A/N: someone mentioned something about incest. for the love of god i am not putting incest in here, so don't worry. It would just make this whole story... not neccessarily more creepy, but just revolting.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Charlie was a little girl, she remembered often that her father was not always like this. She barely remember her own mother. All she remembered was long, auburn hair, and whenever mom cried, Charlie cried. When mom was smiling and laughing, Charlie was smiling and laughing. What Charlie didn't know was that her mother liked to gamble. One day dad came to pick her up from preschool halfway through the day. He was very tight-lipped and he was the colour of milk. His eyes were red.

When mom came home from the hospital, Charlie had cried. She had cried a lot. She wouldn't let mom go near her; her mother scared her now. She didn't understand why mommy was always smiling, except Charlie never smiled anymore. Her mom was always smiling, even when she cried. Mommy and dad stopped talking to each other; the only time they did they were yelling. Empty beer cans littered the place. One time mom threw a half empty glass bottle of whiskey at Charlie, and her father had punched her mom. Charlie couldn't sleep anymore; the house always smelled like vomit and hospitals. Everytime she ate she felt sick. What almost drove her crazy; was that she couldn't understand why.

Dad couldn't take it. One evening he came home, and went into the washroom. He was in there for a long time. Charlie had been asleep when she heard her mom screaming. Charlie had went downstairs, holding her little stuffed rabbit (Mr Magoo), and all she saw was daddy's face bleeding everywhere. And he was smiling too. And laughing.

Two weeks later, mommy left.

And things went all downhill from there.

Charlie, now fifteen years old, sat in the small kitchenette, her legs curled up towards her chest. She was smoking a cigarette. Mom had smoked cigarettes, too-- they always smelled minty. These cigarettes were rollies, but Charlie still felt close to her mother everytime she smoked, even if she smoked rarely. Her heart felt like it was filling with lead; that poison was filling the ventricles, the atria feeling like ice. Dad had a new plan. Charlie was been the main inspiration, of course, her father had said if it hadn't been for her, there wouldn't have been no big plan.

Dad said that Gotham abused its children; the parents so obsessed with themselves that they neglected their own offspring. And then, of course there are the orphans, the ones with no parents or homes, living in Gotham Orphanage, just on the outskirts of this smoky city. Jesus. Charlie pressed a clammy hand to her forehead, feeling the tears in her eyes. One slid down her face, and then several more. Her father was humming in the next room. He was preparing, and Charlie was going to have a first-row seat. She had no mixed emotions, she felt nothing, except that unescapable feeling of being lost.

Sometimes she thought that she hated her father, but whenever he wasn't near, or gone for a long time, she felt like she was dying. He needed her, even though he would never admit that. Never. And she needed him, but she couldn't tell him that. Dad hated weakness. Weakness and fear and pain were the things that fueled him, and the more he got, the more sadistic he became.

He walked into the kitchenette, stopping as they looked at each other. He had a demented smile on his face. "Ya know, smoking causes-- aha, hehe, cancer. Or emphysemia." he said, his voice like liquid.

"I'll worry about that when it happens." Charlie replied, but she stubbed out her smoke anyways. She looked away from his vicious gaze. "Dad..."

"What." he was in the other room again. Charlie got up and entered the next room, wincing. Strewn all across the floor were wires and fuselages. A tank of gasoline rested against one corner. Several guns rested on the torn couch. The Joker was feeling up several sticks of dynamite, checking their firmness. Checking their lethal capacity. She swallowed. Her mouth felt a little dry. "What? What is it?" he looked at her, expectingly.

"Dad, uhm, how about we don't blow up an orphanage? How about we just stay home tonight?"

"And? We order Chinese and discuss atrology and Greek myths?" he giggled. "You're funny, Charlie-baby. Ah-- haha, we're going to have even more fun tonight. You're going to be in stitches!" he burst out laughing.

"Christ." Charlie muttered. To further irritate her father, she lit another cigarette and blew the smoke at him. He took it as a form of defiance and displease; which he intensely disliked. He tossed a stick of dynamite from hand to hand and walked right over to her, standing inches away. He plucked the cigarette from her hands and took a deep drag himself, extinguishing almost half of it. He blew it out completely, directly into her face. She waved it off, deciding to not look away, but stare him down. At least a hundred kids' lives could be in the balance if she lost this battle.

She rarely managed to convince her father out of doing insane things; hell, she paid for it dearly everytime she did. But this was worth it; she had to do this. Normally, a dark, secret part of her just didn't give a shit. She hated that side of her; it personified her as someone exactly identical to her own father; a man she loved yet despised.

"Ya just don't get it, do you?" he said, sounding more like a snake then anything else now. "You know I'm not for a-- a plan, Charlie-baby, I just do whatever the hell I want to do." He gripped her shoulders, squeezing them tightly. She winced. "I'm gonna blow this orphanage to ruins, and the fireworks are gonna be a riot." he giggled a little. "And you're gonna be there, and Gotham's gonna learn that I say who lives or dies. I'm gonna say who prospers. And who fails." he laughed. "I love you, Charlie, but you gotta learn, I don't give a fuck about what you think is right or wrong." he pushed her back. Her face got hot, in humiliation and she left the room, walking straight to her bedroom and slamming the door loud enough to make the tiny complex rattle.

Even though she lay on her bed and covered her ears, she could still hear his laughter long after he stopped.

--------------

8 : 34 pm.

Gordon stood on top of the GPD, anxiously sucking down coffee, observing the dark sky. The bat signal had been smashed to pieces weeks before; but he still stood here when he needed Batman, just on the off chance that He would come, even though he knew it was all in vain. Sometimes, he just came up here to get some air. Other times, he considered jumping off the roof. His breath was frosty in the cooling air; winter was coming soon. Fall was giving out its last dredges of chilly air and falling leaves; soon a light blanket of snow will cover the streets. Normally snow could be considered something of beauty, but in Gotham, it only warranted more deeper depression. Well, for Gordon especially.

The real reason he was up here tonight was the note crunched up in the bottom of his pocket. Dear God, he hoped Batman would arrive. He felt foolish and guilty; he was risking the lives of innocents, waiting for some crusader no one has seen in weeks. Sure, beat-up criminals kept turning up, drug deals continued getting busted and crime was still being filtered by the dark knight, but Gordon would have so much more comfort if he could just talk to the Batman again. He made these evil streets safer through his own black magic.

The door behind him creaked open, and he turned around. Ramirez approached, dressed in a warm GPD parka. It made Gordon shiver. He himself was only in a thick sweater, and that did little to protect him from the elements. Ramirez came to stand beside him. She observed his withering posture and the exhausted look in his red eyes. She sipped her coffee and looked over the city. "I don't think he's coming, lieutenant."

A promotion was just underway for Gordon, being elected as the most proper candidate to become commissioner. His by-the-book ways and gentle personality even gave him a position as a favourite amongst the mob, for he was always one to give second chances, believing everyone was redeemable and forgivable.

Except the Joker.

A hatred and curiosity for the man had rooted itself in Gordon; he loathed him for causing so much pain, and he was furiously curious because he would never understand him. Let alone, understand how he found anyone to actually have sex with him and produce a child. Maybe, he had a life before all this. Maybe, he had been a man, maybe exactly like Gordon.

He wanted to pull out his hair. "Lieutenant?" Ramirez repeated.

"Huh? Oh, yes. Yes, I realize that Ramirez. It's just..." Gordon sighed, raking a hand through his thick silver hair. "Christ, Ramirez I need him now."

"Yeah. I know." Ramirez replied, attempting to find a way to comfort him. She hated seeing such a strong-willed man deteriorate; especially someone like Gordon. All he ever wanted to do what was help, and now everything he had done was now becoming undone. He was going insane, which was probably what the Joker wanted him to do in the first place. "Come back inside, Gordon, or you're going to freeze."

"Yeah." Gordon replied, without really hearing what she said. He took scanned the rooftops one last time and then followed Ramirez back inside.

---------------

The ride out to the orphanage was bumpy and stuffy. The Joker had insisted that Charlie come. He himself rarely presented himself before his goons without a mask, but he said this was a special occasion. He sat in the back of the van. Charlie was inbetween him and one of his cronies, a small whispy man named Steve. Steve was an alright guy, Charlie found. God knows the Joker didn't pay good, let alone treat anyone who worked for him with any sort of respect, but Steve was like a big brother to Charlie, but mainly only because he (and anyone else) wasn't allowed to touch or hit her, or even yell at her, if they wanted to lose their spleen. Steve, out of everyone, had lasted the longest-- 5 months. He was considered a veteran now, and he didn't carry that about with pride.

The Joker couldn't seem to stop giggling or humming. He was bouncing around amiably in his seat, repeatedly licking his lips. Charlie stared out the cracked windshield. They were close to the end of the jurisdiction of Gotham, and the orphanage loomed overhead-- St Gale's Orphanage. Home of tortured innocence and kids on their last hint of life. God, there were babies in there, four year old kids. The oldest ones were sixteen, without a doubt. Hell, maybe one of these kids were going to be something big, like a famous war hero or a doctor that will discover the cure for cancer.

And they were going to blow them away. Her stomach clenched uncomfortably and all the kraft dinner her dad had made for her before was threatening to come up. She swallowed, grimacing. The Joker took hold of her wrist. She looked at him. "Charlie," he let her name roll off his tongue. "You're ruining the moment. I could make you set off the bomb if I wanted too. Ya know that, right?" he slid his arm around her shoulders, squeezing her closely to him. Despite herself, she nestled close into him. Despite her fear and guilt, she was still comforted by his presence. She buried her face in his coat. She knew it was an immature, unneccessary thing to do, but she craved contact from someone who never gave it. The Joker didn't mind.

"I just want to go home." Charlie mumbled.

"Too bad, babe." The Joker replied cheerfully. "STOP!" he barked. They paused about a hundred and thirty feet away from the orphanage's driveway entrance. "You shits set up the bombs. You know the plan. Right?" he barked gruffly. His workers nodded, cocking their guns and slipping on their masks. "I'll be in there in ah-- ten minutes. If things are going according to," he smacked his lips, "Plan," there was sarcasm in his voice. Charlie shuddered. He didn't even know what he was going to do. "You'll all die with those puny, innocent kids. Got it? Get the hell out of my van." They got out fast, one carrying a large duffel bag carrying the reaper for at least 150 kids.

The orhanage was massive; it had once been a school, five floors and containing a very decent campus. Steve got out, slamming the door. Charlie lifted her head from her father's coat.

"Cheer up, you're so miserable." The Joker thumbed her jaw, before gripping it lightly. "What's botherin' ya, my dear? ...You don't have a boyfriend, do you?"

"No." Charlie retorted, gripping his wrist and prying his hand away from her. "Dad, I just get...scared."

"Why?"

"What do you mean why?" she replied, astounded. "Dad, we escaped from the GCP like, what, like 24 hours ago? And now we're blowing up an--" her breath hitched in her throat. "Orphanage, like..."

"Relax, sh, shh, sh, shhhhh." The Joker tugged on her hair gently, smiling wider. "You still don't get it!"

"What is there to get!" Charlie protested viciously. "Dad, you scare me!"

"Awwe, am I too scary for liddle Charlie?" he squeezed her shoulder in something of what he must have meant to be comfort. "Quit bitching, daughter of mine, and enjoy-- aha, haha, the show." he cuffed her roughly and told her to watch from the van.

"Why, now I can't come in at all?" Charlie retorted icily. She was trying vainly to hide the fact that she was about to burst into hysterics. She clambered into the passenger seat by the steering wheel, digging around in the glove compartment for cigarettes.

"I can't risk anything happening to you, in case Batsy shows up. You can watch from the vehicle, where my girl will be safe." the Joker giggled, pinching her cheek. She swatted him away like he was a fly. He left the van, a pump action shotgun twirling absently in his nimble fingers. Charlie curled up tightly, looking into the dark night. Could anyone see us? Could her dad find her way back? Was he going to be okay? What if Batman did show up and got him? Hurt him? Killed him? What if the police managed to catch the Joker, and he was locked away in Arkham again, except this time he didn't escape?

Sighing hard, she lit a smoke and leaned her head against the window.

---------------------------

The Joker did not remember much of his childhood. He remembered a half empty bottle of Jack Daniel's Tenessee whiskey. He remembered his mother dressed in dirty clothes and often dropping to her knees in the kitchen and praying to God for his father to be killed. He remembered his father and a knife, and something red and sticky on his hands. He barely remembered his name. After Jeannie left. There was nothing but Charlie. Charlie and her bubbly, gurgly laugh. When she was a baby, she would often latch onto the bottoms of his pants and he would drag her around and her laughter would sail about the house. He remembered his father stomping his mother to death with his own two feet.

He remembered the smell of ashes, the sound of screaming, and the feeling of not being able to breathe. He remembered that he couldn't see. He remembered that he had cried so hard he had thrown up. He had been placed in an orphanage, a lot like this, except the nuns used to whip them with sticks and belts if they goofed off. He had always secretly, very secretly, enjoyed their abuse.

One time, a nun saw that he had a little erection growing while beating him. She had grabbed some scissors, pulled down his pants and threatened to cut his little penis off. He remembered it took him a long time to ever get an erection after that.

Walking up the hallway, his smooth black heels clicking along the marble floor, he saw a nun crouched in a corner, clutching a sobbing three year old boy. The Joker looked at her horrified face, and pointed his gun at her. Her head blew off her shoulders and the little boy only screamed once, and then lay crumped on the headless body, quaking. He scraped a finger about his ear, trying to get rid of the ringing. He entered the cafeteria, where the goons and cronies had assembled every person in the building, shooting quite a few and taking what they wanted. The children were all huddled together, sobbing and crying. The nuns were praying, fingering their rosaries and their eyes blank and shocked.

"Good evening, children." he boomed, causing all talk and cry to slightly decrease in volume. "I gotta ask," he grinned wide, showing off all of his teeth. "Do ya kiddies like clowns?!" he said loudly, firing a bullet at the cieling. Several children screamed as plaster fell down. He laughed over their cacaphony of tears and screams. "How would you all like to see a magic trick?"

"How dare you!" An old crone boomed, standing in the center of the crowd of children and nuns. She was the colour of milk and was shaking in her nun's habit, clenching her rosary so hard her knuckles were bleach white and looked like they were going to collapse in on themselves. "What in God's name is the point of this?! You attack a house full of innocent children! What have they ever done to you!"

The Joker smacked his lips, cocking his head, genuinely intrigued.

"Why? You ask why?" he chuckled uncontrollably. "To send a message, bitch." he plugged a bullet directly into her forehead, showering children with brains and blood. He threw his head back and laughed, slapping his knee with his free hand and looking around his captive audience. "Anyways," he yelled over the screaming echoing off the walls, "I promised you all a magic trick..."

---------------

Read and review people.