Slipping Into Entropy - Part 19

[razothredfire]

Bruce slept for a long time. He dreamed of his parents, when they were alive, and himself back at their old home. It had been a normal day, he had no cares nor worries. Mom and Dad were and had always been there. He didn't know of the bats' caves under the mansion, and life was as perfect as it was ever going to be for Bruce Wayne, that is until he fell down those very caves, just like he had in the real world a lifetime ago. Landing hurt, like it really had, but this time when he stood, the bats merely rustled in their shadows. Vaguely he recognized that was not what was supposed to happen. There was no Rachel waiting at the top of the crevice this time. His parents were back up inside the house. He looked around nervously, finally venturing forth into the cavern.

There was little light, and he was anxious about getting lost. Small scratching sounds came from the ceiling, some from the walls. He could see things moving along them. He wasn't sure what pulled him forward in spite of his fear, but when a low, echoing chuckle rattled through the cavern, a shock of dread crept through him. His heart beat rapidly in his chest and he knew he'd gone in too far. He wanted to turn around, but by now he wasn't sure of the way out any longer. He looked around for the light from where he'd fallen, but had somehow lost it. He looked for a place to hide, but everywhere was shrouded in darkness already and the endless amount of bats hissed and shrieked at him when he got too close to a niche in the wall.

In the distance, something large moved, rising from the ground and scraping over the stone floor. Bruce was frozen with fear, his palms sweaty, he had nowhere to go. The thing was twice as large as him, and it ambled forward like it was stalking prey. Bruce was terrified, he could feel its eyes on him, and even if he did find someplace to hide, he knew he wouldn't make it. As the hulking form came closer, he could make out limbs, human limbs, knees bent, swaying as it walked, and finally when it got close enough, a head cocked to the side, staring gleefully at him, grinning with piercing eyes, a smile too wide and teeth too sharp and yellowed to be natural. Wasn't the Joker glad to have such a delicious lunch fall right into his cave?

Bruce woke just as the looming figure of the Joker bent down to greet his ten year old self. In his hands, he'd held a knife, short but glistening in the faint light. He'd sat on his heels, reaching out and clasping Bruce's hands, putting the knife into them. Bruce saw cuts like a bracelet all the way around his wrists. "I want you to do something, something for me...." he'd said, in that low, guttural tone, then gestured to his cheeks with one hand. "I want you to make these scars." Strangely, Bruce had understood at the time. The Joker wanted him to be literally scarred, just as he was, for all to see. He hadn't been able to form a reply before the dream dissolved. His heart was still racing when he opened his eyes, his mind not yet having left the dream world.

Joker was having nightmares of his own, trembling under a sheen of cold sweat. It was always worse after drugs were put into his system, making it harder to wake up before the worst happened. Pitch blackness drowned out any sense of sight, but he knew the sounds, the smells, the whole place by feel. His wrists and ankles burned, and when he tried to move his limbs a faint clinking reached his ears; he'd been caught out of them again. He must have put them on tighter.

He strained his ears to listen, feeling around to figure out which room, which corner he'd been put in this time. He was used to the routine by now - dislocate and slip out to work, but slip in again before he came back and noticed. He was just bracing himself for the process when a sound above him sent ice through his veins. Ever so faintly, a key turned in a lock somewhere far away, the soft click echoing down through the stone rooms far below the surface.

He curled in on himself and tried to hide, shove himself into a corner, even though he knew it wouldn't do a bit of good. He never forgot where he had left his prisoner chained, ever. Even then, it would only be a matter of time, searching room by room; he always kept the entrance locked, whether he was inside or out, so there was no use in running to the door. He'd learned that the hard way, years ago.

His pulse sped up even more as his eyes, sensitive from the endless dark he lived in, caught the first faint signs of light creeping under the door to his room, soft footsteps coming closer. He bit his tongue and covered his mouth in both hands, trying to keep the noises that were sometimes were sobs, sometimes hysterical laughter, from escaping.

Bruce sat up where he lay, and stared into space. The dream had been vivid. He never...really liked it when he had dreams about his life, but he admitted he'd been having more of them lately. He recognized that they were part of his subconscious, but he did not go to the lengths some people did in giving them grand meaning far beyond what he felt they deserved. After all, they only told him what his waking mind already suspected. They were certainly not shocking revelations. He just didn't like being reminded. He nearly shuddered at the vision of the Joker his dream had conjured. It was the same man, but he could look.....terrifying when he wanted to, when Bruce didn't have his guard up and experience on his side.

He could feel his mind collapsing, babbling in horror and denial, other pieces shutting down to try to save what was left of his sanity. The footsteps moved into another room and the light faded, giving him a moment of reprieve and doubt. It was possible that he had just come down for supplies, or to tinker with some of the various tools and chemicals and oddities he'd kept stored down there...

A sick feeling twisted his stomach as the little noises in the other room ceased, then the footsteps exited... and came closer again, the strip of light by the door growing brighter and brighter. The metal handle squeaked as it turned, revealling a tall, muscular silhouette, lantern in one hand and a handful of instruments in the other. Curling tighter into a defensive ball, he shielded his eyes from the light and screamed in sheer despair and terror, the sound crossing over the barrier of dreams to cut through the batcave. Light, winged forms detatched from the ceiling and fluttered about anxiously, disturbed by the sound.

Bruce heard it from the shower. It snapped him out of the reverie he'd been left in since waking. It didn't sound like anything he'd heard his captive utter before, so hurriedly he jumped out of the water, pulled on his pants and took off down the hall. He checked the monitor to see the Joker tossing on his cot; when he entered he realized the man was still unconscious. He looked nothing like the figure from Bruce's dream. Door swinging shut behind him, he moved to the Joker's side and attempted to pry his arms down from his face to wake him.

The figure in his dream quickly crossed the room, reaching out to grab hold of him. The touch only made him scream again and try to pull away, despairing, hysterical laughter soon following as he knew what the response would be. Again the hands tried to pry away the protection he'd thrown up over his face, force him to look.

Frustrated, Bruce shook the Joker. "WAKE UP," he shouted into the man's ear in spite of his fervent efforts to tear himself out of Bruce's grip. His face was scrunched up and he was cringing away from Bruce who didn't quite understand what he was seeing.

The dream slid into reality and merged in his mind, the other man shouting and shaking him, somehow dislodging the chains that held him in place. Giggling in sheer, mad terror, he twisted out of Bruce's grip, tumbling straight into a corner of the cell to huddle down protectively and 'hide'. 1, 2, switch of yew. Beat the bellboy black and blue...

Bruce didn't like this at all. This was not the Joker that had taunted him endlessly, he did not recognize the expression on the man's face. It was an altogether different kind of madness, and surprisingly, it scared Bruce. The look in his eyes was distant, shying, he'd never looked at Bruce like that. Not.....not really...... But he remembered that first night when he hadn't thrown the Joker in a cell. He'd woken up mad, like now. It dawned on Bruce that....perhaps this was some facet of the Joker's personality that was entirely new to him. He approached the man in the corner slowly, hands held out, trying to express truce, but unable to lower them out of a defensive stance. He was simply too used to the Joker's attacks.

The smaller man couldn't see Bruce come closer, but seemed to sense it somehow. He pulled his arms tighter around himself and shivered, rocking back and forth, hyperventilating and letting out another peal of hair-raising, frightened laughter. When Bruce got within a touching distance all noise suddenly cut off, eerie silence filling the room but for the Joker's panicked breathing. A longnailed hand twined into his own hair, pulling on it painfully.

Carefully, Bruce reached out and took hold of the hand. He stared in dull shock at the Joker, who had his eyes screwed shut, green hair falling into his face. He tried to pry the Joker's grip from his scalp, and managed a little, but his hair hadn't been conditioned in quite a while and much of it was tangled beyond hope. Bruce crouched down before him, whispering, "Joker."

His eyes opened at that utterance, unfocused and unseeing as he stared into some internal memory. After a moment, something in the man seemed to click, and his eyes and face reverted to the expressions Bruce was accustomed to - though the tension never left his body, the high-strung aura still reverberating off of him. Green eyes flicking sideways to his visitor, his lips curled up into an amused smile, though a note of curiousity touched his gaze. "...back so soon? You must have enjoyed yourself more than I thought. Next thing you know, you'll be kidnapping Crane to see if he's a good lay..."

Unable to stop the shock from falling over his features, Bruce's mind, much like the Joker's persona, did a one eighty, stumbling over which revelation to consider first. What the hell had he just witnessed? And, he knew Bruce had seen Crane? He had not been expecting that. "Where were you just a second ago?"

Joker blinked at him in surprise, then tsked, shaking his head. "We need to work on your repertoire of jokes, Batsy. That was lame even by my standards. You think I'd still be here if I'd gone anywhere else?" He giggled again at the polestruck look on the other man's face, using one finger to shut a jaw that had been dropped. "If that was a suggestion, my answer is the kitchen. You're hospitality has been more draconian than chiropteric."

Bruce's eyes narrowed, water dripped from his face onto the Joker's hand. He tilted his head and studied the Joker carefully. "Don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about, you can eat later. What the hell was all that about just now?" Goddamnit, he looked so amused with himself, watching Bruce flounder.

"What was what about, you shaking me awake? A startling way to wake from an uncomfortable sleep. I thought whoever topped was supposed to be a gentleman and help the lady to bed, but apparently you thought fit to let me pass out on the floor. Charming. Next time, I get to leave you on the floor to wake with a stiff neck and me shaking you like an epileptic on speed. Deal?"

"Enough already." Bruce had had it. He lifted the Joker by the collar of his shirt and dragged him out the door and down the hall, not waiting for the other man to gain his bearings. He kept a firm hold, one hand on his arm, one hand twisting the cloth at his neck to maneuver him along. Bruce stopped at the operations room, pulling up the security camera from the Joker's cell, which currently showed an unoccupied cot. He backtracked the footage about an hour, replaying the Joker curled on the bed, shrieking loudly. "That, Joker, what the hell was that?"

That wiped the sly smile off his face, shock and curiosity mingling as he squinted at the video playing onscreen. Joker was riveted, his eyes scanning the footage for clues as his confusion grew. ...is he joking? What is this? "....what is this?" he finally voiced the question, his features oddly serious and lucid; it was almost creepy not to see him acting the loon.

Bruce glanced between the transfixed man and the viewscreen, suddenly calming a little. "That's an hour ago." He sped up the pace until the screen showed a soaked and shirtless Bruce barging into the room and taking hold of the cringing Joker. He watched himself, sobering a little, and even more shocked at the difference between the man on the screen and the man he held in place now.

Joker watched it unfold in silence, his expression disbelieving. He faked it. No, how would he fake it? You know he could, there are so many ways to alter such things... but why would he do it? What does it gain him? His gaze flicked sideways, giving Bruce a suspicious look. "...I don't remember any of this." What's the game?

"That was five minutes ago," Bruce said in disbelief. "You want to tell me you slept through it? And then woke up exactly like that?" he pointed to the screen, pausing the footage where it was clear that the off kilter Joker had regained his composure, sitting there and mocking Bruce for leaving him on the floor overnight, shaking him awake.

"Well, I certainly didn't do any of that that I can recall, so yes," he shot back, anger and confusion mingling. "What on earth do you think you're going to get, faking footage like that? Hoping I'll get confused and spill some sort of juicy secret for you to manipulate?" A shiver ran through him. How on earth did he get the footage to match up so precisely? I don't feel drugged anymore...

Bruce laughed in disbelief. "Faked it? Faked it? You woke up just like that, did you not? You remember: "letting you pass out on the floor", "my hospitality", "epileptic on speed"?" He quoted the Joker's words back to him, just like the monitor did a moment ago. "Oh yes, I faked that alright. Last night while you were asleep, I dug around in your head and made you hallucinate all of this, then video taped it exactly like you would remember it, just to make my life that much more fun." He imagined if the Joker ever gained that much technological power, he'd have a right thrill pulling jokes like that on people.

The anger was still there, spiked by the other man's taunting laughter, but the confusion intensified and gained a new element: fear. "Shut up," he rasped, his gaze bouncing back and forth between his spiteful captor and the flickering monitor screens. "I don't remember anything before you woke me up, none of this." Does he have something that splices media on the fly, I wonder? He has so many toys, and I'd surely remember... wouldn't I?

Shutting off the monitor abruptly, Bruce turned to his captive. This was getting nowhere. "That's fine," he growled in frustration, and forced the Joker back down the hall and into the cell once again. "I'm sure you'll have a long time to think about it, anyway." He stalked to the door, his posture relenting ever so slightly. "I'll send breakfast down within the hour."

The captive didn't respond, no witty repartee close at hand like a stinging saber. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, frowning and attempting to cover up his inner turmoil as he attempted to puzzle out why Bats would show him such a thing; whether it was false, whether it was real, what it all meant.

Bruce left after that and didn't look back. After securing the cell, the lair, finding a shirt, and making sure the cameras were back in place, he went up into the sunlight for what felt like the first time in days. It was a fairly nice day, actually, but it took his eyes a while to adjust, and his senses a long while to regroup. He walked downtown, taking his time to find a restaurant. He sat next to a window, and ordered the first thing on the menu while he tried to let that sun wash over him and clear away his restless mind. Across the room, he could hear the television rapidly firing off the latest news.

The television was full of the usual stories: gossip on the major political players, major crimes that had been committed, weather disasters around the world. Every few minutes, however, attention would jump back to speculations about the escaped Joker, his seeming focus on the Wayne empire and the billionaire himself, and the implications that Batman was intimately involved in the plot. The newscasters hinted and hyped an analysis that would be airing on that evening's news, trying to hook as many viewers as they could for the prime time program and, of course, prime time commercials.

Bruce wanted to bury his head in his plate, which had just been served, steaming and delicious. He didn't realize it, but he'd been starving. It was impossible to avoid the sound however. At least all they really had at this time was speculation, clearly supported speculations, but nonetheless.... He knew he had to get back to work. Picking up the cell that he'd brought with him only out of habit, he called Lucius. When the CEO picked up, Bruce could tell that he'd been working all night. "I assume you've seen the news, then," his voice rang tiredly over to Bruce's end.

"We're going to need damage control on this one," Bruce responded, between shoveling mouthfuls of food, and trying to be discreet about it.

"I'm already on it, Mr. Wayne. I can't claim to know how successful it's gonna be, but we've got several of our people lined up to interview for the program tonight. They'll stand by your word that you have nothing to do with the Batman, nor the Joker, and that both of the, pardon me, costumed clowns have singled you out to attack because of Wayne Enterprise's influence on the financial structure of Gotham, and nothing more. If all goes well, you'll look more irresponsible than ever in the eyes of the public."

"What would I do without you?" Bruce grimaced.

Gorden picked that moment to enter the restaurant, waving aside the hostess as he walked calmly towards the man who'd been the source of so much aggrivation for the police force in the past few days. Nodding to Bruce, he smiled politely, knowing the conversation wasn't going to be easy. "Glad to see tragedy hasn't killed your appetite, Mr. Wayne. May I join you? I have a couple of things I'd like to discuss with you - if you're done, that is," he added, gesturing to the cell phone in Bruce's hand. A waitress came up to offer him coffee, distracting his attention for a moment as he accepted the offer with a kindly smile.

Now Bruce wanted to let his head fall to the table. But, with a firm mental kick, he buried the feeling and replaced it with a welcoming lopsided smile. He said goodbye to Lucius and then focused his attention on the Commissioner, which didn't necessarily require putting down his fork. "Gordon, it was Gordon, right?" He leaned in and made room for the Commissioner's coffee. "Was just making arrangements to rebuild the memorial." He paused, then said more soberly. "I take it you haven't found the guy responsible for all this then?"

"Not yet, no. But don't you worry, Mr. Wayne. I've assigned some of my best men to the task. Speaking of which," he added, pausing for a moment to consider how to put the next part delicately. "You've had quite a lot of us worried for your safety. I had officers assigned to watch over you after the incident at the company, officers that you seem intent on avoiding. It's for your own protection, Mr. Wayne, and after the latest turn of events, I'm even more concerned about what may happen next. You seem to be the ultimate target of whoever's behind the attacks. I... realize having bodyguards may be a bit of a damper on certain aspects of your lifestyle, but will you please coorperate with my officers until we resolve things? I don't want any accidents to happen to you when the police force has been charged with preserving your well-being," Gordon finished, looking thoroughly chagrinned.

"C'mon Gordon," Bruce twisted down in his seat and placed his elbows on the table as if to level with the Commissioner. "How would you like having the secret service follow you around all day?" He rose his eyebrows. "Besides, if I can get away from them for a night out while they're stationed in my home, do you really think they're going to stop, whoever it is, that's out to get me?" Finally he met Gordon's eyes directly. "I trust my own security. Not cops I don't know, especially not cops who've been investigated by their own internal affairs within the past year." He kept the tone light and confident, not accusing Gordon, but hoping his position would come out clear.

The man's mouth twisted in disappointment beneath his clean-cut mustashe. "That's true, but so is the reverse, Mr. Wayne: you don't seem to have security with you today, and if my officers tracked you down this quickly and passed the word along, are you going to risk guessing how quickly the perpetrator's eyes and ears can get word back to him?" He took a sip from the steaming mug at his fingertips, plain bitter black. "All I'm asking for is a little cooperation and caution, Mr. Wayne. Is that so much to ask when your life may be at risk?"

Managing a laugh in spite of the validity of the Commisioner's conclusion, Bruce sat back and relaxed. "Well, if my eggs jump up and bite me, I'll be sure to let you know right away." Of course he didn't have security with him, he'd been vexed and wanted some daylight. Truth be told, he usually only took a few guards out when he wanted to be seen or make an impression. "Commissioner, I appreciate the concern, really, but shouldn't you be more focused on keeping the public safe? All this for one man..... I'm sure there are people out there who need your help a lot more than I do."

"Oh, I'm all for helping the common man just as much as the uncommon," Gordon agreed, enjoying another swig of bitter brew, chuckling in spite of himself at Bruce's egg imagry. "The problem is that you are, as they say, a celebrity. A well-known face, a symbol. The Wayne family has meant quite a bit to this city over the years, and I don't think we want to lose the last of that legacy to another violent, tragic end. Perhaps you aren't a Mother Teresa, Mr. Wayne, but an attack on you could affect more than just your personal life. A great many citizens depend on your company for their livelyhood, and you're directly tied to people's image and confidence in that enterprise." He shot Bruce another entreating look. "If you won't agree right now, at least promise me you'll think about it. I have to get back to headquarters, but my phoneline is always open. Call me if you change your mind or if you remember anything that might be helpful in the investigation. Please."

Bruce smiled genuinely a the comparison to Mother Theresa, but nodded. "I'll think about it, you have my word." He felt marginally guilty for leaving the Commissioner out of the loop on the Joker for so long, but Batman was really between a rock and a hard place in this situation. Gordon should know he was keeping the maniac, but in so doing, he would have to explain why. Finally Gordon moved to stand. "Sure you don't want to try some of these eggs?" Bruce inquired, even though his plate was near empty.

Smiling, Gordon just shook his head. "No, thanks. I've got to get back to the station. I'll grab something to eat after I've sorted out all of today's emergencies. Think about what I said, won't you?" With that, he gave Bruce a polite nod and, depositing a handful of change for his coffee on the table, walked back out the front doors. He could only hope that the millionaire would listen to reason for once; nothing else seemed to dissuade him from walking his own path.

Sitting back and watching Gordon leave, Bruce finally finished his breakfast and headed back to the penthouse. As nice as it was to be outside for a change, he didn't feel like running into anybody else he knew. He even avoided Alfred, detouring to the smaller kitchen when he noticed the butler loitering in the main one. He was speaking to someone on the phone, and from what Bruce could tell, it sounded like Lucius. He hoped they were making progress with GCN rather than speculating on his sanity or something of the like. He sorted out a variety of foods, fruit, meat, veggies, orange juice, put it on a small plate, and headed back down to the lair.