The storm lasted almost six more days before it finally swept out of New Gotham. Once the skies returned to an almost hazy shade of blue the children returned to the streets and school resumed.

It was just about five at night before Barbara Gordon returned to the Clocktower. She slid out of the elevator and moved up the ramp to the where her bank of computers were bleeping in perfect rhythm with each other. A quick cursory inspection confirmed that everything around the city was quiet. At least relatively speaking.

"Helena?" she called out, moving down the ramp and heading towards the kitchen. She smiled when she saw her former charge sitting at the table chewing on the end of a red vine. She was flipping through the brightly colored pages of a comic book. "Hey, how was your day?"

"Dull." Helena replied with a yawn. "Springer was a rerun."

"Damn shame," Barbara quipped. "And the rehab?"

"I overslept it," Helena replied dryly. She pulled out the red vine she had been gnawing on and glared at it. "How long have these things been in the cupboard?"

Barbara frowned. "I don't recall buying them so I don't know and what do you mean you overslept your rehab?"

"The alarm clock didn't go off?" Helena offered up with a slight smile. She moved to her side, flinching a bit in pain.

"Yeah, that doesn't really fly," Barbara replied with a shake of her head. "You're finally healing but if you don't actually do the physical therapy, you'll never get your full range of motion back."

"What are you saying?"

"Nothing really," Barbara said with a shrug. "Just that the best crime fighters in the world don't tend to have a terrible limp."

"I don't have a limp," Helena protested, jamming the red vine back into her mouth.

"No, you have a gimp," Barbara snorted loudly. "And it won't get better until you actually do some work. Helena, your legs were shattered..."

"Broken," the brunette corrected. "My legs were broken. They're better now. I can walk for almost ten minutes now without having to sit down. That's healing."

"But it's not therapy," Jesse Reese said from the doorway of the kitchen. He smiled at the two women seated around the table.

"Reese," Helena called out affectionately. Then she frowned. "That's a terrible shirt."

He glanced down at the off-green dress shirt that he was wearing. "My mom bought it for me." Then he laughed. "It's terrible but I'm having dinner with her tonight."

"Likely excuse," she grinned.

"Reese, help me out here," Barbara said lightly. "I'm trying to convince Helena to actually do the physical therapy regimen that Dr. Horton set up for her."

"Dr. Horton is a quack," Helena said quickly, eyes twinkling. She looked a bit too mischievous for her own good. She was spoiling for something.

"Dr. Horton was one of your father's most trusted physicians," Barbara reminded her young protégé. She started to rummage through her shoulder bag; finally removing a stack of rubber band bound papers.

"See, quack," Helena grinned. Then she sighed. "Seriously, I think I know better than anyone how to heal myself...at least physically."

"Yeah, no," Barbara laughed. "Of all the people to know anything about their own limits, you're the worst. "She moved herself into one of the chairs opposite Helena and pulled the stack of papers in front of her. Obviously she meant to grade them. "Therefore, you have a couple of options."

"I don't like how that sounds," Helena drawled. "And by the way, the word 'therefore'? Who actually used that word outside a classroom?"

"God forbid we be grammatically correct," Barbara replied with a smirk.

Helena rolled her eyes dramatically. Looking up at the handsome detective who was leaning casually against the wall, she patted the chair next to her and indicated for Reese to sit.

He shook his head. "Been sitting all day," he explained. "Spent most of the afternoon trying to get cleared back to active duty."

"And?" Helena asked, thankful for the momentary respite from hearing Barbara's ultimatum.

"We'll see," Reese laughed. Then he looked at Barbara who was watching their conversation with a sort of detached amusement. She knew exactly what Helena was up to and was going to bide her time. "You were saying?"

"Right, I was saying," Barbara chuckled. "Here's how it works, Helena."

"Uh oh," the brunette groaned.

Barbara chose to ignore her and pushed on. "Either I hire you a physical therapist or I take the next six weeks off of work and I stay home with you and I become your therapist. I'm not sure you'll like that."

"My home is my apartment," Helena commented.

"Only if you choose option one. If you choose that one, I'll let you move back to your place and the therapist can come over..."

"Can we stop using that word?"

"Therapist?" Barbara asked.

"Yeah, that one. And speaking of which, what are we going to do with Dr. Quinzell. I mean, I assume she's still alive down in that little cage of yours."

"I would assume," Barbara said dryly. "We're going to turn her over to the police shortly."

"And they're going to do what? Put her in Arkham where she can be next to her sweetie?" Helena asked, a little bit of anger flushing her cheeks. "Because that sounds fair. Or hey, even smart."

"Helena..."

"No I'm serious, that psycho and his evil whore pretty much single-handedly mindfucked me and the best we can do it put them in a nice little cell surrounded by other loonies?"

"Yes," Reese said simply. "That's all we can do."

"Bullshit," Helena snapped. She opened her mouth to say more but managed to catch herself. Her sails visibly deflated and she sagged against her chair. She wasn't about to hurt Reese and Barbara by reminding them of how they had killed Jared Kelly in order to save her life.

"Helena, I won't let Harley hurt you again," Barbara promised her. She reached out and squeezed the brunette's hand. "I promise."

"I know," Helena said softly, gazing down at her fingers. "Then I guess I'll let Dr. Quack bend me." She shook her head, momentarily amused by her own choice of words. "You know what I mean."

"Uh huh," Reese replied with a chuckle.

"Oh shush," she answered. She glanced down at her hands, a small frown playing over her lips.

"Helena?" Barbara asked, sensing that there was more going on.

"It's dumb," Helena murmured. "I just...I know I'm being selfish and childish but..."

"I'll take the time off," Barbara said with a smile. "It's not a big deal."

"Good," Helena said, relief washing over her. The truth was, there was simply no one she trusted more than her mentor and there was no one whom she felt safer with. Barbara would never hurt her and she would damn well make sure that her young charge could walk again.

"Look, how do you feel today?"

"Okay," Helena grumbled. "Can't we start the ther...stuff tomorrow?"

"Yes," Barbara laughed. "Tim called about fifteen minutes ago and wanted to know if you wanted to catch a movie with him."

"In a theatre or illegally downloaded?" Helena asked with a large grin.

Barbara narrowed her eyes. "I do not pirate. On occasion I download to make sure the film is suitable for Dinah to see."

"I assure you that the French thing with all the orgies was not suitable," Helena quipped. Barbara lightly slapped her arm and then glared over at Reese who was trying to pretend like he wasn't laughing.

"Helena..."

"Nevermind," Helena laughed. "Yeah, that sounds like a plan. He's heading off to his dorm soon."

"School?"

"Dorm. I can't handle Tim in college."

"Right," Barbara grinned.

"And you? What are you going to do tonight Barbara?"

"Um, well I...uh...I have...I'm gonna..."

Reese lifted an eyebrow and shifted from his back foot. He could tell that Helena was equally amused by the usually unflappable Oracle's sudden nervousness.

"Oh I know," Helena laughed. "You're gonna check up on Dick tonight aren't ya?" Then she winked, "Booty call?"

"Helena!"

She held up her hands defensively. "Sorry, sorry... I just had to see your reaction. Say hi to him for me."

She nodded slowly. "Will do."

"Oh and Barbara?"

"Hm?" the redhead asked, glancing up from a paper she was grading. Helena could see the streaks of corrective ink smeared all over it.

"You have to admit, that French movie was awesome."

Barbara shook her head, looked up at Reese in exasperation and then said with a slight chuckle, "You're bad, you're just bad."
He stared down at his hand for a long moment, his eyes tracing the metal lines of the unregistered gun he hand in his sweating palm. He shifted his body awkwardly. She smiled. "Go ahead Detective. You bought that gun just for me. I'm assuming the serial number's been shaved away and it's untraceable, right?"

He pressed the barrel of the pistol against her forehead, hard enough to leave an indent. He swallowed, feeling his mouth go dry. He had already helped to murder one man, clinically dead or otherwise. This was different.

This was the line.

This was the point where he had to straddle the line. Was it the greater good that would be served? Was it his decision to make?

"You're not going to kill me," she smirked.

He nodded and dropped the gun. "No, I'm not."

"That's too bad," she laughed. She moved a bit, shifting in her binds. They were standing on the roof of the Red Mill in Old Gotham. If he had killed her there it would have likely been weeks before her corpse would have been discovered. She glanced down over the side of the building, examining the five-story drop. In its heyday the Red Mill had been the major agricultural center of Gotham. That was long past though and now it was little more than a decayed broken old barn. "So take me to see Mr. J huh?"

"I don't think so," Reese said with a shake of his head. He unloaded the gun and wiped it clean with a white cloth. He gave it one last look and then dropped it over the side of the barn. He put the clip in his pocket and then pulled out his service pistol. "You're not going to Arkham. You're going to a mental hospital in New Jersey."

She blinked, not even vaguely amused.

"From what I understand, they're not terribly interested in treating the offender, they'll just drug you out and lock you in a little room."

She glared at him, unable to respond with any degree of mirth, insane or otherwise. She was pissed. "You will pay for this," she promised.

He nodded slowly. "I guess we'll see but if I were you, I wouldn't count on it. I hear electrotherapy is in these days."

She stared back at him, looking for a sign that he was putting her on, trying to play tough when he very clearly a Boy Scout. When after all a few moments all she saw was a hard look of defiant resolve, she visibly deflated.

Mr. J would have to wait.
"I knew you'd come," the Joker said with a smile. "You couldn't resist."

Barbara smiled. She bent forward. "You're right. I needed to see you."

"Need closure little bat?"

"Something like that. I don't imagine if I asked you why you did what you did that you'd give me an answer that would help, right?"

He laughed. "You know why I did it. All of it."

"And Helena?"

"Weren't we just talking about little Helena Kyle?" he asked with a devious grin, knowing full well that they hadn't been. He tapped the table with his chained hands, enjoying the slight musical noise the restrains made as he moved them. He hated being bound but he'd learned to deal. Learned to work within the system. It had allowed him to escape once before and he figured eventually it would again. Patience and all that.

"No," Barbara said quietly. "We weren't."

"I know. Blame him," he told her. "Not me. He brought you both into this. He made you into him."

"We're not him," Barbara replied. "We're still here. It's over."

"It's never over," he chucked, eyes growing wild with unbridled insanity. "She's the Bat's daughter and you're his bitch. Wait, no you're not, his bitch is dead, you're just the family cripple."

"It's over," she reiterated, attempting to ignore his words despite the icy cold chill they sent through her body. She reached into her pocket and pulled something out. It was wrapped in a light blue cloth. She unfolded it and set it down on the metal table. "They took this out of my back. Two of them actually."

She placed the bent metal slug down on the table and pushed it towards him. "I kept one for me, to remind myself that you didn't take anything away from me and that I'm stronger now. This one I'm giving back to you. I'm done being your victim. I'm done living in the shadow of what you did to me."

He opened his mouth and then shook his head. "You can't escape what you are now. What you were."

Barbara smiled, her lips turning into a thin mask of determination. She turned and faced the gate where the guards were standing. "I'm ready," she called out.

"And what am I to do with this?" he asked, voice oddly small. He touched the tip of the bullet on the table with his finger and then shrunk away from it, as if disturbed by its power.

She laughed dryly. "If I was Helena I'd tell you just what to do with that bullet and where you could put it. I'm not though and the only advice I can give you is to put it around your neck. Remember it. Don't forget. Don't ever forget." She bent closer to him. "My promise to you? If you ever get out of here, I will always bring you down. I will always stop you."

She turned her chair and moved towards the gate, which was now open. She turned slightly, just enough so he could see her side profile. "Joker?"

"Mm?"

"She's free. You don't own her anymore."

She took a breath and then slipped through the gate. The guard closed it soundly behind her. The green-haired maniac watched her go.

He smiled, a thin grotesque thing devoid of humor.

Then he sagged, shoulders dropping in a sign of defeat

The bat and the cat had spoiled the deck.
END CHAPTER 11