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After the Asylum
After Batman brought Two-Face in, he visited the Riddler. Edward Nygma greeted him with silence and a sneer. He clearly struggled when the police came for him; bruises dotted his jaw and wrists. He clung to the last moment possible to that microphone in his hiding place, keeping his accusing voice in Batman’s ear. His words were the last Batman heard before he faced the Joker.
Batman had been racing, searching desperately for a way to stop the Joker, clambering hand over heel through moss and rock. He stumbled into the Riddler’s clues at first—and then he began to seek them out. He found the secrets. He played the game. And now he’d come to the end of the trail.
“I wanted to thank you,” said Batman. He stopped a hair away from the bars that kept the Riddler locked up for the time being.
“You, thank me?” the Riddler sputtered. “Well, this is unexpected. For what, may I ask? For letting you find me? Don’t mention it. I’ll be out again soon.”
Batman ignored his taunt. “Your riddles. They were… good. I wanted to thank you. I needed them.”
“Is this some kind of trick? You can’t fool me. You want to see me humiliated. But I’ll get you, Bat. I’ll show everyone what you really are.” The Riddler gritted his teeth and leaned towards the bars. “What is the face that has no brain? Whose eyes are empty? Whose smile is fake?”
“A mask,” replied Batman.
“Very good! Did you look that one up?”
“Even I’m not that fast.” A pause. “You marked your own interview tapes on your maps.”
The Riddler froze. “We’re not going to talk about that.”
“Why would you give me your tapes?”
“Can the world’s greatest detective not figure it out? If that is what you are! You aren’t fooling me, Batman. I know you cheated. You could never solve all my puzzles on your own.”
“Never mind.” Batman braced his armored forearm on the bars, like a horizontal lattice with them. “I came to say I—” Had fun? That sounded juvenile. “—am grateful for what you left me. All of it.” It kept me sane—relatively speaking. “It took my mind off what I had to do. I needed it.”
The Riddler frowned. “Needed it?”
“Having a game, in the middle of all that, and some way of understanding what went wrong… It was… Thank you.”
“The Batman is thanking me? How hard did Joker hit you on the head?”
“You were right,” said Batman. “I couldn’t figure everything out. I used your maps. You outsmarted me. Sometimes.”
“This is about the tapes,” concluded the Riddler. “While I appreciate your grudging acknowledgment of my superior intellect, I don’t need your pity. I don’t want a hero, Batman. That’s why I became a villain.”
“It’s not pity. I’m being honest with you. I came to—”
“To thank me, I know. Fine. You’re welcome. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Not really.” Batman hesitated. “I was hoping you had more.”
The Riddler frowned. He scrutinized Batman. “You’re serious, aren’t you.”
I’m not much of a joker . But somehow it felt too difficult to make the dry remark that sprang to mind, to move his tongue for that, to speak, to breathe. Humor held bad associations. Clowns couldn’t make Batman laugh. So, rather than that, he said, “I should go. But there’s one more thing. You might not want to hear it: You’re not as smart as you think you are, Edward.”
The Riddler flinched.
“In fact, you’re smarter. You’re a genius. You surprise me. You make me think.” I don’t know why you wanted my recognition, my respect, my attention so desperately while I was on the island, but I’m grateful for it. You saved my life. “Good night.”
Batman turned and walked away in the shocked silence. His footsteps almost reached the door before a cry rushed up behind him. It caught him, grabbed his cloak, and slid like morphine through his cowl into his ears.
“Wait!”
Batman stopped.
“What… What’s four times six?”
“That is not a riddle,” he growled.
“Yes, yes it is! Think!”
Four… Four times six. Twenty-four. Two four. Four X. Ex six. Four… No, ‘fore. ‘Fore as in BEFORE…
Batman looked back and smiled. “Times five.”
“Yes! Good! But even a child knows that. Come back here. Look at me. If you run away, you forfeit, Bat. Don’t take your eyes off me! Listen carefully.”
He sounded… hungry. Batman turned around. Edward Nygma was at the bars, staring after him with wide eyes and unkept light brown hair.
Batman went back to the bars, and Edward asked riddles. They burst out of him at a frightening pace, as though his mind was racing. He was frantic. As soon as Batman answered one, the Riddler posed another, as though they’d been bottled up inside him, ricocheting inside of his skin. But gradually he slowed down. He relaxed and leaned against the bars, sighing in relief.
Edward really fought when the Gotham City police dragged him out of his hiding place, Batman observed. He reached up and brushed the lighter spaces on Edward’s face, curious to see how deep the bruising went.
“I’m sure you think that’s comforting,” said the Riddler, “but you’re wearing Kevlar.”
It wasn’t exactly Kevlar, but the Riddler didn’t need to know that. Batman frowned and dropped his hand.
The Riddler made a sound of protest. “I didn’t say stop.”
Batman forced his muscles not to react when the Riddler grabbed his hand and trapped it behind the bars. This was Edward, not Harvey. The Riddler wasn’t a physical threat. Perhaps he knew pressure points, but he couldn’t do anything through the suit’s gauntlets. He couldn’t match Batman’s strength if it came to a struggle. This wasn’t painful or a threat.
“Just….” Edward’s voice fell off.
“You need this, too,” realized Batman.
“Don’t be absurd.” Edward’s voice shook.
Batman let him keep hold of that hand. It wouldn’t do any harm.
“Why are you here?”
“I meant what I said.”
“What else, Batman?”
“You don’t kill.” That had been on Batman’s mind. “You aren’t the Joker. It isn’t about hurting people, with you.”
“Murder is sloppy. It’s giving up. A dead man can’t argue, but he can’t admit he’s beaten, either. Hegel makes a decent case for that problem in The Phenomenology of Spirit. A decent case, mind you. Not quite good.”
“I’m familiar.” Then: “You don’t even kill as collateral damage.”
“It’s too easy. I’m not a cheater.”
“I’m worried about you,” said Batman.
Edward scoffed.
“You’re not homicidal. You’re not insane. You don’t need to be in here. You should come… work with me. I could use your help.”
“Work for you, you mean. I won’t stoop that low.”
“There are crimes I can’t solve. There are problems I can’t fix. I need you to do what I can’t.” A breath. “I know you don’t like it here. You’re idle. You’re… alone. It does this to you. Let me help you, Edward.”
“I thought you needed me.”
“I’m saying the job has benefits. And it’s not a need so much as a… I could do this without…”
“You’re the goddamn Batman. Of course you can.” Edward pulled away. He slumped against the wall. “You’re not human. You’re not real. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Arkham Island wouldn’t have been what it was for me if that were true.”
Silence. The Riddler fidgeted. Batman stood still and nechryeal as Amadeus Arkham’s grave.
“I’ll think about it,” said the Riddler.
Good enough. Batman nodded. “I’ll be back.”
“When?”
Batman slid back into the shadows. “I’ll get a case. Remember, Edward.”
“Batman! Wait!—This means you forfeit!” His voice broke. “Come back!”
He heard the Riddler calling for him several more times before he exited the prison.
###
“They sedated me after you left,” murmured Edward. “I hope you’re happy with yourself.” He lay on his cell cot, staring at the ceiling, blinking slowly. He looked like he hadn’t eaten.
“I thought they’d treat you like a human being here,” said Batman. “Was I wrong? I can have you moved.”
“Don’t bother. Where’s the case?”
Batman produced a slender metal box with a strange mechanism on the lid.
“Very funny. A real case.”
“Inside.”
“What’s that thing, actually?”
“A lock I designed. I thought you might enjoy it.”
“More thanks?” Edward hissed and scrambled up. He all but snatched the box out of Batman’s hands. “Let’s see. A code. Almost clever. I’ve seen this before. It’s mine. You aren’t strong in the imagination department, are you, Bat?”
“It’s suited to the task,” said Batman. “Only you or I should be able to open it.”
“Quite,” acknowledged the Riddler. He fiddled with the lock. After a moment, it popped open, revealing neat, thick files strapped into the box’s interior.
Batman covered his surprise. He intended the box to be more challenging than that.
“Prince of Puzzles,” recited Edward, shaking his head at the coded answer. “Not funny, Bat! I don’t appreciate your sarcasm.”
“You always think I’m trying to insult you.”
“Well, you are, obviously.” Edward scowled and flapped a hand. “To business,” he declared. “What is it that has stumped the Dark Knight?” He spread the files out around the spot where he squatted on the cell floor. “Oh, I see. Human trafficking. Not at all hard to hide in Gotham.”
“Personal experience?”
“God, no. Too dirty. No respect for the mind. It’s an entirely meat-based, muscle-bound industry. Trafficking… No! The very idea! For shame, Batman. I have standards.”
Batman smiled despite himself. He had his own theories for why Edward avoided exploitation in his crimes, but the Riddler wouldn’t appreciate him making any comments about it.
“Hm-hm. Very well. I’ll give you a hint.” The Riddler ran his hand over one of Batman’s painstakingly constructed crime maps and clicked his tongue. “I am a warehouse for beaten drums. Out of the skillet, into the fire.” He didn’t even wait for Batman to guess. “Their front is a halfway house for victims of domestic abuse. A very good one, from the outside. Their products run to them. And then they never leave. Clever, wouldn’t you say? For people on their level, anyway. What mediocre criminals.”
That was fast. “But how—”
“Every witness led you away from here, and everything you found sent you back. It’s extremely precise. Measure the angles. Oh, I bet they’ve been so perfectly helpful. And sympathetic.” He shoved the maps at Batman. “See for yourself—if you can!”
He did see. It was so obvious. He didn’t know how he missed it. Well, no. He had some idea why. He was juggling this and the aftermath of Harvey and investigating asylums throughout all of Gotham. He was running on almost no sleep, and critical details were falling through the cracks. He gathered up his documents and folded them into his cloak. “I’ve got to go.”
“Now that you have what you wanted,” finished the Riddler. “Why am I not surprised? Is that it?”
“I have to inform the police.”
“I expected at least a pat on the head or a scratch behind the ears,” muttered Edward. “Or some kind of ghastly and painful arm-wrenching. That’s traditional between us, isn’t it, from your end?”
“Is that what you want?”
He shrugged and looked away. “Better than nothing.”
Batman shook his head. “I’ll be back,” he said simply. He faded away and sprinted. He traveled block after block through the darkness over the rooftops.
Commissioner Gordon was in his office—fingers steepled, eyes closed, chewing a cigar. Batman didn’t have to look to know which case files sat in front of him, not any more than Jim had to open his eyes to read them by this point. They’d all been burning the midnight oil on this one, and the old policeman looked like Batman felt.
“I just don’t understand how it took us this long,” said Jim, as he heard Batman slide open the office window and drop into the room. “I can’t believe money makes people say nothing about atrocities like this. My people.” He shook his head and took his cigar from his mouth, eyes still closed. “It’s enough to make a man believe in the Devil.”
“Jim, I’ve got something,” said Batman. And told him.
###
“I see you were successful,” said the Riddler. “It’s a lot busier around here, let me tell you. The boys have no idea I’m responsible for their being locked up.”
“Having fun?” said Batman.
“There’s a certain satisfaction to knowing something they don’t. I’m even dropping hints. Not that they will ever figure it out. Ho-hum.”
Batman frowned. “That’s a risk.”
“What else am I supposed to do?” He threw his hands up in the air. “Boring, boring, boring, boring. These simpletons aren’t worth my time. You of all people should understand!”
Bruce did. He attended a charity event that day, and it was excruciating. He cultivated an image of the public Wayne as shallow but well-meaning—an irresponsible playboy, but harmless. He hated the language he had to speak and the empty words he had to utter to do any good as Bruce Wayne. “Edward,” he said, “if you’d like that pat on the head now, I could get you a chance on the outside.”
“Why would the Batman do that? And why do you think I’d be interested? I can walk out of here any time I want.”
“It’s a good strategic move. You’ll have more… options, if you do this legally.”
“Yes, yes. I knew all that.”
“And it would be… nice… if I could ask you to work with me on a more… equal basis.”
“Hm. Would you admit as much on the Gotham City news and tell everyone you needed my help?”
“Don’t push it. And I thought you didn’t care what lesser minds thought.”
“I—I don’t! Of course not. Very well. Perhaps I might consider shaking your hand with no bars in between anyway, with no audience, since you’re so desperate.”
“I’ll make it happen.” Batman stuck his hand through the bars. Edward flinched, then quickly recovered. Batman pretended not to notice and made a note to himself about sudden motions, now that he knew about Edward’s background. “A rehearsal, if you want it,” he explained.
Edward grabbed his hand and stared at it as Bruce tightened his fingers. He made it a gentle grip, not crushing. A certain manic edge ebbed out of Edward at the contact.
“I have to get back on patrol,” said Batman.
“Right.” Edward cleared his throat. He didn’t let go. “I did have a hundred brilliant riddles ready, but I see the Batman has no time for fun and games.”
“You could fix that.”
His face twisted. “I could still say no.”
“Give me one before I go. This’ll be a long night.”
“That’s more like it! Now, only a common one, since you’re not staying for all my best—I can run, but I can’t walk. Wherever I go, thought follows close behind. What am I?”
Run, but can’t walk. Water runs. Thought? Close behind. Physical. Thought, nerves, brain, gray matter. Brain, physical. Brain behind it, but it runs. Close.
Batman grinned. “Nose.”
“Quite right.” The Riddler released Batman’s hand at last and reached up. Batman barely forced down his reflexes in time to save Edward a broken wrist before he tweaked the nose guard of Batman’s mask. (Had he always been this physical? Hard to say—limited experience. They hadn’t talked face to face much in an atmosphere such as this. Did the tendency apply to everyone? Arkham’s files suggested not. Rather, Edward actively avoided any overture of touch in his time under observation there.) “I can’t believe you haven’t heard that one before. I already know every riddle in the books.”
“It did make me think of another. What can run but never walks, has a mouth but never talks, has a head but never weeps, has a bed but never sleeps?”
“That’s the river one. Classic. But still, I cannot believe—”
“You prefer to make up your own. Studying what’s already out there would be a waste of time.” Batman turned around without another word and shot his grappling hook up into the ventilation shafts.
“Never a goodbye,” Edward muttered.
“I don’t like goodbyes.” The cord snapped taught, and Batman soared away, leaving Edward behind.
###
“No sooner spoken than broken,” whispered Edward, as Batman crept up. “What is it?”
“Silence. A secret.”
“No. A man’s word. You’ve been studying, trying to cheat. It betrays you.”
“You’re not the only one who ever asked me a riddle. I happened to like that one.”
Edward scowled. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
“Strictly speaking, yours wasn’t a riddle.”
“That depends on your perspective. See—you use a knife to slice my head and weep beside me when I’m dead. What am I?”
“I’m going to guess you’re not looking for onion.”
“Astute.” The Riddler sniffed and crossed his arms, apparently uninterested in giving the real answer.
“Do you want out? I’ve got the key.”
“Did you steal it, Bat? Did you threaten anyone?”
“I told the Commissioner you helped on the case. He’s interested in hiring you, if you’ll behave.”
“Oh, and he’s just going to welcome aboard a criminal mastermind, is that it? Emphasis on mastermind. An unlikely story! You’re pulling my leg, Batman. That isn’t nice. You already lied about wanting me to work with you.”
“You wouldn’t be working for me this way. We can both work for Gotham, together. Except I’m a volunteer. I figured you’d want to get paid.”
“Money is a point system for rats in the race.” Edward paused. “But I do need to eat more than insects, unlike a bat, and I can’t sleep hanging upside down in some cave. Very well. Let me out. I expect I’m supposed to keep quiet about this.”
Batman unlocked his cell. “The car’s outside. Don’t try anything.”
“Am I still a prisoner?”
“You’re… on parole.” He stepped aside.
Edward hopped out of his cell and stretched. “It must be a circus out there. You’re desperate.”
Batman shook his head.
“What, then? You feel like you owe me?”
“No. You’re walking free. Stop questioning it.”
“Forgive me for trying to figure out just how you’re trying to use me. My, my, these jailbird clothes are ridiculous. How dare they treat me like a common criminal! I feel offended anew, now that I’m done with them. I demand the right to change, and soon.”
Ridiculous? Rich, coming from a man who liked neon green and purple, Batman thought. A vibrant orange jumpsuit registered about the same as Edward’s ordinary attire on the scale of loud fabrics.
“And I refuse to wear black.”
Batman felt a tug on his cape. Before he could stop himself, he had Edward’s arm twisted up the wrong way behind his narrow back.
“There it is,” gasped Edward, falling to his knees. “Ow, ow, ow! Can’t say I missed it.”
Batman let go and jumped back. “Sorry,” he said, as Edward grumbled and rubbed his shoulder. “Reflexes,” he apologized. “Don’t do that if I can’t see you.”
“Liar.”
“I’m not. I mean it.” Batman steadied Edward as he got up, expecting to be shaken off, but Edward allowed the help. “Eddie. What’s wrong?”
“You twisted my arm, you buffoon,” he muttered. “What do you think is wrong?”
“Fine.” Batman grabbed his shoulder and massaged it, checking for knots and strained tendons as he eased the tension. He decided he hadn’t caused any damage and made a cursory pass over Edward’s shoulder blades to be sure. “Better?”
Edward’s eyes drifted closed, and he relaxed. “Oh, yes.”
“Good. Car.” Batman turned and started walking again. He’d already arranged for security to get out of the way. Jim Gordon’s authorization worked wonders.
They found the Batmobile waiting outside. The Riddler whistled. “Driving me yourself? Times must be hard.”
Batman flipped open the bat-wing doors. Edward climbed inside, eyes wide and fingers waggling. “Don’t touch anything.”
“Oh? You don’t trust me?”
“Everything is booby-trapped, just like my suit and cowl. Remember the time the Mad Hatter tried that one out. I’d rather not have to resuscitate you.”
“Then you might be taking on the wrong mission, Dark Knight.”
Batman took his position in the driver’s seat and closed the doors. He kicked the engine into gear, then gave the Riddler a serious look. “I will if I have to.”
“Ah.” Edward cleared his throat. “Where am I supposed to stay tonight? Do I get to choose?”
“I’ve arranged something quiet. A hotel suite. For until you find someplace else.”
“Do they know who I am?”
“Not exactly, but they don’t need to know. I have a contact there who owes me some favors.” They cruised out of the penitentiary yard.
“You’re pulling in favors for me?” Edward smiled.
“Don’t make me regret it.”
“Maybe I’ll consider a little black, in the form of some question marks on my suit.”
“You might want to lie low.”
“Yes, yes, Bat. I know, I know. There’s no need for you to ruin my fun. A man can dream, can’t he.”
“Mm.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Driving with Eddie, Batman felt oddly content. He doubted they would ever be friends, but for now, a truce was good enough. “There are clothes in your room, and some in the back. I recommend you change before you get out.”
“No privacy? I thought I was out of prison. The showers are a nightmare, Batman.”
“I won’t look.”
“Of course not. You’ll want to spare your eyes. But still, the indignity.”
“If you’re trying to get me to get out so you can steal the Batmobile, you’re out of luck.”
“Always so suspicious. Why would I want your car? You bought it with money from the Penguin and that trafficking ring and I don’t want to think who else, just like all your gadgets. I hate what you do under the pretense of fighting crime far too much to stoop to your level.”
“I turn everything over to the GCPD. I’m not a thief. I’m not in this for a profit. There are definitely easier ways. Try the stock market.”
“Nobody’s that selfless. You’re doing this for you.”
“I have my reasons.”
“Like what?” When Batman didn’t answer, Edward huffed and rummaged around behind his seat for the clothes Batman mentioned. In a way that was probably meant to look unintentional, he brushed and leaned on Batman’s arm in the process. Batman didn’t comment. Even through a layer of armor, it felt nice, being close to Edward specifically. It made him feel less alone.
In fact… Batman glanced around. There were no other cars on this road—a wide one, with four lanes. He swerved hard to the right across three, making Edward lean more against him for a few moments. “Thought I saw something,” he said shortly. Immediately he hated himself for the lie as Edward tensed up.
“Well, be careful. If I end up in a hospital, they’ll surely recognize me, and then the bat will really be out of the bag.”
“I’d rather avoid a panic. Don’t take it personally.”
“It’s difficult not to. But I will try to remember you don’t care one way or the other about my feelings, and therefore you can’t possibly be trying to offend me.” Edward wriggled fully back into his seat. He’d finally found the bag. “Do I have a schedule?” He started undoing his shirt, leering at Batman, who kept his eyes on the road. “I expect you’ll be checking up on me?”
“Gordon’s people will pick you up tomorrow at midday. He’ll tell you everything you need to know.” They coasted to a stop outside the hotel. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“Hm-hm. So this is how the Batman sets up dates.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Not really, but thanks for asking. I’m not the, ah, type to accept propositions. From anyone. Really not my modus operandi, as you would say. I hope that doesn’t disappoint you.”
What? Batman grabbed his arm—now bereft of the jailbird jacket, and fitted into viridian civilian clothes. “Not what I meant.”
“I’ll be counting my blessings for that. You’d make a terrifying suitor spurned.”
“I wasn’t expecting a serious answer.”
“What makes you think you got one?”
Batman shook his head and let him go. “Talk to the woman at the front. There’s a letter in the bag. Give that to her, and she’ll show you to your room.”
###
“Aren’t you worried I’ll turn back to crime?” asked Edward.
“Your parole officer is Batman,” answered Jim Gordon. “That’s any felon’s nightmare. So no, I’m not worried at all.”
“You all have such faith in him.”
“He’s earned it. You want to talk about faith, maybe you ought to be asking why he’s taking a chance on you.”
“I helped with some stupid, easy case. He wants to use me. It makes him feel more powerful, I’ve no doubt, having my freedom on a leash in his hands. But I’ll take it. It’s not like I have anything better to do.”
“We appreciate your enthusiasm.”
After their meeting, Edward returned to his hotel. He would take the bus tomorrow and report in for his first day of work at eight sharp. Come the weekend, he would look for a flat. He didn’t know how his expenses were getting taken care of now, how his rooms’ fridge filled with food and he was told not to worry about a bill, but he decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth—yet—if there was nothing he could do about it.
He paced his suite as darkness fell. Television was banal as always. He tried to watch a trivia show for a while before turning it off in disgust. Those people, so ignorant, enjoying their one moment of fame for one night on one channel amongst a thousand others… What had they ever done to deserve even that? What had they done to be looked at, envied, patronized with special applause and attention, congratulated—sometimes embraced—by an arrogant host? That was what made Edward finally switch the set off. He felt like his aorta had turned to hot iron, he ached so much with want at the sight of even that parody of loving contact (from a stranger! Who in their right mind would allow that? He couldn’t imagine the appeal! Maggots!).
But maybe he didn’t have a right to talk. He was the one cozying up to Kevlar these days, after all. He’d always known he was pathetic, but now he’d reached a new low. He had epitomized failure. And he brought this on himself, out of his foolish need, the loneliness he wasn’t strong enough to ignore, the insidious attachment that crept up on him. He knew it wasn’t going anywhere good, but he couldn’t stop. By the time he realized what he’d fallen into, it was too late. He was drowning.
It started with the riddles, with throwing out lines in hope of a connection—with finally getting answers back from somebody who really saw him. Batman. The cheater and the crook. God, Edward thought, there’s so much wrong with me. But… his attention… his specifically… It was addictive. It mattered. It made Edward feel less insane, less like he was an alien or living in some alternate reality—some completely Other plane—that nobody else comprehended. Batman was… on his level. On his wavelength. Not that Edward would ever admit that out loud.
And somehow the longing fed on itself as Edward fed it what it hungered for. More and more, he wanted emotion. He wanted touch—touch that meant something. He wanted complete, undivided attention. He felt the absence of these things so keenly at times that he could swear he was asphyxiating. And he needed them from the Batman specifically.
Damn it. He should be stronger than this. He shouldn’t be so weak. Why did he have to be such a failure? Moron. Stop complaining about it. You’re supposed to be a genius. Stop acting like such a moron.
Batman, the criminal. Edward had to be right about him. Batman was always pretending. It wasn’t possible Edward was wrong—nobody was that selfless .
Edward had no idea whether the Batman was here watching him already. Hope fluttered his breast, and that alarmed him. He twisted his hands together. Moron! Stop being such a moron. That voice in his head stopped being his father’s long ago.
As a test, he perched on the edge of the couch, stared at nothing in particular, and proclaimed, “Riddle me this: If you strike my chains from me, I will be broken, although free. What am I?”
Silence.
Edward slumped.
“… You’re not looking for bicycle, are you.”
The words came from directly behind his head. Edward nearly fell off the couch. “W-w-well, how would you know?” he sputtered, righting himself. “Don’t be making assumptions, or you’ll lose this game.”
“Cut that out.” Batman frowned down at him. “How did it go?”
“Gordon told you, didn’t he? No? Very well. I’m employed, if you can call it that. There’s surprisingly little red tape. I’m still sticking by my desperate theory. The police shouldn’t be so eager to work with me.”
“I don’t ask Gordon for a lot. When I do, it gets done.”
“Everybody’s giving me a second chance now! Imagine that.” Edward hopped up and glanced about. He felt antsy. Anxious. There was Batman, in arm’s reach, and he wanted to—but he couldn’t—and it was so frustrating, and he had to act like nothing was wrong— “What happens if I blow it, Bat? What happens to you?”
“I wouldn’t be worried about me if I were you.”
“I’m not,” Edward muttered. “And you’re not. Goddamn. Why are you in here asking me about my day?”
“The nights are quiet directly after a mass arrest. It’s a good chance to check in on you.”
“How thoughtful.”
“I thought I’d offer you a puzzle.”
“Hm? Do tell.”
“See if you can get my gauntlet off.”
Edward blinked. “What?”
“I’ll be able to tell if you hit a trap, but it won’t hurt you. I flipped an inhibitor switch inside.”
“Why would you have something like that?”
“Sometimes I have to take them off myself for very fine bomb work.” He extended his hand, palm up, waiting.
The Batman must be up to something, Edward thought. He couldn’t actually be offering Edward the chance to figure out one of his secrets. He couldn’t be offering Edward an excuse to—But how else would he expect Edward to disarm something like this? Tentatively he touched Batman’s palm with his fingertips and stroked the thin ridges in the armor. “How much can you feel through this?” he asked.
“More than you’d think.”
He could do anything. He could explain it as checking for traps. And that was reasonable. That was what he was doing, wasn’t he? It served the same purpose. Maybe he’d learn something if he just… He ran his hand up Batman’s wrist and rubbed the inside of his elbow and bicep, above the gauntlet. He intentionally brushed Batman’s fingers with his own skinny forearm all the time, nudging them, imagining that now they would twitch and caress him too, that there’d be some indication this man was affected, that he cared. Edward murmured, “What if I killed somebody? Would you still try to save me?”
An impatient exhalation of warm breath hit the crown of his hair. “It won’t come to that.”
“I keep forgetting you’re only barely taller than I am. The ears on that bat hat are deceptive.”
“Eddie…”
Click. The gauntlet’s latches came undone. Victorious, Edward tugged it off. Everything above the wrist was still encased in gray armor, but Edward had freed the hand. He forced on a smirk and raised his chin, expectantly. Now he’d be hit and thrown back in Arkham. Oh, well. This was fun while it lasted.
He wasn’t prepared for the shock in Batman’s eyes, the slight parting of his lips. “What?” he demanded, caught off guard. “You didn’t think I could do it?”
“No, I did. It’s just, that fast…” Batman shook his head. “I’ve spent years perfecting this design. You didn’t hit any traps. You didn’t even look like you were trying.”
“W-well.” That couldn’t be a compliment. Could it? “I had motivation.” He took Batman’s hand and squeezed, feeling the thick muscle, the strong bones, the callused skin. “So what happens now? Back to Arkham, I suppose?”
Batman frowned. He didn’t pull away as Edward expected. “Hm?”
“You aren’t just going to let me go after this, are you, now that you know I can figure out your suit? That’s what you wanted to know all along. Now you’re certain I have to be locked up.”
“No.” Batman stared steadily into his eyes. It took a huge effort not to look away. Those irises were like steel blue bullets—only never to be fired, of course. Batman did not use guns. “I was hoping we could talk.”
“Oh? What about?”
“You. More riddles. Anything.”
“Is this about the tapes?”
Batman stopped and thought about that for a moment. Edward could see gears turning in his head. “Yes,” he said at last. “It’s about the tapes. You could say that. I wish I had known. I’m… sorry.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been investigating asylums throughout Gotham. Let’s just say Arkham wasn’t the odd one out.”
“Life’s not so black and white anymore, is it? No more good guys, no more bad guys.” Edward smiled. “For one thing, you can’t trust that the people who call themselves the good guys are actually doing good. That’s far too simple, oh no. Sometimes they’re the worst of all.”
“That’s what you think about me.”
“More or less.” He shrugged. He didn’t know anymore.
“I didn’t know what it was like in Arkham, Eddie. I’m sorry.”
“You’re supposed to be the world’s greatest detective. You should have known. You just kept throwing me back in there! You did this. You!”
“I thought you’d be safe. I thought you needed—”
“How would you know what I need?”
“I don’t, because you won’t tell me!”
Eddie flinched. Batman blinked. Apparently he hadn’t meant to raise his voice. Eddie nursed a small flicker of satisfaction on that point, that he’d managed to make the Bat react, to get something inarguably genuine out of him. “I’m the Riddler,” he replied. “What were you expecting? A straight answer?”
“Then give me a riddle.”
“I already have! There’s no need for you to pretend to be so dense. I’ve given you all the clues, and then some. You should be able to figure me out. It’s so simple, even a cheater should know.”
“Maybe it looks that way from where you stand. I do feel dense sometimes compared to you.” Batman pulled his hand away from Edward’s. Edward wasn’t prepared for the stab of panic and hurt that hit him in that moment, and it must have shown on his face before he covered it. However, then he felt Batman’s hand touch his cheek, cradling his jaw and caressing him. “You see things I can’t,” said the Dark Knight, quietly, close to Edward’s face. “You are brilliant. I want you on my side.”
Edward trembled, shaking so hard he felt he might fall down, searching Batman’s eyes. Those cold steel bullets. “You’re trying to trick me. You must be.” There was no other possible explanation.
“I’m not. I promise.” Batman shifted. He wrapped his other arm, still fully locked into the fortress-like suit, around Edward’s back. He pulled Edward against his chest and held him upright. “Eddie, your vitals are dropping. Relax. Just breathe. It’s okay.”
“I-I-I thought you said you’d h-help me, not ruin me. Y-you said—y-y-you said—Oh G-God, please, don’t hurt me!”
“I’m sorry.” Batman rubbed his back. “I don’t know how to not hurt you. I try, and I try… and it all turns out wrong. I’m doing the best I can. I swear to you, I’m trying to make it better.” He kissed Edward’s temple. Then, after a moment, he kissed his cheek.
Edward turned his head. “I-I-I told you, I’m not into that.”
Batman growled—but it was soft, almost a purr. “I know. I’m not doing that.” He held Edward and pressed kisses around Edward’s lips, on the sides of his nose, along his hairline. Edward couldn’t help it—he melted into the touch, the care. He tilted his head, and their lips brushed. Batman murmured an apology.
“It’s okay. Feels nice.” Edward pecked his lips again.
“But I thought—”
“I’m not. This is all I want. Just this. It doesn’t have to mean that between us.”
Then they were less careful, less shy. Batman whispered compliments between every chaste kiss, saying he thought Eddie was so smart, saying Eddie deserved to be happy and safe, and saying that he was sorry, so sorry. There was no force to any of it, just tenderness and all the time in the world. Edward couldn’t remember ever feeling so calm. When he yawned into a kiss, Batman picked him up like a child and laid him down on his bed. “I should go,” he said, smoothing down Edward’s hair. “Will you be okay here?”
“Yeah.” Edward touched Batman’s face. “Hey. This wasn’t just… charity, right? Are you ever coming back?”
Batman nodded. “Tomorrow night.” He drew back and turned around. His cloak and cowl reduced him to a shadow in the dim hotel room. “When you find a new place, tell me. I’ll clean up the area before you move in.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I know.” Batman pulled aside the curtain to the balcony and glanced back at Edward. “But thugs are annoying.”
“Hm. A mind such as mine shouldn’t have to trifle with the likes of them?”
“Exactly,” Batman said, and slipped out into the night. Edward waited a moment, then rushed out and looked around. He saw nobody. Batman had already dropped off of the balcony.
Edward touched his fingers to his lips, then to the place over his heart, and then he went to bed. Normally he fell asleep while making up riddles, sometimes frantically for hours on end. But tonight was silence in his mind and tongue, like an asylum viewed from the outside and finally without screams.