Chapter 20

September 14th, 2010

The hallway was occupied by the few harried and overworked police officers that could be spared to cover a murder in the Narrows. The neighbors didn't peek out to see what the commotion was about; it was generally understood that you minded your own business in this neighborhood.

The uniformed officers parted in detective Jim Gordon's wake. He stopped at the doorway and took a moment. He wanted to savor his coffee before confronting the dead body that waited inside.

"Jim," the uniform at the door offered as a greeting.

"Tom," Gordon replied. "What do we have?" he asked, all business.

"Unidentified adult male, no head." Tom looked a little green around the gills. "It's pretty bad in there Jim."

"Isn't it always?" Gordon sighed and squared his shoulders. "Hold this for me, yeah?" He handed Tom his cup and passed under the crime scene tape and through the doorway. He noted in passing that the door was off the hinges and lay on the floor.

The body knelt between the television and the couch. The head lay a foot or so in front of it. Dried blood covered every surface and led back to the body in spots and ribbons and a pool of the stuff, still moist, sat between its legs like a nexus of viscera. The couch was turned over onto its back revealing an assortment of what looked like sports paraphernalia strapped to the underside.

"Jesus," Gordon muttered.

"Execution, minimal struggle."

Gordon sort of jumped in surprise and turned to a darkened corner from which Batman emerged. Gordon's exasperation blew from his nostrils in a sharp exhale. Maybe this was Batman's idea of fun: sneaking around and surprising him.

"Any luck on an ID?" Gordon asked in a low voice. It was likely that the officer at the door could hear them, but it was a habit. Cooperating with the Bat always felt like a clandestine operation, even if it was the worst kept secret in the precinct. Outside of the rampant corruption that plagued the Gotham Police Department.

"His prints don't match any database," Batman answered. Gordon hummed in acknowledgement as he passed his gaze over the crime scene once more.

"However, there is this." Batman's hand emerged from under his cape and he held up a hockey mask. "Sportsmaster," Batman answered the unspoken question.

"That thing in Taiwan?"

Batman nodded.

"Do you suspect—"

"Yes," Batman cut him off. He pursed his lips together and Gordon saw his frown become marginally deeper.

"If this was your man..." Gordon motioned to the general state of the room. "Why all this?"

Batman didn't always deign to share his investigative insights with the police, but he did this time.

"Sportsmaster was taken off the grid by the Shadows themselves. It might have taken me weeks to find him, even in Gotham, if he didn't want to be found." Batman made the same gesture to the room at large. "If he got to a Shadow in hiding, the message is clear. He can get to anyone." He motioned to the viscera now, the severed head, the discarded knife that had served Sportsmaster poorly in his last moments. "And, clearly, the kid gloves are off."

Their fucking might have seemed violent and passionate by normal human standards, but contrary to what the broken bed frame and the state of the walls might have implied, it had been, to Naruto, somewhat lackluster. Other thoughts occupied his mind.

They laid on the lopsided remnants of the bed, Koriand'r's back against his chest and his legs splayed to either side of her hips as he rested against the cracked headboard. She played with his real hand, pressing her thumbs into his palm, taking the measure and feel of his many calluses. His metal hand came up to brush against her skin just below her breasts. She flinched away on contact.

"Cold!" Koriand'r giggled. His hand dropped and rested on the bed sheet. He murmured an apology into her hair and she kissed his palm. She kept playing with his hand, placed it on her breast, and enjoyed the post-coital cuddle.

He let her do as she pleased. His thoughts were far from the beautiful redheaded alien in his arms. Far from the headless body waiting to be found in a Gotham slum. He thought of Sasuke. His once best friend whose death hadn't been nearly so clean. He was back in the Land of Iron. The usually serene snow covered landscape was disturbed by craters and long, blackened slashes carved out of the ground. They were spent, the battle had taken their strength, and they lay in a snowdrift, Sasuke against Naruto's chest, kicking and struggling while Naruto's forearm put pressure against his throat. His other hand clutched the back of Sasuske's head and pushed him deeper into the choke. Naruto felt Sasuke weaken, the elbows landing on his midsection lost their bite, the attempts to gouge his eyes out became less frequent until Sasuke stilled completely and went limp in his arms.

In those few moments, he considered letting go. He loosened the choke a few millimeters, relaxed his legs that were wrapped around Sasuke's waist. His memories were hazy—he'd taken more than a few hits to the head—but Naruto remembered he'd made a decision at that point. Just as quickly as he'd loosened his grip he redoubled it. With a quick jerk and a crack, Sasuke Uchiha was dead. Not in the heat of battle, not by accident. Murdered by his once friend for a hazy idea of the greater good.

He'd cried at the time, bawled his eyes out, but, here and now, sitting in his room a universe away, he knew he would do it again. Had done it again. Would continue to do it. It was a simple conviction and terrible for its simplicity. The arithmetic was easy. When he weighed the lives of his friends, his own life, the safety of the people he held dear, well, the decision almost made itself. His hand snapped into a fist and the bed sheet ripped in his grip. He reminded himself that the decision was his. It wouldn't do to minimize his own responsibility. He'd decided. In the case of Sasuke Uchiha and in the case of Sportsmaster, Naruto had decided their guilt and carried out the sentence of his own volition.

Koriand'r pulled his prosthetic onto her abdomen. He released his grip and the bit of bedsheet he'd torn fell out of it. She started playing with the mechanical hand. He felt her manipulate the fingers, but he couldn't feel the sensation of her skin on his.

"A penny for your thoughts?" she asked.

"What?" he asked as her voice cut through his memories.

"An Earth phrase. Megan taught me." She resumed her inspection of his hand. She hadn't asked about it when he'd returned to the tower in the company of Superman, contrary to everyone else. He imagined Connor would have a few questions of his own when he and Megan returned from their mission. Koriand'r just contented herself with turning his hand and arm over, feeling its shape and texture.

"Just thinking about an old friend," he answered.

"Oh?" She tried prompting him to continue. Naruto was fine leaving it there. She tried again. "Who was this old friend? What were they like?"

"Angry. Dangerous. And, I don't know, just really cool. In that emo sort of way. My best friend once."

"Did you part amicably?" she asked, correctly assuming that this friend was from his previous life. She started rubbing the palm of his metal hand with her thumb, maybe testing to see if he felt it.

Amicably? He hadn't hated Sasuke in the end. Just loved him less than everyone else in his life. But the love was there. An amicable murder maybe. Something between a sigh and a snicker passed his lips. It wasn't funny but he couldn't help it.

"Not really."

"What happened?" she asked, now playing with the hairs on his thigh.

He gave a noncommittal grunt and deflected.

"Do you ever think about what you'll do when you see your sister again?" Komand'r had sold Koriand'r into slavery, had lead a raid on her home planet, killed the royal family, was probably still searching for her sister to this day—if she'd ever made it out of that Psion prison. Naruto knew what he would do.

"I do not know," she murmured. "For all her mistakes, she is my sister."

He understood that. He hadn't known what he would do with Sasuke until the moment came.

"And what would you do?" she asked.

"I don't have a sister."

"But if you did," she prompted. She was gripping his real hand now. She was looking for advice, direction.

"I guess I'd do what I always try to do." Sasuke's face popped into his head. Framed by the snow, lips blue, face bruised, most assuredly dead. "The right thing. Whatever that is," he finished.

A/N: Another short one. I know the pace is slow, updates even slower. This is just how I'm writing right now.