When he approached the group of young hoods, his mind wasn�t fully focused. He didn�t see the knife, and while he was dispatching the first two gang bangers, the third managed to stab him in the lower back. With a low growl of pain, Batman punched the adolescent in the stomach. The kid fell to the street and lay still, while the rest of his gang ran for the safety of the shadows. Batman, bleeding now, pressed a button that would summon the Batmobile before he remembered the car was at home in the cave. By the time it arrived, he would bleed to death.

Batman checked a street sign. 42nd avenue. Crime Alley and the excellent care of Dr. Leslie Tompkins was a five minute jog away. With the current condition of his kidney, it was a very painful twenty-minute drag-and-stumble away. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself forward, trailing his hand along the worn brick buildings for support. The night was threatening now. If he was sighted in this neighborhood, he risked incurring the wrath of the local drug dealers and crime lords, many of which he�d left trussed up on a window ledge or hanging from a fire escape for the Gotham PD. They could finish him in this sorry state. He cursed himself again for not being more awake, more aware. How many times had he lectured Tim to focus on what he was doing and not let distractions get in the way of work?

He passed the barrier between the Southside and the network of alleys which signified the beginning of Crime Alley, the most dangerous place in Gotham. Even people in East End avoided Crime Alley. It wasn�t Crime Alley in his memories, however. The decaying row houses and stinking streets were upscale townhouses in his mind�s eye. The Majestic, the grand movie palace where he had once watched The Mask of Zorro with his parents, was now a porno theatre. The decay of this district, once one of the finest commercial centers in Gotham, had begun with the Wayne murders. A prominent doctor and his wife, one of the richest couples in the state, slain beneath the glare of a cold yellow streetlamp. That violent event years ago had signaled the growing presence of crime in Gotham. Someone had written a paper on it. Batman knew all of this, but he still saw the neighborhood as it once had been. He saw it all the time, when he was awake, when he was asleep. When he dreamed. More than any other site in the city, Batman was connected to Crime Alley.

He had lost a lot of blood. His head was throbbing, and he fell to the sidewalk, dropping heavily to his knees. When he took his hand away from the small of his back, his dark glove was soaking. He should die here. It seemed fitting. His body would be discovered in a few days, perhaps tomorrow, and he would be unmasked. Batman would die, and Bruce Wayne would be discovered, cold and lifeless, twenty yards from the spot where his parents were murdered thirty years ago. He had always intended to die here, on the spot where the two most important people in his life had died in a pool of their own blood.

The thought of blood penetrated the fever-dream. The blood of innocents. So many nameless people he'd failed to save. So many he had yet to rescue. The mission had to continue, or the city would be drenched in blood.

He stirred himself. Maybe, someday, he would drag himself here and wait for death. But not right now. Not without finishing what had begun on this spot so many years ago. Batman finished his painful journey, slumping against Leslie�s doorbell. The middle-aged doctor opened the door, anxious and clad in a pink terrycloth robe.

�Sorry to wake you, Leslie,� he rasped. �I�ve had a little accident��

Dr. Tompkins gasped when she saw the blood-slick darkness of his costume. �Oh, Bruce,� she murmured, helping him inside. He lost consciousness then, safe inside Leslie�s clinic in Crime Alley.

******************

�Alfred will be here in fifteen minutes,� Leslie was saying. Batman squeezed his eyes shut against the bright lights of the surgical bay. �I didn�t want to move you until I was absolutely certain you wouldn�t need a second transfusion.�

�How bad?�

�Bad. The knife cut through a ligament. You�ll have a limp, for a while at least. And walking won�t be much fun.� The silver-haired, kind-faced woman tilted Batman�s head up to sip from a glass of water. �I know I�m being hopelessly naive, but could you possibly leave the cape and cowl at home for a week or two? I mean, it�s either paralysis, or catching a mugger or two.�

�Leslie��

�I will order Alfred to lock you in that dungeon you call a Batcave. I�ll have you committed. At least you�ll be alive, and the food at Arkham isn�t bad, or so I�ve heard.�

Batman smiled, then coughed slightly. Even breathing hurt. �We�ll see.�

Leslie nodded. �You�re being remarkably mature about this. I haven�t seen you be so reasonable in years.�

�I said �we�ll see�. If I�m needed��

�Hush.� Leslie admonished, offering Batman another sip of water. �Let�s just pretend we live in a sane and rational universe for a moment, hmm? And that you can afford to let a little internal injury slow you down for a night or two.�

Batman nodded, surrendering. He closed his eyes as her soft hand cupped his brow. Leslie had cared for him in the horrible days after his parent�s death. She and Alfred had kept him sane, had taught him how to retain what little humanity he could. Whatever part of him was good and noble he owed to them. Because of their care and love, he would not take a life. He could be Batman, because of them.

A knock at the door sounded and Leslie left, allowing Alfred to enter. Clad in his very proper chauffer uniform, he helped Bruce into a business suit and guided him out of Leslie�s apartment. �Any instructions?� Alfred whispered. Leslie handed him a bottle of medication.

�For the pain. Not that he�ll take them. Make sure he gets lots of fluids and, Alfred, if he so much as looks at a pair of tights, knock his block off. He can�t prowl the night for at least a week, okay?�

Alfred�s mustache quirked upwards at the small woman�s conviction. �Yes, Dr. Tompkins. I shall endeavor to do my best, although you know Master Bruce��

�Stubborn as his father,� she replied, eyes dark with remembrance. Alfred nodded in agreement and left to put Bruce into the car.

�It was stupid, Alfred,� Bruce muttered, sleepy. �Should have watched my right side. I had the other two, but the third��

�Yes sir, it�s all right.� Alfred said, casting a worried glance into the rear-view mirror. Bruce slumped in the seat.

�The third had a knife. Couldn�t see�couldn�t see them. Lost them. They just�disappeared�I cried for them, but I couldn�t�� The voice was not Batman�s, nor Bruce Wayne�s. The voice belonged to a child.

�Yes, sir. It�s time to sleep,� Alfred said, directing the car home.

.end.