Chapter 6: Bloodfeud Alliance

"Damnit Bruce, where are you!" Rachel screamed into the phone, pacing impatiently up and down the hospital corridor just outside Harvey's room. It had been nearly an hour since she had last talked to him and Bruce Wayne was nowhere to be found. She had left him, at the very least, sixteen messages, and no reply. Wherever he was, she needed him and, as far as she knew, he had bailed on her.

It was at least another hour before Bruce showed up, and when he did, he burst through the hospital doors, swinging them wildly, Lucius Fox at his heels. The owner of Wayne Manor was clad in a suit and blazer, his long black hair rumpled, his eyes bloodshot. "Rachel, thank G-d you're here," he panted.

"Leave G-d out of this," Rachel said acidly. "Where the hell have you been? It's been at least two hours since I last called you!"

"Look, Rachel, I know what this looks like," Bruce said, trying to catch his breath. "But –"

"No 'buts' this time, Bruce," Rachel said, refusing to listen to him. "I needed you tonight and you weren't there."

"BU-U-U-T," Bruce said, shouting over her to be heard. "When I heard what happened to Harvey, I came to Lucius here, whose been working on an antidote, ever since the Joker first used this chemical, back on Theodore Reyes. It's an advanced compound made up of the same chemical that the Scarecrow and Ra'as Al'Ghul used. Actually we believe that's who he got it from and was able to advance it to fit his needs. Judging by the location of his first murder and his understanding of complex chemicals, we believe him to have formerly been a one Joe Kerr, who worked both day and night shift at a laboratory on the fifteenth floor of Wayne Tower."

"That's great," Rachel said sardonically. "But how does that help Harvey?"

"Weren't you listening?" Bruce asked. "We've got the antidote right here," he said, showing her a small flask filled with a sickly-yellowish liquid that reminded her of stale apple juice.

She grabbed it from him and ran into Harvey's room. They followed. She pulled up a syringe, emptied the flask into it and then handed it to Lucius, who took the syringe and injected it properly into Harvey, who was now so overdosed on morphene and opeates, he barely realized what was happening.

It was four hours before they saw any change. Rachel sat by Harvey's sleeping side as Bruce came in from the cafeteria, handing her a fresh cup of hot coffee, throwing the last, now-empty cup into a small trashbin, formerly empty, now filled with eight drained cups of coffee. "How's he doing?" Bruce asked, taking a seat opposite Rachel.

"No change," she said, wiping a few stained tears from her eyes. "The doctors said that if he continues on like this, he may fall into a coma and, I talked to Lucius, and he said if Harvey does become comatose, then there's absolutely no chance of the antidote working."

Bruce patted her on the forearm reassuringly before taking her hand in his. "Hey, don't worry," he told her. "I'm sure everything's going to be fine."

She wiped a few more tears from her face and took a long drain from her cup before widening her eyes at Harvey, who had woke and was staring round widely.

"Harvey!" Rachel breathed ecstatically. "You're awake!"

Harvey smiled gratefully. "Fit as a fiddle, I'd say, though I'm probably wr-wr-wroong," he said, flexing his mouth in confusement.

"It's quite alright," came Lucius's voice from the door. "Your speech patterns will correct themselves shortly. Just sit and rest for now."

Harvey looked up and smiled appreciatively. Bruce looked at Lucius, who nodded discreetly, before he turned to Rachel. Her eyes met his. Oh, what beautiful eyes they were. How much he wished he could… No! He had to do it. "Rachel, would you go get the doctor? I'm sure he'll want to examine his patient."

Rachel stared unassuredly at Bruce before Lucius said, "Come on, Rachel, I think I'll accompany you."

Arguing no longer, Rachel stood up and said quietly, "Okay, I'll be back," before leaving with Lucius. Bruce strode quickly to the door, closed and locked it and walked back to his chair, Harvey staring wide-eyed at him, an expression of complete surprise on his face.

"Harvey," Bruce said seriously, "I need you to listen to me. It's very important that you do." Harvey nodded. Bruce continued. "I'm sure you are familiar with Batman? Yes? Good. Let's just say that I know him personally. The reason you were attacked is because your head D.A. And you're the best damn D.A. this city's ever seen. And when, not if, Joker is caught, you'd be the one to prosecute him and he'd have no chance of escaping prosecution nor prison. Joker is seriously ill, Harvey. He belongs in a strait-jacket in an insane asylum. He is psychotic and prone to violence. He does not laugh because he wants to, nor does he smile because he wishes it. He has no control over his moves, though always remember: He's a former scientist, and from what records show, a damn good one. He's smart. Catching him won't be an easy task. That's where you come in. I've already discussed this with Lieutenant Gordon and Batman. We need to form an alliance to stop this madman from running rampant all across town. Being Head D.A. and all, you'd be a top-priority member of this alliance and would know all of our dealings in stopping the Joker. No other lawyers may know about this. No other members of the D.A's office, do you understand? None, except possibly Rachel, though I'll let you know if we include her. When mentioning it, for grave reasons of anonymity, say it's a Wayne Project."

Harvey nodded gravely. "A Bloodfeud Alliance, eh? You have my full support, rest assured"

Bruce smiled weakly and nodded. "Very well, I thank you for your time." And he departed.

"Hey, did you talk to him?" Gordon asked. It was a dark, dim night, as were all nights in Gotham City of late. They were standing on top of Wayne Tower, where the sign for Batman had been put up. Bruce, in full Batman stylings, crouched, looking over the edge of the building. It made Gordon, who had a terrible fear of heights, uneasy. He gulped.

"I told you I would," Batman said in a deeper voice than was Bruce's.

"And?"

"He's in." Batman's face was still as stone. He looked much like the gargoyle statues that guarded the corners of several buildings. Clad in black armor (at least, Gordon thought it was armor), he appeared a force to be reckoned with, his fists clenched tightly.

Gordon approached slowly, careful to stay clear of the edge, making sure a wide berth was between him and it. There was no railing, only sandy pebbles easily tripped on, which made Gordon queasy with fright. "So what're you going to do?" he asked.

Batman, who had previously been crouching, stood up, still not looking at Gordon. At last, he turned and stared hard into Gordon's eyes. "What a predator always does when he wants his prize: Hunt."

"What does that mean exactly?"

Batman turned back to the starry night sky, looked down at the street far below him. "Let's just say that there'll be hell to pay… And the devil's come collecting." And he dove from the edge, leaping out of sight.