I updated the last chapter, and tweaked a few things I didn't like in there. Including a terribly funny grammar mistake I didn't notice the million times I proofread it. (Ally=/=Alley) Hilarious because this is a TDKR fic with Bane in it: "Oh, so you think the alley is your ally..."
So if you want to go reread it I encourage it. If not, I didn't add any purple panda's or anything, so there's that.
It was just another night at the asylum, quiet, boring, and dusty. Stephanie Dia, one of the last four nurses left on staff, sat at a table in the rec room, absently playing with an escaped lock of graying hair, and putting together a puzzle of (ironically) a clown. The two orderlies on staff this night lounged in a couple of chairs at the same table playing cards. And the last remaining patient of Arkham Asylum, patient 4479, the once menacing, and blood thirsty scourge of Gotham, sat on a couch in front of the television, drooling into his straightjacket no doubt.
Dia had been working at Arkham for almost twenty years; the huge asylum had at one point employed hundreds of men and women. However, over the years the courts managed to get every convict, and nut job pulled from the asylum, and moved to Blackgate Prison, and as the patients departed, so did the funding, and so did the staff. Now there was just enough staff left to take care of Arkham's final and permanent patient, the Joker.
Steph shivered slightly at the thought of the alias the prisoner had once been known as. Eight years these walls have held the mad man. She remembered what he was like when she first saw the footage he'd sent into the news, and she remembered what he was like when they first dragged him into the asylum. Now, he was little more than a catatonic vegetable, the combination of antipsychotics, sedatives, and solitary confinement having done their job over the years.
Dia had asked Dr. Arkham at one point why the courts even bothered to leave him in the asylum. If they were so worried, why not move him to Blackgate with the rest. He had responded that locking the Joker up with no audience to perform for had probably been the most effective way to keep the man in order. Alone, bored, and forgotten. He was an entertainer without a soul to entertain.
Not that Dia felt the need to complain. It certainly made her job easier, and took the edge off of what had once been a very dangerous, high stress job. Jeremiah Arkham on the other hand, had taken the loss of all his patients very hard. The psychiatrist was now officially the last remaining doctor of Arkham, being the owner of the asylum, but even he rarely bothered to show up most days. Currently he and his wife were out of town on vacation. Stephanie thought he could use it though. The man seemed to be in a kind of depression these days.
"Should we put him to bed Steph?" Greg, one of the orderlies asked absently as he thumbed the cards in his hand, rearranging them to his liking.
She looked over her shoulder at the back of the patients head. He stared forward at the T.V. blankly, eyes not really watching whatever infomercial played on the tube at the time.
"No, we'll give it another half hour. I don't want to deal with moving and medicating him just yet." She responded, snapping another puzzle piece in place.
Though the prisoner had not caused any problems in well over five years, there were still a number of safety protocols that had to be followed during particular points of the day, moving him being one of them.
The sound coming from the television suddenly changed from the quiet drone of a man demonstrating how a new miracle cleanser worked, to the familiar, brief tune of the Gotham Cable News opening.
We interrupt your programming to bring you breaking news…
The announcement on the television caused all three staff members to turn their attention in the direction of the screen at once. The familiar GCN set was now on the screen, and a very grim faced reporter spoke to the viewers.
"…hostage situation. It is unclear at this point just what they are after, but we are informed by police that they have the building surrounded, and are trying to contact the leader of the group to ascertain what their demands are."
"The flying fuck is going on now?" Greg asked no one in particular, standing from the table and moving closer to the television.
Steph followed, sitting on the sofa in front of the screen. She spared a look for the patient next to her, and seeing him still staring ahead emotionlessly, turned her attention back to the television set.
The screen switched to a view of the Gotham stock exchange building, showing multiple police vehicles parked haphazardly around in the blocked off streets, and a SWAT truck trying to pull in. Suddenly the doors of the building opened, and people began to march slowly out of the building, hands raised in the air.
"They're letting the hostages go? They couldn't already have what they were after could they?" Wes, the other orderly, questioned.
Stephanie shrugged absently, although her coworker was too engrossed in the scene unfolding to notice. It had been a long time since anything this high profile had gone down in Gotham. Crime was still as persistent as ever of course, but not for eight years had anything as alarming as this displayed on the news. Dia had no idea exactly how stock exchanges worked, but she did know if someone were to foul things up bad enough in one, it wouldn't be good for Gotham's already rocky economy.
The three asylum staff members watched in apprehension, a muffled rumbling sound could be heard from behind the carefully exiting hostages. All at once the crowd of terrified people parted, and several motorcycles rocketed from the building doors, shooting past the police cruisers, and launching off the ramps that had been lifted in the streets. The camera man tried in vain to get a good shot of the escaping bikes, but all the viewers at home saw was a line of colorful blurs before they sped out of sight.
Dia watched numbly as the screen switched back to the anchor, who promised to have footage via helicopter as soon as the getaway route of the villains was determined. Time ticked by as a news reporter at the scene rehashed the events, and reported on the number of injuries and deaths. Suddenly the GCN anchor interrupted him, reporting that the helicopter had located the escaping criminals. The screen switched again, this time to footage being shot from the air of the bikers, who had just emerged from the midtown tunnel.
"And reports are coming in that the Batman, yes, the Batman may have been sighted! It is unknown at this time if it's really him, and if it is, whether he is at all connected with the men at the stock exchange, but-"
The anchor suddenly cut himself off as a dark figure burst from the tunnel after the bikers, long, black cape flapping in the wind, and fast on the tail of the men from the stock exchange.
"Ladies and gentlemen viewing from home," The anchor's voice was almost hushed in awe, "it appears the reports have been confirmed…"
-0-
Awareness prodded at him irritatingly in the comfortable haze. Something had caught his attention, and now it was dragging him out, slowly clearing his blissfully incoherent mind. As rationality began to penetrate his thoughts he realized that the drugs must be wearing off, but he didn't know why he had this feeling that he should be paying attention to something.
The drugs have worn off before, and his response to the empty, quiet reality he came back to was usually to just go to sleep. However now, there was something that was begging for his attention. It was whatever had triggered the ascent from his drug induced stupor to begin with. It was a word, no, a name. Hmm, that still seemed wrong, an ideal?
Then he heard it said again, and comprehension finally broke through.
Batman.
That's what he'd heard said, but before it had come from in front of him. A television sat in his line of vision, images flashing enthusiastically across the screen. He couldn't discern just what yet, his thoughts still swimming in molasses. The second time the word had been spoken from beside him though, from a man in a white uniform who stood in his peripheral vision. An orderly. That's right, he was still in Arkham…
Thoughts finally clicking together more rapidly, the Joker's sharp, dark eyes focused on the screen before him with intensity. The scene unfolding before him was finally beginning to make sense. The black figure ripped down a stretch of highway, illuminated by a spotlight. It was clear at this point there was a host of police in pursuit of the speeding shadow; however, Joker didn't need this as proof that it was the real Dark Knight they were seeing. He could tell just by looking at the way the Bat moved. Besides, who else in Gotham owned a motorcycle like that?
The concept of time was very slippery to the Joker at this moment. He couldn't remember how long it had been since he'd seen the Batman. But he did feel like it's been a while, maybe even too long. He does, however, distinctly recall knowing this moment would arrive. He and the Batman were cut from the same cloth after all. He knew Batman wouldn't be able to resist performing for an audience again. Just what the hell took him so long though?
Regardless, this meant only one thing to the Joker now, naptime was over. He felt fully rested, and ready to join the Batman in providing Gotham with the best show the city's ever seen. Unnoticed by the three staff members surrounding him, the Joker smiled. If they weren't so preoccupied with the chase scene unfolding on the news, they might have realized that the chill going up their spines was emanating from a much closer source.
Can Batman come out to play now?
-0-
They almost didn't hear the laugh at first. The T.V. had been turned up slightly, so as not to miss a single report from the anchorman who gave a blow-by-blow description of the chase, and any little shred of information received by witnesses, and the tight-lipped GCPD.
It had started to build in volume, and turned from a chuckle, into something that could nearly be described as barking madness. All three heads slowly turned in the same direction as the sound filled the room, and wrapped around each Arkham staff member like greasy razor wire. They could only sit in silence for several moments, as the Joker rocked back and forth in mirth.
Dia had not heard that laugh in several years now, however, the effect it had on her was the same as it had been the last time she'd heard it so long ago.
"Greg, go get the sedatives…" she murmured to the orderly behind her, suddenly aware of her proximity to the madman across the couch from herself.
"No thanks, I'm not sleepy anymore."
The laughing stopped so quickly no one in the room even had a chance to breathe, as the scarred face of the man whipped in Stephanie's direction, eyes dangerously hard, and sharp.
"But you look like you could use a little rest yourself nurse," he noted, cracking a wide smile once again.
All at once he was in motion, flying across the couch towards Steph as if he'd been launched from a springboard. Impossibly his arms flew out before him, the long sleeves of his straightjacket flying. How the hell did he unfasten his damn arms? Stephanie thought as she was gripped in a cold panic.
As the psychopath landed on her she felt the rough canvas of the jacket sleeves around her neck, and the strength of the hands inside them tighten around her throat like a vise. Her own hands shot up to try and pry the death grip from her windpipe as Wes and Greg began shouting, and grabbing the Joker in an attempt to pull him off of her.
She began to feel light headed when the grip was finally broken, and his dead weight was dragged to the ground, both men piled on top of him, pinning him down.
"Grab the sedative quick!" Wes barked as he struggled with the thrashing patient.
Stephanie coughed and gasped while she stumbled to the table they had been sitting at earlier, grabbing the white case that held the sedatives they kept with them as a precautionary whenever they had to handle the Joker, and opened it with fumbling fingers. In a blur she pulled out the syringe and bottle of medication, preparing the dose, and rushing back to the two orderlies sitting on the wildly bucking body.
Within moments the patient had been jabbed, the sedative injected, and soon the struggling began to become subdued. The three waited in trepidation until a full five minutes had passed after the Joker had stopped struggling, only then did they slowly move off of him. Steph quickly retied the straightjacket sleeves, as securely as she could, then fell back against the couch with a tiny sob.
All three sat in utter silence as they struggled to catch their breaths. The spell was finally broken as Wes stood, and grabbed the patient by the shoulders.
"Greg, get his feet," he ordered.
"Were should we take him, back to his cell?"
"Put him in a padded room," Stephanie suggested weakly. The patient cells weren't any less safe than the solitary confinement ward really, but Dia felt more secure with him there than anywhere else.
As the orderlies dragged 4479 from the rec room, Stephanie pulled out her cell phone, and dialed Dr. Arkham's number. The other line rang several times before a bleary sounding Jeremiah answered. In a voice of forced calm Dia reported the whole incident in as much detail as she could muster. The doctor did not interrupt her once, making her wonder hysterically if he had fallen asleep while she prattled on. However, by the time she'd finished, he'd never sounded more awake as he replied.
"I'm returning now, it may take me a few days to get back into the states, however," Dia could hear shuffling on the other line as the doctor got up and moved around. "I do NOT want him moved from solitary, and two orderlies must be present at all times if the room must be entered for any reason before I get there. Understood?"
Dia nodded absently, then remembering she was on a phone, mumbled out an affirmative instead before ending the call. Feeling it would be better to be doing something, rather than sitting there shaking like a leaf, she left and went to the administration office to fill out an incident report. She felt for the pen she kept in her shirt pocket, and not finding it, picked up one from the desk instead. It was unlike her not to have her pen on her, but at the moment, she was too addled to care.
And here she thought she was getting the easier job by signing up for the overnight shifts.
-0-
Three day weekends are a blessing. However, when what you have to return to after the weekend is over is the Joker, they seem a little more like the prolonging of the inevitable.
Stephanie stood in the Asylum kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee, and dragging her feet in general, however, it did her no good, as the mid-day nurse found her in there anyways.
"Hey get the lead out Steph, I need to get out of here tonight, and you know I can't leave until you punch in!" The younger woman bemoaned.
"Got some where to be tonight Debbie?" Stephanie sighed, setting down the mug, and following her coworker to the nurses' station.
"Just the hell outta here!" she grumbled.
"Please don't tell me he's acting up," Stephanie begged, now more apprehensive than ever. "I thought Dr. Arkham would have been here by now."
"He called yesterday actually, said his connecting flight got delayed 19 hours, but he should be back by tomorrow. Maybe even before you get off shift," Debbie sounded much more chipper now that Dia was punching in, and she could finally leave. "As for the patient, no, he hasn't been acting up at all since the night he attacked you, which makes it even creepier. Especially considering we've noticed his regular meds don't seem to be having the same effect anymore. We even tried sedating him this morning for breakfast-he's not been eating by the way-but it didn't even make him droopy-eyed."
The other nurse said all this in a rush as she gathered her coat and bag, almost a foot out the door already.
"He's not eating? Why-oh come on Debbie, a little more info here before you storm out?"
Debbie stopped in mid stride and turned back to the older woman in exasperation. "Look, we've known for some time that the sedatives would lose their effectiveness eventually. We just need to deal with him until Arkham gets back and can figure out what we should do. Obviously force feeding isn't an option now that we can't do it safely, but whatever, if he doesn't want to eat that's his own problem, so don't stress about it. If you ask me, you should just tell Wes and Greg to put his dinner in there and leave him alone for the night."
With that, and a curt wave, Debbie was out the door, and gone. Steph glared daggers at the vacated exit, but it didn't help her feel any better, so with a sigh, she returned to the kitchen to finish her coffee, and get 4479's dinner ready.
-0-
Wes and Greg took the tray of food down to the cell themselves. Steph was very reluctant to have to deal with the man again after her last run in, and the orderlies felt they could handle placing some food in the room by themselves. They brought along a syringe of the usual sedative, though they knew it would have little effect, it was only a safety precaution anyways, and they doubted they would need it.
Greg peered into the room via the small window in the door, and saw the patient laying in the middle of the room with his back turned to them. Depressing the intercom button on the wall next to him he spoke into the mic.
"The patient will please get up and move to the back wall."
He waited for a moment, but the man didn't even budge. Shooting an exasperated look at his colleague, he pressed the button again.
"Against the back wall or we will have to use force Patient 4479."
When the Joker still had not stirred, Greg began to get a little worried. He had been working the past three nights and knew that thus far the patient had actually been rather reasonable, though still no less frightening. Every night Greg brought the tray of food down, the man had already been sitting with his back against the wall, smiling unnervingly at them as they would enter and set the food down before immediately departing.
"I think something's wrong," he finally said, turning to Wes. "Give me the sedative, we need to go check on him."
The other orderly looked less then convinced, but handed over the syringe anyhow. The two entered the room, watching carefully for any sign of movement, however, 4479 remained as still as death, in fact, Greg couldn't even see him breathing. He knelt down next to the patient, and reached a hand out to feel for a pulse. Finding the correct spot on the neck, he pressed his fingers against the skin, and felt a heart beat bump below the surface. A steady heartbeat at first, until all at once it jumped like a jackrabbit.
Before Greg could bat an eye, their positions were reversed. Somehow he had ended up on the ground, and the patient stood over him. There was an immense pain in his throat, and he couldn't breathe, he was choking on something. The orderlies hand reached up, and grabbed an object that was protruding from his neck, pulling it out with a gush of blood, it was a pen.
With the last of his energy he looked over to see the Joker now standing over the still body of Wes. The syringe that had just seconds before been in Greg's hand was now jammed into Wes' eye. It was all so quick, Greg didn't even know if he'd heard Wes scream. As his vision frayed at the edges the last thing Greg saw was the patient grin back at him, and exit the room, a happy little skip in his step.
AN: In answer to a guest review question: No, this will not be a romance fic. Sorry for anyone who came along hoping for one. There will however be lots of mental and physical torture and mind games. That's like romance right? (lol I keed, I keed)
Really though, the relationship I'm trying to lay down here between Nyssa and Bane is more of a brother/sister relationship, if anything.
But keep asking questions folks, and as always, I take criticism well, please feel free to throw a boot at me when you see me writing something weird. ;P