For Laughs - Batman/Criminal Minds - Chapter 4 - 5/17
Title: For Laughs
Fandom: Batman (Nolan universe, mostly)/Criminal Minds
Links: Prologue + Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3
Rating: T (overall), but ventures into M
Warnings: Joker-level violence, serial killer activities
Summary: If the BAU wants to catch the Joker, they'll need to profile the Batman. But will all of the team survive to close the case? Gen fic.
Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or any related characters in the franchise, nor do I own the television show Criminal Minds. Written for fun and sick kicks, not profit.
Chapter 4
Making a Scene
In the faint light of the confession booth, the glove could have been black. But when it was raised, when the light from the other side hit it just right, one could see that, instead, it was a dark, plum purple. One of those covered fingers ran across the tiny crosses, the heavy netting between confessor and priest.
"Uh, father, I do have a confession to make."
He could see the priest nod gently at the words. "Go on, son."
The Joker chuckled, pressing his face against the tiny holes, pulling the skin over them, scratching his scar against the crosses. "Well, father, I'm about to do something very naughty."
The priest blinked. In another city, he might have been confused. Might have asked the confessor to repeat the words, but Father Bentley knew Gotham. He went for the door. The booth's thin partition didn't budge.
A bead of sweat slid down the man's temple. This was Gotham City, and the silence on the other side of the booth could afford him no other words. "Oh, dear God…"
"Nah," the Joker assured, "it's just me."
Reid stooped down, his hair falling against his cheeks, and his back bent into a painful curve as he leaned down to watch the video playing across the screen. This one had been different from the rest, as it wasn't of the Joker teasing the authorities, or the brief and somewhat blurred footage from security cameras that had managed to catch a glimpse of the real Batman in action. No, this footage was from a news reel recording a press conference the day that Harvey Dent, Gotham D.A., confessed to being the Batman, and the rest of the team had all but dismissed it. Reid, however, felt there was something he was missing. So he re-winded, watching once more.
"I am the Batman."
The words came out strong, planned. Dent had planned to confess. To lie. About being the very man who would end his life within the week. Had this been what had caused Batman to commit a handful of murders after years of never killing the criminals he apprehended? Had it been the city's betrayal, the populous' quick decision to give him over to the Joker, or had it been Dent's confession? Perhaps he hadn't appreciated the man taking credit for his job? Perhaps it had pushed a fragile mind to the breaking point?
No, that wasn't it.
Instinct told Reid that there was something wrong with this scenario, but the couldn't quite put his finger on what it was bugging him.
Hotch walked past at a long stride, Gideon at his elbow. The agents stopped in front of Detective Stephens.
"Gather your men, Detective," Hotch requested, "we have a rough profile we'd like to give."
Stephens blinked. "Isn't that what you briefed them on a few minutes ago?"
It was true, while Reid and Prentiss had sorted through the video footage, Morgan, Hotch, and Gideon had presented a handful of officers within the Major Crime Unit the working profile for the Joker. It wasn't much, but it would give them an edge when it came to confronting and catching the clown. They hoped.
"This one's on the Batman," Gideon explained.
Reid paused the video, stepping out behind the other agents. He'd known they were working a profile for their own use, but he hadn't realized that they would be presenting it to the officers. The young agent had the distinct impression that his supervisors hadn't mentioned their plan to Commissioner Gordon either. When the officers did gather for the group, and Hotch explained the necessity of the profile, Reid realized he was right.
Commissioner Gordon stood in the doorway, watching from afar as the team reviewed what they knew about Batman.
"As we said earlier, the Joker behaves much like an addict. His crimes act as a drug, and like any addict, he requires increasing doses over time. In order to receive his fix, he plans more elaborate, sadistic schemes. The Batman is not a sadist, but he, too, requires a fix." Hotch paused, staring past the group and avoiding eye contact with Commissioner Gordon. "He must have justice. He must catch, or if required of him, kill these criminals. It has become his duty to do so."
Reid frowned. As far as they could tell, Batman had never committed murder "if required of him." While the possibility remained that he could be responsible for some of the unsolved deaths the city had seen over the years, Reid somehow doubted it. It was strange, that Batman had seemingly went out of his way to arrest thugs, thieves, and even murderers, only to go on a short spree and quit again. To go back to simply capturing them for the authorities after murdering. It was so…unlikely. Nevertheless, Spencer knew Hotch well enough to not question the choice of wording.
In fact, some egging voicing within him told him to stay quiet for this profile.
Morgan stood up, drawing attention to himself. "Batman is well trained, possibly as military or law enforcement, but make no mistake: he was never officially in these fields. All training he's taken part in was intended for its current use, to catch criminals. We are certain that he's lived in this city for most, if not all, of his life and that Gotham is where he received his first taste of violence. He's too well trained for this to be a recent event. Something in his past triggered the emergence of the Batman persona."
A cocky officer at the back raised a hand. "When is someone gonna tell us why this guy dresses like a bat?"
"Likely," Gideon picked up, "it's an image he himself associates with fear. He doesn't dress as an animal under the delusion that he's more than human, he dresses that way to invoke fear."
A young officer with a red ponytail tilted her head towards the board. "Isn't that like what you said about the Joker--the fear factor thing? We sure the Bat's not just paranoid that someone's going to see his face?"
"Hiding his identity is part of it, yes," Gideon replied. "A very large part. But this isn't a case of paranoia. The mask, the deepened voice, the persona, are relevant to what he does. In turn, though, these elements betray him. They tell us who he is." The agent took a breath, raising a hand towards the closest window. "Gotham knows this man. Its citizens would recognize him in an instance if he were to go out without a mask. I can guarantee you that, if we haven't encountered this man already, we will soon enough. He is a fixture of Gotham City with or without his costume."
Hotch took a step forward, his eyes following an officer from the front desk as he approached the commissioner in the doorway. Gordon winced at the news the officer provided and moved into the room, drawing the attention of the rest of the BAU.
"We should wrap this up," Gordon said, frowning, "the Joker's just made an appearance at St. Paul's Cathedral. You're going to want to see this."
She really was pretty-- Zsasz stroked her cold cheek and smiled slightly-- and now she was free, too.
It had been so long since he'd really done one for himself. Sure, getting Falcone to pay him for it was great, but there was something special about picking out your own victim, about choosing which bumbling zombie was worth slicing open. Because some of them, some of those walking dead were just so much more deserving.
Like her. Abby Greene, waitress, dropout. Dead girl.
Zsasz slid her favorite scarf around her neck, hiding the gaping slice of missing flesh, and tied it into place. With a little hum at his lips, he took a step back, examining his work.
Perfect.
Abby was propped using a coat rack, her arms folded and secured under each elbow, her order pad tucked against her chest. A pen poked free from one frozen fist. The expression on her face, that was where Zsasz had trouble at times, but not with Abby. She hadn't been stunned in that final moment. She had simply been… empty. Thankful. In death, as she was in life.
Zsasz unbuttoned his own shirt, his fingers running across the tally over his six-pack. He glanced down, one stained nail counting the tiny scars in each line. He found a row of tally marks with only four lines and raised his knife to the skin. A diagonal slice, thin and solid. Abby's mark.
Something to remember her by. Without wiping off the stream of blood sliding over his belly, he pulled his shirt closed and began to button it once more.
"Another one down," he muttered.
And, as much as he'd enjoyed it, he was looking forward to a getting paid again. The job, he was sure, would be just as…Satisfying.
Morgan wasn't fond of Churches, and a tenseness crept over his shoulder blades as he stepped down the aisle. His eyes slid over the long cedar pews once before training on the scene before him. A group in Gotham PD jackets were checking for evidence, well, that's what they were supposed to be doing. Instead, most of them were spectators, staring dumbly at the life-sized statue before them, mixed expressions of sadness and ill-contained humor on their faces. And, for at least one officer, the scene invoked a sense of chilling fear.
"Well," Morgan breathed, "that's just…"
"Unexpected," Reid supplied, looking nonchalant over the disfigurement.
The statue was of the Mother Mary, her hands outspread, a wide smile upon her face. Painted upon her face. A red smear at the lips, black coal at the eyes and white over the unveiled forehead and chin. Clown make-up.
Yes, the Joker had definitely left his mark.
Gideon stared down at an officer, the first on the scene. Though he'd already asked the question, he felt the need to voice it again. "And no one was hurt?"
The cop shook his head, a dizzy, lost expression in his face. "Nope, not a soul. Had about a half dozen folks amongst the pews and Father Bentley locked in the confessionary. Lady in the second pew said she was in the middle of her Hail Mary when the Joker comes out, gun in hand. He released three rounds into the aisle way, stopping her from leaving, and proceeded to… defile the Virgin Mother." The officer quickly swallowed his words. "But not like in a sex way," he corrected, "with just, you know, the paint."
Gideon stood, hands on hips a moment more, nodding to himself.
"After that, the Joker strolled out. Lady at the front called us in."
The officer wasn't sure whether he should move on. He bounced from one foot to the other, before choosing to continue instead.
"You know, it's weird."
Gideon blinked away his first thought, instead choosing to go with, "Which part?"
"I was on my way to a homicide." The officer looked over at the statue again, shaking his head. "Heard the other boys were actually going to give Major Crimes a call. They thought the murder might have been committed by the Joker."
"Why's that?"
The officer shrugged. "A young lady was killed with a knife and posed. Guess, well, homicide thought it was kinda, ya know, funny. Like the Joker's kind of funny. Girl was a waitress and she was posed in her own home, standing, dressed in her uniform. Her table had been set up, too, with drinks, like she was serving someone."
Gideon's brow rose. "And they've since ruled out the Joker?"
"Well, yeah." The officer frowned, as if the answer should have been obvious. "Between the security officer at her apartment complex and the body temp, the coroner's sure she was killed at the same time the Joker was here, painting. Man couldn't be in two places at once."
The officer took the distant expression in Gideon's gaze to mean that he could leave.
Morgan had been listening in. He recognized the expression as something more, and moved forward. "Gideon, what's on your mind?"
Gideon forced out a short chuckle. "Funny," he muttered. "He wasn't wrong. It sounds like our man."
Reid chewed his lip before supplying an answer. "A double? One of his lackeys dressed in makeup?"
"A psychotic doesn't care about covering up his crimes. He doesn't care about proving his innocence." Gideon shook his head. "No. It's almost as if the Joker did this just to prove he was here. Still, if he doesn't care, why? Why make such an effort?"
Spencer stared up at the statue, uncomfortable with her almost lewd grin. There was only one reason he could be certain of: "For laughs."
"I've still got a few hours in me," Emily protested. Nevertheless, she pulled her bag from the vehicle and released the SUV to the hotel's valet.
Hotch raised a brow, refusing to repeat himself. It had been a long day. They needed the rest. There was nothing more to be done at the moment. Period.
Morgan snorted, showing that he, himself, was already a little drowsy. "I'm surprised they held our rooms this long. I'm fairly certain check-in is supposed to take place before midnight."
Reid forced a smile in response, elbow to elbow with his teammate. When he looked up, however, his brow wrinkled in confusion. The group had entered from the side of the building and were now in full view of a glowing, two-floor entry way. "J.J., how did the budget allow for this?"
J.J. shook her head. "I made arrangements with a sister hotel, but after it came out that we were in the city to deal with the Joker, The Menagerie insisted we visit their suites." She glanced over her shoulder at the younger agent. "And while that was tempting alone, the fact that they were only a few blocks away from the GCPD sold me."
Morgan raised a brow. "How did they know the FBI were in the city?"
"I have a feeling that it had to do with Major Garcia making a few phone calls," J.J. smirked.
The team crossed the marble floor as a unit, their destination the front desk. Though it was, indeed, after midnight the lobby was surprisingly loud, high pitched, raucous laughter coming from the five-star dining option to their right. Before the team could reach the desk, they were intercepted by a voice exiting the restaurant.
"Ladies," a man said, "if I'm not mistaken, I believe this is the famed FBI team who'll be staying in Gotham for a while. Let's say hello to our saviors, shall we?"
Hotch stopped, shooting his piercing gaze at the well-dressed man all-but stumbling toward them. On his right arm a blond Amazon, on his left a buxom red head, but, somehow, Bruce Wayne managed to hold his champagne glass without spilling a drop. He flashed a wide, white smile at the group of agents before breaking loose from the women.
"Bruce Wayne." Bruce pushed a hand out to the closest of them, Gideon. Gideon hesitated only a moment before giving it a half-hearted shake.
Spencer cocked his head in curiosity. "As in Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises?"
"One and the same," Bruce replied. His gaze narrowed slightly on the young doctor, but he quickly flashed his million-dollar grin again. "It really is a pleasure to have you in Gotham. The manager told me you were staying here."
He quickly turned to Emily, his eyes widening dramatically when he took her hand. "Though, I must say, you're not exactly what I expected."
Emily forced herself not to grimace at his shift in body-language. "And what exactly were you expecting, Mr. Wayne?"
He chuckled. "You know? Suit, stuff upper lip, stick up their ahh--that guy," Bruce pointed a finger at Hotch, before smiling. "I'm just having fun with you," he excused. When Agent Hotchner's frown didn't lift, Bruce took a step back, gesturing toward the restaurant in surrender. "Let me make it up to you. How about a nightcap? Maybe a steak?"
"Is the restaurant still open?" Reid asked. Morgan rolled his eyes at the sincerity in the question. Reid almost never refused free food.
"Sure it is," Bruce patted Reid's arm playfully. "They tend to keep the place open late for the owner. And his company."
Hotch steered Reid away from the restaurant's enticing doorway. "If you'll excuse us, Mr. Wayne, we have a very long day tomorrow."
Bruce held up a hand, as if dismissing them. "I understand. Say, if you need anything, room service, a decent masseuse, just ask. It's on me. Hey, kid," Bruce ignored Reid's obvious wince at the word 'kid', "I'll make sure you're sent a plate of steak and eggs for breakfast."
"That's very," Hotch paused, "gracious of you, Mr. Wayne. But I'm afraid we're here to do a job. If you'll excuse us…"
The team moved to the desk, the sound of giggles and Bruce Wayne's voice fading behind them as the trio moved out the side doors and toward the valet.
Emily leaned into J.J. "He'd be kind of handsome if he wasn't so…"
"Obnoxious?"
"That's the word," Emily nodded.
Spencer didn't like being a floor away from the others. In fact, when he'd exited the elevator, he'd stared back at the closed doors, almost hoping one of his team members would have mercy on him and switch rooms. Alas, the doors remained closed, and Reid pushed his bag further up his shoulder, and turned to the long, empty corridor in front of him.
Suite or not, he would have preferred to be closer to his working family.
422. He found the number and slid his card in the lock. Red to green, and he pulled the handle down. Instinct told him to reach for the lights. When he found the switch, however, nothing happened.
Reid frowned, standing in the doorway to the blackened room. He could see the silhouette of a lamp only a few feet away. One step in, he paused, though, and looked down, noticing something beneath his shoe.
Reid squatted down, plucking free a thick piece of paper. The light from the hallway filtered in over his back, illuminating the blue, patterned backing of the playing card between his fingers. Spencer took a trembling breath and turned the card over. A jester stared back at him.
When his eyes lifted, he saw what the shadow of his body had hidden from him. The floor of the room, the entirety of the room, was scattered with playing cards.
READ CHAPTER 5