Neurosis and Negotiations

As he drove, Bruce had time to reflect on his morning and early afternoon. He thought about his last five minutes with Jerome, and something struck him. A statement the boy had said earlier ran through his mind. "Yes, you're younger than me. But you're also much more mature…". And sometimes, that was true. The image of Jerome peeking through his fingers at him and demanding cuddles showed this. But it made sense to Bruce. They'd both had to grow up way too quickly. The difference was, Bruce had someone that he could rely on to make it easier and still allow him to be a kid. Jerome didn't. Although they'd matured rapidly, it had happened in completely opposite ways. He had to mature emotionally to deal with the death of his parents and the idea of being responsible for a financial empire. Jerome had to mature physically to cope with the endless beating and abuse he received from his family. That's why he still acted like a kid sometimes. Which was okay with Bruce. If he needed someone he could be carefree around, then Bruce would be happy to be that person. He didn't fault him for it. In fact, he found it endearing.

What worried him was Jerome's rapid switches between playful and serious. Yes, he knew that the teenager also happened to be a sociopath. Which is why he was concerned. What if Bruce did something that caused him to snap? It's not like Jerome hasn't tried to kill him before, so it's not that far-fetched of an idea. But Jerome had said it himself: he actually cared about Bruce. So, perhaps he was banking a bit on the fact that him saying so should be enough. But he truly believed there was a chance at redemption for Jerome, and he knew that he was the boy's best bet.

Bruce pulled into the parking garage of the GCPD and shook thoughts of Jerome from his head. They would only distract him here. He rushed through the door, hallway, and main lobby, and raced up the stairs to the second floor where the captain's office awaited him. He knocked on the door lightly, noticing Jim sitting at his desk through the glass. The detective heard him and stood to open the door.

"Good afternoon Bruce, I was beginning to wonder if you were going to show up." He led Bruce to his desk and offered him a seat before resuming his position in the large chair across from him.

"Please forgive my lacking punctuality, detective. I had a bit of a late start this morning and got distracted."

Jim had been studying his flustered face while he spoke and his eyes were now roaming down his neck. "Very distracted apparently," he said in reference to the red marks Bruce had no idea were littering his throat and collarbone.

Embarrassed, Bruce pulled up the collar of his sweater to hide his neck. "It's nothing. I'm sorry I'm late. It won't happen again."

The man sitting across from him raised his eyebrows and smiled knowingly. "Oh, come on Bruce. We have time. Have you been seeing Selina recently?"

"She's staying with us, but no, not...in that sense, sir."

Jim looked surprised. "Huh, I always thought you two had a thing."

If he was going to talk with the police captain about relationships, he might as well be as honest as he could be. "She's not really my type."

"Ah. You were pretty close with Galavan's niece. Was she more your type?"

Bruce shook his head. "No, detective. She was a bit too high-society for me. Not to mention a compulsive liar."

"Then, if you don't mind me asking of course, what is your type? Because apparently, you're a picky guy."

He scratched at a spot on the desk. "Less...female."

Bruce glanced up to see Jim's reaction. He'd opened his mouth slightly in surprise but soon began to nod. "Oh, that makes sense."

"Does it?"

"Yes. After all, every man in Gotham seems to want to be with you."

He laughed. "I think you're overestimating the extent of my charm a bit."

"Speaking of every guy in Gotham wanting to see you, Jeremiah Valeska has demanded some of your time."

"He's here?" Bruce was shocked. "In custody?"

Jim nodded again. "I arrested him last night. And he won't tell us anything without speaking to you first."

"Didn't Jerome ask for exactly the same thing?"

"Yes. It feels a bit like deja vu, doesn't it? Only, things are so much different now." Jim was looking off to the side now, and for the first time, it struck Bruce just how much he must be dealing with.

"Detective, I just want you to know that you're doing an incredible job. Not only are you the best captain this department has ever seen, those officers out there wouldn't be here today if they hadn't believed you would be. And you went beyond raising their spirits by showing up. You managed to arrest the person behind all of their grief. That's an incomparable accomplishment. So please, allow me to do my part, as you have been doing more than your own. Bring me to Jeremiah."

And with a grateful look, the police captain led him back down to the ground floor and through the hallway. They stopped at the same interrogation room that Bruce had met with Jerome in only days ago. It felt like weeks, but it had only been three days. Jim pulled the metal door open to reveal Jeremiah sitting in the same position he'd been maintaining all day. A position that Bruce was very familiar with, as he spent many hours sitting with him.

Jeremiah looked in their direction as they entered the room, but his eyes focused on Bruce. "Excellent, Jim. You can leave him here. Obviously I don't want us being heard or watched, so I've assigned someone to guard the entrance to the room masked by the one-way glass. Your officers have already been dismissed from their positions. Thank you."

The detective clearly didn't like being ordered around in his own department. "I'll have my officers go through your possessions and the remains of your bunker then. I can't wait to see what they find. And hand me your suit jacket. Thank you."

The pale man said nothing and quietly removed his coat. He handed it to Jim, who left the room.

"Why did he take your coat?" asked a confused Bruce.

"He assumed that's where the tap I'm using to communicate with my followers on the outside is."

"And did he assume correctly?"

"Yes, but no matter. I have no more use for them today. This afternoon is dedicated to much more important things."

Bruce was getting impatient with all of Jeremiah's words. "What do you want, Jeremiah?"

The boy across from him raised an eyebrow. "Hmm. So I take it I'm not forgiven."

"Of course you're not forgiven! You used the threat of Alfred's life to get me to run through a stupid maze while you caused the deaths of thousands of people! It didn't even make any sense! If you wanted to see me, you could have just been in that room in the first place. Instead you chose to fuel your own twisted little game. I'm sorry if I don't feel like getting over that overnight." Bruce had planted his hands on the table and was staring at Jeremiah furiously.

"That's fine. You don't need to forgive me. But…" He rolled his head around as if he were contemplating something. "I need your help."

Bruce was dumbfounded. "My help? After all of the shit you've done to me? To my city?"

Jeremiah seemed to be getting agitated. His fingers were twitching and his eyes had become even more wild. "You seemed eager enough to assist me last night," he said through clenched teeth.

"Only because you tricked me. Jerome was right. You're a manipulative sociopath who throws tantrums when things don't go his way."

"Ah, so I take it Jerome found you first."

"He didn't have to. I realized it the second I was out of that stupid place."

"Bruce, do you want to hear what I'm asking of you before you work yourself into a fit?"

"No," he said stubbornly, sitting down across from Jeremiah. They remained in silence for a few minutes until, "What do you want?"

"I need you to convince them to let me go."

A pause and then, "You really are insane, Jeremiah."

Jeremiah's voice began to shake. "I am not crazy. Why is everybody so convinced that I'm insane?"

Bruce smacked his hand down on the table. "Because you are! Okay? Not a single sane person would do the things you do. I don't know if I should blame it on Jerome's jack-in-the-box or your own screwed up head! But you're not the person I used to know. Or maybe, the Jeremiah I knew was just a fake all along and this cold-hearted monster is the real you. I wouldn't know because you never let me in enough to truly tell the difference."

Jeremiah was holding his head in his cuffed hands now, still shaking. "I want to be honest with you, Bruce. I want to let you in. The problem is, there's more chaos in my head than in the streets of Gotham. I'm being advised to laugh, cry, murder, and donate to charity all at the same time. It was never this bad before."

"What do you mean, before?"

He finally met Bruce's eyes. "I've been dealing with similar symptoms, to a lesser degree, since childhood. Perhaps a more severe case of schizophrenia. I have no idea. I've always been averse to mental diagnosis. But something within my brother's chemical compound seemed to have brought out the worst in me. I couldn't tell you if the change was physical or if the ordeal left psychological damage. You're right to tell me I'm not myself. I'm not. And I hate it. But sometimes, I feel more alive and free than I've ever felt. These are the moments where I find myself committing atrocious acts simply for the sake of doing them. The liberation and control are addicting, Bruce. I can't explain it in words that convey their true hold on me. But I know that if I get locked up in Arkham, or even Blackgate, I'll succumb to full insanity within days. I can still tell the difference between manic episodes and everyday life. That means there's a chance I'll make it out of this. But I can't do it without you." He was pleading with him, in his own over-complicated dramatic way. And Bruce had never been able to turn down someone who needed his help. Especially not a boy he had recently thought to be one of his closest friends.

"If I were to try and free you, where would you go once you were out of here?"

He looked at Bruce desperately.

"No, Jeremiah. You can't stay with me. I'm already harboring your brother, and there's no way I'm putting you two near each other ever again."

"Please, just for a few days. Your manor is massive; he wouldn't even have to see me. I'll draw up plans for a new home while I'm there and begin construction within a week. I have nowhere else to turn."

Bruce pondered this for a minute. Jeremiah had a point. The east wing of bedrooms was unoccupied. But he still wasn't sure how he felt about him, and having the boy in his house would only complicate things. And yet, he'd never seen him look so lost. So very unprepared.

"You get a week. I expect you to be gone, leaving no trace, by next Monday morning. Understand?" Jeremiah nodded. "Fine. I'll negotiate your release." He stood up to leave the room, but was stopped by a hesitant whisper.

"Thank you."

He said nothing but nodded to show he heard him. Bruce then pushed open the metal door and met Jim Gordon in the hallway.

"So, what does he want?"

"I'd like to negotiate his release from your custody, detective."

Jim looked at him like he was crazy. "You're kidding me. Why the hell would I let him walk?"

"He'll be torn to shreds in prison. And...I'm of the belief that the bombings were not entirely his fault. I think Jeremiah is suffering from a schizophrenic condition. Perhaps even mild split-personality disorder. He will not receive the treatment he needs in Arkham, and he certainly won't in Blackgate. There is a chance that the condition can be subdued or reversed. I'd like to attempt this at my home. In exchange for his release, Jeremiah will create the plans and engineer the design of the new bridges to replace the ones he destroyed. If he returns to a stable state, I recommend he do three years in Arkham. But only if he's completely cured. Otherwise, he'd be a danger to himself and those around him. Are my terms clear?"

"Bruce, you're asking me to release the monster responsible for the deaths of thousands of Gotham citizens."

"Not into the streets, detective. He'll be very closely monitored and he has a much higher chance of retaining his compassion if he's with me. Please, take a moment to consider my offer."

Jim was silent for a few minutes, deliberating over the case Bruce had brought to him. "Do you promise to keep an exceptionally close eye on him?"

"Of course."

"Then we'll mark this down as a private institutionalization. I don't understand why you're doing this, Bruce, but you make a solid case nonetheless. You're right, he's much more likely to feel remorse for his actions and progress as a human being if he's in your care. I'll find the paperwork you need to fill out." The police captain seemed perplexed, but patted Bruce on the shoulder as he went back into the records room. He decided to wait in the interrogation room for him.

"What did he say?" Jeremiah asked nervously as Bruce sat down.

"He agreed to the terms I outlined for him. You're under my care now. That means no murdering people, Jeremiah." He gave the other boy a hard look.

"Why would I want to kill someone if I get to spend my time in a manor with Bruce Wayne?"

Bruce rolled his eyes. "You're very funny. I mean it, though. The second you do something illegal, you're sentenced for life and I get scorned for taking in a sociopath. So please, try to keep up with the work I'm going to set out for you."

"Oh, are you giving me a class on how to be a civilized human being?"

"Something like that."

"Intriguing. I can't wait. I do enjoy classes."

Jim entered the room at that moment and layed down a file full of things for Bruce to sign. As he did so, Jeremiah peered curiously at the papers in front of them, occasionally flipping them over with his cuffed hands. As Bruce signed the last page, Jim reluctantly unlocked both Jeremiah's hand and ankle cuffs. He handed him back his suit jacket and led them to the parking garage.

"Hopefully I won't hear from you for a long time, Jeremiah. Because if I see a single report of you on the streets of Gotham, I will hunt you down and kill you myself. Are we clear?" Jim was looking coldly at the teenager who'd caused his officers so much pain.

"Yes, detective," Jeremiah said humbly. His nose twitched. The nervous tics that Bruce had become accustomed to in his friend were returning. It was a strange process to witness.

Jim leaned down to speak to Bruce directly. "You keep a close eye on him. Any trouble and you call me. Okay?"

"Yes, sir. Our meetings are always a pleasure. Please enjoy the rest of your evening."

He received another pat on the shoulder. "You too, Bruce." And with that, the detective returned to his department, leaving Bruce and Jeremiah alone by his car.

He walked around to the driver's side and was about to sit down when he noticed Jeremiah staring off into space where Jim had just walked away.

"Well, get in." Bruce prompted him. Jeremiah jumped as if he'd startled him from some sort of reverie and got in the car.

Jeremiah was characteristically silent the entire way. The only thing that moved was his hand as he rested it on the console. And despite everything that he had put him through, Bruce laced his own fingers around Jeremiah's for the remainder of the drive.