Laurenmlbc – Thanks again for the reviews, they always help. Also, sorry for the delay, but I've had a lot going on lately. Hope you won't hold it against me... Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Joker, etc.
C H a P T e R 4
The Pennyworth's had served the Wayne family for generations. Following a lengthy stint in the Special Air Service, Alfred himself had put down roots in Gotham City as Thomas and Martha Wayne's butler. Tragically, their life had been cut short before their only sons' very eyes by a lone thief some time ago; after having attended the local opera. Years had come and gone, and Bruce had grown into a strong and knowledgeable young man, but Alfred knew that he still carried with him a great sense of guilt and sadness over his parents' murder. He realized, unfortunately, that the sorrow he felt was his burden, and his alone. Alfred grieved for them, of course, but not in the same way. Bruce still blamed himself for their death to this very day, and there was nothing the elderly butler could do to ease his suffering. And now, all this time later, he was once again blaming himself...or, more than Bruce Wayne, he blamed Batman. Not for the savage killing of his mother and father, but for the death of Rachel Dawes. His dearest childhood friend and love of his life, she had been kidnapped and maliciously murdered by him.
She had been on the verge of a new career and a promising future, but it had been stolen away from her in the blink of an eye. Like Bruce, he had known Rachel since she had only been knee–high, and her passing saddened him to no end. But unlike Bruce, he knew that her untimely death was not his fault...it was the Joker's doing. He understood that Batman had finally brought about the change that Gotham so desperately needed – even if Batman himself couldn't see it. He had made a difference. Alfred wanted nothing more than to convince him of this very fact, but he knew that in this instance it was entirely out of his hands. Rachel's death had hit him too hard. Consumed by grief and despair, he had come to doubt his purpose in life.
Alfred had grown so accustomed to looking after the boy while raising him during his adolescence, that it deeply pained him to feel so utterly helpless now that he had evolved into the broken young man sitting before him. Of course, he could never let his true feelings show, or speak of his own hardships. It was his duty to remain steadfast and do everything in his power to help the tortured hero push through his trials and tribulations. He provided the solid foundation that the man behind the mask could not do without.
Carrying a tray of food in hand, Alfred cleared his throat to make himself known as he approached the plush chair resting in the center of Bruce Wayne's extravagant penthouse. Hiding behind the image of Gotham's wealthiest playboy, the reluctant millionaire had always been obligated to spend a certain amount of time within the walls of Wayne Enterprises, but following the destruction of Wayne Manor it had become his main place of residence. Much to Alfred's dismay, he had been spending even more time alone and isolated in the spacious apartment since Rachel's passing...
"Feeling like lunch today?"
"Hmm?" Bruce murmured as he glanced over his shoulder. "Oh, Alfred...no thanks, I'm not hungry."
"Well, why don't you give it a taste anyway," Alfred insisted, holding the tray out to him. "My own special recipe, of course."
Sighing in submission, Bruce accepted the freshly prepared meal and nodded his appreciation. "Thanks."
"My pleasure," Alfred replied. Glancing over at the news broadcast running on the television in front of the chair, he quirked a brow. "Catching up on current events, are we, Master Wayne?"
"Have you been watching?" Bruce asked, immediately forgetting the tray of food in his lap. "They set a date."
"I gather you are referring to the trial," Alfred deduced with a frown.
"Next week," was Bruce's blunt response. "Gordon's worried that some of his thugs might try to spring him on their way to the courthouse."
His frown deepening, Alfred returned his attention to the TV screen. "I would image he'll be kept under heavy lock and key, sir. Nobody in their right mind wants that madman back on the loose."
"It's over thirteen blocks from Arkham to the courthouse, Alfred," Bruce countered. "A lot can happen in the time it takes to cover that distance. If they break him out – "
"Let me stop you there, sir," Alfred interjected, picking up the remote control sitting beside the lavish chair and shutting the television off. "You have already done your service to the people of Gotham. It is because of you that he's no longer out there, roaming the streets with his gang and taking innocent lives on a whim. Sometimes it's best to simply take a step back and trust in others to do their part."
"I can't afford to take any chances," Bruce wearily retorted. "None of us can..."
"If you continue to burn the candle at both ends, Master Wayne," Alfred replied as he remained firm and resolute, "you will not be much good to anyone."
Setting the tray of food aside, Bruce rose from his chair and turned to his kindly butler with a reassuring smirk. "You don't have to worry about me, Alfred...I promise I'll take a vacation just as soon as the trial's over. But for now, I need to go track down Lucius."
"Of course you do, sir," Alfred replied. "What will it be this time? A jetpack to scour the skies of Gotham, perhaps?"
"You know, that's not a bad idea," Bruce said with a grin. "Maybe I'll run that by him."
Shaking his head in resignation, Alfred watched Gotham City's most prosperous businessman depart before glancing down and retrieving his untouched lunch.
She had been at it for hours on end. Sipping at a freshly brewed mug of coffee and intently studying the security monitor in front of her, Natalie Harrison wearily rubbed her aching head. She had been observing her patient for half of the day without respite, but had still failed to make any progress. The afternoon had been rather uneventful and slow going. For hours upon hours, he had done nothing other than wander about his cramped holding cell – carefully examining its bare, white walls as if a gallery of fine art had been put up on display for his own personal entertainment.
Doing her best to stifle a yawn, Natalie blew on her steaming beverage before taking another sip. So engrossed by the video on the monitor, she was caught off guard and abruptly turned with a start when she heard the door to the surveillance room creak open behind her. She smiled in embarrassment when Dr. Lambert entered. If he had detected the startled look on her face, he didn't show it.
"Good evening, Dr. Harrison," he said as he joined her.
"Evening?" she repeated, glancing down at her wrist and realizing for the first time that there were no clocks to be found in the room, and she had apparently forgotten her watch while preparing for work earlier in the morning. "I haven't been keeping track of the time. How late is it?"
"Just after six o'clock," Dr. Lambert answered. "You've been in here for nearly eight hours. It's a wonder you can still see straight enough to concentrate on the screen."
"I never expected this assignment to be easy," she wryly remarked.
"Regretting your decision to take on the task?" Dr. Lambert asked with a raised brow. "You may be the most qualified behavioral analyst in the field, but you are still very young. Perhaps too much weight has been placed on your shoulders, too soon..."
"No, it's not that," Natalie hastily retorted. "It's him. I've dealt with my fair share of troubled, delusional patients in the past, but he's not the same...he's different."
Dr. Lambert's curiosity grew. "How so?"
"He's unwavering in his opinions and views on the world," she elaborated. "Many patients express similar personality traits, but sometimes when you speak with him he seems almost...sane. As crazy as it sounds, there's no denying that he is extremely intellectual. The problem is, he clearly acts on raw animal impulse, and not on a system of logic or reason."
"Perhaps with the proper medication – "
"I'm not so sure medicating him would be the wisest course to follow," Natalie interrupted, thoughtfully stroking her chin. "I've considered it myself, but I think that if the root of the problem isn't addressed, no amount of medication will do him any good. My initial evaluation leads me to believe that prescribing drugs will only stave off his condition temporarily. We need to find the source, not just treat the symptoms and hope for the best. A regression would prove disastrous in this case, as you can imagine."
"The decision is ultimately in your hands, of course," Dr. Lambert replied with a frown. "However, there is another matter that has come to my attention regarding your...request."
Natalie slightly grimaced, as she already knew exactly what the older doctor was referring to. She had expected some level of resistance from her superiors, and it seemed that the time had come.
"Do you really think it prudent to remove this particular patients' straitjacket?" he continued without hesitation. "You are fully aware that there are far more dangerous aspects to him than just his mind..."
"I am merely establishing a basis to gain his trust," Natalie argued in turn, refusing to falter or concede under her supervisors' grim stare. "Which I will obviously need if I am to ever make any headway during our sessions. If I am unable to build some kind of a rapport, he will never confide in me and this will all have been for nothing. I was sent here to perform a job, Dr. Lambert, and I plan to do just that."
Noticing that Dr. Lambert's hardened expression was beginning to soften, Natalie firmly pressed on:
"Without making a connection, no matter how long I continue to see him, it will be impossible to pinpoint his illness and determine what therapy he should undergo in order to achieve the best results. I am sure you understand the importance of the doctor–patient relationship, sir. I ask only that you don't tie my hands, and allow me to do as I was instructed. That is why I was hired for the position, is it not?"
A long moment of silence ensued while Dr. Lambert lost himself deep in thought – earnestly deliberating and contemplating what to say next.
"Let me first say that your approach is very unorthodox, Dr. Harrison," he declared at last. Then, to Natalie's surprise, he offered her a warm, sympathetic smile. "Keeping that in mind, I was met with similar accusations once or twice in the days of my youth. I will sign off on your request, and grant you full responsibility over your patient. In doing so, you will be permitted to practice in a way that you deem suitable, and continue treatment in whatever manner you see fit. But just for the record, I strongly disagree with this new method of yours."
"That's all I could ask for," Natalie replied with a relieved smile. "Thank you, sir."
Somewhere between a frown and a grin, Dr. Lambert turned to leave until he heard Natalie mumble to herself just behind him:
"What is he..."
Glancing back, he realized that the younger doctor had returned her attention to the security monitor once again. He curiously moved back to her side and peered over her shoulder to get a better look at the image as she, too, intently studied it.
"How well did you say your camera systems are hidden?" she inquired.
"The cameras themselves are no larger than the tip of a needle," Dr. Lambert answered, leaning in closer to examine the screen. "Many of our patients are paranoid enough without the knowledge that they are under constant surveillance."
"But it looks like...can he see us?" Natalie stammered, inwardly scolding herself for the rash slip of her tongue. "See it, I mean. The camera..."
"Impossible. It is merely coincidence, I can assure you," he replied. "Our devices are state of the art, and well concealed. They aren't visible to the naked eye from such a distance."
Natalie felt an involuntary shiver run down her spine as she examined the scarred visage and set of penetrating eyes that seemed to stare right through the camera lens, and straight into her soul. The Joker, his face unpainted and fixated on what appeared to be the very camera that was watching over him, stood motionless while his captivated gaze bore into her – chilling her to the bones. Somehow the sight was even more disturbing than when she had actually sat just a few feet away from him.
She fought the urge to look away until it grew unbearable, and she finally relented. He, however, remained where he was without averting his scrutinizing stare. If she didn't know any better, she could have sworn that when she turned back to the monitor, a faint smirk of satisfaction had crept onto his lips...