A/N: Wow, here it is… the last chapter. It has been such a long and amazing road, thank you to EVERYONE who has reviewed this story, you have provided an immense amount of support, praise, laughter, and constructive criticism. You've truly made this story what it is, and I thank you truly. I hope you have enjoyed it even a little bit, for then I will be satisfied. Thank you again to everyone, there are no words I can use to describe how wonderful you all are! At the bottom I have some special acknowledgments I want to make, so please read those too…

The ending is complete, and everything is implied that is not explicitly stated. I don't want to do a sequel, I like ending it here. I am asking that if you have read my story, please comment on it, even if you hated it. Please just say something if you read this chapter, as it is the last. PLEASE REVIEW.

Disclaimer: I don't own Batman.

Enjoy!

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She gazed out the vast wall of tinted windows, her breath fogging the glass in her hands.

Somewhere beyond the long stretches of tarmac, the dilapidated warehouses and abandoned tenements, the skyline of New York rose electric and transcendent into the air. The airport was in no position to take advantage of its beauty, but she could vaguely remember seeing it as a teenager, one of the few trips her family ever made from Gotham. The view from the sleek town car as it crossed into Queens had done little to supplement it, the early morning mist and pitch black of night enveloping the glimmering lights.

Somewhere beyond that, she knew, was Gotham.

Shuddering, she pushed such thoughts from her mind.

Polishing off the last of her sipping scotch, she surrendered her glass for another, thankful that the Gotham Police Department had endowed her with cash for such necessary expenses. So far that had included a shot of vodka and soon to be two glasses of scotch, as well as the tiny card of the sort one might attach to flowers currently burning within her pocket.

Thanking the bartender, she ignored his puzzled stare – whether it was because she was drinking at six in the morning or her scars had begun to show, she didn't think she wanted to know. More to reassure herself, she fixed the scarf wrapped snugly around her mouth, pulled down just low enough for her lip to catch the glass.

The golden liquid burning its way down, she glanced down at her hands, eyes catching sight of the ID still lying on the counter. It seemed to mock her, the woman staring back at her so different from the one she had been all her life. The hair was the wrong color, eyes the wrong color, and she looked too serene and indifferent to be Anna Napier.

Though according to the ID, that was no longer her name.

Instead of the familiar letters spanning the blue license, there was another's name, the name of someone Anna was sure she could never be. They had even made her older by a few years, she noticed, yet she couldn't blame them – the mirror had revealed a more haggard and aged countenance than it had seen before.

It wasn't they who deserved the blame.

Before she had left Gotham, Gordon had brought her to a tiny conference room, saying that if she wished to leave at any time, she could. Inside had waited two men, a lawyer and his client, a hulking figure of a man she would never forget as long as she lived. She had felt oddly detached, tamping down the memories that threatened to submerge her as she appraised his tired, normal face. He had an average, clean, unblemished visage, one she would have killed to have again. Did he understand what he had put her through the night he scarred her? Did he?

No, he didn't. She hadn't really expected him to.

Anna had left then, one corner of her mind clamoring for his blood, yet in essence the sentiment was hollow. An emptiness took root inside her, displacing the last vestiges of fury still lingering in the deepest recesses of her mind. She had made her peace with that phase of her life, had vowed to set aside the past as much as she could, for as long as she could.

Not that it mattered much anyway.

If she had correctly heard snippets of Gordon's conversation later that night, her husband had apparently done more than clamor. Why they had revealed his identity and then taken him into see his former boss, she would never know, but it seemed irrational yet appropriate. The mobster would not be leaving emergency any time soon, and she could honestly say she didn't care.

Sipping shallowly, she fingered the edge of the manila envelope in her lap, warring with the idea of examining its contents. It was almost six-thirty, the time Gordon had urged she finally find out the course of her new life, no matter how she wanted to remain in this limbo. The rational part of her mind taking over, she replaced her glass upon the counter, before deftly unpeeling the flap and reaching inside. It was much as she expected, flipping through the papers: a plane ticket set to leave in an hour – her eyebrows shot up at the destination, she wasn't too fond of the rain – a list of numbers should she run into trouble, a list of contacts at several banks and police departments in the area. She would need those, she figured, wanting to go back into finance at some point, maybe find a job as an accountant.

About to slip the packet back into its covering, two smaller items amidst the large sheets met her eye. They were pictures, the white backing and cramped writing revealing them to be Polaroids taken the day before.

Tilting her head, she flipped them over, swallowing at the sight revealed to the world.

Asleep, he seemed almost innocent, freshly scrubbed locks falling gently over the starched white of the asylum pillow. The blond seeped through the brown and green, framing a face slack with slumber and bereft of all paint whatsoever. A second pillow crushed to his chest by one powerful arm, the long fingers were loosely curled into a fist, the nails filed and clean. He laid on his side, facing the camera, the white uniform clashing oddly with his olive skin, one leg bent. It was a sight that few had glimpsed, the Joker – Jack – asleep and rendered human by its charms. Even in her mind, especially in her mind, it was difficult to reconcile the two, reconcile the shy, quirky young man with the sociopath who bombed train stations.

He was sedated, that much was obvious.

Jack would have slept with his right arm beneath the pillow.

A thumb gently tracing the pale margin, she finally noticed the words written there. The sloping hand had to be Gordon's, and she couldn't help but chuckle at his choice of a quote, no matter how her heart still ached in more ways than one.

I lingered round them, under that benign sky… and wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth.

After a few moments of thought, Anna recognized it, the last line of Wuthering Heights, a novel of passion and unrequited love, violence and fate. It did fit, she supposed, for God knew Gordon was being tongue-in-cheek in his selection; the Joker would not lie quiet until death, and neither would she. She would escape for a little while, of that she had no doubt, but there was no guarantee it would remain so forever. The grave – that was her refuge, the final haven and sanctuary from her husband, and even that wasn't absolute. He would follow as soon as he escaped, and they would go round and round, round and round, until all… fell… down.

Perhaps she had made a mistake in coming here, but she didn't want to think so.

Softly shifting the photo behind the other, she felt the warm tide of compassion recede, replaced by a cooler more respectful flow. This one had been taken through the glass of an observation mirror, unlike the other taken directly in the cell. And no wonder, in this one, he was awake.

His eyes were surprisingly clear, staring into the distance as he leaned against the wall, his legs nonchalantly extended upon his bed. The white of the uniform blended eerily with the washed-out ash of the walls, his hair and dark eyes forming a chiaroscuro against his surroundings. He stared down and a little to the left, down to the floor …

There in the middle of the floor was a collection of bright green peas, pinpricks of color arranged in orderly lines and elegant curves. It was as if he hadn't masterminded their placement, merely noticing them for the first time, amused by whatever jokester had seen fit to convey himself through so odd a means.

I always know where she is.

Anna furrowed her brows, unsure if she should be entertained or frightened. A bit of both, she supposed, a bit of honor and a bit of horror that he was still thinking of her. The apartment had been destroyed, taking three people in the process, but it didn't seem like he had any intention of leaving his obsession to burn with it.

No, he was a man of his word.

Sucking in a breath, she pressed a hand to her head, the general feel of a headache building behind her eyes. One last look at her husband and the pictures disappeared into the envelope, leaving her to hold her head in one weary hand. Her wrist was still marred by rope burns from days ago, palm flecked with minute slashes of the knife she had asked Gordon to fed-ex when she arrived in her new apartment.

She wasn't quite sure why she kept it – or rather, she wasn't quite sure she wanted to think on why she kept it. The blade would probably sit in her bedside drawer until whenever he came to claim it, she could almost see the image in her mind's eye. They were too similar for her to abandon it, the metal too much an integral part of her twisted psyche to be left on the side of the road.

Was she twisted?

Finishing the last of her scotch, she couldn't say.

Broken?

No, not broken.

Forgiving?

Not a chance in hell.

More understanding?

Perhaps, perhaps more understanding of the ties between them… reaching into her overcoat pocket – a new one, this time in dark green – she removed the tiny card and its much larger envelope, purchased on a whim in the City News store closer to the terminal entrance. A stamp was already on the envelope, just waiting for her to fill in an address.

Gesturing to the bartender, she called him closer. "You got a pen?"

He reached beneath the counter and wordlessly handed one over, her only reply a smile masked by the purple fabric.

Opening the solid color card, she paused to think, airport pen poised delicately over the pristine white interior. It wasn't quite the same hue as his cell, she doubted that was ever used besides in hospitals and asylums, but it would do.

Jack –

His voice echoed within her head, the last words he said to her resounding through the halls and crevices of her mind. Squeezing her eyes shut, she attempted half-heartedly to block them out, yet resisted quelling it entirely, some inner urge staying her hand. This was to be accepted, this was to be worked through and made part of her, somewhere that it could never hurt her again.

To love someone is to see him as God intended him. I think I finally understand that now.

It was Dostoevsky, something she had learned over the years in their personal library beside the bed. If anything could summarize how she felt, it was ironic that perhaps this man came closest. Jack was who he was, no matter who or what had launched him upon that path. Wasted potential, certainly, but it was more than that – who was to say that the Joker was the distortion, and not Jack himself? Who was to say which was the true face?

They both were.

Goodbye, Jack.

Anna

Closing the card, she slipped it inside the envelope, wondering for the umpteenth time why she was doing this. She flipped the envelope to its face, the swallow on the stamp seeming too cheery for a message of such tone and import. The pen scratching on the off-white paper, she inked in the asylum's address, not too far from her old home in the Narrows. Her tongue sliding along the flap – a jolt running through her as she thought of his own upon scarred lips – she pressed the seal closed.

The loudspeaker crackled to life, and the heads of the half-filled terminal jerked upward to listen.

Flight 401 was boarding at Gate 14.

Gaze flicking to her ticket, Anna sighed, reaching into her pocket to summon two tens and a five. Drinks at the airport were ridiculously overpriced; no doubt Jack would have had something to say about that, some jab along the lines of too much piss for too much money. A grimace taking hold of her lips, she pushed back from the bar, reaching for her carry-on.

Well this was it; this was the chance to run away, to leave, to start anew.

Pleasant for a dream, but a lie all the same.

Her heels clicking on the tile, she sighted a mailbox and strolled towards it, pushing the envelope into the gaping maw of the beast. Perhaps it would reach him, perhaps it wouldn't – either way, she had a feeling he didn't need a letter to occupy his thoughts. He certainly didn't need one to know her own.

Memories flowed through her mind, like a sluiceway recently opened. That damn Italian restaurant, first kiss, their wedding day, the honeymoon spent on a rooftop garden, the first time they ever whispered I love you in the dark. The first time she gambled, making love, seeing his smile outlined against cold cement and a flowerpot in the window. Their games, controlling and being controlled, the kisses that would follow, the comfortable silences and the rush of words. Her scarring and then his, hearing the slam of the door, living day by day in an unfamiliar city, missing his familiar grin.

That was it.

Living day by day in an unfamiliar city, missing Jack's familiar grin and hating it all the same.

Joining the flow of humanity, she walked silently and surely towards the Gate, a coldness seeping throughout her chest. In the crowd of westward-bound pilgrims, she would have never guessed that a representative shadow, an impromptu sentry, trailed behind her dark form, a sentry that would watch and wait for his master's command. Two eyes never left her back, and would never leave it, filing away each detail until the time it was needed.

And it would be needed, not someday but some day. The shadow knew it and she knew it, miles away, a man counted on it.

So she walked, silently and surely, on.

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A/N: And... there it is! Just a bit of a tidbit, Gordon said in the first chapter that sleep was the great equalizer, and all he wanted was for the Joker to be sedated behind bars. I wanted to end with that, since I opened with it. She is leaving on a plane for an implied city, with no intentions of returning. Jack, however, has made it clear some day he will join her, though I don't intend to write a sequel about that.

Life doesn't come with concrete endings... however, I would love to hear your opinion on this one. Please, even if you hated it!

Acknowledgements:

My wonderful and constant reviewers, to name but a few: NicolinaN, butterflye, TriniLi, Harlequin Sequins, Dragonsinger13, Hordepally, PoorHuni, BleedingForYou, TheDisasterousChibi, nightingaleraven, Incarnate009, honeycreatures, ScarlettWaters, sparrowed, WornOutDancingShoes, AngelofaJedi, SylarsBitch, xxJokersgirlxx, Jenn, Censes, ShatteredBlackHeart, Nelle07, SayuriStang, Halfmoonglasses, among many wonderful others.

Bleeding For You, who helped me out with the more technical aspects of this fic. I am truly indebted to her!

PoorHuni, for being just absolutely marvelous and giving tons of moral support. I couldn't have made it through some of the rougher parts without her.

Harlequin Sequins, whose amazing and intrepid story inspired me to submit my own. She was one of my earliest supporters, and I thank her.

And to everyone who has read or reviewed this story, I thank you from the bottom of my heart!

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I am asking that if you have read my story, please comment on it, even if you hated it. Please just say something if you read this chapter, as it is the last. PLEASE REVIEW.