Floating across the rooftops as he traced his way through the night back to the Batcave, Batman wondered whether all those fits of laughter had been elicited by thoughts of bringing Gotham to its sooty, metropolitan knees. He wondered whether the Joker had been laughing once or twice about what he had done to Barbara. \

Batman had always had his reservations about Batgirl. Not Batgirl, personally, Barbara was certainly responsible and determined enough, but rather, just the idea of a woman, any woman, fighting for good in this town was enough to make him a little uneasy. How he wished to God that he had never been proven right. A week ago, Barbara had been working with him on a case.

They were this close to nailing the Joker and getting him shut away in Arkham where he belonged. They were chasing him through the alleys of the riverfront district and had decided that it would be best to split up. Barbara would follow the Joker on the ground, and Batman would swing from the buildings above, in case it were easier to keep tabs on the clown that way.

When the time came, Barbara would hold Joker just long enough for Batman to pounce and take over. It was so simple, but things didn?t work out that way. Barbara had twisted her damned foot. Why had she been so careless? All she had to do was watch where she was going! Batman shook his head as he shot a grapple hook up into the air and watched it take hold behind a giant stone gargoyle on one of the municipal buildings. As he swung through the air, he remembered how he had lost track of both her and the Joker. How panicked and helpless he'd felt as he searched desperately for either one of them.

��He remembered the bloody scene where he?d witnessed the Joker licking his lips as he zipped up his pants, standing over Barbara's unclothed, unmoving body, the piercing cackle when the Joker saw Batman out of the corner of his eye, delighting in the impotence of Gotham's so-called "hero." All Batman could do then was to scoop Barbara up and carry her to the hospital as he let the Joker get away. He hadn't even stayed to meet the accusing stares of the hospital staff. He'd simply laid Batgirl down on a gurney, and slipped away into the night.

With a soft thud, Batman landed on a wrought-iron balcony and was almost surprised to find that instead of heading home, he'd gone to Barbara's apartment. The balcony's immaculate glass doors led into her bedroom, he recalled, as he slowly stepped in and found himself standing about ten feet away from her bed, where Barbara lay, her back propped up against a mountain of pillows, her little lamp still on so that she could read whatever scandalous novel Commissioner Gordon had picked up from the supermarket to amuse her.

"Bruce!" Barbara smiled at the Avenger. Batman said nothing as he stepped toward her, into the light, and knelt by her side.

"Barbara," he squeezed out just before the rest of the words stuck in his throat, choking him.

Barbara lay her hand upon his shoulder, waiting for him to collect himself.

"Barbara, I'm so sorry. I want you to know that the Joker will pay . . . he will pay for this."

"Bruce, I thank you, but my mind just isn't on revenge, right now. Oh, give me another week and I?m sure I'll be ready to think about justice, but right now, I'm still just trying to heal."

Batman closed his eyes, almost wincing as he bowed his head.

"Hey, there. Come on, Bruce, the doctors say I'll be moving around again in no time. Until then, I've got Rebecca LaRouge to keep me company," Barbara chuckled softly, pointing to her book.

Batman only nodded his head. Barbara reached into a drawer on the other side of the bed to show Bruce some of the other things she'd been reading lately, and turned back just in time to see the balcony doors swoosh shut.

At 5 o'clock the next morning, Bruce shot out of sleep in a cold sweat. He'd dreamt up that scene again, had once again looked into the Joker's smooth, white face, had once again seen his cherry red lips peel back to reveal yellow teeth which, in turn, also parted, releasing a long, indulgent torrent of laughter. His face twisted as he felt shamed by the same telltale sticky warmth that had clung to his sheets the night before when he'd had the dream, and the night before that, and all the nights before that, since that incident a week ago.

He had almost believed that this night would be different, that this night, he wouldn't be plagued by the same visions of darkness. Every night before he slept, he prayed that he wouldn't have the dream, and every morning when he awoke, he prayed that that day, he would find some answers and understand what was happening inside of him.

As Bruce showered away the remnants of the dream from his skin, he reflected that his emotions toward the Joker ought not to have been complex. The Joker had killed his parents in front of his very eyes when he was only a boy and for that, he hated him. But he knew that in fact, it was complex. By giving Bruce his first taste of the odiousness of crime, the Joker had created Batman. And Batman's later efforts to bring a small-time criminal to justice had created the Joker.

Batman had accepted this, grudgingly, for a long time. It hadn't assuaged his unmitigated loathing for the clown. But now, something about the Joker's ability to lose himself in joyous abandon made Bruce feel all the more . . . boring. And the confrontation in that alley had forced Bruce to see him in a way that he'd not seen him in before. It was still disgusting, though, Bruce reprimanded himself as he towelled off. He vowed not to have the dream again.

That night, Batman planned to finally finish the case and bust up a child slavery ring on the South side. He perched on a rooftop, watching the small, dirty boys and girls be marched off of a vessel that looked barely seaworthy and directly into a sweatshop. When the time came, he leapt off of the building, down to the greasy sidewalk, and found himself face to face with the Joker, who pinned him against the wall of the shop and whispered, "Hey, Batsy. You ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?", barely restraining a childlike giggle.

He ground his hips into Batman's, and he was still eyeing him seductively when Batman sent the Joker tumbling to the ground with one mighty crack across the jaw.

"Aw, quit it, Bats! You think I didn't see you jerking off in the corner last night in my own humble abode? Shocking, if you ask me! Bwaaahahahahaaaaaha!"

Batman froze in horror, staring as the Joker stood up, emboldened.

"Well, to be honest" , the Joker continued, "I didn't. But my hidden cameras did! Next time, Batsy, remember to say "Cheese." That way you won't look so positively pathetic and dull."

Batman reached down to his utility belt and selected a gadget for the occasion. He shot out a cord that wrapped around the Joker's ankle a split second before the clown turned to run away. Depressing a small button on the side, Batman stood his ground as the cord retracted, dragging the Joker about ten yards before the clown lay there, struggling at his feet.

"Aww, Batsy!" the Joker whined, "You're no fun!"

Quickly, Batman slapped cuffs around the clown's wrists and ankles, and signalled the Batmobile to meet him at his location. The children would have to wait until tomorrow night.