I have an unhealthy obsession with Criminal Minds (Dr. Spencer Reid) and the Joker. What better than to bring the two worlds together? Especially at Halloween time, my favorite time of the year? And yes, in case you were wondering, I will be the Dark Knight's Joker this year.

WARNING: SLASH, LANGUAGE, AND SLIGHT PLAGIARISM (Using a few lines from the Dark Knight movie.) I DO NOT OWN THE CHARACTERS/SETTINGS. THIS IS STRICTLY FOR FUN AND NO PROFIT WAS MADE.

-Profile Me, Doc-

Part 1.

The Behavioral Analysis Unit of Quantico Virginia had seen their fair share of psychopaths, rapists, sociopaths, cannibals, and terrorists. They had seen decapitated bodies, burned down buildings, and eviscerated corpses. They had been trained to handle these things, process what was seen and heard in a way that would keep them from losing their minds to the madness that was the human condition. Their job, in a sense, was to understand (and ultimately think) like the evil they came across.

So the team was having a rough time pigeon-holing their newest case file that J.J. had thrown on the round table of their private meeting room. Hotch, the fearless leader, had called the team in from the bullpen area and was his usual no-nonsense self. Rossi sat composed in his usual suit and tie while Derek Morgan stifled a yawn. Penelope Garcia, the self-appointed goddess of the internet databases, twirled a pink glittery pen between her hands and Prentiss hustled in, arms folded across her chest the moment she took her usual seat. Reid was the final to settle into his seat, thin fingers running through his chin-length hair to get it out of his eyes.

"Glad you could join us, Pretty Boy," Morgan chuckled.

"I'm on time," Reid said, narrowing his eyes at his older brother figure and holding himself back from launching into an encyclopedic rant about clocks and his own personal silver wristwatch which had been carefully tuned to the literal second of the proper time.

"Let's get started," Hotch announced, cutting the boys off and holding up the folders J.J. had presented them with, "I think it's safe to say that we've never had a case so…unique."

"Oh good, I was beginning to get bored with the normal murdering variety," Rossi said, making Prentiss and Morgan chuckle.

"Let's take this seriously," Hotch said, although he was fighting a smile, something that was rare for the non-blinking team leader, "I don't know what to call this young man yet, considering he's not only an anarchist, an arsonist, and a notorious bank robber, but also a murderer with an obsession for the dramatic."

Several members of the team lifted their eyebrows before opening their case files, the first page a glossy 8 x 12 photo.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Morgan said, throwing his case file back down on the table and leaning back in his swivel chair, "Seriously, Hotch? The psychos wear war paint now?"

"Actually it looks to be like grease paint," Reid corrected, his eyes absorbing the picture to add to his eidetic memory collection, "and a psychopath with heavy delusions, considering he portrays himself as a clown."

"The media is dubbing him 'The Crowned Clown Prince of Crime'," J.J. said, her arms folded in front of her as she stood near Hotch's chair, "So far NYPD has been chasing him for petty theft and bank robbery, but this man's taken it to the next level by blowing up a hospital."

"Talk about theatrics," Rossi murmured, turning a page over in the file, "but I'm not getting anything out of this case file except for miles of offenses."

"That's why they're calling us in," Hotch said, nodding towards Rossi, "it's gone too far. The man has been taunting not only the police department but the media directly. He's made threats against the mayor's life and has managed to steal over forty million dollars of mob money without disrupting the marked bills. They're running out of options and we need to bring this man down before he kills again."

"How many victims thus far?" Rossi asked.

"They managed to evacuate the hospital in time," Hotch said, looking at one of the file papers, "the only reason, of course, was because he warned the media an hour in advance, on live television."

"Why would he do that?" Morgan said, his brows pulled together as he stared down at the UnSub's photo.

"He's delusional," Rossi emphasized, rocking in his chair, "he's on center stage, the main attraction. He wants to invoke fear and panic; that's got to be his sexual release in the whole mess. He's not after individuals, he gets off on the chaos that he creates."

"Citizens are afraid to walk the streets after dark," J.J. elaborated, "and many have been evacuating for weeks now, too afraid to even stay in the city. This UnSub has an entire city in the palm of his hands."

"And we cannot underestimate him," Hotch said coolly, "the body count may have stayed down due to the evacuation, but there are twenty seven cops in a morgue because of this man, not to mention over fifty pedestrians. Most of the killings were done via grenade after the bank robberies were deemed successful."

"He BLEW UP bank hostages?" Penelope looked absolutely appalled.

"Not only hostages, but accomplices," Reid said, done memorizing the scanty file, "far more accomplices than actual pedestrians. Classic sociopathic behavior, a manipulator: uses them for what he needs accomplished for certain stages of the heist and then eliminates them, or manipulates them into killing each other for a split of the profit that they will never live to see."

Garcia gaped at Reid like a fish while Rossi chuckled and Morgan shook his head. Leave it to Reid to have half of the profile already prepared. Although the case file offered literally nothing on the man himself, it was possible to profile his behavior through his crimes to a certain extent.

"People are terrified, even the police force," Hotch met everybody's eyes around the table. Everybody looked back at him, waiting for the four words that meant they were completely committed.

"Wheels up in thirty."

XXX

Garcia would stay behind to man the 'Information Superhighway' that was the FBI's most sophisticated software and computer technology along with J.J. who had too much paperwork and media to deal with to accompany them. Everyone had come with their 'go bags' and looked a bit frustrated and tired. The case had come unexpectedly, much like the delinquent clown simply known as 'The Joker'. Rossi had commented that it would only give the UnSub a better sense of power and control by having a name in the media, but it was unstoppable now.

Hotch read over the file again while Morgan nodded off to his headphones and Prentiss re-read one of Rossi's latest profiling novels. Rossi and Reid had begun another game of chess, a game in which Rossi had yet to beat the young genius.

"Is there anyone that can beat you at this game?" Rossi sighed, falling back in the plush jet chair as Reid kinged himself for the umpteenth time.

Reid cleared his throat, his eyes shifting away from Rossi, "Gideon. I could never beat Gideon."

Rossi nodded, offering Reid his classic toothless smile, both of them lapsing into silence for the remainder of the flight. Reid stared at the checkered board, the different pieces and pawns. Now was no time to reminisce on his retired father figure: it was time to focus on finding an UnSub that would force the team to think three steps ahead, much like the game Rossi no longer wanted to play.

XXX

"Boss," a gruff voice said through a colorful clown mask, turning up the volume on the old school TV, "You're on again."

The Joker lifted his head, his legs splayed out in front of him as he sat on a giant pile of cash. He hadn't burned it yet, not yet. He wasn't sure if he'd need it for a bit longer before disposing of such trivial trash. After all, its presence kept the mindless cronies filing in to be obliterated at his convenience. It was all…so…LAUGHABLE.

His deep brown eyes focused on the TV screen, his lips drawing into a pout, "They never get, uh, my GOOD side."

Currently the news was playing footage of the latest bank heist, his back turned to the screen as he jumped into the back of a yellow school bus. He'd removed his mask before, when the bank president had been rambling about 'honorable thieves' and other trivial things he couldn't be bothered with. Joker always left behind the surveillance and security feeds for the media's convenience. What was the point in covering his tracks? He didn't need to. Hell, he WANTED them to find him. He had nothing to hide. Nothing, nothing at all. It was all…PART OF THE GAME.

"What we gonna do, boss?" the nameless cronie barked, reading the words trailing along the bottom of the screen, "Says the FBI is gettin' involved. A b…a b-behavioral…analll…"

"A behavioral analysis unit," Joker said, staring at his useless cronie with contempt before smiling his scarred smile, "Ah hah, so the pigs got, uh, DESPERATE."

"They're famous, Joker," he continued, the images changing from Joker to the front of a police station where a press conference was being held by a Mr. Aaron Hotchner.

"Turn it up," Joker commanded, waving a blade in one hand towards the masked clown, "I wanna HEAR what he, uh, has to SAY about ME."

The volume increased, Hotchner announcing that they had just arrived in the city to investigate the UnSub known as The Joker and for anyone with any information to call the police department immediately or forward information to their bureau in Quantico, Virginia.

"Ha ha," Joker said, licking his favorite blade from hilt to tip, "Get the boys together. Tonight's gonna be, huh, ENTERTAINING."

XXX

The BAU team had been holed up in the police department's spare conference room for hours, nursing their sleeplessness and jetlag with crappy coffee and stale donuts. Photos, crime logs, and a geographical chart had been looked at, but no leeway had been made.

"He's all over the papers, the television," Rossi said, frustrated, "We need fresh information. Check with Garcia again."

"She's got nothing," Morgan said, running a hand over his shaved head, "His alias is not in the database. We can't access records that we don't have a real name to, Ross."

"A young male, late twenties, early thirties tops," Rossi said, staring at another close-up photo of the clown in his mysterious face paint, "We need to start at the beginning, but we don't even know if this psycho's local or not. We need to catch him, interrogate him. I don't think there's any other way of dealing with him."

"We know he's unpredictable," Reid said, holding his mug of coffee with both hands, "The only link between the robberies is the intense security that the banks boasted; he leaves behind bodies and surveillance tapes. He has no remorse for his victims and has proven himself to be a master manipulator as his own accomplices are seen disposing of each other; this lightens the Joker's workload and suggests a sense of organization. His victims seem random and inconsequential. Even the acts themselves…I'm not entirely convinced that he was even after the money."

"So he hits the big banks; wants attention," Morgan elaborated, his arms folded over his broad chest, "it's about taunting. Mob money…so we know he's got connections with crime rings. We need to get the other big boys of the city to start talking."

"Nobody's going to say anything," Prentiss said from her seat, tapping a pen, "look at this guy: this isn't somebody to be hired or even understood. He's a psychopathic vigilante."

"Narcissistic," Hotchner threw in, tacking more close-up photos of the criminal clown up on the board, "he wants his image everywhere, especially his smile."

"The scars…" Reid ventured, his brows pulled together as he thought, "Self-inflicted?"

"Could have been the trigger," Hotch said picking up a red Expo marker and writing down what the team had been saying for the past few minutes, creating a small web pool, "Perhaps they weren't self-inflicted. Maybe the trauma caused his psychological unraveling. Several of his victims, known gang associates, had their mouths cut in a similar manner before death."

"His own nightmare inflicted on others," Rossi murmured, stroking his short clipped beard, "but this just isn't enough. We can speculate and run ourselves in circles all night, but this man will not be understood until he is handcuffed and sitting in an interrogation room."

"And there's no way to find him," Morgan said, holding up a small plastic bag which held a charred Joker playing card, "he finds you."

"There hasn't been a bank robbery in over two weeks," Reid said, setting his coffee mug down, "So far the UnSub hasn't shown a cooling off period; the attacks before this period were frequent, along with petty theft and arson."

"So it's only a matter of time before he strikes again," Hotch finished, looking at the member's of his team with a critical eye, "And this time, we have to be ready."

XXX

Joker giggled to himself as his two favorite cronies of the week got out of the semi, allowing Joker to take the wheel. He was so excited. He had only driven a semi once before, and it had been such delicious fun.

"Did'ja get my fire truck?" Joker asked Chuckles, a short, stocky masked clown with no sense of humor.

"Yah boss," he replied, looking both ways across the empty street. It was almost midnight, Joker's self-appointed deadline. He usually didn't make himself deadlines. He liked to think of himself as a free spirit, but he also loved to fuck with people's minds, and he just knew that the behavioral analysis unit would be thoroughly skull-fucked over what he was about to do.

"GOOD-DUH," he said, licking the corners of his mouth, "You, ah, take care of THAT for me, and I'll, hah, get this baby where it needs to be."

"You sure about this, boss?" Chuckles said, sounding a bit worried, "This is pretty ballsy, even for you."

"Just do what I told you," Joker said evenly, slamming the semi's door closed and cutting off communication. He shifted the gears of the behemoth machine, charging forward, laughing to himself.

He licked his scars again, smacking his lips as he drove furiously through the night.

XXX

Spencer Reid had just collapsed into his hotel bed after a long hot shower and was nearly asleep when he was assaulted by intense banging on his door. He groggily got up, running a hand over his face as he opened the door to see a fully dressed Derek Morgan.

"Sorry, kid. No beauty rest tonight," he said, eyes filled with flames, "The UnSub's made a move, and you're not gonna believe it until you see it."

XXX

Twenty minutes later, Reid and the rest of the team were getting out of unmarked black SUVs in front of the main corporate police station, their eyes unbelieving. Of course Hotchner had briefed them in the car on the way over, but none of them had seen the physical evidence.

But here it was. A semi driven right up to the front of the police station and slammed through the side wall, right where the bull pen area had been. Only two casualties thankfully, as the others had run out of the way in time of the massive truck. Police and crime scene units were swarming over it now, prodding at its contents while a mean-looking detective was trying to calm the flashing press down.

Reid stepped forward, picking up a piece of evidence that was in the semi to over-filling.

"Flowers?" Rossi said, looking at the thorned Rose held carefully in Spencer's pale hand, "The psycho sent us flowers?"

"How romantic," Prentiss huffed, feeling vengeful for having been woken up at three o'clock in the morning for something so bogus.

"He's in custody now," Hotchner said, getting off of his phone for the dozenth time in the past half hour, "they moved him to another bureau due to the damage. They've already set up an area for us there. They'll move him to interrogation when we're ready."

"Let's do this," Morgan said, looking menacing, "Let's put this son-of-a-bitch away for good."

XXX

Joker sat idly on the bench in the small rectangular cell, his fingers steepled in front of him, wiggling every so often. He had never been a person to sit still: he was never one to sit still, even when he was a kid. Life would just…pass you by if you didn't chase after it, beat it, and laugh. Joker remembered reading something somewhere about how laughter actually increased your lifespan by several years; that laughing was healthy.

He hadn't said a word since being taken in. He didn't think he had to. He didn't want to talk to these people, these PEOPLE with their little SCHEMES and their obsession with CONTROL and ORDER. He didn't need that. Not. One. Bit.

He licked his scars again, surprised that the police hadn't made him wash off his colorful grease paint. He was a little agitated that they had taken his favorite purple suit jacket, but he was still clothed in his pinstriped purple pants and his blue-purple starched collared shirt covered in an interesting pattern. He'd sewed the green vest himself, the gold buttons taken from some broad's overcoat he'd taken a liking to.

Not the broad. He'd killed her after he'd taken her jacket. He didn't have time for hanky-panky in his line of work now, did he?

Ah, and his colorful little patterned tie. It made him feel more complete. Although the menacing look was kind of lost without the 'purple pimp jacket' as a certain Mr. Gamble had called it. Too bad it hadn't been a funny joke, then Joker might have let the mafia kingpin live.

At least Gamble had gotten to hear a fascinating personal story before being gutted and left for his pooches.

Joker snorted, earning himself some attention from two officers who were talking quietly about him. He didn't mind. He didn't very much care what people said about him. They could talk all they wanted, but they wouldn't gain anything from what they had found in his pockets. They wouldn't find out anything about him unless they asked all the right questions, and Joker doubted that these people would ask the right questions.

It was all about…SENDING A MESSAGE.

"They're here," an officer announced upon entering the room and sending a glare Joker's way, "Get this piece of trash to interrogation room C."

Joker couldn't help himself. He licked his lips, "What's the C stand for?"

The two officers who had been guarding him unlocked the makeshift jail cell and lifted him forcefully off of the bench, "Crazy, motherfucker. How about that?"

XXX

Hotchner and Rossi stared through the one-way glass of the interrogation room, arms folded over their chests as they contemplated their means of attack against the psychopath.

"You have the most experience, Dave," Hotch said, not taking his eyes off of the unsettling man inside the interrogation room, "I'd feel more comfortable with you taking the first punch."

"Gladly," Rossi mumbled, still agitated that he hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours, "Let's get this kid talking, and do it fast."

The door to the private room opened and Reid stepped in, holding a file, "Morgan and Prentiss are still talking to witnesses; said I'd be more useful here."

"For now you can watch," Hotch said, nodding towards Rossi, "He's taking first bait."

Reid nodded, watching Rossi leave the room while another investigator began running the audio and visual for record. Reid stared through the glass, a slight chill running up his spine upon seeing the UnSub in the flesh. He looked calm, but there was something in his eyes that made Reid think of a feral animal. Wild, maybe crazy, but there was a calculating intelligence that was unnerving.

Reid found himself wondering if he was handsome underneath the face paint. His dirty blonde hair was streaked with green, hanging limply to his shoulders and pushed back out of his eyes, revealing a garish painted face that was beginning to streak from sweat and wear. His clothes looked mismatched and for once, Reid felt almost like a kindred spirit. At that moment Reid happened to be wearing his classic ensemble of a starched shirt, sweater vest and tie with some comfortable slacks. He remembered somebody calling him a teaching assistant until they had seen the side arm strapped to his belt and the badge Reid had shoved in the man's face, along with the title of doctor.

Reid wasn't a prideful person, but with four PhDs under your belt by the age of twenty-four, you would feel a little righteous indignation at somebody looking at you like you were a helpless child.

Reid was a lot of things, but he wasn't helpless.

"Well helloooo there," the UnSub said, licking at his scars as Rossi took a seat across from him, "I'd say it's, uhh, nice to meet you but, uh…well, the thing is…I'm not too interested in the infamous David Rossi, you see? But I kind of wish I'd robbed a bookstore on the way over. If I had, would you have signed my, uh, COPY?"

Rossi tilted his head, putting his hands on the metal table in front of him, "We're not here to talk about me. Let's talk about you."

"Me?" Joker said, pointing at himself, his handcuffs rattling, "No, no. This isn't about me. This is about…sending a message."

"A message? What kind of message?"

"An…important one," Joker said, licking at the left corner of his mouth before tilting his head, his deep brown eyes on Rossi, "Very…important."

"Mind sharing?"

"Not with you," Joker said, shaking his head a few times, "No, no. You're one of THEM, one of those….PLOTTERS. You know what, Dave? You kind of remind me of my father."

"Oh really? I find it hard to believe a monster like you would even have one."

Joker laughed, a laugh that made even the seasoned profiler's skin crawl.

"Ah hah, ha ha hoo hee ha HA," he finished, his eyes as hard as diamonds, "Very funny, DAVID. Tell me, have ya learned anything YET? Besides the fact that I'm a psychopath, I mean."

Reid felt the corner of his mouth lift up in the tiniest smile, but he quickly smothered it. He furrowed his brow as he concentrated on what Rossi was saying in the room.

"I'm not PERFECT," Joker said, rattling his cuffs as he shifted again, "but, uh, I'd like to BELIEVE I have some control left over my, uh, UNIQUE way of thinking."

"You call murdering innocent people control?"

"The exact opposite," Joker said, leaning forward slightly, "You see, Dave, guys like me…"

"Freaks," Rossi corrected.

Joker licked his scars again, "No, I'm not. I'm NOT. I'm…not a FREAK. The real freaks, David, are the people going about their daily lives, pretending they have control over their little worlds. The businessmen in their monkey suits and the minions under them who dance like, uh, PUPPETS. I'm not one of those guys, Dave, I've…no patience for THAT, you see? I'm…a little more…EVOLVED. I'm NOT a monster, I'm…just…trying to make the world laugh a little more."

"At what? Dead bodies?"

"I knew you wouldn't understand," Joker said, shaking his head in dismay like he was talking to a small child, "That's why I'm not here to talk to you. No, no a guy like you doesn't want to LISTEN. You're too busy being...you're just a profiler. You're a dime a dozen. Sure, you wrote books and caught the bad guys, but you don't think OUTSIDE THE BOX. You're not even that smart, hm? Am, am I right?"

"So you want to play games?"

"You're NOT. LISTENING," the Joker barked, rattling the table, his dark voice making Reid jump slightly and Hotch frown, "And here I went out of my way to bring your team the best flowers in New York. Did Emily PRENTISS like them? How about Derek Morgan and Aaron Hotchner? They're the alpha males of your little posse, right? How about that techy braud, Garcia? She ain't here, is she? If she is, I wanna tell her I dig her SENSE OF STYLE. But you know what? That Jennifer of yours, J.J…she sure is BEAU-TI-FUL."

"So you know the members of my team," Rossi said, trying to sound unimpressed, "You'll have to do better than that."

"And the infamous Doctor Spencer REID," Joker continued, as if Rossi had never interrupted him, "His little articles sure are something. I'd like to meet him. How about it, Dave?"

"No, you're with me right now."

"You're no fun," Joker pouted, "Then how about a trade?"

"I don't make deals with psychopaths."

"You MIGHT want to make an exception," Joker said, clicking his tongue and shifting in his chair again, "See, if you DON'T give me what I want, I MIGHT, uh, accidentally blow up a hotel."

Hotchner looked at Reid and the other detective, all of them focusing back in on the Joker and a composed Rossi.

"You let yourself be caught, and now you're making threats?"

Joker sighed, "Dave, you're pretty slow on the upTAKE. I didn't let myself get caught for NOTHING, you know? I'm a…busy man, see? I got people to kill and…and buildings to blow up. I don't have TIME to sit here with YOU, unless you bring in some tea or something. I like tea."

"What hotel?"

"Not that simple," Joker smirked, "but, uh, nothing ever IS, is it? Things are never what they SEEM, hm? Complicated, intricate, but all I want is for people to realize how SIMPLE life really is. You have a problem with that: I see it. You try to make SENSE of things too much. Takes a lot out of you, hm? Makes your shoulders slump at the end of the day, even after a few drinks."

"Are you profiling me now?" Rossi said, sounding beyond agitated. Hotchner and Reid knew he couldn't take much more of this.

"Give me the boy," Joker said, his eyes steady, "And I'll give you the hotel. See? SIMPLE. I'm NOT a complicated guy. I'm, uh…MAN OF MY WORD."

Joker started laughing, an eerie laugh that sounded even more deranged on the taping devices.

"Let me go in there," Reid said, addressing Hotchner.

"Absolutely not. We can't allow him to think he has any leeway in our investigation."

"There's no other choice!" Reid replied.

"We can evacuate…"

"Do you have ANY idea how many hotels are in New York City?" Reid said, his mind going full throttle from all the guidebooks and brochures he had read the last time they had been on a case in New York, "Just let me talk to him a few minutes. Maybe he'll drop his guard with me."

"Why?"

"He's a sociopath, and the knife wounds he inflicts on his victims suggest he's a sadist: it's probably why he's picking on the weakest-looking member of the team," Reid said quietly, staring through the glass at the lunatic, "A couple of minutes isn't going to hurt, Hotch."

Hotch sighed, looking at Rossi who was getting up from his chair and crossing to the door to leave, his face drenched in agitation like he wanted nothing more than to punch the clown in the face.

"It's SIMPLE," Joker called after him, "One boy for one hotel. And, oh, if I, uh, DON'T get to talk to him by, uh, 4:00 a.m, there's gonna be, uh, LOTS of fireworks and your, ha, TEAM can PROFILE to their heart's content."

Rossi slammed the door, making the Joker cackle with new laughter.

Hooray! :D

This will probably be a three-part, because I'm lazy. Also, sorry about all the CAPITALS and whatnot, but the document manager was being a b with an itch so I gave up. *Shrugs* I'm lazy. Please let me know if you'd like to see more :3