Her entire body shook as her emotions built up. For the last week she lay curled up in her corner, her eyes dead and unfocused, and her hands clenched painfully in her filthy hair. She had become gaunt and pale for refusing food and had not moved except to fulfill bodily needs and drink as her body refused to let her reject liquid. She had not cried; tears were not great enough for this pain. The pain, it was spiking steadily. It felt like someone was picking her apart from the inside slowly.

Harvey was dead. It was her fault. She had tried. She had told Bruce to save him and he hadn't. Obviously, he had failed to save Harvey. But then again, he hadn't saved her either. What if he had tried to save her? What if the Joker had seen this and killed him? Was another one of her friends dead because of her? How many people was she responsible for? Why hadn't God taken her instead? The world did not need her; they needed Harvey and they needed Batman; she needed them. Now she would have to live without them, knowing she was the reason they were dead.

A scream built up in her throat and she did not nothing to stop it. It came out high-pitched, tortured, and full of raw emotion. She screamed louder and louder until her throat was irritated and her lungs no longer contained air. She inhaled quickly and screamed again. Maybe if she screamed loud enough, it would reach heaven and God would be merciful enough to take her. Maybe, they would hear her and know she was sorry. She was so, so sorry. Tears began to streak down her face and her nails tore into her scalp, but this still did not allow the pain to escape. It stayed couped up inside her and ate away slowly.

XXXXXXXXX

'Finally!' Joker thought as Rachel's blood-curdling screams reached him. He had been waiting for this melt down. It meant she was returning to reality, but was still unstable enough to manipulate. Still, if he knew suffering, and he did, she would need a few more days for anything to really sink in, so he would have to wait until then. But there was always Dent he could play with. He didn't seem like the screaming type. More the wallow in self-agony and suffer as much non-self-inflicted pain possible. He currently had Mr. Dent's room number and a lovely nurse costume that unfortunately made his butt look big. He just wasn't meant to wear a dress. Well, if Commishhhioner Gordon wasn't dead in a few hours he would have to pay the hospital a little visit. He had decided that the hospital was too dangerous, far too many people dying there, and needed to be demolished. Heck, even if he was dead, he might destroy Gotham General anyway. That would be highly unexpected. The people now just needed to decide which guilt trip they wanted to take. He grinned widely and cackled. He was so evil!

XXXXXXXXX

The latest Joker video was replayed on GCN yet again. Bruce stared helplessly at the screen, wondering what in the world to do. Naturally, saving Gordon was the thing he wanted to do, but then again, the hospital was full of so many more people. He either had to sacrifice his friend or let hundreds of people die. Either way, he would be subjecting people to the same misery he felt. Why could he not get a break? Was it too much to ask that life just stopped for a few moments? Rachel, the love of his life, his oldest friend, was dead now, and Harvey, Gotham's true savior and his link to a normal life, was lieing in that hospital, about to be blown to bits for the second time. Not to mention he was torturing himself by refusing all treatment to his extensive burns, and would probably never return to normal. Listening to his fiance die had to have been a jarring event. Bruce had hardly been able to stand her funeral.

Footsteps came up behind him. Alfred placed a hand of comfort on his shoulder and squeezed, offering him what support he could. Bruce leaned forward and covered his worn face in his hands.

"I don't know what to do Alfred," he admitted. Was this his limit? Was this what Batman could not do?

"You don't have to do anything Bruce. The city won't turn on the Commisoner, not after everything he's done for them, and the hospital is evacuated. Batman can take the day off," the butler told him.

"Alfred," Bruce mumbled.

"Yes?"

"I don't think I can do this anymore," he confessed. This time, Alfred did not say 'I told you so.'

XXXXXXXXX

"Mr. Dent, you need surgery now. Your wounds are very vulnerable to infection and you need skin graphs," the doctor tried to persuade him again. Harvey swallowed sharply to try and get through the haze of pain that clouded his mind.

"No, no graphs, no surgery," he repeated for the millionth time that week. Unless they could make Rachel better, he would suffer, infection or other ways.

"Then let us at least give you morphine for the pain," the doctor pleaded. Burns were one of the most painful things to experience and the medic grimaced at the mere thought of what Harvey must be going through.

"No," he simply refused. His pain would continue until he had redeemed himself for living while Rachel died at the peak of her life. The doctor sighed and walked away. There was no doubt in his mind they would try and prove him insane, or incapable of thinking logically due to his compromised emotional state, but he would not willingly allow them to treat him. Besides, he was not in that much physical pain. The flames had eaten through a good portion of his face and the nerve damage lessened the pain. If it had been just surface damage, he would be in unbearable physical pain that would probably have sent him into shock. It probably felt like his emotional pain.

His heart had be torn to shreds with a dull knife a million times over. Someone was slowly clawing away at the rest of his body. Each hair was being plucked from his tender skin. He couldn't get rid of the pain; it had no where to go. He had woken at night with a damp eye, his right one being unable to produce excess tears, but that was his only method. Talking hurt. The exposed tendon was dry and fragile so screaming and sobbing was useless. He had been restrained to the bed, so he could not get up and hit something. He was literally trapped in his body, forced to wallow in a mix of grief and self-hatred. What had he done to deserve this? How had he sinned so terribly that God felt the need to punish him like this? He felt more tears come to his eye. Why couldn't he just die?

A/N: I swear, this will be the shortest chapter I ever post! I just had this planned out and needed to get it off my mind. I was going to write the conversation between Harvey and Joker, but I just do not remember enough of what happened to do it justice. Yeah, it still won't be the same, but having that outline to work off of is nice. Hopefully I will be seeing the movie soon though, so it should not be too much longer. That does mean no update tomorrow though. Sorry. Honestly, I've been so focused on getting to that the last chapter, I don't know what to do in pt. 2. I have Rachel's story mapped out, Joker's is fairly set, a few vague places, and Harvey is still hanging out in left field. Sheesh. Maybe I should just have him get hit by a train. No? Alright, fine, be that way.