Uncles, Debriefings, and Night Terrors

Author's Notes: Thank you to Hippothestrowl, from Writer's Anonymous, for helping me better write a better opening for the prologue.

Yucatan Peninsula
Caribbean Coast of Mexico
1 September 2008

Rachel Dawes shivered as she clutched the blanket to herself, taking in the sights on the stern of the boat where she was sitting. She nodded when the woman with long black hair had assured her that they meant no harm.

She noticed the large, powerful Japanese man with the chonmage haircut wearing brown overalls and a white t-shirt driving the boat. Beside him was a Chinese man in khakis with a bruise under his right eye talking on the radio.

"Hey, are you alright?" the woman asked.

"I've felt better," Rachel said, "My name is Rachel."

"Viper," the woman said.

"What happened?" Rachel asked as her eyes flickered down towards where Arnot still was unconscious on the deck.

"Your friend and Jackie," Viper said, indicating the Chinese man with the black eye, "had a misunderstanding earlier."

"He's not my friend," Rachel replied, "We literally just met."

"Your acquaintance has a mean right cross," Viper said with a chuckle.

"And I take it Jackie knocked him out?" Rachel asked.

"No," Viper replied, "Tohru did."

"What happened?" Rachel asked.

"Evidently," Viper replied, "He mistook Jackie for a Chinese communist."

"So which half of his error was right?" Rachel asked.

"The Chinese part," Viper said.

Rachel managed a small laugh, despite herself, clutching the blanket around her body and shivering.

"We'll be at the house soon and we can get you out of that hospital gown and into something more comfortable," Viper replied, "Hopefully Uncle will be able to straighten all these things out…"

"Your uncle?" Rachel asked.

"No," Viper replied, "He's Jackie's uncle."

"Then why do you call him Uncle?" Rachel asked, "Are you and Jackie married?"

"No, we aren't," Viper replied, "But everyone calls him Uncle. Trust me, when you see him you'll see why."

Rachel was about to ask why when Arnot began to sit up, groaning and rubbing the back of his head.

"Looks like sleeping beauty is awake," Viper quipped.

"Mon Dieu ma tête," Arnot grumbled as he sat up.

"Détendez-vous," Viper began, "Jackie n'est pas un Communiste Chinois!"

"He speaks English as well," Rachel offered. Though Viper seems to have a decent grasp of French, compared to my two semesters I took in college.

"Thanks," Viper said before turning back to Arnot, "Take it easy, we're not here to hurt you. We just saw you go tumbling over the falls."

"My thanks, mademoiselle," Arnot replied.

"So how did you guys get here?" Viper asked.

Rachel looked at her, askance, "Do you really want to know?"

"I asked, didn't I?" Viper replied.

"You'll think I'm insane," Rachel warned, as she hugged the blanket close to herself.

"Try me," Viper said.

Rachel sighed and recounted her story. She noticed Viper seemed a bit taken aback, but still was willing to listen to her.

"So that's where I know you from," Viper said, "Rachel Dawes, Gotham City District Attorney's office."

Rachel nodded, "Y-you're not surprised…"

"We'll figure all of that out when we get to the safehouse," Viper said, "If you say who you say you are and Valmont was involved it sounds plausible."

Rachel nodded and Viper turned towards Arnot, "What's your story."

"I'm not sure," Arnot replied, "One moment I was fighting the Viet Minh somewhere in Lao Cai Province and after jumping into the river to...er...escape them I found myself here."

There's some serious magic at work here if a murdered Gotham City ADA and a French soldier from the Indochina War who looks like he hasn't aged a day since the 1950s are here on this boat, Viper thought.

Section 13 Safehouse
Yucatan Peninsula
1 September 2008

"Wah ha ha!" Uncle doubled over with laughter as he saw Jackie walk onto the dock with a black eye, "Jackie, you are getting slower, how did you get a black eye?"

"Our French friend over there," Jackie indicated Arnot who was bringing up the rear with Rachel and Viper, "woke up and swung a punch at me."

"One more thing, why did he attack you?" Uncle asked, raising his index finger as he spoke.

"He called me a Chinese communist and swung a punch," Jackie said as he continued towards the house.

Captain Black stood next to Uncle, quietly observing Tohru unloading a few things from the boat onto the dock and Viper quietly escorting Rachel and Arnot into the house.

He inclined his head towards the house and asked, "So those are the two people you, Tohru and Viper found floating near the waterfall, huh?"

"Yes," Jackie said, "And it seems most strange. A woman in a hospital gown and a man wearing a uniform the French Army hasn't issued in over half a century."

"I've seen the woman before, I just can't quite place her," Captain Black mused.

"An old girlfriend perhaps?" Uncle commented.

"Not really my type," Captain Black replied, "But in any case we'll need to keep those two here for the time being while we figure out who they are. They'll need to be minded of course."

"Agreed," Jackie replied, nodding at his old friend's logic.

"I'd say Viper seems to have started to build a rapport with the woman," Captain Black continued as he indicated the kitchen window where the three men could see Viper handing Rachel a cup of coffee in the kitchen.

He grinned and said, "And you can deal with our French friend, Jackie. Since you two seem to already be developing some kind of rapport."

"He punched me in the face!" Jackie protested.

"I didn't say it was a good rapport," Captain Black joked.

"Alright," Jackie said, starting towards the house, "I need to get some ice for my eye, though."

"One more thing, Jackie," Uncle began, "Be sure that you get the full story from him."

"Yes, Uncle," Jackie replied and took another step towards the kitchen.

"One more thing," Uncle began.

Jackie stopped in his tracks, "Yes?"

"I think I have seen that woman on the news," Uncle said.

"Ok, what about her?" Captain Black asked.

"Her name is Rachel Dawes, and she was an Assistant District Attorney in Gotham City," Uncle replied.

"Ok, now we need to find out how she wound up all the way in Mexico wearing nothing but a hospital gown?" Captain Black replied, as he headed towards the house with Jackie in tow.

"One more thing," Uncle replied, "She was murdered by a criminal known as The Joker…"

Now Captain Black froze in his tracks, "Murdered? But then why does she look healthy and alive...no, let me guess, magic, right?"

"Yes," Uncle replied, as the three men headed back towards the house.

"Here you are," Viper said, as she led Arnot and Rachel up the stairs. There were two bedrooms, side by side. Both were on the small side with only a bed, a dresser and mirror and a bedside table with a lamp as furnishings.

Viper gestured to the room closer to the stairs, "This room is yours, Rachel. And the one to the left is yours, Arnot. There are some linens in the closet."

"Thank you," Rachel said.

"Merci," Arnot added.

"The bathroom is across the hall and we'll get you guys some clean clothes," Viper said.

"Ladies first," Arnot said, indicating the nearby bathroom.

"Thanks," Rachel said, as she took a towel from a nearby cabinet and went into the bathroom before closing the door.

Jackie stood in the kitchen for a moment, holding an icepack over the bruise on his eye. He heard Viper's soft footsteps as she entered the kitchen.

"You're going soft," Jackie joked, "I heard you walking in."

"I wasn't trying to sneak up on you," Viper said as Jackie turned to face her.

"Captain Black wants us to keep an eye on our guests for the time being," Jackie said, leaning against the side of the refrigerator as he held the ice pack over his eye.

"Let me guess he wants you to take another swing at dealing with the Frenchman?" Viper said, "Uh, no pun intended."

"And he wants you to deal with Rachel," Jackie replied.

"Okay," Viper said, "Something tells me this is going to be interesting, dealing with a former Gotham City ADA…"

"And a French soldier from the Indochina War that looks like he hasn't aged a day since the 1950s," Jackie added.

"If what Rachel was telling me was true, it looks like the Dark Hand was responsible for her resurrection," Viper replied, "She mentioned Valmont and his enforcers by name."

"We'll need to see if she can pinpoint where Valmont and his people were holding her," Jackie said.

"Yes, but in the morning," Viper said, "Let's let the poor woman get some sleep."

"Of course," Jackie said, "I didn't mean right now, but the sooner she can help us find Valmont's lab the better."

"Maybe your French friend can help too, after we debrief them," Viper replied.

"Let's hope so," Jackie said.

Rachel stood in front of the bathroom mirror, moving her hand away after wiping away the fog. She could still feel the heat from the water on her skin, wrapped in the small white towel.

What a night, Rachel thought as she looked in the mirror, barely recognizing the frightened and exhausted visage that stared back at her as her own.

She heard a knock on the door and Viper's voice, "Hey, I left some clothes for you on the bed."

"Thanks," Rachel managed to say.

It just seems so impossible, everything that happened? What happened to Bruce? Alfred? Mom? Harvey? Rachel thought, and as she did so tears welled up in her eyes. She leaned against the sink, sobbing.

After letting herself cry for a few minutes Rachel sniffled and looked up at the mirror. I'm alive, at least. I can figure out what to do next after I get some rest…

Rachel dropped the towel and draped a bathrobe around her body, tying the belt and walking across the hall to her bedroom. As promised Viper left her some clothes and after closing the door Rachel got dressed before lying on the bed, asleep by the moment her head hit the pillow.

It would not be a restful sleep. It would take to 250 52nd Street…

"Hello?" Rachel called out, tugging at the ropes binding her hands and feet.

Silence.

"Can anyone hear me?" Rachel shouted.

About the only thing she could hear was the scurrying of rats. The men in the clown costumes were long gone after they had finished tying her to the chair.

"Hello!" She called out again, with greater desperation.

"Rachel?" Harvey's voice.

Relief flooding through her, "Oh, Harvey, thank God! Are you Okay?"

"I'm alright...I'm in a...I'm in a warehouse. They've got me wired to these oil drums." Harvey's voice. A speakerphone with a timer below it on the floor just off to her right, counting down slowly, reading 4:54.

"I am too," Rachel said, "Harvey…"

Rachel blinked her eyes, taking in the sights around her, seeing the metal barrels, the timer, the phone, and most notably the explosive charges and wires connected to a single car battery.

"Listen, we don't have a lot of time," Rachel began, taking in the timer's ever downward countdown, "They told me that only one of us was gonna make it…"

A slight pause, "...and that they were gonna let our friend's choose."

"Okay, Rachel," Harvey's voice echoed back, "It's gonna be fine. It's gonna be alright. They're coming for you."

She could hear the fear in his voice. Feeling the lump rising in her throat as she spoke, "Listen to me. I'll help you. Just talk me through what's going on with you. Can you find something? Anything sharp?"

She could just faintly hear the sound of a chair scraping across the floor, and Harvey's voice, "I'm trying."

"What's…" Rachel began before a curse from Harvey cut her off.

"Shit!" Harvey grunted.

"Harvey?"

Then the sound of a thump of both a body and a barrel crashing to the floor. Her heart leapt into her throat, "Harvey, what's happening?"

Nothing. Rachel's mind raced. Had he fallen and broken his neck? It couldn't have been an explosion. I would've heard it. Right?

Stammering, barely managing to speak, "What...What...What's happening?"

No answer from the other side.

"Just talk to me, just for one second," Rachel begged, as she saw 40 seconds remained in her life, barring a miracle.

Taking a breath and then saying, "Harvey, just in case, I wanna tell you something, okay?"

"Don't think like that, Rachel! They're coming for you!" Harvey said.

Crying now, "I know they are, but I don't want them to."

"I don't want to live without you. Because I do have an answer, and my answer is yes…" She shouted, pulling fruitlessly at the ropes.

She could hear Harvey's voice tinny over the radio's speaker, "No! No! No! NO! Not me...Why are you coming for me!? NO!"

A brief pause as she heard the sound of struggling, and Harvey's last shouts, "Rachel! RACHEL!"

"Harvey…"

"No! No! Rachel!"

"Okay," Rachel said with a sob.

"No! No!"

Blinking her eyes, a moment of calm, "Harvey, it's okay. It's alright. Listen."

Then the flash. The heat and fire. The shockwave. The thing that a detached and more logical part of Rachel's mind told her was killing her in her last moments…

Rachel sat upright, heart racing. Breathing hard. Looking around the bedroom, clutching the blanket to her chest.

Shivering back into the waking world, taking in the night sky through the bedroom window she heard the sound of singing downstairs.

"Aux armes, aux citoyens! Formez vos bataillons! Marchons! Marchons! Qu'un sang impur. Abreuve nos sillons."

It took her a moment to realize she was hearing the lyrics of La Marseillaise, the national anthem of France.

Clearly someone else in the house wasn't sleeping well either. Rachel headed out of the bedroom and down the stairs in time to see Arnot and Jackie sitting on the sofa, waving glasses as they sang.

"What the hell?" Rachel asked.

Sometime earlier: Arnot finished shaving off months of beard growth off of his face. Wiping the water away, he looked up in the mirror. His gaunt, careworn visage was joined by two others.

"You killed us, Mon Capitaine."

Turning, he saw the two apparitions: olive green military fatigues splattered with dirt, debris, and soaked with blood. He knew them. Gilbert's forehead had a bullet hole in it, blood smearing the sandy blond strands of his hair. His right arm hung loosely, broken, bones protruding from the wrist and lacerations at his side and belly.

With his good arm, Gilbert gestured with his hand down the front of his body, shouting, "Your fault! Your fault, mon capitaine!"

He had spat out Arnot's rank as if it was a curse.

"Your order for us to stay, mon capitaine," Andre replied, "Your fault."

"We put it to a vote, Andre!" Arnot countered, pointing to Andre, "And you abstained!"

He saw the bullet holes through Andre's torso, courtesy of the two Viet Minh sub machine gunners emptying their weapons into him.

"And you, Gilbert! You agreed we should keep our word!" Arnot replied, turning on the second ghost.

"You killed us, Arnot…" Andre replied, with that Alsatian stubbornness.

"I hope you can live with that, mon capitaine," Gilbert said.

Arnot's eyes flew open. Blinking his eyes and realizing he wasn't going to even attempt sleeping again.

He stepped out of bed, and went down the staircase towards the kitchen. After looking around through the cupboard he had found what he was looking for. A bottle of cognac, VS, an immature cognac for sure but certainly one that he could certainly appreciate right now.

After pouring himself a glass he began to drink. My order but they paid the price. We gave our word to the T'ai that we wouldn't abandon them and…

"Are you drinking?" a voice came from behind him.

Arnot turned and saw Jackie walking into the room, blinking sleep out of his eyes.

"And anyway, that's Captain Black's cognac," Jackie began.

"It is a special occasion," Arnot replied with an ironic smile, "To being the last one to live on a mission. One where the Republic abandoned us."

"You can't mean that…" Jackie began before Arnot fixed him with a glare.

"During the war the CEFEO sent the men of the G.C.M.A. into the hills and deltas of Indochina to arm and train local tribes against the Viet Minh," Arnot began.

"CEFEO? G.C.M.A.?" Jackie asked, brow furrowing, as his mind scrambled to recall long forgotten schooling on French history from distant university courses.

"Ah, my apologies, Monsieur," Arnot replied, "The Corps Expéditionnaire Français en Extrême-Orient or French Far East Expeditionary Corps."

"And the G.C.M.A. were the Groupement de Commandos Mixtes Aéroportés," Jackie added.

Arnot nodded before replying, "After the fall of Dien Bien Phu our ammunition supplies were cut off and our radio links went silent."

"But I remember the history books said CEFEO tried to issue you warnings to get to the south of 17th parallel or failing that to surrender," Jackie replied.

Arnot laughed mirthlessly as he took another slug of his cognac, "Most of us were impossibly far away, hundreds of kilometers inside hostile territory. And at any rate the Viet Minh would kill any of us who attempted to surrender to them."

Jackie wordlessly held out a glass of his own. What harm can one drink do?

Arnot poured him a glass, "Furthermore the majority of us had given our word of honor that we would fight alongside the tribesmen. And a lot of us did so, with fading radios and dwindling ammunition stocks we fought on as Communist hunter-killer teams closed in."

Arnot closed his eyes as he took down one more slug of his drink. Remembering losing communication with team after team. Destroyed villages where not a single living thing remained. Of friends who would never set foot in France again.

Jackie sipped at his own drink, feeling the slight fire in his belly from the cognac. Imagining what that must have been like.

Holding up his glass, "To the G.C.M.A."

Arnot nodded and held up his own glass, "To brothers I will never forget. Even if my country abandoned them."

"Allons enfants de la Patrie, le jour de gloire est arrivé! Contre nous de la tyrannie, l'étendard sanglant est levé," Arnot began as he took another slug of his drink.

The Viet-Minh most certainly raised the bloody banner against us, Arnot thought bitterly.

"L'étendard sanglant est levé. Entendez-vous dans les campagnes," Arnot continued as Jackie took a sip out of his own glass and joined in, albeit with halting French.

I can at least appreciate the man's sentiment, Arnot thought. Even if his French is mangled at best.

"Mugir ces féroces soldats? Ils viennent jusque dans nos bras. Égorger nos fils, nos compagnes!" Arnot continued, as Jackie followed along.

"Aux armes, aux citoyens! Formez vos bataillons! Marchons! Marchons! Qu'un sang impur. Abreuve nos sillons." Drunkenly both men sang, nearly at the top of their lungs.

"What the Hell?" Rachel said as she stepped down the stairs.

"Bien soir, Rachel," Arnot said, "Didn't mean to wake you."

"Technically bonjour," Rachel replied, glancing at the wall clock, "It's about 1:30 in the morning right now."

"We're sorry about that," Jackie added, with a hiccup.

"How much did you have to drink?" Rachel asked, as she headed over to the living room, standing in front of both men, "Both of you?"

"About most of this glass," Arnot said, holding up his glass, "I'm not too sure on Jackie's bit."

Rachel's eyes glanced at Jackie's glass, noticing it was about three-quarters full, "How many did you have?"

"My first glass," Jackie said.

"Nous entrerons dans la carrière," Arnot continued, taking down the last of his glass and pouring himself a second, "Quand nos aînés n'y seront plus, Nous y trouverons leur poussière. Et la trace de leurs vertus."

The children's verse of La Marsellaise, Rachel recognized.

"Et la trace de leurs vertus." Arnot continued as Jackie tried to take down another sip of his drink, blinking his eyes.

I recognize the first line, 'we shall enter the military career', Rachel thought, looking over at Arnot who took another slug out of his glass, Had he spent his entire life as a soldier?

"Bien moins jaloux de leur survivre, que de partager leur cercueil, nous aurons le sublime orgueil, de les venger ou de les suivre," Arnot continued after yet another slug from his glass.

Something about elders and being keen to either avenging them or following them, Rachel thought to herself.

"Come on, let's get you guys back to bed before you drink that bottle dry," Rachel said.

"Mademoiselle," Arnot protested, "I am quite sober, or rather not entirely drunk."

"Not where I'm standing," Rachel replied.

Jackie tried to lift the glass to his lips, only to drop it and spill cognac down the front of his shirt and into his lap.

"Jackie could never hold his liquor," Viper said as she came down the stairs, joining them.

"Evidently," Rachel blinked as Arnot took down another slug.

"I'll get Jackie," Viper whispered to Rachel, "You take care of Arnot."

Okay, compared to some people I've dealt with he's not that bad, just a little drunk and singing. Rachel thought.

"Okay, I think you do need some rest," Rachel said as she headed over to Arnot, reaching a hand out to help him up.

"It's quite alright," Arnot replied, "You did say it was morning."

"If you call an hour and some change after midnight is morning you are right, technically," Rachel said.

"So you're the daughter of a lawyer, then?" Arnot asked.

"I actually am a lawyer," Rachel replied, managing to get a hold of Arnot's wrist, "Come on.."

"You are quite persuasive, maître," Arnot replied, shuffling to his feet and staggering slightly, "However sleep isn't exactly what's on my mind."

"Not on mine either," Rachel replied. I could do without the nightmares

"Maybe we could have a drink," Rachel offered.

"I'll pour you a glass," Arnot headed over to the still open cognac bottle.

"Not that kind of drink," Rachel countered, grabbing a hold of his arm, "Maybe a cup of tea instead."

Though I might consider a stiff drink when I look up how things have been going in Gotham later in the morning, Rachel thought.

"Sure," Arnot said, as he shuffled over to the cupboard, pulling out a couple tea cups and saucers and a teapot. Going over to the sink he filled it with water and put it onto the stove.

Rachel, for her part, found the tea right away before putting a bag into each cup and sitting down at the kitchen table. Arnot headed over to join her.

"Nightmares, I assume?" Arnot asked.

"How did you guess?" Rachel replied.

"What's that expression? It takes one to know one?"

With a sigh Rachel replied, "A little awkward a metaphor, but it does sort of fit. And I assume that's part of why you were drinking?"

"More like toasting long forgotten compagnons d'armes," Arnot replied, "If that calendar on the refrigerator is to believed it has been fifty-two years."

"I can't imagine what that's like," Rachel said softly, "To be sent so far forward into the future and not know what happened to people you care about."

Arnot nodded before saying, "I do know what happened to some of them, though. Namely those of us sent into the Red River area to arm and train the T'ai tribesmen against the Viet Minh."

Rachel listened quietly as Arnot recounted his tale of the G.C.M.A., including jumping off of the cliff into the river below.

"I wasn't about to let the bastards get me alive or parade my corpse through the nearby villages," Arnot replied, mouth set in a grim line.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Arnot, but I'm glad you didn't succeed in killing yourself," Rachel said.

I do feel lucky to be alive, however neither Andre or Gilbert or any of the tribesmen I was fighting alongside were afforded that. Arnot thought.

"So what's your story?" Arnot asked.

"It's about as long as yours is, minus references in French," Rachel replied.

"I do have time to hear it," Arnot replied, "As frankly I am curious how a woman wearing a hospital gown wound up in the middle of the jungle."

Rachel told her story, and it was Arnot's turn to listen quietly. A city rife with corruption. A masked vigilante. Of love for a man. Gotham's White Knight. The Joker. A dying promise. An explosion and seeing a circle of light.

Rachel noticed Arnot didn't seem skeptical at all, "You don't seem surprised."

"Mademoiselle," Arnot replied, "I got sent fifty-two years into the future when I tried to drown myself to prevent capture by the Viet Minh, I'm willing to step on a branch…"

"You mean go out on a limb," Rachel corrected.

"Yes, that," Arnot replied.

"I just hope whoever Jackie and those others work for don't think I need to see a shrink," Rachel replied.

"A shrink?" Arnot said.

"That's slang for a psychiatrist," Rachel replied as the tea kettle made the shrill whistle.

Arnot stood up, taking hold of the teapot and pouring a cup for each of them.

"Thank you," Rachel replied.

As Rachel waited for her tea to cool she saw the glossy cover of a magazine cover partially covered by some other pieces of mail. She recognized Harvey Dent on the cover straight away.

Carrying her tea cup with her Rachel walked across the room. Her heart pounding. Daring to hope. Is Harvey still alive? It seems like it. I mean I could hear him screaming my name as someone dragged him away…

Sliding the envelopes and other pieces of mail aside. Dropping her tea cup. Hearing it shatter against the floor, mirroring her heart shattering.

Holding the magazine in both hands, "No. This can't be...this can't be…"

"Rachel? What's wrong?" Arnot asked.

Dissolving into sobs she barely heard Arnot's footsteps as he headed over to her. Her tears blurred the words. Dropping the magazine to the floor.

She could feel Arnot throw his arms around her. Right now it didn't matter that she barely knew the man, as she broke down crying.

"Rachel?" Arnot said.

He heard nothing in reply, but more sobs. Glancing down at the floor, eyes falling on the magazine cover. It's words read: Gotham's White Knight Murdered by the Batman.

To Be Continued...