Outside, the streets were in near anarchy. There was a sense of tension, of the waiting for something to snap, in the air as small groups of people marched and chanted. They were few, these marchers and chanters, but their numbers were apt to swell. Thickening the dangerous atmosphere was the smell of smoke as people hoisted effigies of the Batman and set them alight as fast as the police assigned to the duty could put them out. It was all the police could do to contain the situation, and with every minute that passed it seemed more likely that the floodgates would open and they would be plunged into a full-scale riot.

Inside, it was quiet and still.

The panic of the streets had yet to reach the Gotham Public Library where Jim Gordon sat at one of the computers. The silence of the library was almost preternatural and every tap of the computer keys seemed a thunderclap, but Gordon didn't let that deter him. He had work to do.

Just because Gordon no longer bore the title of Police Commissioner, it didn't mean that his long accumulated knowledge and honed observational skills had disappeared right along with it. He'd known from the first word of Janice's threatening proposition that it wasn't the first time the woman had resorted to such underhand tricks in order to feed her ambition. She'd been too sure of herself, too centred for it to have been her first time. Now, hunched in front of a public library computer with a riot that he no longer had the authority to control threatening to break outside, he was looking for anything that might allow him to get the upper hand on Ms. Porter.

And he thought he might have found something.

"What's this?" He murmured to himself, absentmindedly pushing his glasses further up his nose as he leant into the screen. The personal financial records of the DA's office glowed softly in front of him, but what had caught his eye was one glaring discrepancy. There were probably a few more to be found if he cared to take a closer look, but this one could possibly be what he needed to expose Janice Porter for what she really was.

His hand was hovering over the mouse, about to highlight his find, when a rough voice spoke behind him, making him jump.

"Doing a little homework, Commissioner?"

Guiltily, although he told himself that he had no reason to feel so, he turned to face the Batman. He was thankful that he had elected to sit down a thin corridor of computers that branched off from the main body of the library, deserted save for himself and his surprise visitor. It was somewhat strange to be talking to the fugitive after having counselled himself on the all-too-likely prospect that now as an ordinary citizen, he would never see the Bat again.

But then the memory of that morning's headline and the bewildered despair it brought returned to him. He snatched up the newspaper tucked in beside the computer screen and waved it at Batman, like a teacher scolding an unruly pupil with irrefutable evidence of their misbehaviour. "Is it true what they said? That you're working with that… that… animal?" His voice rose, cracking hoarsely on the last word.

His anger was abated by a librarian suddenly popping into the little computer alcove, a frown on her face. Gordon tensed, waiting for her scream when she saw the bat-eared shadow lurking behind him, but all she did was put a finger to her lips in the age-old sign language of 'no talking in the library'.

Once she had moved on, he turned around fully expecting to find the Batman gone as neatly as a conjuror's trick and was proved wrong again. The other man still stood exactly where he had been before, inscrutable, unruffled. If Gordon didn't know better, if he had been the kind of man to believe in such things, he would have attributed the Dark Knight with supernatural powers. But he knew beneath the armour and the cowl, Batman was a man just like the rest of them.

"That's not what I came here to discuss with you," Batman answered as if there had been no interruption, which meant that he was working with the Joker and either felt fully justified in his reasons for doing so, or had no idea at all of his reasons and didn't want Gordon to know that. The resigned Commissioner chose the first option, if only for his own peace of mind.

"There's a man, a coma patient who went missing from his room in Gotham General this morning. Do you know anything about it?"

Gordon glanced sharply up at the other man, a faint frown visible on his face. He felt mildly affronted by the question, as if Batman had just deliberately rubbed a handful of stinging salt into a still open wound. Surely the Dark Knight knew that Gordon had resigned, that he was no longer in the position to know anything of any importance.

But, wasn't salt also renowned for its healing properties? He glanced back at the computer, silently looking at the information he had attained. True, he was no longer in an official position, but he was still able gather valuable information. The question hadn't been a taunt, Gordon realised it was the fugitive Bat's way of telling him that he still trusted in him, whether he was the Commissioner or not.

"No, but I'll see what I can find out," he replied quietly, hoping that his voice wouldn't betray the emotion he felt.

Evidently his voice didn't let him down, and the understanding between the two men was as implicit as it had ever been, for without any further discussion the Batman was leaning over him, one gauntleted hand on the desk, the other tapping the screen where the cursor waited patiently for its next task. "What has the new DA done to deserve your scrutiny, Commissioner?"

Gordon swallowed heavily. An open wound can only take so much punishment, even if the pain is well-meant. "Don't call me that. I'm not-"

"I know."

The silence that hung for a moment between them was like a priest's confessional box, and Gordon decided that despite his misgivings he would share his suspicions with the other man.

"See that money spent on travel?" He asked, indicating a column on the screen. "She hasn't left Gotham since she came to office. Either the travel is a cover-up for something she doesn't want anybody knowing about, or she's been paying for somebody else's holidays."

Understandably, this seemed to interest Batman. He started to say "Have you found anything to suggest…" but was cut off by a sudden grunt of pain. Staggering back a little, his teeth gritted, he pressed one hand to the side of his head. A choked snarl and he was down on his knees, clutching at his skull as if he were afraid it would break in two.

Gordon stood up so fast that the chair he'd been sitting on toppled to the floor. But from there he didn't know what to do. All he could do was hover anxiously by the fallen man, either until he could be of help or until the crisis had passed and his help was no longer needed.

In a rush, Batman found himself both in Joker's head and his own, both inside the library and outside on the street and the pain was excruciating, like he was being ripped apart. It was one of the most intense psychic unions he had experienced since this whole crazy nightmare began.

He could feel the dangerous restlessness that was building up inside Joker, and the resentment at being told to sit quietly and wait in the Batmobile like some kind of pet dog, or a child. He could hear people approaching and, moving as one with the other man, he leant over to look at the wing mirror and saw one of the anti-Batman mobs marching past. From the way they held themselves it was obvious that they were highly strung, wound up and looking for some heads to kick in.

He tried to tell Joker to stay in the Batmobile, just stay in the Batmobile or the whole deal was off and it was back to Arkham with him, but the clown's sick mind had already begun to infect his own. He felt excited, if not a little aroused, at the anticipation of the violence the mob would bring. Gotham beckoned him with the crooked finger of chaos and he had no choice but to obey her summons.

One mind, one body, one consciousness, the Batman-Joker got out of the Batmobile with the lithe grace reserved for the organic killing machines of this world and followed after the crowd, melting in amongst them.

Although the mob were too stoked up to notice the newcomer in their midst, they all felt the influence of his unwelcome presence. An unnatural union of minds, the offspring of madness, the Batman-Joker radiated waves of horror and disorientation. He revelled in the confusion and panic this caused to swell through the amassed ranks, heightening the possibility of violence. He wound the situation up further, catcalling taunts and threats against the fugitive vigilante, inciting them to riot. As their frenzy was stoked to a crescendo, he snatched a sturdy-looking sign from a woman standing beside him and threw it as hard as he could into a glass shop front.

Windows shattered and all hell broke loose. Reduced to nothing more than animals, the crowd surged forwards with the intent of looting the shop and the Batman-Joker was swept along with them. There were police running in from one side, and the crowd were prepared to fight them and he couldn't help but laugh because this was the way life was supposed to be. His own excitement heightened beyond endurance, he began to lash out at the surge of people around him, his hands like living weapons of flesh and bone.

And then things started to get really confusing.

The Batman-Joker suddenly became aware of the strangest notion. The notion that none of this was real, it was all part of some elaborate dream. In the midst of the chaos, he became still and looked up at the sky. He was not surprised to see there was a great rent running through it like a torn seam and through it he could look out at the real, waking world. Through that hole he could see blurry faces peering down at him and shouting things in words that sounded familiar but he couldn't understand. Behind those frightening, desperate voices was a steady rumble like approaching thunder and running through it all was the beep, beep, beep of his own monitored heart beat.

Then everything went black.

"Batman? Batman, can you hear me?"

Gordon was immensely relieved to see the Dark Knight's eyes flutter unsteadily open in the shadows of his cowl. It had been a shock to see the vigilante suddenly keel over in a dead faint. If the man had needed medical attention, he surely would have ended up in custody and Gordon had enough Judas complexes to cope with without adding that one to the list again. As it stood, it was nothing short of a miracle that the librarian hadn't popped back to see what all the forbidden noise was about.

He backed off and then stood as Batman slowly sat up, automatically checking his mask to make sure that it was still in place.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Commissioner." Grabbing the edge of the table, the Bat pulled himself to his feet. His lips were parted in silent, panting breaths, but apart from that he seemed to have recovered already. "It was just a… a headache."

Gordon opened his mouth to disagree, but decided against it. Instead, he bent down to right the fallen chair, saying "At least sit down for a while. I could get you some water…" But by the time he had straightened up again, Batman was gone.