A/N: As requested, here's some interaction with Jester and his mother. To clarify, this fic will be compiled of one-shots and short stories, unless I have a stroke of genius. Please review and leave any comments or criticisms.

Note: In the first chapter, Jester noted that Robin (Dick) must be a talented acrobat while Batman had led a sheltered life before he learned to fight. Being as it was, Jester researched and discovered that an orphaned young acrobat was adopted by Bruce Wayne. However, it's unclear to Jester whether Joker knows their identities not. (I might expand on this research in the next chapter...)

Also note: mild language in this chapter (no f-bomb's; Jester's more creative than that ^_^)

Home is a place of comfort. At least, it's supposed to be.

For me, home didn't really exist, what with switching warehouses and abandoned joke shops every night. I avoided my parents as much as possible, but even I made mistakes.

I walked into the old Trick or Treat joke shop. I turned towards the storage room, where I had created a nest of blankets. The real bedroom was in the manager's office, but my parents could be there and I didn't have the temerity to face my father at the moment.

I lied down on the blankets, grabbing an encyclopedia and flipping through the pages. As far as education went, I was self-erudite.

There was a gentle knock at the door, and I glanced up to see my mother.

To everyone else, Harley Quinn is a ditzy, slutty blonde obsessed with a psychopath. When she was in costume, even I had believed that's who she could really be. But no one saw her as she was now; she wore a hoodie and sweatpants, no makeup, hair falling loosely.

"Hey, J.J." She sat beside me, glancing at what I was reading. "Sigmund Freud, huh? Y'know, I had to write an essay on him back in college."

I also knew that it was hard for certain individuals to comprehend that my mother was, in fact, literate and well educated.

"What'd you get on it?"

"A C minus."

However, she did have her flaws.

"I'm glad I don't have to write essays."

"Yeah, they were no fun." She smiled at me, and then paused. She took my arm, frowning at the scar on my arm. "He got you with the knife, didn't he?" she whispered softly.

I pulled my arm away, pulling down the sleeve. "It's just a scar now. I can add it to my collection."

She paused, and then sighed. "I know he doesn't show it much, but… he really does love ya, J.J."

We'd had this conversation many times. I had argued from every perceivable angle, struggled through every strategy to get some sense into her. My mother was a brilliant woman, but sometimes I wondered what could be so captivating about the Joker that couldn't convince her to leave him for the sake of her only child.

"You know that's a lie, Mom. People like him don't love."

"J.J…"

"Why can't we just leave? Why can't we just go back to the way things used to be, with the apartment in New Jersey?"

"I couldn't take care of ya by myself; I needed help."

I laughed. "Oh, because conditions here are so much better. Now I can starve and get the living daylights beaten out of me!"

She suddenly gave me a look. Her crystal blue eyes bored into me, and I could see the trauma behind them. "I know things haven't really worked out how I planned… I'm sorry we haven't been acting much like a family-"

"A family? Hell, we haven't been acting like anything except a nihilist zoo since the day we came here! Isn't that fantastic, Mom?"

"That's enough!" She stood, suddenly terrifying despite the fact that she was shorter than me. "This is the way things are and the way they're going to be!" I realized she was crying. "Haven't I warned you to stay out of ya father's way? Didn't I give ya those keys?"

A memory flashed of my mother with her black eye, a reward for copying the set of keys.

"Didn't I sneak out and teach ya how to rob stores and get what ya need? Didn't I teach ya how to survive?" She was losing her edge, and she was going to crash soon. "I'm trying to help ya, J. Can't you see how hard I'm trying?"

She crumpled, and I caught her. I sat down, cradling her.

She sobbed into my shirt; I didn't care.

After a few minutes, she was fading fast. I carried her to her room and put her in bed. I paused at the door, and she watched me with sad, sleepy eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mom. It's just… hard, sometimes." I turned, closing the door.