Chapter 10

"Let's do it again."

"I'm ready."

…

"Yes, yes! Harder, more!"

"Oh God!"

"Bruce?"

"Hmm?"

"Take me."

"You know, it's getting late."

"Come on, don't be shy."

"Okay Rachel."

"Mmm, this time, I want you to be a little rough."

"Sorry?"

"You're so gentle Bruce! Don't be so soft, I won't break!"

"Uh…"

"Get ready, Mister Batman."

"I, well, oh—!"

"Come on! Choke me, you bastard!"

"Rachel?"

"That's it, hit me! I like the pain!"

"No, that's it."

"You know you want to, treat me the way you treat those filthy criminals; beat me down—"

"—Enough!"

"Sorry Brucie, I just love you so much, I want to please you."

"I want to please you too, but—"

"—So just play along! It's just a little fantasy, role-play!"

"I don't know…"

"Come on, it's just like when you wear your mask. Can't I pretend to be someone else, in the bedroom? I'm still your sweet beloved Rachel, but tonight, I wanna be a badass bitch. I like to inflict pain—"

"—oww, you bit me!"

" –and I like it when you hurt me. Come on, do it!"

"Rachel!"

"Please? I've been a bad girl. A very, very bad girl, and I need to be punished. The Batman must punish evil, dirty Rachel."

"Jesus…"

"Very bad."

"Alright."

Bruce squinted as his eyes were assaulted by the onslaught of a bright Saturday morning. Rachel lay beside him. He reached out to caress her bare right shoulder; his fingers paused in midair. Craziness.

The tips of his fingers touched. "Good morning."

He pulled away. Rachel rolled over to face him, smiling like a half-angel / half-demon. "This is becoming alarmingly familiar," he murmured.

"We're not in trouble yet." She began stroking his torso; veritable goosebumps rose on his skin. Her fingers traced over a thick mass of scar tissue—where the beam that fell from the ceiling had struck him, knocking him unconscious in a burning Wayne Manor. "You've suffered so much."

"It's all in the past," he said quietly. "These are just signs of bad memories."

Rachel pushed herself onto him, so that her body snuggled up to his. She put her arms around him; he did not reciprocate. She reached up and kissed him. "Guess you never really know someone until you sleep with them."

He smiled. "What more do you want to know about me? I think you know everything now."

"No Bruce Wayne, you're still full of surprises."

"Like what?"

Rachel kissed him again, deeper. When she pulled back she stroked his cheek, which made him react. "You're such a gentle soul, for such a violent guy."

"Last night notwithstanding, I'd rather not handle you the way I handle Maroni or Fazio."

"Which makes you totally different from Harvey. He wouldn't hurt a fly—physically, but boy did he put me in my place when we were in the sack!"

Something about himself twisted the wrong way. "It's none of my business," he said as diplomatically as he could.

Playfully Rachel said: "If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with!"

And so she—we—did. "I wish he were alive," Bruce said, unable to keep the sadness out of his voice.

"Oh really?" Her voice was unpleasantly sarcastic.

"Really." He was completely sincere in his answer. Well, almost…

"Even if it meant you couldn't have… this?" She nuzzled his neck as her hands became busy. "Or this?" She reached lower.

Bruce's body jerked. Though he wanted to, he did not push her away. "Harvey Dent was Gotham's best hope for the future."

Not pausing, Rachel mumbled: "Then we'll just have to make do with the next best thing."

"I'm trying," he said tiredly.

"So am I," she said with sudden vehemence. Without warning she flipped him on his back and mounted him. "Show me what you've got!"

Bruce hesitated, then: "Okay."

Afterwards, they laid side by side, staring up at the ceiling, silent. Bruce turned on the radio by the bed, which began playing the morning news; as expected, the lead story was the ongoing investigation of the police massacre. He let it run for a while.

"All those cops killed," he said after turning off the radio.

"Such a shame."

"Wuertz and Ramirez were among the dead."

"Yep."

"How does that make you feel?"

"Dead cops are dead cops."

"But some of them were dirty cops, the dirtiest. They were responsible for you and Harvey—"

"—whoever killed them will face justice."

"But do you think they received justice?"

"What I think doesn't matter."

"Rachel, look at me." She did, revealing her good side and bad.

"Yes, Bruce?"

"If you had the Joker in your hands, what would you do?"

Rachel's face was unreactive. Her voice was as neutral as her gaze when she said: "Kill him, of course." Bruce turned away. "It's the only way to be sure."

"Death does have that very annoying trait of being permanent."

"It wouldn't be murder."

"You're the lawyer, but somehow I don't think that's what the law says."

"Murder is unjustified killing. Killing the Joker is justified."

"How?"

"The law is what twelve people in a juror box say it is. Or a judge, flawed human beings that they are."

"I want to stop the Joker as much as you do—because of what he did to Harvey and you. But…"

"…you don't think we should kill him?"

"Not a fan of capital punishment."

"Just revenge."

"Trust me, Rachel, revenge isn't all that."

Rachel fell silent. "Hmm." Then: "Oh! Right, I had forgotten. Joe Chill was killed by Falcone, but that wasn't enough for you. Correct?"

"It was more than enough. Too much, actually. Someone taught me that, a long time ago."

Rachel sighed. "Turn about's fair play." Then she smiled, an ugly sight. "I look forward to being rebuked and reprimanded by you. After the Joker's dead."

Bruce was at a loss for words. He looked up at the ceiling and not at his lover. Finally: "This wasn't what I expected."

"Things change?"

"Yes, things change."

"Good morning, Alfred!" Rachel was positively beaming as they walked down the stairs towards the foyer, arms locked together.

"And to you, Miss Dawes. Shall I prepare brunch?"

"No thank you, Bruce filled me up quite nicely last night and today," Rachel said baldly, rubbing his arm.

Alfred betrayed neither shock nor surprise at her brash words. "Then I hope you have a safe trip back to Gotham."

"Thanks." She came up and pecked him on the cheek, then planted a quick one on Bruce. "See you soon?"

"Any time, any place. You're always welcome here."

"Thank you. Bye!" They both watched as Rachel got in her car and drove away. Bruce closed the door and walked back into the manor.

"She seems…different."

"Alfred, you have no idea."

Later that afternoon, Rachel made her way back. Inside, she whistled (as best as she could) in admiration of Janos' handiwork. "You've been busy."

"You set an impressive example for us to follow," Janos replied. In the interrogation chamber, the bodies of six mobsters hung lifelessly, all showing signs of vigorous questioning.

She pointed. "Anything from Fazio's men?"

Janos shook his head. "Good news and bad news. Good news: Fazio is in touch with the Joker, or at least the Joker's representatives. Bad news: they don't know who the contact is, only Fazio does."

Rachel frowned. "That doesn't help much."

"No, it does not."

She turned her gaze to the bodies. "May I make a suggestion?"

"Sure."

"Let's start bringing them in. One family at a time. We get what we can from each, then dispose of them."

"Shall we start with Fazio?"

"Yes. We need a line on the Joker as soon as possible. After that, Maroni."

"The head mob Families will all have tight security. We will need to use multiple teams for each hit. That will take time."

"Then we better start today."

"Where will you be going tonight, sir?"

"Repeat visit with Fazio."

"And after that? A nightcap perhaps, with Miss Dawes?"

"Alfred—"

"—personally, I couldn't be happier for the two of you."

"Better save the champagne. Something's wrong with Rachel."

"These days plastic surgery can work miracles—"

"—I meant, psychically." Bruce paused, reluctant at first to state his doubts.

"She's upset—no, angry."

"Filled with rage against the Joker." I won't say what she said to me, it's too disturbing…

"If you're worried, I highly doubt she'll be going after him dressed as 'Batwoman' or anything like that."

Bruce laughed automatically—then the import of Alfred's comments hit home like a ton of bricks. "What are you implying?" he asked with tightly-controlled fury. "Batman is not about—"

"—not about revenge, yes, Master Wayne, so you say. Remember, Rachel lost her erstwhile-fiancée to the Joker. Hundreds of people on that ferry died—"

"It wasn't her fault!"

"Of course not, but she's probably feeling a little guilty for not pulling that trigger."

"There's nothing wrong with Rachel," Bruce growled.

"You just spoke to the contrary a moment before," Alfred chided. Damn he's right. "All I'm saying is, don't begrudge her her anger."

"But Rachel's a lawyer, she's all about justice—"

"She's a woman, a human being. Just like the rest of us, we are enraged when darkness takes away those we love."

Bruce studied Alfred's face—it was a familiar expression to his own, filled with pain. Almost reflexively an image of his parents lying dead in the streets filled his vision. He had to sit down to make it pass.

Alfred sat next to him. "The next time you see Rachel, talk to her. I'm sure she wants to share her feelings with you. And I'm sure you'll both benefit from it." He put a warm hand on Bruce's shoulders.

Bruce smiled and patted Alfred's hand. "You're right." He's right. I can help heal her, emotionally. She's acting out her rage in the bedroom, but only when she expresses her feelings, will she return to normal.

Without another word Bruce got up and began garbing himself in the mantle of the Bat.

It was past midnight, and in the shadows Batman moved across the rooftops of Gotham's Little Sicily. Atop a shabby eight-story apartment lowrise, he took out his tracking scope; a bright dot appeared in the center of the screen. Just below.

There were no doors leading in, and all the windows in the floor below were shuttered. Time to drop in. Batman took a charge out of his utility belt and walked away from the center of the building until the dot on the scope had shifted to the right. Then he planted the charge and hurriedly ran to the edge of the building, ducking and covering himself with his cape.

BOOM! Immediately he got up and without hesitation leaped through the five feet hole in the ceiling. Landing, he heard coughing and cursing. Instinctively he flung himself forward; the man had attempted to bring a shotgun to bear, but Batman knocked it out of his arms and flung the man to the floor. Standing over him, he had his right foot at his throat.

Eventually the smoke cleared, and Fazio stared up at him, his face bright red. "Evening Frog."

Releasing him, Fazio instantly leashed a string of harsh curses in English and Sicilian. Batman grabbed him by his front jacket collar and brought him face to face.

"You stupid sonofabitch! You coulda' killed me!"

"Could. Bud didn't."

"That roof will cost you fifty thousand dollars—"

"—Take it up with police, after they impound the place roof repair will be the least of your worries." He looked around; the spare apartment had piles of cash and white powder strewn about. The front door was barricaded and rigged with explosives. Good call on the roof.

"How the hell did you find me?"

"I had you bugged." Fazio's eyes widened; he began feeling himself up. Not there, Batman thought amusedly. Try your wallet.

"So whadda you want then?"

"I want the Joker."

"Don't know nothin'." Batman belted Fazio in the kidneys, allowing him to collapse to the floor wheezing.

"Think harder."

"Damnit! Why don't you ask the police, I'm sure they know by now!"

His words confused Batman. "What do you mean?"

Fazio grunted. "I mean, all my buddies were snatched by SWAT teams last night. They're probably spilling their guts to Gordon as we speak."

"I don't know anything about that," Batman said honestly.

Fazio laughed. "Yeah, don't give me that crap—we all know you and the cops are in cahoots."

Batman's mind raced. There was nothing in the news or police reports I reviewed this evening about taking Fazio's men into custody. "Are you sure? How do you know?"

"They were playing bocchi with my nephews when they got snatched. My youngest, Victor, tipped me off as soon as they left." He smiled brightly. "Kid's a sharp cookie, I'll leave him a C-note for his birthday next month."

The situation was still confusing, but Batman quickly decided to put it aside. "Doesn't matter. I'm here for the Joker. Don't tell me you don't know, because I know you're lying. You and a few others are the only mobsters still on the streets. Everyone else has gone to ground. Which means either you're not afraid of him, or you've cut a deal."

Fazio stared at him blankly. "That's the biggest load of bulls—" Abruptly the power went out.

"Huh." Fazio had tried to run a moment later but Batman still had him by the collar. He threw Fazio to the ground and put a pair of handcuffs on him. Getting up, he pried open a window and looked down. There was movement at street level.

Batman activated the eyepieces in his cowl; the darkness was replaced by clear images created by the light-intensification lenses. Four men garbed in SWAT-team garb poured out of an unmarked minivan and were heading into the building. They seemed heavily loaded with gear.

"What is it, the cops?"

"Maybe."

"Crap, and here we are on the top floor—"

"—disarm the explosives on the door, I want to go outside."

"You ain't leaving me here with them—"

"—Do it or I toss you out the window!"

Fazio glared at him, then waddled to the door and pulled out three wires. "All clear."

Batman wasn't so easily fooled. "You do it."

Fazio grinned, and pulled out a fourth wire, then unlocked the door. Batman opened it and looked down the staircase. Only the faint glow of emergency lights were visible. He heard a door open and a man yell, "Who the hell are you?" His voice was cut down by the sound of silenced automatic fire.

Abruptly Batman went back inside. "It's a hit. Let's go."

"Go where?"

Batman got a chair and put it in the middle of the room under the hole in the ceiling. He got up and jumped, grabbing the edge and pulling himself through. He took out a wire from his belt and tossed it down. "Grab it," he said. Fazio took the wire and Batman slowly, laboriously pulled him through.

"Now what?" Suddenly beneath them there was a loud explosion; the front door had been blown through. Batman raced to the edge of the building as Fazio followed him. Behind them bullets popped through the rooftop, heading towards them.

Acting like a machine, Batman extended the ribs of his cape to full capacity. He grabbed the protesting Fazio and leaped from the rooftop. Ignoring the screaming Fazio, Batman noted with alarm that their altitude was dropping rapidly, and the cape was quivering under the strain. Below, he suddenly saw a dark patch in the brightly-lit night sky of Gotham—a small park. When they were at treetop level he let Fazio go, who fell screaming into a pond. Batman himself crashed into the ground moments later, the ribs on his suit completely mangled. Fortunately, he had tucked himself into a ball and avoided breaking any bones in his arms or legs, but his right side ached from the impact.

Wearily he headed towards the pond and fished Fazio out. Dripping wet, he was about to curse him when a dull fireball lit up the night sky. From a half-mile away, Batman and Fazio watched as his apartment building went up in a blaze of fire.

"Holy Jesus, they blew up the building," Fazio said in awe.

"They weren't cops, in case you hadn't figured it out," Batman said roughly.

"Who were they?"

He had his suspicions. "A new player. Someone who wants guys like you—and guys like me—off the field for good."

Fazio processed this information for a while. Suddenly his eyes opened wide in shock. "Joker! He set me up!"

Not exactly. But Batman decided to lead him on. "How so?"

"Joe. That's the only name he goes by, he's a matchmaker." Batman stared. "You know, brings two parties together when they need to make a deal and can't trust each other. A week ago, he came to me, said he's fronting for the Joker, gave us his card." Fazio pulled out a joker card with a bullethole and gave it to Batman. "Said the Joker would get the heat off our backs if we played along—"

"—and you believed him?"

"Hey, between the cops and you, it seemed the only way out. One of my guys musta ratted me out, they were the only ones who knew about that hiding place."

Batman regarded him warily. "You're sure all this is good info?"

"Yeah it is!

Batman carefully pondered his next words. "Listen carefully. You can't trust the Joker, no one can. So you're going to lure him into a trap."

Fazio's face suddenly showed keen interest. "I'm listening."

"The Joker clearly wants to wipe you guys out and take over. Frankly I wouldn't shed much of a tear if he did so, but I want him taken out as much as you do. So tell all of your friends that the next time one of them meets with Joe, they should pretend to rat all of you out. Tell Joe you're all hiding someplace, all of you together. The Joker won't pass up the opportunity to try to wipe you out in one blow. But instead it's a trap, with all your guys ready. Instead of getting picked off one by one, you take out all the Joker's men in one blow."

Fazio was silent, then chuckled. "Interesting plan. But I see what you're trying to do—set us up so that the Joker waxes us all. No sale."

"How can he do that if you're the one laying the trap? I assure you I won't set you up, you don't even have to tell me where it's happening."

"No?"

Batman shook his head. "We have a common enemy—the Joker. All I ask is that you bring him to the police alive."

"Where's the fun in that?"

Despite himself, Batman said: "No killing." It's what separates me from you.

Fazio nodded sagely. "Looks like Maroni had you pegged alright. But the Joker got away once from the cops—with inside help. How do you know he won't escape again?"

Batman grimaced. "I said bring him to the police alive. I didn't say the Joker had to be in one piece."

"Ahh, I get it. Yeah, couple of busted kneecaps and wrists, and he ain't so tough."

Batman turned away. "I don't want to know."

Behind him Fazio laughed. "No, no, of course not!" He laughed some more. "I love it! Whodda thought Batman and the underworld would be fighting side by side?"

"We have a deal?"

"Sure. Let's shake." Batman turned and glared at him.

Fazio began moving backwards. "Nice doing business with you." Batman said nothing as he fled into the night.

"What went wrong?"

"We're not exactly sure. One thing is clear: Fazio had prepared a plan of escape, and managed to do so."

Rachel was still in shock at the news. "Was it necessary to destroy the whole building?" How many innocent people did they kill—did I kill?

Janos shrugged. "A few dozen at most. All of them nobodies, no one will miss them." He looked at her warily. "No traces, remember?"

Oh well, in the grand scheme of thing, what does it matter? What did matter was: "Does that include me when your mission is complete?" Rachel asked angrily, not even the least bit afraid.

Janos smiled. "Of course not. Our superiors specifically asked for you to be part of this. And we forfeit our final payment if you are harmed."

Rachel was surprised to hear this. "Well, since this is all about money for you, I guess I have nothing to worry about."

"Exactly." Janos shrugged. "Fazio was lucky. He won't be lucky forever."

"Indeed I hope not. What next?"

"We continue surveillance of all mobsters suspected of having ties with the Joker. I will also consult with Smith, our liason with the City. One or the other will lead us to him, eventually."

"And the others?"

Janos smiled. "You are referring to Maroni, yes?" Rachel merely glared at him. "He has a big family, and not all of them will be as cautious as he. They will lead us to him eventually." He paused. "Family ties are always a weakness. Miss Dawes. Never fail to exploit that weakness in your enemies."

"Right."

"Master Wayne, your capacity for surprise appears without limit."

"I'm not sure how to interpret that."

"Perhaps as an expression of admiration and disapproval."

"'Oh what a tangled web we weave…'"

"Exactly. I thought the goal of all this was to fight criminality."

"It still is."

"So what do you call working with the underworld?"

"Divide and conquer—something Englishmen should be well-acquainted with, yes?"

"The British Empire is what it is. But you can—you should—be so much more."

Bruce sighed as he sank back against the wall of the hottub. "Those men were going to assassinate Fazio. I don't kill criminals, period."

Alfred fell silent. "If you're right—"

"—I sure hope not."

Alfred shook his head in dismay. "Mercenaries hired by Gotham's politicians, killing criminals—along with any innocent police or bystanders who happen to get in the way."

"That's not the worst part of it."

"That you contributed millions in your own funds to this vile enterprise makes you morally, if not legally, culpable," Alfred said severely.

"I was going to say Rachel is wrapped up in this, but thank you Alfred, that is another downside," Bruce said sardonically.

Alfred turned away, shaking his head. "Of all the people in Gotham, I can't imagine Miss Dawes being involved."

"Grief and pain can do funny things to people." Before Alfred could react, Bruce interjected: "Yes, present-company included."

"So now what?"

Not wanting to answer, not wanting to deal with it at all, Bruce simply took a deep breath and lowered himself beneath the warm bubbly water.

Above, he could see Alfred's distorted visage peering down at him, bemused. Stubbornly, Bruce stayed under for some time, then finally rose, gasping.

"Three minutes ten seconds, very impressive."

"Actually I could have stayed under for eight minutes."

"Rubbish. The record is five minutes. Learned that in Burma myself."

"You'd be surprised what you can learn in the League of Shadows."

"Quite so."

Alfred proffered Bruce a towel. "You're right, we can't let this go on any longer, Joker or not. I'll meet with Rachel and talk sense to her."

"Will she listen?"

"Maybe." Reacting to Alfred's questioning look, Bruce said: "It may depend on how much clothing we've got on while we talk."

"Oho!"

Wrapping the towel around his waist, Bruce put a hand on Alfred's shoulder. "I'll bring her back, Alfred, I promise. And when I do," he gestured around the bathroom. "The Wayne legacy will have a future."

Bruce prudently ignored the moistness of Alfred's eyes. "Good luck, Bruce," he said heavily.

Bruce rang the intercom and waited. He tried not to get nervous as he continued to wait. Just called this afternoon, everything was fine. No need to be paranoid, nothing's wrong.

"Hello?"

"It's me." The door buzzed and he entered posthaste.

Rachel's apartment was seven floors up. Without hesitation Bruce took the stairs, removing his cap and the wrinkled beige raincoat he was wearing. Clad in a plain dark collared shirt and blue jeans with black sneakers, he was thoroughly unremarkable in appearance.

Bruce walked up slowly, furiously thinking ahead. I have to bring her back, and soon; the more we do this, it's only a matter of time before everyone knows. As long as the Joker was free Rachel would be in mortal danger, and he would not be able to protect her all the time, even as Batman.

Though it still saddened him to contemplate what had happened to Rachel (Harvey Dent may he rest in peace), Bruce was equally excited at their prospects. Once the Joker goes down, with a little luck we can put the mob down once and for all. When that happens, the Batman will have served his purpose…and we can have a life together! Even to think it was to marvel at its strangeness—the very concept of a normal life was almost as scary as the demons he fought on the streets and in his dreams. But if there's anyone who can tame the demons, it's her. Because she, unlike anyone else, knows how far I've fallen, and what it took to rise back.

Reflexively he straightened his hair, which still flopped gloriously about. In front of her door, he rang the bell. Smile!

The door opened. Rachel stood there, a pleasant half-smile on her face. She looked like she had come straight from work, wearing a businesslike white blouse and black silk pants—and her now-familiar plastic mask over the left side of her face. "Bruce, come in."

"Thanks." As the door closed behind him, he turned and offered Rachel a bunch of roses. "For you."

"Oh that's so nice of you, Bruce!" Happily Rachel kissed him on the cheek. "I'll take that." She took the roses into the kitchen area and put them on the counter.

"Nice place you have here," Bruce commented; it was the first time he had ever been here.

Rachel was unpacking things from the fridge. "I know it's a bit cramped, just make yourself at home."

"No, it's really roomy!" Blinking he took in his surroundings—it was barely larger than Alfred's bedroom… An old beige couch and coffee table dominated the space. Bruce sat down, staring at the lime green walls. On the coffee table was a picture of Rachel and Dent, apparently in front of Gotham Zoo. He returned his view to the walls.

Rachel had brought a bottle and two glasses as she sat next to him. Before he could say anything, she said: "Sparkling apple cider."

"Alright then." She poured glasses, they toasted and drank. Rachel sat to his right, cross-legged; she was wearing those high-heeled shoes. From where he sat, the mask hid most, but not all, of the damage to her features.

"How was your work week?"

"Busy. A hundred new major felonies, two dozen murders. The usual in Gotham." She smiled and took another sip.

"I hope we can change that."

"Don't worry, Bruce, we will."

"How about your week?"

"It was… busy."

"Both?"

"Both." He put the glass down. "I've got a plan to get the Joker."

"Ooh, can I hear the details?"

"Afraid not, I don't know them."

"Huh?"

"Long story."

"Looking forward to hearing it." She snuggled closer and put her head down on his right shoulder. The hardness of the plastic shocked him.

Bruce jumped. "Doesn't that hurt?"

"Of course not, there's no nerves left to feel pain." Bruce flinched. "Sorry, that was a joke."

Bruce didn't say anything, instead slipping his right arm down and around Rachel's waist. She grunted and adjusted her body to let him do so. She took his left hand in hers and began caressing them. "Are you hungry?"

"No, had a late lunch."

"Good. I was thinking—I shouldn't have acted like that last week."

"Sorry?"

"Let's just do it nice and gentle tonight." Abruptly she got up.

"Wait, wait!" Rachel looked at him quizzically. "Let's talk first."

"Strange words coming from a man, but okay." She pivoted and landed in his lap with a thud, straddling him. "What do you want talk about?"

Bruce shook his head and gently but firmly put Rachel to the side. Taking her hands into his, he said: "I want you to know, Rachel, I'm here for you."

"Thank you, Bruce."

"I know how much pain you must be in, every day. Physically." He stroked her right cheek. "Emotionally." He placed his had above her heart.

"You can't avoid pain, not always."

"No. You can't."

"Pain can be a prod to action, to greater things. I mean, just look at the Batman!"

"Tonight's not about the Batman. It's about you and me. Our future together."

Her eye widened. "Do we have a future together?"

Bruce nodded vigorously. "Absolutely."

Her surprise turned to suspicion. "But…"

Bruce prepared himself. "Is everything okay with you?"

Rachel looked askance at him. "You have to be more specific."

Unable to finesse his words, he just said it: "You seemed rather bloodthirsty about the Joker last week. I don't think it's healthy."

She didn't respond at first. Then she said in a flat voice: "I've got reason to feel this way, don't you think?"

"It's just so… atypical. You weren't like this, before…"

Rachel smiled seductively. Provocatively, she got down on her knees and kneeled in front of Bruce. "Oh, Bruce, you know it's just me blowing off steam. Once we get him, it'll all be the way it was. I'd never do anything to act on it." She put her hands on his legs and drew closer to him. "You know me, Bruce. You believe me."

Bruce didn't think the wrong answer would hurt him so badly. This is going to be very unpleasant. Gently taking her hands off of him, he said sadly: "Actually, I think I don't know you, and I'm afraid I don't believe you."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know who they are or where they came from, but they're running around Gotham, killing people left and right."

Rachel still played the innocent. "Who are 'they'?"

"Mercenaries. Death squads. Pick a name, but someone's paying them to hunt down members of the mob. Delivering summary justice. And not caring who gets in their way."

Rachel looked confused. "Bruce, this is Gotham, you can get killed for a newspaper or looking at someone the wrong way—"

"—street thugs don't assassinate City Council members, or blow up police stations with anti-tank missiles, or torture policemen to death. We've got some bad new actors running around." He took a breath. "And you know about them."

Something of her innocent demeanor faded away. In a slightly mocking tone, she said: "What makes you think that?"

"Maybe it's just coincidence that the two detectives responsible for kidnapping you and Harvey end up dying in the most painful way imaginable." Bruce got up and took a step back from her. "And I told you about Fazio, how I suspected he was in with the Joker. Lo and behold, a week later all his men are snatched from the streets, by men appearing as SWAT teams. Their bodies are fished out of the Gotham River, and Fazio himself narrowly avoids getting hit."

Her eyes narrowed. "How did you know Fazio survived?"

Gotcha! "The Batman saved him. May I ask you the same question?"

Rachel looked up at him from the floor. "I don't think that's the real question you want to ask me. Is it, Bruce?"

Bruce shook his head. "How did you get involved? Did you leak info from the DA's office to them? What else have you told them?"

Rachel got up on her feet. "I'll give you an answer, but first I want to slip into something more comfortable," she said playfully. "Okay?"

Bruce curtly nodded. You wanna play? Let's play. Rachel blew him a kiss and turned to go into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. Bruce adjusted his form and mentally prepared himself, shifting into a combat stance, patting his chest. If she's going to shoot me—well, let's hope this lightweight Kevlar vest Fox gave me will do the trick. From her bedroom, Bruce heard a lot of agitated movement and even the ripping of cloth.

"Ready?" Rachel asked from the other room.

"Let's do it," Bruce said, completely in the dark as to what would happen next.

The door opened. "Do you like?"

Whoah. He had mentally prepared himself to resist any possible sexual stratagem that Rachel was planning to use, up to her striding completely naked into the room, but this—

—Rachel lay diagonally across the entryway, her right foot in the lower-left corner, her right arm in the upper right. She had done something with her clothes, such that the right half of her blouse and pants were intact. On the left side, however, she had torn or cut off her blouse, revealing a white push-up bra—which had also been cut away. Rachel had similarly torn off the left side of her pants, such that he could half-see the black lace garter and fishnet stockings of her slender left leg, which rubbed seductively up and down her right leg. The right side of her hair was curled up in a tight bun. Finally, she had removed her mask.

"I couldn't think of any better way to express myself," Rachel said as she stood straight in the doorway—half dressed, half naked, split right down the middle. "Part of me is still good and kind, compassionate, a believer in the law. The other part—"

—She slowly strode towards him. "—I've never imagined I could be such a bad girl, and I love it!"

Bruce took a step back. "They always talk about duality in literature: good and evil, man and woman, black and white, life and death, light and dark, old and young. When the Joker burned me, it's like he burned away the cocoon, and a new me was born." She stood in a model pose, hands up and out to the side. "There's two sides to everyone, a good side and a bad side." She continued walking towards him. "Like Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde. So the good Rachel Dawes is your loyal friend and confidant, shining upholder of the impartial system of law, and the bad Rachel—"

"Decides to jump in the sack with Bruce Wayne?" he said sneeringly.

Rachel snorted. "Men! Always thinking sex is what makes women bad. Oh no, Bruce Wayne, the bad side of me did much more than leak info from the DA's office. No, I was there, Bruce. I flipped the switch that electrocuted Anna Ramirez." Bruce's mouth fell open in shock. "I lured that police officer to his death, just before they blew up the station. And all those dirty cops who tried to escape, I took my time making sure they died slowly, painfully. Especially Wuertz. I avenged Harvey; I made the pig burn."

Bruce stumbled and fell onto the couch, horrorstruck by the atrocities Rachel was confessing to, the depth she had sunk. Rachel sat demurely to his side, although it was her naked, wild half that was closest to him. "I also used the info you gave me about Fazio to have his men kidnapped and tortured for info leading to his capture." She nudged closer, and this time Bruce steeled himself not to move away. "And yes, we also had nasty, oily hate sex."

Bruce numbly shook his head. "How? Why?"

Rachel shrugged. "One bad day. Can turn a little boy into a Batman. Or me—" she turned so that the right side of her was facing him, "—into me—" she turned back, showing her left side.

"You tortured, killed," Bruce babbled, resisting the urge to throw up.

"Now that you know about good Rachel and bad Rachel, tell me: which one of us was the one you slept with?"

Bruce came to a decision. Abruptly he stood. "I'm reporting you to the police. I will stop you."

Rachel nodded. "You could do that. But you won't."

"Why not?"

"One, because we have powerful people backing us up. I think you know them." Bruce tensed. "Second, if you do, well, I'll have to spill the beans too."

She would tell everyone I'm Batman. "Really?" he asked, more disappointed than shocked now.

Rachel fidgeted. "To be honest, I don't really want to. You see, part of me—" she pointed between her legs—"wants to keep you around. But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do." She paused. "I have the solution!"

What? Rachel smiled and pulled out a knife. Bruce instantly tensed, but she turned the knife to herself. "Kill me, Bruce Wayne—Batman. Kill me, and I promise your secret dies with me."

Bruce did not respond. Smiling, Rachel began caressing her neck with the flat side of the knife blade. "Come on, Bruce, I know you want to." She began tracing circles with the point above the cleft of her bosoms. "Sink this cold, hard shaft into my soft, waiting flesh—"

—with a flourish he grabbed the blade from her hands and flung it across the room. They glared at each other. Rachel stood up and contemptuously said: "I knew you didn't have it in you. What a pathetic weakling you are Bruce. You talk a good talk, when you're in the big bad Batsuit, but when it's time to pull the trigger, you run away, crying to Daddy." She spat at his feet. "Since you don't have any balls, why don't you go home and play with your money, while we do the real work of saving Gotham from the Joker and his crime buddies?"

Rachel fell silent. Coldly Bruce said: "Anything else?"

Suddenly Rachel pouted and cringed. "Wait, before you go, can't we spend the night together? I promise, once we kill the mean bad Joker, we can be together forever, your secret safe with me."

She looked at him with those wide puppy-eyes; it was absolutely astonishing and ridiculous. Bruce strode up to Rachel until they were nose to nose. "I thought you hated me."

Rachel smiled and began stroking his left cheek. "Oh, Bruce. Just because I hate you, doesn't mean I don't love you!" She gently reached up to kiss him lightly on the lips. Bruce closed his eyes. When he opened them, she pulled away, still smiling, and slapped him hard.

Shocked, Bruce looked at Rachel in blank incomprehension, a beautiful/hideous demon from some unimaginable/familiar hell. Grabbing his coat, he ran to the door and fled the room.