A villain must be a thing of power, handled with delicacy and grace. He must be wicked enough to excite our aversion, strong enough to arouse our fear, human enough to awaken some transient gleam of sympathy. We must triumph in his downfall, yet not barbarously nor with contempt, and the close of his career must be in harmony with all its previous development. -Agnes Repplier

Xxxxxxxxxxx

She watched his large ugly hands as they pointed to certain area's that would be perfect to hide in if necessary. Air ducts were shown, although she doubted she would need those. The map had been crudely drawn, but she had been assured that it was accurate.
"Doll face, you uh...there?" Joker asked watching her, his grin never changing. She looked up at him and flashed a small uncomfortable smile. "Please continue." The white face paint stretched in unison with his smile. "Uh, I uh, got people on the inside. I'll tell them to get ready, oh and uh, not to kill you."

Catherine nodded, her smile still in place. "Thanks...I didn't actually think I'd be using that calling card of yours..."
Joker frowned. "Well that would have been unacceptable."
"Right...I think I should get there soon, apparently Henri's doing something big, and I'm not sure I want to be out and about when it happens."
Joker giggled slightly as he snapped his fingers, signally a man to step forward. "Doll face, we'll give you a ride, I'd hate to miss this show."

Xxxxxxxxxxx

She stares straight ahead as they take the briefcase away from her, placing it through the x-ray. She raises her arms dully as they physically pat her down before checking for anything metal, it reminds her of the airport. Her mind wanders as she waits for her things to come out from the other side of the conveyor belt.

The Joker's words ring through her head.

Twenty minutes ago; in the car.

"Ya know Doll face...you could use a name." Joker said, his feet sticking up, leaning against the window. Catherine notes that when he isn't violently psychotic he's much like a child. Catherine lifts her head from the window. "I have a name." Joker frowns and glares at her.
"No, a NAME. Not Catherine, not Jonathan, not fucking Brad! Joker, Scarecrow, Batman! A NAME!" Joker says fingering his knife playfully even as his hands make spastic symbols. Now it is Catherine's turn to glare. "I'm not a criminal like you. I don't need a 'name.'"

Joker sat up and started laughing horribly, his body folding into itself as his eyes closed with the hilarity he apparently found in the situation. Suddenly he became serious as he looked dead at Catherine.

"You're consorting with me, (that should uh, count for something), you're about to lie to government officials and break your boyfriend out of an asylum in the same hour. You're smuggling in god knows what in that briefcase." Suddenly his lips caught up to his scars making an ugly grin. "Admit it, uh kid, you became a criminal the moment you uh, got involved with the doc."

Present:

Her fingers trailed over the roughly drawn map as she searched for one specific thing. Finally she found the label, written in red ink so as to be clearly seen.
'Security, guards!'

"Perfect..." Catherine whispered slowly. She walked quickly and quietly, keeping her face out of the way of curious onlookers. She stayed close to the wall, briefcase against her thigh the whole time. After many unbearable twists and turns she found what she was looking for, two large doors leading into an even larger room filled with what looked like audio speakers and mini TV's, pictures flashing across at different speeds. Taking a deep breath she readied herself as she clutched the briefcase tighter, and stepping forward, plunged into the point of no return.

"Aaron Cash?" She called out, revealing herself. Immediately a strong looking African American man looked up at her in surprise. Three other guards stood as if prepared to remove her. Catherine tried her best to look important. "What is it?" Aaron asked his voice suspicious. Catherine coughed.

"You and your men are needed in Director Sharp's office." She said, keeping her voice level and business like. When they hesitated for a moment she raised her hand in a 'go on' gesture. "He doesn't like to be kept waiting." She chided practically shoving them out of the room. The men left not entirely sure what was going and Catherine went to work. She located Jonathan easily enough on one of the screens. He was sitting on what looked like an uncomfortable chair, strapped tightly within a straight jacket. She noted that his glasses had been taken.

She bit her lip as she slid the disk into what she assumed was the input. After a moment the screens became black and white fuzz before going back to taping. Even though the footage was old. Catherine heard steps from the outside of the door and quickly lunged through the back exit. Making her way further along the hallway Catherine made sure to keep her eyes open for everything. Though no one seemed entirely interested in her, and for that she thanked god.

A nurse had walked past her in a hurry and hadn't noticed her, stumbling headlong into Catherine. The nurse wobbled slightly as she tried to gain her balance. When she did regain her balance she glared scathingly at Catherine before leaving in a huff. Catherine looked at the floor and saw that the nurse had dropped a small tape recorder, but it wasn't what it was that interested Catherine, but more so what it was labeled.

Patient interview #3 Jonathan Crane.

She now deeply regretted that she wouldn't have time to listen to it and so with a promise to listen to it later she quickly pocketed the device before continuing down further and further, until she had reached 'Asylum Floor C.'

Floor C was reserved for unstable patients with violent habits and almost whip like emotions. The living period in floor C was 15 years minimum. No doubt the Joker had been kept on floor D. A floor for the psychotically insane, the people who were deemed beyond violent. Floor D also contained the morgue. Catherine herself had spent some time lounging about on floor A. And for that she was grateful. The treatment of inmates/patients got worse the lower you got. She walked quickly past a few clear cells and some barred cells. She could hear some cat calls and some profanity being yelled in her direction, but she ignored them completely. She was here for one person. She reached the last cell, his cell.

His cell was a four wall cell, unable to see other inmates and the only entrance was a heavy duty steel door that would require dynamite to break. Catherine swallowed as she reached the wall next to the door, on the wall were two individual places to type in a code that would either open all the cells on C block or one individual cell.

Henri Ducard had been kind enough to give her the code for each floor.

The numbers had been typed in quickly and shakily. She squeezed her eyes shut when she heard many clicks which signified the opening of cells. Within seconds shouts and hollers were heard, she opened her eyes and saw the inmates running off down the hall, no doubt to escape.

She sighed, grateful for having been ignored then she turned and pushed Jonathan's door open.

He looked at her for a moment before his signature smirk pulled at his lips. Catherine said nothing as she walked over to him and unbuckled the straightjacket. Jonathan stood, happy for his freedom of movement.
"Why Catherine, what a surprise-" He didn't get to finish as his face was suddenly pointing an entirely different direction than it had originally been facing. White hot pain seared his cheek as his eyes widened. Catherine was breathing heavily and her eyes were watery. Her hand was still raised.

"Bastard..." She whispered. But stopped when she suddenly felt a bruising hand clutch her throat and slam her into the wall. Jonathan's knee moved up between her legs keeping her locked in position. Catherine's eyes widened as she stared into his own eyes which were now far darker than before.

"Don't ever raise your hand to me again." Scarecrow commanded dangerously. His grip on her neck tightened and Catherine felt her insides churn. Suddenly she forced her face forward, slamming her lips on top of his. Their teeth raked as she tried desperately to pull him as close as physically possible. Jonathan and Scarecrow both seemed more than eager to respond as she was pushed more firmly against the wall.

She didn't care where the attention came from, whether it was good or bad and if he planned on disposing of her later. She was far too busy reveling in the feeling of now.

She pulled back, breathing shallow. Jonathan was watching her, his eyes somewhere between fascination and expectation. She coughed. "I thought you might want this." Catherine whispered reaching into the briefcase, she pulled out the burlap mask that she still feared. Jonathan watched her as she slowly lifted the mask up and pulled it over top his face, securing it. "Oh, and these." Catherine murmured as she pulled from her pocket the six canisters that she had found earlier. The burlap face nodded as he reached out and grabbed the things from her. Catherine blushed as she stepped back and acted like a child no longer knowing what to do.
"Uh...good luck and, well..." She sighed frustrated before looking at his face, covered in burlap. "Don't die you idiot." With that she rushed out, headed to level D where she would have to be particularly careful not to be seen by any guards or particularly any inmates.

Jonathan watched her leave. His head was still pounding as he toyed with the canisters. Scarecrow decided to intervene however.

Can we keep her?

Jonathan didn't respond at first before slowly beneath the mask a grin that could rival the Joker's grew.

Yes, I do believe we can.

Mwhahaha, end of chapter!
Leave me review to wake up to, pretty please? =)