A/N: My twitchy little boss was extra twitchy this week, just my luck. But here is the next chapter!

For those who don't know (and for those who guessed her identity), Talia is the daughter of Ra's Al Ghul-Ducard, Bruce's mentor/adversary in Batman Begins. In the comic books, she is a kick-ass international assassin for the League of Shadows with fantastic martial arts skills. And she really does call Bruce "Beloved" every chance she gets.

'You shot your own man?!'

If I had lungs, I would have shouted at the top of them. As it was, my mental voice was 'loud' enough to make the Joker blink, shake his head, and mutter, "Oww. Don't do that, Gracie, it hurts."

'Serves you right. You shot your own man.' I fumed as the shocked Talia let the dead Lazy slip to the floor. 'Although I don't know why I'm surprised. You're capable of anything.' Three dead clowns, one dead swords-master…this place was a mess.

"Thank you."

'That wasn't a compliment.'

Talia had recovered enough to take a business-like grip on her katana and proclaim, "You are a creature without honor and your death shall be that of a mad dog. You deserve no better." She started circling around, stepping over a dead clown as she did so.

"Hey! Let's not, uh, get personal here. I have plenty of honor. I always keep my word. Always. I just never promised him I wouldn't kill him. Now let's talk about your boyfriend."

"Beast! I would rather die than betray my beloved!" She sprang at him, and the battle was joined. If 'battle' wasn't too dignified a word for what was going on—the most humiliating duel in the history of swordplay. Humiliating because Talia was so obviously better--but he was so obviously more dangerous.

I suppose when you've spent all your life studying Agrippa and Capo Ferro and Bonetti, then you come to expect your opponent to know his Thibault and his Sainct. (I was remembering the duel between Inigo Montoya and Wesley/ the Dread Pirate Roberts in The Princess Bride) When your foe's education has been in the School of Hard Knocks with postgraduate work at Arkham Asylum— it has to be disconcerting.

But did he have to carry on like he was all three musketeers rolled into one? Bouncing off the walls, all that thrust and parry and 'En garde'--he even said "En Garde!", and giggled.

'Joker—do you have act like this? Because quite frankly it's embarrassing for me to have to watch.'

"Hey, if she has to keep on talking like that Eowyn chick from the Lord of the Ring movies, then I get to do my shtick."

'Okay, but I think that's how she normally talks. You're just being goofy.'

"Oh, come on. Who talks like that?" he panted. He was jumpig around a lot more than he had to, and it was wearing him out. "Anyhow, being goofy is who I am. Uh, any chance of a little help here?"

'No. No chance.' I told him blithely. 'I hope she kicks your butt big time. It would serve you right.'

"You might get your wish." She blocked his blade and feinted high, then cut low, slicing through his trousers and scoring a thin red line on his thigh. It started weeping blood. He returned a cut to her upper arm.

'Mutual death by a thousand cuts. I wish I had a book. This could take all day. Don't worry. I won't let her actually kill you--just teach you a lesson or two first.'

He'd actually done rather well against the swordsman, not because he had any particular skills himself, but (as far as I could tell) because he was…the Joker, an unpredictable grinning lunatic who whooped with laughter at every swing of the sword, his or his opponent's. That made him much more dangerous than a skilled adversary, because who knew what he would do next or if he would get lucky and perforate his foe somewhere important?

I only stepped in at the end when he was about to get skewered like a piece of chicken satay, popping up in between them and scaring the swordsman to death—or whatever it was about me that killed people when they saw my face. He was dead before the Joker's sword pierced his heart.

This fight was going a lot like that fight had--the Joker had the advantage in the beginning, but as she adapted her moves, learning where his weaknesses were--and he had plenty of weaknesses--gradually she began to get the upper hand.

"Gracie?" he asked as Talia's blade shredded his ascot, missing his throat by a hair.

'What? I'm enjoying this a lot, by the way.'

"I'm not. Not anymore. It was fun at first, but now I'm getting bored. Do you think you could do something about it?"

'You want me to tell you jokes or something? I'm sure she's not going to let you out of this duel on account of boredom.'

"No. What I had in mind was--Can't you sic your shoes on her?"

'They're not attack dogs! She's trying to carve you into collops. Under the circumstances, I doubt she'll drop that katana to try on a pair of shoes. Even these shoes.'

"Then what do you suggest?" He jumped back to avoid a slash that would have put an end to any hopes of fatherhood on his part. "Hey, isn't a below-the-belt move a foul?"

"Your show of madness shall wring no mercy from me, toad!" Talia spat. "If the voices in your head plague you, I've a certain cure for them. Hold still but a moment, and I'll quiet them for you." She spun the katana around, aiming for his head.

He parried it, but she'd opened a cut on his forehead, which started bleeding into his eyes. "A little help here, Gracie!"

'All right, all right' I manifested, saying 'Time-out!' while making the "T" sign with my hands.

That made Talia gasp and whirl, attacking me, the new threat—and driving her blade so deep into the solid wood of the door behind me that she couldn't get it back out right away.

'Now that's just rude.' I scolded her, looking at the katana which now stuck out of my midsection. 'If I weren't dead already you might have killed me.'

Taking advantage of her distraction, the Joker had come up behind her, dropping the sword in favor of two of his wickedest knives.

"Okay, Tall--ee--ya," he drawled. "You're worse than annoying: you're boring and you have no sense of humor. The only reason I haven't killed you already is that I still want to have that little talk about your boyfriend. And if you still aren't willing to open up, I'm, uh, I'm gonna slice your tongue out and take it with me as a souvenir, get it? Cause plastic surgery might be able to fix your face if I just gave you a smile like mine, but I've never heard of rebuilding a tongue."

She was sweating profusely, her chest heaving as she tried to watch both of us at once. "Jo-gyal pritay," she whispered. "Gudu."

"Say what?" the Joker asked.

'I think that was something about me.' I frowned. 'Evil hungry ghost? I'm sure "pritay" means a hungry ghost, but I don't know the exact language she's speaking. Asia's huge and lots of its languages share the same roots. Look, if you think I'm bad, then you should definitely avoid Gotham Central Subway Station, because I think those fifty-four dead girls would like to pick a bone with you over why you're defending a man who helped kill them.'

"What?" Talia cried out, astonished.

"This beloved of yours." The Joker took over. "We traced him here. He was the collector."

"But—but Bruce would never—he's—." She sputtered

'Bruce? Bruce is your "Beloved"s name?' I asked. 'Not Allan? Allan Porter?'

"No. His name is Bruce Wayne, and I will not have his name defiled by your mouth, pritay!"

"Hey, no calling my sassy girl names here. I don't like it. That's my job." The Joker grimaced, an expression which took little effort on his part, given the scars. "I know who Bruce Wayne is. I crashed one of his parties once. Rich guy. Really, really rich. He can't be Allan Porter, he's too well known. A woman like Gabrielle Mercier can smell money and fame like a shark smelling blood in the water. How long have you been living here, Talia?"

"Three months and four days. I did not buy it. I am leasing it from a corporation."

"Oh. Well, then I'd like to offer an apology. Right house, wrong occupant. This was a case of mistaken identity. Sorry." He said it sardonically. "Oops! My bad."

"A mistake!" Talia's nostrils should have been spouting steam. "A mistake? Four dead, chief among them Master Gotebei, and all because you made a mistake? Would that my father were here, gutter filth. He would cook your testicles before your eyes and make you eat them!"

"With garlic butter, I hope." The Joker dented the skin over her jugular with the knife in his right hand. "I'm partial to, uh, garlic butter. Yes, it was a mistake, but you were the one who wanted to fight rather than answer a few simple questions. This was your fault. And you know something? Once a fellow gets to know you, you aren't half as hot as you first come off. I wouldn't do you with another guy's dick.

"However, I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to leave you alive to deal with four dead bodies in your living room, two of whom you killed with your own pretty little sword here, because I think that's a pretty good joke on you. Before me and my pretty pritay here—did you catch that one, Gracie?"

'Ha-ha.' I said, dutifully.

"That's my girl—before we leave, I have just one more question, maybe two. Did Mr. Allan Porter leave anything behind—or a forwarding address?"

As it turned out, he had. Among the detritus left by other former tenants, there was a flash drive which belonged to him. The Joker left Talia handcuffed to her bathtub, mad enough to fry an egg on her head, but not seriously harmed, and we left.