Author's Note: Hello all! I was completely inspired by Heath Ledger's performance as the Joker in the Dark Knight so here is my addition to the plethora of stories set in the Nolanverse. I hope you enjoy as it unites two of my favorite things, Batman and journalism. Please read and review!

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, even though he was my imaginary boyfriend for several years during my youth, nor any of the other DC characters, I didn't write the screenplay for The Dark Knight so I don't own any of that plot and I also don't own the Alkaline Trio, either. The rest of the characters are my own.

"You've got guts to spill, but no one's trust-worthy."

Alkaline Trio

Away from the sirens, motors and voices of the Gotham streets, the faint clicking of heels could be heard in the dark alley. The only other audible sound was the scurrying of rats along the sewer. The woman's feet tapped against the pavement as she slowly descended into darkness. Sludge slapped against her bare ankles as she quickened her step, She lifted the hem of her skirt, exposing her long, bare legs as she walked over a large puddle. The further she journeyed into the dark alley, the wider her green eyes grew in fear. She paused as she passed the first door.

"One," she accidentally said aloud. She was counting doors. He told her he would meet her at the sixth. Walking deeper into the black night she cursed herself for having forgotten a flashlight. She tried to calm herself. She was only doing her job. He had asked her to come, he wouldn't hurt her, he needed her. A chill went down her spine as she remembered the strange request.

Three nights ago she was awaken by the shrill ring of her telephone. Holding her crisp sheets to her bare chest, she groggily pressed the receiver to her ear.

"Daphne Wintour," the voice said. She immediately recognized it as the voice of terror she had heard so many times on the nightly news.

"Yes," she affirmed calmly.

"I want you to write a story about me, can you do that Daphne?" Her heart jumped in excitement.

"Yes," She said it again, this time with confidence and enthusiasm. The voice laughed.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Yes." The voice laughed again, this time more ominously.

"Good. Open your briefcase...I left you my card."

With that the phone clicked and Daphne rushed into the kitchen, her barefeet slapping the wood floor. On the floor was her briefcase. She propped it open on the counter. Laying atop her papers was a single playing card. She flipped it over, confirming the caller's identity--the Joker.

"This is the opportunity of a lifetime, " she told herself as she became more and more anxious. "This is front-page-four-columns-with-a-photo-good."

The possibility of career advancement seemed to soothe her fears but she had reason to believe she was in danger. She was approaching the sixth door when a man grabbed her from behind. She struggled against him but his strength was no match for her own. He wrapped one arm around her waist and brought the other to her neck. She screamed as she realized the hand was wielding a knife.

"Now, now Daphne," the man said calmly, in his hauntingly childlike voice. "This isn't going to work if you scream."

She was scared, the cool knife blade pressed against her skin. She did not fight him anymore instead letting him lead her into the doorway, hobbling with a visible limp into a small room. There were two crates across from each other with a makeshift table between them. He let her go and she crossed her arms in protest.

"Was the knife really neccessary?" She asked. He did not answer. She sat down on the nearest crate smoothing her green silk blouse and grey skirt as the man perched across from her. She was livid and he could tell. He reached into the pocket of his green jacket for a package of cigerettes. He lit the candle on the table between them and offered her a cigerette. She leaned into him for a light and he noticed how her damp blouse clung to her feminine silhouette. She leaned back and inhaled. In the candlelight she could finally see his familiar face before her. The dark eyes and the white facepaint now running thin after a day's sweat. She focused on his lips, full and bright, the scars on the corners of his mouth with red lipstick smeared over them. A sick charicature of a man.

"You like my scars, do you Daphne?" he smiled wide. Stretching the red painted scars across his face."Would you like to know how I got them?"

She nodded, and he began his story.

"You see, my father was a drinker, a real hard drinking man. So one night, I don't know how old I was, I was a real little guy.." He paused, looking at her noticing the amused expression on her face. He slammed his hands on the table and screamed.

"WHY AREN'T YOU WRITING THIS DOWN?"

Daphne laughed, "I'll start writing when you start telling the truth."

"I am!" He proclaimed. He reached across the table in an attempt to grab her by the neck but she pulled away. She looked at him with utter defiance.

"Do you think I'm stupid? It's a different story every time."

"But, it always ends the same."

"Why so serious?" They said in unison.

After a long pause, Daphne looked into his cold, dark eyes.

"Listen, no bullshit. I can't get them to print anything unless I can prove it's true. That means anything that comes out of your mouth, I have to fact check. I want to know nothing about your plans, I can't be responsible for delivering your warnings to the public. Save that for your little impromptu newscasts. I won't ask, you won't tell. This is about you, your background, your motivations, your ideals and your opinions. Do we have an agreement?"

Taken aback by her straight-forward cheek, the Joker was left momentarily speechless.

"Yes ma'am," he said enthusiastically, extending his hand to her in formal gesture. She took it, shook, and grew uncomfortable when he held it longer than necessary. She pulled it back, the Joker noticing her uncomfortable expression gave a snicker.

Daphne reached into her bag and removied a notebook and tape recorder. They talked in the tiny room off the alley until the candle had melted all over the table and they had smoked the entire pack of cigerettes.

Daphne stood up, "I'll write your story. Look for it in the Gazette."

"Then we do this again?" he asked.

"Maybe. It depends on how the story sells. I can't write for free."

"You'll write if your life depends on it," he muttered. Daphne leaned over him, seductively running her hand up his thigh. The Joker was enjoying it until she sank her long fingernails into the soft skin of his inner thigh.

"You do not hurt me," she whispered pressing her lips to his ear. "And I don't want that fucking knife in my face, ever again."

With that she bid him goodnight and walked back into the alley. She hailed a cab home excited for tomorrow's news briefing at the Gotham Gazette.

The Joker reflected momentarily in the dark room, rubbing his sore thigh. He smoothed his filthy green hair and adjusted his suit before standing up.

He smacked his lips, "Oh Daphne, we're going to have a lot of fun..."

Laughing, he took a can of gasoline from the corner of the room and haphazardly shook it over the crates and boxes. He made a trail to the door, put down the can and walked into the alley. He lit a cigarette and allowed the match to fall into the room. He stood back and giggling with demented joy as the room quickly became engulfed in flames. Smoke filled the alley until the man was no longer visible while his sick laughter echoed into the street.