Tonnage

Rising Equilibrium.

>>

Tuesday. 8:54 AM. The Batcave.

“Thank you, Alfred, I can see my way through from here.”

“As you wish. Will you be staying for lunch?”

The response is a lighthearted giggle followed by the shaking of her head. “No, I'd best not. I wouldn't want to throw his household into a tizzy. But I felt I should stop by. For old-time's sake. You understand, of course.”

“Of course. Enjoy your visit. I'll be down directly with some tea and something to nibble on.”

She sighs fondly. “Oh, Alfred. If only you were just a touch younger.”

The butler chooses not to respond to that, being far too high class to dip into such a scandal. But if he performed his duties that day with just the hint of a smile it wasn't as though anyone would hold it against him.

>

He can hear the taps of her modest heels as they strike the floor. Not with the harsh clicking that a person might expect of a confident woman in possession of her beauty. But a simple muted tap. He doesn't need to turn to know who it is. But as he sits there, staring at the screen with an open bottle of Irish whiskey that he has yet to touch...

He turns anyway. The night has been dark. Anything to take his mind off of it.

“Selina.”

“Bruce. I heard.”

“Cheshire."

She nods. “Word on the street is that she has been asking about the two morons that held her daughter hostage for a few days. I was planning to drop a dime on you today. I didn't really see this coming, at least not this quickly. But I suppose I should have.”

“She's an efficient killer. That can't be taken away from her.” He swivels back around and brings up her screen. Stares at it.

“He was a monster, Bruce.”

“He was a friend.”

“That was a long time ago. Bruce, he's had this coming. If it wasn't Cheshire it would have been some other devastated mother or father.” She calms her tone. “I understand there was a time that you fought with him as an ally. Even longer that you fought to save him. But can you honestly tell me that there was anything left of the man you respected at the end? Had there been any glimmer of hope for even the last decade?”

His silence speaks volumes, and Alfred quietly leaves the tray on a glass display of older Mr. Freeze equipment when he comes down to see Miss Kyle with her arms around Bruce from behind. Holding him close, and offering what comfort a cat may bring in a time of woe.

>>

He steps with purpose into the firehouse. The only building owned and operated by the city in the Park Row area. Ever since the cop shop there got torched eight years ago and the mayor decided not to fund a replacement.

Engine Fourteen and its specialists are the best in the city. They have to be. They are the go-to crew for anything that stretches the 'haz' in 'hazmat' to what they call around here 'Rogue' levels.

All of the fire crews in Gotham are top-notch. But Engine Fourteen are the ones that get called when Joker's latest base is burning. Freeze has had a chemical spill that is shattering concrete. At first, it was simple proximity. They responded because more often than not, they were the closest to the scene. Nothing more complicated than that. At the start.

But like all evolving organisms, their close-knit crew began to learn. Adapt. More and more training was thrown their way in an effort to keep them alive and at some point nearly twenty years ago it simply became known that they were the ones to call when things have gone off the toxic or danger scale.

They take a certain amount of pride in it.

But as part of it, they are constantly being exposed to scenes the likes of which exceed anything the local police are likely to come across. Their culture had slowly evolved to include that as well.

Jim sees the Fire Marshal just inside the doors talking with the house Chief. “Brian. Thanks for coming.”

The bull of a man looks his way. Red hair has mostly gone gray in his stereotypical buzz cut that is favored by those who battle fire. “What's this about, Jim? Between the Gotham Point and the cleanup at the hospital, I'm stretched thin right now.”

He nods. “Yeah, so am I. But this can't wait. I need to ask your station here for a favor, and I need you here so they don't think I'm trying to take advantage. It's a request. Not official.” He shakes his head as he makes his way to the chow hall and meeting area where there are around thirty rowdy men and women. Not an even split. Seventy-thirty maybe. But the women in this room are easily as hard-nosed as the men.

The fire Marshal steps up to the front of the room while Jim sets up something in the digital projector they use for training videos and such when it isn't used to watch sports or movies.

“Quiet down, everybody! Police Commissioner Gordon has come down with a request for Engine Fourteen. I haven't heard it yet, but we will give the man our attention and respect. Am I understood?”

To somebody on the outside, it might seem odd just how quickly things calm down. But for all that they are sometimes considered certifiable, the discipline in them runs far deeper.

Jim snags the remote control off of the cart, sees the screen is already pulled down, and takes a moment to close the blinds and flip off the lights on his way to the front of the room.

“As the man said, I'm Jim Gordon and I'm the Commissioner. But I'm not coming to you as the Police Commissioner right now. I'm coming to you as a man who has been first on the scene too many times to ignore what I just came across, and to ask your help.”

He clicks the play button, and after a few seconds, he blinks and steps aside as the blinding light is sent his way. The projector displays a split screen. Half-height. Double wide. The two go-pro images are set side by side.

“This was taken by the cameras on the suit worn by Thomas Wierzowski at the Gotham Point disaster last night. Last night, he was the first on the scene. The first in the building.”

They can see on the screen the front doors getting pushed through. The picture is almost always facing down. It gives them a wonderful view of the floor.

And the bodies.

“The reason his cameras are set as they are is that this sixteen-year-old kid is eight and a half feet tall in his suit. Until you are standing next to him, I promise that you do not understand how massive that is. He's also wearing a pack that adds a foot and a half. He was more or less crawling through this for the most part. It probably spread the weight out just enough for him to get where he needed to go. But it put him face to face with a lot that no sixteen-year-old should have to see at all.”

There is no rowdiness left by the time the eighteen-minute sequence ends with Tom letting a dog out of a metal box.

“I did a wellness check on Tom last night when I could get loose. Around two I think. He was sitting at his desk. Oblivious to the outside world. Obsessing over this video.” Jim shakes his head. “I think the kid is wrong. I think he is a hero. But based on the things he's done and said, I think he might be more your variety of hero than mine, and I'd like to ask that you take him under your wing. Get him the basic training he needs. And look out for him.”

He allows a ghost of a smirk to pass his lips. “I assume you have a run planned. Think about inviting him along. He needs it.”

The Fire Marshall gives a quick glance to his crew, but he doesn't really need to. Everybody knows what the answer to a request like this is going to be.

“Send him down, Jim. We'll take care of him.”

>>

Tom wakes up late. It's almost ten when his eyes open. He's not sure how long he'd been up, the Commissioner there with him. Explaining what he was feeling, and that it is not normal.

Nothing like this is normal.

But that it is expected, given the circumstances. That if he didn't feel like this, that if he could handle this kind of thing without help at this stage of his career? Then that would be a reason for the populace to fear. This is expected. It happens to emergency responders every day. But it isn't normal, and he should never let it become normal.

At some point after Tom had fallen asleep, Jim must have left. Sitting up, he sighs as he picks up his phone and turns it on. He'd shut it off last night when he got back. Sometime a while before Jim showed up.

>>

Message: Commissioner Gordon.

Gordon: Tom. I want to make sure you know that I am the one who took your mission footage. It's evidence, for a start. But beyond that, you need to watch it with somebody. Somebody who can explain what is going on, how, and why. What you could have done, and more importantly in this case, what you had no chance to do at all.

Gordon: As I said last night, there was no possibility that you could have helped those people. They were gone before you arrived. But I have spoken with the Firefighters on Engine 14 in the Alley. About five blocks to the South of the scrapyard. They would like the opportunity to train you. Starting Wednesday at one in the afternoon, further appointments are to be made at that time. Consider it, Tom. They've all been where you are. They can help. They'll walk you through this video again when you're ready and if you want, I can be there too.

Gordon: Take care, son.

>>

Message: Louis Bernhardt.

Lou: I heard things got bad last night. Take the day off, kid. If you want to talk, I'll be around. See you for dinner.

>>

BAT-CHaT:

Oracle: Tom! You're back on! How are you?

Robin: I do not appreciate being shut out like that.

Jay-Bird: Oh, shut up baby bird. Ignore him, Tom. If you ever need time to yourself to get a grip on life, take whatever time you need.

Tom: Sorry. I...

Spoiler: We're just glad you're okay, Tom. The first time is hard. I won't say it gets easier but you can get better at dealing.

Nightwing: It does get easier to set it aside and do the job, after a while. Still need to deal with it. But it gets easier to plow through. If you ever need to talk, Tom. I'm here.

Spoiler: We're here.

Orphan: (Typed Into Phone) Message if you need anything. We hero types have to stick together.

Tom: Not a hero. But thanks, guys.

Oracle: We'd do it for any hero Tom. Even a delusional one. But especially for you.

Tom sets down his phone and lays back down. He'll have to get up and get something to eat, soon. And he has an appointment to learn cooking from Q this afternoon. Maybe that will work best until Wednesday when he meets the firefighters. Just stay too busy to think too much. At least until he has some help with it. He shuts his eyes for what was going to be a moment and slips into sleep. Not a particularly restful one. But better than he'd had earlier. A smidgen of hope and support, and Tom is already feeling just that little bit less cornered in his heart and mind. Just a touch less conflicted.

It's nice.

>>

Tuesday. 3:21 PM. Unknown Location.

“I'm not sure what the problem is. You wanted the building gone because you didn't want to deal with squatters when you picked up the land. I got rid of the building and the squatters. I should be getting a bonus.”

Cobblepot is incensed. He's trying not to grind his cigar into pulp in his rage. “I wanted the building out of me way, I didn't need you to kill dozens of fucking people! I don't need the kind of heat this is going to bring you colossal moron! Take your money and go. Next time show some bloody restraint.”

Firefly opens the package and looks back into the screen at his benefactor. He holds up an envelope that was left on the top of a stack of bills. “What's this?”

“Well it's your bloody bonus, ain't it? Wanker. If they're dead they won't be moving into another building I'm looking to buy now will they?”

“But you said...”

“If you force me to waste me motherfucking time explaining the concepts of moderation to the likes of you, I'll save meself the irritation and have you shot instead. Am I perfectly understood, you mental equivalent of a fucking bait ball!?”

“No need to be rude.”

“Waaaaargh!”

/click.

>>

Author's note:

No worries. This will be it for the hyper-depressing for a while. But glossing over the trauma he'd experience the first time didn't sit well with me.

Take care.