Notes: Sequel to "Brotherhood" and "Jealousy" because a plot bunny bit me. Again. Cursed bunnies and their untimeliness. This took longer in the works 'cause of real life stresses...

Notes2: Since a lot of folks are 'patiently' waiting for the next installment in the Brotherhood verse, I'm posting the first chapter early. The rest will have to wait until I finish writing ._.

He didn't understand it. The Joker himself was prancing about the faux Victorian set, playing with any prop he could get his hands on and tossing them about once he was done.

"Ooh," the fake clown dove for the silver tea set on the coffee table. He delicately picked up the teapot and a cup then turned to the group of hostages huddled in one corner. "Would anyone care for some tea?" he asked sweetly, pouring golden tea into the cup. "Is that one lump or two?"

He laughed and downed the tea in one gulp. His white face curled in disgust when he finished. "Ew. No wonder they offer sugar lumps with these things." He casually tossed teacup and pot over his shoulder, cringing when both hit the flooring with a clang! "That, was not a good idea."

And he laughed again.

Damian growled to himself. He didn't like the fake clown. Grayson said clowns were to make people laugh, but this one only makes himself laugh. And it was a loud and annoying laugh, too. He shifted his gaze to the hostages, making sure none of them were critically injured. Black Tern wasn't sure what's keeping Batman or Robin from bursting in as planned, but if they still weren't around in two minutes, he was going to take care of the Joker.

There was a brief shadow of movement to one side of the set. It was fast enough to catch Black Tern's eye, while the armed goon only saw dust floating in the air.

Batman and Robin had agreed that there was no chance of taking the Joker's latest group of henchmen stealthily. The studio lights were too widespread, the area too open. All of the large equipment had been moved away from the center where an overhead spotlight shone on the huddled hostages. Joker's armed henchmen were placed by the rim of the open space in the middle and the Joker? Roamed everywhere in the studio his fancy took him.

With each goon in line of sight with each other, taking one down would alert the others; and there was little enough space for any escape to go unnoticed. So that leaves only one avenue for surprise: above.

The Joker tossed another theatrical prop out of the circle of goons, the resulting crash barely fazing the henchmen. Damian frowned and made a closer inspection of the goons: elevated heartbeats but not so fast as to indicate nervousness, slight sheen of sweat on their faces but that could simply be the result of the powerful spotlight, a steady scan of their surroundings rather than jerky glances left and right. The goons were watchful, none of them acted nervous at all.

These weren't merely hired lackeys desperate to make a quick buck. And they were waiting.

"We interrupt this program to bring you this message," the TV announcer's voice was replaced with someone else's, someone with a white face and blood-red lips. "Hellooo Batsy!" The Joker cheerfully greeted the camera. "So I heard you got yourself a new bird. Well, isn't that nice?" Yellowed teeth were suddenly hidden as the red lips dropped into a growl. "Of course not! One bird I can tolerate but two? Two!"

The Joker shook his head sadly. "Tsk tsk, Batsy. You keep adding to our game of two. Now why would you do that? So selfish of you!" The grotesque grin showed once again. "But I'm a nice guy, and I decided: why don't you introduce your new bird to Uncle J? I went and set this up for you..."

The camera slowly zoomed out to show the rest of the set - of the quickly growing popular soap opera Remembering Chelsea, whose actors, actresses, and staff was huddled in fear just behind Joker. "The clock's ticking, Batsy! If I don't see the new bird in two hours, well, these boys have itchy fingers." He laughed while he waved his arms to indicate the armed men scattered around the set.

"Just remember," the Joker's lips pulled back into an ear-splitting grin as his voice dropped, "it's my Tern now."

The television set was turned off with the Joker's laugh echoing on the walls.

'We can't take them one on one,' his comms rasped in his ear. Black Tern shifted his weight to his other leg, eyes still trained on the Joker and the henchmen below as he listened to Robin's assessment. 'They're expecting us.'

'Agreed,' Batman replied. 'Robin, five second headstart. Tern, stay hidden.'

'I refuse,' Damian hissed back. 'The Joker taunted me. This is my battle.'

'Oh no, not this time,' it was all the warning he got before Robin was hurtling downwards, cape billowing to slow his fall.

'Robin!' Father and son gave a strangled yell as their adopted son/brother passed the studio lights mounted near the ceiling.

'What are you doing? Get back-'

But Damian's words came too late. The Joker had glanced up and, spotting the falling Robin, grinned wide.

"Birdy!" The mock-clown cackled, opening his arms wide as though to envelop Robin in a welcoming hug.

Robin's arm shot out. His grapple launched in a burst of smoke. And Robin was swinging with both boots smashing against one goon's face. The man fell to the ground, his gun clattering away into the shadows.

But there were still half a dozen armed henchmen bringing their guns to bear on Black Tern's brother...

Batman's broad shadow was already sweeping out from the dark. The henchmen swung to aim for the older hero - but it was too late. In the second it took for the henchmen to react, Batman had already knocked out two of them, while Robin brought down another one. It was a classic maneuver for the two heroes: both switching their roles to either distract or take out the enemy. Confusion reigned as the goons couldn't figure out which hero to aim for.

And the Joker laughed, his arms flung wide as though he was waiting for confetti to shower on him. This was also one of the fake clown's expected reactions - the reason why not many villains would tap the Joker as an ally. He was too unpredictable and would just as sooner hinder the hired help as commit the crime.

"Batsy and Boy Blunder!" The Joker cried cheerfully. "Glad you could join the fun! But tell me, where's the other birdy?"

It was a trap. Of course it had to be; the Joker never sends an invite without having a trap hidden in the vicinity. Neither Batman nor Robin could find any trace of it though, and Black Tern couldn't sense it either. His father had cautioned him into not revealing himself before they could find out what the trap is.

But Damian had never backed down from a challenge.

"I am right here," Black Tern announced as he dropped into the studio proper, his own cape spread out to slow his fall into a controlled descent. "I do not like your calling me out, Joker."

"Little Tern!" Joker cackled. "How about a hug for your Uncle J?"

Black Tern's eyes narrowed. "No."

"Aw, not even a teensy weensy one?" The fake clown huffed, barely disappointed. "Oh fine, be that way! But, I hope you enjoy your present!"

Batman, Robin, and Black Tern immediately came alert. The Joker and his presents were always a crisis waiting to happen. Previous 'gifts' usually involved bombs, canisters of Joker Venom, or civilians in danger. There was no way to predict which way Joker's thoughts went; the only thing one can be sure of is: 95% of the Joker's thoughts are filled with chaos.

"What present." Black Tern demanded as he subtly searched the area for strange boxes; but either the Joker decided to hide it amongst the numerous other boxes in the studio or...the present wasn't inside a box.

The fake clown grinned. "Why, it's the one behind you."

That, along with Robin's widening eyes, had Black Tern diving into a roll on his left. Air whistling past his shoulder told him he was just in time. He rolled and spun on the heels of his palms to face whatever it was behind him-

-and stopped short at the monstrosity that dared to draw its blades at him.

"Isn't it pretty?" the Joker laughed proudly, but Black Tern's gaze remained on the half-robot, half-kitchen slicer and painted sloppily like a mock-clown with a white face and a lot of red. It wobbled on unsteady legs but its eight arms held a glinting scimitar each and were all the more deadly because of its unpredictable gait.

"It's simply amazing the things you find in a TV studio!" The mock clown was still crowing. "They were filming Tomorrow's City in the same building, didn't you know? And I found this wonderful creation from their scraps." He walked over to run a teasing hand on the back of a scimitar. "Sadly, it was all burnt and dented when I found it. So I had it re-painted. Doesn't it look amazing now?"

"It is an eyesore," Black Tern spat, eyes still trained on the robotic mess.

"That's the point!" The Joker laughed again, the sound annoyingly ringing in Damian's ears. "Oh I do love me some smart birds. Too bad it's your Tern to paint the town red."

"Robin," Damian's earpiece crackled with static but his Father's voice came through clear enough. "Keep the Joker busy. Black Tern, get the civilians to safety. I'll handle-"

"I refuse, Batman," Black Tern replied, cutting off his Father's instructions as he rushed for the flailing robot. "I will handle the monstrosity."

"Black Tern!"

"The clown is yours, Father," he switched off his earpiece so he could focus on the robot. Its eight arms wove an intricate net of sharpened steel. Its gait was still unstable - clearly whoever invented this piece of junk was an idiot - but its two legs were protected by the slashing blades. Black Tern would have to time this right if he wanted to get past the scimitars. But even if he did manage to do so, he would have to move fast to set an explosive on the legs without being sliced to pieces and without the robot slashing or dislodging the explosive.

Damian could feel the smirk rising to his lips. He'd been trained by the League of Assassins from an early age, and had the genetics that set him above the other powerless capes.

He drew out his pair of blunted rapiers and waited until he'd figured out the pattern of the robot's eight arms; pinpointing at the same time a slight clicking noise that came from the robot's legs.

Then he darted in.

He sidestepped the first slash. The next one came high and he ducked. The third and fourth jabbed at him at the same time but he twisted his shoulders back so the blades passed harmlessly beside him. Fifth and sixth were successive low slashes to his legs and he leaped to avoid them.

He couldn't avoid the seventh and eighth while setting the explosive as they were sweeps up and down; but he could block them. The seventh came down and he slid to the right. When the scimitar clanged against the cement flooring, his blunted rapier came into play and held down the arm. He sidestepped to evade the eighth and finally, he was sticking an explosive charge on one of the robot's joints - right where he'd heard the clicking.

Explosive set, it was a mad scramble to the top of the robot as the scimitars tried once again to slice him. He'd just reached the red-painted head of the robot when the charge went off. He kept his footing despite the massive shudder that rocked the robot and only leaped off when it started to tilt.

He tucked into a roll as he landed, with the sound of machinery short circuiting behind him. The robot was a mechanical mess when he turned to make sure it was taken care of. Scimitars became embedded in the concrete floor as the blades sunk in with the weight of the robot behind them, forming a haphazard cage of glinting steel.

When Black Tern turned back to search out his father and brother, he spotted Robin giving him a thumbs up and a wide grin as he tied off the remaining henchmen. His Father though, nodded at him grimly; the Joker sitting restrained by his feet, ranting and raving about carving up birds for dinner time.