Ernestina, Eris, Aequitas: to obtain that which is just we must ask that which is unjust.

AN: (More like unabashed review soliciting…) I've lost a lot of readers recently and don't know if it's just crunch time for finals or if people are just getting bored with the story. But if you're one of those anonymous readers who've favorited this fic or have it on alert, drop and a line and let me know if you're still out there and what you think! Please?

Friday, August 30th

9:27 EST

Arimathea Apartments and Leasing

Cochran, Shane. Age 27. Westphal, Edward. Age 34. Jacobi, Joshua. Age 42. Gotham City EMS. Not soldiers, not warriors, not police officers. They dedicated their lives to making up where we've failed-where I've failed- saving the lives we've let be ruined by gang violence and drugs, turf wars and initiation rites. I'm MCU. Not Gang Task Force. So why this sudden sense of guilt, of complicity-?

It's because the Joker isn't the only one who's left corpses out to rot, Bitch. I think vehemently. You remember the Narrows. You remember Ugly. He can't look much different now…

Coolly Nora scans their photographs, matches facial structure with bone markers for age and race. Browline, nose ridge. Westphal is the first, his African features easily distinguishable. For the other two she'll need dental confirmation…

"And there's no point in waiting around here for that." Nora states, gesturing to the bodies with a look of disgust and relief. The thought of leaving this reek is appealing to us all-even her. And she works with dead bodies for a living. "I'll send a call to Gordon, get the bodies loaded and let CSI have their look." She signs the release forms with a shaky, still grease-smeared glove.

"And don't think for a minute I'm getting soft, Lawless." She chides motherly. "It's low blood sugar. I'm diabetic, remember?"

"I haven't eaten since yesterday." He offers. "And I wouldn't blame you, anyways." Yesterday? Yesterday I was asleep, healing, recooperating. Yesterday I was weak. And now I am behind, behind in important clues and news of the Joker's activities…

"What happened yesterday/" I ask.

"Found another Joker killing." Lawless replies. "Right here in the Narrows. Made this one here look friendly. The victims were bound and tortured, you know? Not to mention the heat and the sewage-"

Sudden tension. Shriek of metal on metal. All eyes drawn, dreading, as shredding slivers of pipe metal go falling in a rusty-rain…

"We're still trying to ID the bodies. Between the rats and the bacteria, it wasn't a pretty sight. Be glad you weren't there for it." He finishes soberly.

"Right here in the Narrows." I repeat, almost in a whisper. No, Lawless, I say in the silence, be glad you weren't there for it. For a moment I am filled with both dread and relief. It's out. It's over. It's done. No more waiting, wondering, it's finally done…but now I know there isn't much time. Even in Gotham most murders can still be solved, and Lawless is the most shrewd detective I know. He doesn't suspect. Not yet. But he will. He might even be the first…

"I could've used you there, Paltron." He continues, not lightly. "It's the first time I've ever worked without you or the Ki-without someone else there." He amends. "Basement. Knee deep in shit. Poor lighting and four dead bodies…you get kinda crazy doing that alone, you know?"

Yeah, Lawless. I fucking know. Perhaps better than anyone. Strange things happen when you're alone. You hear things. See things. Let your mind play tricks. In those suggestive, sleepy moments between waking and dreams, in intense fear and stress…we're all more than a little mad. He loved Jimmy Connolly as much as I. Was his Mentor. Partner. Friend. And on his first case working alone, without me, without Angel…

Joshua Jacobi. Shane Cochran. Edward Westphal…all rotted, decaying, caked in maggots and slime. My nightmares from this morning now haunts my waking eyes, and I know what it is he must've seen down there.

I shudder.

9:51 EST

Arimathea Apartments and Leasing

CSI sweeps the scene. Nora's grad students place Westphal, Jacobi and Cochran into black body-bags like temporary shrouds. "I want dentals done first thing!" Nora calls to their retreating backs. "Identifying Jacobi is our first priority!"

"What makes the difference?" I ask Lawless.

"Jewish." He grunts in reply. "Should've be buried by sundown on the day of his death-it's why they ask about religious background when you join the military, Paltron."

Oh, Hell, I knew that. Once. But that was a lifetime ago…

"So now they'll do everything they can to get him processed and to his family before tonight. " He finishes.

"Jews and Muslims alike." Nora corrects him. "In suspected homicide, most Muslims are alright with it, but the Jewish don't permit autopsy unless it's for the purpose of saving another life-which can mean getting attorneys involved." She continues matter-of-factly. "But it's about getting them back to their families and loved ones, and if that means pulling an occasional overnighter…well, you've got to have some way to impart your grad students with character, right? But to be honest, traditional Hindus can be the worst-at least from my experience. They don't believe in mutilating the body after death, either, and even working with a cultural liason it's still absolute hell. Bodies on the floor, heads facing north, making sure the damned lamp stays lit-"

"Shit." Lawless whistles. "I'd never even thought of that."

And neither have I, I realize as Nora explains how many times she's broken both fire and building code for the sake of mourning families, and her growing grasp of the Antyeshti. Cleansings. Prayers. Cremation and mourning…and in that moment I know that in being alone I have forgotten about Loved ones. Religion. Burials and ceremonies…I've left the dead to rot like the Joker, careless and cold. But we are all of us daughters and sons. Fathers, mothers, sisters, spouses…Ugly and his cronies have sat for seven days. Who knows how many more their corpses will lie, untended, unknown, unburied and un-mourned in Nora's office while their wondering families grieve…

I am a mother. A grieving mother, wanting to bury my only child. I will let no more suffer the way I have. It will not stop me from killing, but I will no longer abandon the bodies. I will give the dead and their families the respect they both deserve, I tell the corpses as the bags are zipped shut and hefted onto stretchers. Only while living will Gotham's criminals belong to me.

I have become Death. The Charon. Nora is Hades...and together we will relinquish them to their families, or whatever gods they serve.