Disclaimer: All the characters used in this fic belong to DC Comics and are based on the characters in The Dark Knight. I own absolutely nothing but the plot and my characters.

Chapter 10: Purgatory

A/N: Dedicated entirely to Heath's memory.

Music: Weight Of The World by Evanescence

"What's with the face? Hm? Not pleased to see me?"

Of course not. It was clear that she had only fooled herself into thinking that she wanted to find him. This wasn't what she wanted. She wanted to find her stupid brat, and she had wanted to do it alone. Gotham's Dark Knight wouldn't be interfering with his fun.

Not tonight.

Rage flared in her eyes, and he could see that she wanted to knock him senseless. But she wouldn't. Under normal circumstances, this being one of the most abnormal positions Anna had been in, she'd try to settle things with the "all-powerful" means of negotiation. But he wasn't one to be negotiated with, and they both knew that.

All he wanted was to watch Gotham burn.

By the shock on her face, it was evident that Anna had unearthed the truth only recently, discovering not only his secrets, but her own as well. And in the moment she had come into contact with the chaotic darkness that he had kept hidden, she had started to fall apart, piece by lonely piece. And it would continuously devour her until the only thing she had left to turn to was chaos itself.

He was no longer bound to her by familial bonds or worthless promises. The only tie that linked them to each other was pain. It had infected him, evolving until it had destroyed him from the inside out. It had been like a poison coursing through him; a chemical that had been inhaled with every breath he took.

"Escape," she whispered.

There was nothing worth holding on to. Nothing could hold any true meaning in such a world. Escape? There was only pain, and from that, there was no escape.

His voice was barley above a whisper, the knife in his hand. "Escape? There's nothing for me to escape from."

"What?"

He had grabbed her before the word had left her mouth, pinning her to the ground beneath him and waving the knife in her face. He watched as Anna's hand snaked into her own pocket, drawing out the all-too-familiar object, clenched in her shaking fist.

"All the old familiar places, hm?"

"You don't have to do this, Jack," she whispered, curling her fingers tightly around the weapon in her pocket. "You don't..."

No shit, Sherlock. He didn't have to do anything he didn't want to do. But he wanted this; he wanted to make her see it; he wanted her to envision every moment of the hell he had been forced to endure. Every last second.

"You're right. I don't have to do this, Anna," he whispered. "I want to... But first..." he trailed off, gripping her chin before she could turn away. "Look at me..."

A smirk crossed his face as her eyes hardened. "No," she snapped. "I'm not here to play your fucking games."

"Of course not," he mocked, seizing her knife hand as it went for his throat. "If you didn't come to play, then why are you here? Hm? Do you feel responsible for... these?" he breathed, wrenching the knife from her hand, and forcibly moving her hand to touch the scars that grazed his face.

Anna flinched and turned away, her eyes watching as the paint slid off, sticking her free hand creeping into his pocket. She clenched her jaw, knowing that she he had to do it now, before she lost her nerve. If she let herself cave now, she knew she would die.

"Did you ever wonder... what really happened that night?"

Her eyes hardened. "What's there to wonder about?" she spat. "You don't have to bring it up, jackass. I already saw what he did, and I don't want to know all the fucking details." Her hand came from his pocket, clenching the handle of the gun, her finger poised on the trigger. "But I can see you'll never let this die. So, I'm gonna..."

"What're you gonna do? Kill me?" he snickered. Talk about a bad joke. "You can't bring yourself to do it. You won't kill me. You can't."

Anna flinched, keeping the firearm pointed at him. But they both knew that she wouldn't do a damn thing. He laughed quietly, and she felt every amused shudder as if it were her own. He pressed the flat of the blade against her cheek, brushing a strand of wet hair out of her eyes as he smirked.

"Do you remember... exactly what it was you saw..." His tone was dark, chilling. "Or do I have to remind you?"

She didn't answer, instead tightening her grip on the trigger. As horrid as the situation was, it reminded Anna vaguely of the fights they'd have as children. Each taking their turn at daring the other to do something stupid. Only this time, she knew he'd keep his promise of killing her.

"You know," he said, chuckling darkly. "You're really starting to... Piss. Me. Off." He pressed the knife against her throat, putting pressure on the blade until it drew blood.

"Bastard... You can't kill me," she choked, trying to steady her nerve.

"Why not?" Jack pressed the knife harder against her throat, his ragged breathing in her ear. "You can't think of a reason, can you?" He sighed. "Did you come looking for me thinking that Batman would save you if you got in over your head? Did Batman come through your window when I picked up little Amy? Did Batman save Daniel from... certain death?"

I don't understand, Anna thought, her breath catching in her throat at the mention of Daniel's name. "What the hell did you say?"

He dragged the blade to her jaw. "Batman doesn't give a damn about you. He won't follow you into the abyss to convince the Devil to release you from purgatory. When will you understand? Batman won't give up his life for yours."

"I don't care about Batman!" Anna hissed, pressing the barrel of the gun against her captor's chest. "I want you to tell me how the hell you know about Daniel!"

His eyes burned into hers, and Anna realized that, maybe, Jack was seeing something in her eyes that she had failed to see within herself. That twisted grin came back into play, and Anna found herself fearing the response to her demand.

"Let's just say..." He paused. "The man who killed him... was forced to kill him..."

Anna squeaked, "B-but who would... who would..."

He was completely stupefied by the question. Was she brain dead or suffering from some shitty head trauma? He couldn't help giving her that look. The look that said, "What the fuck is wrong with you? You know exactly what I mean."

Pathetic.

The sardonic grin on Jack's face and the flicker of madness in his eyes was the only response she needed. Anna shuddered, her eyes welling up with tears. But they did nothing to lighten the burden she found herself carrying again. "Y-you mean... you had him killed... You had him taken from me... You were watching me all that time... And I was just... a part of the plan...?"

"Yes and no," he admitted, tracing her collarbone with the tip of the knife. "First off, do I really look like a guy with a plan? I don't plan, Anna. Never have. It's just too much trouble. I just go out and do things. But the rest of the world has plans. You, Gordon, even Batman. You're schemers, all trying to take matters into your own hands. I'm not a schemer. I'm here to show you people how pathetic you really are. See, you had all these fucking plans, and... look where they got you."

Anna found herself trembling uncontrollably; heart pounding relentlessly against her ribs; muscles tightening; hands becoming numb. She fumbled with the firearm in her hands until the numbness began to subside. There was nothing to think about now. His stupid confession had helped her make up her mind.

He was getting a fucking bullet.

"Is this for Gotham, or are you gonna kill me for personal reasons? Which is it?"

Anna's eyes narrowed. "No," she said, her voice straining. "I'm gonna kill you because it's what's fair. For everyone you've killed, and all the pain and sorrow, chaos and anarchy you've created..."

Eager fascination burned in his cold eyes. "An eye for an eye, hm? I like it. Looks like we're finally getting somewhere."

A pause. "Fuck you."

Successfully kicking and forcing Jack against the wall, Anna cocked the gun, took aim, and fired.

6 - 7 - 6 - 7

Bruce stared at his reflection in the window, becoming furious with himself for just standing there doing nothing. Clenching his teeth, he stalked out of his room and down the stairs where a tired Alfred was sitting with the newspaper and a dark cup of coffee.

"Something wrong, sir?" the butler inquired, looking up from the headlines. "You look distressed."

Bruce sighed. "I can't just sit here, Alfred. Something needs to be done."

Alfred nodded, leaving his newspaper and coffee behind as he followed a rather distressed Bruce to the elevator. The penthouse elevator took them to the ground floor, where Bruce waited impatiently for one of the valets to drive his recently replaced Lamborghini to the front doors.

A hand fell on Bruce's shoulder as he opened the door to the driver's side. "I think it would be in your best interest, Master Wayne, if I did the driving," Alfred suggested with a smile. Bruce sighed and went around to the passenger's side.

"At the rate you're driving," Bruce said, several minutes later, as Alfred slowed down at a light, "we'll never get there."

"You might try calling Ms. Sanders once more before we get there," the butler offered, taking a left turn at the light. "It might do something about your nerves."

Bruce just stared worriedly out the window, watching as the rain pounded against the glass. "I've called her all day, Alfred. I even called her coworkers, and they all said that they haven't seen or heard from Anna in days. Not even Gordon knows where the two of them are. When I spoke to Anna the other day, Amy was gone, but she wouldn't tell me what happened. She just told me not to get involved; that she'd handle things herself."

"I understand your concern, sir. But, perhaps it would be best if I went to check the neighborhood surrounding the apartment while Batman conducts his own investigation. Would that be appropriate?" Alfred said, offering the key to Batman's "cave" to Bruce as they pulled up at the restructured mansion.

The billionaire was clearly pleased with the butler's suggestion, digging Anna's spare key from his pocket and handing it off to Alfred. "I think I can deal with that."

6 - 7 - 6 - 7

The violent report of the bullet sounded constantly in her ears, and Anna was shocked to see the increasing pool of dark blood expanding from the body of her target. He'd dropped like a rock to the ground, without so much as a word. With the firearm still clenched in her hand, she staggered to her feet, running out of the alley, looking up and down the street, hoping that Bruce would appear, dressed in his bat suit.

But he was nowhere in sight.

She sunk to her knees, feeling lost and alone, wishing that she had someone, anyone, to turn to for help. But her only hope wasn't there when she needed him to be. And it was all because of her stubborn desire to be independent and handle things by herself.

Anna forced herself back into the dark alley, afraid of what she had done. She had allowed herself to become like him, the bastard whose mere presence had once caused her heart to be filled with hatred, sorrow, fear, and murderous intent.

But unknown to Anna, a deep, black silhouette, as profound as the darkness itself, moved within the shrouds of night, watching and waiting.

She shook with the near-silent whimpers that she tried to suppress; hand shaking violently and fingers tightened on the weapon. Tears welled up in her eyes, making her already hazy vision worse. The short, strangled sobs that wracked her body made her throat burn until she released the pent-up frustration in a blood-curdling scream.

The sound had barely escaped her lips when she was violently thrown against the ground, knocking the wind from her body as a hand came down over her mouth, silencing her.

Almost as quickly as it had come, the hand was gone, being pressed instead against her cheek as a knife was forced into her mouth, tugging at her lip as it went. She shuddered upon feeling the edge of the blade bite into the tender flesh inside her cheek.

Anna didn't have to look to know that Jack had, somewhat, composed himself, but she couldn't help herself. Her assault had clearly done more damage than he'd anticipated, having left most of the paint on the ground and upon her hands. His breathing was heavy and labored, and a flare of inhuman rage in his eyes burned unlike anything she had ever seen. But she could see that he had no intention of letting her live.

Not this time.

"I would have loved to play this game all the way through, but after that..." The tip of the blade began to saw at the inside of her cheek. "I just don't have the patience to put up with you."

"I'm not afraid of you," she said defiantly, slowly turning the gun to face him. "You're no scarier now than you were at five."

His expression darkened, and Anna began to regret voicing her previous statement. "Really? Then prove me..." Jack trailed off, glancing around, almost nervously.

Taking advantage of the moment, Anna slipped out from beneath him, and her hands slid slickly across the wet concrete before finding herself face first on the ground. Black and white blotches flashed behind her eyes as she pushed herself to her knees. The metallic scent of iron reached her, and she realized that the moisture on the ground was now a faint red color.

Blood.

She was bleeding? Had he cut her? Her hands shot to her face, and she was relieved that she was still intact, save for the small cut inside her mouth. Rationality caught up with her, and Anna realized that she wasn't at all injured.

This wasn't her blood.

Turning around, Anna was surprised to see that Bruce, dressed in the entirety of his bat suit, had Jack in a headlock. He gazed at her through his mask, the dark cowl making his ice blue eyes stand out more fully.

She opened her mouth to speak, but a gunshot sounded from behind her savior, sending him to his knees and giving Jack the opening he needed. As the Dark Knight fell, Anna was able to make out a blond woman dressed in a black and red body suit holding a pistol.

Harley Quinn.

Anna screamed and ran towards Batman, wishing that she had been the one shot. But she was intercepted by Jack and forced to feel the sharp blade in her mouth yet again as he pressed her against the wall, roughly wiping the tears from her face.

"Stop it," he growled. "You're just too fucking serious," he whispered as she hung helplessly on his arm, forcing her to look up at him. "But that's nothing I can't fix."

"Don't touch her!" Batman growled, struggling to his feet.

Jack shot him a twisted grin. "You really do like playing with hellfire, don't you, Bruce? I can't always have you barging in uninvited, now, can I? Though I guess it's a little too late to stop that... But I don't want you spoiling all the fun, so..." He turned back to Anna. "I'll have to make this quick." A pause. "Why so serious?"

The knife sliced through flesh, and Anna felt as though the left side of her face was burning. The searing heat blinded her with a violent pain that shook her as she screamed in agony, heaving as blood ran down her throat. And through the pain, she realized that Jack was gone, and that his existence had taken a turn for the worst, freeing his darker side.

The Joker.

Anna watched as the Joker shot her that sardonic grin before he vanished with Harley behind the darkness that sent her tumbling into purgatory; plunging her into the abyss.

Gore and violence. Perfecto.