THROWAWAY CARD

Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Batman and related characters are the property of DC Comics.

Again, thank you so very much for all your kind reviews. You've made a simple psycho very happy. Proper review responses are at the end of this chapter.

Over the streets of Gotham, as a low, yellow moon was gradually hidden by scudding, dirty clouds, the storm that had been threatening for days began to break. It had been hot: the streets had sweltered in a clinging humidity that had done nothing to improve the general miserable mood of the city's populace.

Now, above the drab hulking skyscrapers and gothic turrets, the night sky roiled as the clouds drew in steadily. A fine drizzle began to fall. It fell into the still-warm ashes of the bomb sites, dampening them. Little tendrils of smoke still wavered upwards from the depths of the debris, and the police cordons fluttered in the rising wind.

The moon glowed softly in the darkness: and with abrupt brightness, a silvery disc of light to rival it sprang into life above the lumpen city skyline.

Wounded, burnt in a dozen places, Gotham City was calling out to its protector.

Batman regarded the Joker with nothing but pure suspicion.

"His wounds are all dressed, sir," Alfred had said as they walked down the stairs together, "although I'm not confident about his arm. It's broken, and after last month I don't have the resources to set it. However, I have some concerns…"

The cowl tilted down to look closer. A black gauntlet reached out and took hold of the madman's chin, turned his head to one side. There it was. Alfred, as was quite often the case, had been correct. A small pinprick, direct into one of the blue veins standing out clear from the dead white throat. Almost invisible.

Batman ran his gloved fingers over the tiny mark, frowning. He was almost certain that at Arkham they had long given up administering anti-psychotic drugs to the Joker: the drugs tended to have little or no effect aside from occasionally giving him a rash. And quite apart from anything else, it had been a whole thirteen days since the asylum had admitted losing their most notorious patient for what seemed like the three hundredth time. Any hypodermic marks from his incarceration there would have been long gone by now.

So…a fresh injection. Who would have got close enough to catch Gotham's crazy tiger by his tail? Arkham inmates tend to fight like tomcats over trash - more than likely it was one of Joker's former cellmates organised this…

Behind the hero and his fallen enemy, the cave's many screens were alight. Three were monitoring news channels: a further two smaller ones scrolled through dozens of case histories: the Joker's curriculum vitae of crime. Batman's attention, caught by a few hurried shots of the flaming warehouse, was drawn to the third large screen. He flicked the sound on.

"…in the city's most vulnerable districts. The ninth of eleven explosions tonight in Gotham City completely destroyed the Amway Storage Facility. The facility had recently taken delivery of a shipment of vaccination serum, used to prevent influenza in the elderly and infirm. Sixteen night shift workers were believed to be present in the building at the time."

There was a blurry, ten-second piece of footage showing Batman carrying the overweight woman from the building.

"Gotham's own mystery, the now-famous superhero Batman, was witnessed at no fewer than six of the explosion sites, each time aiding the rescue services. The explosions occurred in a series of twenty-minute intervals across the city and no more are expected tonight.

"Many sources are laying the blame for these events entirely at the feet of the super villain known as the Joker, whose escape from Arkham Asylum over a fortnight ago continues to baffle police. The Joker's whereabouts are currently unknown. Police would like to stress that there is currently no need for panic, but that the Joker should be considered armed and extremely dangerous, and should not be approached under any circumstances. Members of the public concerned for the welfare of friends or relatives involved in these events should call the following number: 555-90..."

Batman pressed the mute button and approached the Joker again.

"Sir, I can't stress enough how unwise I believe keeping him here may be," Alfred had added as they had approached the hidden entrance to the cave. "Quite apart from all my original concerns, his condition is…deteriorating…and there is little I can do under such circumstances. If I may be so bold, a high fever is not likely to improve his mental state. If you want to question him, you may have to do it now. Otherwise, I would recommend hospital."

The Batman examined his enemy with a less-than-gentle but professional manner. Still senseless and lolling untidily across the medical couch, the Joker looked like a broken child's puppet. The ice-white skin was hot to the touch. Occasionally, like a dreaming animal, he twitched and his long fingers grasped at the air.

Alfred had been quite correct. Something more serious than injury here.

"Joker."

A series of brisk shakes to the madman's shoulders failed to rouse anything more than a growl of pained breath through a bared stretch of teeth.

"Joker..."

He's usually unnaturally fast at recovering, even from a beating like this.

Batman let go of the soot-blackened lapels and stared forward into space, the flickering images on the screens dancing in the periphery of his vision.

…drugged somehow, then.

I was right. Instinct is a marvellous thing. Someone wanted me to believe you were the culprit so badly that they put you right in my path, right where I couldn't miss you. You didn't go willingly, either, did you…put up a fight…?

A few, familiar pictures caught his attention as they flickered past on the screens. Another one of the explosion scenes, sparks showering down around the central doors and firemen manhandling the hoses into position. Ambulances clustered outside like piglets around the sow. Steady flow of stretchers, faces covered with oxygen masks, or more often covered with a blanket - too many casualties. Too many.

Beneath his mask, Batman's expression tightened into fury. He once again flicked on the sound.

"….clinic of Dr Leslie Thompkins, which was evacuated rapidly thanks to stringent safety procedures put in place by Dr Thompkins herself. Despite the best efforts of both emergency personnel and clinic staff, there were thirteen fatalities. At Gotham Marina -"

The sound was extinguished abruptly.

Leslie.

Behind Batman, there was a scuffed footstep on the steps of the cave: Alfred, who had originally remained above in the manor, had followed his master down. Batman turned. The butler's perturbed expression was making him look even older than his not inconsiderable years and his usual careful poise was stiff with concern.

The rain had begun in earnest shortly after the Bat-signal was lit. Huge, fat raindrops rattled on the halogen lamp's massive metal frame and the rooftop was awash. Two of Gotham's cops, swathed in oilskin but still soaked and miserable, stood on guard behind the blinding glare of the signal. The sky over the city was almost black, the clouds providing a solid background for the stylised bat. The ugly yellow glow of the streetlights played poorly on the cloud cover, and, due to the explosions, the traffic was jammed into the soaking streets at a standstill. Gotham City was never still, even in the slow hours before dawn. And from her small, unremarkable apartment somewhere on the lower west side, Catwoman slid out of her window, perched on the rain-darkened sill for a moment, then leapt off into the night.

"I took the liberty of making a few preliminary investigations when I saw the report," was Alfred's slightly hushed response as Batman, cowl firmly in place, turned back to the cave computer. "The infirmary was one of the last places to be hit. Doctor Leslie was taken to Gotham General along with six of her staff and patients, and the hospital were less than forthcoming as to her condition. Fear of the press, I suppose.."

"She's alive."

The tone was uncompromising. Despite his own worry, Alfred knew better than to argue with it. He moved instead to the medical couch, where the Joker was starting to shiver and curl up around himself. "Did you give him the broad-spectrum shot?"

"Yes."

Batman was intent on a screen readout and did not look up. Alfred shook his head, his fingers pressed to the Joker's throat, checking the pulse. "With all due respect, sir, it does not appear to be having the desired effect."

Staring at the text on the screen, Batman found that he could neither concentrate fully upon it nor what Alfred was trying to say to him. His world had contracted, as it always did, around the pain of his city and the more personal pain of knowing that people he knew, people he cared about, had yet again been caught up in the storm.

Supervillains…

The newspapers loved to crow about superheroes and their adversaries. It made good copy, and "super" was a great buzz-word. As far as Batman was concerned, there was nothing super about himself, and certainly nothing heroic. And as for the parade of psychotics and petty criminals hiding behind the relative safety of outlandish names or ridiculous gimmicks - super? No.

There was a danger in dismissing them, though, as pathetic fools or lone crazies: especially in the case of the Joker, who underneath the giggling frippery of his appearance had a mind like a steel trap and a lack of respect for other people's lives that bordered on the obscene.

There is a thin line between the real Gotham and my Gotham: the Gotham that everyone lives in and eats bagels in and goes to parties in and the Gotham that has murder by riddles and acids and the rain never stops falling…

In that thin line I stand, and Joker stands with me, as do all the others. Occasionally we put a foot wrong, by accident or design, and then the two Gothams merge for a while - always to ill effect.

Batman found himself thinking in that passing moment as images of burning buildings flickered before his eyes: wondering if ordinary people treated him like they treated plumbing or electricity. They had no concept of what life would be like without him, not even considering it from day to day. But as soon as that wrong step was taken and the Batman's Gotham infringed upon the day-to-day Gotham…

They have no right. I have no right. Ordinary people should have no involvement with us.

It was too dangerous. And if Batman's suspicions were correct and these explosions were the latest opening sally in another super villain feud, ordinary people all over Gotham were at risk until he finished this.

"Sir?"

"Alfred."

Batman turned away from the screens. "Someone wants me to believe the Joker was responsible for this. I want to perpetuate that belief."

He took two strides toward the medical couch and stared down at the curled ball of sooty purple, one hand raised to his chin in thought.

Supervillain…

"I have to make sure that Gotham believes the Joker is in the hospital wing at Arkham by dawn. It's what the city expects me to do with him. It's what I always do."

Alfred coughed gently.

"I surmise that you are not, in fact, going to take him there?"

The gleam of Batman's eyes narrowed slightly, his lips twitching in a humourless non-expression.

"Feel free to surmise. In the meantime, please fetch me the camera from the workbench."

Alfred, placing the camera into the gauntleted hand, said: "Holiday snaps, sir?"

"Gordon wants to talk to me."

The flash of the camera lit up the vaulted ceiling of the cave. Bats chattered and fluttered in annoyance.

"I want to show him what he wants to see."

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SchattenShadow - Hi there, thanks for reading! Yes, more chapters on the way as fast as I can write, edit, and upload.

Noiseforyoureyes - your compliments on my work are very kind. And yeah...I must admit I hate cliffhangers myself, but that one kinda snuck up on me.

Robster72 - Hee, I think I've had the most fun so far in writing Alfred. He gets some great chances for dry comeback lines. As for what happened to Joker - well,all I think I can say for sure is he's not going to be as cheerful as usual for a while...

Eatone - Yeah, I know. I'm an evil cliffhanger-merchant. :grin: I'm really glad you like the story.

True Believer - Thankyou for your kind words! I think characterisation is my greatest worry with writing fanfic (that and canon). Joker may actually be easier to write for while he's unconscious!

Masline - Hi there. I'm glad you think the story is shaping up well - hope you enjoyed chapter 3.

Nightmare1 - "It is almost as brilliant as actually reading one of the comics.". That review from you, right there? That made my day when I read it. Thankyou somuch.

Chewie-2006 - Thankyou, I'll do my best!

Hades' Phoenix - (great penname...!) Thankyou for such a detailed and extremely encouraging review! Like I said earlier, my great fear is dropping people OOC by accident...it's fine for some fics but I wanted to keep it as solid as I could for this one. And no, I'm not a slash-writer by trade.

SpiderFreak - :KJ does a little dance: Thankyou! And as for what's up with Joker, well, your guesses are good. He's really going through the mill. I'm so mean to him.