Author's Chapter Notes:
Somewhat graphic violence in this part, so I'll warn on principle.
Disclaimer: The Batman Universe characters belong to DC Comics, Captain Knauer belongs to whoever wrote The Longest Yard, and the OC's and the plot belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended, and I make no profit from this.
OOO
He was as good as his word.
He kept the conversation quite civil until time came for them to return inside. If anything, he was better than his word, sharing with her an amusing anecdote involving an Egyptian Asp accidentally loose in the men's locker room. Well, he found it amusing, though Harley imagined the others involved did not find it so. Nonetheless, it was the first information he had given her about his work in WD.
"I suppose, I see the humor in it, as long as no one got hurt."
"Moynihan got bit, actually."
"Oh my god."
"Oh, they all thought it was a big deal, as well. But it was just a little bite, and besides, I had made another batch of anti-venom just the day before."
She frowned.
"It sounds as though you had something to do with the… 'accident', Captain."
"Funny, that's what they said, too. Have I told you this story before? Anyway, I thought they just didn't like me." He smirked briefly, before continuing. "It was curious… there was a ventilation shaft just above her tank, oddly enough, it led straight to his locker. How was I to know that, Doctor? A most unfortunate coincidence for Colonel Moynihan and myself."
"What exactly were you doing with an Egyptian Asp in your laboratory?"
"Ah, you see, at the time I was dealing with venoms, toxins…mm… neurotoxins, biological weapons if you will, in my work, and I must say, if you're looking to avoid people there's no quicker way to do that than work in a room with 172 species of venomous snakes and spiders! It was my job to synthesize the venoms, and from there, isolate the various effects, the various characteristics that we wanted, from the rest. I could take out a seizure here, loss of motor function there, and once, I even found a way to make the tiniest wound fatal. Brown recluse venom, highly concentrated, chemical structure altered slightly so we could use it as a coating. It would trigger an advanced state of necrosis almost instantaneously.
"We tried it on bullets, but it had a nasty habit of gumming up the muzzle, and you have to take care of your weapons, you know, so the real practical application came with blades. I only got to use it once myself, oh, but you feel like such a proud parent when you get to see your little darling in action. There was this fellow, I remember he looked quite disheveled, had his uniform untucked. I stabbed him in the kidneys, and he went down just screaming, and they usually scream, but he was really just wailing away, like it was the worst thing he'd ever felt, and it attracted a lot of attention, but five minutes later, all I had to do was just touch once and I was staring between his ribs, through to his heart! Everything just… rotted away… Fascinating work, really, completely worth the trouble he brought me."
He gave an ecstatic laugh, eyes darting back to hers as though to share in her enjoyment of the story. Harley tried not to look as nauseous as she felt, but she had no idea whether she had succeeded. His expression didn't let her know either way. For the majority of the soldier's she had met over her life, killing was an unfortunate condition of military service. For the Captain, it might have been the only condition. He loved what he did, and above all, he was good at what he did.
Was there any saving a soul that didn't want the rescue?
"Oh, darling," he crooned, and she could almost imagine for a moment the thing across from her was human. "Don't look at me like that, you make a man feel like a stranger. You're acting as though I've revealed some frightening new truth, but I never hid it. Have no illusions, Harley, this is what I am. Have always been. There was no convenient point in time when the change was made, there is no work to be reversed. The only reason you have been privy to such information as you have, is because you already know your man through and through. I knew, the instant I laid eyes on you… something different, from all the rest…. I looked in your eyes and I saw myself. Destined, Harley, you'll find some things just are destined to be. You'll learn, pooh, I'll show you."
OOO
She must have looked discomfited the minute she entered the hospital, she certainly felt pale and frightened. She did not know whether it was the stress of having to guard him, the stress of their encounter, or the horrible notions that sprang with his last statement. It had to be an out and out lie, something he concocted just to get beneath her skin, throw her off balance, send her reeling. Make her unable to defend herself. She could share nothing with this man, this demon that masqueraded in human skin.
And what was happening? Had been happening? He was manipulating her, but she was choosing to respond! He set the trap, but she put her foot into the noose time and time again. She had to get a hold of herself! How could she have ever looked upon him as anything else? He was a killer, a murderer, cold blooded and calculated. All of his titles, his degrees, his achievements, none of that altered the truth. He was a legalized mercenary, a leashed lunatic, a god-damned psychopath with rank.
She felt like crying, and must have looked just upset enough in her musings to set off Captain Knauer… though she imagined that was a little like jumping on a log that was already sawn half through.
"What in the fuck was that? You think you're funny, some kind of fucking clown!? Do you think this is a game?"
"Yanno, I've had just about enough of you pushy fucks calling me that."
"Captain!" She screamed, but she had no idea which man she was speaking to. One moment, Knauer had his forearm pressed over Jack's throat, screaming in his face, the next, he was falling face-first into the wall with a sickening crack, and Harley was screaming instead, because the Captain was coming for her.
This time she remembered the gun, quickly pulling it from beneath her jacket, leveling it at his head, but somehow he had already seen the movement. Time sped to a blur, his hands were headed for her wrists, she shifted her weight, ducked beneath his grasp, sidestepped, felt the gun spinning in her hands as she reversed the arc of her arms and brought the butt of the pistol down hard into the back of his skull as he crossed beside her. Already over-balanced, the downward blow sent him sprawling onto his hands and knees.
"Ow!" he cried, but the absurd sound was shaking with laughter as rivulets of blood leaked down his face. She'd busted him open, but he sounded as pained and amused as a child with a scraped knee.
Her eyes darted to Knauer, who was shaking his head, unsteadily trying to make it to his feet. He was bleeding as well, from somewhere in his hair-line. It took less than a second to recognize, note these things, but it was a second too long. A solid weight hit her in the knees, lifting and scooping, and she hit the concrete hard enough to force the breath out of her. For the second time today she fought to breathe, and she heard faintly the sound of the Glock skittering along the floor of the hallway as he knocked it from her hand and, all adrenaline, no oxygen, they both scrambled for it.
Her hands nearly closed around it when his hand found her collar, wrenching backward so hard she heard the fabric tear. He slammed her into the floor again, and the world disappeared into flashes of black and white as she felt the back of his hand connect with her jaw and the crushing weight of his knee in her stomach.
She fell in and out of an oppressive darkness, flashes of movement, the sound of heavy breathing, a click as he hit the safety. She couldn't get her eyes to focus, she could hear the thud of her heart in her ears and she did not know whether she was truly seeing this as she watched the Captain again kneeling over a prone body. Reality reasserted itself, this wasn't a nightmare, as he did not bow his head. Knauer had been unable to make his feet, and the Captain now had him pinned, and she watched in muted horror as he pressed the barrel directly between his eyes.
"I'll say this just once, if you ever lay another hand on me, I'll pull the eyes out of your fucking head, and I'll feed them to you, do you understand me?"
He was waiting for an answer, and finally Harley heard a low, "Yes."
There was a series of loud clatters as the gun fell to pieces: he'd dismantled it with little more than a flick of his wrist, and then sent the pieces skidding down the hallway, raising himself out of the kneel smoothly, shortly after that. Her screams had attracted attention, and the orderlies' (who knew how long they had been there) balls had apparently finally dropped, because they sprang into action, securing with zip-ties the hands of the man who was now standing, harmless as a lamb, between them. Harley carefully wiped at the thin line of blood and spittle that had leaked from the corner of her mouth. There was a molar that wiggled when she pressed her tongue into it.
The whole encounter had taken less than three minutes.
"Take him to his room. Lock him in." she croaked, hoarse from shouting, her stomach aching, and they quickly complied. He held her gaze until they finally dragged him around the corner.
Fifteen minutes later, she found herself back in the women's locker room with who she was quickly beginning to find was the third most infuriating man in the hospital, after perhaps Standen, and definitely Jack.
"I'm fine," he growled.
"You're bleeding all over the place!"
"The head always bleeds a lot!"
"Regardless, I think you need stitches, and beyond that, there could be a concussion, even a fracture."
"I've had worse."
She rolled her eyes in disgust at the typical male posturing.
"Oh no, this isn't that bad, it's when your brain starts swelling uncontrollably and starts crushing itself against the inside of your skull, that's when we'll see how tough you really are, Captain."
He made a disgusted sound himself, but seemed to submit to her ministrations. The split in his scalp was some two inches long, but she had a hard time telling with the blood matting hair over it. She grabbed a square of gauze and poured a bit of the peroxide on it, dabbing gingerly at the gash, then wiping a bit, pulling the hair out of the wound. He hissed indignantly, and she snorted.
"You big baby. I bet your wife hates to see you coming with any injuries."
The silence between them seemed very awkward for a moment before he finally spoke.
"I'm not married."
"But you have a…" she pointed to his left hand, but she could already see from this close that what she had mistaken for a wedding band was actually a tattoo. "Oh," she finished lamely, and he followed her gaze, flexing his hand almost self-consciously.
"I was once… she died about six years ago."
"I'm sorry… I wasn't going to ask."
"But you were wondering," he said simply. She frowned softly, and turned her attention again to his scalp. Her attentions had removed the early clotting, and the flow began anew as she pulled the last of the blonde strands away from the exposed tissue. She quickly grabbed a square of gauze and pressed it to his head, grabbing his hand and laying it over it.
"If you're not going to get stitches, at least let me put some glue on it."
He scoffed.
"You people kill me with that shit… Guy comes in all ripped up, and you glue him back together."
"Or sew," she continued, "or clamp, or pin, sometimes even staple them back together."
"Funny how you inflict further damage in the name of healing."
Harley cast him an amused glance, pulling several butterfly tapes from the interior of the first aid kit.
"All doctors and nurses are sadists to a degree, Captain Knauer. In the name of help or healing it may be, but it takes a special person to hold a scalpel and slice through layers of skin and muscle, or to puncture the skin with a needle, and not necessarily a normal one."
"You know, that doesn't make me feel so easy, working around here," he drawled flatly, and she laughed.
"It's just a word. You become immune to it, to a point; human pain and suffering no longer bother you that much. They might not enjoy inflicting pain, but they do inflict it, and without a second's hesitation. Their job is to save lives…. Often, regardless of the quality of life they're saving."
"Does it bother you anymore?" She made a considering sound, pulling back the gauze to see how much they had managed to stem the flow. He lowered his hand to join the other upon his thighs, held stiffly just above the knee.
"I try not to let it bother me. Did it bother you to shoot a criminal when you were a policeman?" She arched an eyebrow.
"It never stopped bothering me. I'll never forget a single man I killed, not their names and not their faces. The instant I stop thinking of them as human, I'm no better than they were." She nodded, and she thought of how the Captain also remembered. Now she knew it was for a very different reason. She uncapped the tube of liquid suture, and finally noted he had looked surprised upon her asking.
"Nurses gossip, Captain, and you'd be terrified to learn how resourceful some of them are at discovering things that were previously unknown."
"You saying you've heard a lot about me?"
"I'm saying I've heard a lot about just about everyone who lives or works within these walls. I've not heard your life story, mind you, but some people like to learn the basic information about their co-workers."
"Buncha damn busybodies," he muttered, and she had to laugh at him again, gingerly filling the furrow in his scalp with the medical adhesive, carefully pressing it together as she used her hands to keep his hair parted and away from the glue. She blew softly on it to speed the drying, and he grimaced noticeably.
"Sorry," she offered quietly, and a few soft breaths later the glue began to solidify, closing over the wound and holding it together like an artificial patch of skin. She carefully placed a few tiny butterfly tapes in case the glue didn't hold, and stepped away after a final glance at her handiwork. It was a passable attempt.
"You might wanna wash your face. You look like an extra from a slasher flick."
She sank slowly onto the bench he had previously occupied as he stood and walked over to the sink, peering into the mirror. There was a nasty swollen spot beneath the gash, and already the bruise was creeping down onto his forehead.
"Captain Knauer," she began.
"My name's Wilhelm," he interrupted as he wiped at his face with a damp paper towel.
"Wilhelm," she tried again, "It'd… be in my best interest if… the Colonel didn't hear about this."
"You want me to keep my mouth shut."
She sighed. "I didn't quite mean that."
"But it's what it boils down to, when you take away the pleasantries."
"If it were discovered he attacked a member of the staff…. I could lose my job over this."
"You're not the only one," he replied simply, and the rest of the conversation hung between them, unstated but understood.
"So what about you? This guy oughta be locked up, but you're still gonna have to see him every week?"
"Four times a week," she corrected, tiredly.
"Jesus, like that makes it any better. It's dangerous, is the point." He surprised her with his vehemence.
"So is being a soldier, a policeman, a security guard. I could be hit by a car while crossing the street tomorrow. Life is dangerous."
"That's no reason to throw yourself in the snake pit." He glared at her, and she shook her head wearily.
"At this point, I haven't a choice."
"He doesn't have any power over you, Harleen." She was startled by the use of her name, momentarily shocked silent. The Sergeant-Major had not introduced them by name… she had not given him hers.
"It's not Captain Napier who holds the threat over me… Wilhelm," she said after a long moment.
"The Colonel?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," she nodded, and gave him a weak smile. "You put the pieces together easily."
"Always was good at puzzles," he said with a shrug.
OOO
There wasn't a single part of her that wasn't aching somehow. Some of that was her fault, but some of it not… then again, maybe all of it was. It was getting difficult to tell, these days.
The day went on with the slow dragging of minutes and the quick ticking of the second hand as patient after patient streamed through her door. She tried to give them all her full attention, but she was so tired, and by the time 5 o'clock came she felt like a zombie. She stared at the clock for a very long time, watching the minute hand move from 12 to 1, 1 to 2.
You'll have to come to my room tonight to retrieve it.
Did she dare? The minute hand made it to 3, and she knew she couldn't wait any longer or she'd miss her bus. It would take an hour for the next one to come through. She sighed, shoving her glasses onto her head and scrubbing at her face, a tic that was rapidly becoming ever-present the longer she had to deal with the Captain. She gathered her things, briefcase and purse, and headed out of her office, after a moment's thought locking the door behind her. It took 5 minutes to make it to his room, ten minutes to go, she thought. There was an unfamiliar guard stationed at his door.
"I'm sorry, Doctor, Captain Knauer said I'm not to let anybody through."
"I'm sure he didn't mean me, this man is my patient."
"He said especially you, Doctor."
"I have… something… I have to pick up from him."
"The box?"
"What?" she blinked at him, utterly clueless.
"He said the same thing, weird fuck, that he had something for you. I said I'd leave it for you, and he said he 'supposed' that would have to do. What a freak, man…"
You have no idea, Harley thought with little humor, but, "Where is it?" was what she said.
"I put it in the nurse's station. Janine has it."
"Thank you," she peered at his nametag briefly. "David."
"Yeah, sure," he shrugged.
She turned a corner, walked past many closed and open doors, turned again, and finally ended at her destination. She knew the nurse behind the desk, Janine, she had a chubby face that was infinitely happy, and Harley envied her that inner peace at this moment.
"Janine… the… security guard, David, he said there was a… box… here for me?"
"Oh yeah," she said brightly, bending in her chair and pulling something out from under the desk. It was a FedEx box, heavy, Harley noted, about twenty-five pounds, she would guess. She took it carefully, almost opened it, but thought better of it. She had no idea what it contained. With Jack, the possibilities were endless, and many of them were bad.
"Thank you, Janine," she said quietly, and walked off, unwilling to be trapped in conversation by the gabby brunette.
The box weighed heavily on her lap the entire length of the bus ride home. It weighed even heavier on her mind as she set it in the entryway by the front door, and tried to forget that it was there.