Disclaimer: Don't own Batman, don't own Dent, don't own Alfred (I'm working on that last bit, though). I do own the insanity at the end of this chapter, though. Hope you like it (or at least feel it warrants a review).

Chapter 8: Split the Difference

December 10

7:35 am. Harvey Dent knocked on the door of Lieutenant Gordon's office. He heard a muffled "Come in," so he pushed it open and walked inside. Dent surveyed the room with a slightly amused look in his eyes. Papers and case files were open all over the room, and he only had more for the overworked cop. He sat in the chair across from Gordon's desk and waited patiently for him to look up.

"What do you have, Dent?" Gordon asked.

Okay, Harvey thought, so he doesn't have to look up. "It's another guy, beaten half to death. This one was wanted for a triple homicide."

"Was wanted?"

"Yep," Gordon finally lifted his head, "Before he died in the hospital from his injuries," Dent leaned forward, "Are you sure it's not your Batman that's doing this?"

Gordon shook his head, "No. He's too honorable for that. And he's not mine. I don't think anybody could own that guy."

"How do you know he hasn't changed his moral code?"

"I've met him."

"So? You've met me. Don't you think it's possible that I could suddenly turn into some sort of psychopath?"

"I wouldn't doubt it for a second," the district attorney managed to look annoyed; "You should meet him. I'll introduce you, and then you'll get what I mean."

"All right. Introduce me to the Batman, and maybe then he could help us with this case. You did say that he was some sort of detective, right?"

"He's probably already hunting the guy that's doing this. Batman doesn't take too kindly to people killing other people in his territory. Even if they do deserve it."

"Only the one has died so far. The rest are just in intensive care. You know, internal hemorrhaging and the like"

Gordon smiled grimly, "Close to death counts, too. Only thing is, this guy's not doing it for kicks. All of the ones that have been attacked remember him asking something about the Joker. Man's got an agenda."

"Must be some sort of revenge thing. You should start by looking at the survivors of the Joker attacks."

Gordon nodded thoughtfully, "You're right," he pulled up a file on his computer and started scanning it intently.

Harvey watched him for a moment before standing, "Well, I'd better get going. I've got one or two more stops to make before I can go in to work. I wonder if Rachel Dawes was ever this busy."

"Yeah, she was. Used to some in here all the time. That was one persistent woman. She almost never lost a case."

"I wish I'd have gotten to meet her. She sounds like an amazing person."

"She was."

11:36 am. Bruce woke up to Alfred turning the television on in his room. He sat up, massaging his shoulder, "What…" he yawned widely, the continued, "What are you doing?" he asked.

"I thought you might like to see this, sir," Alfred replied, pointing to the screen. Bruce looked over, and was met by Leah's face smiling back at him. It was a picture from a camping trip, judging by the lake behind her. She had her arm wrapped around her brother's shoulder, and they were both dripping wet and laughing. Then the announcer appeared on the screen, saying, "If you have any information regarding this disappearance, please contact you local police station," she smiled a false smile, then turned to her co-anchor. He smiled back and began to speak, "In other news, it seems…" he was cut off when Alfred shut the set off.

"She's missing?" Bruce asked.

Alfred nodded, "Five days ago, she vanished from Gotham Memorial. She was under suicide watch, according to lieutenant Gordon."

"Suicide watch?" he asked, incredulous, "But she seemed so happy, so… alive."

"Except for the last time you saw her," Alfred pointed out.

Bruce groaned, remembering the cemetery, and meeting Selina. Leah's whole family was dead. But even so, she seemed stronger than that. She's survived… well, he wasn't actually sure what she'd survived, but whatever it was, it had to have been bad. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed, "Alfred, get Fox on the phone. I need to talk to him."

12:29 pm. "So, you're saying that Crane's toxin was still affecting her? A year later?"

Fox nodded, " Her mind was already fragile, the death of her family was probably too much for her," he shook his head, "It's a shame. She was such a good kid."

"Is that all you can tell me? Is there anything else that might help?"

"Mr. Wayne, if you want to know what I think, just ask," Bruce nodded, and Fox sighed, "In all probability, she'll be found in a back alley in a few days. Might have her wrists cut, might be hanging from a fire escape, might've even found a gun. I don't know, but that's what's likely. That's not what I think is going to happen, though."

Bruce looked up in surprise, "You don't?"

"I think that she's lost, and she just needs someone to find her," the shadow of Fox's customary mirth flashed in his sad eyes.

Bruce nodded, "I hope someone will."

"So do I, Mr. Wayne. So do I."

9:36 pm. Gordon pointed the spotlight onto one of the clouds. Dent stood next to him, sipping a cup of coffee and shivering, "So when's he gonna show?" he demanded. Gordon shrugged, then his eyes flickered over Harvey's shoulder. Dent turned and found himself face-to-face with Batman. He nearly dropped his coffee.

"What did you need?" the Bat's voice was a low growl.

"Batman, meet Harvey Dent. Harvey, well, here he is."

The attorney stuck out a hand. Batman stared at him, not moving. Dent dropped his hand and stuffed it into his pocket, running the other through his hair self-consciously.

Gordon pulled the six case files from within his jacket and handed them to Batman. Harvey observed the interaction silently. Batman looked through the files, then met Gordon's eyes, "Do you have anything new on the Joker?" he gestured to the files in his hand, "This one's been getting in my way."

"I've got the most recent murders on record," Gordon said, "And this." He took another joker card from his pocket.

Batman took it, examined it, and put it somewhere within his cloak, "Thanks," he said, then disappeared from the rooftop.

Harvey looked around in shock, "Gone," he said.

"He does that," Gordon replied, "Annoying, isn't it?"

December 11

1:35 am. She stood on an empty field, ankle deep in snow. Her feet had gone numb hours ago, but she didn't dare move. She was waiting, and she'd been waiting for a long time. Then, her brother was in front of her. He hadn't appeared from thin air, nor had he slowly materialized. He had always been there, and always would be, even when he was gone.

She stood still for a moment, then met his eyes hesitantly, "I miss you."

He regarded her evenly, "We miss you, too," he said. His voice was soft and whispery. It almost seemed like the wind had brought it to her. Then she realized that it was the wind speaking, using her brother's voice. The words came, but his mouth didn't move, "We're waiting for you, Leah."

"I'll come," she said, "I just have to do something first."

There was a look in his eyes that she couldn't quite read, "Don't do something you might regret."

Her hands felt warm, all of a sudden. She looked down to see blood dripping onto the snow, staining it red. Even as the wind carried her brother away, she whispered, "I think I already have."

In her sleep, Leah shivered, mouth opening in a soft moan. She rolled over, and woke up with a hiss of pain. Blearily, she opened her eyes and put a hand to her head. She sat on a sofa that had seen too many years, in a building that hadn't been inhabited in about a decade, aside from the occasional squatter- like herself.

The moon hung low over the Narrows, bathing the world a pale white. She stood unsteadily and walked over to a shattered mirror that stood in one corner. She studied her reflection with dead eyes. It had changed a lot in the past five days. Her hair was less than an inch short, her face bruised and bloodied. She favored her left leg- the right had been shot three days ago- and her left arm was broken in two places. She prodded a cut above her eye. It would leave a scar, of that she was sure.

Leah was a logical girl. Being the daughter of two doctors gave her an edge in science and math, and she had rudimentary knowledge of emergency medical care. She studied her face, her expressionless eyes. She'd need new contacts soon, but she wondered vaguely whether or not she'd still be alive to need them. The broken arm was splinted against one of her sticks, tied with some cloth and twine. She'd managed to get the bullet out of her leg before she passed out, and she'd stitched the spot up roughly when she regained consciousness- right before passing out again. She lifted her shirt, stiff with blood, and studied the bruises there. Probably sustained some internal injuries that she'd be feeling tomorrow night. But as her subconscious registered this, her mind went on to plan what came next. She'd finally gotten some information out of one of the thugs. But she'd need help to do what she was planning. Even though she should have been freezing in that abandoned apartment in the Narrows, a slow smile twisted her already warped features. Tomorrow night, she would find the Batman.