A/N: This chapter...for ages it just hasn't been working for me, I literally have deleted so many versions of this, but now I'm happy to post it! While I'm here does anyone actually read these author notes properly? I mean I could say anything like I'm not really a woman; I could be a 50 year old convict writing this from prison...should anyone be reading this I'm not. I am actually a woman; perhaps I've freaked you all out now and should shut it before my neck goes further into the noose...on with the chapter merry readers!

Chapter 22:

A story always starts with a beginning, it's happy at first; the sunshine remains forever golden it touches everything; the bad is always airbrushed over, its existence gone. Bruce would lay with me at night when we were children, not long after our parents died, and he would read to me. When he went to school it was only then I learnt he had changed the stories; made even the saddest stories have a happy ending. He hid all the bad things in the world from me; he would do anything for me. One summer it was so hot he took all the ice cream from the freezer and melted it together in a bowel; telling me it was a summer soup, we ate it all summer long, until he had to go back to school. I'd send him letters dosed in lemon juice, making Bruce swear he would never let anyone else see; I was eight, he was fourteen. He would do anything for me, but would I do anything for him? I use to think so, that I would cross the world for Bruce, if it meant he was ok. We were so close; then everything went wrong, the world turned, too fast for me to understand, people changed, Rachel died, Bruce was sad, so sad and I was in bliss. "I want to see things how you see them, I want to see the world how you do." He'd laughed and taken my hand, lead me onto the roof, "this is how the world really is doll", he'd laughed at the explosions of colour, and I'd never seen his face so animated. "This is my business, my work, look how the city falls onto its knees at one man's work." He was intoxicating, his draw more powerful than Bruce's; we found a quiet place where no one could reach us; the noises were our own, we were complete. He'd do anything for me; I have never told him about the man with paint for skin, it would lead to our separation; and I didn't want to be more alone than I already was.

Maddie's POV

Despite the snow and slippery pavements it only takes me mere minutes to find Karen's house. I pull my scarf closer, huffing out clouds of white air; I was stupid to go out without gloves today. Bruce always use to tease me about how I use to wear warm clothes during summer and barley anything during winter; no matter how much Alfred and Bruce would cajole me or bribe me with sweets or a new doll if I put that extra layer on. I didn't tell anyone I was going here; ever since that young woman was murdered police have given people an unofficial curfew; Stephen told me that it didn't seem to be a random attack; he didn't go into detail and nor did Bruce, but it's been enough for even me to hurry home. The crowds around me, moving as quickly as I do, despite the movement around me, the amount of people I feel someone watching me. I feel his glare on my body; his movements speed up when mine do, the cold air feels like ice water as I push my way through people. I swerve, changing direction, joining a larger crowd of people I see a large wooden bench. My legs feel like I'm wading through treacle as I collapse on it; legs still jittery and breathing hard. I watch the shadow in the alley way, until it becomes nothing more than part of the wall. I skirt around the paths; avoiding at all cost the entrances to the alleyways, ensuring I stay in the middle away from grasping hands. There is nothing to be afraid of...I repeat the words Alfred used to me when I was younger; not much seems to have changed now; I'm still terrified, still wanting the comfort of a reassuring voice. "There's no monster under the bed"... but I know his real.

I hear the laughter of her kids before I see Karen; she raises her hand and, picking up Billy she unlocks the door.

"Maddie Hi, what a nice surprise, you've caught me at a good time; I've actually took a break from packing."

I take off my hat; shaking the snow from the lower parts of my hair; she settles Billy down and he immediately grips her leg and pulls himself up; I swallow the jealousy and grip my hat tightly instead.

"I can't stay for long Karen, Bruce has gone out and I think I've only got an hour left before his back."

She nods, understanding my dilemma, "the reason I've come here is because of this," I fish the key out of my bag, placing it on her open hand.

She looks from me to the key and then back again, Billy mimics his mother, "thanks Maddie, but I don't think this is mine."

"It is now, it's the key to the penthouse, I wanted to give it to you, you and the kids."

She stares at me open mouthed, even Billy stops his actions, "Maddie, no I can't take this from you! That's your house, and anyway I could never afford a place like that."

I hesitate, questioning if I'm doing the right thing, if she thinks it's a charity case, "the money doesn't matter to me or Bruce, I talked to him about it and he thinks it's a great idea. Don't worry about me; me and Mat are staying with Bruce for pretty much the foreseeable future."

Instead of answering she pats down her hair, offering me tea instead. I should be offended, thinking she is ignoring me, instead I smile and nod, following her into the dingy kitchen. The linoleum on the floor is torn, exposing the cold concrete underneath. But despite these imperfections, I notice every surface shines; chipped china gleams, hand-me-down saucepans shine through the rust.

"This is, this is unexpected Maddie. My husband left me nothing in his will; any money he did leave was soon taken to pay off his debts. Last week I had drug dealers threatening to kick down my front door because he owed them money. This," she points between the space between us, "This is a miracle. It's taking someone I barely know to help my family, my mother left Gotham to live in France with her new toy boy so I don't have anything."

She turns her back on me for a second, her shoulders judder until she squares them and pours the tea, I can't help but notice how proper she is; with cups and saucers, a jug for milk and a matching tea pot.

"There's going to be no more fights, no needles in the garden, it's all yours."

She glances again at the key, "you've been good to me Madeline Wayne, no matter what you think you're a good person."

The next day there will be pictures of us embracing outside her flat; they'll call me her 'hero,' how I've once again saved another part of Gotham. The story barely scratches the surface.

Stephen's POV

"It's right through here," they step gingerly through the mass of dirt and rubbish on the floor of the old building, staying close to the side so not to disturb any evidence.

"Where did you find it?" Gordon's voice is quiet, as though keeping it at a respectable volume.

"It's right down here sir, the old owners left the place like this so I come in every now and again to clean up, check up on the place. I came here this morning to do my rounds as normal and found the writing."

Gordon shines the flashlight into the darkened room, the metallic stench of blood fills the air, narrowing his eyes, he squints into the dark; the overturned chair, the puddle of blood, the restraints and even more frightening, the blood stained writing on the floor.

"What does it say Stephen?"

He steps closer, edging around the blood, "an eye for an eye."

The old man speaks up, clutching his cap, "I thought it was just kids, you know? They break in here sometimes and mess the place up, but then I looked closer and saw it was blood... and well I called you guys."

Gordon murmurs his thanks to the old man, stepping up to the bare wall, the blood staining the walls forever.

"It's spelt wrong, the 'e' is missing for the 'eye', replaced with an 'I', I think whoever did this could be illiterate."

"Stephen I don't think this is a Joker case, why would he go to such lengths to disguise someone to look like Madeline just to hurt them? The man never makes any sense but even this would be out of order for him."

He knows the hopelessness Gordon feels is written all over his face, the case has so many twists and turns its beginning to feel impossible to right them.

"We know it's all linked to Maddie, but why would anyone want to hurt her? Even the mobs don't go anywhere near her and now we get the call finding our crime scene? She was tortured and murdered for a reason, what are we supposed to tell Bruce Wayne? There's someone out there who wants to murder his little sister? Forget it! He'd have our badges and our heads for keeping this from him."

Gordon raises a hand through his hair, wincing as he eyes the blood, "the bodies keep piling up, I think Bruce Wayne will have more to say if his sister joins them."

"What are we suppose to do Gordon? How can we find this guy without hurting Maddie? We know nothing; we have no motivation, no nothing!"

He rips his arm away from Gordon's, stalking over to the other side of the room, "I care about her too, she doesn't want me to, but I do. How am I supposed to look at her and pretend everything's fine when in reality she could die? We need constant surveillance around her, but how do we explain that without telling Wayne that we don't know who we're looking for?"

Gordon inhales, without him even saying another word he knows they're both picturing Mathew, Maddie's little boy, what would life be like for him without her? Amy Price's family have to live with the knowledge that they'll never see their daughter, sister and granddaughter again, never talk to her, never share another Christmas with her... how could they allow this to happen to Mathew?

(Later...at the Manor... ooh I sound dramatic)

Her words grate on me as I clench my hands together; the pain from my nails stings me only momentarily before I clench them again. The baby sits in her lap and I wince as he sees me move, his cries increasing when he sees me move away.

"Shush shush now Mathew, you're mommy will be back soon."

I lock myself in the pantry; pawing desperately through the jars to get my vitamins; I sink two at once, swallowing them with some wine. I'm craving the need to feel better; to stop wanting to claw at my skin, to rip my entire face off, to be someone new. He never tries to talk in front of me, never attempts to do anything; my failures as a mother are becoming more apparent to me each day.

Each day I'll come in from work and Bruce will greet me at the door; telling me he blew Alfred a kiss or pointed, rolled over properly, "we'll watch the video I took Mads; you should see how good he is."

Every day I have to remind myself I chose this; I wanted out of the Manor, but I didn't want out of my son's life. Time is something you can never get back; no amount of videos or pictures can make up for lost time. I could almost laugh at this situation; here I am twenty eight years old and locking myself in a cupboard, away from the big bad world... if I didn't know any better I'd laugh. Mat giggles, obviously Bruce or Alfred is home, and like me Helena rarely gets a smile out of him. I heave myself up off the floor, cursing myself as I hit my head on the corner of the shelf; wincing I press down on the delicate area, rubbing it gently. My actions knocked my bag over, the contents spill onto the floor, I scoop used pens, torn fragments of paper and eventually my purse up, I tug the picture hanging out of my purse, expecting to see Mat. Instead I turn it over in my hand, it's crisp, well used and clearly well loved; my old picture of James. My mind races with the possibilities; I knew I tore the picture up, a torn picture cannot be put back together; picture perfect. A past memory flickers through my mind, of Helena handing out these pictures to anyone who cared; I never kept a spare, I had no use for one. My jaw clenches, the muscles tighten as my walk becomes more purposeful. She's still sat at the kitchen island, Mat in his high chair, I slam the picture down on the table, she looks at it, her expression uninterested.

"What's it doing here Helena? I got rid of the one I had in my purse, so why the hell is it in my purse?"

At my raised voice, Mat's bottom lip trembles and he pouts, his arms reaching for anyone.

Helena goes to him, holding him uncomfortably close; "really Madeline, you're scaring the baby. How should I know why the picture is there, maybe you didn't rip it up?"

I tear my hands away from my face, hitting the photo hard with my hand, my fingertips sting at the contact.

"No, I ripped it up, stop calling me crazy, I'm not crazy!"

She flinches from my outburst, forcing Mat's head on her shoulder, "shush James, shush."

I inhale sharply, "what, what did you just call him?"

Her mouth forms an 'o' and she looks around helplessly, "Mathew, I called him Mathew, of course I did."

I shake my head slowly from side to side, stepping closer to Mathew, "don't you dare stand in my house and lie to me! You called him James, I know what you said, he isn't James he's my baby!"

Before she can resist I grab Mat out of her waiting arms, I turn and run, desperate to distance myself.

"Madeline, I really think you need to calm down, you're imagining things."

I carry on walking, knocking into Alfred as I turn a sharp corner; he steady's me with his hands, gently grabbing me.

"Where's the fire Miss Maddie?"

I turn and point towards Helena, jerking my thumb at her, "her, ask her!"

My breathing is laboured, it sounds as though I've ran a marathon; in reality I'm just pissed. "Maddie, what happened?" I ignore Alfred until I reach my destination, the soft glow of the winter sun highlight the yellow paint in the nursery.

"The picture of James I had in my wallet I ripped it up; I didn't want it and now I look in my purse today and it's in there again!"

I clench Mat closer as Helena forces her way into the room; "and I told you I had no idea what it was maybe you should rest? I think the more appropriate question should be why are you ripping up pictures of James? Care to answer that, why you're acting psychotic?"

Alfred shoots her a look as he steps closer to me, his hands stretched outwards. I eye him nervously as the tears burn my eyes, Helena walks further into the room.

"No!" I move in front of crib, guarding Mat, "not you, I said no!"

"Miss Madeline," I ignore Alfred, still crying I feel Mat's hands clasp mine through the bars of his cot.

"Mads," at the mention of my pet name I look up, "let me look after Mathew you rest and then Bruce will be home before you know it. You just rest or even go out with Jane, get yourself out of the house."

I nod, holding my arms around me, Alfred sighs and edges close to Mat, and I grab Alfred's hand, startling him.

"His not her baby and he's not James."

He nods, smiling at me, I can barely look at them as they walk out, Helena lingers for a second, biting her lip she walks out; "go away Helena."

She gasps, her footsteps halter, "what do you mean?"

I turn to her, griping onto the rails, "just get out, if you know what's good for you, just get out."

"Madeline, I meant no harm, you know that..."

My laughter cuts her off, "he isn't yours, his mine and whatever you're thinking, stop it; I mean it."

I meet her eye, "I'll be back soon Madeline," she turns, her heels clicking on the floor as she walks off.

Bruce's car pulls in, let them say what they want, I'm beyond caring. I look out onto the balcony; the same one I jumped from with Jack; my hands itching, I open the window, sliding it as quietly as I can to the top.

"I er think you should have someone to catch you when you get out there doll, that's usually how these things work."

He pulls slightly on my hair, his chest resting against my back.

"She called him James," I mutter, like a sulking teenager to a parent.

"I er didn't catch that part, heard you telling her to leave. Gotta say I'm impressed, about time you told her."

He sighs at my unresponsive nature, "About yesterday and the pills..." now I do focus on him, I flip my finger against his scarred mouth, his tongue flicks nervously out, hitting the edge of my finger.

"I don't care Jack, I really don't care."

He jerks me, I forgot how fast he is, his eyes darken, his whole body radiates anger, "you should care, I er tossed what you said aside like it meant nothing. It meant something to you for you to bring it up."

In an attempt to break free, I try and straighten my legs out, he presses himself closer to me, there's no passion between us this time. Only madness.

"You better start paying attention and looking after yourself, you don't do that you lose the kid ok?"

My head rolls to the side, I'm desperate not to look at him, hear his words.

"Don't...don't say that to me."

His hands cup my face, he strokes my hair gently, "why, you need to hear it from someone, everyone else is too busy tiptoeing around you not saying what they're really thinking."

A sob breaks from me, my face presses forcefully against the window pain, yet I feel no pain.

"Come here doll," he coos at me, steering my face towards him.

"Why are you here again? Why can't you just leave me alone?"

He stiffens at my question, before, very slowly, pulling himself away from me, his eyes soften.

"You won't help yourself doll, so I'll have to do it for you."

"I gave Karen my old apartment, he needs it more than me, so I gave it to her. Did you see that news report about that dead woman; I saw the police files; they're saying she looks like me..."

He raises an eyebrow at my rambling, I don't stop, my thoughts are racing, my mind turning. I trace his shirt with my fingers, the patterns swirl together and I lean closer; captivated.

"She called my psychotic...mad sounds nicer doesn't it? Psychotic sounds scary doesn't it?"

Mad sounds simpler; the Mad Hatter, it sounds playful; there is no playful light hearted story book image for psychotic. Madness we can relate too, an emotion at an intense level, that doesn't bubble over. Psychosis is way out there; be like that you are shunned, locked up in Arkham with doctors asking you how you feel every day.

"You're er, you're not doll, trust me I should know."

I look at him, his eyes lock onto mine, "then why am I feeling like this? Even you don't have the answer Jack."

He swings my legs round to wrap around his waist, he twirls my hair around in his hand.

"These things take time doll and for you I've got all the time you need."

A/N: Trust me, everything that's happening with Maddie will soon be revealed and I hope you all like what's in store, as they are plenty more twists and turns in this story. The scene with Gordon and Stephen is the murder scene of where the young woman from the last chapter was killed. Thanks again for being so patient and welcome new readers!

Until next time,

Feels-Like-Paradise