searchingfordistraction

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Gotham was satisfying. As it turns out, Seb was right; Jim needed a holiday. It was a pleasant change of pace, watching the chaos explode around him without having to worry about conducting it himself. But of course, eventually enough is enough. Too much of a good thing will always turn sour.

So, when a Door to Milliways turns up shortly after the death of Harvey Dent, Jim takes it.

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"Think about it," he says. "It's in there somewhere. It will come to you."

Matilda isn't ordinary. If her mind is suggesting a connection, there's a reason for it. She is, however, six years old; she lacks practice in letting those connections surface. She needs the extra moment of concentration, and the reminder to take it.

She scowls at the screen. The memory hovers just out of reach. She can almost see the paper it was on, old and yellowing, but she can't think where...

...Oh.

"It's Jenny's mom's name," she says aloud, shuts her laptop, and stands up. "We need to get to Buffalo."

Jim, who had still been leaning against the wall, straightens up.

"Does Jenny have a car, or will we have to borrow one?"

She would, in fact, steal a car for this.

Luckily, she won't have to.

"It's in the parking lot. I don't know where her keys went, though."

Not that she thinks that's going to be a problem, with Jim here.

Sure enough:

"I don't need them," he says, heading for the door.

He puts Detective Campbell back on as they exit the office, but they don't stop to chat - he calls a thank-you to Miss Li without breaking stride. Easier all around that way, and more consistent for Matilda to be able to explain later. (Details are important.)

The car is outside, as promised. It is small and light blue and extremely Jennyish.

Even without Matilda's guidance, Jim would recognize it as the most likely in the carpark to be hers.

He hotwires it without even looking at what he's doing.

"Directions?"

She can give them to him all at once. He'll remember.

That is exactly what she does.

It's so nice working with someone who can keep up.

Isn't it?

In what may be a surprise twist to anyone who doesn't pay close enough attention, Jim sticks carefully to the speeding limit. He does not, after all, have a license to drive in this world; getting pulled over would not only be unendingly tedious, it would also destroy any advantage gained from speeding, especially since he'd have to be a bit more cooperative than he'd usually bother with. Rendering officers of the law unconscious would, he thinks, be likely to cross a line for Matilda even under these circumstances.

"Do we have a layout for the building?" he asks.

"Not a good one. There were some pictures, but just of the outside. I didn't have time to look for blueprints."

"We'll improvise, then," he says. "These places tend to be fairly cookiecutter."

He doubts the Trunchbull will have chosen anywhere especially fancy.

"You handle Miss Trunchbull, I'll stay out of her sight and get Jenny out."

This is not the plan he would have chosen an hour ago, but an hour ago they didn't know she had powers of her own. Matilda has a chance at defending herself against them; Jim does not. Best for the Trunchbull to think Matilda is on her own. Jim will only be a liability if she finds out about him.

She runs through a similar chain of logic in her head, then nods.

"Good plan."

As much as Matilda wants to be the one to rescue Jenny, there are two jobs here and she'll be better at the other one.

"You'll need to be ready to knock her out," he says. "We don't know exactly what she can do."

It's best all the way around to ensure that she not be able to do it.

(And, he doesn't say, once she's safely unconscious, he can take it from there.)

"Also a good plan," she acknowledges, although she doubts it will be that easy.

No, very likely it won't.

"All my plans are good," he says airily.

That actually gets a small smile out of her.

"Statistically unlikely, but given who's talking, I'm not gonna tell you you're wrong."

"Statistics," he tells her, "are for ordinary people."

Jim never did get the hang of being statistically likely.

"They so are not."

When was the last time he met an ordinary person who knew any statistics? Real statistics, not the ability to quote made-up percentages on the spot.

"Oh, dear," he says, "aren't they?"

And if he's deliberately dangling the distraction, well . . . what of it? They can make all the plans in the world, but none of them will be of any use if Matilda ends up making herself too tense to focus.

That's his story, anyway.

She shoots him a look.

Then she snickers.

He gazes innocently ahead, keeping his eyes on the road.

He's sure he has no idea what's so funny.

It's a quiet, subdued giggle by Matilda's usual standards, but it's still a giggle.

The hotel, when they eventually find it, is medium-tall and unremarkable-looking. No surprises about the layout. No surprises about anything, really. They have the room number—fourth floor, single room. Now all they need is an immediate plan of attack.

"Shorting out the power to the room, perhaps?" he suggests. "Can you do that without being able to see it or will you have to take out the whole thing?"

That he could do himself easily enough, but unless Matilda needs visual contact with the power controls, she can do it faster.

Matilda frowns slightly.

"I can't do it without knowing where it is and what it looks like," she says at last, shaking her head. She's not sure she could do it even so—she's had limited success manipulating objects not in the same room—but at least she'd know how to try.

"I can take care of that, then," he says. "She'll come down to complain before long, then you can keep her busy while I smuggle Jenny out the back door."