JoKeR's NoTe: J: Our dear Smiley was being very lazy. So I'm taking over. Don't worry, you'll have your precious little author back soon enough, but she's busy. You could say she's a bit…tied up, right now. *Puts foot on seat of chair Smiele is tied to. Smiele groans.*

Now, as much as we love replying to all your little reviews, I wanna keep this author note as short as possible. Don't worry; you'll get a reply from her- I'm just finishing up where she left you hanging. Oh, and the wait will be worth it. There's a surprise for you. At the end.

DiScLaImEr: My LaWyEr SaId I DoN't OwN bAtSy, So I kIlLeD hIm.

Sofia watched him nervously. He'd been silently pacing, throwing her a glare every so often. He was obviously stressed. Apparently, she wasn't supposed to have found out.

"How did you find out?" he finally asked, still using the raspy voice. He had stopped pacing, although she much preferred that he would start again so the full intensity of his gaze.

"It wasn't that hard, Bruce. The bruises, the sneaking out at night… everything. It only made sense that it'd be you. Who else would have the cause, not to mention the funding?" she reasoned weakly.

"Of course." He muttered and sighed, and then began to pace again.

"I won't tell anyone." She promised after an awkward silence ensued.

"That wasn't what I was afraid of," he replied in the same raspy tone and she began to become annoyed at his secrecy.

"Will you please lose the voice and cowl? I know it's you. Just… tell me what's going on. What are you afraid of?"

He did as was asked of him and sat down in front of her. "If anyone found out that you knew who I was, there'd be trouble. You could be kidnapped again and tortured to get the information out of you. I couldn't have done that to you."

Sofia was at a loss for words. Looking at the tired man in front of her, she finally understood why he needed the mask. When she remembered what happened to Rachel… The Joker had known that Bruce, or Batman rather, had something with the woman. True, another important factor in her murder was her job choice, and her fiancé. Which begged the question…

"Did you really kill Harvey Dent?" the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Under normal circumstances, she would've clapped her hand over her mouth in fear at upsetting the hero, but now that she knew it was Bruce, she felt she could speak more freely.

"Yes," he nodded, but seeing her horrified look, continued. "He tried to kill Jim Gordon's boy."

Now Sofia was more confused than ever, and Bruce could tell. With a sigh, he painstakingly told the tale of all that happened after the hospital explosion.

"The Joker took a bus of about 30 or so hostages, all of them doctors or nurses, away from the hospital. It was daytime, and I couldn't get him. He knew that. Harvey Dent was the only patient recorded missing. Gordon told everyone that he was fine, that we got him out, but the two of us believed that he was one of the captives."

"And was he?"

"Not even close. The Joker had twisted him, manipulated his mind somehow. He took Rachel's death and used it against him, driving Dent to insanity. Throughout the course of that day, Dent killed five people, including a corrupt detective and a crime lord. We didn't know this until later, of course.

"While all of us were focused on the Joker at the Prewitt Building, Dent had his own plans. He had Gordon's family, and was holding them where Rachel died, 250 52nd Street. When I finally beat the Joker, he had a trick play. An ace in the hole, he called it. Eventually the SWAT members came to take the Joker to Arkham, and I had to find Gordon.

"It was terrible. In Dent's mind, it was Gordon's fault that Rachel died, that he was scarred. He'd mentioned two faulty cops, Wuertz and Ramirez, at the beginning of the Joker's reign. Gordon didn't fire them though, he believed in both too much. Those were the two cops that picked up Harvey and Rachel so they could be wired to the explosives."

"It wasn't Gordon's fault! The Joker's the one who tried to kill him! The Joker's the one who killed Rachel!" Tears were filling her eyes, and she felt a wave of hatred for the man she once thought she loved.

"Maybe I shouldn't have told you this…" Bruce muttered, uncomfortable at the fact that he was the reason she was now sobbing.

"No- no, just keep going. I'm fine. I have to hear this. I have to know the truth, Bruce." She held her ground, and, seeing she would not be deterred, he continued his story.

"Harvey became obsessed in a short time with chance. He flipped a double-headed coin that had been with him in the explosion to decide his victims' fate. The clean side, you'd live. The burnt side, you'd die. He found it, in some twisted way, to be a fair decision. Emotions always get in the way of true justice, he reasoned. He had kidnapped Gordon's whole family, and was going to kill the person the Commissioner loved the most, so Gordon would feel his pain.

"He decided that Gordon's son, Jimmy, was the one, and flipped the coin. I tried to save them, but he shot me as well. I got back up before he could shoot Jimmy, and I ended up knocking him off of the building's remains, but I caught Jimmy, who'd been in his arms. We had to blame the killings on someone besides Dent. If Dent had been realized, half of the criminals in Blackgate would have been released back on the streets, and all our work would've been for nothing. I was the easiest to blame, because of the mask. Not even Gordon knew who I was." Bruce concluded.

Sofia stared at him dumbfounded. "Why not just blame it all on the Joker? He'd been killing people that whole time!" she asked incredulously, but Bruce shook his head at her naivety.

"We couldn't blame it on him. He does occasionally lie, but he's very proud when it comes to bragging about all of the people he's killed. His plan was to try and cause a rift between us, if the blame was placed on him, it'd be even easier to take down the city."

"He doesn't plan." She murmured, so low he could barely hear.

"Come again?"

"The Joker. He doesn't like to plan things." She said louder. The room grew awkwardly quiet until she cleared her throat.

"You just… lied to the city?" She asked weakly, and although it was not an accusatory tone, Bruce felt the need to defend himself.

"All of those inmates would be let out, I had no choice!" he shouted and she cringed at the echoes reverberating off of the cavern walls.

"I wasn't blaming you, Bruce," She calmly answered. He sunk into a chair wearily. To change the subject, she asked. "How did you know I was here?"

Bruce gave her an incredulous look and she backtracked. "I mean, I know you'd have something but I expected more…"

"More what?"

"Trapdoors and booby-traps." She admitted, blushing a bit at her imagination.

"Chuckie! Welcome to my, ah, humble abode." The Joker swung his legs down from the arm of the hole-ridden priest's chair. Charles wrung his hands with anxiety. The clown up on the altar exhumed power and danger. One wrong action, and the accountant's neck would be split before you could say "Ha ha ha".

Collins shivered at the man who's back was now the Joker's footrest. There was a pool of blood around the man's head led Charles to believe that he was dead, but that notion was erased when the victim moaned as the clown dug his heels into the former man's back.

The Joker motioned him closer. "I'm gonna need to call in that favor."

The Joker's favor had been simple: get Sofia Roselle. It should have been so easy for Charlie! He worked at Daggett's office; he knew when Roselle was coming in for the meeting with Stryver. He kicked the sidewalk in frustration as the Lamborghini drove away. He had been so close. Just as he was about to offer her a ride, the Prince of Gotham pulls up in his fancy car with his fancy suit and his fancy haircut. And then (the Joker would've laughed at this) he pays Charlie, for almost kidnapping his little girlfriend!

Sitting down at the table in his apartment, Collins poured himself a strong drink. He knew it was inevitable, but he didn't want to go back after such a failure. Still, he'd be punished worse if he avoided the clown. He only owed the jester a favor because the latter spared him and his family. Surely the madman would have no qualms about killing children.

Around 9:30, he kissed his wife goodbye (who knew nothing of his illegal dealings) and proceeded to leave to find the clown. The night air was freezing, another sign that winter would seen be here. Pulling his scarf tighter around his neck, the bald accountant ducked into a shady bar called "The Stacked Deck". A petite Aryan woman strutted over to him with a beer on a platter, a small place card next to it.

"Compliments of tha' boss, pal." Came an accented voice and Charlie's eyes widened at the little blonde woman, who only winked and swished away. He was shaking nervously now. The plan had ben for him to meet the Joker at the church, and now the clown was aware of his failure. There was not to be a happy ending for Charles in this.

He glugged down the beer in one mighty swig, feeling a warmth rush down his lungs, calming his frazzled nerves only slightly. As he drank, he picked up the card and nearly choked on the beer.

Once your beer is good and done,

Meet me in the back for some fun

-J

Suddenly he wished that he hadn't been so fast to drink the alcohol, and scanned the room for an exit, only to find a tall man standing by each, with a grotesque scar clearly visible someplace on their bodies. Feeling ill, Collins folded up the note and put it in his pocket, making his way to the backroom. He was silent as each guard followed him in. The Joker was sitting in a lounge chair there, the ever-obedient Harlequin leaning against it on the clown's right side. Charlie was silent, waiting for the other man to speak.

"Ya know," mused the Joker, standing suddenly and b- lining for the accountant, flicking out a switchblade and holding it to the man's mouth. "Common courtesy dictates that when someone buys you a drink, you show gratitude."

Charlie was frozen in time. So this is how I die. Sweat rolled off his forehead like the little droplets of condensation on a cold glass during a hot July day. The man was trembling pathetically before the clown, and slightly sunk, feeling very much intimidated.

"But we aren't men of courtesy, are we Chuck?" The Joker sneered and threw the man to the ground with force, nicking his victim's mouth slightly with the edge of the knife. "I gave you one job." He pointed out, circling the kneeling man like a hawk. Collins' head was down, and one hand was to his mouth as he whimpered pathetic little sobs.

"ONE JOB!" he yelled in a demonic voice, kicking the man so he collapsed onto his stomach. Harley was watching on with interest and slight annoyance. Apparently, she hadn't been informed about this "job". Bending down and whispering so Harley couldn't hear, the Joker again began to speak. "I asked you to bring be my tiger. And you let me down. Terrible hunting skills, if you ask me."

He kicked the man again, laughing maniacally at his moans of pain. The harlequin watched on with a sick sense of pride and love, and she giggled along with the clown.

"Now this leaves me in a tough position, Chuck. On one hand, you failed. I should kill you for that."

Another kick to the ribs.

"On the other hand," he kneeled down. "Maybe you just haven't been trained properly in tiger hunting. One more shot. After that, your little, uh, family? Won't get the same chance I'm giving you."

One more rib-splitting kick, and the Joker stalked away, his harlequin following closely behind.

Alfred had been courteous enough to drive Sofia and Bruce (plus two models he brought along) to the boy's home (which they had learned was named St. Swithin's), and Sofia was glad to have someone to talk to. It was pretty hard to ignore the giggling coming from the backseat, even with the partition up. She had no idea how Alfred could stand it.

A horde of boys playing basketball immediately halted their game as the famous Bruce Wayne stepped out of the car, a model on each arm. Most were too focused on their idol or his girls to notice the pretty assistant at first, except for a few of the older ones, who probably wouldn't have known her eye color if you asked them (A/N: If you know what I mean).

The models and Bruce went to talk business with the head, Father O'Reilly, while Sofia went around to mingle and find heart-breaking testimonies to cause the trust-fund babies to open their wallets. After an hour or so, Sofia had four testimonies. She could only really use one more, so she let her eyes wander across the area. Not wanting to interrupt the boys' game, she decided to find a boy alone. Impossible.

Literally every single orphan there was playing basketball or playing in a large group. Sighing to herself, Sofia glanced over at the building Bruce was in. It didn't seem like he was coming out anytime soon, so Sofia resigned herself to sitting on the bleachers by the court. She had recorded each boy's story on a small silver device that Bruce, for some reason, looked at like it was the devil.

The first boy's parents were killed by a gangbanger. The second boy's parents didn't want him. The third had an abusive mother. The fourth's father was dead, and his mother could not afford to pay for him. Although each story brought an equal amount of tears to her eyes, the last angered her. Why was it always about the money? Did someone not deserve to have a family because their guardians couldn't afford them?

It made Sofia's blood boil at first, but the crimson liquid eventually turned to ice with fear. Wasn't that the Joker's basis for why he did what he did (or one of many bases)? Was she becoming like him?

She shook herself. She was in no way like him.

Oh yeah, you just forged a friendship off of you not having anything in common.

No, she told herself, I had things in common with Jack. Jack is dead; he's the Joker now. Two different people.

It was okay to be angered about the money dispute, Sofia decided. Welfare was a faraway dream in Gotham, and there was a shortage of jobs. It was a logical irritation.

While her mind battled with itself, she took no notice of the young teenager who sat down beside her as she bit her nails, a nervous habit she'd lately developed. The nail beds had been reduced from their former glory to unattractive stumps.

"That isn't good for your fingers, you know." A sudden voice startled Sofia from her thoughts.

"Huh?" was the smart answer that escaped her mouth.

"Biting your nails like that." He pointed out and she looked up, at a loss for words. The boy, probably around 14 years old, was almost the spitting image of Jack at that age. The slightly long hair, but not too long, the crooked grin, even the eyes…

"I, um, when I get nervous…" she stumbled for words, but he switched subjects.

"You're Sofia Roselle, aren't you?" The question popped out of his mouth. Finally calming down, she grimaced.

"Saw me on the news?"

"Yeah." They sat in silence for a bit, watching the boys putting the ball up to the hoop.

"You're, uh, you're interviewing us, right?" She nodded. "I'd like to tell you my story. If you don't mind. I just… I haven't talked to any of the psychologists here. They treat me like a kid. Which I guess I still am, but…"

"They're being too condescending, right?"

He nodded.

"If you'd tell me, I'd love to hear your story."

He took a shaky breath. "When I was really young, around one or two, my mom died in a car crash. I barely remember her, but my dad told me great stories about how they met, and how he proposed to her. He was the only family I had once my mom died. But we didn't have a lot of money. So he gambled, and got in deep with the sharks."

Sofia's heart skipped a beat at the almost identical words to the Joker's scar story at the Dent Fundraiser. Just a coincidence.

"One day, I got sent home early from school when I was seven. My father… when he opened the door, I could tell something was off with him. I had no idea what, but he pulled me inside really quickly, and he kept staring at the door like it'd blow up. He made me go up to my room and lock the door… he knew they were coming that day. He, uh, tried to protect me."

Sofia could tell that the teen was getting choked up, but he kept pressing on.

"They shot him. He didn't suffer though. Clean shot through the brain. The neighbors heard, and they came rushing over, but by the time they got there, the men were gone. And I hid in my room the whole time."

He tensed up in self-loathing and Sofia couldn't help but comfort him like she used to for Jack. After all, he was only a few years younger than her. Scooting over to be right next to him, she guided his head towards the crook of her neck and rubbed his shoulder. He didn't cry, not in front of the other guys, but he calmed down and relaxed. They sat there for a while until Bruce came out with the models. He sent Sofia a questioning look, but she just shook her head. The boy felt the movement and looked up.

"You should probably go; wouldn't want to keep Bruce Wayne waiting." He said Wayne's name in a tone of admiration. Of course he would though- Bruce Wayne was a billionaire orphan. He gave the boys hope.

Gathering her things, Sofia climbed down the bleachers and started walking away. She paused and turned around.

"I never got your name, by the way." She called. Hesitating for a moment, he finally gave her a small smile and answered.

"Robin."

JoKeR's NoTe: Now, you're probably all wondering where your precious Smiley went all these weeks. Truth be told, she was lazy. Idle fingers must be punished, as they say, so I'll be doing these notes and answering the replies. If you stuck around: good. You passed the test. Now I won't kill you. Probably.

Kisses!

~J