Legend

I picked up the phone; it was Detective MacIver with the news. I listened as he explained the circumstances of the Joker's escape; essentially, nobody had a clue that he wasn't the brain-damaged drooler he's been since he woke up from the coma until he smiled at one of the six cameras that provides perfect coverage in his special cell, made a gun with his fingers, and said "BANG!" as the lights went out. The emergency generator had also been sabotaged, so in the three minutes forty-one seconds it took to get power from the main grid back, nobody had eyes on the Joker, and when the lights flickered back on, his cell was empty and the door still locked. The detective said that the police believed that he had headed out of town.

"We believe that he's going to stay away until the heat subsides, then return. It would be safer that way. We don't know his actual mental state or abilities or what he remembers because no psychiatrist or therapist or psychologist is willing to work with him after what happened to Dr Quinzel, but it's obvious that he's pretty functional at least on some levels, and it may be that he remembers you. I have been placed in charge of his apprehension." He sighed and I felt a little sorry for him; this wasn't going to be easy. I felt worse for my clothes, though, as Damian was crumpling expensive silks into wads to stuff into the trash bags. "I would like to encourage your natural tendency to think critically and not panic. If the Joker remembers you--and he might--he might be hoping you panic and do something stupid that would enable his confederates to apprehend you. Obviously, none of us want that, so I would ask that you be cautious but not overreact." Got it. My boyfriend was the one overreacting at the moment. "I will keep you informed, but it should be safe to continue your daily activities for the time being. Please make some plans for when we feel we can no longer reliably count on his absence, however." There was some more of this, then we hung up.

"Honey, stop," I said firmly, and Damian paused in his efforts to cram as many pairs of shoes as possible in the bag with my good clothes. He scowled. "That was Detective MacIver. He told me that the Joker was headed out of town and not to do anything rash."

"Moving out to the manor isn't rash," he growled, and dropped one of the pumps I wore to work back on the closet floor and tied the garbage bag closed.

"At three in the morning or whatever, it is," I stated, and put my Asgardian necklace back on. "We need to make a plan and follow through rather than run panicking off into the night."

"We're listening," Batman said dryly, and I jumped a foot. I hadn't heard them come in; Dick was visible over Bruce's shoulder. Thank god I wore a nightgown now.

I repeated what the detective had said. "I agree. Based on my time with the Joker, I believe that he's going to want some time to get used to life outside the Asylum again, and, more importantly, to reassert his control over his goons, make sure that whatever plans he's made--if he's communicated them to his followers--are solid and tight. That takes time. Time that can be used for an orderly reassessment of my routine, which is my concern, and for you three to do your detective work." I crossed to Damian and snapped the plastic ties of the bag, dumping the shoes for now and putting the crumpled gowns and dresses back in the closet. Damian had not troubled himself to remove them from the hangers.

"Alfred will have a fit if he sees you treating her stuff like that," Dick said.

"Shut it, Grayson," Damian snapped, but there wasn't a lot of heat in the words.

"Just saying that Alex has a point here. Now is not the time to go off half-cocked. We need more information. Look--" through the draperies that had come open some as Damian had barrelled around, we could see the Bat Signal.

"All right," Bruce said, laying down the law. "I will go talk to the Commissioner, find out what they know. Nightwing, you start turning up leads. Robin, you stay here in case we're wrong. You'd be distracted out there anyway and distraction means mistakes. We can't afford any. Alex...well, you stay here too. The Joker prefers to work in darkness." He waited long enough for a grudging nod from his sidekick, then he and Dick left.

"Honey, come sit down," I said, patting the bed. Glaring, he grudgingly perched on the edge of the mattress. "Ok. This is what we know. The Joker has escaped. This is what we think is correct: he's gone out of town and is likely to stay away until the intense reaction to his escape has died down. I'm sure the police are putting up roadblocks, but he's got a big head start and they can't sustain the high level effort for very long. He'll remain a priority, but everybody's scrambling to catch up. We don't know anything else and speculation beyond that at this point is useless and probably harmful as we might be forming assumptions that will hinder our thinking later. So here's the thing. I agree we should move out because it's not fair to risk the safety of everybody else in the hotel and I'm pretty sure Bruce has good defenses out at the manor. However--" I raised my voice slightly as he opened his mouth-- "we will not be doing this now; running around like panicking animals is not smart. What I'm going to do is go back to sleep. You're going to unpack the bags of stuff and calm down, then you're going to join me for the rest of the night because you need sleep too. When the alarm goes off, we'll get up and get ready for work. I will call Alfred and ask if he can pack us up here. Then we'll go to work. After work, I will drive to the manor and we can discuss updates there. I know you're worried about me, and I appreciate that." I scooted over to him and snuggled up. He was still stiff and angry, and I had to tug on his chin to get him to look at me. "But never forget that I am a highly skilled fighter and I've only gotten better in the years since the last time I was at the Joker's mercy. I never want to be in that position again. Never. And at the same time, I'm going to pursue my life in a safe way. I work in a building that is even more secure than Wayne Enterprises and has very secure parking underground. And if I end up staying late at work for some reason, I propose that I stay in the guest quarters rather than risk driving in the dark." Damian was still angry. I gave him a minute to consider. "Damian?"

"Fine," he shot at me, and stood up, ripping into the first bag and shoving things back into drawers. I crawled under the sheet again and waited. Eventually he stopped slamming the drawers and I heard sounds of struggle.

"Want some help with that?" I asked, not moving.

"Please," he said sulkily after a moment. I got up and helped him wrestle out of his costume; his torso and groin were protected with a new rubberized version modeled on Batman's sturdy get-up. He took off his boots but left the fabric trousers on. I didn't quibble about it since I was tired and scared and didn't want to show the scared. "I'm sorry," he burst out as we went to bed. "It's just that I'm so damned pissed off." I cuddled up to him, putting my arm around his chest.

"Me too," I said softly. "But I've never trusted that Arkham would hold him, so I've kind of been waiting for this ever since they put him there in the first place. So we're going to be sensible about this. I'm relying on you to help me keep safe." He relaxed a little at this.

"If he does anything to you, I won't be responsible for my actions," he muttered. I grinned a little and kissed his shoulder.

"Yes you will, because you still care about my good opinion," I chided him gently, kissing his shoulder. He grumbled, but the tone was milder. He kissed my hand, and I went back to sleep.

The next morning I had the first crack at our bathroom because it's hard to get him up if he's tired, but once I got him fairly vertical and in the shower, I called Alfred. Bruce had briefed him very concisely about the Joker, and he had a plan to pack us up already.

"Um...Damian kind of started that earlier," I said, trying to give him a heads up as I looked for a dress that wasn't too crumpled for work. I had to give up. It's not like Tony has a dress code, but I like to look professional. I had to settle for jeans and a light cotton sweater with cute booties.

"But how?" Alfred wondered. "Master Damian can't fit his wardrobe into just his luggage`."

"Er... he was stuffing things into trash bags. You know, those stretchy black Glad bags..."

I could pretty much feel Alfred's shock reverberating up the line.

"Goodness," he said faintly, attempting a chuckle.

"He was quite agitated," I said.

"I imagine. I will see that it is done properly, Miss Alex," he said, and I could just see him stiffening his back.

"I'm certain of that," I said, and we hung up.

I packed a change of clothing and a night shirt in case I had to stay at the tower at some point, and waited for Damian to come out of the bathroom. He was quite yummy, fresh from the shower and his hair sticking up every which way. I regretted that I was dressed for work.

"I called Alfred and he's already got a plan," I told him, crossing for a slightly damp hug and kiss. "So I guess I'll see you at home after work."

He smiled and nuzzled me. "I like the sound of that."

When I got to work, I hunted up my uncle and told him what had happened. His face went grim and flat, but he approved of my removal from the hotel and brightened a little when I told him about my new car. We went down to look at it, and I laughed when he looked at it hungrily and flipped him the keys. He grinned and I went back to the training room to change into my workout clothes and prepare for my first students.

After I got done with that, I showered again and changed before going up to the lab, where I stashed my overnight bag and hunted up Tony. He listened attentively to my warning, and I held up my wrist. "Still got the watch," I said, and he smiled a little.

"Hopefully you won't need to use it," he said, and I agreed. "Yeah, plan to stay if you're at all worried about driving out to that musty old heap of Wayne's, and I'll get you access to the secured level of parking. There's no pedestrian access, only a car lift, so it's as secure as possible." When Bucky returned, we went down and met him, and I learned how the lift worked. It was a little elevator for cars, essentially, and wouldn't work if people were standing on the platform; you had to be inside the vehicle and you had to identify any passengers who didn't normally accompany you. My car was registered with the AI, and Tony took us up to another level I'd never been on. It had a driving simulator which could be customized with the specifications of individual makes and models. Bucky input my car's information and pulled up the first of several defensive driving scenarios. He and Tony brought in coffee and snacks for themselves and critiqued my performance. I got a lot better with evasion tactics, and as the grid was set to Manhattan and the area on the way out to the mansion, I learned the streets a lot better too. It was quite a bit of fun, even given the circumstances.

I went up to the lab after a late lunch and worked until quitting time at five. Tony shooed me out after tossing me a can of specialty pepper spray, telling me offhandedly that medical had come up with it and it had an agent in it keyed to my biomarkers that would prevent the spray from being used against me. Nice.

Once I wrested free of the gridlock in the city, I relaxed on the drive out to the manor, enjoying my car's handling and how the wrought-iron security gate rolled open at my approach. I had to pull up to the house, not sure where Alfred wanted me to park. That gentleman came down the steps to open my door and told me to leave it there, that he would take care of it and have it ready for me the next morning. Wow. He took my jacket and purse (after I'd fumbled my phone out of it) and arranged them in the cloak room.

I know, right?

"I took the liberty of arranging your things in a suite on the third floor," he told me, escorting me to the elevator. "Master Bruce is quartered on the second floor, and I felt that you and Master Damian would prefer your own space." We went down the hall and Alfred opened the door directly across from the door to the conservatory, which had a glass wall and door. The first thing I noticed was the high trayed ceiling. The walls were a pleasant, light blue-green, leaning toward the green side. The decorative molding between the wall and ceiling , the edge by the shift in the ceiling, and the top of the ceiling was all gilded a light gold; the recessed part of the ceiling a warm ivory, and the lower part a pretty dark peach. There was a fireplace on the short wall with a glorious art nouveau mantle and lined with floral tiles that harmonized with the paint color; a poker and brush set were off to the side and a stack of firewood was placed neatly on one end of the hearth. The floor and window casings were a rich aged cherry, and beautiful faded Persian carpets warmed the floor. There was a crystal chandelier hanging from a beautiful medallion, and the furniture was a pleasing mix of dark woods. There was a graceful four poster bed with draperies slightly darker than the walls, nightstands, a pier glass, a pair of bureaus, and a loveseat. A door by the fireplace led into a short hall, then to an extraordinary walk-in closet. My evening gowns and cocktail dresses were behind glass doors (I noticed in passing that the wrinkles were all gone); there was shelving for dress shoes and a glassed-in cabinet for wraps and purses. Next to that was an area where my suits, dresses, and slacks hung, shelving for sweaters and accessories, drawers for unmentionables and one specially fitted up for everyday jewelry, and Damian and I shared the shelves for shoes. Damian's clothes were similarly arranged, but it was his tuxedos and white tie behind the glassed in area. There was a padded bench to sit on, recessed lighting, and personal safes in each of the formal cupboards behind the hanging garments. They had biometric locks, and Alfred showed me how to add my print to both mine and Damian's.

Alfred directed me back into the bedroom and chivvied me to the other end, where a door led to a sumptuous en-suite bathroom. It was a wonderful blend of modern and old-fashioned; a separate glassed-in shower was comfortable by a white cast-iron tub. The floor was dark wood-patterned ceramic tile with radiant heating (Alfred showed me the switch), the wainscotting was crisp white, and the paint a vibrant dark blue-violet. There was a toilet placed unobtrusively and his and her sinks with oval mirrored medicine cabinets, between which was a built-in storage unit with lots of fluffy white towels, extra rolls of TP, space for our personal things, some empty silver-lidded apothecary glass jars, and one filled with (I smelled) a relaxing floral bath salt. One with a plain top held Epsom salts. "I felt that you and Master Damian would want to add your choices as well," Alfred said.

"This is amazing," I said.

"Master Bruce suggested this suite for the pair of you," he said. "He had the house updated several years ago and the bathroom was substantially changed; he switched out the furniture as well. There were several alternatives in the attic. If you and Master Damian would like to change anything, you may wish to poke around up there."

"It's a little overwhelming," I said, looking around, "but it's absolutely wonderful." Alfred smiled.

"I'll leave you to settle in," he said. "Masters Bruce and Damian should be home in a half hour or so. Did you have any trouble in your car with the gate?"

"Not a bit," I said. "It worked perfectly. I felt like I was driving a James Bond car, only without the gadgets." His eyes twinkled, and he took his leave. I poked around a little, overwhelmed, then went across to the conservatory. There was comfortable furniture to sit on, but it seemed... I don't know. It wasn't neglected, it was weeded and watered, but it just didn't feel very welcoming. The door opened behind me, and I turned to see Damian there, looking a little worse for wear from the lack of sleep.

"Honey," I said, and stepped into his hug, snuggling tight.

"Sweet pea," he said, looking around. "This is kind of...sparse. My grandmother started it, but she didn't get very far before she was killed. I looked up at him; he smiled and kissed me lightly. "Maybe we should take it over. Plant our special flowers. Sweet peas. Red roses. Other stuff. It could be a permanent dictionary of our feelings."

"Do the windows open?" I asked. "Because we'd need bees to pollinate."

"We'll need to look into that," he said, then sighed. "After this mess is cleared up. Let's go check out our room." He tugged me toward the door.

"Alfred showed me earlier."

"What did you think?" he asked as he held the door for me.

"Wow. Just...wow."

"Wow," he echoed, looking around. He smiled at the hangings on the bed. "Dad had insulation sprayed in the walls and the windows upgraded, but there are still pesky drafts. On cold nights, you draw the hangings and they really do keep some extra warmth in."

"Sounds intimate," I said, and he grinned. We discovered that the lights were all on dimmers, that a discreet lock had been installed on the door (we both laughed, but it was a really nice touch) and Damian was as impressed as I was.

"I never really explored the rooms up here after he had them redone," he said. Then he yawned. "We've got about forty-five minutes until dinner. Wanna take a nap?" I agreed instantly, being a little tired myself, and the last thing we learned right then was that the bed was unbelievably comfortable.

We woke up when his phone alarm went off, set ourselves to rights, and went down for our first dinner living in the house.