Disclaimer: All the characters used in this fic belong to DC Comics and are based on the characters The Dark Knight.I own nothing but the plot. Dedicated to Heath Ledger and based on his Joker. Haha!

Chapter 9: Chaos

A/N: Computer issues impeded my story progress.

Song: Ion by Apocalyptica

"So, do you have a name or what?" Harley asked, examining her newly painted nails. She had painted them a bloody shade of red to go with her clothes, and they looked absolutely perfect.

The Joker turned and raised an eyebrow at the question. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He leaned against the wall in the warehouse where all his little gadgets were kept, watching as the thugs pit the rottweilers against each other. He knew damn well what she meant. He just didn't want to openly admit that he'd nearly forgotten his name. But she didn't need to know that. It was his business.

Harley groaned, and leaned against his arm. "Do I always have to explain myself to you?" she demanded with a sigh, crossing her arms. Blue eyes stared at him incredulously as she continued. "Isn't there something... else I can call you? Something... something nobody else knows about? Something like... oh, I don't know... a name? Everyone has a name."

He ignored her, flipping the switchblade around in his hand, only to have it vanish. "What are you doing?" he asked, studying the smirk that appeared on her face. Lucky for her he wasn't dying to kill something... or at least carve it up.

Harley merely smirked. "Waiting for you to give me an answer," she replied, hiding the knife behind her back and stepping away. "So, you got an answer for me yet?"

"Hmm?"

Harley glowered at him. "Didn't you hear anything I just said? Anything at all?" She hopped on top of a crate, and crossed her arms and legs as she muttered, "Ass."

"Jack," he said, holding his hand out for the knife. In his opinion, women were completely irrational when it came to the simplest of things. They acted like the whole damn world revolved around them and their insatiable desire for attention. Complete bullshit, really.

Her eyes lit up. "Is that your name?" she asked hopefully, hopping off the crate and handing him the knife.

He turned his back on her and strode out of the warehouse without another word, knowing she'd follow. The fog that had fallen over the harbor was what he needed to get away.

She sighed, distressed that she couldn't see a damn thing thanks to the fog's shadowy clutches. "He's so... so... stubborn! I cannot believe how insensitive men are! It's outrageous!" As she went off on a tangent about how completely and utterly heartless men could be, the Joker grabbed her from behind, and she began to scream.

"You can stop screaming, princess," he whispered, resting his chin on her shoulder. Harley had a good mind to kick him a few times for scaring the living shit out of her, but doing that would guarantee her a one-way ticket to the depths of the underworld.

She pulled herself away from him, trying to seduce him into talking. "Then tell me... Is that your name?" She wanted to know everything about the so-called monster that was Gotham's Clown Prince of Crime. He had told her about the scars, but that was only one of the many mysteries that surrounded him.

"I know what you're doing, Harley," he said flatly. "I know what you want... It's written all over your face. But... there's something you have to do before I tell you any more secrets." He pushed her against the wall. "You're going to help me get what I want."

"And just what is it you want?" she purred, wrapping her arms around his neck. She leaned against him, feeling very daring. She had seen firsthand that he wouldn't let anyone take what was his. And clearly, she was his. She belonged to him, and no damned force on earth would get him to relinquish what he had claimed as his own.

He leaned close to her ear, and she could feel his breath on her neck. The words seemed to slide off the tongue of a serpent; the eerie edge of his voice sending a chill through her body. "This city deserves a better class of criminal, Harley. And I'm gonna give it to 'em... We just need to take care of the source..."

6 - 7 - 6 - 7

"You won't kill me out of some misplaced sense of self-righteousness. And I won't kill you because you're just too much fun. I think you and I are destined to do this forever..."

The words echoed in his head as a constant reminder of all the pain and suffering that the city and its citizens had gone through at the hands of a madman. He had tried to cleanse his mind of those maddenning words, but there was something that kept bringing them back.

And Bruce hated it.

"Something bothering you, Master Wayne?" Alfred entered the living room with a steaming cup of black coffee. He set it on the end table beside the couch where Bruce sat unmoving, staring at the blank television screen. He had been there for five hours, since three o'clock that afternoon, if Alfred remembered correctly; frozen in time; locked in a fierce battle with himself.

As Alfred turned on his heel to return to reading the newspaper in the kitchen, Bruce said, "Alfred... how did he know? How did he find out who I am?"

The butler picked up the remote and turned the television on to the news station as Bruce groaned in protest. Alfred watched the muted screen for a few minutes before setting the remote down on the table and whispering, "You might want to watch this next broadcast, Master Wayne. It could very well be the answer to your questions."

Bruce sighed and turned his attention to the screen.

"I'm Terra Bower, live on Westchester Avenue, where the brutally mutilated corpse of Mr. Bruce Wayne's lawyer, Coleman Reese, was found here," she pointed across the street, "in this alley just blocks away from his 52nd Street apartment." The woman crossed the street to the blocked-off police line before resuming her report. "Davis Christian, a Medical student at Gotham University, discovered the body and reported it to Gotham City Police Department only two hours ago."

The news anchor followed an officer, whom Bruce immediately recognized as Detective Stephens, into the alley, where Reese's body lay beneath a bloody sheet, a joker card lying on the ground.

The Joker's card.

"A note," the reporter continued, "believed to have been written in Reese's blood was found on the wall, stating that Reese was to thank for 'revealing the identity of Gotham's Dark Knight.' The message, as well as the brutal murder, is assumed to be the work of the Joker. Police are now..."

The woman continued speaking as the camera moved to the wall, showing the bloody letters, beneath which was the Joker's sign: two black circles drawn above a bloody bat symbol. Clearly, it was meant to represent the Joker's eyes... and his scarred smile.

"Due to the damage done to the face, Reese's body has been identified through a driver's license and credit cards found on the body. Further research into the murder is scheduled to be undertaken at MCU and Gotham Central Hospital, where the body will be housed for autopsy. I'm here live with Gotham Police Commissioner James Gordon. Commissioner," she said, turning to the officer, "how will you deal with the constant threat of the Joker here in Gotham?"

Jim Gordon stood by the anchor, his hands shoved in his coat pockets with a stressed look on his tired face. "We're doing everything and anything we can to find and apprehend the Joker as soon as possible. This madman has wreaked havoc upon our city for far too long, and it's high-time he be brought to justice."

The reporter trailed off as Alfred turned the volume down a bit. Bruce couldn't believe it. When Lucius had told him that Coleman Reese had voiced his suspicions about his client being the Dark Knight, he hadn't really considered what lengths the Joker would go to in order to get that information. Now he knew, and the results... were catastrophic.

Yet another person he had failed to protect.

"Master Wayne, there's something else you might be interested in," the butler said. The younger man glanced at the elder man confusedly, watching him leave the large study. Alfred returned moments later with a folded sheet of paper in his gloved hand. He handed it to Bruce and put his hands behind his back. "Miss Dawes gave it to me before she went after Mr. Dent, asking me to give it to you at the right time. I have thought about giving this letter to you several times since I received it, but decided against doing so. I hope you'll forgive me, sir."

Bruce gently accepted the letter from the butler, staring at the folded letter hesitantly, finally finding the courage to open it.

Dear Bruce,

I need to be honest and clear. I'm going to marry Harvey Dent. I love him and want to spend the rest of my life with him. When I told you that if Gotham no longer needed Batman we could be together, I meant it. But now, I'm sure the day won't come when you no longer need Batman. I hope it does. And if it does, I will be there, but as your friend. I'm sorry to let you down. If you lose your faith in me, please keep your faith in people and yourself.

Love, now and always,

Rachel

That was all he needed. The truth. Bruce stood up and, followed by Alfred, headed to the elevator hidden within the study that would take them down to the basement for his armor, tucking Rachel's letter away in his pants' pocket. The elevator opened in the "cave," and Bruce spotted the new blueprints and list of materials Lucius would need to rebuild the tumbler lying on a table. While Alfred searched the computer for any sightings of the Joker, Bruce suited up, pulled himself onto the Batpod, and listened to the engine hum and roar to life.

"Master Wayne, this was found in the mail today," Alfred said, and handed him a letter marked with the Joker's mark. Bruce took the letter and tore it open, glaring angrily at the sheet of paper inside.

"Tonight. Gotham Harbor."

6 - 7 - 6 - 7

Harley sat on the dock, staring at the moon's reflection through the fog as its silvery glow shimmered across the rippling water. She only wished that Jack would sit still for more than thirty goddamn seconds. He constantly paced around, muttering something about the Batman every now and then. That, and then some.

"Give it a rest, Jack," she sighed, shaking her head at him. "You have an unhealthy obsession with the Batman, and you know it."

He stopped pacing, turned to look at her, and nearly doubled over with hysteric laughter. Harley tilted her head slightly to the side, raising an eyebrow at him. She really didn't think it was all that funny. Her comment wasn't meant to be humorous in the slightest. Harley turned her attention back to the water, waiting for the Joker's uncontrollable snickers to die down. She stared at the water once again, her eyes suddenly drawn from the reflection of the new moon to that of a woman she didn't recognize.

Is that... me?

The woman she saw didn't look like her at all, save for the crystal blue eyes and blond hair that framed her gentle face. She had a sudden urge to reach out and touch the glass-like surface. A desire to know if the face she saw was really her own. But her contemplation didn't last long.

"An obsession? Is that your diagnosis, or the doctor's?"

She turned with a start, and found the Joker crouched behind her. Her initial reaction was to smack him for scaring her again, but she found herself lost in his manic eyes. More than anything, she wanted to know what he hid within them; wanted to know what he hid behind the paint. But more than that, she wanted him.

Harley pushed him over onto the creaking boards, sitting on his chest, clutching the collar of his shirt. "There is no doctor anymore, Jack. You of all people should know that much. Harleen Quinnzel died a long time ago. She doesn't exist anymore," she whispered slyly.

"Hmm. That's funny," he said. "I distinctly remember you telling me, just a few days ago, that your name was Harleen, and that you were a shrink at Arkham. Any of this sounding familiar?"

She rolled her eyes. "That was before this. Before I had what I have now. I just wasn't ready to let that part of me die. In all honesty, Harleen died almost a decade ago. I was just playing the part because I didn't know what else to do."

"You were..." he trailed off, distracted by the faint sound of a revving engine that was quickly approaching. He was obviously thrilled that the Batman was coming to join the game.

Harley saw the frighteningly excited look in his eyes, and hopped off of him as the sound of the roaring engine drew closer. The rumbling was much closer than it had been moments before. The sputtering of the exhaust pipe echoing across the foggy harbor. The moon was the only light in the cloudy sky, and thunder growled and flashed in the far distance. The choking engine came to a stop, and the Dark Knight emerged from within the fog.

The Joker was trembling with excitement. "It's about time you got here... Bruce."

"You wanted me. Here I am," he growled, moving his cold glare from the Joker to Harley. "You're... Dr. Harleen Quinnzel..."

Harley twitched at the name, and snapped, "No, I'm not! Damn!"

"Never argue with this one, Bat. She's got quite a temper," the Joker cackled as Harley grabbed his arm.

The Batman's eyes narrowed. "What have you done to her, Joker?" His rough voice dropped a bit, the words came out like a fierce snarl.

"Me?" he said innocently. "I haven't done a thing. All I did was break her out of Arkham. She chose this of her own free will. Oh, when will you learn, Bat? When will you finally see the truth? The only sensible way to live in this world is without rules. And if you can't break your one rule, you'll be bound for the rest of your life." The Joker steadily began circling the Batman. A temporary silence between predator and prey. "The day is coming, Bruce. Gotham will burn, and you will be the one to blame. They already hate you for what happened to Harvey, so what's to stop them from hating you when this city goes up in flames?"

The man shook his head, but failed to clear out the Joker had said. "As long as people like you exist, I won't stop defending Gotham."

The Joker laughed. "You just don't get it, do you? There is nobody like me. I'm the only one, and I don't plan on going anywhere for a long time. Introduce a little anarchy... upset the established order... and everything becomes chaos. I'm an agent of chaos, Bruce. And you know the thing about chaos? It's fair..."

That last line is classic. Heath truly created an intriguing version of the Joker.