A/N: I'm leaving on holiday in a few hours so I rushed to finish this so you guys have something to read over Christmas. Though this chapter really isn't very Christmas-y.

I forgot to mention before, but with the release of The Dark Knight Rises, I suppose this story is now AU.

If you get notifications about previous chapters, this is just because I've gone back and edited them. There will be no huge plot changes and you won't have to go back and re-read anything. It's more to placate my inner Grammar Nazi than anything else.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed the previous chapter. And to my silent readers, I hope you're enjoying the ride so far.

Special thanks goes out to LulayLullaby for adding this story to his/her community, "Feckless" and to EverybodyLovesMe15 for spreading the word!

DISCLAIMER: Everything you recognize belongs to DC Comics and Christopher Nolan. Everything else is mine.


Sic Transit Gloria Mundi

"Thus passes the glory of the world"

...

By Scribbles-Dementia

...

11


It was a lavish bedroom, musty but well furnished. An emaciated, blonde woman sat on the edge of the bed, her overly large blue eyes taking in her surroundings. She had never been in such a nice room before. She suddenly felt very out of place in her skimpy, but tacky, leopard print mini-dress and five inch see-through heels.

The skinny woman rubbed at the inside of her elbow self-consciously.

The man that had pulled up at her corner had seemed normal enough. He wasn't handsome but he hadn't looked like a complete gargoyle either. He had tried to bargain her price down and she normally wouldn't have said yes, except it had been a slow night and he'd promised that he knew somewhere they could go to score coke. She was already coming off her high from the hit she had earlier that night and the man had seemed harmless.

That had been hours ago. The man had left her in this room, saying something about going to get his boss. She had helped herself to the fresh fruits and the pitcher of water sitting on one of the bedside tables. And, at some point, she fell asleep.

Now, by the light of day, she was starting to have second thoughts. This certainly wasn't her strangest john. There had been that one guy who wanted her to pee on him. Now that was weird. But this was the first time she had slept over at a client's place, even if it was inadvertently. It didn't help that she'd tried the door only to discover that she had been locked in.

The woman started when she heard someone unlocking the door. She stood up, unconsciously running her hands down her dress to get rid of the wrinkles.

The man who walked into the room was not the same one who had picked her up the night before. This man was extremely good looking with the most dazzling blue eyes she had ever seen. But the completely clinical way he was looking at her made her feel like one of those lab mice that had failed to make it through the test maze. She cleared her throat and attempted a shaky smile. She clenched her hands into tight fists, hoping that the trembling in them wasn't that obvious.

"How are you feeling?"

Of all the things she had expected him to say; that was not one of them. Her smile wavered.

"Fine." She shrugged. "I guess."

The man tapped his fingers against his lips. Walking past her, he picked up the half empty pitcher, swirled the remaining water around, and set it back down.

"When was the last time you had a drink?"

She frowned.

"Um…last night. Actually," she looked around, "you have a bathroom around here?"

The man straightened and smiled disarmingly.

"Of course. Where are my manners?"

He guided her out of the room with a hand on her lower back. She could feel the heat of his hand through her thin dress. Her knees buckled.

"Woah there," he laughed, as he steadied her.

She blushed.

"Sorry," she murmured. "Always was a bit of a klutz."

"No need to apologise," he said gently, opening one of the doors along the hallway. "Here we are."

She opened her mouth to thank him, only to find herself fighting off a sudden bout of nausea. Rushing to the toilet, she violently emptied the contents of her stomach. She retched until there was nothing left but bile and stomach acid. She needed her fix. She hated going through withdrawal.

She tried to push herself off the tiled floor, but couldn't feel her arms. In fact, she couldn't feel any of her limbs. She looked down at her hand and tried to wriggle fingers. Nothing happened.

"What's happening?" she cried; only her tongue was getting in the way and the sound that came out from her mouth did not resemble speech at all. "What…"

Her head felt heavy and it was getting harder and harder to breath. Eyes widened in fear, she looked up at the man and tried to reach out to him. This wasn't withdrawal. This was something else.

"Help me! Please!"

He tilted his head, curiously, to the side. Gone was the radiant, almost kind, smile. His blue eyes were cold and detached – analytical – as he watched her struggling to get up off the bathroom floor.

"Hmm? I'm sorry. What were you saying? Didn't quite catch that."

The woman opened her mouth again; or she tried to, her jaw refused to move. She couldn't breathe either. It felt like she was being smothered. Her head was getting heavier and heavier. She noticed how the man's fingers twitched, like he was aching to take notes. She watched in mounting terror as the man stooped down next to her.

"How are you feeling now?"

Her heart was racing. It was beating way too fast. She should never have gotten into that car. It was always the normal looking ones you had to watch out for.

The man wouldn't just let her die, would he? What kind of human being just stood there and watched, doing nothing, while another person died?

He picked up her limp hand. His skin felt too hot against hers. Or was she too cold? He patted the back of her hand. It almost felt like a reassuring gesture.

"There, there. It won't be long now."

Footsteps echoed down the hallway, stopping by the open bathroom door. The blonde looked up at the newcomer and wanted to scream. The man, at least she thought it was a man, was like something out of a nightmare. He didn't have a face – not a normal human one anyway. His eyes seemed like sunken holes in his head and his teeth were exposed, like he had no lips to cover them.

"Doctor?"

The blue-eyed man let go of her hand, moving to stand with the new stranger.

"The dose was too strong. I'll have to dilute the serum again."

"We're running out of time, Doctor Crane. I've just had a call from my lawyers…"

The woman watched as they walked away, seemingly having forgotten about her. She struggled to move again. She didn't want to die. But her body wasn't listening to her.

As Crane and the Black Mask headed back to the lab, the woman's heart slowly stuttered to a stop. Neither man looked back.


"And in other news, rumours of a long lost Sionis heir has been circulating throughout the city. Gabby Wells with more…"

Monroe tuned out the rest of the news report and concentrated instead on shovelling her butter and honey soaked pancakes into her mouth. She paused to gulp down half her orange juice, poured more honey over her pancakes, and proceeded to practically inhale them. Frankie stared at her, incredulously.

"What?" Monroe snapped, around a mouthful of buttery goodness.

Frankie shook his head.

"Uh…nothing."

The diner's only waitress came back around the counter, called out three different orders into the kitchen, and turned to face them with a coffee pot in hand and a tired smile.

"Want a refill on that juice, hun?" The waitress asked, her Southern twang strangely comforting despite its incongruity in a city like Gotham.

"Oh, yes please!"

"What about you, sugar?" she asked, picking up Monroe's empty glass and nodding at Frankie.

"Um…no. I'm good."

"Ooh! What kind of pie is that?" asked Monroe, pointing at the covered cake stand on the other end of the counter.

"That's pecan, hun. Want a slice?"

Monroe nodded enthusiastically, as she demolished the rest of her pancakes. The waitress laughed.

"That's some appetite. Nice to see a girl who appreciates good food. You should stick around. We do a pretty decent lunch."

Monroe was sorely tempted to do just that.

Frankie's eyes widened when they were finally presented with the bill. Had they really eaten that much? The Ghost was tiny. Where did she put it all?

Monroe didn't even blink an eye. Whipping out a monogrammed patent leather wallet, she pulled out several bills and included a ridiculously large tip for the waitress.

"Where'd you get that from?" asked Frankie, eying the wallet suspiciously.

Monroe rolled her eyes.

"Do I really need to answer that? Now be a dear and grab those will you?"

Monroe left before Frankie could protest, leaving him to carry the numerous takeaway bags on his own. Once outside the diner, Monroe stopped just long enough to drop the wallet down a drain before turning back towards the church.

Today was a good day. Her gunshot wound was healing nicely. The pain was still there but she was barely limping now. She'd eaten food that was not pizza. And they'd made their first move. All of Roman Sionis' accounts were frozen. Now all that there was left to do was wait.

Monroe smirked, hearing Frankie grumbling under his breath as he trailed behind her.

Somehow, the man had become her unofficial guard of sorts. Frankie followed her wherever she went. Hell, he'd follow her into the bathroom if she didn't threaten to physically maim him. Monroe knew the Joker didn't really trust her. To be honest, she couldn't blame him. But that didn't mean she'd simply put up with having a babysitter. Frankie would just have to suck it up.

It was quiet when they got back to the church. Most of the men were absent, and those who were there kept shooting the door to the bell tower nervous glances. Frankie dumped the food on a broken pew.

"The Boss?"

"He's in one of his moods," a goon replied, digging into the bags for one of the Styrofoam cups of coffee. "Where's the sugar?"

"It's in there somewhere," Monroe said absently, waving her hand at the bags. "What's wrong now? I thought he'd be happy."

"The Boss is never happy," Frankie muttered.

Monroe sighed in exasperation, and snatched up one of the takeout bags. The others watched her warily as she approached the door to the bell tower, once again questioning her sanity, though no one made a move to stop her.

She could see why no one wanted to go up after the Joker; aside from being terrified of him, the wooden stairs that led up to the tower were termite infested and on the verge of collapsing at any minute. She was surprised it was even capable of holding her weight. It was a good thing Monroe wasn't afraid of heights.

One of the first things Monroe noticed was the view. The church was situated in the middle of the Narrows, surrounded by apartment buildings that would have been condemned had they been in any other part of the city. At street level, this particular neighbourhood, like most of the Narrows, was a mess. But from up in that bell tower, the Narrows actually looked beautiful. It was broken and damaged and in no way perfect, but it was beautiful just the same.

Leaving the food at the top of the stairs, Monroe walked towards the old cast iron bell that was just barely clinging on to the rotted rafters – yet another reason why no one should be up there. As Monroe reached out towards the bell, a sudden sharp pressure at her throat stilled her hand. The smell of smoke, sweat and gasoline enveloped her. She heard the clicking of a tongue and then felt a warm breath ghosting against the back of her neck.

"What do you think you're doing?" came the nasal, slow, drawl.

"How come every conversation we have ends up with you pulling a knife on me?" Monroe retorted.

A low chuckle sounded just by her ear. Then the knife disappeared and the Joker was walking around to the other side of the church bell. He couldn't have been in that foul a mood if he was willing to let her go without drawing blood. Then again, the thought of an almost merciful and charitable Joker put her on edge. Monroe jerked her head at the takeout bag.

"Brought you breakfast."

"Not hungry," the Joker grunted, reminding Monroe of a little boy throwing a tantrum.

He hopped onto one of the arched windows, leaning precariously over the edge with only his left hand on the support pillar preventing him from falling to his death. Monroe had the sudden urge to come up behind him and give him a shove, just to see what happened. As if reading her mind, his right hand swung around, pointing the butterfly knife at her. Monroe frowned as she realised it was her own blade.

"I'm bored," he complained, dragging out the word and placing heavy emphasis on the 'd'. He sat back on his heels and started playing with the knife, flipping it through a sequence of increasingly elaborate moves. Monroe wondered if anyone looking up at the bell tower from the streets would have simply thought he was a stone gargoyle. "I'm tired of waiting."

"It's only been a day. Boredom's a sign of a weak mind."

Yet even as Monroe said that, she realised that she could feel the familiar itch at the base of her skull that occurred every time she went too long without a job. She must have made some kind of sound for the Joker looked back at her, eyebrow arched. Suddenly, a strange light dawned behind his eyes.

"You're a girl."

Monroe cocked her hip, arms crossed, looking unimpressed.

"It's taken you this long to notice, huh?"

The Joker hissed through his teeth and waved the butterfly knife lazily at her.

"You're not PMS-ing, are you?"

The way the Joker said that, made it seem like a fault Monroe should be ashamed of. The irritation she had been feeling was quickly turning into righteous – and most probably, unreasonable – anger. But before Monroe could utter a single word, the Joker had jumped down from the window ledge and was stalking towards her, with an eager grin stretched across his face.

"Want to go shopping?"


Shopping, as it turned out, meant a trip down to Home Depot. Monroe wasn't sure why this surprised her, but it did. At the moment, the Joker was literally running through the electrical aisle, leaving Monroe to push the orange shopping cart on her own. And no one was paying him the least bit of attention.

The Joker had flown down the stairs of the bell tower after extending Monroe the rather unexpected invitation, leaving her to trail behind him. His men had started when he burst through the door and immediately rose to their feet, coffee cups and eating utensils in hand. If Monroe hadn't been so confused herself, she would have found the sight hilarious.

The Joker had then locked himself in the old church's only bathroom for forty-five minutes and when he finally emerged, there wasn't a scrap of makeup on his face and he had washed most of the green dye out of his hair. His goons looked to Monroe for an explanation but all she could do was shrug her shoulders in response before he demanded Frankie hand over the keys to the ice cream truck.

Monroe had spoke up in protest then, trying to convince the Joker that taking the ice cream truck out on a shopping trip was not the best idea. He had stared blankly at her for a moment, uncomprehending. In the end, Monroe offered to procure him an alternative means of transport.

That in itself had proved to be easier said than done. Who would have known that the Joker could be so picky? By the time he finally approved of a car, Monroe was almost ready to just let him take the ice cream truck. A quick stop at a Salvation Army clothing donation bin to pick out clothes that were less distinctive than his trademark green and purple suit and they were ready for their shopping spree. Without his trademark oil paints and with his hair hanging like a greasy curtain in front of his face, the man was hardly recognisable. A little sleazy looking maybe, but certainly not fear inducing.

"Need any help?"

Monroe blinked, coming out of her musings to find a friendly stock girl smiling at her. The girl had to still be in high school and was probably new on the job – her enthusiasm and eagerness to help actually appeared genuine. Monroe returned her smile and was about to politely decline the girl's offer of assistance when a loud crash distracted her and caught the attention of everyone else in that aisle. Monroe looked up and groaned. The stock girl looked back at her, wide eyed.

"Do you know him?"

For some reason, the Joker had decided he needed something from one of the higher shelves, just out of his reach. However, instead of asking one of the stockers for help, he had climbed the shelves himself. He must have pulled something out from the bottom of a stack because the neatly arranged products collapsed in on themselves, sending several wrapped coils and spools of wire and cable tumbling to the ground.

"Never met him before."

With that, Monroe turned the cart around and walked out of the aisle, keeping her head down and ignoring the father with the pram who was staring at the Joker in amusement. She wandering aimlessly through Home Depot until the Joker finally found her in the toilet seat aisle. He must have stopped off in the plumbing section as well, as he had several lengths of galvanised steel pipe and a bag of caps with him, along with the multi-coloured spools of electrical wire; all of which he dumped into the shopping cart, which already held two bottles of gasoline from the outdoor aisle, a couple of electric timers, about five packets of large alkaline batteries and a soldering iron kit. She wondered how he had even balanced everything in his hands to begin with. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he was planning on building.

"What are you blowing up this time?" asked Monroe distractedly. Who knew there were so many toilet seat options?

The Joker leaned in close over the cart until Monroe could feel her eyes start to cross. And then he reached out and flicked the end of her nose.

"That would be telling."

Monroe reared back. The Joker pointed at her, cackling.

"You should see your face!"

Face twisting in annoyance, Monroe slapped his hand away. The Joker's laughter cut off abruptly, the mirth behind his eyes suddenly replaced by cold steel. He rolled his wrist, an almost unconscious gesture, as he stared Monroe down from across the shopping cart. The silence stretched on uncomfortably and she almost wished he would say something. Instead, he turned on his heels and marched away from her. Monroe released the breath she hadn't even realised she'd been holding.

Sometimes she tended to do the stupidest things.

They did not stay long after that. Neither spoke a word to each other as they finished up their little shopping trip, even as they lined up to pay for their items – pay being a relative term when they were using a stolen credit card. The line for the cashier wasn't long, but after only a minute of waiting, the Joker was starting to fidget. Pulling out his cell phone, he typed out a brief message, tapped his fingers against the screen, and then sent out a longer one. Another minute and two more texts later, the Joker turned to Monroe.

"Handle this," he ordered gruffly, pushing his way past the people in the line and walking out into the parking lot.

Monroe stared at his retreating back. He had to be pretty pissed off to order her around like one of his goons. She decided it was best not to push her luck and just do as he ordered. By the time she exited Home Depot, the Joker was leaning against their 'borrowed' car, having a rather heated conversation with whoever was on the other end of the line.

"Yes! Vinegar and baking soda! Just get it done!" he barked as she unlocked the trunk and proceeded to transfer the plastic bags from the cart into the car. As she loaded the last bag into the trunk, slamming it shut, Monroe heard the engine start up.

"Hey!" she yelled. But the Joker was already pulling out of their parking space. Monroe watched as he drove away, leaving her behind. "What the hell!"

"You should dump his ass, honey."

Monroe turned to see a dumpy looking homeless woman watching her, pushing her own overloaded and rickety shopping cart. She was wearing a faded taffeta dress and had a ridiculously large sun hat perched atop her head.

"We're not…" she began, but the other woman was already walking away, humming to herself.

Monroe sighed. The Joker had to be even angrier than she originally thought. Though she wondered why, if he was so mad at her, he hadn't just shot her. She knew he had a gun stuffed down one of his pockets. Not to mention the dozen or so knives he always kept hidden on his person.

Shoving her hands in her pocket, Monroe started walking out of the parking lot, resigned to having to find her own way back. She briefly wondered if their little spat meant an end to her partnership with the Joker but quickly came to the conclusion that the very fact that she was still breathing had to be a good sigh and that he just needed some time to cool off. A little bribery wouldn't hurt either, she decided with a smile as she looked around the lot. That always worked whenever Aiden was mad at her. After all, boys did so very much like their toys.


Frankie Keller was not having a good day.

He had gotten a strange phone call from the Boss a few hours ago, instructing him to buy – of all things – vinegar, baking soda and baby food; jar upon jar of baby food. While at the store, he had run into a friend of his mother's who cornered him into a long and rather awkward conversation. In between gushing about her eldest son who had recently been accepted into the police academy, and dredging up embarrassing childhood memories, she had berated him for not inviting her to his wedding and asked how his wife was coping with the baby and if it was their first. He then had to explain that he was not married and that the baby food he was buying was for a friend. She had given him a long, piercing look at that before smiling stiffly and asking him to send her regards to his mother.

When he finally returned from running that little errand, it was to find the Boss had come back from his own shopping trip without the Ghost. No one seemed to dare ask what had happened to the woman and the Boss appeared to be in a worse mood than he had been in that morning. Everyone gave him a wide berth as he commandeered most of the church's floor space and began constructing a series of pipe bombs, muttering angrily to himself the entire while.

And to top it all off, the pizza they had ordered for lunch was soggy and tasted foul.

The roar of a motorcycle engine caught Frankie's attention. The bike sounded like it was pulling up outside the church and his hand crept towards his TEC-9 that lay beside him. In an area like the Narrows, unexpected guests were never a good sign. The Boss didn't even look up from where he was pouring vinegar into an emptied out baby food jar. A minute later, the Ghost strolled through the church's front doors, a self-satisfied smirk on her face and a set of keys dangling from her fingers. The young woman paused to take in the scene before her, before walking determinedly towards the Boss.

Folding her legs underneath her, she sat down in front of the Boss, watching him carefully lower the vinegar filled jar into one of the steel pipes. Neither said a word. She simply sat there and watched him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Frankie could see some of the others discretely making their way towards the closest exits. Someone tapped him on the shoulder and then tugged on his jacket sleeve.

"Come on, man. Trust me, you don't want to be here when those things go off."

Frankie reluctantly got up, cast one last look at the Boss and the Ghost and followed the others out of the church.

Monroe heard more than saw the Joker's men leave. She didn't blame them. Sitting this close to someone making pipe bombs was never a good idea. She placed the keys on the ground and slid them across to the Joker.

"Got you something."

The Joker picked up the soldering iron and began welding a steel cap onto the pipe, never once looking up from his work. When he was done, he placed the completed pipe bomb to one side and began playing lazily with the soldering iron.

"You suck at apologising," he finally said.

"You should never say you're sorry – " Monroe retorted.

" – It's a sign of weakness," he completed.

The Joker regarded her with narrowed eyes. Monroe stared right back at him. He rolled the soldering iron from hand to hand, coming dangerously close to setting his clothes on fire at several points. And then he let out a long hiss of annoyance.

"I don't think we're going to work."

Monroe kept silent, simply arching a brow at his sudden declaration.

"We're solitary creatures, you and I. And I don't play nice with others."

"If I wanted nice, I would have gone to the Batman," Monroe scoffed.

The Joker chuckled.

"Well, he's not very nice either. Not really."

"Not when you push his buttons just right," Monroe agreed with a dark smile. "I don't do nice. Don't know how."

The Joker shook his head, pointing the soldering iron at her.

"You say that, but you don't really mean it. You care," he accused, lips snarling. "You say you don't, but you do." He nudged the keys. "You wouldn't have done this if you didn't."

Monroe ground her teeth, unsure of what to say. The Joker leaned back, finally setting the soldering iron aside.

"You have limits," he continued. "Lines you're not going to cross. I can see it in your eyes."

"What makes you think that?"

The Joker suddenly darted forward, invading Monroe's personal space. She had to force herself to hold her ground and not move back.

"Have you ever held a gun to a kid's head, looking into their eyes while they begged for mercy?"

Monroe clenched her jaw, meeting the Joker's crazed glare straight on.

"Have you?"

The Joker blinked. He was so close Monroe could make out the flecks of gold in his dark brown eyes. He had repainted his face and she could see where the oil paints were starting to settle in the creases of his skin. She had never really thought about it before, but he was actually quite young – maybe a few years older than herself. Had he ever killed a kid? Monroe suddenly realised she didn't want to know.

A slow, predatory grin spread across the painted face.

"Has anyone ever told you you're crazy?" he asked, sounding ridiculously pleased with himself.

And then he got up, picked up the keys and headed towards the church's front doors.

"Let's go see what you got me."


Sunlight streamed through a window of a small duplex in Wanaka, New Zealand, illuminating a quaint little open plan kitchen. A slightly overweight tabby sat on the kitchen counter, sunning itself. Suddenly, it lifted its head, nose twitching. A thin plume of black smoke spiralled up from the toaster. Five minutes later, the fire alarms went off.

Aiden Walker swore as he ran into the kitchen, only to run back out to punch in the code that disarmed the fire alarms into a keypad in the entrance hall. With that done, he hurried back to the kitchen and yanked the toaster's power cord out of the wall. Grabbing a fork from the sink that was more or less clean, Aiden poked at the remains of his toast stuck inside the toaster.

"Damn it!"

The cat meowed unsympathetically.

Tossing the fork back into the sink, Aiden made his way into the living room where his laptop sat, idling. He keyed in his password and, in less than two minutes, hacked his way into the Queenstown-Lakes District Fire Department's alert system, redirecting his fire alarm's signal so that it appeared to come from one of the many small cabins on the outskirts of town.

The last thing he needed was a visit from the fire department.

It had been over a week since he had received Monroe's message on one of the lesser-used pirate radio channels. He had made sure his parents were safely out of the country, on the pretence that he wanted to give them a second honeymoon, before booking a ticket on the first plane heading to Europe. He had bounced from Frankfurt, to Oslo, to Minsk, and then flown down to Istanbul, transferred to Cairo before flying across Asia to Hanoi and ended up in Wellington where he rented a car and drove down to the Southern island. He had only been in Wanaka for a day and already he was in danger of drawing unwanted attention to himself. He had no idea how Monroe did it.

The local man Aiden was renting his room from seemed nice enough and was used to Americans coming into town for short periods of time, especially during the skiing season. His cat though, was another matter altogether.

Aiden swore again as a loud crash sounded from the kitchen. The stupid animal had knocked the toaster off the counter. It looked down at the kitchen appliance and then up at Aiden, before proceeding to groom itself.

"You did that on purpose."

Aiden started to get up when the doorbell rang. He froze. He knew it was unlikely that he'd been followed all the way across the globe but he had no idea how much trouble Monroe was in, let alone how powerful the people she had pissed off were. Reaching underneath the sofa, Aiden pulled out the homemade pipe gun he had hurriedly constructed the night before.

The doorbell rang again.

Aiden approached the door. Should he look in the peephole? He'd seen Léon: The Professional; he knew what could happen if the guy on the other side had a gun.

The doorbell rang again.

Aiden moved to the window, ducking down to keep out of sight. Nudging the curtain out of the way, he peered outside to see a well-dressed older man standing at the front door. He certainly didn't look like he was carrying a gun. Then again, looks could be deceiving.

A loud throaty rumble sounded from near his feet. Aiden looked down to see the cat rubbing itself against his leg. He stared at it, incredulously.

"Now you decide to be friendly?"

Shaking his head, Aiden looked up again only to see the other man standing just outside the window, smiling at him. Aiden swore violently, tripping over the cat in his hurry to get up.

"Stupid cat!"

The stranger tapped on the glass and waved at him. And then he pointed at the front door. Aiden tightened his grip on the pipe gun, attempted a few calming breaths, and went to answer the door.

The man smiled warmly at him the moment he opened the door. He appeared not to notice the length of pipe Aiden held in his hands. He was not carrying a gun.

"Hello," the man greeted genially. "Sorry to disturb you, but I'm looking for Aiden Walker. Would you happen to know where he is?"

Aiden narrowed his eyes.

"Who are you?"

The stranger ignored Aiden's rudeness, pulling out a business card from his pocket and handing it to him with yet another smile. He watched as Aiden scanned the card and then held out his hand.

"Lucius Fox. At your service."


EDIT: Yes, the ingredients the Joker uses are actual ingredients for a pipe bomb. DO NOT TRY MAKING THEM AT HOME! It's dangerous and stupid. That is all.

A/N: And Aiden returns for a short cameo. I actually really like his character.

So…I found out that the Leverage episode that's airing on Christmas will be the last episode ever since it's getting cancelled. Nnnnnnnoooooooooooo! Whhhhhhhyyy? They always cancel my favourite TV shows.

I thought about making this chapter more Christmas orientated, but realised it wasn't going to work. I'm not one of those authors who plans chapters way in advance to coincide with public holidays or special occasions like Valentines, Thanksgiving or Christmas. So…fail. But really, can you see the Joker and Monroe gather around a Christmas tree, exchanging presents, drinking eggnog and singing carols?

Random info:

A butterfly knife is also called a balisong.

Hope you guys have a great Christmas and an awesome New Year!

Love,

Scribbles