Disclaimer: Batman is owned by DC Comics and whoever else owns it. I in no way claim it as my own; I'm just borrowing. Any OCs are mine and the plot is also mine.

A/N: And finally, the meet-up!

Also, the first reviewer's name didn't show up because of the periods in the last A/N. Silly ff net thought I was trying to post a link! The name was Beckoning Disaster. Sorry! ;P

Oh, and the Joker doesn't physically hurt her in an actual scene yet. Eventually, I'll show some of that since it's not right to make him too soft. (Like I haven't softened him by making a romance with him! :eye roll: Joker romances are so improbable; I've only seen one where it looked somewhat realistic from a much better writer than myself. It kind of got boring to me, though, 'cause it was so serious. I'm such a light-hearted person.)

I never thought to say it before, but if you've got any suggestions about things to work into the story, feel free to suggest them. I may not be able to fit it in, but I will damn well try. I promise.

As always, constructive criticism is welcomed.

Flames light my furnace of doom, but I accept them. Not like I can stop ya!

I'm havin' fun with this, and I hope you are, too! :)

One small note, I'm not fluent in Japanese. If my use of the language was incorrect, you are encouraged to inform me. However, I ask that you just pretend it was correct in the story instead of making me repost the chapter. (It's not that big of a deal as to repost this whole thing.)

PS - It's come to my attention that "tinsiest" is not a word. It's supposed to be "teensiest," but I don't like it that way and other people showed up on google who spell it my way. So I've decided I shall take the new spelling under my wing, regardless of the feelings of the English language. ;P

Queen Takes Pawn

by Syrenia

Chapter Two - Uncomfortable

The Joker crept into a darkened room, onyx eyes spotting the form of the only female in the warehouse as he pulled out his favorite knife. It had to be her, the infuriatingly wonderful woman he'd been fantasizing about for roughly a week after so many video responses.

He'd taken his time before deciding to find her. He was like the dog and she was the car that he wouldn't know what to do with when he caught her, to coin a phrase he liked to use.

But he had finally made his appearance, though Crow and her host didn't even know it, lying vulnerable in the king-sized bed.

He stalked closer to her bed, the light of the moon cascading over her body from a nearby window.

What he wanted to see now was her face unmasked by her usual black beak, so he crept to her side, seeing her face clearly in the moonlight.

She was prettier than he'd expected without the mask, but then again, what did he know about women and beauty? All he knew was that he wanted to bring her back to his hideout, regardless of how she felt about the matter. He wanted to keep her as his own fuck toy since she was apparently the only thing that got him off in that manner.

When she moaned and shifted in her sleep, he jerked back a little as if she might awaken and pounce before devouring him whole.

Though he'd never admit it, he was the tinsiest bit intimidated by her - an entirely undeserved reaction, he believed - but he walked forward and slowly crouched down, eyes studying her pale, moonlit face.

Then he recognized her, his head tilted slightly; she was the woman at the bank that day whose lack of fear or any real emotion had intrigued him.

"Small world" was the phrase that came to mind.

Then the song It's a Small World (After All) got stuck in his head, a particular fit of delirium he could have done without.

Softly, she mumbled with a contented smile, "Scarecrow..."

His lips twitched. Why was she so fucking fascinated with this Scarecrow character?

He calmed himself, however, and assured his agitated mind that soon she would be whispering his name in her sleep like she damn well should.

After all, it was all her fault for stirring up these frustrating feelings and needs in him.

He wanted to make her his in a purely sexual sense. If she could make him, of all men, desire her, she had to be some kind of special. He decided she could use his guidance and, in return, he'd have her body and mind all for himself.

Oddly, he felt that without her beautifully fucked up mind, she wasn't anything worth taking. But because of who she was, she was so desirable to him.

Those thoughts alone were overwhelming.

He breathed heavily, tired of thinking as he crouched there, so he stood slowly, pocketing his precious knife.

With nothing else to do and no real desire to wake her from her rest, he went to the other side of the bed. Shrugging out of his jacket, he tossed it over a chair as he loosened his tie. Then he got into bed beside her, hesitantly deciding to hold her so he could feel her body against him.

The song stuck in his head even still, he hummed the tune softly.

Not long after, he fell into the first peaceful slumber he'd had in so very long, a sleep untainted by foggy recollections of a dark past in multiple choice.

Chelsie's eyes blinked open, checking the time on her alarm clock - 7:58 AM - before she yawned like a cat. But when she tried to move, she heard someone groan and felt them tighten their grip around her waist.

"What the heck?" she asked quietly, rolling over to face none other than the Clown Prince of Crime. "It's not every day you wake up to a clown in your bed... I knew he'd make some kind of an entrance, but this was not expected."

Sure, she should probably have been afraid, but Chelsie was never as frightened of anything as she should be. She herself reasoned it must have something to do with her list of mental illnesses. And maybe she was just slightly dumb; she didn't know, but it sounded plausible. Anyway you looked at it, she was somewhat fucked up just like every other villain in Gotham who eventually donned some sort of costume.

She then caught his scent; it was a curious mix of sweat, gunpowder and a slightly twisted and enhanced smell of a component of gunpowder which was undoubtedly sulfur. Oh, and the smell of an obvious lack of good hygiene. Yikes.

It contrasted the clean smell of Jonathan greatly, but thankfully enough, her sense of smell was rather weak to most things other than the curious case of salad, so the offensive scent wasn't quite so overpowering to her poor nose.

She then tried to get free of his grip, but he pulled her closer, muttering, "Crow..."

"Uh, Mister Joker?" she asked warily, poking him in the ribs.

In hindsight, that would not have appeared to be the best choice she'd ever made, but Chelsie was not a person who often made good choices. (Hence taking in a straitjacketed Crane, letting him live with her, letting him take her into his life of crime, etc.)

Instinctively, the Joker's eyes flew open to her touch, hand taking a hidden knife from only God knew where and placing the blade to her throat.

"Woah there. Easy now," she soothed him like a spooked horse, pulling away from the blade. "I'm not a morning person either, but this is ridiculous."

His wide eyes relaxed as he chuckled, putting away the blade just as quickly as it had appeared.

"Old habitsss," he gave by way of explanation.

"By the way, I'm the host Crow talked about," Chelsie told him with guarded eyes. "The name's Chelsie Alice Crow, but I'm sure you're here to see the ever-popular Crow, so--"

"Wai-t," he ordered, the woman cutting her sentence short, her thin eyebrows lifted. "She said you were wea-k and, uh... fragile."

Chelsie frowned and answered in monotone, "Yeah, I am. I'm the damsel in distress. Crow's my hero."

"I expected you'd be, ah... afrai-d of me-uh?" he asked, a little amused, though he clearly remembered her lack of fear from the bank heist.

He realized she was a little weird, and was only asking to get to the bottom of the matter, knowing she probably had no idea he remembered their true first meeting.

"I probably should be, but I handle fear very differently from others," she explained to the clown, never realizing he remembered her from the robbery. "I have fears, but... they don't control me or affect me much... Anyway, Crow's dying to meet you."

She blinked, and Crow looked around.

"Where the fuck is my mask, Chels?" Crow asked aloud, sitting up and looking all over for her precious beak. "Nobody takes me seriously lookin' like this."

She looked down at her leopard print pajamas, pulling at the clothing with disdain.

"Leopard print is for whores," she muttered.

The Joker laughed, "I think it, uh... looks nice."

She looked over, "I didn't peg you as a leopard print kind of person, cupcake... You learn something new every day."

She then extended her hand with a wide grin, "Crow, at your service."

His gloved hand shook hers, then pulled her down to lie beside him.

"So, are you actually not going to kill me?" she asked almost incredulously, looking into his dark eyes that were reminiscent of black holes, sucking up the light greedily.

"I'm a man of my wor-d," he replied, holding up a hand, the other to his heart. "Boy scouts' honor."

She giggled and he found it to be a pleasant sound, just as it had been in her videos.

"Sooo... Crow. Crow, Crow, Crow," he repeated, letting her name fill his mouth as he smacked his lips. "Who's this, uh... Scarecrow?"

"Oh, Scarecrow is my creator! He raped Chels and here I am," she announced with a twisted and proud grin. "Fucked up world, ain't it?"

So Scarecrow was just her creator, not a lover. Strangely, at least to him, that relaxed him a bit. But he wondered all the same if her creator actually considered her more than just a creation. After all, no one went to Arkham by will. Maybe he had left Crow and her host unwillingly.

"Sooo, doll, what do you, ah, want to... blow up?" he questioned with interest, simulating a blast with his hand before placing it to her barely showing stomach and rubbing lightly.

"Oh, right! I was going to see about blowin' up some of Gotham University, which fired Scarecrow because he shot someone in the arm in class," she rattled on, staring ahead and sighing. "He's so misunderstood..."

She shook herself from her reverie, looking to the clown beside her, "Besides that, the students go about like robots, gettin' all this book learnin' only to leave and be stuck in some pointless job for the rest of their lives, most of the time not even bein' somethin' they really want to do. Why bother? Isn't there more to life than that?"

"Plenty more to life, doll," he assured her. "You and me? We're ahead of the curve-uh. We... know the tru-th... and the truth sets you free. Life's all about, uh... choicesss. You and me, we, ah... chose free-dom from their rules and their game. We make our own rulesss."

"We do think alike, sugar puff," she mused with a contented smile, staring up at the ceiling. "Not even Scarecrow gets the big picture... But you and me, we know better. Like waking up from the Matrix or some shit like that... The first movie was good, but the second one was shit."

He chuckled lightly; he'd never heard a woman talk so much without getting on his last nerve.

The fact that he didn't want to kill her just yet was a very happy surprise as he had the urge to kill most people he met.

And her voice was nice, gritty, and real. She was so real - more real than anyone else he knew.

And since he'd begun having sexual urges, he thought that it would be fitting for it to be her if he took some kind of mate or something. After all, she'd awoken those needs in him. And imagine the spawn they could produce!

Oh, she was going to be fun, he knew; she was going to be fun.

In the nighttime - 8:18 PM to be exact - on top of a building nearby Gotham University, the Joker's clown-masked men helped Crow's regular-looking, Maroni-lent thugs to set up their equipment - everything needed to broadcast Crow and the Joker's criminal activity live.

Crow walked around them, watching what they were doing carefully; she hardly understood how everything worked, and although she was very curious to know just how they got her footage out live, she didn't ask them a million questions. With her interference, she knew they might not be as efficient as she needed them to be. She didn't fancy making them upset, anyway.

From a distance, the Joker's gaze followed her form as she skipped about, nosily monitoring the proceedings, obviously curious about the technical facet to the operation.

Her men seemed unperturbed by her actions, but his own became agitated.

As of now, she stood, looking over the shoulder of one of the Joker's men, the clown-masked man fumbling with what he was doing.

Finally, he announced, "Ya makin' me nervous, kid."

Crow laughed, but apologized flippantly with a wave of her hand, "Sorry, sorry!"

She moved away from his back, moving in front of him instead, "And call me Crow, darlin'. I'm not quite a kid anymore, sugarcube."

The man, still looking at his work with a bunch of wires, muttered, "Ya can't be over twenty..."

"How flatterin', but I happen to be twenty-five," she said insistently.

He looked up, surprised, "Twenty-five? Ya sure ya didn't fail math class?"

Crow laughed happily, then replied honestly, "Well, I failed the class when they started doin' multiplications, true enough, but I managed to learn how to count, so no worries there, puddin' pop."

He laughed lightly, "No worries. I flunked outta English."

"Yes, it does seem to be that way between the genders," Crow mused thoughtfully, adjusting her beak. "Women seem not to comprehend numbers as well as men, and men seem unable to comprehend the complexities of the English language as well as women... Somethin' about the sides of the brain used most between the genders or somethin'... Heard about it on TV, I think."

The clown-masked thug grunted in reply, then gave his own thoughts, "Guess that's why so many accountants an' other number crunchers are men an' so many women are secretaries an' such."

"Seems so, shug," she replied, unknowingly relaxing the thug.

"What'd ya used t' do before ya became criminal?" asked the man curiously with a brief look at the brunette.

"Well, actually, my other half never acquired a job; we happen to be from a rich family, our mother still supplyin' us with a weekly allowance that's quite hefty," Crow told the thug openly. "But we took enough gymnastics and martial arts classes back in the day that if push came to shove, we could be a gymnast or some kind of sensei perhaps."

"Hopefully," she began to conclude, "we'll never have to get a day job, considerin' that would be dreadfully borin'."

At that moment, the clown-masked man finished his task, looking up only to notice the rest of the thugs standing all around and listening to their conversation.

"So we set?" he asked them all, Crow looking around and realizing everyone was already done with their tasks.

Nods came from all around.

The Joker now stood beside Crow, flattening down his greasy hair as she adjusted her beak.

They stood before the lens of a camera which a thug would be working for them during their collaboration.

"Ready in," began the clown-masked thug from earlier who was at the main controls, "Five..."

His countdown started, Crow readjusted her zoot suit tapa and was ready for action, the clown looking over a moment to see she was set. She already agreed easily that he'd be doing the introductions.

"--four... three... two," continued the thug.

Crow shone a preemptive smile to the camera.

"--one!" the thug called and flipped a switch. "Action!"

The Joker waved at the camera, "Hell-o, ladies and gentlemen! If you've, uh... been followin-g our videosss, you remember Crow."

Crow waved eagerly with a wiggle of her fingers, "Hello again, Gotham citizens!"

"Tonigh-t," cut in the clown, "will be our first mutual co-llab-o-ration! And we'll, uh, be blowing up various nigh-t classes at Gotham University - a little gif-t I organized for my little cupcak-e."

He then gestured a gloved hand to Crow who flashed a smile at the viewers, her hands clasped together over her chest, fingers entwined.

"And doumo arigatou gozaimasu for that, my funny bunny," Crow replied sweetly in her gritty-soft tone, then allowed him to carry on.

"Do itashimashite," the clown replied, grinning at her surprised and happy look.

Where the Joker picked up Japanese was anyone's guess.

He then turned back to the camera, "Sooo, without further adooo..."

Gesturing to his men to set off the bombs, they complied, explosions rocking various portions of the University that stood in the background.

Crow turned around merrily, watching the fires and panic of those below, countenance pleased as she giggled, acting like a little girl in a candy shop as the Joker watched her reactions, both caught on camera.

Once only smoke was left to the air and ambulances were retrieving victims, he moved closer to her, seemingly forgetting the watchful eye of the camera as he turned her head by her chin so that her stormy gaze met his dark brown eyes.

"Wha-t do you say, dollfac-e?" he asked, eyes demanding.

"Doumo arigatou gozaimashite," Crow answered in thanks.

"And to who-uh?" asked the clown, watching her stormy gaze.

She corrected herself, by no means wanting to fight with the sociopath on live TV, "Doumo arigatou gozaimashite, Mister Joker."

"Good girl," he praised, patting her cheek, then holding her face tightly and kissing her lips deeply, her black beak pushed upward.

When he pulled away, hand removed from her face, his imprint remained in red on her cheeks, the Joker licking his lips after her taste.

Crow realized the camera's presence, looking back to it, the clown following her gaze and taking over as she readjusted her jostled beak.

"Sooo, ladies and gentlemen," began the Clown Prince, stepping forward, "thin-k of this as my firs-t presen-t to the lovely Crow."

"What my buttercup wants, she getsss," he added darkly, then his features lightened drastically and he motioned for the feed to cut with a finger crossing his throat, his men complying.

Back at Crow's hideout later that night around 10:30 PM - since the Batman apparently didn't manage to catch them - Crow sat beside the Joker on the couch in the main room watching the GCN station.

A rebroadcast of the night's collaborative effort was then mentioned to be coming on, the Joker turning up the volume with a wide grin.

"Please be aware," the male newscaster with grey eyes and short, brown hair, wearing his grey suit and red tie began gravely, "that the following images are disturbing. We at GCN ask that viewers under the age of eighteen turn the channel or leave the room immediately."

The screen then changed to static a moment before the familiar sight of the rooftop, the Joker, and Crow appeared, Crow to the Joker's right on the screen, both flashing smiles at the audience.

Meanwhile, at the same time, Jonathan was in the rec. room which was on its last rotation of inmates for the night, the ex-doctor watching the news intently.

He'd watched the videos of Crow, and then the videos between Crow and the Joker, managing to catch all of them in one sitting during a rebroadcast of the entire line.

Now, he was watching the video where they finally came together, he and his Scarecrow not liking it at all.

But they had hope when they found Crow's choice was to bomb night classes at Gotham University. She didn't have to say it; they knew it was an act of vengeance for the University's transgression against him.

That much pleased them both, but the piece where the Joker abruptly kissed her earned their ire.

Still, they watched the entire thing, realizing the lust in the abysmal eyes of the psychotic clown.

When it ended in static, Scarecrow burst free to the surface, then wildly began attacking anyone in sight out of pure rage.

It took four buff guards to subdue the thin, lanky Scarecrow, one sending him into unconsciousness by means of a needle and sedative provided by a nurse.

In the background, the newscaster reappeared on the screen, still looking gloomily at the audience, "As you witnessed, the Joker and Crow came through with their intentions of a "collaboration," as termed by the Clown Prince of Crime."

"Does this mean that the two will be joined in future terrorist activities?" he rhetorically asked the question on everyone's mind. "We at GCN do not know for sure, but we've had our analysts review the tape, and they've come to some startling conclusions."

Back at Crow's hideout, the brunette was still seated on her couch beside the Joker, watching the very same broadcast, oblivious to the Scarecrow's rampage not too far away.

"We now turn to our top video analyst, Julia Newman, to share her impressions of the murderous duo," he said, turning as the camera panned out to reveal a blonde-haired woman, her tresses falling long against her back, the analyst in a pants suit and sitting at the other side of the desk, her legs crossed.

"This should be interesting," muttered Crow, propping her feet up on the coffee table as she watched the woman intently, fingers clasped over her stomach.

"Ms. Newman?" asked the newscaster, turning the attention to the pretty analyst.

"Good evening, Tom," she addressed him, then turned to the camera with a serious countenance. "I, myself, have reviewed the previous tape numerous times."

She carried on gravely, "It seems to I and my colleagues that the Joker, a man of anarchy and chaos, has found someone in whom he sees the qualities he himself possesses."

"Analysts of the Joker's previous videos had each assumed the clown-faced villain to be asexual," the woman went on to say in that oh-so-professional tone of voice that irked Crow, "but this footage reveals a startling inconsistency with his normal modus operandi."

"For once, it seems the Joker is uniquely interested in something other than anarchy and chaos," said the blonde insistently. "In my professional opinion, the Clown Prince of Crime is, in fact, sexually attracted to the vivacious character of Crow whose tapes I have also reviewed at length."

She then cleared her throat, looking unsettled towards whatever point she would next make.

"As for my professional opinion of Crow's reception of the Joker's attraction," she began hesitantly, then finally went through with her thoughts, "I believe she does not return the amount of sexual attraction the Joker carries for her."

Tom finally interrupted, "You mean to say that Crow isn't attracted to the Clown Prince, Ms. Newman?"

"In my professional opinion," she began in reply, once again asserting herself as a professional (of what exactly, Crow was not sure) before daintily coughing into her fist, then confessing uncomfortably, "no."

The Joker glared at the analyst; he hadn't thought about whether or not Crow felt a sexual attraction to him in return, but now his mind questioned it.

He looked over to her in thought while still listening to the program, the brunette still watching the TV screen intently with a curious look in her stormy gaze.

"Crow seems to exhibit no specific desire to," Ms. Newman cleared her throat, awkward once more on the sensitive subject, "consummate their collaboration sexually, if you will, as a result of an attraction between them."

"Could it be, Ms. Newman, that Crow is still attached to the Scarecrow whom now resides in Arkham Asylum?" questioned Tom, looking interested to hear her reply, but continuing his thoughts hurriedly. "Or could it be said that she has a sexual attraction to the Scarecrow rather than the Clown Prince of Crime?"

The Joker looked back to the screen with eyebrows raised, eager to hear the woman answer the prompt from the newscaster.

"I would say, Tom, that she does not exhibit true sexual desire for either supervillain," Ms. Newman replied firmly, very confident of her conclusions. "Her attachment to the Scarecrow seems purely out of respect for his character."

"But while she does not exhibit a sexual desire for either, my colleagues and I agree that Crow is likely a nymphomaniac personality with a need to explore sexual relations with various men which may include the Scarecrow and the Joker," the blonde asserted with a know-it-all look on her little face.

How the little blonde woman could assess all this from a few video tapes, Crow did not know, but she seemed ever so confident in her beliefs.

Tom looked thoughtful during his close-up before inquiring, "But if she doesn't exhibit sexual attraction to these men, why would she pursue intercourse with either?"

"The nymphomaniac does not need a true sexual attraction toward their partners," the blonde replied matter-of-factly, fingers clasped together as her hands rested against her knee.

"I'm afraid that's all the time we have, Ms. Newman," apologized the newscaster, turning his seat back toward the camera. "Remember to stay with GCN for all Joker and Crow-related news."

And thus, the channel cut to commercials after the awkward conversation.

"Well," Crow began awkwardly, "that was uncomfortable..."