King Pin Meets the Clown Prince

Title: Corrupted Love

Rating: "M" for violence and mild language. Sexual content later.

Pairing: Batman/Joker. Guy on guy pairing (slash), so if you feel like barfing, move past this story! 'Cuz you ain't barfin' on mah page!

Ch. Summary: Mess with the mob, you get the cuffs.

Disclaimer: The Batman series/franchise is not mine. –cries like a baby- The characters' opinions/lifestyles/beliefs rarely match my own. Thanks!

Suggested Listening: "Disappear" by Anberlin THEN "The Scene and Herd" by Relient K

Notes: Songs- First for the all of the segments before, then use the second for when Roman goes to Arkham, and so forth. This is the most difficult pairing I've ever dealt with. I mean, it'd be so much easier for me to just stick to other pairings I like- such as Bruce and Silver. Still, things are clearing up in my head, and my wheels are turning. The dynamics necessary for this pair are starting to come into play in my lil' ol' brain, and it's making a heck of a lot more sense to me. Review, review, REVIEW!!

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What a lovely name. Every time he said it, he couldn't help but pass a coquettish smile on that dubious face. "Good evening, Miss Harley Quinn," he would greet her every morning with a sing-song voice. Harley Quinn was so much more pleasant than Harleen Quinzel. It reminded him of a harlequin girl. He could see the paint on her face- the scars on her lips. Sure, she was a pretty thing, but there was nothing beyond what he had already seen in all of the others.

He knew how to butter a doll up. She, in turn, was obviously intrigued by his strange charm. All of his stories were so alluring. He spoke of his father as an abusive drunk, and his mother was a wounded runaway. Lies. She didn't know it, but he knew that such playful deceit would benefit him in the end.



"You don't belong in here," Miss Quinn would sympathize with him. She had also escaped an abusive father, and she knew the pain. He would treat her like a moron, and she would sit there, thinking of all of the possible ways she could break him when he wasn't aware… But she never did.

The Joker, or Mr. J, as she referred to him, had shown her that freedom from such a mundane life was possible. She had always been a doormat for people, and rather than being the therapist for him, it was he that began to mentor her. It took about a month for him to completely wrap her around his finger. She was awfully gullible, more so than any other person in Arkham. He was almost shocked, really. No one else had given into his tricks so easily, and toying with this tart was far too much fun to just kill her. That would be a waste. She would do anything for him!

He was so brilliant. There was so much he could teach her. He had introduced her to a world that she had been too fearful to touch. Harley had kept her mouth quiet for so long- allowed herself to be pushed around, and now she found her self sucked into the manipulation of this madman before her. All she needed was one source to follow, and Joker was sure that he could be that pivot in her life- keeping her down on the tracks that only he wanted her to follow. She would always be Harley, but he could her his own kind of Harley.

He was sure, as days went by, that accompanied by her own life, he was driving her into madness.

++

There wasn't a new face in the room. Not a single one of these men he didn't recognize. At least they were people he had worked with before, and he knew that he could trust them… somewhat.

"Quiet down, boys," he called out in a gruff voice underneath that heavy mask. A hush fell over the orange-hued room. Just a few, dim candles were there to light it. That old shack didn't have a whole lot of space to move in, and it lacked electricity, but it would have to do. Roman was no stranger to weathering this old place when he needed it. Still, this was his first, serious operation.

He eyed each man, mostly those in the first row. He could see it in their faces. They were all ready to get down to business. "I know you're all used to the usual," he said, "with the drugs and such, but this is a hell of a lot bigger than that."

He tossed an array of eerie masks to the crowd- some white, others gray or brown, but none were black. That was his color, damn it. They were ones he had collected over the years. He had always been very fond of them. "From now on, I don't want to see a single one of you in here without one on," he commanded. None of them seemed to have a problem with it, although a few hesitated.

One man stood amidst the mob, his ugly mug in clear sight. Black Mask stepped down from his post, his sleek shoes crunching along the dirt. The man looked rather nervous as the other approached. He obviously wasn't happy, regardless of the black that consumed his face. "You got a problem with it?" he growled.

"No, there just ain't anymore," the man complained, expecting to be fairly compensated for his troubles.

"Oh… Well, too bad for you," he sighed, lifting a small pistol to the man's head.

BANG!

The shot stung everyone's ears. A small stream of blood shot out, just as the bullet hid. The man in the leather jacket collapsed to the floor- dead.

Black Mask rubbed some of the red that had gotten on his gloved finger off with a tissue from his pocket, eyes chasing away any that dared to stare into them. He was hollow. "Any other complaints?" he asked, a small sense of relief penetrating his stress when no one responded.

"Good."

++

The night sky shone in from the windows, and air was too few. Bruce loosened his tie, eagerly prepared to retire for the night and get back to his late night investigation. A few, new proposals had kept him up. They were pretty mandatory things, so Lucius, rather than take on the responsibility all by himself, suggested that his boss take a careful look at them himself. Some terms on the paper could have easily been misinterpreted if everything had been communicated without the papers.

They were pretty complex things, and Bruce still wasn't too sure how he felt about the latter. He picked the stack up, arranging the papers as evenly as he could. Compared to the concerns he had for his business, the concerns Mr. Wayne held for his city were the size of mountains. Each thought ran rampant through his mind, making his worries that much greater. It was truly amazing that he had yet to collapse from the stress. Lucky for him, Lucius took care of the business in a style that was far more than Bruce could have asked for.

He slipped the papers in a manila folder, then pulling his jacket off of the chair behind him and slinging it over his shoulder. There was nothing else to do here, but there was plenty he could accomplish out there- where the world was turning without him. He looked over the desk for a moment, making sure that Lucius would find it tidy upon his return.

A floorboard a few feet ahead creaked. Bruce was immediately drawn to the sudden obstruction from his thought, and noticed a large shadow looming in the doorway.

"Who's there?" Bruce asked, his voice calm and unshaken. He had been through enough to be prepared for any sort of random situation… kind of like this.

The voice growled out from the shadows. "An old friend," it said.

Bruce pursed his lips at the lack of a sufficient response. "I guess a better question would be: why are you here?"

The mysterious man stepped forth, and his being almost seemed to materialize within the light. He was a tall man, around six foot three or so, and he wore a nice, black, pin-stripe suit. The man had a black mask over his face- one that fell back, covering the top of his head also. Every bit of him was shrouded in black material. This didn't look too good in Bruce's eyes. In fact, it probably wouldn't have looked very good in anyone else's either.

The man raised a pistol, aiming it inhibitedly at the billionaire. The metal glowed in the dim lights, threatening his life every moment it hung suspended in the air. Bruce felt his body tighten up. It wasn't like he hadn't seen this coming.

"Goodbye, Bruce."

BANG!

Bruce dropped his weight to the floor, rolling away from the possible harm. Roman noticed the other man on the floor and aimed his gun at him once again. Bruce lunged his body forth, wrapping his brawny arms around Black Mask's legs, and the two toppled down onto the black carpeting.

Bruce could feel his heart racing. He had to get the gun away from him quickly. He reached his hand upward, slamming a hard fist down on Black Mask's wrist. The other man growled in agony, releasing the pistol from his grasp. Bruce slapped it away but not without consequence.

A large fist slammed into his face, and pain branched out from all corners of his right cheek bone. It wasn't like he hadn't been assaulted before. The mask-less Batman retaliated far more quickly than Roman had expected, elbowing him in stomach. Black Mask gasped, sputtering as he sat back up.

Bruce grasped his throat, slamming him back down to the floor. Roman felt the air knocked straight out of him, and for moments after he was stunned. His sight became bleary, and the image of Bruce was slowly swelling into nothing more than fuzz. It wasn't like Roman hadn't had the power to attack Bruce and take him down, but he had honestly not been expecting such from the other man. Where had Bruce gotten this strength and skill from? Was he… hiding something?

The last thing he remembered were cold, brand new cuffs linked around his wrists, and the blaring blue and red lights of the cop cars. His exhaustion got the best of him- then there was nothing.

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………………..

Lucius Fox approached the building, the words "Wayne Enterprises" reduced to a faded glow. Cop cars and ambulances surrounded the area, and plenty of noise and clamor aided the fiasco. Bruce had called, and had told him that there had been an arrest at the office. Without any other explanation, Lucius was out the door. He couldn't help but wonder if it was one of their own employees. That new chemist, Miss Blazedale, had seemed suspicious from the start.

There was Bruce- hair a mess and tie off kilter. "What happened here?" Lucius asked, suspecting that Bruce must have done something as the Batman. It was in the boy's nature.

Bruce stepped away from messes of bodies in zip-up bags. There was a swarm of men behind him, all in shock and awe at the unfortunate losses. "The mob, Lucius. They're coming after me. Apparently, Roman didn't like my business choices… And now, more lives had to be lost," the billionaire shook his head, narrowing his vision down to his slacks.

"He would've killed someone sooner or later, Mr. Wayne- whether it was now or later," he reassured him. "The man was never one to mince feelings, that's for sure."

Bruce and Lucius spent the following day going over recordings. Apparently, all of the men had worn masks that night, each gagging the guards and assistants to keep the noise down, then slitting their throats. There were so many of them, all swarming up the stairs person by person. He couldn't tell whether some were women or not. All of their clothing was far too bulky.

The papers were calling the new group "The False Face Society." At least they didn't go with "The Masked Bunch," which Bruce suspected would be the result, seeing as they never seemed to ponder upon the names much. He had lost around fifteen employees that night. He was thankful that the Joker hadn't managed to escape, seeing as his hands were full at the moment, investigating Roman's cause.

"I believe you might want to see this, sir," Alfred piped in one bright and early morning, interrupting a vital discussion between Mr. Fox and Mr. Wayne. His wrinkled hand reached out, the morning paper dangling from his fingertips. Bruce grabbed the gray sheets, bringing them to his face.

Lucius watched Bruce's expression contort as he read the bold print:

BLACK MASK GOES TO ARKHAM

Black Mask… Clever.

++

Roman wanted all to know who he was when he wore that mask. Even the press now knew the alias he had created for himself, and it never ceased to generate quite the buzz. As simple as it was, the name just suited him. That was the man he became whenever he dawned that black covering.

They had discovered what he'd done to his parents, the criminal escapades of his past, and about his newest plans and successes. The countless charges of treason, drug dealing, and murder were all stacking up against him.

He had never once considered himself insane. Violent? Bitter? Maybe. Insane? No. His lawyer had explained to him before the trial that his best chance out of this one was to plead the case of insanity. A padded cell or the possibility of death row? Roman didn't like the sound of either.

It hurt his pride- damaged the man's ego. He didn't like someone just labeling him like any other loon. He knew what he was doing! He was fully aware!

"Listen. It's just a legal term," the other interjected, continuing on to compare the consequences if he chose to keep his pride and die or if he let it go and lived. Roman wasn't a moron, so he chose life. Life as a crazy person locked up in a padded cell with his arms bound by a straight jacket.

First was registration at the desk. It felt like high school all over again. Except, unlike high school, instead of classes, he would have therapy sessions, and he wasn't going to have any fun. The meek old woman at the desk wrote his name up, smiled sheepishly, and passed him along.

Second was the physical. They'd give him a good check up to make sure he wasn't dying of some random disease, or so they said. Personally, Roman just thought they were nosy little bastards. A pleasant old man in white garbs brought him into a waiting room, sat him down on a green cushion, and left.

CLICK!

The door shut behind him, and all that was left was silence. He enjoyed it for the moment. He was used to so much noise- so much commotion. Everybody wanted something from him, and therefore everybody always had something "important" to say to him. He was tired of the crap.

"Ahhh… So you're the new kid," came a creepish voice, crawling up Roman's spine like an over-sized beetle. Roman traced the voice back to its owner. There he was, just a few chairs away. That mass-murdering psychopath that had decided to share his screwed-up mug with the world. The clown had been plastered on his television screen so many times. They couldn't get enough of him on GNN. But here… even without his makeup, he still didn't seem human.

"Y'know, just- just a quick little tip," the creature leaned over, tongue running over his lips , leaving poisonous traces of thin saliva on his mouth, "When the doc says drop your pants, he doesn't mean your boxers too. Then, you'll be in for more than you want." The green-haired freak exploded into a fit of giggles at his joke, rocking back and forth in his stainless, white straight jacket.



Roman stared the Joker down, eyes burning holes through the smaller male. He didn't say a word or grit his teeth- just held a straight face as he had his whole life.

It couldn't have been a stranger situation, and their personalities couldn't have been any more different. Roman was ticked off that he had just been left in there with some crazy buffoon making raunchy jokes. There had to be surveillance cameras somewhere. There better have been.

The Joker's laughter subsided, and he returned to grinning devilishly at the other male in the small, contained room. "So- you're just another crazy person in a mask, hm?" he asked, eyes flashing of something evil.

Roman sighed. "You know, you and I are different. I have actually have reason," he stated coolly, keeping his outer appearance calm and collected. He wouldn't let this psycho catch him sweat- at least not any time soon.

"And that's where you find your problem," the Joker smiled contentedly, leaning back in his chair. "Oh, Roman, Roman, Roman… Things never go exactly as they were planned. Never." That damn tongue lid out again, inching out of his mouth like a snake.

Romans stayed silent, listening in on the remainder of the madman's rant. "Regardless of how things play out in your head, they'll always be different- even if it's in the smallest of ways. You have to be able to think on your feet if something unexpected should happen," the man with bound arms shut his eyes, seeming to almost fall into some sort of stupor.

"Roman Sionis?" the doctor opened the door to his office, peeking a long and narrow head out.

Roman stood up, approaching the door with prideful steps. He was startled when the unsettling voice rose once more.

"Just remember what I said," it called over. Roman turned for a moment, noticing how the makeup-less clown still sat with his eyes closed, permanent smile still eerily shining up at him. Roman wasn't sure how he liked this. Whether or not it could be of any aid to him in the future, he would have to decide for himself.

………………..

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He always found something to entertain himself. Sometimes this meant pulling up a leg or two and slamming his feet against the wall, bothering the facility until some dumb Joe Schmo came in and checked up on him. Other times, he would just sit up in the corner of his room, thinking heavily upon matters most would dismiss.

Some would have considered it obsessive compulsive, but every thought that crept into the Joker's mind, he had to give special attention to and mull over. These thoughts always came in handy for later, whether it be with a joke or a kill- whenever the time was right, it was put to use.

Now was one of those moments, he found himself in the corner, just as he had when he was a child, thinking heavily upon all sorts of matter. The thought for right now was- white. Could it even really be considered a color? It's not clear, so it has to have some sort of pigment. Speaking of white, he could really use some his makeup ('scuze me as I just powder my nose, HEHEH).

Something snapped his train of thought, and a figure crept into his room. Visiting hours were over (did I ever have visitors? Hmm?), and everyone should have been gone. If he was correct, he was going to like whatever it was that was about to occur.

"Mistah J?" came that thick New Yorker accent, if that was even where she came from in the first place. The lights in his room flickered on, revealing a harlequin girl in plain sight. It was Harley. She had thick, black diamonds over each eye and a black, painted-on, and smeared smile over a powdery white face. Her blonde bangs fell out from under a limp jester's hat in colors of black and red. She had a red collar around her neck, and beneath that a black and red v-neck shirt with long sleeves that fell over black gloves. Her pants were alternating black and red from her top over a pair of black slip-ons.



"Well, what do we have here?" he purred, watching her turn all sorts of shades of red underneath all of that makeup.

She crept in the room, trying as best as she could to keep the noise down. "We're getting you out of here," she said. "I'm sorry, but you do not deserve to be in here for the end of your days, and I was hoping-" she stopped, cupping her hands together.

"Yes?"

"Well… I was hoping I could come with you when this is all said and done," she shrugged, praying that he would at least consider her. Sure, most would say she was crazy, but she knew she was in love. She wouldn't tell him that, though- at least not yet… But she was sure that he was capable of loving her back if he tried. Harley could have just gone home that night, but the thought of Joker sitting in that padded cell and all of the horrible things he had endured in his life, she couldn't. He had found freedom from that life, and she wanted to see it too. She was tired of being other people walk all over her.

The Joker wouldn't pass people up if they were willing to be his puppets. He never killed someone that could play an important, humorous part in his life. There was just too much to do, so much to see. And Harley would be there to see it all too.

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Roman Sionis slouched down into the thick, cotton sheets, irritated by the sight of too much white. He was still pissed about what had happened, and he was still holding onto his grudge against Bruce Wayne. That son of a bitch got away with far more than any human being should. Half of the things Bruce did, Roman was pretty sure he did just to piss other people off. People like him.

The lights were out now, and all was silent. He was left with nothing but his thoughts. It was a horrible feeling, and he didn't see how putting a crazy person into a bleach white cell alone to talk to himself was going to make anything better. Idiots.

He took in the stale air, nostrils flaring with the motion. His dark eyes flickered in the darkness, and even his mind fell silent for the time being. Maybe this wasn't the worst of places. It was quiet and there were no morons to parade through and bother him. No phone calls. No work. No Bruce Wayne.

He smiled. For once, he smiled. He wasn't necessarily happy, but he was content. He was still pissed off, of course, but for now he could feel relaxed and think about other things worthy of his time. This didn't mean he didn't wanted out, no. He had to get out. He had to finish the job he had set out to do in the first place.

Out of no where the door slammed open, alarms ringing everywhere and people running manic. "Wakey, wakey, Mr. Sionis. It's time for a good dose of freedom," guffawed an oddly familiar voice. The lights shot on to reveal the Joker- dawning his original face paint and clothing.

Roman smirked up at the freak, surprisingly pleased by the tampered face.

Looks like he would get his revenge sooner than later.

'Note to self:'

Sometimes salt needs good pepper, even if that pepper is a girl you don't particularly care for. Cheers, Harley!

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This chapter jumped around a lot, I know. XD Sorry. Anyway, there is someone whose really long, informative reviews I am missing (sad face). That's okay, I know things are getting pretty hectic.-in a high, screechy voice- REVIEEWW!! Also, my "Nolan-ized" Harley Quinn is inspired by this (remember to take out the spaces and add an extra "/" after the "http"!):

http : / j oshwm c.devia ntart. co m/art/Harley-Quinn-No-Innocence-87613447

The art belongs to joshwmc, and he doesn't support this story, so don't bug him! Hah. Neither the idea nor the art belong to me. Onto other things, a couple of you wanted to see MsMeow's artwork for my story! :) Here it is:

http : / i142.photobuck et.c om/albums/r95/crazedvideomaker/JackGiftbyMsMeow.png?t1220832922

http : / i142.photobucket. c om/albums/r95/crazedvideomaker/applyingscars.png?t1220832966

http : / i142.photobucket .co m/albums/r95/crazedvideomaker/dressonfire.png?t1220833039

http : / i142.photobucket .co m/albums/r95/crazedvideomaker/heycupcake.png?t1220833076

http : / i142.photobucke t. co m/albums/r95/crazedvideomaker/lipsequal.png?t1220833101

Thanks again, MsMeow! :3

Fanart Requests for this Chapter:

- Black Mask shooting the maskless man amidst a masked crowd in the shack.

- Black Mask and Bruce struggling on the office floor for the gun (it's not sexual, so keep that in mind).

- Lucius and Bruce talking outside of Wayne Enterprises with police and ambulances everywhere.

- Joker leaning over in his chair (in a straight jacket) laughing with an irritated Roman.

- Bird's eye view of Joker's cell with him in the corner with his head down, thinking.

- Joker busting into Roman's cell, Harley leaning over his shoulder with a grin, and ruckus behind them.