Batman: Lost to the Night--Part XI

Special thanks to Will Moore for help with Joker’s dialogue.

“Leavin’s Not the Only Way to Go” written by Roger Miller. From Big River (Copyright 1988 by Decca)

Hush stared down at Bruce’s groaning form and growled. “Stay put.” Then, with several vicious blows of his foot, the former surgeon kicked the injured man hard enough to nudge him over the threshold of the office. He pressed down on the push-button lock, and slammed the door closed.

“It’s locked!” Bruce heard him call. “Let’s get out of here!”

He heard the inmates shriek past.

“Are you able to move?”

He opened his eyes. Jeremiah Arkham was kneeling next to him with an odd expression on his face. It took Bruce a moment to recognize it as concern. He struggled to rise, muscles protesting as he did so.

“Come on,” Arkham said, as he reached for Bruce’s hands. He unfastened the restraints, and took hold of Bruce’s arm, draping it across his own shoulders. “I realize that you dislike lying down,” he said, as he guided the injured man toward the couch, “but I’m afraid that I’m going to insist, this time.”

Bruce shook his head, forcing himself to ignore the pain in his chest. Elliot’s kicks might have cracked a rib or two, but he couldn’t worry about that now. “I have to stop them. The guard… They’ll…”

Arkham pushed him firmly back onto the padded surface. “Much as you don’t want to hear this: whatever they were going to do to him has already been done, by now.” His voice was surprisingly gentle. “At this moment, you need to rest.”

“I’m fine.” He’d worked through worse pain than this before.

Arkham gave an exasperated sniff. “In addition to any other injuries you might have just sustained, you’ve been shocked twice by a stun baton. Would you like me to review the potential complications with you? As per standard procedure, you need to be kept under observation. Preferably in the infirmary, though I grant you that’s not possible at the moment.”

“You can observe me via the security cameras,” Bruce made an effort to get up from the couch, “as usual.”

“Do I need to replace your restraints?” the asylum director demanded icily. “Lie still.”

Bruce considered. His muscles were still sore from the tasering, while his ribs were aching. Once he recovered more fully, he didn’t doubt that he could overpower the doctor and get the door open, but not if Arkham had him tied down to the couch. Was it equipped with restraints? He turned his head and looked over the side. Yes, he could see the very edge of one of the straps from his angle. Arkham did not appear to be making an empty threat. With a glower, he sank back against the cushioned leather.

“That’s better.” Oddly, Arkham delivered this pronouncement with none of the smugness that Bruce would have expected.

The director sighed. “They’ll find us eventually,” he said. “Your people or the police. I suppose we were overdue for this sort of thing.”

Bruce frowned. “Overdue?” He tried to roll onto his side, but fell back with a gasp as his body screamed in protest. The after effects of a stun baton generally did not exceed a few minutes, but those minutes were… less than pleasant.

“While escapes happen with dreary regularity,” Arkham explained, “every now and again, the escapees aren’t content with putting as great a distance between themselves and the Asylum as possible. It’s been almost six months since the last rampaging mob. The average interval is four, I believe.” He sighed again. “We have strategies in place for such an eventuality. They include locking the office door and hoping that the inmates don’t press the matter.” He moved a file cabinet over and jammed it beneath the doorknob. “And if they do,” he added, as he unlocked his desk drawer and pulled out a taser of his own, “I can fend off a few of them, at least.”

So much for rushing Jeremiah, Bruce thought. It might still be possible, but it wouldn’t be as easy as he’d initially surmised.

“I imagine you’ll miss dinner,” Arkham said. “I keep a supply of granola bars, pop tarts…”

Bruce shook his head. “I’m not hungry.” He paused. “Thanks, though.”

The asylum director smiled thinly as he positioned his desk chair at a right angle to the door. “You’re welcome.” He sat down, holding the taser loosely across his lap. “By the way,” he added, eyebrows raised, “I wouldn’t have thought that there was much love lost between yourself and Doctor Elliot.”

Bruce rolled to face him. “What?” The movement caused his ribs to shriek in protest. The taser effects, however, seemed to have worn off.

“Well,” Jeremiah pointed out, “that horde was looking for me. But when you opened the door,” he frowned, “you do realize that all Elliot had to do was wait for the others to catch up with him? I wouldn’t have given much for either of our chances under that circumstance. By incapacitating you and shutting us in here, I think he saved both our lives. While I’m hardly ungrateful,” he added dryly, “I do have to wonder why.”

“It’s a good question,” Bruce admitted. “I don’t know.”

The sun set early at this time of year. Jeremiah hadn’t wanted to risk turning on the overhead bulb. On the off chance that any inmates still remained on the asylum grounds, they might be able to spot the light through the slats of the closed vertical blinds. The desk lamp was safer, although it gave forth a relatively small circle of illumination. At the moment, it was shining over an assortment of crackers, granola bars, toaster pastries, snack cakes, nuts, and dried fruit.

“Help yourself,” Arkham invited.

“You mean,” Bruce’s voice dripped sarcasm, “you’ll allow me to stand?”

“I could just put an assortment on the plate and bring it to you,” Jeremiah snapped back. A moment later, he heard the leather couch creak as the other man got up. A moment after that, Bruce was at the desk, reaching for one of the paper plates.

“There’s no… hot food?” Bruce questioned as he took a handful of nuts.

Arkham shook his head. “Maintenance of the containment facilities and staff salaries consume the lion’s share of the budget.” He tore the wrapping on a pop tart. “There’ve been no renovation funds worth mentioning for the offices, and I’m not willing to make too many demands of the electrical wiring in here.”

“Oh.” Bruce added some dried apricots to his plate. His chest still hurt, but not as badly as before. Either he had remembered his pain control techniques, or the ribs were bruised, but not broken. Either possibility was welcome news.

Despite himself, he felt a certain grudging respect for the asylum administrator. It would have been relatively easy for him to cut corners in other areas, the better to refurbish his own work quarters. And yet, the administrator’s office, while well-appointed, was no better furnished than those of the other doctors he’d met with over the last year and a half. Unless things had changed recently, Arkham’s home and car were commensurate with what one would expect on an administrator’s salary. And, he had to admit Arkham was able to keep his head in a crisis far better than Bruce might have expected. Now if something could only be done about the man’s insufferable ego…

Tap.

“Did you hear that?” Arkham asked.

Bruce nodded.

Tap.

“One of your people?”

Bruce considered. “Are any of your other… guests capable of climbing to the third floor from outside?”

“Doubtful.”

“You realize,” Bruce stated, “that if we’re wrong, it will pinpoint our location.”

Tap tappa tap-tap… Tap-tap

A thin smile spread across Arkham’s lips. “I believe we’re safe. Joker wouldn’t climb this high. And I can’t think of anyone else who would rap that out.”

Bruce nodded as the ‘shave and a haircut’ pattern was repeated. He crossed to the window, and pulled back the blinds. He wasn’t that surprised to see bars partly obscuring his view.

Batgirl’s upraised fist immediately relaxed into a wave.

Lip-reading, obviously, was not going to work here. “Does the window open?”

“Partially,” Jeremiah said. “There should be a latch at the bottom.”

Bruce found it. He was able to slide the pane about four or five inches sideways before he encountered resistance.

“Okay, Oracle,” Batgirl was saying. “You were right. They’re here.”

She listened to the response, then focused on Bruce. “This floor is clear,” she said briskly. “You open the door, I meet you outside office. Take me a minute. All windows this level have bars.”

Bruce nodded. Oracle would likely be telling her about the roof access right now.

“Batman?” She hesitated. “Do you… talk now?”

Bruce nodded again. Then he smiled as he recognized the irony of a non-verbal response to her query. “Yes,” he said. “I… talk now.”

She relaxed. “Good. See you in a minute.”

A drawer slid open and then shut. A key clicked in a lock. Arkham was putting away the taser. “I’ll bring your plate to the infirmary,” the doctor said, as he started to move the filing cabinet away.

Bruce froze. “I don’t need…”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, what difference does it make if you’re there or in your cell?”

“I told you," he snapped, "I’m fine!” He pulled the door open. Batgirl dashed down the hallway toward him as he did.

“All clear,” she stated. The black mirrored lenses of her cowl moved from Bruce to Jeremiah. “Most patients are back now. Police have some too.” She turned back to Bruce. “City is safe.”

He nodded. “Thanks.” Cassandra Cain, unlike many others, had never been put off by his taciturn behavior. Until his arrest, she’d never insisted he hold up his end of a conversation. Even now, she was satisfied with a one-word reply.

“Are you… okay?” She asked after a moment.

Bruce nodded again as Jeremiah interjected, “He took three hundred thousand volts from a stun baton twice, and several kicks that might have cracked ribs. He needs medical attention.”

She was asking me, not you, you…

Batgirl’s posture bespoke confusion. “But… there are cameras everywhere. If he’s hurt bad, you can’t tell? I… don’t understand.”

Thank you!

Arkham took a deep breath. “There are policies and procedures that must be followed. Even though a taser is considered a non-lethal weapon, it has contributed to deaths in the past. If there were to be any complications in Mr. Wayne’s case, I’d rather they took place where the proper care is seconds, not minutes away.”

The young crimefighter thought that over. Then she took a step into the room, favoring her right leg as she did. She placed a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Banged leg fighting Harley,” she said sheepishly. She looked past Bruce, at Dr. Arkham. “Hurts. Maybe doctors here can look at it…?”

Jeremiah nodded slowly. “I believe that can be arranged.”

She focused on Bruce again. “Can you… can you keep me company if no… objections?”

Bruce stifled his initial outrage. Of course it was a ploy to get him into the infirmary. Cass had to know he’d see it for what it was. Then why… why was he fighting Jeremiah on this issue, anyway? Alex had called it, weeks ago: his need for control was out of control. This was a power struggle, and… whether he accepted it or not, at Arkham Asylum, the power did rest with Jeremiah.

He didn’t like it. He hated it, in fact. But in this case… in this case, Batgirl was offering him a way to give in that didn’t involve a loss of face. He could accept the opportunity, or he could accept the consequences of turning it down. To bend was not to break. He looked at Jeremiah and nodded faintly. Then he squeezed Cass’s shoulder. “Alright. Let’s go.”

In the stairwell, a few steps away from Elliot’s quarters, Batman slumped against the wall. He hadn’t realized until now, how much damage the batarang had caused. He sighed. “Oracle,” he said, “do me a favor? Could you let me know if there’s anything new on the market for the pain associated with… with nerve damage?”

The reply was instantaneous. “Will do. And Dick? Don’t feel too bad about it. He went to Arkham’s office with the intention of committing murder. Bruce’s presence stopped him.” She sighed. “He wasn’t an innocent bystander today, and he sure as hell wasn’t one the night you threw those ‘rangs.”

“I know,” Dick said. “I just… I know he probably deserved what he got. Sometimes, I just wish I hadn’t been the one to give it to him.”

He took a breath. “How’s Bruce?”

“The X-rays showed nothing broken. He’s sleeping now. Cass is still there.”

He nodded, relieved. “I shouldn’t disturb him, then. I’ll just leave him a note that I was there. I’ll be home in a little while, Oracle. Love you.”

“Love you back.” She closed the connection.

“Do you want to discuss the events concerning the breakout?” Alex asked in their session, a day later.

Bruce glanced up sharply. “I’m not sure what there is to discuss beyond things I should have been aware of from the start.”

Alex said nothing, but he shot Bruce a quizzical look.

Bruce continued. “Of course, it’s a bit irritating to realize that I needed to be locked in an office with Jer—with Dr. Arkham in order to see that for all his posturing, he wasn’t, in fact,” an ironic smile came and went, “the ‘enemy’.” Antagonist, perhaps, Bruce thought, but in his own bungling, shortsighted way, Arkham was trying to help.

Alex frowned for a moment, and then his smile was back as comprehension dawned. “I was actually referring to your breakout a few weeks ago, but we can certainly deal with the general escape if you want to.”

“Oh.” Bruce was quiet for a moment. His voice grew pensive. “I’d almost forgotten about that.” Looking back now, it was hard to believe he’d actually pulled off the escape. He’d slid back into the asylum routine, and the events of that night had become like a distant dream to him. And yet… and yet, it had been a turning point. “What did you want to know?”

“Well,” Alex’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “I’d personally love to know how you managed it. I wasn’t sure you had it in you at this point.” Seeing Bruce frown, he added quickly, “but that would be more to satisfy my own curiosity. What was it that prompted you to make the attempt?”

A shrug. “Misperception. When I came here, I thought that after certain events that had transpired, my placement was deserved. I wasn’t going to fight it.” He laced his fingers together and flexed them. “The truth is, I welcomed it.”

“Protective custody?” Alex asked.

Bruce looked for signs of derision but found none. “In a way,” he admitted. “At any rate, at the time that I… broke loose, I’d come to find my imprisonment irksome. It led me to question my earlier acceptance of the situation.”

Alex nodded. “So, you were content to stay here as long as you believed that your… your incarceration was warranted.”

“I’m well aware,” Bruce held up a warning finger, “that you were working on changing my mind when you left. It took your groundwork and almost two weeks of Jeremiah to accomplish that.”

“And here, I thought I was being subtle, all that time,” the doctor sighed. “What changed your mind?”

Bruce smiled faintly. “I arrived at the conclusion that nothing I had done could have possibly warranted six weeks of Jeremiah.”

Alex laughed. “Personality conflict?”

“You could say that. I’d dealt with him in the past. Those dealings were… unpleasant.” He sighed. “For both of us. Rightly or wrongly, I suspected his motivations in taking on my case.”

“I see.” Alex frowned. “Which begs the question, then: why return?”

Bruce closed his eyes. “My coming here,” he said quietly, “was decided without my input. All I did was consent—at least internally—to something that was going to transpire in any case. Let me put the question to you, Doctor.” He felt his heart begin to pound, although he couldn’t quite say why. “In your opinion, was the decision wrong?”

Alex drew a deep breath. “No.”

Bruce relaxed. “I concur. I don’t know whether I needed to step away from the situation in order to see it more clearly, whether I’d figured it out already and hadn’t wanted to allow myself to admit it, or whether I needed to… test my family’s support one last time.” He opened his eyes. “You want to know why I came back. I’m not sure I can explain it.”

He thought for a moment. “When I began to train, as you’re aware, I studied different fighting styles. At first, I took punches and kicks simply because I didn’t know how to avoid them. Each night, I’d crawl, exhausted, onto a sleeping mat in the dojo, only to awaken before dawn, stiff and aching. Despite it all, Doctor, I still got up and went on. Do you know why?”

Alex started to respond, but Bruce didn't give him time.

“I went on,” he continued, “because I knew that if I was to achieve my purpose, it was necessary to go on.”

He took another breath. “I came back because at this point, my purpose is to leave. Not simply to escape and spend the rest of my life living under an alias.” The faint smile was back again. “Even if my… alter ego weren’t now a matter of record, I’ve tried being Batman full-time. I’m not prepared to discuss it at the moment, but suffice it to say that it was an experiment best not repeated.” He shook his head. “The only way to be truly free of this place is to pass a hearing, and if that’s what I have to do, then…” His voice trailed off. He closed his eyes. When he spoke again it was barely above a whisper. “…Then I have to work within the system.”

He sighed. “In other words,” he looked down. “Uncle.” Pause. “You win.”

Alex waited for Bruce’s eyes to meet his again. “We win, Mr. Wayne.” He smiled. “We are on the same side after all.”

A brief answering smile flashed. It was swiftly replaced by a frown. “That’s something I’ve been meaning to bring up for some time,” he said slowly. “Why do you persist in addressing me as ‘Mr. Wayne’?”

Alex’s tone was perplexed. “I thought it was appropriate to the situation. We didn’t exactly start off on the best of terms. I felt some formality might be in order.”

Bruce dropped his eyes. “It was,” he admitted, “appreciated. Nobody else here appears to consider it.”

“Maybe that’s why.”

Bruce absorbed that with a slight nod. “Be that as it may,” he looked up, “the initial paradigm appears to have shifted.” This time, his smile stayed. “My friends call me ‘Bruce’, Doctor. I’d be honored if you would, as well.”