Take Time to Stop and Smell the Roses, Darling
Bruce and Jeremiah walked alongside the river for a while, the path through the park glowing with luminous street lamps in the evening. It was incredibly picturesque, to the point where Bruce caught himself checking if he was awake. It wouldn't surprise him if his brain came up with a dream like this. After all, it had recently created a stranger one.
For the most part, they were silent. Occasionally they brought up the view or made a remark about some of the interesting characters they passed. When they passed through the wooded area, Bruce could've sworn he saw a glittering green suit and a person with wild black hair burying something. He chose not to comment on this, however. Usually he liked to stay out of whatever Oswald and his flamboyant boyfriend were getting up to. Actually, Bruce couldn't remember if they had just appeared oddly close when Oswald ran for mayor or if they were actually a couple. He thought of his own odd relationships with the Valeska twins, and decided that maybe they themselves didn't know either.
Eventually, Jeremiah softly placed his hand on Bruce's elbow, steering him towards a deviation in the path.
"Where does this lead?" he asked, his heart picking up speed with his touch.
"A quiet spot. There's something I want to talk with you about, and I'd just prefer not to be overheard."
Bruce quickly made up his mind. "That's great, actually, because there's something I wanted to discuss with you as well."
"Oh? Then I can't wait until we arrive. I think you're going to enjoy it."
After about ten minutes, the path widened until it simply merged with the grass. They'd arrived in the heart of Gotham Cemetery. It was surprisingly breathtaking. The newly-autumn leaves had just begun to change colors and many of the more resilient flowers and shrubs were still flourishing. A tiny brook babbled through some of the headstones, creating a pleasant sound of echoing water. Jeremiah continued to lead him uphill, although somewhere between the park and here, his hand had moved from his elbow to his hip. Bruce hadn't noticed, nor did he mind.
Finally, Jeremiah sat them on an intricate stone bench overlooking the hill covered in graves. For a place meant to contain death, it was bursting with an incredible amount of life.
Jeremiah broke their silence. "I like to come here when I'm having trouble thinking. It helps me to clear my head. Recently, I've found myself on this bench more and more."
Bruce turned to look at him. Jeremiah was chewing his lips nervously, a common habit of his. However, this time his lips appeared bright red, like he'd caused them to bleed. For the first time that day, he also noticed that he wasn't wearing his glasses. That's odd, Bruce thought. I very clearly remember him explaining to me how blind he is without them, as well as how much he hates contacts.
"I know this isn't what we came here to discuss, but Coy said something interesting to me at the cafe, and it's been in my head ever since," he blurted out. Bruce couldn't help himself. He was curious.
"I thought she had said something to you. What was it?"
Bruce was suddenly a little nervous, so he started to smooth the creases in his jeans while he spoke. "Well, um, she said that you bring quite a few guys in to eat there, but she doesn't like many of them."
Jeremiah's quiet laugh rang out. "That was kind of the point. Coy and Dinah were sort of like my mother figures when I was going through school. I went in to the diner almost every day. Sometimes, we got into arguments about who and what was appropriate. So, I'd go out of my way to invite the toughest looking street kids I could find in with me. They got a meal and I got to piss off Coy. Sometimes we both got a little more. The point is, that was my way of pushing boundaries. I didn't keep at it for long though. Either way, she must've been delighted to see a clean cut guy like you walk through that door with me. Now she'll write me back into her will."
Bruce couldn't tell if he was kidding about that last part or not. Sometimes, it was hard to tell with Jeremiah. His laughter didn't always reach his eyes. Bruce had noticed that a lot more today. "Well, I hope you're not just using me to get back into her good graces," he joked.
The boy sitting next to him gazed at him seriously. "Bruce, I would never use you. Not for anything. I can honestly say that you are my very best friend in the world. That's why I'm...reluctant...to share with you why I needed to see you today."
"You're my best friend too, Jeremiah. You can tell me anything."
He was staring anxiously into the distance, refusing to meet Bruce's eyes now. "Something happened to me yesterday. Something extremely unpleasant."
"What happened?"
"My brother sent me a little gift. I have no idea how he was able to orchestrate the entire process from his prison cell, much less get past my own security. However, he managed to place a package in my residence. Funnily enough, the tag stated it was from your company." Jeremiah didn't look very amused.
"He must've known that you and I were hanging out."
Jeremiah nodded his agreement and continued. "This package had fascinating contents. Instead of the lovely surprise I was expecting from Wayne Enterprises, out popped a demented clown doll stuffed with a manic recording from my brother. What he said isn't really important. The key piece is what the jester did while spewing Jerome's words." He looked more agitated now. Bruce had never seen him this way, even when they'd been preparing to confront Jerome on stage.
"Go on." he coaxed. "Tell me what the doll did."
"It was spraying something else besides his nonsense. While it spoke, it released a toxic gas, designed to drive me insane." Before Bruce could react, he continued speaking. "It didn't work. But it had rather permanent side effects."
Bruce's mind was spinning. "What side effects?"
To answer his question, Jeremiah began wiping his face. Bruce now understood why he didn't want Coy to touch him. His skin began to melt away, leaving an unmarked white expanse in its place. When he dragged a finger across his lips, the red that Bruce had begun to spot earlier became much more prominent. Against his albino face, both his bright eyes and vivid lips appeared garish to him. Jeremiah was removing his woolen gloves and unwinding his scarf, revealing that the chemical's effects went all the way through his body.
He was looking at Bruce now, trying to read his expression. "Before you say anything, I don't want sympathy. Or anger towards Jerome. Despite making public appearances even more difficult for me, he's done something useful as well."
Bruce took a second to tear his eyes away from Jeremiah's skin and meet his piercing gaze. "And what's that?"
"He's opened my eyes to an entire world of possibilities. I cannot say whether or not that was intentional. But I suddenly see everything around me so differently. It's incredibly liberating, although shortsighted on his part." There's was an icy manic edge to Jeremiah's voice that startled Bruce. It wasn't like him. His tone was always a bit cool, but that was just because he didn't have amazing social skills. This was different. It was clinical, detached, and yet somehow angry all at once.
"I...what do you mean?"
The look in Jeremiah's eyes reminded him strongly of another Valeska. The insanity was unmistakable. "Gotham is broken, Bruce. And there's no fixing it. I've analyzed every possible method of repairing the damage to our city, but the only permanent outcome results from starting completely from scratch."
"Jeremiah, you're not acting like yourself." Bruce was frightened now, and his companion's appearance only made it worse.
"Don't you understand, Bruce? This is exactly how I've always wanted to act. I'm more of myself than I've ever been. Can't you see that? Can't you appreciate how free I am now? For once, can't you appreciate something other than your own success?" His words stung like frostbite.
The conversation had very suddenly taken an antagonistic turn.
"I appreciate every goddamn thing you do, Jeremiah. At least I don't build my ego on how much people admire my work!"
"No, instead you feed it by telling yourself how much of a difference you're making in this wretched city by pitying random strangers. Clearly, it's been incredibly effective. Crime is at an all-time high. Congratulations, Bruce. What a difference, indeed. Maybe the statistics would go down if you actually let the authorities handle their own investigations instead of poking your pretentious nose in." Jeremiah's apathy made his words hurt even more, and Bruce had never hated his monotone voice so much.
"And yet somehow, the police have failed to figure out that you're the one who set those fires uptown last night," Bruce said scathingly.
Jeremiah didn't appear phased. In fact, he appeared quite pleased to take credit for it. "I've been waiting for you to bring that up. One of my people reported your little get-together with Jerome at the GCPD to me hours ago. Yes, I had those apartment buildings set on fire. And like I said in that note, they were simply a test. I plan on burning this city to the ground. And before this pleasant conversation, I had planned to ask you to stand by my side when it happened. After all, your assistance was crucial to making this work."
His last statement made chills dance down Bruce's back. "What do you mean, my help was crucial?"
Jeremiah stared at him with a slight smile. "Well you see, the canisters for our little green energy project are incredibly simple to rewire. All I had to do was set them all up for my own purpose. And now they're in place."
"You turned my invention to help people into bombs to destroy the city? How could you, Jeremiah?" He was furious.
"Your invention? I think not. The most you did was flatten out blueprints and write things down in that pretty script of yours."
"Oh right, it's not like I funded the entire thing."
"It's the little things, Bruce, that matter. Money has never been one of those things, especially not to me." Jeremiah was circling around the bench now, and he stooped to pick something up.
He turned back to look at Bruce and cocked his head to the side. Bruce saw that he was now holding a beautiful full red rose. "Sometimes," Jeremiah continued, "you just need to stop and smell the roses, so to speak." He held the rose out to Bruce. "A peace offering. I don't expect you to accept it. However, my offer still stands. Tomorrow, I demolish the city. You can either stand by me when it happens or leave Gotham. But above all else, I ask that you not remain here. I wouldn't want you to get hurt in the aftermath, although your manor is outside of the blast radius."
Bruce certainly didn't accept his peace offering. "I want you to take me to the GCPD, now. Or I can walk. Either way, I need to be there."
Jeremiah laughed. "Don't worry, Bruce. I already plan on announcing everything to them. But I want them to get a good night's sleep tonight. They have no need to worry until tomorrow. I'd like you to get a decent rest as well. Although, I'd advise that you leave tonight to avoid traffic. Let me drive you home. It's at least an hour's walk, and it's getting dark." He held is white hand out to Bruce, dropping the rose.
Bruce looked away from his hand coldly. "I'll walk, thanks."
This didn't seem to bother Jeremiah. "Suit yourself. I'd leave now though if you want to catch the last dregs of daylight. I'm going to sit here for awhile. And Bruce?"
He turned back to look at Jeremiah. "What?"
"If you change your mind, you can always call me. I'll welcome you back when you see what's right and sane. Have a good night, Bruce." His pale skin shined in the evening light as he turned his vivid gaze to the people eternally resting below him.
Bruce walked down the hill and retraced their steps through the park, not once looking back.
…
The GCPD wasn't taking his calls. He'd tried to contact both the department's general lines as well as Jim Gordon's direct cell and neither were going through. He'd like to think that they were just busy solving their cases, but at this point, he wouldn't have put it past Jeremiah to meddle with the signals. He certainly had the capability.
It was too late to drive there anyway; the moon had well risen by now, and Jim's shift was over. The officers on night duty were unreliable and most likely worked for Jeremiah, based on what he had revealed to Bruce.
A part of him wanted to think that it wasn't real. That Jeremiah wouldn't really do it. That tomorrow would come and go in Gotham just as the next day would. Maybe it's possible.
By the time he finally reached his doorstep, it was well into the night. The stars above his head fought against the heavy pollution in their efforts to shine. He quietly unlocked the front door, trying not to alert Alfred.
It was a futile effort, however, as his butler was sitting at the bottom of the foyer stairs waiting for Bruce.
"Oh, Alfred. Hi."
"'Hi', Master Bruce. Where the bloody hell have you been? You said you'd be back in time for supper, and yet it's nearly a new dawn altogether!" He was standing now and looking at Bruce angrily.
"I know, I'm sorry." Bruce made a selfish decision then. "Jeremiah's assistant is sick and her condition got worse, so we went to go check on her in the hospital. I forgot to text you. It won't happen again."
Alfred's anger immediately evaporated. "I'm sorry to hear that, is the little miss alright?"
"Yeah she's okay now, she's getting better." Bruce had no idea if this was true and just hoped that he sounded convincing.
"Well alright then, off to bed, Master B. It's been a late night and I'm sure you could use some sleep."
Bruce was very certain that he wouldn't get any sleep that night, but he allowed his butler to usher him into bed. There, he tried his best to ignore his racing thoughts and oddly aching heart. He tossed and turned for several hours, wrestling with anxiety and nightmarish images involving unnaturally white faces and raging infernos.