Chapter Text
It’s not a fun trip back to Gotham from the League’s headquarters.
With no small amount of horror, Batman listens to Oracle talk about the cameras going down on the street where Heather has decided to go drinking on her day off and the camera inside the pub as well. The next thing Batman knows is Red Robin handing him a bloody tracker deposited in a warehouse with a sticky note from Joker reading, “Let’s play Hide-and-seek, Batsy. If you win, I’ll give you your girl back. -J.” He clenches his fist at the sight of Heather’s still-wet blood on her tracker.
Joker will pay. Batman will let Red Hood kill him, or whatever Hood wants to do with the clown. If Heather wants to have her revenge as well, Batman will not hold back. Each of his adult kids has a bone or few to pick with Joker. Batman will let them. He’s too tired to care about this himself, let his children take this mantle. The more time he spends away from his family, the more time he regrets it. Sooner rather than later, his oldest four sons will take everything over and Batman has absolute trust in all of them.
He holds the tracker in his gloves and runs it for prints, unsurprised when basic goons known for working for Joker pop up. Joker has no fingerprints. Batman isn’t sure if that’s because the clown burned them off before his acid bath, if it’s due to the acid bath, or if it’s because Joker burned them off after his acid bath. For the bit. Dick said he asked Harley once and all Harley had done was shrug.
Batman makes it into his Batcave, sits down in front of his computer, and searches through every known factory, hideout, headquarters he knows Joker has used in the past, has Oracle get security camera footage for each one, and each one comes up empty. This eliminates a couple dozen places and leaves few left. Batman goes through old warehouses one by one and his eyes must shut at some point because the next thing he knows, Alfred is pushing a mug of chamomile tea into Bruce’s hands. Bruce smiles wanly at him. Alfred glares back. Bruce meekly sips his tea, his hands dwarfing the ceramic mug with Superman printed on it. “Is this you telling me I should ask the League for help in finding her?”
“No, Master Bruce.” Alfred and Bruce know very well the League doesn’t help with small-item abductions like this. “This is me telling you that you are no help to Heather if you cannot function. Go to bed or I will set Master Damian on you.”
Bruce snorts and stretches, body clicking and cracking, then rises and picks his mug up, finishing it in a few gulps. “Has Tim slept yet?”
Alfred’s face turns grave and he shakes his head. “Perhaps you should talk to him before you go to bed.”
“On it.” Bruce rubs a hand over his face, once with his Batman gloves on, another with his gloves off, and yawns. His hands look smaller when he lowers them, smoother, softer, younger, like they did when he was a boy and Alfred has threatened to confiscate his model train set from him for the night. He gives Alfred a wan smile, who gives him the same in return. “Thanks, Alfred.”
“Do get some rest, sir,” Alfred says, though not unkindly. Bruce’s throat constricts. He almost buckles and gives into the urge to let Alfred hug him good night, but he must be strong. Someone, Babs or Selina most likely, is watching him to make sure he’s fine and if he were fine, he wouldn’t be hugging Alfred. It breaks the ever-present lost little boy inside him. But he can get a hug and more from Selina later. He’ll keep himself patched up until he’s in bed with her. He nods at Alfred instead and leaves it at that. The knowing knit between Alfred’s eyes says his butler misses nothing.
Bruce grunts and leaves, finding Tim curled up on a couch around his self-constructed tablet. Tim’s raccoon eyes are darker than Bruce’s. With a sigh, Bruce edges the tablet away and drapes a blanket over his son, heart aching. Tim looks like a boy, the lonely son of two standoffish party guests Bruce never liked. When Bruce found Tim exploring the Bat cave on one party, crowing in triumph at being right, that had been it.
Tim had begged Bruce to let him be Robin with Jason, to which Bruce instantly said no. Absolutely not. Tim was just a little kid, littler still with all the small details of neglect Bruce caught, details Tim hadn’t anticipated Bruce noticing–pallid skin, circles under his eyes even then, clothes that while tasteful were not quite matching the Drake’s palette and the Drakes liked their palette very much for themselves so it was odd that they neglected to include or force their son into their palette.
Tim was the one who presented Bruce with adoption papers. His parents had already signed their half and Bruce had grabbed them so quickly they tore at the sides and had to be taped to avoid the need for new papers. Bruce brushes his hand over Tim’s curls to get them out of his eyes. The curls don’t listen and flop back in place, making Bruce chuckle. His hair does the same thing when Selina or Heather–when they did the same to him. Do the same.
“Dad?” Tim mumbles, sitting up to rub his eyes.
“Hey, chum.” Bruce sits beside him. “Sorry I woke you.”
“‘S fine. I should have kept working, sorry.” Tim pulls up a clip of a black car on its way to the warehouse district, a hand flying out of a broken tail light, a shoe tossed out after. “She tried. She tried and we failed. And now she’s with Joker.” He spits the clown’s name like it’s acid in his mouth. It may as well be, Bruce thinks grimly.
“We failed her then, but we won’t keep failing her. It’s all of us against him and Joker won’t leave Gotham. We’re going to find her.” Joker doesn’t play small. They’ll hear from him sooner rather than later. “You did good work finding the highway footage.”
Tim pushes his tablet away from him, scowling at it when it falls off the edge of the couch and hits the carpeted floor with a thump. “I couldn’t find anything after the warehouse. All the cameras, all of them, they all were knocked out, completely. There’s nothing. Joker may not be this clean, but the Falcones are and they’re erasing everything. Every trace, digital or analog. There’s nothing for me, for any of us to find.”
“There will be. The Falcones can’t keep cleaning up after Joker for long. We’ll have him the second he messes up or when Heather manages to get something to us.” Heather is smart. If she can figure out Deathstroke, she can figure out how to deal with Joker.
“Falcones are using her and Joker to distract us from whatever they’re doing. We can’t all look for her.” Tim’s voice turns cold and clinical, like Alfred’s when one of them comes home with a bad wound from patrol. Bruce folds and wraps Tim into a hug. Tim leans into him and shudders. “I need a break from Joker’s case.”
“Your mother is working on the Falcones. Do you want to work with her?”
Tim nods and holds him tighter like he isn’t in his mid-twenties. Bruce inhales and eases his hold on his son, but Tim clings on and Bruce? Bruce doesn’t want to let go of his son either. So he holds him, both pairs of insomniac eyes falling shut, one after the other.
“Sir?”
“Alfred.” Bruce is up in a second, high alert, eyes searching every weakness of the room, checking the blinking camera lights that they are blinking, then back at Alfred who smiles at him.
“Bed. Now.”
The corners of Bruce’s lips tug up and he stands up, easing Tim into a better sleeping position with one of the couch blankets. It’s a comfortable napping couch, but not for both of them. He adjusts the blanket over his son then winks at Alfred before making it up to his room to sip and share a long, long drink of whiskey with… himself. Bruce hasn’t been alone like this in years. He had thought he’d never have to be and it hurts to be like this again. They’ll find her. They’ll find her and Selina with Tim will ruin Falcone's plans. Because, Bruce realizes, he’s not alone. He has his children, and Alfred with Selina a phone call away.
…
Selina is having a very bad day. The rain has ruined her hair, her mascara ran when it claimed it would run under pain of drowning, and she looks like a rat scratching its way out of Gotham’s sewers. Luckily, this works for her. She can use this 90s look to sell her plea bargain. She gathers her skirts, metaphorically speaking, she’s in jeans and an incredible blue shirt that clings to her torso perfectly, thank you. Sofia Falcone is a single Dom. Selina can use that, too. She bangs on the doors of Sofia’s residence, an apartment she’s cased a dozen times over, an apartment Bruce has forbidden her from touching lest it start a spat between falcons and cats.
Her public fight with Bruce had hit a little too close to home, but the ruse had worked. The papers had erupted with rumors about the two of them splitting, phone calls to separate lawyers, and other shit. She’d made sure she looked worse for wear, bitter, and out for blood in as many photos the paparazzi could steal of her.
The door swings open and Sofia looks at Selina in gleeful triumph. But the bitch has to have her cake and eat it too. Long game, Selina reminds herself. Long game, and then not only will Heather be safe again, but the Falcones and Joker will pay dearly. It’s their blood she’s after, after all.
“Selina Kyle. What do you want?” The woman is dressed well. Subtle. Pantsuit with silver accessories. Fitted.
Selina’s eyes flash. “Vengeance against Bruce Wayne. I’m sure you can understand that.”
A mean smile crosses Sofia’s face. “Why don’t you come in and we can talk.” Selina knows Sofia isn’t sure if Selina means it. Falcone would be an idiot to believe Selina at face value. Luckily, Selina and Bruce have already decided what information to feed Falcone and which business deals, drop-offs, and other activities they can feint a loss.
Sofia pours them a glass of scotch and gestures to a comfortable armchair. Selina smiles like a cat who caught a canary and the cream, takes the scotch and a seat in the chair. It is comfortable. Selina relaxes into it and the sun pouring in from the window next to her. Delicious all around.
“Why the turn of heel, Kyle?” Sofia asks.
“Bruce can’t keep the people I love safe. I’ve had it.” Selina sips her drink after Sofia does. It’s from the same bottle. Should be safe. She can hear Bruce in her head berating her for not inspecting the glass first, but Selina dares to take a chance.
“And I should take your word on this because?”
“Because I can hand you everything you need to take him down with me. We both know I can’t do it alone if I want to also get all seven of my kids out alive.” Selina and Bruce discussed this. It's her choice, she brought it up to him. While he and her older sons look for Heather, Selina will work on Sofia.
Sofia tosses her head. Her and her Family’s arrogance will be their downfall. Selina sees similar dismissive arrogance in Damian. She worries about it hopes he’ll be humbled by Heather’s abduction so that he, too, won’t lose his life to arrogance like Sofia's. It’s an awful thing to wish for in the circumstances, but maybe one tiny thing of good out of a shitload of bad.
She couldn’t bear it if he died before her, especially if his death could have been prevented with some humility. Damian will not be Icarus. She flat out forbids it. She isn’t burying another child. Another loved one. Falcone coughs lightly. “If my partner failed in this area even once, I would have left him immediately. Why leave him over a sub? Why not over Jason?”
“Fair question.” Selina crosses one leg over the other in her chair and looks around Falcone’s apartment, taking everything in slowly for the camera in her contacts. Each time she blinks, it snaps a photo. The default is a live feed streamed back to the Bat cave. While she doesn’t have much of a way to contact them while around the Falcones, her darlings see everything she does. This isn’t a new trick between them, but it is one of her favorites and she’s eager to play it again.
It’s a nice apartment with antique hardwood floor, no gaudy television in the room, and old furniture, all leather and worn with style, a heavy coffee table over a dark mat, and a few large sculptures and paintings along the walls between large windows. Nice. Imposing. Several of the paintings are fakes; the brushstrokes on the Caravaggio are too heavy, the lighting and coloring on the Goyas too extreme. Selina is dying to tell Heather all about them. Her heart pinches when she remembers where Heather is. No matter. Selina will get this done and Heather will get out.
When hardship hits, Bruce retreats into himself and cases and has to be dragged back out to be human again, Dick goes into extremes and comes home bloodsoaked on a regular basis, Jason gets angrier and broodier, and Damian goes feral, Selina and Tim get pragmatic and cold. Unless Tim is around Damian. Then he grows haughty and pragmatic and cold. Childish. Everyone turns into children in different ways while still keeping up (poorly) with their adult obligations. Selina worries about leaving them alone for so long; she’s rented an apartment near Falcone territory in Penguin’s no-man-land. She’ll have to figure out a way to get back to Bruce before he Crashes. Before she Crashes and or Drops. It’s a wretched day when she does both and wallows both boiling over and freezing stiff at the same time. She calls those periods “Crop” periods.
She hasn’t done it since she and Bruce were dating. And once after they adopted Jason. But that one was so brief it hardly counts. She looks back at Falcone. “I was still in love with Bruce after Jason. And we had several little kids to look after together.” Selina takes a long, long drink from her glass before talking again. “I still thought it could work. Can you believe that?” she asks, voice hollow. She’s glad Bruce can’t hear this part.
“Hmm.” Falcone is suspicious. Falcone will be suspicious for a while. Selina estimates it’ll take 2 sabotaged Wayne Family enterprises (one major meth lab sabotaged and another interloped arms delivery) to gain a bit of Falcone’s trust. Once there, it should be smooth sailing. Smoother, anyway. “I don’t.” She leans in. “I’m going to need proof you want my help getting you and your kids out.”
Selina glares but nods. “Fine. You want proof?” It’s a good thing she has a reputation for being hot-headed and feisty. She can lean into that as well and play vengeful housewife even better. “Bruce has a meth lab he thinks I don’t know about. It’s down on Globe Street. It’s his busiest, biggest lab. He has a dozen more I know about.” Selina has always hated drugs, after they adopted Jason, her hatred has only grown. So what if Bruce will get huffy over the loss of his drugs. It isn’t like they need the money.
Sometimes, she wonders which hustle he’d give up first, Batman, Family business, or WE. Her money is on WE. “I’ll give you the location of every single lab I know about if you promise me I can make them explode.” It’ll be a dent, sure, and put Bruce out for a bit, but he’ll get over it. And if he starts back up with the drugs, so help him, she will claw his eyes out. Not really. Maybe.
Sofia’s eyes gleam. “That’s a good start.” She leans over from where she sits on her large couch and holds her hand out. “If what you’re promising me pans out, consider us in business, Mrs. Kyle.”
“Wonderful.” Selina shakes her hand and reaches in her purse to pull out a notepad and pen. Quickly, she scribbles down each location of each warehouse turned drug lab she can recall. Selina can’t warn the labs, can’t let the workers that day know the labs will be destroyed. Their deaths are on her hands. How many will that be? She already has more than twenty murders on her since Batman let his bats and her kill. That shift happened after Jason. It was infuriating before that, letting Joker go time and time again. Others as well, but Joker will always be on her Kill List in first place. Even before Jason and even more so after. She hates Joker. She’s going to have to control that hate around Falcone. No problem. If sacrificing these workers and the labs means getting closer to killing Joker, Selina is willing to make that sacrifice.
“What? Nervous? Don’t worry, dear. I’ll take care of everything if you don’t want to pull the trigger on it all.” Falcone’s voice is sickly sweet like a carrion blossom.
Selina laughs, harsh and angry. “No. I’m savoring it all.” Selina needs Falcone to trust her. Allowing herself to let out the anger she's been harboring at Bruce for mishandling everything, the anger at Heather for being so stupid, at herself for being part of the problem breathes life and truth into the lie.
Falcone nods and takes the paper when Selina is done writing.
Maybe Selina can make one attempt at saving the lives of her employees. Many have families. Bruce will compensate each family generously, but money doesn’t replace the life taken from them. “The employees are all rats. If you’re looking for a new drug team, offer them more than Bruce or offer them their lives in exchange for working for you, most of them will take it.”
“Soft spot for your manufacturers?” Falcone coos.
This damn woman. Selina exhales and finishes her drink, tempted to push her luck and pour herself another one. “Sure. It’s not them I’m mad at. Give them a chance to run to somewhere better.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Provided, of course, that these addresses are correct.”
“You’ll want to hit them all simultaneously. My soon to be ex-husband moves fast. If you give him even an hour in between hits, it’ll be too late.”
Falcone’s eyes narrow as she mulls it all over. “I’ll take that also into consideration.”
“Great.” Selina stands up and hands Falcone a business card with a new private cell phone number written on the back. “If you don’t trust me to send everything to hell, I don’t blame you. But on the off chance you do, call me.”
“Oh, I would hate for you to miss it.” The saccharine tone drops and Falcone is all business. Thank fucking gods for that. She nods briskly and walks Selina to the door. “We will be in touch.”
“Great.” Selina nods curtly and steps out of Falcone’s apartment and over to her own new place. It’s threadbare with only her living room put together with a few of her favorite Monet’s water lily paintings hanging, a comfortable deep blue sofa, and heavy armchair that reminds her of Bruce in its bulk and how she can curl up inside it for warmth.
The single bedroom has a too-thin bed. The kitchen has takeout and a garbage can to house takeout trash. Temporary, she reminds herself. She will be home soon, Falcone territory demolished, and Sofia’s head on a pike.