Bruce found Jackie in the west wing, standing in front of the portrait of his parents. Her arms were crossed, head tilted as she regarded their likeness. He couldn't read the expression in her eyes.

He stood behind her for a moment, his eyes likewise drawn to Thomas and Martha Wayne. Their exact faces were slightly blurred now in his memory. Even in the portrait they seemed somewhat far off, unlike the immediate warmth the mere thought of them brought to that carefully guarded place beneath Batman's resolve.

Jackie's breathless "hi" returned him from his reverie. She stared a few moments more at the happy couple, and then turned around to her benefactor. She looked better then she had in the first few weeks following her rescue, having spent most of her time sleepless at Tim's bedside at the hospital. He had just today been released to Wayne Manor for bed rest. Bruce released a statement to the press detailing how the overzealous young Tim Drake had fallen down the Wayne staircase while skateboarding indoors.

Jackie stayed with Tim the entire time. So now she knew about him...about them.

The knowledge only increased the sudden dark circles around her eyes, which first stemmed from emotional shock, then her sleepless vigils by Tim's hospital bed.

Luckily, they had by now mostly disappeared, the honey hue returned to her complexion. The eyes less glassy.

While Bruce wasn't thrilled she knew the truth, it did lessen some of his own reserve. "Hi," he replied.

Now both their expressions were unreadable.

He cleared his throat. "Just left Tim. He's sleeping. The doctor says he'll"—

"—Be out and about in a few weeks time, with an arm sling, of course. I know." She shook her head, squinting. "Are you really going to let him keep on doing this? He's"—

"—Just a kid?" Bruce glanced stonily at the portrait. "So was I."

A dense silence passed as Jackie stared at her shoes. Without looking up, she asked, "So, what's next?"

"For you?" He shrugged. "What do you want for yourself, Jackie?"

Something about the question seemed to jar her a tad, her blue eyes snapping to his questioningly. "I…huh. Good one." The small breath she exhaled sounded to Bruce like something close to a laugh. "I really, really don't know." She shook her head. "I'm not like you. Not like…you, Dick, Barbara…Tim. My father. I…I can't don a suit and fight or commit crime, and through that somehow come to terms with who I am. I don't have that kind of strength," she finished morosely. She looked back at the portrait. "I don't have good memories associated with a parental figure, like you do." She frowned. "Phooey."

Bruce smiled. "You're right. You have a different kind of strength entirely." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Jackie, no matter what you decide to do…stay on here, or take up my offer to study someplace else…I want you to know you do have a power, something no one else I know has."

Jackie raised her eyebrows. "This build-up better be worth it."

Bruce closed his eyes and sighed, thinking. Finally he spoke. "Someone wise I once knew told me that everyone, no matter how corrupt and evil, has one small but persistent spark of decency in their soul. Something that makes them crave love and redemption, at the very core of their darkness. Even the Joker. Jackie," His gaze deepened, and he tilted her face upward, hand under her chin. "You're his spark."

A few weeks later, Joker reclined on his cot in Arkham, practicing his Curly laugh aloud to no one in particular. It was just past dinnertime, and some of the more sedate inmates were winding down for the evening, only a few random yelps and impassioned oaths resounding in the cell block.

Joker was experiencing one of those pleasant lulls between acts, when he hadn't yet formed any immediate plan for escape. As such, his brilliantly bad brain hummed along relatively quietly. True, all the images that did pass through his mind—the Stooges, ham sandwiches, the Keystone Cops—were all tinted in blood. Joker likened the sensation to stabbing the man working the projector at a movie house, and watching his blood seep onto the film prints. Oh, and there were also the intermittent fantasies of Batman getting mauled by a Bengali tiger tripping on Smilex.

Hee!

Ah, but these were pleasant times here in homey ol' Arkham. He never understood why so many criminals groused about staying here. True, the place didn't beat showtime; after all, performers were only ever truly happy when they were on the go in front of a live—or not—audience. But still, for downtime, nothing beat a sterile, humorless environment for gathering one's thoughts. Often all it took was absolute dreary and enforced silence for madness to really churn and grow.

The only down point right now was the TV blaring down the hall. Summer Gleason's voice infringed on the clown's Bugs Bunny-inspired fantasy of slaughtering Bats at a barbershop while singing "Figaro."

"…The mischievous youngster expected to recuperate in the next few weeks. Meanwhile, the boy's tutor Jackie North, the mysterious girl infamously kidnapped by the Joker for unknown reasons, took a plane out of Gotham this morning to start work volunteering in different developing countries across the Eastern hemisphere. The teenager says she plans not only to teach children basic curriculum, but also start comedy troupes for the children to take part in. Backed by the Wayne foundation, Miss North plans to dedicate her activism to the memory of her parents, Jack and Jeannie Kerr. Many wonder at the girl's eagerness to take part in comedy after her recent entanglement with the Clown Prince of Crime, but her benefactor Bruce Wayne assures the press, 'She's made the right choice.' In other news, Secretary of Commerce Martin Green denies allegations he was involved in the seedy investigations of"—

Bored, the guards changed the channel to the recent game, their excited cheers and groans annoying Joker even more. He turned to his side, harrumphing exaggeratedly.

What right had the aggravating little chit to take comedy—beautiful, glorious, inspiring, life-restoring comedy—and use it for good? Blech! Joker clenched his fists at the thought of his daughter—his daughter, his! —stealing her father's act to better the lives of underprivileged brats. Sappy! Grotesque!

He'd hunt her down and shoot her if the thought didn't…didn't…make him feel kinda numb like it wasn't that funny. Why…why wasn't the idea of killing her funny? It only gave him this irritating…blank feeling. The lack of violence he wanted to bestow on her really made him hate 'er.

Because of her damn eyes. And that hair. Those blue eyes and that hair a laughing girl not scared your hands are just as dirty dirtier it'll be okay I still

STOP.

Joker shook his head as if trying to brush off a pesky mosquito. Then he giggled self-deprecatingly. What was he thinking about again? My oh my, he certainly was getting less and less lucid than normal lately…for example, take his recent arrest, which he could barely remember. Bits and pieces remained, such as muttering to himself drunkenly as Batman pushed him into the Batmobile, ambulances arriving at…at…wherever the hell his last heist had been. Then he remembered stumbling into his usual cell here at Arkham, laughing as he collapsed onto his cot, then his vision bleary from the tears—

Tears?

Bah! He must be making that part up. Or…just imagined it. He couldn't tell sometimes.

These gaps in his recent memory were becoming quite the disturbing trend.

He was interrupted from his reflections by a bat-shaped shadow looming over him.

Joker turned smiling toward his adversary, the Bat Sap standing behind the screen blocking Joker's cell.

"Hellloooooo, Dork Knight!" Joker merrily rang out. "Missed me, eh? It must be so boring for you when I'm not around to bring a little cheer to your humdrum crusading existence. How's the bird brat? Crippled for life? Oh, do say crippled for life! I could use some good news…."

"I have something for you from your daughter."

Daughter. Sandy hair.

Blink away.

Joker sniffed, haughtily sticking his nose up in the air. "Not interested unless it's a file hidden away in a banana cream pie. Wouldn't do much good here because of the lack of bars, but at least there'd be some hope for her then. After all, it is the thought that counts."

Batman held out a catcher's mitt.

An involuntary shiver seized Joker's shoulders. He desperately held onto his aching smile.

Batman keyed in a code by the screen. The doors slid open quickly, and before Joker had time to move, Batman gently tossed the gift into the air, which landed with a "plop" near Joker's pillow. The screen closed just as quickly.

Batman saw Joker's body tense, as if he wanted to recoil from the old glove. The Dark Knight said quietly, "She does still love you. Don't ask me why, but she does. You don't deserve it. But who knows: maybe Jack Kerr does."

Joker's head snapped up, eyes blazing, his ghastly red grin opening for a retort—

But Batman was already gone.

Tentatively, as if afraid the relic might spring to life, Joker turned over the catcher's mitt, inspecting it in a detached haze. Ha ha ha… 'Take me out to the ball game, take me out to the'—say! Maybe my next caper could be baseball themed! Why not? Lotsa excuses to do some damage with a bat…Heh, BAT! Heh….

His vision blurred again.

But no blood tint this time.

Because a warm voice—unspeakably warm—said, "See? I told you it was too soon to get a baseball glove. I knew it would be a girl."

Joker turned his head slowly to the woman sitting before him on the cot.

She was dressed in a light cotton gown. Her shoulder-length sandy hair hanged down, shining in a glow softer than the cell's dim lighting usually allowed. Her smile was wide and so very, very inviting.

Jackie?

No, not Jackie.

Who…

Her hand soft on his cold wrist.

The dark blue eyes squinting in mischievous camaraderie as she leaned in and practically whispered through her smiling lips, "But it's okay. You know how to make me laugh."

On impulse, Joker reached out for her. But then he blinked.

In his arms was only an old catcher's mitt.

Batman heard from halfway down the corridor a defeated, sobbing cry an instant before it was smothered in hysterical laughter.

END

…That be all, folks. Ya like? The man Batman is talking about, who said all people have one redeeming spark, is J'onn J'onzz, the Martian Manhunter. This took place in the JLA comic book, "Hal Jordan: Spectre of Vengeance, Day of Judgement"…or something like that. Can't find the issue now, of course.

Anyways, I know I took a risk exploring Joker's origin and bringing in an original character like Jackie, but I hope I stayed in character enough for everyone's liking. I look forward to feedback! Thanks so much for all the support, faithful readers and reviewers! You people encourage my merry madness, so it's all your fault. Hee!