Batman: The Breath of Accusation

[SilverKnight]

Disclaimer: yeah yeah yeah, I don't own Batman, Superman or anything involving DC Comics. If I did, I sure as hell wouldn't be doin this, I'll tell ya that much. :) Because at least if I owned them, I could be gettin' *paid* for writing this, and trust me, I'm gettin nada now. So don't sue.

--I have no idea where it came from, and this most likely will not have sequals, so don't ask why this happened or why that happened, 'cause I don't know. It's like a reaction piece to something that never happened, and as long as you just go along with it, hopefully it won't be as bad. Okay? Thanks.--

>>Batman: The Breath of Accusation<<

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"The breath of accusation kills an innocent name." Mary Shelly

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He stepped into the room silently, trying not to draw attention. He didn't feel like getting any stares at this point and time. True, he almost *never* wanted to draw attention to himself, but this occassion was even worse. A personal battle raged in his mind, and he'd rather it be uninterrupted. So, why, then, was he in the JLA headquarters at all?

To be honest, he had no idea.

He just needed to get out of the cave for a while, until the news was brought to the public. The cave--the relics, the weapons--only brought more memories and conflicting feelings to the surface. Which the Dark Knight did not enjoy at all. Even less did he enjoy the fact that his one sanctuary was providing him with more grief than good--not to mention facing any of the people in his "family" after what he had decided to do. He sighed, sitting down in one of the chairs that peppered the large room. Across the "rec" room, for a lack of a better description for it, Kyle Rayner--aka Green Lantern--slumped in his own seat, eyeing his jade ring. 'He's still new,' Batman surmised. 'He hasn't fully gotten used to the "superhero" lifestyle yet.' GL sighed, flicking on the TV to a news channel.

The previous shift had just ended, so there were still many heroes straggling about while the new shift came on duty. People began pouring into the room, sitting, chatting, laughing. A couple noticed the Dark Knight with wary glances, but they were used to seeing him brood, and payed him little mind. Even some of the big guns arrived on the scene--Superman, Wonder Woman, and Martian Manhunter--to check in.

He frowned deeply, seeing the room fill with more and more people. He stood from the far corner, starting toward the entrance at the other end of the room. He wanted to be *alone*, dammit--

So, why'd he come here?

Again, the question popped in his mind, and he had no answer to it. He only knew where he *wouldn't* want to be--anywhere that reminded him of--

"Excuse me, we've just received word on breaking news occuring in Gotham," the anchor said hurriedly, reading the sheet in his hands. Everyone immediately gazed up towards the large monitor, confused. Everyone except one person. He stood still, hearing the low murmurs in accusatory tones spread in the small crowd. "The body of the notorious psychopathic murderer--" Batman immediately felt the eyes of his long time friend Clark Kent, aka Superman, bore at his back. "--the Joker has been found in an alleyway earlier this morning."

The previous hushed whispers turned into full-blown gossip, which did nothing to help his mood. He knew exactly what they were thinking, and despite himself, he couldn't blame them. "We go to a local reporter on the scene, Summer Gleeson. Summer," he turned to the large screen, which promptly filled with a youthful woman, whose pale features were covered sloppily in makeup due to the severity of the newsbreak. Her hair was in disarray, and what snippet of the clothes that were shown were disheveled. All in all, she looked to be having one hell of a good morning. "What can you tell us?"

"Well, John," she began quickly, as if she were out of breath, "police say an anonymous call was placed around 6 a.m. this morning, simply reporting, and I quote, 'a dead guy' in the alley. Police reported to the scene, and soon found out the 'dead guy' was, in fact, the notorious Clown Prince of Crime, the Joker," she explained matter-of-factly. Now *everyone* was staring at him. He gazed about the room for a second, a stern look upon his face, quickly gauging everyone's reaction to him. Some he could read like books--some looking afraid, some almost relieved, and a few deeply hurt. However, he refused to let the hard glares his way phase him--not even the ones from Diana and Clark--and his eyes followed back to the screen.

"What was the cause of death, Summer?" The anchor questioned anxiously. Apparently this was news to him as well.

She dropped her head for a moment, referring to a small white sheet in her hand. "Uh, John, the area is taped off, but I have been able to procure the preliminary coroner's report." The room fell silent, all of the League waiting to hear he was beaten to death, as he surely was by the Batman. After all, that insane clown had it coming to him for years. They all knew one day he was going to wind up pushing the wrong button, and the Dark Knight would snap and kill him. Not that any of them would *care* if the psycho was dead, but still...it was good gossip. 'The Bat loses his belfry.' Not a bad choice for a newspaper headline... "The cause of death, he wrote is--"

An offscreen "*hey*!" was heard, and the reporter whipped around to see what appeared to be the coroner stalking up to the vivacious woman. "Where do you think you're going with that? How'd you get ahold of that?"

The reporter smiled sweetly, holding the paper out to him. "Terribly sorry. I'm done with it now." The small man blinked, momentarily shocked by her feigned innocence, and the sheet hanging limply in her grasp. The coroner fuming, but aware they were on national television, merely snatched the paper from her fingers, tromping away.

Green Arrow, the resident ******* of the group in Batman's opinion, cleared his throat, getting more comfortable in his chair. "I think we all know what the 'cause of death' is, don't we Bats?"

"No 'we' don't. So can it, archer," Superman growled, as Batman simply glared at the man lounging in the seat.

"Summer, you there?" John asked, apprehensive that he lost his contact and would have to wing his way through the broadcast.

She nodded, her bangs bobbing in her face. "Yes, sorry John. The cause of death as reported by the coroner--" She shot a glance off screen. All the heroes leaned forward, straining to hear anything. "--is a fatal bullet wound to the back."

Most of them leaned back in their seats, either relieved or disappointed. While Batman kept things to himself, most of the Justice League knew his hatred for guns, and therefore would rule him out as a suspect. Notably those who seemed the most relieved were the big wigs of the JLA.

The thrum of the reporters voice filled the room, however everyone had stopped listening after that point. He, while not particularly wanting to stay there any longer, felt he should at least remain for a while, as not to damn himself further in the other's eyes. Instead, he perched himself back at his seat, a determinded--almost defaint--look upon his face as the rest of the League became up in arms.

The Joker had not been classified as a JLA villian, still everyone in the League knew of his existence. They've all heard the horror stories. He was as dangerous as he was psychopathic, and extremely intelligent. His attacks were random, pre-emptive, and highly deadly. And, like it or not, most of the people in the Leauge considered him just as much a threat as any of the JLA's enemies.

So, naturally, they were curious as to why he died--and more importantly--who killed him.

The quiet murmurs resurfaced anew; only instead of the voices saying, "Batman did it" they said, "if Batman *didn't* do it, who *DID*?"

What a question, indeed.

"Okay, Bats," Oliver Queen, aka Green Arrow, commented non-chalantly. "You knew the psycho better than anybody else, tell us. Who do you think is responsible?"

"That's even if it *is* him," Green Lantern interjected morosely.

The larger man eyed the guardian as if he were a bug on his food. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean, Battery Boy?"

"I won't warn you again, Queen," Superman hissed. The man had a tendancy to wear on his patience. Especially when he was picking on someone for no apparent reason.

GL, while being smaller in stature, set his jaw defiantly. "I *mean* it may not be the Joker."

Arrow quirked his eyebrow up sardonically. "Okay, then, if it *isn't* the clown, who is it?"

The younger man shrugged. "I dunno...maybe he's a clone or something--"

"It's him."

Everyone stopped, placing their gazes upon the Caped Crusader, whom--up to that point--had been poignantly silent. He sat, still as a stone, his face a mask of determination. Everyone's objections died in their throats upon hearing his simple declaration. The Bat rarely spoke, and if he did, it was for a reason. And since he rarely spoke, he obviously didn't waste his time lying, so if he *did* speak, it was taken as gospel much like Superman's word.

Still, the archer found his quiet display of authority unimpressive, being the stubborn, headstrong man that he was. "Oh, and how do *YOU* know?"

"I know because I did a DNA analysis of the body last night when I found him," he explained coolly.

Even Green Arrow was taken aback by what the Batman had just uttered. He found him *last* *night*? Last night? Questions whirred through everyone's minds. How did he find him last night? Why did he leave him there? Why didn't he tell anyone?

"Still," The Man of Steel finally spoke, stepping forward, leaning on a desk. "The body could be a clone."

The Dark Knight merely shook his head, standing as well. He began to pace about the room, slowly, working the theory through the wheels in his mind. "No. Even with a clone, there is some very small section of the body that is...degraded, for the lack of a better term. Most machines aren't sophisticated enough to find it, but it's there. You just have to know where to look for it."

Green Lantern knitted his brows behind his emerald mask. "What do you mean by 'degradation'?"

Diana, or Wonder Woman as she was commonly known, stepped in to speak. "Degradation means where the quality of something is lowering." Glancing at Batman, he nodded slightly, and she continued. "I believe I understand where Batman is going with this. Think of when you make a copy of something. Then you proceed to make a copy of that copy; then make a copy of that copy, and so on. When you do that, you begin to see the quality of the photo go down, correct? Well, what Batman is saying is that the cell goes through the same thing, and while the clone may only be a copy of the original, part of the cell should still nonetheless be degraded by it."

"Oh."

Superman stared at his longtime friend wide-eyed. Even in Kryptonian technology, there was no way to tell a human and a clone apart. How could Batman be able to pull such a feat off? He was about to tell Batman as much, but an argument would do no good at the moment. In place of such knowledge, he asked, "okay. So, how big *is* this 'degraded cell'?"

"It's not an actual cell itself," he explained, making his way further to the door without realizing it. He lowered his head, thinking of the simplest way to put it. "Imagine..." the Dark Knight began quietly. "Imagine if you took one cell in your body, and split it up evenly between every other cell in your body. Brain cell, skin cell, everything. That is how big the degradation is."

Superman's eyes widened, his mind racing. "That's...that's like finding a needle in a haystack!"

The Dark Knight nodded his assent, still pacing. Queen, still acting the part of the jock, spoke up. "Okay, so did you happen to find this 'needle'?"

[SilverKnight]

He merely shook his head, his hands clasped behind his back. "Which is why I said it was him."

Superman, now closer to him, stared at his slowly moving figure, something akin to shock on his face. How could he possibly seem so non-chalant about it? After all that psychopathic clown had done to him, he was treating the case like it were any other. And somehow, a nagging part of him asked him why he was surprised at all. This was *Batman*, after all. The man never showed his emotions to anyone. If he *did* feel anything about the news--which the Man of Steel was sure he did, by the way he was acting a few minutes earlier--almost no one had let onto the fact.

Almost.

"Well," Superman began quietly taking a hesitant step toward him. "Aren't you going to find the person who killed him?" Immediately he cursed the question that fell from his lips. Of course he would--Batman's sense of justice rivaled his own. His motivation and means to achieve that justice were quite different from his own, but that meant little when it came to fighting the good fight. And because of his almost fanatical need to catch the 'bad guy', Superman counted himself lucky on a daily basis that a man as potentially deadly as he was on his side.

Still, the enigmatic man that was the Dark Knight let the very odd question hang in the air. For some reason, that worried the Kryptonian. He had known Batman--Bruce for years. And whenever it came to doing the "right" thing--meaning the just thing--he would be the first to stand behind Clark. Now, though...now it was different. His mannerisms seemed off; his answers--not that they were ever lengthy--were much more short and curt than usual. Like a small child looking up to their parent, Superman questioned in a small voice, "you *are* going to find the killer, right?"

The cowled figure stopped, turning calculatingly. As he shook his head, everything Clark thought he knew about the man before him disappeared in a puff of smoke.

His face fell, shocked. If the Dark Knight noticed, he didn't show it. "Some--someone--" He stammered, his mouth refusing to do his bidding. "Someone *murdered* him, Br--Batman! You aren't going to investigate?"

Batman gazed at him for a moment. "I'm not going out of my way to find the murderer of someone who deserved to die," he declared, deadpan.

If it were possible, Superman's eyes grew larger. How could Bruce be *saying* that? He couldn't let the killer go! Even if it *was* the Joker, he was still human. Perhaps Bruce didn't see that. His eyes locking upon his retreating back, he decided to make his thoughts known. "Batman," he boomed, starting forward. The Caped Crusader wheeled around, facing him down as he charged forward. "Batman," he began again. "This is *wrong*, and you know it. You can't just let his murder go unsolved!"

The Bat grimaced. "*Watch* me," he hissed, turning on his heel.

Before he could storm out of the door, Superman placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know how you feel," he uttered quietly.

He felt Batman's muscles go taut under his strong hand, and as he reviewed what he said, realized he had just spoken the *worst* possible thing he could have said to a man like him. The dark figure whirled around, his hand falling off his shoulder. "No you *don't* know!" He spat, stalking forward, forcing Clark backwards. "You have no *IDEA* how I feel!"

Man of Steel or not, Superman was still capable of feeling anger and fear, just like his human brethren. And Man of Steel or not, there were times when the Dark Knight would honestly frighten the daylights out of him, for three reasons.

One: His physical appearence alone could cause grown men to lose their nerve. Superman was not immune to this, either. When Bruce wanted to, he could very well look like a demon spawned from the mouth of Hell itself. Raised as a poor farm boy in Kansas, he had learned his fair share of the Church's teaching, although he had lost most of his faith upon entering the cruel world. However, when the Batman turned upon him with that predatory glint in his eye, even he felt the urge to drop to one knee and pray.

Two: A man as serious as Bruce rarely threw around threats and promises--if he said he would do it, neither hell nor high water would keep him from achieving it. Such single-mindedness could prove very dangerous in their line of work, but very useful. In Gotham, the Bat had a reputation that preceded him into many other cities. Any thug that dared enter his territory and do harm to another being--the Bat would be there to give them a taste of their own medicine. Such an obsession to right the wrongs of the world uttered volumes of the man's iron will and sheer determination.

Three: It is said that knowledge is power. If that theory held true, Bruce Wayne aka Batman was the strongest person on the planet. Sure, Superman may be able to leap buildings in one bound, but he had the avantage. For Bruce Wayne--a human, with no special powers or gifts--to be able to give the members of the JLA a run for their money (and possibly even surpass them) in usefulness and prowess, spoke alot of his amassed knowledge. If he honestly wanted do, Bruce could be a very deadly tool for the attack--and the fact he never stooped to such an act spoke of his sense of justice. And such potential volatility in one person created a knot in Clark's stomach whenever he thought about it.

Needless to say, this was one of those times.

Eyes ablaze, the Dark Knight all but rammed Clark backwards, turning him from strong friend to bumbling idiot in mere seconds. "You know how I *feel*, huh?" He hissed. "How many family members have you lost? Hm?" Not waiting for Superman to stammer the reply he knew would eventually come tumbling out of his mouth, he continued. "How many were *killed*? How many were killed right in *front* of you?" He paused, glaring at the slightly larger man. "I'm sorry, I can't hear you. What did you say?"

The tan man's lips moved, yet no sound was coming out. Finally, as if it physically hurt to speak, he begrudingly uttered, "...none."

He nodded slowly, feigning calm. "Right. *None*. So, tell me, if you've lost no one, how can you *POSSIBLY* know how I feel?" The cowled figure leaned forward, to the point where he was almost nose to nose with the man before him. "When you *do* lose someone you love, *then* talk to me." He stabbed his finger into the man's chest. "When you lose a *son*, then come talk to me." Poke. "When you see your son murdered before your eyes--" Jab. "--and have his murderer sneer in your face while being *defended*--" Double poke. "--by someone who is *SUPPOSED* to be on the side of truth and *justice*--" Triple jab. "--*THEN* come talk to me!" Shove.

He watched the Man of Steel stumble back slightly,and decided to quell any further argument. Before Clark could recover, he reached forward, wrapping a gauntleted hand around a piece of his spandex suit. He wrenched him forward, pulling the slightly taller man down to his eye level. His voice an almost inaudible whisper, he commanded, "until then...don't you ever--*EVER*--say you know how I feel. Am I making myself clear?" He spoke softly enough that only those with enhanced hearing could have made out anything other than a low growl escaping his lips.

Superman nodded slowly, eyes still locked with his. "...as crystal," he managed out.

Without another word, the Dark Knight stormed out of the nearby door, leaving everyone to their thoughts. Some time during their conversation, someone had shut off the television, leaving the room deathly silent. For the first time in as many minutes, Superman drew in a shaky breath, the unsteady sound reverberating through the entire hall. He turned his eyes to the rest of the group, whom he had just remembered were there. Each of the heroes' faces were carbon copies of his own--wide-eyed and openmouthed. Rayner--who had an almost instinctual fear of the Batman--looked as if he were about to faint. Even Queen's expression was that of quiet fear.

But he was still wrong.

Reminding himself of that fact, Superman stalked out of the room, in search for his wayward friend. What felt like hours passed--in truth, it was only a few minutes--as he wandered the halls of the large facility, looking for any sign of him, to no avail. He knew that if the man didn't want to be found, it would be practically impossible for any normal human to find him. Superman, however, was far from the normal human. Using practically every super-power at his disposal, the Man of Steel continued through the myriad of halls. Finally, with his enhanced hearing, he heard soft footsteps in the "observation room". Floating in the air to keep Batman from hearing his--apparently unique--footsteps, he soared down to the metallic room.

The "observation room", as some of the members of the JLA called it, was a large barren room peppered with large transparent windows--the windows actually being constructed from a highly dense and nearly unbreakable polymer--giving a breathtaking view of the perpetual night sky and the Earth. The stars twinkled almost hypnotically, languidly floating in the vast darkness beyond. The observation room was a wonderful place to become lost in one's own thoughts.

He should've known Bruce would go there.

He slowed his speed, trying to make it as quiet an entrance as possible. Finally, stopping at the corner, his eyes took in the Dark Knight's features. He didn't look like the fearsome creature the Man of Steel had seen so many times before. There--probably for one of the few times in his life--Superman saw a human being. He was leaning his against the window with his gloved hand, his broad shoulders no longer tense with apprehension and anger, but slumped in defeat. His head was turned upwards, gazing out into the stars above. "Go away, Clark," he ordered quietly.

"No."

The Dark Knight sighed tiredly. Why did he have to make this so difficult for him? "Think what you want. I won't change my mind."

From behind him, he heard the miniscule whoosh of air as his dear friend floated closer. "I know you won't Bruce. I'm not here for that."

He suppressed an uncharacteristic snort of laughter. "Why *are* you here, then?"

From the window, he watched the Man of Steel lower himself to the ground with all the grace of a ballet dancer. "To tell you you're wrong." 'I knew it,' Batman hissed mentally. However, he remained silent, waiting for the man behind him to elaborate. "I *do* know how you feel. Probably moreso than you." His eyes narrowed at the pale reflection. Neither the man or his reflection were impressed. "I'm the last of my kind. I lost my whole *world*, Bruce," the Man of Steel exclaimed. "You can't possibly understand that!"

"Yes, I can," he replied simply, his eyes still staring at the expectant face in the window. "My parent's were my world. The entire planet could have been incinerated, but I would not have cared, as long as my parents were with me."

"I lost my parents too, Bruce."

At last, the Dark Knight turned, his face icy in it's detachment. "And yet you have 'parents' in Kansas, who share your last name, who raised you, and taught you of right and wrong. *They're* not your parents?"

Clark's tanned face hardened, his dark eyes glinting dangerously. "Yes, they're my parents. But my *biological* parents were killed."

"No, your parents *died*," he retorted, matching his glare.

"There's a difference?" The Man of Steel spat, his patience obviously wearing thin.

"Yes. Your parents died when your planet's core erupted. Your world was turned to dust by way of nature. You couldn't have changed that." His eyes flickered in anger and remorse. "Mine, however, were killed. Their lives were not taken by nature, rather, by a bullet. That *could* have been stopped, had I not been so damned selfish to want to go to that movie." Suddenly uncomfortable, the Dark Knight began to pace about the large room, attempting to get the prying eyes that belonged to one Clark Kent off of his back.

"Bruce--"

He knew what he was going to say, and he didn't want to hear it. "You don't understand, Clark. My family *is* my world. And when that--" His lips curled into a feral snarl. "And when that son of a ***** killed Jason, it--it was like losing my parents all over again." He pivoted to face the Man of Steel, who was now behind him. "You understand that, can't you? You said it yourself, you know how I feel. Your parents were killed too, right?" He then smirked in a humorless manner. "Oh, I guess not."

Again, the Dark Knight Detective turned on his heel, starting down the hall. However, he hadn't heard the slight whoosh noise made when an angry Superman charged behind him, outstretching his arms. In a blink of an eye, he had gone from walking at one end of the hall to skidding to a stop face-first at the other. "What the hell is *wrong* with you?" The man behind his boomed, stalking forward. He picked himself up off the floor slowly, calculating how long it would take for Clark to reach him. "A man is dead, and you won't lift a finger to find out who killed him?!"

His patience for his friend had worn dreadfully thin, and it was about time Clark learned he meant business. He stood to his full height, wheeled around, and brutally shoved Clark backwards in one swift move. "*NO* Clark, I'm not!" Batman roared. "That rat bastard deserved to die from day one! Whoever did it should be getting a *parade*, not a jail sentence."

His friend was obviously shocked. "How can you *say* that?"

Again, Batman pushed him backwards. "Because I *know* him! That man was *PURE* *EVIL*, Clark! You never went up against him! You never saw what he *did* to people! What he subjected them to! Have you ever seen someone skinned alive, Clark?" Another shove to his chest. "*Have* you?" He continued to push him backwards as he thundered, "have you ever seen someone dipped head to toe in acid and then dropped in a vat of salt water, Clark?" Batman shoved him one final time, sending Superman onto his back. "Have you ever seen--" He shook his head. "God, I can't even *tell* you some of the things he did." Superman hurriedly pulled himself to his feet, facing down the Dark Knight, as he spoke. "He did the most disgusting--perverse..." Sighing in frustration, he ended with a final, "you don't understand."

"You're right. I don't," he replied, his face a wash of anger, confusion and concern.

In an attempt to calm himself again, the Dark Knight began to pace about the barren room, which they both managed their way back to during their verbal fight. Sighing, he again found a perch at a window. "You know the worst part? About saying I'm not looking for his killer? I'm *hating* myself for it." Superman remained silent, staring at his friend in a new light. "All those years ago...I swore to myself I would never let happen to anyone else what happened to my parents." The Dark Knight clenched his fists in fury, his jaw working in anger. "That man was a *monster*, Clark...plain and simple. He doesn't *deserve* to be avenged. But...everything in me that I swore to uphold tells me I'm *wrong* for thinking that."

The dark figure pushed himself from the wall, slowly starting back for the mouth of the hall. Superman instinctively took a step back as the man stopped in front of him. A bark of bitter laughter escaped his chiseled lips, looking at him. "Can you imagine that, Clark? You know how I feel, tell me...how does it feel to loathe yourself when you do the wrong thing for the right reasons?"

He could only stare at the cowled man before him, speechless. For several moments, Clark Kent, aka Superman attempted to form a rational sentence in vain. Even if his vocal cords were capable of creating sound at the moment, he would've had no idea what to say. He pitied Batman, really. The Dark Knight truly did have that sense of justice within him. But he also had that streak of vengeance, and a personal battle raged inside of him, forcing him to choose between the two. After all, justice is blind, but vengeance is not.

After many attempts, the Man of Steel spoke. "I have no idea," he admitted quietly. "I couldn't imagine going through such hell."

"For your sake, I hope you never do," Batman replied, almost a whisper.

--Note: In RL there is no cell degredation in clones. Like an identical twin, their DNA is exactly the same. The only wy you can tell is maybe by age and/or behavior. Oh, if the process screws up, the clone may end up with blue eyes instead of brown or such. But hey, when's the last time you've seen a guy in blue tights flying around your neighborhood?--

Okay, now here's where I need y'all's help. I don't read comics, and I just want to make sure all my facts are good. If not tell me, and I'll change it. Thanks.

[Daughterof_Evil]

Top notch, SK. You were frighteningly accurate in expressing Bruce's rage. The same impulse that forced him to become a vigilante causes him to not want to avenge someone who caused so much pain. Again, you have written a perfect, seamless story. Thanks!

[M'ral]

Silverknight, that was beautiful! I swear, if you call your writing bad again, I don't know what I'll do! You are waaay to modest for your own good! :rolleyes:

On an unrelated note, the email on your website is up to date, right? Just checking, because the one Remi and I have been using obviously isn't working.