The Simplicity in Letting Go

This time, the tears refused to come. Good. Bruce was sick of crying in his car. It was becoming a habit, and that was the last thing he needed. What was more important was piecing together Jeremiah's puzzle in some way. Bruce wished he could say that he was tired of solving pointless puzzles for him, but he couldn't. There was a part of him that truly enjoyed the twists and turns the boy created. It was exciting, to say the least. Addictive, to say the most. He'd never admit it out loud, though.

Clouds gathered overhead as he pulled into the parking lot of Gotham Cemetery. It was the only place he could think to go that would help him join the petals together in a way that made sense. After all, the rose most likely came from here. Jeremiah didn't exactly strike Bruce as the sort of person to simply waltz into a grocery store and buy a single rose when he's supposed to be institutionalized.

His theory was proven correct as he finished retracing their steps to the bench they'd sat at only a few days prior. Once again, he was struck by how quickly time seemed to be moving. Watching it slip away like this made him anxious to do something, anything. Sitting on the bench, he pulled out the remains of the flower so similar to the ones surrounding him. The numbers, words, and lines were just as confusing as they had been in the study. He scattered the petals on the wood next to him.

After awhile of gazing at them, lost in thought, a memory floated to the front of his mind. Something Jerome had said as he threw accusations at him. "You didn't tell me that he'd left you a love letter, too. And directions to his secret hideout."

Directions to his secret hideout.

Suddenly, it clicked. He started placing petals next to each other, paying close attention to the turns and endings of the lines, as well as the order the numbers and letters went in. Soon, he was facing a map. A subway map, to be exact. Composed of the carnage of a dead rose and odd purple ink.

Despite everything he could fault Jerome for, such as being an absolute and utter jackass, he was incredibly smart. And even more intuitive. He'd known exactly what Jeremiah had created for Bruce without looking at the objects mentioned. It was a bit unsettling, if he was being honest. Maybe it was simply the connection between twins.

Regardless, the map in front of him made the situation very clear. Each station was labelled with a number or letter that correlated to the train needed to reach it. For example, Gotham City Hall was accessed through station number six, by subways four, five, and six. This was also indicated on the map in front of him. What he still wasn't sure of was the petal containing the letters J and M, as well as the star. It was probably safe to infer that J referred to Jeremiah since the whole objective was to find him. Another thought popped into his head. What if he overheard my conversation with Oswald this morning? It would seem like the perfect opportunity to him. Abduct Martin and use him as leverage in case his phone call and note weren't enough to bait me. He knows that there's not a single chance I'd leave the kid with him. It made sense. And if there's was one thing he could count on Jeremiah doing, it would be trying to seem rational.

That final petal fit right at the bottom of the map, the farthest south. By that logic, the subway needed to reach Jeremiah would be train number one through station one. This meant that they were by the docks. Oh wonderful, the docks are always a very safe and happy place. I can't wait, he thought to himself with sarcastic enthusiasm.

There was no point in wasting any more time in the cemetery. Bruce had work to do. He made his way back to his car. The closest station was letter F. This would take him to 14th Street where he could switch to the right train south. He wished that he could just drive there, but the message was pretty clear: Bruce had to take the subway.

Which wasn't a problem...until he reached the station. Apparently, the bombing and subsequent evacuation had ridden the city of its transportation operators. It didn't matter anyway. Half of the roof was caved in. But of course, Jeremiah knew this. A less-than-welcoming neat purple arrow drew Bruce's attention to the narrow gap between the rubble and the track access. The straightforwardness of the whole ordeal assured him that the arrow was meant to point him in the direction he needed to go.

He spared a thought for Jerome, wondering what he was doing now, and how he felt, before shaking it off. This wasn't about him. And it shouldn't be. Everything else always was. Right now, things were about him and Jeremiah...and Martin, he supposed. Clinging to that, he stepped out of the parked Mustang, locked it, and approached the entrance. A pitch-black opening was all that greeted him. He felt completely unprepared. Bruce hadn't thought to grab a weapon or even a flashlight from home. He spared a moment to think longingly of the knives Alfred and Selina had given him the night before.

One last resigned look at his car, and he was plunging into the darkness. Or at least, his left foot was. Much farther down than he expected. He stumbled but caught himself on the railing he hoped would be there. Of course there are stairs, idiot. Just because the roof has collapsed doesn't mean the entire architecture has changed.

At the bottom of the concrete steps, the room lightened up a bit. Gloomy daylight filtered through the debris illuminating his first destination. Instead of the subways that typically filled the station, a small cart was fitted onto the tracks. It was clearly custom-made; the width was much greater than the height and was fitted with a single light green seat. Another purple arrow painted on the concrete below his feet pointed to the cart.

Hesitantly, he placed a hand on the side of the vehicle and tugged on the small silver handle marking the little door. For some reason, Bruce was reminded of an amusement park ride. Perhaps this was another one of Jerome's ideas that his brother had modified. As soon as he sat on the seat, a belt sprung to life around his waist and buckled itself as a crackle started over the station's speaker system.

"Welcome, Bruce," began Jeremiah familiarly. "I know how inconvenient and convoluted this must all seem to you. But, I am a man of many intricacies, so I ask that you indulge me for a bit longer. Although your understanding of arriving in a timely matter is clearly faulty, I can excuse you for it. After all, it's been a rather emotionally taxing day, hasn't it?" Jeremiah waited for Bruce's response, and upon not receiving one, he continued to speak. "Despite your dreadful day, I do hope that you'll enjoy the evening I have planned for you. And once you reach me, you'll get what you came here for. You know I'm a man of my word, so there's no need to doubt me. Now, Bruce, are you ready for a ride?"

Before he could answer, the cart began to glide forward on the tracks seamlessly. The light fixtures adorning the tile walls glowed with color. All of the white fluorescent bulbs had been replaced with misty green, purple, and red ones. When did he have the time for all of this? Bruce wondered to himself as the cart picked up speed.

A fork in the tracks came rushing towards him. An arrow indicated that he should go left, but he wasn't in control of the cart. "I'd check the front of the cart if I were you. There's little crash protection and the vehicle certainly isn't insured," stated Jeremiah's indifferent voice over the loudspeaker. Bruce quickly reached towards the front and found a lever that could switch from left, middle, and right. He yanked it to the left just in time; the wall had come much too close for comfort.

"Oh, I almost forgot to mention. Before the city...renovation...that I did the other night, construction was taking place within some of the tunnels. We didn't have time to clear it all out so you'd best learn to operate the cart's other innovations. With haste, this time, please."

Another reach for the front showed an array of buttons and another lever. This lever also had three settings: Forward, reverse, and stop. Jeremiah must have wired it so he could control the vehicle from a distance if necessary, but obviously watching Bruce struggle was much more fun for him. "Why are you trying so hard to kill me?" he shouted to the ceiling.

"I'm not trying to kill you. I was just having a little fun. I am an engineer, after all. You chose to come here, to find me. That's on you, Bruce."

"It's your fault I'm here! I wouldn't have come if you didn't have Martin!"

"Tsk tsk. Remember what I said about lying? Of course you would have. The thrill of the chase is what you live for. And fault is a meaningless and subjective term. Perhaps disappearing and holding the child hostage is my fault, but what results from it is your responsibility. We all make choices. And this is the one you chose. All I'm doing is ensuring your hard work is worth it. I wouldn't want you to feel underappreciated. Oh, brake."

Heeding his advice, Bruce pulled the second lever back a notch and the cart slowed to a standstill. Now he could see why. Green light illuminated a human shape lying on the tracks. It wasn't moving.

"Careful," Jeremiah breathed quietly, although anticipation was also present in his tone.

Was he supposed to get out and inspect the person? Bruce wasn't sure, but that's what he did. He kneeled by the shape. It was covered by a large black coat and lying beside it was a classically styled walking cane. Pulling back the coat revealed a mop of black hair dancing with static from the clothing that was covering it. He turned the body over, although he already had a suspicion of who was lying beside him.

The chalk-white face of Oswald Cobblepot was bloodied and bruised. His arms had been bound to his sides tightly with transparent twine, cutting off the circulation to his hands. Bloodless fingers had begun to turn purple and his nails were torn to jagged shreds from scratching at something.

"What did you do to him?" he yelled, trying to untie Oswald's arms. Bruce didn't particularly care for the man one way or another, but this was severe nonetheless.

"It wasn't his turn. He gave the job of finding Martin to you, so he didn't have a single right to come snooping down here. I simply quieted him." The nonchalance in his tone was infuriating. And yet, Bruce still didn't hate him.

"What did you do to his arms?"

"I addressed him as Mr. Cobblepot. Apparently, he preferred the nickname 'the Penguin'. Well, that's just ridiculous. But if he adored the pseudonym so much, it wasn't fair to just let his legs represent it."

"You're disgusting."

"On the contrary, you find me both pleasant and admirable. You just won't admit it."

"Screw you."

"Does that mean I'm correct?"

"I don't want to have this conversation with the tile." Oswald's arms were free now but he was still unconscious.

"An excellent point. Move the old man off of the tracks and proceed. You've only passed two stations so far. There are still five more ahead of you."

He hadn't even noticed he'd traveled that far. Bruce didn't want to just leave Oswald there, but the cart was only made for one person...and he didn't really want the ex-mayor with him when he confronted Jeremiah. Without his cellphone, he couldn't call anyone to retrieve the man. His only option was to leave him and come back for him afterwards. So, he once again did as Jeremiah said, picking up the older man and setting him on the floor above.

Climbing back into the cart, he pulled the lever to start it. Soon, he was racing at the same speed he had been moments before. The odd lighting continued to flicker and blink as he directed the cart according to the arrows. Occasionally, he would pass a shadow or see something off to the sides that made him question whether he was truly alone. Jeremiah had stopped commenting over the speaker system, presumably sitting back to observe his progress. He still had no idea what the buttons beside the levers did, but he was concerned that they might not be safe to experiment with. Instead of tampering with them, he stuck to taking the appropriate turns and letting his mind wander between the Valeska twins.

…

Three stations later, Bruce had dealt with several obstacles, each more inconvenient than the last. Although, he had been able to find out what three of the buttons did. Past the third station, he had met a wide orange and white construction barrier blocking the tracks. One button granted the cart the ability to hop over it, which was sort of strange, but convenient. He had no idea what sort of customization or engineering skill that required. Around the fourth station, a brick wall had prevented him from going any further. A red button released a small explosive from within the cart, which honestly just made Bruce more anxious to be riding around in it. But, it had destroyed the wall while leaving the rest of the station intact. Still convenient, even if it was a bit unorthodox. The third challenge was definitely the most stressful. And yes, he had decided that these were challenges. Once he'd ridden by the fifth station, he had heard a noise reminiscent of rushing water. Because it was rushing water. The plumbing that supplied the entire system with drinking water had burst and begun to flood the tunnels. He'd had no idea what to do, and just hoped the third button could get him out of the , it did. A rotor had come out of the back end of the cart, and a buoyant lining encased the outer edge of it. Essentially, the cart became a boat. When the water levels returned to normal, he pressed the button again and it was a cart once more. In conclusion, he sincerely hoped that Jeremiah would find a new hobby.

Now, he wasn't sure what to expect at station number six. Jeremiah was at number seven by the docks. Bruce had never been on a subway to take him to the ferries. In fact, he only went on subways when his parents wanted him to see the city from a "normal person's" perspective. And Alfred hadn't taken him since Bruce's parents had passed. Painful memories. He suppressed them, choosing to focus on the task at hand.

As the cart flew along the tracks, shadows began to detach themselves from the walls ahead on the pedestrian level. They moved silently to the center and lined the tracks. It was unnerving how uniform and in sync they were. The shadows marched to their designated spot and waited for Bruce's vehicle to approach them. Foggy red bulbs made the entire procession much more ominous. The nearer he drew, the more Bruce could make out their faces. Each one was painted a ghostly white with grey surrounding their eyes and tracing their cheekbones. A stony expression could be found on every face. Suddenly, they flooded the tracks. He jerked the lever of the cart to halt it so he didn't hit anyone.

Everyone stopped. The figure furthest from him moved to face Bruce. This one was dressed differently than the others. It had the hat of a jester costume, a blank white mask, and was covered by a three-toned diamond patterned jacket that came up around its neck. Underneath it wore simple black leggings and mismatched boots. A gun stuck out of one of its large pockets. This person disturbed him more than any of the others. Maybe it was the mask. It tilted its head and reached out a gloved hand, almost seeming like it was offering to help him out of the cart. One look at the gun decided for him. He gripped the hand and exited the vehicle.

The figure didn't speak. Instead, it reached into the coat pocket that didn't contain the firearm. It pulled out a silver pair of handcuffs attached to a longer chain. Bruce didn't like the look of them at all, and started to back away.

An ironclad grip on his arm kept him in place. It pulled him forward even closer. Latching the handcuffs around the wrist in its hold, the jester grabbed his other arm and fixed the second cuff upon it, too. Still, it said nothing. The others had surrounded him now, preventing any chance of escape. A tug on the chain told him to walk, which he obeyed.

"Where are you taking me?"

"To the master," they all replied in unison, except for the person leading him down the tunnel.

"Why?"

"Shut up and do what you're told," commanded a man to his right. The jester promptly turned around, pulled out it's handgun, and shot him in the head. Crimson blood leaked from the clean hole above his nose as he fell to the ground. The gathered group was silent; they didn't even turn their heads to see him die.

"No one here is permitted to give orders," a female voice said calmly through the mask. Her voice seemed familiar, but Bruce couldn't quite place it.

She continued to walk, her grip on the chain never loosening. Dozens of people marched alongside them, but never came too close. He had a feeling they didn't want to be the next to disobey their instructions. The altering of the tunnels and the execution speed of Jeremiah's plan made sense now. He must have over seventy people in his service. How did Jeremiah convince them all to be so loyal to him? He's not that intimidating, and certainly not as frightening as he'd like to think he is. Then again, I know him better than anyone here. Maybe that's just how I see him. Then something else clicked. Perhaps he wasn't the only person here who knew Jeremiah well. Bruce had a suspicion that the woman in front of him was his assistant, Ecco. The mismatched boots also made sense now. One was made of black leather and went up to her knee. The second one only went up to her mid-calf and was open-toed. Thick straps crossed her foot, which was wrapped in white gauze. It was to support the foot that Jerome had shot a few nights ago.

"Ecco?" he tried. She ignored him. Clearly, she was devoted to the task that Jeremiah had given her and didn't care for conversation.

It was going to take them hours to reach the location Jeremiah had specified with his strange map on foot. Bruce had no idea why he'd had him stopped here.

They continued on like this for some time; he would estimate about forty minutes. Almost nothing more was said for the entirety of their walk. However, at one point a woman had coughed. Now she was lying motionless on the tracks, hundred of feet behind them. Ecco's justification had been "Disease is the cause of thousands of deaths daily. Murder is the cause of thousands yearly. I do not need to explain the math to you."

Another ten minutes passed before Bruce tried to get more answers. "Why does Jeremiah-"

He was cut off by a chant of, "Jeremiah! Jeremiah!" It echoed off of the walls and bounced around the room before it fell silent once more.

"He does not trust you to arrive on your own. We offered to fetch you." Apparently she was talking to him now and could infer what his question had been.

"And why do they chant his name like they worship him?"

"Because we do worship him. He is a visionary. He will lead Gotham to its true place among the greatest cities in the world. Metropolis, Tokyo, London, Singapore...they will not stand a chance against the plans he has. Those who turned to him from his brother were untrustworthy. He purged them. His ranks have been replaced with more loyal followers, provided by a generous benefactor. We are here for his command." Ecco turned sharply to the right, tugging him up a narrow set of steps leading up to the concrete floor above them. A simple metal door broke the endless flow of the tiles. Jeremiah seemed to like metal doors. "We have arrived. The others may not enter. They will remain here, in case you attempt to escape."

"But we haven't even reached the last station yet. How could we be here already?"

"He did not have you take the conventional route. Your cart used maintenance tunnels. They are faster." And with that, she opened the door with the swipe of a keycard. Ecco's grip still hadn't slackened on the chain he was cuffed to. She lead him down a plain hallway with a concrete floor and white walls. The lighting had reverted back to the fluorescent white bulbs that belonged in the tunnels. Another door rose up in front of them, identical to the first. She unlocked this one using the same method. Ecco moved to the side to allow Bruce to pass her.

In front of him was a small unassuming room. A set of monitors was directly across from him, along with a high-backed chair. They were all surveying different parts of the subway. There were two tables in the room. A long one by the entrance was covered in maps. A smaller one was placed in the far left corner. The straight-backed wooden chair beside it was occupied by a tiny boy with curly dark hair. He was scribbling on something and didn't look up when the door shut loudly. The chair facing the monitors swiveled to face them. In it sat Jeremiah with his right leg crossed over his left and his hands steepled. He wasn't a very expressive person, but Bruce could tell that he was pleased. The woman escorting him removed her mask and hat, shaking out her blonde hair and looking at Jeremiah expectantly.

"Excellent work as usual, Ecco. Uncuff him. Bring Lars in, please."

Ecco looked almost disappointed by the lack of attention she received for her all of her effort, but simply nodded, unlocked his cuffs with a tiny key, returned them to her pocket, and walked back out the door.

"Bruce. It's wonderful to see you again in person. I've seen plenty of you through here, but it's not the same." Jeremiah indicated the console before continuing. "I'd offer you a seat but I'm afraid there aren't any to spare. At least, not until my assistant returns with Lars." He stared at Bruce curiously. "I missed you," he finally admitted.

He'd had so many insults saved up, but none of them came now. "I...I missed you too." He turned away, embarrassed. Martin was now watching them curiously. Bruce could see he had been doodling on a little notepad. He walked over to the boy to see what he was drawing. "Hello, Martin. My name is Bruce Wayne," he greeted him warmly. The child waved before he quickly turned the page and began sketching something new. After a moment, he proudly held up a picture of two boys kissing. Embarrassed once again, Bruce returned his attention to Jeremiah, who was watching Martin and smiling lightly. The metal door swung open then, and in came Ecco, now leading a very small blonde teenager, around his own age. This was not the Lars he had been expecting. Although not one to stereotype, Bruce had envisioned a large bald man. Maybe one with a double-bladed axe or something. Not this.

Jeremiah addressed them with authority. "Thank you. Ecco, you may return to the hallway. Remain there until I call you back in." She took her orders, the door swinging shut behind her. "Lars. I made a promise to you, and I intend to keep it. The boy."

Lars' movements were almost too quick to catch. Before Bruce knew it, the blonde had swept Martin out of his chair and held a dagger to his throat. The blade gleamed against pale skin. To his credit, the child didn't cry, or even act startled. He just clung to his notepad.

"Stop!" Bruce rushed over to them, only to have his arm gripped tightly once more. He struggled against Jeremiah's grasp to no avail.

"I would relax if I were you. You do want the boy to live, correct?" Jeremiah whispered in his ear.

Bruce shuddered against his quiet voice. The effect the boy had on him was undeniable. Heeding his advice, he stopped trying to break free and Jeremiah released him. He asked Lars, "What do you want with Martin?"

"I need your sympathy or some bullshit like that to get what I want."

"There's no need to hold him hostage. Let him go and we can discuss compensation."

"This isn't what I meant when I instructed you to grab the child, but I suppose we'll go with it. Consider this payment for your services," Jeremiah added.

"Why are you listening to him?" he asked Lars with a stunned look at Jeremiah.

"He's offered me more than you could ever imagine, you stuck-up prick. Not all of us are born billionaires."

"Murdering a child isn't worth anything."

"Maybe not in your world. In mine, it means putting food on the table for my mother who's too sick to work. It means protecting my little sister." The boy was glaring at him with blazing green eyes.

"This is cowardly. There are other ways to survive in this world."

"Not in Gotham." A simple statement, but it was extremely powerful. The corruption of his city struck Bruce now more than ever. "That's why I follow him. He'll change that. He'll change everything. For all of us."

Bruce turned to Jeremiah. "I want to speak with you. Now. Alone. Tell him to release Martin."

The pale man seemed to consider it for a moment but denied his request. "You don't even know what he wants yet. That's hardly fair, Bruce."

He turned back to Lars. "Fine. What do you want in exchange for Martin's freedom?"

"Your house and everything in it. Including staff." Lars' request seemed bold even to Jeremiah, who raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Try again."

"That's what I want."

"Well, they aren't on the table. I'll give you money, a house of your own. But you have no right to ask for the only things that I have left."

Lars tilted his head and smiled arrogantly, adjusting his grip on the dagger against Martin's throat. A shallow cut appeared. "You really are an entitled little bitch, aren't you? You don't even have the upper hand and you're setting conditions. Someone should teach that pretty mouth of yours to do something more useful than running it endlessly. It would look much better wrapped around my-"

A shot rang out, cutting off his speech, and suddenly the boy was on the ground. His bright green eyes dimmed and pooling blood matted his fair hair. Martin scurried away from him, hiding under the little table.

Jeremiah returned his gun to his pocket. Now that he was standing, he walked over to Bruce, who was staring at the body in shock.

"Why did you shoot him?" Bruce eventually got out.

"I didn't like the way he was speaking to you. Lars can be replaced. Bruce Wayne cannot be. Nor can someone say...inappropriate...things about you."

"You shot him because he was suggesting that I blow him." He shaped it like a statement rather than a question.

"Perhaps."

"This is exactly why you need to come home with me. Sane people don't do things like that, Jeremiah."

The taller boy was massaging his temple now. "Stop insisting that I'm insane! I'm absolutely fine."

"Then why did you kidnap Martin?"

He was gazing at Bruce desperately now. "Because I needed to know that you'd come."

The vulnerability in Jeremiah's voice was surprising. "If you had stayed, you wouldn't have to worry about that. And you knew I would come regardless."

Instead of answering Bruce, Jeremiah walked past him to the door. He tapped it four times. Ecco reentered the room. "Dispose of the body. Take the boy. Retrieve Oswald Cobblepot. Tell them to wait in the station."

"Yes sir." She walked stiffy over to Martin. He still didn't look particularly concerned as she took his hand, dragging Lars' body, and guided him out into the hallway. The metal door swung shut once more.

The wooden chair was pulled over to the large one. Jeremiah gestured to it. "You wanted to be alone, didn't you? At least now I can offer you a seat."

Once they were both seated, Bruce spoke. "I still don't understand. What about my home wasn't good enough?"

A small chuckle escaped from cherry-red lips. "The house wasn't the problem. It was relying on someone else to take care of me, feeling powerless, and the knowledge that my brother was sleeping there freely. In your room, nonetheless. That bit was just rubbing salt in the wound. I couldn't stay. I'm a planner and an inventor. I need freedom. Staying cooped up in there was never going to work."

"Then why ask?"

"A different part of me thought it might. In fact, it craved the domesticity of the entire scenario."

"What is it with Valeskas and having so many different 'parts'?" Bruce muttered to himself. Apparently this warranted another soft laugh.

"We are exceptionally complicated, aren't we?"

"Complicated is a rather extreme understatement. I think screwed up is more accurate."

Based on his easy-going responses, Jeremiah was in one of his good moods. "I completely agree."

"So, what then? I'm supposed to ignore my deal with James Gordon and just let you carry out your plans for Gotham?"

"You already told me that you were interested in working with me. I assumed that was your consent to continue with them."

"You asked me when I was an emotional wreck. It hardly counts as permission if I'm trying to hold myself together."

"Then what would you have me do?"

Bruce took a moment to think, trying to avoid the grey-green eyes looking at him. The intensity of his question didn't come off through his words. It showed through the way Jeremiah moved his chair closer, placed a hand on the armrest of Bruce's own seat, and stared at him with the same sort of unquestionable loyalty his followers gave him.

"I want you to be happy. But I don't know how to give that to you without sacrificing everything I love. And I'm not ready to do that."

He received a quiet sigh from the boy across from him. "I wouldn't ask you to sacrifice anything for me. But I have to confess something or else it truly will drive me mad. Every second you aren't with me hurts. Because I know you're with him. And there's nothing I can do to change that without distancing you from me forever. It's painful. But it's worth it. Do you know why it's worth it?"

"I-no. No, I don't."

"It's because I love you." Before he could say anything, Jeremiah followed up his claim. "You don't have to respond. I know you don't adore me with nearly the same intensity. But, do you remember how we discussed my tendency to get very emotionally attached?"

Bruce was still reeling from his confession, but replied, "Yes, I recall that." It came at as more of a whisper than he meant, but it carried.

"If you can't tell, I've reached, and surpassed, that point with you. Not only can I not stand to be separated from you, I can barely function when you aren't around. You can't imagine how infuriating this was for me upon discovery. And yet I've somehow managed to bring you back to me once more. I really am cruel, aren't I?"

"You aren't cruel. I meant it when I said that I missed you. Apparently you've had a...similar effect on me. You were right in saying that I couldn't stay away. We've become an essential part of each other's lives now, whether we like it or not."

The pale hand that had been resting on the side of his chair began to dance its way up Bruce's sleeve. "I suppose we have," Jeremiah murmured.

"I believe I know where this is going, and if so, it's sort of becoming a pattern of ours," Bruce commented as the hand rested on his shoulder.

Two fingers toyed with his earlobe. "I don't know if you've realized this yet, but I do have a bit of a thing for patterns." Jeremiah's knees were now brushing against Bruce's as the space between them had evaporated.

"You're the first person I know to have a maze fetish."

Jeremiah was smiling as he kissed Bruce. This was the first time they'd had this sort of interaction where they were both in a pleasant mood. In his opinion, it made the kiss so much better. They were used to each other now, as well, which allowed them to explore different things. Little time had passed before they had settled on one chair. Bruce's knees were set on both sides of Jeremiah's legs to put them at equal heights. Once more, he let the other boy take control, knowing the battle wasn't worth fighting. This kiss was deeper, too. More passion seemed to linger in Jeremiah's movements than before. The hand that had been playing with his ear moved to cup his chin while the other hand gripped his waist tightly. Bruce wrapped his arms around his neck and twined his fingers in his hair as he usually did. It was his favorite spot.

As the kiss grew, the fingers that held onto his hip slid down a bit further to the hem of his sweater. Unlike Jerome, Jeremiah wasn't afraid to test boundaries with Bruce. When he didn't see any signs of disapproval or discomfort, the hand slipped under his sweater. Cool fingers trailed up his stomach and circled around his chest. The effect this simple up and down movement had on him was incredible. A small sound escaped him, which only encouraged the boy further. His second hand moved from Bruce's chin. It wrapped around him, sneaking under his sweater as well.

Bruce broke the kiss momentarily. "At this point, I should just take it off. If it's that inconvenient."

"I have a practicality fetish as well," Jeremiah teased. Before assisting him, he reached over to console pressing a button. The monitors went dark and the door's lock clicked. "However, I'm not fond of interruption." He gently pulled Bruce's sweater over his head before wrapping his arms around him once more. "You're beautiful," he whispered. Then, he kissed him again. The cold air of the room couldn't break the warmth created between them. At some point, Jeremiah's jacket had made its way to the floor, and one of Bruce's hands was clinging to his loose green tie.

Eventually, Jeremiah's kisses moved from his lips, to his neck, to his collarbone. Soon, he was delicately placing them in a straight line down his chest. As he reached his navel, a loud knock echoed through the room. With a start, Bruce hastily pulled away.

"A moment, please." Jeremiah sighed, but allowed Bruce to shift back into his own seat, retrieving his sweater and putting it on. The button was pressed once more, and the monitors blinked back to life. The lock clicked. "Alright, you may come in."

The woman who entered had dark hair and her facepaint was smeared. She opened her mouth to speak, but paused upon seeing her boss's discarded suit jacket and loose tie, as well as a flushed teenage boy sitting oddly close to him. "Er, so sorry to, um, bother you, sir. It's just, uh, Cobblepot and the little one, they…"

"Don't waste my time, Cerise. Spit it out."

"They escaped, sir."

He waved his hand in exasperation. "In greater detail, please?"

"A sparkly man snuck them out when Ecco wasn't looking."

"If he was sparkly, then why didn't Ecco see him?"

"I don't know, sir. She may have been distracted by Victor Zsasz marching through the tunnels with his posse of assassins."

A pause. "Was that sarcasm, Cerise?"

"Uh, not intentionally. My deepest apologies, sir."

Jeremiah reached for his jacket, searching for the gun in the left pocket. Bruce jumped up, placing his hand on his wrist. "Stop shooting people for stupid reasons." The woman gasped at how directly he spoke to her leader, but he really didn't care. Jeremiah relaxed and resumed his position in his chair. Bruce sat back down as well.

"You're very lucky that he's here. If he weren't, you'd be the next coat of paint. Lars' coat is just starting to dry now. I'd thank him, Cerise."

Bruce quickly said, "Oh no, you don't have to-"

He was cut off by Cerise bowing repeatedly and saying, "Thank you, consort. I'm honored to be spared by your kindness. Please accept my sincerest gratitude."

"Um, really, please don't...don't do that." She stopped bowing immediately and turned back to Jeremiah.

"What would you like me to do, sir?"

"Tell me why Zsasz is here."

"He is seeking revenge on both you and the ex-mayor."

"Of course. He is afraid that our freeing of the child will tarnish his spotless reputation in the eyes of the Falcone family, although there's not really much left of it. So he is attempting to flush us out and pick us off one by one. Simple enough to outmaneuver. Now, tell me what the man who absconded with Cobblepot and Martin looked like. And I'd like a greater description than 'sparkly' this time."

She shuffled her feet anxiously as she recalled the event. "He was wearing a bright green suit. And a purple tie. Also, he had a strange hat on."

"That's Edward Nygma," Bruce chimed in.

"And he's stealing my aesthetic," Jeremiah said through gritted teeth. "We will find him after the situation with Zsasz is handled. Protocol T-15. You're dismissed, Cerise." She gladly left the room. He turned back to the console and pressed a smaller button on its underside. A panel in the wall slid open, revealing another white corridor. "This way, Bruce. Let's go on a little field trip of the...stranger...parts of the tunnels." He reached a hand out. For the first time, Bruce took it without hesitation.