I neither own nor created Batman/Bruce Wayne, Dr. Leslie Thomkins, Alfred Pennyworth, or Dead-Shot. I did create Alice and Madge.

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

The smoke had cleared. And there was no sign of a body. He packed up the equipment, piece by piece like always. No, not like always. His hands were shaking.

He clenched them into fists. They stilled. He finished packing the components into the case and strode to the exit, but he didn't leave the shell, either of the shells. For the first time, he walked away from a job without leaving his calling card. He would come back if the target was were he should be.

. . .

It took a full second after their fall for it to register. The back of his head ached more where it had met the walkway than the side where he had felt the initial impact. Batman's eyes narrowed in confusion. The fact they followed his subconscious command further indicated he had not taken the bullet in a way that caused instantaneous death.

The victim was crawling off him through the doorway. There she turned and looked down at him. The blue, china-plates appeared to have cracks in them. Her voice was a high-pitched squeal.

"Are you okay?!"

He blinked, then sat up. His hand rose to examine the side of the face and skull. Nothing, nothing, fingertips brushed a jagged edge of metal along the top of the cowl. The left antennae was gone.

The bullet had taken it off. The rest of the head-piece had absorbed the impact causing the painless thrust he had felt. His own momentum and doubt had done the rest. Batman sucked in and released a breath. Then he nodded.

"I'm fine."

He rose to his feet. The victim backed away as he entered. As soon as he was over the threshold, he slammed the door shut. The light affixed to the inside panel continued to illuminate the landing.

He looked down. He had already noted her ragged breathing, but now he saw the tears filling her eyes as well. She sniffed.

"I need to get back. I need to call him."

He made eye-contact and held it.

"No. You don't."

The shaking stopped. The tears dried. The blue, china-plate eyes became a perfect reflective surface revealing their surroundings and nothing more. She swiped a closed fist over her face and didn't look up again. He knelt down in front of her.

"Let me see your wrists."

She held up lax hands and bare wrists. He moved slightly to the right so the light could shine on them unimpeded by his shadow. An area of the skin had been rubbed raw.

"Now the feet."

She shuffled to her right and leaned back. The pads of the toes were raw. And those were only the injuries he could see. Who knew what invisible damage there was? He would have to carry her again, but he didn't want a repeat of what happened outside. He rose, took the light down and strapped it to his chest. Now it would illuminate the area in front of him. He took a few steps down the stairs and knelt.

"Get on my back."

He heard her shuffling. Then her arms wrapped around his neck. If he heard either door open or footsteps, he could put her down. His hands could be free and near his belt in seconds. He could even turn around and put her between himself and the wall if enemies came from behind.

The walk down was silence. At the bottom, he put her down and then buckled the spare harness around her. All she did was move her arms as he directed. There was something both convenient and disturbing about her obedience.

After she was secured, he turned the light off and edged the door open. He listened. The running of the river, the rush of traffic overhead, her now far less noisy breathing behind him. He flung the door open and stepped back from it. Nothing changed. He peered around the doorjamb.

His eyes had adjusted to the near pitch black of the stairwell beyond. He could barely make out the outline of the guardrail. He lowered his hand to the belt and moved a dial. The sound of roiling water came from below. He flipped a switch. A whoosh that became a metallic clank echoed up to him.

He held his arm out through the door. Something flashed in the darkness that connected with a snap. The clip of the cable stuck to the surface of his arm guard's magnet. He pulled his arm back inside. The cable followed.

He knelt down in front of the victim. She, finally, had an expression in her eyes again. Wonder mixed with a trace of fear.

He pried the clip off his glove and snapped it onto the ring of her harness. He peered out again, judging the distance one last time. He tossed out a smoke bomb. Then he grabbed her and rushed to the guard rail. She suddenly clung to him. He lowered his voice.

"Scared of heights?"

"N-n-n-n-no."

The hissing sound from the pellet at his feet told him it was running out out of the misting solution. He rested her weight slightly on the rail, reached down, and flipped the switch. The cord retracted until he flipped its control again. The smoke was beginning to dissipate.

"It won't take longer than a minute."

He let go of her, but she didn't let go of him. His jaw tightened. He hardened his tone.

"Let go."

Her arms released him. She swung out and down slightly with a sharp inhale and whimper. He flipped the switch back. She descended faster than he liked, but it might be necessary. The smoke veil was thinning.

He shot his grappling-gun at the ceiling, snapped the cord onto his harness. And jumped after her. He landed on the haul. Reaching out he guided her through the hatch and heard her landing. The motion sensing lights turned on illuminating her figure on the mat floor. He leapt after her, landed, gently pushed her aside, backed away, looked up, and pressed the right button on his belt. The rest of the grappling equipment landed on the mattress with a thump.

The victim yelped and jumped back. He reached up, slammed the hatch shut, went to the controls, and guided the vessel beneath the surface and out from under the bridge before putting it on auto-pilot. The Dark Knight released another breath. Then he turned back to the victim.

"I need to treat those sores and perform a more thorough examination."

. . .

Deadshot entered the elevator and went down to the lobby, through the lobby and out the door, down the street and to the water front, over the bridge walkway and under the bridge, up the stairs and through the door . . . nothing.

There wasn't even a smear of blood or brain matter. Dead-shot's jaw and eyes hardened. His fist clenched around the shells he had carried the entire way. They were nothing.

. . .

Madge stared at the dark entryway, but she heard something before she saw it. The sound seemed too soft to be an engine. It grew clearer rather than louder and then stopped. A shape had moved into the lamplight. The car was so black the lit bulb outlined more than illuminated it. There was a soft whoosh and then a door opened. An equally dark figure appeared and strode around to the other side of the vehicle. With a grin, Madge rose and sprinted for the doorway.

"Hey doc, he's here!"

Madge reached the entrance and saw she had caught his attention. The Bat was staring at her with his mouth pressed into a hard line. He looked just like always, except his mask was missing one of its ear-things. She grinned wider.

"Hi Bat!"

The lines in his face softened slightly. He nodded and then bent down as the passenger side door opened.

"Where's the doctor?"

Madge heard footsteps coming up behind her.

"She's coming. What happened to your mask . . ?"

The Batman had straightened back up with something, someone, in his arms. Madge's eyes flew open, and then hardened.

"What's she doing here?!"

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God Bless

ScribeofHeroes