed to tint the shadows of her office. She had just surrendered to the fight she was having with the mess when the door opened; hesitantly, as if it were just the slight tilt of the earth that made it move. She looked up, expecting to find her friend and co-worker Harlene Quinzelle, but the figure was far from that cheerful, feminine face. Jonathan Crane stepped around the door, shutting it silently behind him, as if if he weren't gentle the foundation would break. He was in a business suit, and Elizabeth could tell by the way it hung on his form that it was tailor made. Maybe Arkham had a boost in its income and decided to change its style. It didn't seem likely, however, and Elizabeth's feeling of unease that permeated the room before he entered suddenly spiked to an all time high.
Jonathan took a step towards her, and Elizabeth didn't move. Didn't speak. Whatever words she had been forming in her mind had fled for cover when she saw the look in his eyes. They were uncharacteristically soft, but still with that frostbitten edge, and underneath that was something darker that made things low in her body tighten. She stood there, watching him as he walked closer. Closer. She could imagine how she looked, it was how she felt, a doe caught in the headlights of a car, knowing what came next but it was all happening too fast to stop. Or was it? Everything felt like it was moving so slowly, like she had all the time in the world to do something, anything, but she couldn't. So fast and so slow, and she was caught in the middle of it, like a resilient tree in the middle of a hurricane.
He was there then, right in front of her, and by some miracle reality came back in a rush of air, slapping her in the face. She blinked several times and furrowed her brow in consternation.
"Mr. Crane, how--?"
"It's Jonathan."
"What? No, how…" Elizabeth was shaking her head, looking around, at anything but him, anything but those vacuuming eyes. "What's going on?"
"I made some friends in Arkham. They showed me the light."
"Like hell they did." She muttered. When he said "friends" many things finally came into perspective. Who better than Jonathan Crane to make an alliance with the new boss of the crime ring to weasel himself out of incarceration? What did this mean for her and Katie? She now had nothing to offer him in exchange for his help. She finally looked back up at him, pleading him with her eyes. "Don't say this means our deal is off…"
"Well, I suppose I could be persuaded…" As he said the last word his hand came up to take the lapel of her jacket in his hands, and he ran it through his hand, up and down. Up and down. Elizabeth grabbed his hand as it strayed a little too high, her eyes wide in shock.
"What are you doing? What are you saying?" She felt like she needed to sit down right then to take in everything that was happening. She stepped back from him and laid a hand on the back of her chair, using it to steady herself. Nothing today seemed to be making sense. She'd like to blame it on her mere two hours of sleep, but just because she was feeling off kilter didn't mean the world should act that way as well.
"They let me out yesterday," his words were soft and deep, and she was drowning in them, in him. She wanted to let that voice roll off her bare skin, wanted those hands to… She shook her head. Something else besides lack of sleep was going on. "I came back here," he continued, "because I couldn't get you off my mind." He stepped closer to her and she jumped, the wheels on the chair rolling away from her while her weight was still on them. He caught her arm as she fell backwards, pulling her back up, and into him. His lips were suddenly so close to hers, too close, and it would be a shame if she didn't caress them with her own.
She shouldn't. She really shouldn't, but even as she was thinking it his lips were on hers, his hands on hers, drawing them down to press her palms into the desk. Now with the desk at her back and her arms pinned there was nowhere to run, but she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to. She kissed him back, opening her lips to let him deepen it, her barriers all but melted as she stood there engulfed in the fierce warmth of his arms. His hands withdrew from hers, and she felt her suit jacket slip off her shoulders. She picked her hands of the desk so it could glide properly to the floor.
Jonathan cradled her head back with a hand at the nape of her neck, tracing her neck with scalding kisses. Elizabeth draped one arm around his neck, the other sliding the shirt away from where it had been tucked into his pants, baring a rather well toned stomach for a doctor. He hissed as her hand slid up underneath the shirt, caressing the skin that lay beneath. He drew away to shed his own jacket, and began tugging at the tie he shouldn't have even bothered wearing. She reached up to touch the tie and it slipped through his fingers, joining the two jackets on the floor. He jerked his fingers down the middle of his shirt in a savage motion, sending the buttons flying. He moved to kiss her again, grasping her hips and hoisting her onto the desk. She leaned back until she was lying down and he followed, never breaking the kiss. Paperwork slid around them to cascade off the side of the desk, as if they were in the middle of a miniature waterfall.
Talia blocked Batman's kick, but as she didn't have the convenient arm braces that Batman had to protect her arms, the kick knocked her backwards. She struggled to stay on her feet, but knew she was fighting a losing battle. The man before her was well armored, whereas she was wearing nothing but simple cotton and denim. Not a bright choice for hand to hand combat with a suit of armor, but she hadn't been expecting him to be impenetrable to bullets.
Batman stood as still as the gargoyles on the neighboring building, refusing to take advantage of her moment of vulnerability. How terribly noble for an assassin. Or was he just taking pity on her because she was a mere woman? She was beginning to see why her father had chosen him over her to pass down the family business to. It made her angry though part of her understood, and she couldn't explain except to say that it was what her father believed, and above all things, she would stand by that.
She began stalking towards him again when her watch started beeping irritably at her. She glanced down at it, checking the time, then swore as she turn around and ran to the edge of the building, disappearing off the side. Batman stood there for a moment in the dawning light of morning, her behavior only slightly perplexing.
The clock struck six and the mouse ran down. Hickory dickory dock.
Elizabeth gasped and tore herself from sleep, shaking the remnants of the dream from her mind. They stayed, like stubborn fleas that made their home on the back of an old mongrel stranded on the side of the road. She untangled herself from the blanket she had used the night before, tossing her half over Carolina's face. That was definitely the last time she stayed up to watch some stupid chick flick at ungodly hours of the morning. Eating that soon before sleep hadn't helped either, but late snacking usually led to nightmares, not… oh wait, that might have been what that was.
Carolina moaned and turned over, throwing the blanket away from her face so she could breath. She slanted her eyes open to regard Elizabeth sleepily, before the heaviness dragged her lids slowly back down.
"Wake up, it's six."
"No," Carolina mumbled. "Six is sleepy time."
"Not for Katie. School starts in an hour." This made Carolina pull herself up into a sitting position; her eyes wide open if not wide awake.
"What? What kind of school expects their students to learn that early in the morning? You might as well be teaching a room full of corpses."
"It's the same elementary school you and I went to. You know where it is. I have to get ready for work." Carolina jumped up as Elizabeth made her way to the bathroom, following her in. Elizabeth turned on her, "Hello, alone time?"
"What do you mean, you're going to work? You're going to leave me all alone?"
"Carrie, you've been making it on your own for six years, I thought you'd be accustomed to it by now."
"That was different!"
"How?"
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do with her!"
"That's easy. Drop her off at school. Stay away from the school premises for eight hours. Pick her up."
"And then?"
"And then… do what you normally do. Live." Elizabeth turned on the faucet in the shower, watching the water spray outwards above her head. "Can I take a shower now? There's really nothing to worry about." She looked behind her at Carolina, who was breathing too fast and looking frightened. She turned around and grabbed her shoulders. "Calm down! Geez, just do what I just told you to do. It's nothing to freak out about. Sure, you no longer have a life of your own, but it's worth it."
"What if she doesn't like me?"
Elizabeth sighed, "Carrie, you're being ridiculous. That doesn't happen until she's fourteen." Carolina giggled, and Elizabeth turned her to the door. "Now get out, you're making me late. Just wake her up and fix her breakfast. She already knows how to dress herself."
"Oh, all right." Carolina sighed as she exited the bathroom. Elizabeth closed the door behind her, and turned around to remove her pajamas. She stared down at the buttons descending down the middle, almost afraid to touch them. It hadn't been her buttons that had been removed in her dream, but she could almost still hear the sound of snapping thread in the dark corners of her mind. Where did that come from? She was tempted to dig her dream dictionary out of her bookshelf and study it again, but quelled those feelings, assuring herself she most certainly didn't want to know why or what they meant. She could guess, and it didn't mean anything good.
It didn't mean anything, she resolved, undoing the buttons. It was a product of falling asleep right after a romance movie and possibly her current loneliness, which wasn't up for reflectivity.
Bruce briskly made his way up the steps that led into Wayne Industries at exactly seven thirty that morning. He was really getting better at the whole insomnia thing. If anyone ever guessed that he had been up the whole night by tracing the tell tale signs of the purple bags under his eyes, they would just assume he had spent the entire night gallivanting with a lady on each arm. Being Gotham's playboy was a perfect cover up for Batman to use. Strange how it happened because of his self- loathing instead of his planning everything down to the last detail. As much as he would have liked the genius look, the irony was just so much more fun.
A portly man with graying black hair greeted him inside the entrance. "Good morning Mr. Wayne, Mr. Bailey is in your office with a prospective candidate for that open position."
"Ah, terrific," Bruce answered as he walked past him. The man continued to follow him to the elevators. He ignored him as he thought to himself, who the hell is Mr. Bailey, and… what position is open? Bruce shook his head. Nobody ever tells him anything.
The elevator pinged as the doors slid open, revealing a floor that looked very much like the floor he started on, the only hint that it was any different was the new secretary and the glass paned double doors to the far left that led to his spacious office. He could see the two people patiently waiting for him inside through the frosted logo on the doors. The man that had been tagging along fell behind as he passed the secretary's desk, either to have a chat or because that was merely where he belonged when he wasn't following other people around. Bruce entered unaccompanied into his office, and his guests stood from their chairs to greet him, Mr. Bailey's form obscuring Bruce's view of the woman with him.
"Good morning Mr. Bailey," Bruce greeted, shaking his hand.
"Good morning, Mr. Wayne," He stepped aside so he could introduce his companion, and Bruce had an internal battle to keep whatever emotion that nearly surged forth off of his face. "This is Talia Moore, I interviewed her yesterday and felt she was perfect for the job. Of course, that's all up to you."
Bruce smiled amiably as he shook Talia's hand. Yeah Bailey, I bet you felt she was perfect for a lot of things, he thought dryly.
"It's a pleasure, Mr. Wayne," Talia smiled a little mysteriously, "My father has told me all about you." Bruce felt, with an internal grimace, his face drop, and his hand slip out of hers.
"Has he, now?" Bruce regained his stolen composure, plastering a new smile on his face, while really all he wanted to do was boot Bailey out of his office and finish it with Talia. It was all fun and games until someone learned Bruce's secret identity. He regarded her with a cheerful smile and wary eyes, knowing she could see right through it, but until Bailey was gone she would have to deal with the obnoxiously cheesy grin. As if sensing that nobody really cared about his presence in the room, Bailey clapped Bruce on the back on his way out.
"I'll leave all the big decisions to you, then."
"Yeah, thanks Billy." Bruce could see the expression on his face out of the corner of his eyes, the way he opened his mouth to retort, thought better of it, and closed the door with a shake of his head. Once he had left, Talia stifled a chuckle with her hand.
"You handled that very well."
"Why thank you," he said as he made his way behind his desk, "I do take pride in my ability to irritate and insult others."
"Can't imagine how you could have made it this far if you didn't."
"Aren't you trying to get this job, and not bomb horribly on your second interview?" He asked her as he planted himself in his plush chair, resting his elbows on the arms.
"Oh, I'll get the job. Unless, of course, you'd like me to alert everyone of your great affinity with bats at the party your having tonight at Wayne Mansion."
"You must be mistaken, my dear, I'm afraid I haven't made any plans for a party at my mansion tonight. If you're interested, though, there's going to be a big to-do next month--."
"Mr. Wayne, your house burned down once, it would be a shame if it and the precious bat cave crumbled in on themselves again due to a couple of carefully placed bombs."
Bruce's elbows slipped off the arms of the chair, jerking him down with the sudden loss of support. His eyes widened, then became suspicious slits. "You didn't do that last night," he stated.
"Of course not. But last night wasn't the only night this earth has seen. Who's to say I did it during night at all?" She sat down in the chair she had occupied early and inspected her manicured nails. Bruce regarded her in silence for a moment before he spoke again.
"What job is it, exactly, that they're offering that you're so interested in, anyways?"
"There is no job, per se. Bailey is one of my father's men."
"Then what is it I'm offering you to keep your silence?"
Talia lost interest in her nails and turned her attention to him. "Before my father died, before he left to destroy Gotham--."
"Please don't tell me you're going to follow in your father's footsteps and attempt to destroy Gotham as well…"
Talia sighed, "As tempting as it is, Mr. Wayne, no. Now please let me finish."
"You're right. How very uncouth of me. Please continue."
"Before my father left for Gotham, he sent me on an expedition to retake and secure a project in the Middle East he had been working on for several years before I had been born. When I arrived, the site was badly damaged, and is currently open to anyone who strays into the site. You're going to give my followers and me financial support to rebuild the site and create a stronghold."
Bruce's jaw clenched, his elbows resting on his desk, and one fist balled into his other hand in concentration. "I really must fire Bailey."
"Are we in agreement?"
"You will be attending the party tonight, am I right?"
"To the very end, if you like." She said with a devious smile.
Bruce sat back in his chair, his arms sliding into his lap. "May I ask what kind of project it was that he was working on?"
"No."
"Of course not. I certainly wouldn't want to pry; you clearly have the upper hand in this… arrangement."
"I'll see you tonight then?" Talia ask as she stood.
"Tonight." Bruce assented, staring sternly out of the large tinted windows that made up the entire wall to his right. Talia simply smiled in satisfaction as she made her exit, leaving Bruce to his thoughts, which almost had nothing to do with taking a running jump through the wall of glass.
He could, of course, follow Talia when she left Gotham for the Middle East. It would mean leaving Wayne Industries in the hands of Lucius Fox, but why not? He had been gone for seven years, and hadn't found it a smoldering hole in the ground upon his return, but it hadn't exactly been thriving in his image either, or even in his name, really, if he had decided to be gone for much longer. As much as he trusted Fox, he wasn't willing to abandon his business again unless the action was in dire need.
However, his curiosity of his "partner's" project was undeniable, and the matter could be pressing later on. He could not just fund research without knowing what was being… researched. What if she was building a Dues Ex Machina programmed on wrenching the entire continent inside out? She was her father's daughter, after all. Yes, something had to be done, but right now he had more pressing matters to attend to.
He picked up his office phone and pressed one of the slender page buttons on the top of the machine. "Stacy, hi, oh, Gracie? Sorry, listen; I need you to make invitations… um, remember September fifteenth? Yeah, I need all of those, but I have a few more names I need you to add. Oh wait, Gracie? Do me a favor; don't invite the Hamilton's this time. Great, thanks."
It was noon when the letter arrived at Dr. Lee's inbox at one of Arkham's branch facilities. She was walking down the hall with a half empty mug of coffee in her hand when she saw the dainty envelope peeking out of the small cubby. Sipping on the lukewarm liquid, she slipped the envelope out of its holder and flipped it around so she could read the front. It simply stated her name in a careful curly italic font. Curious, she carried her tokens back to her office, consuming one while perusing the other. Safe behind her name-plated door, she set the mug down on an idle coaster and tore the sleeve of the envelope open with her thumb. The parchment inside was a creamy color, instead of the usual vivid white, with the same curlicue handwriting that had graced the front. Her eyes jumped back and forth across the page, skimming over the formal greeting to get to the core of the subject.
The letter, oddly enough, was from Bruce Wayne, owner of Wayne Industries, cordially inviting her to a social affair he was holding later that night at his mansion. She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear as she picked up the envelope again. It was her name written on the front, but she had never been invited to one of these engagements before, and hadn't even met Mr. Wayne face-to-face, over the phone, or otherwise. Why did she suddenly exist now, after maybe eight or more of these events?
Dr. Lee shrugged the perplexing situation away as another one arose. She had nothing to wear…
Did Arkham's solitary cells normally not have beds in them, or did Jonathan Crane just somehow manage to draw the shortest straw? No, not drew. Dispensed upon. Forcefully. He racked his brain trying to remember the interior of another cell, but when he was a doctor, he never really cared to notice. He didn't think it would be useful to know. He didn't expect to find himself a resident. Who does?
It seemed Jonathan had become something of a connoisseur of disembodied footsteps, and the ones approaching him, the ones that belonged to one security guard and two nurses, one male, one female, were not happy. They were shuffling, stomping, and reluctant to do the task they were sent to do. They stopped outside his door, and whispers commenced that he could not form into tangible dialogue in his mind. He waited patiently while they argued—what else was he going to do? The trio outside finally consented to enter his quarters, all frowns and pouts and radiating anger. It was really bad for his feng shui.
"Stand up." The male nurse spat out, looming over Jonathan as if he could possibly be intimidating. Jonathan complied, his lanky form easily eclipsing the shorter nurse and forcing him to take a step back. That was how you impose.
"Can I help you?" Jonathan asked them like they had just barged into his house while he was having company over for dinner.
Interruption indeed.
The female nurse stepped up, "I suppose you'll be happy to know you have clearance for your jacket to be removed."
"I suppose I will," he replied, suppressing a delighted smile. He turned so the straps were exposed to them, and they began tugging on the buckles, not bothering to be gentle. Ah, such was the life of a criminal.
The jacket slid down his arms, and a sigh rolled heavily from his lungs as he let it crumple unceremoniously to the floor and he twisted his arms about, refreshing his muscles and shaking out the kinks. His elbows popped audibly as he reveled in his newfound freedom and mobility, however small it was.
He turned back to the nurses as he rolled his shoulders forwards and backwards. The male nurse bent to retrieve the straightjacket, sloppily attempting to fold it.
"If you like, you now have access to the break room," muttered the female nurse, whose nametag read Amy. He turned his head and caught the glimmer of the guy's nametag—George.
"Thanks, I'll follow you two there." Amy gave a half sneer and turned on her heel, her auburn ponytail swishing above her slender shoulders. The security guard stood aside as he held the door open for them, and Jonathan followed her out, George bringing up the rear.
It was incredibly admirable that Elizabeth had somehow managed to convince the overseer that he was composed enough to not need the restraints after only one session. His menace, after all, had always laid not in his physical threats, but the mental. Basically, without his mask and fear-inducing chemicals, he was merely a promise of torment, or foreshadow of chaos.
They came upon the break room, and he recognized some of the occupants, thinking, suddenly, this might not be a place he wanted to be. How many would remember him, after all?
He glanced around the room, eyes roaming over vacant souls silently occupying chairs clustered around scattered tables, staring out windows, at televisions, at nothing. The nurses left his side, and he walked around the room, ignoring stares that were enraptured, paranoid, enraged, and insane. He almost didn't belong here. His thoughts declared the "almost" before his mind could assent. Almost didn't, how did he almost fit in? Because he didn't think like the respected nobles of Gotham? Because he wasn't completely compassionate, because his actions were vaguely or not so vaguely sadistic, and everyone else disagreed? Everyone had always disagreed, he mused as he sat in an unoccupied chair before the television.
"Dr. Crane?" Jonathan turned his head to look at the patient that spoke his name. A man with ragged blond hair and a rather large over bite hovered over him, a disturbed gleam in his eye.
"Yes?"
The man held out his hand eagerly, and Jonathan shook it. "Jarvis Tetch. Dr. Jarvis Tetch."
"Sure," Jonathan replied, not believing for a moment that Mr. Tech was an actual doctor. Jarvis took a seat in a chair beside him, his movement jerky like an excited dog.
"You're the master of fear I heard so much about. I myself used to experiment with mind- control; using microchips I placed in hats. I always admired your study of the crippling effects of fear."
"Really? Why thank you."
"Before I was thrown in here, I went by the surname of MadHatter." He looked up as a nurse passed, and didn't begin speaking again until they were out of hearing range. "You know, with your abilities with chemicals, and my vast knowledge in technology, we could literally bring Gotham to its knees with fear."
Jonathan couldn't help but laugh, but quickly sobered when his saw Jarvis's serious face, "Oh, you're serious?"
LATER THAT NIGHT
Soft lights twinkled in time with the music, which almost seemed to dance only in their minds under the steady thrum of human voices. Bruce dismissed himself from the assemblage of people he was conversing with to greet Elizabeth, who wandered in through the doors, looking like she was feeling slightly out of place. He approached her as Alfred took the pale coat that matched her slender white dress off her shoulders, and disappeared to hang it up. She smiled up at him as he held out his hand to introduce himself formally.
"Bruce Wayne."
"Dr. Elizabeth Lee," she replied, taking his hand. A maid passed by with a tray of drinks perched on her shoulder, and Bruce swept two off, scanning the room for any sign of Talia, who had yet to show up. He turned back to Elizabeth and offered her one of the flutes of champagne, who took it graciously.
"How are you doing tonight?"
"I'm doing fine, thank you. And yourself?"
"A little bored, honestly."
Elizabeth chuckled, then looked above and beyond him at the banner that had been strung across the beams of the ceiling. She pointed at it, and Bruce followed her gaze. "Usually, the host of the charity event states what it is for."
Bruce turned back to Elizabeth, smiling, "Usually people don't care, unfortunately." He took a sip of champagne; "A… friend of mine is traveling to the Middle East sometime this year. She's… rebuilding a couple of sites, and needs financial aid."
"Is this… friend of yours here tonight?" she asked, pausing before the words "friend" like he had.
"Well, I hope she will be," he replied, eyes scanning the room again. Her eyes followed his trail curiously.
"Forgive me, but I've never been to one of these events before. What exactly is it you normally do here?"
"Basically anything you can imagine that is utterly and completely stodgy."
Elizabeth chuckled, "Well, you have the music. I'm sure a little dancing would make things a little less dull."
Bruce grinned at her, dispensing his glass on the edge of a nearby table. Alfred appeared out of nowhere to slip a coaster under the glass before it touched the surface. "So it shall. Care to partake in the herding of the sheep?"
"Why not?" She laughed, placing her glass on a napkin.
Bruce took her hand in his and led her to the large open space beyond the tables. The guests stared in wonderment and awe as the two twirled and swayed, before one after another slipped into the graceful flow of trend.
"May I cut in?" Bruce turned to find Talia, her dark hair melting into a dark, shimmering dress. Elizabeth slid out of his arms, stepping back.
"Of course."
Talia stepped in, and they glided back into the rhythm.
"Ms. al Ghul, I was almost afraid you were going to stand me up."
"I was busy setting up the fireworks I want you to watch with me later tonight."
"Fireworks?" The music stopped, and they stood still, their arms still entwined. "Really, you shouldn't have."
"Oh, it was the least I could do to thank you for funding my project."
"Really?" Bruce let her arms slide out of his, and led her out to the table that Elizabeth had retreated to. "Have you met Dr. Elizabeth Lee? Dr. Lee, this is Ms. Talia a—ah, Moore. I'm sure you two will get along, you'll have to excuse me for one moment, I need to tell Alfred to open six more bottles of champagne."
Bruce departed, weaving in and out of the crowds until he found Alfred, who was rubbing a water stain off of a table.
"Alfred, can we have a moment in the study?"
"Of course, Master Bruce, let me just…" he started scrubbing a little more vigorously, before Bruce caught his arm.
"Now, Alfred."
Alfred straightened, his stern eyes wider than usual. "Absolutely." They retired to the unoccupied study, where Bruce closed the door behind him to ensure their privacy.
"You remember Henri Ducard?"
"Burnt the mansion down? Why yes, I believe I do recall."
"His daughter is here."
"She doesn't plan on burning it down as well, does she?"
"I don't know, but she's up to something." He rubbed his forehead and opened a drawer to reveal a half- empty bottle of scotch.
"That's where you put it—."
"The thing is, she knows about the Bat cave." He said after a generous swallow of the dark liquid.
"She knows who you are, sir?"
"And I don't know how, unless her father told her the same night he…"
"You do have a plan, right?"
"I need you to just secure all entrances to the cave. I'd like to kick everyone out, but she's got a tight finger on a hairpin trigger. Did I mention there are bombs around the mansion?"
Alfred seemed to grow another wrinkle as his brow creased with worry. "I'm afraid not." He removed the bottle from Bruce's hand, guiding him to the door. "You go and appease the mistress. I'll do what I can to hold off whatever impending doom might apply to this evening."