(no subject)
The blood, in and of itself, isn't new. No night in Gotham is completely good, but some are far worse than others. But whose blood it is that covers him and the interior of the Tumbler... it doesn't truly hit him until after he's dropped off his cargo at the hospital, and returned to the scene and picked it over for clues to what went on here, and where, God damn it, the Riddler and Two-Face had escaped to.
(He finds the stairway in the basement of the bowling alley, to the subway tunnel below. He considers, seriously, following it, but realises that he's too exhausted now to track properly, and promises himself to follow up on it tomorrow night, and to contact the Gotham Archives for records of sewer systems and subways, and start to work on compiling a map of the underground system. It seems that it may have been the key to more than he suspected.)
It doesn't occur to him until, exhausted and unspeakably frustrated, he's driven back to the cave to change and go home. When he descends into the cave, the harsh fluorescent lighting on his bloody armor turning it a surprisingly bright and sticky red --
He saved the Joker's life, tonight.
No matter how hard he tries, no matter how long he thinks on it, through shelling off his armour and through showering, watching soapy water swirl down the drain, from rust-red to dirty pink to clear, he can't feel as guilty, or ashamed of that as he knows he should. (And, oh, he knows that his next meeting with Gordon is going to be painful, even more strained than any of their previous ones -- and that's saying something.)
No killing. No leaving anyone to die. Not even a monster like him.
(He finds the stairway in the basement of the bowling alley, to the subway tunnel below. He considers, seriously, following it, but realises that he's too exhausted now to track properly, and promises himself to follow up on it tomorrow night, and to contact the Gotham Archives for records of sewer systems and subways, and start to work on compiling a map of the underground system. It seems that it may have been the key to more than he suspected.)
It doesn't occur to him until, exhausted and unspeakably frustrated, he's driven back to the cave to change and go home. When he descends into the cave, the harsh fluorescent lighting on his bloody armor turning it a surprisingly bright and sticky red --
He saved the Joker's life, tonight.
No matter how hard he tries, no matter how long he thinks on it, through shelling off his armour and through showering, watching soapy water swirl down the drain, from rust-red to dirty pink to clear, he can't feel as guilty, or ashamed of that as he knows he should. (And, oh, he knows that his next meeting with Gordon is going to be painful, even more strained than any of their previous ones -- and that's saying something.)
No killing. No leaving anyone to die. Not even a monster like him.