AN: "Fish in the sea" is what Jonathan's trying to say when he makes his "bodies at the bottom of the river" comment.

Thanks for the reviews!

The Joker's hands left his throat immediately, went up to shield his face, but the damage was done. He'd been hit.

Harley shrieked, jumped between them, knocking Joker backwards off of him. It didn't matter. She was too late.

Jonathan sat up, slowly, gasping for air. His nose was bleeding harder than ever, his neck still burning from the choking, and the ache in his head was so agonizing, he wondered how he'd stayed conscious. There was a strange buzzing sound in one of his ears, accompanied by sharp pain and a bizarre leaking sensation, and when he raised his hand up to it, he felt blood. Punctured ear drum. Fantastic.

"What did you do?" Harley screamed, tears pouring down her face. Beside her Joker was lying on the pavement, coughing so forcefully his whole body shook, hands rubbing at his eyes. Some of the toxin must have got in them. The coughing wasn't unusual, many of his test subjects reacted in that way before the drug took hold. In a few though, the lung irritation had been bad enough to kill them before the toxin took effect. He hoped that wasn't the case here. He also hoped, with all his heart, that Joker was a screamer. That would be enough to turn his whole day around.

"What do you mean, what did I do?" he asked, attempting to wipe blood from his face. All he succeeded in doing was spreading it around. His glasses hadn't been broken in the struggle, remarkably. "I poisoned him. Isn't that obvious?"

"Are you insane?" She backed away slightly, probably thinking she'd be poisoned as well.

"Well, yeah." He nudged the still coughing Joker with his shoe, bored. He wished he'd get over that annoying little side effect and onto the panic already. Good things may come to those who wait, but it didn't make the wait any less agonizing.

"Jonathan!" Harley was still crying. He felt bad for her, he realized. He'd sort of forgotten about her before, when all that mattered was hurting the Joker as badly as possible, but he felt bad for her. First she had been betrayed by both her boyfriend and best friend, then manipulated, then had to watch as her friend was nearly strangled and her love poisoned. Oh well. There'd be time for consolation after he watched the Joker suffer. "Jonathan, you could kill him!"

"Good."

Harley sobbed. It was annoying, and it made his head hurt worse. He didn't seem to have suffered much hearing loss in the ruptured ear, unfortunately. If he had, he could have turned that one toward her and enjoyed the show in peace.

"Oh, come now, it's not the end of the world," he said, trying to get that tone of sympathy he'd used so well as a psychiatrist. "There's plenty of other bodies at the bottom of the river, Harley." Was that how the expression went? It sounded off, and it made her cry harder than ever. "Have you considered online dating?"

"You're sick!"

Well, look who's talking, he was tempted to say. But seeing as how he'd likely ruined his relationship with the Joker forever—supposing that the Joker survived this—it would be unwise to start burning his few other bridges. Anyway, the Joker had stopped coughing, and now all his attention was focused on the clown lying huddled on the pavement.

"Mistah J?" Harley asked, voice shaking. "Puddin'?"

No response. He wasn't even shaking. Had his heart stopped? Because Jonathan was going to be pissed beyond appeasement if that was the case. It'd be just like the damn clown to give himself a heart attack before his tormenter could gain any satisfaction from the experience. Or he could have gone comatose with fright. Which would also suck.

Harley's hands were on the Joker's shoulder, shaking him, pleading in an increasingly panicked tone for him to get back up, or say something, anything, even move. He didn't.

Jonathan sighed. It figured. He stood, fully intending to give the clown a few thousand kicks in the ribs—to the point where they wouldn't be ribs anymore, just little fragments of bone—before he went on his merry way. This was pathetic. He was going to have to find and torment at least a dozen people before his mood even remotely lightened. He lifted his foot back, swung forward—

And the Joker's hand closed around his ankle, pulling forward, knocking him back to the ground.

Oh, God damn it, he thought, as he collided with the asphalt. This could only end badly. He heard, just barely, over the pain and the ringing in one ear, Harley's voice, begging. "Don't hurt him, Mistah J, please don't hurt him, I'm sure he didn't mean to—" A sound of impact like a punch, a pained cry, and then the Joker was on top of him, shaking, but with anger as opposed to fear.

Shit. Jonathan began shaking himself, staring up at those eyes. They'd actually turned red, around the irises; broken blood vessels from all the coughing, most likely. That in itself was horrific, but the look in his eyes made it a million times worse. There was anger there, yes, incredible anger, but there was also a terrible clarity, a sanity. Or what passed as sanity for the Joker.

The fear toxin didn't affect him.

Fuck.

"You tried to kill me, you little bitch." Joker growled, grabbing Jonathan's hair, pulling him up so they were nearly eye to eye.

"You tried to kill me first." The words had barely left his mouth when the Joker shoved him sideways, slamming his head into the sports car. Broken glass from the window they'd been breaking rained down on his head, the crowbar stuck in the window threatening to fall. Pain shot through his injured ear like a nail gun firing, making his eyes tear, vision blurring for an agonizing moment.

"Because you made me hit you, bitch." He was dragged forward, vision clearing to find himself face to face with the Joker again. The pain of the injury didn't make his terror abate at all. "You've got no one but yourself to blame for that."

Behind him, Harley struggled to her knees. "Stop fighting," she pleaded, voice breaking. "Please, stop. I know you're both angry, but—"

"Harley, I swear to God if you interfere again I'll cut your face off." She fell silent, apart from the whimpering, and he turned his attention back to Jonathan. "If you didn't want to get hurt, you shouldn't have brought up—"

"Batman?" It was beyond idiotic to bring him up again, the stupidest thing he'd ever done, doubtless, but he didn't care. Rage at seeing Harley threatened that way had overridden his survival instinct. Scarecrow had stopped protested, stopped speaking at all, actually. He seemed to have left. Well, good riddance. He didn't need distractions.

Joker's fist collided into his face again, hitting a previously wounded spot, making it burn. "Don't ever, ever mention him again. I'll kill you. I'm not joking."

So he'd die. So what? He'd finally found the way under the Joker's skin. He'd die laughing if it meant getting to the clown. "He said he didn't like hurting me." This time he was punched in the eye. "He said he wanted to help me." This time to the stomach. He gasped for air, needing almost a full minute before he could continue. "Nev-n-never talks to you that way, does he? Bet he doesn't touch you eit—"

This time both of the Joker's hands were on his groin, and the pain was bad enough to shut him up. "You like being touched, you little whore? I'll show you touched, I'll rip it right fucking off, you stupid little sl—"

He reacted without thinking about it. All he knew was that he needed the Joker off, now, and his body responded for him, arms shooting out, taking hold of the Joker's head and slamming it into the back passenger window. His head shattered the glass, went through it, his hands coming off Jonathan's body. Jonathan slumped down, the ache in his crotch that spread up into his stomach harder to bear than all his previous injuries combined. Harley was screaming, though she remained in place, no doubt fearing retribution for the clown if she moved. The Joker didn't move, for a moment, and Jonathan wondered almost casually if he'd perhaps impaled himself on a shard of glass. But then he pulled himself out, hands on Jonathan's shoulders before he could scurry away.

His face and throat had become a patchwork of little cuts, dripping blood. And he looked mad as ever. "You filthy little—"

"Guess you didn't need the crowbar after all," Jonathan said, before he could stop himself, admiring the hole Joker's head had made through the window. He saw the Joker's eyes light up, and realized that was most assuredly not the wisest thing he could have said.

"Hey…the crowbar." Fingers of one hand digging into Jonathan's shoulder like steel, he reached past his captive to the crowbar shoved through the window, grabbed it, pulled it out. "Thanks for the reminder, kitten."

"Don't!" Harley was on her feet again, running towards them, her concern apparently overshadowing her fear of the Joker. Joker merely rolled his eyes and swung his arm backwards, the bar striking her across the hip. Harley feel to her knees, shrieking. The Joker smirked at the sound, bringing his arm back again, shifting his other hand to hold Jonathan in place by the hair. "And remember, you brought this on yourself."

He swung his arm forward and everything went black, for a second.

Jonathan came to what could only be moments later, Joker still with the crowbar in his hand, Harley still sobbing. He felt nauseous, dizzy, as if he'd been spinning in circles, and his head hurt worse than ever. What happened? He couldn't remember. He assumed from the pain he'd been hit in the head again, but he had no recollection of it. He tried to focus, but his mind didn't seem to be up to that at the moment, thoughts crawling at a snail's pace.

"Concussion's a bitch, huh?" Joker asked, that damn grin across his face, showing yellowed, bloody teeth. Once again, Jonathan did the first thing that came into his head, grabbed the end of the crowbar nearest him and shoved forward. The opposite side slammed into Joker's mouth, and the clown gave a yelp that was more surprise than pain, jerking backwards. He knocked the crowbar away and sat up, mouth bloodied and closed, tongue pushing against the lips for a moment before his eyes widened and he spat into his hand.

Amidst the blood that fell into his palm were two teeth. His two front teeth, Jonathan noted, as he watched the Joker's tongue run over the gap in his now open mouth. Jonathan was torn between sheer panic and hysterical laughter, and while he was making up his mind the Joker pocketed his teeth and grabbed the crowbar, tugging it from Jonathan's hands hard enough to cut.

"You. Little. Bastard." The crowbar struck him across the collarbone and he felt himself break, shrieking as he fell backwards. "You ruined my smile, you sick son of a bitch." The weapon came down again, this time on a hand he'd raised to protect himself, and the fingers went with a disgusting crack.

He giggled. He couldn't help it. He was dead by now, anyway. There was no way the Joker would let him live through this. Another crack, this time on his left hand, and he screamed through his laughter, tears streaming down his face. He couldn't take this. Not drawn out this way, a million little pieces at a time. Not even his newfound madness was comforting enough to make that less hellish. So he looked up, still grinning, and said what he hoped would push him right over the edge. "He said he'd check up on me, make sure I was okay. He wanted me to be safe."

"Oh. Really." He heard the flat rage in the Joker's voice and braced himself. "Well, let's see—" WHAM. His ribs shattered. "—him keep you safe—" The ribs on the other side snapped. "—from—" and again, on the already broken ribs. "—THIS!" Once more on his injured torso, and he felt one of his ribs push into something on the inside. Indescribable pain shot through his body, breathing suddenly as hard as if the Joker had been sitting on his chest rather than his legs. There was blood in his mouth, thick and foamy, as if someone had mixed air into it.

"STOP!" Harley was back, and for once her interference made a difference. She grabbed Joker in a headlock, pulling him off. The jolt of movement made the pain so terrible he blacked out for another few seconds, and came to with Harley over him. "Jonathan? Are you all right?"

What the hell kind of stupid question is that? He couldn't think of a smart remark, and even if he had, he doubted himself capable of speech at the moment. It didn't matter anyway, because Joker was back up within seconds, pulling Harley off the way she'd pulled him. "Start the car, Harl."

"W-where are we going?" She was shaking, huddled away from the Joker, still staring down at Jonathan.

"To a fucking dentist, stupid. And then to GCN. Get going, now, before I do the same to you." He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. With one last frightened look down at Jonathan, she was off.

Joker kneeled down over him, brushing his hair gently out of his face. "Probably hate me pretty much right now, huh?" He gave a smile that was almost cute, despite—or perhaps because of—the missing teeth.

Fucking understatement of the millennium, he thought, wishing more than anything he could move enough to bite the clown's damn fingers off.

"Thought so." Joker stroked his face, softly enough that it didn't hurt, even when his hand caressed the injuries. "But remember Jonathan, you brought this on yourself. I take it you've learned your lesson, so things can be more pleasant when we next meet?"

If I live through this, he thought, fuming, when we next meet, I'll fucking kill you.

The engine roared to life, and Joker pulled his hand back. "Much as I'd love to stay and chat, this little problem," he stuck his tongue in the gap between his teeth again. "Needs to be dealt with pretty quickly." He sat up, nearly stood, but stopped, glancing down at Jonathan again. A funny little smile twitched on his face.

"I'm sorry, you know? Not about what I did, but about how things turned out."

He knelt down again, and to Jonathan's rage and shame, his lips brushed, softly, against Jonathan's forehead. "Bye-bye, my angel." Sickened, he felt tears glide down his face as the Joker stood, pulling open the door of the car and stepping inside. There was a pause, then the wheels started rolling and they were gone, leaving him broken and alone, staring up at the sky.

AN: Fear gas not working on Joker is taken from the comics. There, Scarecrow tries it on him and is nearly beaten to death with a chair. Joker gets his teeth knocked out fairly often as well. I don't know if he kidnaps dentists or if teeth in the DC universe grow back.

I've had a ruptured eardrum, due to illness. Nastiest feeling ever, though mine didn't hurt too badly, and definitely one of the worst experiences of my life, exacerbated by the fact that the day it happened, I had to do two play performances before I could see a doctor and then had to see the doctor in stage makeup, so I looked like a prostitute or someone trying way, way too hard.