AN: Joker belongs to DC comics. Once again, thank you all so much for your reviews!

Chapter 7

I'm glad that no one sees us on the way down to the car. If I could feel any more awkward I'd probably faint. "I hope you like barbecue. I know of a place with a drive-through. No way am I taking you inside a restaurant," I tell him. "Do you have any money?" I don't expect a response - does this guy look like he'd be doing anything as normal as carrying around a wallet? To my surprise, he pulls out a beat-up purple wallet (where the hell did he find a purple wallet?) which is positively overflowing with bills. I can sense myself salivating, and I almost snatch it from him. His eyes sparkle at me; I guess my greed amuses him.

I pull out the first few bills, and my jaw drops. "Where in the hell did you find this money?" I hold up one of the bills: in the place of Ben Franklin, this hundred-dollar bill is marked with Andrew Jackson's face. Apart from the obvious discrepancy, this looks just like legal tender. Why would someone go to the trouble to make counterfeit bills with the wrong president's face? I hold it up to the light: there's even a thin vertical band running through the bill and a watermark of Andrew Jackson's face. It even has the feel of real money; the stiff, half-paper-half-textile feel that is almost impossible to imitate.

"What's wrong? Never seen this much cash at once, doll? Hang around me long enough and you'll get used to it." He grins like the Cheshire cat and his face lights up like Christmas. The makeup is starting to wear off, revealing broad patches of flesh on his forehead and cheeks.

"Why in the hell do these bills have Andrew Jackson on them? He's on the twenty, Ben Franklin is on the hundred. Did you actually think you'd be able to use these?"

He just laughs at me in response. "That's real cute, dollface. You work for minimum wage in a sandwich shop. For all I know, you've never even seen a hundred dollar bill in your life." How in the fuck does this guy know where I work? Must have noticed my uniform last night. Oh well, let him think what he wants. I can't wait to see the look on his face when he tries to pay for something with this bogus money.

Finally, I turn the keys in the ignition and start the car. For a moment, the absurdity of the entire situation is just too much, and can't surpress my laughter. I'm driving the Joker to a restaurant, then we're going to see a movie together. Amost like a date, but with a man who my warped mind is coming to believe is the actual Joker, sprung from some bizarro parallel universe where Andrew Jackson's face graces the hundred instead of the twenty. Even if he isn't the Joker, I'm still having a good time. I"m actually glad that he decided to return to my apartment - my life could use some spicing up..

I drive him to the restaurant, and to my relief he keeps silent the entire way there. We sit in the drive-through for a few moments as I order, and then we wait. God, I hope the person working the drive-through doesn't catch a glimpse of this weirdo.

Thankfully, the woman at the window is too busy to notice my passenger. We drive off; the smell of fresh hot barbecue filling the car. We arrice at the theater, and the next showing isn't for twenty minutes. Plenty of time for us to sit in my car, eat and... talk? I just don't know what to talk about with this man. It isn't exactly that he frightens me... He's almost too charismatic to be scary, and I'm too much of a masochist to be scared of much these days. It's just that he's so damn bizarre.

"So, uhh... what did you do, you know, before you.. umm... joked? For lack of a better term." There I go. Always the comedian.

"What did I do before? It changes, uh, depending on my mood. I guess you could say I prefer my history to be multiple choice!" I figure that this is as much as I can hope to get out him, and return to focusing on my food. When I'm done, I open the car door.

"Come on, toots... you ready to embarass me in front of the entire movie theater? Don't walk close to me; I don't want people to think I'm with you. Especially if you plan to keep blowing things up in the future." He says nothing, only smirks and grabs my hand, squeezing so tightly that I can't wrench myself free.

"Oh, our first date," I say sarcastically. I know why he's doing this, I know he just wants to make me as uncomfortable as possible. Best that I just play along - show him that he's not the only one who can see the funny side. Inspiration takes hold. I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him on the cheek. I see with deep satisfaction that I've managed to unnerve him. I use the back of my free hand to wipe the white paint from my lips as we walk hand-in-hand (or, perhaps more accurately, he drags me by the hand) through the parking lot towards the theater.