By the time that evening falls, I've done all that I can do for the day. His condition isn't improving, and like it or not, I have further business to conduct back home. Giving my parting respects to the staff at Lucius' disposal, I sign the release papers to have Bruce transferred to a secure wing of the hospital for his remaining spell - to avoid the wandering eyes of the press, looking to catch a glimpse of the comatose celebrity for their page ones - and begin to head off for the evening. Despite all that I've done in this last week to adapt to this new schedule, forgoing alot of hours and alot of effort to ensure that nothing be left astray, I do infact trust the people here to keep him safe. It's simply too difficult to remind myself that even if he does awaken from this, he wouldn't be able to even tell I was there. That's the trouble in dealing with a coma. Unpredictability never quite sat well with me. It certainly never did with him.
Approaching the counter of the lobby of the first floor, I catch the attention of the nurse and wave her over. God knows, I'm going to need caffeine to be able to drive home at this hour.
"Excuse me, Miss. You wouldn't happen to have a coffee machine nearby?"
She points down the next hall.
"Across from the cafeteria, to your right. Can't miss it."
I gratefully nod and continue on, throwing my winter scarf around my shoulders. Perhaps if it weren't for holiday traffic, I wouldn't be as on edge as I feel right now.
But then, who am I kidding? Gotham traffic in general scares the bloody hell out of me.
"No, dad, I hadn't forgotten it was the holidays."
Three minutes after getting my coffee, I suddenly remembered something rather grave. It's Christmas, and I have a bit of a yearly tradition to uphold each year. Since leaving Liverpool six years prior, and given the nature of my job, my contact with any immediate family has been forcibly confined to something of a distant nature. I would have never told Bruce, who's halfway convinced I don't even have a family, but they are still an important factor of my life and apart of me that I can't quite seem to push away. So I make an effort to call at least once per year, at Christmas, to update them on the status of - well, just about everything.
The problem is, only one of them is within the distance of a working cellphone.
My father, Fredrick Pennyworth Jarvis, Sr. Retiree of MI-6 and the Royal Marines.
If one could contest getting an earful from their parents, I would regularly take first prize. It doesn't help that no matter whatever I can try and reply with, he's lost far too much of his hearing to ever quite carry a sensible conversation with. Though I suppose it's still better to have him across the pond, where I can keep my contact at a minimum.
"I said, I hadn't forgotten it was... no, I'm not on an airplane. I'm in a hospital. Dad, I said I was in a hospital!"
Massaging the bridge of my nose in frustration, I place my things on a nearby waiting room table and sit down. All things considered, I refuse to keep babbling on like a blundering novice in the middle of the Gotham freeway. Especially just to tell my own father the bare minimum of what I've been doing with my time. Cooking, cleaning, and aiding a known vigilante are hardly the sort of things you want going around.
"Nevermind that. I just thought I'd check in for a spell tonight, since I'm not quite up for our usual conversation just yet. Alot of work had to be done today."
He asks what sort of work, and I momentarily freeze.
I had decided to keep Bruce's condition a secret from him, should he be compelled to inquiry anymore. Once you ever start speaking to my father for more than five minutes, it isn't long before you've been forced to admit every detail of your last few days. Suppose it's that MI-6 training at work, on his part.
"Oh, you know. Christmas and whatnot. All of that dribble. Speaking of which, how's Anne?"
His third wife, and technically my stepmother. Unless they've divorced in a year's time, which wouldn't be terribly shocking.
"Is she now? Well, that's... actually quite good to hear. So the two of you will be overseas?"
Just as dad begins to respond, I hear an unexpected sound errupt from outside the halls. Several unexpected sounds, infact. A scream, several rushed footsteps. Someone shouting. And was that... gunfire?
My eyes widen as I peer past the wall, only to nearly be knocked over by several nurses and bystanders running in the opposite direction. My word, it
is gunfire. I can practically smell the discharge. What in the bloody deep is going on out there?
"Dad, I have to go. I said, I have to go! Something's come up, I'll be back in a tick."
Snapping the phone shut, I immediately work to maintain my composure and peer back at the room to see what I have at my disposal. Apart from a briefcase full of filed paperwork, a PDA, the Waynepad, and the remains of my lunch, I have nothing that can come of particular use in the event of an emergency situation. Particularly one of such an extreme nature.
Had to commit Mr. Wayne to the one hospital in the tri-state area, didn't I?
Then my eyes fall upon the nearest wall, after inadvertendly bumping into something. And with a shot of luck on my side, I soon realize that there's still a bit of hope yet.
"I said shut the #$%@ up and get down on the ground!"
By the time I've made it to the front lobby again, the same nurse from earlier is frantically complying to the demands of an angered couple of men in ski-masks, each brandishing a set of semi-automatic weapons. I tread lightly ahead, so as to not alert them of my prescence, as I advance down the corridor and try to keep myself scarce.
"Okay, okay! Just don't hurt me!"
"You deaf or something?! Shut up and move!"
The poor young woman's not making it any easier on herself. Then again, I'm about to commit the stupidest possible act in the event of an armed robbery. If that's what this is even supposed to be. Seems quite strange that they wouldn't even acknowledge the idea of security cameras, guarding staff, or the police. It's as if they simply walked in without a plan to back them.
After she eventually complies, the first turns to his compatriots and gives a nod towards the main hall. Whatever they're looking for, they're not going to find it here.
"Alright, let's get to the elevators. We need to make this quick. One of you stand guard down here. The rest? Follow me."
While there are a considerable amount of patients located on this floor, even more await certain danger on the others. And I can't even begin to think about the risk for Mr. Wayne, given his predicament. Somehow or another, I'm going to have to keep them from reaching that elevator.
Shouldn't be difficult.
Springing forth from beyond the corridor, I shout the one thing that at least turns the head of every criminal in Gotham.
"Look, over there! It's Batman!"
As they frantically raise their guns in confusion, not stopping to think of who even said it, I dive forward and slide across the recently mopped floor with my one weapon in hand: a common variety fire extinguisher. Before long, they're all blinded by a cloud of a thick foaming agent, covering their eyes and forcing them to misdirect quite a bit of gunfire into the walls and windows. Taking the opportunity to rush past them, I grab the nearest by the shoulder and slam down my elbow, striking hard at his collarbone.
"ARGH!"
He crumples to the ground in a heap. The others scramble to make sense of what's going on, but I simply grab the incapacitated one's semi-automatic and carefully aim. Then close my eyes. It's been a damn well long time since I've fired one of these. The unfortunate blokes had better hope I haven't gotten rusty.
*BRAKABRAKA!*
I kneecap the first and strike the second with a shoulder wound.
*BRAKABRAKA!*
The third and fourth recieve bullets in their feet, with enough force to knock their legs out from under them. Fifth and sixth are the ones to recover from the initial blast from the extinguisher, but I ready myself for them by lunging forth with the brunt of the weapon. It strikes hard at the fifth's throat, knocking him back as I slam the other across the face and bash the weapon against his torso. Then I toss it aside, grab him, and slam the back of his head hard into the receptionists' counter. The fifth recovers and tries to pick up his weapon, but I slam my foot down upon it. He looks up at me.
"Terribly sorry about that, sir."
Then I drop him with a hard kick to the face, instantaneously rendering him unconscious. The young receptionist raises her head, positively shocked at what just happened. I simply give her another polite nod, seizing one of the guns and handing it to her.
"Miss, I would advise calling the authorities on this one. But until they arrive, keep that dreadful thing trained on the poor bastards that brought it in."
She looks at the gun, then to me, horrified.
"How the hell did you do all of that?!"
"Improvisation, mostly."
And a four-year tenure at Scotland Yard. Good to know those lessons in self-defense paid off.
"Oh my god..."
I turn to meet the origin of her gaze, and am just as shocked to see what exactly I'm seeing outside. This is only the first of many men in masks, with the same sort of weapons, tearing about across the area and breaking into every local business that they can. Yet the police are nowhere in sight, and I hear no sirens in the immediate viscinity.
Good heavens. They've all gone beserk, and no one's around to reign them in.
"Forget what I said. Just stay here and keep your head down."
Leaving her to process those instructions, I make a dash for the waiting area. I've got a phonecall that I need to make. She may not be Batman, nessecarily, but aside from Mr. Todd - who frankly seems a bit too troubled, lately, to take on something of this magnitude - she's the only other of that same class of citizen that I happen to know of. Not to mention the only cop I can really trust, at this point.
By the time that the fire reaches it's most critical point, I can see several of the city's fire department beginning to arrive. Then any sense of remorse that I have over setting the building ablaze completely leaves me, as I place the cowl back over my head and adjust the goggles over my face. You've done enough for one night, Selina. That bastard Nygma just paid the price, and you saw to that. Message delivered. Now, I just hope I get back home in time to make good on my promise to Arizona. Breakfast on that 5th street cafe, just like she likes.
Hell, I may even treat myself to some of it, too. After a night like this, a girl could use some comfort food to brighten the mood.
"It's nothing dangerous, I feel no pain. I've got to ch-ch-change. You know you've got it when you're goin' insane."
Damn that ringtone. Scared the hell out of me.
I nearly turn the phone off, not in the mood to deal with anyone after what I've gone through tonight - but my curiosity is piqued whenever I discover that it's a number that I would have never expected to see. Especially recently, of all times, given everything that's happened. And I'm just talking about what's been going on in his life, nevermind where
we just happened to leave off.
Wayne, Bruce
1-312-510-1939
Hesitant, yet absurdly unable to resist, I flip open the thing and hold it to my ear. This had better not be a prank of some sort. I'm in such a foul mood that I'd be tempted to scratch someone's eyes out for real.
"You know, for a guy in a coma, you sure know how to use a phone."
"Charming, Miss Kyle, per the usual."
Ah. The aide. I should have guessed.
"I'll take it as a compliment, coming from a gentleman like yourself. What can I do for you?"
"Actually, Miss, it's a bit of an emergency. I was rather hoping I could rely on your... other self, as it were."
My eyebrow raises. This is definitely getting interesting.
"Mr. Jarvis, I am at your disposal."
