A/N Here it is, the last instalment. Thank you so much to everyone who read and reviewed, I have loved every minute of this! Xx

Death of a Ballerina

Bruce stood on the steps of the chapel, waiting for the carriage to arrive. It seemed absurd that only a few weeks ago, he had stood in this very spot with Amelia, as they waited to bury her Mother.

Alfred had done a good job of keeping him motivated this last week, keeping his spirits up. He had avoided the hundreds of headlines that had been plastered over the papers this week.

But one had caught his eye on the way here this morning.

'Gotham says Goodbye to its Fair Princess'

That had hit him like a bullet in the chest and he'd found it difficult to control his temper.

"I can't believe that they are allowing that freak to come to the funeral!" he'd lashed out at Alfred, who was driving them here.

"Master Wayne," he'd spoke calmly, "That's out of your control,"

It was out of his control and that was what killed him, made him almost feverish with anger.

After The Joker had been readmitted to Arkham, Gordon had met with Batman in his office, one early morning before dawn.

"He is insisting that he will comply with any treatment we give him, provided that he can get a pass to come to Miss West's funeral,"

Batman growled angrily. "And you believe him,"

"I have to," Gordon looked tired, "He is starving himself to death. He refuses to move from his bed. But that is his one condition,"

"You don't think he'll use it as a chance to escape?" Batman questioned him.

Gordon shook his head. He'd visited Arkham nearly everyday since Amelia West died that night. The man who lay motionless on his hospital bed was not the same man who escaped a couple of weeks ago.

His makeup was gone, only white stains left on his clothing. His eyes were swollen and black. He refused all food and water and went into erratic convulsions every time a guard came near him.

"It's almost as if…The Joker, whoever he was has died and someone else has been left behind,"

Batman sighed. He had always hoped somehow there would be a way of rehabilitating the Joker, but never this way. Not with this cost.

"You have a little more information on him now then you did before. You have his name and hopefully can trace his background through his father's police records?"

Gordon nodded.

"Harold Napier was a wanted felon and we can trace his movements back to before Jack Napier was even born. We can lay our hands on birth and death certificates, even marriage licenses. If anything good has come from Miss West's death, it was that she helped catch a killer,"

Bruce tried to keep that thought in his head as he watched the Police Van pull up to the church steps. The Joker had been refused a pass to the service but was able to attend the burial.

A small crowd had gathered there, mourners, photographers and little of what family Amelia had had left. Abbott West had been taken away in a car shortly after the emotional service, too distraught to watch his daughter's burial.

Bruce felt Alfred's warmth next to him, as four cops with guns escorted a man out of the back of the van. Bruce had to blink when he set eyes on Jack Napier.

Gordon wasn't kidding. Without makeup, that hideous mask, the man who glanced briefly at him before being ushered over to the grave site, was not the same man he'd battled with on the roof of the resteraunt.

The joker looked ill, pale and deathly thin. He was wearing a shabby grey suit that hung on him, obviously a last minute borrow from another patient in Arkham. His eyes were red rimmed, two large shadows laying beneath them, as though he lived without sleep.

Bruce followed the congregation to the gravesite and stood numbly next to Alfred.

Amelia's coffin was lowered slowly into the ground and Bruce felt his eyes well up.

Across the site, Jack Napier locked his eyes on him, his black stare making Bruce shift uncomfortably.

Bruce realised he was staring at the Joker's real face. Maybe on some level, Jack Napier had recognised him.

He hoped not.

"May hope and love go with Amelia into God's kingdom," the priest spoke tossing some dirt into the hole. Bruce flinched as it hit the coffin top.

"May she find everlasting peace and eternal beauty. We left behind will mourn her grace, her elegance and kindness, but take into our hearts the love and memories she gave us,"

One by one, each member of the congregation took a pure white sweet avalanche rose and tossed it into the hole.

Bruce watched Jack across the way, who didn't move, just stared back at him blankly.

Finally Jack took a rose and touched the delicate petals to his scared mouth; letting his eyes meet Bruce's stare one last time before throwing it in to the ground.

Bruce swallowed as The Joker was escorted back over to the van, to be transported back to Arkham.

"He's going back where he belongs sir," Alfred whispered to him as the van started up its engine, "You won't have to worry about that one for a while,"

Bruce folded his arms. The van pulled away.

"Give him time Alfred, give him time,"

Six Months Later

Bruce wrapped his coat tightly around him, the icy air whipping around him as he stepped on to the tarmac from the steps of his private jet.

There was a limo waiting for him and he hurried inside before the first droplets of snow began to fall from the leaden sky above.

"Where would you like to go Mr Wayne?" the driver asked from the front seat.

"Uhh, 54 Maple Avenue, the Metro district," Bruce read out the address that had been neatly written on the slip of paper.

The Driver made a face. "The Metro district sir?"

Bruce smiled. "That's what I said,"

The driver pulled away from the private landing strip, in a secluded section of Metropolis Airport, pondering what business the famous millionaire playboy would have in that unsavoury part of the city.

In the back of the car, Bruce closed his eyes, tiredness washing over him.

He hadn't slept well the last few nights, his nerves raw and on edge in preparation for this meeting.

He admired the Metropolis skyline from the limo window, thinking that every time he visited here, how he longed to buy an apartment that overlooked that stunning view. But today he was here for a very different reason.

After a short while the famous landmarks started to disappear as the driver took a road that ran alongside the docklands. It was a small forgotten community, on Metropolises' outskirts, but it was a perfect place to get lost. The limo passed by a small, modest school, apartment blocks and Bruce lost count of the amount of 'Closing Down Sale' signs that he saw on shop fronts.

Finally the driver took them up a slim avenue, littered with cars. They pulled up outside a red brick, two storey town house. The windows were bared, but Bruce noted the Roses in the Window boxes and knew that he had made the right choice.

"Do you want me to wait sir?" the driver asked nervously, knowing the kind of attention a black stretch limousine received in an area like this.

"I won't be long," Bruce promised.

He slammed the car door and turned, the front door of the house was already open.

There was a young woman standing in the door way.

Bruce's breath caught in his throat. Six months and she was so different!

Gone were her beautiful gold locks, replaced with a neat, dark bob. Gone were her designer clothes, her high heeled shoes. Instead she wore a plain red sweater and loose track suit pants, as though she'd just come from a work out.

Amelia smiled at him from the doorway, her eyes filling with tears.

Bruce held out his arms and she ran into them. He picked her up and kissed her cold face.

"God, you look different!" he sighed putting her back on the ground.

"Come on its freezing out here," she grabbed his hand, "Come and look around my humble abode,"

"It looks good!" Bruce admired her hard work. When he'd found the place six months ago, ramshackle was a nice way of describing it.

"How's the job?" he asked, following her slim form into the kitchen.

Amelia busied herself pouring tea and opening a pack of biscuits. She knew how she must look to him.

Yes, the hair and clothes were new, but she didn't recognise her own face these days. There was something different there, in her eyes. A sad, lost expression, barely hidden in her smile.

"The job is great!" she enthused, "The children are wonderful and I really think I can make a change here. Some of these girls had never even heard of ballet, let alone thought about dancing!"

Bruce grinned. "It's your perfect job,"

She leaned back against the kitchen counter and returned his sad smile.

"You look good…are you all healed, after..."

"Yes, my multiple stab wounds!" he laughed, knowing what she was angling towards, "I'm all good don't worry. Alfred sends his love,"

Amelia rubbed her arms, suddenly cold. "Oh, I miss him,"

"So what's life like? Being a regular girl?"

Amelia took a biscuit and dipped it in her tea.

"Its lonely sometimes," she whispered, "But after waking up in that ambulance…it was like a second chance, to start again. Amelia West died in that alley way. Sometimes I wish I could come back so much, I want to call dad and stop his pain…but I know I won't ever be free…of Jack,"

Bruce nodded in agreement. "If he ever found out you were alive…"

Amelia held up her hand. "I'm not changing my mind Bruce don't worry. It was the right choice…and besides I like my new life. I can be anyone I want to be,"

Bruce sipped his tea thoughtfully.

"I suppose you have him to thank for that," he said quietly.

Amelia touched his arm. "And you. Batman saved my life,"

They chatted for a while, laughing and joking, as if the past six months had never happened. Bruce couldn't ignore the tightening in his chest when he looked at her. That night, at the Ball, he had looked at her differently. She looked like someone he could spend his life with, someone he could love.

When they'd locked eyes on the roof and she'd recognised him, he'd known for sure. Amelia would be the support he needed. She could be the companion he'd so longed for in Rachel. When she saw Batman, she smiled and didn't turn away from him.

But that wasnt to be. Amelia belonged to someone else. It killed him to do this to her, to send her away from harm, out of his sight and protection but he knew that it was the only way she would survive. Terrible things happened to those Batman loved.

They were silent for a while and Bruce knew that the question was coming.

"How is Jack?" Amelia asked at last and Bruce folded his arms, trying to hide the bitterness in his voice.

"They are trying a new type of drug on him…I don't hear things that often. But he seems to be responding well,"

"Hmm," Amelia mused, her lips pressed tightly together, "I don't know that you'll ever fully rehabilitate him. Too many scars,"

Bruce looked at his watch and knew that the time to go had quickly arrived. If he was spotted in this part of the city, questions would get asked that would only lead back to Amelia.

They walked silently to the doorway, both lost in thought, both knowing it would be a long, long time before they saw one another again.

Bruce caught sight of an unopened letter on the hallway table. The name on the address caught his eye and he picked it up, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"Miss Rachel Bruce?" he grinned, reading the name and she snatched it away, blushing, knowing that he wasn't supposed to know her new name.

That was one of the conditions Gordon had stipulated when the three of them had discussed Amelia's fake death, in a private wing of the newly rebuilt Gotham General that fateful night.

"Why'd you pick that?" he laughed and she punched his shoulder.

"It's to remind me of the two people I loved best in the world. My best friends," she blushed, her eyes welling up and she was in his arms, "God, I miss you Bruce,"

He hugged her tightly; the time had come to ask a question of his own.

"Can I ask you something?"

She pulled away and nodded silently, her eyes curious.

"The night…you died. You said to the Joker, 'If he meant what he said earlier'. What did he say?"

Amelia stepped away, folding her arms. Just the thought of that night made her shiver.

The thought of Jack, his face and the longing in his eyes made her want to weep.

"He asked me to save him, Bruce,"

Bruce smiled sadly. "I suppose in a way, you did,"

After a while, his hand reached for the door handle.

Amelia watched him leave and blew him a silent kiss goodbye.

She wandered back into her living room, staring around the new home she'd created for herself.

She could never admit to Bruce that sometimes she'd been so close to calling Arkham. So close to just turning up on her Father's door step.

"I'm here, I'm alive," she wanted to scream.

She'd watched her own funeral on television from the private hospital room, healing from her injuries, the miracle that was her life, washing over her. The fact that she had survived was a gift and she didn't intend on wasting it.

She spotted him at the funeral, watching, that shabby grey suit hanging on his frame. How she had wanted to go to him. The pain in her heart was unbearable.

But she had a new life here. She was free of her past, free to make her own choices and her own mistakes.

Amelia went to her book shelf and ran her fingers along the dusty spines till she spotted the one she was looking for.

Jack Napier had walked uninvited into her childhood and remained there, her saviour, her forgotten first love. Then he returned to her, giving her back her lost memories and in turn asking to be saved from a monster he couldn't escape, himself.

She pulled out the book and looked at the front cover, blinking back fresh tears.

"The Brave Tin Soldier," she read aloud and pressed the book close to her chest.

Jack had asked her to save him that night on the roof. And in a way, she hoped that she had, the only way she could.

Arkham Asylum

The blonde haired woman smoothed pale pink lipstick on her mouth and checked her hair before taking the elevator down to the basement.

She wasn't sure why she had taken the time to redo her makeup before her appointment today.

The high heel stilettos that she had pulled out of her closet for the first time in months, clicked loudly as she walked down the darkened corridor to the prison wing, clutching her brief case tightly.

This was her sixth meeting with her client and finally he had begun to open up. He talked of his troubled childhood, his mother's suicide and his father's butchery.

She reached the cell door and nodded to the armed guard to open it.

The door groaned as it swung open and her patient, Jack Napier looked up at her with dead eyes. He was wearing an orange jump suit, his greasy blonde hair hung limply around his bare face, and he seemed to be gazing intently at an object in his hands. Seeing her enter, he tossed the object in a battered cardboard box in the corner of the cell.

He registered her new outfit, her long legs and she felt his admiration, a blush creeping across her cheeks.

"Well hello, Miss Harley," he grinned.

"Its DoctorQuinzell, Mr Napier," she corrected him, her voice shaky.

He frowned at the name.

"Mr Napier was my father, Doctor Quinzell…and I'm nothing like him,"

She forced a smile. "We can talk more about that during our session today,"

He shrugged, a giggle escaping his lips.

"What ever you say Doc," he stood and she admired again, how tall he was.

The guards pushed past her and took him by each arm, folding him into a straight jacket. He complied nicely, his grinning manic stare never leaving her face, until she felt so hot she had to look away.

The guards fastened him into the jacket and roughly pushed him out into the corridor.

Harleen held back for a moment and waited until she could hear his voice far down the corridor, giggling and bickering with the guards.

Curious, she reached for the cardboard box, anxious to see what he'd tossed away so hurriedly. She wrinkled her nose at the rest of his effects. A stained blanket, a tatty comic book and some crayons. Then she saw it sitting at the bottom corner of the box and reached in.

She pulled out the object and held it in the palm of her hand.

It was only meant for a child of about thirteen or fourteen, the fabric was faded and worn and she distinctly recognised a bloody thumb print on the material.

Shrugging her shoulders she tossed the object back in the box, feeling that there were many layers to the Joker's persona that she had to peel away and she wasn't even close to beginning.

She turned to leave and heaved the heavy door shut after her, not thinking about anything but the task ahead of her now. Jack Napier was going to be her new project and she had to admit that she was secretly excited and intrigued to what she might find under that caked on clown make up.

An hour later the Arkham Guards escorted Jack back to his cell. They striped the confining garment off him and he stretched out his arms.

"Lights out in five Napier," one of them called to him, swinging the door shut.

Jack crawled across the floor to his box that contained his personal effects and reached in his hand.

He pulled out the pale pink ballet slipper and gazed down at it, running his thumb along the toe like a caress.

"I wish we could go back," he heard her voice in his head.

He crawled under the blanket on his bed and tucked the slipper under his chin, then the guards turned out the light and all was black.

Fin.