Author Note: Hello friends! Sorry to erase and re-upload this chapter. It was too short originally and I thought it could really use a more satisfying end. I hope you all enjoy the revision and don't judge me too harshly for it.

This chapter is written chiefly in memory of Heath Ledger for the eighth anniversary of his death. He inspired all of us and without his amazing portrayal of the Joker this story would not exist.

Also, last but not least, a huge thank you to all of the wonderful people who have added this story to their favorites and follow lists. To all of the guests that I cannot PM, thank you very much. Your kind words and reviews mean so much to me. They truly keep me going. Please keep them coming.

Special shout outs to both the Guest who left a review saying they had read this multiple times, and another to Anna for the review saying they really enjoyed my version of J and Harley. Thank you both so much. The Joker is such a fun character to write, and Harley has so much potential that I feel is not explored well enough. Hopefully as the series progresses we'll get to explore all those little quirks of hers in more detail. (As of right now my official plan is to make this a trilogy, so there is still tons more story to look forward to.)

"Well I think I'm gonna burn in hell
Everybody burn the house right down
And say what I wanna say
Tell me I'm an angel
Take this to my grave
Or tell me I'm a bad man
And kick me like a stray."

~My Chemical Romance "House of Wolves"

They needed a better coffee maker.

The age-yellowed machine had clearly seen better days. It groaned and gurgled as dirty-colored water drizzled into the carafe below. Even a good cleaning seemed unlikely to save the poor thing at this point and Harley very much wished she could put it out of its misery. Doing so, however, would mean denying herself caffeine, and seeing as it was too early for even the sun to greet the day, weak coffee would suffice.

But that didn't change the fact they absolutely needed a better coffee maker. And better coffee, while they were at it.

Harley sighed as she added it to her mental laundry list of things she desperately needed to pick up from the store. Coffee maker, good coffee, groceries that weren't take-out, clothes, sheets, make-up, toothpaste, maybe a water filter to save them from the certain death the murky looking tap water was threatening them with…

Unfortunately, her list of needs seemed endless and the likelihood of personally retrieving any of it seemed to get slimmer by the hour. Especially since J had apparently murdered two security guards from city hall while she slept and made a threat on the mayor's life.

At least she knew what they would be doing today.

Or, more accurately, what he would be doing while she stayed home and stared at the paint chipped walls and exposed rafter ceiling.

The shuddering and screeching of pipes within the walls drew her attention and she added the idea of getting a plumber onto the list of things they needed around the warehouse. This was the problem with staying in places that weren't actually meant for extended occupation. Going without a few basic necessities for a few days didn't seem like a big deal, but the longer Harley went without easily accessible food or proper blankets, the more she longed to be back in her apartment.

Not that the apartment had been much better. In the winter the pipes in her old place would sometimes freeze, once bursting and causing water damage to the apartment below her. Back when she was struggling to get by when living on her own, she never really had food in the cupboards. At least, not until J gave her that money. She did have blankets, though. Blankets and makeup and a functional coffee pot.

The old place also never had a lack of things for her to do, either. Lack of entertainment hadn't seemed like an issue until the night before. When J was attending Harvey Dent's party, Harley had no way to occupy herself other than the ancient television and the Chinese food Zak had ordered. It was fucking mind numbing. There weren't even any books. She'd checked J's desk five times over just in case one decided to magically appear. After coming up empty handed the fifth time, she had nearly stolen a page out of the battered notebook on the desk, only to realize he had filled every page with notes and diagrams about what appeared to be explosives.

No books, no paints, no music, no food, no makeup, no coffee, no fucking scrap paper to draw on.

If she didn't make it to the store soon, she was going to go absolutely stir crazy in that tiny studio apartment.

Eventually the coffee maker gave out with a wet cough, spitting the last of its brew into the carafe below. The liquid resembled weak tea rather than coffee, but she poured herself a cup all the same and choked it down black. Nearly gagging on the taste, she tried to remind herself that even weak coffee was still coffee. But after the second cup, she decided it wasn't worth suffering through more.

She left the rest for J, assuming he would be done showering soon. For a man that often looked like he hadn't seen soap or water in weeks, he sure as hell was taking a long time getting ready this morning.

And when the water finally stopped running and he emerged from the bathroom a short time later in jeans and an old t-shirt, she realized exactly what had taken him so long.

He was…clean.

Not just showered, where bits of warpaint still clung to his features and his hair stuck out in all directions. No, this was different. Impressive, even. His face was completely void of makeup, his hair neatly combed back, even his teeth seemed less yellow when he grinned at her.

Though it had only been a week, maybe two, since she had seen him like this, those weeks seemed like an eternity. This was how she had first met him, how she remembered him. Where the rest of Gotham saw a monster in a purple suit and facepaint, she got this. She got J, all bare-faced and beaming. It took the breath from her lungs, left her speechless and staring as he swept a stray curl away from his face.

When her gaze continued to hold him, his tongue snaked out across his lips and he quirked an eyebrow at her. "See something you like, sugar?"

His voice pulled her away from her thoughts and memories, left her blinking and smiling like an idiot. Trying to seem nonchalant, she shrugged and allowed herself one last sweeping once-over of his clean face and casual attire.

"You're all…casual looking. Don't you have a mayor to kill?" The question was supposed to be lighthearted, but the underlying sarcasm was not lost on him.

Lips twitching in an attempt to smile, he shook his head. "Really didn't pay much attention when you went through my desk, did ya?"

For a moment her brow furrowed, though she tried to mask her confusion. How had he known she had gone through his desk? She had been careful to put everything back in its place, as best she could tell. All she had been after was scrap paper, of which he had none.

"Did you know you clean as you go through things, sweetheart?" That smile didn't reach his eyes, his laugh came out as an agitated exhale. "Stack 'em all up in little piles. Disrupt the way I left things… What were you after anyway?"

His eyes were sparking, but it was unclear if he was actually angry with her. For all she knew, he could be acting angry just to get her defensive. It was no secret that he loved getting a rise out of her.

Taking a deep breath, she refused to allow herself to play his game. "I was bored."

"You were…bored?" The very idea seemed to confound him. "And you thought that made it okay to rearrange my desk?"

"I wasn't trying to rearrange it." Shrugging, she glanced from his smoldering eyes to the desk in question. "I wanted to draw and I was looking for scrap paper."

Admitting that made her feel like a child and his laughter didn't help. A high-pitched cackle shot from his throat to stab at her eardrums. It made her twitch, the smallness he suddenly thrust upon her seeming undeserved.

"That creative little mind of yours never stops going, does it?" Rubbing the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger, he shook his head at her in what seemed like relief. "Here I thought you'd been trying to spy and see what I was up to. But you…" He shook his head and wagged a finger at her. "You don't actually care, do ya? As long as you don't have to get your hands dirty, you'll let me do whatever the hell I want."

Screwing up her face, Harley shook her head. To make her sound so callous, so uncaring to the struggles of others, seemed incredibly unfair. She cared, of course she cared, but she wasn't going to stop him. Wouldn't dare so much as suggest he stop playing this game. He wouldn't listen if she tried.

"Your business is your business." With a casual shrug, she leaned back against the counter of the kitchenette.

Suspicion was clear on his face as he inclined his head toward her. "Is it now?"

Gaze faltering under his, she gave another shrug and crossed her arms. There was no good way to respond to him. No way she would avoid being backed into a corner, just like always. Some days she wished "agitate Harley" would stop being on the top of his to do list. Even so, he had caught her avoiding his question and now he was going to push the issue.

It wasn't that she was lying, per se. On the contrary, she truly felt his business should be his. That she should not be involved in any way, shape, or form when he ultimately burned down Gotham in an attempt to make his inner chaos reality. But she also knew that, as long as she was with him, his chaos would always be a part of them. And the moment that thought crossed her mind she felt her face darken. True to form, J seemed to see right through her and picked up on the insecurity and worry that creased her features.

"To an extent, yes." Her voice wavered as she spoke. "I'm not going to go through your notebooks and figure out your plans. I really just want to let you do whatever the hell you want out there and pretend like it won't come home with you. Cause I don't want to be part of it. I want you to come home and pretend like none of the outside world exists. But…I know it's…there's risk. You could fucking die, and then where would I be?"

Without missing a beat he grinned. "About sixty eight million dollars richer."

A reluctant smile took her face as she hooked her fingers in his belt loops. "You know I don't give a shit about money. I just want you. And if you manage to get yourself killed out there, or caught, or whatever, I will literally have no idea what to do with myself. Just…don't leave me alone, okay?"

"I can't promise shit like that, sugar." Though he tried to return her smile, his eyes were distracted. "There's a damn good chance that one of these nights I'm not gonna come home, and if that happens Zak and the boys at the house already have instructions to get you settled somewhere and erase all evidence that you ever had any involvement with me."

For a moment she considered that. Thought about being dropped back into her old life after the whirlwind he had taken her on. After everything she had been through, the adventure the lay ahead, she wasn't certain she could ever go back to normal. The coffee shop probably missed her, Annika certainly did, just as she missed Ann. But if the Joker were to just disappear, if she were to be left to her own devices, the life she had left behind no longer seemed like the path she was destined for. He had changed her, rerouted the course of her fate, and she had no way of ever properly thanking him for that.

"You know, I don't think I could just go back to my old life," she said because it had to be said.

He laughed at her for saying it. "Sweetheart, you don't have to. You think I haven't already considered that? You were always too good for that place, and now I'm making sure you never have to serve coffee to some stuffy three piece ever again."

It was flattering, truly it was. He had thought far enough ahead to make certain that once she was disenchanted to the life she had lived, she could move on to bigger and better things. Yet, once again, she felt that control of her life was completely out of her hands.

That made her anxious.

She trusted J, of course she trusted him. Since the day he found out about her financial struggle he had done nothing but take care of her. This was no different. He was continuing to make sure she wasn't starving or homeless and she appreciated the hell out of it. But no matter how much she appreciated his effort and trusted him to the ends of the earth, she hated feeling like she no longer held the key to her own destiny. Everything revolved around him, like those black holes in his eyes had become the gravitational pull at the center of her universe.

For a moment she debated voicing these thoughts and it must have shown on her face because he was on her immediately, eyes searching her face in their ever vigilant way. His tongue snaked across his lips, face so close to hers that she could practically taste him there.

Unwilling to submit to his verbal interrogations, she voiced her opinion before he had the chance to playfully taunt her for internalizing feelings. "I really wish you would share these things with me as you plan them. I don't like you controlling my life without asking for my input."

This seemed to take him by surprise. Suddenly he was standing straight and blinking at her as though she had grown a second head.

His silence gave her a chance to go on and she took it and allowed her mouth to run. "I don't mind – in fact I'm thankful – for everything you have done to help me so far. I'm glad you took me out of my comfort zone, I'm happy to have gotten away from that shithole apartment and I miss the coffee shop, but because of the people not the work. I just…I want to know what's going on. I need you to tell me things so that I don't get blindsided by them when they happen."

Once again he laughed, the sound starting low and growing to a cruel cackle by the end. It chilled her right to the core, had her stepping back and pressing against the counter in hopes of disappearing into it.

"Aw, Harley, you're a riot sometimes." Teeth barred like a shark, he gripped her shoulders and laughed again before cutting himself off abruptly, catching her gaze with blazing eyes. "You make it sound so simple. Like every step of this is planned out and meticulous. Like I've calculated every last reaction down to the second. Now, I'm good at reading people and strategizing, but I'm not a fortuneteller, sugar. I'm just flexible, I adapt to situations."

"I'm not asking you to predict the future, I'm asking to know what you're planning." Running a hand through her mess of hair, she sighed. "I'm perfectly capable of being flexible, I would just like to know what I'm getting into before it happens. You keep dragging me along through all of your bullshit, but you never tell me what you're actually doing – what we are doing – until we're already in the thick of it and I'm forced to react."

It was no secret that she was referring to what had happened with Brian and that agitated lick of his lips told her that he caught on.

"I don't plan things, Harley, I strategize."

Had she not been working so hard to get him to open up, it may have made her laugh. "Jesus Christ, could you avoid the subject any harder?"

"Fuck, Harley, I don't know what you…want me to tell you."

"Usually the truth is a good starting point. What are you up to? What do you have planned for me? Just… just…talk to me."

He sighed, tongue snaking over his lips as he pushed a stray curl out of his face. "I don't do that, Harley."

Blinking, she tried to wrap her head around that response. "I'm sorry, what?"

That was all it took for him to break away from her and begin pacing the length of the room.

"I don't just give away my next move," he snapped. "Especially not to civilians. You already know too much just by being here."

"BULLSHIT!"

"Self preservation."

Her heart sunk. He may as well have driven one of his many knives into her and twisted. Last night she had been certain it was there, that spark that would weld them together and make them one. Funny how daylight turned them into satellites, simply passing at night during orbit. He may have positioned himself at the center of her universe, but it seemed she was not even a planet in his.

"Oh." Leaning against the counter, she crossed her arms tightly enough to keep her heart from clawing out of her chest. "I didn't realize…"

There was a sickness twisting her stomach, her heartbeat pounding against her temples. She dug her fingers into her sides, tried to hold herself together against the sting of his words.

The heat of his body radiated into her as he stepped close again. "What didn't you realize, sweetheart?"

Shrinking in on herself, Harley hung her head. "I didn't realize…" She took a breath and willed away the shaking in her voice. "That you didn't trust me."

Every muscle in his body seemed to tense. "I don't trust anyone."

It felt as though her very soul turned to ice. "You're supposed to trust me."

"And why's that, sweetheart?" His lips peeled back in a smile as he gently hooked a finger under her chin to lift her face.

And that was really the shitty thing about all of this. No matter how angry she was, how badly she wanted to tell him to go straight to hell, he rendered her incapable. It was nearly impossible for her to decide if he was being serious or simply trying to get her worked up.

She met his eyes reluctantly, knowing that the moment he looked at her those black eyes would suck her in. It was like a trance, a spell he had cast to leave her incapable of lying to him.

"Because I trust you," she said honestly. "Because I'm not going to turn my back on you, no matter what. I can't."

"You…can't?" Licking his lips, he tilted his head and searched her face for any hint of a lie. "Of course you can. Why couldn't you?"

"Because…" Her tangled insides twisted painfully. "Just…because."

That didn't convince him, not even for a moment. Clearly it piqued his interest, though, because he leaned closer and dissected her with his eyes. If he stared long enough he would eventually find what she was hiding. She tried to avoid his eyes, to slip away from his grip, but he held tight to her. Refused to let her escape even when she pushed against his chest.

He snatched her hands up with his and held tight to her wrists, thumbs rubbing anxious patterns against her bones. "Try again, sweetheart. You can't turn your back on me because…"

"Because I love you, alright?"

Her eyes went wide with the confession, the careless way it slipped from her mouth taking her completely off guard.

The air felt thick, each breath taking too long to fill her lungs. Something near confusion crossed his face, brows knitting together as he studied her. He was looking for something in her face, some hint of a lie or a smile to show she was joking. And she wanted to give it to him. Goddamn she just wanted to laugh it off and tell him that she'd really had him going for a second. To do so, however, would make this whole conversation meaningless. She refused to cheapen the confession, no matter the consequences.

Her words hung between them and he continued to stare straight into her soul. Eventually he blinked and she began to see her words processing in his mind, the way the cogs turned and filed away her exact tone and the look of complete surprise at the quickness of her own tongue. Eventually he smiled, a shy look that seemed to suffer from secondhand embarrassment for her.

"You're too damn honest, sugar." Exhaling in a rush, he dropped her wrists and gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Let's hope you never get interrogated. You'd spill your guts in a second."

Was that rejection? She was almost certain it had to be. Not rejection of her entirely, simply a refusal to return the sentiment. Not that she had expected him to, only wished that he would.

It was, however, the best she was getting because by the time she had digested his complete lack of reaction, there came a knock at the door and he stepped away from her like he'd been burned.

"What?" he barked.

"We've gotta go, boss." That was Zak's voice, if Harley was not mistaken. "Car's all packed. The boys are getting anxious."

"Come in."

It was almost a relief to have that tension break. For J to suddenly snap into action and move to the coffee pot, leaving her with an odd sense of relief for having admitted her feelings.

"What the hell is this?" Disgust saturated every word, reminding Harley of the list she had meant to give him.

"Coffee pot's broken." Frowning at the dull liquid, she sighed. "I meant to tell you earlier, but we got off track. I have a whole list of shit to pick up."

"Alright, get your shoes on. We'll make a pit stop on the way home."

An objection seemed to be forming in Zak's mind, but the Joker cut him off with a severe look before it could reach his lips. Dumping the rest of the mediocre coffee down the sink, J turned his attention to Harley.

"You can make a list in the car." A smile tugged at J's lips as he left the carafe in the sink and moved to gather a spare suit coat from his scattered pile of clothes on the floor. "You're still a missing person, so it's not like we can just drop you off. Someone's bound to notice that charming smile of yours. I'm sure we can convince Zak to pick up whatever you need."

"Better give me a pay raise," Zak snorted. "Running errands isn't in my job description."

The Joker cackled. "Is twenty percent of the mob's fortune not enough?"

"I think running your errands should bump it up to a solid twenty-two." The smile that played on Zak's lips told Harley he was only half-joking, but he looked to be in better spirits than Harley had ever seen him. "But if you don't hurry we won't be getting any of it, so twenty percent will suffice."

"You heard the man, Harl, grab your shoes. Time to scoot." He gave her a swat on the bottom to get her moving, and suddenly it felt as though nothing had happened between them.

That confession of love was left to fall out of the air unacknowledged. His arm wrapped around her shoulders and they moved toward the stairs. There was barely time for her to grab her sneakers, let alone put them on, before they were out the door.

Shoes still in hand, she climbed in the back seat of the SUV. It surprised her to find the seat next to her already occupied, and surprised her even further when, rather than making the other man move, J climbed in to the passenger seat.

The man next to her muttered something incomprehensible and leaned closer to her. Dark, wild eyes searched her face and fell upon her stitches. He let out a noise, half giggle and half panic, before scooting away from her.

Charming.

When J glanced into the back seat a smirk tugged at his lips. "Harley, this is Tom. Tommy-gun, say hi to Harley."

Barely meeting her eyes, the man nodded and waved. "Hi."

Looking from J back to Tom, Harley tried to make sense of the man next to her. He didn't seem like much of a thug, all shy smiles and fleeting eye contact. Why the Joker would hire a man like Tom was completely beyond her.

That is, until he suddenly reached out, grabbed her hand, and shook it firmly. Nodding his head, he muttered his approval. "Strong handshake. Good. Good. Yes. I like her."

Harley met Zak's eyes in the rearview mirror and pleaded with him to let her change seats.

The car shifted into gear in response.

Sometimes she had no idea what was going on in that man's head, but she was starting to severely doubt he actually had her best interests in mind. Heaving a sigh, she turned her attention back to the man beside her and his vice grip on her hand.

"Yes, it's very nice to meet you, Tom," she said tactfully, slowly extracting her hand from his.

From the front seat she could hear the Joker's laughter. Had she not been afraid of offending Tom, she would have flipped J off for sticking her back here. Instead, she refused to give him the upper hand and turned her dazzling customer service smile to Tom.

She allowed herself a moment to size him up, to decide what sort of person he would best respond to.

"Strong handshake."

Without missing a beat her mind picked up on the phrase, recognized the respect and confidence associated with such an exchange. That coupled with his continued lack of eye contact told her that he needed someone that would be respectful, but attentive. She would need to talk to him first, ask the questions.

"Do you work with the Joker?" she asked, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

Lacing her hands casually over her knee, she leaned forward slightly to show he had her full attention. His face twitched slightly, tongue sweeping over his lips. The psychology student in her rose to the occasion with fervor as she took note of every nervous movement and filed it all away.

Nervous ticks, erratic behavior, the lip licking was a common side effect of anti-schizophrenic drugs.

For a moment her mind recalled J's incessant lip licking, considered the idea of him allowing himself to be diagnosed with any sort of mental disorder, and then promptly dismissed the idea. If anything, he had some form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from his time in the military, but even that would be a hard sell. The problem with the Joker was that he displayed all sorts of symptoms, and absolutely none of them lined up with any one diagnosis. And, when it came down to it, she was just as inclined to believe he simply had a different set of morals and that his behavior came from a place of complete mental stability.

Well, maybe complete sanity was a stretch…

"I just started working for him, actually." Tom's reply had her eyes snapping back to him. "It's only been a couple of weeks."

Glancing toward the front seat, Harley caught J's eyes and knew he was listening to their conversation. For Tom's sake, she needed to be careful what she asked.

"Couple of weeks, huh?" Pressing her lips together in a tight line, she debated how best to phrase her question. "Do…do you enjoy it?"

"Of course!" His complete lack of hesitation told her he was being honest. "Boss says I could really be somebody around here. I've never had that kind of respect at a job. But the Joker thinks all of us are worth something, don't you boss?"

From the front seat, the Joker gave a noncommittal noise.

"He's modest," Tom said, his voice low. "But he's trying to help us, I know he is. He told Simmons the other day that he had this plan to make the voices go away. Cause Simmons hears 'em bad, you know? And the boss is gonna fix it soon as he figures out how. Is…is that why you're here? Is he helping you too?"

Frowning, Harley tried to figure out how best to respond. In a sense he was helping her, but certainly not in the way that Tom was implying.

"Well, yes, sort of. I…I was…attacked." She used a finger to trace the mutilated grin across her cheeks and Tom nodded emphatically, black hair falling into his face. "The boss is protecting me from the mob to make sure they can't finish what they started."

Tom's dark eyes grew wide. "The mob did that to you?"

"Sent one of their hitmen after me." A smile played at her face as she noticed J's shoulders tense. "I fought him off, though. And then the Joker came and –"

"That's about enough, Harley." The irritation in his voice had her biting back a laugh.

If he was going to sit her next to one of his henchmen like the man was some sort of practical joke, she would not only indulge the man's questions, but befriend him by the end of it.

"Come on, puddin', Tom and I are just –"

A warm hand pressed against her mouth, suffocating her words before she could finish the thought. Eyes growing wide, she retreated into the seat, the Joker following easily around the passenger seat.

"I said that was enough." His other hand wrapped around the back of her neck. "Don't make me spank you in front of the boys."

That last bit was a joke, but he didn't smile with it. Neither did she. He was testing her, that much was obvious. If she were to laugh at what he had just said, he would undoubtedly do it just to make her think twice next time.

Beside her, Tom was curling up in the seat, hiding his smiling face in attempts not to laugh.

"I bet Tom would like to see it, wouldn't you Tommy-gun?" Harley's face went red under his hand as he spoke. "You think Harley deserves to be spanked for not listening?"

Biting back laughter, Tom nodded and Harley felt the sting of betrayal. Here she had been making some sort of progress with him, befriending him and listening to his praise for his boss. She wondered when anyone other than she and J had talked to him like an equal rather than a bomb they needed to carefully diffuse.

And what did she get for doing so? Shit on, that's what.

"Don't you dare," she warned against his palm.

"What's that, sugar?" The spark in his eyes had her sinking back further in her seat, but that hand in her hair held tight. "You're into that sort of thing?"

Heat rushed to her face and again she tried to draw away from him.

"Ah-ta-ta, I don't think so, dollface." His lips twisted in a smirk that told her he was enjoying this far more than he had any right to.

She growled in frustration and tried to push his hand away from her mouth. And just like that he was on her, climbing over the center console and squeezing her jaw, his laughter filling the small space. The pressure on her stitches was too much and she whimpered when he pressed harder. His palm absorbed the pathetic plea for him to stop and she yelled to try to convey her pain and frustration. This was not a game she wanted to play anymore and every time she fought back, it only seemed to encourage him.

A sharp turn had J losing his balance slightly, his leg slipping and bumping Zak's arm. Though the contact had been brief, it seemed to stir something in the driver and Harley was certain she saw him glance at her in the rearview before he snarled.

"HEY!"

The cry seemed to surprise J and he let go of her quite suddenly to round his attention on its source. Jaw clenched, Zak refused to take his eyes from the road. "Would you sit? No offense, boss, but it's hard to drive with you blocking my view."

There was a snide comeback just behind the Joker's teeth, but he did as he was asked.

Relief washed over her as the car fell into silence. Resting her head against the glass, Harley caught Zak's eye in the rearview. The nod he gave her was almost too quick for her to catch, but she knew it was his way of accepting her thanks.

Carefully she brought a hand up to her face, rubbing at the sore places where her stitches had tugged too hard. Everything seemed to be intact, but she suddenly wished she had brought the antibiotic cream with her.

"You alright, sugar?" J's voice was quiet, almost ashamed.

Their eyes met in the rearview and for once she could have sworn he was about to apologize.

"Yeah." She glanced sidelong at Tom, who seemed distracted by something outside. "Stitches are sore."

A moment's hesitation before he cleared his throat. "I probably didn't help with that. Forget about 'em sometimes, you know? Not used to having someone so…fragile."

She couldn't help laughing at the way he emphasized the word, knowing full well she would never stand for it. "Oh, that's bullshit. I'm not fragile. If the coward who gave me this charming grin would have stuck around, he would have ended up worse than me."

It was probably a lie, a stretch of the truth at bare minimum. Had Zsasz stuck around, she would probably be dead. But J didn't call her on it. Didn't even acknowledge that she could be slightly mistaken.

Just smiled and nodded his approval. "That's my girl."

By the time they pulled up to the apartments near Channel Park, there were already two men standing near the front door. They'd been Maroni's before he paid them off, couple of drug runners with connections to the higher ups. Made better muscle than dealers anyway.

"They've got the uniforms?" He knew the answer, they wouldn't be here otherwise.

Zak offered a stiff nod, eyes scanning the road for witnesses. "Upstairs in White's place. Seven uniforms, all stripped and ready. Three of the boys are already up there watching them."

"Good."

That left Tom, the two men outside, and himself to fill in the rest of the ranks. The muscles in his shoulders tensed and he shook his head to release it. That adrenaline was already coursing through him, the anticipation of battle whetting his appetite for blood.

Drawing in a breath through his nose, he focused that energy. These things took control, precision. A seasoned soldier knew how to prepare for battle, how to take that adrenaline and burn it like gasoline. How to hold the match, when to strike it, and the exact time to drop it for the flames to be most destructive.

Today was an exercise in patience. He had hardly removed the match from the book.

Turning to the back seat, Joker looked motioned his head at Tom. "Get out, take the bags from the back, and go upstairs."

No further instruction was needed, Schiff knew where to go and wasted no time in heading there. Good man, that one. Eager to please and a damn good shot. Sick fuck had done away with his mother and sister, according to the talk amongst the boys. Would have gotten his father too, but the police arrived before he could get the fucker between the eyes.

The Joker respected that kind of blood lust, understood it deep in his bones.

Once Tom was out of the car and heading toward the building with two dufflebags in hand, Joker turned his attention to Harley. She was still pouting after the stunt he'd pulled earlier, head pressed against the window and arms crossed tightly against her chest.

With a gentle hand he reached out and touched her knee, but she withdrew from his touch almost immediately. Tongue swiping over his lips, he sighed and tried to sound as patient as possible. "Now, you're gonna be good for Zak while I'm gone, right?"

Pointedly refusing to look at him, she stared out the window as though distracted by something outside. Clenching a fist against his thigh, he swallowed the anger burning in his throat. There was no point in pushing her too hard today, not when he had already cornered her this morning.

He still couldn't quite believe she had been so quick to claim she loved him. It was fucked up, so fucked up. How was he supposed to react to that? It wasn't like she could possibly mean it, and he certainly wasn't going to condone that sort of talk. The idea that she could possibly love him after all he had done, considering who he was, it just didn't make sense.

Yes, she liked when he fucked her and found great fun in giving him hell every chance she was given. Yes, they talked about everything from sweet nothings to philosophy. Yes, she had told him last night that she could never have anyone the way she had him, and he had been quick to say it right back. And, of course, she had driven a goddamn sledgehammer into Brian Douglas's oversized head at the very idea that the man could actually hurt him. Certainly that didn't mean…

She loved him.

Licking his lips, he tried again to get her attention.

"Harley, look at me, honey." His hand rested against her thigh and she shifted, but didn't shake him off. "You and Zak are going to park in the garage over there, and you have to promise me that you'll be good. And if anything happens, you do exactly as he says, alright?"

That made her look up, face still stern as those impossibly blue eyes caught his. "What do you mean?"

"We're about to kill the mayor, sugar. Things are going to get messy." A smirk twisted his scars. "If for some reason I don't make it back, you need to do exactly what Zak says."

For a moment she seemed to consider this, brows knitting together as she tried to digest the words. It was only then that she looked at him, really looked at him, and tried to return his grin. He watched the way her stitches fought against the dimples in her face, savored the way genuine concern glittered in her eyes.

"Will you kiss me?" Cheeks turning pink, she dropped her gaze to the hands folded in her lap. "You know, for good luck."

The question surprised him and he glanced toward Zak, who seemed to be pointedly ignoring the conversation. Rolling his eyes, he nodded and leaned over the seat.

She came forward in a rush and he caught her face in his hands before complying with her request. All of that pent up energy rushing through him transferred straight to her as he devoured her. Every little quirk of her lips, the fishing line of her stitches poking against his scars, and the curling of her fingers on the collar of his shirt. It was his, all of it, and he burned with the need to possess her.

From the seat beside him, Zak cleared his throat. "I don't think it matters, seeing as we're already doing a bunch of illegal shit today, but I am parked in front of a fire hydrant. So if you guys would hurry…"

That got Harley laughing, a delighted little sound masked his disappointed groan when she pulled away. He shot Zak a scowl and received an almost-apologetic shrug in return. It shouldn't have been an acceptable response, he should have taken the silenced pistol out of the waistband of his pants and shot the asshole point blank.

But he didn't.

There were far more important things to do. No sense in getting rid of his best man.

Turning his lazy gaze in Zak's direction, he smirked. "You watch your mouth or I will cut out your tongue."

He wasn't certain if he had meant it seriously, but Zak didn't smile. Joker did, though. Gave him a big toothy grin before slipping out the passenger door.

"Be careful," Harley called after him.

"Never gonna happen, sugar."

She stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed, one of those odd chuckles from deep in his belly, before shutting the door and turning to the two men at the door.

The moment his attention turned to the task at hand his mind shifted completely. A match was struck and burned deep within him. A breath and it consumed him, his veins filling with fire and chaos.

He used to miss that rush, back in the time between war and crime. Funny how those two things were so similar, how there was no distinction between them when he tore down the socially constructed moral implications. In war, killing someone was a noble act, something that a man should be praised for his skill in doing. When he did it now it was considered murder and the news was buzzing with what a madman he was for the "careless" way he took lives.

Careless was a funny word, wasn't it?

Because nothing he was doing was careless. Quite the opposite, in fact. This entire operation had taken years of meticulous planning. Working his way up through Gotham's underbelly until he found himself with enough power to strike a deal with the mob. After spending the better half of two years actively studying how strings were pulled from the underground to the highest peaks of Gotham's elite, he was ready for war. Ready to put on the mask of the enemy long enough to send Gotham spiraling into its own demise.

He was a catalyst, poised to drop into a dangerous chemical mixture and revel in the destruction that followed.

And the media had the audacity to call him careless because he had overseen the death of that judge and commissioner without saying sorry.

They were right about one thing, though, he wasn't sorry.

He was just getting started.

"You need us to come up too, boss?"

Those thick Brooklyn accents never failed to make him smile. Fucking mobsters and their deep voices and stereotypical broad shoulders. It was probably some sort of prerequisite for joining. Burly build, bad accent, tiny penis. Overcompensation was what made them all so violent.

No wonder they had been so upset about him crashing their meeting. He didn't fit the bill at all.

Giving the man who had spoken a once-over, he nodded. "No time like the present to get the party started, right boys?"

The men exchanged a look that spoke volumes about their apprehension. It almost made him laugh. These two had been so quick to join his team, so excited move up from running drugs to executing public officials. And yet, when the opportunity finally presented itself to hop in on the action, they both seemed to be having second thoughts.

"Come on," he said, voice just a little too high to sound truly amiable. "It'll be fun."

With a hand on each of their thick arms, he turned them toward the door and motioned for the largest of the two to lead the way. The old wooden stairs creaked and popped as they made their way up to the vacant apartment where the uniforms were being kept. It belonged to one of his hired hands. Melvin, if he remembered right. A useful man with more anger issues than fingers, though his fingerprints had come in handy.

If Batman was half the detective he was supposed to be, he'd find a match on those prints and probably arrive right in time to see the parade. The key to any good scavenger hunt was leaving just the right amount of clues. No sense in making things too easy. Where was the fun in a scavenger hunt with easy clues?

The Joker was better than that, and if Batman was going to pose any sort of threat he was going to have to be as well.

At the top of the stairs they took a left and found Melvin's apartment waiting for them. Early morning light poured through the large windows overlooking the street, casting the center of the room in bright orange and yellow. It cast odd shadows across the off-white carpet, acting as a spotlight on the seven men stripped, bound, and blindfolded around a pillar in the center of the room.

His eyes scanned the bare room, took in the three men already wearing the stolen uniforms, the guns lined neatly against the wall, and the duffle bags on the floor. Schiff was standing near them, a uniform in hand and wide eyes taking in the scene.

One more visual sweep, this time making certain to study the faces of each of his clowns. It was strange to be standing among them barefaced, and he was certain they were all taking in his pale features with a certain amount of curiosity. Without his warpaint he nearly looked human. Like he could be one of them, blend amongst their ranks even with the garish scars. And ultimately that was the point today. To be one of them, part of the crowd right up until it mattered.

Clearing his throat, the Joker looked between his men and grinned.

"Are our guests, uh, comfortable?" he asked, feeling the entire room stand at attention as his voice filled the air.

One of the prisoners yelled against the duct tape that covered his mouth, but the man next to him bumped him with a shoulder to encourage his silence. It took just a moment for the room to fall into a silence so thick he could have sliced it open with a knife.

"I'm going to take that as a yes."

In a few paces he was across the room, picking up one of the dufflebags and retrieving nametags from it. Each shiny gold plate bore the name of potential targets, all public officials that Gotham would not be happy to sacrifice for the sake of their masked hero. Soon enough something would give, he would take a life worth Batman's time.

Soon enough the vigilante would turn himself in, and then the real fun would start. This was all child's play in the grand scheme of things. Any criminal with a brain between his ears could find a way to do away with a few public officials. All of these stunts were simply meant to back the people of Gotham into a corner.

The walls of their perceived institution would fall soon enough. With their hero gone and their spirit broken, he could properly up the ante and get everyone in on the game. It was just a matter of time.

Wordlessly he handed a nametag to each of his men, exchanging a tag with the name Rachel Dawes to Tom for a uniform.

"Hand the rest of those out, Tommy-gun, we don't have much time."

Nodding enthusiastically, Tom handed the remaining uniforms as the Joker disappeared into the bathroom to change. It wasn't that he was particularly modest, simply that he preferred to hold an air of mystery. To keep himself somewhat distanced from the men he hired.

With the door shut and locked behind him, he undressed and put on the black uniform. It had been years since he had been in uniform, though his other one had never been quite this decorated. He donned this with the same amount of care regardless, even tucked his stringy green hair into the hat to make him appear more polished. Each epaulet was adjusted with care, each pin straightened and polished until he was certain that the outfit was pristine.

It was only then that he allowed himself to look into the mirror. To take in his stoic reflection and scarred maw. Something stirred within him at the sight, just as he knew it would. Memories long since buried clawed to the forefront of his mind, flashes of gunfire and blood and screaming. His screaming.

Taking in a deep breath through his nose, he pushed those images away. Drowned them out with the chaos that had since become his reality. Replaced them with thoughts of the corrupt city that had welcomed him home, of nights cold and abandoned by the country he'd nearly died for, of how sweet revenge would taste, of how satisfying it would be to act as the catalyst for all of it. He thought of Harley seeing the hell he would unleash on the mob for what they did to her.

Fists clenching at his side, he snapped his gaze away from the mirror and went back to join his crew. His mind ran through the list of things yet to do, the trap to set, the timer on the windowsill to distract the snipers, the telescope to ensure any curious eyes would have a good few of the parade…

The time for action had come and adrenaline was hot in his veins, burning up under his skin. The time had come to set it free, to give in to his instinctual needs. Burning was inevitable, a natural part of life's progression.

He dropped the match that had been burning at his core and felt fire swallow him whole.