Chapter Text
Thursday, 11:37 PM - The (to be) Inconvenienced Warehouse of Rejected Toys
"They're setting up the circle wrong," Mark said, frowning as he leaned oh so incredibly casually against a dirty, grimy window that clearly hadn't been washed in years. His shoulders were tense from the very thought. He would need to take a shower when he got home to wash off the residual microscopic dirt and glitter that coated this dump -of which he swore he could feel forming like a second skin, plastering itself to him. He shivered in discomfort, already looking forward to his many body washes, soaps and his beloved shower routine.
Or perhaps his tense shoulders came from the fact that he was watching his cultist colleagues fuck up something completely basic. At least two of the points of the star were off by a few minute degrees, and they were ignoring it. Amateurs, the lot of them.
"Isn't the ritual supposed to be like, intuition based, or something?" Asked the very bane of Mark's existence, who was in fact, named Jacob. Mark knew that Jacob had been lounging on that gross, musty couch since they arrived about twenty seven minutes ago, and had been aimlessly scrolling through Twitter to keep tabs on tweets for any vigilante activity. While it was important and necessary, he didn't have to look so...good while doing it. Mark kept his eyes locked on the two captives, avoiding Jacob's questioning glance. The captives who now seemed to be chatting amongst themselves, with the second one having finally woken up. Not that important, I suppose. It's not like they can escape, most civilians would rather rely on vigilante assistance or police help, especially from that height. And there is absolutely no way Hood is getting out of that.
"Yes, for the offerings, components, and chant, but the ritual circle has a very strict set up and if they make one wrong symbol, this entire place could implode in on itself, and we'll all die with those deranged Joker dolls laughing their asses off as the Bats drag us into the fiery pits of Hell themselves." Mark spat, watching as Cat and Jake inspected the aforementioned doll, before all but practically chucking it away from themselves when it let out infernal, screeching laughter. He was glad the damned things got discontinued. Who in all the hells would think those were were marketable, anyway?
"Mark, dude, do you like...need a Xanax? Or a blunt?" Jacob asked, still scrolling apathetically on his phone when Mark turned to look at him with much affront and offense. "'Cause like...There's literally no one for miles. It'll be a clean sacrifice, we will find whatever it is the big man in charge is looking for, then we can all go home. Besides, it looks like the only Bat on patrol within a 15 mile radius is the short-stack with a sword."
Mark had to remind himself that Jacob was in fact, not a Gotham native. Jacob didn't grow up seeing how quickly the Bats could respond to any crisis, how suddenly one could find themselves mixed up with the ever growing family. Jacob has never quite grasped the fact that the Bats are only seen when they wanted to be. The fact that he could only find proof of Robin being out on patrol tonight was as bad of a sign as any, that the Bats could very well waiting on their doorstep ready to flay them to kingdom come for taking some poor civilian and The Red Fucking Hood. He wasn't even going to dare consider what would happen if Robin himself heard someone call him 'the short-stack with a sword' - he just knew it would be gruesome.
His annoyance changed to a different sort of frustration as Jacob stretched on the couch, his dark gray shirt riding up on his stomach to display rolling abs and - Mark shut his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Yet, the burned image of Jacob sprawled out on the couch was seared into his retinas, that damned 'Be Mine' heart tattoo on Jacob's collarbone always mocking him whenever the other man got too close.
"Y'know Jacob, my problem with you is that you don't care enough to think about the consequences of your actions. Fate plays a part in everything we do, and it doesn't effect just us." Mark hissed out, finally risking a peek at the other man. Jacob stared at him, his brown hair mussed from lounging on the couch and their earlier haste through the city. After a long period of silence that had Mark itching to leave the room in anger, Jacob put his phone down, giving Mark his undivided, green eyed attention. It honestly unnerved him, just a little bit.
Mark couldn't tell you how long he had fostered some kind of...feelings - if you could even call them that- for the man in front of him. Jacob had been apart of the cult for years, but had been a face behind a screen for the most part. It was only when things started getting serious and rituals became full sacrifices that they had officially met, and Mark had finally put a face (a very pretty one, mind you) to the name he had been longing for. For a moment, he was scared. Afraid that he had said too much of his own fears, of his internal worries, for Jacob to consider him in the same light that Mark saw him.
And then the fucking idiot opened his dumb, pretty mouth.
"I think you should maybe see a therapist for your undiagnosed OCD." He said, those dazzling ocean eyes watching him carefully. Mark was subjected to the most beautifully smug grin as his jaw dropped open in anger, his body out of control as he stormed towards Jacob.
"I think that you should maybe consider something like, oh I don't know, something that isn't denying the very real chance that we all get caught because they don't know how to properly use a protractor!" Mark yelled, so very caught up in Jacob's gaze - filled with something odd that he didn't recognize - that he completely missed one of their hostages escaping. That wasn't important, however, as he was now inches away from Jacob, his hands shaking with his unbridled rage at the absolute immaturity in this buffoon of a man.
"Maybe you should realize I like seeing you this frustrated." Jacob said, finally standing up from his seat on the couch. In the back of Mark's mind, he was surprised to find that the other man was slightly taller than him, but he was too distracted with how the tips of their noses brushed against each other, and how Jacob's breath smelled like orange Tic-Tacs.
"I think you're a sick freak." Mark snapped with absolutely no venom, eyes undecided on if they should focus on Jacob's own or his smirking mouth - The damned asshole. All hostility went out the window when Jacob's rough hand softly trailed up his jaw, a different kind of warmth than Mark was familiar with.
"I think you like it." Jacob murmured, dipping down to connect their lips and pulling Mark close.
They never noticed what happened (until later) to the rest of their cult, and it was a good thing too. Mark would have hated being subjected to all of that glitter.
Digital Text Conversation Between Batman and Superman via Personal Communications
B: Is J alive? (12:30 AM)
S: u know, the fact that this isn't the 2nd time u have asked me this in the week alone & is in fact the 24th should be concerning. wut happened? (12:31 AM)
S: answer is yes, btw. bpm is a lil elevated, but not in distress. (12:31 AM)
B: He went AWOL earlier. Had a spat with N regarding A's cookies. Haven't been able to locate him since. (12:32 AM)
S: ooookayyy. u never ask for my help unless ur really worried, B. wuts got u worried? (12:34 AM)
B: Jasonspite.mov (12:37 AM)
S: i still think he has a lot of free time on his hands to be that well read, an active crime lord/vigilante, and make a family disowning manifesto that well thought out. (12:40 AM)
S: do u think i should offer him a job? he'd kill in the journalism world. (12:40 AM)
B: He causes enough trouble as it is. (12:41 AM)
S: should i fly over & help? (12:41 AM)
B: I appreciate the offer, but not tonight. (12:43 AM)
S: alrighty. we still on for later this week? (12:44 AM)
B: Of course. A is looking forward to your visit as always. (12:47 AM)
Friday, 2:01 AM - Gotham City Police Department - Dispatch Floor.
When people considered the word 'Inevitable', they usually thought of most common occurrences, such as time, quirky superhero movies, or perhaps even the heat death of the universe, but for Raziela Thatcher, she associated the word with weird. She had no inclination if this was a result of every single choice she had deigned to make in her life that had led to her being in the dead center of every odd, crazy, and bizarrely niche series of circumstances, or if fate just crowned her as a favored plaything to put in the rampaging path of ongoing chaotic disasters.
Staying late an extra two hours and counting, all because Cat could manage to have a sudden, family emergency? Inevitable. Her supervisor assuring her that it should be slow until the next swing shift rolled in at 5 am, and that she might get a chance to take a nap at her desk (Which was definitely not encouraged)? Predictable corporate manipulation tactic (some might even say, inevitable), but Raziela wouldn't say no regardless, overtime was overtime, and she liked helping. When the night eventually turned busy with an onslaught of peculiar, strange and abnormal calls? Inevitable, as only Raziela would have this luck.
She sighed as her headset chimed, indicating another call had connected seconds after her last.
"911, where's your emergency?" She asked, eyes flicking to scan over the caller ID, the skittering of her magic trickling to the caller, taking root like a cultivated seed. Her fingers tingled in anticipation, the caller's emotions now at her beck and call. She heard a shuddering exhale as if the caller was calming themselves (a good indicator that the spell was working), and then,
"Uh- Hold on, I think I have it written down on the fridge." A young woman's voice entered through the headset, her soft padded footsteps barely audible from Raziela's side of the call. "We're in the Smithe Apartments - Off Gilder and Wade. Unit 305, second floor."
As she typed in the address, she frowned. As per usual, she could feel the woman's emotions swelling inside her, a churning energy that begged to be burned away. She held onto it, nurturing it into a gentle calm as she listened to the woman take a few deep breaths to center herself. Given the slight shake in her fingers, the hairs prickling at the back of her neck, and the general feeling of impending doom, she could only assume the caller had some form of anxiety disorder. Me too, girl. Me too.
Usually, and this was forever something she would be grateful for, people with anxiety relatively had their shit together when calling in. They had already, in their mind, prepared for the absolute worst. Answering questions? Piece of cake, especially since someone much more qualified would be coming to fix it.
"Can you tell me what's going on?" Raziela asked, letting out another surge of magic as she listened to the woman pace on the other end of the connection. The seed of magic grew stronger, a timid sapling bearing the weight of a brewing storm. In the cubicle next to her, Pete shifted in his seat, watching her type in updates for the call record. He was a newer recruit, recently released for radio training on Fire (and subsequently Medical) dispatch. Raziela genuinely had high hopes for him to last, despite his training officer being a flaky bitch -When I see Cat on shift again, I swear to god-. The woman on the phone laughed, almost hesitant.
"Well - I think my sister fell in the shower," She began, her amusement not at all concealed. If it weren't for the sweltering pressure of the building worry of the caller - of which she was only aware of due to her magic - she would assume it was a prank call with how much she was laughing. Stress can appear in many forms, and it wasn't uncommon to experience someone laughing when under duress. Especially in Gotham. "I'm thinking she broke her hip, because I can hear her laughing, but I am also pretty sure she's crying as she's telling me to not call 911. She's saying she's fine, but I haven't heard her get up."
She quickly typed in an ambulance request - citing potential broken hip- and dropped the call for Pete to dispatch to the assigned ambulance. She heard the quiet chime from his desk speakers indicating that he received it, and idly heard him begin reading out the call notes and announcing they would be gathering further data.
As she opened her mouth to ask further questions, however, the woman interrupted her for the first time in the call, stating,
"I have a weird request though - can you send like, your hunkiest EMTs? General requirements are like, at least six foot four, the BROADEST shoulders you got, pecs that could kill someone, and has dark hair, preferably wavy or curly." The woman said, pausing for a moment before continuing. "I absolutely promise you this isn't like, a prank call - please still send an ambulance. I am genuinely worried, but the bitch is so stubborn, I'm praying that she'll be more willing to get medical treatment if she thinks the EMTs are hot and are flirting with her." Raziela opened her mouth. Closed her mouth. Opened it again, before the woman started speaking once more with fervor as she explained herself. "Like, I would try to move her myself, but she's probably all soapy and wet, and I am not strong enough to lift her out without messing up her hip even more."
A rarity for Raziela to be stunned into silence. Never had she ever have a caller have the balls to suggest such a thing. How does she even respond to that - they aren't a dating service, and are in fact, for emergencies and saving lives???
"-Units in response to incident 5873, please be advised, caller states that patient will not be cooperative if this request is not met-" Pete's quiet announcement said, blaring over dispatch radio. A radio that plays out to every fire station, ambulance station, to every single clocked in firefighter and ambulance - and their supervisors. Raziela whirled to look at him, eyes wide as she mentally played back everything that just came out of his mouth, realizing her error in letting an overeager trainee listen to her take a live call while he still had that damn radio in his hands. She moved to make her own announcement over the dispatch radio, when -
"Unit 945 is taking 5873." A male's voice echoed from the radio. Raziela took a deep breath in, followed by a deep breath out. Never had she ever had a trainee have the fucking balls to dispatch such a thing. I am definitely drinking tonight. She made sure to reenact a charade that she learned as a child that looked suspiciously like she was strangling Pete, and mouthed, "You and I are going to have a talk after this." Pete, to his credit, looked like he shit himself and nodded. Raziela gave him a thumbs up and turned her attention back to Sara.
"Alright, hang tight for me, I just need to ask a few more questions for the EMTs." She said, updating her system to reflect that unit 945 was in response to the call - instead of whichever ambulance had been originally assigned. Fucking trainees.
Friday - 2:02 AM - A Random Gotham Parking Lot.
Scott, thankfully, had been having a slow night. On slow nights as an EMT, he could sit in the cramped ambulance with his partner Kaden and eat god awful powdered donuts from a gas station. Was it bad for him, especially as someone who could barely handle gluten on a good day? Yes. Yes it was. But thankfully, Gotham had chosen to be chill for once, and he could just relax and maybe actually get some sleep.
He stretched, letting out a small yawn as his sore limbs berated him for an overzealous gym session, where he obviously pushed himself too much and was bearing the consequences of his actions two days later. Everything hurt. He was seriously considering taking that nap, but he'd have to go to the back of the ambulance, as he was much too big for the passenger seat to be comfortable.
The radio toned, a warning for all the first responders to pay attention.
"Unit 631 - Female in fell in the shower, caller is suspicious of a broken hip-" came the crackle of the radio, causing both Scott and Kaden to look up, awaiting to hear the address to see if they should respond. "Location is at Smithe Apartments - Off Gilder and Wade. Apartment 305, second floor. Gathering further."
Scott cringed, glad that they weren't the assigned unit to the location. Getting someone off the second floor with a potential broken hip? Not fun, especially given the woman fell in the shower. It was always an awkward situation, because you couldn't get the patient dressed, but you also didn't want to parade them around naked in front of their gawking neighbors.
"Please be advised units, caller requested that we send, and I quote, 'The hunkiest EMTs we have' and the requirements to fulfill such are- " The dispatcher, a new one, Scott thought, because who in their right mind would have the gall to dispatch this on a open radio- took a quick breath and recited a description that Scott, unfortunately, was very familiar with. "'At least six foot four, the broadest shoulders you got, pecs that could kill someone, and has dark hair, preferably curly or wavy.'" All of this was recited to them in the most droned, bored voice imaginable.
If Scott took a second to look in the mirror and really thought about it, Kaden's next actions would make a lot more sense. I mean, Scott was well aware that he towered over most of the population - save for other taller than average men. Objectively, he knew he had broad shoulders, as his constant struggle to find a shirt that fit in the bicep was evidence enough...As well as his pectorals, he supposed.
Oh.
Oh no.
Kaden broke out into a wide grin, and pointed at Scott.
"We're going." He declared, making an executive decision that only the person in the driver's seat could make. Scott groaned, clutching at his dark hair that was totally not wavy.
"Why on earth are we going?!" Scott cried, gesturing in front of them at nothing in particular. "We aren't even fucking assigned to it!"
"Because 631 is occupied by two gay twunks who will not be able to fulfil such a request. I'm just thinking of the care for the patient." Kaden said, matter-of-factly condemning Scott to his fate.
"-Medical Units, please be advised, caller states that patient will not be cooperative if this request is not met-" Came the damning voice of this idiotic dispatch trainee, because only a newbie would sentence someone to their doom like this. Scott groaned as Kaden called out the affirmative-
"Unit 945 will take it." Kaden said smugly, starting the vehicle and flicking on the sirens, gleefully speeding out of the parking lot. Scott frowned at the idea of yet another night where he is tasked with calming yet another belligerent patient who doesn't know up from down and their own good.
"What are we now, hostage negotiators?" Scott grumbled, leaning further down in his seat as they hurtled towards Apartment 305 and its residents.
Friday, 2:05 AM - Gotham City Police Department - Dispatch Floor.
Raziela had finally collected the caller's name (Sara) patient's name (Alice), height, weight, age, and general description ("Likely naked, and sopping wet. Cause, y'know, shower? Do I need to put a towel on her?"). Apparently sassing someone under pressure is also a symptom of anxiety. Who knew?? By the time they were finished, 945's transponders were showing them rapidly approaching the apartment. It was appalling that the EMTs decided that they should delay the patient's care for a few minutes in favor of listening to a dipshit newbie-
"Front door is unlocked," The caller said, then tacked on - "I think I just heard a thud from the bathroom, should I check on her?"
"That was the very next thing I was going to have you do, go ahead." Raziela said, typing in updates as Pete updated the EMTs regarding the front door. The background noise changed from padding footsteps to a loud roaring noise in the background - presumably the shower.
"WHY ARE YOU OUT OF THE SHOWER?" Sara yelled, suddenly a lot more distraught. The tone sent Raziela's magic jumping in anticipation, eager to mend the terror and worry. As she simultaneously turned down her headset volume and opened her mouth to very professionally ask Sara if the hip was actually broken if the patient had somehow managed to walk, another woman responded in a loud hiss,
"IT WAS TOO WET!" She, likely Alice, snapped out. There was a vague clatter, sounding like bottles being knocked over.
"THATS HOW SHOWERS WORK, DUMBASS-"
"I NEEDED TO STAND UP-" Patient has managed to climb out of the shower - wants to stand up. Raziela typed into her notes, very glad she was capable of talking and typing as she said in her best authoritative but calming tone,
"Tell her to not stand up, she needs to stay where she is." She even let her magic slip through on that one, feeling the order take root in the caller, the calm washing away her distress and clearing her mind.
"The nice 911 lady says not to stand." Sara said with a slight waver, sounding more gentle now that Raziela had given her that bit of guidance.
"Tell the 911 lady that I can handle it." Alice snapped, another vague thud echoing through the call.
"Stop moving if your fucking hip is broken-" Sara yelled, the tenuous strand of magic shattering like a Rupert's Drop when the weak point is snapped. Patient is moving - not cooperating with instructions.
"Can you describe what her hip looks like?" Raziela asked, typing in Sara's description, and blocking out the various yells from the background of the call. "Alright, just have her keep still. The EMTs are on their way."
"Question - are they hunky?" Sara asked, idly. Raziela paused, fingers hovering just over the keyboard before she sighed. In the background, Alice yelled a "WHAT DID YOU JUST FUCKING SAY-"
"Yes, they're hunky." Was Raziela's response as she held her head in her hands, contemplating how this was the weirdest call she has ever had in her life so far.
"Thank fucking god, that'll make the ambulance ride easy." Sara said, and then- "I think they're here." Raziela readied herself to say her own goodbye, but was overshadowed by a loud, shrieking, "I AM FUCKING NAKED WHY DID YOU CALL AN AMBULANCE OH MY GOD-," and before the call was disconnected, there was a loud clang that sounded suspiciously like a shower rod being ripped out of the wall and onto the floor.
Friday, 2:05AM - Smithe Apartments' Parking Lot.
"But the ethics of it Kaden-" Scott bellowed, way too loud for the cramped space of the ambulance. Kaden shrugged, way too smug for almost 2:10 am on a Friday night, his sandy blond hair still messy from his bedhead that should have gone away hours ago.
"You can drive, I'll treat her. You heard what they said, she won't cooperate unless she gets the hunkiest of EMTs, and this is your cue." Kaden smiled as he took a turn way too sharply for a top heavy vehicle. "Besides, she might be cute and you could finally get a girlfriend."
"BUT ETHICS-" Scott tried again, even going so far as to pulling out the employee handbook that is kept in the glovebox.
"Irrelevant- Look, we're here. Get your game face on, Casanova!" Kaden said, parking the vehicle and practically skipping to get the stretcher from the back. Scott rubbed an (admittedly massive) hand down his face, considering the actions he took to get to this point. He planted his hand on the door handle, taking a deep breath and opening the door.
As he stepped out of the ambulance, the calm paramedic mentality washed over him, preparing him for the worst. He had faced god awful tragedies, helping the elderly through unbearable moments, mother's giving birth to their first or fourth, stabbings and shootings of every nature. He had been on scene at multiple drug deals gone wrong, Joker attacks, natural disasters, and even a few bomb threats. None of those had ever effected him deeply, in the moment. It was what he was trained to do, as a first responder.
But this? This caused his hands to shake with unerring performance anxiety. Kaden slapped a hand on his shoulder, and jogged up the stairs with the stretcher in hand. Scott followed him, still considering his life choices as his feet thudded on the pavement, cementing themselves in his metaphorical doom.
It was Kaden who opened the door with an almost cheery declaration of their arrival, and it was Scott who darkened the doorstep of the loud apartment, readying himself for his fate. A woman stood in the main living space, her light brown, curly hair pulled into a pony tail. She looked at Kaden as he came in, frowning in a way that indicated scrutinizing judgment as she placed her phone down on the nearest surface.
Then she visibly brightened when she caught sight of Scott, her neck craning so she could make eye contact. This must be the caller, the plight of his very night.
Down the hall was what must have been the patient, her loud and angry voice echoing down the drywall and faux hardwood of the apartment.
"BACK THE FUCK UP - I AM FINE, I DO NOT NEED MEDICAL ATTENTION!" She all but roared, and Kaden ducked out of the bathroom as a bottle of colorful hair shampoo came flying out of the room with terrifying accuracy for someone who had a potential hip injury, narrowly missing the shorter man's head. Scott's brows shot up, surprised at the sudden projectile.
"Ma'am, please let us help-" Kaden asked calmly, flashing Scott an encouraging look. The EMT frowned even more, sighing and making his way to the bathroom, Kaden waiting at the doorway to let him go first. Due to his sheer size, Scott was often sent to handle belligerent and aggravated patients to subdue them. He hated it.
"SUCK A FAT FUCKING BALL YOU PIECE OF SHIT HIPSTER-!" Came another shriek, followed by another bottle of bath product that Scott was unfamiliar with. He caught the bottle expertly, his many experiences allowing him to prepare for the attempt on his life. He ducked into the room as he did, calmly setting it on the countertop and paused as he caught sight of the...strange pink substance smeared across the mirror. Looking around the bathroom, he realized...
It was basically destroyed, its epicenter sitting with her back against the tub, holding herself upright on the ceramic tile. Bottles were scattered across the room, clearly having been thrown in her pain and adrenaline induced tantrum. Along the far wall was the shower that still ran, likely now cold. The interior tiles were smeared with colorful soaps and suds that he couldn't even parse what their original use was, besides creating her own personal slip and slide death trap. Where the shower curtain rod presumably had been, there were only two parallel holes in the drywall.
The woman - Patient. She is a patient.- was propped up with her back against the tub, and her left arm braced on the toilet, which was very inconveniently placed in his professional opinion. He had seen too many people slip into spots like that, a narrow cranny between the shower and toilet - it was an absolute pain in the ass to get an injured person out of safely. Her right arm - tattooed with an intricate sleeve of...something he couldn't bother to make out - was holding a ruby shower curtain against her body, wrapped in a way that must have been a desperate attempt at modesty- not that her soaking wet curves would allow it.
Flecks of drywall stuck to her wet dark blue hair, of which was plastered to her slick skin. Her furious brown eyes became delicate as he entered the room, her soft pink lips parting for air as she leaned back in shock. He watched as her eyes trailed up his legs, chest - danced for a moment around his shoulders before gathering the courage to meet his own. He cursed his own luck that she was, in fact, incredibly pretty. He took the chance while she was distracted to risk a glance at her right leg - it was bent at an odd angle, but he couldn't get a good look with her covered in that shower curtain. And really, it should be unfair that this particular shade of crimson looked so good on her, in his, once again, very professional opinion.
Behind him, an unnecessarily evil and victorious giggle rang out. He turned to catch the caller smirking at her sister, and a whispered "Gotcha, bitch."
Kaden cleared his throat as he squeezed past into the room, and the caller backed up to survey the scene. Scott shook his head to get himself into work mode, trying valiantly to ignore the woman's now dazed stare. This might be the easiest belligerent patient I have ever had. He thought, crouching down to get at eye level with her.
Kaden was saying something, asking the caller her name (Caller was Sara, Patient was Alice), how this happened, if it hurt anywhere, and explaining he was going to take a look at Alice's hip. The entire time through this process, Scott held eye contact with her, trying to desperately come up with something to distract her when Kaden inevitably-
"SON OF A FUCK!" Alice hissed, managing to launch herself further away (Using her bad leg, mind you) from Kaden, who had lightly pressed on the joint to test her pain response. This motion had wedged her between the tub and the toilet that was very inconveniently placed. Just as Scott had feared. Scott held a hand out to Kaden, signaling for him to stop.
"You should have a wet floor sign," Scott said, catching Alice's attention as he spoke, her dark eyes still teary with a pain that broke his heart. "Because I've slipped and fallen into your trap."
"What?" She asked, voice shockingly small now, letting out a sharp hiss of pain as her leg spasmed, her foot smacking him in the thigh. He swallowed the tiny wisp of anxiety surging in his throat that he'll be served lawsuit paperwork in a few weeks, and cradled her ankle gently, stabilizing the limb through its spasms.
"Well, you're not the only one whose fallen here, so it's a good thing there's another EMT with me." Scott said, with a slight nod to his colleague, "Because I think I'm useless after seeing you."
"Oh my god I'm dying." She said, knocking her head against the ceramic of the toilet in front of her, sounding appropriately pathetic. "I fell in the shower and now the prettiest man I have ever seen in my life is telling me I'm dying. Tell Guinness World Records they need to pay for my funeral."
"Whoa - no - where in the hell did you get that notion- You're going to be fine." Scott said, hastily trying to soothe her again. "Alice, look at me."
And again, those brown eyes flicked over to him, clearly intent on his every word despite her pain. He smiled at her, one that he used plenty of times on girls he wanted to flirt with, one he knew would make her turn just a little red.
Though, maybe not that red. Whoops.
"I'll uh, go get a blanket for her." Kaden said, retreating to run back to the ambulance. Scott kept his attention on Alice.
"So. Do you want to keep the curtain or would you like a blanket instead?" He asked, keeping his hands in front of him, ready to grab her if she moved again. He was honestly expecting her to try rocketing away again, even if got her in a god awful vantage point.
"...could you clarify the question." She asked, and he had to remind himself that silly questions was normal, she was likely in shock. She was also trying to sit herself up without any assistance, and he caught her by the shoulder to take the brunt of her weight and helped shift her to a sitting up position.
"Do you want to keep the curtain, or would you rather have a blanket that is much warmer?" He asked, wrapping an arm around her waist to slide her slightly further away from the danger crevice of the bathroom, and in the same motion wedged his leg in between her left side and previously mentioned bathroom safety hazard. This maneuver did end up placing them in a very inappropriate position for someone to have with their patient, but he was finding that she was much more relaxed when she had something (Someone) much sturdier than a toilet to brace herself on.
"...I went with the curtain cause it fits my hips." She murmured, drawing the curtain tighter around herself. Distantly, he realized that the bar of the curtain was in fact still attached, laying against her bad hip. He worried it had hit the injured joint on the way down, but would approach that later.
"Trust me, the blanket is big enough to engulf me. You'll be okay." He said, reigning in the small snort of laughter as she looked him up and down again, her face turned that delightful shade of red as she seemed to remember his sheer size.
Scott opened his mouth to ask her another question - like how in the hell she fell in the shower, or perhaps even her number- when Kaden rudely interrupted with a blanket and a sudden need to get their job done. Scott swallowed his huff of annoyance and focused on his efforts to keep Alice distracted. If he let her press her head against his chest for a moment too long when Kaden prodded at her hip, that was no one's business but their own.
Friday, 2:16 AM - Gotham City Police Department - Dispatch Floor.
After spending a good five minutes explaining to Pete on exactly why they should never take requests like that, all ranging from the fact that most EMTs with a sense of humor will absolutely take the call, to it being a risk for their safety and wellbeing. The trainee had seemed sufficiently admonished, taking the instructions to heart. Soon after Raziela was done explaining the why to him, their supervisor Laurie came over, letting them know they could go ahead and go home.
Raziela nodded, turning to make herself unavailable to receive calls while she closed out of her system and clocked out. She clicked the lime green 'Ready' button, smiling in relief as it flicked to a dark red, signaling that she was unavailable to receive calls. As she put her hand on her headset to take it off, the telltale chime of a call connecting made her stop.
She looked up in horror. It wasn't the first time that this particular glitch had occurred, but it was usually when a call came in right as you set yourself as unavailable. Not at least a few seconds afterwards, where she had enough time to breath and even check her phone. She was supposed to go home, to rest after this absolutely hellish day - maybe she could transfer the call to one of her coworkers. She took a glance and saw that every single person in the room was now suddenly occupied on their own calls.
"911, where's your emergency?" She found herself saying after three seconds had passed, eyebrow quirking in question at the caller ID -a payphone way out in the middle of the warehouse district of Gotham's East End. Likely another villain attack, maybe a vigilante sighting? She glanced at her side, holding in a curse as she finally noticed that Pete had already skedaddled to the safety of the breakroom. Sneaky little shit.
Like always when answering a call, Raziela sent out a small shock of magic, filled with calm and ease - it always made it easier for callers to follow instructions. It helped in many different cases - she would give them a dose of calm to take away their fear, rage, and anxiety. She had grown so accustomed to the use of the powers, that their negative emotions never affected her (besides the usual physiological reactions, but there wasn't much she could do about that). It was second nature to let out a spark of magic when a call automatically connected and she said that fateful line - one that usually helped save many lives in the past few years.
"I have a call for Commissioner Gordon." A woman's voice answered, her French accent sounding almost normal in her haze of exhaustion. A shockwave of rejection flooded Raziela, surprising her enough that she faltered once again. The spell never took hold if...the other person was magic themselves. And usually, if the caller was magic themselves....it led to trouble. In the background, the woman was reciting an address that Raziela barely paid attention to as she typed it into their system in unison.
Commissioner Gordon. Raziela flicked her mouse over to a small chat window - one that held access to her secret work friend, typing a quick message.
RT: Call for Comm. Gordon. (2:17 AM)
It was a common code in Gotham, an open secret kept amongst the natives, mostly, that you only requested the Commissioner when you needed the Bats involved. It was a thieves cant of sorts, taught to young children whose parents needed them to know the best way to get a protector of the night, who often easily ignored the laws of the common civilians. Teenagers knew better than to make a prank call to 911 and make such a claim - they knew better than to tie the Bats up with petty crimes or who caused what drama that day at school. Adults seldom made the request themselves, because they often didn't know if something was bad enough to require Gotham's vigilantes' attentions. No one wanted to risk making a call not important enough, not anyone who was native to the city. The elderly seemed to be the most aware of when to best request the Commissioner, as any dispatcher learned well.
To put it simply, not just anyone will call in and state the call is for Commissioner Gordon. It was without a doubt, the immediate way to get a Gotham dispatcher's attention.
"Alright, why don't you tell me what's going on?" Raziela asked, trying again with her magic, prodding at the woman's defenses, to maybe see if she could get something. Goosebumps skittered on her arms and back, the compulsion of calm sending Raziela's hair on end, the spell's power and energy swelling inside the fibers of her muscles, bolstering her bones and-
It dissipated half a second later. Raziela scrunched her face up, cursing mentally. The woman had a strong fortitude, perhaps even built of magic. There would be no way of calming her if she began to panic, or guiding her for more information. Thankfully, Raziela was good at both without using her magic.
"Well, if you insist. The usual, really, for a Thursday night," It's technically Friday now, but sure. Raziela thought, gaze flicking to the tiny chat room. No response yet within the past twenty seconds. "Your regular run of the mill cult activity, two kidnap victims, and suspicion of plans of a cult sacrifice."
The unfortunate part was that these were all fairly common in Gotham. Raziela typed in the corresponding codes as she asked her next question,
"Okay, Ma'am, are you in a safe location?" It was standard procedure, after all. Sometimes in the event of all of the above, you weren't really sure who was calling. You don't know if they're the victim or the villain.
"For now, sure. But I have to go back before they notice I'm gone." Distantly behind her, Raziela could hear one of her coworkers making the dispatch to police.
"Before who notices you're gone?" Raziela found herself asking, when she should have asked if anyone was injured.
"The twenty-one cultists. Make sure you send enough units to arrest them all." The woman said simply, as if twenty-one cultists at 2:18 AM was normal. Caller is calm but implied is a victim. Gathering further data. Raziela noted. After a beat, the woman said, "And perhaps two ambulances for unspecified injuries."
"Okay - can you give me a description of our two kidnap victims?" Raziela asked, adding in another request- this time for multiple units of both officers and ambulances combined.
"You'll know them when you see them - especially if you tell Commissioner Gordon." The woman said, sounding almost deranged in her excitement. Raziela made a note for the PD dispatcher.
"He's been notified - I have officers on the way, but ma'am, I'm going to have you stay on the line with me while we wait for them to arrive on scene-"
"Nope! Listen, I have a train filled to the absolute brim with Coca-Cola rushing hundreds of kilometers per hour towards a stationary train packed with Mentos. I am NOT missing this." And then, the woman promptly hung up. Raziela typed that last quote in her updated notes, specifying that she was not sure if it was hyperbole.
O: On it. (2:20 AM)
RT: Should I be concerned? She was...intense. (2:20 AM)
O: We were looking for her. (2:21 AM)
Raziela began typing another response when her headset chimed again as another call connected while she was still unavailable.
"911, where's your emergency?" She spat, not caring for her usual patient register as she just wanted to go home. The caller, likely too preoccupied with their supposed crisis, just simply stated,
"Hey, I'm pretty sure I just watched Nightwing break his arm." Which was, frankly, somehow enough to capture Raziela's attention from her internal agonizing and wishes for her comfortable bed. It took her an embarrassingly long amount of time to gather her professionalism to ask for the location one more time.
The area described was just on the outskirts of Crime Alley, which wasn't abnormal for Nightwing to be, but wasn't common either. Raziela made a note listed as high priority, as was always procedure when someone called in to report an injury to one of the vigilantes. Whoever was on the Nightwing dispatch slot for the night would be the one to check in.
But Raziela was also duty bound to the whimsy of friendship, and clicked away another response to O.
RT: BTW - Call just came in that NW prob broke his arm. (2:23 AM)
O: hehehehe LOL thank YOU! (2:23 AM)
And with that, Raziela clocked out and scurried away from her desk before she could be inflicted with any other emergencies for the night. As she passed the breakroom, she nabbed a glazed donut from offerings bestowed upon the employees by management.
Friday, 2:24 AM - Unspecified Rooftop, Five minutes out from the soon to be Inconvenienced Warehouse
Dick Grayson had experienced many broken bones in his lifetime. It came with the territory, being a vigilante of the night and all that. He had learned long ago how to take deep breaths to mitigate the searing pain and let adrenaline take over as he fought for other's very lives. He had even gotten good at avoiding them, and that kind of self knowledge was only put under the test (and subsequently ignored,) by repeatedly throwing oneself off a rooftop in a desperate attempt to get to your younger brother.
He hated crowbars, for the record. They should be banned.
Dick had known better than to let his injured arm bear the brunt of his weight when swinging with his grapple gun, he really did. It was one of those things that Bruce had drilled into him when he was younger, and something he had taught Jason and Tim. But when Oracle gave the location of where Jason likely was - all common sense and rationale left his mind, the burning gash in his arm wasn't even a concern.
Fool me once, shame on me, he thought, sucking in a tight breath as he crouched low on a flat rooftop - the closest he could have landed on after the sharp snap of his humerus bone. The noise that had left his mouth was undignified at best, but thankfully there was no one around to witness it. All he had to do was hold out until he returned to the Batcave where he could get some treatment.
"Nightwing, did you just break your arm?" Oracle said suddenly over comms, her amusement sickeningly obvious. Dick froze, slowly looking around him to try to spy any cameras peeking at him. When he finally determined that she had absolutely no way in hell of knowing that, he asked,
"How? How do you always manage to figure it out? Did you actually sneak health monitoring systems into my suit??" He hissed, forcing himself to stand up and began aiming his grapple gun to get moving again - this time intentionally not using his wounded arm.
"And did you not, in fact, use your grapple gun on your bad arm? That you earlier reported was injured from a break-in?" Oracle asked, keys clicking away in the background as she typed. Dick huffed as he felt the hook of the gun latch.
"Yeah, well," He said, clearly having not learned his lesson, jumping off the building as he continued, "maybe I just thought my bones would have learned better than to break by now."
Friday, 2:24 AM - Unit 945's Ambulance, enroute to Gotham Hospital
Admittedly, this was Alice's first time in an ambulance, being transported as a patient. Which was an objectively strange thing for a Gotham native to say, particularly for one who grew up in Crime Alley. She had survived worse than a godforsaken dislocated hip. She had been literally stabbed once as a child, sutured herself up, poured some vodka on it, and called it a day. There was absolutely no reason for her to be sitting in the back of the ambulance, with Sunshine Incarnate asking her general medical questions as Tall, Dark and Handsome drove them with sirens blaring, aggressively honking the horn anytime some other vehicle got in the way.
If Sunshine and Handsome swapped places, she might be more amenable to the ride.
Alice had to also remind herself that she did now have medical insurance, and that she was fortunate enough to have a job that covered ambulance costs - Thank the gods. She was no longer that little girl who was desperate enough to ignore her cuts and bruises, who had to scramble to hide the wounds so that her parents didn't make them worse.
A part of her resented Sara for the differences in their respective childhoods. Sara had been fortunate enough to have loving parents, ones who cared for every scraped knee, who didn't blame their child for getting a bruise, ones who would pay attention if their child wasn't feeling well. When they had taken Alice in - it had taken her time to learn how to trust, how to communicate what was wrong. When she got to the point in her life when she could recognize she needed to go to the doctor, Sara had been by her side to explain how to fill out all of the paperwork.
So she absolutely knew, without a doubt, that Sara had been waiting for this day. She had to have been planning for this, because whenever her beloved adopted sister was faced with the need of calling 911, she froze. Somewhere in their apartment, she had all bets that there was a slip of paper with a script written out of what exactly she wanted to say for this exact situation. Alice turned her head towards her sister, though due to whatever painkiller drugs they had given her, the head turn was more of a dramatic bobbing of the head as she pitifully glared. Sara didn't bother looking up, too busy typing on her phone.
"You planned this." Alice said, intending for an accusing whisper, but her body involuntarily settled on loud as her preset volume. Especially while impaired. "Did you scope out the EMTS?"
"Ever since I got medicated for my anxiety disorder." Sara said, too proud of herself to feel any sort of shame for her actions, or to be embarrassed at Alice's disorderly conduct. Alice pulled at the restraints on her wrists absentmindedly, still glaring at her sister.
"and THAT is why you should never do drugs. You're insufferable." Alice declared, ignoring Sunshine's snort of laughter as he handed Sara a clipboard with paperwork to fill out. Alice craned her neck to try to see it, and Sara readjusted in her seat to allow Alice to see paperwork that she absolutely did not have the brainpower for. "What is that?"
"You are literally high right now." Sara responded, taking a pen from the Sunny EMT and writing a few things on the paper. "This is a DNR, I'm afraid. Your injuries might be fatal."
"But I'm too heavy to pick up to be high!" Alice argued, not realizing her volume was getting increasingly louder the more her sister antagonized her. She could feel her future self's embarrassment from her current spot on the stretcher, her face burning.
"Not for him!" The Sunny EMT said with an enthused grin and a way too proud point towards the driver of the ambulance. Alice blinked, turning as much as she could to look towards the front of the vehicle and catching the other's amused eyes in the rearview mirror.
Getting out of the apartment was an ordeal, especially without any painkillers. Sunshine Boy had led the way and carried the end of the stretcher by her feet, while her favorite EMT (Of which she really needed to find out his name) had carried the stretcher at her head, still whispering slightly flirty things to her to keep her calm.
When she had been placed in the ambulance, she had come to her senses once he left her sight. She had made a mental note to research if there was any knowledge of seductive powers other than Poison Ivy's own, and then began trying to get herself out of the stretcher. She had managed to hobble her way to the back of the ambulance before Tall, Dark and Handsome came around the corner with his hands on his hips and a disappointed frown.
She had turned to get back on the stretcher herself but he had already climbed into the ambulance to assist her, his presence at her side warm, comforting and equally distracting as she didn't notice Sunshine coming in behind them and strapping restraints on her.
And that was how she got to where she was now, pointing at the supposed DNR (of which she knew couldn't actually be a DNR, because who just carries those around?) "Also, you'll need that notarized, and I don't think any of us here are notaries. And I don't have my ID, so it can't be notarized, and therefore legit."
"I'll have Kade bring your wallet later then." Sara said as she signed the bottom of the page and passed it to the EMT with them.
"Fuck you." Alice hissed, lurching against her restraints. Sara gave her a cool smile, before nodding to the front of the vehicle.
"Say that to him."
"I am disowning you."
Friday, 2:24 AM - The Currently Being Inconvenienced Warehouse of Rejected Toys
Rubber chickens were never Mark's favorite human invention. He always got irritated when he heard one from the other side of a department store, some young child having gotten their grubby hands on the chew toy and squeezing it repeatedly over and over while their ignorant, supposedly deaf and blind parent pretended their crotch goblins weren't committing acts of civil terrorism. The toy in question always had a specific tone, one easily recognized from any source, setting off a visceral reaction to anyone with a sensitivity to loud, jarring noises.
In the warehouse beyond, Mark could recognize the echoing cacophony of falling rubber chickens, their fiendish hawking causing him to freeze and turn in horror to the window of the intended lookout room. Jacob reacted first, moving towards the stained glass window as he readjusted his clothing. Mark soon followed, having to find his shirt (of which he wasn't sure how it ended up behind the couch) before joining Jacob.
It was chaos.
As the chickens finished their hellish descent on their colleagues, their clucking screams resounding down the halls of the abandoned warehouse, foreshadowing their fates, wicked, ungodly cackles began spilling from the shadows and the foggy haze of mysterious powders (was that GLITTER???) and eerie red lights lit up in the giant room, illuminating shapes of cultists tripping and falling over themselves as they began to scurry in panic.
"When did the woman escape?" Jacob asked, fear creeping into his voice as he pointed to where Red Hood was sitting in his chains, holding a hose and accurately spraying their co-conspirators with no mercy - an almost bored air about him.
"More importantly is...how?" Mark hissed, eyes flicking from where Hood hung and the ground, calculating how much that fall would translate into Ow and a hefty hospital bill. Where the tiny woman had been, her rope was intact, but untied. Her body wasn't splattered on the concrete, so the only other thing she could have done was climb up the rope. But the more important question was...HOW did the rope come undone? How did she climb up the rope with literally no one noticing??
And where in the HELL did these traps come from? He was stock still as he watched two of his friends bowl through a spiderweb of near translucent string, and manage to bring down piles of wooden pallets atop themselves.
"We need to find her." Jacob said, uncharacteristically serious. Mark nodded, trying in vain to tear his gaze away from the train wreck that was happening before them. As Jacob moved to the door, Mark watched as flying paint cans barreled into four more cultists, his own ribs hurting in sympathy. Crashes and booms filled the room, all surrounded by the laughing soundtrack of the Joker dolls, getting increasingly higher in pitch as the room became an echo chamber of their carefully coordinated demise.
THUD.
This, from behind him. Mark spun around, finding Jacob slamming his shoulder into the door. Mark rushed forward, pushing his own weight into the door and shared a look of fear with Jacob as they came to the same conclusion.
We're trapped. They both thought, and slowly looked towards the window to watch as the Batman walked into the fray.
They hid after that, avoiding being spotted through the filth-stained glass.
Digital Text Conversation Between Batman and Superman via Personal Communications
B: Jasonhose.png (2:25 AM)
S: omg. wtf happened??? (2:26 AM)
B: Warehouse.png (2:26 AM)
S: is that GLITTER??? (2:26 AM)
B: warehouse.mov (2:29 AM)
S: wat in the actual fuck causes that much mayhem? (2:30 AM)
B: Either my future daughter, or daughter-in-law. (2:31 AM)
S: can u have A print me a copy 2? thx (2:32 AM)
B: It'll be waiting for you. (2:33 AM)
S: glad hes ok (2:34 AM)
B: Me too. (2:36 AM)
Friday, 2:31 AM - The Inconvenienced Warehouse of Rejected Toys
Mark was decidedly, not having a very good day, the only highlight of such being the resolved tension between Jacob and himself, but the fact that he had crammed himself between the smelly, musty worn down couch and the derelict concrete wall that was smeared with dirt, grime, possibly glitter, and shame had certainly knocked down a decent day to a not great one. He held Jacob's gaze from across the room as they hid in silence, hoping that when the Batman eventually swept in, they would be spared or determined as non-threats and perhaps even bystanders.
Their chances were slim, however.
Mark had grown up in Gotham, he had seen the tales and even interacted with the Bat himself - he had been saved by Robin at one time -(a previous iteration of him, though. Never by the one with the sword.) But never had he ever been at the hands of fate, fearing to be one of the poor souls chosen to bear the brunt of the specific brutality that Gotham vigilantes were required to dole out on the regular. Gotham was safer, yes, but criminals still cowered in the Bat's wake, knowing if they stepped out of line or into his sightlines, their time as a free person was slowly diminishing.
Voices broke him out of his thoughts, focusing on the words said outside in the hall.
Tick tock.
They were quiet enough that Mark couldn't parse together what was being said, only catching little snippets of quips of "Shut the fuck up, replacement." and an "Ow, ow, Littlewing that is my bad arm-" and quiet, disappointed grunts as another person explained what exactly Red Hood did wrong (At least, that was Mark's assumption from his side of the conversation.)
Jacob, to his credit, looked confused. Mark, while also confused, knew the Bats were a tight knit group, and any Gotham native often strained their ears at night to catch passing banter between the vigilantes, as it was usually comedy gold. There had been times where criminals were caught because they heard a snide remark and then burst out into uncontrollable giggles. Some who resided in the underbelly of Gotham theorized this was on purpose. No one doubted the idea. Mark still remembered the time he heard Red Robin monologue about the importance of proper espresso beans to a very sleepy Nightwing and Robin. Mark paid a little more attention to the next coffee a barista handed him, and appreciated the craftsmanship more than necessary.
There was a loud clatter out in the hall, the banter turning into snarls and outright bickering, a tussle sparking among the four individuals as they slipped out of the building. Outside the window, faint red and blue lights illuminated the destroyed warehouse.
"I can't believe you kicked me!" The person with the supposed injured arm said, affront clear in his voice.
"I can." Someone said in a deadpan voice, followed by another thud of protest.
"Do we even know where this chair came from?" Injured Arm said, and the other footsteps paused. Mark held his breath, readying himself to be caught.
"It's an abandoned warehouse that just underwent an act of arts-and-crafts-based terrorism, I think the chair is the last of our concerns." Said another, who was often referred to as 'Replacement' through the arguments. In the hall, there was another hum, and the dull thud as the supposed chair must have been placed down.
Mark and Jacob shared a glance as the footsteps of the vigilantes kept going down the hall, still arguing amongst themselves, but getting further and further away. When they heard the telltale sound of a metal door creaking like the gates of hell as it opened and shut, they flung themselves out of their hiding spots and towards the door.
"You don't think-"
"God I fucking hope so-" Jacob said as he slowly twisted the knob of the door, gently pushing it forward to find that, yes. It was now open. Jacob showed a surprising amount of self control as he opened the door further, poking his head out to check if anyone was there, then urged Mark out.
Once out of the room, they looked off in the direction the Batman and his group went, finding a rusty door that was propped open on an unconscious cultist.
They took off in the other direction.
Friday, 2:59 AM - An Immaculately Clean Apartment - Two miles from the Gotham City Police Department
Paperclips.
Why is it always paperclips.
It was never a good sign of the day to come when Francis woke up in the middle of the night. Usually, it spoke of a groggy fog clinging to his vision as he stumbled through the morning clutching his favorite coffee mug like a lifeline. Where when he found himself at his in-home coffee bar that he had run out of his favorite syrups or coffee blend that he crafted himself. He would never run out of creamer, as he made certain he bought it in bulk.
Another indicator that the day was going to collapse in on itself like a poorly stacked house of cards was when he had stress dreams about work and office supplies, with Jeremy Forester's mocking, ugly face dancing in the background as Francis lost his metaphorical, collective shit at the destroyed filing system that he had built from the ground up. But just when he had been at his breaking point, sobbing over literal spilled milk on important case documents, he found relief, waking up in his cool apartment.
He immediately got up to find comfort in his favorite drink- Coffee - and whipped out a pre-made cold brew that he knew would knock him right out. It was just enough caffeine to give him a crash within the next hour, and in that time he could clean his apartment and perhaps even read a little before he got back to bed.
He was so glad he was on second shift this rotation, because he absolutely would have been a zombie if he had to roll into the office within the next...two hours. Francis took a small sip of his coffee, humming in delight as the delicious caramel flavor exploded over his tongue. It was just right.
He made his way over to the one window in his apartment, grabbing the current book he was reading off the kitchen table. He plopped himself down on the loveseat by the window, not needing to turn on a lamp as the streetlights provided enough light to see. Francis took another sip of coffee, but stopped as he caught sight of something over the rim of his mug.
The third indicator that Francis was going to have a rough, terrible day? Rodents. He went stock still as the coffee tickled his lip, unable to swallow even his favorite drink. The creature outside his window, on the sill itself, stared at him with wide unblinking black eyes, beady as it watched him. Its nose twitched, and tiny paws came up to scrub at its giant face.
A rat.
Why did it always have to be rats??
Friday, 3:01 AM - A Completely Normal Apartment Complex in East End
As Raziela entered her apartment lobby, she kept her eyes trained on the surprisingly clean tile floor - the janitorial staff must have been through recently. The burning, evil fluorescent lights all but practically threatened to set in her oncoming migraine. She pulled her hood further down, shielding her eyes. If she could just make it to her little one bedroom apartment, she would be fine, sheltered in sweet, sweet darkness.
The cool button of the elevator felt like a solace, and Raziela seriously considered resting her face against the cool sheet metal doors of the elevator, but then remembered that one call - A young man got his hair somehow stuck in the doors while inside the elevator, thankfully, so he wasn't hurt too badly. Just his scalp and quite a few missing hairs. The main cause for them dialing 911 though was because his hair had somehow also managed to cause the elevator to stop working and would, in fact, no longer move.
I cannot wait for my weekend. She thought, having a shift later in the night, and then would be off for a few days, barring any inciting events that require her supervisors to call her in for coverage.
The elevator chimed, signaling that her carriage to sweet sleep had arrived. The doors opened, beckoning her to return to her own domain. As she trudged onto the shuttle and pressed the button for level three, she heard the front doors of the lobby 'ding' with someone making entry. Raziela held an arm out in front of the door, glancing up to see a short woman with blue hair scurry towards the elevator, a grateful look on her face. It was a known fact that the elevator in the apartment took its sweet time getting to the needed destination, often forcing the residents to wonder if it had finally succumbed to its dilapidated state.
"What level?" Raziela asked, hand hovering by the keypad.
"Four please." The woman said, in accented English. French, if Raziela was correct. She pressed the button for level four, leaning against the elevator wall as she studied the woman, who had fresh bruises forming on her arms, as well as harsh rope burns, and a concerningly empty look in her eyes.
Wait.
No.
No, it couldn't be.
The warehouse district that her mystery caller had been from was about fifteen minutes away, however there was no fucking way that the scene was processed, locked down, and any victims were released already. At the very least, they would have been issued to an overnight hospital stay in case they had been drugged.
There was absolutely no fucking way.
It couldn't be.
Could it?
No. No, she knows how long a bust like that would take - the police would need to canvas the entire area to make sure it is completely safe for the EMTs to even come near the lot. They would still be out there, even now, tending to the wounded and transporting them to the Gotham Hospital.
She could...always ask. She opened her mouth to ask if, somehow, the woman had been kidnapped earlier that evening by specifically twenty-one cultists and had escaped before the police could arrive. And then subsequently remembered that it currently three in the god damned morning, and asking such a question of one of her neighbors was decidedly an afternoon ordeal. I should still at least ask if she needs any help. Raziela thought, that tiny first responder voice ever present in the back of her mind, with an incumbent desperation to help.
There was something about the hollow, dead-inside expression on the petite woman's face that made her pause, however brief it had been. Raziela's job dealt with a lot of trauma and death, and a good portion of her training was also knowing when to not push it, when to take a guess that probing might cause someone to react in a certain, almost bombastic way. She kept quiet, still keeping an eye on the woman in case she needed to make a split second decision and call for an ambulance.
She did, however, make a mental note to look into the statistics of how many French people were reported to be residing in Gotham.
Eventually, the elevator dinged for Raziela's stop. She just about hesitated on exiting the barely working death trap, mulling over her options of asking the woman her asinine question anyway. I mean, it is three am, if she hadn't been kidnapped by cultists, she might assume that Raziela is the crazy one, and will never talk to her again whenever they interact. A win-win scenario. She could absolutely ask and find out all of her burning questions - the main one being 'Was there actually any Cola and Mentos involved??'
She resigned herself to stepping out of the elevator silently, giving a small wave to the admittedly exhausted French woman, who gave her a weak smile in return.
It absolutely couldn't be her.
And yet, why did Raziela doubt herself?
Notes:
It is officially an hour past my bedtime as I am writing this, and I am hoping it was worth publishing, LOL. I initially began writing this as a joke, because I uh. I fell in the shower. Yes, the entire Alice/Scott storyline is based on my own experience of falling in the shower, and my sister questioning the societal norms of calling 911 and requesting EMTs that were 'hunky', as I have a penchant for having a blatant disregard for my own wellbeing. Whoops.
Anyway, as you can probably gather, there are multiple POVs for this fic. A few things to note.
1) Yes, this is absolutely Francis and Anderson's buddy cop enemies to lover's storyline. I just need to outline it more.
2) I am well aware that Clark Kent would have impeccable grammar and spelling. Consider though, he does it on purpose just to incentivize Bruce to call him.
3) This is an introductory chapter, more character POVs will be expanded upon and added in later chapters
4) This IS best read alongside the correlating days for the prior works in this series, there are little references throughout each chapter.
5) To those of you paying attention, No, I did not mix up their names. I will not elaborate, iykyk (I see you, Cear_IK).Many thanks, - R
----
No, R did not dislocate or break her hip, and we did not need to call 911, just to put that out there. The barbarian-assed-bitch was fine (love you sis, you uncoordinated dumbass).
I LOVE THE FRANCIS/ANDERSON AND MARK/JACOB STORYLINES AND THE FACT THAT I DON'T HAVE TO WRITE THEM!! Because that would take WAY more than 6 months for me to write, lol
Also, the "SUCK A FAT FUCKING BALL, YOU PIECE OF SHIT HIPSTER!" was actually something R said to her GPS while it was glitching tf out one day, and it was the funniest fucking thing I ever heard and I am so happy it got added and you all can experience it too.
Anyway, WHAT DID YOU THINK?? PLEASE TELL US, WE ARE BOTH DOPAMINE DEPRIVED!
Thank you all for reading and have a GREAT DAY! :D - A
Chapter 2: Chapter 2 - Friday, Part One
Notes:
Hello there!
Yes, there's an update, brought to you by absolutely no free time and impatience!! Please note, for Both Raziela and Alessandra, they can be read as female reader inserts, but could also be interpreted as their own character. Whichever you prefer! Also, because of how many Things are happening on Friday, I do have to unfortunately split it up in multiple parts (more for my own sanity, I suppose). I hope you guys enjoy! Please remember this is best read in accordance with the current existing chapters of M,M,&tSoM, the timestamps are there to help you place when things are occurring ! Please enjoy and let us know what you think! - R
~~~
Like I said, my sister is a speed writing *bitch* and I *h a t e h e r*
(Not really, but I am obligated to complain about it)
She wrote this fucking chapter in Two Days. Two. FUCKING *T W O*
Meanwhile, I have two SENTENCES written for mine, so, ya'know... Enjoy, ig. - A
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Friday, 5:30 AM - A Cozy Bakery a Short Jaunt from Gotham Public Library.
Humans, by nature, craved warmth and comfort. They found a sort of solace in huddling close with their loved ones, an evolutionary instinct that was the building blocks of any interpersonal relationships. It was a completely natural decision made by their ancestors, when being warm was a luxury, often only found in big groups where the care of the many insured the safety of the individuals.
In the time of ancient humans, to deviate from the group was to sentence yourself to death.
This necessity among homo sapiens to stick yourself within a pack of others was greatly reduced the moment central heating and coffee became standard delicacies within the living world, making it so much easier to become a recluse and isolate yourself as the ability to be independent became that much more feasible. It had become possible to limit social interaction to the slightest call of your name or mobile order number, and a barely there nod to the overworked barista who handed off your caffeine fix for the day.
The modern age death sentence? Leaving your barista waiting while your coffee order went cold.
Alessandra Burnett shot her fifteenth glare at the now three hour old coffee that had most definitely gone cold. It had to be, because she had put it in the fridge thirty minutes ago on the off chance it would make him show up, even if it was in outrage. Because then he wouldn't be three hours and fifteen minutes late.
She grabbed two pans of the croissants she had been prepping for this morning out of the oven, setting them on the cooling rack after giving them a cursory glance to make sure they were all evenly baked. There were some towards the back that were just on the side of slightly too dark, and she made a mental note to mention it to the dayshift lead to make sure someone looked at the oven, because this certainly wasn't an issue yesterday.
She cast another glance towards the coffee cup. Still there.
Alessandra wouldn't mind it as much if it had disappeared sometime through the night. Sometimes he wasn't in the mood to talk, or was just incredibly busy, as would be expected of one of Gotham's vigilantes. It certainly wouldn't be the first time that he had snuck in to swipe her nightly offerings, and it wouldn't be the last.
But letting it go cold? It was so unlike him, so out of character from his strict schedule - where he had carved out just enough time to pay her a visit and chat while he sipped on the drink. And- AND- he's always punctual. Something had to have happened. Alessandra had admittedly, gotten used to the set schedule, where at exactly 2:15 in the morning, she would have had some indication that he had swung by - either by his coffee cup disappearing, or the scuff of his boots behind her when he didn't want to startle her too much. In all of their two -almost three years- of knowing each other, Red Robin had only been late on a select few occasions, and the latest he had ever been was 3:30.
She looked at the clock. 5:33 AM.
She slammed the oven door closed, having left it open in her hurry to put the croissant pans on the...thirteenth cooling rack of the night. Belatedly, she wondered how in the hell she got so much baking done, but was quickly reminded when her eyes betrayed her and wandered over to that damned coffee cup, that still sat on the countertop by the register, waiting for that incredibly late bastard to come get his caffeine.
He better have a good story for it this time.
The worst part of it was, he knows she makes the coffee ahead of time for him, if he was going to be late, he could at least have told her, or given her a warning - and she can't even excuse him for not anticipating being late because the man literally keeps a preplanned schedule and allots for potential disasters. She would know. He's shown it to her.
There's still a small part of her that squeals and kicks its legs when she remembers that he plans a portion of his patrol schedule to literally get her coffee and snag a snack - though, she knows it's because of the magic hidden within her baked goods, and the advanced healing properties that lie within. It was a silent agreement, upheld from when they first met. She gives him baked goods that miraculously heal any major and severe wounds, he occasionally strolls through to make sure no one is causing trouble around the bakery while she's prepping the treats for the day. At least, that’s what she imagines when he says he ‘keeps tabs on the bakery.’
She casts another longing look at the clock. 5:35 AM.
Alessandra picked up two trays of now cooled éclairs, moving over to her workstation where a fresh bowl of tempered chocolate to glaze and another bowl of sweet cream custard to fill the choux pastry. Idly, as she filled a pipe bag with the custard, she took another glance at the clock.
5:38 AM. Motherfucker. She angrily shoved the piping tip into the poor éclair, narrowing her eyes as she considered calling him, ignoring the firm boundaries that they had set with one another. Well, they were less firm boundaries, and more something unsaid - voice calls were a no go, all of their digital communications was done through text.
Her harsh treatment of the éclair had ruined its presentation quality, one side of it decidedly rumpled. She filled it with the appropriate amount of custard and glazed it, wanting to avoid having her measurements being off and having leftovers. She placed the unworthy éclair on a paper plate, and slapped the plate next to the ice cold, rejected, lonely coffee cup that was not bruising her ego as a barista. It wasn't.
I mean, seriously, how difficult is it to just send a simple fucking text-
She went back to her éclairs, treating them with a much more delicate hand as she piped the custard, muscle memory telling her when the appropriate amount was inside. She then, as routine, dipped the top of the pastry into her bowl of chocolate, and expertly laid it onto the pan to set. It was easy to fall into a rhythm, to let the soothing calm of her magic swirl around her as she worked, fingers tingling as she imbued enchantments into the treats.
It was almost enough for her to forget why she was angry. Almost.
"Miss me?" A voice - too familiar for her to be surprised, but quite certainly late enough for her to be rightly pissed.
"You," She said, whirling around to whip an éclair that she had just glazed into his face. Or at least, she had aimed for his face, but got his ridiculously skin-tight suit instead. "Are late"
Red Robin looked down at his suit, the white eyes of his domino mask daring to be affronted at her audacity to hurl a melted chocolate bomb that took her at least three hours (AKA, basically the entire duration he spent being MIA) to make at his chest. While he was distracted, another glance at the clock announced that he was officially arriving at 5:45 AM. Alessandra frowned, turning to continue her work- silently pleased that she only had eleven more to go before being finished for the morning.
"I don't know how well chocolate comes out of this material." He said, almost lamely as he peeled the sticky éclair off himself, the splatter reminding her of how they had met in the first place. It was in the same spot where the fool had been stabbed, right between the lower two ribs on his left side. The irony.
"It'll blend in." She snapped, getting the images of past memories out of her mind with a quick shake of her head. Of him stumbling against the back alley door of the bakery, his grunts of pain as he banged his head against what he thought was a regular wall. How he crumpled pathetically on the terracotta tile of the kitchen floor when she swung the door open to take out the trash, his hand clutching at his side as his blood pooled quickly beneath him.
"With what?" Red Robin said, bringing her attention back on his presence now. He had moved to stand exactly three feet away at the edge of the table, a silent pressure in her comfortable domain. She flicked her eyes over him for any injuries, and consequently narrowed them as she spotted absolutely nothing.
"The frigid coffee I'm planning on dunking on you." She bit out, finishing the last éclair and placing it on the tray with finality. As she picked them up and whisked towards the fridge for them to chill, he called after her,
"I smell like coffee already, I don't think that will change much."
"Is sending a text too much work nowadays? I know you like burner phones, but even burners have text to speech these days, unless you're that old-fashioned!" Alessandra yelled as she plopped her trays down on their designated shelf, and ran a hand over her face, rolling her eyes.
She almost regretted helping him that night sometimes. Other nights, she still cackles at the panicked expression on his face as she shoved a cupcake in his mouth while he was seriously bleeding out. Alessandra was ninety-nine percent sure he had only eaten it because she had been sobbing her eyes out and was blubbering as she inadequately explained she could only help if he ate the damn cupcake-
It worked out in the end.
"I'm sorry." Red Robin said, now standing in the doorway of the fridge, holding that blasted coffee cup and her petty destroyed éclair offering. "Is this for me? It's cold."
"That happens when you're late." She plucked the large paper cup from his hand, taking the lid off and handing it to him wordlessly. She gave him no further explanation as she moved further into the fridge, slid open the freezer door, and tossed a couple of ice cubes into the coffee before putting it back into his hand. "There you go."
He stood there, for a brief moment as he stared at the abomination she had just concocted. Checkmate. She slipped past him, ignoring the shiver up her spine as he took a slight step back, still ever conscious of her movements, and even courteous enough to close the fridge door for her.
No matter. She was still mad, even if it was just less so.
"Alessandra. Please. I need the good stuff." And there went all her anger. Whoosh. Right out the metaphorical window. How could she stay upset with him when it was her coffee that he refused to go more than a day without?
"Fresh coffee is for people who tell me they're going to be late by three hours and thirty minutes!" She said, despite moving to prepare a new cup for him. He followed her, practically reminding her of a clingy cat waiting to get a squeezy tube treat as he hovered on the sidelines of her practiced motions.
"My brother was kidnapped by cultists." He said, matter-of-fact as he took a bite of one of the éclairs that he had (rightfully) claimed. The spotty chocolate glaze and intact ends gave it away as her impromptu projectile.
"How?" She asked, giving him a brief look as he opened up his laptop - she still wasn't sure where he had pulled it from because he certainly didn't have it a few moments ago.
"I shouldn't tell you for your own safety."
"You say that every time." She said, pulling a new paper cup from the cabinet.
"I do." He gave her a wry grin, the corners of his domino mask crinkling. "Wanna see the footage?"
"Absolutely."
Friday, 6:01 AM - In Front of A Small Hole in The Wall Restaurant Named 'Galbi'
Mark, as a general rule of thumb, tried to not make important, life-saving plans on the fly. It wasn't good practice, as most of the time there was a risk of overlooking something imperative to the entire the operation, or make a miscalculation because of the blaring loud voice inside his head that was panicking because literally the entire cult got arrested, with the sole exception of Jacob and himself. Aforementioned panicking voice demanded that he find a way to fix it before he found himself hosting bingo night at his employer's retirement home, and then consequently becoming a sacrifice himself.
His delusional inner voice's idea? Go get comfort food. Unfortunately, the only place that was open with semi decent food? A good walk away from the warehouse, but thankfully they had hot-wired a car and drove the distance instead. The two remaining cultists had also opted to stop by Jacob's apartment for a much needed nap before going to grab food, which was the first step of Mark's barely cobbled together plan. (There was absolutely no plan, for the record. He was winging it.)
So that was how Mark and Jacob found themselves standing in front of the glass windows of a small hole in the wall Korean restaurant -inappropriately named Galbi, as it was never on the menu. If you were lucky enough, sometimes you could nab it during the holidays. Other times? Not a fucking chance. The restaurant was really only known by Gotham natives, and was a notorious late night hangout spot for a cheap food grab, as it was always open. The flickering 'Open' sign was practically waving its resignation letter as Mark pulled open the door, a bell jingling to signify their entrance.
At the counter was a half-awake man, his blond, slightly curly hair had turned into a slight shag from the last time Mark had seen him. He still wore that oversized army green jacket that was practically a safety blanket in high school, and he hadn't grown much into his narrow, angular face. As the bell chimed, the man jolted awake, his dark beady eyes locking on Mark and Jacob.
"Hey, Otis." Mark said, giving a small wave, well aware that Otis was probably feeling a type of glee at seeing someone who he went to school with covered in dirt, grime, and glitter, looking decidedly disheveled at six in the morning. Otis blinked, his face screwing up in a look of confusion that looked like he ate something bitter. Mark kept the impulsive comment about him still having buck teeth to himself. He had matured into a better person. "Could we get two orders of whatever today’s special is?"
"Uh- Sure." Otis said, keying the order into the register tablet in front of him, and guiding Mark through the checkout options as if this was a normal occurrence. "Here or to-go?"
"Here, please." Jacob said, before Mark could answer. When Mark gave him a Look, Jacob just gave him a small smile and murmured, "It could be like a date."
Mark gave up all arguments after that, sitting with Jacob at a small wooden table by the front windows, watching the occasional car roll by. Otis left them with two cups of water, and a pitcher for them to refill with while he did what he needed in the kitchen.
"How'd you find out about this place?" Jacob asked, taking a small sip of his water while watching Mark reorganize the table setting to be neatened up - the sauces perfectly lined against the right side of the table, closest to the window. Plates would be adjusted once they arrived.
"It's like, the place to be when you're drunk or hungover." Mark said idly, giving a small shrug as he straightened out their utensils next. Jacob just watched with a small hint of amusement in his eyes, of which Mark failed to notice.
They sat in a surprisingly comfortable silence for a solid five seconds, before Jacob leaned towards Mark almost conspiratorially. Mark internally braced for the worst.
"Do you know that guy? Like, you referred to him by name." Jacob whispered, giving Mark a meaningful look. "I more mean...were you guys a thing? Should I be worried my food is going to have rat poison?"
"What? Otis? No...No we went to school together." Mark said, glancing out the window as a car rolled past. "He was one of those weird kids that you were pretty certain would turn into a Gotham rogue once out of public school. Didn't stop kids from picking on him though."
Admittedly, Mark did genuinely feel bad for how he treated Otis in school. It was one of those things that took time for him to realize and acknowledge. He would give him an apology later though.
"Do you know how fucked up of a sentence that is?" Jacob asked, flicking his gaze out the window, and then pointed suddenly. "Look at the size of that thing - is that a rat??"
"I think so. They're all over this area." Mark replied as he watched the behemoth of a rodent glide shockingly elegantly in the shadows of the sidewalk. "But nah, Otis turned out alright in my opinion. Between his incredibly strict foster parents and his obsessively by the book foster brother, Frederick or whatever - I think it was nearly impossible for him to become an actual rogue."
"That's...good, I think?" Jacob said, quirking his head as he pointed at another giant rat. "There are so many of them."
"Have you ever been tested for ADHD?" Mark blurted out as Otis ducked out from the kitchen, carrying two bowls of food. The lanky man paused for a brief moment, seeming to consider if he should hold off, but evidently decided against it as he continued forward to place the bowls on the table. Mark gave a small smile at the heaping bowl of bibimbap that was in front of him, the vegetables cut expertly. Otis had slunk away before the two could say their thanks, his attention focused at something below the counter.
"I don't know if that's important-" Jacob said, mixing the ingredients of his bibimbap all together and taking a bite. As he did so, something occurred to Mark.
The realization was a slow but sudden one, clicking all of the various worries in his mind.
He had long figured out that his cult was apart of something bigger, something more. It wasn't difficult to piece that together, as most of their sacrifices were nominated by a retirement home of all places. Also, old people should not be that physically fit, able to still perform adequately and competently in the metaphorical field.
The main issue with having terrifying overlords is that, in the face of failure, the survivors took the brunt of punishment. It was logical, as someone needed to be made into an example for the rest to fall in line. As Mark and Jacob were the ones to dodge being captured in the face of a failed sacrifice, they were the prime candidates for such an example.
However, if someone fixed the failure and made it into something better...they could find themselves moving up in the grand scheme of things. The rest of the puzzle clicked together.
They had two sacrifices. Red Hood, who had been their primary target. But due to a matter of poor circumstance for the petite French woman, she had also gotten taken as well to clean up any loose ends, as she had been trying to hide Red Hood and herself under a bookshelf, for some ungodly reason.
When they were on their way to the ritual site, Mark was tasked with confirming that Red Hood was the correct target. Previously this ritual had vaguely lurched in Red Hood's direction, but not enough to be sure. Their plan had been to capture him for long enough to make sure, and then let him go if it wasn't to be.
Instead, his scrying compass had pointed to both the girl and Red Hood, somehow declaring them both to be The One of Red and Black. Which shouldn't have been possible, for the record. Well, he wasn't entirely sure, but he had been told that it wasn't possible, and he knew to listen to his betters.
That was when the original sacrifice plan had been thrown out the window, opting to offer both of them to the Pits. And well...we know how that turned out.
The logical way to fix it all into a nice, neatly wrapped bow that didn't expose the cult, and thus their big league leaders? Find the girl and Red Hood and turn them in to his betters.
The problem with doing so? Clearly the girl was the bigger threat, something he had been surprised by - Because the other option was Red fucking Hood, not because she's a woman. He would need an unstoppable army, able to keep control of with just a wave of his hand. He knew a few rituals that could allow such a thing, but he would need them all in one place.
"Rat poison." Mark said suddenly, as Jacob was shoveling another giant bite of food into his mouth. The brown haired man shot his head up to look at Mark with a lot of understandable alarm, but Mark had already gotten up from the table to approach Otis, who was still under the counter, muttering to himself. Or, something. Mark tapped his hand on the bell next to the candy bowl, the loud ding filling the tiny restaurant. There was a small thud under the counter, likely Otis' head as proven how he rubbed the back of his skull when he pulled himself to stand to face Mark.
"How can I help you-" Otis began, dark eyes confused.
"Do you still really like rats?" Mark said without any preamble, and judging from the way Otis' face went from confused to shock, he was right.
"I-"
"Do you have a hard time hiding them from your parents?" It wasn't a shot in the dark, as Mr. and Mrs. Greene were notorious for their dislike of the pests, and Otis had been well known in school for somehow always getting caught with rats in his bag or coat pockets.
"...Yes." Otis Flannegan-Greene said, looking appropriately guilty as he shot a wary glance below the counter, where Mark assumed was one of the aforementioned rats.
"Do you want to improve your relationship with your parents and the health inspector?" Mark said, watching the guilt turn into a heavy weight on the man's shoulders. The cultist gave a crooked grin, feeling his plan lock into place as Otis gave a silent nod.
"Come take a seat with us." Mark said, nodding to the table. "And I can tell you how you can do all of that, and still keep your precious friends."
Friday - 11:40 AM - Gotham City Police Department - Front Entrance
Raziela had to get her laundry done tonight. The ever growing pile of clothes had gotten to the point of no return, and if she didn't do something about it tonight, she was certain it would grow legs and attack her.
Well, maybe not that extreme, but it was becoming a tripping hazard, and when you voluntarily chose to live in the dark, a tidy floor was a necessity.
Her eyes flicked over the large glass doors of the precinct, though it was hard to make out the shapes of people milling about through the harsh tint of the windows and of her sunglasses. She took a deep breath, silently ever thankful for her headphones that muffled most of the chatter. She pulled the door open, and took a step inside.
Joyce, the receptionist gave her a small smile as Raziela scanned her employee ID to clock in. Raziela returned the favor, though she pictured hers being more tight and on edge than the graceful curve that Joyce had mastered. The receptionist was a god send, however, as she slid a sticky note on the counter to Raziela. On it, was a message written in a delicate cursive.
'Detective from Bludhaven is here. He's investigating the cult activity from that kidnapping last night.'
Raziela frowned, before giving a slight nod to Joyce as she walked away. It wasn't unusual for Bludhaven detectives to show up at the Gotham precinct, but it was usually in an attempt to transfer over for bigger chances to promote. The jurisdiction was clear in this case, cut and dry. The warehouse had been well within Gotham's zone, and Raziela would know. She took the call.
On her way into the dispatch room, she glanced down the long hall to her right. Coming towards her was Jeremy Forester, resident dipshit cop, his hair slicked back with way too much gel, likely sounding like a hard helmet if anything knocked against it. He was chatting with someone unfamiliar, a smarmy grin on his face as he talked the poor man's ear off.
The newcomer - likely the detective from Bludhaven, Raziela realized - seemed equally done with Jeremy's shit, but was putting up with it for pleasantries. His messy (in a casual good way) hair was dark, but Raziela wouldn't be able to determine if it was brown or black because she still had her sunglasses on like an asshole, but she would preserve her sanity and try to mitigate any migraines if she could help it. The detective wore all black, seeming to have forgone a tie. Not that she could blame him though, as his left arm was put into a cast and in a sling. Tying a tie would have been an absolute nightmare.
She had slipped into the dispatch room before Jeremy could have a chance to spot her, and make unwanted introductions. She didn't want to deal with another detective who decided dispatchers were there as entertainment to flirt with when they were bored. She quickly found Laurie in the supervisor room, who looked as exhausted as she felt as she went over a piece of paper - likely the agenda for their shift meeting. She took off her headphones and sunglasses to see her supervisor better, surprised at the dark bags under her eyes.
"You look like you haven't slept. Or left here, for that matter." Raziela said, sitting down in one of the few chairs in the room, with her back to the door. Laurie looked up, appearing incredibly pitiful, her blonde hair pulled into a loose, frazzled bun.
"That's because I haven't. Our entire department is being investigated, and I'm the only one with a clear alibi right now. They're vetting the other supervisors so I can get some rest." Laurie said, leaning back in her chair, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You remember that kidnapping call you took?"
"The one with the like, twenty one cultists? Yea, what about it?" Raziela asked, also electing to lean back in her seat, as dispatchers who were overworked often did. Laurie sighed, her frustration evident.
"Cat was arrested last night because she was one of the cultists, apparently. It's been an absolute nightmare getting everyone who was off last night accounted for." Laurie groaned, holding her head in her hands. "And now, there's apparently a detective from Bludhaven conducting an investigation on us, because our own officers shouldn't be trusted."
"I'm sorry to hear that you aren't a fan of my presence, Ms. Saunders." A rich, smooth voice said from behind Raziela, jolting her out of her seat as she turned to see Jeremy Forester and the new detective. The detective watched her scramble to stand, his blue eyes intense and unyielding, before looking over at Laurie. This guy is...intense is too calm of a word. He was the type of pretty that made you uncertain if he was even real, charming to the point where you doubted if your head was screwed on straight, and-
"Detective Grayson - I am so sorry. It's been a long night - really, it's been a long twenty six hours." Laurie said, absolutely mortified. He gave her a kind smile, and shook his head. He definitely has used his unfairly pretty face as a weapon in the way Jeremy Forester wishes he could.
"You're perfectly fine. I can understand that." He said, almost too easily in Raziela's opinion. "I'm here to listen to the call from last night. The one with the cultists."
Laurie looked up, surprised. Raziela cursed her luck. With the department being under investigation, the only one who could access the call recording would be the one who took the call. And with Raziela being the one who took the call, she would be the only one who could play the call.
Fuck.
"Well, good news, I suppose. Raziela here was actually the one who took it." Laurie gestured towards her, who was considering how much jail time she might get if she bolted for the door that the detective was practically filling. Yea, there is no way I'm getting out of this. Jeremy Forester seemed to light up upon seeing Raziela, his mouth opening to likely say something unfortunate, before his phone started blaring a Britney Spears song, requesting his attention. He gave some polite farewells before jogging out of the dispatch room, whispering apologies.
Phones were supposed to be silent in the room. He never fucking listened.
Detective Grayson's eyes were on her when she finally looked back at him, almost appraising. She gave a small nod and moved towards the door, guiding him towards an empty desk. Looks like she doesn't have to sit through the shift meeting, at least.
As she logged in, he had pulled up a chair to sit beside her, being startlingly quiet for someone who was quite obviously an extrovert, judging how he seemed to be brimming with questions and conversation starters, or god forbid, ice breakers. She wordlessly handed him the headset as she pulled up the call recording.
She hesitated before hitting play, considering. Should she ask? Did she dare? Honestly, what was the entire point of him coming to the police department when he could have literally sent an email? He surely would have been able to get a copy of the transcript and the call notes from CAD. All she had to do was ask in a pleasant, unaccusatory tone, "What brings you here from Bludhaven?"
Instead, what came out was,
"Why are you here?" It was bit out, revealing all of her mistrust of him with a simple four words, and she quite honestly wanted to slap herself for the slip up. Detective Grayson paused in the middle of slipping the headset on, seeming surprised she had even said anything to him at all. She recovered enough from the shock of her own lack of filter (which, she shouldn't be surprised at all, she knows herself.) and continued on, "I could have easily sent it to you in an email."
The hesitation in his face cleared up, replaced with an easy amusement as he reclined in his seat - a motion she was certain was to make her ease up. It had the opposite effect.
As a result of her...abilities, she had always been innately in tune with another's passing emotions. She had written it off as something she had a knack for in the precinct, and less as magic capabilities. Detective Grayson was tense, alert, and most importantly, intently on guard, which was the exact opposite of what he was trying to convey with the slight slump of his shoulders, the relaxed easygoing smile that was too tight in the corners. It wasn't exactly unusual per se, especially for a Detective trying to get to the bottom of a case. But...there was something off about it.
"Well, for starters, I didn't even know your name when I was assigned. I wouldn't have been able to request it." He said, eyes flicking over her screens. She hoped he didn't notice her small chat window with O - it wasn't something that she was necessarily supposed to have, but it somehow only showed up once she logged in with her credentials.
Though, sometimes, it also showed up when she was using someone else's computer for relief. She was pretty certain that O had something to do with the Bats. She wasn't going to ask.
"Well, Detective, I would think it shouldn't be so hard to figure out." Raziela said, narrowing her eyes at him. He chuckled, shaking his head, his amusement clear. And, it was stunning to find that it was even genuine amusement on his part, blossoming in his chest past the walls he had thrown up.
Movement behind him got her attention, for the briefest second, Raziela made eye contact with Laurie. Her supervisor, who mouthed a 'Don't do it.' Confused for a moment, Raziela looked over to the recording, and then back to her supervisor. Laurie shook her head, and nodded to Grayson. 'Don't DO it.'
Oh.
Oh gods.
It should be mentioned that there was...a reputation for dispatchers. Some had made the unfortunate decision to get involved with some officers. It was a common portion of onboarding to drill into each new recruit to not fuck the cops. It led to messy situations, and lots of tensions in a group that was supposed to work seamlessly with one another.
'Don't do it.' was the phrase that their HR lead used anytime she had to go over their fraternization policies.
"Well, Ms. Thatcher," Detective Grayson said, apparently not noticing the very quick exchange between Raziela and her supervisor, "With the department being under investigation, and with me having to come in anyway, it made more logical sense for me to just listen while I was here."
He was clearly more than a pretty face, because he certainly looked at her record to get her last name. Or, at the employee ID that hung from the lanyard around her neck. Part of her suspected he had known who she was the entire time, and had planned to be at the precinct when she arrived so that he could throw her off her schedule. He's good.
"I can understand that." She said, and left no room for him to respond with a quip back as she hit play for the recording. Surprise flooded him at the suddenness of it, followed by a slight scramble of emotions she didn't quite recognize. He hid them well, smoothly pulling out a heavy duty and likely bullet proof (just a guess based on the brick of a case he had it in) laptop from a bag she hadn't realized he was carrying, booting it up within seconds of the call starting. Unfortunately, he typed in his password with the kind of devastating slowness that felt like nails on a chalkboard directly next to her brain stem. She couldn't exactly blame him, with the way he was clearly accustomed to typing his (ridiculously long, what the hell is that, 32 characters??) password with two hands, but still. Why was he even here? Surely someone with intact bones could have done the investigation.
She read the police report over his shoulder. It was pretty standard for a crime bust, though she furrowed her brows at the mention of no kidnapping victims. Her mind flashed to the woman from last night in the elevator.
Holy fucking shit- It could have been her.
That conundrum was immediately forgotten the moment she read the final breakdown of how many were detained: Nineteen.
Nineteen? But there had been...twenty one, supposedly. To be fair, the woman had also reported two kidnapping victims, and there hadn't been any on scene anyway. The cultists were arrested on trespassing charges, vandalism, theft from a blood bank, and kidnapping. There was a reference to some video evidence, but Raziela didn't get to see it. Maybe there were only nineteen cultists, and the woman had been mistaken.
But...from the slowly dawning horror forming on Detective Grayson's face, she doubted that was the case. Even more peculiar, the emotions rising with it - guilt, embarrassment, mild fear, frustration - were genuine. It was almost like he blamed himself for the problem of potential missing cultists. Sounds like someone needs therapy. Practice some work/life balance. Raziela thought, checking to see how much of the recording was left. When it finished, she turned to him.
"So, Detective, tell me. Was there actually any trains involved, or was she being hyperbolic?" She asked, taking a small, secret delight in the confusion that cleared away most of his rising emotions. If asked, she wouldn't be able to explain why she distracted him, except for perhaps claiming since she hadn't planted the seed of a spell in the very beginning, it was all she could do.
But she'd be lying. There was something about Detective Grayson that bothered her, something that set her slightly on edge with a healthy wariness. But despite that, she still found that she wasn't a fan of feeling his guilt, fear, or embarrassment.
She didn't regret asking him such a silly question when their eyes met, something familiar and totally other burning in her chest - and she struggled to identify whatever it was he was feeling at the same time - but it was something similar, syrupy sweet and addictive, drawing her into its pull, the world blurring at the edges as his eyes of icy blue watched her carefully, like he had come to a similar realization.
He cleared his throat, breaking eye contact to skim over the police report once more, though she got the feeling that he could recite it forwards and backwards, even while drunk or asleep. The soft moment shattered into a million pieces, falling on the metaphorical floor and spelling out 'Don't do it.' in Raziela's mind.
"Uh - No. I think that would have been a nightmare to clean up. There was already a lot of glitter and glue involved though, judging from the pictures." He said, clicking through on his laptop, closing out tabs as he began shutting it all down. “Well, uh. Thank you, for this. It was very helpful. Could you please send me the transcript and recording? Ms. Saunders should have my contact information if you don't have it.”
“Detective Grayson, I have unrestricted access to NCIC, with every detective in our jurisdiction and in Bludhaven listed there. I'll find it.” Raziela said, opening her phone system and logging into her CAD system. "When I send it, would it be too much to ask if you could send me the pictures of the warehouse? We dispatchers get chronic FOMO."
Did she put a little push of magic behind that one, to make him a little more amenable to send her the pictures? Yes. Yes she did. She wanted to see exactly what these cultists did, and if it involved glitter and glue, they deserved however many years in prison they'll get.
“Oh, you can just call me Dick.” He said, trying and failing to get his ridiculously sized laptop into his pitifully sized bag. Raziela leaned over and held it open for him. He gave her an award winning smile that made her consider the reviewing the fraternization policies. Don't do it. "Thank you. I will see what I can do you about those pictures."
“I can see that.” Raziela said, and smiled coyly as he cocked his head in confusion. “Your badge. It says Dick on it. Richard 'Dick' Grayson.”
“Oh. Well, we will be in touch.” He said, a little awkward as he ducked his head and started to walk away.
“Take your time, I have all week.” Raziela called after him, a little too loud as Beth gave her a small glare. Don't do it.
Friday, 12:04 PM - Gotham City Police Station - Parking Deck
Dick Grayson sat down in his car with a broken, worn down sigh, his energy for the day eroded away by the ache in his arm and with bad news after bad news. Jason still wasn't answering his calls, and any text attempts received a middle finger emoji. It was enough to placate the worry for just a bit. So far, the entire highlight of his day had been Raziela Thatcher, her dry smile and little quips that made his heart jolt in a strange thrum. He'd have to go through his personal pictures of the warehouse and make sure there were no pictures of either Red Hood or Batman visible.
He did make a note to ask Barbara on why the dispatcher had access to a personal chat with Oracle, however.
But the pretty woman wasn't enough to dull the realization that there were two cultists that had avoided being arrested, and he was pretty certain that the chair that Jason had kicked him into? That had likely been a signal that there were two captives, something his pain addled brain hadn't put together because he was focusing on the fact that Jason was as safe as he could be, given the situation.
He still hated crowbars.
Facing the music, he pulled out his phone to call Bruce. It rang once, with a simple hum as a hello. Dick kept it simple, not wanting to draw it out.
"There were twenty-one cultists reported, but only nineteen were arrested." He said, feeling a headache approaching as he started the car.
"Hm." Was all Bruce said, almost drowned out by the rumble of the engine. Then the call disconnected. Dick nodded, mentally kicking himself as he replayed it in his head. Jason's kick, the tumble into the chair, picking up said chair and completely ignoring the door.
Idiot. It wasn't the end of the world per se, but it was incredibly frustrating. But they were only human, and it couldn't be helped. It was to be expected, really. The Bat Family always held the safety of the brood as a higher priority over catching all of the bad guys.
As he began driving through the parking deck to get to the main road, he counted down in his head to zero.
Three...
Two...
One...
Ze-
His phone rang - Barbara's ringtone chiming through the speakers of his car. He answered without any hesitation.
"What do you mean only nineteen were arrested?" She said, keyboard clicking from her end of the call. Dick sighed, and began regaling her the events that led them up to this point, though he was omitting his concerning need to know more about Raziela Thatcher as he spoke.
Digital Text Conversation Between Batman and Superman via Personal Communications
B: We missed two. (12:10 PM)
S: f (12:10 PM)
S: wat do u mean u missed 2 (12:11 PM)
B: Cultists. Two escaped because we failed to notice them in a temporary holding cell. (12:12 PM)
S: .....yikes, b (12:12 PM)
S: so should i like come help or (12:13 PM)
B: If they're smart, they'll be hiding out. Superman showing up in Gotham would only make it harder to find them. I appreciate the offer though. (12:15 PM)
S: it doesnt always have 2 be sups showing up (12:15 PM)
S: clark can help 2 u know (12:16 PM)
B: I'll keep that in mind. (12:20 PM)
Friday, 1:18 PM - Gotham City Police Department - Dispatch Floor.
Impending doom was like a sneeze. Or perhaps, an infection would be a more apt description. Nevertheless, impending doom had a certain kind of effect on people; one where their eyes would tear up, skin uncomfortable with a slight itchy sensation that makes them unsettled. Humans are so sensitive to changes in their environment, so incredibly perceptive, that they can tell when something is off by a minute change. Something would quiver in their chest, a slight but oh so significant twinge that indicates that their life was going to change forever after they take their next step.
Sometimes, Raziela got those twinges when she heard the chime of a call connecting, and she knew something was going to go wrong.
"911, where's your emergency?" She said, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end, the slight panicky register in her caller's voice confirming her immediate suspicions. Her seedling of magic took hold with fervor, chewing through the fear and strengthening the caller.
"THE ZOO!! ROBIN'S HERE?! DO YOU KNOW WHY ROBIN'S HERE??" The man shrieked in her ear, his terror making her nauseous and shaky, a potent cocktail that would have made the Scarecrow jealous.
"Is Robin...fighting anything?" Raziela asked, muting herself and yelled, "Sammy! Is Robin logged into your radio? He's at the zoo in uniform?"
"He's WHAT?" Sammy said, their surprise evident in the sudden creak of their chair, fingers flying to the keyboard as furious clacks followed. The metal slam of a radio pedal, then an urgent, "Radio to Robin, are you currently at the zoo?"
"He's not fighting anything that I can see!" Raziela's caller said at the same time, his panic forcing her to send another surge of magic to him, just to calm him and feed the branches of snarling hysteria bubbling in her throat. "But the sun is out, and I'm scared!!"
"Okay, if you're worried about your safety, please vacate the premises." Raziela said as Sammy called out again over the radio. It was a system that had been created a few years back around the same time Red Robin came into the fray, where the vigilantes of Gotham coordinated with the police dispatchers and could intervene on high priority calls. If anything, it was used to know who was on patrol for a night, and if they would need occasional check-ins. There had been some nights where the Bats would use it during emergencies, usually in the event of the vigilante's own comms going down, but it was rare.
It was also a selective position, where a dispatcher is usually only put into the spot by being chosen by the vigilantes themselves and being put through intensive background checks. Dispatchers on vigilante radio were always responsible for managing the radio when on shift, as well as their usual duties. It was a dedication, usually a high honor to be selected with a hefty pay raise.
Sammy had been chosen by Robin because they rescued a box of kittens in the middle of a thunderstorm. Their next shift began with a stack of papers, a meeting with Laurie, and then being trained on the basics of the vigilante codes and radio conduct.
"Leave?? But I just bought my ticket!!" The man cried, his anger burning the branches and gnarled roots of her sapling of terror, a shockwave to Raziela's system. She let out a small hiss of pain, a sharp stabbing emanating from behind her eyes. She took a deep breath, encouraging another pulse of calm and ease to sooth the burns.
"The front desk at the zoo can probably help, you'll need to talk with them." Raziela said, leaning back in her chair to glance at Sammy, who was looking increasingly concerned as they tried to reach Robin once again on the radio. Raziela opened the small chat box on her desktop as her distraught caller hung up with a few choice curses, the sapling of emotions uprooted with a jerk. Oops.
RT: recv'd rpt of Robin in zoo. No visible threats. You know anything? (1:21 PM)
"Laurie! We need the bat signal, I can't contact the fucking child-" Sammy bellowed, all but practically launching themselves out of their seat while forgetting that the signal didn't work very well in the daytime.
O is typing....
Again, Raziela was pretty certain that O had some connection to the Bats. Not like, in a 'maybe, possibly' kind of way, but rather an 'absolutely, definitely' kind of way. It was evident in the way that O somehow always managed to have access to information that only the Bats had, was able to communicate with them on a level of swiftness that would have the vigilante dispatchers just a little jealous - if only they knew of O's existence. Should Raziela have reported O the first time the little chat window popped up on her desktop? Yes. Did she try? Also yes, but after watching the report delete itself as she was filling it out, she just elected to leave it alone.
"What do you mean you can't reach the kid? Of course you haven't!! He signed off last night around four in the morning!" Laurie said as Sammy dragged her out of the supervisors room, likely having been rudely woken from her nap. Raziela looked over to see if she got a response from O.
They had stopped typing.
"Yes, but-" Sammy said, now whispering as the two were now walking onto the main dispatch floor. "Razzie just received a call about Robin being in the zoo. With no threats."
Another thing to mention. If Robin is spotted in the zoo with no other vigilantes with him, the protocol was to try to reach him to confirm his location, and if no contact is made, presume that Robin is AWOL and to contact the Batman. Any attempts of contacting the Batman outside of his signed on hours need to be approved by a supervisor.
O is typing....
The chime came again, pulling Raziela's focus away from her coworkers who were hashing over the details of needing to actually contact the Bat.
"911, where's your emergency?" Raziela said, tossing out the usual seed of her soothing magic.
"Uh, hi. My store was just robbed of all of its cheese." The caller said, sounding more confused than anything. Raziela paused, not because of the peculiarity of the scenario, but because O's response had stunned her to her core.
O: I have no idea. (1:26 PM)
Friday, 2:27 PM - Gotham Sewer System
Look, remember what Mark said about generally not making plans on the fly? That was past Mark, and he's clearly both a genius for having such a well thought out practice, but he's also a fucking idiot for not listening to himself.
Otis? Otis was a fucking freak. He had known this, objectively, sure. It was something that he was well aware of going into this, like, c'mon, he went to school with the guy. He literally watched him grow up. The blame should be all on Mark.
But the other side of the coin? The plan was just so out there that it just might work.
Currently, Mark had tasked Otis with gathering his rats together so that Mark could perform the first ritual. The plan was to give Otis his own little group of rats he could control, and then in return, Otis would use his friends to gather up all of the rats in Gotham, so that Mark could form their army.
What he didn't account for was the fact that Otis didn't have five or six rats, like he had expected. No. No, because that would have been too easy. Otis had eighty-eight cat sized rats that he had somehow formed a deep, irreversible bond with (according to him) and wanted to form the mental connection with.
Mark had been halfway through drawing a ritual circle for a normal amount of pet rats when Otis had come in, his pack of rats at his heels with chittering squeaks. He had to make a new ritual circle.
When Jacob had returned from the grocery store after having stolen their entire cheese supply, the two cultists set about unpackaging it all while Otis kept his friends in the area.
"We're going to smell like cheddar for weeks." Jacob said, despondently.
"It could be worse," Mark said, face screwing up in disgust. "It could be camembert."
Friday, 3:01 PM - Gotham City Police Department - Dispatch Floor
"911, where's your emergency?" Raziela said, holding her throbbing head in her hands. She was running low on energy, and would need to restrict her magic usage for the rest of the evening. It wasn't something that happened a lot, to be fair. While her abilities made her more prone to headaches, the spells she was using typically never affected her in such ways. Well...never say never.
"This might be a weird call...but I wasn't sure who to call?" A woman said, sounding understandably concerned. "But I'm at the zoo, and a chimpanzee stole my daughter's lollipop."
"You'll need to speak with the zookeepers about that, they'll be able to assist you." Raziela said for what felt like the millionth time in the past hour and a half. They had been able to get ahold of the Batman, who said it would be handled.
Guess what? The ongoing zoo animal uprising, led by Robin, was not being handled.
"So...about that. The zookeepers are missing." The woman said, and in the background Raziela could hear the faint hooting of an incredibly sugar-high primate.
"What do you mean they're missing?" Raziela asked, silently considering taking the next month off for a much needed vacation far away from Gotham.
"Uh...well. I think they've been taken captive? I don't know for sure, that's just what the rumor mill is stating." The woman said. Raziela leaned back in her seat, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"Ma'am, please evacuate the zoo instead of participating in gossip with the other customers."
Friday, 3:07 PM - Gotham Zoo - Penguin Exhibit
"Charlie?" Shianne said, her teeth chattering in the cold as she sat bundled with her coworkers. Charlie looked up at her, concerned. This was not how she imagined this going, surrounded by the entire zookeeping staff, but oh well. When you sat on Death's door, with no way to call for help, you had to bite the bullet.
"What's going on?" Charlie asked, his curly blond curls likely frozen from the sub-zero temperatures of the penguin exhibit. Shianne still had absolutely no idea how all of them got in here, much less locked inside with nowhere to go. At least there were buckets.
"I just wanted to tell you in case we don't make it out of this..." Shianne swallowed, eyes shutting in embarrassment as their coworkers who were definitely listening tried to pretend that they weren't, in fact, eavesdropping. "I have a massive crush on you and have harbored this for years and I am very much afraid that we aren't making it out of this alive and wanted to-"
"I think the cold is getting to me, because it sounds like you just told me you like me-" Charlie said, eyes wide as he watched Shianne grow red in the face - not from the cold, but more from lack of air as she rambled out her supposed confession.
"I- That is exactly what I said." Shianne said, shutting her eyes so that she didn't have to make any eye contact with him.
"Okay, cool, cause I was really worried I died there." Charlie said with a small laugh. "I like you too."
The resulting cheer from all of their coworkers was not enough to clear away Shianne's embarrassment. It, in fact, cemented itself into a cinderblock and plunged her into the depths of the ocean as she covered her face with her hands.
"Cool. Cool. Great talk."
Digital Text Conversation Between Batman and Superman via Personal Communications
B: D is grounded. (3:13 PM)
S: wut happened (3:13 PM)
B: Check the Gotham news. (3:14 PM)
S: i would ask how he did all that with almost no reported injuries but... (3:14 PM)
S: he is ur son (3:14 PM)
B: He's made it virtually impossible for us to get into the zoo. No one can get in, and I have no idea if he's still there. (3:16 PM)
S: any idea how he got all the staff locked in the penguin enclosure (3:17 PM)
B: ...He did what? (3:18 PM)
S: u mite want 2 check the zoo live animal cams (3:19 PM)
Friday, 3:33 PM - Gotham Sewer System
It was often believed that only Gods held any real sway in this world.
Mark stopped believing that at a young age, where he learned that with sly words and a confident grin could get anyone to look away from any major atrocities, even ones committed to a child. Ever since, he had developed a greedy vice for the same addicting swell of his ego, where others followed his every beck and call.
It was why he had dipped his hand into learning magic, after all. He had found the lifeblood of power, drank it from the source, and was the guiding hand of souls to begin their final crusade onto the depraved earth.
He hummed a chant under his breath, in the tongue of the dead as he stood on the outskirts of a large ritual circle, properly drawn because Mark knows how to use a fucking protractor.
In the center of the circle, surrounded by egregious piles of cheese and eighty-eight well behaved rats eating said cheese like voracious vultures, sat a meditating Otis Flannegan-Greene. It wouldn't be long after Mark finished his chants that Otis would open his eyes with new enlightenment, to feel his rats as an extension of himself, able to rest control of the other pests of Gotham and deliver them to Mark's waiting hands.
He still didn't like rats, for the record. But if it got the job done...he would make any sacrifice necessary.
Jacob had taken to sitting on the outskirts of the ritual space, making sure the candles and incense were still lit, decadent smoke filling the room and covering the pungent smell of cheese and sewage. Mark was forever grateful for his (maybe?) boyfriend of taking the time to make sure the space was probably set up, his usual flippant nature nonexistent when the time mattered.
He turned his eyes away from his incredibly attractive (seriously, they would need to discuss what they were exactly-) partner in crime, focusing all his attention and intent on Otis and his pets.
Mark finished the last verse of his hymn, watching Otis carefully in case he suddenly keeled over dead. It was a risk with any ritual, after all. Sometimes Gods didn't approve of others interfering with their work.
Mark knew that the ritual worked when Otis opened his eyes with a new sense of self, enlightenment radiating from every pore on his skin. The rats seemed to light up in excitement, swaying in response to Otis' movements.
His chest filled with that sweet taste of victory, an unstoppable, luscious feeling that made him just barely on the side of lightheaded euphoria.
Mark could be a God in his own right.
Thankfully, there was plenty of cheese to do so.
Friday, 4:08 PM - Gotham City Police Department - Dispatch Floor
"Hey, is it normal practice for the zoo to let children ride the animals?" Said the caller, who had used the non-emergency line for such a heinous question.
"Please evacuate the zoo." Raziela said, letting her head thud onto her desk for additional emphasis.
Friday, 6:33 PM - Gotham Hospital Emergency Room
Scott had tried to forget about Alice. He really did. Unfortunately for Scott, he somehow had an ability for stumbling across people that likely never want to see him again.
It had started as a regular shift. Standard fight that broke out in a grocery store over their apparent lack of cheese selections, someone got stabbed, someone else got arrested. Same old, same old. Scott had packed the wound with wicked efficiency, something in his mind telling him it was way too easy, when he knew that the day was nowhere near done with him. At least he didn't have to be apart of the ongoing wait to save the zoo patrons.
They transported the patient to the hospital, gave the needed information to the charge nurse (stabbed with a paring knife), and went about to leave. Except Kaden was leaning over the nurse's station counter, giving a dopey grin to a shy red head who Scott couldn't remember the name of. He took a step towards Kaden to get him to move towards their vehicle-
"SUCK A FAT FUCKING BALL, YOU PIECE OF SHIT HIPSTER-" came echoing down the hall, a cry of war. Kaden looked up in alarm from where he was flirting with the nurse, and then gave Scott a telltale shit eating grin. Scott, despite telling himself repeatedly in his mind that engaging with her again was a bad idea, that nurses and security would get her sedated and calmed, somehow found himself moving towards the ruckus.
Around the corner, with her back to him, Alice, dressed in scrubs (and not a hospital gown, oddly enough. He was thankful though. He could at least pretend he had some sense of professionalism.) that should not be that flattering, stood on both legs (which, thankfully she hadn't broken it last night, only a dislocation. However, she should not be standing on it.) and was wielding a drip stand in her hands like it was a spear, keeping the nurses and even some doctors at a distance.
He approached slowly, hoping one of the staff didn't look at him and reveal his presence before he was able to take the stand away from her. Thankfully, she was too preoccupied with keeping away her assailants that she didn't notice Scott creeping up behind her. He sidled up to her right side, gently taking hold of the makeshift weapon with his right hand, while his left readied to take on her weight and brace her against him.
"Drop it, please." He murmured, feeling her tense up against his side as she slowly looked up in horror, her hands unconsciously letting go of the drip stand. He set it on the ground, aware that a nurse pulled it behind her to keep it away from Alice. "Where's your room?"
She pointed to a door just a few steps away, her face turning red concerningly quickly. He waited, watching her remember that breathing is a necessary function of human life in real time.
"Okay, you have two options. Either I carry you back to bed, or I help you walk there. You're going to feel option two later once your meds wear off." He said, bracing her by the waist as she wobbled. She held up a singular finger.
Alright, carrying it is. Part of him was secretly pleased, but he would never admit it due to professional courtesy. In a smooth motion, he swooped her into a princess carry, trying to alleviate any pressure on her hip.
He didn't think this through, having her face so close to his, her chest heaving with anxiety, likely pain and oh god- what if she was light headed and dizzy?? He watched her face for a moment, trying to discern if anything was amiss, his own heart thrumming in his ears as he struggled to find anything wrong, other than the fact that this menace of a woman decided to walk thirty feet away from her bed on an injured hip.
Giggles from some nurses broke him out of his careful analysis, and he moved towards her room, readjusting his grip on her to make sure she was secure. He didn't miss the small hitch of her breath, likely from pain. They were going to have a long conversation about letting medical professionals help her.
It took him a few quick steps to get her into the bed, where he gently laid her down on her left side to prevent any pain in her right hip. He avoided her gaze, instead focusing on the intense bruising under her shirt, only visible because the fabric had ridden up just a little as he was carrying her.
A scuff of feet at the door gathered his attention, where Adam, one of the ER nurses, was walking in. Alice froze, eyes flicking to the drip stand in his hand, and the IV bag of what was likely pain medication in the other.
"You need-" Adam tried, taking another step forward. Alice pitched herself towards Scott, clearly having forgotten he was there as she nearly slammed her hip into him in her poor attempt to run. An incredibly long conversation. He thought, already thinking of pros and cons to pointing out that medicine was supposed to help. He'd probably get away with it.
"No-" Alice yelped, swinging her legs towards the edge of the bed. Scott hooked his forearm under her knees, and then looked up at Adam.
"Can you give us a moment?" Scott asked as he wedged his other arm under Alice, aiming to readjust her spot on the bed. Adam backed up a few steps, swaying at the doorway. "What's with you?"
Scott, after going to school for years to understand how to help people, never understood why people would refuse care when they knew something was wrong. He usually had a lot of patience, but there was something about Alice's blatant disregard for her own wellbeing that frustrated him to no end.
There was something almost endearing about it too, something fond echoing on the frustration that made him want to tear his hair out.
He immediately forgave her when she looked up at him, slight tears in her eyes that made him decide right then and there that he was absolutely in the wrong for not helping her fight off the nurses and doctors with his own drip stand. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he dismissed it. Sparring with medical professionals never ended well. He would know. He is a medical professional.
"I don't do well with a stranger sticking me with a needle." Alice mumbled, her brown eyes flicking back over to where Adam stood, waiting almost too eagerly to get out of there. Scott glanced down at her tattooed arm.
"Kaden poked you with a needle last night, you were fine then." Scott deadpanned, tracing a thumb over her tattooed skin, watching goosebumps raise in response to his touch. He looked back up at her, not at all surprised by the red flush creeping up her neck.
"I was distracted." She whispered, eyes now trained at where his thumb drew circles along a red chrysanthemum. He smiled, ducking to catch her attention again. He wasn't going to chide her for carelessly ripping out her IV, he'd wait to do that until later.
"If I sit with you, would that help?" He asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yes please." She murmured. Scott waved Adam into the room.
Friday, 6:45 PM - Gotham City Police Department - Dispatch Floor.
"911 , where's your emergency?" Raziela said, eyes flicking over to the GPS tracker, confirming that this was yet another call regarding the disaster that was the Gotham Zoo. She had started hoarding her magic to herself much earlier, recharging her reserves in case she needed it later.
A woman's voice came through, surprisingly calm and upbeat.
"Hi there, I just wanted to give you guys an update in case you weren't aware," the caller said, the sounds of distant sirens noticeable in the background. "We were able to get out of the penguin exhibit, and the Bats are here to help everyone evacuate."
They had received notification around four in the afternoon that all of the zookeepers were locked in the penguin enclosure without any means of staying warm other than huddling close together. It was also policy for none of them to have their phones on them, apparently, as it had taken hours for someone to notice the penguins had relocated into the giraffe enclosure.
That was what had prompted the zoo patrons (it was still being decided if they were hostages or not, since they had the ability to leave, but were choosing not to? It had blown up on social media.) to begin a manhunt for the zookeepers, out of outrage and worry that the penguins would overheat and die.
Because the penguins were of more concern to the average Gotham citizen than the horde middle schoolers all riding dangerous predators. Obviously.
"Bats? Plural?" Raziela asked, allowing a hopeful edge to creep into her voice.
"Yup."
"...Is Robin still on the scene?" It was still unknown exactly how the entire zoo had gotten locked down to anyone resembling law enforcement in the first place, though it was widely believed that Robin had something to do with it. The nearly invisible and obviously Bat-affiliated combat drones that she had gotten exactly one call about lent itself to that theory, but they didn't have any proof otherwise. It was mostly just a conspiracy at this point, one she would likely have found funny if not for her pounding headache. Raziela hadn't heard from O since their first message either, and she could only assume they were doing damage control on their side.
In all fairness, the SWAT teams were incredibly pissed at not being able to break into the zoo, that had somehow been booby trapped and with all of the animals and unsupervised children running rampant? It was just a hazard that involved a lot of paperwork with any missteps.
"Uh...I haven't seen him. I've really only seen Batman and Spoiler...I think Signal is here too. But no Robin." Raziela muted her mic, and turned to yell,
"Sammy! Still no eyes on Robin!" Raziela let them curse out a loud 'FUCK', before unmuting, "I'll make a note for the authorities. Stay safe and listen to the directions the first responders give you."
"Thank you!!" The woman said, and disconnected with a click. Raziela sighed with relief, thankful to have what would clearly be the only disaster of the shift be over. Finally. Now, she could settle in for occasional calls for the next few hours before she had to go home.
But then, the weirdest fucking thing happened.
Notes:
I find I enjoy the end notes sequence more, because I can go over my favorite parts of the chapter without fear of spoilers! >:D
A lot of you mentioned the existence of a certain DC character once 'Of Multi-Mice and Men' was posted. In the process of discussing the fic with A, we briefly talked about adding the Ratcatcher in as a little reference.
And then...well......oops.....
Other cliffnotes of the chapter are:
I miss Francis and Anderson already, but I had no good place to throw them in here yet, but we DO see them later.
Mark and Jacob....are also a little complicated. What, you expected the cultists to be good guys? That's on you, B.
Poor Raziela.
I absolutely fell in love with Tim Drake after writing that One opening scene and I will never feel the same about a man ever again. God Damn.That's pretty much all from me, I'll turn it over to A now for her thoughts and comments! Please let us know what you think!! - R
~~~
The Big Man to Dick Grayson to Tim Drake Pipeline IS REAL, and it CAN HURT YOU!
I have absolutely *no* regrets.
Anyway whAT DID YOU THINK? I certainly liked it, and I love that all the shit going on in the background is getting shown! Robin at the zoo, Mark and Jacob in the Sewers with Rats(I wonder where that is happening...), Raz getting all the chaotic shit thrown at her, and y'all dont even KNOW about what is happening with Francis and Anderson eheheheheheheeeee!
I can't wait for the next chapters, of both Magic and Mayhem, AND Unintentional Matchmaking. If anyone cares enough to have any ~theories~ plsplspls comment them we read everything aaaaaaaah
Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Have a GREAT day!! :D
SleepDeprivedWitch on Chapter 1 Thu 14 Aug 2025 03:51AM UTC
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Last Edited Thu 14 Aug 2025 06:31PM UTC
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MysNis on Chapter 1 Mon 18 Aug 2025 01:20AM UTC
Last Edited Mon 18 Aug 2025 01:20AM UTC
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Radi0activ3_S0ul on Chapter 1 Mon 18 Aug 2025 01:30AM UTC
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Dragon Miraculeux (DreamingofDragon) on Chapter 1 Mon 18 Aug 2025 05:46PM UTC
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Radi0activ3_S0ul on Chapter 1 Mon 18 Aug 2025 10:07PM UTC
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MollyWolf33 on Chapter 1 Thu 21 Aug 2025 08:38PM UTC
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Radi0activ3_S0ul on Chapter 1 Sun 24 Aug 2025 08:26PM UTC
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ComfortablyADHD on Chapter 1 Thu 21 Aug 2025 08:44PM UTC
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Radi0activ3_S0ul on Chapter 1 Sun 24 Aug 2025 08:27PM UTC
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b00ks_r_amazing on Chapter 1 Mon 25 Aug 2025 04:29AM UTC
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Freedom_Shamrock on Chapter 1 Sun 07 Sep 2025 12:44PM UTC
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wisteria_vines on Chapter 2 Sun 24 Aug 2025 06:06AM UTC
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Radi0activ3_S0ul on Chapter 2 Sun 24 Aug 2025 08:25PM UTC
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Dragon Miraculeux (DreamingofDragon) on Chapter 2 Sun 24 Aug 2025 08:18PM UTC
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Radi0activ3_S0ul on Chapter 2 Sun 24 Aug 2025 08:25PM UTC
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Lyra_Invisa on Chapter 2 Tue 02 Sep 2025 02:09PM UTC
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Freedom_Shamrock on Chapter 2 Sun 07 Sep 2025 03:44PM UTC
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