Chapter Text
Batman doesn’t say anything about Harley taking the duffle bag, or any of his stuff, which is really nice of him and also proves that he’s definitely rich, because Harley took so much stuff. Mostly just to see if she could. But Batman’s not worried about replacing it. Or if he is, he’s not telling her.
Harley wonders if it’s because he thinks she’ll break if he yells at her.
She wonders if everyone thinks she’ll break if they yell at her. Because no one is. Yelling. At all, which is… weird.
Ivy pulls into the shipyard at Diana’s direction. It’s not hard to spot the Amazon ship. They didn’t really make any concessions to Man’s World when they built it, all golden and gleaming, with oars and sails and a curvy-uppy bit at the front. It stands out among the grey and white freighters like a golden eagle in a room full of pigeons. Not that anyone should ever put golden eagles and pigeons together. That would be cruel. Pigeons are perfectly decent birds, anyway, and they make pretty sounds.
Harley’s sitting in the backseat with her hyenas, because Diana is tall, and she didn’t want to make Wonder Woman try to cram her legs into the back. Now Diana can stretch out and Harley can have her babies next to her. Win-win.
She’s so glad she got them out. Even if she didn’t get anything else. She’d been walking them when she’d had… the thought, and she wasn’t about to leave them behind when she called Ivy to pick her up. She had to leave behind everything else - she’ll probably never see any of her old stuff again, which is…
Is…
She has her babies, anyway, and that’s the most important thing. Mister J never did remember to feed them. Or walk them, or anything. That’s why Harley thought she should get to name them, why she calls them by different names than the ones Mister J gave them.
“So we gotta go up through Canada to get into the ocean, right?” Harley asks, scratching Scoob behind the ear. “I don’t have my passport.”
“Unless you wish to disembark in Canada, you will not need your passport,” says Diana.
“Okay.” Harley looks out the window. She hasn’t seen any of the Justice League around, but she’s sure they’re there. They’re the promise-keeping type. She’s very impressed that she can’t spot any of them, though, because while she didn’t doubt that they thought they could be subtle, she did doubt whether they could actually be subtle. Turns out they can. Neato. She wonders if Batman gave them stealth lessons.
Batman’s a really nice guy, which is weird. Harley sort of knew that he could be nice - he brought her the dress she wanted when she got sent back to Arkham that one time. But jeez. After everything she’s done, everything she’s been involved with…
Everything she forgave the Joker for…
It’s a lot, anyway.
The car bumps up a ramp, onto the golden ship.
Harley strokes Dottie’s ears.
~x~
Three days after Bruce gets the late night (early morning? He never has figured out the proper classification of the early AMs) phone call from Selina, someone tries to burn down the Iceberg Lounge.
Batman arrives before the firetrucks do - unsurprising, given the target. The firefighters are probably scared that it’s a gang altercation, or a supervillain altercation, and they’ll be the next targets.
It’s impressive work. The Iceberg Lounge is full of water. Burning it is no small feat. Flames are licking through the shattered windows, spitting sparks. Bruce is thankful that Cobblepot decided the seals were a bit much last year - the logistics of saving seals from a fire is not really something he has much experience with. Saving humans from a fire, that he can do.
He enters, full-face mask firmly in place, filtering breathable air from the ash and smoke. Tim isn’t with him - he’s been keeping Tim off patrol as much as possible, lately. The Joker may have been quiet since Harley left, but Bruce knows that won’t last, and he’s not going to let that green-haired murder anywhere near Tim. He’s been working with Barbara, learning about how she’s set up her information network. Tim seems to enjoy the work, and Bruce is grateful for it. He doesn’t want to have to worry that Tim’s sneaking out and following him against orders.
It’s been harder to keep Steph out of the field - as she keeps reminding him, she’s not anyone’s sidekick. But Tim, Barbara, and Bruce have been trying to impress on her the danger that the Joker poses to any associate of the Bat’s, particularly in these circumstances, and they seem to be getting through to her. Bruce hopes they’re getting through to her. He also doesn’t want to have to worry that Steph is sneaking out.
And Dick… Dick is in New York, where hopefully he’ll stay, at least until this whole mess is resolved. Bruce didn’t ever think there would be a situation in which he’d be grateful that Dick is so far away from home,, but here he is.
Bruce’s mask feeds him information. Four immobile bodies, dead. Three immobile bodies, living. One body, strung up on the ceiling, living and thrashing around.
Bruce is going to take a wild guess and say the one tied to the ceiling is Cobblepot.
He throws a batarang at the ropes holding Cobblepot up - it’s not a long fall, there isn’t much fire directly beneath Cobblepot, and dropping him means that he won’t inhale as much smoke and thus is more likely to still be conscious when Bruce is done getting everyone out. Conscious people are much easier to question.
He drags two of the living out - one has a bullet wound and blood seeping through their waistcoat, the other has second-degree burns along their arms, both are capable of walking as long as he assists them. Hears sirens. Drops the two far enough away that they won’t be catching stray sparks from the fire. Goes back for Cobblepot and the last person.
Cobblepot hasn’t run. He’s trying to get to something - probably a hidden vault - but the fire is spreading, outpacing him. He swats at his smoking coattails.
Bruce picks up the third unidentified person (knife wound, didn’t hit an artery, did make them pass out) and carries them to where he left the other two. The firefighters have arrived, as have the EMTs. Bruce hands his charge off to them and turns to go back to the Lounge.
“You can’t!” one of the firefighters calls.
The mask means that they can’t see how completely unimpressed Bruce is with that assertion, but he hopes he’s managed to convey it through his body language.
Bruce goes back into the fire - and a beam promptly falls behind him, blocks the entrance. Of course.
Cobblepot has gotten to the vault. He’s pulling out a bag. Even filtered, the air smells like burnt skin. Bruce takes a moment to track the fire, observe its motions, catalogue its paths. Then he runs for Cobblepot. Cobblepot squawks, almost drops the bag, and Bruce lifts him into a fireman’s carry and keeps running. There’s a back door. There’s fire in the hall, but the Batsuit is fireproof, and he can keep Cobblepot away from the worst of it.
Bruce breaks down the back door.
The light from a streetlamp barely reaches the alley. There’s a dumpster, a few fire escapes. A banana peel. A grate. A message, painted in green on the wall across from the door.
I’m coming for her
No one around. The Joker is long gone - if he was here to begin with, if he didn’t just send his goons.
Cobblepot coughs like his lungs are trying to climb up his esophagus. Bruce continues down the alley, keeping an eye out for traps. He doubts there will be any - the burning Lounge doesn’t seem like the Joker’s kind of bait, but better safe than dead. He sets Cobblepot on the ground near the end of the alley. The police will come around soon.
“What did he want with you,” Bruce says. The full-face mask adds another layer of distortion to his voice.
Cobblepot wheezes. His glasses fell off at some point - before Bruce picked him up, or when they were running. It doesn’t matter. Cobblepot could afford fifty thousand new pairs of glasses with money to spare. His suit is scorched. He’s still holding onto the bag. Bruce will figure out what in there is so important in a moment. First things first.
Cobblepot tries to affect a glare, but shrinks back immediately. Maybe it’s the full-face mask. It turns Bruce’s face into a flattened, opaque oval. Featureless. Unreadable. That sort of thing scares some people.
“Harley’s gone,” Cobblepot says. “The Joker’s on the warpath. Quite distressed. Seemed under the impression that I might have delivered his doll from his -” Cobblepot coughs into his fist, ash-colored spittle flecking his fingers. “Ah. Pardon. I disillusioned him. He was... displeased.”
“How did he take you in your own house,” Bruce says.
“Apparently, many of tonight’s patrons were under his patronage. He planned this, quite precisely.” Cobblepot reaches up like he’s trying to push his glasses up and almost pokes himself in the eye. He squints at Bruce. “I don’t know where she is, and I hope she stays quite hidden. The Joker is a brute.”
“I’m aware,” Bruce says. “What’s in the bag.”
Cobblepot clutches it. “Nothing illegal, I assure you.”
“Convincing. Show me.”
The fire roars behind them. Cobblepot glares, then hands Bruce the bag.
Money.
Just money.
Bruce hands it back. “You’re going to the hospital. Smoke inhalation -”
“Yes, I am quite aware,” Cobblepot says. He struggles to stand. He didn’t have his cane when Bruce dropped him from the ceiling - it’s probably in pieces, burning in the Lounge. Bruce steadies Cobblepot and helps him rise.
Cobblepot sniffs, muffles a few more coughs. “I am capable of walking to the ambulance myself, Bat. Flutter off. You have a Joker to deal with.” Cobblepot’s eyes glint. “Give him hell for me, would you?”
Bruce inclines his head, then fires a grappling hook and ascends. He waits on the rooftop to make sure that EMTs reach Cobblepot. When Cobblepot is in their care, Bruce leaves.
~x~
The Joker didn’t burn the Lounge as a message to Batman. He certainly knew it would get the Bat’s attention - but there are plenty of ways to get the Bat’s attention. The Lounge burned because Joker was sending a message to the Gotham Underworld. No one and nothing is safe until he finds Harley.
That’s not going to happen.
Though Bruce elected not to accompany Harley and Ivy to the island, because he is hardly a positive figure in either of their lives, he is getting regular updates from Diana. Harley and Ivy are settling in as well as can be expected. While Harley refused to provide the location of the Joker’s current base, Ivy did provide the location of hers, and the League was able to move all of her things to Themyscira. Ivy seemed calmer after being reunited with her plants, and Bruce thinks the familiar objects may have been a comfort to Harley, as well.
It’s not perfect. It’s not a solution. It doesn’t erase their problems. But it helps.
Now he has to figure out how to minimize the damage the Joker can do as long as he’s on the loose. The first thing is another call to Arkham - he’d given them a call with the vague message “You may need to expect a visit from the Joker. Increase your security,” after Harley had gotten on the ship, but now he can provide them with solid evidence that the Joker is shaking down anyone he can get his hands on for information on Harley.
Then he calls Selina.
“What’s up?” she says.
“Fire at the Iceberg Lounge. The Joker is looking for information on Harley. Tell me you’re being careful,” Bruce growls.
“I said I’d be,” Selina says.
“Then why are you awake at one in the morning.”
“Binge watching the X-Files.”
“Selina.”
“Honestly, B. I’m not going out. I’m not getting dressed. I’m just Selina Kyle, reclusive, cat-loving socialite.”
“Stay on guard.”
“I will. You do the same.”
“Hrm.”
Bruce hangs up.
Then he calls her back.
“Would getting the word out that the Joker’s after Harley make people be on guard against him, or make them try to find Harley to get in good with the Joker?” Bruce asks.
“Depends on the people,” Selina says thoughtfully. “The Arkham crew would probably all be on guard against the Joker - they love Harley and hate the Joker. Every other ne’er do well out there? Who knows. The Joker’s a big boss. He may be a fuckhead, but he’s a fuckhead with money and power, and that’s pretty damn appealing to a lot of people.”
“If you can get word out to the Arkham crew - without putting yourself in danger - do it,” Bruce says.
“You got it, boss man.”
“Hrm.”
Bruce hangs up.
Then he calls her back.
“What?” she demands.
“Be careful,” he says, then hangs up.