A/N when Amelia is in the scene, what is italicized is her thoughts at the time. at first i was going to to this from her point of view then changed my mind. so here we are.

Chapter 1

Dead...

Some said she was forced to break the Joker out, and that she died when her apartment building exploded. Others believed that she had become his harlequin mate, who was also dead now. Either way, Dr. Harleen Quinzel was dead.

It was strange to be thinking about a woman Amelia had never met, nor cared to, when she woke up. Mike was released early for decent behavior. He killed her. Amelia's girl, B, Boo... That's not what they locked him up for. They got him on drug charges. Not murder. She gazed in the mirror, insomnia, and ran a hand through her hair. It was messy and twisted. She licked my lips and shuffled out of the bathroom. Her eyes caught the picture frame. Jeff, also dead. Mike didn't kill him. No, Batman. Jeff, Jeff, Jeff, Jeff...

Amelia would be meeting Mike downtown Gotham. For dinner, he thought it was anyways. He took Boo away from her. Incessant advances, giving her things that could kill her. When she heard he was stationed on one of the ferries the Joker had rigged, she was ecstatic. No. Nothing happened. The people of Gotham were good, no one blew anyone up. Batman stopped the Joker. Batman "killed" people. Jeff and Amelia knew better. He left for work. Late night, he explained. No more of that, sleepless, the mob got a hold of him. Kidnapped, gone, dead. Batman was there, close, about to save him. But he didn't. He failed, he was dead.

Now the Joker was free, his harlequin dead. The Batman fell in distraught, no longer patrolling "his" city. Amelia picked at her jeans, cigarette burns, and grabbed a clean shirt.

**

"What's new?" Mike asked, fumbling in his pockets.

Amelia pulled the cigarette from behind her ear and handed it to him. "Nothing much."

"Did that psycho really break from Arkham?" Mike struck his only match, singeing his fingers slightly.

"That was a while ago."

"Yeah... I remember now. No worries. They're reinstating me to the Guard."

"Really? They're putting this entire drug shit behind?" Amelia's voice was emotionless.

"You got a problem with that?" Mike snapped. "It's cold out here. Why are we here anyways?"

"Waiting for the restaurant to be clear."

"Up on a rooftop? Damn, it's out..."

"Yeah? Lemme go get a lighter."

Amelia swung open the stair doors. There it was a black bag, right where she left it. Mike hadn't noticed-he was too high.

It happened so fast. The black fabric whirled around her as she stepped back on to the roof. The hood deterred her vision, but she didn't need to see it anyways. She connected all the pieces, the parts, of her staff. Long, sleek metallic and black.

Grim... Grim... GRIM!

All the force, all the pressure, slammed against Mike's head. He stumbled backwards.

"What the fu-"

Another blow, with her foot, an ax-kick.

All the force,

Momentum,

He was on his knees now. Hoisting him up was a hard task. Lifting with her knees, Mike's semi-conscious body pressed against the side of the building.

"The Grim fucking Reaper," he spat.

"No," she growled, tipping his body dangerously. "I'm not."

"We're getting too old for games, Amelia," he laughed. "Too old for childish names dead people called us." The hood caught the wind, flying back.

"Glad you agree," she smiled, eyes filled with hate and malice.

She tipped his body back, it toppled downwards

Down

Down

Splat against the pavement. She smiled to herself. Dinner is cancelled, she thought happily.

**

"HARLEY! HARLEY GET DOWN HERE!" The Joker demanded.

"Boss, she's dead," a brave henchman pointed out.

The Joker paused for a moment. The laughed. "That's right isn't it? She's dead. Good ol' Harvey got the one up on me. Heeheehee... Harvey, Harvey, Harvey Dent..." he chuckled.

His henchmen fled; afraid their boss might try and kill them again. The Joker gazed out the window, still laughing.

"Gone," he mouthed the word. It felt strange and foreign to him. "Harley Quinn is gone," he croaked.

**

"Master Bruce?" Alfred asked, cautiously opening Bruce's bedroom door.

"They found Harleen Quinzel's body. A gunshot to the head. He killed his own partner," Bruce said.

"He might've, but we have more pressing matters on our hands."

"Dinner parties and charity balls don't matter anymore, Alfred. I have to stop this man."

"Not that, I just thought you'd be interested in knowing one of your restaurants is the setting of a murder."

"Murder?" Bruce glanced at Alfred.

"Or suicide, but it's not likely. The body was all bruised up they said."

"It could've been the Joker," Bruce lept from his seat scrambled out of the room.

He'd go to the crime scene as Bruce Wayne, concerned billionaire. Concerned for his restaurant's welfare, of course. It was still daylight anyhow. He grabbed the keys to his new Lamborghini and took off. Bruce took a quick glance in the rear view mirror. He looked tired, worn out. His hair was tousled and shirt wasn't tucked in. Bruce rubbed his eyes and kept driving. The in-car-phone rang.

"Yeah Alfred?" Bruce answered.

"I suppose you'll be wanting the name of the restaurant then?" Alfred asked.

"That'd be helpful, yes."

Alfred chuckled and told Bruce the restaurant's name. Bruce thanked him and hung up. Commissioner Gordon was at the scene.

"Mr. Wayne," he said, reaching out to shake Bruce's hand.

"Nice to see you again Commissioner," Bruce smiled, accepting. "This won't effect business, do you think?"

"One of your establishments?"

"I wasn't just going through a calming drive through Gotham."

"Looks like you could use one."

Bruce merely nodded, focused on the dead body. "What happened?"

"He jumped," an officer said, rolling his eyes.

"We don't know that yet. I want a crew on the roof dusting for prints. Get the coroner and take this body to the morgue. Anything we can get from it," Gordon barked out orders.

"What do you think happened?" Bruce asked Gordon.

"I think someone beat him with a cane or a staff and pushed his body off the building."

Bruce shuddered, pretending to be disgusted by the scene, "I guess I'll go check on everyone."

"Why don't you go home, Mr. Wayne? Get some coffee, take it easy. We've got things covered here," Gordon suggested, pushing the billionaire towards his Lamborghini.

"Yeah... Good idea. I'll do that... You don't think... Commissioner... That the Joker did this?"

"If he did, there'd be nothing left."

"I heard... His partner was shot. Maybe he's gone soft?"

"Just between you and me, Mr. Wayne, I think the Joker shot her himself," Gordon said.