Better. And faster, and stronger, and smarter. And wiser. Always trying to get a little of those things. We are trying to get wiser. That's one of those things, wisdom. Which, technically, wisdom comes from experience. So, how you do garner experience? By making yourself live a longer life? Doesn't exactly work that way. So what do we do to garner wisdom? We look to the past. You got to know your past, you got to know your history. History revolves around war. In many ways, history is war. And war is a human endeavour. The worst of human endeavours, but it is an endeavour none the less. And because it is a human endeavour, it reflects human nature. That's why we can learn so much from war, not just about the war itself, but about men. About human nature. And the same goes for principles of war. The principles of war can be applied to life, can be applied to businesses, can be applied to every human endeavour. It can be applied to relationships. A full spectrum of application. Nobody teaches you to use them. To consider the rules of war being applied to the real, humane world.
When you sleep, the morning comes quickly. It's kinda funny, really. When one's awake, the time goes by so slowly sometimes. Especially when there is nothing to do. Sleep at a certain degree was just like that - nothing to do, but lay on your back or a side with closed eyes, and... Do nothing. And yet, the time becomes a flooded river. It's enough to close your eyes and look, a moment later you open them again.
At least that was how Clara felt right now, as she went through her routine, preparing for the mysterious conference that Bruce so insistently asked her to attend. This morning, the woman omitted her usual weight-lifting routine for a calmer yoga practice. There had to be a balance in one's physical training, after all, and Clara had made sure a long time ago to develop a well-rounded physique to accomplish those various goals. Weightlifting was used to develop a strong body frame, strength and musculature. But whilst training only that way, soon one would run into an issue of becoming sluggish, slow and inflexible, and being that way in the military was hardly ideal. Therefore, you have to implement some form of cardio to keep your cardiovascular system in check, and stretching to maintain the mobility of the body. Yoga was always a great option in this field, forcing the woman to both stretch her body, and also maintain mental focus. It was tough, to say the least. Anyone who said that yoga is for the weak probably has never had a proper yoga session. It was a martial art you do against yourself.
The surgeon was quick to get ready. Rather formal attire was taken out of the wardrobe - short-sleeved grey button-up shirt and black, straight pants. The majority of her clothes consisted of the same style, after all. By constantly having suitable wear was simply a matter of time-saving. You don't have to think much about what to wear when almost everything is appropriate. The weather outside seemed nice and warm, so she could omit the jacket this time.
When Clara finally made it to the location where the press conference was set in, it was almost saddening that such a nice morning would be started inside a stuffy room full of people. Reporters, cops, the general public.
"Another inspirational speech, huh?" The surgeon stepped behind a dark-haired, tall man in a dark, striped suit. He flinched, startled from her voice. Clara manoeuvred around his frame, taking her position next to Wayne.
"Not really, Clara. Not this time. Though I'm glad you could make it." Bruce's voice was void of any emotions, posture rigid, indicating something unpleasant coming.
"I keep my promises."
"I know." Before either of them could say anything, the man of the hour, Harvey Dent, stepped on the podium.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for coming. I've called this press conference for two reasons. Firstly, to assure the citizens of Gotham that everything that can be done over the Joker killing is being done." With half-hooded eyes, Clara watched the White Knight moving his head, trying to create an illusion of making eye contact with everybody in the room. "Secondly, because the Batman has offered to turn himself in." The crowd around her reacted, and this time, she stiffened just like Bruce next to her. "But first, let's consider the situation: should we give in to this terrorist's demands? Do we really think that - "
"You'd rather protect an outlaw vigilante than the lives of citizens." A woman behind Clara asked, her voice almost mocking. The surgeon had to lock her jaw to keep herself from throwing back a replica to the reporter.
"The Batman is an outlaw." Dent agreed, giving the noisy crowd an intense look. This time, his blue eyes met Clara's steely ones, acknowledging the fact that the surgeon was here, too. The man continued talking, but the woman didn't listen to him anymore. In her mind, she pondered what the fuck did Wayne think this time. Just... Turn himself in? Was he insane? He must have been. Completely and utterly delusional, that's it.
She did spend enough time with the Joker to speculate that Batman was more of an excuse to cause chaos, rather than the reason. If, of course, the clown even needed a reason. The Batman had a symbolic meaning to Gotham's citizens, whether they consciously realized that or not. If there was no Dark Knight, no arc-force to fight the dark, the hope would soon drain out of them, leaving only an empty shell behind.
The crowd around her cherished, and the woman felt Bruce move next to her a little. "So be it. Take the Batman into custody." Before turning around, Dent gave the surgeon one last glance, curious and more examining this time. It didn't last for longer than a few seconds, but it was enough for Clara to feel unease start to creep up her back. Finally, the man turned, offering his wrists to the officers. "I am the Batman."
This can't be real. A mistake. A grave mistake. A joke, isn't it? Something must have gone terribly wrong. It must have. Because Clara, she couldn't have been wrong. She couldn't. Not this time. Not. This. Time.
With unbelieving eyes, the surgeon stared at Harvey, as he had been escorted from the room, handcuffed and surrounded by security guards. As the man disappeared in the crowd, she slowly turned her eyes towards Bruce, frozen next to her. He, too, kept staring after where Dent has gone, not saying anything. Wrong.
"Did you know?" Her low voice tore through the noise that the crowd of people made, close enough only for the man to hear. "Is this why you invited me? To show who the real Batman is?" There was no malice in Clara's voice, only curiosity. Curiosity and scepticism.
"Yes." Wayne didn't look at her, keeping his eyes on the people around them.
"And is Dent the real Batman? Huh?" That husky tone of hers held something indescribable in it, causing the man to finally turn and gaze at the woman. She met his brown, gentle eyes, communicating without words. Wrong. I know. Wrong.
"You heard what he said." Clara nodded slowly, lips pressed tightly.
"Let it be, Bruce." The surgeon turned and manoeuvred her way out of the crowd, leaving the dark-haired man behind, staring at her retreating form. A moment later, she was already inside her Mustang, staring at the city in front of her. At the police cars. At the reporters. People.
Clara knew Dent was not Batman. She knew. In a very logical, argument-based way. After all, ten-or-so years of her life were spent next to physical beings, analyzing and memorizing their built. Their physiques. Musculature. Bone structure. When you know what to look at, the rest falls into places by itself.
The surgeon met Wayne a day before his party. But once was more than enough to take in the contour of the man's chin, and the way he used to press his thin, long lips firmly. And teeth. It is weird how much one's teeth could tell. A person can dye his hair, put in eye contacts, go through plastic surgery and change his face completely. But you rarely think about taking out and replacing your teeth, do you? Bruce had a very specific set of teeth. When he talked, you could notice his canines and first premolars, whilst his front teeth, central incisors, remained rarely seen. When Batman showed during the party, he came close enough to the woman for her to notice those minuscule details which for the majority would have made no sense at all. But Clara didn't belong to the majority. Not at all. And now, as absurd as it sounded, the surgeon put her money on the man based on his lower facial features.
Home sweet home. This is where she finally found herself. Stepping outside, Clara took in a deep breath of fresh, foresty smell of the suburban surroundings. Home. "Home, huh?" Mirth laced her voice, the pondering whether Dent was the real Batman or not momentary forgotten. "How so?" She shook her head, a tiny smile playing on chapped lips. Not for long.
A black van pulled into the driveway before the woman managed to get to the door, as if following her own car, noting when she gets home to pay a visit. Darkened windows prevented anyone from overseeing the driver inside, but Clara knew exactly who her guest was. She knew it just too well.
Jack stepped outside and started nearing her, those deep scars visible from a long distance. The man's face was bare this time, the purple suit exchanged for a simple black t-shirt and jeans. If Clara didn't know who exactly the man was, she wouldn't give him a second glance. Or would, actually, but for an entirely different reason.
"Look who's crawling back. Already miss me?" The surgeon half-shouted, sarcasm coating her words. The Joker stopped just in front of her, his jaw locked tightly.
"Crawling back, huh? Do I look like a man who crawls back?" Before she could answer, he gripped her upper arm, his fingers not going completely around the bicep, and dragged the woman towards the door. "C'mere." Clara watched the Joker pull out a key - her key - from his pocket, unlock the door and force her inside. So much for the private space. That's how he was getting inside her house so easily. Not through a gaping hole in the attic, which Clara has never found. She allowed the man to feel powerful, not saying anything nor resisting to be dragged around like a rag doll. When they were inside, he closed the door and finally faced the surgeon. "If you were one of my men, I wouldn-t have hesitated to put a bullet in your hea-d by now." His eyes were black, two abysses staring at her.
"Should I feel lucky to not be one of them?"
"It depends."
"On what?"
"Yo-o-ou." Jack got even closer, bringing his handsome face right in front of her own. "Whether ya will be a good girl and do what I say." The woman's eyes cooled down, harsh, grey colour stared back into the clown's.
"Do what? Follow Dawes like a lost puppy? Huh? Keep an eye on her?" Clara forced out a mocking smile, although, on the inside, she was hardly laughing. "Sorry, sweet pea, not my cup of tea. Perhaps, for once, do your dirty little works yourself?"
"You have no idea what I do. And trust me, ya don't wanna turn down my, uh, request." A wicked grin formed on Jack's face, twisting those macabre wounds. The next words were barely whispered, but for Clara, they seemed like a Banshee's scream, echoing in an empty area. "After all, some secrets are better left buried, righ-t? Dirty little secrets-s-s." Clara's eyes widened, the pupils shrinking to tiny, little dots. He knew. How much did he know?
"You... Clown." She hissed out, grimacing, exposing those white, straight teeth that were meant to indicate one's happiness, and not fear. Not terror.
"I see you accept my little task, doncha, little assassin?" Silence met the man's question, frozen eyes staring at him. "Now, back to business, shall we?" He turned around, motioning something with his hands. "I need ya to bring the girlie to one place, tie her u-p, and leave. Simple as that. Whilst I," He turned towards her, the grin back on his face. "I will follow Harvey Dent."
"And if you catch him?"
"I will catch him."
"Okay." She smirked, rolling her eyes. "When you catch him, what's next?" The Joker stared at her intently, half a minute passed by till he finally spoke.
"You don't think he is the Batsy, d'ya?"
"How would I know that?"
"It's a matter of belief, not knowledge, toots. If Dent is not the Batman, that means he is a bai-t to lure me out, so the real Batman could, uh, play."
"In other words, the only thing what would happen is you get into trouble by stepping into a well-placed trap."
"Is that a sweet spot that y'have towards me talkin'?" Clara lifted one eyebrow, staring at the man with dead seriousness. Joker neared her, invading the surgeon's personal space, placing two bare hands on her strong shoulders. "Soon, very soon, you will see that the world is not exactly how you think it is. Good breaks. The, uh, Evil is not always evil. Giving one a choice is hardly evil, little assassin. Bu-t," He came even closer so that she could feel his breath on her lips. "when Good gets a chance to choose, ya will see it turn Evil. Because in the end, even Good will go for his personal interest, and not the wellness of those around him." The Joker put his scared cheek to the side of her own face, nuzzling the skin softly. "What a funny world we live in, little assassin." The woman closed her eyes, savouring the feeling of soft tissue rubbing against her skin. A paradox. Too much of a paradox.
Clara was hardly a woman of feelings. In fact, not at all. The majority of times, she used to ignore them till the moment when she could sit down and calmly analyze them. It's what the Scarecrow had taught her. Moral debates didn't bother her until she allowed them to, and it always happened in private places, segregated from others. But now, a war raged inside her mind, probably showing clearly in those stormy eyes of her. And the worst part was, the surgeon didn't even know why she might have wanted to help the criminal in the first place. It was scary to act on nothing. Such a funny world, indeed.
"250 52nd Boulevard. Leave a speakerphone on the ground. Y'should leave the girlie in front of barrels. Close." The voice spoke near Clara's ear, making her skin break into goosebumps. "Tell her-r-r... That only one of them, her and Harvey, is going to make i-t. That their friends choose. Everything else, my men will take care of." The clown abruptly backed, creating a distance between them. Those brown eyes stared at her, beautiful paintless face concentrated and examining. "Don-t let me down, toots. The, uh, consequences will no-t be pretty."
"Don't threaten me, clown."
"You don't believe me to expose your true identity, d'ya?" The madman grinned, his teeth glistening in the sunlight that came through the window. At some time during their talking, they moved towards the living room, now standing in front of the empty fireplace. "Well, little assassin. Try no-t to do what I politely asked. And then watch me." He finally turned, walking towards the door. Not looking at her, the Joker added. "By the way, I, uh, borrowed your bazooka earlier this morning. For an indefinite amount of time." Before Clara could say anything, he opened and closed the door, gently and so dissimilar to the first time when he paid the surgeon a visit. And even if his departure was delayed, she wouldn't have had anything to reply.
The Joker did give her a choice. A choice between being exposed, or become a part of a crime. Embrace the tiny creature that continuously slept inside her head, never disappearing for too long nor too far. What did the clown say, huh? Even Good will go for his personal interest, and not the wellness of those around him. Clara considered herself belonging to the good, not harming side. The majority of the time. But now, when the alternatives were presented, a self-preservation instinct kicked in, forcing her to choose the less painful option. Less painful for Clara, but hardly others.
After all, the woman was a survivor.
She took in a deep gulp of air as if breathing for the first time. Clara did feel dizzy as if not breathing for three, four, five minutes. Time went by quicker than she would like it to. A long-fingered hand started feeling around her pockets, looking for a small device. Taking out the phone, Clara dialled a number that she had remembered by accident when looking through secured papers from Lucius's drawer.
"Yes?"
"Hello, Rachel." The phone was silent for a moment, the woman on the other end trying to figure out who was calling. It didn't take too long, though.
"Doctor Moore. That's doctor Moore, right? We've met at Bruce's party."
"Yes. You are correct."
"Where did you get my number? It's a private line, you can't find it that easily. Has anything happened for you to call me?"
"A friend of yours provided it, after hearing the reason for my need."
"I'm listening."
"Is there a possibility for us to meet this evening? I have... Sort of an emergency going on, and I need your help."
"What is that?"
"You're assistant district attorney, am I correct?"
"Yes."
"There is this... Situation, which I have no intentions discussing on the phone." Rachel was quiet for a few seconds. She was a quick thinker - Clara noticed - responding well to high-pressure situations. Probably a quality, achieved with long work-hours in the field of law.
"We can meet this evening, I will text you the final location soon. Right now, I'm not even sure where I will be. Everything's so messed up, Harvey and everything. Is that alright with you?"
"It is."
"Should I prepare anything? Is your situation serious? If something, I can contact a reputable lawyer to come with me and discuss it together." The concern could be heard in her soft, gentle voice. A genuine worry for Clara's well-being. The surgeon swallowed hard, staring at the grey wall in front of her.
"No need, Rachel. At least not right now. First, I want to make sure there is something you, folks, can help me with."
"As you wish. Is this your number, or are you calling from the hospital?"
"It is my personal phone."
"Then I will text you the location when I know it."
"Good." Clara closed her steely eyes, jaw locked tightly, almost to the point of being painful.
"Well... See you in the evening, doctor Moore. Bye for now, I guess." Her bright tone echoed in the surgeon's ear, not cheerful, no, but not expecting anything bad to happen either.
"Goodbye." Watch me, Jack. Watch me.
In the military, there were some rules in terms of one's physical appearance. Clothes, uniform, or a white doctor's coat should have always been spotless and wrinkleless, face cleanly shaved, hair tamed. If women wore makeup, it had to be subtle, bare touches. After coming back, the majority of time Clara's long, black hair were left down, nothing in them, bare of braids and ponytails. But now, she felt as if being in the war again, stepping in a high-pressure situation once more, so it seemed only suitable to prepare for it, not just mentally, but physically, too. The surgeon took her silky, straight locks into one low, tight ponytail, not leaving any untamed strands. A mission, it's what it was. A simple assignment. Nothing more.
Clara went inside the room that she used mainly for experimentations. A home-lab, if it needed to get an official name. She took out powdered, pure diphenhydramine, putting a little bit of the substance in a plastic bag. Now the surgeon was ready.
A few hours later, Clara was sitting inside her Mustang, driving to where Rachel was waiting for her. Or, to be more precise, to the coffee shop first, where she ordered two cups, one black, and the other with some milk and sugar. She hoped that the woman would like it, and since milk and sugar were the most popular ingredients in the typical coffee, the surgeon opted for those two. That, and the fact that sugar would suppress the taste of the drug. Before she started driving to her final destination, Clara put the diphenhydramine inside the lighter drink.
There was a reason why the surgeon opted for diphenhydramine, and not, for example, Rohypnol or ketamine, although she had them both standing right next to it. Whilst they were effective enough to delete one's memory for a few hours, these drugs were not that easy to get your hands on if you were a common citizen. These problems didn't exist if you're a doctor. If they happened to find a very confused Rachel, the blood work would show exactly what was used. An illegal drug, which would indicate a violent assault. Not with diphenhydramine. The thing is, diphenhydramine was actually used to treat insomnia and the overdose of it manifested as sedation and confusion. If someone would run blood work on her, they might get to the conclusion that Rachel used too many sleeping pills. Bearing in mind the current situation, Dent admitting being the Batman, nobody would be surprised if the woman needed some aid when falling asleep.
From a fair distance Clara have already noticed her standing, looking lost and... Lonely. She parked the Mustang right next to Rachel, stepped outside holding two cups of coffee in her hands. "I thought you needed some." She murmured, motioning with her cup-holding hand towards their surroundings. A bleak building, grey, cool evening, a gloomy vibe in the air. She caught a small, barely noticeable smile on Rachel's lips when she turned towards her, eyeing the black, sleek car.
"You guessed correctly. Tough day, doctor." She took the cup, immediately gulping down the already cooled liquid. "So, what it is that I needed to help you with?" Clara kept a watchful eye on her prey. It only takes a few minutes to start working. With such a dose, perhaps even less.
"Well, to start with, there is this man."
"A man?" Rachel lifted her eyebrows, giving Clara an examining look which already started blurring.
"Hmm. A very annoying one, may I add. He wanted me to deliver you a message." The surgeon stepped just in time to catch Rachel before she fell to the ground. "And I would, I definitely would, if only you were slightly more conscious and understood what I say." Now Clara started doubting whether she didn't give her a little too much of the substance. The effects shouldn't have been so abrupt. "Nevermind. Let's not stress about it, shall we?" The surgeon dragged Rachel towards her car, leaving two cups with spilt coffee on the ground. She laid her in the back seat, leaving the woman for a moment to collect those two cups and throw them into a public bin. No need to litter around. Also, they might cause suspicion. No need for that either.
It took at least ten minutes to reach the location which the Joker indicated. Luckily enough, the area was empty, people inside their home warming, cozing around each other, since the day was grey and too bleak to spend time outside. Clara stepped outside, rounded the car, and lifted Rachel in her arms. The woman was light to hold, comfortable enough to carry inside an abandoned building. Just like Jack had said, there was a wall of barrels behind a single chair, ropes left on the ground. She put barely awake Rachel on it and started bounding her.
"What... Are you doing?"
"Tying you up." With these words, she started wiggling, moving her arms and feet. "Stop doing that, Rachel. You will only fasten the ropes even further. It's a blood knot. Even I couldn't release you now."
"Why are you doing this? What will happen to me?" Now she started panicking, terror could be heard in that gentle tone of hers. Clara stepped from behind so that they could make eye contact. Slowly, she lowered herself in a low-squatting position so to be in the same height.
"I honestly don't know, Rachel. Probably something horrible. As for why I'm doing this..." Clara licked her chapped lips, keeping those stormy eyes on the woman's panicking ones. "There are some things that I've done in my past that my future is being threatened with. Horrible things, just like this one." She stood to her full height now, turning around and going towards the exit. The surgeon heard Rachel murmuring something behind her, but she hushed it out, ignoring the woman's plead. Her mission was completed.
"Don't leave me!"
"Watch me, Rachel." Clara closed the heavy door, turning off the shouts. She made her way to the car, driving back home. Home.
Trust and wisdom. Two things that were hard to gain. But trust without wisdom was hardly an ideal case.
As Clara stepped outside, two men met her, police cars parked in front of her house. "Clara Moore? We are here to investigate the sudden disappearance of Ira Lowsen fifteen years ago and your connections with this woman."
Watch me, little assassin.
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Song of the chapter: Linkin Park - In The End (Mellen Gi & Tommee Profitt Remix)