A/N: Hello there, all apologies for taking so long to get an update posted. Well, we are nearing the end! This is the next-to-last chapter, just so you know. I'm sorry it's short, but I didn't want to wait any longer to get something up for you....

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Rita numbly found her way back to her room. She opened the door slowly--her imagination was working overtime and a thought flashed into her mind--what if that horrible moment was frozen in time? What if she opened the door and saw Jack, naked on the bed, one hand still poised in the air after flinging the dagger, and herself, toppled off the edge after Jack's violent shove, and Charlie...dead on the floor, his blank eyes staring uselessly at her...what if that image was burned into the fabric of time, forever? What if she could never sleep in her own bedroom again?

Oh, she knew better. She stood in the doorway and surveyed the scene. Other than the rumpled bedclothes falling onto the floor, there was no indication that anything unusual had taken place in the small room, not a single drop of blood. And Jack had taken away the body...the body of the man he had killed...oh, God! A life had been taken, just a few feet from her...by the man she loved, adored, desired more than anything else in the world. How...how could he do it?

But, Mr. J hadn't done anything wrong! He saved her...that awful man tried to kill her, was going to kill them both, all Jack had done was to protect her and defend himself. There was no reason to fear the police--they could have come up with a story to explain his presence in her bedroom. Why had he been so determined to avoid calling 911?

And, how did he know the would-be murderer? They definitely knew each other...and the criminal had called Jack a "freak"--his voice had been dripping with hatred. How did they know each other? And...why had he called him "Joker"??

Rita's mind was whirling in confusion caused by stress, trauma and a lack of sleep. She would have loved to lie down--preferably in Jack's warm arms--and drift off, to forget that any of this had happened, but there was no way she could relax until Jack came back and answered her questions. She crawled up on her bed and pulled the pillow away from the headboard, revealing the bullet hole. Until she saw that, she was almost soothing herself into thinking it had all been a dream, but there it was--the incontrovertible evidence.

She had almost been killed. Jack had pushed her off the bed a split second before the bullet blew through her head. Wrapping her mind around that realization made her feel a little dizzy and she sat on the edge of her bed, pressing her hands against her temples.

She desperately wished Jack would return.

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The Joker took the body back to his headquarters and ordered one of his henchmen to dispose of it; the directive was met with unquestioning obedience, and he watched as the body was transferred from the trunk of his car to the back of a van, which immediately sped off towards the river. He sighed. He might as well stay here, all things considered. Rita had probably wrestled with her conscience for a bit, then called the cops. If he went back to the apartment, he'd be picked up for questioning, they'd start putting two and two together and he'd be left looking like a fucking idiot.

He wasn't concerned about jail, or even prison--he knew they'd never keep him locked up for long. He knew there was no concrete evidence to connect him with any crime, oh, not yet, anyway. But soon...soon, he'd be making a big splash, they'd come to know his face well enough.

It was just the interruption he resented.

The Joker could adapt to whatever inconveniences came his way, but he damn sure didn't like having his plans derailed because of a stupid mistake. Well, a series of stupid mistakes, the first one being that he had allowed himself to get so sidetracked by the girl that he had failed to pay attention. Somehow, he had overlooked the fact that that moron Oswald had a thing for Gail, knowing that he was a psychopathic threat, albeit a weak one.

He should have taken care of him on his own turf, not let him crawl into Rita's apartment and scare the poor kid half to death. She wasn't used to such things, and she'd really been terrified. He tried to remember what it was like to be scared of someone with a gun in their hand, but it all seemed so ridiculous to him now. Still, she was just a kid, she didn't deserve that.

Plus, he wasn't through having fun with her yet. She'd been coming along so nicely, but, oh well, that was too damn bad.

The Joker tugged absently at the leather glove he was wearing; he'd put the pair on before he removed the gun from Charlie Oswald's dead hand and slipped it in his pocket. It was a shame that poor ol' Chuckie wouldn't be around to see the results of the little fuck-up he'd put in motion.

Maybe, wherever he was, he'd appreciate the irony of Rita Ryan being killed with his own gun after it was too late for him to enjoy it.

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Jack drove cautiously around the apartment, looking for cop cars or other strange vehicles. He had arranged for his men to take care of Charlie's piece-of-shit car, and there was no sign of anyone or anything else out of place in the neighborhood or at the apartment, so he parked and headed upstairs.

He gently tapped on Rita's door, his hand on the gun in his pocket, just in case someone else was in there with her. He heard Rita's tiny voice on the other side of the door, saying "Who is it?"

"Just me, babe. Open up, will ya?"

The door opened a couple of inches, then, seeing Jack's handsome face and halo of blond curls, Rita threw it wide, and flung herself into his arms as soon as he stepped in.

"Oh, Jack, what's this all about?" she gasped tearfully. He could see she'd been crying, probably ever since he'd left. That was curious...why was she crying?

"Now, angel, don't be so upset. Everything's fine now, right? You didn't call the cops, did ya?" Rita pulled away so she could look him in the eye. He had a rare serious expression of concern.

"No, but we should have. God, what have you done? Who was he? Jack...who are you?" Rita's blue tear-filled eyes were huge, and she stared at him, the first layer of innocence having been peeled away, leaving her raw and tender. She desperately wanted to hear a logical explanation, but try as she might, she couldn't come up with one herself.

"Aw, babe...what kind of question is that? I'm Jack, remember? Just ol' Mr. J, same as always...." he said in a kind, soothing voice as he squeezed her to him, pressing kisses onto her tear-streaked face.

"You killed a man...and you weren't even upset! It was like...like you do it all the time!"

"Yeah, well...." He bit his lip, burying his face in her neck, trying not to laugh. This was going to be fun....

"And, why did he call you 'Joker'? I don't understand any of this..." she wailed.

"I know. It's...complicated. Much too complicated for a cute little bunny like you to understand..." He held her closer as he suppressed a random giggle, brushing the top of her head comfortingly with his lips. Aw, damn. She was so...adorably dense...so easy to play....everything was getting so...so ridiculous....couldn't she see that? He felt himself becoming more and more detached...now, she was just some warm, soft thing that wouldn't stop squawking...needed her to be quiet...needed to...shut her up....

"But, I want to know! Jack...I...I love you!" she murmured into his chest.

The words hit him hard, for some reason. They penetrated into some still-whole part of his brain, and stopped him short. It would have been a good time to pull the gun from his pocket, hold it up under her chin, and take her out before her mom got home, giving him enough time to grab what little incriminating evidence he had next door and get the hell out of there. But, somehow...he couldn't.

"Ah...what did you say?" he asked, feeling a little bewildered.

"I said, 'I love you'," she repeated in a muffled voice, as he was pressing her head into his chest a little too hard for her to turn her head properly.

He released her and looked down at her like a predatory animal coming across a strange new sort of prey. He pushed her away, held her at arm's length and studied her critically.

"That's stupid," he finally announced. Rita blinked in surprise.

"Why? Why is my loving you stupid?" she demanded miserably.

"Because, kid...I'm...I'm the kind of guy who..." Images and colors were swirling around in his brain; he had to force himself to focus on what he was saying..."I'm the kind of guy who....who'll fuck you over." He licked his lips nervously. Suddenly, he wasn't having so much fun anymore.

"No, Jack, no, I know you'd never hurt me...."

"Hmm....Maybe I'm not being clear. Let me explain." The Joker's lips curled into a cruel sneer. He didn't want to play anymore, he just wanted to get this over with...." I rob banks. I pull jewel heists, I kill people for money, and sometimes? I blow things up for fun." He held her firmly by her shoulders as she tried to wriggle away, not wanting to hear his devastating words.

"No!...No, that's ridiculous...you could never do any of those terrible things!" Rita was almost screaming, and she shook her head adamantly, still struggling to break his powerful grasp. He was now scaring her.

The Joker slipped one strong arm around her waist and held her in a tight embrace, then took her chin in the other gloved hand and forced her to look at him. Feeling helpless, she searched his face, looking for that twinkle in his eye, that tug at the corner of his scarred mouth, clues that would let her know he was just pulling her leg, razzing her, joking with her...but they weren't there. Something big and sick and painful took hold of her heart.

"Rita, baby..." he intoned gently, "Charlie worked for me once. He was too stupid to keep--I should of killed him a long time ago...yeah, they call me the Joker. Funny, huh? Because, the fact is...I'm not a nice guy." He looked her square in the eye and smiled a demented smile. "Aaand...I'm sorry." Feeling better, he took his hand away from her face and pulled out the gun. He moved the hand holding her around the waist up to the back of her neck, immobilizing her, and pressed the cold barrel against her throat with the other.

Rita couldn't stop looking in his beautiful dark brown eyes, those eyes that had taken her captive the first moment she saw him. Now, they held no laughter, no teasing, just a stony dullness that frightened her almost more than the weapon in his hand. She thought of her mom...a kind of calm came over her. For some reason, she now felt no panic, just an of out-of-body stillness that allowed her to speak rationally. She no longer even felt like crying. Somehow, he'd slipped away from her...she had to reach him, she had to make him see her....

"Jack..." she said softly. "Please...don't do this...why would you do this? I don't understand...."

"Because, sweetie, you won't be able to keep your pretty little mouth shut. Hey, I've got big plans--I'm about to blow this town wide open--pretty soon, everybody's going to know who the Joker is--and I don't want anybody spilling the beans before I finish getting everything in place...so," he shrugged dismissively, "I don't have much choice. I gotta take ya out of the picture, see?" He had a mock-apologetic look on his face.

"I...I won't say anything...I promise. Jack...please. Look at me..." She spoke evenly, and he found himself relenting, gazing into her eyes where he saw something he'd never seen before in someone looking at him over the barrel of a gun, or otherwise, for that matter. He was used to all sorts of interesting emotions--anger, fear, disgust--but Rita's eyes held none of those. All he saw was love.

Something stirred inside him. He released her and dropped the gun to his side. He first nodded, then shook his head.

"I always knew those gorgeous peepers of yours would get me into trouble someday," he sighed resignedly.

The Joker raised the gun, swung it hard, and knocked her unconscious in one fluid, well-practiced motion.

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