I do not own Batman. Sucks, don't it? I do own Eleanor Black and all the other characters and plot points that aren't part of the movie. Rated T for the same reasons the movie was rated PG-13. Enjoy.

Chances Are…
Chapter Eleven: Hell Hath No Fury Like Two Women Scorned.

Eleanor's words and angry glare followed me out of the bunker, into the car and all the way to the penthouse in downtown Gotham. I knew she felt betrayed, and there was a small part of me that wanted to turn around and tell her I didn't mean it, just so she would smile again and return to her sarcastic self. That part was quickly overwhelmed by the much larger part that wanted to see Rachel and to start our life together—the life she had promised once Batman was out of the picture.

I found Rachel standing in front of the window, her arms crossed under her chest and her cell phone held loosely in one hand. For one moment, I stood in the doorway and watched her, a small smile on my face. Even though the situation was less than desirable—Rachel being named by the Joker, being dragged in to everything, despite my efforts to keep her out—I was happy to see her. Still smiling slightly, I started towards her and she didn't turn until I was less than ten feet away; before I could stop it, the knowledge that Eleanor would have noticed me long before that flashed through my head and for some reason, it bothered me that Rachel had not.

"Harvey called," she informed me as she turned around and slipped the cell phone into her pocket. "He said that Batman is going to turn himself in."

I took in her slightly bemused expression with a stoic face. She didn't believe I would go through with it. "I have no choice," I said. I could have said "that was what you wanted," but my decision had not been made solely because of Rachel.

"Do you really think that will stop the Joker from killing people?"

I had not expected her to be angry, and there was a thread of anger in her voice. If anything, I had expected her to be pleased that I was going to give up Batman, to smile and express her joy that the day had finally come. "Perhaps not," I said, doing my best to ignore her ire. "But I've got enough blood on my hands, and I've seen what I would have to become to stop him. And those like him." She took a step closer to me and I moved towards her until we were almost touching. I felt my mouth twitch in a smile; in that moment, while we remained silent, it felt like old times, like there was no Batman and no Dent standing in our way. "You once told me that if the day came when I was finished, that we'd be together."

Rachel blinked, like she was taken aback by the reminder. "Bruce, don't make me your one hope for a normal life—"

I wrapped my hands around her upper arms and pulled her close to me, cutting her off. "Did you mean it?" I asked, sensing something had changed, that maybe Dent and Rachel were closer than I had thought, that maybe she loved him more than she loved me.

"Yes."

We held each other's gaze for a split second longer and then I leaned in and kissed her, sliding my arms around her shoulders. She leaned into the kiss and then pulled away, her eyes heavy with sadness.

"If you turn yourself in," she said, "They'll never let us be together."

She pulled her arms away from my grasp and wrapped them around herself. Her gaze flicked to the ground, but she forced her dark eyes back up to look at me. There was something in her eyes that made me want to ask if she still meant that we'd be together, but I didn't. I looked at her for a moment however before I nodded, and then turned and walked back towards the elevator. There was a lot to do before the press conference in the morning, a lot to get rid of to make sure no one other than myself could be linked to the Batman and I need to keep my thoughts on the end of my alter ego. There were files that would lead back to Lucius, Rachel and Eleanor that needed to be destroyed.

As I thought of Eleanor, I thought once more of the anger and betrayal on her face when she'd heard that I was turning myself in and a part of me dreaded returning to the bunker in case she was there. I knew that after the press conference, after I was no longer Batman, she wouldn't be around anymore and I knew that I would miss her when she was gone. I sighed and stepped out of the elevator into the parking garage. The drive back to the bunker seemed longer than before.

Eleanor was at the bunker when I returned.

Alfred was already tossing piles of paper and files into the incinerator built into one wall, and Eleanor was standing beside him, hands on her hips and her teeth clenched, making the muscles in her jaw bunch. The large bag she had started carrying between the bunker and her apartment was at her feet, half unzipped with an assortment of things shoved into it and she was still wearing that ridiculous Batman t-shirt she'd bought from some street vendor. Her cobalt eyes found me as soon as the lift started to descend and she glared, but she remained silent.

I turned to Alfred, who gave a barely perceptible shrug.

I watched Bruce cross the bunker, my mind racing as I frantically tried to find the best place to start yelling. There were so many things irking me, I was practically seeing red and I could have sworn there was steam coming out my ears.

I had only come back to the bunker to get the things I had forgotten, as well as my things that Alfred had brought from the penthouse, and I had planned on being gone before Bruce got back, but something—the desire to yell and scream at him, I'm sure—kept me rooted to the concrete floor. I had gone over and over what I was going to say in my head, but when I saw Bruce's face, all my planned rants had just fallen out my ear or something.

"Did you get all the files?" he asked Alfred.

"I pulled everything from storage, Master Bruce, and I retrieved all the hard copies from Wayne Enterprises."

"Good."

I watched Bruce walk away from the incinerator, withdrawn. His mind was elsewhere, even as his eyes darted over the assorted Batman paraphernalia lying on the stone desk. His hand stretched toward the notebook in which I had kept records of what I heard over the police scanner and Batman's headset, and as he began to flip through it, something snapped.

"You can't do this," I said, my voice coming out as a hiss that surprised me. I fought not to show it.

Bruce dropped the notebook back on the desk and turned to me, his hazel eyes completely in the now and focused on me. He was glaring at me with the same intensity I imagined Batman would have. "This is not your decision, Eleanor," he replied, his voice infuriatingly level. Something in his face shifted—his walls went up—and I knew he had been expecting me to yell, had been waiting for it. "I'm turning myself in."

I had a sudden urge to grab the front of his shirt and shake him. Knowing it would be nearly impossible for me to move him, I balled my hands into fists at my sides and glared up at him, doing my very best to look intimidating, which is hard enough when you're shorter than someone, but a thousand times as hard when that someone is the Batman. "You're going to lose everything you've gained!" I barked. "This city needs you to stay Batman! There will be more like the Joker and you're the only one who will be able to stop them!"

"I will not become a killer!"

"No one is asking you to! That just the only option you see right now because the Joker has got everyone in a panic!" I huffed and took three quick steps towards Bruce. "Gotham needs you," I said, jabbing my finger into his chest to punctuate the words. "Damn it, why can't you see that?"

He wrapped his strong fingers around my wrist and pushed my hand away; the gesture made my anger flare hotter than before. "Gotham does not need me. It needs someone like Harvey, who can do the good I do without a mask, without the scare tactics. Gotham needs a white knight to look up to, someone who can shoulder these responsibilities without creating an alter ego." His hand tightened reflexively on my wrist before he let go and turned his back to me and walked towards the Tumbler.

I lunged forward and grabbed his shoulder, aware that my lips were pulled back over my teeth in a snarl. "YOU CAN'T JUST GIVE UP!" For a terrifying second after my outburst, I thought Bruce was going to attack me, but he just kept his hard gaze levelled on me, the flash of rage fading as quickly as it had appeared; he was waiting for what was next out of my mouth. "You can't walk away from this," I said, rather weakly.

"I can and I am."

Bruce started to pull away. "NO!" Evidently my anger was strongest displayed when his back was to me.

"I told you before—this isn't your decision."

I growled and moved to stand in front of Bruce; I could feel my face getting hot and knew my cheeks were red. "Bruce, you are making a mistake! This is the wrong response to the Joker, you cannot give into him." My voice had started to shake, and I clenched my jaw to keep it from breaking; tears were pushing at the back of my eyes and I knew if my voice went, I'd start crying and I couldn't appear any weaker than I already did in front of Bruce. "Gotham does need people like Harvey, but it also needs someone like you, who is willing to go the extra mile, who isn't bound by the law. What would Gordon and Harvey have done if you hadn't gone to China to get Lau back?" Bruce didn't say anything and most of the anger had evaporated from his face, so I continued. "Gotham needs Batman."

Bruce's eyes narrowed, the muscles around them twitching slightly. He turned his back on my again and walked back to the incinerator, where Alfred was standing, watching the scene. His face was placid, closed off. He was not getting involved until one of us brought him into it.

"Keep burning the files, Alfred."

Or Bruce could change the subject.

I growled again and stomped over to my bag, by flip-flops echoing loudly as they slapped against the concrete. I grabbed my bag, shoved the book from the desk in it, along with several batarangs, papers covered with writing I didn't take time to identify, and a thick folder from Wayne Enterprises. And then I stomped towards the lift.

"Eleanor."

"What?" I snapped at Bruce.

"Leave the files."

I stomped back to the incinerator, pulled the papers out of my bag and threw them in the air, the sheets raining down for a few seconds, their small fluttering noises mingling with the roar of the fire to my right. Alfred was just tossing the log books into the blaze—the latest of which were in my hand—and I had to ignore it as they went into the flames. I glared as hard and as meanly as I possibly could and stepped up to Bruce, close enough that a deep breath would have made us touch.

"I hope you realize what you're doing, Bruce. And, for the record, I know I'm right. Gotham does need Batman." I let all the emotion welling inside of me bleed into my face and whispered, "And so do I."

I had barely made it to my car when I lost control.

I collapsed over the wheel, the sobs racking my body hard enough that after a few seconds, I tried very hard to make myself stop, but that only resulted in hyperventilating, which hurt more. I managed to get control of myself just as grey spots started to dance across my vision, and then slumped back against the seat, breathing deeply to try and chase the last of the shaky breaths away. My chest thrummed with pain as I inhaled, but I ignored it, staring out the window at the river instead.

Admitting to Bruce that I needed Batman had taken me by surprise, but it was true. I had arranged my whole life around Batman; around helping him, around being his eyes and ears, around being his link to the rest of Gotham when he was out on patrol.

I took another deep breath and started my car, the sound of the engine familiar and somehow comforting. After buckling my seatbelt and checking that my bag was still in place behind me, I pulled out of the lot and onto the road, heading without a second thought to my loft. Unlike the night before, I wasn't incoherent with rage, but I was still mad and I didn't want to look at Bruce right then. All I wanted was to go home and take a shower and go to bed, and tomorrow, after Bruce was in custody, I would start trying to figure out what I was going to do with my life. Maybe I could go back to my photography, but somehow that seemed incredibly inadequate.

For once, I was glad that Blaze wasn't home. I didn't have the energy to take him for a walk and all I really wanted was a few moments of silence. I dropped my bag on the island and proceeded right into the bathroom where I turned the water on full blast and almost as hot as it would go before undressing and climbing under the stream. When I was clean and relaxed as I was going to get, I stepped out of the shower and reached for my towel, only to find it wasn't hanging from its normal hook. After a moment of thought, I found it on a pile on the floor, where I'd left it last time I was home; I'd probably been in a rush to get to the bunker. I shook it out and wrapped it around myself, and then returned to the living room where I plunked down on the couch to watch the news.

Some habits are hard to break.

I flicked on the television, already tuned to the news station, and watched for a moment as the anchor read through some national stories about rising oil prices and bizarre weather on the west coast. Keeping one ear tuned to the television, I got off the couch and headed into my bedroom to throw on a pair of sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt before making some eggs and toast, all the while trying very hard to keep my thoughts from returning to what I had just dubbed the Batman place. If Batman was to be no more, I'd better get used to it, and sooner would be better than later.

Food finished and plated, I dropped back on to the couch, just in time to hear the newscaster say they were switching to the live coverage of the press conference called by Harvey Dent.

I contemplated switching the channel. I got as far as wrapping my fingers around the remote, but I changed my mind at the last minute. I had fought to be part of Batman's world, and this, as much as I didn't like it, was part of everything. I set my jaw and watched.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Dent began, scanning the capacity crowd with his dark eyes. "Thank you for coming. I've called this press conference for two reasons. Firstly, to assure the citizens of Gotham that everything that can be done over the Joker killing is being done." There was an increase in noise from the crowd, many of them doubting very strongly that anything was being done at all. "Secondly," Dent continued, ignoring the chatter. "Because the Batman has offered to turn himself in—"

The chatter swelled almost to yelling as people demanded he step forward now. As the camera angle switched to show the crowd, I spotted Bruce, against the back wall, his face blank. The camera focused on Harvey again.

"So where is the Batman?" someone from the crowd jeered.

"First," Dent said over the heckling, "Let's consider the situation: should we give in to this terrorist's demands? Do we really think that—"

My breakfast forgotten on the coffee table in front of me, I shifted forward until I was sitting on the edge of the couch, my elbows braced across my knees. What was Dent doing? Did he not want Batman to turn himself in? I wished the camera would switch back to the crowd so I could see Bruce's face, to see what he was thinking.

"You'd rather protect an outlaw vigilante than the lives of citizens?" someone in the crowd barked.

Over the assenting noise of the crowd, and the grinding of my teeth, Dent said, "The Batman is an outlaw... but that's not why we're demanding he turn himself in. We're doing it because we're scared." He paused and took a deep breath before continuing. "We've been happy to let the Batman clean up our streets for us until now—"

"Things are worse than ever!"

I had a very real urge to throw something at my television, but I knew that wouldn't solve anything, so I settled for wrapping my hands around a pillow.

"Yes. They are. But the night is darkest just before the dawn, and I promise you the dawn is coming." The crowed fell quiet and my hands began to hurt for grabbing the pillow so tightly. "One day, the Batman will have to answer for the laws he's broken, but not to us, and not to this madman."

There was a moment when I thought everyone was going to agree and the press conference was going to end, that Bruce wasn't going to have to turn himself in, and I could go back to the bunker and that night Bruce would put on the cape and cowl and go out on patrol. I even felt a small smile split my face, but I should have known it was too good to be true. There was an almost perceptible ripple through the crowd, as the cops gathered to one side of the room—just visible on the current camera angle—bristled. One of them took a step forward.

"No more dead cops!"

And a reporter yelled, "Where is the Batman?"

And the crowd picked it up. I threw the pillow at the TV, watched it bounce off uselessly and crossed my arms over my chest. It was foolish to have clung to that one tiny ray of hope, but I had. Batman was done.

"So be it," said Dent. "Take the Batman into custody."

I waited for Bruce to appear on screen; I was back on the edge of the couch, my hands balled into fists.

There was a beat and then Dent turned to the policemen on stage and extended his wrists. "I am the Batman."

My mouth fell open and I watched, waiting for Bruce to step up and correct the district attorney, but it didn't happen. Angry and satisfied cheers went up from the audience as Dent was carted off, and the coverage returned to the news room, the anchors both mystified at what had happened; I was glad I wasn't Dent's personal assistant, because I knew the phone would already be ringing. Grinning wildly, I turned off the TV as I jumped to my feet, and then I grabbed my keys, shoved my feet into my flip-flops and I was out the door. I reached the penthouse in record time, still smiling. Not even when I ran in on Rachel fuming to Alfred, did my grin falter.

"How could you let him do this?" she yelled as soon as I was within glaring distance.

I pressed my lips into a thin line. "I didn't let him do anything. Bruce went down to the press conference, fully intending to turn himself in."

"Why didn't he stop them from taking Harvey?"

Alfred stepped into the conversation, obviously intending to continue the thoughts I'd interrupted. The butler gave me a look I knew all too well and wrapped a hand around Rachel's upper arm and gently steered her away from me. The memory of the last fight Rachel and I had came back and I rubbed my head where it had hit the rocks all those months ago.

"Perhaps," Alfred said, "both Bruce and Mr. Dent believe that Batman stands for something more important than a terrorist's whims, Ms. Dawes, even if everyone hates him for it." There was a look cast my way, and I had the grace to shrug, but there was also a small smile on the butler's face, but it vanished when he turned his attention back to Rachel, who was still fuming. "That's the sacrifice he's making—to not be a hero. To be something more."

Rachel pulled away from Alfred and one hand back through her dark hair, the gesturing betraying just how frustrated she was. "Well you're right about one thing," she snapped at Alfred, while she was looking at me. "Letting Harvey take the fall was not heroic." She glared at me a moment longer before turning to Alfred and producing a small white envelope. "You know Bruce best, Alfred. Give this to him when the time is right."

"How will I know?"

"It's not sealed." I watched Alfred and Rachel embrace and then stepped out of the way as the angry young woman. She stopped in front of me. "Goodbye Eleanor. I hope you're happy."

I gave her the biggest smile I could muster. "Oh, I am."

When she was in the elevator and out of hearing distance, Alfred turned to me, one eyebrow raised. "Ms. Black, I do not think that was necessary."

I shrugged again, what I knew to be a playful grin on my lips. "I can't help it Alfred."

He took in the grin on my face and rewarded me with a small one in return as he slipped Rachel's envelope into his pocket. I wanted to know what the letter said, but I knew better than to ask. However, Alfred caught my wandering eyes. "This is between Master Bruce and Ms. Dawes," he said in a warning tone.

I held up one hand. "I wasn't going to ask. I have learned a few things."

"Is it safe to assume you are no longer mad at Master Bruce?"

Again, I shrugged. "I'm still mad. He was going to turn Batman in for God's sake. But..."

"But you love him." Alfred's smile was genuine as he watched me blush, but I nodded, well aware my feelings never had been a secret to him. "Ms. Black, I must say I am impressed by your dedication."

"I told him I was going to help and I fought to get my place in front of that computer screen. I'm not about to give it up, even if I am mad at Bruce." I held Alfred's gaze for a moment. "Is he coming back here?"

"I would imagine so."

The elevator doors opened then, admitting Bruce, who was looking a little blindsided. His eyes were wide and his mouth was opened slightly; I'd never seen him looked so shocked. If it had been before my ranting, I would have gone to him, but as it was, I remained standing in the middle of the room, my arms folded under my chest, my keys dangling from one finger. After a second, Bruce's eyes found mine and he looked mildly surprised—whether it was because I was there, or because of my bedraggled appearance, I wasn't sure—but then he nodded once and closed the distance between us, stopping about five inches away.

"You're going on patrol tonight?" I asked, looking up at him.

He nodded again, hands in his pockets. "Will you be plugged in?"

"Where else would I be?" I was rewarded with a small but satisfying grin. Following a sudden impulse, I grabbed Bruce's hand and squeezed.

Author's Note.

Five chapters left!

I'm looking forward to writing some of the stuff in those chapters too, because I have some real-life emotional experience that I get to use. Should be fun times.

Anyways, please enjoy.

Next Chapter: I Live in Batman's Basement.