A/N: It's been so long, I'm sorry! Thank you to all who reviewed! Thank you also to my anonymous reviewer, xxJokersgirlxx! WOW, 300 reviews, you all are the best! Also, Will, Anna, Batman, and Gordon all have POVs in this chapter.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Enjoy!
Will shook his head, wishing he could forget Freddy's bullet-ridden corpse.
"I told you, I don't know nothing. And bluebell, I don't care if you believe me. The boys with the Boss know stuff we didn't; they could tell you that sort of crap." For once in his life, the mob veteran was actually telling the truth, working with the Joker was like working in the dark most of the time. Dangerous and stupid, but sometimes, you just didn't have a choice.
Tearing his eyes away from the National Guard milling around the warehouse entrance, he appraised his makeshift holding cell, nothing more than a few armed cops and some stretches of steel wire. He only needed to take one look at the grizzled detective – Burns, he dimly remembered – to realize how it all went down. "But… you already had one of them boys, didn't you? This wasn't no accident."
In Gotham, police raids happened for one of two reasons – the Batman, or by accident. The former hadn't been seen since the station bombing, the city up in arms against him with riots erupting daily outside the Mayor's office in protest. The name 'Batman' was a slur now to most people, his presence having twisted from one of protection to one of menace. And since there weren't any dead loyalist cops lying around as the mob swept the raid under the carpet, Will figured it wasn't the latter.
Gordon himself must have rigged this.
Shifting uneasily on his feet, Burns glanced hastily at his watch, clearly looking like he would rather be somewhere else. "Well you're right, I'll give you that. However said source has… refused to give us the Joker's location until moved to a safe location. We should be getting it in a few minutes."
Will's eyebrows climbed higher on his forehead; that was definitely a new development.
One of the surrounding guards quickly handed the lieutenant a folder, rather thick by the look of it. Burns cleared his throat, thumb absentmindedly flicking the manila edge. "Until then, I guess I'll ask you a few questions. So… were you told anything about the woman you were guarding?"
The mobster shook his head, figuring he could play along for now. If they actually managed to capture the Joker – though truth be told, Will figured he'd see his body on the six o'clock news instead, if the Mayor had a say – no use getting dragged to jail with him for sheer belligerence. "Just not to kill her."
"Did you mistreat her?"
"No, didn't need to. Those bruises ain't from us."
Will watched as the other man unconsciously leaned forward, gaze narrowing as he scrutinized his suspect's face. Whatever the next question was, it was something the police were dying to know. "Did she ever say anything to you?"
A beat.
"Yes."
Flashes of annoyance and curiosity crossed the detective's face by turns. "What?"
"She said you're a fat ass, what do you want me to say? I'm not going to speak anything against him."
Face settling into one of icy exasperation, the detective leveled his gaze, curiosity absent from his voice. "You don't need to worry much about his revenge, we'll get him good this time. So, if I have to ask you again, you aren't going to like it, so just answer the damn question. What did Loretta Barker say about the Joker?"
Will shrugged, the strong muscles of his shoulders shifting easily beneath the loose t-shirt. "Freddy could have told you that. Stupid fool, going for his gun during a cop raid…. I didn't hear everything but, uh, she said that the broad he wanted so much was his wife. Said she was scarred too."
"Did you believe it?"
"Hell no."
Burns flipped open the folder, removing a photo taken in what looked like a police office. The date on the back seemed very recent, even if it was a bit grainy in quality. "Do you recognize this woman?"
His mouth dropped open as comprehension dawned.
He didn't recognize the lady directly, at least not at first, but the scars practically leapt off the page and into his brain. Like a skilled craftsman, he would know his own work anywhere, the familiar hook on the left side his own little master touch to the process. They had healed rather well, considering her skin type, and to be truthful he hadn't done more than two or three women in his years under Gambol…
A glimmer, and it all came crashing back.
This one had been an accountant's wife, though for the life of him, he couldn't remember her name. Got in deep over six to nine months, nearly fifteen grand by the time Gambol called upon his services. Relatively broke, he remembered, with a husband that couldn't hold a job and an addictive personality to put a junkie to shame.
Staring into the sightless eyes of the image, Will didn't even notice the detective's cell phone begin to ring.
She stared sightlessly down the gleaming barrel.
An unforgiving black hole returned her gaze, a promise of nothing and an end to all, reminding her sharply of something Jack used to say. Anna couldn't exactly remember the quote, something about looking into the abyss and the abyss looking into you. Odd that her mind should be thinking of such things, she thought, standing precariously on the precipice as she was and lacking the will to jump. Her finger had not yet come to rest against the trigger, some primordial sense of self-preservation giving her pause. No matter how awry her life seemed to have gone, this definitely wasn't how she saw it ending.
The barrel sank lower, coming to rest at her side.
Furious with herself for even entertaining the pathetic notion, she tightened her grip on the handle, gaze jumping to that of her husband. If she was going to die, it wouldn't be by her own hand in a musty, blood-spattered flat, the Joker looking guardedly on. A part of her vexed that he hadn't tried to stop her, Anna knew that he hadn't needed to; there was never really a question if she would fight rather than concede defeat. She knew, and he knew, it simply wasn't in her nature.
Neither was patience.
"Call your men off." The odds that he would listen were slim, but she kept her voice steady all the same. No use threatening to shoot him, the corner of her mind who still thought of him as Jack would never permit her to carry through with it. She honestly doubted if he would care anyway, having been granted the last laugh.
He cocked his head to the side, tenor in the lower depths of its range. "And why would I do a thing like that? Going to shoo-t me?"
"I was considering it. Your men won't be so lucky… if you don't stop them." Anna didn't even need to think to hear how ridiculous that statement sounded coming from her, though her solemn expression never wavered. There wasn't a person in Gotham who didn't know how to fire a weapon, practically one of the prerequisites for living in the city limits, and she was no exception. If it came down to her or the men outside, the answer was rather simple, even if she would aim first for the kneecaps and then the gut. Of course, all of this hinged on whether or not she could yet muster some courage, since blindly rushing into the hallway seemed as brilliant as her earlier notion.
As it was, she was stuck with a loaded gun and a half-baked plan.
"I see, oh I see. So you're going to take on my men with two bullets?" He grinned cockily, sucking on the inside of his cheek as he watched her gaze fall to the firearm in her hand. Deftly opening the magazine, she swore inwardly, only two of the expected five meeting her eyes. "And that thing has one, nasty recoil… sure you can hold it steady?"
She didn't need his pointed taunting, doubt beginning to creep under the fortifications quickly erected around her mind. Two bullets, why in the name of God only two bullets? Perhaps she was reading too much into it, but she couldn't shake the feeling that at some point, one of those had been meant for her. "I've seen these before, I know how to hold it, thank you." Drawing nearer to the door, she stood in the shadow of the dresser, inwardly wrestling with the idea of leaving. "And as for the bullets –"
The telltale ringing of a cell phone.
Muffled shouting drifting from the living room, her mouth clamped shut.
Falling flush against the wall, she brought the pistol higher, flashing him a warning he barely acknowledged. He wouldn't stop her, she knew, though he certainly wouldn't help her in any way either. Her throat burned as she swallowed, the rapid thud of footsteps in the hallway matching the beat of her heart in her ears.
What in hell was she going to do? Shoot him and alert the others? Knock him out? Grip tightening on the black handle, she waited stiffly as a hurried knock resounded through the bedroom, realizing she had no idea and she didn't give a damn about it. She just had to do something.
Knob quickly turned, the young man threw open the door.
Threw open the door and stared.
If her nerves hadn't been coiled on a spring, Anna might have chuckled, the way the thug's mouth nearly hit the floor in shock. His lips worked furiously to deliver whatever urgent message had driven him to the bedroom, but no sound emerged, attention entirely consumed by the Joker – no, Jack, she reminded herself – bound to the bed. The humbling of a God had occurred, the proof in the young man's questioning, incredulous, disappointed eyes.
He hadn't even seen her.
Anna saw her chance.
Hiding from the living room's line of sight, she pressed the barrel to his temple, making sure he heard the telltale click of a weapon prepared to fire. A cell phone clutched in one hand, gun held loosely in the other, he only swallowed thickly, frantically scanning the determined set of her mouth from the corner of his eye. One level of her mind undoubtedly amused, she watched as his gaze flickered between her and the bed, barely able to wonder what had happened.
If she didn't know better, she would have thought the young thug could hear her heart pumping its way from her chest. Her voice was barely above a growl, held level despite the fear and adrenaline coursing violently through her veins. "Get in here. Don't make a sound and give me your weapon."
He edged into the room, flinching slightly as she snatched the much larger gun from his hands. This one, whatever it was, she hadn't used before, but she was sure it would be simple enough to figure out. In the meantime, she reset the safety pin, never glancing away nor removing the barrel from his temple. At the jerk of her head, he lifted his hands into the air, Adam's apple bobbing as he gulped in fright. Sure, he was a cocky bastard with the Joker around to protect him, but who would save him from the woman who had seemingly put the Boss in his… current predicament?
Anna was silently thankful the thug didn't know the whole story. If he did, she had a feeling he would be laughing, not sweating in fear.
Holding the other man's gaze, she could barely make out her husband just beyond the young man's shoulder, both wrath and amusement alternating upon his visage. He hadn't said a word, and she could only pray it stayed that way. Her tongue unconsciously licked her lips, sensing his stare upon the scars.
"Listen up. You're going to call to your friends and say that he uh, killed me. The Joker says they can all come in and help clean up, and forget about their guns for now. Make it convincing. If you so much as say anything else…" She grinned, making full effect of the way her scars stretched, eerily similar to her husband. Let his mind think up something, God knew she was too tired to. "Understand?"
The young man nodded as much as he could, gulping loudly. No doubt he was far more pliable now that he had seen the Joker as he really was, a man, neither true monster nor god. This man could not protect him, couldn't protect any of the thugs waiting in the living room. Unsurprisingly, his tone held the indescribable note of fear melded with confusion, voice more hoarse than she had expected. "Okay, okay, but please – listen, just… let me go. I'll take the others with me. I want to get out of here, we all do, they're just about to leave as-as it is…"
Scoffing, she pressed the muzzle further into his temple, ignoring the wince of pain that followed. "And I'm supposed to believe that? Why would you want to leave?"
His voice shook, light blue eyes pleading silently with her, having seen their protector so utterly brought down to earth.
"Because… because the entire fucking police force is on its way."
Her eyes locked with her husband's, and for once, the sharp intake of breath wasn't hers.
The winds of change were blowing, cold and cruel.
Racing across the bridge, Bruce could hear the familiar scream of police sirens, echoing through the city several blocks behind him. He clung to the shadows like a second skin, not daring to chance entering the cruel gaze of a streetlight for fear of facing a citizen's wrath. Not even the rage of a city could prevent him from being in the Narrows tonight, but it didn't mean he wanted to brave their righteous ire just yet.
His penthouse was dark and empty for the first time in days, devoid of his depressed and miserable persona haunting the hallways like an un-avenged specter. The Batpod hummed beneath him, carrying him over choppy expanses of dark water and onto cracked pavement and open sewers.
Samson Street, Samson Street… it repeated like a mantra inside his head, shining like a beacon in the darkness. The Joker was there, Anna was there, and to be honest, he couldn't decide which one was more satisfying. His redemption lie encased within one of these abandoned stone complexes, for if he could save just one person out of so many that had died, that would be enough.
In his heart, he knew that to be nothing but a lie, but it was the only thing keeping him going.
Gordon clung to the patrol receiver in his hand, his voice high and hoarse from having shouted many a command into its mouthpiece that night. "All units, I repeat all units to converge on 611 Samson Street in the Narrows. Form a perimeter around the apartment complex."
Hastily ending the transmission, he pulled his cell phone from a jacket pocket, hurriedly dialing the Mayor. Both the National Guard and most of the GPD followed behind his lead car, and the commissioner practically shook in apprehension as the deputy swerved onto the bridge. His heart hammered wildly to the point where a heart attack would have come as no surprise, merely an inconvenience as the Joker and his wife lay so close yet so far.
This time, he promised himself, this time they would have that madman behind bars and a padded door. This time, there would be no sloppy detainment, no silent SWAT vans parked on the docks with a bloodbath inside. No, it would be the Joker, this Jack Napier, who rode with the commissioner while Anna was hidden safely away. For she would be alive, Gordon promised himself, she would be alive.
In the back of his mind, he could faintly hear the sound of a jet plane leaving the runway, a scarred face framed in one of the tiny windows. She would be on that flight out of this goddamn city, if it was the last thing he would ever do.
A/N: And now they all converge! So, does Anna make it out alive? Does Gordon survive? To all of you who have been so supportive, THANK YOU!
PLEASE REVIEW!