After a week of being poked and prodded by doctors, physical therapists, and nurses, I was told that I was healing just fine. A week and a half after surgery, I was able to walk the length of my room without assistance. Everyone involved approved of how quickly I was recovering.

Dee had told me that Dr. Elliot was asking about the drugs given at Arkham. She explained that she had told him that if he wanted answers to those questions, he would have to ask me. When he finally came in to ask me, I replied by asking him if the residue would negatively affect anything I was currently being given. He admitted to doing a little more research, noting that the drugs wouldn't interact, and said no. Still he wanted an answer.

"If they aren't going to affect my treatment, then it is no business of yours as to why those chemicals were found in my blood, Doctor. Do not ask again," I said acidly.

Today, exactly ten days after surgery, I was getting my results back. Dee sat next to me, holding my hand when Dr. Elliot came to tell us the biopsy findings. Though I didn't say it, I was glad to have Dee there with me, and the comfort of her hands holding mine. My palms were damp with nervous sweat.

"Mr. and Mrs. Wynne," he began.

"Just the results," I interrupted curtly. His need to put on the pomp of a doctor annoyed me at times.

Nodding, he flipped the report open. "It says the tumor is a Stage IV glioblastoma multiforme, or GBM."

"Layman's terms, Dr. Elliot," insisted Dee. She had no patience for the technical talk.

He sighed. "Terminal brain cancer. The chance that you'll make it through treatment and go into remission is poor. We will, of course, continue to treat you in hopes that it will go into remission."

"If it does go into remission, what are the chances that it will come back?" I asked.

"Very high. With treatment, you could have six to eight months. Without it," he shrugged, "it's hard to say. The cancer is extremely aggressive, and with brain tumors, the cells tend to seed themselves throughout the brain tissue. If, or when, a tumor comes back, it might not return to the original area."

"So you're saying that, over time, my skull will be filled with tumors, and I'll die." The grip I had on Dee's hands increased. She soothed my nerves by rubbing my arm. "It doesn't sound like the treatment will be worth it."

"There's still a chance of remission, Mr. Wynne."

"I understand that!" I spat.

"Dr. Elliot, would you please leave us alone for a while?" Dee asked.

"Not until he tells me what happens to my body when, not if, the tumors come back!" I demanded.

Standing at the foot of the bed, he looked down at me. From the look on his face, I knew he was trying to find a way to tell me the worst.

"Ok. The tumors will come back. With their return will come the headaches. Most likely you'll suffer from more seizures this time around. There could be spontaneous loss of body functions, and muscle control. It's possible that you'll have a stroke, or embolism. I can't say what will kill you. But yes. Eventually your entire brain will be invaded by tumors. Most likely, the cancer will spread to other parts of your body."

My hands were trembling so badly by now, I didn't dare raise one to point at the door. "Now go."

The moment the door closed, I turned my head into Dee's shirtfront, and did what I hadn't done for a long while: I cried. She did what she always did the few times I had cried, cradling and peppering my head with kisses. My tears and running nose took no time to dampen her shirt. She cooed, using the hem of her shirt to wipe my nose when it got too bad.

I was always embarrassed when I cried, especially in front of her. She didn't scold me for crying; she didn't lecture me on such a show of emotion. The first time I had cried, I had later tried to apologize for my outburst. Only then did she scold me.

"It's a great man who can express that kind of emotion. It's a boon, not a failing. You're not weak because you shed tears. And you'll always be strong to me," she had said. Dee softened her words with a kiss, letting me know that she wasn't actually upset with me. After that, I had always gone to her when I needed comforting. She would give it without me saying a word.

Strangely, I found that crying felt good this time. All my pent up frustration felt like it was flooding out of me. I clung to her in desperation and comfort. She was the rock I held onto to prevent myself from being washed away. Though I knew she was scared, she knew that I was more frightened than her. I didn't want to die. I knew I would one day, and find the answer to the great riddle of death. But not now! It was too soon! Much too soon!

"I won't leave your side. I'll be with you every step of the way. I swear to you, Eddie. Every step of the way," she whispered to me, kissing my cheek.

I realized then that she needed comfort as well, and kissed her.

"Together then. All the way," I mumbled.

~ ~ ~

A week later, I was released from the hospital. In that time, I had come to terms with the reality that I wouldn't be around to see Dee's next birthday, let alone my own. No longer would I be able to play the dangerous game I loved with Batman. Dee would continue. It would take her a while, but I knew that she would eventually find peace, and be able to live and laugh once more.

What kept me going and happy was that she was keeping her promise to me. Once in a while, she slipped and started treating me like a patient, but for the most part, she continued to act as if things were normal. She played games of riddles with me, did crosswords, and played board games. Every weekday, she took me back to the hospital for radiation treatments, taking me for drives after, or returning straight home if I wasn't feeling well.

Most of my day was spent sitting in the window seat, and I took most of my meals in the room. Sometimes I would sit at the poolside and watch Dee swim, or if she sat with me, the tigers splashing in the water. In reality, things remained fairly normal outside of the doctor visits and treatment.

Dr. Elliot began stopping by in the afternoons to check on me. Though I had my problems with the man, I found him pleasant enough company, and a good change from Dee. Not that I could complain about her, and how she continued to care for me. But even she got tired of my company some days. At those times, I was doubly glad to see Dr. Elliot, and enjoyed the games of chess we played together.

One morning, I sat reading the Gotham Times. Sometime in the middle of the night, Dee had disappeared on some errand for the Triad. She came back shortly after I woke up, bringing me my morning coffee, and the papers. Afterward, she had disappeared again, and I could hear the sound of her talking to the tigers downstairs.

On the front page of the Times was a picture of the Joker, and an article about his most recent murder spree. I gave it a once over before flipping to the business section. LexCorp was taking over yet another failing company in Gotham, having outbid WayenTech for the rights. I stopped in the middle of the article, transfixed by a picture of the new president of LexCorp.

I knew that woman! I had seen her before! Where? Where had I seen her? Certainly it wasn't just cursory notice of her during LexCorp conferences. No, I had seen her elsewhere. And she had not been dressed in the expensively tailored business suits she now wore.

"Arkham," I whispered.

Now it was all coming back to me. I was even remembering the dream I had while I was under during surgery. Only it hadn't been a dream, but a memory of events that had happened. I had been sick that morning Joker was telling his tale. No one had believed him, and except for me, no one confessed that.

Of course, I now knew that he had been telling the truth. I remembered the night the strange woman had come to sign the Joker out of Arkham. What had caught my attention was that she did not hold herself like a doctor in any way. Her mannerisms were far too refined to ever have held any job, especially one as a doctor to those of us in Arkham. No, she had far too much breeding and poise to be a mere doctor. She was something more.

Talia Al Ghul was the name the Joker had given for her. And her father was Ra's Al Ghul, some sort of cult leader, whose name translated to "the Demon's head." Very powerful, very dangerous. There were rumors of the man floating around through the rogue grapevine. No one really took much of it seriously. For the most part, the man never contacted any of us, and we never had the need to contact him. Currently, Talia was going by the name Talia Head. It was simple enough to figure that she was keeping part of Daddy's name to create a whole new persona. She certainly had managed to land herself a cushy job with LexCorp.

What really interested me was what the Joker had said happened. He claimed that he had been killed, and that Batman had put him into something called the Lazarus Pit, reviving him and healing his mortal wounds. While I wasn't certain of the existence of these pits, it would be worth looking into. To do that, I needed Dee's help.

"Dee? Dee, would you come in here, please?!" I called, trying to contain my excitement.

She came running in, flushed and out of breath. "What is it? What's wrong?" she asked, panicked.

"I'm fine," I said, taking a hold of her hand as she began to stroke my face, and check me over. "There's something I need you to do for me. Hear me out on this before you comment."

Over the course of the next hour, I told her the Joker's story. She interrupted to ask questions, sometimes wanting more detail than I could give.

"Eddie, I know you don't want to die, and you're eager to find a way out of this. But can you really trust something that delusional maniac said?" she frowned, stroking my hand once I had finished.

"I've known him long enough to know what he makes up, and what is real. This happened to him, Dee. I remember the night she came to get him. I remember hearing him talk about what happened when he returned to the asylum. That woman was too pretty, and too well bred to be a psychologist that would set foot in an asylum like Arkham."

"Harley's pretty," she mumbled, straightening my blanket.

"Pretty, perhaps. But she is not poised, and she could never carry herself the way this woman did. She seemed too much of an Aristocrat." I stared stubbornly out the window. My observations were right, and she would have to understand that sooner or later.

After a long silence, she sighed and kissed my hand. "What would you have me do?"

"I want you to go talk to her. Ask her for information. Offer to pay her whatever sum she wants. We'll find some way to pay her. Information like this will be expensive."

"She'll ask why I want to know, if she even admits to the existence of the things."

I turned back to the look out the window. "I know. And I'll trust that you'll share with her only what she needs to know. I leave it up to you."

"I don't think I'll be able to get in to see her with an appointment."

"So don't. Just go and do what you do best."
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