AN: The court case Joker talks about is true, unfortunately. The woman in question is named Jennifer Thompson, should you want more details on her story.

Thanks for the reviews!

"Joker. Hey, Joker." Jonathan sat beside him on the bed, poking him repeatedly in the ribs. "Hey. Wake up."

"I'm tired." The words were muttered into his pillow, barely intelligible. "Leave me alone."

"Well, now the boot is on the other foot, isn't it?"

There was a pause. "The hell's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that this is payback for all the times you've woken me," Jonathan said, with a smile and shove. "Now get up."

He did, albeit after a few more minutes protest, muttering death threats as he sat up against the headboard. However, given that most of his makeup had come off in the night and what remained was a grayish-red mess, it was hard to be intimidated. "When was the last time you slept?" he asked, glaring at his companion.

"Er…two days ago. What?" he asked when the clown stared. Sleep was irrelevant, something to be avoided if it sped his toxin-making process. Sure, it was essential for life, but it could still be avoided for a week, at least.

"And they call me insane." Still looking decidedly displeased, he shook his head to clear the hair from his face, like a dog. "What's so important it couldn't wait until a decent hour?"

"Ten o'clock is very decent."

"The point, Jonny."

Sensing that he was about five seconds from having a knife shoved in his mouth, Jonathan decided it was best to be concise with his words. "Poison's done."

Ah, now he had the Joker's undivided attention. How he loved watching the man's eyes light up that way when he knew he had caused it. "Totally done?"

"Not totally. I still have to run tests to make sure it works as planned, but the basic formula is finished. From here on it'll be modifying the ingredients as opposed to altering what composes the—" He trailed off as the Joker's hands entwined in his hair, moving him forwards so the clown's lips met his forehead.

"You, my little genius, are fantastic," he said, caressing Jonathan's face.

"I know." He felt a flush of heat through his body, as he'd felt whenever Joker complimented him since the relationship had begun, though he'd no idea why. But then, everything had changed since he'd said yes, and he supposed physical sensations should be no exception.

"We should celebrate."

"We should."

Joker looked surprised for a moment, as if for once actually stunned that things were going his way. It was replaced by his standard smirk quickly enough, however. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Yes." He smiled back, untangling the Joker's fingers from his hair and standing. "Breakfast."

"Breakfast?" Joker repeated, with the air of a man whose dreams had just been shattered before him.

"Yeah. I haven't eaten in two days either." He narrowly dodged a pillow sent flying towards him.

"You little tease."

Jonathan thought it best to leave before Joker got his hands on something heavy. "See you in the kitchen."

He made his way down the hall and through the living room, noting the bloodstain still in the carpet from the henchman Joker had shot a few days ago. Jonathan had suggested that they move the body and wash the stain out immediately, but the Joker, apparently still angry at being insulted, had insisted they all sit for a lecture about why words like 'fucking fag pervert' were not acceptable and that anyone else caught using them in regards to either Jonathan or himself would have to sit in the corner with soap in their mouth for an hour. Only by soap in the mouth he meant a bullet in the brain, and by an hour he meant until it rotted out. Jonathan imagined the point had gotten across—the bit where he'd emptied his gun into the corpse's crotch had certainly helped—but he doubted the stain would ever come out now.

The kitchen turned out to be a total disappointment.

"There's no food in here," he announced as the Joker came in, makeup reapplied but hair still disheveled.

"Sure there is." He tilted his head toward a box of Twinkies lying on its side by the sink.

"That doesn't count. I mean, there's nothing here that constitutes food, not nutrition-wise."

"God, you're picky."

"No, I'm sensible." Jonathan crossed the room to the Joker, scrutinizing him each step of the way. "Have you looked at yourself lately?"

"Just a minute ago, in fact. And I'm hot." He met Jonathan's stare and frowned. "What?"

"Down here," he said, taking hold of a strand of the Joker's hair by the shoulder, "your hair is dirty blond. But up here," he raised his hand nearly to the roots, "it's light blond. Almost white. Do you know what that means?"

"Er…that the dye's affecting the hair shafts?"

"It means you're malnourished, idiot." He pulled his hand away, trying not to shudder at the oil remaining on his fingers. "Meaning if you don't take better care of yourself, you could end up dead, or brain damaged, or with scurvy—"

"Hey, scurvy's cool," Joker said, shrugging. "It's a pirate disease, and pirates are awesome."

"It's not awesome when your teeth fall out, your scars open back up, and you walk around constantly bleeding from the gums and nose. Or when you shit yourself to death. Yes, that happens," he added, off the Joker's stare. "Death by shitting."

Joker blinked. "Well, they sure don't tell you that at Disney World."

Jonathan doubted Joker had ever been to Disney World, but that was beside the point. "We're going shopping. For actual food."

He made a face. "That's what henchmen are for, kitten."

"I thought henchmen were for laundry."

"They're for any menial task. And out of curiosity, were you expecting for us to just stroll into Wal*Mart with no one noticing, or would we be in disguise?"

"No disguises."

Joker raised a brow. "Really?"

"You're the one who wanted to attract the Batman's attention, and I need to test the laughing gas. We may as well kill three birds with one stone." Having caught the Joker's interest, he continued. "I was thinking we'd go somewhere small, easily subdued, and try the toxin there. How does that sound?"

"Potentially badass." He considered it, tongue pushing against his scars from the inside. "All right, let's do this."

It was a convenience store right where the Narrows began to merge with the more respectable parts of town, small and, judging by the view from the windows, near empty. Not that that stopped the Joker from bringing enough weapons to supply a small army, but Jonathan was fairly sure he always carried that much. And the arsenal had its uses. When Jonathan raised the possibility of a silent alarm, Joker produced a pair of wire cutters, disappeared around the building for a moment, and upon returning, took Jonathan's hand and led him inside.

They weren't three steps inside before Joker grabbed hold of Jonathan's shirt, turning him so they were in the path of a security camera, and kissed him, suddenly and hard enough to be painful. Eyes open, Jonathan felt a moment of panic—Someone's going to see us, you idiot—but it appeared that luck was on their side, as was so often the case with the Joker. At least, he heard no screaming or running away, and thanked his lucky stars for that.

"What are you doing?" he whispered when the clown pulled back, face flushed with what was only partly anger.

He tilted his head toward the camera. "Showing Bats what he's missing. It was your idea, remember?"

Ah. That. He'd almost managed to forget the purpose of their antics was to make the Batman jealous, not just draw him out. He felt that twinge in his chest again and brushed it off, pulling his mask over his head. "You get the customers. Testing this on the cashiers should be enough."

He pulled back his sleeve to make sure the spray of the gas wouldn't be cut off, as the Joker took off down the nearest aisle, laughing madly and thus completely ruining the cover they'd miraculously held onto for that long. Idiot, Jonathan though affectionately, running in the direction of the cash registers and jumping over the counter, blasting the unfortunate girl standing behind it in the face as he landed.

The effect was near instantaneous; she fell to the floor at once, shaking and screaming with laughter. In the back of his mind, Scarecrow was giggling like an idiot and begging to be let out to play, but Jonathan kept him in check for the moment. Scarecrow tended to neglect rather important parts of the scientific process, such as observing the effects. Kneeling down beside the girl, he forced her head back to watch the progress of the smile on her face. First, there was nothing, save for a twitch at the corners of her mouth, but after a moment, it stretched out, wider and wider until there was no more room, and then more.

Jonathan stood, stepping back just in time to avoid being splattered with blood as the girl's skin ripped, leaving her cheeks in torn shreds, much the way the Joker's must have looked before they healed. Made that a little too strong then, he thought, watching with detached amusement as she bled out, laughing all the while. The laughing was really ruining the effect, but the fear in her eyes almost made up for it.

"Jessica!"

He turned, remembering the other cashier, hands up to defend himself against attack. He needn't have bothered. The teenager, who looked weak and easy to overpower anyway, stood still as the grave, face draining and legs shaking as he stared, aghast, at his dying coworker. "Jesus Christ…" he muttered, as the girl began to choke on her blood.

It still wasn't screaming, but the suffocating sounds were nearly as good. "I could get used to this."

Only then did the cashier seem to realize his presence. "Motherfucker! I'm g—" He found the toxin around Jonathan's wrist pointed in his direction and shut up, quickly. Smarter than he looked, maybe.

"Unless you want to end up like your friend there, I'd suggest you don't try my patience." Oh, watching his eyes go wide was fantastic. Definitely made up for all the laughing. Hell, it made up for everything he'd been through lately, dislocated shoulder and all.

"How's it going, Jonny?" Joker asked from somewhere in frozen foods.

"Well…" Toxin still angled at the teen, he shot a quick glance to the body at the floor, life slowly draining from her eyes. "It appears I made the paralyzing agent a bit too strong. We can't have it rip the face and keep the smile intact, I'm afraid. Once the skin tears, it slackens again. I can keep the smile if the concentration is weaker, I think, but you won't get the rips."

"Aw. You sure it wasn't just a bad reaction? Have you tested the other one?"

"No yet." He smirked under the mask as the boy's face went paler than ever. "Is it all right with you if I enjoy his fear for a bit longer?"

"Enjoy away, kitten, everyone back here's taken care of."

"You're getting the things on the list then?"

"Do I have to get a toothbrush?"

"Yes. That is not a debatable item."

The teen's face was switching between terror and confusion at a remarkable rate. Jonathan wished he had some way of recording it.

"I don't care if I've got gingivitis, though."

"Get it or I will never kiss you again." He'd found that, very unlike himself, the Joker seemed to thrive on physical contact and decided denying it would be the best way to get something. That, or get himself killed. He was willing to risk it in this case though. The clown's hygiene was really unacceptable.

"Fucking queer!"

"Hey." His full attention was back on the little bastard at once. "If I want your opinion, I'll cut out your voice box."

There was a pause, before Joker spoke up again. "Jonny? That made no sense as a threat. You know that, right?"

"It got away from me a bit," he admitted, taking a step toward the teen. The look on his face was almost enough to abate Jonathan's anger, but not quite. He was preparing to give the idiot a face full of the laughing gas when Joker distracted him.

"Hey, they've got ice cream."

"We don't need ice cream."

"But it's good. Don'tya ever have any fun, scaredy cat?"

He sighed and turned, annoyed. "If you must, then get it. But be quick about things, would you?"

"What kind do you like?"

"Does it matter?"

"Of course! How about strawberry, is that good?"

"No," he said, feeling the start of a headache.

"What've you got against strawberry?"

"I'm allergic."

"Oh. Whaddya like, then?"

Christ. "I don't know. Mint."

"Seriously? That stuff tastes like toothpaste."

Jonathan smirked. "And you would know what toothpaste tastes like how, exact—"

WHAM.

He didn't feel anything, at first. The pressure of contact, and then an odd absence of feeling, of all sensation except a ringing in his ears. A few seconds later it all snapped back, the pain of the blow, the shattered sound of whatever he'd been hit with breaking over his head, and most of all, the sharp, agonizing pain of a jagged edge from the weapon penetrating the burlap of the mask and slashing him across the scalp. He felt the blood flowing before he hit the floor.

Upon impact, he rolled onto his back, broken—glass, he realized—cutting into his skin where he landed. Over him stood the cashier, face contorted in a mix of rage and panic, broken bottle in hand. Joy, he thought, heart racing. Death by soda bottle. I'll be the laughingstock of all villainy, forever. Pathetic, it's just—

And then the Joker was jumping over the counter, shopping basket still in one hand, feet planting into the teen's chest as he came down, knocking him to the floor. Satisfied that he was too stunned to get up for a moment, Joker made his way to Jonathan, pulling the mask off and examining the wound beneath.

"Good job!" he said brightly, shoving the mask into Jonathan's hand.

Jonathan could only stare. "What?" Glad my pain is amusing to you?

"Use that to stop the bleeding," Joker instructed, tapping the mask, then turned back to the fallen boy. "Hey, you." Jonathan tilted his head back, watched as the clown wrenched the broken bottle from the little bastard's hand. "You're fucking dead, asshole. Nobody breaks my Jonathan but me, got it?"

No answer. He pressed a jagged edge of glass against the boy's throat, drawing blood. "Got it?"

"G-got it," he gasped.

"Good. Now, there's nothing I'd like more than to draw this out as loooooong as possible," he pushed down the glass again, causing a whimper. "But my friend's bleeding rather badly." The last bit was said happily again, to Jonathan's ever growing confusion. "So I'll make it quick. You wanna know how I got these scars?"

A sob.

"See, I had a brother, who had a boyfriend, and a lotta intolerant bigots in the neighborhood, like yourself, couldn't handle that. Used to follow us on the way to school and yell things, or throw things. Sometimes we'd get hit. He was scared, wanted to hide, not provoke 'em or anything. I just laughed in their faces. Well, one day, we run into 'em on the weekend, and they're wicked drunk, and armed. My brother got his throat slit. Me, on the other hand, they decided to punish me for all the laughing, so with me, they do this."

Jonathan heard a slicing sound, closed his eyes, and found his glasses splattered with blood when he opened them again. Joker's hands were on him almost at once, one added more pressure to where the mask was held against the wound, the other pulling him up. "C'mon Jonny, you're okay."

"Make sure you've got what we came here for. I don't want today to be a complete waste."

"'Kay."

How he got into the car was a blur. One second it seemed he'd been standing by the cash register, the next strapped in the passenger's seat as the car sped. "So was that story true?"

"What, about my boyfriend and me? Yeah."

"I thought it was your brother?" he asked, brows furrowing.

"Was it? I don't know. Your head getting broken had me a little distracted, Jonny." That same singsong voice. Jonathan gritted his teeth.

"Yeah, thanks so much for your concern. Don't sound so sad about it."

"I'm not happy," he said, brightly. "I'm trying to confuse you."

"The hell?" He sat up a bit more, regretting it as his vision swam.

"If you're focused on your injury, it'll make your heart speed up, and you'll bleed more," Joker explained conversationally. "But if I confuse you with the 'good jobs' and the 'way to go's,' you won't have time to freak out and make yourself worse."

He blinked. That was oddly touching. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

"Seriously though. You do realize it's not normal for your memory to change that way, right?"

"Memory's not all that reliable to begin with anyway. Take that rape case."

"What rape case?" His head was really beginning to hurt now. He couldn't wait until they got home.

"There was this girl, right? Early twenties, got raped, identified the perpetrator, and the whole trial was based on her eyewitness testimony. So the guy went to jail, appealed, lost again, rotted in prison for a while. Finally, he heard about a DNA test that could clear him, got released, real rapist was identified. He and the girl who got him in jail actually became friends, right? Going around, lecturing on why eyewitnesses aren't always reliable."

He remembered hearing about the case before, in college. It was important for some reason, but hard to remember why with this pain in his head. "What's your point?"

"My point is, that after knowing this guy didn't rape her, and seeing the guy who did, even after becoming friends with the wrong accused, the girl's said she still see the innocent guy raping her when she remembers that day. My point is, memory isn't reliable."

"That's a consistent false memory, though. Yours seems to change every time your train of thought does."

He shrugged. "Details."

Jonathan sighed, feeling blood trickle through his hair, and pressed down harder against the mask. He stared out the window for a moment, realized he recognized none of the buildings flying by and whirled to face the Joker, regretting it as the car seemed to spin. "Where are we going?"

"Back alley doctor."

"What?"

"You're really hurt," he said happily. "I could probably stitch it, yeah, but you lost a lotta blood, kitten. You might need a transfusion. Better safe than sorry."

"You consider a back alley doctor to be safe?" he demanded, feeling sick.

"This guy, yeah. I'd trust him with my life."

"Fuck," Jonathan muttered, sinking against the seat and thinking death by soda bottle wouldn't have been so bad after all.

AN: The "good job" injury thing is a combination of my high school biology teacher telling us wounds, even severe ones, bleed less if the victim is calm, and my psych professor telling us that she tells her children "Way to go!" and the like every time they hurt themselves to confuse them out of crying. I have no idea if it works in the real world, but it seemed like a Jokery behavior.