author's note: Well, this is it guys! I've had so much fun writing this fic...even though I took a few breaks here and there. Thank you so, so, soooo much for reading and for those that commented and left kudos, just know you guys helped keep this fic going. So, again, thank you! Also, there's a sneak peek of sorts at the end of the chapter for the sequel!

Even if you change your mind
It doesn't have to mean that it's over

In the days after, the city seemed stuck in a sort of limbo. Gotham had been living in fear for so long, that it almost seemed like a trap to be relieved. There was still a sort of tension in the air like we were all expecting this all to be another elaborate trap of Joker's. But the more time that passed, the easier it was to just breathe.

The average Gothamite watched the news segments about his arrest and incarceration into Arkham with relief and reassurance.

But I wasn't the average Gothamite. I was different. I knew better than any of them the kind of monster he was, what lengths he would go to destroy the city, and what he was willing to do to prove his point. I had seen him up close and personal. Though I never even knew his name, I saw glimpses of who he was behind his persona.

I hadn't realized it then, but in the weeks after that night, I had plenty of time to sit around and think back on it all. Every second we had spent together replayed through my head over and over and I had no choice but to analyze it all.

The split-second glimpses he would give me where the black of his eyes parted just enough that I could see something behind them, the way he had touched me that night in the SUV-that careful caress of his fingers on my knee-and the way he kissed me were pieces to a puzzle I didn't even know I was putting together.

But in the wake of his destruction on Gotham and me, I had nothing else to do but think about him-about us. It wasn't a relationship. I wasn't that naive. It was Stockholm Syndrome or something equally as fucked up. He forced his way into my life and forced me into these thoughts, into the things I had done and I hated him for it.

I had wanted them, but I never would have wanted any of it if he hadn't made me want them with his stupid mind games. At least, that's what I told myself. After the night he was caught, after allowing myself just a few hours to play pretend and fantasize about what it would be like being with him in a normal relationship, I swept it under the rug and knew I had to start picking up the pieces of myself that he left behind.

Some of the pieces were ground into dust and I knew there was no hope. It would take years of therapy to be able to trust someone or to stop looking over my shoulder for him. The more I thought about him, about what we had been, the more it hurt and confused me. Eventually, to keep my sanity, I had to stop.

I put it behind me and didn't allow myself to think of him as anything but a monster who had wreaked havoc on my life. He was gone and it was time for me to fix my life.

Chelsea and Greg did come back about two weeks after the incident on the ferries. I didn't ask them about it, and they never volunteered any information. For the most part, I avoided any and all mention of him with anyone.

If the news played an update, I turned it off.

If I heard someone talking about him in the streets, I would walk away.

Thankfully, Abby caught on quickly and after only bringing him up once, she got the hint when I instantly changed the subject. She never mentioned him again.

Whatever Chelsea and Greg had gone through that night, it brought a bit more compassion into her heart and she allowed me a month to find another place to live. And while a couple of months prior, facing eviction would have terrified me and sent me running home to my parents with my tail tucked between my legs, I wasn't afraid anymore.

I took the job that Abby's boss had offered me-even though I had sworn to myself that I would never work in catering again. I needed a cover though. A girl with no job, renting an apartment with a fuck ton of cash, might have thrown up some red flags.

But a girl with an alright job, renting a single bedroom apartment for a decent price in the right part of the city? Well, no one would suspect that girl of having a fake savings account with nearly three million dollars.

Each time I used Jaclyn Napier's ID at Gotham Savings and Loan, I was terrified that they'd somehow figure it all out and the police would swarm the building to arrest me for fraud. But each time, the teller would smile politely and withdraw the money I requested. She never asked questions, never suspected anything.

The first time had been so nerve-wracking, I nearly knocked over the small bowl of suckers that the tellers had set out for kids. I had laughed and tried to brush it off as clumsiness, and I was surprised when the teller apologized to me and helped me pick each piece of candy up.

She put the bowl away and beamed her best customer service smile at me. I swallowed and kept my hands off the counter, just in case she would see them trembling.

"How much can I withdraw at once?"

"You have a daily limit of ten thousand dollars that can be taken out of your account. It's bank policy that anything over that amount has to be reported. If you do need more than ten thousand, we can do it in increments over a couple of days."

My mouth had gone dry and I reached up to tuck my hair behind my ear. "No, that's okay. I'm just...I'm renting an apartment and needed a deposit." If she noticed how much I struggled just to make coherent sentences, she didn't let on. "Ten thousand will be fine."

"Of course," the woman said, pulling a slip of paper out of one of the folders near her computer. "I'll just need you to sign the withdrawal form and if you need any more money, you're free to take out a thousand dollars a day in the ATM."

I blinked at her as she pointed across the lobby to a short, metal box with the bank logo on the front of the screen. Forcing a smile, I turned back to her and picked up the pen she had laid out on the withdrawal slip. "Thank you," I said, hoping she didn't see the way my fingers shook as I signed my name-my other name.

She disappeared to count the money and in the few minutes she was gone, I was sure that the guard standing near the front doors would come over and tackle me to the ground. I glanced back at him and found him busy picking something out of his teeth with his pinky fingernail.

When the teller came back to her window, with my stack of cash in two separate envelopes, she took the slip of paper I had signed, told me to have a nice day, and that was it. I walked out of the bank with money that wasn't mine, using a name that wasn't mine, and it was all thanks to my fake, newly incarcerated husband.

He had never told me what this money or this account was for-though he never really had the chance. Did he really expect me not to use it?

Sure, someone would eventually come for it, but until then, it was mine. Walking out of the bank that day, I smiled for the first time in weeks and felt that strange sensation tingling through my chest. What was it? Oh yeah, happiness.

It was such a foreign concept to me that I had no idea how to even recognize it anymore. Of course, I didn't let the momentary happiness distract me from being careful. I covered my tracks the best I could and even deposited money every month into the savings account. Nothing seemed more suspicious than millions of dollars just sitting there.

Something had to be coming in if I was going to keep taking it out.

And I did. The longer I got away with using the account, the more I convinced myself that it wasn't stolen money. I had earned it after the weeks of torment I endured.

After several months of working with Abby, I took a job working as a front desk receptionist for a real estate investment company. The job was easy, I got paid well enough, and I didn't have to deal with food or serving snotty rich people anymore.

"God, I'm so jealous of your job," Abby said as she reclined in one of the chairs situated in the lobby of Gotham Capital. She crossed her long legs and thumbed through the stack of fashion magazines set out on the table in the center of the room. "You don't have to come home smelling like steamed broccoli or oysters anymore."

I laughed and logged my information into the computer at my desk. A perk about the job was I got an hour lunch and the building was conveniently located only three blocks away from Abby's apartment. It was our new weekly routine to meet at least once for lunch.

"Yeah, but I miss the leftovers. I'm the worst cook in the city, I think." I shut the computer down and stood, reaching for my purse hanging on the hook behind my desk.

"I think that title belongs to my brother. The last time he tried to make a frozen pizza, the neighbors called the fire department, thinking he was burning the building down."

Since it was Thursday, we strolled to the corner where our favorite pizza place was and decided to sit out on the tables in front of the shop to enjoy the sunshine. It was a gorgeous day and I was finally starting to get used to that happy feeling again.

I took a bite of my cheese pizza and wiped the grease off of my fingers with a napkin before crossing my legs. Abby sat down across from me with her own plate and launched into a story about learning her lesson about dating a coworker. She and her supervisor Brad had been on and off for the past few months and currently, they were off after some drama had went down between them.

As she detailed the last disastrous date the two had been on between bites of pizza, I sat quietly and listened. It was a similar story to the last time they had broken things off, but I decided not to bring that up. Or that I told her this would happen again.

She gestured in the air and described Brad's bad habit of using the bathroom with the door open while she was at his place, and I laughed. But the smile on my face faded slowly and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I frowned down into my half-eaten slice of pizza.

I had felt this same thing before.

It wasn't like I had completely gotten over the paranoia that I used to feel. It was still there, still making me feel as if the walls were closing in and everyone around me was watching me. But it had been a while since I felt anything like this.

Just like the night that Abby had taken me out for drinks, I could feel someone watching me. I brushed the hair over my shoulder and glanced at the people around us, trying to find anyone who looked even remotely suspicious.

Across the street, a woman was walking her dog and too busy staring at her phone to notice me. A couple of men were working on a utility pole and a guy behind them was jogging in place, checking his pulse with his fingers at his neck. Everyone looked normal. No shady henchmen hiding in the shadows or between the parked cars. I knew I was being paranoid, but it was hard to shake this feeling.

There was no one left to do his bidding, I assured myself. He was locked up and had been for months. Even the news stations had moved on. He was no longer the gossip of the city and it seemed that everyone was starting to forget about him, or at least found something more interesting to talk about.

"Can you believe that?" Abby's voice finally broke through my thoughts and I turned back to face her with a smile. "He thinks I'm the one being ridiculous."

"Why do you keep hooking up with him?" I took a bite of my pizza and stared at her.

"Because," she sighed, ducking her head as she picked at an olive on the side of her pizza slice. "I don't know. I can't explain it. He's just got this way about him that I'm powerless against. The guy is everything I can't stand in a man and yet...I want him, you know?"

I understood more than I would ever admit. The pizza in my stomach was starting to make me feel sick and I lowered the crust back to the styrofoam plate. I tried to focus on what she was saying but it was hard when I still felt like I could feel someone staring at me. Ugh! I hated this feeling.

Sweat built up beneath my arms and I shifted on the chair. I shook my head to force the thoughts of being watched away. "I know what you mean. We all want what we shouldn't."

"Exactly." Abby chewed the last bite of her pizza and shook the hair from her face. We sat there in silence for several minutes, her deep in her thoughts and me trapped in my paranoia.

I hated this feeling, hated that even though he was deep within the bowels of Arkham, he still had this effect on me. It wasn't fair. I just wanted to be free.

"Oh, did you contact Dr. Greenberg?"

I winced. For the past two months, Abby had been trying to get me to make an appointment with the same therapist she'd been seeing. And while I'd been promising her I'd consider it, truth be told, I hadn't thought much about it. There wasn't anything wrong with therapy, but I couldn't even be honest with my friends when I was going through hell.

How could I expect to be honest with a stranger? Abby smacked me lightly in the arm. "She's amazing. I swear, she would change your life."

"I'm just now getting my life on track. I don't know if I want it changed."

"Changed in a good way, Nat."

Then again, what I couldn't tell my friends, would I be able to tell a therapist? It would feel good to say the truth out loud to someone. Well, not the whole truth. I could never tell anyone what truly happened but telling someone about the mental anguish I had been through could help.

With a sigh, I nodded and looked at my friend's smiling face. "Okay, I'll give it a shot."

"Great! You're going to love Dr. Greenburg!"

My lunch hour was coming to an end and instead of making Abby walk me back down to the office, we parted ways at Moe's Pizzaria with a hug. Walking back to work alone wasn't exactly ideal, especially with the creeping feeling still lingering along the back of my neck, but I needed a few minutes to shake this feeling.

It didn't take long to make it back to the office and once I was back inside, the paranoia was finally starting to subside. I pushed through the doors and hung my purse back on the rack behind my desk before turning to the computer. Over the top of my desk, I finally noticed a man sitting in the waiting area.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said with a sheepish laugh. He was dressed in jeans but had a rather nice polo shirt on. His shoes looked clean, but there was something odd about his appearance. Almost like he was trying a bit hard to look normal. There was a strange look in his eyes-almost as if he were amused to see me- that made that paranoia creep back up my spine. "Do you have an appointment with someone?"

"No, I'm just waiting for a friend." The guy pointed toward the elevators and I nodded, taking a seat at the computer. As I turned the screen on, I noticed a gift bag sitting at his feet. The combination of the bright purple color and the green tissue paper sticking out the top of it made the sweat worse under my arms.

I stared at it for several moments, my eyes occasionally glancing up to the man. He flipped through a magazine and never looked at me once.

Was he avoiding me...or just being a normal person? I hated that I couldn't tell anymore. After all this time, it was still so hard for me to relax around anyone.

Finally breaking away, I turned to the computer and logged in. I had work to do. There were stacks of files to sort and I had to be done by the end of the day. After casting one last glance at the man in the waiting area, I scooped up the file folders on my desk and turned to the copy room.

It was always warm in the small space and I was thankful for it. My hands were always cold these days and I gravitated toward any source of warmth that I could find. It took about fifteen minutes to run the files through the copy machine and once they were done, I sorted them on the table in the room.

Plenty of time for the guy out in the lobby to leave.

But when I crossed the room back to my workspace, he was still sitting there in the same chair, with the gift bag still at his feet. The magazine was gone and he watched me as I moved. I tried not to make it seem like I noticed, but I couldn't help it. I glanced at him, meeting his gaze, and the smile he gave me made me regret eating that greasy slice of pizza.

As I moved to the filing cabinet to organize the folders, he stood up with the gift bag and my heart nearly jumped into my throat. I tucked my hair behind my ear and hoped he didn't move closer. Unfortunately, he did. He made his way to my desk and put the bag and his hands down on the counter, the smile on his face never fading.

I forced my best, friendly smile, and stood up straight. "Can I help you?"

"You look familiar. What's your name?" He tilted his head to the side and I watched his gaze slide down to my neck and chest before lifting back to meet my eyes once more.

"Natalie," I somehow managed to say.

"Hmm, don't think we've ever met before, Natalie. You just have one of those faces, I suppose."

Again, I forced a smile but didn't respond. I didn't know how to. There was nothing about him that fit together and I knew I had nothing to go on but my gut feeling and a gift bag with two very distinct colors. What could I do? Call the police on a guy because I didn't like his choice of tissue paper?

I was being ridiculous.

Who in their right mind would still be faithful to a man locked away in the depths of Arkham? Joker had plenty of tricks up his sleeves, but even this was far fetched.

Before either of us could say anything else, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. I let out a breath of relief as the guy stepped back and nodded to the figure coming out. He was met by another man who seemed just a bit out of place as well. The new guy said nothing to me as he walked out of the office and I frowned after him.

I don't recall any appointments made at this time and usually, my bosses stuck to a pretty rigid schedule. With another flash of the too wide for his face grin, the guy lingered behind for just a moment before bringing two fingers to his head for a weird kind of salute.

"See you later."

He took a step backward toward the door and I pointed down to the bag still sitting on the countertop. "Don't forget your gift bag."

"Oh no," He said, chuckling quietly. "That gift is for you, Ms. Jacobs."

Ice shot through my veins and I felt my knees start to go weak. Tears burned at my eyelids and I found myself shaking my head as he moved closer to the door. I had never told him my last name and I had no nameplate on my desk. He hadn't heard me answer the phone or speak to anyone. Though I wanted so badly to be wrong, I knew there was only one other explanation.

My bottom lip quivered. I was frozen to the spot, terrified and powerless to do anything. What could I do?

With one last grin, the guy turned on his heel and pushed his way out of the office door. The bell above the door chimed as it shut behind him and my gaze slowly slid to the bag left behind on the counter. I should throw it away. I shouldn't look at it.

But I knew that I wouldn't be able to.

With my heart pounding and my fingers trembling, I reached for the bag. It was light, but that wasn't very reassuring. Shakily, I pulled the garish tissue paper out of the bag and stared down at a thin, rectangular box inside the bag. It was plain, unwrapped, but there was a pretty bow tied with a ribbon that matched the color of the tissue paper.

The loops of the ribbon were nearly perfect and I knew only one person who could make a bow that pretty for me.

A tear rolled over my eyelid and dropped to the desk, soaking into the neglected tissue paper. I reached into the bag carefully and pulled the box out. Slowly, I lowered myself into my chair and though my fingers were trembling so hard I felt as if I would drop it, I managed to pull the ends of the ribbon until it slipped free.

I pried the lid off and stared down at another slip of that same tissue paper. My heart was nearly beating out of my chest, pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. The tissue paper fell away and I stared down into my own face. A photograph taken of me, to be exact.

There were several pictures laying in the box and as I pulled each one out, the urge to throw up my lunch was becoming unbearable. I recognized each photograph. One was outside of my apartment building as I was leaving for work one day last week. There were three from that day, all different angles, taken from across the street or from far away.

I flipped to the next picture and put a hand to my mouth. It was Abby and me while we were waiting for a cab outside a bar over this past weekend. My paranoia wasn't just a lingering after-effect of my association with Joker after all. It was real.

After three more photos taken of me in several other places around the city, I reached the end of the stack and stared down at another playing card with the word Joker printed in the corners. And over the stamped image of a jester in the middle of the card was a typed message-a promise.

See ya soon, sweetheart.

-J

Coming Soon:

All The Broken Pieces

After he was gone, I was afraid I would never feel anything normal again. Even though he was locked away deep within Arkham Asylum like a caged animal, I knew better than to think he would stay there. I knew it was only a matter of time before he came back into my life and he would leave me broken all over again.

.