A/N: Here we are at the last chapter. Hope you like it--please leave a review! Thank you for reading!

Seds

******

What'll it be, Doc? What boring little recital piece shall I perform for you today? How I got these scars? My appalling childhood? Why I think I'm such a head case? Why killing gets me off?

Ah, that one. Heh-heh, struck a nerve, did I? Sex and death, such a winning combination for you shrinks... Listen, they tell me you're pretty good--that would be nice for a change--Arkham doesn't exactly attract top-of-the-line couch doctors, know what I mean?

Hey--would it surpriseyou to know...that murder is an acquired taste?

Well, it was for me. I didn't take to it, not at first. It took a while to appreciate the power. And to get over the--squeamishness. The first time you blast the brain out of someone's head, someone who, a second ago, was looking at you, talking, pleading, sweating... Well, it's a little disconcerting.

A little...sickening.

You get over it.

By the time I was fifteen, I had it down pat.

Is that what you wanted to talk about? No?

Childhood it is, then.

**********

Batman sat at the Joker's bedside. He held a newspaper in his hands, but he couldn't concentrate on what he was reading. Every so often he looked at the Joker's face--odd, he thought. People look so different when they're unconscious. Different even than when they're asleep. Unconscious, the muscles are utterly slack, the skin seems almost translucent, the eyes are still and sunken. Batman glanced around him.

The infirmary nurse was at her desk, going through files or some such busy work. She wasn't looking at them. The infirmary had only one patient--the others had been transferred to a "real" hospital, pending a final judgment as to whether the neutralizing agent would work or not. The word had come down earlier that afternoon--the Joker was finally free of the toxic compound that had somehow been introduced into his bloodstream.

Gotham was safe.

Whether the Joker would survive the after-effects of the infestation--much less its treatment--remained to be seen.

Batman leaned forward and whispered to the unconscious man, "No fun, huh, buddy? No fun at all..." He slipped his hand out of his gauntlet and gently pushed a stray strand of freshly-washed blond hair from the unpainted brow. Without the makeup, the Joker--Jack--looked young and, weirdly, innocent. His expression was blank, untroubled.

Batman glanced behind himself again, and, assured of the nurse's infinite lack of interest, ran two fingers along the brutally scarred cheek, playing alongside the mouth, skirting the respirator tube, down to the strong chin, which he clasped in his hand for a long moment, feeling his warmth. Yes, he was still alive, the three day's growth of beard scratchy under his hand. They hadn't bother to shave him yet, perhaps thinking he'd be dead soon enough, they could leave that little task to the mortician... Concentrating, the Bat pressed his hand against the side of the Joker's neck, trying to send his own energy into the clown's weakened body.

"Wake up, Jack. Just--wake up," he murmured.

No response.

Batman settled back into the chair.

He was waiting.

He'd wait until the clown woke up.

He'd wait forever if he had to.

*********

I don't know what you want from me, Doc, I've told you everything there is to know. Depressed alcoholic mother, disappearing-act father, long-running cast of characters in the way of Mommy's boyfriends, only some of whom were actual pedophiles... Listen, I've always wondered--is it still abuse if you LIKE it? Mm, thought so, thanks for clearing that up.

Aw, hey, I was just kidding. Funny how life is. The first time I stabbed a guy, it was 'cause he wanted me to, you know... He was making me...but now? All I seem to care about is getting back to that. With the Bat, I mean. No one else.

Just him.

Say, Doc, what are you, a Freudian? Jungian, what? Rogerian? Not familiar with his work. Well, they say you go for people who remind you of your mother, you think the Bat reminds me of my mother? Maybe, if she'd been given to going around in an idiotic Kevlar costume, throwing me out of windows, heh heh...Or, if he were given to slitting his wrists and downing whole bottles of tranquilizers on a lovely Friday afternoon.

Yeah, I found her, so what? It was at least the third time, she was such a fuck-up she couldn't even killherself right on the first go-round, I--what? How'd it make me feel? I don't know, Doc, how do you think it made me feel?How do you think it....ah, shit.

...Alone, doc. It made...me feel...alone. There, happy? Are you happy to see my fucking gutsspillin' out all over the floor? Are you...? I--No, don't do that. Don't do that, don't. Don't. Don't call 'em, I'll be good, I'll be good. I told the Bat I'd be good...

Look, I'm tired, I don't want to talk to you anymore. I just want to go back to my room. I just want...I just wanna watch some TV. Hey, what's the time? Ah, ha ha, time for the news, can I watch the news, Doc? I really like the news...

********

No fun...my babe...no fun....

What the fuck...?

No fun...my babe...no fun....

That old song.

No fun to be alone....

Shit.

Alone and by myself....

"This is no fun, all right," he thought grimly.

The Joker came to consciousness with the good old song rattling in his brain. A throwback to the old days, when they played the early stuff--Iggy, the Dolls, the Ramones, Pistols--blasting raw sounds out of a cheap boom box while the dark party degenerated into a sniffing, huffing, shooting, smoking state of oblivion. All brought to you courtesy of one Jack Napier, at your service...

He'd laughed at those fools; it was funny, watching 'em dehydrate their brains with the chemicals, numb their wits with white powder, or infuse their lungs with all-natural mind-altering substances while he picked their pockets, both literally and figuratively. And now here he was, lying in a bed like a chump, unable to move his arms or legs, unable to even open his eyes.

The Joker wantedto open his eyes but there was an elephant sitting on them. Or, maybe it was two separate, smallish elephants, one for each eye... He wanted to cry out, but there was something in his mouth that trailed down into his throat, and he couldn't move his tongue well enough to form a word anyway. Plus, his lips were dried out like nobody's business, cracked, and it hurt to move them.

He felt...broken...

"No fun, huh, buddy?" Something soft brushed across his cheek, gently following the lines of his scar. The pleasure of the gentle caress hit him square in the crotch, and he discovered that he'd been catheterized.

No fun to be alone...walking by myself...no fun to be alone...in love...with nobody else....

The Joker forced one eye open, then the other. His vision was blurry and everything looked gray for a moment, then he centered on the large, dark object surrounding the sound of that voice and saw...his Bat.

He wanted to sit up, but there was a strap across his chest. He tried to pull up his knees, but his ankles were also restrained, as were his hands, which he discovered when he tried to reach down to yank the damn catheter out of his penis--he grunted in frustration, and that hurt his throat.

"Easy, there, Jack, take it easy. Let me get someone..."

"Hey, Batsy," he thought, wishing he could speak, "nothing like having a foreign object jammed into one bodily orifice or another, is there? Well, take it from me, some are more fun than others..."

His vision had returned and he observed the forest of clear IV bags hanging on either side of his head, and something was beeping...he heard heavy footsteps and that voice, "He's awake," followed by a girlish gasp and a call, "Nurse Rowan! Nurse Rowan, he's awake! The Batman says he's awake!"

Soon a little flurry of feminine noises and two female faces were now peering at him. A cool hand on the pulse point of his neck, and a soft voice saying "On the count of three, give us a big cough, ok?" The brunette was looking at him, waiting for his response. He couldn't utter a single word, but he managed a weak nod. Cold hands now held his shoulders down, and the other woman took hold of the respirator tube and began a steady tugging action, pulling it from his lungs, and with a painful cough, he expelled the hateful plastic from his mouth.

He thought, "That felt better and hurt more at the same time than just about anything I can remember, well, recently, anyway..."

The Joker sputtered and greedily sucked in the air, then lay panting, exhausted, and the whole little crowed stood around him, staring as if they were waiting for him to hatch.

"Bats..." he whispered.

"Shhh...don't try to talk," directed Nurse Rowan. "It's ok. Just relax."

The nurse's aide was busy taking his blood pressure and his temperature, and he kept his eyes on Batman, like a dog watching his owner eat a t-bone steak.

When the women were done, they started to head back to their gathering point at the back of the infirmary, but Batman spoke commandingly.

"Leave us. I need to interrogate him."

They glanced at each other and whispered anxiously for a moment. Finally, the head nurse looked at him with an appraising stare, obviously weighing the situation in terms of how much trouble she would be in for defying Batman versus how much trouble she'd be in if anything...happened. To either of the men. The man in the cape looked very powerful, and the man on the bed looked very weak, but still... Finally, she sighed.

"All right, Mr., uh--sir. Remember, he can't take much, so...be careful. We'll be right outside if you need anything."

Batman silently watched them exit then turned back to the Joker and smiled. He lay a warm hand on Jack's cheek and gently swiped his fingertips over the side of his face.

"How do you feel?"

"Like...shit," the clown rasped.

"Look like it, too." Batman carefully unbuckled the heavy canvas strap from the Joker's left wrist, picked up his hand and pressed the palm to his mouth.

"You're going to be ok."

Jack stared at him, disbelieving. He must have died. The Bat would never treat him so kindly, would never press those gentle lips against his own flesh, would never speak in such soft, comforting tones...he tried to smile, but his lips felt as if they would crack and shatter, and the Bat filled a plastic cup with ice water and helped him sit up enough to take a drink.

The cold filled the his mouth and rolled down his raw, parched throat. He kept his eyes on his Bat, still not sure, not sure at all that he was a citizen of Earth and that this creature in a bat suit wasn't some sort of holy apparition sent to lull him into a false sense of security while the panel of judges decided which particular level of hell he would be assigned to.

"Please..." he whispered. Batman's strong arm around his shoulders felt like heaven.

"What is it Jack? What do you need?"

"Be square with me, Bats--am I alive?"

Batman grinned.

"Yeah. You are. We...sort of lost you there, for a couple of minutes. But, you came back. More water?"

Jack nodded, and was given another sip. He tried to reach for the Bat's face, just the lower part, not under the mask. Batman pressed the Joker's hand against him for just a moment.

"They'll be coming back any minute. You need to sleep. Sorry, I have to do this." He put the Joker's hand back and replaced the strap on his wrist. The Joker never took his eyes off the bigger man.

"I died?"

"Your heart stopped. It took a few tries before they got it started again...do you remember?"

The Joker shook his head slowly. It felt heavy, and the elephant wanted to reclaim its perch.

"Rest, now. I'll be here when you wake up."

"What an accommodating little apparition you are, Batsy," was the Joker's thought as he slipped into a deep slumber.

******

Batman stepped out of the infirmary, leaving the Joker to sleep. He needed a break, to stretch his legs and maybe get some food. Jim Gordon was waiting for him in the hall, arms crossed, a serious look on his face.

"Get anything out of him?"

"No. Not yet. He can barely talk."

"We have a lead." Jim glanced up and down the hallway. "An intern from the Medical Research Unit here in Arkham was caught on camera visiting Jonathan Crane. Several times."

"Scarecrow?"

"Yeah. Turns out this kid is the one who was administering the Joker's shots for the medicine trial."

"Interesting."

"Yes. I'm going to interrogate him this afternoon. I have a feeling Scarecrow had something to do with all this."

"He has the skill."

"Right. Now to find out if he had a motive..."

**********

Why'd I do it? Why'd I do what? Oh, that. The killings and the explosions and the jokes and so on. Well, it's like this, Doc--do you remember what they asked that guy who wanted to climb Mt. Everest? They asked him the same thing--why? Why do you want to do such a thing? You know what he said? He said "Because it's there." I love that guy, what was his name...? Can't remember.

But, that's not myanswer, no. My answer is...because I could. Because Gotham is such a swirling cesspool of corruption and injustice and rotting from the inside out, it was just waiting for someone like me to come along and take it to a new level. To turn it into the wacko funhouse it was always meant to be.

Let's face it, a town that can't even protect a woman and a thirteen year old boy doesn't have much of a future anyway, right Doc?

Thirteen, yeah, that's when I got these scars. Dear ol' Mommy got into some trouble with her mobster boyfriend. She tried and tried to get some help, to get the cops to do something for her, but they just laughed. She decided we needed to disappear, so overnight we packed a few things and headed out of the city.

But--he caught us. And he thought it would be way more satisfying to make her watch while he did stuff to me than to do it to her, and that's how I got these babies, see? His pals held her down while he carved my face... She killed herself three days after I got home from the hospital. Couldn't take the guilt, I guess.

Not a fucking cop in Gotham gave a shit.

How did it make me feel--this again? All right, all right, well, this might come as a shock to you, but I was angry. And I didn't just sit around thinking it over, I took it out on the people I thought deserved it the most, the mob fools, the dirty cops, a couple of useless social workers for good measure...but then I figured it out. Those are just the obvious targets, the corrupt little tips of the iceberg. What lies beneath is much bigger, much more expansive.

So, eventually, I decided to point out a few things. Create a little chaos, shake things up. I started with a few playing cards and a little face paint, and they called me the Joker. Because it was easy. Easier than thinking. Easier than trying to understand the message.

It's like I always say--people are sheep. They're easy to manipulate if you understand their motivation--they only care about their own skin, what they can get for themselves.

I've tried explaining that to the Bat, but he doesn't listen. He never does. Let's face it, he'll always prefer his own insulated version of reality to my unvarnished truths. Such an idealist. Such a...hero.

I'm called the villain. Because I speak the truth. Because I hold up a mirror and show people who they really are. But...what good does it do? Ha. Nothing ever changes. No one ever listens. No one cares.

Mallory. That was the name of the guy who climbed Everest.

They never found his body...

*********

Jim Gordon had Jonathan Crane brought to an office, making sure he was well-restrained and guarded. The doctor was more or less thrown into a seat across a desk from Gordon, bearing an insolent smirk on his face.

"What's this all about, Commissioner?"

"The Joker was infected with a rapidly-mutating chemical toxin. We now know that an intern in the Medical Research facility was responsible for injecting him with it; however, he has stated that you were responsible for creating it. What do you have to say about that?" asked Jim.

"Oh, please. How could I be responsible for anything going on over there? I've been locked up tight."

"We have evidence of the intern making numerous unauthorized visits to your cell."

"So? I can't help it if the young man became taken with me."

"I see. So, he was able to concoct such a complicated formula on his own...."

This rankled the doctor.

"That little moron? Don't be stupid. He could never even envision such a product."

"Really? Then, if it wasn't you, he must have had help from someone else... Let's see, Monroe? Rodriguez? Nguyen?"

"No! No, no, for God's sake, those idiots couldn't mix bleach and ammonia without a diagram. No one could put together something as elegant as my kill toxin but me. Have you not read any of my papers?"

"Uh, no, but, you say this is your 'kill toxin'?

"Of course. I blended the basic components years ago--I was going to follow up my wonderful fear toxin with it, but never had the chance. Then Robert came along. He did what I couldn't, but don't go giving him any credit. He was just a flunky."

"I see. Well--may I ask why you chose the Joker to be the, uh, host for this toxin?"

Jonathan's already mad eyes glazed a bit more at the mention of the hated name.

"The Joker," he sneered. "What an appropriate name for such a useless waste of skin. All right. I'll tell you why. The man is a soulless, miserable bastard with no regard for--for the needs...the feelings...of others. He's a user, a taker, he has no respect. And I--I was stupid enough to, to let him..." Jonathan's voice caught and he turned his face away from Gordon.

Jim frowned in thought. "Are you saying that you had some sort of 'romantic' relationship with the Joker?" asked Jim incredulously.

The doctor gave a slight nod.

"He made me care for him, all right? He made me...think about him. All the time. Then, when he grew bored, he tossed me aside." The faint voice suddenly gained strength.

"No one treats Jonathan Crane like that. No one. So, I decided to kill two birds with one stone--almost literally! I had planned to have Robert smuggle in a gas mask and a knife for me. I would go to the cafeteria, where I would facilitate a fight between the Joker and a now-armed fellow lunatic. I would quietly go off and don the mask, and when the Joker was stabbed--not only would he die, but so would everyone else in a five-mile range. I'd be free to return to my old lab to gather my earlier work, then to walk out of Arkham at my leisure. I could then leave the city and...start fresh somewhere else." The man shrugged and cast a cheery smile at Gordon, but it quickly faded.

"Leave it to the damn Joker to fuck everything up," he hissed as Jim ordered his men to return Crane to his cell.

**********

They moved the Joker to a private room.

Batman, unofficially working on behalf of the police department, watched over the proceedings, even though no one seriously believed the Joker to be capable of conducting any mischief in his current state. Besides, Batman still had unanswered questions.

Once the patient was settled, still attached to IVs and monitors, the two arch-nemeses were left alone. The Joker was awake and he smiled weakly once the last orderly shut the door behind himself.

"Hey, Bats...you responsible for getting me these posh accommodations?"

"Indirectly, I suppose. You're feeling well enough to be a smart-ass, can I ask you some questions?"

"Oh, sure, I'm feeling real chatty."

"Why'd you fuck Crane?"

Uh-oh.

The Joker looked at a loss...but there was no point in lying. The Bat would know.

"I...look, Bats, I didn't think I'd ever see you again. You left me hanging on the side of that building, and then they locked me up and you didn't come to see me for ages. I...just needed a distraction. Something--well, someone, heh heh--to do. It didn't mean anything. How'd you find out about that, anyway?" he asked gingerly.

"Crane mentioned it when they interrogated him."

The Joker made a derisive sound.

"Little wimp, can't hold up under the bright lights, can he?"

"I guess not."

They were both silent a moment then the Joker asked worriedly, "So, are you mad?"

"No. I don't blame you. I meant never to see you again. But...I couldn't stay away. I finally gave in and came to check on you."

The Joker grinned.

"I know. I saw you. I knew what that meant. The second I spotted you, Crane was history."

"Mm-hmm. He said you'd seduced him then cast him aside when you lost interest. That's why he gave you the poison."

The Joker gave Batman a look of consternation.

"He tried to kill me because I wouldn't fuck him anymore? What a hothead."

"You must be one hell of a lay." Batman said with half a grin.

"Yeah! Speaking of which, come on over here and I'll give you the best blowjob you ever had in your life..."

"No, clown. Not yet. You're still too sick."

"That's your opinion. But, ok, then, help me pull my pants down and you can fuck me--"

The big man leaned over the Joker's bed and kissed him gently. "I said, 'No.'" He ran a gloved finger over a bandage securing an IV needle in the blond man's arm to make his point.

"But...I don't care! I want to."

"I know. I know. Don't worry, that will happen. Soon. But right now, you need to concentrate on getting your strength back."

The Joker shot him a sullen look, but he relaxed when the Bat settled into a chair next to him and switched on the television. The pair soon became engrossed in an old horror movie, something they both remembered from childhood.

*********

I don't dream, Doc. I wish you'd quit asking about that. Maybe it's the meds or something, but I never dream. Oh, I used to, before I came here. Of course, after I met Bats, the only ones I could ever remember were about him...real vivid stuff, lots of chasing, and blood and guts and organs splashing around and so on, but sometimes... Sometimes, I'd dream I was flying. I always liked those dreams, don't you, Doc? They say that's a common one, but it didn't happen to me very often.

Someday, I'd like to dream I was flying again...

*********

The masked man entered the room. Jack was actually sitting up, wearing a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, the TV was on and a book was in his hand. He looked up at his visitor and grinned, blond tangles framing his face, looking alert and impish.

"Feeling better?" asked the Bat.

"Yeah, notice anything?"

Batman looked around the Joker's bed. All the medical equipment was gone.

"Progress. You'll be back to normal in no time. Not that that's a good thing."

"Now, now...I'm still chock full of all kinds of psychotropic drugs, I'd be hard-pressed to get up to any fiendish shenanigans for a while."

Batman sat down next to the clown, put his arms around him and gave him a deep kiss. Jack seemed to melt into his arms and they held each other a long time. Batman pulled back and to Jack's infinite surprise, began removing his mask, cape and cowl. The clown sat staring with his mouth open as the handsome visage of Bruce Wayne was revealed.

"Well, fuck. Why'd you--"

"I'm not going to hide who I am from you. If you decide to reveal my secret, so be it. I'm probably out of my mind being here with you anyway, so I can't be held responsible for my decisions." The smooth, warm voice fell comfortingly on the Joker's ears.

"Bruce Wayne. Damn."

The two men smiled at each other then Jack flung himself into the still-Kevlar covered arms. Bruce brushed his forehead with his lips and they kissed again, hungrily this time, then quickly found themselves lying together on the bed, exploring each other's mouths, then biting bare necks and throats. Bruce looked at him and said hoarsely, "So...how're you, uh, feeling?"

"Like if you don't take off the rest of that stupid costume, I'll tear it off for you." He watched as Bruce smirked and stood up, and began removing the rest of his outfit.

"How about you getting out of yours, too?" he asked as he dropped the last item to the floor, and placed a chair in front of the door to assure their privacy. By the time he turned back, the Joker was naked.

The two fell together, each eager for the other's body. Bruce had brought something to help prepare his soon-to-be lover, and Jack arched against the billionaire when his fingers entered him. "Don't bother, Bats, just do it..." he gasped.

"No. We've waited so long for this, I'm not going to rush, and I'm not going to hurt you," he admonished. Jack lay under him, and reluctantly nodded. They began making out again, and after several long, delicious moments, Bruce whispered, "Ready?"

Jack nodded again, and Bruce got on top of him. He eased into his clown, amazed at the sensation of the other's body opening up to him and how they seemed to fit perfectly together. The Joker wrapped himself around his bat and moaned into his ear. Bruce stopped and pulled back to look into his eyes.

"You ok?"

"Yeah...keep going..." Bruce smiled and nodded, and continued pushing deeper into his lover's warmth.

"God, you're big--" the Joker groaned when he finally felt Bruce's pelvic area pressed tightly against his own.

"Is that a problem?"

"Nope...not moving, however, is. Come on, Bat-boy, let's do this...."

Bruce began rocking into him, each thrust a powerful stroke of utter pleasure, and they thrashed more and more violently against each other, Batman seeking to thrust ever more deeply into the tight channel, the Joker desperately needing more and more rapid friction against his prostate, while at the same time feverishly working his erection until thick creamy fluid spurted onto his belly and chest.

Bruce briefly slowed his pace so he could enjoy the sight of his lover reaching climax, then pulled out and said, "Turn over," in a commanding voice. Jack grinned and obeyed, scrunching up his pillow and allowing the bigger man to finish satisfying his need for him while the blond slowly recovered from his own intense release.

Even after Bruce finished, he remained entwined around Jack's skinny body, his member still sheathed deep inside the man he had waited so long to take. Jack could feel twitching, little aftershocks that caused the billionaire to thrust a few more times until he became settled and quiet. They lay like that for a long time, listening to each other breathe, to their heartbeats and to the muffled sounds of the hospital ward beyond the closed door.

Finally, Bruce pulled away, stood up and began to dress. Jack sat up and watched him, distractedly running his hand through his hair.

"Will you come back?" he asked awkwardly.

Bruce held the last item of his costume, his mask, in his hands as he met Jack's gaze.

"As long as you're where you're supposed to be, doing what you're supposed to do, I'll come back. I'll always come back."

He stole one last kiss, replaced the mask and was gone.

The Joker stared after him.

In a puzzled voice he asked, "Where would I go?" to the empty room.

*******

The Bat? What about him? Yeah, I'm doing him, big surprise there, huh? Hey, this is confidential, right? I don't care for myself, but I don't want to fuck up his life anymore than it already is. Don't want to screw things up between us, either. It's more than just sex, see? More like a...whaddya call it...soul mate? Yeah, he's like my soul mate or something. We understand each other, there's no bullshit between us...we need each other. Complete each other.

I see him every week, sometimes more...depends on what's going on. You know, "out there."

Of course I know who he "really" is. You think we do it with that mask on? Oh, maybe once or twice at first, but he says that suit gets really itchy when you start sweating and...oh, no, I know. I've known for a while.

Everyone thought I was so hot to find out his "secret identity"--as if I cared who he was--he could have been a painter, or a plumber or a ditch digger for all I cared, it didn't matter to me.

I just like a challenge.

And I won't tell you who he is.

But he's gorgeous. Absolutely fucking gorgeous.

Sometimes, when we're, ahem, "together?" I can't believe it. I can't believe we found each other.

Although, I guess it was inevitable. Two forces of nature, equal and opposite, destined to crash into each other. Heh heh, sparks do fly....

Someday, I'm going to get out of here, Doc. Then, we'll reallybe together...no, I don't mean escape, not like that...it'll be 'cause I'm better. Why do you think I volunteered for that medical experiment in the first place? I thought that new drug would help me get well.

I-I want to get well. So I could be with Bats.

I just...I just want to be with him. And I will be. Someday.

Someday...he'll pick me up in one of his ridiculously expensive cars and take me home with him. We'll sit down to dinner together and I'll say "So, Batsy, you want to go to a movie or something?" And he'll say, "No, Jack, I think I'd rather just stay in with you, if that's all right." And I'll say, "Yeah, Bats, that's all right. That's what I want to do, too...."

Someday, I bet we'll be together all the time. Then, I won't have to be alone so much. Then, I won't be such a freak.

And, maybe...someday? I'll have that dream again.

Maybe someday...I'll dream that I'm flying.

The End.

*********

Notes and Credits: The song "No Fun" was written by David Alexander, Ronald Ashton, Scott Ashton and James Osterberg (Iggy Pop); however what the Joker hears in his head is the Sex Pistol's blistering version.

George Mallory was an English mountaineer who was lost on Everest in 1924. His body actually was found 75 years later, in 1999, but we'll assume the Joker was too busy causing mayhem to keep up with mountaineering news.

Carl Rogers was an American psychologist, founder of the "humanistic" approach to therapy. A Rogerian psychologist probably isn't the best choice for the Joker, but who knows?

It is thought that being able to fly in your dreams indicates that you are having a sense of personal power and liberation.