AN: Holy crap, it's been a while!! Hello new readers – glad to have you! And I am sorry for the delay – I've been updating this story on like three different sites and I COMPLETELY forgot that I hadn't done this one yet. I won't let that happen again, promise. And I will try not to leave it on such a cliffhanger. (The operative word here being 'try.') So, without further ado, here's the next update – the last of the 'fluff' for a while, so savor it.

11: Then.

All the pieces were in place. The Scarecrow and what was left of Harvey Dent were positioned in the subway, at the location I was instructed to give to Commissioner Gordon. The rest had been otherwise taken care of. They were alive, but scattered. The Joker had let them go, hoping they'd find ways to create a disturbance on their own. I had no doubt they would not disappoint him.

The Joker and I were in our hotel room, the one with the severed phone cord and the vandalized television. In two hours time, I would arrive at the mansion to deliver Bruce Wayne my message. I had not revealed The Bat's true identity. Only that I knew it, and would use that knowledge to intimidate him. The Joker was not pleased with my refusal to part with that particular secret.

"It's not my secret to tell," I argued. "Like your scars."

The Joker went rigid and his clockwork mind snapped into focus.

"I know the truth," I went on. "I won't tell him, or anyone, because it's not my place to."

"Well," he said. "Aren't you just full of surprises?"

I turned from him and went away to dress. When I emerged, he took my hand and led me to the bed, and sat down in front of me. He produced a slender paintbrush and a pot of liquid eye make-up – bright red – and held my chin in one hand. I giggled when the brush tickled my cheek.

"What's all this?" I asked.

"Nothing, just a little pizzazz," he said. "Are you nervous?"

"No."

"No? The Batman might be the one freak in this neighborhood who can actually do anything to stop you."

"I'm not afraid of him."

"What are you afraid of? Anything?"

"Well. . . There is one thing."

He paused, and the brush hovered in midair.

"We are going to die one day," I said. "Both of us. But I'll come back, the way I always do. I mean that literally – I suppose you know that."

"Yeah, I know that."

"But the next time I come back, you won't be here."

He grinned and applied the brush to my face one last time. "Is that all?" he asked. "You just don't wanna come back without me?"

"Is that all? It's everything! I'll find a way to endure, but. . ." I shook my head. "It won't be easy."

He stared at me, his face so close it seemed huge, and then leaned in and kissed me. When he spoke again, his voice was just above a whisper. "If I told you right now," he said, "that I would never, ever hurt you, would you believe me?"

"No," I said.

He grinned. "What if I told you I'd never let anyone else hurt you?"

"I believe you'd try."

His nose nudged mine; I could feel his breath against my lips. "And what if I said I was in love with you?"

I reached out and twisted a lock of his green-tinged hair around my finger. "Yes," I said. "That, I'd believe." Then we kissed again, long and deep.

"Be careful out there tonight," he said. "Don't let me break my promise."

As I left, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glass of a windowpane. He'd painted two tiny hearts underneath my eyes, like crimson teardrops. The Queen of Hearts. That was my name now. I liked it.