A/N: Here's the next chapter, from the POV of Bruce's cellmate. Poor guy. This is my longest chapter yet, and I hope you enjoy it. Next chapter is going to be from Rachel's POV. I left a little cliffie at the end, but don't worry you'll find out what happens. It probably looks kinda idiotic now, but hopefully my explanation will make it seem more realistic. And wow, over 5,000 hits! Seriously amazing. Please R/R :) I'd like to thank DestinedJedi87 for some really awesome ideas about where to take the story. I tried to e-mail you, but it didn't work :( so just know that I'm using some of your ideas for the plot :D I'll mention them when they appear.
Yes, Phelps got 8 for 8! He is proof that mermen exist :) Seriously, it's kinda insane how fast he is. Anyway, on with the story.
It was right after lunch when he walked into my cell. Normally, we would all be lounging around in the rec room or outside, but today we had been herded back into our cells. Someone new was coming, the guards told us. Someone important. Rumor had it that it was Batman.
I could still remember when the news had come out. First, it was incredulous silence. Then, someone who hadn't been caught by Batman snorted with laughter.
"You got pinched by Bruce Wayne?"
One of the more macho guys who Batman had put away decided he didn't like being called a wimp. The noise of a fistfight soon drowned out the reporter's voice, and while the tv was quickly forgotten, the news was not.
The entire jail was abuzz. The only topic on people's minds was the Batman. At first, it had been excited. Who would have thought Batman would turn out to be Wayne? Some people laughed at how off the mark they had been when speculating about Batman's identity (a popular pastime for some) while others fumed at the thought of being beat by such a man.
The light banter had faded when everyone was herded into their cells. We knew the Batman had been arrested, but nobody thought they would lock him up with the very criminals he battled against. The talk became more serious, speculating about whether Wayne was really coming to this jail and what people would do if he did.
From my sprawled-out position on the top bunk of my cell, I could hear the voice of Tim, five cells away. "I'll tell you this- If I ever see Wayne, he's a dead man." Tim was particularly bitter about Batman, and wasn't planning to be subtle about it. "I'll bash his pretty little face in." I heard faint pops as he cracked his knuckles. Tim was the epitome of a thug. Violent, strong, and not an independent thinker. His crew was all the same, and I felt sorry for Wayne. If he came here, he'd have a whole boatload of trouble.
A guard patrolling down the hall stopped and whacked the bars of my cell with his riot stick. They literally rattled cages here. "Hope you're enjoying your last day here." The guard sneered at me. I propped myself up on my elbow, covering a wince as the bed springs dug into my skin. "Why?"
The sneer morphed into a smug grin. "'Cuz the Batman, that's why."
An uneasy feeling stirred in the pit of my stomach. I knew it was a bad idea to get on the wrong side of the guards. "What are you talking about?"
The man simply laughed and walked away. Across the hallway, Flint shook his head. "Damn guards. They only give you enough news to make you start shakin' in your boots."
Flint was one of the friendlier inmates. I had no idea what real name was or what he was in for. He had just been there when I arrived, and hadn't left since. He stayed under the radar, one of the shuffling masses of inmates. I gave him a wry smile. "They seem to have it down to an art."
Bane laughed. It was soft, unlike the loud, braying laughter most of the inmates had. He opened his mouth to say something else, but an ominous silence settled in at the end of the hallway. It quickly spread down the cellblock, and all that could be heard was the thud of boots.
I hopped off my bed and pressed my face against the bars of my cell, trying to get a look at what was happening. What was going on down there? The footsteps got closer, and my ears detected a softer sound underneath. It was the shuffling of a pair of prison-issue slippers.
Hope you're enjoying your last day
'cuz the Batman.
The blood drained from my face as I remembered the guard's words. There were generally two prisoners to a cell, but my cellmate had been released a week ago and I hadn't gotten another one. Until now.
I went back to my bunk and sat down, no longer interested in what was happening outside my cell. I closed my eyes. If I can't see you, you can't see me. I tried to block out the footsteps, but they got louder and louder. Soon, they were in front of my cell. Go away… The footsteps paused, to be replaced by the clinking of keys. I struggled to keep my breathing even.
The guard was right, I was going to die. Why had I pissed off that guard? Why did they have to choose me as the Batman's cellmate?
I kept my eyes closed as my new cellmate (please, oh please, oh please, don't let it be Wayne) shuffled in. I didn't open them as the door clanged shut and the guards walked away, sniggering with barely contained glee at my impending doom.
My cellmate didn't move, and finally I opened my eyes. Bruce Wayne stood in my cell, dressed in the painfully bright orange prison garb. What little hope I was harboring that it wasn't Wayne who was being transferred immediately evaporated.
I stared at him, and he stared back. "Uh, so…" Better to try and make an effort to save my neck. "I'm uh, your room- I mean uh, cellmate" God, it was like college all over again. Whenever people asked me why I had flunked out, I had always told them it was because I had a roommate.
Wayne walked over to the chair bolted to the floor and tilted his head to look up at me. He was sitting sideways, one arm propped up on the back of the chair. "Bruce Wayne," he drawled. "And you are?"
I swallowed nervously. "Uh, John – Jonathon." Wayne is smirking at my bumbling attempts to speak. It was worse than college. I cleared my throat and rolled over, facing away from Wayne. Better to not talk at all.
The rest of that day was spent in awkward silence. The funny thing was, I had expected Batman to be a little more… intimidating. And a lot more hostile. He had just seemed like another inmate.
A week later, and I knew exactly how intimidating and hostile the Batman could be. He could take on a mob of guys by himself and still end up the winner. If I had been nervous before, it wasn't anything like now.
I practically tiptoed around the cell, doing everything in my power to avoid eye contact. Other than the introduction the first day, we had barely spoken. My only reprieve was during the afternoon, when we were allowed out of our cells. I sat with Flint in the rec room, idly chatting about this or that.
Nobody had given me any trouble yet, but I should have know it wouldn't last. William, or Yam to his friends (I have no idea why), stalked over to where Flint and I were sitting. I stood up warily as he approached – it was better to be poised for fight of flight than sitting down, where you make an easy target.
"You." He growled, as if I wasn't already watching him approach. "You're the Batman's cellmate."
My mouth went dry. So the day had finally come. "Yeah, so?" My tough-boy act (second nature to anybody who wants to survive in Gotham) was firmly in place.
"So, I gotta problem with that."
"And I gotta problem with your brain being missing. But I don't make a big deal out of that, do I?" Oh God, my mouth went running without my brain again. First the guard, now this guy. I really needed to fix my act if I didn't want to die anytime soon. While my tongue might be sharp, my fighting skills were not.
William's face turned an interesting puce color, and his hands curled into fists. He wasn't exceedingly tall or muscular, but he was quick and strong. I'm so dead. I tried to back up, but he just took a step forward. I slid one foot back slightly, and dropped my chin. It's not a good idea to fight when you leave your neck exposed. One good hit, and you're done for.
When a fist went flying at my head, I managed to duck out of the way. William drew back his fist to try and hit again, and went spinning away with a shocked yell. Wayne was standing where William once was, looking mildly pissed. When had he gotten there?
"You!" Willaim growled. Apparently, that was his standard greeting to people he didn't like.
Wayne raised an eyebrow, the angry look sliding off his face to reveal one of a bored rich kid. "Me."
William tried to get up, but quickly stopped when Wayne shot him a glare. After his demonstrations on the first and second day, people stopped trying to attack him. We Gothamites had a very good survival sense. Everyone knew that taking on the Batman by themselves would equal a long-term stay in the prison hospital.
Using those survival skills that made William stay where he was, I decided to use the distraction to quickly hurry away to another corner of the room. I had just taken a step when someone shouted for silence, diffusing the confrontation between Wayne and William, and turning everyone's attention to the television.
Mike Engel and a man I didn't recognize were sitting across from each other, but they were both staring at the phone. With the rec room now silent, the voice of whoever was on the end of the line could be heard through the entire room.
"Gotham is so predictable without him!" The voice was exclaiming. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Wayne's face go deathly pale. "I want Bruce Wayne freed and uh- this Coleman Reese dead in sixty minutes or else I blow up a hospital. I don't like squealers."
The voice had a nagging familiarity, like I had heard it before. I racked my brains trying to figure out who it would be (my first thought went to my grandpa, but that was quickly eliminated as he didn't tend to call news stations and threaten people) but I couldn't figure out who it was. Then the wheezing laughter came, and recognition struck like a bolt of lightning. The Joker. We had all watched the Joker terrorize Gotham from the tv, and his laughter had been seared in our brains since seeing the homemade video released by the press of him and the Batman impersonator
Everyone else seemed to realize who it was at the same time I did, and we turned to look at Wayne. He was glaring at the tv, and I realized that I had never seen him really glare before. His mouth was twisted down in a silent snarl, and his eyes smouldered from narrowed lids. The sickly pale color of his skin only emphasized the dark circles around his eyes from lack of sleep. He glared at the tv for a second more, before stalking towards the door. He moved fluidly, silently, eyes fixed on the door in front of him. Something glinted in the palm of his clenched right hand, and his left fist twitched, as if Wayne desperately wanted to hit something.
The guards let him go, clutching their riot sticks and watching him with wary eyes. The inmates parted before him, creating something like a walkway. Although some may have despised Batman, they hated the Joker even more. Batman had rules, while the Joker simply slaughtered everyone within a ten-yard radius. He killed mobsters, thugs, police, innocents, and whoever else he felt like. We all would rather had Batman running wild on the street than the Joker.