The Way Back #27

Dr. Dubois' eyes widened. "How do you... Never mind." She took a deep breath. "I don't suppose you know how long ago the patient was exposed?"

Batman nodded. "My sources tell me it's been between three and four days."

"That's what I was afraid of." She exhaled. "Anthrax, thankfully, isn't communicable to anyone who hasn't been directly exposed to its spores. In other words, this isn't Outbreak, and we aren't facing anything remotely like an epidemic. Unfortunately, once the symptoms progress beyond a certain point, the..." she caught herself. "Thank you for your information," she said formally. "Unless there's anything else you think I should know, I need to go and communicate this to my staff, stat."

Batman nodded again. "I'll see myself out then."

She smiled wearily. "I don't suppose you'd know how he contracted it?"

"I'm looking into it."

"If you find out," she warned, "and if there's even a remote possibility that you've been similarly exposed, seek medical attention, stat. If we had any of the vaccine on hand, I'd use it on you as a precaution, but anthrax infection is uncommon enough that we currently don't." She frowned. "I can't stress enough, though, that once the symptoms start to show, the chances of survival drop. If you're exposed, don't wait. Get treated."

"I'll keep that in mind."

--

His cape swished as he turned and exited the room. The two kids were still in the waiting room. They looked up expectantly. Dick smiled apologetically. "I don't give autographs," he said softly, "but here," he reached into one of his belt compartments and extracted a small block notepad. He tore off the two topmost squares. "Best I can do."

The children's eyes lit up as they saw the bat-insignia at the bottom of the pages. "Thank you!" the girl exclaimed. The boy was quiet, but his smile spoke volumes.

Dick grinned back.

The smile fell away as he stepped outside and the cold night air hit his face. "Message communicated, Oracle," he reported. "Now, what the heck is going on?"

--

Barbara spoke into her Bluetooth as she rapidly diced a stalk of celery. "Penguin came through with some intel," she said. "The guy who did it isn't local. He's from New York. His name is Walter Matthew Whitelock, but he usually goes by Matthew Walters or Walter Matheson. Anyway, from the way he was talking after a few beers, when he visited Flass, he'd had the anthrax spores on a latex glove. So, once Whitelock shook hands with him..."

"I thought it had to enter the body through an open cut," Dick protested.

"You're thinking of cutaneous anthrax," Barbara agreed, reaching for another celery stalk." Thing is, when meningitis occurs in anthrax victims, it's usually caused by inhaling the spores. Now, I think the guards would have stepped in if Whitelock clamped his hand over Flass's nose, but if, after shaking hands with him, Flass had... She drew in her breath. "That's got to be it. He wiped his nose with that hand," she said firmly. "West Gotham's HVAC system is old—it seems like all of the inmates come down with colds or runny noses. If he wiped his nose before he washed that hand off..."

"Are you sure that's how it went down?" Dick asked. "I don't doubt that's how Flass contracted anthrax, but what I mean is, to pull something like this off it would almost have to take a professional. And professionals don't usually get drunk and spill their guts in a bar."

Barbara tossed a handful of diced celery into the wok. "They do when Penguin decides that the best way to find out what a new face in town is doing in his establishment is to mix him up a very special drink."

"He can't do that with all his patrons," Dick protested.

"No," Barbara added some sliced carrots. "I doubt he does. But you know yourself that after a while, you start to develop a sixth sense about people."

Dick thought about that. "Yeah. It doesn't always kick in, but when it does, there's usually a reason. Okay, so Whitelock gives off that vibe, Penguin gets him talking... and he blabs to you?"

Barbara sighed. "And now I still owe him. What he told me wasn't all that significant to him—so a stranger offs an ex-cop awaiting trial. It's relatively small potatoes—except that since this guy had a mad-on for Bruce—"

"He knows it's significant to us."

She gave the wok a stir. "No idea what the motive was, mind you."

Dick nodded. "Guess I'll find that out when I'm done asking him," he said grimly. "Let's see if I can get him to open up to me without slipping him a roofie."

--

"Bruce?" Gordon knocked once on the bedroom door. "Are you just about ready?"

Bruce didn't turn around. "I suppose," he said tonelessly.

Jim took a step into the room. "Are you all right?"

Bruce sighed. "I suppose," he repeated. "I guess, there's no real way to avoid this."

"Well, you could tell them you aren't up to it. They'll understand."

"They'll be concerned. If you go without me, they'll ask questions. If you don't, they'll think I'm in worse shape than I am."

"And if you go and act like you're doing now, they're still going to ask, and they're still going to think it."

Bruce took a deep breath. Then he turned to face Jim and flashed him a broad society smile. "Better?"

"No."

The smile fell away. "Look, I've been working on this. I know how much I have to be thankful for. But right now? I just..." I don't want to hear everyone saying, 'I'm thankful you're out of Arkham and back with us' over and over and over again. I know they are. I'm thankful too. But...

Jim put a hand on his shoulder. "She hasn't returned your calls?"

That was another reason he didn't feel like going."I haven't called," Bruce replied. "I've thought about it. Except that I can't guarantee that the same thing won't happen again." He met Jim's concerned gaze squarely. "The truth is, if I had that day to do over again, there are a few things I'd do differently. Following Flass's people to get you out wouldn't be one of them. So. If I'm not prepared to put Helena first, then maybe Selina's doing the right thing." He forced a smile. "I just... need to accept that and move on."

"Bruce..."

"Call Dick. Tell him we're running a bit late." He took a deep breath. "A few meditation exercises and I'll be fine. They won't take me more than twenty minutes, tops." His smile became more genuine. "They should do the trick. I mean, I can't put a damper on Thanksgiving, after all."

--

Bruce knocked on the apartment door and smiled warmly as Dick opened it. When Dick moved aside to allow him and Gordon to enter, however, the smile froze. His jaw dropped. One step... two steps... and he was kneeling on the carpet next to... "Helena?"

The toddler looked up from her shape-sorter. "Hi, Daddy!" she beamed, and passed him a green plastic triangle.

Disbelieving, Bruce accepted it. "For me?" he asked seriously.

"I know," a familiar voice interrupted. "I shouldn't have." Selina shook her head. "I really, really shouldn't have." She extended a hand to Bruce. "Please. Let's... talk," she continued, gesturing down the hallway. "Privately."

--

Bruce closed the bedroom door behind them and waited.

Selina stood facing him silently.

After a few moments, Bruce raised a quizzical eyebrow.

Selina closed her eyes and nodded. "I was out of line," she admitted. "I was feeling... guilty about going off on a mission. I missed Helena. And then, things went horribly... horribly wrong. And in between wondering if I was ever going to see my daughter again, I kept telling myself that at least, she was with you. Whatever happened to me, at least, she was safe."

"She was safe," Bruce pointed out.

"But she wasn't with you. And when I saw the article about Flass, about what happened..." She opened her eyes wide. "Bruce, after my parents died, I lived on the streets for a time, before I was sent to Seagate Juvenile Detention Center. There was no hearing, no trial—no attempt at placing me in foster care."

"That would never have happened to Helena," Bruce said, reaching for her.

Selina shied away. "I know. But... when I got back, I was still... shaky over splashing down in the south Pacific. And finding out about what happened to you was one more shock on top of everything else. All I could think was, that if I hadn't made it back and you were in Blackgate... or Arkham... or whatever... I pictured Helena in Seagate and I panicked." She looked down at the ground. "I overreacted. I know I did. The truth is," she screwed her eyes tightly shut, "the truth is, she's safer with you than she is with me."

"I wouldn't go that far."

Selina shook her head wearily. "Bruce. Your security is better than mine. And... If something happened to you while she was in your care, tell me that she wouldn't be under the protection of the JLA, JSA, Outsiders, Titans..."

"Shadowpact," Bruce added.

"Shadowp—" She blinked. "Shadowpact? Seriously?" She smiled, but an instant later, she sobered once more.

"If something were to happen to me, on the other hand," she sighed, "I love Holly and Karon... but I don't think they're up to raising her."

"I'd look after her," Bruce said. "You know that."

She nodded. "So... tell me," she said slowly, "did you mean 'you', or did you mean 'we'?" Before Bruce could reply, she continued, "I guess, what I really mean is, did I completely blow any chance of our... being an 'us'? Or is there still hope?"

Bruce hesitated. "I don't know," he admitted finally. "I... I do understand why you did what you did. And... it' s not as if I haven't behaved similarly in the past."

"But I've walked away from you twice, now."

Bruce nodded.

Selina closed her eyes again. "Maybe there's more," she said softly. "I mean, before all of this... you've got to admit we both lived and... and loved...on the edge. As much as we tried to make things work outside of the costume, I think—even though we never admitted it—we both knew that if the signal went up, you'd be off like a shot. And if I had a job to do... well, the best I could hope for from you in the way of support was a five second head start. I mean, we were serious about each other... but it was still almost a game. I don't think we really let ourselves get beyond a certain point. I think we both knew that there was too much in the way. Only now..."

"There isn't," Bruce finished, nodding again.

"And with Helena in the picture, it can't be a game anymore."

"No," Bruce agreed. "If you take her away now, she's young enough. She'll... forget me."

"I don't want her to forget you!" Selina exclaimed. "If I did, I wouldn't be here tonight! Look. I..." she took a deep breath. "Harley's out. On probation. And she's got a few problems—none of which are currently packing Smilex, by the way. But they are the kind that... that I can help her with and your people can't. She called me a couple of days ago, asking if I could meet her. I agreed. Don't worry; the kind of help I'm giving her won't cross any of the lines you're always concerned about. The thing is, I really... I consider Harley a friend. That doesn't mean I have any illusions that, if it came down to a question of loyalty, she wouldn't pick Joker over me any day of the week. I don't want her to know I have a child. I especially don't want her to start speculating as to who the father might be."

"You want me to look after Helena."

"Until Harley's issue is resolved," Selina admitted. "We're meeting later tonight. I don't want Helena nearby when we do. If taking her is a problem for you, I'll ask Karon. She should be fine with it. But I wasn't kidding about your security. I just don't want to give the impression that I only want you for a babysitter-"

"It's fine," Bruce cut her off.

Selina smiled. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure." He took a deep breath. "As far as the other matter goes, I..." he took a deep breath. "I don't know."

"I understand." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "I want you to realize, though... even if it turns out that there is no... us, I won't keep Helena from you."

Bruce absorbed that with a faint smile. "I... appreciate that. I think we'd best rejoin the others."

"I'm not staying for dinner," Selina said. "But I'll stick around for a few more minutes before I say my goodbyes. Call me later?"

Bruce took a deep breath. "If you want to stop by the manor," he said, "you don't need to call ahead."

Her face broke into a surprised smile. "I'll keep that in mind."

--

Helena was starting to fuss in her highchair when Barbara came downstairs. "Sorry I'm late," she said, looking somewhat dazed. "I was trying to wrap up some work when I got an alert. And then it took me a little longer to confirm it." She pulled off her glasses and wiped them absently. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable calling this one 'good news', she said solemnly, but approximately forty-five minutes ago, Flass died of anthrax poisoning."

There was a moment's silence. Then Bruce spoke heavily. "I didn't want this."

Tim cleared his throat. "Considering the way Flass was talking, up until he got sick," he looked around, "sorry to bring it up, but it's something to consider. To put it bluntly, if you start asking yourself, 'who benefits?' well, do we need to be worried about being brought in for questioning?"

"I doubt it," Barbara said. "I mean, considering that the DA's office wasn't interested in going after Bruce on Flass's say-so, Batman's reputation for not killing, and the fact that bio-warfare isn't exactly anyone's MO, here... I mean, I guess it's possible someone might be a little overzealous..."

"I'll gauge Montoya's mood the next time the signal goes up," Dick said.

Barbara nodded and continued, "...but I really don't see anybody tying us into it, though. No."

"Okay. Just checking."

"Understandable," Cass agreed. She smiled brightly. "Getting late. Starving."

A wail from Helena punctuated the two statements.

Jim took a deep breath. "Why don't we all sit down and get started," he suggested. "We can talk about this over dinner. When we discuss what we're all thankful for—no, don't everyone go looking at me like that. We aren't going to have that trial dangling over us," he glanced at Bruce, "you don't have to worry about how you're going to avoid testifying, and I don't have to worry about slipping up under cross-examination. Look, I didn't want Flass dead, but I'm not planning to shed tears at his funeral either. Now I can smell that turkey out here in the hallway. Let's not wait until it dries out."

With that, he stalked into the dining room. After a rapid exchange of glances, the others followed suit.

--

"Well, who wants to start?" Dick looked around the table.

Cass sighed. "Do now. Get over." She smiled. "Thankful you all understand me when I talk. Thankful they like me at hospital. Thankful can read now. A little." She glanced at Bruce. "Thankful lost fight to you in cave."

Bruce gave her a fleeting smile. "It was a training exercise," he said in response to the others' questioning glances.

Cass wasn't finished though. "Thankful to have family that helps. Because... because I'll need. When studying for Gee-eee-dee."

There was a stunned silence. Then everyone started speaking at once.

"Cass! Congratulations! When did you decide! You go, girl! You can do it!"

Cass's eyes met Bruce's. A small smile played on her lips as she gave him a quick wink.

For a moment, Bruce frowned in confusion. Then understanding dawned. The constant refrain that he had been dreading tonight, the way everyone was going to repeat ad nauseum how thankful they were that he was back—Cass had just pre-empted it. By waiting until now to reveal her news, she had effectively replaced him as the center of attention. Of course, the others were still going to express their gratitude that he was free, but after Cass' bombshell, it would be almost anticlimactic.

He smiled. "Well done."

Cass beamed back in perfect comprehension.

--

"Well, that's fortuitous," Alex remarked at their session, the following week.

Bruce's eyebrows drew together ominously. "If you're implying that I had anything to do with—"

"Far from it," Alex interrupted smoothly. "Direct—or even indirect—murder isn't your style. It never has been, and frankly, I'd be hard-put to envision a circumstance where it ever would be, although I'd concede that possibility."

"You would," Bruce stated flatly.

"Only inasmuch as I acknowledge that there is a certain breaking point beyond which any one of us could become a killer. I wouldn't begin to speculate on where yours might be. I would only say that it almost certainly exists."

Bruce thought about that for a moment before he gave Alex a grudging nod. "There have been moments when I was," his shoulders slumped, "angry enough. Until now, something has always intervened. Fate, friendship," he shook his head, "or... I don't know what to call it. Cowardice, perhaps."

Alex steepled his fingers. "Cowardice," he repeated. "I'm surprised to hear you use that term to describe your actions."

"As I said," Bruce repeated, "I don't know what I should call it. It was only the one time. When Jim retired. I know it's public record that he was shot, that a suspect was in custody, and that he was released due to lack of evidence. The case against him was circumstantial—it would have required a full confession on his part to stand up in court. GCPD kept him in custody as long as they could to try to obtain that confession. When they failed, I stepped in." As he started telling the story to Alex, he realized that he could still recall every detail vividly, as though he were standing there now, watching the scene unfold before his eyes.

It had been in the alley next to GCPD Headquarters. That shouldn't have surprised him. Too many of his failures seemed to take place in alleys. He'd lost his parents in one, found his second, doomed Robin in one. And that night, he had discovered the man who had nearly murdered Jim Gordon in another. His jaw set as he swung down from above and kicked the suspect—the culprit—into the pile of trash bags.

"You shot James Gordon." His voice was a harsh rasp.

Officer Jordan Rich cringed away from him. "Y-yes," he whimpered. "Yes, I did!" Then, under his breath, he mumbled, "oh, god, you're going to kill me."

For the barest moment, he felt a bittersweet pleasure. True, Jim was still in the hospital, but the killer would face justice. There was no hint of that relief in the intensity of his tone, however. "Go back inside. Confess to the police."

All at once, Rich blinked. "Confess...?" His voice trailed off in disbelief. "You're not going to kill me? You need a confession?"

Something was wrong. He realized it even as he replied, "I'll beat it out of you if I have to." Rich was still scared. Terrified, in fact. But he wasn't cringing anymore. He wasn't pleading. Instead, the look he returned was resigned.

"Go ahead," he said dully. "It can't hurt any more than losing everything. Gordon did enough damage to last a lifetime. And now I've done the same to him."

Batman spun about. And then, barely aware of what he was doing, he fired off his grapnel and soared into the night. Part of him wanted to test Rich's resolve—to pummel Jordan to a bloody pulp and then see whether he was still determined to not confess. Instead he ran like a coward into the darkness...

Alex was looking at him and shaking his head, not in disappointment, but in naked empathy. "He twisted your own moral code and used it against you? And you still held firm to that code?"

"And Jim stepped down. Yes, I kept to that code, but I sacrificed a partner and working relationship on that altar." He shook his head. "I could probably make a case that in so doing, I laid the groundwork for my current circumstances. Jim would never have sanctioned my arrest and subsequent... disposition."

"I doubt it," Alex said mildly. "You do realize that, after you were admitted to the hospital, Atkins had no voice in ordering your competency hearing? That it was a decision made by a medical board?"

Bruce blinked. Of course, Alex was right. Atkins could no more have sentenced him to Arkham than bound him over to Blackgate without a trial. But somehow, he'd never made that connection. He took a ragged breath. "I ran," he whispered. "I could have beaten that confession out of him. I honestly wanted to."

"But...?"

Bruce closed his eyes. "I wanted to do worse than beat him. And this time, I had no reason to expect that anybody would hold me back."

Clark had stopped him killing Joker, after Jason. Jim had too, first after Joker had shot Barbara, and then later when Hush had staged his own murder. Even Shondra had prevented him from murdering Benedict Asp. Dick had been there when he might have crossed that line with Two-Face. With David Cain, it had been Barbara... with the rest of the family within earshot. But on that night, there had been nobody. And rather than trust someone to show up at the last minute, rather than trust himself to maintain control...

"I could have become a murderer that night."

"But you chose not to."

Bruce screwed his eyes tightly shut and nodded.

"Even though Rich had nearly killed one of your closest friends."

"The last time Jim stopped me from killing Joker," Bruce said raggedly, "I flat-out asked him how many more lives we were expected to let that clown ruin."

"I don't care," Jim had replied. "I won't let him ruin yours."

Alex nodded.

"If I could have asked him about Rich, I have no doubt that he would have expressed the same sentiment."

"So, you didn't kill him," Alex ventured, "because Gordon wouldn't have approved?"

"No. Partly. No. I didn't kill him because I'm... better than that." He hesitated. "Or worse. I had a friend in Intensive Care, and I let his attempted killer go free. And Jim retired."

"Which he wouldn't have done, had you brought Rich to justice."

"No, I think he still would have," Bruce said dully. "But I would have felt..."

"Better? Or worse?"

"I don't know! I wish I did," he admitted. "I'm not... proud... of the way I handled that situation, but I don't know what else I could have done."

His eyes were burning. He clenched his fists in his lap and screwed his eyelids even more tightly closed.

"It sounds to me," Alex ventured, "as though two of your integral values, namely your moral code and your sense of loyalty, came into direct conflict. Given the nature of the circumstances, one had to give way to the other. Frankly, I'm not sure you could have handled things better."

A small amount of moisture broke past his eyelashes and his shoulders shook as he fought for control.

--

Selina drove back from her meeting with Harley shaking her head in disbelief. This was worse than an Abbott and Costello routine. Not that she didn't like Abbott and Costello—she did. They were comic geniuses. But they weren't people she would have enjoyed talking to in real life. It had been her own fault, of course. Harley had seemed so together tonight that Selina had bitten the bullet and asked...

"Harley, why do you stay with him? You've got brains, looks, an education... You know you can do so much better."

"But I don't wanna do better. I want Mistah J!"

She'd taken the other woman's wrist and deliberately rolled up her sleeve. "Don't tell me. You walked into a carpenter's vise."

"He... he just don't know his own strength."

"Yes, he does."

"You don't understand."

It had been all Selina could do not to lash out at her. She didn't understand abuse? She'd barely known a day without it until she'd escaped from Seagate. She'd been almost tempted to reveal that, but even after all these years, the scars were still too fresh. Besides, if Harley ever betrayed that confidence to Joker, Selina didn't know what she would do, but it would be something unpleasant and memorable.

"I understand more than you know," she'd said finally. "Look. We both know that the contacts I gave you, you could have picked up from plenty of other sources. What's the real reason you begged me to meet with you tonight?"

Harley sighed. "Pammy kicked me out. She said she didn't wanna hear me talkin' about my puddin' no more. I need a place to crash, Kitty. Help a friend out?"

Selina clenched her teeth. She should have guessed it was something like this. Damn it. She couldn't bring her back to her apartment. But she couldn't leave Harley to fend for herself on the street, either.

"Where are your hyenas?" she asked with a calmness she didn't feel.

"Oh, they're at the zoo. I'm gonna get them out tomorrow." Her face took on a doting look. "They miss their mommy so."

Selina sighed. "Leave them there until you're back on your feet." She opened her wallet and pulled out a wad of bills. "Look, you know the Nyberg Inn on Carlton Street? They've got room. Just tell them you're a friend of mine."

"But..."

"I have an arrangement with them. They'll put up anyone I vouch for, no questions asked." She smiled apologetically. "My place is small, and my sofa is lumpy, okay? You'll be more comfortable there."

Harley thought about that for a moment. Then, her hand reached forward and scooped up the bills. "Sure, why not? Thanks, Catty."

She'd been so relieved to have that problem solved that she hadn't even bothered to take issue with the nickname.

She parked the car in front of her building, headed upstairs and fumbled wearily with her apartment key.

Joker was sitting on her sofa, his left foot resting casually on his right knee. He was holding a baby rattle. "Selina! Babe!" He exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell anyone you had a rugrat? Now where is that sweet little kitten hiding?"

To be continued.....

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