Batman: Huntress and the Hunted - Part 2

Part 2 (Conclusion)

Just after sunset, Bruce Wayne entered the Cave and began to suit up, preparing for another night's patrol. He had donned all of his costume save for the cape and cowl when he noticed an indicator light flashing on the Cave's computer console. Someone else had entered the underground complex, using one of the few accepted security codes.

"Hm," he grunted softly, and nodded almost imperceptibly in acknowledgement. He could hear a motorcycle engine echoing through the underground cavern, drawing closer. His visitor was not at all unexpected, but he hadn't exactly been looking forward to this inevitable confrontation. Wayne lowered his tall, powerful frame into the chair in front of the computer console and waited patiently.

The noise of the engine stopped. A moment later, a figure emerged from the shadows nearby. He wore a dark mask, and his arms were crossed atop a powerful chest clad in form-fitting black and dark blue.

“Thought you'd be here,” the young man said. "I wanted to catch you before you went out on patrol."

Bruce Wayne heard the edge in his former partner’s voice. He ignored it. “What do you want?” he asked, his voice a flat, quiet growl. From the start, even when Dick Grayson was just a boy, they had never bothered with pleasantries.

“You know damn well why I’m here. To find out what sort of game you’re playing with Helena,” Nightwing growled back.

Wayne slowly emerged from his chair and turned to face Nightwing. Anyone else would have been unable to read the seemingly impassive expression on the billionaire's face. But Dick Grayson knew his former mentor better than just about anyone on earth, with the possible exception of Alfred Pennyworth. Nightwing keenly perceived the slight clench to the strong jaw, the subtle stiffness in those powerful shoulders.

“I don’t play ‘games’, Nightwing,” the Dark Knight responded evenly. “You of all people should know that.”

Combined with the tension he’d just noticed in the older vigilante, the fact that Wayne had responded at all—let alone with what amounted to, for him, a speech—told Grayson that there was more going on beneath the surface than the Batman was prepared to let on.

“Cut the crap, Bruce,” Nightwing said as he walked towards the shadowy figure that seemed so at home in the Cave. He pulled his mask away from his face to emphasize his point, revealing his handsome and still youthful features. “I know about the threats against your life. And we both know you could take care of it on your own. So why involve Helena?”

Wayne stared at Grayson, who stood barely a yard away from him now, his angry young eyes burning directly into his former mentor’s. Wayne glared back, his powerful body still as a statue.

“I have my reasons,” he finally responded in a cold, flat voice.

“NOT GOOD ENOUGH!” Grayson erupted. He pointed an accusing finger at the Batman—possibly the only person in the world who could get away with it. “You’re risking her life, and without telling her everything she needs to know! She doesn’t know you’re Batman. She has no idea what sort of danger you’ve placed her in.”

“…and you did?”

Wayne’s voice was as cold and hard as rocks grinding against one another. Grayson stood in silence for a moment, surprised for by this conversational gambit. Then he shook his head angrily.

“This isn’t about me,” he retorted.

“Isn’t it?”

“No! It’s about her, you self-righteous son of a…”

“You’re jealous,” Wayne interjected calmly.

Grayson’s eyes went wide. His mouth hung slightly open for a moment, then twisted into an incredulous smile. “You’re really reaching now, aren’t you, Bruce?”

“I don’t think so. You and Helena had…what you had. Now she’s dating Bruce Wayne.”

“She’s not dating you, Bruce! Don’t be so self-deluded…you’re starting to pay too much attention to the gossip columns. She’s only going out with you because she thinks she’s protecting you.”

Wayne’s broad shoulders gave a slight shrug. “Regardless. You’re jealous. I’d be surprised if you weren’t.”

Grayson turned away from Wayne and threw his arms open as he looked towards the ceiling as if sensible answers could be found there. It wasn’t the first time he’d assumed that stance in the Cave.

“CHRIST! You are so full of yourself! I didn’t come here because I’m jealous…”

“No, you didn’t.”

Grayson turned back to look at Wayne, his face a mix of incredulity and suspicion. “Well, thanks for…” he began sarcastically, but his former mentor cut him off.

“You came here because you underestimate her.”

“I WHAT?!?” Grayson shouted in amazement. “I came here because I’m concerned about her!”

“Overly concerned. The Huntress can hold her own.”

Dick Grayson didn’t think he could be any more surprised by Bruce Wayne’s behavior. He’d never heard the vigilante praise another crime-fighter like that. Not even himself. Certainly not the Huntress. Still, he shook his head angrily.

“Oh, come on, Bruce. You know she’s not in our league…” As soon as the words left his mouth, Grayson realized his mistake. He stopped and looked at Wayne. His thin lips wore that slight, arrogant smile he'd always hated. Before the older man could say anything, Grayson cut him off. “All right, all right...I know what you’re going to say, but the only reason she got into the JLA was because you nominated her.”

Wayne’s eyebrow raised slightly. “I think you overestimate my influence among their membership. They voted me out, remember?”

Grayson leaned back against a computer console and sighed. His shoulders slumped. “Jesus, Bruce, I hate playing verbal chess with you like this. I care about her, okay? I don’t want her to get hurt. Not again. Not like last time...”

Wayne stood silent and still for several minutes as Grayson waited. Then the older man walked over to stand beside his former and sometime partner, leaning against the same computer console. When he spoke, it was as Bruce Wayne, not as Batman; his voice was gentler, friendlier, though one would have to know him as well as Grayson did to detect the difference.

“I wouldn’t have involved her if I thought she couldn’t handle the situation. You are underestimating her. I’ve worked with her more than you have. She’s ready.”

“Ready for battle. But that’s not the only danger she’s facing,” Grayson said.

Wayne glanced at the younger man beside him. He was one of the few people in the world that Bruce Wayne considered a friend. No, more than a friend…family. That’s why they could fight they way they did and still work together.

“Are you seeing her?” Wayne asked pointedly.

Grayson sighed. “No, of course not, and you know that…”

“Are you...in love with her?”

Grayson paused a long time before answering—as though he were truly searching his heart. “I care about her,” he finally said.

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“No,” Grayson answered quietly. “No, I don’t. But…”

“I’ll walk away,” Wayne stated flatly, staring out into the dark emptiness of the cave. Grayson stared at him, speechless. “When this is over. And I’ll keep things…professional.” Wayne turned his head to look at his erstwhile partner. “That’s what you came to hear, isn’t it?”

Grayson didn’t know what to say in response. He thought that’s what he’d wanted Wayne to say, but now that he heard it…he just knew the man too well, he could hear the hollowness, the reluctance, behind that offer. It surprised the hell out of him. “Bruce, just…do whatever’s best. For both of you. Okay?”

Wayne smiled ruefully. “You trust me to know what that is?”

Grayson smiled back and shrugged. “Do I have a choice?”

The two men stood looking at each other for awhile. Friends, partners, adversaries, competitors…their relationship was too complex for simple labels. They seemed to have a fight every time they met up lately, but each would risk his life for the other in a heartbeat. And had done so, several times.

“As long as you’re here,” Wayne finally said, “if you’re hungry…”

“Uh, no thanks, Bruce. With Alfred gone…”

Wayne glanced at him with annoyance. “I can cook, Dick.”

“Uh, yeah. Right,” Nightwing said dubiously, placing his mask back on his face and began to back away towards his motorcycle. “Look, I gotta get back to Blüdhaven…there might be something going down tonight…you know how it is, right?”

“Hhh.” The Batman was back. He turned towards the computer display.

“Of course you do. You of all people. I’ll take a rain check on the grub, ‘kay?” Nightwing declared as he walked back to his motorcycle and prepared to make good his escape.

“Hrm,” the Batman grunted, pulling his cowl over his head as he heard the bike start and Nightwing left. "I know how to cook..." the Dark Knight muttered insistently to himself in the emptiness of the cave.

Later that same night, the Huntress was patrolling central Gotham. Her lithe form, clad in form-fitting black and violet, leapt and swung gracefully between the rooftops. Just as she was swinging at the end of a taut line of rope between two buildings, the vigilante saw something out of the corner of her eye. She landed deftly on the gravel roof of an old apartment block and looked back at another building across the street, her eyes narrowed. At first she saw nothing and wondered if she'd been mistaken. Then she saw it--a shadow, climbing up a drainpipe, barely noticeable.

"But worth checking out," the Huntress muttered to herself as she threw her line, tested it, and swung over to the top of the building where she'd seen the shadow. She took up a position a few yards from the top of the drainpipe and waited patiently.

A few seconds later, a curvaceous but athletic female form in a tight, dark purple catsuit reached the roof, a cowl with peaked ears over her head. She had a leather bag slung over one shoulder and across her voluptuous torso. The woman froze in position when she saw the Huntress standing in a battle-ready position only a few yards away. The Huntress could hear a low, menacing growl coming from the woman's throat.

"Catwoman," the Huntress said with a hint of menace in her voice. "Just out for a prowl? Or do you have something interesting in that pouch of yours?"

"None of your business, sweetie," the cat burglar hissed at her. The Huntress could see the woman's lean muscles coiling beneath that skin-tight catsuit; her own body tensed, sensing an imminent attack. She knew that the Catwoman wasn't a killer, but that didn't mean she wasn't dangerous.

"Oh, it's my business, 'sweetie'," the Huntress snarled back. "Now we can do this the easy way..."

Suddenly, the Catwoman hissed angrily and launched herself at the Huntress. The dark-clad vigilante pivoted on one foot to avoid the burglar's lunge. The Catwoman lashed out at the Huntress with one of her hands as she flashed by her. The Huntress handily blocked the woman's attack with her forearm, but heard a brief tearing noise. As the Catwoman somersaulted to a landing, the Huntress stole a glance at her dark violet cape and saw that the short, sharp claws embedded in the Catwoman's gloves had slashed four tears into the fabric.

"Okay, hard way it is," the Huntress muttered. "You have any idea how much capes cost these days?"

"Why do you think I don't wear one?" the Catwoman snarled at her.

The two opponents began to circle each other warily. The Huntress moved her hand down to the crossbow slung at her hip. The Catwoman caught the movement and lunged at the Huntress to stop her from retrieving her weapon. The shapely vigilante spun and danced away from the feline's attack, her gloved hand chopping at the Catwoman's wrist to prevent those claws from making contact with her body.

The two adversaries once again came to a stop several yards apart from one another. The Huntress reached to her hip again and retrieved her crossbow. Before she could bring the weapon to bear on her opponent, she heard a sharp whoosh in the air near her, and the small crossbow was violently wrenched from her hand. It bounced and clattered on the rooftop gravel as it spun away from her, out of her reach.

"Damn!" the Huntress swore, then glanced warily at the Catwoman, who was now grinning and playfully swaying a bullwhip at her side. The Huntress hadn't even seen her pull the whip out.

"Kitty's got a tail," the Catwoman drawled. "And a bite..." The Huntress took a wary step towards her crossbow. Catwoman pulled her arm back and sent the whip uncoiling forward. The tip of the whip cracked in the air between the Huntress and her weapon, and the vigilante flinched back away from it. Then the Catwoman laughed, low and long, and the Huntress glared at her angrily.

The Catwoman drew her whip arm back again. As it came forward, so did the Huntress, stepping into the anticipated path of the whip. The leather coil lashed towards her. The Huntress raised her left arm; the whip struck it. The Huntress ground her teeth and ignored the sudden burning pain. She twirled her arm rapidly, coiling the leather lash around her forearm. Her hand grasped the whip at its mid-point, and before the stunned Catwoman could react, the Huntress yanked on the whip, pulling it and Catwoman towards her.

Catwoman stumbled forward before she let go of the whip handle. The Huntress tossed the whip aside, leaned back, raised her leg, and aimed a high kick at her opponent. She struck a glancing blow on Catwoman's chin. The burglar grunted and stumbled back. The Huntress pressed her advantage. She stepped forward and jabbed her right fist at Catwoman's face. The feline criminal blocked the blow, but it was a feint. The Huntress' left stuck her opponent's ribs. Catwoman's eyes went wide as the air left her lungs.

The Huntress struck at Catwoman with her right, but her opponent managed to weakly deflect the blow. Catwoman hissed and swung her clawed hand at the Huntress. The violet-clad vigilante dodged the slashing blow by falling to her left. She caught her weight on her left arm, and swung her right leg at the back of Catwoman's knees. The burglar fell backwards with an angry shriek.

As soon as Catwoman's back struck the rough gravel of the rooftop, the Huntress threw herself on top of her, her legs straddling the burglar's mid-section. The vigilante grabbed Catwoman's wrists and held them down against the gravel, keeping the dangerous claws at bay. Catwoman hissed and growled beneath the Huntress' weight. The two women struggled, sweat running down their faces despite the winter chill, their lithe bodies writhing against each other in a violent stalemate.

"You know," a deep baritone growled from across the rooftop, "there are a lot of men who would pay good money to watch the two of you do this all night." The two combatants ceased their struggles and froze in position. They turned to watch the dark, cowled figure walk slowly towards them, his black scalloped cape hanging from his broad shoulders and barely concealing the powerful body beneath it. "I'm not one of them," the Batman declared sternly. He stopped when he stood barely a yard away from them, looming over the now-still combatants.

"Too bad," Catwoman purred from beneath the Huntress. "Threesomes can be fun," she declared with an impish grin.

The Huntress' upper lip curled in disgust as she looked down at her opponent. "Okay, first? Shut up. Second, ewwww!"

"Stand down. Both of you." the Batman said.

The two women eyed each other warily for a moment. Then the Huntress shifted her weight, let go of Catwoman's wrists, and sprang to her feet. She immediately assumed a defensive position and kept her eyes on her opponent. Catwoman lay still for a moment, glaring at the Huntress from behind her mask with contempt.

"Guess you like being flat on your back," the Huntress muttered as she stepped back from the prone burglar. Catwoman sneered at her and gracefully rose to her feet.

The Huntress walked over to where her crossbow lay on the roof, her eyes never leaving her opponent. She retrieved her weapon and went to stand at the Batman's side. Catwoman smiled saucily at her; then she glanced around the roof herself and spotted her whip. She knelt down to retrieve it, but the Batman's dark boot kicked it away. Catwoman looked up at him and gave an exasperated sigh. She stood up and stared at him, a tired, haven't-we-been-through-this-before expression on her masked face.

One of the Batman's gloved hands emerged from beneath his cape, held open, palm up. Catwoman gave another annoyed sigh, pulled her satchel from her torso, and handed it to him. The Batman examined the zipper carefully, wary of booby-traps, then opened it and dumped the contents out onto the ground.

The Huntress glanced down at a plastic-wrapped sandwich and an apple that had fallen out of Catwoman's leather bag. "You stole someone's lunch?" she asked sarcastically. "That's really lame. What, are you re-living your days as a butch grade school bully now?"

"It's my lunch, brain trust," Catwoman replied. "A girl's gotta eat," she said to Batman with a casual shrug of her slender shoulders.

The Huntress knelt down and picked up the sandwich. "Hm. Peanut Butter and Jam. You really out to be watching your figure, honey," she said as she straightened.

"Why should I, when everyone else is?" the Catwoman purred, shifting her weight and resting her hand on one curvaceous hip while she cast a seductive glance at the Batman, who appeared thoroughly unmoved by her vampish display. The Huntress rolled her eyes and tossed the sandwich back to the burglar.

"Catwoman," the Batman said, "the Huntress and I intercepted a shipment of armor-piercing ammunition recently. Have you heard anything about it?"

The Catwoman's frown was just discernible, despite her mask. "I don't deal with that sort of stuff, you know that," she said, mildly offended.

"I know," the Batman said with forced patience, "but have you heard anything?"

"I'm afraid not," Catwoman replied, then glanced at the two crime-fighters. "Wait a minute. You two are working together now?" she asked with no small amount of incredulity. Neither Batman nor the Huntress replied. "Well," Catwoman said, giving the female vigilante an arch once-over, "I guess I know how you earned that gig, honey."

The Huntress glared at her and opened her mouth to respond. Before she could, the Batman's hand lashed out from beneath his cape and slapped Catwoman across the face, just hard enough to turn her head...and render her speechless. Both women turned and looked at the tall crime-fighter in stunned silence.

"I know you feel you have to behave in a manner that lives up to your namesake, Catwoman," the Batman growled quietly, "but I think that's enough for one night, don't you?"

The female burglar didn't say anything, but eventually responded with a slight nod. The Huntress, meanwhile, stared at the Batman in silent amazement. My God, she thought, was he defending my honor just now?

"If you're both done roughing me up for tonight," the Catwoman said quietly, "I'll be on my way."

"Wait a minute," the Huntress said before Catwoman could leave. "What about some death threats that have been made against Bruce Wayne? You heard anything about that?"

Catwoman shrugged her slender shoulders. "Can't say I have. Check out his ex-girlfriends. That should keep you busy."

"I already made that joke," the Huntress murmured.

"Figures. Too easy," Catwoman muttered. The Huntress glared at her, which made the shapely criminal smile cattily. "Later," she said in a decidedly unfriendly tone of voice.

"Anytime," the Huntress snarled back at her.

The Catwoman bent down and gathered up her whip; then she sashayed to the edge of the roof, her shapely behind swaying as she walked. She lithely leapt over the edge, then vanished silently into the night.

"Well, that was a total bust," the Huntress said in a frustrated tone.

"Hrm."

"Speaking of busts," the Huntress said, glancing down at her chest. The Batman turned to regard her with puzzlement. The Huntress turned and favored him with a mischievous smile. She could have sworn she'd made him shift uncomfortably. Just a little. "Couldn't we have arrested her for something?"

"For what?" the Dark Knight replied, looking slightly more relaxed, but only slightly. "Wasting my time? Selena's made that her life's work."

"Hm. That sounds kind of personal..." the Huntress said quietly. She looked expectantly at the Batman, but he simply stared back at her in silence. The Huntress looked away. Oh, yeah, like he's going to open up and have a heart-to-heart with you. Get a grip, girl...

"Wayne." the Batman said.

"Huh? Oh. Uh, right," the Huntress stammered. "Wayne and I will be, uh, skating at the Gotham Civic Center tomorrow night. No, I'm not kidding. It's the opening night of the winter carnival and..."

"I'm well aware of that," he interrupted. "You'll be extremely exposed. I'll be there, but be prepared for anything."

"I will be," the Huntress said quietly but firmly. The Batman stared at her, and she stared back evenly.

"My gut instinct tells me that the person threatening Wayne will make his move tomorrow," the Dark Night said, his head turning from the Huntress to look out over the city.

"Mine too," the Huntress added. The Batman remained silent, but made no move to leave. "Was there...something else?" The Batman paused for a moment before replying.

"Catwoman is more formidable than most people think. You acquitted yourself well with her," he said evenly.

The Huntress' dark eyes widened slightly behind her mask. She still wasn't used to getting compliments from the Batman. She watched as he turned his head slightly towards her, as if to say something more. If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn that he seemed...hesitant. But she'd never known him to hesitate, or act uncertain. She was sure she was mistaken.

"I...just want you to know," the Batman said quietly, "that I have confidence in you. Whatever we end up facing tomorrow...I'm sure you can handle it."

The Huntress stared at him, her mouth open slightly, but no sound came from it. She was speechless. She'd never expected him to say anything like that to her, not in a million years. She actually felt tears welling up in her eyes and had to blink them away.

"Um..." she murmured, struggling to keep the emotion from her voice. "Th-thank you. I..." She paused, took a deep breath, and straightened her shoulders. "I won't let you down," she asserted.

"See that you don't," he said coldly, returning to the harsh tone she was more used to hearing from him. He turned away from her, his cape flapping quietly in the winter breeze, and a heartbeat later, he was gone. The Huntress remained, standing stock still on the roof for several minutes after he'd left, looking at the spot where he'd been standing and had spoken the words she'd always hoped, but never thought, she'd hear him say.

"Have I mentioned how smashing you look?" Bruce Wayne murmured the next evening, giving Helena an appreciative glance yet again.

"Several times. But don't let that stop you," Helena responded.

She couldn't help smiling. Of all the outfits Wayne had seen her wear, this was by far the most demure: A heavy cable-knit cream-colored wool sweater with a matching cap, worn over a black turtleneck top; black leather gloves on her hands and a long red wool scarf around her neck completed the outfit. Maybe it was her tight black pants, she thought, which highlighted her shapely legs and behind, that brought out his admiration. Or perhaps it was simply the child-like innocence of the entire ensemble. Or the child-like innocence of the activity in which they were engaged.

They were skating together around the large frozen rink created in Gotham's Civic Square for the annual Gotham Winter Carnival. At least two hundred other people were skating clockwise around the rink with them, with at least that many again watching. Every now and then, camera flash bulbs flared in Helena's peripheral vision, a reminder of the presence of the local paparazzi. Three different television cameras from the local station's news telecasts followed the couple's every transit around the rink. On top of that, several bystanders in the watching crowd and the other skaters around them kept turning and craning their necks to catch a glimpse of Gotham's most famous son and his relatively anonymous date.

Helena did her best to ignore the attention and how exposed it made her feel. She cast an admiring glance at the handsome billionaire. He looked smashing himself, she had to admit, in his black leather jacket, tight black jeans, and a snow-white silk cravat tucked in at his throat just so. He looked at her and smiled; not that polished, phony smile she'd seen him use so often, but a genuine, relaxed grin that let her know he was truly enjoying himself, and being with her.

Helena smiled back. She was enjoying herself as well. She hadn't been ice-skating in years, but like riding a bike, she hadn't forgotten how. And Wayne had been, for the first time since she'd first met him, delightful company. So far tonight, he'd kept the leers and the suggestive double-entendres to an absolute minimum, much to her relief. Maybe we're past that, Helena thought hopefully. Maybe our relationship is entering a new phase...

Helena's eyes opened wide in surprise as the thought occurred to her; she nearly stumbled into another skater. Wayne caught her elbow and helped her regain her balance.

"You okay?" he asked with a gentle smile.

"Uh, fine," she replied. "I was woolgathering. Guess I better focus on what I'm doing..." she said with a light laugh.

Helena couldn't believe she'd considered what she and Bruce Wayne had a relationship, even if only for a second. She stole a glance at Wayne's handsome face again. I cannot be falling for him. No way. Besides, that's not what I'm here for...

Helena tore her eyes away from her wealthy and handsome date and reminded herself of the duty the Batman had assigned to her: to protect Wayne from a madman who had threatened his life. She began to scan the crowd of skaters, and those watching them from the edge of the rink, for threats.

She soon gave up. There were too many people, and they were too exposed. She spotted about a half-dozen uniformed officers of the GCPD--all that could be spared for the event in the crime-ridden city. The Batman had told her he'd be present, but that she wouldn't see him, and that was certainly true. If he was in his secret identity, or a disguise, Helena wouldn't know him from Adam. She sighed. If a threat appeared, she'd just have to deal with it as best she could.

Hidden in the crowd, a pair of dark eyes watched the attractive young couple skating with a baleful glare. The tall, thin figure, clad in a long overcoat and broad-rimmed hat, glanced across the rink. He then touched a gloved hand to the brim of his hat. He saw a short, slender figure, also in a long coat and hat, return the signal, then approach a pair of the uniformed officers from behind.

"Are you having a good time?" Wayne asked.

"Hmm?" Helena responded to Wayne's query. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"Woolgathering again?" he said with a slightly abashed grin. "I had no idea I was such an unengaging companion..."

"No, that's not it, Bruce!" Helena said with a soft, embarrassed laugh. "I guess I'm kind of...distracted tonight."

"Anything you'd like to talk about? Something at the school?"

Helena looked at Wayne with no small amount of surprise. It sounded like a sincere offer to lend a supportive ear--like what a friend would do. Since she'd first met him, she'd regarded his public persona as a complete sham. Was he now allowing her to peek beneath that carefully-constructed facade, to see the real man within? She was sorely tempted to keep exploring. Wayne had turned out to be much more...interesting...than she had first supposed. But Helena reminded herself once again of why she was really there.

"Not tonight," she replied with a smile. "Let's just keep skating and have a good..."

She was interrupted by a sudden commotion in the crowd immediately next to them. Several people were gasping, more than one screaming, as the crowd suddenly parted and moved away from the source of the disturbance. Helena and Wayne turned the blades of their skates into the ice and came to a quick stop.

"GOOOOOOOOOOOOD evening Gotham!!" a voice declared with crazed cheerfulness. The tall, thin figure had tossed his wide-brimmed hat aside, revealing a shock of unruly, if close-cropped, green hair. His dark eyes shone maniacally, and a broad, insane grin spread across the lower half of a thin white face. His long overcoat dropped from his shoulders, revealing a purple pin-striped three piece suit worn over an orange shirt, green tie, and black shoes with spats. A ripple of laughter escaped from a face that seemed stolen from some childhood nightmare. "HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!"

"Joker..." Wayne murmured from behind clenched teeth. He glanced at Helena, and his eyes widened with concern. She seemed frozen in place, her dark eyes open wide and riveted on the visage of the homicidal maniac before them. Her face had gone white--nearly as white as the Joker's. She didn't seem to be breathing. "Helena?" Wayne said, gently tugging at her elbow. "Helena!"

But Helena Bertinelli--better known to the Gotham underworld as the Huntress--couldn't tear her eyes or attention away from the bizarre, unsettling figure before her. She hadn't seen him in over a year. Not since that night. The night near the end of No Man's Land. The night the Joker had emptied a revolver into her body with a casualness that had chilled her blood even while it spilled out of her. The night she'd nearly died at his hands.

Before her, events were unfolding rapidly. The two nearest uniformed officers reached for their weapons and rushed the criminal. But the Joker had already drawn a weapon--a large, ridiculous looking handgun. He pointed it at the cops rushing him before they could bring their own weapons to bear; a cloud of smoke exploded from the gun, and those watching in the crowd thought the weapon had misfired. Then the two officers collapsed to the ground, their faces frozen in crazed smiles while pained guffaws escaped from their throats.

"Laughing gas..." Wayne muttered, and took a step towards the Joker. He stopped when a noise from across the rink drew his attention away.

The crowd was screaming there as well. Two other uniformed officers had seen the commotion and started running around the edge of the rink to intercept the Joker when someone had stepped into their path wielding a two huge wooden mallets. Unprepared, the two cops had each been slammed in the face by a mallet and had fallen into the snow, unconscious.

Then the short, feminine figure that had felled the two cops dropped the mallets and pulled a huge blunderbuss from beneath her overcoat. She aimed it at the last pair of uniformed officers across the rink, who were calling on their radios for backup while they drew their weapons. The blunderbuss went off with a loud bang, and a baseball-sized pellet flew across the ice. It exploded in the air above the two cops, and more white laughing gas brought low the only remaining members of the GCPD in the vicinity.

"All clear, Mr. J!" Harley Quinn shouted to her boss, giving a thumbs-up signal, then giggled as she gave her head a shake that made the bells on the end of her harlequin hat jingle.

Wayne turned to face the Joker once again, and found himself staring down the barrel of a .45 automatic. He had no doubt that this weapon would not fire laughing gas. In fact, he had an uneasy feeling that it was probably loaded with samples of those armor-piercing bullets the Batman and the Huntress had intercepted.

"What do you want, Joker?" Wayne asked. He glanced briefly at Helena, who still stood immobile at his side, her body frozen with fear and shock.

"Oh, not much, Mr. Wayne!" the grinning maniac responded in a cheery voice. "A decent job, a woman who loves me, a house with fence made up of those little white pickets that I can shove through my neighbor's skulls when they get on my nerves. HEH HEH!! But seriously. What do I want? You. Dead. Capeesh?"

"Why?" Wayne asked.

"Stalling for time until more of Gotham's Keystone cretins show up? Fine, I'll play! Gotcha dead to rights anyway," the Joker replied, waving the barrel of his gun in the direction of Wayne's chest. He stood about five yards away--just too far to be reached before his first shots went off. "Everybody thinks I'm crazy, did you know that? Said the same thing about Van Gogh, and he only cut his ear off. Artists are never understood in their own time," he said with a shake of his head and a sad sigh. "I accomplished yet another masterpiece during NML. You remember--Gordon's wife?"

"I remember," Wayne snarled, recalling how the Joker had murdered the wife of James Gordon, Gotham City's commissioner of police, and the man the Batman considered his partner and best friend.

"Well, I'm glad to hear someone remembers!" the Joker shouted, clearly annoyed. "'Cause everyone else seems to have forgotten! It's all, 'Bruce Wayne rebuilds orphanage', and 'Wayne Foundation repairs church', and 'Bruce Wayne's greatest erection'...oh, wait, that's the gossip column. Heh. The point is, thanks to you, no one remembers what I did! It's enough to drive a guy crazy!" the Joker concluded, giggling maniacally and pointing the barrel of the gun at his own temple. Wayne took a step forward, but the Joker smiled and pointed the gun at him again. "Ah ah, playboy. Time for another masterpiece. This time, recorded by our faithful media!" He smiled and waved at the cameras that were trained on him and Wayne. "You see, I'm not crazy, I'm just mad! HA HA HA HA!! Get it?"

"I get it, Joker," Wayne replied evenly. "I just don't think it's funny."

"Boy. Tough room," the Joker said, then frowned. "You know, you remind me of someone, but I can't place who. Ah well, not that it's gonna matter when you're a corpse in about five seconds. Goodbye, Mr. Wayne..." The Joker pointed the gun at the billionaire and smiled. Before he could squeeze the trigger, he frowned again when someone stepped between him and his target.

"NO," a female voice declared.

"Helena...what are you doing?" Wayne whispered from behind her.

"Saving your life. Now shut up," Helena murmured without taking her eyes off the Joker.

"Eh, you're kind of in the way, toots," the Joker said, his gun pointed directly at Helena's chest.

"I know," Helena responded, then smiled slightly as she realized the exchange echoed the one she'd had with this same maniac nearly a year before...just before he'd shot her. Only a moment before, she'd been frozen, unable to move. Now, she glared at her opponent steadily, her nerves calm with certainty of purpose.

At first, she'd felt abject, paralyzing fear when confronted by the man who'd nearly taken her life. But the fear had given way to anger. Your rage, your anger—it’s a weapon, the Batman had told her. She finally understood what he meant. The Huntress had wielded her anger clumsily, like a bludgeon, striking at anyone who earned her wrath. But now she took hold of her anger as though clasping a rapier, and stepped forward to engage her opponent skillfully.

"God, you're pathetic," she said dryly. The Joker's eyebrows raised. "The scary homicidal maniac! Oooo, run for your lives, everybody!" she said in a mocking tone, waving her arms beside her shoulders in a parody of panic. The Joker's dark eyes went wide with indignation. "You know what I think? You're not crazy. You're not crazy at all. What you really are is a coward."

"HA HA HA!!" the Joker laughed, his gaunt white face incredulous. "Me? A coward?! The guy who goes looking for Batman every time he breaks out of Arkham? Who's crazy now, girlie? I think I've had enough of this." He pointed the gun at Helena's chest.

"Go ahead!" she said, a broad smile on her face. "Kill me! Kill him!" she added, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder at Wayne. The Joker stared at her; no one had ever spoken to him like this before. He froze, partly in shock, partly in fascination. "Hell, kill everyone here!" Helena continued, gesturing at the crowd that watched the scene unfolding before them with such shock and horror that it held them immobile.

"But it won't help, will it? It never helps. You know why?" Helena snarled, then, with a single push of her skate, glided across the ice towards where the glaring psychopath stood at the edge of the rink. "Because no matter how many people you kill, you're still left with yourself. That's what you can't stand. The gutless wonder who can't face whatever turned you into the freak you've become. What was it? Your parents? Girlfriend? Wife? Kids? Do you even remember?"

"Shut up," the Joker muttered through clenched teeth. He wasn't smiling anymore. Helena was standing right in front of him.

"Oh, I'm sure you can make me," she said under her breath. "But you can't shut up the voices in your head. The ones that keep telling you how you screwed up. How you failed. Kill all the victims you want, but their screams won't drown out those voices! Can't you hear them? I can!!"

"Shut up! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!" the Joker screamed, but he didn't seem to be yelling at Helena anymore. He pressed both his hands over his ears.

It was the opening Helena had been looking for. Her hand shot forward and grabbed the wiry maniac's gun arm around the wrist. She gave the Joker's arm a sudden, sharp twist. The clown-faced lunatic screamed in pain and his gun dropped from his hand. Helena wasted no time. She knew he had other weapons hidden in that ridiculous costume. Her knee exploded upwards, slamming into the Joker's groin. The maniac groaned, his eyes bulging in his head as his body folded forward. Helena drew her arm back and chopped at his scrawny neck. The Joker fell forwards, his head slamming against the hard ice, and he lay there, quite still.

"HEY!!" Harley Quinn shouted from a several yards away. "You keep your hands off Mr. J, you BITCH!!" She drew a handgun from her overcoat and angrily sprang onto the ice and began to run towards Helena to mete out her revenge. She immediately regretted her decision--as much as an insane person could, at any rate. Harley's shoes lost their grip on the slick ice surface and her legs sprawled and slipped beneath her. She threw her hands out at her sides, windmilling them desperately to keep her balance. "WHOAH!" she shouted, her eyes opening wide.

Helena sneered and skated ferociously towards Harley, her blades grinding on the ice like those of a hockey player.

"UH-OH!!" Harley cried as she saw Helena approaching. She tried to bring her gun to bear, but as she did so, lost her balance once again and was obliged to throw her gun arm out to her side. Just then, Helena lowered her torso and turned so her right shoulder was leading forward. She collided into Harley and executed a perfect body check that would have impressed an NHL talent scout. Harley went flying backwards and slammed into a park bench. Her gun flew harmlessly from her hand, and the back of her head struck the bench's metal arm. She collapsed face-first into the snow, out cold in more ways than one.

Helena stood above her second fallen opponent, breathing heavily, the adrenaline pumping fiercely in her body. Her gaze was torn from Harley Quinn a moment later when she heard a strange noise. She wondered at first if it was the sound of her blood pumping in her ears. Then she recognized it. It was applause.

Incredulous, Helena looked around and realized that the entire crowd--skaters and spectators alike--where clapping and cheering. For her, for what she'd done. As much as Gotham City lived in the protective shadow of the Bat, it also lived in fear of the unpredictable rampages of the Joker. But tonight, for the first time, it wasn't the Batman who'd brought the feared maniac down; it wasn't even the police. It was her--as far as anyone in the crowd knew, she was just another citizen of Gotham like themselves, but she'd stood up the Joker and she'd won.

The applause went on and on. Helena glanced around at the crowd, uncertain as to how she should respond. An abashed smile appeared on her face, and she gave an embarrassed shrug. It only made the crowd cheer louder. Then she noticed the cameras flashing at her from the crowd, and her smile disappeared. She couldn't risk this sort of exposure. Suddenly, Bruce Wayne was there at her side, a proud, pleased smile on his face.

"That was remarkable, Helena," he said, his voice reverent with genuine admiration. "Truly remarkable..."

"Bruce, please," she pleaded, placing her hands on his arm. "The press...I don't want..."

Suddenly, Wayne's features became serious, and he nodded; of all people in Gotham, he would surely understand her desire to avoid unwanted press attention.

"This way," he said, gently clasping her arm and skating with her through the still-applauding throng to a group of police officers that had just arrived. The local reporters pressed in on them, shouting questions, but the cops pressed them back. A moment later, Helena found herself in the back of a police cruiser with Bruce Wayne, explaining what exactly had transpired to Detective Renée Montoya. After both of them had gone over the story at least twice, Montoya left them alone in the car together while she went to confer with her colleagues.

"How are you doing?" Wayne asked Helena quietly once Montoya had gone.

"I'm...okay, I guess," Helena replied. "Kind of shaky, now that it's over. I'm still...angry, though."

"At the Joker?" Wayne asked.

"Yes," Helena lied. There was someone else she was mad at. A certain long-eared vigilante who'd set her up...

Wayne looked at her and smiled apologetically. "This...isn't exactly how I wanted the evening to turn out, Helena."

"No, I wouldn't imagine so!" she replied with a laugh.

"I, ah...hope you'll give me a chance to make it up to you," he said softly. "I mean, you did just save my life."

"You don't owe me anything, Bruce," she said with a shake of her head. "I did what I had to do..."

"It isn't just that," he said, and Helena turned to look at him. The intensity of his stare nearly took her breath away. "You're a remarkable woman, Helena. I meet a lot of women, as you know, but very few as impressive as you. I'd...well, I'd like to get to know you better. And I'd like you to get to know me better, too. If...that's something you'd like to do."

Helena looked for a moment into those intense, crystal-blue eyes, and--much to her surprise--was sorely tempted by his offer. Her response had nothing to do with his wealth or his good looks; she suddenly realized that Bruce Wayne fascinated her. In her brief time with him, she'd glimpsed hidden depths in the man, depths she never would have guessed existed when she'd first met him. And yet, an instant after she experienced the temptation of being with him, she realized it would never work.

"I...I'm sorry, Bruce," she said softly. "You're...a fascinating man, and, I think, a decent one, behind that mask you wear in public." She saw his eyes open wide at that remark. She turned her gaze from him. "I just don't belong in your world. I'm sorry."

"Helena," he said softly, "if it's about what happened tonight..."

"That's not it," she whispered. "You just...have too many barriers, Bruce. I should know, I have a few myself. I don't know if we'd ever really get to know one another. I think it's best...if it ends here. Before it goes any further, and one of us, or both of us, gets hurt."

He was silent for a very long time. Then he smiled ruefully and nodded. "I understand. You know, a lot of people wouldn't believe this, but this isn't the first time I've been turned down." Helena turned to look at him, saw his sheepish grin, and laughed softly. Wayne began to laugh along with her. A moment later, he held out his hand. "Friends?" he said.

Helena nodded, then reached out and shook his hand. "Friends," she replied.

"Thank you," Wayne said, and Helena's eyebrows rose in quizzical surprise. "Another thing a lot of people may not believe: I don't have that many true friends."

"You know," Helena said, "neither do I..."

They glanced at one another and nodded knowingly, two people from very different backgrounds who nonetheless shared so much in common. More, in Helena's case, than she realized.

Much later that same night, Helena Bertinelli emerged from her shower, dried herself off, and wrapped a burgundy terrycloth bathrobe around her naked body. It was one in the morning, and she'd only gotten home a half hour before. It had taken the police forever to take statements from everyone in the crowd; eventually, Bruce Wayne had been forced to throw his not-inconsiderable weight around so he could take her home while the police took the Joker and Harley Quinn back to Arkham Asylum.

Helena looked back on the evening with no small amount of satisfaction. She'd saved Wayne's life, she'd successfully confronted the lunatic who'd almost taken hers, and had ended her relationship with the billionaire on friendly terms. Despite the misgivings she'd initially felt about this mission, she regarded it as a success.

She just hoped the Batman would see it the same way.

Helena walked into her bedroom and opened her closet door, then opened the secret panel at the back that concealed her costume and battle gear. She knew she should head out into the night and patrol as she usually did. She knew she could expect an encounter with the Dark Knight, most likely a thorough debriefing. No doubt he'd go over all the mistakes she'd made; after all, she'd nearly blown her secret identity, and the Joker had come dangerously close to killing Wayne, herself, and several other people. Her hand touched the dark violet and black garment. She stared at it for several minutes.

"No," she finally said. "I did my good deed for the day. I've earned a night off."

She walked into her kitchen and made herself some herbal tea, then sat down at the kitchen table to sip it. She realized she felt slightly melancholy and felt no small amount of surprise when she realized it was over the end of her relationship--if it could truly be called that--with Bruce Wayne.

Helena suddenly understood why she couldn't bring herself to put on the costume and go out into the night: because if she'd been any other woman, she would not have turned him down. Her rejection had nothing to do with Wayne and his barriers, though they were formidable. It had everything to do with her own. How could she hope to get in past his defenses when he'd no doubt sense she was holding him outside her own? Even if she did reveal her secret life to him, how could she ever hope that he'd understand or accept it?

Helena shook her head. "No. I made the right decision."

"What decision was that?" a low baritone asked from behind her.

"JESUS!!" Helena exclaimed as she jumped up from the table, her mug flying from her grasp and clattering on the table's surface, hot tea spilling everywhere. She turned and glared at the tall, dark figure standing behind her. "Son of a BITCH!" she swore. "Would it kill you to KNOCK!?!"

The Batman watched her impassively, his powerful body almost completely concealed by the dark scalloped cape that hung over his broad shoulders, as she pulled some paper towels from a roll and wiped up the mess she'd made. The mess he made me make, she thought angrily.

"What decision?" he repeated.

"I broke it off with Wayne," she said matter-of-factly. She wasn't about to share her innermost feelings with the iceberg that walked like a man.

"Hm," the Batman grunted, then paused for a moment before saying his piece. "The police discovered that the Joker was behind bringing those armor-piercing bullets into town. Makes my blood run cold when I try to imagine what he may have been planning to do with them."

Helena made no response to indicate she'd heard him. She angrily tossed the sopping paper towels into the garbage and turned to once again glare at the Dark Knight. They stood silently in her kitchen for several minutes as she seethed. Eventually, she could contain herself no longer.

"Who the HELL do you think you are, playing with people's lives like this?!?" she shouted.

"Keep your voice down, Helena..." he growled.

"NO, I will NOT keep my voice down, you bastard!" she yelled at him. "I hope the whole damn city hears me! You set me up, you son of a bitch! You risked my life and Wayne's, and why? To test me? To see if I could face down the lunatic that almost killed me a few months ago? You knew it was that white-skinned maniac threatening Wayne, don't try to tell me otherwise!" She paused, and the Batman said nothing. His silence gave her all the confirmation she needed. "GOD!! I knew it! Would you have been satisfied if he'd killed me this time? If he'd taken care of me for you, finally?"

"Helena..."

"NO!!" she exclaimed, pointing a finger at him angrily. "You don't get to 'Helena' me! Not now, not ever! We are not on a first name basis, you bastard! I don't care if I'm not in the costume! You call me 'Huntress', or you don't call me anything at all!"

She turned from him, threw her arms up in the air, and gave an angry, anguished cry of exasperation. Her hands clasped the edge of her kitchen sink tightly, and her shoulders were hunched up to her earlobes. She then took several long, deep breaths as she struggled to calm herself. She wrapped her arms around her upper body and hugged herself, then dropped her arms to her sides. Her anger finally dissipated; she only felt tired now.

"It's about trust," she said quietly, her voice quavering slightly with emotion and exhaustion. "You're asking me to trust you, but you don't trust me. How can I, when you don't? And how can I learn from you without that trust?"

"Helena..."

"I told you not to call me..."

"Helena, I do trust you."

"What?" she asked, perplexed, then turned around to face him. "What do you..."

But Helena never managed to ask her next question. Instead, her voice froze in her throat. She stared at the Batman in wide-eyed amazement. No, not the Batman. The Batman was gone. Except he wasn't. He had pulled back his cowl, and there, standing in her kitchen, his body clad in the Batman's costume, was Bruce Wayne. His ice-blue eyes held no anger, no rancor, no condemnation. They watched Helena calmly, awaiting her next word, her next action.

It was a good thing that the Batman was a patient man, because it took Helena Bertinelli several minutes to process what he'd just revealed to her. Gradually, her shock and incredulity gave way to recognition; slowly but surely, it all started to make sense to her. Wayne's phony public persona. The Batman's many expensive, technologically advanced tools and weapons, things only a billionaire could afford. The hardness that sometimes came over Wayne, a hardness she now realized she'd seen in the Batman's stern features.

And his parents. Helena recalled once again the story of the murder of Wayne's parents, by a criminal, right in front of the young boy's eyes. And she knew, at that moment, that he saw that event replayed every time he closed his eyes and went to sleep. Because she saw something similar every night in her dreams as well: her family, gunned down in front of her at the tender age of eight.

So every night they both went out, to punish the bad men who had robbed them of their families, of their childhoods, of their innocence. They dressed in scary costumes to frighten the bad man and make him go away. They gave vent to their rage, to the beast the horrific events of their childhoods had awakened. Helena had sensed that she and Wayne had more in common than she'd first supposed, but this...

"Oh my God," she breathed. She took a step towards him, then stopped.

"I don't think I have to tell you that I've revealed my secret to only a select few," Wayne told her quietly. "You're now in a club that includes Nightwing, Robin, Oracle, and Alfred, my...former butler. Oh, and Superman."

"Pretty...select company," Helena muttered.

"A couple of my enemies know as well, unfortunately. But I didn't choose to tell them."

"Um...do you...mind if I sit down?" Helena said softly, then lowered herself into a kitchen chair without waiting for his response. She sat there, staring at him, for some time. Finally she spoke. "Bruce...why the charade? I don't mean..." she said, gesturing at his costume. "You obviously could have handled the Joker and his threats without me. Why did you put me through that?"

"Bane," Wayne answered enigmatically, the hardness in his voice letting Helena know that she was now speaking with the Batman side of his persona.

"I'm sorry... Bane was involved? How?" Helena asked, truly perplexed.

"Only in the most indirect manner," Wayne answered, a grim smile coming to his lips. "A couple of years back, Bane defeated me, Helena. He broke me. Literally."

"Your back. I know, Dick...Nightwing...told me." She shook her head. "I've...always admired how you overcame that. But what does that have to do with me?"

"Don't you see?" Wayne/Batman asked her, his eyes regarding her intensely. As she saw the uncharacteristic emotion in his eyes, Helena realized that pulling back the cowl--the mask--allowed him to talk to her, to open up to her like this. Batman would never speak to her this way. Neither, for that matter, would Bruce Wayne. But this combination--this hybrid of the two personalities--it could be open and honest with her. "Can you imagine what it was like for me to confront Bane again after that? But I had to. I had to prove I could beat him--not only to him, but to myself."

"I think I know exactly how you felt," Helena said, her voice barely audible. "I felt that way tonight. I froze..."

"Only for a moment. And you beat him," Wayne said, leaning his upper body on the kitchen table. "And more importantly, you overcame your own fear. I knew you could."

"Then why...engineer it like this?" Helena asked. She shook her head sadly, her long, black hair swaying at the side of her face. "It's like I said. You don't trust me..."

"That's not it, Helena."

"Then tell me why," she said insistently.

Wayne sighed. "Gotham's a small town, when it comes to us and our foes. I knew you'd encounter the Joker sooner or later, and I wanted to be there when you did. When he started sending me threats, I...seized upon it as an opportunity, especially since I'd be the main target instead of you. If you feel I manipulated you, I can't help that. You're probably right. But I thought it was necessary."

"Maybe it was, but I still don't understand," Helena said, her dark eyes regarding Wayne quizzically. "Not that I don't appreciate it, but why did you want to be there at my side when I confronted him?"

"He's insane. That makes him unpredictable, and that, in turn, makes him extremely dangerous. No matter how well prepared you are, he can surprise you. I..." Wayne paused and looked away from her. When he spoke, the words came out slowly and quietly--as though with great difficulty. "I didn't want you to get hurt. Again. Like the last time."

After a moment's pause, Helena laughed softly. "I didn't know you cared."

Wayne turned back to face her again, and the intensity of his gaze made her sit back in her chair. "Of course I care!" he said, his voice hoarse and insistent. "Of course I care about you. I care about everyone in this city. I care so much I..." His voice caught in his throat, and he looked away from her. He took a deep breath before continuing. "I've been told, however, that I'm...not exactly forthcoming when it comes to letting my feelings be known."

"Join the club," Helena responded quietly. Wayne turned to her, and slowly, a gentle smile came to his lips. Helena returned the expression. They remained silent for several minutes. Then Helena cleared her throat. "So...where do we go from here?" she asked, her voice betraying more anxiety than she'd intended.

Wayne straightened, then reached behind his head and began to pull his cowl forward. "We should continue your training," he said flatly. "Come by the mansion tomorrow afternoon. We can work on..."

"No," Helena said, rising from her chair swiftly and gently placing a hand on his forearm to prevent him from disappearing beneath the mask once again. "I meant...us, Bruce. Where does this leave us?"

The question seemed to stagger Wayne; he blinked several times in surprise as he struggled to formulate an answer. "I...thought you made that clear earlier tonight, Helena."

"But that was before I knew," she replied. "This...it changes everything, Bruce. I always thought, when I chose this life, that I'd have to be alone. I'm sure you thought the same thing. But, God, you're one of the few people who could really understand..." She saw his wary expression and caught herself. She slowly pulled her hand back, then sighed. "Look, I'm not proposing marriage, okay, playboy? I can't believe I'm even saying this to you, and if you put that mask back on, I know I'll never be able to. I just think that...maybe we could...try, you know?"

Wayne paused a moment, then pulled the cowl back over his face. The gesture conveyed his answer, and Helena's gaze dropped to the floor and she sighed sadly. Should have known those barriers were impenetrable, she thought.

"If I'm to train you, if I'm to teach you how to survive out there," the Batman intoned with a slight nod of his cowled head towards the city outside Helena's kitchen window, "then we should keep our relationship...professional. Understood?"

"Yes," Helena answered, lifting her head to look evenly at the Batman through those opaque eye slits in his cowl. "Of course."

The Dark Night gave her a slight nod, then switched off the light in her kitchen, plunging it into darkness. He opened the door that led out to her tiny apartment balcony, his dark, shadowy form filling the doorway. A blast of cold winter air entered the kitchen, and Helena shivered briefly in her robe.

The Batman took one step outside, then paused. He turned his head back towards her, and Helena suddenly got the impression that his eyes were taking one last look at her. She blushed in the darkness when she remembered that she had nothing on but a bathrobe, and that had been the case throughout their encounter. Her hand unconsciously pulled the lapels of the robe together at her throat. Helena looked at the lower half of the Batman's face, the only part not covered by his mask, and thought she saw the slightest of smiles tugging at the corners of those thin lips.

"At least for now," he said. Then the Batman disappeared, silently, into the night.

THE END