6. She's Gone Away

"All progressions from a higher to a lower order are marked by ruins and mystery and a residue of nameless rage."

- Cormac McCarthy

I was pushing my luck. I wasn't a cat.

I took care to make small movements, and deliberately blocked out the other thoughts and emotions begging to be acknowledged- anger, despair, betrayal... I wasn't ready to handle any of that, only the pain.

It took some time before I thought of the driver. I couldn't allow to give him any sympathy, but I didn't want to be a total jerk to him either. His life mattered, it had to.

I couldn't go to a hospital. I knew that. I'd forgone my rights as a law-abiding citizen to go to hospitals without being arrested. I needed an alternate way not to die. It was then I remembered...

"Club."

My vision was getting blurry, either I was losing consciousness or tears were constantly falling because of the pain. Maybe both. I felt the movement of the car, that was good. He was flying down the road.

"What?"

"Take me," I was losing my ability to communicate. "Iceberg Lounge." I corrected myself. "Please."

"I remember you. You were on the news with him. I'm just a regular guy, I'm just a chauffeur for Christ sake!"

I laughed, and then immediately regretted the reflex. "That's convenient. Take me to the Iceberg..."

"But he, he said…"

"He makes threats, I make promises." I don't know what the hell that meant, but I guess it did the trick. He pulled out his phone and plugged it into his GPS. I was fading out, falling into that gray, altered state. I'd been there before. I wondered if this time I would stay.

There wasn't much I remembered after that, aside from my frantic driver yelling, cursing, and oh yeah- more pain.

I cried out, I was being carried. I was cold. Dying? I've felt that cold before.

"Morphine," There was a man next to me. He looked familiar. He didn't flinch. He just stood there while another man worked on my wound. The morphine was working.

"Hold on, kiddo. Be still." I presumed my doctor was speaking, and I presume I was moving. He looked familiar, too. I couldn't feel it, I couldn't feel anything.

…

It was as if it had all just happened when I woke up. I gasped and shot out of bed but the same, bearded man pushed me back down by my upper chest.

"Whoa, you'll rip yourself open." He steadied me and spoke casually as he turned the page to the book he was reading.

I laid back and placed my hand on my stomach. It was wrapped in bandages. I looked over to the man.

"Blood Meridian, huh?"

He pursed his lips, said nothing.

I took inventory of my surroundings. This wasn't a hospital, and this wasn't a hospital bed, it was a cot in an office, complete with a desk and an office chair- which my new friend was using. The desk was pushed into the corner, presumably to make room for the bed I was in. The room was divided with a sheet. It was dark, and eerily familiar.

"I guess I made it?"

"Oh yeah," My bearded brethren spoke with a hint of jest. "You made it alright." He flipped another page.

"Who are you exactly?"

"I'm here to watch over you,"

Well, okay.

Our conversation was cut short by two men entering the room. My vision was still blurry, but in a different way. This was because of drugs; it must have been keeping the pain at bay.

It was Cobblepot and another. The bearded man put a marker in his book and slowly rose, he disappeared presumably out the door, or somehow just disappeared altogether.

"I see you're awake. It was touch and go for a while there." Cobblepot remarked. "Maybe you won't die, after all." He shrugged, indifferent. "Only time will tell."

My mind was trying to wake up, but my body just didn't want to let it. "I'm going to be alright?" My eyes were falling shut.

"Give in- go ahead and sleep. It's the best thing. I'd be a grateful girl if I were you." He must have been the Doctor. His Southern drawl was comforting.

I gave Cobblepot a nod of thanks. It was genuine. Of course, I was grateful to be alive.

"Now get some shut eye." The doctor suggested. I complied.

…

I shot back up again. And just like the last time, I was pushed back down. I looked over. Today he was reading All the Pretty Horses.

"You have a thing for Cormac McCarthy."

"I like having clever things to quote people."

"Quote me something." I murmured, still half-asleep.

"Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real."

"You got that right," I put my hand on my stomach. The bandages were gone and I could feel the scar from before- when shrapnel had inserted itself in my stomach. The wound I had now was in almost the exact same place, but on the right side. Scars were real, painfully real. "I always thought that quote was just a Papa Roach song." I joked, trying to lighten the mood.

The man smirked. "You're better today."

"How many days?"

The man shrugged. "Lost track… You've been in and out but this is the first time you've had a conversation. Congratulations."

"What?" I shot up again. "What time is it? I have to go!"

"What difference does it make? Do you have somewhere else you need to be?"

"Yes," I had something I needed to do, a purpose. I couldn't remember for the life of me what it was.

The man could sense my panic. "Look, it isn't as if you could do anyone any good in your condition. Just relax and maybe, just maybe you'll pull through." He marked his book and pulled out his phone. "The doctor will be here soon."

"What do you mean maybe? I'm talking, I'm here."

"There were, complications."

"What kind of complications?"

"I'm not a doctor, let him explain it. In the meantime, there's no sense getting worked up, right?"

I laid back. As much as it pained me to admit it, he was right.

"So, what's your name?"

"Joshua."

"My boyfriend," I paused, "I had a boyfriend named Joshua."

"I thought you and the Clown…"

"We're not, we've never exactly been a couple."

"Does he know that?"

"What do you think? He stabbed me."

"But a perfect, precise stab only cutting subcutaneous fat and muscle." The doctor walked in. He was an older man, 60s, maybe 70s. He had a strong physique and still an impressive thick tuft of salt and pepper hair, complete with a full beard.

"Do you know how rare it is to be stabbed in the stomach, and the knife miss any and every organ? You survived by the skin of your teeth." He shook his head. "This was calculated. Especially given the perpetrator. I've never seen such precision."

That brought me no comfort, and he was wrong. There was nothing precise or calculated about him. He probably figured I had a 50/50 chance of surviving. Either way would be fine with him.

The doctor pulled the sheet and examined my wound.

"You're on track, I think we can get you out of this bed today."

"What? Really?"

"Only if you really want to." He spoke.

That was strange, I didn't quite get what that meant. "Thank you,"

"It's my job, Missy. I get paid for it. Thanking me is arbitrary."

I nodded. He had a strange bedside matter. The doctor left the room.

I turned to Joshua. He seemed to be quite patient for a henchman. Or maybe it was me- I just wasn't used to such control. Extreme violence had been business as usual, for the past couple of weeks.

"So," Joshua started.

"So, that's it? I just, go now?"

He gave me a light chuckle. "No," You might no longer need minute to minute care, but you're not out of the woods yet."

"What?"

"It's for your own protection, we don't want him finding where you are. Don't you want to keep safe while you recover?"

I sighed. I assume "him" was Joker. It wouldn't hurt to steer clear, in fact I preferred it. At least, that's what I kept telling myself.

"Okay,"

"Okay. I'll get you some clothes and we'll move you when the club opens later this evening. In the meantime, any requests? I'm going to make a burger run. Guards are outside. No one's getting in."

Even though he was paid to do it, he didn't have to reassure me like that. This was the closest to a friend I'd had in some time. I couldn't help but to smile. "I'd love a burger."

"Trimmings?"

"Tomatoes, onions, pickles, ketchup…"

"So, everything?" He teased.

"No lettuce."

"I'm good at details. I promise you, no lettuce." He winked and walked out the door.

I needed to snap out of it. He was not my friend. I had no friends. Everything he did was for his job. I couldn't trust him as far as I could throw him. I couldn't trust anyone.

The night couldn't come quickly enough. Suddenly when I knew I could leave, that's all I could think about. I did my best to get out of bed, but I was unsuccessful. I knew I'd have to do it, but my body just wouldn't budge. I knew from experience that staying still was a death sentence. I needed to keep moving, keep going at all costs.

Joshua came back with a suit bag and a brown bag with grease accumulated on the side. I could smell French fries. It was heavenly.

He handed me a cup.

"Chocolate Vanilla swirl." He handed me a shake and then my burger. "I figured you were a girl who wants both." Joshua grinned and took a bite out of his burger.

"Maybe when we get you moved, we could watch a movie? One of those, documentaries you like or something?"

"What, really?"

"Yeah. Maybe you can unload all that weight you carry with you. Isn't it time?"

I lowered my brow. Something was off.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Are you real?" For a second, I swear my heart fluttered.

He looked over to me and grinned. I recognized him now. He didn't look like Joshua, he was Joshua.

The man I left behind sighed and put down his burger. "Even though you tried to keep me away, I still somehow got in there, I got in with all the other contenders. Although, it's only in your subconscious, it still must count for something, right?"

"So this is some kind of- altered state?"

"This isn't much of a fantasy. I'd say it's more a hallucination, at best a vision."

"Am I asleep? Or am I…"

"I'm betting on alive, but definitely unconscious." He was standing over me now, stroking my hair.

"I'm sorry," I swallowed. "I didn't, I don't know how to be with you, let alone love you. It wasn't fair."

He smirked. "Well, at least you didn't get me killed, like you did Dr. Grant."

He might as well have stabbed me. My eyes filled up with tears. "My doctor, is he even real?"

"Being you're having this experience, Kiddo- I'd say you were close."

I looked over and tilted my head. Dr. Grant was wearing a white Doctor's coat. I missed him.

"Oh!" I reached out my arms to hug him. After a second, he let go. Both men stood on opposite sides of the bed.

"I didn't have one of these types of experiences when I was injured the first time. It was just, darkness."

"Maybe now, something has changed." Joshua suggested.

"Like unfinished business? How cliché." I murmured.

"God-forbid you do anything cliché." Dr. Grant scolded.

I looked over to him. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"I'm not the real Dr. Grant. Apologizing is arbitrary."

I nodded. "Okay, what now then?"

"Up to you, darling." Joshua replied. "I suppose you could stay here, eat your burger and eat your shake."

"We could watch a documentary." Dr. Grant added. "If you've got room for one more?"

"Of course,!" Joshua replied.

I pursed my lips and sighed. I knew what this was, and what that meant. I decided. "How do I get out of this?"

Dr. Grant cackled. "We're not spirit guides. We're made up constructs of your own psyche. How the hell would we know?"

I could hear some faint shouting in the background. "I don't know; I just know that I have to try."

"Well, what were you saying to yourself earlier? That thing about staying still?" Joshua encouraged.

"Staying still is a death sentence." I recalled. "The bed, I have to get out of this bed. Will you help me?"

I turned to Josh, but he was gone. To my other side, Dr. Grant had disappeared as well. I gave myself a moment to grieve. Joshua wasn't dead like Dr. Grant, but he was a part of my past. He was gone. I didn't know about my future, but I knew about the present. At least, I remembered what I had to do.

I looked forward and I could see him. It had been so long since I'd seen him that it might not be entirely accurate. He looked back and me and smiled. Was it a smile? He rarely smiled, but it was about as close as I was going to get.

"Bruce?"

He started walking off into the shadows of a dark hallway. Yeah, definitely a dream.

I wanted to follow him. I wanted him to tell me where he was. Otherwise, how could I do this? I'd gotten nowhere so far. My quest had taken me nowhere except the arms of a killer clown that I had some sycophantic miserable love for... Oh yeah, I'd gotten stabbed by said clown. I'd gotten my mentor killed and let's face it- I was no good in preventing Alfred from being whisked away by the very same men that probably took Bruce. I'm no hero. I'm certainly not a criminal mastermind either. I don't really fit into the narrative that I was wrapped up in. How was I supposed to move forward?

I waited a second, seeing if my psyche was going to bring anyone else up to fuck with me. I could feel him trying to get through, but I wouldn't let him. I was done letting him invade me so severely. I refused to fool myself, in thinking he even cared. No, I was alone. The apparitions were gone. That was apt, being alone. It made sense. Whatever hell I was going to wake up to, it would be my own. And let's face it, I could handle whatever it was. I'd seen hell, hell was losing one of the only people I'd ever cared about right in front of me. Hell was having to forcibly kill people to protect other people. It was killing a man and feeling nothing afterwards but numbness and loss. Hell was thinking that I wasn't strong enough to say no to him. It was feeling I had no other way out than to kill us both. I didn't want that anymore, I wanted to live. I wanted to continue, whatever that meant.

I braced both my arms on the cot. They shook as I sat myself up. Even though I knew this was some sort of unconscious experience, I felt sweat drip from my brow. It took all I had to ignore, to move past the fact I was burning up. I took a pause before concentrating on my legs. They felt like pins and needles. It took what seemed like forever, but I finally got them moving. I swung them to the right and threw myself over to the side of the bed. I stood up. My legs fumbled a bit, but I managed to not fall. I smiled, breathing laboriously and walked, step by step and opened the door.

A light flickered. It was the brightest light I'd ever seen, and suddenly I was back.

I was in a plane of existence that I recognized. My body shot up for real this time. Sweat was indeed, pouring down my face, and everything hurt. I was gasping, my mouth dry and my chest moving up and down. I grabbed my abdomen, the pain was excruciating. Yep, this was reality. I didn't feel any of this in the other place, wherever that was. But here it was real. I was back.

I felt a hand on my wrist.

"Do not touch it." A thick accented man scolded. "Lay back. I have to see if you ripped anything open again."

I did as he commanded. "Again?" His accent was nowhere near Southern. Eastern European was more like it.

"You have been quite the difficult patient."

"How long have I been here?"

"Four days. You have been in and out, but never lucid. You're been rambling incoherently- talking to the… angels and demons. You lost consciousness 17 minutes ago, we thought you were gone."

"We?" I looked around the room. I wasn't in a hospital, but not an office either. The place I was before was visual memory of Dr. Grant's office. This was some kind of clinic.

Cobblepot was looking at his phone. He looked up at me and nodded. "Hello there, Ms. Archer."

"What happened?"

He sighed and put his phone in his coat as he rose. "Doctor, you can explain that better than I."

"Your wound wasn't the problem; it was the infection of your blood. We had to have a transfusion."

"What?"

"Luckily," Oswald interjected. "Your Driver was O Negative. He seemed very motivated to keep you alive."

"Is he okay?"

"Does it make a difference?"

I was sick of people asking me questions regarding my morality. "Yes."

"Well, then he's fine, isn't he?"

I sighed. There was nothing I could do about it now. I was at his mercy, in his care.

"Thank you, thank you for helping me."

"Doctor, is she in the clear? I'd like to have a word in private." Oswald gestured. The Doctor nodded. "Her fever has broken, the transfusion seemed to work. I'll be back in a few minutes to redress the wound." He left and shut the door.

"To be honest, I didn't think you'd need that emergency exit so quickly."

"But you saw it coming."

"That I did." He spoke, a definite swell of pride in his voice. "I've been lucky enough to see many things coming."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me just yet. You and I have things to discuss." He straightened his jacket. "I have a penthouse. You will stay there until you get well. It would seem, despite whatever happened, he's looking for you- and wants you back."

"Well he can't have me." I spoke before thinking.

"Good girl," Oswald smiled and walked out as the doctor came in. I'd have to ask him exactly what that meant later.

The doctor pulled the covers and looked up to me. "Relax and lie back now."

I did so, trying to allow myself a cleansing breath. "How bad is it, really?"

The doctor didn't look up from his work. "As I said, the wound wasn't the problem, it was the infection." He shrugged "But you're young, and your body is certainly resilient.

"How long until I'm healed?"

"As long as there's no infection, I'd say 10 or so days. But looking at your stomach I see you'd have this type of injury before. How long did it take you then?"

I frowned, the glass in my abdomen should have killed me. It took me nearly three months to fully recover from the wreck- only with the help of Bruce and the tenacious work of a doctor he'd hired. This should have killed me as well. I couldn't help but wish that I was still alive for a reason, that it meant something. "That one was much worse, I think."

"Looks like it, but don't make the mistake of thinking this wasn't a close call."

"I won't, I don't."

"And perhaps you should choose better company."

Yeah, thanks Doctor. I tried not to have an attitude. Just because I disliked what he said didn't mean he was wrong.

…

An Escalade brought me to Oswald's penthouse. The doctor had set me up with a strict regimen of antibiotics and pain killers. Before leaving, he informed me he'd check up with me daily. I guess when you're an underworld kingpin you can certainly afford house calls.

Surprisingly enough, I was met at the curb with an umbrella. One of Oswald's men helped me into the wheelchair. Oswald took over himself and rolled me in. It didn't take much convincing that I needed to be still, and take great care with my movements. A wheelchair was fine.

No words were exchanged as we rode up the elevator to the top penthouse floor. The doors opened to a large layout. His place was exceedingly silent. The only sound was the rain- it hit the glass on the side of the building and fell on the cement of his atrium to our right.

Cobblepot's place was completely high-tech. Every appliance and item in the home was connected, controllable, and intelligent.

"It's green, too." He spoke, as if he were reading my thoughts. "I do what I can to leave a minimal carbon footprint."

It was strange he cared about that…even stranger I seemed to be impressed. I would have complimented him had this been any other situation. In the moment, I was out of any level of comfort. I was in the care of someone who had wanted me dead several times, even recently. Now, I relied on him to keep me safe. He'd already done that in fact, he'd kept me from dying.

"I can assure you, you're perfectly secure here. This is not somewhere he would look for you." He wheeled me to the living area and sat himself in a large, leather chair.

I didn't want to think about him. In fact, I'd done my best to push him out of my mind. I changed the subject and asked another question pressing on my mind. "Why are you helping me?"

He gave me a look as if he was confused, offended. "I keep my word, young Miss. What I felt before is immaterial. I owed you a debt, and I'm glad to pay it."

"But, you already saved my life, I mean, you don't have to,"

"I promised you an emergency exit. I take my investments seriously. What's the bloody point in nursing you back to health just to see you die of minor infection or complication?"

I nodded, fair enough. "Thank you."

"You know, you're much more pleasant like this… humbled, a bit crestfallen- rather nice."

I rolled my eyes. a bit. "I suppose it's because you're not trying to kill me."

"Oh that," He spoke in dismissal. "Well things change- our temperaments, desires, allies. You know that better than anyone."

"I get the feeling there's something you want to ask me."

"How intuitive." He got up and walked to the kitchen. "Drink?"

I nodded. "The strongest you have."

"I'd be happy to oblige, if it weren't for the fact you just cheated death. I have a wide variety of antioxidant smoothies my chef prepared. Now would you like Green, Berry, or Spirulina?"

"Spirulina?"

"It's micro-algae, detox agent. I think that's the one."

I shrugged, this was all too surreal.

Oswald came back with my smoothie and his scotch.

"Thank you," I aptly took a sip. It wasn't bad.

"Were you with Joker when he killed Victor Zsasz?"

Well, I had asked him to tell me what was on his mind.

Oswald seemed to be in a patient mood. But if we're being honest, I hadn't the slightest idea as to what would set him over the edge. I was completely exposed without any cards to play.

"This long pause suggests you're mulling something over. I've said to you once already but I'll repeat- things change. You must trust that I'll keep my word. I knew for some time Zsasz would work with the Joker on occasion. In light of that revelation, I gave him less and less in efforts to faze him out. That didn't stop the fact that he was my best and most effective man and…"

"It wasn't Joker, it was me. I killed him."

Cobblepot was silent for a moment, I doubt that was what he was expecting. "You?"

I nodded. It was then a felt my shoulders relax. Honesty felt great.

"Would you be open to telling me why?"

I thought of Dr. Grant. I remembered his blood on my hands, the uncontrollable rage that prompted me to attack Zsasz senselessly without holding back. It came back in visceral slices of memory, forcing me to close my eyes in attempts to push it out of my head.

"He killed someone I loved. In return I beat him, then gave him one in the chest and one in the head."

"Your Professor?"

I gave him a bewildered look.

"Zsasz told me things. Plus, it's my job to learn about you. You've become an integral piece to this narrative."

I slowly nodded.

That seemed to satisfy him, or at least it was going to for the time being, I'd decided.

"Well, this is certainly unexpected. I didn't know you had it in you."

"To be fair, you really don't know me at all."

Cobblepot shrugged. "That's somewhat true, but this revelation gives me a sense of what you're capable of, a bigger picture if you will…which opens a door of several new possibilities."

"Possibilities?"

"Zsasz has been in my employ for nearly six years. You can trust that many have tried and failed to permanently remove him from the equation. He was my most proficient, capable man. Despite that, it seems that only you were capable of being the champion to take him down."

"Joker could have,"

"I'm not talking about him, leave him out of the equation. It's you, Ms. Archer. You're the triumphant." He had a glint in his eye I couldn't quite understand. "Work with me,"

"What are you getting at?"

"Listen before you reject it. I propose that we help each other. Start by healing- and then take advantage of what I can give you. I can teach you to fight. You can scrap, I can teach you to win, annihilate. I can equip you with resources and the knowledge to get whatever it is you, I mean we want done."

"What do we need done?"

"It took me a few days, but while you were deciding whether or not to die, I figured it out. You came back shortly after around the time he went missing. You're looking for him, The Batman. Because of the mishap with my hired hands you were led to my club. There you in turn ran into Victor. Victor, in some way let the clown know you were back. You two were alright for a spell, but as we both know you simply can't betray a man like The Joker and get away with it. And you did betray him, didn't you?"

I was silent, but I suspect my look said it all.

"He cares for you, everyone knows it but he doesn't exactly forgive. He definitely doesn't forget."

I could only nod, astounded by his all too correct insight.

"So, what needs…"

"We need to stop him, Ms. Archer. And you're going to help me do it."

"You want me to find Batman?" I surmised.

He chuckled. "The Bat is most likely dead. It has been ages since he's been sighted. Some saw his car, but there hasn't been a murmur in any circles. He's gone, for good this time. True, since the disappearance of the Bat things have been…imbalanced. However, that is not my concern. My concern is the clown."

"If not Batman, then…"

"I want you to take him down. The Joker."

I looked back at him warily. My mouth must have been hanging open because he quickly responded. I couldn't help but scoff.

"What?"

"Don't act so surprised. You know he needs to be stopped more than anyone. Many might not see me as a pillar of integrity, but there's good and there's bad- and then there's Joker. He upsets the order of things. He's the problem."

"Forgive me for being blunt but, I feel that you wouldn't care unless he's done something that directly affects you."

Cobblepot smiled and took a sip of his drink. "You're right. You do remember he tried to kill me?"

"It's more than that, he tries to kill everyone."

"Including you."

Dr. Martinez had given me a book. With the little I told her, she could pick up on the fact I had PTSD, that I'd been in an abusive relationship with someone who had tortured me in some way. She was certain the book would help me understand and justify why I felt the way I did.

The author describes that torture robs the victim of the most basic of modes of relating to reality. It is described as a "cognitive death." The victim, has nothing left to hold onto- family, friends, belonging, normalcy…it's all taken away by the inflictor. Author says this eventually alienates the person. They lose the ability to relate to others. For survival, their empathy volume is turned way down. What it does do is enhances the fantasy and merger of the idealized, omnipotent, malicious other; the inflictor of said torture. So, as all of this is being afflicted, the victim identifies with the offender- a desperate psychological plea described as hope. While being deprived of connection with others, the prey wishes to merge with the captor. The captor is a black hole, sucking in the sufferer's universal need for solace. Eventually, it leads to dissociation, an addiction to pain, and different sorts of psychosis. I remembered these words. I didn't want to hear them. I couldn't hear them, until then- until Cobblepot said what he did. In that moment, I didn't feel confusion anymore. I felt angry, I felt like a victim. There's nothing I hate more than being a victim.

I wanted to smash something. I wanted to express my anger, in more ways than sulking in silence. As much as I wanted to be, I wasn't special. My case, my experience had already been deciphered. Some Israeli psychiatrist whom I'd never come in contact with explained my psychosis perfectly. I felt small and powerless. I didn't want to cry, I held it in. I wouldn't let the likes of Cobblepot witness me shedding a tear. I took the deepest breath possible and felt the wound sting with pain as I inhaled. Well, at least I'd never forget.

Oswald had stood up and poured himself another drink. He stopped by a tablet mounted on the wall and pressed a few keys. His fireplace illuminated. He came to sit back down.

"I'm no fool. I can almost hear the crisis and inner turmoil in your thoughts. It's deafening."

"I need a minute."

"There's no time for that. You need to work through this while it's still fresh, while it still burns."

"I need a minute." I seethed.

"See, I don't think you do." He leaned in.

I looked over to him. The flames of the controlled fire crackled. He laced his hands together.

"You know why I do so well in undertakings of this city?"

I shrugged. I was having trouble speaking without losing it.

"Because I understand it. I see the machinations of this town and I exploit it. See everyone, and I mean everyone who is anyone in this town has a gimmick. They all feel the need to be somebody. The only ones who survive, who achieve infamy however are the ones who become an archetype- more than a person: The Batman, Joker…"

"The Penguin?" I finished for him.

"That's right. My personal mythos consists of intuition, unmatchable perception and an acute sense of the underworld. Or as I like to call it, Gotham." He gave a second, letting his grand monologue linger a bit. "And then there's you."

"Wherever I go, there I am." I responded dryly. If you ask me, these so-called archetypes were a dime a dozen. At least in my circle.

"You're stronger than I first figured, resilient with just a twinge of madness dancing around. And if he was interested in you. Well,"

"It was complete happenstance. He needed a…distraction and I was in plain sight."

"Don't sell yourself short. He chose you ultimately because you're not a sidekick. And despite all the discord, you still keep his interest, and I assume his bed. You challenge him."

"Lucky me."

"Luck has nothing to do with it. You're a chameleon, Jane Archer. That's your gift- you survive your surroundings by molding to them. It's a rare feat, one you've severely underutilized."

"As much as I love metaphysical discussions, are you getting to a point? I did just suffer a major wound. I need sleep."

"I'm trying to tell you, I see your place. I see it well. And it's about time you found your archetype and take your rank among us. The Joker needs to be subdued, and you're the only one to do it. Batman is gone, you've changed beyond repair- you can't leave and just start a new life somewhere. Gotham is your home. You need to square with that and adapt to it. It's time to change. Be someone."

"I'm no one,"

"Then own it."

His words were declarative. There was a brevity to them that I didn't quite understand. "What do you mean?"

"Embrace your shadow self. I am Oswald Cobblepot but I am equally The Penguin. Batman is someone else, I may not know who but you do. Your new friend you met at the club- his name is Edward Nygma. As of late, he's seemed to take on a persona he'll soon adopt. And you, as you so succinctly put it- are no one."

"Plain Jane."

"More like a Jane Doe." He sat back and allowed himself a self-congratulatory smile. "Let me build this for you, this persona this other that you'll need to survive. Do it to save yourself, and do it to take Joker down. It's what he would want you to do."

"I doubt he wants me taking him down."

"I was referring to The Batman."

I thought of Bruce. Penguin thought he was dead. I couldn't accept that, not yet. "Batman doesn't want me becoming a criminal."

"It's a little late for that. Besides, Batman is a criminal. Don't be naïve. There's a fine line. The only thing that separates us from him is his moral indignation. And you're already crossed that line, when you killed Zsasz."

"So, you're saying you want me to take down Joker by adopting some, alternate identity?"

"Precisely, you need the degree of separation. Otherwise, you're going to drown. Trust me, I tried too long to not be Penguin. That was a mistake."

This was exhausting, I had a feeling he wasn't as forthright as he seemed. Besides, there was no time. Bruce had been missing for over two months. He had to be alive, why would they take Alfred if he weren't alive?

"Listen," Oswald pulled me out of my thoughts. "You're going to do what you want anyways. You're still going to look for him. But you know you won't be able to find him if Joker gets to you again. He has to be stopped, taken out of the equation."

"What did he do? Why do you want him gone so badly?"

Oswald sighed, using his tablet to turn on the television.

The reporter on the news looked tired, as if she'd been working around the clock. She took a breath before continuing her report.

- "Thank you for joining us on this, Day Three of Terror in Gotham. The criminal only known as "The Joker" continues his attack on prominent businesses in the city. The acts appear random, but GNN recently discovered found footage released online, these attacks are not random at all." The reporter shook her head. "It's alarming how inane it sounds to say this as we've had to say it so often- but please be warned that the following footage may be disturbing to viewers."

I heard the frantic shuffling of a camera. I braced myself to hear his voice.

"Come with me now, Gotham. I'd like, to share a story- a story of how the doldrums of my day-to-day had been getting me down. Now it's important that I use a multi-sensory approach as this is an important tale." Joker turned the camera to the corner of a room he was in. There were two men, mouths taped, sitting in chairs next to each other. One wore a purple shirt, the other wore black. They were holding up puppets with their bound wrists. The first was fashioned to look like Joker. The second, like Batman.

Joker cleared his throat. This prompted the two men to start moving their puppets. "Everyone knows that it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of an empire. This doesn't mean that they have to be like a dictator, or rule with absolute power-no. They just want, true men just want a legacy. Something that people will remember them by, something to make them immortal that solidifies their reality and creates a sense of permanence in this every fleeting stage we call life. For most, that is achieved in financial success or an accomplishment like a Nobel Prize or scoring the winning touchdown at the Superbowl. Well, I've never really bought into all of that. It's nonsense because eventually something will get ya. Whether it be cancer, brain injury, heart attack or just plain old-age. Men die, we all die. Our insides wither, rot, and decay then they turn to dust. I mean, we clutch on to these things as if they'll be our salvation. We live in a state of constant distraction to ultimate truth and that being- we're all going to kick the bucket, we're all going to be put in a box and we're all going to be eaten by worms. Our only solace is to have fun, to spend time with the people that care for you the most. But, what if they die?" Joker took his gun and shot the guy dressed like Batman in the head. "Or even, what if they disappear? What's left? Are we destined to wander aimlessly searching for someone else? What meaning can we claim to existence if we have no one to share it with? It's also universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a girl." Joker walked into the frame and lifted a woman and placed her in the chair the man representing Batman fell out of.

It wasn't Dr, Quinzel.

"Some of you might recognize GNN's sweetheart morning show host, Charlotte Rivers. But let's work past that because she's merely a plot device to stand in place of someone who can't be here right now. Where was I?" He asked the nearly comatose Charlotte- who appeared to be on the brink of consciousness. "Oh yeah- everyone wants a girl like her. She's challenging, cheeky, sexy and most importantly intelligent. She shares all your sentiments and theoretical exploits- even when she pretends not to. And boy she just touches both your outsides and insides in all the right places." Joker clicked his tongue. "Problem is, you're so disillusioned with the whole empire thing you forget what it's really for…at least in my case, I missed the whole point of it." Joker took the woman and pushed her off the chair. "A King is only as good as his Kingdom, and my kingdom is in disarray. That is why I've decided to start an initiative to clean up the streets. Batman seems to have lost his way and you as citizens have reverted back to rulers of the old regime. You rulers that scheme and strategize to make deals and allies. You men with your egos and your noses that sniff around in situations you have no business interfering with- and taking things that don't belong to you. Well no more of that. Starting tomorrow, I'm going to blow up your businesses, burn down your homes, and pillage through the rubble. I will find the one that's hiding her and wring their neck, or necks! with my hands. That's a promise. I keep my promises, ask anyone- ask your friends."

Joker reached on the ground and pulled up the woman again.

"I couldn't find an exact likeness, but she has fiery red locks that look similar to this." He held up Charlotte's dyed hair. "If anyone has tips or information regarding the whereabouts to where my Cherry is being held, please call Gotham City Major Crimes Unit. Ask for Lieutenant Gerard Stephens or contact directly the Good Commissioner Gordon."

The screen went black.

Oswald hadn't wanted me to see this. At least, not so soon. That was fair. He didn't know my temperament, or how I would react.

He looked back at me.

Honestly, I didn't know how to feel. I remember not too long ago- recently I would shudder at the sound of his voice. I was horrified at even the thought of confrontation. It was impossible to know for sure. I didn't know from one minute to the next whether I wanted to kiss him or kill him. He was the same way. I didn't want to be the victim, but it certainly was time to admit that I'd fallen prey to his game. He'd wanted to break me, but he also wanted to be with me. A part of me longed for him. I wanted to run to him, hurt him, sleep with him, and ruin him. I felt more conflicted than ever. "Did he,"

"He set fire to The Iceberg. In efforts to send his sadistic tyrannical message that he was in charge. Luckily, we'd closed for the evening. Me and the bulk of my men were at the clinic- making arrangements and taking care of you."

"How old is this video?"

"Three days. Since, he's hit three more clubs including a friend of mine's club in The Bowery."

"So you want me to sacrifice myself to stop this? You think I can make him quit hitting all of your and the Mob's businesses and holdings?"

"That's the thing, you went and saved my life. I owe you a debt and I want it paid. I don't want you to sacrifice yourself. But as it is, you did kill my best man. You owe me a new legionnaire. Zsasz used to be my best, he was the greatest there was. He could find and kill anyone and anything. That is, until your clown counterpart came along. He was so enamored with Joker's song and dance. You're not as immune."

I scoffed. If only,

"Laugh all you want, Jane but you know it's true. You can resist him. You were responsible for locking him up once, you can do it again."

"But last time he didn't have,"

"Let me worry about his latex lackey. Besides, did you see her in that video? He didn't make that video for her. We know who he wants."

It make me exceedingly uncomfortable that others were aware of my most intimate of liaisons. I might be confused about several aspects of my identity, but I still wanted to be a private person. I had no desire for anyone to know anything about me. All I wanted to do was sleep. Well, sleep and get the hell away from this. No matter what I did, it seemed I just got deeper and deeper.

"There it is again. You seem to be having trouble keeping afloat. Let's revisit what we were discussing before we watched Joker's soap opera. I can help you get past this. I can help you disassociate from this Jane Archer you're so desperate to hold onto. Trust me, it's the only way you're going to survive."

I didn't know how much longer I could take this. I wanted to run, I had to find Bruce. I needed to make it right, that would be my only way out of this. My only chance. "I've had it with these manipulations and quests to alter my personality. That's exactly what he wanted. Why can't you all just leave me alone?"

Cobblepot took a drink of his Scotch. "Simply put, it wasn't any of us that brought you back to Gotham. Was it?"

I looked up at him. He was right, again.

"I don't care what you do. You can search for Batman for years to come. As long as I can, I will provide the resources for you to do so. That is, if you do what I ask and take care of The Clown. Search for your salvation until the sun doesn't rise. I could care less. But follow my lead, and become what you need to be, first. You're staring into the abyss and it will suck you in if you don't do this."

I was crying now, I couldn't help it. I didn't want him to see me crying but he already was keenly perceptive of what was going on inside. It didn't matter if I shed a few tears. It was obvious he could see me crumbling. I had no choice but to grab onto his rope.

I nodded. It was all the fucking acknowledgment he was going to get. That was childish, but I felt like being childish.

"Wonderful." He ignored my self-serving pout. "We'll start tomorrow. You need to be physically and tactfully ready. I can get you there." He rose, as if to retire for the evening.

"A room is prepared for you down the hall to your left. Finish your smoothie."

Cobblepot went the direction opposite my hallway and disappeared into the shadows. It felt wonderful to be alone. I let out a deep breath and closed my eyes. I placed my hands on each side of the wheelchair. I pushed myself up as the weight of my body relied on my arms and lifted out of the seat. I fell down back into the chair. My legs were not cooperating. That wouldn't do. I tried again, and again. Eventually I lost count of my efforts. But I didn't give up. I was going to walk to that damn bedroom.

…

Part Two: Burning Bright/Field on Fire

The weird part, well, the weirdest part was feeling as if I were in some type of training montage. Oswald was an older man and not in the greatest of shape, but by no means lost on the art of fighting and movement. He was a big believer in Feldenkrais, and started with teaching me basic principles. He described it as a gateway to enhancement of physical functioning in the context of your environment and life. He also had seemed to champion himself as my new personal guru. I have to be brutally honest, it wasn't the worst thing that could have happened to me.

After Feldenkrais for about a week, he moved into teaching me Aikido. I felt for the most part healed at that point, and was ready for some mild physical exertion. Aikido was the right choice. It teaches you to control your movements, not exert yourself and let them control you. We didn't necessarily read The Art of Peace, but we certainly practiced the movements and techniques.

"It will teach you fearlessness…and how not to die or fall victim. At least physically." He explained.

Most of the time, I was silent and listened. Not because he was now my wise mentor, generally because I was exhausted. I hadn't the energy to argue or question what he had to offer. My methods and motivations were partially responsible for creating the clusterfuck that was my past. All my devices had left me empty. I needed to go on autopilot for a while to fill back up.

We were in the midst of practicing Tantodori, (which was quite apt) when he caught me off guard.

"You need to change your hair."

I fell back. If this were an actual knife fight, I would have lost. Oswald offered me a hand and we adjourned for a water break.

"There are those who would be and are very motivated to turn you over to The Joker. Reason being he'd stop terrorizing their businesses and livelihood. If they can't recognize you, they won't bother you."

It had been nearly two weeks now. Joker had destroyed several businesses and things were getting worse and worse. Problem was, the cops for the most part were at an impasse. The Mayor instructed them to do nothing, as Joker was essentially cleaning the streets. All the businesses he focused on were run by organized crime. The police would go to these locations but they wouldn't do much as far as follow through. The force was at odds because several were in the Mob's pockets and employ. They couldn't stand by and let their livelihoods get destroyed, but they couldn't step out publicly and tarnish their reputation. Catch-22, or something like it. There were a lot of players- a lot of people with mixed motives. That was dangerous, especially for me.

Penguin had a point. I needed to become someone else, at least for a while. It was a necessity. Not only for my sanity, but also my survival.

"You should go blonde."

"What? No!" I snapped back, a bit unnecessarily. "I mean,"

"Your hair is already a dark red. Dying it brown would be too similar. Dying it black would be horrible for your fair complexion. It would draw too much attention- too many people looking too closely."

I thought about what he said. My own bias was my resistance. I didn't want to be anything like her. I didn't want anyone to think that was what I was trying to do.

"We'll get you some black framed glasses, no prescription. Blonde and glasses with a decent, more professional haircut will alter you enough. They might see a hint of familiarity, something that makes people think they might know you, but they'll look past it."

I guess that was becoming a trope in my life- changing the color of my hair. It was a physical manifestation of my metamorphosis. Although Cobblepot fancied himself more of an Ovid aficionado than a fan of Kafka. I was definitely a Kafka.

"I'll have a stylist come tomorrow, someone I can trust. Finish your water. How are you feeling?"

It was a strange kinship we had developed. Part of it was the isolation. It was just the two of us. Well, and the Doctor…but mainly the two of us, focused on one distinct goal- my healing and training.

"Better, I'm feeling better."

"Your movements are improving."

I nodded. "Where did you learn all of this?"

"Here," He spoke. Not feeling the need to elaborate.

I simply continued to stare at him.

"I'm self-taught. I had no instructor. I have to say- you know more about fighting than I'd initially thought."

"I took some classes for a few months, after I left Gotham."

"Where did you go?"

I didn't answer his question. He didn't answer mine. We weren't that close. It was just that sometimes we forgot the fact and slipped up. I suppose that happens- you can't help forming some sort of attachment to the person you're forced to spend time with. It's true, when he wasn't trying to kill me and/or threaten me- I didn't loathe the person that he was. It's funny back when we first met, I found him sleazy, cold and grotesque. But now, I recognized several facets of myself in him. He liked documentaries, learning. I also suspected that he was quite lonely, always on the outside looking in. No matter how much he wanted to be a part of life the crowd, he always managed to get stuck on the fringe. I know the feeling. That's what got me in trouble before, though- thinking I had common ground with someone, relating. I steered clear of that as best as I could. Anytime I felt empathy or care, I pushed it out of my mind.

We were very different. Oswald had idealized high-society. Most certainly he felt he had status in it. He was educated, business-minded. I hated society. To be fair, that's not entirely Joker. I never liked, it- and had very little interest in being part of it. Like Oswald, I did love the arts. But I had no interest in following them. He would often quote literature not famous enough to be common, but familiar enough to intrigue the listener. He enjoyed the "finer things" so to speak. He shunned anything that wasn't fine, innovative, or expensive. I didn't care enough about anything anymore to shun it.

The upside of essentially being under house arrest was that it taught me to focus. It's amazing what you can get done when your life isn't in an eminent threat of danger. Oswald brought in a sketch artist. We were able to render a sketch of Eli, the man who had attacked me at Wayne Manor, (not that I shared my location) but presumably he was the same man Penguin had hired to "find who Batman was." The sketch artist confirmed we had seen the same man. He ran the sketch across various circles asking around. After a few days, he got a hit.

"How do you feel about a field trip?" He asked me.

I turned to him, still not used to seeing blonde locks in my periphery. "Where?"

"A friend of mine, he's seen Eli at his hotel a few times. He's invited me there. I thought we'd do a little investigating."

I wave of apprehension swept over me. I tried not to visibly show it.

"You're ready," he concluded. "The only thing standing in your way is the fear. How long are you going to let it dictate your life?"

He was right, damn it. I gave him a slow nod. "I'm ready." I spoke, even though I wasn't.

Penguin bought me an entirely new wardrobe. Clothes that in his words were understated and elegant. Beautiful pieces that I would never wear. Not because I didn't like them, because I had completely forgotten that facet of myself. Not that I ever really had any kind of style, but beyond that- I hadn't thought about what I wore in ages. I guess when you're preoccupied with self-preservation & trying not to self-destruct, you forget.

In addition, he bought me makeup. It was a simple palette of things to choose from, but he was dead on in guessing my foundation shade. I wanted to thank him, but once more I didn't feel that was appropriate, or safe.

I put my fake glasses on and took a glance in the mirror. I didn't recognize myself at all. I smiled, there was an overwhelming comfort in that realization- to be someone else.

"I was thinking of introducing you as my attorney." Cobblepot spoke as he slid into the car next to me. "You're new to town. What's your name?"

"Anne Carver." I furrowed my brow. I had no idea where that had come from.

He smirked a bit. "All right, you should think of a quick backstory as to where you're from, what,"

"I'm a native of Washington State- Seattle. I went to Berkeley because I got a full scholarship... Graduated with honors, but all the interesting cases and clientele were in the bigger cities; on the East Coast. I moved out here after returning to Seattle for a few years to establish my own private firm. You wanted someone fresh, someone to protect your assets that didn't have an agenda relating to other Gothamites. I also don't mind getting my hands dirty. I went to the right parties, shook the right hands and we crossed paths."

"You know you're quite good at this. Too bad you're not an actual lawyer."

"I'll manage to make it through just fine."

He was impressed. Of course he was. He felt as if this was his making- his brain child and I his prodigy. I wasn't sure how that made me feel. In a sense, I was very grateful. He'd gave me a way to cope. Was it healthy? Hell no, but it sure was cathartic.

"Full disclosure- this isn't an actual friend. This man's the competition. We don't have the best of rapports, but we're willing to forgo tensions as there are bigger concerns."

"Because of Joker." I understood. He didn't have to sugarcoat it. I felt cold, calculated. It was a false sense of control but I latched onto it.

The car stopped in front of the hotel. It was all glass, and went up several stories. It wasn't as cold as it had been, but it was still raining.

"Wait a second, before we go I want you to have something." He reached down and retrieved a black gift bag.

I pulled out a box and opened it. My eyes widened. "A gun?"

"It's a .45, made especially for you."

I looked at the gun. Aesthetically it was a very beautiful, there were little butcher hatchets etched on each side.

"Cute,"

"I thought you might like that, being you were a butcher and all."

I didn't know what to say. He didn't need me to say anything.

"I also got you a holster for your leg." He pulled it out of the bag. "You never know when things might get dicey. Besides, it won't fit in your clutch."

"You seemed to think of everything."

"And do take care, it's loaded."

Oswald exited and came around to my door. We shared his umbrella into the building.

…

It would have helped if he had told me what I was walking into. I'd been to many extravagant destinations in Gotham, Iceberg Lounge being at the top of my list. But here, you could just feel the decadence pouring out of every inch of the place. It was simply gaudy.

The hotel was fine, but the club/bar area in the back was as if you'd stepped into another dimension. It was dark, the walls were screens that simulated liquid gold pouring down like a waterfall.

We were accompanied by four of Cobblepot's men, who just seemed to show up out of nowhere. I walked by his side to a back-lounge area.

My eyes widened.

There was a man, probably a man- sitting on a plush velvet couch, surrounded by two women- beautiful, but bored in skin tight dresses. That wasn't the strange part. Plenty of these types wanted to present that type of image. The difference, with this one- he was wearing a black skull mask on his head. I quickly corrected myself stare. Oswald was right, everyone had a gimmick.

In contrast, he wore a white suit. How adorable. He blew smoke out of his mouth and put out his cigar in the ashtray on the table in front of him. How did he get it to his lips?

"The fucking Penguin slumming in The Bowery. There's a first for everything, I guess." He rose to greet him. "War time and all…"

"Sionis," Cobblepot regarded. "How are you this evening?"

"Ah, fucking formalities," The man in the mask responded, annoyance in his tone. "Let's just have a drink and get to it." His head tilted and looked towards me. "On second thought, I need to be introduced." He extended his hand. I took it.

"Anne Carver,"

"Anne Carver, welcome to my hotel. What brings you here with the likes of Cobblepot?"

"Ms. Carver is my attorney," Oswald answered for me.

"Attorney well, were you planning on serving me papers?"

"I leave that to the process servers." I gave him a wide grin. "My priority is my client."

"Hmph, well- I'd let you protect my assets."

I ignored his advance and let go of his hand.

"Ms. Carver is handling my claim with the repairs and rebuilding of The Iceberg. She's very good at cutting through the red-tape, so to speak. As a gesture of good will, she's generously offered to do the same for you, make sure you receive proper payment for the damages at your establishment, as well as making sure no one gives you any trouble regarding zoning issues during the rebuild- all on my tab, of course."

"Who would have thought, the clown bringing us all closer together! Penguin and Black Mask." He laughed and invited us to sit down. Well, Black Mask…certainly accurate I guess.

Penguin's men began to move towards the room as well. One of them knocked over a pillar with a vase on it.

"Hey, hey, hey- tell your oaf he's going to pay for that!"

"My apologies, we'll have you reimbursed." Cobblepot gestured for his men to make themselves scarce.

One of Sionis' men whispered in his ear, he quickly responded with a smile and his man walked off.

"That's a wrap for tonight, ladies." The women rose and left the area as we all sat down. Sionis snapped and a waiter appeared.

"Drink?"

"We're fine," Oswald rapidly responded.

"I was asking the lady." Sionis looked toward me. "Drink?"

"Water," I smiled.

"No, no- let me guess it's a gift I have. He stared towards me, silent for a moment. You like wine, only red, and only spicy. Syrah," he decided. "I'll have a glass as well. I'm feeling adventurous."

I'd never given a lot of thought to wine, but damn it if he wasn't right. I'd always liked Syrah.

"Impressive," I had no need to rock the boat.

"You have no idea, Doll."

I shifted in my seat a bit. I still wasn't super fond of people giving me nicknames.

"If you can stop trying to pick up my lawyer, maybe we could get down to it?"

"Apologies, let's take a field trip." He rose but insisted I get up and leave first. "Down the hall to your right."

I followed his directions. The hallway was long, the music thumped, as if the walls had a heartbeat.

Oswald's men followed as well. Black Mask halted and turned towards them.

"No goons allowed, they can wait in the hall."

Cobblepot shrugged. "It's alright, boys."

"And I hope you're on the level, Ms. Attorney as the back room is for select eyes only. And I certainly hope she has a keen understanding to all your proclivities, Ossie."

"She does,"

"Well then," Black Mask moved in front of me. "Meet Eli." He pushed the door open.

My eyes widened at the scene. There he was, the man who had attacked me at Wayne Manor. Although I could barely tell it was him. He was all bloodied up and severely beaten. His mouth was taped shut. It was all so grotesque it almost looked fake. He was still breathing, and defiantly staring at Sionis, then Cobblepot.

"Eli," Sionis walked behind him and gave an abrasive pat to his shoulders. "Perk up now, we have guests. You remember Oswald, don't you?"

Penguin had already taken to removing his coat. He was rolling up his sleeves. I had a feeling Eli hadn't seen the worst of it.

Oswald smiled. "I was so worried we wouldn't cross paths again." He gave a glance to Sionis. "Mind if I have a chat with your friend?"

"Be my guest," He responded. "Ms. Carver, why don't we check on that wine?"

I nodded and headed out with Sionis.

Cobblepot's men were conflicted when we walked out. Sionis reassured them: "Your boss is having a chat, we'll be back shortly."

Clearly, I wasn't their priority. They didn't bother to follow me.

We settled at the bar. The bartender sat down our wine in front of us with a nod from his boss. A few more people had trickled in, it was getting to be that time of the evening. All of them stared at me with great interest. I could be wrong, but this wasn't the kind of place anyone just walked into. New people are noticed.

"So, how long you been keeping Ossie out of jail?"

That's right, lawyer. "Only recently."

"It's curious, just wondering if he brought you as a distraction or if he's really trying to butter me up."

"Probably a little bit of both." I took a sip of my wine. It was wonderful. I think I might need to take up alcoholism.

Black Mask chuckled. "A sense of humor, how endearing. I also like a girl that can stand the sight of blood. You didn't even flinch."

"Full disclosure- not my first rodeo." I spoke, I was being cheeky, flirtatious even. I knew it was dangerous, it wasn't me. It was incredible.

"A cowgirl, huh? I'd love to see how you ride." That was a stretch as innuendos went, but you work with what you have, I guess.

"Flattered, but unavailable." That was the least complicated way to say it.

"Don't tell me you're attached? I can't imagine being your man and letting you rub shoulders with the likes of me." He definitely would kill men that did less. I was disappointed in myself. Why was that something to be proud of?

"I'm seeing someone."

"Anyone I know? You've got a very familiar face."

"He's not from here."

"Long distance, must be lonely."

"He's moving here in a few weeks. Our lease wasn't up yet in Seattle, but I had to get here for work."

"Well, no sense in not having fun in the meantime. I mean, God knows you're not shacking up with Penguin. Someone's got to give you the thorough attention you deserve."

"That Eli person, have you gotten anything out of him?"

"I admire your deflection. But what's it to you?"

"He has information that I, that my client wants. I want to expedite this."

"I wouldn't worry about that; Gotham Police aren't exactly five star. No one will come looking for him. Your client isn't in any danger of being implicated. He's got plenty of time."

"You're very confident."

"Thanks for noticing, I'm also very persistent."

I ignored this. "Now you're deflecting."

"Nah, Doll I'm just biding time."

A little alarm started to go off. I felt a shiver down my spine. Something was wrong.

"Biding time for what?"

"Relax, I'm not going to kill him. Not tonight anyway."

I quickly got up and went towards the hallway. As I approached, two men in front of me shot towards Oswald's men. I ducked down and pressed myself against the wall. When they were done, they flipped around and pointed their guns to me.

"Not this one," I felt a hand on my arm. He smelled a mixture of cigar smoke, cologne, and alcohol- a winning combination. But he was strong, and yanked me back into him. "I think it would be beneficial to have her around, don't you boys?"

I rolled my eyes. I was done with this type of shit. I grabbed his arm and swung it around. The pronated wrist-lock…compliments of the fucking Penguin. Yes, this was my reality.

Sionis shifted in pain, but I had him. His men advanced towards me. I took the gun out of its holster on my leg. I pressed it to his head.

"You really think it's ain't bulletproof?" He regarded his mask.

"Your neck isn't." I changed the gun's position.

"Touché," He laughed.

His men halted, not knowing what to do.

"Clearly we should've frisked our guests."

"Let's go," I murmured. I'm sure several eyes were staring at me from the club, but I didn't care. We walked down the hall as his men moved aside. I tried to ignore the dead bodies of Cobblepot's men. I had Black Mask open the door.

"Lock it." I commanded as we got in. He did so.

Eli gave a bewildered look as we came in. He was still in the chair but the tape was off his mouth. He was bloodier than before.

I pressed the gun harder to Sionis' neck.

"What's this now?" Penguin inquired. "What's happening out there?"

"He had your men killed."

"Is that right?" Penguin looked enraged. I couldn't see Sionis' face but I could feel his energy. It matched Cobblepot's. Penguin pulled out his gun and pointed it to Sionis.

I couldn't hold the position much longer. I decided to let go and push him forward.

"I'm starting to think you haven't been completely honest with me, Ms. Carver as to who you are."

"Did you get anything out of him?" I turned to Penguin.

He shook his head. "Considering this revelation, I suspect only what he wanted me to."

I stared at him. He knew where Bruce was. He took Alfred. I was going to find out the truth.

Eli gave me a strange glance, perhaps a glance of recognition. He suddenly wore a faint smile.

"I remember you." He spoke. "You're," his words were halted by three bullets penetrating his chest.

I ducked and covered my head. I whipped around to see what had happened.

Sionis was holding the gun. Cobblepot moved closer and Black Mask immediately dropped it.

"NO!" I screamed, I couldn't help it. I ran to Eli, who was choking on his blood.

"Where do you have them? Where are they?" I asked frantically. Blood was coming out of his mouth. He was going away.

"Fuck you, no you don't. Where are they, tell me!" I shook him, but it was no use. I saw the light fade from his eyes. He was gone.

Both men had ceased their fighting and were watching me with great interest. I could feel their eyes burning holes in the back of my head. I took a shaky breath. He was my only hope, and he was gone. I turned around.

"If you had a gun," I swallowed. "Why didn't you…"

"I didn't feel like shooting you. I don't feel like shooting Cobblepot either."

"But you killed my men?"

"The big one knocked down my vase, fucking clumsy. I did you a favor, and I liked that vase."

He put down his gun, as if that were explanation enough. "Alright, Roman. You might want to explain what this is all about. Do hurry, because I'm not in a patient mood." Oswald spoke with the calmest of voices.

"First tell me about this one. Who is she?"

"Roman, I'm waiting. And I won't wait much longer."

I guess Roman was his first name.

"Alright, alright. I guess it's time I come clean."

"Regarding,"

"It was me."

"Come again?"

"It was me. Eli was working for me."

"What? Then why did you just kill him?" I interjected.

"Why do you care so much, Ms. New-to-Town? What's he to ya? Anyways, he double crossed both of us."

"How so?" Penguin had taken to sitting down. We're all just super good friends now.

"I hired him to pay back an old friend of mine, a real prick that bought out my company. Turns out he wasn't even in the country so they messed up and took his butler. But he had his own agenda."

I was a little taken aback. Suddenly, information was connecting. This was dangerous information, info neither of these men needed to put together. And they would if Roman continued. Cobblepot was smart, he'd connect the dots. He'd easily see who Batman was.

"Roman, stop." I interjected.

Both men looked at me.

"I don't want you telling my client anything more. If you have information, give it to me."

"Excuse me, that's now how this is going to work." Oswald corrected.

"Yes, it is." I turned back to Sionis. "Oswald is trying to make a name for himself in society, digging him deeper into this world is a setback. Whatever you have to say, you'll say to me- not him."

"Anne, you forget yourself and the fact you're in my employ."

I didn't know what else to do. He couldn't make the connection that Bruce was Batman. Roman hopefully hadn't yet. All it would take were a few words from him though and Cobblepot would figure it out. I hated this. I hated all the double and triple crosses you had to do to stay alive and get stuff done. I closed my eyes and prayed for divine intervention.

In that moment, I heard rapid gunfire.

Both men jumped. They looked to each other. After a moment of realizing it was an exterior threat, they collected themselves.

"What is that?"

"An AA-12," I spoke dryly. I knew it was him. I just had to go and ask for divine intervention.

"And how the hell would a Seattle lawyer know that?" Roman looked back between myself and Penguin.

"Listen to it, no pause, no recoil." If we're talking adversaries, bring the Penguin, Black Mask, even Victor Zsasz back from the dead. I could deal with them all. I just couldn't do this.

"I can't face him, not yet." I looked to Cobblepot.

He gave me a nod. "You got a back door, Roman?"

"God damn," Roman laughed. "I knew I recognized you. I'm now doubly glad I didn't shoot you."

"Roman, back door?"

"Yeah, I got a fucking got a back door, come on."

We followed quickly behind as the door opened to another hallway. Roman halted my stride with his arm.

"Easy now, I have an exit for Ossie and myself. But there is no chance in hell I'm going to be caught with you. You're the cause of all this." He gave me a thoughtful glance. He managed to swiftly shuffle away Oswald's gun and pointed it towards me. "Now be a good girl and stay behind."

"If I stay behind I'll tell him you kept me. Tortured me in fact. Did things to me that I just can't…"

"You wouldn't," Roman murmured under his breathe.

"You haven't the slightest idea as to what I would and wouldn't do."

"But I have an idea. That's why you need to stay behind." Oswald started.

I looked to him. Not that we were best of friends but I was genuinely shocked.

He shrugged. "We had a bargain, here's your chance."

"I can't. I'm not ready."

"No one is never fully ready. Before this situation goes all to pot, do what we've agreed. End this."

The gunfire was getting closer. Sionis' men were fighting back, but it was sparse.

"I'll be here when you're done. You know where to find me." With that, they shut the door.

I pushed and tried to open it, but I soon felt they'd put something at the door to prevent me from getting through. I wasn't getting out.

The front door to the room was locked, but it was only a matter of time. I wasn't ready; how could I be? I hated, loathed, detested him. He was why I was here, in this situation. He was responsible for everything- my ruined life, every nightmarish horrible predicament was because he had forcibly pushed himself into my world. Fuck it, maybe I was ready.

I steadied my gun and held it up. The door rattled. Someone was trying to shake it loose.

After a few seconds, they shot at it then kicked it open.

There he was, by himself…far more surprised to see me than I was to see him.

He stood there for a second, looking around- studying the room. He noticed the dead body.

I held the gun steady, I didn't move. He didn't either.

Scars have a strange power to remind us that the past is real.

I dropped my gun. He dropped his. I ran to him. He made a growling sound as if it was anticipated. He gripped my body and pulled me to him, picking me up- kissing me like only he could kiss. It was utterly devastating and overpowering. And then he pulled back, the final nail in my proverbial coffin. He smiled.