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 12: Hysteria

A/N: Dedicated to MK08 for all of her kind words and support.

Song: Haunted by Disturbed

"You just can't help yourself, can you? You've always gotta have the last laugh." Harley handed a sobbing Amy to one of the thugs, giving the man a sharp look that promised a thrashing if he did anything to the poor child. "You're sick."

"That's why they call me the Joker. I always get the last laugh."

The arrogance. "Uh-huh... Of course you do."

Go on, she thought. You finally know what you want, don't you? Then go for it! What's the worst he could do? Kill you? Please. He couldn't bring himself to kill his little Harley. You're too important to him. He's in a damn good mood, so get your ass moving and take advantage of it!

She tried to fight back the urge. Watching as he stared out the shattered window into the city of perpetual insomnia he had created; into the dark abyss where chaos now reigned supreme.

He hated the world and the so-called "order" by which society resided. The arrogant fools who tried in vain to change the balance of things. But he'd show them. In the end, when the world was turned to dust by his hand, the mindless fools of society would devour each other in a desperate need to survive.

And they would all fail.

He would be the victor. He would watch as they gave in to the ravenous hunger that resided within. For him, there is nothing but this. There was no art opening, there was no benefit. There was chaos and nothing else.

He was a master in the art of destruction. A God among insects; the Devil incarnate; an agent of chaos. He knew of all the psychobabble about civilization. And in his eyes, it was all a big fucking joke.

Sickening.

He met her gaze, that twisted grin tugging at his lips. He didn't speak at first, just stood there, devouring her with the entirety of his dark eyes. She looked away, startled by the chaos that surrounded him like stale mists. The atmosphere of the room was terribly oppressive, and she felt as if, at any given moment, he would strike, and all would be lost before she could even draw a breath.

Harley flinched as he moved, circling behind her, holding the flat of the blade against her lip. His voice was sickly sweet as if he had read her thoughts. "Now, you know what you want." He hissed the last word into her ear almost seductively, trailing his knife over her collarbone, the tip of the blade dipping into her skin as he bared his teeth and nipped savagely at her ear.

Harley knew what he was implying, but there was a catch: His ideals came first, and then she could have all the bittersweet playtime she wanted.

Sometimes you've gotta run before you can walk.

6 - 7 - 6 - 7

In complete honesty, this whole damn situation had Bruce on the fucking edge. He couldn't very well go against the Joker's terms, seeing how he would put both Anna and Amy in danger if he did. But now, right at this very moment, there was a psychotic murderer running around, probably waiting to douse the city in flames. He was Gotham's "Dark Knight" and Joker was the "Agent of Chaos." Things would never be peaceful in Gotham with said chaos running amok, that much was certain.

In the end, the battle for "Gotham's Soul" would be long and bloody.

But the Joker had already made himself clear: "I don't wanna kill you! What would I do without you? Go back to ripping off mob dealers? No. No... no. No, you... You complete me." As twisted as the words sounded, Bruce knew better. To a man like the Joker, this was just another part of the game.

And he, the Batman, was just another piece to be manipulated and destroyed.

"This is what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. You... truly are... incorruptible, aren't you? Hm? You won't kill me out of some misplaced sense of self-righteousness. And I won't kill you because... you're just too much fun!"

He was right. Bruce wouldn't kill him to satisfy his self-righteousness. That wasn't what he did. He had set the guidelines for himself when he took up his position as Batman years earlier. And he had promised that he would never take the life of another.

The Joker's main focus, aside from Batman, was to send the world up in flames. The thought of being forced to watch his loved ones as they were engulfed in flames was almost enough to drive him over the edge of reason.

If he caved now, when things were at their worst, he would be no better than the criminals he was trying to stop.

And that was what the Joker wanted most. To corrupt the incorruptible.

He had already proven his theory to be fact through Harvey Dent. He had successfully shown Bruce that even those who were seemingly incorruptible would fall, if one used the proper leverage.

And if he caved, as Harvey had, then the Joker would have won. He would have successfully corrupted the "incorruptible" Batman. After Harvey's untimely death, Bruce couldn't afford to take any more chances. He was the only one left. The only man capable of being the "hero" of Gotham, whether the people believed in him or not.

This was his only chance.

6 - 7 - 6 - 7

He didn't care that it was well past midnight. It wasn't like he had to be anywhere in the morning, anyway. It wasn't like anybody was going to rock up on his doorstep asking if he'd like a job. He didn't need one, anyway. After fifteen years in the army, one got fed up of being around other people.

Well, at least he did.

In actuality, he wasn't a "people person." There wasn't any point in associating with people once one had accomplished what one needed to in life. People were around to provide jobs and shit. He didn't really give a damn what they did, so long as they left him the hell alone.

In all honesty, he hadn't always been so cold-hearted. He'd been married once, to a truly marvelous woman by the name of Emiline Lee. She'd longed to have a family of her own for years, but he hadn't been ready for the responsibility of raising children. He'd never meant to knock her up, but it had just happened without warning. As much as he wanted to forget, he couldn't. He would never be able to forget the day that she had told him that she was expecting. The child had been a beautiful baby girl, Anna Michelle, who had been named for her late grandmother.

Almost as quickly as their daughter had come, their son arrived three years later.

Emiline had left the child's name to him, but he didn't know the first thing about naming a child, much less a frighteningly silent infant. The first thing that had popped into his head had been his late brother's name. Jack Edwin. It wasn't the most interesting name, but it seemed to fit fit.

The first few years of raising a family had been much more pleasant than he had previously thought. Strangely, the craving for that familiar old "antidote" started acting up again every time he looked at his son. He'd told himself that he didn't need it. But the more he thought about it, the closer he came to giving in to the temptation, until he finally crashed.

He hadn't meant to get smashed after work that first night. It had just happened. Emiline must have known that he was drunk that night, since she had rushed the kids, who had been nine and six at the time, upstairs to their rooms when he finally got the front door open.

For the next nine years, there had been so many nights that he'd come home drunk. So many nights that he'd lost his temper, not only frightening his wife and kids, but himself as well. So many nights where he could barely remember a thing, much less walking in the door after a trip to the bar.

He stared blankly at the television screen, seemingly too drunk to notice the late-night report on a sighting of Gotham's local terrorist, the Joker.

Why won't these visions disappear?

The reason was unknown, but since the day that the Joker had shown up in Gotham, he couldn't keep those vicious memories out of his head. Memories of the terrible things he had done that night. The night he had killed his wife, and tried to kill his son.

Something seemed very familiar about the painted terrorist that ran amok throughout the streets of Gotham, but he couldn't figure out why. He couldn't help feeling that he had some sort of connection to the man. Something bound them together; something that he was unable to see.

Why is he the one I always see...?

6 - 7 - 6 - 7

"Anna, shouldn't we think about this first?" Bruce grabbed her arm as she tried to run to the door. He held her at arms length, meeting her angry gaze. She wasn't fooling him with that look. Her eyes were glazed over and wet, and he knew she had been crying.

She placed her hands against his chest, pushing herself out of his reach. "No, Bruce," she snapped. "I don't want to think about this, because..." Anna backed herself up against the door, grasping for the handle as Bruce approached.

"Anna..."

"There's nothing to think about! Don't you understand? This is the only way! When Amy was taken from me, I swore that if I ever had even the slightest chance of saving her... I would take it," she barked. "Don't get in my way."

Bruce sighed. It was true that he didn't understand the Joker the way she did, but he wasn't about to let her leave on some suicide mission to save her child. It didn't matter how much she would hate him, he wouldn't allow her to get herself killed. He'd seen enough innocent people torched, beaten, and even mutilated across Gotham, and the last thing he wanted was for Anna to be added to the body count.

"I may not understand him the way that you do," Bruce said gently. "But... I know that he's not gonna just let you walk away with Amy! You haven't seen the people he's killed, Anna. You don't have to choose between lives. And I hope you never will..."

"Shut up! You have no idea what I saw that night, so don't you dare lecture me! Were you there when those people were burned? Were you there when they were beaten or mutilated? Were you? You act like you know everything, but you don't! You didn't come home and see your mother's corpse on the kitchen floor... Or watch as your brother slipped into insanity... So don't talk to me about the 'horrors' you've seen, Bruce...! Don't."

She was right. What right did he have to talk to her about such things? She had seen far more horrific and terrifying things than anything he could ever imagine.

And they both knew it.

He took a step towards her. "Anna, please..."

"Stay back," she breathed, eyes wide. "Stay back! Keep away from me!" she screamed as she ran out the door, slamming it before Bruce could even take another step.

He hung his head shamefully. "Damn... I should have let her be..."

But it was too late. She was gone, and the only thing he could do to save her, was follow.

6 - 7 - 6 - 7

One who was far more practiced in deception would have been able to more fully control their emotions, but Harley clearly didn't fall into that category. Her thoughts were practically stamped on her face, the way her eyes changed with her mood. And, to make matters worse, she was shaking like a leaf caught in a cold September breeze.

Well, damn.

Even in the dark, he could see the horrified expression she wore as she tried to curl herself into a tight ball. What good was she to him if she couldn't at least try not to hyperventilate?

He leaned against the car door, glancing at the shuddering woman sitting in the back seat. "Maybe you should wait here," he suggested, watching her eyes widen. She clearly didn't want to be left alone, as she crawled over the seat and out the open window, clinging to his coat like a frightened child. "What the fuck are you afraid of, anyway? It's not like something's gonna get you," he muttered darkly as the goons arrived with the van.

Harley scowled. "I already told you that I didn't want to come! But do you listen to me? Of course not! You always gotta have the last laugh or whatever the hell you wanna call it! I don't understand why you have to be so damn stubborn all the damn time! You drive me crazy!"

Jack smirked, clearly getting a kick out of her tantrum. "Hey, it's not my fault I have that affect on people. If you're gonna blame anyone," he paused, pointing to the house across the street, "then it's gonna be the old man. He started it," he laughed, using a child's most prominent excuse.

The goons shuffled out of the van, two of them carrying various weapons and explosives while the third held a hand over the mouth of the sobbing, thrashing five-year-old.

It was obvious that Amy wanted nothing more than to escape, even die, though she didn't know what death really was. She wanted to run and hide where no one could ever find her. Tears from her blue eyes ran down her little cheeks. She sniffled and hiccuped, wondering if her mother, Bruce, or even Batman would save her.

She flinched when the Joker shot that manic grin at her as he pointed the goons to their target. Amy watched as the house drew closer, and she couldn't help but wonder why she had to be there, too.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted Harley who looked just as upset as Amy felt. She wondered what had caused the woman's attitude to change so suddenly. Her usually calm and fearless expression had been replaced by one of mute, indescribable horror. Her skin tone had even paled in comparison to the paint that covered the Joker's face.

"I... I don't wanna do this..." she murmered with a tremor in her voice. "I don't wanna do this, Jack... I don't wanna be here...!"

Although this woman had helped kidnap her, Amy couldn't help but feel some sympathy for her. The fright in her voice sent chills down Amy's spine, and she knew that something horrible was about to happen. Amy turned her eyes forward, and saw that they were standing on the lawn in front of someone's large living room window.

The Joker sighed in frustration. "C'mon, it's not gonna be that bad. Nothing's gonna happen until Anna shows with her precious man, anyway. So just relax. You're really stressing me out."

The man who was holding Amy shifted slightly, placing her on the ground as one of the other men tied a cloth around her mouth. She had no idea what they were doing until she saw them draw the guns from their coats. Amy flinched, squeezing her eyes shut as she waited for the impact of the bullets against her little body.

The pain never came, and the sound of shattering glass filled her ears instead. She cracked her eyes open just as the man plucked her gently from the ground, holding her securely in his tight grip as he climbed into the house through the remains of the demolished window.

Amy took in her surroundings, noting that the only sound in the house, besides the crunching of glass against the carpet, came from a large television that sat in the corner of the next room, across from an older man in a recliner by the fireplace. The loud boom of the violent gunfire wracked her head, and she could only watch as the two other goons pried the man from his chair, forcing him onto his knees.

Although she didn't see him, Amy knew that the Joker had that sickening grin on his face as the trembling man spoke. "Who... who the hell are you people? What could you possibly want with me? I don't have anything you want! Just let me go!"

The Joker snickered. "Let you go? Now why would I do that when the party's just starting?"

Amy let out a muffled scream as his hand shot to the quivering man's throat. Even in the dark, she could see the glint of the knife, eager to sever flesh and bask in the iron tang of blood.

"There's nothing to be afraid of... if you cooperate." The Joker held the knife to the man's throat, that manic fire in his eyes. "We're gonna play a little game... And your fate rests solely on your shoulders, so I'd be pretty damn honest, if I were you."

Finis.