Levity

Two days and I had heard nothing from Bruce. Alfred would have passed on my rambled message, of course. That meant one of several things; Bruce wasn't going to get involved and Batman would stay dead, or, he was stuck trying to work out where we were and what exactly Crane was up to. There was a spectrum of in-betweens. I was stuck on the most painful- Bruce Wayne was not coming to save me. He had put Batman behind him, where the suit would stay. He was truly going to let the Gotham police force try and work this one out themselves. I feel one side of my mouth lift as my inner monologue turns sarcastic.

“What's funny?” a bark, Louis who is in a foul mood, practically wasted already. He didn't like this waiting around, not someone with such a twisted mind. He was bored, which led to drinking amongst deeper horrors. I'd seen them before. Her bloody face floats in my peripheral vision. I mumble 'nothing' and he scoffs, draws his attention away.

The TV here is mounted on the wall. On its left, about two foot away are the splatters of blood missed during the cleanup. I'd been struggling to keep my eyes off them, but they linger, dry and weak upon the painted blue. There's more bleach in the kitchen, tucked in one of the cabinets. When it's quieter, the guys in whatever bedroom they're using or outside smoking I would wipe it off.

Jack has banished me from his claimed room and Wade is not here. Every move someone makes sends another jolt of adrenaline down my spine. They wouldn't try anything, surely not stupid enough too. Doesn't wipe that fear away, especially not with Louis present. He's on the other sofa thankfully, and Neck Tattoo keeps a respectable distance, a large cushion the wall between us.

I drift, thoughts wrap around and smother me. No Bruce, no Batman. That was fine, he was going to let Gotham die, slowly but with intent. Whatever Crane was planning had to be big, was always big.

His opposition was minimal, the regular forces of the city had proven themselves all but useless several times before. He might end up winning, Doctor Jonathan Crane. My stomach twists, forms itself into an unsolvable knot and tightens. My most recent pledge does not loosen it, saving Jack, stopping Jack. Both are intertwined in some way that I just need to find. Schemes surround us all and I need to be smart enough to form my own.

He would be better back in prison, it was where he belonged, there was no way around that. I hated the thought of him in a small dank cell, but the thought of him dead was worse. The hardest daydream was of his success. I was certain Jack would not want it. Not truly.

He should be in Blackgate. No, somewhere more secure, when he can get the help he needs. The help he needs, and would never accept. That is if the right help even exists, Jack is broken, in so many ways. You fix a mirror it doesn't get rid of the cracks.

Liam had put on this documentary, months ago that had half held my attention. It was some dull history affair, right up his alley. I remember one bit, a way that the Japanese used to repair things like teapots. They'd use this mixture, gold, and simply press the broken bit back into place. The crack became a decoration.

There was not enough gold in the world.

There was plenty of paper though, piles of cash haphazardly splashed around the room. Neck Tattoo seemed particularly enthralled with it. I imagine he'd never seen close to so much money in his life. The others less so, they knew enough of how the Joker worked to know money held no interest to him. Besides, they'd been speaking earlier, worried about marked notes and being traced. Not to here of course, but they could well leave a trail. This was yet another thing I stayed out of, my opinion was not asked. My thoughts once again meant little.

It didn't stop me having them, the whirlpool that sometimes crashed with clarity. Saving Jack. I rub across my eyelids, a headache forming. Dwelling is doing nothing but trapping me. The more I let myself sink back into this the harder it will be to break. I'd done it once, but I don't know if I'm actually, for all my talk, strong enough to do it again.

If I was going to leave the apartment now would be the time. Jack is locked away, and they would be hesitant to disturb him, allowing me perhaps a precious minute to get away. But, get away to where? To a phone, call the police, call Bruce. Alfred had been fraught, instantly desperate for news of my wellbeing. Did Bruce even feel the same? It wasn't like we had exactly been on good terms for the last year, since Jack had warped Harvey Dent and murdered Rachel. The pounding behind my eyes increases. I couldn't claim to know either of them well, but I'd met Rachel several times and to see Bruce afterwards. The damage done. It was unforgivable. So much of what Jack had done was utterly, utterly unforgivable.

And I'm here trying to work out how to save him.

I want out. Surprise is my best option. I'm wearing shoes so that isn't an issue and the door to the hallway is through the kitchen. The way the lounge is set up you can't see it. I stand, needing to act before logic sets in. No-one bats an eyelid when I head to the kitchen, and I only pause to shove a handful of notes into my jean pockets. I even manage to grab one of the guys' jackets from the kitchen stool. I test the door, it's locked which doesn't surprise me but I remember enough from my shitty childhood to get it open. There's a click, and I pause to see if there is any movement. After a few seconds of silence, I'm out and heading down the hall.

Nothing so far, and I've played this game long enough to know that breaking into a run will only attract unwanted attention. It's raining outside, which will work in my favour and I pull up the hood obscuring some of my face. I'm soaked to the bone within a couple of minutes and still trying to get my bearings.

We're somewhere Downtown, the area is nice and the further I go the bigger the townhouses become. These homes are six figures at the least, tall and narrow to make the most of the space. I check the money in my pocket, wait until a quieter spot and dip in an alleyway full of bins. I have seven hundred dollars in large bills. Smaller notes would be much easier, I do not look like someone who would naturally be carrying this amount of money right now and changing it will be a pain. A couple of blocks later I go into a cafe, ignore the glares from staff and go straight into the bathroom.

My hair is plastered down my cheeks and I pluck strands off, run my hands through it as best I can. There's little more I can do, I wipe away the mascara that was flaking and pinch my cheeks to add more colour. I look like I've been on a bender. I can't look like this much of a wreck if I want letting in where I need to go.

It's a Monday, I've managed to piece together that much from the newspapers propped outside shops. This is the only day of the week Bruce has to go to work, in some form at least. He has an agreement with his shareholders to hold a meeting with Lucius Fox and listen to their concerns or queries. He used to refer to it as his babysitting sessions. Alfred will be somewhere in the building. If I want Bruce that is where I need to go, I won't be able to get into the penthouse without any form of ID and my pockets are bare.

Wayne Enterprises is my best bet. I hadn't been there in nearly a year, little point when Bruce hardly went and the majority of my job had been done over the phone. It was a big change from starting on a reception desk and fluttering my eyes lashes at the infamous Mr Wayne as he walked past.
Bruce was the target from the start. It had never been about the money even though with the return of Gotham's prodigal son the shares were apparently booming. At the time I'd known nothing about shares and stocks. Thankfully, with a fake ID, ridiculously overpriced shoes and a smile I'd done the impossible, snagged the reception job and surprised Jack in the process. That was nearly two years ago, a couple of years forward and a decade backwards. Bruce Wayne was Batman, the had seemed as obvious as the fact the sky was blue and it only snowed when it was cold. Jack wanted Batman watched, get an idea of the man behind the mask.

I don't think it had started off with the want to destroy him, taint the good in the city. I'll never know, but I had played my part to perfection. Bruce was my best bet, regardless of how many times I'd fucked him over and he had managed to somewhat forgive me he was all I had, all Gotham had.
I get in a cab, but before we get to the business quarter I've realised my appearance will still cause me issues. The foyer of Wayne Enterprises is manned but open. Open to business people, not those who look like they've crawled out of a crack den. Unless I tidy up I'll be standing outside the building for god knows how long. Sometimes these meetings last all damn day and the clock on the dashboard only reads just past ten.

Fuck it. I get the cab to stop near a couple of high-end shops, offer him a ridiculous tip to wait for me and saunter in. I'd met enough spoiled little girls when Bruce was trying to convince himself he wasn't in love with Rachel Dawes, I can do the voice no issue. It only takes me fifteen minutes, I blab on about an important lunch, let the painted attendant pick me out a new outfit and tidy my face up with their make-up range. I'm down to my last couple of hundred when I leave but as soon as the cab pulls up and I see the familiar sign I shove it in his hand and saunter past the guarded doors like I belong.

I don't recognise the main receptionists, which mean they won't know me. That throws me a little, I was hoping to use them to get me upstairs. There are plush leather chairs lined up around several tables. I shrink, find a place and try to avoid looking suspicious although I'm glancing at every man that walks through the doors in case it is Jack. That's a foolish thought, he'd never be able to come to a place as high profile as this, he'd send Wade or Louis.

Unease eats at me, and as hours pass my nails warp into shredded stumps and my throat dries. It's nearly four when I finally spot someone I do know. Lucius Fox, muttering lowly to his assistant breezes past. A few other board member follow and finally it's Bruce. I almost don't move, my legs stick to the leather and turn to stone.

This is stupid, the cruel overpowering voice is in my head. Jack wants me, is the only constant I've ever had. Seems like he has forgiven me and you're throwing it away. Betraying him, fucking him over and for what? There is nothing to gain, and only him to lose. Poison bites and burrows it's way deeper as Bruce continues towards the main doors. He looks tired, fiddling with his cufflinks. I'd seen him do it a thousand times, a nervous tick. It's like me biting my nails or Jack letting his tongue run along the scars.

The scars you caused.

I lose my nerve. Sit still and watch Bruce exit through glass doors, a valet passing over his car keys. He's gone with a screech of tyres. I've made a decision, chest tight as every logical part of my brain screams at me that it is the wrong one. Too late now. I slip out of the building, walk several blocks paying little attention to where I am, no destination in mind. There's a patch of ground, a park where a bunch of school kids are mucking about on bikes. I collapse into it, tugging up my knees like they're a life jacket. What do I do now, what options do I have left? My mind scours through the last few days until it sticks on one moment.

Dr Harleen Quinzel. The woman who had helped them escape, helped Jack escape. The way Wade said her name. I have enough money to get a cab there.

Stupid decision Eleanor.