Disclaimer: I don't own The Dark Knight, only this plot.
Chapter Thirty-Two: Bruce
The season of giving has come to Gotham's socialites, once again.
And once again, my penthouse is the place to be. Fine champagne, music to dance to, people to flirt with—my party has it all…with the bonus of a gift exchange—from me to the guests, and vice versa. I even went so far as to have the waiters bearing hors d'oeuvres in Santa and elf outfits. I find the lack of waitresses a little surprising—but then, gender isn't the defining trait, it's competence.
And so far, competence does not appear to be the watchword for certain waiters. I've had several kicked out after they spilled food on several of my guests.
I walk among my guests, make idle chatter, but I'm more focused on staying alert for anything out of the ordinary. Everything seems all right, but doesn't feel right…
I try to keep myself from seeing purple suits and red lipstick-adorned scars everywhere I turn. It's been happening a lot lately—since I burned down that old hotel. Even though I promised myself I wouldn't think of him again, my mind still goes back to Joker.
I've known in the back of my mind that no matter what I do, I'll always have to encounter him again. After all, Joker's made it perfectly clear that he intends for Gotham to be his, even though it's my city. Our nights together kept the balance in check. And now…
Now is not the time for worries. Tonight I plan to forget him for a few hours…at least for a little while longer.
"What do you think, Coleman?" I ask, as Coleman Reese looks up from his champagne and looks up at me, surprised. "Feeling the holiday spirit?"
"Sure, Bruce," Coleman stammers, and the busty redhead beside him giggles into her glass. "It's one hell of a party."
"So when're we going to get our rewards for being good boys and girls, Brucie?" an old flame—Becky, I think—asks, her blond hair tumbling into her low cut dress. "I'm getting a little tired of waiting."
"In a little while," I reply, giving her my most plastic smile. "I'm sure you'll occupy yourself until then."
"Bruce!" Jenny calls, waving her long hand to get my attention. She looks good in her red heels and so-called "Happy Holidays" dress. Her blonde hair is tied up in an elegant bun, but it seems the champagne is getting to her.
"Hi, Jenny," I say with a smile, walking over to her and taking her hand. She is a more-than-welcome distraction. "Having fun?"
"Definitely," she says, a hint of breathlessness in her voice as she looks at me. "You look great, as always."
"Thanks." I run my hand absentmindedly through my hair. The music changes to a slow, Christmas love song. "Want to dance?"
Jenny nods and takes my hand, and together we move across the ballroom floor, mingling with the other happy couples. I wish Rachel and I—or Rachel and Harvey—had a chance to do this, had a chance to be carefree for once. But by this point, I'll take what happiness I can get.
We dance through another slow song, then have to take a break. We move toward a small, uninhabited corner of the room to chat for a bit. Jenny suddenly rubs her arm nervously, a small frown on her face.
"Is something wrong?" I ask, feeling worried.
Jenny offers me a shaky smile. "No, I'm fine. Just…a little overwhelmed, that's all."
Alfred walks over to us, a small smile on his face.
"Enjoying yourself, Master Bruce?"
"Very much," I reply, resting my hand comfortably on Jenny's arm. She nods happily.
"It's time for the gift exchange, sir. Best not keep anyone waiting."
"Right." Jenny and I walk toward the pile of presents arm and arm to polite applause.
I thank everyone for coming to my "little gathering", and start handing out the gifts. New mp3 players, cameras, tickets to various games, tickets to tropical islands, jewelry…the guests eat it up like Gotham's poor eat rotting trash. With every brownnosing "thanks so much", I feel my stomach recoil a little more.
There's a crash as another waiter drops a plate of gingerbread kebabs, spoiling the party atmosphere. Thankfully I keep my composure, and hand Jenny her gift (a ticket for two for the new museum exhibit) and Alfred ushers the waiter out.
In between this, I receive gifts too—mostly the same things, things I don't really need, things none of us really need. It's all a show, all a game, a game I don't want to play.
Suddenly, in the middle of accepting the latest gift (diamond cufflinks), I see one of the servers staring at me. He's an elf for the evening—decked out in green, with a charming pointed green hat and red tights and yellow pixie boots. His eyes are anything but eager-to-please, however. There's an eerie light in those dark eyes, a light that I recognize instantly. In fact, I recognize him instantly.
I gesture for the fake-waiter-elf to come to me. He lopes over, white teeth trying to disguise an eager grin, still balancing his tray of gingerbread cookies on the tips of his fingers like a professional.
"Cookie?" Thomas Schiff asks, his eyes filled with a manic gleam.
"Yes." I take a cookie and chew reflectively, scanning the room for other suspicious persons. "Thank you."
My worst fears are confirmed—all of the servers are giving me barely-concealed looks of amusement.
I gesture for Schiff to stay there while I go through the other presents, thanking each socialite in turn. Finally, the party's over, and Alfred ushers everyone toward the exit.
Including the waiters.
I rush to the elevator, quickly whispering to Alfred of the new threat as I go. I zip down, and get on my motorbike, following the lime-green truck filled with giggling madmen.
We pass through busy intersections packed with red and green lights, Christmas carols blurring into white noise. I'm tailing the truck perfectly…
…Until my cell phone rings.
I pick up as I pass a swanky hotel. "Bruce Wayne." My eyes are still on the truck.
"Hi, Bruce," Jenny says sweetly. "I was wondering if tomorrow afternoon we could go out for lunch. Maybe at Pasquale's?"
"Sure." I smile in spite of myself. "I'll be there."
"Great! Thanks a bunch. Merry Christmas, Bruce!"
"And a happy New Year." I hang up, only to have my phone ring again. Irritated, I pick up: "Bruce—"
"Hiiiiiiii, Batsy. Were the boys good tonight? I'd hate to have, ah, caused you trouble or something."
The truck passes through the intersection, and I follow at a safe distance.
I growl. "Joker, I don't have time—"
"Ooooooh yes you do. Y'know, you really should be going after the guy responsible." I can hear Joker licking his lips on the other end. "Get a little of that blandness out of your night, right?"
"Where are you," I growl.
"I'll give you directions. We have a lot of catching up to do…"
I watch as the truck's taillights vanish into the night.
