Hey guys, I know it's been awhile since I updated, but this chapter is quite long, so I hope that makes up for things.

Anyway, although there's not really any action in this chapter, there are a lot of 'stage setters' and other events that really start to set up the complexity of the story to come. I hope you can appreciate that and forgive me for this chapter's lack of bang-bang action. Love you all :]


Chapter Eight, Make a Move

I'm cautious of who I would call a friend
Who you acquaint is who you are
The darkest hours are when we choose a side
So make your pick and take a fall

Say something
Say anything at all
Make a move (Hands on the eyes are the engines of demise)
Incubus


When the video ended, Harleen didn't move from the couch. She was frozen there, by horror, grotesque fascination and by deep thought.

'So it's come to this…' She thought faintly, 'Being this man's audience has come to being a witness of murder… Being responsible for murder…'

Somehow, that thought didn't sit properly with her. Something in her mind laughed at it, mocked it's naïveté.

'Oh come on Harley,' the voice in her head said scornfully. It sounded like the Joker sometimes, and like the girl who'd first called her 'clown girl' the other times. ' You act so upset by the whole thing when really, you wanted Ed dead.'

"N-no, I didn't." Harleen whispered, feeling the unease of a lie prickle at her skin.

'Oh yes you did! You watched him suffer…watched him bleed and you liked it Harley. You've always liked it. Face it, you're a freak too. You always were. Always felt that difference, that little thing that put you apart…Like a wolf in a pack of dogs.'

"It's not how I'm meant to be." Harleen said, "But I am. I guess I should live with it."

'There ya go kiddo, that's the spirit! That's the ticket! You're doin' fine, you're gonna do everything ya need to…'

"How though?" Harleen burst out, frustrated. "I'm meant to…to…"

'Let the clown out of the box.'

"Yeah, that, but no one tells me how!" Harleen snapped, feeling angry suddenly. "And why can't it be my choice to let the Joker out?"

'Because you wouldn't…'

"I might." Harleen replied defensively. It wasn't true though. "Okay fine, so it's not my choice. I still don't like it though. What now?"

'Now you need to make your move.'

"What move?"

There was no reply from that little voice in her mind. Harleen growled; it figured it should prove only to be her inner demons taunting her, and not a voice providing actual help and assistance.


Joker's POV

I hate it. I can't stop it, but I still hate it. I want…I need to see her face. I need to know if I'm still getting out this way. I need to know. It can only work this way. At least, this is the only way I've thought of. I could think of others.

But I don't want to. This way works. If it ain't broke, don't fix it right? I just wish I knew if it was broken or not. I'd be able to tell from just one itty bitty glimpse of her face.

Pretty face too. Smug and overly confident maybe, but pretty. Always an added bonus. Even prettier when it's scared. Or sad. Maybe that's just me though.

Hopefully, I'll get to see a lot more of her pretty little face soon. After all, she's turning out to be my best joke yet…

Sort of. She's needs a little…inspiration? No, motivation. Yeah, better word: motivation.

Hey, I can provide that! Where'd...Where'd that pen go?


Third Person POV

As the evening progressed, indecision morphed with temptation. Harleen alternated between numb, terrified confusion and agonising determination as a result. In an attempt to try and calm herself down, Harleen decided (her mind mocked her that it was the only thing she was capable of making a decision on) to take a shower. She would have preferred a bath of scented oils, but the bathroom didn't have a tub.

Once inside the steaming, hot shower (she decided that lukewarm water just wasn't going to cut it tonight), Harleen felt fatigue consume her. Slowly, she sank down until she was sitting wearily against the shower wall, engulfed by hot water and steam. It was so tempting to just doze off where she was, to let sleep take her…


Chaos all around her as frenetic colour and sound. It was everywhere and nowhere…So horrifying and so beautiful. All gorgeous, undefined contradictions. Fiery, bloody explosions complimented flocks of butterflies and playing cards that fluttered through the air.

And the master of it all laughed at Harleen. The Joker was in his element, in control. Before Harleen could say anything though, he was gone and she was somewhere else. A blackness… there was a single light, aimed at a small, glass box that sat on a pedestal. Harleen approached, intrigued.

The box contained a card, a Joker card. Right. Perfectly logical.

"Do it do it do it do it…"

Harleen didn't know where the voices came from but she understood what she had to do, what she'd been born to do… She picked the box up, held it above her head and-



Harleen awoke with a gasp. Somewhere in the apartment, a phone was ringing. The shower had turned ice cold, making her wonder how long she'd been asleep. It was bewildering, disorienting; ice cold water, sudden awakening and the trilling of the phone all at once. Harleen swore she heard the Joker's laugh added to the mix, albeit just for a split second.

Spluttering, Harleen shakily got to her feet and fumbled for the knob to the shower. She managed to turn the water off after a moment. She lurched out of the shower and without bothering to find a towel, she ran out into the main part of the apartment.

The phone hadn't stopped ringing, so Harleen picked it up quickly, instinctively knowing this was important.

"H-hello?" She didn't realise until then that she was shivering and that her teeth were chattering.

"Harleen, its Derrick." His voice was calm but still betrayed some small worry. "Can you come back to work?"

Harleen frowned and held the phone closer to her face. As if she could force herself to see what was going on at Arkham.

"Why, what's happened?"

"It's the Joker; he's been placed on suicide watch."

"What?" Harleen almost shrieked the word. She could imagine Derrick's corresponding wince.

"Look, can you come down?" Derrick sounded stressed now and Harleen could hear a commotion over the line. "It's just too…too hard over the phone."

"Okay okay!" Harleen ran into the bedroom, thanking god that the phone was cordless. She started pulling on clothing randomly, ignoring the fact that she was still wet. "Just… I don't know, make sure nothing happens!"

Derrick's responding laugh was grim and mirthless, only worsening Harleen's fears. Without bothering to hang up properly, she threw the phone onto the bed, grabbed her keys and ran out the door.


"Jesus!" Harleen screamed, slamming on the brakes and swinging the wheel. Horns wailed in death tones all around her, she braced herself for the agonising, jarring impact and the sounds of shattering glass and…

It never came. As if guided by a divine hand, the green Ford SUV that Harleen had been about to be smashed to pieces by managed to swerve and avoid her tiny compact car by mere inches. For a moment, everything was a swirling kaleidoscope of sound and panic as both cars skidded and slid across the rain slicked roads for what seemed like an eternity. Three more times Harleen screamed as she was nearly struck by other vehicles on the highway.

Then, miraculously, it ended. Not in death, blood and mangled vehicles, but in blessed wellbeing and silence. Everything seemed to freeze for Harleen as she sat shaking and gasping in her seat, stunned by her continued existence. It'd all been so quick…

She'd been speeding, desperate to reach Arkham. She hadn't been paying attention to the roads and the fact that rain had made them dangerously slippery. Her car had hit a slick patch and had gone careening into oncoming traffic…

It'd all been so quick. The truth hit Harleen hard. She could have so easily been killed. Driving one moment, gone the next. It, life that was, suddenly seemed so horrifyingly fragile, so temporary…

'Stop that!' Harleen commanded herself, even as hysterical giggles began to bubble from her trembling, numb lips. 'Just…Stop!'

And still her terrified thoughts continued. They were as potent as the giggles that consumed her, not growing in volume, but not ceasing either. Harleen found that she couldn't take her hands away from where they were curled tightly over the steering wheel. She sat, frozen and giggling.

'This is ridiculous.' She managed to reprimand herself harshly. 'You're being stupid! You weren't paying attention and you nearly crashed. Fine, okay. Deal with it!'

Harleen nodded quickly and with violently trembling fingers, pressed her lips together, stemming the flow of giggles. She jumped though when someone tapped at her window.

It was a man, bespectacled and gesturing urgently. He seemed to want to speak with her. Right. That would take forever when she needed to get to Arkham. Harleen shook her head at him through the window and motioned for him to move away. Puzzled, he did so, only to shout angrily as she stamped on the accelerator and sped away from the scene.


"What happened?" Harleen didn't bother with a greeting. She just strode through the double doors that led to the clinic, expecting Derrick to keep up. He didn't disappoint her. After all, he'd always been a bit of a puppy dog, following her around.

"We don't know how, but he managed to slit his wrists open." He replied tersely, "The only thing that could have happened was that he snuck something sharp into his cell, but the orderlies are furious at that allegation; it'll mean their jobs if they allowed him to get his hands on contraband."

"Where is he now?"

"Under watch of course, lightly sedated." Derrick said as they reached the clinic doors. "We tried to pump him full of tranquilliser, but his system just beats the stuff…We cant get him any further down then he is now. And it's…Well, it's really making him a mess as it is. More so then usual at least."

"Uh-huh." Harleen wasn't paying him any attention now. She was too busy focusing on the Joker, who was sitting up against the far wall, handcuffed and attended to (or rather, studiously glared at) by three armed guards. Apparently, Arkham wasn't taking any chances, not where the Joker was concerned.

"Everybody out," She said quietly, somehow gaining everyone's immediate attention regardless, "I'm him therapist, I want everyone out."

Perhaps everyone in the room caught something dangerous in her voice and eyes, because they all did exactly as she commanded. Waiting until the door shut behind the last guard, Harleen warily approached the Joker.

He looked distant, his eyes were slightly unfocussed. The illusion of slowness was quickly lost however, his eyes snapped up to look interestedly at Harleen as she cautiously crouched down in front of him. There was something heart stopping and riveting in the way his pupils constricted to jet black points as they focussed upon her face. They were hard spots in a face that was looking unusually soft in the harsh lighting.

"Why'd you try to kill yourself?" She didn't beat around the bush; she was too stressed for that.

"When did I do that?" The Joker asked indignantly. It was probably the sedatives, but he seemed much more… ordinary at the moment. True there was still an air of something dangerous about him, but it was mostly hinted at now, as oppose to blatantly displayed at the surface. Rather like a large, toothy mastiff that probably could have ripped your throat out without a second thought, but was currently chewing a squeaky toy.

Harleen looked pointedly at the Joker's wrists, which were bandaged. He followed her line of sight and upon glancing down at his arms, began to roar with laughter. There was an odd note to his laugh at the moment.

"Ttthhhaaaattt," The word was drawn out obscenely, slurred, "Is not me, uh, trying to hop on the suicide expressssss...That…This is me providing you with a, uh, ultimatum."

Those words immediately set a sense of unease and entrapment at work amongst Harleen's bones. Her blood seemed to slow to an icy, shivery creep.

"Ultimatum…"

"Mhm." The Joker's grin was unsettling. Whilst he seemed less dangerous at present, it was obvious he was no less unpredictable. The sedatives, whilst nowhere near as potent as they should be, were still managing to shape the Joker's behaviour a little. "Either you get me out or…Or next time I go down the road, not across the street…"

Harleen opened her mouth to ask what he meant. There was no need though; the Joker raised his handcuffed hands so that he was able to pull the bandages away from his right wrist. Harleen saw that the slash, jagged and messy looking, ran horizontally across his wrist, not vertically following the blood vessels.

"Knew it wouldn't kill me…" The Joker yawned. "Not in here, doctors everywhere, supercilious assholes."

Harleen made a face, not liking the blank indifference the Joker displayed in regards to his own life and wellbeing. He noticed and giggled.

"Oh, my bad." He chuckled, eyeing her in amusement, "I meant 'cept for you of course, Harley…You, uh, you're okay. Bit annoying and hmm…smug. But ok."

"I'm not a doctor yet." Harleen said out of reflex, before letting the shock and horror of her situation sink in. "You can't… You're honestly saying that if I don't help you escape Arkham Asylum, you'll kill yourself?"

"Somethin' along those lines." The Joker looked amused still. "You know that when I decide something, I uh, I stick to it. Well, I decided I want out. That or nothing at all. Gotham or Bust! Uh-huh, fun times here I coooomeee!"

"No!" Harleen moaned, "That isn't fair!"

"Life isn't fair." The Joker looked smug at his sound logic. Harleen sighed and changed the subject.

"How'd you cut your wrists?" She asked wearily, "The orderlies are denying you managed to get your hands on anything sharp, but they're obviously wrong…"

"Obviously." The Joker repeated mockingly. "Although, you'd be, uh, be the one getting sssacked."

"What?" Harleen asked incredulously, "What…How?"

"I stole your pen." The Joker, probably because of the sedatives, sounded proud like a cat that had deposited a bird it caught itself at its owner's feet. "You were the only other, uh, person in the room. You were responsible for maintaining security."

"But…I…" There didn't be anything Harleen could say, so she looked at the Joker helplessly. He smirked and waited for her to fight the sense of horror and panic enough to speak.

"Why do you keep doing this?" Harleen asked in quiet misery eventually. "I'm already…I know you have some need for an audience, but I'm already that, why do you keep hurting me?"

"Consider it tough love, Harls," The Joker shrugged in an over exaggerated manner. "You're, uh… You're not bad really, but you need a little tough love to help you do stuff. You never used to do things…You were wasting your, uh, life."

Harleen said nothing, unable to do anything but stay frozen, wishing that she knew what to say or do. Bizarrely, all she could think of at that moment was the costume in the shop downtown. Not helping. Harleen shook her head and refocused.

"Because you know, we're getting to a, uh, a point where someone has to make their move." The Joker said, "And well… I think you're in the better position to do that. I'm just helping. See, I'm the good guy in all this!"

"And I'm the bad guy?" Harleen asked dully.

"Nope." The Joker giggled briefly. "You are…You arrreeee… Hmm, Harls, what are you? You're like… Hey, you're like my Patty Hearst!"

"Pardon?" Harleen wondered if maybe this was something she should know.

Obviously so.

"You don't know who Hearst is?" The Joker grinned at her in disbelief and amusement. "Look her up then. It's hmm…interesting if nothing else."

Harleen bit her lip and looked at the Joker sadly.

"I can't do this." She said quietly. "I can't… I love my job and my life; I can't ruin all that by letting you out…You'll hurt people."

The Joker paused, the smile fading from his face.

"You hurt people." He said quickly. He sounded compelling and insisting, but not quite begging. "I know your type. You're too ambitious; you cut yourself off from all your loved ones. You hurt them. WHen's the last time you even spoke to someone who loves you?"

"That might be the case." Harleen replied, trying to hide the hurt she felt at the Joker words, "But still. You'll burn and kill and destroy if I let you out."

"How do you know?" The Joker's eyelids were low and heavy over his eyes, but there was a determination in his expression nevertheless, "For sure I mean. I, uh, I did things that got me caught last time. I get it now, I get that I can't do this in Gotham…"

"Really?" Harleen meant for her question to sound sarcastic, but it came out sounding weak and genuinely unsure. The Joker shrugged.

"Oh sure, I'm not perfect." He giggled, obviously amused by that thought. "But I'd be pretty good. No blowing up hospitals at least. Maybe a few jewellery store heists and a couple of mob rolled deals, but I… Well, that's good behaviour for me. Really good. Like canonization material. For me."

"I don't…I shouldn't…" Harleen got to her feet and backed away quickly. "Don't do this…don't make me regret trying to help you."

"If you haven't yet, I'm losing my touch." The Joker replied a touch nastily. "In which case, I might get mad…"

"You say you want…need my help," Harleen said quietly, "But you don't stop tormenting me. How am I meant to want to help the man who'd happily see me end up in the next door cell?"

The Joker said nothing, head tilted to one side and eyes dark and almost sleepy. He gave her a brief smirk before slowly, deliberately turning his head away. For an insane moment, Harleen fought a desperate, brutal battle not to giggle. It was just; the Joker looked exactly like a little kid sent to a 'time out' in the corner.

Just then, one of the guards popped his head in the door.

"Are you alright in there?" He asked, eyeing the Joker warily. "Are you finished?"

Harleen bit her bottom lip and looked back at the Joker. He continued to ignore her, prompting simultaneous amusement and guilt in Harleen. She sighed and shrugged.

"Yes to the first, no to the second." She replied dully, "But don't worry, I'll fix the second later."

As she walked out the door, Harleen thought she could feel eyes on her back.


Joker's POV

She is really getting on my nerves. Miss Quinn I mean. Obviously. Duh.

She can be so good sometimes, intelligent. Then, that stupid reflex to, uh, to at least pretend to want to do the right thing kicks in and then… Then she stands there like an idiot who can't make her mind up. Like one of those turkeys… When it rains, they drown. Well, without me, Harley would, uh, drown if it rained. Mhm. Something like that, consider it a metaphor.

The worst part isn't that she's being… Well, yes, that is the worst part because I would like to get out of here sometime this century. But no, it really pisses me off that she's being all faux good-guy because I really could like her. Harley, my little Harley Quinn, I could grow to like her. Sometimes, she's my sorta girl. Like with the juggling trick, I liked that. I could teach her better tricks.

And then, she seems to grow a little guilty. Like some hmm… switch flicks inside her brain. 'Yeah right, meant to be good'. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She knows that's not who she is. Like that, she's almost annoying enough for me to want to…

Hmm, that's an interesting one. What would I do…What will I do to Miss Quinn once I'm out of here? Interesting as she is, I don't think she and I would hmm, get along. She's changing yes, oh yeah definitely, but not quite as much as I thought. Makes me wonder if maybe I am losing my touch.

So what to do… I don't like to waste a good joke, and Harley is a very good joke. But, she's only…Only half finished. Maybe it would be better just to clear the board and start over in the future some time.

I wonder what it would be like to see my little harlequin scream. Bleed. Uh-huh, I think I'd like that. People are at their most interesting when they're in pain. Harley Quinn… I can almost taste her fear when she's near me, it's a wonderful thing. I'd love to take it further, have her bleed and scream and cry at my feet. I can almost feel my hand hitting her… Destroying that pretty little face that she wears so unappreciatively. Trust me, I know something about valuing your features. You don't know what you got until it's gone.

Actually, I just thought of a question. It's like um... Like one of those Zen questions. You know, what sound does a tree make falling where there's no one to hear it? Well, here's my little question.

What sound does a harlequin, a creature born to laugh, make in pain?

Maybe it's just me, probably actually, but I can only hear laughter still. That's what I generally only hear anyway. Sometimes, the laughter's just too much and I have to let it out. Maybe Harley is the same, maybe she laughs too. Maybe she'd even get the joke if I tried to kill her. I mean, she has to be somewhat intelligent to have gotten here.

So that's it. I have to get out of Arkham, but I have to make my Harley Quinn laugh too. Not just a little giggle, I want for her to see what she is and then, I want her to laugh so hard she feels like can't breathe. If she can do that, maybe, just maybe, my joke isn't wasted yet.

Heh, I just thought of something. I wonder if it's possible to laugh yourself to death?


Third Person POV

As Harleen walked down the hallway, that little voice in her head was back, berating her foolishness.

'See? All he did was tell you what you already know: it's a stalemate and it's up to you to make the first move! His 'suicide attempt' is proof of that…He was right to do it, you are so pathetic, you need all the motivation you can get.'

Harleen licked her lips and paused in the middle of the hallway.

"That's not true…I can do things on my own." She murmured, running her fingers through her hair. She grimaced. Her most recent dye job had left her hair feeling odd. It always surprised people she wasn't a natural blonde. "At least, I used to be able to. I got this job on my own."

'Yeah, right… You and all the professors and lecturers you had to screw to get here and-'

Harleen winced, cutting off the biting tirade. She wasn't proud of what she'd done to obtain the elusive Arkham intern position. She couldn't help but shudder thinking of the doctors, old enough to be her father, who'd been more then happy to give her top grades in return for some 'female company'.

'Okay, fine.' The little voice in her head seemed to grudgingly respect the no-entrance area of her memories. 'But just listen for a minute. You're different now, the Joker's done that. Probably wasn't a good thing, but no use crying over spilt milk. So, are you going to mope and go insane, or are you going to start making the best of a bad situation?'

"I dunno." Harleen muttered, like a sullen child.

'Harley!' Funny, her little mental voice sounded eerily like the Joker there as it reprimanded her unhelpfulness.

"Fine!" She cried, startling one of the medical engineers who was walking behind her. He gave her a puzzled look before scurrying away. "I'll do something. What though?"

'Well it's your move kiddo.' The little voice was smug now, if such a quality could realistically be assigned to mental voice. 'So do anything, just make it already.'

Harleen stayed frozen, pondering that for a few minutes. Then, her eyes fell on an informational poster that had been placed on a blank stretch of wall.

Security and Administrative Procedure during Arkham Construction

Looking around furtively and chewing her bottom lip, Harleen moved closer to the poster. She studied it for a moment, absorbing the amount of sheer information presented to her all at once. Then, making sure no one was watching, she tore the poster down. Hiding it beneath her coat, she hurried away.


Gordon was tired. He had been ever since the Joker had crashed into existence. Even behind bars, he was a constant thorn in Gordon's side. No matter the security measures being taken (including the new upgrades that were currently being constructed with Bruce Wayne's money), Gordon could never shake the sensations of stress and worry that surrounded the Joker.

During the day, Gordon had to read through the daily reports from Arkham. Every time the Joker attacked a staff member or otherwise threatened security, Gordon had to hear about it. The complete lack of progress in his therapy, the way he drove other patients and doctors to unmentionable conditions…It made him shudder.

And then, even when he was at home and sleeping, Gordon was plagued by constant nightmares. They were dreams in which the Joker escaped and smashed his way through Gotham, burning and killing and laughing. Yes, laughing. It was the psychopathic clown's laughter that haunted him, as it did so many others.

And now, the Joker was seemingly rising to power once more. How this was possible from behind bars, Gordon wasn't sure. However, whoever this mysterious assassin was, leaving bodies for Miss Quinzel to find, was doubtlessly working for the Joker. At first, Gordon had only regarded the prospect of an assassin hired by the Joker as a vague theory, barely worth attention. Then, Ed Geralds had been killed. A councilman. He'd been forced into action.

"Let me get this straight," Gordon looked at the detective before him wearily, "You've gone over everything, every last detail, in Quinzel's apartment and you haven't found a single hair, fingerprint…anything?"

Detective Liao looked just as tired as Gordon. He shook his sleek, black haired head and almost shrugged.

"No. Even the corpse itself displayed no traceable evidence… We ran scans over Doctor Stevens' clothing, skin and hair. We could find no DNA for us to follow."

"So that leaves us where?" Gordon muttered, half to himself, "Nowhere?"

"Not quite." Liao paused, blinking thoughtfully. "There's still the evidence from the Geralds killing to be considered. We examined the handwriting of the notes left for Miss Quinzel. They're quite obviously neither hers nor the Joker's. Whilst graphology was…inappropriate for the circumstances, we did however analyse the ink used itself."

Gordon raised a brow, a little perplexed.

"And?"

Liao smiled.

"The ink used to write the note belongs to a very specific brand of pen. That is, a very expensive brand of pen. They're an elitist executive thing, designed to make big earners feel even wealthier then they already do."

"Oh." Gordon frowned, a little bemused by how this case's only lead was turning out to be an expensive piece of stationary. "What's the brand?"

"Terri Tech Office Tools." Liao replied, "Owned by Maria Terri, one of Gotham's big faces…She's Harold Weinstein's ex-wife…You know, the-"

"-Telecommunications guy, yeah." Gordon waved the unimportant celebrity connection away. "So, you could call Terri Tech for the customer list?"

"Already have." Liao wilted a little. "Apparently buying stationary is top secret stuff, because Miss Terri flat out refused to give me the names to any of her customers… She did reveal however that the pen's ink only lasts about a month though, so whoever this assassin is, they're in trouble because we have two hard facts about them."

"They have easy access to the Joker, and they recently bought a pen from Terri Tech…" Gordon thought on it for awhile. Then, an idea came to him. He was annoyed it hadn't occurred to him before. "That Arkham receptionist…Patricia…She mentioned that the Joker's lawyer had been receiving coded messages from the Joker himself, and then continuing them on to this assassin… Can we squeeze the lawyer himself for the assassin's identity?"

"Doubt it…" Liao's lip curled. "Carl decided to go on an unexpected holiday to Canada…We can't reach him."

"I don't like this Cheng," Gordon used his detective's first name unconsciously, uneasily running his fingers through his hair. "First of all, the Joker even bothers to start playing games with Quinzel…Then this assassin appears. On top of all that, the Joker's lawyer, the only guy who can communicate between the Joker and the assassin, has left the country. Why would the Joker deliberately cut himself off from the outside world?"

"Maybe the Joker doesn't have the amount of control he thinks he does…" Liao appeared to think hard for a moment. "From the way the Joker has treated Miss Quinzel, I hardly think he has a value for her…So maybe, killing Ed Geralds was a personal move on the assassin's part? Maybe… The assassin has a thing for Quinzel, and killed Ed Geralds because he couldn't stand someone hitting the woman he was after?"

"There's no evidence to support that," Gordon said warningly, "But go on."

Liao shrugged.

"Anyway, the Joker doesn't like this…He doesn't want to be framed for this murder, doesn't want people to think he cares for Miss Quinzel. So, he cuts the assassin loose. Decides that he can't afford being connected with a rogue killer? Then, just to cover his tracks anyway, he sends Carl Porla out of country?"

Gordon shrugged. It was pure speculation, not suitable to base an entire line of investigation off of.

"Perhaps." He paused. Something about the assassin and his possible liking for Harleen triggered something vague in his memory. What was it? Something about…Someone he'd... A visitor?

No, it was gone. Frustrated, Gordon sighed and looked back at Liao.

"I'll keep your theory in mind, but you know I can't do much without evidence." He said apologetically, "Which, as you know, we're rather bereft of at this point…"

Liao shrugged and left his office, not offended. Gordon watched him go, thinking hard. So, whoever this assassin was had access to the Joker and owned a very expensive pen…

A quick search on his laptop revealed just how expensive. The pen's case was made of a special, lightweight marble and was set with diamonds and sapphires. The nib and clip were silver.

"Fifty thousand dollars!" Gordon gaped. Who had that much to spend on stationary?!

And then it hit him. It was so simple, so easy… Why hadn't he thought of it before?

"I can find the assassin." Gordon breathed. "Or at least, I know someone who can."

Maria Terri had refused to share information. It would be illegal for the GCPD to then go ahead and 'obtain' that information anyway. So, Gordon, in order to find out the identity of the assassin, was going to need to rely on someone who didn't bother too much with the ambiguous term 'illegal'.


Jim Nguyen was basically a nice guy. He was fairly smart, never hit his wife or kids and if he had spare change, he'd give it to the homeless guy who begged near his favourite coffee shop.

The problem was his brother. The kid had had a major drug problem, heroin specifically. That is, until Jim had found him and sent him to rehab. Unfortunately, that act of kindness was turning out to be burning through Jim's money faster then a gasoline fuelled flame.

So, he'd wincingly turned to crime. Right now, he was acting as a lookout for a small time gang whilst they robbed a TV shop. For his role in the proceedings, he would receive 10% of the 'proceeds'. It didn't seem like a lot, but considering he was pulling off about five of these robberies an evening, he made enough to balance his brother's rehab costs and his own bills and expenses.

"Are you guys almost done?" He whispered into a walkie talkie.

"No! Now get back to watching Nguyen!"

Sighing, Jim looked up and down the alley he was standing in. Nothing. All was just wet, cold, stinking concrete and rubbish. There was-

Wait. Nguyen froze. For a split second, he thought he saw a shadow flit from behind a dumpster down one end of the alley. Not quite worried yet, Nguyen peered into the dark. He thought that maybe, just maybe he saw it again…

Was it a person? What if it was a rival mobster, coming to try and stake his claim? Nguyen bit his bottom lip nervously. He had a knife on him, but he really didn't want to use it on anyone. He wasn't a killer, he just needed some money. Hell, he even hated watching the bugs die after he sprayed them with insecticide.

"H-hey!" He called out, "If anyone's there, they better come out now! I'm armed and there are a whole lotta gunslinger gangsters just round the corner!"

There was no reply (had he honestly expected one?), but suddenly, the darkness seemed even more dark and intimidating then before. Pressing around him in an almost corporal sensation. Nervous now, Nguyen took an uneasy step back. Something rattled on a low rooftop to his left suddenly, he whirled around.

Nothing, still nothing. Fear growing, by the second, Nguyen backed himself into a corner, nearly knocking a rusty trashcan over in the process. Maybe it was his imagination, but it seemed like he was being stared at right that minute. His skin prickled uneasily.

And then, a shadow began to creep up the alley wall towards him slowly. It was too dark to see what was causing it, but Jim assumed the worst. In his mind, a thousand painful deaths were approaching him.

"N-no!" He called out, "Stay back! I don't want to hurt you, I don't-"

"Mrrow." A large tabby cat prowled up to his feet and plonked itself on the ground. It eyed Jim in amusement, or so it seemed. Relieved, and a little embarrassed, he reached down to scratch the animal between its pointy little ears.

"I guess I was hearing things." He muttered to himself.

"Not quite."

Jim barely had time to open his mouth in shock at the sound of the voice coming from the dark before an enormous, solid blackness suddenly fell quite literally from the sky and landed before him.

"Cứt." Jim gasped in Vietnamese, looking at the man before him. In his fear and adrenalin rush, he felt his control of the English language slip."N-no! I am good man! Please!"

The man advanced on him, eyes narrowed behind his mask.

"So good you'd work for criminals?" He rasped, "So good you'd stab somebody?"

To Jim's shame, he realised he's taken his knife out and was holding it at his side loosely. Trembling from fear, he threw it to the ground and waved his hands in front of him.

"No no!" He cried, "See? I am good man! I just want money!"

"You chose the wrong way to get it." With those words, the man raised his arm and from some sort of valve in his gauntlet came a jet of gas. Almost immediately after his first breath of it, Jim began to become drowsy.

"I never stab Batman." He slurred, almost slipping into his native tongue. "You my kid's hero. I never…stab…"

Batman managed to stop Nguyen from hitting the ground quickly, gently lowering him to the ground.

"Glad to hear it." He muttered, straightening up. He had a whole bunch of 'gunslinger gangsters' to deal with next, apparently.

That is, until he looked up to the night sky. That changed his plans a little.

"What are you doing Gordon?" Batman murmured to himself before looking back at Nguyen, who was barely conscious.

"Tonight's your lucky night," he told the sleepy man mildly, "But it won't always be. Don't let me find you out here again."

"Noo." Jim muttered before passing out altogether. Batman surveyed him for a moment longer before disappearing into the night.


Gordon was an intelligent man, thus he knew that what he was doing was risky, very much so. All it took was one overly inquisitive civilian, and he was caught out, busted…

"I'm guessing this isn't a social call." The hoarse, low voice he'd been hoping (praying?) for sounded behind him. Relieved, Gordon turned around.

"No, it isn't." He told Batman, eyeing the caped crusader warily. The masked man had an impeccable sense of balance, but the way he stood right on the very edge of the roof made him nervous. It was several hundred feet straight down if he were to fall. Gordon didn't care if this guy was the Batman, he didn't trust human balance, not when gravity and heights were working in sync…

"What can I do for you then?"

Gordon resisted the urge to blush. The following request was, well, odd to say the least.

"Are you familiar with Terri Tech?"

"Yes." Batman replied immediately, "Terri Tech is a large company and has several links with Wayne Enterprises… Why?"

"Well, we have a lead on…" Gordon paused. He realised that Batman knew nothing of the case at all. It was hard to share information when you were supposed to arrest the other person on sight. "The Joker's been making trouble; we think he's been hiring an assassin to do his dirty work outside of Arkham. The only link we have to his identity is a pen… A very expensive pen that comes from Terri Tech only."

Batman hesitated, obviously unsure where this was going. Eventually he stirred.

"Terri Tech is involved in almost as many branches as Wayne Enterprises." He said slowly, "But I assume you're only interested in their personal equipment and tools branch?"

Gordon couldn't help but raise a brow. He hadn't known all this.

"Yes." He said slowly, "But the problem is information…Maria Terri refuses to give the customer list for purchasers of this pen…"

Batman gave him a strange look suddenly.

"Is this the one made of marble and it has diamonds in it?"

"Yes. Why do you-?"

"I…Know someone who owns one." Batman coughed awkwardly, "Not the person you're looking for mind you."

"Uh-huh… Well, I need you to get the customer list for this pen." Gordon said lamely. The whole situation felt ridiculous, but it was necessary nevertheless. He just prayed Batman wouldn't think this was some sort of industrial espionage thing. He was also a little interested as to which of Gotham's elite had a personal relationship with the Batman…

Batman smirked suddenly.

"You don't have police hackers who are up to the job?"

Gordon shrugged.

"Probably, but it's sort of-"

"Illegal." Batman finished. He was silent for a minute before looking at the machine next to Gordon. "How many of these do you have?"

"Just this one." Gordon replied, turning to survey the Bat Signal he'd secretly stored after the original had been smashed. "I chose this building because it's abandoned and nobody…"

He trailed off as he turned around, seeing Batman had disappeared.

"Nice to see you too." Gordon muttered. Then, he threw a tarpaulin over the Bat Signal and walked down the fire escape. He still had at least another three hours of work to do tonight.


"What is that?" Alfred surveyed the laceration on Bruce's upper left arm speculatively. "Did a tiger maul you?"

"That would be a very sharp nailed woman on meth actually." Bruce dabbed antiseptic on the wound, wincing at the stinging sensation. "Who also tried to mug an elderly man. Who also had the offensive vocabulary to make a sailor blush. I've never heard the F-word spoken in connection to me so many times before."

"Of course sir." Alfred gave a grin. "You always did have a way with the ladies."

"Perhaps, but she wasn't my type." Bruce pulled on a black polo neck shirt and a brown jacket over that. He didn't have anything planned for today; it felt nice not to have to wear business suits.

"Drug addict?"

"No, red head." Bruce gave a grin and yawned. "Is Lucious busy today?"

"Not to the best of my knowledge sir." Alfred replied, passing Bruce his usual morning protein drink. "Would you like me to call ahead for a meeting?"

Bruce nodded, too engaged in gulping his drink down to reply properly. Alfred smiled and took his empty glass, placing it on a tray. It was so nice to see Bruce look enthusiastic and happy for once.

"Would your meeting be Enterprise related or otherwise?" He asked as Bruce picked up his car keys from his bedside table. As part of his playboy act, he'd bought a new car to replace the Lamborghini that'd been damaged trying to save Coleman Reese. Truthfully, Bruce loved his new Bugatti Veyron to bits, even beyond what was necessary for the cameras.

"Otherwise." Bruce called over his shoulder as he hurried from the room to his precious car. "And if that woman calls…"

"The Swedish supermodel sir?"

"Yes, her…If she calls, please, please make an excuse. She is so annoying…Calls me 'Bruciekins'…"

Alfred had to disguise a laugh as his young master left the apartment.


"Bruce." Lucious smiled warily. "I didn't think you had any reason to come in today."

"Aren't you happy to see me?" Bruce laughed, reclining in the comfortable guest chair in Lucious' office.

"Never that." Lucious returned the grin, authentically this time. "It's just, we have important guests at the moment, and if you were to be found napping in a corner or something similar…"

Bruce rolled his eyes.

"No one is ever going to forgive me that one, are they?"

"Afraid not." Lucious shrugged. "Now, what can I do for you?"

"I spoke to Gordon last night." Bruce began. He noted the raised eyebrows and questioning look in Lucious' expression. "Yes, in that context… He has a request."

"Bruce…" Lucious looked uneasy now. "I told you that that machine…That was my resignation. The Joker's behind bars, crime is at an all time low…"

"I know." Bruce said quickly, "But this is important. Even behind bars the Joker is still proving dangerous. He's been hiring an assassin to… Well, I guess this the assassin is the Joker's equivalent to an errand boy."

"What has that got to do with me?"

"Well, there's a way to track the assassin."

"Oh." Lucious sighed and rubbed the side of his face thoughtfully. It was an oddly reassuring gesture. "Electronically… Why can't the Police Department do this themselves?"

Bruce winced and looked sad suddenly.

"Gordon called Batman…Batman is a villain… As in-"

"It's not legal." Lucious felt bad for Bruce. He knew that making Batman Gotham's villain was the best thing for the city, but it hurt all the same. No one liked to be cast out from the warm, admiring glow into the cold realm of hatred after all. "I see…What am I looking for?"

"A customer list." Bruce quickly outlined the idea of using the pen to find the assassin's identity. "See, if you cross-reference the list of names by the right parameters-"

"Easy access to the Joker, large and frequent income, possible existing relationship with Harleen…"

"-Yes… Well, if you do that, surely the right name should be easy to find?" Bruce asked, wondering why he was so desperate to end this problem before it really even developed. Maybe it was because he had a feeling of grim certainty that if the Joker was involved, it would develop, and it would be bad.

"Hmm, hopefully." Lucious drummed his fingertips against his desk briefly in a thoughtful gesture. He quickly turned to his computer and began to type into it. His fingers moved in a blur, like a professional pianist's. "Just give me a moment…"

Bruce shrugged and looked around Lucious' office. He was always struck by how despite it's cleanliness, modern furnishings and spaciousness, it really wasn't that nice of a room. Maybe that was because Lucious always had the air conditioning on too high, or maybe it was the complete lack of any personal touches, no hints the man who resided in it. It gave Bruce a weird sense of floating in an empty space with no point to fix himself upon.

"Well." Lucious leant back from his desk suddenly, an amused expression on his wise countenance. "I got in, but it was a little harder then I expected… Terri Tech are a very large corporation, but their computer security was remarkable nevertheless."

"But you got the customer list?"

"Sort of." Lucious pursed his lips for a moment, obviously annoyed by something. "Terri is quite…organized. She seems to know this list potentially could be externally accessed, so instead of a list of names, we have a list of cell phone numbers."

"That's right." Bruce suddenly remembered. "We simply gave our numbers in to a manufacturer, and we received a call when the items we requested were complete."

"I thought I saw your number on the list." Lucious said wryly, "I thought it more polite not to say anything."

Bruce allowed himself a brief smile before accepting the printout list that Lucious offered him. He scanned quickly through the list, concentrating on those that were familiar.

"Do you have a red pen?" He asked, never taking his eyes off the list, "So I can cross off the numbers I know are incorrect?"

Lucious nodded and for the next few minutes there was near silence as Bruce moved his way down through the page of numbers. Many of them were familiar, associated with the rich and famous denizens of Gotham whom he'd met through his playboy façade. Those were the first he crossed off as these people would neither have the moral fallibility nor the intelligence needed to work with the Joker. Eventually, after ten or so minutes, only three numbers were left.

"Are any of these familiar to you?" Bruce showed Lucious the numbers, his eyes fixed on the other man. After a moment, Lucious nodded and pointed out the one in the middle.

"That's Doctor Vahns' number," He said quickly, "I recognise it from our conversations regarding the security upgrades you're funding… You don't suppose…?"

"No." Bruce shook his head sharply; certain this was not the man they were searching for. "The Joker is playing games here…He wouldn't want it to end so quickly, before he really has the opportunity to mess with our heads. The assassin will be a much more…Well, to use the old cliché, they'll be the last person we'd expect."

"Well, we have two numbers left." Lucious said slowly, "And it gave me an idea…Whoever we're looking for has access to the Joker. Only one place grants that, correct?"

Suddenly, Bruce understood exactly what Lucious was saying.

"Whoever the assassin is, they work for Arkham." He said in sudden grim determination. "I can find them."

"Can you?" Lucious asked in sudden scepticism, "Remember, Bruce Wayne is a playboy, his world is a million miles away from this. Also, Batman is an outlaw; Arkham would only let you in so long as you were wearing a straitjacket."

Bruce was silent for a moment, considering his options. Then, he looked up and Lucious felt his heart miss a beat. The expression on Bruce's face was pained, but resolute.

"Bruce Wayne may be a playboy," He said with quiet strength, "But he still feels anger and sadness. I have a right to see the man who killed Rachel and Harvey, two of my close friends. They'll let me into Arkham to visit the Joker and whilst I'm in there I can search for the assassin."

"Bruce," Lucious interceded quickly, "They might let you in, but don't do it. You don't…shouldn't put yourself through that. The Joker is behind bars, you can rid yourself of his evil now. Why restart all he did to you all over again? There has to be another way, there-"

"Isn't." Bruce shook his head. "Or if there is, it'll take too long. The Joker is coming back Lucious, I can feel it. I want to stop him before he becomes what he once was. To do that, I might have to make some sacrifices, put myself through pain, but it's worth it if I can save this city from utter destruction at the hands of the Joker. Gotham surely can't take a second appearance from him. Do you think it can?"

Lucious looked at Bruce levelly for a long moment. The office was thick with the grimness, the sadness of the situation. There was a gravity between the two that hadn't been there only moments before.

"No." He said eventually, looking down in a universal gesture of defeat, "It surely can't."

"I'll make the call." Bruce said, getting to his feet. He paused in the doorway briefly, looking at Lucious. The older man returned his gaze, wearing an expression that suggested he predicted a turbulent result to Bruce's plan.

"Good luck." He said to the Wayne heir quietly. Then, once Bruce left, he shook his head and upon turning back to his computer, muttered, "But I don't think it'll be enough."


So, I hope you guys liked all this. Here's my questions for this chapter:

1)Do you guys have the feeling of the story beginning to get more complicated and beginning to become more intense? I was hoping to have a portrayed a sense of a storm building, but I don't know if I got that right... :(

2) What do you think will happen to Harleen next?

3)A few hints have been dropped as to the identity of the assassin. Any new ideas as to who he is?

4)Are you glad that Bruce/Batman is back in the mix?

Anywho, I must run. I love you all and can't wait to hear from you ^^