Levity

Blackgate Prison, or Blackgate Penitentiary, to use its proper name is in a prime location. Dumped in the middle of one of the smaller Islands in the bay. It's easy to get to by car, but harder to leave, in theory at least.

I definitely should have tried to find out more about how they had even escaped. Not that there was any chance of another following them. The police were everywhere, which was enough to set me even further on edge. My fingers are finding my teeth more easily than ever, and the copper taste is in the back of my throat the whole drive over. They've set up barricades on the bridges, cops with their dogs marching back and forth. This Doctor Quinzel must have been pivotal to them getting out, and clearly without a damn hitch if she was still working here. Was there another backup, a further part of the scheme she was involved in? Maybe it was just her cover. Who knows.

I certainly didn't. I didn't know what Jack's plan was, how it linked to Crane. I didn't even know why I was here. What was this going to achieve? I was in a cab going the opposite way to Bruce. That's where I should have been, trying to explain myself, trying to help fix this mess I was only making worse. Instead, I ran, as per usual. Let Jack win when he was half a dozen miles away and likely livid that I'd vanished.

The guys were going to suffer, Louis and Neck Tattoo. They should have been keeping an eye and yet here I was, as free as I was likely to get and still tethered to a madman. We're through the blockade, taxi driver muttering I was going to have to pay extra cause of all this trouble. That was fine, I probably had just enough left to cover it, then I'd be stranded at the opposite end of the city. So smart Eleanor, constantly outdoing yourself.

Eventually, we're there. I jam the money in his hand, fluff up my hair and brush past another couple of security guards, doing my best to look like I wasn't currently bunking up with terrorists. The reception is next, I'm glad for the outfit, makes me look somewhat together, but I keep the 'upper east side girl' voice. There will be CCTV everywhere here, if anyone cares to look. At least I'm fairly basic looking, and there's no chance I'm giving my real name.

The reception warns me it's not visiting time, but I smile and go straight in. “I'm actually hoping to see Doctor Quinzel, Harleen.” The heavily tattooed eyebrows furrow, “I'm her cousin and I came to town as a surprise, a bit of an early birthday thing.”

“Doctor Quinzel brought in cakes for us all, to celebrate her birthday in November.”

“My birthday.” I'm just about quick enough, doubt fades and she tilts her head at me.

“The two of you do look quite alike.” She muses, and leans to put one hand on the phone, using her other to point to a plush couch, “You know she doesn't have her lunch until after her next appointment.” I giggle, assure her it's fine and that I was just a bit off with my timings. It's all good, after a while she makes me a coffee and I am subject to an hour of her mindless gossip. I don't need to add much which is all good, as I'm trying to work out what the hell I''m supposed to actually do when the Doctor arrives, realises straight away that I'm not her cousin and possibly raises an alarm.

An alarm which will be easily answered by the mass of armoured men and women about.

High heels tap the marble, echoing closer at an increasing rate. I sit upright and place my empty cup down on the low table, hand coated in sweat. The ridiculously expensive stilettos are followed by one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. She's tall, at least in those shoes, wearing a dress that makes mine look like it's from a market. Her smile brightens almost manically when she sees her, eyes popping as her arms open.

“Surprise.” I manage, standing as she descends upon me and wraps me up. “Told you I'd come to town for my birthday!”

Her acting is good and she responds as any normal person would. The receptionist is completely at ease. “Come to my office, I can't leave until later on.” She grabs me a visitor pass, shoots the heavyset woman a winning smile and clasps my hand. The halls are a maze, and I know we're not deep into the prison yet, even so It's hard to keep track until she stops and the nails that had been digging into my knuckles release. As soon as we're past the door it all changes, the smile fades, her shoulders go up and she plants herself behind her desk.

“Who are you and what do you want?” She is far from fancy, her accent is all downtown trash, nothing like the plummy voice that had greeted me. “We're fine in here. Plenty of privacy.” I follow her gaze and sit down, watch her watch over me, squinting as if she can see straight through. “Are you here about Mr Jay?”

I start to say the name before it clicks and I actually laugh, slamming my lips together. She called Jack 'Mr Jay'. I can only imagine how much he hated that. “Cause, he'd said he'll let me know what was happenin' and nothin'. I mean,” the woman is running her mouth without me confirming a single thing, how had she pulled this off? She stops herself, glaring at me again, “What's your name.”

I don't bother lying this time, “Eleanor.”

“And what do you want Eleanor? The place is already crawling with cops.” Her pretty face sneers, and it suits her far more than the smile. “Wade sent me.” I blurt, keen to avoid mentioning Jack as much as possible. She'd practically had heart eyes beforehand. “He wanted to check how you were doing, that there weren't going to be any issues.”

“To check how I was doin'?” She clears her throat now, tongue peeking through painted red lips, “You tell that son-of-a-bitch that I'm doin' fine. They don't suspect shit. I did exactly what Mr Jay wanted, he promised me the fuckin' world and nothin'. No calls.” She wrenches open a drawer and throws a cell phone across the desk, “No word, nothin'.”

Floundering, the start of several sentences fail to leave me. “He's er... been busy.” That wasn't a lie, just cause I had no idea what was going on didn't mean I couldn't bullshit as well as the rest of them, “Planning something big.”

“Ain't they always.” She leans in now, “Look, you can tell Wade I'm good. I ain't said shit, ain't gunna say shit. You just tell Mr Jay, I'm waitin'. Like I said I would be, minute he needs me, I'm there.”

“I didn't realise that you'd gotten so close. Wade didn't mention...”

“Wade was just the outside guy. He didn't matter. I didn't do it for him.” Her passion is returning, lighting up her whole face, “I am on the right side of History, we are on the right side. What Mr Jay is gonna do will be amazing. He's what Gotham needs, what they should have. And he needed me. I was here. Where were you Eleanor? He never even mentioned you.”

That stings, and something deeper sets. Is this how mental and out of touch I seem? She thinks Jack loves her, that she saved him and he'll come riding back on a white horse for her. Is that so different from myself? Not if I really look at it.

“Funny.” I let myself slip a bit, “Cause it was me he was fucking the other day.” Those are words I should have swallowed, and the effect is instantaneous, she starts ranting, raving as madly as he does, beauty warped and enraged. I let her go on until she seems to wear herself out, how on Earth is this woman a doctor, a psychiatrist in training – at least going from the little plaque on her desk.

It was fitting, Crane had been the head of the psychology department at Arkham before Bruce had finally put him away. A sane psychologist must be a rare thing in this city.

“Crane.” I cut in, when she looks about done, “You didn't just rescue the Joker, you refused Crane too, and Edward Nigma. You in love with all of them or what?”

“I owed Jonathon.” She ignores the jibe, “He got me my first job at Arkham,” sapphire blue orbs roll, “Back when there was an Arkham, I owed him.”

“And 'The Riddler?'”

“Mr Jay thought it'd be funny.”

“Hilarious.” I counter, “And now he's kidnapped the Major.”

“And Mr Jay blew up five buses, and then nothin'.” Her tongue clicks loudly in his mouth, “Obviously he's just killin' time if he's playin' about with you.”

“Obviously.” This is adding nothing. Gaining me no understanding, nothing further other than the fact that Jack had won this woman over and got her to do his every bidding. He was good at that, getting the crazies on side. Appealed to people who desperately needed a saviour, someone to believe in.

“He's going to get himself killed.” Pause for effect, “He's working with Crane, who can't be trusted. Whatever he's doing will get Ja- your Mr Jay dead.”

“Mr Jay is too clever for that.” Harleen snipes, fangs bared. “He'll be fine. Then he'll come for me. He promised.” I stand, more words against my teeth that will not help. Doctor Quinzel is no good for me. And I'm struggling with the ferocity of her apparent love for him. I hate it, maybe because it reminds me of myself and what's worse than an unflattering mirror. “I will... I will let Wade know that you're good and you're waiting for more information.”

A nod is my response, and I'm saved by a knock at the door. “I have a client.” Her accent is gone, back in professional mode. A totally sane Doctor. Someone you can open up too. “Keep up the act on your way out, I don't want questions.” I mimic her movement, slip past a prison guard holding a terrified-looking man in an orange jumpsuit. I wonder how many other prisoners she was obsessed with, or was her love only for Jack?

I have no way of getting anywhere, and I'm not closer to where to go.

I should have gone with Bruce. Every logical connection in my brain agrees with that thought. I should be with Bruce, not trotting in too-tight shoes across a bridge, on my way from meeting a woman who is not only in love with Jack but helped him escape. Helped the three of them get out so they can cause chaos and murder.

Chaos and murder that has been a part of my life for years, that I have done nothing to stop. I'm just as bad as her, worse even.

And I made the wrong choice once again, a lifetime of them and I haven't learnt a thing. Fifteen years of fuck-ups and I just keep going.

It's a long walk to the new apartment in Newton. An even longer one to Bruce's penthouse. Plenty of time to sort myself out and decide where my loyalties should lie. Reason and poison wrestle, the right thing or the man that no matter how hard you try you're still in love with. How can you save Jack when he's locked up, or like Wade suggested, getting fried on the chair.

Saving Jack is stopping him. That thought is just as present now as it was the first time. But stopping him means hurting him, losing him.

My toes are cramping, skin rubbed raw on my heels when I reach somewhere familiar. It's taken another couple of hours, and the winter sun is high, although it gives off little heat and goosebumps align my arms. Still, there is nothing else to do, walk and think. Walk and try and debate every poor decision I have made.

I'm penniless, not even enough for a payphone. I could turn on the tears, come up with another story and beg a few dollars off some kind person. I could head into any bar I pass, see the business-men getting drunk on their late lunch breaks and let someone take me home for the night.

I need to go to Bruce. Even if Bruce is willing to stand by and keep Batman locked away he can speak to someone, he can raise the alarm.

And then Jack gets caught, or dies. There is no winning situation here. Either way I turn I condemn one of them, condemn the city. I am a leech. Just as Wade said. I've leeched off every significant figure in my life, as twisted as each of them were.

If only I hadn't been a coward and I had run beforehand. Taken myself out of this equation. Someone needs to be taken out, Jack needs to be taken out. Batman is already gone, and Gotham is surviving, the Dent Act is putting bad people away daily. Gotham can do without Batman. Jack is the anomaly to everything, there is no sum in which he doesn't fuck up the result.
Saving Jack is stopping him.



I reach Bruce by darkness, an early sunset.

The security guards recognise me of cause, tries to make small talk as I try equally hard to look further from tears. I'd slipped my shoes back on just outside, and there's grit stuck to the blood on them. I make up some bullshit about an ill family member, I won't be a regular feature again, but I had some things to sort out with Bruce, and was he in by any chance?

This raises a smile. I like the guard, he has a sweet little picture of his twin daughters on his desk and a penchant for Stephen King books. He's also more observant than I'd like and keeps letting his face fall into concerned lines. At least this joke lifts them, it's a running one. After all, bar one day a month, when does Bruce Wayne ever go anywhere.

“I'll call up, let Alfred know you're on your way.” I thank him again, gritting teeth so hard I fear they are going to split through my cheek as I get to the elevator. The second the doors shut I tear off the shoes again. I have had hours to think. I have made a decision. But how to get that across, how to even speak to Bruce is a whole other battle.

The elevator zooms, familiar whirring and then opens straight into the foyer. And into Bruce. His eyes drag over me, just as harshly as Doctor Quinzel, and I know I look a state. There's more than pity on his face, his features are hard, and thin lips open to speak, to scold me probably when they close.

My tears trap them and I cannot stop, sobbing into the chest that greets me until my throat is raw and my chests burns.

I lose time, just as I had done so many times to drugs. When it catches up I am on the couch, no longer wailing though wet continues to trickle down my face. I'm squashed against Bruce, who must have grown tired of me and turned on the tv. The noise comes back into focus slowly, everything gains colour and just as swiftly my body connects to my brain. My feet sting and ache, my fingers are claws from where they have been clutching Bruce's jumper. My mouth is sandpaper with a sword in my throat.

Bruce notices I'm awake, or simply more conscious and helps me sit up, barely glancing at me but leaning forward and pressing a glass of water into my stunted hands. I keep the silence between us, sip at it, relief instantaneous and a blessing I do not feel I deserve.

Finally, I can pay attention to the news. There are flames, sirens and people in uniforms running around. The flames are wrapped around a building, sending dark smoke into the air that with another thought I swear I can actually smell. Firemen and police wait outside, trucks stationary. “They're having to let the building burn itself out,” Bruce explains, gruff and low. He still isn't looking at me. “All those security measures in place.” He shakes his head, “Recognise it?”

I look harder, give him the answer he wants, “Gotham National Bank.” I manage, though it's as croaky as his words. Smoke is still billowing through the famous pillars, and half of the floors seem to be gone. “They had a man on the inside, at least one, likely more with how the Joker tends to work.” Oh no, Jacks next big move. I'd missed it.

“Even after before, everything they put in place and this...” his gesture is unnecessary and he coughs before learning back beside me. “You know about this?”

“No.” Whether or not he believes me I don't know. Suddenly it seems important, “I had no idea. I didn't know anything, I didn't know about the buses until I saw it.”

“You've been with him the whole time.” Not a question but I answer. A minute of quiet, “You rang Alfred. We tracked the call to some little cafe and the girl remembered you and another guy. No idea where you went through. Your friend obviously knew the CCTV layout of that area well, lost you both quickly.”

“We were in New town, by the zoo. Basement flat.”

“Were,” I confirm, waiting for him to ask for the change in location.

“Robbinsville.” I hiss, Jack's voice deep in the back of my head, his grief clutching my insides. “I don't know the street name or the building.”

His interrogation continues, No – Jack had not let me go. I'd left when I'd seen a chance. No, I couldn't name his accomplices, bar Louis who I described in great detail with a sense of euphoria. Bruce stops after another round of questions.

“Alfred has called a nurse to see to you, we had to find one discreet, she's due to be here by eight.” He has softened a bit, will look me in the eyes now. I have one more bit of truth I will divulge to him, but this one is more spiteful than anything. “Doctor Harleen Quinzel helped them get out. She treated the Joker, she thinks she loves him and he loves her. She helped all of them get out of Blackgate.” His brows lift, “She told me. I saw her earlier."

“Stay here.” He looks behind me to where Alfred must have been lurking, “I'm going to make a phone call to Jim Gordon.” He struggles to his feet, clutches his cane which has been resting against the leather. “I won't mention you.” He seems to decide out loud, “But you have a lot more to tell me.”

I don't disagree, don't move or speak until he's back. I miss him, with the nurse who has dressed my feet, checked my blood pressure which is worrying low, taken my pulse and prodded me to her heart's content. “You're dehydrated,” she complains, “And you need to eat.” I'm the patient, but she speaks to Alfred as if I'm a child. “I have a couple of IV bags, hydration and vitamins. I'll bring them back up. Keep an eye on her feet for any signs of infection and call me straight back if you spot anything. Get the fluids and some food in her before she goes to sleep.” Alfred thanks her for her discretion, slips a check in her waiting hands.

Bruce puts me in the master bedroom, ignoring my arguments and I'm hooked up minutes later, shoving food in my mouth not long after. Alfred is gone again, eager to look up about Louis. Bruce is on my right, stiff and silent as he must have been most of the evening. When I've finished eating he takes the plate, holds it delicately and them slams it at the wall, which sends me upright and my heart into my mouth.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”