A/N: Thank you guys for being patient with me and sticking around! I really enjoy reading the reviews and PM's. It helps light a fire under my ass to keep going. I only have chapters 14-17 to pretty up, and this story will finally be the way I wanted it. 'Tsuyaku' is still a project, but I have someone helping to work out the kinks and tenses. 'Knives and Cherry Blossoms' is in its infancy stage and I have quite a few ideas for that one. I appreciate the support and hope everyone likes this new update. It turned out a little longer than I expected, to be honest. I'm going to try updating my stories once a week since I have extra time on my hands.

"Unbelievable…" Jeremiah almost doesn't trust his own eyes as he walks down another hall. The respirator mask is secure and the straps a little tighter than necessary, but he won't take any chances. Not in this facility. There are all kinds of patients, and sometimes the fumes aren't enough to get the job done. Well, maybe two or three of them.

This doesn't make any sense. Did the patients break out just to kill a few guards? Why didn't any try to escape in the chaos? That's what typically happens in these circumstances. Do the patients have that much anger towards the staff? It's been made abundantly clear to the asylum head… Everything needs to change, and he's willing to do just that.

"That's right! Once they see what you're trying to do, they'll be on their knees thanking you for all your hard work and dedication. You're the only one who has the guts to help everyone the way they need, but not how they deserve. That's for sure!"

Perhaps Victor is right in that aspect. Someone has to take the reins and lead this asylum in a new direction. Otherwise, more nights like this will occur. That can't happen. How will rehabilitation ever be a possibility for the patients if the ones leading the way aren't able to keep them safe from each other and themselves?

'I have to do something…'

The asylum is down seven guards, nine patients were killed and that's not counting the wounded. There hasn't been an atrocity like this in a few years. Not all in one night, at least. It's inexcusable and humiliating that his staff were taken by surprise. This entire situation is gnawing at him, and that in itself is worrisome. He's a doctor, the head of this facility, and a longtime believer in the field of psychology. If he can't hold it together, what will become of Arkham Asylum? Or his patients?

Trying to shake off the anxious thoughts, Jeremiah takes a sharp right into the security room. His brows furrow, taking in the door that's off its hinges and leaning up against a wall. Is this what took Cash so long to set off the fumes?

The Head of Security is sitting at a booth in front of dozens of screens, tapping away with his fingers and hook. The remaining guards are scouring the halls for any stragglers and trying to salvage anyone or anything they can with the medics. The entire facility was turned upside down in only an hour… The biggest catastrophe, since his uncle was head.

Taking a seat next to Cash, he lets out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. Most of the bodies have already been found, as were the instigators behind this entire mess. To be honest, this whole fiasco smells of the Joker's doing. That's exactly what he thought while standing out in front of the building. It falls in line with his previous actions and history over the years.

To everyone's bewildered surprise, he was still locked in his cell, sleeping soundly. Naturally, he was quite skeptical about the clown's hand in all this, yet him staying in confinement is completely out of character. Each time he's pulled anything that can be considered a 'big move', Joker is usually found with the other unconscious patients, if at all. Not once when a riot or breakout has occurred, did the staff ever find him where he's supposed to be.

'Perhaps, Harleen is right. Did hell freeze over? Is there a possibility that the 'Clown Prince of Crime' is serious about rehabilitation? He could've left, but didn't try to. No one knew when the fumes were going off, so it's not like he positioned himself that way. I don't know, anymore…'

Scratching the back of his head in agitation, Jeremiah feels like he's starting to lose his grip over this entire place. If the patients believe they can get away with pulling something like this, they'll try it again.

"What about the cameras?" Glancing at Cash, the older man sighs in exasperation. Motioning towards the screen, the guards slaps his hook down against the counter. He's been at this for a while, becoming more frustrated with each intentional glitch found. The security system is like an irreplaceable member of the staff that keeps an eye on the patients and records everything. They need it up and running right away, more than ever.

"The damn thing's on a constant loop. There's nothing. Looks like Humphry was telling the truth about all this. I still can't believe he woke up so quickly, after breathing those fumes in. Must be the weight..." Lifting his hook up, Cash starts tapping against the keyboard again, trying to get the system back on and functioning properly. It's a godsend that he knows how to work it since Jeremiah is tech-illiterate when it comes to programming. He's always preferred the old-fashioned way of doing things.

"I see. This is an embarrassment for the entire facility… We can't let this get out or the media will be all over it. Let's try to keep this quiet." There have been calls for shutting the asylum down, even since the incident with his uncle. When Amadeus fell into insanity, the entire place was thrown into chaos with inmates escaping and the building catching on fire.

The negative impact it's had on the city can't be put into words, and no one lets the current head forget it. He's not his uncle, and this facility is run much differently from back then. Three years later and people still keep comparing them, saying it's only a matter of time before he also falls into the same fit of madness.

"I don't know if that's possible. All my men have families and there's no guarantee they'll stay silent about this. Questions are gonna be asked and people will demand answers." Cash isn't wrong, but he's forgetting what city this is. It's Gotham. Many of the patients that were killed or injured don't have relatives left and the ones that do, typically refuse to have any contact with them. Only the employee's families might be an issue. Most people turn a blind-eye when serial killers or criminals are killed, and this place is filled to the brim with them.

"Let me handle that." The guard throws him a puzzled look, but he ignores it. There's no need to hash out the details right now. They have enough to deal with as it is. "I'm thinking about bringing in Strange and Sharp…"

"What?! You can't be serious!" Pushing away from the counter, the dark-skinned man's eyes are wide in shock. It's no surprise, to be honest. This is the reaction he expected from him about the news. "Not them. Anyone but those two. They were let go when your uncle still ran this place. He had a hard time dealing with them."

"I understand your concern, but I'm not my uncle. We're understaffed now, and a heavy hand is exactly what we need at the moment. The patients are getting out of control and this is the chance to show them how serious we are." Sitting outside of the asylum, Jeremiah already made up his mind about the situation and no one will change it. The current guards have already shown they're not up for the task.

Drastic times call for drastic measures. It's not that he likes the idea of having to bring in reinforcements, but will use any means to keep Arkham up and running. This is all for the patients, and ensuring the road to rehabilitation is still possible.

"That's just the thing! No one has the discipline to do what needs to be done anymore. They just don't get it.

No one truly understands his position and what he's trying to accomplish, but they will. Sooner than later. If the patients want to act like children and spit his efforts back into his face, then so be it. They must be put in time-out and punished. Once they realize the error in their ways, things will run smoothly. Perhaps that's how he should've been all along. If his work with the Joker is anything to go by, that might be the only way.

The bad children will be given a heavy dose of 'care' and the behaved ones can have a reward. If the delinquents see how good life can be if they conform and obey, they may reconsider their behaviors. He never became a father, but this asylum is his child, filled with little ones that need guidance.

'Sometimes, a father needs to use a belt once in a while to make them behave…'

Cash almost seems at a loss for words, slack-jawed, and his eyes still wide. He doesn't quite understand either, but that's okay. Once he sees the fruits of their labor, it'll all become clear. In the meantime, the facility will need more staff and a different quality of them. If one of their own guards willingly aided the patients in a raid, then he has to be careful with the next lot that comes in.

It's still a shock that Harold went to Humphry's cell and let him loose. If it was any other patient, Jeremiah wouldn't have believed a word that came from their mouth. The large man has been useful in feeding the staff information, despite his simple-minded nature. He accurately described the guard and saw his name-tag. An inmate has no access to key cards or could've interfered with the security systems like this.

To think, one of their own was behind this mess. That only makes the entire situation far worse. It's not a secret that Harold loathed the patients, but to do all this? Was it to get them to murder each other? Possibly get back at the asylum for some slight? No one can question him now since his actions resulted in his own death. One of the patients, Jeremy Todd, killed him and hid the body beneath his bed.

'Disgraceful…'

"So, what took so long to get into here?" Glancing towards the door, that's one of the few questions on his mind that can be answered at the moment. He wanted to ask earlier, but there was so much going on, it just seemed inconsequential.

Cash clicks his tongue, grimacing in annoyance. Dark eyes flicker at the entrance as he leans back in the chair, crossing his arms. The hook is close to digging into his bicep, but Jeremiah says nothing about it, knowing the subject's a sore spot.

"Some asshole caulked the door shut. I don't know how anyone was able to get that much in or had enough time to apply it. Took me almost fifteen minutes to open the damn thing. At least, I think it's caulk… Either way, I had one hell of a time getting through."

This is fun. He doesn't know why, but it is. Maybe it's this godforsaken place or all the shock therapy has finally fried his brain to a crisp. Either way, it doesn't really matter at this moment.

Sakura seems to be enjoying herself too if that stupid grin is anything to go by. Why does she look so goddamn happy? This isn't a big deal… Is this all it takes to satisfy Her Majesty?

'Stupid woman…'

Joker can't wrap his brain around it and that pisses him off. This was only supposed to be something to throw the pinkette off balance and let her guard down, that way he can get some answers. There's a million of them coating his tongue and lounging around in his mind, but are being too careful to come out. The mood needs to be set and everything prepared beforehand. If they lunge out at the wrong time, then what he's searching for will retreat into the shadows and be on high-alert.

Music, check. Room to move, check. Surprising the little witch, check. It's all here. Once she slowly starts descending the dirt steps into the hole he spent time digging, that's when the blade hidden in his jumpsuit can come out to play. There are several ways to get people talking that don't include carving into them. Occasionally, he comes across a person with an extra thick layer of skin, and chipping his precious knives doesn't seem too appealing.

And this woman is crafted from titanium.

It's a strange thing that's happening. There's no one being beaten or broken, at least in this hall. He's not in the midst of some ingenious plot that will bring Gotham to its knees. Batman isn't throwing those heavy fists at his face or torso. No goons are being ordered around, while he cackles at their submissiveness. Nothing's going to explode or be torched at the moment…

So, what makes this entertaining?

Joker tries to mull it over as he twirls her around again, but keeps drawing a blank. He rarely looks for any rationale behind his own motives or actions. This is a situation he created and pushed for, yet it's not having the anticipated results.

As expected, Sakura didn't see this coming. He knew she wouldn't, especially taking his personality into account. Dancing doesn't exactly fit into the whole 'terrorizing the city' concept, but as a man of many talents, he enjoys proving people wrong.

What better way to throw to a person off then doing something completely out of character? There are so many secrets he wants to drag out of this woman. How will he effectively control her, without having a manual to refer to? If she's going to become a tool to use at his disposal, then it's a necessary evil. That's what he tells himself, anyway. Perhaps there's a little curiosity in the mix too, but he doesn't give a shit.

How does her ability work? Why are all the restraints so useless? What's the point of staying locked up in this hellhole for years? How can she walk on walls and so silently at that? Where does she come from? It's obvious the pinkette's not from Gotham. That became clear from their conversations. On a few rare occasions, he's picked up a very slight accent, but she covers it up quickly and never answers any questions. It only makes finding the answers more tempting.

That's what this whole ruse was supposed to be about. Women are more willing to open up and reveal themselves when they feel comfortable and safe, especially when doing something 'intimate', per se. Using a heavy-hand, the way he usually does with men, won't work here. The clown has enough experience tinkering with people's minds to understand that psychological manipulation isn't a 'one size fits all' process and it's necessary to employ various methods of approach, depending on the person and circumstances.

Unlike any of the women he's dealt with, Sakura's very different. Most end up telling him anything he wants to know with only a glare or looming over them. He's tall with broad shoulders and isn't against using that to his advantage. Feeling small and insignificant is the first step to breaking them down if the initial shock of his appearance doesn't do the trick. When they're afraid and vulnerable, chicks become desperate to find protection and security. Searching for some kind of warm blanket or arms to wrap around them and to know they'll be okay…

That's not the case with him and that knowledge only speeds up the process of interrogation. They quickly understand there's not an ounce of empathy or warmth in him and start talking to avoid what comes next. The clown likes to think of himself as an equal opportunist, and the good citizens of Gotham learned that the hard way. All deserve the chance of receiving his attention, men, and women. It wouldn't be fair in these modern times to treat an entire gender differently, because of what's between their legs. No. People are people, no matter what they have or identify as, and all have the chance to meet the knife equally. Race, gender, religion, sexuality, nationality, political views… None of that shit matters. Everyone's skin weeps blood the same way.

'Heh.'

Joker can't pull that shit with this one and knows it. He's already tried intimidation and threats, but that's useless with her. The same way that carving into her is practically pointless. She'll just heal it right away and beat the crap out of him for doing it. Tying her to a chair will be next to impossible and there are currently no useful weapons on him, besides his tongue. A wise man plays on his strengths, not weaknesses. If he can't physically force her to submit, then there are other options available. No matter who they might be, women are suckers when it comes to their emotions and heart. That can't be helped, it's in their nature.

Obviously, 'what's-his-name' left a gaping hole in the pinkette's chest and that will be the point of entry. When his fingers can get through the crack in that impenetrable armor to wrap his hand around that useless organ, he'll be able to control her. The thought of how much fun they can have throughout the city makes his blood sing. Nothing will stop him and the Bat won't have any choice, but to come out and play. No one just walks away from the Joker and leaves it at that.

No one.

When he spins her back, Sakura smiles so wide and unabashed, the clown almost misses a step. For a split-second, it takes him off guard and that's not meant to happen. No. This is about easing her into the mood to start talking before Cash gets into the control room and fumigates the entire asylum. The sight causes him to swallow hard and glare at a pane of glass they go by, preferring it to the expression she's making.

She's genuinely enjoying doing this with him and it's what he wanted, but eliciting a loathsome response. He can't remember if anyone's ever looked at him that way before. It causes the tick in his eye to act up and that annoys him. The witch picks up on the flow and rhythm quickly, just as he expected. From observing her throughout the weeks, it's clear she's light on her feet and graceful. Sneaking up on him without making a sound is a feat most can never hope to accomplish. She managed to do it while dragging a corpse along.

'Un-fucking-believable.'

Joker already said he plans on keeping her and he's not sure what she took it as. Getting into that little pink head is an arduous task, but one he's up for. From the way she's responding to him, the pinkette might've taken it the wrong way. She's only a tool to be used and abused, whichever he feels like doing at the time. Anything else is a figment of her twisted imagination.

Sakura moves fluidly, almost like a wisp of smoke that can disappear at any moment. It causes his grip to tighten, so this doesn't end too soon. She didn't want to do this anyway, yet still followed through with it. He's not sure why, but does that really matter?

When she twirls and he pulls her back, her face brightens up and it's staggering. Heat licks just beneath the surface of his skin and he tries to strangle it as quickly as possible. Tension makes his muscle strain against the orange fabric of his jumpsuit and it makes some of his movements a little jerky. With a grunt, he cracks his neck to release some of it, before those sharp green eyes notice. Turns out to be useless, since it keeps building itself back up.

The dark pit in his sockets are rebellious little shits that revel in doing as they please, just like their owner. It's the grime on the walls that he wants to stare at, but his eyes have different plans. They trail back towards Sakura's face, carefully studying her features. For a brute, she has soft and delicate features that most women would hope to possess. If her outer appearance matched what's inside, she'd definitely look like King Kong. It causes people to underestimate her, himself included, but that can be quite an advantage if wielded properly.

'She just needs a push in the right direction. I could own everything from Gotham to Midway with her by my side.'

His eyes narrow at the thought. What does he want? All his focus has been on showing this city its true face and having fun along the way, but apart from that? Looking beyond his own plans is never something he pays any mind to. What's the point when death can burst through the door at any given moment?

For the last eight years, life has been all about fulfilling his own desires and acting on any sudden urges. Don't get him wrong, he plans everything very meticulously for a man 'without a plan', and is goal-oriented with an overzealous drive that pushes him forward. He wants to see blood? Someone weeps if for him, even if it's unwillingly. Needs to get off? There are a few options to answer the call. Doesn't like the architecture of a building? It's gone by morning…

Reason is something he's never looked for in anything, other than to figure others out. Joker definitely doesn't apply that concept to himself or any random acts he commits. It's something he's always rejected and tried to snuff out.

And yet…

When those bright green eyes gaze up at him, he tries to find some sensible rationalization in them. Why does she look at him that way? What is she seeing that makes that stupid, quirky grin widen like that? It leaves an unrecognizable heavy sensation in his chest. He doesn't find it unpleasant, just bothersome. Not understanding something drives him up a wall.

This whole 'dance-thing' wasn't meant to be fun, only a different way of information gathering. That's it. However, the longer they do it, the more he finds himself not wanting to stop. Her hand feels so small in his, yet he's seen it make a crater in a cement wall using someone's body. Instinctively, he keeps his back straight to show her the difference in their size as a subconscious form of intimidation. That doesn't matter, and she couldn't care less. The witch is only humoring this farce because she wants to. Nothing is stopping her from tearing away and going back to J-block, where she belongs for now. Knowing that only fans the flames of his ego so high, they can probably incinerate this entire building if it takes on a physical form.

When she stares off and becomes lost in her own thoughts, it sends him reeling. The clown knows that look, the one where a person's brooding over 'something else' and that makes him angry. This is about getting answers, not fucking daydreaming. He took the time to set this up and kindly teach her the moves, then she's not even going to pay attention to him?

How disrespectful… He feels the urge to slap her across the face and drag that pretty little mind back where it belongs, but holds back. That won't accomplish anything, except ending the night earlier than he'd like. There's not much time left until Cash and Jerry do their thing and he wants to make every minute count.

When he finally has her attention back on him and decides to start their little game, she doesn't seem too enthused. For some reason, it agitates him more than it should. That doesn't matter and he can think about it later when sitting alone in his cell with nothing to do and no one to bother him.

Instead of initiating the entire point of this little shindig, they keep moving and he can't find where to start anymore. It was all there, resting right on the tip of his tongue. He can taste the barbs and poison coating the surface, ready to come out. This is exactly what he wanted, right? So why isn't anything happening? Staring at her face, the anger that's constantly coiling right beneath his skin starts to wane, leaving him puzzled and frustrated. His eyes trail towards her mouth, remembering that she kissed him earlier.

Why?

Joker knows what he wants from her, but not the other way around. What does this woman desire or looking for in him? Is she just lonely? Then again, Harold was around and the other guards and she could've used them to fill that empty void. The witch is insufferable and he doesn't like what she brings out in him. She makes him act like a fool and think about shit that has no business bouncing around in his mind.

Watching the subtle movements of her lips, he recalls how they felt against his. They're smooth and warm, more so than his imagination can cook up in the late nights. He groans in annoyance knowing that his dreams will adjust to the newly discovered texture.

Having someone near his mouth causes the alarms to blare in his head and instincts kick in to get them away. Last time a person was that close, his face was carved open. Joker doesn't like anything being even an inch near his scars, let alone touching them. The witch could tear them open with her fingers, like ripping apart a piece of cheese and think nothing of it. She hasn't done that yet and seems content with just touching them for some wicked reason.

"I like the monster you already are and don't want to change any of it. I know what we both are and so do you... We're not the good guys in this story."

Joker's never heard something so ridiculous before. That's the first time anyone said they like him being this way and doesn't want to change anything. Most people harp on about rehabilitation and integrating into society, especially Jerry and Harley. They've made it their personal mission to transform him into someone entirely different.

Why does he want to conform and join the scum that has always rejected his existence? That treat everyone that doesn't fit into the pretty little mold the masses have created like they're insane? The city chewed him up and spit the leftovers out on the sidewalk, then stepped over him without a second thought. All because he doesn't think or believe the lies that are force-fed from the top brass? Over a facial disfigurement? Even if given the chance, he wouldn't get rid of his scars. They bring out people's true nature and serve as a constant reminder of what this world truly is.

If refusing to be like everyone else is considered insanity, then call him Chief Nut, because he's not falling for it. He'll stay this way, until his dying breath, whether it's fifty years from now or ten seconds. Death or abuse is worth staying true to himself and not picking up what society's putting down.

Is that how this woman feels too? Can that be the reason she stays locked in a pen all these years because she refuses to be what someone else is trying to force on her?

'Hmm…'

Sakura likes his scars, which is really weird, but that's not a problem. Weird is his middle name. He can tell by the way she looks at them. Most people react in a variety of the same ways, either disgust or fear, but this woman isn't scared of anything it seems. It feels strange when her lips brush against them or she traces the jagged marks with her fingers. The fact that he enjoys it makes him angry.

Joker doesn't want to desire anything. Not people, or sensations, and definitely not a certain future. There's never been a need for a path to form itself for him to walk down. Life has always revolved around violence with random splashes of hilarity. He doesn't believe in fate or some higher cause above trudging through murky water and seeing where it takes him. His soul is bathed in blood and created from napalm, ready to explode on a whim with anger so hot, it burns black.

That's how he feels as he stares at her lips. She's the distraction he never wanted, yet can't get away from. Even when the guards carted her off to J-block and he finally had the solitude he craved, it didn't stop. Not the barrage of thoughts, emotions, or those pesky dreams. They just keep going and it's driving him mad. The silence was deafening and only fueled his violent tendency to lash out. Killing Harold and the fake Jerry helped a little, but it wasn't enough.

An unbearable urge kept tugging on him to make the trek upstairs, to go and see the little witch that cast a spell on him. The clown's not entirely sure what it might be. Is it her magic? Maybe he just lusts after her and doesn't realize it? Does he want to talk to another person who gets it? Or perhaps it's something else, entirely. Who knows? This entire thing started as a little game to see who can piss the other off the most and which one will die first.

Now, Joker's not even sure what to call whatever this is between them. He and Sakura are definitely not friends, yet they're not exactly enemies either. It's strange to find himself wanting to be around her, whether it's tossing around insults or just sitting on the floor, talking about nonsense. He can't remember when he's honestly enjoyed a person's company without any pretenses. Part of him will always be cautious, it's in his nature and that'll never change. At the same time, another side begrudgingly feels that he can relax around her and that a blade won't tear into his back when he's not looking. If Sakura's going to hurt him in any way, he's fairly confident that she'll do it to his face.

The idea that he might be able to trust someone is laughable in itself. People will always disappoint, even if they don't mean to. If he lets her scale those walls he built up throughout the years, it might be the biggest regret of his life. Why is he letting this happen?

Sakura might be asking him a question, but he's too distracted. Those disobedient little bastards in his sockets he wants to gouge out keep staring at her lips. They're soft, just like he imagined, and feel heavenly rubbing up against his scars. The muscle in his cheek jumps at the thought and his body stiffens at the idea forming. The pinkette does whatever she pleases, so why can't he? Would it really hurt just to let himself get lost for a little while? To enjoy something that he doesn't necessarily have to break?

Nope. Nope. Fucking nope.

Biting harshly into the scar tissue lining his mouth, Joker feels his heart turning cold and mean. A nasty sensation blossoms in his chest that fills him with contempt, and he's not sure who it's directed towards—himself or Sakura. This is all her fault, but also his own for willingly surrounding himself with this bullshit. She needs to go before he can't stop this train ride to hell.

Swallowing hard, his eyes trail down towards her neck. So pale and smooth, his hands can easily wrap around it without a single issue. After the first time he tried killing her, Joker can't forget the feel of it beneath his fingers. How soft her skin is, the warmth and contours, or the pulse pounding away under his touch. The clown wants to forget it all, and he'll try to make that happen.

It's that same train of thought that pushes him to reach for it, hoping to strangle her and forcing this to end. He refuses to become a jester for the 'Queen's' entertainment and being led down a path of her choosing. She's driving herself into his brain with the subtly of using a sledgehammer to nail in a railroad spike and he doesn't have her gorilla strength to dislodge it.

'Sakura needs to die or I won't stop.'

Getting ready to lunge, Joker freezes when he realizes what's happening from one look at his sleeve. Purple… Glancing down, the orange jumpsuit is completely gone, and he's wearing the infamous suit that Gotham dreads. Furrowing his brows, he looks back up to the pinkette, but she's still in the same clothes.

'I haven't seen her in anything else, yet.'

Sakura smirks and grabs his gloved hand, giving it a small tug. She wants to lead him somewhere, away from the prying eyes behind the glass. It didn't escape his notice that Victor was peeking from his cell when they glided by. The clown knows he still has plans on murdering her, especially from the looks he gives whenever she goes by. Nothing escapes Joker's attention, but Vicky's in for a sad awakening. He's not going to let anyone try to steal his thunder or fun by taking the witch away. She's his to do anything he wants with, whether it's killing or tormenting. Even back in the day, he's never been the kind of man that shares, and that won't change anytime soon.

'This is a dream? I don't get it. When did it start? Oh, well… Fuck it.'

It doesn't really matter at this point. Nothing can be done about it, besides going with the flow. Until someone or something wakes him up, this is it and that's fine. They come all the time anyway, and he's starting to find himself enjoying it. In this world, he can do or be whatever he wants and it won't impact reality in any way.

Joker can have an endless bloodbath with that Bat and no matter times he kills or tortures him, the real one is still out there, waiting to be dragged from his cave. Gotham can be burnt to the ground dozens of times over and ready for another go when he returns. Sakura… He can screw Sakura every which way, without dealing with any awkwardness or expectations when his eyes open. This plane is his playground, even if he doesn't always control the scenarios or what unfolds. Whether it becomes a nightmare or a dream is out of his hands, but he always likes the unpredictable nature of this place.

"Come on…" Sakura gives him another tug and he follows, wanting to see what'll happen this time. His eyes watch her hair sway back and forth as she leads him down the hall, taking note of how it reaches halfway down her back. It's the perfect length to wrap around his fist and still have some slack to pull on.

Where ya, ah, takin' me, doll?" She throws him a side glance and her lips curl up into a grin. He knows that look and smirks, feeling the energy pulsing through him. Within seconds, they're right in front of his cell and he resists the urge to grimace. He spends all day here as it is and was hoping to go somewhere a little more… exciting. Well, at least he'll have company this time.

Stepping into the small cell, it's strange to be wearing his suit in here. No matter how many times he's been dragged in this place, it's always in whatever soiled outfit the guards toss on.

Letting go of his hand, the pinkette smiles, and moves in close enough that he can smell her sweet scent over the asylum's repugnant stench. Reaching up, her fingers feel along the front of his green waistcoat, ghosting over the fabric and the folds of his purple trench coat. She seems fascinated by it, studying and taking in the textures with relish. This is the first time in his sleep that he's worn this around her. Leaning in, her nose grazes the material covering his chest and he can't take his eyes away from what she's doing, almost like he's entranced.

"You smell like gasoline… and fire." Joker blinks at the soft words, watching her burying her face against his chest and breathing him in. The corner of his mouth quirks up, trying to ignore the pleasant sensation shooting through him. It starts right beneath the spot where she's laying her head and spreads out everywhere, all the way to his fingertips and toes.

'Better that than shit, I guess…'

Dainty hands run up along his pecs, massaging the rigid muscles with devote attention, trying to ease the tension that's constantly running through him. He likes this version of her the best. It's never clear which one he'll get until the first few minutes. Sometimes it's the kinky sadistic one or submissive masochist, then there's the mean witch, the adventurer that wants to run around the city and get into trouble, and also the woman who wants to please him. Each is delectable in their own way, but the latter is his favorite so far. She's a little mix of the others, all wrapped into one tempting little body. The difference is that she does things the others aren't willing to do.

They trail up towards his shoulders, pushing the coats out of the way and letting them drop onto the floor. He doesn't care, it's only a dream. A groan spills from his ruined mouth from the hands kneading his neck and shoulders, trying to work the knots out. She always has to get on her toes to do it, but he kind of likes how she goes out of her way to do it.

"Does that feel good?" He deftly nods at the question, letting his eyes flutter close. These dreams are so vivid, it's hard to tell what's real or not anymore. The asylum really needs to chill out with how much medication they're handing out like candy. The last time he was here, it wasn't even this bad. Typically, his dreams are just soaring through pitch-black darkness with nothing and no one around.

"How about you sit down? I can take care of you better that way." Peeking from under one of his heavy lids, Joker sees her smirking and grabbing onto his wrist, trying to lead him towards the bed. He wants to set that goddamn mattress on fire, but it can wait. This is more entertaining and revenge can hold off until later.

Plopping down on the edge, the muscle in his cheek jumps as she steps in the large space between his knees. He always sits like that, whether it's in jail or just lounging around. When Sakura starts fiddling with the buttons on his waistcoat, he swallows hard and tries to think about what to do with his hands. They're caught between resting on his thighs and snatching her, but he wants to see what she plans on doing to him this time.

It only takes her a few moments to get it completely off of him, before loosening his tie and starting on his purple dress shirt. Each button reveals the tan, marred chest beneath it and she gently presses her lips against his warm skin, leaving a scorching trail on her way down. Joker lets out a heavy breath, reaching forward to twist a stray pink lock between his fingers, reveling in the silky texture.

Yep, he definitely likes this version of her. It the closest he imagines to the real one. The difference is that there's no need for games or fronts, and neither is trying to drag anything out of the other. Granted, it's mostly him that pulls that shit in reality, but who cares? This is his little world and nothing matters.

"Did you miss me?" Sakura looks at him from under those long lashes and he purses his lips. Why would she ask something like that? Glancing at the strands in his fingers, he's not sure what to say. At least this won't affect anything or be repeated, so whatever.

"What do ya think?" The pinkette seems to like that answer from the way she's grabbing his belt and yanking it off. This version is always so eager, even if she takes her time. It's hard for him to sit there and not lash out, but he can hold himself back occasionally. Some asshole once said that 'patience is a virtue', and that's how it plays out best here.

"I think you did. I know I missed you. I'm glad you're home." Joker's brow furrows as his eyes flicker around the small area. Home? Is she fucking nuts? Arkham will never be that or his place of residency. Unless that's not what she was referring to. Does she mean with her? That she's home? He doesn't even know what that is, let alone feels like. Before, he thought a shoddy apartment might be that, but realized it's only a roof over his head.

'What's home?'

It sounds foreign, just like her name. The clown hasn't put much thought into that word in years. It might've meant something in a different lifetime, but he barely remembers anymore. A man from long ago had strange ideas about creating one, maybe even having someone waiting there for him. It used to be a dream, not unlike the one he's experiencing now.

A house that was all his, where no one can tell him what to do. It didn't have to be big or anything, just as long as he can have his privacy and the neighbors minded their own fucking business. Whenever he walked through the front door, there's always a certain person that's elated to see him and ask how his day's been. He'd complain about this bastard or another screwing something up and him having to fix it. They would listen and laugh at the gruff, unapologetic way he talks and genuinely care about what's being said, instead of pretending to. A quiet life he can call his own, where nothing's trying to run or being taken away. Having some confidence in knowing it'll still be there when he turns his head and looks back. That everything won't be on fire and burnt to ashes the moment he lets his guard down.

Life like that doesn't exist.

Anger starts brewing inside and Joker grimaces. Why the hell does that have to pop up now of all times? Those stupid ideas should've died with Jack, along with the sentimentality he strangled long ago. It's this woman's fault. She brings out the kind of foolishness he despises the most.

Those thoughts come to a standstill when she unzips his pinstriped pants. This is one of the things he hates about her the most. She has an intolerable way of sidetracking him and pulling some of those malevolent feelings right out of him. Everything about her either calms the storm or makes it worse. The fact that she can have any sway over that should be enough to murder her right here, right now.

"Relax." It comes out in a breathy whisper, not like the commands she usually enjoys giving. The clown's tongue snakes out to prod the rough skin around his mouth, as the tension in his muscles wanes. It's only a dream, so there's no reason to get worked up. Satisfied with the results, she leans forward to kiss the skin exposed by his open dress shirt, giggling when he instinctively flexes beneath the soft touch.

'I hate her.'

Despite thinking that, Joker still smirks. That fades quickly when she finishes unzipping his pants and pulls him free. Biting the inside of his lip, he watches her in anticipation as she ghosts her fingers along his length, practically marveling at the weight in her hand. He's about to tell her to stop teasing him, but it's almost like she already knows.

"Shit…" Sweat already starts forming on his brow when she wraps her lips around the tip, slowly taking him into her mouth. It's a sweet kind of torture the clown's not opposed to. He forces himself to sit there and take it, until that moment comes where patience flies right out the window, along with what's left of his sanity. If it was ever any there to begin with…

Dark eyes watch the pinkette working her way down his shaft, inch by inch. Her mouth is warm and wet, and he groans in appreciation. Fingers deftly reach out to bury themselves in her hair, giving a little tug. She moans at the small act and the vibrations send a jolt through his body.

He likes seeing Sakura this way, and there's no reason not to admit it in this world. The witch on her knees, trying to force his cock down her throat, as if her sole purpose in life is to pleasure him… She's not doing it for some sort of gain, the way a prostitute or escort does.

There's a huge difference between a woman executing a service and a real performance. The end of this battle doesn't result in money, jewelry, or raising any position. There's no one to answer to or beat her if she doesn't live up to expectations and he's not satisfied. None of that bullshit that's an everyday occurrence on the streets. She's only doing this because she wants to, and that's all there is to it. Knowing that only makes this infinitely more exciting.

The 'Queen' is working so hard for him, using her hands to stoke what can't fit in. It's not his fault the only things he's blessed with are a sharp mind and a big dick. She's going to have to deal with both, and he'll enjoy watching her try.

"That's it." Joker strokes her cheeks as it hollows out, relishing in the way her mouth is so full of him. She keeps eye contact the entire time, and it's impressive. Most can't hold his gaze anyway, let alone doing it with his cock halfway down their throat.

'Heh.'

His knees are shaking and attempting to get them to stop is completely futile. When one of her hands rests on them, it only serves to make it worse. This woman's touch is electrifying, sending pulses throughout his body. There's a searing fire just beneath the surface that works its way through the clown's limbs and straight to his brain. The muscles in his face twitch as he grimaces, trying to ignore the sweat running down brow and abdomen.

A growl rumbles through his chest when she cups his balls in her palm, gently massaging them. She's in it to finish him, but that's not going to happen. As much as he likes the idea of prying that jaw open to see her mouth full of his cum, there are other things he wants to do tonight. That burning sensation is becoming unbearable, and he knows it's too close for comfort.

"C'mere." The fingers in her hair tighten and he yanks the pinkette off the floor. A little squeak is all she can manage when he rips the small woman up and crashes his mouth against hers. There's no resistance and he can feel her smiling against him as he grips her jaw to force it open. The taste of himself on her lips makes him snarl, bringing out the absolute worst inside.

She returns the kiss with as much vigor, biting and tearing at his mouth until red beads form on the rough tissue. A small hand presses against his chest, pulsing and feeling the erratic thrumming under his tan skin. He wants and needs this more than even getting out of this goddamn asylum, and it's that train of thought that has his fingers coiling around her throat.

No, Joker isn't going to strangle her just yet. It's the way her breath stutters beneath the heavy-handed ministrations that's so appealing. Being choked during sex brings a high that can only be matched by blood. He loves it when she cuts him and vice versa, tasting and sharing the fluids that keep them alive. There's something sacred about it in nature and being spilled. The human body does its damn best to keep it inside, but people work twice as hard to release it. The taste of their blood being passed between them is almost enough to get him off alone.

Sakura pulls back, panting and sweating, clinging onto the folds of his dress shirt. He quickly grabs the zipper on her jumpsuit and pulls on it, wanting to reveal the pale skin hidden behind it. His fingers make quick work of it in their impatience and yank on the fabric until it pools around her waist. The frigid air in the asylum already has her nipples hard, unless it's from being turned on. He's not sure but appreciates it either way.

She is a beauty, even if she drives him fucking crazy. There's no denying that, and he doesn't want to. The best part is that he can break her, over and over again, and she can just keep putting herself back together. A slice across the back is gone within seconds, barely giving him enough time to gather a mouthful and let it coat his throat. There's no thinking about the repercussions or possibly ending the fun too soon. Her body is like a playground he can let loose in, whether it's tearing down the slide or leaving his artwork in places only his eyes can see.

Joker pulls the tie over his head and wrenches Sakura's arms behind her back. She arches into him, laying her chin against his shoulder to give him enough room to work. They both already know what he wants, and she's willing to let him have it. His knots are the best in the business and no one can get out of them, except for her. It would only take a moment to use that ridiculous strength to tear the fabric into pieces, but she doesn't and plays along.

"Good girl." He praises with a throaty growl, reveling in the submissive behavior. A small whimper in his ear sends a shiver down his spine as he finishes securing her wrists together. Being dominant over such a monster gives him a satisfaction the clown never realized he wanted until recently. What this world brings is unpredictable and constantly changes. Sometimes, it's him that's tied up and beaten, while the witch rides him all the way to hell. Their positions switch continuously, but his baser-self relishes in being the top dog, no matter the circumstance.

The orange jumpsuit is yanked until it drops to her ankles, leaving Sakura completely bare and vulnerable to his eyes. She doesn't shy away from his gaze and keeps herself there with unwavering confidence. It's no wonder... Day after day, the pinkette's forced to show it all to the staff whenever she needs anything, whether it's for a shower or physical. That'll change very soon, and everyone that caused it will have their eyes gouged out. He'll make sure of that. Harold and Jerry only had a taste of what's to come.

'When they finally let me in the dining hall, I'll snag a spoon for the occasion.'

Sakura's light, and it takes very little effort to flip her onto the mattress. The pinkette's head rests on his pillow as she pants, arching back when he positions himself behind her. It's one hell of a sight to see everything so exposed and he's drinking it up. Part of him wonders what the real deal's like since this is only his imagination. After all, he didn't get the texture of her lips right until experiencing them for himself.

"J-J…" She breathes out, causing his brow to furrow. It's not the soft plea that confuses him, but the name that came out. J… That's what she called him earlier in the hallway. When Harley says Mr. J, it just doesn't sound right. He doesn't know what he wants these women to call him, but it's starting to aggravate his nerves and it's not clear why.

'Doesn't matter. Just fuck her into the mattress, until she can't walk and needs me to carry her back to J-block…'

Joker shoves two fingers into her to distract himself, watching with rapt attention the way her body trembles at the intrusion. Nothing can keep his mind away from pesky thoughts like screaming and a tight pussy crushing him. He works his way through the muscles trying to push him out, groaning at how wet she already is.

'For me.'

The wonderful fog the witch brings with her starts clouding his mind. It's a welcome reprieve from the consistent labor going on upstairs, like a machine that never turns off. He rarely gets a moment of absolute silence with his brain constantly on overdrive. That's how he operates and always will. It's when he slows down that it'll be the end of him.

Sakura cries out, pulling at the restraints and starting to bite on the pillow when a callused thumb firmly presses down onto her clit. The texture is harsh and unforgiving—he knows—but will make her feel divine in the long run when she's shrieking and cumming on his fingers. The digits inside curl and feel along her walls, trying to drag every sound out. The moans, gasps, and curses… They're like music to his ears and he's the conductor.

The clown freezes when Sakura's movements cause the pillow to shift. No… He has to move her, now. If she sees what's under there, it might give off the wrong idea. Pulling out, the clown latches onto the tie and yanks the pinkette off the mattress and closer towards him. The burning sensation in her arms and shoulders forces her to let go of the dingy pillowcase when she gasps, but he ignores it.

He can only imagine the shit that'll come from her lips if she has the chance to glance at those. That'll completely ruin whatever's left of this dream and be the biggest buzzkill, since Gordon. Nope. Nope. Not happening. Then, he'll have to kill her to cover up this stupid debacle. The real one's still around somewhere, so no big deal.

"J, the knife…" She's panting with her back against his sweaty chest, craning her neck to look up at him. Clicking his tongue, Joker turns to glare at the wall to avoid her gaze. He's overreacting over something completely moronic. Who cares if she sees them, anyway? It's not like this one can tell another soul. Whatever happens here, stays here.

"Yeah, yeah…" It's somewhere on the bed, he knows it. There's always a blade nearby when he wants to use it. He'll just break a few layers to heighten the pleasure by mixing it with pain. They go hand-in-hand, like many things in this world do.

Pain, pleasure. Love, hate. War, peace. Dominance, submission. One ends up leading into the other and vice versa, in a constant struggle to be on top.

'Where is it?'

He keeps a tight hold on her, so she doesn't fall against the mattress. It has to be wrapped up in one of the sheets…

"Mr. J? Mr. J?!" Someone's yelling out his name and banging on the glass. It sounds like there are a few people there if the grumbling is anything to go by.

'Fuck…'

Joker's eyes fly open, and he's completely discombobulated. The New York accent coming from the hall is grating on his ears and he moves his hand around, looking for the knife to silence it.

'That was only a dream.'

The movements still as he blinks, staring up at the filthy ceiling. That's right… It was all a dream. When did it begin? He's sure that he and Sakura were dancing until-

'Did she knock me out when I was going to strangle her?'

That's probably what happened. She's too sharp when it comes to murderous intent, and the fact that he's in bed is proof of that. It also proves the pinkette doesn't want to kill him, either. Why didn't she leave him in the hallway to get screwed with the others? He would've been thrown into the same hall as her, after receiving Jerry's special care. Unless she's not planning on stay up there… Why waste her energy in dragging him back to his cell and making it appear that he was here the whole time?

'Hmm…'

"Mr. J? You're awake… Are you okay?" Harleen's voice is obnoxiously loud and annoying after just waking up. Imagine waking up to that every morning... Too bad for the dumbass that gets stuck with her. She's worse than a goddamn alarm clock. Good thing there isn't a knife in the sheets or he might've cut her throat.

"Gahh!" Joker growls out, pushing himself up on the mattress. His head is still swimming after whatever the witch did to him, but it's not as bad as last time. She must've wanted him to be able to get up and move around. Scratching his forehead, the clown's lips curl up into a grimace. It feels like getting up after a long night drinking and everything's sluggish and heavy.

'Better that, than paralyzed or dead.'

"You were in here the whole time?" The blonde sounds hopeful and he's not sure what's happened after losing consciousness, but he knows what role to play.

"Whole time? Why the hell ya here so damn late? Oh, don't tell me you're feeling lonely and came to visit me? Hmm?" The words bring the exact reaction he's expecting. The doctor's face flushes and she shifts on her feet. There are a few guards with her that are probably hoping to lay into him if there's any confirmation he was part of the mess the asylum turned into. He won't say a damn thing and let whoever they caught take the blame.

"Stop joking around. I'm here because of the incident and wanted to make sure all of my patients are safe." It's a struggle to keep the retorts forming in his head to stay put. She's only here to make sure her pets are safe? Bullshit. A phone call can answer that question, without driving all the way here. He'd put his bottom dollar down that this is the first place she stopped, after talking to good ol' Jerry. The staff might fall for the lame excuses, but he won't.

"What incident? Did the employees throw a party in the staff room and forget to use me as a piñata again?" The people standing outside of his cell cringe as he howls at his own joke. They might not think it's funny, but he finds it hilarious.

"Are you saying that you don't know what Dr. Quinzel is talking about? That you slept through an entire riot?" One of the guards he doesn't recognize steps closer to the glass, getting louder with each passing moment. Of course, he didn't sleep through the entire thing, but technically he was out of it for the ending.

'They call that a fucking riot? Boy, these guys have no idea! Haha!'

"There was a riot, and I missed out? Tch. That's a real shame… Would've been a good time to get some exercise." Joker smiles widely, making sure the guards can all see his teeth. They hate that, and it's always good for a laugh.

"You piece of shit-"

Harleen puts her hand up, effectively stopping the long-winded tirade that's building up. They all already know what's going to follow. 'You piece of shit, so-and-so died. This many people were hurt. Stop laughing, you freak.' Always the same shit spun in a different swirl. He couldn't care less. All their lives are meaningless toys for him to break and tinker with. Not a single person matters to him in the grand scheme of things.

They don't get him, not even a little.

Joker loves what he does and will never stop. He enjoys killing people and destroying everything. It's not some phase that can be changed or a slate that needs to be wiped clean. The blood can stain his hands forever and that's how he wants it to be. This isn't some mental issue that therapy or medication can cure. No. This is who he is. The planning will never stop and violence will always be a part of him.

The look Harleen's giving him only proves that she doesn't get it, either. That stupidly hopeful expression and elation at the thought of him not having a part in what happened. He fucking orchestrated it, and she refuses to even think he might have. Sakura knew right away who was to blame and didn't hesitate to call him out on it. The witch wasn't worried she could've been wrong or that he'd be angry at the accusation because she knows.

'Wait a minute…'

Sakura knocked him out and tossed his ass into bed… She messed with his sheets and positioned his body the way he usually lays down.

Jumping up on the mattress, Joker snatches his pillow up and his eyes fly open. They're gone. His cards aren't there. Swallowing hard, sweat trickles down the side of his forehead and an unfamiliar sensation punches him in the gut.

'No…'

Leaping off the bed, he ignores the looks and questions from the people watching him like an animal at the zoo as he starts searching. The pillowcase is torn off and his eyes quickly dart around. He starts ripping the sheets rip off the mattress and shaking them out.

"What are you doing, clown?" The same gruff guard asks, tapping his nightstick against the glass. There's no time for their bullshit right now.

"Fuck off!"

The useless sheets are thrown to the floor in his haste as anger gets the best of him. Fingers reach down to feel around the bed's frame, in case they might've slipped from him moving around. Not there. He grabs the corner of the mattress and throws it against the wall.

"Mr. J! What are you doing?" The clown wants to tell that bitch to shut the fuck up, but he's too preoccupied. They have to be here, somewhere. Looking at the bare floor, his hands buried themselves in his messy waves, wanting to tear them out from the roots. He yells angrily, kicking the metal edge, without a single care if his toes break.

That bitch not only saw his cards but stole them….

This entire asylum's about to be burnt to the ground.