Batman: Lost to the Night Part II

Lost to The Night
Issue 2: "Close Every Door"
Written by Ellen Fleischer
Cover by Artteach
Edited by Tony Clifton and Artteach
Proofread by Charlene Edwards, JrFan and Starbatz

Bruce sat on his bed, hugging his knees to his chest. He’d thought everything was covered. He’d gone into Arkham expecting the worst, and for the most part, he hadn’t been disappointed. Over the months, as his ‘privileges’ fell by the wayside, he hadn’t cared. He had deliberately forced himself not to care. If he didn’t care, he couldn’t be hurt—not in any meaningful way. Damn him! Bruce thought again.

He’d never asked for them to come. Perhaps he should have expected it anyway, but expectations only served to set a person up for more disappointment. He’d convinced himself that he didn’t care. If Dick wanted to pay his nightly call, that was Dick’s prerogative. In no way had Bruce requested that he do so, nor had he even acknowledged that Dick did. Over time, Bruce knew that if he didn’t do anything to encourage those visits, they would happen less frequently, until they stopped entirely.

Except they hadn’t. Oh, Dick missed a night here or there. When that happened, it would be Jim on the other side of his window. Barbara sometimes accompanied her father; she never came to Arkham on her own. Bruce could understand that. Renee Montoya came often enough, usually earlier in the day. Tim had shown up regularly, at least until his homework schedule had grown too intense. Cassandra was more of a rarity, but in her case, Bruce reasoned that it was harder to find a plausible explanation for her to be connected with either Batman or Bruce Wayne. (The fact that Tim had been his neighbor for a time, and that he had lived at the manor while Jack Drake lay critically ill, had probably sufficed in his case.) In the months since his initial arrest, Bruce reflected, he didn’t think that he’d passed a full twenty-four hours without some contact from his… family. That’s what they were. Bound to him by ties stronger than blood. And now, Jeremiah stood poised to sever those bonds.

Damn him!

He couldn’t give in, couldn’t let himself be broken. Not by the likes of Jeremiah Arkham. Others had tried, in the past: Deacon Blackfire, Bane, Hugo Strange. Even Stephen Gallagher had come close.

No more. He wouldn’t give Jeremiah the satisfaction of seeing him toe the line. He was here, and he accepted it. But he wasn’t going to play in to Arkham’s… medical fantasies of behavior modification. The man had actually tried to create a progress chart—rows of empty boxes waiting to be filled by gold stars—so that Bruce could “see how much closer he was to earning another privilege.” The director had been perfectly serious. It was at once laughable and humiliating. Once Bruce proved uncooperative, Jeremiah had switched to ‘negative reinforcement’ and begun to rescind privileges. In the unlikely event that he ever did get out of here, Bruce made a mental note to research whether B.F. Skinner had been the asylum director’s personal mentor.

If he got out. For a moment, he felt a twinge of regret. If he cooperated a bit more, release wasn’t at all unlikely, but… no. He wasn’t going to give them any more control over his life than they already had. If he buckled on one point, it would be that much harder to resist on the next. Eventually, they would win. And he couldn’t let that happen. Which meant—

Bruce closed his eyes and let his head drop to his knees. It meant that tonight was probably the last time that he would see Dick. Ever.

“Oh no you don’t,” Barbara muttered as she stabbed a button on her keyboard.

“Problem?” Jim Gordon entered bearing two steaming mugs of coffee. “Black, no sugar, not too strong, right, sweetheart?”

She inhaled the aroma of the French roast. “That’s perfect, thanks, Daddy.” She accepted the mug gratefully, and set it down on a small stand, a safe distance from her consoles.

She frowned. “No, it’s nothing really. Just my pet hacker.”

“Your—”

Barbara’s fingers flew as she typed instructions into the computer. “Every so often, someone tries to break into my systems. All the security levels in here, they probably think this is a top-secret government site or something. Usually, I just give them something boring to find, like old census reports, and they go away. This guy…” she shook her head. “He keeps digging. So, if I can’t delude him… ah!” A new image appeared on the screen before her. “I’ll divert him.”

Gordon leaned over with obvious interest. “Where are you sending him?”

“Hellenic ministry of culture,” she smirked. “He’s looking for an Oracle. I’ll show him where to find one.” She pressed the enter key. “And then,” she said as she typed additional instructions, “I’ll fix it so he’ll have to find another way in, next time.”

Gordon started to smile. Then he froze. “Barbara,” he said slowly, “it’s been my understanding that you’ve kept an extremely tight rein on the number of people who even know of the existence of Oracle. Who is this person?”

Barbara sighed, annoyed at her slip. “I can handle him.”

“I’m sure you can. Who is he?”

She groaned inwardly. Her father wasn’t going to back off from this. “His name is Noah Kuttler. He also goes by ‘Calculator’.”

Gordon had heard of him. “Well, I’d hardly class him as a serious threat,” he said, more than a little relieved.

“He’s not. Not physically, anyway. More,” to her irritation, she felt her face grow hot. “He’s obsessed with me.” At Gordon’s start forward, she shook her head. “Not in a psycho-stalker kind of way. I doubt he’s got some… some shrine in his bedroom dedicated to me, or anything like that. He’s just… fixated on finding out who Oracle is.” She cupped her hand around the mug of coffee, noting with satisfaction that it should now be cool enough to drink without burning her tongue. “Hey, the US government’s been trying to do that for awhile,” she said glibly, as she raised the mug and took a sip. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Where is he?” Gordon demanded.

“Right now?” She typed up some more commands. “Right now the signal’s coming from Fayetteville, Georgia.”

“I can make some calls,” he started to say, as Barbara cut him off.

“But it’s been relayed there from Bangkok. We can follow the trail further back to Cape Town, Happy Harbor, Edmonton…”

“You’re saying you can’t trace it.”

“I’m saying that by the time I do trace it, he’ll have moved on.” She sighed. “If it helps, I’m about as crazy about the fact that he’s trying to track me down as you are, Daddy. But I can tell you this: he is NOT going to find me.”

Gordon’s eyebrows knitted together. “I don’t like this. At all. Look. I know the League split up, but would you at least ask for some protection? Surely you know how to get in touch with them.”

“I will not,” Barbara retorted. “Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said? I know this guy. He’s good, but I can deal with him. I’ve been dealing with him for the last eight months.”

“Eight… months? And he’s not behind bars, yet?” Gordon fired back angrily.

In her head, Barbara counted to ten slowly. “No,” she enunciated. “He is not behind bars for the same reason that Dick wouldn’t dial 911 if he caught the man trying to break into the Bat-Cave. There are too many secrets involved that I won’t risk compromising.”

“Then, use your other contacts. Surely Superman could…”

“NO! Superman couldn’t!” She snapped. “Daddy, don’t you see? If I needed a mountain moved, you’d better believe I’d call on him. Or Green Lantern. But I don’t. Calculator is a hacker. An extremely good hacker, yes. But at the end of the day, that’s it. And when it comes to handling cyber-crime, Daddy, I am right up at the top of the totem pole.” Softly, she continued. “When it comes to something like this, Daddy, Superman calls me.”

Behind thick glasses, Gordon’s eyes widened. He hadn’t realized. “If he comes near you…”

“He won’t.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “He’d better not.”

Dick backed away from the window. Behind him, he heard someone call…

“Chlorpromazine, 25 c.c.’s intramuscular. Stat!”

He shook his head, wondering what had just happened. He’d thought… “No,” he said. “Let me go in there.”

One of the guards snorted. “You’ve got to be kidding me. There’s no way you’re getting that close to him when he’s…”

Dick whirled angrily. “He hates being medicated, damn it! I can calm him down.” It occurred to him, as he advanced toward the orderly, that he was scarcely behaving rationally himself. If he kept up like this he really would be sharing a cell with… G-d, had he done something that had inadvertently set Bruce off? Get a grip, Grayson, he told himself. Fat lot of good you’ll do Bruce if they decide your coming here is too upsetting for him. He realized that he’d automatically shifted to a combat stance. Slowly, he relaxed it.

“Please,” he said, as he spread his hands wide and held them out, palms up. “Let me try.”

The guard cocked his head to one side, and said nothing. In the background, Bruce was still pounding on the screen. Dick flinched as he heard the blows connect. “Please.” He heard the supplication in his voice. He didn’t care.

“Let him go in.”

Dick turned to the new voice.

“Dr. Morgenstern, according to Wayne’s file, we—”

“Duly noted,” the other man returned. “This is on my authority.” He glanced at Dick.

“Alex Morgenstern,” he said. “Mr. Wayne’s new doctor. You have five minutes to get him to calm down. If you can’t, we’ll have to step in.”

Dick nodded. “Thanks.” He meant it, too.

The guard wasn’t backing down. “Doctor, if he slips Mr. Wayne something—”

“Yes, Nilsen. I’m sure he’s got a lock pick tucked into his left sneaker on the off chance somebody might let him into the cell tonight,” Morgenstern retorted. “And I’m positive that the cameras wouldn’t notice if Mr. Wayne were to attempt to use it. Now get that door unlocked.”

He looked at Dick. “You weren’t planning on slipping him anything, were you?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Good enough for me.”

Dick shook his head, grinning as the massive door grated open just wide enough to allow him entry. He heard it slam shut behind him, but by then he was already well inside the cell.

Bruce took no notice, as he continued to vent his rage on the window.

For an instant, Dick hesitated. Then he launched himself at Bruce from behind, wrapping his arms around Bruce’s upper body, pinning the older man’s arms to his sides.

Like a marionette whose strings had been suddenly cut, Bruce collapsed, letting Dick pull him from the window and ease him to a sitting position on the bed. Then, without relinquishing his hold on the larger man, he sat down next to him to wait.

Awareness returned slowly. Bruce found that he was sitting on the bed. There appeared to be a band of some kind, fastened just above his elbows, which pinned his upper arms to his sides but left his forearms free. That was odd, he realized. He’d never heard of any restraints like that being used in institutions. It didn’t constrain mobility anywhere near enough to be effective. Yes, Bruce. Be sure to tell the staff of better ways to keep you shut in here, why don’t you?

He looked down, and blinked. That wasn’t a band…! Hesitantly his head turned to the side. It couldn’t be. Dick was kneeling behind him on the bed, his arms wrapped around Bruce’s upper torso. His eyes were shut, and he appeared to be asleep. Right. Not in that position, he wasn’t. Bruce attempted to flex his arms. Immediately, Dick loosened his grip, stretching both arms above his head and opening his mouth in an exaggerated yawn.

“Oh, hey, Bruce,” he said casually. “I guess I must’ve dozed off, or something. Sorry. It was just taking awhile for you to come around.”

“Y-” To his horror, the barely audible sound that issued from his lips was midway between a wheeze and a croak. He grimaced and tried again. “You’re…” Now, it was a hoarse whisper. That was better, somewhat. “You… are… NOT… supposed… to… be… in… here.”

If Dick was surprised to hear him speak, he gave no sign. He just smiled. “Weeellll… they did say I had to be crazy to get in. I told them I’ve been coming here and talking to you almost every night for nearly a year, and you’ve never even looked at me. Once they heard that, they couldn’t wait to get the door open.”

Very funny. He had to make Dick angry enough not to keep coming. Jeremiah couldn’t abolish a privilege if Bruce got rid of it first. He’d forgotten one of the earliest lessons he’d taught Dick: It’s foolish to rely on something that can be taken away from you. He tried again. “Go. You… don’t belong… here.”

Dick sighed, as his smile dimmed. “That makes two of us.”

He’d taught the boy how to be a detective. Why was he missing such obvious hints?

Bruce pursed his lips. He knew what he had to do next. Hurt him. Say whatever I have to say to make him angry enough to storm out of here and never want to return. It shouldn’t be that hard. When he confronted me in the cave, after I’d buried Jason, it was so… easy to lash out. I’d lost one son, then. I thought it would be… easier…if I drove away the other one before I had to lose him, too. He hunched forward. Years ago, I lost my parents on this night. Do I really have to lose my son, too? He knew the answer, unfortunately. If I don’t want Jeremiah to win, then yes. That’s exactly what I have to do.

Dick chose that moment to squeeze his forearm. He flinched.

I can’t do that to him. If he hadn’t been coming all this time, I… I really think I would be mad by now. What difference does it make? Whether I drive him away or Jeremiah keeps him away, the result is the same. Except… if I push him off, he won’t try to come back. And Jeremiah will have one less thing to hold over me. If I know he won’t be back, I can move on. But the uncertainty…But to lose him… I have to. I can’t let Jeremiah win. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t Ican’tI can’t…

“I can’t,” Dick heard him mumble. “I can’t. I can’t…”

“Bruce.” Instinctively, one arm wrapped around the bigger man’s shoulders. Bigger? He blinked. Taller… yes. But in the months that had passed since his arrest, Bruce had lost weight and muscle mass, and Dick’s arm, which had once had to stretch to reach across Bruce’s shoulder blades, now encompassed them easily.

Bruce seemed not to notice. “I can’t,” he repeated. “I can’t…”

Dick extended his other hand and laid it gently over Bruce’s. “Sh… sh… it’s okay,” he murmured.

Bruce gave no indication that he had heard.

Dick pulled him closer. “It’s okay,” he repeated. “You just do what you can. It’s okay. Really. I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

What he… could? What was that? He didn’t want to lose Dick, but he couldn’t let Jeremiah win. So, how… how, in his most convoluted reasoning, could he possibly consider losing the visits to be winning? Was he insa—he glanced furtively at his surroundings and decided not to complete the thought. This was like—a childhood memory surfaced—this was the equivalent of knocking down his own sandcastle at the beach because he saw a group of bullies running around knocking down everyone else’s. If the visits were that important to him, then… he should be fighting to keep them.

And, in this case, fighting meant giving in. He placed his free hand over Dick’s and squeezed. The arm around his shoulders tightened. Bruce didn’t say anything further, but he did relax. He could afford to, for now. Dick was there.

Some time later, the door swung open, and a doctor, a different doctor than the one who had authorized Dick to enter the cell, strode in flanked by two guards. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but that light is going off in five minutes.” He looked at Dick. “You’ll have to go now.”

Dick glanced at Bruce. Bruce nodded. “I’ll… be… alright. Go on.”

The doctor’s eyebrows shot clear up to his hairline. But all he did was check Bruce’s pulse. “This is steady,” he said. “No need for sedation at this time.”

Dick grinned. “I’ve been telling him about HSN’s primetime lineup. Works wonders. Good night, Bruce.”

Bruce frowned. Before Dick left, he had to be sure of one thing. Because if his assumption was wrong, if he was going to give in on this point, for no reason, then… “Dick? You’re… you ARE… coming to… morrow?”

He was already nearly at the door, but he quickly strode back. “You know it,” he said emphatically.

A faint smile flickered on Bruce’s lips for an instant. “I’ll… be here.” A hand squeezed his shoulder in farewell.

“That’s the whole problem, isn’t it?” Dick sighed. “Hang in there.” He turned to go, then doubled back. “About the flowers. I guess it doesn’t matter that they’re going to be a couple of hours late?”

Bruce shook his head. “No.” Not in the slightest.

Then Dick was gone, and the doctor and guards with him. And less than a minute later, the light went out, plunging the cell into darkness.

Somehow, though, things felt a bit brighter. He could bend on this one point. To bend was not to break. Tomorrow, he would meet this new doctor, and listen to what he had to say, and tell him what he wanted to hear, and everything would continue. It would be fine. Even, as Dick had phrased it, ‘okay’. After all, it wasn’t as though he didn’t know how to manipulate a situation to his advantage…