9. Arkham Light
Jeff Marsden, the barista on duty at Arrows, had just about had enough with his job. It seemed like his days came in one of two extremes: either some horrid supervillain (like the incident with Killer Moth a year prior) burst into his shop to terrify him into giving them free coffee, or his day was full of pranksters who refused to give him their proper name on their coffee.
"Honeybee," he sighed, holding out a latte.
Garfield swiped the latte out of Jeff's hands with a smirk. If people were going to keep mixing up his name, he was at least going to have fun with it. He took a swig of the hot drink right there at the counter, preparing to leave, when Jeff called out the next most ridiculous name someone had put on their coffee all day: "Blaze."
Garfield watched with interest as the redhead he'd encountered in GothCorp a year ago strode up to the counter to collect her coffee with a "Thanks." She hadn't gotten any less pretty in the time that had passed, Garfield noticed. It also struck him that he remembered her pretty well for only having met her once.
"Heyyyyyyy," he greeted.
Blaze turned to him, at first ready to tell off whatever stranger had just greeted her to catcall someone else, but flinched as recognition washed over her as well. "What are you doing here?" she hissed.
"Getting coffee," Garfield told her. "I bet you're here for the same reason."
"You…" Blaze quickly stepped away from the counter, making her way toward the back hall that led to the restrooms, beckoning for Garfield to follow. Once the duo was out of the way of the public eye, Blaze whispered, "You shouldn't BE here. Someone will recognize you."
"No one will recognize me. No one expects me to just be walking around Gotham, getting a coffee."
"I recognized you!" Blaze pointed out.
"You're the only one," Garfield reminded her.
"Well, it's good to know you're still the same after all this time," Blaze sighed. "Here I was thinking I probably saw you for the last time when you went out to fight those aliens."
"So you've been thinking about me." Garfield winked.
"I…" Blaze became flustered. "Only sometimes. Not a lot."
"No shame," Garfield told her. "To tell you the truth, sometimes I think about you, too." And he had been. Every so often, the woman would come back into his mind for absolutely no reason, sometimes even in a dream. He chastised himself for such musings, as he had vowed to be thoroughly done with relationships, and the way she kept walking into his head, she was becoming dangerously close to a crush. But now, it seemed destiny (had he really thought of it as "destiny"? He'd been hanging around Peter far too long) had brought him and Blaze back together, and the very idea that he shouldn't want her was drawing him in all the more.
"You're making that up," Blaze accused.
"No, really," Garfield insisted. "I wonder what you've been up to. If you've revolutionized Gotham yet with your experiments."
"You don't even wanna know about my experiments," Blaze sighed.
"Something happen?
"Long story you probably don't care about."
"Try me," Garfield invited. "Wanna get a table?"
"Won't people hear us?"
"People only hear what they wanna hear around here. Trust me."
Blaze thought it over, then nodded. "Okay. We can talk for a bit."
"Then you have to get back to work."
"I have to get back to LOOKING for work," Blaze admitted. "I'll explain more at the table."
Soon, they were seated across from each other near the coffee shop window. As Garfield's shoulder nudged the pane, he winced slightly.
"You okay?" Blaze asked in concern.
"Yeah," Garfield replied. "Just healing up an injury. It's almost gone…it's just being inconvenient. So tell me…what's your story these days?"
Blaze took a delicate sip from her coffee before setting the cup down and tracing the circular lid with her finger. "I…kinda got fired from the University."
"No kidding."
"I had some ideas about the practical applications of radioactive phosphorous," Blaze explained. "Ideas that the administration didn't think were safe. I knew I could handle it, so I pushed a little. They pushed harder, and now I'm out of a job."
"Y'know," Garfield stated, "I like a woman who plays with fire."
Blaze fixed him with a downright murderous glare.
"Too soon?" Garfield asked.
"WAY too soon," Blaze confirmed.
"Still sucks that you got the axe," Garfield went on, taking a pause to sip from his coffee. "I would've trusted you with nukes any day."
"You don't even know me."
"I know I trusted you to outfit my lasers," Garfield told her. "They worked like something out of a dream. Nukes couldn't be too different from that, right?"
"Actually, the makeup of lasers and nuclear power is INCREDIBLY different – "
"Yeah, I know. I paid enough attention in science class. I just know you seem like a smart gal, is all."
Blaze found herself blushing. "Thanks," she replied gingerly. "So…how's work been for you?"
"I'm sort of coming off medical leave," Garfield explained, "but I've got prospects. Maybe this'll finally be the year I make it."
"Make it to what?"
"Make it out of here," Garfield told her.
"Why do you wanna leave?"
"Why does EVERYONE ask that? Does everyone seriously think Gotham is a nice place to live? And, I mean, it would be understandable for me, but you have even more of a reason to be annoyed with this town. It's packed with weirdo supervillains."
"I like the villains, remember?" Blaze reminded him. "Besides, there are villains everywhere you go. The most interesting ones seem to be here, though. It would kind of be a shame if one of them just left. Things might get boring."
"What, with Joker, Freeze, Riddler, and Penguin out there?" Garfield proposed. "Nuh-uh. This town ain't gettin' boring anytime soon. No one would miss Firefly."
"I would," Blaze said with a coy smile.
"I thought it was too soon for that kind of talk," Garfield replied, equally coyly.
"It is, isn't it?" Blaze winked. "So what do you wanna do when you leave?"
"Whatever I want," Garfield explained. "See the world. Take it easy."
"That sounds like a dream, all right," Blaze sighed. "Wish I could afford to think about that kind of life."
"Hey," Garfield said seriously, "you're SMART. You'll find another job."
Blaze shrugged halfheartedly.
"And if not," Garfield added, "you could always go rogue. Become one of those villains you love. I bet you already have all kinds of tech you could use to get started."
"I would be the most terrible villain that ever existed."
"Wanna bet?"
They locked eyes, and both felt a charge jolt them. After a synchronized sip of coffee, they went ever deeper into conversation, and before they knew it, hours had passed without either leaving Arrows.
...
"So you'll never guess who I ran into today," Garfield told Peter as he procured a bottle of soda from the apartment refrigerator.
"Spellbinder?" Peter hypothesized.
"No." Garfield took a long swig from the bottle. "It was – "
"Maximillian Zeus."
"No. It – "
"Gearhead?"
"Peter. Stop guessing."
"All right," Peter relented. "Who was it?"
"Remember Blaze?" Garfield asked. "That woman who loaded us down with weapons during the alien invasion? Turns out she's still around. Sort of. Gotham University fired her for unsafe nuclear experiments. Can you believe that?"
Peter was less than thrilled to hear that Blaze had come back into Garfield's life. "How interesting."
"We actually had a pretty long talk today," Garfield admitted. "And…we're planning on having another…talk, later. Over dinner tomorrow."
"She sounds chatty."
"So, uh, here's the thing." Garfield wasn't quite sure how to put his feelings into words. Perhaps it wasn't something he should discuss at all. However, it seemed there was hardly anything he couldn't tell Peter at this point. "You know how I'm all…over being in love and done with relationships? I, uh…might not actually be that…done with it."
Peter forced his smile to stay on his face. "You like her, don't you?"
"I like her a LOT," Garfield emphasized, lighting up as he began to describe Blaze. "She's a genius. She's absolutely GORGEOUS. She's just…really easy to talk, to you know? And I think she's got a bit of a bad streak in her."
"I was just thinking you would probably have wanted someone MUCH more insidious."
"Oh, I think she could be insidious if she really wanted," Garfield theorized. "She's got a thing for the bad guys. And you KNOW this works in my favor."
"That it does," Peter said dryly.
"This is probably a bad idea," Garfield admitted. "But I never forgot her for a whole year. That means something, doesn't it?"
"That you have an incredibly good memory?" Peter teased.
"I think it might mean we're sorta…meant to be," Garfield concluded. "Or at least we're meant to go on a few dates. Test the waters and all."
"If you must," Peter relented.
Garfield realized something was off. "Do you…have a problem with this?"
"You have only met her twice," Peter reminded him.
"Yeah," Garfield admitted. "And I feel THIS MUCH about her already. That HAS to mean something."
Peter couldn't very well tell Garfield his actual problem with Blaze without admitting the secret he'd kept well guarded since the moment they'd met. And now that Garfield had his eyes on Blaze, Peter knew the revelation couldn't possibly go over well. He was left with only one choice: to simply accept events as they were. After all, Garfield falling for someone else was miles better than him being hunted down by a tougher supervillain, for example. And there was always a chance that the Blaze endeavor wouldn't pan out.
And if it didn't, maybe Peter would actually speak up. Perhaps it was his own fault for never making his feelings clear.
Having found actual reasons to smile, Peter encouraged, "Well, then, go do what you must. Here's hoping it's destiny." Here's hoping it isn't.
"To destiny," Garfield proclaimed before taking another long drink from the bottle…and then realizing exactly how much caffeine he'd intaken that day. All the better; he had a job that night that he couldn't afford to get sleepy now.
...
One date turned into another, and then another and another. Garfield reported excitedly back to Peter and Harley that Blaze was making him all the happier the more time passed. He did not understand why Harley didn't seem enthusiastic about the news of the new relationship at first.
"Her?" Harley had asked. "Really?"
"Really," Garfield confirmed. "Is something wrong with her?"
"I'm just…wonderin' whatcha see in her."
"Um, EVERYTHING."
"You and her don't really have a history."
"Since when has that mattered to you before?" Garfield wondered. "I thought you were all about love at first sight and all that sappy stuff. Seriously, is there something obviously wrong with her I'm missing? Does she smell like a garbage can to everyone but me? Is she a famous undercover cop?"
Harley shook her head. "Nah. It's just sudden, is all. I thought with you not wantin' to fall in love again, that it would take somethin'…bigger to get you back on the horse, is all."
"Trust me," Garfield insisted. "Blaze is a pretty BIG DEAL."
"I bet," Harley sighed. She knew trying to talk Garfield out of dating Blaze was as fruitless as trying to talk her out of dating Joker. "You crazy kids just be sure and have fun out there, okay?"
As soon as Garfield's back was turned, Harley looked directly at Peter, mouthing the word "Sorry." Peter just shrugged.
...
It had been Harley's turn to pick a movie for the past two weeks; Garfield had been ever absent, either on a job or out with Blaze.
"They're totally gonna break up," Harley insisted. "You'll get your shot. Trust me. You have every advantage over her. You think SHE ever nursed him back to health after he'd been stabbed? You think SHE can get him to dance or talk him into a snowball fight without him playin' it all cool?"
"Quite true!" Peter agreed, satisfied.
"Here's the thing." Harley turned away from the television (which had been replaced since the Zucco incident), standing in front of Peter, staring him directly down. "If you don't wanna miss the boat next time, you have to do exactly what I say. Got it?"
"You are the expert at relationship advice," Peter relented. "What must I do?"
"When it's over between him and Blaze," Harley demanded, "and it will be soon, YOU TELL HIM HOW YOU FEEL. NO MORE EXCUSES. Am I clear?"
"Crystal."
It was at that moment that Garfield entered the apartment, noticing his friends setting up for a movie night. "Hey," he greeted. "Can we talk?"
"What about?" Peter asked without moving from the chair.
"Something pretty important," Garfield began. "It's…well, it's about Blaze. I kinda need your attention here."
Harley shut off the television, and she and Peter walked over to the table where Garfield had sat down. Harley gave Peter a slight nudge, thinking this was going to be the announcement that Garfield and Blaze were over.
Once all were seated, Garfield announced, "Blaze and I talked some things over, and…she wants me to move in with her. And I'm going to. Move in with her, that is."
Screeching brakes.
"So…I'm gonna be clearing my stuff out of here tomorrow," Garfield went on.
"You're breakin' us up?" Harley whimpered.
"I'm not breaking us up," Garfield sighed. "We're still going to be friends, okay? It's just like how Harley lives with Joker and hangs out here a lot. I'm just…probably not going to be here as much as she is because Blaze doesn't actually ignore me and tell me to get out of her way."
"Hey!" Harley snapped.
Peter simply extended his hand across the table. "It's been a pleasure rooming with you, Garfield."
Garfield took his hand and shook it. "If you say 'Toodles,'" Garfield warned, "I will throw something at your face."
"You know me too well."
"Probably about time I got outta here, then."
Garfield didn't notice that it took Peter just a bit too long to let go of his hand.
...
And so Garfield moved out. He spent his time with Blaze, and Harley had much to do with Joker. Peter thought, at first, it would be fine. He'd spent years on his own before either of them had come into his life, after all.
Within a few days, he was completely bored of being alone.
Harley came visiting to find him lying on the floor, twisting his fingers around each other to see just how much he could tangle and disentangle them. "Okay, you're startin' to get pathetic," she sighed.
"Can't I lie on the floor if I want to lie on the floor?" Peter retorted. Despite everything, still he smiled.
"Yeah, but you don't really wanna lie on the floor," Harley told him. "Get up."
As Peter stood to look her in the eye, she sighed, "Look, I know you miss Gar. I can't even imagine how much it's gotta hurt that he's in love with somebody else. And I'm sorry I haven't had much time for ya lately."
"Don't feel bad about that," Peter replied. "You've had more time than he's had."
"I miss him too," Harley admitted. "Not in the way you miss him, but still."
"At least he's probably happy," Peter speculated. "I'm guessing he's making the rounds of romantic clichés. Candlelit dinners, terrible movies about star-crossed lovers, taking absurd pictures in photo booths…"
"If it makes ya feel better, you and I could take some stupid pictures in one of those booths," Harley volunteered. "Just as friends."
"…I may have to take you up on that."
"Also, when's the last time you pulled off a big heist on your own?" Harley brought up. "Do you even do one-man jobs anymore?"
"Most everything requires a second hand," Peter informed her. "And before you say anything, I'm not calling Killer Moth again. Though I suppose there are a few things I could take by myself…"
"That's whatcha need," Harley insisted. "You need some me time. You need a me CRIME. Go on out and steal something ya REALLY want. It'll make ya feel better. Trust me! It always works for me!"
"I must thank you as always for your sage advice," Peter told Harley earnestly.
"It's what I'm best at," Harley said with a dismissive wave of the hand. "I'm just doin' what used to be my job. Now, I haven't got anything else to do tonight. Wanna go wreak some havoc?"
"You'd better believe it."
...
Going on a solo heist had been a good idea, Ragdoll admitted to himself. However, he probably could have picked a better place to start than Wayne Industries. He'd chosen the facility for the challenge factor, and he'd made great progress in pocketing several valuable prototypes.
He'd expected the Batman, flanked by Batgirl and Robin, to show up. They'd engaged him in battle, and he, as usual, had been getting the upper hand…for about a minute. Then the Batman had released a horde of nanobots from their protective case, and they made short work of pinning Ragdoll to the wall. Upside down to boot. It probably should have occurred to Ragdoll to wonder how the Batman knew Bruce Wayne's technology well enough to know to unleash the nanobots, or why the nanobots obeyed Batman of all people. Instead, he just found himself grinning rather awkwardly at the hero trio from his upended position, covered in the tiny machines.
"You know, I'm way too old to be playing with dolls," Batgirl quipped.
"That was my line before it was yours," Ragdoll replied.
"Before you get sent off to Arkham," Batman said gruffly, "I have one question for you."
"Who says I'll give you a straight answer?" Ragdoll shot back. "I tend to do everything crooked, after all."
"We know," Batman replied, completely deadpan. "I want to know about Firefly."
"What about him?"
"Word on the street is you and he worked closely together," Batman pressed. "We're investigating a rash of recent crimes committed by him and a currently unidentified woman. Tell me what you know about where he is now and what he's planning, and I'll put in a word with the Commissioner to lighten your sentence."
Ragdoll had to laugh for the sheer irony of the situation. He didn't even know where Blaze lived. "I haven't a clue. Those two are on their own. I haven't had anything to do with either of them in a month."
Batman stared Ragdoll in the face, looking for any tell-tale signs that the thief was lying. His expression seemed solid. And similar interviews Batman had conducted with Firefly's other clients and employers had turned up similar results: Firefly and Blaze were a double act, but no more than two. "I believe him," he said to Batgirl and Robin.
"How can you trust him?" Batgirl asked in confusion. "He could say anything with that stupid smile on his face."
"I could say, for example, that I'm really not sure which of you three is the most annoying!" Ragdoll volunteered.
"That's enough," Batman called off. "We'll let the commissioner handle the rest."
Later that night, a break-in at Gotham University would provide him with the identity of Firefly's accomplice: Dr. Jane Blazedale. Ragdoll supposed he could have said the name, but Batman had never asked for Blaze's name: just where Firefly was and what he was planning.
And it bothered Ragdoll more than ever that he didn't even know that much about Firefly's current life.
...
Peter was, as usual, locked up in Arkham. At least, the door to his room was locked. That didn't necessarily mean he was stuck in one place.
An orderly paced up and down the hallways, ticking off the names of inmates as he looked into their cells. "221, Hugo Strange. 222, Arnold Wesker. 223, Peter Merkel. 224, Kirk Lang – wait a minute…"
Cell 223 had been empty. The orderly backtracked, taking a second look through the window. Peter beamed at him, waving cheerily. The orderly shrugged and kept on moving.
Once Peter was sure the orderly had moved on, he set about removing the grate on the air vent that led into his cell. That had always been his little secret, and he was perpetually amazed that the Arkham staff hadn't figured it out. Or maybe they had, and they weren't able to figure out how to stop him short of closing off the entire ventilation system, which would have been more than an inconvenience of construction. The vents were more than large enough for Peter to squirm into and use as a transit system throughout Arkham, and there was one in every cell. The grates were old and easily loosened. Whenever patrols were done, Peter would simply leave his cell and go on whatever adventures he pleased. Escaping the building itself was a more difficult affair, but within Arkham's walls, he had the run of the place.
He began by making a perimeter of the block he'd been assigned this time. Strange, Wesker, and Langstrom were amusing enough to annoy, but not the prime targets. He then moved down to another block, seeing how many familiar faces he recognized by peering into cells.
One in particular made him stop, loosening the grate from the inside.
Harley leaned back against her thin pillow, reading a book. As she became aware of the grate of her vent dropping to the floor, she excitedly noted her place with a bookmark and cast the novel aside. As Peter dropped to the floor, handspringing off it into a standing position, she charged and tackled him; "PETER!"
"HARLEY!" As had become custom, he embraced her, picking her up and spinning her about. "They got you too, eh?" he remarked as he let go.
"Yeah," Harley admitted. "It was goin' so well, too. Mr. J invented this whole new kind of silly string that stuck things together permanently, and we were havin' a great time gummin' up the wheels of the armored cars until we ran outta string. You shoulda seen them tryin' to get the cars we sprayed off the road while they were loading us up into the police van, though. It was hilarious! So what're you in for?"
"I took your advice and did a little me-crime," Peter explained. "Perhaps Wayne Industries was a bit too tough of a nut to crack alone."
"Yikes," Harley replied. "Points for tryin', at least. So, I got some good news. The staff here is considerin' lettin' me have a TV in here so I can watch my movies, since apparently that counts as 'nonviolent therapy.' You should join me! We'll do all the classics!"
"And annoy everyone else on this block by singing as loudly as we can?" Peter's grin was downright sinister. "Count me in."
...
The inmates of Arkham were given time to get out of their cells and socialize in the courtyard for a set period of time every day; the only ones not allowed to participate were those kept in maximum security in the basement, for obvious reasons. But the majority of the residents were permitted to interact with each other, so long as they didn't get violent; guards were posted in case things turned foul. And, for such time as Joker counted himself among the residents of Arkham, that was a very real possibility.
After spending a week in Arkham since his latest arrest, Peter walked out into the courtyard to hear his name being called out by a spritely female voice: "Peter! Hey, Peter! Over here!"
Harley had a large sheet of paper spread out over a table, and was hoarding every single marker available to the group. No one else seemed to mind; Harley was the only one that interested in the visual arts. She was putting the finishing touches on a self-portrait – with herself adorned with a flowing medieval-style gown and tiara, of course – when she noticed Peter. Peter immediately made his way to Harley's makeshift studio, and Harley informed him, "Mr. J's in one of his brainstorming sessions and doesn't wanna be disturbed, so I'm on my own today. Wanna hang out? Pick a pose and I'll draw you."
"Let's see…" Peter balanced on one leg, wrapping the other back around his neck. "How's this?"
"You're really gonna test my ability to draw basic human anatomy, y'know," Harley commented as she set to work adding him to the picture – in a knight's armor. "Hey…you know what I thought would be really funny?"
"What would?"
"You know the guys down in max security?"
"I believe there's only one," Peter informed her. "Basil Karlo."
"Max security has those cells with the big glass wall and the airtight door," Harley went on. "I thought it'd be hilarious if one night, while the guys down there – well, okay, just Basil – was sleepin', I could go down there and draw on that glass wall with these markers, and it'd be there when they woke up. Too bad they won't let me anywhere near the place. For that exact reason, I'm guessin'."
"You may not be able to get down there at night," Peter reminded her, "but I can. I could make this happen."
"Really?" Harley asked joyfully. "Would ya?"
"Any requests?"
"A bunch of pink hearts," Harley decided. "After that, go crazy."
"I'm in Arkham, Harley. I'm already crazy." He leaned forward as far as he could without losing his balance to see how Harley's drawing was progressing. "You're getting my good side. Very good."
...
"124…Joker." The orderly barely had to look at the cell; Joker was grabbing the bars of his window from the inside and leering out menacingly. "You want something?"
"Oh, just wanted to remind you that my time here is limited," Joker replied. "And next time I get out of here, you and the rest of your staff aren't going to get off scot-free as usual. I've got something delightfully nasty planned for all of you. Now, knowing that…sleep tight!"
"You don't scare me," the orderly sighed. "Also, we've beefed up security against all the ways you broke out last time. You're not leaving here anytime soon."
"Oh, I'll be leaving," Joker threatened. "When you least expect it. After all, the best punchlines are the ones you never…see…coming."
And in a miracle of timing, that was when the apple hit him on the head.
"WHAT?" Joker roared, whipping about to look at the wall from whence the apple had been thrown. The orderly, from his position, hadn't seen the apple fall, and so was mystified as to why Joker was in such a rage as he bent over to pick up an apple off the floor and throw it at the air vent. "YOU THIRD-RATE RIPOFF! KEEP THAT UP AND I'LL GIVE YOU A SMILE YOU CAN'T TAKE OFF!"
The orderly, confused, made a note on his clipboard. He knew there were several diagnoses pending for Joker, but delusions of people in the air vents had never been one.
Ragdoll stifled a laugh as he dragged his satchel of markers through the vent. He hadn't been able to resist sneaking an apple from the cafeteria just for that blow; this was the only ground on which he could mess with the Joker and not catch consequences.
He continued on his way down to the lower levels of the asylum. The maximum security cells didn't have air vents; they didn't want to risk people like Karlo having an easy exit point. Instead, Peter had to use the vent at the end of the hallway, at which point he slipped out and moved down to the other end, where Karlo was held. In the process, he completely passed by the other cells without a second thought, missing the fact that something was there that hadn't been there before.
Peter brought the bag of markers to Karlo's cell. It was late at night indeed, and Karlo, shifted into human shape, was sprawled out on his bed, fast asleep as was visible through the glass wall with its airlocked door. Peter set to work immediately, drawing a border of pink hearts on the surface of the glass. He finished it all off with a rudimentary doodle of the Batman, Batgirl, and Robin kicking around a Clayface-colored soccer ball with a face. Satisfied with his work, he packed up the markers and made to return to the vent.
This time, as he passed the other cells, he looked at each of the empty ones, wondering what sort of person you had to be to end up there if you weren't one of the Clayfaces. Then he stopped. His question had apparently been answered.
There was someone new in one of the cells.
The stranger looked entirely odd. He wore no clothes to speak of, and his skin was a network of ash-black plates run through with orange cracks that lent him an otherworldly, fiery glow. He sat with his back to the glass wall, knees pulled up to his chest, obviously in a state of dismay.
Of course, the first thing Peter wanted to do was figure out how easy he was to mess with.
"Let me guess," he said. "You're a fiery one, aren't you?"
The stranger was startled; not just by the sudden voice, but by his recognition of it. He scooted away from the wall and turned to face Peter; there was something very familiar about his face, but Peter just couldn't place it, thrown off by the ethereal glow and the strange consistency of the skin. After staring at him in shock for a good thirty seconds, the stranger just said "Go away."
"Oh, but we've only just met," Peter replied, his usual beam in place. "So, what did they get you in for? Don't tell me: public streaking."
"Peter, GO AWAY."
"Oh, so you've heard of me!" Peter remarked. "I'm finally getting a reputation. Took everyone long enough."
"Peter Merkel, for once in your life, will you stop being a JERK?"
It hit Peter like a steamroller. It couldn't be. It absolutely couldn't be. But now that the notion had entered his head…the voice. The face. It absolutely was. "Garfield…?"
"I don't wanna talk to you right now." Garfield turned his back to the wall again.
"This is not only the first time you've ended up in Arkham," Peter pointed out, "but you seem to have undergone some sort of horrific transformation. I think we NEED to talk."
Garfield sighed. "I know. I figured I'd run into you sooner or later. Wasn't expecting it to be here and now…"
"Garfield…what happened?"
"You wanna know what happened?" Garfield turned back to the wall, standing up so he could face Peter directly. "Playing with fire finally bit me in the butt is what happened."
"I'm going to need you to be more specific," Peter replied.
"It's…a long story."
"I've got time."
Garfield paused to gather his thoughts, which wasn't easy these days. "Blaze and I stole a core of radioactive phosphorous. The plan was to use it to upgrade my battle suit so I could rack up better thefts. We were on the verge of actually getting enough to blow Gotham. Then there was an accident with the phosphorous, and…it turned me into this."
"Well, that wasn't a very long story at – "
"I'm not finished, Peter."
Peter shut his mouth, nodding, his smile more solemn but still present as he listened.
"I thought I could control it," Garfield went on. "I finally had a superpower I could use to get my way. But I couldn't figure out how. Everything I touched burned up. Money. Food."
"Blaze?"
"She had to keep her distance. She kept telling me to get help, that I wasn't okay, that this wasn't right, but I just wanted her to SHUT UP. I finally had real power. Besides, she was ready to turn us both in by checking me into the hospital."
Peter nodded sympathetically. Of course Blaze would have made all of those mistakes, he thought. He should have seen it coming. Had it been him, he wouldn't have tried to force Garfield into revealing himself in exchange for medical help. He would have…
What would he have done? He didn't actually know. This was an incredibly singular situation.
"Well, after a few heists went bust, I got a different idea into my head," Garfield continued. This was the part of the story that was getting hard to tell. "You know…I've always hated Gotham. And I was sick of them getting my name wrong. It isn't 'Firefly' anymore, by the way. It's 'Phosphorous' now."
"Duly noted."
"I was just…I was sick of everything, okay? And things were starting to…not make sense," Garfield admitted. "All I could think of was how I wanted everything gone. She was right about one thing, though I didn't want to admit it. I wasn't in control. I couldn't do ANYTHING. I was hungry, I was thirsty, I was sinking into the ground, and I just wanted SOMETHING to go my way. I wanted control over something. Anything. And I could only think of one thing. So I went to the nuclear plant."
"Whatever for?" Peter asked.
"What do you think I went there for?" Garfield answered. "To blow this town. Literally. I knew if I sucked up all the radiation from the plant, I could bring Gotham out with a bang. I just wanted it gone."
"But…" Peter hesitated to ask the next question. "That meant…you had a plan for me, didn't you? And Harley? …And Blaze?"
"No," Garfield answered solemnly, keeping his gaze fixed upon Peter. He suddenly wanted to look away, but he knew he couldn't. "Not you. Not Harley. And ESPECIALLY not Blaze. She was there. She tried to talk me out of it. But I wanted to get rid of it all. I didn't even…I didn't even think about you."
When Blaze had tried to appeal to Garfield by pointing out that his actions would kill her, he hadn't listened. He hadn't cared. It hadn't made a lick of difference. But now, as he confessed his actions to Peter, he was faced with something he hadn't been prepared for.
Peter's smile faded, replaced with an expression of shock and horror. One Garfield hadn't seen since the days of Rumor. And that, more than anything else, was what let Garfield know he had made a terrible mistake.
"You…" Peter reiterated, his mouth suddenly gone dry. "You were about to kill me." He didn't even bring up Harley or Blaze. All he wanted to focus on was the betrayal he felt had been done to him.
"I didn't even THINK about you!" Garfield protested. "I just…I forgot about you, okay? And I know. You're about to ask, 'How could you forget about me?' I couldn't focus on ANYTHING but me. I couldn't even focus on Blaze. All I could think about were the things I couldn't control and the things I COULD and the way I just wanted it GONE and I wanted them to remember me, and I didn't even stop to think about if I'd live or die in the whole mess, and I don't think I cared, and I don't know if I even care right NOW, and I still keep thinking I'd be better off if I'd leveled everything when I had the chance, even though I KNOW that's wrong, and now that I'm looking at you, I know I should have thought about you, and I should have stopped, and I should have done something else, ANYTHING else, but I can't figure ANYTHING out because IT'S STILL TOO LOUD IN MY HEAD!" He clutched at his temples, collapsing into a sitting position. "They're…they're keeping my body stable with gases, and I think they're working on stuff for my mind, too, which is why things are…starting to get clearer. I still have these…visions…of blowing up everything, and I LIKE them. But they're…they're wrong, Peter. I don't know if I knew how wrong until I…" He looked sheepishly back up at Peter. "I know you want to leave. Please…please don't leave. Hear me out."
"I'm listening," Peter said solemnly. "It's…obvious you aren't in your right mind. That…explains a lot."
"I…" Garfield nearly choked on the next words. He wasn't sure why he had to confess the next part to Peter, but it seemed crucial. "I called you and Harley…Arkham whack-jobs. That's what I told the Bat when he showed up to stop me. That I wasn't like his Arkham whack-jobs. I…I meant it then. I don't mean it now. Please, you have to listen to me. Blaze won't. She won't take messages from me anymore. I know why. She told me I was about to kill her, and I told HER our relationship was too hot to handle. I tried to get a message to her from here. She came to visit me once. She told me…the spark between us was gone."
Peter remembered Harley's advice to tell Garfield about his feelings the moment he and Blaze broke up. Frankly, he couldn't think of a worse time.
"A lot has happened to you," Peter stated. "I suppose what you did is…understandable."
"Thank you," Garfield said weakly.
"I still don't like it."
"I know," Garfield replied, his voice breaking. "And I'm…I'm sorry. I know I never would have wanted to hurt you before. I couldn't THINK."
"Garfield, I…I need to think about some things for myself," Peter stated gingerly. "I'm not leaving you. Not permanently. I'll come back. But I have to…ask some advice."
"Peter, I…I can't…" Everything had been bad before, but it was a level of bad that Garfield was becoming accustomed to, taking it in stride. All until Peter stopped smiling. And that smile still hadn't returned. It was perhaps the one thing in all Gotham Garfield couldn't bring himself to destroy on purpose, and yet it was the one thing in Gotham he'd actually managed to.
"You know how hard it is to get rid of me," Peter reminded him. "I'll be back."
"Please…"
"Goodbye, Garfield." Not even a "Toodles." Peter didn't bother to take the bag of markers with him, leaving them spilled out in front of Garfield's cell. Garfield watched him retreat, then climb into the air vent and disappear.
It was late at night. Too late to be stewing upon the thoughts that circled round and round Garfield's mind like sharks, refusing to give up the scent of blood. Explosions, fire, control, Blaze, Peter. He crawled into his bed, taking up the threadbare blanket that the mixture of gases on the air allowed him to touch without singing. And then he closed his eyes, attempting to quiet the cacophony in his head long enough that he could sleep for at least a couple hours.
...
A loud rapping on metal pierced Harley's sleep, pulling her out of a very good dream about giant lollipops. She grunted as she twisted and turned, trying to jerk herself into a conscious state. Whoever was knocking obviously wanted her attention. As she slowly left sleep behind, she realized there was only one person who even could be knocking; the noise was coming from the vent.
"Peter?" she groaned. "Is this about drawin' on Basil's wall? 'Cause it's late. You can tell me about it tomorrow."
"Dr. Quinzel?" It was obviously Peter's voice, but Harley couldn't tell at all why he was calling her by that name. "This is Peter. I'm calling because I'm in a bit of an odd situation."
"Peter," Harley sighed, "come out of the vent. You don't need to do this."
There was a silence before a plea of "Please just humor me."
"Okay," Harley relented. "You're on Heart 2 Heart. What's new with ya, Peter?"
"I haven't seen my 'hot guy' in quite a while," Peter stated. "Until today. I ran into him in the strangest place."
"Gar's here?" Harley asked in surprise. "Why is Gar HERE?"
"He's undergone some…changes. He took some drastic measures while he was away. And I've recently learned that he tried to pull off a scheme that…would have killed me."
"He WHAT?" Harley screamed.
"He isn't in his right mind," Peter continued. "The…changes took a toll on him. He wanted to destroy the entire city, and me with it. He seems to regret it now, but I'm…well, I'm rather sore about it."
"Peter. Please. You have to tell me. What's wrong with Gar?"
"I'll get there," Peter promised. "But first…please, Harley, I'm lost as to where to go. You always know the right way when it comes to love. Can you help me?"
"Well…I can try," Harley resolved. "First of all…do ya still love him? Even though he…apparently tried to kill you?"
It took a moment, but then the answer was clear: "Yes. Yes, I do."
"D'you really think he's sorry?" Harley went on.
"As sorry as he can be. He's really not in his right mind."
"If that's true," Harley said, "it sounds like he might need you now more than ever. If you still love him…then be there for him. Hear him out. Keep talking to him about what happened and why it happened. How's that sound?"
"Very good," Peter admitted. "I think I was kind of hoping you would say that, really."
"Peter," Harley insisted. "What's wrong with Gar?"
Peter slid out of the vent and into Harley's room, making his usual headfirst entrance before springing up to standing. "It's a long story," he began, and Harley noticed the solemn expression on his face right away.
She sat up on the bed. "I got time," she answered.
And so Peter related to her the story of how Firefly had become Phosphorous.