Who's Laughing Now?

Part Ten

**

The king himself being attired with dignity, it took the world some centuries to discover that his own conduct and decrees were sufficiently ridiculous for the amusement not only of his court but of all mankind. –The Devil's Dictionary

~*~

They watched Robin disappear into the house, the tired young man's cape wagging behind him as he fumbled down the steps. Finally, Jim turned toward his long-time acquaintance. "I had really hoped that my daughter was done with you people. Professionally, that is." Jim tore the glasses from his face and pinched the red part of his nose where the pads pressed.

Batman didn't move. He didn't breathe or blink, he just stood there. Inside, though, he could feel his chest constricting. This was not how he wanted to have this talk. Not under these circumstances, when he had no firm grasp on the situation to control it. All he knew was that the Joker's timetables were traditionally very small, and whatever final blow he was looking to deal, it would come soon.

"You're supposed to respond," Jim said snidely.

There was a void of silence that hung like a barrier between the two weathered warriors. "What would you have me say?" Batman asked finally.

"Tell me why we walked away from a crime scene. Tell me why no motion has been made to inform authorities of the Joker's escape."

"It wouldn't do any good, Jim. By all appearances, he IS in Arkham, and has been the entire time. The authorities were alerted to the… happenings… after we'd vacated the area. We left for security reasons, and because there were people in need of medical attention." His explanations were quick and efficient, the same as his fighting blows.

Gordon's eyes narrowed. His hand, still holding his glasses, dropped to his side. "Why is my daughter involved in this?"

"It is my deepest regret--"

"Damnit, what is going on?" It was as much a question as an exclamation of anger and frustration.

"He knows," Batman responded quietly. And he left it at that.

"He knows--" It took Jim a few seconds to grasp the magnitude of the situation. "And he's using it against you. And you… because of your damned secrets ask NO ONE for help—inform NO ONE of your situation… until the situation is desperate. That's just great."

"We were trying to handle it internally--"

"He electrocuted her! He was ready to blow her head off! THAT is how you handle it internally. Is it POSSIBLE for anything worse to happen to her? You KNOW what happened the first time. If ANYTHING happens to her… you're going to WISH he had killed you," Jim answered darkly. He glared at the Dark Knight, pain swelling within him. "She's all I have left," he said desperately. "He's taken away everything else."

"I'll stop him," Batman promised. He had no choice. Fighting for the survival of his clan… his family… was paramount.

"WE will stop him," Jim amended.

Batman's eyes bored into him. "This is not your fight."

"You have another thing coming, if you think it's not." He put his glasses back on, pushing the thick lenses up onto his face. "You can't involve people only when it's convenient for you." It was something he had been meaning to tell his associate for years upon years.

"I'm not—Jim. That isn't the nature of this beast. This situation…"

"Has gotten out of control. When is anything ever IN control with the Joker?"

"I need to start taking control," Batman affirmed. Beneath his cape, his arms folded across his chest.

"Fine," Jim said. "Do the same thing you always do—whatever the hell suits you." His eyes narrowed in an attempt to convey his seriousness. "But trust me—its going to start going both ways."

Batman stiffened, standing even straighter, if it was possible. "Put her through," he said, suddenly talking to the air. "Go ahead." He turned from Gordon, giving no indication that their conversation had taken place. "I told you straight—fine. No, you couldn't. Understood. I see. I'll read it when you bring it here." There was another long pause. "How many times were you hit?" He began moving towards the door Leslie had slammed behind her when she'd exited the hall. "I know you've been shot. How do I know? It doesn't matter how I know. How many times have you been hit?" He threw opened the door, gesturing for Leslie to meet him. "Good. Don't move." He raised his head, and Gordon knew the conversation had ended. He looked at Leslie, who knowingly had already grabbed her bag. "Batgirl's been hit four times that she can count. She doesn't appear to be in immediate danger, but she will require assistance."

And that was all he'd say of the matter. He seemed to be in conversation with an invisible third party again, a few seconds later, as they were making haste to the steps. "Send Robin back up here… wake him up. We need…"

In an unnecessary gesture, Jim pushed the glasses back up on his face, then went in to see his daughter. Grayson was unconscious in the bed in the center of the room. No one seemed alarmed that the sheets were bloody and ruined. No one observed how out of place it was in this pristine room.

"Did he just leave?" Barbara asked angrily from the day bed in the corner of the room. Jim's lack of response was answer enough. "And he left me here!" Her pale skin flushed red with anger. He could tell it was directed more at her inability to do anything than at Dick, or anyone else. Barbara liked to keep busy. He didn't know all the details of how she kept busy, but she'd always been an 'involved' child. She continued on her tirade. "And that one… you just wait till he wakes up. He's going to have another broken arm…"

"Barbara, I know you're frustrated."

"Frustrated doesn't BEGIN to describe. Get Alfred. I want out of here. NOW." Doctor Tompkins was correct—Barbara was going to be all right.

"I'll see what I can do," he reassured her. He felt like that's all he'd been able to do for her in a very long time—a mediocre job, even though it was his best.

* * *

Beneath the corner of Seventy-fifth and Moenech ran a subway line that connected the north-south tracks to the east-west. Below this lay tons shale and slate, echoing with the rumblings of metal boxes barreling down the tracks at break-neck speeds. Burrowed deep within the slate was a large circular room, built into the stone.

"I can't believe she lives here," Leslie complained to Batman, trying to manage the final small passage to the abode. "I can't believe you LET her live here. She's just a child."

Batman didn't respond. She was one of his best soldiers. She could be relied upon for any task he gave her. He was comfortable with her presence on his team—she asked for nothing, though he gave his protection, his symbol—and more recently had given her this home. She was unique of all of all the people he claimed as his own—she was entirely dedicated to his cause, and did not require the things his other charges did. There'd been no muscle car, no adoption papers. She was his perfect warrior—never requiring him to sacrifice himself emotionally.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," Leslie announced when they found the girl lying on her stomach, face down on a practice mat, her cowl and tattered cape laying somewhat beneath her. In her grasp lay a small box, no bigger than a stack of index cards.

Batman removed the box from his soldier's hand, but paused in opening it when Leslie began cutting away her thick black garb and inspecting her wounds. Balking, he looked away and removed the lid from the box.

The small paper box contained cut-up photographs—the two from his desk, as a matter of fact. The picture from his parents' wedding, and a photo of Jason on the day the adoption went through. They were hacked into miniscule pieces, like confetti. The only way he could readily identify the contents of the box was that each body part had been meticulously cut out. The heads of his parents and adopted son stared up at him, seeming to search for answers.

There was a paper taped to the inside of the lid. He was almost afraid to unfold it, but knew he had to. As his fingers wrapped around the paper and straightened it out, he looked back to Leslie and Batgirl.

"This is YOUR fault," Leslie informed him as she continued to dislodge cloth from the sticky and crusted brown wounds. "The girl fights for you, and you let her live in this hovel. Under ground."

"She does this for her own reasons." The Dark Knight didn't kid himself, he knew what they were.

"This girl got herself shot for you, Bruce." Probing the wound closest to the girl's lungs, she searched for the bullet. How many times had she done this for Bruce or Dick? "Like it or not, there're a lot of people attached to your holy crusade, AND your worthless hide. I'd suggest you start treating us all like your family, instead of your troops."

"Look where even distance has gotten you all," Batman pointed out methodically. Even revealing that much had been difficult for him. He turned away and looked at the paper impatiently.

Didn't like finding that very much, didja? That was the part that I missed out on the first time, the part where I senselessly mutilated the body. Blowing him up just ain't the same thing. You want the body of your brat in one piece… you'll know where to find me. You got fifteen minutes to catch me. Starting… four minutes ago. Love, Unkie Joker

Batman crumbled the paper and turned back to them. Cassandra had stirred a little, and was looking up at him.

"What is it?" Leslie voiced, some of the impatience gone from her tone.

The ball of paper fell from his hand. "Jason…" Why had his mouth suddenly run dry?

Leslie stared at the crumbled ball. She didn't have to read it. "It's a trap," she informed him. Why taunt him with Jason now, when he had other, living heirs to go after?

"Of COURSE it's a trap," Batman responded, beginning to gather weapons from Batgirl's vault. "But I have to go. If I'm quick… I can end this." His belt re-equipped, he knelt beside them. "Cassandra… thank you," he told the girl.

Her dark, swollen lips pulled back in a smile.

She wasn't just one of his soldiers. Thank God the Joker didn't know that—or he'd have done worse. Turning away from her, he dashed to the surface as fast as possible. If he could catch the Joker at the cemetery, he could end this. He could finally begin being proactive, instead of reactionary.

When he got hold of the Joker, he'd be very proactive. Proactive to the end of breaking every bone in that sick clown's body.

Continued in Part Eleven

'…I will instill terror into the hearts of the Unbelievers: Smite ye above their necks and smite all their fingertips off them' --Koran