Warnings: Not really any.

A/N: Yooooo, happy anniversary/birthday y'all! It's hard to believe it's been a year since our darling Clown Man appeared on the scene, but then again it feels as if the last several months have been a whole ass decade on their own. I actually first watched the movie that Sunday, Oct. 6, so I might rewatch then. In the meantime, I got around to writing this one shot that I've been thinking about ever since I finished The Cat and wanted to continue writing little stories in the same universe. Arthur is not in it a lot *strictly speaking*, but he is a strong presence. I also hope I haven't horribly mangled another beloved character in the process

Word Count: 5000+ my apologies...?

...

Bernadette groaned as she pushed herself back from her drafting table. She surveyed half-done plans laid out before her, illuminated by the yellow light of the lamp clipped to the far right corner's edge. They'd have to be submitted soon, and her latest client wasn't one to be kept waiting.

She rubbed her eyes and yawned. Her long, curly dark brown hair had fallen out of its bun, so she pulled out the scrunchy it was in and gathered it up anew into a fresh, though still somewhat unruly, bun at the top of her head.

The stained coffee cup to her left caught her eye. She picked it up and peered into it, seeing a pool of stagnant, stale coffee at the bottom, with a few cigarette stubs floating around in it.

"Mmm," she grimaced. She hopped off her stool and headed for the kitchen to make a fresh pot. Mama would undoubtedly make some remark about how much coffee grounds she was shoveling into her coffee maker, especially for a late night, or rather, very early morning, pot. Put some cream or sugar in it, for gosh sakes, be kind to yourself, she'd probably say. Daddy would just smile and ask if he could have a cup.

She watched disinterestedly as the machine drip, drip, dripped dark liquid into the glass carafe. The first sound barely registered in her mind. But the next was loud enough to make her turn her head toward her living room.

Bernadette let the carafe completely fill, and poured herself a cup, before grabbing one of her larger kitchen knifes as she headed out. The third sound, which came when she was traveling down the hallway, was definitely the mechanism in the hidden door in the living room. That all but guaranteed-

"Hello beautiful," he said as he turned to her, upon hearing the double doors slide open quickly. His gloved hands were behind his back. He was turned toward the side table that held all their family pictures; seemingly he had been looking at them. Bernadette felt some annoyance, but also pity. From what little she knew of him, he didn't have much, if any, family to speak of.

"Dad would probably shoot you if he heard you call me that," Bernadette half grimaced, half smirked.

His eyes fell on the knife in her hands; oh yeah, he had a thing for knives, didn't he? She sighed and turned around, tossing it onto her drafting table, where it thudded and clanked against some of her tools.

"Why are you here?" she drawled.

"Why am I ever here?"

She sighed heavily, looking down. "Someone tried something again, didn't they?"

He stepped up to her. He reached up and booped her on the nose. "Ah, perceptive girl. I *like* that." He was growing bolder with each one of his visits. It bothered her...in the sense that it didn't really bother her, at least less so with each visit.

Daddy-Arthur-Joker-the *original* Joker-had made him promise, before he fully handed over the mantle several years before. "If you take this on...you have to look out for and protect my little girl. Always."

When she'd first seen him, was actually introduced to him, she felt disdain. Daddy had always looked so regal, yet intimidating. The purple color scheme felt off, the more emo-style make-up like he was trying too hard, the scars...

"I trust you took care of whatever it was," Bernadette commented quietly, before taking a sip of her freshly made coffee as she looked down.

"At your service, Princess." It didn't sound the same, when he said that, compared to when Daddy would call Mama that. It didn't sound as gentle; it sounded more condescending, coming from him. More so, when he would proceed to do a little bow, such as he did now.

He turned on his heel to leave. "Do you hate me?"

He looked over his shoulder at her, and narrowed his eyes.

"No."

He proceeded to leave.

"It's just, um," Bernadette started. She set her coffee aside. "It kind of feels like I'm this burden that Dad set on you, and you maybe feel like...resentful, that you have to babysit me to some degree, instead of...taking care of actual business."

He turned on his heel again, and moved to sit down on her couch. He even crossed his legs. He looked up at her expectantly.

Bernadette's mind somewhat short circuited. He had never stayed before. His visits-at least those she was privy to-were always brief, fleeting.

"Do you want some coffee?" was all her mind managed at first.

Those damaged lips curled into a smile, which she read as a Yes.

Bernadette went back into her kitchen to retrieve the still-warm pot of coffee. Before heading back, she also reached into one of the kitchen cabinets for the perfect additive.

He smirked even more upon seeing what she had in her right hand as she handed him a mug of coffee with her left. "Dewars. Not a bad brand." He held out his cup of coffee, and she poured some of warm, honey-colored liquid into it.

"Not one of Mom's favorites. Probably why I always have it in our pantry."

Bernadette poured some of the whiskey into her own coffee mug before settling into the couch across from him. She watched as he brought the cup up to the same scarred lips and took a sip. He closed his eyes. Perhaps to savor his drink, perhaps in pain

"Do they hurt?" she offered, but he simply shrugged.

"Dad could never get a straight answer out of you about them. About...much of anything do with you."

He remained quiet.

She sighed, lowering her cup into her lap. Bernadette reached into the back of her mind, back into her memories, rummaged through saved thoughts and images and voices she kept, some fading like old pictures in an album collecting dust, but some as vivid as ever.

Daddy was getting tired. But as time ticked into the next millennium, the same old war between he and his brother raged on as always, and being The Joker was so a part of him, was him, that it would be like tearing out his lungs or his brain or stomach to end that part of his life, to take it away. But he was tired...and he was now in his 50s and while the greasepaint and the hair dye and colorful clothes could hide a lot, it couldn't hide everything.

It was September 11th, of all things. She could recall so vividly: everyone at her high school being sent home suddenly, a black car whisking her home quickly, her parents sitting in the living room, glued to the TV. Seeing both of them at home, during the day, was so bizarre.

Daddy also didn't go out at all as his alter ego for almost a week after-also odd. Bernadette could still hear the sound of a ceramic plate shattering at her mother's feet when Daddy mumbled something in their kitchen about maybe wanting to quit.

She could vaguely recall several closed-door conversations between her parents, after that. But Daddy did go back, and things seemed to go back to normal. But at some point she remembered he would talk more and more about his followers with her and her mother, about the closest ones to him, what he thought of them...

He never sounded enthusiastic until a few years later he would bring up this young kid, a total reckloose who did everything Daddy ordered him to do without hesitation, and sometimes more. A bit uptight; he would never shed his clown mask or make-up and simply kick back with the other followers at their various hideouts. He would stand or sit off in a corner, sharpening his knives. Daddy would say he'd almost have to force him to take care of any wounds he'd receive in the midst of their wreaking havoc across the city. "You can't live to ruin another day of theirs if you just let yourself bleed out, son."

Sitting across from Bernadette in their apartment-up in the Castle, as he would sometimes call it-he felt hot. Various reasons why. In part, he wasn't used to the artificial temperature control, the coziness; the throw blankets next to made him vaguely uncomfortable.

Most nights in the old days were spent out in the streets. Just wherever he could pull up some garbage or discarded carpets or anything vaguely comfortable enough that he could eventually fall asleep. Rainy nights were the worse-he'd have to find something to hang over himself, or he'd risk almost drowning because of his damn mouth hanging open and catching the rain water.

He could still feel the gentle kick to his ribs that woke him up, early one morning. "Get up son."

He turned over to see his boss staring down at him-in full Joker get up. What he hated the most was all that pity in his eyes.

He grumbled. "How the fuck did you find me?"

A little chuckle bubbled up. "You should know by now I have my ways."

He turned away. "Leave me alone, please."

He'd heard The Joker sigh. "Sergeant John Patrick, Serial Number 29798492. Army veteran of the Afghanistan and Iraq Wars. Later...part of a super secret group of special forces; what you were up to there even I couldn't find out. Deceased, as of a couple of years ago, after hopping between a few VA hospitals. Diagnosis: Severe PTSD, extensive facial scarring, among some other things."

He had turned around, angry, hurt, vulnerable. Things he did not like to be. "Please go away."

Joker-Arthur-bent down, reached out a hand. "Son, let me help you. I know what it's like-trust me."

He'd stared at that hand for a long time, before finally taking it.

It's part of what made him so uneasy now, sitting in the Castle. He knew what he owed The Joker. He had a much more comfortable bed where he usually slept now, and the number of times he'd imagined his mentor's daughter in that bed with him he was ashamed to admit. It felt like such a betrayal even having those thoughts-acting on them was out of the question. Maybe, if she was offering, he could at least have a different kind of intimacy from her. "Why don't you tell me bedtime some stories, Princess. About him, about your family."

Bernadette looked up from another sip of her spiked coffee, surprised at first, but then she just shrugged. "What is there to tell? By and large a happy family, ya know?"

"By and large..." he echoed. "I like to think I'm good at numbers, and that doesn't sound like 100%."

Bernadette sighed. She looked off at nothing. "I didn't always know, ya know? What-who he was. I guess there was a few times when I was a baby that I saw his alter ego, but I never remember seeing him as The Joker. My parents argued, but no more than most parents. In fact, they fucking loved each other. So much. Watching them was like watching a couple of teenagers. Frequently making out on the couch, sneaking away to their room. Kinda grossed me out as a kid, but I guess looking back I can appreciate how much it meant they were just crazy for each other..."

"Just funny in all those years you wouldn't bump into the Clown Prince of Crime or know somethin' was up?"

Bernadette was a quiet for a moment, lost in her own thoughts. A sad smile swept over her face. "You know how some kids' dads will dress up like Santa Clause and pretend to come down the chimney and give them their gifts and all that shit? My dad was a little different... A few times for my birthday, I remember this clown named Carnival would come bouncing into the room, and he'd spend a few hours just doing all these silly acts, making balloon animals, and the like. I got so confused one year when, right before he had to leave for whatever fucking reason my mom dreamed up, he gave me the tightest hug, and I could hear him sniffling, and see how watery his eyes were.

"I knew something was up. Especially when it occurred to me at one point that my dad, just as my dad, never attended my birthday parties-at least any of the ones where my friends were present.

"'He's a comedian,' she'd say, 'and a performer... he's always traveling to perform in different places, so Daddy can't always be home, Sweetheart.' That was satisfying enough an answer for me, I guess. Though I remember thinking, gosh, Daddy's job sounds so exciting, so why does Mama always seem so sad and worried when he wasn't home?

"I remember asking if we could see Daddy's act, but she said it wasn't for children."

Bernadette shrugged. "If I started asking questions about something that seemed off compared to my friends' parents or what I saw on TV, it would somehow be explained away that it was part of Daddy's act or something.

"I wasn't a rebellious child. For whatever reason, I just didn't feel the need to act up a lot. But around when I turned 14, I thought it would be a good idea to come out and sneak a few midnight sips of this bottle of sherry Mama had bought." He spied the amused look on her companion's face."It tasty and forbidden, so shoot me."

"I figured I was safe, once my mom was fast asleep and with dad seemingly out of town. But in sneaking out to the kitchen one night, I just had to bump into The Joker, just standing in the middle of our hallway. It didn't help that whatever he'd been up to earlier in the evening had caused him to be covered in a lot of blood-thankfully, it turned out, not his, but still fucking terrifying to see either way at the time.

"Actually, I think in my grogginess and confusion, I didn't know what to think or feel when at first. Then I screamed up a storm.

"'No Angel, it's me, it's me!' he said, this desperate look on his face, and Mama just telling me to 'shut up, please, for gosh sakes! You'll wake everyone up!' Daddy got frustrated, and just dragged me into their master bathroom. Surely, I was about to be murdered, and I was so upset that my mother was just standing there, doing nothing to save me.

"As quickly as he could, Daddy scrubbed away the greasepaint and tried to flush out some of the green hair dye, so he could show me it was him, after all. I remember some of the makeup got in his eyes and he started to cry a bit." Bernadette grimaced. "I didn't know what to think; my brain couldn't process this new information

"Then I got mad.

"Mad at myself, actually. Looking at a face somewhere between Daddy's and one of the most waned American criminals of all time, I wondered how the hell I hadn't seen it before. How I hadn't seen through my mother's flimsy stories and excuses. How it was that Mama had an...okay job, and I guess my dad did well 'on the road'-even though of course no one had ever heard of 'Jack Napier,'-but we lived in this million-dollar penthouse that earned me so many jealous looks and backtalk from my friends from school. How I had my mother's name and not Daddy's. How it was that my father was never at my birthday parties or...was really missing from so much of my life.

"Mama pulled me aside and made me promise not to tell anyone; all our lives depended on it.

"I didn't know what to do. So for a little while I was a good girl and did as I was told, and pretended everything was normal, but eventually my anger turned outward at my parents. Realizing how many people my father must have killed over the years, despite the whole Robin Hood reputation he had overall...how my mother could be okay with all this bullshit..." Bernadette's hands squeezed around her now cold mug of spiked coffee; it didn't go unnoticed by the Joker in front of her now.

"So one day, I decided to run away. Fuck 'em, as my mother often said.

"I had the whole thing planned out, where I'd go and how. I figured running away earlier in the day would be safer. I mean, I was already supposed to be at summer school classes-stuff like history and English bored me to tears in school, back then. But anyway, by the time they called my parents, I'd be gone. Or so I thought.

"I was so shocked when I saw him walk toward me at the bus station that day. I rarely ever saw him out in public...anywhere. He had that look on his face-disappointed, in me but also himself. I'd seen it more than once; it always made it feel like when I fucked up, he felt it was partly his fault as well. Like he took it so damn personal.

"'Hey,' he said as he sat down slowly next to me."

"'What are you doing here?' I hissed. 'Aren't you afraid of being seen?'

"'Not really,' he shrugged. 'Few people remember what I really looked like without the make-up. And ya have to admit, I haven't aged all that well over the years-'

"'That isn't true. You look the same as you did when I was a little kid.'

"'Hmm,' he smiled. He looked over at the ticket counter, at the ticket agent who just briefly glanced up at my father before returning his gaze to whatever he was doing. 'I have my eyes in a lot of places.'

"I rolled my eyes, shook my head. 'What do you want.'

"'To bring you home. Your mom is worried sick.'

"I folded my arms. 'Why didn't she come?'

"'She's...drinking again.'

"I knew what that meant, and knowing that kinda hurt; she would occasionally have a drink here and there, particularly when dad hadn't been home from "touring" for several days, but actual benders had become rare.

"My hands dropped into my lap. 'I don't know what to think anymore. You...him...were always a bad guy growing up.'

"The whole time I had been sitting at that bus station, I had been watching this family who were about to get on the same bus as me. A mom and dad, their little boy, and their parents. I couldn't not notice them-the boy was playing on a Game Boy Color, sound turned all the way up. He appeared to be winning whatever he was playing, and his grandfather especially was taking a lot of interest.

"Maybe Daddy thought I was spacing out... I'm sure I looked sad at that moment, given what I was thinking. He reached out and took my hand, flipped it so my hand was on top, and started rubbing my palm with his thumb.

"I looked over at him, while quickly swiping away a tear with my free hand. 'I mean, who or where even are my grandparents?'

"I could feel Dad stiffen through the hand that was holding mine. "'Passed on.'

"'But how, where? I mean, I've seen pictures of Mom's family, but what about yours?'

"Dad closed his eyes, and sighed heavily. 'If you come home, Angel, I'll tell you. I'll tell you everything.'

"I hung my head. 'Fine.'

"I think I lost my head a little when he told me that, of all people, the great Thomas Wayne was supposed to be his father, and I guess then my grandfather. 'There's no way...'

"'Your...grandmother used to work for him and his family.' I could tell using that term seemed so foreign to him.

"'Who was she?' "He seemed even more hesitant to talk about her, which had me nervous. 'Dad?'

"He rubbed the back of his neck, looked away. 'Penelope Fleck. Though I always called her Penny. She was always sick.' I could hear the disgust creeping into his voice. 'So I took care of her, for a long time. Then...'

"'He killed her,' Mom called out from across the room. A bottle of Jack was in her left hand, as she leaned against the far doorway.

"I turned back to Dad. 'You...you what?' I knew he killed people who had attacked him, physically or mentally. Had killed in the course of his work, in order to protect others. But his own flesh and blood...

"'But she let his boyfriend beat him when he was a boy, among other things, so I guess it was only fair.' Mom took a swig from her bottle.

"Dad gave her the darkest look, and it scared me beyond belief, considering I'd just found out he had killed his own mother years ago. In a way, I couldn't blame him; something like that was his to tell, not Mom's, and not so flippantly."

"Did he do anything to her?" Joker asked.

"No, of course not. I just...felt like I didn't know who my dad was at that time. I didn't know if I could trust him."

A grandfather clock chiming out in the hallway pulled the two out of Memoryland. Their eyes met, and locked for a few, heavy moments, before Bernadette's traveled down his frame, to land on the cup he was holding. "Do you want anymore? Coffee-I mean?"

"Sure." He held out the cup for her to take. She walked over to him and reached for it; she noticed, with his shirt cuff pulled back, that he was injured.

"Oh God, you're bleeding," she said as she plopped down next to him and immediately pulled back his sleeve more to ascertain the full extent of his injury.

Joker barely glanced at it before gently pulling his arm away and shrugging his shirt back into place. "It's fine."

Bernadette just rolled her eyes as she rose from her seat, snatched up his cup, and headed out of the room. He was annoyed when, some minutes late, she came back not only with a refreshed cup of coffee, but also a first-aid kit.

"You don't have to go through all that trouble..." he said as she set everything down. She safely assumed he'd want another shot of Dewars in the coffee.

"Nonsense," she said, as she opened up the first-aid box and started rummaging around for alcohol wipes. "Especially if this is fresh. Means you probably got it in the process of protecting me, and I'm going to feel supremely guilty if I can't help you take care of it."

He wanted to protest more, to stop her, but a larger part of him didn't and won out. He reached for his mug and sipped away at his whiskey-spiked coffee as he watched her gentle, deft hands roll up his sleeve and clean away the blood from a moderate cut to his wrist. Personally, he was more sorry that whatever it was had cut his purple gloves...but maybe it was worth it if bought him this moment.

"Do ya miss 'em?" he asked, because it felt like some words needed to be spoken to break up the headiness around them.

"Oh yeah, but ya know," she shrugged. "It is what it is."

Joker nodded. "The Bat had upped his game. Brought on that redhead, and the kid. Starting using that tank and military grade-stuff. It was just beyond your dad, I think."

"But definitely not beyond yours," she peaked up from his arm, where she was wrapping a gauze bandage around the wound. "Isn't it? That's part of why he chose you."

Joker avoided her gaze, and changed the subject. "'Gotta head home to the wife and kids,' he'd say a lot, before leaving us to our own devices, after a job or whatever. Hmm. The others thought he was joking. I always kinda wondered."

"You didn't think he was joking." She affixed the bandage with some first-aid tape.

"I knew he wasn't; that wasn't what I was wondering."

Another shared gaze, a little longer this time. He took a sip of the coffee without looking away.

"I had a little brother, you know," she shared, without breaking their eye contact. "Didn't make it to his own birth, but God...they were so excited, I was. It broke all our hearts when my mom lost it."

Seeing the question in Joker's expression, she explained. "You may hate hearing this, or at least me saying it, but Daddy thought of you as the son he didn't get to have."

He felt like shit at that admission. There was unacknowledged pride, but more than that, it made him feel even more like a shithead that he felt the way he did toward Bernadette.

He took a long gulp of his spiked coffee before rising swiftly from the couch. "Better be going. Got some fires to start or stoke."

Bernadette rose herself. "Be careful-" she started, "-I mean, as best you can, I guess."

They were not even a foot apart. "Hmm." He raised a gloved hand to her face, and his fingers just barely grazed her jawline, before he let his hand dropped away. "You come to trust your dad, eventually?"

"Of course," she semi-whispered, her voice revealing just how tired she was. "He's my dad, I love him. He loves and has always protected us, no matter what. And I guess that's all that matters at the end of the day. Maybe not easily, but...the other stuff can be forgotten."

"I see," Joker said, Bernadette's words being added to some formulation in his mind. To plans that would likely be acted on at some point.

But not tonight.

"See you around, Princess." He again turned on his heel to leave. "Consider maybe putting some interesting feature in the Wayne building you're helping to design." He looked back at her as he engaged the secret door in the living room. "A slide, two-way mirrors, a bomb-ya know, something fun."

With that, he slipped out of the room and was gone.

Bernadette shook her head and laughed. She picked up her coffee mug and headed back to her drafting table. She set aside the knife she'd brought out earlier, but in the process her hand moving over her cell phone, causing the screen to light up, and she spied a new message from her mother.

She opened up her messages application.

Mom: What's he doing there? Is something wrong?

Bernadette guessed the penthouse's elaborate security system, with its hidden cameras and satellite link to her parents' phones while they were on the road, had alerted one or both of them to Joker' presence.

Me: What are you doing up? Are YOU guys okay?

Mom: We're fine, your father just couldn't sleep. In Oregon right now. It's beautiful here. Now answer my question.

Me: I guess someone tried something, but he took care of it. It's okay.

Mom: Sigh. That doesn't sound okay to me, but at least he took care of it.

Me: Have you driven that RV some more?

Mom: Oh yeah. Your Daddy is proud, but I still make him drive it more. Haha.

Me: Sounds right. Miss you guys 3

Mom: We miss you too. Ur Daddy says Hi Angel. We love you. And with him...remember what I told you about clowns.

Me: Okay... love u too.

Bernadette set the phone down, smiling despite herself at her mother's last words. She decided, as she looked down at her work with bleary eyes, that its completion could wait. Tomorrow was another day.