Follies of Fate
Chapter 5
It took me fifteen minutes to remove Harley Quinn's costume and another fifteen to get her re-dressed in my clothes. They didn't really fit her and her outfit didn't really fit me. She was altogether more hour glass than I was so the stretchy body suit left something to be desired over my bust and hips.
Plus her shoes were too small.
Finished with the 'look-swap' I handcuffed Quinn and dragged her unconscious deadweight into the corner behind the wine barrel where I had been hiding, tucking her legs up to her chest so it looked like she was resting her forehead on her bent knees. As an afterthought I gagged her, because everyone knew Harley Quinn had a set of lungs on her that could outdo an opera singer.
Using the light from the door and the torch she had brought in with her I rummaged my way through her bag and did a little victory dance at what I found.
That big pop gun she used, miscellaneous crap, and actual gun and most importantly…
Make Up.
A ghost white cake of powder, white face paint, black lipstick and a whole selection of mascara and eyeliners. She had a little mirror in her bag as well but it was pretty obvious this was intended for touch ups and not full face application. I did the best I could though, with limited light and even less experience in looking like the clown queen of Gotham.
When I was finished and had put on the final touches it wasn't so bad an impersonation, the mask defiantly helped as it covered a lot of my face. I couldn't see the overall look but checking myself and scrutinising my make-up in the little mirror I figured it would be ok so long as I didn't run into anyone who looked particularly close.
Besides, if anyone took an interest I was screwed. I didn't have Harleys big baby blues or her heart shaped pout to go with the black lipstick.
I just had to keep my head down and hope no one asked me any questions.
Slinging Harley's bag over my shoulder I double checked her gun to make sure it was loaded and the safety was off before I took my final step towards the big steel door that stood between me and whatever horrors awaited.
I reminded myself to breathe, put my hand on the latch, not the doorknob, that was still buzzing with its electrified hum, and tugged.
The door creaked open and I stepped out into the brightly lit room beyond.
There wasn't anyone there and it wasn't really a room. More like a tiny corridor space at the bottom of some stairs leading up into what I was now certain was a manor. Someone had shoved a table and chair up against the wall by the door and Harley had obviously been halfway through a sandwich when I'd distracted her with all the noise I was making.
I closed and locked the big steel doors behind me, checking myself one more time in better light before I made my way cautiously up the stairs.
They were old brick and the staircase wasn't much wider than a person. The whole thing felt suspiciously like a horror movie, inclusive of the grungy single globe somewhere near the top of the staircase that flickered every now and again.
A few years ago I would have been creeped out. Terrified by the way the brick nearly crumbled under my feet and dreading whatever was going to greet me up top.
Now I was just acutely aware that Harley's shoes pinched like a bitch.
As I ascended the stairs I ran over a few Harleyesque phrases, working my way through 'puddin'' 'Mista J' and 'I'm not even a real blonde!' until I was somewhat happy with the sound of it.
Truth was I wasn't that good at it…
Actually I was shit at it. I'd just have to stick to laughing manically, pouting and hitting people with giant mallets.
There was a door at the top of the stairs, or at least a half broken rotting excuse for a door that was partway open. A soft light streamed through it, pale and natural in comparison to the dim light from the stairwell. Moonlight, I decided.
I didn't open the door straight away, instead backing myself into a corner and staring out through the chunks missing in the sodden wood, holding myself steady until I was sure there wasn't anyone on the other side waiting for Harley Quinn to come back up.
Beyond this staircase I had expected a kitchen. I didn't have much experience with manors but a kitchen seemed an appropriate attachment to a cellar staircase. So you can imagine my surprise when what I saw through my peep hole was a remarkably dilapidated corridor lined with paintings.
Pushing the door open I eased myself out and then just sort of stood there for a minute, taking in the absolute creep-fest that surrounded me.
I was standing in a photo gallery of sorts, a long hallway that had been lined with portraits and landscape pictures in all variety of sizes. The pale light was indeed the moon, streaming in from the broken and cracked floor to ceiling windows that were evenly spaced along the outside wall of the manor.
The door I'd come out of wasn't really a door. Well, it was, but it had been hidden over with an oil painting of a regal looking woman sitting primly on a throne like chair. Her dress looked almost Elizabethan and her big doe eyes were locked on a spot somewhere in the distance. Her face had begun to flake away from so much time and neglect and someone had taken painstaking care to smear a smile back on her face in bright red spray paint.
I presumed the Joker.
To my left the corridor continued until it hit a corner and to my right I could see the faint glow of lights. I decided going right was a stupid idea considering the age old anecdote of dying people 'heading towards the light' so turned left instead and crept my way along the dingy, fraying red carpet.
The other paintings along the hall were in equal state of disrepair and peering out the windows I spotted two things.
One, I was on the second floor. This meant I probably wasn't going to be able to climb out the window to the ground below unless I wanted a broken leg tonight.
Two, the manor was surrounded by the overgrown remains of what would have been a once lovely garden, which meant Ivy probably had a lot of plants acting as security.
On the horizon I could faintly make out the hue of light pollution that I knew came along with Gotham and I swore quietly, admitting to myself there was no way I could run back before someone noticed the absence of Quinn.
So what then? What was the plan Kate? Think, think, think.
Joker, Ivy and whoever else was here had to have gotten out of the city somehow. None of them would have walked, which meant there had to still be cars on the property. If I could get to one I could hotwire it…maybe. I hadn't done that since I was still living at home in hoe-dunk nowhere and Maddie had lost the keys to the car in the duck pond. I was hoping the skill was like riding a bicycle, something you never forgot and was fundamentally the same no matter which type of bike you got on.
I got the sick kind of feeling I was wrong but considering my only other option was to beat up on goons until I found the one with the keys I figured it was worth a try.
As I headed along the corridor, avoiding broken glass and trying not to wince every time my foot landed on a squeaky floorboard I began to realise how quiet this place was. It was eerily silent for a plot being run by the Joker. Usually he would have decked the halls in gunpowder and snapping fake teeth but the only sign I'd seen of him had been the macabre smile on the Elizabethan woman's face and even that had been remarkably subdued.
It made me nervous. This wasn't his usual calling card. I didn't like him changing up the program on me when I had spent so long keeping myself alive by sidestepping his old M.O.
Taking a deep breath I turned the corner and spotted the top end of a staircase that I presumed lead down a level. I inched towards it, crouched low and stepping carefully right up until the moment I glanced down at my feet and remembered what I was wearing.
Harley Quinn wouldn't sneak around this place. She'd walk around like she owned it. There was no point taking the precaution of looking like her if I didn't try to act like her. If someone saw me bent double and pressing myself against walls to avoid detection they'd be suspicious even before they got a really good look at me.
I straightened, rolled my shoulders and gave myself a pep talk along the lines of 'I can do this' and 'you've got this Kate'. It worked about as well as telling an ice-cube it wouldn't melt in the summer sun.
Clearing my throat I shook myself, gripped the gun tight in one hand and made myself stride around the corner and down the remainder of the corridor, like I owned this damn manor and I'd knock out anyone who told me different.
My confidence was actually a little boosted when no one came running to shoot at me and I exhaled when I got to the stairs. Looking down the slightly broken up grand staircase I realised I was standing above the greeting area for this particular manor. There were no guards to be seen and about ten steps from the bottom of the stairs was a huge set of double doors that were no doubt the front entrance.
My head instinctively tried to lay out where the back door would be in relation to the front before I once again reminded myself what I currently looked like. I steeled myself and plastered what I hoped was a huge, creepy smile on my painted lips.
I was going to walk out the fucking front door.
I put my hand on the balustrade and began plotting my route down the dangerously worn stairs where there was a very light 'ka-thump' from behind me followed by a creaking floorboard.
I didn't even have time to scream before I was grabbed by the back of the neck and catapulted down the corridor from which I'd come.
The landing knocked the wind out of my lungs and the gun out of my hand, sending the world spinning as white dots crowded into my vision. I wheezed and got myself up on my elbows just in time to face the swarming surge of black shadow that descended on me.
I gasped, threw a hand out in front of me and tried to say something, anything to stop him. He got to me first, his hand locking around my neck and squeezing so hard he choked the words out before they surfaced.
I was lifted bodily from the floor and slammed into the wall, my shoulders connecting with the wood so hard everything in me rattled. I screamed but around his closed hand it came out like a desperate gasp.
One heartbeat, two, three. My lungs burned and I clawed at his arm, thrashed my feet which were dangling an inch off the floor as he lent in so close I could almost see the shape of his eyes behind the glassed out inserts in his mask. He opened his mouth to speak, to growl at me and finally my vocal chords caught a millimetre of space and I managed to get a single word out in a desperate little rasp.
"Br…uce!"
He froze, his whole form tensing and for a horrible second his hand tightened further. Then the pressure was gone and I could suddenly breathe again. My feet connected with the floor heavily as he stepped back and I heaved air into my lungs, coughing and choking and losing my balance so badly I ended up on my knees.
"Kate?"
I nodded, coughed, and nodded some more.
"Yes" I wheezed out, struggling back to my feet and fetching my gun. It was an autopilot move, one that I'd taught myself over the years. First thing to do was either run or retrieve your weapon, in this situation I chose to re-arm myself.
"How long have you…"
I assume that he was going to finish that sentence with 'been here' but he never got the chance. There was a thudding noise, a yell and a clown faced man appeared just on the edge of my vision coming up the staircase.
Time seemed to slow down and I saw in perfect clarity as the man's face twisted in recognition of the Batman and he reached down to draw his gun. Batman turned, his hand going to his belt and with absolutely no instruction from my brain my arms raised themselves, took aim and squeezed off a shot.
The deafening boom from the pistol roared through the manor and blood exploded from the goons shoulder, the force of the bullet jolting him sideways and back towards the stairs. He lost his footing and tumbled down with a series of cracks, thumps and screams all the way to the bottom.
That's when the yelling really started. A cacophony of voices rising up as guards took notice and presumably hauled ass to the upstairs corridor where Batman and I were standing.
The Dark Knight's lips firmed in a disapproving line and I realised I might have just spoiled his element of surprise. I was on the verge of apologising when the annoyance hit me and I narrowed my eyes at him instead. I'd just pulled off a damn good shot on the fly and maybe, probably not, but maybe, saved his ass from copping a bullet. It would have been nice if he didn't look so damn pissy about it.
I didn't get long to contemplate this thought, partly because of the horde of at least ten men that came trooping up the stairs, but mainly because Batman tossed a look my way that just screamed 'I have an idea'.
As was the case in the majority of our encounters, when Batman had an idea I wasn't asked my opinion on it, I was just suddenly a part of it. I would admit usually it was for my betterment but very rarely did he act with my comfort in mind.
Tonight was no different.
Batman rushed me just as the first couple of men made it to the top of the stairs. I yelped as he came at me, head ducked and moving far too fast for me to get out of the way as he rammed his shoulder into me. To his credit he didn't hit full force, he sort of just locked himself in and pushed hard enough to send me tumbling backwards. I connected with the remains of the window behind me and found myself suddenly in the air barrelling down the two story drop.
I screamed.
I screamed so loud my throat hurt and I kept screaming until the noise was yanked out of me with a jolt that stopped me about a few feet off the grass.
The world jumped, spun and swung back and forth just as my brain kicked back into gear and I realised I'd just been pushed out a window!
"You asshole!" I screamed out, the word being accompanied with an 'oomph' as I smacked into the outside manor wall.
The Batman had caught my ankles in one of his hi-tech rope gadgets, luckily fastening it to something up top before I hit the ground. I would have to thank him for being quick enough not to let me actually hit.
I decided I would thank him while I was beating him with something.
Above me I could hear the tell-tale signs of a fight. Grunting and screaming and gunshots that turned the quiet night swinging around me into an action-adventure movie soundtrack. Now all we needed was some stirring music.
Two minutes later the noises stopped and I strained to look up at the window from my upside down hanging state to see Batman lean out and look at me. I glared up at him, about to demand he let me loose when he cut me off.
"Stay there"
…and then he was gone.
I stared up at the window, open mouthed and wide eyed in disbelief for a good half a minute before a long and loud variety of curses exploded out of me and I thrashed against the ankle bonds so hard I ended up hitting the wall again, this time with my face.
Swaying back around so I was looking out at the dilapidated garden I glared at everything and ground my teeth, trying to ignore the throbbing sensation of blood rushing to my head.
"God! You are such an asshole Wayne!" I hissed out into the nothingness.
You would think me finding out who he was would improve how we dealt with each other. But no, that though would be massively wrong. Things were still…tense.
Unfortunately, as seemed to be the trend in my life, the discovery had only served to make everything even more disastrous…
One Week Ago…
Mr. Lucius Fox was looking for a secretary.
I was pretty sure he was quite important at Wayne Industries but I had no idea who exactly he was or what it was he did other than he ran a lot of Bruce Wayne's business affairs. Apparently finding him a secretary wasn't all that important though because it only got him a small ad towards the back of the Sunday paper.
I had ignored it at first, knowing someone that high profile would never take me on. Then ten minutes later I had remembered a news article that had been a feature on TV a while ago about Wayne Industries long running support programs for ex-cons and rehabilitated asylum patients.
I had pondered that if Wayne Industries was willing to take on those of society who had done wrong, perhaps they would be willing to take on someone of my position as well.
It didn't need to necessarily be as a secretary to Lucius Fox. I would take any job they offered. Filing, paperwork, janitorial. Anything they had I would take. I just needed a job and I needed it fast.
Which is how I came to be standing at the front desk of the main Wayne Industries building in the center of Gotham. There were about thirty of us, most of whom were young women all standing around primping themselves and giggling to each other in clumps.
I'd kept my head down as clipboards were handed out with questionnaires of our personal details and studiously filled mine in without making eye contact with anyone.
I had never felt so far away as I did right now surrounded by people who could go about the normal process of getting a job. They could fill their forms in with ease while I felt like I was signing my own death warrant just by writing my name.
The girl beside me whispered something to her friend and they both giggled, flicking their hair and exchanging knowing glances. For a minute my paranoia spiked and I wondered if they'd recognised me, were laughing at me, before I reminded myself that that was a self destructive way to think and went back to my form.
I was part way through wondering why there were so many pretty girls here when a sudden shiver of anticipation ran through everyone and a woman in clothing that I thought might had been starched a few too many times strode out through a set of wide, decorative doors. She cleared her throat with enough force to have everyone standing to attention and me shrinking back into the crowd before she addressed the mass of people hovering around.
"Good Morning and welcome to Wayne Industries." She announced in a voice that commanded attention despite her small stature. "As many of you know the position available today is for Mr. Lucius Fox. No doubt many of you are wondering why we have not simply taken your resumes and given you call backs as would be normal."
Actually yes, I had been wondering, but I had also been thankful. Submitting a resume ahead of time got me ignored, rejected or laughed at. At least this way I might have half a shot at pleading my case.
"As it stands the position is rather unusual. Mr. Fox requires someone of a particular nature, which cannot be assessed through a simple resume. Thus, each of you will be having an interview with the board. If you are successful or require another interview you will receive a call back on the number you have listed on your forms." She clasped her hands behind her back pursed her lips. "We will be conducting the interviews by alphabetical order. Please form an orderly group and follow me"
We all formed up and I felt suspiciously like I was back in primary school as we were marched through the building and herded into elevators which took us to the eleventh floor.
Once there we were shown to a waiting room with nothing much else other than enough chairs and a pot plant that needed water and some sunlight. The whole room, along with the plant, looked sad.
Everyone sat down around the place and almost instantly the first young woman was called in. I sighed and set in for the long haul, aware that there weren't a lot of names that came after 'S', so I would probably be one of the last ones to be taken through.
Sure enough, three hours later, I was still sitting there with the ever dwindling group of applicants. In that time I had played more phone games than I thought possible, written down everything I was going to say. Re-written it because the first attempt came out needy and desperate and solved the mystery of why so many women were here.
According to a girl named Desiree with two 'e's' the great, handsome, famous, handsome, capable, handsome and intelligent Mr. Wayne himself was going to be present. Did I mention he was handsome? I had no idea how she came to have this information but several of the other girls confirmed it with nods and affirmation.
One of them even went so far to surmise that the position was actually a secretary for him, which is why it was all so hush hush and the process had been so different to usual.
I wondered how disappointed Desiree with two 'e's' would be if she walked into that room and found a bunch of gristled old men hunched over her credentials debating her typing speed. Personally I thought the picture in my head of her pouting so hard her face split was hilarious. But I kept that to myself.
However having an interview with Wayne himself suited my interests just fine. I would have a chance to talk to the big boss. Bruce Wayne had a reputation of being a bit of self-absorbed pretty-boy but perhaps he would have enough time and interest in the little guys of Gotham to hear me out.
Another half hour passed before it was finally my turn and my stomach did a little flip flop.
"Miss Strider?"
I looked up hopefully and met the eyes of the same steely secretary that had taken my details a few hours before and nodded.
"Yes?" I stood, smoothing my pants down and holding tight to the leather folder I'd packed with all my certificates and spare copies of my resume. I'd been clutching it like a lifeline since I got here. The secretary thinned her lips like she had a bad taste in her mouth.
"I'm sorry Miss Strider, but the position is no longer available." She said it with an odd little wince, raising her chin.
The bottom fell out of my stomach and my shoulders dropped.
"Oh…" I pulled my binder to my chest and tried to keep a straight face, nodding in understanding. "Well. Thank you for your time." I don't know why I said that. It came out of my mouth at the end of every interview, or at the end of the long wait for the interview.
They never gave me any time, but I thanked them for it anyway.
The secretary nodded tautly and stepped back, gesturing for the door, dismissing me. A curl of anger started up in my gut and I swallowed it hard.
She wasn't being openly unpleasant. She was just delivering the news. I couldn't get angry at her for it, especially when my reaction had a lot to do with the chip on my shoulder.
Considering my history here in Gotham I was used to being treated with sympathy, open dislike or being fearfully ignored. Most of it I had learned to cope with, but sometimes I mistook bravery covering their fear as open hostility.
I turned, scooped my handbag up onto my shoulder and walked stiffly to the exit, pulling the door open and stepping out.
"Miss Desiree Tetley? Please come through."
I'd gotten into the hallway, the door was very nearly shut behind me when the secretary called the next girl for her interview.
I felt ice leach into my veins.
The door clicked closed.
Taking a deep breath I considered leaving. I could do it, just walk out of here. I didn't need to turn back into the room and ask any questions. I didn't need clarification that I'd just been metaphorically smacked in the face.
…but I did.
Partly because I needed this chance so damn badly, and partly because I took shit from every damn supervillain in Gotham. I couldn't control that. But I could sure as hell control the shit I took from everyone else.
Straightening I took another breath and swung back, pushing open the door and surveying the room at large before letting my eyes settle on the secretary who was waiting patiently at the door for Miss Deriree with two 'e's' Tetley to make it up from her chair. Miss Tetley seemed to be having some trouble coordinating standing with all the hazardous looks she was throwing my way after my grand entrance.
I cleared my throat and strode forward so I was standing right in front of the now steely faced secretary.
"I thought the position was unavailable." I said as steadily as I could manage.
The secretary glanced my way, eyes widening and another wince taking over her features.
"It is." She got it out with a remarkably even voice considering she looked like she wanted to run away. I stared her down.
"Then may I ask why you are still conducting interviews?" I held my leather binder tucked against my chest in the hopes no one would notice how tight I was holding onto it. The secretary looked pale as she straightened her shoulders and drew in a long breath, the cogs working in her brain to come up with something other than what I suspected was 'You're too dangerous to employ'.
"Your resume was reviewed Miss Strider, and it was deemed inappropriate."
I had to admit, that was certainly a creative way of saying it. It was far more sensitive than a lot of other people had afforded me.
But this was Wayne Industries. Wayne Industries took in ex-criminals, bankrupt socialites and patients declared sane from Arkham. Wayne industries was one of my last hopes and even if I didn't get the PA job for Fox I needed to speak to someone who could help me.
I needed to.
"What was inappropriate about it?" I asked flatly. The secretary was looking displeased now. I could feel every eye in the room boring a hole in my back but I kept my chin up as she chose her words carefully and answered me.
"I am not at liberty to say."
"Then who may I speak to that is?" I shot back almost before the words had finished coming out of her mouth. She flinched and I noticed for the first time that she was gripping her hands together so tightly her knuckles had gone white.
"I'm not at liberty to say."
"Right." Without allowing my head to catch up to my actions I shoved past her, hard, pushing her back from the doorway that lead to the phantom room full of phantom people that didn't think I was 'suitable' for the job. I'd had it. Enough was enough.
I needed this chance or I wouldn't have anywhere to live in a week.
Throwing the door open I was taken aback by the small office on the other side. I had expected something large and ornate, but this office was barely big enough to fit a desk and a set of chairs. There was a window behind the desk and the light from it outlined the large man sitting staring at a file on his table.
As I stepped through the door he looked up, a smile on his handsome face that disappeared as soon as he realised I wasn't Miss Tetley.
My heart stopped.
My breath hitched in my throat.
The world slowed down as I stared at the twin set of his dark blue eyes. His lips thinned to a line for just a second and I knew it was him, because the lower part of his face was his face.
"You…" I gasped out with the last of the air in my lungs. The secretary burst in behind me and grabbed at my arm, trying to pull me back. It didn't work, I was rooted to the spot fixated on the man before me.
"Mr. Wayne, I'm so sorry. I did tell her but she forced her way past me."
My breath came back hard and fast and I was so taken back by the way my brain shut down completely that I didn't realise I was getting close to hyperventilating.
"You…" I repeated, a little more force behind it this time.
"It's alright Mrs Rainer, you may leave. I'll handle this." Mr. Wayne said with a smile, ignoring the secretary's objections as he stared back at me with an intensity that should have sent my knees and lower lip wobbling.
It didn't.
The secretary left.
"I'm sorry Miss…" Wayne trailed off and made a show of rifling through the folders on his desk as though he was looking for mine.
"You bastard."
He stiffened at my breathy curse and looked up, his brows furrowing in what was probably meant to look like offense. I searched his face for something to prove my sudden realisation wrong, but all I got was more of him. "You've known me for years." I blinked rapidly and realised my eyes were leaking. I didn't bother stopping it.
"Miss, I can assure you I don't…" He raised his hands as though he was surrendering and I cut him off.
"Don't you fucking dare!" I hissed it out and saw the cut I made in his careful façade, watched the way his shoulders squared and his smile vanished completely from his face. There was a long pause where I glared at him and waited for him to try and deny it again. He didn't.
"Kate…"
My composure broke so quickly it left me shaking and the tears dripping off my chin past gritted teeth. I didn't know what to say.
So I threw my leather binder at him. He ducked with the practiced ease.
Damn him.
"Kate." He tried again. I had to fist my hands so tight I could feel my nails cutting into my palms just to stop myself from following my binder across the room so I could punch his pretty-boy face. I closed my eyes tight and took as many deep breaths as I could suck through my teeth.
I felt a hand slip onto my shoulder and I flinched away from it.
"Don't you touch me!" I barked out, shaking my head into my fingers. "I'm such and idiot." I opened my eyes and twisted to look at him. His lips were tipped into a small frown, his hand still half way poised to my shoulder. He dropped it back to his side. "Why didn't I see it? Every magazine with your face on it, every interview. I just walked straight past the news stand, changed the channel, but you were right there!" I pressed on, my voice catching as I stared up at him.
Bruce Wayne didn't look like he was feeling much of anything, his face plastered with an emotionless mask.
I imagined that was the way he looked under his cowl every night.
It was at this point that something remarkable occurred to me, something that made my blood boil.
"You…" I opened my mouth, closed it, then yo-yo'd my way from furious to hurt and back again. "You knew me! You knew what I was going through, how much trouble I was in trying to get by and you…" I paced, walking away from him then circling back around so I was facing him off an inch from his nose. "You sent me away!" I threw my arms in the air, surprising myself with how loud it came out. "You could have helped me anytime you wanted and you just…you just didn't!"
"I was going to ask you to come back. When it wasn't an interview with me" Bruce explained quietly, seemingly unfazed by my outburst. His voice dropped a few octaves, turning into a tone I was oh so familiar with. Of course. That made sense. He probably figured up close and personal like this there was a chance I would recognise him.
God forbid I should know who he was.
I shook my head, clutched it for a minute, then whipped my hand out across his face so quick and hard I nearly threw myself off balance with the force of it.
Smack.
Like slapping an inanimate object. I was pretty sure I did more damage to my hand than I did to his face but god almighty did it feel good. It was like that one action suddenly opened the flood gates and something went 'pop' inside me. The words rose like a tidal wave and I couldn't hold them behind my teeth.
"That's not what I meant!" I screeched, shoving against his chest. "You had every opportunity to help me every other fucking day and you didn't! You could have gotten me out of here, could have given me a job, you could have told me the truth or helped me prepare so I wasn't scrambling around like a broken supervillans play thing!" I shoved him again.
This time he took a step back, though I wasn't sure if he did it because I'd put enough force behind the shove or he was trying to placate me.
"All those times I stood in the firing line because you told me too, waited as bait because you told me too. I was afraid and lonely and desperate and you were sitting in your mansion chewing on caviar and attending parties!" I raked my hands through my hair, gripping it at the roots and trying to stop the tears still steaming over my cheeks. "I have nothing left! My family barely talks to me; I don't have any friends, no job, no money, and the person I'm supposedly 'best buddies' with is you!"
It tumbled out of me until eventually I ran out of words. I let out a half-baked wail like screech and bent over double.
"I hate you!"
And just like that I ran out of steam, my shoulders drooping and my breath coming out in long puffs. The force of my tears subsided though they still blurred my vision as they leaked out and I swayed upright, feeling everything go kind of…slack. For lack of anything better to do with myself I looked up at him.
At Bruce Wayne.
At Batman.
He actually looked… Upset? Maybe sad? It was hard to tell.
"I never wanted you to hurt like this Kate." He said after a minute, a remarkable and unexpected tenderness laced into his voice.
"That makes two of us." I managed to mumble out, shaking my head to try and clear the fuzziness. The knot in my throat was making it hard to swallow and I found the only thing I could do was let out a slightly hysterical laugh to dislodge it. "You know the other day I caught myself wishing you wouldn't show up next time something happened. I figured that maybe if you stopped coming to my rescue people would get bored and stop using me." I shrugged my shoulders, noting how heavy they felt and laughed through my tears again. "I think after today I'm ready to trial that plan."
Wayne actually flinched before his face rested back to impassive.
"Do you really?" He asked, picking his words carefully but not masking his lack of faith in my suggested course of action. He needn't have bothered being gentle about it. I was too drained now to get angry at his assumption that I couldn't take care of myself.
He was wrong.
"Either I die and it's all over or I get away without your help enough times that everyone gets bored and forgets what I look like." I wiped my face on my jacket sleeve, upset that I had destroyed my makeup. I'd spent so long getting it right this morning it was such a shame to see it in ruins over something as ridiculous as finding out who Batman was.
At least Desiree with two 'e's' would be happy. She and her groupies had been right.
"You don't have to worry. I won't tell anyone who you are." I said softly, nodding at him like I was acknowledging him for the first time since I'd entered the office. There was a weighted pause and before he could speak again I dismissed myself with another nod, turning on my heel and striding out of there with my chin up.
However, as strong as I managed to be while I was leaving, I was a mess as soon as I got out of the building. I cried on the way home, which frustrated me and that frustration turned quickly into anger. So by the time I stepped through my front door I was full to the point of bursting with so many different emotions I didn't know what to do with myself.
So I found the three quarter empty bottle of vodka stashed in the kitchen cupboard where I kept the pots and pans, took it down and drank it on an empty stomach.
The rest of that night was a bit of a blur.
My legs and ankles were on fire from the strain dangling upside down put on them and the throbbing in my temple had turned into a constant ache that swelled behind my eyes every time my heart thumped.
I wondered if Batman had considered how long it would take for all the blood rushing to my head to knock me out. He probably had. He probably had it on a schedule.
Too bad I was going to ruin his timeframe.
Straining up I tried to remember the mantras from the few Pilates videos I'd seen about core strength and pushing through the ache to achieve your goals. Apparently it worked better than I had given it credit for because a moment later I was messing with the ties around my ankles, still swaying.
Batman hadn't used as high tech of a gadget as I'd thought, he was probably saving those for the bad guys. Lucky for me, because that meant it only took two attempts and so much effort I had started shaking like a chiwawa as my muscles fatigued for the ropes to come free.
Of course this meant that I was dropped unceremoniously on my ass from several feet off the ground but hell, I wasn't going to complain.
I lay there for a while, contemplating the sky, the world at large and the realisation that I swore a lot. I never used to swear this much but for a few years now I couldn't seem to keep the bad words from tumbling out of my mouth. It wasn't, as my mother would say, 'ladylike'.
Fuck ladylike.
I dragged myself onto all fours and waited for the dizzy and sick feeling to pass before I attempted standing. I made it all the way up, which I decided was good news. A few deep breaths got the white dots out of my field of vision and a few more helped my wobbly legs straighten up.
While Batman had told me to stay put I was determined to get out of here of my own volition. I'd had a good plan, it had been going well and if I kept going there was a chance I would get home before the police showed up.
I would have to give a statement eventually but I'd spent so much time down at the station most of the cops knew how I liked my coffee and all I wanted right now was a shower and some sleep. No way would I get either of those things for hours if Jim found me out here.
Straightening up and adjusting my mask and headgear I took one last deep breath, silently bemoaned the loss of Harley's bag and gun and strode out through the garden with purpose.
Following the house wall around I found myself back at the front where the big double doors would have opened up too if I had made it to them. Laid out in a semicircle around the front entrance of the manor was a series of cars that had been re-modelled to suit their respective owners. I couldn't decide if I should laugh at the personalised paint jobs and specialty interiors of the vehicles or feel sick at the realisation of just how many of Gotham's bad people were actually here.
Ivy's sleek red convertible was present, along with the slightly banged up town car that had probably been expensive before someone had gotten at it with red and purple paint and slopped a huge red smile on its front bumper. There were others, a huge hummer with claw marks all over the steering wheel and panels that made me think of Killer Croc, a torn up BMW that had once been beautiful before Scarecrow started haunting it, and a sleek black unmarked car that looked completely ordinary.
My gut turned over at I stared at that particular car.
It didn't look like it belonged with the others but I had a sneaking suspicion that it hadn't been remodelled yet to suit its occupant. If I was right, and I was hoping I wasn't, pretty soon one side of that car would be scratched up, torn apart and forced back together again in a scarred attempt to match it perfectly polished counterpart.
The goons that had probably been guarding the cars were nowhere in sight and upon further, quiet and sneaky, investigation I found the front door to the manor had been left part way ajar. These guys might have been the group that had attacked Batman and I at the top of the stairs.
What an odd twist of luck.
I picked the black car that I was hoping against all hopes didn't belong to Two Face and headed for it, weaving my way through the vehicles as quietly as I could. I knew I was meant to still be playing Harley but my nerves had worn themselves out and I was starting to feel the fear I'd kept shoved down rising up in my throat again.
The car door was unlocked, which was good.
There were no keys in the ignition, which was bad.
Just in case I checked the other cars and found the same thing. All open, none with keys. Either the big bads didn't trust their minions with the car keys or the goons still had them somewhere inside the manor.
I looked over at the manor and debated how much I wanted to go back in there to check the probably unconscious men that would be strewn around the front hall and up the stairs. A high pitched scream from inside and a few gunshots later I decided I wasn't keen enough.
The town car was still my best bet but I realised as soon as I sat down in the driver's seat there was no way I was going to be able to hotwire it. For starters it was this year's brand new model, which meant it would no doubt have more alarms and locking mechanisms on it than Arkham Asylum. Secondly my only experience with this had been a rusted old truck that probably would have started if I'd used the handle of a teaspoon as a key.
Looked like despite my reservations I was going back inside.
Reaching up I flicked down the driver's side sun visor to check my clown make-up, hoping that if I was spotted by a bad guy they may not pay any attention to me, and jumped ten feet in the air when a jangling ball of metal fell into my lap.
When my heart rate had calmed down I stared in shock at the jingling mass that just so happened to be a set of keys.
No way.
I picked the keys up and jammed one of them in the ignition, turning it and whooping joyously when the engine rolled over in a smooth start and purred happily. Victory!
I was part way through a fist pump when quite a few things happened all at once.
There was an earth shattering, soul shaking, car-alarm-setting-off 'BOOM' as the upper right hand window of the manor exploded out in a fireball so big it lit up the garden like the sun. The fire pulled back to lick at the rotting remains of the manor walls just in time for me to see a man shaped projectile fly out backwards, pushed by the force of the blast, in a perfect arch.
My brain didn't have time to establish if the figure was Batman or not before it landed with a sickening 'slam-thunk-crunch' right on my windshield.
I made a noise kind of like a banshee and ducked down just in time to avoid the tiny fragments of glass that managed to escape the broken windshield and fly into the car cabin. It took me a full minute to righten myself so I could do a damage assessment.
I was fine. No cuts, bruises or missing important parts.
The guy on my windshield was a whole other story.
I contemplated putting the car in reverse and flooring it fast enough to just knock the man off the front of the car but my conscience deemed that an inappropriate course of action so I very carefully popped open my door and stepped out just enough to get a better look at the possibly-dead-man.
You can imagine my surprise when I came to realise that not only was he not dead, but he was also looking at me with slitted, sunken beetle-black eyes rimmed with smeared and dripping white face paint.
Well crap. Of all the villains in all the world to fall on my getaway car, it had to be Joker.
His lips curled in a smile made red with lipstick and blood as he blinked at me through the ash clinging to his eyelashes and the cuts splitting his face.
"H…harl…ey" He coughed, spluttered, laughed and I wondered if I had enough time to beat my conscious into submission and run him over.
I didn't get a chance, because he moved and it took me by surprise.
How he managed to move was a mystery to me, considering how broken he'd have to have been from the explosion and the fall, but he moved all the same, snatching at my arm and holding my wrist in a vice like grip as he tried to haul himself off the car.
"What are you do…oing out here? You should be…inside…yo…missin' the party" The Joker cackled and for the first time in quite a while I was afraid of him. He was shattered all over, his right arm hanging limp and useless at his side and red seeping out through the tattered and singed remains of his suit. His face was a mix of paint, blood and quickly developing bruises and the more I looked him over the icier my veins ran.
When I didn't respond to him he tugged at my arm and his look twisted to rage.
"Were you running away?" His voice dropped, grated against damaged vocal chords and anger and I clenched my jaw.
No.
Fuck him. The words weren't for me but the answer was a huge, loud, resounding no.
I wasn't going to run away.
Stepping around the car door I kept my eyes on him, jerked my hand hard enough for his grip to falter and give out and felt a slightly crazy smile seep onto my face.
"Sorry Joker." I was proud of how even my voice came out. It almost sounded dangerous, malicious, violent. "Wrong girl." His face twisted in confusion right as I pulled my arm back, aimed, and punched him square in the nose with everything I had.
The resulting impact hurt. But by the sickening 'crunch' and high pitched squeal, I could only assume it hurt him a shit load more than it hurt me.
This time there was no cut on my forehead, no champagne bottle at my neck and no blue dress to ruin.
This time it was just me, him, and the satisfied smirk on my face as I broke his nose.
It felt good.
Authors Note: Gasssp! Another chapter! I've actually grown really attached to Kate, I know this is a small fic and it's probably not what anyone reading it suspected it would be but I've really enjoyed writing it.
Read and Review, it makes me smile.