I do not own Batman. Sucks, don't it? I do own Eleanor Black and all the other characters and plot points that aren't part of the movie. Rated T for the same reasons the movie was rated PG-13. Enjoy.
Chances Are…
Chapter Nine: Buildings and Bullets.
One might think that after spending so much time with Batman, my brain would have been better equipped to act after hearing that Gotham PD had identified the DNA on the playing card. One might think that I would jump into action, ready to go. One might think, thanks to the Joker's warning video, I would be ready to hear that people were in danger, that maybe they were dying. I thought the same thing. But one would be wrong—and I was wrong—because the thought that the Joker might be coming to Bruce's penthouse had me frozen in place. The thought that I might have to look the villain in the eye, see his scarred face in person had me nearly shaking.
I knew what I had to do: I had to find Bruce and I had to tell him what I'd heard. I had to do my job.
But I couldn't move.
I kept hearing the Joker's his voice, his bone-chilling laugh, and I kept seeing his face from the video that had been on the news that afternoon. A fine shaking started in my hands, but I still couldn't make my body obey the impulses to move.
Someone bumped gently into my back, moving me just enough to clear the cobwebs. I shook my head and found Alfred standing close to me, a look on his wizened face that said he knew something was up and he had recognized I needed a jump start. He kept my gaze for a few seconds longer and touched my arm lightly with his free hand. I gave him a small nod as he disappeared back into the party guests, a tray laden with full glasses of champagne balanced on one hand, and then I turned and went in search of the man behind the Batman, running my fingers nervously through my hair as I moved and listening to the discussion on the police radio which was becoming more and more frantic. I wished I could have taken the bud out of my ear, but that would be me neglecting my job.
I found Bruce over by the far wall, with Blue, Pink and Yellow draped over his arms, pawing at him and trying to steal kisses. There was another glass of "champagne"—actually ginger ale—in his hand and his dopey grin was on his face, even as his eyes kept drifting to where Rachel was chatting with Harvey. As soon as his eyes caught mine, however, and he took in the look on my face, or what I assumed the look on my face was, the dopey grin faltered. It was back a second later, bigger than before. He detached himself from the model-shaped growths and made his way through the crowd towards me, standing close enough that he had to warp an arm around my waist to make the pose look natural. Behind his back, the models shot me nasty looks, Blue crossing her arms under her chest and giving me what I understand is called a bitch stare.
"What is it?" he whispered, mouth close to my ear.
My fear of the Joker kept my feelings for Bruce interfering; if I hadn't been afraid, I would have turned bright red and had a hard time standing that close to Bruce. All that electricity would be running through my body. As it was, even terrified, I was a little pleased to be standing that close to him. "They identified the DNA on that card—Judge Surillo, Commissioner Loeb and Harvey Dent," I said quietly, turning my head so my lips were near his ear. I pulled back from Bruce, just enough to look into his eyes, and we shared a moment of understanding.
"Come on," he said, wrapping his fingers around my wrist almost tight enough to hurt.
He dragged me away. I had no idea where he was taking me or why. We proceeded across the floor, and it wasn't until we rounded the corner into a smaller sitting room and a short hallway and I saw Rachel and Harvey that I realized Bruce must have seen them head off in this direction beforehand. Gotham's resident vigilante didn't miss much. Without waiting for either of them to see him, Bruce dropped my wrist and wrapped his arms around Harvey's head, putting the blond man into a sleeper hold and knocking him unconscious.
"What are you doing?" Rachel whispered harshly as Bruce dragged Harvey back into a closet. Her face was full of shock and a little bit of horror.
It was a note to how freaked out I was that Rachel's displeasure wasn't enjoyable to me.
I never claimed I wasn't vindictive sometimes.
I didn't see what happened next however, because the piece in my ear crackled to life with reports of an explosion near Judge Surillo's house and an ambulance headed to the Commissioner's office at city hall. I bit off a scream as microphone static ripped through my head and then another scream as I got confirmation that the other two targets were dead. The feedback hurt, being so close to my eardrum, and I almost double over, a sudden headache blossoming to life behind my eyes. A shotgun blast went off somewhere behind me and I had to bite my lip to keep from screaming again; the concussion made my headache worse, but that was the farthest thought from my mind.
The Joker was here.
In the penthouse.
Feet away from me.
"What the hell is going on?" Rachel asked, her dark eyes finding mine.
I turned and looked at her for a moment, somehow managing to still look put-together in the floor-length navy gown when I was sure I looked as frazzled as I felt, and I could feel my eyes narrowing slightly into that serious set. "The Joker just killed Judge Surillo and the Commissioner somehow," I said flatly.
It was like a lightbulb went off over Rachel's head. Her eyes went wide and her mouth formed a small O in astonishment and alarm. "And he's after Harvey." Rachel kept my gaze for a moment longer before casting it towards the closet where Harvey lay crumpled, and then she headed back towards the main room of the penthouse, her face determined and her hands balled into fists at her sides; even the way her dress swished around her legs was angry. I knew what she was thinking: getting the Joker out of the penthouse sooner meant that her and Harvey could get away quicker and I guessed she wanted to be far away from Bruce at the moment.
Knowing Bruce would be mad at me if I didn't at least try to stop her, I followed Rachel, even though it was against my better judgement. I had to fight back another scream, this one frustrated more than scared.
I didn't want to get any closer to the Joker, but I did.
The scene waiting for me after I managed to fight my way to the front of the crowd was enough to bring me to dead stop, my mouth hanging open and the fear tightening its ice cold hands around my heart and lungs and apparently, my muscles. The Joker, his purple suit and white makeup harsh under the lights of the room, had Rachel in his grasp, a knife hovering in front of her mouth, poised to scar her face in the same way his was. He was talking, but I couldn't hear the words. I dropped my gaze to the bright green hem of my dress, but then brought it back up, just in time to catch Rachel's eyes. She was terrified and there was nothing I could do. I tried to tell her with my eyes that I would try and find something, but that was the moment Batman made his appearance, dispatching several of the Joker's goons and fending off a knife attack from the man himself within the next few moments, all before I could even really move again.
I felt like a useless idiot.
"Let her go," he demanded in his baritone growl as the Joker pulled Rachel back into his arms. She had used the distraction of the fight to try and escape.
"Poor choice of words."
I watched with horror as the Joker pointed a gun and shot out the window directly behind him and walked back towards it. There was a supremely evil grin on his face. I knew what he was going to do and I saw it all happen as if it was in slow motion, but I couldn't move fast enough to do anything. My body still wouldn't respond. The Joker tossed Rachel out the window like she weighed nothing at all and she screamed shrilly as she slid down the sloped side of the building, hands reaching back as if for a rope or for the hands of the man she knew and I knew would be there. I have to admit that as Batman threw himself out the window after Rachel, I almost followed. I took several quick steps towards the window, but a hand grabbed my upper arm and kept me from making the dumbest mistake of my life.
It was Alfred again, apparently assigned to keeping me moving throughout the night and to keep me alive.
"Ms. Black," was all he said, his voice calm even as the current scourge of Gotham and his goons harassed the guests. It was just my name, but it was enough to bring me back.
I snapped into motion and started for the door. I wanted to get down to the street and I wanted to do it fast, before Bruce could take off as Batman on patrol.
Police sirens cut through the night, and I knew they were coming here. Someone had managed to call the cops in the midst of everything and I cursed myself for not thinking of that myself; I cursed myself for being afraid and for letting that fear get the best of me. For some reason—maybe they didn't want to deal with all the cops they were sending, or maybe they didn't want to take the chance that Batman would reappear, or maybe the Joker just didn't want to take that next step yet, I don't know—the Joker and his goons hit the staircase, leaving terrified and traumatized guests in their wake.
I, on the other hand, had stopped moving. If the police were coming, Bruce would be gone, and I didn't want to risk running into the Joker and his goons again. Instead, I settled against the wall, trying to ignore my reflection in some surface to my right. I did indeed look frazzled and worried and I couldn't seem to get my eyes to stop being so wide.
"Ellie!" came a shriek I'd been waiting to hear all night.
I stepped away from the wall and turned just in time to catch my Mom and she threw herself at me, hugging me tighter than she ever had, her hands scrambling for purchase as clearly she had thought her only daughter had met her end this night. My Dad was right behind her, his green eyes full of relief. "I'm okay," I said. "I'm fine, but I've got to go and make sure Bruce is okay."
Naomi pushed herself back from me and gave me a severely disapproving look. "It is not your responsibility to make sure Bruce is okay," she said sternly.
"If I might interrupt," Alfred said. "I asked Eleanor to check on Bruce as I attend to the other party guests."
Liam looked from Alfred to me and then placed a hand on Naomi's shoulder and pulled her back from me. "Honey, Ellie's fine. Why don't we head home now?" He looked at me and I said a silent thank you with my eyes, because I knew that my father knew something more was up. "Eleanor, call us when you get home, okay?"
I nodded and pushed past my parents, telling them I loved them even as I pulled away from Naomi's hands. It hurt part of me to leave my parents like that, but the larger, less rational part that had been dominating my life pretty much since Bruce had returned to Gotham was concerned only with making sure Bruce was in one piece after the leap he'd taken; I hadn't heard or seen any sign of the grappling hook and he hadn't reappeared in the penthouse, so I was more than a little worried.
"You know where I'll be," I said to Alfred as I passed.
"I do Miss Black."
I made it to the Batbunker in record time since I didn't take the time to change. I didn't remember the drive at all. I found myself sitting on my stool in front of the monitors, still in my bright green party dress with my hair still done and my makeup still on, although smudged. I had kicked the shoes off somewhere behind me and the jewellery I'd been wearing was scattered on the desk to me left, mingled in with the batarangs and papers and pens. The headset was on, semi-tangled in my red-brown hair, but I didn't care about that at the moment and I was glaring at one of the batarangs in substitute for the person I wanted to glare at.
"You jumped out a God damned, motherfucking window!" I barked into the microphone as I slammed one fist on the desk. It hurt but it gave me some semblance of satisfaction.
"We're fine," Bruce growled. I could tell he was mad, but I wasn't sure if he was mad at me or if I was just convenient for him to be angry at in that moment.
"Oh don't growl at me! You sound like you swallowed a fucking wrench." I put my head in my hands and screamed wordlessly, aiming the projection away from the microphone. The stress of the evening had hit me all at once.
"Eleanor," he said, and I knew he was somewhere away from prying ears. He never said my name over the headset unless he was sure no one was going to hear. Something about not wanting to endanger my life. "I am fine. Rachel is fine. She's going to get Harvey and then go home and I'm going on patrol. Go home and get some rest. I don't need you tonight," he snapped.
I paused and let his words wash over me.
He didn't need me.
Head still in my hands, my shoulders sagged and I sighed heavily, letting every second of that rough noise hit the microphone near my mouth. "Fine," I said and then I pulled off the headset and switched off the receiver, determined at least to have the last word in this argument. "Damn it," I swore at the air around me. "DAMN IT!" I pushed myself off the stool, grabbed a handful of my costume jewels and other desk paraphernalia and chucked the mismatched objects as hard as I could at the concrete floor, the loud clatter insufficient to quell my anger and frustration. I scowled at the floor, glared at the Tumbler and then retrieved my things and stomped from the bunker, kicking the wheel of the damn tank as I passed, screaming when it hurt my foot.
However, I was not gone for long.
Around five in the morning, my phone started ringing. Okay, it wasn't strictly speaking my phone, it was my Bruce's assistant's phone, so, best I was able, I put on my assistant face, rolled over in bed and grabbed the stupid black device. I hadn't slept at all; I'd tossed and turned, my emotions keeping me awake, so being cheerful would require quite the effort. "Eleanor Black, how may I help you?"
"Hello Ms. Black. This is Elaine Rigby with the Gotham Herald."
I pulled the phone away from my face so I could groan loudly. I had been expecting this, but still wasn't ready for it: reporters flocking, hunting, searching for any facts, rumours, anything about the attack at the penthouse the night before. "Ms. Rigby, Mr. Wayne is not available for comment and he will not be available for comment any time soon. I apologize." And I hung up the phone. I'm not the nicest person in the morning, regardless of how hard I may try.
Since I was officially awake, I decided to get on with my day. I pulled myself out of bed and, grumbling the whole way, showered and changed, putting next to no effort into my appearance: my favourite and most worn pair of jean shorts and a baggy Gotham University t-shirt. I brushed my hair, pulled it back into a ponytail, took Blaze for a quick walk, and then made for the Batbunker, coffee in hand and my stomach grumbling loudly, begging for food that I wasn't sure I had an appetite for. I was still worked up from the night before and my assistant phone kept ringing with reporters, talk show hosts, anyone and everyone clambering for information about Bruce and the attack and the woman who had been thrown from the window.
On the way to the temporary Batcave, I picked up Bruce's dry cleaning—because I'd said I'd do it and it was technically my job—and grabbed a very large, very sugary piece of cake because if I was going to eat anything, it was going to be bad for me and I was going to enjoy it. I was still irritable when the lift clicked into place and I was arguing with a particularly persistent reporter and I ignored the looks Bruce and Alfred gave me. I tossed the dry cleaning over the edge of the desk, plunked down on the stool between the men and tossed the phone angrily on the desk once the call had ended.
"What?" I snapped when I finally looked up at Bruce.
"Put these on."
He handed me a pair of heavy headphones and then turned to the rig he'd set up. I hadn't noticed it until now. I pulled the headphones on and found myself in blessed silence. Bruce nodded to Alfred, who keyed in a sequence and a large gun barrel on a cart moved into action, firing several very loud shots into bricks, all set up and waiting. I pulled the earmuff-like headphones off my head and watched Bruce examine each brick closely, finally selecting one he liked.
"What's all this about?" I asked as Bruce made his way back to the computer.
"Around dawn, the Joker sent a message of the police radio," he said. "He said we'd find Harvey Dent at Eighth and Orchard." Bruce turned and looked down at me, his hazel eyes serious and somehow, calming. I didn't feel as worked up anymore. "There were two dead men there, Patrick Harvey and Richard Dent. And along with a copy of tomorrow's paper with the mayor's obituary in it, I found a bullet in the brick. This," he gestured at the shooting rig behind him, but I cut him off before he could explain.
"It's forensic stuff, gotcha. I'm not really in the mood for explanations this morning, Bruce."
He just nodded and went about his business. I had to deal with another phone call.
After I had hung up and fought the urge to turn the phone off and just ignore the rest of the calls I was bound to get, Alfred settled himself beside me and asked, "I assume the events of last night are to blame for your less than chipper mood this morning, Ms. Black."
"Alfred," I huffed. "I didn't even think to call the police. And I just stood there." I slumped forward and buried my face in my folded arms. I felt a hand settle on my shoulder and I leaned into it. "What kind of vigilante assistant am I? What kind of person am I to just stand there and let that happen?" I was whining, and I felt a little childish, but that was the way I felt and I was tired, so I didn't really care that I sounded like a five year old throwing a tantrum. "I didn't even stay to make sure the guests got home okay."
"Eleanor," Bruce said, his voice above me and letting me know he was a lot closer than I had originally thought. I stiffened because I knew it was his hand on my back and not Alfred's like I had originally thought. And now I didn't have my fear to keep the all-too familiar electricity from running through my body. However, that feeling was surprisingly welcome now as it made me feel normal and less wound. "You didn't do anything wrong. No one was seriously injured and all the guests made it home perfectly fine, if a little shaken. And no one expected you to do anything." I finally looked up at him, his hand sliding along my shoulder to reach the back of my neck. He gave me a small smile that made me feel better. "Your mother phoned me twice last night to make sure you, Alfred and I were all okay."
That made me smile and I felt better. Oh, I was still tired, grumpy and frustrated, but my qualms didn't seem to matter so much anymore. "Everyone made it home all right?" I asked. Bruce nodded, and I said, "I bet Harvey wasn't too happy when Rachel got him out of that closet."
"I haven't talked to her since last night."
Bruce had turned back to his detective work, so I decided to change the topic to something he'd probably want to talk about. "So," I said. "What's next?"
"I would like you to take the scans of the bullets to Lucius so he can get started on them. Alfred and I are going to check on the manor while we have a moment."
I nodded. I had stopped asking if I could come and see the manor because the answer, for some reason or another, was always no. "All right... So what was so special about this bullet anyways?" I asked as I climbed off the stool. Alfred handed me my purse, which had evidently fallen on the floor, and my assistant's phone, which I grudgingly accepted.
"It was in the wall away from the dead men and out of any possible line of fire."
"So you're thinking it was planted?"
"I know it was planted."
I just nodded because there was nothing else I could do. Bruce obviously thought the bullet would yield some clue, and he was usually right, so there was nothing else to say. I retrieved the dry cleaning to drop off at the penthouse and exited the bunker, knowing I'd be back in a few hours, and feeling much better than I had when I'd awoken.
Author's Note.
Damn it, it's been forever since I updated. RUGG. Anyways, I'm going to be working on getting this one and Book Two of Monster Hospital done. Just whittling away at that list of fics... I will finish them! Eventually! I'll be posting the short follow ups to my Star Trek fic soon as well as starting one of my Mass Effect fics, but nothing too in depth until some of these other fics are done. I also might sporadically update my Harry Potter fic, but we'll see.
As of right now, there are seven or eight more chapters of this fic, but we'll see if it stays at that number, because we all know I have issues with keeping as many chapters as I planned. But I'll tell you something, I missed spending some time with Eleanor, so I hope you all missed her too. It felt good to be writing Batman again. Oddly enough, this fic feels like home. Is that weird? After Chances Are is done, I'll be finishing Joke's On You. And there will be lots more Batman around after that. I have a whole bunch planned.
By the way, Eleanor's little rant was inspired by the words of Wil Wheaton and someone one my history teachers said to me about Batman's growl. There will be more similar ranting in the chapters to come because ranting Eleanor is fun to write.
This whole chapter is from Eleanor's POV because I missed her.
Enjoy!
Next Chapter: Funeral; Rachel Named.