Chapter 2
The gala was everything Wills had expected, and was everything he knew Jim Gordon would have hated. High society types, swanning about in gowns and fine tuxedos, a tasteful orchestra playing classical music, a huge banner bearing Gordon's face draped above the podium, a wreath on a stand bearing the names of all the victims who had died during the Joker's Reign of Terror, most of them on that one Night. As if naming the community centre after him wasn't enough.
He held Barbara's arm protectively, like a father escorting his daughter to a débutante ball. The mental image amused him. Neither Jim nor Barbara would ever have been invited to this sort of high society function, much less been able to afford any sort of ball. He made a mental note to see if he couldn't take home some of the bottles of champagne that had been stacked around the place. He doubted he'd ever be able to afford vintages this fine on his regular salary.
"Stick close to me and just sm- well, just wave and nod politely at anyone who says hello." He whispered to Barbara. She nodded, her eyes roaming over the hall, taking in the decorations, the crystal ware, the waiters and the various people with a clinical disinterest. She simply noted each and every detail, and filed it away for later consideration.
Ray noted many familiar faces, both of friends and of the famous. Police Commissioner Akins was there in his dress blues, along with the DA and several Bureau Chiefs. Ray and the other MCU "heroes" were probably the only real policemen here, he thought acidly.
On the stage he saw a number of Gotham's more notable celebrities, including top businessmen like Oswald Cobblepot and Thomas Wayne. Wayne had particular reason for being here, Ray thought. Wayne and Gordon had maintained an odd friendship over the years, something Ray had never really been party to, but it was more than that. Barbara had been far from the only one taken on that Night of Terror, he knew. Wayne's son...he turned his gaze away from the stage. There were many sacrifices made.
He took a glass of something fizzy from a waiter's tray and downed it in one, the sickly cloying liquid curdling his taste buds.
"Ech. Why do the rich have to put bubbles in everything? A stout glass of whiskey is all a man really needs." He said with forced joviality. Barbara was technically too young to drink anything here, but he knew that no one would pay much attention if she helped herself to some champagne.
She declined the offer anyway. "I've had enough of clouding my mind." She said.
"Ray? Is this...Babs! It's been a long time! You look good!" Renee came up, looking wonderful in a dark purple cocktail dress. She threw her arms around the surprised girl, hugging her warmly. "I'm sorry I haven't visited. We should all visit Barbara more often, right Harv?" Renee tactfully avoided mentioning the change in Barbara's face, turning instead to try and get her own partner involved in the conversation. Harvey Bullock looked sour in a grey tuxedo that was straining around his waist. He nodded. "Yeah, sure." He seemed uncomfortable around so many of Gotham's well to do. His discomfort oddly made Barbara feel more at ease. At least he wasn't pretending to feel happy.
Barbara gave them a friendly nod, her eyes saying more than her face ever could. "It's...okay, really. Ray has been...helping me." She said, forcing herself to sound engaged. She knew exactly why they'd not visited much earlier. No one wanted to see a ghastly grin, a reminder of what their beloved chief had died to try to save. It was a bitter thought, and she knew it was probably unfair to direct her anger at two people who were just as good friends as Ray had ever been, even if they had been absent. But feeling angry gave her strength, and she felt that if she stopped now, it would be all too easy to fall back into the abyss.
Ray chuckled, though he hid quiet alarm at Renee's exuberance. He gave Harv a cryptic look full of meaning, and indicated Renee, an unspoken question passing between the two of them. Has she been drinking again?
Bullock shook his head, before picking up a plate full of finger food. "I'll see you guys around." He muttered, wandering off. Aside from the food and the booze, these sort of high society shindigs always made him feel uncomfortable. Babs didn't mind. Harv had never been one to say what he was feeling.
"I'm so glad to hear you're making progress. If you need any help, I can write a great letter of recommendation. There isn't a college in Gotham that won't take you if you want it."
Barbara looked at the older woman with some surprise. She hadn't once thought about college in an entire year. The idea of having a future was ...completely alien to her. That Montoya could suggest something like that and sincerely mean it caught her off-guard.
"Uh...thank you, Miss Montoya. I'll bear that in mind." She managed, her voice starting to fill with real emotion.
"Please, call me Renee." The woman beamed, before nonchalantly helping herself to a glass of champagne. "Ray, don't hover around her like a bat or something. I'm sure if Barbara needs you for anything she'll come find you, right?"
Ray felt alarmed. He was deeply afraid of leaving her alone, if she fainted or had a relapse or...he checked himself. Montoya was right. Barbara had plenty of friends here, even if she didn't know it. The Survivor of Gotham, the tabloids had called her months ago. More than any of the other survivors of that night, Barbara had...come to epitomise both the horror and the hope. For all that she'd been left scarred; Barbara at least had kept her mind and much of her health. There were several other girls and women who they'd pulled from the fire who had not been nearly so lucky.
"Babs?" He turned to her, and he could see from the look in her eyes that this was something she wanted. Maybe it was too soon, but they'd never find out if she could make it if they didn't try. He nodded respectfully.
"Alright. Montoya? You look like you wanted to dance." He grinned. They were co-workers and friends, and any flirtation between the two of them had only ever been, and could only ever be, playful, but now playful was what he needed.
Renee smiled. "You, dance, Ray? I thought you had two left feet." She led him off to the dance-floor anyway, but not before she'd downed her champagne glass and gotten another. He quirked an eyebrow at that, but declined to comment.
Barbara wandered alone, taking care not to over-exert herself, and gently nibbling at some snacks and drinking plenty of water. She, like Ray, was afraid of fainting. Already she'd done more walking and moving about in the last few hours than she'd done in months. After the night, she'd languished in hospital for weeks, her limbs too frail to move properly. She'd had to re-learn to walk, re-learn everything, all while trying to cope with the loss of a father and the seemingly irreparable damage to her face and mind.
She was leaning against one of the tables, catching her breath for a moment, watching the other young people chatting and dancing among themselves, a few casting glances her way and giggling, when someone most unexpected came up to her.
"Ah, Miss Gordon. A rare pleasure." Oswald Cobblepot, the local businessman and philanthropist, waddled up to her side, his grizzled face smiling at her. "Are you here alone? How typical of Gotham High society, to leave a rose of your calibre to wilt and fade, all for want of a few petals."
She regarded the misshapen man with suspicion, his obvious efforts to charm her sliding off of her like grease. She had certainly never expected this sort of attention coming here. Still, she welcomed it. It made the anger so much easier to maintain.
"Mr...Cobblepot is it? I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met before."
He extended his hand to her, bowing as he did so. "Indeed, you have the right of it, Miss Gordon. May I call you Barbara? I regret that we have not had chance to meet before. Your father and I were frequent...associates." His lips curled sardonically.
She took his hand without hesitation, keen to wrong-foot the unctuous man with a display of respect. She knew exactly why her father had visited this man so often, she thought to herself. He was almost certainly one of the leading figures in running the gambling circuits in Gotham City, and had his...fingers in many other pies, as well.
"If I may call you Oswald." She said, her anger making her daring.
Oswald blinked for a moment, before giving her a smile with genuine warmth. "Truly you are a rare flower...Barbara. I would be honoured to see more of you, if time permits. If you should ever find yourself in need of work, I would be happy to take you on as an intern or secretary. Cobblepot Incorporated has many avenues of employment, not just the entertainment sector. I distinctly recall you once aspiring to being a Librarian? I do hope that you have not let your love of books wane. Literature, I find, is a wonderful balm for the soul."
Barbara was quickly tiring of his company. For all his flowery words, he seemed to know rather more than was polite about her. She'd done some work experience as a Librarian before she'd been...taken by the Joker. Worse, his fawning manner made her skin crawl.
"Perhaps another time, Oswald. I'm sorry, but I'm feeling rather faint." She half-lied.
He nodded sympathetically. "I understand. Until next time, young Madame." He bowed with a flourish, and it took effort on her part not to run from him as fast as possible. She'd never met a slimier man, or one whose eyes had caressed her more greedily. In a way, she was grateful for the encounter. The rage she felt over this would easily sustain her for a few more hours.
Entering the women's bathroom, she threw some water on her face, letting the cool fluid sooth her cracked, bleached skin. She remembered the months of assisted bathing, Patricia making sure that she didn't pass out in the bath, or try anything foolish with a razor. She suddenly longed for a hot shower, all to herself, with no one waiting outside.
"Oh hey there, puddin'. You one of the girls?" A voice that sounded darkly familiar.
Barbara turned sharply, her heart thudding. Sure enough, another death-marked face was in the mirror, another person with a painful rictus grin and bleached blonde hair.
"Dr Quinnzel? I haven't seen you since..."
"The group therapy sessions? Sorry doll, can't pinpoint name to your face." The woman giggled. Another "survivor", it had been Quinnzel's lucky escape that had led Gordon and the Dark Knight to where Barbara and the other girls had been held. She supposed she should be grateful, or at least sympathetic to the strange woman's plight. Once a psychiatrist, she now, like Barbara, wore the scars of her encounter with Gotham's self-appointed "Clown Prince of Darkness". Unlike Barbara, Quinnzel seemed to also be a few cards short of a full deck.
"It's Gordon. Barbara Gordon."
"The chief's daughter? Ooooh, tonight must be very special for you then." The young woman swayed jauntily, clearly somewhat hyperactive. Barbara wondered where Quinnzel's minder had gotten to. Probably waiting outside, she figured. She knew the routine all too well.
"Special for all of us."
Quinnzel nodded. "Right. You're looking down though. No more smile? Heey, are you coming back to the therapy sessions? Arkham gets mighty dull you know. You and the other girl are the only ones of us who can even talk, you know. It gets sooo boring some-times. The rest are...catatonic...ahah...hah..."Quinnzel coughed back a laugh, and Barbara felt that maybe spending time with this woman wasn't such a good idea.
"Do you have your pills?" She asked with alarm. The bleached-blonde girl nodded, and quickly took a few, slamming them back with ease. "Aaah, happy pills to stop you being happy. Isn't that funny?" She giggled a little, before powdering her nose. Not that it needed powdering; the woman was already pale as death.
"I gotta go. See you around maybe? And visit us gals sometime!" The odd woman pranced off, seeming like a giddy schoolgirl.
Barbara looked at herself in the mirror for a few moments longer. There but for the grace of god...she thought. She was suddenly very glad for her anger. Yesterday the sight of the ex-psychiatrist would have sent her into a severe laughing fit.
Channelling her fury, pouring her hate at the world and society in general, she adjusted her dress and wig, and went back out there. If Quinnzel could do it, so could she.
After a few dances and some time chatting with various fine people all of whom seemed to regard Ray and Montoya as heroes, the right and left hand people of the great Jim Gordon. Wills sat down at his table, exhausted, nursing a cold bottle of beer he'd managed to scrounge from somewhere. He hadn't seen Barbara in a few hours, but she had seemed fine. It was hard to know if she was enjoying herself, and he'd kept a hawk-like eye out for anyone who tried to harass her, but most people seemed content to leave her alone.
Now as the evening wore on, the lights dimmed, and it was time for the speeches. He glanced across to where Barbara sat. Apparently she'd made a friend of sorts, another one of the "Survivors". Quinnzel, if his memory was correct. She was there with some bored orderly from Arkham. Apparently some well-meaning functionary in City Hall had wanted to have all the Survivors present, but aside from Quinnzel and Barbara, none of them were really...suited for polite company, and even Quinnzel seemed borderline to him.
There was a round of applause, and Ray turned his attention back to the stage. Mayor Hall had stepped up on the stage, looking grave and stentorian. The man knew that this was probably his last speaking occasion. The primaries were in a few weeks, and he knew that he was likely to lose out to one of the younger crowd. Judging by the man's haggard look, he could do with an early retirement. He wondered if the younger detectives thought the same about him.
"And now we come to the commemorative part of the evening. I want to start by thanking Thomas Wayne, Oswald Cobblepot, Oliver Queen and the good people at Prospero Incorporated for their tireless support of this city, and the donations which made this Community Centre possible. James Gordon made us all stronger, safer, and there isn't anyone I can think of worthier to remember in this way. Thank you, one and all."
There was another round of applause, and Ray observed the reactions of the people named. Oswald was basking in the praise as his just reward. Oliver looked bored, as if this was just another function of many he had to attend. Wayne...Wayne managed to look even older and more tired than the Mayor. A lifetime of horror lay behind Wayne's cold, glaring eyes. Even before the Joker, Thomas Wayne had been dealt a bad hand in life. Fifteen years ago, his wife and son had been victims in an abortive robbery. Martha had died, taking the bullets meant for her husband, and the boy, Bruce, had been left scarred for life, his face permanently ruined, his brain still containing fragments of the bullet.
That would have been tragedy enough, he felt, had the boy, becoming a man, not been sucked into the horror of the Joker's rampage. How much harder, he wondered, must it be for a Father to endure what he had endured? Barbara's struggle was great, he knew, but she had a whole lifetime ahead of her, and he had begun to feel hope that she might be able to make something of that lifetime.
For Thomas, there was nothing to look forward to anymore.
The Mayor continued his speech as the applause died down.
"Finally, I would like also to extend my deepest respect and sympathy to the Survivors. I know I speak for all Gotham when I say that we stand as one along side you. Your strength and courage inspire us all." He gestured towards Barbara Gordon and Quinnzel. Ray watched her with deep concern, ready to run forward if she seemed to be taking it ill.
Instead, she slowly managed her first normal smile, a dim, thin line next to Quinnzel's permanent grimace. A forced smile, to be sure. Something put on for the crowds. She had no intention of letting them see her be weak again.
"Though permanently scarred and broken by their experiences, these two brave women have joined us here tonight, reminders that Gotham endures. Thanks to your generous support and the work of Arkham Asylum, I am confident in saying there will never be a tragedy like this again." The Mayor smiled, basking in appropbrium.
"For too long the mentally ill have been left vulnerable in our cities, left to eke out a living in the Narrows. Though my term now comes to an end, I look back with pride at my administration's achievements. We have cleared the Narrows of the ill, and Arkham stands strong like never before. Never again will a Joker rise to menace us." he spoke confidently, and the crowd cheered.
The spotlight on the two young women had already shifted, the mood of the room snapping towards the mayor, and the ongoing thanks to Gotham's many rich and powerful who were there tonight. It seemed Gotham had little time or stomach to truly dwell on the plight of the likes of Barbara or Harley, and that this night would be filled with more self-congratulatory and empty words.
"And now, a moment of silence for the fallen. To Chief Gordon, taken from us in the line of duty, along with 17 of Gotham's finest, and 30 of her sons and daughters, forever innocent, their pain at an end."
The lights were dimmed, and the room bowed its head quietly. Barbara simply stared at the Mayor, willing him to die, her rage giving her strength, focusing entirely on this old pompous fool. How dare he end a speech, filled with talk of himself, by invoking the memory of her father and the victims of the Joker? Hating him was easy, she knew, and she took the easy path. The grief she felt, reminded of her losses, of everyone's losses, would destroy her otherwise.
After the ceremony, she left Quinnzel with a polite nod. "I'll try to visit you sometime." She said non-committally. In truth, going to Arkham Asylum seemed like the worst possible thing she could do now. She had no wish to go anywhere near the place.
"Sure thing Puddin'." Harley replied cheerfully, apparently unfazed by the events around her, cheerful as ever.
As Babs made her way back to where Wills was, she was intercepted by someone else, an old man with greying hair, bloodshot eyes and a wooden cane.
"Miss Gordon? Might I have a moment of your time?" He said gruffly. Unlike Cobblepot, this man made no pretences of nicety. He wanted something from her, but she doubted it was anything physical. The man seemed to be carved from stone.
"I'm sorry; I don't know your name." She said, turning to keep walking.
"Forgive me. I'm Thomas Wayne. I was a friend of your father. I need to speak with you. Alone."
"I'm sorry Mr Wayne, but it's been a very tiring evening, and I'm rather sick of meeting people who say they were a friend of my father. I'd like to go speak to –my- friend, Detective Wills. Thank you." She said, her anger spilling out into her voice in frustration.
For a moment Wayne looked at her like he was going to explode with rage. Then, suddenly, he burst into laughter, before coughing and choking. She looked concerned for a moment, but it seemed he was simply old. Laughter and choking were indelibly linked in her mind, and it was hard to remember sometimes that not everyone had...experienced what she had.
"No, it's me who should be sorry, Miss Gordon. It's been a long time since anyone has been so...honest with me." He paused, clearing his throat. "However, I truly am a friend of Jim's. You can ask Detective Wills if you would like. But you are right, perhaps this isn't the right time." He began to write on a napkin, folded it, and forced it into her hand roughly.
"I'd like you to visit Wayne Manor. At your earliest convenience, if possible. We have...things we need to discuss. Your father and I had a very strong relationship, and there is a...legacy he'd want me to share with you."
The old industrialist wandered off, hobbling on his cane. She unfolded the napkin, and blinked at the words. Grey Ghost. Was this supposed to mean something to her? She yawned, the fatigue of a long and tiring evening suddenly catching up to her. She wondered if she and Wills would get the same cab back.
She looked back, briefly, at the fading evening gala, and at the huge picture of her Father. Any time she had felt her anger flagging, she had simply glanced up at that picture. This whole city was rotten, she knew. This whole evening had been a mockery of everything that her father had stood for. No one had given her or any of the other victims a moments thought. Even the names of those who had fallen had been absent, only her, her father and Harley even being mentioned. The well-to-do had more important things on their minds, it seemed. She didn't know yet what she was going to do with this anger, or with her life, but the novelty of having such control over herself, having such pure, untainted feelings, was something she appreciated.
Today she had made her first step away from the Abyss. Maybe she would never be truly free of the darkness, but she would be damned if she would ever have one of those laughing fits again. She gripped Wills by the arm tightly, pulling him with surprising strength.
"Is something wrong?"
"Come on, its time to go."
He nodded, no longer surprised by her new attitude. He glanced back at Montoya, giving her a sympathetic, sheepish grin. She simply smiled glassily back, clearly somewhat worse for wear. He saw Harv coming up, and he gave him a nod. Make sure she makes it back home OK.
Another time, another place, Renee's growing drinking problem might have concerned him more. But for now, he was just relieved that one woman in his life at least was showing some signs of returning to Humanity.
"Let's go home. Will Patricia be up waiting for you?"
"No...well, maybe, yes. I told her to take the night off."
Wills chuckled. "That woman must really care about you."
Barbara simply sighed, too tired to make a rejoinder.
The old detective seemed to pick up on her mood. "Do you want to crash at my place for the night? I'll sleep on the sofa." He added hastily.
Barbara looked at him oddly, though she couldn't imagine any ill intent from the old gum shoe. "Patricia will pitch a fit...fine, why not. And I'll sleep on the couch. God knows what you do in your bed."
Wills looked flustered at that, and she smiled, without even thinking about it. A natural expression, neither painful nor forced.
She let her anger simmer for now, and simply walked with Wills to the car, beneath a starry sky.