Title: One More Chance

Rating: M for language, violence and adult situations

Genre: Suspense, psychological, action, adventure

Archive: Sure

Flamers: Can go to Hell

Author's note: Due to some people trying to start trouble the other day I decided to drop the last chapter. I will repost the Joker and Harley chapter 'Rescue me' at a later date and with more detail and hopefully by then, the trolls would have died out. I don't mind constructive criticism, I have received it in the past on several occasions but what I don't like are stupid grudge matches in public. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this bit.

Muscles strained with the force that had been imposed upon them from hours earlier. At first, the punches, jabs and stabbings were only a momentary lapse that was used to hinder him. He had refocused his energies so that he would fight more effectively. What the untrained eye did not catch was that hurting the Bruce Wayne only fueled him. It was like adding gasoline to a fire. It only gave him more of a reason to continue his quest. He was an army drill sergeant's dream come true. Now, in vengeance for the assault, the billionaire philanthropist's muscles ached and seethed in pain. White hot iron like feeling pulsated on his body. He had just returned from a night of interrogation which yielded little but peanuts. Still, one could not be the cynic forever. That was the difference between him and the Boy Scout. While one was so arrogant in his incessant optimism, the other would wait like a hawk and not make his move until he was certain that there was something there.

All hunters use this method. It was precise, like a surgeon's knife but it was effective. It was frustrating, true, but it had its rewards.

Instead of venturing out as the Dark Knight these last few days, he decided on a more subtle approach. He didn't go for Matches Malone this time. That was only for business meetings, formal and informal. He had to stoop lower on the totem scale. He had to go the root of the problem and swim in the sewage to yield some answers.

'Start low'

That meant starting all over. That did not mean going to Arkham Asylum, it was too risky. This meant going after henchman, present and past. Although they were considered scum by his standards for associating with dirt bags like Crane or Tetch, they had vital clues. Like a hair at a crime scene, it would offer the break. No matter how insignificant it sounded, it was always preferable to nothing at all. After all, a likely impossibility is preferable to an unlikely one.

Today, he was able to locate an old associate for the Scarecrow. His name was Mickey. They called him that because he had this mouse like build. He was a small guy, about four foot eleven but a really nasty temper. He was like a piranha. His mode of defense were not just round of friends whom he surrounded himself, he had this hip disorder and had hemophilia, so as tempted as he was to try and 'rough him up' a little bit for answers, he did not want to risk it. One little scrape and the man would bleed to death. Like Goneril from Lear's play, her armor was that she was a woman. Mickey had protection because of his weakness.

Bruce leaned back on his bed. Disheveled and broken, he recollected the evening's events. Nothing stood out to him other than a boatyard. He had heard about that one since Dick told him that he, Tim and Selina were involved. That was a place of gathering, like an inn but nothing came of it. Still, it would not hurt to look at it.

He had also heard a rumor that a woman was involved in all of this. Going by the description, it did not sound like Poison Ivy was orchestrating all of this. She was only happy because she got freedom and because she got some money on the side. That is not to say that Ivy was a follower twenty four seven. She was versatile like that, all the which that made her more dangerous, but it was safe bet that Ivy was not the one behind this, even if she was the lucky one that delivered one of the first blows. Poison Ivy could be the May Queen or Mother Earth, a gentle soul that would offer warmth but like the Prioress in Chaucer's tales, she offered her sympathies in the wrong direction. Someone else was involved, but who?

Bruce stared up at the ceiling, deep in thought. He was trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. So far, he had about sixty five percent of it completed but some vital parts were still missing. Time was on the essence and at the same time, he remembered Dick saying that he and Selina were also helping even though they were not supposed to get involved. God bless the both of them. On one hand, the seconds were dwindling down and yet, another part of him reminded him that Dick and Selina were on it, but after his outburst which resulted in him ramming his hand onto Dick's cheek, who knows if he was out now. He had not heard from either of them for days. He was never really a social creature, even in human form. The playboy persona was just that, an illusion. Truth be told, he hated it. Like a musician making a record store appearance, he hated that interaction. With those fake smiles and insincere words, they were as transparent as gauze.

For the first time ever, he felt truly alone, not just because he did not connect with humans on a superficial level or because he had not had contact with people he considered friends, even family. He was truly lonely. All his bridges were burned and all because of his bullheaded nature.

A whistle of wind broke Bruce's concentration. He turned his attention to his left side. A bruised and broken left eye hindered some of his vision. The sound was not just the wind making noise. That was the sound of a visitor making an unexpected call and there was only one person aside from Selina who had this trademark mode of entrance.

"Get out," Bruce ordered into the darkness.

"Is that how you treat your guests?" a voice spoke up. It was as melodic as church bells but as strong as incense.

"I am fine," Bruce replied with more strength in his voice.

"No, you are not. Do not think of me as foolish. You think I cannot see the broken septum and purple colored marks on that face, beloved?"

That damn name. She was not going away.

"Talia….." Bruce warned.

"Bruce," she replied with dulcet tones as she pushed away the door from which she was hidden in. She was wearing that blue dress she wore that night in Morocco. She looked like an Eastern princess. She hugged herself, whether it was from the cold outside or something else, Bruce sat up, wanting for her to come closer. "Why must you do this to everyone who worships the ground you walk on?"

"You don't have to say that, Talia." He ran his hands down her hair. It smelled like jasmine.

"Do not cater to my feelings, Bruce. I can clearly see that you are in turmoil. Do you dare lie to the daughter of the Demon?" She turned away from his in disgust.

"I do not want you to get involved in any way or form. I can handle this on my own," Bruce declared.

Talia looked up at him.

"Then why are you here looking like a disemboweled animal? You are not at your physical peak. I can see that. Surely, you must too." She cooed.

"Are you only here to scowl and punish me? I do not need this, Talia. You have less than two minutes to explain why you are here and why I should give a crap." Bruce barked at her. She barely flinched. She merely wiped away a lock of hair from her eyes.

"I'm here on my own business, beloved. I am here for you."

"Talia, I said no," Bruce replied warningly.

"Yet, you are too late. I chose to keep this secret from you, beloved, because I knew you would not look favorably upon it. I am here to help you with the Scarecrow and the others…."

"Is your father involved in any way shape or form?" Bruce queried. His strong build overshadowed her petite frame.

"That, I cannot say, beloved…" Talia replied meekly. She did not look at him as she did so.

"Then I cannot accept your services." Bruce said warningly. He turned back and grabbed a towel to wipe the grime and dirt from his face.

"Are you making preconceived notions against me, Bruce? I have been estranged from my father for some time." Talia exclaimed.

"What happened, Talia? Did he punish you for not getting the King of Sardinia killed?" Bruce shot back at her.

It was at that moment that Bruce felt a slap across his left cheek. She had just slapped him. She had slapped him just as how Joker did on that first day.

"Do not mock me, for I am sincere in my services. Honestly, it is if as though you are spending too much time with that clown and finally picked up some of his bad habits!" she snapped.

That was hitting below the belt.

"I am here because I want to help you, and because I care, and most importantly because I love you, Bruce."

"There are too many people involved, Talia. It is dangerous. Dick and Se-Catwoman got into waters that they should not have been. I don't want that to be you too." The playboy philanthropist replied warmly. It was a one hundred and eighty degree turn from his attitude. She was deadly serious. She was not here to give him a warning or to push him just like she did in that hotel in Rabat. She was not the one to be swayed with sweet words, a promise to the Caribbean or a diamond ring. She was focused and intense. She had him dead to his rights.

"I braved the Himalayas in subzero weather living off only wild birds and some minerals. I am a trained assassin with a bigger body count than you can imagine. You think your words will stop me?" Talia mocked as she crossed her arms.

"I don't want to get you involved because it is….complicated…" were all the words Bruce could muster out of his mouth.

"This is not the riddle of the Sphinx, beloved. You are clearly in need of help. There are no shades of grey here. And I will not move from this place until I have your word. It has been too long since we last talked," she said in a soft voice. It was no longer poisonous and accusatory. It was soft and inviting. It was most of all forgiving.

"Indeed it has," Bruce responded and looked at her, placing his hand under her chin.

"What happened with us, Bruce?" Talia begged.

"Things happen,"

"Indeed, and that is only because we make them happen." Talia said warmly. She placed her hand on top of Bruce's which was now on her cheek.

Her words rang true. They hurt because she was telling it like it is. This was not some cosmological force. This was not written in the stars. Things happened because we let them. He let himself fall behind on his work and he was the one that pushed Dick and Selina away and now, he was doing the same to the only person who was coming forward. Who was he to spit in her face too?

"So really, why are you here?" Bruce asked warmly.

"I have some business with your friend at the Iceberg Lounge." Talia stated simply. The look on Bruce's face was all that she needed to induce an explanation.

"It is not an attempt to blow up a federal building, beloved. He only needed the extra weapons for security. The recent riots from Arkham's grand escape induced fear, so your friend asked for only the most grade A of weapons and since we have a very close connection with you, it was only natural for him to come to my service." Talia explained.

The Penguin has enough money to make Forbes top ten. It would be natural for him to go to someone like Talia. They were working on the same weapons that the army still had except only as prototypes. They would not be on the market for another five years.

"Talia…" Bruce began but he was cut short when Talia reached up to him and pulled his face closer to hers embracing him with a passionate kiss. Bruce gave in and wrapped his arms around her thin back.

"I must go now,"

"Talia, please stay…"

"You need your rest. I'll meet you in a few days. Meet me at the asylum grounds. Be brave, beloved," Talia cooed before she took her leave and closed the door.

It was at that moment that Bruce sat back down on his bed and recollected in his mind what had just transpired.

Why was Talia doing this and why did she have to get involved? What did she have to gain from all of this? He could not refuse her offer. She seemed to know a lot more than she was saying and it was best to approach her as if she was a rattlesnake, with calculated and careful precision.

Talia in the meantime, had just entered a cab. She pulled out a stack of papers and after some shuffling, she set them back down and began to cry. She was not crying because of the intense emotional high she had gotten from seeing her lover after so long.

She was crying because she had known the real truth. She had omitted some details for the real purpose of her visit. She did know more than what she was telling and in short, she lied to the man she loved. She was involved with the Scarecrow and the others. She had the connections with the Penguin because they needed supplies and Bruce fell for her fairy tale because he trusted her and because he loved her. His proof of him having legitimate feelings for her still produced anxiety. She was hurting the man that was giving her his all. She got him at a weakened state. Was that manipulation playing? No, it was not for she did not know that Catwoman was involved until this evening. She did not want to think that something far bigger than this was involved, for that would make her a hypocrite, now wouldn't it?