Chapter Three: Stuck In An Elevator
Alfred and Sylvia pushed the car doors open after the vehicle had come to a jolting halt. While she appeared in good health, Alfred looked two shades duller as though he'd just walked straight out of a horror movie.
"Are you okay, Alfred?"
"Fine, fine…Did anyone teach you how to drive?" Alfred remarked, holding his chest where his heart was no doubt beating five times as fast prior to getting into the car with her. "You damn near got us killed, you did!"
"You're alive, aren't you?" Sylvia responded smartly, smirking at him. "Besides, look around you. The police aren't even here—they're probably just getting on the 90 Highway. You should be thanking me!"
"Never mind that." He lifted his eyes to Arkham. "How are we getting in there? There must be a multitude of guards."
"Guards are human."
"Your point being what exactly?"
Sylvia leaned into the window of the passenger seat, opened the glove compartment and her lips curled into a satisfied smile as she took two hand guns out, checking to make sure they were loaded before tossing Alfred one; he caught it on the dime.
"According to Jim, you were in the military," Sylvia said, meeting him in front of the car. "I'm assuming that being a butler hasn't deteriorated those Special Forces skills of yours?"
Alfred smiled at her proudly: "I should say they haven't."
"Good to hear. This is what's going to happen…."
"Are you a strategist?"
"I'd like to think I am. Or did you want to lead this thing?"
"I say I have better strategy than you. I did more than just fight in the military—I was part of the British SAS."
"Fine, you're the expert. But let me ask you this question, would you?"
"Sure…."
"Have you ever been in Arkham?" Sylvia questioned, knowing the answer would be a loud, resounding 'no'. "And if you ever have, have you stepped further than a desk or an office, or the fucking waiting room per chance?"
Obviously insulted by her inquiry—more insulted by her tone than anything, Alfred shifted in his stance uncomfortably.
"That's what I thought," Sylvia sneered. "That covers it: you're the British SAS, and I've been in Arkham more than once."
"No doubt visiting that husband of yours."
"Yes, and on a few other occasions. Before we go in guns blazing, a proper strategist would try talking their way in, wouldn't you agree?"
"Talk your way in? You?" Alfred repeated with a scoff. "You're not exactly dressed like a business woman, now, are you? People in Gotham know who you are, what kind of people you're associated with. And I am fairly certain that Strange's guards are not going to let you just stroll right in."
Sylvia smirked: "You know I didn't have to bring you with me, right?"
"I could agree, but how does that tie in with what we're talking about?"
She sighed with a roll of her eyes, and from the inside of her boots, she took out Harvey Bullocks' handcuffs.
"How did you—when did you snag those?" Alfred asked incredulously.
"I also have the key." She hummed, lifting the little thing and waving it gingerly in front of him. "This is what's going to happen, Jeeves. The fact is, you're right—by now, people know who I am, what I do, and the type of people I associate myself with. Odds of me walking in like I am some sort of inspector won't fly too quickly—I'm pretty sure that's how Fox and Bruce got in, right?"
Alfred nodded.
"So, having a repeat of that scenario is going to look downright suspicious," Sylvia mused, smirking. "So, this is the scenario…." (She threw Alfred the cuffs, and he took them, albeit with shock and uncertainty.) "When we get in, the first guard you see, you're going to disarm them, undress them, and you'll be the correctional guard. You're a fit fellow, so you should be able to fit into any of the guards' uniforms, I suspect?"
Alfred smiled at the compliment: "All right. That's easy enough. What about you?"
"I'm the sad, poor little patient that you'll be escorting." Sylvia returned, holding her wrists together and out for Alfred to restrain. "People assume I'm bat shit crazy anyway, so this role fits me like a glove."
"You want me to slap the 'cuffs on you, is that it?"
"That's why I brought the key."
"Fine then." Alfred acknowledged.
He didn't 'slap' the cuffs on her as he mentioned, but gently pulled the links together until they clicked once or twice. His face was back to its natural color, but Sylvia noticed that his cheeks blushed a soft shade of pink.
"Are you alright, there, Mr. Pennyworth?"
"I'm fine. Why do you ask?"
"No reason. You just look like a shy little boy right now."
"Well, handcuffing a woman isn't—I should say I haven't—that's to say that I wouldn't—"
"So quickly embarrassed!" Sylvia chuckled. "You make it too easy, Alfred."
The Butler gave her another disgruntled look, although he seemed pacified once Sylvia continued on with the scenario.
"We'll go in, you'll talk to the guards at the front desk," Sylvia said, as she and Alfred strode together towards the hospital. "Once inside, you'll take off the hand cuffs and from there on out, you'll follow me. This hospital is a fucking maze; so please, try to keep up."
"Do you make a habit of using that condescending tone?" Alfred questioned, looking over his shoulder at her. "It's a little irritating, mind you."
"Is it? I barely noticed."
"The attitude isn't called for either, Missy."
"'Missy'," Sylvia repeated with a delighted smirk. "Next you'll be calling me 'Miss Frumpkin'."
"Would that annoy you?"
"I've been called worse."
"I'm sure you have."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Alfred sighed, "Let's just go in and find Master Bruce, please?"
"What do you think we're doing?"
She stepped to the side, a few spaces between them as they approached the large doors of the hospital. A guard stood just in front of them, armed with a radio, a flash light on his belt, and a rifle in his hands. Once he saw them, his barrel was poised to shoot. Alfred was quicker than Sylvia had imagined him to be; before the guard could call off the location and appearance of the two suspects, he was already on the ground, knocked unconscious.
Alfred adjusted his vest, rolling up his sleeves to the elbows, and said to Sylvia, "See? Now that's how you properly disarm a guard."
"Disarming Correctional Officers 101."
"There's that condescending tone again."
"It keeps me bright in spirits, just let me be."
"Sarcastic remarks aside, I think you're just trying to hide the fact that you're scared." Alfred noted, bending down at the knee to acquire the guard's uniform.
He didn't strip down to nothing; not only would that have been time consuming, but he wasn't about to show his bits and pieces to a woman as fun-poking as Sylvia Cobblepot. Alfred put the clothes over his, grabbed the radio and flashlight, placing both on the holster belt seated on the waistband of his pants, and took the rifle as well.
"Fat lot of good this antique would have done." Alfred muttered under his breath.
"No bullets?"
"Hardly any. There's just enough for one shot."
"Might as well be an empty magazine."
"Strange doesn't look after his people well enough."
"Strange isn't responsible for stocking and refurnishing Arkham's employees with weapons and ammunition. If you want to complain to someone about how well they're taken care of, that's Human Resources."
"Know all of that, do you?" Alfred said, getting to his feet and straightened his uniform in general.
Sylvia held up her cuffed wrists in order to poke her temples saying smartly, "Knowledge is power, my dear Alfred."
"It's also quite the burden."
"Well, I can't argue with that."
"Should we be heading in now?"
"Any time you're ready; I've been waiting on you."
"You're a bit of a spitfire, aren't you, Miss?"
"As fiery as they come, darling."
He took her by the bicep of her left arm, pulling her inside through the hospital doors as a correctional officer would roughly do so.
Sylvia's boot heels clicked on the gray, cold tiles. It was dark and dingy through the halls, unwelcoming. The combination of decontamination sprays, perfume, and carpet deodorants made up an acrid odor, and it curled their noses as they strolled through the corridor.
"The desk will be on the left," Sylvia muttered. So quietly she'd spoken, but even then there seemed to be an echo.
"This place can certainly make anyone uncomfortable."
"Yeah, not exactly a place any human should inhabit on a regular basis."
"I'm certain this would be a H&R complaint."
Sylvia jested, "I know where that office is too."
"Are they taking applications?"
"What, you don't like being a butler anymore?"
"I'm more than happy to be Master B's butler, but I think any person would feel the need to spiffy this place up a bit."
"The pay would be better."
"How much?"
Sylvia chuckled, "About five dollars more, if not less."
"That's still better than what I make in a week."
"Well, at least your housing is taken care of, and your company isn't too bad either."
"You have a point there."
She stepped over an application that had been halfway filled out until it had been thrown on the floor.
"Oh look, someone did half the work for you." Sylvia poked fun.
"Not interested."
"You get weekends off."
"Oh, fantastic, that's convinced me. Where do I sign?" Alfred said sardonically.
"Mm-hmm, now who's being sarcastic."
"You're a cheeky one, aren't you?"
"Shut up, Alfred—we're coming up to the window."
Sure as she was, Alfred turned the corner and saw a square. The square was a window of impenetrable glass with a smaller rectangle of an opening so files and folders could be slipped through to either party inside or outside of aforementioned window. Behind it was a guard who wore the same uniform Alfred currently dubbed.
The guard lifted his eyes when they'd entered his peripheral; with a dull look and a flat tone, he said, "How's it going?"
In order not to attract any attention to themselves, Alfred spoke in an effortless American accent, saying, "Not too bad. You, buddy?"
Sylvia's eyebrow cocked upwards, obviously humored by Alfred's attempt to be like the rest of them. After hearing his British accent for the longest time and his overbearing sophistication, Sylvia couldn't hear anything more comical than Alfred saying the word 'buddy'.
"Who's this?" The guard questioned, smiling knowingly at Sylvia. "She's a beautiful specimen if I ever saw one."
"Well, she's a prisoner."
"She's not one of ours."
"Remember every pathetic skell in this place, do you?" Alfred questioned.
"Most of these morons, I could forget. But this one….no, I would remember her."
He tapped the eraser head of his pencil on the glass, and Sylvia eyed him dangerously.
"What's your name, Prisoner?"
"You know who I am." She retorted.
"People call you 'Lark'. Why is that, I wonder?"
"I sing and dance."
"Larks are known for their song. Perhaps we should test it out one day?"
"You?" She said skeptically. "I couldn't spare a second."
Alfred clenched his hand around Sylvia's arm and said forcefully, "That's enough from you."
Satisfied with Alfred's response to the situation, the guard sighed, pushed a button, and said, "Well, she'll warm up to us, I imagine. Most of them do. If not, we can always just put her in the chair and watch her convulse in the damn thing. A beautiful thing like her—I would trade two paychecks to see that show."
"That's not saying much," Alfred said with a forced smile. "Considering our paychecks aren't much to begin with, huh?"
The guard laughed, "Ha! You got a point there! Ha! Ha, ha, ha. Go on, man. The door's open."
Alfred cleared his throat, took Sylvia by the arm again and practically dragged her through the buzzed-open door. Once inside, he let go of her and also dropped his American accent. Sylvia lifted her wrists and quickly, as though he couldn't bear to see Sylvia in this prisoner status any longer, Alfred unlocked the cuffs and shook his head in disgust.
"What's wrong? You were great!"
"Yes. That, I was. But..." Alfred shuddered, meeting her gaze. "I despise it when I hear or see a man talk to a lady like that. Grinds my bloody nerves."
Sylvia patted his shoulder.
"It's amazing to me how you don't have a lady yourself with as well as you treat us. It's over though. So, let's proceed, hm?"
"Of course, yes. We should. We definitely should. Who knows what Strange is doing with poor Bruce." Alfred said, rubbing his hands together. He glanced at Sylvia's hand, which had been resting on his shoulder, comforting him, and realized that for that short period, the cuffs had made red rings around her wrists.
He took one of her hands and looked at it remorsefully.
"I'm terribly sorry about that," Alfred apologized.
"Please," She scoffed, taking her wrists from him and she rubbed them consolably. "This is nothing. I've been through a lot worse than this."
Alfred couldn't contemplate, or even imagine what those things were. Nor did he wish to think about it. It was plain to see that someone as beautiful as her would deal with a lot of catcalls and harassing comments, and that alone was a sinful thing.
The small conversation left a space for an awkward moment to settle, at least for the butler. Sylvia, on the other hand, smiled and she insisted that they move forward.
Sylvia hadn't changed since talking to Butch earlier that morning, making peace with a friend over Tabitha's coma state. She still wore the blood-red V neck blouse, fish net stockings, a knee-length black skirt, and black, heeled, knee-high laced up boots. Where she had tossed Alfred the gun so she could slip by the security like a newly admitted prisoner, she now carried it in her hand while Alfred stayed behind her, following her lead.
She wasn't lying when she said she knew Arkham.
She didn't look through any rooms or read any signs to get where she needed to be. Alfred followed with only three steps leading behind her, careful to look over his shoulder when he heard an unsettling noise. Then again, this was Arkham, wasn't it? Everything about the place was unsettling.
They'd have to take the elevator down though. They'd searched this floor, and there was no sign of Bruce, Fox, or Jim. Perhaps that was less troubling since there wasn't a sign of a struggle either.
"Care to make a wager?" Sylvia asked quietly as she moved into the elevator (Alfred insisted that she go in first.).
"Is that a joke?"
"Kind of." She sighed, and she punched the number for the floor below.
"In all honesty, I'm not in the mood for jokes."
"A riddle then?"
Alfred contemplated that, and said with a tone that could only be described as 'slightly humored', "Fine. One riddle."
"Do you like riddles?"
"Is that the riddle?"
"No, that was a question. If you don't like them, I won't hurt your brain with one."
"And the condescension continues."
"It's my natural state of being, you might want to get used to it."
"Considering the reason behind it?"
"We might get stuck in the elevator. If you're ever stuck in an elevator, the best scenario is to be either stuck with someone you love or someone you hate."
"The question is which one am I," Alfred contemplated with a friendly smile.
"Sometimes, love and hate are frequently intertwined."
"I don't think so. Someone you hate can hurt you."
"So can a loved one. It's not the people who you despise that you have to watch out for. You expect them to hurt you. It's the people who pretend to love you."
"Speaking from experience?"
"More than one."
The elevator made a creaking sound, slowing to a stop at first. Then it continued and when it did, she and Alfred let out a relieved sigh.
"Come to think of it," Sylvia continued, "I…."
The elevator made another lurching sound. Followed by a jolt, big enough to make Sylvia and Alfred hold the rails lining the walls. They exchanged nervous glances. Sylvia quickly hit the button to their designation, but the light would come on then off, repeatedly. It was like the machine didn't know what the fuck was going on. Now neither did they.
"To think the city's money went to this bloody place." Alfred grumbled.
"We have Mayor James to thank for that."
"Oh, right, that old git."
"I'll have a list of items to discuss with Human Resources after this."
"If we'd taken the stairs, we'd have been down there by now."
"Who knew the elevator would go belly up, though," Sylvia defended the two of them. "Granted, this thing has enough antiquity to be in a museum."
Another lurching sound echoed in the elevator shaft. It wasn't something to be relieved about, but it meant that the lift was trying to figure out what to do.
"How about that riddle?" Alfred asked unhappily.
"Oh, now you're just bored." She returned, smirking at him.
"Just have a go, will you?"
"Fine, then. What can run but never walks, has a mouth but never talks, has a head but never weeps, and has a bed but never sleeps?"
Alfred thought about it for a second, muttering, "Never walks…a mouth…..head but never weeps….a bed, but never sleeps…"
"Do you give up?"
"Give a man a second, would you!" Alfred snapped.
Sylvia raised her eyebrows and whistled low: "Quick to snap, old chap?"
Alfred continued to mumble to himself. After five minutes had passed, he said proudly, "I know the answer."
Sylvia gestured to him to go on.
"It's a river."
"Yes, it is."
"That was a little harder than I care to admit," He confessed.
"Well, with the situation that we're in," Sylvia consoled, "one can understand why it would be."
A moment of silence. Then….
"How did you manage to get involved with this?" Alfred asked, sitting on the floor of the elevator.
By now, since the air conditioning didn't seem to work, he'd taken off the officer's uniform and was back to appearing like Alfred, The Butler, instead of his other counterpart. In all honesty, Sylvia preferred that look on him more than the other.
She, too, sat on the ground, her legs outstretched and crossed at the ankle. Thoughtfully, she was twisting her wedding ring on her left hand, her eyes cast downward at nothing as she had been deep in thought. Now she was pulled out of her reverie by Alfred's question.
"Jim," Sylvia said as though his name explained every reason for her interference.
"Now, see, it's curious you say that," Alfred said, pointing to her.
"Why is it curious?"
"I've never seen a relationship more complicated than yours…where Gordon is concerned."
Sylvia laughed, "You don't know the half of it."
"Did he ask you to do this?"
"In not so many words."
"And how did he phrase it when he did ask?"
"He doesn't have to ask."
Alfred sent her a curious look, nodding as in acknowledgement to her response. Seeing that he was interested and because, frankly, they had nothing else going on for the moment, she indulged him.
"Jim and I have always been on and off," She said lightly. "Either we're close as twins or we're estranged to the point of hating each other. There's hardly a middle. But I won't turn away family when they need me most."
"I'm still surprised that you two are as close as you are." Alfred remarked. "From what I've seen anyway."
"You're talking about me being married to Oswald?"
"And many other things."
"Jim doesn't like it. Since he found out Oswald and I were together, he's always hated the idea of it. From openly coming out with the relationship, to being engaged, to getting married—Jim has dragged his feet every step of the way. I think he and Oz finally found some type of way of getting along."
"How does that work, now?" Alfred asked curiously. "You being the Underworld's Queen and, yet, you've been in on several GCPD investigations—not to mention the one regarding Master Bruce's parents. You told Gordon that you found out that Strange was 'The Philosopher', didn't you? By chance, how did you do that?"
Sylvia smiled.
"I can be very persuasive."
"I imagine so. You have all the money in the world, don't you?"
"Most of it, yes, but writing a check and waving it in someone's face doesn't always work," Sylvia reminded. "Like I told Jim—some people don't want or care for money. Some people just want to be acknowledged, seen as a human being, endure a nice, pleasant conversation, and be treated with equal respect."
"And what persuades you, if you don't mind me asking?" Alfred inquired calmly. "You don't seem the type to run towards a bank without a plan, and even so, you aren't so easily distracted, are you?"
"I'm actually very impulsive and compulsive, but I've had to grow a little since my husband had been incarcerated in this fucking place. Otherwise, you got me down to a science. You're right: I know what I want, I see what I want…Everything else is just wallpaper and background noises."
"So, what is it, then? What persuades you?"
"A little charm, a little class," Sylvia shrugged a a shoulder shyly. "Show me you have a brain, and I'll show you I have a sweet side. Despite my brutish mannerisms, I am a woman when it comes down to it. Some may deny it but that's all a woman really wants, you know: to be respected as an equal but treated like the fair lady she is."
Alfred offered a genuine smile: "I suspect that's what Mr. Cobblepot did to earn your hand in marriage, wasn't it?"
"Well, that, and many other things."
"So what was in it for you to find out Strange was this 'Philosopher'."
"Jim asked for my help."
"And that's all it takes, is it?"
Sylvia stood to her feet.
"Jim and I may not always see eye-to-eye, but he knows that when he needs me, he can find me. And vice versa."
"He needs you a lot more than you need him." Alfred pointed out, standing as well.
"And he's admitted that in the past…" Sylvia paused, and said pointedly, "I also sought out the information to help you and Bruce."
"Is that a fact?"
"Yes, it is. Not just a fact, but the truth."
"You really care what's happened to him?"
"I care that his parents were murdered in a fucking alley," Sylvia said coolly. "I care that he was orphaned at a stage no child should ever be left alone. Personally, I could care less that my father died in a car crash—he and I never saw eye to eye—but if he was killed, you can bet your dollar that I would find his murderers, and I would see them put to death personally."
Alfred crossed his arms, saying, "There's more to you than just corruption, obscenities, and paradoxes, isn't there, Mrs. Cobblepot?"
"Many children don't have parents, Alfred. There are more orphans than I can count. You're asking me if I'm doing all of this" (She gesticulated to the elevator as a whole) "because I care about Bruce Wayne? I'm not. In fact, if it wasn't for my brother, you and any other person related to Bruce could not find me or touch me with a thirty-five-and-a-half-foot pole."
Alfred frowned at that, but she continued:
"I have two separate personalities, mind you," Sylvia reassured. "There's the part of me that rules Gotham with an iron fist. That part of me is cold, sadistic, and—if I'm being honest—a complete fucking psychopath. But there's another part of me, and I find myself trying my hardest to forget it because that part of me is compassionate, open-minded, selfless, and empathetic to anyone who suffers or has suffered because someone was acting like a self-serving, loathsome excuse for a human being.
"That soft side of me is easily tricked, manipulated, and—as a result—has suffered multiple betrayals and pain. Because of that, it has slowly been deteriorating. I've been through enough that any person in Gotham wouldn't blame me if I just let the darker side take over. I've been sexually assaulted, harassed, and berated…betrayed by friends and allies….and—for a moment—the love of my life couldn't look me in the eye because of all the things I had done for him, all the nitty gritty things. I go to sleep and relive every fucking nightmare that I have been through, and it damn near drives me fucking insane."
Alfred sighed softly, "What keeps you from breaking?"
Sylvia smiled.
"Remember what I said: there's people you hate, people you love—nothing in the middle?"
"Yes, in any case an elevator breaks down, which is what's happened, I think." Alfred pointed out, glancing at the blinking lights on the buttons.
"James, Oswald, Ed…." She continued, "you and Bruce Wayne even….you guys hold me down, keep me from floating away. Now, I've always embraced my darkness—Jim could tell you that—but I've not completely jumped for it. You all keep me sane, remind me that I need to maintain some type of humanity."
Alfred said gently, "The people you love will always remind you of who you truly are."
"Yes, well, that may be. But it's also the people you love that can stab you quietly and you don't know you're bleeding until you're at death's door. Fundamental fact: Love is risky. It's the reason why you and I met in the first place, and it's the reason you and I are stuck in this fucking thing until either someone finds us, or this place goes up in smoke…."
The elevator gave another hard jolt, vibrating the floor and the walls around them. The light behind the buttons flickered on and off for a good minute and the lights towering above them did the same. When the lights shut off, it pitched Sylvia and Alfred into darkness…but the fan started blowing so at least the air conditioning seemed to be working now.
"Well, this could be a problem." Alfred muttered in the dark.
"Just a small one."
They both let out of a soft, unnerving laugh, followed by unmet, awkward silence. It might have been thirty minutes that passed before either of them had spoken a word.
"How long did you know Thomas and Martha Wayne?" Sylvia asked softly.
Alfred answered after a moment, "Are you just talking to pass the time?"
"Honestly: yes."
"Let's talk about something else then."
"Fine then. What do you want to talk about?"
"Well, you and I seem to share animosity for Strange and his puppies. Let's talk about him, shall we?"
Sylvia chuckled, "I can talk smack about him all day for eternity, but that won't change our unfortunate situation. We should discuss how we are going to get out of here."
"That's a fair point."
"I should say so."
"Any ideas?"
"You're the SAS," Sylvia returned, unable to hide her amusement. "Shouldn't you be the one popping up with ideas of escape?"
"It's been a long time since I had to consider entrapment."
"But not the first time in a long while since you had to consider getting out of a scrape."
"Talking about Azrael, are you?"
"Azrael, no. Galavan, yes. I refuse to call him by that name. 'Azrael'. What a load of crap. He dressed different, talked different, but he was still the same fucking son-of-a-bitch."
"You curse a lot, don't you, Sylvia?"
"It's a natural state of being."
"Like your sarcasm?"
"Yes to both. It helps me think."
"Try cursing as you think about a way out of here."
"We could go through the ceiling."
"We're on the twelfth floor by now—then again, maybe we are on the second," Alfred said doubtfully. "The elevator has moved up and down so many times, I've lost my bearing."
"I lost my equilibrium the moment I got in this fucking box."
"Worst case scenario?"
"We're on the twentieth floor. The worst scenarios are limitless."
"What's the worst one you could think of?"
Sylvia said lightly, but her voice was ominous, spoken in the dark: "We lose what air conditioning we have, and it stays black as fucking night. Worst case scenario: you and I become dehydrated, unable to think or speak, and our problem isn't finding Bruce anymore: it's survival. And if it comes down to it: cannibalism. How much of a fighter are you if you haven't drunk in a couple hours, Alfred? This information might be helpful to me later down the line."
"Think that's funny, do you? We're in a bad rut of a situation, and you want to make jokes."
"I'm thinking 'worst case'. Now, we can get on top of the elevator shaft and climb to the nearest floor, that's fine with me. I'm fit as a fucking fiddle, and that ain't a goddamn riddle. But if I have to lug you around on my back, I'm thinking that might take some time."
"I can take care of myself, Missy," Alfred snapped. "Don't you worry about me."
"How far is it between floors, though?" Sylvia asked, ignoring his tone. "How far would we have to climb?"
"Twenty, thirty feet at the least…Fifty at the most, I'm not certain."
"Fuck me." Sylvia hissed. "I don't know if I can climb for that long."
"You've been training with a CIA Agent, I hear. Been going on runs and lifting—and you're telling me you can't sky climb a rope when your life depends on it, get out of here."
"'Get out of here'? Okay, Mr. I-Can-Climb-50-Feet, what do you propose we do?"
"What—"
"Can you open the ceiling?"
"If there's a hatch."
"I don't see one."
"Well, it's not going to be noticeable, is it?" Alfred retorted, waving his hand in the dark—not that Sylvia could see it.
"Even if it wasn't fucking black as night in this godforsaken cube, there would still be a hatch, wouldn't there?"
"The architects wouldn't make it visible."
"But we'd be able to find it. It's a fucking hatch—not the Bermuda Triangle or the Holy Grail."
The lights flickered. An annoying low hum sounded after each flicker as though the building itself had just come out of a cat nap and was trying to wake itself up, however slowly. The lights then dulled to a dull orange; it wasn't the best to see in, but at least they could see their own hands. And, for that matter, the vaguest outline of a hatch in the farthest upper right corner of the elevator's ceiling.
"I'm half-surprised that a repairman hasn't come down to relieve the shaft," Alfred noted curiously.
"I'd push the 'help' button, but that wouldn't be in our best interests, now would it?"
Then the lights flickered once more and pitched them into total darkness again.
With a shaky sigh of exasperation, Sylvia crouched down nearest to the door, and tried to open it half-haphazardly, nails clawing at any metal opening she could find, but the doors were slid completely shut and there was no leniency given.
"Don't panic," Alfred cautioned. "We're nothing to each other if we panic."
"I don't like it."
"Well, pardon me, but I don't care much for it either."
The lights flickered once more; in the middle of it, Sylvia opened a smaller metal door, and pulled out an array of colorful wires. Red, blue, green, black, and clear wires were tangled together, fixed into two other colorful nodes.
"Do you know what you're doing?" Alfred asked.
"I don't. I don't know anything at this point. But I saw it on a movie once."
"Saw what on a—don't go messing with those if you don't know what they do!"
Alfred grabbed her shoulder, pulling her back. She glared at him, and she stood.
"What the fuck do you expect us to do then?" Sylvia questioned harshly. "While you and I are stuck in this fucking cube, your ward and my brother are with Strange right now, going through only god knows what. If we can't go up, we have to go down and I don't see a fucking hatch on the ground. Do you!"
She struck the floor with her heel to prove a point. The elevator didn't even budge.
"We're not going to get far by fighting like this though," Alfred reminded.
"Don't think I know that?"
"I've had to remind you several times, now, haven't I?"
"Aren't you scared?"
"Of course, I am."
"Then fucking bloody act like it!" Sylvia screamed. "I don't want to be in this fucking thing any more if I don't have to!"
"Would addressing you as 'lark' help you any?" Alfred offered sarcastically. "Since that's apparently what people call you these days."
"You could call me 'goddess of the Ocean' and I still wouldn't like it." She resounded, trying once more to open the metal doors, pulling and tugging. "Why won't this fucking thing open for fuck's sake!"
Alfred leaned his back against the wall, and said smartly, "What if I started calling you 'pigeon'?"
Sylvia blinked and slowly turned to him.
"I hope that was a poor attempt at humor," She said dangerously.
"Not exactly."
"You're going to get yourself hurt if you don't watch it, old man. Because of this fucking situation we're in, I'm going to pretend that you just said that because you're hallucinating or something. Acceptable?"
"Fine." Alfred said, shrugging. "But if you start panicking like that again, I'll know what to use in order to piss you off again, won't I?"
"I wasn't panicking."
"You were screaming."
"Screaming seemed necessary."
"And you're shaking—"
"Would you try to be fucking useful for a second," Sylvia snarled. "Just think of another way out of this fucking cage before I go fucking crazy, would you! Commenting on my appearance and how I'm acting isn't fucking helping me cope, you know! You're just pissing me off!"
"You're scared. Anyone in your position would be—including me—but what we need to do is not lose our heads. Personally, if I had to choose, I'd rather have you pissed off instead of panicking."
"You'd rather me want to kill you?" Sylvia retorted.
"It beats the alternative where you're panicking, and screaming your bloody head off."
She took a long deep inhale and then exhaled just as slowly. Her eyes searched every nook and cranny in the elevator, but ultimately, there were only two ways out of here. Either they took the chance of wearing down their muscles to climb up to the nearest floor (even if it might be fifty or sixty feet up) or they could chance the fiddling of the wires and see if that'd either make them descend down a fifty-foot drop, or open the doors. The stakes were never higher.
"Let's cool down a second, huh?" Alfred suggested. "Clear our heads first, and then we can decide what to do."
"I know what I want to do."
"Before we make the decision, we must think it all the way through."
"Either situation could mean us dying."
"Have you tried using your cellular phone?"
"I didn't bring it with me. It's at home. What about yours?"
Alfred pulled out his cell, pressed a button and then he showed the result to her; it was dead too.
"Fat lot of good that did." Sylvia muttered, rubbing her face.
"Let's weigh the worst-case scenarios, and pretend that neither of them will end with us dead. I mean, I'm a pretty fit guy, I'd like to think so, and you seem in good health where your physique stands, so climbing at least twenty feet up, even if it meant going up fifty would be a task—I'm not pretending it won't be—but it is doable." Alfred calculated, looking up at the ceiling. "We could open the hatch and then see exactly where we are in distance."
"Good idea." Sylvia sighed, rubbing her temples. "Whatever decision we go with, we have to make sure we're both in on it. Okay? No desertion."
"My dear," Alfred promised, "you must be the most certifiable and argumentative woman with whom I've ever had the pleasure of being stuck in an elevator, but what you can be rest assured of is that I will not be deserting you any time soon. So shall we?"
Sylvia nodded and she stood up with him.
"The hatch is there, it looks like," Alfred guessed.
"Well, you're taller, so you could reach it more than I can."
"If I stand on my toes…."
"I can lift you a little if you want."
"I'm twice or three times your weight—"
Sylvia ignored him and she knelt down, cradling her hands together so he could take a leg up. Seeing as he didn't want to start another debate with this woman, Alfred sighed reluctantly; he expected her to spit out a curse and him to fall due to her overestimation of bearing weight, but he was pleasantly surprised when she lifted him up and he met the hatch with ease.
They let out sighs of relief when the hatch was already unlocked. Forcibly, Alfred pushed the hatch cover up and he looked through it.
"What does it look like?" Sylvia asked from below.
"Less than thirty feet, if I had to guess. Maybe even twenty…I admit, without the light, I'm not the best judge of distance. Do you want to have a look?"
"I'll take your word for it!"
Sylvia lowered him down and Alfred grinned at her.
"Do you power lift?" He asked, looking at her with a whole new perspective.
"I can bench press about three-hundred pounds," She admitted proudly.
"That's incredible!"
"Tell me something I don't know," Sylvia returned, winking at him. Back to business: "Since it's not nearly as far as we thought, I think it's doable. What do you think?"
"I admit it might be a challenge, but if it's the only way out—"
"I don't want to risk falling to my death if the first option is doable."
"Neither do I, rest assured."
"So we're doing this?" Sylvia asked uncertainly.
"If you're not 100% sure…"
"I'm more than 100% sure that I want out of this fucking thing. I just don't know...this whole fucking thing is becoming too insane for my tastes."
"On that, I think we can both agree."
He lifted himself up, leaving the rifle behind. Seeing as how things were, carrying rifles were the least of their worries for the moment. If they were going to climb, they'd need to travel light as possible. Seeing as this was so, Sylvia took off her boots; after, she reached up and handed Alfred the two hand guns, which he placed (with the safety on) between his back and the waistband of his pants. After, Alfred grabbed her hand with a grunt, he pulled her up onto the top of the elevator. As she settled on top of the elevator shaft, she noticed the distance.
It was discouraging to say the least, but reachable at the same time.
"What about order?"
"What about it?"
"Well, I don't mind going first," Alfred offered, "being the man and all."
"Afraid that if you go up second, you might see up my skirt?" Sylvia teased, smirking when Alfred turned that familiar soft shade of pink again.
"Now isn't the time for joking!"
"I'd rather be poking fun instead of losing my head, you know. But all joking aside: You're right. If you want to go first, you're more than welcome to, but I can guarantee that once you get through the elevator door, you won't be meeting friends."
"So you think you should go first?"
"I'm charismatic and these lunatics know who I am, even whilst being stuck in their cages," Sylvia said lightly. "Between you and me, the odds of us getting threatened would be slim if they saw me first."
"And if Strange is there?"
"I'll gladly put his head on a pike."
"Colorful," Alfred sighed as he rubbed his eyelids with the pads of his index fingers. "Perhaps you should go first then."
"Will do."
She grappled the metallic rope with her legs and arms, climbing up as though she was back in high school again, up the knotted, cattle-hair ropes. The only difference between then and now was that the rope she climbed currently didn't sway left and right nearly as much; it made it easier to keep her balance, and her determination set. She glanced down to see Alfred taking off his coat, wearing the collared long-sleeve shirt pulled up to his elbows, and the vest unbuttoned just enough to take the load off his chest so he could breathe quicker and easier. He ascended in the same manner.
"When Thomas and Martha Wayne made me Bruce's guardian, I thought I'd have to do a lot of things for him," Alfred said conversationally as he grunted and sighed in effort to get up the rope. "But never in all my years of being their butler did I ever imagine having to do this."
"I wish I could say the same thing," Sylvia chuckled. "But being Jim's sister has always held an insurmountable number of possibilities to include going after mobsters, protecting his girlfriends from other mobsters, and—now – tunneling through a fucking elevator with a rich boy's butler. On the list of things I would not have expected to happen, this is probably Number Ten."
As fun as the conversation was, the two of them had silenced in order to retain their energy for the climb itself. They'd return when they were at least halfway up. Steadily, both could feel their energy depleting, their bicep and tricep muscles tingling with exhaustion; a cramp was slowly making its way into Sylvia's abdomen and it seemed to bear down on her right hip.
"How're you doing down there?" Sylvia panted, glancing over her right arm to see Alfred a few feet below.
"Just….well, doing, you know." Alfred answered from below, sounding just as tired. "How much further, do you think?"
She looked up, and said uncertainly, "Five more feet, I imagine. Then, I'll have to…I'll have to swing my weight to get to the door. Looks like it's mechanically closed. Pretty sure I could make it, but, even if I could swing myself to the ledge, I doubt I could open it once I get there."
"Fire a bullet at it—might come undone."
"Did you say 'might' or 'will'?"
"It might!" Alfred called back, and his voice echoed. "Hit the spot on the wall—this building was made by a half-wit architect; I imagine the strength of the walls is as flimsy as the electrical breaker boxes."
"I sure hope it works. What's the fucking point of crawling out of the elevator just to be stopped by a fucking door?" Sylvia muttered resentfully. "Do you have our guns?"
"Yes…."
"Where is it?"
"It's in my pants. Hold on…."
"Without context, that's pretty perverted, Alfred."
"Oh, go on!"
Sylvia watched Alfred let a hand loose from his grip on the rope and he quickly fumbled behind his back for one of their guns. Finding one, he held it up for her to take.
Sylvia slowly—like molasses running down a 120-degree incline—bent down so her feet were horizontally parallel with her neck and head.
"A bit of a contortionist, are you," chuckled Alfred.
"Just give me the fucking thing."
He handed it to her with a small stretch of his arm and she took it. Gathering herself back to normal height and stance, Sylvia aimed the gun. Not at the door, but in the spot where the button would be centered on the opposite side of the wall. After she shot at it a couple of times (the resounding gun fire echoing loudly enough that the two of them winced), there was a soft mechanical groan and then the door slowly opened as though it had to think twice about the action it was performing.
And a small sliver of optimism shined through.
No one was there.
Like a squirrel would hop from one tree to another, Sylvia bent her legs and then with no room to think of the consequences if she should fall, she took a long leap and caught herself; her fingers were the only thing keeping her adrift from falling down the tunnel to her demise.
"That's it!" He encouraged. "You've almost got it! Go on!"
Sylvia wiggled, planting her feet on the nearest metal ledge she could find and then shimmied herself up. Her hands on the floor, then her elbows, and she pulled herself up, breathing hard, but still very much alive.
"Okay…." She panted. "Now it's your turn!"
She crawled to the edge, and held out her hands, beckoning to him.
"Think like a squirrel." She suggested.
"Like a bloody squirrel…That's what it has come down to." Alfred mumbled. "Alright…Here I go…" He took a single leap and nearly missed until she caught his wrists, letting out a hard grunt herself.
"Stop wriggling! You're making this harder than necessary. Just stay fucking still and I'll pull you up the rest of the way."
"If I didn't know you were strong, I'd say you were crazy."
"Just don't move, okay?"
Alfred didn't exactly go dead weight but he didn't wriggle as he was instructed. Sylvia pulled him up and he was lying next to her in no time, red in the face, and nearly having a heart attack. Sylvia stood up, brushing her skirt from the dust and debris, and smiled at him happily.
"Should we continue on?" She offered, holding out her hand for him to take.
He took it and said candidly, "Once we're through with this, I'll be more than happy to buy you a drink, Liv."
Sylvia chuckled and they started on a run to the nearest staircase.
"We're gonna have to expect a few obstacles on the way, you know," She said, glancing at him as they descended towards the basement.
"Why is that?"
"We're on camera now," She noted unhappily, pointing at the nearest black orb settled in the corner of the ceiling.
"Oh, for a heaven's sake!"
"Hey, we're out the elevator. That's better than—"
She and Alfred stepped through two metal double doors. Right at that moment about five guards, all of whom were holding syringe needles grabbed them by their shoulders and pulled Alfred and Sylvia over the threshold of the entrance, and each were given enough tranquilizers to take down a horse.