For Laughs - Batman/Criminal Minds - Chapter 8 - 9/17
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
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 8
My, Your Ears Must Be Red
Room 422. Once more.
Reid didn't really mind that they would still be staying at The Menagerie. Gideon and Hotch were correct in their assessment that the Joker would likely take avoidance as a challenge. Still, the same room? A chill ran over Reid's fingertips as he pushed down the lever and opened the main door.
The light was already turned on, thankfully. The ivory carpet clean of cards. The room itself, it turned out, was light in color, modern, luxurious. However, Reid's stomach begged him not to stay. He disobeyed…for the moment, stepping within the threshold. His coat still on, he walked to the bed and collapsed, his back against the feather mattress cover beneath, his wide eyes on the ceiling above.
Bruce Wayne, infamous billionaire playboy, owner of Wayne Enterprises - owner of this very hotel - was quite possibly a mask-wearing vigilante breaking the law on a daily basis. And, according to the information Commissioner Gordon supplied, he was also a murderer. Reid had, frankly, had crazier theories. Most of which were proved true. And it had taken Reid only a quick search of the Wayne family history, to note that Bruce fit the profile perfectly. Reid, judging from his own brief meeting with the man without a mask, realized how easily Wayne slipped from being one person to the other.
If, Reid reminded himself, if his theory was even correct.
It could have been simple coincidence that Bruce Wayne was at the meeting that promised the reveal of Batman. His reactions could have been purely circumstantial. His wealth, tragic family history, his fame, all shared with another Gothamite, the real Batman.
Reid told himself it was that little fragment of doubt that kept him from telling his team about Wayne. But that was a lie. At least, partly a lie. He touched the pocket holding the picture he'd taken from the PD's files, not needing to unfold it to remember it exactly. Why had he stolen it? In hopes that his team wouldn't put together the same theory before Reid had proved or disproved it?
That wasn't how the team worked. How the BAU worked.
Swallowing deeply, he sat up, forcing his exhaustion down. It had been seven minutes. Seven minutes was plenty of time for Gideon and Morgan, for Prentiss, to settle into their own rooms. Reid stood, rushing towards the door with determination written across his face. He rode the elevator down to the ground level and switched his phone to silent. Outside, at the front of the golden sign announcing The Menagerie, a yellow taxi cab was waiting.
Reid walked directly to it and slid inside. "I, uh, I need to go to The Gotham Palisades," he said, his words trembling slightly. "Do you know where Wayne Manor is?"
To say that Derek Morgan was frustrated would be an understatement. As dog tired as he felt, his adrenaline was still pumping from the near miss at the East Docks, and his mind was reeling over a few too many unanswered questions. Over twenty-four hours without closing his eyes, and he found himself sprawled out over his bed, unable to sleep.
Derek rolled over the too-comfortable-to-be-legal mattress and stared at the cell phone sitting on his bedside table. It didn't ring. It didn't vibrate. No matter how much he willed it to. With a sigh, he finally reached for the silent device and pressed a number.
"Oh, my chocolate stud, I always knew you were dreaming about me," Garcia answered. "Tell me you sleep in the buff."
Morgan snorted. "How'd you know I was supposed to be sleeping? Or have you went straight from genius to psychic?"
Garcia chuckled. "Honey, don't you know I have a tracking device planted in those gorgeous military boots of yours?" Morgan blinked, only half certain she was kidding. "Of course, it could also be," Garcia added, "because Hotch sent me a text message telling me that you needed a few hours of shut eye. I think the boss doesn't want me calling you after curfew, lover boy."
Derek couldn't help the smile on his face. He wasn't sure when Hotch had become a "dad figure" for the rest of the team… "I promise, baby girl, I'll get my beauty rest in."
"Good, because I hear six packs melt off after forty-eight hours of use, and we know the whole world would be feeling that loss."
Her fingers clicked against a keyboard. The technical analyst stopped doing her magic for no man, not even Derek Morgan. Morgan sat up against the headboard, deciding to cut to the chase.
"Penelope," he began.
"Oh, Penelope is it? Yup, you're definitely about to ask me something private. Thank goodness this is a secure line. Go on - I promise to lie if you ask me what I'm wearing."
Morgan's bit his lip, tempted play on, but went back to topic. "Did Reid call you earlier today, ask you to look up any information for him?"
"Nope," Garcia replied, "and I didn't call our littlest G-man about any new info, either. Why do you ask?"
Derek sighed. He'd really hoped it would be that easy. "When Emily and I came back to the PD, Reid was acting strange, like he was hiding something. The rest of the team noticed it too. I though it might be about something he found."
"If it was, he must have found it at the police department," Garcia said. Derek could practically see the frown on her face.
Morgan shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe it wasn't about the case at all. I try to not pry, we all do, but after what happened after the Hankel case, I just don't like it when our boy decides to keep secrets."
"My studly hero, you have to trust our dear Dr. Reid," Garcia insisted. "Let him come to you."
Morgan smirked. "Yeah, yeah. I know. I just worry about him - and with a case like this…"
"Dearest, if you're about to remind me about the crazed clown, I beg you, recall that I recall." Garcia sounded closer when she added, "I'm glad you worry. Someone has to look after our little family. But I worry about you, too, so please, I beg of you, invite the sandman in and get some sleep. I don't want you drowsy while tailing a serial killer."
"Thanks, sweetness," Morgan finished. "Keep me updated."
"Sleep well, my prince."
The clouds had passed, the gray shadow in the sky making way for pale snow clouds that brightened the backdrop behind the manor. And manor was exactly the right word for the Wayne estate. A fortress of stone and gables, turrets and parapets, the manor looked as old as its Old Gotham architecture, the signs of its renovations seen only in the telltale appearance of fresh landscaping, of construction equipment being removed from the premises.
Reid's mouth dried simply looking at the manor. Such a looming entrance face was, no doubt, meant to intimidate, and it was successful. For a split second, Reid considered calling the taxi back, but his Arabic chauffeur had already sped away with a good portion of the agent's spending money. With little choice left, Spencer climbed the steps to the front door and knocked twice.
Impatiently bouncing on the balls of his feet, Reid quickly scanned the doorway, spotting a small, well hidden camera some way up the wall, pointed directly at the front entrance. When the cab had rolled past the iron gates onto the Wayne estate, he'd spotted similar security. Which made perfect sense, whether the Batman was living within these walls or not, but Reid felt unnerved by the thought of being filmed; he was certain he could somehow blame Garcia for his paranoia. There was no doubt in his mind that, if asked, she could find him this very instant, standing on a doorstep with his secret theory ready to fall out of his mouth.
The door opened and Reid resisted the urge to jump. A butler in a well made suit stood in greeting, one of his drowsy eyes wider than the other when he looked over Reid's thin form and spotted the sizable Colt at his belt. The manservant was an older gentleman, his hair silver and his face creased with the passing years, but he appeared spry.
"Hi," Reid blurted, smiling briefly in an attempt to hold down his nervousness, "my name is Dr. Spencer Reid, I'm with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the F.B.I. I'm here to speak with Mr. Bruce Wayne." He fumbled for his badge.
Alfred blinked in ill-contained surprise. "Is Master Wayne expecting you?" he asked, cheek twitching slightly.
"No. He shouldn't be." Reid quickly pocketed his hands to keep from fiddling with his freezing fingers. Wasn't the butler supposed to let him into the foyer…where it was warm? That's what always happened in the movies. "But it's important that I speak with him."
"Master Wayne is not in the Manor at the moment. Perhaps," Alfred replied, his British accent clear, "it would be better for you to return at a later time. Do you have Master Wayne's private number…?"
"Actually," Reid interrupted, "no, I don't. But I think it would be better if we speak immediately. Face to face. It concerns the case my team is working on. I believe Mr. Wayne may be pivotal in ascertaining certain information on the Joker… and on the vigilante known as the Batman."
Reid held back a shiver when a freezing gust of wind swept past him. Alfred smiled tightly at the young man.
"I know Master Wayne will want to be of any help possible to the F.B.I.," he said, and stepped back from the door, gesturing within. "Please, do come in, Dr. Reid."
Reid followed Alfred into a broad sitting room where two wingback chairs sat not far apart from one another in front of a fireplace. At the manservant's request, Reid slid off his coat and unfurled his purple scarf, giving them to Alfred, and taking a seat.
"Will you require anything to drink, Dr. Reid?" Alfred asked.
"No, thank you," Reid sputtered, still on the edge of the chair's seat. "Is there any way you could contact Mr. Wayne, let him know I'm here?"
Reid chewed his lip, regretting his decision to come, too late.
"Master Wayne should arrive back shortly," Alfred assured. "However, I'll call him and let him know he has a guest. He will be very anxious to meet you, I'm sure."
"Oh," Reid swallowed, "we've met actually."
Alfred simply tilted his head to one side in a sort of half nod, and dismissed himself.
Reid balanced his elbows on his knees, leaning forward to stare after the older man. There was no doubt in his mind - the tight expression, the examination, the grip of knotted fingers over Reid's coat, checking the pockets. This man was more than a servant, he was a part of the family. He was protective of Bruce. If Bruce Wayne was truly Batman, the butler knew.
It was only late afternoon, but the time of year and the grayness of the city tricked Jim's mind into thinking night was close at hand. For some reason, the darkness seemed like a countdown, as if some opportunity, some chance would be lost by sunset. As if time was running out. A silly thought, but not one the commissioner could control.
"Wasn't sure you'd come," Gordon said.
The Batman stepped across the rooftop, approaching Jim from behind, but there was no malice in the quiet movement. "You called," the Batman said, his voice more of a growl.
Gordon heard it and couldn't help but remember the profile the team had given. The voice was like the mask, they'd noted. It was hiding something he'd recognize. The commissioner wasn't sure he wanted to recognize it, so he hoped the Batman wouldn't let the gruffness slip.
"But I didn't use the old method," Gordon replied. And smiled shortly, tapping the base of the spot light with one foot. The shattered covering hadn't been replaced over the months. Nor had the pieces been removed, the area cleaned. It was exactly as it had been after Dent's death. "You got my message about the F.B.I. then? About how close they are?"
Batman's head fell forward slightly. Gordon looked over his shoulder, caught the movement. Took it as a nod. "Thank you for saving Agent Morgan's life," Gordon said, his voice nearly lost on the crisp current. "He's a good friend of mine…Well, used to be, in another life. Still, he's a good man."
Batman's acknowledgment was silence. The figure in black took a step forward. "I need you to keep them away from Zsasz's old hotspots," he said.
Gordon pinched his lips between thumb and index finger, pulling down to feel the two days of overgrown facial hair filled with too much gray. "That's going to be a problem. Detective Stephens is tipping off the F.B.I. He's not dirty, opposite in fact. He's suspicious of me. Knows I've been leaning this manhunt in the wrong direction."
"Will he tell the agents?" Batman wanted to know.
Gordon shrugged. "Eventually. Hopefully not in time to distract them from this mess with the Joker. They're putting way too much effort into finding you. They think you're the reason the Joker's doing all this. Finding you will find him."
A moment of silence passed between them.
"They may be right."
Gordon turned, throwing up a hand in warning. "Don't. Don't even think of it, you hear me? Gotham needs Batman, whether it knows it or not. That's why we've done all we've done over these past few months. That's why we've let you take the fall for Dent, and you damned well know it." At the memory, Gordon had to look away. Pain was written across his face. It wasn't right. How many times had he reminded himself how wrong, how selfish it was to destroy Batman for the sake of the city hero's image. But it was for the greater good. Wasn't it? "These agents are good, too damn good at what they do. You try to give yourself over to them, you try to work with them, and they'll find out who you are. They'll arrest you, whether you've saved one of their own or not. They don't take vigilantism lightly."
When Gordon looked up, Batman was gone, and the sky was a bright coral.
"Damn it," Jim muttered.
Batman was two buildings away when he stopped to check his phone, the reason why he had cut the meeting with Gordon short.
"Alfred," Batman said, his voice still gravelly. The Batman was Batman, friend or not.
Alfred cleared his throat. "I do so hate to disturb you, Master Bruce, but we have a guest currently waiting in the sitting room for you. He claims you've met. A Dr. Spencer Reid."
Batman stared down at the screen. Alfred had sent him a clip from the security feed at the manor of a thin young man bundled in an over-sized coat outside the main door.
"Is it just me," Alfred noted, "or are F.B.I. agents getting younger these days?"
"I'll be there in fifteen minutes," Batman ended. He paused, hearing a siren in the distance. His frown deepened. "Make that twenty minutes."
READ CHAPTER 9