Just Sign on the Dotted Line

The clear metal doorbell rang loudly throughout Wayne Manor, bringing a kind-looking older man in a well-kept suit to the large oak front doors. The doors swung open, and a teenage boy flung himself into the arms of his welcoming butler.

"Alfred! I missed you so much!" Bruce pulled away from him, only to hug Alfred again, ecstatic to see him.

"I missed you too, Master Bruce. It's good to see you back home where you belong. I'm just happy to see you're safe after all that mess that went down in the city."

"I'll tell you all about it. Is there a chance dinner is being served soon?"

Alfred laughed and said mischievously, "Dinner was half an hour ago, I'm afraid. Guess you'll just have to wait 'till morn, then."

Bruce rolled his eyes, walking from the foyer to the kitchen. "Nice try, Alfred. Soup is fine by me."

His butler followed, chuckling. "Coming right up, Master B."

….

About halfway through his meal, Alfred finally began to grill him for the details of his recent adventures, mostly the one still being reported all over the news.

"It wasn't nearly as exciting as the media is making it out to be." Bruce mumbled through a mouthful of homemade cheddar and broccoli soup. "Really, all Jeremiah and I did was sit on the stage and look scared. Jim handled everything after that." Even though that wasn't really true, he didn't feel as though his butler needed the nitty-gritty of how he'd talked Jerome out of suicide. He hadn't even done that much. Looked worried and cracked a shitty joke. Clearly, the dude wasn't super high maintenance. So he just told Alfred the basics of what had happened onstage.

But the butler wasn't satisfied. "So what was Jeremiah like? Is he as insane as Jerome? Do they really look that similar up close? I mean sure, the boy's too young to have a combover like that, but I'm going to guess that's the only thing Jerome's one-upped him on."

Bruce lightly smack Alfred on the shoulder and laughed, "Jeremiah's hair is fine. He doesn't go out much anyways. He's a bit reclusive, honestly. The quiet type for sure, nothing like Jerome." Alfred nodded, and Bruce continued "He's an engineer, you know. And really intelligent. Cold sometimes, but really only towards Jerome, and that's to be expected, I guess. He's incredibly kind to everyone else, even if he's a bit shy. Really, just a good guy." Bruce looked up from his soup to see Alfred smirking at him with raised eyebrows. "What?" asked Bruce defensively.

"Oh, it's nothing, Master B. It's just if I were to wager a guess, I'd say you've taken quite a liking to Mr. Jeremiah Valeska." Alfred was now sipping a cup of tea, suppressing silent laughter.

"Alfred! It's nothing like that. We're friends, if anything. Besides, he's at least two years older than me and we don't have anything in common." Bruce was now staring back down at his soup, twirling his spoon nervously in his fingers.

Alfred was nowhere near done teasing him though. He seemed to have sensed Bruce's strange connection to the other Valeska. "Miss Kyle is two years older than you, and you seemed fine with that. And I thought you said he was an engineer? You should invite him to work for Wayne Enterprises. They could use a bright young man like him."

Bruce decided to ignore the first part of his statement. "That's actually not a bad idea. I'll head over to his house in the morning and offer the position to him."

"Why don't you just call him?"

Bruce laughed, "He sort of lives in an underground concrete bunker surrounded by an elaborate maze to dissuade any unwanted visitors."

"Well that's certainly unique." Alfred said, stirring milk into a new cup of tea. "I'll drive you over there tomorrow. I don't mean to assume anything, but he doesn't have any of the same...tendencies...as his brother, correct?"

"No. He didn't suffer nearly the same trauma and abuse. And I'm sure if Jerome had been treated better as a child, he'd be just as sane as Jeremiah is now." Bruce was retreating back into defensiveness.

Alfred must have decided this wasn't an argument worth having, because they remained silent for the rest of the meal.

….

That night, Bruce's dreams made little sense. Laughing clowns and strange flashes of color drifted in and out of picture while Bruce danced with a red-haired magician. He offered a rose to Bruce, and as he took it, the rose turned into a snake, which twined itself around Bruce's wrist, staring up at him with entrancing green eyes. And then the magician and snake were gone and in his place stood a pale, nondescript man. The man offered out his hand and Bruce entwined his fingers with his, shocked at how freezing his skin was. As they danced, the brilliant lights began to dim, while the features of the man in front of him began to take shape. Mad green-grey eyes were staring into his own brown ones while unnaturally red lips smiled a somehow familiar, soothing, gentle smile. And then the room around them started to melt. The clowns' dissolving flesh clung to their bones as scraps of brightly colored fabric and painted white skin turned to liquid murk, washing the floor and rising up to the dancing pair's ankles. Bruce's legs burned, and he watched in horror as his own skin began to melt away, leaving nothing but exposed bone beneath his clothes. The toxic mess continued to rise, scaling his body. And as it was reaching his throat, Bruce looked at the man he'd been dancing with. But he was expressionless. The mixture of burning flesh, fabric, and oil that engulfed them both seemed to have no effect on him. He was just watching as Bruce burned away in front of him, that calming smile wiped clean from his face. Bruce reached out to him, calling, begging for him to pull him out of whatever was killing him, but he disappeared too, leaving Bruce alone, choking as the poison finally filled his nose, submerging him completely.

….

He awoke to a bright patch of sunlight dousing his legs in warm, tingling, white light. His drapes had been drawn open to let the sun in, and Bruce assumed it was this that had caused his dream to escalate so drastically. Making his bed, he thought about exactly how to draft the position proposal for Jeremiah, feeling slightly uneasy when he thought of spending the morning alone with him. That's crazy, Bruce thought. You've spent time alone with him before. And besides, he's never done anything strange. So why are you suddenly so nervous? He guessed that his dream just had him on edge. Even though neither Valeska had technically featured in it, the similarities were unsettling. He decided that was all that was causing his stress over today's events.

When he got downstairs, a warm breakfast of eggs and toast had already been laid out for him, along with a freshly brewed pot of coffee. Alfred came through the service door, carrying a basket of hand-towels to be washed and greeted Bruce warmly. "Good morning, sir. I thought I'd put the laundry in while you ate and cleaned yourself up, and then we'd type up a swift contract for Mr. Valeska."

"That sounds great Alfred, thank you for breakfast. I'll head back upstairs after I eat to shower and change, and then I'll meet you in the study." Alfred nodded and continued on his way to the laundry room, leaving Bruce alone with his thoughts once more.

….

Gripping a manilla folder tightly, Bruce exited Alfred's 1963 Studebaker Avanti and watched as it reluctantly pulled out of the clearing, leaving Bruce alone there with the promise of returning in an hour. He walked up to the concrete structure marking the entrance to Jeremiah's bunker. It somehow looked more gloomy and threatening than it had his first visit here. At least the sun was shining today, filtering warm light through the tree branches surrounding him.

He touched the keypad uncertainly, still unaware of the six-digit passcode required to open the door. So, he knocked on the metal door once more, hoping Jeremiah was in the main room of his bunker. Bruce heard a small buzz, acknowledging that his knocks had been heard. He waited patiently for the door to open, looking absentmindedly at the nondescript structure. A bright red blinking light caught his eye, and a quick glance above him revealed a small camera attached to the top of the wall, glaring down at him. The camera's presence made him nervous, although it made sense that, paranoid as Jeremiah was, he'd want to monitor every inch of his property. Bruce even recalled seeing the entrance on the screens below. He'd just never put two and two together.

The metal door swung open, revealing the steel staircase inside. Bruce took the stairs two at a time, almost crashing into a waiting Jeremiah in his hasty descent.

"Ah! Oh, sorry, sorry. I didn't think you'd be standing right there."

Jeremiah laughed, gently prying Bruce's hands off of his sweater. "No worries. I probably shouldn't have made the staircase so narrow. A safety hazard on my part, really. I just figured I'd be the only person using it, apart from Ecco who stays here from time to time." He lead Bruce to the table in the center of the room and sat him, continuing, "I don't think you've met her. She's out purchasing supplies for my latest project; perhaps she'll return before you leave."

Bruce was a little surprised to hear the Jeremiah had a companion. He'd always figured the guy was a bit of a loner, what with the elaborate bunker in the middle of the forest and all. "Oh, is she your, um, partner, or something?" he asked cautiously, turning a prism over in his fingers, peeking to see Jeremiah's expression.

The other man's brow furrowed a bit and he replied, "Partner in what exactly? That's a rather vague title."

"Anything. You know, in work, friendship...romance."

"She assists me with my work and I'd like to think we're friends. That's the extent of our relationship, however. I met her during my studies, and we found we work well together. Results are produced much faster with more than one mind on board." Jeremiah was looking at him now, almost to see if Bruce had any sort of reaction to accompany his words.

"Ah, that makes sense. Speaking of producing sound results quickly, that brings me to what I wanted to come here and discuss with you." Bruce spoke professionally, but he noticed Jeremiah tensing.

"And what would that be?" he asked quietly, his eyes holding Bruce's gaze.

"Um," his heart started to pump blood much faster, and Bruce wasn't exactly sure why. "It's my company. My company and I, uh, have a proposition for you." He spoke quickly, trying to get the words out without stuttering too much.

"Oh is that so?" Jeremiah had relaxed now, and was sitting comfortably. "What sort of proposition?"

Bruce was glad that the atmosphere had calmed down between the two of them, although his heart hadn't quite received that news yet. "As you know, Wayne Enterprises always strives to go above and beyond our competitors. Lately, we've been trying to develop a model for clean energy production that's more accessible and affordable than hydraulic, wind, or solar. However, our team of engineers just aren't up to the task. Every prototype they bring to us is faulty. So we'd like to offer you a grant to build us exactly what we're looking for. You'd have almost limitless funds, as well as all the equipment you desire. What do you say?" Bruce was looking at Jeremiah expectantly now, hoping his offer would be well received. And he couldn't deny the fact that the idea of working Jeremiah several hours of the day sent his heart right back up to the fast staccato it had just left.

Jeremiah was smiling widely, and he looked as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "A-a grant to work for Wayne Enterprises? To be the first to put a true alternative energy source on the market? Bruce...this is a dream come true! I can't even imagine...thank you." It was odd to see Jeremiah exhibiting so much emotion, but it was a good sort of strange. The kind that made him feel like he was making the right choices.

"Of course," started Bruce, now smiling as well. He opened the folder he'd brought with him and pulled out a few sheets of freshly printed legal lines. "Just read through this and sign at the bottom of the last page if you accept. I promise there's nothing in there to trick you. It's simply company policies and whatnot. But I'd advise you to skim it nonetheless. I don't want you to agree to anything that makes you uneasy."

Jeremiah chuckled. "If there's anyone I trust to give me a genuine contract, it's you Bruce. But, I'll take you at your word and give it a quick read." He adjusted his glasses and buried his nose in the papers, giving Bruce a chance to recover and look around the room.

The actual room around him looked rather the same as it had when he'd been there yesterday. Was it really just yesterday? It felt like weeks and months ago, he thought to himself. It was, however, much messier. Papers were scattered about, many lying on the floor as though they'd been tossed there in some sort of fit. The 3D model of a skyscraper that had taken up the center of the table had been shattered, its wooden pieces littering the surface. Searching the room further with his eyes, he spotted a basket turned upside down on a shelf by the console with the screens mounted into it. The prism he was turning in his fingers must have come from there. The monitors themselves looked untouched, although two of the screens had gone dark, as though the cameras within those rooms had been covered or turned off.

A click of a pen brought Bruce's attention back to Jeremiah, who was just signing the dotted line at the end of the contract. He handed the paper back to Bruce. "I didn't see anything about selling my soul to Wayne Enterprises. I could have sworn I heard some of the employees state that was in their contracts when I was designing the plaza."

"Only desk clerks have to sign away their life essence to the company. You have a field job so we need you to keep that for creative purposes," Bruce joked back, once again surprised by how open and comfortable the older boy seemed. He decided to mention it to him, since they still had over half an hour together.

"Please, tell me if I'm poking into business that doesn't pertain to me, but you seem much more relaxed than the last time I saw you," he began cautiously.

Jeremiah raised an eyebrow, but answered his statement. "Well, I would put that up to two things, Bruce. Actually, make that three. I was just reminded of a third. The first circumstance I'd like to point out is the fact that the only other time you've seen me was when both of our lives were in jeopardy. You may be unaffected by the idea of having your limbs brutally mutilated, but I do not have such nerves of steel." He paused to see if Bruce had anything to say, and when he evidently didn't, Jeremiah continued. "Secondly, knowing my brother is locked up in the county jail, awaiting trial, is a weight partially lifted off of my shoulders. I won't be completely satisfied until he's suffering in Blackgate or put on death row. But for now, it's a start. After all, I've been hiding from his wrath for years now. It's rather liberating to not have to worry as much. Of course, we must still be prepared for the possibility of his breakout. However dense he may be, he's still admittedly crafty. I'd rather not be out tanning in Gotham square if he were to come gallivanting through the city with a chainsaw."

Bruce opened his mouth, possibly to defend Jerome. At this point he knew he couldn't help it. But Jeremiah seemed to know what he was going to say, and didn't stop for Bruce to comment this time, a curious dark glint in his eye. "And finally, you have a certain presence about you that puts me at ease. I'd say that if you weren't there with me yesterday, there's a chance I wouldn't have even gone. You're a fascinating man, Bruce, and I'm glad for this opportunity to get to know you better. I've always heard so much about the prince of Gotham. How he's spoiled, pretentious, and entitled. But you're absolutely none of those things and I can't possibly understand why. Anyone else in your position would be. And yet, you act as though you're an outsider to the upper-class...as if you don't belong. And I guess, I'm hoping one day I'll figure it out." Jeremiah was on the edge of his chair now, leaning much closer to Bruce than he had been when they were discussing his job. His fingers were folded, but resting on the arm of his chair, supporting his weight.

He didn't know what to say. He already knew he was turning humiliating shades of pink, but Jeremiah's words simply had that effect on him. "I-I'm flattered, really, that you think of me as such a mysterious person. But, I'm not that complex. I'm just a guy trying to figure out his place in this screwed up world. And sure, so many people tell me every day exactly where I should be. And yet I'm never content to just go to school, sit behind a desk, and waste my life away. I have no idea how much of it I have left. I've seen too many people die before the moment that everyone thought was 'their time'. I don't want that to be me. I'm hoping that by the time I take my final breath, I'll be proud of everything I've accomplished. And I can't get to that point doing what everybody else wants me to do. I just...I hope that makes any semblance of sense." Bruce took a deep breath, afraid of losing control of his emotions.

Jeremiah was looking at him with a mixture of emotions, some of which Bruce couldn't even identify. He saw a flash of respect, and for that he was grateful. Curiosity was there as well, but that was typical of Jeremiah. Bruce was beginning to realize the other man saw everything through a microscope of his own creation, but he was okay with that. It gave him a unique perspective on the world, albeit a somewhat apathetic one.

The other emotions unsettled him. Bruce couldn't explain them, at least not in a way that made sense to him. If Jeremiah had been looking at anyone else, perhaps he would have described one of them as longing or even lust...the other? Possibly possessiveness, although that made little sense in this context.

Finally he spoke. "I wish I had grabbed that pen when you began to speak. Your words sounded like prose, eloquent and passionate. I think I understand your curious habits and choices a bit more now." He paused for a minute, then asked, "Is there anything you wish to know about me? After pouring your heart out like that, it's the least I can offer. That and a drink perhaps. Do you like tea?"

Bruce nodded, and said "I love tea. Growing up with a British butler, it's almost mandatory. And I'm sure between the time you start brewing it and when you sit back down, I'll have framed my question." He smiled at Jeremiah, who returned his smile and left the room to make their drinks.

His head was buzzing. He had no idea where to even begin. Should he reflect on what just happened or should he try and figure out what he wanted to know most about the curious red-haired man in the other room. Bruce decided to go with the second option, figuring that there'd be plenty of time for the first back at the manor. But where do I even begin? He keeps to himself so much that I barely know anything about him. I don't want to talk about his childhood, he concluded firmly. So instead, perhaps I should ask about his ambitions. No. That's too boring.

Jeremiah re-entered the room then, carrying a wooden tray topped with a steaming kettle, two mugs, and containers for milk and sugar. "I wasn't sure how you take your tea, so I brought everything out just in case." He sat and filled the mugs, offering the navy blue one to Bruce and holding the purple one up to his lips. Bruce added sugar to his tea and noted that Jeremiah took nothing in his. Of course, he thought.

"So, have you decided on a question for me?" asked Jeremiah, taking another sip from his mug.

No, Bruce hadn't. He'd been too busy panicking over the best thing to learn about this mysterious character. So he said the first thing that came into his mind. "Why do you isolate yourself from people some much?"

Jeremiah seemed unimpressed with his question at first, but it seemed to grow on him as he thought it over. "Emotionally or physically?" he finally asked.

"Both," responded Bruce immediately.

He paused to think over Bruce's question again. "Funnily enough, the emotional piece is easier to answer. I become easily attached to things I care about, and people are no exception. Once I've grown fairly close with a person, it becomes difficult for me to be away from them for an extended period of time. I could go into how and exactly why I blame my mother for that, but it's really not worth it and I'm sure you're capable of filling in the blanks there. So keeping my distance when getting to know someone is essential for me, otherwise I'd never be able to keep myself away from them." He was watching Bruce's reaction with care again, clearly waiting to see how he was going to react.

"Using an educated estimate, how close are we talking?" Bruce asked casually, more invested in the answer than he'd like to admit.

"I only become so attached after spending long periods of time with someone. You only have to be worried when I want to spend more of the hours of the day with you rather than alone," he joked lightly, still waiting to see what Bruce would say.

"Okay good, so I don't have to add a second seat to my motorcycle just yet," Bruce continued the joke, letting Jeremiah know he was fine with the revelation.

"Please. If you had a motorcycle, you wouldn't have your butler drive you all over town."

Bruce laughed. "You've got me there." Jeremiah laughed along, and then went silent, pouring himself another cup of tea. "Okay, so we've covered the emotional part. What about the second piece?"

The man sitting across from him sighed. "Physically, I'm afraid of what I might become if I spend too much time around lots of people. This was only made clearer to me yesterday after my brother's little comment about our shared blood. I don't want to follow in his footsteps, so removing myself from the public is just ensuring we don't have another sociopath running around Gotham. I have no idea whether or not that would actually happen, but I'd rather not risk it." Jeremiah had set his cup down, and was looking at Bruce anxiously.

"You don't need to be afraid, Jeremiah. Yes, what you're doing is incredibly selfless. I can't imagine the amount of bravery and self-control it must take. But, I really don't think it's necessary. In only a couple of days of knowing you, you've proven to me that you're an incredibly kind and empathetic person. I can't ever imagine you hurting someone else...And besides, Jerome is locked up now. You never have to worry about his shadow falling over you again. You two are so different, I'd doubt anyone would know you're related."

"Bruce, your words are comforting, truly. You're just forgetting something rather crucial." He could see sympathetic laughter in Jeremiah's eyes, and he was confused.

"What?" he asked.

"Jerome and I are identical. So, perhaps they may not think we're brothers. But they might think that we're exactly the same person. Which could prove to be even worse." He was fully laughing now, although he didn't look incredibly amused by his notions.

"Oh. I forgot that little factor," Bruce confessed.

"How? You've been looking at me all morning."

"Well that's exactly it. I've seen Jerome's face plenty of times up close. And I've been looking at yours for quite awhile too. And in all honesty, once you start looking for differences between you two, they're easy to spot. Jerome has a wild look in his eye that never truly leaves, like he's constantly searching for something to see and do. You, on the other hand, focus on exactly one thing and give it your utmost attention. Rather than looking around sporadically, and perhaps in a manner that could be qualified as ADHD, you view things as if their very existence fascinates you. Almost like a scientist looking at a particularly interesting strain of bacteria he just discovered. Besides, your faces are different structurally too. Your jaw is a bit more angled and sharper, with a slightly longer chin. Jerome's eyes are wider. Your nose is more narrow. Jerome has higher cheekbones. Little things like that." Bruce shrugged, and took a drink from his mug.

"I'm glad to hear you've been studying us so well. I'll have to remember that you're memorizing every detail of my face and make sure I don't make any strange expressions," Jeremiah teased him again, offering the tea kettle to him.

Bruce accepted the kettle and refilled his cup, returning the joke. "Too late. You've already made some of the weirdest faces I've seen." He waited for Jeremiah's reply, but none came. Bruce looked up at him.

That dark glint had returned to his eyes. "Is that so?" Jeremiah asked. "Are there different faces that I should be making?" The proximity of the space between the two had lessened considerably, making Bruce wonder where it had gone.

"Um...no, nothing like that. I-I don't even know what I was getting at."

Jeremiah looked disappointed. "For a man that's known best for his grace under pressure, you fluster rather easily."

"Then how do I change that?"

"Well, it's a simple solution. We just need to subject you to more situations that cause your cheeks to start burning that pretty shade of pink."

Bruce wasn't sure where this was going, but his racing heart didn't want him to stop. "What sort of situations?"

A now-familiar pale, cool hand had come to rest on his cheek. "I could think of a few."

As Jeremiah leaned closer, a metallic ring echoed through the room, causing them both to jump and break apart. A quick peek at the screens across from them confirmed that it was Alfred upstairs, here to pick Bruce up. He stood up rapidly and grabbed his coat.

"That's a shame. We were just starting to break you out of your shell. I suppose we'll simply have to work on it more when we're drawing up blueprints later this week. I'll walk you up the stairs."

Jeremiah led a dizzy Bruce up the long staircase, opening the door for him and greeting Alfred kindly. "Thank you so much for letting me borrow him. I hope to see you both soon! Have a lovely rest of your morning."

It was only in the car, fifteen minutes later, that Bruce noticed the light purple post-it note sticking out of his coat pocket. It read, in a tight, neat script "In case of emergencies," and below that was a cell phone number. Bruce held it tightly in his hand, a faint rosy hue remaining on his cheeks the entire drive home.