AN: Thanks for the reviews!

"Turn the camera on," Joker ordered as they ran, casting glances over his shoulder down the hall, though Jonathan couldn't tell if he was watching for guards or the soon-to-be released inmates. "And gimme your pass key."

"Why?" he asked, glancing through the viewfinder as the camera flickered to life.

"'Cause I'm not coming in with you right away." He pulled the laughing gas from Jonathan's purse, sliding on the wrist strap. "This is supposed to be another massacre, remember? So, I'll do the massacring, and all you need to do is keep Harvey from leaving 'til I get there. And film it, of course."

"What?" Oh joy. He was about to be left in a room with a violent, depressed man who had every reason to hate the Joker and thus by association, Jonathan. The whole 'poisoning his girlfriend' thing probably wasn't going to help matters either. "Joker, I can't—"

"Sure you can." There was a knife glistening in his other hand now. "I have the utmost confidence in you. Make sure to get the good side of his face on tape, all right? And if you could get him to say his name, that would be fantastic."

"I nearly killed Rachel Dawes, you idiot. I don't think he'll be willing to cooperate with anything I suggest."

He waved the hand without a knife in it dismissively. "Oh, I'm sure he's over all the Rachel stuff by now."

"Doubtful," Jonathan muttered, envisioning all the ways this could lead to his slow, painful death.

"Well, look. If he's gonna be mad at anybody about her, it'll be me. I mean, you never blew her up." He stopped at a door which could only be Dent's, Jonathan realized with a sinking feeling, and swiped the key, pushing it open. "Now get in there."

"But I—"

"In!" He was pushed through. "Good luck, I'll be back in a minute."

Hell. With a last longing glance at the door, he turned to find Harvey Dent starting at him from the bed, good side of his face contorted with confusion. And it definitely was Dent; that became obvious now that he had a good look at the unmarred side of the man's face. He'd seen his picture often enough on campaign commercials—which ran so frequently he'd felt tempted to break the television in the rec room every time he heard 'I believe in Harvey Dent'—and he supposed he'd seen him in real life before, though that was harder to remember. His only clear memories of his trial were the same as any other memory on fear toxin; everything shaking, people oozing around like the spawn of Satan and Mrs. Butterworth, and the ever-attacking crows that he knew couldn't be real, but felt authentic nonetheless. For a second they stared at each other, before Crane remembered to focus the camera and decided to break the ice. "Er…hello."

Behind him, he heard the lock of the door click. Harley must have gotten into the guards' station.

Dent's good eye widened, looking more apprehensive, if anything. Jonathan supposed he'd come off as a woman until he spoke. Lovely. There was a first impression that would gain him all sorts of respect should this man join them. Which he doubted, but Joker seemed to think there was a good chance, and he'd learned not to discount things the Joker supposed. "Who are you?"

Crane was taken aback, slightly, by Dent's voice. He didn't recall the content of those campaign ads very well—he'd never been much for politics and tended to stop listening whenever someone brought it up—but he did remember Dent had a commanding presence, even in a recording. He'd always sounded so calm, self-assured, almost cocky. Now…well, there was confusion in his words, and something that wasn't quite fear but could become so, but overall there was a tone of overwhelming despondency, as though the man would like nothing more than to lay down and die right here and now. The effect the Joker had on people. He nearly shuddered.

"Um…" he said, upon realizing Dent was waiting for answer. "Dr. Jonathan Crane, I think we've met, haven't—" The other man bolted to his feet. Oh hell. He wished he'd thought to grab the knife from his purse before he came in; it was definitely too late now. If the sudden movement wouldn't be interpreted as a threat, the fact that he was retrieving a weapon definitely would. "Wait!" He held up the hand not holding the camera. "I'm not here to fight. The trial thing? I'm not angry about that. I don't even remember it, really."

Dent relaxed somewhat, though stayed guarded. He swallowed, and Crane watched with morbid fascination as the exposed muscles around his mouth clenched and relaxed. It was, in a disturbing way, fascinating to watch, like one of those medical mannequins whose heart and lungs really moved. Then he realized staring at Dent's deformity wasn't likely to get him on the man's good side, and turned his attention to the intact side of Dent's face. "What do you want, then?"

He sounded more depressed than ever, now. Had he been hoping to be attacked? Was he still heartbroken over Rachel Dawes, enough to wish for death? "To film this," he said honestly, lifting the camera. "Could you say your name, please?"

Dent stared at him as if he was the crazy one. "What?"

"Your name." From far off down the hall, he could hear screams. The Joker had gotten started, then. Well, at least one of them was making progress. He tried a different approach. "You are Harvey Dent, aren't you? Former district attorney of Gotham?"

"Yes," Dent said, looking lost as ever. Or at least, the part of his face that was still mobile did.

Success! That was nearly as good as getting him to say the name himself, anyway. And he was getting a clear enough shot of his face that identification would be easy. The news stations were going to have a field day with this. He supposed he might as well expose the entire conspiracy, while he waited for the Joker to arrive. "Aren't you supposed to be dead? They gave you a funeral."

"I know. I saw it." He could practically hear the gears in Dent's head turning. Certainly he could imagine his thoughts: 'Why is this psychotic in my cell? What does he want? And why is he filming this?' He didn't look as if he were about to try anything, though. At least, not until he had a better idea of what the hell was going on.

"They blamed your death on the Batman," Crane continued. "But clearly, you're still here. And I've heard tell about the other murders he's wanted for. They say it was really you."

"Who told you that?"

"A friend. Why, is it true?" Getting no response, he pushed harder. "That cop, you know, uh, Wuertz? They honored him as a hero, an honest cop fallen in the battle against evil. But…wasn't he the one that drove your lady friend to her doom?"

"Don't talk about her." Dent, now looking as if he wanted nothing more than to strangle the life out of Crane, took a step forward.

"Wait! I'm sorry, I won't bring that up again." Well, so much for getting a confession. Still, the fact that Dent was alive should let the public know that if the GPD had lied to them about Dent, they could well have lied about the other deaths.

"Good." Nearly all of the apprehension had gone from Dent's expression and stance. He supposed that once you knew all you had to do to make a super villain cower was talk to him in a harsh tone of voice and take a step forward, it was hard to be frightened. "Why are you here?"

"To get this on tape," he said, as innocently as possible. He didn't want his alliance with the Joker to come out, at least, not until it was unavoidable. Playing crazy could work to his advantage, making evading questions less suspicious. And maybe gain him sympathy. Hopefully there was a lesser chance of being beaten to death if he projected the air of a cross-dressing lunatic. "We're trying to clear the Batman's name, you see."

In retrospect, he wondered if mentioning the motive was unwise. He knew Batman had taken the blame to keep the citizens from losing faith, and if Dent still believed in Gotham, he might react violently to a plan to reveal the truth. Shit. Well, if he could just keep the camera safe until the Joker came in…easier said than done, probably.

But fate was on his side, it seemed, because Dent only stared. "'We'?"

Oh. Oops. Well, not responding was probably the best choice here. "The cops are all against him now, you know, and he can't come out and play anymore because of it. It's no fun without him."

"Fun," Dent repeated, voice flat. He seemed torn between shaking his head in disgust, and staring in disbelief.

Crane nodded, looking up at him with the most disarming, broken smile he could muster. Which was harder than it looked; there could only be a height difference of two inches or so between them. He'd always thought Dent was taller. Maybe it was just the air of confidence and power he'd projected that made it seem that way. "You didn't have fun, when you did it?"

He did shake his head, finally. "You're insane."

"He learned from the best," the Joker said, stepping inside. His wig was crooked and his dress splashed with blood, but he seemed uninjured.

"Joker," Dent growled, and in that moment Jonathan could see the power he'd once held, the man who had taken on the mob and laughed about it, walking through Gotham as though he wasn't worried he could be killed at any second. But there was a darkness there too; a vicious, vengeful side he must have kept hidden deep within when he was the DA. The brighter the photo, the darker the negative. He knew one thing; much like the Batman, Harvey Dent was not someone he'd want to encounter in an alley at night.

He'd never been so overcome with the desire to analyze someone before. Now wasn't the best time, though.

If the Joker was at all intimidated by Dent's rage, he didn't show it. "Joker?" he repeated, in mock surprise. "Really? Where?" He glanced around the room before looking down at himself. "Oh. So, Harvey, good to see you—"

He was slammed into the wall, lifted off the ground, Dent's hand around his throat. Jonathan watched, frozen with panic, and found himself wondering just how Dent's eye on the burnt side hadn't dried out, having no eyelid or tear ducts that he could see. Amazing, really, how inane his thoughts became in times of crisis.

Joker, for someone being strangled, looked remarkably calm. If he wasn't so worried, it might be amusing. "Hey, Jonny, film this from the other side. Wouldn't want the good people of Gotham to forget it's their White Knight they're watching, after all." He paused, then managed a laugh. "Hey, another knight. It really is a fairy tale."

"You bastard," Dent hissed, and Jonathan noted that his good side was almost unrecognizable as well, contorted with rage.

"Watch it, Harvey. Statements like that, and you'll lose the votes of Gotham's illegitimate." He paused, as if in thought. "Wait, guess that doesn't matter anymore, huh?"

"You ruined my life."

"All I did was hold up a mirror to your happy little world," Joker said, suddenly serious. "All I did was show you how things really are. You're the one who ruined your life, and good riddance, it was boring as hell before I intervened. I might have given you the gun, but I didn't make you shoot anybody. So don't try and pin this on me, buddy boy."

"You killed Rachel!" Her name was shouted, though out of rage or a desire to be heard over the growing cacophony outside, Jonathan wasn't sure. Rage seemed more likely.

"Oh, we're back to that again." Joker rolled his eyes. "We've been through this, remember? And your little game of chance let me off the hook, so don't drag up water under the bridge. I got off fair and square. What, you wanna flip again?"

"No. You had your chance." He still looked enraged as ever. "Maybe this time I'll go for something else, something that matters to you the way Rachel mattered to me." And to Jonathan's horror, he found the man turned to face him.

"Mr. Dent, I just want you to know that I would have voted for you, if I'd been legally able," he tried, taking a step backwards.

Joker laughed, the sound raspier than ever thanks to the hands around his neck. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen, threatening mental patients. Besides, this is me we're talking about, Harvey. You really think I care what happens to him?"

He's just saying that, Jonathan reassured himself. Didn't make it hurt any less.

With a sigh that nearly became a shout, Dent let him go, the red and irritated skin of the Joker's throat standing out in sharp contrast to the white of his face paint. "What do you want?"

"It's not what I want, it's what you want."

"Cut the crap, Joker," he said, slumping onto the bed. "I'm not in the mood."

"Fine. Outside your door, there's absolute chaos. I guarantee you, what's left of the Arkham staff is far too preoccupied at the moment to keep anyone from getting out, even a prisoner as top secret as yourself. Meaning you could escape right now if you wanted. Or stay, and rot in a cell for the rest of your life. It's your choice."

Dent glared at him, but Jonathan took the pause before his response as a sign that he was considering it. "Escape and do what? What have I got left to live for?"

"You know, you really don't need a reason to live." The Joker dropped down on the bed beside him, Jonathan following his movements with the camera. "People always assume there's some great meaning to the world, some, uh, true path that they just need to find and everything will be a-okay, but there's not. It's all random, Harvey. You don't need something to live for. All you need is a motivation."

Dent's good eye blinked, half his face alternating between a look of hatred, and one of thoughtfulness. "What motivation?"

"Whatever you want, that's the beauty of it! I dunno…" he pursed his lips, considering. "Go back after the mob, or finish your revenge on the people responsible for—" Catching sight of Dent's expression, the Joker seemed to decide it was best not to mention Rachel. "For…you know. Or get outta Gotham, if you want. Really, what's keeping you here? Starting over someplace else has gotta be better than staying trapped in here for the rest of your life. I mean, look at this place. What idiot decided to paint the walls that shade of yellow? It's like jaundice, only, you know, less pleasant."

"Why do you care, anyway? What's in this for you?"

"Honestly? Nothing." He ran his tongue over his lips, smirking slightly as Harvey blinked again. "Like I said, everybody needs a motivation, and mine's the Batman. Now that we've got proof of your existence to clear his name, I really don't care what happens to you. I mean, I'd like for you to go back to wreaking havoc, I'm all for chaos, but at the end of the day, if you stay here, it's no great loss. So what's it gonna be, Two-Face?"

Jonathan watched, perplexed, as Harvey Dent pulled from under the bed's pillow what seemed to be a silver dollar. Well, this just gets stranger and stranger. He stood silent, filming, as Dent turned to reveal a side scratched and marred, barely recognizable as a coin at all.

"I leave," he said, and Jonathan felt more lost than ever.

"Wait a minute, Harv. How come my option gets the bad side?" Joker asked, pouting. In the nurse's dress, it was an especially disturbing sight.

"Because you suggested it."

"Touché."

Is he flipping a coin for this? Who leaves a decision like that up to chance? Jonathan recalled the Joker's words from his explanation of the plan earlier, something about Dent's inability to make his own decisions. He hadn't realized it was to this extreme. Fascinating. Now he really wanted to analyze him.

"I stay," Dent said, turning the coin back to its good side. Joker nodded, and Jonathan focused the camera to Dent's hand just as he flipped, tracing the coin's movement through the air and back to his hand, zooming in.

Bad side up.

"Yay!" Joker clapped his hands, like a child witnessing a magic trick. "It's funny, isn't it, how chance for you always seems to go in my favor?"

"Shut up." Dent stood, and Jonathan took a few steps back, zooming the view out again. "Get out of here before I decide to make killing you my new motivation."

"Aw, don't be like that, Harvey. I've got a proposition for you."

"No."

"But you haven't even heard it yet!" the Joker protested, standing. "You might like it, it's right up your alley."

He sighed, biting what remained of his lower lip. "What is it?"

"We're going after Batman. Wanna help?"

It was remarkable, really, how much expression he could show with half of his face blown off. "Why the hell would I want to help you do that?"

"Because Batman's the one who stopped your revenge in the first place. And it's because of the Bat that I showed up, so in turn, if he hadn't been around, your life would be perfect."

"That," Dent said, scowling, "is the worst logic I've ever heard."

Joker shrugged. "It doesn't matter how I reason it, 'cause we both know it won't be logic that gets you on my side. Just luck. So flip it again, why don'tcha."

"Fine." He did, Jonathan following the coin with the camera again. This time it landed good side up. They didn't need to be told that that meant no.

"Guess chance isn't always on my side," Joker said, swiping the door and holding it open. "Ah well. Maybe next time. Happy Halloween, Harvey!" he shouted, at the man's retreating back.

"Go to hell."

"Goodbye!" Jonathan called happily. Hey, if he'd started the disarmingly out of touch with reality routine, it was best to keep it up. If their paths crossed again, it could be helpful. He turned to the Joker. "Can I stop filming now?"

"Yeah, go ahead." Joker watched as Dent disappeared around the corner, a growing smirk on his face. "This is fantastic."

Jonathan watched the viewfinder go black, flipped it shut. "What did you do to him?" That coin thing…it would take a lot to reduce a man's view of the world to such an absolute, black and white interpretation. He tried to imagine going through life making only yes or no choices.

"Besides making his girl all kaboomy? Nothing much, not really. C'mon." He took the wrist of Jonathan's free hand, dragging him along. The hall was littered with bodies, some smiling, some stabbed, but many torn to bits.

"What the hell did you do?" he asked, in an awed whisper.

"Remember when you said some people might react violently?"

"And how," he muttered, shaking his head. "Any sign of the Batman?"

Joker sighed. "No. Not yet. And I'm not leaving 'til I see him, even if it means getting out on the roof and shouting through a megaphone."

"Shouting?" He raised an eyebrow. "I'd have thought you'd be serenading him, the way you go on."

"Hmmm. Good idea. Lemme see…'love lifts us up where we belong, where eagles fly on a mountain high…'" He was half-stepping, half-skipping over the bodies, dragging Jonathan along behind him so quickly he was barely able to keep from falling over.

"Hey, wait!" he said, catching sight of a particular door, wrenching free.

"What?" Joker asked, as he handed over the pass key. "Other friends you need to visit?"

"If my friends have any sense, they'll be long gone by now." He pushed the door open, holding it open for the Joker as he stepped inside. "Anyway, this is the storage room."

"And we're here why?" he asked, watching as Jonathan scanned the shelves.

"When I was brought in after Batman captured me in that parking garage, I had fear toxin with me. With any luck, it'll be here somewhere."

"But we've got the laughing gas."

"Right, and Batman's got a body that was affected with the stuff. Meaning he might have found a way to counteract it. He's only had it for a short time, but we've no idea what resources he's got at his disposal."

"Uh, kitten? He's got the antidote to your fear gas too, remember?"

"Not this one." Finally, he found the box marked 'J. Crane' and grabbed it, rifling through. "It was a new compound, made specifically so he wouldn't have the antidote, and I never had the chance to use it, so he didn't know it was any diff—got it!" With immense relief, he pulled the canister from the box, sliding the wrist strap into place. Maybe there is a God, after all.

"The hell is wrong with the security in this place?" the Joker asked, shaking his head. "I mean, why would they keep that lying around?"

"For some aspiring mad scientists to get their hands on, I'd imagine," Jonathan said, opening the door again. "The doctors here are just as bad as the patients, hadn't you noticed?"

"Yeah. To the parking lot!" They were off again, Jonathan leading this time.

"Why the parking lot? I thought you wanted to see Batman."

"I do, but outside there won't be as many distractions, hopefully. I mean, it's hard to get renunited when crazy people run through tearing each other apart, you know?"

"Can't say that I do," he said, quickening his pace. "And I hope that I never—"

WHAM. It was like something out of a cartoon, when two people walk around a corner at the same time and straight into each other, only much less amusing, as he'd been moving quickly and the impact hurt. He fell backward, bits of broken glass from smashed-in windows and debris from God knows what scraping into his legs as he landed, the camera dropping out of his hand as he hit the ground. He pulled himself up slightly, heard the Joker's amused giggle, and raised his head, fully intended to deal with whatever idiot had crashed into him and then tell the clown off. The threat he'd been preparing died in his throat.

On the floor beside him, also sitting up, was the Batman.

AN: 'The brighter the photo, the darker the negative' is from the episode of Batman the Animated Series 'Two-Face Part One.'

The Mrs. Butterworth line, in regards to the fear toxin hallucinations, was inspired by a line in the book Party Monster where James St. James mentions that when taking Special K, everyone tends to look like Mrs. Butterworth.