AN: Oh wow – LOTS of reviews this time! Thanks! And just to clear up the confusion: That last chapter was not the last chapter. "Penultimate" means "next to last." Meaning this is actually the last one, for this story. Sorry for not being clearer! Thanks everyone for being so loyal with your reading and reviewing – I hope you've enjoyed Part 2 of this odd little saga I've put together. Onward!

13: Another Life.

Fear was not important. The clock would run down whether I panicked or not. I took a moment – only a moment – and let the flux of emotions run through me. There was frustration, bitterness, anger, betrayal. It was all my own. Such a strange gift he'd given me, the opportunity to hear no thoughts but my own, in my final breaths. And then I took another moment to decide whether I wanted to live or die. He had not kept his promise properly – that was obvious, whatever excuses he gave. I also could not hear him – he was too far away. Everything he'd said in the tape might prove false. I had to know the truth before I left him behind forever.

I shook my head. "I'm not finished here," I said. And then I stood up.

The clock read 9:42:35. I had no margin for error, but I had what I needed if I acted quickly. The door was out of the question, but the window was plausible. I took the television off of the little table on which it stood and flung the table through the glass. It shattered in an explosion of fractured light, catching stars and moonshine in glittering fragments, and fell to the ground outside. I thought of The Joker and his stained glass window, the beauty of destruction, and almost lost my nerve. Almost. I cut the palms of my hands on the edges of the windowpane, but the pain was bearable. I lowered myself carefully, going from window to window down the side of the building, not looking down, only feeling my way and keeping myself moving.

I reached solid ground in five minutes, and walked away. I did not know where to go, or what I would do when I got there. I let my feet guide me, and clung to the hope that my path would reveal itself to me before I missed it. And then I heard the beating of great wings in the sky, and the building behind me burst into flames. The Bat landed on the road opposite me and took off running toward the wreckage, yelling, "No!" in his distorted voice.

"I'm here, Bruce," I said.

He heard me, stopped, and came back. "You escaped?" he asked.

"How did you find me?" I asked, ignoring his question.

"Same way we found the subway. We put a trace on the video feed."

I nodded. It was fast work; impressive.

"Porphyria," he said.

The name shocked me like cold water. "What did you say?" I asked.

"That's your name, isn't it?" he continued, moving toward me. "You're not the only one who knows how to dig up secrets. It just takes a little more time and effort for the rest of us." A strange wash of compassion and hesitant distrust whirled through his mind. And a singular, unspoken thought: I told you so.

"Say it if you must," I said. "You did warn me."

"I didn't come here to gloat at you. I came here to save your life."

"Well, my life is saved, for now. Your debt is settled."

"I'm not just talking about the bomb."

I crossed my arms tight over my chest. The Bat moved closer, his great cape fluttering like black water in the warm breeze from the flames.

"There are at least thirty dangerous lunatics running around the city right now," he said. "The people that The Joker let loose from Arkham. If I'm going to round them all up safely, I think I'm going to need your help. You can hear them, can't you? You could find them if you wanted to."

"Please, don't—"

"I know you don't want to do this forever. I know because I don't want it either. But you were right. This is who I am." He reached over his head and pulled the mask away. His hair was damp and matted with sweat, and his handsome face was flushed with the heat. He looked almost comically fragile, and human. "I'm not asking you to change. I'm just asking you to use your powers for good instead of evil."

I laughed, and the sound caught me by surprise. He smiled, and I was struck again by the unabashed normalcy in his face.

"If I betray him. . ." I said. "Have you any idea what that would do to him?"

He sighed. "Porphyria, he tried to kill you."

"I know, but this isn't a decision I can come to lightly." But in my heart, the decision was already made. I loathed it, the certainty with which I let him go.

Bruce nodded slowly. "Fair enough. You can hide out at my place until you're ready. I've talked it over with my servant already."

A hollow ache surfaced deep in my chest. "Where is he?" I asked.

"He's alive," said Bruce. "That's all I can tell you right now."

I breathed deep; his compassion was catching. I nodded. "Okay," I said. And then I gave him my hand. "I am sorry about Rachel," I added. "I meant what I said."

His features tightened, and he quickly replaced the mask. "I know," he growled, the adopted voice returning. "I'm sorry if I hurt you before."

"Don't be. I'm glad you didn't hold yourself back for me."

He tucked an arm around my waist, pulling me to his side, and whisked me off into the night. The fire faded into insignificance behind us.