Disclaimer: Property of: Warner Bros, DC Comics, Legendary Films, Chris Nolan, Christian Bale and Heath Ledger. I own nothing! Woe to me.
Slash warning! Turn back now.
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Who Will Love Me Now?
--
Really, it had been like any other normal night in Gotham.
A new vigilante on the loose, the police baffled and useless--the Batman on it's tail. The usual.
Only, it wasn't. It just...wasn't. ..It was raining that night too, he remembered, raining, buckets. Pitter patter, everywhere. Not a drop to drink. The entire City seemed to overflow, water washing off the buildings in sheets. Still, not even the seemingly forgiving rain could cleanse the filth that is Gotham. Not just--the small time criminals, the bosses, the murderers, the incurables--the people as well. The undeserving masses, the civilians. Dirty. Worthless.
The tunnels had been closed off earlier that day. Flood warnings. Lightning cracked the night sky now, crash, boom, shing--all through the night. Pouring down. Oh, it could have been so beautiful. The City could have been washed away. Now, that would have been fun. Thousands and thousands, screaming for the hand of God, pleading, before they're swept away under so many crashing currents. He liked that image. It wasn't fire and kapow, it wasn't -pretty-, like fire, or sparklers, but it was still a pleasant thought. How many of them would cry for The Batman. THAT's what he would really want to see--Batman's -face-. Watching the people of this so beloved city, sucked away. And he couldn't raise a hand to help just -one-. They never deserved to touch him in the first place.
None of them did.
He hadn't seen it happen. But that wasn't the burn of it. He hadn't -known- about it, until so many precious hours after. How -dare- they keep such a thing from HIM. How DARE they think he didn't need to know.
Gloved hands fisted green-greased hair. The roots were -screaming-, the skin was pulled so taut, it was so close to giving way. How could they not tell him. How could they. How could they. How could they. How COULD THEY.
They had played it a hundred times on the news. A thousand, hundred, million times. It had been retold by different people a hundred, thousand, million times too. He had heard it all. Memorized it. It played over, and over, and over in his head. Every single word. Every report. An image had been painted so vividly in his mind, he pulled, ripped, scratched at his head to get it -out-. To make it all go away.
That it was all one big joke.
Why did it have to be raining? He used to like thunderstorms. Like small explosions rumbling through the sky. Now he hated them. He never wanted to see another storm for the rest of his life. Which, at the moment, was very, very likely.
Someone had been kidnapped. Someone that worked for a very important business. Someone that had to be brought back, immediately. Gotham's finest were useless, as usual. So, who else were they to rely on...?
In the corner, a television flickered in the dark. Dark-circled eyes turned to gaze at it. Some anchorwoman. They were searching still. She kept saying--they ALL kept saying it--'No sign' 'no sign' 'no sign'--
The Joker reeled. With a keening growl, he leaned back a bit too far in his chair, and went tumbling to the dusty floor of his temporary base of operations.
He screamed.
Nearby, a considerably jumpy group of Hench-clowns went still. Since their boss had come back, their numbers had decreased considerably in a puddle of blood. No one dared to approach him. They didn't even breathe loudly. The ones with the most seniority stuck close to the doors, just incase. None of them had ever seen him in such a way. He hadn't laughed in hours. Not even when he blew the brains out of half their guys. It was a bad, bad sign.
The Clown Prince of Crime remained where he was. Face down against oil-stained concrete. He wasn't sure when he had stopped making noise...or had he? Was his throat even working. Nothing else seemed to want to. Nothing moved. Nothing hurt, nothing felt. He could only see the flickering, grainy film playing back in his mind.
It was raining.
--
"I need six teams, here, and here--the rest of you, I need a barrier, around the Enterprises building...Maria, how many men are at the penthouse?"
"Six, Jim, though the protectee isn't exactly happy about it."
"Mr. Wayne is going to have to understand it's for his own good. Somehow, I have a feeling Mr. Fox wasn't our..."
Plastic rattled as Commissioner Gordon consulted a thin, patched note inside a clear evidence bag.
"...-Hatter-'s...original target."
He tossed the colorful thing back on the table, among maps, building layouts, blueprints, etc.
Lucius Fox was missing. Upon entering the man's office that morning--seeing as he missed a 9am meeting, and he never does so--Bruce Wayne found a ransom note. From the Mad Hatter.
According to Arkham files, the Hatter was a Jervis Tetch, man arrested and incarcerated ages ago for terrorizing and ransacking the Gotham Yacht Club. He was one of the many never found after the asylum was destroyed. He hadn't really shown up on the radar since. A rather ambitious way to return to headlines. The ransom was fifty-million. In money and silk hats. Size 6/10. Wayne had agreed to the ransom, against the commissioner's wishes.
The young billionaire wanted his employee back.
Gordon adjusted his glassed and stepped away from the table.
"All right. Let's go."
The groups of double-bullet-proofed police filed out of the briefing room. Maria stayed with Gordon, trying to give him a talk-to about the roof positioned teams, when a clad black figure stepped in his path. Four years, and Gordon had never gotten used to seeing him, honestly. He startled him, every time.
"...just a minute, Maria.."
The young police woman stared at Batman--the Commissioner, and obediently left.
"You're never going to listen to me, when I say -not- to come to the station, are you. You're lucky the entire force is after this Hatter."
"Where are your men stationed."
"Ground level, SWAT coming in from the roof--and our four delivery boys."
"I need five minutes."
Gorden heaved a high. Five minutes. Always with the godblessed five minutes.
"The deadline is -set-, you don't have--"
"Five minutes. They won't last. He's a mind manipulator, he'll warp their conscience before they can pull their guns."
"Then how are you--"
"I have my own resources. Five minutes."
Gordon's radio went off. He stared at the Batman. Why did he always have to be in these situations? Why, oh why, was he constantly in this spot. The radio went off again.
"Repeat, Commissioner, we need you, over."
...
Gordon glanced down to take his radio.
"I don't have time for this--if you're going to go, then g--"
He brought the thing to his ear, and looked up.
He was gone.
Figures.
--
"POLICE, HANDS ON YOUR HEADS."
The door lightly tapped against the office walls. Gordon lightly stepped in, gun raised. Men poured in behind him, rifles and pistols at the ready.
The two guards raised their furry heads, one dressed as a brown rabbit, the other as a mouse. They both looked considerably relieved, tied together with dark black wire. Batman. Behind them was a chair, facing away towards a window, seating a very -very- relieved Wayne Enterprises employee. A pair of white bunny ears were tied to his head, a pocket watch set on his knee. Gordon made his way over.
"Mr. Fox, I am commissioner Gordon. You're safe now." He waved over an officer with a ready knife to cut him loose.
"I'm not entirely sure I was in all that much danger, Commissioner. Rather than kill me, he was taken by the thought of a tea party."
Fox lightly rubbed his wrists, watching as another policeman freed his ankles from the legs of the chair.
"Where is he."
"Said he was going to fill the tea pot on the roof." Fox glanced out the window--a storm rocked the building. Lightning clashed, splitting the sky.
"--No...Batman."
"He was here, taking care of those two. Told him where the Hatter was--and raced up himself." Fox gave him something of a funny-like-a-hernia smile, slipping the ears off his head. "Left so fast, didn't think to cut me free. A Bat has to have his priorities."
Gordon glanced upwards, as if his stare could pierce through the walls, straight to Batman and the Hatter. His five minutes were up. They had to catch him, Batman or no. Gordon signaled to his men.
"You three, get Fox out've here--the rest of you--he's on the roof, let's go--"
As he raced out towards the stairwells, and small part of him couldn't help but hope that the Dark Knight had already finished the job. That he could do what he was afraid they couldn't.
Fox stood to watch Gordon hurry out. He understood why Bruce liked Gordon, all of a sudden. Why Batman liked him. One glance, and he knew he was the most incorruptible cop in the entirety of Gotham. At least, he hoped he was. Bruce, Batman, needed that. The City needed that, just as they needed Batman.
Fox turned one last glance towards the window, as a policeman slung a blanket over his shoulders. Irony of ironies, the maniac who kidnapped him had decided to hole up in their smaller--but no less high--Wayne Enterprises building. Their newest business endeavor, right on the water too. Bruce had passed through minutes before the police arrived. Still, something told him it was too long. Something wasn't right.
--
"Okay, everyone--BACK UP--this is a HIGH risk area, hear me?? Back up, come on, BACK UP--"
A VERY drenched, VERY irritable Officer Harvey Bullock was manning traffic control, along with twenty other of Gotham's finest. Fucking rain. It just wouldn't stop pouring--he could barely see through the water, let alone keep a hundred civilians and television news vultures from slipping past him in it.
He didn't deserve this. He was a detective, for fuck's sake. He should be up -there-. Doing his JOB. Not playing water hockey with the masses. Fuck you, Gordon. Fuck you, AND your Batman.
"Detective Bullock!! What's the word on Bruce Wayne, was he the real target?!"
"Detective Bullock, Seen any Batmen lately?!"
"Is the Batman in on his caper, Detective Bullock?!"
Bullock spared a glance upwards at the building. The top was lost in darkness and rain. A flash of lightening occurred, and there--just there--he could see the edge of the roof. They were up there, all right, doing God knows what. It was the Batman's fault anyway. He decides to dress up like a frigging animal and go prancing around like some superhero, and Gotham gets the same whackos in costumes, juuust to pick a fight with him. Bastard. Rat. Bastard.
"Is Gotham's police force really working secretly with the masked rodent?!"
"The Batman: Friend or Foe, Villain or Hero--What's YOUR opinion, Detective?!"
"My opinion?! My opinion is you should back the hell up before I nail you in the b--
"OH MY GOD!!"
"LOOK UP THERE, LOOK--!"
A hundred eyes turned upwards.
The officers soon followed suit, the only movement in the street being the rain, pelting down on a hundred faces.
Bullock turned.
"...can't b..."
--
"--What the--"
"HEY--!"
Fox rushed to the window, hands and forehead pressed against it. The police with him followed, staring open-mouthed at the glass.
"...was that..."
"It was--..."
Fox could only stare. Bruce. Bruce...
"...No."
--
Gordon leaned over the concrete. His hands gripped the lip of the roof so tightly, his fingers cracked. He was just -here-. Right there, where he was standing now. Little red spots littered the roof. Little red dots, running in the rain. The blood didn't belong to Gordon, or any of them. It was -his-. Everything was still. So still, for so many agonizing seconds. There was no rain. There was no lightning. There were no buildings, no cement, no giddy manic laughter floating about behind him, no force, no men, no street, no -Gotham-. It hadn't happened. It wasn't possible. Any moment now, he'd see him--flying back across the sky, against the light-filled city. Any moment now, they would be chasing him again. Any moment now.
Any moment now.
"...issioner."
Any...
"...Commissioner."
Every sense came thundering back, and Gordon faced the young officer addressing him. His eyes were wide. His face was white.
"...what...happened."
The image flashed before his eyes. Batman. The Hatter. This--thing, had rolled out from the maniac's coat--and...boom...
Giggling drew his attention. The policemen holding the Hatter stared between them.
"Twinkle, Twinkle, little Bat...how I wonder what you're at? Up above the WOOORLD you fly...like a tea-tray in the sky!!"
Gordon was on him immediately, taking him by his colored lapels, lifting him into the air, his large hat falling to the side.
"What did you DO?!"
"He--ha-ha--wasn't invited to the party! Very rude you know--inviting yourself, when you're not invited!! Now, please, let me retrieve my hat--it's my -favorite-!!"
The other officers had to pry Gordon off him. Many of them were still in a state of shock.
The younger one idled by the edge of the roof, staring down, down, down into the water front. Countless people lined the street. No one moved. No one breathed. He looked over the red stained edge and swallowed.
...he couldn't possibly be dead..could he?
--
"…he..was...mine..."
--
Only a taste of the Joker? Oho, think again.
Next time: Arkham Asylum - Even Though You Know Your Heart Is Breaking, Laugh, Clown. Laugh.
R&R, my lovelies!!