Chapter Text
It was a winter morning in Gotham city. The brisk chill air froze John's senses and bit at his skin as he gravely laced his way through remote avenues on his way to work at Ace Chemicals. He bore at his shadow projected in front of him by the early rising sun behind him. The condensation of his breath was hitting against his rouge flushed cheeks and his runny nose was giving him the sniffles.
At the crack of dawn, shop workers were stepping out on the icy pavement to place signs out signifying the store's opening. The notice boards were flashy and colorful, contrasting against the gothic achromatic buildings surrounding them.
John ambled over the crossroads whilst the traffic lights still glared green. The roads weren’t busy with traffic yet plus he lived on the outskirts of Gotham, it was a luxury to own a car around these parts and even more of a rarity to not have it stolen.
He strode through the left-over snow from the storm last night with battered leather boots. The soles were loose, causing him to trip up in the sleet. They were also useless against the ice as they had lost their grip after being worn down from many years of wearing them
Eventually he approached a small news stall. There was a shabby heater within it, keeping the seller warm and emitting out steam. The temperate mist gave John a small taste of warmth again as it blew through him. The stall’s front display was littered with magazines about trivial celebrity gossip and the morning stacks of papers were damp from the spitting rain being blown in under the store's roof. A short queue had already formed to buy a coffee and a copy of this morning’s paper. He briefly stopped by the stack of newspapers, as his eye had caught the headline for today’s news.
Peering down at the headline it read ‘Caped Crusader Storms Streets Again'. He looked closer and studied the blurry photo that had been stretched and enlarged to fit the paper's cover. He could make out the silhouette of a man swinging by what appears to be some kind of rope attached to a grapple, flying through the night sky with a jagged cape. The moon was the only source of light which made his features hard to read. This left it up to the reader's imagination to fill in the blanks with their own worse fears.
John contemplated on the material of the costume, could it deflect bullets? Surely the vigilante could be shot from the sky if the police fired at him; although, the man did look hard to target and even harder to find. That is if he even was a man.
The silhouette had pointy ears, plus the cape looked like wings. The news assured it was a costume made to look like a creature, but John was open to anything. He then wondered how freeing that must feel like, to soar through the night sky glancing down on crossroads where the people roaming over them looked like ants. The concept made his thoughts grow dark and he debated whether throwing himself off the tallest building to get a taste, might be worth it, despite the cost.
John always had a problem with his mind getting lost and swaying with whichever way the wind blew. It had been a hindrance for him at school, with work and even with his relationships; pretty much everything.
“Hey! This isn’t a free viewing!” the shopkeeper shook his fist at him, distracted from serving a customer who had turned to stare at him. In fact, the whole queue had turned to stare at him. Stunned and flustered, he hurriedly staggered away not wanting to cause any more trouble or worse start a fight.
John was fearful of any threat and usually tried to stay out of trouble as much as possible. However, he always seemed to helplessly fall into it on accident. It seems people got angry at him over nothing or things he can’t control. Such as clumsily missing over something, or not getting it right because he can’t see whatever it is they’re seeing, no matter how many times they explained it.
Due to this, he was never the top dog anywhere. Usually he was pushed to the side or back of the room, so he wasn’t a disturbance to the rest of the class. He would barely even call himself an underdog as he hasn’t risen at all from the pit that’s slowly sinking him further down to the rank of complete failure.
With his tall height but skinny frame letting him down, he was no Hercules and was the typical pushover. He couldn’t intimidate any man; he was no threat no matter how much he puffed his chest and clenched his fists. Therefore, he had always grown up with the impulse to choose flight over fight.
This and being more effeminate on the masculine scale also made him the prime target for bullies. At school, he'd often get bullied for his sharp chin and pointed nose. There was something so ‘punch-able’ about his face he’d often hear them say. Despite craving to socialize and fit in, John had learned to accept his doomed life of solitude. It had become easier to face than the constant rejection.
The one relationship he had formed and managed to maintain was with his wife Jeanie. He had met her out of school and managed to pull her by some miracle. He didn’t know what she saw in him. He recalled her saying that she liked men who were gentle and fragile, and that was John all over. She had always been that way herself and was over boys who behaved the opposite. John thought she was missing out.
Either way, she was like a dainty delicate flower he never wanted to violate nor trample. So knowing himself to be a klutz, he didn’t push or ask for anything from her out of fear of messing things up. With his low esteem bringing out his soft side, she had found it easy to share with him her sexual abuse with her ex-partners, which was the reason for the opposition with the top dog kind of guys John envied to be.
They had kissed only a few times at the start of their relationship but, they had never gone further. She was traumatized from past experiences and John was… well, he had issues where he didn’t seem to want to ever do such things. Maybe the bullying had beaten any worth he had as a man out of him. Luckily Jeanie didn’t seem to mind at all, so he had stopped worrying about it a long time ago. Once again, he simply accepted it as another area of his life he was doomed to always fail in.
Aging into his late 20s, John's money situation hadn’t grown any better. He seemed to be forever stuck in poverty. All he owned was bland cheap suits of multiple shades of brown. Making him the stranger your eyes glossed over in the murkiness of a crowd, easily blending in with the walls and pavement. The most self-caring thing he had was pomade for his hair, combining that with some cooking oil kept his hair swept back in a greaser style. John did care very much about fashion, he’s always admired it, and his hair was the one thing he let himself indulge in.
Overall, his life has been far from exciting, except for the day of his marriage which was only bared witness to by Jeanie’s side of the family, with John having never known his. He often wondered whether he should track down his origin, but he felt embarrassed. What would they think if they found out their child’s a deadbeat loser. Perhaps they would be glad to have gotten rid of him. It was better off not knowing. Family remained a vague concept to him.
With the wedding day being years behind him, it too soon blurred into the wish-wash memories of his life and every day from now on looks destined to be no brighter. There were no hopes or plans for anything great happening anytime soon.
Little did John know, his life was only about to grow more tragic. It seemed just when he thought he couldn't sink any further down into the pit that was his life destined for the misery it catches him off guard. He had finally made it to work to only be made redundant; sacked off due to budget cuts. He was one of the first to go, his usual daydreaming costing him a bad reputation and being known as a lackadaisical worker.
Furthermore, John hated going to work and struggled to hide it. To no one's surprise, Ace Chemicals was no fun. John being weak in the arms and not burly made him a poor worker for heavy lifting. It just simply made him a target for the other men to mock and tease him for about it. This moved him on to become a machine operator. The controls were cold to touch with no heaters, and in a Gotham winter such as this, it was the worst. He felt his fingers becoming ice pops and thought they were going to snap off sometimes.
There was also the issue of general complaints from the other co-workers about his unusual social habits and unnecessary comments. At lunch he struggled, as expected, to get along with his co-workers. He would just say odd comments like the skies color that day or how he saw a pigeon peck at its own kind on his way to work. It seemed to cut conversations dead and he soon found himself sat alone at his usual table in the makeshift staffroom.
John never understood why because he thought those conversations were the most interesting. He's always preferred talking about life's mysteries and why we exist, rather than talking about what was on television this morning or partners and relationships. Those things were dull to him, plus he didn’t even have cable.
Part of him had always hoped on getting out of this dingy old factory, but not like this. Now he was just left abandoned and no better off than when he first joined. He couldn't think of where to even go after this as he had nothing prepared or lined up.
He trudged home back down the same avenues he had walked this morning. Passing the news stand that now had its cover closed and was locked shut. The gothic buildings around him were littered with square lights from workers in warm offices, counting down the minutes left of their shift.
He kicked an empty can down the road with a huff rolling over in his head how he was going to explain this all to Jeanie. She wasn’t doing well herself, with her job causing her to be out late and on the streets at night in danger. She didn’t like to talk much about what she did at first it. Initially, she was a waitress at a small-time diner shack down the road across from them, working just the odd shifts here and there. However, she would come home with more money on the side and sometimes injuries that she assured John it was best not to question. She simply asked for aid with her recovery, often asking for John to pick up some plasters and painkillers from the pharmacy on his way back from work. Out of the two of them, she had the worst nightmares.
Reluctantly, John made it back home to their attached house. A tiny little thing squished between other abodes. The bricks are worn and grey, fitting into the downtown Gotham aesthetic. Before entering, he stamped his feet on the cobble outside the front door, noticing how a brick had come loose. He then wiggled a rusted key in the stiff key lock getting the door to open finally after finding that certain angle.
Due to Jeanie having left the garbage bags in the hallway, the door only opened slightly ajar and he squeezed himself through the doorway. Once inside, he shrugged off his coat and dropped the key on the kitchen sideboard. He stuck the heater on and began to cook dinner so it will be ready for Jeanie when she gets home. Her shifts were no later than nine and she warned him if they were to call the authorities. That means he still had a few hours to dwell on how he was going to break the bad news.
Jeanie had returned home at around eight-thirty, chilly from the cold and wrapped up in blankets. Snowdrops had fallen and stuck to her hair and she was clearly tired. John thought she looked like an angel. She took a moment to fill the bins outside as the bin man had come this morning and John had forgotten to do them as he was too nervous and anxious. He barely managed to cook dinner right having nearly burnt everything as he got lost running multiple scenarios on how Jeanie was going to react to the news over in his mind.
Jeanie took off her own dirty old heels dropping them next to John's worn boots and despite taking off her coat; she kept her scarf on to stay warm. Entering the kitchen, John placed their plates on the table for her and she greeted him with warm eyes and a forced smile from a hard day of work, not wanting to let on how tired she really was. Jeanie stroked a hand over his waist as she passed him to sit down.
"How was your day?" she inquired, warm and mushy as usual.
"Alright," he lied, as he couldn't get the truth out. He emptied his cold coffee down the sink and moved to sit and join her at the table.
John had waited until they were tucking themselves into bed for him to tell her, the bad news eventually weighing down too hard on his soul. The words struggled to escape him and that’s when Jeanie offered to share her own dark secret in return for his.
"Okay..." he breathed, his heart suddenly dropped on what it could be and how worse this night could get.
"I'm pregnant"
By the end of the night, John was lying wide awake in bed, still recovering at the idea- no reality- that Jeanie was pregnant with a child who was obviously not his. A result of a mistake made at work, and again he was expected to not ask any more into it. She clearly regretted it; he could see that through all the tears, and as usual, John did not want to break her any more than she already was broken. He simply nodded his head and only let her tell him as much as she wanted to and no more. If he was honest, the story horrified him. It was difficult to wrap his mind around how cruel the world can be.
In their dimly lit bedroom, John stared up at the cracked ceiling. At some point rain must have trickled in between the roof tiles, causing the ceiling to leak and leave behind dark patches in the paint. He treats them like clouds in the sky and tried making shapes out of them to stop his thoughts from spiraling out of control.
The effort was futile. How quick was he going to find a new job? How was he supposed to get out of this mess and off this dirty old mattress? How was he expected to stick around and help Jeanie raise a child that was not his? That is if she even decides to keep it.
Part of him couldn’t ever leave her. They've gone through thick and thin together and have been stuck in this hell hole since he can remember. If he abandoned her, he would forever hate himself for it. It's not like it was her fault after all.
He closed his eyes with a hiss, struggling with the comprehension of all of it. He had told her he forgave her and she forgave him and that was the end of it. They then agreed that they’d find a way to keep going and get through all this because that’s the only option they've ever had and it’s what they’ve always done.
He checked the time on his frayed leather watch resting on the bedside table, and it was just turning quarter to 10, the usual time he and Jeanie went to sleep for a work night. He turned his head to find she was already asleep, back facing him and softly breathing. That or she was pretending and was trying to stop herself from succumbing to dark thoughts of her own.
He found himself gingerly crawling out of bed, the warm heat trapped under the duvet escaping as he lifted it. His feet hit the cold stained carpet, and he stood up against the freezing air of their room. The draft swept in heavy from the window, sending goosebumps across his bare chest. He slipped on his suit from today back on and snuck downstairs to get his shoes that were still wet from walking in the snow on his way back from work. He hauled on his coat and wrapped his neck with a scarf. Carefully, he then opened the front door, not wanting to make a noise. As soon as he stepped outside, he was hit with the late-night chill that stung harder than Gotham’s mornings. He made sure to shut the door just as gently as he had opened it and locked it tight.
There were only a few stars in the sky tonight, and the moon was full. It shone against the deserted skyscrapers, which were just black silhouettes now, with the office workers having retired for the night. John buried his hands deep within his coat pockets as he trailed his way to the local bar. The dimly lit lamp posts and his shoddy memory of its location were the only things guiding his way. It was incredibly dangerous being out at night like this in the downtown area. Crimes were burning like fire right now in Gotham, and fuel was only being added to it. But at this point, John almost hoped for his life to be put to an end, as long as they made it quick.
He was never one for alcohol, but times like this drove him to a bar seeking it. Drinking was the only solution that manages to numb his mind and stop him from wanting to do anything drastic. With this being one of his darkest days yet, the decision was a no-brainer, he craved it.
The Black Boars Bar was a small shabby thing, but these kinds of bars had their own spark and flare to them. The downtown bars of Gotham were rich with life that was hard to find anywhere else. They were filled to the brim with the downtown lower-class, who drunk away their sorrows and laughed through hard times. You wouldn't find a single person who wasn't trying to forget their woes and sins, hoping to pass out until the next morning when they would wake to hangovers and repeat the whole cycle again.
As John eventually found the bar after backtracking a few times and spotting road signs he hadn't read in a while, he stepped up to the old heavy black painted door, excited for what resided behind it. It was incredibly loud and bustling inside just as expected. John's eardrums felt like they were being blown out due to them going from the quiet chill wind to the shouting, yelling, and boisterous laughter of the crowd inside. It was like when you accidentally turn on the radio with the dial turned full volume.
He trudged in on his own, taking small steps, back slouched and hesitant to bump into anyone or knock a drink over and cause trouble. However, it was hard to avoid sticking out elbows and flailing hands and he caught a few grazes with people, but they luckily didn’t pay any mind.
The waft of cigarettes clung to the inside of his nose and the soft luxurious red carpet felt soft to his boots compared to the pavement outside. It was much warmer in here, and he could catch his breath again as wondered over in the direction of the bar. Wanting to be left to himself as much as possible, he chose the seat positioned at the end of the bar in the dark corner. The jukebox nearby was currently playing an album of classic 80s rock.
He sat himself down on the red scuffed leather bar stool and rubbed numb fingers from the cold through his dark chocolate hair. The barman, having spotted him, walked over to greet him. Being not a regular, the man could tell today was a rough one. John clearly looked like he was here to purely wallow in his own pity.
"One lager please," John whispered, barely managing to lift a finger to emphasize nor raising his head high enough to meet eyes with the barman.
The barman nodded, a tall, tanned burly man who looked like he was dealing guns rather than drinks with his dark expression and unshaven face down to his neck. He wore a dirty apron wrapped around a large belly. In a few seconds, a large pint was placed on the blemished counter before John, the slam of it jolting him out of his thoughts. John reached for his dusty tattered wallet in his inside jacket pocket, a crumpled photo of him and Jeanie on their wedding day dangled out the side of it.
"Free one on the house" the man rumbled in understanding. It was the kindest gesture he’s had in years, and it made him want to cry.
John bent his head and brought the heavy pint to his lips, sipping at the bitter liquid. He couldn't stand the taste but hoped it did some kind of miracle to his senses to make all his feelings go away and leave him feeling numb.
On the opposing wall, John studied the bar owner's family photographs framed on the old tattered rose wallpaper in front of him. Black and white photographs of retired men with happy faces, celebrating their success. John groaned aloud and tried to find reasons why he shouldn't just crack his skull open against the counter and be done with it all.
A businessman much more attractive than him, and probably anyone in this bar ended up sitting across from him leaving a seat between them. He seemed heavily distracted on his cell phone. A device you don’t often see around these parts with only the rich being able to afford them. It piqued John's curiosity and he studied it as a distraction to his thoughts.
The barman walked over, drying a pint glass with a brown stained tattered towel.
"Two spritz," the man ordered, not even raising his head. His eyes were glued to the phone screen, but he did manage to raise two fingers to emphasize his words, unlike John. The barman got right to it with a curt nod.
"Fuck..." the man snapped unexpectedly, throwing the thing down on the counter. It made John jolt and shiver at seeing such a valuable device be carelessly battered like that.
"Rough day huh?" John inquired, as he stared down into the near empty bottom of his glass. Watching how the bubbles grouped together.
"Are... are you talking to me?" the man scoffed, glancing over with a confused face. John hadn’t even looked up to face him when he spoke, and was startled to glance up to find the man gawking at him.
"I uh… sorry," He mumbled, turning his flustered face away. John always found himself messing up with social cues. Was he supposed to wait for eye contact first? It just felt right for him to say it. He had an issue with speaking aloud without much thought. Used to always being ignored, he hadn’t expected a response from the other man, but he still saw nothing wrong with what he said.
Eventually, the barman wandered back with two small shot glasses filled to the top with a blood red liquid.
"I said spritz, what do you call these?" the business man bit with a look of bewilderment at what he had been handed.
"What you expecting, lemon toppings?" the barman huffed.
"Ugh…" the other groaned, clearly appalled by the barman's sloppiness. He reached for his discarded phone again, likely crawling back to check his messages.
The barman after a pause, turned to cut a slice of lime, spat on it, then stuck it on the edge of one of the shot glasses.
"That better? Jackass" he scorned, marching away to clean a leftover glass again. The businessman hadn't even noticed, as he was consumed by the device. He had one elbow planted on the counter, with his body tilted away facing John coincidentally and appeared to be writing out another message with fierce attacks from his fingers. The man seemed to have worst social cues than him, which made John giggle.
Feeling mocked, the man glanced over to him. He glared at John with dagger like eyes that only made him grin wider.
"You ask for the cheapest thing they had?" the man retorted, getting a jab in as he was plainly feeling overly defensive. John had never seen someone look so grumpy.
"No..." He scoffed into his sleeve, trying to hold back his giggling. He liked the guy's arrogant attitude and how oblivious he was to the people around him. He couldn’t help but find it hilarious! It made him not feel so bad about himself.
"Is my misery amusing to you?" the man smirked at him, unexpectedly. Those white teeth causing John to lower his guard and giggle more till eventually, he stopped trying to hide it, and flat out laughed hysterically.
"Kind of..." John drawled after re-composing himself. He brought the pint up to his lips to down the last dribbles of his drink. The man's insults were rolling off him after the hell of today. Right now, John found he really didn’t take offence to them but instead simply admired the man's sass. Glancing back, he locked eyes with him. The man's gaze had never left his face.
"You’re not a people person are you?" John murmured.
'What do you mean?"
"I think the guy spat in your drink..."
"You reckon? Well, that’s just my luck today isn't it…" he groaned. The dark-haired man placed money on the counter and John noticed it was a hundred-dollar bill.
"Swooo...." John whistled looking at it. Imagine having that much to spend on a spoiled drink from a barman that treats you rough.
The man got up from his stool making John think he had driven yet another person to prefer to leave his presence, rather than stand the torment of speaking to him any further. Until the suited man approached him, leaning over and sliding an elbow across the counter, carelessly knocking his empty pint glass away from him.
Up close he could see the man’s face vividly. He had a very stubbly chin and John didn’t realize a man’s eyelids could slant like that to look so attractive. He had a wide jaw making him look more like a boxer than a businessman and his thick dark brows gave him a weary expression. Dark circles gloomed under his eyes causing him to appear exhausted and beat –down, like he was grieving, despite his bold attitude.
"How about we get out of here?" the man nodded towards the exit to the bar. His smile seemed pretentious and overly warm. John couldn’t tell if his pristine teeth were real or artificial.
"Go where? Everything’s shut at this hour…" John’s eyes roamed over the others face, slightly in shock at the proposal. He couldn’t think of many places downtown. Plus it was also getting late and Jeanie would be worried where he was if she had woken up by now to find him gone.
"Got a wife?"
"Yeah, and I need to get back to her..."
"She won’t mind..."
John quirked a brow, bedazzled at how a man who couldn’t possibly know that, could say that with such confidence.
"Don't swing that way?" the man pressured further and he glanced around the room as if to check for any eavesdroppers. He was suddenly behaving very conspicuous. John was confused at the secrecy. He reached into his pocket to pull out more hundred-dollar bills and place them on the counter in front of them, the edges crimpled.
"Usually this changes minds..."
Why would the man pay him to hang out with him?
"How lonely are you?" John scoffed.
The man scowled at him.
"Well not enough to bribe someone who’s an ass about it..."
"Bribe me for a night out down the town? I’d just go with you, but I told you I can’t... maybe tomorrow?" John offered. He felt guilty at turning the man down. He had always wanted to make a friend and this felt like a great opportunity, it just couldn’t have occurred at a worse time.
The businessman let out a rich deep chuckle. "I’m not asking you for a trip out to the town you idiot. Can't you read between the lines?"
John just stared blankly at the man.
The other leaned in close, with hushed breath. "I’m asking you to sleep with me..."
John’s eyes shot open. "What?"
It took him a moment to register what was being proposed to him. He’d never considered sleeping with a man before, or well, he had thought of how it might work which ended up futile. He was still left clueless on how it worked… and this man was offering to show him.
"I can’t..." he said flustered, ”I’ve got to get back home, I’m late."
John stood up abruptly, the barstool scraping behind him and he pushed the bills aside, likely the last time he’d ever touch so much money in his life. Luckily, the man didn’t trail after him as he left the bar. The cold air cooled his skin and eased his flustered face as he stumbled his way outside in a panic.
John made it back home just past midnight. Jeanie was still asleep when he quietly snuck back into the bedroom. Undressing himself down to his boxers, he scrambled into bed wanting to get into the warmth under the covers. It appears she had never woken up, much to his relief.
He had just got offered money for intercourse by a millionaire no- probably billionaire! He wondered what Jeanie would say. Would she have told him to take the offer? John scoffed at himself. He didn’t like men that way so the idea of her telling him to do it and him going along with it was preposterous anyway. Besides, he also knew that she’d rather live a life broke on the streets than rich with a husband who sold himself for money in the worst way possible.
His heart was still thumping out of his chest and half his mind wanted to analyze every second of that experience and the other wanted to worry about what his life had ahead of him now. He was still caught in a bust and needed to go job hunting tomorrow.
He passed out into the early hours of the morning. The alcohol had finally taken effect and stopped his thinking. It gave him peace of mind for short period of time. A hangover awaited him in the morning.
John approached the old news stand in the wee-hours of the morning. The brisk chill cut into his fingers like any day. The stall owner glared at him till he eventually picked up the paper for this morning and actually paid for it.
“There, not so hard was it?’ the man chided in a patronizing tone, emphasizing his annoyance with John's previous behavior at his stall. He dropped a rusted penny for change in John's outstretched palm.
The headline today was another article about the caped crusader, this time with the press debating on what kind of creature it was trying to represent. Rumors from witnesses reported to have seen a bat logo on the costume. There were then photos showing graffiti of bat symbols around the city as a message from the community supporting the vigilant. The worst one being on the G.C.P.D’s entrance, large and bold, and was the one enlarged on the cover of the paper. The commissioner was offering a reward to whoever could find the vandalizer and promised to stop the want to-be hero playing carelessly outside the law.
John tugged the newspaper open not letting himself go off into a daydream. He was now living with a time limit over his head and didn't have minutes to spare. Under the large font that read ‘Positions Open’, he read the jobs littered underneath:
HOUSE SUPERVISOR REQUIRED
A small family need 24 hours (one day per week. Off) Resident English-speaking female-
Nope.
JOB OPPORTUNITY
Secretary / Steno typist (Male/female)
For a leading custom clearing and forwarding company. Must be well written & good spoken English. At least 60wpm typing speed on direct dictation and good command of operating computers. At least five years working experience-
Nope!
Going through the list of many jobs it seemed John had been forced to whittle down to three at best with him somewhat fitting the application requirements. With no phone or car, he had to travel on foot to the buildings themselves to apply and hand in his resume. So, he was back to trudging through the snow with his worn boots and clutching a bunch of papers with his resume on them that determined his worth. This time walking miles further than usual in the cold.
A white, misty hue filled the air, blurring the towering gothic skyscrapers around him. The buildings ahead were so hazy and blurred that you could easily imagine them to be giant creatures or strange artifacts. John started to daydream about the end of the world and aliens.
The snowy white paths gave the city some brightness again, as they contrasted with the black roads and dark towers. The orange lights from the office buildings combined with the mist, made it look like the place was on fire. John noticed he was following the footprints of others who have walked along the same path. He tried aligning his feet to fit them as best as he could for fun. Christmas lights were in the process of being put up around town, wires were being wrapped around trees and lampposts. John didn’t care for such a holiday; he had never personally celebrated it, so he never understood what he was missing out on.
He had gone through two quick interviews this morning with him spotting some stores with help signs in the window. He also made his way to each of the businesses that had been advertising in the paper. John was scaling anything from plumber to chemist to shopkeeper. The typical low-end jobs he could just about scrounge with his bad schooling and few work experiences. It was past noon now and his red nose was growing wet and sore and the tips of his ears were stinging and aching.
There was just a third and final business to make his way to and drop his resume off before he could call it quits and that was Wayne tower. He had got the bus for that one, as he was too far away from it, living in the outskirts of the city.
He had arrived at Wayne tower, a tall and luxurious building in the heart of Gotham. It really was the peak of tech in the city and a symbol of modern-day advancement. A giant white logo shone on top of the tower, contrasting harshly against the dark aura of the skyscraper. The overall theme was modern but still gothic enough to match Gotham's vibe with its charcoal outer walls. It had a million lit windows representing the hundreds of offices inside.
For a man that never owned a computer and used pay phones he was confused why he ever thought he had a chance but hey ho, the job wasn’t really asking for much, and it's nothing he couldn’t learn.
Walking into the lobby was like walking into a paradox. It was like he had jumped forward a hundred years into the future. The deluxe leather couches probably costing more than his rent. Everything was sleek and hard and glossy from the floor to the walls. TVs were dangling overhead, playing advertisement of the next Wayne products. Fake plants were placed around here and there, reminding you that you were still on earth and not at an international space airport. It smelt like cleaning products and air fresheners.
Suddenly, John's heart stopped when he saw him again. The businessman from last night was walking along with other fellow businessmen. The three men were trailing behind him. Their suits looked like they cost thousands, the edges of them so sharp they could cut. John roamed his eyes down to study their dark polished shoes clicking against the glossy marble floor.
Their pristine outfits matched their pristine hair, with every strand slicked back and groomed in place like supermodels. Everything neat and composed like they had their whole lives sorted out, planned, and ordered together. There was nothing out of their control.
He was thrown completely off guard at the sight and he snapped his face away from them quickly not wanting to be noticed. He took a deep calming breath as he tapped his foot and continued to wait in line at the reception impatiently. But of course, when they walked past it was just his luck for the man to glance back and spot him. John heard him wave to the other men and tell them to go on without him and he didn’t turn his head to acknowledge the man until the other was literally by his shoulder.
"The guy at the bar, amiright?" the man flashed that bright white smile at him again, and when John met his gaze he noticed he had steel-blue eyes. A detail he had missed before due to his anxiousness at the bar. Not that he wasn’t stumbling for his words and lacking confidence now too.
"Uh..." he breathed out, unsure what to say.
"Aw, don’t go cold on me now"
The first thing John wanted to address was the awkward encounter and ask about the offer; about how that had happened and why.
"I was drunk. I’m sorry." the man apologized, realizing John was unable to get over the awkwardness between them without addressing last night first. "Water under the bridge?"
The man waved a hand to emphasize his words whilst the other remained in his pant pocket. John studied his fingers and expected groomed nails but that seemed to be the one unpolished things about him. The businessman's nails looked torn and blunt and he even had scabs on his knuckles. John thought the man must be stressed with work and was far more busy punching walls all day than getting paperwork done. The concept made him giggle.
"Don’t mention it" he said scoffing, waving his own hands back. He was still flustered at the memory. Ah, he was drunk. That explains it. Maybe it hadn’t been his first bar of the night then.
"There’s that laugh...." the man pointed with a smirk, "The one that got you into trouble with me".
Made conscious of his giggling again, John tried to hold it back. But still, let out a few.
"You applying for the internship here?"
"No, the janitor"
The man's eyes shot open. "What?! I couldn’t sleep at night knowing a guy like you was scrubbing Wayne tower's bathrooms. Let me get you a real job here. You helped me in hard times, saved me from doing something stupid. I’ll help you..."
Help him? John couldn’t believe what he was hearing. How inconvenient would that be for this man? He’d have to talk to his boss most likely.
"No, it’s alright... I don’t want you to stick a leg out for me"
"Stick a leg out? I own the place"
"What?"
"I’m Bruce Wayne?" The man said staring at him with a smile and confused brows.
John felt his whole world crumbling under his feet. Was this a joke? But who would do a prank like this? And the confidence he said it in- and- and it could make sense, it’s just John won’t allow himself to believe it. But the man had tipped a hundred dollars at the bar. Could it truly be him?
"Don’t tell me you don’t recognize me? My pictures are on every cover of the magazines; my face is on the walls around this place."
John didn’t read magazines. John skimmed his eyes over the front page of newspapers about vigilantes on the mornings and daydreamed about flying over rooftops.
"I’m sorry... I..." he felt so embarrassed and flustered like he’d just offended the man.
Now it was Bruce's turn to laugh, "Do you even live in Gotham?"
"I live on 6th avenue" John stumbled out, but then realized the question was just a teasing statement.
His mistake earned him another laugh from the man. "See, now you're treating me different... don’t do that". He jabbed a blunt nail at him.
"Okay"
Bruce reached to grab the ruffled papers in John's trembling hand that had become crinkled after a long day of trudging around Gotham. He thought he had done well to keep them still readable.
"May I?"
"Uh sure..."
"John..." the man said his name off his tongue, "Doe... Wow, are you using an alias, got a secret?"
"What?" John stuttered.
"Uh, nothing... just a detective joke. Do you watch crime watch?"
"No, I don’t..."
"Oh, do you watch any crime stuff?"
"I read the news" John offered, with an anxious expression.
Bruce smirked. "Well, that’s more than enough. Gotham is filled with crime these days... worst city in the country for it, did you know that?"
"No, I didn’t. That’s interesting" John said genuinely intrigued.
As Bruce turned on a sharp heel and had begun to walk, John forced blood back into his week legs and went to catch up. The man was still holding his resume but not looking at it. John walked slouched with his hands in his pockets whereas Bruce walked tall and straight. John noticed the value of his suit up close, he spotted pointed crisp cuffs, silver cuff links, soft velvet underlying. Bruce had a matching silver pocket cloth to match his silver tie that had black embroidery. That tie must have cost more than John's whole suit. His black raven hair was swept back against his head, smooth and sleek, not a hair out of place except for a small fray that looked purposeful over his forehead.
People greeted them, or more specifically Bruce, as they walked through the lobby. The man didn’t even return the same courtesy, he just kept continuing with his conversation with John.
"Those people were saying hi to you..."
The man scoffed, "Way to point out the obvious John". He then reached for a door and opened it for John to walk through.
He found the businessman very confusing with how he didn't seem to understand what he meant. For a guy that had roasted him for not reading between the lines, he sure didn’t do the same.
"So, as I was saying... that vigilante has to be stopped."
"Vigilante?" He must have been talking about that bat creature when he got distracted. "Shame... I wish we made it so everyone could fly around cities. How fun would that be?"
Bruce glanced down at him, and then scoffed. "That’s impossible and impractical..." With his hands in his pockets, his expensive Rolex was sticking out the side.
"He must get cold at night..."
"Have you been listening to a word I’ve said?"
"Uh.... you sort of rambled off"
They stepped into an elevator, walking off the flush carpet of the hallway on to more expensive tiling. The back of the elevator was an entire glass window that faced the bustling streets of Gotham. The elevator was heated, with light piano music playing in the background.
Bruce pressed the button for the penthouse, and his stomach dropped at the thought of how high they were about to go. He began to feel trapped and claustrophobic in the small space they were in. Bruce's shoulder brushed against his as he moved to stand beside him. His expensive cologne clashing against John’s budget one.
John turned his head to stare out the glass window as they went up the building and his legs went wobbly.
"Woah there" Bruce chuckled and stilled him with a hand to his shoulder, keeping him from swaying backward. "You’re not going to be swinging from rooftops if you can't handle an elevator. You're definitely not the night crusader."
John closed his eyes to center himself and then shook his head taking a deep breath. "I’m good, I just need to get used to it is all..."
He stared back out the window and like his daydream, began to see above buildings from an angle he's never viewed before. Looking down below as the people on the streets became ants and his mind was blown. He realized how much Gotham was shaped like a grid and how the traffic flowed efficiently. He saw how he had been one of the many tiny cogs functioning in a whole machine. At eye level, he felt like he was facing the clouds rather than staring up at them.
"It’s alright I’m not a fan of heights either..." Bruce drawled.
"No, I- I love it" John gleamed trying to hide his giddiness, earning an odd look from Bruce. His excitement had got him standing up straight as he rubbed his hands together to release some of his energy.
"Woah look at that, we're the same height when you're not slouching" the man pointed out, making John feel flustered.
They made it to the penthouse and John walked out the elevator after Bruce. This place was a luxury and he felt like he needed to take his shoes off to not soil the carpet.
Before them, was a long corridor leading up to an office that had been left with its doors wide open. Like the elevator, the back wall was mostly glass, revealing an immense view of the whole of Gotham city below. Without warning, his heart began to thump out his chest. Was he about to be interviewed? Was he going to have to sell himself to the head CEO of the company?
They both entered through the double door frame, John noticed a large animal hide rug was placed under the dark varnished oak desk. He couldn't find any other taxidermy around the room. Instead, he found the walls covered with towering bookcases filled with literature and various ornaments.
“Drink?” Bruce offered as he approached a glass bottle that he presumed was filled with some luxurious brand of whisky.
"No thanks," John waved his hand in dismissal, "I’d much prefer an orange juice right now" he mumbled. He didn’t get his usual carton for lunch like he used to.
Bruce scoffed, "now you’re making requests? You’d be good at this business life John"
"No, I- I meant it offhanded" Johns eyes went wide in panic.
"Watch this...” Bruce walked over to the telephone placed in the corner of his desk. It was black and glossy, matching the rest of the theme in his office. He brought it to his ear and pushed down on a button and then asked for an orange juice and lemonade.
"Like magic," Bruce said putting the phone down.
Wow, people are hired just to make drinks? That doesn’t sound like such a bad job. Bringing drinks and food to Bruce Wayne’s office sounds like a simple life.
"Pretty cool place... I’m scared to touch anything" John mumbled honestly. He looked at all the fancy ornaments on the bookcase; they had complex designs, likely gifted from famous artists across the world. A mechanical gothic-like owl stood out to him as well as a statue of two monsters, like the ones on gargoyles, fighting each other.
"There’s nothing personal in here..." Bruce waved a hand, "If it breaks, I’m not going to throw you out; although you would save me the hassle."
"So, John Doe, what job do you want? Manager, recruiter…" He seemed to be rolling through a list on his computer. Bruce sat back, arched in the leather chair that was far too big for any man but looked incredibly comfy.
Instead of taking the smaller plush chair Bruce had pulled out for him in front of his desk, John walked around it to peer over Bruce's shoulder at the screen himself. He hasn’t ever seen a computer in person. It was like a square magical box, that you'd have no way of understanding how it worked unless you built it.
"Can you play any games on that thing?"
"Uh no…" Bruce said, looking up at him.
"Makes sense... wouldn’t get any work done then I suppose"
Bruce scoffed, "good point"
The man then grabbed a fountain-tipped pen with 'Wayne' engraved on the side and began to write on John's resume.
"Weaknesses easily distracted..."
"Hey!” John quipped.
Bruce laughed. The tip had never made contact with the crinkled paper.
"You know what you’ve sold me, how about I pay off your whole retirement?"
"Retirement?" John looked at him confused. If Bruce was serious, why was this man being so kind to him?
Then the door opened, and a very attractive lady walked in wearing a black dress that clung to every part of her body, making John wonder how she was even taking steps forward. Her tall high heels wouldn't be helping either. She had two drinks in-hand and placed them down on the steel tray where the whisky was.
"Mr. Wayne" she nodded to Bruce and then as well to John who was looking anywhere but at her nervously. He decided to settle on staring up at the ceiling which he just noticed is made of tiles that had decorative patterns engraved on them.
"You have contracts you need to approve; I’ve organized them all in important to do first"
"I know," Bruce huffed, tapping his pen impatiently on the desk.
"Thanks," John said to her back as she walked away.
"Irresistible, isn’t she?" Bruce added, once they were left alone again. His eyes bore into the monitor as his fingers scraped against his stubbly chin.
"Is she your girlfriend?" John gasped wide-eyed at Bruce’s comment.
"What? no!" Bruce scoffed, "God, you are so-"
"Weird" John filled in for him with a sigh. His hands dug into his holed pockets, as he lightly kicked the air. His head sunk into his chest, having heard it all the time.
"Unique" Bruce said smiling, jabbing the pen at him.
John's head perked up.
"Listen I get it this life... not your thing"
"What gave it away?" John smirked.
"But I can offer you a job or I can just pay your woes"
"Why? I mean I appreciate the generosity it’s just..."
"Please don’t ever talk about that night, with anyone. Fair deal?"
"Oh..." then John laughed.
"What?"
"I wasn’t going to tell anyone about that anyway. I hadn’t even told my wife when I got in."
"Well, have it as a Thankyou then. Just don’t spill it. I have relatives who... wouldn't approve" Bruce mumbled out, glancing away as though he didn’t want to go into it any further.
"Well... what if it gets out anyway?"
"How do you mean?” Bruce inquired, glancing at him from the corner of his eye.
"Well, what if someone just guesses, or you were seen with someone else and then you come to me thinking I’ve told somebody! Then I say, no! I didn’t say anything!" John wailed, waving his hands with a somber expression as though he was living the memory. "But you don’t believe me and then… and then you take it all away and more! Saying, I'm going to ruin you, John!" He growled out the last line.
Bruce stared at the performance from his desk with his mouth agape, "Well, I don’t think that’s going to happen."
"I’ll take the job!" He said smiling, offering a hand.
Bruce stood tall and clasped it in his own with a squeeze. John noticed the man had a tight grip and a lot of kept back strength.
"Alright, what do you want?"
"Any, you pick!" John smiled. This day was awesome. He reached for his drink and then gulped it all down.
"You were thirsty" Bruce noted.
"I just like trying to best my record on how fast I can drink!"
Bruce quirked a dark brow at him.
"Just kidding" John smirked.
He was escorted out by Bruce, taking the back exit for staff members so Bruce didn't get caught up in the lobby. The man had asked for John's number as he couldn't find it on his resume, and he confessed that he didn’t have a cellphone. Bruce offered to get him one but John said it’s too confusing and so Bruce ended up writing his own personal number down on the back of one of his glossy black business cards telling John not to lose it
He made it back home from a long day at around dinner time, to see Jeanie had gone to bed early and fallen asleep. She had an extra blanket over her head blocking out what was left of the daylight. She must have been extra tired from another hard day's work and not getting much sleep last night.
Not being able to wait to tell her the great news, he had brought dinner up and sat with her on his side of the bed. He nudged her awake, then shoved at her shoulder that poked out from in between the duvet and blanket when she was taking too long.
Startling awake, she rolled over and was pleased to see him smiling. He began to tell her all about his day, and she was eager to listen. Her mouth began to drop and her eyes grew wide as he got on to the part of meeting Bruce Wayne himself and being escorted to his office.
"Bruce Wayne? Oh dear..." her face looking like she was about to cry, "I think you are having one of your delusions again"
"No no, it was really him! He gave me his number, and everything look…" John rambled, as he wiggled his fingers in the inside of his jacket pocket and pulled out the sleek business card. "He gave me whatever job I wanted!"
Jeanie grabbed the card and stared up at him perplexed. "Well, what did you get?"
"I said to pick any, I don't care!"
"Oh honey..." she whined, as she rolled over, squishing a pillow over her head as though she couldn’t bear to listen to him anymore.
"What? I’m being truthful!” John batted the pillow away, and pulled her back to face him, “I’ll call him tomorrow you’ll hear his voice and-"
He pulled the money Bruce had given him on his way out the door to help with the travel costs it took to get to Wayne tower. Likely an excuse so John didn’t refuse the hundred dollar notes being shoved in his palm. They were still crisp after being protected in John's pocket, showing up his crinkled suit.
Jeanie sat up then, shocked. "Where did you get this?"
"I just told you!" He growled out annoyed, "Why do you never believe me?"
She stared up at him and it seemed to be finally sinking in. "Either Bruce Wayne really is the kindest man in Gotham and the news are lying or..."
"or what?" he quirked a brow, looking down at her.
"John if the police come knocking, I'm not dealing with them!"
He rolled his eyes letting his head fall back on his shoulders as he groaned frustrated. "They won't be, because what I'm saying really happened!" He sprung his head up to face her; she could really get under his nerves sometimes.
"Well, he’s nothing like the magazines say then..." she said, gazing away into the distance.
"They’re all lies anyways! Who trusts anything in magazines?" John laughed as he lied back on the bed, "corporate schmuck, and all that".
He put his finished plate on the bedside counter and then raised his arms up over his head and kicked his socks off with his toes as he rested propped up against the headboard.
"Dear, I'm sorry for what I said. You know I’ll support you with whatever you're doing to get us out of this" Jeanie added, she did look sincere.
He smiled and nodded, “I’m telling you Jeanie I’m moving up in the world!"
"I knew that odd charm of yours would work on somebody" she teased.
John grinned. Not regretting holding back the truth of the bribe and how this all began.