"Forty-seven people shot last night," Bullock said, throwing down the reports. "All in the head! All around Gotham!"

"Looks like we have a new crazy on the loose," Nash stated. "A sniper from the rooftops."

"What makes you think that?" Murphy asked.

"Look at the photos. The entrance and exit of the bullet, or at least the angle. Could only have been someone from above the victims' heads."

They bent over the photos, comparing them and analyzing them. Judging comments passed between the detectives, but I had no part in it. I stood silently in the doorway for a short time before stealing away, unable to listen anymore. None of them noticed.

I hid in my office, forcing myself to work on paperwork. It gave me something to focus on, but the overbearing guilt weighed down my heart.

"Half an hour left," I muttered to myself, dropping my pen on the desk. I rubbed my stinging eyes, trying to clear my vision of the black spots. My head pounded savagely, and my neck and shoulders hurt from sitting in the same position for hours.

There was a knock on my door, and I looked up wearily as Nash stuck his head in.

"I didn't interrupt anything, did I?" he asked.

"Even if you had, I would have welcomed it."

He nodded. "Mind if I join you?"

"Please do." I needed some company besides the paperwork. "And shut the door behind you."

He did and sat across from me, sliding a mug over the desktop. "I made you coffee."

"I appreciate it." I wrapped my hands around the mug, hoping the heat would soothe the ache in my fingers. "Is it just me or is this spring colder than usual?"

"Colder than usual," Nash replied, sipping his coffee. "But it's warmer than last spring."

"Mr. Freeze, I'm guessing."

"Correct. You read his files?"

"Any file I could get my hands on, I've read."

"What about your own?"

I shook my head, smiling slightly. It was nice to be able to talk to someone who understand I was once a criminal and didn't mind. "Only a condensed one."

He gave a curt nod. "You didn't stick around for the Sniper case."

"I had work to do." I motioned to the stack of paperwork that I still had to fill-out, finally smaller than the other stack of what I had finished.

"I think it's more, but I won't press. Whatever your reason, it's probably a good one." He leaned back in his chain and rested his leg on his knee. "I figured I'd warn you though. We've got a new detective."

"Who?"

"Detective Andrew Tew. He's from New York City, got on a plane as soon as he heard about the Sniper killings."

"Am I supposed to know who he is? And how did he hear about the killings while in New York?"

"The primary and only detective on the Sniper case. He's been monitoring the news of the entire country. Apparently, the Sniper showed up in New York first, and Tew has been following her around the country for at least five years, which he is wrong since she originated from Los Angeles." Nash took a moment, squinting his eyes. "You know, for a guy who's supposed to be primary and on top of this case, he really doesn't know much about who he's following."

"She?" I asked, playing on the innocent act.

"Her name's Alexandra Eccleston, goes by Xander."

Researching her was proving to be a good thing, despite all the damage it had caused, forty-seven innocent lives… "Any aliases?"

"Plenty, but none have been used for two years." Nash shrugged. "She probably gave up hiding her identity. And I wouldn't blame her."

"Why, though? She gives up a chance to be hidden."

"Wait until you meet Tew."

"You don't like him?" I asked.

Nash gave me a look. "This guy can track the Sniper down, no matter what alias she uses. She hides better when she uses her real name, until she snipes nearly fifty people in two, three hours."

"Quite an announcement."

"More like a holler to Tew. I'd bet my next paycheck that she enjoys dragging him around the country. He probably has to get a part-time job to raise finances for his tracking her down."

A quick rap announced someone at the door. Nash opened it, and Ramirez said, "Bullock wants you in the conference room, McKinley."

"I'll be there," I said immediately.

"Your turn to meet Tew," Nash teased.

"Shut your mouth," I told him, grinning.

Detective Tew was rather easy on the eyes, which instantly set me on the red-alert. He had a sharp jaw, slick black hair that appeared greased back, and dark green eyes. By the looks of it, his clothing was expensive, for a detective, which screamed 'rich'. He obviously traveled a lot, and even the best clothing would begin to reveal its wear after some time.

Bullock introduced us, and Tew extended his hand. "Pleasant to meet you," he said, his voice deep and disarming. I didn't reach for his hand, keeping mine at my sides. If he thought that flirting with me would win me over, he was wrong.

I gave him a curt nod and turned my attention to Bullock, seeing Tew's scowl in my peripheral vision. It was really not difficult to categorize him: rich and arrogant.

"Is this all you wanted me for, Bullock?" I asked, purposing ignoring Tew's existence. I read his personality easily and knew that my rejection to speak to him had offended him.

Bullock nodded, unable to speak. The corners of his mouth twitched, fighting the urge to smile. I bowed my head slightly and spun on my heel, leaving the room. Stopping right outside, as the door closed slowly behind me, I heard Tew say, "I can't believe you have such rude ruffians running this dump", only to have Bullock snap back with, "Shut up. This is our base, not yours, so you better tread carefully in this 'dump', rich boy."

Five minutes later, the Commissioner called me into his office. "Am I in trouble?" I asked, rapping on the doorframe.

"Depends on how this goes," Gordon stated. He motioned to the seat across him, and I shook my head.

"I've been sitting all day. Standing is fine with me."

He accepted this with a nod. "Detective Tew has been here for an hour and has already come to me with complaints about our system."

"Such as?"

"He isn't allowed access to our files," – I could guess who wouldn't allow that – "No one but Hawkins has shown any curtsey towards him. Bullock, Stephens, and Murphy have already warned him against messing with any of the detectives in the unit and to watch what he says. He's quite peeved with you."

"He probably smells the ex-criminal on me," I said, indifferently. "How he smells anything but his hair gel and cologne, I wouldn't know."

Despite how serious he had been, Gordon smiled. "You're not impressed."

"Not in the slightest. He's got the boys on edge, and I can see him stepping over the line."

"What do you think of him?"

"Honestly?" The Commissioner nodded. "As far as I can tell, he's a rich boy playing detective who's used to everyone doing everything his way."

"Do you trust him?"

"Absolutely not."

"Good, because I was partnering you up with him."

I gave him a look. "You've got to be kidding."

"No, I'm not," he responded, with a perfect poker face. "You handle Hawkins on a daily basis fairly well. Tew shouldn't be much different."

"If I may speak freely, Commissioner," I said, stepping forward, placing my hands on his desk, and leaning forward, "There'll be plenty of differences. Hawkins couldn't leave me alone because he was constantly worried about my safety and my exposure to criminals. Even the outside world. Tew will be the same, only in the aspect of not begin able to leave me alone. He'd have his eyes on me at all times and will argue with me every step of the way."

"Set him in his place." I stared at him, startled. "I'm being serious, McKinley."

"Commissioner-."

"You earned your status here, Detective McKinley. With the exception of torture and murder, do what you will to keep Tew in line. And Bullock wouldn't mind backing you up if you need support."

I grinned, straightening. "I'll keep that in mind, but I think I can handle him."

"I know you can."

I nodded, accepting his trust. After a moment, I asked, "So, who is on the Joker case?"

Gordon's face didn't falter. His smile dropped, but I knew he wouldn't become angry with me for asking. "Lieutenant Hawkins," he said, watching me closely for my reaction. I gave none. "Do you want to guess why?"

"Playing games with me now, Commissioner?" I asked with a straight face and flat tone. His grin returned. "Very well, I'll oblige you. He has a personal grudge to settle."

"I'm really curious as to why you didn't become a detective before deciding to become a criminal, McKinley."

This time, I shrugged. "Couldn't tell you. Don't know. Why did Hawkins want the Joker case, out of curiosity?"

"The Joker wounded his pride." Gordon sighed, suddenly reluctant to explain, but after a few moments, he went on. "The GCPD had a fundraiser that the Joker decided to interrupt. Jason tried shooting him, but he was protected. Alone, Jason didn't stand a chance; I'm just grateful the Joker didn't shoot him when he had the chance."

"The Joker wasn't caught?" I asked, my brow frowning with confusion. "If the police were having the fundraiser, surely there were plenty of cops to take on the Joker and his men."

Gordon's eyes caught mine, and a tremor ran up my spine. Something in his eyes haunted me, made me feel guilty, but I didn't know why. "The Joker had planned this raid out. The waiters were also his men so he did outnumber us by a few people." He watched me, possibly for a reaction, but I responded with a shrug.

After a few seconds, he heaved a deep sigh and stood, turning and looking out his office window, hands clasped behind his back.

That was when it hit. Pain shot up the back of my neck and into my head, like an electric shock. I blinked against the tears that sprang into my eyes, but when I cleared them, a light flashed across my vision, momentarily blinking me.

"Put your gun down, Jane," a familiar voice ordered. I turned and spotted Jason, seeing a crowd of people behind him. I had a gun aimed at his chest. He took slow steps toward me, his eyes focused on mine.

"You know him?" the unforgettable husky voice asked behind me.

"Oh, do I know him." The words came from my lips in an angry growl. "Stop where you are, Lieutenant."

Jason halted. "You're not in the situation to be making demands, Jane." He spoke calmly, his eyes darting to the man behind me before returning to me. "Give up, Jane."

Rage coursed through my veins. Inhaling sharply, I tried to keep it under control. "The name's no longer Jane," I said, in a cold whisper. "It's Shadow."

The rage snapped out of my grasp. Tossing my gun across, I lunged at him, throwing blows at him. He was startled by my sudden rampage, backing down to try to defend himself. Anger and hatred overwhelmed my rational thought. I threw all I had at him. With a left hook, I knocked him down and took his gun from his belt, pointing it at his head.

Mere seconds later, someone came behind me, placing firm hands on my shoulders and pulling me around from Jason. Four masked clowns surrounded him, one knocking him out with the butt of his gun before the four of them dragged him away, the crowd of people moving out of the way, rather than help Jason.

"You okay?" the husky voice asked, whispering into my ear. I was shaking. Jason's gun slipped from my finger, dropping to the floor, and my knees buckled. The Joker caught me, wrapping an arm around my waist and turned me around to face him. Looking at him, I saw concern in his expression.

As fast as it had come, the scene evaporated. Pain shot through the nape of my neck again, and my head throbbed. I applied pressure against my forehead as a pounding headache emerged. Closing my eyes, I inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to ease the pain.

"You okay?" Gordon asked, his voice almost sounding like the Joker's to my ears.

I opened my eyes to see him looking at me with concern. "Yeah, I was just thinking. Should I be worried that Jason might decide to chase the Joker while we're after Poison Ivy?"

"No. He might be tempted, but you can keep him in line." He winked, and I smiled, trying to hide that I was in agony.

Leaving Gordon's office, I felt slightly lightheaded, needing to place a hand to the wall as I took deep breaths. I didn't need to pass out because of a memory.

Thankfully, I didn't pass anyone on the way back to my office. I collapsed into my chair, placinging my head between my knees, focusing on my breathing. After a few minutes, I felt more centered so I got up and grabbed a glass of water.

Swishing the water around my mouth, I thought of the memory, bringing it to the front of my mind. I held no doubt about its truth. It had definitely been a flashback of the police fundraiser that I had indeed crashed alongside the Joker. It always came down to me working for him, whether I was in love with him at that point or not.

I simply shook my head. I didn't want to think about the clown. I was tired, and all I wanted was to go home. With Xander still angry with me, I would have a twenty-minute walk to clear my head.

Making my decision, I threw the paper cup into the trash, grabbed my coat, and then headed out the back way. Even though I didn't expect it, I wasn't startled by the strong hand that suddenly gripped my upper arm, stopping me.

"I want to make something clear to you, McKinley," Tew said coldly.

"Hands off, Tew."

"No, not until I've made myself clear." I glared at him. "I'm in charge of catching Sniper. She is my responsibility, not yours. I don't care that we were put together as partners. There's no such thing if you want to get something done. So, McKinley, you will obey my orders and you will not report anything to anyone unless I've given you permission. Do I make myself clear?"

For a moment, I stood there silently, giving him a cold glare as I gathered my thoughts together. "You are quite clear, Tew. However," I added sternly as he released my arm. "This is not your place to command. I do not follow your orders, and the way I see it, you, as a 'guest' detective, are below me so I'm in charge. And if you lay another finger on me," I continued, threateningly, "You will be gone before you can say 'Sniper'."

His heated glare didn't compare against mine. He moved to stop me again, but I kept my gaze on him, silently daring him to try something. After a few moments, he huffed and stormed off, like a spoiled kid who didn't get his way.

I waited until he had disappeared back into the MCU before I left. On my way home, only a few minutes down the street, a familiar car pulled alongside me, and its passenger door flew open. Without a second's thought, I stepped in and slammed the door shut.

"One against zero. You're beating Andrew," Xander said, pulling away from the sidewalk.

"I'm not going to let him rule the place."

"You go, girl," she said, holding out her fist. I smiled slightly and gave her a fist bump, like we've always done it. "I'm relieved you weren't caught up by his good looks."

"Not so good looking. I'd like to set his hair on fire."

"I know what you mean." I glanced questioningly at her, and she explained, "He's an ex."

"He's obsessive."

"He is. And very proud, especially when a woman shows him up."

"He's been tracking you down for six or seven years," I stated, allowing more time since it appeared that Xander knew Tew very well. "He probably didn't like you being a criminal."

"That, and he doesn't like being told no."

"So he considers you the one who isn't going to get away?" I asked.

"No, I am the one who got away."

We fell into a strange silence. I sat there, watching the city fly by, realizing I was sitting next to the one person whom I had been trying to avoid thinking about all day. I felt strange. Why would she come back to pick me up and talk as if nothing had happened? It had hit something yesterday. Why would she want to be near the reminder of her past?

I turned my head, glancing at her. Her hands tightened around the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white. Her expression remained neutral, like all her concentration was on the road she was driving on. I looked away, feeling guilty for yesterday.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"Just thinking," I said, simply. I didn't want to be the one to bring up yesterday.

As if reading my mind, she said, "If it's about yesterday, you might as well spill; it'll only get worse the longer you wait."

"Worse for me or for you?"

"For you, kiddo." I shook my head slightly, which she caught. "It's up to you," she said, shrugging.

Silence fell again. After a few moments, Xander apparently gave up on me saying anything because she said, "I want to tell you something, but even if you already know it, I don't want you to interrupt."

"Understood," I said, numbly.

Xander took a minute to collect her thoughts. Then, she began. "I was fifteen. Because he was unable to pay off his debt, my father sold me to the mobster Michael. For three years, he raped me. I managed to escape when I was eighteen.

"But," she said, "You already knew this, and that isn't what I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you about my mother. My father was her third husband. Her first husband was abusive; the second died in a car crash. With each man, she had one kid. So, I have two half-brothers, one three years older and the other two years. I knew the younger brother for a short while when I was twelve, but then he attempted to commit suicide. It didn't work, and I met him again in the street after I ran away from the mobster. He suffers – as far as I can tell – repressed memory, even though his doctors had claimed his entire loss of identity."

Xander scoffed. "And people wonder why I hate doctors. Anyway, I only spend enough time to figure out what I was going to do about the bastard. My half-brother helped me pay for a lawyer to set up a rape case against Michael, but the mobster is influential. My lawyer was killed in a back alley, and the court claimed him innocent. That's when I decided to handle it myself; I wanted to kill him."

She rubbed her eyes with a hand and then replaced it on the steering wheel, still driving. I hadn't taken much notice in our surroundings, but I knew we weren't headed anywhere in particular. We had no destination, but we needed none. Xander needed to drive and so she drove.

"My half-brother was against it; he didn't want me to confront the man who raped me for three years. Even though he hadn't remembered on his own, I had told him how I knew him, and for the short time we were together, him watching out for me, we had formed a new bond – or mended the old one. But when he found out about what I wanted to do, he put up a fight. You know me. I wasn't going to follow him if it was against what I was aiming for. I left him on an angry note.

"I didn't get there in time to even see the murder. That finished in a way I didn't expect, and most definitely didn't want, but at least he was dead and killed by the one other person I accept." Curious, I risked a glance at her, but she refused to look at me.

"Since I was of age, I couldn't go into foster care. Instead, I went looking for my mother, the one parent who had cared about me. I discovered she had taken to drugs after my father sold me and had died of an overdose. I had gone back to the home I remembered to find my father. I blamed him for what happened to me and to my mother so I killed him."

She inhaled sharply, and without thinking, I reached out toward her. "Don't touch me," she said stiffly. Slowly, I retracted my hand. "For a short while, I wandered the streets," she continued, "Until I met my older half-brother. You know him."

"I do?" It slipped out of my mouth before I could stop myself.

Xander glanced at me, saw my expression, and chuckled softly. "Yeah, he's the Joker, the infamous Clown Prince of Crime, located here in Gotham City." I nearly choked in an attempt to chuckle, but Xander's expression held a seriousness that silenced me. "I want to ask you one thing, and it should be fairly simple."

"Shoot," I said.

"Don't ever mention it again."

"But-."

"I accept your apology, but I want you to understand how close you were to getting killed." Xander shook her head, her serious façade finally cracking as a tear tumbled down her cheek. "I wanted to hurt you, so badly for bringing it up, for reminding me of what I have been through. I've already worked through the flashbacks, and I've told myself that I've moved on. But you…" Her voice cracked, and she took a few calming breaths. "You stupidly bring it up. I killed some number of people, and you could easily have been one of them."

She fell silent, as if regaining her composure, and I heard her sniff once or twice. Unable to stand it, I asked quietly, "Why wasn't I one of them? I was right there."

"Because I care too much about you," she snapped and then wiped angrily at her dripping eyes. "I have too much invested in you. I've become too close to you." She sounded so frustrated with herself; I felt that this has been part of what had been plaguing her throughout the day and most of the night. "I don't regret it, don't get me wrong," she said quickly. "I'm not getting rid of you. With the time I had, I researched you to find out your background, to see if you really were who you were claiming to be."

"And who am I?"

Xander exhaled slowly, as if debating whether to answer the question. It wasn't a simple question to answer, a question I had been asking myself since I woke up in the hospital with my head bandaged. I held some doubts that it would have revealed everything about me, I was a criminal for a good number of years.

"It was fairly vague, but from what I know, I've connected a bit more." I nodded, waiting and expecting an answer. "You were raised by your mother and your stepfather. You had a stepbrother too."

I leaned my head back, closing my eyes as their faces flashed through my mind. Carol, my mother, I looked like her, same eyes, same hair. My stepfather, Dane, a medium-sized man, tough-looking but really a sweet and caring guy. Scott, or Scotty, my little stepbrother.

"Your real father was Michael." I opened my eyes to see her staring at me. After a split second, I made the connection, which she saw in my expression. She continued. "No one knows what happened, but your family was found, burned inside their home. Your mother was shot, your stepfather stabbed to death, and your stepbrother…burned severely."

"He was tied to a chair and soaked with gasoline…" The words slipped through my lips as it played in my mind.

The tears rolled down his face, crying for his mom, for his dad, for me. I struggled against my father's grip, screaming for Scotty, trying to reach him. One of Michael's men pulled gasoline over my stepbrother, causing him to gasp and spit the liquid from his mouth. He continued to cry but sobbed quietly, blinking his eyes furiously to keep the gas out of them. His expression was the last I saw of him as Michael yanked me out of the house, a face so full of fear.

"Your records said that you disappeared; they couldn't find your body amongst the ashes. Michael took you in after he and his men burned the place down. Am I right?" Silently, I nodded. "You were twelve when you disappeared, and since you were fourteen when we met the first time…" An uncomfortable silence settled on us, but Xander cleared her throat and plunged forward. "He had you for two years, with the three years after he got me."

"I know." I spoke quietly, my voice threatening to crack. Visions of a small dark room flashed through my mind, and I reacted physically, sensing my past fear and the loneliness and the grief for my dead family. How long had I remained in that room? "I was either accompanying him or locked in a small room."

We descended into a thoughtful silence, our memories playing simultaneously. I had been present whenever my father raped her, but after that first time, I never did anything to anger him for fear of him taking it out on her. He tried to spite me many times in the beginning, and as far as I knew, Xander knew that; I resisted with every bit of control I had, fighting to suffocate my inner screams. Again, Xander's voice tore through the silence, mostly like a defense mechanism against her own painful memories.

"I remember everything very well," Xander said. "Last time we had met, it was when I had headed back to kill Michael."

"I beat you to it." Again, the words slipped through my mouth, and as I said them, I knew they were true; my memories about my father were returning, how he used me and "trained" me like a dog. If I wasn't obedient or he was angry, he hit me with a cane he fancied. I bent under his steel will. I remained at his heel, like an obedient dog, tried to do everything I could to make him happy, but I received beatings for others' sakes too. I learned pain tolerance from him.

"When I found you, you were hanging over a large hole, many floors down was water. You dropped an instant after I entered the room. You didn't make a sound as you fell and hit the water. I made the connections from Michael's corpse and to the handle he had been standing by." I closed my eyes, remembering the dark water swallowing me whole, my body hurting with the impact. "I made my way down as quickly as I could and with a few more levels, I jumped in after you. You were already unconscious from the impact with the surface. I brought you back around and then set you up to go to the hospital, claiming we were best friends, giving us fake names."

"I don't remember this."

"The doctors said you suffered repressed memory from what you had gone through." She smiled slightly. "So, this isn't the first time you've forgotten things."

Frustration escaped me through a sigh. I raised my elbow and propped it against the window, resting my head in my hand.

Blood pounded in my ears, a light-headedness overcoming me as I hung upside, limp like a ragdoll. A rope tied tightly around my ankle. A cruel voice yelled at me, and I could only understand one word: a name. "Sara."

"Sara," I repeated softly, closing my eyes and applying pressure with my fingers, emerging myself in the darkness behind my eyelids.

"Are you all right?" Xander questioned, a dull echo in my head.

"I haven't been all right for two months," I replied, my tone sharp. "I've been trapped in a different world, trapped behind a giant door that keeps from me returning to the free air. I'm suffocating."

A warm hand clasped mine on my thigh. "It wasn't your fault; it wasn't your choice to leave behind everything."

"Was it everything?" I asked, softly, "Or was all that a dream or a nightmare, and this – this is my reality."

"Sara-."

"Don't call me that, please," I pleaded, leaning forward, my chest tightening. "Sara Reynolds is dead."

"I'm not calling you by an alias," Xander insisted. "You are Sara Reynolds."

"No." I shook my head. "I can't be. I'm Jane McKinley, ex-criminal, a detective." I relieved the pressure on my eyes and covered them with the same hand. "Please pull over. I need a walk."

"I'm not leaving you alone. Not like this. Talk it out."

Again, I shook my head. "I've been living a lie, Xander. One I've been comfortable with, up till now."

"As Jane McKinley, yes, you've been living a lie. You have to go back to being the criminal you once were."

"Again, are you offering that?"

"Same answer. It's not my place. If it were, you'd have left your 'lying' life within five minutes of our conversation on the roof. Now look at me." Reluctantly, I turned my head. "I don't know what's going on in your head right this moment, but I don't trust it. I'm taking you home, and I'm watching you so that you don't do something stupid."

"What? Like suicide?" I scoffed, humorlessly. "Highly doubtful."

"That won't mean much when you are given the opportunity." My gaze dropped to my shaking hands. "Like I said, I'm not leaving you alone."

"Why are you bothering?" I had to ask, had to know. "I'm a reminder…"

"Because you're like a little sister to me. One I need to take care of." Xander rubbed her thumb on my hand, reminding me that she hadn't moved her hand away. "A little sister…I've always wanted one."

Despite my negative emotions, I smiled slightly. "I probably have always wanted a big sister."

"Well, kiddo, now you've got one."

Lordlink13: Well, well, well, can we say, "expert sniper"? And fortunately, that's what best friends do. They accept the other for who they are, not for their pasts or futures, or even presents. Shadow was close to being killed, but missed the bullet. YAYs for Xander and Shadow! Read and Review!