I told you I'd be faster! Thank you for the reviews, my lovelies. :3 Mwahahaha!
Disclaimer: Property of: Warner Bros, DC Comics, Legendary Films, Chris Nolan, Christian Bale and Heath Ledger. If I did, trust me, there would be WAY more sexual tension…
Slash ahoy!
---------------------------------------
Chapter 6: Unavoidable Entropy
---------------------------------------
There was a bunny against that building.
A fluffy, sweet, white, plump bunny, drifting across the glass…it had a nice little cotton tail and one grayish eye staring off over the cityscape…
A wind caught it suddenly, and it moved faster and faster across the steel, bluish windows, rippling with the strange shapes of that tall, immovable building until it was gone…just like that.
The man who was not a man laid on the cold, muddy ground, hands folded on his stomach, staring dreamily upwards at the tall, scary scrapers, the clouds lightly reflecting on their shiny blinding windows. He was near a busy sidewalk, at a gray, dead park. He could hear people talk now, as they passed by. He remembered words like, "Hello" and "goodbye" and "where are my car keys?"
He knew what the subway was, and where to find a good cup of coffee. That street sign meant yield, and that woman was wearing red colored lipstick. Many simple pieces had come flooding back, but there, just out of sight, were nothing but gray clouds…like the ones floating above his head…
"Mister!"
Our man glanced to the side through yellow grass to see two boys hurrying towards him. In their gratitude for the first bit of unspoiled food they had had in a while, they found him a long dirty coat, and a pair of too-small shoes. They were warm. And a little soggy.
They presented their newest bounty, a small baggy full of brownish crackers.
They had a name.
It was somewhere.
He smiled, splitting the bag into three parts. The two boys pulled him to his feet, and they went walking, munching on their lunches, gazing quietly at the sky.
The small brothers had helped him quite a bit, reminding him of words and letters he had somehow already known. A is for apple, and always sniff for rat poison.
As comfortable as he was with the young boys, there was something…wrong.
The same kind of wrong he had felt days before, a quiet need--a want to be…doing…
A loud wailing siren woke him from his thoughts. The bright red and blue flashing lights appeared far away down the street. One of the boys grabbed his hand and started to pull.
He didn't want to go. He knew those sounds. Those lights. He was supposed to be where they were.
He needed to go where they went.
The second boy took his arm and pulled.
He looked at their frightened faces…
No one saw the man and two young boys as they fled the scene outside of Saint Mary's Hospital. There were far too many important things going on inside.
--------------------------------
"…this…is terrible."
Jonathan Crane was still. As still as a flighty gazelle being eyed by a flock of hungry crocodiles near the watering hole. One false move, and…
"Isn't it?"
Chomp.
"…personally, I don't like it..no."
The Joker was sitting on his hospital bed. More specifically, he was sitting -inches- from his prone and vulnerable form, poking through his food with a very, -very- sharp instrument that he could very well turn on his fleshy easily bruised self. There was no escape plan. No burly orderly or policeman or Batman to come and save him. He held his breath as the Clown skewered a piece of what could have once passed for beef out of the cold stew and bit it experimentally.
He jumped as the Joker spat it violently across the room…and dared to fix him with a disgusted glance. Terror or no, that was just grotesque.
Luckily for him, the Joker didn't really notice. He was occupying himself with the orange Jello cup. It jiggled and wiggled…when it stopped he could see himself in it. Or, rather, a distorted orange-colored self. It was a nice distraction. The Scarecrow was quiet, and he liked that. He had come to learn the man could say things he didn't like. He had come looking for someone in particular, but this jelly treat seemed awfully nice right now. Simple, sweet, and…squishy… he laughed.
Or he tried…to laugh. He managed a light breathy sound, free of mirth. He cracked his neck, bandaged and bitten nails lifting to scratch at his blocked throat. Pesky, leaking skin.
Dr. Crane frowned, eyeing the angry red and scabby marks on his throat. He had seen quite the bit of lunacy in his years, but…well…to gaze upon someone so purely -unhinged- was a privilege. As a Doctor, of course.
He swallowed. Carefully, and as gently as he could manage…Crane slipped his hand into the crocodile's mouth.
"…Joker."
"Mmmnnnh."
"…You've been busy since you left Arkham."
He dipped the blade into the soft desert.
"I…have..something I neeeeed…to do.."
"…For the Batman."
His hand tightened around the instrument.
"..Is that right?"
"Almost finished now." He shoved the scalpel into the cup and pierced the bottom.
"..Just..what are you finishing?"
The Joker pushed harder. The blade split the plastic further and started to dig into the hard aluminum tray. The pressure burst a few of the blisters on his knuckles, blood leaking through the poorly administered bandages. He watched it slide down into the cup…he remembered the first time he had seen the Bat bleed. It was a split lip.
From a lead pipe, he had swung carelessly at the caped crusader.
He had hit him a few more times, sending the Bat sprawled against the floor. The Joker pinned him, pressing the pipe against his throat. He was so close to him, he brushed against the budding bead, the redness smearing against the white across his chin…his tongue darted to taste…
Jonathan covered his head, cringing as the food, tray, and cart all went flying in various directions--the Joker kicking at his bed and chairs, screaming to high heaven--flicking sweat blood and god knows what else all over the room.
Crane lowered his hands, staring at the Joker, now looming over him again, scalpel still in hand. He opened his mouth, but the Clown was upon him, pinning him to his pillows, blade under his chin, knees trapping his only working leg.
"-Everything-." Crane winced as he growled so near his face, those wide, veiny eyes filling his vision. "Gotham isss going to, ah, be tauuggghht a lesson…no one..in this CITY…will EVER…EVER…forget…" He smacked his lips, and pressed the blade further into his skin, causing Jonathan to give a small pained noise. "Aaaand, once teacher is done with all of you, he'll pack up, turn out the lights…and…BOOM."
Crane grimaced as the Joker started another laugh--this one harsh and unfamiliar. He bit down on his tongue. He hadn't lost his hand to those teeth just yet…
"It wasn't fair, was it?" He blinked, choosing his words carefully, "Gotham. And their…their helpless civilians…police, and--Arkham…" The mad clown was silent. Encouraged, "They saw it happen with their own…own eyes…and you did not.."
He swallowed, and it hurt--the blade cutting deeper.
The Joker had every intention of slicing Crane's tongue out from under his chin, but…
The Scarecrow adjusted himself, moving his head a little further from the knife, in that soothing voice that matched his missing mask.
"…I would…be happy to talk about it…if you…want to…"
-------------------------------------
Gordon stepped into his office, gazing at his paper-covered desk and full coffee maker. Not one step closer. Not one day happier.
His family was injured.
His policemen were dying.
They couldn't move Tetch to county, they still hadn't fixed the…mess…at City Hall…
The Joker had an icy, unforgiving grip on all of them…he glanced out the window into a side office belonging to one Micheal Wuertz. A bulletin board hung quietly next to his desk, a small caption at the top, 'Possible Identities of Batman'. He himself had posted the picture of Bigfoot. Gordon only just noticed the black ribbon tacked to the top right corner of the board.
He wondered…had he been someone's father? Someone's husband? Someone's -son-? Was there a family somewhere, weeping over a secret memorial, missing the man behind the mask more than they were missing their hero?
It didn't matter now. He brushed a few papers off his desk and stared at a large, lightly detailed map of Gotham City. Whatever the Joker was planning, it was going to be on a large scale. They had to take every precaution they could…even if it meant a full-scale evacuation. He owed it to Gotham, Batman and himself…to try.
The door slammed open. Gordon turned, "Maria?"
"Sir--! It's the hospital!"
"What--??"
"It's the Joker, he's taken over three floors of the building---"
Gordon was out the door, Maria at his heels.
"I want that building SEALED--get out as many people as you can, he's not getting away---Bullock, take three teams and get over there--Maria I need you here with him--" He pointed towards the wide cage, wherein sat a short mad man, legs crossed, sipping a paper cup of water, no doubt pretending it was tea-- "Do not move from this spot, do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
Maria watched as Gordon rushed out the door, Bullock and the force behind them. She glanced at their now sparse guard on Tetch…a cold, hard feeling rising in her stomach.
------------------------------------
"…That time he used the handcuffs…I was, hm---de-ligh-ted…to fiiind that they were Bat…shaped…too…"
Crane leaned his forehead into his hand, gazing at the painted face above him. He had only been talking for a few minutes, but Lucifer's cufflinks, did he wish he had a pen, and some blank paper. He was trying to commit everything he said to memory, to pick and slice apart later…if he lived that long.
The Joker had calmed, considerably. Much like a rabid cat injected with liquefied cat-nip, his eyelids drooped, his tone lowered and rumbled, and he pawed at a loose string on the Doctor's hospital gown as he babbled.
The last time he had talked about the Bat, he wanted to rip out his eyes and shove them in his ears. At this very small and simple moment in time, he just wanted to say his name over and over and over and over and over….
"He liked…to tie me up…" Tightly. Wrist, ankles, knees--it cut into his skin when he moved, leaving delicious red slices that would rub against -everything-.
Crane nodded, with a light 'mm-hm'. The Joker wasn't really paying attention to him. He just wanted to talk…apparently. Crane remembered those ropes. Those--wires and metal rings, chafing and freezing his skin every time he dragged him back to Arkham. The aches and ouchies when he thrust him around, slamming from wall to wall…those gloved fingers squeezing his face…the same way the Joker had bruised his chin and neck…
He cleared his throat. Professional interest, of course. The Clown was far more savage than the reserved and moral Batman. It…mesmerized him. Professionally.
"..nd I held it…in my hands…"
The Doctor had been staring at his painted mouth, though he hadn't heard all he said. He inhaled, reminding himself of his -study-, eyes flicking to his.
"It?"
The Joker finally locked eyes with him again.
"His face."
Face…his first instinct was to pass it off as another scattered memory. But the conviction in the lunatic's voice gave him pause.
Then he remembered.
"…his face.." His eyes wandered over the smeared, caked make-up. There were streaks, leading from his eyes to his mouth and chin. Blood caked near his scalp. "It's broken."
Now, the good Doctor prided his intellect and sanity above most things. He considered himself superior in that fashion…not quite as much as one Edward Nigma, but enough. That said, for reasons unknown to himself, he lifted a hand and lightly brushed one of the red-covered scars.
It was only mili-seconds after he had done it he realized what he -had- done.
He paused and held his breath.
The Joker was not accustomed to gentle, or tender, or light. He knew vinegary, excruciating and raw. The finger was curious, and raised a curious question. Let it linger. Or bite it off.
There was a clatter at the door.
Both men turned to see a Hench clown standing there, mask pulled down, an empty can at his feet.
"..w-we're done…boss--got all the stuff y-you need…but--"
"But. What."
"They called the---they're on their--the cops, Boss, we--"
"Get the van."
Without another word, he ran off, calling for the guys to 'get the van'. The Joker licked his lips, glancing at the clock on the wall.
"…Time's up. Doc." He looked at the quiet body under him, head tilted. "I've, ahmm, got an appointment with an old friend down town."
The Clown lumbered off of him, somehow finding the will to stand again. Crane adjusted himself, scooting back up against his pillows, watching as the lunatic wandered to the doorway, kicking debris out of his path.
He turned his head, quipping airily over his shoulder, "Maybe I'll stop by…bring you some flowers. Hm?"
Crane sighed as quietly as he could, regaining most of his usual composure. He folded his hands, brow knitted, ever eternally put-upon. And shivered.
"If you're so moved, Joker."
And he was gone.
----------------------------------------
The sirens were echoing across the city. The news were on their way for sure, and the building was in a complete lockdown.
They were so far away.
Dr. Robert Meyerson, formally employed at Arkham Asylum, was fully dressed, attempting to fit his shoe over his swollen, bandaged sprained ankle. There were no doctors. No nurses. Nothing. He had hidden when the commotion came near his door, ripping his IV from his hand and ducking between his hospital bed and the wall. All right. He was a coward.
And it was time for him to flee.
The whole of Gotham was in trouble, and he wasn't sticking around to see it burn to the ground. He needed to get out of town. Jump the train, catch a plane, anything--anything to get as far away from the City gone mad. First he'd hit the bank. Empty his accounts. Stop to grab an extra suit, and leave. Metropolis was the best idea. Quiet, unassuming--new jobs--far away from the chaos and insanity that was the J--
"Hello, Doctor. How are you feeling today?"
Meyerson turned, and there, in the doorway, silhouetted against the florescent lights outside his room…was the Clown. Arms folded behind his back, concealing a happy little surprise. He stepped into the room, deliberate in his step.
Meyerson lifted his hands in surrender, stepping away from his bed.
"…Joker…I-I understand…the pain you must be feeling after--"
"Y'know, Doc, I was thinking…" He stopped, freeing one hand to gesture, "…It was…seven hours and forty-seven minutes -after- it happened…that you puuulled me from the hole--and--" He stepped closer, "For the nine minutes and seventeen seconds you graced me, ahm, with your presence…you…said…nothing."
Meyerson pressed his back against the wall, lightly mopping his forehead. "I-I know the kind of--of devastation you must be feeling, but--"
The Joker was on him, fisting his shirt, pressing something hard, metal and round against his chest.
"DO YOU, Doctor…PLEASE!" He shoved the man into his hospital bed, the object in his hand--a small silver tank--brandished like a club. "EnLIGHTen me about myself…!!"
Robert Meyerson couldn't stop his tears, lifting a hand to defend himself, pleading, "For Godsakes, have--have--you can't--"
The tank went flying across his face, and the doctor spat a few teeth across the room. Disoriented, he barely noticed the Joker pushing him down onto the bed.
"Why the looong face, Doc…" Planting his knee in his stomach, the Joker freed his hands to twist the double knobs on the tank. "Do you like, ahm, nursery rhymes..?"
Meyerson tried to speak and lifted his hands lamely as a mask covered his mouth and nose.
"Deedle deedle dumpling, my son John--" The Joker twisted the knobs again, "Went to bed with his trousers on!" Meyerson started to struggle, recognizing the sour taste of the gas. "One shoe OFF!" The clown pressed down on his stomach, "One shoe ON!" The doctor's eyes fluttered as he tried to desperately hold on to that reality. "Deedle DEEDLE dumpling…my..son…John…"
Meyerson giggled. He chortled and cackled--he gasped deeply and laughed even louder, unable to stop his heaving breaths. Satisfied, the Joker let go of the mask and tank, giggling as he stumbled out of the room. He locked the door with a click, the rest of the gas quickly filling the room, Meyerson's helpless guffawing behind it.
Wandering by the nurse's station, he lifted a bottle of sanitizer and a small glass dish filled with individually wrapped candies.
One more stop to make.
----------------------------
"Sweep the entire building, I want him found, do you understand me?!"
Gordon stood outside of Saint Mary's Hospital, a radio in hand, and a full blockade of police cars behind him. The SWAT teams had just gone in, headed for the second floor. There was no way he could have gotten out. He told himself that. He had to still be in there.
He listened to the crackle over the radio. More bodies, horribly mangled. The survivors were rushed out as quickly as they could be. There were Arkham inmates there. Numbers of them. And some of them had already escaped.
"--Coming to Crane's room, over.--"
"Is he there?" He released the button on his radio and waited.
Nothing.
"…Is he there?!"
"---We got him, sir. He's here."
Gordon exhaled, relief flooding him.
"--He says the Clown was here."
Gordon sputtered lightly, and held down the button, "What do you mean, 'was'?! Make him tell you where he IS!"
-------------------------
Maria stared at the clock. It's hands moved slowly, the light tick-tick-ticking echoing in the nearly quiet office. There were twelve of them left, scattered about the rooms. Six of them kept a silent vigil next to the cage that held the Hatter. Maria watched him.
He leaned leisurely against the bars, one hand held flat, the other lifting a paper cup to his lips. With a contented sigh, he placed the cup against his flat hand. He was left in his trousers, suspenders and oddly large shoes. Everything else taken from him was filled with machines and nano-technology. She didn't understand half of what the lab guys had sent to them, but it all pointed to some really, really bad stuff. Maria was new on the force. Truthfully, she had only seen the Bat once when he was alive. She was headed to the roof to find Gordon. There had been a burglary that night of a rare golden statue, an Egyptian artifact on loan from the Metropolis History Museum. There had been a sighting of the thief as they disappeared with the cat effigy.
She had raised a hand to knock on the metal door, and happened to catch sight of the dark figure through the small window. Her first instinct was to call the alarm. Weeks of 'if you see the Batman' schlock had really been run home. But she didn't. She watched. He and commissioner were talking…just talking…then, he turned towards the window and she felt herself jump. Jim turned as well, she looked at him, and when she looked back to Batman…he was gone.
Since then, Maria, Harvey, and Jim became a little more tight knit. Wuertz being out for his health, she tentatively filled his spot. Thus why she was babysitting the nut job with the tea fetish. She swallowed, listening to him murmur about…blue dresses and black ribbons.
She hated him.
She had interrogated him a dozen times, and every time it was rabbits, bread crumbs and pocket watches. Her fists tightened. Or little girls.
The Hatter glanced her way.
--------------------------
The streets were filled with spinning lights as squad car after squad car raced through Gotham.
An ambulance wailed behind them.
There was no time.
--------------------------
"…You know it isn't POLITE…to STARE, Mary Anne."
She rubbed her eyes, willing the tiredness from her body.
"Keep it down, Tetch."
"Down? Down? Goose down!" He chortled. "You really shouldn't have taken my hat, you know."
A few of the officers stirred by the door. Was that the elevator?
"And why not, Tetch."
"It was my favorite you know."
"So what."
"Sew buttons!"
-------------------------------
Gordon yelled into the ear of a helmeted driver, slipping a full cartridge into his gun.
They weren't going fast enough.
---------------------------------
Maria stood, stepping over to the bars, "Another word, Tetch, and it's not just water going down that throat. It'll be my fist." All right, she was no Harvey Bullock. She was working on it.
"..De…Detective Maza?"
All the officers stood near the windows, guns pointed. There were shadows behind the blinds of the office. Tall, bulky, club-wielding shadows. Maria stood, mouth opening.
There was a scratching at the door.
Light, deliberate scratching.
She froze.
"…He's not at the hospita--"
The glass shattered.
None of them had time to pull a trigger.
---------------------------------
Tires screeched as they skidded outside Gotham holding. Gordon was out of his car before it had stopped, gun in hand, Harvey at his heels. They raced up the stairs, calling orders, the SWAT team rushing behind them.
He couldn't breathe.
---------------------------------
The lock clicked home, and Maria struggled lamely against the handcuffs. Her cheeks were an explosion of pain, her ankles zip-tied to the bars behind her body. The men around her moaned and twisted on the tile at her feet.
The phone.
Someone had to get the phone.
Tell Gordon.
Tell someone…
She whined as something was stuck into her skin. Her chest hurt, it hurt so much--it felt so heavy…so thick.
Her ears stopped ringing then, and she opened her eyes to find the Joker, leaning over her torso, humming a tune under his breath.
Tetch was behind him. Bound in red cloth, gagged and struggling.
Maria tried to speak.
"Hiiii…" He murmured, narrowing his eyes at the face of the clock in front of him. He turned the small green hand and it click-click-clicked until he was satisfied. They took so much longer than he did. Useless. He locked eyes with Maria, taking a small pot from his pocket.
"I…want you…to help..me…to help..you…to help -me-…" He gripped a thick tendril of her hair, pulling her face near his. "'Hmn?" His ungloved finger tapped the device hanging off her chest.
Maria gasped in pain, and glanced down at the large, blackish thing, covered in wires. It was hooked into her collarbone…and from the stinging further down, her ribs.
"Tell…Gordon…a little something for me…" He dipped his thumb into the pot. "Could you do that?" He smeared a long streak of paint across her mouth.
"I can, ahm, count on you…can't I, sweetface."
---------------------------------
The door from the stairwell went flying off it's hinges, the SWAT team running in, Gordon quickly passing them.
He saw the broken glass, the busted windows and doors. Gun raised, he ran. The SWATs yelled something in his ear. He didn't care.
He could still be in there.
They could still be alive.
He tripped over broken wood and glass, arms stretched, inching around the edge of the doorway, listening…
"Oh, God…Maria…"
Gordon stumbled over bodies and debris, holstering his gun. Her arms were spread, handcuffed to the cage, her ankles similarly hindered. Her chest was bleeding. There were hooks digging into her, right under her neck. He lifted his hands, helplessly staring at the device strapped to her chest. She panted and whimpered, a red smile drawn on her bruised face. She swallowed.
"Sir…Jim, I'm-I'm so sorry…"
"Don't say that, Maria--it's it--I'm going to get you out of this--" He turned, "BOMB SQUAD, in here!"
"We're gonna get that shit off you, Maria, It's okay--" Bullock stuttered, overcome with panic.
"They can't--he said they couldn't--" She sniffled, pulling at the restraints on her wrists. "Sir--"
"It's all right, Maria…you're going to be all right, I promise--" He locked eyes with her, shaking, hoping against hope, "I promise."
A tear slid down her cheek as a thunder of footfalls echoed behind him. The clock was ticking. She knew it was almost finished.
"It's been--It's been an honor--it…" She swallowed again as the ticking accelerated, "Oh God--"
"Over here!!" Gordon turned and waved frantically to rush the group of de-activators.
"Jim--Jim he said--he said I had to tell you--we have--have a week…a week before--"Maria looked down at her chest as the crooked purple hand reached the top of the clock.
The ticking stopped.
Gordon turned back to Maria and stared at the clock.
"Jim!" He raised his eyes to her.
"Run."
It was Harvey Bullock that yanked Jim Gordon from their friend, and rushed him away. Gordon could hear him yelling for everyone to flee and duck. He could only stumble, his hand outstretched for their comrade.
Maria felt something whir inside the device. She hiccupped.
I'm scared.
The explosion rocked the street, over turning a few hydrants and sending a few bystanders to their knees. Inside the precinct, Gordon was covered by an overturned desk, Bullock next to him in a daze. As he shakily climbed to his feet, he watched as thousands of singed and dirty playing cards fluttered to the ground.
He gazed at the few settled by his ankle, a message scrawled in thick purple marker.
'See you soon'.
-------------------------------
In loving memory of Detective Maria Maza.
Next time: Who am I? What am I doing here?
R&R, dearingest of darlings! I await with bated breath. :3