Beth stabbed at the pasta tubes on her plate as she watched the news. They were re-running the footage from earlier tonight that apparently showed Batman leading the chase through the woods for suspected serial killer Patrick Newsome. But all she could see from the shaky, blurred footage taken from the news helicopter was a bunch of indistinct figures emerging from the woods to the fleet of patrol cars waiting on the highway.

"Newsome was apparently shot during the confrontation and was taken to Gotham General Hospital where he remains in critical condition." The anchor finished the bulletin and moved on to the next story.

Beth clicked off the TV in frustration. She knew Batman wouldn't have shot anyone - he was notoriously anti-gun - so what the hell had happened out there? Was Newsome really the killer they were after? How did Batman track him down?

She had so many questions and no way to find the answers, and it was driving her CRAZY.

A light tapping at her window distracted her from mutilating her dinner. She glanced over to find the man in question crouched on her fire escape.

She dropped her plate onto the coffee table and ran to open the window. "Are you okay?" she asked as Batman climbed inside. "Are you hurt? I saw on the news that you were chasing after a suspect..."

He shook his head and she sighed in relief.

He stood in her living room, head bowed and gaze fixed to her floor. He wasn't hurt, but he obviously wasn't okay.

He looked...broken.

She pushed him towards her couch and made him sit. "What happened out there?"

He said nothing, just rubbed harshly at the blood stains on his gloves, as if trying to wipe away evidence.

She gently put her hands over his, stilling the movement. "Okay, enough of this Lady Macbeth routine." She tugged on each glove until they came off, exposing the bandage-wrapped hands underneath. She pushed her discarded plate towards him. "Eat," she commanded. "It'll make you feel better."

She left him to it and walked over the sink in the kitchen. She wet a cloth and started to scrub away the blood from the gloves. When they were clean, she returned to the living room. The plate of pasta had been finished off and Batman was looking more himself.

Carbs could fix anything.

He glanced up at her. His voice was barely a whisper. "I'm sorry for coming like this-"

"You don't need to be sorry." She handed him the gloves which he placed down at his feet. She took a seat beside him. "Is something wrong?" she asked hesitantly.

All of a sudden, the tension seemed to seep out of him. He collapsed back against the couch cushions and tilted his head until he was staring up at her ceiling. "Gordon got shot."

She gasped, not expecting that. "What? Is he okay?"

Batman scrubbed his hands over his face. "Bullet went through his leg. He's in surgery - apparently - but I don't know anything more. I'm banned from the hospital. The cops think its my fault."

"Did you shoot him?" She asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

He turned his head to look at her. They were seated close to each other on the narrow sofa, and she could see the weariness in his eyes. The ashen tint to his skin. "Of course not," he whispered.

"Then its not your fault. Gordon is a cop - he's been a cop for a lot of years. Getting hurt is a risk he knowingly takes every time he leaves for work."

Batman sat forward again and clenched his hands together. "But if I hadn't spooked Newsome in the woods by chasing after him, he wouldn't have fired-"

"And then he would have gotten away. Do you think Gordon wanted that? You caught the guy you've been after for 18 months!"

He let out a harsh laugh. There was no humour in the sound. "That's the other part of tonight's disaster. Newsome got shot too. And just before he lost consciousness, he told me he's got another victim out there somewhere."

He abruptly got off the couch and started pacing. "I searched his house and there was nothing. Nothing in the attic. No basement or secret room. He's got another location, and he's keeping a girl there. Newsome is in surgery too right now, so there's no way to get that info out of him. She could be dying as we speak!"

It was the most emotion she'd ever seen from him, the anger and frustration palpable in his voice. She joined him on the floor and put her hand on his arm to stop his pacing. "Hey, it'll be okay-"

"How? The cops won't listen to me. Even when Newsome wakes up, I won't be able to get close to him. And I can't speak to Gordon-"

"But I can."

He turned to stare at her. "What?"

"I'll go down to the hospital. I did some shifts there for extra cash when I first moved to Gotham. I'll grab my old ID and I'll be able to get access to Gordon. If he's awake, I can explain the whole thing to him."

Batman shook his head. "I can't ask you to do that-"

"You didn't. I'm volunteering. I hate the idea of someone being out there, trapped and alone, as much as you do. Let me help her. Please."

He gazed into her eyes as some calculation went through his mind. Then he nodded slowly, and brought his hand up, as if to cup her face. She automatically shied away from the bare tips of his fingers. It was instinct now, after so many years of avoiding contact.

"I- I'm gonna go get changed." She spun on her heels and headed for her bedroom. "Don't go anywhere," she called out over her shoulder.

Minutes later she returned to her living room, dressed in scrubs and sneakers. She'd found her old ID at the bottom of her dresser and it swung from a lanyard around her neck.

He was in the same place she'd left him, his hands clenched by his side. She felt bad for shying away from his touch and hoped he hadn't taken it as a rejection.

It was a rejection...but not for the reasons he was probably thinking.

"How can I contact you, after I speak to Gordon? Are you going to stay here, or..."

"No. I'll go home and see if I can find any other properties Newsome has access to." He hesitated for a moment before continuing "Give me your phone. There's a number you can call to contact me."

She handed over her phone and watched him type. She got the feeling giving out his number was a big show of trust on his part. She wanted to reassure him that she would never betray that trust - that she'd already been keeping his identity a secret for months now.

He left by the window after returning her phone. She grabbed her car keys and exited the front door. Speeding towards the hospital minutes later she shook her head at this strange turn of events. For the past week she'd been feeling...down.

Dejected.

Jealous.

Ever since she'd seen the photos of Bruce Wayne and that stunning supermodel having dinner together.

It was crazy. She had no claim on Bruce Wayne. She had technically never even met Bruce Wayne. So it was really none of her business if he dated long-legged beauties with flawless dark skin and cheekbones for days.

But...really, she did know Bruce Wayne.

And he'd lied to her when he said he had nothing else in his life outside of being Batman. Apparently, he was de-stressing at night by hanging out with famous models. Probably having sex with famous models.

How was a girl to compete with that?

Not that she wanted to compete. But the heart was an illogical, fickle organ. And hers had kept her occupied this last week with these petty, jealous, irrational feelings.

Until tonight...when the object of those feelings had climbed through her window.

He had come to her tonight.

Not because he needed patching up after a fight. Not because he needed her help. He had come because he didn't want to be alone. He had come because he needed someone to talk to when he was feeling upset and frustrated.

And that someone...was her.

So the supermodels could have Bruce Wayne. She would take Batman.

That's always how she referred to him in her head, anyway. He was Batman to her. He was the good man, trying to save his city. Not some superficial, idle billionaire.

She just hoped that good man would forgive her for lying to him tonight.

Because she wasn't going to see Gordon.

She was going to see Newsome.

———

It went exactly to plan.

She walked onto the surgical recovery ward, put a mask over her face, and grabbed the nearest clipboard. Trying to look official, she made her way to Newsome's room - the only one on the floor being guarded by two uniformed police officers. One was a young Latina woman. The other was an older man; he was balding with a bit of a paunch.

The man stepped in front of the door as she reached it, blocking her way. She fed him the line she'd been rehearsing on the elevator ride up. "I'm part of the surgical team. I've been asked by my Attending to check the drain output on this patient."

He glanced at her ID and nodded, then stepped aside to let her pass. "I'll be watching from here. Protocol," he shrugged.

"No problem, Officer."

She stepped over the threshold and exhaled quietly in relief.

Step one was complete.

Now she just had to touch this monster and hope he had enough brain function left for her to pick up on his memories.

Conscious of the officer watching her back, she crouched down to check the surgical drains and pretended to write a note on her clipboard. Then she stood up and moved closer to Newsome, glad to see he was still sedated from the surgery. She didn't know if she could have done this with him awake and watching her. It was going to be bad enough with him unconscious, she could just tell.

She was right.

The moment the bare skin of her hand pressed against his, vile, horrible images flooded her mind.

She saw him punching the teenage runaway again and again. You couldn't have just given in, huh? Is this better? Is it?! He yelled the words as he bludgeoned her to death.

Similar words were spoken to the kid as he strung him up by the neck.

As he stabbed the old man...

He was full of hatred for these people.

Because they didn't give in. Because they couldn't just accept him. Accept their captivity.

They fought him every step of the way, when all he wanted was compliance. When all he wanted was their affection.

He kidnapped them off the streets. Held them underground. In the dark, confused and unbalanced by the drug pumping into their system. The drug that was meant to make them biddable. And he kept them isolated and hungry, to make them grateful for any time he spent with them.

In the depths of his perverted, sick mind...he was trying to force Stockholm syndrome on these people. He wanted a loving captive. He wanted a companion to replace the twin he'd lost all those years before...

But none of them submitted to their fate. They always fought him. They always looked at him with anger and contempt in their eyes. These people who were nothing, thought they were still better than him.

So he killed them...and began afresh with someone new.

Unable to stand it a second longer, Beth wrenched her hand away from his. The disorientation from being in someone else's head, mixed with those awful images, made her nauseous. She sprinted into the bathroom and threw up in the toilet.

"Hey, Doc? You okay?" The policeman called from the doorway.

She stood up and cleaned her mouth. Then wiped away the tear marks streaming down her face. When had she started crying?

"Doc?"

"I'm okay," she answered. She re-entered the main room, and plastered on a smile. "Morning sickness," she said, coming up with an excuse on the spot. "I tend to get it at night."

The policeman nodded and returned her smile. "My wife was like that with our first. It sucked. I hope it gets better soon."

"So do I. Thank you."

She stumbled out of the door and through the ward, her stomach still queasy.

The memories from his head would pollute her mind forever...but it was worth it.

Because she knew where his last victim was being held.

———

As she backed out of her parking spot, she called the number Batman had given her. It rang only once before he picked up. "Beth?"

"It's me."

"Did you get to see Gordon?"

"He was still unconscious, so I didn't get to speak to him. But he came out of the surgery okay. They think he'll make a full recovery." It was all true - on her way out of the ward, she had stopped by his room and spoken to his nurse.

"Thank you."

"Did you have any luck on your end?" she asked.

"No, I haven't found any other properties under his name or his family's."

That's because it wasn't a property.

It was an abandoned underground bunker that Newsome had once discovered on a hunting trip with his brother. The house nearby was little more than a ramshackle, half-eroded hut that hadn't been occupied since the fifties. But the nuclear fallout shelter was intact. They'd stumbled upon the hatch door by accident and had spent more than an hour exploring the place.

Years later, when Newsome had concocted his plan, the discovery of that shelter had felt like serendipity.

And now there was a girl trapped in it.

She'd been there for almost a week...and was dangerously low on water. She likely wouldn't last through the night.

But Beth couldn't tell anyone where the bunker was - she didn't have an address or even directions. All she had were Newsome's memories of what the roads and turnings looked like when he drove there.

So she would have to find it herself.

She hung up the phone and started driving.

Fast.

More than an hour north of the city, she turned down a narrow, unmarked dirt lane, hemmed on either side by overgrown jagged bushes. She barely noticed the damage the branches were doing to the paintwork of her car, or the beating her suspension was taking on the uneven road.

She was close.

She screeched to a halt as the road opened up into a small clearing. She saw the house to her left. Which meant the bunker's hatch was straight ahead.

She removed her ID and stashed it in the glove box, then grabbed a ball cap and tucked her hair into it. She pulled the brim low and tugged on her surgical mask. She zipped up her long coat to cover her scrubs, then she grabbed the rest of her supplies and raced out of the car.

Her eyes scanned the ground in front of her, and when she spotted the cardboard sheet anchored down with bricks she skidded to her knees next to it.

This was it.

She ripped away the cardboard covering and quickly entered the combination on the lock keeping the hatch closed. She pulled it open and peered into the darkness below.

"Hello?" She started climbing down the ladder. "Samantha, can you hear me? I'm gonna get you out of here."

When she reached the concrete floor she clicked on the light on her phone. The room was small and sparse; there was an empty shelving unit against the wall to her right, a foul-smelling bucket in the corner to her left, and taking up the back wall was a threadbare cot.

With a still figure curled up on top of it, facing Beth.

She ran over. "Samantha?"

Her eyes were closed and there was no response, but Beth could see the slight rise and fall of her chest as the young woman breathed. Beth nearly sobbed with relief.

She wasn't too late.

She pushed up the sleeve on the girl's left arm and removed the transdermal medication patch, hoping that it would rouse her a bit. She needed her conscious enough to climb up the ladder - there was no way Beth could carry her.

She wondered for the millionth time since leaving the hospital if she'd made the right call. Maybe she should have just told Batman what she'd discovered. She could have brought him with her...

But then the questions would begin, and her ability would be discovered. He would think she was a freak. He wouldn't want to be near her again, in case she found out something she wasn't meant too...if he even believed her in the first place and didn't think she was losing her mind...

No. It was safer to keep it a secret.

Besides, she didn't really need Batman tonight - there was no danger here. This girl needed a doctor, not a hero.

Beth stopped second-guessing...and got to work.

She used the IV kit that she'd stolen from the hospital to set up a saline drip. Samantha barely stirred as the needle entered her skin, but the reading from the sats machine on her finger and the strong pulse at her wrist were reassuring. Beth squeezed the bag of fluid to force it through the tubing faster, then swapped out the empty packet for another litre of fluid.

Halfway through that, Samantha woke up.

Sensing another presence in the room, she started to thrash on the bed in panic. "Hey, hey," Beth soothed. "Its okay. You're going to be okay. It's all over. I'm gonna get you out of here."

The girl froze and stared up at her. She cracked open her parched lips and whispered, "It's over?"

Beth nodded.

Half an hour later, when Samantha was finally steady enough on her feet, the two of them made their way out of the bunker and into Beth's car. The girl - she was no more than 18 years old - clung to the fabric of Beth's coat the entire journey to the nearby hospital. It made shifting gears difficult, but Beth didn't mind. The poor girl needed an anchor - to let her know this wasn't a dream. That she really was safe now.

Beth had some experience with that feeling....

When Beth pulled in to the ambulance bay of the ER department and shut off the engine, Samantha panicked. She clutched at Beth, her nails digging into her skin through her coat, her fingers pulling at the fabric. "Don't leave. Please, don't go."

"We're at the hospital, Sam. Look," she pointed out the windscreen to the brightly lit building. "You're safe. I'm just going let them know we're here, then I'll be right back." Readjusting her cap to better hide her face, she entered the hospital. Catching the attention of one of the nurses, she called out to her. "I have a girl in my car who needs some help!"

The nursing staff and porters mobilised at once and Beth followed them as they rushed outside. Then she stepped into the shadows and watched as they bundled Sam out of the car and into a wheelchair. Once they were inside, Beth slipped back into the passenger seat and sped away. She felt guilty for leaving Sam without saying goodbye, but she couldn't risk hanging around and being exposed.

Especially when the police arrived.

That was the final step in her plan. Batman and Lieutenant Gordon needed to know that Newsome's last victim had been found alive and well. So she pulled in to the first public payphone she could find and called in an anonymous tip to the local PD.

That done, she dropped back into the driver's seat and yawned. It was past midnight now and she was exhausted. She merged back on to the highway and headed home, dreaming of the moment she could collapse into bed.

She never suspected that her ID card was missing from the glove box...