Chapter Twenty-Four

Barbara was sure that it had to be way past the time her dad was expecting her home. Surely she had been trapped in this godforsaken cellar for longer than a week? But, truth be told, with only sparse furniture—her metal and lumpy bed, the little wooden table beside her, and a mirror on the far wall hung high enough that she could only see the reflection of the ground-level, small rectangular window on the wall behind her—and the window itself, it was hard to judge time. She had tried by counting the meals that either Joker or Chauncey brought her—she preferred it when Chauncey was the one to bring them to her. Harley had only fed her that one time, followed by that horrible… well, Barbara didn't like to think about it. Instead, she constantly thought of only escape and survival. She was Jim Gordon's daughter, by God, and she wasn't going to let something like this be the end of her.

But she couldn't judge time by Joker's visits and offerings of food. He fed her, certainly, insisting that he didn't want to hurt her. But the visits were too often. And he didn't always come to feed her.

True, after the incidents with Harley and the one before—the one Chauncey had had to be the one to clean her up from—Joker had not touched her in such a sensual way since. In a way that was perhaps even worse, he was always tender when he was just touching for touching-sake. A gentle palm against her cheek, a playful little hook of his finger under her chin, a soft pat on her shoulder, things of that nature were the only ways he had touched her since his little tryst with Harley.

Then there were the times he didn't touch her—at least, not with his hand.

He had other ways of making her listen to him, he had announced to her one day, flashing what looked like a joy buzzer at her. He wore the buzzer so it could be concealed easily in his palm. Barbara had instantly gone cold at the sight of it. She had read the articles, the reports. Joker had sat on the edge of her bed, asking her to leave Gotham, willingly, with him. When she had said no, he had tsked, shook his head, and pressed the buzzer into her left thigh. The jolt of electricity—way more than what Barbara was sure was recommended for a human being to endure—shot through her, bringing hot tears to her eyes and screams to her lips.

She had no idea how long he had done this to her, but he would ask her a question and whatever answer she supplied would be followed by another round of electrocution. This wasn't his only method of "making her listen," either. Once, after a feeding, he had brought down a tiny box with him whose contents shook and made chink-ing noises within it. She soon found out that the box was filled with tiny pieces of shattered glass—from what, Barbara couldn't say. She didn't really get a chance to examine them. Joker started again, asking his questions, asking her to leave with him of her own free will—this seemed important to him, for some reason. Each time, when she denied him or gave an answer he disliked, he would shove a small palm-full of glass into her—her legs, her arms, her stomach. The cuts were small and didn't bleed a lot, but it hurt. Which, Barbara supposed, was the point.

Another time after that, he brought a large rubber chicken with him. She had heard of this "classic Joker" weapon as well. It had scissors in the beak, while something heavy—a brick, soap, whatever was on hand—filled the butt of the once-comedic prop. He didn't use the scissors that day. No, instead, when the routine of asking questions and asking her to leave with him started, when displeased, he would beat her about her body—he avoided her face, hands, and feet for reasons that Barbara couldn't fathom—with the weighted end of the chicken. She was sobbing by the end of that lesson. The morning (perhaps) after, she was covered in blue and black bruises.

She was awakening from a fitful sleep as the sound of the trapdoor to the cellar opening reached her ears. She tensed, which hurt both the cuts—now cleaned (by Chauncey) and scabbed over—and the bruises that did their best to remind her that she was here, and that this was really happening to her. She hissed at the dull pain, willing her body to relax to give her a modicum of relief. She finished relaxing when she saw it was Chauncey, with a bowl of some kind of soup, descending the stairs.

Above them, there was the faint sound of a door slamming in the distance. Barbara blinked. Had Joker left? Or had Harley been sent away? She couldn't recall ever hearing such a thing before this moment. Chauncey set the bowl of food on the table by her bed, oddly still holding the spoon in his right hand, as he bent and undid all of her shackles. Her eyes widened. Never, unless it was Joker himself, had her shackles been completely undone while she had been down here.

"The boss and the doc had to go take care of some business in the city before we left for good. Said they should be gone for a about an hour," Chauncey said, nodding briefly upward. "He told me to feed you while they was gone."

At that, a soft clank sounded as the spoon slipped from Chauncey's grip.

"Oops, butterfingers," he muttered, putting his back to Barbara.

She blinked as she quickly, and quietly, shoved herself to her feet. Her legs wobbled, unused to supporting her weight after going so long laying down. Her body ached and her cuts stung, but she ignored it as she grabbed the bowl of food and quickly set it upon her bed. Then, she grabbed the table by its thick, heavy stem and hoisted it as far as she could over her head. She knew that, later—given she survived whatever happened next—she would never be able to explain what made her pause and glance over Chauncey's hulking, crouched figure into the mirror on the wall beyond. But she did, and she was shocked to her core to find Chauncy staring at it as well, using it to make eye contact with her. He nodded, once, decisive, still bent and reaching for the spoon that was out of the mirror's view. Barbara sucked in a deep, quiet breath.

With all of her strength, she brought the table down across the back of Chauncey's head. He made let out a grunt and fell forward. His chest still rose and fell, but it was clear the blow had had its intended effect. He was unconscious.

She lost no more time. She dropped the table and forced her aching body up the stairs. She charged to the front door, passing the couch as she did. She knew she had to get going, to put as much distance between herself and the Joker as an hour would allow. But she knew it was still December and frigid outside. She grabbed the heavy afghan off the back of the couch and wrapped it tightly about herself like a cape or cloak. Her shoes, she was pleased to find, were still beside the front door—as if this was actually the romantic vacation it was supposed to have been—her socks shoved inside of them. A habit her mother and father had both called bad but was clearly going do her some good here. She hopped on one shaky foot as she put on one sock, then the other. Then, she stepped into her shoes and was out the door.

The limo was still parked outside, but there was an impression in the snow that told her that Joker and Harley must have left in the latter's car. Barbara didn't pause to ponder this for long, running out into the forest. She had to keep moving, letting the bottom of the afghan cover her tracks as best as it could. She would get out as far as possible, then she would try to find the road and get to help. She would have to be carefully selective of the cars she waved down when she did. She didn't know what Harley's car had looked like, but judging by the impression in the snow, it wasn't big enough for any kind of truck or SUV. Maybe she would limit her attempts for help to those? And perhaps any emergency vehicles she saw?

She had time enough to think about it as she jogged deeper into the woods. She didn't want to expend all her energy, but she also wanted to get as much distance as possible between herself and Joker. The sun was setting, and it was about to get even colder soon. Hopefully, things were looking up for her.

#

It had been full dark for at least twenty minutes, by Barbara's guess. Surely Joker and Harley had arrived back at the cabin to see that she was gone. She had done her best to sweep away her tracks in the snow—which was easily several inches deep—with the end of the afghan. There was still a significant amount of cold hitting her very uncovered legs, and she cursed herself for not thinking to grab at least a pair of pants. But she argued further with herself that the less time she had spent leaving the cabin, the more time she had given herself to get away from Joker.

The trees in the forest were not as dense as she would have liked. Yes, there were several evergreens that added some coverage, but there were still yet more that had long since shed their leaves that left wide gapes for viewing. She knew she had to have at least covered that hour window Chauncey—poor Chauncey, which, despite everything, she worried over—had given her to escape, but only just. She had no idea how far a person could get, on foot, in an hour's time, but it had to be significant, right? She had jogged for sections of her trek through the woods, walking only when she knew her body needed a rest. When she got thirsty, she took her chances on the snow, scooping handfuls into her mouth. She began to mentally count seconds, minutes, telling herself that once she got to a certain time, she would start heading in the direction she supposed the road to be in to start waving down certain cars for help.

Thank God her Dad had insisted on teaching her some boy scout level stuff. After several head-counted minutes, she figured she must have reached an hour and twenty minutes out from the cabin, and she turned, headed in the south, southeast direction she figured the road was. She walked another five or so minutes when a faraway noise caught her attention.

She stopped, only for a fraction of a second, straining her ears to pick out the alien noise in the natural ambiance of the forest. The noise sounded again. It was distant, but not so distant that it couldn't catch her. She began moving again, her ears alert for it. When she heard it again, it was no closer, but her tired brain finally deciphered what it was.

"Barrrbarrrrraaa?"

Her heart stopped. It was Joker. She'd hear that high-pitched jester's caw in her nightmares for the rest of her life. She swore under her breath and began running. Behind her, far away, she heard the soft crunch of snow as her pursuer was obviously doing the same.

"Shit," she sobbed tearlessly.

"Babsy, come back! I promise, I won't be angry… Much!" Joker's voice called, followed by a quick, loud, "Ha!"

Was he closer? Or was her brain playing tricks? She had covered her tracks! How had he found her?

She forced the panicked thoughts from her mind, screaming mentally at her legs to go even faster. Hell, at this point, even if it was Harley she flagged down from the road, she could take the vehicle from her… couldn't she? Damn it all, she was willing to try. She had to get to the road.

She ran as hard as she could, still headed in the supposed direction of the road, when she could see the trees beginning to thin, just a bit. A small, thankful smile broke on her face. She let out a small, gasping sob, as she used the newfound joy to fuel her steps.

"Barbara!" Joker's voice shouted.

He was angry. His tones, even in shouted form, were more guttural. She couldn't let him catch her. He'd kill her. She knew it as surely as she knew her own name. Her breath came in heavy gasps that were very visible in the freezing air.

"Babs!"

Joker's voice was closer. How was it closer? The afghan was slowing her down, she reasoned in her panicked mind, taking it off, balling it up, and hurling it as far away from herself as she could. She kept running. The trees were getting ever thinner, and she was almost positive she could see a glimpse of asphalt on the horizon.

A loud noise sounded, and a piece of bark from a tree several feet to her left flew off. He was shooting at her! She ducked her head, adding just a touch of zigzag to her steps as she continued to move. Another shot, this one to her right.

The road was just up ahead! She could see the land start to bank upward toward it. She sobbed again, her legs both freezing and burning as she refused to stop. She was so close!

Another shot, and this time, and the feeling of every bad knee scrape—and she was a gymnast, so that was a lot—combined exploded on her upper right arm. She clapped a hand over it, feeling a trickle of warm blood blooming against her fingers. But she was on the embankment now, and she scrambled quickly up it, reaching the top just as another bullet whizzed by her left shoulder and a car screeched to a stop right in front of her.

"Get in!" the driver screamed at her once she had flung the passenger side door open.

Barbara took only a second to register that the woman behind the wheel wasn't Harley before she threw herself into the passenger seat. She grabbed the door's handle, catching a distant glimpse of a purple figure with unnaturally white skin in the dark as she did, and slammed it shut.

"It's okay, Barbara. You're safe," the driver said.

Barbara looked over at the woman who was already flooring it away from the scene. She was blonde, but that's were her similarities to the Joker's doctor ended. She was just a touch stockier, and she wore her hair down and swept back from her face. The woman smiled softly at Barbara.

"I'm taking you somewhere safe, then home, all right?"

Barbara sighed, nodding. "Okay," she muttered before letting panic and exhaustion take her. Her world went blissfully black.

#

"I'll kill him!" a familiar voice—male—snarled.

"Calm down," a woman's voice—the one who had saved her—said.

"Selena's right. She needs to be treated first," another voice, yet another gravelly male and also familiar, answered.

"Sir, I have the young woman's IV in," a distinguished British voice announced. "And the wound on her arm is cleaned. Most likely, a bullet grazed her."

"What are you giving her?" the first male voice asked.

"Just some fluids. She was a touch malnourished, but not as badly as it could have been."

Barbara sighed, but she wasn't sure if the noise was done out loud or just in her mind. She either couldn't or wouldn't open her eyes yet, unsure if her rescue had been a dream. If it had, she wasn't ready to face that reality yet. As it stood, these people seemed nice and determined to make sure she was fine. She could feel a warm blanket over her body and pillow under her head.

"My dad," she tried to mutter, again unsure if she got the words out.

"Sssh, rest, sweetheart," the woman murmured comfortingly.

Barbara thought she even felt her pet her head.

"We'll contact the Commissioner and inform him of your safety once you're well," the gruffer of the male voices said.

"Good," she muttered, letting sleep take her once more.

#

Her eyes fluttered opened slowly. She had no idea how long she had been asleep, or if anything that had happened to her had been real. But the aches of her body assured her that at least the Joker's torture had been real. Once her world came into view, she was more than a little surprised to find herself in what looked like a cave—but not like any one she had ever been in before. This one had technology. A large computer could be seen in the distance, and she herself was in a hospital bed, an IV hooked into her arm and hanging on an IV pole. Even more surprising was Robin, standing over her, a look of clear relief on his face.

"She's awake!" he called over his shoulder, turning back to her.

He grabbed her hand, holding it in both of his. "It's okay, Babs. You're safe. You're all right."

Her eyes narrowed. The last time she remembered seeing Robin, he hadn't been quite so informal with her. The look must have been plain on her face because with a decisive nod, he reached up and removed his domino mask. She blinked, eyes wide.

"Jason?" she asked.

"Dammit," Batman swore, coming up beside his sidekick, followed by a woman in a black, skintight costume complete with cat-eared mask.

"You… You're Robin?" Barbara said, then pointing at Batman, she added, "So you're Bruce Wayne, aren't you?"

The Bat growled, but removed his mask all the same, indicating that she had been right. Catwoman, as Barbara knew the woman to be called, removed her mask as well, showing her to be the woman who had rescued her.

"My name's Selena Kyle, by the way," she put in.

"This was not what was discussed," Batman growled.

"I won't tell, I swear!" Barbara promised.

Jason grinned, jabbing a thumb in her direction. "See? Told you it would be fine."

Batman/Bruce Wayne shook his head. "Miss Gordon, you are safe here. But, that being said, we have quite a lot of things to discuss."

End Notes: The end of the first story! The second one will be called Into Madness, and it should begin posting... sometime this year.