Vamirii: Hello =3. Well, it has certainly been a while since i put anything up. I had written this a long while ago, but i wasn't sure how I would end it so it had pittered out. But I found it and editted it without adding any more to it. I thought i would put it on here and ask you guys if i should continue it, because theres no point in putting the rest up if you don't like it.

So, let me know what you think, no flames and enjoy? =D

"Rachel, you can't!" Harvey Dent objected fervently as he tailed the assistant DA. She strode purposefully down the hall towards the interrogation room.

"Harvey," Rachel said over her shoulder and without faltering in her confident steps. "I've interrogated criminals, alone, before."

"But we aren't talking about some common scum-bag; we aren't even talking about the Mob!" he nearly cried as he finally caught up to her and grabbed her elbow, trying to slow her. "This is the Joker! You can't go in there alone with him!"

Rachel pulled her arm away. "All his weapons are confiscated, we've taken his shoes, and he is handcuffed to a metal table that's bolted to the floor," she replied, trying to hide her exasperation and almost succeeding.

"This is too dangerous-"

"Harvey." Rachel finally stopped and Harvey flinched away from her expression. "I recall you leaving me alone with Salvador Maroni while you went to get some files, and he wasn't even cuffed!"

"This isn't the same, the files were handed to me from the door, I wasn't even gone a minute-"

"Which was much less time than he would have needed to hurt me! Maroni certainly works out more than I do. And just because he's now a Mob leader doesn't make him above getting his hands dirty-after all, how does every Mob leader get their start? Those few seconds you were gone was all the time he needed to stab me in the neck with a pen or something." She cut him off when he tried to speak. "But, there is no way I intend to give the Joker of all people a chance like Maroni had. If it'll make you feel better, I won't get within arm's reach of him and you can have some guards at both doors." With that, Rachel turned on her heel and continued down the hall.

Harvey followed and opened his mouth to protest more, but he took in the stubborn set of her jaw and knew that she wouldn't budge. With a sigh, he grudgingly acquiesced. But he had to have the last word. "At least let me leave a guard in there with you-"

"No, he would distract us both." They passed the holding cells and reached the door to the interrogation room. She was just about to open the door when she caught sight of Harvey's ashen, worried face. "I'll be fine," she whispered, kissing his cheek. Giving him one last reassuring smile, she approached the door and hardened her face.

The door opened with a creak like an old haunted house. The room was dark. The only sources of light were the small, metal lamp on the table and the square of light on the floor from the hallway behind her.

"Morning, Miz Daweees…" a dark, drawling voice purred from the blackness behind the circle of light cast by the lamp. Rachel felt a shiver tingle down her spine despite her earlier preparation for his intimidation. It was quite eerie; if he had not spoken, one would have thought the room was empty, for his dark suit bled together with the shadows, and he was leaning back far enough in his chair that his white face was submerged in the darkness.

Rachel slammed the door behind her, throwing herself into the darkness with him as a way of showing him that she wasn't scared, although her knees were shaking. Without warning, the harsh, white overhead lights glared on and a smirking joker was thrown into sharp relief. "Awp!" he exclaimed as he jerked a bit, his eyes blinking and adjusting painfully, but his grin deepened and he sat up towards her. "Well, gee! That smarts, Rachy! I would have appreciated a war-ning." He said in his high-pitched, child-like voice that he reserved for grating the nerves of Gotham's finest.

Rachel moved without a word to the table and sat down, crossing her legs in a confident gesture. For a moment all she did was look at him, schooling her face into blankness as she gauged him. He observed her with the lazy interest of a male lion surveying a herd. Then she broke the silence. "Got a little careless, didn't you?" she asked nonchalantly. "How exactly did the Batman get a hold of you?"

The Joker leaned across the table towards her and Rachel leaned casually back in her seat. He took note of this and licked his smirking lips. "What? No, 'how are you to-day?' or 'how's the internal bleeding from the Batman treating you?'" He licked his lips. "'Sides, why don't you ask him? I'm sure his side of the story would be a lot more… spec-tac-ular." He wasn't going to answer.

Shifting in her seat, Rachel forced herself to look into his eyes. The difficult part was making her eyes meet his, but when she did, she curiously found that maintaining the contact wasn't as taxing as she would have thought. In fact, to Rachel's disturbed surprise, at a first glance they weren't all that different from anyone else's; she found them rather… appealing was a good word. After a closer look, however, they were quite definitely unique. The last time she was this close to the man, she had believed his eyes were black, but now in the brighter lighting, she could see they were actually a warm shade of brown. The black makeup around his eyes, and feral, vulpine aura draped over him like a cold, black cloak was what made them appear so dark. At the moment, his eyes had a slow sparkle in them, like she was a comedian and he was waiting for the punch line. They also held a latent evil, one that was always present, but, at the moment, suppressed. Despite this last observation, Rachel's stomach twisted when she realized she had a sick sort of fascination and an even sicker sense of attraction for them. Rachel blinked in horror and discomfort but forced herself to keep her eyes on his. Sensing this, the Joker smacked his lips and laced his fingers together on the table. He cocked his head to the side with a mockingly open expression and waited for her to speak.

"Four people in Harvey's department went missing yesterday," she began calmly. She was proud that her voice didn't shake. "Did you have anything to do with it?"

"Miz Dawes! I'm surprised at you!" he gasped, feigning hurt. "Just because I killed a few of Gotham's finest, you automatically assume I'm behind every disappearance of the people trying to lock me up!" He "tsked" and shook a finger at her. "I find that offensive."

Rachel exhaled slowly, trying to reign in her temper. "Is it safe to assume that you aren't going to cooperate?"

"You know," he ignored her question and arched his back in a stretch. He looked up at the ceiling and popped his neck before folding his arms on the table and scooting his chair back so he could rest his chin on them without have his back scrunched up. "I've been sitting here for hoouurrss…" he dragged the word out, sleepily. "What do you do for fun around here?" he asked mockingly.

Rachel was sure he could hear her teeth grinding. Her already frayed nerves were being split further by the Joker's mildly apathetic attitude and teasing tone. Standing, she pushed away from the table with both hands and leaned against them so she towered over him. He tilted his head to the side so he could see her better, his smile never faltering, his eyebrows raised curiously. "Why? Are you bored?" she asked her cool demeanor shattering and her face adopting a chaffing smirk very similar to his. His lips twitched in surprise and his smile grew bigger. She continued in a mocking tone that matched his, "Has the MCU not en-ter-tained you during your stay?"

He sat up quickly-making Rachel start-and chuckled as he scooted his chair forward. "Why, Rach?" he asked excitedly. "Are you, uh, offering to entertain me?" he was shaking with suppressed laughter and fervently licked his lower lip.

Rachel cocked her head to the side, still watching him, still giving him that small smile. "Do you want to play a game?" The Joker's face contorted into joyful amusement and he writhed in his seat with his high-pitched laughter, but she continued as if he was still. "You like games, don't you?"

"Oh-! Oh-! Oh-!" he gasped and tried to fight his cackles so he could speak articulately. It was almost a full minute before he could say something intelligible. "Oh-h-h, Miz Dawes! I can already tell you've got more balls than Harvey—" At this he glanced over at the two way mirror- "Gordon's unit, and Batman, himself!" He cackled again and banged his chains on the tabletop. "You can't weigh 100 pounds wet, and here you are, challenging a "mad-man" to a game!" he wheezed and giggled some more and Rachel waited patiently, scolding herself internally for feeling flattered by his crude compliment. "A-a-a-a-h, s-o-o-o…" he sat up and properly folded his cuffed hands in his lap. "What kind of game-uh did you have in mind? Spin the Revolver? Seven Minutes in the Interrogation Cell?"

Rachel pushed herself off the table and walked across the room to the door. It opened for her and she leaned out. Someone handed her something small and red and they exchanged a few words before she closed the door and moved back to the center of the room. The Joker could now see what was in her hand and giggled. "A-a-a-h, strip poker," he said as she set the deck of cards on the table between them. "Just as fun!"

Rachel crossed her arms. "Sorry to disappoint, but it's just I Declare War. Of course I'm going to put a twist on the rules to make it more interesting."

"Hmmm…" he mused, baring his teeth in a grin as he watched her shuffled the cards.

Without a word, Rachel dealt the cards, making every move deliberately slow. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her in his cold, calculating manner and she could imagine the derogatory smile on his face. She tried to suppress a shiver, but was positive that he could taste her discomfort.

Once the cards were dealt-and still keeping her mouth closed-Rachel swept up her half of the deck and stacked it neatly. With that task finished, she met his gaze again, crossed her arms and waited patiently for him to ask for the rules. If he was so bored, then he was just going have to bring himself to ask; she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of being straightforward without a little sacrifice on his part.

The Joker watched her fix her deck in silence, his thumbs rubbing the nail of the other alternately. He licked his lips, watching her soft hands press the cards into order. His lips twitched at the thought of those hands delivering chaos and he wondered while gnawing on his bottom lip if they would stay so smooth, or turn callused(scarred) like his own. His eyes returned to hers when she placed the cards on the table and crossed her arms. For a moment they sat there, peering at the other, waiting-for what, he wasn't sure and the uncertainty made him simply giddy. (I like this one!) The Joker chuckled in amusement when he realized she was waiting for him to ask what the rules were. He giggled even more when he felt admiration for this woman stir in his cold chest, an emotion(damn them all, no!) he hadn't felt for anyone-with the exception of Batman-in a long time. (I really like this one!)

With a friendly smile, he obliged her. "And ex-act-ly how do you play this… twisted version of War?"

"The rules of the game itself are the same. We both flip the card we have on top and who ever has the higher wins and keeps both cards. But, say we both have a queen, we will lay three other cards facedown in a war, and flip one more card. Once again, whoever has the highest card wins all of them. But," a tiny smirk tugged her lips. "If I win the war, you have to answer any question I ask truthfully. If you lie, I will win by default."

"M-hmmm," he hummed, watching her through narrowed eyes. "And just how will you know whether I'm ly-ing or not?"

Rachel paused, her fingers tapping against her arms, not really sure what to say. "Well, I guess I probably won't," she said finally. "But you will."

The Joker's eyes grew wide in astonishment and it took all of his will to choke back the hysterical laughter that was building in his chest. He was very proud only a few strangled noises escaped. She knows I don't like to lose! And she's manipulating that to her advantage! He was practically bubbling with amazed glee! Who would have thought Rachel Dawes of all people could be such a gifted little schemer?

There was a tap on one of the two-way mirrors and, shoulders hunched, The Joker turned his head to see his reflection glaring back at him. The tiny interference irritated him, but Rachel coolly ignored it, her attention on him. The annoyance made it easy to regain his composure and he blinked up at Rachel with a tiny, malicious smile. "Uh-huuuuuh…. What if I, uh, refuse these terms of the game?" He licked his lips and eyed her like a fox would an old rabbit, the bestial look in his eyes making her shiver deliciously. If she were like any other person, he would expect her to get angry, yell, maybe slam a fist on the table and demand he follow his or her rules. But with her(Raaachel…), he didn't know what he was going to get, and the uncertainty of it, the element of chaos in it, had him on the edge of his seat in anticipation.

As she had done in Lao's interview, what now seems like years ago, Rachel stood. "Enjoy your boredom alone, then." With that she turned and strode to the door. He hadn't made a move behind her and for a moment, Rachel thought he was actually going to let her go. Just when she touched the handle, he broke the silence.

"All right, Miz Dawes, I'll indulge you."

Rachel, smirking triumphantly, opened the door and took her file bag from a pale-faced Harvey who tried to issue a warning before she closed the door. He didn't quite make it and he rushed back to the two-way mirror. Striding confidently back to her seat, she said, "I knew you would."

"Did you, now? Well, hell, in that case, I'll even abide by your rules!"

"How generous of you. We all know how much you detest rules and order."

"Yup. I'm a saint," he said a bit irritably. The Joker was no stranger to sarcasm. How could he be? She wasn't trying to hide it by any means. Her body language, he easily read, was smug. She was altogether too sure of herself, too confident. Too in-control for his liking(not enough chaos…). Let's bring her back down a notch or twelve. "But, uh, before we start, I've got an een-sy ween-sy question."

"Shoot," Rachel said without thinking.

He smirked. "Not yet, beautiful. Not yet. My question is-ah: what do I get if I win the war?"

Rachel's smile faltered. Damn! How could I forget that? She watched the Joker struggle with himself, making a valiant effort to be chivalrous and not appear too pleased with himself. His ego couldn't help itself, however, and he gave a yellowed, toothy grin, which she subconsciously returned with her own wry, rankled smile.

With a naughty, accomplished voice, like that of a child who has a lot of leverage over his unwanted sitter, the Joker purred, "Do you haf-tuh answer each of my little questions truthfully, hm?" He turned his head to watch her from his left eye and licked his red-wax-coated lips. "Because I do have a few."

"Oh, really?" she asked with a tiny vitriolic sneer. "You must already know I'm not going to reveal anything to you that could aid you in ruining this city any further than you already have. So what information could I possibly have that would interest you?"

"Well, I'm a curious guy," he said, gesturing with his hand. "And what I want to know, is just how innocent, how pure, and good, the beautiful Ms. Dawes really is." He quirked his eyebrows and gave her a "now-really-you-can't-fool-me" look.

Rachel Dawes was horrified to feel a slight blush tinge her cheeks. Although the Joker's words could be taken the wrong way, what he'd said wasn't particularly sexual and was as innocent as anything coming out of his mouth could be. But she could feel the subtle double-meaning in his voice and expression and her gut did a strange twist at the thought of this man thinking of something so intimate involving her. Disturbingly, she couldn't discern whether the feeling of her coiling stomach was unpleasant or not! The absurdity of him meaning it as an innuendo, the fact that she was so fervently entertaining the notion, and the horror of (honestly) not being able to tell if she was enjoying the attention-when she should be downright repulsed by it-caused a fresh surge of warmth to her face. What made this situation worse was the fact that she was suddenly aware that a criminal hadn't made her blush since the end of her first year as a lawyer when, by that time she had heard every lewd comment and pick-up line under the sun! Once accustomed to hearing such things almost every time she interrogated male scumbags, one grows immune to such things.

Or so I thought, apparently… Her eyes flickered nervously towards the window where Harvey stood behind her reflection. Angry at herself for letting her composure slip, Rachel forced her eyes to again meet the Joker's. And there he sat, smiling expectantly at her passive-if flushed-face, fully aware of her inner turmoil and reveling in her discomfort. This is ridiculous! Why should I feel guilty? It doesn't matter; just answer his question so we can get this over with.

Rachel nibbled the inside of her lower lip, considering. "Alright. Since you were charitable enough to concur with my rules, I suppose I should return the favor. You may ask your questions. But, that doesn't mean that I am obligated to answer them." She ignored the loud rap on the other side of the window.

The Joker blinked down at her and pouted. Without the grungy face paint, scars, and bloody rap sheet, the look would have been rather endearing. "Aww, Rachel! That doesn't seem ex-a-ctly fair to me-"

"That's my ultimatum, Joker. You can either accept it and play the game or I can walk out of here, have a nice breakfast with Harvey and let him decide where to put you, be that Arkham or County. Truth be told, Gotham is thinking about adding New Jersey to the list of states with the death penalty, just for you! Since the ferry incident, that needle has been starting to look really friendly."

The Joker laughed, not in least fazed at the less than orthodox warning. "Oh, I a-gree!" he giggled, gleefully lapping at his scars. "What's more friendly than an injection of thiopental sodium and pancuronium bromide?" He cackled at her wide eyes and stunned silence.

Behind the glass: "How the hell does he retain all his knowledge?" Harvey demanded, hiding a begrudging sense of admiration for the psycho.

"How the hell does he gain such knowledge is a more appropriate question," Gordon sighed, leaning awkwardly back away from the window and shoving his hands into his pockets.

Rachel blinked, recovering from her little surprise. "You've heard your options. Cooperate with me, and maybe get a lesser sentence; or deal with Harvey, who wants nothing more than to put you in a padded cell forever."

The Joker's lips twitched at the similarity between her words and Batty's and licked his lips. "In other words, 'play with me, or Harvey-boy puts your balls in the juicer.'" Rachel smiled. "Well, when you put it that way…"

Rachel reached for her deck to flip her first card when the Joker cleared his throat. "A-hem." She gave him an exasperated stare. "Aren't we forgetting something?" She blinked slowly back at him, obviously caring little about what had slipped their minds. He gave an exaggerated sigh and jerked his arms against his cuffs. The chains banged loudly against their bolts on the table, but Rachel didn't start. He had pulled hard enough to jar the table, and she felt the vibrations through the arm she leant on. Damn, he's strong.

Seemingly unfazed, Rachel blinked slowly back at his overly expectant face. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

He growled playfully. "How am I supposed to play…if I can't use my hands?"

"You're resourceful," she shrugged and flipped her card over to reveal the king of spades. "I'm sure you'll think of something."

The Joker didn't know if he was more irritated or amused. Although his hands did not have a far range, his bonds did leave him just enough distance to reach as far as he needed to play the game, but not nearly far enough for the many gestures(twitches) he employed while he conversed(screamed…laughed!). A small price to pay for such good entertainment(torture!). He drew his cards to himself and stacked them up. He grinned at her and flipped his card: the ten of spades.

With a smile, Rachel's hand twitched to take her winnings, but, remembering her promise to Harvey, stayed her hand. "Slide your card across the table, please."

Quirking an eyebrow at her, he did as she asked, slowly pushing his card as close to her as he could with his index finger. "Rachel, don't you trust me? Or did Dented put you up to this?" Sweeping her cards to the side, Rachel shot him a glare and flipped another card.

They played in silence for awhile, each flicking the losing cards across the table to the other. After a few minutes they both flipped fours and the first war began. "I…. De…. Clare…." The joker placed his cards obnoxiously slow. "War!" he cried and they simultaneously flipped their next card. Rachel beat his five of clubs with an eight of diamonds, winning a seven, a ten, a queen, and an answer from the Joker.

"Were you in any way involved with the disappearance of the four lawyers in Harvey's office, and if so, how?"

"Whoa! Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't that two questions?"

"Answer, or we're done."

"Kinda."

Rachel frowned. "'Kinda?' How were you able to manage such a task while in police custody? We've had you here for two days and they went missing yesterday afternoon."

"Well, I didn't di-re-ctly do anything. As you know, Gordon's unit isn't exactly pissing rainbows. It's got a couple of bad seeds scattered throughout it. I might have may-be… suggested to a few men who were on guard duty at six forty-eight p.m. on Monday that they, uh, hold a conference with a few prosecutors and attorneys. You know, the MCU and Harvey's office have been at each other's throats since nearly the beginning, so I'm sure Maroni's men were happy for the excuse." No doubt Gordon was having the records pulled for the guards' names who were working that particular shift. Oopsy, looks like some one's getting fired.

Rachel couldn't quite hide the glare on her face. O-o-o, she's mad! He flipped his next card and watched her hand tremor(slightly) as she did the same. His jack beat her three. "What's the matter? Was it something I said-uh?" She ignored him, flicking her card at him and nearly smacking down the next one. "Weren't you a-ware of the… an-i-mo-sities between Dent and Gordon?"

Rachel fought the urge to clench her fist. Instead she lifted her head to fix the Joker with an icy stare. "This isn't game night with your friends. This is an interrogation. My business with you is strictly professional, so I'd appreciate it if you would at least make an effort to play the part of the humbled, repentant sinner."

"But I can't! If I did, you wouldn't need to play cards with me."

"Smart ass."

"Better to be a smart ass than a dumb ass."

Choosing not to give him the satisfaction of egging him on further, they played in silence until the Joker won a war. Rachel braced herself for a question concerning Batman.

Sure enough, "Do you know the Batman?"

"Sure, he lives on Drury Lane."

"Really? I guess I don't have many more questions for you, then. In all seriousness, though-" Rachel snorted- "do you know-uh the man-or woman!- behind the mask?"

"Even if I did know, I would never tell you," she said sliding her cards towards him. "Why would it matter if I knew him, anyway? I thought you didn't want anyone "spoiling your fun?'"

"I didn't ask for his name, now did I?" he asked derisively. "I was just curious about how well you know him, and judging by your response and reaction-busying your hands with passing me your cards and avoiding eye-contact-you must be pretty tight." He licked his lips and sent her a perverted wink.

Bowing her head to hide the new blush-at being conned! That's all!--,Rachel murmured, "I see."

After a while, Rachel glanced down at her watch. It was ten twenty-seven; they had been playing for just over an hour. Having wrung out the locations of the four attorneys- "Not sure if they are a-live, but there you go"-Rachel expended her questions-and his interest-on the matter.

"Is that all we're here to talk about, Miz Dawes?" he whined. To emphasize his point, he patted his mouth in a fake yawn and raked his shackles slowly across the metal surface of the table. "Why can't we talk in between battles? Hm?"

"Why? Do you have to fill the silence?" She cocked her head to examine him, fully aware by some sick intuition that her observations were very false and very caustic for the Joker's sensitive psyche. Fully aware, and yet not particularly frightened for herself. "Hate to be left alone with your own thoughts? It would make sense why you destroy the stillness with an explosion. Not many better distractions than that."

The Joker fidgeted in his seat, averting his eyes and rolling his head slightly, but still with that same demented smile on his lips. His shoulders twitched and he bit his lips in simmering ire. "Why…" he sang, "do you… feel the need to analyze every-thing? Does it make you feel smart? Hm? Do you get off on cracking codes and solving puzzles? …Does finding flaws in others… somehow-de-min-ish… the glaring imperfections that you find underneath your cool per-son-ah?" After a pause, "The scars?"

Rachel shifted in her seat. His searing glare was once again fixed on her. She couldn't meet it and looked down. Licking her lips, she swallowed and lay down her next card. "Sorry," she murmured, feeling inexplicably ashamed. "I guess I'm just a little scared of what you may have to say." She glanced back up at him when he placed a matching card down. They set their cards up for war and she won.

"Why do you tell different stories about how you got your scars?"

The Joker felt a stab of agitation. Well, you did want to talk about something else, Dumbass, he thought. His smile hardened, his eyes narrowed and he smacked his lips. "What do you me-e-e-an?"

Rachel returned his glare with a sugary smile of her own. "Does the name Daniel Aden Payne mean anything to you?" He gnawed his lip and cocked his head to the right to squint at her. "Da Pain?" she asked, vexed.

"Ah," he leaned back. "Now that rings a bell."

"It should. You were the one who drove him to madness."

"He can thank me later," he murmured, scratching his scalp and leaning back in his chair to inspect the ceiling.

"No, actually he can't," he glanced aloofly at her and she continued with an impartial tone. "He hung himself in his cell last night."

The Joker frowned. "Aww, what a shame."

Rachel nodded with a small smile. "He killed himself… but not before telling us everything he knew about you. Which, albeit, is little, but every bit helps, don't you agree?" He bit his lip and gave a slow nod. "He told us about how he used to work for Gambol as a personal guard. He told us how you managed to slip past their security by means of a body bag. He described in detail how you killed his boss, and made him kill two of his friends with a jagged piece of a pool stick in order to save himself. And then-" Rachel leaned towards him-"he elaborated on his initiation into your little clique, in which you instructed him to cut his former boss's body into pieces and dispose of them in the sewer at the waste center. The bacteria would have nearly destroyed it in less than a week, so, if and when it was ever found, identification would be nearly impossible."

Joker worried his lips with his tongue while he considered her. Finally he inhaled deeply and purred, "And where do my scars fit into this?"

"Oh, your little narrative about your father was a favorite topic of Paynes'. He told it three times while he rocked on the floor, sobbing."

"I see."

Rachel watched him fidget in his seat. He had leaned back in his chair his hands running slowly up and down his thighs as far as the chains would allow. His right leg bounced like he was keeping time with some fast pace music only he could hear. Finally she spoke. "So, why do you make up different stories?"

"You wanna know why?" he snapped, suddenly irritated with this line of questioning. "It's because the human species is a logical one," he spat. "Their- tiny, little brains-" here his fingers fluttered like he was trying to grasp some tangible reason, himself- "simply re-fuse to accept any-thing unless there is a reason for why that thing is!" His back tensed and his shoulders hunched, he turned to send a dark, malignant glare at the peanut gallery behind the glass. "I'll bet none of you even con-sid-ered that I might have been born "this way…"" His voice ended in a near hiss.

Rachel felt like she had swallowed a snowball. Cold shivers of real fear tingled down her spine like melting ice. Before she could stop herself, the words were out. "…Were you?"

The Joker seemed to freeze-or maybe that was just Rachel's heart- and she suddenly burned to take those words back. Very slowly, almost as if he was loath to do so, his face turned to hers and her eyes were the first things his sought. He sat there, so still for so long, Rachel wasn't at all sure if he wasn't having some type of seizure. But she stayed quiet under his gaze until at last—

"You sure do like to bend the rules to your own game, don't you, Rachel?" He smirked and what felt like a bar of lead was lifted off her chest as the familiar antagonistic atmosphere-with which both were now quite comfortable-returned to their mutual relief. "One question per victory, remember?" he sang wiggling one finger at her.

Rachel nodded and refocused on her deck. She asked nonchalantly, "So where did you stay when you weren't causing mass destruction?"

He frowned in fraudulent confusion and asked, "Why so curious, Rachel?" He gave her a wicked smirk. "Wanna know where to find me?" Rachel, blushing, sent him an irked glare. "Does this mean we are allowed to talk? Uh, pretend that this is game night among friends? No objections?" he called, swinging towards the window with a cocked head and a jeering, is-that-okay? expression.

"If you don't want to answer, you can just say so," she growled up at him irritably.

The interrogation room was no longer silent. The two talked non-stop, if a little snidely. To the Joker's surprise–Today is just full of surprises!-he found that Rachel did fit the goody-two-shoes lawyer stereotype. She was snobbish and high-strung(so serious). One of the war questions he'd asked was if she had ever committed a crime, even a small, petty one. Her answer was no. "Never?" he'd asked openly incredulous. "No. I never had to, and I was raised better than that." Despite this, he was thoroughly enjoying his raillery with Rachel Dawes. She had backbone and a kind of subtle sufferance in her character, like she had endured some form of great agony and had come out on top. And he liked that a lot.

Rachel discovered that the Joker had a full arsenal of pick-up lines and jokes-Were you surprised? He is the Joker. His dirty jokes were especially hilarious-to her chagrin-and she had to constantly fight the smiles and laughter that was building up. This just made the Joker more fervent in his deliveries. When she did crack a smile he laughed in her face and she snapped back at him.

The Joker was cryptic about his life before his infamy in Gotham, touchy even. Rachel wondered-with a sneaking sense of sympathy-just how badly he must have suffered for him to just snap like he did. He reminded her of Bruce when his parents had died… how he had almost killed the man responsible on the day of his release. The similarity that she assumed was there made her heart clench, and reinforced her theory that this man was human. Despite this, she didn't know exactly what to think about him.

The jocular man didn't speak of his past, but he did volunteer some useless trivia. He liked ramen noodles, he disliked milk but drank it anyway, he's allergic to cats, he needs to clip his fingernails, he found his first gray hair in the holding cell, and could she recommend a good massage therapist-"No, but I know an excellent psychiatrist if you are interested?" "Ha, ha." He obviously expected Rachel to return the favor. Every time he won a war, he would ask a question about her; where she went to school, if she was in debt, had any family in Gotham or elsewhere.

Thoroughly creeped out and bewildered by his line of questioning, Rachel snapped when he asked what shampoo she used. "What does all of this have to do with anything?"

"It has nothing to do with nothing," he said playfully. "I just don't want there to be any hard feelings between us. And picturing the look on Dent's face when I ask what you sleep in is priceless! I just want us all to be friends."

"Joker, I'm not telling you every intimate detail about my personal life," she said crossing her arms.

"Fair enough. I'll settle for your professional life," he crossed his arms, leaned forward, licked his lips, and inclined his head. "How's Harvey in bed?"

Rachel didn't-couldn't respond at first. She sat there with arms crossed, eyes wide, mouth slightly open in shock and watched him sway slightly side to side. A few seconds later she snapped her mouth closed and splayed her palms on the table. She leaned towards him and hissed, "First of all, you…" while she sought for a nasty label to call him, his smile pursed into a hard line and his eyes narrowed. "Creep"-he visibly relaxed-"That was the most personal question you've asked, and secondly, that is none of your business!"

"O-o-o," he breathed. "That bad, huh?"

"I'll have you know that Harvey is a much better lover than you could ever hope to be," she ground out between clenched teeth, ignoring the fact that she and Harvey had never made love before.

"Are you sure? I'm told I'm quite vor-a-cious," he growled, wriggling his eyebrows and snapping his teeth at her in what he thought was a sexy fashion.

She scoffed. "I like a gentle tou-" Rachel stopped abruptly with a gasp and gaped at him from across the table. The Joker choked back a gale of laughter and gave her an encouraging, "go-on" smile. Shaking with fury at revealing more than she meant to, Rachel stood so fast her chair nearly toppled over. "You tricked me!"

He couldn't stop the laughter that erupted from him in loud bouts of merriment. "I'm sorry, Rachel! I couldn't resist!" he dissolved into another fit of giggles. "I just find you so in-teresting!" he growled and slightly shook his head for emphasis.

"We're done!" She reached across the table for his deck of cards. Just before her fingers touched them, he covered them with his left hand. Too late to stop, her cool fingers grazed his ironically warm skin. And, before she could then remove her hand, he grasped it with his right, efficiently stilling it in a firm, but benign grip.

Almost before it happened, both doors were slamming open. "Stop!" Rachel shouted holding up her free hand as Gordon and his officers filed, yelling into the room. "Stop! Stop!" They trained their guns on the Joker ordering him to release her. Quicker than all of them, Harvey was at her side, one hand gripping her shoulder painfully the other in a fist as if he was planning to beat the Joker into letting her go. "Harvey, stop."

The doors slamming open didn't faze the Joker in the slightest. It was the most predictable(boring) thing. What was unexpected was the hate that he felt towards Harvey Dent at that moment. It was hate. It could be nothing else; he had never felt such loathing for anyone except maybe his father. Because he was not a schemer, the Joker didn't feel emotions such as hate. Anger, sure, but not hate; he had no need for it. Nothing is personal, after all. Oh, but how he hated right now. A tenuous(sane) thought fleeted across the tumultuous territory of his state of mind and asked I wonder why?

"Rachel," Harvey panted as he returned the Joker's glare with his own. "We've already got enough to put this freak away for good."

"Harvey, we both acted without thinking-"

"Why are you defending him?"

"I'm not! We need answers."

"Rachel, come on-!"

"Don't you think we should learn from the mistakes we made with the Joker? If we can find out how he knows so much, we can keep the information from future criminals like him."

Harvey did not relax in his stance, on the contrary the hand on her shoulder tightened while he looked at her. After a moment, "I don't trust him with you."

"Then trust me with him."

He at last gave a begrudging nod and Rachel turned back to the Joker. When she saw him she gave a start. She had never seen a look like this on his face. He was still smiling-always smiling-but his lips were a hard line and his jaw was clenched so tight, she could see the muscles twitching under the stress. His shoulders were hunched and his face was turned down but his eyes were fixated on Harvey's. His eyes… Rachel was sure it wasn't the makeup; his eyes were coal black. Darker than coal; they looked dead but for the fact that they held a hatred so terrible that they almost pulsed. Unable to look any longer, Rachel glanced back to the familiar planes of Harvey's face to see the same malignance. His lips were pursed like he was biting a lemon and his prominent chin was thrust forward. His crystal blue eyes might have been shooting lightning with all the static disgust they held. In that moment, standing between them, Rachel was terrified of both men.

Rachel swallowed and faced the Joker again. "Joker." He didn't move. "Joker," she said louder and his eyes at last met hers. She tried not to flinch. "No. More. Tricks."

He didn't move. Nothing indicated that he heard her at all, not a twitch, nor a flicker in his eyes. But by some intuition, she knew that the Joker wouldn't stop her. She retracted her hand and he simply let it slide from his fingers. She realized that she was shaking and that her hand felt cold.

When Rachel's hand slipped from between his, the Joker completely dismissed Dent. He instead focused on her face and subsequently found her trembling. His hands still smothered his deck of cards, one finger subconsciously scraped the metal table's surface and that insignificant membrane of thought wondered again why he should detest this man so.

At last, Harvey cautiously liberated Rachel's now aching shoulder. She watched attentively as the tenseness instantly drained out of the Joker's pose when Harvey let her go. First his jaw jerkily unclenched. When Harvey had finally backed completely out of the room, still shooting daggers at the Joker-whom neither noticed nor cared-the rigidity in the Joker's back gradually seeped out. His shoulders sank so low, that in a momentary lapse of sanity, Rachel thought he was melting. For some crazy reason Rachel felt compelled to smile at him, and for some other crazy reason she did! But in her defense, it was just a little one, barely noticeable unless you were as close to her as the Joker was. Whatever her smile had done, it seemed to help; the tautness still left in his face dissolved into a ridiculing smile, and he chuckled lowly. Rachel's smile disappeared.

She cleared her throat. "Where were we…?"

Vamirii: Damn, that was LONG. This was origionally meant to be a oneshot, but that FAILED epically.

So what did you all think? Continue? Don't continue? Can't wait to hear your reviews =)