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Mile Deep Hollow	By : LadyEvelette Category: DC Verse Movies > The Dark Knight Views: 738 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or any of its affiliated characters and I make no profit from this piece of fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 1-Musician Meets Joker
- 2-Friends
- 1
- 2
Motionless and silent under the gaze of a thousand eyes, she was a doll. Pretty, porcelain and entirely out of reach. It wasn't the darkening of the theater. It wasn't the fidgeting of the audience. It wasn't the rich smell of cologne or perfume that costed more than some made in a year. It wasn't even the announcer bellowing her name or the deafening roar of the applause. It was the heat, the raw physicality of so many spotlights trained on the small blonde that suddenly brought her to life and as her head lifted, her arms raised and her fingers settled upon the ivory keys, most of the crowd grew silent and still.
Unlike the audience, a slew of Gotham's finest dressed in the latest designer gowns, the woman seated behind the piano wore a simplistic black gown that caressed gentle curves and flared in modest elegance around her calves. It wasn't hand-stitched, no diamonds or jewels were embedded in the onyx fabric, it was simply something that accentuated the lithe build of her frame but would never compare to the impeccable gowns sprinkled throughout the audience. Whispers instantly riffled through the crowd at her lack of appropriate attire, a screaming obscenity since the spotlight was now trained on her. She could hear the cady remarks and repressed the urge to smile. A good thing then, that she hadn't been paid for her fashion sense.
A few notes sprinkled across the keys in a traditional ragtime special turned the sharp haughtiness into soft peels of laughter. Ah, the pianist had a sense of humor... well then, perhaps she wasn't entirely helpless. Letting the notes fade out she paused and settled into the set she'd been hired to perform. Classical favorites of the swinging '30's and '40's. Her specialty, her favorites, her era. Dulcet tones joined the serenading piano and by the time she'd moved from Frank Sinatra to Billie Holiday and on to Glenn Miller, most people were transfixed on her musical talent and not on her lack of a brand name dress... or at least that was the lie she told herself.
The set was hand-selected, a medley of fast-paced swinging hits softened by love ballads and tragedies intermingled. The pianist came alive under the soft lights enthralled by the music she'd grown to adore and knowing it would always hold a treasured place within her heart. When the set came to close and the final few chords of the last song reverberated from the piano, a nearly overwhelming sadness graced her heart. Would she ever feel those lovely keys beneath the brush of her fingertips again or would this be her final symphony? The applause was lovely but haunting and fatally final. The spotlights dimmed, the curtain dropped and as the intense heat from the lights abandoned her, the woman resumed her slumped complacency as a motionless marionette. Her usefulness was at an end and yet... her evening was far from over.
Beyond the muffled curtain she could hear the crowd vacating the auditorium but her ears were trained on the soft but measured footsteps that slowly approached her. They weren't threatening, if anything they sounded tired, strained, it made them familiar and in a fit of cheekiness she let her fingers glide across the keys, spinning an enthusiastic version of Bruce Springsteen's Highway Patrolman. The footsteps paused, an amused chuckle filled the space between them and then the gait continued, moving around the piano with grace before the bench creaked and her admirer joined her unabashed. She stopped playing, allowing her hands to fall complacently in her lap but she didn't move beyond the simple gesture.
“You look lovely. That rendition of Sinatra's Fly Me To The Moon was especially fantastic.” The familiar voice of Gotham's beloved Commissioner Gordon, both tired and worn as it had ever been, drew her rare attention and the pianist smiled if only just.
“Did Barbara enjoy it? I played it for her. You told me last time it was one of her favorites, I made sure to include it in the evenings set.” Even in common speech, her words flowed like trickling water, there was a soothing, empathetic quality to her that was magnetic. Good. She was pure even if her life had been tainted by tragedy.
“Ah... she couldn't be here tonight. Tony came down with the flu and she stayed home to make sure he'd be okay. If we're being honest, I'm only here for propriety's sake. If it wasn't for the politics that these charity events bolster, I think I'd fake the flu just to stay home every time. Give me a graveyard shift any day but a monkey suit? Forget it.” The words were spoken in a joking complaint and they earned a soft, tinkling laugh from the pianist... a prize most assuredly.
“I hope your boy recovers quickly, he's too much of a doll to be bogged down. As for the monkey suit, I'm afraid I can't help you there. It's what this social standing deems necessary and you... need all the donations you can get.” A few ominous notes tested on the ivory keys saw Gordon laughing and amicably she felt him lean against her shoulder. There was a short moment where they pretended to be dear friends, where everything was calm and easy before the tension began to crawl back between them. She was the first to put distance between them, the smile fading from her face.
“Bonnie.” Gordon broke the tension and despite the heaviness in his tone, the pianist didn't flinch. “Talk to me and I can help you. I don't know what happened between you but I promise I'll understand.” A whisper, barely audible even to her sharp ears and yet it was nearly a roar. The auditorium was empty now and the silence hung like a guillotine. Her lips thinned and she inclined her head towards him slightly and let the smallest, bitter smile curl the edge of her mouth.
“Nothing leaves us quite as vulnerable as loneliness.” Her voice finally trickled back and with an impressive amount of poise, she rose, gliding her fingers along the edge of the piano until they caught on a cane, cleverly concealed by the leg of the beautiful instrument. She tightened her grip on the handle, winding the strap around her wrist and shifting to tap the small ball at the end against the stage, taking pleasure in the unique echo of the acoustics. This would be the last time. Gordon hadn't come expecting a confession, it was his own way of warning her, she turned to leave, the steady tap of her cane guiding her towards the edge of the stage when Gordon's voice called out to her.
“They're going to arrest you. The charge won't stick, there's nothing concrete in persuasion or suspicion but it'll be enough to keep you for a time. They'll put you in public lock up and I can't stop it, all of this is above my pay grade but... they'll kill you in there. He's got too many enemies and you're branded or at least that's the rumor in the underground.” A pause. “But if you talk to me, if you give me something, anything, I can get you into witness protection. I just want to help you Bonnie but you've gotta help yourself first.”It was almost a plea and it rang with such a heartfelt honesty that the pianist stopped and twisted so she faced the curtain of the stage. For a moment she seemed to almost consider the words and the Commissioner felt a flare of hope.
“If you think you're about to catch him, it's because he wants you to think that. Don't fool yourself into thinking he's not in control.” Her voice never lost that lyrical quality and Gordon rose swiftly, the piano bench clattering against the stage harsh enough to make her flinch, even still she kept going before he could interrupt. “I appreciate everything you've done for me, don't think I am ungrateful but you'll never catch him. He is smoke, water, unobtainable matter, an idea. He won't be caught. If you want to, you'd have to kill him and I cannot help you with that.” Even with the threat of prison looming over her, she did not lose her composure and while distressed, Gordon would begrudgingly admire that inner strength.
“So instead you'll take the pyre in his place?” Gordon regretted the harshness of the words as soon as they left his mouth... but we couldn't bring himself to take them back. The truth wasn't always pretty. She smiled, acceptance etched in the weary lines of her face.
“Goodnight Gordon, go home, see your boy. You don't need to be apart of the mob or the chaos. You've endured enough pain for this city.” She murmured softly, her words bleeding empathy before she turned and vanished into the darkness of the back lot. Gordon didn't answer and his footsteps didn't follow, not that she expected him too. She wasn't his to save. Bonnie slipped through the back door, the errant tapping of her cane guiding her path before she stepped onto the main strip and hailed a taxi.
She gave her address, repeated it again for good measure and sighed as the driver questioned it anyway before ultimately depositing her at a rather worn-down apartment complex in the Penguin's stretch of town. She stepped out, the light tapping of her cane guiding her over the familiar cracked sidewalk and crouched down just outside her building. A homeless gentleman peered up from his empty tin can and grinned at her.
“Well evenin' Miss G, where ya off too all dolled up like that? Ya didn't get all prettied up fer me did ya?” Warm and friendly, the voice teased her senses and Bonnie rummaged through her purse, looking for the fare she'd snagged from the kitchens.
“Only ever for you Lenny, don't you know you hold my heart?” Her voice rolled back to him, the shameless flirting harmless as she fished out the lobster roll wrapped up in napkins and offered it to him. “Shh. Don't say I never treat you right, not every man gets hand-delivered lobster from a lady.” She winked at him and he eagerly took her offering with grateful praise. “Go on Lenny, it's about to get real noisy here in a bit and I want you to enjoy that lobster. Come back in the morning yeah?” A Vietnam veteran with severe post-traumatic stress disorder didn't need to be anywhere near a goddamn raid.
“Everything alright Bon? No ones coming for you are they? I can sleep on your couch, I'll keep the damn dogs at bay.” She could hear the moment he went from playful to soldier. An old habit no doubt and while she hated lying to him, she didn't want him involved.
“Why would they come for me? Don't be silly. I'm no more of a threat then that lobster you're enjoying now. Just got a tip that two of the gangs are clashing somewhere in this area and I don't want my best man getting caught in the crosshairs.” She winked at him for good measure and stood back up. “Stay safe Len and get out of this cold!” She left him at the corner and moved to the front of the building... where a loudspeaker crackled and the sound of ominous clicks informed her that the raid was already here and waiting. She stopped.
“Drop the cane and put your hands behind your head.” The voice crackled with a raw intensity that saw the small pianist obeying without question but even still- “Get on your knees.” They were so intense, one would think she was part of America's most wanted instead of a blind musician. Bonnie lifted her arms and slowly lowered herself down. It was awkward with the dress she was wearing and she felt one of the seams pop but she obeyed even as she itched to grab her discarded cane. That was her lifeline, without it she was helpless, even more so than she already was and the thought of them taking it away... a series of footsteps stomped for her and the loudspeaker crackled to life, reading her Miranda rights. By this point, a crowd was gathering and whispers shot through the crowd, drowning out the footsteps. One of the officers grabbed her non-too gently and then... gunfire.
Heavy, ominous, rapid, a semi-automatic. The officer released her and instinctively she shielded her head with her arms and dropped, hitting the concrete with a thud. She couldn't tell where it was coming from, the screams from the crowd and the shouts from the officers scrambled her sense of perception. She just hoped that Gordon had listened and gone home... because it didn't matter who won, no one was leaving this fight unscathed. Hell, she might not even leave it alive. She pressed her palms to her ears, attempting to drown out the roar of gunfire. One way or another it would be over soon and to the victor would go the spoils.
~~
A light hum trickled from her throat both soft and nearly inaudible. Annoyance flashed through her as the errant tapping of her cane disrupted the old-time melody but she was running late and if she slowed to sync the rhythm, she'd miss the bus completely. Her resolution was to stop humming. She couldn't stand to have a melody out of sync and as utterly dull as it was to navigate the smog-filled streets of Gotham's underbelly without music, better to be without than to ruin a great thing.
The loud creak of the buses breaks hissing some fifty feet off saw her heart dropping down to her feet. She picked up the pace but didn't dare run. The sidewalks were too broken and uneven but at this rate, she'd never make it and if she was late again- a firm trot eclipsed her pace and as she got close, she could hear Lenny accosting the driver and stalling him for time. A giggle escaped her and she reached out, squeezing his arm for good measure.
“Lenny, you're a doll. I'll bring you back a few shrimps from the cocktail lounge for this. Wait up for me tonight yeah?” She slid past him, moving through the doors and depositing her change in the slot.
“I'll wait for you any day Miss G! Happy to help!” He hollered back at her and Bonnie giggled, blowing him a kiss. She was new to the city, a recent transfer since New York City blew right out of her price range and as strange as it sounded, that adorable little homeless man was her first friend. He'd helped her learn the area, had taught her what parts of town to avoid and which ones were okay, hell he'd even told her to try out for the Lounge gig in Penguin's part of town and all he asked for in return were some pancakes. They now had pancake Sunday's and she spoiled him rotten with every topping she could possibly afford... and that wasn't to mention the times she herded him inside because the weather was bad.
Shaking off her thoughts before the bus driver could get well and truly mad, Bonnie slid past him and into the cabin of the vehicle. Short, small taps informed her how big the isle was and she murmured apologies as her cane brushed a leg or a shoe. The driver suddenly lurched the bus forward and Bonnie stumbled, slipping and winding up splattered against the aisle. Muted laughter followed her wince of pain and an embarrassed flush colored her cheeks. She scrambled for her cane and felt a frisson of fear coil through her when she heard the metal scraping the floor of the vehicle. Someone else was picking it up. No, no. She needed that, she- the handle was lightly tapped against her palm and Bonnie grabbed it tightly, a visible wave of relief rolling over her.
“Are you... okay?” Timid and soft, the words were broken up by small bouts of laughter and giggles. It gave Bonnie pause. The question, the tone, the gentleness with which he returned her cane all spoke to sincerity, so why was he laughing? She gripped the cane and began pushing herself back up.
“Yes, I'm fine, thank you... is there anyone sitting next to you?” Willing to give him the benefit of the doubt largely because she didn't want to wind up back on the floor, she endured his loud, sharp laughter in exchange for a seat. It took him a moment to calm down which was awkward for everyone involved but after a moment, he seemed to find his voice.
“No. No there's not. You can sit. Sorry. It's a condition. I laugh when I shouldn't. I can't... control it.” The words were wheezed like he was trying to catch his breath and as Bonnie slid onto the seat next to him, she considered that for a moment. She'd never heard of anything like it but she wasn't exactly a mental disorder expert now was she? She tilted her head, digesting the explanation before settling on acceptance and smiling in his general direction.
“I wish my biggest problem was laughing inappropriately. Would you like to trade?” Light-hearted and gentle, her voice was lowered so she wouldn't disturb the other passengers but she offered her hand to the man all the same. “My name's Bonnie, what's yours?”
There was a long pause and an even longer silence. It stretched so long that Bonnie was pretty sure he'd made up his explanation so she'd leave him alone. Ah well, there were easier ways to be isolated but some people needed the blanket excuses. She went to draw her hand back when long, dexterous fingers curled around her own with surprising strength.
“Arthur. I'm Arthur. It's nice to meet you, Bonnie.” The words were shy but she could almost hear the smile in them so she returned it. Abruptly she was hit with the realization that this man probably didn't get many opportunities for socialization. He seemed awkward. Sweet, but incredibly lost. Hmm. Mama always said she had a tendency for collecting strays.
“Arthur huh? I like it. Are you like Arthur Gunter, a soothing Blues melody or are you more of an Arthur Alexander with a heart built for soul?” Didn't matter if he knew the artists specifically or not. Everyone liked music. It was the thread that stitched together the skin and acted as a common link between all of humanity. This language or the next, every culture had its own brand of music.
“Neither. I'm more of an Arthur Askey. My mom always says I was put on this earth to make people smile.” The statement was so innocent and pure that Bonnie found herself reflexively smiling. She relaxed a bit further into her seat and shifted her cane between her legs.
“I can't think of a better reason for anyone to be here, your mom sounds like a smart lady.” Bonnie smiled and lightly bumped her shoulder against his... only to brush his bicep instead. Damn. How tall was he? “How do you know Mr. Askey anyway? I thought I was the only kid who liked anything from before 1950.” Of course, she wasn't much of a kid anymore. Twenty-seven wasn't exactly young but eh, you were only as old as you felt.
“My mom showed me. She likes all the old game shows, Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra... I like them too, but my favorites are the comedians. I'm going to become a stand-up comedian. I've got a journal, I've been working on my act.” His voice was gaining confidence the longer they talked, but Arthur had successfully ensnared Bonnie's attention the moment he dropped the name, Dean Martin.
“Be still my beating heart. I'm a pianist and an occasional vocalist but my best sets are all from the '30s and '40s, I love that style of music and the era, comedy included. I play at the Ice Club. Not the best establishment, I know but they've got an open mic night every Saturday. You should come listen to me play and I'll hang around to hear your jokes. Do you have a favorite or a good one you could tell me now?” They already sounded like a bad joke. A pianist and a comedian walk into a bar...
There was a long silence from Arthur's side of the bench again before she caught the distinct sound of rustling and... pages? Was he looking up the joke? Her mouth twitched upward. Adorable. It brought back memories of trying to write music in braille.
“Why did... err... no... um...” More flipping pages, more nervous stuttering and while Bonnie was tempted to take back her request because she'd clearly flustered him, another part of her wanted to be patient. She knew intimately what it was like to need that extra second to get her bearings. Maybe no one had ever asked him to share a joke before? The rustling of pages stopped and he made an affirmative noise. “How do you punish a blind person?” Bonnie blinked. Of all the jokes, of all the material he could have written, he chose a blind joke? That was so cheeky, she liked it. Her mouth twitched upwards into a slow smile.
“I don't know?” Half a question, half raw curiosity, she waited for the punchline.
“You rearrange the furniture.” He only stumbled once through the delivery and silence followed. For a moment Bonnie was stunned and then contemplative as she considered the practicality of the joke before finally she began to laugh. The longer she thought about it the harder she laughed and apparently her laughter was contagious because the next thing she was aware of was the harsh, cackling laughter of Arthur mirroring her own dulcet tones. They laughed for way longer than was necessary and by the end, half the bus was glaring at them and Bonnie was wiping tears from her eyes.
“That was excellent. Best joke I've heard in a long time. I needed that so bad today, I can't even tell you.” She used the collar of her shirt to wipe away her tears and rooted around in her purse for her card. “Here. This has my number and the address of the club I work at. Even if you don't want to do open mic night come sit with me sometime. We can sing together. It'll be fun.” The bus screeched to a stop and the station was called over the intercom. It was her stop. She moved to stand, paused and instead lightly squeezed the bicep she'd bumped earlier. “Thank you for making my day Arthur. I'll see you soon yeah?” Her eyes glowed and her smile was genuine, she couldn't see it, but Arthur's was just as wide and ridiculous.
“It was good to meet you too Bonnie. It makes me happy that I could make you laugh. I'll come by.” Shy again the words were soft and low.
“Good, I'll hold you to that. Bye Arthur.” Speeding through the crowded aisle before she could piss off the driver again, Bonnie stepped out onto the sidewalk and smiled back up at the bus until she heard the wheeze of the engine as it pulled away.
Rearrange the furniture.
There was more to Arthur than just that laugh and Bonnie hoped he would give her the opportunity to see it. She trailed inside, let the girls doll her up and get her in costume before she settled on her bench and began to play with a smile dancing on the edge of her mouth.
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Mile Deep Hollow