#20: Partners, JL vs A Tie-In (LaFleche / Swimer)

NOTE: This story takes place between Batman #21 and #22

Since the incident with Arthur, we’ve been trying to reach him. But he hasn’t responded. Not through any of the regular channels. I even convinced Barbra to get her father to up the signal.

But we got nothing but silence. Barbra said Bruce and Dick had words. It got serious. Came to blows apparently, although Dick isn’t saying much. He’s more like his mentor than he’ll admit.

But I know Bruce is here. I can hear his breathing. Feel his heart beat. It’s easy to do that in here. Bruce is about the only living thing down here beyond the bats.

I float to the far end of the cave, past the things you would never think he’d keep. The t-rex. The giant penny. That huge playing card. But there are the other things. The things that are very much Bruce. Dick’s old costume. His father’s wrist watch encased behind bullet proof glass and set to the moment he was killed. One of his mother’s scarves is treated with similar, morbid reverence.

I find him in the forensics lab, dressed in full costume, cowl and all. Never a good sign for his mood. He’s peering through a micro-scope at a ragged piece of red cloth. I scan it myself. It’s a Nomex/Kevlar weave, similar to Bruce’s cape. But it charred on the edges and stained with human blood.

“Knock it off, Kent. You’re x-ray vision interferes with my equipment,” he says, without looking up at me. “And stop floating. It’s annoying.”

“Bruce, we’ve been trying to reach you for days. We used the league signal device to…”

“I shut it off.”

“Why would you…”

“What do you want? I’m busy.”

Great. He’s in full dark knight mode. Most people hate it when he is like this. Moody. Angry. Consumed by his obsession. Given to flights of self destructive ego that would give Luthor a run for his money. He eats little and sleeps less.

Paradoxically, this is also when Bruce is most effective as Batman. His mind is consumed with whatever problem he is trying to solve. Having pushed aside all other distractions, Bruce’s mind is at its most creative.

It both awes and frightens me.

“Bruce, things are getting out of hand. The league needs you…”

He finally lifts his head from the microscope and looks at me through the white lenses of his cowl.

“I’m. Busy. Get out.”

“I’m not kidding Bruce. This is crisis huge. Maybe the worst we’ve ever faced. We’re under assault. A war could be at our doorstep here and the JLA needs Batman.”

Bruce pulls the cloth scrap from the microscope and walks past me toward a bank of evidence lockers.

“Yes, yes. Amazo is back. Or Luthor has created some giant robot. Or some super alien glob from another dimension has landed on earth. Not my game, Kent,” he says. “When the Joker is about to take over the world, call me.”

Well, at least he has kept some of his sense of humour, gallows though it is.

“You don’t answer the emergency signal for two weeks! What the hell is going on, Bruce? It isn’t like you to just…vanish.”

“I’ve been out of touch on cases before,” he says, opening one locker and pulling out an evidence drawer. Carefully he places the cloth into a static free case.

“Yeah I know. Like during that KGBeast thing last year. But have you brawled with Dick before?”

He says nothing. Just stares at the red cloth. The drawer in the locker is marked “R.W.”

“Bruce…”

“My relationship with Nightwing isn’t your concern. I’m busy. Get lost.”

Get lost. It’s been a while since I heard those words from his lips. What was it? Six years ago now? Seven? Shortly after the first time we met. In Gotham. On a roof top. Where else would Superman run into Batman?

He moved to the door, crouches and started to work on the lock.

“Batman,” I said, pulling myself up into my best ‘Man of Steel’ pose, letting my heat vision fill my eyes making them bright red. It’s the pose that makes most muggers in Metropolis give up without a fight. “I am certainly not pleased that you know any of that. But we can talk about your boundary issues after we arrest DeVoe.”

Batman sighed and looked up at me. “Spare me the pose. And I’m not here to arrest him. I am here to…question him.”

I relaxed a little, but kept my eyes glowing.

“I’m not leaving Gotham without him.’

Batman stood up and stared at me. He said nothing for a long moment. Just stared. Sizing me up, I guess. Trying to figure out how long he was willing to keep up this Bat-jerk routine. Maybe he figured I’d flinch. Whatever sort of men Batman had been dealing with in Gotham, I’m something different. Martha Kent did not raise a cowardly or superstitious son.

“Fine. But this is my town. We do it my way.”

“Ok,” I said, letting my eyes cool. “But breaking and entering isn’t my style.”

“Of course not,” he said, working on the lock again. “Your style would be to float outside his window with your hands on your hips until he wet himself.”

“Well…”

“That won’t work here. Not even with a moron like DeVoe.”

The door poped open, and we noiselessly sliped through. Batman walked. I floated. We moved down the stairs and Batman occasionally knocked out security cameras along the way. He stoped after we make it down one floor.

“Do you have to do that?”, he said in a harsh whisper.

“What?”

“Float.”

“You’re the one who wants to do this all quiet like, Batman…”

He said nothing, but reached up and quietly pulled a vent screen off the wall.

“I’m going in here. You stay here and count to 60. Then stand right in front of DeVoe’s door.”

“Uh, and what are you…”, but he was up the wall and into the shaft without another word.

Sixty seconds later I was standing in front of the Thinker’s door. Little punk screened the door with lead so I couldn’t see anything. I could hear just fine, though. There was a faint sound of metal hitting a carpeted floor. I lost Batman’s heart beat. DeVoe was snoring. Then all hell broke loose.

DeVoe screamed and I could hear Batman laughing this scary as hell laugh. Something broke, probably a table. DeVoe screamed again.

“Wheeeerree is he DeVoe??”

“I don’t…know…I swear…ahhhh!”

I heard a bone snap. One more stunt like that I was going in, no matter what Batman knews about me.

“Tell me or you’re going to be eating your food through a straw for the rest of your pathetic life!”

“I don’t…god, stop…don’t kill me…”

There was that laugh again.

“Kill you? Oh what I have in mind for you is worse than death! Shall we start with this finger?

DeVoe didn’t need to be asked again. He spilled his guts. Tells Batman everything he knows. It was like an insane confession with every dark secret in DeVoe’s head spilling out of his mouth like Niagara Falls. Most of is useless, but Batman asked specific questions so whatever DeVoe said between sobs, it must have sense to the Dark Knight.

Everything went quiet a moment. Batman muttered, “Go. And if I were you DeVoe, I’d hope we don’t met again,” I heard DeVoe run for the door.

He opened it and smashed right into my chest. I pulled up into my ‘super pose’, glowing eyes and all, and stared down at him.

“Clifford,” I say, and DeVoe passes out.

I looked up and see Batman standing half way out a window.

“Huh. Look at that. He wet himself,” he said with a snicker. “He’s all yours.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking a second to wrap DeVoe in a fire hose that was mounted in the hallway by the fire alarm. “Listen, Batman I think we need to talk…”

“I don’t have time. You’ll just have to trust me to keep my mouth shut,” he said. He’ll never admit to it, but I think in that moment, despite the lead lining in his cowl, I could almost see him wink. “Be seeing you…Kent.”

And he vanished into the Gotham night.

He did keep his mouth shut. I wouldn’t run into him again for months, but by then he’d mellowed out a bit. With each meeting, he became less hostile. Although he’d never say this out loud, we became friends and partners. Even when his girlfriend was murdered by the Joker, he wasn’t as short with me as he was that night.

Until now.