AN: Thank you everyone who read, reviewed, followed, and favorited. Means a lot and I hope everyone enjoys this chapter. Please let me know if you guys think something is lacking or if you have any suggestions. I always answer my PMs, mostly because I rarely get them. Anyways, here's chapter 7, chapter 8 coming soon.

I stand shoulder to shoulder with well dressed strangers in a tight elevator. Men in black suits, women in fine dresses. The elevator seems to rise in slow motion as the temperature increases in double time. I watch the people around me fidget uncomfortably, tugging at collars and lightly fanning themselves. It feels weird being in such close proximity to tall, perfect people like these. They're rich and confident, yet I somehow stand equal to them. Mostly because I'm wearing massive heels and stolen clothes. I smirk to myself; I clean up pretty nice. I think I'll blend in just fine.

Finally, the elevator doors scrape open and we fill into the larger room like fog over a river bank. I see chandeliers before I see the tables of rich people finger foods on toothpicks. I quickly notice the people carrying trays of beverages, as well. I lick my lips and taste cheap lipstick, reminding myself why I don't often wear the stuff.

I can't help but be in awe at how beautiful this place is. Twinkling lights line the walls, flamboyant floral centerpieces decorate each of the small tables with tablecloths impossibly clean and white. The ceiling feels as tall as the sky and the entire north wall is made of windows that overlook the city at night. I've never seen the buildings from this high up; they look fake, like a painting.

I walk through the mingling clusters of people, dainty glass of champagne in hand. I sip it delicately and with self control. Somewhere in the middle of the room, I stop and scan the crowd. I guess I should try and talk to someone; boredom is beginning to rear its ugly head. I narrow my general scan to pinpoint people standing alone. After a moment or two without luck, I realize that people must usually bring a date, or at least a friend, with them to events like this. I did get here kind of late...if I didn't I might of had a chance to meet someone before all the single people paired off. Maybe someone will approach me. I smile; yeah, right.

"Excuse me, Miss, that dress is dazzling." a man's voice sneaks up on me.

I nearly jump, but manage to cover my surprise. I turn to graciously accept the compliment, only to be slapped by another shock.

"Thank you, I-" my mouth turns into a desert as I look into the face of the host of this fabulous event, Bruce Wayne. His tailored suit and perfectly parted and styled hair is striking. I stand nearly eye level with him with my heels, giving me the confidence to fix my face.

He smiles handsomely at me and asks "Where did you get it?"

I'm still wondering why he's decided to start a conversation with me, but answer the question. I hope I'm not somehow letting on that I stole it. I smile at him, more to myself, really, because of my silly thought. Why would anyone assume my dress was stolen?

"Was it very expensive?"

What kind of question is that? I think, suddenly becoming nervous. Maybe it's a normal question. I open my mouth to answer some bull-crap number to make me sound impressive, when he continues speaking.

"I hear their dresses can run quite high," he then shakes his head as if he just heard some bad news, swirling his champagne, "It makes them the target of thieves far too often. In fact, just the other night I heard someone somehow got in and picked the place clean."

My jaw sets and my first instinct is to defend myself. "Picked the place clean" is such an exaggeration. I stole one outfit. Instead, though, I go for my default response for all situations. I laugh heartily.

"Yeah, seems like that kind of thing is happening all the time in a city like Gotham," I sigh with residual laughter, "Maybe our little hero Batman needs to kick it up a notch." I finish with a smile and a sip.

Bruce Wayne smiles back, but it doesn't seem sincere, "Well, one man can't possibly stop all the criminals out there."

"No, I guess not, but I don't think many people consider him to be just 'one man'. Seems to me that if you do look at the Batman as just 'one man', then you'd think that maybe he'd be able to stop at least one criminal."

"Didn't he jail hundreds recently?" he combats quickly.

"Wasn't Harvey Dent the one that really put all those men behind bars? I was thinking someone more along the lines of...I don't know...the Joker?"

"Well, he can't exactly pick and choose which criminals to punish-"

"Yeah," I interrupt, "I think he can. Sure, petty thieves shouldn't get away with their crimes, but I feel like it's more than fair to say that some people definitely deserve a helping of Batman's justice more than others."

"Unfortunately, Miss, that's not how the law works." he says coolly, sending a trail of goosebumps down my spine and a quick wave of flush to my cheeks. I swallow nervously. I just realized that this guy's the worst kind of man to argue with. Even if I know he's wrong, he'll still seem right.

Again, my body reacts in one of the most socially awkward ways. A disrespectful dribble of giggles spills from my lips.

"I'm pretty sure vigilantes don't really care how the law works." I shrug, my face cooling to normal temperature, now that I've managed to reply just as coldly as he.

Again, I feel smile take over my mouth, but it's far from polite; I've officially grown sick of this billionaire's attitude. Just because he's better than me in almost every way, doesn't mean he gets to act like it. So he paid for his clothes and I didn't; big whoop! I know for a fact that I worked harder for mine. Mr. I-think-I-can-do-what-I-want-because-I-got-a-ridiculous-inheritance. I spill the rest of my champagne between the lips of my shit eating grin. I need to stop drinking before any of these thoughts are said aloud.

"If the Batman goes outside of the law the city wouldn't accept him; he doesn't have the choice of ignoring small crimes. And even if he did get one of the higher up crime lords, they'll always be another one in line to replace them. Yo-We don't have the right to imply that there's a better way to defend our city."

"But there is."

"What might that be?" he asks after a brief, disgruntled huff. I can really tell how hard he's working to stay civil; it just makes me want to push his buttons more.

I clear my throat, smile wider, and kick myself ahead of time for what I say next.

"It's simple," I swallow a giggle, "we, uh, kill the Joker."

I bite the inside of my cheek. To hear the Joker's words reversed against himself, and to hear those words coming out of my mouth, is hilarious.

"You make it sound so easy." he says quickly. I hear a change in his voice, the falling away of the remainder of his politeness. He sounds defensive. Maybe bad-mouthing the city's superhero idol wasn't the best way to make conversation, I realize, but irritating Mr. snob was irresistible. My eyes drop shamefully to my empty glass; I can't keep letting alcohol steal my self control.

We stand awkwardly for a moment, both debating on the best way to defuse the situation. Thankfully, a call pulls him away. I watch him suddenly rush off and I sigh with relief. I immediately sigh again and set my glass aside, ready for a new interaction to help forget my last. I resist another glass of bubbly, but succumb when I feel boredom beginning to creeping up on me again. A few minutes later I find myself frowning into my half empty glass. I'm feeling a bit tipsy; my frown deepens. This is the one thing I wanted to avoid for my last evening. Well, that and the Joker, of course.

I hear the scrape of the elevator doors, signaling the arrival of new guests. Maybe one of them will be alone as well and I can finally find something to do other than slowly loose my wits. A voice and commotion cause the whole room to turn toward the late arrivals. My blood turns to ice, momentarily freezing me on the spot.

"We made it," the Joker says, arriving fashionably late. He pounds a bullet into the ceiling upon exit of the elevator.

Without hesitation, the crowd parts, everyone collectively pushing back against the walls, desperate to put as much distance between themselves and the Joker as possible. I, with a cold water splash of realization, find myself on the outside of the human wall, only a single person standing between me and the man with a clown mask. He points a gun across the crowd; like we'd try anything, anyway.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen," the Joker greets in the newly silence room. I look to him with horror reflected in my eyes; I haven't had enough to drink to be brave. A metal tray clatters somewhere in the room. He lets the noise resonate and silence before continuing.

"We are tonight's entertainment," he tells us, plucking up a shrimp as he saunters through the room; he eats it noisily with plenty of smacking.

"I only have one question: where is Harvey Dent?"

A cough from the audience of the startled party goers is the only answer. He impatiently whirls his gun at anyone near, walking the length of the crowd. He snatches a glass in the silence, his jerking movements splashing most of it to the floor, and downs the remaining drink. He smacks the empty glass down on a table in passing. I'm surprised it didn't shatter.

"Do you know where Harvey is? Do you know who he is?" he asks anyone nearby, recklessly smacking the head of whoever was closest to his hand. I watch him grab the face of a balding man, squeezing his clean shaven, shiny cheeks.

"Do you know where I can find Harvey? I need to talk to him about something, just something little. No?"

He drops the man's head, but doesn't assault him further. He continues moving, getting closer and closer to where I stand. I curse my heels for putting my face above the woman in front of me. The Joker pauses again to pick a snack from another white table-clothed table. He chews open mouthed while speaking.

"You know, I'll settle for his loved ones,"

"We're not intimidated by thugs!" another balding man says (there seems to be an abundance of those around here). You stupid, old, bastard, I think regretfully. Why do people keep standing up to him? The Joker narrows his gaze on the man, wiping his hand on the table cloth next to him harshly, rattling the dishes nearby.

"You know," he says, pulling a knife from his pocket, "You remind me of my father,"

The Joker grips the man's skull with his gloved hand and brings his mouth to his knife.

"I hated my father," he growls, his face inches from the man's. I stand only feet away, guiltily grateful for the old man for gaining the Joker's attention. I stare at the scene in front of me, wishing my eyes would move away from the gore I'm about to witness. Worse than blood spurting from a man's face, I see the Joker's eyes suddenly shift to mine. I feel blood drain from my face and my eyes bulge; I'm dead for real this time.

"Okay stop." a woman's voice saves me. I recognize her as the woman commonly seen on the arm of Harvey Dent. She confidently steps away from the crowd in a stunning navy dress with her arms crossed. I immediately respect her for strength, not like I usually do for others that try to face the Joker. I almost believe she stands a chance against him. Speaking of the man, I see him give her a once over before turning to approach her. He smooths back his greasy hair and strides with swagger toward the center of the room.

"Well, hello beautiful," he greets, "You must be Harvey's squeeze," he presumes, pointing at her with jabbing motions. He lowers his knife and continues, "Hm?"

The woman holds her stance, chin held high.

"And you are beautiful." he finishes with a sincerity that made me frown. I push back whatever feeling his compliment made me feel and watch him circle the woman like buzzard. She finally breaks and flinches when he stands behind her, hating not having him in sight; I don't blame her. The Joker centers himself in front of her, licking his lips and bringing his knife forward.

"Oh, you look nervous," he says in the dead silent room.

I can hear the lights humming and the hushed breathing of the crowd.

"Is it the scars?" he asks gently, "Wanna know how I got them?" he asks, nodding confirmation for her.

"C'mere," he grabs her face roughly, squeezing her cheeks to force her mouth open to show her exactly how he got his scars. He face writhes in his grasp.

"Hey- Look at me." he tells her quietly forcing the direction of her face to point to his. She continues to struggle while the Joker begins his story, his knife nearly resting on her soft skin.

"So I had a wife, beautiful like you, who tells me I worry too much. Who tells me I oughta smile more. Who gambles and gets too deep with the sharks- Hey," he interrupts himself softly to make sure the woman is still listening, "One day, they carve her face, and we have no money for surgeries. She can't take it; I just want to see her smile again. Hm?" he asks to see if she understands, "I just want her to know that I don't care about the scars. So, I stick a razor in my mouth and do this," he gestures to his gruesome glasgow smile, tilting his head in both directions to display the scars in their entirety, "to myself."

His captive no long futilely struggles to look away.

"And you know what?" he continues, looking her straight in the eyes, "She can't stand the sight of me." he says angrily with a snarl, darting his tongue over his lips.

I see Harvey's girlfriend pull back, frightened by the sudden rise in volume, but her face doesn't show it.

"She leaves," he continues as if his outburst hadn't happened, "Now I see the funny side. Now I'm always smiling." he beams, throwing an arm up in a carefree way. The woman takes the opportunity to knee him in the crotch. An unnoticed, impossibly short-lived giggle escapes me, but I don't think anyone in the world could expect me to hold that in. The Joker grunts and doubles over, never losing his smile. He giggles, backing away. Steadily, his back straightens and points again with his knife, stepping forward.

"A little fight in you. I like that." he finishes, his face growing dark and serious and I think he's finally going to cut her. I drop my eyes, bracing myself for a scream. Instead, I hear the deep, ridiculous voice of Batman.

"Then you're gonna love me." followed by the thumping sound of a fist slamming into a ribcage. The next few minutes go by impossibly fast. The best way I can describe what happens next is simply "fighting ensues". The crowd begins to scatter, cramming an unfortunate number of themselves into the elevator, and, more logically, many sprint down the stairs. Others shrink themselves as small as possible and huddle to the floor and against the walls. I, on the other hand, can't help but watch, hunkered down just enough to not stand out. It's like an action movie but in real life.

I watch Batman dodge and punch, flip and kick the Joker's crew. I see the Joker throw his men into Batman like weapons, dart into the tussles to deliver a blow and dart back out before getting hit. Suddenly there's a knife protruding from the toe of the Jokers shoe. I unconsciously grin at the genius behind the weapon. I flinch when I see him nail Batman in the gut with a sharp kick, no pun intended. I wonder how thick his bat armor is. I smirk again at the words "bat armor". How lame does that sound?

My smirk fails when I watch the Joker's body fly several feet through the air before tumbling on the floor. Batman may win this fight, I realize. Seems the Joker has the same realization and makes a beeline for Harvey's girl. He grabs her with one hand and clutches a gun with the other. Batman stops in his tracks. Silence once again fills the room.

"Drop the gun." he growls.

"Oh, sure," the Joker pants, "You just take off your little mask and show us all who you really are. Hm?" he laughs throwing his arm backwards and shattering the massive window behind him with a bullet. He rushes to the window and dangles to woman outside like old laundry, smiling to Batman. Batman doesn't move, only glowers.

"Let her go." he commands with authority that doesn't seem to touch the Joker, whose face contorts as if he was just told a bad joke.

"Very poor choice of words," he says, wind whipping his green hair across his face. He opens his hand with a laugh flying from his wide open mouth as the woman vanishes into the night. Batman disappears after her. The Joker whirls on us all. Everyone becomes suddenly aware that we are Batmanless and alone with a killer. Frantically we scatter.

I attempt to meld into the most tightly packed groups. I don't know if he'll come after me, but I don't want to give him the chance. I cram my form between a large man and regular woman, attempting to wedge myself into safety. I go shoulder first, managing to split them apart and slip forward a few paces, but somewhere someone shoves somebody and, by the newton's law, I am thrown backwards. Before I can regain my footing, people jostle by me, disturbing my balance further.

Someone help.

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