I still think it would be wonderful to have a man love you so much he'd kill for you.

~ Barbara Morton, Strangers on a Train

...

Rachel was beginning to think it had all been a dream. A horrible, drug-induced, hallucinogenic fever dream where she would wake up screaming and drenched in a cold sweat. But a dream nonetheless. She hadn't seen him for a month. She hadn't heard from him, in the news of otherwise, for longer. She hadn't thought about him either. Ever.

She had also taken to lying to herself on a regular basis. A nasty habit, but somehow necessary now.

And she had started taking the train again. A defiant gesture to convince herself that their encounters had been worth nothing. Once, a few weeks ago, she thought she might've caught a glimpse of him - his dark eyes gleaming from behind a newspaper. The headline screamed "Mysterious Vigilante Drug Bust." But it turned out to be nothing. Nothing at all.

She wasn't going to kid herself, she was relieved. She thought that now, maybe, she could pick up the pieces of her scattered life, throw herself back into her work, and forget that part of her was still with him. Part of her was still smiling.

"You look like you've just remembered the punch line to a really good joke."

Harvey Dent. Gotham City Golden boy. Campaigning for a brighter future. He was precisely why she had thrown herself into her work. His was the influence she needed.

Rachel shook her head. "It wasn't that funny."

Harvey sighed elaborately, giving her his best crooked smile. "Let me be the judge of that. You can tell me it over dinner." He winked at her and when he did that, Rachel found it hard to tell him no.

"I don't think that would be such a good idea." She turned back to the files she had been studying, her hair hiding her face as she leaned over.

He leaned down and pushed her hair aside with his fingers. "Don't make me beg, Dawes. It won't look good on the campaign ads. You know-" He made little air quotes with his fingers. "'Believe in Harvey Dent or he'll get down on his knees and beg you to.'"

Oh he was good. Rachel couldn't help but smirk and look up at him before quickly turning back to her work. "What time are you picking me up?"

He grinned down at her, but she didn't look up to see. She already knew. This was what she needed...

...

"I just don't see why she had to die!" Harvey moved to the curb and stood behind the crowd of theatergoers lined up waiting for a cab. He had his hand resting on the small of Rachel's back. It was a comforting gesture.

"She had to die." Rachel moved away from him unconsciously. She wasn't ready for comforting. Not yet. "It's a tragic love story. She died to prove that love transcends life and death. That love has no boundaries. She knew she was going to die. He knew she was going to die. They got scared and separated themselves from each other. But in the end they were brought back together and reaffirmed their love even when her death was inevitable. If she had survived, it would've been a copout."

Harvey laughed, keeping his eyes on her. He noticed that her hair gleamed almost golden beneath the lights of the marquis. "You certainly have strong opinions on the subject. Puccini would've been proud. Are you sure you're a lawyer and not a theater critic?"

Rachel looked down at the sidewalk. It was slick with the evidence of a recent rain. "Actually, I was never a fan of opera. When you suggested it, I didn't want you to think I was some uncultured hillbilly."

Harvey looked at her, all seriousness now. And Rachel suddenly felt the urge to laugh. It was unnerving. "Don't ever change who you are because of someone else, Rachel. How about you pick what we do next time."

Rachel smiled and said nothing. Leave it to him to bring up the possibility of another date. He obviously thought it had gone well. And it had. It had. Aside from the fact that this had been the longest conversation they had all night and that Rachel had the inexplicable urge to laugh at everything he did say. It was just that everything that came out of his mouth was just too perfect. She didn't deserve him and she knew it and it made her want to laugh.

Harvey turned from her to glower at the taxi line. "We're never going to get home this way. It's a nice night. Doesn't look like it'll rain anymore. You up to walking to the train station?"

Rachel felt something jump in the pit of her stomach. But she ignored it and nodded mechanically. "Sure."

He smiled another winning smile at her. God, even his teeth were perfectly even and white. "Great! It'll give us some extra time to talk."

But they walked in silence for awhile. Rachel held on to his arm as they turned into an alley that led down to the stairs of the platform. This was so different. He wasn't crushing her hand in a bruising grip. He wasn't tugging her along frantically or cackling at her. He was smiling kindly at her. He wanted to take care of her. He was so good for her.

"So did you like it? Did you have a good time?" Harvey finally broke the silence.

Rachel had the distinct feeling he wasn't really talking about the play anymore, but she found she couldn't answer the question he was asking. So she pretended it was about the play. She had since honed her skills in pretending. "It was OK. I understood it, I think. Better now than when I first saw it in college."

Harvey's face fell. It broke her heart to see him like that, but maybe it was for the best. She really didn't deserve him. Really didn't deserve the looks he gave her.

He stopped walking, then, poised above the stairwell and turned towards her. "What's different now than in college?"

Rachel shook her head. Not wanting to have this conversation yet. It was too soon for the big talks. "I don't know. Lost love resonates better when you've seen a bit more of the world, I guess."

Harvey grinned his crooked grin. She could tell he was trying to make light of a serious question. He was always trying to make her feel as comfortable as possible. "So has our very own Gotham City avenger Rachel Dawes ever found the time to be in love?"

Rachel looked away and cleared her throat, thinking about Bruce and trying not to think about the other. "Once. When I was young and didn't know any better."

"And how about now?" He was getting too close. She wanted to scream at him to back off already. She reached up to her face unconsciously - making certain her mouth wasn't stretched into an evil grin or something. Like his. But Harvey was still waiting for her answer, completely unaware of her inner struggle. Patiently waiting for her to come back to him. Always patient. Always careful. Always himself. He was an open book when all she wanted to do was to slam them shut.

"Now?" Rachel looked down at her hands. They were shaking slightly. "Not that I was aware of."

The train clattered to a halt below and Rachel tugged on his arm, leading him down the stairs. "C'mon, we're going to miss it."

Rachel heard the shuffling behind them, the metallic sound of scraping metal, and his breathing fast and harsh and recognized it all immediately. Before she even heard his high – pitched, lilting voice, she knew exactly who it was and why he was there.

"Hey Harvey. Harvey Dent! Believe in this!"

Rachel screamed as she heard the dull thud as Harvey hit the pavement beside her. She should have known. Should have predicted this. It was her fault. She never should have thought she could lead a normal life. Not with him always there, lurking in the shadows of her mind.

She knelt down beside Harvey, who was now crumpled on the filthy, hard concrete of the platform. His perfect face was marred with blood from the Joker's blow. She knew this would never – could never have lasted long. But Harvey was still breathing evenly. He seemed like he would be alright. He had been spared. This time.

She fumbled for her cell phone in her purse – cursing that she had brought one so large and filled with junk. She could never find her phone when she needed it most.

"I gotta say, sugar lips, I'm impressed! Bagging not one but two Gotham City big shots in one lifetime? That's gotta be some sort of, uh, record, right?"

Rachel glared up at him, cell phone finally in hand. His voice, she noted offhand, was different. Tired. But she told herself that she didn't care.

"What the hell are you doing?" She hissed. "Is this some twisted attempt at jealous boyfriend? Because, color me confused, I thought we had already gone our separate ways." Rachel had already dialed 911 – had already put her phone to her ear - and couldn't quite believe he hadn't yet wrenched it from her grasp and sent it hurling toward the train tracks. Wrong. Something was so wrong again.

The operator picked up on the first ring and Rachel was surprised how steady her voice sounded even as a madman with a knife loomed above her, having just sent her date sailing to the land of unconsciousness. Rachel told them their location and that there had been an accident, hanging up quickly to fully focus her attention on the problem at hand.

He was leaning to one side and staring at her through glassy eyes. "I think I've thought of a new nickname for you…" He trailed off, wanting her to ask him. That's when she noticed the large, dark stain on his faded shirt. Blood. And it was fresh.

She pointed a shaky finger at him. "Who's blood is that?"

He looked down, his expression almost one of bewildered surprise. "Funny. I don't really remember his name!" And then he collapsed at her feet.

Rachel knew what she would do as soon as he hit the ground. He needed her now. There was nothing she needed to know other than this. Harvey would be fine. And he needed her.

She leaned down, taking a deep breath and heaved him to his feet. Her hands caught under his arms and she felt something warm and wet. This was bad.

"What am I going to do with you?" She was talking more to herself than to him but he still gave a weak groan of a reply. Even halfway unconscious, he felt the need for his wisecracks.

She looked down at him as she pulled him in the direction of the open train door, thankful for once that it was empty. "Alright, smartass. Where can we go that you're not gonna get caught?"

He gave a weak, whispering sort of giggle as his head rested on her shoulder. He opened his eyes halfway to look up at her. "To the moon, Alice. To the moon."

Rachel rolled her eyes as she sat him next to her. "Well that is entirely unhelpful."

The train lurched forward and he fell against her. She put an arm around him to steady him and his hand came up to clasp around her wrist not un-gently. His head had fallen against her chest now and the next words he spoke were muffled. "Next stop. Up the metal stairs behind the moon." There was a pause and she thought his next words sounded almost apologetic - though she couldn't imagine why. "It's dark..."

"Of course it is. You've got your eyes closed."

"No. Not -" He sighed and it came out in a frustrated growl. But his side ached and he was so tired and his mind was already so heavy. He gave up and she felt his face in the crook of her shoulder. His hand fell from her wrist to rest against her stomach. Her other hand, the one that wasn't holding him up, came to rest on his and he didn't pull away.

She looked down at him. His eyes were closed and his breathing was even - she thought she heard him snore a little. She looked down as the lights of the moving train flashed outside. His fingers were curled around the flesh of her stomach. She lifted his large hand in hers, using this rare moment of weakness to study him in a way that he would never allow her to otherwise. His hand was rough, the nails broken and uneven, almost as if he was used to tearing at them with his teeth at nervous moments. She turned his hand to study his palm - there were smears of white and red makeup on the pads of his fingers and she shook her head and tried to rub them clean with her own. He stirred, his eyes opening, looking at their hands with a quizzical expression. She opened her mouth to give him an explanation but she could honestly think of none. But the train came to a stop, then, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Can you stand?" She asked as she braced herself on the vertical metal bar in front of them, ready to heave him to his feet if need be. "I'm not a fucking invalid." He was mumbling but he rose shakily to his feet before his knees buckled and gave out completely.

"You know, this is a lot easier for me when you're not sprawled out on the floor, Smiles."

He looked up at her, his eyes would have been threatening if they weren't so damned tired. And if his face wasn't currently pressed against her pant leg. "Stop calling me that."

"Well what am I supposed to call you?" You won't tell me your name. And I'd rather not call you the name your enemies gave you."

"Why not?"

She grunted as she pulled him to his feet once again, cursing herself for wearing her ridiculous heels. "Because I'm your friend, right?"

He scoffed and she pulled them out onto another train platform. She smiled wryly. This was getting to be their special place.

She looked around for the metal stairs he had mentioned, but all she saw were the concrete ones that led up and out into the street. She shifted him, her arms grasping tighter around his waist, bracing his chest with her shoulder as his head lulled against her cheek.

"That way." He said, nodding with his sagging head toward a door covered in graffiti. As she staggered closer, she noticed the door held an entire colorful scene. Taking up most of the space was a giant grinning moon set back against a star filled sky, his wide eyes staring down at two people on a balcony. At first glance, they appeared to be embracing but, as they walked closer, she noticed that they both had nooses wrapped tightly around their necks, tying them together. There was also a hideous bleeding bat hovering above them and, for some reason, a giant purple happy face. She had to admit, though, it was a gorgeous mural. Shades of blue and deep purple swirled up and around the figures and the moon, darkening as they got toward the bat and fading at the edges before flaring into beautiful red and orange flames that framed the entire scene.

"Did you - ?"

"Just open the door." His voice was straining and she could tell the exertion of shuffling along beside her, no matter how much she was supporting him, was wearing on him.

She twisted the knob and groaned as she took in the spiraling wrought iron staircase. There wasn't even a single light bulb to light their way and she knew, as soon as the painted door closed behind them, they would be left to climb these rickety stairs in complete darkness. So that's what he meant about it being dark.

She took a deep breath as he giggled a bit. She felt his hot breath against her neck and her stomach clenched not entirely unpleasantly. She took another breath, willing herself not to panic as she stepped through the door, letting it slam behind them. She held onto him, perhaps a little tighter than absolutely necessary, and felt with her toe for the first step.

"God..." It was a quiet plea but he had still heard it. And even in his injured state, he couldn't help but rail on her about it.

"Nope. Not here. Still just me, mouse."

"Shut up. You may be hurt, but I'm not at all averse to leaving you here right now and going home."

He leaned his head against her shoulder again and she felt his lips moving at her neck as he spoke. "Yes you are. Averse to it."

She took the next few steps a bit quicker than she had intended, trying to escape from the truth of his words. She stumbled on the top few stairs and nearly fell, but he steadied her, grunting painfully and laughing. "Who's helping who here?"

She gasped, breathing heavily from her near fall and holding him even tighter. "Well you're not exactly a feather weight, my friend." He grinned, though she couldn't see it in the dark and fumbled in his pocket for his key. She heard his pained hiss as the movement pulled on his wound and she pressed her hands to his waist. She stopped herself from asking him if he was alright. She already knew he wasn't.

He pushed the door open and leaned back against her with a sigh. The light from this room flooded around them and she moved into the space gratefully, her eyes wide and curious, taking it all in.

His living space was chillingly normal. There were simple furnishings that almost reminded her of her college dorm room. A frayed rug covered the hardwood floors. There was a small TV with rabbit ear antennae in one corner and a simple, brown sofa tilted to face it - worn and sagging. The single window in the room was mostly boarded up save for a few slivered cracks in the wood to let the light shine through. There must've been some sort of neon sign outside because the light that seeped through was red and flickering. There was a desk in another corner and the only lamp in the room sat atop it. The desk, she noted, was covered in piles of books and papers. So covered, in face, that they had spilled out from the surface of the desk and onto the floor. Piles and piles of books littered the floor, leaning in on themselves and looking as if they might fall at any minute.

They moved toward the room that she supposed was his bedroom as it was the only other doorway in the place, nearly tripping over the intricately patterned rug as she did so.

"Nice rug." She muttered as she flicked on the light in the tiny room with her elbow.

"Not mine. It, uh, came with the place." As the light flickered on, illuminating a simple wrought iron bed and a small chest of drawers - a pigeon glared at her and flew up to a perch near the ceiling. He nodded up at the bird. "He came with the place too. Name's Ronald."

Rachel couldn't help herself and chuckled. "What? After the McDonald's clown?" But he just ignored her.

Rachel sat him on the bed but he didn't stay upright for long, instead choosing to flop back with a groan so that he was laying horizontally, his legs hanging off the edge of the bed loosely.

"Alright. You've done your good deed for the day." He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Though I wonder if it's still a good deed considering the actual-" He paused, clicking his tongue before resting his head back and closing his already half-closed eyes completely. "Considering the actual deed."

"You're not getting rid of me that easily." She muttered as she crawled onto the bed beside him, her hands sliding beneath his jacket, pulling it off. He raised his eyebrows but didn't bother to even open his eyes. "What the hell did you do to yourself?"

He hissed as she pulled his shirt away from the wounds on his torso. The blood was caked and partially dried and the shirt stuck to him like it had been pasted there. "I accidentally ran into a knife. Several times."

He laughed at his own joke as she ran her fingers lightly over his chest - lingering perhaps a little longer than she needed to. She rolled her eyes but supposed her 'kitchen knife fell on my hand! oops!' excuse hadn't been much better so she let it slide.

"By the way - " He grabbed her hand, stopping it from tracing the idle patterns on his skin. "That's, uh, getting me a little horny now. Thought you should know."

Rachel glared down at him, silently praying that he couldn't see the flush on her cheeks in the dim light of his bedroom. She snapped her hands away from him and scrambled off the bed.

"I didn't say you should stop!" He called after her as she made her way into the bathroom.

She pulled on the chain above her head as the bare bulb lit the tiny bathroom. Like the rest of the apartment, except for a bit of clutter, it was fastidiously neat and clean. Sparse and starkly white. She opened the medicine cabinet and rummaged through the countless painkillers. Her eyes caught on one bottle and squinted to read the label. Definitely not Tylenol. She palmed the bottle and continued to rummage through the boxes of gauze, bottles of rubbing alcohol, and a rather random bottle of Captain Morgan. She smirked.

"What the hell are you after, Nurse Betty?" She whirled around, nearly dropping his bottle of sedatives. He was looking at her curiously, his head leaning tiredly against the door frame, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, his shirt hanging open and loose over his slumping shoulders. He was curling into himself, very obviously in pain and also very obviously not caring.

She cautiously reached out, pulling on his sleeve as she grabbed the pills, the rubbing alcohol, and the gauze and led him back into the bedroom.

"C'mon. Don't be a hero." She knew as she said the words that she would probably be met with his customary choking laughter and some snide remark. But he merely shrugged and sighed as she laid him back down on the bed - the right way this time.

"Never tried to be."

She nodded. "I know. Don't think anyone expects you to be at this point."

He said nothing, just closed his eyes and turned his face away from hers.

"Lay still." She whispered as she leaned over him with the gauze and rubbing alcohol. She was so close, her hair brushed his skin. She thought she heard him sigh a bit at the contact, but it could very well have been him laughing again. She could never be sure. She slowly and carefully cleaned his wounds with the alcohol, wiping away the blood as his breathing became slightly louder and measured. It occurred to her that that was just how his breathing got whenever he was trying to control his growing arousal. The act of cleaning his open wounds with the stinging liquid was actually turning him on. She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised.

"You shouldn't be here." He managed to say as he let out a steady stream of air through his clenched teeth. It came out in a hiss and Rachel was instantly reminded of a cobra ready to strike.

"I know I shouldn't." Rachel said as she neatly folded a large piece of gauze. "But 'shouldn't' never really stopped us before has it?"

He turned toward her as she taped the gauze over his wound and grasped her wrist firmly in his hand. But his hold on her didn't hurt. Not this time.

"I hurt you. A lot. Never stuck around long enough to do the clean up. Doesn't that upset you at all? Hm?"

She looked at him calmly and leaned over him. "Of course it does. Lucky for you, I'm not like you. Not at all."

He snorted and turned from her searching eyes. "Unlucky for you, I am like me."

She said nothing as she rose from her seated position on his bed. She went into the adjoining bathroom again and returned with a glass of water and two of the painkillers. She sat down again and held them in front of him. "Here."

He shook his head. "Don't need 'em. Not for this. Only when it gets bad."

She stared back at him, the disbelief evident in her clear brown eyes. He stared right back and blinked once.

"You saw that, uh, bottle of Captain in there, yeah? That'll do me just fine." He laughed. "Kind of like you, right Rosebud?" He leered at her and laughed again before the movement made him wince in pain.

She scoffed and turned away, disgusted. But he kept right on going, kept pressing just the right buttons as he was so good at with her.

"What? You know I'm right. And, uh, you already know how much I love the pain. We both do, am I right? I think that was clear enough that, uh, time we had in the kitchen. Remember? I'm sure that was some clean up you had to do the next morning." He licked his lips and sneered up at her. "All that blood and, uh, other bodily fluids. Musta been a bitch! You got one of those Swiffer wet jets I hope..." He trailed off, looking at her with that infuriating self-satisfied smile on his face.

She slammed the glass of water down so hard on the table beside his bed that the water sloshed over the sides. "You know what? You're a fucking psychotic ass and I'm done here." She got up and headed toward the door, grabbing her purse off the floor and flinging it over one shoulder.

"No, you're not done. You should be, but you're not!" He called after her as he heard his front door slam with a resounding crash and he was once again left alone in the dark to nurse his own wounds in silence.

...

Rachel hadn't been able to sleep all night. The bastard was seeping into her thoughts again as he had a month before. She kept telling herself that she couldn't possibly go back. He was fine. And even if he wasn't, it would be no great loss to the world if he died of infection and simply rotted away.

No great loss to anyone...

She groaned as she rolled over in her empty bed and peered over at the red flickering digital display of her alarm clock. Five AM. She would never get back to sleep before having to get up for work. So she crawled out of bed only to notice that her phone was flashing angrily at her. Harvey.

She sighed in relief, glad to know he was alright. She had almost forgotten. He was probably worried. But, for whatever reason, Rachel didn't answer until the fifth ring. And when she finally picked up, her voice held just a bit of reluctance. "Harvey! Thank God you're alright!"

"Rachel." His voice was strained but obviously relieved. "Where are you? Are you OK?"

Rachel's mind worked fast to come up with a story. "I'm fine, Harvey. I'm at my apartment, safe and sound. I'm just glad you're OK." When that mugger knocked you down..." She trailed off, hoping his imagination would fill in the details. "He tried grabbing my purse but I hit him with it and ran as fast as I could. Didn't stop till I got to the next station. I noticed I lost him and called 911 as soon as I could. They never gave me an update on your condition. Are you sure you're OK?"

Harvey chuckled. "Pride's hurt more than anything. I promise. The next time we go out, no opera and no violent muggings, got it?"

Rachel giggled, loving that this was a man who could make her laugh for all the right reasons. "You got a deal. Hey, I'll see you at the office. Glad you're alright."

"You too. Bye, Rachel."

Rachel hung up the phone, realizing with a sinking feeling that her mind was still being pulled in another direction completely separate from Harvey and from work. She would go to work first. But then she would see him again. She needed to know if he'd still be around, corrupting her life with that stinging pain of regret.

...

It took awhile for Rachel to remember the exact train stop and, when she did, her search for the mural that led to his apartment turned out to be a much bigger feet than she had anticipated. It was hidden in a corner behind a dumpster. She would never had been able to find it had she not been looking for it. She passed the mural, running her fingers lightly across the surface as she walked on toward the simple wooden door behind it. But when she opened the door, she was brought face to face with a man with an odd smile.

Rachel's heart stopped, but quickly realized it wasn't who she thought. The man was smaller boned, his features almost innocent and boyish. His dark hair swept across his nervously darting eyes.

He looked at her without even seeing her and spoke in a quick, stuttering voice. "D-don't go in there! Boss is angry today. Don't follow him! E-ever! He gets mad. Madder than all-already!" The man nodded and shuffled off. Rachel stared after him. Smiles certainly keeps good company, she thought to herself as she ignored the stuttering man's warnings and made her way once again up the darkened stairs.

Rachel opened his door to find him limping around his room, hurrying, as fast as he could hurry at any rate, gathering up his books and papers into cardboard boxes. He didn't even look up as he heard the door open - bent as he was over a scroll of maps and architectural plans. His face was drawn but he did look better than last night. Rachel was surprised at how relieved she was by this.

"Schiff, dammit! I told you you're lucky you still have your tuh-testicles in-tuh-tact. You really willing to test me again, Porky?"

Rachel cleared her throat and his head shot up. The dark circles under his eyes were even more prominent and Rachel urged herself not to think about her desire to run her thumbs over them and smooth out the lines and shadows in his face.

"Oh. It's you. You came back. Like a boomerang! That's a good one. Boomerang. Love the first syllable. Hey. Never did tell you that new nickname I thought up for you. Remind me later."

He was rambling but Rachel cut him short. "How do you know I'll be here later?

He shrugged and busied himself with his packing. "I know I won't. Asshole Schiff followed me here last night after the job. Said he had something important to tell me. Turns out he, uh, just wanted to let me know that his shoes say I'm in trouble." He snorted in disgust and threw a leather bound, expensive looking book into a box with a little more force than necessary. "Told him to leave if he liked his balls attached to his body and not sitting in a jar on my mantle." He looked around, a bit confused and smacked his lips. "A mantle I...apparently never had. Oh well."

Rachel stared at him, her arms crossed over her chest so she wouldn't reach out to try and touch him. "That why you're packing? No more safe house?"

"Only had one of those." He was muttering into the pages of yet another ancient book. He threw that one down too, angry suddenly, eyes flashing at her. "You're right, though. Can't have him blabbing my location to the others. I don't trust that rat as far as I could throw him."

Rachel paused, realizing only now how significant it was that he had willingly given up his location to her last night. "And how far could you throw me, Smiles?"

He looked up at her, a sad smile on his face and a haunted look in his eyes. "Don't think I haven't been wanting to try. But I'm, uh, I'm only guessing here, I think I could throw you pretty damn far. And don't think I'm not finished trying, either. Hope you've got some wings to go with that ever present halo, Rach."

"I'm no angel, Smiles."

He heaved another pile of papers into another box with a grunt, not looking at her. "Never wanted you to be."

"I wasn't aware you wanted me to be anything."

"Not anything you aren't already."

She smirked and moved to sit on the floor beside him. He didn't even look up but instead continued to pack.

"Why are you still here?"

She shrugged. "Wanted to see if you were alright. Stupid."

"Well. You see me. You don't have to stick around."

Rachel ignored him and peered into the box he was packing curiously. "You don't ever stay in any one place for long, do you?"

"You're full of fucking questions you already know the answers to today, aren't you, Butterball?" He tugged the box she was trying to look into closer to him with a protective gesture and fixed a deadly glare on her. "I'm, uh, not gonna put up with you much longer."

Rachel go up with a frustrated groan. "OK. Fine. I don't even know why I keep - never mind. I'm leaving."

"Tell Harv I said hi. And sorry for the concussion. Wish it had been worse."

Rachel rolled her eyes when something on the floor caught her eye - a tiny scrap of paper - a torn piece of newspaper clipping wedged into one of the books he had been packing.

"Your name is Jack." It wasn't even a question as she reached out to grab the yellowed clipped picture. It was him - well half of him as it had been torn in half leaving only a bit of the caption reading simply "Searching Jack."

His head snapped up and he read the question in her eyes. "If you even think about asking me another question, I swear I'll rip your spleen out and send it to Dent."

"What happened to you?"

"How long you got?"

Rachel reached down and handed the picture back to him - their hands touched as he took it and they lingered, his hovering over hers, the pads of his fingers subtly stroking her palm.

"You can stay. Helps me clear my - uh - calm my - " He stopped and shook his head, dropping his hand into his lap uselessly. "No. Not that. You can help me pack."

"What if I don't want to stay?" She looked at him curiously, all the while knowing she would.

"Just...pack."

They said nothing for a few minutes as she sat beside him again and returned to piling papers into boxes.

"This in any particular order?" She asked finally, biting her tongue for the question and silently saying goodbye to her spleen. Did you really need one of those anyway?

But he just looked at her with his "why are you such a moron?" look.

"What do you think?"

"I think nothing in your life is in order and I also think you like it that way."

"Sometimes." He stared at her for so long she thought that maybe his wounds had been worse than he thought and he had just slipped into a mini coma. She spoke, then, in an attempt to jumpstart him somehow. "You know, you never did tell me that other nick name you had for me."

He looked down and picked at a loose thread on his olive colored pants. "Was waiting for you to ask."

"Well. I'm asking. I'm a little hesitant but I - "

"Prism." He cut her off sharply, not even looking back up.

"What?"

"Prism. You - every time I see you, every time you turn, there's a new color I haven't noticed before. It's, uh, kind of magnificent." He looked at her, his eyes oddly open when they were free of the harsh dark makeup surrounding them. "You, uh, it's bright and you glow. Yeah. Don't get to see that too often."

She looked at him for only a moment before she leaned forward, brushing the hair from his eyes and kissed him.

He pulled back, almost startled, but then leaned into her before a low growl built in the back of his throat. He snarled and bit at her lips - pushing on her shoulders and his fingers dug painfully at her hips as he drug her skirt up over her thighs.

But she pushed back at him, slapping him hard across his scarred mouth. "No. Not like that. Not this time."

He glared at her as he hovered above her, his arms bracing themselves on either side of her. She ran her hands lightly up his arms then gently stroked across his bare face. She brought him down to her then, her back arching to meet him.

"Jack..." She whispered the word against his ruined lips before kissing him again, the tip of her tongue tracing patterns on his open mouth. He moaned into her mouth and rested his hand under her shirt on the soft, unprotected flesh of her stomach.

She sighed as he sent his fingers dancing up her ribcage and finally resting on her left breast, his leg coming up to kneel between her own to steady himself, his thigh pressing deliciously between her own.

"Jack."

"Sometimes. I can be."

She smiled and pushed against him so that he was laying on his back beneath her. "Jack." She said it again, loving the familiarity of it. Loving the way it sounded. The lightness of it as she trailed her fingers down to the button of his trousers.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Shut up already and just keep - " He waved his hands in the air, pushing for her to continue. "Just keep doing...whatever you were gonna do."

She laughed as she leaned down, her hair brushing against his stomach. "I think I've got a new nickname for you. Impatient Jerkoff."

"Mm. Think I like Smiles better."

She laughed again as she unzipped his trousers and wrapped her hand around the entire width of him. He hissed and arched his hips up ever so slightly to meet her hand. She smirked and leaned down, her eyes never leaving his face as she took him in her mouth, her tongue circling around his length deliciously and he cried out - a husky choked sound that reminded her of his constant pained laughter.

She crawled up over him, positioning herself above him, her skirt riding up past her hips as his hands held her there, pulling her down onto him. He made another sound low in his throat and she smiled down at his face - twisted for once not in a hateful sneer but in pure pleasure. She decided with a strangling and sudden fear that she could look at his face like that forever.

She bit her lip as she rose and fell above him, his hands gripping her waist, her hands trailing over his chest, her hair falling between them, tickling at his neck. And with one more strategically placed thrust into her, he made a small noise deep in his throat as he released himself into her. She smiled down at him as his breathing slowed.

He closed his eyes - not wanting to look at her when she was looking at him like that. She wasn't supposed to be.

And then she was crawling on top of him, folding her body against his on the floor, her arms wrapping around his waist, her head resting against his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath, hearing the gentle thudding of his heart beat - reveling in the quiet hidden humanity of him.

"It's cold in here." She said at last. His hands were limp at his sides and she brought one arm up to fold around her shoulders. He didn't even open his eyes.

Mm. Not a blanket." But his other arm came up to wrap around her back and waist hesitantly. He was tracing idle patterns on her back with his nimble fingers - probably pictures of skulls and corpses and burning bat cowls. But she wouldn't think about that now.

Somehow, they ended up on his bed as the last of the light faded in the autumn sky. The red neon sign outside cast funny shadows on his face as he rolled off of her again with a sigh and looked down at her with a small grin.

"What's so funny?" She asked between her breathless panting, she wiped the slight sheen of sweat that had gathered on her forehead as he propped himself up on one elbow to gaze down at her.

"This. You and me. Talk about sleeping with the enemy, right?"

"Just...Don't talk. I like it better when you don't talk."

He didn't say anything for awhile - just laid beside her - the tips of their fingers the only things touching. But then he was giggling to himself again and she groaned and rolled onto her side to face him - looking at him with raised eyebrows expectantly. "What?"

He tried to stop, but the laughing only got louder and more difficult to control. "This whole situation is funny, don't you think? This was over even before it began. But that's life, innit? It gives and it takes away."

She frowned at him. "Yeah. Now I know why I like it better when you don't talk. You remind me that you're...you." She turned her back to him, bringing the covers up around her shoulders.

He stopped laughing and she thought she heard him sigh in the darkness. And then he was whispering, she felt his breath brushing against her neck and she turned her head to look at him, bringing her face inches from his.

"I think I don't hate you anymore, Rachel." She brought her palm up to rest against his scarred cheek and he leaned into the contact, closing his eyes, still smiling. Still wanting to laugh it all off. "But that doesn't mean I don't fucking hate feeling like this."

She nodded and pressed her lips against his, her hands trailing across his face. He was still smiling that haunted smile even as she kissed him. Even as the red light outside flashed above them.

...

AN: So it only took me...what...five and a half millennia to finish this chapter? I hope I can still keep you guys interested. And if not? Oh well. My own fault for not updating on a regular basis. But I *will* finish this story. I have to...even if no one is reading anymore. (Please say you're still reading? Please? Even if there's only one person out there, living in his mom's basement and making sweaters out of human hair while anxiously awaiting the next chapter. As long as *someone* is still reading.) This is one of those stories that just keeps hanging around no matter how much I neglect it, scream at it, fling it across the room in frustration, or abuse its characters (ie by making The Joker into a looove machine). Poor story. I've been looking into getting it to join a support group.

So anyway, there is an end in sight. And hopefully now that my personal life is a bit settled again, I can get back into the swing of things. Chapter 6 is already done and Chapter 7...is still waiting patiently to get past the intro stage.

Things to expect in Chapter 6...

-Dead people. Lots of dead people.

-Mr. Rogers.

-An unapologetic change in point of view (despite the unapologetic part...I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to my 11th grade English teacher for this one...She would've been horrified. Also, sorry about liking Hemingway. What can I say? He was a misogynistic ass. A talented misogynistic ass.)

-An unexpected visitor

-Vampires. No. Really. (OK, maybe not *really*...you'll just have to wait and see.)

-Schiff! Eating a bag of Joker Chips!

...OK, that last one is totally not going to happen. Ever. Sorry.