"Please, just take me a bit farther. I've only been here a few months, and I still don't know my way around the city-"

The driver of the taxi cab ignored her pleas, and the mustard yellow car screeched to a halt at a nearby curb. In a gruff voice, the man instructed her to get out that instant. In desperation, Elene continued to protest "I have a baby to get home to. How can I walk from here when I'd get lost?"

"I'm sorry, lady, but the policy is 'no money, no ride.' Now get out before I have to force ya." He replied, in a tone that was decidedly unsympathetic. The disgruntled passenger resisted a nearly overwhelming temptation to give the driver the finger, and grudgingly got out of the vehicle, making a point to slam the door as hard as she could. He didn't seem to notice her angry gesture, though, and sped off without so much as one more word of apology.

Unleashing a stream of curses under her breath, Elene took in her surroundings, trying to see if she'd been dropped off, by some chance, in an area she was familiar with. That most certainly wasn't the case. The woman had never ventured to the docks of Gotham City before, and the harbor area was thus quite foreign to her. She had only the vaguest sense of where it was in relation to the residential district, and it certainly wasn't in close proximity. How was she supposed to walk all the way to her apartment, at night, with no way to defend herself against muggers? Poor Angie was waiting for her mommy to get home, and if something happened to her-

The mother shivered involuntarily, partly at the sickening implication of her most recent thought, and partly because a chilling breeze had blown past. The damn diner owner must have had a liking for the female body, judging from the way he dressed his waitresses. The short sleeves of the top and the mini-skirt length bottom, other than making her look like a complete slut, provided almost no resistance to the elements, and this evening was a bit too cool for her liking to begin with. Putting a hand over each arm to warm up a bit, Elene exhaled deeply, trying to figure a way out of the situation.

The throbbing soreness in her feet prevented much rational thought, however, and her new first priority became to find a place where she could safely rest for a few minutes. The docks at night were hardly the place to look for respite, but her predicament gave her little choice in the matter. Hazel eyes scanning for a haven, the woman caught sight of a few boxes nearby that looked like a suitable location to catch a quick breather. All but limping over to the crates on her pained feet, Elene leaned up against one, and sighed as she sank down to sit on the concrete. What a blessed relief.

Elene had always prided herself on having an acute sense of detail, or at the very least, the ability to notice when something was up. It had made her annoying to several people, of course. Who liked that weird girl who tattled to the director when one set piece wasn't in place exactly on cue, or when one alto was slightly off pitch in the chorus? The behavior was almost obsessive-compulsive, but it had come in handy quite a few times.

Unfortunately, the woman's sheer exhaustion from work and the shadowy location seemed to turn her 'something's askew, be worried' sense off. In fact, she only heard any hint of movement a second before a shape swooped down beside her, and an able hand clutched her throat tightly. The burst of adrenaline in her veins set off fireworks in her chest, and multicolored spots appeared in front of her now wide and frightened eyes, obscuring her assailant. It didn't take much to recognize him, though. Even a new citizen to Gotham had heard the stories about that mad man with clown makeup, greasy, disgusting blonde-green hair, and two scars on either side of his mouth.

As if Fate hadn't been cruel enough to her today, she'd sent Elene to the Joker.

The mother wanted to scream- more than she'd ever wanted to in her life, in fact- but the ragged sound simply would not come. Her throat had clenched so tightly that the poor woman couldn't even plead for her life with the vicious maniac, and to make matters worse, he'd shoved a knife blade inside her gaping mouth.

That grim face- Elene had to look away, she had to. Her stomach was already churning with terror; if she continued to stare at that unnatural, marred grin, she'd probably be sick. Trembling like mad, hardly able to breathe, the woman's hazel eyes darted away from the face, focusing on a nearby dock. The small shard of her that was still lucid understood his words and formulated something to say, but Elene's lips couldn't force out a full sentence.

All she managed was a feeble "Please, no." At this point, hot tears streamed down her face, though she couldn't heave a sob. "She'll die." No explanation of who "she", her baby, was was possible. The story would be long, and Elene had a feeling that if she talked to much, that blade would cut its way into her cheek.

Bruce knew that he wasn't a superhero. He wasn't gifted like so many comic book legends with alien powers or changed in some freak accident to become something almost inhuman. He was only a man, a man with certain tools (namely a great deal of money) at his disposal that others might not necessarily have access to. But sometimes, he thought, even those who were simply men could have extraordinary instincts, and tonight, he proved that to be true. He had no business at the harbor, none at all. And it wasn't as if some little voice shouted to him in the back of his mind to go there, that someone needed his help. It was simply that as he was out riding, he'd taken the turn to come down this direction without even thinking about it. It had just been a random impulse, but as he neared the docks, the sound of water lapping at the rotted wooden underside of the planks on the many piers of Gotham's harbor, he found himself drawn to it. It was a nice sound. Perhaps a bat wouldn't have been attracted to it, but the man inside of the costume was, and he stopped, leaving his cycle quite hidden (not that anyone else could drive it, anyway), and walked down towards the dock.

He didn't get much closer before he overheard voices, and, instantly on his guard, he pressed himself flat against a heavy metal storage bin, which was just a few inches taller than he was (even with the bat ears). That voice...he knew that voice. Bruce closed his eyes. He'd hoped, illogically, he knew, that somehow the Joker had gone away, but he'd always known in spite of his wistful thinking that this thing between them was far from over. They were too much alike, the way that the ends of a magnet are, completely opposite, yet similar in more ways than Bruce was willing to admit. He did what he did out of a desire to keep order, to help people. The Joker did what he did to help the cause of chaos and strike terror in the hearts of Gotham's citizens. They were both merely a reflection of the men behind the makeup and mask, both a public icon that belied nothing of what people could expect from the men they truly were. Bruce had no idea if the Joker led another life somewhere...or if he simply waited and stared at his own reflection all day (he imagined the scars would be hard to hide in any ordinary occupation), but he knew that as far as anyone in the city was aware, they were only these faces, the only faces that those they saved and victimized would ever knowingly see.

Yes, there were similarities. But if that had any effect on the way he saw the Joker and the horror he brought to the city Bruce loved so much, he did not show it. His approach was all but silent, the water masking much of the already-quiet sound of his footfalls, and as he came to stand behind the Joker, he hoped that somehow the girl would know that he was here to help her, not to harm her. He knew that people had begun to say terrible things about him, things he had been unable to counter lest the house of cards that was the charade he'd made of Harvey Dent's final hours come crashing down, and Gotham's tattered remaining hope with it. For all this girl knew, Batman could be here to help the Joker end her life. But that, of course, was not his intention.

"Someone with scars like yours shouldn't be waving a knife around like that." he said, reaching out a gloved hand to give the Joker a casual tap on the shoulder. "Accidents happen, you know...you could cut yourself." It was a light-hearted way to make his introduction, he knew, but he knew that if he tried to be overly serious, or didn't say anything, the Joker would just find some way to twist his words into what he thought was a hilarious anecdote. If the girl was smart, she'd duck away while Batman had her attacker distracted, but then, looking death in the eye had a way of petrifying people, and he wouldn't blame her if she were unable to do anything but stand there terrified.

If there was one thing Elene had learned in her lifetime, it was that a situation can go from wonderful to terrible in a split second, and vice versa. For instance, one moment she had been sitting at the top of the world, about to be a leading actress in an up and coming Broadway musical, and the next she was just another single mother, carrying a baby and all the stigma that came with it. Just went to show that luck could turn on a dime, and didn't care if bad things happened to good people. Chance was chance; it didn't play favorites. Luckily for Elene, however, it had decided to throw her a bone tonight, and soon after the Joker had looked behind him, toward the distraction, she found herself freed from the man's death grip. Breath rushed back into her in a broken gasp, and the woman instinctively put her hands around her neck to massage the area where he had held her. The relief she felt was almost palpable, and though its comforting, warm feeling was better than the icy stab of fear, there was still something wrong lurking underneath its surface. The emotion was quite literally overwhelming to Elene, directing her thoughts toward how lucky she was to have been released and how glad she was to have her life spared rather than the current problem: getting away from the Joker so he couldn't come after her when, or if, he got finished with Batman.

Elene watched the exchanges between Batman and Joker quite dumbly, still in shock from her ordeal of a few moments ago. Her face was devoid of emotion, probably because the waves of fear and palliation had left her numb to other feelings. The woman was very detached from the situation, feeling as though she were watching the events on a television screen, rather than a few feet away from her. It wasn't until the caped figure, who she presumed to be the real Batman, judging from the Joker's interest in him, instructed her to run that Elene was thrown back into reality. Yes, she had to run, very quickly now to make up for the precious minute or two she'd lost to petrification. Waking up her legs, she turned on her heel and took off, fleeing the dangerous harbor area as fast as her sore feet would carry her. Unfortunately, the shoes she donned were not made for the purpose of sprinting, and the woman had hardly made it twenty yards before her right heel caught on something and gave out, making her step onto her ankle before plummeting to one side.

Pain shot up her leg like electricity, and Elene had to bite her tongue to keep from crying out. No, it would be best to remain inconspicuous for now, in case the Joker had forgotten about her with the arrival of Batman. Anything to betray her continued presence at the scene could be fatal. Breathing out through her teeth, the woman attempted to push herself back into an upright stance, but the injured ankle wouldn't allow it. Another stab of pain, and she was back on the ground, hardly in a better position. Perfect. Now, even if her attacker paid her no more mind that night, the woman would still be stranded near the harbor with a badly sprained, twisted, or possibly even broken ankle and no way to get home. Elene groaned quietly. The prospect of sleeping on the cold, wet pavement was hardly an appealing one.

Still, she could handle that setback later. The current, and more urgent, problem was her exposed state, where she was still in sight of the Joker. The woman needed to obscure herself somehow, to avoid attracting attention. Pushing herself up to her knees, she began to crawl toward the crates that had been her assailant's cover earlier. The shadows would be dark enough to provide a shield against roaming eyes, but unfortunately for her, they were still several feet away, and crawling on all fours was hardly a speedy method of travel.

For a moment, Batman thought that she'd run away, out of sight and hopefully out of mind, and all would be well. The Joker would turn his attention to Batman, and the girl would get away. But she stumbled, and Bruce sighed inwardly. Nothing ever went exactly according to plan, he thought. That was as it ws to be expected, though, in and of itself. That was what made Bruce, or Batman, really, so effective at what he did; he was good at dealing with the unexpected. He adapted well to the subtle shifts in a situation, the things that could change so suddenly that if you weren't paying attention, it could quite possibly end up killing you. Bruce had no interest in getting killed tonight, although he knew that the fact that the enemy he was facing made that a very real potential outcome for the whole thing. If he didn't pay close enough watch to what the Joker was doing, he could end up with a knife in his heart, his face, his neck...some vital organ...Then it would all be over. And it wasn't just a sense of self-preservation that made him worry about that, either. It was clear that normal law enforcement could not handle, at least single-handedly, the threat that the Joker's crimes provided. No, Batman might not have been the beaming icon of hope that Harvey Dent had been, but whether Gotham realized it or not, they needed him, at least until he could get rid of the Joker.

The Joker's words were not in the slightest bit amusing to Bruce. Though the quote was not lost on him, his own personal history, including the death of his parents, prevented him from really appreciating any sort of humor at the moment, much less humor regarding parental units. "Forgive me if I don't laugh." he said, his expression stony even under the mask that concealed his facial features. "But my father doesn't wear makeup." He refrained from sucking in a violently fast gasp as the Joker flung his knife at the girl, and, knowing he wasn't fast enough to intercept it, Bruce prayed that the aim would be bad enough, or that the girl would be quick enough even in her injured state to move out of the way of the flying blade. He lunged at the Joker instead, hoping against hope that he'd run into the other man in time to throw off his aim a little bit.

"Are you all right?" he called, his attention still on the Joker, but the question directed to the girl on the ground. If she was still alive, he needed to take that into consideration. If she wasn't, well...as cynical as it sounded, he'd need to refocus the attention he'd had on her completely on the man in front of him. It was a pessimistic way to look at the situation, but Batman hadn't survived as long as he had by being a blinded-by-sunshine optimist. He fixed his steely gaze back on the Joker's face, and met the mocking glance of his nemesis evenly. "You're not half as funny as you think you are." he said, matter-of-factly. He could just imagine half of the people he saved going back and telling everyone that they'd been rescued by the most boring outlaw everj, but he wasn't about to cater to the Joker's little games and burst out laughing at his enemy's hilarity. Not a chance in hell.

As she slowly- and more than a bit awkwardly- traversed the disgustingly damp pavement, Elene couldn't help but overhear the banter between the Joker and the "Batman" character, as she heard her attacker call him. If she'd had any previous doubts about the notorious criminal's twisted state of mind, they had all vanished in a matter of seconds. Good God, the man was an absolute nutcase! Here he had just been confronted by his all time (she presumed) arch-nemesis, quite possibly facing arrest or death, depending on the cloaked vigilante's principles, and he was quoting Star Wars? The ironic thing about the whole situation was that even though she was on all fours at Gotham Harbor with a sprained ankle and terrified for her life, the former actress found room in her mind to mentally criticize the Joker for his interpretation of that historic line. Had he no respect for his theatrical superiors?

Elene's inner critic was silenced quite effectively, however, when she raised her eyes from their stare out with the concrete and caught sight of a pointed, metal object coming at her with great swiftness. Immediately, the woman lost all traces of anything resembling rational thought, and let her somewhat dulled reflexes take control of her actions. Rapidly, her head ducked lower and to the side, in order to protect the sensitive tissue of her eyes, while her hands "side stepped" to remove her from the knife's line of fire, so to speak. For about a second, as the brief burst of adrenaline wore off and Elene's mind cleared, it seemed as though her maneuvering had prevented the projectile from harming her. A sharp, slashing sting in her right arm contradicted that notion, however, and, not being familiar with pain on this scale, the injured woman let out a ragged cry, though the noise was not quite high pitched or piercing enough to be a shriek.

Immediately after the fact, however, Elene regretted screaming as a result of her pain. If she'd taken the blow quietly, the Joker, and perhaps Batman, would have assumed her dead and gone about his own business. The reaction to her wound had proved her continued survival, and who was to say whether or not the scarred maniac would make another attempt on her life? Would she be lucky enough to see the attack coming a second time? Clutching the deep cut on her upper arm to comfort herself, Elene continued the trek to the shadowy crates on only her knees, wincing as gravel and miscellaneous silt dug into her skin. Fortunately for her, the boxes were but a few yards from the site of the incident with the knife, and after a minute or two of torturous knee-walking, the woman was able to sit down in the shadows. Exhausted and aching just about everywhere now, she pulled her legs in close and rested her head on them, wishing to push out her surroundings and slow her beating heart.

Batman's gravelly voice was not something one could easily ignore, however, and when the inquiry about her well being came, Elene had no choice but to snap out of her developing relaxed state. He probably hadn't realized when he posed the question, but the man had just put her in quite a dilemma. If she answered that yes, she was fine, her words would not only give away her survival, but her location as well, since she was not skilled at ventriloquism and could not make her voice come from another location. If she remained silent, he would assume her dead, and Elene would forfeit her last, slim hope of somehow getting home that night. The Batman probably wouldn't whisk her off her feet and carry her back to the complex in the Narrows, true, but certainly he would assist her in some way, as he was concerned enough to ask about her state during an encounter with an incredibly dangerous villain. The woman bit her lower lip, trying to decide the lesser of the two evils. One would risk her own life, the other Angie's, because the young girl would not be attended to if Elene was stranded at the docks all night. Her motherly conscience getting the better of her, the woman responded "I'm fine." True, she had a semi-serious wound on her arm that was still bleeding, but there was no use in broadcasting that fact to the two men.