Chapter 8

"Rachel! What are you doing here?"

"Time to get back to work, don't you think?"

"Oh Rachel, I'm so sorry—"

"It's okay, Lisa, really it is." Rachel proffered a half-smile to her fellow DA Lisa Rosselli. Lisa strode up to her and put her left hand on her shoulder, making her flinch.

Lisa pulled back. "I'm sorry, didn't mean to upset you."

"It's nothing. Can we talk?"

Rachel turned and walked down the corridor, opening the door to a vacant office. After she and Lisa entered, Rachel closed the door.

"What's up?"

"I need to know the latest that MCU has on their mob investigations."

Lisa fidgeted, brushing a strain of her long blond hair clear of her eyes. "Right now everyone is out looking for the Joker and those responsible for killing Dent—"

Without bidding Rachel's left leg buckled, and she momentarily staggered.

"Rachel! Are you okay—"

"—yes, yes," she replied, fighting to keep the rage within. Mildly, she continued. "We know the Joker and the mob are working together. One will lead to the other."

Lisa nodded slowly. "Right, but like I said there's nothing new. If you want, I can call Detective Ramirez and see if she's got—Rachel? Are you okay?"

At the mention of Ramirez's name, Rachel froze in shock; her body began to quiver. Ramirez! When I came back to MCU after they apprehended the Joker, she came up to me and told me she would have a squad car take me to where Harvey was!

It was the last thing she remembered before waking up strapped to that chair and surrounded by barrels of gasoline.

"You're looking very pale, perhaps we should go outside?"

"No, no, I'm fine. Can you call Ramirez in?"

"Sure, I'll do it now, hold on." Lisa picked up the office phone and called MCU Special Investigations Unit, asking for Ramirez. After a while she hung up. "Strange, the lieutenant is missing."

"Missing? Do they have any idea where she is?"

"No one knows." Lisa's eyes flicked outward, then she came up close to Rachel and whispered. "Have you heard the rumors?"

Rachel shook her head. Even softer, Lisa continued: "About people on the inside of MCU and even the DA's office being on the take. Guys like Merrett and Wuertz, everyone suspects them, but you never know in this town. Could be anyone."

Rachel frowned, the right corner of her mouth drooping. Ramirez, Ramirez. She was only vaguely familiar with her; wracking her brains for information, she was certain there was something…

"—maybe she's at the hospital visiting her mother. You remember the card we all sent her?"

That's it; I remember now. And I know what to do. "Of course. I've taken up enough of your time. Thanks again."

"No problem Rachel." Lisa came up to her and hugged her tightly; she struggled to reciprocate. Breaking away, Lisa wiped the corner of her eyes. "We'll get them, don't you worry. I believed in Dent, too." Patting her on the shoulder, Lisa turned and left.

"'We'll get them,'" Rachel repeated softly to the empty room. "Oh yes we will." And I know exactly how.

Rachel opened her purse and took out another cell phone. "Yes?" came the cold reply.

"I know who to get next. Here's how we'll do it."

Under a crimson twilight sky, Batman crouched in the shadows cast by two large trucks, waiting for his target. No more mistakes, he reminded himself harshly. From now on, you have to be two steps ahead.

Minutes later, his patience was rewarded. A short, portly man in a dark grey suit stepped out of a nondescript sedan that had parked by the warehouse, a rusted hulk of a structure down by the Southland docks on the Lower West Side. Three other bodyguards stepped out and escorted him inside. Their movements were quick, their expressions grim. They know the hunt is on.

When they were inside, Batman checked his surroundings, then stole around to the rear of the warehouse. There was a large gantry crane that towered over the surroundings. He took out his grappling gun and fired at the top of the crane. Once the line was secure, he quickly hoisted himself up, until he was nearly a hundred feet off the ground. The roof of the warehouse was ten feet below him but nearly fifty feet away, too far to jump and too close to glide. Again he rehooked his grappling gun and fired. The first shot didn't take, and he hastened to reload, aware that time was ticking by. The second shot hit true. Fastening the wire to the crane, he took out a pulley and slid down the line towards the warehouse

Once on the roof, he quickly headed towards an exit door in the middle of the roof. Breaking the lock, Batman quietly entered and descended the dark staircase. A floor down, at the end of a corridor there was a door, which he opened. He then found himself on a ledge running around the entire interior of the warehouse, just below the ceiling. Below him were innumerable boxes and crates stacked fifty feet high. There was a large empty space in the center of the floor where light came up from the bottom, and where he could hear some voices chatting.

For the third time he took out a hook and fastened it to the railing. Without making a sound he heaved himself over the side, lowering himself to the ground as a wire spooled out from his utility belt. Landing with a soft thud, he unhooked himself and made his way to the center, flanked on both sides by towering metal crates. From an opening ahead the light grew brighter and the voices louder. At the very edge, he extended a small periscope, built especially for looking around corners. The four men were twenty feet ahead, the three bodyguards with his back to him, while the other was apparently sitting down and facing towards him, but hidden from view.

Batman stowed away all his gear, flexed his hands, then turned the corner and charged at full speed. He hurled himself full speed at the guard in the middle while fully extending his arms to both sides. All three of them tumbled to the ground; the middle guy crashed into the hard stone floor with a sickening crack indicating a broken nose, screaming in agony. The one to his right smashed his head into the floor and instantly went limp, but the man to his left had managed to roll and land on his side. He quickly thrashed beneath him, trying to bring his right hand up. Shifting to his left, Batman grabbed his right arm just before the other man had reached for his pistol, then brutally yanked him to his feet.

The short grey-suited man was right in front of them both, getting up from his chair behind a desk and bringing his own gun to bear. With all his strength Batman threw his guy right into the other man, sending them tumbling to the ground. He leaped forward atop the desk and jumped down on the two of them; stomping downwards, he heard a loud groan as the guard's head impacted sideways on the pavement. Reaching down, he reached down and lifted the other man up and off his feet.

"Evening Fazio. Have a moment?"

Batman barely managed to turn his head and avoid being hit square by a noisome combination of spit and tobacco juice. Unable to wipe his cheek, with anger Batman whirled him about and bodyslammed him onto the desk, smashing it to bits.

"Leave me alone," Sonny 'The Frog' Fazio grunted. "I don't know nothin'!"

"Try again." Batman picked him up and planted him into the chair, kicking it. Fazio and the chair rolled into the side of a crate, causing him to tumble to the grown. Much quicker than one might expect, he got to his feet and turned to run, but Batman overtook him just a few steps later. He spun Fazio around and slammed him into the side of the crate, causing his fleshy jowels to quiver at the impact.

Squinting, Fazio rubbed his spiky white-haired head. "Goddamnit, that hurts!"

"If you don't start talking, your head will be the least of your worries."

Fazio laughed harshly. "Whaddya gonna do, knock my teeth out?" He spat at him again; a set of dentures landed at his feet. "You'd be ten years too late for that."

"Last chance – talk or you'll regret it."

Nearly a foot shorter than Batman, but just as heavy, Fazio looked up at him and smiled. "As long as I ain't dead, I'll take regrets for $100."

"Where's the Joker? Who's backing his play?"

"I don't know, and it doesn't matter." Batman belted him in the kidneys, forceful but not all-out, a punch designed to inflict pain but not damage. Grunting, Fazio staggered but got back to his feet almost instantly.

"You stupid cop—"

"—I'm not a cop!"

"—Whatever, you're nothin' but a cop in a snazzier uniform." He rubbed his side, grimacing, then continued. "We gave our money to Lau, and the Joker took half of that. I'm talking tens, hundreds of millions of bucks. None of us can buy him off now, he's the top dog in Gotham now, and the rest of us are either working for him, or hoping he doesn't leave us with a special smile, know what I mean?"

Batman grimly remembered the hideous rictus carved on the faces of the Joker's victims. "Then where is he?"

"No one knows, he's gone to ground after the ferry blew up." Batman couldn't help but wince at the reminder of his failure. "If he don't wanna be found, that's good enough for me."

"Then give me the names of those who worked with the Joker. If you don't know, maybe they do."

"Yeah, rat out the Joker. You're a funny guy Batman, you should do standup at the Badda-Bing—"

Batman kicked him in the groin, turning Fazio into a mezzo-soprano. As he rolled on the ground clutching his crotch in agony, Batman methodically scooped up the guns and wallets of Fazio and his men, then began rifling through the drawers of the mangled desk.

Rummaging through the files, he turned around and punched Fazio just as he was about to hit him with a piece of wood. Fazio tumbled to the ground and moved hardly at all.

Towering over him, Fazio grunted and said: "You ain't got nothin' on us."

Smiling, Batman held out a small disk. "You really should keep these in a safer place."

Eyes widening, Fazio struggled to get to his feet. "You son of a—"

Batman whirled about and roundhouse-kicked Fazio in the stomach. Once again, he dropped to the floor, clutching his midsection and groaning.

He crouched down beside him. "I'm letting you go. I suggest you find out all you can about where the Joker is, and what he's up to. We'll talk again, later."

"Find out where the Joker is," Fazio said. He began to laugh derisively. "Like I said, pure comedy gold."

Batman shrugged. "The first one who helps take down the Joker gets off lightly. Everyone else… not so much. Think it over," he said, turning with a flourish of his cape as he exited the warehouse.

"I think I'm going to enjoy this."

"Unlikely, you're not a man."

"I can still appreciate even that – at least, from the opposite view."

A pause. "I was just kidding. It won't come to that, it would be… unprofessional."

"Well, we'll see."

At Rachel's side, Janos nodded and turned her attention to the one-way glass. On the other side, surrounded by equipment and tables filled with various surgical instruments and needles, sat Lieutenant Ramirez, tied down from head to toe. One of Janos' men was sitting across from her, smiling and relaxed, while two technicians prepared the various interrogation tools.

Apparently dissatisfied with an answer from her, he signaled to one of the technicians. The technician belted Ramirez in the jaw, sending her sprawling to the ground. He gave her a good swift kick, then pulled her up to a sitting position.

For many minutes the pattern repeated itself, as Janos' interrogator asked questions of Ramirez and, when she either refused to answer or gave an unsatisfying response, the technicians employed various means to encourage her to talk. Gradually her face and clothes became progressively bloodier, but she continued to resist.

"Perhaps it's time for a woman's touch," Rachel suggested.

Janos shook his head. "You can't be involved directly."

Rachel half-smiled. "It won't matter. What happens in Gotham, stays in Gotham."

"I don't understand."

Rachel sighed. "Just let me try. I'm sure…" she paused, gathering her thoughts. "I'm sure she'll get a charge out of me."

Janos frowned, then suddenly his eyes widened with understanding. "Of course."

Blessed Mary, be with me, Ramirez said over and over to herself.

Time had lost all meaning as they continued to beat her, inject her with stuff that made her alternately burn and freeze, and forced her head underwater to the point of drowning. She was exhausted, her throat parched dry, and pain dully throbbed from every part of her body, from her half-deafened ears to her singed toes. But still she would not reveal anything. I have to protect my mother, no matter the cost.

Behind Ramirez, a door opened. "I'll take it from here," came a soft, muffled voice, one that sounded vaguely familiar to her.

Nodding, her interrogator got up and left.

A hand landed gently on her shoulder—a woman's hand. Straining, she turned to see thin pale fingers with clear white nails. "Why won't you help us?"

"I'm a Gotham City police detective," Ramirez said through swollen cracked lips. "I will not submit to criminal scum like yourselves."

"Takes one to know one."

Ramirez did not respond. Her new female interrogator backed off. She said: "Isn't it odd how well informed the Joker was? How he was able to poison Loeb and blow up Judge Surillo? How he was able to kidnap Dent? Almost like he had inside help."

"If he did, it wasn't me."

"So you've been saying for the past two hours." Is that how long it's been? It feels like two days.

Off to her side, the woman said: "Woman to woman, Ramirez, I beg you, tell us what you know. I don't want them to hurt you any more than is necessary. Please, tell me?"

Ramirez told the female dog what exactly she could do with herself.

"That's not very ladylike," her new interrogator chided. "Not to mention impossible—at least for ourselves it is." Chuckling, the woman was again standing behind her. She leaned over her right shoulder and wrapped a wire around her right wrist, then did so for her left wrist. Ramirez still could not see her face, but she could tell she had brown hair. With a jolt, she realized what was going to happen to her—about the only thing they had not yet done to her.

"Pretty please? No? Very well." Hail Mary, full of Grace…

—a terrible surge flowed through Ramirez. Screaming, her back arched, until she was frozen in pain, unable to move, unable to even breathe. Her body shuddered violently, so much she thought she would shake herself to pieces. The torture endured forever; then abruptly it vanished.

Collapsing back in her seat, Ramirez gasped for breath, trying to stop her arms from shaking. Her tormentor spoke pleasantly, conversationally.

"I'm afraid if you don't tell me what I need to know, you are going to die."

"Go ahead and kill me then, I'll never talk."

"You owe me."

"What?"

The other woman quickly walked around and sat right in front of her. Ramirez gasped; it was Rachel Dawes. Only…

"—yes, I'm alive. Barely." Dawes was wearing a thin white blouse and black silk pants. But the left half of her face was covered by a strange dull-white plastic mask, like from Phantom of the Opera. The mask did not conceal everything, however; she was bald on the left side of her head, and her scalp was blackened and charred.

"What… what is this…"

"When I came back to MCU after they apprehended the Joker, I wanted to know where Harvey was, that he was alright." Her voice, although still slurred, now sounded the way she remembered. "You came to me and said that they were taking him to a secure location, that you would have a squad car take me there. I remember—I didn't ask you, you asked me. You sought me out, specifically. And the next thing I remember is being strapped to those oil drums."

Ramirez was frightened now, but still did not say anything. "And then this happened." Slowly Dawes reached up and removed her mask. Her face was a horror: blackened, encrusted scars, the skin over the left side of her mouth gone, revealing her bare teeth and jaw beneath, and a stark white eyeball staring unblinkingly back at her. She fought the urge to wretch—and lost.

"You murdered Harvey Dent, the love of my life," Dawes said coldly. "My physical pain is almost as great as my inner pain." She closed in, until they were nearly touching. "Who—gave—the order?"

The only source of strength Ramirez had left was rage; she unleashed it to survive. "Who do I work for? You should ask that of yourself! Torturing cops ain't gonna win you any friends Dawes."

Dawes smiled—a half smile; the left side of her face did not move, a perpetually frozen neutral gaze. "My friends and I have the same goal: find the Joker and his accomplices, and deal with them. Permanently." She backed off. "Tell me what I need to know, and we'll let you live. Or you will die."

"I can only die once, so go ahead."

Dawes' smile became a half-frown. "You know how we captured you, right?"

Ramirez nodded grimly. "My mother's condition became worse, when I found out I tried to sneak into the hospital."

"That was our doing; we knew you went into hiding after Harvey was captured. What better way to lure you into the open than to get the word out that your mother's condition was deteriorating?" She smiled, her soft upturned lips an awful and terrifying contrast to her charred corpse-half. "If you don't tell me, not only will you die—your mother will also."

"No!"

"Yes. For the last time, who hired you?"

Tears streaming down Ramirez's face, she finally relented. "Maroni."

Dawes slapped her. "Maroni didn't kidnap Harvey, the Joker did!"

"It was all about stopping Dent, that's what they told us to do," Ramirez said, sobbing. "Please, I didn't know they were going to try and kill you, I just had to do what I could to save my mother."

Dawes sat down, the expression on the right side of her face cross. "Very well. But know this: I'm going to kill you anyway. And as you die, be comforted by the fact your mother's going to die as well!"

"What?"

Dawes chuckled. "Now that you've seen my face, obviously we can't let you go. Dead women tell no tales and all that." She got up and walked over to the instruments. "And it only seems fair for you to lose the only family you know or have, as added payment for your crimes."

"No, please, don't!"

"Consider yourself lucky; I could have turned you over to my new 'friends' and let them have some fun at your expense before. But I think knowing your dear mama's going to die for your sins as well, that's good enough for me. Good-bye!" She threw the switch.

An indescribable agony filled Ramirez, consuming her body. The last thing she saw was Dawes staring back at her, half-smiling.

When Ramirez's corpse stopped twitching, Janos entered the room. He walked up to Rachel, who was still standing silently, gazing down at the body.

"I'm impressed, Miss Dawes," Janos said brightly. "I didn't think you had it in you."

"I didn't either," she said softly.

"Maroni," Janos said. "Not surprising, and not very helpful, I'm afraid."

"I know."

"Still, there's no doubt now that you're a vital part of our plans. Your suggestion that we do something to harm her mother worked to perfection."

Rachel nodded silently. Janos continued: "So, shall we carry out your threat?"

Rachel did not respond at first. Then: "No. No, that's alright."

Janos frowned. "Are you sure? It would be very simple. And we don't like to leave any loose ends."

"We already broke into the hospital to unplug her feeding tubes; they've probably increased security. No need to risk any of your men."

"Not getting soft now, are we Rachel?" Janos said bemusedly.

Abruptly her face snapped around; Janos started at the sight of her burnt face. "What do you think?"

Janos was still smiling, but not as much. "I think I agree with you. So, what's next?"

"First, we need to find and bring in Wuertz. I have… I have special plans for him."

Janos whistled low. "Glad I'm not Wuertz."

"Then we still need to keep digging for the Joker's other contacts with the mob."

"Very well, let us know what you find at the DA's office."

"Actually, I was thinking someplace else."

Although it was the middle of the day, you couldn't tell from where Bruce Wayne was working. Since last night, he had been painstakingly going through the information collected from Fazio and his men. Early in the morning, Alfred came down to the Cave and brought him breakfast, then did the online search for clues while he concentrated on breaking the encryption on the disk.

Beside him, Alfred slowly got up from in front of the computer, stretched and yawned.

"Hanging in there, Alfred?" Bruce said warmly.

"Not as young as I once was, I'm afraid."

"I haven't gotten anywhere, so I'll give it one more try, then we'll call Fox."

Alfred paused. "What about that mobile phone snooping device? It worked before, why not use it again?"

Bruce frowned and turned away. "I made a promise to Lucius. After he kidnapped Rachel again, I told him I needed to use it to find the Joker. He agreed, on the condition that that would be it."

"I understand, Master Bruce, but he's still out there. As long as he is, Rachel will be in danger."

Bruce flinched. "True. But it's academic anyway. The project's down, it can't be used again."

"How so?"

Bruce chuckled. "You can only break so many promises before you're broken. And some promises must be kept."

Alfred could sense he was hinting at more than his dealings with Fox, but Bruce didn't elaborate. "Just so, sir."

Bruce turned around and smiled. "Why don't you take the rest of the day off, I can handle the rest."

Alfred looked offended. "Absolutely not, we've got a job to do, and until it's done—" They were interrupted by the ringing of the phone.

Alfred looked at Bruce; Bruce nodded. Picking up the phone Alfred said: "Wayne residence." A pause, then: "Of course, one moment please." He turned to Bruce and said: "It's Rachel."

"Is she okay?"

"Yes sir, she just wants to talk."

She's not okay then. Taking the cordless, Bruce said: "Hi Rachel."

"Hi Bruce, hope you're well." Her voice was warm and pleasant, but of course his feelings for her always left a positive bias on his impressions of her. Objectively speaking, her tone was actually… conversational, friendly in a casual way.

What do you know? "Is everything okay?" he asked. "Are you alright?"

She sighed on the other end. "I don't think I'll ever be 'alright' again, but I'm managing." Her voice was cool and dispassionate, very analytical. The truth.

"Are you at work?"

"Yeah, trying to get back into the swing of things. It's not that easy." She sounded disappointed.

"Is there anything I can do for you? Do you need anything? Anything special?"

Rachel chuckled—a pleasant sound. "Normally, I don't think there's anything I could imagine needing that you couldn't give me. But, not anymore." Bruce's heart sank. "I like hearing from you, always have, but now it's very touching."

"I like talking with you, too, Rachel," Bruce said, his words following immediately after hers.

"Thank you, Bruce, that's so sweet. But I know you must be busy. I'd better let you go."

"No, wait." Bruce's mind raced; a million reasons flashed through his head why he should or shouldn't. To hell with it. "Rachel, would you like to come over for dinner? I'm sure you wouldn't mind a chance to get out of Gotham for a bit." Eek, overdoing it!

"Bruce Wayne, are you asking me out on a date?" Her voice was cross, but she was probably joking…probably.

"Not a date, just dinner. And some time to talk."

"Okay, then."

"Pick you up at six, outside the courthouse."

"Alfred doesn't have to do that—"

"—I'll pick you up."

"Bruce, you know that's not prudent."

"Alfred will be busy making dinner. There won't be anything to worry about."

"Alright. Just tell Alfred…"

"…What?"

A pause. "The more soup, the better. Bye." Bruce closed his eyes.

"I take it Miss Dawes will be our guest for the evening."

"Just dinner, old man, so don't get your hopes up."

"Of course, sir."

Driving a downbeat Bug, Bruce was dressed way below his station when he picked up Rachel. Jeans, sweatshirt, a baseball cap and shades; perfect for a night at the ballpark, not so much for a night at Wayne Manor, even if it was just dinner.

"A billionaire for a chauffeur," Rachel said warmly as she got in. "I could get used to this."

"Well, don't, I prefer my night job." He turned to face her; the half-mask covered the entire left-side of her face, so he couldn't tell how she reacted to his jab.

"Off we go." As they slowly headed west through the outbound traffic, Bruce warily scanned about for anyone following them.

"How's business?" she asked as they reached the OuterBoro bridge that would take them across the Gotham River to the Palisades.

Bruce grunted. "There are, as you know, two answers to that question."

"Right. Wayne Enterprises."

Good question; it seemed like an eternity since he last thought about it, the crisis with the Joker having consumed his life for the past month."Still in the black, no investigations pending."

"That puts you ahead of 99 % of all Gotham enterprises."

"I guess that's nothing new," Bruce said abashedly, unable to hide from the truth that his wealth outpaced hers by about five orders of magnitude. No one else would believe it, but there are times when it's a curse as much as a blessing. Rachel used to be one Bruce felt would understand. Now…

"So what are we having tonight?"

"For you, a six-course helping of the finesse vegetable soup recipes know to man."

"No beef?"

So much for her vegetarian diet. "Uh, well, Alfred's making one chicken soup for himself."

"Hope he's made extra. Kinda in the mood for meat."

Bruce said severely: "Rachel Dawes, I'm not exactly sure what you were insinuating by that."

She turned to face him, puzzled. "What?" Suddenly the right half of her mouth opened wide. "Bruce Wayne, how dare you!" She slapped him on the shoulder and laughed.

"Sorry, very immature of me," Bruce said, unable to stop giggling himself.

"Alfred that was unbelievably incredible."

"You're too kind, Miss Dawes."

"No, Alfred, seriously, that was the best ever."

"Rubbish, I hardly stretched myself making these broths."

"How come you accept praise from Rachel and not me?"

"Because her opinion matters."

They all laughed. Bruce said: "I guess you're right."

Rachel looked at her watch. "Wow, it's past eight."

"Shall I take you home?"

"No silly, I just got here!"

"You're sure?"

"Of course. Unless… you had other plans this evening."

Alfred and Bruce shared a look. "Not tonight."

"Good, then let's relax." She got up from the table. "Where's the ladies' room?"

"Down the hall, third door on the left."

As soon as the kitchen doors closed behind her Bruce said flatly, "Don't even say it. Nothing's going to happen."

"Of course not, sir, she's clearly not interested."

"What? What makes you think that?"

"She hardly said a word at dinner."

"Conversation's not so easy for her anymore." Bruce said, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice. They certainly had talked, but about growing up, high school, college, and mostly about Alfred's past. But not a word about events since he became the Batman… or after her injury.

He (and Alfred apparently) had carefully not made any effort to steer the conversation, and for whatever reason Rachel had decided not to talk about current events. Following her lead, the night had unwound slowly, lazily, with lots of slurping interspersed with casual, but brief, conversation.

Rachel reentered the kitchen, looking freshened up. "Can I get a tour?"

"Sure Rachel."

"Leave the dishes be. When you come back, I'll have desert on the table."

"Thanks, Alfred."

The downstairs tour was fairly brief, as most of the interior was empty. The exception was the entry foyer, where there were many paintings hanging—unfortunately, the vast majority replicas, the originals having burned down. Bruce was impressed at how accurate she was in identifying the works displayed, but then, he had specified the arrangements of the house with the idea of recreating Wayne Manor as exact as it was before; the actual contents, in the end, did not matter much.

Alfred had cleared the kitchen table and left trays filled with all sorts of ice cream, sherbets and puddings, daintily decorated with fruit. He said: "If you don't mind, Master Bruce, I wish to retire early tonight. I'll sleep on the couches in the downstairs study room of the west wing." Alfred was currently sleeping in the upstairs guest room down the corridor from his room.

While Rachel had his back to him, sampling the deserts, Bruce gave Alfred a withering stare. You dirty old bastard, he thought and almost mouthed disparagingly… admiringly.

Alfred's reaction was priceless; pointing at his chest with a shocked look on face, he mouthed: Who me? Bruce jerked his head angrily to get rid of him. Smiling all the way, Alfred disappeared down the hall.

Rachel turned to face him. "Where we going next, Bruce?"

"Upstairs. My study is the only furnished guest room in the house. We can sit in front of the fire, listen to some music, watch TV, whatever you like." He smiled. "Very comfy couches."

"Oh, Bruce, you certainly know how to treat a lady," Rachel said. Her seductive tone of voice was a total surprise; the plates of desert almost slipped off as he reached the midway point on the staircase.

"Don't worry, Miss Dawes, I promised your father nothing would happen."

Her response was pleasantly wry. "Yeah, my prom date said that, too. Made for a dull evening."

"On certain nights, the best kind."

"So they say."

They sat on the couch, the deserts on the table in front of them. A fireplace crackled in front of them; to the left was a large projection TV, and to their right were windows looking out onto the grounds. It was dark, a clear half-moon on a cloudless night. From here, one could just see the gleam of Gotham on the horizon, while below the sculpted landscape behind the manor reached out, to merge with the woods in the distance.

"No TV, just some music; light jazz if you have it."

"Singing or not?"

"Not."

"As you wish." He got up to the stereo and tuned to a commercial-free channel. He sat back down, a foot away to the left of Rachel.

"Where you sitting, Bruce?" Rachel said playfully, as she snuggled up to him. Regarding his quizzical look, Rachel said exasperatedly, "We're both adults, we're not doing anything wrong. Come on. Wait a second." She got up and sat to his left. Then she rested her head on his shoulders and reached around with her left arm. "Much better," she said happily.

Bruce looked down at her; her right face was placid, content. She was stroking his right arm; her fingers felt rather rough. Glancing down, the skin on her hand was reddened and wrinkled, and shook slightly while at rest. Recovering from second-degree burns.

She continued to stroke him; he reciprocated, rubbing her left shoulder. "Mmm, I could get used to this." Bruce did not respond.

For what seemed like ages, they sat there, caressing one another. But neither of them spoke; Rachel was humming softly to the music.

He looked down at Rachel. She was wearing a white blouse, very modest, but from his viewpoint he could look down the curves of her neck, to her chestline, then to… her sleeves were long, with a few faded reddish spots on the cuffs. Tomato sauce? Looking further down, their legs touched side to side, him in blue jeans, her in black silk pants, with simple black pumps. Bruce breathed in deeply. Perfume—and antiseptics.

You may never have another chance to do this again. Bruce closed his eyes and hoarsely said: "I'm so sorry."

"I know, Bruce, I know." He was at a loss for words. Bruce stopped stroking her, as did she. They just sat quietly, the soft jazz music being the only sound besides the crackling fire.

Rachel slowly lifted her head and looked at him. "Will you forgive me?"

"Yes."

Rachel chuckled softly. "All those things I said…"

"They were all true."

She got up vehemently. "No they weren't. I was… angry. I doubted your motives. But I was wrong. I should have known better."

Bruce disentangled himself from Rachel and pulled away. "Like you said, I chose to save you, rather than Dent."

"Because you loved me." Bruce nodded; he didn't have the heart to say 'yes'.

She took his hand. "If I could have had a choice, told you who to save, I would have told you to save Harvey. For Gotham. And for me."

It was the final twist of the knife. Bruce could only grunt a wordless reply of agreement.

She took his hand and put it on her chest. "But that's in the past. I don't want you to feel guilty for your decision, not anymore." Rachel smiled as much as she could. For the rest of my life, the first thing I'll do every day is give thanks that you saved my life."

Bruce was melting in the acid of his shame. But he did not react at all.

"What we both need to do now, is to work together and bring the Joker to… justice."

"Honestly, if I caught him…"

"Shh... Let's not talk about him, not tonight. Like I said, we need to work together. Between the three of us, we'll get the job done."

"Three of us?"

"You, me. And the Dark Knight."

"Oh okay. Thought you were going to say Alfred."

Rachel smiled. "The four of us."

Now Bruce was smiling. "And Lucius. Don't forget Gordon."

She slapped him, very lightly, playfully. "We'll all do it. And then…"

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Then what?"

Rachel looked at him quizzically. Slowly, she approached, nuzzling the left side of his face with the right side of his. She planted a soft kiss on his lips. He braced himself not to surge forward, and she put a hand on his chest, but did not break contact. Then she pulled away. And smiled.

"Anything's possible."

Bruce nodded. "Anything's possible."

Rachel snuggled up to him again. "Hold me."

"Of course."

Time had no meaning—no end, no beginning. Rachel was lying across his lap, gazing up at the ceiling. At him. As often as she could, Rachel had her head turned to her left side, sparing him the sight of her ruined face. For hours they remained that way, soaking in the pleasure of their not-too-intimate contact.

Bruce glanced at a clock. "It's half-past eleven," he said sleepily.

Yawning, Rachel finally lifted herself from Bruce's lap. "I need to take my medicines."

"Here, let me help." At first she went rigid, resisting. Bruce was about to back off, but then Rachel relaxed. Digging into her purse, he took out three small pill bottles, and unscrewed them. She unscrewed two more, then began shaking pills into her hand and swallowing them, taking a drink of water with each. Bruce watched, although he wanted to turn away.

After she finished, Rachel slowly got to her feet. Bruce took her by the arm. "I'll take you home."

"Bruce, can I sleep over instead? In a few minutes, I'm going to be really wobbly. I'd rather not ride in a car if I didn't have to."

Bruce looked at Rachel with a steady gaze. "The line between the appropriate and the inappropriate can be very fine."

Rachel closed her eyes and nodded, almost in an exasperated manner. "Bruce, you have the training and discipline to be the Batman, but you can't trust yourself to keep your pants on if an old female friend of yours is sleeping in the room next door?" she said wearily. "If you think so little of yourself, then don't worry; I won't give you the opportunity to fall to sinful female temptation. Let's go."

She began heading for the door, her gait somewhat unsteady. "Rachel, wait."

"No, no, better safe than sorry." She staggered some more, grabbing the door to keep upright, but she swayed ominously.

Bruce came up behind her and held her secure. "The guest room is just down the hall."

Rachel snickered. "What, you're not even offering to give me your bed instead? I guess chivalry really is dead!"

"For your information, the guest bed is double king-size."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah yeah!" They looked at each other gravely; then they broke down in laughter. Bruce held his arms open, and Rachel gratefully fell into his warm embrace.

"I had a wonderful time tonight," Rachel said warmly.

"Me too." With an extra spring in her step, Rachel quickly walked down the corridor to the guest room.

As they walked in, Rachel exclaimed: "It's huge!"

"So is the bed." Rachel slapped at air. Bruce brought an extra pillow and gave it to her.

Rachel plopped down on the bed. "One last night of peace, then back to the war."

"Peace is always one dream away."

"And on that happy note, good night Bruce."

Rachel offered her right hand, smiling. Bruce took it and kissed it, grinning from ear to ear. "Good night to you too, my lady."

She fell back on the bed, rolling onto her right side. "Turn off the lights when you leave?"

As Bruce reached the door, the lights winked out. Without another word, he closed the door.

What was all that about? Nothing, just a shared evening, to relieve the stress. Nothing more, nothing less.

"If that's true, why can't I fall asleep?" Fumbling for the lights, Bruce groaned and sat up. He hadn't even bothered to change; as soon as he got back to his room, he had just turned off the lights and laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling, not knowing up from down.

Very weird night. At times it was a like they were ten years old and having a sleepover, it was so fun and innocent. Other times… as if they were in the shadow of death, waiting for sentencing. "Pick a number between zero and infinity." That's how many different things I seemed to feel and think about.

Anything's possible.

"Bleah." Keep this up, and you'll forget you're the Batman. Another thought came to him of what this night was like: it was as if they were a super-old married couple, no longer driven by the lusts of youth, just enjoying a night alone together, after a long life where their triumphs and regrets had almost faded from memory. It's all good. With a friendship like ours, anything can be dealt with.

That was a happy note on which to close things out. Those carnal thoughts that had pulsed silently all evening, rising close to the surface as they got close-but-not-too-close, seemed… not crazy, not inappropriate… just… weird. Not tempting or even scary; just odd. Something strange and powerful is a catalyst of fear; something odd and cute—like what he shared with Rachel tonight—could never be scary.

Bruce smiled as he enjoyed that most rarefied of experiences lately: relief. Relief from lust, relief from fear. And relief from guilt—the overwhelming shame he had for all the ways he had failed her and everyone else. That was the most important thing of all.

Sleep rapidly crept up on him; Bruce turned off the lights and prepared to return to the land of dreams.

Bruce snapped his body into the air and landed on the floor with both feet, crouched and ready. Back to the war.

A slim figure stood silhouetted against the dim light from the corridor. The lights came on and the figure entered his bedroom. Rachel.

She stood before him in a royal-blue bath robe. It was several sizes too big, but not so large as to conceal her lack of clothing underneath.

Rachel closed the door behind her as Bruce eased back into a normal stance. She took a step towards him; he took a step back. There was a dazed look of wonder on her face.

He cocked his head to the side. "Couldn't sleep?"

She shook her head. "No."

Their mouths crushed together first, forming kisses fierce in intensity and urgency, teeth sinking into tongues and lips, skin; hard plastic. Rachel threw her head back as Bruce nuzzled her bare neck, his stubble rubbing up and down, grazing and tingling her skin.

Bruce pulled back; with his left hand he pushed Rachel's head back towards him. He stared at her wide-eyed, while her right eye and mouth hung lazily half-opened. In a wild spinning motion, they ended up sprawled across his bed.

Rachel tried to get atop Bruce, but he grabbed the front collars of her robe and pulled her across him; an instant later he was the one straddling her. Fearfully, she looked down; the hem of the robe was tangled and halfway between her knee and thigh. As fast as he could Bruce began removing his clothes: first the sweatshirt, T-shirt, jeans, socks. Rachel unwound herself; she spread her legs, bringing her left knee up as high as she could, while her right leg pointed straight down. She lifted both arms, palms-up, as if surrendering to the police, breathing rapidly.

Now only in his boxers, Bruce propped himself up with his left arm while he grabbed the waistband of her robe. Before pulling he looked directly at her, nodding questioningly; Rachel nodded back. He tugged hard and her robe spilled open. He dropped himself down on her, forcing the air out of her with a grunt. Bruce's mouth was again on Rachel's as they grinded together, her legs snapping shut around his torso. He reached down to her chest and squeezed; a breathless cry escaped her mouth. Bruce brought his other arm down and grasped harder.

Rachel then brought her arms up and pushed against his chest, straining with effort. For a moment Bruce would not relent; finally he pulled away and looked down at the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld.

Panting, he gasped: "Last chance. No turning back."

Her lips curled into a snarl. "Take me, have me." Bruce reached down and wormed his way clear. Boldly Rachel flung her robe fully open, sliding her arms out of the sleeves.

Nothing covered their glistening bodies now. Bruce was about to, when Rachel suddenly cried out: "Wait, stop!"

He barely stopped in time. "What, what?"

Wiping sweat from her bow, Rachel bit her lip, then slowly she reached up and began to unfasten the mask over the left side of her face. Before Bruce could respond, Rachel flung it to the floor, and once again he beheld her ruined form.

Bruce deflated, in more ways than one. "Rachel?"

"I'm sorry, darling," she said tearfully, reaching up to caress his cheek. "But when we do, I don't want anything between us."

Bruce said nothing, did nothing. Rachel then got up and fully pressed her body to his. She shook her head side to side, rubbing as much of her face as she could against his. Bruce stiffened with distaste at the rough scraping of Rachel's scars against his face, but as he sank once again into the sweetness of her embrace, it became nothing at all.

"Yes?"

"Yes, yes!"

And Bruce Wayne and Rachel Dawes became one.