Title: Who Giggles in Gotham?
By: Amanda
Feedback:sweety167 at yahoo dot ca
Rating: R
Disclaimer: The Batman universe is not mine. And this is a labour of love, not profit. Please explain that to my credit card company. Why must I work when all I want to do is write?
Fandom: The Dark Knight movieverse
Summary: Everyone starts somewhere, and it's such a small world after all. And Gotham breeds the strangest of bedfellows.
Completed: December 2008
Notes: I have no idea what this is, or why I wrote it. It actually started out as a little Joker-fangirling piece, but it kind of grew out of control. Blame it on 'dogs chasing cars' syndrome. Also, the movie was missing Harley Quinn, and this isn't her, but the same kind of girl. A bit of a homage to her. I didn't expect to write a creation story. But what can I say? That's what happened. Also inspired by the comic storyline Hush. And whenever I write Batman, I think of No Man's Land by Greg Rucka.

Part One
Chapter Completed: October 17, 2008

"Even the most random acts of violence are inspired by some desire or need" – Brother Grimm, by Craig Russell.

"Wanna know how I got these scars?" the Joker turned to address his audience: the captive audience crouched and cowering on the bank floor.

He brandished a small carving knife that glistened in the overhead light. A knife they had already seen plunge into the flesh of one of the clown-masked henchmen, and now he pointed the blade in their faces.
"Anyone?" he cut into the air with a flourish swing of his arm.

The crowd of customers and employees huddled closer together, letting out a collective squealing sob.

All but the young woman on the end. She looked up with wide, awe-struck eyes.

Slowly, she raised her hand like a student in school. Her arm shaking only slightly.

The Joker turned his attention to her, his tongue absentmindedly licking at the corner of his scarred mouth. He took a few limbering steps closer to her, the other scurried away. He stooped down to her level, pointing the blade an inch from her nose and cocked his head to the side, "You wanna know?"

Biting her lip, she nodded with a small, quick bob of her head.

He leaned in, eyes darting from side to side, "Clumsy barber," he whispered, mimicking the line of his scars with the tip of his knife, "too close a shave." He popped back up to full height, "but he's dead now. No tip."

The corner of the girl's mouth twitched and she let out a burst of laughter. Honest laughter.

She thought it was funny.

He tilted his head and watcher her, the scarred expansion of his mouth stretched into a smile.

Two Years Later…

"Mr. Wayne. Mr. Wayne," sang the chorus of reporters brandishing microphones, tape recorders and the odd blinding flash of a camera.

Old Hollywood style was alive in Gotham.

And Bruce Wayne basked in it all. Banked by leggy models on either side, he smiled and hammed at each call of the flash bulbs. The millionaire playboy in his element.

"Mr. Wayne! Laura Kinney, GNN," the woman at the front of the pack jumped up on the balls of her high heeled feet, gaining his attention.

Wayne's fundraisers had a way of morphing into press conferences, and getting way out of hand. That was part of the thrill.

"Miss Kinney," he flashed her the million dollar smile.
Hard hitting professional that she was, she blushed, "Why the hundred thousand dollar bounty on the Batman?"
For a moment, his smile slipped, "It's not a bounty." And again the perfect caps were visible; "We wouldn't want another vigilante on our hands Miss Kinney. I'm simply offering a reward for information leading to his arrest."
"But…why?" Another reporter couldn't contain their curiosity. It wasn't everyday that Bruce Wayne pulled his head out of his personal life to see what the rest of the world was up to.

"If the Batman is a concern of the Gotham Police Department, he's a concern for all of Gotham. And I just want to look out for my city. My home."

"Gotham's new golden boy!" Miss Kinney squealed, to the applause of the crowd.

A giggle bubbled up from the back of the room, rising and picking up enough volume to gain the slip of a woman the room's full attention.
"It's the second face of Harvey Dent," she shared, much to the gasping horror of everyone else. She bit her lip, "What? Too soon?"
"Who---Who said that?" Bruce had jumped from the podium and pushed himself through the bullpen of reporters; his face dangerously stone serious.

"Ruby Haring, Metropolis Gazette," she smiled, with wide brown eyes and a soft wave of brown hair. She almost looked like…no.

"You're a long way from home Miss Haring," Bruce watched her with narrowed eyes.

She offered him a smile, and bit her lip, "When a man like you starts shifting his weight around, people take notice. Any political aspirations Bruce. Er. Wayne. Mr. Bruce Wayne?" She tacked a little giggled at the end to compensate for her little slip up.

He relaxed a little as he listened to her twiddle, under the eagle-eye watch of news cameras. "I'm afraid that's a little out of my league," he flashed the winning smile and added a self-defacing chuckle, "But since you've come all this way for a story Miss Haring, maybe you'd like to accompany me. See this Golden Boy of Gotham in action?"

Her brown eyes sparkled with a dark amusement, "Why Mr. Wayne, I'd be honoured."

----

"You'll have to pardon my intrusion sir, but do you think this is the best idea you've had?" Alfred Pennyworth poked his head in as Bruce fixed another set of drinks – champagne for her, and sparkling water for himself. Tomorrow morning the papers would be plastered with paparazzi photos of Bruce Wayne and this Ruby Haring. The tabloids would spill with every variety of concocted story about the pair – Secret lovers, long lost siblings. Alfred had seen it all. Infotainment shows would be running video clips non-stop. They way the pair twirled on the dance floor, the close conversations, and the way she'd giggle in a twisted string of inappropriate laughter. The speculation would be immense. The media had already labelled the girl as Wayne's new toy. The guests had all whispered on their way out.

Ruby Haring had made a splash on her first night in Gotham.

So much so that everyone had forgotten about the reason they were gathered together. The fundraising coiffure was nearly empty, but everyone would remember the evening.

"This girl is a reporter – apparently," Alfred fought the urge to roll his eyes, "but that laugh of hers… who giggles in Gotham City. Well, other than--."

"—we don't talk about him," Bruce's attention snapped up to his Butler, and friend. "Besides," he went back to filling his glass, "she's not from Gotham."

"So she says," the older man stepped in, swatting away the other man's hands before he made an even bigger mess of the serving glasses.
Relinquishing like the child Alfred would always see him as, Bruce sighed, "And…I think a little good humour could do me some good."

Alfred shrugged. The master had a point: all work and no play made Jack a dull boy. But there was something about that woman, who all of Gotham has seen on display at this little fundraiser, and now on Bruce's arm, that made him uneasy. It was something about her laugh. But Bruce didn't go out nearly as much as the Batman did, not since Rachel Dawes had… Maybe the giggling brunette was good for him. He just hoped that Bruce knew what he was going. And who he was doing it with.

"Will you be staying in tonight Sir?" Alfred handed over the glasses, each filled perfectly, and nearly indistinguishable from each other.
Bruce smiled. He had managed to get the old man to see his side of it. It had been a year since Rachel had…a year since that maniac had been put away, and Gotham had grown quiet in the fall chill – except for the few robberies plaguing Amusement Mile, but nothing that required the attention of the Batman, or his alter ego tonight. Maybe it was time for Batman to have a little break. "Yes Alfred, I think I will," there was a twinkle in his eye.

Alfred watched Bruce stride across the vast penthouse, toward the balcony. The older gentleman had done his best to caution his employer against the dark eyed cutie, but it fell on deaf ears. Still, there was something almost unsettling about the woman, something that tainted her. He had a nagging feeling that they really should be more careful about who drifts inside the Wayne doors.

Bruce certainly saw no harm in having the woman in his home – and possibly bed. She didn't ask probing questions. She just smiled, and laughed. It was good to have someone who wasn't afraid to laugh around him. And he had secretly began to hope that her lack of questions ment that their whirlwind evening was no longer as professional as it once began.

Even if she had gently pushed away his every advance, maybe Ruby was just what he needed.

Not one of Bruce's eye-candy charms, but nothing as dark as what Batman would attract either.

He stepped out onto the balcony to find Ruby leaning against the railing, looking out over the city toward Sprang River. There was a chill in the air, but she didn't seem to notice, she was lost in something else.

He handed her one of the glasses, which she absentmindedly cradled in her hand. "You ever survive something so horrible you doubt you'll ever laugh again?" She stared off at nothing, but seemed to see something specific. Recalling it from memory maybe.

Bruce was sure he saw something there. She hadn't fallen this quiet all night.

"But then you meet someone," she turned to look at the billionaire, as if just noticing him there, "and they put a smile back on your face."
She was so earnest, so open. Seemed to be waiting… Bruce leaned forward, his lips a breath away from her painted ruby red mouth.

"He's got a following you know. Inspired people," she sighed, speaking as if Bruce wasn't even there. As if what she was seeing certainly wasn't the reality in front of her, but the image in her head.

He righted himself, letting the sting of her rejection roll off his shoulders.

"Some will wait, but some… they won't," she smiled again, that far away smile that haunted him, "They all see he's special to Gotham. Very special. Some will want to be him. Some are jealous. And some," she chewed her bottom lip, "some love him."

"Who?" as the word dropped from his mouth a large explosion sounded – the force shaking them. Their glasses falling from their grips and shattering on the balcony floor.

She laughed.

Her eyes sparkled from the flames reflecting off the city.

It was Arkham.

The building was smouldering; a large chunk of wall had been blown away. And between the flames and smoke the inmates oozed out into the night.

Bruce was sure who was one of those inmates was. Who surely was again unleashed on Gotham as it slept. He could hear laughter: dark, far-away laughter. The disembodied laugh that haunted his dreams, and waking hours. Up until these few hours, when his mind was filled with chestnut hair and a deep red smile…

"Ruby—" he turned to grab hold of the girl, to steady her, and it clicked into place. Ruby Haring: Red Herring. His grip tightened around her arm, harder than he had intended. But that only made her smile wider. "Why, why me?" He searched her eyes for something; some recognition, some clue about her, but he saw only a devotion. A devotion to something else, someone else. Someone else. Something he had missed when he looked at her before.

She was cast in her true light now.

She shrugged, "The boss said you looked lonely. Like you lost your best friend."
He released his hold on her, repulsed. This hadn't actually been about Rachel…

Ruby, whoever she was, continued, "And since he wasn't allowed visits, he thought I might get lonely too. And a little bored. Mr. J can be an awful nice guy." Her voice took on a whimsical, fairytale quality, much like her far away smile.

She dug her fingers into her scalp and tugged; the wisp of brown pulled away to reveal a fresh crop of blonde. "No hard feelings Bruce," she leaned in to press a lipstick covered kiss on his cheek, branding his skin. "A girl could get used to being wined and dined," she sighed, "But that's just not what I am."

Bruce's brow knitted, the wheels turning. There had never been a reporter, never really a girl named Ruby with a haunting laugh. Just a pretty face paraded in front of him, to distract him.

Maybe to remind him.

But of what, and for what reason? What was that clown after?

She pressed the wig into his hand, pressing herself against him to whisper into his ear, "Didn't mean, or want, to hurt you Bruce." And let her light steps carry her out off of the balcony and out of the penthouse.

"Master Bruce?" Alfred appeared: flush faced and wide eyes. Clearly he had heard the explosion – as all of Gotham must have – and came running. "The girl?" his eyes darted around, evaluating the scene as pieces shifted into place. Crisis evaluation.

Bruce shook his head; "She's gone." There was a sad registration in his voice, as his hand relaxed and the wig fell to the floor.
"Sir?" Alfred was clearly lost on what had happened.
The billionaire vigilante looked up, eyes flashing with the rage that pushed Batman, "She's not worth it. Let her share a laugh with the Joker. There are bigger messes loose in Gotham now."