Title: Bastards Deranged [1/?]

Author: 1bad_joke

Prompt:"Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall." – Measure for Measure (Act II, Scene i)

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Warnings: Eventual Slash

Daytime raids and nighttime running, hours spent sitting and waiting, always ended here: Behind a desk covered in forms, a pot of bitter coffee, and a smoking ashtray. Gray ribbons slither and curl around his face, hugging the black-frame glasses that had slid to the tip of his nose. Bleary eyes read lines of Times New Roman till it all morphed into a forgotten language. He shouldn't have to be the one- no,no one should have the burden of hunting down his colleague and old friend, Gotham's Dark Knight. All the masked man tried to do was revive justice and bring some peace to this once great city. Now some days he wondered, maybe it would have been better to be honest with the public and told them how one terrorist had taken the best of us and tore him down. Sure, he could overlook the loss of a few crooked cops, but the citizens should know Harvey Two-Face Dent could never do what this vigilante has done. Dent had done a lot, but what kind of world do we live in if the best solution is to sweep his sins under the rug and give him a eulogy full of praise when that man had held a gun to his son's head? True madness when he left the boy's life up to a flip of a coin. How much longer was he expected to lie, each false testing his gag reflex?

Incessant ringing startled him from his thoughts; the black ants scampering across the white sheets slowed and came into focus. The progress report on the capture of the caped crusader stared blankly back at him. The phone was hidden under more papers which he pushed aside; a healthy stack splashed to the floor. Sighing, he rested the receiver against his ear. "Commissioner Gordon."

The signal crackled, as the caller took their sweet time licking and popping their lips.

"Commissioner Gordon," he repeated, more frustrated than usual.

The subtle restraint of giggles filtered through the receiver. "Evening, Com-missioner," a nasally vibrato spun by silk lilted inside Gordon's ear; the tiny hairs shivered and shied away.

"Who is this?" he asked even though deep down the answer was clear.

"Now, now, is that any way to greet the, uh, crim-in-al mastermind that, heh, launched your career?" The voice chided, sending Gordon into a mild panic.

"How- how did you get this number?" Trace it. Alert someone. Make sure Barbara and the kids are alright. Lock the doors.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry over such things. Mystery is a lot more fun, wouldn't you agree? I'm calling to perform my, ah ha, civic duty."

He would have to alert Arkham, if the mad man was even still there, and put together another special task force. Better to chase a real villain and not a victim of the media.

"Goooordy Gord... aren't you dying to know just what I have to say?"

The Freak's too smart for a trace, Gordon hated to admit. "Bomb threat?"

Silence... Then a repelling cackle erupted over the phone. If he could, he'd rip the phone from its jack. Cold sweat surfaced along his salt and pepper hairline; a trembling clench in his stomach. Gordon was a brave cop, one of the best, and no bad guys haunted his sleep. That was until months ago, when this clown proved all of his efforts useless. Made him a joke. Not even Batman could truly defeat the psychopath, and that little known fact terrified him.

Laughter subsiding, the voice tsked in childish glee. "A bomb- a bomb threat?! No, na-na-na, no... No. See, I'm being a good boy here at the ole loony bin. Doctor Quinny is saying I'm making a reeeaaaal improvement. Be-sides... I ring the newsies for business and pleasure. This is more of a, uh, personal call."

"What do you want?" He heaved a major sigh of relief. As long as The Clown's still locked up, a drag off his cigarette and a phone call from a monster was endurable. Fresh tobacco clung to his gums while he listened carefully and quietly thought of ways to get in contact with-

"Gordy, as a, uh, responsible citizen and law en-for-cer, I think you'd like to be clued in on some exciting info..."

"And it is?"

The Knave delivered a wet pop of his scarred mouth and smirked. "I know... who The Batman is."


"Mr. Reese, maybe it's time to review the numbers from this past year." Lucious Fox, in a crisp brown tweed suit and quirky bow tie, nodded towards the small pencil pusher. The man returned the gesture and -suitcase shielding his chest- stood at the head of the conference table. Sweat glands working overtime; drops seeping down the contours of his round face. He started with a stutter and fumbling coordination. Fox was the only one of the suits to notice Reese's flickering doe eyes across the room, weary of the farthest filled chair.

Gotham's favorite son sat at the end: Shiny black shoes and gun metal gray Armani legs crossed atop the table, and battered hands clasped on his slow-rising chest. His soft snores lingered under Reese's presentation. Considering the billionaire's playboy reputation, many of the much older board members tolerated The Wayne heir's lack of business etiquette. Reese's acceptance was, well, obvious. Little did they know the reality of the vivid pictures of blood and chaos, death and gunfire, and crimson smiles emitting chilling laughs spinning behind his dark eyelids. His exterior smooth and peaceful, betraying the nightmares. To Bruce, this regular occurrence turned out to be the most precious sleep of the day, since Alfred was so keen on waking him for normality's sake.

"So as you can see, if we increase resources in market trading and put less efforts in-"

Double doors snapped to the liking of bones. Executive bigwig heads turned in unison; eleven brains thinking and acting as one. The lone billionaire slept on, shifting and groaning in his slumber. The busted threshold spewed forth blue clad officers, helmets and cradled semi-automatics; the whole shebang. Screams trilled from the women as each full length window (building half the room) shattered; black Swats swinging inside the conference room and kneeling into position on the glittering industrial carpet. The screams jerked Bruce into consciousness -ready to fight- and received the cops yelling and his colleagues cowering under the table, frozen like the urgent shouts demanded. Fox stood amongst the commotion, shocked and angry. His wide eyes locked onto the last remaining Wayne, who struggled to appear just as surprised and confused as the rest of the board. The pair exchanged knowing looks before one of the cops wrenched Bruce's arms behind his back and smashed the billionaire's face into the table top. He winced but didn't resist. Perfectly silent. Handcuffs snapped onto his wrists; guns aimed at his head, knowing fully well just who they were dealing with.

Gordon was the last to enter the chaotic atmosphere, taking in the sickening sight of his unmasked partner pinned and cuffed. Never in a million years would he have considered Bruce Wayne to be the hero Gotham didn't deserve. It goes to show how much this day shouldn't have come. He couldn't wrap his mind around it, but Mayor Garcia was more than happy to receive the news (though Gordon didn't deliver it) and no doubt ensure himself another term in office--- just like The Joker was exceedingly cooperative in helping unmask the Batman via telephone. What hope would be left for this city now? So little people realized this simple act of arrest would, in the long run, do more harm than good.

Wayne was forced to stand by the officer holding him which he subsequently stumbled, but he paid no aversion to it. With only a calm, serious expression, Batman acted the way Gordon imagined he would: The ever respectful private citizen. Gordon sauntered across the crunching shards and stood beside Bruce, searching his eyes for that familiarity. There, amongst stormy brown was a cold glint he'd seen time and time again on the roof of the station, a determined stare illuminated by the righteous glow of the bat signal. So it was true... Maybe this time, Gordon wanted to see him go against the book, to see The Knight fight, to run, to hide and save himself for once.

An older exec, with a white horseshoe tuft of hair, gathered the courage and peeked his head over the table's surface. "Bruce, just what is going on here?" His voice was stern, almost scolding having assumed the playboy partied with the wrong people and furious to have put the company at risk for one of his wild romps.

Bruce's sealed lips thinned, turning away and accepting his fate with an air much akin to shame. It was past the point of playing dumb, and the truth would be smeared across every entertainment medium before he was even shoved in the back of a squad car. For this reason, he lightly tugged on his restraints as a signal to get on with this.

"See to them, you're just a freak... like me."

"Sir?" Ramirez flanked Gordon's left, waiting for orders. She understood the commissioner's drawn face and unsure stance, still fixated on Wayne and waiting to wake up from this bad dream. But everything The Clown had said checked out, as strange as that was, and an arrest had to be made.

Seconds were taken for Gordon to prepare himself for what had to be done. Sometimes the system both he and Batman believed in didn't work as it should. He cleared his throat and shook away the guilt nailing him to his spot. "... Mr. Wayne," he started and took the hold of Bruce's cuffs and placed a hand on his broad shoulder. Another fallen hero.

"You are under arrest for several counts of assault and battery, wreckless endangerment... damage to city property, and total disregard of the law, and... six counts of homicide: One of which for the murder of ex- District Attorney, Harvey Dent-" Gasps ensued, as Fox collapsed to his seat, a resigned frown on his face. With a grind of his teeth, Gordon begrudgingly tacked on, "And for masquerading as the masked vigilante, Batman."

Quietly he muttered for Wayne to hear, "I'm so sorry, Bruce."

In a padded cell across town, laughter dissected the walls and echoed throughout the asylum's empty halls. The howl orchestrated a chorus of moans and screams and sobs. The Clown Prince of Crime led as maestro, eager to embrace his muse, The Bat.