Title: Obsession
Author: Scarlet Hill
Warnings: Language, Violence and Adult Themes.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in the stories but for my OC. This is purely for entertainment purposes. Please Read and Review. Constructive criticism is more than welcome. I'm thick-skinned. I can take it. Enjoy…

Obsession

Prologue

It was four thirty in the morning. Most people in Gotham had been asleep for hours but Dawn Burrows was still in her office. Not the one inside the newly rebuilt Major Crimes Unit but the one in her apartment that nobody but her got to see. The one that displayed her obsession to its fullest, spilled in photographs and files across the walls.

Not that it was an obsession. More like extreme professional interest. It had been eight months since she took the position of Lieutenant, following in the footsteps of the honourable commissioner Jim Gordon. Nine since the target of her intense scrutiny had last been seen, fleeing from the scene in which he'd singlehandedly destroyed Gotham's dreams of a bright, brave future.

Officially, the hunt for that murdering piece of scum known as The Batman had taken a backseat to the chaos that had descended upon the city. Unofficially, there was still at least one of Gotham's finest that hadn't forgotten the sight of the District Attorney lying dead in the same place his fiancée had been blown to pieces days earlier.

Whoever Batman was, Dawn was determined that she was going to be the one that unmasked him. He would pay for every single one of his crimes.

It was far from over. But it wasn't an obsession. She was doing this for Harvey Dent.

On the other side of Gotham, in a luxury penthouse, another person was still wide awake. Bruce Wayne sat in a sumptuous leather armchair, staring out over a city that was undoubtedly his domain but he couldn't find the energy to appreciate it. Behind him, two ludicrously attractive supermodels sprawled out asleep in his super-king-sized bed. He couldn't care about them either.

Gotham was going to Hell and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. It was too soon for Batman to make a comeback without being hunted down like a dog and the playboy façade was wearing unbelievably thin. He was finding himself easily frustrated. Fingers metaphorically itching to get out there and make things right. But he couldn't. Not yet.

Nine months earlier, he had taken the blame for the murder of a man that had been corrupted by his own anguished grief. A good man whose life had been decimated and his sanity twisted by a madman in clown make-up.

Nobody but his trusted butler knew the truth about the sacrifices he had made by doing what he had. Harvey Dent was dead. It was a tragedy for not just those who knew him but the whole of Gotham. But his torment was over. Bruce Wayne lived on. Bruce Wayne still grieved. Nobody knew how much he still suffered. Not even Alfred.

The fiend behind all of this angst was locked away in a padded cell where he could longer cause the chaotic destruction he had subjected them all to but that didn't make it better. It didn't heal the wounds that had been inflicted. It didn't clean up the city's splintering streets. Gotham was falling fast but neither Bruce Wayne nor Batman could save them. The man behind the mask had made an oath that he would keep no matter what.

Yes, it frustrated him immensely, was eating away at his soul. No, he didn't sleep much anymore, instead brooding away the twilight hours thinking of everything that had been and could never be again until he forced himself get up and carry on with the masquerade ball that had become his life.

Still, it plagued his mind. But it wasn't an obsession. He was doing this for Rachel.

The gothic silhouette of Arkham Asylum rose over Gotham like an ominous shadow. Deep in the bowels of its structure, engulfed by darkness, a madman sat on a bare cot, his legs crossed, head down. Unruly dark blond curls, still slightly tinged with green dye, tumbled down, hiding his face. The quacks had confiscated his warpaint, trying to strip him of himself but it didn't change the chaos that reigned on the inside.

Heels clicked along the long corridor outside. A small hint of a smile twitched up the corner of the Joker's scarred mouth but he didn't look up. He didn't need to. He knew what or should he say who, was coming. He'd been waiting.

The cell door was unlocked. It creaked as it opened, the clicking heels now entering his cell. His pulse rate sped up but it wasn't really because of her. It was because with every step she took, he knew it was getting closer to the moment he'd been fantasising about, envisioning since he was sent dangling through the air by the Bat. He could think of little else. By now Gotham would be ready for him. It was going to be so much fun.

The female doctor let down her long, blonde hair as she stepped towards him. Everything that happened next was a blur of naked flesh and writhing bodies. Harleen gasped and panted as her patient and lover took her hard and fast, driving all of his anarchic intent into her body and soul for she was a piece of the puzzle. A necessary component of the schematic he was so devotedly conjuring up in his head.

He had never been a schemer. Never had a plan. Now his head was filled with ideas and plots and schemes. He knew exactly how it was all going to come together and he revelled in the fact that nobody would see it coming. An agent of chaos with a master plan. One that was as real and perfect as the harlequin beneath him. The prospect made him climax harder each and every time they did this.

It was almost time. And it was definitely an obsession. He was doing it all for himself.