Disclaimer: Despite my best efforts, I still do not own the Riddler. Or the city in which he lives. I should start buying real estate.

CATfic, www. freewebs. com/ catverse, after Techie's "Masque" and my "Calamity," before my "Rock and a Hard Place."

Wild Goose

A visit from Batman was trouble. Always. At least, for the Riddler it was.

Having him appear when Eddie was just stepping out of the shower, barefoot and with wet hair, was a bit much, though, even for him.

Eddie backed into the doorknob, winced, and nearly slipped on the wet floor.

"Don't you know how to knock?" he bellowed, partly from shock, and partly in hopes of alerting Quiz and Query to the danger.

"Would you have answered?" The voice was pure Threat, deep and menacing, and Eddie refused to panic, knowing that that was exactly what Batman wanted.

"There's only one way to find out." He raised a fist and tapped it on the air well away from Batman's head, where he could be sure it would be perceived as a taunt and not an attack.

Black gloved hands gripped the collar of his shirt and hauled him up off the ground. He still didn't panic, although this would have been rather a nice time for it. He struggled to find a position that allowed for easy breathing.

"I don't have time to play games." Eddie grasped his visitor by the wrist and did his best to lift himself up and look the other man in the eyes.

"Exactly how much free time do you think I have?" Batman's facial expression didn't change except for a slight tightening around the mouth. That was enough to warn Eddie to brace himself. Still, when the room swung around underneath him and he found himself slammed against the far wall, he couldn't do anything, couldn't even react. His vision swam as he fought to regain his breath. "Was that—really necessary?"

"Answer my questions," Batman said darkly. Eddie's hands clenched in anger.

"Ask them!" Don't just leave me hanging, you son of a bitch! Speak!

"I'm looking for someone." Eddie squirmed, trying to relieve the pressure on his collarbone.

"Was that a question?" Batman leaned against him, their faces inches apart.

"Friends of yours."

"Can you be more specific? I'm a popular guy."

"Ghosts."

Oh. He wanted the Captain, Al, and Techie. He couldn't mean anyone else.

"Well, Batman, I didn't realize you believed in that kind of thing."

Batman slammed him against the wall again. He lost his grip on the hands at his throat and slipped down, twisting painfully.

"Where are they hiding?"

"Are they—hiding?" It felt like a hollow victory, throwing that small bit of mockery in Batman's face, but a victory nonetheless. He was the Riddler, by God, and he wasn't going down without a fight.

Batman's grip tightened, lifting him even further off the ground and blocking his airway entirely.

"No games, Nygma. Where are they?"

Now he struggled, not relishing the thought of blacking out at Batman's mercy. Of course, his pathetic struggles had no effect on that iron grip. He was only human, after all.

"Not—a—clue," he managed.

Batman smiled, a faint quirk of the lips, and Eddie froze, realizing that he had miscalculated—severely.

"Well." The voice was all shadows and doom. "So much for doing this the easy way." The suddenly reassuring weight of the wall left his back, and he tried not to let panic register in his face.

"Don't—be hasty, now…" He clutched Batman's wrists and wished rather desperately that his feet would touch the ground. The bastard held him fast and firm and made sure he could see exactly where he was going.

Well, it was his own fault for taking an apartment with plate glass windows. He should have known better. With Batman around, anyone would have known better. He wondered if the snow had melted. He could probably survive the fall—if the snow hadn't melted.

"I won't ask again."

He hit the glass and felt it crack, but not break.

"Can we say 'please'?"

He had to give it a shot.

There was a brief flash of teeth, more frightening than the Joker's grin. Something had gotten the Batman into quite a state, hadn't it. The glass splintered alarmingly.

"Can 'we'?"

Oh, Batman with a sense of humor was never a good sign. What had he done to deserve this? Nothing—this time, anyway.

"Come on, Bats, what do you—want?" The last word came out a strangled squeak, barely audible.

The glass shattered, and he got an unwelcome taste of fresh air. He closed his eyes—his vision was wavering, anyway, and he did not want to look down.

"You can start talking any time."

Eddie hesitated, clinging to the gauntlets and fighting for breath. The snow was falling on his upturned face, cold, thick, and wet, and he didn't doubt Batman's willingness to let him fall. Carefully, he nodded.

Batman made a dismissive, contemptuous sound, pulled him back in, and tossed him into the far corner. The easiest thing was to collapse where he had fallen and focus on the novelty of air in his lungs.

"Where are they?"

"Home, I'd guess." He pushed himself up, shakily. "People do tend to go home when they're not at work." It seemed the wall just wasn't meant to be his support. He flinched when Batman moved toward him.

"Where?" the Dark Knight growled. He swallowed hard.

"Other side of town." Batman wrapped his fist around a handful of his shirt and hauled him to his feet.

"Show me."

"Oh, sure," he said casually. "Let me just get my coat." Batman glared at him. He tried again. "Hat?" He dragged him toward the door. "Shoes?" No response. "Bastard."

"Suck it up."

"Big talk from the man in the cape." Batman just grunted.

Passing by his bedroom, he saw Quiz and Query unconscious and tied together on his bed. They were going to be in one hell of a spitting fury when they woke up. He was almost glad he wasn't going to be there.

"I do have neighbors, you know." Batman said nothing. He tried again. "They might find this a little odd, if they see."

"We could go out the window if you prefer."

He shut up.

Down the back stairs they went, unobserved by anyone, as far as he could tell. Batman's hand didn't slip from his collar for a moment. It wasn't as if he'd been trying to escape. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was a man who knew when he was caught. He knew how to pick his moments.

He was, perhaps not surprisingly, fairly interested in avoiding serious injury. Just one of his little peculiarities, but perfectly understandable, he thought.

Batman knew him well enough to exploit that weakness, of course. Not in that crude, brutal way that was all some people could understand—if something wants to argue, hit it 'til it stops. No, Batman was better than that, more subtle and more effective. The threats he offered were so real, he didn't even have to carry them out. It was infuriating.

Even more infuriating was the fact that there was nothing he could do about it.

Eddie tried to hesitate on the steps that led down from his building to the icy sidewalk. Batman shoved him forward. His feet went right out from under him, and he landed on his knees in the snow.

"Up," Batman snapped, and tugged him forward.

"Would it have killed you to let me put some socks on?" He limped over to the Batmobile. "I don't keep explosives in my sock drawer, you know."

"I know," said Batman. "Underwear drawer." Eddie winced.

"Batgirl?"

"Batgirl."

"Well, if you people wouldn't keep sneaking up on me in my bedroom…"

Wordlessly, Batman opened the car door. Eddie got in, grumbling, and stubbornly refused to acknowledge what a relief it was to get his bare feet out of the snow. With the press of a button, a set of clamps emerged from the seat, pinning his wrists to the seat behind him. So, Batman had made a few improvements to his whumpmobile. Well, anyone would get a little paranoid after discovering the perils of giving rides to Harley Quinn. The woman was so easily seduced by brightly colored buttons.

Actually, those buttons and flashing lights were awfully interesting. He couldn't help wondering what some of them did.

He wouldn't ask, of course. He kept his eyes on the windshield as Batman put himself behind the wheel.

The engine started, a deep rumble that was both familiar and unsettling. Eddie barely felt the acceleration as the car started forward.

"So," he said after an uncomfortable silence. "If you lose control of the car, is this thing going to break my arms?"

"Probably."

"Oh, that's comforting."

"It wasn't supposed to be."

Eddie fidgeted against the restraints. They were too tight for him. How would they have held, say, the Penguin or Killer Croc? Then again, Batman wouldn't have risked this with someone as dangerous as Croc. And he never undermined Oswald's power if he could help it. Oh, no. The Penguin was too important to the structure of the underworld.

He glanced over at Batman, who kept driving calmly, eyes on the road, hands at ten and two. The silent treatment was a little uncomfortable when he had been expecting a barrage of questions. He should have been glad of the delay—after all, that was what he was supposed to be going for—but this was, of course, just as nerve-wracking as Batman wanted it to be.

He kicked at the door. Batman's scowl deepened. Eddie hastily tucked both feet under the seat. No way was he risking having his legs pinned in place, too.

He kept his eyes on the buttons as long as he could, sorting them by color. Red buttons, blue buttons, green buttons, yellow buttons, oh, goddammit.

"Are you going to speak up, or not?"

"I'm just waiting for you to tell me where we're going."

"You mean you don't know?" Eddie snapped. "You seemed so sure of yourself."

Batman whipped around a corner about twelve times faster than sanity should have allowed, throwing his passenger hard against the door. Eddie winced. That was going to leave a mark.

"You'll talk when you're ready to talk."

He straightened up as best he could.

"Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

Batman hit the gas, throwing Eddie back in the seat with the force of the acceleration.

"Nonsense is not your gimmick, Nygma. Try again."

Eddie fidgeted, eyes on the road. The snow was coming down again in a gentle flurry. How good were the Batmobile's tires? They had to be good, of course, but were they good enough to withstand the treatment of the psychotic Bat?

Well, no more than anything else in the world, he guessed.

"Batman? Have you ever been convicted of a DUI?" The Batmobile whipped around a sharp curve, tires slipping sideways on the frozen surface. "Shouldn't you be obeying the speed limit, Caped Crusader?" He eyed the guardrail warily. "Batman? Batman? What can gravity do to a flying rat in a rocket-powered tin can, do you know?"

"Nothing, compared to what it can do to a smart-aleck criminal with no padding and no effective seatbelt."

Point taken. When they went plunging into the river, Batman wouldn't be the one with shattered bones and a fractured spirit.

"Would you mind slowing down just a bit, please, Bruce?" he tried.

Batman hit the brakes. Eddie tried and failed to brace himself, and his face met the dashboard with a crack. That wrenching pain in his wrists wasn't the sensation of snapping bones, but it felt like the next best thing. He straightened up carefully. Ouch. That was a lot of blood pouring out of his nose.

"Too sood to talk aboud thad?" he ventured. Batman just glared. Eddie glanced out the window at the guardrail not an inch away from his door. "They're od the other side of the river."

He tilted his head back as Batman pulled away from the bridge at a much more reasonable speed. So much for his favorite shirt. The blood was never going to come out.