Chapter 3
When I got home, I knew the story would have normally tickled Dick, but... I frown, was he really my only friend? God. I sit on my bed and curl into a small ball until Alfred knocks on my door. "Yeah?" He opens the door and puts a tray down on my bedside table.
"Something interesting for you, with your tea." I blink and sit up as he leaves, looking over to see a tape. A longer one. With a blue x, a red x, and a green x. What does green mean? I hop up to grasp it and dive to the other side of the bed for my tape player and headphones.
Doctor: You've asked for me again, this is something.
Waylon: ... Do you know the shocky bitch at all?
My heart jumps and my stomach flips a little.
Doctor: I have never met her, but you talk about her enough I think I do.
His amusement is clear and Waylon growls at him.
Waylon: Don't be cute Doc. I need help and you're all I got.
Doctor: All right.
Waylon: ... Fuck... I don't even...
He sighs,
Doctor: Take your time Mr. Jones.
Waylon: She fuckin'- Tch.
I smile to myself, he was flustered.
Doctor: She has visited you, I see from the logs, once she went in alone to see you.
Uh-oh. I blanch, Bruce had heard this first, and I was so dead. I bite my lip as he goes on.
Doctor: So... I take it she did or said something that is quite...
Waylon: She kissed me.
Doctor: ...Did she?
His voice was happier than you'd think a doctor would be.
Waylon: When I asked her what the hell she did it for, she made this speech about how I didn't like her and it was okay because it was... god, she said something about statistics, how she never took an interest in anybody before... it wasn't a speech, really it just... She looked so damn amused. But her face was blank, like she wanted me to react. I didn't know how.
Doctor: Of course not, a girl has never outright kissed you like that before.
Waylon: No. They haven't. And she just... it was like she did to shut me up, or something.
Doctor: Hm.
He sounded like he was holding back amusement as much as he could.
Waylon: What?
Doctor: What were you saying at the time?
Waylon: I was tellin' her that she overthinks everythin', she was staring at me and suckin' on her lip, and bitin' it like she always does when she's overthinkin'-
Doctor: I don't think she did it to shut you up. It sounds like she was thinking about whether or not to do it and you gave her permission...
He sputtered off into laughter.
Waylon: GOD, doc. It ain't THAT funny.
Doctor: Oh but it is!
He was nearly shrieking and I heard what must have been him falling out of his chair. Waylon huffed.
Waylon: I hope you cracked your skull open.
The tape ended and I was laughing so hard I was crying. Alfred came in at some point, worried when he heard me laughing uncontrollably. I grabbed him by the shirtfront and gasped out, "He fell off his chair!" He smiled a bit, I know he listens to the tapes with Bruce.
"That he did." He took the tape from my grasp and put it back into its case. "And Master Bruce would like a word with you."
"... Is it too late to run away?" I squeak an upward inflection at the end.
"I think it would be best to hash it all out now." He lifts an eyebrow in his Alfred-y display of disapproval.
"Can I... Do it in a few hours? Like... Maybe when I've sorted out My Last Will and Testament?" I said the last part dramatically and with a shakiness to my voice that I didn't have to fake.
"Miss Dart, I can assure you, Master Bruce will not murder you." He was very serious as he turned to leave, and then walked off with, "I am, after all, running out of places to hide the bodies." I threw my pillow at the closing door.
Bad sign #1 that Bruce was going to bitch me out? He asked Alfred to tell me to come see him. If it was good, he came to me, if it was bad... He let me come to him so the anticipation would kill me first. Bad sign #2 was that he was in the Batcave and wearing his Cowl. In the Cowl, he was Batman. No changes in expression other than mild amusement and anger. Bad sign #3 was that he turned to give me his full, undivided attention as soon as I stepped out of the elevator.
The small amused curve to his mouth was... Different. "You look like you think I'm going to eat you."
"Aren't you?" I squeaked. The sudden laughter was even more different than I was used to.
"I'm a little annoyed that you went in alone... But obviously you knew things about Croc that I didn't, that gave you an edge anyway." He turns to type a few things into the computer. "And apparently you like him too much for me to deter you anyway... But I'd like you to know what you're dealing with." He clicked a button and suddenly there was a picture of him on-screen. Waylon looked younger and uncomfortable. "This was from the only school he ever took a picture for. This one year is the only picture they had. He didn't pay for copies or anything, but the photographer kept it because he'd never seen anyone like Croc before." He types again, another picture coming up. He doesn't look much older. "He had a psychotic break and killed his aunt, running off to the circus for a few years before turning to crime after the whole thing collapsed. " He clicked through mug-shots. "He was eighteen, so they sent him to Blackgate. It wasn't until he'd actually said something that they sent him to Arkham."
I frown at that wording. "Actually said something? What do you mean?"
"The whole time this was all going on, the criminal activities, the internment at Blackgate... He didn't speak a single word."
"But he's-"
"Too easily angered for that now, yes. But for a while he was as cold-blooded as it gets, no pun intended." He taps a button and a psych report comes up. "He would give no expression other than intelligent calculation no matter what happened. Then one day he snapped out of it, like he couldn't even take being insane anymore." I blink. "He started behaving hostile, angry, and cursed anyone out who ever looked at him for longer than a second."
"So they just... Shipped him off to Arkham... Or did something happen first?"
"... He killed an inmate." I clench my hands on my knees. It wasn't really news, he killed people a lot. "But afterward, he was jumpy, expressed regret, and he'd never done that before. They think he has a type of dissociation disorder. Not exactly another personality... But close enough."
"... I don't think I've ever-"
"No, you haven't. Because I send you somewhere else when he's in that kind of frame of mind. Like about an hour ago when he escaped." My heart seized in my chest, "He was relaxed, fine, everything was fine. Then this happened."
A video feed came on screen, showing Waylon sitting in a room, eating lunch. I realize it's a cafeteria and that he's actually sitting WITH people. Mostly the rogues, Riddler, Harley, Joker... Hell, even Ivy was there in a boob-popping top that couldn't have possibly been regulation. They all ate silently and weren't making trouble.
And then a guard walked toward them and I suddenly knew this was not in any way a good thing.
"Hey freaks, it's time for group."
The girls shrink into themselves at the same time as they glare at him while the guys just give him dirty looks that would make any SMART person wither just a bit.
"Get up."
They didn't seem to think it was worth the trouble, so they all got up. Except Waylon. He was too calm, pretended he didn't even notice the guard until he came closer and attempted to jab him with his nightstick.
Waylon grabbed the nightstick and shoved it back into the idiots face hard enough to break a few teeth and land him on the floor. The guards converged on him and the last thing he said before the fighting frenzy and escape happened was, "Idiots."
"I... Had no idea he had..."
"I didn't want you to ever meet Killer Croc. Not the real one. The guy you know is Waylon Jones, a normal man with low self-esteem who's been beaten down his whole life. Killer Croc... Beats back." He turns to look at me, "I know you care about him, but this... Is a big obstacle. Maybe if you had more training to deal with people with mental disorders, but... Not now. I don't think you could handle seeing him be so... Cold. And I think he'd remember you shying away. Both of them would hate you for flinching." I stare up at him as he impresses this upon me. "So. Since I can't take him back myself this time, when you come with me, I only ask... That you not show any expression other than that open smile you always have on your face. If you want to look disapproving or worried, fine. But if you flinch, if you look disgusted, anything, Waylon will remember, and he won't think it had anything to do with how he was acting. He never remembers... I have tapes I kept from you." THAT explained a lot. "I want you to listen to them before we go."
I wasn't really given a choice. Bat-... Bruce, said that he wanted me to be prepared and unsurprised for when we found him. So he sent me out on patrol with a wireless headset and an automatic playing system that would go through all the dialogue as I searched the city. I'm to alert him when I see Croc, not after I've alerted him to my presence. He was very precise about that part.
Doctor: Mr. Jones-
Waylon: Don't call me that.
Doctor: Your name?
Waylon: That stupid human name. Don't call me that.
Doctor: ... What shall I call you?
Waylon: Killer Croc.
Doctor: Alright. Croc. Would you like to tell me what happened with Mr. Cash?
I remember this. This was just after he'd bitten Cash so bad that his hand had to be amputated.
Killer Croc: He pissed me off, so what? I only bit off one finger. Coulda been a LOT worse.
His amused chuckling with the dark undertone in them made me shudder in fear and... Sympathy. For Cash, of course. That had to have hurt.
Doctor: What did he do to you? I must know if I'm going to file-
Killer Croc: Don't need no complaints filed, I took care of it, and he'll be extra nasty next time we see each other I'm sure, since he'd never quit and let me think I'd won.
The low, muted laughter again. It's just a small rumble and I recognize it from when I used to amuse him when he fought, when he thought I'd been backed into a corner or something. It was self-assured.
Doctor: Yes but, I hate to think of you being mistreated by someone who is supposed to take care of you.
There's a rumble and then-
Killer Croc: Take care. Of me? Ha.
It wasn't sarcastic, it was just a sudden half laugh that got choked off.
Killer Croc: ... Wh... what...
His voice was settling once more, becoming the one I knew.
Doctor: Croc, Mr. Jones... Waylon?
Waylon: What? Yeah, I bit his finger off, so what, he was proddin' me with that goddamn rod and I hate gettin' shocked, you know that.
Doctor: ... Yes, I know. I will file a complaint with Mr. Cash immediately. I hope he will be dismissed but I am uncertain.
Waylon: Why would they dismiss him? I bit his finger off, he's the victim. Don't matter that he torments a freak, it never matters.
I've melted my ear piece. I'm standing in the middle of a street with electricity rushing through my body, up to the sky, and back down in an endless cycle. My clothes are dust, my hair has come undone and I'm fairly certain I look like a column of light without shape or form. I'm so pissed off that I don't notice the Bat throwing one of his electrical absorbers for when I short circuit in water. I fall to my knees and he covers me with his cape, wrapping me up and carrying me back to the Bat-mobile. I shudder in the passenger seat for what seems like ages before he gets in and drives us back home.
"I didn't pick up any sign of him. I think he'll stay underground until he needs to come up for a reason."
"I'm sorry, I melted the ear piece."
"I have more. But I think you should listen to them in your chamber."
He didn't mean my room. When my emotions were unstable or particularly hard to get a leash on, I'd go into a chamber where my electricity was absorbed and given back to me, but not allowed to get higher than a certain voltage. It was safe, for everyone, and it kept me from burning myself out and fainting. I walked in, giving him back his cape and not really caring about being naked. He'd black out the windows. And he does.
The second long recording seems to happen a few months after the first, all the other smaller tapes in between were the doctor talking and Croc just staring at him until he'd got him to say, 'I bet you taste like chicken.' I would have laughed if it'd been Waylon's inquisitive, amused voice... But it was cold, so cold... And then one day he felt like talking.
Doctor: How are we feeling today, Croc?
He didn't seem to even need to ask who it was he was talking to anymore. I already recognized the changes in their voices, so he must have seen something in his face before he spoke. After all, there's no video to this.
Croc: Irritated.
Doctor: By?
Croc: Everything.
Doctor: You are just in an irritable mood? That is not like you.
Croc: No it ain't.
Doctor: Do you know what could be causing it?
Croc: Just sexual frustration.
He seems to wave it off with his tone, as if it's nothing, it happens.
Doctor: I see. Is there a reason this is happening now?
Croc: What do ya mean? Happening now as in today? Or happening now as in, when I couldn't get any even if I wanted to? I'm in an asylum, can't find my regular hookers, so yeah, I'm a little testy.
Doctor: ... Do you remember the conversation we had yesterday?
Croc: The shocky bitch.
His words were derisive and irritated and there was only a single note of longing in them. When Waylon says my 'name' he always sounds kind of reluctant and eager all at once.
Doctor: Yes. Do you think that-
There's a cold, rumbling laugh.
Croc: Do I think that I want her? It's possible, but no. It happens, no actual... Correlation.
He stumbled over the longer word with his accent, but it was clear that he knew what it meant. Which made me think he was more intelligent than he ever let on. I remember him singing in french. Was that Waylon at that moment, or Croc?
Doctor: Well... Perhaps you are softening toward her?
Another slow, low, cold laugh.
Croc: Nah.
That tape was made after we'd first met, maybe a few days or weeks later, but basically Waylon was amused by me... Croc just didn't think anything of me at all. I motion for the next tape and realize he can't see me beyond the windows. "Next."
The next tape seems to be the end of another conversation. The one when he'd helped me against Bane.
Waylon: YOU DON'T KNOW ME!
Doctor: Calm down, I only meant to ask.
Croc: I am calm.
It was like a switch had gone off. He wasn't gasping for breath after shouting so loud, he was just sitting there, breathing normally.
Doctor: Croc.
Croc: What?
Doctor: Why did you help?
Croc: Didn't help nobody. Just broke as much as I could get my hands on when he started manhandlin' my woman.
Doctor: ... I see...
Apparently it'd been a while. He must have skipped some of the tapes to show me the contrast. And to apparently tell me that Killer Croc, considered me to be his property. Well... It makes sense.
Doctor: Your woman, would be?
Croc: Whitefire.
My name was whispered almost, like a murmur or a caress. It wasn't tender, it was more... It made me uncomfortable with the level of devotion in it. It was obsessive, yes that's the word. He was obsessed with me. And until now I'd had no idea he'd even existed inside Waylons' mind.
Doctor: I see, so you were protecting her from a threat.
The Doctor almost seemed proud of that.
Croc: She's so fragile, did you notice? Her skin is like silk, so easy to tear open. Her bones... Snapped like it was nothing. But she fought, so hard...
The rumble in his voice was different now and I feel guilty about how much I like it.
Doctor: And you wish to protect her from bad things.
Croc: Who wouldn't? Wouldn't mind tastin' every inch of that skin either.
I could hear him lick his lips. I think he did it just to make the Doctor uncomfortable because the tape shuts off on a low chuckle.
"Next." My voice was husky, and I hoped he thought it was because I was feeling badly, and not because of exactly how much I liked the way Killer Croc talked.
Doctor: Are you well, today?
It was said off hand as a few things were set down.
Croc: Fine. What are you doin'?
Doctor: I got you something, to keep... Where is it... Ah!
Croc: A piece of paper in an envelope don't really interest me.
He sounded dismissive.
Doctor: Not a piece of paper, a picture.
There was the sound of something being snatched.
Croc: ... Where did you get this?
Calculation, anger, jealousy.
Doctor: I found her old identity, of course she no longer has a secret identity, but I was able to find a picture from her sixteenth birthday, before she came to Gotham. I thought you would like to have it.
The Doctor was feeding his Obsession? No. He thought knowing me was helping Waylon and Croc both. He thought pushing him toward me would be a good thing.
Croc: She looks different... But the same.
Doctor: She is at least a few years younger, yes. But the bone structure, the cheeks, the eyes, all her. Unmistakably.
Croc: She looks irritable.
Doctor: What? She is smiling, isn't she?
Croc: Look at her eyes Doc. She only smiles like that when she's about to kick ass.
Why hadn't I heard about the picture before? Well it's not really something you talk about, is it? I remember my sixteenth birthday. I'd been irritated with my mother... For moving us to Gotham... It was one of the last times I was ever irritated with her.
Doctor: Do you like it?
Croc: ... I'll hold onto it until I get a better one.
Doctor: Better one?
Croc: I'll take some myself if I have to.
His voice was that of an obsession, but his tone was that of dismissal. He wanted a picture of me?
Doctor: Yes, well. I'm sure she'd give you one if you asked.
Croc: Ha. Probably would.
I sigh. "So Killer Croc is obsessed with me."
"In the most intense way." Bruce's voice echoed over the intercom.
"So... ?" I didn't know what questions to ask. I think he sensed my hesitation and irritable-ness.
"So, if he gets you alone with no one around and you won't shock him..." I groan and bury my head in my knees. Bat thought I had a crush on Waylon, and that I'd be appalled, I'm sure.
"What if I want that?" I groan louder, "God, I don't even know if I'd say no." I slip onto my side and whine. "I just... I like him so much, but he's also two different people and I haven't even met one of them!"
"You can figure it out later, right now we have to get him back in Arkham. Out on the streets, he may be strong, but he's not king. Anyone could kill him if they had enough man-power and sharp enough tools. Or armor-piercing bullets." I shudder. "In Arkham, at least he only has to worry about improvised weapons that can't really hurt him."
"I know! I know he needs to be there, but how will I convince him to go back? Because I can't fight him, you know that. I'm too weak without my powers."
"I know. And you can't distract him, because he'll view helping me against him as a betrayal. So... I need you to try and talk to him." He steepled his hands and fingers, the window un-tinting to show me his face. "I'll give you a panic button you can press, but don't do it unless absolutely necessary. It's a last ditch resort. If we want to rehabilitate Croc and Waylon, if you want to help them, you'll have to find him on your own and talk him into going back to Arkham."
He dropped me off in the middle of the city and gave me a map of the sewer system in case he was still 'underground' and then gave me a few possible locations to check out. I had a better idea for how to find him but I wasn't going to say anything. I was already afraid, I didn't need humiliation from failing at such a simple thing to temper it. So I walked into a salon, bought a wig, some contacts and went to the boutique across the street for a new outfit. It wasn't long before I was walking into The Rogue Retreat. It was a Rogue-only establishment with no sign outside the door. It was basically an abandoned warehouse with an underground room for Rogues to hide out in. How did I know about it? I was a Bat-minion, as they often called me to insult me, and The Bat knew everything.
My hair was now a riot in red, my eyes a light green, and my outfit shades of blue and turquoise. No one said anything about me not being a recognizable rogue. Mostly the guys just dropped their jaws and tried to nonchalantly check me out. The girls shrugged and ignored me. Rogues are usually pretty Laissez Faire. As long as you aren't disrespectful or irritating, they don't care if you're there. I walk around and look over the whole room, searching for someone who'd know where he is... A murmur against my ear brought me up short. "You look lost." I know that voice. I kick that voice's ass on a monthly basis. Like clockwork. Riddler was punctual like nobody else.
"I'm looking for some information, maybe you have some?" I turn my head, making my voice lower and more husky to disguise it. Like the Bat does. Riddler seems to shiver, his eyes searching my face.
"I always have information, but... Can you pay my price?" He smirks lopsidedly, "Knowledge never comes cheap when you get it from The Riddler."
"Hm. You're always into games, aren't you? Don't you usually ask a riddle by now?" Of course he did. First thirty seconds into our first fight and he riddled me five different times.
"I could ask, but I am... So tired tonight." His eyes drooped as if to illustrate his point. His fingertip drifted down my arm. It wasn't overtly sexual, it wasn't disrespectful, he wasn't getting any closer. One thing you could say about most of the Gotham Rogues? They knew the meaning of the word no. They might kill you for rejecting them, but they didn't rape women.
"Hm. What's the rate, then?" I smiled up at him. I liked this Riddler. This wasn't the Riddler that I regularly fought. He was relaxed, he was happy... Hell he was almost charming.
"I think, just a bit too much for you." He twitched his lips at me. "But I'm not the only one in town you can go to." He slipped away and wrapped an arm around a small brunette in a green fedora. She glanced over her shoulder at me. It wasn't exactly jealousy, it was more... I don't know, resignation? Something that meant she didn't like it, but she was used to it. Did the Riddler have a steady girlfriend now or something? He leaned down to brush his lips over her cheekbone, discreetly while he thought no one was watching.
I had to talk to a dozen and a half people before I found someone who knew anything, and I had to persuade him to give me the information after giving him 'a shot at my sweet ass' So I took him out back, waited till he had his pants around his ankles and hung him upside down to smack the crap out of him. He gave me a hench's name after I told him I was Killer Croc's new girlfriend. Apparently he'd been talking about me.
I had to go all the way into the deepest part of the narrows. Anytime anyone came near me, I just had to tell them my name. They weren't afraid of what I could do to them. I'd just kick their asses. They were terrified of what Croc would do to them. I pulled off my wig and took out my contacts, walking into the large building with guards. A lot of them are regular hench's and recognize me. They take up the task of escorting me without being asked. They gesture for me to wait at one point, in front of a door they'd led me to. I shrug and lean against the wall. I take off the jacket on my shoulders, the short as hell dress has itty bitty straps and it's apparent it's the only thing I'm wearing just from how tight it is.
I wait for about eight minutes before anything happens.
The slamming of the door and the scurrying of the henches somewhat alarms me. Until Croc walks out, sniffing the air and spotting me. He stares, standing with predatory stillness. "Croc." I don't even mean to make my voice sound so breathy and desperate. The way he slowly blinks and his eyes drift up and down my body makes me shiver just a little.
"What are you doin' here?" There was suspicion in his voice, but it was obvious he wanted to trust me. His obsession would work against him if I wanted to use it. I had fully planned on manipulating him to get him back into Arkham. It would be for his own good, and I'd keep any promises I had to make, so what was the harm in playing on his obsession? But the way he was looking at me. It wasn't just that his eyes lingered over my body, because they did, it was the tension in his shoulders and the fact that his face kept going back and forth from suspicion to longing that made me decide to just talk to him. Maybe I wouldn't need to manipulate anything.
"I got worried." His snort, rolled eyes and suddenly relaxed posture tell me that he'd half-expected that response.
"Worried, about me." He takes a few steps forward, the light shimmering off his scales. I frown and glance down. His denim jeans are darker than usual. He must have gone swimming in the bay. "Why are you always so worried about me?"
I could see in Croc's eyes that he was obsessed, but he wasn't deluded. He knew that it was unlikely I would care about him just because. He wanted the reason, and there was hope there, in his gaze, in the way he hesitated to reach out to me with his twitching fingertips: That it would be because I loved him. "I don't really know." It was the truth, and the fact that his hand finally moved up to my face made me feel better about it.
"You don't know." His voice reached back down into that rumbling bass that he got when he was emotional. It was quiet, and the back of his knuckle trailed down my cheekbone with excruciating slowness.
"I... Just am. Worried." I think my brains are turning to mush. That's never good in these situations.
"I hear a high-pitched whine, what do ya got on ya?" He had a look on his face that I recognize from our bouts before. Calm, cold and rational. It usually meant he was going to attack me.
"Panic button." I lift my wrist, "Batman wouldn't let me leave without it." And he wouldn't.
"You know this ain't my real hidin' spot." He looked me straight in the eye.
"You always have a way of reaching the surface somewhere, but your hiding spots are usually down in the sewers. I know." I hold my wrist out toward him. "But if I take it off, it'll sense that there's no person wearing it and alert Batman to its position." I sigh, "So we can stay here and it'll only need me to push it to get him to come, or I take it off and its presumed you're trying to kidnap me."
He thinks for a minute, walking around and glancing back at me every few moments. "How long is the interval?" He reaches out to grasp my wrist, holding up the bracelet for him to see more closely.
"I need to have it back on my wrist in at least three seconds or it'll alert Batman." I lift an eyebrow, what is he thinking?
"Malone, get over here." A short, stocky man walked over to us. "I'm gonna give you a real important job for the rest of the night." He snapped off the bracelet at its clasp and snapped it onto the mans wrist. You could tell it was tight but it wouldn't cut into him or anything. "Stay here, don't move from this buildin' and don't do anythin' that could bring your heart rate up too much. I'd count on the Bat to have it keyed into the heartbeat." He said the last part while glancing back at me. "You move, or alert the Bat in any way, I'll happily throw ya to the dogs and take your shares myself. Understand me?"
"Yes." He was staring at the bracelet as if trying to will the thing to melt with his eyes.
Croc snorted and led me toward the doors where he'd come in from. "Junkies."
There was a large pool of water that led into a pipe. It didn't look like a sewer pipe to me, but what did I know? I hardly ever had to go down there. "This is a drainage pipe. Rain water collects at certain spots in the city and run through these pipes into a 'clean' section of the sewers." There were clean sections of the sewers? Hot damn, learn something new every day. "I swim through 'em, but you're gonna need this." He pulls a scuba tank off the wall with a mask and hands the mask to me. "I'll carry the tank, and you, just put on the mask." It's funny how I keep forgetting that he can basically bench press a car.
"Okay." Here goes. I strap the mask on and gasp when he suddenly grabs me and jumps in. The water soaks me to the bone as soon as we leap in, the cold is bracing but not unbearable. I just hope to god that Batman doesn't figure out the deception any time soon.