"You could find her yourself, Bruce. I mean, as yourself." Rachel Dawes sniffled, stirring a cold mug of coffee rather feverishly. "You could leave it up to the police."

Bruce wasn't inclined toward nervous behavior. If anything, his stoicism only became more evident in the wake of extreme stress.

He knew she didn't like it.

"Do you trust the police, Rachel? To be uncorrupted or capable?" He stood up from the desk and began a calm pace about the office. "That freak has her. My sister. Do you get it?"

"Not by blood." Her voice bit with slight humor, and he knew that she meant to only lighten the wire-tight tension.

But it pissed him off.

"What do you want me to say? You...can't be with me. You can't be with Bruce Wayne and...what I become."

"What are you-"

"I want her back. My reasons are my own and the entire thing is for me to bear. I know what Dent can give Gotham but he is not capable of getting India back."

Resolve broke, and before he could steady the anger, his fist met the closest wall and easily punched straight through. Bruce heard her jolt in her seat. It gave him a strange wave of satisfaction. He pulled his hand back, bloodied and sore.

"He won't hurt her. She's worth more alive." Her voice shook gently and guilt rooted deep inside him, germinating at speeds beyond him.

"Imagine, Rachel."

"Imagine What?"

"Someone you love, being stolen, like her." He didn't turn, but heard Rachel as she rose from the chair. A moment later, he felt her small arms around him and melted into the hold.

"I know what you're feeling." Her voice was light and beautiful, and carried comfort.

"You have Harvey. You have a whole life."

"My life would have been whole, Bruce." He felt her chin settle just beneath his shoulders.

"I never should have let her come here."

"She's going to be alright. Her face is everywhere, and all it takes is one tip."

"From some witness who knows that they're better off not saying anything?" She gave him a light squeeze and sighed.

"You have faith in Gotham, Bruce. Don't lose it now."


From a dreamless and desperate sleep, India felt a hand shaking her without gentility. Just the simple act of opening her eyes caused pain.

"You rest heavy."

Through a haze, she saw the clown crouched above her, a leg and an arm at both her sides. For a quick moment, she wanted to laugh. It was so silly.

But her mouth went agape to scream, and his hand clamped down with bruising strength.

"Ah! Anybody who can hear you, doesn't care. But uh, don't let that reflect on you." He leaned in, allowing clumped locks of his green hair to tickle her cheeks. "Front page news is what you are. Your brother has begun waging his infantile campaign for your safe return."

She stared up at him, white greasepaint flaking from his quirked brow and falling onto her cheek like dirty snow. With a strange grumble, his hand once again left her mouth and went to brush it away.

"It's time for the rules. Rule time!" The Joker set himself back on his haunches, keeping India tucked snuggly between his legs. The idea of kicking him crossed her mind briefly, but she was scared silent by the thought of him hurting her any more.

"Rule number one; this is my lovely room I'm keeping you in and I'd prefer if you didn't trash it or piss in the bed or anything like that. Yes?"

She nodded, inwardly cringing at the fact that it was his bed she'd been sleeping in.

"Rule number two! Uh, misbehavior on your part will result in punishment equal to the offense. That one, I don't know, it sounds very cop-like, but it's necessary." He shrugged and shifted himself above her, backside resting uncomfortably on her shins. "Understand?"

"Yes."

"Three. If any of my men decide to pay you an unauthorized visit, which is any and all visits, you make sure I know about it."

"What?"

"You work slow, don't you?"

"I just-"

"You just need to say yes."

"Yes," She squeaked, hoping to God that he would get off of her legs and leave.

"What's the deal with your name?"

"My name?"

He dragged his tongue across his mouth. "It's like pulling teeth! Yeah, your name." She swallowed, pink tinting her cheeks.

"I-I don't know, it's just...my name."

He sighed and rolled off.

"It's a goddamn country is what it is."

India quickly sat up, pulling her hiked-up gown back over her legs as best she could. She felt him watching her and shivered.

"Maybe I can find you something better than that to wear," he murmured, absently smoothing down the lapels of his purple jacket with spindly fingers.

"Or, uh, maybe Gotham General's paper dresses are what you feel prettiest in, hm?"

She stared, caught tightly between anger and hopelessness, annoyed with his nasal taunts.

"We'll figure it out, I'm sure. I'll leave you to your own sorry devices for now. Things to do, you see. Always...something to be done." He moved towards the bricked glass door and peered over his hunched shoulder. "Bathroom is free to use, and I would if I were you."

"Why?"

"You look like shit."


He didn't really mean it. More like, she looked like shit compared to her sweet, sunny self he'd seen two days ago.

Worth that look, though. Wow, what...a...look. The most fire he'd seen in those virginal eyes yet. He half-expected an actual line of defense for that one.

"What next?" He thought aloud, perusing a rumpled copy of the Gotham newspaper, fixed on the grayscale photo stretching nearly the whole length of the page.

Sister of Gotham Magnate Missing!

Had to hand it to them, it was a great picture. Crisp and clear, focused perfectly on India's beaming face. Clear enough to see each freckle.

He began to count them.