What Goes Around, Comes Around

Pairing: Joker/OC

Rating: K+

Warnings: Swearing. And graphic description-ish of violence and death.

A/N: I have one opinion thus far. I need more and do tell when too- an AU: yay or nay? Lemme know. Cheers!

Chapter Ten- Old Faces

He would normally feel guilty keeping things from Misha but given the extensive gravity and possible repercussions of the idea, Jack decided to keep it from her. After all, Dr Abbott was helping him control the Joker. Given Misha's experience with the Joker, he knew for a fact that she would not like his plan at all. She'd hate it and possibly contact someone from Arkham and get his therapist changed. And considering how Dr Abbott was the only therapist he'd ever liked in his entire life because, well, the man didn't treat him like shit and a freak that ought to be locked up.

And since he knew how limited those kinds of people were, Jack could- would not allow for such a thing to him.

He liked to think that Dr Abbott and he had an understanding on a completely different scale.

And for all intents and purposes, it was true.

Dr Abbott understood that containing the Joker wouldn't do; they had to learn how to control him.

It was that simple.

And the only he'd achieve the normal-life-with-Misha status he'd been wanting to achieve for a while now.

Because unlike what the good doctor wanted, he would not be using the Joker persona to help solve crime.

He'd only do it if the situation was really, really dire.

He just wanted to be normal.

So when, one afternoon, he walked into therapy, he didn't hesitate to find that Dr Abbott had set up some weird looking, brain related-given the strange helmet anyway- contraption. They'd had a few sessions where they'd tried to bring out- and control, the good doctor would carefully point out- the Joker but had failed.

Jack wondered if this was a way to do it.

"What's this?" he voiced his question as he settled into his designated seat for the session.

"Just a little something to give it a boost," Dr Abbott replied.

Jack shrugged and let him hook up the device and they began their session.

"Now, I'm going to ask you some tough questions," he told him, "you don't have to answer them but you have to visualize the scenario. I want you to look at the situation from your perspective- how you felt at that moment, why, why the other person was wrong, why you were right and things like that, okay?"

Jack nodded.

"Good, now remember- we're trying to trigger the Joker okay? I'm not trying to make you feel guilty or anything," he went on.

"Got it doc."

"Okay, now I want to you to think about those ferries you try to blow up."

Jack shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

"I want you to think about the excitement, the euphoria you felt when you had the fate of the lives of hundreds of people resting in your hand. I want to picture it vividly. Think about the sounds- everything."

Jack nodded, closing his eyes shut even though it was hard- really hard to imagine why he would want to do something of the sort.

A moment later he opened them. "I can't," he said, "it just won't come to me."

The doctor sighed, clearly disappointed. "Feel the heat of the moment. Visualise why you were right and how angry you felt. We're going to try this again okay?"

He nodded once more.

"Okay, now I want to you to think about your first victim."

Jack shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

"I want you to imagine how it happened, why you thought it was right. I want you to focus, relive the moment and imagine the Joker taking controlling over you at the very instant you picked up the weapon..."

Misha was angry.

To put it mildly.

She was angry at Bruce. She was angry at his plan. She was angry at the power he had. And she was angry at Alfred for telling her so late.

"But you can't do that you ass hole," she made it a point to say as she entered the not-so-much Bat cave, "He's a living person who deserves privacy."

Bruce looked up from the system he and Lucius Fox had set up that could hack into and show them live feed of the surveillance cameras, phones and things of the sort of all and around the places that Jack frequented.

"That's violation of human rights!"

Bruce rolled his eyes.

"And that is exaggeration at its finest," he stated, "We're just keeping a tab of the people he's coming into contact with. In case the Riddler or Penguin are supplying him with drugs directly or indirectly- most likely indirectly," he added quickly when he saw the glare Misha gave him, "which may be causing hallucinations."

"So you think he's crazy?" she asked him.

"There's a possibility that he's dealing with PTSD," he elaborated.

Misha frowned. "Why would he have PTSD a million years later?"

"Different people have different rates at which they go through it."

"You just made that up didn't you?" she questioned him and he smiled.

"Maybe."

"Fuck you Wayne."

"Duly noted."

Misha chose to ignore him for the rest of the day after that.

And Bruce, being Bruce, couldn't live with that for long.

"Oh come on," he argued a few hours- three, to be precise- later. "It's for his own good. You should be thanking me."

Misha rolled her eyes but said nothing as she went about her multiple tasks.

"So that's how it's going to be between us," he said, "no communication. The silence treatment. Real mature."

Still no response.

Bruce raked his brain for something, anything to catch her attention and get her to talking with him when-

"So I guess you don't want to know that we hired your long time no see-esque best friend down at IT," he mused slowly.

That made her stop. "Which friend?" she asked almost immediately.

Both she and Bruce knew that she didn't have many friends. So what was he implying...?

"Oh I dunno," he went on, "Just someone with a strange name. I never there were names with the letter 'I'. She's rather talkative if you ask me but the head of IT thought that her charisma would take her places and..."

"Iona!?" she blurted. "You hired Iona and you didn't tell me!"

Bruce grinned. "Might've slipped my mind," he added coolly.

Misha rolled her eyes. "I'm gonna take a break," she told him, "and since it's almost lunch time, I think I should. I'm taking Iona with me."

"Okay," he said, "but bring her back soon. I don't want you slacking off now that you have a friend here."

Misha mouthed a "yeah right" as she walked out of the door.

The IT department was a couple of floors down so she opted to take the stairs. She also needed to burn off any adrenaline in case she got nervous. She'd lost touch with Iona shortly before graduation. She didn't know what had become of her chirpy friend at all.

After the thing with Jack, she'd dedicated her life to work and Arkham and things related to Jack in general.

She wondered if Iona would be angry at her. She also wondered if her friend was still the same. It had been roughly two years and even though people didn't normally change so drastically over a year or even two- who knew? After all, she'd changed a lot in a few years. It could be the same for Iona.

With that in mind, Misha cautiously approached IT. Unlike the legal and public relations departments which she often ventured into, IT had a much friendly, carefree environment. There weren't cubicles and traditional offices. Instead, there were booths and stations and couches and things like that so that people could relax and get on with their work.

It seemed really strange to Misha who was used to the traditional style of working. It was no wonder, she decided, that she never came down to IT.

Still, she had one task to do today and that was to look for Iona. It wasn't too hard to find her though. Iona was on one of the couches typing away on a laptop. She was resting her feet on the coffee table in front and had a bag of chips with her.

That made Misha feel a little less nervous. After all, if Iona's sitting habits hadn't changed, maybe there was a chance that she hadn't changed much either?

"Iona?" she asked, suddenly feeling very, very nervous. What if she didn't want to speak to her?

Her friend looked up, clearly alarmed at someone calling her name and almost jumped out of her seat when she saw her.

"Misha!" she exclaimed, wide-eyed. "What're you doing here?"

Misha grinned, responding to the hug she gave her. "I work here."

Iona did a quick look over of her attire and rose an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes," she said, realizing that she was probably confused because she was dressed casually (like most of the IT people) while Misha was sporting a proper business attire what with her work appropriate heels and shirt and dress pants, "there are other departments here too."

"There are?" Iona said before promptly smacking her forehead with her hand, "well, duh- it's a huge building. Which department?"

"The department of Babysitting Bruce Wayne," she said in an attempt to downplay the importance of her role.

Iona's jaw dropped. "No freaking way," she gasped, "you're his secretary or something?"

"Yup," she replied.

"That is so cool!" she gushed. "Wow- wait till Carlisle hears about this! Our little awkward Misha managing THE Bruce Wayne."

Misha felt herself blush. "Oh shut up you," she said, "how's Carlisle?"

"Fine," Iona went on,"he's working on getting his masters. Wants to do a PhD in maths. How weird is that?"

"Maths and Carlisle- when did that happen?" Misha asked her.

"It's a long story," she said.

"And we have plenty of time," Misha informed her.

Iona frowned.

"I told Bruce I'd be stealing you from IT for lunch," she told her.

Iona's face broke off into a grin. "Now that's what I'm talking about! Calling in favours from Wayne- come on let's go!"

It was a bad day.

Not that most days were any better for him.

But it was a particularly bad one since he'd not only failled a quiz worth twenty percent of his grade- not that it mattered much anyway- but also had gotten detention for not paying attention in class (why would anyone even pay attention in History of all classes was beyond him. He'd assumed that the teacher, being influenced by the other teachers, hated him as well) and had fallen prey to Joey and his gang who demanded that he give up his lunch money (he didn't have any like most days but really, who could explain that Joey and his peanut sized brain which refused to process the simple information that Jack had no money on him whatsoever?) which of course led to 'punishment'. Joey and his brainless followers locked him in the storage shed in the basketball court and it wasn't until five hours later that the janitor found him there.

It was dark by the time he'd gotten dark.

And that filled him with dread.

His father would be home by the time he'd get home and he would not be pleased.

Jack mentally prepared himself for more punishment which wasn't even fair since, well, it hadn't been his fault.

If stupid Joey and his 'friends' hadn't picked on him, he'd be home much earlier and probably locked away in his room by now.

But no one would believe him of course.

His father would think that he was out prancing about, doing something illegal and squandering away his hard earned cash- which honestly Jack and his mother never got to see because, well, his dad was an alcoholic.

Not that anyone would acknowledge that.

They didn't talk about the vices of his father at home.

They only bore the brunt of it.

It made him feel sick.

But there was no one to speak to about it and frankly, his mother was too scared of his father to try to do something.

Jack ran home as quickly as his legs could carry him.

From the outside, his house seemed like any other white middle class neighbourhood's house.

That made him feel angry.

Everyone thought that they lived a perfectly normal, happy life which was completely the removed from reality. At parties and social gatherings they would pretend to be normal and that agitated him even further.

But there was nothing to be done and Jack had no choice but to live with it.

At present, he was standing in front of his house. He chose to take the back door in case his father was about.

The house was strangely quiet and that sent off alarm bells. He looked around.

There was no one in the kitchen or the living room. He almost avoided going into his father's study in case he was there drinking but stopped when he noticed that the door was slightly ajar. His dad never left the door open. He was a massive control freak and loved his own 'personal' space. Jack entered the room to find his mother on the floor with a horrible- and extremely painful looking- cut on her forehead and multiple bruises on her face.

"Mom!" he exclaimed, rushing by her side. No response. He shook her slightly in an attempt to wake her up but there was nothing. The signs were clear but he refused to believe it and checked her pulse.

His mother was dead.

His father had killed her.

Jack saw red.

He felt angry- very,very angry. He felt spite, contempt and immense hatred. Moreover, he couldn't think right. He just couldn't-

He felt tears run down his cheeks and then something weird happened. He felt...liberated.

He had nothing to hold him back, he realized. The one person who kept him from hating his father was dead. Gone. Killed in vain by a drunkard.

"She didn't deserve to die like this," he said to himself, "it's an insult to her." And it was, to him anyway.

And he also happened to know how to get even on it.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Jack quietly went upstairs.

Forgoing his own bedroom, he peaked into his parent's bedroom. There was his father- the stupid, pitiful man passed out from excessive drinking.

Jack knew what to do.

He walked into the room and quietly took his father's gun out of its case. He loaded it and then walked up to the man, shaking him.

"Wake up," he snapped, his voice high from the excitement of what he was about to do. "Wake up Frank!"

His father's eyes popped open and grew wide comically when he saw Jack.

"What're you-"

"I want you to see me as I kill you, you son of a bitch," he said before pulling the trigger.

And then he started laughing.

Back in the real world Dr Henry Abbott watched excitedly the Joker see daylight the first time in two years.