Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As annoying and suffocating as it was to have so many people sat together in one small office, silently Jim was thankful to have (mostly) everyone together for one meeting. There was no frustration quite like debriefing the same information seventeen times because this person was busy and that person didn’t feel like showing up.

“Here’s what we know, so far,” he began. “Jeremiah Valeska built a secret underground tunnel connecting from the basement of an abandoned warehouse to Wayne manor using enslaved citizens. Mostly children.” Jim pointed to a crude drawing of the manor done in blue crayon. He’d asked Harvey to draw up some visual aids for the meeting, seeing as there was a lot of information to be thrown out, and enlisted the help of Selina Kyle to give her agitated mind something else to focus on, at the behest of Lee.

Jim had made sure to leave a private note for himself to never do that again.

“He abducted two individuals who are currently unidentified due to the current lack of GCPD resources. As of right now, we are assuming they may have been homeless, people that wouldn’t be immediately missed if they vanished in thin air.”

“With the amount of plastic surgery that they most likely underwent, this was probably done months ago, maybe even before the bridges were blown.” Harvey cut in from beside Jim.

He nodded to his partner. “He then abducted and hypnotized Alfred while he and Bruce were temporarily separated, bringing him to Wayne manor with the Wayne look-alikes.” Across from them, Alfred mumbled something rude, causing Selina to visibly hold in her laughter. Safe to assume whatever it was the butler said, it was best not repeated to the class.

“Somehow he manages to get Bruce to the tunnel, whether he was lured there or if he found it himself is still unsure.” Jim gestures to a drawing of several stick figures labeled ‘Fake Parents’ ‘Bruce’ ‘Alfred’ and ‘Jeremiah’. Bruce had been drawn with a comically large quiff of hair, and Jeremiah was given red eyes and a pair of horns.

“Meanwhile, Lee and I are drawn to an abandoned chemical warehouse while following a lead in the Chessmen gang murders case, resulting in our subsequent capture. We get handed over to Jervis Tetch and Jeremiah’s assistant, Ecco, and are hypnotized to believe that we are now Thomas and Martha Wayne. We end up delivered to the movie theater downtown around the same time Jeremiah, Bruce and the two unknown captives arrive.” A caricature of Jervis was produced, with spirals in his eyes and an arrow which read ‘I am a loony’.

“The unknown captives are at some point shot and killed, dumped in a nearby abandoned storefront, and Lee and I take their places in the alley-”

A hand is abruptly raised. Jim sighed. “Yes, Ed?”

He glowered from where he sat beside Oswald. “Where exactly is Lee? Shouldn’t she be here if the rest of us are?”

“Dr. Thompkins is at present doing an autopsy on the bodies we’ve retrieved with Lucius. Both have already been briefed on these updates.” And also Lee and Ed had stabbed each other to the point of near hospitalization only a few short weeks ago, so Jim was less than thrilled at the prospect of the pair being placed in the same room any time soon.

“So, as I was saying, due to our being hypnotized, neither Lee nor myself recall anything that happened in the alley. The first thing we remember is Jeremiah and his assistant Ecco fleeing the scene with Bruce Wayne in tow, and a massive truck full of toxic explosives about to detonate.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Barbara Kean snapped. “We all know how the rest of this goes. Jim jumps in to be a hero, drives the truck off of a dock, and now the waters around Gotham are toxic sludge.” She slumps a little lower in her seat. “As if we didn’t have enough to worry about.”

Never had Jim missed coffee or alcohol more than he did at this moment. “We’ve managed to get the toxic water situation under control, more or less.”

“More or less?” Selina arched her eyebrow.

“Lucius has been scavenging as much tech from Wayne industries as is available to him to construct a water filtration system, and we’re putting a strict rationing system in place until we can get something more solid up and running.”

There came a rapping noise as Oswald impatiently tapped his cane upon the floor. “And any updates from the mainland?”

Jim gave the other man a stern glare. “No updates, as I’ve informed you the last twelve times you’ve asked. We’re on our own for the time being.” He threw down the stack of visual aids on his desk. “I promise that the second it changes, you will be the first to know.”

The statement seemed only to agitate the Penguin more. Throwing up his hands, he asked “I came out here for that?”

“Yes you bloody well did,” Alfred snapped back. “All this bullshit is linked, and we need as many hands on deck as possible to get Gotham’s shit together enough to rejoin the mainland and find Master Bruce.”

“As much as I hate to side with Oswald,” Ed cut in, “We didn’t sign up to look for the kid. How do you know he didn’t just go willingly? Maybe he doesn’t want to be found.”

It was impossible to tell who jumped to arms first, Selina or Alfred, as both moved impossibly fast to attack the bespectacled lamp post of a man. Barbara wrapped her arms around Selina and yanked her back, earning a few claw marks in the arm for her troubles. Harvey, being stood closest to Alfred, lunged to grasp onto the arm he’d drawn back to strike. “Ouch,” Barbara hissed. “Remind me to use a damn blanket next time, fuck…”

“Listen!” Jim shouted. All heads turned.

“We are all Gotham has left. We are all Bruce has left. Alfred was right, these issues are linked together deeper than I think anyone realizes. Jeremiah owns one of the bigger Gotham factions, not including Scarecrow and Tetch’s shares.” He turned to stare at the makeshift map he’d created not long after everything fell apart. “Now, more than ever, it is important we work together. Ed, you and Lee still, in theory, split the Narrows between yourselves, and Oswald has the majority of independent gangs as well as the ammunition factory in his territory. Barbara, you’ve got access to food and supplies, which everyone will be needing now more than ever.

“There’s strength in numbers. We keep things afloat for as long as we can while tracking Jeremiah. Try and lessen crime rates around our respective parts of Gotham, work on cleaning our waters, make it so the mainland believes we’re able to be redeemed.”

Jim’s gaze lingered on the part of the map that made up Jeremiah’s territory. It was fairly large, and rumored to be more dangerous than even Scarecrow’s. They’ve managed to rescue a few refugees, all of them in terrible shape from their time there. Not too far from there was the territory claimed by Victor Zsaz.

“If we find Jeremiah, we’ll find Bruce, and vice versa. We get him back safely, get Jeremiah behind bars, and we can focus all our efforts back into restoring Gotham. In the meantime, we have to recruit.”

“Recruit?” Oswald scoffed. “No offense, Jim, but a bunch of rag tag ruffians aren’t going to give a flying fuck about a missing rich boy. They’d sooner kill him themselves. How exactly do I go about making them empathetic to the cause?”

Alfred glared daggers at the shorter man. “You do what you do best, don’t ya? Bribe them. Give ‘em what they want. Rumor ‘as it your cupboards have managed to stay nice and full throughout this whole ordeal. Might behoove you to share some of the spoils.”

“I would like the record to show,” Barbara butted in “that his cupboards are only full because of The Sirens, and that the only thanks we actually got was a shipment of faulty-fucking ammo.”

“It is not my fault if the quality of the ammo you received was subpar, that is the exact reason-”

“Oh don’t play coy, we all know you purposely gave us a shitty batch-”

“Well you know what, that steak wasn’t even all that good to begin with, so if we’re discussing 'quality control-'”

“Enough!” Selina screamed. “Enough already. It’s stupid and petty and it’s giving me a damn headache.” She made a show of rubbing at her forehead, where it felt like a thousand pounds of
pressure was threatening to break her skull, to accentuate her point. “Penguin, you and I both know you have the ability to pay your workers, so I’d start doing that and see how quickly it boosts quality control in your factory.”

She turned to her friend beside her. “And Barbara, you have the club to use to your advantage. You can use the food and booze, loosen some tongues and rope more people into the effort. You’ve said it yourself, people are easy to get information out of if you give them a good buzz.”

There was the tiniest swell of pride in Jim’s chest as he regarded the young woman. “She’s right,” he said. “Infighting isn’t going to get us anywhere. We all have our strengths, and where one of us lacks, the others can make up for it. Get the word out, get our numbers up, any way possible. I’m going to go talk to Victor Zsaz.”

Boy, did that catch everyone’s attention.

“Are you fucking insane?”

“You’re asking to get killed-”

“Jim, there’s no way-”

Suddenly Harvey was there, pushing Jim out of the office and into the less cramped hall. Lowering his voice, he expressed similar concerns for Jim’s mental state. “We need as much help as possible, Harv. Freeze and Firebug can’t be counted on, they’re too unstable and most likely to still harbor some loyalty to the Valeskas. They’d be a liability. And we know Scarecrow and Tetch are loyal to Jeremiah to a fault. Zsaz is more of a free agent, he’ll-”

“Jim,” Harvey interrupted. “That’s what I’m worried about. Zsaz does as he likes, the only loyalty he has is to the Falcone family, and last I checked the only remaining Falcone is comatose somewhere on the mainland and hates pretty much all of us.”

“All I can do is try.” Jim shot back. “Victor, in his own weird, fucked up way, likes me. Or at least he tolerated me in the past. Hopefully I can build a strong enough case and get him on our side, preferably before anyone else gets to him first.”

Their staring contest lasted for a solid five seconds before Bullock backed down. He was too old and too worn to pretend he stood even a shadow of a chance at winning an argument with Jim Gordon. “Just try to not get your ass handed to you, we’ve got our hands full enough in the infirmary as it is.

Jim smiled, looking just as ragged. “I’ll try, but no promises. How’s the Haven Project coming along?”

Harvey shrugged. “It’s coming. Lucius and I are going to head out there with Lee to set up the new clinic there as soon as the autopsy finishes up. We figure the Sisters would be more willing to make the move if something substantial was already set up for their long term care patients, and Lee has some equipment left from her practice back in the Narrows. The first wave of refugees should be settling in within the week.”

“Good. That’s good.” Turning, Jim risked a glance back into the office. Through the window, he saw a lot of angry gestures as more and more of their little group erupted into argument.
“We’re fucked, aren’t we?”

Harvey took a long pull from his flask of incredibly watered down whiskey. “You know it.”
*****
Credit where it was due, not many people could sneak up on Victor. He supposed it helped that he’d literally been caught with his pants down, using the restroom in the middle of the night, but he couldn’t pass much judgment. Lord knew he was never above aiming below the belt during past missions (sometimes even literally).

The unseen person who’d manhandled him from the vehicle to...wherever the hell they were, ripped the bag off of Victor’s head, leaving him momentarily blinded by a white light beating down above him. His hands were bound to the arms of his chair, minimizing any movement.

“Wow!” He laughed. “Feel like we should maybe set up a safe word or something if we’re gonna be this rough.”

The room (from what little he could see) was bleak and gray. There was only the table and two chairs, with a single window about eight feet up the wall, and too small to even fathom trying to climb through.

The person who’d brought him there remained behind him, but he could feel someone staring from beyond the light, still as a statue.

“Is all this because I keep dumping bodies on the road? Because to be honest, given the current state of everything, road safety is gonna be the last thing most people worry about. And y’know, some might say decomposing corpses are nature’s speed bumps-”

“Please stop talking.” A calm voice instructed him. Deciding he wasn't in love with how the odds were currently stacked, he obeyed and kept his mouth shut. “I hear you’re a decent shot.” the unknown man continued.

Victor could only scoff. “I’d say a bit better than decent, but yes. Who’s asking?”

A few silent moments ticked by. There was a shuffling, the sound of a chair quietly being pulled out, though he still couldn’t clearly make out any further identifying details to tip off who the voice belonged to.

“A potential future employer,” finally came his answer.

“Oh shoot, a job interview?” the hit man jokes. “If I’d known, I would have worn my nice boxers to bed.”

“There is someone who is of a great deal of importance to me that I would like to hire protection for.”

Victor hummed, feigning interest in his binds. “Interesting, interesting… However, I feel it’s important to point out I don’t really do the ‘bodyguard’ thing these days. I’m usually the reason people hire bodyguards in the first place, generally not the other way around.”

The unseen man chuckled. “Well, you see, that’s why I would like your services.” There was the sound of papers rustling. “You think like an assassin, you know what weak points to look for during a job.” A bundle was slid across that table, coming to a standstill in front of Victor.

He glanced at the offending object, and then back to the man.

“Oh,” he laughed. “Oh, of course! How rude of me. Ecco, darling, untie our guest.” There was movement behind him, and suddenly gloved hands were roughly yanking at his ties. Victor couldn’t help the groan of appreciation that escaped his lips when finally he was freed. “Man, that already feels way better,” he sighed.

“I’m glad,” the stranger said. “Inside you’ll find your first month’s wages, all in advance.”

And if that didn’t perk Zsaz right up. “No shit, really?” He thumbed through the bills, pleased to find at least fifty grand in the massive package. Money may not mean much in Gotham’s current state, but Victor was nothing if not an optimist. And why not have a little stashed away for a rainy day?

Just in case.

“You start right away, there’s a room for you in my home so as to keep you close to your assignment, meals are included.”

One part of Victor felt hesitant. All of this was weird, weirder than usual. He’s had a fair number of assignments in his day, including a few oddball cases, but this was on a whole other level. He could feel something off in the pit of his stomach.

Another part remembered the shithole he lived in and the dwindling rations waiting for him there.

“Done.” He grinned, tucking the cash bundle closer to his person (on account of being in his boxers and an old shirt and having no pockets).

“Good,” the man purred. Suddenly, he leaned forward, into the light, and as bone white skin led to slick dark hair and unnerving pale eyes, Victor finally realized why he felt so weird before.
“Welcome to the family, Mr. Zsaz,” Jeremiah Valeska grinned.

Chapter Text

It had been three hours since Bruce first opened his book. He’s about three pages in and has retained none of it. The last forty five minutes alone has just been the same paragraph on loop.

He supposes he should be more grateful. With the state of things, Jeremiah going out of his way to send people to collect reading material for him to enjoy in his down time was generous. That was time and effort that could have gone into finding food, medicine or...whatever else his goons do when out and about. He didn’t really like to think too hard about it.

The thing was, Jeremiah hadn’t specified what kind of books to bring back (and neither had Bruce) so his current collection was… ‘eclectic’ to say the least. A cookbook by Martha Stewart now helped even out the legs of his once wobbly writing desk, Fifty Shades of Grey sat collecting dust next to a series of comics on the shelf. Stored away in his bedside drawer was a collection of Sherlock Holmes, Dante’s Divine Comedy was held in his hands.

Like he said. Eclectic.

Bruce was given two days off a week to do as he pleases. Sometimes, Jeremiah would join him. They would sit, silently doing their own thing for a while, until one of them inevitably caved and excused himself to go to bed.

Supper was shared every night, no matter what. It would be served at six exactly, and Bruce would do his best to clean himself up with what was available to him. The stately townhouse Jeremiah and his gang took over may have given the appearance of Post-Fall grandeur, but they were still scavengers like the rest of Gotham.

The ornamental clock on the mantle read four-forty five. He knew it ran about seven minutes fast, but had yet to get around to adjusting it.

Figuring now would be as good a time as any to start getting ready, he closed his book and placed it to the side. He spared the homework Jeremiah had given him from their last lesson a passing glance before standing to stretch stiff muscles.

He made the trek down to the kitchen to boil some water in the kettle. Their cook, a half mad French man who may have had a cannibal streak in his youth, sat sleeping in a chair. His head hung from the back of it, snores loud enough to wake the dead, and a dribble of drool leading down to his untrimmed beard.

There to pick up their superiors’ slack was a young person whom Bruce had never learned the name of. Everyone just called them ‘Kidd’. They were mute so far as anyone could tell, but cooked well. The differences between meals made by the older man and meals by them were night and day. For that reason, he really wasn’t sure why Jeremiah kept Chef around. Maybe it was best that he didn't.

Kidd gave a nod of acknowledgment as Bruce entered, but no further interactions were made. He carried his boiled water back to the room, stopping at a linen closet to pick up a semi-clean rag.

This next part Bruce hated the most, if only because the cold got to one's bones quickly. He stripped down, carelessly tossing each article of clothing in the general vicinity of his hamper. Wetting the rag, he scrubbed himself down until he was pink and raw, then scrubbed some more. Behind the ears, under his arms, the crooks of his elbows and backs of his knees, all the way down to his feet, he scrubbed. Once satisfied, he took the bowl to his window and opened it as far as he could get it (Jeremiah had been very insistent Bruce had no temptations to leave, despite constant reassurances he wouldn’t dream of it) and tipped the remaining water into a flower box he’d rigged up.

The blossoms themselves were meager and sad, only withering further as they got closer to the colder months in Gotham. But they were all Bruce’s, and that was what mattered in the end.

He owned one nice(ish) pair of slacks which were reserved only for these dinners. He personally replaced the zipper and mended a hole in the right leg, his thoughts drifting back to sewing lessons with Alfred in the kitchen, his gentle way of ribbing and constant flow of freshly brewed tea and warm biscuits accompanying.

He wore a plain black shirt with a cardigan the housekeeper, Ophelia had knitted for him. It was a bit lumpy and one size too big, but the yarn itself was a deep purple which he secretly thought suited him.

While pulling on his socks, he noticed with some defeat another hole appearing in the toe of one of them. He only had a few pairs to cycle through. He’d have to remember to darn it when he got back from dinner, seeing as socks were a luxury not many could afford.

He ran a brush through his hair. It was longer, hanging slightly past his ears now, and difficult to manage. In his captivity, the billionaire was not afforded frivolous things like the hair products he once used to keep his curls tame. And with Jeremiah emerging from his room every day with his own hair freshly gelled, he knew it was not so much a matter of lack of supply.

Still, Bruce dared not bring up the idea of a haircut to Jeremiah. He instead waited and hoped the other would be the one to bring up the subject himself.

In the end, he was nearly fifteen minutes early to supper. Ophelia, ruddy cheeked from the frigid wind , was setting up their places when he arrived. Kidd flitted in and out with the occasional set of cutlery or candles. Jeremiah was particular about how their shared meals were arranged.

“Evening, Master Bruce,” she greeted. “How are you, love?”

“Fine, thank you. Spent most of the day reading. And yourself?”

The older woman laughed, throwing a towel over her shoulder as she went about lighting the candles. “Same old, I’m afraid. Blood stains are a nightmare to get out of oak wood floors, I’m telling you.” She bustled past Bruce, patting him on the shoulder as she went. “I keep asking Mr. Valeska to put down plastic or something to catch the blood, but it’s in one ear, out the other I’m afraid.”

Bruce reached for his glass (fine crystal, no doubt pillaged from some other household) and the pitcher beside it. “If you’d like, I’d be more than willing to talk to him, make the suggestion myself.”

She gave him a kind smile. “Now, don’t you go sticking your neck out for me, my duck. I have my ways, don’t you worry.”

And she did. One didn’t become the mother of three of the most notorious and vicious hit men and serial killers in the history of the United Kingdom without learning a few tricks of the trade.
Bruce returned her smile. “Just let me know. I’d be happy to talk with him.”

Outside, there was the sound of a car approaching. Footsteps, voices, a clattering of the outside gate shutting behind them. Down the hall, the key to the front door twisted in the lock. The others had a separate entrance which led to the servants’ quarters. They knew better than to enter through the front door. Ophelia tottered off to assist in the kitchen, so as to give the men some privacy.

“Good evening, Bruce. I hope I’m not late,” Jeremiah stepped into the dining room, pulling off his gloves as he walked. He was dressed sharply (as always) in one of his many fine suits. This one was a soft lavender color with sage green accents. He chose a deep purple for the day’s lipstick color.

“You aren’t,” Bruce assured, tracking his companion as he made his way down to the other end of the table. In the corner of his eye, Ecco lurked. “If anything, I’m too early.”

“No such thing,” was Jeremiah’s warm reply.

They’d made some improvements, Bruce and Ecco, since the early days of their new living arrangements. While she adored Jeremiah, to the point of severely concerning Bruce, she hadn’t taken the news of his becoming a part of their congregation with much grace.

There were a few attempts made on the billionaire’s life by Ecco, all of them thwarted by either Bruce himself or her beloved boss. After the fifth or sixth attempt she disappeared for a while. When she returned, she seemed much more docile around Bruce, though still obviously less than pleased. Sometimes, when Jeremiah reminded her to give her head a shake after making too much sense, Bruce swore he could hear a second bullet rattling in there.

Always one to mind his manners, Bruce asked Jeremiah about his day as they waited for Kidd to finish serving dinner. Like always, the man was vague. “Have you had a chance to look at that homework I gave you?”

“A bit,” Bruce replied, nodding his thanks to Kidd as they deposited a plate heaped with grilled fish and vegetables in front of him. “I was planning to go more in depth this evening, before bed.”

Jeremiah hummed. “Have you always been such a night owl?” There was a tone in his voice which sounded close to fond disapproval.

“Runs in the family, I suppose.”

They waited for Kidd to finish their duties before scurrying back to the kitchen for their own supper. Jeremiah skipped water and opted instead for a glass of wine. Bruce wished he didn’t, as the liquid had a strange consistency that reminded him of blood, and it turned his stomach.

“I’ve thought more about what you’ve asked of me the other day, Bruce.”

“Oh?” He perked up. It had been months since Bruce was last allowed outside. The excuses changed every time he asked about it. Primarily, he’d just be reminded that Jeremiah had gone to great trouble in constructing a gym for Bruce in one of the spare bedrooms upstairs, and if he needed exercise that would more than suffice. Bruce felt as though he was at the end of his rope by the middle of August.

“I’m not asking to go out into the streets,” he’d pleaded then. “Even just a few minutes in the courtyard would make all the difference.”

Back in the present, Jeremiah nodded. “It has been unfair of me to keep you cooped up. You’ve been doing very well in our lessons lately, and have been the very image of ‘well behaved’ for the entirety of your time here. You deserve some acknowledgement for that.”

It might as well have been Christmas for how happy Bruce suddenly felt. He opened his mouth to ask if it would be possible to take a walk in the garden after dinner, but was beaten to the punch by the other man.

“I’ve hired someone to keep watch over you. Make sure no one comes around or sees you who shouldn’t while you go about your daily activities.”

All at once, he deflated again. “A bodyguard?”

An eyebrow was raised at Bruce’s disappointment. “For your protection. I’m sure you understand.”

The young man attempted to swallow the lump in his throat. “Of course,” he answered.

A few minutes ticked by in silence as the pair ate. Tonight was another excellent meal. It helped that Ophelia had been something of a doomsday prepper in her day, and had had access to seeds and soil for a little victory garden behind the house prior to The Event, allowing for fresh vegetables and herbs. Some days, Bruce would watch her tend to it from the window in the study, longing to feel the sun.

“Oh, I’d forgotten, we got you a gift while we were out, didn’t we, Ecco, dear?” Jeremiah called over Bruce’s head. The blonde woman shuffled forward, placing a ratty sack on the table before Bruce.

A quick glance revealed more books. Moby Dick, a collection of Zane Grey westerns, and the all-too-familiar Wuthering Heights, Old Jeremiah’s favorite.

“I must apologize for the...assortment we’ve been providing. With Gotham Library lying in Penguin’s district, it’s simply too much risk to try and infiltrate. Not yet, anyhow.”

Bruce shook his head. “I understand entirely.” He turned to Ecco. “Thank you, this was very kind.” She merely nodded, her mouth twisted as she gazed anywhere but at Bruce.

“Mind your manners, Ecco. Bruce just said ‘thank you’.” Jeremiah’s voice came out low and deadly.

It took a few moments. Bruce was going to tell her that it was fine, that she didn’t need to do or say anything she didn’t want to, but she eventually grumbled an acknowledgement. Probably for the best he hadn’t said anything, as he was sure the very idea of not doing as she was told by Jeremiah was worse than death itself in her damaged mind.

Jeremiah excused himself to the office, but not before informing Bruce that the new bodyguard would be starting the next morning.

Bruce followed suit, making sure to poke his head into the kitchen to give his thanks to Ophelia, Kidd, and the half-lucid Chef before retiring upstairs.

His bedroom lay on the far end of the house, Jeremiah’s study down the hall opposite him. Some evenings he’d stand, staring at the sliver of soft light that escaped from beneath the door. Didn’t say anything, didn’t dare approach it, just stared. He could sometimes hear voices, like Jeremiah was talking to someone, though he knew definitively that the older man was alone.

No one was allowed in his study, except for him. Not even Ophelia for the purposes of cleaning. There was one copy of the room’s key, and it belonged to Jeremiah. He tidied the room himself, took out his own trash and occasionally came in or out with a feather duster or a broom. It could at times be quite comical, the juxtaposition of such mundane objects with his nice suits and meticulously styled hair.

There weren’t any voices tonight, which Bruce took to be a good sign. On really bad days, it would go on well into the night. And yet Jeremiah was the one who wanted to make comments on Bruce and his night time habits.

Once in his room, he sorted his new books. The westerns were designated up on the shelf, with the other ‘only if I am truly desperate’ options. Moby Dick was tucked into the nightstand as a ‘To Be Read’. He sat down on his bed with the copy of Wuthering Heights, simply looking.

The paperback itself was well loved, dog eared with passages printed on yellowed pages marked up in soft graphite and orange highlighter. In blue ink on the front cover pages, an inscription read ‘To M, with love -T’.

He’d learned Jeremiah loved this book early into their friendship. They were on a coffee break after doggedly troubleshooting an early prototype of the generators for several hours, and Bruce had been doing his best to break the ice with the terribly awkward ginger.

Years of being raised among the upper crust meant he knew the ins and outs of socializing (at least, in theory he did). Politics were always a faux pas, and in the case of Jeremiah Valeska, family was absolutely off the table. Bruce knew nothing about sports and felt Jeremiah would be in the same boat.

He cheated a bit by snooping around his bunker in previous days. The other man used junk mail to make lists and doodle little labyrinths, a small potted plant was safely tucked in the bathroom, out of harm's way. Pictures of Jeremiah were far and few between, and in every one he had the same severe expression, even in the scant few from childhood.
Most importantly, however, was that Jeremiah had books. A lot of books.

So Bruce asked. Jeremiah seemed reluctant at first to answer, stammering something about not really having favorites and how he didn’t have time to read much anymore.

Then he met Bruce’s gaze.

And then he opened up.

And Bruce swore it was like the entire room got brighter when he did.

“’Wuthering Heights’? Really?” he’d asked.

Jeremiah had shrugged. “It's just such a powerful story, y’know? I mean, I love Jane Austen as much as the next guy, but all those love stories and their happy endings… guess it’s a matter of preference, really. Romance like that never really called to me. The tragedy of Catherine and Heathcliffe, the cycles of abuse he falls into with all the misplaced anger and grief…” he trailed off. “It just speaks to me, I guess.”

Bruce had smiled, taking a sip of his coffee. “For what it's worth, I get it.” The older man looked surprised. “Didn’t have the most normal childhood. A lot of the joyful, feel-good stuff rang pretty hollow for me, too.”

The inventor hummed in acknowledgment, looking at Bruce as though he were a massive puzzle that he was trying (and epically failing) to solve.

Then, a mug is held up in a toast by Jeremiah. “Cheers,” he’d said with a shy smile. “To our ‘less-than-normal’ childhoods.”

And what could Bruce do but laugh?

Back in the present, the young man lazily flipped through the pages, lost in thought. His gaze returned on occasion to his desk. He had said he’d do his homework after dinner.
Homework, in this instance, was the diary belonging to the late, great Jerome Valeska.

Truth be told, ‘diary’ isn’t the exact word Bruce would use to describe the little book on his desk. If pushed to describe it, it was more like a tiny vision board for Jerome to map out and manifest his ‘Empire of Insanity’. Any passages he did write were long and erratic, lacking in punctuation and coming across as a stream of consciousness writings.

It was a tad disconcerting, scanning through the many colorful and terrible ways Jerome lusted to kill Bruce and the people he loved, all mapped out in as much detail as Jerome’s too-fast brain was capable of. Eaten alive by beetles, cast into a pit of rusty knives, flayed open and tossed into barrels of lemon juice. Lord, the list went on and on, more often than not including little doodles from the author to further illustrate his Master Vision.

Had Bruce felt he was a more equal power dynamic, and thus freer to say what was on his mind, he would have pressed his (roommate? Sort of friend?) about what it was Bruce needed to be deriving from this ‘homework assignment’, and how it would play into this imagined rise in power for him.

But Bruce was not in an equal power dynamic here, and Jeremiah was adamant that he read through unpleasant spiraling writings of his deceased brother.

Thus, he blindly plowed through.

****
Jeremiah worked late into the night. Ecco knocked on occasion, asking if he wanted this or that. Eventually he had enough and told her to go to bed. Sometimes she needed to be reminded of the fact that no one really likes a kiss ass.

Some of the men he’d sent out on a provisions run had returned with a list for Jeremiah to look over. It was a fairly solid haul, some dry goods to add to the emergency rations, medicine for
Ophelia’s varying afflictions, etc. There was also a bit of paperwork to sort out with Victor Zsaz.

While he would not describe himself as a humble man (the new and improved Jeremiah knew his strengths, and didn’t shy away from acknowledging them) he entered into that afternoon’s conversation with a healthy dose of caution and a backup plan.

Gotham had seen a lot in its day. Many monarchs have rocketed into power and fallen in equally spectacular fashion in his lifetime alone. Yet undoubtedly it was the late Don Falcone and his family who held the crown for the longest, ruling with an iron fist. But the one constant through all of it, the one thing every criminal in Gotham agreed was this: Do Not Fuck With Victor Zsaz.
When the city had fallen, the man had struck out on his own, and one didn’t need to be a genius to know he’d be a powerful ally to have on their side, especially with opposition like Jim-fucking-Gordon.

And anyways, who better to protect Bruce?

Bruce, the most precious thing in Jeremiah’s life by a country mile. He would sooner gouge out his own eyes than see any harm befall the young man. And wasn’t that a dangerous thought?

It was good that Victor had been so eager to join forces. Maybe, if he was lucky, he would even be willing to train some of Jeremiah’s troops. God knew they needed all the help they could get in that department. Brain washing and torture could only get one so far.

He knew how badly Bruce wanted to leave his confinement. It had worried him, initially. Thoughts and feelings of paranoia plagued him in those early days, as he pondered late into the night the true intentions of Bruce Wayne.

A decent enough gym was constructed for them to train in during the week (Jeremiah paused in his pondering to write a little side note for himself: ‘Zasz train with Bruce?’). It was important the young man keep up all the hard work he’d done with Alfred. For as slight as the billionaire was built, he was shockingly quite compact and muscular beneath soft sweaters and expensive winter coats.

But he’s recently come to the realization that this desire of his to be outdoors was far more than concern for physical activity, nor a desire to cut and run.

He once caught Bruce by the window, watching Ophelia teach Kidd and one of the goons how to properly weed the garden beds. The old woman was steadfast in her ways, and refused to let any pesticides touch her life’s work, and thus they required frequent attention to keep them as lucrative as she has.

Distantly, the older man recalled a conversation the two had had during a rare moment of down time. He remembered Bruce talking about his mother, about long days spent with her tending to the gardens back at Wayne manor. He’d smiled dreamily as he talked about afternoons trimming back flourishing rose bushes and planting milkweed seedlings, dirt under his nails and grass stains on the knees of his trousers.

He was paler now than he was then, his freckles having faded from the lack of sun exposure. On the days they’d walked together, back at the bunker, they’d tease each other for how easily both men burned, even in the early spring. He could remember how lovely Bruce had looked, that day wading in the creek, his cheeks and nose turned pink, blue eyes alight with laughter. A complete 180 from the stoic creature he usually was.

As quickly as these memories came, he bade them to leave. Those were memories of before; They belonged to the old Jeremiah. He had no right to claim them anymore.

Thus, Victor was a blessing. Bruce could return outdoors and get some time in the sun before fall melted back to winter, and Ophelia would have an extra set of helping hands for her garden. She’ll be thrilled when she finds out.

Jeremiah liked Ophelia, though he didn’t always appreciate her blunt way of speaking to him. Ecco often entertained the idea of cutting out the old woman’s tongue in her sleep and feeding it to the dogs, but every time it was mentioned he insisted she stand down.

Because yes, she was blunt, and didn’t always remember her place in the household, but she loved Bruce fiercely, and he figures he could use a familial touch, given the fact that Alfred was in the Green Zone (and may as well have been in Turkey for all the help he could provide his ward from there). And it helped that she could be just as ruthless as the infamous children she had reared.

‘Anything to keep Bruce happy, right?’ the voice sneered.

Pale eyes rolled back as Jeremiah leaned back from his desk, pinching his nose. “I knew I shouldn’t have had wine with dinner.”

Jerome simply laughed, his scarred face bloated and contorted in death. ‘You always were the weaker of us, y’know. One look at a pretty face and you’re just putty in their hands.’

Jeremiah glared at the visage of his twin, currently lounging in the chair opposite his desk with the air of a king. “You weren’t exactly one to abstain from pretty faces, if I recall correctly. Even as kids. Broke your arm trying to impress a boy once, remember? Didn’t even work, fool that you were.”

His brother merely held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘All I’m saying is, this is a dangerous game you’re playing here, bro.’ He stood suddenly, moving to do a lap around the room, knowing full well how much Jeremiah fucking hated it when he tried to touch his things.

‘Like, hey, don’t get me wrong, if things had played out a ‘lil differently for ya boy here, I absolutely would have tapped it.’ Jerome continued. ‘But you, brother dearest, are weaving dangerously into uncharted territories.’

Jeremiah was pretty sure he had drawn blood from how sharply he’d bit down on his tongue. He refused to speak until he was certain he’d wrangled back the sudden onslaught of violent impulses. “I assure you, Jerome, Bruce Wayne wouldn’t have touched you with a ten foot pole, let alone allowed himself alone in a room with you. Not consensually.”

He heard a scoff. ‘Maybe not after my little face lift, but before that I had it going on. I was very popular at the truck stops. Could have shown Brucie a fair few tricks in my day.’

“I’m not discussing this with you.” Jeremiah seethed.

Jerome howled. ‘You’re soft for the kid, and it’s only a matter of time before Bruce, the little dear, takes advantage.’
Resigned to the fact that no more work was getting done until he and the unconscious projection of his dead twin hashed things out, Jeremiah threw down his pen and turned in his seat to face him. “I’ll bite. What are you talking about?”

Jerome sprinted back to his seat at Jeremiah’s desk and leaned in conspiratorially. ‘Think about it, ‘Miah.’ he muttered. ‘With this head,’ a finger reached up to gently tap the side of Jerome's head. ‘-Not the other one.’ His eyebrows wiggled suggestively.

‘Bruce is a bullheaded rich kid who's probably never been told ‘no’ in his life. He is nothing if not frustratingly stubborn when it comes to his moral code. You seriously think he’d just suddenly turn around and reject everything he knew and loved to run away with you to become like, a ninja or some shit?’

“That is not,” Jeremiah spat “what we are training for. And yes, actually, I do.” Except maybe, no, he didn’t. “Bruce and I are connected. Our stories are destined to become woven together-” Were they, though? “He feels it.” Does he? “He knows it to be true.” But does he really? “You’re just jealous.”

‘Jealous?’ Jerome looked incredulous. Then he threw back his head and let out an ugly laugh. ‘Jealous my ass. First things first, I would have gotten into his pants ages ago, so jot that down Mr. Repressed.’ he tapped on Jeremiah’s notebook, earning him a rough swat. ‘Secondly, he’s clearly just playing mind games. Play along with you for as long as he can while he tries to undo all of the hard work I did to make you-’

“I made myself, understand?” Jeremiah yelled. He froze, waiting to listen for any signs of movement in the rest of the house. It remained blissfully silent. “All you did was make me look like a freak, Jerome.” He roughly pointed towards his face. “Everything else? Me. All mine. I did this. I brought down Gotham, just like I brought Bruce Wayne over to my side. I succeeded everywhere where you failed.”

Jerome glared at him. ‘That why Gordon’s still alive? Making his little ragtag posse of outsiders and wannabe gangsters to try and hunt you down?’

He sighed. “Yes, Gordon has posed something of a challenge. But killing him that night would have lost me Bruce forever, and I can’t-” Jeremiah broke off, unwilling to let his imaginary brother hear the depth of his emotions.

The effort was futile, what with Jerome living inside of his head. ‘So you lied?’ Jerome asked softly. ‘That night. When you told Bruce you didn’t care if you were together because of love, or hate, however the fuck you phrased it. You were just bluffing.’

Jeremiah thought for a moment. “At that time, no. I wasn’t lying. I knew there was a connection, one Bruce was refusing to see. I was desperate, and would have taken him any way he’d let me have him. Even if it meant being his sworn enemy.”

In the early days of their friendship, Jeremiah had been glad to have Bruce around. There was a warmth to the young man he couldn’t remember ever experiencing with another person, not even his own family. The cold practicality of his bunker became softer when Bruce was there, making it feel like a home rather than a fortress against impending evil.

He wasn’t unaware of his attraction to men at the time of meeting Bruce. In fact, quite the opposite. Jeremiah had harbored many crushes in his day, and in school he’d had a number of dalliances before the paranoia of his brother finding him took over, driving him underground and effectively cutting off any personal connections he may have still had left in the world at large.

No, Jeremiah knew, he just didn’t believe at first that what he felt for Bruce could be anything other than kinship, a brotherly affection rooted in the desire to fill the hole left behind by Jerome. None of the men he’d had before had come close to making him feel like this, they didn’t have that same effect as Bruce did.

They were so similar, though, him and Bruce, how could it be anything else? Their broken childhoods, feelings of isolation when surrounded by peers, family cruelly stripped away…

If he were a more poetic man, Jeremiah might dare say that he and Bruce’s story was written in the stars, destined to be by some greater power. But he was, at the end of the day, a pragmatist to his core, and as such he would never share these musings aloud for fear of appearing a sappy, soft headed romantic. Pragmatist or not, however, there was no denying that nothing had felt quite so right as being near Bruce, and these days his hopes very much lied in getting Bruce to feel the same way towards him.

“Bruce is here now, and that’s the important part. Even if he is lying, even if he is trying to bide his time, he’s here, and there’s nowhere for him to go. Zasz will be with him every waking hour starting tomorrow, and it will be as much his responsibility to keep Bruce here with me as it is his responsibility to keep him safe. He’ll see things my way one day. And when he does, we will become a force unlike anything the world has ever seen before.”

Jerome stared a long moment, then gave a low whistle. ‘Y’know, for someone insisting left, right, and center that you’re sane as a doorbell, you sure do sound like a nutcase.’

“I am nothing like you!” The living man insisted.

‘Of course you are!’ His twin cackled. ‘Would you be talking to me right now if you weren’t?’

And with what felt like a rush of cold air surging through the room, Jeremiah found himself alone. If he blinked he could see in his vision the faint outline of where Jerome once stood. But of course the room was now empty, save for him. It always has been.

Jeremiah didn’t let himself dwell too long on this fact.

Chapter Text

It was one thing to hear about Victor Zsaz’s antics on the news or in the papers. It was one thing to hear odd anecdotes about various encounters with the man from Jim Gordon during a casual social call.

It was something else entirely to meet the man in the flesh.

Standing a head taller than Bruce, his somewhat slender build might initially lull a potential opponent into a false sense of security. But there was a blankness in the eyes that tipped you off immediately, if you knew what to look for. Bruce was intimidated and, strangely, glad Jeremiah had elected to be with them for the initial introductions.

The other man looked exhausted. A stab of pity came on, unbidden, as Bruce studied the shadows under his eyes the color of bruises. His suit was a vivid magenta with hints of violet so dark it looked almost black in low light. The tie wrapped around his neck was a forest green, a gray overcoat thrown over one arm as he absentmindedly tapped a tune on the concrete beneath them with a cane. “Mr. Zsaz, I would like to introduce you to my dear friend, Bruce Wayne. I’ll be leaving you two shortly to get more acquainted.”

One side of Victor's mouth lifted in an almost smile, a hand half raised in greeting.

“A pleasure, Mr. Zsaz,” Bruce nodded, never one to forget his manners. Secretly, he thought Jeremiah appreciated that about him.

“No need for the formalities, feels too stuffy. I’m Victor, yeah?”

Another nod. “Of course.” Bruce turned to Jeremiah. “May I ask where you’re headed off to today?”

Jeremiah smiled softly, looking uncomfortably like a doting parent gazing upon their child. “You can ask,” He replied gently. “But you know as well as anyone the probability of getting a real answer out of me is extremely low.”

A flare of anger made Bruce feel like cursing his companion out. He stamped it down. “You know I only ask out of worry,” he insisted. “If something were to happen, is there anyone who would be able to come find you?”

One gloved hand was raised to brush away a lock of Bruce’s hair. “Your concern is sweet, but unwarranted. I don’t go anywhere without Ecco, and I’m pleased to note our numbers have increased exponentially since the bridges have gone down, in terms of manpower.” No mentions were made as to how many of those contributing to ‘manpower’ were doing so willingly.

He turned to look at Victor at that moment, the other man barely having time to school his expression back to neutral from the suddenly interested one he'd previously worn. “And besides, we have Victor now. Should anything happen, I have full faith in his ability to assist in keeping all of us safe.”

“You can count on me, boss.”

“Good.” He smiled again, patting Bruce’s cheek once before turning. “You boys have fun today. Play nice.”

*********
The dining room in the townhouse was once no doubt the pride and joy of the (most likely fabulously wealthy) family who once called the place home.

Its wallpaper (now dingy with age and wear) was a lovely floral pattern in soft creams and blood reds, lace motifs interwoven between the faded blossoms. A chandelier dangled above the oak dining room table that no doubt cost more than what most people made in a decade. Tacked to the walls were tapestries (likely imported from somewhere in Europe), the heavy fabric muffling all noise within and without the parameters of the room.

It was bizarre to be seated in such old school luxury like that which Bruce grew up with, looking as rough as he did, and sitting across from a hit man of Victor’s caliber.

Ophelia didn’t hesitate to brew the duo up a fresh pot of tea to share with an assortment of snacks to graze on. She even pulled out the tea set that she knew Bruce liked best, the blue one with little sail boats delicately painted on.

Victor sat back, looking like the king of the castle as he took in the room around them. “Nice digs,” he complimented. “I’ve been camped out in an old warehouse for the last few months. How’d you guys manage to get hooked up to the grid?”

Bruce forced a smile. “We aren’t, technically. Jeremiah keeps a back catalog of the generators we were working on in various safe houses scattered around Gotham. Some of them were rewired for…. ulterior purposes, but many were left for their original intent.” He held out a plate loaded with sandwiches, Victor happily snagged several. “Thus, the entirety of Jeremiah’s territory has managed to stay lit up with the use of a single generator, and it isn’t even working at full capacity.”

The assassin hummed. “Cool beans. Hot water?”

“Not yet. Due to the chemical spill, water is a more scarce commodity, even in this territory. I believe Jeremiah is currently working on a prototype for a sort of water filtration system. It’s slow going, given he has to mostly rely on what supplies he can scavenge around for.”

“Well, two out of three I guess. I’ll take three hot meals and a soft bed over that stupid warehouse any day.”

Bruce was thoughtful for a moment. “May I ask, Mr. Zsaz-”

“Victor.”

“-Victor.” He self-corrected. “Why did you take this job? I can’t imagine it’s the most enticing offer you’ve ever received.” The intensity in the other man’s stare unnerved Bruce. Silently, he motioned to the food they were sharing, the room around them, an expression which said ‘Isn’t it obvious?’.

“Of course.” Bruce smiled. “...It’s just that I’ve heard the stories about you. You’re very accomplished in your field, and no doubt highly sought after.”

“Job offers tend to dry up when wackos with bombs light up every bridge connecting the island you live on with the rest of the country.” Victor quipped.

Okay, Bruce had to smile at that one. “I would imagine. Perhaps-”

“Alright kid, lets go ahead and cut the shit for a second.” Victor leaned suddenly forward. “I know you’re trying to suss out the details of my contract with Jeremiah, seeing if there are any weak points you can exploit to convince me to double cross him.”

Stunned by the bluntness, Bruce said nothing. The grip on his tea cup became tight.

Zsaz forged ahead. “I respect the hustle, kid. Really, I do. But I’m going to paint this out as clearly for you as I can: You are in a seriously disadvantaged position. There is nothing that you can offer me that I can’t be guaranteed to get from Jeremiah, and still stay in his good graces. With the odds stacked as they are now, helping you won’t get me anything but a bullet to the head by some jackass in clown makeup. Not the way I really want to go.

“Now, I’m not gonna stop you from trying to figure something out, because frankly, I’m bored and wanna see what you can come up with. And for what it's worth, if I thought it would work out to my benefit, I would end that guy in a heartbeat and let you walk away right now. But that’s not the situation.

“And, so we’re clear, until such time as I am no longer under contract with Valeska, I will do whatever I need to in order to uphold my end of the bargain,” he gave Bruce another pointed look. “Even if that means having to wrangle you.”

He shoved the last bite of his sandwich in his mouth and clapped his hands together. “Now, how’s about a tour of the place, yeah?”
The remainder of the day was spent giving Victor a lay of the land. His room was situated directly next to Bruce’s, the single bag he’d packed with him placed at the foot of his bed.

Dinner was pierogies by request of Victor. He told many stories of his grandmother as they ate, winning Ophelia’s approval (anyone who clearly cared so deeply for their grandmother earned them a gold star in her book) before dessert had even been served.

Jeremiah was notably absent, the day’s business going later than planned. He’d sent a note home with one of his goons for Bruce, apologizing and promising to make it up to him, like the old fashioned gentleman he was.

Anxious for some time away from Victor, he excused himself to retire to his room, directing the other man to their home gym if he felt compelled to work off their evening meal and reminding him of where the bathroom was should he need it before bed.

His face was warmed from the light of the candle flickering on his desk, Jerome’s journal once more opened before him on an entry about Jim Gordon. A caricature of Jim in his signature plain suit was dangled over a vat of alligators, who leaped with snapping jaws at his feet. His eyes looked to be gouged out, sharp implements inserted into either ear.

His thoughts strayed to that afternoon’s conversation.

Bruce hadn’t held any illusions that he had any leverage against Jeremiah. Where once he’d been able to throw money at his problems without a second thought, his captivity both in the house as well as on the island of Gotham has left him cut off.

In theory, if he could find a way to contact the mainland, there were a number of powerful and well-to-do people who he could talk into lending a hand. But Jeremiah had been quite thorough in the setting up of Bruce’s prison, all hypotheticals accounted for. The closest thing he had to an ally within these walls would be Ophelia, and while she was certainly a warm and welcome presence, Bruce had no doubt she shared Victor’s ‘Pros v. Cons of Double Crossing Jeremiah' list, and a general distaste for the idea of getting killed by a clown.

But what about the office?

Bruce hadn’t made any attempts at getting inside in all the months they’d been there, anxious as he was to get Jeremiah to trust him and keep the peace, even through all of the instability.

And it worked. Jeremiah had said before he had been the pinnacle of good behavior since his arrival there, only ever stepping out of line in instances where he’d needed to defend himself from Ecco’s attacks.

Surely there could be something behind that locked door? A radio of some kind, perhaps. After all, scavenging could only get someone so much, even for one as resourceful as Jeremiah. Where did the fresh meat come from, the medicine and various non-essentials? Could there be some outside assistance, maybe a ring of Jerome/Jeremiah’s fanatics on the mainland?

Bruce knew how to pick a lock, it had been one of the first skills he’d picked up in the early days of his training. But this was Jeremiah they were talking about. He wasn’t likely to just leave everything behind a single plain lock. The man had constructed an entire labyrinthine underground lab just to feel safe from his twin brother. He did nothing in half measures.

Victor had told Bruce he couldn’t help him, but wouldn’t attempt to prevent Bruce from trying (unless, of course, it risked openly violating the parameters of his contract with Jeremiah). He’d told Bruce he was bored.

Maybe there was a loophole to be found after all.

Jeremiah hated missing meals with Bruce. Hands down, they were always the best part of his day, even if the young man was no longer as friendly as he once was.

However, as he stared down at the files before him, he knew it was for the greater good he’d missed it. Jim Gordon, the bullheaded, obtuse, pain in the dick that he was, had begun setting up a safe house to take in refugees.

Were it only himself and Bullock working with the smattering of the GCPD that was left alive, Jeremiah might not care. At most, he’d give the settlement a month, maybe two if he were feeling generous. But the officer had gotten almost half the other major factions, including the Sirens Club and Penguin, in on its set up.

It was one thing for Gordon to have his little makeshift ‘Breakfast Club’, bitching and brainstorming half baked plans to track down the missing Wayne heir. It was another thing entirely to see everyone banding together to collaborate on such a wide scale project.

Next to Jeremiah, Ecco shifted in her seat. “What’s the plan here, Boss?”

Bare hands reached up to rub the exhaustion from his eyes. “Quite the eccentric little gathering Jim has,” he murmured. “A very uneasy peace, I wouldn’t doubt, if there’s any peace at all. A grand spectacle would do us more harm than good right now, so something more subtle will be needed.”

His brain whirring at maximum capacity, Jeremiah felt himself narrowing in on Cobblepot. “Undoubtedly the weakest link,” he thought aloud. “Prone to emotional outbursts, a penchant for latching on to others, conceited and a reputation for poorly treating his employees…”

Fingers drummed against the desk. A newspaper clipping lay nearby on the table before him, one of Edward Nygma, former forensics technician at the Gotham City Police Department, recently turned murderer. “There’s rather a public feud between Mr. Cobblepot and Nygma, isn't there?”

The unknown goon standing a few feet away nodded. “Ed was a part of Penguin’s campaign for mayor after pulling some strings to get him declared sane by Arkham. Seemed like they got along quite well. Things took a turn outta nowhere, and suddenly the two couldn’t stand one another.”

“Understatement of the century,” Ecco half joked as she stared down at the photo in her hand. Jeremiah took it from her, studying it with interest. Another clipping, this time from some posh magazine covering the reopening of Oswald’s lounge a few years ago. Behind a sharply dressed Oswald, The Riddler stood encased in a block of ice and lit up like a Christmas tree.

Unable to stay still any longer, Jeremiah stood and began pacing, the cogs continuing to turn in his mind.

“Fractures already exist in the infrastructure of this little posse of Jim’s,” he began. “The entire operation is built on thin ice, no pun intended. If we were to exploit this, exasperate them to the point of implosion, the entirety of this ‘Haven’ will fall apart. No Barbara means no food, no Oswald means no protection, no Dr. Thompkins means no clinic.” He grinned. “We send someone in, have them prod around, stir a bit of trouble. Easy-peasy.”

Ecco did not seem so sure. “That’s gonna be an awfully delicate operation. You think we got anyone to spare who can handle that kind of discretion?”

Pale eyes flickered over to the goon again, the smudged makeup, their punk’d out clothes, comrades below causing mayhem in the streets.

“I suppose you’re right,” Jeremiah mused. “But we’re definitely on the right path. I can feel it.”

Spinning on his heels, he sped back towards the exit. “I must call Crane and Tetch immediately. Time is of the essence here. I trust you to take care of the collateral damage, Ecco, love.”

He was answered with the sound of a single bullet and the thud of a body dropping.

Jim didn’t realize Lee was talking to him until he heard the sharp ‘Snap!’ of her fingers directly next to his right ear. He lifted his head up from where it rested on the desk to give her a bleary glare.

“You weren’t listening to a word I said, were you?” She shot back a deadly glance of her own.

“'Got a lot on my plate here, Lee. Forgive me if I seem a bit out of it.”

Sighing, Lee dropped into the chair across from him and stared for a long moment. Jim was hopeful as the silence dragged on that she wouldn’t say anything at all.

“I know you’re taking the Bruce thing really hard-”

“ ‘The Bruce thing’?”

“-So am I.” She pushed through. “I was there that night, too. I carry some of that guilt. But Victor Zsaz was not your only hope, Jim. Don’t be so quick to throw in the towel!”

“I am not ‘throwing in the towel’, Lee. Frankly? I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. Right now, I’m just running around in giant circles like a chicken with its head cut off, being of no use to Bruce. Hell, we don’t know if he’s even still-”

He caught himself before he said the words. But Lee knew, everyone did. No one let themselves say it out loud, certainly not around Alfred or Selina, but deep down they all wondered if they had lost the race against time. That all of their efforts and scrambling were only leading them to a rotting corpse hidden in an attic or the bottom of the sea, not the youth that they once knew.

Hesitantly, she reached out. She didn’t quite place her hand on Jim’s so much as placed it near his, a silent acknowledgment that even if things weren’t as they were before, she was there.

“The Wayne case is at a standstill for now. That’s frustrating, and I get it. But Bruce has always been far from a damsel in distress, Jim. He’s a very independent young man. We need to have faith that he’s handling everything as best he can, given the circumstances.

“We’ll find him one day. But right now we have a lot of people who need our help, and Bruce would never forgive us if he thought we neglected them in favor of throwing all of our finite resources into tracking him. Will you please come help us finish setting up Haven?”

Maybe it was the sound logic she used, or the tone of her voice as she said it, but something inside Jim calmed considerably. She was right about Bruce. Sitting and stewing over his inability to track down Victor when there were innocent people out there in need of help, it didn’t stand thinking about.

He moved to grab his jacket, joints stiff and popping from where he’d been slumped at his desk all night. A last glance at the map of Gotham he’d dozed off on top of, slightly crumpled from where he’d shifted in sleep and a damp patch in one spot where he had drooled a bit. “Let’s go.” He sighed.

“’Atta boy.” Lee smiled and followed him from the office.

Haven was situated a few blocks down from the precinct. The Sisters of Gotham were easily convinced to make the move early, and had moved in as of that morning.

From the looks of it they’d gotten straight to business. All the windows were thrown wide open, some elders shaking out linens to the courtyard below or pulling up weeds in the tiny garden. The younger devotees swept and scurried here to there, some holding buckets, some carrying supplies. They found Harvey there, shirt sleeves rolled up over his elbows, fiddling with a small mountain of garbage bags.

“Hard day’s work, Harv?” Jim called jokingly.

“The uzsh.” He answered without looking up from his task. “Selina’s inside. One of the old gals thought it might benefit her to put all that pent up energy into helping set up the new infirmary.”

The young burglar was frustratingly tight-lipped about the means by which she regained her mobility, post-shooting. Whatever it was had been powerful, beyond what mainstream medicine would be capable of doing. In fact, she more than just regained mobility, her abilities now appeared preternatural. Funny how that appeared to be the new normal for Gotham.

They suspected Bruce had something to do with it, though he’d never admitted it to anyone (he was more frustratingly secretive than even Selina sometimes). And they guessed whatever they did to heal her no doubt could have helped to create her suddenly much shorter fuse (among other events).

Even on a good day, she vibrated with the need to move, to do something. If it were up to her, she’d likely tear Gotham apart with her bare hands looking for Bruce, unhappy until she was able to kill Jeremiah Valeska once and for all and return her friend to safety.

“Just so long as she keeps her language Rated G around the nuns, works for me.” Reaching down to grab a trash bag, Jim asked if they were headed to the dumpster.

“Laundry. For as many people as we’re expecting to move here early, we’re going to want as much clean bedding as we can manage.”

Lee joined in on grabbing a bag or two, and the three made for their destination.

“I hate to ask,” Lee murmured as they nodded to two passing Sisters. “But have we seen Alfred since the briefing?”

Jim shook his head. “Got one last dig at me for wanting to bring Victor into the fold and fucked off. Haven’t heard from him since.”

“We could always send Lucius over to check on him.” Harvey suggested. “He and Alfred seem cordial enough, still. And Lord knows Lucius needs a break, man’s been here since dawn.”

“Does he ever sleep?” Lee laughed.

Harvey shook his head. “Reckon we’re all much lighter sleepers these days.”

“True enough.”
Lucius was found an hour later, still hunched over the early makings of his water filter system. Sketches and schematics were pinned to the walls and scattered across the floor, scrap metal and mechanical parts strewn across the room that was his makeshift lab.

“Lunch time!” Harvey called before chucking a bundle at the researcher’s head.

Lucius barely ducked out of the way in time, using his body as a shield for his work. “How many times have I told you off for doing that?” He scolded.

Harvey only shrugged. “Not listening when you’re chewing me out is a conscious decision that I make. Jim and Lee are here.”

Lee was first to join him at the bench. “How’s progress going?”

“As well as can be suspected,” he sighed. “With only scraps to work with, I’m not terribly confident in my ability to make a functional filter the appropriate size needed for the quantity of people we’ll be taking in.”

Jim sat in a chair across the room, stretching his legs out in front of him. “How are water rations looking at the moment?”

“Fine, for now.” Lee studied Lucius’ notes closer. “But the more people we get in, the tighter it’s gonna be. Are you sure there wasn’t more tech to pilfer in the Wayne building?”

“As high ranking as I was in my time there, there were some areas even I didn’t have access to. I’m loath to try breaking into any of them with brute force, for risk of damaging potentially useful tech, so we find ourselves at something of a standstill.” Growing frustration became apparent in Lucius’ tone and body language.

“I always think it isn’t possible for me to miss that unstable kid billionaire any more than I already do, then....” Harvey sighed.

Lee shook her head. “We can’t let ourselves go down this road, we'll be spiraling before we know it. We have water for now, that’s good. We’ll ration as best we can for the time being, keep scouting for more tech. I can talk to Ed-”

“-I don’t think that’s a good idea-”

The doctor rolled her eyes. “Jim, he and I are both adults, we are capable of-”

“Lee, do I need to remind you the reason you and he were bedridden on opposite ends of the hospital ward for a month?” He gave her a pointed look.

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, we got a little heated in the moment-”

“ ‘A little heated’?” Harvey asked incredulously.

“He and I both understand the situation we are all in. I would never do anything to jeopardize our efforts to keep everyone safe. And deep, deep, deep down, there is a part of Ed that feels the same. Or at the very least, he wouldn’t jeopardize his own chances of getting out alive. Any problems between us will exist purely on his side.”

The three men all exchanged glances, unsure if they should respond. Jim’s gut feeling was to keep Lee as far from Ed as he could manage, if only to make sure she wouldn't be hurt again. The doubt here wasn’t in Lee’s capability to be civil, it was in Ed’s ability to keep his promise to play nice.

“So, as I was saying, I’ll talk to Ed and see if he has any connections that can help out. Maybe start hashing out a plan for reunification of the Narrows.” Lee’s tone left little up to debate. She was going, and Jim and the others could either be okay with that and let her, or suck it up.

“Sounds good,” Jim stood. “Just promise me you’ll try and reach out to let us know you’re okay before the day's end. I think I speak for all of us when I say we’ll be worried until you do.”

She grinned. “I will. And trust me, Jim. It isn’t me you should be worried about.”

“I know.” He sighed. “In the meantime, I should go talk to Barbara-” Lee’s smile dropped in an instant. “We should see how much water the others have left, get a general idea of what we’re working with.”

For a moment it was like Harvey and Lucius weren’t even in the room, just Lee and Jim staring one another down, a cold distance growing between them. She nodded, and turned to leave. “I’ll update everyone as soon as I can. Lucius, don’t let that fucking water filter be the death of you.”

And then she was gone.

Chapter Text

With how late Jeremiah’s meeting with Crane and Tetch had run, he opted to sleep in that morning. It pained him to miss out on yet another meal with Bruce, but the rest was much needed.

He enjoyed a slower routine that morning. Kidd brought up some breakfast around 8:00, returning later with a pitcher of hot water to freshen up with. Jeremiah took his time eating, savoring the toast and coffee as he lay in bed with a book as soft sunlight drifted through the open curtains. He also took his time in cleaning up, letting himself luxuriate as best as one can without running water. He made a mental note that his hair may need to be redyed soon, as there were visible glimpses of copper interwoven with the blue-black color he'd been favoring lately.

Still wrapped in his bathrobe, a second cup of coffee in hand, he strode over to the windows to look out upon the new day, and found himself incredibly grateful the master bedroom was situated directly above the back garden.

Ophelia was bundled against the morning chill in a black sweater and a red floral headscarf, barking orders at a few goons who were assigned to help winterize the garden beds. They were at present setting up the new geothermal system which would run a foot or so beneath the topsoil, helping to regulate temperatures through the harsh, colder months. Scattered around them were supplies for the eventual greenhouse tunnel they would be setting up to further protect their crop from wind and frost.

And there, among the chaos of construction supplies and bags of soil, fiddling shyly with a variety of plants, was Bruce.

He had on jeans with a ratty t-shirt, and (to Jeremiah) he’d never looked better. His dark hair had become long enough now that most of it could be scraped back into a top knot, a few loose tendrils left gently stirring in the early autumn breeze down the back of his neck, one drifting across his forehead. There was a streak of dirt on his nose (noticeable even from this distance) and a pair of gardening gloves tucked into his back pocket for safe keeping.

‘How domestic,’ Jerome sneered.

Unblinking, Jeremiah lifted his mug to his lips. “You’re up and at it early, Jerome.”

‘Can’t a man take in the scenery?’

“Not if that man is you.” He turned to regard his twin properly. In the cold light of day, his ghoulish appearance reminded him of a cheap Halloween mask. “You never come out during the day. You seem to find it far more sporting to at least wait until everyone else is asleep before bothering me. What’s changed?”

He hummed. ‘Good question, that is.’ Gloved hands were stuffed into the pockets of his pants, crusted with dried blood and grime. ‘How’s that little plan of yours coming along? The one for Gordon and his Merry Men?’

“Very well, if you must know.” Not exactly a lie. Still a few details to sort out, but something was starting to come together.

Jerome glowered at his response. ‘And I don’t suppose you’ll be mentioning anything to the ‘ol ball-and-chain down there, eh?’ He jabbed Jeremiah with his elbow, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Why on earth would I tell Bruce? He has far more important matters to focus on than some trivial alliances over a shelter and water distribution.”

‘You really gonna sit there and lie to my face? Pretend everything is hunky dory? All of Bruce’s friends are out there, ganging up with other powers to eventually track you down, undo all the work done to tear down Gotham. They’ll take Bruce-’

“They wouldn’t-”

‘-They’ll take Bruce, and he’ll return to the life he had before, with the butler and the nice cars and the mansion, and there won’t be any place left for you with him. You’ll get sent to Arkham, if you’re lucky. Realistically, though, I reckon they’ll just kill ya on the spot. Much less muss and fuss, that way.’

“Stop talking, Jerome.”

‘Bruce’ll move on, see. Maybe he’ll finish going to school, take over Daddy’s company like he always planned.’ Suddenly, Jerome cackled, and clapped his hands like a delighted school boy. ‘Maybe,’ he crowed, ‘He and the street rat’ll tie the knot and have a couple’a rugrats!’

“Shut up!” The coffee mug went flying at the wall behind Jeremiah, shattering against it with a deafening clatter. The liquid it once contained now splashed across the white wall, the wood floors, pooling down into a rapidly cooling mess.

‘Touchy,’ Jerome made himself comfortable in the arm chair on the other side of Jeremiah. He whirled around to face him.

‘Rage against the machine all you’d like, brother dear. Throw all the mugs in the house!’ His feet planted down on the bed, filthy converse right on top of Jeremiah’s clean sheets. ‘All the anger in the world won’t make it any less true.

‘People are coming, and you can only hide from them for so long on an island this size. And if word gets out, and Bruce realizes there's a real chance help could be on its way, he may well jump at the first opportunity provided to him to leave.’

Jeremiah felt panic clawing at his throat. “He can’t,” he whispered. “He can’t leave me…”

‘Could you fault the kid if he did?’ the apparition shot back. ‘This place can hardly be called a home.’

“I’ve done everything to-”

‘Yeah, yeah, we know.’ Jerome waved a dismissive hand. ‘You find him books and build him a gym and hire all these people to make his miserable life a little more comfortable. But for what?’ He gestured towards the window. ‘Those people out there are the closest thing Bruce has left to friends, and all of them are basically paid to be here.’

“I’m his friend.” Jeremiah attempted to justify.

‘That’s sweet,’ the reply sounded scornful. ‘Or it would be, if you were ever here. A meeting for this, a meeting for that, ‘Oh, gotta go talk to some people, see you whenever, Bruce!’ He gets left here all alone, day in, day out, with a couple of servants and a lousy stack of books for company.

‘Now, if you were him, and the choice was between his old life and this, what would you choose?’

The two men stared at each other, Jeremiah’s fists clenching and relaxing as he attempted to control his breathing. “What do I do?”

‘Make Bruce wanna stay.’ Jerome shrugged. ‘Spend more time with him. Go for walks, read poetry, whatever nerds like you two do for fun.’ Standing now, he approached Jeremiah, looking more serious in this moment than the man ever remembered seeing him. He leaned close, and Jeremiah could almost imagine he could feel the ghost of his brother’s breath across his face.

‘Give Bruce a life here that's actually worth fighting for.’

Victor did little to hide his distaste for spending his morning out in the garden. As messy as his line of work was, he didn’t ‘do’ dirt. He was thoroughly a city boy. But Bruce got his way eventually, and the professional hit man situated himself in a rickety lawn chair, book in hand, floppy sun hat on with a strip of zinc oxide across his nose, occasionally stopping to check on Bruce as he worked.

With the garden beds being set up by a few others, Ophelia stuck him on weeding and watering duty. He sat surrounded by pots full of arugula, basil, broccoli, carrots, chives, and turnips. Beside him he had a stack of Popsicle sticks and a sharpie, carefully jotting down each name to be planted besides the sprouts once they’re stuck in the ground.

Bruce indulged himself and pretended he was back home. Wayne manor stood behind him, the familiar grounds all around him laden with precious memories. He and his mother were setting up the garden for winter. She was dressed in what she referred to as ‘her yard clothes’ (all still designer brands, just no longer in fashion). Her yellow sun hat with its green ribbon kept her face and the back of her neck from getting too pink, and she’d chide Bruce for not taking similar precautions.

They’d bicker about it (playfully) until Alfred fetched them for lunch, his father waiting back in the kitchen with plates of grilled cheese sandwiches and pickles for everyone. Alfred had made a fresh pitcher of raspberry lemonade to pair with it, sugar cookies sat cooling on the counter for dessert.

Here, in his mind, Bruce felt safe. He felt warm and loved. The bad things were kept at bay here, allowing him a sense of tranquility he’d never believed possible for him. Deep down, he knew he’d have to be careful with these daydreams of his. It felt addicting.

“Bruce!” Victor’s voice brought Bruce crashing back to reality. “Someone’s looking for you.”

Dark blue eyes turned back to the townhouse, and striding across the yard towards him was Jeremiah. He hadn’t styled his still damp hair, and his nice suit looked haphazardly thrown on with several buttons left undone, his tie distinctly absent. Though he smiled once Bruce locked eyes on him, in the light he seemed wilted and unlike himself.

“Good morning,” Bruce greeted. “I hope you don’t mind, I asked Victor and Ophelia if I could help out in the yard today. I know I should be training in the gym, but it was such a nice-”

Jeremiah held up a hand, laughing. “I didn’t come out to scold you, Bruce. Rather, I came to join you all.” He turned to where Ophelia now stood, a few feet away. “Perhaps everyone could use a quick break, Bruce could walk me through all the work you’ve done.”

“I don’t see why not. Shall I bring you out something to drink, Master Bruce?” Ophelia patted his dirt-smudged arm.

“Some tea would be nice, thank you.”

Waving the goons to follow her, Ophelia trekked back to the house. Victor slid up after them, informing Jeremiah in a low voice he’d be staying near.

Thanking him, the older man turned all of his attention back to Bruce. “Shall we?”

Bruce studied Jeremiah closely, hoping to put together why the man seemed so off this morning. “Well,” he sighed and brushed some of the dirt from his jeans. “I’m afraid there isn’t much to walk through. We’ve just about set up the geothermal system, so we’ll be putting down some compost and soil as soon as it’s done, and then the others will start setting up the tunnels while Ophelia and I start getting plants in the beds.”

Seeming a tad absent, his companion nodded. “And... you’re enjoying yourself?”

Unable to help himself, Bruce grinned. “Very much, yes.” He’d forgotten how wonderful the sun could feel on one’s skin, the way the breeze smelt of the Atlantic when it came from just the right direction. “I’ve missed this. Being outside, I mean.”

The nerves seemed to melt from Jeremiah the second Bruce smiled, and he returned it with one of his own. “I’m only sorry it took so long. You’ll have to forgive me, keeping you cooped up as I have.”

Bruce’s smile dipped, his light dimming as he replied, “I understand. You’re doing your best, and I appreciate all you’ve done to make me feel more welcome.”

“This is your home now as much as it is mine, Bruce,” Jeremiah reminded. Bruce noticed they’d begun slowly walking, taking laps around the yard as they spoke. “I know that I’ve been...persistently absent these last few months. There was much to do while Gotham was settling into the ‘new normal’.”

“I understand.” Bruce repeated. “I never expected you to entertain me while I was here.” They reached the far end of the garden, where there stood an intricate fountain carved into the stone wall, vines of fragrant jasmine flowers still clinging desperately to life, giving a hazy quality to the conversation with their strong aroma.

Jeremiah seemed content to pause their wanderings a moment, giving Bruce the chance to sit down on a bench located a foot or so away. “If anything, one could argue I haven’t been the best student. I must admit I’ve been somewhat neglecting my studies.”

“Jerome’s journals?”

“Yes.” Bruce sighed. “I know you stressed how important it was to-”

Jeremiah gently placed his hand on Bruce’s shoulder. He realized with a jolt he didn’t have his gloves on, revealing pale freckled skin still untouched by Jerome’s final gift.

“We can discuss all that another time,” he spoke gently. “I want today to be the mark of a new chapter, of sorts. From here on, I want to be more present and involved. Here in the house, with the others. With you.”

“Oh.” Bruce felt his stomach doing something odd at the thought of Jeremiah being around more. “I don’t want you going out of your way because of me, though.”

“I wouldn’t be.” Jeremiah moved to take a seat beside Bruce, the limited space of the bench forcing the two men closer than he would have chosen. “While progress is slow going, we are gradually becoming self-sufficient. I won’t need to be as hands-on as I have been. And even if that wasn’t the case, I would still be happy to figure something else out.” He seemed contemplative for a moment, and Bruce kept his mouth shut as he watched Jeremiah debate speaking his next words aloud.

“I….I’ve missed you, Bruce.”

There was a feeling in Bruce’s chest, painful and sharp, like he was about to have an anxiety attack but ten times worse. What made it all the more devastating was how young and vulnerable Jeremiah looked now. Underneath the mask of bone-white skin and startling eyes, he saw traces of the friend Bruce once had gazing back at him. The man who drank too much coffee and hid behind his glasses, who wore soft sweaters and loved Brontë.

Bruce decided that honesty was the best policy here. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

Jeremiah’s brows knit together, turning to take both Bruce’s hands in his. “You don’t need to say anything, I understand.” He parroted his words back to Bruce. “All I ask for is a little patience. I promise you, things will be different from now on.”

“Patience.” Bruce chuckled. As if he really had any choice in the matter. “I can try.”

The older man’s smile was soft. “That’s all I ask.” He repeated. Then, he stood, and offered a hand to Bruce. “Now, at the risk of sounding a hypocrite, I must let you all return to your work, and consequently return to mine. There’s a few loose strings to take care of on my end. But I assure you, I will make it to dinner tonight.”

Bruce hoped the smile on his face came across as genuine. “That’s good to hear.”

****

Dinner with Jeremiah was weird, but in a different way.

A weight seemed to have been lifted from the man’s shoulders when Bruce opened his bedroom door to him. Tonight, he had insisted upon escorting Bruce to the dining room (something he’d never done before), pulling out his chair for him and pouring him a drink. At some point since seeing him last, he seemed to have freshened up, hair styled and suit looking tidy as ever.

In a chattier mood than usual, Jeremiah guided the conversation for the majority of their meal. It didn’t escape Bruce the decidedly noticeable absence of his new body guard, but Jeremiah offered no explanation. Instead, they discussed progress in the garden, which books Bruce was currently reading, even the weather, at one point.

Bruce did his best to stay alert and present in the strange conversation, but eventually he couldn’t hide his yawns. The combination of a long day’s work and fresh air was catching up to him, fast. Jeremiah was on his feet in an instant, helping Bruce stand and walking him back to his room like a gentleman.

“Thank you for tonight, Bruce.” Jeremiah said meaningfully. “I- It was nice.”

“Of course.” He replied, somewhat confused. “I always appreciate you making time for me.”

A flash of pain crossed Jeremiah’s face, before he schooled it back to something more neutral. “Of course.” He nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning for breakfast. And, if you’re amenable to it, I was thinking you could have a sparring session with Victor.”

“Victor?” Bruce asked. “I thought he was just-”

“Variety can do a man good, Bruce.” Jeremiah interrupted. “You’ve been training with Ecco and myself, in one way or another, for months now. You’ve no doubt grown accustomed to our styles and habits. Familiarity begets boredom, which can lead eventually to letting your guard down. It’ll be good to shake things up.” He stepped away, turning back towards his office.

“And besides,” he continued. “Between myself stepping down for a break, and Ecco being called away, you’ll be in need of a substitute anyways.”

“Wait, Ecco-”

“Good night, Bruce. Sleep well.

Chapter Text

Ecco generally didn’t question Mr. J.

To do so was, frankly, unspeakable, on par with a cardinal sin. Jeremiah Valeska was nothing short of a genius, the most brilliant mind this century (possibly the most brilliant mind in all of history!) If he said jump, Ecco asked how high, and that was just the way things were meant to go.

Right now, however, she felt like making an exception.

“I don’t understand,” she choked out after a shocked pause. “You’re...you’re sending me away?”

Jeremiah smiled at her from across his desk. For the first time since moving into the town house, she’d been invited into his office (before even Bruce!) for a chat some time after lunch. Mistakenly, she’d believed this to be the good omen she had silently been praying for.

“You’re thinking about this all wrong, dear.” He soothed. “This is a delicate negotiation we’re talking about here, I can’t trust this project to just anyone.” A hand indicated to the file he’d pulled out. “Who better to set things into motion than my right hand gal?”

She hard not to preen at being called any variation of Jeremiah’s ‘gal’, instead focusing in on the flare of indignant anger starting to boil over. “Well how long would I be gone for?”

“That depends, doesn’t it? How convincing can you be? This may take some time.” He frowned. “If we try to speed run this, we run the risk of making mistakes. And we are currently at a critical point in our plans, mistakes mean potential ruin if we aren’t careful.”

Ecco pouted. “Just ball park it.”

Jeremiah rolled his eyes. “Ecco, I need you on this. You are the only person I can trust to not screw it up. You’ve never failed me before, our future is reliant upon your cooperation.”

The woman didn’t miss his use of the word ‘our’. The half built walls she’d attempted to put up were starting to crumble. “I’ll miss you, though…” She felt herself caving in.

Seeming to lose his patience, Jeremiah leaned forwards to give Ecco a deadly glare. “Stop being a child, Ecco. You are an employee. I am your boss. I am giving you an order. You are going to follow this order. Do you understand?” He raised an eyebrow.

“...Yes, Mr. J.”

Bruce was restless that night, thinking about Jeremiah’s parting words, his eagerness to leave before the billionaire had the chance to ask any questions.

Nothing had been said to Bruce when Ecco vanished for a few weeks, early on in his stay. She just suddenly wasn’t there anymore, and Bruce’s gut had told him he was better off not knowing the gory details of her whereabouts. He’d just been relieved when (eventually) she’d shown up again, albeit with a (possible) second bullet in her head.

What could be happening, then? Jeremiah had said himself, she was his right hand, he never went anywhere without her by his side. She wouldn’t leave him consensually, not even with good reason to do so. Bruce was sure she’d sooner end her life, so intense was her bond to him.

One really had to wonder at the nature of her attachment. Had she always been so...like that, about Jeremiah? She never seemed bothered by Bruce’s presence before everything went to hell. A bit cool, maybe, perhaps aloof, but not any worse than she’d have treated anyone else. And while she’d definitely been on friendlier terms with the inventor (quick and casual chats, inside jokes, etc), it hadn’t looked anything (on the outside) like her current obsession.

Had Jerome done something to her as well? Bruce shuddered to think of it. It couldn’t be written off as a possibility, but he wondered what sick satisfaction the dead man could have stood to gain from such an action. Perhaps revenge for capturing and transporting him in a dog cage (a detail Bruce had shared a good laugh with Jim and Harvey over when they’d gotten a slow moment to catch up after the events of those couple of days).

But, God, what if it truly had been Jeremiah?

‘The same blood runs through our veins,’ Jerome had said that day at the concert, pressing that knife into his brother’s hand. Two sides of the same coin, the mad man who wanted to watch the world burn, and the eccentric inventor who wanted to build the world anew.

It became harder and harder by the day to hold on to his fantasy that it was solely on Jerome for the corruption of Jeremiah. To believe that no darkness had ever lurked in the man’s soul, that it was Jerome’s poison that had carved a path of destruction within him. There were too many questions left unanswered.

At some point, he began drifting into a fitful sleep. He might have stayed down for most of the night had it not been for the sudden sensation of a hand clapping over his mouth, blade pressed to his neck.

In hindsight, he was a tad embarrassed that anyone had managed to get the jump on him like that, but he supposed being under the lock and key of Jeremiah’s ‘protection’ had let certain impulses and habits of his fall to the wayside.

He thrashed as best he could, grunting as he felt the bite of metal against his skin. With adrenaline pumping through his veins, he only made out fragments of the scene playing out around him, strands of bleach blonde hair, bloodshot eyes, a sharp grimace and the flash of their knife.

Bit by bit, the fragments morphed into a fully fleshed out picture. Barely managing to kick off his attacker and rolling to put the bed between them, he gasped out, “Ecco?”

She looked terrible. Scrubbed clean of her Harlequin persona, she was gaunt with watery eyes, too skinny in her rags and hair hanging lank in her face. The knife was gripped tight, to the point of it beginning to tremble with effort and fury.

Bruce held up his hands to show surrender. “Ecco,” he repeated softly. “What’s happened? Where is Jeremiah?”

Mentioning he-who-must-not-be-named proved to be the wrong move. Ecco’s face was one of agonized rage, and she punctuated it with the slashing of the knife towards him. One of his pillows met an unexpected demise, sending up a disorientating flurry of feathers.

“Do you realize-” she hissed, stalking towards the other side of the bed.

“-how much better off-” Bruce dodged her, rolling to once more put the bed between them.

“-we would all fucking be-” Bruce had gotten the angle wrong, landing more towards his dresser than the bedroom door.

“-if Bruce Wayne-” she’d cornered him now.

“-had had the decency-” Bruce barely dodged another blow.

“-To just fuckin’ die?”

“Ecco! Wait!” He barely managed to catch the hand that was plunging the knife down towards him, latching on to her wrist and attempting to twist it.

She roared and thrashed back, but quickly was disarmed by the billionaire. While she managed to free herself from his grip, her breath was labored and she showed signs of quickly losing steam.

“What’s happened?” Bruce asked again. Blocking her next blow was done with ease. “Is J- someone hurt?”

She growled and shoved him back. Credit to her, he did stumble back a bit from the sudden force. “Why couldn’t you have died in that alley?” She asked again. “Or any of the other hundred times you almost croaked? Why did you have to go and mess everything up?”

Staying pressed against the dresser, Bruce held up his hands once more. “I’m trying to understand, Ecco.” He spoke slowly. “What have I messed up?”

“Jeremiah.” She hissed. “You...you did something! Did something to his mind, he isn’t- He isn’t himself anymore.”

“How do you mean?”

Using the threadbare sleeve of her flannel shirt, Ecco scrubbed at her eyes. “I’ve been with Mr. J for fucking years now. Since we were in school! Thick and thin, him and me, the way it was always supposed to be. But you,” She jabbed her finger at the man. “You come along, with the hair and the great big fucking fortune, and suddenly Jeremiah ain’t got the time for me anymore.”

Pieces were clicking together now that Bruce wasn’t fighting for his life. “Jeremiah….he’s sending you away.”

Tears sprung anew. She sniffled, nodded. “He ain’t ever sent me away before. Not like this.”

Hands lowering, Bruce risked a cautious step forward. Ecco tensed, but otherwise stayed still. “You must care for Jeremiah deeply, to be so affected by this.”

She glared. “Don’t even try it, rich boy.”

“Try what?” He asked innocently.

“I’ve got a Ph-fuckin’-D in psychology, kid. Your high-school-drop-out ass ain’t gonna outsmart me.”

Bruce perked noticeably. “You have a PhD?”

Her laugh was bitter. “Don’t act surprised.” She sneered.

“No, no, I-” Bruce tried to shake off the sudden fog in his mind. “Ecco, I never knew that about you. I mean, we never really got to talk...before. I didn’t mean to insinuate anything about your intelligence. Honest.”

Ecco’s expression was still dark, but something came over her suddenly. Begrudgingly, she crossed back to slump on Bruce’s bed, grabbing on to his surviving pillow and hugging it to her chest. Sensing the next few minutes were going to be very important for Bruce, he moved silently to his desk and pulled out his chair.

“Jeremiah and I attended St. Ignatius together, years ago.

“Jeremiah had been adopted by a wealthy couple after the ugliness with Jerome, and was sent to a private school in the hopes of giving him a completely fresh start. I was there on a scholarship, and unfortunately for a school of that size and reputation, a sort of caste system was in place long before either of our arrivals, putting me firmly at the bottom of the barrel.”

“As soon as our paths crossed, I knew Jeremiah was different from the other kids. His new family had been quick to give him a different name, new wardrobe, new everything, but he didn’t let it go to his head. He was like us, someone who didn’t come from much, knew better than to take anything for granted.

“Jeremiah wanted to be an inventor, that he was always certain of. It took a bit for me to find my niche, but I knew from a young age I wanted to change the world. So naturally, we flocked together. Birds of a feather, as it were.”

Her head hung low then, grip tightening on his pillow. Bruce risked leaning in a bit, being careful to still give her a wide berth. “You grew close,” he encouraged.

Ecco bit down on her lip and nodded. “He was my best friend. My only friend, really.

“Home sucked, I never stayed longer than absolutely necessary. Jeremiah would convince his adoptive parents to take me along on trips over break, and during the school year we’d be inseparable. Studying, walking the grounds, visiting the city. It felt like I’d found a guardian angel in him.

“The problem was, Jeremiah was smart. Is smart. He’s a genius. Flew through his lessons like it was nothing, even when he took all advanced classes. And a lot of that was him being brilliant, sure, but I think it was just as much his desire to get far away. I tried to keep up, studied hard and busted my ass, but I still fell just short of skipping ahead. He went off to start his first semester of college without me.”

Pillow tossed aside, Ecco stood and crossed towards his window, the sad little flower box outside glinting with a light dusting of early frost in the moonlight. “Y’know that old saying,” she croaked out after a minute, “ ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder’? Well, that’s what happened to me.

“He was gone, and I couldn’t follow. Not right away, anyhow. I kept busting my ass, kept studying without him, and stayed up every night to write him these long, sappy letters. It’s embarrassing, really, how often I wrote. He’d respond once or twice a month, maybe, always so busy with his school and his work. Should have known better, stupid kid that I was.”

She traced shapes against the glass of the window, shoulders hunched as she seemed to crumble into herself. “I realized I loved him. Couldn’t be without him. Couldn’t function if he wasn’t near me. I did everything I could to join him at that school. As luck would have it, they had a decent Psychiatry program there.

“The second he was in my orbit again, it was like everything else just fell into place. It felt right. My place was there, with Jeremiah, in any way he needed me to be.

“As kids, we got picked on by the older students. Anyone tried to lay a hand on Jeremiah, they were eating dirt before they knew what hit ‘em. If he needed some errand done while he finalized a project, I did it. He wanted a bunker built later on, somewhere Jerome couldn’t find him, I helped. He wanted Jerome lured in and locked up, I…”

Jeremiah said jump. Ecco asked ‘how high?’

Bruce frowned, heart aching a bit with sympathy. “Ecco, I’m so sorry.”

She turned, looking confused. “What for?”

“For...everything, I guess. That’s no way to live.”

This only seemed to baffle her more. “What are you talking about? I owe everything to Jeremiah. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him. I will never be able to repay him for…” Her voice broke, and she spun back around to hide the fresh tears.

He stood. “I don’t know if that’s true.” He motioned around him. “So much of this, all of Jeremiah’s grand plans and schemes, it falls down to you for the execution. You make things happen. I think you’ve got things backwards. Jeremiah wouldn’t be where he is today if you hadn’t stepped in and made it so.”

The idea seemed to make the young woman blue-screen. Bruce continued.

“He throws everything and the kitchen sink at you, and it falls down to you to untangle it, make it flow as intended. How many times has Jeremiah potentially put your life in danger for the sake of his plans?”

Ecco shook her head. “No…”

“How does he thank you?” Bruce pushed on. “Honestly. He pushes you around, makes you do all his dirty work, for what?”

Emotions were warring on her face. Bruce wondered if she’d ever considered this before now. Maybe not. Her eyebrows drew together. “You came here with him,” She spoke incredulously. “He asked you and you said ‘yes’. Why, if this is how you really see him?”

Panic flared. He’d pushed too far and now faced the potential danger of Ecco ratting him out. What had he been thinking?

“I….” he shrugged helplessly. “Two things can be true at once, I suppose. I wanted to hear him out. About Gotham, his ideas on rebuilding it. But that doesn’t mean I condone everything he does, especially to people who clearly care about him as much as you do.

“You’re a good friend, Ecco.” Bruce added, stepping forward to join her by the window. “Anyone would be lucky to have you in their life. I’m sorry I never really stopped to get to know you before now.”

She turned away once more, attention back to his window planter. Her fingers idly picked at the chipped paint of the sill. “Don’t get things mixed, kid,” she muttered. “Just because I started blubbering to you, we ain’t friends.”

“No,” he agreed. “But we’re in this together, one way or another. I want you to know that, no matter what happens, there’s someone in your corner.” Pausing to see if she had any response, he relented when none came and instead asked how long she’d be gone for.

“No idea.” She seemed to slump further into herself. “A while. Assuming nothing goes sideways.” Ecco looked up at him then. “You’ll take care of Mr. J while I’m gone, won’t you?”

After all of that, her first concern was still Jeremiah. Always, it was Jeremiah. It was simultaneously heart wrenching and infuriating.“Of course.” He agreed instantly. “Myself and Victor will see to it he’s still here, alive and well, when you get back.”

This, at least, seemed to bring her some comfort. A thin smile was offered to Bruce as she turned to slink back out of the dark room, vanishing down the stairs and out the back door.

Chapter Text

Teetering on the edge of the roof, Selina relished the feeling of the wind whipping against her face. Three hours spent setting up sick beds and clearing cobwebs had left her feeling coated in a thick film of dust and sweat, she’d been itching to get outside to relieve some of the claustrophobia.

She’d kicked off her boots and socks, leaving them back in safety on the roof, piled atop her folded up jacket and gloves. In only a t- shirt and jeans, she was left pleasantly chilled. A wall of heavy looking clouds powered towards them at rapid speeds, bringing with it the smell and threat of rain. She silently hoped she’d get caught in it.

This is where, eventually, Alfred would find her, practicing all manner of flips and jumps on the edge of Haven’s roof. She was surprised to see the former butler up there, he wasn’t much for being around people these days, didn’t volunteer unless prodded to by Lee or Lucius to stop brooding and join the cause.

He was looking rough around the edges, even by post-fall standards, but she’d learned to keep those quips to herself. Dr. Thompkins had insisted on seeing Selina two times a week for ‘talk therapy’ after Bruce was spirited away (processing trauma and dealing with emotions type shit) and had pointed out on multiple occasions that it isn’t always appropriate to show affection through harsh words and glib insults. Especially when the receiver already looks to be down for the count.

“Back among the living?” She called as she paced.

Alfred scoffed. “Barely.” was his response. Walking to the other end of the roof, he took a seat and dug out a horrifically battered carton of cigarettes. “Some new wave of that stomach bug’s been sweeping through the building. Everyone up at all hours with their heads in the shittah’.” He shook his head. “Needed a moment’s respite.”

Selina grinned. “Nothing quite as peaceful as fussy nuns and the smell of mildew in the afternoon.” Approaching him again, she motioned towards the cigarettes. “How’d you swing that?”

“Food rations.” He shrugged. “Reckon I don’t eat much these days, why let ‘em go to waste?”

“Lee’ll freak.”

“Let her.” Alfred offered the carton to the young burglar. It made her laugh, more so in seeing on his face that he was dead serious in the offering. He shrugged again and shoved the carton back into his coat pocket for safe keeping. “Not like I was winning any awards for ‘caretaker of the year’ before.” He attempted to joke.

Alfred took Bruce vanishing very personally.

Of course, it was a given he’d be upset, he’d been raising the billionaire on his own after being left in charge post-Wayne murders. While it felt wrong to refer to the bond the two shared as “Father-Son”, it was certainly a deeper connection than that of a typical employer and employee. So of course Alfred would be upset.

But Alfred had been there when Bruce emerged from the tunnel, all on his own, no one knowing where he was or when he was supposed to be back. Injured by Jeremiah and brainwashed by Jervis Tetch, the Brit was a puppet in the manipulation of his ward by the last of the Valeska brothers. His final interaction with Bruce had been fighting him to come back to Gotham. He’d remembered so little from the time after getting attacked by Jeremiah to when he woke up. He’d known none of the details of the mad man’s plans, didn’t realize everything had been an elaborate set up to force Bruce to relive the worst day of his life.

A plan Alfred had inadvertently been indoctrinated into helping carry out.

Bruce hadn’t had the time to explain it all to him. Insisted Alfred go ahead, that he’d catch up. There was something he needed to do, a loose end to tie up, Alfred just needed to go.

And he had.

And now, his ward was gone.

So, yes. Alfred Pennyworth was not handling things super well. Kept dwelling on things he should’ve done, things he wished he’d said.

Lee often said that sort of ruminating is detrimental, in the long term. It’s impossible to turn around and change the past, so you can’t keep tearing yourself up wishing that you could. You had to stay grounded, be present, look ahead. Selina couldn’t help but be grateful she wasn’t paying Lee for her services as a makeshift therapist, because more often than not she’d just tune out everything she was saying and play tic-tac-toe on the heel of her boot until her forty minutes were up.

(She was getting really good at playing tic-tac-toe.)

“You were a good guardian,” Selina offered, jumping down to safety and sitting next to him. “You did what you thought was best. It isn’t your fault Bruce got nabbed by a nutcase.”

An odd companionship had blossomed between the two in recent months. They still bickered, but Alfred was the only person Selina felt as though she could just sit with and be miserable. There were no pretending everything was fine. She liked to think maybe Alfred felt the same way about her.

“Shit happened,” she continued. “Bruce was his infuriatingly stubborn self and got mixed up in everything. When we find him, we can take turns knocking some sense into him.”

The old man looked twenty years older with all the weight of the world on his shoulders. “What if we don’t?” He murmured.

"Of course we will!” She punched Alfred’s arm for extra effect. “He isn’t dead, he’s out there. Right now! Probably concocting some half-baked escape plan that’ll land him in more trouble, but alive! And we’ll track him down, eventually. Sooner, if Jim realizes this Haven thing is stupid and puts resources back into looking for him.”

In theory, Haven is a good idea, and Selina couldn’t fault everyone for wanting to help out. Shit was hard, and Jim and Lee had always been their own respective brands of Goody-Two-Shoes, always wanting to lend a hand (even if that hand wasn't always wanted). But resources were only getting scarcer, and they were relying on scum like Oswald Cobblepot to try and keep it afloat and lying to innocent people all the while about their abilities to keep everyone safe and fed.

“Jim’s said in the past that, Jeremiah…. he’s like a mirror of that Jerome kid.” Alfred argued. “Everything Jerome aspired to do, Jeremiah aspires to do better.” He gave Selina a meaningful look. “You and I know from first hand experience that Jerome very much aspired to kill Bruce.”

A good point. Selina sighed. “I just…. don’t feel like he’s dead…. Y’know? Like, if they’d killed him, I feel like I would know it somehow. In my gut. And I don’t. Feel it, I mean. So I have to take that as a sign.”

“What on earth would he keep Bruce alive for?”

She furrowed her eyebrows, thinking hard. “Did Bruce ever talk to you about the night that the bridges went down? Before Barbara and the rest showed up?” Selina shifted to allow a leg to hang over the edge of the roof, knocking her heel in a repetitive pattern against the still sun-warmed bricks below them.

Alfred hummed. “Bits and pieces. Didn’t seem too terribly interested in reliving the fiasco, you understand.”

“What did he say about it?”

“Jeremiah was going on about ‘rebuilding Gotham’. Ra’s was doing the shtick about being his heir. Usual stuff, unfortunately.”

Selina couldn’t help but feel a stab of frustration at Barbara for having killed Ra’s before anyone had the chance to question him. It would have been helpful to get a larger perspective of everything that happened that night, though realistically she supposed it would have been more risk trying to figure out how to actually hold the entity than Ra’s’ help would have been worth.

“No mentions about why the freak partnered up with the Mummy in the first place?”

“None.” Alfred shook his head. “If he knew, he didn’t say anything to me about it. Believe I asked once or twice earlier on, after it happened. But it always seemed to upset him more, wind him up, so I dropped it.”

Selina groaned. “God, I’d kill someone to have the chance to get out there, shake a few clowns down for clues. I wasn’t made for spending my days building a fuckin’ commune.”

The man cracked a smile then, a break in his grim demeanor. “I’d be right behind ya’,” he laughed. “I’m only sorry I never got a chance to take a stab at that twat. Literally.”

Feeling more buzzed than she’d had in a long while, Selina leaned closer to Alfred. “Let’s do it, then.”

He arched an eyebrow, silently motioning for her to continue.

“Gordon and the others are all but ready to write Bruce off as a lost cause, zero in on this shit-show waiting to happen as the new priority. Maybe it’s time we take the reins!”

“Jim wouldn’t-”

“Jim has lost his back bone,” Selina hissed. “He was ready to shove all of this off onto Victor Zasz before Jeremiah got a hold of him.”

“In fairness, we don’t know if Jeremiah got to Zasz first.”

Selina groaned. “But that isn’t the point! Jim’s losing steam. If he isn’t going to do it, we can. And anyways, Mr. Morally-Gray down there would only get so far out on the streets, with Gotham’s pariah status and reunification on the line, he’s gonna be even more fickle about how to go about everything. He might not be willing to risk screwing up our chances of being deemed ‘fit for polite society’ and readmitted for the benefit of finding Bruce.”

It seemed Alfred was seriously mulling over the offer, though a sliver of doubt was apparent on his face.

“I’m doing it, either way.” She informed him. “And it would be a lot easier with you helping me. Think of it like… I don’t know, an extension of your guardianship to Bruce.”

Before he could answer, voices began drifting up towards them. There was a stirring of activity in the courtyard below, people moving around like ants in one direction. “What’s their damage?” She frowned.

“Someone’s trying to get in,” Alfred jutted his chin in the direction of Haven’s gates, where the bulk of the activity was milling. A figure that was clearly Jim Gordon raced out from the building and began weaving his way through the flustered crowd, a hand on his gun as a precaution.

The two shared a look, and then spun around as a very winded young woman in a nun’s habit burst through the door behind them. Selina recognized her as one of the younger Sisters she’d been tasked to work with earlier that afternoon. Johanna, maybe.

“You’re needed below,” she panted. “Sister Susanna has sent me. People at the gates. One of them says they know you, Selina.”

It felt like an eternity ago when Barbara first met Selina Kyle. Returning to what she’d believed to be an empty apartment, only to find a ragamuffin with a wild head of curls and a round, cherubic face eating all the junk food left in her cupboards and kicking her dirty boots up onto her clean couch.

Another girl had been with her, a scrawny teen several years Selina’s senior, but clueless about how to make it on the streets on her own, Ivy Pepper had all but attached herself to the more experienced burglar, doing her best to keep up and pull her own weight with her admittedly limited abilities.

Not necessarily as charming or agile as Selina, in the depths of her awkward, growing-faster-than-she-could-keep-up-with phase, her strengths came from an unexpected skill set: her green thumb.

Barbara could still see her. Skinny and too angular, with long red hair all in tangles and a sweater and patched up skinny jeans she’d dumpster dived for that never quite fit. Admittedly, she hadn’t paid Ivy much mind (at least, in comparison to the way she’d doted on Selina). There had just been a lot more obvious potential there in the other girl than Ivy had had at that time. Not even fifteen years old and already had a billionaire wrapped around her finger? Barbara had been desperate for a distraction from her relationship woes, and what was a better distraction than that?

But, to look at Ivy now, pacing the length of the GCPD with the grace and command of a panther, Barbara had to admit she’d underestimated how much the girl would grow into herself.

She’d filled out some, her face no longer so gaunt and alarming. Her color was better, a healthy flush to her cheeks and a fiery spark in her eyes. The tangles had been smoothed into voluminous waves of copper that fell down her back and over strong shoulders, and even with Gotham in almost ruins and dressed in rags, she looked like a Goddamn supermodel.

The men folk kept their distance from her, shifting uncomfortably whenever she came too close for their comfort. Using her botanical knowledge to create, in essence, a mind control/ love potion, it was nothing short of iconic. Would have been very on-brand for the Sirens Club, if she’d known where the girl had holed up (and had thought for a moment Ivy wouldn’t have tried to chase her had she even attempted to approach her with a deal).

She could give or take the eco-terrorism thing, though.

Selina was the only one confident enough to not shy away when Ivy drew near. Her sharp eyes seemed more interested in keeping tabs on Ivy’s new friend, who sat hunched in a chair towards the middle of the room.

Ecco looked different to how Jim and Lee had described her in their recounts of their run ins with her. Washed clean of her clown makeup and dressed in drabber garments, she looked like any other Gothamite Post-collapse. There were dark circles under her eyes, and it seemed as though she wished she were anywhere else in the way she sat shrinking into herself. Not at all the grand spectacle she’d been the last time anyone had clapped eyes on her.

The crashing of the GCPD’s doors alerted everyone to the arrival of the late comers. Oswald powered in, looking like a man on a mission, with Edward coming up from behind with an air of indifference.

“James Gordon, there had better be an excellent explanation for why I have been drawn away from my work!” He called before the detective was even in sight.

Barbara didn’t need to turn in her seat to see Jim to know he suddenly looked fifty times more exhausted than he had a moment ago.

“Oswald, Ed,” Jim greeted flatly. “You remember Ivy Pepper, and this is Ecco…?” He arched an eyebrow, prompting the younger woman to provide a second name.

She shook her head in response. “Just Ecco.”

“Just Ecco.” He nodded.

The shorter man rolled his eyes. “Pleasure,” he deadpanned. “Jim?”

It was the clicking of her boot heels that alerted everyone to Ivy’s approach. She was smiling, holding out a hand. “Long time, Oswald. You’re looking very well.”

Obviously ignoring the attempt at a handshake, he glowered up at the young woman. “I am, thank you very much. Still talking to plants, are you?”

“I find plants make better company than people.” She narrowed her eyes in response.

“Is that how you came about your new friend over there?” Barbara piped in.

Rolling her eyes, she turned to face the rest of the congregation around her. “Straight to business, I see…” Ivy sighed. Reaching behind where Ecco still slumped, the red head produced a black bag which was tossed at the feet of Gordon and the others. In it were an assortment of weapons and a few scraps of clothing, all graffitied and clearly the former belongings of a couple of Jeremiah’s followers.

“I found this one snooping around my garden, hiding from some of Valeska’s men. I intervened on her behalf. Didn’t take much to piece together who she was, what with the island wide man hunt for her employer. Thought she might make for a decent peace offering.”

The majority of the group did not seem convinced. “A peace offering?” Harvey repeated. “Why the hell would you want to make peace with us?” He looked around at the ragtag team around him, unimpressed. “You hate literally every person here.”

“Under normal circumstances, you would be correct.” Ivy almost purred. “If I had my way, I’d tear up the last remaining remnants of Gotham, and any persons who still remained, and let this island go back to the land where it belongs.” A few of the junior officers stationed along the outskirts of the room shifted suddenly, each drawing for their weapons. Ivy’s head snapped to stare at them as they did, freezing them mid-movement. "But these aren’t normal circumstances, are they?” her voice raised. “We have a common enemy in Jeremiah Valeska. He poisoned the waters of Gotham, inadvertently poisoning many of my plants in the process. And for that,” she allowed her gaze to return to Jim, whose expression remained stony. “He must pay.”

There was a long pause as Ivy’s words sunk in for everyone. It was Oswald who recovered first.

Clapping his hands, he chirped “Great! Throw the freak in the brig, do the ‘ol ‘Good-Cop-Bad-Cop’ shtick you all love so much and lets move on with our lives. While we’re all here, I’d like to touch base about the letter that was sent out-” he moved towards Jim.

Standing again, Barbara intercepted. “The letter is self explanatory, Oswald. Haven is too exposed, we need more able-bodied volunteers to be sure its protected in the off chance Jeremiah, or any of the other freaks running around causing mayhem, get funny ideas. All of us are giving up manpower to do so, you aren’t a special exception.”

Still brandishing the letter, Barbara noticed Oswald’s nostrils doing that flare-thingy they always do when he got extremely mad. She fought the smile that itched to cross her face for fear of sending the man further in a tizzy. “In case you have all forgotten, I have a factory to run in my territory! Ammo is important now more than ever, and if you believe for a fraction of a second I will be compromising my production lines in favor of-”

Jim got between the two criminals before any blood could be shed. “Selina, Harvey, can you get Ecco and Ivy somewhere more private? I’ll join you all as soon as I can.”

The burglar looked surprised to be asked to lend a hand, but seemed to quickly remember Ivy’s whole love-spell thing, which made Selina essentially one of the only people safe to interact with her, and nodded.

Waiting until the four of them were out of ear shot, Jim remained rooted firmly in place. Barbara, not particularly worried about fussy little Penguin, simply smiled at him from over Jim’s shoulder, absently rubbing her stomach as they waited to continue.

“Barbara is right, Oswald,” Jim turned. “When you agreed to help us out with this project, this is one of the things you agreed to. I know it’s not optimal-”

“Ammunition does not make itself, Jim!” Oswald seethed. “And that is what I agreed to. Providing weapons and ammo. That is it! I’m not about to sit and sing ‘Kumbaya’ with the masses, I have much bigger fish to fry.”

Sharply pushing past Jim, Barbara made a point of getting directly into the shorter man’s face. “First and foremost,” her tone sounding deadly. “If you have such a massive problem with this plan, you take your complaints to me, seeing as this was my idea-” A finger was roughly jabbed into the shoulder of his mostly-nice looking suit. “-and secondly, I wouldn’t be letting myself get such a sense of self-grandeur if I were you. Everyone here knows you’re a slave driver and a resource hog. I’d be willing to bet all the Sirens’ rations you’re just chicken shit if you let people go, the others will catch wind of how much better off they’d be in Haven and ditch your sorry ass.”

“How dare you-”

“That is enough!” Jim snapped at the both of them. “We are not doing this! This is exactly what Jeremiah would want, the more we fight each other, the less organized we are if/when he chooses to attack.

“Barbara did come up with this plan, and the rest of us signed off on it. Lee’s roped in a number of volunteers from her half of the Narrows to use for security as well as volunteers for supplies runs. I’ve got members from the GCPD regularly on patrol and plans already in motion to move HQ to Haven full time, and some of the refugees who are in a bit better shape have begun stepping up to help with medical care and picking up extra patrol shifts.

“Everyone is coming together on this, and you and Ed need to be willing to work with us. Or else we have to consider you against us.”

Seeming miffed at being pulled into the argument, Ed crossed his arms. “I suppose it makes zero difference Lee has essentially all the power over in the Narrows now? I have zero pull left, unless we count a couple dozen rats as adequate reinforcements.”

“You have more connections underground than Lee, and you’re smart,” Gordon begrudgingly admitted. “You see things and find patterns most people would struggle to find. With you and Lucius working together, it’ll hopefully be a lot harder for Jeremiah to pull the wool over our eyes.”

Penguin still didn’t seem convinced. “I appreciate your sad attempt at inflating our egos, accompanied with the mild undertones of vague threats, but I did not sign up for this. I don’t have any man power to spare, and-”

“Oswald has an entire choir to sing to him three times a day.” Ed suddenly blurted.

The other man spun to stare at him in incredulity and Barb and Jim shared a pointedly confused look. “Ed!”

As a part of Jim’s ‘Keep Lee and Ed As Far As Humanly Possible From Each Other’ scheme, he’d put his former co-worker in a sort of house arrest situation in Oswald’s manor. The reasoning he’d given for it was, in essence, ‘I don’t like you both and could be arsed if something should happen to either of you’. However, Harvey had been quick to point out that one or both of them dying would cause more trouble than it was worth, so welfare checks were made on the pair regularly and Ed was permitted to occasionally return to his old haunts in the Narrows (while supervised) in order to prevent him from going stir crazy.

In the present, Nygma looked unbothered by Oswald’s sense of betrayal. “I don’t like you,” he stated simply. “And to be fair, they’re right. You have house staff, a dog walker, a chef, a masseuse. You’ve got people to spare, you just aren’t willing slum it like the rest of us.”

“You live in my home!”

“Because that one,” he pointed angrily towards Jim “Won’t let me leave! You think I’m enjoying myself there?”

“After everything I’ve done for you?” Oswald cried out. “Getting you out of Arkham-?”

“-Killing my girlfriend?” Ed shot back. “Freezing me in a block of ice and putting it on display? Naming your dog after me?”

"You're really just never going to let that go, are you?"

"Let it go? Oswald, you cured and killed your former assistant in front of his girlfriend because she killed your mother. Butch didn't even do anything! And then you killed her, too-"

As potentially fascinating as this argument was shaping up to be, Barbara was disappointed when Jim stepped in once more. “Guys, what did I just say? None of this infighting!”

Barbara rolled her eyes. “I get the feeling hell’s gonna freeze over before the lot of us actually start getting along, Jim.”

Alone in the interrogation room, the tick of the nearby clock seemed deafening in the silence that settled between the two women sitting inside.

Harvey was next door, dealing with Ecco, and Selina was expected to sit and keep watch over Ivy until Jim or one of the other officers came by to take over. She knew she must have looked like a petulant child in the way she glumly stared at her former friend, but found she was beyond caring.

“You look well,” Ivy attempted to smile. She was much less collected in the privacy of this room, her guard lowered a little around the familiar face. Traces of the teenager she once was could be seen in the way she let her hair suddenly fall like a curtain across her face, the way she picked at the fraying material of her sweater. “I’d….well, I’d heard you’d been hurt.”

Selina nodded, her mouth a flat line. “Yup-” popping the ‘p’. “It was pretty bad. Bedridden for months, couldn’t move, couldn’t take care of myself. Y’know, the doctor’s were all pretty certain I would never walk again. That my ‘quality of life’ was probably just going to go down from there.”

“Kat,” Ivy murmured, the childhood nickname slipping out.

“Could have used my friend, is what I’m saying. I had Bruce for while, couldn’t get him to leave my side the first few months unless I needed to get changed or have a bed bath. And then one day, he’s gone for a while, comes back with this seed thing that he could have only gotten from you, and I thought ‘Surely she knows now. Surely, whatever happens after this, she’ll come see me.’” She laughed bitterly then. “Man, how wrong was I, huh?”

The red head had the decency to at least try and look a little ashamed of herself.

“To think, the only reason you’re even here right now is because you wanted to see Jim Gordon.”

“That’s not true,” Ivy shot back. “I asked for you at the gate.”

“Because you knew if you asked for anyone else it’d have gotten you a gun to the head.”

She shook her head at Selina, eyes almost pleading. “It was more than that, Selina. You were my best friend, you took care of me when I had nobody else. I owe you everything!”

“And that’s why I haven’t seen or heard from you?”

“It’s not like I could have gotten close,” Ivy shot back. “That Bruce kid had you under tight guard for a while. If I hadn’t have spread the witch rumors, I doubt he would have come around for me to get him the-”

Selina’s hand shot up, signaling her companion to shut up. “Pump the breaks. What?”

Sensing she could be making a break through, Ivy nodded eagerly. “I tried to come see you after the bridges fell. You weren’t at your place, or with any of your fences. For a while, no one seemed to know where you went. But I managed to track down that butler guy, and found Bruce not long after, and pieced together where you were from there.

“I wanted to see you. But if Jim caught on I was hanging around, he would have thrown me in a cell as soon as he could get his hands on me. Y’know he’s got this whole ‘tough-on-crime’ scheme concocted to make the higher ups on the mainland think Gotham’s safe for reunification.”

Running a hand over her tired eyes, Selina nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been hearing about that.”

“So what could I do? I found a corner of Gotham where I could keep to myself, set up some defenses, hunkered down for the first month or so. And then I started planting seeds, pun intended.” She weakly smiled at her attempt at a joke. “Spread some rumors, trying to lure Bruce to me. If I couldn’t get you the cure myself, I’d get him to bring it to you. Had a couple of uninvited visitors for my trouble, but I reckon in the end it helped to sell the story when Bruce did come around.”

Selina sighed. “You killed more people?”

“I did.” She didn’t sound the slightest bit sorry when she answered.

“Bruce never told me any of this.”

Ivy only shrugged. “Because I didn’t tell him. Didn’t want him to know I’d been sniffing around. I just…needed him to get that cure to you. And now look!” Her smile brightened exponentially. “You’re back, and better than ever!”

“Yeah, after the damn thing almost killed me!”

“Well,” her expression going sheepish. “There were always going to be a few...side effects.”

“Side effects.” Selina laughed. “Yeah. Thanks for the warning.” Standing, she shuffled to the room’s door and poked her head out. She could see Barbara’s bright blonde hair and the back of Jim Gordon’s stupid head, voices trailing down the hall to indicate they were still arguing. From the looks of it, they’d even dragged in the poindexter.

Satisfied she had a few minutes (if not more) before anyone would be coming to relieve her, she returned to her seat across from Ivy. She was still fidgeting like a teenager.

“So I’m your ‘best friend’, huh?” Selina asked.

Ivy nodded. “You always took care of me, even during the times when it might have been better to have just dumped me.”

It was Selina’s turn to nod, leaning further back in her chair and putting her boots up on the table (just the way Jim hates). “True, true,” she mused. “So in that case, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” Ivy looked as though that would have been obvious.

“You promise to tell the truth? No lies?”

Now Ivy was starting to look a bit offended. “Of course.” She repeated.

“What’s really going on here?”

The red head was silent.

Selina pushed on. “Something about all of this smells rotten, Ives, and I’m not talking about Bullock’s seemingly endless supply of that God awful aftershave.”

“It is pretty foul…” Ivy agreed.

“What. Is really. Going. On.”

Red lips pressed together. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ivy attempted.

“You can’t lie to me, Ivy! That stupid pheromone shit doesn’t work on me. And you promised you would tell me the truth when i asked.”

“Selina, I can’t tell you!”

“Bullshit!”

“I can’t!” She insisted. “I don’t want you involved.”

Slamming her fists on the metal table, Selina leaned as far forward as her smaller frame would let her. “Do you know where Bruce is?”

Ivy gaped at her. “No.” She shook her head. “No, I don’t.”

“Are you lying to me again?”

“No!” Ivy doubled down. “I’m not.”

Unfortunately, Selina’s gut told her this was the truth. “What about Jeremiah? I’m assuming he’s a part of all of this, do you know where he is?” It would certainly save her a few steps if Ivy did know.

“No.” The other woman did not elaborate.

Selina sighed. “Ecco?”

“Says she was kicked out after Bruce arrived. Has no clue where they are now.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t say.”

“And you believe her?”

“No,” Ivy laughed.

“But you didn’t push her on it?”

She shrugged. “Figured I’d leave the police work to, y’know, the actual police? I just kept her because I thought she’d make for a pretty grand gesture of good will.”

Ivy paused to suddenly rub at her temples, closing her eyes as though she’d suddenly got hit with a massive headache. She stayed still a long moment before suddenly folding over to press her forehead to the cold metal of the table beneath it. She heaved a long sigh, and then a low and painful groan.

Worried, Selina risked standing again and coming around to the other side of the table. “Are you alright? Do I need to go get someone from the clinic?”

“Mm-mmh. Won’t do anything. Its not really a ‘human sickness’ thing.”

“Then what is it?”

“Jeremiah.” She growled. “That fucking toxic sludge he got Jim to dump in the water. I told you all, it’s killing the plants, taking out the marine life. I can feel it, all of it, the cycles of life being disrupted. It feels like I’ve swallowed a hundred needles and then set my-fucking-self on fire.” Her voice became almost like a whimper as she lifted her head to lock eyes with Selina. “It hurts, Kat.”

A flare of a distantly familiar protectiveness erupted in Selina’s chest. “What can we do?”

“Nothing,” Ivy clenched her teeth. “The damage is done. I can only hope I get the chance to take that fucking creep out before it’s too late.”

“No, there has to be something.” Selina’s mind raced. “You’re like, connected to all the plants and shit. You’re saying it’s the water that’s doing this?”

“Obviously.”

Selina scowled. “Sarcasm unappreciated, I’m thinking out loud. So, if the water is poisoning your plants, and consequently poisoning you, we theoretically would just need to clean up the water.”

Ivy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, piece of cake that.”

“Lucius is working on a water filtration system for Haven. Something that can filter out the toxic sludge on a big enough scale to keep us self-sufficient.” The cogs were turning faster now as Selina grabbed on to Ivy’s hand. “What if we thought bigger? Aimed at something with a wider scale?”

“How?”

“I don’t know! But seeing as I couldn’t even go to the bathroom by myself a couple of months ago, I’d say you know how to work some miracles. So think, Ivy!”

Eyes still screwed shut, Ivy didn’t reply for some time. The anxiety in Selina’s chest gripped tighter and tighter as the moments ticked past, but finally she cracked one eye open.

“I’d been working on a theory,” she started weakly.

“What theory?”

“There exists some species of plants that are known to break down certain forms of pollution like plastic. There are also some forms of fungi that work similarly, notable species found around areas like Chernobyl, with a lot of radioactive waste. Italian Rye Grass specializes in oil, but I thought-”

“You could experiment, create a new strand that could specialize with other substances?" Selina finished her thought.

“It’s just a hypothesis, Kat,” she groaned. “While it can and often is used as a cover or forage crop in some places here in the U.S, it’s mostly native to more temperate areas of Europe. There’s a lot of danger in introducing non-native species into foreign environments, you run the risk of it becoming invasive. And, as for the fungi, as varied as the species are, they’re their own thing, my abilities don’t exactly transfer over to them.”

Selina grasped Ivy’s shoulders and shook them, smiling a tad manically. “But its a start, isn’t it? That’s all we need!” And then she was taking off, towards the door again.

“Where are you going?” Ivy cried out.

“I’m gonna go plead your case,” she answered. However, a thought suddenly occurred to her, giving her cause to stop. Returning to the doorway, she saw Ivy still turned in her seat, staring out at her. “Can I ask you to make me one more promise, Ives?”

“Of course you can.”

“When, inevitably, you stab us in the back again, can you do me a favor and make it quick and clean? I don’t think I’ve got enough left in me for any more drawn out heart breaks.” Selina opted not to wait for her response, shooting back out to track down Lucius Foxx.

Chapter Text

Jeremiah, as it turned out, had been dead serious about the training-with-Victor thing.

Up at the crack of dawn with a few goons Jeremiah had selected to also receive special training, Victor had (arguably) a bit too much fun running them all into the ground. It made even the worst days he’d had training with Alfred feel like a walk in the park by comparison.

Currently, Bruce was sprawled on the pavement, the goons a few yards away doing some drills. Victor was flying around in his little golf cart, megaphone in hand, shouting orders as he waited for the billionaire to stop feeling as though he were dying.

“How are we doing over there, bud?” He called again after complaining about some of the others’ bad form.

“I think I’ve popped a lung.” Bruce wheezed back.

Victor laughed. “It’ll pass!” He sounded completely unconcerned.

A hand flopped out, attempting to track down where his water bottle had landed when he’d fallen unceremoniously to the ground after their ‘cool-down run’. He was sorely disappointed to learn after grabbing it that it was painfully empty of any water. If he weren’t severely dehydrated, he might have considered crying then.

From somewhere out of his peripheral vision, he heard a chuckle. “Here you go, twerp.” Victor crouched to press a water canister into his hands.

“Shouldn’t you be supervising the clown mercenaries?”

Victor flicked his gaze back towards where he’d come from. All Bruce could hear were a series of grunts. “We’re working on a trust exercise now, they’re a little tied up at the moment.”

Forcing himself to sit up, Bruce saw that ‘trust exercises’ entailed being actually tied up and strung from a light pole while the others attempted to figure out how to get their comrade down.

“Is that safe?”

“Probably. How’s your first day going?”

He grunted. “My ears are still ringing from target practice.

His bodyguard had been thrilled to learn Bruce had never properly trained or handled firearms before. Alfred was rather insistent on focusing primarily on defense than offense, meaning he had a gaping void in his repertoire that Victor was only too happy to correct.

“Well, for saying you’ve never seriously practiced with guns before, you’re already a pretty solid shot.”

Bruce rolled his shoulders, grimacing at the burning sensation brought on from the small movement. “Grandfather encouraged me to pick up archery as a child during summer camp. It seems there’s some overlap in skill sets there.”

Victor hummed, still watching his other pupils. “You did good today.” He reiterated. “Jeremiah’ll be happy to hear it when I’m giving him my daily report.”

Scuffing his sneaker against the pavement, Bruce avoided eye contact as he asked “Do you report everything back to Jeremiah?”

“Everything he needs to know.”

“What will you be telling him about me today?”

“You’ve got a solid foundation with your training so far, albeit still a little too defense-heavy. Could work on the flexibility, if you’re really interested in criticism. Which I’m assuming you aren’t.”

Bruce continued avoiding Victor’s gaze, which he could feel boring down on the top of his head. “What makes you say that?”

He huffed. “Do I need to reiterate our conversation from the first day we met?”
“No.” Bruce sighed and dragged himself to his feet. “No, we don’t need to reiterate anything. I understood the first time around. Your hands are tied.” He handed the water canister back, which Victor accepted, and leaned back to study his surroundings further.

As it would turn out, Victor’s noticeable absence at supper the previous night had been due to him clearing out a few streets of Jeremiah’s territory in order to create a makeshift outdoors training course for the day. It was a….well, it was a gesture, and he appreciated the fact he was finally able to be outside, to stretch his legs and feel a bit less confined within the same four walls. But….

Much to his frustration, he couldn’t recognize anything around him. Months of neglect and defacing at the hands of the Followers Of Jeremiah, nothing in this neighborhood looked familiar to him. It didn’t help they’d thrown a bag over his head when bringing him out there, and no doubt the bag would be on when they brought him back home, meaning he’d have no opportunities to memorize any landmarks to start building a mental map. He had as much of an idea where they were training as he did where the house and Jeremiah were, relative to everything.

Victor broke the almost-comfortable silence which had fallen over the pair with another question. “Can I give you a piece of criticism that's not necessarily related to your training here today? With the understanding that you can never prove anything said here today and, if put in a situation, I both can and will deny everything."

Bruce shot him a surprised look. “Um… I suppose so, yes.”

Not being the sort of man to pull any punches, Victor turned to fully face Bruce as he said what he’d been thinking for the past five days. “You have, arguably, the most powerful man in Gotham wrapped around your little finger, and I don’t feel as though you take advantage of that as much as you should.”

Bruce sputtered. “What?”

“Jeremiah Valeska is head over heels for you, kid. Disgustingly so. It’s gross, how much he gushes about you even when you aren’t there. I wouldn’t be surprised if he secretly doodled ‘Mr. Jeremiah Valeska-Wayne’ in his notebook when he thinks nobody is looking.”

“That is ridiculous!” Bruce shot back. “Jeremiah, in love with- No. You’re wrong, or...you’re lying. Or just misunderstood something. There’s no way-”

Victor held up his hands. “Don’t shoot the messenger! I’m only sharing a simple observation. Anybody with eyes can tell, and I’m not the only one who thinks this either.”

“Really?”

“M-hmm. Perks to being an employee is getting to sit around and get all the good gossip about your boss with other employees. Not a pleasure I would imagine a billionaire such as yourself would get much of.” Victor leaned down to pluck a piece of loose asphalt from the ground and chucked it at a nearby goon’s head, causing the young woman to stumble. “Put your backs into it!” He shouted.

Bruce felt suddenly very dazed and a lot warmer than he remembered being a minute ago. “How can you know for sure, though? I mean, if he’s just saying nice things about me, I don’t think that that’s much to go on.”

“Where did all of those books in your room come from?”

“How did you-?”

“Don’t ask counter questions, just answer.”

“...Jeremiah got them for me. But he just wanted me to be comf-”

“How many hot meals a day do you eat?”

“Three. But with all of the combat training, it only makes sense he’d want me to be meeting certain nutrition goals.”

Victor snorted. “Nerd. Face it, man. He’s in his feelings about you, as the youths say.”

“I don’t think people say that anymore.”

“Point still stands. He has feelings, you have the ability to swing this any way you damn well please. So what the hell is stopping you? Totally hypothetically, I mean.”

What was stopping him was the idea of Jeremiah being in love with him felt so ridiculous to Bruce. Who the hell loves somebody so much they would blow up an entire city for them? Kill for them near indiscriminately? Shoot and egregiously injure one of the most important people in that person’s life, right in front of them?

That wasn’t love. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t any kind of love Bruce wanted. Love was supposed to be a soft thing, like what Mother and Father had shared while they were alive; all dancing in the kitchen and remembering funny lines from the others’ favorite movies and songs.

It was playful, like what he and Selina had once had, in their way. Sneaking through windows late at night to watch stupid movies and throw popcorn at one another, and bickering about who they thought should have won the last round of the underground amateur wrestling match they’d gone to see the night before because Selina had been feeling sad about her mom.

It was soft sweaters and well-loved copies of classic novels placed face down on messy desks. It was black coffee in mismatched mugs and Frank Sinatra playing softly through the speakers. It was long walks in the woods on sunny days and accidentally getting caught in the rain.

All at once, Bruce felt a tsunami of emotions hit him. He could pick a few individual feelings out from the fray; there was grief, there was pain. But eventually he succumbed to the cacophony as it seemed to rise up into an overpowering wave of white noise, and he sank back to the ground with all the grace of a rag doll.

“Whoa! Okay kid, I can see I maybe could have used a bit more tact,” Victor fretted. Bruce distantly sensed hands on him, checking his pulse, lifting his chin, but it was as though he were underwater.
Orders were being barked that Bruce couldn't understand, he'd fallen too deep. Anxiety he'd kept carefully hidden away for almost a whole year came ricocheting back ten fold.

When, after what felt to be an eternity to him, he came too, he was back home. Victor was a few feet away, talking to someone Bruce was too disoriented to make out. A few stragglers milled around, no doubt having been tasked in assisting his new trainer in returning him to Jeremiah.
“Hey, boss?” One of the unknown faces called over to Victor, nodding his head towards the billionaire.
The older man seemed relieved to see Bruce finally up. “Hey, bud!” His laugh sounded nervous. “How you doin’?”
“Water?” It was the only word he could remember at the moment.
“Here,” the man Victor had been speaking with stepped forward, a glass already in hand.

Bruce started thanking him as he drew closer, but it died on his lips as the fuzziness suddenly cleared and he recognized who the voice belonged to.

“Hello again, Bruce.” Professor Strange smiled down at him.

“Bruce, please, I need you to calm down,” Jeremiah gently placed his hands on the younger man's forearms, attempting to lend some comfort to him. Wild eyed as an animal, he was pushed as far from Jeremiah as he could get on the narrow bed, almost cowering in the corner.
When Jeremiah had been informed Bruce had collapsed during training that afternoon, he couldn't have moved fast enough to meet Victor and the others, to lay eyes on the man and assess the damage himself.

Apart from a few light scrapes on the palms of his hands and his knees, he was unscathed from the day's labor (luckily for Victor). But he'd still been vacant eyed, trembling like a leaf and pale as death.

It frightened Jeremiah to see him so.

“Relax?” Bruce sounded near hysterics. “Do you know what that man has done? What he's tried to do?”

“I will be the first to admit,” Jeremiah tried to keep his voice steady. “It's not ideal, having him on staff. If I thought I could find an adequate replacement for him, trust me, he'd be gone in a moment.

“It's important to me that we have doctors on hand, especially for you. Your health and safety is of the utmost importance to me.”

“He tried to kill me!”

Jeremiah waved a hand dismissively. “That's why Victor's here, isn't it? You think I'd bring that man here, to you, and not have a fail-safe to keep you protected?” He put on an expression of exaggerated disapproval. “I'd like to think you'd have more faith in me than that.”

Bruce eyed Jeremiah warily. His shoulders started sagging a bit, seemingly too exhausted to drag their argument out much longer. “I don't want to ever be left alone with him.”

“And so you won't be. I promise. Now,” the inventor clapped his hands down on his thighs and stood. “I'm going to have a word with the good doctor. Victor is right outside if you need anything.” He paused. “Do you need anything?”

The patient shook his head.

“Good.” Before he could stop himself, Jeremiah reached out a gloved hand and carded it gently through Bruce’s dark strands, appreciating how the low light bounced off of them. “Drink your water, get some rest. I'll send Ophelia to come and get you when it's time for supper, yes?”

Only a nod in response.

Deciding to attribute the non-verbal behavior to sudden tiredness from the day, Jeremiah said no more, leaving his pupil to his privacy.

Victor was motionless outside the door when Jeremiah stepped out. Professor Strange stood a few feet away, silent and still.

“What happened?”

“Well boss, I-”

A hand lifted to silence Victor. “With all due respect, Mr. Zsaz,” Jeremiah seethed, “I was asking Strange.”

Hugo straightened upon hearing his name. “An unfortunate combination of over exertion matched with a simple panic attack. Not a particularly fun combination to experience, but neither lasting nor lethal.”

Jeremiah hummed. “Perhaps we were over hasty in reintroducing him outside. It would have benefited him for a more gradual progression.”

“There's a medication I can prescribe if these episodes become more frequent which can assist in calming young Bruce mid-attack. But I recommend waiting to be sure this wasn't a one time occurrence before taking such measures.”

Jeremiah nodded. “A sound plan. We'll ease off on the combat training as well, give him a few days rest. Thank you, Professor.”

Sensing the implied dismissal, Hugo nodded and turned to leave them. Jeremiah was quick to stop him, though.

“Did you hear what I said in there? About replacing you?”

The man swallowed nervously. “I did, Mr. Valeska. Every word.”

Painted lips stretched into an ominous smile. “Good.” Was his only response.

Watching the figure dressed in white disappear around the corner, he turned to address Victor. “The same goes for you, Mr. Zsaz. Are we understood?”

Pale lips pressed together in a tight line. “Crystal clear, sir.”

Jeremiah nodded, then motioned for Victor to carry on. Feeling suddenly very tired himself, Jeremiah retired to his room for a midday nap.

As much as Bruce wished to stay awake, to unpack everything that just happened, what it meant, his body had different plans.

Jeremiah hadn't even fully closed his bedroom door before he went under, sleeping so deeply he didn't even dream. He appreciated that, as he was unsure he wanted to see what images his subconscious would subject him to in the darkness.

Ophelia shook him awake half past four in the afternoon, asking how he felt. Bruce tried to put on a brave face, but Ophelia was having none of it.

“I'll tell Master Jeremiah you'll take your supper upstairs tonight, just lay back now,” she fluffed his pillow and smoothed out his quilts as she spoke. “We made a nice stew tonight, got some lovely not-quite stale bread to go with it.”

“That does sound lovely,” Bruce murmured, his eyes still heavy with sleep.

She bustled off again, leaving Bruce alone with his thoughts.

Jeremiah was most likely in love with him. Multiple people (allegedly) are in agreement with this fact. Even Bruce was slightly inclined to agree, though his choice in GP for Bruce had been a bold move on Jeremiah’s part.

That was what Bruce had wanted, in a way. Get close, earn trust, find a way out. He no longer felt certain he could get the Old Jeremiah back, the discussion with Ecco had planted too many seeds of suspicion in Bruce about the authenticity of the Jeremiah he remembered.

The smart thing to do would be to focus on Plan B: Get the hell out.

He'd gotten his way about going outside. Yeah, Victor was there now and that was a challenge unto itself, but the leash had been given some slack and that's no small feat in his book.

But the thought of playing with Jeremiah's heart, manipulating him emotionally, made Bruce feel sick. It shouldn't, realistically, the man was a murderer and terrorist, so what if he got his heart broken?

Bruce cared though. He couldn't make himself stop caring, no matter how badly he wished he could.

Once, for school, they'd read Dr Jekyll and Mr. Hyde for an assignment. The story was about a man with a double life, one side of him a respected doctor, and the other a monster of a man, a devil that lived a life of sin.

The class had had a rather lukewarm discussion about the story in class, about themes and symbolism, the sort of things an English teacher would go on about.

Truthfully, as bookish and quiet as he was, Bruce had never been the best student, only cared so much about dissecting one hundred year old stories for their deeper meaning. But he'd had an unusually good teacher that year, one who knew how to keep students like himself engaged, so Bruce had paid closer attention when the teacher shared her own opinions.

To her, there was no Jekyll and Hyde. It wasn't two separate individuals trapped in one body, rather a single man who couldn't face up to or live with the things he had done.

In her theory, Hyde was a figment of the Doctor’s imagination, someone to shove his gambling and whoring and various other vices off on so as to still believe himself a good and virtuous man.

Jeremiah felt a lot like that.

He knew what Ecco told him. Knew enough to know their relationship was deeply unhealthy and incredibly one-sided, and that Jeremiah benefited far too much to let her go.

The bombs were real, gunning down Selina had been real, the couple he masqueraded as his parents, the blood on his hands, all real, too.

But for Bruce, the Jeremiah he'd known down in the bunker felt just as real. He existed at one point in time, became one of the brightest parts of his days for a while. How can he break his heart when that sliver of him that wants to believe in the best of Jeremiah just won't fucking die?

A knock on his door some time later interrupted his pondering. He was glad at first, as he was spiraling and needed a distraction to snap out of it. When Jeremiah peered in a moment later, he felt the gratitude shrivel back. He was the last person who was going to help Bruce shake this off.

“I missed you at dinner,” his tall frame filled the doorway as he leaned up against it, softly back-lit from the lights in the hall. “Are you feeling any better?”

Swallowing thickly, Bruce nodded. “I did- Do! I do feel better. The nap helped a lot. I'm sorry I missed-”

“Never apologize for not feeling well.” Jeremiah stepped forward and took his place at the edge of Bruce's bed.

“Apparently, it was simply a bout of over exertion and a panic attack stacked on top of it. I'm so sorry, if Victor pushed you-”

“He didn't!” It was Bruce’s turn to interrupt.

While Bruce’s preference would be to have no body guard to factor in at all to his escape attempts, if he had to have one, he would begrudgingly admit Victor was the better option. While not exactly tripping over himself to help Bruce, his expressed dislike of Jeremiah (in spite of all the money he'd likely been given for the job) gave Bruce something that felt like an edge.

“I pushed myself! I was just….I was so happy to be outside again. And I wasn't sure how regularly I'd be getting out, so I wanted to make the most of it. Prove myself.”

“To who?” Jeremiah frowned. “Bruce, you have nothing to prove to anyone, not even me.”

Bruce sighed. “But I do, though. I feel as though I have everything to prove.”

The look on Jeremiah’s face made Bruce want to start crying. It was so soft, again, with the faint traces of his old self under the makeup and hair dye.

A hand reached forward, warm soft leather encasing Bruce's clammy one as he leaned in. “You don't.” He reiterated.

“All of this, the training and the lessons and lectures, it isn't because you were lacking or in any way inferior. It's only because I know the depth of how much you are capable of, and how strong you truly can become if you apply yourself.

“Bruce, if I have, in any way, made you believe otherwise, then I'll have well and truly failed as your teacher.”

It felt like a knife being twisted in Bruce's side (and it shouldn't!) at seeing Jeremiah look so ....defeated. Bruce took a deep breath, willing the iron bar that had strapped itself firmly across his chest to dissipate.

“You aren't a bad teacher, Jeremiah,” (Why was he comforting him?) “What you're trying to accomplish here, it's never truly been done before, there isn't a blueprint on how everything is supposed to go.”

The other man's smile was soft, almost sweet. “That's all I've ever wanted for you, Bruce, “ he murmured. “A life beyond the possible.” He gave his hand a firm squeeze. “I was thinking, it's not fair for me to take a break and expect you to keep chugging along. Perhaps some downtime for the both of us is in order.”

“Like a vacation?” Bruce eyed him suspiciously.

“Exactly. Like a vacation!” He released Bruce's hand to gently pat at his knee under the quilt. “And maybe, when you feel more yourself again…”

Jeremiah looked suddenly sheepish. He drew away from Bruce and tucked in his chin, like a shy schoolboy. “Well,” he stammered. “We could go out, you and I. A little outing, just to shake things up.

A tiny voice that sounded an awful lot like Selina in the back of Bruce’s head snipped “Where is there even left to go out to?” but Bruce quickly hushed her.

“Maybe…yeah.” He attempted a smile. Jeremiah returned it with a bright look of his own, which made the false smile that much easier to fake (to Bruce’s great trepidation). He needed to set some kind of boundary here. “When I'm feeling better, though.” He'd milk feeling poorly a few more days, just to try and get his head on straight.

Jeremiah looked as though he won the lottery. “Of course. Take your time. I'll leave you to your rest. Goodnight, Bruce.”

“Goodnight, Jeremiah.”

The inventor looked a tad hesitant to leave, but ultimately followed through and left Bruce to his own devices once more.

And if Bruce took the extra time before bed to lay and cry, that was no one's business but his own.

Chapter Text

It took much convincing to get Lucius on board with Ivy joining him on the filter project. Having fallen for her charms more than he cared to admit, he felt his concerns were plenty reasonable.

But Selina was nothing if not persistent, especially when it was something she cared about. And as many times as Ivy has pissed her off, Selina did care fiercely for her.

So a deal was brokered.

Selina would doubly act as an assistant to the pair as well as a buffer for the duration of their time working together, ensuring Lucius never needed to be left alone with her.

Admittedly, underneath the hesitancy, Lucius clearly was intrigued by the new possibilities. Even technology as advanced as what would be scrounged at Wayne Tech would only go so far in their mission. With Ivy’s abilities, a biofilter system unlike anything ever seen before became almost achievable. An invention that could go down in history if done right.

Or horribly, horribly wrong.

The young burglar was a tad miffed at being placed in a junior position (despite Ivy’s having had almost four years on her, possibly more now after being attacked by an escaped IndianHill inmate) Selina had always naturally filled the leader role in their dynamic, but was happy enough they were willing to let her join the fold.

She'd had to leave out a few details in her initial arguments for the cause; namely Selina’s certainty that Ivy had something else up her sleeve (regardless of how often she assured Selina this wasn't the case) as well as the fact that Ivy was being actively poisoned and may very well be in the process of a slow and agonizing death. She refused to let the others know this weakness of hers unless proven absolutely necessary. And regardless, Ivy certainly wouldn't have appreciated it if she had.

There were a few other terms and conditions with Ivy's employment which were beyond Selina’s control.

Until ample time had passed and satisfactory evidence could be provided that the terrorist was sincere in her desire to help and be reformed, she was to remain under lock and key at the new GCPD HQ over in Haven any time she wasn't in the lab with Lucius.

Selina felt guilty walking over every morning to pick her friend up, seeing her in the black and white uniform that clearly marked her a criminal, standing behind bars in a cold, lifeless cell set as far away from the men folk as they could get her.

There had to be some kind of human rights violation involved there.

At least she wasn't entirely alone, though. Ecco, more a pariah than even Ivy, was stationed back with her in a juxtaposed cell.

The former henchwoman had been interrogated for hours, but not much was gleaned from their efforts.

Her story, always unwavering, was that she had been tasked by Jeremiah to help lure Bruce away with an elaborate set up. Once they'd succeeded, she was unceremoniously attacked and booted out of Jeremiah’s encampment. Left without the protection of her former boss, she had been living in the shadows all this time.

In an attempt to show good faith, she provided Bullock with an address for the compound she'd last stayed in with Valeska, out near Ace Chemicals.

Signs of the madman were there, but it was clear he had been long gone for a long while. Thus, another dead end.

So that was the new normal.

Oswald eventually backed down and let a select few of his workers go to Haven as reinforcements, joining patrols and (for the more experienced builders) helping to repair and reinforce the structure of the building as more refugees made their way in.

Selina got up each morning, wishing like hell she could be out on the streets, instead making her way to the cells to collect Ivy for another day in the lab.

All the while, she waited for the other shoe to drop.

The night guard passed the lonely cells with a sharp click of her boots, keys jangling from where they hung at her side.

Ivy was uncomfortable, simultaneously too hot from the horrid polyester blanket she'd been assigned, and too cold from the drafts of the basement they were imprisoned in. She'd been tossing and turning for hours, one leg dangling from the bed, the other tucked tight under the covers, wishing to find the correct combination needed to get a decent night's sleep.

“I could always knock you out, if you're struggling to get to sleep,” Ivy’s prison mate's voice carried over.

Ivy did not particularly like Ecco. Mostly due to her undying loyalty to the man who single handedly ushered more destruction and devastation on the environment in less than a year than all of Gotham had managed in over a decade.

But moreover, Ivy didn’t like pushovers.

She had been a pushover once, having no real say in what she could or could not do and when the things could or could not be done. She was subjected to neglect, maltreatment, harsh words, and harsher punishments as a child, and never once did she say a word back.

And what was her reward for her silent acceptance? She became an orphan, living on the streets like a rat, no money, no home, no one who really loved her outside of Selina. Even the other rejects distanced themselves from her, deeming her too off-putting to give the time of day.

She'd come far from that girl, Ivy liked to think. Done her all to flip the tables, to take back what little power she'd had and then some.

“Your mouth breathing is keeping me awake,” Ivy grumbled back.

“Quiet in there!” The guard called out.

Ivy heaved a heavy sigh. She can wax poetic all she wanted, she'd still signed herself up to help Ecco, and, by extension, Valeska.

She'd appeared to Ivy in her hideout, looking worn yet determined to plead her case.

Jeremiah Valeska needed Ivy’s help. Needed someone to help Ecco stir the pot, cause some mischief, and report back any relevant happenings she managed to find back to him.

They would never fully trust Ecco, no matter what she said or did. They needed someone unattached to the Valeska name, someone they may not immediately suspect of being in cahoots.

She'd laughed when Ecco had finished the pitch. She had debated killing the blonde immediately, maybe putting her head on a spike for extra dramatic effect.

However, she'd hesitated on pulling the trigger. As much as she didn't like Ecco, she provided the potential opportunity Ivy had been waiting for: getting close to Jeremiah.

If she could suck it up and play nice, the chance to exact her revenge would be within her grasp.

Dropping the volume of her voice, Ecco called over “You sound like you're trying to cough up a lung over there. Not exactly the kind of white noise I'm used to falling asleep to. Should I see if the guard has a cough drop?”

“How about you mind your damn business?”

“Yeesh, sorry. Just trying to be nice.”

Ivy turned, still tangled in her blankets, to glare at Ecco. She was sitting up straight in her own bed, back up against the stone wall and blonde hair spilling down her shoulders.

“Do me a favor? Stop. Don't try to be nice, I don't need it.”

“Okay, Touchy.”

Lying back down, Ivy hoped that would be it. It had been a long day at the lab, combing through every batch of seeds mustered from various plant and garden centers as well as some seed libraries scattered around Gotham (minus enemy territories) to see what they had to work with. So far they had a few samples which seemed to be a promising solution.

“How long do ya reckon Mr. J’ll leave me in here?”

Ivy sighed. “You know more about this plan than me. Did he not say?”

“When I asked, he just said ‘as long as it takes’.”

“Sounds like you got your answer.”

“ But that could be ages!”

“Not my problem!” Ivy growled into her pillow.

“I said quiet down there!” The guard bellowed back.

From where Ecco still sat, she pouted and sunk lower in her bed. “I miss him. ‘Wonder if he's thinking about me, too?”

In a rare act of kindness, Ivy chose to bite her tongue, and keep the answer she knew was right to herself.

Chapter Text

Jeremiah was worse than a mother hen for the next three days.

Every meal was delivered by him, every glass of water and extra blanket. Ophelia chided him, saying Bruce wasn't an infant and didn't need to be coddled so.

He knew in his heart this was true, but it didn't stop him from continuing his behavior. If he stopped too long to think, he'd remember how helpless Bruce had looked, how pale he was.

Jeremiah had encouraged Victor to push Bruce in his training. As much as he'd like the fault to belong to Victor and Victor only, it was simply a lie.

And sweet Bruce, insisting it was all on him, that he pushed himself past his breaking point for the sake of proving himself. He still wasn't sure who Bruce felt the need to prove a point to, but it was enough to wrack him with guilt.

So, he assuaged that guilt by taking care of Bruce.

By day three, he was looking more like himself, a slight flush to his cheeks evidence of his improved health.

A supply run had been planned the day after Bruce's fall, and Jeremiah made sure the team knew to keep their eyes peeled for more books while they were out. The current collection on Bruce’s shelf was frankly laughable, and Jeremiah figured it might be a good way to cheer the young man up. If need be, he'd even send someone to Penguin’s territory to sneak into the library.

When the team returned, he found a copy of Jane Eyre, the second and third books in a children's fantasy series, a dictionary, and an atlas of the US from four years ago waiting for him.

(He put down a note on his desk about a mission to the library in the near future.)

Bruce had finished Dante’s Divine Comedy and now was almost halfway through Moby Dick when Jeremiah brought him supper.

“Just a little gift, for you.” Jeremiah placed the books on his bedside table once he was certain the tray of food was safely situated on Bruce's lap.

Blinking in surprise, Bruce traced a hand over the spines with an appreciative smile. “You know,” he said “You don't have to go out and find me books every time you send guys on a supply run.”

Jeremiah wouldn't hear it. “I like spoiling you every now and again. It makes me happy.”

Bruce frowned at that. “It's just that…well, it doesn't seem fair, is all.”

A lock of Bruce's hair had slipped from where it was tied back, falling gently over one eye. Jeremiah was more than happy to soothe it back as he urged Bruce to complete his thought.

“I just feel so odd receiving gifts, knowing there are so many people out there with so much less, who are struggling to get by. And here I am, a roof over my head, food on the table for every meal, and…it's just hard.”

Jeremiah felt his heart swell as he gazed at Bruce. Such a big heart his sweet young man had, not at all what one might expect from a billionaire.

After his quick adoption, young Jeremiah had been ushered into the glistening and gluttonous world of the upper class. It disgusted him almost as bad as the circus had. Grand parties where everyone sat around and gossiped about each other until the wee hours of the morning; the scandals, the booze, the drugs. It wasn't a word the inventor ever wanted for himself, though he endured it with as much grace as an awkward young lad could muster.

He was aware of Bruce’s little ‘blip’ two years prior, where he descended similarly into the habits of his wealthy peers. He would appear on the covers of gossip rags and articles online, outlining his benders in immense details. He remembered how sad Bruce appeared underneath all the glitz and glamor, the way his smile never quite reached his eyes in the photographs stolen by nosy paparazzi.

“Sweet man,” Jeremiah chuckled. “So worried about everyone else. The time will come, you’ll soon be ready to step out into the world, to help rebuild Gotham into a glorious new empire, right by my side. You’ll be invincible, a beacon of hope for Gothamites far and wide.”

Bruce would never need to feel powerless again. Jeremiah swore it.

“How are you feeling today?” He asked, hoping to distract Bruce from the clear distress on his face.

Bruce shrugged a shoulder, shifting under the cover. The shirt he’d slept in was about three sizes too big for the young man’s slight build, its collar dipping just enough to expose the delicate, pale dip of his collarbone.

“Better,” was his earnest reply. “Ophelia and Victor let me sit outside for an hour or two today. I read some, and Ophelia started teaching me card games.”

Jeremiah smiled. “I could tell.” He brushed his hand against Bruce’s cheek, appreciating the bloom of pink. “We’ll have to invest in some sunblock for you. I remember-”

-How easily Bruce burns in the sun.

He cleared his throat, ignoring the way Bruce had suddenly dropped his gaze. “I have a surprise for you.” He announced with some forced enthusiasm. “Not the books. A different one.”

Bruce looked ready to chastise Jeremiah, but was cut off by Jeremiah holding up his hand. “Trust me, you’ll love it.”

The young man’s mouth pressed into a hard line. “I don’t know….”

“Please,” Jeremiah sighed gently. “Please, trust me.”

The expression slowly eased, Bruce’s shoulders returning to the original relaxed position. “Okay.” He nodded. “I…I trust you.”

Jeremiah couldn’t help clapping his hands together. “Wonderful! I promise you, Bruce, you will not regret this!”

He smiled again at the inventor, a smile that didn’t look quite as forced. “Where is it?”

Taking Bruce’s pale hand in his, he clasped it close to his chest. Leaning in, he gave his friend a conspiratorial smile. “Not here. Elsewhere. Tomorrow, on an outing. You and I. What do you say?”

A thoughtful silence followed. Then, a small nod. “How can I refuse?”

****

Kidd was one of the odder choices Jeremiah made when hiring house staff. He was aware enough to admit this. Ecco even raised an eyebrow at it (though she’d known better than to say anything about it at the time).

Petite in build and no real qualification in self defense or combat beyond ‘they’re young and scrappy’, Jeremiah saw potential in their domestic skills and cool demeanor. With all the insanity of the last few months, some stability would do Bruce a world of good during his transition.

They also made a surprisingly good tailor.

Granted, Jeremiah’s obsession with appearance was a bit of an Achilles heel, not something he should be indulging the way that he does. But it was impossible to deny, having someone around who was good with a needle and thread came in handy.

His favorite suit was a black three piece with violet accents. Gladly, he handed over the outfit to Kidd for alterations. Nipping in the shoulders and waist, shortening the length of the pant legs, a few moth holes in need of mending. Basic stuff.

It was left on Bruce’s door with a note pinned to it, freshly pressed and smelling of lavender (courtesy of Ophelia). A hard decision was made to miss another breakfast with Bruce in order to properly prepare himself for their first real outing together.

A proper debut.

He needed to look his best. Presentation was everything, after all.

Hot water was drawn to allow Jeremiah to scrub down and begin the painstaking ordeal of touching up his roots without running water.

While the dye sat, he took up the chore of polishing his shoes and picking out his own outfit for the outing, mixing and matching ties and cuff links until he felt satisfied with what he saw in the mirror.

Another scrub down after rinsing out the dye, a spritz of cologne, and he sat himself down in a robe to style his hair.

It was a bit of a shock to see the color turned out different this time around. In the early afternoon light, the usually midnight blue color he typically favored became a deep phthalo green. One of the idiots must have grabbed the wrong dye on their supply run.

Typical.

Turning his head this way and that, he found he didn’t mind the sudden change. He’d always preferred green, truth be told. He was of the mind that it complemented certain shades of purple (another color he favored) quite beautifully.

A voice nagged in the back of his mind, however, fretting over if Bruce would like it. Was it too different? Would Bruce say something to Jeremiah about it? Did the billionaire even like green?

Confidence was key here. He needed to shake this self doubt off. Shutting the little voice off as best he could, and pointedly ignoring the visage of Jerome sneering at him from the reflection of his mirror, he launched himself into his regular grooming routine before dressing himself.

‘Confidence is key’, he reiterated, and went to collect his date.

The note had insisted Bruce stay put until Jeremiah and Victor came for him. The younger man was also informed that he’d have until one o’clock in the afternoon to prepare himself. Victor was already standing guard by Bruce’s door when Jeremiah emerged, black suit and red waistcoat donned and solemn expression as he kept his gaze straight ahead.

Terse nods were exchanged between men. It would be a lie to say Jeremiah had completely moved forward from the other afternoon, regardless of his acceptance of their shared blame. Victor picked up on this, seeming to know better than to try toeing the line or making any funny quips.

Under no circumstances did Jeremiah nervously fidget while waiting for Bruce to answer. He did not adjust his coat, tug at his gloves, or fiddle with his sunglasses as the seconds seemed to stretch on. Jeremiah did not worry if he’d put on too much cologne, or if his breath smelled, or if there were any bits of food stuck in his teeth.

Certainly, he did not stress himself out over the potential reaction his new hair may receive.

An eternity passed before the door swung open, revealing Bruce (at last!) and the capacity for any kind of thought swiftly left Jeremiah.

The ability to breathe, too.

Bruce Wayne had always been clean cut, even as a lad; clearly that butler of his had continued to instill in him the importance of appearance and dressing well, even after the passing of Thomas and Martha Wayne.

But now? Here? Dressed in Jeremiah’s favorite suit? The picture of divinity was Bruce.

Jeremiah patted himself on the back for his choice of letting Bruce’s hair grow out- Long, dark waves framing porcelain skin was a fetching look for the billionaire. He was reminded of the painting of the Angel Lucifer, soft ringlets framing the model’s sharp features, enraged eyes rimmed with red.

The suit… Well, it suited him. Jeremiah made a note to give Kidd a raise for their good work in guesstimating Bruce’s measurements (and at such short notice, too!)

Snapping back to reality, he realized with some embarrassment he’d been staring for a moment longer than normal. Bruce looked decidedly uncomfortable, shifting his weight one foot to the other as he waited for his escort to break the odd silence.

“You look heavenly,” he finally settled on.

An odd expression passed over Bruce. Jeremiah didn’t think either of them had been expecting the compliment, truth be told. Finally, the young man nodded.

“Thank you.” He murmured. “I…I like that shade of green for your hair. It suits you.”

Oh, and Jeremiah was on cloud nine. Praise from Bruce! He couldn’t have stopped the smile that broke across his face if he’d wanted to. Shyly, his fingers reached up to brush the side of his head. “You really think so?”

A more certain nod. “It does. I’ve always liked that particular shade of green. It's my favorite.”

It was enough to get the wind back in Jeremiah’s sails. Straightening all the way up, an arm was held out for Bruce to take. “Shall we?”

Timidly, Bruce shuffled forward to loop his arm around Jeremiah’s.

“We shall.”

Chapter Text

It was to Bruce’s immense frustration that Jeremiah insisted they travel with his eyes still covered. The excuse given was the wish to maintain the element of surprise, but the real reason for covering his eyes hung over the three men the whole ride out. He’d at least been spared the indignity of a bag over his head this time around, his captor insisting on the use of a silk scarf instead.

Jeremiah sat close and spoke animatedly while Victor drove. He must have been talking with his hands in his excitement, as Bruce could sense the movement in the darkness, felt the brush of Jeremiah's shoulder and arm as he gestured. It reminded him of a child on Christmas morning. In another world, or with another man, Bruce might have found it sweet, endearing.

Ophelia had greeted him that morning with his new suit and a handwritten note left by the inventor. He was informed their outing was to take place later in the early afternoon. The old woman had nagged Bruce into letting her help him in preparing. He bathed like normal, but allowed the deeply enthusiastic Ophelia to talk him into a little extra pampering with some hair oils and combs she kept stashed away for a rainy day. Longer hair was not growing on Bruce in the slightest. He debated, as he watched the housekeeper work her magic in the mirror, if it would be worth it to push his luck with Jeremiah and ask for a haircut. When the door swung open that afternoon and revealed the man's fresh new look, he found himself feeling all the more strongly about the matter.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t been lying when he’d paid Jeremiah his compliment. While he mourned the shy ginger he’d once known (the man who valued practicality and professionalism in his appearance over this sudden new urge to begin peacocking) there was an alien beauty to the new Jeremiah that Bruce found difficult to look away from.

Same with his eyes, Bruce thought as his own adjusted to the sudden blast of sunlight assaulting him, catching the gaze of his companion as he did. Once as blue as the ocean, they’d been bleached to almost nonrecognition by that ghastly last gift. Forcing himself to maintain that eye contact, Bruce decided they were now a sickly shade of sea-foam green. That contrast between pupil and iris, the paleness juxtaposed with inky black-

It reminded Bruce of a corpse.

“It wasn’t too tight, was it?”

Bruce blinked and expressed his confusion. “The blindfold.” Jeremiah smiled. “You had an odd look. I was worried you were hurting.”

The nausea might have made Bruce keel over if he’d been standing. “No,” he choked out. “No, it was fine. Motion sickness, I think.”

Victor opened Jeremiah’s door at that moment, allowing a wave of fresh air to envelope them. Bruce tried to nonchalantly take a couple deep breaths, the moving air soothing him. Something was quietly said to Jeremiah, who nodded and dismissed the hitman. Bruce had only just begun to feel better, melting back into his seat as the breeze played across his face, when gloved hands suddenly clasped his own. “You say the word Bruce,” The inventor spoke solemnly. “The second it gets to be too much, we can go straight back home-”

“No!” Bruce clutched tightly to Jeremiah in his panic. “No,” he tried more calmly. “You’ve worked so hard on this surprise for me, I just know it. I want to see.” He wanted out of that God forsaken house. He wanted a chance to at least try scoping out his surroundings, should a decent opportunity present itself to escape.

Bruce wanted to see what the new Jeremiah deemed a romantic outing for two.

From the outside, it was a bland brick building with a spacious courtyard facing what may have (at one time) been a bustling city street. Perhaps it once may have held some grandeur, in a time before the world had even heard of the name Valeska. Crude images and slogans were sloppily spray painted or chipped away into walls and windows, trash strewn across the yard and throughout the desecrated water feature in the middle. It looked as though some moderate attempts at clean up and reconstruction had begun, though at that moment it was as empty as a ghost town.

Jeremiah- with his sharp suit and slicked back hair- came to stand by him. His face held the expression of a proud father as he gazed around. Taking up his cane, he rapped on the cobblestones beneath them three times. Each sharp ‘click’ echoed ominously through the empty street.

Several things happened at once.

A door flew open across the way. From the darkness inside came a steady line of people (henchmen, from what Bruce could see of their grey garb). The sight of them brought to mind the images of soldiers marching to battle, heading straight for the waiting men. One of these henchmen broke off midway, coming to a standstill beside a pole several yards away. Tucked to their chest was a bundle Bruce couldn’t quite make out.

Someone else broke off as well, going the opposite direction. He reached another, more massive object, obscured by a sheet to Bruce’s right.

Selina’s voice returned to Bruce suddenly, back to whispering in the corners of his mind. Staring at the congregation before them, there was something very, deeply wrong. He scanned down the line as his mind raced, the unsettling feeling getting worse. He hardly noticed as Jeremiah took a small step forwards, arms spread out as he began to speak.

“Brothers and sisters,” he boomed. “We gather together on this day, as a tribute to months of hard work.” The billionaire paused his scanning on a particular face in the crowd, set a little ways down from him. “Each and every one of you has toiled away, day in, day out, night after night-” Bruce studied the boy’s face closer, noting the round youthfulness of his cheeks, hardly disguised under the smudges of makeup and grime. “-The sacrifices which you all have so valiantly made; The blood, sweat, and tears for our noble cause!” The figure beside the boy, too, looked quite young, further exasperated by her tiny stature. “On this day, my children, we make history! Our names and memories shall live on in the textbooks of our children, as well as our children’s children, living on as the ones who built the foundations of a New World!”

The penny dropped just in time for the flag to be unfurled, the mystery object freed from its covering.

Carved into grey stone were the words “Valeska-Wayne School for Promising Youth”.

Bruce was going to vomit. His face was hot, his eyes stung, bile making its way up. He hadn’t noticed he’d begun tipping over until Victor (his unlikely ally in that moment) subtly shifted forward to right him. “Chin up,” he whispered to the boy. “Back straight. Focus on your breathing.”

A fine idea! If only Bruce’s body could follow orders right now. They had unfurled the flag, begun hoisting it up the pole. It was green, the image of a Joker card printed in stark black ink. There was a crowd closing in (Where had they come from?) their cheers and claps near deafening in the suddenly small space. It was a stroke of luck, the fact that the only thing Jeremiah loved more than Bruce was being worshiped by his congregation. In the rapture of their exaltation, Bruce was all but forgotten about.

“Breathe…” Victor hissed through gritted teeth, eyes constantly scanning the crowd. They needed to be sure no one clocked this little conundrum in the middle of all the celebrations. “In, then out. In, out.” Bruce took a shuddering breath. “In for five seconds, out for eight. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

It felt like a twisted parody. It was a twisted parody. It hadn’t been enough for Jeremiah, attempting to recreate his parents’ murders- God, that poor couple. What were their names? What were their stories? Was anyone still looking for them- No. Jeremiah needed more, always, always more. A plastic pantomime of his mother and father’s lives (their works!) And, to add insult to injury, he cast himself and Bruce in the leading roles this time around.

The children (about thirty to forty, at a guess) ranged in age. The oldest was possibly fifteen, the youngest could pass for maybe six. Hell, where did they all come from? Did he-?

Bruce had maybe ten seconds to get his act together before he saw Jeremiah turning. There was that smile, bright, almost manic, as he gazed down adoringly at him.

“All for you, Bruce.”

Chapter Text

Barbara was thinking too much again.

She did that a lot these days. It got worse the closer she got to her due date.

Barbara hadn’t been the best partner to Tabitha, as evidenced by their on-again-off-again status. She had tried, best as she knew how. But there was this underlying selfishness that she could never quite shake off, especially after freeing herself in the form of killing her parents. She’d felt that she was allowed, finally (at last!) to live life as herself. No Mom or Dad breathing down her neck, judging even the minutest of choices she made. No stifling, uppity ex partners who’d rather jump at the first opportunity to play hero than be, y’know… a partner. Drugs held no allure anymore, because finally she had no need to escape a boxed-in reality. She was free, uncaged, for the first time in her life. It was a feeling more addicting than any pill could provide.

She’d found Tabitha in the early days of this new era.

They’d fucked (a lot). It was never meant to be much more than a means to scratch an itch, a thrill to pass the hours she spent cooped up in Galavan's apartment. But then the two started talking. Actually talking, not just silly pillow talk or shallow banter. Through this, Barbara realized there was a kindred spirit to be found in the other woman, her company proving far more appealing than any of the lunatics she’d been abducted with.

That selfishness persisted, however.

It always needed to be the Barbara Show, even as their relationship went on. Too stupid and stubborn to care when she knew she was being an ass, it shouldn't have been a surprise when Tabs ended things. (And by end things, she does of course mean when Tabitha killed her, before she was then brought back to life by an ancient maniac that has effectively ruined her life even from beyond the grave) Barbara’s only consolation was that Tabitha let her come back, embraced her with open arms even after all she’d done.

Tabs had found Butch, and she was so fucking happy, and it was all Barbara could do to put on a happy face (sort of) and watch them live a life that was meant for the two them. The long embraces, soft glances. Tabby and Butch lived and died for one a-fucking-nother.

Oh, and it killed Barbara.

Then Butch died (and came back as a living corpse, only to be healed and fucking gunned down again), and suddenly it was back to being her and Tabitha. And Selina too. It was so easy to play pretend, to imagine a different life for themselves. One were Barabra hadn’t been too far up her own ass to realize the treasure of a woman she’d been blessed with, and Tabitha never needed to look for someone else to find her happiness, and Selina didn't have to worry about her shitty biological mom because she had two moms now that loved and wanted her more than anything-

And then Tabitha died.

Barbara had had people die on her before. Some of those people did die by her hand, yes, but a death was still a death. It still had the power to hurt, if that person mattered enough to you at some point.

None of the deaths she’d handled before had ever taken her breath away quite like Tabitha’s had. The way she bowled over, the sobs that wracked her whole body and left her feeling sore and achy for days. Even now, months later, Barbara could close her eyes and see the whole fucking ordeal play out. Sometimes it was in real time. Others, it came to her jumbled, disjointed flashes engraved onto the backs of her eyelids.

Back in the now, as if sensing her mother’s distress, little Tabby chose then to kick. She did that a lot, Barbara noticed. The second she started spiraling, the kid would move, like a little reminder that she was there, she was real. A tiny tether to reality. She pressed her hand against her belly and glanced down with a soft smile. She was right, of course.

It was Jim’s fucking fault she was so fucked up in the first place. He was pushy even at the best of times, but he’d taken it a step too far that afternoon when he’d intercepted her on the way to her appointment.

Thinking he had any claim on her baby, the shit. Jim was a sperm donor at best! A mistake at worst. They had come together at a time when emotions were high and the stress seemed enough to kill them. She’d needed to blow off steam, so had he. So they fooled around. Exes did that shit all the time, it wasn’t revolutionary. Maybe the more specifics of their circumstances were a tad unique, but the actual one night stand aspect is very common. Barbara had told Jim point blank that his involvement had ended the second he put his pants back on. And you know what? There were a lot of guys who would probably kill for that kind of arrangement. He got his rocks off, and he doesn’t have to live with the consequences of his own actions?

She hadn’t gone into that that night with intentions of becoming pregnant. Fate just kind of played out that way for her. Barbara regretted the timing of her actions, certainly, but not the outcome. Never the outcome.

But she was trapped on this fucking island with a bunch of lunatics, and Mr. Morally Upstanding had not-so-vaguely threatened to take little Tabby away as soon as reunification with the mainland was complete.

“You have no business being a mother, Barbara.” He’d rationalized. “You’ve done terrible things, most likely will continue to do terrible things at the first given opportunity. The baby deserves more stability than that.”

Well, news flash for Wonder Boy: He could take her baby over her dead body.

Glancing over at where Lee sat taking final notes about her checkup, Barbara narrowed her eyes at her. The Good Doctor was a lot like Jim in that she stood firm in what she believed in, doing good, helping people. Where she differentiated herself was in her definition of ‘doing good’ and ‘helping people’ She went from being fully prepared to be a wife to Gotham’s most upstanding cop to the Queen of the Narrows in only a few short years. She full on Robin Hood-ed it, robbing several banks across the city to help the citizens of her neighborhood, and funded her underground free clinic with the cash made from a fight ring.

Where would Lee land if made to decide on whether or not Barbara was a fit parent? Would she side with her, a woman who’d made several attempts on her life? Or the father, both Lee's ex and the murderer of Lee's late husband, the only son of Don Falcone?

The other woman had (rightfully) been unwilling to help Barbara, initially. Fair enough. Barbara wasn’t sure she’d have it in her to let bygones be bygones if she were in her shoes. But there was an innocent child in the picture, and both women knew Lee was unwilling to let it suffer because of a grudge between them. Barbara had been more than willing to exploit this fact if it meant getting her baby the best care she could possibly manage. She hated to admit it now, but she was growing to respect, even at times tolerate, Dr. Lee Thompkins.

And it didn’t hurt to have a few allies in this shit hole.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” the doctor quipped without looking up.

“You’re sure everything is fine?”

“The baby is growing at a decent rate, vitals are all coming back good. You aren’t spotting, nothing I can find raises any concerns.” She finished writing a note with a small flourish and finally glanced up at Barbara. “You’re both healthy as a horse.”

She continued worrying at her lip. “And the due date-”

“-Is never going to be exact. Sometimes we get it right, sometimes it's earlier, sometimes later. We won’t know until she’s ready to…y’know, come out.” Lee sighed. “Are you doing okay, Barbara?”

The two women stared at one another for a long moment before descending into laughter. “You know what I mean.”

Standing from where she’d perched at the end of the observation table, Barbara crossed over to the windows overlooking the courtyard. Harvey was hard at work down below, setting laundry lines for the Sisters.

The population of Haven had almost tripled in the last few days, refugees flooding in by the dozens. They couldn’t set up beds fast enough, it seemed. “Siren’s is running low on food.” She admitted. “Even with the rations in place, I don’t know if we have much longer before it runs out.”

“Six months?”

“Try three.”

Lee hummed. “The Narrows is worse for wear, too. A lot of people are attempting to shelter in place, it seems like they're losing faith in the project as time goes on. But trying to stave off territorial wars is getting harder and harder.” She shook her head. “And God forbid if this fucking Biofilter idea craps out on us.”

Barbara didn’t even want to think about that. She blinked back tears.

“God, I’m an idiot.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This,” she gestured broadly around them. “This is the shit my baby is going to be born into. The first glimpse of the world she’s ever going to get is a dystopian hellscape!”

Lee regarded her for a moment, then stood and crossed the room to stand with her by the window. Bullock had gotten himself tangled in the clotheslines, and was struggling to free himself as a few of the younger nuns giggled by the wayside. Notably, they made no moves to help him.

“I don’t know how comforting this will come across, but…” Lee shrugged. “I think parents have been worried about shit like that from the dawn of time.”

Barbara shot her an odd look.

Lee laughed. “That did not come out right, sorry. Just….think how many times people have probably thought the world was going to end. Wars, famines, natural disasters, the list goes on. But all throughout that, people were still living their lives. They cooked breakfast, brushed their hair, shared jokes and fell in love. And in the midst of all of that, there are bound to have been at least a few babies, right?”

She nodded.

“These parents probably felt like they were bringing their children into the literal apocalypse, just like you do right now.” There was an awkward moment where it looked as though Lee was considering reaching out towards her, before remembering herself again and returning to an arms crossed position.

“You’re doing your best, Barbara. You’re never gonna be perfect, because no one is, but you’re doing your best. That counts for something.”

Trembling hands reached up to brush tears from Barbara’s eyes. “I am trying,” she muttered. “I just feel like it isn’t enough. What if I can’t-” She didn’t want to say it out loud. “What if I can’t get her out of here? What if I fail her?”

Lee’s expression grew softer, sadder. “I don’t know, Barbara. I really don’t.” She sighed deeply. “Y’know, it's weird, looking back now. In light of…. everything, my greatest tragedy ended up being my greatest fortune. If- God forbid- if I been able to carry my child to term, and I’d needed to worry about caring for him and me-”

Barbara had almost forgotten about Lee’s miscarriage. She couldn’t help the apology that slipped from her lips as she turned to meet the Doctor’s eyes.

She returned with a smile. “Wasn’t your fault, was it? Shit happened. It sucked, I was… I was a mess. For a really long time.” Lee laughed, short and sharp. “A really, really long time. But I guess that’s life. You’re born, you live, you die. In between you get to meet all these people, some of them just drifters and background noise. Some of them…” She paused, as if looking for the right words.

“Some of them, it's like they become a part of you. You start off as two separate entities when you meet, and gradually you meld together. Memories, inside jokes, little mannerisms. So when you lose them, it feels like you lose a part of yourself. Because in a way, you did. Because all of that melding made them a part of you as much as you were a part of them.

“It hurts like a mother fucker, losing part of yourself like that. Knocks you completely off kilter. From the look on your face, I can tell that I don’t really need to be the one to tell you that.” Lee dared to place her hand on Barbara’s upper back, rubbing soothing circles. "I didn’t get to have that with my baby. I lost him before I ever got to meet him. And in a fucked up way, I’m grateful. I can only imagine how scared you must be, but, for whatever it may be worth, you aren’t alone.”

“I am though.” Barbara shot back. “I am alone. With Selina always gone somewhere, and Tabitha-” Tears fully took over. “Fucking Penguin! It's his fault. I could kill him, I just-”

“You need to be there for your baby, Barbara.” Lee said firmly. “Killing Oswald won’t bring Tabitha back, and if someone finds out you even tried, they’ll throw you back in Arkham and make sure you never see your child again.”

Wrenching herself away from Lee’s comforting touch, Barbara growled.

“You think I don’t fucking know that? You think I haven’t been tearing myself apart about this for the last couple of months? Every time I see his stupid face at those fucking stupid Haven meetings, its all I can think about!”

Lee sighed. “And I get that. If you recall, I had a bit of a revenge arc myself, not too long ago. But you have to be stronger than that voice in your head. You’re a mother now.”

“Tabitha should be here for this.” She swiped angrily at her cheeks, hating how weak she felt for letting her tears be seen by another human person. “She should be right here by my side, picking baby names and setting up the nursery and- I don’t know, whatever it is new parents do together." The tears were falling in earnest now, she couldn't stop them if she tried. “I can’t….I can’t do this alone.”

She hadn’t realized Lee had shifted forward until she suddenly appeared in front of Barbara. “You aren’t alone,” she reiterated forcefully. “You aren’t. I’m…” Lee looked vaguely uncomfortable as she debated saying the last half of her sentence. “I’m gonna be there with you. Every step of the way.”

Barbara didn’t get more than a couple seconds to realize what was being said, as several things occurred at once.

First, there was the sound of the door opening at the other end of the ward, a voice easily identifiable as Jim calling out.

Then Lee was gently pushing Barbara back, further into the small alcove they’d been tucked into. She left her with a silent motion to remain silent, and jerked the privacy curtains closed behind her.

Barbara heard more footsteps before the doctor answered. “Over here, Jim.”

“Lee…” Jim could be heard heaving a sigh of relief. Barbara rolled her eyes. “How’s the baby?”

“Confidential, Jim. It's between myself and my patient.”

There was silence, then “Lee, come on, be for real.”

“I am, Jim. Even criminals are protected by HIPPA.”

“But I’m the father, surely-”

“Babara has made it abundantly clear she doesn't want you to be a part of this process. Whatever happens after the baby is born is out of my control, but for right now, as her doctor, it's my job to honor her wishes. And her wishes are for me to tell you to buzz off.”

“This is ridiculous.” Jim sounded incredulous. “Lee, this woman has tried to kill you on multiple occasions. You’re on her side?”

“She hasn’t displayed any behavior to indicate to me that the baby is in danger. She’s been present for every checkup, follows medical advice to the best of her ability, and appears cognitively aware. I have no reason to relinquish any of her rights as of right now.”

“Well, as a member of the GCPD, I can think of a couple of reasons.”

“What are you going to do, Jim? Take this shit to court? Good luck with that!”

Barbara heard the squeak of the bed a few feet away, on the other side of the curtain. Jim was heaving a heavy sigh. “I hate this, Lee. I hate that this is what we’re like now.”

“I don’t want to talk about this again. You’ve heard everything I have to say about the matter already.”

Oh?

“This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. I should have-”

“You should have.” Lee agreed. “But you didn’t. So here we are. You’ve made your choices. I’ve made mine. My mind is made up.”

“I miss you.” Lee’s bitter laugh rang sharply in the mostly empty ward. “I know, I know. I just felt like I should say it.”

“As long as you feel better, I guess.”

“That wasn’t my intention-”

“Yeah, it's never your intention, Jim. That’s kind of the problem. To have intended something, you would have needed to actually think about your actions before committing to them, for a change. You aren’t very good about that, especially in regards to your relationships.”

The next sigh Barbara heard was a more resolved sounding one. More squeaking from the mattress.

“Lucius and Ivy think they might have the makings of their first prototype for the biofilter,” he sounded like that wasn’t what he really wanted to say. “We’re having a meeting in two days to show it off. If you see Barbara before I do, could you invite her for me?”

“I will.” Lee replied a bit coolly.

“Let her know we’re also gonna touch on the rationing system while we’re all gathered together, see if she can put together a written inventory?”

“Of course. Thank you, Jim.”

Footsteps, then, “Ah, have you seen Harv anywhere? I talked him into coming along with me to Oswald’s to invite him. We have some suspicions he might not be sticking to the stricter systems we’re trying to implement, we figured he might try to put up a bit more fight if I just showed up on my own.”

“Harvey’s a bit tied up right now,” Lee’s voice contained a spark of laughter, much warmer and realer this time around. “But I think he should be almost freed by now. Try the main courtyard.”

“Will do. Later.”

Barbara stayed still until the curtains were pulled back, revealing Lee looking towards her with a serious expression.

“You’re not alone in this.”

Chapter Text

Bruce hadn’t eaten supper that night. He pretended to be asleep whenever anyone came by to check on him. For a while, he was able to actually go down, drifting off sometime before dusk and awaking to a pitch dark room several hours later.

He’d managed to keep himself together that afternoon for just long enough to get home. Upon stepping through the threshold, he’d thrown out a random excuse to get away from Jeremiah. Maybe he’d claimed he had a migraine, he couldn’t remember.

The hours of isolation didn’t really help. Especially since the sudden turn in behavior had clearly freaked out Jeremiah, and most likely had earned Bruce another visit from Strange come tomorrow.

Frankly, he couldn’t give a damn. That was tomorrow Bruce’s problem to deal with. He’d had a really fucked up day and needed space in order to get his head on straight.

He now found himself unable to relax again, unconsciousness cruelly evading him as he bore holes into the ceiling with an unblinking gaze. When at last, he was willing to move, he moved with a purpose.

The clock on his mantle showed it to be almost midnight. Hours had passed since the rest of the house retired to their own beds, all save for Jeremiah.

Sure as can be, when Bruce peered out of his cracked door, he saw a faint light peeking from beneath the office door. The rest of the house still and quiet, the sounds of muffled voices could be heard just a tad more clearly from where he stood.

Bruce knew without doubt he needed to get in there. He’d known it before, but was hesitant to rock the boat out of fear of upsetting the inventor, of hurting him with his betrayal. But he could give a rat’s ass about Jeremiah’s feelings right now, he needed to get the fuck out.

Jeremiah’s bedroom was located directly next to Bruce’s, on the left hand side. It was a room he’d never himself been inside of, though he’d seen glimpses of it in passing going about his day-to-day routine the last few months. Unlike the office, Bruce had never been explicitly banned from going inside. Bruce could now recognize it as an unspoken hope of Jeremiah’s- that one day Bruce might become comfortable enough to willingly enter as private a place as his bedroom, that their relationship might grow in that way.

Bruce took up that silent offer now, while Jeremiah was still locked away in his office and unable to stop him from thoroughly snooping.

He didn’t know what he was looking for. A set of keys, paperwork, the lost city of Atlantis; who knew. Bruce hoped his instincts would kick in once he got going, point him in the right direction and alert him if he stumbled upon anything to help his desperate cause.

As he crept to the next room, Bruce reflected on his day’s pondering.

It was enlightening, seeing Jeremiah like this. He supposed he should be thanking the man for ripping off a band aid that Bruce had been too scared to himself. He had no choice now but to face facts: Jeremiah was beyond Bruce’s help.

For now, at least.

Jeremiah did not see any of the things he did as ‘bad’. He was not the villain in this story. He saw it, all of it, at worst, as a necessary evil committed for the sake of progress. A few lives lost here, a few brainwashed kids there, a couple of downed skyscrapers; it was all for the greater good. He saw himself as something so much bigger than he really was. And he went and put Bruce on a pedestal almost as high as his, no warning, and he saw nothing fundamentally wrong about the atrocities he caused along the way as long at the ends justifies the means.

You couldn’t help someone who didn’t want help.

You couldn’t help someone who didn’t think there was anything wrong to begin with.

Even if, in another life, Jeremiah hadn’t succeeded in blowing up the bridges, even if Bruce somehow manages to survive, got Jeremiah the help he needed- hired the best nurses, found the best psychiatrists, located the most promising and expensive treatments- it would do nothing in the long run if Jeremiah was not himself willing to admit he’d done wrong. That he was sick to begin with.

Bruce couldn’t force him to see things his way. He couldn’t love the sickness out of him. All he could do was try to get away, survive his ordeal and come up with a better plan when he wasn’t as disadvantaged.

Jeremiah’s bedroom door was unlocked when Bruce tried it.

The hinges gave a low groan as he began to ease it open, and the young man sucked in his breath and froze. The talking in the office stopped for a moment, and Bruce thought he heard movement. But no shadows could be seen moving beneath the door, and the talking soon picked up again.

Slowly, he let out that held breath, and opened it another inch or two, just wide enough for his lean form to slip inside.

It was dark, but Bruce had a flashlight, gifted to him by Jeremiah after a midnight run to the kitchen for some tea once almost got him a knife in the shoulder, as he hadn’t realized Chef liked to sleep off his stupors on the dark floor by the stove.

The bedroom itself was nice. The walls were a deep green, a soft Persian rug covered dark wood floors, the furniture old fashioned but tasteful. Gauzy curtains let in what little starlight shone outside, the wardrobe cracked open a bit to expose just how bursting it was with well-tailored suits and nice coats.

The night stand had a half drunk glass of water and a stack of books on it, glasses thrown on top of the stack and gathering a bit of dust. A desk was situated nearer to the window where it would get the most light during the day. Bruce decided it was as good a place as any to begin.

Weeks of working with Jeremiah familiarized him with his organization systems. Bruce realized nothing much had changed since the gas incident as he sorted carefully through everything. From what he could garner looking through the pages, it was plans for the water filter project he'd been working on the last few months. Bruce remembered him mentioning it earlier that afternoon, how he believed they were close to something of a breakthrough with his prototype, and they stood a good chance of having running water back before Christmas.

There were lists from recent supply runs, notes from the geothermal system they’d installed out back a week ago. Pencils and pens littered the desk, a mug with hours old coffee situated dangerously close to the water filter blueprints. Bruce ‘tsked’ with fond irritation, despite himself. Jeremiah always had the tendency to get careless while working. He resisted the urge to move it somewhere safer, remembering this was supposed to be a stealth mission of sorts, and couldn’t leave any traces that he’d been in there.

Inside the drawers there were protractors, maps of Gotham, a compass and other tools he wasn’t sure he would know how to use if asked. The crumpled bits of paper proved to be old and discarded filter plans, some were notes on improvements he needed to make on the energy generators.

As he looked through, careful and silent, it occurred to Bruce to try and check for false bottoms.

It took a bit of finagling, but his gut feeling proved correct. One of the drawers did, indeed, have a false bottom. It popped open, revealing something thin and cool to the touch, and a lumpier object wrapped in cloth. Stopping to be sure Jeremiah was not making any moves to leave his office, Bruce eased the objects out and shined his light down on them.

There was a picture. It was in a plain, cheap frame, the glass cracked and splintering out across the old photograph inside. But you could still make out the smiling faces of two boys. Twins. They had their arms looped around one another, dressed in their matching sailor suits, red curls glowing like flames in the afternoon sun. They beamed out at the camera with all the keenness of young children who didn't know the meaning of the term 'Self Conscious'. One of the boys had a very familiar pair of glasses perched on his nose. The other was missing two of his front teeth.

A woman knelt down to pose with them, not quite smiling as she squinted out at the camera. She’s dressed in a plain cotton dress, the style a bit old fashioned and showing signs of being well worn. Her hair was carefully curled and pinned to her head, a pair of gloves clutched in one of her hands. Her sun hat looked a tad shabby with age and use. Lilah. And with her were her little boys, Jerome and Jeremiah Valeska.

Bruce stared down at the photo, his heart twisting. Jeremiah had opened up some to Bruce about his…complicated relationship with his family. How most days he fought an internal battle with himself, unable to decide if he loved his mother and brother or despised them for everything they’d put him through.

The second object Bruce pulled out, as it turns out, was enclosed within an old handkerchief. It had a delicate border around it, flowers and vines embroidered on the corners of the now off-white fabric.

Carefully, he peeled the fabric back. The light glinted off of something as he did, metallic. Bruce could feel his pulse pick up as more of the object became exposed, showing-

A pocket knife.

Not particularly fancy, it was a standard pocket knife you might pick up at any camping store for relatively cheap. The initials on it, D.F, were faded from the years gone by, but still there if one really looked at it.

Bruce got a strange feeling looking at this knife. There was something there, in the back of his head, trying to get out.

Why hide the knife?

The picture made sense. Bruce got that. But the knife seemed a strange thing in Bruce’s mind.

Jeremiah kept weapons all about the house, he made no secret that he was armed. He had his own gun on him at all times, just about, probably knives too, if Bruce were to ever pat him down. The gym had sparring equipment, and antique weapons were scattered about as decorations all over the place. Between that and all the weapons kept by Jeremiah’s minions and the employees working within the Townhouse (and even some of the gardening tools and kitchen equipment, if they were to get terribly specific), there was no shortage of sharp or otherwise lethal implements in the building.

So what about this knife, specifically, made it necessary to keep it so far out of sight?

He glanced back at the picture. Stared at little Jeremiah’s smiling face. He seemed so carefree in it, so happy. Innocent.

Jerome, too, seemed an average, happy kid, at first glance. You may never have guessed by looking at him he would grow up to cause so many horrors, before dying in a blaze of glory via falling from a building.

In Bruce’s mind, logic dictated these objects had a connection of some sort. They were hidden together in this same false bottom drawer, whether as a conscious decision on Jeremiah’s part to keep them together or a choice he didn’t even realize he was making when he’d put them there-

He wrapped the knife back up and placed it back where he found it, and returned his attention to the picture frame.

Instincts told him to turn the frame around, fingers playing with the clasps in the back which held the backing of the frame and the picture within in place. He’d heard before of people hiding documents behind paintings or family photos, and wondered if such an idea would be too obvious for someone like Jeremiah. His fingers wandered down to the clasps, moving to pry the backing off, deciding it better to be thorough.

“Bruce?” A voice came from behind him.

The young man felt his heart stop.

Chapter Text

Jeremiah was devastated, to say the least.

He’d been so proud of this pet project of his; The first step of many to come for New Gotham (name pending). Something he could hand off to Bruce, to encourage him to follow in his parents’ footsteps and give him a bit more direction than he’s had for a minute.

The idea had to come to him some time ago, something Jeremiah would casually play with when bored or distracted by thinking about Bruce. It only started seeing any real fruition in recent weeks when he caught himself pondering certain….doubts. Mostly revolving around Ra’s, his short-term partner and co-conspirator in the plans to successfully take out Gotham’s access to the mainland.

Jeremiah had meant it when he told the younger man on that fateful night that he didn’t do the whole ‘prophecy’ thing. It was rubbish in Jeremiah’s mind, garbage one would read in a shitty fairytale or the plot of an equally terrible fantasy movie. Who could be foolish enough to run their entire life based upon the stars or tea leaves, on pulling a random card with some arbitrary given meaning?

There were many things that Jeremiah felt Ra’s and himself had in contrast with one another. The point where the two of them had agreed had been this: Bruce was special. Bruce was meant to go on and do great things.

Not because some nutcase a thousand years ago said it would be so; not because the stars and the moon and the sun had been at a specific spot at a specific time on the specific day that Bruce had been born, cementing all the events of young Bruce’s life until his eventual mortal death.

No, Bruce was special because…well, he just was, damn it!

So Jeremiah found himself debating over this ‘Dark Knight’ business. Thought about the pros and cons of putting Bruce in the line of danger like that, to act as a defender of the people in the new world they aimed to build. Could he really risk Bruce like that? Could he send him out, day after day, night after night, to risk his neck for these people? These Gothamites, too stupid and helpless to do anything other than mosy through life like brainless cattle, either unwilling or unable to make any significant changes without a leader to guide their way?

Then Bruce got sick, and Jerome kept creeping up on Jeremiah and whispering into his ear when he wasn’t expecting it, and it pushed something inside of Jeremiah.

He was getting paranoid, now.

If he could, he would just take Bruce and tuck him away, maybe in a jacket pocket, so he could be close and safe and near Jeremiah always. He’d build him a perfect gilded cage, dote on him every minute of every day, keep him away from everything that might strive to hurt him, from anything he might do to hurt himself.

Keep him always near, always near, always near.

Of course, with his numerous spies planted over in Haven he was able to keep better tabs on Gordon and the progress being made in his sorry excuse for a refuge, along with any potential rescue attempts being launched for his sweetheart.

Ivy had been tasked with responsibility to help create a bio filter with their resident engineer, Lucius Fox. Ecco was kept under strict lock and key for the moment, still trying to earn everyone’s trust, and no serious progress seems to have been made by the GCPD on the Wayne case. Ecco had led police to the abandoned hideout in Ace Chemicals, just as instructed, enough clues left behind to confirm that she was telling the truth and that Jeremiah had, in fact, once been there, but not enough to let the officers know where he went.

A message was sent back with his Mole, informing Ms. Pepper that it was imperative the filter she and Fox were working on did not succeed. He couldn’t risk Haven reaching self-sufficiency in any degree before his kingdom did.

Everything appeared to be going smoothly apart from that.

But that didn’t stop Jerome from sneering.

God, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten an evening’s peace since Jerome started regularly appearing to him. He had an awful lot of opinions for a dead man. A lot of things to say about Bruce, about their relationship.

Some part of him hoped that that afternoon might have marked…something. Anything. A sign that Jeremiah was doing things right, that Bruce was warming up to his new life, that he was willing and ready to step up and start taking on a more active role in shaping things with Jeremiah. What he’d gotten instead was a very quiet and pale looking Bruce, who’d abruptly excused himself to go lie down when they’d gotten home because of an alleged headache.

Jeremiah had given him an hour or two before going to check on him. He’d checked every hour after, each time greeted with the same sight of him passed out in bed, back facing the doorway as he curled into a tight little ball under his quilt.

Was he sick again? Had he done something wrong?

An urgent message was sent out to Strange as soon as Ophelia informed Jeremiah that he hadn’t eaten a bite of the supper he had himself left upstairs for him. The doctor was instructed to come straight to the Townhouse as soon as he was awake the following morning for another check up with the billionaire.

Bruce, he was sure, would be unhappy, his feelings being made very clear to Jeremiah the first time he’d woken to find the man at his bedside. But Jeremiah wasn’t willing to risk anything right now when it came to Bruce’s health. He’d willingly take Bruce’s anger if it meant being reassured he was still truly in one piece.

At some point in the day, Jervis Tetch and Jonathan Crane had blessed Jeremiah with their presence, choosing to swing by to congratulate him on the successful unveiling of his school.

Generally, Jeremiah tried to not mix business with his home life, keeping Bruce out of their discussions as often as possible. But his concerns regarding the man’s behavior came out as the three of them conversed, and he was solemnly reminded by Crane of their offered ‘alternatives’ if his plans should go awry. “I can’t say I myself agree with the particular stratagem you’ve set yourself upon regarding young Wayne,” Crane’s somewhat hoarse voice tried to drawl. “But do remember, both myself and Tetch happily offer our services to you should you find yourself at something of an impasse.”

Jeremiah had attempted to keep his rejection polite, yet firm. The two were excused soon after, but not before Tetch reiterated their respective offers to the now angry Jeremiah.

He sat now, hours later, in his office, mind spinning. Sleep evaded him, and he found himself breaking into his liquor stores to try and find some relief from all the tumultuous thoughts inside him.

His partners in crime had expressed hesitation in supporting Jeremiah’s choice to bring Bruce into the fold those many months ago. A man like Bruce would not trade sides easily, and he was well known for helping out the GCPD even before the bridges fell, back when he was just a nosey rich kid with a tragic backstory and too much money to blow. How could they trust him?

It had been Crane who worked up enough nerve to approach Jeremiah first.

Admittedly, he knew it was a tad hypocritical of him to turn his nose up at it when the plan was shared with him. Especially when it was, in essence, just a slightly altered version of a plan previously hatched by Jeremiah himself when first attempting to recruit Bruce to his cause.

Crane had been the mastermind behind the gas that gifted Jeremiah with his new, startling appearance. He’d spent weeks following his successful escape with Jerome and Tetch perfecting the formula, experimenting on unfortunate civilians captured by their forces to ensure it was exactly what Jerome wanted. It would have been no issue for Crane to concoct a fresh batch at Jeremiah’s behest. They could even have waited until the young man was asleep, rigging up something to silently pump it into his room, so as not to minimize any upset with the initial dosage, possibly spare Jeremiah a little guilt.

Crane had assured him he’d be fully back on Jeremiah’s side by sunrise, no room for doubts and suspicion. Certainly, it would save him a fair bit of time that would have otherwise been spent trying to win Bruce over by more natural efforts.

When it became apparent to Crane that Jeremiah did not appear too keen on his idea, Tetch stepped up with his own suggestions.

Less potentially traumatic, Tetch could use his hypnosis to better sway Bruce, opening his mind to Jeremiah’s point of view with a few words and the swinging of his trusty timepiece. The obvious disadvantage is, even as air tight as Tetch’s work typically was, he’d never done a sort of ‘long-haul’ hypnosis like would be required to keep Bruce under control for the foreseeable future. Regular surveillance would be required, especially during the first few months, and most likely regular ‘check ups’ and refreshes on the hypnosis as well. And that wasn’t even touching on the unknown long-term effects of having someone under a spell for so long. What sort of damage might it do if Tetch wasn’t careful? Would the damage be treatable?

There was, however, the decided advantage that Tetch could hypnotize Bruce into doing or saying anything that Jeremiah wanted.

Anything.

That one had, admittedly, been tempting.

Ultimately, however, he stuck to his guns and dismissed both ideas with a hard ‘no’. He couldn’t do it, though not because there didn’t exist within Jeremiah some horrible creature that deeply wanted to.

It was because the rest of him knew Bruce would never forgive him if he did.

There were so many things that Jeremiah loved about the billionaire. Every time he saw him, he found himself thinking of a few more to add to his ever growing list: The color of his eyes, the way his hair curled against his cheek, his profile in the sun, the way he moved when he was throwing a punch.

But it was his mind, above all else, that Jeremiah adored.

That first time they met, that fateful day where Jim Gordon brought the two of them together, he’d asked Jeremiah about his projects. Earnest curiosity in his gaze as he told the inventor he had a ‘brilliant mind’.

Where at first he assumed it was strategic flattery to get him to agree to Jim’s half cooked plan to outsmart Jerome, when Bruce eventually approached Jeremiah again , offering to help fund Jeremiah’s projects, even going so far as to asking if he could help with the actual making of his generators-

Jeremiah knew right there and then, something was there. Something far more than any of Gotham’s vapid gossip rags could ever hope to sniff out while they waited for the Prince of Gotham to fall back into his past bad behavior, to become the next juicy tagline for their front covers.

Bruce may have needed a bit of a helping hand in understanding the basic mechanics of Jeremiah’s projects, and may have lacked in correct terminology and theory, but he was a fast learner when given time and the correct teacher. He asked actually interesting questions, engaged with Jeremiah beyond glassy eyed, disinterested stares, or half hearted grunts that typically indicated whoever he was speaking to was simply waiting for Jeremiah to stop talking.

With Bruce, Jeremiah felt as though he’d found something of an equal.

And what a rare gift that was.

Jeremiah couldn’t risk ruining it. Couldn’t risk fumbling the one truly good thing to come into his life in God knows how long.

So, no matter how much that desperate part of him clawed and pined for Bruce, to own him, to control him completely, he needed to be stronger. He couldn’t afford to lose himself to that ugliness inside.

He was drunk now, damn it all.

Pressing the now empty glass in his hand to his temple, Jeremiah slumped in his seat and closed his eyes, embracing the dark behind his eyelids.

On the brightside, he couldn’t hear Jerome anymore. He was tired of bickering with the apparition of his brother, tired of debating the ethics of giving in to baser instincts. The undead asshole was getting stronger, now able to conjure images unbidden to Jeremiah’s unrested mind.

It was those occasional little wins against Jerome that counted. Like making him shut the fuck up.

When, at last, he could bring himself to open his eyes, the clock showed it was almost half past twelve.

It was late. He should sleep. Sleep was good. The alcohol made his body feel heavy, even as his head seemed to spin. It warmed him as well, a pleasant buzzing in his fingers and toes as he carefully wiggled them. With any luck, he could just collapse into bed and pass out with little issue.

Up to his feet he got, extinguishing the lights in his office and tidying his desk. The half drunk bottle of whiskey was placed back in its cupboard, and the glass was taken all the way downstairs to be dealt with in the morning, when Jeremiah could actually care.

Back up the stairs he trudged, tugging at his tie and unbuttoning his vest.

He’d just begun unbuttoning his dress shirt as he reached his bedroom door, not immediately registering that said door (which had definitely been shut when he’d left for supper that night) was now cracked.

It wasn’t until he lifted his eyes and realized the brightness in his room was not caused by the rising of the moon, but was instead a beam of light projected from a flashlight, that it dawned on him he was not alone in his room.

His first impulse was to launch into fight mode, but the figure holding the light was familiar to Jeremiah. He recognized the leanness of their build, the softness of their sweater, the wisps of hair at their neck slightly backlit by the glaring light in their hand.

“Bruce?”

The boy spun around with a yelp. A familiar object was clutched in his hands. Jeremiah’s eyes darted down to it, up to Bruce’s face and back again. “What are you doing in my room?”

He seemed just as lost in this moment as Jeremiah felt. “Couldn’t sleep.” He settled on at last.

The inventor huffed a bit at that. “Decided to do some late night exploring, instead?”

There was a war of emotions on Bruce's face. “Are you mad?”

A good question. Jeremiah tilted his head to one side, now staring firmly at the picture frame still clutched in thin, pale hands. He stepped forward, but stopped when he saw Bruce flinch back. Deciding to give Bruce his space, he held up a hand of his own instead, silently asking his possession be handed back over to him.

It had been a while since he’d looked at the picture. Even while putting it in its little hideaway when moving into the master bedroom, Jeremiah had gone out of its way to not look directly at it (or the accompanying offending object left wrapped in his mother’s handkerchief).

He turned it around in his hands, careful not to linger too long as he examined the back of the frame before returning it to its original position. Jeremiah found he couldn’t stop the smile that lifted the corners of his mouth as he gazed down at the faces of three familiar strangers.

“Mother told us growing up that our father was a sailor.” He said in lieu of an answer. “Said he’d gone down with his ship when we were both still babies. Died an honorable death. I believed it for years.”

Bruce stared. “You look like her. Your mother. She was pretty.”

Jeremiah thanked God his blanch white skin in combination with the dark room hid any signs of blushing. “It worked out well for her that we did look so alike.” He joked. “I imagine it would have been significantly more difficult for her to sell the lie as Jerome and I aged if people kept commenting how alike we looked to the man who claimed to talk to the dead for a living, the next tent over.”

Jeremiah’s reply seemed to stump Bruce. Biting down on his bottom lip, he looked away and again asked Jeremiah if he was upset.

“Surprisingly?” He laughed. “Not really, no.” Placing the picture on his desk and shutting the drawer, he turned to gaze back at Bruce, leaning back on the desk and shaking his head. “Of course, my dearest, it should be said that I will only be letting it slide this one time. It's been a trying time, I know, and you haven’t quite been yourself this past week.”

He reached up to push a curl behind Bruce’s ear. “How is your head feeling, by the way?”

“Okay,” Bruce murmured back. “I’m tired now, more than anything.”

“I’ve sent a message to Strange.”

“I understand.”

“He’ll be here to take a look at you tomorrow morning.”

“Yes.” Bruce nodded, but the shudder of dread was easily seen.

“Victor and I will be there the entire time. I meant it when I said I won’t allow him to be alone with you.”

He sighed. “And I thank you for that, Jeremiah.” Wrapping his arms around himself, Bruce shuffled a little awkwardly. “I did mean it when I said it was just a migraine. I didn’t mean to make a fuss.”

Jeremiah stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “This is your health we’re talking about, Bruce. It isn’t a fuss. Not to me, anyways.”

The two stood in the dark for a long moment, Jeremiah gazing down at the top of Bruce’s head as the young billionaire abjectly refused to make eye contact. Why did it suddenly feel like they were back to being strangers again?

“Do you want to talk about today?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay.” Jeremiah nodded. Don’t push him, don’t push him, don’t break him, don’t break him, don’t break him…

“I’m really tired, Jeremiah.”

“Okay.”

Bruce lifted his head, shyly glancing at him. “I want to go to bed.”

“Alright.” Jeremiah moved then, carefully (as though he were made of glass) placing his hand on Bruce’s upper back, guiding him back towards his bedroom door.

Nothing was said as they entered the darkened hall, nor as they reentered Bruce’s room. Jeremiah kept his hand on Bruce until he was fully seated back on his bed, with Jeremiah moving to tuck him in as carefully as one would a young child.

Jeremiah wanted to do a lot of things at that moment. He felt as though there was a lot that needed to be said. He could feel the words circling like starving tigers behind his teeth.

But he was drunk, and he was tired, and he could feel Jerome stirring in the back of his skull, and Jeremiah would be damned if he let that brute get anywhere near Bruce (especially while Jeremiah was inebriated and not quite in control of himself).

Yet it didn’t feel right to just say goodnight and leave. So as he whispered his farewell to Bruce, he stooped over and gently placed a kiss to his head, short and sweet. He could feel Bruce stiffen but delighted when he didn’t pull away or shout.

Small, yet it was something.

He returned to his own room with lead feet dragging. He didn’t allow himself to dwell on how badly he wanted to turn back around and drag Bruce back, to beg him to stay with Jeremiah for the night.

He wanted to be alone, almost as much as he wanted not to be alone. He wanted to be held like a child, to scream, to drown out his brother with the scent and warmth of Bruce.

He felt unsettled in his skin, like it had suddenly become an ill fitting suit. He felt trapped, as though eyes were gazing at him from every darkened corner. He felt like a rubber band about to snap.

He wasn’t sure he always knew who he was anymore.

Chapter Text

“You like the greenhouse.” Lee stated more than asked.

Ivy glanced up from where she was syncing together the three parts of the filter into one contraption that didn’t look too dissimilar to a common bushcraft water filter. At the far end of it was a planter full of her creations; a hybrid flower created from common dandelions and a special sea algae she’d collected from water samples taken from the bay. Blended together, they created a species able to thrive on chemical contamination in water alone.

She thought for a moment, pretending to be absorbed by her work to buy time, then shrugged. “Plants make better company than people.”

Lee seemed to get a kick out of that. She smiled as she looked back to her own task. It had been agreed that the clinic would get first dibs on clean water (the filter could only pump out so much at one time), and Ivy was in charge of keeping a close eye on her creations until such time as they could safely take a few clippings and begin setting up a second system that can be used for drinking and agricultural purposes.

“Never had much of a green thumb myself,” The doctor continued without looking at Ivy. The redhead mustered all her mental strength to project out her annoyance, hoping the other woman would pick up on it and stop trying to make conversation. “I had this orange tree growing up, right in my backyard,” No dice. “It was so beautiful, I would climb it in the summertime and read for hours on end. To this day, the smell of citrus can almost put me to sleep, just remembering.”

Her one bucket now full, Lee gently lifted it onto the free corner of the work bench behind her, all lined with seed starters in old plastic containers. She grabbed her second bucket and repeated her process.

“When Mom and Dad wanted us to move up north, I was devastated. I didn’t want to leave my orange tree behind. But they suggested I take a clipping with me, so I can grow another orange tree wherever we end up, and it can always remind me of the home I was raised in.

“I was so careful getting that clipping. Put it in the soil as soon as I could. Had really high hopes when I saw it trying to take root. But it died after almost a month in the ground.” Lee shook her head, still smiling. “Devastated, I tell you.”

It was bait. Ivy knew it. Lee knew it. She debated ignoring it.

“It might have been root rot.” Ivy kept the statement flat and clipped. “Or the variety was wrong, wherever you ended up. There are cold-hardy variations of orange trees that might have taken better.” And fucking hell, there you go. Lee looked pleased. Fuck.

“You did great work on this filter, you and Lucius both. He’d kill me if he heard me saying this, but I truly believe this wouldn’t have been possible without you.”

Ivy snorted. “What makes you think that?”

The doctor shrugged. “Get Lucius in a room with some tech, he’s second to none. I mean, genuinely. He’s brilliant. But it's limited in a scenario like… well, like what we’re in.

“Your abilities, it's like you’re on the opposite end of the spectrum. There isn’t much you can do when you’re cut off from nature, but when you aren’t? You can take a handful of seeds and some salt water samples and create an entirely new species of dandelion.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Ivy stared at Dr. Thomkins as she gave one last serene smile, retrieving her other bucket and beginning to lug them both back in the direction of the courtyard.

Halfway out the door, she stopped and turned to address Ivy once more. “Jim talked to me about granting you some privileges, for good behavior. I told him it’d be a good idea. Recommended more time out here, helping with the garden.” She chuckled a bit. “I imagine you must be getting pretty sick of the lab.”

Ivy kept staring after her as she vanished outside. She was right, she was going stir crazy in her current situation. Long hours in the lab, only to turn around to spend her night in a cell next to Ecco. It took its toll on her, between this and her sickness slowly accelerating (terrible coughs, blood stains on her pillow from where it trickled out of her ears at night, terrible aches and pains, etc) existence was a burden to her.

Ecco did nothing to help. She, having even less in terms of stimulation and enrichment with days spent in her own cell, her only company Ivy and the occasional chat with GCPD officers, had taken to singing to pass the time. Not well, mind you, and her song rotation was kept to a select few which she performed over

And over

And over

And over again.

If she had to hear ‘It’s A Small World Afterall’ one more time, she was going to figure out how to bust through the bars imprisoning them both and throttle her herself.

But the potential for new freedom would mean Jeremiah’s expectations would also increase. She’d already been reprimanded via note for her inability to slow down the filter progress (Nevermind the fact that communication via note is actually slow as shit, so it really isn’t her fault she didn’t know in time. Her abilities did not extend into fucking mind reading.)

Jeremiah had instructed Ivy to keep her eyes and ears to the ground, looking for any weak links she could exploit. But he’d especially emphasized Oswald and his old beau, Nygma. Her temporary partnership with Os, back in the day, gave her an edge on what buttons to push and when for maximum damage. He was volatile, even on a good day, with more enemies than friends within Haven.

He was the perfect little Human Bomb.

She likes hanging out with Selina again, though. It reminded her of the good old days; Two kids with nowhere to go, in a community of other people with nowhere to go, just…making the most of it.

And Lucius, far from a friend, was interesting to talk to when he wasn’t always looking over his shoulder at Ivy. Lee was right, he knew what the fuck he was talking about when it came to tech. He was smart, logic-driven, very contrary to her and Selina’s quick tempers. The girls- really, young women now, odd to think- took turns teasing him as they worked, and it had been easy to forget why she was there to begin with.

Much to think about. But nothing was written in stone just yet, Ivy reminded herself. She couldn’t be letting herself think so far ahead.

One day at a time.

So she finished the final touches to the installed filter, feeling satisfied with her work, and decided it was time to take a lunch break.

Stepping outside, the winter sun was weak, barely warming her where it touched her skin. She always had a chill, these days. One of the nuns, Sister Quynh, had taken pity on the former terrorist and found an old sweater to give her. It was knitted for someone three times her size, navy blue save for the spots that were painstakingly mended with whatever yarn scraps could be found lying about. She tugged the sleeves down over her hands to try and warm them as she set out looking for her lunch buddy.

Selina was in the middle of some kind of acrobatic routine when she spotted her, out in the main courtyard. Ivy stopped to admire for a moment, watching her friend land a particularly gravity-defying set without so much as breaking a sweat. While her expression was one of intense concentration, it was easily the calmest Ivy had seen her in a minute.

It was five minutes before Ivy’s presence was acknowledged, in the form of Selina starting violently after straightening from a backflip and yelling “Son of bitch!”

“Sorry, I didn't want to interrupt.”

“It’s fine just…Jesus, Ives, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

Ivy shuffled her boots. “I’m sorry. Did you want to have lunch together? I’ve got an extra sandwich.”

The burglar huffed a small laugh. “Fuck it. Sure. It's not one of those weird micro-veggie ones, is it?”

“That’s the only vegan option they have, Kat.”

“Damn. Ah, well, food’s food.”

The ladies happily claimed one of the sunnier spots left open in the courtyard, sandwiches handed out with a half a can of peaches to split between the two of them. A tin mug of water Ivy had snuck from the greenhouse was kept out of sight between sneaky sips.

While Ivy was still chilled to the bone, it was actually a warmer day than they’d had in a while, so many were out and about trying to enjoy it. Some kids were kicking a slightly deflated ball back and forth, a few nuns helped a group of seniors get settled into old lawn chairs with fluffy blankets tucked around their legs. There was chatter and birdsong, but a cool breeze blew through them, bringing with it the promise of dreary days ahead.

Needing to break the silence, Ivy told Selina what Lee had said back in the greenhouse. She seemed every bit as surprised as Ivy had been.

“Already?” She exclaimed. “I mean, no offense, but it's not as though you have the least threatening criminal record. I’d have thought it would take way longer before they’d even consider cutting the cord with you.”

“You’re right.” Ivy agreed with a sigh. “My only guess is that the water situation must have been more dire than they’d let on, want to keep me sweet in case they need my help still.” There was definitely a chain of command in Haven, and information was passed on on a 'as needed' basis. Jim especially strikes Ivy as the type of person to want to hold things back for the sake of avoiding a mass panic.

Selina grunted, shifting to stretch out a leg as she began tugging on her boot laces. “So sick of this place,” She grumbled.

The red head chewed her bite of sandwich thoughtfully as she watched her. “Worse places to be,” She settled on.

“Yeah, well, no shit. Fully aware of that.” The burglar took another sip from their tin. “I haven’t had my head in the dirt for a year.”

“Just saying. I lived out there, Kat. I was on my own for a lot of this. It was pretty brutal. You’re tough, sure, but there are some things I don’t think even you’d be able to stomach.”

“What? You mean killing? New flash, I have killed people, Ives.”

“A person.” She sharply corrected. “And I don’t think that really counts, because he isn’t actually dead.”

“I wasn’t talking about Jeremiah, actually.”

“What?”

Selina swallowed thickly, clearly regretting her loose tongue. “Forget it, Ivy, I-”

“No, fuck that, what did you just say to me?”

“I killed someone. Okay? He was a shithead, and- and not a good dude, and he was threatening someone I actually really liked, so I took care of it. Police ruled it an accident. It was a while ago, I doubt anyone would even remember except me and- and someone else.”

“What the fuck, Kat?”

“What?” It was Selina’s turn to look confused.

“Don’t you ‘what’ me, that’s fucked is what.”

She snorted at Ivy’s upset. “Anyone else picking up on the hypocrisy here? What, is murder only okay when it's in the name of Mother Nature?”

The small jab earned a wince from Ivy. “I wasn’t saying that, Selina. But-”

“‘But’ nothing, Ivy. You held a room full of rich people hostage and threatened to turn them into a garden, made front page news. You’ve almost killed Bruce. Took over the GCPD, took out a couple of the wealthiest people in Gotham as well as their families, while implicating me, in case you fuckin’ forgot. You don’t get to look down on me just because I did what needed to be done while I was on the streets.”

“Those fuckers had it coming, Selina-”

“And so did this guy! So… there!” Selina threw up her hands in exasperation. “Let’s just agree to disagree, alright?”

Ivy slumped against the wall. “Fine.” She hissed back. “Fine.” She repeated, softer this time. “I’m sorry.”

Selina tore another piece off of her sandwich and took out some of her anger on it. “It’s fine,” she replied. “I wouldn’t exactly say it was one of my prouder moments, regardless. I guess I’m just a bit defensive about-” she gestured her hand vaguely. “-Things.”

The red head tentatively held out the peach can as a peace offering. She waited until her companion accepted before speaking again.

“I get that, Kat. Really, I do. Please understand I don’t mean to judge, you just kind of caught me off guard, is all. I also need you to understand that it isn’t just a matter of being street smart anymore, Selina. It isn’t the Gotham you remember out there. Its the end of the fucking world.”

“Bruce is out there.”

“Maybe.” Ivy shrugged. “Maybe not.”

Selina sighed, curling into herself. “He is, I know it. And if I could just get out there-”

“One person against an entire army? Its a suicide mission, Kat.”

“Well Gordon’s not gonna help. His only focus is getting us all back to the mainland. He thinks he’ll have more resources to search for Bruce if he can get access to shit like the Coast Guard.”

Ivy tried her hardest to sound genuine when she replied “He might be right.”

It earned her a sharp (though admittedly deserved) glare. “Even if it happens, all the odds are stacked against us. It’ll just make it that much easier for Jeremiah to traffic Bruce away from the island undetected.”

Ivy wasn’t looking at Selina as she spoke. She was watching the kids playing again. They’d stopped kicking the ball around in favor of simply chasing one another around in a round of tag. They were screeching with laughter as they zipped about, carefree in spite of everything going on around them. Her heart ached a bit at the sight.

She stood suddenly, her ass getting numb from the cobblestone beneath it. She motioned for Selina to join her. “What’s the plan, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t think Jim’s doing enough, fine. Fair enough. What’s your plan? How are you going to do better?”

Selina looked a tad taken aback. She stumbled through her response. “Just- Y’know, go out there. Shake down a few clowns-”

“Not good enough.” Ivy shook her head. The burglar stared, mouth agape. She pushed on. “You can’t just fly by the seat of your pants, not with Jeremiah. Men like him, they can predict and adapt to your every move, even before you know you’re going to make it. It's a whole different ball game out there, girl.”

“So what do you suggest I do?”

“You’ll need help, first of all. I’m on probation, so my hands are a little tied.”

“I have Alfred.” Selina suggested.

Internally, Ivy ran through a list of names and faces until she thought she found who she was looking for. “The butler?” She shot Selina a confused look.

Selina didn’t appear phased. “You’d be shocked. And besides, allies are a little hard to come by right now.”

“What about Barbara? You guys were a team for a while.”

“She’s having a baby, Ives. I can’t drag her into this. Even if I’m sure she still absolutely could handle a mission like this while carrying the equivalent of a bowling ball in her belly….The baby needs her more than I do.”

She couldn’t argue her friend's logic. “Fine. So, the butler.”

Selina began to slowly meander back towards the main building, Ivy trailing behind her. “He’s got actual training. Military grade shit. I don’t know all the details, he and Bruce are pretty tight lipped about Alfred’s past, but I’ve seen some of what he can do with my own eyes. He’s legit.”

“He’s also a mess.” Ivy had caught glimpses of him in her time at Haven. Mostly kept to himself, though he’d seen him occasionally indulge Lee in conversation. She knew he and Selina had become buddy-buddy at some point, more so since Bruce’s disappearance. The power of shared pain. “High emotions can be fatal with what you’re trying to do.”

“So my next step should be getting him out of his head then?” Selina asked.

“Couldn’t hurt. Slow and steady wins the race, right?”

“Ivy!” The women both turned and she felt her stomach drop a bit at the sight of Jim Gordon waving her over. “Need to speak with you a second.”

“Sweet freedom…” Selina murmured sarcastically.

“Just think about it, yeah?” Ivy asked before starting her unenthusiastic shuffle towards the detective. A feeling came over her as she moved, a feeling that she was passing the point of no return.