A/N: Hi everyone! FF glitched and my chapter didn't post at first. But I think I fixed it, and I found out thanks toPirateweasel. Anyway, I've had the idea for this fic for a few years but I'm finally writing it out. Let me know if you like it!

I'm a man with an odd sense of humor.
I laugh at the misfortunes of others, and I cackle at their pain. The corners of my mouth turn up when something bad happens to someone else. Everyone has something that makes them happy, well mine is when other people are not happy.

I dislike when people refer to me as the "freak." Yet I know that I am one. But I've had that name my whole life, and nearly everyone I've ever met - even my own family - has called me it.

Except her.

I was never a freak in her eyes. I don't know what I was to her, maybe just a friend, maybe a fool she was only nice to because she felt sorry. I really don't know. But I know what she was to me. She's one of the only memories that I don't push away. I do that a lot. I push the memories away and forget them on purpose. Even if I tried to forget the memories she gave me, I couldn't. I simply could not.

Why do I care so much about her? I don't care about anything. I don't care about anyone. I don't care about who I hurt or what I destroy. I don't care. Why should I? No one cares about me, so I have no reason to care about them.

She cared. I don't know if she does anymore, but she did. Her family did too. I wonder how they're doing. I wonder how she got here, in Arkham, the literal hell on earth. She was so sweet and innocent when I knew her.

And just by coincidence, she's trapped in the room right next to mine. She hasn't made a single noise since they locked her in there. I would know because I've been sitting next to the sink in my room, where there's a small 2 inch hole where the pipe goes through the cement. I've only peeked to look at her a few times, and she only caught my eye once.

She looks so different now. Of course she would, because she's an adult now. She cut off her long, black hair and now it hangs just above her shoulders. She doesn't have bangs anymore either, they're grown out and sometimes it covers half her face. And she's not wearing glasses. Besides wanting to know how she got in here and all the way on the west side of Washington, I'd also like to know what happened to her glasses. She was almost completely blind last time I checked.

All she does is sit on her bed with her legs curled up to her chest, her head resting on her knees. If this ridiculously unkempt asylum wasn't so fucking loud from the screaming and moaning of the other inmates, I would be able to hear her breathe, because that's the only sound she has made since they threw her in that cell.

I've been here for 4 months now. The henchies are working on a plan to get me out, but since they're complete idiots, it's taking a while.

My mind is swarming with questions. Every one of them repeats in my head, because I'm dying to know why my long lost friend is in the cell next to mine.

I take another look through the peephole, and she isn't there anymore. I can't see her, she must have moved. But I didn't hear the loud noise of her door being opened (which I can hear clearly when it happens because it's right next to my room). My stomach is doing that thing that happens when I'm nervous. Some people call it butterflies I believe, but I don't get butterflies. That's nonsense.

I wait a few minutes, peek a few more times, and finally she's back at her bed, sitting on the edge of it and staring at the floor. I'm hesitant to get her attention, but I force myself to.

"Excuse me, pretty thing... Come here for a moment?"

She looks up, confused and surprised that she heard my voice. I'm looking at her through my hole in the wall, and she's looking back at me. First time we've made eye contact, and her eyes are bloodshot and sad. Something in my heart is uncomfortable with the fact that she looks to be in so much pain. But I hardly notice my heartstring being tugged, because I've trained myself to simply not give a fuck.

She stares at me for a moment before slowly walking over and sitting beside the sink with her back to the wall, like I am. Now I'm not sure what to say. But I figure out my words in time.

"Do you know who I am?" I ask.

It takes her a moment to respond, but she does and in her voice you can tell she is tired and stressed. "Yes... You're the Joker."

Now I'm confused. Why did she say the name that this city knows me by and not the name that she knew me by when we were children? Did she see my face? Of course she did. This peephole is small but she could still see me.

"What else am I?" I ask.

"Well... You're really the most successful criminal in Gotham."

Her response brings a smile to my face. A genuine smile. No one can do that, but she was always the one who could.

"How did a pretty thing like you get stuck here in Arkham? I've seen you on TV a few times. Robbing banks, shooting the college kids at Gotham U... Surely if what I've heard about your intelligence level is true, you would know how to not get caught and thrown in here."

She's smart. She was always smart. Smarter than me even, and I don't believe anyone could be smarter than me, except maybe her. Yet now that I think about it, I'm in here too, so even the smartest criminals get stuck in here sometimes. The Gotham Police Department is shittest PD in the world but every so often, they do catch us.

"It was a bad day." Was all she said.

I nodded even though she couldn't see. Then I heard shuffling and footsteps. When I look through the hole, she's back in her bed, laying curled up on her side with her back to me.

I yawn. It must be getting late. They don't tell us the time at this stupid facility, but I usually get tired around midnight, so it's probably time for bed. I stand and trudge to my bed, lying down on it on my back. I stare at the ceiling.

I don't think she remembers me. But I can't blame her, because I don't remember most things. The only reason I remember her, is because she was so important to me. If I'm really being honest with myself, she's still important to me. When I saw her on TV the first time, I was so surprised. At first I thought she may have followed me and moved to Gotham because of me, but that couldn't have been true. There's no way she could have figured out that I came here.

Maybe it's fate that she found me 20 years later. I don't know, how could this be fate if she doesn't even recognize me?

Then I get a great idea.

All my questions will be answered soon enough.