Alright everyone, here's Chapter 12. I know a few of you were all 'party-curious' and here's some of it; Though, I promise, the party is far from being over. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, watched me and favorited me! By the way, if you're just reading and not reviewing, c'mon -- do it! I won't bite you or anything, and I love reading your reviews, they're wonderful!! LOVE, LOVE, LOVE TO YOU ALL!

Laurenmbl: Thank-you soooo much! I'm utterly pleased that you're enjoying my story, and how I word it. Hopefully, you enjoy this chapter as much as you do the other ones! Looking forward to hearing from you again!! :)

rikkuhurst: She does, she really does. Michelle wants to end this crazy adventure once and for all. And I know what you mean, but hey... leading people on, having them expect one thing and then turn into another thing is good right? Its what the Joker would do. ;) Thanks so much for reading and reviewing!!


Strings of small white lights covered the massive walls, raining down in an illuminating curtain. The glass doors, which extended from the floor to the ceiling on the far side of the room, were crystal clear, giving a breath-taking view to the city below. Along the sides of the room, there were a few tables, covered in a long, white elegant table cloth. Atop every one there was a thin, winding vase which held a single red rose, and a tray of delicate champagne flutes was arranged, waiting for the bubbly liquid to be poured in.

Letting out a nearly inaudible sigh, I strolled across the waxed floors, gazing momentarily down at my reflection in the polished tiles. My body was covered in a jade green evening gown that fluttered all the way down to my feet, leaving only a peek of my black heels underneath. Like everything else in the room, I was giving off the professional, elegant glisten - but underneath, full of deceit and devious plotting. All the guests that would be arriving momentarily, would find this room and myself entirely enchanting. To Bruce, Gordon, Rachel and myself, it would be a mere stage. A stage in which we would act out the final play that would wrap up The Joker's antics.

"Michelle."

I turned around to meet Bruce, sporting a very snazzy suit, casual enough to not seem like he was going to a wedding or something of the sort - but not too formal. But, that was Bruce's style for you - always perfect for every situation. I supposed though that being one of the cities most pristine, classy billionaires allowed that.

"So, the story is…" He trailed off. We had gone over it several times, but I assumed once more couldn't exactly do us harm.

"You're throwing a party for me… and celebrating my success as a lawyer. Something around those lines."

He nodded once and smiled, confirming that he would handle the rich host part of the party, that was, until he was needed in other roles. We shared a secretive smile as we stood back, admiring everything. I had a feeling we were both thinking the same thing, that even beauty had its dark side - as this scene proved. Bruce though, I imagined had a little more on his plate.

Just then, from behind us, I heard the quiet click-clack of Gordon's shoes, and turned to see him, followed in by a few men and women from the police department, each and every one dressed in something classy and showy, perfect. Of course, they came accordingly to their own ideas of party, not knowing they were all in on a mass joke.

Ooh, a joke. Ha, ha, ha.

Gordon made his way over to us, smiling widely at Bruce. Three partners in crime all stood, welcoming the guests as they arrived. Everyone gave me either a congratulatory smile or a word of admiration as they entered, pausing by my small group for a minute before continuing. Though it wasn't completely honest, all the compliments and encouragements were pleasing. If anything, they gave me confidence for tonight's events.

Eventually, after a few more introductions, two of which included Rachel and Harvey, Bruce grabbed my attention, gesturing to the champagne over on the other side of the room. I nodded quickly, and assured Rachel that I would see her later on tonight, then hurried after Bruce, picking my dress up slightly.

I assumed the champagne offering was just an excuse to get away from Rachel and Harvey -- be it a pitiful one or not. There was no doubt in my mind that seeing the two of them together hit a sore spot, as it normally would with anyone else. I had the luxury of not having to worry about the horrid emotion named jealousy, and seeing Bruce's internal, romantic-derived turmoil, I was very thankful for that. If I pulled away, and looked at it from another point of view, perhaps, someone who did not know Bruce quite as well, I wouldn't have detected anything. He was very good at covering his emotions. No pun intended; but he was very good at masking them.

I had thought about Bruce Wayne quite a bit in my days, wondering all sorts of things. I was intuitive, I was almost always right when it came to detecting a certain emotion, and with Bruce… that was more or less a mystery. How was he so successful in hiding his true feelings, unless it was someone he truly cared about? Did he rely on the strength of Batman for that?

If he did, that strength was deteriorating quickly; as the Joker continued to meddle with the demand for his true identity. Tonight though, I swore that this would all end. I wasn't doing this for Bruce, I wasn't doing this for Gotham. Call me selfish, but I was doing this for me. I wanted nothing more than to get him, unravel him, and then hand him over to Gordon and his men. Then, they could do whatever they pleased to him. I couldn't care less anymore.

Could I?

"Could you what?" Bruce's voice pulled me out my mental caverns.

I blinked, shooting him a strange look. Oh, now he was capable of reading people's minds as well? "Excuse me?"

"You said, 'Could I?'."

Preventing myself from further saying anything, I bit down on my tongue and shook my head gently, glancing at the floor. "Nothing, I'm just… muttering nonsense."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bruce take a step closer. He reached out, and slipped his fingers under my chin, lifting it up to look into my eyes. As I'm sure he could with mine, I could see the tired, grayed look in his eyes; all the stress and worry piling up. Though still, with him, there was a glimmer of excitement, like a little boy in a candy store. Both of us knew this could potentially be the night all this madness -- no pun intended -- would end.

Until that moment, I hadn't realized exactly how close Bruce and I were standing. Mere inches apart, even! The blood rushed to my head, though I still made no movement of parting, and remained in close proximity to him; hoping that he had something to say.

I was right.

"Michelle, I want to thank you. You've been climbing up the popularity level, and you're wonderful at what you do."

I blinked, staring up at him like a little child, being scolded. I didn't know why the thought of Bruce complimenting me was so foreign or strange, but it was. There was many a thought running through my head at the moment, and have a romantic scene with Bruce Wayne was not one of them. Not… now, at least. This was not the time to introduce a secret love interest; one that wouldn't be very secret for long, I imagined.

"Thank-you, really. I'm only doing what I love." I replied, trying to sound aloof.

Bruce's lips parted to say something, when another voice cleared its throat and entered the conversation.

"Mind if I… cut in?" He said, as though we were dancing, and he wanted a moment with me. Without looking at the man, Bruce nodded, shot me a small grin and stepped the side, preparing himself to associate with our guests. I turned my attention to the man who had requested a minute with me, and smiled politely. His head was bowed, his hair hidden in some sort of hat. Odd, I thought, normally people don't wear hats to parties -- unless it was part of their attire, fit with what they were wearing, and this certainly did not.

Clad in a black suit, he almost fit in with everyone else, looking wonderfully formal. At first, he made no motion to do anything and instead, just stood there, like a statue. I glanced around nervously, and scanned the crowds. A few people had picked a dance, swaying gently to the faint classical tunes. Perhaps he did want to dance.

"Is everything… alright?" I prodded, craning my neck down to see his face. He snapped his head up, making me jump. I let out a breathy yelp and placed my hand just beneath my collarbone, catching my breath.

"Do you dance?" He asked, adjusting his lips as he said it.

"I - well, yes--" Before I even finished, his hands were in position, one gripping my hand, the other tucked right into the curve of my waist. If I hadn't been so confused, I very well might have slapped it away and scowled at his forwardness. I narrowed my eyes as he lifted his face higher, his eyes burning into mine. We started swaying, and I felt the initial clench -- down there -- that made my skin crawl.

Something about the way he was holding me didn't feel right, I didn't have a name on this guy. Yet, I didn't consider myself in danger -- not in the middle of a giant party. His feet were moving, and we were slowly dancing away from the champagne table, towards the middle of the room, and then off to the side. A few people got the idea, and too began dancing. That wasn't my objective. They obviously couldn't see the terror in my eyes and if they did… I had no idea what they mistook it for. Excitement? No, not possibly. I knew something was wrong.

My eyes scanned the room for Bruce, he was on the opposite side of the room, laughing and smiling, socializing away. I wasn't even sure he knew I had been thrown into a whirling dance session with this guy.

He released his hand from my side, but tightened his grip on my hand. He spun me around, twice quickly, the once slowly. Hard. The twirls had a certain rhythm to them, almost like a drum. He did it again, and my head felt as though there was liquid swishing around inside. My stomach clenched and I felt the hot, repulsive feeling of nausea climbing its way up. His muscles tensed, wherein he jerked me close to his body. I collapsed on his shoulder, gasping and attempting at pacifying my stomach.

Even as I was resting on his shoulder, the room was spinning, thrumming to the same rhythm his twirls had had. I heaved, felt the warm liquid crawl up my throat, and forced it back down, slapping my eyes shut. I hadn't thrown up in years, and the remembrance of the feeling wasn't too nice.

"Are you… ah, dizzy?"

We were close to the windows; I could feel the cool waves radiating off them. Outside, the fresh air sounded impeccably good -- but I couldn't find my voice enough to cut our dance short and step out there. My lips felt numb, as though they no longer lips, but bags of Novocain, swirling around and removing feeling from every inch of my face. Somehow, he adjusted both my head and his own, to wear the skin of our cheeks were pressing against one and other.

"Answer me." He said, his cheek moving as he spoke. The skin grinded against my own, and left what felt like an oily, powdery smear on my skin. Wait, wait. Grinded? Skin doesn't grind. I opened my eyes. Skin never grinds, not unless there's something wrong with it. Then, as the vomit had moments before, something else began ascending it's way up my stomach, my throat, gripping on with thick claws that felt as though they were ripping my inner flesh to shreds.

I forced myself to move away from him, using all my upper body strength to push off his shoulders. Bracing myself, I looked at his face, which he was showing freely now. But before I could focus on that, I focused on the fact that my back was pressed against the glass, the chill seeping into the fabric of my dress.

Swallowing, I averted my eyes back to him, turning my head slowly to face him. His face looked plastic, like a mask. It was covered in a thick, opaque foundation, like he had reapplied several times. Especially around the mouth. My pupils dilated as I reached up, and slid my fingers down my cheek.

The pads, the part where I had touched my cheek, was a few shades lighter than my skin. I looked up, zeroing in on the man's right cheek. Then I looked at my fingers again. Then, back up at his cheek. The skin there… the true skin was circled by the makeup. I could see the lines where the makeup had stopped and his real skin had started. But that didn't bother me quite as much as the next thing.

The skin there definitely had something wrong with it; hence the grinding. It wasn't some foreign disease. Something wrong, that I had seen before. My breath whooshed out of me. I snapped my hand up, and pressed my middle finger right next to my lips on the left side. Faint, but still detectable -- I stroked the tiny scar there.

He laughed. Oh yes, he laughed.