A/N: So, it recently hit me that I have four more chapters to go in Season 2, and we have five weeks until Season 5 concludes. As sad an occasion as it will be, I'm gonna try and shine a little light on that day by starting Season 3 the night of the final episode. I love the show and I hate to see it go, but I'm not even close to finished yet!
With all that said, five chapters in five weeks is gonna be rough, especially with finals fast approaching, but I'm gonna work my ass off to do this because you guys are totally worth it!
Here's Chapter 28! Hope you enjoy!
Claws and Crosses
"You've been at it all night, Miss Wayne. I need to try and get some food down your neck," Alfred chided as he entered the bunker below the Manor.
When he'd retired the previous evening, she'd been sitting in the same spot, endlessly typing away at her father's computer. She'd done nothing else since she'd gotten home, not even a shower, and her theory about 'JANUS' had only invigorated her to continue.
"Do I smell sausage?" Lucius asked, his feet lazily kicked up on a table.
"Chipolatas, dear Mr. Fox. I've prepared a full English upstairs," Alfred told him.
"I have no idea if that's a 'yes', but I'm starving. Let's eat."
"I think I found something," Selina announced from the desk.
"Your father's files are still running through the decryption program," Fox told her, circling around the desk to take a look. "It could take weeks before we know what we have, and that's if we can decrypt them."
"Yes, but his calendar was only password protected. It was 'Selina', just like the lock," she stated, scrolling through until she found June of two years ago. "Here, the week of his murder, he was supposed to meet a woman named Karen Jennings about something called Pinewood Farms."
"Oh, Pinewood Farms? Sounds, uh, rather quaint," Alfred remarked.
"Or not," Lucius sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Most of Wayne Enterprises' black op programs had code names like that. Running Brook, Windy Ridge, a bland name covering up a nasty business."
"This could be what my father was investigating when he was killed."
"I think we might be getting a tad ahead of ourselves, Miss Wayne. I mean, how covert could it possibly be if it's on your old man's calendar?"
"I'll run Karen's name through HR when I get to work, see if there's even a connection," Lucius told them.
"My father had her address," Selina said, taking a pen and paper and jotting it down. "She lives somewhere right outside the city."
"I-I think we should just wait and see what Mr. Fox comes up with first, Miss Wayne–"
"I'm done waiting, Alfred," Selina stated, standing from the desk and walking to the cave's exit. "I'm going up there, with or without you."
"Imagine my surprise." Alfred complained as she strolled off. "You are gonna eat something on the way!"
Selina walked down to her room, taking a quick shower before going to pick out her clothes for the day.
She stepped into her massive walk-in closet, and her heart sank.
Oh, right…she was Selina Wayne, again.
Her closet was filled wall-to-wall with the fanciest clothes money could buy. She had piles of shoe boxes stretching to the ceiling. The cumulative price of that room was probably more than all the money she'd seen in her two months of thievery with Bruce.
And she couldn't imagine wearing any of it.
Most of it didn't fit anymore, since she'd gotten several inches taller during her stay in the Narrows, and even if it did fit she couldn't imagine being seen in public wearing such colorful, frilly things.
She settled on a pair of brown winter boots, black jeans, a burgundy long-sleeve shirt, and a dark beanie to restrain her curls.
She looked at herself in the mirror and sighed. It wasn't the same as her Narrows look, but it was the closest thing she could manage with what she had to work with.
She went to the back of her closet and dug through the forest of coats, eventually finding her leather jacket. She'd hidden it away, refusing to let Alfred lay a hand on it for fear of him throwing it out (which he'd tried to do several times already).
She sighed and put it back, switching it out for a light-grey overcoat that ended just above her knee.
She hesitantly looked back in the mirror.
She saw Selina Wayne.
And the reflection, that girl staring back at her, it sure as hell wasn't her, but it was who she needed to be right now.
Bruce Kyle had vanished.
An hour earlier, you could've found him clearing out the Factory, bringing whatever he wanted to keep to Henry Grant's Boxing Gym.
But now? He was simply gone, disappearing into thin air.
He'd left the Gym with nothing but the clothes on his back, a pair of brass knuckles, and lunch money.
He spent the night going from shelter to shelter, searching for any signs of Jean-Paul Valley.
Someone knew where he was; he just had to find them first.
He started in the southeast corner of the city near the Moth (the elected name of the new street mall) and working his way up in a sweep. He heard all sorts of tall tales from the homeless people he spoke to, ranging from Jean stealing their winning lottery ticket to him eating their cat.
However, one dude's story stuck out to him. He was an old crack-head named Johnny who hung out near the Theater District, but he'd supposedly been Falcone's number one hitman before Zsasz came along. Johnny Dead-Shot they used to call him. Floyd practically worshiped him. Nowadays he was crazy and depressed, but he was no liar.
Unfortunately, Bruce found him high. So to sober him up, Bruce brought him to the roof of the building and held him over the gap by his collar.
His head cleared up real quick.
Bruce asked him if he'd seen the guy in the picture, showing him Jack's photograph of Jean.
Johnny stared at the picture for a few seconds, and then nodded, but he'd only talk if Bruce pulled him back to safety.
Bruce relented and let him back down onto the roof. "Talk," he growled.
"Alright, alright!" Johnny complained, reaching into his coat for a cigarette. Bruce ripped it out of his hand and Johnny glared at him.
Bruce raised his fist and repeated, "Talk. Then you can smoke."
Johnny huffed. "Fine. It's not much, but Marco, the cop from the Narco unit, told me the other day that he'd seen Galavan's kid walking around Downtown."
"Why the hell were you talking to Marco from Narco?" Bruce asked.
Johnny rolled his eyes. "They got weekly quotas to fill, I know half the dealers in the city. You've got a lot to learn, kid."
Bruce dropped his fist, saying, "Fine, but if you're screwing with me, I'll come back here and kick the shit outta you, understand?"
Johnny scoffed and lit his cigar. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever."
Bruce ran off, leaping to the next rooftop over.
So, the cops knew something? And why was Jean just walking around downtown? It wasn't very subtle of him.
He shook his head. He had too many questions, and the only way to answer them was to start at the source: the GCPD.
Selina's car slowly pulled up to a house in the middle of nowhere. It was a small wooden cottage, its window shades pulled shut and untouched snow covering the porch.
It looked as abandoned as a house could.
Selina stepped out of the car, scanning the house and slowly starting towards it. Alfred walked alongside her, his hand behind his back and holding a gun.
They stepped up to the front door and Alfred knocked.
They paused, but no reply came.
Alfred shook his head, saying with finality, "Nope. No joy, never mind," and starting to turn back to the car. "Still kind of nice to get out of the manor, have a little drive in the country."
Meanwhile, Selina knelt down so she was eye-level with the deadbolt. She removed a lock pick from her boot and went to work.
"Oh, that's terrific, isn't it? He's made a bloody tea leaf out of you," Alfred complained. "'Street smarts?' Street smarts, my eye."
"Shush, Alfred," Selina told him, trying to focus on the lock. "These are merely technical skills."
"Oh?"
"Morally neutral." She smirked to herself as the deadbolt turned back. "And that's not all he taught me…"
Alfred's eyes widened, starting, "What the bloody hell do you mean by–"
There was a clatter inside the shack. Selina jumped back from the door. Alfred stepped in front of her and took the handle. He removed his gun from his jacket and slowly cracked the door open. He crept inside gun raised as natural light slowly filled the room.
It was almost pitch black in the small house, but what she could see didn't look good. There were large, 3-fingered scratch marks covering the walls, window blinds were torn to shreds.
Something had been in there, and it'd made a mess of the place.
"What is it?" she asked apprehensively.
A woman's scream shattered the silence. There was a shuffle of movement in the darkness, the sound of flesh being torn, the pistol clattering on the ground, and then silence again. Alfred gingerly held his right hand, now bleeding profusely, close to his chest.
Selina drew her knife from her pocket, flicking it open as she stepped towards the gun.
"Careful Miss Wayne," Alfred warned. "She's got some kind of weird hunting knife."
Selina picked up the gun and held it towards the darkness. Her eyes had started to adjust, and she could make out a vague figure of a woman. She was cowering in the corner of the room. She shook her head, putting away the knife and slowly setting the gun back down on the floor.
Their attacker wasn't a threat. She was just scared.
"We don't want to hurt you," Selina spoke into the darkness. Alfred stammered out a contradiction, but she ignored him, slowly and calmly saying, "My name is Selina Wayne. I just wanna talk to you."
"Selina Wayne?" a soft, tender voice asked from the darkness. A woman stepped into the dim light. She was quite pretty, but her deep, heavy eye bags made her look old and weary. "You're Selina Wayne?" she asked.
Alfred made a mad grab for the gun, holding it level at the woman's chest. "That's far enough," he warned. She stopped and he ordered, "Drop the knife."
"It's not a knife," the woman retorted, seeming genuinely annoyed by the word 'knife'.
"Whatever it was you used to do this to me, just drop it right now," Alfred told her, gesturing to his bloodied hand.
"I can't," she replied. She slowly raised her left hand.
Rather, where her left hand was supposed to be.
Where a human hand should've been was a reptilian, four-fingered claw.
The three of them simply stared at each other, Selina and Alfred at a loss for words.
The woman sighed, holding her right hand out apprehensively. "Listen to me–"
"That's far enough," Alfred warned, aiming the gun at her chest.
"Alfred!" Selina chided.
"Look around you, Miss Wayne. Listen, I have no idea what you are, but whatever that thing is, it's bloody dangerous," he told the woman.
Selina shook her head. "Do you know who I am? You seemed to recognize me."
"How did you find me?" the woman countered.
"My father, Thomas Wayne, came here the week before he died," Selina answered. "He had it in his calendar."
"His calendar? Great. Were you followed?" she asked.
"No. I don't know… By who?" Selina asked, looking at Alfred for help.
Alfred shook his head. "No, no, we weren't followed."
"Good." The woman inhaled sharply and told them, "Then you can leave."
"Not until you answer my questions," Selina insisted. "I know my father came to talk to you about something called Pinewood Farms. What is that?"
The woman shook her head, using her reptilian hand to poke at the cinders of the dying fireplace. "God. You don't know anything, do you?" she murmured.
"So tell me."
The woman sighed. "Do you not understand that these people will kill you?"
"I've been trying to tell her that," Alfred mumbled.
"I'm not afraid to die," Selina stated. "Not if it means doing the right thing."
"Yeah? How'd that work out for your dad?" the woman asked, standing from the fireplace. "You have to go. It's not safe for you here."
Selina stared at the woman and sighed in exasperation. "I don't care. Whatever my father was investigating got him and my mom killed. You're the first person I've found who might know why," Selina told her, her voice starting to break towards the end. "Please. You have to tell me what he was doing," she pleaded.
"Sorry about your hand," Karen told Alfred as he tenderly wrapped it in gauze. "I don't get many visitors. You, uh, spooked me."
"What, what, we, we spooked you?" Alfred asked.
"How long have you lived here?" Selina interrupted, trying to not let Alfred pick up a head of steam.
"Ten years," Karen answered. "Ever since Pinewood."
"Is that where you got that?" Selina asked, nodding to Karen's hand.
Karen sighed. "Pinewood Farms was a bioengineering program at Wayne Enterprises, the kind that was kept off the books. I was one of their first volunteers."
"What? You volunteered for that, did you?" Alfred asked rudely.
"I didn't have many options at the time. I was at Blackgate."
"Blackgate? Nice…" Alfred muttered. "I take it you weren't a guard, then?"
"I was born with a crippled arm," Karen told him. "Growing up, my father liked two things, booze and beating his deformed daughter. One night, I fought back. He fell down the stairs and broke his neck." The only response to her story was the breeze in the wind chimes. "I went to Blackgate for murder."
Selina shook her head. "But that's self-defense."
Karen shrugged. "Well, people are scared of different. Jury sent me away. One day, these men show up, tell me they're gonna fix my arm. Not only fix it, make it better. Instead, they turned me into the monster who everybody thought I was."
"Did my father know what was going on at Pinewood Farms?" Selina asked hesitantly, not entirely sure if she wanted to know the answer.
"No," Karen replied, shaking her head as if the proposition was crazy. "No. When he found out what was going on, when he saw what they were doing to us, he shut it down. Paid to put us into hiding."
"So how many were there of you?" Alfred asked.
"I'm not sure. I know most didn't survive the experiments," Karen replied, her eyes dropping to the floor.
"It started up again, didn't it?" Selina asked, standing from her chair. "That's why my father came to see you after all those years."
"He wasn't sure, but he had his suspicions," Karen answered. "He came to warn me."
Selina's mind was working a mile a minute, trying to connect all the loose threads she'd been collecting for almost two years. "Whoever was running Pinewood, whoever started it up again, I know that's who killed my parents," she concluded. "Do you remember any names?"
Karen shook her head. "None of them ever used their real names around us, but the man who was in charge, I can still see his face every time I close my eyes. They called him Philosopher."
"Then you need to take us there," Selina stated. "You need to take us to Pinewood Farms."
Karen chuckled nervously, averting her eyes to the floor.
"My father risked his life to save you," Selina told her. "I'm asking you to repay that favor. I promise, nothing will happen to you."
Karen stared at her for a long time. Selina could see the fear in her eyes, all the memories of the horrors she'd endured resurfacing all at once. She knew what that was like, the pain the woman must've been going through, but she needed her help. She'd come too far.
Karen gave a small nod. "Okay," she whispered.
It was midday when Bruce reached the GCPD. He pulled his hood up and walked along the wall, keeping his head down and his eyes averted as he made his way into the precinct.
He knew most of the cops in the GCPD, some of whom were friends with Ted and some of whom were with Jack. But the other half the cops in that room probably wanted him dead, so he didn't risk being recognized.
Instead, he made his way through the hallways, eventually coming across the Narcotics unit.
The door was shut, but Bruce could vaguely make out through the translucent window that there were no other cops but Marco in the room.
But that wasn't to say he was alone, just that he was the only cop.
Bruce gagged.
He knocked on the door and slid the photograph under it. There was a loud shuffle in the room as Marco yelled, "Just a minute!"
"Tell me what you know about the kid in the picture or I'll open the door and scream," Bruce threatened. A few dozen cops would rush to the scene and find Marco in a not-so-great spot.
He heard a zipper get pulled up and heavy footsteps approach the door.
"What do you wanna know?" Marco asked.
"Where was he? Where did he go? Was he with anyone? And talk quick or I'll yell."
"Fine, fine!" Marco told him desperately. "He was in Downtown–"
"I already know that," Bruce complained, rattling the handle of the door.
"Don't!" Marco yelled, racking his brain for more information. "He was going East, maybe towards Galavan's building? And he was alone, I think. That's all I know, I swear!"
"Did you approach him?" Bruce asked.
"No. I mean, I was gonna, but he just, kinda, disappeared, I guess. I turned around and he was gone."
Bruce huffed. "Slide the picture back under the door." He did so, and Bruce stuffed it back into his pocket. "By the way, you're a terrible cop," Bruce told him, walking towards the back exit of the GCPD.
Before Bruce reached the door, he heard another man's voice ask, "Who the hell was that?"
"No idea, but you should get outta here," Marco replied.
Bruce shook his head. Gross, but at least he had new information.
It was kind of dumb of him to not check Galavan's tower first thing, but it seemed like such a stupid place to go for a wanted criminal, somewhere so obvious that a cop wouldn't waste his time looking there.
But then again, wouldn't that make it a perfect place to hide?
"It doesn't exactly scream, 'top secret bioengineering lab,' does it?" Alfred asked as they pulled up to an old, three-story abandoned building. The windows were all broken or boarded up, the roof was in shambles, and the white paint had been peeled off in strips. The most frightening thing about the building, however, wasn't its exterior, or even what was presumably hidden inside.
The worst part of it was its location.
Pinewood Farms wasn't off in some top-secret, remote location where no one would ever find it, like where Karen had been.
Instead, Pinewood Farms was a regular old building in the middle of Gotham. Thousands of people probably walked past the building every day, going about their lives, completely oblivious to the horrors occurring inside. Selina could imagine the grief those people had gone through, to know just how close freedom was yet unable to reach it.
When she found whatever sick bastard did this, they'd pay.
"This is it," Karen told them, seeming paler than normal.
Alfred sighed. "All right, you two sit tight. I'll have a shifty–" They were halfway to the entrance. "Honestly…" he groaned, hastening after them.
Selina picked the lock and the door slowly swung open. The inside was just as bad as the exterior, cobwebs decorating the peeling walls and thick layers of dust coating the furniture.
The entered slowly, Alfred in front with the gun.
They turned into a room on the left. It vaguely resembled a dentist's office, but the chair had shackles attached to the arm and leg rests. On the wall was a tool rack, filled with hand-saws, knives, and all sorts of metal tools and equipment. Selina had a bad feeling that the people who'd sat in that chair weren't there to take care of a cavity.
She took a quick glance back at Karen. The woman had gone white in the face and was holding her clawed hand close to her chest, her eyes rapidly darting about the room. Selina hated herself for putting the woman through this, but it was a necessary evil. Besides, her father had risked everything to save Karen, so it was her turn to repay the favor…right?
They went back into the main hall and walked up to the second floor.
They found room after room, all filled with horrible contraptions, x-rays, and pictures of former experiments. But there was no sign of life.
Alfred bent down to examine a pair of handcuffs attached to a wheelchair. He shook his head and sighed, "I'd wager nothing's been touched in here for a decade."
They both turned and looked at Karen, but the woman was silently looking down a cold, damp hallway, frozen in place.
"Are you okay?" Selina asked, placing a tentative hand on the woman's shoulder.
Karen turned around. The fear was evident in her eyes. She was definitely not okay. She sniffed and breathlessly told them, "Seeing all this, it feels like yesterday that I was here." She took a deep, shaky breath, and continued, "I'm sorry. It looks like your father was wrong. But, maybe it's for the best," she offered, her eyes glued to the floor. "You can move on now."
Selina saw right through her. "You knew this place was shut down, didn't you? Is that why you brought me here, hoping I'd give up?" she accused.
"Steady on, Miss Wayne," Alfred warned.
"No, she's hiding something," Selina told him. "I can see it in her eyes. I don't understand. What won't you tell me?"
Karen stared at her, mouth agape and unmoving. She took a deep breath, but never got to respond.
"HEY!" a man's voice shouted from down the hall. An old security guard with a flashlight lumbered toward them. "Hey, this is private property! I'm gonna call the cops!" he threatened.
That wasn't good…
But suddenly, the man stopped dead in his tracks.
Emphasis on the 'dead' part.
One second, he was walking towards them yelling threats, and the next there was a red line on his neck, drawn from ear to ear. He collapsed on the spot, drowning in his own blood.
That really wasn't good…
Selina just barely caught a glimpse of the attacker before Alfred forcefully grabbed her arm and started running. She kept up with him as they ran, but her mind was back there.
What had she just seen?
I mean, sure, she'd seen a lot of weird shit in Gotham over the last year, and she'd seen her fair share of assassins, but this was different.
The assassin in question wore an all-black armored body suit, had dozens of knives strapped across his chest, and a pair of swords on his back. All of that was pretty normal.
The weird part: the guy was wearing a mask that resembled an owl.
Why an owl? Like, of all the animal mascots you could choose from to intimate people, you pick an owl? At least pick a spider or a bat or something scary!
Alfred pulled her hard to the left, jerking the three of them down an adjacent hallway. Just as he did, a knife lodged into the wall right where her head had been a second earlier.
As they sprinted towards the exit, something occurred to Selina:
This guy was a professional assassin, and he was getting out run by a butler, a fifteen year old girl, and a woman who'd spent over a decade indoors.
She took a glance back and saw the man casually walking down the hallway, twirling a knife in his hand.
He threw it just as they reached the door, and it lodged into the doorframe, inches from Karen's head.
That meant one of two things: he was either had really bad aim, or (more likely) he was playing with them, toying with his prey before striking the final blow.
Yeah, she took back the whole thing about owls not being scary.
They broke out into the open air and sprinted towards the car. Alfred tossed Selina the keys and yelled, "I'll cover you!" before stopping dead in his tracks and opening fire. Their assassin was standing in the doorway, several dozen feet behind them.
Selina saw Alfred's first shot his its mark, the dead center of the man's chest.
The man didn't even react.
Instead, he removed a radio from his belt, said something into it, and turned back around. Without word, he disappeared back into the building.
Alfred stood there, utterly bewildered.
He looked back at the two girls, asking, "You see that, as well?"
Selina nodded. Police sirens started wailing in the distance. She tossed him the keys.
"We need to go. Now."
Bruce walked all the way from the GCPD to Galavan's tower.
He hated that place with every fiber of his being, and if there was any other option he would've never stepped foot in it again.
But this was the best lead he'd had in three whole weeks, and he had to follow it. Until he found Jean-Paul Valley, no one was safe. Namely: Selina Wayne. He didn't know what Jean wanted, but he had a few ideas of which none were good.
He used a service elevator to reach the penthouse, eventually arriving at a pair of giant double doors.
"Billionaires…" he muttered. He tried to turn the door handle, but it was locked from the inside.
And that was a major red flag.
He pulled up his hood and black bandana, covering everything but his eyes. He knelt so he was eye-level with the deadbolt. He removed a lock pick from his jacket and went to work, turning the bar back as silently as possible.
There was a small 'CLICK', and he removed the lock pick, trading it out for a pair of brass knuckles. He paused and listened. He could vaguely make out the voice of a familiar newscaster.
He was sure of it now: someone was inside.
A part of him wanted it to be Jean, and a part of him would rather see Jack sitting in there.
But he'd come this far. There was no turning back now.
He slowly cracked open the door, peering around the room. Just as he'd presumed, the television was turned on in the living room, but he saw no one.
He opened the door silently, slipping inside the apartment. There were thick layers of dust on almost everything. The floor was dirty and there was a blood stain on one of the carpets (probably from when Gordon finally caught Galavan). The place looked almost untouched.
He crept forward into the living room. He stepped around the couch. On the low table was a steaming cup of coffee.
"What the hell?" he muttered.
All the hair on his body stood on end.
It was times like these when he thanked his lucky star for being left on the streets as a five year old. Had he not built up a sort of sixth sense over the last decade of his life, he would've been dead.
Instead, he whirled around and put his fists together, creating a V shape with his knuckles.
He caught the blade in between his fists, an inch from cleaving straight through his face.
His victory was short lived, however, as his attacker kicked him in the chest. Bruce flew backwards, going over the coffee table in an awkward backward-somersault. He somehow came up on his feet and was able to block another downward swing of the sword with an uppercut.
He leapt up on the table and tackled his attacker. His opponent belly-to-belly suplexed him, tossing him clean over the couch. Bruce rolled to his feet just as his attacker leapt off the back of the couch, sword raised high for another downward strike.
Bruce leapt forwards, meeting his attacker mid-air. He punched him hard in the gut, causing his opponent to double over and fall when he hit the ground.
Bruce finally had a second to breathe. His attacker was dressed in dark cargo pants and combat boots (which he was starting to notice everyone in Gotham wore nowadays), with a hooded cloak and helmet, the mask of which was decorated with a red and white cross. They were swinging around a European-style, double edged sword, its blade tinged red. They had a shield strapped to their back with the same logo as the mask.
The whole fight, Bruce had only been thinking about survival. But now, it dawned on him who he was fighting.
His opponent had just regained his footing when Bruce yelled, "JEAN, STOP! IT'S ME!" He pulled down his mask and hood, holding his hands out in surrender.
His attacker stopped. "Bruce?" he asked, removing his own mask and hood.
Sure enough, there stood Jean-Paul Valley. They stared at each other for a few seconds before Jean dropped his arms to his sides. "What do you want?" he asked, seeming genuinely annoyed by the intrusion.
Bruce blanked. To be honest, he had spent all his time trying to find him in the first place, so he hadn't had time to think about what would happen when he did find him. He cleared his throat and stated, "I heard you were back in Gotham."
Jean nodded. "Okay. So…?"
"I was trying to find you," Bruce told him.
Jean cocked an eyebrow, casually tossing his sword and helmet on the couch. "Why?" he asked, walking over to the fridge.
Bruce stammered, "I, well, I wasn't entirely, exactly sure of where everything stood between us after, you know, last time you were in Gotham…"
Jean rolled his eyes and removed a dagger from his belt, twirling it around in his fingers as he dug through the refrigerator. "I think what you meant to say was you didn't know if I was still brainwashed, right?"
Bruce nodded slowly. "Pretty much, yeah."
Jean laughed, a sound that Bruce had never heard before. He shook his head. "Nah, man. I'm done with all that shit. But, I guess that is technically why I'm here."
Bruce knit his brow. "What do you mean?"
"You want something to drink?" Jean asked offhandedly. Bruce shook his head. "Suit yourself. How'd you like the coffee trick?"
Bruce shook his head dismissively. "Yeah, sure, it was great. But what do you mean 'that's why you're here'?"
Jean pointed to a closet off to the side. "See for yourself," he said, casually leaning up against the counter and cracking open a soda can.
Bruce obliged. He opened the closet door and found a stack of neatly folded brown cloaks as tall as he was. He took one and let it fall open.
There was a large gash through the middle of the cloak, the brown material stained red.
Bruce started, "These are from the–"
"Monks of the Order of St. Dumas," Jean finished in a dramatic voice, taking a seat in the living room. "I've been off hunting 'em down, one by one. Europe, Asia, wherever they're hiding."
Bruce nodded. "That's a lot of people," he said slowly, picking up another one. The cloak was clearly made for a child, and its hood had been sliced off. There was a ring of red around the neck area. He quickly put it back in the pile, trying not to think of who had once worn it.
Jean shrugged. "Most left the Order after Theo and Creel died. Those that stayed chose their own fate," he stated, taking a long, casual slurp of his orange soda.
"So, what are you doing here?" Bruce asked, closing the closet of Jean's horrible trophies.
Jean sighed. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
Bruce took the seat across from him. "Bet."
Jean smirked, raising the drink to his lips.
"Galavan's alive," he said simply before taking another sip.
Bruce choked on air. "What?" he asked, a little louder than he'd anticipated. "That's not…he couldn't…"
Jean nodded. "That's what I thought. But my source proved otherwise." He set the empty can down on the coffee table and said, "I thought I'd killed them all, but…" he shrugged, "at least I get the best for last. And when I kill him, the Order is finished once and for all."
Bruce shook his head. He was having a hard time believing Theo Galavan, the guy who got beaten and shot to death and then got an umbrella stuffed down his throat by Penguin, could possibly be alive. "Who's your source?" he asked.
Jean got a wickedly fascinated look in his eyes. "Just some people who hate the Order as much as I do. They call themselves the League of Assassins."
The hair on the back of Bruce's neck stood on end, but he ignored it. "Are you working for them?" he asked.
Jean shrugged. "Not exactly. They don't give me orders or anything; they just help me out with money and weapons and info, stuff like that. I only work for myself nowadays."
Bruce nodded. Seeing no reason to stay there any longer, he stood from the couch and told him, "Well, good luck with that. I gotta go."
Jean nodded and stood from the couch. He put out his hand, saying, "It was cool seeing ya, Bruce."
Bruce paused. This was the same guy who manipulated Selina to the point of almost sacrificing herself for a cult ritual. This was the same guy who'd just recently gone on a mass murder spree. He was the same guy who now worked with a group called the 'League of Assassins'!
Could he really be trusted?
He shook Jean's hand. "Likewise." Jean's hand went slack, trying to end the hand shake, but Bruce had no intention of letting go, instead applying more and more pressure. He pulled Jean slightly closer, his voice going deadly calm as he added, "Oh, and if you step so much as one toe out of line, if you get anywhere near Selina Wayne, you're gonna have a much bigger problem on your hands than Galavan. Am I clear?"
Jean stared back at him, unwavering. He smirked, sighing, "Bruce, you don't need to worry about that. I'm here to kill Galavan, and then I'll be outta your hair."
Bruce relented, letting go of Jean's half-crushed hand. "Fine, just make it quick."
Jean nodded and Bruce started towards the door.
"I'd be done faster if you helped me find him," Jean called.
Bruce turned back, throwing up a suspicious eyebrow. "Are you serious?"
Jean shrugged. "You know Gotham, I know Galavan. And if he's back, then he might be going after Selina."
Bruce clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together with turmoil. This was a bad, bad, bad idea.
But, then again, it would mean he could keep an eye on Jean. He could personally keep him away from Selina…
He sighed. "Fine," he muttered, regretting the word the moment it came out of his mouth.
Jean smirked. "Good. Meet me at Fifth and Jefferson tomorrow morning at eight."
"What are we gonna do?" Bruce asked.
"Visit the last place Galavan was seen," Jean replied. "Arkham."
"Where're we going?" Karen asked.
"The Narrows," Selina told her, ignoring the groan from the driver. "I have a friend there. He's gonna help us get you out of town."
Karen shook her head. "Selina, you don't have to do this."
"I made a promise nothing would happen to you," Selina told her. "I intend to keep it." She took a deep breath and asked, "The guy who ran Pinewood Farms, could you identify him?" Karen nodded slowly. "Okay, we have someone tracking down the files of all the scientists who've worked for Wayne Enterprises over the years. After that, you can disappear. No one will ever hurt you again."
Karen smiled; the first time Selina had ever seen her do that. "You sound just like him." She took a heavy breath and told her, "I have been hiding something from you, Selina. Your father did more than just rescue me from Pinewood."
"What do you mean?"
"After what happened, I was so angry, but he never gave up on me. He kept visiting, gave me books to read, a music box for my birthday. He kept reminding me that I wasn't alone, that I wasn't a monster. I never knew what a real father should be until Thomas Wayne." She sighed again. "That's why I didn't want you to pursue this. I didn't want you to see him differently. Your father started Pinewood, Selina."
Selina simply stared at her, hoping she'd misunderstood. "What?"
"His intentions were good," Karen said quickly, "but the man in charge took advantage of him. He didn't realize the truth until it was too late. Pinewood was his burden, but it doesn't have to be yours."
Selina clenched her jaw. "It's not a burden," she said, looking Karen firmly in the eyes. "It's who I am."
"HOLD ON!" Alfred shouted from the front seat. The car swerved, slamming into a barrier.
Selina had been on the right side of the car where it'd hit the barrier, trapping her inside the cabin. She struggled with the seatbelt, but it was stuck.
Suddenly, the temperature in the car dropped.
"Alfred?" she asked nervously. "What's going on?"
No response.
"Alfred?" she asked again.
Silence.
Karen was groaning next to her, holding her bleeding forehead. "Selina…are you okay?" she asked hazily.
"I'm fine. But Alfred–"
Their driver moaned in pain. At least he was still breathing…
"New problem…" Karen muttered, looking at the windows which were rapidly being covered in frost. She slashed at her seatbelt, freeing herself.
Alfred slowly turned around, asking, "You both all right?"
"I'm fine, Alfred. Look!" Selina told him, pointing out the window.
A man was approaching them. He was wearing an astronaut outfit, without the dome helmet, and was holding a weird gun.
"Mr. Freeze…" Selina muttered. "We need to get out of here, now!"
"No."
Alfred and Selina both turned on Karen. "What?" the prior asked. "We need to go, he'll kill you."
"I know," Karen told her. "That's why you two need to go. It's me he's after."
"We're not leaving without you," Selina told her.
Karen took Selina's shoulders in her hands and smiled widely. "I'm so glad I met you, Selina. Your dad would be so proud of you, of the woman that you've become." Karen hugged her tightly.
She pulled away and brushed a lock of hair out of Selina's face, just like her mother had always done when she was little. For a moment, Selina saw Karen for what she'd always wanted: a sibling. Someone to share life with, the joy and the pain alike. Her father had been like a father to Karen, so that made her Selina's sister. That made her Selina's family.
Then, she opened the car door, and ran towards Freeze.
She yelled for Karen to stop, to run away and save herself. But it was no use.
Alfred reached back and shielded her eyes as it happened. One second, Karen was standing there, unafraid of what was to come. The next, shards of red ice littered the ground where she'd stood.
Karen Jennings was dead, and it was entirely her fault.
Selina screamed.
She sat in bed until the early hours of the morning, churning over the events of the past day.
She had this nagging feeling that she was overlooking something, like there was a single puzzle piece out of place that was preventing her from seeing the whole picture. It was frustrating because she knew how close she was, there was just one thing missing.
She turned over for the thousandth time that night. She stared at the phone on her nightstand. Bruce would know what to do…and if he didn't at least he'd understand what she was going through. But she couldn't call him, not right now. Even if she did, he probably wouldn't pick up. And what if he had Jean in a headlock and his phone rang? No, she wouldn't call him, not yet. She could figure this out herself.
Holding fast to her resolve, she turned back over and closed her eyes, going over every single word Karen had said to her today.
All she could think of were her last words. Would her father be proud of who she was? How could she possibly live up to him? She couldn't even solve a key code on his computer! Damn that cave…
It hit her.
The Philosopher.
She'd seen that name before.
She ran through the hallways like a bat out of hell, practically diving for the remote to the bunker. She didn't even wait for the fireplace to go all the way down into the floor, jumping over the barrier halfway.
She threw the door open and ran to her father's filing cabinets. She hadn't had the heart to change any of it, but her father had been quite organized, so it didn't take her long to find the newspaper article in question.
"What the bloody hell are you doing, Miss Wayne?" Alfred asked, laboring into the cave. "It's four in the morning…"
Selina ignored him, scanning over the clipping. It was a picture of her father and a bunch of other men from Wayne Enterprises, all a part of a cricket team.
The man next to her father: Hugo Strange – The Philosopher
A/N: And so begins the four-part finale of Season 2! It's been a long time coming and I'm really excited to show you all that I have in store! All of these chapters are gonna be well over 5k words, so be prepared. I almost left off the whole finale scene with Freeze and Karen, just mentioning it on the newscast playing in Galavan's penthouse, but I'm glad I wrote it out in hindsight.
Anyways, I hope you enjoyed and if you did or have any other comments/questions/concerns about the story, make sure to Review! Thanks for reading and ciao for now!
Also, this is totally an afterthought that I only realized when I was just about to publish the chapter, but I started this series on April 25th, 2018. The final episode of Season 5 airs on April 25th, 2019. On this series' one year anniversary, Season 5 will conclude on the show, and I'm releasing the first chapter of Season 3 for this series. It's not really important; I just thought it was cool how stuff works out sometimes.
