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This is a redone and expanded version of this story:…

Which is part of this proposed arc:…

In the aftermath of Jason Todd's attack on Joseph Kane, Sam Kane is left in an uncertain world where his brother might not longer be with him. Joseph's will names Dick Grayson as Sam's guardian when Joseph is either incapacitated or dead. But with one small boy dealing with a tragic and painful moment, it reminds Dick of how he felt when his parents died. And when Sam runs away, it's up to Nightwing to decide how to help this young boy the best....

Sam Kane, Barkley and Joseph Kane belong to me

Nightwing, Batman, Red Hood, etc belong to DC Comics

Preview Art done for me by :iconrafa-road-to-marvel:…
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She'd turn to look at him, wondering where the days events went by like little droplets falling from a broken faucet.

The city had actually simmered down and the crazy talk had sort of slipped under the sheets. Then inmates found warmer spots and hoped that food would eventually be dropped. Somehow the crazy side of town had gotten it's own place and name, still a mystery to her how this had been managed but then again anything is possible with a city filled with so many cruel intentions.

Then again, everything had gone to shit in nano seconds.

She washed the blood from her hands before turning to look at him, bandages around his torso, blood staining the bed and his ragged breathing getting just the tiniest bit fainter. Harley had done all she could for now, sending out the kids to get the first doctor the could find and get him or her down here as quick as possible but for now, she'' drown herself in cheap whiskey and watch over him. It was a combination of things, a shoot out that was unexpected, a last minute thought to get away to buy time and just get out. He'd taken the worse from it and Harley still feels the ache in her arms from having to basically drag him back to the Steel Mill and he bleed so much, so fucking much.

What was gonna happen then? Batman probably knows where their hiding out by now, J always had a keen sense for squealers and he knew every single one of them by heart.

"You can't leave...You hear me? You can't just take me on this ride and force me off the god damn thing now" She was angry, she wanted everything to just burn apart or at least go back a few hours, tell him that facing Dent's guys wasn't necessary but alas he're he was, fighting with death's door and all she could was pray that the door handle was made of cement. She runs a finger over his lips, smeared red so lovely. "It was you and me, always. Fuck the rest, it's not important"  He stirs a bit, a small cough coming out and staining her hand and by now Harley can't hold back the tears, the slip by as quietly as they can.

"You're...Killing me off too soon, doll" His brown orbs appear in weak flutters. "Thought you liked me more than that" She wants to punch him but of course she doesn't. "Now why would I do something like that J? You know me better" A bit of her thick new yorker accent slips through but he likes it, secretly of course. "Hey, at least I didn't lose an arm, now that would have been tragic" She rolls her eyes shaking her head at his morbid comedy, the one she loves so much. "You're gonna be fine, I sent Dewey and Giggles for a medic, if they aren't here by sunrise I'll just get you to one myself"

He has to admire her efforts, her tenacity, that fucking spark she has that attracted him to her in the first place. "Harl, I don't think you're gonna be able to that" She crosses her arms and looks away. "Try me" And lord knows he has.

"Just give me till sunrise, ok? Just give till then, We've got one of the Tyger trucks hiding in the back and I managed to stop your bleeding so for once J just give this once chance and don't go leaving me like this...Leave me any other way but... not like this" It's scary just how much she means it, how wiling she is to get gun down by Tyger security or Penguin's gang hell she's willing to go up against the Bat on her own with nothing but her fist. "...Ok, fine"

She goes back to looking at him and those ocean eyes are red and puffy like a storm. "Don't die on me..." She scoots her chair closer to his side and her hands are on his face, gently of course. "This city isn't ready to just not have you, B-man won't be as fun anymore and do you really expect me to lead those retarded bunches of oats we call help? I'll end up setting fire to them all" He actually manages to chuckle with a cough though. "Then burn 'em all, get new ones" And Harley actually laughs a little, despite everything she manages to.

"What about me?" She runs her fingers though his bloody hair.
"You'll manage" He stares intently at her and she shakes her head.
"Where's the fun when the laughing partner isn't laughing no more?" He's seen sad looks on her, but nothing like this one.

"Then you laugh twice as hard for me" He wants her to promise, the look in his eyes tells her so.

Even though she doesn't confirm it, she silently promises him she will.

"Just...give me till sunrise" He promises as well.
Part two for Big playgrounds

As you can see it follows the Arkham City plot, with some changes since I didn't want it to be exact and it's way to fit these two properly. Bit sad this one, but in a mood :shrug: It will have a part 3, quite sure the last part.
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A/N- The 400(ish) words long piece of literature in between these symbols:  -*- is written in third person, omniscient, while the rest of the story is written in first person that bounces around between the main cast. This is here just to make sure you don’t get confused!


A pair of green eyes scanned the pictures in a therapist directory, flipping through page after page, staring at picture after picture- waiting to detect the perfect subject.
When suddenly the man stopped, and stabbed his finger in the middle of a page towards the end of the book.
“I want her!” He commanded at the other man in the room.
“I'm sorry, but she only handles patient paperwork and those sorts of things. She doesn't deal with high-class criminals, like yourself.” The opposite man quipped in a monotonic, English, accent.
“I don't care. I won't talk to anyone but her.”
“Why her?” The English man scratched at his chin.
“Don't psycho-analyze me, doc, I just want her.” The green eyed man tore out the page with his requested doctor and snapped the dusty book shut.
“I will put you through electric-shock therapy... again.” The doctor threatened.
The patient shrugged and rolled his eyes.
“I will hand your case off to Doctor Crane.”
Another shrug and eye-roll.
“I'll put you in a cell with Edward Nygma.”
The other man made a light scoffing noise and kicked his feet up.
“I'll... put you in a cell with Victor Zsasz.”
He rumbled with laughter now, “Are you kidding me? Zsasz is so much fun a parties! He can appreciate the pleasure in using weapons within the blade-and-handle family.” The madman laughed and his mouth opened into a grin, “You know, you're never going to win with me. Just get me Doctor Quinzel, and all will be good!” He clasped both hands together at the side of his face and smiled.
“Fine, Mr. Joker, I will get the doctor that you requested. Please wait while I make a few calls.”
“Alright, but make it snappy, Strange 'ole boy! I haven't got all night!”
Doctor Hugo Strange, head Doctor over Arkham Asylum's most notorious and criminally insane patients, walked down the blank hallway toward the nurse's station. Just before his finger connected with the call bell- he heard a fit of mad, verging on manic, laughter escape from the cell that he had just left the Joker in. He rubbed his gloved fingers against his temples.
This was going to be a very long night indeed.


1. Ready To Go~
~You've Got These Little Things
That You've Been Running From
You Either Love Them Or I Guess You Don't
You're Such A Pretty Thing
To Be Running From Anyone
A Vision With Nowhere To Go
-Panic! At the Disco (Ready To Go [Get Me Outta My Mind]

%Harley Quinn%

Vrrrr vrrr, vrrr vrrr.
I heard my phone buzz on my bedside table and my eyes fluttered open. Looking at the numbers on my digital clock I cursed internally; It was 1:07 AM, damn.
Sitting up, I grabbed my blackberry off of the table. It was the Asylum calling.
Pressing the answer button down, I mumbled my title and a brief greeting into the receiver.
"Hello Doctor, this is GCPD Commissioner Gordon speaking, I apologize for the late call but he requested you personally."
What? I thought, Nobody has ever called me doctor before. "Commissioner, I apologize, but it is one in the morning. I have no idea who or what you're talking about."
"Do you have a television, Doctor?" The Commissioner questioned warily.
"Of course, why?"
"You might want to tune it in to News Station 3, I believe Jack Rider-" I instinctively look to my left side-- sure enough Jack's gone,"- is reporting right now on tonight's events. Call the Asylum back at extension four-two-three when you understand." The phone line went dead.
I never did comprehend why policemen were so cryptic, but either way I grab the remote control and switch the TV to the appointed station.
Sure enough, I see Channel 3 News Anchor, love of my life, Jack Rider. His lips quivering against his hastily spoken words.
I turn up the volume, "… I say again, The Joker had been captured by Batman!” Jack beamed into the camera.
“When we come back, we'll go to Vicki Vale, live at Arkham Asylum with Gotham City Police Department Commissioner James Gordon." The camera zoomed out, and the screen switched immediately to commercials. There was one for Gotham city reality, the Real Housewives of Gotham, Wayne enterprises something or other, and then finally the news came back and I saw the blonde hair, blue eye visage of Vicki Vale.
"Hello, and good early-morning Gothamites. This is Vicki Vale reporting, live with GCPD Commissioner Gordon.” She took a breath, steam escaping from her pink lips when she exhaled.
“Commissioner Gordon what has really been going on, this fall night in Gotham?" Her voice had the exact blend of cockiness and confidence that a reporter should have.
"Well, Miss Vale, as you know the Joker was on another one of his schemes tonight. He was planning on setting off bombs all over Gotham, at every hour starting at five this coming morning." Gordon paused and licked his lips. "But as you can see, we all are still an explosion free Gotham, thanks to Batman."
"So, Commissioner, what you're telling me-- correct me if I'm wrong-- is that Gotham is finally safe from the infamous Agent of Chaos?"
Something clicked in my brain then, and I gaped at the TV screen.

Joker. He's going to be my first patient.

I jumped out of bed, not bothering to listen to Gordon's Gotham-Is-Now-Safe-Thanks-To-Batman speech. He's said those words far too many times for them to have meaning anymore. Especially when the situation involved Joker. It was a never-ending circle with him, the catch and inevitable escape. A circle that I was determined to break, even if it drove me insane in the process.

Running over to the closet I tore my fire-engine red dress off the hanger. I always saw myself in this dress interviewing my first Patient. Next came the only pair of heels I possessed, which were onyx-black stilettos.
Always dress to impress, even if the person who you are about to meet is a psychopathic murderer, right?
I nodded yes to myself, marching proudly to the bathroom.


After getting out of the shower, dressing, and carefully pinning my long golden-blonde hair into a bun, I slid my glasses over the bridge of my nose.
I'm ready to go.

Walking out into the main living area I immediately spot my doctor's coat hanging on the back of the door. I can hardly contain my excitement as I sprint over to it, almost tripping over my own feet several times on the way, and slide the gloriously pure and unworn white coat over my flaming dress.
I am perfect.
Spinning happily in a circle I faced the door again and when I noticed a piece of paper scotch-taped to the surface, I rip it away immediately recognizing the chicken-scratch scrawl of my fiance.

I didn't want to wake you when I got called in to do a report on Joker... I don't think it's anything too major. Just that psycho up to his shenanigans again.
But hey, maybe you'll catch a break and be his psychiatrist this time. What has it been? Only a thousand ways that you've petitioned Strange to get a badge, and get out of that paper-pushing job?
Love you. Always.

My heart skips a beat every time Jack tells me that he loves me and I pull out my phone intending to text him that I love him too, but find my phone already buzzing in my hand.
I shake my head, the Asylum again.
Right when I clicked “accept” the person on the other end was talking. His voice a deep, husky baritone.
"Doctor Quinzel. I am aware of the late hour, but the Joker is getting impatient." Oh.
"B-Batman?" I asked, dumbfounded, eyes widening.
"Yes, now, I will be in my vehicle at the front of your apartment complex in ten minutes. I will be personally escorting you to your interview with the Joker. Along the way we will be discussing his case file. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir. I would like that very much. I'll be seeing you in ten minutes." I could barely believe I was talking to The Dark Knight himself, let alone that I would be getting in his famous car in less than ten minutes.
There was a fantastic noise on the other end of the line and then sounds of a scuffle. A man's voice screamed, and another man, whose voice I recognized as Hugo Strange, yelled “Knife!”
Batman sighed, the end of the breathy sound coming out as a growl.
“Better make that five, Quinzel.”
My eyes widened further. What had just happened? “Uh, Okay. Goodbye, Sir.”
Batman mumbled something unintelligible.
“What was that?” My voice seemed to go up an octave.
“I said, 'Don't call me sir.'” Batman quipped and I blinked

A second passes before I realize that I’m just listening to the dull ring of the dial tone. I stow away my phone, internally bracing myself for- what may just turn out to be- the longest night of my life.
YES! This is where it all began, a whole year ago and now I am editing! This Chapter is complete (finally) and 100% edited!
On to the next one!
Gallery with all the chapters:…

PS- I adore comments and constructive criticism!
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She hummed in the passenger seat, and Jonathan knew she sensed the heaviness in the van. Yet he didn't know how to dispel it. What could he do? Open his mouth and let everything just seep out? No, she was smiling, she was happy, and that was all that mattered to him.

"Jonny, is something wrong?"

His eyes glanced over to her. He shook his head even though internally he was nodding, 'Yes, how come you wanted to come back again? You are a glutton for punishment? Can't you see he's just using you?'

"No, I'm fine, Harley. Just watching for the Batman."

Harley sighed, "Jon, when you're upset you really stink at lyin'. I hope ya know that. Something's wrong." His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Jon, we're friends, you can tell me. Did Jay hurt you? You can tell me, I won't tell on you. Everyone's got to let out a little steam."

"I suppose they do," he said with a mild edge to his voice, tipping Harley off that he didn't want to talk about it any further. "Joker didn't do anything. To me." He didn't look at her, only focused on driving her, remembering the Joker's voice on the phone when he had called him to ask where to bring Harley.

"Oh, Jonny-boy, did my Harls reject you? Or maybe…I bet ya didn't even tell her. You knew she'd tell you no didn't you? And you just couldn't let your little hopes be crushed. I don't blame ya, Jonny, not a bit, it takes a lot to admit defeat."

He clenched his jaw. Cocky, yellow-toothed bastard! He wasn't admitting defeat because he didn't want Harley to crush him like many of the women before her. He wasn't afraid of heartbreak; he'd had his share, and endured every agonizing moment. In fact, he wasn't telling her because love was overrated.

Love did nothing but expose your vulnerabilities to the cold extremities and open you up for attack. It blinded you and landed you at the mercy of people like Sherry and the Joker. They placed their hands about your neck, teased you with sweet promises and then like a snake they injected poison into your veins, left you for dead, and laughed about it.

Love was a lie. It was—

Who was he fooling? Jonathan sighed and pulled up to the rundown theatre. Lights shone from within, casting a yellow glow upon the dirty asphalt.

He heard Harley begin to move; she'd been quiet since his last statement. He turned just in time to hear the van door open. His eyes met hers, both blue, but hers much more vibrant and alive than his, he thought.

"I saw the marks on your neck," he whispered to her. Her eyes widen and he expected anger; she'd reacted like that before, but instead it seemed she just deflated. Her face fell and she looked away from him.

She grabbed her bag from his floorboard and wordlessly turned around, beginning to walk away. In an instant Jonathan got out the van and followed her; he'd not let her get away. She quickened her steps, he matched it. Suddenly she ran, but his legs were longer than hers. He caught up to her and grabbed her shoulders.

It all happened in a few seconds. Her bag fell to the ground and he twisted her around until she was facing him. They were at the theatre entrance, but it didn't stop him. He pressed her against the door.

"Goddammit," he glared at her, searching her face, "do you honestly think he loves you? He doesn't, Harley, and you know it. All he wants is to secretly laugh at you as you crawl back to him time and time again. You think he's only the one who cares about you, accepts you?"

He scoffed at her, "For being so smart you're so blind, Harley. The Joker doesn't love anyone but himself and he's been that way for a long time. I can't tell you who he was, but he's not and will never be the man you want him to be. He's just going to keep hurting you and belittling you until he finally grows bored and wants a new bauble."

His chest constricted at the tears that gathered in her eyes. He knew he was crushing her heart, but he couldn't—no he wouldn't—stand by idly any longer and watch the Joker tear her apart. She was his friend. He loved her for Christ sakes!

He realized in his perusal of her status that he was breathing fast, on the brink on tears himself. He didn't stop himself, though. If he fell into hysterics, screw it then. He leaned closer to her and brought a hand to her cheek.

"And do you know what he'll do once he's done with you," he whispered and she bit her lip; his eyes locked on the movement and leaned his forehead against hers, pressing himself closer. "You know what'll he do, and it's up to you to end this before it gets ugly. Harleen," he breathed against her lips, "you deserve so much more than he can give you, remember that."

He hesitated no longer; as soon as the last syllable left his lips he pressed them against Harley's. He didn't kiss her with hunger or violence, like he surmised she was use to. His mouth was gentle, soothing, but nonetheless passionate. She tensed slightly beneath his ministrations, but didn't fight him.

When he pulled back, his contact having been brief he only paused a moment to stare into her eyes. He hoped his kiss had promised her what he couldn't voice and his gaze had related that it was her move now.

He turned around and walked back to his van hearing the building door close soon behind him. He'd let his guard down, Scarecrow had bowed to the Harlequin. Now the choice was hers.
For far too long he'd watched her torn down. He told her his heart, placed it in her hands, and left her with a choice. It was her move now. Obvious Jon/Harley. Sequel to Cat's Cradle [link]

Disclaimer: I blame all my fans and Christopher Nolan, DC, and Warner Bros. Without you I wouldn't have to disclaim my ownership of anything. xD! Thanks for creating Batman and the movies!
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She's nuts. I hate her. Sometimes. Never mind. Always. I was stupid to let a psychologist attach onto me. As if I didn't get enough pointless therapy in Arkham! I had to bring a doctor outside as my own personal advisor. Idiotic.

What is this? Its a journal. Me scribbling my "thoughts" on a paper. She's making me do it. She's watching me right now. I ask her what the hell to write, and she suggests writing my current actions. That's what I'm doing.

Now I'm out of things to write. But you know what's funny? I can't write that I'm staring at a blank piece of paper, because that would be lying. I can however, write "Fifteen minutes ago I was staring at a blank piece of paper."


I know how to annoy her.

I am writing. I am writing. I am writing. I am writing. I am wr

She says that doesn't count. Now I have to sit here for another hour. Nothing is stopping me from leaving. Her glares don't intimidate me.

Hell with this.


Day two.

She made me write that. If this doesn't look like a journal, now, you're fucking blind.

She should have made me write Attempt Two. I'd kill myself before I waste an entire day giving my hand arthritis and writing my "feelings" down.

I hate therapists.


Attempt three.

I REALLY hate therapists.

This crazy bitch is going to get a whipping after this. Mark my words. Writing with one hand is hard, but I've had my left hand tied behind my back before.

Did you know I'm right handed and left handed? Want to hear the story? I'll write down the story. Short version.

When I was a teenager, I was on the run from a gang, I threw myself off a freeway ramp and broke my fall with my right arm. That resulted in a broken arm. I literally couldn't move my fingers to save my life. As a "postman" for the drug gang I worked for, I had paper and pens in my messenger bag. I managed to write a quick letter with my left hand to leave for my "friends" to find, telling them where I discovered the enemies' hideout was.

And what do ya know? My handwriting was actually legible enough for them to actually find the address and save my ass, their main intention of course being to bring down the rivals. I wasn't a hero. In fact, my former "friends" actually became the ones hunting me down next. Thats how life works.

Happy Harley? I wrote a whole fucking novel. Even though you duct-taped my mouth shut and tied me to the god damned chair.

Attempt Three and a Half

She rolled her eyes at my story. She said it doesn't count because it wasn't true. So now I have to write another story. Twice as long. And true.

She's using that as an excuse. She has no proof if it's true or not. She just wants to push me, to make me write more.

So lets get this damned thing over with. I'll write a story that's impossible for her to claim a lie. How we met.

Harleen Quinzel cheated through her career and slept her way through school to become one of the top doctors at Arkham. Little slut. But a goody-two-shoes slut, as impossible as that sounds. Somehow she'd been free of drugs, free of any accidental pregnancies, free of any criminal charges. She kept her relationships with her "boyfriends" (a.k.a. professors) a secret. Somehow, she got away with it. Never got in any trouble, never got caught, never got killed. A genius little cheater.

It's because of her innocence. Her genuine childish smile. Her happiness. Her playful radiance. No one would have guessed the little angel to be such a devil.
She wasn't putting on a mask and deceiving her surroundings from her inner sins, no. She wasn't open about it, but no one ever suspected her enough to give her a reason to classify what she did a dirty secret. She worked hard to get to where she was when I was brought into Arkham, but it wasn't the studying, book-work kind of hard work. It was the bed-rattling action.

I didn't know any of this until after she became Harley Quinn. I was didn't believe her at all when the conversation arose. But then again, she's never lied to me.

Halfway done.

In our first therapy session, she was just like any other doctor I'd driven to suicide or insanity. She was pretty, I'll admit. Cute. Petite. Different. A misplaced child in a serious adult atmosphere. Did she intrigue me? No. She disappointed me. I knew my job would be way too easy with this one. I could break her with a single sentence, without her ever opening her mouth.

I was angered at the pathetic excuse of a doctor presented to me. I thought about what I could do to make this one last longer than five seconds. I thought about how to make her fun to play with. No one wants to play with a child that cries the moment you touch it.

It was tedious and painstaking, but I made her last, I gently let her "befriend me", I held back the urge to crumple her up and toss her in the overflowing trash bin and call "Next!" for another challenge.

Just as I was about to give up on the boring game, I saw the sparkle in her blue eyes and the blush on her porcelain skin. She was in love with me. That started a whole new ball game, one that continues to this day.

Now, now she's fun to play with. Because now she is a challenge to break.

I'm still tied to the chair, by the way. Yep. Duct tape still here. My arms have been sore for the past two hours, tied like this. I hope you're happy Harl.
The result of one of Harley's therapy exercises. I thought it was funny and kind of sweet. I might put a couple more of these up. Not much though :shrug:

2: [link]
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Mount Justice was empty, no one was there. The Fridge was full, a stack of movies lay untouched on the coffee table. The training room was empty, no sounds were heard. Anywhere. Perfection thought Artemis, as she grabbed her large green hoodie, a mug of coffee and her favourite book.

She sat reading for approximetly 7 and half minutes before...
*Reconized Kidflash B03*  
No! Artemis Panicked! Hide, then he'll see no ones here and leave. Yes! Hide!
Artemis grabbed her book and ran to the side of the sofa, slide her self under.
Everthing was going to plan the coffee cup!

Wally walked in, he thought her heard somthing, but it was proablly his imagination, his brain was probally playing tricks from lack of food. I mean he had't ate in like half an hour...but what was that? A mug. He picked up the coffee cup,still warm.
Hmm...he thought, noticing that the mug beared artemis' arrow logo on he went to investigate. And they're sticking out from the sofa was a single lock of blonde hair.

"Ha!" he shouted. "I caught you!"
Artemis climbed out. ""
"Cause mum and dad are on some romantic trip, flas-i mean my uncles out on...Work and i hate staying at Jay's cause the only thing to do is checkers! What are you doing here?"

Artemis sighed, "My mums out of town, on Buisness and i'm not even gonna think about staying at my dads and my aunty's a little to... involved with her work to be any fun."

"Oh," Wally said,"Well...Old Friend of mine, wanna watch a movie?" he said looking at the stack of flicks on the table, but before she has a chance to reply, or protest he had pulled her onto the sofa.
"So...What movie?" said Wally almot begging for her to stay.
"Hmfff...fine. And that one." she pointed to a case with a scary face on.

They sat far appart, but close enough to share wally's large yellow double bed quilt with red lightning bolts on. A bowl of popcorn lay in the middle.
They both decided to wear they're pj's for comfort.
Kidflash, thinking he'd be alone only packed some pj pants, long, with lighting bolts on, like most things the speedster owned.
Artemis wore a tight tank top, that showed her midrift. With green shorts with arrows on and her long hair was in a lower pony tail.She wore long green and light green stripey socks.
As the movie got scarier they found themselves edging closer towards each other, wally had his arm on her shoulder, but he was more scared she'd let go than the actual movie it's self.
Suddenly on the really scary part, artemis flung her arms around Wally and he placed both around her.
The movie ended but neither let go, both just sat,not wanting to be the one to let go.
Artemis decided if neither would let go, then they should enjoy the moment, she placed her head on his chest, his heart was thumping fast,but then she listening and it calmed as his body melted into the postiton.

His hand was round her waist, one finger playing with a lock of her golden hair.
Her hand was round his muscular stomach, the other almost touching his neck. He placed his other hand near her shoulder, but neither could stand the silence any they kissed. Gently at first,then hard. She was now lying on top of him, his hands on her waist. Her hands round his neck.

They stopped, looked into each others eyes, His green eyes almost glowing in the dark room. Her blue/grey eyes where clear and bright and looking straight at him.

Wally was the first to speak,and the sciece prodegy could't explain what just happened  he just said: "Wow."
"Wow." repeated Artemis.
They were now sitting, knees touching, facing each other. He put him arms around he shoulders, "I'm Sorry." He said.
"For what excatly? " Artemis asked.
"For being mean to you, never accepting you, always rejecting you..."
"For kissing me?"
"That," Wally smiled, "I'm definetly not sorry for."

So, if you did't get it, Flash is Wally's uncle and Artemis' Aunty who's 'Involed with her work' was chesire.

Enjoy! ;]
Feedback will be used!
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Once again, my friends put me to the challenge of writing a comic. This time, my take on a Red Robin #1, should DC finally give Tim Drake his own title.

When Red Robin goes home to Gotham for a visit, he becomes involved in one of Batman's cases, and crosses the path of a teenaged villain who is smart as him and infinitely more vicious.

And yes, I decided that Steph should be mentioned, in this case as "missing."

Damian, alas, is still dead for this story. So to answer a possible question, this would be WAY before my idea of how Damian should come back would occur.

I also brought in my version of the Narrows from Batman Begins

This is purely a fan's work; unless DC wants to buy it XD

Red Robin/Tim Drake et al belongs to DC Comics

Story belongs to me

Preview image by Brett Booth


EDIT: I'm well aware there are some spelling and grammar errors. Once CeltX stops being weird I will post an updated PDF

EDIT 6/3/13 Temporary PDF of version done in Word uploaded with spelling/grammar errors fixed

EDIT 6/4/13: Corrected CeltX PDF uploaded, further corrections, Titus added in as cameo
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"You think I'm pretty, without any makeup on. You think I'm funny, when I tell the punch line wrong. I know you get me, so I let my walls come down, dooowwwwnnnn! Let's go all the way tonight, no regrets, just love. We can dance until we die, you and I, will be young forever!"

Joker looked up from a newspaper he had spread over the lap of his dirty purple suit and looked at the closed bathroom door where, behind the rotted wood, Harley was showering and singing an annoying pop song about love at the top of her lungs. "That girl couldn't carry a tune with a bucket," he muttered as he looked back down to the paper. He circled the obituary of a death he had caused, a smile spreading on his dry, scabby lips.

"…You brought me to life, now every February, you'll be my valentine – valentine! Let's go all the way tonight, no regrets just love. We can dance until we die, you and I will be young forever!"

"Harley! Shut up!" Joker snapped as he threw his paper to the ground and stomped towards the bathroom. He rested his hand on the doorknob but didn't go in. He pressed his ear to the door and listened to the words of Harley's song.

"You make me feel like I'm livin' a teenage dream. The way you turn me on I can't sleep. Let's run away and don't ever look back, don't ever look back!"

Harley certainly had never looked back when it came to her relationship with Joker. She'd been his psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum. She'd been an A level student with a scholarship to Gotham University for gymnastics. She'd petitioned the higher-ups for months for a chance to interview Joker. She'd gotten her wish and Joker had, in a way, gotten his.

Here was a girl so eager to make her mark on the world of lunatics that she had yet to build a wall between herself and her patients. She was young and naïve and oh-so-easily charmed. Harleen Quinzel was like putty in Joker's hands. Just the way he liked his women and just what he needed to break out of Arkham Asylum.

At first she acted professionally: she jotted notes, nodded her head, asked appropriate questions at the appropriate times, and kept her distance from Joker's advances. It wasn't long though before her naivety and, honestly, her academic arrogance, led her to believe she was making actual progress with the Joker. She believed that his lies were truths and she let her guard down and fell in love with Joker.

"My heart stops when you look at me. Just one touch, now baby I believe. This is real, so take a chance and don't ever look back, don't ever look back! We drove to Cali and got drunk on the beach. Got a motel and built a fort out of sheets. I finally found you, my missing puzzle piece. I'm complete!"

Joker wondered if she did have regrets. He wouldn't blame her if she did. That night when Harleen Quinzel died and Harley Quinn was born was a moment in the girl's life bigger than anything else she'd ever do. She threw away her family and friends, her career… her sanity. She adopted a life of crime and abuse in the form of bleached white skin, slicked back green hair, and a manic smile.

"Imma get your heart racing in my skin tight jeans, be your teenage dream tonight. Let you put your hand on my in my skin tight jeans. Be your teenage dream tonight!"

Harley had fallen madly in love with Joker and was willing to do anything for him. Her first night as Harley Quinn the harlequin she broke him out of Arkham Asylum – and has done many, many times since.

Joker, at first, had used her affection for his advantage, believing himself to be immune to the girl's stupid charms and bubbling laughter. All to quickly though he found himself staring at her stark white face when she wasn't looking and he very nearly purred when she called him Puddin'. He even found himself smiling at her pathetic attempts to tell jokes.

"The song has a ring of truth," Joker smirked as he went to sit back down. "You always do tell the punch line wrong, Harley."

"Yoooouuuu make me feel like I'm livin' a teenage dream. The way you turn me on I can't sleep. Let's run away and don't ever look back, don't ever look back! My heart stops when you look at me. Just one touch now baby I believe. This is real, so take a chance and don't ever look back, don't ever look back!"

They'd been together for years. Years and years. He was abusive and manipulative but she stuck around. Could she love him that much? It's possible that during the few and far between moments of playfulness he had had with her, she mistook his good humor for genuine affection and stayed because she thought he loved her…

Did he love her? He had certainly never said it to her. He hadn't even said it to himself. He thought he loved Harley, but putting the words 'I love you' together just seemed wrong and unnatural to him.

The shower and Harley's singing stopped. Joker heard the shower curtain rings scratch against the metal shower curtain rod. Harley's small feet shuffled across the dirty tile floor and flung open the bathroom door. Steam poured forth like the fog off a horror movie swamp and Harley emerged. She scarcely paid any attention to Joker as she headed for their bedroom.

Joker cleared his throat and Harley stopped to look at him. Her eyes lit up as a smile spread across her face. She loved him, it was easy to tell. His love was much more hidden, much deeper, much more… complicated. When he first began toying with Harley it had merely been to get his own way, but after so long with her he found it harder to manipulate her like he had in the beginning. Not because she was weary of his cruelness but because he was hesitant to do it at all. He was even horrified to find that she had found ways of manipulating him!

Maybe that was the mark of his love.

Was she able to see that though? Joker's heart lurched. Was it time to actually say the words?


"Yes Puddin'?"

"I've got something to say to you."

"I'm all ears."

"I… just wanted to say… we've been together for a long time… I think it's time… I want tell you… that… I…" Harley looked on expectantly and Joker lost his nerve. Kind words were too hard. "Never mind."

"No, go on."

"I said never mind."

"And I said go on."

"You really don't know when to shut up do you, Harley?"

"If you wanted to shut me up you'd've done it all ready. You obviously have something to tell me, so you better tell me because I'm not gonna let up until you do."

Joker sneered. He forgot from time to time that Harley was actually intelligent. "I just wanted to say…" Kind words were too hard. Easier to go back to what he knew best. "I… just wanted to say that I think you are the most horrid creature I've ever crossed paths with and I regret every day that I don't kill you."

Harley cocked her head to the side with a thoughtful look on her face. After a moment she smiled.

"What are you smiling about, Harley? You're a cancer on my soul and I wish I could tear you out and label you medical waste! I wish you'd leave me alone – disappear off of the face of the Earth so I could have some peace and quiet! You're awful. You're dreadful. The next time you land in Arkham, I'll leave you there to rot! So tell me, after hearing all this, why the hell are you smiling?"

"I'm smiling because I know what you're trying to say."

"Oh, do you miss psychiatrist?"

"Yup. And you know perfectly well that I know."

"You don't know anything."

"Well, then correct me if I'm wrong."

Joker considered standing up to slap her across her arrogant face. But quickly decided against it. He couldn't say 'I love you' to her directly, but he could stay quiet and let her draw her own conclusions. He saw it as a type of neutrality. He was neither proclaiming his love nor denying it.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." She blew him a kiss. "I love you too, Puddin'." She bounced away happily without waiting for Joker's reply and he couldn't help but laugh. She was back to her old self, as she had first been at Arkham. Hell, maybe she had never changed from the girl he had first met... Maybe she'd been playing him this whole time...

"Harley… playing me?" Joker thought about it briefly before shaking the very notion of it from his mind. "That's even harder to swallow than her fairytale notion that I might even consider falling in love with her…"
here's a one-shot about how much Joker secretly loves his Harley! :D

i banged this one out in an hour and didn't proof read it so if it sucks (story wise or grammar wise) i'm very sorry - i'll fix it up over the next few days. i just had to post this because it's the first thing i've posted in weeks!

fyi, the song Harley sings is Teenage Dream by Katy Perry (as if we all haven't heard it enough to know immediate what it is!)


Disclaimer: i do not own Batman in any way and this is purely for entertainment purposes.
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Time seemed to freeze around us.

The Joker's kiss was everything I'd ever imagined, and at the same time, nothing I'd ever felt. It was almost as if he'd sucked the air right out of my lungs with the first graze of his lips, because I felt so lightheaded while he kissed me that I feared for a second I might float right out of the room.

The shock of his actions rendered me completely unresponsive to the kiss at first, however, and the only thing I could do at that moment was to stare with my eyes wide open. The Joker had his eyes closed, but when he didn't feel me respond, he increased the intensity of the kiss by pressing his lips harder on mine, and shoving one hand in my hair to keep me in place.

THAT got a reaction out of me. I couldn't fight the low mewl that escaped my lips, and the noise allowed his tongue to slip between my lips and explore my mouth. To my surprise, he tasted somewhat sweet as his tongue swept around inside. Finally, my eyes fluttered shut from the sensation, and that's when I began to kiss him back.

My sudden responsiveness made the Joker growl and snake his free arm around my waist, pulling my body flush against his so that I could feel every inch of muscle through his expensive deep black tux, as well as the growing hardness between his legs.

Our lips melted together perfectly as we moved in sync and our tongues battled for dominance. The weeks of temptations and innuendos and barely repressed sexual desire came boiling to the surface through our lips, and the passion of it all absolutely swept me away.

The kiss made me see bursts of light behind my eyelids, and in the back of my mind, I realized that I couldn't for the life of me, remember my name, or anything else for that matter, because apparently, my brain was melting. I couldn't get over how good it felt; I didn't know that kisses could actually make my knees weak and my heart threaten to leap out of my chest. THIS is what all the romantic novels and smutty books that Roxanne was obsessed with were writing about. THIS is kissing.

The duration of the kiss felt like hours to me, when in reality it was just enough time for every single guest in the room to get over their initial shock. I had time to process a dark energy approaching me from behind before a pair of strong hands grabbed me by my waist, and threw me down hard on the granite-tiled floors.

Nothing would have worked better to shock me out of my hazy state of mind short of dousing my entire body with cold-water shot from a fire hose. I then raised my head and turned just in time to see the Joker get cold-clocked by none other than Bruce Wayne.

The look in Bruce's eyes were nothing short of feral as he glared ferociously at the man I'd been kissing passionately not three seconds prior.

It was then that I'd noticed the room had been completely silent throughout the entire ordeal. Every guest was looking on as if they'd just received box-tickets to the world's most highly anticipated event. The women all collectively gasped at the sight of Bruce punching the Joker, and the men flinched.

Bruce stood over the Joker who was clutching his chin, a large, triumphant, unmistakably sleazy grin plastered onto his face. Bruce's body was coiled tightly with barely restrained fury, and I could even see his fists shaking with adrenaline.

"No, no, no no, Katherine, YOU IDIOT. What the FUCK have you done?!" I berated myself. I desperately urged the world to stop spinning and my limbs to quit imitating heated jell-o because I had to do something to fix this, dammit!

My head snapped back to the scene between Bruce Wayne and the Joker when I heard everyone in the room gasp and shriek with terror.

The Joker was now fully smiling up at Bruce, his hands no longer covering his face, and I, just like everyone in the room saw the absolute last thing we wished to see.

Whatever make-up the Joker had used to camouflage his scars were wiped off and smudged all about his face, revealing the hideous marks trailing from the corner of his lips almost to his ears. And the fact that the Joker was smiling so wildly only emphasized his scars, and strained the stitched skin that held his smile together.

"Ha, Ha, Ha," The Joker said, smile still in place. "Hee hee. Oh ho, ho, Ohhhh, Brucey-boy . . . why the uh, long face?" The Joker mocked. He seemed entirely unfazed by the fact the Bruce looked murderous.

Bruce's fists were clenched even tighter. "You like taking advantage of innocent women, Joker?" Bruce sneered. "Or should I call you Jack?"

The Joker raised an eyebrow at that, glanced at me still lying on the floor, struggling to regain my equilibrium, and then glanced back at Bruce, his grin expanding further as his eyebrows furrowed.

"Hmm, strange. I don't appear to recall any uh, resistance when I kissed your date there, Mister Wayne. How interesting that you say that, though. Maybe you and I aren't referring to the same kiss . . ." The Joker paused, and relished in the twitching of Bruce's mouth the more he spoke.

"This like watching the countdown of a ticking time-bomb," I thought to myself as I observed their conversation. "If I could just get myself up on my elbows, I could . . ."

"But then again, YOU weren't the one kissing her—"

"AGH!" I wailed, falling back to the cold floor. My right shoulder throbbed painfully and I realized that when I fell it must have been dislocated.

The sound of my agonized wail caused every head in the room to turn to look at me. Bruce however, was the only one who actually paused and lost his guard when I screamed. The Joker, ever the opportunist, took advantage of Bruce's momentary lapse of focus, and tried to kick Bruce's feet out from under him.

Bruce didn't turn in time to dodge the onslaught, but he did manage to impressively cushion the blow by spinning mid-air to land on his hands instead of his back. The Joker got up quickly and made a move to kick Bruce in the ribs. Bruce caught the Joker's foot, however, jumped up to his feet, and shoved the Joker backwards.

The Joker then began to laugh, and pulled out a knife from a secret pocket within his tux.

"You know." He growled, licking his lips. " You fight awfully well for a pampered rich kid."

Bruce pulled up his fists to his body in a boxing position. "Yeah, well. I've picked up a few tricks."

The Joker grinned. "Ooh. I do like tricks." He purred. He glanced to the side of the room where I sat, before looking back at Bruce.

"Speaking of tricks . . ." The Joker's hand shot in and out of his inner tuxedo pocket with lightning speed as he pulled out a handful of pellet-sized balls. The joker burst out into his signature laughed as he tossed the balls into the air.

The room was filled with panic as the balls exploded on the floor, and smoke billowed up from each small pellet as the room filled with dark gray smoke. People began screaming and scrambling to find the exit before some terrible catastrophe went down.

But before the smoke could obscure Bruce's vision of the Joker, he launched himself at the clown and tackled him to the floor.

Bruce straddled the Joker and reared back his arm to unleash a series of blows to the Joker's face.

Finally, Bruce stopped and grabbed a handful of the Joker's tuxedo, forcing the Joker's face up.

"Cute trick, but did you really think that it would succeed in distracting me?"

The Joker's eyes rolled in his head for a few moments before he began to laugh. He looked at Bruce, and smiled.

"Who said anything about distracting you?"

Throughout the entire ordeal, I had been clutching my arm to my body and struggling to regain my balance. Finally, the sight of the Bruce attacking the Joker forced enough adrenaline through my veins to allow me to stand up with minimal difficulty.

"Oh, God." I thought desperately. "Bruce is going to get hurt, I need to get—"

My thoughts were interrupted as two cloaked, masked figures flocked each side of my body and grabbed me by my arms.

I screamed as the masked figures then proceeded to manhandle me and force me in some direction, away from Bruce and the Joker.

I tried kicking away from them with everything I had; I was using my arms, my legs, my feet, my head; anything and everything I had. Hot, and severe pain shot through me when my struggling only served to dislocate my arm further. Any movement I then made caused tears to well up in my eyes and a scream to rip from my lips. I had no choice but to allow the figures to lead me away as my right shoulder throbbed angrily for fear that I would pass out from the pain.

Bruce heard me scream and reflexively turned in the direction of the sound. The Joker's legs then came up around Bruce's torso and the Joker used Bruce as leverage to swing his entire body up and pin Bruce to the floor, sharp little knife still in hand.

"Oh, Brucey, Brucey, Brucey. Such amateur-like behavior . . ." The Joker scolded. "Didn't your mommy ever tell you to uh, stay away from women?" The Joker then pretended to pause before gasping dramatically.

"OH, that's right! Your mommy was murdered!" The Joker laughed hysterically, and Bruce growled as he fought to free himself from the Joker's hold.

"Whoa! Hold on there, big boy," The Joker said, grabbing Bruce and slamming his head on the hard floor. There a small knife still poised in the Joker's hand, and he pressed it against Bruce's throat.

Bruce coughed and glared up at the Joker. "And what about you?" Bruce asked.

The Joker tilted his head. "And uh, what about me?"

"You don't usually go around dressed up in your Sunday best and kiss other people's dates." Bruce stated. There was a steel glint in Bruce's eyes as he remembered the kiss.

The Joker seemed to be remembering it too, because a slow grin crept up one of the corners of the joker's mouth.

"Hmm . . . and uh, why don't I do that again?"

Bruce smirked. "You like her."

All signs of amusement vanished from the Joker's face as he stared into the Brown eyes of Bruce Wayne. Bruce's smirk grew.

The Joker scoffed, and that scoff then turned to laughter.

"Oh, Bruce. Grasping for straws now, are we?"

"You LIKE her, don't you?" Bruce accused.  "That's why you kidnapped her and that's why you kissed her."

The Joker licked his lips and his eyes narrowed in a rare expression of genuine fury. "You're treading on veeeeery thin ice, Mister Wayne . . ."

"How does it feel, Jack?" Bruce said, the Joker flinched at the use of that name. "How does it feel to be weak?"

With that, Bruce forced his head up and it made contact with the Joker's nose with a sickening crack. Bruce then used his leg to land a blow to the Joker's ribs, effectively forcing the air from the Joker's lungs.

The Joker kneeled on the floor, clutching his ribs, and wheezed, trying to get the air back in his lungs.

Bruce took this opportunity to get to his feet.

"You see, Joker," Bruce began, not sparing the gasping clown a glance. "The thing about love . . . is that it leaves you vulnerable; It makes you human." Bruce said human like one would say cockroach. "You can't even defeat a 'pampered playboy' like me, and you know why?"

Bruce turned around to face the Joker and deliver the final blow only to see him pull the trigger.

A loud gunshot reverberated within the walls of the elegant dining hall.

There was no sound from either man save for the Joker's soft wheezing as he clutched the rifle gun in his left hand.

Bruce touched the small hole in his suit with his right hand, before collapsing to the floor.

A few moments went by before the Joker finally had enough oxygen to pull himself up from the marble floor, and get to his feet. He staggered forward, slowly heading towards Bruce's body.

Without a second glance, the Joker picked up his feet a bit more, hurried past Bruce, and headed to the door. The joker leaned on it heavily, before chuckling quietly to himself.

"You know what's funny, Brucey?" The Joker asked, a smile crawling across his face. "I've never been referred to as a . . . human."

With that, the Joker exited the room with Bruce still facedown on the floor; the sound of the heavy mahogany doors closing echoing behind him.

I winced and hissed loudly as the goons continued to drag me around, and the pain was starting to grow unbearable.

I had no idea why the goons were leading me UP the stairs to the top of the building. It didn't look like the plan was to necessarily LEAVE the building, and I wondered why, but I was in much too much pain to be concerning myself with it at that moment.

My momentary lapse of focus caused me to slip on one of the infinite stairs, and the goon holding my injured arm pulled me up, exacerbating my pain to the point where I couldn't stop myself from crying out loudly.

"AY! Robbie! Be a bit more careful, dipshit!" The other goon hissed angrily. "She's the boss' so don't break her."

'Robbie' scoffed indignantly. "The bitch fell, what am I s'posed to do? Fly her up the stairs?"

"Stop bein' a smartass. You wanna piss off the boss?"

Robbie didn't answer.

"That's what I thought. Now shut up and stop bein' an asshole."

I think that Robbie must've muttered something about the goon's 'mama' under his breath, but it was ignored and we continued up the stairs.

The persistent throbbing in my arm died down to a low thrum of pain by the time we reached the roof of the building, yet I couldn't risk injuring it more by trying to escape the two goon's iron-like grips.

The goon on my left open the heavy door and shouldered his way through, pulling me behind him by yanking on my uninjured arm. When all three of us were through the door and to the roof, the goons started pushing me forward.

My eyes widened dramatically, and I opened my mouth to yell out or scream when I realized that we were approaching the edge of the roof.

The height of the building was DEFINITELY enough to kill someone three times over, so there was no hope of getting out of THAT alive.

THEN I began to pull and writhe and twist out of the goon's grips, ignoring the sharp, white-hot pains in my right arm.

The goons didn't budge, though, and they only continued to pull my body at the same pace.

My eyes were closed during the struggle, however. So I failed to notice the dark green and purple couch near the edge of the roof and shrieked at the top of my lungs when the two large goons suddenly flung my body in the air, only to land safely on the furniture.

My head was spinning and my breath was coming out in short gasps as I filled my lungs with the air that had whooshed out suddenly from screaming so loudly. It was then that I absorbed the reality that I had not been flung off the roof and sent to my inevitable death, but was seated within a somewhat strangely . . . casual living room setting?

Alongside the green chair was a deep purple loveseat and a small brown coffee table resting upon a giant red-spotted white rug.

To say that I was confused would be an understatement. Curiously I glanced at the two goons who stood a few feet apart from one another with their hands behind their backs and their legs firmly shoulder-width apart.

They said nothing, nor did they even grace me with a look as I sat there awkwardly.

Since it appeared that I would be waiting for a moment, my mind wandered in a direction that I truly resisted.


The Joker.

The Kiss.

The Fight.

I stood up straighter as the hairs on my arms rose. Fear and anxiety bubbled in my stomach as I contemplated what might be happening to Bruce at the hands of the Joker. Was there any chance that he'd survive the encounter, or would his name be added to the exceedingly large list of casualties at the hands of that . . . maniac?

I had no doubt in my mind that Bruce would be harmed, though. With literally nothing and no one to defend him, the best that Bruce could hope for would be to get knocked unconscious and left relatively alive.

With a tinge of regret, I doubted that Bruce would be able to find it in his heart to forgive me for that kiss, though.

"What did you possibly expect letting THE JOKER, kiss you like that?" I asked myself.

There was a split second of denial. A moment where I fought against the truth; that I, Katherine Quinzel, let myself fall prey to the Joker's lips.

But in my heart, I knew that I honestly just couldn't help myself. The act was just so forbidden and taboo and sinful—My mind simply short-circuited and I was helpless against it all. The feeling was like nothing else I'd ever felt. Not with Bruce, and not even with my first, Malcolm. I've never had every nerve in my body simply catch on fire from the sheer intensity of just one kiss.

And I let him kiss me.

But what does this mean, exactly? Against all odds, do I truly hold feelings for the Joker?

I wasn't aware of the amount of time that had passed before my contemplations were once again interrupted as a loud BANG erupted from the other side of the roof.

My head swiveled around, and my eyes instantly locked with the almost glowing onyx pools of hate that were the Joker's eyes.

His face twisted into the nastiest snarl, and at that moment he looked like a demon from hell, and growled furiously.

"Jesus, who THE FUCK'S idea was it to make these buildings so GODDAMN TALL, with so many fucking STAIRS?" The Joker fumed.

His chest was quickly rising and falling, and his right hand clutched his torso tightly as he began to stagger over to where we all were.

No one was stupid enough to say anything about his injuries, though. And my heart dropped like lead into my stomach as I realized that he must've been injured fighting Bruce.

Whether or not my concern was aimed at the Joker, or at Bruce, I didn't want to think about.

The goons parted so that the Joker could walk over to the purple loveseat, where he fell unceremoniously into the chair.

He spent a good minute or so just breathing with his head craned up, staring blankly at the night sky before tilting his head to acknowledge my presence across from him.

He flung his arms wide open and gestured to the quaint little arrangement.

"Do you, uh, like the digs?" He asked.

I looked about the arrangement once more.

"It's . . . tasteful."

It was best to say very little in the moments where the Joker's mood couldn't be determined.

The Joker scoffed and lowered his arms. "Yeah, What a uh, dumb question. Of course you like it! That couch is the only thing between you and thousands of feet of . . . no-thing."

I couldn't resist the urge as my head began to turn and I saw that the couch was, in fact, the only thing in between the roof and me.

'Is this how the Joker wants to kill me?' I thought morbidly as I slowly turned back around and met the Joker's eyes that were dancing with malice.

The Joker licked his lips. "You know, Kitty. I think it's been too long since you and I've had a little . . . heart-to-heart chat, dontcha think? I mean, look at you!" The Joker's eyes roamed slowly over my body and left a trail of goosebumps everywhere that his eyes met my exposed skin. "You landed yourself the most highly desired date in the city, AND you uh, made out with Gotham's most notorious criminal—all in . . . one day!"

The Joker smiled. "You must be feeling quite . . . special, hmm?"

My lips curled sarcastically. "I'm not quite sure about the choice of the word 'special' . . ."

The Joker grinned before looking away mock-thoughtfully.

"Well now that just uh, that won't do, now will it, Miss Quinzel? Hmm . . ." The Joker looked back up at me, and this time, his onyx eyes searched directly into my hazel ones.

"See, ordinarily, I'd ask you to uh, put in your two cents, but you seem to be a bit . . . distracted . . ." The Joker licked his lips without breaking eye contact with me.

"Now, uh, why. Would. THAT. BE, hmm?" The Joker asked with a devious smirk. He stood up slowly from the purple loveseat and began to saunter over to where I sat on the green couch.

"What could have possibly dragged your attention away from this, uh, mysterious and dastardly-handsome mad-man, Kitty?" The Joker flopped down right next to me on the deep green couch, and leaned in so that our faces were only about a foot apart.

"I'm not—"

"Shh . . ." The Joker said, placing his purple-gloved index finger on my lips. "Don't lie to me Kitty, you KNOW I don't like liars . .  ."

I blinked rapidly. 'He's going to do it again.' I thought, excitement bubbling up from my stomach. 'He's going to kiss me again, and help me, God, I'm going to let him.'

He was closing the distance between us until our lips were literally inches apart, and I fought. I fought against my feelings. I didn't want the butterflies to be fluttering in my stomach, or for the warmth to spread inside me. I didn't want my muscles to relax around him, or to be pulled so deeply by him.

I wanted none of it, yet even with every inch of my willpower, my body would not obey my commands, and soon I felt my eyelids begin to flutter shut as I waited for the electric jolt that resulted from such contact.

"Are you worried about Bruce?"

My eyes snapped open and my mind was shocked into alertness.

"Wha—wait, wha—" I spluttered, trying to make sense of the unexpected question.

The joker's eyes were burning holes into my skull with the sheer intensity of his gaze.

"I saw you with him, kitty." The Joker growled furiously. "The way you laughed with him, the way he fucked you with his eyes . . . I saw you giggle and flirt, as the playboy took my things."

The Joker's hands shot out and grabbed my face tightly, tangling themselves in my hair and completely messing it up.

"Joker," I pleaded, fear polluting my mind—I couldn't get any words out.

"YOU BELONG TO ME!" The Joker roared. His chest rose and fell and he was heaving angrily. "He CAN'T touch you because you ARE MINE!"

With that, the Joker crushed his lips to mine. This kiss was NOTHING like the first one. Everything was so raw and passionate. I tasted blood in my mouth as I felt the Joker nip and bite my lips ferociously before using his tongue to lick the injuries.

I whimpered at the pain and put my hands against his face to try and push him away from me.

Something wasn't right. The Joker had never acted this way with me. He was rough and violent, but almost . . . crazed. Desperate even.

The Joker growled when I almost succeeded in pushing his face away. He then removed one hand from my hair to snake his arm around my waist and pull me to him tightly, making me extremely uncomfortable because I was leaning really far back in his arms.

"MINE." The Joker growled against my lips, making my face flush and my heart race.

I didn't know what to do. He was everywhere. I could feel every inch of his body, regardless of all the clothes he was wearing, and the scent of gunpowder and something spicy that coated his body threatened to consume me.

When his tongue finally swept into my mouth, I moaned loudly. All of these emotions, these feelings, my senses, EVERYTHING was too much.

I couldn't handle what I was doing. How many people I was betraying.

People like Bruce.

My eyes shot open, and with a strength I didn't posses, I shoved the Joker away from my face and down onto the couch.

I was panting and heaving, and my entire body was coiled, and ready to, if necessary, fight.

But the Joker just laid there where he fell, with his eyes wide open, panting as heavily as I was. He just looked so . . . disoriented. He stared up at the night sky and blinked from time to time.

I realized I'd completely forgotten about the goons' presence on the roof with us, but when I looked around it seemed as if they'd left sometime ago while the Joker and I were . . . doing what we were doing.

I had no clue as to what I might've been expected to do in that moment. The Joker wasn't saying anything. I wasn't saying anything, and anyone could've cut the tension with a fucking knife.

After a few minutes of dead silence, the Joker let out a small chuckle.

The sound instantly put me on even higher alert.

The chuckle was soon joined by another, and then another, until finally, the joker dissolved into a borderline crying fit of laughter.

"Look at me!" he exclaimed, flinging his left arm to cover his eyes. "I'm weak! The playboy . . . that asshole was right. She's made me weak . . ."

I had no idea what he was talking about, or whom the joker was referring to, but the mention of Bruce sent a sharp pang in my heart.

My hands began to shake, and I looked down at the floor.

"Is he alive?" I asked quietly.

The Joker snorted crudely. "Not unless the poor bastard's immune to bullets."

Moisture began to collect in my eyes as the numbness began to spread. The Joker's words couldn't be clearer: Brice is dead. I killed him.

Bruce is dead, and it's my fault.

My fault.

MY fault.


I'm responsible for the death of the man that rescued me, and allowed me a place in his home. Oh God, Alfred, he—I killed Bruce and I—

The tears began to fall in earnest now. There was nothing I could do about this. I KILLED A MAN all because of my deceptions.

Will Roxanne ever be able to look at me the same way?

I sniffled.

Huge mistake. The Joker flung himself up into sitting position so quickly that I actually screamed.

The Joker looked disgusted. His face with curled with repulsion, and he regarded me with so much hate that I flinched away.

"You're . . . crying?"

I didn't respond. I couldn't look at him, and I still couldn't stop the tears.

There was a pause.

"Did you love him?" The Joker asked me. His voice was quiet, and seemingly calm. And he sounded so sane in that moment that I managed to glance up at his face, which was now a mask of indifference.

Did I love Bruce?

I admired his power and charm and way with people, as well as his strength that emerged from the death of his family.

I liked the way he smiled, or how he would say my name. I felt a great debt to him for giving my best friend and me a place to stay in our time of need. I liked his sense of humor, his sense of style, the almost mocking-quality to his voice . . .  but did that mean I loved him?

"No." I said, just as the thought crossed my mind. I didn't love Bruce. I couldn't love him.

I couldn't love Bruce because I was already in love with the Joker.

Yes, well. WOW.
It HAS been a while, and I suppose you could chalk it up to anything, but i had been going through a few things things in life that kinda sorta totally prevented me from writing. . . ENOUGH EXCUSES THO. Here is the chapter FINAL-@%#$ING-LY. AND I'LL GET THE NEXT ONE OUT TO ALL OF YOU AS SOON AS I CAN.
I just hope you all know that I thought of all of you, and I didn't forget about this, AND THAT I WON'T FORGET ABOUT IT. This story WILL have a conclusion. :)



so, you know . . .. COMMENT, CRITIQUE, (DON'T) CRY!

Chapter 1: [link]
Chapter 2: [link]
Chapter 3: [link]
Chapter 4: [link]
Chapter 5: [link]
Chapter 6: [link]
Chapter 7: [link]
Chapter 8: [link]
Chapter 9: [link]
Chapter 10: [link]
Chapter 11: [link]
Chapter 12: [link]
Chapter 13: [link]
Chapter 14: [link]
Chapter 15: [link]
Chapter 16: [link]
Chapter 17: [link]
Chapter 18: [link]
Chapter 19: [link]
Chapter 20: [link]
Chapter 21: [link]
Chapter 22: [link]
Chapter 23: [link]
Chapter 24: [link]
Chapter 25: [link]
Chapter 26: [link]
Chapter 27: [link]
Chapter 28: [link]
Chapter 29: [link]
Chapter 30: [link]
Chapter 31: [link]
Chapter 32: [link]
Chapter 33: [link]
Chapter 34: [link]
Chapter 35: [link]
Chapter 36: [link]
Chapter 37: [link]
Chapter 38: [link]
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It took me a couple of seconds for her words to properly sink in. When they finally did, i began blinking owlishly.

"You can't be serious." I deadpanned, a smirk slowly creeping across my face. Roxanne looked as if she was trying not to take offense.

"I'm as serious as a heart attack."

I couldn't help but laugh a little. "Roxanne, the Joker absolutely abhors your very existence on this Earth! How do you expect to sneak him out of the mansion, UNSEEN, without his complete cooperation?" I was aware that this was a very trying situation, but I couldn't help but see the obvious humor in her idea.

Roxanne frowned. "Well, shouldn't the fact that I'm going to be the one taking him out only further encourage him to leave?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but I was interrupted. "AND, what other choice do you have, hmm? This will be the first time Bruce has left his own home in almost SIX days! When else will we receive such an opportunity?"

"We could always wait until Bruce has to leave agai—"

"You plan to hold The Joker in BRUCE WAYNE'S mansion longer than absolutely necessary? Are you insane? Don't you remember just how many CLOSE CALLS we've had since we began holding the Joker hostage?" Roxanne shrilled. "You wanna continue to risk it just because you don't trust me enough to pull off the escape mission?"

I back peddled quickly. "Girl, it's not that I don't trust you—"

"Then why else would you be arguing against this?" She demanded.

"Look at your circumstances!" I argued back. "It's a nearly impossible task for two people, let alone one!"

Roxanne glared at me. "It was my plan from the beginning. How do you know just how plausible it is?"


"LISTEN TO ME!" Roxanne yelled in frustration. "You have. No. Other. Choice. Do you understand that? This is literally the only opportunity we're going to get to properly execute the Joker's escape! You can't cancel on Bruce at this point without appearing suspicious, and we can't keep the Joker here any longer, because with everyday he's here, the higher the odds are that we'll be caught!"

Roxanne's chest was heaving by the end of her emotional rant, and she looked close to tears. It was obvious that this little argument was not only angering her, but hurting her too. I could also clearly see that she perceived my lack of trust in the situation to really be a lack of trust in her. No wonder she felt so passionately about this.

I thought carefully before responding to Roxanne's outburst. Here was the girl that literally risked her life twice to save me from the very thing I'm trying to protect, and now, she's doing it again, aware that her actions might result in the deaths of more people, because she thinks I love him, and she wants me safe.

I couldn't let her do this. I wouldn't let her do this, but something in her eyes told me that this time, it didn't matter what I said or did; she was going to smuggle the Joker out of Bruce's mansion tonight.

"Is there anything I can say that will change your mind, girl?" I asked softly.

Roxanne stared at me and shook her head.

I inhaled deeply and tried to ignore the large pit in my stomach before I uttered the magic word.


Roxanne recoiled as if she'd been burned. "O—Okay?"

"What did you expect me to say? I can't really answer any other way because you're just going to argue." I said. Roxanne squinted as if she expected there to be some sort of catch.

"Listen." I continued. "You're right. This situation calls for a little bit of faith in the impossible, and, really, who else could I possibly trust for such a situation than my best friend?"

Roxanne didn't say anything for a few seconds, but to my utter horror, I watched as her eyes began tearing up.

"Oh my God! How did I make you sad?" I gasped, growing terrified. "I thought this was what you wanted! If you're scared, you know you don't have to do—"

I was cut off by Roxanne's sudden laughter. Her laugh was thick with emotion, though, and I could tell that she really was about to cry.

"No, Katherine." She said, smiling through her tears. "I'm not sad. It just, uh," She took a shaky breath. "Knowing that you actually trust me with something like this . . . it—you can't possibly know how much it means to me."

My face softened and even I was tempted to cry.

"Roxanne. I'll always trust you! You're my best friend! I will never trust anyone on this Earth as much as I trust you! So don't ever think that my trepidation is due to a lack of faith, because that's simply not possible."

Roxanne gave me a watery smile.

"Right. You girls both have vaginas, and you love each other. I get it. Can we please quit it with the uh, sappy friendship chick flick, now?" The Joker piped up, effectively killing the mood and scaring us beyond reason.

God, we really have to get another room to talk about these things! It took us a few beats to regain our composure and absorb the fact that our touching moment had been effectively ruined. Roxanne was the first one to speak.

"Joker, we're trying to help you. Can you at least allow us these few moments to be best friends?" Roxanne sighed.

"Can you at least take that 'best friends' shit somewhere else? I thought I was going to uh, vom—mit." The Joker retorted.

Roxanne rolled her eyes so hard I actually thought for a moment that she'd hurt herself.

"Well, now that you've been properly informed of our plan," Roxanne said, her words oozing sarcasm. "I suppose you now realize that you have to cooperate in order for this to work?"

There was a silence behind the door, as the Joker said nothing for a few moments. Eventually, we heard him clear his throat.

"So, Kitty, don't you have to get ready for your oh-so-special date with Brucey-boy?" The Joker randomly said, ignoring Roxanne's question. He sounded way too calm yet almost mocking; a clear indication of his displeasure at the idea. I froze as dread began to seep into my heart, and I closed my eyes slowly, willing the embarrassment to go away.

"It's not a date!" I replied as vehemently as I could.

The Joker just snorted. "You're uh, kinda naïve, Kit Kat."


"Are you not at all familiar with his uh, rep-u-tation?" The Joker asked condescendingly. He didn't, however, give me a chance to reply. "Because if you, were . . . you'd know that the playboy sleeps with all the women who go with him to his little dinner parties."

My eyes widened upon hearing the end of the Joker's statement. The problem was that EVERYONE was familiar with those rumors. How could anyone NOT be? So why had I agreed to the da—to accompanying him to the party? I didn't really want to believe that I subconsciously (or worse, consciously) wanted to sleep with him, but at the moment, I couldn't manage to formulate a proper excuse for myself.

And the Joker knew that.

Luckily, Roxanne came to my rescue. "What was she supposed to do when he asked her to the party? Say no? Don't you think that she would've appeared suspicious?"

"Oh, I completely agree with the logic of saying yes, princess." The Joker replied, sounding amused. "I simply believe that our little mouse should know just what trap she's fallen into."

I shook my head and began to feel a bit ridiculous standing in my room, talking to a partially opened closet door. The Joker was right. I did need to get ready for my da—outing with Bruce.

I strode over to the door leading into the hallway, opened it with very little hesitation, and left the room.

Roxanne, as always, was right behind me.

The Joker sat fuming in his little corner in the closet, feeling all the more like a child who's been forced to share his favorite toy.

'Except she's more than just a toy.' A distant voice whispered in the back of his mind.

The Joker's face twisted into a snarl as he violently forced the voice into the deep recesses of his mind. The girl was merely an object to him. Perhaps, the object of his affection, he might concede, but a trophy, nonetheless.

The Joker, in that moment, came to a conclusion.

He carefully slid his hands, which were bound tightly to his back in what was actually an impressive knot, slightly upwards, and performed an intricate series of twists until finally, after a few minutes and a serious case of Indian Burn, his hands sprung free.

Next he carefully slid one hand out of the clothes that had been binding him for four days, and reached to pull a small device out of the back of his left shoe. He unfolded it carefully to reveal a cell-phone like device with only two speakers, and three keys on it. Smirking lightly to himself, he pressed one of the buttons, and put the device up to his ear.

It rang about three times before a gruff voice answered.


"Missed me?" The Joker replied sweetly. He was rewarded with a series of loud spluttering and coughs.

"Boss! It's really good ta hear from ya—"

The Joker rolled his eyes at his goon's blatant attempt to kiss his ass.

"I don't have the uh, time for your bullshit, Chuckles. Get a pen. I'm gonna need a few things tonight." The Joker licked his lips and smiled cruelly.

"Tell me. How do feel about entertaining a few party guests, hmmm?"

"There's still time to cancel before the party, right?" I asked Roxanne desperately, as she began to detail all the different beautifying procedures that I was going to have to endure in order to look presentable on Bruce's arm tonight.

Roxanne's head whipped around so that she could look directly into my eyes.

"No. There is absolutely NO time, because YOU already said yes, and YOU are going to be on HIS arm, TO-night, come hell or high water. Yes?" Her eyebrows were raised, and she seemed like she was daring me to say something against it.

In any other circumstance, I would take her up on it, if not for anything else than the fact that my knee-jerk reaction to a blatant command is anger and rebellion, but for this instance, I knew that she was just trying her best to help me, and so I stood down.

As if someone had just thrown a switch, Roxanne went from intimidationg to docile within the span of a few seconds.

We continued down the seemingly endless hallway inside of Bruce's mansion in search of all of the spa facilities that he'd mentioned to us earlier in our stay.

If only either one of us actually knew what floor we were on in the God-only-knows-how-many-stories-tall mansion.

Roxanne suddenly stopped us and looked around. "Do you think we might have passed it?" She asked me.

I sighed, and was about to reply with some sarcastic remark before we heard someone clearing their throats behind us.

Roxanne and I simultaneously gasped and spun to identify the mysterious intruder. The man had shock-white hair, was balding on the top of his head, fashioned a well-trimmed black mustache, and sported an expensive looking butler's outfit.

When we finally realized who we were looking at, we both exhaled in relief. "Alfred," Roxanne breathed. "Good God, make some noise when you walk, please. You almost gave me a stroke!"

"Might I inquire as to what you two ladies are up to?" Alfred asked politely, smiling a bit.

I don't know why I began to blush a bit then. Perhaps it was the way that the light British lilt in his voice made everything he said sound as if he'd just caught two children stealing from their mother's cookie jar.

"Um, we were just . . ," I began. I then looked to Roxanne for help.

She didn't fail to come to my rescue. "Katherine has a date with Bruce tonight at eight, and so we were both in search of the spa in order to get her all dolled up." Roxanne said while grinning at me.

I glared back at her mildly. I knew that she didn't need to delve that deeply into our plans.

But Alfred merely smiled. "Ah." He said, not at all phased by that little snippet of information, "Well, you're never going to encounter it down this particular hallway." Alfred turned around and gestured for us to follow him.

"Come. Master Bruce has already taken care of all the preparations. He encourages you to help yourself to whatever facilities you require as well as any gowns either of you might fancy."

"Either of us?" Roxanne squeaked, before catching herself and looking thoroughly embarrassed.

Alfred only smiled demurely at her. "Why yes, Miss Jackson. Either of you." Roxanne looked as if she was barely restraining the urge to tackle Alfred into a hug. I, however, knew that such a reaction would result in nothing more than extreme awkwardness, and so I linked arms with her, effectively preventing her from mauling Alfred.

Alfred observed the subtle motion with slight interest, before turning on his heel to direct us to whatever wonderful experience that Bruce had in store for us.

We had arrived at the spa area in Bruce's mansion sometime in the late morning, and we didn't exit until two hours before eight. Another hour and forty-five minutes were spent deciding what to choose in a closet that literally held every type of evening gown color and style in existence.

When had finally selected one, and Roxanne stood behind me in my room admiring my appearance as I stared at myself in the mirror. I do not believe—no, I definitely cannot recount any other circumstance where I loved a mirror as much as I did in that moment. I twirled and peered at myself from every angle I could, hassling Roxanne to check for any unnecessary or otherwise unfavorable exposures, and after what was likely the seventeenth time I asked, I felt satisfied that everything was intact.

"You're going to give Bruce a heart attack." Roxanne stated with absolute seriousness. I feared for a moment that Roxanne might unintentionally begin crying, not because she felt emotional, but instead because she was keeping her eyes open so long drinking in my dress that her eyes began to water.

Well, I suppose she might've been emotional. Even I was getting there myself.

But of course, a certain closeted hostage who just couldn't help but break the silence interrupted my moment.  

"Did someone uh, die in there? Why are you two so qui-et?" The Joker asked from his place in the closet.

Roxanne looked questioningly at me, and because of our strong sister-like bond, I knew that she was asking me if she could open the closet and let the Joker see my appearance.

My newfound confidence overshadowed my fear and in a moment of insanity I found myself nodding my head minutely.

Roxanne grinned spectacularly and pivoted on her heel to stride toward the closet door. With very little preamble, she turned pushed down on the elaborate silver handle of the door and swung it open. The Joker looked up.

"Finally! A guy's gotta be able to breathe in some fresh air every . . . once . . ." The Joker's exclamation trailed off as his eyes finally landed on me.

I could see that he was looking at me through the mirror, so I took a deep breath and turned to face him.

For once, in my entire time observing and analyzing this madman, his face showed absolutely no indication of his mood, or any other emotion I could recognize.

His eyes trailed from my small black wedged heels to my shapely, smooth calves, to the hem of my hunter green satin dress that fanned out from my waist, which was accentuated by a light green sash that wrapped itself around my body, just below my chest and tied together in a bow behind my back. His eyes then paused for a second on my chest where the deep diamond-shaped neckline exposed a generous amount of cleavage and ended at the base of my neck, where a pearl necklace also sat.

When he got to my face, which was illuminated by the best make-up money can buy; my dark, purple, silvery eye shadow and mascara made my hazel eyes pop out and my hair was done up in an elegant French twist with a few strands of curled hair that fell in my face and behind my ears.

No one made any noise, and I don't think that I was breathing at all.

Finally, the Joker's eyes locked on mine. His pink tongue darted out to lick his lips before smiling cruelly at me.

"So," He said. "Looks like you're finally going to whore yourself out to the man with more notches on his belt than a punk rocker wannabe." He snorted maliciously and I felt my heart drop into my stomach.

He cocked his head to the side and grinned. "I always thought you to be a classy kind a gal, though, Kitty. Shame."

I couldn't take another second of this. Without waiting for him to say anything worse, I turned and stormed out of the room and into the hall. I was going to wash this make-up off my face and tell Bruce that I can't go.

Roxanne watched the entire interaction with outrage. She turned around to face the poor excuse of a clown and glared with as much venom as she could muster.

She didn't have to say anything, because she knew that the Joker could see it in her eyes. The pure, unfiltered hatred that resonated from her person alone could melt steel. She thought that he was a monster.

Without another glance, she raced out the door, slamming it behind her.

The Joker's mood quickly turned black as he listened to the sound of the door slamming shut as it echoed off the walls of the room.

"How dare she look at me like I'm some kinda scum on her shoes." He promised himself that he would take extra care to find a way to make her regret her actions until she begs him to kill her.

The Joker tried not to think about why it was that the girl's look angered him so much. It wasn't as if every single fucker in Gotham didn't already hate his very existence on this Earth.

It couldn't have been that he felt . . .  guilty. The Joker snorted loudly. Guilt was something he used to manipulate others. It's how the simpering idiots in this town lost their sanity.

Guilt. What a ridiculous notion.

However, in his mind, the devastated look on Kitty's face replayed over and over again, each time twisting the Joker's stomach in a way that he didn't even wanna begin to analyze.

"The bitch deserved it." The Joker muttered nastily. Even the thought of Katherine hanging around that rich, coddled, playboy who is notorious for being unable to keep it in his pants long enough to allow blood to flow back into his brain, annoyed the Joker to no end.

The Joker thought about just how goddamn EXCITED Kitty looked about going on the date with the loser: how her skin was literally glowing, and how her big smile lit up her entire face, and the Joker's blood began to boil.

Finally, the Joker thought about that rich prick showing off his Kitty to all the other uptight wealthy cowards who'll spend the entire night flirting and flashing their cash at her, and complimenting her on her fucking stunning dress, and—

The Joker began to seethe angrily. He was NOT about to let some pampered playboy steal HIS property from him. He was THE JOKER for fuck's sake.

With that, the Joker decided that he wasn't going to wait any longer. He had a party to attend.

"Babe!" Roxanne yelled, running after me at a full sprint.

I was power-walking at a pace that people usually jog at, so I reached the bathroom just as Roxanne caught up to me.

"Hey! Katherine, stop!" Roxanne grabbed my arm and prevented me from going into the bathroom.

I pulled my arm out of her grip easily and didn't look at her while I tried to get the door open. Roxanne slammed it shut with her hand.

"What are you doing?" She shrilled.

"Let me go in." I responded emotionlessly.

"Not until you tell me what you're doing." She said stubbornly, glaring and slamming the door shut every time I made a move to open it.

I looked at her angrily. "I'm not going to the party."

"LIKE FUCKING HELL YOU AREN'T!" She exploded, her face contorting to match the ferocity of her disbelief. "What about the plan?!"

When I didn't respond, she got in my face and forced me to look at her, which I did so, albeit reluctantly. Her face softened.

"Girl, you look beautiful, and you know it—well, you knew it, before that fucker told you otherwise. Which, he so clearly did, because you looked so good!"

I looked away. I didn't want to admit that I was hoping that Joker would express some kind of interest, make a playful sarcastic comment, anything besides insult me like that.

Was he being jealous? He did take his time drinking in my image, but was that more out of shock than desire? I just didn't know.

"Katherine." Roxanne insisted, once again forcing me to look at her. "Don't you dare back out of this. Can you imagine how Bruce will react once he sees you? He's been panting after you like a puppy in heat for almost a week now, and I wouldn't be surprised if it would take a crowbar to pry his hands off of you tonight!"

She smiled at me. "I've never seen you look so confident when staring at yourself in the mirror, and you're going to let all of that go JUST because the Joker found himself in a fit of jealousy?"

"Roxanne—" I began wearily.

"Look! I know you're disappointed, and I get it. TRUST ME. But right now, at the very least, you need to think about your blossoming career as an artist, and how that's all being jeopardized. Think of your LIFE. And mine!"

I looked at Roxanne's face as she so desperately said this, and immediately I felt bad. Here I was once again throwing her to the sharks because of my pride and my ego.

At the very least, even if the Joker thinks that I'm dressed as a prostitute, and even if Bruce might share that sentiment, I have to attend the party; For her sake.

Slowly, I released all the tension I held in one long exhale, and nodded.


Roxanne and I both snapped our heads at the sound of the voice. It was Alfred, and he was smiling slightly.

"Master Bruce is waiting for you in the foyer." He stood patiently, waiting to escort us.

Roxanne looked at me. "Are you ready?" She asked cautiously.

I took another breath and nodded, smiling slightly.

Bruce was standing at the bottom of a long, luxurious staircase, checking his watch and his breath and looking all the more adorably nervous.

I smiled slightly when I saw him, and Roxanne ran down the staircase without me.

"Bruce?" I heard her say. Bruce spun around so fast that I almost didn't see it, and when he saw Roxanne standing there he exhaled and smiled a bit sheepishly. I heard Roxanne laugh.

"Don't worry, it's fine. I take it you would like to see her?" Roxanne joked.

Bruce chuckled. "If that's okay."

"It's more than okay . . ." Roxanne said, and swept her arm towards the staircase, I took that as my cue to reveal myself.

I walked out slowly from the wall I was standing by, to perch myself at the top of the staircase. Bruce turned his head to follow the direction of Roxanne's arm, and once he spotted me, his eyes widened and his eyebrows flew into his hairline.

Slowly, I descended the stairs, feeling a bit nervous with Bruce's eyes on me, and I had to look down a bit in order to avoid his hot, intense gaze.

However, on the inside, my heart was flying. The way that he was looking at me made all the previous thoughts of me resembling a hooker, or looking trashy, take a running jump out the window.

I found myself beaming and I couldn't stifle my grin even if i wanted to.

Finally, I reached the bottom of the stairs and approached Bruce. He stood there, still clearly astonished, drinking in my appearance like a man dying of thirst.

"You look . . ." Bruce uttered, incapable of finding the words.

"Fantastic?" Roxanne supplied from where she stood.

"Absolutely marvelous?" Alfred volunteered. I hadn't even noticed that he was in the room.

"Unbelievable." Bruce breathed.

I smiled and tried in vain to hide my blush. "You don't look so bad yourself."

And he didn't; he looked the opposite of bad. He wore an all black Armani suit with white cuffs, golden cuff links, expensive-looking black shoes, and a dark green tie. (I wonder if it was just a coincidence that we happened to match?)

But his hair was parted to the side and combed to perfection, and as always, his chiseled face, brown eyes and dark eyebrows were entrancing.

Roxanne coughed after a moment of letting us stare a one another.

"Don't you two have some sort of engagement to uphold, or something?" Roxanne asked suggestively.

Bruce and I blinked, and stepped away from one another momentarily. He straightened up his tie while I smoothed out my dress, nervously, and we were both smiling inwardly. And, well, outwardly too.

Bruce offered his arm to me.

"Are you ready to go?" I looked at Roxanne silently asking if she was sure that she was going to be able to initiate the "plan" and she nodded encouragingly once, affirming that she would.

I looked up at Bruce and smiled. "I am. Shall we?" I placed my left arm in the crook of his right elbow.

Bruce laughed. "Oh we most certainly shall."

"Have her home at a decent time, you hear?" Roxanne mock-scolded.

I rolled my eyes and grinned at her. Bruce however, just smiled mysteriously to himself and led me to the entrance of the mansion.

There, Alfred already stood, holding the door open for us to both exit out of. I turned one more time to wave at my best friend as she stood alone, right where we left her, and smiling like a proud parent.

An impressive Mercedes car sat at the bottom of the driveway leading up to Bruce's house.

I couldn't stop the 'Oh my God' that left my mouth when I realized that we would be driving in such a magnificent vehicle to that party. Part of me hoped that the ride would take a while, so that I could further enjoy myself  during it.

Bruce flashed me a 1000-kilowatt smile.

"Wanna drive?"
OH. MAH GAWD. Back from the dead, people. FInal's week almost killed me, BUT HERE I AM NOW. NO EXCUSES. And I apologize in advance to those people that tried to send me deviant art messages; the only time i ever had to open a laptop was to write an essay or two, or do a few research papers. (I know. Be VERY jealous) But honestly, I hereby give ALL of you permission to spam me NONSTOP until i update because it is SUMMER, and I literally have NO excuse to postpone writing anymore.

-P.S. I missed this place, and all of you . . . you know, if that counts for anything . . . :P



Chapter 1: [link]
Chapter 2: [link]
Chapter 3: [link]
Chapter 4: [link]
Chapter 5: [link]
Chapter 6: [link]
Chapter 7: [link]
Chapter 8: [link]
Chapter 9: [link]
Chapter 10: [link]
Chapter 11: [link]
Chapter 12: [link]
Chapter 13: [link]
Chapter 14: [link]
Chapter 15: [link]
Chapter 16: [link]
Chapter 17: [link]
Chapter 18: [link]
Chapter 19: [link]
Chapter 20: [link]
Chapter 21: [link]
Chapter 22: [link]
Chapter 23: [link]
Chapter 24: [link]
Chapter 25: [link]
Chapter 26: [link]
Chapter 27: [link]
Chapter 28: [link]
Chapter 29: [link]
Chapter 30: [link]
Chapter 31: [link]
Chapter 32: [link]
Chapter 33: [link]
Chapter 34: [link]
Chapter 35: [link]
Chapter 36: [link]
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