AN: Although Batman is not a 'split personality', the idea has been given that HE is real, while Bruce Wayne is a character role. Dove Marquis is mine-she appears in The March of the Penguin. (And hates me for it.)

Christineoftheopera-We're not actively trying to kill him (though nobody would lose much sleep). We're playing a very advanced game of wolf and sheepdog. Mooks aren't playing the game, not really. They're just there to add to the fun. He has the police, we have...them.

Johanna Crane-Well...the only one who would miss Joker is Harley. Nobody loves him. And the rest of us wouldn't be missed for long. Sure, we might bring up 'dear, departed Edward' next time we're bored, but we have no qualms about speaking ill of the dead. It'd likely be, 'that bastard died owing me a fifty!'

Look in the cemetery…look in the cemetery.

For what? Crane didn't have a grave, and he certainly didn't have a headstone. (Bruce Wayne had considered it, remembered the man's dislike of anything that could be construed as religious, and thought better of it.)

All the same, here he was, trying not to bump into anything and having no idea what he was looking for.

"EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!"

What appeared to be a tiny R2D2 on cocaine was rolling toward him. It stopped a foot or so away and a stick on top of its head moved up and down.

"YOU ARE AN ENEMY OF THE DALEKS. YOU MUST BE DESTROYED."

What was this thing?

He bent down to get a closer look and another stick-an arm?-moved. He had time to duck behind a tombstone before it spat a bullet at him.

He dove on it before it could do anything else. It made a whining noise and the mechanical whirring stopped.

Huh.

It had once been a plush toy, but somebody had put wheels on the bottom. For that matter, someone had cut into it-probably to rig that gun. Assuming Richardson had left it-likely-she hadn't done this. She wasn't mechanically minded.

He needed to pay a visit to the Penguin.

"Well, well. Isn't this a…surprise." Cobblepot gave him a wide, insincere grin and motioned for him to sit down. "Miss Marquis, get the man a nice drink."

"No." He didn't sit down, either. He had no intention of playing tea party with Cobblepot. "Have you ever seen this?"

"That's a Dalek." Marquis said. "From Doctor Who."

"Thank you, Miss Marquis." Cobblepot folded his hands in front of him. "As it happens, I have seen one of those. In the hands of a certain grieving lady." He gave Batman a disproving look. "Poor, poor Jonathan…and poor you. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes."

Sometimes he wished Cobblepot was mute.

"When."

"Last month. She asked me if I knew someone to modify it for her."

"And?"

"Do you know, I can't recall." He leaned back, one hand absently rubbing his knee. "I gave her a list of people that might suit her."

"What did she want to do with this?"

Cobblepot grinned and spread his hands.

"What do you think, Batman?" he said smoothly. "She wanted to distract you."

Sure enough, Gordon called in with the report of a hospitalized woman. She was in her apartment, he said-the neighbors, once again, had called the police to report screams. They'd found her beating her head against the wall. Thankfully, they'd gotten to this one in time and she was now sedated and restrained.

He'd hoped she would look like the other one, but she's the polar opposite. Damn.

"It's definitely related, though." Gordon said around his coffee cup. "Same chemicals came up."

"Inhalation?"

"Yeah. Like the last one."

She's just warming up, he knows it. But there's no holidays, no parades…no nothing.

What the hell is she doing?

THE END