Last chapter :) Thanks to everyone who's reviewed...

They were in some party, one of Bruce Wayne's fundraiser's – he remembers the last time, when Wayne's little girlfriend had stood there so…bravely. He giggles. Back then he didn't know who Wayne really was. It was so funny to think no-one had noticed that the playboy spent his nights dressed in black rubber, hanging out in the seedy parts of Gotham.

Well, the more retiring millionaires tended to do that – he snickered – but Wayne?

One of the guests steps forward, trying to confront him, and he grabs her, twisting her round and pressing his knife to her throat.

"You want to know how – hey – you want to know how I got these scars?"

He sees Wayne slip out. Clearly a fight with the Bat is in order. He starts to talk – quickly.

"Now, I used to live with my, uh, cousin. My cousin, who is such…fun. Who is always up for everything. Who always was…a little…out of it. Who sells his drugs on dens and whorehouses and street corners all over the place. One day he sends me out with a whole pile of crack to give to some of his…ah…customers. But he was off his head when he sent me, and it was the brown and not the white powder they wanted. As a thank you for his screw-up they slice my face. Then they set me back on my bike, to him.

Now he's scared, because they'll do the same to him, and without a word, he packs and leaves. Suddenly, I'm alone in the big city at night…"

The girl has fallen silent. The whole room is tense. The low, growling voice is like thunder when he speaks.

"Let her go, Joker."

"I seem to rem-em-ber that you said that…last time."

Batman snarls, and launches himself at the clown, who laughs.

The room is filled with one noise – the Joker's hysterical laughter as Batman stabs, punches, crushes him. No-one else dares to speak.

Batman brings his leg back for yet another kick, lashes out – and screams in pain. A knife hilt protrudes from his ankle. In a flicker, the Joker is up, one hand round the bat's neck, gripping his mask, the other with a knife at his throat.

"That, bats, is what happens when you kick someone else's knife. Now, I've been just dying to tell you. Do you want to know…how I got these scars?"

"So I was begging on a street corner in Gotham in midwinter, and I decide to go look at the, uh, the rich people, watching their plays and operas in the theatrical bit of the city.

Now, there's a family coming out early from one of the, ah, plays…and one of the robbers steps forwards, gun out. I hide. I recognise the family – everyone would – and I know that there'll be blood, maybe a shooting – maybe a few coins dropped in the gutter to stop me starv-ing.

They fight, and I can tell that the family don't have a chance. They're too…just too rich! I hear a couple of, uh, gunshots, and look round to see they have a kid my age. He's snivelling, a mini version of his dead daddy. I walk off, without him seeing me, straight into the guy who shot his parents

"You're not gonna tell?" he says. He's put the gun away, but he pulls out a knife. "You're not gonna tell?"
I shake my head, but he, no, he isn't convinced.

"You're not gonna tell." he says, and this time it isn't a question. He knocks me round the head, and I wake up with this on my face.

So, you see, you and me-" he pauses and looks around the room, licking his lips. "We're the same. We come from the same place…Bruce."

A few of the guests gasp. The Joker smirks. He knew he wouldn't escape this one – and he giggles as the Batman, in one last fit of rage, hurls him through the window that Rachel Dawes once shattered.

()

Commissioner Gordon put his head in his hands, worrying, worrying. At least his family was safe.

The police had cleared everything up. The Joker was gone, locked in a mortuary, all the makeup and blood and grime cleaned away so they could find out who he was.

All of Bruce Wayne's property was still his – he could bribe the judges and get the best lawyers…once he was out of Arkham, of course. All those mental struggles had…taken their toll. No-one told him that he was in cell 476 – the one recently vacated by the Joker.

Selina Kyle sighed, and threw her outfit into the fire. Catwoman…No, she'd have to find something else to do. Her pet cats purred around her feet as her old mask burned.

In Arkham, a new, young-looking psychiatrist began to organise Bruce Wayne's – or Batman's - file. She let a tear run down her face, but dashed it away. It really wouldn't do to let everyone know just how obsessed she had been with her old patient.

Pulling up her sleeve, Dr. Quinzel ran her fingers over a rough 'J'-shaped scar. Yes, working with the Joker had been tough, but there was something about him…He had shown her so much.

That was another thing – he had shown her the darker, no, the darkest side of Gotham. She pulled a knife out of her pocket, eyed it, put it back in again. Batman had killed the Joker, her Joker. Bruce Wayne was Batman.

"Harley?"

"Mm?"

"Wayne'll see you now. He should be okay, not too psychotic…"

"Yeah…"

Inside the cell, Harley Quinn felt anger welling up as she eyed Bruce Wayne's face. She rolled up her sleeves, showing all the scars the Joker had ever given her.

Wayne stared at her – his eyes widened comically as she pulled out the knife.

"So, Mister B – You want to know just how I got these scars?"

There we are...I couldn't resist putting Harley in there, she's my favourite.

The end :)

P.S. Please review...