When Celine finally came to, it was done so with the utmost reluctance. She had been at peace, floating endlessly in the abyss, liberated of a physical body. No one could hurt her, no one could touch her; reality was a non-existent concept. A boogeyman of the mind. She wanted no part of it, content with being bodiless and eternal.

But alas, that peace was not meant to last.

Her eyes fluttered open, pockets of light invading her corneas. The slightest facial twitch had her retreating back into the darkness. Why did it hurt so much to form emotions on her face? Why did it ache every time she swallowed?

A room swam into view as she cracked both eyes open. She was surrounded by a rainbow of colors; melting into each other without end. No, not a rainbow. Flowers. She was surrounded by flowers.

Five vases rested in her immediate view, carrying an assortment of daisies, tulips, lilacs, roses, and a stemmy black and orange fella she couldn't identify.

As her eyes adjusted, she located more vases near the foot of her bed. She couldn't count them all, there were so many. Pinks, fuchsias, lavenders, crimsons…had she woken up to her own funeral?

Her head twisted in the opposite direction. Beeping monitors greeted her as well as a needle tucked into the vein of her right arm; connecting up to an IV. She gathered she was at the hospital. It took a minute to recall why.

Tentatively, her eyes traveled down to her right hand. It'd been re-bandaged from Ed's previous effort. Properly this time. And snug enough that she miraculously felt no pain, though she attested this to being pumped full of painkillers.

She tried wiggling the fingers of her bandaged hand, grimacing when they cramped up on her.

A loud snore diverted her attention to the individual attempting to slumber in a chair far too small for him.

Bruce's head was propped against a palm, body tucked into itself, long legs spilling over the edge of the chair. His hair was messy and askew. He was outfitted in a long-sleeved gray t-shirt and a pair of festive red and silver plaid pajama bottoms that she'd gotten for him last Christmas. Her heart warmed at seeing him in them, fully convinced she never would.

Another snore traveled out of him. She was content to watch, but her bladder had other plans.

Taking a deep breath, she worked on propping herself up. A shaky groan stumbled out as her muscles and joints stirred from slumber. She winced at the stiffness in her body, and then winced again as her face throbbed in retaliation of her movements.

"Celine?"

She turned to Bruce, who was moving to his feet.

"Bathroom," she voiced hoarsely.

He removed the needle from her vein as delicately as possible. One arm extended toward her. She wrapped her right one around his shoulder, letting his hand settle on her back. Carefully, they maneuvered her to the edge of the bed. She lifted her legs and set her feet on the cold tile floor.

"Take your time," he said, keeping a tight grip on her. "You've been asleep for two days. Your legs need to remember how to move."

"Two days?" she repeated, brows furrowing.

He nodded.

She attempted to stand, but immediately fell back into the bed. Bruce's arm ensured she wouldn't be meeting the floor anytime soon.

Her next attempt went a little more successfully. She teetered in place, using Bruce's arm as an iron bar of support. The muscles in her calves ached beneath her weight.

"Why do I feel like I've been hit by a bus?"

Bruce's lips twitched.

"Probably because you look it."

She scowled at him, but there wasn't any real malice behind it.

Slowly she made her way to the bathroom, Bruce's hand glued to her lower back.

"I got it," she said.

He released her.

She closed the door and went to the toilet. Not wishing to aggravate her right hand any, she worked on shimmying out of her panties with the assistance of her left. Once she was properly relieved, she washed her left hand and risked a glimpse in the mirror.

"Crucifix on a cracker," she mumbled.

Bruce hadn't been kidding, she looked as battered as she felt. Maroon and plum-colored bruises cradled her cheeks. Her split lip was crusted over with blood. One eye was puffier than the other, forcing her eyelid into a half squint. Her jawline was scattered with dark tan splotches and her nose had been bandaged over, though there was a distinct crookedness to it that made her wonder if it wouldn't be permanent.

Whomever cleaned her up had ridden her of the facial hair Stephanie glued to her face, causing the bruises to radiate against her skin. Her black hair was slick with grease and matted with tangles. A shower was definitely in the forecast.

She poured some water into her left palm and worked on wiping down her face; the coldness helping lull her back into a conscious state. She also drank a few handfuls just to moisturize her scratchy throat.

When she opened the door, Bruce was hovering near the chair, typing out a text on his phone. He looked up and pocketed the device before reaching into his opposite pocket and pulling out her cell phone.

"Nurses found it on you when they were cleaning you up. You also had a knife on you, but with the way security is here nowadays I had Alfred take it back to my place."

He was frowning as he handed her the phone. She understood why very quickly. At some point during the tussling around on the bus, she must have landed funny on it. The screen had splintered into six or seven sizable cracks. She turned the phone on, relieved it at least worked.

Nine unread messages blinked back at her.

She ambled back to the bed and hopped on, slithering her lower body beneath the sheet. Before responding to the messages, she wanted a quick recap on all that'd occurred during her two days of hibernation.

Bruce sank down in the chair and leaned forward, elbows resting atop his knees. He opened his mouth but didn't say anything.

"Digging the PJ's," she remarked.

He smiled weakly.

"I haven't left since you got checked in. Alfred dropped by overnight clothes. Can't say I had much of a vote in what he'd be delivering."

She re-scanned her environment.

"Any chance you can tell me how I came to acquire my own garden?"

His smile was a little lighter.

"City Council members…the ones not facing charges at least. A show of thanks for getting their children back safe and sound."

She nodded, surprised and touched by the gesture.

"Aesop?" she blurted, locking her gaze on him. "Is he…did the police-?"

"He's fine," he assured. "Holed up at my place until we get things sorted out."

"Did he tell you about wanting protection from Joker? I…promised him that. If you can't deliver on it, I'll have to find another way to honor his request. He risked his life to help me. I'm not going to leave him hanging."

"I'm taking care of it, I promise." He was observing her bruised face. "Celine…"

He sighed, palming some newly developed stubble.

"Before you start," she warned, "consider all the times you've gone out as Batman on dangerous missions, only to return in just as rough a state as I'm in. I'm not sorry I did it. But I am sorry for not keeping you in the loop. I figured you had bigger fish to fry. Are…is Councilman Silverra still alive?"

"He is." He rubbed his hands together. "Thank you."

Stunned, she tilted her head.

"Did I hear that right?"

"I hope so. I don't plan on repeating it."

She smirked, drawing her knees up and wrapping her left hand around them.

"Fill me in, Bruce. What all did I miss?"

He nodded.

"I had Silverra under my protection and was on my way to Millburn's apartment but got there too late. That evening Gordon received a tip on the kids' location, but by the time reinforcements arrived, the hotel was up in flames. We assumed the worst…until you and Aesop showed up at Gotham General. As you can imagine, the media had a field day."

Her eyes widened.

"Please tell me I'm not going to get hounded the moment I step outside this building."

"You won't," he assured. "I know how you feel about being in the public eye. Aesop wanted nothing to do with the spotlight either. I had some legal documents drawn up, of which each councilmember signed. They're not allowed to identify either of you by name or accept any interviews on how their children were returned to them. You're in the clear on that front."

Her whole body slumped in relief.

"Thank you." She reclined back against the pillows. "Martial law still in effect?"

"No. Once word got out the kids were safe it was enough to deter most residents to their home."

"And Aesop is okay?" she reconfirmed.

"Yes. Just as worried about you as you are about him. He clued me in on how you came to be in the state you're in." His eyes dropped to her bandaged hand. "I admit…it's taking a lot not to hunt down this…Gil and return the favor. From what Aesop spoke of him, he's long overdue for a taste of his own medicine."

"Batman doesn't do revenge," she reminded. "What's done is done. We have to accept that."

"What if I don't want to?" His voice broke. "Celine…it kills me to see you like this. To know you were defenseless against someone who was willing to do that to you for fun. I'm not a vengeful person, but when it comes to you…he'll be dealt with one way or another."

She could tell he'd made his mind up on this. For the time being she wouldn't try to dissuade him. Hopefully a week or two would help him find clarity again. Gil wasn't worth the trouble of bloodying Batman's hands beyond recognition.

"If it's any consolation, I understand a little better why it is you do what you do," she said. "There's a thrill to saving the day. A rush that hits when you're in the midst of gunfire and death. It's almost enough to make you high."

He seemed surprised.

"You felt that too?"

"After throwing John's toxin at Joker's guys, yeah. It hit like a shot of epinephrine." She tilted her head. "Maybe we could be sidekicks? Batman and the artist formerly known as Pinky? Or, Batman and the Missing Pink?"

He rolled his eyes.

"Good to know your sense of humor hasn't taken a beating."

"Never." She winked at him. "Has Joker been found yet?"

"No. Gordon is prioritizing his capture above all else. He came very close to dismantling one of this city's primary institutions. We can't allow something like that to happen again."

She nodded in agreement.

"I've got a police officer stationed outside your room," he informed. "They'll be there around the clock. Just in case."

"You think he'll try having me killed?"

"I don't know, but it couldn't hurt to take the precaution. You didn't just ruin his plan, you embarrassed him. For as…fond as he is of you, I don't know that it will be enough to avoid some form of retaliation."

She made to respond, but the door opened, and a nurse walked in. Upon noticing the IV needle out of her arm, she frowned.

"Sorry," Celine said. "I had to use the bathroom."

"Hit the call button next time you do so someone can come and put it back in," she answered, stopping at her bedside and taking her arm. "We've been giving you a steady dose of Oxycodone. You're not going to like how you feel when it wears off."

When the needle slid back into her vein, she barely flinched. The pain she'd experienced in the previous days made the injection feel like a tickle in comparison.

"Do you happen to know when I can be discharged?"

"It's on the doctor to decide. I'll have him come by after you get some food in you. How are you feeling?"

She shrugged.

"Face throbs a little, but it's bearable. My right hand…tingles, and the other fingers feel kind of weak. I tried to turn on the faucet in the bathroom with them…it was like moving a heavy door."

"That's to be expected" she said. "Stiffness, sensitivity to cold, numbness, tingling…it will take time for these side effects to wear off. The doctor will give you more information on how your surgery went and what steps to take to ensure your injury heals over properly. I'll be back with something to eat and drink."

"Thank you."

When she left, Celine examined her hand again.

"That would have been such an anticlimactic way to die," she remarked, more to herself. "I hope my death will be a lot neater than that."

She smiled at Bruce's grimace. He didn't always share the same macabre sense of humor as she did, this being one of those times.

"Wesley stopped by," he redirected. "Considering how quickly you two hit it off, I figured you would want him in the know about your condition."

"What did you tell him happened?"

"Mugging gone wrong. He appeared more concerned about how you looked rather than how you got to be in that state. He also told me something about a birthday gift…"

She ran a hand through her hair.

"Ugh…I haven't had the chance to even think about that."

"It might be exactly what you need. Gotham's done a number on you this past month. And I know how much you love to explore. I hope you say yes."

"It's a lot to arrange on such short notice."

"Whatever you need me to help you with, I will." He grew serious. "I'm not trying to run you out of the city, but I do think you need a break from here."

"And I'll get one," she said. "My annual trip home to Maine? I pushed it up, it'll be one of these coming weekends. Leaving the country for three months...it's not only a break, it's a commitment. I don't know that I'm ready yet to say yes."

He looked like he wished to add on more but nodded instead.

"Well, if you do agree, let me know. I don't mind bearing the weight of your apartment's rent for those three months."

"You shouldn't have to."

"A small price to pay to see you happy."

She blushed at the tenderness in which he voiced this.

"You're too good to me. I have to pinch myself on the regular to make sure I didn't hallucinate you into existence." She pinched her forearm. "Yep, you're still here. But so is that tall, dark-robed figure in the corner there."

Bruce's head whipped around. She burst into giggles, one arm clutching her tummy.

"Ooh boy…you're too easy sometimes."

He shot her a glare, which only made her beam harder.

The nurse returned with a tray of food and a bottled water.

"I have to go back to work for a little bit," Bruce mentioned after the nurse left. "I'll be back in a couple of hours. What do you want me to pick you up for dinner?"

She poked at her Jello with a fork, frowning when it barely moved.

"Something greasy."

"I can do that." Before he went to the door, he stopped at her bed and gave her a onceover. "I'm not good with words, but…seeing you when they removed you from the bus…it made me feel like I'd failed you."

She made to disagree, but he brought a hand up.

"I know you did what you did from the same place that I do what I do. To condemn you for that is hypocritical, which isn't my intention. What I'm trying to say is…I'm proud of you. You continue to prove why this city is worth saving. I just hope next time, you'll clue me in on your plan. If I can avoid putting you in that much danger, I will."

He cupped her cheek, thumb brushing over it.

She wrapped four fingers around his wrist and brought the heel of his palm to her lips, kissing the skin there softly.

"I'll do my best," she answered quietly.

He stroked her cheek a final time before heading to the door. She noticed the back of a blue, uniformed body stepping to the side to let him out.

The next few hours were spent answering text messages and conversing with Dr. Ensinger (the surgeon that had tended to her hand).

Shortly upon arrival, she had been admitted into surgery. It took Dr. Ensinger roughly two hours to rid the wound of dead tissue and any outside residue that'd gotten caught inside. He mentioned she was fortunate the cut had been done so cleanly as it prevented him from doing any additional bone reconstruction, which would have elongated her recovery time.

After dousing the area in a saline solution, he spent a half hour meticulously stitching the wound up. Sensitivity to cold, he had relayed, would be the one side effect that'd hang around for weeks, possibly months or years to come. It all depended on how well the nerves healed up.

Overall, he relayed, she would need to keep re-applying a film dressing to her wound for at least six to eight weeks before returning to get her stitches out; avoiding if at all possible, soaking it in water.

Her heart had sunk upon hearing this. She was a summer child born off the Atlantic coast. Swimming came as naturally as breathing, and there was nothing like a couple hours in the ocean on a hot summer day in Maine to reinvigorate her. She would adhere to his order only because she didn't care to get her hand infected.

When she inquired about a potential discharge, he admitted to wanting to keep her the duration of today and tomorrow. Just to make sure everything was healing the way it needed to. He'd written out a prescription for a dose of non-addictive painkillers as well as antibiotics to eliminate any lingering signs of an infection. The film dressings she needed to buy were waterproof, but only for short windows of time. She could take a quick shower, but no soaking in the bathtub. Her wound would then need to be gently dried afterward.

"What you're prescribing me," she'd mentioned, "will it interfere with the antidepressants I'm on?"

He glanced at her chart, sifting through a few pages until landing on her medical history.

"No, not unless you consume alcohol on a semi-frequent basis. If that's the case, I would advise taking it easy for the duration of your prescriptions' requirements."

She was put at ease hearing this, knowing this wouldn't be an issue.

Before she was officially discharged, he would go over some physical therapy exercises she could do at home to help return natural movement to her remaining fingers as well as teach her the proper way to put on a new dressing on the occasion she had no one else to do it for her.

"You were lucky to get in when you did," he remarked just before departing. "Had you waited any longer, especially after falling unconscious, you'd have bled out. Someone must be keeping a watchful eye over you."

Watchful eye indeed, she thought, thinking of a certain homicidal clown.

The cracks on her phone screen made it difficult to respond to everyone in a timely manner. Just as well, each time she tried holding her phone in her right hand like she normally did, it slipped; relying on the grip her pinky normally had on it. When she switched to type with her left, her thumb moved at a snail's pace. To say she was a little frustrated would be an understatement.

No need to get worked up over it. Like all things in life, adaptability is key.

Taj's texts centered around informing her of Councilman Millburn's unfortunate demise as well as near frantic demands to touch back with him. She shot back that she was at the hospital, recuperating, and thanked him for checking in on her.

She was pleased to find John had texted her, though her pulse was nearly in her throat by the time she finished reading his message.

I stopped by last evening to visit you but did not count on a police officer being there. It appears our reunion will have to be postponed. I am pleased to hear all went well with your surgery. Check your room for a vase of black dahlias…if I recall correctly they are some of your favorites.

It was wise of Wayne to legally conceal your involvement…your aversion to the media's scrutiny is understandable. Speaking of…my encounter with Joker went as well as to be expected…though he showed a similar tolerance for the serum as you. I'll need to examine the reasons for this reaction further. I also told him Bruce Wayne was the Bat Man. I would have thought he'd find more humor in the revelation, but he appeared…intrigued. I know Wayne is not the Bat, but I am not sure if Joker believes similarly. I hope I have not unjustly put Wayne in harm's way. I know how much he means to you.

Let me know when you are discharged. It has been too long since we have enjoyed each other's company without some form of threat lingering over us. I hope to see you soon.

"Damn it," she muttered, sinking into her pillow. "He couldn't have come up with someone else?"

It struck her as odd that he would name Bruce when he had so many other names to choose from. Was it intentional? To gauge her reaction? Or did he just have it out for her billionaire friend?

She held off on responding to him for the time being. Something told her she needed to be careful in how she worded her reply.

Agatha had shot her a text, which instilled guilt in her before she even read it. Was the universe bent on ensuring they never saw one another?

Thankfully, the message was far more understanding than she'd anticipated.

I hope your recovery is speedy and that you are being well-looked after. You are welcome to stop by the store anytime. The cats miss seeing you just as much as I.

She brought the phone to her chest and smiled. The woman seemed to always know when she was in a pickle. She'd have attributed the knowledge to a miracle but knew better. Agatha had a little something extra going on compared to the average human being. Had Dr. Ensinger not wanted to keep her as long as he did, she would be on the way to Agatha's in her hospital gown, so persistent was the urge to see her.

Having taken care of all her messages, Celine threw on the television just to give her something to focus on besides her current state. Every so often she would glance down at her right hand and get struck by a wave of dizziness. Her finger was actually gone. It wouldn't grow back. She really was down to nine.

The main news channels were obsessed with covering the aftermath of the children's rescue. How they spun what actually happened had her deeply amused. They were of the impression that two of Joker's men had had a change of heart and defied their boss's order in lieu of saving the children. If she was honest with herself, Joker was taking a bit of a blow to his reputation from the way they molded the events. Clearly, one news anchor had the guts to say, Joker isn't as infallible as he thinks he is.

She laughed a little at hearing that. Then laughed harder envisioning Joker hearing that. If she'd not been on his shit list before, she certainly was now. Why that thought didn't instill more anxiety into her, she hadn't a clue.

As promised, Bruce stopped by later in the evening with two large takeout trays, one of which held her favorite breakfast hash on this planet from a rickety joint called Betsy Ross II. Breakfast was one of those meals she could eat any time of the day, so generous was her love for it. A hash from Betsy's was no exception.

She thanked Bruce profusely for the meal in between mouthfuls of food.

He hung around until visiting hours were over, watching a few reruns of The Twilight Zone with her while keeping her updated on the media circus underway outside the hospital's doors.

"By the way," he diverted during a commercial break, "you made a good call on trusting Aesop. I know I gave you a hard time about it, but he's not what I thought one of Joker's men would be like. And he picks up around the place, which frustrates Alfred a little. I don't think he's ever felt so useless."

"I'm glad you're starting to see in him what I did. How's ah-how's it coming along with the witness protection?"

Bruce sighed.

"Gordon will grant him protection, but only in exchange for more information on Joker. It's not often he gets to interrogate his people. The few times he does, they either suffer a convenient mishap or lawyer up. Aesop is a goldmine. Unfortunately, he refuses to accept Gordon's conditions. Not that I blame him really. He has just as big of a target on his back as you do."

She nodded, not all that surprised to hear of Aesop's reluctance to cooperate. In his eyes, keeping his mouth shut was the safer alternative.

"So, what happens now?"

"He'll stay with me until I figure out a suitable arrangement."

It was only when he was getting ready to head out that Celine remembered John's text message.

"Uh…so funny story." She cleared her throat. "Joker may or may not be under the impression that you're Batman."

Her shoulders tensed as she spoke, tempted to close her eyes just to spare herself his reaction.

Bruce straightened up.

"And why would he think that?"

"John may or may not have told him. But only because I asked him to. We needed something juicy to get Joker away from where the kids were. I swear I had no idea he'd drop your name. I told him to make it up."

"He must suspect something then," was his calmer than she'd anticipated answer. "Which means I'll need to behave more obnoxiously than usual to throw him off."

She grimaced.

"Sorry."

"I don't think Joker will buy into it," he offered. "He's convinced himself Batman is someone similar to him. It'd be a kick to his ego if Crane was right."

"Well…be careful nevertheless. John said Joker's curiosity was piqued. I don't want you caught off guard in case he tries something."

"I'll keep a look out." He paused beside her bed. "I'll be back tomorrow afternoon after our shareholder meeting is over. Promise not to do something that will cause me to sport gray hair early?"

"A tall order you've requested, sir. I'll do my very, very best to keep your gorgeous locks brunette."

He cuffed her cheek playfully before leaning in and planting a kiss on her forehead.

"I love you, Celine."

She rubbed her cheek over his knuckles.

"Love you too, Bruce."

She passed out shortly after he left, mind and body thoroughly spent.

The next morning's breakfast was brought to her by the same nurse (not nearly to the quality of Betsy's, but potatoes po-tah-toes), and Dr. Ensinger popped by for a half hour to rebandage and redress her hand as well as show her some exercises she could do to re-animate and re-strengthen her fingers. They were less stiff than the day prior, but she still had difficulty doing something as simple as holding her phone without dropping it.

Dr. Ensinger was patient with her frustrations, assuring her that with diligence, she'd regain proper use of her fingers in no time. He also noted the swelling had gone down considerably in her right eye, to which she agreed as she no longer had to squint to see out of it. One bandage he permanently removed was the one covering her nose.

"Have you suffered damage to your nose prior to this most recent injury?" he asked after trashing the material.

"I had it broken earlier in June."

"That explains it. I'm afraid the prior damage inhibited me from repositioning it all the way straight. Surgery would be required to mend it fully."

She considered the option, briefly cursing Joker for creating a trend. Let's see how many times Celine can get her nose broken before she begins to resemble Pinocchio's fucked up cousin?

"That won't be necessary," she decided, shuddering at the thought of what her hospital bill would be after such a venture. "Thank you."

She killed time watching TV and examining all the flowers she'd received, most of which were in the early stages of wilting. A windowless hospital room was not the proper place for them. She was eager to get them home and under some proper sunlight, especially John's. He'd been spot on in remembering black dahlias were some of her favorite.

Back in high school, when she had free time from her job or wasn't partying it up with Cathy and their crew of friends, she would take to cruising the backroads of Calgary Cliff and the nearby counties. Her sixteen-year old self had deemed them "ditch-side wildflowers". Sometimes she'd hit a patch of dirt road where the sides of the ditch were lined with thin stemmed, fully bloomed flowers. Flowers you would never see in a florist shop or a wedding; they grew in too turbulent and unpredictable an environment.

She would stop off to the side to pick them, sometimes walking a half mile just to pluck out a color she didn't have clutched in her hand. They mostly ended up inside a vase for her mom or on her dashboard beneath the windshield, though sometimes she would slip the stems underneath the edges of her trunk door, so the flowers were peeking out all the way around the trunk. It was strange how those seemed like simpler times, even though she hadn't been nearly as strong nor as self-aware as she was now.

Ignorance is bliss; bliss is fleeting.

In the middle of her lunch, a knock sounded at the door. She tilted her head, curious as to who it could be. Those who knew she was here didn't need to bother themselves with the gesture.

When the door parted, so did her mouth.

She had only ever seen him on her television or phone screen. In person, he was much taller.

Coucilman Silverra wandered in, clad in an expensive three-piece black suit and a charcoal tie. He was about Bruce's height, but half his build, equipped with a full head of silver hair that'd been gelled back. Misty blue eyes immediately sought her out, though he hovered a considerable distance from her; as if waiting for her permission to move closer.

"Hello," she stated, lowering her spoon of pudding.

"Miss Harlow, a pleasure." He bowed his head. "I'm James Silverra. I-ah…I was hoping for a moment of your time to thank you personally for…ehm…saving my life."

He looked down at his feet, not appearing to quite know what to do with his hands. Clearly, apologizing wasn't something that came naturally to him. Even his apology after the scandal broke regarding what public funds were being spent on, had read like a carefully constructed deflection of responsibility via his PR person.

"You're welcome."

She didn't particularly care to be in his company for longer than needed.

"If there's anything I can do for you…anything at all…you only need to ask."

Her brows furrowed.

"You're staying on as a councilmember?"

He avoided her gaze.

"Gotham needs to be reassured that the actions of the past few days haven't inhibited the council's ability to function amicably."

She crossed her arms, re-scanning him.

"Do you understand why Joker did what he did?"

He pursed his lips.

"Of course. He's a madman. No rhyme or reason behind any of it."

She fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"He did what he did," she said, "because the three of you, elected by the people, behaved immorally and dishonestly. You stole public funds to have fun privately. While none of you deserved to experience the past few days, I had hoped it would have woken you up a little. You are not a public servant and the fact that you're choosing to stay on as one does more harm than good. Hell, maybe Joker will try coming for you a second time. He has a healthy track record of getting his target."

His face paled considerably.

"You said anything I want, it's mine," she said. "I want your resignation."

He opened his mouth to argue, but she shook her head.

"Resign and leave the city. You've done enough damage to it already, haven't you?"

His lips moved, but nothing came out. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"No chance of you wanting something else?"

"None. This city won't heal and rebuild unless you're gone."

That he didn't try to fight her harder informed her he'd maybe debated doing something similar already.

Her request might have seemed cruel, but he'd corroded her trust in him beyond salvageability. No good would be done if he stayed on the council. It would reflect Gotham's apathy, Gotham's lack of holding someone accountable. He was exactly the sort of person one of her favorite philosophers - Marcus Aurelius - would have condemned for their lack of a steady, internal moral compass. And though she'd mentioned it purely to spook him, Joker may very well try to finish the job he'd started should he continue holding his position. In Joker's mind, the message hadn't been clear enough the first time. Men like Silverra should not be in positions of power. He wouldn't fail getting that across a second time.

"I-would you permit me to stay for the Millburn's funeral? It won't be more than two hours."

"That's fine," she decided.

He nodded sharply.

"Well uh-thank you again Miss Harlow."

He didn't bother waiting for her response, quickly shutting the door after him.

Slightly dazed by what'd just happened, she elected on a nap. Doing the right thing was never not exhaustive work.