A skilled locksmith, Batman could have made his way out of the closet in seconds. But that side of Bruce Wayne was long gone now, and he chose to wait in silence and darkness until Gustavus returned for him.
That took more than twelve hours. When Gustavus opened the door at last, he found Wayne slumped against the wall of the tiny room, sleeping. The pants were still on his head. This one really is a true bottom, the standing man thought.
"Get out here," he commanded. "Crawl."
If Wayne had a shred of dignity left, it was buried so deep inside him that neither man could find it.
"Take those goddam pants off your head, fool," Gustavus said. "The shirt, too."
Bruce pulled the sweatshirt over his head and tossed it to the ground.
Gustavus got a good look at his pupil's naked body for the first time. Holy shit, he thought to himself. Holy fucking shit.