For Laughs - Batman/Criminal Minds - Chapter 3 - 4/17
Title: For Laughs
Fandom: Batman (Nolan universe, mostly)/Criminal Minds
Links: Prologue + Chapter 1 + Chapter 2
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 Notes: In this chapter, I introduce Detective Stephens. You'll recall the scene in Dark Knight where the Joker asks the cop, "Want to know how many of your friends were cowards?" and later uses him as a hostage/shield? That's Stephens. I would also like to point out that I'll be introducing canon characters from the comics/cartoons, but in a style which I think is, hopefully, complimentary to Nolan's universe (yeah, I call it "Nolan-zing their storylines"). For example, I'll bring in Jeremiah Arkham. Additional notes in Prologue.
Chapter 3
Encounters of the Like-Minded
Reid stomach was too upset to mourn the loss of a lunch he'd never get a chance to see. What he did miss were his morning hours, most of which he'd spent in an interview with Dr. Harrison Thomas, director of medicine for Arkham Asylum. Reid was aggravated with the results of the meeting. He'd been briefed on the Joker's psychological state, shown surprisingly average medical charts, and told that the hospital had no recordings of the psychiatrist's meetings with the patient available.
And though Reid didn't feel it was necessary to say it aloud, he disagreed with Dr. Thomas's diagnosis almost entirely. Finally, finally, Reid had managed to separate himself from the doctor. He only hoped that Gideon's tour of the facility and his conversations with the guards had proved more valuable.
His pace quickening to outmatch that of the brick-wall of an orderly escorting him out of the office area, Reid pulled free his phone. "I'll just be a moment," he told the other man.
The orderly growled in response, taking a step back. Reid shot the man a nervous glance. He was suddenly extremely pleased with the facility in which his mother was housed. If he'd ever seen the buzz-cut giant's scowl at Bennington Sanitarium, he would transferred her immediately.
Reid pressed talk. Garcia answered in one ring.
"Oh, my genius boy wonder, if you're calling for the answer to the life, the universe, and everything..."
"Forty-two," Spencer quickly replied.
"Brava," Garcia cheered. Reid could almost see her bright grin over the phone. "Yes, that we know, however, what we don't know is who the elusive and extremely scary Joker really is."
Reid stretched the fingers of his free hand. "Unfortunately, we're still at a loss here. However, I think we can rule out a few of our initial assumptions. You can quit searching psychiatric hospitals and medical hospitals for men admitted with severe facial wounds. At least for his name. You're likely to only find his victims."
"Why the sudden rule out?"
Reid spotted the growling orderly, and turned his back, hunching slight and lowering his voice. "After reviewing Arkham's files on the Joker, I don't think he's ever been treated in a psychiatric facility before now. Based on victim descriptions, I had assumed that the oral ticks mentioned in most accounts might be tardive dyskinesia, a side effect of some anti-psychotics, but upon further reexamining the accounts, I think the lip and tongue movements were due entirely to the scars themselves."
"He has chapped lips?" Garcia ventured. "Or maybe his makeup is flavored."
Reid paused, refusing to consider that possibility, and went on. "Have you ever cut your lip before, particularly at the corner of your mouth? One develops the habit of licking the scab. Which leads me to the reason why I think the medical records might be useless...Did you get a look at his wounds?"
"Sorta wish I hadn't."
"They weren't professionally treated," Reid continued, flicking his hand in anticipation, "and they were extensive. They likely took a long time to heal, which is why he developed the habit of licking them. That, and the deformity probably made it hard for him to contain his saliva."
Garcia took an anxious breath. "Spencer. My lovely." She paused, as if collecting herself. "Promise me that, if you find yourself face to face with the evil clown, you won't mention that he has a drooling problem."
Reid blinked, pulling the phone away in confusion. "Um, I won't," he replied. Before he could continue, he spotted a familiar face at the end of the hall. Gideon approached at his quick, busy speed, a grim expression on his lined mouth. Reid cleared his throat. "Garcia, I've got to let you go," he rattled, quickly closing the phone.
Gideon raised a hand to stop Reid from saying whatever was on the tip of his tongue. "We need to get to the police department."
"We have a profile?" Reid asked.
"We do," Gideon quickly replied, "but it's not the one the police need to hear. We need to profile the Joker's obsession. Hotch was right about a connection. The Batman is the Joker's main focus. In order to find the villain, we're going to need to profile the vigilante."
Victor Zsasz didn't wear the shadows but the faintly ruddy light above the back booth. It glimmered off his slick, closely shaven head, off the lips hid between a thin beard and mustache as he licked them clean. No, it wasn't true what they said: monsters didn't always hide in wait, didn't feel the need to stay in closets and alleyways. So the police wanted him, so the Bat was still taking out petty criminals. Didn't matter. Zsasz had went unnoticed over the past two years. Almost as if some divine being was protecting him from his enemies.
At first, he'd traveled, went far and wide looking for work that catered to his particular…interests, but he'd come back here in the end. To this waste pool. To this toilet of a city. Because, if you wanted to clean house, it was best to start where the grime was thickest.
For the past week, his focus had been the pretty waitress at the opposite side of the bar. Pretty, yes. Young, yes. Just like he preferred them. But, most importantly, she was dead. Inside, at least.
A zombie. A useless shuffling form, moving like a fly over meat in some vain attempt to fill her short lifespan with busy work.
A little talk got him far. He'd found out she was a student. At least, that's what she told the world. The fact was, she had put off going to school. Mom's medical expenses. A bad breakup. A lack of funds. Her excuses piled up. The truth was, the dream had died years ago. Now she was just another empty Gothamite. An insect that provided nothing but an annoying buzz by which he could track her.
Zsasz would take her soon, liberate her from her poor excuse for an existence. She would be thankful when his knife met her. She would…
"Not really my type, but I suppose, uh, what do they say?" At least one monster did keep to the shadows. The Joker stepped out from behind Zsasz, causing the man to bounce against the booth's maroon cushion. Victor's body stiffened, ready to go to blows, but he shot the rest of the nearly-empty dive a glance, saw that the arrival of the clown had gone unnoticed, and decided not to draw attention.
The Joker dropped a corpse down into the seat opposite, pushing the body up against the wall, and scooting in beside it. If the outfit was anything to judge from, the corpse had been washing dishes in the back. Another useless zombie.
"Joker," Zsasz breathed, popping his jaw out of habit.
"Ah," the Joker said, leaning forward. Green stained curls fell over the white paint on his forehead. "I remember now-- to each their own." He licked his lip, adjusted the cuffs of his purple jacket, and leaned back in wait. "Well, Mr. Zsasz, don't you want to know why I'm here? I'll give you a clue: it's not for the eggs. Get enough of those when I try to tell a joke."
Victor didn't find any humor in the statement. "You got a job opening?"
"We've got a lot in common, Mr. Zsasz." He pulled Zsasz's Scotch from the table, taking a sip. Joker made a sour face and sat the drink back down. "Tastes not withstanding, uh, we've both visited the lovely facility in the Narrows. We both, uh, know the value of a well sharpened knife…" He paused, brow scrunched in thought, then shrugged. "Well maybe not 'a lot' in common, but I'm fairly sure neither of us have a great love for the Gotham City Police Department…or for the Batman."
Zsasz grew taller, his cheeks almost shaking in rage. "I work for a living."
The Joker laughed, a low, throaty noise that was devoid of any real pleasure. "You like to pose them, don't you, Victor--mind if I call you Victor? Pose them like they're doing their daily jobs. It's sort of a calling card of yours. Like the scars beneath your shirt. Me?" He twisted his wrist and a card jumped to his finger tips. "Me, I'm more literal." He sat the Joker's card down on the table.
Zsasz opened his mouth again, and the Joker raised a hand to stop him. "Yes, yes. You work for a living. Got it. Another thing we have in common: we don't do things for free. Well, not unless they're really, really fun." He tipped his head, pointing out the waitress in the background. She'd stopped to buff a table. "That's why I brought a little incentive."
The Joker reached into the front of his jacket and pulled free a wad of green. He tapped the chunk of bills against the tabletop. "To answer your question, Victor. I am hiring."
Fingers reached out for the money, but it was pulled out of reach by one gloved hand. The Joker wagged a finger.
"What do you want?" Zsasz asked.
The Joker's scars twisted into a wider smile. "Victor, I want you to keep doing what you do best."
Emily Prentiss was radiating with frustration. As much as she would have preferred to hide it, she felt that a little emotional honesty was just what Detective Stephens needed to understand that she, her team, was committed to the case. So she let it show, on her face, in the tightness of her jaw, the forced wideness of her gaze. It echoed Stephens' own, though the man, it seemed, looked as if he was more prepared for blow.
Rhode Island had left them with nothing. They'd been forwarded the info from Garcia. That the couple had no ties to Gotham, the Joker, illegal activities. They were just two people tucking in for the night. Slaughtered in their own home.
Sadly, it wasn't something entirely new to Emily. Still, she had went in with the hope that the Joker had left behind some clue as to why he'd made the short trip over state lines and back again. Nothing had turned up, though, not a reason. Not a motive.
And the way he'd killed the couple…If Emily hadn't known better, she would have suspected that the Joker had been throwing darts at a profiling handbook, picking both the most depraved and mundane forms of ending a life. She'd known he was a sadist going it--the way he enjoyed carving his victim's faces to match his own, but the seeing the scene, and then the bodies, had put things into a vivid, new-to-techno-color perspective.
"Maybe the rest of your team had more luck," Stephens suggested.
Emily blinked, surprised by the comment. The man's quiet annoyance had been clear throughout their visit, so his comforting words seemed almost out of place. Emily was glad that she'd gotten to him. Sometimes it was hard to win local law enforcement over to the BAU's way of investigating.
"I hope so," Prentiss agreed. She turned away from the view of Gotham. The ferry was approaching the mainland, would be pulling into the dock in minutes. "Still, what we didn't find might be of more help than we think."
"You think he had a reason for what he did?" the detective asked.
Emily rolled the question around her mind before answering. "Absolutely. Insanity isn't without reason. The logic is just lost to those of us of a saner persuasion."
Stephens chuckled. "Glad you think so," he said. "Department thinks crazy is crazy. Thinks he's unpredictable. Me? Not so much."
Emily raised a brow.
"I had a run-in with the Joker, first time we caught him." Stephens leaned against the railing, watching the gray, cold skyscape. "I was an idiot. Gotta watch the clown. He sounds nuts, he is nuts, but he's got a plan. Got me pissed at him, got me stupid angry. I got sloppy and ended up taken hostage. All so he could make a phone call." The man gave Prentiss a hard glance. "Stupid. Cause they gave him a phone. Thought he was nuts. Turns out..."
"The planted bomb in the holding cell," Emily finished. She'd seen that much in the file.
Stephens nodded. His expression was somber. "So, when the guys in the Unit say he's just killing to kill, I gotta say, I don't believe it. The Joker has a reason. Might not make sense to us, but it's there."
Agent Prentiss's gaze narrowed at the view of the dank city. A light snow had begun to fall. Her brow wrinkled in thought. "Detective Stephens, why did Commissioner Gordon call us in now? He could have done so the last time the Joker was at large. Or a day ago, when the escape took place. But he waited until the Burrows were murdered."
Stephens' initial look of confusion was wiped away. His eyes widened. "The commish' called you in because…"
"He had to," Prentiss finished. She pulled free her cell phone, dialing Hotch's number without a second thought. At the answer, she gave Stephens one final glance, speaking to both men at once. "The Joker, I know why he crossed state lines. The FBI. He wanted us involved."
Hotch had long since pocketed his cell phone, but Emily's words rang clearly through his ears. He stood, a statue with arms crossed tightly over his chest, eyes steady and near black as they absorbed the information on the board in front of him. Behind him, light chatter sounded, Morgan and Gordon bouncing ideas off of one another. J.J. was doing her job, forming a relationship with the local media, because it was going to be needed, of that Hotch was certain. The Joker's death tally was not at a rest. There would be more victims.
Gideon and Reid were on their way, as was Prentiss and her detective escort, Stephens. They would be there in minutes, he was sure, but every second in wait seemed to last hours. Hotch needed his team. Because they were stronger together, the holes in theories discovered, the gaps smoothly filled in as each member pulled their weight.
"Textbook antisocial PD. It comes with its own dose of narcissism, but from what you've told us, the Joker's on a whole 'nother level. Definitely a narcissistic personality disorder…" Morgan rattled, answering the question Gordon had posed.
Hotch suddenly became aware of the room, turning to Gordon with a thin lipped frown. "It's not necessary for you to be here right now, Commissioner. We're aware that a man of your title has more responsibilities. I'm sure Detective Stephens will be able to provide the assistance that we require."
Jim smirked, looking up with a brief cock of his head. "Do you know how I got that title, Agent Hotchner? The Joker killed the last commissioner, and the mayor appointed me to take care of the problem." He stood, pushing away the papers scattered over the table. "Now, my job, my only job, is to protect this city. Save it. And to do that, we need to catch the Joker. Anything else can wait. This is my only responsibility at the moment."
Hotch nodded, stiffly. Whatever reply he had slipped away when the briefing room's doors opened. Gideon and Reid stepped through, Prentiss and Detective Stephens close behind. Hotch released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, Gordon forgotten for the moment.
"Good," he said, seeing Gideon's focused gaze. "Prentiss, Gideon, both of you briefed me over the phone, but it's time we put our cards on the table. Emily, I'd like you to tell the others what you observed at the Burrows."
"The Joker left nothing substantial behind, and there were no obvious ties between the couple and the city of Gotham. What remained was the option that the victims weren't chosen because of victimology but because of their location. After discussing the Joker's past actions with Detective Stephens here, we came to the conclusion that the Joker chose the location of his crime because of the cross in jurisdictions."
Morgan stood up, Reid quickly swiping the seat closest to the man. Hotch hadn't shared his conversations with the group, not yet, because he'd quickly realized how right both Gideon and Prentiss were. He simply needed his team to put the information together.
"Wait," Morgan interrupted, "he killed the Burrows to gain the attention of another police department." Derek seemed to hear his own words and quickly picked up on the unspoken statement in Prentiss's explanation. "Not just another PD," he concluded, "but the feds. He knew the FBI would be called in or Gordon would be forced to contact us."
"Perhaps not specifically our team, but he definitely wanted the attention of more than the GCPD. He's making a statement against Gotham, trying to draw attention to the city," Prentiss finished.
Gideon shook his head. The senior agent had found his own seat and was leaning back. "But for attention alone?" he shrugged. "No, not this man. He has a point of view he needs the world to see, yes, but he's after more than national news coverage."
"Point of view?" Stephens questioned. "What's he trying to prove?"
Gideon shot him a look. "You already know the answer to that, Detective Stephens. I'm sure he made himself very clear last time he was in this precinct." The agent frowned, his chin doubled with the deep gesture lines of his face. "We're animals. People are animals. Chaos is our nature, and he wants to bring it forth. Normal life, the social structure we've created, is a façade to hide our true form. The Joker's intent is to prove to the world that they're no different than he is."
"He was very upfront with his opinion, based on his actions and the observations the doctors at Arkham provided," Reid agreed. His voice was raised with the sudden need to explain. "In fact, in the Joker's own words during one session, he explained that most his crimes were simply social experiments. He favors these experiments over actually murdering his victims. The Joker gets an almost orgasmic thrill over watching people kill one another because it proves, as Gideon said, that humans are animalistic when their own lives are at stake."
Gordon ran his fingers over his mustache. "How did killing the Burrows help him prove a point, though? Did he have them make some sort of choice?"
"There wasn't any evidence of that," Prentiss supplied.
"No, there wouldn't be," Hotch replied. He uncrossed his arms, moving back to the board, examining photos of the victims. The team seemed to realize what his conclusion was, but Gordon only stared up.
Reid nodded in agreement with the silence and opened is mouth to explain. "That's the clue," he said. "The fact that the Joker didn't make a point with their murderers tells us something. Either he's had a full psychotic break and began a spree, or he killed to set up a new experiment. A new game. Probably one in which we're the game pieces. Under the assumption that he crossed states to bring the FBI into your city…well, I'd say the latter was more likely, wouldn't you?"
Gordon felt sick to his stomach. "He's setting the city up for something, isn't he?"
Morgan's brow was wrinkled, his eyes closed, as if in a quick prayer, which his team knew wasn't the case. "This man," he began, opening his eyes again. Unfortunately the room, the situation, remained the same, "the Joker isn't as impulsive as he first appears. His actions, his makeup and costume, it's designed to convince his victims, his lackeys, us, that he's an unpredictable wack-job. That he's anything but predictable."
"He has a plan," Stephens muttered.
Morgan nodded in response, but his eyes didn't leave the commissioner. "This puts his adversaries on edge, but it's a lie to cover up his intensions. He's an organized killer who's pretending to be disorganized for our sake."
"And he learned the behavior," Gideon said. "The costume, the persona. To invoke fear. There's another person in Gotham who does the very same, and it's very likely that the Joker put on his clown make-up after hearing about his inspiration for the first time."
Commissioner Gordon's face paled at the implication.
"Batman," Reid answered.
Jim felt as though he were swallowing cotton, and judging from Morgan's expression, his reaction to the name hadn't gone unnoticed. Still, Jim couldn't stop himself: "The Batman has nothing to do with this case. This is about the Joker."
"On the contrary. I'm afraid that, in the Joker's mind, Batman has something to do with everything that goes on in Gotham City. In turn, coming back to Gotham, refusing to run, tells us that Batman is somehow involved in his plans."
"You're pulling that out of your ass," Gordon scoffed. "Joker's got a grudge against this city, sure, and that vigilante is a part of it. Finding Batman's on my list, gentlemen, but there's not a bit of evidence that the Joker's focus is on him. You just said, not five minutes ago, that he crossed state lines to get your attention. What does that have to do with Batman?"
Stephens rolled his eyes, turning slightly so that his back was to Gordon. He raised a brow at Prentiss, but she wasn't sure what the expression was supposed to indicate. She had a funny feeling it had to do with Gordon's shift in behavior.
Spencer blinked, somewhat surprised that the team's theory was being pushed aside. "Actually," Reid began, "at Arkham, Dr. Thomas's notes indicated that Batman was mentioned in discussion, and Agent Gideon's interview with one of the guards proved some very interesting information on the topic. According to the guard, the Joker asked several of the other patients about Batman on a regular basis, seeking out information from other inmates who were more recently captured by the vigilante. In short, the Joker was 'keeping tabs' on Batman, so Agent Gideon's assessment is completely founded."
Gordon managed to keep down whatever he was about to say. After a moment, he nodded his consent. "I still don't understand how it fits in with wanting Feds here."
To that, Reid shrugged.
"There's a reason," Gideon assured, but he stepped away from speculations, "To find the Joker, though, we need to understand the Batman. Understand Joker's obsession with the vigilante. In order to do so, we need to profile the Batman."
Hotch turned back to Gordon, choosing to ignore the commissioner's earlier outburst. "We understand you have some recordings that might be of use to us. We'd like you to make those available."
Gordon nodded, standing slowly. "Of course," he replied, and cleared his throats, "I'll send them over."
Morgan straightened. "You're leaving?"
"And surrender the case to Captain Sawyer? No," Gordon assured, planting a rueful smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "I just need to make a phone call. I'll be back."
GO TO CHAPTER 4