Surrender [Wayleska]

One

The empty interrogation room was cold when Bruce Wayne stepped into it, swallowing his nerves in effort to appear confident, indifferent as he approached the only thing of note in the room besides a couple officers. Jeremiah Valeska grinned wickedly at him from the center of the room where he was restrained to a dolly by large leather straps. 

"Hello, Bruce. It's great to see you," Jeremiah greeted as if this were Sunday brunch rather than a forced meeting for the sake of thousands of lives or more.

The man in front of Bruce was so different than the one he had met a few months ago, the one he found himself deeply attached to. The man in front of him, his dark hair like foliage in a dense forest, his pale skin and paler eyes, and on top of all of it, bruises and swollen eyelids at Alfred's doing, was nothing like the Jeremiah Valeska he wanted to be standing in front of.

Where had the quiet, gentle man with whom Bruce had shared long nights, early mornings, coffee runs and takeout boxes, fears and ideas and hopes gone? Was he still within this wretched man restrained in front of Bruce? He feared that maybe it was this version of him that had resided under the surface all along, simply simmering, waiting for the opportunity that Jerome had finally provided him.

"Where are the bombs, Jeremiah?" Bruce remained firm in his purpose. He could hear the sergeant breathing through his earpiece, anxiously awaiting the answer.

He still wasn't sure why Jeremiah wanted him here, why he would only tell Bruce the locations of the bombs. It felt vaguely reminiscent of Jerome's consistent demands, though there wasn't much of a reason for his desire for Bruce's presence, either. Sure, his and Jeremiah's friendship had been strong until the past few days, and Bruce had considered them inseparable, partners in work, perhaps in life, but what could Jeremiah possibly desire from him that he could give to a man in restraint? It was too late for him to try and dissect the complicated feelings that had stirred in his stomach as he had gotten to know Jeremiah.

"Closer, please," Jeremiah purred, eliciting goosebumps on Bruce's body. The tone was inappropriately friendly, as if this was a normal day for them, as if they were meant to be inches apart and Jeremiah was only trying to return them to their natural state. 

With hesitation, Bruce took a few steps towards Jeremiah.

"Closer."

Bruce complied once more.

"Tell me, how is the young lady doing?" Jeremiah smirked.

Bruce said nothing; the rage in his chest was held back by ribbon-lace that threatened to tear apart with one more provocation. That was the other complication of Bruce feelings towards Jeremiah, feelings that now laid dormant in his chest: Selina. While it was true that Jeremiah had been charming in his own way, stunning Bruce with his intelligence, his concepts, and his goals, Selina shared a much deeper bond with Bruce. A rocky, tense bond at times, unstable, even, but they were each other's siren call, they were inescapable. 

"You know why we're destined to be lovers?" Jeremiah drawled. 

Bruce's face grew hot. It was an admission that the Jeremiah he wanted would have never made so plainly, as if he had a right to be with him, as if it was indeed destiny. His throat closed up and his insides flared with heat and in the matter of milliseconds he thought about the different world that could have been, would have been, should have been if not for Jerome. If not for Jerome.

"Lovers?"

Just because Bruce had felt something once didn't mean he felt it then. No, he had given up. And, considering Selina's vegetative state, he considered giving up on love in its entirety. It seemed that fate had decided, between his parents, Selina, and Jeremiah, that Bruce was unworthy of it. There was no other explanation.

"Because we are very much alike," Jeremiah continued, answering his own question. Bruce thought that perhaps the insanity gas had freed him, enabled him to love, where it had only further caged Bruce. "You are as I used to be: at war with your true nature. You must truly embrace it if you ever want to be free, I'm just trying to help you."

The elaboration only angered Bruce further. Their connection was supposed to be their mutual love for this condemned city and their dedication to improve it. It was supposed to be their respect for one-another, their understanding of the ways their lives had been affected by murder, affected by Jerome. Their destiny was supposed to be a phoenix rising from the ashes of dark pasts, flaming bright feathers shedding the darkness, fleeing it together. Not embracing it.

"Trying to help me...by torturing Alfred? By trying to destroy Gotham? By shooting Selina?" Bruce listed Jeremiah's sins one by one, detaching himself from what was left of the reserved and alluring version of the man in front of him. "You think we're alike because there's a darkness inside both of us, but the difference is I know how to control mine."

Jeremiah hummed. "Yes, but the darkness inside you will not save your precious city from the darkness inside me, now will it?"

"I'll do whatever it takes for Gotham." 

"How noble of you. You sound like a young Jim Gordon." Jeremiah stared pointedly into the security camera positioned in the top corner of the room. He turned his attention back to Bruce, whose breathing had become shallow from anticipation. "But how far would you truly be willing to go, Bruce?"

Bruce didn't want to know what Jeremiah desired of him. What more could Jeremiah take? Bruce had given his money, his time, his friendship, his undivided attention, his respect, his trust, and his heart, which Jeremiah had crushed in his pale hands in more ways than one.

"Tell me where the bombs are, Jeremiah."

"You want to save Gotham? You want to love this city as it has never loved you?"

Another way in which he would never be loved.

"Jeremiah--"

Jeremiah directed his attention back to the security camera, leaving Bruce to stare helplessly at him, awaiting his demands. 

"I will disarm the bombs if you sacrifice yourself to me."

"What?"

"Surrender yourself to me, Bruce," Jeremiah said, returning his cold gaze to Bruce, whose mind was reeling, malfunctioning. "I shall love you in ways Gotham never could."