A/N: For RandomBattleCry because of her infestation of plot bunnies she keeps throwing into my mental yard.

Behind the Mirror: A One-Shot

No one knew who he really was or where he came from, and right now no one cared. All they wanted to know was where he went.

It had been two weeks since he had been brought in with that infernal eternal grin, a look in his eyes that made you feel like he knew things… about your mother's mother-in-law. Things that you would rather not hear but knew he would tell you if given a chance. He was just that way.

You never knew if he was telling the truth, but when he was at his most nonsensical was when you had to take him the most serious.

It happened early, around rush hour when the horns of a hundred thousand vehicles rang through the streets of Gotham like church bells signaling the hour. It was shift change at the Gotham Detention Center and a freshly shaven face approached the cell where a more haggard, five o'clock shadowed face blinked wearily into the florescent lights.

"Thank God you're here," he didn't even glance at his relief, "he's been singing… all night. The strangest song and I swear I know it, but I can't remember from where."

"It sounds like you need a day off, Parks. You're beginning to look as run down as the old Commissioner."

"If Gordon can handle all of this mayhem, so can I. I'll not be bested by an old man, Daniels, or even a bat for that matter."

Lieutenant Daniels laughed jovially. He enjoyed his days guarding this lunatic. It was good money because he was a high profile prisoner, and some of the things the crazy man said were amusing. Disturbing, but amusing. Besides, he was getting a handsome… tip… from the man in the cell to sneak in various luxuries. It was never anything harmful, or so Daniels thought. Today, it was simply a small mirror and a single blade safety razor… the kind you teach your sons to shave with. He rubbed his chin, nothing wrong with letting the prisoner have a shave. The man was beginning to look positively feline with long whiskers sticking out from around his mutilated mouth. No, no harm at all as long as he was careful.

"Go home and let me handle this and I'll see if Quinn can take over for you tonight. Spend some time with the wife, crawl into a bottle of Jack, but get some rest, Parks."

"I don't know how you do it, man." Lieutenant Parks whispered, closing his eyes and thumping his head back against the cell door. "I hear him in my sleep, singing and laughing. He tells me things that he shouldn't know. It's like he's really there, in my dreams. I wake up and it's like I can hear him from behind the mirrors in my room." He sighed and raised his head. "No, I'll be here in twelve hours to relieve you. I'd rather hear him when I know it's him."

"You're losing it." Daniels slapped him on the back. "Maybe you should see someone… not a shrink or anything," he added quickly at the look on his partner's face. "Just a doctor, maybe for some sleeping pills or something."

"Maybe…" Parks pushed off from the wall. "I'll see you tonight."

Turning and opening the small observation window, Lt. Daniels peered in at his prisoner. "It's just you and me now, Pal."

"Fan-freaking-tastic," the grinning man practically purred. "Did you bring my, ah, items?"

Lt. Parks looked up and down the deserted corridor to make sure no one was listening. "How are you planning on paying me?"

"Check your bank account," the man shrugged. "The money's already there."

The newspapers called him the Joker. He was called Mr. J by a pretty young blond woman who came by once a week claiming to be his shrink. Lt. Daniels called him Smiley because he enjoyed the way the scars rearranged into a grimace on the prisoners mouth when he used that name. He wasn't nearly as intimidating without his make-up… or so Daniels thought. But Lt. Daniels was what Gotham newspapers referred to as a crooked cop. If money was involved, he was difficult to intimidate.

"There was a crooked man," the voice sang from the cell, "who lived in a crooked house…"

"Shut it," Lt. Daniels barked. For some reason he couldn't get the internet to connect on his cell phone. Sighing in frustration, he opened the slit at the base of the prisoner's door and pushed the items through. "This will keep you occupied while I try to find a signal. Now be a nice boy and say thank you."

"You're welcome," the prisoner cried cheerfully, snatching the mirror and letting the razor fall to the cold concrete floor. "Yes, chaos welcomes you with open arms!"

Curiosity got the best of the young officer and he stood up, opened the door to the small, square window and peered into the cell. The prisoner, dressed in the standard prison orange uniform and sporting a green and purple stripped vest Daniels himself had procured, was doing a handstand against the wall. The mirror was on the floor below him and he was singing at his reflection with maniacal glee.

"Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe…"

"Great," Lt. Daniels barked a laugh. "Our own resident Jabberwocky."

"Oh, not the Jabberwocky, Lieutenant." He flipped his feet over his head slowly and somersaulted to a stand. "This world would never be able to recover from the Jabberwocky. Not even the Bat," he spat the word, "Man would be able to overcome that beautiful piece of nightmarish chaos. You would do well to be careful of what you wish for or assume to be true."

And suddenly, he was at the cell window. His face pressed through the square opening and Lt. Daniels stumbled back with a cry. It was inhuman for a man to move that fast. It reminded him of a cat pouncing on its prey. "I thought you had a signal to find, Lieutenant."

The startled officer was lost for words. He nodded and stumbled away a short distance down the corridor staring at his cell phone, at the floor, at any place that might get the image of that intimidating scarred visage out of his mind. It was mostly the eyes. For a moment, he swore the man had slits for pupils, but that was impossible. At least he finally had a signal. The incident miraculously disappeared from his mind when he saw a deposit for five hundred dollars sitting in his account, apparently a refund from Wonderland Industries, care of a certain M. Hatter.

He shook his head. This whole city was barking mad.

One hour later…

Commissioner Gordon stood behind the observation mirror and stared silently into an interrogation cell as one of his men stood in terrified awe of the city's very own Dark Knight.

"Someone arrest this crazy man," the officer screamed, beating against the Mirropane. "He's a murderer! How can you let him in here? Does anyone know he's in here? Help!"

Suddenly he backed away from the transparent mirror, pointing at it… pointing directly at Commissioner Gordon. If he had been terrified of the man in the interrogation room with him, his face now reflected nothing more than abject horror. "No! I've gone mad! It can't be! There's no way in hell… " He backed into what felt like cold, hard leather. Black gloved hands gripped his shoulders and the young officer crumpled to the floor in a dead faint.

Then Gordon heard it, that coldly familiar voice made equally more haunting by the distance from where it seemed to emanate. "We're all mad here…."

If he didn't know any better, he'd think the voice came from the glass in front of him. He needed to start sleeping better.

"What do you think?" He asked the only man whose hands he trusted his beloved and crooked city in, as he quietly entered the interrogation room. "Do you think he knows how he escaped?"

"You heard him," the dark man replied in an exaggerated rasp of a voice. "He says he opened the window to check on the prisoner and watched him crawl through a handheld shaving mirror. Either he helped the Joker to escape or someone fed him some powerful hallucinogens. You need to have him tested."

Gordon nodded. "When is this madness going to end?" He sighed and brought his mind back to business. "I'll see if I can reach that woman who sees him, Ms. Quinn. Maybe she's been in touch with him."

But his words fell on silence as he turned and found himself in an empty room. Glancing at the two-way mirror a cold chill ran down his back and he stepped over the crumpled officer on the floor to search for medical support.

One hour earlier…

Stars twinkled merrily above a dark forest filled with trees covered in heart-shaped leaves. From an owl hole in a large tree at the edge of a clearing stepped a sleek purple and green striped cat bearing a grin like the quarter moon. The cat glanced up at the stars and stretched his lithe body in an arch on the low hanging tree branch before flopping over and batting at the nearest leaves.

"Did I ever tell them how I got those scars?" He addressed the leaves. The wind sighed that it most certainly did not know what he was talking about, but he answered anyway. "It was the only way that I could recognize myself behind the mirror."

A movement on the ground caught his eye and he frowned. The frown was not so much of a frown as a grin turned upside down... but it wasn't just his grin. It was his entire head. The frown widened into a maniacal and scythe-shaped display of teeth when he jovially separated the inverted quarter moon and sang, "Why- so- serioussssss?"

A white rabbit was standing in the clearing below him, pulling on a pair of gloves. "Did you happen to find her, Cheshire Cat?"

"My dear whitest of rabbits," the cat purred, using his claws to hang upside down from the tree-branch to turn his grinning face right-side-up. "You, of all creatures, should know that I simply did not have enough time."

A/N: I do not own any of the characters based off the concept of the graphic novel Batman, the 2008 production of Dark Knight, or the characters from Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland. Special thanks to my friend, RandomBattleCry, for whom this story was written. It's not as good as my plot bunny wished, but it's been over two years since I've written anything at all.