Disclaimer: I don't own Batman. Aren't they rich or something?

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Thank you so much again for the reviews. I am very thankful! :D 4SeasonsChick: my pleasure, and thank you! MorbidWerewolf: Don't worry, it's not over yet! Don't cry! And thank you so much for your reviews, they always make my day! :D

Here is the next chapter...

Salve, Salvage, & Salvation

- - - - - Chapter Thirteen: "Stockholm" - - - - -

Burning all over her body. A raging fire under her skin. She couldn't see, couldn't breathe, still underwater. Hands held her down.

As she rose, the bubbling substance seemed to thicken around her. The air was as hot as the liquid. She blindly reached around, and as soon as she touched something, she could see.

She floated in a tank full of acid. The steam was so thick she could not see the walls. She was not alone in the boiling green acid. Zsasz was with her. There were dark pits where his eyes used to be, and yet his voice hissed to her, "Why, Danielle?"

They fought for control, each one using the other to climb out of the acid as it ate away at their skin. Zsasz was winning. She looked at his shoulder. A knife protruded out. She pulled on the hilt, and the knife slid out of him easily. She stabbed him again. The acid turned from green to dark bloody red. She screamed. Zsasz's lifeless body floated before her. The pain hit her as the acid began to dissolve her more quickly.

A hand reached for hers and pulled her to safety. It was Zsasz's hand. A corpse's hand! But he wasn't dead-

A giant winged creature stood above Zsasz, wrapping his body in its talons. It looked like a cross between a woman and an eagle. An angel or perhaps a valkyrie, with snowy white wings and golden eyes.

The creature ascended with Zsasz-

-0-

Wroo! Wroo! Wrooo!

Pigeons gathered on the windowsill cooing softly. The sunlight drifted in through the glass and sprinkled across the sleeping woman's face. One brown eye opened wearily. No acid tank. White walls. Not home. Hmm.

As she sat up in the hospital bed, the evening before came rushing back. Zsasz was dead…and she was alive. Alive and safe! The thought made her smile widely.

She groaned as she sat up, hospital gown and sheets billowing around her. A big white bandage patched her left side. She flinched, remembering the cold steel of Zsasz's knife tearing through her skin. It didn't matter now. She had all the time in the world to recover.

The nightmare was over.

-0-

She was out in under a day. No one knew she had been in the hospital, and she hid the healing wound well enough under her long shirts. The STD results came back in the mail - she was completely clean fortunately.

What was she going to do now?

The police had not come to talk to her. Should she go to them and tell them what she had done? She knew she needed to make a full police report. If they hadn't already identified the body, she would need to tell them that she had killed Victor Zsasz. She wouldn't tell them about the rape; that was too personal. But everything else, the many injuries he had inflicted on her. The mugger he had killed. She would need to tell them everything else.

And yet, as the days passed, it became harder to motivate herself to make that call.

She knew why. Self-defense or not, she knew that she was a murderer. The police would let her go. Some of them might even thank her for stopping the madman and avenging the hundreds of victims he had slaughtered. But she knew if she spoke of it out loud, of the awful act she had committed that night, it would be too much. So she tried unsuccessfully to bury it. Who cares if she didn't report it? He was dead, and that was what mattered.

She took long walks. No more staring over her shoulder in fear. It took some getting used to. One time a clerk chased her down because she forgot her change – she almost decked him. She felt vulnerable and scared without her baseball bat - it had been left behind in the fire. She felt the strongest temptation to get yet another one, her second replacement, but she refused. Everything had to return to normal. She had to let go of her defensiveness. It was time to salvage her life.

It proved to be easier said than done.

-0-

"Hello, miss. Would you mind holding the door open for me?"

Danielle looked up, startled. She had been returning some self-defense books to the library's shelves. A heavy man with a leg brace was staring expectantly at her. She had seen him around before a couple of times in the historic books section. Sighing, she stood up to help him.

"Shouldn't a young lady such as yourself be out enjoying this lovely summer's day?"

She shook her head; at 27, she felt old. "I prefer it indoors."

"Such a shame," he had a quiet, mellow voice – almost spooky. "Fourth of July is coming up in two days. There ought to be some magnificent fireworks down in Gotham Square."

"Uh-huh."

"You look like a very festive person," he indicated her outfit. She was wearing a red, white, and blue striped shirt that Cindy had gifted her. "You should come out. I'm going to have some spectacular fireworks this year."

"Oh, are you a fireworks enthusiast?" she asked, trying to be polite. She did not feel like holding a conversation with anyone at the moment. Returning her self-defense books had taken a surprising amount of energy out of her emotionally.

"Oh yes. I make the very best fireworks."

She half-smiled. "Well, maybe I'll see you, Mr.—?"

"Julian, please."

"Julian, huh? Like the month."

"Yes, indeed. See you around."

She learned two days later that the soft-spoken man with the leg brace she had encountered was none other than the infamous Calendar Man. When she read the headlines that he had been attempting to rig several hotdog stands with explosives – his very own Fourth of July "fireworks", as he put it – she shivered. She was too naïve, she decided. To be that close to a criminal and have no idea. Sometimes it didn't take a knife-wielding psycho to know you were in trouble. Sometimes it was just the quiet voice in the back of your head, telling you to watch out.

-0-

It had been eleven days.

It didn't make any sense. She had done it. She had killed Zsasz, her attacker, she had defended herself from him. After months of hell, she was finally free. Thoughts and dreams about the sexual assault had even been receding over the past few days.

She should be on top of the world right now. She had gone toe-to-toe with her tormenter – and won. It didn't make sense that she should feel depressed. She wondered if the hospital could recommend a good therapist. She needed help sorting through her feelings.

She felt lost. She didn't think she was a winner. She knew she was a killer.

And even more than that, she felt so alone. But she shouldn't! She had hung out with Cindy twice this week and planned another lunch with Mrs. Phillips soon. She and Elaine were talking about taking Mrs. Phillips out sometime for her birthday, and Cindy and Lily were even in on it. She had more friends than ever, it seemed.

And yet, she had never felt more isolated. She had secrets that she couldn't tell anyone else. She had a burden on her back that was never going to go away. The person who knew her so well, who had stolen so much intimacy from her, was gone. She had killed him. And yet she still thought back to their conversation in the square, into his insights about life. It was strange. Shouldn't she be hating him?

She knew she was going crazy when she could swear she heard his voice, glance around, and then feel disappointment when he wasn't there.

-0-

The pelican glided low over the water before landing with a large splash. It was one of the biggest birds she had ever seen.

"It's so beautiful out here!" Lily gushed.

"What made you come out here, Dani?" Cindy asked. "Did you hear about the reopening or did you discover this place by accident?"

The three girls stood on the warm pier, watching the seals and gulls overhead. The smell of kettle corn, cotton candy, and crab wafted through the air. The air was so clear that they could see over to the cityline on the other side of Gotham Bay. Arkham Island in between gleamed on the jewel water. "This weather is perfect! Too bad the bay around here stinks so bad. Hey, we should go to a beach!"

Danielle smiled. It felt good to share this place with her friends. "I knew there was something missing all those times I came out here," she mused.

"What? My beautiful face?" Lily asked.

"No - I never bought any of the kettle corn from the shack!" Danielle broke into laughter as Lily pouted. Cindy wrapped her arms around her friends.

"Let's go find something to eat! Dani, we gotta come up with a plan to get you back in Ms. Davis's good graces, so you can come back to the office…"

And as the three musketeers pranced along the wharf, Danielle felt a little more of her normal return. And it was wonderful. Maybe it just took time, she thought.

-0-

The restlessness continued. She was doing well at work again, even though she was still working from home. Her side wound had almost completely healed, and the pink skin symbolizing a new scar was showing. It must be PTSD. That was why she still had trouble sleeping and why the thoughts continued. Oddly, not thoughts about the rape specifically. Rather, flashes of Zsasz's voice, perhaps a sudden sensation, as if being stabbed with a knife. She broke down and promised herself that if her symptoms weren't better within a few more weeks, then she would ask at the hospital for therapy. She desperately just wanted to move on.

There must be some way to commemorate what happened, so she would always reassure herself that she survived - and so that she could release some of the guilt.

It couldn't be her marks. Those were too strongly associated with Zsasz. No, she needed something else. And suddenly, it came to her.

She went into the tattoo store with apprehension and anticipation. When she left, one more bandage over her previously flawless skin, she felt a sense of accomplishment. Zsasz had said that she should get a tattoo. For everything he had done to her…she still felt badly that it had ended this way. She could admit that to herself now. Maybe, in some small way, this would acknowledge his existence, their unhealthy-but-still-there connection, as well as bury some of her own guilt over her act.

The symbol from her dream, a small enso symbol, with a mountain in the center, was now etched into the left side of her belly, just beneath her ribs.

Maybe, in another life, her attacker would not become a monster. Maybe he would live a life of meaning and joy next time. She hoped so.

-0-

It had been three weeks since she had killed Victor Zsasz.

She lay in restlessly in bed, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for something to happen. She hated to sleep. That was when the dreams would begin. That was when he would come to her, when her guilt would plague her. When the thoughts of going to the police would overwhelm her. Most nights it was when she wondered if Batman would pay her another visit, if the detective had somehow known what she had done. Or for that matter, if they even realized Zsasz was dead. Most nights…

"Danielle…"

Not tonight.

-0-

She reacted instinctively. Her fist flew. In a moment she was thrown back against her bed, headfirst. Her forehead hit the frame and the pain made her curl in on herself. Then she was pulled face-up. A hand over her mouth. A split moment of relief, that she wasn't a murderer, that she hadn't done the awful deed, and then full terror set in. She could feel his knife to her throat.

"You tried to kill me. Why?" he sounded almost childlike in his confusion. A psychopathic manchild. He traced the knife across a stray lock of hair.

It took her a long moment. After so many days of feeling guilt and restlessness, he was alive. He was alive! But he still had the knife...

She was terrified, not knowing what to say. He saw the dismay on her face.

"I realized I didn't want to kill you, and you ran from me. You left me, burning and bleeding, to die…and yet I forgive you for it. I did not die, I was not meant to die, because I was meant to save you from your loneliness. But the realization that I- love you- made you hate me more. Would it really be so bad if I were to fall in love with you, Danielle?" he asked quietly.

"You call this love, Zsasz? Taking what you want without a thought as to whether I want it?" She tried to quieten the guilt that reared its head suddenly. She shouldn't feel badly for acting out of self-defense - and yet she did.

"I have never been shy about making my wants known, Danielle, never in my life. You are alive now because I do not wish you dead. I do not wish to liberate you by draining the blood from your body. I am not meant to free you from this mortal coil - others, but not you. I wish to give you a different sort of liberation, a liberation from loneliness… And you repay me by trying to kill me?" She saw rejection on his face.

His confession echoed in her head: "...free others from this mortal coil, but not you…" Tears stung her eyes. Why hadn't she killed him successfully? Her guilt was nothing compared to the dead bodies left in his wake. And now he was looking at her, awaiting her answer.

"You weren't going to stop. You're going to keep hurting me, hurting others. Why, Zsasz?" For once, she pleaded for understanding. "What did I ever do to you? What did any of us do? I just wanted to live. I didn't need you to be in my life." Why? Why did she always end up on the end of one of his knives?

"But things are different now," he sighed. "Wishing they were the same as before doesn't make it so. You must accept this thing that has happened to us, Danielle."

"To 'us'. There is no 'us'. There should never be an 'us', Zsasz!"

"Call me Victor."

"You tried to kill me, you should be behind bars!"

"Yes, I tried to kill you but I…saw you differently, finally. I won't try to kill you now. But you need to accept that I am a permanent part in your life…" And you are a permanent part in mine.

"You are delusional! First you wanted my life, and now you want, what? My body? You already tasted me once!" she exclaimed, disgusted with both herself and him. "You should have stayed dead!" With horror, she wondered how many people he had killed since he "died".

"You are mine. You are my—" he couldn't say the word he wanted to. "You're in denial. And I am still your salvation."

"No!"

"Let me touch you. Give yourself to me. I want you. Danielle, you're not alone anymore…"

She found herself on her feet, recoiling as she felt him reach for her. And yet she was so tired of being strong. He had survived her attempt on his life. She had done her best to end him. And it hadn't worked. He was never going to die. It was impossible to win against him.

She needed to fight him; she needed to make him stop. He was pressing her against the wall. "I'm so tired." That admission wasn't what she meant to say.

"Give in, Danielle. Surrender to me." He touched her hips, his hands gradually moving lower. "We need each other." The knife ghosted across her nightgown...

While Zsasz occupied himself with her body, she traced the tallies on him, feeling so much sadness for the people he killed. His body truly was a memorial to them. She traced the spot where her own mark should be. Zsasz hissed with delight.

"Do you like my marks?" he asked.

Danielle found it humiliating that in addition to this, he was now trying to converse with her.

"How many marks do you have?"

Zsasz paused, mentally counting. "I have 487 marks on my body, Danielle."

"So you've—liberated 487 people?"

"No. I have one mark too many. One person lived and I made the mark before I discovered this. I haven't been able to kill him yet."

"Him?"

"Bruce Wayne's butler, Alfred Pennyworth." He recalled how he had heard the press conference, how they revealed that the one he saved was not dead yet. The feeling, that every inch of his skin was wrong…

He had been away from Danielle for too long, but it was necessary. It had taken time to heal from the wounds and burns she had given him. And when he was ready, he had come, and the Batman had been watching her window. He had surveyed her for several nights, obviously guarding her. But tonight he was lucky; there had been a little emergency across town and Batman was needed there. He finally had his chance to reclaim his piggy - his alive girl.

"Z-sasz—Victor—" she asked shakily. He looked up, his eyes hazy. "Why do you choose this? Why liberate people?"

And he told her. He began with what she already knew, and told her so much more. He told her about the boating accident that killed his parents, about how he lost all his inheritance money gambling, about the night at the Iceberg Lounge where he lost everything to the Penguin. When he told her about the evening on the Sprang Bridge and the vagrant demanding his money, she could tell he was getting more anxious. He told her about the first kill, the first cut, the first mark. And how he had finally realized his purpose.

Danielle thought that it was beginning to make sense. She had already identified with Zsasz's loneliness, with her own family being thousands of miles away. But now she recognized his sadness too. He really had been normal once, until he lost his parents, until he lost his meaning. She knew he had missed them - but she hadn't known he had been suicidal. What would it do to someone to be left alone for so long and then to lose everything? His mind frightened her. She shivered.

"Are you cold?" Zsasz asked. He picked her up. The bruise she had gotten on her head was beginning to throb. She didn't fight it when he held her for a moment before helping her wrap up in her bathrobe and laying her carefully in her bed. She hated herself a little more when he rested her head on his shoulder and the warmth of his skin made her feel better. He was the one who had hurt her in the first place. How could she feel comfort from her torturer? She tried to slap him, but she lacked the force necessary. Zsasz took it without flinching.

The term "Stockholm Syndrome" came to mind before she passed out.

-0-

A/N: Revised. No more lemon. Please let me know if it was too explicit still, and I will edit...