#Jerome Valeska x batsis!OC

[simpingwriter]

More shit that definitely happened and will happen:

Tim: What do we think of Jerome?

*pause*

Bruce: *sighs after seeing Faith's glare*

...Nice pal, i guess.

Dick: I think he's gay as hell.

Jason: *chokes on Capri-sun*

_______________________

Tim: Don’t you guys read the papers?

Damian: Only the funnies.

Bruce:

Bruce: You mean the obituaries.

Damian: Oh, potato, pohtato…

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Faith: You ever see something that changes your life and you're just like "huh..."

Jerome: I saw you, beating down a man two times your height for me.

Faith: Honestly that's so cute and sweet but it kinda makes this awkward because I was gonna show you a picture from last year of Jason in a turkey costume.

Jerome: ...no fucking way, show me :0

[simpingwriter]

Wayne Fam Podcast: talking about the stupid shit they pulled as kids.

Faith: "So one time, when I was 8, I farted into a Gatorade Bottle, locked it up and smelled it like six weeks later."

Jason: *has a whole ass vietnam flashback to that day* "..."

Dick: "Was it there?"

Faith: "No doubt, no fucking doubt-"

Tim: *keels over laughing on the couch, fighting for air*

Jason: "...I almost threw up...it was so...vile."

Dick: "The fuck you eat those six weeks ago??"

Faith: "THE SAME AS YOU ALL!"

Jason: "I highly fucking doubt that!"

[simpingwriter]

Jerome Valeska

x

Faith Wayne/Phoenix

'All you need is

a bit of Faith'

pt.9

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Phoenix takes Jerome for a ride and soon after beats in some faces, to be able to give the pretty ginger his second lesson of the day.

And does the boy slowly start to find his voice again thanks to Phoenix's lead?

Enjoy! :)

Word Count: approx. 3.600 Words

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You left through the front door of the Apartment with Jerome, like a decent human being for once and not through the window again. Once out of the apartment building, you enter the most recent, possible addresses into your watch, activating the GPS of it that's connected to your personal "Batcycle". Though Dick is right with his opinion, that it's less a BATcycle than a Phoenixcycle. But the latter sounds incredibly stupid, so you stick with your dad's version for it until you're grazed with the right name during a warm shower.

Wordlessly, you start to cross the street, Jerome following close behind, tagging along with blind trust. Of course you pulled out a different pair of your shorts beforehand, still having been unable to find the strength to NOT stare straight downwards when he isn't looking. And if even you lost this battle, how would other women or certain men without your training of self-control react??

Jerome is just about to ask you where you're taking him, until with the press of a button on the screen of the same watch, you uncover the hiding spots of your previously cloaked vehicle.

"Wait…we're taking the Batcycle?!" Not THE batcycle, one of them, but yes. That's why you made him take the helmet, because while you gave two rat's nasty shitholes about helmets, you didn't want him to hurt himself in case his grip grows weak or you accidentally forget he's on as well and take a corner too sharp. Has all happened before and with every time something along the kind happened, you loved helmets more and more for existing.

You and Damian still have a secret that you keep from your dad, preferably taking it to each of your graves, about how you two went on Patrol together and he practically begged you on his knees – yes, you're still talking about Damian, the Gremlin you call your half-brother – to take him for a ride during it, since he of course wasn't allowed to drive himself yet, having been 12 years only at that point of the event.

And since he weighs basically nothing while on the bike, you…well…you kinda forgot he is on there and while you took a corner so tight it turned into you drifting, you only heard him shout your name a few meters already behind you.

Damian fell off your motorcycle that night, thankfully besides a few scratches nothing happened, but damn, you BOTH almost shat your costumes that patrol, yes even Damian, the kid that argues that he fears nothing. He fears your driving style since then.

"Yes we are, that's the helmet for. Put it on and hurry up. The longer we wait, the more time he has to find out that nothing happens to him…well, law-wise. A broken rib or two? Yeah, he won't escape THAT." He is quick to nod and follow your instructions, letting you get on first, watching with constant interest as you sit down on your cape. If you didn't, chances were high he gets smacked by it…and falls off. And still, you wanted to avoid that. 

Once you give him the okay, he carefully sits behind you, but you help out a bit when he hesitates about holding onto you. "I don't bite…too hard...i mean, unless you want me to leave a mark." You tease, looking over your shoulder with a toothy, mischievous grin after you made sure that he held on tightly. "Do NOT ease your grip, if anything, hold on even tighter if you're worried. And tell me when I'm going too fast for you." While you couldn't see it, because of the helmet, the shaking of his hands and his nod told you enough of his current mood: two inches away from shitting enough bricks to remodel Wayne Manor. But you didn't know if it was because of the ride alone, since the Batcycle isn't exactly slow – Your Dad's, yours and those of your siblings all got equal Speed – or maybe even from the close proximity right now?

He did after all even flinch from you just touching his thigh as Faith back in Jim's Car yesterday. Was it that far off to think that he simply isn't used to getting touched, or at least, getting touched without it leaving a bruise or a cut afterwards? What a depressing thought and possibility...but you could understand it. Been like that when you were still young and had only recently been taking in by your Father and Alfred as well, flinching and dodging at every moment you felt their hands coming even close to you. It took a whole year for you to lose all your physical restraint, to actively hug Dad or Alfred, and respectively your adoptive brothers as well.

"Relax, everything is going to be fine." But no matter how serious and honest your words were meant, they wouldn't just erase all the former pain he went through like that, and you knew that, it didn't erase all of yours back then either. You wished they had, that you would've let dad in earlier. Because now that you knew of the dangers of not only his but also now your...life...you were made aware of how quickly you could lose the people you cared for the most.

You still remembered the day the Joker killed Jason, like it was yesterday, the pain of hearing the news from Dad...

Following the GPS through the streets, you kept your eyes out for anything of similar suspicion in different alleyways and so on. After all you're still on Patrol either way, though Day-Patrols usually were much much calmer than the more common night ones. Since Gotham's Criminal Underworld Slime more often crawled out of their holes at night, so it wasn't much use to do Patrols during daylight. With more and more time spent on the bike, you felt Jerome slightly relax into it. And with that, you didn't mean the ride itself, no, that clearly still had him on the edge.

You meant the close body contact. He seemed much more alright with actively holding onto you now, pressing himself into your smaller back, his arms wrapped around your waist, presumably to not have to witness the actual levels of speed your bodies currently traveled at. Good news for him and "his" underwear – thank the gods for you owning some boxershorts for comfort's sake – then that you reached the first address, and from the noise coming from one of the warehouses, it seems like you had hit the right spot on the first try. Unusual but you wouldn't turn your nose at that. "You good?" You turn to ask him once you get off the motorcycle, concealing it once more like earlier. Despite the jacket you gave him, he shook. So he couldn't push onto the fact that he was cold.

He was probably scared shitless from the whole ride, so you were quick to pull the helmet off of his head with some gentleness that was rare for Phoenix, placing it into the nearest bush for departure later before coming back to the ginger, watching him try to tame his now wild ginger locks, "You drive like a maniac..." Well, duh…you got places to be, you don't have the time to stop at red lights or remember traffic rules, "...Would you rather drive then?" That made him slightly frown at you, crossing his arms, "Me and which driver's license?" Which made you laugh almost too loud for the current situationand place you're in, throwing your head back before you calmed yourself down again, "Good…good fucking joke. You think I got an official license?? Never made one...yet, but the GCPD knows that I can drive and that it's the last thing on my list of intentions to hurt innocent people while driving." Plus, while you ignored some basic rules for driving regularly, like driving on the wrong side and so on…you knew them, you knew them very well. 

You drove like a normal person when in Gotham as your normal self too, you just don't get pulled aside because the Police knows you – still meaning Faith in that case – that you're basically the left hand of Gordon. And someone who works for the Commissioner has to have a license, right?! Nah. You're lucky that they are that naive, and at the same time, it worries you about the general intelligence the officers have…

"You don't have one?" "Learned how to drive from my dad, Red Hood and Batman." One of the "three" was a horrible teacher for driving. No, it's not Batman.

Usually it was Alfred who taught every Robin how to handle the vehicles you get to use during Patrols, but when it was your turn, Alfred had just broken his arm due to a soapy mistake from Jason trying to clean up in the kitchen. So of course, as punishment – which indirectly ended up being one for you as well, as one might deduct from your driving skill/style – it became Jason's stand-in job to teach you the basics. Worst decision…well one of them…your dad ever made.

The absolute worst was fucking your hellspawn of a mother nearly 19 years ago, creating you in the process, but that's a different kind of subject for a different kind of day. Definitely not fitting for today.

"I'm guessing your connections to the GCPD kept you on the street for that long?" Jerome went on to ask as you two crossed the street to get to the warehouses lined up at the riverside, "Hit the nail on the head, yeah." Then, you signal him to keep quiet from now on, to stay back further until you gave him the sign that he could come in. You didn't need him to get hurt because you dragged him into gunfire and overly aggressive Gang Members. To that came that you needed all your focus on defending yourself already, having to split your attention on keeping him fucking alive would put you into danger as well.

Once you have managed to stash the boy away behind some crates outside the warehouse, you pull out your grapple gun from the tool belt, aiming at the roof's edge. "See you in a bit, pretty boy." Of course you had to drop that nickname again, who would you be if you didn't tease him every five minutes to watch the blood shoot back up into his face and his dark green eyes widen with shock. 

Though this time you didn't get much time to admire the effect your words had on him, already getting pulled up to the roof when you finished speaking to him, using your hands to pull yourself up the edge at the end before slowly making your way over to one of the few roof access hatches. You had so many encounters in so many building types and places, that you knew some of the ways they were built better than you knew what kind of clothes you owned. The latter was getting out of control anyways, you need to clean up again soon-

Shaking your head, you get back to the actual problem at hand, dropping down through the hatch onto one of the horizontal metal beams holding the warehouse together and stable during storms. From up here, you had the perfect view downwards to the culprits of all that noise, two separate groups in the middle of a deal.

And with them? The suspect, visibly anxious from his body language. He still thought that he was in danger after the day you caught him at the crime scene. Why the hell did he return anyways if it was a crime related to Penguin and not a personal one? Usually these types of murders don't result in the killer returning, but instead in reporting his actions to whomever he worked for, for protection in case of repercussions. Repercussions in the form of a vigilante's fist, foot or weapon.

…

What if it wasn't a Penguin-related murder but actually personal?

Just because he worked for that short, stumbling umbrella obsesses prick, doesn't mean every crooked thing he does is for the Penguin, as Cobblepot had a thing for taking henchmen that already weren't "innocent little boys" to begin with. Usually they had their history with law enforcement before, or even the Vigilantes if they and their bones were unfortunate…

The deal itself was common, but currently doing its rounds at the many riverside warehouses again more than elsewhere: Gun Trades, of course. Let's hope only the ones they're holding are loaded. Then again, whoever the second group is from are from and the Penguin are not exactly friends of their henchmen using the guns, "the precious ware", in trade without explicit Permission from either one of the "Bosses". The day you take fucking Oswald Cobblepot serious is the day your life takes a healthy turn, you'll start a family and all. Fuck, as of you get to settle down, ever. Especially with the conscious knowledge keeping you awake that these criminals will have field day with the day you "retire", just like with anyone else that was part of your crime-fighting family.

But that will never happen, so no kids pulling at your pant legs, constantly endangered by your second life at night. At least something you can be certain of is that Cobblepot will always stay a goddamn joke in your eyes. One easily killed Joke, but your Dad of course doesn't let you, because it's against the rules he taught you all, even Jason. While he is right, and you kept to that rule...mostly, it was also such a goddamn…Bore.

Spying out the deal from above, you pinned down the actual number of threats, and calculated how many would potentially run away. The suspect would belong to that group, from what you watched, as he was obviously still very jumpy as you previously deducted. But you couldn't have that, he was the main target in all of this, you needed him here, you needed him conscious.

So a smoke bomb it was.

As soon as it hits the ground, dispersing the light powder inside all around its usual area, you put on your mouth guard against it. "Well hello there, boys! So sorry I had to blow up your little get-together…by the way, you still know each other from school by any chance?!" Was your witty remark, having jumped down to take out the first two with your feet, their short lived grunts your good to go before you continue with the others.

From the corner of your eyes, you saw the main target of yours trying to slip away by using the chaos that now broke out, which was quickly hindered by a quick hip-aimed fire of your gun. Non lethal rubber bullets, just like Jason, of course. But they were still very much capable of fracturing bones and internal bleeding if used right or…"wrong".

The howl coming from the target indicated a fracture though, or at least, he wouldn't be able to run anymore when you checked up on him and he still laid in the same spot, whimpering to himself while holding his hit leg.

Reholstering the gun, you turned back to his friends, immediately getting to dodge their blind attempts at swinging their fists into you or with their makeshift weapons of…oh yeah…yeah…crowbars. Everyone's not favorite. 

Swiftly you kick some of them out of their hands, the metal clanking across the warehouse floor. Can't they just give up for once? You're not here for them anyways!

Not two minutes later, the smoke bomb finally settled again, you had incapacitated every one of them, using some zip ties for now to hold them here till you had informed the GCPD. That left only one.

"...seems like you're the last one for me to deal with, huh?" You call out with a lazy grin, taking your time walking over to him as you re-pocket the flare you didn't need, knowing there was nowhere to run for him. "Jerome! You can come in now!!" Was the next thing you shout, already dragging the complaining man behind you to one of the other metal beams that support the weight of the roof.

Turns out, he was already watching anyway, coming out from behind the massive warehouse door, mouth hanging wide open as he stared at the aftermath of your fiery encounter, the smellof singed clothes and plastic hanging in the air. "Holy shit…that was so fucking badass!" He exclaims, unfreezing from his shock, covering ground while stepping unfazed over the unconscious bodies of the criminals. "Didn't I tell you to stay behind the crates?" "Well…yeah.. but-" "You got too curious?" He nods sheepishly, expecting you to stay angry at him, just like his mother would have probably. But why should you, it wasn't too dangerous, they didn't have any guns besides the ones in the crates. If anything: he finally seems to find his own free will in himself again, something that was stripped away forcefully from him when he grew up. Curiosity is important to an extent, especially for self growth. But usually that's a lesson for kids...not an almost 19 year old boy.

"It's fine, come here and help me, we need to tie him against this beam…" you order, motioning him over with your head and holding out another zip tie to him. "W-what do you fucking want from me?!" The man asks with a stutter in his voice, clearly very aware of how fucked he was the same moment he knew it was Phoenix who blew up whatever weapons deal was about to happen here. "Eh…just some answers to some questions. In exchange…hmm…" you act like you're thinking about it for a moment, until you grin at him, menacingly. Because who are you shitting here, you and Jerome knew exactly what you would press against him.

The sole reason you looked for him, this pain in the ass!

"In exchange, I won't drag you with my bike all the way across the pavement of Gotham to the precinct for the Commissioner himself to deal with you…I know what you did, you're behind the murder at the Asylum two weeks ago." With a tone that erased any chance of him suspecting that you were technically just guessing. But to be fair, it was pretty certain it was him. "W-wh-what?!" Here comes the denia- "How did you find out it was me?!" Or not. Huh. 

Then he scoffs, grasping his last bit of confidence it felt like as he looks you directly into your masked white eyes, "You work with Batman, you're nothing but one of his stupid Sidekicks, you can't- AHHH!" Okay, so maybe mild intimidation won't pull here today (plus no one calls you a sidekick), so without much of a warning, you had pulled back your leg quickly. And kicked with full strength into his upper ribs, watching him ring for air in his lungs now, spit dripping from his mouth as he coughs. Soon the tears followed and you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, getting close and personal.

"With the help of a little bird, saw you at the crime scene about…three days ago? They were kind enough to give me your description to…deal…with you." Cracking your knuckles loudly at the end, starting the mild intimidation for now as he was already breathing heavily. Hyperventilating and passed out, he would be of no use to you.

"Listen, you small fry fool, never think that just because me and the others aren't the Bat himself that we can't deal the same terrible cards as him. Now I recommend following my rules by spilling what your tiny little pea brain has stored up there…and I won't indebt you with a mile long hospital bill after I'm done with you." Was your hissed threat, throwing him back against the ground and metal beam, his head bouncing off the latter. 

You would be here for quite a while if he was as stubborn as he made himself out to be-

"Fine…fine…i- i-i'll talk!" Booo, what a boring ass show, next channel...

Frowning, you kneel down to his current height, shaking your head, "You guys really know how to ruin one's fun, damn. Well fine then, I will take you for your word…" looking up to Jerome, you stand back up, take a few steps back and cross your arms. "I'll start with an easy one: Was the murder Cobblepot's order? …or was it personal?" Because if it actually turned out to be because of a personal dispute with the victim, you could still bring him in to Gordon.

Sure, you just said you wouldn't. But that was in case it's the first option you gave him with this question���plus that meant you wouldn't drag him behind your batcycle. It was a huge mistake to take everything you specifically said at face value, having taken a liking to be a bit of a deceiver and trickster towards people that had a negative standing with you. Yeah okay, you did that with your Brothers too every once in a while. Just to mess with them though.

Jerome first looked a bit surprised at the second question, since he thought you were certain that it was a job done for the Penguin. But clearly that wasn't the case anymore as you glare at the man.

"...That man was my brother."

Oh dear. Fratricide. Flavorful murder.

Didn't answer your actual question though, so with one boot getting placed on his already hurting ankle, you lean over him against the beam, "But was it for the Penguin, fucking hell!" "NO! That…that bastard fucked my sister!" Wait, wait, wait...what? His sister? But they were brothers. "You mean-" "He was ADOPTED! Now please...my foot!!!" Following his pitiful plea, you take your own foot off of his, still glaring at him, "Fine…"

What could you ask nex-

"Is the Penguin having any other similar deals like this soon?" Was that just…Jerome? Eyebrows pulled up as high as they possibly could be, you half turn towards the ginger, who looked like he tried so hard to seem tough. He did a bit, but he still looked like a partially kicked puppy, standing a bit awkward behind you. But unexpected or not, it drew a smile on your formerly cold, more calculated face. Once you knew that he saw your silent approval of his sudden decision to speak up, you're facing the man again.

"What he asked. Speak, or I fuck up your second ankle and make you walk a mile or two." Maybe ten. Depends on your mood to hurt criminals without killing them. That must've sounded anything but fun to him, you don't even know why, and he shook his head violently, "N-NO ANYTHING BUT THAT! I...rather fry in Blackgate …Penguin...he made some of his higher men plan a heist on Gotham's Main Centre Bank. It's supposed to happen any week next month, but nothing specific has been dated yet…please…p-please, I don't know anymore!" More? He knew of a planned heist, even if not exactly when, but it's going to be enough for the Batcomputer back home. That and hearing out some more of the said higher-ups in Cobblepot's ranks. An easy job for everyone.

"Jerome, call the GCPD, to come pick up the crooks around us." You tell the ginger while kneeling down to take the man off the metal beam, throwing your phone into his fumbling arms. He did so immediately, explaining the situation, and without having to tell him, he let's it sound like he is a civilian that came across these men already out cold. Such a good boy he is. Don't good boys deserve a little treat?

"Wait? Where are you taking me?" "The Precinct." Was the only thing you said for now, re-doing his zipties once getting him onto his one healthy foot, dragging him forward until you reached Jerome. "You thought ahead, didn't tell them you're with me, pretty boy." And before he could reply to that, you pull him down by the old baggy t-shirt of yours he wore now, placing a near feather-light kiss on the corner of his lips, his eyes widening like saucers, before getting back to the main task at hand and walking past him to get back to the Batcycle. 

"Are you coming or not?" "...O-of course, Phoenix!" Not just a good boy. A good boy that's pretty and smart.

[simpingwriter]

Masterlist for:

Jerome Valeska

x

Faith Wayne/Phoenix

'All you need

is a bit of Faith'

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Chapters:

Current Total Word Count: approx. 29,318 Words

- Chapter 1/Prolog

- Chapter 2

- Chapter 3

- Chapter 4

- Chapter 5

- Chapter 6

- Chapter 7

- Chapter 8

- Chapter 9

- Chapter 10 [TBA]

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Book-Playlist:

(Always new songs getting added, depending on my mood during writing and even off-writing listening.)

[simpingwriter]

Jerome Valeska

x

Faith Wayne/Phoenix

'All you need is

a bit of Faith'

pt.7

___________________

...but in exchange, I got TWO chapters done! Wooo yeah baby~ 😎

First time of the family in the story, MediNait Blackout Fest, then hitting up the ginger the next morning as Phoenix.

Enjoy! :)

Word Count: approx. 3.410 Words

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When you park your motorcycle in front of the garage, you can already see the light coming from the living room and kitchen windows of the Manor, and it wasn't weird for the time of day either, it's 7PM by now and that usually meant it's time for dinner.

Unfortunately you were absolutely out of spare clothes in your backpack, so you had to literally decide between driving home dressed like an escapee from Arkham or go through the exhausting troubles of getting into your Phoenix-costume until back home.

Dad and his reputation can thank you for having enough cells in your body left that know what shame is and what it feels like to a certain extent which in the end practically forced you into the tight costume.

Add to that that you were absolutely losing your literal mind with the cold clogging up near all holes available to your airways, you were grateful that you could drive home relatively safely in the first place. "God I hope I got some MediNait left in my first aid cabinet, that no one raided it…again, while I was gone." You mumble to yourself while turning the main house key in the lock, though before you can finish turning it, the door gets pulled inwards, close to dragging you along had you not some sense of balance left in your limbs.

On the other side, the culprit of opening the door was none other than Jason, brows pulled up when he looked you up and down, "You look like you died and came back as well." Probably because you're starting to feel exactly like that, more and more by the hour too. "...Cool. Now let me in, Jay…" Pushing past him, you rip your Mask off first, then your gloves, then your boots. The worst things first.

Then you lie down with a groan, feeling the tiled foyer floor cool down your skin, wondering how there wasn't steam rising from you by now already. "The hell happened to you??" your older "brother" asks, poking your side with one socked foot before crouching down next to you at the height of your head. "Gotham River… that's what happened." You cough out, rolling onto your back just in time to see the rest fill into the Foyer. "The cat brought in a dead firebird?" Damian jokes, doing the same thing Jason did, poking you with his foot. This family was mostly not by blood, that didn't mean that you all didn't copy or learn stupid shit from each other, this being one of the many examples.

"How is the River the reason you look this shi- bad? Dad informed us that you're doing undercover work for the Commissioner in Arkham." Well, the river is right next to that shithole. "Does that really matter now, Master Jason? Clearly Lady Faith is not in the condition to argue with you as usual."

You were, you just didn't want to. Too tired and exhausted…okay…maybe you weren't in the condition, point taken.

"You're getting a cold, aren't you, Lady Faith?" Full course into one, yes. "Alfred, how do you know it's a cold?" At that, Dick needs to laugh, pointing down at Damian now, "Damian is sick too, since this morning, that's how." Of course it's always the siblings connected by blood that end up sick at the same fucking time, it's somehow always like that, but never Damian first. He just follows up and immediately everyone goes: "Faith, since when have you been carrying that shit around without asking for help?" You refuse to ask anyone but Alfred for help, because everyone else is absolutely helpless in these situations. So why ask in the first place if you know you only end up getting half buried alive again like last time??

A shiver runs down your spine, incidentally so did Damian shake, glaring at you, "You're a curse, sister." "And you're a brat…that refuses his Jacket even in a blizzard, obviously a…a damn skill issue." More coughing later, Alfred and Bruce are done watching this miserable scene, one of them helping you back to your feet while the other escorts everyone back to the Dining room. And the sight would almost bring tears to your face: Hot, steaming Chicken Noodle Soup, most definitely cooked by Alfred, taking it from the way it looks basically perfect. "Since young Master Damian had a cold, I thought it was best to make one not just for him but for everyone. A type of prevention for the rest of us. Plus, I got a kind of feeling it would've hit you too."

After Alfred explained, he hurried back into the kitchen to ready a bowl for you as well while you sink into your chair. It was just a week, but it felt like an eternity to not have felt the nice cushions on these chairs, or the generally inviting interior of the Manor. It was quite literally worlds that differentiate this all from Arkham. And something inside you wished you could've taken Jerome here as well instead of just the apartment.

But you knew how your family ticks and what makes them tick specifically, bringing Jerome here? All hell would break loose. You won't even mention him and you meeting if they ask you about this Undercover Mission, and they will definitely ask, it would be weird for them to not be interested. Even Jason and Damian usually wanted to know what happened on the missions or Patrols of the others. You talk and think about the two like they are your least favorite siblings of them all, but if anything it was the polar opposite: You had the closest connection to Jason of them all. And Damian? Even though he avoided it at first, and so did you, you both quickly realized you have quite a lot in common due to your shared father, so you often train and hang out together despite the age difference.

But it was only natural, the closer siblings were, the more brutal the teasing and "insults" would become.

"The damn cold, I'm freezing like hell…" It makes Bruce hum, looking outside, "It's mid-autumn already, it's getting much colder, much quicker again. So I wouldn't just push it onto your cold alone. I will start the fireplace in the living room with Alfred after dinner. If you're still cold after, maybe we should start the one in your's and Damian's rooms as well..." Damian, sitting across from you, grunts out in disapproval at that, partially stopped by a cough, "I'm not cold! I'm not as weak as her!" Shut up, you shivering too, Garden Gnome. He shook just as much as you, it just didn't show as much through him already wearing some thicker, warmer clothes than you. After all, your Costume is uninsulated unlike the Cold-Weather one you usually started using towards the end of Autumn Season. Perhaps you should switch them out sooner this year…

When dinner was finished, along with some Pudding for dessert and you all started to migrate to the living room after helping to clean up the mess, well, excluding you and Damian in your clumsy conditions, Bruce clears his throat, crouching over the right side of the fireplace, placing some dry wood pieces in. Right. Here it comes, he will ask about the mission now-

"So. The undercover mission. I take it as having ended positively if you're back already?" Already is not the word you would've chosen. One week was already more than enough for your probably relatively short lifespan – in comparison to other People – as Phoenix. The others settled into the couch cushions as well, getting much more comfy than you, as you didn't plan on dozing off on it at all. You need to be fit again till tomorrow afternoon at least, if not earlier.

"More or less, the day I caught the suspect for Gordon was also the day I took a bath into that dank river. And they ended up tossing me right back into those freezing cells, not even bothering to think about a new set of clothes for me..." They could imagine for themselves how that would feel, when you feel the cold of the walls bite at your skin and bones already and then you add a dripping layer of dirty River canal water to the mixture. "In that case I am pleasantly surprised that you got away with just a cold, Lady Faith." Alfred was right about that, you could have as well gotten the flu or worse…pneumonia.

Had that once and never again. Mostly because you dragged Damian into that mess as well, as expected. And you hated having a second person sick in the Manor, why? Obvious reasons: Just you sick, Alfred can pay enough attention to your sick ass so you don't waste away in your own used tissues for weeks, just a few days maybe. But TWO? It's going to be WEEKS of two Robins completely taken out of the equation and Patrols. Mostly because despite his intelligence, and stupid "gEnEtIc AdVaNtAgEs"...he is still a stubborn little brat that refuses to take the bitter medicine when needed.

"How did you even end up in the river, darling?" Bruce asks worriedly, pulling his hand away quickly before the fire got to it when he threw more lumber into it. Feed it and it wants to bite you for it, ...feral Fire, ha ha. Stop it, Faith.

"...saw the suspect...and...climbed over the Courtyard fence?" Your siblings first stare then laugh, probably a mental image of you basically throwing yourself like a this time legitimate madman over the barbed wire at the top. "You broke out of Arkham…because it was an inconvenience to you, you're basically saying?" Basically, yeah. Had you known that the fucker would just return to sender (the crime scene) like that, you wouldn't have done all this shit and would've just posted up nearby, preferably in a car that has heating installed.

But you of course wouldn't have met and talked to Jerome that way. He would've still been…there. Wasting and rotting away more and more mentally, until not even the world's best therapist and psychologist could shake sense back into him.

Just like his very unfortunate origin of blood, his father the Joker, there would probably be nothing left to do but put him in a straight jacket and hope he doesn't accidentally kill himself while trying to escape that certain "clothing" article.

Who knows…three more months? Would Jerome have gained some unhealthy confidence through someone or something else and broke out? Killed people on the same day, caused havoc? Who would you be to not stop that from happening AND save a boy from becoming someone he doesn't even want to be at this point of time?

"Still with us?" "Huh? Y-yeah, just sunken in thoughts. Not so important though." "If you say so. I asked how you want to continue with what you have thanks to seeing the suspect? Did you give Gordon's men the description of the man?" You shake your head, already having set aside a plan for Phoenix to follow once you feel at least a slight bit better. "Well, Lady Faith, if i'm correct and you're going to do this yourself, you need to be fit again. I recommend drinking a lot of water, even more than usual. Preferably the same Electrolyte Water you and your siblings use during training sessions." Alfred notes loudly from the kitchen, placing two two liter bottles of said water onto the counter, the heaviness of them underlined by the sound they made, a deep thump.

Heavier than Jason's self-loath.

All that in ONE night?? You’re never getting out of the bathroom at that point…

But Alfred usually was right when it came to any of you getting sick, so you didn't have much of a choice than to trust him. "O-okay. Guess I should start then, and go to bed to be rested for tomorrow…" grabbing the bottles, one in each hand, you trotted back out to the living room, giving your Dad a hug and wishing everyone a unified goodnight before slipping away fully for the night.

Once in your room, you steer into the bathroom and before you hit the hay, you grab the rest of the MediNait left from last time. You had thrown away the instructions when you unpacked it a few months ago, so you don't remember what the right dosag- eh. fuck it, down the hatch!

The green liquid burned like medicinal honey, smooth yet disgusting as it moved down your throat, many big gulps of Electrolyte Water getting sent right after to clean your pallet of the nasty green magic liquid. While it tastes absolutely awful and at least half of your family doesn't feel better through it either way, it was half a miracle potion when used on you.

So it wasn't far off for you to believe that if you both downed half that left-over bottle – already sitting on your bed while doing so, knowing it's side effects of making everyone and everything sleepy with just the fumes it creared – and followed Alfred's advice for the Wat-

When you wake again, you are in a different spot on your bed than before, you also weren't in the confines of your Costume anymore, the main part of it thrown haphazardly over the chair of your desk, your underwear missing entirely and the water bottles both empty…

Did you mentally blackout the last hours yesterday? If yes, congrats to yourself for drinking all that water and not just yet wetting your bed…but it was just about as your struggle out from your bed. The very bed that you missed so badly while in Arkham. You don't even remember what bed and mattress you had in the safe house that Jerome is using right now, but you hoped it was something similarly comfortable. And if it was, you wanted to imagine him lying in it, too comfortable and lazy to move even one muscle once he lies in it. You doubted that the bed in his old trailer from the Circus was all that comfy either, so if past-you was as smart as today – oh...she definitely wasn't – and it's the same mattress as here, this might be a welcome change to his back.

Standing up, you're quick to notice the missing dizziness and the ease on your lung trying to breath in Air once more. Fuck, you love MediNait.

Knocks you out, like your allergy meds, and does the rest while the lights are out.

After quickly using the bathroom in your room to take care of the mess you left behind on yourself, you went to pick up your strewn about Suit, first putting on fresh underwear and immediately throwing yourself back into your Costume. There is never a day you don't have to wear it for some reason or another, so you need to remember to switch out for one of your spare ones on washing day…

You barely had found your way into garage when you felt something akin to a tension or stress headache forming all around your head, great so the medic-

"Where are you going so early in the morning?" Never fucking mind, the headache is just Damian…

"Good morning to you too, head- i mean, Damian… If it matters to you, I need to finish the promise I gave to Gordon and catch his suspect." The boy squints and shakes his head with a sigh, "Do you even know where to start with that? I thought you only got his description." Yes, you do only have that, but that alone can give you enough hints to at least shrink the search radius for him. "That's why I'm leaving now already. And you get back to bed, unlike me you still sound like death molested you…" Even when he scoffs at your actually serious recommendation, himself not done with you, you grab your helmet from the rack at the wall and get onto motocycle that Phoenix used, it was black and Grey with orange and yellow accents unlike the dark purple sportbike you yourself used as Faith. This one was similar in design to the Batcycle and drove just like it.

"I wasn't done talking!" "I was! See you and the rest for dinner! And take your cold medicine!" Damian was smart enough to not jump in front of the motorcycleas you started it, clearly it wasn't that important to him anyways as he rather chose to childishly pout at you while you started the bike and drove off towards the city, your cape flying behind you.

It was a ten minute drive usually, in your case six as you had luck and the highway you and the rest used to get into the city was still relatively empty, the morning rush not yet having started and giving you the thrill of speed to wake you fully now.

On the way, you still had to decide whether to drive to the Station and Gordon, to your safe house and Jerome or to just investigate on your own for now. But unfortunately your curiosity got the best of you, drawing you in like a magnet in front of the building your safe house, or "Faith's Apartment" is located at, hiding the motorcycle with its invisibility cloak setting. At first, you wanted to use the second set of keys you had of them, luckily the only other set, otherwise who knows who of your family would suddenly decide to check in your apartment only to find a stranger living in it. And then you remember that you're here as Phoenix, not Faith. Phoenix doesn't own this apartment, in Jerome's eyes.

Slightly disgruntled at that, you throw the keys back into the small satchel on your tool belt before getting your gloves to good use, unsheathing the metal claws hidden inside the mechanism on top. With them, you quickly could scale most walls around Gotham, if that didn't work, you still could use the grappling gun everyone of you had. Within half a minute, you slipped onto the balcony in front of the living room window of the Safe House.

You couldn't fight it as quickly as it came, the smile once you saw the redhead walking around in…oh dear. Still wearing the dirty Prison Uniform. Did Jim not give him at least one different set of clothes??

You really need to change that, but you don't know if you're going to have the time for such "miscellaneous" deviations today. Plus, Phoenix isn't exactly the kinda person to suddenly go shopping with someone and walk among the rest of the Gothamites like a normal person, she's a brutal, often feared, Vigilante for God's sake! That's a job for Faith!

Well, at least it looked like he took a shower, a fulfilling one at that, his hair did look much nicer than you expected when not coated and crusted with his own blood and the cement dust of the cells.

You can't help but chuckle at the little jump going through his whole body once you knocked at the window, feeling the smile growing into a smirk when his eyes widen, seeing you at the window, unable to react at first.

"Could you let me in please?" You knock again to throw him back to his senses, a quick nod followed by him almost falling over his feet to get to the window and open it, watching you as you leaned against the windowsill with your forearms. "It's…it's really you…you're Phoenix!"

"In the blood, yeah. First of all, good morning, Jerome, second of all, Faith asked me to check up on you, since she couldn't stay all that long after getting you to the Precinct." Climbing in through and into the living room, you stretch out a bit from the climb up the wall, still keeping your eyes on Jerome either way. He looked not as well rested as you expected.

"...I'm guessing you didn't sleep that well, so we can take that one off the list of 'Yeah, doing good', huh?" He averted his dark green eyes, something in the mix of shame and annoyance in them, nodding, "You could say so…i.I…had a nightmare. But that's nothing new to me."

Nightmares?

You doubt they are of Arkham, as he knew them to be nothing new to him. And from what he had told you, you could believe that opinion. You had a pretty good idea where these nightmares actually come from and why he has them anyways: His mother and the abuse he got from her, his twin and from the rest of the people working at the Circus. Maybe even of the Circus itself if his trauma constantly was fed and built in that very place. Or perhaps even of the day he killed her?

No, you doubt that. While he seemed spooked about quite literally anything that moved too quickly or he didn't know, you were very certain that Jerome…that he didn't exactly regret what he did. Maybe someday he will see that his abuse could've been ended in different, legal ways, but regret will probably never come to his mind, and if, not for very long.

But: No matter what the cause is, you, both Faith and Phoenix, will attempt to get this out of his mind as well.

You knew all too well how nightmares could mess with one's head, the repeated memory of Jason's death back then, the funeral, being an example...

[simpingwriter]

Jerome Valeska

x

Faith Wayne/ Phoenix

'All you need

is a bit of Faith'

pt.2

___________________

Ey. What's up.

Also, short chapter :/

Enjoy! :)

Word Count: approx. 2.700 Words

___________________

The one, single nurse on shift looked quite shocked when you dragged yourself through the door of the small Infirmary with Jerome slumped over on your back like an uncanny backpack, the guard quickly telling her the gist of it before she turns back to the two of you, "You need to put him on one of the beds, you take the other one." She told you very carefully, probably not entirely sure of how to best talk to you since she had never seen you here before...and should she after all, it's your first day here. A first day you already hated about how it went, just like your first day at School back then...

He fell to the Infirmary bed like a wet bag of cement as you reached it, groaning at the sudden impact to which you were quick to apologize, but surprisingly he wasn't as light to carry as he looked. Especially with the dizziness of the bottle you got hit with setting in now, a strong headache starting to form. "Wait here, don't do anything stupid while we get the doctor, I mean, it's not like you would get far anyways, not in you two's conditions." "Sure, sure…just hurry up." You pant exhausted, trudging over to the over empty bed, eyeing the one across yours.

Unlike the two you had targeted, it wasn't empty. An unconscious girl lied in it, clearly also the witness to some kind of head trauma, her head wrapped in white gauze. For yourself, you hoped she stayed just like that until you were able to leave the Infirmary again, you really weren't in the mood to talk to anyone else after the events from a few minutes ago.

This would be fun. Not.

Minutes passed and the nurse and the guard didn't return, nor did a doctor like you were promised and you felt your head continue to pound, like a pressure hammer by now. And still, you looked fresher than whatever was broken with your ginger luggage, wincing at his own pained whimpers. They only became that desperate when you had finally been out of earshot of the other inmates. He didn't want them to hear how badly the other fucker hurt him really…men and their damn egos sometimes, you love and sometimes you hate them for it, your siblings and Bruce are the perfect example for that.

You saved yourself the 'How bad does it hurt?' Line, his wordless vocalization of it more than enough to get the point across: It hurt to a point, he wished he was just beaten unconscious instead. Not a nurse, just a damned sidekick without Alfred's actually useful medical lessons yet, only some half-assed stuff from a way too busy Bruce, you can't help him with the pain directly, but you could do something else, to help the nurse and the doctor out later, so he would hopefully get some pain killers or similar sooner than otherwise.

Despite his obvious pain, you could feel his eyes, well one, follow you across the room as you jumped back down from your own bed, determined in your stride as you started looking for some clean rags and rubbing alcohol in the cabinets in the white, cold room.

Cold it was indeed, a shiver running through you with the thin inmate clothes clinging to your body. The whole Asylum was this cold, you had noticed as one of the first things in here. Heat Insulation was probably a foreign concept to whomever had built this cold brick box. Trying to also rub yourself warm in the process of looking around the room, you curse under your breath when it turns out to be an absolute waste of time and the unneeded movements of muscles only worsened your own current condition.

Now mostly dry at some spots, the blood of course still clung to his face, neck, hair and clothes. What a damn shame, his ginger locks of hair would probably look incredible if taken care of well. And it's doubtful they had conditioner in here. Or even Shampoo.

"I can't ease the pain like a nurse or Doc, but…but I can clean your wounds for them ahead of time. Will quicken up the process later on." Your voice hadn't been used this gently outside of the mask you wore for a while now, excluding your siblings and Bruce, used to having to threaten and shout at the criminals you were chasing at that moment. Often, you of course also had to go beyond verbal threats, nothing new in a City like Gotham. The ginger stayed still as he seemingly tried to analyze your words for some sort of lie. What was there to lie about?

Or did you mistake it for a different kind of stare?

Either way, you pulled the next best chair closer to rest your own body as you began to dampen the piece of square gauze with the rubbing Alcohol. "I'm sorry, this is going to sting quite a bit with your busted up skin." You apologize beforehand, gently dabbing the cloth against his crusted-up blood to at first avoid the actual wounds, circling around them until the first gauze was too soaked in blood to properly clean off any more of it.

Then it was time to move to his actual wounds, the split open cheek, a horribly busted lip, probably a broken nose and a really bad blue eye which also looked crusted over with blood. His eyes both looked terribly bloodshot though, like he didn't sleep at all for days on end.

The first wince from his lips made you stop, the second too…but after that you had to mentally slap yourself to concentrate again, it had to get washed off one way or another and you did this many times before for Bruce and the rest already as well. Their hisses of the stinging pain the Alcohol caused didn't affect you either, because you knew it had to be done!

"W…why are you doing this for me?" He suddenly rasps out again, a similar sounding question to before, his spit colored red from the amount of metallic liquid he had to have swallowed by now. Why did you help him? Because you suspect him to maybe have witnessed a murde-

Because you cared for the weaker…especially if you weren't able to form a good opinion on them yet. You didn't like judging people you hadn't been able to watch beforehand, as you're a very observant person, able to notice if a person lies most of the time without many troubles.

"Because you needed my help, that's why, now stop questioning it, just accept it." In itself it was a short answer, not at all enough to encompass every detail of your actual thoughts. Sure, he probably killed someone, maybe even in cold blood or even raped someone. But to this point, you don't know abou- "You…you help a murderer?" Well, you got your partial answer, albeit it was off bad quality with his voice nothing but a hurt whisper, his own blood keeping his voice from being heard clearly. "It's not like I am any better of a person, we both did awful things, here in Arkham we're all either against each other or helping out one another…"

Another hiss and contorted grimace came from him as you now began to touch his nose with the gauze, cleaning the busted-open sensitive skin on it, not able to hold back your own grimace at the fact that it was evidently broken, not just suspected anymore, the bruising already forming all over. You remember the last time you had a broken nose, the pain so strong it nearly imparted on your eyesight, forcing you to stop following a fleeing criminal from the lone fact that you couldn't be 100% sure where you were even running at that point, on a narrow roof at that. It wasn't the worst you ever felt, physical pain-wise, in your life but you sure as hell didn't need it another time any time soon. Well, it's not like that can be promised with what you do.

For a short while, you two only sat in silence from there – apart from his occasional vocal discomfort – as you kept switching out the old bloodied gauzes for new ones until you had basically cleaned him up fully, except his hair, which would need a shower at some point. And yet, you still felt awful for just having him lie there, in obvious-as-the-daylights pain. Sure, you still had that very basic training for first aid from Bruce, but…but it wasn't in "Magdalena's" file, so if it came out that you helped him to maybe ease some of the pain, you could end up in huge trouble, maybe even ruin the whole Undercover Mission!

While he stayed quiet, his one non-swollen shut eyed you with a questioning gaze, like he knew you were debating with yourself on the inside.

You would want his help as well if you were in his spot, that one was sure. But…would he even help you in the same way as you? Probably not, unlike you, he wasn't "acting" his mental disorders. Right now, he is weakened. It is mighty possible that he is unable to really show his true character under all this pain…you don't know what is wrong or broken in his head. He could very well be a sociopath, who would've let you get beaten to death in that moment unless you had some very significant meaning to him.

Fuck it.

'We're all the same in here…' You once more told yourself mentally as you stood back up from the chair, too fast unfortunately for your liking as you immediately plummet back down, whining out at the sudden added pressure against your skull. "Okay, let's try that a bit slower…" you moan out against the now constant dull thumping on your poor gray cells, turning to look at the ginger, "I'll look if I find any more useful stuff around here. Don't go unconscious on me." Fortunately for the both of you, you found something right already much quicker than you thought would at first, not having to sneak out of the Infirmary Room for all that long, triumphantly carrying three ice cold blue cooling packs and some dish towels from the Staff Break room you also came across.

Your uncanny ability to slip through nearly everything almost always undetected has helped more than once already, one of the few things that made you a highly valuable sidekick to Batman, as you managed to slip into spaces he or the others couldn't with their taller, broader frames.

But while you snuck past two guards, you had to remember something that might just flat out ruin this all as well: Dr. Kastins, the resident Doctor of Arkham knows you personally, since she visited the GCPD Station while you were there in civilian clothes before and because you remember having to work with her because of another Arkham-related case, she might not be able to match your voice with Phoenix's voice, like most other idiots, so the later instance wouldn't break your neck. Your only hope was that she wasn't going to tell on you, that she had that much of a brain. Otherwise you would have to convince her to keep shut…in a different way.

"Gonna be getting VERY cold in a sec, but it should help a bit with the pain until the doctor is finally here."

When you felt like you did everything you could with the few things around, you drag yourself back to the Infirmary Bed you claimed for yourself, falling into it with your own muffled whimpers into the musty, yellowish pillow. And not long after, you felt your consciousness slip away from you…

When you came back to yourself, you lied facing upwards again, feeling a bandage wrapped around your head, cushioned at the spot of the wound. The first person you saw was a subtly disappointed Dr. Kastins, staring at you from across the room as she checked on the girl across from you. But before you could start to explain your presence in Arkham, the boy from before popped back into your mind. Sitting up slowly, you're met with an empty bed…

"Where is he?" "Is that really the best thing you can think about saying to me...Magdalena?" The dark-haired woman asks calmly but clearly not happy, pulling up one eyebrow as she looks you up and down, "You tossed and turned after I took care of y-" "Did you really let him back out there?! They are going to bash his head in a second time!"

Kastins puts down the tool she had in her hands, sighing irritated, "Why do you even care? Why the hell did you even save him in the first place?! He killed…" she goes silent when your expression didn't move an inch and she realized: You know that he most likely isn't a 100% good person, otherwise there would be no reason that he's here to rot in this godforsaken shithole. So she didn't waste her time to tell you once more. Thank fucking god. "The guard out at the door will bring you to your cell." She then tells you almost coldly, seemingly having given up quickly to find reason in your own actions, something even you have given up years ago. Sometimes you just did what you thought you had to do, even if the whole world would tell you it's wrong.

"Also…don't ever sneak out again, if one of the guards had caught you, your head injury would've been the least of your concerns."

You already expected the guards to use the inmates as their personal punching bags, so your reaction was similarly unsurprised as before, but you still nodded at her "advice" before walking out to meet the guard who was quickly putting you into Cuffs. Understandable, technically these are staff hallways, unless injured, an Inmate isn't allowed to walk around here without them or even with them.

The guard was anything but talkative, strictly business as he had a literally bruising grip on your upper arm, tugging you through the hallway that ended up leading through a heavy steel door. Oh, it's the cell blocks already…

Makes kinda sense that they had the cells connected to the hallway that leads to the Infirmary, but even then, the way through the day room would've been faster. "If you dislike me so much, you could've just taken me through the day room…" your voice was hoarse, your throat dry. The last time you drank some water was in the form of that Black Tea in the coffee shop shortly before you were driven to Arkham by Jim and some other officers…how long ago was that by now anyways? Hopefully you weren't out for more than a few hours…

"And get beat up by the inmates myself? Hell no. Being seen with you or that Ginger is going to be the last thing a guard would want now." Wow, so he does have a voice and he even knows how to use it…Amazing. Rolling your eyes, mostly in connection to your inner monologue but also somewhat for this pathetic excuse of a Guard. Kinda reminds you of the professional coffee-addicts in the GCPD you had to sometimes work with, even as Phoenix you didn't get around to avoiding them. He stops at an empty cell, taking a keyring from his belt before opening it and leading you inside. "Gonna tuck me in as well now??" You inquire confused at that as he pauses a moment before taking the cuffs off of your wrists once more. Of course, like the pussy he was, he refused to reply to your question, leaving you without another word after he locked your cell up once more, walking back the way you two came from.

"Rude." Very rude, actually, like…what are you supposed to do from this stupid fucking cell?! You got an investigation to deal with, you don't have the time to play an actual inmate! "Let me back out, get back here, you limp dicked twat!" At your cell's bars in moments, you rattle at them to try and make him stop and come back, like he was deaf to your insults. But to no avail as you curse some more, beginning to pace around in the gray box of cement until curfew came and the other inmates streamed back into the cell block…occasionally trying to scare you by jumping at your own cell door, pulling faces and throwing quite the unsavory comments about your body towards you.

It wasn't until the next day's afternoon that you were given some sort of…enrichment. That being in the form of someone trying to get your attention through a hole in the wall, one you didn't notice until that very moment and even now had trouble making out from all the other monotone bricks. You didn't even see it when you walked and paced through your cell like an actual Maniac, having analyzed about everything and every inch of the few things in there twice and some even thrice.

"Hey, you…yeah, you, of fucking course you! You're the girl that helped me, right??" From the voice, it was the same boy from yesterday, the only difference to it now was that he no longer had to blubber through his own drying-up blood.

"Yeah…so what?" You return once you found the hole, crouching and kneeling down in front of it. The floor was about as uncomfortable as one would suspect it to be.

"...why did you really help me?"

AGAIN with that damned question?!

"No inmate would've given a single shit about me…but you did." Maybe because not every insane person automatically is emotionless or thinking only about themselves? How did even an inmate themself think that they were all heartless? "Cause I have a hea-" "You're not actually an inmate…are you?"

...fuck...

[simpingwriter]

Jerome Valeska

x

Faith Wayne/Phoenix

'All you need

is a bit of Faith'

Pt.8

___________________

Gonna have to start using Ian GIFs soon because unfortunately Jerome in the actual series doesn't have that many...innocent...scenes. So yes...I know that the future GIFs aren't Jerome but Ian. I know.

Jerome doesn't know how to take care of himself, gets to wear Faith's old clothes and in the meantime Phoenix starts what she does second-best: scheming.

Enjoy! :)

Word Count: approx. 3.400 Words

___________________

You look at the kitchen with a tilt of your head, squinting behind your mask. It didn't look like he ate anything till now, even though he said he was awake for hours now.

"Why didn't you eat anything, aren't you hungry?" He sighs, scratching the back of his head before also looking at the small open kitchen, "I mean, I would've…if Faith had any food here." Fuck, that's right…

You don't have anything in the fridge besides water bottles, for the simple reason that you're barely here, so it would only rot away while you're gone. But…

"Wait, I know what she has though…" what you have, to be correct. Walking past him, your unique cape trailing behind with a nearly enthusiastic bounce in your step – thanks to your newly designed boots that had different soles built in to help you with scaling buildings more quickly now – you targeted the small pantry cupboard above the counter and sink. Opening it, you reveal various cans and opened as well as fresh Cereal Bags, both able to be edible for years if stored in the right conditions, cold and dark.

Unless it's a nut-based Cereal, they get very disgusting once the nuts' oils turn rancid. Thankfully you prefer Fruit Cereals. A regular reason for fights between you and the rest of your siblings, since they rather eat chocolate based Cereals...so much to a protein rich diet. They eat like pigs in the wild.

"Damn, I didn't even look there…I thought that's the cabinet for plates." Yeah, you had a habit of putting shit where it doesn't belong, the plates are in the cabinet that's supposed to be used for food storage, something you also pointed out immediately for the ginger. He was more than thankful for someone at least finally explaining the kitchen to him, which you doubt Jim took his time for yesterday. Somewhere it's understandable though, Jim must've been tired too after a long day at work.

"How come you know all these things about Faith's Apartment?" "She lets me use it as a safe house when she's not here. Oh, as a warning beforehand, I have a second set of keys…so try to refrain from running around bare ass...Or don't." You don't mind, to be fair. You're not going to lie about the elephant in the room to yourself, the boy was very attractive in your eyes. Hit all the right spots for your taste, specifically the unfortunately still very muted freckles.

And Gotham isn't exactly the best place to catch some sun rays to help them get more defined again, the buildings and the smog keep most of the streets in shadows or at least, did not let through enough light to have it affect your skin.

He'd have to learn to travel across the roofs like you and your family for the sun to reach his face. And predicting from his current predisposition for anxiety, or at least it felt like he had one, he probably won't do that anytime soon. Well, you could always test it out while you're taking him along for the training you planned to give him.

"Eat something real quick then, I'll start looking into the description Faith gave me in the meantime. Come join me once you're done…" you pat him on the shoulder, leaving him standing half-frozen to his spot in the kitchen to find the stuff you needed in the office you stashed your equipment for non-physical investigation parts in. Dragging the whiteboard out, you can hear hkm halfway choke on the Cereal he chose to eat. Fruit Loops, nice.

"Where did you get a whole ass whiteboard from?!" "The office??" He probably didn't investigate the apartment that much himself anymore either last night, perhaps just happy to have found the bedroom and to fall down onto the bed in exhaustion for the stress of leaving Arkham behind himself again. "By the way, how is the mattress feeling?" For a moment you swore you saw a thought flicker through those dark greens before he stuttered in his words, "I-I…I slept on the couch, actually." Why would he do that??

"Why? The bedroom is yours while you're here, until Faith found a better place for you, your own apartment." Putting the brake into the small rolls at the bottom of the board, you turn back to the couch, placing down the small box of markers and magnets along with a pack of papers and sticky notes. You doubted that you would end up needing all that much, not for such a simple process. But you could never be too sure.

"I didn't want to make a mess out of it, my nightmares…they make me toss and turn." Yeah, you get that too, even without nightmares, as you're quite the animated sleeper. Meaning, even if it did bother you for some stupid ass reason, high chances you wouldn't even have noticed what he did with the sheets.

"I doubt she cares, she sleeps like that too. And boy does she have a kick in her sleep, almost broke my nose once." No, it was Jason's nose and it was actually after you slipped into his bed from a nightmare. No, it wasn't when you were a kid, but only a few months ago. Yes, you know how mature that sounds, being a vigilante and all but you don't care.

You also don't tell a living soul and Jason will die a second time if it slips out from him, that doesn't matter now though.

"Are you sure?" "Yes, of course I am! Where did you sleep tonight then anyways?"

His gaze went to the green couch you stood at, and then you saw the blankets too, wanting to facepalm at how you, daughter of the greatest Detective alive, didn't see them before. "On this old thing?! It's still from her room at the Manor! That thing is uncomfortable to sleep on as hell!" This was the first time you actually noticed some kind of strength in his "words" and his actions, rolling his eyes as he sent you a look of 'Yeah, no shit. I slept on it, I should know by now.' before going back to eating the cereal. Damn, so he can be sassy if he feels comfortable enough.

And you liked it a lot. You wanted to see more of it, the Jerome under all of this fear and trauma.

With protest from the old springs below it, you throw yourself onto the cushioning of said green couch, throwing the two throw blankets he must've used aside. Couldn't he at least have used a warm blanket, to make you feel less horrible for not having been here yesterday to explain everything? Especially to get him some food into the small fridge, he stills looks quite a bit miserable right now with dry cereal only. So you told him, "I will remind Faith of taking you to buy some clothes and groceries after this is done, so probably tomorrow. Until then, maybe try to find one of her more neutral, baggier t-shirts in the closet, they should fit you."

You continue without having to look up from your papers, knowing he stopped to start standing behind you – due to the more clear and louder crunch of the Fruit Loops he was eating – watching you work with interest, but not with the balls in his pants to give his two cents of opinion. Or maybe he didn't have any, opinions, you meant of course. "...And a pair of sport shorts from me are in there too, lent them to her once, never got them back. They're these Unisex ones, so don't worry about giving everyone a showcase of your ass cheeks…" Because it's hard giving back items to yourself of course, but hey, you're in a need to be creative and currently all of that actual talent went into drawing the features of the suspect.

It took not long, you hear his naked feet pad over to the kitchen again, placing the bowl into the sink and then disappear wordlessly into the adjacent room, the bedroom. It gives you a bit of a smile, knowing he listened to your words without thinking about them like…ten times over in his head, like usually. He needed to know and believe that you wanted anything but to harm him, to hurt him like he was by everyone around him before. You wanted nothing but the best for him, the same chance you were given. And you would keep that promise close to heart, reminding yourself of that as long as you had to, until he recovered to some extent.

Nearly done with the base of the sketch, you hear now socked feet return from the bedroom, calmly turning around to look at him. And while you said that they were…neutral, the shirts, it was still somewhat obvious that they once were supposed to be worn by a woman, especially one with a bigger chest, the gray melange colored cotton fabric stretched and worn out much more at the upper chest section from many previous times you wore it. Most of the clothes in your safehouse were older ones that you didn't wear anymore but thought to be too well kept still to just throw away.

But at least the shorts should sit rig-

...well…no, they don't.

He shouldn't wear THOSE on the street, unless he likes people staring at his crotch…damn. Damn…

Focus, Faith!

Shaking your head free of these inappropriate thoughts, like a fucked up etch-n-sketch drawing, you nod at Jerome with approval. It wasn't perfect, hell, it wasn't even a good fit – mostly becauseof these damn shorts! – , but it was miles and miles better than the disgusting Prisoner Uniform. At least now people wouldn't stare because they think he escaped Arkham or Blackgate, but just because it looks weird on him.

"Nice pink socks you found there, Buddy." You teased, already looking back to your sketch on the coffee table though before you saw his face's reaction to it. The cushions dipped down next to you, with quite the distance, basically the other end of the couch, as he kneaded his hands once more in his lap.

"It's not like I had much choice. The others are pink or purple with glitter or lace…" It's not like you expected to stash a boy in these four walls anytime soon, so yeah…of course the clothes and the underwear will fit to the taste of a 18 year old girl that has her own Credit Card. "Again, I will inform her that she needs to take you clothes shopping, but to bring a set of…street-friendly clothes beforehand." Instead of texting anyone though, you simply opened your Notes and Calendar Apps on your phone.

'Take Jerome shopping for clothes, Tomorrow/ASAP (steal some of Tim's Clothes as well, the bigger ones) ALSO: GROCERIES!!'

Just having put down the phone again, Jerome saw your sketch of the Suspect, mouth falling open slightly, "Holy shit. That's a really good sketch! Did Batman teach you how to sketch these Suspect portraits?" No…not in the slightest, your Dad can remember faces, but he can't draw for shit. One of the few flaws in the Bat, one that you erased in yourself by challenging yourself with new faces every week. Or perhaps it's the photographic memory, though it has a bit of a "life of its own", as Dad calls it. You just call it moody.

It doesn't always work out for you, sometimes you remember things to a T...usually the map of a videogame...

Sometimes you remember just as much as anyone else who looked at the scene, and there have been plenty of times your siblings looked at you with hope, hoping your memory played along but it just didn't in that moment, causing you to shrug, not able to help any more than them.

"No, I usually draw them for him or the rest if they remember enough of the person." Or Alfred. Alfred is quite good at drawing faces too, being the only source of a person that you could turn to and trust with teaching you to hone this skill.

"So you drew all this just from Faith's description…that's mental!"

"And that's just the start of everything. Though I doubt it will be much of a challenge to find this man, from what I can see."

You return matter of factly while going to the whiteboard to put up the drawing with a magnet, looking over your shoulder to wave the ginger over to you, pointing at the sketch, "...But I want to hear it from you. What is the important detail? What tells me where to look for this man?" "M-me?" Yes, from you Jerome, or do you see anyone else behind yourself?

He hesitates at first, then comes to stand next to you, a head taller than you with ease as he looks at the sketch as well, though rather confused instead of enlightened like you, then down to you. "This is the first thing I'm going to teach you as my Aide, Jerome, finding clues and hints on the already existing and cataloged evidence of a case…" you went on, almost feeling put into your father's spot when he first began to teach you and the others how to master the arts of investigations and the work that stood behind being a Detective while also a Vigilante.

You just hope Jerome isn't as dense as some of you were with some subjects.

With Hawk-like eyes, you watch him fall into surprisingly deep focus, scrutinizing the sketch you made. He would need to become faster with deciphering some things in the future, but that's why he is still learning, he will take years to get even close to mastering some of these things. Some of these things, you struggle with to this day, but not to a point that you can't forward your current knowledge and know-how to him.

Then something lights up in his eyes, a smile growing on his pale face. A smile that still could melt you to the ground, something you wouldn't even dream of telling him, not as Faith, not as Phoenix. You wanted him to become more confident in himself as a person, not cocky!

"Is…is it the scar?" …

"Correct. It is the scar. A very familiar pattern to one very familiar type of weapon. A trick umbrella, specifically one with a mini harpoon that can be launched from its tip with the press of a button that's placed down at the handle." And there was only one person that used such intricate, special weaponry the largest amount of times…

"The man we're looking for either works for the Penguin…or a rival Group?" Jerome was right with the first guess, which is unfortunate for one simple reason: If Cobblepot wanted one of his men to walk scott free, he would find his ways, that's how Gotham works.

That's how it has always worked: the corrupt are like slimy leeches that slip through every crack the law has left behind, never really staying in one's grip for long. The only way to stop these people was to cut the main leech's head off. Literally.

But, unfortunately, your dad doesn't allow such "drastic" measures, rather dealing with them by stuffing them back into Blackgate…over and over again. If he would just let you or Jason handle all these criminals, it…it wouldn't even take a night to ease some of the pressure on the normal, working class Gothamite.

"...Your grimace tells that's not good news, either way which guess was right, was one even ri-" "The police won't be able to prosecute this man, at least the chances are very slim. Even if I catch him, Cobblepot will, if this man is important in some way – which he will be, to cover up the crime he committed in the Penguin's name or order – he will find a way to get the suspect an attorney and out of the law's grip. We got…used to it, in a forced way of thinking." Jerome frowns at your bitter observation, crossing his arms before looking back at the sketch, grumbling under his breath.

"Yeah, but…you're PHOENIX, dammit! When did you, or Red Hood too, listen to the law! You killed criminals before for what they did!" Yes you did, and for most cases, you were determined to stay on your opinion that it was the right choice.

But only with the worst scum you crossed paths with. Rapists, Serial Killers, anyone doing harm to children in any form – which often includes the first two examples as well – human traffickers and terrorists, but mostly those that tried to use biological weapons like Anthrax and so on. So you and Jason followed a similar pattern, just that your set of rules sometimes fell onto deaf ears with yourself if a criminal got onto the wrong foot on the wrong day with you.

Or if your butterfingers slipped on the trigger-

"...Red Hood and I have ethics and rules about that. We don't just kill any small time criminal that crosses our path, like some pathetic shoplifter or bank Robber. Because I personally, I don't know how Red Hood sees it, still believe that such crimes can be redeemed after Prison if they want to redeem themselves." You sure hoped that he didn't connect Faith's and Phoenix very similar Philosophies to each other, otherwise, well, at least he would be smarter than you took him for.

But it would also be bad news for your priority rule: Keep your secret identity safe, in turn, keep Jerome safe.

"So…what can we do?" He asks with some desperation in his voice, even some glimmer of annoyance in his eyes. Though you were sure it wasn't directed at you, but instead at the man "in front of you". Did he see it as unfair that he was caught and detained for what he did and this man most likely won't even see a Blackgate cell from the inside? "Well, while he is still afraid of losing his freedom, I can weaponize that fear to press some information for other things out of him." And you have a knack for interrogations, to a point your dad suspected by now that you maybe had a bit too much fun with it. But can someone blame you, even if an asshole can't be taken behind bars, you can make them wish they were from the amount of secrets and info you often salvaged from their pitiful, begging forms.

Ruthless enough to kill a potentially innocent man, following orders like a trained dog, not a single brain cell in those heads used to think about the things they did for the already dirty, laundered money.

But if a nearly less than 5ft tall girl comes along, beats their ass into the asphalt or cement, commands them to speak up about their crimes and that of their group, they shit their pants and act like they are the victims. Too bad that you're wearing the costume, not them…

"...so we're still going to find out where he hangs around? And how much do you think you can get out of him?" Doesn't surprise you that he isn't against interrogating the suspect, as despite his overall fearing and overly filled with respect for you and Gordon, he still had this obvious side to him. A side you can't pinpoint that well, was it just plain anger? Or something more calculated that he himself had a hard time controlling?

" 'course we are. What kind of vigilante would I be if I left it at that? As for how much, i don't know yet. But i won't leave empty-handed, that's for sure." You ask, motioning at the portrait with your open palm before uncapping the black whiteboard marker again, the conversation finished in your own eyes so you tried to return to the focus of the mission.

Beginning to scribble down the current, potential sights the Penguin's men were seen at recently, you were quick to fill half the board, switching out for the green or red markers whenever you knew you needed a bit more contrast to find certain places or information more quickly again. Done, you cap all the pens once more, throwing them over your shoulder, too focused on one specific location to care much for where they ended up. Unlike Jerome, who followed the trajectory of them with his eyes, from what you caught from the corner of your own eyes, walking after them to pick them back up and put them down more carefully.

A vigilante and a former Arkham Inmate are in the same room and the inmate ends up being the more calm, collected one. Sounds like a bad joke, and yet here you were.

"Because then we can stop whatever else he and his buddies are planning. In my…profession…you have to learn to see something good, the positive, in everything. Even a potential setback."

If you don't, the amount of inevitable failures you witness and make in your line of work, they have the potential to drive you insane, drive you into a mad need for perfection.

And perfection isn't possible. But one can always thrive to make the best from the worst scenarios, that was what made you you. What made you take on the moniker of Phoenix, never let the bad and awful win, mentally and physically, keep going and keep pushing till you win, but never lose your true self in the process.

[simpingwriter]

Jerome Valeska

x

Faith Wayne/Phoenix

'All you need

is a bit of Faith'

pt.6

___________________

Took me a moment, bought Gotham Knights and have been very...VERY...realistic by doing Patrol Rounds for hours in the night. I now know what the Batfam must feel like doing that every night, because DAMN the miscellaneous crimes are NEVER ENDING. And I hate leaving stuff undone, especially in games.

Anyways:

Car ride, "what is a cookie?" and they finally get to the station!

Enjoy! :)

Word Count: approx. 3.800 Words

___________________

"Oh thank fucking god, my backpack, you thought about it." Was the first thing that you managed to say when you opened the door to the left side of the backseats, grabbing it to look for something.

"And no Lighters, as promised…" Jim told you, eyeing Jerome cautiously even now, surprised at how awestruck a person could be at the outside world after just one month of Arkham. But Jim missed the part you knew about: Before Arkham happened, Jerome knew only the near surroundings of where the Circus ended up going that month, rarely getting to see the Towns and cities like many of the other workers of the Circus.

"...But where are we going now?" He asks once you all sit in the car, nearing fresh but much milder panic from not finding his seat belt until you helped him with it. His hands still shook like leaves in the wind, which your sudden close proximity to each other didn't seem to help with at all, brushing his warm thigh on accident. You could basically feel the shiver that ran down both of your spines at the close contact, but you kept up the act of not noticing it yourself. Sitting down in your own seat correctly, you dig back into your backpack. You felt relief fall off your shoulder in forms of boulders when you not only found your medication but also that whoever had your Backpack last was smart enough to remove your Costume from it as well.

Would've been very awkward in front of Jerome, having your mask or your tool belt tumble out on accident. And it would've caused a whole new series of questions for you to answer one way or another, not to forget the earful you'd be getting from your dad and the rest if they found out you blew your cover in the most ridiculously, avoidable way possible.

"There’s a bottle of water under your seats somewhere, for the pills." Gordon informs you, quick to notice the familiar orange pill bottle in your hands through the rear view mirror. A small thanks on your lips, you begin feeling around for it while pushing the pill bottle into Jerome's hand for a moment. "Got it."

Of course they wouldn't immediately do their job, like most medication if they weren't made to have a quick working function, it's not magic after all. But alone the knowledge that you were able to take them again calmed you down immensely, leaning your head back as you sank into the seat. All felt fine, until a certain noise ran through the closed space of Jim's private car.

The rumbling and growling of two stomaches.

"I take from that the food they serve isn't that good?" It's probably better that you didn't eat at all in that whole week there, but you knew if you said that, it would reach your dad's or more specifically Alfred's ears in less than a day and you really didn't want to deal with both of them telling you something you already knew: Food is important, even if it tastes like the bottom of a garbage bin, eat it for nutrients, blah blah blah...

How could you possibly still do that with your tastebuds spoiled to hell and back by Alfred's and your own cooking talent? "...No, not really." You tell Jim instead, Jerome just nodding with profound agreement, his eyes telling you without having to ask that he isn't missing that stuff. "Do you think we could stop at Subway on the way to the station?" "Fai- " "Pleaseeeee?"

Back in the car, with two bagged footlongs under your arm, one for you, one for Jerome, you grin from ear to ear. Though it was very much incredibly awkward for both you and Jim when he walked into the Restaurant with his badge visible and you still dressed in these dirty, river water stained Rags they make you wear in the Asylum. Even though it was the very reason you wanted to leave Jerome in the car – so not everyone immediately realized who he was just a few minutes after he is out – you absolutely erased the fact that you ALSO wore the "uniform" still, from every corner of your brain. Worth the sandwich.

Spoiled Taste Buds or not, Subway stayed your most precious, favorite fast-food option. Mostly because of the huge array of actual options. And the Cookies, most importantly the Cookies. A love that went so far that you scoured the entire internet with the Batcomputer for the very best rendition of these damned cookies with Alfred. The latter having gotten forced into trying out all these recipes with you, baking and eating you mean.

"And give Jerome his cookie, Faith." Quick, you gotta play dumb! "...What's a cookie?" Not that dumb…

Grumbling slightly, you reach into the plastic bag around the sandwiches, fishing out two small paper bags, faning the two bags out in your hand. Holding them out, you turn your head towards Jerome as well, "Macadamia White Chocolate or Raspberry Cheesec- " But you stop yourself when you take in his confused look at everything like it's the first time he saw-...wait. How high are the chances that Jerome never had Subway before…very high, thinking about the fact that he was not much anywhere else than the Circus, still.

Well, today is a first for him then, for many things.

"Which one do you want?" He wakes from the daze he had on them, shaking his head slightly. "Whichever you don't want…" How sweet and kind of the prettyboy…but they are both your personal favorites, that's why you choose them, you don't give Jerome the lesser good option if you can have a good one. You don't have a favorite between those two. "Realistically then, you wouldn't get eit- " "FAITH." Just like your old man, DAMN…

Rolling your eyes, you hand the Cheesecake one to Jerome after he pointed at it with a smile. "I hope you're a fan of spicy double cheese double beef Philly Cheese with Truffle Sauce?" Stupid Faith, STUPID, he doesn't know Subway-Language. But he either way nods slowly, flabbergasted at the train of words for one sandwich, almost making it obvious from how he stared at it that he was just as starved as he made it sound back in Arkham.

"Please don't make a mess out of the backseats…" Jim begs, already feeling mentally exhausted from you two, starting to drive towards the Precinct once more. Not without cursing at his unlucky wave of red lights of course. But that way you and Jerome at least had more than enough time to shove both Sandwich halves down your gaping maws. Something the older man could only follow with shock on his face, two 18 year olds basically inhaling such an amount of calories and all it had around, finishing off with the Cookies and the Soft Drinks you got for you two. "What?? We're still growing!" "Yeah, in width if you keep going like that, geez, puberty ends at around 17!" Although Jim knew very well that, even if Jerome was not…yet, you were constantly on the move when not rotting away in Arkham for him!

Dumping the wrapper papers and the bags in the nearest trash can on the way out of the car, Jim enters the precinct with both of you in tow. While some officers only noticed you at first glance, greeting you, waving at you and welcoming you back…some noticed Jerome first.

And boy was them remembering him from about a month ago evident, inching away from the three of you, either staring or glaring at the ginger. Once you caught onto the obvious hostility in the bullpen towards Jerome, you pull him towards you, wrapping an arm around him to signal something subtly for all the people around him: He is here from your decisions. And most of the time, your decisions can be trusted, having helped way too many times, so often that half the officers can't even count that high.

"Faith…I think they still hold a grudge..." "Not a grudge. The greatest amount that do indoor work are too doped up on caffeine for such refined emotions. But they are wary, yes." And from all patrol officers and the Detectives he should probably...stay away, which is concerning, taking in the fact that Jerome is supposed to be an Aide for exactly the latter.

With your and his luck, he ends up in the very team of two Detectives that had his case a month ago. And Jim must be thinking about it too to some degree, reading his face once he got him and you into his own private office. "...So the mood dropped about ten degrees into the negative ever since your ginger set foot into the station, since clearly my men still remember well and probably read the news that day…like their families and nearly every other Gothamite…and even then you really want him to work here nearly every day now? With two of these very people?" It was the plan at first, but Jim was right, even though he didn't utter a word about it, you both shared the same idea: This wasn't going to work out too well, and the problem didn't even come from Jerome's side, he promised on his life to both you during the car ride that he would do his best as an Aide, during therapy and so on. But from everyone else's side…

"...In that case I got one last option, one that would benefit you, Jerome and that other person…Make him the Aide of Phoenix." You need to pat yourself on the back for that idea later, you Cold-ridden Faith. You really do. Jerome's posture changed at the name drop, surprising you once more with something you apparently didn't know about him yet. "Ph-phoenix?! She works with the GCPD?? She's so cool as a Vigilante, more than Batman even! She isn't afraid of beat-" Jim clears his throat, motioning a time-out with his hands before rubbing his temples, making sure none of you two would interrupt him while he talks before giving his own opinion, "As much as I like to see you be so enthusiastic about Phoenix, especially since she is, along with Red Hood, among the more...controversial heroes this town has seen grow among their streets…Faith, I doubt Phoenix has time to deal with Jerome while he still needs training nearly all day or night?"

Yeah true, when you're dealing with patrol, you couldn't twaddle around at the Precinct with paperwork or with small crime time shit. Who knew what would happen during Patrol – this is Gotham, there is small crimes happening at every. damn. corner – so even if you took and bit the bullet by just bringing Jerome along for said Patrol, it's plain and simply way too dangerous for him, untrained in absolutely everything that is important to even join, not even talking yet about participate in one. "She will find a way, she is a smart cookie." Jerome tilts his head at your statement, mostly because your nose was still clogged up from your more than obvious cold symptoms, making your words sound very nasally, but also something else, "You talk so casually about Phoenix…"

Oh…oh God, did he already-

"You know her personally, don't you, Faith?! Holy shit, that's so cool!"

Nope, nope he didn't…thank God he is NOT as good at reading clues as almost any other person you talked with on a mostly weekly basis. Yet. Phoenix could definitely spend a few hours teaching him the basics of your work. And especially how to fight back himself without...without accidentally killing someone again, for the days neither you can be at his side from a call of either of the names you listened to.

"I do, you're right. I think I can go as far as calling us good friends, we talk a lot." You claim, telling him the mother of lies with a grin as Jim hid his face in his hands, but once he recovered, he pulled a stack of papers from a file cabinet behind him. The same contract you signed for your cover-up profession as an Detective Aide.

More of a Commissioner's Aide at this point, but bringing that up anytime soon would short-circuit the little patience the older man still had for your or your heroic alter ego.

"Jerome, read through these and sign accordingly, everywhere where I made an X just now, okay? I need to talk to Faith in the meantime." Jim said, explaining Jerome's next steps while handing the papers to the ginger and walking back around the desk to put a hand on your shoulder. The grip it had could mean only one thing: You're gonna explain yo shit right now, kid.

In the next room, nearly an interrogation room from the design and the fact that it's probably more sound-proof than the rest of the Precinct – excluding the actual interrogation rooms of course –, Gordon sits on the table with a sigh, "Really? Phoenix? That's your best way to handle it? By just making it even more of your fault if something happens??"

If he knew you in any way, he would know that the answer is yes. It will always be yes, especially for Phoenix. Both Faith and Phoenix may do stupid, risky or reckless plans and ideas. But once you start them, once they roll into action and there is no way out or back, you will stand by said plan till the end. Whether it ends good or badly for you. And while you always accept another party wanting to join in on the plan or idea – after of course making sure they are capable of keeping themselves and others safe during that – you never, and you mean NEVER abandon a plan mid ride, leaving to watch from a distance as it crashes with them into a wall.

"Give me any better ideas, you know where to hand in your business inquiries when I'm not physically available. Though Jason and Damian like ripping them up, so maybe not them." You sass at him, pulling up your nose, grimacing at this small bodily problem. One you needed to get rid off as soon as you could, otherwise Jerome might actually find out this charade sooner than you wanted. And you would prefer keeping it out of his already messy life, the knowledge of your identity would paint a massive target on his back if someone less nice found out that he knows. "You know I don't have any better ideas, but ALL of this wasn't my stupid idea in the first place. You should've just left hi-"

"Never. And I won't start THAT argument a second time, Gordon!" Whenever you started using Jim's last name with that tone, he knew that you were reaching your own limits of patience for certain subjects. And the fate of Jerome, whether you should've left him where you found him or shouldn't, was already a sore spot for said limit. It almost sounded like Jim treated his presence like a pesky stray that you could just have left in a dumpster…knowing said stray could've died the next morning or even night.

"Fine…fine. But a different problem then: Where the hell will you have him sleep? I sure as hell won't take him home with me if you made him your problem." It all really had its uncanny similarities with comparing the ginger next door with a stray.

A feral ginger Cat? Nope, Jerome is too held-back still to be a damn cat…

A Vizsla…that's what he is, a red coated Vizsla. Separation Anxiety and all, yeah.

"Are you even listening to me anymore?" "Yup." "What did I just say then??" Wait, he actually said something? Fuckkkk. "Uh, about me having to think about where Jerome will stay because he is my problem?" "That was five minutes ago…I think your cold is getting to you."

It probably is, have you really been thinking for a whole five minutes about what damn dog breed Jerome would be?! You would have to raid the first aid cabinet in your bathroom at home tonight if you kept getting worse, you needed to be near symptom-free until tomorrow at least. You can't go on Patrol feeling like that! Or especially thinking like that…

"I will refresh your mind then. I was talking about the various safe houses you and your family have around Gotham. Didn't you mention just two weeks ago that you finally got your own?"

Yes you did and you can see what Jim is meaning about it, nodding in quiet approval. The keys to it are somewhere in your backpack, so you could give them to Jim before you left for the Manor. "Can you bring him there later?" "You can do that yourself, and don't even think about detaching yourself already for today either, Faith. You still have the description of the Suspect for me…"

Oh right, the sole reason you're here again so…"quick". As long as you don't have to…wait, you have a much better idea.

"I got a deal for you instead, Jim." His brows pull up at the familiar words, crossing his arms, "...You said very similar words about two hours ago and now the Joker's son is currently filling out the papers to become not even an Aide for just a Detective…But Phoenix herself. I'm starting to grow wary of your damn deals, kid." You would too, but that wasn't the point you're trying to talk about. "How about you leave capturing your Suspect to me, and you…" you pull around in the side-pocket of your backpack before finally grasping what you wanted and pulling out a set of two inconspicuous keys on a keyring, "...you get Jerome to settle into his new four walls for now, until I got a better place for him."

You let the keys fall into his hands with a small, oh-so innocent, closed eye smile, knowing that he would agree one way or another, since you at least brought consistent results unlike his men. If you said you would bring a man in, you will...dead or alive. There is no "He ran away." from you, as unlike the officers or Detectives of the GCPD, you didn't tell a suspect from ten meters away who you are, giving them the time to run off.

"Fine, but don't just run off now, Jerome is basically attached to your hip from all the stuff I could watch till now. If you leave without explanation now, I worry he loses the ability to speak for himself entirely until you return." Jim's right, and it couldn't stay like that forever, absolutely not. You, or more precisely Phoenix, would have to give some damn guts to the ginger, he needed confidence if he wanted to survive in this hellhole of a city. Even as a law-abiding citizen he needs to know how to speak up if people want to trample all over him a second time.

No. Just like the rest of your family, you wait from the shadows, preferably above them and you jump once you have the right angle. And perhaps send a kick into their rips for good measure, courtesy of learning that from Jason after he returned to the Family as the 'Red Hood'.

He is no longer with his abusers, he is no longer in Arkham either, Jerome is no longer in an environment where every time he opens his mouth "without permission" he gets beaten or threatened.

"Of course, but promise me you're also going to look into the Therapists and Psychologists the GCPD has to offer for their officers. I would try to get him into the register for our own family therapist and Co. but I would rather avoid them finding out about Jerome for now, especially through that way." You return with a begging expression, remembering Jerome asking for a reevaluation of his diagnosis. Of course you wouldn't leave it at that afterwards, Jerome would need many sessions to talk about all the things that went wrong in his life. Depending on how ready he is for cooperation with his future therapist and psychologist, it might work out more quickly or much slower.

"I will, don't you worry. Now that he is here already, thanks to you, I can't exactly drop him either, that would be wrong. If…if you believe in him…so will I, kid. I just hope this doesn't end up cutting us both too deeply if we end up being wrong with our trust."

So did you…

Back in the office, you stop mid-way as you catch Jerome leaning over Jim's desk, being…rather busy. "What cha doing there, buddy?" You ask behind him, leaning over him to whisper into his ear, causing him to drop the pencil he held and freeze to the spot, goosebumps riding up his skin, "The desk was so…messy. S-sorry…". You could swear you saw the hint of a blush, but he kept his back turned to you, so you dropped that thought.

Jim also caught what Jerome was doing, about to ask you 'what the hell your stray is doing?!', until you start to laugh. First it was a relatively quiet one, then it got louder. "Faith? Did I do something wrong?" Oh no, dear little Vizsla, you're good, you're dandy…well, the Uniform makes you smell like a dumpster, but so do you. But other than that, it's not him that makes you laugh so much. But instead the fact that finally someone else noticed.

"...I fucking told ya, Jimbo, this is an unholy mess for the fact that this is the desk of the very Commissioner himself, holy shit!" You continue to laugh, even helping Jerome place down the last little things more correctly while Jim just watched on helplessly.

"Done now, you two?" "Dunno. Are we, Jerome?" You throw the question into his hands, watching and waiting for Jerome to find his voice. And unlike you expected him to have swallowed his voice again, he smiles back, "Yeah, we done." That's what you wanted to hear, how unfortunate that you had to leave at the very moment he was starting to make progress. At least you got to see that cute smile of his again before you had to handle the grumpy faces at home.

Once you looked at Gordon though, seeing him subtly nod at your silent question, you knew Jerome was in good hands either way as well.

Of course, that nice smile fell quickly again when you told Jerome the fact that you had to leave, that you had to return to your own home for now to make sure your family wasn't too angry at you for suddenly disappearing from the streets like that. He wanted you to stay and when you revealed to Jerome that he would get to stay at your safe house – you told him it's your apartment instead – he asked you to at least come along to show him everything yourself. But you knew if you kept doing that, agreeing to everything, you wouldn't get home anymore at all today, probably sleeping on the floor of your safe house tonight.

Why does your cold make you compare the poor ginger to DOGS of all possible animals?! Couldn't it have been birds, like your dad does with you and your siblings?!

Separation Anxiety, at its finest, a Vizsla he really is…big, red…fearing. You really hoped that this Vizsla would grow into something more fierce, still a kind soul deep down – and maybe less deep down – but able to bark AND bite if required.

...

[simpingwriter]

Jerome Valeska

x

Faith Wayne/Phoenix

'All you need

is a bit of Faith'

pt.4

___________________

Faith loses all common sense left in her brain, revelations, more incredibly teary eyed Jerome and a small kiss.

Enjoy! :)

Word Count: approx. 4.000 Words

___________________

The next time you spot the ginger is when you're both finally permanently let out of your cell's again. Explicitly in the courtyard is where you see him again, all alone on one of the benches, pulling and picking around on his by now much less clean Bandages of his busted up hand.

"There you are, Jerome!" You call out to him, immediately regretting it once he flinched at his own name being called and you see all these eyes settling in on the two of you. He probably had been happy that no one noticed him on his lonely bench and you ruined it…

"Sorry, I kinda forgot both our reputations here. At least that fridge Morgan is still in Solidary though, right?" You joke with an awkward chuckle, one that died as quickly as it came once you saw the expression on his face. He looked just as pained as the last time you saw him, the afternoon he told you about his past.

His reasoning.

"Is...something wrong?" "...it’s been three days…you promised we would talk again. But we didn't." Because whenever either of you could maybe find time for it, it was either him who was dragged to "Group Therapy", something that you noticed – when you also had to go to your first session – was more of a screaming match between most of the more unstable inmates in that stupid childish chair circle than actually getting a chance to talk and listen to each other, like you gave Jerome the chance to. And the Doctor that led these sessions didn't give a shit either.

"I wanted to, but whenever I tried to reach out, either you or me were pulled away again. "Group Therapy", the check-up of your injuries, my check-up…"

He hums, "You're right. It's...weird right? Like they didn't want us to interact at all after your outburst only ten minutes into your arrival because of me. Almost like they see nothing but a problem whenever we're together, Haha."

Jerome jokes about it, but as he said it, you noticed a pattern as well. They might really want to keep you two with as few minutes together as possible. Unfortunately for them, they can't do that during Courtyard Hour.

But unfortunately for you, you need to use your time out here to finally follow your reason for even being here. "Jerome?" "Yeah?" You hoped he knew something about it, the murder and maybe even about who was last in the courtyard that day.

"I still gotta tell you why I am here in the first place, don't I?" Nodding intrigued, he props one of his arms up on the table, leaning onto it with his hand, "Tell the beans, Aide-Girl." "It's spill the beans, but yeah, on it."

And so you told him the parts of the case you felt you could trust him with, basically all the same stuff Jim told you that day. About the murder, about the fact that it happened quite literally outside this very courtyard you're both sitting in as of right now, that one of the inmates is supposed to be the only viable witness of the act. Of course all as quiet as possible, leaning just as close as three days ago when you hushed him, whispering the details into his ear as he nodded along. "I-i heard about that, y-yeah. Happened two days before you came here as well. I'm surprised no other inmate has been suspicious of you yet actually."

Well, you didn't know that actually, looking around yourselves as you brought some distance between the two of you again. Something you didn't miss either was the blush that dusted his face…maybe you should think a bit more about just leaning this close to others. Eh…he'll be fi- no. It's a matter of manners, Faith! Ughhhhhhh.

He did seem even cuter with the blush thou- CONCENTRATE! NO CRUSHES ON ARKHAM INMATES!

The inmates might as well be suspicious of you already, maybe the daggers they glared at you weren't just the result of your anticlimactic fight with Morgan at the beginning, or siding with Jerome.

Maybe they were smarter than some of them looked…

"But how can I help you with this? It's not like I am your best source of connections, something we should both have realized by now…" that is true, you probably had more luck asking around yourself than using Jerome as your personal extension. Well, who are you kidding, the wrong look from both of you and you're back in the Infirmary, okay…Jerome would probably end up back there, you would immediately give up the mantle of Phoenix if a few nutty criminals would overpower you.

You wouldn't let that happen, Jerome was beaten and kicked around many times enough already in his life for someone his young age. Even if it seemed odd, a girl a full head shorter than a guy, protecting him in prison. Usually you hear it the other way around, but when is some Criminal even lucky enough unknowingly to have Phoenix on their side?

Even though in your eyes, Jerome was not yoir everyday insane criminal…he was simply a victim of a very poor upbringing and an extremely faulty, corrupt system that rather shoved more and more people into Asylums and the like instead of taking their precious time and resources to see what can be done to not ruin theses peoples' lives even further.

"First of all, if anyone dares threaten you again…shout my name…my fake one, as loud as you possibly can. I will try to come as quickly as I can manage. " "You sound like a budget Batman, just so you know."

If only he knew, if he just knew…

"I mean it though. Okay, next…even if you're not able to help with the questioning, I don't want to see you moping around like this while I do my shit around here, so come one. You're my assistant now!" "...So Budget Robin?"

Urghhhh, whatever!

Jumping up from your spot on the bench, you don't leave him much room for declining, pulling him up with you as he yelps out at the strength in your arms, holding onto them for balance at first. "Warn me next time perhaps?" "Nah."

Walking along the fence now, eyes trying to note down everything mentally, Jerome pulled his unbandaged hand across the wired fence, humming some song he himself probably didn't even know the title of. If it even was a real song, and not just mashed up and together by his strewn about thoughts. "So you're like my personal Superhero-Detective Aide now?" Wow, if only he knew just how RIGHT his guess about you was just now. Oh well.

"Yup, although I don't answer to requests like: Can you beat that one up for me? We got standards over here-... Hey, wait a moment! You there!" From staring at the ground, hoping to see something the police missed, you nearly missed something else. Or rather someone. A man just outside the fenced off area, that when you called out to him, started to run away like he just got shot at...or caught. Oh hell nah…was that your, or rather, the GCPD's suspect?! Fuck. You needed to stop him!

You only got back to reality when you're halfway over the courtyard's fence and you feel someone tugging desperately at your pants. Jerome. "Are you actually fucking crazy, Faith!?" He whisper shouts, trying to stop you but you…you didn't think. Not rationally at least as you pulled yourself free.

And within seconds you were over the fence, running after the man that was oddly enough stalking around the murder scene, ignoring the shouts of inmates and guards alike. All that matters was catching that one man.

That one man!

Once in the right distance, which you quickly had reached since you were not exactly a slow runner, you tackle the man to…fuck. You were sure that you were going to hit him to the ground with your jump, but you both stagger to the side and fall into the canals of Gotham's River instead, making a huge splash as you fall into the dirty water. He fought against your grip but it was tight as steel as you drag both of your bodies to the small wooden boardwalk at the side right where you fell in. Throwing him up on it first, his attempt at standing back up hindered by your own body as you heaved yourself and your wet prisoner uniform out as well, right on top of him with a huff.

Oh wait...fuck…prisoner uniform…fuckkkk.

You let your head fall back at your stupidity, beating yourself against the head as you realized that your symptoms were running full force again, making you do such idiotic moves. "Get your stupid ass up, I need to get back there, fuckface…" you groan, grabbing the man by the back of his collar, ignoring his disobedient reaction of not moving even a damn inch unlike you ordered him to.

You reach the fence just when the guards also reach your position, looking at Jerome with a satisfied grin. His eyes were a mix of worry, anger and fear. "You're fucking crazy, girly…" He mumbles, grabbing at the fence as you throw the suspect against the fence as well, holding him in place until the guards tore your hands off of him. You ignore their baseless words and orders as you glare at the man you just caught, "Who are you? What are you doing at a murde- OW! Don't you see that I am BUSY?!" Your questioning is interrupted by the way too tight Cuffs getting attached to your wrists, River water dripping off of you as they try to pull you away. Hell no, you're NOT leaving this man without answers!

"What kinda illusions do you live in, you freak?! Think you're a cop or a Detective?!" One guard barks irritated at your questions towards the man, moving his hand towards his belt. Oh God, anything but a taser, please.

"I am one! FUCK! Noo!" Now with five guards there, they managed to pull you away, one of them lifting you over his shoulder as you glared at the unknown man.

He is about 6'2" tall, dark brown, matted hair, grayish blue eyes, scruffy beard with patchy growth at the sides, one broken front tooth, yellowish teeth overall, Scars over his jugular.

"Yeah…sure, kiddo. Fucking crazy ass bitch…" the one that carried you mumbles, your fists thumping against his broad back as you tried to get off of him again, you needed to tell Jim about your findings, that you had a suspect for them! "Call the Commissioner then! Call him!" But all else falls on deaf ears and within a few minutes you're thrown into your stupid cell again.

"What? No Solidary?" You ask arrogantly, looking up at, challenging them from the floor, leaving a puddle immediately from being more wet than a fish as they stare you down. "You're just lucky, the last Solidary cell filled up an hour before. But don't think you're going to have it any better like this, you freak. Call the Commissioner, my ass. Hahaha…" You're welcome that this is so much fun for you…dimwitted dickheads.

You needed to get your meds again, asap, who knew what stupid garbage you would do other than this stunt right now the longer you're without them again. It's been years since the last time you had symptoms, of course because you always took the medication for it since Alfred always made sure you had enough of them at all times.

The last time your disorder took such control over your decisions was…13 years ago? Bruc- Dad didn't take long to notice your struggles, that something was wrong. Got you seen by a psychologist, got you your diagnosis and a life-long prescription for the right medication to fight it. You had been nearly symptom free ever since then and you never felt better. But now? You felt the anxiety crawl back up, of doing something stupid, of not properly thinking through what your brain told you to do.

You didn't even notice that you started crying, rolling yourself into a ball of self-pity until you heard a familiar voice. Jerome. Again.

"Faith? Faith?! Are you okay? What's wrong?!" He asked through the small hole, his voice shaking at the idea of knowing even without asking, that you weren't okay. How come he was here too?! Was the Courtyard Hour over already? Then where is everyone else?

"Why…why are you in your cell as well?" You whimper weakly, pulling yourself together as you crawl over to the hole, ignoring the obvious stabbing pain in your barely clothed knees from the small rocks and pointy ground you scraped them over.

It felt like you're in a goddamn tunnel…

"They thought I helped you "escape", as they still suspected us to have some weird shit going on already, or did you forget that part? Anyways, they immediately dragged me inside along with you anddddd…here I am." Right, there was a reason they left you two in your cells for three days. There…was something you did cancel out in your brain at that point, you just didn't know what until right now. "I-i'm sorry…I…I didn't want to drag you into this again. But…ah fuck...I need to call someone." Your head bumps against the wall with some force too much as you groan out in pain, cursing out yourself for being such a dumb piece of shit.

"Do you still have the stuff to open our cells?" "The Lockpick set? Of course, it's not even noticeable, even if they grab me like that…" It took you a good minute to grasp what Jerome wants from you with his question, a quiet "Oh." leaving your lips as you pushed yourself off the floor with the last bit of willpower you got left for today, slugging over to said cell door. Even feeling the way you are, locks are a piece of cake to you.

So not even thirty seconds later you're in Jerome's cell, looking like a wet dog they just kicked to the street. From Jerome's reaction to your current appearance, you definitely looked the part to how you felt. "You look like shit." "Yeah...thanks." And five steps later, you sit next to his bed, staring at his cell's floor now. Why did he want you over in his cell? To be able to see you cry, not just hear it?

"Are...Are you cold?" Well, the Asylum, as noticed before, is frigid in temperatures, even during summer somehow, you're wet to the bones and that uncaring coldness bites at said bones.

Yes…you're very cold, in simpler terms.

But you're you. Too proud to voice what you're thinking at that point, to give him the answer he wanted to hear. Instead, you kept quietly brooding to yourself, pulling your legs to your chest, questioning your damn sanity for like forever now. A personality trait you most definitely got from your dad, to keep nagging at your own actions for ages, not listening to anyone from the outside. Something you hated with a burning passion when he did that…but clearly you're not any better.

You're startled out of it though when you feel some change of weight on your shoulders. A blanket? It was the same thin one you all got, barely enough to keep one from freezing to death at night. But it helped a bit. "Why-" "You helped me too, it's definitely not enough to make it even, not in the slightest…but…but I'm working on it." How did an Inmate in Arkham have more emotional maturity than some adults living their normal lives everyday? "It's okay, please. I'm just going to soak it." His hands are quick to stop you as you try to pull it back off your body, "And let my Superhero-Detective Aide get sick? Do you even know what happens to the Inmates that get sick here?!"

You could imagine it…

"...So," He begins, still struggling against you with the blanket even then until he had enough of it and tied it around you with an exasperated sigh, "...you promised to talk more with me." Was that really what he wanted now? You are far less…stable…than you were three days ago. "...about?" "...You?"

There was nothing about you to talk about, not that you knew off. "I'm boring, trust me." He laughs at that, sliding off the bed suddenly and surprising you by sitting down next to you instead.

Just like you three days ago, he got to eye-level with you, you made him sit down on the bed with you, he got down on the floor with you, his pants getting soaked in the pude yours caused…

"I doubt that, you just broke out of Arkham without any struggle in less than a minute, you knocked out a 9 ft tall beast of a man, you're selfless enough to listen to a murderer's side of the story…you're probably the most interesting person in this shithole." To him it seems uncanny, but all these things were nothing against the usual stunts you had to bring on a daily patrol. But he couldn't know that, unless he is a mind-reader.

"Jerome?" "Huh?" "Can you read minds?" "...Do I look like a Jedi to you?" … "Kinda?"

A few more minutes in silence after your absurd question, just listening to each other breath as your mind begins to calm back down, you inhale and sigh heavily, "Fine. You told me about yourself…I guess you deserve some about me as well." He eyes you from the side, throwing the small cement piece that must've fallen off from somewhere in his cell back to the side, "Really? I was actually wondering when you're about to ask if I would still like you if you were to become a worm suddenly." As if you're that immature!

"Well...would you?" Because you're much worse.

Silence.

"...Yeah, I think you'd be a pretty fucking cool worm." A smile, the first all day, formed on both your faces as he chuckles at his own answer, his head suddenly ending up on your shoulder, a small jump in your immediate reaction before you settle back down, draping the blanket over him as well. "Would you buy me worm-clothes?" "The coolest shit available. A Leather Jacket for worms…"

You're about to return to the actual, more serious topic when he sighs out, staring at the wall opposite of you two, crossing his arms on his knees.

"At least I wouldn't be all alone again afterwards. human-you will leave sooner or later again…" He is right…eventually you're going to get your hands on the damn Telephones here yourself and get to call Jim about what you found, most likely ending your stay at Arkham rather...soon. Did Jim remember to tell your family where you even were? Or are they turning the city inside and out to find you?

You would imagine your Dad to be smart enough to look in the GCPD as the first stop and to ask Jim about your whereabouts instead of wasting time and starting a search party.

"...Are you sure you're going to stay here forever, Jerome?" "I doubt they'll ever let me back out. Not even those that didn't kill people get back out. They make sure of that, I've heard." Yeah, so did you…

And those that do get back out usually just because they broke out, having to be recaptured by you or your family for the GCPD. The Riddler as a notorious example.

"...I...I hid a fact from you, Faith." So did you from him, you don't really have the permission to be mad about that, neither did the rules from your 20 Questions Game say that you had to tell every detail. Only that you're not allowed to lie. "Jerome, for the fact that I know more about you than you about me, that's still a really good rati- "

"...My father is the Joker, that's why the Detective wrote down this..."diagnosis"…because of the things my...father... did."

What?!

"WHAT?!" Your shock was impossible to mask as you jumped away from him like his touch electrocuted you, eyes wide open as you shook your head erratically at him, "...Tell me that's some horrible kind of joke, Jerome. Please." Hurt evident in his expression, he tried to reach out for you but stayed put either way as he shook his head, "No…it isn't. I…I only found out myself the day they arrested me, you've got to believe me, Faith…" Jerome begged, finally getting his own body to move as he crawled back towards you on his knees.

"Please, Faith…you're the only one who listened to me. Nobody else wants to be associated with me, not even here!"

The son of the Joker…Jerome…Jerome is the son of the Joker, currently losing the fight to his tears as he desperately begged you to stay. But…but how could you? This boy's father was the reason your brother Jason DIED back then! The reason for so many injuries of not just Batman and the Robins, but of so many innocent Gothamites. The reason for the deaths of thousands over all these years…

"I never even met him and I never want to, Faith…I, fuck…please. Please don't go…not like everyone else." He cries out, finally reaching you when you froze to your spot on the floor, face to face with the offspring of your family's greatest nemesis. And yet you must accept something: had he decided to not tell you…you would've never realized, or even imagined such a connection. And why? You knew exactly why, and that within a second of you asking yourself as you looked at the ginger in front of you.

Because Jerome was nothing like him…

Jerome's whole personality felt foreign to his supposed father. But if it was true…how could your conscience even allow yourself to continue talking to him? "...You hate me too now, don't you? Of course you do! Fuck, I should've just kept my stupid mouth shut…" This small pile of broken self-doubt…is the Joker's offspring… Looking at him, it felt like a really horribly, bad attempt at a lie. Really.

"I don't…I…I'm just a bit caught off guard, is…is all." You tell him, biting your lip at what to do, should you just try to forget what you just heard him confess? Or should you run, as far and fast as your legs can carry you?

You made the "mistake" of looking into his tear stained eyes first before making your decision, entirely incapable of finding the same manipulating, manic ones of the Joker.

All you see is a boy your age, missing any and all support with the broken pieces that his life is supposed to be. Another failure of the system of the law, like many before him.

And if everything continues on like this, if you…if you left him too now, who could say if he wouldn't someday actually end up just like the Joker, how long would it take for Jerome to snap absolutely and entirely, once and for all? Because right now, you still found a small piece of hope in the deep green of his glazed over eyes. And he put all of it into your hands, his last bit of hope.

A girl he met three whole days ago, that's how desperate he was for a second chance…

"Fai-" "...I won't let you rot away in here…I won't let them be right about their uneducated assumptions of you being just like your father. I promise, Jerome." He stops in his tracks of trying to pull you back down to him, watching you stand up. Pulling him along instead, you look up at him, searching once more for the pure malice that was prominent in so so many of Arkham's inmates and especially the green haired bastard. And you turned up empty handed.

Before you slipped away fully for today, and you knew it was that stupid problem of your own that did this, you sealed said promise with an act you thought about since the first moment you laid your eyes on his back then busted up, quivering lips. A simple, quick kiss.

It left him stunned enough for you to get out and shut both your cell door again, letting you silently begin your planning of how you would help Jim catch the Subject again…and how you would help Jerome at the same time...

[simpingwriter]

Jerome Valeska

x

Faith Wayne/Phoenix

'All you need

is a bit of Faith'

pt.3

___________________

Playing 20 Questions, what better way is there to bond with each other!

Enjoy! :)

Word Count: approx. 4.706 Words

___________________

"I don't know what the fuck you mean, Carrotboy." Was that really the best your stupid fucking brain came up with?! Bruce would be disappointed hearing your pathetic attempt at talking yourself out of this situation.

Almost as bad as the day Gordon deduced you as being the girl behind Phoenix and all you said was: "Wha? Me? Phoenix? Nah, old man." All while standing right next to Batman as casual as you unfortunately could be for an apparently all normal Gothamite. But today was really one of the days you could've used your brain to work for you and not against you.

Sometimes it felt like your brain was a mini version of Jason, throwing a set of Tim's DnD dice every morning just to decide whether or not it would be helpful or a menace/bother to you.

"Sure. And I am blonde." Yeah yeah, you get it, you really weren't good at lying sometimes, shut up buddy-boy. "Why do you care if I am or not?" You ask back instead, without explicitly confirming or denying his question either way, coughing a bit from the dust on the floor you disturbed by letting yourself fall onto your knees. All other cells beside yours and his were empty once more…the guard really decided to lock you two away. This felt like a less terrible Solidary.

You really shouldn't have thought too soon when you saw that Solidary Holding Sign last time…this is all dragging your time for this investigation out. This is going to take foreverrrrrrrr. You feel yourself go insane already, alone at the fact that you're here already for one and a half days and you hadn't made ANY progress.

"I just…it's weird. I have been here since a whole hellish month now and no one gave a fuck about me, except if they could steal my lunch or push my head into it." It's not like the food here is very missable, you bet. But it would explain why he looked a bit…thin…for his age and height. "Hungry then, I'm guessing?" "Fuckin' starving, girly."

You hum at that, placing your forehead against the rough gray bricks of the wall that was between you two. "If they at least wouldn't have locked me in here as well – after all its not like I can't stand up for myself –, I could have gotten us something. Doubt it's worth it though? Tastes like dog food?" The ginger on the other side chuckles, wincing out audibly due to some of his healing facial wounds though, "You betcha, but if it's the only thing you get here and you got no connections to the guards, it's gonna taste at least mediocre very soon."

Let's hope you're not here for too long to test out his assumptions on the food.

"So if you're not an inmate…who are you? A guard they snuck in? To hear us out? Are they perhaps suspecting a breach?" Guessing you as a guard wasn't too far off. You didn't know him, you didn't know if one of your siblings or even Bruce caught him and threw him in here, so you would definitely not reveal your identity as Phoenix to him. That would be so fucking stupid either damn way, you didn't reveal that to even your best friends. After all it was an incredibly important rule next to the "Do not kill your enemy." Rule. A rule you and Jason regularly acted like it doesn't exist. Oops.

Never reveal your identity to ANYONE without Bruce's explicit permission. Not just for the protection of the Family's secret and their safety but also for the safety of the people you're all close to, both those that knew you all as the masked heroes/vigilantes or as the normal citizens you're outside of Patrols or missions.

"Not a guard. Don't you think you would've seen me before then?" While you continued talking to him, your eyes scanned the surroundings a second time, hoping you missed something but you got the sense you would have to use some of the things you sneaked into the Asylum. The positives of being a female "Inmate" while only men were on shift for registration? They couldn't legally frisk you, even at Arkham. "I don't know. As said, been here for a month only now…you could've been on vacation beforehand." "Trust me, what I actually …my job doesn't even know what month-long vacations are. A weekend...maybe." You stand up from your dusty, dirty spot on the floor, brushing your now cement-dusted hands off on your already nasty looking prisoner uniform before slipping a small black plastic object from your cleavage. Big tits had their various perks on various occasions, like great hiding spots for small tools. Like your trusty, assorted lockpicks in the form similar to a pocket knife. Never going anywhere without it.

"...Are you still-" He stops himself when he hears a small click from the side of your cell, then the "quiet" sliding of a metal door. And when he turned his head, you were already outside his own cell, crouching over to work on the lock of his cell door. His eyes widened at how quiet your footwork seemed to be that he didn't even hear you walk out of yours and over to his cell. "How did…how are you not afr- " "Shhh, I watched their pattern yesterday, that of the guards. They periodically take 20 minute breaks while the cells are empty and are usually gone for another extra 15 because why the hell should they watch empty cells after all, right?"

He watches you pick the lock with no sweat caused, nodding a bit unsure at your explanation, not knowing any better himself as he crawls backwards slowly once you slid his cell door open as well, not shutting it fully behind you as well to get out again more quickly once you had to.

"Yeah no…you're definitely not a guard. Fucking hell…who are you!?" You squint at his defensive position, looking up at you from his small, almost curled up spot on the ground. His black eye was healing better than you expected for the fact that he seems to be missing the important minerals and vitamins to have his body heal his wounds at a normal rate. Depending on how long you're stuck here as well, you had to somehow get him something to eat…perhaps you could bribe a guard to get him actual food. Not the other…"food". Eh, disgusting.

"Fine, I'll tell ya. But first of all, get off the damn floor, you look at me like you think I would stomp your head in. Why should I beat you up after I stopped that SUV-build of a man from taking care of that job? Makes no sense at all." He must've realized so too, looking to the side in embarrassment before using the wall next to him to stand up and move over to the "bed" in the left corner of the room, next to the wall of your cell.

After one night on them already, your comfort-spoiled back cracked like a nightlight stick this morning, you were way too used to the comfy, perfect mattress of your bed at home…hmm, not too soft, not too hard…

You snap out of your daydream when you see the confused tilt of his head, waiting for your reveal and your explanation. First though, you had to make something sure. "How are the wounds?" He frowns a bit, yet shrugs, "Nothing I didn't have to deal with before…" Was he a street kid before he was taken here? You then would expect him to be just slightly better at defending himself, or at least at avoiding the grudge of others.

"Street kid?" "...Well, no. I was able to avoid that at least. I uh…nevermind." "Fine, then I'll keep my secret as well." You claim boldly, throwing yourself next to him onto the hard bed, nearly touching him at how close you came by accident.

Sitting this close, you were able to look at his bandaged face much better, his suddenly wide open eyes revealing what a beautiful shade of dark green they were. What a shame that he was probably absolutely nuts, the slight sign of usually probably very obvious freckles on his face would almost melt away your first opinion of him: Inmate in Arkham, hands off.

"W-what? No! I wanna know…" "How 'bout a game then? 20 Questions." "That...is not a game."

It was to you and your adoptive siblings, well, when you all were still younger at least. It was the best game next to 'I spy with my little eye' to pass the time with on Patrol and to you it was the early bonding time you often missed out on with them back then in your own opinion. It was a good trick to make them be a bit more open about themselves, maybe it worked with the Ginger too. "It is, you just don't have enough imagination i guess. 20 Questions, no lying. Deal?" Stretching your hand out towards the pale one in his lap, you smile sweetly at him. If all of Arkham already hates you two, why shouldn't you two team up at least?

"...Deal. But I ask the first one." Sure, why shouldn't he, if it makes him happy.

"If you're not a guard, who are you then?" Didn't expect any other question, to be fair. But you made the rules yourself, no lying. Well, to a degree with this question, you definitely wouldn't reveal your identity THIS easily, to an Arkham inmate even less. "A Detective Aide." It wasn't a complete lie, you're technically under questionable contract with Jim, in case the media ever wondered how you, a normal citizen, ended up at so many of the crime scenes, seemingly helping the real Detectives with their jobs.

"...wait. You're with the GCPD??" Seems like you struck a sensitive spot with that already, even his bruised eye opening a bit alongside his other one from the shock as he scoots away from you by a few inches. "I'm guessing the GCPD then caught you for whomever you killed?" His green eye caught your dark blue ones, he looked like a deer in headlights, "Y-you could say that. Yeah…I was finally free and they threw me back into a new cage…"

Finally free?

"My turn. What the hell is your name anyway, I don't want to keep calling you Ginger or Carrotboy for all eternity." "Well, unlike me, if you're working with these corrupt dickwads, you aren't exactly stuck an eternity here, are ya?" Well, it heavily depends on how long they would let you simmer in the cells and nothing else. Might as well become an eternity with your usual amount of luck.

"...oh…and it's Jerome. Jerome Valeska. Yours?" Huh. You swore you heard that name somewhere before, you just didn't know exactly where. If he killed someone, he might've been in the news that day? Though this was Gotham's newspapers you're thinking about here, if they'd waste even an inch of paper for one measly murder case, it'd be really fucking odd.

But a mass murder caused by the Joker's Laughing Gas? Yeah. That would probably manage to find a spot. Somewhere.

"I take that as your second question, Jerome. My name…well, first I need you to promise to not utter it to anyone in here." "Do you realize that they'd punch my teeth out before I could even mention it?" Point taken at that, yeah, who even knew if they would believe him if they already wanted him dead for some reason.

"My undercover name is Magdalena…but my real name is Faith Wayne."

Till now, all your answers already sent some kind of fresh shock anew through him, so once more he stared at you in disbelief, "Faith…Wayne?! You're a-" "Wayne isn't an uncommon surname, mind you." He pulls his brows up, having a hard time believing you, not that 'Wayne' is common for a surname. But that you're not A Wayne.

"But are-" "Yeah." "Damn. …How did a Wayne end up as an Aide? I would expect you to someday get your father's company…or at least work there by now." And be hated by all of Gotham, not just its mass of criminals!? HA. NO!

"I...would rather not…too much work, which I already got enough of on most days." Cleary your answer only spawned more fresh question marks in Jerome's head as he kept looking at you just as lost as before. "Adopted or…"

"Biological."

"So…with you knowing that I am a Wayne, yay, you basically know where I live alread-" "Some extremely extravagant old-money house I am guessing." Nail on the head, yeah. You nod at that, in a 'More or less' way before you pick your interrupted sentence back up, "Where did you live before your address was changed into Arkham?" He had started picking at his fingers, especially the dry skin around his nails as he pulls his lips into a grimace. His home didn't give him good memories then, like most people that were here now. You doubt there is even one Inmate in Arkham that didn't have at least one bad or even terrible memory of their old homes.

"A…a traveling Circus. Does Haly's Circus ring a bell?" Ring a bell?! It was etched into your mind from your brother's childhood stories. Of course you did. "I…I actually know very well what Circus you mean…one of my adopted brothers lived and worked there with his parents as well." His mouth formed an O at that, surprise even more evident even with his still aching wounds keeping his facial expressions on the low pretty much, but he definitely didn't look like he wanted to be left in the dark about your Brother now. "Does the name Grayson ring a bell to you then?"

He was unsurprisingly quick to nod at that, "The flying Graysons. I heard of the "incident" that killed them back then from some talk I overheard while working, I was only 3 then yet though, when they died. So I fortunately didn't witness it, even if, I wouldn’t remember I guess…" You couldn't believe it, of course they most likely never met, but Dick was in the same Circus as the ginger next to you. It was shocking how small the world sometimes really was, but not all that weird if your own whole life circled around nothing but Gotham and the surrounding area…

For a few moments, both of you sat quietly, working on digesting and processing the new information: For you it was the Circus that connected you to two people now, for Jerome the fact that your a Wayne.

He would've expected anything but that.

He was first to continue though, turning more towards you so he didn't have to crane his neck to the side the whole time, leaning against the wall as he pulled his legs against his chest, mustering you more thoroughly, "So…how is it living with a billionaire dad?" Yeah, how was such a life?

"Pretty damn boring sometimes. Not even because I can have or do have everything I would possibly want, nah, he didn't raise us like that must I add. But…the fucking events, the gala about every. second. month. They make us want to bash our heads in, to put it bluntly but honest. My second oldest brother was close to making it a reality once because he hates formal suits like the plague." It was something you rarely confessed to other people, as you promised to keep a somewhat good impression in front of strangers for Bruce, so it felt a bit weird feeling so at ease with sharing your distaste for your boring ass rich kid life with the boy in front of you.

Maybe because there was an incredibly low chance he would ever see the world beyond the gates of Arkham again to talk about your deeply personal feelings…

Why did that idea sound so…terrible to you? He killed someone for God's sake! ...He still didn't look the part either way, his ginger hair, crusted over even now with his own blood, one stray, unruly lock of it hanging away and over his forehead, the dimmed freckles on his face, nose and even going down his neck, probably continuing on his shoulders...and the rest of his body. The deep interest buried into his unbruised eye at all the things he got to know about you and all it made him want to know more about you.

Had you met him outside of Arkham, he would've never come to your mind as the subject of probably cold blooded murder. And from all of Batman's "Robins", you're the one that could see through the many masks of your fellow humans the best. So why, if there was one, could you not see through his? "Do...do I have something on my face?" Wait, have you been staring at his face the whole time of your stupid inner monologue!? Oh great, not weird at all, Faith. But you're literally here as a crazy person, undercover, but either way: you were allowed to stare.

"A few freckles are saying hi. But other than that, no."

"Don't start with them now…I can't even count as far for how often I was bullied for them at that stupid fucking shithole of a Circus before! I hate them!" He hates his...freckles? Why? They aren't even that prominent on him, which might be due to the current lack of daily sunlight in Arkham. But how can anybody bully someone for them, you wished you had freckles but noooo, your Dad's stupid genes made you look so damn basic, black hair, blue eyes, wohoo baby... "I think they look really nice on you, though I think you need to get out into the sun a bit more again…" "...Nice!? I doubt anyone ever even thought about complimenting them…" Jerome laments, first caught off guard, then in thought, brushing with his non-bandaged hand over said few still visible patches of them on his cheeks. It was very obvious that he was badly self-conscious about them, a random girl telling him that she liked them wouldn't be able to fix years of negative comments about them like magic.

Sometimes you wished insecurities worked that way though, that all a person needs is ONE compliment and everything is forgotten. But nothing is ever that easy.

"Well, you were surrounded by cunts then. I doubt you will ever have to see any of these people again though, so forget what they said about you. The past is the past, live in the present, and always keep planning ahead for the future." A short, melancholic chuckle shook his body for a moment as he also shook his head, letting the hand fall back onto his knees as he toyed with the pillow in his other hand. As much as the bandage let him at least. "What future…this cell is my only future, where they will let me rot and decay if need be. I will die in here, either from malnutrition, the other nutcases here…or myself. Whoever or whatever is quicker." He tried to hide it, but you saw his eyes both glaze over, quick to soak the threatening tears up with the bandage around his right hand.

He knew his most likely fate. So did you.

So why did you tell him about all this, knowing it would only hurt him further? Were you that detached from reality sometimes?

"I'm sorr-" "It's okay." "No it isn't, I…I forget my manners or to think through my words, especially now. I can't help it..." The last time you took your medication was two days ago now, the afternoon before this Undercover Mission began. This is exactly what you wanted to avoid, had the accident yesterday not happened – would you be able to investigate now instead of being stuck in the cell blocks because otherwise your head would be attempted to be smashed into pancake batter – you could've managed with the steady decline of the meds missing in your system.

"Why?" Asks the actual inmate, yeah thanks. "Impulsivity Disorder, a bit like ADHD but without all the other shtick connected to that. So even if I am not a real Inmate…I have a bit of a crack running through my noggin too. Ha…ironic sometimes…" Phoenix, a vigilante hunting down the insane and crazy of Gotham…is one of them. Well, your condition is still much more mild than whatever is wrong with some of the women and men in here, you don't violently rip the head of Squirrels off to eat them like Cocoa Puffs, for a quite brutal but unfortunately not made-up and gruesome example. "And you? Has anyone ever told you what made you…you?" He shook his head yes, but didn't immediately come out with the words, instead he felt his eyes wander up to the ceiling of the cell. Just as boring and plain as everything else around the two of you – the only interesting aspects right now.

"..."Diagnosed" as a psychopath…if they only knew how long it took for me to get pushed this far…too far." Air quotes added to the word 'Diagnosed' woke your curiosity anew as you used the fact of the beds being slightly wider than a normal single bed format to lie down with your head at the opposite end of it, slightly tilted to position your now propped up legs, one folded over the other, next to his. He looked caught off guard how even after, especially after, he confessed his own condition, his reason for being in Arkham and not a normal prison, you kept being so close to him on your own free will. Hell, you even got more comfortable.

...Psychopathy.

Psychopaths are good at hiding their true selves, but as you mentioned earlier, you were uncannily good at seeing through such masks as well. And yes, that included those of Psychopaths and Sociopaths. So when your first thought of "Shit, he is probably only acting shy, he might be manipulating you." crossed your mind, moments after you heard of his diagnosis, "diagnosis", it was just as quickly rubbed away again by that comically large mental eraser when you realized that you would've most certainly noticed if that werethe damn case. If he would've had lied till now.

But he took this game of questions as serious as you hoped he would. Unlike your unruly siblings sometimes, especially your youngest brother, that little Garden Gnome with an attitude.

"Why the air quotes?" You ask the question that burned you the most of all he just said, wanting to know how it came to said diagnosis. "You're gonna laugh…a Detective just wrote it down. Arkham accepted it as a real diagnosis, didn't question it at all. They didn't even call for a "second assessment". Air quotes this time because there wasn't a first one in the first place of fucking course…" So…it might be some other mental problem…or none at all. But the GCPD wanted to make their job easier, or that one Detective at least…

Even after everything you and your family are trying to do, everything the Commissioner is trying to do…corruption is eating up even the Police to this very day. Will Gotham ever see the day that the innocent and the rightful, the law abiding citizens win? Well, Jerome still killed someone, he wasn't really all that innocent. But he had been helpless either way in that moment, his fate was left in the hands of the Detectives and Officers taking care of his file, his case. In the hands one was supposed to be able to trust.

"...You mentioned that you were…pushed too far. If it's not too personal, who…was your victim? One of your bullies?" The pillow was gripped very tightly suddenly at your question, a dark look overshadowing his own curiosity as you realized he was about to lose to his tears again, angry ones this time. "No." "Then-" "I killed my mother." Oh. Oh damn.

And that was the same thing and only thing that you managed to form with your IQ of impressive 160. "Oh. Oh damn."

"Yeah, I doubt you want to hear that. They didn't listen either."

Because they don't care. All they saw was a crazy, probably insane boy that killed his poor mother, they didn't care to dig any further, you don't doubt that with these underpaid fuckwits sometimes. As often as you had to work with them, you wished you didn't have to, but it was a deal made with Jim. As your Patrols didn't often end all that calmly, much like Jason's. The two of you were only "Robins" not turned off by the idea of "accidentally" dragging a criminal across the asphalt with your cars or motorcycles. And Jim knew that. Being the closest to you of all of Batman's Sidekicks, he also was much more lenient.

Help the GCPD every once in a while with something too difficult for their normal Detectives and your own "crimes" don't make it into the files. Sometimes you could throw in a good word for Jason as well.

You had to work with people whose work ethics made you question even the system you were supposed to protect with your family. If anything, it needed to be reformed, not the people alone. Desperately.

"No. I do. I'm not the police, I do want to know." "Didn't you just say you're an Aide for them?" Well... yeah. You did. So what.

You lift your head to lock eyes with him, eyebrows knitted together at him in some way or another for calling out your one half-lie between all your truthfulness until now. You definitely wouldn't acknowledge it this time, he would have to believe either the first or the latter version. But only you knew that both are right in a way. "You have the chance to tell your side of the story to someone who promises to listen and you begin questioning that person's occupation?"

He returned the same irritated expression, as much as he could without wincing out again, holding the bandage over his cheek before grumbling out at you, since not only you knew that you're right. "...all…all of it?" "If it is needed to explain your reasoning of going with such a brutal decision of killing your own mother, yes. All of it."

His mother forced him to take care of nearly all chores around their small, crammed trailer that 3 people had to live in. If he wasn't fast enough or she found the smallest something to complain about in how he did it, and he told you that she found a reason basically every damn time, Lila, he said was her name, would beat him. Often, regularly and routinely even, to the point he wouldn't just bruise but also bleed or have to limp for weeks from how hard she would hit him, naturally with help of other objects than her hands as well.

The last ten minutes of your sneaked in stay in his own bleak cell were spent with him telling you about his childhood, of growing up at Haly's ever since he could remember. Of course all that while you made sure to analyze every twitch of a muscle and any non present one, the movements of his hands. Everything. He begins with the fact that he even had a twin brother, named Jeremiah. Of the cruel way the other residents and workers of the Circus treated him as a kid. All he was used for by the Circus was to dispose of the dung and shit all the Circus' animals left behind after the shows and feeding or cleaning routines.

All the while, she fucked a new man every second day, right in the next room or trailer, depending on who the newest man was. Clowns, Acrobats, Lion-Tamers…everything.

Then he told you about what his brother did to him, how their mother only turned her punishments and beating up a notch of extreme…because his twin told their mother that Jerome wanted to kill him in his sleep. Jerome was adamant towards you about that having been a blatant lie, as he couldn't have even done so, he was locked in a literal animal's travel cage that winter night, by his own mother as well, so she could've denied it too.

And one night, Jerome confessed, he could no longer hold onto his rage, his anger that build for all these years…he just couldn't hold it back any longer. He let his vile, dark thoughts become real and he killed her, but he waited until she touched him again, when she came in to beat him for forgetting to clean the beer cans up. With an axe, he explained, his eyes unfocused as he stared at his hands, those that held the murder weapon. His uncle, he said that fact with a sour tone, helped him try to cover it up but as he was here now, it clearly didn't work.

But she didn't, she simply used that event as an incentive to "discipline" the "black sheep of her family" even further.

You could only imagine the amount of nights Jerome spent trying to find any spot of his body he cpuld lie on without putting pressure on his bruised skin. The tears that must've fallen in all these hellish nights...

And then you were all caught up to his situation, eyes wide the whole time, your continuous follow up questions, for everything he told you with a knot in throat, just as choked out as his answers. You simply couldn't or didn't want to believe that he went through all these things…and he defended himself…he wanted…freedom.

And Arkham is what he got in return…

"Jerome, I-" you just wanted to give him your honest opinion on it all when you hear it in the distance: the jingling of two heavy key rings. The guards are coming back! "What?" Your hearing seems to be better than his as you hushed him, quickly sitting up on the bed to push a finger against his lips, getting incredibly close to the now unhindered crying boy. Again, an action from your side that happened without much thought from your end as you motioned him to either be quiet or to whisper now.

You didn’t want to leave his side already, especially not now! He looked like he was about to fall in on himself like an old building with you causing him to dig back up all of this past trauma, having given up to hold back the tears. His eyes puffy, they look into yours like a kicked puppy,

"Please don't leave me now…"

In that moment you realize that you're probably the first person he told about his abuse, about everything…a stranger he met yesterday was kinder and more understanding than any adult or other person he came across in his poor excuse of a life. He deserves to have at least one person to listen to him.

To hear him out.

But you had to leave for now, get back to your own cell before the guard saw that you had the tools to open them yourself. With a bitter, apologetic smile, you slowly get off his bed, nodding slowly at him when he keeps silent. But you couldn't give a promise without words either way, so, when you slide the cell door open as quietly as even possible, you turn towards the now absolutely miserable looking ginger one last time for today it seemed.

"We will talk more…I promise, just have some Faith."

[simpingwriter]

Jerome Valeska

x

Faith Wayne/Phoenix

'All you need

is a bit of Faith'

pt.1

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This is the rewritten first chapter of the Jerome Valeska Fanfic. In this one, other than its predecessor...forget absolutely everything you know about the series 'Gotham', only remember the Debut Episode of Jerome and that's about it. Minus the fact that it was Jim and Bullock that had the case, which isn't the case here. I grabbed Jerome's character and background by the collar and put him into the basic future timeline of Batman and his adopted dysfunctional family. 👍

🤙💀🤙

Family Drama is rad.

Enjoy! :)

Word Count: Approx. 3.000 Words

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It was the early afternoon when a figure clad in dark entered the precinct of the GCPD. It wasn't Batman. The figure was much too short to be the dark knight himself.

But the officers knew this figure just as well, nodding their greetings at the mysterious person while the new officers looked at them with a mix of fear and respect, as they had only heard of you yet.

You.

Phoenix, the fiery sidekick of Batman for almost 9 years now. Named not just for your literal use of non-lethal pyrotechnics to take care of criminals. But also because you never stayed down, you would always stand back up, just like the invincible Phoenix itself.

You nodded back at the older officers before walking past them, snatching one of the powdered donuts from the young cadets – maybe your age, maybe a bit older – as you walked towards the office of a good friend. A friend you knew for the longest time, still just the Captain when you were nothing but a case in this precinct.

Commissioner James, but most commonly known as Jim, Gordon.

He is the reason you're here now, knocking against the glass of the door to his office. "Come in."

His aged eyes light up behind his glasses as he realizes you're here already, on time like always. "Phoenix, perfect. I got a very important request for you, something Batman cannot help me with, I believe."

-

"An undercover mission in Arkham due to a murder that was witnessed just outside the damn courtyard? Why don't you just take the inmates one by one and ask them about what they saw?" Phoenix asked him, already irritated, pacing up and down in the office as the older man sighed, he expected you to answer that way, "We already tried it that way, believe me. They all clammed up when they saw my men, which is kind of expected if we think about it…"

Right, most of these men and women in Arkham were criminals arrested by Jim's officers after all. You wouldn't talk to them either if they cuffed your ass perhaps just two months prior for something you maybe can't even properly control. "...Fine. But if Batman asks why the HELL I'm not doing my patrol rounds, that's on you to explain. Just give me the file of the persona I'm supposed to take on, I'm ready in about ten minutes, I'll be at the Coffee shop across." You accepted the offer, quickly explaining your next steps before already leaving his office once again, you didn't like idling on things like this or Patrols for long. All these things all chipped away at your free time to either train or take care of yourself.

Back out of the precinct, you vanished into the alleyway next to said coffee shop, changing back into your normal street clothes before leaving through the other alleyway on the other side. As usual with this quick living city, nobody watched you, Nobody saw Phoenix disappear and you appear.

Faith is the Phoenix.

Your backpack was stashed in a spot Jim could find later, so it wouldn't get into the wrong hands or get eaten by rats again. So with all the precautions out of the way, you slip into the coffee shop to start reading into your new persona for who knows how long. You knew of Arkham very well and boy you hoped the case was as easy for you as they usually were, because you sure as hell didn't want to spend even a night in there. But not even Bruce is that quick, especially with absolutely no equipment but your own wits.

Ordering some black tea with sugared condensed milk, – well no, the staff looked a bit confused at your order, so it was normal milk and normal sugar, this isn't Alfred making your tea after all… – you throw yourself into the empty corner booth at the window, diving into the file…

Ten minutes passed quicker than expected when the entrance door's bell rang and you looked up, seeing Jim, looking for you. "Over here, old man!" He recognized you not just by the voice, but also by the teenaged audacity, sliding into the booth with a bitter smile, "I like you with the mask on more." Mask, no mask, who cares. What matters is getting this mission done, you promised something to Damian.

Right, now you remember why you were in such a defined hurry: your youngest brother asked you to show him how to use one of his new gadgets more efficiently. What else was a sister for…

"The mask is just as the name tells you, a mask. Not really me." Bruce has always made you promise to not act too sarcastic and snarky while under the persona of 'Phoenix' so the citizens don't think 'A maniac gets captured by another maniac'

Maniac your ass, Bruce is simply oversaturated with your type of humor after nearly 14 years of living with him. Alfred sometimes tells you to just be you regardless of what Bruce tells you, but it's difficult to be if Bruce is everything you have in a father figure. Literally…

"Can you match the descriptions in the file, or should we change-" "No, actually it's pretty easy. The disorder isn't something impossible to match because hell, sometimes that is one of my own problems." The Commissioner raises one of his brows, it being apparently news to him, "Impulsivity? You usually seem pretty collected to me, despite your very brash humor. Sarcasm does stand for a high IQ after all, right?"

That and about 100+ other things, yeah.

"I take something called medicine for it. I guess you haven't heard of it yet, there is no Ibuprofen or Tylenol for Dinosaurs." His tired eyes say nothing more than 'Again? Again with the Dinosaurs?' before nodding, sighing to himself as he hung his head to wait for you to get ready to leave, "So I will stop using them while I'm in there." You continue though, sounding way too casual for what you said, his head snapping back up and mild panic in his eyes, "You shouldn't, you can act the symptoms just as well, if you know how they feel, can't you?"

That's the unfortunate problem with Impulsive Thoughts. Without your medicine, you never know what comes next, how they hit, when they hit. Your just thankful that you have a very mild version of it, you don't have such thoughts 24/7 when off your meds, just enough to bother your everyday life and your hero life. Not even you could act them out well, as only the beloved nut in your head knows what kinda dumb thoughts you're going to get and act out. "Not in front of Staff, they might not care about the inmates overall, but they sure as hell can see it when someone is faking their disorder or sickness. To sort out the idiots that think the Asylum is less of a punishment than the actual Prison of Gotham."

But surprise surprise, the criminally insane, despite often being the ones needed the most help, are the worse treated ones. Gotham is stuck in the ages where the insane are seen and treated as lesser humans still. And you would've hoped that with his massive influence on most thongs around Gotham, Bruce would try to change that old sat in thought for the better at some point.

But he just left it like that, maybe he was perfectly fine with watching a Robber that only did so during a Bipolar mania episode rot with a serial pedophile rapist that killed and molested all his victims a second time all because the voices told him so. The difference is quite fucking obvious and some inmates themselves even feared a big part of the rest for exactly those differences. Some could've been helped with the right therapy or medication, some, in the same building, were mental fucking lost causes, ticking time bombs.

"Are you certain?" "Very, and don't worry, it will take a while before the symptoms return fully anyways. I took my meds yesterday afternoon, I should've taken a new one by now, so now its effect will slowly diminish in my body until it used up everything. Give it two days before I am fully medicine-free and showing symptoms of doing stupid shit…and I hope I got your witness found out till then."

And that's how you ended up in a police van, already pre-dressed in the usual black and white stripes since Jim wanted to avoid the Staff being overly…touchy…with you being a female first arrival and still dressed in street clothes. Cuffed, you fought against the potholes shaking the whole van around on the way to the Asylum, cursing under your breath. Back at the Manor, you would fill the Swear Jar all on your own right now. But the jar obviously was only useful when Bruce or Alfred were nearby, under siblings, no one cared if a 'fuck' or 'asshole' or worse was used in everyday conversations.

Even Damian cursed already, the little shit the whole damn reason the swear jar exists by now, but if Bruce or Alfred ever found out, you and your siblings were fucking toast.

They just parked at the Inmate-Admittance Entrance and opened the doors when you turned and leaned over to Jim, "Once you get back here to get me out…keep your Lighters to yourself, Commissioner." A guard already roughly pulling you by your collar as you grinned at Jim with mischief. If there was one thing you were amazing at, it was acting. Well except said Impulsivity. That made you so good for undercover jobs, though usually Bruce would have to change your appearance just a bit so it didn't get suspicious with the amount of times you were used to doing it by now.

"Ha, you're not getting back out of here, not after all the messed up shit you probably did!" The guard laughs as he hears your in-act goodbye to Jim, who waved slowly and worried at your clearly true warning with the Lighters as you also waved with a smile. He had to ask Batman about that problem of yours and what the hell Lighters of all have to do with…wait, is it fire? Is her Hero-Identity as literal as he thinks it is?

With that out of the way you're – still quite roughly – being pushed towards the register, the doors of the entrance shutting you away from the outside world as they compare your information to the one they got an hour ago from the police, the file they made for your fake identity, matching them as you told them "your name", "Magdalena Carols? What kinda stupid name did your parents curse you with??" The same guard from before asked your scowling form as he pulled you away from the register again. Are they going to let you walk on your own at any point?!

"I don't know what you mean, Officer…Donut. How fit- UGH!" One bad joke later, you already received your first fist to the face, stumbling away from the impact as the clearly hot-tempered, full-figured Guard glares at you, "It's Donten! Doesn't surprise me at all that a psycho like you can't even read properly. Were too busy burning your school down, weren't ya?"

You kept your further comments to yourself, feeling like it be a waste of energy as you used your still cuffed together wrists to clean the blood from under your nose. Fuck, you wanted to spit it as his feet so badly. Well you cou-

No. Don't.

The rest of the walk down the bleak hallway was quiet until you stopped in front of a door, two guards stationed at it unlocked the barred steel door, sliding it open to the day-room. It was filled with inmates, some you unfortunately even recognized. They probably wouldn't recognize you though, you always wore your mask when you took care of all of them.

"Have fun with your new friends. Some of them are real fans of fresh, young meat like you. In the way you think and the hungry way, hahaha!" Great that he could laugh about that idea of it happening so much, an inmate being raped or eaten by another inmate, literally even more criminal offenses, while he is on shift,…stupid idiot, Officer mcFucking Donut…

Once he removed your Cuffs through the bars, you rolled your shoulders, groaning under the fact of how uncomfortable Cuffs can be if some idiot makes them too tight. While doing that, you missed the fact that everyone stared at you. Well, you wouldn't for long.

And it wasn't everyone either, just some stray inmates sitting on tables at the edge of the room. All the others seemed much more invested in a commotion near the middle of the room…

In that ring that formed out of inmates alone, the tallest man in the room was incredibly obvious, even when he was clearly kneeling down. When he raised his massive fist, fresh blood of some other inmate smeared onto them, you realized you probably should try to stop this. This fat mountain would kill an unknown Inmate if he continued, maybe…maybe he already did and he is beating nothing but their Corpse to mush!?

But either way: you had to think about the slim possibility of the target of these attacks being the potential witness to the murder outside the courtyard! And helping him or her out of this situation would most likely put you on their good side. Still, it was probably mostly your savior-complex as your body moved basically on its own, walking with determination towards the ring of people before squeezing your way through. During which you noticed something, something terrifying: they all chanted the same name, that must belong of the mountain of a man, telling them to be louder for him. They chanted for him to kill the other inmate.

How could one inmate be so hated??

Finally arriving at the inside of the ring, you had to realize with horror that whoever he was beating up was a cornflake compared to his size. A young ginger boy, your age probably, not exactly buff but not scrawny either, more in the middle. But even then, definitely not capable of defending himself from whatever that was even if he had been prepared!

You had to help him!

"HEY! Mess with someone who can actually handle your fat fucking ass, Dumbo!" You shout the words without much thought put into them, and when the mountain's head snapped into your direction, you accepted your mistake. Now you definitely had to deal with him, running away won't save you after what you just said, but he wasn't the first of his size that challenged you. Killer Croc for example. That scaly beast was about 9 ft tall…and so is this inmate it appears, at least once he stood up from where he kneeled over the beaten up ginger, who barely had the strength left to look towards your voice as well. The one eye that wasn't swollen shut grew wide in horror as he saw the massive man stomp towards you, your 5ft frame looking like a tiny snack in comparison, even smaller than a Cornflake, if you already kept that comparison running.

You proved many times that size didn't matter during a fight, it was the training and determination to fight back that did.

The inmates around you suddenly thinned out in a panic when they saw the 9ft tall man walk towards you and them, giving you enough space to spot your weapon of choice, running towards it while backwards, keeping him in your line of sight the whole time while also making sure no one else began to beat into the ginger on the ground. If he caught you, he could quite literally wrap his hands around your head and squish it like a overly ripe watermelon, so you had to use your agility to your advantage.

"And you're that someone?" He laughs at his own question loudly, sounding almost too deep to actually count as a laugh to your ears. Jumping onto one of the tables, taking one of the chairs with you in the same motion, you swing it out towards his head just in time, the table giving you a bit of height to reach it better.

The chair hit him directly, he couldn't even see it coming as you smashed it against his dome with enough force that the chair, made of literal steel, bent under the force. "Yes I am…" For your luck, the fight was as anticlimactic as Dick's Speech last week, his eyes widening at your audacity, mumbling something, "You're going to regret…choosing his side…" before collapsing to the side with a dusty, heavy thump.

Discarding the chair to his body – adding basically a second beating to his face – you jump off the table and run over to the ginger on the cement floor. There was literally blood everywhere on him, his heartbeat extremely elevated and his breathing labored.

You didn't waste another moment to even think about talking to him now, he was only able to mumble some incoherent words as of right now, so you pick him up from his position on the floor, having to ignore his pained but subdued wincing for now. You need to get him to the Infirmary before he-

Just finished with getting him on your back, you could only feel the hard, cold impact against your temple and hear the shattering of glass during said impact and when it fell to the floor in shards before the dull pain set in near immediate afterwards. A glass bottle. Who the fuck let mentally unwell inmates have THAT of all forms of possible fluid transportation?!

Stumbling and staggering a bit from that, you get back steady as you turn to the direction the bottle came from, "Throw even one more and I'll come back for you lot as well. If I can fuck him over, you're all child's play to me!" It came out just as threatening as you wanted it to be, the inmates one by one inching away from you and the boy on your back. Until you had enough room to see a different guard from before at a barred steel door near the far corner of the room, waving you over to him. Over the door was a steel plate sign: Infirmary and Solidary Holding cells.

Thank God you're going to the first one, the second one would put a bit of a pebble in your mission. Well, more of a Boulder.

"You're more than just crazy for throwing yourself into the ring with him! Morgan could stomp your lights out in a sec if you aren't careful from now on!" Why did he care, to him, you're an inmate like everyone else in here. Just like Morgan, like the ginger he beat up…

You wonder what he did to end up in here, what he did to get nearly all the Inmates rooting against him in such an unfair confrontation. He didn't even look like he belonged here, from what you at least could see through the blood coating his pale face, slowly drying up by now…

"Why…"

Huh?

"Why did you…save me?"

Because that's what Phoenix does…and so does Faith. They save people, no matter who…if their lives are in danger, she will try her best to help them.

"Because I don't know you yet."

___________________

[simpingwriter]

Jerome Valeska

x

Faith Wayne/Phoenix

'All you need

is a bit of Faith'

pt.5

___________________

Faith finally gets her ass out of Arkham again, she gets to command the Guards a round a bit, she gets into an argument with Gordon...Jerome is frozen to his chair.

Enjoy! :)

Word Count: approx. 3.400 Words

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A lot…and you fucking mean A LOT of bargaining back and forth with one of the nicer guards later, with Jerome quietly but hopeful watching everything unfold from his cell door, you managed to get ten minutes at one of the phone lines in the visitors center. Getting cuffed, the guard leads you out from the cell and past the ginger, mouthing a 'Trust me.' towards him before the guard kept pushing you forward, mumbling something along the way of 'not wasting his time on his break'. Yeah yeah, got it, Officer.

Once in the Calling Room, you eye the guard expectantly, pulling your brows up, "Could you? Please??" which you only got a stubborn shake of his head back as he stayed right where he stood, glaring at you from across the room quietly. And to think that this was actually, not even lying, the nicest guard you managed to find while they switched out over the day. Never had you lost the favor of a whole building full of people as quick as on this occasion. Well, at least you had carrotboy on your side, but how much was it really worth in the long run? What if you are making a mistake?

Your finger dialed the number by itself at this point, never forgetting the amount of times you had to use it before in other situations. Jim's private Number for his office in the Station.

"Commissioner Gordon, state your business and it better be importa-" "It's Faith. I am to 90% sure I got your stupid subject, well, his description because I was dragged away before I could do anything else..." There is silence on the other side of the line for a few seconds before Jim sighs out loudly, "First of all…what do you mean with 90%??"

The other 10% was your brain cells making patterns for hologrpahic-yarn macrame keychains, but if you told Jim that, he would 100% hang up on you out of irritation and you wouldn't spend yet another fucking night in here!

"That was a joke, I am very certain it's him, so please…get me out of here, I think I got a damn cold." You practically beg, noticing the shift of the guard in the corner as he heard your side of the conversation, confusion taking over when he called for more guards to come into the room. "...How did you find out?" "Ran after him, fell into the River Canal, longish story."

"How?! You're literally in Arkham as an inmate!" So you did end up explaining that whole event of that day to Jim after all, leaning against the wall with one hand, the other grabbing onto the Phone with ever so slowly dropping patience, feeling the cheap plastic of the device groan from the pressure. "Also, I have an incredibly important favor to ask. In exchange for finding your Suspect." Both you and Jim knew quite well that you doing this was already a favor the other way around, so when he cleared his throat to remind you of that very fact, you already told him that you knew, that he didn't need to repeat himself like a broken record. But this was important to you. And someone else.

"...Can I interest you in a new Aide for the GCPD perhaps? One that can…think like a cri-" "I am NOT taking an Inmate as an Aide, Faith!" And if you beg and grovel at his feet? For as long as possible? Even once he got here to pick you back up?

You did exactly that, but he didn't have the endurance like you thought he would have, groaning out at your insufferable ways. "You're gonna do a hell lot more extra favors for that. Show me who you mean once I am there, okay?" You really were Jim's favorite, would any of the other Robins have came and asked for such a massive thing, he wouldn't have budged. At all.

Once you had dealt with what you wanted to deal with, you lifted your hands back to the guard with a provocatively innocent grin. But after he listened in on the conversation, hearing you actually say 'Commissioner' to the person on the other line and use a whole different name for yourself, he looked with disbelief. "You're…actually a Detective?" Smart 'n dumb cookie.

"Duh, now could you please get me back to the cells? And tell Jerome to get his lazy ass off the "bed"? I'm taking him with me." The guards' , yes actually plural, eyes widened at the mention of Jerome's name, one actually starting to chuckle at that, "The Joker's hellspawn of ALL these possible options?! You're crazy enough to actually belong here, kid."

Did EVERYONE here know about Jerome and the Joker but you??

"...He isn't like his father." "He killed his own mother in cold blood." Yeah so? Others burned down full to the brim primary-schools without a single reason, unlike Jerome had, or poisoned thousands of liters of important blood donations…but one boy that got pushed by his own victim into killing his abuser…he is the worst of the bunch. Sure. Yeah. "Just shut the fuck up." Oops, you said that out loud, that wasn't what you-... ah, who gives a shit.

Not you.

"I meant that, don't care, now hurry up or I go myself, I know the damn way anyways by now…"

Finally getting over their shock, they escort you back to the cell block that you called your home for a good week now, vehemently dodging their multiple attempts to cuff you either way until you're already there, swatting the last guard's hand away with a growl through your teeth before whistling towards the ginger for his attention. "F-faith? What's happening? They didn't cuff you?" You shake your head at him with a grin, wiggling your eyebrows before snatching the keys from the closet guard with an "oops, mine now", before he could even react and try to wrestle them back out of your hands, you had found the right key for this specific Cell Block, unlocking the door. "Hey! You're still an inmate here until your people are here to collect you, so behave before-"

"Before what?" You ask in return, sliding the door open with one strong push of your arm, no longer having to make sure to do it quietly, challenging the surprisingly scrawny guard with a squint. You had no qualms at all about also kicking some ass before leaving, really not.

Jerome at first stays put on his bed, even once the door is wide open, remembering yesterday when you nearly jumped out of your skin when he revealed who his father is.

Would you really want him to walk out of Arkham? Did you trust him with that much freedom and decisions?

"...hurry up, will ya? My nose is clogged up, my throat hurts and burns, I want to get to somewhere warmer and you being a little ginger pussy is not speeding this process up by a whole lot. Come on, Jerome..." No nickname, no serious teasing. Just you being honest about your opinions as you motion him to finally get a damn move on. And he didn't need to be told twice this time, nearly falling over his own feet as he came towards you, looking down at you with question marks in his eyes. He had such a hard time believing that anyone would even care for him, even after all these conversations you two had while you had the time. All he ever had gotten from other people was pushes, punches, kicks…never a hand, ready to pull him along with them.

Just like your actual hand right now, waiting for him as you smile much warmer at him now, "I gave you a damn promise, Jerome. That I wouldn't leave you. I wouldn't leave you to rot away in here. And your stupid fucking heritage or whatever they hang over your head doesn't change my opinion, if anything, it makes me more strongly determined to change your apparent fate…" you told him truthfully, knowing full well that the guards and the other Inmates in their cells were listening to your impromptu speech.

You wanted them to hear this. That just because everyone else joined in on kicking the ones already lying on the floor, crying, bleeding, having lost hope, you didn't have to join them.

And soon, you felt his warm, pale hand in your colder one, hearing him swallow heavily before nodding hurriedly, "Y-you did, ye-yeah…I…" "Save it for when we're actually out of here." You stop him from tearing up in front of everyone else, patting his cheek softly before looking back to the guards, wordlessly asking them to get you two to where ever the fuck you had to be for processing, something less needed for you and more for Jerome once it was time and you boxed it through. And you will, no matter how long you were going to have to fight and argue with that old man.

Arriving there, you were both sat down next to each other, one hand landing on his bouncing leg without even having to look, staring with a tired smile at the guard filling out the release papers, "Please…stop with your twitching, Jerome. You're gonna make me do it too." "I…just, I mean…slap me if I'm dreaming, please?" With the tired smile turned into pressed, slightly anxious smile, you slowly turn your head towards him, having an even harder time holding his restless left leg down than before, pulling up your stuffy nose, "If you fall asleep in the Car and it ends up being a fucking nightmare, maybe. But otherwise... no. Now…relax dammit." No can do, it seemed with him. It was a sure wonder that he wasn't starting to hyperventilate the moment he saw the older man enter the room, wearing glasses and graying hair. A unique badge on his belt made it obvious.

It was Jim and before his eyes could even land on you, they saw the ginger next to you, causing him to stop in his tracks abruptly, shaking his head with a grimace as he put his hands on his head, "...Goddammit…Faith no…anybody but him, for fuck's sake!" Good start to this all. Truly.

"At least hear me, or him, out, Gordon." "What is there possibly to hear out?! You want me to take the Joker's son as an Aide for the GCPD! Are you out of your damn mind?!" If he's already asking you like this: Right now probably very much so yes but knowing yourself you're hard pressed to stay with your opinion on the ginger even once back on your medication and thinking more clearly.

Because you remember the first and most important talk you and Jerome had, the most important in your damn decision for all this, was when you were still "driving under the influence" – as Dick called it ever since you became siblings – and your mental hands still had the steering wheel of your thoughts with a tight grip around it. Right now? It's being driven with your feet and they can't see either nor are you a chimpanzee that could potentially learn such a trick…

"I said hear us out goddammit, Jim!" You semi shout back, leaning over the table before snapping your head over to look at Jerome… Good God, like a deer in headlights. "Though I am very much certain your presence alone rebooted him either way…" you say slowly, poking him into his freckled cheek, only then you got a reaction from him, his green eyes shooting open widely, "HUH!?" ...

Absolutely not able to defend his own skin, even now. Imagine letting this potential and oh so dangerous lion out in the wild now??

Dead in five minutes…

...eaten and shit on his corpse by a gazelle...

So you patted the apparent "Devil" on his eveil thigh with a dismissing nod, exhaling through your nose, as he seemed to be exactly that in everyone's eyes and played the same thing you had to play for Dick or most often Jason everytime they did something incredibly idiotic:

Devil's Advocate.

"Fine…hear only me out then." "This is going to be fun I bet. As always." There are days Jim reminds you of your own father's behavior far too much, like he printed off on him from working way too often with the goddamn grumpy old Bat. "First of all, something out of the way that might put this all awry: We have only known each other for a week." And fullu talked for three out of these days because all others you've either been knocked out cold or unavailable to talk to. But there are just some things he needs to know and some he literally fucking doesn't, not even on his deathbed. "BUT," You add quickly, holding your hands in front of you two before you're interrupted again, "During this stupid, very…cold…week here, I probably talked to no one but Jerome. I really got to…hear him out. Like no one ever really had the time to." Sure, let's put honey around his mouth, act like the only reason no one else listened to him was because nobody have the time to.

In truth you absolutely kept believing that Jim's men needed a real tough reform with a good lesson on what's important. And of course an example case, to see how they can do it better. "Also, you can see Jerome as a first try to this, to see what can be done differently to avoid overstuffing Arkham in the near future AGAIN." "What if already that first try, as you put him, turns out to be a mistake, unlike you're promoting it yourself right now? Do you realize you're about to give a serious potential of a social hazard the chance to walk free today?" He might be a potential hazard, but not like this. Not yet.

"Leave him a few more months to boil and think about it all in here, and I promise you on my grandparents' joined grave that he will end up being much more of a hazard than he is now. Look at him now, even you broke him for fuck's sake, Jim!" Pointing at the boy beside you without even having to look at him yourself to know that you're right, he was absolutely incapable of defending his own skin or rights right now, physically and verbally, kneading his hands in his lap, playing shakily with the black and white striped prison jacket and shaking like a leaf in the wind. Poor boy.

"He did the same act in the interrogation room, I've heard. You know, when they arre-" "Yeah yeah, got ya. But that was literally few days after he killed his own mother-" "So you know about that, and you still defend him?"

You're staring at him once he interrupts you as well, jaw locked tightly as you grumble at him. You both had the stupid habit of doing it, but of you two, you hated it more when it was done, being an absolutely terrible hypocrite about it. After a few moments of trading daggers in the form of glaring at each other, you continue bitterly, "And even with me asking you, you still refuse to even attempt to care for hearing his version of the story, why?" "There is no good or even mildly acceptable reason for murder. Especially a parental figure." "And years upon years of severe child abuse?" It was the first visible reaction you then got from the ginger next to you, his hand zipping towards your own as he gripped it tightly. He probably didn't expect you to spit it out like that – like a predator spitting a bone out, picked clean, ready for the next – to even use that fact for his defense. But you're going to use everything you know to get him through and out of this certain dead-end-road that was Arkham.

"Even then, why didn't he go to Child Protection Services?" "No phone privileges, if he was even seen with one, he would get beaten harder than the night before!" You snap back, protectively returning the squeeze of Jerome's hand, intertwining them. It felt oddly close, affectionate beyond that of friends. But you didn't pull away because of it, you stayed right there, knowing any form of affection was a near foreign concept to Jerome.

And to you it also felt…very welcome.

The whole 1 on 1 with you and Jim was followed closely by the guard sitting at the same table, but he didn't even dare to interrupt, not even you now that he knew you had personal connections to the Commissioner himself. Good enough connections to start a whole argument against him that felt like it was predestined to end with your loss. But you're quite a lot like your father in many more aspects, one of them being your undying stubbornness in almost every corner of your life.

When others give up, you're just about to really start.

"So…let's say I go with that insane thought of yours…and I take him out too, not just you, mind telling me where you want to go with this afterwards? Just let him roam freely? Like he never did what he did, because that could be anyone's opinion...but not yours. You know about and stronglu stand behind the idea of punishment by the law...or worse..., so why him?"

Well shit, of course you don't just want to drag Jerome out of Arkham only to leave him to the City without anything to go or work towards. That isn't the plan, that would the absence of a plan. "Well, first of all, I still stand with my opinion on him becoming an Aide for your Detectives. And before you interrupt me again, Jim, hear me the fuck out. I may not be known for very...coherent planning all the time, hell, Jason has better tactics than me sometimes...not very often though …but that means even more in the end if I do end up planning out my details well, because it means something to me." Jim had to sigh at that point you gave him, nodding before taking his glasses off to rub his eyes, tapping the pen he had taken out against the documents in front of him. Two sets of release processing Documents. So he wasn't 100% against your idea from the very start …that made you feel more confident and it should boost Jerome's confidence as well as you point it out to him with a smile.

He is just about to add to that as you lift your hand, telling him to hold his horses, looking at Jerome. You needed him to talk for himself as well, so it didn't look like he didn't even want to leave. He most certainly wanted to, but it was obvious that sitting directly across the Commissioner of all people took the air from his lungs. It took a nudge from your foot against his to have him snap out of his daydream-bubble once more, his deep green looking first at you before he realized you asked him to say something. You didn't tell him what specifically, but if he wanted to be in any way capable of holding his ground, he would find the right words.

"I want a reassessment…of my mental state...and...Therapy?" He stated relatively confident, asking the last part with you nodding at it to empower it more, sitting up straighter and trying to keep eye contact with Jim as you keep nodding with a proud smile, "...Or a real one in the first place. Because from what I heard, there never was a true diagnosis done." Gordon brows furrow at your claim, putting the pen down before leaning onto the table, "I'm sorry, can you repeat that? Not a real diagnosis? He is diagnosed with-" "Psychopathy, supposedly. Though I highly doubt that the Detective that wrote that batshit down is a licensed and or practicing Psychologist in his free time, nonetheless one that can decide such a massive, serious diagnosis from talking…or rather threatening as suspect once or maybe even twice?"

Gordon's mouth hung further open as you continued talking, as accusation by accusation metaphorically piled up on the metal table, the guard also surprised with all that you had to say until Jim had to hold back a chuckle, stopping you mid sentence with that unusual noise, shaking his head at your seemingly unshakable opposition and this very familiar determination. "I never took you as a sadist, Jim. Laughing at the fact that the fate of others is being decided without them being able to say something about it." But he quickly waved that off, coughing away his laugh, shaking his head in a more negative way than seconds before, "I am not laughing about that, or about your very admirable attempt at talking me onto your side. If anything, I feel like this godforsaken city lost a good lawyer to you, Faith."

Ew, Lawyers. The fact that he would compare your compassionate, truthful defense of Jerome's ruined life and his future with that of these soulless money grabbers…

"Never miss not doing that when my father gave me the option, Jim. I am more than happy with what I am doing with my life right now. And all I want is to give someone else the chance of redeeming themselves after everything was ripped from under their young feet for losing it after years and years of being kicked around and being mistreated by the same person that decided to have you." Your last words seemed to hit Jim the most as he physically grimaces and cringes at the subtle comparison coming from you now.

You never snapped, you never fought back then, how should you have done anyways, you were mere 5 years old then. But you remember these years, even if just by seeing the scars that remain of these years while showering or bathing, and when Jerome told you of his unfortunate upbringing…Jim knew that you must've seen yourself to at least some parts in them. You can understand the pain Jerome went through, even if you didn't deal with for just as long.

And you wanted him to be able to return to a normal life just like you did, despite his life having gone a different path than yours in the current end, as no one came to save him before he saw no way out unless he did so himself.

There was no actual Father that came to his rescue, that cared for him, no relatives, no friends of family…just himself and now a green-haired shadow over his name, further cementing his apparent future.

"...Jerome…is this really what you want? Your friend Faith here is hanging herself VERY far out of this window for you…do you truly seek to redeem yourself for what you did?" It was a question solely to be answered by Jerome himself as you held your own words back, knowing that he had to find the strength and will in himself. Everyone has to seek out that fire inside of themselves on their own, no one could speak for yourself but yourself in such momen-

"Yes…yes I do. Faith deserves it, that I try. She saved my life, she listened to me when no one else did. She gave me back the hope that I'm the monster everyone says I am or will maybe become…I deserve a second chance…right...?"

Right.