Sorry this chapter took such an absurdly long time to post! November was Nanowrimo month, and December, being the holidays, was simply and ridiculously busy. But I'm back for good now, til something new comes up! Here's the next chappie, tell me what you think!

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Chapter III: Glad you could make it

Adjusting his mirror, Bruce Wayne glared through the dark sunglasses he was wearing. Completely oblivious to the mayhem that was occurring to his Commissioner across the city, he was sitting in his Lamborghini at the docks Alfred had directed him to.

Waiting.

He'd driven down to the docks as quickly as he could; and when one has a Lamborghini and knowledge of all the short cuts in Gotham, quick is pretty damn quick.

His eyes narrowed as he observed the factory he was sitting outside of; it was pretty rundown, but he was certain it was where the Joker was...or was supposed to be. In fact, he wasn't sure if he was simply wasting his time until a few seconds later, when a plume of smoke escaped a crack in one of the windows and drifted up into the sky.

He tensed in his seat at this; smoke meant fire, and in a place where the Joker was supposed to be, fire confirmed his guesses. Bruce was silently triumphant, but not for long; after all, he had work to do.

He stayed perfectly still for a number of minutes; it'd be better to wait, see what happened...fortunately, his patience paid off.

"Get to the car, get to the car!!!" The hollers came crystal clear; after all, Bruce was sitting in the shadows right outside the factory doors; camouflage shields for simple vehicles such as his Lamborghini came in handy every once and awhile....

A good number of the Joker's lackeys came rushing out of the factory just then, glancing to and fro to make sure no-one was around. Seeming satisfied, they sprinted over to a number of nondescript vans, sliding doors open and hopping in.

Then the doors banged open once more, and the Joker himself emerged, flanked by two more thugs with guns the size of their torsos.

"Move out move out!!" he barked, his face twisted into a snarl. "We've got things to do!!" He walked at a brisk, but odd pace over to one of the vans, got in, and slammed the door shut.

The vehicles tore away from the place; Bruce spared the building one last glance. A fire was in there, and who knew who was in there....should he save the lives of people, or should he take down the big man himself?

Opting for a compromise, he started up his engine, touched the intercom, and said, "Alfred, there's a fire at the factory building you gave me the address to."

"I'll phone 911 right away, sir," was the crisp response, and then nothing. Bruce knew he could always rely on his manservant.

Taking off after the small procession of vans, he kept an eye out for the rusty black one near the middle; the Joker was in that one, he'd memorized the rust patterns. Funny, how he could remember things so easily when he forced himself to.

Once they got further into town, the convoy separated; two vans went right, one van went left, and two more kept straight. Bruce's eyes flickered slightly, but he knew the Joker was going right. Swerving into the turning lane, he kept his eyes glued to the two remaining vans like his life depended on it.

He realized they were headed towards Gotham General; so that was the hospital the maniac had decided to target? Only made sense, after all, Harvey Dent was there. Bruce had a feeling the Joker had it out for Dent...a plan perhaps?

His brow furrowed, marring his face. He tailed the vans, and soon, the van following the Joker's vehicle took a left turn, heading back for the main avenue they'd started off from. Now Bruce was following only the Joker's vehicle; it'd certainly make things easier in terms of watching out for thugs, but Bruce had a bad feeling.

It took a moment, in fact, for Bruce to register that they were mere metres away from Gotham General, so lost in thought was he. He did his best to stop, however, when the van in front of him pulled over to a discreet street corner. He kept driving, before pulling into his own parking space a good block away.

Fortunately, he was a fast runner, and by the time the Joker (dressed in a black hat and a trench coat) and his thugs got out of their vehicle, he was already parked and out, sunglasses and coat of his own concealing him well enough. They showed no signs of acknowledging him, which was good, and he silently jogged through the crowd after them.

They made their way unfailing to the hospital; Bruce could see that police cars already had the place surrounded. What he didn't expect was for the Joker to swing round to the back entrance. Sure, the maniac couldn't exactly take the front way, but Bruce had half expected the Clown to simply burst in with a grand entrance.

Some of the people looked at him oddly, like they recognized him, but he tried to ignore the ones who gave him such a look. After all, they'd probably second guess themselves later anyways.

Shadowing the Joker was proving to be a lot simpler than Bruce had thought (and still thought) it should have been. Not once did the cronies look back, not once did any of them show any consideration for the surrounding crowd.

Bruce was momentarily shocked when he saw they were heading for the front doors; the Joker was mad if he thought he could simply walk up to a hospital in such a fashion, especially after the threat he'd made on city wide news.

When they reached the doors, the Joker took a moment to glance here and there, and Bruce caught sight of his face. He now saw why no-one else could see the man's obvious makeup; not only was he wearing a ridiculously large black fedora, but he also had on a surgical mask and sunglasses.

Hitching up the collar on his coat, Bruce paused a moment before following the man into the building; at this point, the Joker had already entered and made it half way across the lobby. Bruce snorted to himself as he entered the hospital; the police weren't even there yet, and the hospital staff wasn't even bothering to check who came in and who went out. It was no wonder the Joker was able to easily blow up buildings in mid-day; the people of Gotham were complete idiots.

Shaking his head silently, he once again focussed his efforts on the disappearing back of a madman, that was now heading for the stairwell. Leave it to the Joker not to trust elevators. All the better; Bruce would be able to track what floor he arrived on better this way.

Forcing himself to walk over to the stair well as calmly as possible, Bruce waited half a second before cautiously opening the door, careful not to make a sound. Glancing back and forth to make sure there was nobody lurking near the stairs, he padded quietly over to the stairs and looked up. The hospital wasn't overly tall, and only had a few levels, but there were more than enough stairs for him to be able to look upwards quite a bit.

He heard clattering on the stairs some ways up; Bruce bet he was going for the top floor. The top floor; Bruce froze at this knowledge as he had a sudden epiphany. The Joker was going to visit Harvey Dent before he sent the whole place to hell. Cursing in his head, Bruce waited for the sound of the door closing on the top floor before he started ascending. There wasn't much time, but he didn't want to get shot out of haste.

Shooting up the stairs like he was being chased by the devil himself (when, in truth, he was simply pursuing him), Bruce forced his leg muscles to go far faster than they ever should have. He had reached the top of the stairs in haste when he caught sight of the Joker's cronies, who he'd momentarily forgotten about.

Shit, he thought to himself. The stairwell was small, and they already had their guns cocked at his chest. Without thinking, Bruce's feet were moving once more, and like a horse out of the box, he sprung forwards, his hands leaping out to grasp the two men and their weapons.

Twist, he broke a man's wrist, flick, he disposed of one gun. The clatter of the weapon sliding across the floor to fall down the stairs was soon drowned out by the man's hoarse scream, which was quickly silenced by a chop to his neck.

One man down.

The other didn't have time to react before his gun was rammed into his chest, breaking two of his ribs, by the sound of it. His mouth opened, his face twisted in agony, but he didn't even have time to make a single sound before Bruce took the gun and brought the butt flying into its master's head, rending him unconscious as well.

Two men, down and dealt with.

Recalling Gordon's advice about Bruce Wayne lying low to avoid any farther suspicion, Bruce shrugged out of his jacket and began struggling out of his shirt. He didn't usually keep his bat-suit handy, but ever since Rachel's death, he'd worn it 24/7. Turned out he was lucky he had.

His clothes were soon off, revealing only his suit, the fire-proof spandex and body armour that rippled with the muscles it hid and protected. Bruce's, or rather, Batman's cape fluttered minutely as he balled the clothes up and shoved them into the nearest garbage can, careful to make sure he didn't throw out anything important that might have been in his pockets. There was nothing, which he was thankful of, and he didn't waste a moment longer when he was finished.

It was risky to go out as Batman in the middle of the day; Batman only came out at night. But drastic times called for drastic measures, and being Batman would be a lot more safe than being Bruce, not only because of the identity problem; Bruce wasn't sure he could face the madman as Bruce Wayne. He needed Batman.

Pushing the door open silently, Bruce, now Batman, glanced to and fro, relieved to see that nobody was on the top floor anymore. Slipping his gloves on, he tread down the hallway warily, keeping his eyes on all the doors he could. He was fairly sure that the Joker wouldn't kill him, what with his sick love confessions, but that certainly wouldn't stop the maniac from cracking his brains out with a trolley or something.

He felt like he was moving too slowly, but he knew it was necessary; his eyes darted nonstop, to one side of the hallway, to the other, and his nerves were on edge like they'd never been before. He didn't usually get this worked up, but after his last encounter with the Joker, he couldn't help but be overly wary.

Luckily for Batman, he soon arrived at a door that was closed; all the other doors were flung open, evidence of the quick evacuation. Batman's eyes narrowed as he approached the conspicuous door, and as he came closer and closer, he mentally affirmed that this was indeed Harvey Dent's room; he'd been there before, to return Harvey's coin.

He was a few steps away when he heard voices inside that again affirmed that the room was occupied. Batman slunk up and leaned forward, his head only a few inches away from the door. He was careful to keep his face hidden, lest one of the two men could see him through the small window in the door.

Batman could vaguely hear the Joker ranting on about how if he blew up a truckload of soldiers, nobody would panic. He distinctly caught the words, "It's all according to plans." Batman's brow creased at this; it was evident what the Joker was trying to do. He was trying to convince Harvey that he was right. But why would he do that? Bruce had thought the Joker would simply kill Harvey, perhaps jerk him around a bit before he did it. But this?

He snapped back to attention when he heard the clicking of a gun; the Joker had just mentioned something about introducing anarchy. Tensing, Batman decided it had gone far enough. His hand leapt quietly down to the door handle; it only took a touch to discover it was locked. He hadn't expected it to be open, but things would have certainly been easier.

Half afraid that the men, or rather, the Joker, had heard him attempting to turn the handle, Batman peeked in. What he saw unsettled even himself. The Joker was leaning over Harvey, clasping both their hands around a gun. His hands slowly spiralled upwards to allow the gun to rest at his temple; Batman's eyes widened. Was the Joker trying to commit suicide? Surely not, but why on earth would he take the chance?

As a man, Bruce knew Harvey would never forgive himself if he killed the Joker. Harvey was already damaged, but not beyond repair. Bruce believed that. But if he shot the Joker now, he'd be gone. Harvey Dent wouldn't exist. And judging by that hateful shine in Dent's eyes that Batman could see, even from the doorway, Batman had a good feeling that Dent wouldn't let the gun simply lie. Even if he didn't kill the Joker, that hate would find its way to other people. Batman couldn't take that chance. Neither could Bruce.

Gritting his teeth to prepare, Batman took a step back, and with one deft kick to the door, he broke the entire handle off. Another well placed kick all but broke it off its hinges, and like a decrepit old shutter, the door swung open with a sickly groan.

The boom of his boots had brought Harvey's eyes zooming over to glare with crazed eyes at the intruder. The Joker didn't turn his head; he simply allowed his eyes to roll over to gaze at the newcomer. They shone with a certain glow when he saw who it was.

"So glad you could make it, Bats," he purred, smiling. It was a demented smile to begin with; when it was combined with the gun he had plastered up against his skull and the ridiculous nurse outfit he was wearing, the effect was simply horrifying.

"Put the gun down, Harvey," Batman growled, his fists tight, every muscle in his body ready to spring forward. "You don't want to do something you'll regret."

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Man oh man. I just finished watching Superbad before I finished this chapter. It made me want to write a fan fiction on McLovin and his two cops SO bad. They are so slashy it isn't even funny. For those of you who haven't watched Superbad, or don't agree with me, never mind my ranting. For those of you who DO know what I'm talkin' bout, tell me what you think xD