An urgent call from the police captain had Bruce racing down 3rd Avenue, back in Alfred's old Avanti. It had been four days since his visit with Jeremiah, and they'd been meeting daily since to work on their project. They'd made leaps and bounds of progress; the prototype Jeremiah presented to him yesterday was incredible. Luckily, Alfred hadn't felt the need to question him so vigorously since meeting Jeremiah, only asking about the progress they were making.
Now, his attention was being abruptly turned to the other Valeska brother, who was apparently making a scene down at the GCPD. Bruce had felt apprehensive about seeing Jerome ever since his capture, and he'd counted on that buffer of the week before his trial to prepare himself.
They pulled in to the old unkempt parking garage behind the building, and parked on the third level. Bruce led the way through the police department from there, with Alfred following him close behind. He knew that Alfred hated how often Bruce was called upon for assistance in the workings of the law, but Bruce didn't mind. After all, ensuring justice was served for criminals had been his greatest passion ever since his parents were killed. They entered through the back stairwell, so as not to draw attention to themselves, and silently made their way up to the police captain's office.
"I didn't even notice you come in," Jim said, shaking both of their hands quickly and standing up from his desk.
"We used the back entrance, detective. We didn't want to cause any disturbances," answered Bruce, motioning to the cells on the first floor.
"A smart move. You're probably wondering what I asked you down here for, Bruce."
"Your phone call gave away some information, but I still don't quite understand the situation. What's Jerome been doing?" Bruce, after a gesture from Jim, sat at the desk. Alfred followed suit, and Jim returned to his seat.
"More like what hasn't he been doing. We should've sent him to county. I didn't think keeping him here was going to be so difficult."
"He's been trying to escape?" Bruce asked rapidly.
"No, surprisingly he hasn't even asked to move from his cell once, besides occasional restroom breaks. He's just making the lives of the officers a living hell. Not to mention the amount of mayhem his remaining followers are trying to make. Officer Barren found a copperhead snake in his desk draw yesterday, along with a deck of playing cards coated in tetrodotoxin. I don't even want to know where they got their hands on a concentrated batch of that stuff, but it's Gotham, so they probably got it from the local toy store. Smaller disturbances have occurred too, if you can call them that. Officer Wright lost her pinky to a mouse trap disguised as her notepad and one of our lab techs somehow 'accidentally' spilled a sealed cup of forensic evidence, rendering it useless." Jim was flipping through a pile of reports, listing out all of the strange accidents happening around his work.
Alfred interrupted. "S'cuse me, mate, but did you just say his 'remaining followers'? What made some of 'em leave?"
"We're still looking into that. I'd say his arrest, except they've stuck with him through an arrest before. Hell, he was in Arkham for several months and they were still by his side when he got out. Maybe some of them decided it wasn't worth it?"
Bruce was musing through the reports now too. "Not likely. They've already killed for him, most people don't come back from that. I'd wager a guess that someone else in the city is offering something even more insane and chaotic, if that's possible."
Jim sighed, "Fantastic. Another psychopathic cult leader is exactly what this city needs right now." After a moment of looking around his office with discourage, he said "Anyways. Jerome's trial is in three days. He refuses to get a lawyer, and he threatened to have my officers' families killed if they tried to appoint a public attorney. He did, however, agree to immediately plead guilty if he had a request granted. Can you guess what that request was?" asked Jim, staring into Bruce's eyes.
"He wants to see me." answered Bruce without a hint of surprise. A nod from Jim confirmed this.
"Well technically, he asked to talk to you almost the second he got here. Something about wanting his phone call. Of course, we turned down his request. You'd been through enough that day. We weren't even going to ask you down here at all, except for everything that's been going on since then. I think he's been raising hell just to get us to bring you in."
Once again, this didn't surprise Bruce. Although, he was slightly angry with Jerome for getting so many people injured in his attempts to bring him to the GCPD. He met Jim's gaze. "Next time, just give him his damn phone call."
…
Fifteen minutes later, Bruce was sitting on a cold metal chair in the interrogation room. Drumming his fingers on the table, he wondered what Jerome had to say to him that was so incredibly urgent. Bruce wasn't really concerned with which way the prankster pleaded. He was of the mind that in Gotham, it didn't matter. If the judge thought you were guilty, or if they were paid off, his mind added, then you would be sentenced. No questions asked. The only people who escaped the law in this city already had the money or connections to get them out of the courtroom. Jerome had neither. So, Bruce wasn't sure exactly what Jim was gaining by making this deal with him. Maybe it was just to put an end to all the injuries happening around the police department.
The creaking of unoiled hinges on an old metal door brought his attention to the cuffed redhead in front of him. An officer followed close behind. She barked at Jerome to sit, and she then cuffed his wrists to the tabletop and his ankles to the chair. They must be terrified of him escaping, thought Bruce as they added a thin metal brace to his throat and attached that to the chair as well. The thought didn't occur to Bruce that all of these safety measures may have been for his benefit. For some reason he didn't register the fact that Jerome had tried to hurt him before.
He looked at the teenager in front of him, who was making faces at the officer as she tightened his shackles. "Shouldn't we have established a safeword before all this, officer?" Jerome asked innocently. She just kept silent, eventually scooting his chair forward and exiting the room.
Jerome still wasn't looking at him. Instead, he began examining his nails, methodically cleaning them with one hand. "Ah Brucie, you can't imagine how boring it's been here. None of these so-called officers want to talk to me, play games, or even look at me. It's unbelievably dull. Out in the city, that's where all the excitement is. Being cooped up in here is enough to drive anyone mad." He took his time with the last word, drawing it out in a silky voice. Jerome finally looked up at Bruce. "Y'know what I mean?"
Bruce's heart started doing that incredibly inconvenient thing where it sped up a lot and made it hard to think. Eventually, he was able to get some words out. "No. I don't know what you mean."
Jerome tilted his head sideways, grinning. "Not yet, you don't. There's still plenty of time to fix that. I see the stick in your ass we discussed a week or two back is still very firmly in place."
Bruce shook his head, motioning it slightly towards the one-way glass across from them.
"Oh? Do they not know you came to find me? That we had a very good time at my poor uncle's diner? How much we shared and connected? Were they not supposed to know about that?" Jerome's grin had gone, replaced by innocent wide eyes. "Oopsies." he said after silence from Bruce.
"That doesn't matter right now. What made you need to see me so badly that you caused enough mayhem here to make the officers afraid of coming into work?" Bruce asked coldly.
Jerome pouted, his replaced face contorting with his expression. "Maybe I just missed ya Brucie."
"I don't believe you. Try again."
Jerome's eyes rolled. "Jeez, you sure are fun today. Glad I went through all the trouble of getting you here for you to be so obviously pleased to see me."
"I'm not here to play games with you, so if you could get to the point, that'd be great."
"Y'know Bruce, some of my friends have been telling me strange things. Word on the street is that you've been spending lots of time at a little bunker in the woods. How's my brother doing? Gloating over how he single-handedly got me back in prison?" Jerome was now looking at him like he was a child he pitied. "I'd hoped you wouldn't be so easily charmed by him, but alas. The bastard's got a certain disposition that makes everybody think he's an angel. I guess I just thought you were smarter than that."
That little insult got Bruce's attention. "First of all, don't make any assumptions about me or Jeremiah. He's been contracted to work for Wayne Enterprises. That's the bottom line of it all."
"Strange, he always seemed like a top to me." Jerome interrupted with his joke.
Bruce glared at him and continued, "Secondly, he's barely talked about you since you've been arrested. If you asked me, he couldn't care one way or another." Jerome looked like he was going to interrupt him again, so Bruce pressed on. "And third, he's a hell of a lot easier to handle than you. I don't think anyone can fake his nervous tendencies, so you're probably the sibling who's better at putting on an act."
Jerome's expression was suddenly fiery. "Are you calling me a liar, Bruce? After all the honesty I've given you?"
The sudden serious nature of his question caught Bruce off-guard, and he had to think. Jerome was a master of manipulation, but this didn't feel like he was trying to mess with Bruce's mind. It seemed like he really just wanted to know if that was how Bruce saw him. So he decided to answer honestly.
"No, Jerome, I'm not. You've never lied to me before. In fact, I've always been surprised by just how blunt you are with your plans. All I'm saying is that these ideas you have of Jeremiah's behavior have never appeared to me."
Seeming satisfied with his answer, Jerome gave his own serious response. "Well, that's because he likes you. He'd never act like himself in front of you, especially not now that I'm back in the picture of his life. He wants you to think of him as the shining white knight. Basically, he's trying to be everything that I'm not. Seriously, make a t-chart sometime. The blatant comparisons will shock you."
"I'll keep it in mind, thanks." Bruce said neutrally. "Now, I want to talk about why you really brought me down here. I don't think you would've expended all that effort just to gossip about your brother."
Jerome shrugged and said, "Sure, I'll talk to ya. As soon as they let me speak to you alone. I don't like eavesdroppers, you see, and their snooping takes it to a whole new level. So, you convince them to either scram or give us a more private setting, and I'll sit here and look pretty until then." He paused, waiting. "And this is the part where you say, 'But Jerome! You always look pretty.'"
Bruce stared at him stonily, although in his head he agreed with the other teenager. "I don't think so."
Jerome looked insulted. "To which part?"
"Both," Bruce clarified.
"Ouch Bruce, I don't know if I'll be able to recover from that one. But more importantly, you won't get anything worthwhile out of me if we just sit here and chat for everyone to see."
Bruce was confused. "What do you mean, 'anything worthwhile'? You asked me here, not the other way around."
Jerome laughed. "Oh, Jimbo is tricky isn't he! Why don't you go talk with him about that, and while you do, you can mention our little negotiation." He shooed Bruce towards the door with his restrained fingers, winking at him as he passed.
Back out into the hallway, Bruce noticed how exhilarated he felt. Sure, his mind felt completely scrambled, but he felt like he could run dozens of miles, his heart already racing.
A nondescript brown door opened, and through it came James Gordon. He looked frustrated...and nervous. "Sorry Bruce, I thought this would go more smoothly. I guess he's just being uncooperative. Maybe if we try a different approa-"
"I know you're hiding something from me, detective. Not just because Jerome said so, but because you've been acting strange ever since I got here. There's no way you would have made this deal with him just for him to plead guilty on the stand. You and I both know that means nothing in this city. So, what is it?" Bruce's hands were in his pockets, the adrenaline from his earlier conversation granting him bravery.
Jim looked at him for a long time before finally answering. "Last night, four apartment buildings were burned to the ground. Eighty-two people died, and seventy-three more were injured and are recovering in Gotham General . We've asked the media to keep quiet for now because we have no leads. Jerome, however, seems to know who did this and why. Normally, we'd call it bullshit and keep the investigation running. However, the arsonist reached out to Jerome. They sent this last night, right after the fires." He pulled out a neatly-folded piece of crisp white paper and handed it to Bruce.
The note read:
Dear Mr. Valeska, I hope this finds you in good health. Please know that it won't stay that way for long; you might as well enjoy it while it lasts. My purpose for writing you today is to inform you that change is coming. This city used to bow to you and your disgusting chaos. Soon, it will serve only sanity and order. Gotham is about to go down in flames, and I want you to have a front row seat when it does. Tonight was a little bit of a test, to see how resilient the structural integrity of an old city like this is. But don't worry; it was just the beginning of a raging hellstorm, the likes of which you've never seen. Hopefully a show like this will keep even you on the edge of your seat. Feel free to pass along my message. An official announcement will be made in due time. Until then, enjoy your stay at the police department. Who knows, maybe I'll see you there soon.
~A critic
The note disturbed Bruce for reasons he couldn't quite place. The handwriting appeared disjointed, as if two people had written it. Either way, now wasn't the time to dwell on it. They needed answers, and by the looks of it, quickly. "And Jerome claims to know who this is?"
"Yes, he said he recognized the handwriting, as well as 'the fucker's nauseating pretentiousness', as he so eloquently put it. But he refuses to tell us who it is, saying it was more fun for him this way. And then I think you must have crossed his mind again, because he abruptly countered himself by telling us he'd give you all the information you wanted."
Bruce's head was spinning with all of this news. He wish he had more time because he was certain he'd be able to figure out who was behind it all. The note kept nagging at something in his consciousness, but he just couldn't place it. Getting the name out of Jerome was the fastest solution. "Jerome won't tell me anything unless you leave us alone to talk. I have no idea why this is a demand of his, but he made that very clear to me just a few minutes ago."
"I figured he would ask that, but I was hoping he'd forgotten we were there. It still seems impossible, though. The amount of things that could go wrong and place you in danger is much more than I'm willing to risk."
Once again, Bruce would have to defend his ability to take care of himself. "Jim, I know why you wouldn't let me in on investigations all of the years prior to now. I was too young and I didn't understand how the world worked. I assumed everyone ran by the same moral code that I did. But I'm older now. I've seen my share fair of danger, and I've already proven that I'm capable of handling Jerome, even a Jerome that's armed. Here, he's contained, bare-handed, and at your mercy. Let me talk to him alone. We both know that this conversation here could be the difference between hundreds of saved lives or thousands of grieving people. Please."
The police captain seemed to mull the idea over in his head. "Fine. I just hope you know how much faith I'm putting in you and how much you're telling me you've matured. Now, leaving him alone in the interrogation room is a bad idea. There's too many things that could be used as weapons, like chairs. Plus, he'd never buy that we're keeping out of it if the one-way glass was there. We could probably use the empty room by the parking garage entrance. The janitor used to store his equipment in there but we haven't seen him for two weeks now, and his replacement takes his stuff home. It's small, so the only restraints we'd be able to use are handcuffs. Are you comfortable with that?" asked Jim, who was now pacing up and down the hallway.
"Yes, detective. It might be naive of me to say, but I don't think he's going to try and attack me. And if he does, I'm well prepared," Bruce said confidently, his hand already on the handle of the door to take him back into the room where Jerome was sitting.
"Okay, I trust you. I'll go in and take care of his restraints."
Bruce opened the door to find a half-standing Jerome using the harsh light of the lamp to make shadow puppets on the walls. The thick cuffs that had been holding his wrists to the table were somehow lying open, but the standard ones still bound his wrists together. This just seemed to add an extra element to Jerome's shadow puppet game, which he was so enthralled in, he apparently didn't hear them enter.
"Jerome, they've agreed to let you and I speak in a private room," Bruce said, standing in front of him.
"One second, I almost have this pelican perfect. Move a little to the left, I'll use your hair as a palm tree."
For some reason, Bruce shifted, allowing the teenager to continue his game. A quick glance at the wall showed that Jerome was actually pretty good at making his puppets, as his two hands, plus their joining cuffs, made a clearly visible pelican. And admittedly, Bruce's hair did sort of look like a palm tree silhouetted on the wall like that.
After a few moments of admiring his handiwork (pun intended), Jerome stepped back and said, "Okay, that's good. We can go now." He turned towards the door and Bruce saw him stumble over his ankle restraints, barely catching him as he crashed towards the ground. He had one hand pressed against Jerome's chest, pushing him back up into a standing position, the other gripping his shoulder. He's a lot more muscular than I thought, even after seeing him in that suit, Bruce fleeting thought before quickly removing his hands from Jerome. The red-haired man seemed to know what he was thinking, and his grin widened.
"Sorry about that. It's weird, I don't even notice being tied up anymore," Jerome laughed, holding still while Jim unlocked his ankles.
A voice from the doorway said, "Jerome, if we have to sit through one more bondage joke coming out of your mouth, we all get to hit you with Jim's 'Detective of the Year' trophy sitting upstairs." Bruce turned and saw Detective Bullock leaning against the doorframe. Jerome just continued to smile. Harvey directed his next question to Jim. "Could I see you for minute? Something's been going down in the Narrows, and by the sounds of the dispatchers, it ain't pretty." Jim looked reluctant to leave Jerome and Bruce standing there, but Harvey's tone was urgent.
"Don't worry, Jimbo. I'll stand here and be a good boy." said Jerome, now holding very still so as to prove his point.
"I'll be two minutes, tops. You'd better be in that exact same position when I get back." Jim left through the metal door, shutting it loudly behind him.
After a moment of silence, Bruce asked "Can't we just talk now? It doesn't make sense for Jim to leave us alone and then take us to a different room so he can leave us alone again."
Jerome patted him sympathetically on the head, causing Bruce to jump a bit. "Oh, sweet naive Bruce Wayne. Honestly, I wish I thought people were as inherently good as you do. Jim and Harvey are obviously using this as a way to get us to do exactly that: say everything out loud here so they can see us and hear us. And that breaks the rules of our little trade. Which means, I don't have to tell you a word now. This is a fun game, isn't it?"
Bruce was shocked. "But you don't know that! There could really be something happening in the Narrows, it's not that far of a stretch."
"That's why it's an effective bluff, sweetheart," Jerome said, rolling his eyes.
"So, you're not going to tell me anything now?"
"I didn't say that. All I said was, I don't have to. It doesn't mean I won't. I just want them to acknowledge that I called them on their bullshit before I tell you anything." And with that, Jerome sat down, crossing his newly unrestrained ankles.
They waited in silence for a couple minutes, Jerome staring pointedly into space and Bruce fidgeting nervously by the door, unsure of what he was waiting for.
And then the door swung open again, and both detectives reentered the room. "It seems we don't give you enough credit, Mr. Valeska," Jim said, looking slightly embarrassed. Harvey said nothing, just stared at Jerome with distaste.
Bruce was surprised. He knew that Jerome was smart, but the teenager never really showed it. He tried to pass himself off as comical and occasionally dim-witted, but the second part was clearly just for show.
Jerome pushed himself back into a standing position using the table, briefly brushing Bruce's arm with his own. "So, do I get to talk to our little prince here by myself or not?"
The two detectives exchanged a look, and Jim reached for Jerome's arm, herding him out the door. Harvey motioned for Bruce to follow, so he did. They walked down two hallways, past other interrogation rooms, the locker rooms, and an unused office, until they turned a corner that brought them to the parking garage entrance and a roomy concrete closet. This closet was where Jim lead Jerome, Harvey turning to the side to make room for Bruce to join them.
"You have exactly ten minutes. We'll be standing at the end of this hallway, listening for any yells or screams," Jim said, looking at Bruce. "As soon as those ten minutes are up, Bruce leaves and we bring Jerome back to his cell. For obvious reasons, we'll be locking the door. Is everything clear?"
The two boys nodded, one a bit more exaggerated than the other. "Great," Jim said. "We'll see you in ten minutes." He flicked a light switch on and shut the door, leaving the two truly alone.
Now Bruce wasn't sure what to say, so he started with something that wasn't too blunt. "I read the note that the arsonist sent you. Something told me that they didn't like you very much. They seemed to threaten you in it."
Jerome sat on the ground, propping up his hands and resting his head on them. "Yeah, I could tell they weren't my biggest fan."
"Well, obviously not. I thought we already established that was my job," Bruce joked, trying to ease some of the tension.
"Nah, you're my favorite volunteer. Totally different. Dwight was my biggest fan. Until I blew him up, that is."
"Doesn't that mean the position's open?" asked Bruce innocently.
Jerome laughed. "I've never had the same person be both before. That's a rather prestigious honor. Then again, if I were to give that position to someone, you'd certainly be at the top of my list." He seemed to realize how genuine of a statement that was, and attempted to backtrack a bit. "I'm kidding, obviously," laughing once more.
"You know, you don't need to joke about everything. Sometimes it's okay to say things to people and really mean them," Bruce said quietly, joining Jerome on the floor.
He looked up at Bruce, and for the first time in his life, he saw vulnerability in Jerome's eyes. "For you, maybe. For a guy like me? It's much easier to keep 'em all at a good arm's length. Even if I were you, I'd stick to trusting nobody. It's safer. I wouldn't want to see my favorite volunteer get hurt."
Bruce waited for Jerome to say he was joking, but no clarifying statement came. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
"No. It was agonizing. You have to wait for other people to get what you're saying while being concerned about their reaction at the same time. I don't think I'm cut out for this whole caring-about-what-people-think thing." Jerome groaned at the thought of doing it again, and leaned back, now lying on the concrete floor.
"Oh come on, you drama queen. It's not the worst thing in the world." Bruce waited for Jerome's response, and after a moment when he got none, he leaned over the boy, looking at closed eyes and slightly open mouth. "Seriously, Jerome. Now is not the time to take a nap." He shook him slightly, still hovering off to the side of his body. Once again, Jerome was unresponsive. He didn't appear to be breathing. Bruce was worried now, and he continued to shake him. The arsonist's statement concerning Jerome's health ran through his mind. "Jerome! Wake up!"
Suddenly, an arm snaked around him, bringing him down against Jerome's chest. Said chest began to move with small chuckles coming from the head above it. "Gotcha," laughed Jerome, still holding Bruce against him.
"That wasn't funny, Jerome," mumbled Bruce indignantly, struggling against the older boy. He was also trying not to hyperventilate from the very sudden, very close contact. He had no idea exactly when his body's reactions to Jerome had changed, but they were becoming increasingly inconvenient. Bruce decided to just give up struggling, and lay still against him.
The hand that was holding him began to comb lightly through his hair. "It was a little funny. And trust me, I know funny."
"Just so you know, I'd be really pissed if I found out you went to all this trouble just to seduce me in a dingy closet at the GCPD," Bruce said against his chest, regaining his bravery.
Jerome's laughter increased. "Not even my schemes are that elaborate, I promise." He was suddenly not laughing anymore. "Which brings me to my second promise of the evening. The identity of the person who wrote that note and murdered all of those people. I'm honestly surprised that you haven't figured it out yet. After all, I've been trying to tell you all day."
Bruce was, once again, very confused. That seems to be the theme of today, he thought to himself. "What do you mean, you've been trying to tell me? We haven't talked about anyone else all day."
Jerome continued to play with Bruce's curls. "Yes, we did. Who's the very first person we discussed?"
Bruce thought back to their earlier conversation. It felt like hours ago. "We talked about Jeremiah, but I don't remember you bringing up anybody else."
"Bingo," Jerome said quietly.
Bruce lifted his head out of Jerome's grasp. "You've got to be kidding me. I can't believe you're at this again. Do you ever stop accusing him of being behind everything wrong in the world?"
The hand that had been stroking Bruce's hair dropped to Jerome's side as he sat up, pushing Bruce off of him in frustration. "I'll keep saying it until someone believes me. But no one will until Jeremiah makes it clear he wants to be found out. So really, my saying it does nothing. I guess I was just hoping I could get someone to listen to me before he actually hurt people. But, it's too late now apparently. Those eighty-two people died because of Jeremiah's actions. I guarantee it. And he's not one to stay humble. He'll want to take credit for their deaths. We won't have to wait long for him to announce himself."
Jerome wasn't smiling now, as he sat with his back to a concrete wall. After a minute of deliberation, Bruce scooted next to him.
"Jeez, it looks like I'll never be able to get rid of you now," Jerome commented as Bruce joined him.
Bruce elbowed him in the side, receiving a small gasp from the boy next him. "You're easier to talk to than I would've guessed," he finally said, skating around the subject of Jerome's twin.
"Aw, c'mon. Give me a little more credit. You and I have had plenty of good conversations before."
Bruce shook his head. "Not like this. Usually you're trying to kill me or running away from me. The only other time we've sat down and talked was at your uncle's diner, and that was pretty brief."
"How much longer do you reckon we have left?" asked Jerome, glancing at the door.
"I'd guess around five minutes. Why?"
Jerome settled his head against the wall. "Just figuring out how long I have before returning to a life of bored pacing and toying with cops."
"Do you think people are capable of changing? For the better, I mean," Bruce asked abruptly. He waited for Jerome to respond. When he didn't get an answer, he asked again, "Do you?"
"Hold on, midget, I'm thinking." Jerome passed the idea around in his head for a few moments. "No," he finally decided. "I think that the darkness in people, all of the twisted shit that requires other people to think that they should change, has always been inside that person. Something simply broke, and it got out. And they can't put it back in."
"You think that there's no way to repair that damage?"
Jerome took another moment to think. "Maybe, it's possible. With just enough support from another person...and a lot of curly fries," he added thoughtfully.
"Curly fries, huh? Is that a universal thing or does it strictly apply to you?" asked Bruce, poking him.
"Definitely universal. Anyone who doesn't like curly fries is a robot or government spy. Hands down."
Bruce laughed. "I'll remember that."
He took a deep breath, thinking about his last couple minutes here with Jerome. "I have a new offer for you," he said eventually.
Jerome turned to look at him. "What is it?"
"Before I even say it, let me inform you right now that I already know I'm incredibly stupid for putting this on the table."
"Well this sounds promising. Okay, idiocy noted."
"I'm willing to pay the judge and jury members to let you off, if you promise to stay with me and let me help you become a normal member of society, as well as go to regular counseling sessions."
Jerome was silent for a minute.
"Is it that ridiculous?" asked Bruce.
Green-blue eyes met his dark brown ones. "Do you really mean it?" Jerome whispered.
It was only then that Bruce realized how truly terrified Jerome was of Blackgate. He had every reason to be. Even though he'd muscled up considerably, there were guys there that'd make even the strongest Arkham convict run screaming. "Yes. I mean it."
"Then I agree to your terms, Bruce...a-and thank you," he added hesitantly, for once looking at a loss for words.
"You're welcome," Bruce replied simply, laying his head on Jerome's shoulder. The excitement of the days' events had caught up to him, leaving him feeling fatigued. A now-familiar warm hand wrapped around his shoulders and returned to his head, stroking his hair once more.
Two minutes later, they heard a key slide into the door, unlocking it. They quickly moved apart and stood, facing Jim as he entered the closet. "Time's up, you two. Officer Barren will take you back to your cell, Jerome." Jim said, gesturing to the man behind him. Jerome moved to pass Jim, his cuffed hands lightly caressing Bruce's arm as he went. Jim raised his eyebrows but said nothing. After the pair were safely back in the center of things, the police captain pulled Bruce aside, asking urgently "So, what name did he give you?"
Bruce wrestled with the thought of putting Jeremiah's name in the captain's head again, especially after he'd been a great friend to Bruce. But he couldn't lie to Jim, and he didn't want to believe that Jerome was just paranoid. "He mentioned his brother, Jeremiah. But I don't really believe him. They both seem to have a grudge against one another. So you can put some surveillance on him, sure, but I don't see it amounting to anything."
That look of frustration returned to Jim's face, but he thanked Bruce nonetheless, handed him a folder, and walked him back out to the parking garage where Alfred was waiting. They got in the Avanti and headed back to the manor.
...
Hours later, in the study, Bruce was flipping restlessly through the folder Jim had given him. It was all of the information they had on the arsonist's case. He kept coming back to that odd note, reading it over and over, to the point where he had it completely memorized. The harsh light from his desk lamp was starting to hurt his eyes. Bruce shivered. He'd forgotten to light the fireplace, and the ancient room was freezing. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his light jacket in an attempt to warm them. The fingers of his right hand brushed against something, and he pulled it out.
It was the note from Jeremiah. The light green paper was slightly crinkled now, but he smoothed it out and read it once more. It was only when he saw the two notes side by side did it click for him. The reason the second one seemed so familiar. Half of the handwriting was the same.