epilogue

I'm back in the police station.

Idly, I indulge in a moment of pity for the people who work here. I've come to detest this place after only a few hours total spent inside—it's cold, full of hard surfaces and sharp angles, and the lighting is migraine-inducing.

The fluorescent bulbs, however, have a very interesting effect—they make my bruises look ghastly, like they're popping out of skin that looks even sicklier and paler than usual under this light. I've been entertaining myself for a while, examining each wound under these bulbs and taking a sort of sick delight in how awful they all look, but bruise-hunting can only keep one occupied for so long. I'm starting to get a little impatient, sitting at the table in this little room—it's not an interrogation room; no one's treated me like a suspect so far, so I've got windows that look out over a portion of the rest of the station, but it's still cold and I've already been here for far too long, in my estimation.

I glance over at the windows now, and unexpectedly, I see a familiar face headed down the hall, presumably coming to see me.

The brittle confidence I've been operating on ever since I first put that gun to my own head shatters at the first sight of Commissioner Gordon I've had in months, replaced by a sudden sense of frailty and, for some reason, fear. I suddenly realize with unexpected focus that currently, he is the only person in my life who has never wronged me nor (I hope) been wronged by me.

This understanding comes a bit hard on the heels of the three days and four nights spent with the only other person in the city I really know, someone from whom the best I can hope for is a twisted funny story or a brief, incomplete roll in the sheets.

He's getting closer. I quickly order myself to pull it together before I do something embarrassing like start crying. By the time he buzzes the door open and comes into the room, I've recovered enough from the unexpected wave of emotion to look up, give him a wry grin, and quip, "So, did you lock the Grinch away and save Christmas?"

His mustache twitches, but his eyes are tired. "He's in the hospital under armed guard. Pretty banged up, but nothing fatal. He'll go back to Arkham in the morning."

I barely hear him. I've just realized something, and my eyes widen in horror. Gordon tenses, clearly alarmed, but when I blurt out, "Holy—it's Christmas; what are you doing here?", he relaxes, and this time, his smile is a bit more genuine.

"There's plenty of time before the kids wake up," he assures me, but that only makes it worse.

"Aw, man—you've got kids," I moan, burying my face in my hands. "I'm sorry for dragging you—"

"Emma," he says gently, but emphatically enough to make me stop. "I wouldn't be able to sleep after I heard, anyway. In my experience, leaving Joker-related crimes till morning isn't a good idea."

I stare at him for a moment before his earnest expression convinces me that he's not making this up just to reassure me. With a sigh, I sit back, and he takes this as his cue: "However…"

My eyes flick back to his, and he scrutinizes me closely for a second, maybe evaluating my current level of mental health (it's been better, but I do my best to look as sane as possible), before going on. "We've got an awful big mess out there. It would help—a lot—if you filled in as many of the gaps as you were able."

I'm nodding before he finishes. "The Joker took me after midnight on December twenty-first, and I've been with him almost constantly since then. I can give you a thorough statement, and I'm pretty sure that between the information you have and what I can tell you, you'll be able to patch up a lot of holes in the story."

Gordon stares at me briefly, and I can't quite read the look in his eyes. It looks a little something like sympathy, but there's something personal in it—maybe he's imagining his own child sitting where I am, looking like hell under these lights. Whatever it is, it's gone in a second, and he nods. "Okay. Let me get us some coffee and we can get started."

And so, I spend the first couple of hours of my twenty-fourth Christmas sitting in a little conference room in the Gotham Police Department, telling my story to the only person in the city I trust. The weird thing is, now that my family's all gone and I've more or less cut off any social connections, Gordon is the best possible company I could ask for—even if I do feel considerably guilty that I'm taking him from his family at Christmas. He seems to wish nothing but the best for me, and I don't have to worry about him hitting, shooting, or stabbing me at a second's notice—after the past few days, being able to let my guard down a little and feel safe is a genuine luxury.

I try to be as concise as possible, and Gordon interrupts infrequently and only then to ask for clarification on the foggier points, jotting down notes on a clipboard. I tell him everything, even if it means having to spend extra time dealing with the courts in the aftermath, because I trust him to make sure no one tries to pin the Joker's crimes on me.

When I finally finish, he sits back and releases a long sigh. By this point, it's after two in the morning, and I move to stretch, feeling suddenly cramped.

"You're right," he says finally. "That does explain a few things. As far as giving testimony… they'll probably need you when they're looking at Officer Robinson's case, but I don't think you have to worry about stabbing that clown tonight, or shooting the Joker. They were trying to hold you against your will; no judge in the system is gonna fault you for that. We're gonna need you to stick around until we sort this mess out, but Miss Vane…"

"I know," I say, meeting his eyes. "Gotham and I are done. I'm already thinking of potential places to move—not that I think it'll dissuade him if he does break out and decide to come after me again, but obviously, sticking around didn't help, so I'm going to step up my game. Get out of the city."

"I think that's a wise decision," he says, looking relieved that I didn't shoot the suggestion down again. "Mind you, we have no intention of letting the Joker escape again, but—"

"But he does show an unnerving tendency for finding weak spots, I know," I say with a little, humorless smile. After a second, the sardonic expression fades, and I look down at the table. "Um… about… well—I know he's technically wanted by the police, but… I don't know. If you ever get the opportunity to talk to Batman for any reason… maybe let him know that I'm sorry for bashing him in the head with a two-by-four. I really am."

I look up again. Gordon's watching me, his face inscrutable, and I gesture feebly. "I wanted to talk to the Joker. I didn't think he'd let me anywhere near him, which is to his credit, by the way—he was in that garage to save Falcone and me. In fact, he's never done anything but look out for me, and I sure picked a shitty way of repaying him. I don't know, he may come after me before I get out of here and give me the opportunity to tell him myself, but I just want to put it out there."

"I understand," says Gordon.

After a few seconds' silence, he clears his throat. "Um—I'm going to look into getting you witness protection. It's not the usual circumstances, but the city knows how dangerous the Joker is, so I'll see what I can find."

I watch him, smiling vaguely. "Sure. Everything helps, I know. Frankly, I'm not too worried—I issued him a pretty broad challenge."

His forehead creases. "A challenge?"

"Yeah, I—I called him out. I made it clear that I was expecting him to come after me again, and I… might have indicated that I was looking forward to it." At his skeptical look, I hurry to explain: "Because if the Joker's anything, he's contrary. If he thinks I'm living in anticipation of his next visit, he may well withhold it from me."

Gordon frowns. "You think he'll stay away just because you told him not to?"

I shrug. "From what I've seen, the odds are pretty good. Still, on the slight chance that he gets bored, finds his way back to me again, let me assure you—I intend to be ready for him."

fin

A/N - Happy Friday the 13th! And see, I wasn't kidding. Short and sweet. (So what if I love Commissioner Gordon and just wanted an excuse to have him in this story for a little while.)

As I'm sure you've gathered, this installment won't be the end of the series. After all, as far as the Joker's concerned, the fun's just starting. I have ideas for at least one short follow-up and plans for another longer story are drifting around in my head (they may be separate, they may get merged- it's early yet for me to know). However, because I'm terrible at these sorts of things, I have no idea when it'll manifest. After all, I still have a sequel or two to other stories to write. I thought I'd leave Emma in a relatively peaceful, safe place for now.

Let me just say thank you so much for all the feedback and encouragement. It really is a tremendous thing you do, supporting a writer whose only pay is your enthusiasm (and of course the privilege of being able to play in a world she loves), so thank you all for keeping me going. Here's to you, and I hope to see you next time around!