Chapter Seven
Everywhere hurt.
Bruce lay there, eyes closed as he slowly came back towards consciousness. It was soft, he was lying on something soft, and it smelt familiar. He cracked an eyelid open, and the light that barged in was easily categorised as painful.
"Nice to see you alive, Master Bruce", Alfred's dry sarcasm barely hid the relief in his voice. Bruce tried to snark back, but his throat was so dry that what he delivered was barely a hoarse groan. A glass of water was carefully brought to Bruce's lips, and a hand on the back of his neck tilted his head so the cool liquid could trickle down his throat.
"God, what happened?", Bruce coughed after the glass had been taken away, clenching his muscles tenderly. Alfred placed the now empty glass of water on the table, "Well, after you collapsed in the alley from blood loss, I had to track the GPS in your phone to find you. I brought you back here, because of your delirious ramblings against hospitals, and administered a blood transfusion. You do realise how lucky you are that I'm also B negative?". Bruce lifted a weak arm to place on Alfred's bicep, "Thank you, Alfred".
Trying to sit up, Bruce let out a low groan as his back protested against the movement, "Why does everywhere hurt?". "Well, you did loose a lot of blood, and as well as the bullet wounds in your calf and shoulder, I'm quite sure you pulled a couple of muscles", Alfred sat down, "I recommend at least a week in bed". Bruce laughed, "Not a chance, how long was I unconscious? I need to be seen in work".
Alfred narrowed his eyes, "You'll have to get past me first, and I don't think that even with your youth and physical strength, you could more than stumble in that condition".
Bruce glared back, swept his legs over the side of the bed to stand up, and promptly collapsed on the floor. Alfred leant down to pick him up, "So, would sir prefer the master bedroom or the study?".
•
The radio was on, "And finally, the Billionaire Bruce Wayne hasn't been in work for the fifth day this week, because of a reported contraction of the flu".
Jerome laughed at that. Look at them all, so oblivious! It didn't matter. The whole city was still reeling from the explosion, and even more importantly, Bruce had let a bad man die. Granted, not directly, but still, he'd chosen to save the girl, and therefore let a drug lord die in the explosion.
It was okay, Jerome would work Bruce up to it, then they could take this city on together. A systematic extermination of the corrupt. Jerome's mind presented the image of Bruce smirking, his intelligence and strength baring its teeth ferociously, and the resultant lightning in his gut. Jerome wasn't sure what to think. He'd been attracted to men before, he'd even tried it out (much to the disgust of the other circus hands), but this was different.
Arousal was a slow fire that had wormed its way up from Jerome's crotch on occasion when he'd been younger, but that had been electric. It hadn't been ignorable, it demanded every sense and swept everything off the ledge of his mind. Bruce had been an obsession for over a quarter of his life, a debt he had to repay, and the closest he'd ever been to another human being in his life. Yet he'd never thought of the younger man like that, not till the incident at the bank.
It was an okay feeling, Jerome decided. He could tolerate it. There was no way anything could keep him from his task. They would be together afterwards, but he had to make Bruce see things clearly first, he couldn't survive as Gotham's hero with his views as naive as they were.
But Jerome wasn't trying to hurt Bruce, (well, badly) and he'd give the billionaire a few days to regain his strength. After all, they'd barely begun their story.
•
Lucius Fox had aged well.
Bruce had always liked him, and in their time apart, he had to admit he'd missed the older man slightly. "It's nice to see you so soon, Master Wayne, I hope the flu didn't knock you down too badly", Lucius smiled demurely as he spun around in his chair to face the billionaire. Bruce smiled back, it had been five days since he'd woke, and this was the first opportunity he'd had to get to the company, "No, I was out of commission for a while there, but I'm back in the game now". Lucius nodded, "And what do I owe the pleasure?", Bruce pursed his lips thoughtfully, trying to think about how to put it, "You see, I heard you have some, uh, interesting equipment down here?".
Lucius raised an eyebrow, "Interesting equipment?", Brice laughed, "Yes, you see, I've developed an interest for, um, spelunking". Lucius looked at him for a long moment, before speaking, "Sure thing, Master Wayne, please, follow me". Bruce followed the older man further and further into the depths of the building, and realised just how huge applied sciences really was. A beautifully lit, high-ceiling space with a concrete floor revealed itself when Lucius walked through a door at the end of the corridor. "These might interest you, Master Bruce", Mr Fox said knowingly, popping the lock on a tall box.
Bruce leant over to look inside. There was only one thing inside; an all-in-one camouflage, armoured bodysuit. He carefully extended a hand to stroke the chest plate, "This, Lucius, is perfect", the older man watched Bruce extend a cautious hand, "Does it come in black?". The older man inclined his head, "I'm sure I can whip something up. Before you run off, spelunking, there's one last thing I want to show you".
Bruce was led over to another table, and Lucius grinned like a schoolboy as he lifted the lid. The contents of the box were slightly less climatic than the bodysuit. Bruce smiled weakly as Lucius pulled out a large black sheet of matte fabric. Lucius caught his eye, and laughed, "It's not just black cotton, Master Wayne, this is a soft fabric in usual conditions, but if you pass an electric current through it-", the black fabric shot to attention, rigid as steel, "-It becomes a highly tensile almost high density polymer-like material. Will you be requiring headgear too?", Bruce shook his head, enthralled by the garment in front of him, "Thanks, but I've got that covered".
Lucius shut the box, "Shall I call Alfred to come pick these up?". Bruce's wide eyes fixed on his friend's, "No", he blurted, "Uh, I mean, No, thank you, that's not necessary, I'll take them back myself".
•
"Master Bruce?", Alfred called out into the corridor behind the fireplace. The sounds of a metal saw whirring echoed up the corridor, "Master Bruce? Will you be requiring any supper?". After waiting two minutes for a reply, Alfred signed and walked off, muttering under his breath, "Rude little shit".
From his place at the workstation deep in the natural cave structure, Bruce gently blew the aluminium dust off his carefully-weighted new piece of equipment. Bringing the metalwork up to his face, Bruce ran the slender icon through his fingers, and threw it against a wooden target to his left. He seemed satisfied when he walked up to it, pulling it free from the centre of the painted circles.
Walking over to another black box, Bruce placed the last aluminium bat next to its sisters, and closed the lid. He looked above it, straight into the empty eyes of the black mask. This was perfect, a symbol criminals could fear and the just rely on. The black eyes of the cowl stared evenly back, and Bruce felt the pull. The part of him that just knew what to do in battle was clawing its way out, it was black, cold and thirsty for justice, and it liked the costume.
Alfred walked down the stairs into the cave, carrying a silver tray, "Since the Masked Vigilante is too good to answer when he is called, I took the liberty of bringing his dinner down here". Bruce didn't turn around, his throat tight and gravelly, "Not the Masked Vigilante, I'm something else now". Alfred placed the tray on the table with a sigh, "Thank god, that was the worst name I think I've ever heard for a vigilante".
Bruce picked up the cowl, stroking down the cape absentmindedly, "I don't think I'll be eating tonight, Alfred". The butler sighed, "Very good sir, but before you go, I had an interesting call for Mr Fox earlier, asking whether you would like the cape in black as well, saying you didn't say when you called in a few days ago". Bruce stiffened, and Alfred continued, "And I said that was funny, because I had expressively forbidden you from getting out of bed until today".
Bruce turned his head, a weak attempt at a disarming smile on his lips, "About that-". Alfred glared, waves of anger radiating off him, "Don't say another word, Master Bruce".
•
Gotham was relatively quiet that night, to Bruce's relief. There had been a few mugging a he'd prevented and one convenience store robbery, but nothing that smelt like clowns. He wanted to test out his new equipment, and if anything failed, he'd rather it be against some thug than the Joker himself.
Bruce stared across the roofs, something resounding deep in his bones when he thought of the clear streets he'd allowed that night. The same part of him that had stared angrily from deep within him when creating the outfit purred contentedly inside. Bruce wasn't sure what it was, this calling he felt deep within him. It was starving for justice, and completely overwhelmed him whenever he leapt in to disarm an opponent. It made him better though, stronger, so he accepted it.
A clattering on the fire escape to his left caught Bruce's attention, and as he quietly approached, the thing in the darkness within him swooped down to claim his body. Black, intelligent eyes stared down at the man on the fire escape. He was clutching an overflowing bag of possessions in one hand, and trying to close the window behind him. The caped man above him simply reached down, grabbed the collar of his shirt and hauled him up onto the roof.
The thief yelped, letting go of his loot as he came crashing down onto the rooftop. As he regained his sense of gravity, the robber blinked up in confusion at the huge, masked man dressed in black armour in front of him fearfully. "Wh-Who are you?", the masked man simply bent over, flipped the thief on his stomach and tied his wrists, before picking him and the loot up, walking to the edge of the roof, and jumping off.
•
"I'm telling you, Detective! It was a bat! A huge bat! He grabbed me, tied me up and flew off the building!", Detective Gordon stared coldly at the rambling man. He was a known thief on parole, and as predicted, he'd fallen back into bad habits, "So you're telling me a man dressed as a bat, beat you up and then flew you here?", he dean panned.
The thief glanced between Gordon and his partner, before throwing his hands in the air, "No I'm lying! How the hell could anyone make this shit up? You tested me right? No drugs in my system? And you know I'm not crazy! There. Is. A. Huge. Bat. On the streets of Gotham!".
A door behind the two cops opened, and a female policewoman stuck her head in, "Sorry to interrupt, Detective Gordon, but you're gonna want to see this".
Gordon stood open mouthed as he watched the TV, specifically, the CCTV footage on the news of a black, caped man dressed as a bat dropping from the ceiling onto a man robbing a convenience store. "Many are speculating that this is the 'Masked Vigilante' Gotham has got som familiar with over the last few weeks, but with a change of dress. The man people are now calling, 'Batman', shares many things with our favourite crime fighter", the reporter on screen switched to a slightly-balding man in his late thirties, "That's correct, Miranda, we've carefully analysed this recording against the ones we have of the Masked Vigilante, and our results show that not only is it the same person, but he seems to be getting even better at fighting. His technique is simply incredible-".
The TV was turned off. All the officers crowded around the screen turned in confusion, to face a furious commissioner Lobe standing on the balcony. The older man was practically spitting as he yelled, "This is not to be tolerated! Do you know what will happen when it gets out that Gotham has an insane, masked criminal out beating up other criminals? It will be anarchy!", he braced his arms on the handrail, "This, 'Batman', is to be treated exactly the same as the terrorist known as the, 'Joker'. Arrest on sight! Do we understand?".
The cops in the room were silent for a moment, glancing at each other in confusion, and Lobe brought his fist down on the banister, "I said, do we understand!". A quiet murmur of acknowledgement rose up from the crowd of police officers, Lobe nodded in satisfaction, before turning and stalking off.
Harvey Bullock elbowed Gordon in the ribs, "So now, we're gonna go around arresting the guy who's doing our job for us? I've half a mind to send the guy a fruit basket!". Gordon just stared at the now black screen thoughtfully, "Hmm".
•
Jerome drank in the news. 'Batman', Oh it was perfect. Ironic, brilliant, meaningful and it played so brilliantly along with his plans.
A vague memory of hurtling black shapes in a fever dream crept up on him, and Jerome shivered in a mixture of fear and delight. The costume was brilliant, he could admit that, it was scary and mysterious, concealing Bruce's identity whilst protecting him and making him iconic. How, Jerome almost felt outdone!
"Hey! You, yeah, you!", Jerome yelled over at one of the clowns playing cards in the corner. The man pointed at himself dazedly, and Jerome rolled his eyes impatiently, "Yes! You, idiot, get over here!". The muscular clown lumbered over, "What's up, boss?", Jerome pulled at his own ragged collar, "What's the most expensive tailor in Gotham?".
The clown just blinked down stupidly for a moment, "Uh, there's a shop uptown called 'Fredrick's', and I've head some mates saying it's where Don Maroni goes to get his suits. Even claims Bruce Wayne's been there a few times". Jerome pondered this over for a moment, before a wide smile ravaged the scars on his cheeks, "Perfect. Grab half a million and take me there immediately".
The suit was very nice. Jerome stood in the tailors mirror admiring himself, yes, he looked sharp, intelligent but sophisticated. Bruce would like that. The colours offset his makeup, making his irises look more green inside the black smudges over his eyes, and his smile more ravaged across his face. The green waistcoat was a slightly lighter shade than the heavy, green woollen coat he'd recovered when leaving Arkham. The memory made his cheeks twinge, but he pushed it back. This was not the time.
His shirt was patterned linen, crinkling comfortably around his elbows and torso. Jerome liked the slight roughness, it was pleasant against his skin, and the octagons decorating the material were brilliantly chaotic. "How much do you want for three sets?", he muttered distractedly to the trembling tailor. Fredrick glanced between the Joker and the gun a muscular clown had trained on his head, and swallowed, "Uh, for you, sir? Only £200,000". The Joker shrugged, gesturing for the clown to pass the notes over from the bag.
"I've left a little tip, only a quarter of a million, for your silence. Please understand, this is, uh, only insurance. Your head will roll if you mention this to anyone", he smiled darkly, drawing out his next sentence, "Trust me, I'm a man of my word".
•
"Come on, comeoncomeoncomeon", Jerome muttered from the top of the Gotham life building. The opposite tower was in flames, orange tongues tasting the air, waiting.
The Joker made for a menacing silhouette against the moon, his green hair sticking up at random angles and white greasepaint smeared slightly with black from his eyes. There was wailing sirens and screaming from below, and all in all, it was a perfect trap, all stoked with bait and ready to catch a bat. A soft, almost unnoticeable swishing noise came from behind him, and Jerome smiled softly, then spun around.
"Come to see the show?", The Joker said lightly, "You're a bit late, but I'm sure we could make an excepti-ACK", there was a hand around his throat. Standing on the roof behind him was a tall figure all clad in black, large cloak spread out behind him. Jerome's breath caught in his throat for a moment when Bruce looked up; it was different seeing him like this rather than on TV. All the childish softness had disappeared, leaving behind hard lines, bulky muscle and something else, something dark. Brucey had sure been working out.
The cowl was a nice effect, Jerome noted internally, it was well made, some sort of black plastic, and the angles within it made it look like the batman was frowning intimidatingly. "Why are you doing this?", Bruce growled from deep in his chest, and Jerome's stomach tightened. "What? This? Because it's fun", he whispered, eyes soft and fixed on the black ones in front of him. Contacts. Jerome didn't like that. He'd loved Bruce's eyes, they were so warm, like roasted chestnuts. When Bruce saw the world properly, Jerome would make him take them out.
"No. You're doing this to get me to come out here", Batman muttered, tightening his grip on the Joker's throat, "What! Why would you think that!". An angry rumbling vibrated through Batman's chest, and he thrust the Joker towards the edge of the rooftop, where one could see the ten meter wide cut-out bat shape in the side of the flaming building. "Oh! That? That's not a bat, that's an owl", the Joker informed him seriously.
Bruce snarled and slammed the Joker into the concrete floor. The Joker giggled, a pained cough coming from his throat, "Okay, okay! It's a bat, happy? I thought it was time we had a little heart to heart in person". Bruce tightened his hold, "And what makes you think I'm not just going to hand you over to the police right now?", Jerome lifted a hand, "Oh, nothing much", his sleeve fell back to reveal a syringe. The Joker grinned widely, and plunged the needle into the soft, unarmored area inside Bruce's elbow. Batman grunted, the effects were almost instantaneous.
Jerome smirked as Bruce crumpled, cloak spread out around him like wings, "I see why they call you Batman, that had to be intentional in your part". He sat down next to the vigilante, "It's only a mild paralysing agent, by the way, you'll be on your feet again in an hour". The light from the flames lit up the Jokers features, and the man just looked at Bruce for a moment, then lay down next to him. Their heads were inches from each other, both looking up at the smokey, ashed Sky. The Joker spoke quietly, "Why did I call you here? Because you interest me, Batsy". He wriggled, "So righteous, so self-sacrificing, yet you wouldn't kill any of those bad men. That's your rule, isn't it? No killing. Sometimes you need to kill, you know, some people just deserve to die".
Batman couldn't reply, Jerome knew that, and he laughed, "If you could move, I'm certain I wouldn't be lying here with you, I'd have been carted off to the police by now, which is why I had to sedate you".
"I will make you break it, you know, your one rule. It's just not practical", Jerome got up, looking down at the slack mouth of the man on the rooftop, and a strange look crept into his eyes. "See you around, Batsy", he murmured, and left.
Bruce lay there for another forty five minutes, watching the flames get beaten down by the fire service, and eventually, when his limbs would lend him control again, he sat up, shaking, and stumbled home.
The Joker'd had him completely at his mercy. He could have killed Bruce right there and then, or revealed his identity, but all he'd done was talk. Why was he so obsessed with making Batman kill? Bruce shook his head. He could spend years puzzling over that mind, because it was insane. That was the only explanation, the Joker was insane.
•
The Joker was proving to be a massive problem. Detective Gordon groaned as another file with the smirking psychopath was placed on his desk by an apologetic (police head lady?), "Sorry, the guy hit a nightclub again last night, one under Mr Cobblepot this time". James sent her a tense smile, "Thanks, I'll add it to the pile of Joker-related crimes, and I'm sure Oswald will be in shortly".
As if on cue, the double doors from the street into the building flew open, and two muscular men walked through, followed by the Penguin. It didn't take long for Oswald's furious eyes to find Jim's, and the mob boss was shuffling towards his desk. "Jim, I want him dead", Oswald placed himself in the chair opposite James, and faced the detective as calmly as he could.
Oswald Cobblepot was renown for his restraint, and to see the man so ruffled was a rare instance. James, picked up the file from his desk, "I assume you're here to talk about last nights incident involving the Joker?", he asked. The Penguin leant forward, practically hissing, "Of course I'm here because of that psychopath! This is the fourth time he's targeted one of my establishments! And he made off with three million! Three million! I want him found!". Jim nodded, pushing his glasses further up his nose, "I understand, of course. But that's easier said than done. The only one who's had any luck with the Clown is Batman".
Oswald took a deep breath and sat back, "Of course!", he groaned, "Why didn't I think of that. I should call up the vigilante taking out criminals to get rid of the criminal raiding my illegal establishments. Great idea". Jim Gordon's mouth turned down, "Oswald. Our, and the Batman's, greatest concern right now is The Joker. I highly doubt the man will place your establishments above this terrorist". Cobblepot didn't look impressed, "So what, you want me to team up with the Batman then?".
Gordon shrugged, "I'm not saying that, just that your connection may be able to drag something on this unknown person up". Oswald sniffed, "and if I acquire such information, what, I give it to you and you get it to him? How are you going to find him?".
A slow smile spread across Jim's face, "Just you leave that to me".
•
Alfred paused next to the towering glass windows of Wayne Manor, staring out across the city. His lips turned down slightly, before he turned to the fireplace.
Bruce was furiously sewing black rubber into the inner elbows of his suit when his butler walked down he stone steps. Alfred didn't ask. "Master Wayne, I do believe you're needed in Gotham". Bruce didn't look up from his angry stabbing of the inside of his suit, "And how do you know that?". Alfred huffed, "Oh, trust me, they're calling".
Bruce pulled the thread tight and bit it off, tying a knot, then got to his feet. Alfred led him upstairs, and pulled back the curtain to reveal the Gotham skyline. Brazenly outlined by a white spotlight, was the outline of a bat. Eyebrows shooting up, Bruce laughed, "I think you might just be right".