Chapter 2

A/N: Again I take no credit for the dialogue I lifted out of the Killing Joke.

Bruce couldn't feel anything. He thought he would be angry, blindingly, overwhelmingly angry; he should be angry, but he just…wasn't. He felt nothing. He'd met some young detective on the roof of the police station, ready to take off after Gordon when he went cold. Barbara. Shot. Gotham Central. He didn't care that she was a witness. He'd jumped off the building and torn into the hospital, but he couldn't feel anything. She was okay. She was strong, stronger than she knew. It wasn't real, wasn't permanent. She would heal. They always healed.

"The bullet went through her spine. I'm afraid her legs are completely useless. Putting it bluntly she may well be in a chair for the remainder of her life." The doctor's voice prompted no response from him, no feeling. He stared at her unconscious body as they pulled the sheets up, unwilling to hear what they were telling him.

"Some woman inna same yoga class as Miss Gordon found her, name of Colleen Reece," Bullock told him. "She found the, uh, victim, in a state of undress, but otherwise the place was empty. The commissioner was…"

"Undress?" his voice seemed to speak without him. It was completely lifeless, cutting across Bullock's.

Bullock puffed on his cigar, his eyes bugging out. "They didn't tell you? He'd removed her clothing after shooting her. We, uh…well, we found a lens cap on the floor that didn't fit any camera in the place. We believe that, uhh…well, that he took some pictures. Of her."

Bullock suddenly backtracked, trying to make it better. "Jeez, look, really, I'm sorry. I thought you knew. It's pretty sick, ain't it?" Bruce could hear it in his voice, the question, the wonder. Bullock wanted to know why he cared-the detective thought the Batman was upset because the Joker had struck again. He didn't know, didn't understand that he was Bruce and this was Barbara-his Barbara. If Bruce felt anything, could feel anything in this moment he might have killed Bullock right then. Just for not understanding.

"Yes." His voice was speaking again without him, while his body smashed the card in his hand. "Pretty sick. Please leave us alone for a moment."

Batman waited after the door clicked shut behind Bullock. He stood over her, looking down at her prone form waiting to feel something, anything. She looked so small lying there-had she always been that small? How had this happened? How had she let this happen? Why didn't she duck? She would heal, and he would train her better.

"Barbara?" he whispered, touching her check gently. "Barbara can you hear me? It's me. It's Bruce."

"Bruce…?" she whispered. She was groggy for only an instant before her eyes went wide with terror. She reached up and grabbed him, wrapping herself around him, clinging to him as the words tumbled out.

"Bruce…it was him…took Dad…h-he…" Her fingers clawed at his cape as tears filled her eyes. "Oh God! Oh God, I remember! Oh, Bruce, what he did…"

"Barbara, take it easy. It's okay…" Bruce was lowering her back to the bed. She was going to be okay. He would make her okay.

"No!" she screamed at him. "No, it's not okay! He's…he's taking it to the limit this time… you didn't see. You didn't see his eyes. H-he said he wanted to puh-prove a point…said…Dad was…top of the bill…wh-what's he doing to him Bruce? What's he doing to my father?"

Bruce reached up and gently pried her hands from his cape, shushing her as he pushed the morphine button. He could feel her pain in the trembling of her body; feel her broken spine in his hands when he held her. It was too much, too, too much. He couldn't be there, couldn't just sit there and do nothing. He needed to catch the Joker, needed to save her father.

He needed to fix this.

Waynetech had a spinal injury research division. He was sure of it. If they didn't, he would make one. They would figure this out. His back had healed, so would hers. He didn't care if he had to go to the JLA for help, there had to be an answer. There was always an answer.

When the morphine took effect she lay back down into a fitful sleep. Bruce gently kissed her forehead and them left, back into the night. He would fix this.

Barbara woke again to the sound of hushed voices outside her door. Bullock was back; she could smell the stale stench of cigar through the door. She remembered Bruce being there, but it was dulled by the morphine. Paralyzed, drugged, and forgotten Barb laid in the hospital bed and refused to cry. They would send the shrink in soon. They would talk about her "loss" and her "assault." She would very politely tell the well meaning psychologist to fuck off.

Why wasn't Bruce here? It wasn't past 3 a.m. and it was a new moon-plenty of cover for him to make it into the window without being seen. He hadn't even seemed that upset, but she couldn't trust the memory. She couldn't trust anything right now, not her body, not her power, and certainly not Bruce. Would he leave her now? He'd make sure some department in Waynetech fixed her back; Alfred would bring flowers.

There was a good chance she would never see Bruce again. Tragedy wasn't his thing.

But she would not cry. She would heal, and she would walk. She would not be like this forever. Barbara didn't even feel the sob as it pushed out of her chest.