AN: Kitty's about five feet tall. Jonathan is…was…about six-three. (Comics said so!) If she wants to wear anything of his out in public, and not as a we-just-had-sex-and-I'm-hungry thing, it takes work. Mostly belts or knot-tying.

SwordStitcher-Close, but not quite. And that was a formula Jonathan was...working on. It's supposed to work like steady, long-term exposure. It won't send you running into the street, but eventually the lack of sleep, mild-but-steady hallucinations and paranoia will get to you. He hadn't quite perfected it when he...when I lost him.

Johanna Crane-In all fairness to the old boy, this has been being worked on for months. It's all just rolling out now, now that they've dug everything out of the back stockrooms and all. It's hardly his fault that I know him very well. And that even I don't know who's next.

Christineoftheopera-I'd much rather kill everyone close to him and watch him suffer-paralyzed, of course. I'm not stupid. If I push my luck he might snap my neck accidentally. No, no...there's more than one way to break a man.

nerdy-No. Good guess, but no. I couldn't get that to work, unfortunately-it kept exploding. Alas.

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-No. That kept melting the hair off their heads, and although that was funny, it wasn't quite what I had in mind.

Sketch1997-Nope. Popular guess, though...

Gordon was still at the stricken beauty parlor that evening. It had been mostly cleaned up by now, although the rug was ruined and so were the chairs. The whole place smelled of acetone.

"What happened."

"It was a mass panic, apparently. Just came out of nowhere-one minute everything was fine, and the next minute one of the stylists attacked her customer with a pair of nail clippers."

Hm. How nice.

"Isn't it, though?"

He ignored the smug voice and started looking through the few items that hadn't spilled. A few nail polishes, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, a half-gone jar of hand cream…nothing out of the ordinary.

"Have you checked the air conditioner?"

"Yes, they found noth-hang on."

He stepped away to answer his phone. Batman knelt before a damp patch on the rug. Ugh. He never could stand the smell of these places…focus!

"Having trouble?"

He didn't know how long he knelt there, but at some point he became aware of Gordon's terrified voice.

"I have to go…Barbara, she's in the hospital…"

And that was all he got out before he ran for the door. Batman stayed, debating: stay or go?

"I tried to tell you…"

"Shut up." he growled, knowing he looked crazy and not caring. Maybe he was crazy. Wasn't everyone in this town?

He'd stay, he decided, and check up on him tomorrow. He'd need some alone time with her, in case she…yeah.

"Hullo, Jim."

Gordon lifted his head and fumbled for his glasses-they'd fallen onto the bed when he fell asleep.

"You."

"I'm sorry." She slumped against the door frame, a familiar, tattered burlap mask hanging from her fingers. "But this had nothing to do with you. She'll be fine-it'll wear off soon enough, I promise. I gave her an older batch. It's weak now. It wasn't very good to begin with, actually." She gave him a weak smile. How did she get in here? She wasn't even dressed like a nurse or a doctor-she was wearing a shirt that was far too big for her, probably one of Crane's.

"Richardson…"

"I really am sorry." she said again. "You were always nice to us-didn't try to hit on me or break his glasses."

"Why." He stood up. "Why are you doing this."

"Don't come any closer."

"Richardson…"

"I mean it. Just because I like you doesn't mean I won't kill you."

Did he have time to pull a gun on her? He was pretty sure…

"I'm sorry."

"You didn't do it." She straightened up, fingers tightening on the mask. "But I can't have you getting in the way. You're not a player in this game."

He went for the gun. Her arm came up.

And then Two-Face appeared at the door, James held tightly in his grip.

"Lie, Gordon. Like I lied."

"How is he."

"Hey, hey! Where the hell were you?"

"How is he!"

Bullock cringed before suddenly straightening up and throwing his toothpick away.

"Not good, Bats. He's not good. They've got him sedated, and they got everything on camera, but she's gone. Tipped a nurse off on the way out, though."

He didn't know what to say. If he'd been here-he wouldn't even have had to come in, he could have stayed outside…

Bullock was talking again.

"They say they've seen it before, it's an old batch."

"She didn't want to kill him."

"Huh?"

"She wanted him out of the way, not dead."

Bullock snorted and readjusted his fedora.

"Sure, Bats, sure. And the Joker's preforming at birthday parties."

"I tried to tell you, Batman." Crane's voice purred. "Feeling guilty yet?"

He clenched his jaw and tried to ignore it, but it didn't work.

"Just because it's old doesn't mean it's harmless."

There was a steady pounding behind his right eye. He took one last, regretful look at Jim-he was still restrained, the thick leather straps having seen far too much use already.

"One day soon you'll be right there with him."

"Shut up."

The voice laughed.

"You're already on the train to Crazytown! Maybe they'll put you in Arkham, see what makes…you…tick."

THE END