Second Chances, a batman fanfic

[Note: I couldn't figure out how to break the scenes up any other way; forgive the Xs. Thanks for reading]

September

I sit in the same cell I have sat in for three years, staring at the nothingness of the tan wall across from my bed. It is the color of apathy, with a dull sheen that can only belong to spirit-breaking incarceration. The sun comes up slowly; I know too well that it is only through the sunrise that you can see time pass in this place – before the lights turn on, before the cell doors are opened, you can see little fingers of dawn dig their fingernails into the prison. I never miss that moment.

I am here on a technicality; luckily. It could have been worse. They could have found the evidence I hid under the fridge, but they didn't look. It wasn't the perfect crime, hell, it got me here, but it was perfect enough.

I always tried to do what was right, regardless of which side of the law I was on. But not everyone saw it that way, and I was ostracized by society for it; now I'm starting to come around to their view. Crossing over the line into crime is what got me here, and crossing that line will only keep me coming back. I don't exactly regret the people I've killed, or the things I've done; I'm just at a point in my life where I'm not sure I want to do any more.

I get out in a week. A single week – not too long ago it was a ridiculous amount of time, a period so long it might never end. I shaved years off my sentence due to good behavior, and now, with that good behavior paying off, I don't know exactly what I'll be doing when I get out. What does civilian life really have to offer someone who's spent her entire adult life devoted to crime?

The lights crack on and the doors open, and I roll off my bed to get breakfast.

"Bamford! Turner! Isley!" I turn from my oatmeal. Couldn't be – wasn't she just announcing… "Report to the visiting area after breakfast," she says and turns to leave.

A visitor? Haven't had one in months; hell, a year maybe. Hopefully it's not more press, although really I'd be happy to talk to anyone who isn't working off a bid. There had always been some interest in my antics, and for a while after my incarceration I had been peppered with interviews; no more. People had forgotten about me; just as well. I finish my breakfast and make my way over to the visitation area. A surprise visit, too – interesting.

"Pamela Isley, sir?" The car slides through Gotham's outskirts, towards Arkham Asylum, Alfred at the wheel and me watching the scenery go by. We're going to pay a hastily scheduled visit to Ms. Poison Ivy, an old enemy of Batman.

"I'm considering bringing her into Wayne."

"Excuse me, sir?"

"I hear she's trying to turn her life around. I want to see how reformed she really is."

Alfred glances at me in the rearview window. "With all due respect, sir, isn't that a bit risky?"

"We could set up a surveillance team while she's on the grounds. Supposedly we really need new genius in R & D, and she certainly qualifies. Lord knows she's good with plants. I have the scars to prove it." I think about what I've just said and laugh, and Alfred looks concerned. "Well, putting it that way, it doesn't sound like such a good idea. But, I want to give her a chance."

"Why, sir?"

"I don't know." I try to come up with a good reason, but I don't have one. "I guess it depends on this meeting. If it goes well, it's on the drawing board. If it doesn't, I'll be waiting to send her back."

We ride in silence, then Alfred lets out a question. "Have you ever met Pamela in a…non-professional setting?"

"Well, she tried to kill me once, as Bruce Wayne. But I think we cleared that up."

"'Cleared that up,' sir?"

"Well," I say, as we turn off the main road onto the road to the prison, "we'll see."

I wait at the glass for her, for five minutes, without a lock of her red hair on the other side. I stand up to ask the guard what the holdup is and I hear a sound – she is there, in the chair, leaning back with a look of distaste covering her like makeup.

"Hello," I say, and then am overwhelmed by diatribe.

"Bruce Wayne. And how is your stretch of the Amazon now?"

I shake my head. "The call came from an underling of mine. I had no idea what was going on, and I fired him when I figured it all out. You know that." I stare into her, and after what seems like a minute she accepts my reasoning. She changes her tone.

"I have to admit, I am more than a little surprised to have you visit." She looks down. "Not that I have many visitors, but…"

"Ivy," I say without thinking, and she looks up with shock, like I'd reached out and hit her.

"It's Pamela now. Or, Ms. Isley to you."

"Sorry. Ms. Isley, then." I pause.

"…well, I know you didn't come here to have an awkward conversation," she says. "What can I do for you?"

"Wayne enterprises is considering offering you a job." She raises her eyebrows, and something lighter cracks through her prison-made exterior; an almost child-like emotion, like someone is seeing some kind of diamond through the extreme rough – just as quickly it is gone, and jade becomes her.

She thinks I'm not serious. "Really?"

"Yes," I say, and her look is confused. "Recently we hired a scientist named Dane Baccusli; he says he knows you."

"Dane?" Her face brightens. "You're kidding me."

"We have several organic chemistry projects that are hanging unfinished in our research and development labs. Dane says this is your field, so I'm here to put the deal on the table. You'd understand that we would keep you under surveillance while on the grounds, and that any violation of your parole would result in your immediate termination."

"That's fine."

"Are you interested?" She looks like the thought of her not being interested would be absurd.

"…of course." She'd probably been looking at a job placement program, mediocre work and little incentive not to slip back into crime. I can tell she is legitimately interested in trying to turn her life around, or that she is a very good liar, which I would not doubt.

But I nod. "I'll send some men to work out the details of the arrangement."

"Thank you so much, Mr. Wayne." She smiles a weathered but genuine smile.

"Please," I say, "call me Bruce."

"How was that?" Alfred asks as he starts the car.

"Interesting." I sit back and stare out of the window. "Makes me wonder if I should do this more often."

"What do you mean?" We make it past the gate, and drive out of the grounds towards the city.

"You know what they say about holding your enemies close?"

"Ah; I see sir. It lets you keep watch over her."

"It's also that…if she really does want to reform, I mean, that's a part of fighting crime too. Giving her that opportunity."

"Indeed, sir. Indeed it is."

The sun has reached a height I have not seen for some time. It is time to go home, to bed, to wake up tonight and do it all over again.

"Wayne manor, sir?"

"Yes, Alfred." He adjusts the audio to skip a song I dislike, and I rest my head on a pillow in the back. This is luxury, yes, but tonight I will be far from it. I rationalize such decadence with the fact that I will be living in the hot and dirty streets for the duration of darkness, searching for slime. I wake up at home and climb out of the car into the house, and up the stairs to bed.

"Bullock, I don't want to hear it! How many times do we have to go through this? You bring me the Dragons case clean or don't even bother to do the paperwork! You know it's worthless."

"Alright, fine." I turn towards the door. Back to square one on this one.

"Where're you going," Commissioner Gordon asks.

"There's no donuts here," I lie. There may be. In any case in a minute I'm walking down the street, to Wong's chicken and donuts, to pick up some crullers. At least I'm doing something useful, even if the end goal is just to give me a heart attack. Walking through the market, though, I am distracted – someone starts to scream. "Police! Call 911! Police!"

God damn it. I pull out my gun and work my way into the crowd. "I'm a cop! Coming through!" When I reach the scene I see a woman in hysterics. "What's going on?" I ask. All she does is point, and I turn around. It takes me a second to figure out what she is looking at. Then I understand. Green eyes, red hair, great figure – a certain turn of the lip. I stare. "You…"

"Hi," she says, like she knows what's going to happen.

"Don't friggin move! You move I'll blow your head out, I swear."

"I'm a civilian now," she says. Poison friggin Ivy. No way; what a catch. "I got released from Blackgate yesterday."

"You're lyin." I get on the radio. "This is Bullock, I'm gonna need backup-"

"I'm gonna be late for work," she says.

"Oh you are, oh yes you are." She sits down at a table outside the café; I notice a coffee in her hands with the same logo. I straighten my gun. "What did I tell you about moving?"

"Fine, blow my brains out," she says. She rests her head in her hands. "First day at work, and I'm going to be late." She absentmindedly takes a sip.

"Yeah? Where."

"Wayne Enterprises."

I laugh. "Yeah right, like Wayne would hire you."

"Wasn't my call," she says.

"Yeah right, you probably used some kind of mind control on the hiring board." She looks down at this. I start to feel guilty – what if she really is out legally? "So you say you got released, huh? Last time I heard anything you got put away for a while."

"Yeah." She sits there, depressed-looking, but I don't dare take the gun off her.

"Well?" I ask.

She looks up. "Well what?"

"How'd you get out?"

By cleaning everything that could possibly be cleaned. By being the best little girl possible for three years, in a prison where good little girls generally don't do so hot. I spent my whole stay in Blackgate making the dirty, dirty place sparkle. I deserve to be out. Just like I deserved to be in.

But all that's in the past now. What the present is is a fat cop who thinks he's somebody, with a gun trained on me like he gets points for inspiring fear. Got to love this life. I sip my latte in silence, knowing that my new bosses will soon be wondering where I am. And when I get there, I will have to tell them what happened…

"I'm sorry, but I haven't committed any crime here-"

"Shut up!" he says. Real charmer, this one. The gun barely quivers, and I can see it's cocked.

By the time this goon is done, and he's gotten the confirmation that I'm legally here, I am twenty minutes late to the first job I have had in about a decade. It will take me five minutes to get there, and I give myself five minutes to find the building.

Damn.

He is looking the other way, talking with someone, when I do show up. I take a breath. "Dane?"

He turns around. "Pamela…" He recognizes me from our in-prison job interview.

"I am so sorry," I say. "I was in this cafe, and-"

"Don't worry about it," he says, through a smile that is only somewhat strained, and leads me over to what is obviously a scientist. "This is Dr. Todd Crass."

"Pleased to meet you," I say, reaching out my hand. The man's preconceptions of working with an infamous criminal seem to be eager to be reinforced, and he awkwardly handles my palm like a grenade with the pin pulled out.

"The pleasure is mine," he says.

"Dr. Crass is overseeing our organic chemistry department." Dane looks at his watch. "I've got a meeting in ten minutes, so we'll have to catch up later."

"Okay. Bye Dane." I wave a little half wave.

"Bye. Have fun kids."

"Please," Dr. Crass says, drawing my attention to a door, "let me show you the labs."

The hallway is long, and leads us to a fork in the carpeted road; Dr. Crass takes us left, and soon we are in an area that I am all too familiar with. It is very similar to the labs of my youth, and – sure enough – there is a sign to a greenhouse.

"What kind of plants do you have?" I ask, quickly shutting myself up and trying to take the outburst back.

"Do you want to go in?" Dr. Crass asked. And I realize he doesn't have much of a plan for today, or any sort of plan at all – Bruce Wayne had told me that there were a lot of half-finished projects, but I get the feeling that this is enough of a budget operation that anything goes. I've never been in an R&D setting before – it'll take some getting used to.

"Sure," I say, acting non-chalant. In the day or two since my release I hadn't had any contact with plants, and they sure hadn't allowed me to keep any in Blackgate. I am ecstatic to see any flora. We walk through some sort of entryway, and in place of my fantasy of a well-kept scientific garden I see something that breaks my heart – a greenhouse, but full of sick plants; some half-dead, others dead and yet more dying. I see a rare flycatcher off in the corner – it is all I can do to stop myself from running over, cradling it, nursing it back to health…

"Uh, since…one of my employees left it's kind of gone to pot. You, uh, like plants, right?"

I laugh, and try as hard as I can to make it not be maniacal. "Yeah, I like plants."

I leave that little new part of my soul behind and we tour the labs. There's some interesting stuff going on, or at least it seems that way – my chemistry, at least what is applicable here, is a little rusty. "It's okay," Dr. Crass says. "You can learn on the job. Dane says you interviewed very well; I'm sure you'll do just fine."

I have my own desk, and he piles it high with dossiers and binders, the projects left unfinished. As soon as he leaves to take care of his own work, though, I leave them behind – I have important things to take care of first.

In the greenhouse I re-pot, prune, fertilize and water, trying to salvage what I can of momma's new babies – Dr. Crass was wrong, I love plants. It was I who initiated our relationship, and they taught me everything I know, things that no textbook could ever put into writing. But…

It was they, speaking in their sweet language, that got me put in Blackgate. I ponder this, but find that my hands have not stopped in their caretaking. I breathe deeply – how can this be wrong? But once I am finished with the basics of rehabilitating these innocent things, I return to my desk and crack a ledger. Oh god my green thumb itches, oh god it does. But if I am to have any future outside of the prison/industrial complex, I'm going to need to stick with this. I'm going to have to put my all into this. And I am prepared. I read on.

The next day I show up with several of the folders I had taken home to study, and Dr. Crass smiles at me in the hall. "I see you attacked the greenhouse." Attacked? Who would attack a greenhouse? But I guess he just meant, 'I see you were working in the greenhouse.'

"Yeah, a little."

"Looks great," he says, and I walk straight to it.

The plants are alive! They are, well…much, much more alive. I smile. I've still got it.

"Oh," Dr. Crass says, ducking in. "The company is having its annual party for Wayne employees on Wednesday. It's at the Wagner, starts at six. It's a lot of fun, you got hired at the right time." His chipper mood looks to my face, which betrays my more somber emotion. He tones it down. "Well, you're invited."

"You're sure? You think they want me there?"

Thinking about it, he isn't sure. But, "Dane told me you were invited, so that's all I know."

I switch the conversation to work. "So, I understand that the old projects need attention, but what about new ideas?"

"That's what we do. Have any in mind?" He only has a minute. He's obviously doing something else. I debate not pulling out the four-page document I have handwritten, as I do not own a typewriter. But it comes out of my purse.

"Here are a few."

"Oh, great." He takes it and quickly glances through, not expecting to find much. He passes over one and then squints at the second. "What…do you think that's possible?"

"What?" I lean over. I forget what order I had put them in.

He points, thinking over the science. "I mean, can you really do that? With pollen?"

I smile. "I've done it."

"And it worked as a coagulant?"

"Temporarily, yeah. Could be used as a spray maybe." He is impressed, and absorbed by my little list. I am proud.

"Huh. Interesting," he says, still reading. "Thanks, Ms. Isley."

"Pamela. Or, Pam."

"Okay." He looks up. "Oh, and you can call me Todd."

"Sure." I smile as he walks away, still reading, and once he is gone I turn to my beauties. I do not have money to buy them what they really need, but for right now what is lying around will do. I will nurse you all to health. I will.

The cab driver looks back with interest. "Big night?"

"…yeah." My dress is especially form-fitting, and I smile but pull my jacket tighter to conceal my cleavage. As we begin to pull up to the ballroom and he sees the glitz, he looks back again.

"What are you, some kind of big shot?" he says with a smile.

"Something like that," I say. I pay the fare and get out, under the grand awning, the doors and their portal to another world just steps away.

The Wagner – unfortunately the only reason I remember the name is because of one of the Joker's stupid stories. He met Batman here after an adventure, involving mass robbery at a very special gathering. There was some sort of punchline, I think. Usually when he's talking I try not to listen.

No one is waiting to greet me as I enter the room. I feel overdressed – I rented a dress, a very nice dress, and people are here in office clothes, although there are some suits around. A man approaches. "Can I take your coat?" Yes. As he drifts away I glance around the room.

I'm attracting eyes – I can't tell if it's because I'm a hot redhead or if they're putting two and two together. Redhead…Poison ivy working at Wayne…is that her? I try to shove such thoughts aside. I wonder where the food is. I am definitely overdressed. That and I need to pee.

Someone steps out of the eaves, his back to me, in a nice suit, carrying something. "Excuse me," I say, "are you staff?"

He turns around. "Uh, no."

"Mr. Wayne! I'm sorry, I thought-"

"Ms. Isley," he says. "You look great. These people don't know how to dress up, right?" I smile – Bruce is turning out to be a nice guy. "Listen I've got to take these," the four bottles of champagne in his hands, "over there, but I'd like to talk with you. Dane has been telling me you've got some interesting projects in the pipeline." He has? I know, in my heart, that the only reason I'm even talking to Wayne is because I'm a perverted sort of celebrity. I watch him walk off and say hi to a hundred other people. I sigh and stand in the corner, looking for Dane or someone who can tell me where the bathroom is.

I find Dane first. He's with Dr. Crass, in a circle of scientists who are all smarter than me. Many of them are put off by my past, and make it obvious by backing off when I move or waiting for me to go insane and rip someone's necklace off every time I laugh. But some of them are friendly, and despite everything I start to have a good time. I try some punch and take Dane for a swing on the floor, where a full band is playing, and well.

Eventually Bruce Wayne does come by for a chat with his R&D team. I am surprised; I've never worked at a major corporation, but the CEO or whatever Bruce is coming around and talking with everyone seems out of the ordinary. "And what about you," he says. "Are you having a good time?"

"I'd rather be in the lab," I answer truthfully, and immediately regret it. He went to all the trouble of throwing this party –

"I know, me too," he says.

I cock my head. "You're a scientist?"

"Bruce is an excellent chemist," Dane says, although Bruce plays it off.

"It's a hobby, Dane…"

"If you graduate with a degree in it, it's not a hobby," my boss says, and the circle laughs.

"So you're a chemistry major," I say.

He shakes his head. "It was one of four."

"One of four what?"

"Majors," he says, and I am impressed. "But I hear you're quite the chemist yourself."

I smile. "That's why you hired me, right?"

"Right. But Dane tells me you've come up with something very interesting."

I look to Dane and Dr. Crass. I'm not sure which idea has made its way up the chain. "…I'd like to think so," I say, to break potential tension. Dane steps in.

"I was telling Mr. Wayne about your sleep substitute."

I look at him sideways. "Sleep substitute? Oh, you mean…oh." I am embarrassed by this, in a way these people would not understand. I developed this compound years ago, under very different circumstances: I needed to keep a man awake while a fungus ate him whole, so that he might feel everything. It was a crime I was never charged for, and if I had been caught I would not be here today. I shudder – we do strange things when we're young. And, hopefully, only when we're young.

"Are you okay?" Bruce says, and I realize I've been drinking and thinking.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say. "You're interested in my compound?"

"It's intriguing," he says, but he seems concerned with what had just transpired. He is also smart enough not to press the issue. "A product like that could put Wayne back on the map."

"With all due respect, Bruce," I say, "I think Wayne is firmly on the map." He smiles. I can see that he is happy that his investment in me is paying off. The PR disaster that had followed my hiring may have been worth it after all.

Suddenly there is a scream up front – all turn. The crowd clears towards the entrance, and in strides a man I loathe to see, especially in a setting like this. Especially this setting. It is all I can do to keep 'What is he doing here' from leaving my lips. He is followed by two goons – not nearly enough to do anything drastic. Something is up.

"What's going on?" Dr. Crass asks.

I sigh. "An…acquaintance of mine."

"Who is it," a female scientist whispers to her husband.

"It looks like the Penguin," he answers.

"This isn't happening," Bruce says to the floor, and I wish I shared his ability to fool himself.

"Let me handle this," I say, and put my hand on his shoulder. He doesn't flinch, although everyone else in the circle does – I suppose there will be a layer of caution towards me that will take a long time to fully wash off. And the photos that are going to be taken now are certainly not going to make my situation any better. I walk over.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," he says, booming out of his small frame. "It is-"

"Oswald." He looks down from the rafters, annoyed, then changes his tune when he sees my face. His eyes slant, and a smile breaks out.

"Pammie! What are you doing here?"

"I work here." I pause and stare him down, angry. He sees I'm not joking, and smiles more.

"Oh that's right, I remember. Making things out of plants now? Wayne is making poisons?" I grow impatient. I find myself squaring off – I have no weapons, nothing to fight with – but still there is a lot of fight in me. His eyes do laps over my dress and my body, in a disgusting way that could only be his. "Black's not your color Pam. Did you forget?"

I stare him down. "Do you have any legitimate business at this party?"

"What an interesting choice of words! Legitimate business! You see, Poison Ivy," it burns, oh how it burns, and he knows it, that's why he's saying it – "I own the place."

I stare at him. The bastard never learns. I look around for something, anything, to pull his heart out with – I see the bottles of champagne, and I take two steps backwards towards one-

"No!"

Bruce is suddenly here, and grabs me, standing between us, waking me from my stupor. As he looks towards the Penguin I ask myself, what was I thinking? Getting into any sort of fight would break open my parole. I owe one to my boss, but I fear he is out of his league here.

"Let the cops handle this," I whisper into his ear. "You don't want to be taken hostage." He ignores me.

"What do you mean you own the place?" he yells to the short, fat, dangerous man in the center of the ballroom. I shake my head – don't buy into his bull. I used to talk the same meaningless jargon myself; I've even used 'ladies and gentlemen' before. The grand entrance, before the robbery, or the kidnapping. I am sure he is going to say that he owns the place because he is taking it.

"Fifteen percent, that is," The Penguin says, and walks over to the food table.

"…what?" Bruce, still holding me back like I'll kill Oswald unless he stops me, lets his grip loosen a little. "Is that supposed to make some kind of sense?"

"Fifteen percent, Mr. Wayne," he says, and turns to the man who just saved me from jail. "Ask your accountant." He begins to walk slowly towards us.

"This guy is dangerous, Bruce," I whisper. "You should run."

"You should run," he says. "Before you get in trouble." He stands up straight, prepared to meet Oswald in the center of the ballroom. I know he's right; I turn and walk off.

"Pam," the Penguin says after me. "Where are you off to?"

"It's me you want," Bruce says, and Oswald shifts his gaze back to the billionaire.

"You I've got," he says.

"What are you talking about?" Bruce Wayne has some snarl to him, and it's starting to show – I like this guy. "Cut to the chase. What do you want?"

"Nothing, my dear fellow. A little bubbly, some charming conversation – you see, like Ms. Isley, I too work here-"

"Yeah right."

"-on the board of directors. Mr. Wayne, I have slowly been saving up pennies, and have just purchased an exorbitant amount of Wayne Enterprises stock. And it wasn't cheap." He smiles. "No, I am afraid that tonight is not a night I am going to jail."

Murmurs shoot through the crowd. "Where's the proof," Wayne says.

Oswald snaps his fingers and one of his assistants pulls out an imposing piece of paper. He hands it to Mr. Wayne, who, still on guard, scans it for meaning. He looks out into the crowd. "Lucius!" but the man apparently in question is already walking towards him. Lucius takes the paper and examines it, there on the ballroom floor, and looks back to Bruce. He doesn't say anything, but that is enough. Bruce turns back to the Penguin. "Let's go upstairs."

"What, so you can hurl me out a window? I'm staying right here." He turns to someone on the wall. "Hello, there – what's your name?"

Bruce storms off, and I watch him walk into the staff area again. The Penguin continues to make his rounds, intimidating people with his mixture of inflated enthusiasm and sarcasm. It's like the only reason he bought into the company was to scare its rank and file. This is sick. Everyone knows the money used to buy the stock was dirty anyway, if stock really was bought. I sit in the corner and boil.

"Okay, party's over, people," says the man on the microphone. Everyone already knew. The lights are dimmed, and people begin to file out. I stand by the door, but don't leave quite yet, and as the Penguin walks by he smiles.

"Good to see you Pam." I give him the dirtiest look I can. And I'm a dirty girl.

"Pamela," says Bruce, who is suddenly standing by my side. "Thanks for trying to help, I appreciate it."

"Thanks for pulling me off of him, I would have gone back to prison if you hadn't."

"I know."

I pause, and stare at him. "Can I…"

"What?" he asks.

"Can I buy you a drink sometime?"

I can see in his face that he wasn't expecting the question. I know I'm damaged goods. But, looking at him, he seems reluctant but too kind to refuse.

"No way," he says, and smiles. "I'll buy."

I pull out one of the few business cards I have brought with me, out of the stack that arrived at Wayne labs today. He reaches for it but I pull it back. "Only if you promise to call. A girl my age can't be waiting by the phone."

He doesn't blink. "I promise."

I hand it to him and walk toward the door, making sure that my ass is swinging well as I move. A date with Bruce Wayne – now that is something.

I watch her walk away and quickly turn around. Lucius is standing there. "Let's go," I say, and we start walking towards the elevator and the private car garage.

"How did this happen?" I wonder out loud.

"It's a free market," Lucius says.

I turn to my coworker. "Can we kick him off?"

"We can buy him out. That's probably what he wants anyway."

I shake my head. "Wayne a harbor for supercriminals. My dad would be proud." Lucius doesn't say anything. "How much do you think he'll want?" I ask.

"We'll have to ask." I hold my temples with my hands. "This is terrible press," he said, as if I don't know. "We're going to need something amazing to get back on our feet."

I raise my head. "Amazing like making sleep irrelevant." He looks at me.

"What?"

I smile. There may be an ace up my sleeve after all.

"This is ridiculous, sir," Alfred says in the car.

"You don't have to tell me, Alfred. This won't go further than a conversation."

"I should hope not." He turns onto the avenue. "Doesn't she have poisonous kisses?"

"I think that's just an urban legend, Alfred."

"At least you could dress up for sex."

"Come on, you can find a better quip than that," I say with a smile as he stops.

"Right you are, sir. And I shall be thinking of one while I am waiting with the car."

"Sixty-six stories," she says, glancing down at the street through glass. "And what a view…"

"I take it you've never been here before."

"I'm not one to roll with the rich crowd," she says. "Present company excluded." She turns to me. "Any news with our friend?"

"Who, Oswald Copperpot?" The Penguin. I smile over my anger. "The less I hear about him the better." She laughs.

"Amen. I always hated Ozzie."

"So you two are on a first-name basis, huh?"

She pauses, not exactly wanting to talk about it. She thinks about what she wants to say. "I'm trying to forget that part of my life." I feel bad for bringing it up- "…not forget, but just, move past it. I mean, being on the run, being hounded by the cops and the Bat, it's just not a good life. You know?" I don't; she laughs. "Well, it's not. After this last stint at Blackgate, well, the first day I got in and got showed to my cell and it was like I had a revelation; it wasn't the first time I'd been there, and for some reason it was clear to me that this was where I belonged. You see people in the yard, dangerous criminals, and they're scared of you. People, terrible people, want to be your friend because of things you do. And I found myself thinking, is this who I am?" It's a silent moment, and she looks introspectively into her glass. "I still wonder that."

Without thinking I put my hand on hers. "It doesn't have to be like that."

She looks up, cheered up a little to be touched. "I hope so."

She is beautiful. She is smart, and she is trying to turn her life around; genuinely, it seems. I wonder – at what cost would a deeper friendship come?

October

"Pam?" I look up. I can hardly see through the hybrid wisteria, but someone is here, and I think it's Bruce. I duck down a little but I can only see that he's in a suit.

"I'm over here!" I yell across the room, and start to walk towards the man.

It is Bruce, and he's looking around at my plants. "Hey," he says as I get close, and kisses me on the forehead as he gives me a hug. "You've really gone to town here," he says, and he's right – compared to the spare, malnourished specimens here when I got hired, this is a rainforest. Green covers every surface and hangs from every rafter – outside of my spare apartment, this is the only place I feel home.

"Yeah." I smile. I want to show him everything, but I know he wouldn't fully understand my enthusiasm, and probably doesn't have the time. It's unlike him to come down anyway; I barely ever see him during the day. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" I ask, and I notice that he's got something behind his back.

"Well I brought you a flower," he says, and pulls his hand around – it's got a pot in it, with a purple flower with yellow shades – it takes me a second to recognize it.

I glance up – "Oh, you didn't!" It is an incredibly rare cutting, an orchid strain from southeast Asia – it is said to bring good luck, and also contains key elements to a sedative I had been hoping to develop. I had been lobbying for months to have R&D purchase one, to no avail – apparently some of those requests had made it to Bruce. I take it and put it down – I'll re-pot and spice the soil up with some of momma's secret ingredients later. As for now…I turn to Bruce, grab him by the shoulders and attach my lips to his – his hands instinctually go to my sides and slide…

"Hello? Pamela?"

We break it up and turn as Todd enters. "Hello, doctor," Bruce says.

"Oh, sorry to intrude. Pam, here's some documentation for you," he says, leaving some papers on a table. He starts to leave.

"Wait, Dr…is it Crass?"

"Yes, good memory, Mr. Wayne."

"Well, you remembered my name as well. Listen, I'm here with news for both of you."

"Oh?" I say.

"We're going to release Pam's stay-awake substance. The FDA just approved it."

I am in shock, and Dr. Crass is similarly surprised. "That's excellent news," he says.

"There's a party tonight, in celebration – I'm assuming you'll both be able to come?"

"Oh, Bruce…" I throw myself around him, kissing him again.

"I'll pick you up at six," he says, and starts to walk out; he nods to Dr. Crass and is gone.

"Quite a catch you've got there, Pam." Yeah. "I'll meet up with you later," Dr. Crass says and leaves in a swirl of labcoat.

I walk over to my orchid and hum something while I re-pot it into something bigger and less plastic. Just as I am starting the phone rings down the hall; my desk. I put my baby down and run, making it just before it would stop ringing. "Hello?"

"…hello, Ms.…Isley?" The voice is creepy, sounding like an old witch.

"Yes, that's me. And who am I speaking to?"

"I'm Myra James, do you know who I am?"

Myra James – where do I know that name from? "Oh of course – you fought for a wildlife preserve upstate."

"That's correct."

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

In her brief pause I can hear a very serious answer. "I'm afraid it is not a pleasure, if your reputation is deserved. Are you familiar with Gotham Forest, in the south of the city?"

"Of course…" When I first moved to Gotham I used to hop the fence and walk among its trees. It is, if I recall correctly, the only nature preserve within the city limits, and a fairly large one at that; a nice place to spend a day, if you don't mind a fine and a possible night in jail.

"They're going to tear it down."

I sit down. "What?"

"The city is selling the property to developers. They begin construction in December."

"Why are you calling me?"

"…I thought, with your history, you might be interested."

"What are you trying to say?"

"Nothing, my dear. I was just wondering if you wanted to come to a rally, maybe give a speech, that's all." That's not all. She is wondering if, since I'm out, I could work some of the old magic on the developers, maybe cause a few heart attacks. I stop myself – maybe she really is just extending an invitation.

"Where's the rally," I ask.

"In front of city hall, Friday at noon. We'd all be enchanted if you came."

"I'll think about it," I say.

"Well please do. Goodbye." She leaves me with a dead line and a big decision, one I would take with me to the party that night, which, despite the champagne and Bruce's company, was uneventful, and then to bed. Sitting sleepless in my apartment I debate going, and I feel how close the old ways are to seeping back in…but I can't let the forest get paved over, not if there's anything I can do to stop it. I go to sleep lost in indecision, and toss and turn all night.

I get out of the subway and the glare of the sun is harsh on my eyes, while its lack of heat hits me like a Mack truck. Around the corner is city hall, and I briefly have second thoughts. But I'm already here, have already taken the time off from work, and have prepared something to say. As I turn the corner, any choice leaves me. People have recognized me, maybe, and as I step into the crowd a young man turns to me, starstruck. "You're Poison Ivy, right?"

"…it's Pamela," I say.

"Right, Pamela Isley." He pauses, pressed for air. "I'm a big fan. I really like what you did when they were-"

"Excuse me." I smile, and walk up towards the stage.

I have never seen Myra James, but I recognize her immediately from her voice; a crumpled old woman in a grey jacket. She recognizes me too, and motions me up on the stage in the middle of another woman's speech. She points out an empty seat and I walk over towards it.

"So nice of you to come," she says.

"Yeah well, I can't allow this to happen." Myra smiles, and I can tell she is counting on me to use my old means to get the job done. Which I can't. But this is bigger than some insane old lady trying to use a hitwoman on developers. Gotham Forest's disappearance would be a catastrophe. The woman speaking ends her speech and Myra reaches for the microphone in the applause.

"I'd like to introduce one of Gotham's most prominent environmental activists, one who really doesn't need an introduction. She is an extremist to many, but she also has an excellent record of environmental victories. I give you – Pamela Isley!"

There is loud applause, but I look up and see many people leaving, with looks of disgust on their faces. God – is this what I have become? I pause, but I'm onstage, and break out the speech I spent all yesterday practicing in the mirror.

"Hello everyone." What a stupid opening line. I throw the speech out the window. "Look, we're all here because we want to stop the destruction of Gotham forest. But I'm here to tell you that we need to pursue this in a legal way. This project has to be illegal somehow, there has to be some loophole or paid off official. We need to find this weakness and exploit it, but it has to be done by the book.

"I've just been released from prison. I don't want to go back. And let me tell you, you don't want to go at all." I look to Mrs. James, who is smiling to hide the fact that this wasn't exactly what she had thought I was going to say. "That said, Gotham Forest is as important a piece of nature as we have in the city. I will do whatever I can to save it, and I encourage you all to as well. This is but another battle in society's war against nature, and it is not a war we can risk losing. We are all on the side of mother nature. Let her foes be struck down!"

A cheer goes up. I hope they heard the first part of the speech, and didn't think it was some kind of joke or disclaimer. I meant it. But, I am conflicted. I meant the second part too.

Across the park I see two men seated on a bench. One looks to the other, who is staring at me. Slowly, methodically, they get up to leave. I get the feeling they weren't there for support. In a past life I would follow and confront them, but that's just not what civilians do. Instead I step down from the microphone and wave goodbye to everyone – I have to get back to work.

As I open the door to my apartment I can tell that someone is inside – I just know. I debate calling someone, going out and coming back, hoping he'd leave. I know who it is.

I open the door. "Hello," I say to the shadows, every shadow. "Where have you been? You don't write, you don't call…"

"Hello Ivy."

"Isley," I say.

"Sure," he says in his baritone. He steps out of a shadow behind me and I spook. "I heard you've been attending rallies again."

"You hungry for something to do? Coming to pick on me?"

Batman shakes his head. "I also hear you're trying to go clean. So I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. But I just want you to know that I'm watching you."

"Was it your men in the park, then?"

"My men?"

I look at him. I guess the lonely bastard doesn't have 'men.' "Some goons were watching the rally today. Looked like someone's thugs. Do you know who the developer on the Gotham Forest project is?"

He pauses. "Yes." And turns to go.

"Well who is it?"

He jumps out the window, and I watch him twist his way through buildings. What a jerk.

Back in the cave I remove my mask. I don't know if intimidating the woman I'm dating is necessarily a good idea, but my love life takes a backseat to my experiment in criminal reform. That in itself shows how little emotion I allow to get into my work, and I wonder if I'm a cold soul, or if everyone else is just an idealist.

The developer is the same man we had to buy off our board of directors, the Penguin. We couldn't have him on Wayne's board, chiefly because he is an idiot when it comes to legitimate business. It really was a brilliant scheme, especially for such a dunce; we ended up paying him three times what the stock was worth, some out of my own pocket, an enormous amount of money for me and the company.

But now, he had stepped on Ms. Isley's toes. I couldn't have this. Not only do I have feelings for Pam, and want the best for her, but I want my project to pay off. One slip-up, one step over the line, and I will come down on the Penguin with as much force as I can muster.

As for Pam, I'm not sure what I would do if she slipped back into her criminal persona. I decide to not to think about it, and go upstairs. I soon have a date with a criminal mastermind, and a workout for my fists is not involved.

"Yeah boss, it was Poison Ivy alright."

"You're sure." We are in my office, above my bar.

"Yes Mr. Copperpot. I saw her through the binocs, and besides, how many redhead bombshells are working the environmentalist field anyway?"

"Hmmm." I look to my associates. "Anyone else of interest?"

"Some old lady was running the show."

"Buy her off," I say. This project is going to make me millions; I can't afford a few environmentalists spoiling the fun.

"What about Poison Ivy?"

"You can't buy Pam off. Plants are her soul. We might have to take more…drastic measures." The boys look between each other, like they are not looking forward to the operation. "What, are you scared of a glorified gardener? She's human too; well, mostly. It shouldn't be a problem. In any case, find the old lady and offer her up to…two million."

"Two million?" One of my men finds the number high. "Where should we start?"

"Five hundred thousand. And if that doesn't get her attention, we may need more drastic measures on her part as well."

"Alright boss. But you know, Poison Ivy was talking about how she needed to do this by the book, you know? Like she wasn't going to get all terrorist on the project."

"Well you can't trust the bitch. And I give the orders around here," in case he had any more 'questions' about the situation.

"Right, sir. Sorry." I motion for them to leave and they walk out. These complications are troubling, although somewhat expected; I hadn't however, counted on Pam being released.

"Penguin." I jump, and turn around, to where the voice was coming from – there is no one there. I turn back and the Bat is standing in front of me.

I lean back in my chair. "Ah – how long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough."

"You can't prove anything," I say, and grab for an umbrella under the table.

"That's true. But touch one hair on either of those women's heads and I will haul you off to Blackgate where you belong."

I laugh. "Poison Ivy isn't a woman."

"What is she then?"

"She's a criminal." His eyes turn cold, and he turns to walk away. He jumps out the window and I breathe out in relief. I hate the Batman.

"Check it out."

"What is it, Bruce?" I open the box to show it to her – it's the prototype packaging for her no-sleep formula.

"What do you think?"

"Eh," she says, and looks at it askance.

I laugh. "Yeah, I don't know either, but marketing was set on the design."

"So will I be getting a lot of royalties from this stuff?"

"Well the company owns the patent, but, yeah. You'll be making some pretty pennies." I can tell she's happy. Which is why I'm sad to break the mood. "I heard you went to a rally the other day."

"How did you-"

"Myra James is an old family friend; she asked for a donation in the fight to save Gotham Forest. It came up."

"Did you donate?"

I stare at her. "Yes. I like to support environmental causes."

"Oh that's great, Bruce!" Is she trying to change the subject?

"Listen, do you think – I mean, with your history, do you think that getting involved with this is a good idea?" She looks away.

"I don't know." She stares at the view from her apartment, which is actually pretty nice. She turns back. "I think I can handle it," she says.

"Meaning…"

"I think I can be involved without – being involved in that way."

I'll trust her. After all, I've warned her twice now, and each time she seemed to be sincere.

"Okay. But if you need any help, you know, staying off that path, you've got someone to talk to." She turns to me as I finish talking and kisses me.

"I know."

My hair gets in my eyes as a truck flies by; I push it back long enough to see him coming – I can see his face, and I can tell what's about to happen. He's walking towards me- "Ms. Isley," he says, but I know he's recognized me. He pulls out a pistol and I duck; it goes off, he runs and I'm bleeding… I am out before anyone arrives.

The window breaks, and I roll into the room. He tries to grab an umbrella, but I am on him like aluminum foil on a baked potato and push him over - "What have you done?"

"What are you talking about?" He smiles as much as he can hanging from my fingers. "I've been right here."

"You took a hit out on Pamela Isley."

"I don't know what you're talking about." I throw him to the ground and pull a tape recorder out of my belt – I press play.

"We might have to take more…drastic measures," says the tape.

"You're done, Penguin. You've got the motive and I've even got you talking about the job. And, with Ms. Isley we've got an eyeball witness on the man who shot her."

He is shocked. "You mean…"

"She's still alive, yes. Like I said, you're done."

"Call the cops, then," he says.

"They're on their way. I just wanted to get some alone time before they showed up. You know, before you go away." I walk towards him, cracking my knuckles, and deliver one to his chin.

I sit on a nearby rooftop as the arrest is made, and keep watching until the patrol cars drive off. He wasn't the only developer on the job, but he may be the only one stupid enough to try to assassinate an activist. In any case, unless he comes up with some brilliant piece of evidence, a jury will convict.

I arrive just as she's coming out of surgery.

"…Bruce?" she says, still partially under the drugs.

"I'm here."

"That's nice." I put my hand on her cheek and she grabs it softly, rubbing her head into it. She got shot in the leg, and for some reason the shooter ran instead of finishing the job. She got lucky. Very lucky. As I watch she slips back out of consciousness, and I am left there in the room, alone, as she recovers.

The drug hits the market, and immediately begins selling in ridiculous amounts; it seems like everyone has a sleeping issue that needs urgently to be dealt with. She will be out of the crutches soon, and the Penguin's conviction seems secure. Despite the attempted murder, I will look back on this as a good month.

November

There's something new on the streets.

Crime has spiked, and criminals are more ruthless. Something has happened, and if my instinct is anything, it's the emergence of a new drug – shaking down criminals all I can find is a name: 'jump.'

"Where did you get it?" I ask one I'd chased down an alley. His eyes roll five ways as I hold him against a wall. "Where?"

"Green Man," he says. I drop him, putting enough fists in him that hopefully he'll think twice about mugging someone anytime soon. Really, though, I just don't have anything to tie him up with – I'll let this one get away. As he limps off I shake my head. I hate dealing with Green Man.

He's fat, he likes to die his hair green, and he's sitting in front of me, bleeding out of his nose. I pull my hand back-

"No, wait! Look, we – we cook the stuff."

"What's in the recipe?" I ask. I look into him, losing patience. "What?"

"I don't wanna say."

"You think I care?" I pull my fist back again, and swing to break a rib-

"Okay, okay," he says, and I pull short. "It's some of that new stuff…"

"What stuff?"

"That Wayne stuff, the stuff that makes it so you don't have to sleep. We cook it with coke, like crack. You get a speed high that lasts for hours."

I am stunned.

"Okay?" he asks. I turn to walk away, and jump out the window. I should have known. What have I done?

"And my client merely indicated in the recording that more 'drastic measures' might be used. This does not imply murder." Pam turns to me in the observation section of the courtroom, and cups her hand to whisper.

"The defense lawyer is good."

"Not good enough," I say, but she's right, and the evidence against Oswald Copperpot Jr. is mostly circumstantial. I hope it holds.

We have the recording, and his motive; that's it. The shooter was an outsider, out of the gang, and claims not to know who hired him. If the defense can convince the jury that it's not enough, we're screwed.

"Are you okay here alone?" I ask. We'd worked out beforehand that I would leave to go to work. She nods.

"I'll be fine."

Outside I catch a cab and take it to Wayne. I fear that this is the meeting I think it is going to be, and in the boardroom I hear what I was expecting to. We have to take Pam's drug off the street; if we don't the FDA will, and it will be a tarnish to Wayne's reputation if we stall; it has already taken a scratch. I have to agree, and argue with the drug's supporters. As someone concerned with the good of humanity, production has to be stopped.

Pam thinks so too, but is cynical. "Crime rises all over Gotham." She looks out over the city, from the nice table at a twentieth-story restaurant downtown. "This is my most successful scheme yet," she says, sarcastic.

"It's not your fault," I say, and I mean it. It's mostly mine. What else could have happened? A drug like that was meant to be abused.

She laughs. "Even when I try to be good, I'm an agent of evil."

"Don't say that, Pam." It's worse because I can tell she means it. Her body language says she doesn't want to be touched right now – all I can do is offer her another glass of chardonnay.

Dr. Crass is sorry. "It's too bad, Pam," he says.

No it's not. But I smile, "Yeah."

"You'll have other successes."

"If you call that a success." I'm scrapping the sedative I'm working on as well, because it would basically create a new type of downer that could easily be recreationally used. Bruce's flower sits unused on my desk. Dr. Crass pats my back and walks off.

Gotham Forest is closer and closer to being destroyed. We are using all we can in an effort to halt the project, but for now we have not even been able to stall the process. We are running out of options, and time even faster.

Myra backed out on us, bought out like so many committee members and the environmental review board. It is all I can do not to…no, I can't think about it. I won't think about it. I turn back to my lab – the greenhouse.

I look under one of the counters, looking for a box of notes, and pull out another box by accident: an old box of seeds. I stare at it; I know you…

Opening it I see plastic bags of poison after poison – why do I still have this? Oh, this one's a keeper. A form of nasturtium that I bred to look normal but carry a deadly lace of-

I put it down. No.

I shut the box and put it to the side, to throw it away – but at the end of the day, as I'm leaving, I forget. After I lock up I remember, and debate going back in. …nah, I think. I'll get it tomorrow.

The Penguin gets off. The would-be killer gets fifteen years. No one's happy. Least of all me.

I'm sitting on a skyscraper, staring out into the distance at Gotham Forest, a place that my girlfriend is becoming dangerously close to breaking parole over. If she does, would I go after her? I'm becoming pretty fond of Pam. But at my root I am a man devoted to fighting crime, and no one else can die because she feels bad for a rare fern. I think she knows it. But after the drug fiasco, which is starting to die down, she has changed a little – she seems to have resigned herself to a role in the world as an antagonist, an antihero. I hope she's not right.

But right now, I have someone to see. I jump off the skyscraper and into the night.

The window is boarded up, so I use the front door. The doorman has a gun so I take it – I shoot him in the foot and shove him to the side.

I throw the door open and shoot the gun into the roof – the crowd in the bar disperses, except for several people I identify as the Penguin's goons. One is staring me down.

"You don't use guns, Bats." I shatter a glass next to his hand with lead, and he jumps.

"Let's make a bet." He backs off, and I keep them all in sight as I make my way through the barroom and up the stairs. I knock on the door.

"What is it," I hear him say.

"It's the Piper," I say in someone else's voice.

"What?"

I kick the door down. "Pay me." He grabs for an umbrella and I shoot at the rack –

"Guns are a coward's weapon, Batman…" he scrambles for something, anything to get me with.

"No. Hired guns are a coward's weapon." I grab him by his shirt collar and pull him up, ripping it off his fat neck. "Get up," I say as he falls. "Get UP!"

"It wasn't me."

"The hell," I hit him, "it," I hit him again, "wasn't!" I hold my fist back and pause as I look into his eyes – it is possible that the weasel's not lying. I let him slip from my grasp. "Who was it, then?"

"It's this guy, he's another developer." He coughs and wipes blood from his nose.

"What's his name?"

"You wouldn't know him." I lean in. "Carver; Carver, alright?" He seems to be telling the truth. "But I didn't tell you."

"Carver. Reynold Carver?"

"Why, you know him?" Do I. I turn to go.

"Batman – just promise me that if people start dying, you'll go after her." He's afraid for his life.

I pause. "I don't make promises." At least not to you. And I jump.

His form is great – if I spent that much time on the course, mine would be too. I smile and we talk about what stupid rich people talk about, until I get down to what I'm here for at the tee at hole 10.

"So Reynold, I hear you're a developer on the Gotham Forest project."

He looks up. "That's right." He smiles to ward off hatred. "And, if I read the papers correctly Bruce, you're dating Pamela Isley. Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?"

"I stay out of Pam's politics."

"Terrible about the Penguin getting off," he says, and shakes his head as he sets his ball up.

"That's just it - they're saying it wasn't the Penguin." He pauses in his setting up.

"Who's saying that?" He looks concerned, like he is guilty.

"My private detective. I was wondering if, as a friend, you had any idea who it might be."

His answer is a raw "No," and I play what must be the most awkward game of golf ever played.

In bed I hold Pam and she turns to me. "Bruce, if I…"

"What?" She doesn't want to say it. "It's okay. What is it?"

She looks at me with her deep green eyes. "Would you turn me in?"

I shift. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

Without thinking, without looking away, I say "No." Not that I really know what she meant in the first place. I wouldn't, Pam. But I have a mask…

She gets up and walks to the window. "It's just that…Gotham Forest is something that I want to be there for kids twenty years from now, like it was there for me."

"I know."

"And, well-"

"But your parole," I say, and she turns to me.

"What's a year or two to save a forest?"

I sit up. "I don't know what you're thinking of doing, and I don't want to know. But it might be more than one or two years."

She looks down at the ground from the third story. "I know."

My moral compass spins every way, but Batman's does not. He feels sorry for her, but no compassion. He will take her in. It makes me sad. And in my sadness I get up to comfort hers.

December

The headlines are huge – 'CONSTRUCTION EQUIPMENT COVERED IN CREEPING VINES OVERNIGHT,' 'MYSTERIOUS VINES STALL GOTHAM FOREST CONSTRUCTION PROJECT,' 'POISON IVY RETURNS.' Has she? I smile, and cut the last article out. I post it in a special place in the greenhouse, and continue with my work. I'm developing a new project – an anti-aging solution, based on something I used to slow the growth of my massive Venus flytraps. I wish I had one of those still…

They can't prove anything. I gave a few seeds to Luther, a guy who had the balls to plant them, and that was all. It was a special strain, and would die within days if they didn't cut it. But if they were paying the construction team, and the consultants, it would at least take a day off of their budget. Bruce will give them an alibi, and, while not overtly accusing me, he said the crime was 'funny.' I hope another dark, muscular man will feel the same.

I am not surprised to meet him as I leave. As I'm walking out I turn around towards the entrance and I think I see him over in the corner, playing hide and seek in the shadows. "Hey Batman!" I wave.

"Cute what you did with the bulldozers." I jump; he was right behind me.

"It wasn't me."

"I know it wasn't. They've got your friend down at GCPD HQ. Just wait until he tells them who he got the seeds from."

I squint. "What made you think I had anything to do with it? Fast-acting creeping vines are bred all over the world."

"Not ones that thrive on Gotham's soil." He stares at me with cold eyes. "Let's not pretend either of us is stupid."

I pause, and settle into a more long-term standing position. "Okay."

"It's cute what you did with the bulldozers. And I don't care. But if you start doing anything more serious, I will come after you."

"What about the Penguin?"

"What about him?"

"Are you going after him?"

He pauses. "It wasn't the Penguin."

I cock my head. "What do you mean it wasn't the Penguin?" He turns to walk away, and I try to grab his shoulder-

In an instant he turns, and impales his eye on my fingernail.

He covers it as it starts to bleed. "Oh my god – are you okay?"

He turns to me – "You really are reformed, aren't you?"

"What do you mean?" I ask as I try to get a better look.

"There was a day not long ago that you would have been cheering at that kind of hit." I move in and try to brush his hand away, and he grabs mine. "But I still don't trust you." He tosses my hand away, and turns around.

"If it wasn't the Penguin, who was it?" He starts to walk away. "Batman! Aren't you going to tell me who tried to kill me?" No, he's not. He keeps walking. "Well you're still a jerk!" He doesn't turn, doesn't care. I want to run up and take out the other eye – I've never had him at a disadvantage like this before. I stop myself - what am I thinking?

I make myself start walking to the parking garage, and look back to a very empty business complex. Something tells me I'll see him again.

"What happened again, sir?" He thinks it's funny.

"She got me in the eye, Alfred." The bleeding's stopped, and it doesn't seem so bad. Still I'll be wearing an eyepatch for a few weeks. We're in the master bathroom, where Alfred is playing doctor, dabbing me with some solution. The phone rings, and he walks off.

He comes around the corner with a peculiar expression on his face. "It's Pamela, sir."

Great. I motion him to bring me the phone –

"She's outside, sir."

I put my aching head in my hands. I can't let her see me, or she'll know I'm both…and if I brush her off, that's the end of that. Alfred wakes me from my stupor. "Well, well…considering giving up your identity to a supercriminal?" I pause. When it's put like that, no.

"Tell her I don't want to see her."

"That's a little harsh, sir."

"Alfred if she sees me with this on, or if it leaves a scar, she'll know who I am."

He breathes in, takes his hand off the microphone, and gives her the news. After he hangs up I stare at myself in the mirror. Some of these days, I wish my life was normal. But I rationalize it by knowing that if life was normal, all of those days I would want something else.

Reynold Carver is the first to die. He is found covered in red dots – a hyperactive poison ivy toxin is discovered in his sheets. Everyone involved with the project beefs up their security, even the Penguin, but I still manage to sneak in. I wait in his office for an hour before he comes in and shuts the door. After he sits down I step out of the shadows.

"Oswald."

He jumps; I don't know why, I am known to show up randomly. "What do you want?" He looks closer. "Hey, what happened to your eye?"

"You've got to pay to play." He's trying not to show it, but I can see he's having a good time with it. I cough. "I came to congratulate you."

He turns serious again. "About what?"

"Staying clean. And I wanted to say, I'm sorry for the pugilism. I thought you tried to kill a woman who was trying to turn her life around."

"Pam is…not so much a friend, but a friend. She should know that."

I look at him. He is still a bad man, and an evil man, but he is on the right side of the law. I do not fight for right and wrong, ultimately. I fight for justice.

I return home to let my eye rest, and, upon climbing up into the house from the cave, see Alfred looking somewhat concerned. "What is it," I ask, and he turns towards the entrance hallway.

"I used a gas mask upon picking it up, and encased it in a tupperware container. But it still may have contaminated the house. Or my respiratory system." I look at the contents of the case on the table - is an exotic flower, with a paper that simply says 'Bruce.'

It's the second scene; this is my case. I can't stand these obvious ones – Joker cards, fear-inducing toxins, people dying strange plant-related deaths. We know who's friggin doing it, we just have to wait until they slip up hard enough for the evidence to pile against them. I knew I should have brought the bitch in – they don't stay out for long, anyway.

This guy was, just like the other one, a head developer on the Gotham Forest project, and, like the other one, was killed by some sort of poison ivy that climbed over him and got into his brain via his nasal passages. Disgusting stuff.

Arnold comes in. "Bullock," he says, and I nod in his direction.

"Jeremiah, see if you can't find some prints somewhere."

"What about you?" he asks.

"I'm trying to get a feel for what happened here."

He walks over to the bed, and before I can say it –

"DON'T!"

- he gets it on his hands.

It begins with a red dot on his palm, one that he's staring at, and as we watch it crawls up his arm. He screams as it covers everything south of his sleeve, and he takes his shirt off - everyone stands there speechless as we watch it climb over his chest. He looks up to us for help, but understands what's happening – as it reaches his face there is probably nothing we can do. It goes into his nose and mouth, and his eyes break out in pink bumps; his breathing becomes constricted and his eyes rolls back into his head, and we watch Jeremiah Arnold fall to the ground and die.

"Jesus," I say, and everyone agrees. Now it's personal. "Alright everyone who's not in a biohazard suit come with me!" We're going to her apartment. Of course I'm going to let a rookie go in first, and she won't be there, but that's how the game goes. We have to say we tried.

Nothing changes in Gotham.

"How is the dissection going?"

"It's some sort of hybrid; it's not in any of the books." I put them all to the side and I can barely lift the stack. "I tested the stem, petals and leaves for toxins, and nothing came up." Pamela Isley's flower sits there, broken and tortured, on a table in the batcave as Alfred and I wear gasmasks and full-body suits. "Unless…"

"Pardon me, sir."

I turn to him. "What is it, Alfred."

"Is it possible that it's just a…pretty flower?"

I look down at something Pam would be proud of – fully mutilated flora. I pull one of the petals I have not destroyed up to the light. It is a sort of whitish red without being a pink, with white dots speckling it, like her freckles.

The newspapers are saying terrible things, and I believe them. She has gone underground, probably existing in the same eco-terrorist couch-surfing circle I found her in once before. She has murdered two developers and manslaughtered a cop, and already stalled the project.

I wish she had stayed clean. I put the petal down, and miss her.

The streets are raw, and need my attention. I have been exercising using only my right eye, and am back on the prowl. Batman has an obligation to catch this woman; I will start with where I caught her last. No thinking, no emotion; I swing off into the night.