AN: Y'know, I realize it's my own damn fault: I've been doing writing in the doc manager because it's convenient. But dammit, what a time for my login to expire just as I hit "save" for a huge chunk of text. And just when I solved the scroll problem too. :P Oh, well, I wasn't entirely satisfied with what I wrote anyway; maybe I can do it better the second time around. :/
"You're different." The young blonde wearing the white facepaint, domino mask, and black-and-red spandex outfit cocked her head and stared at Batman in something that resembled thoughtfulness. "You're not like before. You're not as confident."
The air in the abandoned warehouse seemed to turn cold. Batman couldn't help but swallow. She was right, goddamn her. It was easy to forget when listening to her prattle or fighting the insane schemes of her precious "Mister J," but Harley Quinn was a trained observer of human nature. Born with the rather improbable name of Brittany Harleen Pierce-Quinzel, she found success as a cheerleader, gymnast, and psychology student. Though somewhat bubble-headed and book-dumb, her insight into the nature of the mind was almost savant-level, enough to earn her doctorate and her ticket to work at Arkham Asylum. There she met her ultimate challenge: the Joker. Determined to make her name by curing him (or at least understand his psychosis well enough to write a bestseller about it), she dove straight into the arms of her doom. The Joker, for all his insanity, was a student of the human soul himself; he saw a kindred spirit in her, and exploited it for all it was worth. Twisting her mind, he reshaped her into his disciple, his sidekick, his desperately in love hanger-on. What a waste.
"Where is he?" Batman asked flatly.
"Something happened, didn't it?" She paused for a moment in consideration. "You were hurt. And not just by the Scarecrow either, the big dummy."
Batman bit back a sarcastic remark, unsure whether her pun was intentional or not. "The Joker, Harley."
"He's busy," Harley replied casually. "I asked him to get some more nicotine patches for Lord Tubbington." She frowned down at the hyena sitting casually at her side. "No more Skype for you until you stop stinking up everything with smoke!" she cried, wagging her finger. Lord Tubbington yawned.
"I don't have time for this." He stepped forward menacingly, a simple act that would've sent most men (and women, for that matter) cowering; Harley merely blinked. "If you tell me where the Joker is, maybe I can do your friend Poison Ivy a favor..."
Harley frowned. "You put Santana into Arkham again. That wasn't very nice."
"She's not very nice."
"Nope!" Harley said brightly. "That's why we like each other. I just wish she and Mister J got along better..."
"Why don't you take me to see him? I can convince him to give her a little respect." The words sounded absurd even to him, but why not? One could never tell Harley Quinn's moods; perhaps this was one of her flightier moments.
It wasn't; she glared at him in something stronger than annoyance, but not as intense as hate. "That was really weak, Batman. What kind of girl do you think I am?" With that, she whipped out a squirt gun and fired.
Batman dodged the stream as if it were a bullet. Odds were that the squirt gun was filled with the Joker's tried and true venom; even skin contact could be enough to send him into paroxysms of uncontrollable laughter, leaving him to die with a rictus grin on his face.
"Sic 'im, Lord Tubbington!" With a snarl, the hyena leaped. A step and a quick jab to the nose from Batman sent Lord Tubbington flying with a pitiful yelp. "Baby!" Harley cried out in horror. She shot Batman a vicious, hateful look. "That does it! You beat up my baby, lock up my friends, harass my puddin'..." She fired the squirt gun again and again, producing an unbroken stream of Joker venom that stained the concrete floor. Batman circled her carefully; despite her apparent lack of brains, despite her obsession and rage, she was definitely not someone to be underestimated. Anyone who could be the way she was and be so close to the Joker (and live more than fifteen minutes) was not someone to be taken lightly.
Batman dove for the comforting shadows. Crouching down into the darkness, he inched carefully away from his entrance point. Sweat was starting to run down his cheek. What the hell is wrong with me? Ever since he recovered from the Scarecrow's gas, he... No. He couldn't blame that, and he couldn't play dumb with himself either. He knew damn well what was distracting him.
"Yoo hoo! Batman!" Harley's voice called out in subtle echos; he could see her in the center of the room, squinting into the dark. "I thought you wanted to know where Mister J is! You know I'm not going to just lead you to him, no matter how well you follow me. So if you want to find him, you'd better talk to me!" Her voice turned into a girlish singsong in the last few words, not that Batman was fooled. He'd seen too many corpses, too much mayhem, to believe in her innocence anymore. Besides, with her legitimate psychology work stripped from her, he knew that this was her new method of personal manipulation, specifically designed by a keen mind to break down defenses, to lower guards.
Batman had had quite enough of lowering his guard.
"Or maybe I can help out!" she continued brightly. "You obviously need someone to talk to. If I had to guess..." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I'd say that you met someone. Someone who broke through that nice little mask you put up for yourself."
He didn't answer. What could he say?
Harley squealed, jumping and clapping her hands in glee. "I'm right, aren't I? You did! Batman is in lo-ve! Oh, that is so cute!" Her voice turned stern, professional; this is what she must've sounded like as a young, up-and-coming psychologist. "I knew because I believe in the power of love to shape and change the mind. After all, look at me!" Her voice turned girlish again. "Look at what knowing Mister J has made me! Free!" She whirled around. "You shouldn't be afraid of being free, Batman. Don't think I haven't wondered what makes you tick. Must be something pretty awful for you to be the way you are." She shook her head in something resembling sympathy.
This was getting to him. There was no way to deny that. The fact alone was disturbing; he thought (or at least he liked to think) he was immune to Harley's little mind games. But something about now, something about her, something about her words... He could feel them burrowing in. He willed his muscles to move, his throat to shut her up, tried to do something. Nothing happened.
"You're so serious," Harley continued. "Why? Mister J wonders, and I wonder too. You don't seem happy about this new development. That's just as puzzling." She began pacing, as if discussing options with a patient. Somewhere in the background, Lord Tubbington was stirring, shaking his head as he rose. "Mister J sometimes says that you probably have another cowl underneath the one you have now. But I know that's not true. You're someone else too, someone different. Are you afraid? Afraid that you won't be Batman anymore? Because that's silly. Or maybe..." Harley brightened, slamming a fist into her other hand. "That's it! You don't think this other person will love you back if she finds out you're Batman! Or maybe she already knows...
"But that's not all, is it? I get the feeling it's a lot more complicated than that. In my professional opinion, you need to open up lines of communication if you at all value this relationship. Because believe me, I could tell. Not everyone has my training, of course, but I could definitely tell."
She has a point. Again, that chill up his spine. The fact that he could even think that in the first place was a sign of how far this was going, how far it had already gone. He couldn't be weak. Batman could not be weak. And if Harley Quinn could tell he was off his game... Well, there was no limit to the people who'd want to take advantage, nor to the ways they could do it. If nothing else, he needed to figure things out for himself; leaving things in a precarious limbo was not doing anything for his sleep or his general peace of mind. Even if it was difficult, hadn't he faced worse challenges?
But this was worse than having his life in danger. He would actually have to live with whatever happened.
It was only at that moment that he looked about and realized that Harley Quinn had disappeared. While he was lost in his thoughts, she and Lord Tubbington had quietly slipped out without him even noticing. Swearing under his breath, he stood, his fists clenched, jaw set in determination. Yes, he'd definitely have to face this head on, no matter what happened. For his sake. And for Kurt's...
The knock was quiet, almost hesitant, but Kurt's trained ears picked it up easily. As his hand brushed against the doorknob, instinct (that finely honed sense that told him when the security guard was starting to stir, or whether that window was alarmed) told him who was on the other side, no matter how much of a surprise it was to his conscious mind. He opened the door, and found that once again, instinct had not betrayed him. David Karofsky's face was a mix of discomfort, sadness, and... shame, perhaps? It was hard to tell; the situation was as complex as their lives, and no matter what happened, it would take some minor miracles to straighten it all out.
"Come in," Kurt said quietly. He watched David enter, and shut the door behind him. The two men sat on opposite ends of a curved sofa. Looking at David now, it was hard to tell that this was the famed Batman; he was leaning forward, forearms on his knees, hands worrying at each other. One could've assumed that this was part of his act (and Kurt now knew that much, if not all, of David Karofsky's public persona had to be an act), but instinct (there it went again) told him it wasn't, not now. Knowing that David felt something akin to what Kurt was feeling at that moment was oddly comforting.
They were silent for long moments - natural, considering that this was the first time they'd laid eyes on each other, never mind communicated, since that night at Emma Pillsbury's office. Kurt decided to be the first to speak. "So he told you."
David looked up, his eyes bright with emotion. Once more, if Kurt hadn't known for a fact that this was Batman sitting in front of him, he never would've believed it. "Yes. But I already knew. I figured it out."
"Oh, right, World's Greatest Detective." Kurt tried to smile, but it felt false on his face. David's eyes fell to the floor again. "I..." What was I about to do? Kurt thought. What the hell could I say? "I'm sorry for looking at your face and finding out you're Batman?" God, this whole thing is absurd...
"Do you mind if I ask you something?" David's voice was hoarse, quiet.
"Go ahead."
"You've told me a lot about yourself, about your life. But not about a big part of it. I'd... like to know about it."
Kurt nodded. It was only fair; David's life, his past, was practically an open book to the world. "I didn't plan on becoming Catwoman, I can tell you that. I'd always dreamed of making it on Broadway. But New York isn't exactly what you'd call egalitarian. If you're weak, it chews you up and spits you out like a wad of gum. Come to think of it, show biz is exactly the same way. Put them together..." He shook his head. "I learned pretty quickly. But I was a naive kid, then. It was hard for me to handle.
"I'd been a waiter for a few years, a side job to make ends meet. And I told myself that every actor and singer had their stint in a restaurant at some point. I was pretty damn good, too; pretty soon I was working some of the swankiest places in the city - the kind only people like you have even heard of, the kind that would be on 'best kept secrets' lists if they actually wanted the riff-raff. Everyone who walked in the door had more money than God, but oddly enough, most of them thought they were God. Either that or they thought I was God, able to break the rules of physics to get their meal faster or able to conjure ingredients we were short of out of thin air."
"On behalf of all the 1%, I apologize."
Kurt chuckled. "Thank you." The conversation was getting easier now; it seemed that they were both trying as hard as they could to delay the inevitable broaching of that topic. "Anyway, after working there for a few months, I began to realize just how loose-tongued the clientele was. As I said, this place was out of the way, not well known, so it was like a safe haven to them. They were free to speak uncensored about anything that they wanted to, from stupid shit to when they were planning to go on vacation. And since to them, the 'help' are a group of servile automatons to be ignored at best, I was able to hear it all.
"I've always been a limber man." David's mouth quirked in a small grin; Kurt blushed, and continued on hurriedly. "I was a cheerleader for a while in high school, and I'd done some gymnastics in college as a way to keep in shape for my big stage career. Plus, I was in danger of being evicted and the wealthy are about the lousiest tippers on the planet, so I thought... why not?"
"That can't be all," David said softly. "No one wakes up one day and decides to be a professional thief."
"True. I guess... I felt like the world owed me. It took away my parents before I was 25. It kept me from my lifelong dreams. It treated me like dirt for the way it made me. I guess there came a point where I realized I had to make my own luck. And the first time I got away with it - barely, ahead of the rent-a-cops - it was the hugest rush I'd ever had in my life. More than hearing the applause on stage, more than feeling the spotlight... It was amazing." Kurt sighed. "I know that sounds selfish..."
"That's because it is."
Kurt bristled for a moment, but relaxed. "Ah, yes, brutal honesty. I suppose I deserve that; I can't expect to be the only one who practices it. But I would've thought you'd understand..."
"Why? I don't do what I do for the thrill of it."
"But you do understand that life is unfair and arbitrary."
"Maybe more than anyone," David said in a hoarse whisper.
"And we both try to correct it in our own way. Oh, don't look at me like that; I never hurt anyone, and I never will. Everyone I hit is well-heeled, usually insured..."
"What about the security guards who're traumatized, or the employees who get fired for their 'inferior' security?"
Kurt swallowed. "I told you, I don't hurt anyone when I'm on the job. As for fired employees, I'm sorry for them, of course, but the fact that they were fired for something I did just shows that their bosses are sons of bitches."
David stared for a moment. "Interesting."
"What?"
"I've been doing some research on you. You didn't even mention some of the... side activities you've engaged in."
"Like?" Kurt said casually.
"Not that I can prove that it was you, but it struck me as odd, some of the coincidences that popped up. New York City, 2010. Robbery at the home of a real estate mogul conveniently revealed his child porn stash to the police. Broke down an entire ring of wealthy pedophiles and their suppliers. Chicago, 2008. A prominent politician loses both his coin collection and his office when certain papers revealing corruption are leaked to the press. Cleveland, 2005. A businessman well-known for financing anti-gay causes is outed barely a day after his heavily secured home is burglarized and an undisclosed amount of cash and jewelry is taken."
"I'm impressed," Kurt murmured, nostalgic triumph flashing through his body.
"So you consider yourself a kind of Robin Hood?"
"Says the man dressing up as a giant rodent."
"Bats aren't rodents."
"Whatever." The ease of the exchange between them underlined something in Kurt's mind. He picked up the glass of fine scotch he'd poured himself just before David knocked on the door. He really needed that drink. "Anyway, I didn't mention it because it wasn't important. Just because I steal doesn't mean I'm not a human being. Besides, I've known since day one that I'm not the only one life kicks around." He returned David's appraising stare. "The world is not black and white, David. Neither are people. I'd have thought a man with your experiences would understand that by now."
"I can't let it go, Kurt."
"Why not? You still think your parents would be disappointed in you if you did?" David seemed to not react, but Kurt saw the signs: the blink, the tightening of his fingers, the stillness of his form. He knew, on some level, what it meant that he knew those signs so well despite their relatively short acquaintance, but he tried not to think about it. "I'm not the man who killed them, David. We're not all the same."
David rubbed his forehead. "I know. I just... Every crime... It goes against everything I've spent my life fighting..."
"Do you think those people I exposed would've been brought to justice eventually if I hadn't done something?" Kurt asked quietly.
The other man seemed to take the question seriously. He thought for a long moment before: "I... I don't know. But I can't let anything pass..."
"Can't? David, I understand, but..."
"Do you? That night... The night they died... I always carry that with me. Even if I lived to be a hundred - and at this rate I seriously doubt it - I could never even begin to make up for it."
Kurt frowned. "Make up for what? David, you were just a child. What could you have possibly done that wouldn't have ended up with you being dead too?"
"Maybe it would've been better that way." (David blinked; he hadn't meant to say that. God knows he hadn't meant to say that. He didn't even realize he was thinking it.)
Kurt nearly choked. "David... You can't think... You're Batman. You've done so much good..."
"But it's not enough!" he burst out, his eyes shining with moisture. "It's never enough! I used to be able to get some satisfaction from saving lives and seeing justice done, but lately... I... I don't know. I just keep coming up short and people are getting hurt because I wasn't good enough. I'm tired... God, I'm so tired... But there's always so much more to do, and I know I have to do it, but it just... never... ends..." He stared down at his clenched fists, as if yearning to punch something, someone, just to make the brimming tears stop.
Kurt couldn't take it anymore. He scooted down the couch next to David and gently began rubbing his back. The other man stiffened for a moment at the touch, but quickly relaxed underneath the soothing gesture. Kurt couldn't help but take in the scene with wonder: the infamously stoic, grim Batman, so freely letting out thoughts and feelings he obviously didn't share with just anyone. Why to Kurt, to someone he thought of as nothing more than a common criminal? After all, as Emma Pillsbury had warned, both David and Batman had friends...
But then perhaps that was the reason. They didn't have years of history - of baggage - between them, yet Kurt somehow knew for a stone cold certainty that David had seen in him what he himself had seen in David: a sense of being common travelers, in a sense, despite their very different lives and moral outlooks. After all, there were plenty of things he'd never tell a close friend or relative that he'd willingly tell a lover...
Kurt's back went ramrod straight at the very thought of that word. He thought he'd long since trained himself to keep the laser-like focus necessary to pick a lock while hanging upside down, to be careful enough to know himself so utterly that he wouldn't have these inconvenient, distracting thoughts at the worst possible times. But then, he was sure that David thought he'd trained himself to be the calm, rational Batman - perhaps even convinced himself that Batman was all he was or should be. And that right there was another commonality between them. Ah, irony.
After a few minutes (an hour? A week? A century?), David rose. "I... I have to go..."
Kurt joined him on his feet. "You don't have to."
"I do. This... we're... this is complicated." No shit, Kurt thought rather uncharitably. "I need to think this through..." He turned towards Kurt, stepping forward as if he wanted to... what? Hold him? Kiss him? Who knows? "I'm sorry." Kurt was somehow sure that those words rarely passed David Karofsky's lips, or Batman's for that matter. Yet here they were, directed at him. Funny how I'm so sure about so many things about David, yet not the most important ones. More irony. He didn't find it particularly funny.
"It's okay. I think we both need to take some time to figure things out."
"I have to be honest: I'm not sure I can change for you, Kurt. Not in the ways you may want me to."
"Same here." Kurt chuckled bitterly. "God, we're two of a kind, aren't we? No wonder we had that spark so early."
"Yeah." David started for the door, only to turn back to Kurt abruptly. "Oh... If I could make one request of you...?"
"Anything." Kurt was surprised, and rather annoyed, at the sincerity in that word.
"Don't do it."
"Do what?"
"Rob Manny Bekker."
"I... Who?" The attempt at innocence in his voice was much more strained than normal - certainly not the smooth lies he was used to issuing.
"Please don't play games with me, Kurt. Manny Bekker, the German gem dealer who's in Gotham with millions in uncut diamonds. You'd be a poor cat burglar if you weren't drooling over it." David's look turned almost pleading. "I know you aren't a bad person deep down. If you could just..."
"Prove that I can be a good little boy?" Kurt asked quietly. "Someone who'll change who he is for a man?"
"Your luck will run out sooner or later."
"I could say the same about you. Why don't you quit?"
"I can't." The real answer, they both knew, was far more complex than that. But Kurt was too exhausted emotionally to push. "What kind of life can you have as a thief?"
Kurt gestured about him, at the luxurious penthouse apartment, with an ironic smile. "This kind?"
"You... God, Kurt... You're a completely unrepentant criminal..."
"Yet that's why you love me." There it was: that word. Love. Kurt hated it, hated the way it was used so lightly. So what did that say about his use of it just now, the certainty with which he deliberately chose it?
David's shoulders sagged in defeat. "Just... just think about it? Please?"
Kurt barely noticed him leave, the door click shut behind him. He staggered back to the couch, dropping onto it heavily. Brian mewled in confusion as his owner's face dropped into his hands. There were no tears, though. Not yet.
Maybe they'd come later.
The Chatsworth Hotel was one of Gotham's most venerable institutions, a home away from home for the nation's elite for over a century and a half. But that history came with a price. As an old building, it was naturally not outfitted with the latest in security. Such would be expensive and harmful to its national landmark status, so the measures taken were reduced in effectiveness.
That's why Kurt thought it would be so easy. Manny Bekker's suite would only take seconds to get in. That would save him time he could use to get into the room safe (word on the street had it that the naive Mr. Bekker didn't trust the staff enough to keep his precious goodies in the hotel safe, and kept them himself instead) and get out without anyone being the wiser. Mr. Bekker would, if he were any sort of dealer, notice the fakes at once, and thus certainly blow Kurt's self-imposed "under the radar" tactics, but David was right; this was a prize too big to ignore.
David, it seemed, was right about a lot of things. That was why Kurt was still standing on the roof of the Chatsworth instead of getting away with the swag.
David - no, Batman - would not be keeping watch. He would be trusting Kurt to make the "right" decision. It was all up to him whether to disappoint the man or not. Kurt knew he wouldn't change - not in such an important way - for David or anyone else. He knew David had to know that on some level, even if he wouldn't admit it to himself. There was really no reason why he shouldn't go ahead with his meticulously planned break-in and get the spoils he so richly deserved.
So why wasn't he doing it already?
Kurt thought he knew himself, but these past few weeks had turned his brain, his entire self-image, completely upside down. God, grow a spine already, Hummel. The problem was that he didn't exactly know what he wanted to stand up strong and do. Once he figured that out, then he could proceed with confidence. But that was the problem, wasn't it?
So there he was, standing on a wind-blown rooftop at two thirty in the morning, in full gear staring off into space trying to decide whether to attach a line and drop down a few stories to get into one of the fancy suites and rob the place. If he weren't so lost in his decision making, he would've found the image silly.
Then again, if he weren't so lost in his decision making, he would've seen the boxing glove on a spring rocket towards him before it pasted him square on the jaw.
Kurt's face exploded in pain. He staggered, the world spinning. He could barely see the slim figure in front of him, all streaks of reds and blacks, could barely make out the comically oversized gun in her hand from which the glove had sprung.
"Oooh, you were right where he said you'd be!" The squeal only made his head pound harder. "Mister J will be so happy to see you!" The figure approached confidently; Kurt tried to will his body to stand, to focus, through the pain, but he only succeeded in straightening a few inches before collapsing back onto the tar papered roof. "Y'know, I always liked kitties. But you look like you'd scratch. Hey, maybe you can play with Lord Tubbington! He'd love to meet you." The figure cocked its head. "Aw, you're hurting! I can help that!" she said brightly.
Her foot whipped out in a high, vicious kick. Kurt was lost in the new agony for just a second before blissful unconsciousness overtook him.