need4lov - Thanks. I know, even in the comics when she feels like helping, it seems like Selina can be quite the peacekeeper.

Spirit of Pandora - Aw, your review made my day. Thanks ever so for the support!

lana - Thanks. I enjoy Crane/Selina interactions. They can be quite amusing.

haikuowl - Edward is kind of a rude duck, though isn't he? Too arrogant sometimes to understand basic human kindness.

I'M BATMAN - No, I'm actually saying 'I'm Batman'. j/k Yes, Query and Echo will return. I love writing them, they're so jealous and loyal to Eddie that it's hard not to have them in a story.

Gee everyone, sorry for the wicked late update. School is balls hard. But since I'm on holidaze, here's a new chapter! Hooray! (Anyone even getting the chapter name connections BTW? I feel like my little inside joke may be too inside).

Chapter Eleven: Manos: The Hands of Fate

**Firefly**

Firefly wasn't certain about a lot of things in life. He had never been one to figure he knew everything, but he did know a few key things.

The first thing he knew for certain was that people were born and eventually they died. The fields would always be sown and then reaped. Empires would rise and fall, but the one thing he learned fast in the last month was that pride cometh before a fall and Edward Nygma was a fool parading towards the Grand Canyon with his nose firmly in the air.

Loitering in the darkest, quietest corner of the lighthouse, he chain smoked heavily and watched as the Riddler explained his harebrained scheme to the others.

The man had enthusiasm, sure. But any idiot with a bright, powerful smile like Nygma's could sell madmen the Terra Cotta Army for a song and he certainly had determination, a man as arrogant as Edward never saw fault in his ideas.

But.

Firefly exhaled slowly.

But inviting an army into your home armed with only a cobbled together array of weapons was something akin to the Alamo and Firefly knew for certain that that didn't end too well for at least one side of that battle.

"Edward, do me a favour," Crane drawled from where he had coiled himself against a wall. "Take a step outside yourself and look back at all the crazy you're spewing."

Thankfully someone was going to say it; it saved Firefly from having to deal with setting them straight.

The Riddler quirked a brow and dropped his over excited hands that had been gesturing wildly. "Don't be petty, Jonathan," he said, "The colour makes you look wan."

Unfolding his arms, the Scarecrow approached the centre ring, limping like a warrior wounded in battle. He had never looked so commanding, so much like a leader. Firefly was a little impressed.

"You're going to get us all killed with your overconfidence, Edward."

Firefly inhaled smoke deep into his lungs, enjoying the soothing burn, watching as things got infinitely more interesting.

"Firstly," Crane began, "you expect us to hold up against an army? Us? With…Jervis' tea and whatever Lynns brings to the table?"

As all eyes turned on him, Firefly felt the need to do something. He felt he was proving Crane right by just standing around like a statue. Tucking his cigarette in between his lips, he held up both hands and removed his thumb in an act of common prestidigitation.

"I…well that's actually pretty impressive," Edward admitted after a moment. "At least he could distract them."

"And what about Fugate, hm? What good is he against an army?" Crane went on.

"You're losing supporters fast, Jonathan." The Clock King sniffed calmly.

"Hardly sorry about that," Crane snapped, eyeing the Riddler. "At least will you admit that we're going to need a lot more help than just us if we want to bring the fight here?"

Edward sniffed. "Of course we'll need more help than just us, Jonathan. I've already thought this through."

"Who?"

"A few old business partners," the Riddler replied.

"Who?" Crane insisted.

"Criminals don't do anything for other criminals without a hefty pay-out." Ivy pointed out.

"They owe me some favours," Edward said.

"I really hope that it's not who I think is, because I have to say, Edward, I won't stand beside the Joker and his insane little fuck bunny when the gates of hell open. That's one death march I will not take part of."

The Riddler climbed onto the wobbly table with cat-like grace and beamed at the crowd of villains. "Look," he began.

Firefly knew the man had a gift of gab, but he wondered if a silver tongue could give him enough support or if those around him would finally break ranks. No one liked working with the Joker, he was unpredictable. And if Lynns thought Nygma couldn't be trusted, the Joker was very obviously not the sort to be trusted. His mind worked on a whole new level of crazy and there was no reasoning with him.

"Look," Edward went on, "I know. You poor masses are huddled and weak, I understand. But you placed me in charge of this little group and I'm leading you."

"I don't recall voting on you to lead us," the Clock King pointed out.

"I suggested myself," Maxie Zeus said. "Made more sense than a mere mortal, but," he sniffed contemptuously, "you went another direction."

"As I recall," Ivy broke in evenly, "we all voted on Jonny boy to lead us."

Firefly watched as the Riddler's massive ego took a donkey punch and the man's face fell his cerulean blue eyes becoming stormy instantly.

"I see." He removed his tie. "I just went across the ocean on a ten hour plane trip in coach to get my face stepped on by thirty malcontents for you all, but I see your point." He threw the tie across the room in a huff and unbuttoned the top three buttons on his shirt. "Swallowed a tooth, but who cares if it tears the lining of my stomach to hell, right? Because you all made your decision." He rolled up the sleeves on his shirt and ran his hands over his face. "Fine. Let's sit here, then. See if this whole situation sorts itself out, shall we?"

"Edward—" Selina began.

The Riddler leapt off the table and upturned it, throwing it in the general direction of the villains. "Here's an idea!" He shouted. "Let's just play Russian Roulette while we wait, hm? Because I think dying of that act of stupidity would actually make me feel better about my IQ then waiting here to be killed!"

Knowing the Riddler's temper was legendary when it came to his ego; Firefly calmly inhaled his cigarette smoke and exhaled waiting for the storm to pass.

"Edward," Selina took the situation in hand, approaching the volatile criminal. "No one is saying your idea doesn't have its merits." She purred, sliding her hand up his chest and around to grip the back of his neck gently.

"I am." Crane muttered.

"You're not helping," Ivy snarled, stepping closer to the Scarecrow.

Flicking away his cigarette Firefly watched as the embers bounced off the wooden floorboards into the shadows as all hell broke loose and everyone started yapping at once, trying to speak over each other.

Watching their group fall apart, Firefly made the decision to finally do something, stepping away from the wall and striding through the dead centre of the crowd, heading for the door.

"Lynns, where are you going?" Selina demanded, catching up with him at the door.

"I'm out of smokes," he muttered, tugging his helmet on and stepping out into the night.

"Do you think it's wise to split up from the group?" She demanded, following him.

"Do you think we're being productive here fighting like kids on a playground?" He angled his head to face the door where a melee was still in the midst. "What do you want from me, Catwoman?" He demanded.

"Apparently nothing," she replied coolly.

He swaggered into the Iceberg Lounge just as the sun was rising up over the edge of the horizon, workers there eyed him as they stacked tables and chairs, but he ignored their looks, heading for the office.

The truth was he hadn't felt right since Adelaide.

The bastards had taken her from him.

Firefly had thought that perhaps she understood him; she was certainly good at reading him just by the way he held himself.

He had never been what one would call 'extroverted', even before he became Firefly. It just wasn't in his nature to share his thoughts and feelings, he liked having someone who he didn't have to explain things to, plus she was smoking hot and he loved her legs.

But those fuckers in the ninja costumes sliced her forty ways from last Sunday and by the time he found her she was barely recognizable.

She was just a sweet kid from the South end of Gotham who had a thing for fire and men in leather boots. Hell, she baked cookies on Fridays in a frilly pink apron and brought them to him at Arkham on Saturday visiting hours.

He didn't think the others truly appreciated the situation they were in. This wasn't war, this was pure extermination. There was a reason criminals were targeted and it was because they were seen as cockroaches and Lynns knew that Nygma knew this too. The Riddler was diplomatic, if anything. He razzle-dazzled the others into believing this was a crime war, just two factions fighting over turf, but it was so much more.

Knocking on the Penguin's door, Lynns waited patiently against the wall, his heavy black leather boots crossed.

"Enter," the Penguin called from the other side of the door.

Opening the door cautiously, Lynns stepped into the dimly lit office, heavy boots falling softly on the thick carpet.

The rotund man looked up from where he sat sipping at brandy and eyeing paperwork.

"Qua, twice in one night is a pleasant surprise," the man greeted. "What brings you around for a second time?"

"Ordnance," Lynns replied, coming to a neat pause at the man's desk.

"Ah-huh," the Penguin leaned back in his chair. "And what makes you desire weapons, my fiery friend?"

"Mathematics."

The Penguin pursed his lips, removing his cigarette holder calmly. "Go on."

"Ten creatures, each with two hands capable of holding a handgun versus – approximately – the twenty-three that I counted on our way back from your office last night, each of those twenty-three seemed content to weld swords, katanas to be exact, now consider the fact that these ten creatures each don't have a weapon, among them only three are packing heat, do the math that's seven creatures without weapons, now some of them have melee weapons, yes. Catwoman and her whip, Ivy and her lips, etcetera. What I'm looking to do is put a gun in each of those empty hands to give us better odds against the twenty some enemies we are facing. I have heard it said you're the man to go to for weapons, therefore I'm here for an assload of ordnance."

"If I were a betting man I wouldn't take those odds of you or those other crime hounds making it out of this one alive." The Penguin said. "Besides, I don't just give out charitable donations."

"I'm not here for charity. I'm willing to barter."

"Well, let's start the bargaining process then, shall we?"

"I have a Batgirl." Lynns stated simply.

The Penguin removed the ciggie from his holder and stamped it out, reaching for his case to light another. "And?"

"A live bomb strapped to my waist." Lynns teased.

Of course with his helmet on the Penguin had no idea it was a joke and this amused Firefly even more as the bird-like fellow slowly opened his golden cigarette holder and pulled one out. The King of Gotham's criminal underworld scoffed then and tucked the cigarette into his holder. "You're kidding."

"Of course." Lynns replied, reaching for his little box of wooden matches. "Allow me."

Pulling out a tiny little wooden stick, Firefly mused on the wee, manmade items he had added to his weaponry. So small and insignificant, but since strike anywhere matches had been made illegal in most states, he had resorted to making his own. They were higher in phosphorus than the average match and could be lit on practically anything with a rough surface. He used to amuse Adelaide by lighting them on his stubble.

She would clap her hands together and smile that bright, child-like grin of hers in absolute joy.

Now, however, he just used the rough strip supplied on the silver matchbox he kept the matches in and leaned towards the Penguin with the tiny flame held out.

Instead of lighting the cigarette the man offered, Lynns dropped the flaming match into Oswald's brandy snifter and the Penguin shot back as blue fire flared out of the glass of highly combustible liquor. With a dark look, the man tucked his cigarette holder into his mouth and leaned down to light his smoke from the dying blue flame of the glass.

Calmly, Firefly reached out and tamped out the flame with a heavy leather gloved hand.

"Clever," Oswald squawked. "Now get me another brandy, smart ass."

"Throw some spices in there and you have glogg," Firefly replied. "You should thank me for expanding your alcoholic borders."

Holding up the snifter, Oswald eyed the floating match with doubt. "Yes, but there's still a match floating in my half assed glogg."

"Adds flavour. About those weapons?"

Clamping his teeth down on his holder, the Penguin grinned. "I'll make you a deal, Firefly, because you actually wore the monocle I gave you, I'll sell you enough arms to keep your little group happy and if you run down to Amherst and Vine, there's a little operation there, setting up in my territory that needs cleaning out."

"Fire purges filth," Firefly said.

"Indeed."

"Give me three hours."

He was gliding on the updraft of the flames, enjoying a bird's eye view of his work, swooping in and out of the column of smoke that rose above the little warehouse operation on the corner of Amherst and Vine.

If he closed his eyes he could hear the flames speaking.

They crackled and snapped, but they spoke to him in a dry rasp and it calmed him.

The world is on fire, the flames whispered to him.

"The world is on fire," he repeated softly, words falling from his mouth, lost between the muffling effects of his helmet and the roar of the fire raging below him.

Man was never meant to have the flame, the fire rasped. Prometheus stole this from the Gods.

"I am the sanctioned son of the flame. The keeper of the fire." Firefly muttered. "Only I have the right to the flame and only I can offer the purification through the application of fire upon man."

At the sound of approaching sirens, Firefly allowed his gliding dance among the smoke end and he swirled lower and lower on the updrafts, heading back to earth like a whirligig falling from a caragana shrub.

Touching down delicately, Firefly gave the flaming building one last, wistful glance, before marching off into the darkness of a nearby side street, his wings retracting back into their compact state with the touch of a button.

By the time he returned to the lighthouse dawn was turning the Eastern horizon rosy pink and the ocean beyond was shimmering with promises of light.

Setting the two heavily laden bags of guns and ammo down near the door, Firefly peered around the quiet first floor, finding only three figures remained, one propped on the shaky table, long, spidery hand thrust through thick brown hair, another standing at his side quietly, the third figure, Batgirl, remained tied securely in the corner of the room with Ivy's vines like a fly caught in a spider's web.

Firefly glanced about, quietly making his way across the floor.

Jonathan Crane looked up and over at him from where he sat perched on the table like a gangly rag doll. "I didn't think you'd be back," he remarked.

Firefly eased down onto a chair, sticking his legs out in front of him. "I had to make myself useful," he replied simply. "Found some weapons to defend ourselves with."

Crane waved his hand carelessly. "It doesn't matter."

Glancing over at Poison Ivy who stood akimbo by Crane's knees, Firefly ran a tongue over his bottom lip to wet it. "Where's Catwoman?"

"She and Edward left, Maxie Zeus and Two-Face went with them." Ivy stated.

"The group's divided then." Firefly pointed out. "Well, more guns for us."

Looking at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes, the Scarecrow unfurled his ungodly long legs and hopped off the table. "You're going to stay here, then?"

Firefly looked at the stairs to where Jervis was sweeping a cloud of dust about idly. Lynns fingered a grenade at his side calmly at the sight. It was odd to see Jonathan Crane look so shocked by something, so he wanted to bathe in that shock from the Purveyor of Fear, if only for a few seconds by prolonging his reply.

"Crane," he began carefully, feeling the word roll around in his mouth as he removed his helmet and dropped it at his side carelessly, "I've always been told there are two kinds of men in the world. Those who stand outside the fire and those who run into it," he muttered, reaching for his pack of cigarettes. Finding it, he shook the pack, knocking one out and tucked the long, white stick into his mouth. "In my experience, the men who run into the fire usually end up getting burned by it."

In the flare of his match, Firefly found the Scarecrow's pale eyes wide and attentive.

With a small moment of thought, Crane growled and spun on his heel, heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" Ivy snarled, racing to catch up with him.

"To find Edward before he does something insanely stupid!"

Furling out a plume of smoke from his freshly lit cigarette, Firefly met Jervis' eyes as the Mad Hatter had halted his sweeping to stare at him.

There was, for a brief moment, an instant of clarity in Jervis' eyes and he and Firefly shared a look, before Lynns gave the twitchy man a small, barely there smirk and pulled a deep drag from the smoke in his hand.