For Laughs - Batman/Criminal Minds - Chapter 9 - 10/17
Title: For Laughs
Fandom: Batman (Nolan universe, mostly)/Criminal Minds
Links: Prologue + Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6 + Chapter 7 + Chapter 8
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 9
Dr. Spencer Reid
Eventually, Reid had taken Alfred, as he had introduced himself, up on his offer of a drink and the butler brought out a bottle of one of Greenland's finest glacial waters to pour into a glass for the young agent. Alfred, it seemed, didn't realize that impatience, genius, and youth would be a combination that would keep him occupied for the next ten minutes.
"…And then, in a recent study, 45% of bottle water was discovered to be no different from tap water, though the purchasing companies, of course, usually applied an additional filtration system before bottling," Reid politely paused to take a sip, but didn't stay quiet long enough for Alfred to escape. "One of the most popular beliefs concerning gourmet waters, though, is that it's taken from a clean source, untouched by mankind, but what people forget is that human-caused pollutants are more than a few decades old and, what with the freezing and thawing seasons in the…"
Alfred raised a finger to stop the young agent. "Dr. Reid, I do hate to interrupt you, but I believe Master Bruce has arrived home."
Reid paled, quickly bending to look over the wingback side of his chair. Just as the butler had predicted, he could hear the sound of laughter in the hallway outside the sitting room. The doubled doors opened, and Bruce stepped through with a young woman in a tight pencil skirt and blazer, her hair in a loose bun, rectangular glasses drawing attention from her round face. She had a PDA in her hands, typing in information, but her gaze wasn't on the device but on the billionaire at her side. Bruce's infectious smile was that of a man smitten, but it was also as fake as the young woman's French-tipped fingernails.
"…But so long as we don't run out of wine, it should be fine," Bruce was saying, some ghost of a chuckle finishing the statement. He turned to see his manservant standing beside Dr. Reid's chair, and tapped his forehead in surprise. "Oh, I'd completely forgotten! Megan, it looks like we'll need to finish at a later time. I have a visitor."
Megan, the young woman, nodded, excusing herself and shutting the doubled doors behind her.
Reid fought hard not to grin. If this was a charade, it was a good one. Which also meant that Bruce Wayne was one of most convincing unsubs he'd ever met...The thought left Reid more somber.
Bruce strode forward. "So sorry you had to wait, Dr. Reid. Alfred called and told me you'd stopped in, but I was so caught up in discussions with Megan, my party planner. I'm hosting a gala to celebrate the completion of the manor. You and your team should really consider coming, if you're still in the city, of course."
"Oh?" Reid swallowed, collecting himself. When Bruce offered, he took the extended hand, shaking it briefly, before pocketing his fingers. Reid's brow wrinkled. "When is the gala?"
Bruce gestured for Reid to take his seat, and then found his own, casually crossing his legs. "Tomorrow evening."
Reid's grin was slightly crooked when he shook his head. "Really? Seems like a bad time to host a party," Reid noted. "It being a festivity amongst Gotham's highest. No doubt the guests will be costumed? Masked even? With someone as theatric as the Joker on the loose, well, it would seem like such an event was practically begging for the criminal to show his face."
Bruce balanced his chin on his hand and leaned to one side in thought. "You think so?" Bruce asked.
Reid could hear another question there, one unasked. It made him nervous. "I'm a profiler," Reid said, swallowing, "it's kind of my job to know these things."
Though the fireplace was popping and hissing, the air was suddenly somewhat chillier. The butler took a step closer to Bruce, pouring a second glass of the overpriced water. Reid watched him from the corner of his eye. If Batman was what the media made him out to be, he had a reason to worry. Suddenly Reid realized it hadn't been a very good idea to not leave any indication of where he'd gone. If something were to happen, his team wouldn't be able to find him in time…Reid pushed that thought down, convinced that his own profile on the Batman was the correct one.
Still, he knew he wasn't imagining the darkened look in Bruce's eyes, but what he was surprised to see was a slight, almost undetectable, nod of approval from the other man. Wayne hadn't expected Reid to realize the gala's purpose so quickly.
"Alfred," Bruce said. The butler looked down with a raised brow. "Could you catch Megan if she hasn't left yet. Tell her that I'll be rescheduling the gala for another time."
Alfred hesitated only a moment, looking from the agent to his master, before taking a polite step back and exiting the room.
Bruce took a sip of water, gently placing the glass back down on his side table. His gaze was downcast, as if looking at his own reflection. "How are you, Dr. Reid? Did you get any sleep at all?"
Referring to the hotel. Reid's lips tightened into a thin line. Bruce was trying to establish doubt, make him believe that his "crazy" theory was due to sleeplessness. It was a good tactic, but Reid had had nearly a half hour since arriving at the manor to doubt himself, and doubt he had, but he had remained firm, because of what his team had taught him: instincts were there for a reason.
"Not yet," Reid admitted. He smiled awkwardly, unable to stop from fiddling with his own long fingers. "But, Mr. Wayne, I'm not here to…"
"Bruce," the man interrupted.
Reid blinked. "Bruce," he tested, "I'm here to discuss the case."
Bruce's eyes widened slightly. Ever the constant actor. "How could I possibly help you, Dr. Reid? What would I know about the Joker?"
"Maybe nothing," Reid admitted. He chewed his lip, hunched forward to draw Wayne's eyes. "Of course, you were hosting the last party that the Joker… crashed, though you were never interviewed after the event. I believe it was a fundraiser, correct? For Harvey Dent?"
The wince was unmistakable. "It was a horrible night," Bruce commented. Sincere. "But I don't see how I could possibly help you. There were a few hundred people at the fundraiser. I'm sure they told you exactly what happened."
Reid nodded. "They did mention that you weren't there for most of it."
"Not one of my finer moments. But, what is it they say in your field?" Bruce brushed off his false shame with a wave of his hand. "Fight or flight, I believe it is?"
"Yes," Reid replied. "That's it exactly. While you were away at the fundraiser, the Batman arrived. But, I'm sure you were aware of his appearance." Reid tightened his fingers together, forming a solid, bloodless fist that hung between his knees. He didn't wait for Bruce to answer. "Of course, the Batman was very successful at keeping up with the Joker during his last spree. Which is why the case has evolved to include more than just the Joker. My team has profiled the Batman as well, hoping that they'll stand a chance of catching the Joker with the vigilante in custody. They want to take away the Joker's obsession."
Reid paused, waiting for a response, his pleading eyes intense as they attempted to look through the billionaire's façade.
Bruce smiled gently, still confused. "I'm sure your team is doing all it can to save Gotham," he said. "But I don't understand how you believe that Bruce Wayne could possibly help you catch the Joker. Or the Batman."
"Actually I think he, you, could be of great use to us. See, I think you might know him, the man he is without the mask. You probably travel in the same circles." Reid cleared his throat, back to business. He saw Bruce Wayne's protest coming, and cut him off short. "We developed a base profile for the Batman. Most significantly, we noted that he hides his face because he's recognizable to a good portion of the Gotham public. Public figure, perhaps. A celebrity, maybe. He's also wealthy, based on his weaponry, his uniform, his gadgetry. Or he has a wealthy benefactor. He's in his late twenties to early forties. Comes from a family sharing a tragic history, but the tragedy isn't a recent one. Batman has been training years for what he does. Also, he's alone, unwilling to trust more than the select few." Reid paused, taking a breath to insure that his voice wouldn't shake. "Does that remind you of anyone you know, Bruce?"
Reid's body tensed, his hand prepared to go for his gun, if required. Now was the time, when the pressure was applied, that he should start to see a glimpse of the man's more violent nature, if it existed in Bruce Wayne as well as in his Batman persona. But Bruce only released his hand, letting it fall along the length of the chair's arm in a loose grip.
"No one comes to mind," he replied.
Reid argued with himself over his next course of action. More pressure? A full confrontation? Or should he allow his gentle prod to fester within Wayne until he decided to take further measures as Batman? Reid somehow doubted that simply accusing the man in front of him would lead to any more than an argument and retreat. No, there had to be a way for Reid to get something more conclusive…
"Bruce," Reid broke eye contact, staring down to engage sympathy. "If you do know something. If you know of someone who might be a friend who fits the profile, you need to be aware that Batman has been accused of several crimes. Vigilantism, as I'm sure you know, is frowned upon. But, there's also the murders that occurred surrounding the death of Harvey Dent." His gaze lifted, watching Bruce carefully. "But I'm not entirely certain that the Batman is responsible for all that he's been accused of. We won't know that for certain, though, until we actually hear Batman's side."
"Batman," Bruce said, carefully, "is a loon in a costume. And Harvey Dent was a friend of mine."
There was more coming. Reid could almost hear the wheels turning as Bruce gauged his answer, and his study of the man was so intense, that he almost didn't feel his cell phone vibrating within his pants pocket.
Reid coughed, and pulled the phone free, glancing at it once before he realized it was a message he needed to read.
"J.J." he muttered.
"From your team?" Bruce asked. His voice was clearer, stronger. "Has something happened?"
Reid opened his messages: Where are you? Meet in front of the hotel in 20. Joker's been spotted.
"Maybe," was Reid's quiet reply. He stood up. "I have to go--"
Reid could have slapped himself. He needed to call a cab. There was no way it could arrive and get him to the hotel in time. He was about to dial J.J.'s number when Bruce spoke up, seemingly reading his mind.
"Alfred can drive you back to the city," Bruce offered. "It would be no trouble at all."
Reid wanted to decline, but one thought of Hotch's intense glare was enough. "Thank you."
With a flick of his wrist, Reid pulled free a card, handing it to Bruce. "In case you think of someone," he said.
Bruce stared at it briefly, then pocketed it. "Say, where is your team? Do they always send their agents alone?" Reid stiffened, but Bruce brushed off his own questions. "Never mind, you have somewhere else to be. Good luck, Dr. Reid."
Reid tipped his head, and walked out, releasing a very anxious breath. Explaining where he'd been to J.J. wasn't going to be a pleasant experience, of that much he was certain. With one final, uncertain glance at Bruce, he was sure of one thing: he was going to have to lie to her.
Detective Teddy Stephens had been a heavy smoker for fifteen years of his life. The process of quitting had been a long and difficult one, but with a little push from his wife and kids, he'd managed. And he'd stayed off his death sticks for five years. Then he lit up again, once he'd been cleared by the MT's the night the Joker had escaped in his custody. For a few weeks, he'd went back to his two pack a day routine, but slowly, as Gotham began to calm down after the clown's chaotic spree, Stephens had weaned himself down to two cigarettes a day. Two.
He was on his fifth when Agent Hotchner stepped outside the doors to the Major Crime Unit, and found him perched in the God-forsaken freezing cold shade of the building.
"You wanted to speak to me," the agent said.
Stephens frowned. He hadn't asked to speak to the man. Hell, he hadn't even told anyone else where he'd went. Still, he somehow wasn't surprised that the agent had managed to track him down.
Hotch stared the detective down, hands balanced at his waist. He broke the contact long enough to check over his shoulder for unwanted listeners. When he found none, his mouth opened.
"Is there something you know about the Commissioner's relationship with the Batman?" Hotch deadpanned.
Stephens nearly choked on the puff of smoke unfurling from his lips. The F.B.I. could be damned direct when the mood hit them. Granted, Stevens had been hoping he'd catch their attention at the profile.
Stephens put out his cigarette, pocketing the dead butt, and wiped his nose with a short sweep of his thick fingers. "Other cops, they know more than me. I just know what I've noticed, even before he became commish'."
Hotch's voice was low but clear. "Tell me what you've seen."
Stephens released a sigh. "I know Gordon had some way of communicating with Batman. Used to signal him with a spotlight. Officially, Batman was to be arrested on sight for years now, but no effort was really put into finding him, not before what happened with Dent." The detective paused. "When Batman killed those people, though, Gordon made a big show of starting the manhunt, destroying the spotlight. Cutting ties. I been a cop a long time, Agent Hotchner. I know the look that would have been in my eyes if the Batman had killed Dent in front of my family. Threatened my kids. And Gordon didn't have that look."
"What are you saying, Detective?"
"Nothin'." Stephens shook his head. "I just think your team might want to watch what they say in front of Commissioner Gordon. Especially when it concerns the Batman. Cause you don't know who's going to hear about it."
Hotch nodded, staring past the detective in thought. After a moment, he pulled free his phone, dialing a number. His brow wrinkled in thought when he was sent to voicemail.
"What's wrong?" Stephens asked.
"Have you see Agent Jareau?" Hotch asked.
Stephens shook his head. "Why?"
"We were supposed to ride to the hotel together after she finished meeting with her media contacts. Her phone's turned off." Hotch swallowed hard, quickly dialing Gideon's number. Even in the cool air, tiny beads of sweat began to crop along his hairline.
"Maybe she's still inside," Stephens suggested. "Might have fallen asleep in the break room."
Hotch stared at the man, awaiting Gideon's answer. "You don't understand, Detective Stephens. J.J… Agent Jareau never turns her phone off."
Reid stepped out of the town car, giving his farewell to Alfred. The ride back into the city had been surprisingly quiet. Throughout the years, Reid had come to realize that not everyone appreciated his random spouts of knowledge or hearing statistics. Especially hearing statistics. But that was not the reason why he had pushed down the urge to ask Alfred about Bruce's childhood, about the butler's relationship with his young employer, about Batman. No, the reason he had kept so quiet was that his mind had been incredibly loud. Question after question. Scenario after scenario. Reid felt as if he'd covered each and every one, trying to find a way to not tell his team that he suspected Bruce Wayne.
And, as annoyed as Reid was by the mere idea, he, himself, wasn't sure why he felt the need to keep his suspicions quiet.
Except that it meant keeping the Batman out there. On their side. Not behind bars.
Reid stepped out without a word and watched the town car roll away. Releasing a clouded breath, he stared across the street at the hotel building's splendid height. Surprisingly, he didn't see any of his team out front, or even through the glass doors of the front lobby. Odd.
He was barely aware of a van pulling up to park a space away from where he stood, shivering in the cold.
"Hey, kid!" a voice called.
Reid was about to turn toward it when gust of hot air fell from above. The sound of the blast registered a split-second later. When Reid looked up, he saw flames dancing from the side of The Menagerie, spitting smoke and debris. He counted the floors without meaning to: the fourth, the fourth floor. Not the floor Gideon and Derek and Emily were staying on… Before he could sigh in relief, a thought occurred to him. He calculated the number of windows, and though it was a mere guess…
"Is that my room?" he muttered.
"Hey, kiddo."
Reid stilled, feeling something sharp at his back. A hand gripped him at the shoulder, holding him against the blade. The fingers moved down his arm, patting his stomach until they found his Colt. The weapon was pulled free.
"Shh, now." A voice whispered into his ear. Reid winced. He knew that voice. He'd heard it on the recordings from earlier. It was unmistakable.
"Joker," Reid managed.
The chuckle against his hair sent a chill up Reid's spine. The agent glanced to the side, looking for a passerby, but the profiler inside him knew better than to shout out for help. The Joker would shoot first, laugh about it later.
"Well, I, um, hear," the clown whispered, "that he has been spotted nearby, Dr. Reid."
Reid barely registered the significance of those words before the Joker shoved him forward. The van rolled up, just in time, the side panel door sliding open. Two men in clown masks grabbed the young agent and pulled him inside.
The Joker hopped in over Reid's lanky legs, smiling brightly at the burning hotel before blowing it a painted kiss and slamming the door shut. The van drove past the approaching cop car, the officers deaf to the pained shouts from within the vehicle.
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