I neither own nor created Gotham, Bruce Wayne/Batman, Alfred Pennyworth, or Dr. Leslie Thomkins. I did create Madge and the other characters in The Red Light District.

This story is for entertainment purposes only, so please read and be entertained.

Gentle readers, I am sorry I left you without an update so long. There was a death in my family. I took a log car trip that lasted over two weeks in order to travel to the memorial service and back. Since then I have been trying to catch up on a plethora of things including updating me fanfiction stories. I hope this chapter was worth the wait.

Instead of walking straight towards her patient with the tray of medical supplies, Leslie turned and headed up a few stairs that led to a door. There she expertly turned the knob while balancing the tray. She pushed the door open and turned back to her patient.

"Follow me upstairs, the light's better there."

"Why would you trust me in your house?"

"I can get in touch with Batman."

"You have me there."

. . .

Patient and Physician sat at the latter's kitchen table with the overhead lights illuminating the former's injuries. Dr. Leslie Thomkins disinfected the cuts, scrapes, and places rubbed raw. She noted the younger woman only winced and made faces when the iodine touched the most sensitive areas. Madge' lack of reaction disturbed more than impressed her. Leslie moved from treating the right wrist to treating the left. Her patient stirred in her seat.

"Hey doc?"

"Yes."

"Is Bat, uh, you know, special?"

"Explain what you mean by 'special'."

"I mean . . . well . . . He's survived stuff you wouldn't think someone could."

"Praise the almighty for that."

"Does he . . . have a deal with somebody in charge upstairs or down?"

"Not that I know of."

"Oh."

Leslie looked up from her work and made eye-contact with her patient. She broke it and went back to her task before speaking again.

"If I were you, I'd be more concerned about my future than someone else's secrets."

"Why? I'll probably just go back to the old neighborhood and get picked up by somebody else."

"Is that what you want?"

Madge shrugged. "It's how I survive."

"You could say that. You could also say it's how you're being slowly killed."

The patient scowled at her doctor. "Do you have a lecture you want to spew on me?"

"More like an offer to make. If you can think of and then tell me about any other interest or skill you have, I'll try to find you a way to live off it."

"What's in it for you?"

"I'm a doctor. I don't like seeing people in unhealthy situations." Madge snorted. Dr. Thomkins met her gaze and continued. "If I can do the same for all the ladies in your old neighborhood, maybe our mutual friend won't have to risk his life to save theirs so often."

Madge stiffened beneath Leslie's touch. After half a minute, the doctor continued. "So, are you at all interested?"

Silence lengthened between the two. Dr. Thomkins finished disinfecting the cuts, put down and organized her supplies, turned back to her patient, and continued to wait for an answer. After another minute, the other woman spoke.

"I'll let you know in the morning."

Leslie rose from her chair. Madge looked up.

"Hey doc, is he . . . hurt?"

"That's privileged."

. . .

Bruce Wayne's godmother stood over her most and least favorite patient. She hadn't found any signs of a concussion, so she knew she didn't have any reason to stay with him as his physician. Her heart rebelled with a desire to stay with her godson. She knew him well enough to know he wouldn't see the need for that, though, or admit it if he did. So, she acted the part of his physician.

"The pain reliever should kick in soon. I'll contact Alfred and let him know you'll be staying here. I don't suppose you'll listen if I ask you to not move around much for a few days?"

"Probably not."

"That's what I expected."

Leslie began to leave. The voice of her godson stopped her.

"How was she?"

"I think she's been through worse. What's already been done to her hasn't destroyed her, yet. We can try to help her further if she lets us, but she has to let us, Bruce. You can't always be there for people. The best thing you can do for them is teach them to take care of themselves."

"I know. You've been telling me so for fifteen years."

"And I'm still not convinced it's sunk in."

. . .

Leslie stepped back into the kitchen where she'd left Madge eating some leftovers from her fridge and holding a bag of frozen peas to her swollen eye. She noted the younger woman had finished her meal. The doctor headed toward the door opposite to the one she'd entered through.

"I'll show you to the guest room."

"I can sleep on the couch."

"You'll sleep in the guest room." Leslie led her to the same room Bruce had slept in for most of a day just a week before. "There's an adjoining bathroom with unopened packages of toiletries. Don't lock the door when I step out. I'll be right back in after I get something."

Madge had just removed a toothbrush from its package when she heard the bedroom door open. She peeked out to see Dr, Thomkins tossing a flannel nightgown onto the bedspread.

"It's old-fashioned, but it should fit you."

As Leslie turned to leave again, Madge stepped out of the bathroom and called after her.

"Hey Doc?"

Leslie turned back. "Do you need something else?"

"No, I think you've got everything covered. I was just wondering, are you the one who taught the Bat to be . . . so . . ."

"Selfless?"

"Yeah that works."

"I've received blame for it before."

"Oh, that explains a lot."

"I'm taking tomorrow off. I'll see you when you've rested."

"Sure, thanks for . . . everything."

"Goodnight Miss Robertson."

After the door closed Madge stared at it for a few minutes.

"No one's called me that in a long time."

. . .

The sounds of Leslie preparing breakfast, or at least the first meal she or her guests ate that day, helped Madge find her way back to the kitchen. Leslie said good afternoon. Her guest mumbled something and took her seat. Dr. Thomkins asked her guest how she liked her eggs, toast, bacon, and coffee. Madge gave her one word answers. Both women ate in silence until the younger woman broke it.

"Did you already take the Bat his?"

"He ate first and already left. He asked me to reassure you he was fine, and told me to update him on your condition. Don't believe the first part for a microsecond."

"What about the second?"

"Don't not believe it for a microsecond."

There was another two minutes of silence before Madge spoke again.

"I don't want him . . . I don't want whatever can happen to him to happen, because of me. But I've been doing this since . . . well, I never finished high school."

"What did you do for fun during your childhood?"

Madge shrugged. "I took an art class. The teacher kept saying I was good."

"Do you still create art?"

Madge shrugged again. "I draw."

Leslie got up from the table, left the room, and came back with a piece of paper and a sharpened #2 pencil. "Draw something for me."

"Like what?"
"Whatever you want."

"With one good eye?"

"Just do what you can."

Madge picked up the pencil, placed one hand on the paper, leaned in, and with swift movements put an image on the page. She craned her neck one way or the other on occasion compensating for having an eye bruised shut. Leslie watched while sipping her tea. Fifteen minutes later, Madge leaned back and sighed. She dropped the pencil and folded her graphite-smudged fingers together.

Leslie reached over and pulled the paper to herself. She turned it around and raised an eyebrow. She was looking at herself.

The dimensions of her features had been tweaked in a cartoon style, but it was clearly her. She looked stern. One brow was lowered and the other raised. Her hands were folded on the table before her. Her eyes glinted with intelligence, interest, suspicion? Yet, in obvious and comical contrast, a shining halo appeared above her head. Leslie felt a corner of her mouth quirk up before she straightened it out again.

"This is good, and I'm not just saying that because it's an obvious flattery of me. You have a remarkable talent and unique style."

"Seriously?"

"I am almost always serious. I most certainly am now. I need to talk to a few people. In the mean time, my housekeeper is due for a vacation. If you live here, you'll participate in the household upkeep. Can you do that?"

"You might want to see my apartment before putting me in charge of your house's hygiene."

"I can have someone give you a few instructions in that regard, if you'll be a willing student."

Madge looked down are her darkened fingertips.

"You really think you could get me a job drawing?"

"I can look into it."

"But succeeding would mean you lose a free housekeeper."

"Miss Robertson."

Madge looked up and met the woman's ice-blue eyes. "You can walk out of this door and go back to someone you know will take advantage of you, or you can stay and see if I do."

"I can leave whenever I want?"

"As long as all you take with you is what you came with and what I give you to treat your injuries."

"Like you'd ever let me leave with just that."

After a minute of staring at the older woman, Madge shrugged her shoulders. "I'll give it a try."

. . .

Two men stood staring at the body of their past associate. One man's face was lax in mild pity. The other man's expression was tight in disgust. The former pulled the sheet back over the cold face.

"Roberto shouldn't have tried it on his own."

"He shouldn't have trusted that (censored)."

"He was right about one thing though." The other man said while squinting at the ceiling. "The Batman did come for the broad."

"What are you thinking, boss?"

The "boss" took a draw on his cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke before answering. Technically you weren't supposed to smoke in the Gotham morgue, but no one ever seemed to tell this particular smoker "no." Even his enemies preferred to give him their refusals through strong "messages" rather than face to face. He liked to give his responses to them a lot of thought.

"The plan does call for bait."

"He's already got the one that was special to him."

"They're all 'special' to him." The boss turned toward the door and the other man followed listening as his employer continued. "If it's not asking too much of the men, see if they can hang out around that neighborhood and pick up a girl with a real sympathetic look. This time none of our boys will be anywhere near the Bat or the broad when he comes for her."

"How much are we paying this out-of-towner?"

The boss turned on his subordinate with a deep scowl.

"He's the best, Marco.

Marco looked down at the floor. The other man let the scowl drop, turned, and began to walk toward the door again. "But he gave us a special deal. Our description of the target interested him."

"How long before he arrives, boss?"

"Long enough for you to get acquire suitable bait to lure the game to the hunter."

Reviews are much appreciated and often responded to. They tell me what I did right so I can do more of it and what I did wrong so I can fix it. J