"Soooo…" Joker elongated, hanging an arm out of his window. "We uh gonna discuss the little goody bag you got in your trunk?"

The last half hour had been passed in near silence, with the exception of Joker's phone buzzing. Firstly, with a call he accepted. Whatever the individual was relaying caused him to answer with a few "mhm's" and throaty "yes's". Then, the text alerts began. He would read them, tap his phone against his knee a few times before turning off the screen, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. She didn't think he was attempting to nap…something was on his mind relating to the texts he was receiving. She didn't bother asking; still a little hot under the collar from her unintentional handjob.

When he suddenly mentioned the items in her trunk, she tried not to seem too surprised.

"How?"

"Popped it open when you were in the bathroom. So, so nervous about that officer…figured there was something you weren't sharing with the class."

She offered him a half shrug.

"What about it?"

"There a ah special occasion I should know about? We hosting a party? Need a clown for it?"

"No special occasion, no party…and no need for a clown," she assured. "It's sort of become a…ritual. The past five years I've been taking a quarter of bud and a quarter of mushrooms with me. I trip, I smoke, I play in the sand, I explore the woods in my backyard…I can do all those things without drugs yes, and I do…but they certainly enhance those experiences. And quite often I end up on a bit of a…quest I guess. I-have you ever done psychedelics before?"

"Can't say I've had the pleasure."

His attention was wholly devoted to her now. She could tell his fascination had been piqued.

"Everyone's tripping experience is different," she began. "The two keys to an amazing trip are environment and mental state. Ideally you want a clean environment…one you feel comfortable in. Light some candles, turn on some soothing music, have some blankets to curl into if you have to. I know my home and the surrounding area like the back of my hand. It's a relief – especially when you're really riding the peak – to be somewhere you feel like you belong."

She paused to see if he had anything to input, but he remained quiet; occasionally lapping at his scars.

"Mentally…mentally you've gotta be in a good place. You have to have a… relationship with yourself. Because let me tell you…things get very dark, very painful real quickly if you've got things lurking in your subconscious you're not comfortable addressing. This doesn't mean you have to be a happy-go-lucky person…some of my best trips were during the worst of my depression. I figured things out in that state that have influenced me to this day. I…I'm not sure how to describe it. But if you've been feeling like shit, if there are conversations with yourself you've intentionally avoided having …psychedelics can bring that to the forefront. That's where tripping can turn into a traumatizing experience. You'll do anything not to be in that state anymore."

"Hmm…sorta playing with fire, isn't it?"

"It is," she agreed. "Which is why personally I prefer magic mushrooms to LSD. They're much more organic…easier to ride the directions the trip takes you. That's another key to a good trip…surrendering. Letting it guide you…you have no control over the trip, not really. You can influence it, but it is its own beast. Trying to dig your heels in…trying to navigate it in a certain direction…can often times make things ten times worse."

"How ah how many times have you tripped? And on what substances?"

He was making no attempt at humor. No sly remark. It almost made her wonder if taking them was something he'd considered at some point, but never made the effort of following through with it.

He would not like them. His demons are many…they would eat him alive.

"Somewhere close to thirty times," she guessed. "Sometimes at parties, sometimes with close friends, but usually on my own. LSD was my first introduction to psychedelics…then magic mushrooms…and for a few years I alternated between the two. Then, a friend got their hands on some peyote and ayahuasca when they were out West. Both experiences were outstanding…though the ayahuasca…forewarning, lots of vomiting involved. Worth it…but it's a nausea unrivaled to anything else."

"Huh." He was eying her with a tilt of the head. "Tried finding an article you and Crow wrote on altered states of consciousness. Any correlation between your use and that piece?"

"We tripped together actually," she admitted. "A few months before he introduced himself to Gotham as Scarecrow. That trip inspired the article. Before it, he was fascinated by my experiences…and…was inspired to fine-tune his serum. He took a tab of acid just as the sun was coming out. I waited to take mine so I could trip sit him for a while."

"Trip sit?"

"Yeah….like…a trip sitter. The equivalent of a babysitter, but they take care of you during your trip, especially if it gets bad. Help reassure you; help keep you hydrated and fed. I don't have the words to describe how awful a bad trip feels…and I wanted to spare John that feeling anyway possible. Thankfully, he took to it well. At the time he had this luxury apartment near Gotham Park with a fantastic view of the treetops. His goal was to sort of…self-document his experience, much like Aldous Huxley did." She paused for breath, seemingly unable to halt her onslaught of passion for the subject. "Huxley is the author of one of my favorite books – The Doors of Perception – about his first time on mescaline. It's also the book that inspired Jim Morrison to name their band The Doors."

"Knew that," he mentioned with a nod. "I'll give it to Huxley in one regard… Brave New World confirms the importance…no, the need for someone like me. We're all living in the same house you see…and most of us are asleep like good little kiddies while mom and pop are running things…sleeping so soundly we don't even realize mom and pop set fire to the house. Now a few of us…we see the house burning…and it's only fair isn't it…to try and…wake people up."

She silently considered the metaphor. Did he see himself as a hero in this scenario?

"Why not put your focus on extinguishing the fire?"

"Because the house." His index fingers outlined an imaginary square. "Isn't worth preserving. Its very foundation is built on keeping those inside it under control…but they don't let you in on that…offer you the illusion of safety because they know…they know if enough people are aware they're being con-fined they'll come together to burn the house down themselves. I choose the route of defibrillation…shock 'em until they see things the way I do. There's nothing to gain letting the kiddies continue sleeping, secure in their ignorance."

"You…actually want people to wake up?" Her brows showcased her skepticism. "You strike me more as someone who would shoot people in their sleep just because you can."

"Heh heh well…ya got me there…I can't deny I've an affinity for using some of them as target practice. Not gonna wake up after I took the time to yell your name? Fine…you won't wake up period." He ran a hand through his hair. "But I've found people are much more fun to play with when they're awake. You and I might-ah go about two different ways introducing them to reality but make no mistake…our goal is mutual."

His beliefs had her recalling the first time she'd read Plato's Allegory of the Cave in high school. Back then she'd despised the underlying theme of the essay. Why was it her responsibility to lead others into the light? If she made it out of the cave, that's all that mattered. Self-preservation was ultimately more important. Going back was counterproductive, especially if those in the cave were content with imprisonment. Joker really nailed it with his 'illusion of safety' comment.

Flash forward nearly four years later and she read the essay again. And finally…finally she got it. Seeing the world as it was…so very few were afforded that luxury. And though the luxury didn't come without its share of unpleasantries and isolation, it beat living under the cloud of self-deception.

Only in taking the leap and stepping out of your cell can you see it for the prison it is.

Joker's desire for anarchy wasn't as self-serving as she assumed it was. It was and it wasn't. His goal was noble, but his reasoning wasn't. And his methods to wake others up was far from gentle. He took a perverse pleasure in making the experience as disorienting for them as possible.

The reality check he got when he was young…it had to have been brutal. Wasn't so much guided out of the cave by a patient hand as much as shoved or kicked or thrown…and…if the pain of that is left unchecked…you will end up teaching others the same way you were taught.

She inhaled deeply; slightly overwhelmed at what he'd just revealed about himself.

He didn't take the first shot. Someone or something shot first. As Agatha said, no one builds armor without having been pierced first. And Jack…

A terrible ache bloomed in her chest. Though no tears were present, some core part of her longed to weep. Weep for the boy who grew up in an environment that failed to teach him forgiveness, failed to assist him in processing trauma and negative emotions; an environment that pushed an already sensitive, brilliant child to throw up his guard so high even he didn't know how to lower it; much less want to.

Jack had been robbed. And to see so many others still sleeping blissfully…from his viewpoint how could he not want to rob them right back?

"-anyway." She tuned back in upon realizing he was still talking. "That's the only one I liked from Huxley. His works like Doors of Perception aren't ah exactly my sip of cider."

She quickly composed herself.

"How's that?"

"Didn't wanna read about chemical-induced imaginings. Hallucinations. Mad rambles. Things you can just as easily hear from a stroll through the schizo ward at Arkham."

"The experiences aren't the same."

"Might not be, but I'm a man of tangibility. The sober state free of any exterior influences, like that of your magic-". He threw up quotations signs. "-mushrooms…that is the only one worth experiencing anything from."

They met each other's eyes.

"But…you knew who Lester Heilig was."

"Doesn't mean I like his work. When it comes to metaphysics, he's not a point of view I take seriously. Too much emphasis on…love. Love this, love that- it's a chemical reaction, nothing more! Not as grand or universal as you or he believe it to be."

"Needing your experiences to be tangible in order for them to be real…is that how you currently feel?" she asked. "Or how you used to feel?"

"Mm…can't say. The knowledge and admiration you have for your extracurricular activity is certainly…persuasive. But ya also spent most of last evening inside a shop for kooks and nut cases. Not sure what to take your word on."

She nodded, at peace with his skepticism. She'd been there once before too.

"Well…it's up to the individual to decide I suppose," she said. "You won't know until you're experiencing the trip how much of it is artificial and propagated by the drug and how much of it is a more…amplified way of thinking."

"Care to share some of your goodies then? So I can know what all the fuss is about?"

"No." She looked at him. "Not for a lack of wanting to…its just that…you've got a lot of…mental baggage. I know this without needing to ask. It would not be a pleasant experience for you."

"Why-ah not trip sit me like you did Crow?"

He almost sounded insulted at his exclusion from the activity.

"Because…I don't know that I could pull you out of where you end up going. I've never trip sitted anyone like you before…someone who has so much darkness in their soul. It's not a position I want to put either of us in…if I can help it."

"Being a little dramatic, don't ya think?"

"Cautious," she corrected. "I know what resides in you."

She'd not meant it as a slight against him. The state of his soul was imprinted into her mind; a sphere of black tar emitting and drawing in negative vibrations. He might very well go insane…truly insane…upon glimpsing it.

Joker didn't appear all that impressed with this commentary.

"You think you know me better than I know myself?"

His right knee started to bounce as he pinned her in place with a glare.

Yes. A version of you at least.

"No," she lied. "I'm sorry if it came across that way."

He must have been itching for an argument because her apology had him grumbling something under his breath.

"If you want," she followed up, "you're welcome to take some. I'll advise you against it, but I won't stop you."

He digested this, tracing one of his scarred cheeks.

"And when uh are you planning to take yours?"

"Tomorrow probably. Forecast called for zero percent chance of rain and low humidity. The perfect summer day."

"And what happens if your trip goes south? Gonna rely on me to pull ya out? Not even sure I'd want to…you're a tough nut…and I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't be curious to see ya…crack."

"I've worked myself out of a bad trip before," she returned, thinking back to two years ago when she'd encountered an extremely emaciated fox trapped in a thorn bush on one of her treks through the woods. "It's not always easy, but I have self-affirmations I repeat to myself. I know what to divert my inner monologue to. Also, I carry a little pocket mirror on me. Sometimes you feel so isolated and trapped by the weight of your bad feelings you forget you're human…you're in a physical body…you're here on this planet- living, breathing, experiencing, enjoying. Talking to yourself…your physical vessel…helps a lot."

She offered him a scan.

"And I'd actually prefer you weren't there. I might regret making this offer, but…you're welcome to take my car for the day. Though…I will file a police report if it's not returned in twenty-four hours. Also, my uncles are hunters…we'll find you one way or another."

He snorted, half in response to her threat, half in response to her suggestion.

"You really think I'm gonna miss the opportunity to see ya off your rocker?" He shook his head vigorously. "How many times are ya gonna make me repeat it? I'm yours, sweets. For the next six and a half days. The next hundred and fifty-six hours. The next nine-thousand-."

There was a moment of silence as he glanced up.

"-three hundred and sixty minutes. The next-."

"I got it," she confirmed. "I'm paper, you're glue. There is no escaping you."

Hey, that rhymed!

"That rhymed," came his appreciative mumble not a second later.

"It did," she agreed, not sure why them both noticing this made her smile lopsidedly.

He was quiet for a few minutes.

"We uh got much further to go?"

"A little over two hours," she estimated. "I'm located pretty high up along the coastline. Feel free to catch some rest, that couldn't have been comfortable sleeping behind my seat."

"Mmmm… I'd rather not." He gulped down a yawn. "I shut my eyes; you'll be tempted to send me flying through the windshield."

"That temptation exists whether you're awake or asleep for it."

He gave her a pointed look. She did her best to smother her mirth.

Neither spoke for the next little while. Celine's attention returned to the rapidly shifting scenery outside her car. With both windows down she was catching whiffs of salt from the ocean.

I'm very nearly there. What a strange, unusual reunion this is going to be.

She turned to Joker with the intention to ask if he was much of a swimmer but found that he'd dozed off sometime during her musings; skull lodged between the headrest and the interior of the car door. Both arms and ankles were crossed. His mouth was hung open a little and a few throaty snores were traveling out of him. This clown was pooped, and she didn't dare disturb him.

She did however sneak her cell phone out of her center console and discretely snapped a few photos of him. Catching him in states of docility was becoming a weakness of hers. And it was nice to have physical evidence on hand that he was more than just a mania-driven, anarchy-inducing, bloodthirsty killer. He might not think it was nice, but she did.

Sliding her phone back into the console, Celine leaned back and relaxed. The wind was on a dedicated mission to turn her strands into a tornado. The salt tickled her nostrils. Through patches of Eastern White Pines guarding the right side of the road she was very nearly able to make out a frosty blue coastline.

This IS going to be a good week. I claim this truth. And Jack …I don't know what he's seeking on this trip…I don't know if he knows what he's seeking…I don't know if I can help him…but…I will make the effort. So long as I try, I can't fail.

It's the 22nd of July! Everyone wish Celine a happy birthday before Joker steals her away to celebrate more...privately.