Wednesday morning ushered in rain clouds and a fierce wind. Celine watched the news for any further updates as the sky rumbled with threats of a downpour. It appeared Councilman Silverra and Millburn were still nowhere to be found and the search for them was ballooning in size. Schools were still closed, and the mayor had done an early-morning interview imploring citizens to return to their homes and let GPD handle things. Needless to say, the interview wasn't very effective.

Not wishing to work herself up any further, Celine set off from her apartment a couple minutes later and hopped on a nearby bus.

Aesop hadn't been able to get back to her until nearly midnight last night. He'd been curious as to why she wanted to know the recruiter's name, but she avoided giving a direct answer. The less he knew, the better. She wouldn't allow him to risk straining his credibility with Joker or the other men.

A man named Gil was apparently who she needed to speak with. He was one of Joker's oldest acquaintances and often worked separately from his boss. Aesop described him as a designated survivor. If something happened to Joker, Gil could continue operations from a different location. Because of his importance, he was rarely seen in Joker's company.

She'd thankfully been gifted with a bit of luck. The bus indeed was still on the perimeter. Again, Aesop asked to know why, but she chucked it up to curiosity, feeling a little bad for keeping him in the dark. But it was for his own protection, even if he didn't realize it yet.

She learned Gil was currently bunkering down at a decrepit motel called Yorker Inn near the Narrows' business district. Room 23.

Transit deposited her three blocks from the motel at a rickety, bullet-worn bus stop. She intentionally wanted to have some distance from the motel, both to avoid suspicion and to hype herself up throughout her walk there. Appearance-wise, she thought she had it in the bag. If Bruce had chosen at that moment to pass her by, he'd not have recognized her.

Everything she wore was from the two months she spent living either on the streets or a homeless shelter. She was clad in black sweatpants that carried a hole in the right kneecap, a long-sleeved charcoal-colored shirt, and a slightly too large gray hoodie she'd been given ages ago from a charitable nun at the shelter. Just for a hint of personality and a clue as to the sort of person she was, she wore a thick, cheap gold chain around her neck that broadcasted 'wannabe gangster.'

Her shoulder-length hair was greasy and unkempt. And no longer was it or her eyebrows their signature white-blonde. She'd spent her evening dying both a jet-black color, almost unable to recognize herself in the mirror after they were dry. She looked edgier, but also a little sickly in contrast with her pale skin. If she survived this ordeal, without question she was switching back to her natural color.

Overall, her physical attire satisfied her. She looked like she smelled, and she smelled like she didn't have access to a shower.

What had been the most difficult to alter was her bust. She had a rather sizable one and no matter how much clothing she hid beneath, her gender switch wouldn't be fully believed unless it was…restricted somehow.

Stephanie had saved her in that department. She thankfully didn't live far from her and had been taking refuge at home, waiting out the chaos. During the winter Stephanie was frequently out and about, trying out for roles in plays that were to her humor. She was confident enough with who she was to not be picky if the role was male or female. As a result, she had a fair share of binding tape at her disposal.

Combined with her best sports bra and Celine could easily pass for someone of the opposite gender. She'd told Stephanie it was for a character she was thinking of sharing with the group, and the woman was ecstatic to see it brought to life. She'd even offered to sprinkle on some thick, black facial hair she'd recycled out of a bristly wig that had only ever been used once in a high school production of Hairspray.

One well-spruced five o'clock shadow later and even Stephanie was side eyeing her with interest.

Celine opted to go by the alias Lonnie. Nothing too unique to stand out; something simple and easily forgettable. Sensing that she'd be searched upon meeting Gil, she made the difficult choice to leave her taser gun at home, unwilling to risk him finding it and blowing her cover. Sally, however, was tucked snugly in the inside of her worn, left sneaker, causing a bit of discomfort anytime she walked.

As she scoured her surroundings, a crippling wave of doubt overcame her. Could she pull this off successfully? How far would her persona get her? Even if she somehow managed to reach Joker's hideout, what are the odds she could get the children out without incident? She was putting herself at grave risk without guarantee of a good ending to this day. It wasn't like her.

And then again, yes it was. The difference this time around is she was being proactive instead of inactive. She was doing something rather than assuming Batman or the police could handle it. It was stepping out of her comfort zone in a way she'd never done so previously. It was utilizing everything she'd learned in improv to be as believable as possible. She was equal parts nervous and excited. Nervous at all the things that could go wrong, excited to see how far she could get.

Anytime she got to thinking about how the odds weren't in her favor, she reminded herself she had Taj just a text away (her phone was stuffed under the chest bindings), she had at least one form of defense, and she was making a genuine effort to do good. That in itself was motivation enough to keep on course.

Content with this pep talk, Celine set off to the motel, hands stuffed in her pockets, head hidden beneath her hoodie. Up above, the clouds churned and shifted to a dark silver. She briefly turned on her phone to see if Taj had any more updates. His only text made her uneasy.

I guess Councilman Millburn has been found. He and his family have been trying to get to the roof of his apartment and on to a waiting helicopter, but it keeps getting shot at. Police are trying to diffuse the tension from the ground, but a few people managed to get inside the building. It's not looking good for him. Will text if I have any more information.

She turned off her phone and sighed, chewing on her bottom lip.

If his family is harmed in the crossfire, that might be the catalyst for Gotham to descend into anarchy. If that happens…

Not even a minute later and it began to downpour. Hard. She could barely make out a bus stop at least fifty yards ahead of her. Her legs shot off toward the structure, keeping her head down to avoid getting pelted with the rain.

She'd just sprinted past an alley between two shut down businesses when she felt something sturdy hook around her waist. A moment later and she was dragged backwards into the alley.

Whoever held her did so with one arm as the other attempted to cover her mouth to prevent a scream. Her teeth snapped at the fingers and managed to bite down on one, causing a pained curse to emit from behind her.

"Damn it Celine!"

Her body slumped at the voice. She allowed the individual to tug her further into the alley until they were hovering beneath a side entrance to what was a former nightclub. The entryway had a mustard-yellow awning protruding from the top, temporarily sheltering them from the torrential rainfall.

She twirled around to face the man who'd grabbed her, blinking owlishly, making sure she wasn't hallucinating him.

"John?"

She reached out a hand and brushed her thumb over the curve of his cheek, knocking loose a few droplets.

His hair had grown out since she'd seen him last. The tips of his brown locks were now curled above his shoulders. It looked like he'd gone a week without shaving; which was unlike him but certainly added to his handsomeness. It was the dark circles under his eyes however that had her nervous. They were heavier than she'd ever seen them before.

"Where the hell have you been?" she demanded, unable to keep the shrillness out of her voice. "I've been trying to reach you for weeks!"

He'd yet to release her, grip tightening ever so slightly.

"I had to destroy my phone. Couldn't afford to be interrupted."

She was a little hurt at the answer but didn't ruminate on it. Her voice softened.

"Are you doing okay?"

He tilted his head a little, licking at his bottom lip before grinning with his teeth. It was a characteristic she often associated with his alter ego Scarecrow. One of the telling signs that she was no longer dealing with John.

"I've never been better," he practically purred. "This newest serum…it's finally where I want it to be." He brought her closer to him, peering into her unblinkingly. "I want you to try it. Tell me how effective it is. Just like old times."

She tried to wiggle out of his grasp but wasn't very successful.

"I want to speak with John."

He laughed a little.

"And why would I do that? Hm? He's so weak when you're around. Drives me absolutely...sane."

"You are a guest in his body, not the other way around. Let me speak to John. Now."

Her relationship with Scarecrow was…less than ideal. He made no qualms to deny that he viewed her as a liability; a hindrance to the glory he was capable of achieving. During trial sessions with John's serum, Scarecrow would often take over and howl with genuine enjoyment at the pain she underwent. She had enough sense to not take it personally. Scarecrow was an extension of John, not the other way around.

After eventually sharing her anxieties regarding her safety, John insisted Scarecrow knew not to harm her. Apparently, he'd threatened to kill himself if any harm befell her and reluctantly Scarecrow adhered to the order.

"Fine," he stressed, rolling his eyes. "But you and I will have to reacquaint ourselves soon. And I so very much look forward to it."

Before she could stop him, he gripped her chin and leaned into her. His tongue shot out and with a heart-pumping slowness he licked the side of her face from the corner of her jawbone up to her temple.

"Shame," he whispered in her ear. "You'd taste better if you were afraid."

Her knee struck him in the crotch a second later, forcing his hands to drop and cup himself.

"You do that again and I'll rip out your tongue."

"Promises, promises," he wheezed, stumbling back up. "It's unfortunate Jonathan doesn't have the balls to sample you. He's thought about it."

Her expression caused his grin to turn manic.

"Aww…you actually thought his feelings were only platonic. Sorry to break the news pumpkin, but he's jerked it to you on more than one occasion." He mimicked the act with a crudeness that had her blushing. "How do you think we recognized you? We'd know that ass from a mile away."

"Let me speak to John," she repeated.

"One day he and I will be one. Let's hope when that day comes his fondness for you outweighs my contempt."

She didn't let on how disturbed she was by this comment.

What the hell happened to him? He's always been careful with how long he lets Scarecrow out to play.

"Celine?"

She studied his eyes to make sure Scarecrow was fully submerged.

When he reached out for a hug, she involuntarily recoiled.

"Apologies," he said, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. "I attempted to stop him from getting…inappropriate, but he's been bolder as of late."

"What's causing it?" she asked, maintaining her distance.

"The new serum. I've worked non-stop on it. He wouldn't leave me alone until it was finished."

Frowning, she ventured a step toward him.

"I was worried about you. You've never disappeared on me like that before."

"I know." He tried to smile, but only made it halfway. "He didn't want me to have any distractions."

She nodded, not exactly pleased with this information.

"What are you doing here?" she redirected.

He cupped the back of his neck, averting his gaze.

"Scouting," he mumbled.

"You were going to release your toxin here?"

"I contemplated it, until I saw you. He is correct in that regard. Without you as a test subject I don't have an accurate way to measure this serum to past versions. There… are a few pigeons in the attic above where I work. I've released it up there twice, once at dawn and once at dusk. The results are fascinating. The pigeons peck themselves to death in under sixty seconds. An…encouraging development."

She didn't care for the pride coloring his voice.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, scanning her get-up.

She neared him so they could hear each other better over the rain.

"You manage to catch what Joker's up to?"

John smiled.

"Oh yes. Exhilarating, isn't it? I haven't witnessed Gotham this riled up in months."

"Those kids he kidnapped…I'm trying to get to them. To do that I need to infiltrate his ranks. He's got a recruiter stationed out of the Yorker Inn who handles new personnel. I'm on my way there."

He re-examined her with a careful squint.

"Would it help at all if I told you where the brats are?"

She was stunned.

"You know where they are?"

His shrug was casual.

"I have an inside man working for him. I suspect he wasn't all that pleased with my temporary alliance with the Bat. It pays to know if he's closing in."

She nearly laughed at this revelation. John had an inside person; she and Bruce had an inside person. Who the hell else had one? And how was Joker not aware of all the deceit among his men?

People to stab, buildings to blow up, former hostages to harass. He's a busy clown.

"Those councilmen deserve to face punishment," John stated, snagging back her attention. "You can't deny this."

"And there will be a lot of dead kids if they manage to avoid being caught. I can't stand idly by and let that happen."

He smirked.

"Ever the humanitarian, most towards those least deserving of it. I admire your commitment, however misplaced." He closed the distance between them. "He's holed up at the scrap yard behind where that dingy hotel The Braxton used to operate."

She bit her lip, contemplating this information. Did she even need to meet with Gil now that she knew his location?

"I could help you," he offered. "Empty out that whole building in under a minute."

"You are not using your serum on them," she argued. "Those kids wouldn't stand a chance."

He shrugged.

"How else then do you plan to lure him away?"

She thought it over a moment. This had by far been the most difficult solution. Joker knew what a gold mine he had with the councilmembers' kids. He'd be very averse to leaving them in the hands of his men.

"Does Joker frighten you?"

John scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"He's a gnat," he stressed. "A fruit fly. Persistent, inconvenient, an aggravation. The only reason I don't kill him is because once in a blue moon – now is a good example - he's entertaining. But even that will wear off one day."

When she remained quiet, John sighed.

"I'm to assume you'll need my help?"

"I don't want to put you in a position where your life might be at stake."

"That would be unfortunate, but I am the ideal candidate am I not? He has been gunning for me all month. His people have infiltrated every criminal organization in search of me. I am the prize package. Similarly, I would prefer this plan of yours not to end in your death." He frowned at the thought. "Having said that…I cannot lure him out if I don't have some sort of proposition. To make things interesting for him. Make the trip worth his effort."

She internally agreed.

"You're going to tell him," she said, "that you learned who Batman is. And that you will trade his identity for a truce."

John's eyebrows shot up.

"And who exactly is the Bat Man?"

"Whoever you want it to be."

He eyed her critically.

"You know…I always suspected you knew who he was. To strengthen the credibility of your proposition, can I not know too?"

"If you knew who it was, you'd kill them in a heartbeat."

"Scout's honor I won't."

"You might not…but Scarecrow would."

His shoulders sunk at this.

"Fine," he grudgingly conceded. "But I fully intend to use my toxin on him and whoever he brings. If I'm to agree to this, I am entitled to my research."

He picked up instantly on her hesitance.

"Oh." John bit his lip and grinned. "You…are…besotted."

"I am not."

"No?" He reached out a hand and moved away her hoodie, exposing her neck. "I know all too well you don't date, nor do you engage in casual relations. So, it begs the question- these hickeys are courtesy of whom exactly?"

She pushed his limb away, tugging her hood back into place. Unfortunately, her action betrayed her.

"Intriguing," he noted. "And yet…unsurprising. Not until watching you two interact did I see how similar you were."

"We are not."

"No, not in an obvious way. You are good and he isn't. This alone would have one assuming you are ill-suited for one another. But…you are one of the few who does not feel shame for the darker aspects of your natural self. You utilize your intimate knowing of that self to relate to persons from all walks of life. And it has been my growing theory that Joker…craves to be understood even if his actions imply otherwise. Similarly, you are not a dumb woman. There is a fully functioning brain inside your cranium, a self-awareness that's refreshing. And an unpredictability that titillates and stimulates. It is only natural you two would gravitate toward one another."

She rubbed her face and shook her head.

"If I have to endure one more person saying we like each other I'll kill him just to prove a point."

John chuckled at that.

"In all the years I've known you, you have never been one to live in denial. I must say…it is most amusing to witness."

"Happy to entertain, I'll be here all weekend," she deadpanned. "Are you sure you're willing to help me?"

"I am." His lip twitched. "And are you sure you don't mind me using my serum on him?"

He watched her reaction like a hawk.

"You're going to end up using your serum eventually," she reasoned, ignoring the bit of guilt that drummed in her chest. "Better on him than a crowd of unsuspecting civilians."

"How utilitarian of you," he noted, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a burner phone. "I got this today in hopes of reaching out to you. Odd that we should stumble upon each other in such a manner."

He read off his new number to her and she saved it.

"Text me if you can when you are on your way to the scrap yard. I will hopefully have him gone before you arrive."

She nodded, re-hiding her phone.

"And Celine?"

She looked up at him.

"Turn your brain off."

At her confusion, he elaborated.

"Joker's man Gil is just as capable of ascertaining character and intellect. He knows who is expendable and who is an asset. As you well know I loathe ineptness, so I made certain my inside man had a brain. Regrettably, I had not warned him to turn it off. Gil sought to teach him his place. That he was not above Joker and that he expected nothing but unwavering loyalty. There may have been some…branding involved."

Her eyes widened.

"From what I have learned since, he does not do this to recruits that are your generic, run-of-the-mill goons. Persons lacking resilience and willpower, thus easily subjugated and manipulated. You will want to be one of these people. Otherwise, you may find yourself in more trouble than you can handle."

He has them branded? It's so primitive. So unnecessary.

At least from her perspective it was. From his, it was a permanent reminder of whom your allegiance was to. She wondered if Aesop carried a branding mark. It would explain why he was so fearful to step out of line and show his humanity.

"Consider it turned off," she said a moment later, turning an invisible notch with her fingers. "I appreciate the heads up." She glanced down at herself and then met John's eyes. "Be honest…do I look the part?"

"Are you planning to speak like that?"

She coughed and lowered her tone to one of meekness and uncertainty.

"No." She rearranged her crotch a little, noticing Bruce doing this more times than she could count. "Uh…hey. Name's Lonnie. Heard from my dealer you the guy I go to if I need cash."

"He'll ask the dealer's name. Try again. Also, less timidness. They'll kill you if they presume you to be too weak."

"Name's Lonnie," she voiced gruffly. "Hear you was hiring. Down to do whatever, no questions asked."

John stroked his chin, pursing his lips.

"Are you aware who it is you'll be employed for?"

Her shoulders moved up and down with an air of carelessness.

"None my business less you want it to be. The girlfriend's pregnant, abortions ain't cheap. Ain't ready to be a daddy. I'll do whatever to whoever, whatever the price."

"Better," John remarked. "Treat it like an actual job interview. Don't go on about yourself more than needed. Answer only when spoken to. Be subservient and keep your eyes on your feet. Making prolonged eye contact with a man like him speaks as a challenge. He won't care for that."

She nodded, guzzling in all his suggestions.

"And don't try to play hero until the time comes," he said. "You may have to witness them doing some immoral things. Remain stoic and detached, even if it's difficult."

"I will." She raked her fingers through her hair, tossing a few bang ends over her face so it was partially obscured. "Thank you, John. I'll have to buy you another gift to repay you."

"Yes, you will," he agreed smugly. "Please try to refrain from getting killed. Gotham would be so very boring without you."

"And you text me back after this is all over," she returned. "Don't leave me in the dark like that ever again. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

"Let us hope we never find out," he said, digging deep into his pocket for something. "I had this on me just in case I found the perfect place to use it today. Considering the danger you will be putting yourself in, you will need it more than I."

The black cannister was much smaller than past versions, fitting comfortably in her palm. A circular pin similar to that of a grenade was inserted into the top of it.

"Rip out the pin and toss it as quickly as you are able to. Make sure you are not in the same room when the gas emits. In fact, make sure you are not in the same building. It spreads quickly and I have no antidote to this. Making one is a...lengthy process. Do you understand?"

She examined all sides of the cannister, thumbing it thoughtfully.

"How well do you think I'd be able to handle this?"

John inhaled sharply.

"Better than most considering your acclimation…but…it is not necessarily fear alone this newest serum exacerbates. In previous versions violence was a byproduct of the fear. In this one, it is a direct symptom. It would not be wise to assume this is something you can handle without great difficulty. And if you can…inform me of this because I clearly have not heightened it to its full potential."

It struck her just then why he persisted so strongly in making a more updated, potent serum. Naively, she'd assumed it was to use against Batman.

"I'm the inspiration for this, aren't I?"

John rubbed his neck, unable to meet her gaze.

"It bothers you that I built up a tolerance to your previous versions. You made it better so I could feel it again."

"I didn't," he denied, grimacing. "Scarecrow did. He detests that you don't fear him. As I said, he's grown bolder as of late."

She stared at the cannister, almost wanting to hand it back.

"He said you and him will be one someday. Is that true?"

John sighed and blinked a few times.

"I haven't the heart to answer that. Without medication, his influence is…more significant. I am hoping the completion of the serum will satiate him, however temporarily."

That he could barely maintain eye contact in relaying this troubled Celine greatly. The thought of John being permanently melded to his more sadistic half, who by the sounds of it was only becoming more powerful, had her contemplating scenarios she didn't care for.

"Medication helps you said?"

"I refuse to go back to Arkham," he all but growled.

"That's fine, we won't let that happen," she assuaged, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Is it possible to get some from a pharmacy?"

"This particular medication is restricted to mental health centers. None of my former colleagues would be willing to assist me, and I would sooner eat a bullet than ask any of them."

She chewed on her lip, unwilling to let this problem remain unsolved.

"What's the name of the prescription?"

He finally looked at her, somewhat stunned that she hadn't yet been deterred.

"Clyzomene. It is a recent addition to the antipsychotics family. The prescription should at least be six hundred milligrams, otherwise it is ineffective. I had my suspicions that coupled with an anticonvulsant like lithium, my condition might further improve. Sadly, Dr. Arkham didn't seem to agree. He still lacks the ability to admit I know more on a subject than him. Ugly trait for such an allegedly esteemed doctor."

"Clyzomene, six hundred milligrams. Lithium. How many milligrams?"

"You have a contact at Arkham who is able to get this for you?"

"No…but that doesn't mean I'm not going to try. I refuse to lose you to Scarecrow, John. This is your body, your mind. He is a ghost wandering the halls, looking for an opportunity to possess you. I won't let that happen."

He hung his head, shoulders trembling a little.

"Thank you," he murmured so softly she barely registered it. "Twenty-four hundred milligrams should be a suitable starting point."

When he looked back up at her, the faintest hint of tears were present. He cleared his throat and blinked rapidly.

"I…good luck, Celine." He straightened up. "Let's hope our paths cross again sooner than later."

She extended her arms and brought him in for a long overdue hug. Her face snuggled into his chest, appreciating the tightness of his arms around her. They made her feel anchored in reality. Not so lost in the what ifs of her plan failing. The what ifs of Scarecrow taking over and never giving John back.

When he departed a minute later, the rain had thankfully returned to a drizzle. She ran a hand once over her facial hair before exiting the alley toward the motel.

Let's hope Celine is successful, otherwise she might be in for a world of hurt!