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Dark Humor	By : xxnadsxx Category: zMisplaced Stories [ADMIN use only] > Batman (All Movies) > Batman (All Movies) Views: 2361 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
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Dark Humor
Seven
�Justice is
Balance.�
--Ra�s Al Ghul

�Wh-What are you doing?�
Rachel found herself staring into the barrel of a gun.
Officer Ramirez stood before her in the pervading darkness, a grim smile etched
upon her barely discernible face. She was clutching the handgun in a death
grip, her white-knuckled fingers tensed to pull the trigger at any moment.
Rachel fought the panic that threatened to overtake her mind, her own fingers
trembling uncontrollably against the knife in her hand.
The look on Ramirez�s face had no trace of hope in it. She
had all intent to kill.
Carefully, Rachel found herself moving in a half-circle
about the room, Ramirez following with agile speed, the gun never leaving its
aim at the D.A.�s head. Her body was wracked with panic, so cold and heavy it
jarred her mind into a prickling numbness, shooting fear through her veins
faster than the adrenaline that already seeped through them. Rachel didn�t know
where the Joker was now; he could run up behind her and run her through with
his knife if he wanted. All she could bring herself to stare at was the handgun
threatening to destroy her with every passing second, Ramirez�s hard eyed glare
like a poised predator.
�I�m just siding with the winning team, Rachel.�
As the officer spoke, Rachel�s gut churned.
The bitch. The traitorous, lecherous bitch.
Once a crooked cop, always a crooked cop. Remember?
How could she have brought herself to trust her? How could
she have been so stupid? To still think that the woman who had played a
role in Harvey�s death would have been repentant, would have had any ounce of
pity left within her?
No, it was easier for her to keep killing. Easier for her to
keep working for the mob, to keep working for him, the man who had
orchestrated this entire trap, than turn her back and try and reform. Even if
it meant taking Rachel�s life.
As if in agreement to her thoughts, Ramirez smirked
mockingly, jutting her chin upwards,
�No hard feelings?�
Waves of hostility rippled through her at Ramirez�s taunt.
She clenched the blade of her knife firmly in her hand, her eyes narrowing in
defiance,
�Fuck you.�
Ramirez�s hand moved�at first Rachel thought it was for the
trigger, but she merely used her free hand to swipe across her mouth, as if to
control the laugh that burst from her lips,
�Really, I don�t think it�s a good idea to curse at the
people who can kill you right now. Now,�
With a quick flourish, she cocked her handgun and aimed at
Rachel�s forehead with both hands,
�On your knees.�
She hesitated for a moment at Ramirez�s command, as if
weighing her options. The traitor was facing her, not even a foot away, and if
she paused and did as she was told there was no chance she wouldn�t get a
bullet right between her eyes. If she made to run, there was a slighter chance
of survival�but barely, as the officer seemed poised and ready for that
outcome, and obviously had formidable aim by the way she was handling her
weapon.
Instead, Rachel shook her head, continuing to walk in a slow
circle, her heart beating faster with every step, knowing each may be her last.
Ramirez�s eyes widened slightly, obviously not expecting this, and her gun
almost seemed to quaver in her grip as she repeated her words,
�On your knees. I mean it, Miss D.A.�
Rachel was still shaking her head, struggling to fight the
raw fear that clung to her like a second skin. Ramirez hadn�t shot her
yet�maybe this was a good sign. Maybe she could still talk to her.
�You don�t have to do this.�
Her voice was quiet, cracking against her struggle to keep
it steady and formidable. Ramirez was the one to shake her head, now, her gaze
unnerved and skeptical, her eyes wide and narrowed,
�You think I have a fucking choice? It�s your life
for Gotham�s, Rachel. For my mother�s. What choice do I have?�
Rachel swallowed her rampant heart forcefully in her throat,
�It�s okay�it�ll be fine. You can keep me alive, you can
walk out that door right now, and Gordon and the others will resolve it in the
morning. They can put you on protection, and me, too, and Gotham will be unharmed.
You know there�s another way, there always is. Now please�please drop
the gun.�
Ramirez�s hands shook, yet her aim did not falter. Rachel�s
nails dug into the skin of her palm as her grip on her knife tightened,
watching the woman who held her life in her hands. Her legs were tiring; she
couldn�t keep this up for long, not while her head still throbbed, her
situation becoming more and more hopeless. She couldn�t do this anymore�it had
to end, and suddenly, raw boldness took her as she slowly walked forward,
her hands held out, palm upwards, the knife glistening in the moonlight,
�Drop the gun, Ramirez.�
The officer scowled and shook her head again; Rachel was
coming closer and closer to the weapon, yet with each step the gun merely trembled
more forcefully.
�No.�
Rachel�s nerves were fraying, collapsing in on themselves;
the gun was so close any pull of the trigger could shoot the bullet straight
through her brain. The fear in her eyes was exposed as she stood still before
Ramirez, her knife still splayed on upturned palms, yet her voice was high and
stiff with nerves,
�Drop the gun!�
All the steadiness of Ramirez�s gaze drained away from her
face, instead contorting into wide-eyed panic at Rachel�s proximity. Her gun
shook so wildly Rachel was stunned it hadn�t flown from her hands. Ramirez was
backing away, her jaw clenched,
�You can�t fucking make me! You can�t even hurt a
fly!�
In her heightened panic, Ramirez�s finger grew heavy on the
trigger. Rachel grabbed her blade, yet she knew at once it was the wrong choice
to make�
Ramirez screamed for her to stop as Rachel leapt forward,
thrusting her entire body at the officer. The cries of protest were all she
could hear against the deafening gunshot and their bloodcurdling screams.
Red hot pain bloomed across her shoulder as the sound of the
shot tore at her ears. In an instant she was falling, Ramirez beneath her, the
gun clattering to the carpet. She heard her own ear-splitting scream, echoed by
Ramirez� in her ears as a revolting squelching noise shot through the air, a
desperate gurgle�then, finally, finally, it was quiet.
Darkness bled across her vision, followed by hot white
lights of prickling pain. Her body felt shattered like glass, her nerves
tearing with each racking breath. The gun wasn�t poised to shoot any longer,
despite the pain that bit at every nerve, and for a fleeting moment she felt
the primal rush of euphoria it felt to still be alive.
She wasn�t aware until she looked down that her hands were
slick with blood.
Beneath her, Ramirez�s were eyes wide opened yet ghastly
cold and still.
Rachel let out a deep, shuddering gasp, her body buckled and
cold except the scalding heat of the blood on her quivering hands. Heaving
herself away from the limp body beneath her, she gazed in horror at the kitchen
knife�her knife�sticking through the officer�s throat, the trail of crimson
gushing freely in streams to dirty her immaculate white carpet, her white
fingers.
Her shoulder ached and stung with each movement of her arms
as she pulled herself to her knees. The bullet had bitten through, and her own
blood matted her bare skin, the side of her nightgown. It trailed across the
pink fabric in deep, dark scarlet, the stream of blood never seeming to end,
her own liquid mingled with Ramirez�s.
When would it ever end?
Rachel forced herself to lean forward despite the shooting
pain in her limb, and, fighting back the sob in her throat, gingerly touched
the officer�s throat. Fresh currents of red spurted in streams across her
carpet. She covered her mouth with a blood-coated hand and fought the urge to
vomit, her eyes tearing, her breath frantic. Her door was shattered, her
apartment streaked with blood and the already-apparent smell of death.
She had killed Ramirez�
Killed the woman before she could kill her.
As the realization sank in, Rachel fell to her knees,
covered her ears with her hands, and screamed.
oOo

How many times was it, now, that she�s blacked out?
She was sitting, propped up like a doll, against her kitchen
chair, watching with glassy eyes the officers huddled about Ramirez�s cold
body, inspecting her with the hardness of an object. Her eyes still stung with
tears, yet she found no more strength in her to cry. They hadn�t been tears for
the officer, but tears for herself�for what she had done, for taking another
human life, if an act of self-defense or not. And they were going to find out,
wouldn�t they, no matter how silent she had been when asked what had happened?
They had found the Joker card, left behind in Ramirez�s pocket, yet there was
no doubt whose fingerprints marred the knife, no doubt that she was now as good
as the criminals she prosecuted.
The Joker�s words throbbed through her mind like a mantra,
vicious and painful and so terrifyingly logical.
Maybe we're more, ah�made for one another than you once
thought, Rachel, thinking you were better than all the criminals you've helped
Dent put to jail, thinking you got some sort of self-worth and satisfaction
from all of it, hmm? But to know now that Batman would have betrayed you, that
your closest associates are working for Maroni�how does it feel to have no one
to trust, not even yourself any longer?
No�she didn�t care anymore, didn�t care if they would see
her as a killer. Wasn�t that what she really was, now? She shut her eyes
and swayed in her seat, her hands clasped against her knees. She had killed
Ramirez, and the worst thing was, the reason her tears still ached to fall
against the insides of her lids�
�She had actually enjoyed it.
She could remember, beyond the overwhelming guilt, the
sickening satisfaction that slithered within her, venomous and penetrating. She
remembered the feeling of relief at gazing down at that cold, inert
body, the feeling that she would never have to see this woman again,
would never have to endure Ramirez�s hostility, never would have to feel the
pain at letting her go free when she had caused Harvey�s death�
Almost as if I was happy to see her bleed. As if it served
payback for Harvey�s blood, as if it was the only fitting form of justice�
Justice.
The word burned in her throat, acidic and stinging in all
its jaded meaning�a traitor in the false, empty hopes it inspired.
This had been her own form of justice�accidental; yet so
horribly right in her mind, so regretless it chilled her to the bone.
Prosecuting had always been difficult, if not formerly fulfilling; the
criminals were in your face, taunting you with the written implications of the
law, finding loop holes through bribes and threats only to escape and cause
more damage.
But this�this had ensured Ramirez wouldn�t have run anymore
crooked deals. No more deaths, no more murders. No more people like Harvey,
innocent and desperately hoping in the good of others, dying at the hands of
corruption. No more people like her, grieving endlessly for the loss of
the man she had loved most in her life.
She wanted to scream at herself for how much sense it
all made. For how at peace she felt; numb, detached, untouched from the world.
There was no grieving, no guilt beyond that of human habit.
It was then that her eyes caught the flit of a black cape
before her, and her vision darkened as the silhouette overtook her
blood-splattered being. Even as dawn filtered through her windows, alighting
her wrecked home like fire, he stood still like a total eclipse to douse
everything in cold.
An obstruction in her path, like always.
�Batman.�
He stood before her, his masked face stern and carefully
apathetic as usual as he scanned her frame to survey the damage. She watched as
the vigilante took in the sight of her shoulder, now bandaged and matted with
blood, at the stained nightgown she hadn�t changed since last night. He wasn�t
standing as straightly as before�he was hunched over, slightly, his wounds
still healing.
The stubborn bastard.
She saw the way his gaze darkened when he eyed that
blossoming, bloody wound that had raked her shoulder. He would blame himself
for allowing this to happen, she knew�yet, for some strange reason, Rachel
found she didn�t really care. All she cared was that a part of her mind
seemed to feel remotely normal, again, calm and rational. Bruce was
making his own choice in dragging himself from the hospital to play the weakened
role of the vigilante who couldn�t kill. His choices wouldn�t affect her
anymore.
Not when she wasn�t the Rachel he knew anymore. Not when he
could never truly protect her again.
�What happened here? Who hurt you?� He asked in his gruff,
scratchy voice, always so carefully concealed.
Rachel watched him carefully, contemplating on telling him
the truth outright.
I killed Ramirez, that�s what happened. She tried to
attack me, and I stabbed her and took her life, and now what are you going to
do, Bruce? Throw me in jail? Arkham, perhaps? Prosecute me like all the rest?
She turned her head and spoke, automatically, her mind slack
and numb with the slowness of her words,
�The Joker came to my apartment last night. And so did
Ramirez.�
It was all she could say before she turned her gaze towards
the circle of officers, still prodding and nudging the body with curious apathy,
as if it had not been a living being mere hours ago. As if it was a piece of
furniture. It sent a jolt of smugness through her, one that terrified her even
more intensely, as she thought of Harvey�s body, lying out of her reach, and
the body that was so roughly handled before her that had brought her fianc�e
into such a state in the first place.
It was as if some carnal craving had been satisfied, though
not completely�never completely.
Batman was silent for a moment. She could feel his eyes
analyzing her, penetrating her, as if struggling to tear from her mind the
truth. But her body was limp and mute and overwhelmingly tired.
�It�s important that we know everything that happened,
Rachel.� In order to properly catch and put the Joker in his place.�
She laughed.
She couldn�t help it; the bitter laughter bubbled through
her, escaped her lips in an upturned, angered sneer,
�His place? You couldn�t even keep him in that cell
before. What makes you think you can now?�
Her tone was bitter and hard; she hadn�t meant it that way,
yet it was how her lips processed the words, how it sounded in her ears. Bruce
grew stiff beneath his bulky suit; she could practically feel his nerves taut
in the air.
�We�ll get him, Rachel�him and everyone else responsible.�
His words held a meaning, meaning she wasn�t sure whether to
attribute to her own dementia or his suspicion. Rachel found herself laughing;
bitter, angry laughter, frustrated chuckles that surfaced from her eyes in
prickling, unshed tears. Get him? Who in God�s name had the power to get
him, to lock him up and keep him there, when he slithered through every
obstacle in his path like a serpent, scheming and malicious and always ready to
strike when you least expected it?
What could you do but kill him?
�You�re never going to get him,� She whispered to his
retreating back as he walked across her room toward Ramirez�s body, �Not unless
you break your rule.�
He paused, then, a block of black ice. Recognition plastered
itself across his features as he turned to stare at her, and for once, for a
fleeting moment, Rachel could see fear flickering in those heavy eyes. Her
words had been spoken before, she realized; spoken before and ignored. And look
where it had gotten them. Look where it had gotten her.
He was staring at her as if she were the very same criminal
he had been hunting.
There�s no longer any difference, is there? Not even to
Batman. Not even to�
�Bruce.�
Her voice was a soft whisper as she lowered her head,
watching the bottoms of the figures examining the fallen officer�s body. How
long could they look at a corpse, how long could they nudge and prod and poke
and just leave it in her room? Her frustration grew until Gordon emerged
from the crowd, his face grim, mouth set in a thin line. He was walking towards
her, and her heart beat quickly despite herself.
She expected the same look on his face that Bruce had held�fear,
recognition; hostility. Yet he was watching her with sympathy, the guilt that
plagued his gentle irises so intense that bile rose against her throat for the
second time that night. He regarded her carefully before speaking,
�Rachel�can you tell us why the Joker stabbed Ramirez?�
What?
Rachel fought the shocked expression that threatened to
surface upon her features. She blinked, her body hot with bewilderment. Her
mouth opened once, twice, found the words caught in her throat, never expecting
this to happen. The best possible outcome of the situation, in her mind,
had been that they acknowledged her murder of Ramirez as self-defense. But to
not even know she killed her, when it was her knife, her�
�Look, we need to know, Rachel,� Gordon continued in a
gentle voice, his hand on her shoulder, �I understand if you�re still in shock
from what happened the other night. But the Joker�s cards were all over her
body, and that knife had no fingerprints at all. Now you may not remember, or
you may have fainted, but if you do, please tell me.�
His cards. Her fingerprints, wiped completely clean.
Her body went cold as the realization rushed through her,
the only obvious logical thought within the illogical insanity that had become
her life.
He hadn�t wanted her to take the fault for this.
He wanted her to kill Ramirez, to harbor the guilt alone.
And he had been in her apartment while she had been unconscious�who
knew for how long?�replacing the knife in Ramirez�s body, making sure
everything led back to him. Even the officer�s corpse had been marked by
his careful hands, and as she glanced over Gordon�s shoulder, she could see the
trail of Joker cards that lined the girl�s body beneath her uniform, blood-red
�HA�S� covering each individual card so that her figure was a chorus of
bloodthirsty, carnal laughter. They had been stapled there, as if her skin had
been nothing but olive-toned paper.
A shudder rippled through her, and she fought the creeping
vertigo at the latest revelation. Rachel licked her lips and knew now, no
matter what she said; they wouldn�t possibly believe she had taken any
part in the offensive last night. A part of her, a very small, self-righteous
part, left behind from her days before Harvey�s death, begged and pleaded in
her mind to �confess, if for anything, for justice. But the remainder of
her body reacted the way the most primal of creatures would�vie for her own
survival, her own safekeeping.
�The Joker��
The name scalded her tongue as she spoke; she found she had
to bite back a hiss in reflex,
�He came, with Ramirez. He�he threatened her to hurt me,
but��
Her eyes flicked towards the corpse upon the ground, then
back towards Bruce, who was eyeing her carefully from his position near
Ramirez�s form, as if taking in every word she said with careful scrutiny,
��But Ramirez wouldn�t listen to him. And so�he took one of
my knives, a-and��
She shut her eyes, a cold finger trailing across her spine
as she relived the memories she desperately needed to push away. The feeling of
skin breaking beneath her grip, the heavy knife sliding through flesh and
muscle and blood as easily as tearing through thin paper, the scalding sanguine
heat slick on her hands, still pumping from a frantic, screaming heart�
And it was over, and I enjoyed it and hated myself even
more for enjoying it.
Was it true? Could she possibly have felt no true
regret at taking this woman�s life? As she bit her lip and felt Gordon�s hand
retract from her shoulder, she couldn�t deny the rippling strength that
penetrated her despite her physical weakness. The feeling of being powerful, of
being able to strike back at those who had hurt her so deeply�could it really
be so intoxicating, so wantonly satisfying?
�All right, we get the gist of it,� Gordon spoke quietly to
her, his gaze filled with endless pity as her eyes opened to meet his own,
�We�ll have to check the rest of your home as well for any evidence, any traces
he might have left behind. Do you have anywhere else to stay, Rachel? Anywhere
secure?�
Rachel opened her mouth to speak, contemplating on some
low-key hotel, yet before the words could come out Batman was before them
again, his rasping words more of a command than a suggestion,
�I know a place where she can stay. She�ll be safe from the
Joker and any of his lackeys.�
Shit.
Rachel�s eyes widened at Batman�s suggestion; she knew,
beneath the mask, that Bruce�s gaze was fierce and determined. His fist was
clenched at his side, as if unwilling to accept any inevitable protests from
her�he would lock her away in his manor if he had to, hold her prisoner if it
would enforce her safety.
Her skin crawled at the thought of being held captive with a
murderer on the loose.
�Well, then,� Gordon replied with a shrug of his shoulders,
�Seems like it�s settled. Unless Miss Dawes has any complaints against it?�
Rachel stared at Bruce for a long time before she could
bring herself to speak. His gaze was unnerving, made even more so by the mask
that hid the humanity from his face. She strained to see through that black
cover, to somehow penetrate his shielded stare with her own stubborn defiance,
yet she saw no way around the equal, if not more intense, adamancy of his
frame.
She really would have no choice, unless her choice involved
allowing Alfred to tie and restrain her to a pillar of Wayne manor or simply
lock her behind the doors.
�No.�
Rachel finally gave a heavy sigh of compliance as Batman�s
strong frame gripped at her arms, guiding her through the apartment complex. He
ducked them into an alley nearby and almost immediately unmasked himself,
causing her to frown in confusion,
�Bruce, besides the fact that I am stark-raving mad
at you right this moment, why on earth would you just unmask yourself in the
middle of the morn��
�Batman doesn�t usually prowl under cover very well when the
sun is shining down on him and Gotham is filled with people, does he?�
Bruce interrupted her quickly, walking them through the
short alley path and towards the street of a still-quiet neighborhood, where a
sleek, black limousine sat in wait.
�Oh,� Rachel retorted quickly, rolling her eyes despite the
sudden burst of nausea that came with exerting herself from her physically
taxing night, �And dragging a girl in a bloody nightgown while still in your
bat suit and going to your manor in a stretch limo is much less
conspicuous.�
Bruce grinned almost earnestly at her words, his hard eyes
glinting,
�Glad you agree.�
As they shuffled into the car, Alfred greeting her in his
usual jovial nature despite the undoubtedly gruesome sight of her battered and
bloodied visage, Rachel drummed her fingers against the car window, her gaze searching
blindly across the awakening streets of Gotham. Her mind ached from lack of
sleep and doubtless physical and mental trauma, yet the sickly satisfaction
still twisted its way between her ribs like a knife with feathered edges;
penetrating, yet pleasurable in the most disgusting way possible. She wondered
if Bruce could read her as easily as she felt; if he knew there was more to the
night than she had admitted.
Well, she would know soon enough, wouldn�t she? Being a
prisoner undoubtedly led to some type of interrogation.
With a scowl at her drained reflection in the glossy
limousine window, she caught sight of Bruce against its surface, his eyes closed;
resting with his hand upon his torso where the deep gash began. Although she
would have felt pity the other morning, it seemed as if it were all worn away
from her, replaced with a bitterness that was difficult to shed.
Her nails nearly scratched the window�s surface as
determination settled in the pit of her stomach, deeper than any other thought
that plagued her mind at that very moment. The Joker card she had found in her
nightgown when awakening, minutes before the police arrived, still lay hidden
against her breast. Upon its glossy surface were the sloppily scratched words
forming a street address in downtown Gotham, one she knew to be some type of
warehouse near the docks. �The time:� 5 o� clock sharp.
It was an invitation for her.
And, whether Bruce liked it or not, she was going to take
it.
Even she had to defy the Batman to exact her own justice.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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