Spoilers: Basic knowledge of Joker's history.

Disclaimer: DC owns all these characters and WB owns DC and Time Warner owns WB and I'm pretty sure the rest of the world.

Author Notes: Here's another view into the Joker from a third party viewer, which you guys know I like. Harley will show up toward the end, but she does not predominate in this piece. Most of the focus is actually on my OC, Henry Grey. I'm not expecting as much attention to this story because of that. I have a prejudice against OCs myself, so it's perfectly understandable. However, I think this is one of my better written pieces, technically speaking, and it features surprise guest appearances. For those of you willing to give it a go, thank you and I hope you enjoy. (PS – This piece jumps between the past and present. The timeline indicated isn't precise and simply refers to events that happened within a chunk of years.)

Worth a Thousand Words

What time was it anyway? 10pm. Damn. Charlene was going to be mad. Then again, maybe not. She hadn't called yet; maybe she understood.

He was startled out of this reverie by the janitor entering, pulling behind him a cart of cleaning supplies. "Mr. Grey, are you still here? You should be home."

The janitor was old, much older than Henry and Henry was far from a young man. His skin sagged and his back hunched a bit. He moved slowly, but with purpose. Henry was embarrassed to realize that he didn't recall his name despite the fact they'd both been working at the Gotham Gazette for decades.

"Retirement isn't the end of the world Mr. Grey," the janitor added, since Henry had failed to respond.

"No, I don't suppose it is," Henry laughed, but secretly wondered why the man before him hadn't done so himself. What sad fate forced him to press on? "And you're right, I need to get home. The wife will be worried." He inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of fresh ink he loved so much, when his phone rang.

"Is that the missus now?" the janitor asked.

"No, it's my other phone," Henry answered pointedly. It was known as his 'tip line' and when it rang, everyone knew he'd be dashing out the door immediately, whether he was in the office, sitting down to a family dinner, or in the middle of a good night's sleep. (Most often it was the latter, much to his wife's annoyance.)

Family and co-workers assumed that he had a long roster of people that knew to call him when they caught whiff of a story about to break. The truth was only one person had access to that line. Only one person ever used it. Only one person could be on the other end.

Henry mused over the phone still ringing in his hand and wondered what he should do. Technically he was retired. He didn't have to do anything and had nothing left to prove. But then, the person phoning him had basically handed him his career on a platter. Henry had wanted to let him know about his retirement, only feeling that right. Unfortunately, he was pretty much an impossible man to track down. If Henry believed in such things, he'd say that fate was causing his phone to ring tonight of all nights.

"What the hell. Let's go out with a bang," he decided goodheartedly.

"Whatever you say, Mr. Grey, but you get yourself straight home afterwards," the janitor responded with some concern.

Henry took little note of him as he walked out the door and answered his phone. "Where and when do you need me?" he asked.

"Well, it's about time! I was beginning to think you were going to leave me high and dry. You know how upset that would make me," the voice on the other end said threateningly.

Henry assured the voice confidently, "I would never do that, Mr. Joker."

Twenty Years Ago

Henry had hit rock bottom. It wasn't his fault, of course, but that didn't stop his wife from walking out on him. How could he have possibly predicted that the factory would shut down? After fifteen years of working there, he had received some sort of settlement check but it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough to start over with.

At least the divorce was cheap. It was kind of hard to hit a guy up for alimony when he's unemployed. And it was the first time that he was thankful that they were unable to have children. Still, he found little solace in this as he switched residence into a cheap, dingy flat and watched what was left of his money and possessions slowly disappear.

It wasn't as though he sat around feeling sorry for himself day after day. Henry eagerly looked for employment everywhere, anywhere, but the market was saturated and anyone hiring had their eyes on younger men than he.

It was in this situation that Henry returned to an old hobby on a desperate whim. He had always enjoyed photography and rarely was caught without a camera in hand or around his neck in high school. The way his mother talked, you'd think National Geographic was just waiting for him to graduate so they could snatch him up. But that's the way all mothers were, Henry knew, and had no delusions that he'd ever aspire to anything above his school paper and yearbook.

He never would've imagined that he'd find himself approaching the Gotham Gazette in the vain hope of employment fifteen years later. Henry was grateful that they didn't immediately show him the door, but they were completely indifferent to him all the same. A cold receptionist threw him some paperwork and told him to return if he captured anything worthwhile for his commission.

Commission. So that's why he wasn't turned down right away. Based on the receptionist's demeanor, a dozen like me must show up every week, Henry realized with a sinking heart. Still, there was no reason he couldn't keep his eyes peeled for something newsworthy while he continued job hunting.

And so Henry's camera had become his faithful companion once again. It came with him to the unemployment office, to interviews, to the grocery store, and everywhere in between. Here and there, he'd return to the Gazette in the hopes that one of his pictures were worth something. Aside from one he took of a burning building, they weren't, and he didn't get much even for that one. Probably would have gotten more if somebody had died it in, he thought and chastised himself immediately.

He had discovered that many of his colleagues at the paper were positioning themselves on rooftops all night, hoping to capture the elusive Batman. This, Henry thought, was extraordinarily silly. First of all, he didn't think the guy really existed and was more likely a ploy from the desperate GCPD to scare thugs. He always shook his head when that ridiculous light appeared in the sky, wondering who was stupid enough to buy this urban myth. Secondly, if he existed, the odds of him choosing your rooftop to pose on were astronomical, especially since he clearly disliked being seen. And finally, Henry firmly believed that no career could be made off a single shot anyway; it took years of proving your quality, as it did in any field of work.

Needless to say, Henry stayed off rooftops and stuck to the ground. The ground was where the action was, where people lived, where emotion could be found. That's what people who weren't interested in cheap tabloids wanted to see. He wasn't thinking about any of this, however, while standing in line at the bank to make a withdrawal, being preoccupied with thoughts about how much longer until there wouldn't be anything left to draw from.

It was at that moment when some rather colorful characters burst onto the scene, brandishing guns with a clear intent to rob the bank. If you hadn't been in the middle of a stick up, you hadn't been living in Gotham very long and Henry had been born and raised here, so his first feeling was that of annoyance rather than fear. Who knew when the bank would be replenished? He needed to pay his rent today. Fortunately, this thought lasted all of two seconds before he remembered his camera and quickly started snapping pictures of the guy that was clearly the ringleader.

He got a few shots in before orders were shouted. It was the usual 'down on the floor', 'hands where we can see 'em', and the like. Henry followed their instructions while trying to place the criminal whose picture he just took: a clown all in purple. He seemed to remember something about a clown on the news not too long ago. Wasn't he a killer? he thought, trying to jog his memory.

Almost as in answer to his question, the man fired a shot and a teller that was formerly reaching for the panic button had a hole where her face used to be. Okay, now Henry was scared, scared enough that he didn't dare move and, in fact, tried to limit his breathing as much as possible. A couple of people were chosen in his line for a bullet as well, though Henry could hardly see the point of it. They weren't doing anything to hinder the burglary. Thankfully, they left him alone and took off before the authorities arrived.

There were people panicking in the aftermath, some crying hysterically. Henry, on the other hand, composed himself relatively quickly and started taking pictures of the scene. He took pictures of people's reactions. He took pictures of the bodies, as morbid as that was, but morbid sells he reminded himself. He repeatedly stated aloud that he was with the paper so that people wouldn't think him some kind of whackjob. Then the police arrived and demanded the crime scene be cleared.

"Chief, this is great!" an excitable man said to another sitting behind a desk.

"Yes, we thought we were only going to have a shot of the police cleanup to go with this story," the chief directed to Henry in a slow drawl. "But you somehow managed to get a shot of…the Jester, was it?"

"The Joker," the excited man corrected.

"Right, right, him," the chief continued, twirling a pen between his fingers back and forth frantically; it was the only thing that took away from his calm demeanor. "How'd you get 'em, son?"

Son? Well, that seemed out of place. Henry was on the high side of his thirties. He couldn't help but take it as an attempt to show who was in charge and who was some nobody that only got paid in commission. "Just at the right place at the right time, sir," he replied cryptically.

"…That's fine," the chief answered, not willing to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Well, I expect you know you'll be getting a nice size check today, but I'll expect free use of all the pictures from the scene. Are we clear?" Henry thought the pen might be moving faster in his hand as time went by.

"Yes, sir, it's just…rather than commission, what I'd really like is a steady job.

"You want salary," the chief clarified. "I can hardly blame you for that, but let's not be too hasty. You have impressed me today, certainly, but for all I know it was a stroke of luck. You might be just a flash in the pan and where would that leave me? But you bring me more pictures like these and we'll sit down and have another talk about it. Draw our photographer here a check," he instructed the other man.

"Right away, sir! I can't wait to get these down to the boys in print," he exited quickly and the chief indicated that Henry follow him.

"Sir-," he tried one more time.

"Now, now," the chief got up to physically escort him out. "You go get me some more pictures for our paper. Hope to see you again soon, Harry."

"It's Henry," he corrected as the door shut on his face.

The check Henry held on his way home did little to raise his spirits. He knew getting those pictures was stupid luck, just as the chief had predicted. There was no way he'd ever hope to manage getting something that amazing again. If only he had worked his way up to it. Now, anything he brought in would be expected to be of equal caliber.

He went about the city looking for anything worthy of interest, but didn't come up with much, which wasn't surprising. It was very late that night before he gave up and headed home.

Henry entered his dark apartment and didn't bother turning on the lights. He was tired and depressed and heading straight for bed. The only light that showed was from a digital clock flashing the digits 4:52. He stumbled across the floor due to the darkness and exhaustion, when he became acutely aware of eyes watching him.

"Is someone there?" he exclaimed with unintentional panic.

"Someone is," came a voice from a dark corner of the room. There was a man sitting in his recliner, but all he could make out was his feet propped up on the coffee table.

Henry glanced around for something within reach that could be used as a weapon while gathering his wits. "What do you want?" he asked with more courage in his voice. "Money? Fat chance of that here, pal. I'd like some myself."

The intruder sniffed in disgust at the suggestion, but didn't acknowledge it otherwise. "Have you seen today's paper?" he asked instead. "I always have mine picked up early. Take a look."

The stranger tossed the paper at Henry's feet. He bent down to pick it up without taking his eyes off the shadowed character, still unsure what all of this was about. He found one of the pictures he took of the clown on the cover. "Front page!" Henry exclaimed with pride, momentarily forgetting the intruder. "…I should have asked for more money."

At that, the mysterious figure started to laugh and it wasn't a pleasant one. It sent a shudder down Henry's spine, putting him back into a defensive posture. "More money, you say? Well…that might be arranged if you play smart," the man said as he pulled the cord on a lamp sitting adjacent to him, revealing himself to be the same person featured on the front page of the paper Henry was holding.

"WHOA!" Henry cried out, jumping back instantly. The clown didn't make any movement or gesture to suggest what his intentions were, but seemed to be watching for what he might do next. "Okay, okay, listen, okay," Henry stammered nervously. "You…you don't want anymore pictures taken of you. That's…that's it. I won't take anymore. Promise!"

"Don't be an idiot!" the Joker snapped back. "I just said there may be money in this for you. Keep up!"

"…Money? For what? …You aren't going to kill me?" Henry asked desperately.

"Kill you?!" the Joker shouted as he rose to his feet and strode to where Henry stood, taking the paper from his hand and shoving the picture into his face. "Now why would I want to go and kill someone with an eye like yours?"

"Wha-?" Henry was trying to form coherent thoughts, but they didn't seem to be forthcoming.

"I've started a scrapbook," the Joker went on conversationally. "Not much in it yet, but there's room to grow. This is my favorite in it so far."

"…Th-thanks?" he managed to get out.

"You're very welcome, but I didn't come here to exchange pleasantries. We need to keep the ball rolling, yes? Can't let news of myself go stagnant. So I'll do what I do best, and you'll take pictures of it. Here," he forced a beeper into Henry's hand. "When this goes off, you call the number and I'll give you directions. Easy as pie. Kay?"

"Uh-," Henry replied, utterly dumbfounded.

"Great! See you soon. I'll most likely kill you tomorrow," the Joker declared happily as he slammed the door to Henry's flat behind him.

What just happened? Henry thought. And did he just say he was going to kill me? I thought he said he didn't want to kill me!

Henry glanced at the beeper in his hand and knew exactly what to do. He went to the window, readied to throw it out and watch it smash on the pavement below. But just as he raised his hand to do so, a figure in purple appeared on the sidewalk and waved up at him, prompting him to slowly back away from the window.

Henry barely slept since that frightful visit and what little he did was fitful. Tomorrow had come and gone and he was still alive. He supposed that was reason to be grateful.

He had contemplated ridding himself of the pager time and again, but fear stopped him. It seemed such a simple thing to do, to throw it away and move across town. But the clown hadn't had any trouble finding him once already (however he'd done it) and he saw no reason that would change.

He found one of his pictures on the next day's paper with the caption: "Joker Still at Large". It did little to ease his mind. Maybe he'll be arrested soon, Henry thought hopefully. Then it'll all be over.

Unfortunately, only two days after receiving it, the ominous pager started beeping. Henry robotically called the number indicated and felt completely detached as he received a place he was supposed to be and a time he was supposed to be there. He abruptly hung up after replying, "Uh-huh" to confirm he understood his instructions.

It wasn't until afterward that it really sunk it and his hands started to shake uncontrollably. He got up and started pacing in a circle to give his body something to do. And just what is it I'm supposed to do? He thought, in a panic. I could call the police and give them the information. Then they'd finally have him in custody. Sure, that makes sense.

He picked up the phone, ready to dial, but froze and slowly put the phone back on the receiver. Fear had gotten hold of him again. Instead, he grabbed his camera and headed out the door.

When he arrived at the assigned location, he saw that it was a swanky get-together, the kind of place Henry never expected to find himself. He had no issues getting in though, because those 'keeping the gate' had bigger problems with a known murderer robbing those attending of their valuables. Glamorous people were huddled together, frightened.

He thought he should alert the Joker to his presence in some manner, but he seemed kind of wrapped up in the moment. Henry shuffled his feet for a moment, trying to decide what to do, when he concluded that maybe the best thing was to take pictures like the guy seemed to want. The flash of light from his first snapshot got the Joker's attention.

"Oh good, you're here!" he exclaimed brightly. "Well, don't just stand there. Keep going!" Joker mimed clicking pictures until Henry started taking more on his own. "And don't forget to take some of them," he added, pointing at a couple of bodies on the floor. "They thought they could play hero. So sad."

Henry cringed at the sight of the bodies, but did as he was told. Truthfully, he was glad they were dead before he got there, rather than after. He couldn't have helped but feel somewhat responsible for not trying to alert someone if he'd gotten there and watched a person get murdered. These people…well, they would have been dead anyway, he told himself and went about his business, trying not to think too hard about it.

"Did you get my good side?" Joker teased, as his boys seemed to be wrapping things up.

"Uh…" Henry floundered for words.

"I'm just kidding! They're both my good side!"

"O-okay. 'S cool." Henry removed the film from his camera and held it out for him. "…So, money? …I guess?" Honestly, he'd just as soon throw the film at his feet and run out, but the clown hadn't made any aggressive movements against him since they'd met and Henry almost suspected that he'd find the gesture rude, which could potentially make him a target.

"What are you doing?" the Joker questioned with a sneer.

"Y-you said for me to take the pictures and I'd get paid. But if you don't want to it's cool!" Henry finished quickly.

"Do you mean to tell me they aren't going to pay top dollar for those at that mundane little paper of yours?" he asked, and it was clear that he found the very thought insulting.

"You…you want them published?" Henry stuttered in bewilderment.

"Well of course I want them published! I'm trying to send a message here! Get with the program!" Joker snapped.

He put the film back in his pocket. "S-sure. No problem. Do…do you want a cut?" Henry asked, still trying to figure out the guy's angle.

"No, you keep your precious money," he sniffed. "I do expect copies though. I'll contact you soon with an address to mail them to. Now, you toddle on home and make sure that I'm on the front page again tomorrow. Oh, and do make sure to hold on to that beeper. I'll be contacting you again, I'm sure."

Henry nodded silently and headed for the exit. From behind him he heard the Joker's farewell, "Bye, Cameraman! I'll most likely kill you tomorrow." It was a phrase he'd end up all too familiar with.

Henry took the pictures to the paper that night. A great deal of commotion rang through the office as those at the head of the paper were being called back in, having already left for the evening. He was quickly swept into a little office again and, before he knew it, he had a job. A real, honest to God, job. What's more, it turned out he still got commission on top of his salary for pictures like the ones he brought in today.

Still, the achievement left him feeling lukewarm. He had no doubt he could do the job as he'd be taking assignments often. Being told what to shoot was a lot easier than finding it on your own. But the way in which he got the position made him sick to his stomach.

The following day, the paper featured another of his pictures on the front page covering the robbery. He found a copy of it slipped under his door with a P.O. Box address scribbled at the top. It only accentuated his nausea. He swung by the post office to mail the pictures in the middle of other errands to make himself feel better, make it seem a normal part of his routine somehow.

The next few days went by rather peacefully. Henry was on assignment at a museum due to a new temporary exhibit that was circulating the country. It was horribly boring against what he had been taking pictures of and he couldn't imagine why the readers would care about the article. This didn't really bother him though. He was getting paid regularly and felt guilt-free about snapping pictures of inanimate artifacts. A curator was in the middle of a brain-numbing speech when his beeper went off again. Henry quickly left the museum for something more newsworthy.

The shoot went much the same as the previous one, the only difference being that he was over the initial shock. Henry, showed up, took some pictures, avoided as much contact with his subject as he could, and was reminded to mail the copies. As he took his leave he heard the familiar, "I'll most likely kill you tomorrow," follow after him. The next day he once again received accolades from his employers.

It wasn't a bad system on the surface. He was making a good deal of money and doing so legally. (At least, he didn't think anyone would blame him for not coming forward, fearing for his life.) And no threat had been made toward him physically as of yet. All that aside, he wanted out. Living in fear was nerve-wracking and he felt trapped, having no say in the matter.

In short, despite the fact that things had been moving in a positive direction, Henry didn't feel like he had a hand in any of it. He felt that his life was completely beyond his control, which was probably why what happened at his next infamous shoot meant more to him than he would have expected.

Henry was trying to get some decent shots in while the Joker threatened a group of people, but he was worried they wouldn't turn out. The major light source was behind the madman and it contrasted so with the dark on the other side of the room that he didn't think even his flash was going to save the subject from being blacked out or at least muted.

The problem was getting to the opposite side of the clown so that the light worked for him, not against. Walking across the room would seem simple enough on the outside, but Henry had done a good job keeping his distance and unnoticed for the most part, letting his zoom do the work. The Joker was in a frenzy, pacing back and forth madly while shouting something that Henry really wasn't paying attention to, his mind on the job, and he didn't think moving around the character would go unnoticed.

Then again, Henry hated taking poor pictures, always going for the best shot, and, more importantly, he didn't think the Joker would be very happy with what he'd taken so far either. With this in mind Henry started to awkwardly make his way across the room, pausing occasionally to reassess the situation and then starting again.

Had his trepidation not been so obvious he probably would have crossed over unnoticed, but that was not to be. Henry had clearly been picked up on the Joker's radar by the curious look he gave him with a cock of the head. Again, if Henry would have just gone about his business the moment probably would have passed just as quickly as it began, but instead he blurted, "Light! Light-bad!"

He felt like an idiot, which the Joker apparently picked up on as he responded, "And is 'light-good' over here?"

Henry nodded quickly.

"Well then, get to it," he ordered. Henry positioned himself and they both got back to what they had been doing before the interruption.

Afterwards, a few bodies were strewn across the floor, some goons were packing away some loot, but the cops still hadn't arrived. Joker had ensured that no one in the room was able to contact for help. Henry was packing up himself, when the Joker addressed him personally. He cringed when he heard him call, "Cameraman!" from across the room and saw him stride over.

"I'm sorry about earlier!" Henry started once he was at his side. "It's just-"

"Tut tut, my boy," he shushed him. For a moment the 'my boy' reference gave Henry pause. He was fairly sure he was older than the madman…though it was admittedly hard to tell. It reminded him of his boss back at the paper. "Are you afraid of me?" the Joker inquired sincerely.

"Uh-," Henry stuttered, having thought that quite obvious.

"Of course you are," Joker finished for him and seemed to find the realization conflicting. "Walk with me, Cameraman."

He walked beside the Joker stiffly. The lunatic was clearly about to have a conversation with him, but Henry didn't know how he'd possibly join in or what he might say that'd make him snap.

"What you are doing in my organization is of the utmost importance," he started rather casually. "I'm trying to create an image and I need you to convey that. Do you understand?"

"A-an image? Like an actor?" Henry clarified.

"No, not like an actor," the Joker replied, exasperated. "When the actor who wants to label himself the 'action/adventure' guy goes home, he's no longer the marketable persona he's created for himself. He's just some schmuck. It's all phony, right?"

"R-right," Henry agreed.

"But I'm not, Cameraman," he continued, with growing excitement. "What you see here, that's me. When I go home, I'm still this amazing! Can you imagine?!"

"W-wow!" Henry tried to sound enthused, because it's what he seemed to want. He wasn't sure he quite sold it but, if he didn't, the Joker gave no notice. Why won't he just let me go home? Henry begged inwardly.

"I know! That's what I'm trying to convey to all the little people back home. Give them something to bring them out of their humdrum lives," Joker elaborated. "Let them know that I live among and, to do that, I have to let them know who I am, now don't I? Are you following me?"

Henry nodded up and down, but really wasn't sure if he was, and especially didn't know why he had to hear any of this.

"That's where you come in. I need the best shots of me possible. So if you need to do something to make it better, you do it! If you have a suggestion, come out with it! I chose you, remember? Don't be shy!"

"…Sure thing, boss," Henry answered. He wasn't sure where the 'boss' reference came from, but decided it was because that's how most of the people he was exposed to referred to him.

"Great! You go on home now. I'll see you again soon."

Henry walked away but heard from behind him, "Bye, Cameraman! I'll most likely kill you tomorrow." He managed a weak smile because he was beginning to think that this was some running gag he was supposed to find humorous.

Henry had no idea whether or not the Joker had been genuine with him, but he was surprised to find that he appreciated the gesture all the same. It made sense the clown didn't want him dead as he could hardly take care of business and photograph himself simultaneously. Furthermore, Henry would admit that he did know what he was doing. He was a little rusty, but it was coming back to him.

Besides, he didn't think anything he was doing was illegal when it came right down to it. He wasn't receiving any direct payment from the man himself and people in the news biz got 'tips' all the time. And Henry couldn't deny, when reflecting on things like the new apartment he just acquired in a much better part of town, that the whole thing had been working out for him rather well.

Such rationalizations made him feel more free, like he had remained in the situation voluntarily. His confidence was on the rise and he stopped feeling so squeamish every time he heard someone's beeper go off.

He found himself getting closer to achieve better angles at subsequent shoots. The improvement was noticed at the paper where his boss was quite impressed that he was able to get better looking shots of the dangerous man when no one else could seem to get much of him at all. He had job offers from other papers and magazines (particularly tabloids) offering him the moon to switch under their employ. He would have taken the offers seriously, but he didn't think that the Joker would appreciate him leaving the city's biggest paper and he wasn't quite comfortable asking for a raise with the short amount of time he'd been at the Gazette. I'll give it a little longer, then bring it up, Henry decided, confident that the offers would still be on the table.

Just when Henry was beginning to feel more comfortable with the arrangement, it had come down the wire that the Joker had been incarcerated. Henry found out in the unique and unsettling way of the chief bellowing it to him in front of the entire office. Apparently, it had been Henry's fault that the event had not been photographed and rumor had it that Batman had been responsible for taking him in, so he was also responsible for not getting the first picture of the caped crusader on top of it all. (If he even existed.)

It wasn't Henry's fault, of course. He hadn't received a page and didn't know that anything was going down. He handled the situation by calmly suggesting that if they were not pleased with his work, he could take his business elsewhere. He elaborated briefly on some of the job opportunities that had been offered to him and, in the end, not only did the chief back down, but he was given a raise to ensure his loyalty to the paper.

Henry supposed that was that. The Joker was being sent to spend the remainder of his days in Arkham Asylum. His meal ticket was gone, but he'd gotten a job and pay raise out of him beforehand. Henry was confident he could do his job satisfactorily even if he didn't produce some of the miraculous shots he had recently. He probably wouldn't rise to a higher position in the paper because of this, but he was comfortable enough as it was.

All's well that ends well, Henry concluded.