Prologue: When the Levee Breaks

"How have you been sleeping?"

"Fine, just, just fine."

Dr. Norma Martinez pursed her lips. She had been a psychologist for 17 years. She knew when someone wasn't telling the truth.

"I've been seeing you for five months now, and your answer to that question is always the same."

"I'm sleeping. I mean,"

"How many hours did you sleep last night?"

"Five,"

Norma gave her patient an incredulous glare. "Jane, I can't help you if you don't tell me the truth."

"Three," She corrected.

Jane was interesting, but an upsetting patient. Every session, she'd give her half-truths, versions of what she was thinking. She still wasn't able to fully disclose whatever actually happened to her. But Dr. Martinez knew one thing for sure; Jane was afraid of her past, or something in it.

"Did you dream?"

"I always dream." She smoothed back her hair, feeling particularly edgy today.

"And what did you dream about?"

Jane sighed, not wanting to share.

"Tell me your dreams, and maybe we can decipher them."

"There's nothing to decipher, they're…they're memories, not even dreams, really."

"And are these memories of your time with this man, this…ex? The one that always seems to be on your mind, but you won't talk about."

Maybe it was habit, maybe it was an issue of trust, but she could never quite bring herself to talk about what happened in Gotham. It was as if someone had their hands around her neck every time she even got close to discussing it- as if there was some invisible force, something preventing her not to speak. It was an unbearable feeling. So, as usual, she embraced a watered-down account of reality. She had come to accept it as her reality to everyone else- her own separate version of the truth, of herself.

"Yes, it was about us. About a night he took me to the ballet,"

"And was that a pleasant experience?"

Jane allowed herself a small scoff. She did that often; it was as if she had some inside joke with herself, some morbid truth she'd disguised as humor. Dr. Martinez took note of it each time. Humor was a way to avoid her true feelings. When Jane used humor, these were the things she was most afraid of addressing.

To the doctor's knowledge, she had told no one about what happened to her. She had no family she seemed to be close with, let alone friends. As her doctor, she could only do so much. It was clear that Jane just wasn't going to talk about certain things. Despite the frustration and impatience that both doctor and patient harbored, she just couldn't open up. Dr. Martinez looked down at her file.

Comorbid PTSD is what she'd diagnosed her with, because along with the post-traumatic stress, she also seemed to be at least moderately depressed.

"Have you been taking your medication?"

"They make me too tired."

"It might be good for you to get some sleep."

"Not like that," Jane argued. "I'm like a lobotomized McMurphy on those,"

"Fair enough, I can prescribe something different."

"Could we skip the medication for now?"

"Jane, I'm going to have to be completely frank here. I don't know how I can help you. You won't be honest with me, and you won't take medications."

"I'm sorry,"

"An apology isn't necessary. This therapy is for you. You should be apologizing to yourself." The doctor sighed. "Look, I know it can seem like you're the only one who's been through what you've been through, but I can assure you that you're not alone. There's someone out there who has been through exactly the same type of thing."

"Sure," she spoke in efforts to remain agreeable.

"Jane, I want to try exposure therapy. I truly believe it's the only way you're going to get better."

"Exposure therapy, that's where I…relive my experiences?"

"In a basic sense, but first we need to talk about them, openly and candidly. Once we go through that in a certain way and in repetition, their prevalence in your life will diminish. Once you face the truth and accept what has happened,"

"The truth?" Jane shifted.

The doctor observed her patient's agitation. It manifested itself visibly- a slight tremble of her body; a shiver.

"I know what happened. I remember everything. I remember it all perfectly and I have no choice but to accept it. That's not the issue."

"The issue is that you come here and pay me for help, but we have yet to have an open dialogue. You need to tell me what happened. I can't help you unless you're honest with me about how you're feeling."

"I don't feel anything, that's the problem." She spoke before thinking, immediately reflecting on what she said. Was that true? Jane tried to evaluate her outburst.

Dr. Martinez was a bit taken aback. Obviously that was untrue. "That's a symptom of your Post Traumatic Stress-Numbness…avoidance is also very common." She spoke a bit, lightly teasing.

Jane smirked.

"Tell me more about this numbness."

"All due respect, what more can be said about it?"

"Indulge me,"

"Okay," Jane sighed. "Every emotion I convey is, feigned. It's like; I have to pretend to be feeling them."

"What about fear?"

"Fear?"

"Do you feel secure?"

"How do you mean?"

"I mean in any sense. Let's start with the basics, do you feel physically safe?"

"I suppose,"

"Do you lock your doors at night?"

"Yeah, but"

"And when you get in your car, how long do you wait to lock it, if at all?"

"I lock it as soon as I get in."

"And why is that? What are you afraid will come in if you felt virtually safe when you were outside walking?"

"I didn't feel safe outside walking. But I think that's what everyone does pretty much. You lock your door as soon as you get in your car, especially if you're alone."

"Maybe, but that's driven by fear, a normal human emotion- which you seem to be feeling."

She nodded, unable to argue. "That's good?"

"It's normal, many people keep their doors locked when they're alone- in a vehicle or at their home."

"But?"

"I think for you it's more than a learned habit, or social construct. I think you're doing so because you're running from something, something that's already broken into your life once before. And you're afraid that any day now it's going to show up and try to break in again. Maybe it's more specific than that, maybe it's a person?"

Jane swallowed. That was exactly what she was afraid of, but someone saying it aloud was a little unnerving.

"Who or what are you afraid of breaking in, Jane?"

Jane could feel her heart pounding, her breaths quickening. Once again, she felt as if she were being choked. She felt lightheaded, out of control. "I've got to go."

"Jane, I've told you many times, but do remember; whatever you say will not leave this room."

"I'm sorry," Jane shook her head, feeling. "I, can't, I'm not,"

Norma sighed, realizing she'd struck a nerve. But at least she admitted something, something that was true. "Jane, don't leave, it's okay, let's move on. How's it going with you and Bruce?"

Jane nodded, feeling ridiculous for getting so worked up. She sat back down, grateful for the change of subject. "It's good, I," She nodded. "It's nice."

"Glad to hear it, and your work?"

"I've always liked work, whatever it might be. If anything it's, a comfort or…consistency."

"Good, glad it's going well." This was a bit frustrating for the Doctor, but she'd have to be tolerant, patient. One day Jane would come around. Today was a mini- hurdle. She'd finally admitted something honest, something true- without forethought or apprehension.

"I'm sorry I acted like that. It was stupid. I'm acting stupid."

Dr. Martinez shook her head. "It's not stupid. Whatever you went through, what's happening to you now, it's important for you to realize that it's a disorder, an illness. PTSD isn't a made-up thing, Jane. It can manifest itself in strange, unpredictable ways."

"Like feeling numb, and these stupid panic attacks?"

"Yes," But Jane had yet to realize a certain truth. Her numbing herself was a coping mechanism. She only thought she was numb, because that's how she was keeping herself held together. Otherwise, she'd have to deal with the insurmountable flow of emotion- everything she was keeping repressed.

"So I have some homework for you."

"Uh oh," Jane responded in jest.

"Tonight, try to go out, have some fun. Go out with a friend or something. Better yet, meet some new ones."

"Is that an order?"

"Think of it as, a prescription. It will do you some good, to socialize."

Jane nodded. But being around people was the last thing she wanted to do. "Okay, I'll try."

…

Jane got into her car. Winter was mild in New Orleans, but despite that she was freezing. She turned on her heater full blast and backed out of the parking lot.

A sudden loud honk made her jump nearly out of her skin. Jane looked back. A white truck angrily sped by.

"Nice, you've managed to look like a nervous wreck in front of your therapist, and almost get in a real wreck." She chided herself and continued backing out.

She didn't know why she kept coming to therapy. Dr. Martinez was right, it was doing no good, and it was Jane's own fault. Despite the fact she was about 1300 miles away from it all, her paranoia took center stage. It was as if she mentioned it; this whole façade, this new life she had made would come crumbling down. And that couldn't happen, she wouldn't let it, she'd tried too hard to keep it up- about a year had passed since her leaving.

She'd managed to get a job with Hatchet and Co., a butcher shop famous for specialty meats. It was one of the largest seafood and meat distributors on the Gulf Coast. She'd always enjoyed being a butcher. It provided stability, and steadiness. Although she missed DeLuca's terribly, as they were her family- a family she'd practically up and abandoned. But she couldn't bother with that anymore, it was better off, certainly for them. In any case, this job was very different, as along with being a butcher, she'd often serve as the company's vessel boarding agent. She'd go on ships and check to make sure shipments were up to standard, and regulations were followed. It was different and exciting. Most importantly, it gave her a sense of control. Control was something that kept her calm.

What she really missed was going to school. It had always been her intention to get her doctorate in anthropological studies, but the amount of personal information schools required for one to apply was just too intrusive for her taste. Besides, the whole process seemed somewhat futile, that was probably the Joker's doing. She'd had that sentiment on several occasions- feeling that certain traditions and constructs of modern society were pointless. Self-education and travel seemed much more logical. So, in her spare time, Jane read. She read about everything under the sun. She'd acquired quite a personal library- full of books on psychology, philosophy, and ethnographic research. She felt as if she'd saved a fortune in tuition, but she couldn't help but miss it. She missed Dr. Grant. But she'd definitely burned that bridge, all bridges in fact that led to her former home, her former city.

The introversion had only gotten worse since leaving Gotham. But that was easy in New Orleans. It was a city so diverse and fascinating that thousands of people walked through its streets each day without a second glance. The anonymity she so coveted was easily attained. It was a lot like Gotham, in that respect. But New Orleans was entirely its own creature, its own unique breed.

Jane drove around for what seemed like forever, until she finally settled on a bar. She took a breath and put her car in park. She watched as a couple walked in. They were around her age, holding hands and smiling. As the bar door swung open she saw more people inside, laughing and enjoying the early evening.

"Just do it," She spoke to herself. "It's been too fucking long just get over yourself." She spoke as she pushed her car door open, not giving any more time to think.

This was a popular bar; people seemed to be pouring into it. Blending into a crowd would be better than standing out. Maybe things would be alright.

Just as the thought passed her mind, Jane slipped, on something. There seemed to be nothing for her to slip on, but it happened nonetheless. She fell onto the body next to her. In embarrassment, she only mumbled sorry and continued to the door.

"Whoa," the voice spoke, pulling her aside. She looked up to see it was a policeman.

"Maybe you've already had enough today, hmm?"

Jane smirked. "No, I haven't had nearly enough." A look of fright swept across her face, suddenly realizing how that sounded. "I'm sorry," She quickly recanted. "I meant to say that I have not had a drop of alcohol today."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Well it's not a matter of you believing. You're welcome to use that thing if you feel you need to."

"The thing?" An amused grin brushed his face. "And what thing might that be?" He crossed his arms.

Jane looked up to him, detecting a light-hearted tone. He was handsome, tall, and smiling down towards her.

For the first time in a long time, she felt semi-normal, flirtatious even. It was a nice feeling.

…

Alfred gazed at the building outside his window. It was a quaint little duplex that could probably manage a paint job. Despite that, the yard was lush and green- the plentiful sunshine displayed its splendor. It was very well taken care of. A collection of ivy was neatly cut around the panels and windows. The flowerbed was lined with colorful plants and a few flowers. It looked pleasant, happy. The owner took pride in the little home. He took a breath before getting out of the car.

Alfred clutched a small collection of folders close to his chest, guarding them carefully as he knocked on the door. As etiquette required, he took a step back and waited.

For several moments, there was no sound. He waited the appropriate amount of time to knock again. This time, he heard a small thud coming from the inside, and a woman's laughter. This was an old home; one could hear each and every creak or noise as someone moved across the floor. The door opened.

Jane was smiling as she opened the door, but that smile immediately faded. She stared back at him; her mouth agape, muscles tense.

He took a moment to take in her altered appearance. Her dark auburn hair was significantly shorter- now a medium length that sat slightly below her shoulders. Although he'd last seen her in duress, she somehow looked healthier then. Now, she was thinner, leaner. She was still a fair, good looking young woman. There was just something missing- something he'd seen in her previously that was no longer there. Alfred hastily reminded himself of what she had been through, realizing he might be judging too severely.

Jane was looking right at him, but her glance was far away. She closed her mouth, realizing it was hanging open. She tried to reel in her composure, reminding herself that it wasn't like Joker was at the door. It was Alfred.

Before either could speak, an abrupt force pushed its head past her legs and looked out the door.

"Bruce, stay!" Jane commanded and grabbed the dog's collar. A flush of red swept across her cheeks, realizing Alfred would surely pick up on whom she named the dog after.

"What a lovely German Shepherd," Alfred commented politely. We used to have several growing up."

"Hi," was all Jane could muster as she smiled weakly, somehow knowing it looked entirely counterfeit.

"Miss Archer,"

"Anna?" A voice called from within the house.

A man approached behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. He wore only a towel tied to his waist. "Oh hello," He smiled to Alfred. "You Anna's Dad or something?"

Jane looked to Alfred, thoroughly embarrassed, as if he really were her father. "No, no he's, a friend of mine." She corrected. "Would you like to come in, Alfred?" She asked, somewhat uneasily.

"My apologies," Alfred decided to quell the awkwardness. He could tell she was embarrassed, and that was not his intention. "I should have called beforehand."

"No," Jane shook her head, "Please," She opened the door fully allowing him room to enter.

This situation wasn't ideal. Alfred smiled politely and begrudgingly accepted her invitation.

"Thank you."

Jane closed the door behind, and followed Alfred to the living room. She noticed her robe hanging on the over the top of the bathroom door. She grabbed it quickly and covered up what little clothes she was wearing. She gestured for him to have a seat in the lounge chair as she sat on the sofa. He did so. Unfortunately, her other houseguest joined them, towel-clad and all. He put his still wet, showered arm around her. Jane was seething with a mixture of humiliation and annoyance. Bruce the dog seemed to look at Jane's houseguest in annoyance as well; as he was sitting in his usual spot on the couch next to his owner. He soon settled down at her feet.

"I'm Josh," The houseguest extended his hand to Alfred.

"Pleasure," Alfred reciprocated the handshake.

Josh relaxed back, completely unaware that his presence was making the other two parties in the room entirely uncomfortable.

"So, an old friend of Anna's huh? How do you two know each other?"

Alfred was not prepared to respond. Obviously, Jane hadn't been completely honest with this man, even in telling him her real name. He looked at her, unsure how to proceed.

"Through work," Jane began.

"Oh, you a butcher too?" Josh asked Alfred thoughtfully.

"We hired Anna to cater an event of ours." He glanced at Jane thoughtfully, hoping this was all she was going to make him explain. He felt somewhat sorry for this well-meaning, rather dense Joshua fellow.

"I'm sorry," Josh suddenly spoke, "I'm meddling, and you two probably want to catch up. He quickly rose. "I need to get dressed and go on shift anyway."

"Help yourself to anything you need," Jane spoke, in efforts to be a somewhat amiable host.

"Thanks, doll." He gave her a kiss on the cheek and acknowledged Alfred before disappearing back into the hallway.

Jane shivered, not welcoming the use of nicknames, for the sake of certain memories they elicited. But for some time now, recovering-coping had become her primary full-time occupation. Through practice, she'd taught herself to quickly shake things off.

"I'm so sorry, Alfred. I wasn't expecting…"

"No, the fault is entirely mine. I should have called or contacted you. It is not my custom to show up unannounced," His words were all entirely true; this was unusual territory for him, concerning both circumstance and situation. "I'm also guessing we will want to wait until your friend leaves to continue our conversation in any depth."

Jane smiled slightly. "Yes, I think that would be the right choice."

…

Joshua Kalich turns out, was an officer for the New Orleans Police Department. His attire when he emerged revealed such to Alfred. He'd also announced, proudly, that he and Anna had been seeing each other for a little over three months now. He then proceeded to tell Alfred the story of how they met, about how he thought she was drunk. Alfred listened politely and nodded. He'd occasionally turn to Jane, gaging her reaction. She seemed ambivalent, at best. The young Jane Archer was a very difficult person to read.

"Well, I'm off." Josh announced, looking towards Jane. Alfred looked over to her as well. The obviously smitten young officer was looking for some kind of farewell from her, and she didn't seem very apt to give it.

"Alright," Josh finally said. "Well, call me later?"

Jane smiled as politely as she could as she stood up. "Yeah," She smiled then gave him a slight pat on the shoulder as they walked to the door.

Josh smirked, noticing something was off. "Yeah, okay…"

Jane waved to him and shut the door. She closed her eyes for a second, quickly realizing that this actually wasn't the most compromising situation Alfred had seen her in, but it was mortifying nonetheless. She turned and walked back to him.

"I'm so sorry," She started, "I,"

"Miss Archer, there is absolutely no need, I assure you." Alfred smiled, genuine in his remark.

Jane sat down; confused, nervous, and somewhat leery. She swallowed. "The last time I talked to Bruce, he told me,"

"Yes, I'm aware."

She nodded. "How did,"

"Master Wayne did keep an eye on you from afar. I'm quite certain he cares a great deal for your safety."

Jane accepted this, with his resources and being who he is; she should have known he was keeping tabs on her. But it wasn't just for her safety. He wanted to make sure she didn't ever return. He was quite adamant on that particular during their last conversation.

"Alfred it is good to, I'm just; I don't know why you would come here."

"That's what I was afraid of."

Jane lowered her brow. "Why?"

The older man sighed; Jane knew that sigh- reluctance.

"You don't have to tell me."

"But I do, Miss Archer as I am afraid you are the only person I can tell. Because it just so happens that you and I, save one other person are the only people who know of Master Wayne's, nightly proclivities."

That awareness was strange to Jane. She'd really never pondered the gravity of the secret she kept.

"What's happened?"

Alfred took a moment, "Batman has gone missing." He finally spoke. He'd been holding that in, for fear that saying it aloud it would give an unwelcome finality to it.

Her mouth hung agape. "You mean, Bruce?"

Bruce the dog looked up every time she said his name. He jumped up beside her and she proceeded to scratch his back.

"For nearly seven weeks now."

Jane felt a pang in her chest. "What, when you say missing…"

"He has been gone. No one has seen or heard from him."

"Even,"

"Even myself, I had the small hope that he might have contacted, even came to see you."

She shook her head, somehow wishing for Alfred's sake that that were true. "Like I said, I haven't seen him since, since I left, when he told me to leave." Her words were laced with unwarranted bitterness. Jane had no reason to be angry with Bruce and she knew it. She'd needed to leave Gotham for her own good. He was being overly generous in helping her escape prosecution for her criminal activities. The deal was simple, if she left Gotham and never returned- she could have a normal life. It was a more than fair trade, more than she'd deserved.

"I've managed to maintain the illusion that Bruce Wayne is jet-setting in Western Europe. That has been simple enough and no one will question it. But it's no secret that Batman is no longer present. And as you might imagine, the populace and general atmosphere or Gotham has changed drastically because of it."

Jane could envision an all too accurate mental picture. "Do you have any idea what happened?"

"Not a one. He often sends me calls or radio frequencies on his outings. And he almost always alerts me when he's about to return. The last one I received was on December 27th."

"What did he say?"

"He had found a warehouse, a place that he suspected some thugs to be holding up."

"And then something happened?"

"I suppose so." He spoke, grateful to talk with someone about the matter, but ashamed he was burdening someone else with the weight of it all.

"I'm sorry." Jane voiced sincerely. It's funny, a few years ago, Batman didn't exist. But now, she couldn't imagine Gotham, the world without him. She didn't want to imagine the disorder and turmoil Gotham's sinister and corrupt were causing in his absence.

"So you don't have any idea," She hesitated, in efforts to come across as more delicate. "What could have happened, who…?" Jane stopped, everything suddenly making more sense.

Alfred locked eyes with her. She was a clever young woman. She'd already figured out his true motives for coming.

She put her hands in her lap, unconsciously gripping them together tightly.

"You think it was him?"

"I don't know anything for certain. I do know that time after time, that that man is underestimated and misinterpreted. And in Master Wayne's, Batman's absence he has managed to wreak havoc on the city with an almost unending and unopposed prevalence. Countless more have done the same. Since Master Wayne's disappearance, all of the horrid characters Batman put away are coming back out of the woodwork."

Jane shivered at the thought of it. Batman was Joker's foil, and vice-versa. Without Batman, there was no one to reel Joker in.

Alfred could tell the news had Jane deep in thought. Her past with the man they call the Joker was not black and white. She had been attached to him in some way, emotionally and romantically. From the look in her eyes, certain mixed emotions still lingered. She might not have had any ties to him since she left, but her feelings seemed to remain conflicted at best. This is why he gave her a moment before he proceeded to ask her what he'd come to ask.

"Miss Archer,"

"Jane," she corrected.

"Miss Jane, I've come to ask for your help."

Jane's eyes met his. "My help?"

"You possess intimate knowledge concerning both Master Wayne and The Joker. What I ask is that you may give me an idea as to where I can look."

"Look?"

"For Master Wayne. Miss Archer, whether or not he is alive, I have to find him. I have to find him and bring him home."

She noticed that her body had started to shake. She tried her best, but could not control it.

"You want me to confront the Joker?"

Alfred lowered his brow. "My dear, of course not!" He reached and put his hand on hers, feeling ashamed to have upset her so. When he did, he noticed her hands were shaking. He took a beat in attempts to speak calmly. Bruce had often noted that Jane was the unfortunate victim of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He feared that she still had to pay for that actuality. "I only ask for your insight. I would never ask you to put yourself in danger. I only ask that you accompany me to Wayne Manor. There, we can use our resources to map out possible hideouts and locations of, "

"Can you excuse me for a minute?"

"Of course." Alfred spoke, a little deflated at her interjection.

Jane nodded and tried to keep her steps slow and calm as she made her way to her bedroom. She hated this new self she had become; frightened, timid, uneasy. She used to pride herself in her confidence. She now had trouble handling the smallest of emotions. Worse than that, everything, anything that was even remotely upsetting rocked her very foundation. She got in her room and shut the door. Jane paced as she took several unsteady breaths and sat down on the edge of her bed. Her eyes closed.

"Stop it," She commanded herself and squared her shoulders. Jane focused on calming herself down.

This was exactly what she was afraid of, the past catching up with her. She'd spent such a long time running and trying to maintain a state of denial; thinking that if she'd distanced herself enough, it would go away, cease to exist.

Jane knew better than to actually believe that. It was too easy for it all to catch up to her. It was too easy because of on one simple truth; she'd never really gotten away from it in the first place. In her mind, she had never left. That's because Jane hadn't wanted to leave, she only needed to.

What had Dr. Martinez told her about fear?

Despite the good doctor's keen insight, she only had it half right. The fears that Jane harbored did root from Joker. Knowing him, in more ways than one had permanently changed her. She'd never be what she was. Bruce had a lot to do with that as well. There was no doubt she was drawn to both. The two men were painfully unalike, yet both were impenetrable, and unshakably confident in their convictions. Being exposed to such intense, polar opposites would change anyone. Yes, Dr. Martinez had it wrong. Jane knew herself too well to be told otherwise. Despite everything that happened, it wasn't Batman, Gotham, or even Joker that she was afraid of. It was herself, and of what she truly wanted.

Jane marched back into the living room. Alfred was sitting pensively, awaiting her return. He raised his eyes and his feet, standing up to greet her.

"Miss Archer, allow me to apologize, I shouldn't have,"

"I'll do it." Jane spoke, discernibly more decisive and calm than she was a few minutes prior.

Alfred stared back at her, in slight confusion and awe.

"Anything you need." Jane nodded. "I owe Bruce at least that."

He was slightly taken aback by her enthusiastic willingness. It seemed that just a few minutes prior, she was going to deny his request. Alfred smiled gracefully, completely primed to take a chance on the young Miss Jane Archer. Yes, she was very much a gamble. But he would not give up on finding his family. He would use any and every resource he had to find him. And there was the other thing. Alfred saw in Jane a brash courage and certain resolve. It reminded him of Bruce- who, not unlike the young Miss Archer was always steadfast, but perceptibly broken.