((i own none of it D: ))

Rehearsals were a real drag on her. Being around so many people left her feeling confused, and drained, but thankfully there were enough people to warrant no one paying any attention to her or her Joker. Of course, they were much less ostentatious than they usually were—indeed, they kept to themselves, doing what the "director" of their float said to do and nothing more or less.

A few weeks after he'd presented her with a their new plan Duela found herself sitting at the kitchen table, having just come home from rehearsal. She flipped through the paper, finding more articles and speculation about her father. The months kept passing, and the theories strayed even farther from the truth. With concentrated gracefulness, Duela grabbed a pencil and began to color in the left half of Harvey Dent's face, a little obsessively at this point. Her tongue hung out in concentration as she did.

The Joker, who sat across from her, raised his eyebrows as he watched. He waited for her to explain, but based on the insane grin on her face from when she was done, he sort of got it. "That's who he really is," he said, softly. His understanding washed over her and made her feel whole again. He knew his understanding meant something profound to her, but he didn't get how profound. And neither did she, really.

"Yeah," she breathed, out of breath for some reason. "They don't know him. Not like I did. And believe me, I…I knew him," she said, her usually wide eyes going even wider. She blinked and sipped her coffee, tenderly, staring down at the simple coloring she did. It was simple, but it made all the difference to her.

"Babe?" Duela asked. She gave him the same look she'd been giving him for a while. The look the he was the be all and end all, and yet, she wanted nothing more than to just rip out his throat for all he'd turn her into.

He kind of liked that look. "Yes, Duela, dear?" he asked attentively.

"Do you love me?"

Even though he was the Joker, he had to pull back a little and think about how to approach this. Thoughts of love entered his mind and his eyes widened with anger and insanity. He vaguely remembered love, and…what it could do to people. "You should get some sleep," he said darkly. He didn't love her, but he didn't want to send her into that spiral of self-loathing by rejecting her again. Not yet, anyway.

Too late. Angrily she rose and slammed her cup on the table, the mug breaking and coffee spilling everywhere. She narrowed her eyes and as she walked out of the room, she made as much noise as possible doing anything she could. She stayed in her room but didn't sleep. Instead she paced, her eyes wild with hatred. She did hate him, right now.

"I could've been someone," she reminded herself. "Someone could have loved me. Loved me as much as I loved him. I could've been…anyone," she hissed, staring at herself in that full-length mirror. "But he took me, out of normalcy, and made me this monster."

It wasn't unusual for Duela, in her blind rage, to twist the facts like this in her favor. For an hour she obsessed over what she could have done, how he took her and her life and made her life into his, but refused to give any of his life back. God she hated him. After a while she took her knife, and slowly slipped from her room, not making any sort of noise.

She inched down to the hall and into his room, seeing him lying on his back. His breathing was steady. She walked closer, the petite knife clenched in her hand. The knife fit it perfectly. She wet her lips as she walked up to his body, every movement as fluid as liquid. She took the knife and put it to his throat, her breath getting caught for a moment as she hesitated.

Is this really what you want? She asked herself. After all he's given you…you earned it, you made your own way under him, you deserve everything he does for you… Harlequin said to Duela, and Duela seemed to be listening. He's better to you than your father ever was. The Joker praises you, gives you responsibility, and has more of you than your father ever wanted. Just him knowing you makes him worth it, Duela. The voice continued to coo.

"So do it already," came his quite voice, as if he wasn't asleep at all. Duela snapped from her trance, her lips shivering. "Do it, Duela. Think of all the people you'd be saving, all the chaos you'd be containing…all these lives you would better…"

She cried to herself. Her throat hurt from the lump and tears streamed down her cheeks. "I can't," she choked out, pulling her knife away from his neck and standing up to leave him. "I can't," she responded again, her voice high and cracking.

He turned over where he lay, disappointed. "You're still so weak, so fragile, Duela…" he hissed, and heard her leave. He fell asleep to her screaming and crying from the other room.

----

"Showtime," the Joker hissed, smirking to Duela. He was also an elf. He was the most ridiculous, dangerous, and beautiful thing she'd honestly ever seen as he stood there. He put freckles and rosy cheeks on with makeup, doing the same to Duela. "You know the plan?" he asked, waiting in the wings before the parade even began.

"I know the plan," she said on cue. It really wouldn't be all that difficult, her part…Bruce Wayne, while he was strong, had a weakness. He loved and cared far too much for his own good. It would be like taking candy from a baby. Still, as she prepared herself physically for her acting debut, she couldn't help but remember the last time she saw Batman. Still as vulnerable as he would be today, under the fear gas.

Bruce Wayne walked by, and…noticed a crying elf. He frowned, looked at his watch, and figured he had time for this one girl. She smeared her makeup by hiding her face and crying in it. He bent down to her level, his eyes soft and sensitive. "What's wrong, doll?" he asked, and he flashed his little smirk that he did, lifting her chin with one finger.

"I just…found out my dad, died, in a car accident…" she mumbled, her voice and body shaky from the apparent shock. She still hid her face, knowing he would notice the scars, in spite of her makeup. Thankfully, her usual Harlequin attire made seeing her scars very difficult to see, so he wouldn't know about that.

Indeed, his heart melted as he watched her, frowning a little bit. "I'm so sorry," he said. "You should go…your mother, she'd probably want you there…"

"I can't," she said automatically. "My mom and I aren't doing so well, financially, and if I leave, I won't get paid," Duela said with a small sigh. "You don't happen to know where I could find some tissues…?" she asked, and when he saw her face, she fumed that even Batman was immune to the terror her scars brought. "A run-in with the Joker…he's, he's terrible," she hissed, and shivered.

This only added to the sympathy he already held for her. "I'm so sorry," he said, awkwardly. "Let's go find a utility closet, they probably have some kind of tissues in there," he said, and he helped her up, wrapping a protective arm around her lithe form. This was going so according to plan, she was almost scared something would go wrong. Duela loved that fear. It made her stronger, just like he said it would.

They did finally find a utility closet, and the hunt was on for tissues—for now. "I just wanted to thank you, Mr. Wayne, for being so kind to me," she purred, stopping her search for now to look him in the eye. She blinked and smiled as he faced her, and she stepped just a little closer. "I mean, I know your…reputation," she mumbled, and put a hand on his hand.

He tensed considerably, looking down at her and clearing his throat. "I, well…it's no big dear, babe," he said with a small chuckle. He stared at her eyes and he brushed back some of her blonde hair.

This was going more according to plan than she could have ever predicted. Duela inched closer to Bruce, her eyes going wide as she leaned forward on her tip toes. Their lips collided, and after a moment, Duela deepened the kiss.

This next move had to be swift. She moved the hand that didn't touch his hand into her sleeve, and she pulled out a hypodermic needle. Like lightning she stuck his arm and pushed the plunger in, sending the anesthetic coursing through his veins. He pulled back and glared at her, alarmed, but after a second he fell onto the floor, sleeping peacefully.

Duela pulled out her phone, and the Joker picked up. "He's down," she said gently, glancing down at the smeared lipstick from her lips on his face.

----

"Is it recording?"

"Shut up, Duela…"

"I just asked if you were recording…"

"Hello, Commissioner Gordon," hissed the Joker into the camera, in his full garb. Behind him, Bruce Wayne was tied to a steel chair, still unconscious. Harlequin stood next to him, giggling under her breath. "I just wanted to let you know that me and my lovely little Harlequin managed to save Bruce Wayne—ooh, I'm sorry, sometimes we call him Batman."

Bruce was coming to as the Joker continued. "As you know we're two very busy clowns, and busy clowns require…endorsement," he mumbled, nodding a little. "I know the city of Gotham is willing to give up said endorsement for its clowns. Because what would you do without us? I mean, we're the reason people like Dr. Crane and Harvey Dent don't go bump in the night anymore. You owe us," he said, and he moved the camera into Bruce's face.

"If we don't get the endorsement we want in…say, a week…"

"A week? But that's like a year!" Duela complained behind him.

Joker sighed. "No, that's like, a week," he said. "A week is all you will have, and then we'll just go ahead and take out the trash…and as I'm sure you can remember, I'm a man of my word," he said, and out of the sheer giddiness he felt, he let out a cackle that strongly overpowered the demented giggle coming from Duela. He shut off the camera and set it aside to mail.

"Joker," Bruce breathed, looking up to his back. The man didn't respond, leaving Bruce to sit there, sighing a little as he did. He shifted, as best as he could, under the restraints. "Gordon wouldn't pay for me."

"Maybe not you, but he might pay for…the Batman," Duela said with a small smirk, popping out from behind him in her pretty blue dress. "Isn't that right, babe?"

"Don't talk to him," the Joker said darkly, and he stuffed the tape into an envelope. He wrote down a fake return address on the envelope. The Joker sealed it, and wrote on the front:

GORDON'S EYE'S ONLY

Before smirking to himself. "Good, good…excellent…come on, Duela, shouldn't you go to the store? Christmas is coming up, and I've been a good boy," he cooed, and nodded towards the door. "Besides, I'm sure Mr. Wayne would love a home cooked Christmas dinner, won't you?" he asked, and ruffled poor Bruce's hair. He still looked dazed, and if Joker had anything to do with it, he would stay that way.

Duela looked down and nodded. "I just feel like I'm not a part of this at all…"

"We would both really appreciate a cook meal, believe me. It would help the plan," he said absently, and shooed her away with his eyes. He was getting more tired of her ever day.

----

Three days passed. Duela found herself on the couch with Bruce Wayne still in his chair, a little less dazed than before but dazed all the same. "They're investigating you," she mumbled idly, turning up the news so he could hear all about his disappearance. She stared at the TV, not listening to Bruce hardly at all.

He watched her, though. She was his ticket out of here…she was obviously very susceptible to any sort of persuasion, and hopefully he could play the right card. So to speak. Bruce wet his lips before he finally spoke. "So you and the Joker?" he asked, and she turned to him, shrugging. "Your dad…wouldn't have approved."

"You didn't know him," she said calmly. He was reminded of the chill that sat over a town before a category five hurricane blew in.

"I did know him," he corrected her. "Maybe not in the same way as you did, but I knew him very well," he continued. His voice was as smooth as velvet, something Duela wasn't used to hearing. "He wouldn't have liked you working with the Joker. Or with any of Gotham's insane," he mumbled. "He would've wanted much better for you, y'know. And so do I."

"You…don't know that. You don't know me. And you didn't know him," she said, looking to him full-on then, frowning a bit. "What makes you think you're the authority on all of this?" Duela asked, turning off the TV.

Good. He got her attention. He gazed at her. "Because I know your type. You wanna be great…this was not the right direction to go. What do you think will end up happening to the Joker? Do you think he's going to live forever, like you two seem to think? He's a man, like you and me…he'll die. And trust me when I say that it won't be a good death." He paused. "Neither will yours."

"By your logic, neither will yours," Duela countered, frowning and hating that she had to be talking to him like this. He seemed to know more about this situation than anyone else.

Bruce chuckled. "Probably not. But I'll see a much better end than he'll get…because I'll have lived for something."

"He is living for something. He lives for chaos."

"But can any one person really decide on what chaos will do? Isn't that…sort of hypocritical, trying to do chaos? Chaos happens, one doesn't deliver it," Bruce explained, even in his medicated state.

"Why not? Does chaos have to have rules?" she asked. "He's not breaking any rules, because there is no rules." She stood up, as if trying to get some sort of dominance over him. "He's doing what he wants. And so am I."

"Is this what you really want?" Bruce asked, and it stung like the needle that she stung him with. "If you get yourself better…clearer…I could easily send you to college. And you can be your own person," he said, hitting her right where it hurt her. "You have to rely on the Joker anymore, yeah?" he said, kindly.

Duela shook her head. "This is me now. It's not a bad thing…" her eyes got all starry. "I'm the leader of the next generation, y'see. I'm Harlequin, I'm carrying on his legacy. And Two Face's. I'm not…gonna leave that right now."

"It won't end well," Bruce reminded her. "This could all end right now. I see the way he treats you…you're not his legacy, you're his slave." Duela tensed considerably at that.

"I am not!" she yelled. She yelled because it was true, of course. "I've heard just about enough out of you…" Duela said, and roughly grabbed a few washcloths, stuffing them into his mouth angrily and putting duct tape over his lips. She glared down at her and shook her head, slapping him once to make her point.

"You get one thing straight. He loves me." But even as she said it, it seemed so…untrue.

When the Joker got home that night she hid in her room with her phone, not sure whether or not to call in an anonymous tip about them. Was he bluffing when he said he could take all of this away? Don't you love him, Duela? She asked herself, and she nodded. Leaving him wouldn't just hurt you. It would hurt him, too…he couldn't do this without you, without your intelligence and your beauty…the voice continued to mumble into her ear.

"Shut up," she said aloud, shifting a little where she sat, on her bed. "Could I really do this to him? Or…could I really do this to myself?" she asked herself again, looking down at the phone. Her eyes glassed over as she thought about her situation, and she seemed to go into another confused trance.