Author's Note: I don't normally write Batman fanfic. I'm an X-Men girl, mostly, so if this seems off, I apologize. As the subject matter indicates, I'm working on an A/U sort of premise here, though readers shouldn't find it too different from the traditional Batman they know and love. Besides, if I can get myself to actually go with the story further, it should all make more sense later.

Miss Query appears with permission from her creator of the same name, who writes some of the best Riddler fics I've seen.

P.S. – I don't dislike Harley Quinn, though some people may see it that way.

Disclaimer: I'm not DC, I don't own Batman. I use him and other DC characters strictly for the purposes of my own amusement and earn no money from them.

Chapter One

Instant Karma

Finding the Joker's hideout hadn't been easy. He'd had to push every underworld connection available and even then he'd almost not found the clown; and it was imperative that he did so quickly. Finally, it had all come down to Edward Nigma and a stroke of luck.

The Riddler had escaped from Arkham about a week after the Joker and Harley Quinn. Oddly enough, Batman had no luck finding any of them. None of their regular hideouts had produced any leads; from FunniBone Shipping to the Crossword Laundromat, Gotham was not forthcoming.

In the end, it was Nigma's love of good living that forced him out into the open.

Like most of his criminal cohorts, the Riddler generally employed a group of thugs to make sure that certain menial tasks were carried out. These tasks ranged from cooking, cleaning and grocery shopping to robbery and assault. This time, however, it seemed that Nigma hadn't had the time or the cash flow to hire his normal round of muscle. Only the girl, Query, remained.

When the Dark Knight had noticed the Riddler and his companion, they had both been out of costume and heading into the Gotham Borders store on 5th Avenue. Batman had barely recognized Nigma out of his costume, actually, though the girl was hard to forget.

Seeing them, he figured, was luck at work.

When the escapee emerged from the bookstore, he held a puzzle book in one hand and a large coffee cup in the other. The girl had a small plastic bag with a couple of paperbacks inside, and a large paper cup of her own.

For a moment, Batman considered confronting the two and having it all done with, but he hesitated. Nigma and the Joker, while not on particularly agreeable terms with one another, would at least give each other the time of day, if it was mutually beneficial.

The knowledge that this could be the break he needed led the vigilante to watching and following his quarry, rather than going the route of open confrontation. Perhaps Nigma would lead him to the two clowns. Time was growing short and he needed to find the Joker as soon as possible.

Two days of patient surveillance had finally yielded Nigma and Dee Lemma taking a cab out to the abandoned Cross & Stern Shipyards.

Batman followed and waited outside (what he suspected was) the Joker's hideout for about three hours before any life was detected from inside.

The Dark Knight watched from the shadows as the Joker stepped out into the chilly night air, a grumble of thunder greeting him.

The heavy door to the abandoned shipyard office screamed shut; its hinges caked with rust. The thick slam cut off the equally screamy voice of Harley Quinn, and Batman heard the Joker scrape a match against the brick building, then touch it to the tip of a cigarette, perhaps enjoying a moment of silence.

It was now or never.

The Dark Knight strode out of the shadows toward where the Joker was standing, not bothering to try and mask his presence. The green-haired man looked over at him and waved, emerald eyes glittering like stained glass.

"Why, hello! How nice to see you, Batsy! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Batman made no reply. He continued forward until he was within a foot of the madman, then stood. For his part, the Joker seemed neither alarmed nor perturbed by the presence of the Bat. He smoked his cigarette and waited to see if Batman would say anything. He didn't, predictably enough, so he broke the silence himself.

"I've been a good boy, dear. Why did you come to harass me?"

"We need to talk."

The Joker's eyes lit up and he pitched his cigarette away with a distracted flick.

"I can't believe it! You're finally ready to confess your love!" He danced forward a few steps and made loud kissing noises at the other man. Another roll of thunder sounded off again, closer this time.

Batman held his hand up to keep the Joker at arm's length. "No. This is serious."

"Oh, please. It's always serious with you, guanohead." The Joker grumbled, moving back, then stooping to pick up his discarded cigarette. "What is it? Giving me a final request before dragging me back to the funny farm?"

Batman paused a moment. He didn't know how to go about this, but he knew it had to be done. He settled for the direct approach.

"Joker, your wife and son are real…and they're not dead."

There was no mistaking the look of violent fury on the bone-white face. "That isn't funny, Batman." He growled, squinting against the smoke of his Pall Mall. "Not funny at all."

"Joker…"

"Go to hell! They burned to death in a fire…I think." A gleaming silver .45 automatic appeared in the clown's left hand with the ease of magician palming coins, and was leveled at Batman's heart. The cigarette had been pitched away again, this time fizzling out in a patch of dirt. "Don't play with me like this!" Joker hissed. "I'll see you dead before the night's over!"

"Jack." Batman said softly, tone as comforting as he could manage. "Think. You know I don't 'play'."

The gun flashed quickly. So quickly that Batman didn't have time to move as it crashed into his jaw. A light rain began to fall.

"Don't call me that!" The Joker barked, teeth bared. "You don't call me 'Jack' and I won't call you 'Bruce', capisce?"

There was no helping it. Bruce Wayne recoiled at the sound of his name, unable to hide his surprise. How long had the Joker known?

"Oh, please." The green-haired man said. He actually sounded disgusted, Bruce thought. "How stupid do you think I am? I've had you figured out for years, Brucie…same height and build as the Bat, same baby blues, same boy scout chin, same arrogant swagger." He snarled out a patch of manic laughter. It sounded like the howl of a starving wolf to Bruce, who despite it all, could not help but pity the man. "Love that phone sex thing you do with your voice, though!" The clown praised, grinning like a skull. He absently wiped rainwater from his face with the back of a gloved hand.

Bruce let him talk. Ultimately, the ruination of this man was his fault, and there was no denying it. In trying to save other lives, other families, he had shattered the Joker's life as easily as his own had been broken. In his heart, he sometimes thought that made him no better than the thug who'd pulled the trigger on his parents.

[To be continued]