peacefulgrace, Poison Maker, NejisDarkNymph, immy, Cat, Darkness Takes Over, Anon., Art-Dreamer, and Caty14, thank you so much for reviewing. I admit, I do come up with some…weird/icky things, and now I'm wondering how many people I dissuaded from reading at the beginning lol. But if anyone does have complaints or suggestions about the story, I'd like to know what they are. I really do value your guys' input.

Well, I could say that I haven't posted because of college, which is in part true, but I'm ashamed to admit that I just almost never wanted to write, and anything I did write was pretty much crap. I personally am not happy with this chapter, I'm afraid I've got some OOCness running around, but I don't think that any more changing and tweaking will help and I really wanted to get something out because I DO NOT want to abandon this story. So I'm sorry if this bit isn't up to par, and I feel terrible for leaving it alone this long. I hope you guys haven't lost faith in me. And yes, I changed the title of this story, I never really liked the old one and felt this was much more fitting.

Poison Maker: My inspiration for a new development that occurs in this chapter came from your second piece of art, so thanks!

I was getting annoyed. Nick had dropped by about an hour ago, and he and I were watching television. Well, we were trying to anyway. He would keep it on a channel for about a minute, and just as I would start to get into the program he would switch to another channel. By the time he'd gone through the entire range of channels at least two times, I had a feeling that he was doing it just to bug me. Then it landed on the news station, and the cinematic masterpiece from last night was playing again.

"So, this is what you and the boss did after you ditched us?" he asked, gesturing toward the screen.

I only nodded my head in response. While before I was excited by the prospect that they were airing our work on television, at that point I felt sick. I'd been much too happy to murder that man for the Joker—no, Jack. I was doing this for Jack…wasn't I?

Honey, there's nothing wrong with doing our man a few favors.

"Our man? Since when is he ours?"

Since your little Jack and the Joker became the same devilishly handsome man.

"Like we sometimes do?"

Exactly. See, Sweetie —

"Who are you talking to?" Nick asked, and I at once ignored Jester. I really needed to quit speaking to her in public; otherwise, I would be considered the resident nutcase. Well…that position might have already been filled.

I completely disagree.

"Just…thinking out loud," I murmured.

He gave me a skeptical look, but chose not to respond. I liked Nick. He didn't talk as much as Randall did, but he was a far cry from Terrence, who I suspected hated me for some reason. It seemed like Nick was a quiet person in general with an almost nervous disposition, the way his hands sometimes fidgeted or his eyes shifted toward the closed door. I wondered how he handled the kind of work that went on around there, but then thought that maybe the work was the cause of his nature. A whirring sound began and Nick jumped; then he reached into his jeans pocket. He took out a cell phone and stared at the caller ID for a few seconds before flipping it open and saying, "Yeah?" He raised an eyebrow and glanced over at me. "Fine," was all he said before handing the phone to me.

Taking the phone in my hands, I tentatively held it up to my ear. "H-hello?"

"Hey, Lina. I got a question." It was Randall.

"Umm…alright."

"What's your dress size?"

"…Two?"

"Damn, that's small. Well thanks, I'll see you later." With that, he hung up, and I was confused. I closed the phone and handed it back to Nick.

"What did he want?" he asked.

"My dress size," I said, still wondering why.

He smiled, and I had a hunch that he knew perfectly well why Randall has asked me that. "I guess you're coming along then."

"What do you mean?"

Nick just kept smiling at me, but that expression dropped from his face when the door opened and the Joker walked in. "C'mere," he said, beckoning toward me. There was nothing amiable about his expression, his eyes dark and red mouth set in a frown. I was at once convinced that I was in some sort of trouble. Nervously standing up, I caught Nick's eye as I walked toward the Joker.

"Anyway, see you later," he said, and went right back to flipping through the channels. Maybe he hadn't been trying to bug me after all.

The Joker grabbed my wrist when I was close enough and jerked me through the doorway, closing the door behind us. He started toward the doorway at the end of the hall, tugging me along.

"Got any plans for tonight?" he asked, and I shook my head, which he didn't see. "Well, now you do. You see, Bruce Wayne is throwing a little bash for the D.A., and I think my invitation got lost in the mail, because I know he wouldn't forget to invite me. No, he wouldn't."

Tripping up the stairs, I asked, "So what am I? Your date?"

He waved a hand dismissively, and I imagine that he made a face as well. "Eh, sure, why not?" We entered the bedroom and he immediately released me. He shrugged out of his overcoat and placed it on the table, sitting down in a chair. "But I'm going to send you and Terry in before me and the other boys because I need to have a little talk with Mr. Harvey Dent, and I don't want to make my big entrance until I know he's there. So, I want you to scope out the scene, like a little bitty fly on the wall."

I peered at him, slowly going over the job in my head. "So, I'm not your date?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Not really. As far as anyone will know, my little Jester won't even be there. Nope, instead you'll be Missss Molly Jenkins, arm candy of…" he reached into his coat and pulled out a white card, "a Gerald Prescott. Such a nice guy, gave me his invitation, something about not uh, being able to make it on account of lying in a dumpster." He'd barely finished speaking when he began to howl with laughter, slapping the card against his thigh.

I waited until he'd quieted down for the most part to ask, "Why are you giving me a new name?"

"Because knowing you, you'd use your real name." He laughed; he never did give me enough credit. I was always dimwitted little Lina, who couldn't think for herself. It probably didn't help that I constantly trailed along behind him like some sort of puppy. He had always been a leader, and he protected me. He was like an older brother, the kind who could beat on their sibling, but if anyone else dared to then he'd be there to dissuade them against such behavior. And I'd do whatever he told me to, because he just emitted that air of power. Because I knew that in the end, he was looking out for me.

However, I didn't need him to look out for me anymore. I was a woman now, not a little girl. I hadn't been a little girl for a long time. When Jack left, as did Jester, I couldn't afford to be a kid anymore. I hated that he'd abandoned me, whether or not he did it for my own good.I hated him. I hated him so much. He had no idea what hell I went through, all because of him! He had no right to sit there and tell me what to do, mock my intelligence. I wanted to hurt him so badly, and I didn't even know whom exactly. Jack for leaving me? Or the Joker for giving him a reason to?

Well, they are the same person, Darling.

Before I knew what I was doing, I had tackled him, sending the chair and both of us toppling to the ground with a crash. I cracked my knuckles against his face continually, just trying to hurt him as much as possible.

What are you doing? Stop it! Stop it right now!

I ignored Jester, and soon there was blood gushing from Jack's nose and he was trying to seize my wrists. I somehow managed to avoid his grasp, just swinging at him repeatedly. He wasn't laughing. He wasn't even smiling. However, I didn't care. I wasn't thinking anymore.

I said stop it!

Warmth traveled through my body, every part of me encased in liquid velvet. I barely noticed, for I must've just been heating up from stress and my body's exertions. However, it kept increasing, hotter and hotter. I tried to ignore it, continuing to hit Jack.

Stop!

Then, something happened, something that scared me more than anything. I stopped. Every muscle within me froze, practically on fire, and I just stared straight ahead of me as my body fell sideways and to the floor. And then spasms racked my body, traveling through every part of me until tears streamed down my face. But I couldn't cry out, I couldn't scream. I knew that I was dying.

Just as sudden as it happened, it stopped. I lied there like a doll, vaguely aware that the Joker was kneeling over me. Each breath hurt, and I barely had the strength to keep my eyes open. Somehow, I rolled onto my side, even though I didn't remember trying to do that. I placed my palms against the floor and pushed myself up. No, I didn't. That time, I definitely hadn't tried to move. I couldn't figure out what was going on. I was sitting on the floor, arms hanging limply by my sides as I locked gazes with the Joker. I didn't want to look at him, but I couldn't turn away. I couldn't even close my eyes.

What happened?

Something was wrong. That…that was me, my voice. However, my lips didn't move. And the Joker didn't hear me.

"What was that?" he asked. My thoughts exactly.

I felt my mouth curve up into a coy smile.

"I'm not sure." That time, my lips moved. However, that was not my voice. It was smoother, seductive, more of a purr than an actual voice. "But I'm all right." I batted my eyelashes, something that I'd never done before. "How about you? Are you all right?"

My hand reached forward, albeit somewhat shakily. His gaze was glued to my hand as it neared his face. I tried to do something, make a fist with that hand or pull it back, but neither happened. Just before the flat of my hand pressed against his cheek, he seized it, crushing my fingers in his grip. My eyes squinted in a wince.

"Hello…Jessster," he drawled, and he licked his lips. "It's been a while."

"Too long if you ask me."

I felt beads of sweat form upon my brow, and my body felt tired, incredibly tired like I had just finished several performances in a row. My palms grew sweaty as well, and it must have been by a noticeable amount, for the Joker released my hand and wiped his own on his pants.

He raised an eyebrow. "You feeling okay?"

"Mm…hmm." It was a soft grunt, and I knew that we were anything but. Something was wrong, terribly wrong; and before I knew it, I felt myself falling backward. My head cracked against the floor, and I groaned. His face appeared above mine, his expression one of vague curiosity.

"You look like shit," was all he said before standing up and stalking out of the room. The faint noise of running water reached my ears, though the pounding of my heartbeat echoing through my head mostly muffled it.

"What did you do to me?" I whispered, relieved that my lips moved this time, though my voice was raspy.

I…took the wheel…so to speak. Now you…listen to me, kid. I don't like you…going fucking mental on him…like that, and obviously I've got some…power over this underfed thing you…call a body. So control yourself, otherwise…I will.

She sounded exhausted, much like how I felt. Still, her words sent a shiver of fear through my body.

"But…how can you do this?"

Oh, I've had…years of practice. That "help" I give you, didn't you ever…wonder what exactly it is? Subtle suggestions…to your body, but because you…asked for my help you thought I…just gave you a boost of confidence to do those things…all on your own.

"So, that feeling I get whenever —"

I've always taken my time acclimating myself, but…obviously I didn't have that luxury this occasion.

That would explain why she was so tired, mixed with the fact that she'd taken complete control of my body instead of giving it "subtle suggestions." Now, I questioned everything I'd ever done as Jester. What had been of my own free will? Those men, had I really been the one that killed them? Or was I, in a sense, still innocent? Had I been the one that pushed the knife into the mobster's abdomen or dragged it across the Batman impersonator's throat?

I recalled times when I was a teenager, out in the ring with Jack, doing stunts of which I'd never thought myself capable. But she had given me the confidence to go through with every trick, a confidence that I was no longer sure had been simply confidence. My success, had it been my doing, or hers?

A hand closing around my throat and hauling me up from the floor interrupted my spiraling thoughts. I clutched at the offending hand and tried to relieve some of the crushing pressure but to no avail; his hold on me refused to lighten. He made his way into the bathroom, my feet dragging along the floor, and he forced me to my knees in front of the tub, which I noted was now filled.

Now you've done it.

I felt his hand grab the back of my head; and before I could do anything, he'd forced it beneath the water. The frigid temperature of the water made me scream out of shock, and any air I might have had left me as water rushed into my mouth. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't breathe! I flailed my arms and tried to kick out blindly at my tormentor. However, I felt him position himself on my legs while his other hand caught my wrists and pinned them behind my back. Still, I squirmed, wriggled, struggled against the Joker. However, my movements, thought frantic, were beginning to slow as my limbs felt heavier and heavier. Air, I needed air. I squeezed my eyes shut, realizing that this was one bind I wouldn't be able to escape from, and it would end up being my last.

Just as I was sure I couldn't last any longer, the hand on the back of my head yanked me up by my hair. A gasped for air, filling my deprived lungs as quickly as I could; the next moment, I was back under. Once more, I thrashed against the Joker, and when I felt the pressure on my legs decrease I hoped it would soon be over.

However, the hand twisted in my hair pulled away, and I was only able to lift my head above the water for a moment before my legs were lifted; I was flipped over the rim of the tub and into the water. My head slammed against the bottom, and spots danced before my eyes for a moment. Hurriedly, I sat up, coughing and sputtering, rubbing at my eyes to clear my vision.

The click of a gun's safety made me freeze. Slowly, I lowered my hands to see him standing above me, pointing said gun right at my face.

"Now…I don't know what the, what the fuck that was, but right now I don't care. I thought we were getting along sa-wimmingly. Obviously, I was mistaken. I'm all for you having a bit of…of fire, but I'm getting sick of your little, your little freak-outs, and I'm pretty damn sure I taught you that it's not nice to hit people. And by people, I mean me. But I guess the message never got all the way through your thick head."

Apologize right now, or we're dead.

I said nothing, simply staring into those dark eyes. The swearing was what scared me the most; that was the signal that meant my odds weren't good. While Jack had never been a saint, he did hold the belief that those who swore only did so because they were in possession of a limited vocabulary and he prided himself on having a rather extensive one. I'd also asked Randall about it once, as I'd wondered the Joker's lack of swearing was for the same reason. As far as Randall knew, it was just another way that he separated himself from other criminals. He'd said that the Joker was in a class all his own. Him swearing meant that he was too pissed off to keep himself in check; while he usually appeared unbridled, I knew that wasn't the case.

Damn it, apologize! Beg, do something or else I will!

I felt my eyes begin to water, scared to move and absolutely terrified of experiencing her wrath again. "Please," I whispered, "please don't kill me." My face scrunched up as tears begin to leak from my eyes.

More!

"I-I'll do whatever you want," I cried, hands gripping the edge of the tub. "Just don't kill me!"

He looked toward the ceiling for a moment and probed the inside of his cheek with his tongue, a wry smile twisting his features. He squatted down, knees brushing against the tub, and he pressed the gun to my temple.

You've killed us, you idiot!

She was right. Dead. I was dead. I couldn't take my eyes away from the shining barrel, positive that this time I was a goner. This time it wasn't as simple as outrunning fire; more importantly, this time I wasn't an accidental victim. I was his sole focus.

"Look at me," he growled, and my eyes immediately snapped away from the gun to his grim visage. "Shut up. If you keep that up, I will kill you right now. Weakness has no place here, and right now you are nothing but pathetically…weak."

I would've felt like gloating to Jester if not for the fact that he was right. She might have been in the wrong, but at the same time I had been weak; I caved into her demands just so she wouldn't take my body away from me. I felt caught in the middle, controlled from the outside…and now from within. Instead of one, I now had two people pulling my strings.

He reached toward me with his other hand and ran his knuckles down the side of my face several times. How could his touch be so gentle while he simultaneously held a gun to my head?

"How can I trust you to do…anything when I can't even trust you not to go batshit crazy on me every other day?"

Ruminations of my predicament surprisingly gave way to new thoughts that filled me with a mixture of guilt and disappointment: I had gone from being a somewhat trusted companion to hazard number one. He was right. How could he trust me? It used to be that we could only trust each other, in that dangerous world of deceit and showbiz.

"You know, I really want to like you. I really do. But you have this way of making it ex-treme-ly difficult." And to think, the previous night he'd told me that he did like me. However, this wasn't last night, the day before, or twelve years ago. That was something I needed to keep in mind, that this was the present, and the present only moved forward. I knew I needed to move forward as well, but something wouldn't let me. I couldn't help remembering the past. If I didn't, who would? Surely not the Joker, not Jack. Somehow, he'd managed to recall me, whether on purpose or by sheer chance I didn't know. He'd abandoned his past, and yet in the long run I managed to remain in his memories. The fact that he'd remembered me must have counted for something.

"I don't know how you manage to screw up when I'm in a good mood, but I won't fight fate. I'll give you one chance. One chance to prove yourself, one chance to save your skin. And if you blow it, I can promise that you won't live to regret it...because you won't be living at all." His voice dropped an octave at the end, which sent a shiver through me.

Promise, promise, promise...he always kept his promises. Fear hitched in my throat, and I swallowed hard. I gave a small nod of agreement, only knowing that I was willing to do whatever it took to get back on his good side. There had been times when I wished for death, for my living hell to end, but now that I was free, now that I had Jack again…I didn't want to lose that.

Slowly, he lowered the gun and stood, placing it on the counter, and I allowed myself to breathe once more. Although my life wasn't in mortal peril for the moment, the room was still filled with a practically tangible tension; he was still staring at my face, and because his expression failed to lighten at all I figured whatever he saw wasn't good.

"Stand up," he barked suddenly. Shakily, I obeyed, standing in the calf-high water. Without warning, he grabbed my chin, fingers digging into my skin as he inspected my face from all angles. "Get rid of 'em."

My mind went blank as I tried to figure out what he meant. "Get rid of what?"

"These things," he prodded one of my scars, "on your face."

"I thought you said that they made me unique." While I didn't object to his idea, he had said that he didn't ever want me to get rid of my scars.

"They do, and they'll draw unnecessary attention to you. I mean, I know that you're so used to being in the uh, the spotlight, but the point of your job isn't to be noticed."

That switchblade was in his hand before I could respond, and the tip of the blade touched my skin as he cut the knotted end of thread. Then, he slowly pulled out each stitch, starting at the cut end, until the entire piece was in his hand and he dropped it to the floor. I turned my head and pulled my wet hair to the side to give him access to the other one, amazed by the way he handled me. His touch was so gentle; it was hard to believe he'd been holding a gun to my head only moments ago. His moods were so unpredictable, but right then I couldn't complain. I knew that I had yet to be forgiven, as I still needed to earn back his trust, but I felt safe. This right here was Jack...this was why I would do what it took to stay.

I caught my reflection in the mirror behind him, surprised to see...just a relatively normal, tear streaked face. Pinpricks of blood had risen to the surface where the thread was gone; but for once, my eyes weren't automatically drawn to those scars. It was surreal to think that a person might be able to look at me for the first time and not instantly judge me as a freak, that Gaston's work was actually reversible. That bastard, even though he was dead, it still felt like he was with me, in each of those marks. Well, for all I knew, he could still somehow be alive. That thought unsettled me.

"He is dead this time, right?" I asked, but was only met with silence as he continued to pull out the thread. Once finished, he cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing over the red droplets

After a while, such a long while, he said, "I wouldn't have it any other way. I hadn't expected to see him still…running things, thought for sure that my uh, my last goodbye present would've changed that." His mouth curved into a smile, and I knew he was remembering what happened the day he left, one of the most horrific moments of my life.

"Ladies and gentlemen, so sorry, but Mr. Gaston is unable to speak at the moment," I looked up; that was Jack's voice, "but don't worry; this next act is sure to "blow" you all right out of your seats." His howls of laughter rang throughout the big top, and I shivered, waiting for whatever would happen next. The armed guards immediately ran to Gaston's current position, knowing that something was very wrong. Then, I could see him, standing just at the edge of the parking grounds, his purple trench coat flapping wildly behind him in the wind. The grin he wore was laced with malevolent joy, his eyes — I could read them even at such a distance — filled with cruel amusement. His green-tinged tresses fluttered across his painted face, and one gloved hand quickly sought to tuck them behind his ear. With the guards gone, I darted towards the opening, unprepared to perish in his final statement.

Murmurs rose throughout the befuddled audience while the glaring spotlight attempted to follow my rapid movements. They weren't sure whether this was part of the act.

I knew what he was going to do. The contraption he held in one hand gave everything away, and it would indeed blow everything away as well. I had to stop him, if not for the sake of my own conscience, then for his. Surely, he could see me running at him. Surely, I would make it before he set off the detonator. My bare inner thighs rubbed against each other, as the fabric of my leotard's skirt brushed my hips with silken caresses. The spotlight's glare temporarily blinded me, and dark blue blotches floated before my vision. Once everything cleared, I could see that his finger was pressed against the small mechanism, and a thunderous roar erupted from all around me.

I didn't originally intend to go down the whole "alternate personality/borderline schizophrenic thing" route, and even now I'm on the fence about it. I guess that's why I don't love this chapter, because while I wanted it to happen I also wasn't sure if it really belonged. I dunno, you guys be the judge.

Like it? Hate it? Please leave a review and tell me what you think!