AN: Presenting the climax of this little tale. Just the key battle against one of Batman's greatest enemies to go, and then the epilogue. Not bad for something that started as a blazing hot idea written down on a lark. Hope y'all have enjoyed. (Also, I apologize for any blatant missing punctuation here or in previous chapters; it's showing up in the doc manager, but not live, no matter what I do. Worse, several of the ones here somehow got deleted overnight. I can't figure out why, and it's frustrating. I've fixed 'em as best I could, but PM me with any you find. :P)

Nothing. It was a whole pile of nothing.

Batman resisted the urge to kick something, to scream. It wouldn't do Kurt any good.

He knew Oracle was still working on tracing the source of the e-mail that had been sent to Commissioner Fabray, but he was equally sure that by the time she got through the proxies and anonymizers, it'd probably be too late. So there he was, on the roof of the Chatsworth Hotel, trying to find the barest hint of forensic evidence, something that would tell him where Kurt had been taken.

But, again, there was nothing.

Batman closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the video, attached to the blank e-mail with the subject line "Batman would be interested." It was taken by a video camera from a nearby roof (that was also bare of any evidence), showing Harley Quinn inching along a ledge running along the top floor of the Chatsworth. She then flipped herself onto the roof, bringing her within feet of a cat-suited figure staring into the night. Harley then raised a huge gun (and that was the point at which David's heart really began to pound) and fired. The boxing glove scored a palpable hit, and Catwoman went down like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Harley casually approached the fallen form, then kicked him in the head. The video ended there.

If it weren't for that video, Batman would never have known that anything had happened - certainly not with this lack of evidence. He knew who must've sent it and why. He knew that there was a trap wherever the Joker and Harley were waiting for him. Ergo, there had to be a way for him to track them. But how?

Quinn hadn't understood his concern, especially since she knew nothing about his discoveries about Catwoman (he also knew that he'd have to tell her eventually, but not now - not yet), but offered her aid nonetheless. "Should I call in Sam? Or Joe?"

"No!" He felt foolish refusing aid when Kurt's life was at stake, but he knew, deep in his gut, that this was something he had to do alone. For one thing, the Joker would certainly kill Kurt in a heartbeat if his "real" target (and Batman had no doubt of who that target was) had backup. For another, just revealing his concern to Quinn was hard enough; doing so with Nightwing too, one of his best and only friends, would make for a fatal emotional distraction at a time he (and Kurt too, God...) couldn't afford it. As for Azrael, well, the alliance between the two was still shaky at best. No, this was something he had to tackle by himself. But he was used to that.

Quinn, for her part, had given him one of those looks even as she promised to keep him updated on her progress. But there was no way Kurt would survive any kind of real wait. He had to find something on this roof. Something!

Someone cleared his throat behind him. Batman whirled around, fists at the ready. Before him was the last sight he expected; he groaned inwardly. God, not now...

The brown-haired man in the wheelchair wore a green suit punctuated with purple question marks. An emerald derby was perched on his head; he adjusted his glasses casually. Arthur Abrams was always a bright man, driven to prove that his mind hadn't been crippled along with his body in that childhood car accident. That drive, that arrogance and belief in the superiority of his mind, turned him to a life of crime as the Riddler, directing thugs behind the scenes like a dark reflection of Oracle, teasing the police and Batman with riddles keyed to his jobs. Somewhat paradoxically, the more Batman foiled his schemes, the more determined the Riddler was to draw the hero into them. But then, in Abrams' twisted psyche, that made perfect sense; his crimes would have no meaning unless they proved he was the smarter man. Until that happened with Batman, he would stop at nothing.

Even now, as a "reformed" high-priced private detective, he still hadn't stopped trying to one-up Batman; only now he did it legally, which deepened the Dark Knight's annoyance with the man, since now he didn't even have the moral right to punch him and get it over with. And God, did he want to, especially now. "What do you want, Riddler?" he growled.

"Oooh, temper, temper," the other man said smugly as he wheeled himself forward. "Looks like Catwoman really did get to you, didn't she? Though frankly, Harley Quinn's always been more my type..."

"How do you know about this? Did you have anything to do with...?"

Abrams snorted. "Oh, please. Me, fall in with the Joker? I'm not suicidal, Batman. No, I have... contacts in the GCPD. Contacts with whom I'm... very generous." He smiled up at Batman, a smug, supercilious grin that grated on his nerves in the best of times. This was hardly the best of times.

"What?"

"You let someone in." Abrams' statement was casual, as if he were speaking to a peer... or scolding an inferior. "That's very dangerous to men in our profession, you know. I hope this little incident convinces you to take more care in..."

"Are you done?" Batman interrupted, barely resisting the urge to shove his wheelchair over the edge of the roof.

"Oh, my apologies. I was just wondering if you'd found anything to help you in your search."

The smugness was still there, a fact which finally penetrated Batman's worry and fear. Smugness... about what? What could even this arrogant man have to be smug about right now? Unless... "You know something."

Abrams' smile brightened. "Ah, you finally figured it out! Well, yes and no. No, in that I don't know exactly where the Joker or Catwoman are. Yes, in that I think I have information that would... Whoa!" He stopped, startled, as Batman bent down and gripped the arms of his wheelchair, thrusting his face into Abrams'. Batman could feel his jaw clench.

"Tell. Me."

Batman could see a bead of sweat roll down Abrams' face. That alone caused enough satisfaction to calm his temper a little. "Of course, this is probably something you would've come up with anyway, at least partly," he began tremulously. Batman straightened, content to instead loom over Abrams, but that distance was enough to let some of the superiority seep back into Abrams' tone. "But I have certain contacts you don't, and my keen mind was able to piece a few things together that you wouldn't have."

"And?" His nerves were jangling, his patience quickly starting to thin. The Riddler didn't seem to pick this up at the moment, lost as he was in his own self-congratulation.

"Perhaps you'd like to hear a riddle." Before Batman could interrupt, Abrams cleared his throat and spoke:

I am one who might be key
To fix what ails internally.
But if I were to have some tea,
I'd be a fishie of the sea.

"What am I?"

There was a moment of silence.

"If I were to answer, would this tell me where to find Catwoman and the Joker?"

"Well, not exactly, but..."

"Then what's the goddamn point?" Batman whirled around and began to walk away; he was wasting time, precious time that Kurt didn't have...

Abrams tsk-tsked. "She really did get to you. No wonder the Joker was so interested. Fine," he said airily, "if you don't like the riddle, then how about this little fact: German jeweler Manny Bekker doesn't exist."

That stopped him; Batman whirled around. "What?"

"He doesn't exist," Abrams repeated. "Never did. That's what I said you would've discovered eventually, and what put me on the right track." He smiled. "Interesting, no?"

Batman's mind spun. If the Riddler was telling the truth (and he didn't doubt he was; as he'd said, this was something easily discoverable), someone set up a honeypot to catch Kurt, knowing he wouldn't be able to resist such a score. The Joker wouldn't have the patience, or frankly the particular kind of smarts, to think of and pull off something so subtle. So who...?

"But that won't find your precious Catwoman either, at least not directly," Abrams continued. "But perhaps this might." He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a plastic evidence bag. Inside was a single playing card: a joker. "I found this inside our phantom Mr. Bekker's suite, propped up on a mirror." Batman snatched the card away with almost blinding speed. "There's something written on it something that I figure has significance only to you." He watched silently for a moment as Batman read the scrawls on the card's face.

FIRST TIME

"If you find this useful, maybe you could put in a good word for me with Commissioner Fabray? He seems reluctant to utilize my resources for some reason..."

By that time, Batman no longer heard the Riddler. He was no longer important. Because he knew exactly where the Joker wanted him to go.

Kurt rocked back and forth in the chair to which he was bound, but nothing happened; it did not budge an inch in any direction. The ropes around him still held him tight, too tightly to get to any of his tools. The chair was set in the center of some kind of stage; Kurt could see the empty theater in front of him; even with multiple spotlights trained directly on him, his goggles, which were still strapped on his face just as they'd been when he'd been captured, filtered out enough of the light.

"Midnight... Not a sound from the pavement..."

The voice was surprisingly good, rich and smooth, although slightly cracked and infused with more than a hint of mockery. A figure hopped onto the stage in front of him from the orchestra pit. He was tall and lanky, wearing a purple suit with a green string tie (completely hideous; Kurt's instincts screamed the ensemble's wrongness from the get-go). But it was his chiseled face that caught most of his attention: chalk white, with garish red lips and green-tinted hair. Kurt couldn't tell if the unusual colors came from dye and make-up, or if skin and hair itself were somehow grotesquely transformed, but he knew that was irrelevant. All that mattered was that it marked just who had him at their mercy.

The Joker. Over the years, only a few of his underworld contacts and operatives didn't fear the Joker - those few were quickly dumped for incompetence and/or idiocy. After all, there's not much one can do against insanity, and this was one of the most insane men on Earth. His violence, unpredictability, sadism, and sheer vicious talent for depravity made him a shivery folk tale even in the darkest of haunts. To be his prisoner was to walk a thin razor's edge that many (too many) had been sliced in two by. Kurt shuddered.

"What's new, pussycat?" he sneered. "Oh hoo-whoa hoo-whoa whoa whoa!" The sudden, almost aggressive bursting out of the rest of the song line made Kurt jump, even in his bondage. That one moment encapsulated all that was the Joker: raw chaos in its purest human shape. "You should feel lucky; you got a front row seat to the biggest show of the year! And in the very spot where he and I first did battle! What a epic conclusion! I smell Tony...!"

Kurt spoke then, his voice modulated to the feminine by the device still at his throat. He should've been terrified to even squeak out a single word (and to be honest, there was some fear), but it was the only way he knew to keep his wits about him, to perhaps gain some kind of upper hand against his psychopath warden. "I know what you're hoping to get out of this..."

"Oh, you flatterer! If I'd known you were a fan, I would've dressed up for the occasion!" His voice dropped to a sotto voce whisper. "Don't tell Harley, though; girl gets a little jealous."

"But it won't work. Batman doesn't care about me. He knows this is a trap. He'll never give you the satisfaction."

"That's not what I've been told, sweetheart," he sneered, bending down to bring him nose-to-nose with his prisoner. Kurt drew on every ounce of willpower he had to keep steady, to not give in to his repulsion and fear. The Joker's breath was hot and sticky on his face, smelling of old cheese and... matzo? "Funny, though; I didn't think you were his kind of girl. He usually goes for the frigid ninja chicks."

Kurt blinked at this; the Joker didn't know he was a man? But that would mean that he didn't even bother to look under the goggles and skullcap, and if their roles were reversed, that would've been the first thing that Kurt would've... Then the truth hit him: the Joker simply didn't care. All Kurt was was a means to an end: a bait for Batman. He knew (somehow) that they were close, and that was all that mattered.

The Joker had reduced him to a damsel in distress.

That pissed Kurt off beyond all measure.

Despite his peril, despite his helplessness, he couldn't help but explode. It was like shaking a bottle of soda; there was a certain power and inevitability to it. "Listen, you overgrown man-child, you'd better let me the fuck go right now, or you'll be going back to Arkham Asylum finger by finger! I don't know why Batman lets you walk around, but as soon as I get out of this, you'll have both my heels shoved so far up your ass..."

The Joker snapped his head back and let out peal after peal of high-pitched, riotous laughter. He held onto his stomach, his mirth sending actual tears down his white cheeks. Somehow, the sight just drove Kurt to even deeper fury.

"... take those gangly legs of yours and tie them around your..."

"Oh, stop! Stop! You're killing me!"

"... punch your teeth in and feed them to..." At that moment, Kurt's uncontrolled tirade was cut off by a dirty rolled up sock being shoved into his mouth. He gagged at the smell and taste of unwashed feet, which in turn produced even more profanity and threats, although all that actually came out was a series of "mmmfs."

The Joker wiped away the tears. "I love you! You're a feisty one. Now I see what appealed to old Bats. You'd be good for him, girlie, you really would. I try to engage in witty banter with him all the time, but he's just so silent and serious that he makes a lousy straight man. You're doing a great job, though. I really think you should comment more. Don't be shy!"

"Mmmmf!"

"Super." He patted Kurt on the head, a condescending gesture that sent daggers of hate straight through his glare. Heedless of this, the Joker danced wildly about the stage, his voice raising once again in song.

"I started a joke... Which started the whole world crying..."

"Mister J!" The sidekick chick, Harlequin or whoever, came skipping in from the wings. "I think he's coming!"

The Joker rubbed his hands in glee. "Ah, finally! Places!" The girl disappeared backstage once more.

Kurt's heart pounded. He was afraid... but not for himself (which surprised him; he knew the risks of his chosen profession, but he never had anything like a death wish). All he could think was, if I get hurt... if I die... David will never forgive himself... He'll think it's his fault and oh God it'll be harder than ever to get him out... He found the thought almost absurdly self-congratulatory; already he was thinking of himself as the center of David Karofsky's world? But it came nonetheless.

"I know you're out there!" the Joker shouted at the darkness. "Your girlfriend and I have had such a good time! Just come out so we can talk… or sing about it. This is the theatre, after all!" Only silence met him. "Oh, so shy!" He drew a pistol with a comically long barrel from his pants. "Maybe I should start the warm-up act? Nothing like a little blood and guts to get the audience going!" He pointed the pistol directly at Kurt's head. "The Death of Catwoman! Call 1-900-GET-LIFE to vote her to live! Call 1-900-KILL-HER to vote her to die! Operators are standing by! Standard rates apply!"

"Don't." The voice was warning, but Kurt wondered if the Joker could hear the thread of desperation woven into it.

No, David... Go... Just leave me... I'm not worth it...

At the same time, he knew it was futile. Batman - David - appeared from the shadows.

David's heart jumped like a jackrabbit as he stepped forward. The Joker's face lit up with an expression of macabre delight. David couldn't help but see an image in his mind, one that he'd never seen himself, but that haunted his memory nonetheless: the Joker, dressed in a loud Hawaiian shirt and straw hat, grinning as he fired his gun...

"Ladies and gentlemen! Our guest of honor!" At his cry, Harley Quinn emerged from the wings, applauding and whistling. "Welcome, Batman! Welcome to the final act of our little drama!"

"Let her go." It was a spectacularly futile thing to say, but David could think of little else. All he could to was stare at Kurt, at that gun pointed at his head...

"Oh, but what fun would that be? You want this to be like The Sopranos? Cut off at the most exciting part? I'm not going to stand here and pull an ALF!"

"You have me. I'm the one you want. You don't need her anymore."

"Au contraire, my completely humorless foe." He handed the gun to Harley, who immediately took up his position pointing it at Kurt's head. "She's going to be the prize."

"She's not a trophy, Joker. Not for you, and certainly not for me." He was so wrapped up in the immediate peril that he didn't even notice the force and sincerity in his words. But others did catch it.

"Close enough! Think I could dip her in gold and make her into an Oscar?" The Joker seemed to muse over this for a moment. "Mmm, pretty. Anyway, she's going to be the center of our little improv game!" He raised his arms in a dramatic gesture. "Welcome to 'Whose Death Is It Anyway,' the show where morals are made up and lives don't matter!" He drank in Harley's wild applause (made awkward by the gun in her hand) and wolf-whistles (ditto) before he continued. "Our first game is 'Sudden Death Match', in which the Joker and Batman duel in fisticuffs for the life of the lovely Catwoman! Last man standing gets her... or gets to put a bullet into her brain!"

"But, Mister J!" Harley said in an overdone, over-rehearsed tone. "Batman is so much bigger and stronger and more barbarian-like than you! How EVER can this be fair?"

"Good question! The answer is this: every time the Batman does anything offensive against me besides just taking it, my assistant, the lovely Harley Quinn, gets to engage in what I call 'girl on girl torture'!"

"That sounds like fun!" Harley continued to use the same overacted voice. "What kind of torture?"

"Why, anything her pretty little head can dream of." The Joker smiled at her with an oily grin that nevertheless put a dreamy, lovestruck look on her face. "Broken fingers, acid, tongue cut out... Whatever she feels like! But start small; there's no drama into just jumping into the big stuff right away. Oh! And the Joker gets to use any instrument he wants!" With that, he swung an absurdly huge hammer (where had he gotten it from?), the head woosh-ing through the air. "This is gonna be fun!" the Joker shrieked with a mad laugh. "Once I win, I'll break out the cameras and do funny things with your corpse! It'll be the next hit on YouTube! Much bigger than that kid playing the guitar!"

"This is madness," David growled, trying to keep his cool.

"Uh, have we just met? THIS! IS! ME!" Each word was screamed, echoing in the cavernous room. "Now... let the games begin!" The Joker jumped off the stage, swinging the hammer with surprising ease and speed. Batman was barely able to jump back, the force kissing his chest. "Oh, and I forgot: if I lose sight of you in one of those little 'hide in the comforting cloak of the shadows' things, Harley gets to do her little torture thing!" He took another swing with the hammer, which David ducked. "I'm sure you're wondering why I just don't have you stand still so I can beat ya to death. Well, what fun would that be? Besides, the management reserves the right to change the rules without notice!"

David's eyes flickered towards the stage. He could lay out the Joker with one well-placed punch if he was lucky, but he wouldn't have time to make it to Kurt before Harley shot him. He had to think... and it was difficult to do while simultaneously dodging the Joker's assaults.

"Y'know, Bats, it'd be so much easier for everyone if you just laid down and died." The hammer clipped David's left arm, sending prickles of pain shooting through him. "Then I'd let Catwoman go and we'd all go on with our lives. Hey, maybe without you around, I'd go sane! Wouldn't that be something?" He let out a hideous laugh as he swung again.

At that moment, David lashed out, out of sheer instinct; the kick caught the head of the hammer just as it passed, ripping it out of the Joker's grasp. It flipped surprisingly far, end over end, disappearing into a rows of seats behind him. The clatter echoed throughout the grand old building.

"Harley!" the Joker shouted. A nasty "crack" split the air; where it had come from and what caused it, David couldn't see - the Joker was in the way. But the shriek of pain that followed told its own tale.

"K... Catwoman!"

"Ooh, that had to smart!" the Joker cackled. "Strike one, Batman! And now look at me: all defenseless and alone!" His voice oozing fake fear, he simply snapped his fingers. A pair of huge boxing gloves sailed over his head, apparently thrown from the direction of the stage. He snatched them out of the air and pulled them on. "Round two!" David noted the bunching of the Joker's arm muscles as he swung his gloved fists, much more severe than it should've been. Obviously these gloves were not of normal weight; with the Joker's sense of humor, they were probably stuffed with a brick, at the least. Wonderful, he thought.

"Poor poor Batman!" Harley said sympathetically from the stage as David jumped back to avoid the Joker's initial swipes. "So helpless, with his lady love trapped! How tragic!"

"Bet you were looking forward to settling down and having kittens, weren't ya?" the Joker sneered as he advanced, taking a jab David only barely dodged. "But that's your own fault! A dream's something that fills up the emptiness inside - the grandest joke of them all!"

David felt the sweat began to soak the insides of his costume. The Joker still looked fresh - practically rosy in his maniacal joy at finally having his hated foe over a barrel. He, on the other hand, was starting to get worn down. He could almost hear Sam in his head. "Went it alone again, huh? I wish I could say I was surprised, but... Dammit, Dave, I thought we were partners? Or at least friends?" It was an old song, with many verses by different singers, but somehow, seeing Kurt tied up on that stage, he felt it more acutely than ever before.

The whole situation was just filled with wrongness. Someone like Kurt wasn't meant to be tied down like that. He was too full of life, too beautiful, for that. He had to...

It all hit him at once, then: first was the realization of how he felt about Kurt Hummel, one that had been stewing for a month, but now washing over him at full force. But even that was nearly drowned out by an actual plan - something that could get them both out of the Joker's grasp alive. It was a risk, but just breathing in the Joker's presence was a risk. So far, it was his twisted cat-and-mouse game that kept them both alive. Sooner or later, he'd get weary of it and just spray him (or worse, Kurt) with his toxin.

So it was now or never.

Batman waited until the Joker took his next punch. He dodged, though just barely. While the Joker was still reeling from the momentum, Batman acted. His hand went to his belt, then flashed out. A Batarang whipped out with blinding speed. The Joker couldn't suppress a gasp as it shot with a whir past his head, arcing past just half a foot away.

"Hah! Missed!" the Joker teased. "Nice try, but pretty desperate. And sad! You really are slipping! First you go and fall in love, and now you go and do something so colossally stupid, even that idiot Killer Croc could've told you it was a bad, useless idea! Oh, well! Harley, do your thing!" He stood smugly, waiting for the penalty. There was only silence. "I said, Harley, do your thing!" Still silence. He frowned in annoyance. "Harley, I told you..." He turned. The chair on the stage was empty. The Batarang was still stuck in its side, right where it had cut the ropes that were now coiled around the chair's legs. Harley Quinn was slumped over the back, out cold, the gun lying on the stage under her limp fingers.

The Joker took in all this with a deadpan expression. Finally, he spoke. "Oh."

"Ahem." The Joker turned to see what he half-expected to see: Catwoman, standing behind him, arms crossed and foot tapping. "Her" lips were set in a glare that could be felt, even if it wasn't seen through the goggles. Batman almost, almost cracked a smile.

The Joker had only one response to this, a repetition: "Oh."

Kurt lashed out with a vicious punch. The Joker staggered, leaving him open for a piercing kick directly to the stomach. His breath escaping him, the demon clown flailed wildly, his own boxing gloves keeping him off-balance. Another punch to the jaw, and a crack to the knees, and the Joker was splayed out across the aisle, blood leaking from the corner of his now decidedly not-grinning mouth. He blinked blearily as Catwoman and Batman stood over him. The former grabbed his collar and pulled him just upright.

"Go ahead," Kurt purred.

"No, I insist. This is your moment."

"But you two have..."

"But you're the one he..."

The two stopped with small smiles (for the rest of his life, the Joker would remember that moment: the infamous Batman, actually cracking the tiniest of grins - and he caused it. It would always be a small, twisted point of pride). "Together?" Batman asked.

"Together." They both cocked their fists back.

"Mother," the Joker squeaked.

The impact was practically visible, a huge "POW" writ on the air in Technicolor letters against a spiky balloon. The Joker crashed to the floor, unconscious.

Kurt sneered, stepping on his throat. "I can end this, you know. Right now."

"Don't," Batman said firmly.

"How many more people is he going to kill? I can save them all right now..."

"Once you go down that road, there's no turning back."

Kurt sighed, turning to him. "God, Da- Batman, not everyone deserves another chance!" He shook his head. "I can't believe, after all you've seen, that you're still sticking to your codes. You have more hope than anyone with your life has a right to..." He stopped cold as he felt a pair of strong arms wrap around him. He felt himself pulled tightly against David's body, could feel the relief and love (there was no other word for him) coming off the man's skin in waves.

"I'm so glad you're safe," he whispered.

Kurt finally relaxed, returning the embrace. "Yeah. I am too. Glad you're safe too, I mean." After a long moment, the two separated. "You wouldn't have done that if there were anyone else around, would you?"

"No," David admitted.

Kurt cracked a smile. "That's okay. For you, I'd be a dirty little secret." He paused, looking down at the insensible Joker. "Only it's not so much a secret anymore. How the hell did he find out?"

"Someone told him. Probably the same someone who made up Manny Bekker."

"Manny Bekker's made up? Well, it sure wasn't by this clow... man. He's not that subtle."

"Agreed."

"Whoever he is, he's got to be taken down. My philosophy is, someone hurts you, it's downright wrong not to..." Kurt trailed off. So little of Batman's face was visible, but what he could see - the jaws, the eyes - they'd shifted in the past few seconds. And scarily enough (because of all the implications it carried), he knew what this meant. "You know, don't you? Who the Joker's source is? Who set all this up?"

"Yes."

"Can I get a crack at him?"

"Not yet. Let me. We have... a history."

"Who don't you have a history with?"

"True." Batman busied himself binding the Joker's hands and ankles tightly. "Take Harley for me, would you? Then you'd better go. I'm going to call Commissioner Fabray and babysit these two until they come."

"My pleasure." Kurt jumped up on stage and picked up the ropes that had once bound him. "Hey."

Batman looked up. "Yes?"

"Are we good? I mean... I'm grateful for all this and all, but I'm still not sure you can change me. Or that I want to be changed. I still l-love you... even with that cat out of the bag..." He couldn't help but chuckle. "But do you think we...? I mean, do you still... want me?"

David considered that silently. Whatever he said, it would change the course of the rest of his life. He had to think about this, think carefully...

But then, he thought, what was there to think about?

"Yeah. I still want you."

AN: Due to the Joker's nature and backstory, I won't be directly saying which Glee character "plays" him. I left enough clues to indicate it, though. Just as I left enough clues for you comic book lovers to deduce along with Batman who the villain in the final chapter will be. :) (Said final chapter is coming soon!)