Yay! I finally go this updated! I feel very relieved now... This was weighing fairly heavily on my mind. So, just for your info, this chapter is not very action packed, but it has the Joker in it, it has Gordon and Bruce/Batman having an honest, open conversation and it has the somewhat subtle mention of another character from the comics... They won't be appearing much until much later on in the story, and even then, they won't really get any limelight until the sequel (oh yeah, I'm gonna make a sequel to this!!!)... Also, the necklace Harley receives in this chapter... Just in case you're interested, I own the necklace described. However, it wasnt packaged the way it is here and I bought from a cheap little store as part of a 'Two for $10' type deal...

Anyway, enough from me, on with the show! Enjoy...

CHAPTER TEN

Cupid is a knavish lad,
Thus to make poor females mad.
A Midsummer Night's Dream, 3. 2 (Shakespeare)

Jack shall have Jill;
Nought shall go ill;
The man shall have his mare again, and all shall be well.
A Midsummer Night's Dream, 3. 2 (Shakespeare)


Gordon hadn't known he'd had it in him. After only seven minutes alone with the Police Commissioner, Vahns had cracked and spilt everything about Harleen Quinzel, whether it be her previous near Olympic expertise in gymnastics, her sleeping her way to the intern position or the interestingly high successful therapy rate she'd managed to build during her work at Arkham.

"So you'll leave me alone now, right?" Vahns asked edgily, rubbing his right wrist where Gordon had gripped him tightly enough to bruise. It was the only time he'd had to put hands on the doctor; it'd seemed Gordon had perfected using mere implications and verbal abuse as an effective method of coercion. "I don't need to get a lawyer or anything?"

"Fortunately for you, that is correct." Gordon eyed Vahns narrowly, "You're lucky you had what I needed."

Vahns didn't reply, looking like a sulking child. It was ridiculous, seeing a grown man with high academic distinctions pouting like a petulant three year old. However, it was just further proof of Gordon's theory that sometimes, the highly educated were perhaps the least socially apt of humankind.

"I hopefully won't be back." Gordon said, shrugging on his coat, "But just in case, don't go skipping town on me…I'll be very unpleasant if I have to come after you."

Vahns finally stirred, a flicker of fear entering his eyes.

"Why are you so interested in Harleen?" The man asked suddenly, "What has she done?"

With a jolt, Gordon realised he hadn't actually told the doctor about any of the events that had just transpired at the man's place of employment and responsibility. All he'd said was that Marshall Banks had been highly corrupt and working with the Joker. He'd never mentioned that the Joker had actually escaped Arkham or anything like that.

"Commissioner?" Vahns looked at him askance, obviously suspecting further unpleasantness.

Gordon wondered what to say. He knew that Vahns should know the threat Gotham was facing, but at the same time, he really wanted to keep this out of the media for as long as humanly possible and truth be told, Vahns had a reputation for being more then happy to drop a few hints in return for a few bucks. The last thing he needed right now was to be fending off rabid, vicious journalists who'd love nothing more then to hang him by his balls out to dry.

At the same time however, as soon as Vahns called or spoke to anyone from work, he'd know anyway. What choice did Gordon have?

"There's been an incident at Arkham…" He hesitated a second more, "And an escape."

"Who?" Vahns exploded, looking livid, "And why wasn't I notified immediately?!"

"You weren't notified because we had to make certain priorities to suit the circumstances." Gordon said harshly, "And informing you fell further down the list."

"Well can you at least tell me who escaped then?"

"It…" Gordon was torn asunder by indecision. Legally, he had to tell Vahns, but by doing so, he might throw Gotham into a state of chaos and panic. But again, what right did he have to hide something of such gravity from the city's inhabitants? Didn't they have a right to be forewarned of the danger they were all in?

"The Joker has escaped."

"What?!" Vahns' reaction was a violent outburst of mixed fury and sheer, animal terror. Gordon felt a churning anger and disgust that the Joker could reduce the citizens of his city to such primitive emotions. "How?!"

"There was a blackout at the Asylum." Gordon paused, thinking of what evidence his detectives had been able to piece together so far, "He used it to sneak out to a rear dirt track where we think a car was waiting, if the tire tracks are anything to go by…We took photos as the heavy rain was starting to destroy the physical evidence."

"No, no, no!" Vahns cried, "This isn't… No! How would he even get out of his cell in the first place?!"

Gordon resisted the urge to cringe. As suspicious and angry he was at Harleen Quinzel, this felt like selling her short or something equally cowardly.

"It, erm, seems she let the Joker out of his cell." He said. Then, after seeing the incredulous expression crossing Vahns' face, he quickly added, "By accident… The blackout must have caused very confusing circumstances and Harleen mentioned she heard suspicious sounds from the Joker's cell… Perhaps she only meant to take a quick look to ensure his and the Asylum's security?"

"But…But it's not protocol!" Vahns seemed at a loss for words momentarily. "She can't have!"

"Oh she did." Gordon confirmed grimly, "I agree it was a foolish, dangerous action, but at present, it seems she did it with only the best of intentions."

"At present?" Vahns narrowed his eyes and looked at the Police Commissioner suspiciously, "Is she being charged with anything?"

"Again, at present, no." Gordon paused and fixed with the man before him with a significant look carrying all the gravity that the situation deserved, "However, there will be an investigation and if Harleen raises any suspicions with us, we will have to, erm, borrow her for questioning."

"I see." Vahns paused, seemingly struggling with everything for a moment. Then, his expression hardened.

"Do you have any ideas where to start searching for the Joker?"

"Not as such, no." Gordon replied honestly, suddenly very tired of beating around the bush and of secrecy and lies, "But if we caught him once, we can catch him again."

"I hope so for you and all of Gotham's sake." Vahns was back to his usual condescending, preening self, "Else I fear the entire city faces a crisis it cannot possibly survive."

Gordon decided he was entirely sick of hearing that. It was starting to make him feel decidedly harried and irritated.

"I am perfectly aware of that," He said sharply, "I do know what he's capable of."

Vahns shook his head, all the arrogance suddenly replaced by a pale skinned fear.

"No, I don't you are… I don't think anyone is."

"Pardon?"

"Last time…" Vahns licked his lips and seemed to take a breath, "Last time he was only testing the waters I think. This time, he's playing for keeps."

"Miss Quinzel?"

Harley looked up at the redheaded nurse sourly.

"Quinn."

"Well, your medical records say Quinzel." The nurse returned stubbornly, with a slightly strained smile. She was tiring quickly of this patient's bizarre behaviour and obsession with the name 'Harley Quinn'. "But anyway, I have a delivery for you."

"A…what?" Harley looked at the nurse in puzzlement. "From who? No one knows I'm here."

Her confusion was suddenly mirrored on the nurses' face.

"Oh, but a man just dropped a present off for you… He said he was dropping it off for your friend, Jay?"

Harley froze and gave the nurse a wide eyed look. She noticed the shiny, purple box under the other woman's arm. It was similar to the one left in her apartment, but smaller and the wrapping paper had a green paisley pattern on top of the purple background.

"You don't know a Jay?" The nurse looked worried suddenly, as if she was suspecting a malevolent intention to the gift she carried. "Maybe I should call the doctor-"

"-No!" Harley said quickly, sitting up sharply in bed, heart beating furiously. "Um, no it's okay… I forgot about Jay, he tends to, um, surprise me like this a lot…"

The nurse still wasn't convinced, if her sceptical expression was anything to go by. Her eyes were narrowed as she regarded Harley.

"Boyfriend is he?"

"Ermm…" Harley traced her lips with the tip of her tongue anxiously. "Well, it's a little more complicated then that."

"Oh." The nurse seemed to understand abruptly as she placed the box in Harley's lap. "Pete and I are rather like that. I'm sorry, I didn't realise."

"It's okay." Harley smiled wanly, suddenly even more anxious now that she actually had the box before her. "You weren't to know."

The nurse returned her smile before leaving the room. In the silence following her departure, Harley was reminded once more how fortunate she was to be in a private room. Working at Arkham did have its advantages it seemed. Then, she turned back to the box.

Last time, one of the Joker's 'presents' had contained bloodshed and horror. Surely he couldn't have mentioned anything as bad on short notice? He would have only been a free man for a few hours so far, what could he possibly have thought to send her? More to the point, how in God's name had he known she was in hospital? Was he having her watched?

Harley allowed herself to calm a little, drumming her fingers on the pretty little box. She didn't hear anything inside move or jostle when she shifted the box, so she thought maybe whatever was inside was well packed. The box was light, any weight it contained seemed to be held on the bottom in the centre.

'Oh stop procrastinating and just open the damn thing… What's the worst it could be?'

Oh yeah, she had to ask. Harley shook her head and thought about it.

'He didn't kill me before because he needed me to get out of Arkham… But now, maybe he's going to 'tie up the loose end'? Then again, maybe he's still not done playing with me…'

Harley had to admit, the idea wasn't as repellent as she'd thought it would be. There was something thrilling and seductive in the little game she and the Joker were playing now, something addictive. It was like when she'd been shoplifting as a kid: she knew it was wrong and that if she was caught she'd get in trouble, but the adrenalin rush and the potential advantages to the whole thing were simply too great to resist.

'Fuck it…'

She tugged at the bright green ribbon on top of the box and slid her fingers under the glued down flaps underneath. The wrapping paper fell away from the box like petals from a flower, revealing the box's contents.

There, on a bed of luxurious, black silk was a necklace. The leaf shaped pendant was made of what looked like glass or crystal, divided vertically into halves. One half was red and the other black with a couple pale silver-gold diamond shapes speckled over the dividing line. This pendant hung off of three separate strands: red ribbon, tan suede and black suede. The entire effect was one of unusual, but elegant beauty.

Eyes wide and marvelling, Harley reached out to touch the necklace. The pendant was cool and smooth beneath her trembling fingertips. Then, poking out from beneath the bed of satin, she saw a folded piece of cream coloured paper. Excited now, she tugged it free, unfolded it and began to read. A familiar scrawled, jagged handwriting stared back at her, written in what looked like fine, red ink.

Thanks for being so exploitable. No, really, couldn't have done without ya. Maybe I'll drop by one of these days. Don't worry bout calling, I'll find ya place just fine…

By the way, say anything inappropriate to Gordon or Batsy and it won't be flowers I bring when I drop by.

J

The note trailed off into a few splodges that Harley supposed could be seen as little 'x' and 'o' marks… Hugs and kisses?

In any case, it was all she had of her 'Mr. J' at that moment. Perfectly aware of how pathetic she looked, how reminiscent she was of every smitten preteen girl, she hugged the note to her chest and lay back with her eyes closed in silent joy. A tune her Aunt used to sing started humming like a lunatic on mild sedatives.

Love and fools go hand in hand…

Is not their blindness grand?

Decency, ethics and all that was considered sane and orderly be damned. She knew what she felt was 'wrong', she knew it to be her likely undoing. Damn she knew all this… And yet…

As heart-wrenching and breath-stealing a realisation it was, there was no denying it anymore. Harley was falling for Gotham's Clown Prince of Crime. What was worse (worst? No… It could still get worse she was sure), she could not work up half the shame and anger she knew she ought to. Here she was in love with a psychopathic killer, a vicious monster, barely human, and she had the gall to hold her head high.

Harley opened one eye to cast a warily ginger look up at the roof lest God strike her down right there and then for her despicable behaviour. No expected bolt of avenging lightening fried her in her hospital bed, so Harley relaxed a little and allowed the tiniest of smiles to curve her lips as she reached over to put the necklace on. The pendant sat with a calming feeling of stillness against her pale throat.

Then, she rolled onto her side, curled into a ball with the hand holding the letter clenched against her heart, and promptly fell into a sleep full of dancing female clowns, shrieking bats and red and black crystals that rained from the sky and then shattered in a shimmering, hypnotic kaleidoscope all around her. Overwhelmed and crying tears of awe, Dream-Harley stood in the midst of the maelstrom with her arms above her head and a triumphant smile upon her mouth.

"I don't care what time it is!" The Joker hissed from between clenched teeth, "I, uh, I want the lot of them to drag their sorry asses down here now before I pay their, hmm, families a visit!"

The clown before him (a youngish guy the Joker had thought to name 'Tweedledum' due to his unfortunate and shortly to be fatal inability to get orders right the first time around), nodded empathetically, eyes wide in fear and backed off. He left the room as quickly as possible, scared enough to slam the door behind him.

"Not that I blame the idiot." The Joker muttered bad temperedly to himself. He was no more of a fan of his current environment then Tweedledum; the dirty rotting wood floor, peeling walls and damp-spotted roof with strange smelling funguses and mosses sprouting all over the place were not his idea of fine décor either. "But he, uh, needs to grow some balls and build a bridge… Preferrrably quickly."

"Talking to yourself again?" A cool, cultured voice, presently coloured by sarcasm and contempt, floated to his ears from some point behind him.

Lip curling in equal contempt, the Joker turned and gave the woman before him a less then friendly look. She returned it with a raised brow and an equally bold yawn before tossing her red hair back over her shoulder.

"It's customary to speak to the most important person in the room, doll face," The Joker replied in falsely honeyed tones, "And fortunately enough, that, uh, is not a weirdo such as you."

The woman chuckled disbelievingly, putting down the vial of bright pink liquid she'd been eyeing speculatively. It clinked quietly on the stainless steel table before her, drawing the eye to the large and unusual array of scientific equipment sitting upon it.

"A little hypocritical of you to be throwing the word 'weirdo' around, isn't it, you crazy clo-"

The rest of the woman's words were lost in the sounds of crashing and smashing glass, metal and the hiss of spilt chemicals. It didn't perturb the Joker however, he had what he wanted: the redheaded woman's pretty little face in his grasp with a motivational knife pressed against her slender neck.

"Care to, uh, rethink your words Pam?" He asked in quietly menacing tones.

"Nope."

"Nope?" He repeated in mock-surprise, "So sad too bad I guess… Can't say I'm gonna, uh, miss ya."

"Oh I think you will." The woman named Pam smiled at him sweetly and pointed at the vial she'd been holding moments before. It was no cracked in half and the contents had spilt into a rapidly drying puddle on the ground. "That was all I had of your nut-job juice… If you want any more, you're going to have to play nice and start acting serious."

The Joker glared at the puddle for a moment before growling under his breath and throwing Pam away from him. Pam was no gymnast like Harley and didn't have the reflexes of Batman or the Joker, so she landed on her hands and knees, slicing both open upon her broken glass supplies.

"Shit!" She yelped, holding her bleeding hands up for her inspection, "Look at me, I'm bleeding! You bastard, god knows what I've got in these cuts now!"

"Yep, absolutely devastated over that," The Joker replied before turning as Tweedledum came rushing back into the room, "Well?"

"They're coming…" Tweedledum looked briefly at Pam who was limping to a sink, dark droplets of blood smattering against the floor behind her. "I told them the same place as the old days."

The Joker was cheerful for the first time that day. He put his arm over Tweedledum's shoulder chummily and lead the trembling clown from the room. It was a mild relief when the door swung shut behind them, cutting of the sounds of Pam's annoying tantrum.

"Tell me kid, do ya like your job?"

"Y-you mean working for you?" The kid's big brown eyes, so different to the Joker's reflected fear and puzzlement.

"Mhm."

"Oh yeah, for s-sure."

The Joker paused and gave Tweedledum a look, his head tilted to one side, as if speculating or holding some internal conversation of merely mild implications.

"Then, uh, why don't you smile more?" He asked eventually, his own face suddenly stretched in a maniac's… his finest grin.

Tweedledum hesitated, bottom lip quivering as he considered his options. Unlike his boss, the internal conversation he was having held very grave implications, mostly having to do with his continued existence. Eventually, he reached some decision and gave the Joker a weak, frightened smile. More of an unconscious quirk of the lips really.

The Joker tutted merrily and put his arm back around his henchman's shoulder. His gloved hand balanced somewhere around the right side of Tweedledum's head, just out of his immediate line of sight.

"Is that your best effort?"

Tweedldum had sweat trickling down his forehead as he gave a sharp nod. The Joker sighed, rolled his shoulders and faster then Tweedledum could see, grabbed his henchman by the hair with one hand and using the other hand, the one that had been near his face, shoved a knife between his unwilling lips.

"Oh no, no, you don't… you're doing it allll wrong… Here lemme show you."

It only took a moment. The Joker was proud of his quick hands. He'd been putting smiles on people's faces for awhile now, and he'd never once been slow or sloppy at it. True, some of the fun was last once the victim passed out from the blood loss and pain and shock, but hey, sport was sport and beggars couldn't be choosers and…

And…

'And the cow flew over the moon.' His cheerful mind supplied helpfully.

"Yep, that's exactly it." The Joker crowed as he left the dingy apartment building for a more important rendezvous point. "Right over."

"Master Wayne!" Alfred sounded surprised, shocked even. It was a frightening divergence from the older man's usually unflappable behaviour. "What happened?"

"I…" Bruce blinked in confusion and studied the room before him. It was a mess; everything looked like it'd been picked up in a tornado and then smashed to tiny pieces before being replaced to highly unlikely locations around the room. "Um. Good question?"

Alfred seemed to take a moment to think about the scene before him. He'd heard Master Wayne return from Arkham awhile ago, but he'd thought nothing of it until he'd heard yelling and what had sounded like heavy duty demolition in the upstairs study. He'd rushed upstairs and found Bruce, still wearing most of the Batsuit standing in the middle of the room, looking torn between fury and utter confusion.

"Was there an intruder?" Alfred pushed gently, seeing the suit's mask laying discarded in the corner. Quickly, he picked it up and held it meditatively.

"No…" Bruce seemed to shake himself out of whatever reverie had seized him and looked at his feet in shame, "I did it."

Alfred struggled to think of what to say for a minute. Luckily, Bruce removed that difficulty from him.

"I just… He's out of Arkham Alfred." Bruce shook his head slowly, a look of utter misery on his face, "I lost my temper. I just couldn't… I didn't stop him and now he's out… I know it was stupid."

"Not stupid, no." Alfred said, passing Bruce the mask as he stooped to pick up a fallen book, many of its pages torn out and crumpled. "You needed it. I do think that you shouldn't blame yourself so much, but I know you Master Wayne, and I know you've always had a habit for punishing yourself. Fortunately, that habit has always been matched by a tendency to find solace in your friends."

Bruce smiled weakly for a moment before slumping against the wall. He shook his head and sighed.

"Maybe, but I'm not sure who I have left… Rachel's gone, Harvey's gone… Gordon is at risk of being arrested or fired if he's seen with me…"

Alfred turned to reply, but paused, eyes fixing on Bruce's hands. Something had torn through the reinforced gloves and now blood was oozing from the slashes.

"Not just busy at Arkham then?" He asked innocently, placing the damaged book on a nearby desk which was mercifully not upturned.

Bruce seemed to regard his injured hands with some surprise.

"I, uh… I think I might have punched out a window…or two."

Alfred tutted and surveyed the man who was like a son to him with mixed worry and amusement.

"It is fortunate then that Wayne Enterprise has a construction branch that can fix them for free."

Bruce's smile was genuine this time, appreciating his friend's humour. However, he still had to attend to more serious matters.

"There's a chance his therapist helped him escape." He said thoughtfully, pushing himself off the wall.

"Miss Quinzel?" Alfred queried, a frown appearing on his face. The pretty blonde girl was familiar to him as Bruce had kept a close eye on any doctors or therapists who'd had contact with the Joker. "Why would she do that?"

Bruce's eyes were dark now and something grim flickered over his handsome face.

"There's a chance she could be attracted to the Joker…fascinated with him in the very least. Gordon still can't figure out whether Harley's involvement with the Joker was restricted to a merely unhealthy obsession, or whether she may have helped Marshall Banks in releasing him."

"You think it's disgusting." Alfred said, referring to Harley, "Or repellent…"

"I don't understand it Alfred," Bruce agreed, "He's a killer, a monster, utterly revolting according to every human definition of 'unappealing' and yet… This girl, barely out of college and beautiful and full of life… She doesn't see it Alfred… I've watched some of the security tapes from her therapy sessions with him… Even when he's hurting her, Quinzel never once loses that weird adoration in her eyes. Her friend Patricia told me Quinzel was often solitary and a workaholic before, but not all she does is spend time alone with the Joker."

Alfred looked thoughtful for a moment before replying.

"Have you ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome, Master Wayne?"

Bruce looked surprised, but nodded nevertheless.

"Of course… You don't think that Quinzel has it?"

"Well, the way you described things between her and the Joker certainly brings the condition to mind."

"But Stockholm Syndrome implies Harleen is a hostage when she's done all that she has so far of her own free will." Bruce pointed out, not unjustly.

"Perhaps she's not a physical prisoner," Alfred said, "so much as a mental and emotional one… It seems to me that the Joker has found some way of installing a sense of attachment in Harleen… From what you said about Harleen being solitary, perhaps she was also very lonely and the Joker has made her feel important?"

"He demanded that she be his only therapist, else he'd commit suicide." Bruce admitted, "You're saying she was lonely enough that she took any attention, even abuse from a maniac like the Joker, and turned into a sense of attachment and duty?"

"Yes, Master Wayne." Alfred replied seriously, "And that sense of attachment and duty is what holds Harleen hostage I believe. I also believe that if that is the case, then Harleen is to be pitied, not despised."

Bruce bowed his head for a moment, ashamed of the unkind things he's thought and said about Harley. Then, he sighed and ran his hands through his hair, wincing when he remembered the injuries on them.

"Perhaps you're right, Alfred," He said wearily, "But either way, she'd better be careful over the next few weeks… The media is going to be after blood once they know the Joker has escaped, and once they learn of Quinzel's possible involvement, they'll be after her too… Not to mention there will be pressure on Gordon to level charges on her."

Alfred pursed his lips and gave the issue a moment of consideration. At that moment, Bruce felt like he could have hugged the older man. He just didn't know what he'd do without Alfred's constant calming presence and his ability to see reason, rationality and logic where he could only see confusion and indecision.

"Can he level charges on Harleen?" Alfred asked, "Is there enough solid evidence proving she assisted in the Joker's release?"

"I honestly don't know." Bruce gingerly peeled his gloves off, surveying the damaged flesh beneath. The bleeding was slowing already; he thought he probably wouldn't need stitches which was a relief. Of late, it seemed his injuries were becoming harder and harder to firstly hide from the media and then, if that failed, explain according to their expectations of what playboy Bruce Wayne was like. "Personally, my opinion is she did it. She knocked out the power and therefore the cameras, which are the first things that would have her charged… However, her alibi is still not watertight."

"But do you think she'll be charged?"

Bruce thought about it for a long moment, trying to be like Alfred and see all the options, all the pieces of the issue at once as a large informational mosaic.

"No."

"Why not?" Alfred pushed his young charge, trying to ensure Bruce fully understood what was sure to follow once all of this evening's doings were leaked to the press.

"She's too wrapped up in other people's scandals and secrets." Bruce said determinedly, "She knows too many unpleasant things about people like Vahns, people with political and social clout. They'll go out of their way to protect Quinzel and throw a smokescreen around her because chances are, if she goes down, she'll take them down with her."

"So officially she'll be safe." Alfred said slowly, "Unofficially however…"

"Quinzel will still have a big fat target painted over her forehead." Bruce finished, feeling like a wave of enlightenment had crashed over him, "Anyone who lost a relative to the Joker, any cops whose time and efforts are wasted on attempting to prosecute her…Even other Arkham staff who consider her a threat to their secrecy… They'll all be after her."

"That's right." Alfred nodded and gave Bruce a loaded look, "I suggest you tell Gordon all of this… He'll have an idea of all of this already, but he won't quite have the entire picture."

Bruce made a face and seemed to squirm, avoiding Alfred's eyes. His friend understood immediately.

"You don't think he'll take you seriously now that he knows who you are, do you?" Alfred asked gently.

Bruce shrugged, unwilling to reveal his irrational worries and fears, all surfaced by the robbery of the mask that had been like his security blanket.

"Whilst Gordon will judge you by what you've done so far, Master Wayne," Alfred said comfortingly, "Whilst your identity will surely have come as a shock to him, Jim is a good man and will always do the right thing. You should trust him."

"Oh, I do." Bruce shook his head slowly, as if shaking away some hidden source of doubt, "But I'm just worried that trust won't be enough to get us through this… Not where the Joker is concerned. That clown has a knack of tearing trust and honesty into shreds."

"Gordon is a good man." Alfred repeated, more forcefully this time, "Talk to him."

Bruce smiled vaguely and put the mask back on. It seemed futile considering that the man he was visiting knew the face behind it, but there was always the chance he'd come into contact with other people.

"I'll do that."

By the time Gordon headed home for the night, it was silent in his neighbourhood. Everyone at home would be fast asleep. His family loved him, they accepted the hours he had to spend at his job and they did not torture themselves laying awake for hours, awaiting his eventual return.

As Gordon pulled into his driveway, he surveyed his modest home with a loving eye. True, his new salary meant they could have moved to a far nicer, larger home, or maybe even one of the luxurious apartments many of Gotham's civil servants housed themselves in. However, Gordon knew and felt right down to his very bones that this house was home. It was the home he and Barbara had shared from their first days together and with any luck, it would be the home they would spend their last days together in as well.

The wooden stairs up to his front door creaked familiarly beneath his feet as he approached the building that his family slept peaceably within. Then, that voice that haunted both his dreams and nightmares sounded. Only now, he recognized it for what it was.

"Someone once said that home is not where you live, but where they understand you." The voice paused and this time, when it spoke again, it spoke honestly without the disguise of a raspy false voice. "I wonder what that says about me?"

Gordon turned and surveyed the man who was perched in his normal shadowy spot, beneath the fire escape.

"That was Christian Morganstern who said that." He replied calmly, "And I believe it. Gotham does not understand you, because you wear a mask before them… If they knew you were, perhaps they would understand."

"You're suggesting I reveal myself to all of Gotham?"

"No." Gordon said quickly, "You and I both know that would never work. I merely say it because well, I understand now. You lost your family Bruce, you turned your grief and anger inwards. Somehow though, it didn't destroy you. Although, I must confess, dressing as an oversized bat, even a civic duty minded one, does speak of some… mental quirk."

Bruce could not help but smile at that one.

"You don't know the reasoning behind it." He pointed out, not unfairly.

"Tell me then."

"Bats used to scare me…" Bruce paused for a moment, his eyes far away. "So, I decided that like my grief and anger, I would best my fears. Make something… Well, I'm not sure if I can honestly use the word 'constructive', but make something better out of my emotions."

Gordon felt awkward, unsure what to say or do. He'd never been one for moments of overt emotionality.

Luckily however, Bruce sensed the Commissioner's unease and gave a reassuring smile.

"Besides," he joked, "My job would be no fun unless I got to play dress-up."

The jesting put Gordon at ease and he relaxed.

"So, did you merely come to see me to offer an explanation for your choice of life?"

Bruce's eyes lost their mirth and he shook his head.

"No, I came to give you a heads up… Quinzel is going to need protection during the next few weeks."

Quickly, Bruce outlined the basics of the conversation he and Alfred had shared, making sure Gordon understood to danger Quinzel would be in from those who would see her charged or jailed.

"Christ…" Gordon muttered under his breath, feeling the stress of the next few weeks already, "This is insane, this is-"

"-The Joker." Bruce pointed out grimly, "He's doing this deliberately: causing us to panic, to get sidetracked so that he has time to regroup and come back, more dangerous then ever."

Gordon sighed and nodded before looking at Bruce sharply as something previously unconsidered occurred to him.

"What is your role in all of this going to be?"

Bruce seemed mildly taken aback.

"I'm an outlaw, I-"

"-You know him best." Gordon cut him off sternly, "Gotham is going to need you again."

Bruce hesitated, his face openly reflecting his mixed worry, anger and desire to be Gotham's hero once more. After a moment, that all hardened into impenetrability once more.

"Will they let themselves need me?" He asked in a bitter voice, "After all, Gotham seems to think one costumed freak is more then enough."

Gordon shuddered, remembering the conversation the Joker and Batman had had in the interrogation room together. The hidden microphone had revealed it's entire contents to him.

'…You're just a freak like me…'

"No!" Gordon said suddenly, angrily, causing Bruce to look up in mild surprise. "You're not a freak Bruce, you're just a man who… who suffered terrible, heart-breaking losses and wanted to make a difference because of it."

"Maybe." Bruce sounded sad now. "They say the line between hero and vigilante is a treacherously thin one… But I believe the line between hero and freak is even more so. I have to wonder what the Joker's return will make me into."

Gordon looked at his feet, feeling lousy suddenly for spearheading the city's attempts to find Batman, to arrest him, to expose him. He knew he'd had no choice and it'd been Bruce's idea anyway, but it made him feel cheap and dirty nevertheless.

"You'll always be the hero," He said eventually, looking up again, "Not a…"

Gone again. Even with his identity revealed, it seemed the Batman could not tolerate human company for long. Or perhaps he did it just to annoy Gordon. Who knew really? Even robbed of his mask, Bruce was a fathomless ocean.

"Damn." Was all Gordon had to say before shaking his head and going indoors.

Whew, writing Gordon and Bruce interacting in that context took me a lot of time and effort... I still don't know if I got it completely right, so I shall leave it up to you wonderful people ^^

Anyway, the introduction of the afore-mentioned comic-book character... Anyone pick it up? I didn't really hide it or anything, sooo....

Okay, here's what I'm hoping to have in the next chapter:

1) The beginning of Harleen's troubles

2) The Joker's first reappearance as far as blowing stuff up and generally being a nutcase goes

3) Bruce starting to realise that Bruce and Batman may not be able to stay as seperate and segragated of one a nother as he might have liked

4) Harley really losing it

Hope you're looking forward to next time as much as I am ^^

TTFN from Vampassassin