Disclaimer: Once again, I own nothing associated with or involving the DC characters or Batman. The only thing I have to my name is the DVD, my imagination and some spare time between classes.

It was as if someone had muted the world. All sense was dead to her . There was no crowd, there was no bomb, there was no warehouse. There was only the struggle.

She scuffled and rolled, scarcely feeling her limbs connect with concrete and discarded steel pipes. The only thing she felt was the sheer adrenaline pumping through her veins as she landed blow after blow. Her opponent was not the only victim. She too was taking a beating. Her arms and legs showcased a myriad of crimson scratches. Her clothing was torn and ruby droplets stained the material at her shoulder where she had been bitten.

This was no schoolyard scuffle. It was a brutal battle, with both sides intending to kill. Eyes were blackened, lips spilt, hair pulled. The fight raged on, no end in sight.

A particularly vicious kick to the torso landed her on her back. The world momentarily slid into darkness, but was quickly regained. Her opponent was above her, giggling like a mad man. Hands closed over her throat with the intention of killing this time. As the entrance to her windpipe became constricted, black and white spots danced in front of her eyes. Flashes of the last few hours, the last few weeks, filled her mind. Red chased away the black and white as unadulterated rage filled her. She grasped the short length of lead pipe near her hand. She swung without discretion or mercy, connecting with her assailant's head. Her foe collapsed, dropping like a stone to the smooth, grey floor. She kicked the body aside and rose, blood pumping furiously in her veins.

She looked down at her vanquished foe, makeup smeared and marred by blood. The rest of the world returned in a flood, like water bursting forth from a dam. She was cold, she was tired, and she was in pain. As she stood, knuckles raw and bloody, her body sore, beaten and bleeding, the din of alarms and terrified screams raging in her ears, Tanya Heathrow couldn't help but think that she had won the battle but had lost the war…

12 weeks earlier….

Tanya's hands were tangled in the once-green hair of the man who was kissing up her torso. Though she was trying to keep quiet, she was unsuccessful. She couldn't help it. With every touch, sounds burst forth from her lips that she never anticipated. It was ridiculous, what he was doing to her. She had vowed it would never happen again, but here she was. His hands were sliding down her back, coming to rest on her backside. He pulled her up gently, smiling as he kissed her, preparing her for what he was going to do next...

Tanya jolted awake. She sat upright in bed, her chest still heaving. Her hand came up to cradle her head. Shit. That was the third dream like that this week. She didn't understand it. It would have been different if she had been dreaming about a normal person, like Jim. But no, she was dreaming about a mass murderer. Disgusted with herself and her weakness, she threw aside the covers and padded over to the bathroom. Her fingers groped for the light switch, washing the room in a warm glow. The counters were made of marble, adorned with antique brass, silver and even some inlaid gold. It had been her bathroom for over a month and a half now, and the novelty still had not worn off. It looked as though she were in a five star resort.

Bruce Wayne's entire house looked like that. No, not house. House was not an appropriate word to describe it. Neither was mansion. His home was like some kind of cross between the Taj Mahal and a fairy tale castle. It sat on the outskirts of Gotham, freshly reconstructed, gleaming in the backdrop of the Gotham skyline. It had belonged to the Wayne's for centuries and after it was destroyed, Bruce Wayne had built it again, exactly the way it had been in his childhood. Well, almost exactly. There were a few additions, mostly in the caverns underneath the mansion. Tanya had seen them a few times, but had never really explored them thoroughly. That was not her territory. She twisted the faucet on, splashing her face with cool water. She rubbed the back of her neck, inspecting her reflection in the large, ornate mirror. She looked tired. She sighed. Of course she looked tired. That was what happened when you didn't sleep. She made her way back into her room, the plush carpet feeling fabulous under her bare feet. The king sized canopy bed creaked as she lowered her weight onto it. She flopped onto the mountain of pillows, willing her body to relax. It was no use. She tossed and turned, the same way she did every night. When she was awake, all she thought about was him, how she could stop him without losing herself. And when she was asleep, her dreams alternated between the horrors she had seen and a certain other circumstance.

No one knew about that day in the car besides herself and him. She knew she should tell Bruce, and she fully planned to, but so far, she was unable to bring herself to do it. It had been over a month now, and the images were still haunting her. She would like to have been able to say that she was torn with regret over what she had done. Part of her was. But part of her, the primal, selfish part of herself that she was beginning to fear, did not regret it. That part cherished the memory, created others similar to it. That part of her was looking forward to the next encounter.

Tanya had already decided that there would be no next encounter. She was disgusted, ashamed that she had allowed it to come to that. Was she so attention starved that she had so willingly allowed it to happen? Or worse, was he right? Did she love him?

She shook the thoughts away. They were painful and called into question her sanity. They also frightened her. There game was still on, and soon, the stakes would be raised; more players would be brought in. She believed herself to have a solid ally. It wasn't him she was worried about. It was herself, her weakness. She sat up warily and glanced at the digital clock on her nightstand. The fluorescent red letters glowed at her out of the darkness. 3:15 am. That was at least an hour's more sleep then yesterday. Satisfied, Tanya rose, shrugging on the robe draped over the chair in her room over her pajamas. She opened the door and crept down the long hallway and down the spiraling staircase.

The stairs, like everything else in the mansion, were gorgeous. If she had been a princess, or a girl meeting her date for the prom, they were the perfect place to make an entrance. They were situated in the middle of the room, the focal point of the entire house. They also distracted wonderfully from the rest of the room, including a small, inconspicuous door in the corner. Through the door was a study, a rather boring and routine looking room with shelves and books and a small wooden desk in the corner. It looked like an antique, and indeed it was. But inside of one of the drawers, if you knew what you were looking for, was a small lever. Tanya was searching for it now, running her hands along the polished wood of the inside of the desk. Her fingers trailed over it, and she grasped it, giving it a gentle tug. Underneath the desk, a small hole opened up silently and seamlessly. Tanya bent down and climbed in, marveling at how the motion sensor lights turned on and off as she made her way down the ladder. The entrance had closed nearly the instant she had gotten through the hole.

Tanya dropped to the ground, her bare feet connecting with the smooth stone of the floor. She knew he was here somewhere. He always was. Bruce Wayne slept even less than she did. Being the Batman was a full time job. She turned the corner, coming into view of a row of tables adorned with gadgets and gizmos that were all lethal looking. Alfred, Bruce's butler, father figure and close friend was seated at one of them, tinkering with what looked like a ninja-star-shooting arm pad. Tanya knew that Bruce had someone on the outside who created all of this for him, but for that person's safety, and her own, she was kept ignorant of his identity.

"Up again Miss Tanya?" Alfred always called her 'Miss.' He claimed it was British manners. It had started off as 'Miss Heathrow,' but she had weaned him away from that, finally compromising on 'Miss Tanya'.

"I could ask the same thing of you, Alfred." she situated herself in the chair to his left.

"Ah, but we Brits don't need sleep. We have stamina in droves." he teased in his cockney accent. Despite the lateness of the hour, his silver hair was immaculate, brushed and parted, and he was in his trademark suit. Even Bruce could be seen wandering around in a t-shirt and jeans at times and Tanya, now without an occupation, rarely wore heels or a suit anymore. But never Alfred. He was a creature of extreme habit and extreme loyalty. Tanya was fond of him.

"Well, we can't all be British. Some of us have to suffer the indignity of being perfect." he laughed at he small insult.

"Well played, Miss Tanya." he chuckled but quickly sobered. "Tell me, what is it this time? Another nightmare?" he stopped tinkering long enough to shoot her a look through his fashionable rectangular spectacles.

"Something like that." it was honest enough. Alfred, of course, didn't buy it.

"Something like that…" he musingly repeated. "Dreams fade in time, Miss Tanya. All kinds of them." he looked away, refocusing on fitting the sharp blades back into the arm cuff. Tanya suspected he knew exactly what kind of dreams were keeping her awake. She contemplated telling him.

"Alfred," she began.

"Yes, Miss Tanya?" he asked conversationally, still focused on the task at hand.

She was interrupted by the sounds of a motor echoing through the caverns. It looked like the master of the house was home. The Batpod roared as it rolled onto a platform meters away from where the pair sat. Batman, lesser known as Bruce Wayne, stepped off of his vehicle. She knew he had come in through one of the other entrances that were on the grounds, and possibly one outside of it. It was a nightly ritual in the home of insomniacs. Wayne had been going out on crime-fighting errands for a while now. It was apparent that he also had some plan of action for when the Joker escaped. Tanya didn't know the details. Although the two were on good terms with one another, the nature of Tanya's relationship with the Joker worried him to a point where he rarely confided any sort of plan to her. Tanya wasn't insulted, she thought it rather smart. No one could be completely trusted in these times. Except perhaps Alfred. He bridged the gap between the two of them with his dry sense of humor and his uncanny ability to be able to say precisely the right thing at precisely the right time. He stood now, ready to greet his employer and surrogate son.

"Good Evening Master Wayne. I trust your night was successful?"

"Hit and miss, Alfred. The police got in the way again." the police force had doubled its efforts in searching for him, completely disregarding the fact that Batman was still chasing criminals, not police officers. Gordon tried to quell their efforts, but it was critical for him to look impartial to the public. Wayne needed a man he could trust heading the police department.

"They'll give up eventually." Alfred said reassuringly. "In the meantime, do you plan on getting any sleep?"

"Not while he's on the loose, Alfred. Not when Dent is still around." he had dropped his trademark growl. He sounded tired, human, not the superhero the public saw. Tanya felt for him.

"I figured that much." Alfred sighed slightly. "Well, as long as you're up, help me with this. I can't get the bloody things back in." he gestured to the bat-shaped blades on the table.

He laughed, a strange, joyful sound to be coming out of the bat-shaped mask. "Sure, just let me get out of this." He moved past them to change. "Tanya." he said by way of greeting as he passed her.

"Hey Bruce." Alfred continued to tinker, leaving Tanya to her thoughts. She and Bruce had entered into an alliance in the last few months, to the point where he had allowed her to live with him to protect herself and to allow her to isolate herself from nearly everyone else. Tanya was extremely thankful for this, but she and Bruce hadn't become what one could describe as best friends. They were often uneasy around each other, unsure of what to make of the other. She knew Bruce didn't know what to think about a woman who showed unusual resilience to the Joker and she was not sure what to think about a man who chose to dress up like a bat and fight crime. It wasn't that they didn't like each other. Bruce was likeable, if not a little serious and morose at times. It was just that they both knew that there was something about the past that the other was hiding. It made things a little tense at times.

Knowing that when Bruce returned he and Alfred would need to speak alone, Tanya stood up.

"What do you say I go start breakfast, Alfred?"

He smiled at her. "If you'd like, Miss Tanya. I'll be up soon to join you." she nodded at him, giving his a small hug. She made her way up the ladder again and into the kitchen. The world outside was that gorgeous shade of navy that colored the landscape in those hours when no one was awake yet. Tanya had quickly discovered that this was her favorite time of day. Unlike twilight, where the world was darkening, the day coming to a close, this time didn't possesses that eerie quality. Instead, it was peaceful, the calm after the witching hour, when even criminals were at home. It was a fresh start to the day. It gave her hope.

Tanya moved about the kitchen, making pancakes, her favorite (and Bruce's apparently). She thought briefly of her family, and decided that it was time for her to write them again, the only contact she could keep that they couldn't trace (she didn't need them to come looking for her). She also thought briefly of Jim. The pang of guilt over what she had done to him came back. She swallowed it down, convincing herself that it was what was best for him. He didn't need a confused woman who attracted psychopaths. He would find someone, a woman who deserved him, who didn't fantasize about encounters with the Joker.

She sighed, flicking droplets water over the hot griddle and watching them dance. As she spooned batter onto the stove, she looked out over the horizon and the just blossoming sunrise. The light was streaming through the large glass windows of the kitchen, lighting the grounds and all of it's beauty. The world looked like it was filled with a warm hope that Tanya wished she too could feel.

A/N: Ok, so while I have a little bit of free time, I started a sequel. Fingers crossed that I will be motivated to finish it. We'll see. I think I will call this a teaser, sort of an introduction. Whether or not I keep going depends on how much positive feedback I get. So, If you like it, drop a review. If not, well...why did you start the sequel then? :)