Batman Begins/Dark Knight 1. Abnormalcy

_Ordinary_

**Disclaimer: I don't own Batman or the Joker, or the Dark Knight, which, by the way, this is based off of. Oh, but I do own Celeste Williams—that's at least something! **

**Ok, for those that have seen The Dark Knight, this is the first scene in it, even though I think I changed things. I tried to remember everything, but I doubt I did, so…Here you go!**

Celeste Williams had always considered herself to be an average girl. She lived an average life here in Gotham City, in her little one room apartment in an area of the city where all the average people with average lives lived. She was an average nurse; she was not astounding, but she was not the worst one at the hospital either. She was a simple nurse who helped her patients—fed them, dressed them, bathed them, and simply watched over them. An average job with an average income for her average life.

She had a dog, who had the average name of Brandy, a sweet, lovable yellow Labrador retriever who was all that a dog should be, an average kind of dog that almost everyone in the world had.

Celeste had no special personality quirks, nor any kind of physical flaws or beauties that made her stand out in a crowd, become desired by men. She was average looking, with long blonde hair she always kept tied back, a small button nose and sparkling blue eyes. She was pretty enough, yes, but by all standards she was average. She did not go through great lengths for beauty as most of the girls she knew did, and she preferred to wear little makeup, her nails dull and uneven, and her clothes baggy and far from revealing.

In every aspect, Celeste Williams was a normal woman, living a normal life, in a not so normal city.

Gotham City, with the countless villains and heroes that ran about, was not by any means an average city, not so long as the Batman was around. Bank robberies and murders were all too common in Gotham city, even with the heroes of the city, like Batman, around. It was a dangerous place to live, but Celeste could not imagine living anywhere else. The danger was one of the many things that she liked to think made her life not so average, even though the chance of her being a victim was very low, considering how plain she was. Why would anyone target her? Even if she were around for a bank robbery, she certainly would not be singled out; there were plenty of others so much more interesting than her, plain little Celeste. She was safe, she thought, in her ordinariness, and she would not be targeted. So when the day came that she was there, in the bank, during a robbery, she did not panic.

As the men wearing clowns masks barged through the doors, hands gripping guns tightly and aiming all around at the people, she knew what to do, and before they could even order it she dropped to the ground with her hands on her head, the others around her shortly following suit. She stared down at the floor in front of her as she heard the robbers threaten those around her, yell at the tellers and pull them over the desks. There were three of them, and one, she noticed, didn't talk at all. That piqued her curiosity, and that curiosity, she later determined, would set her on the path of destruction and flipped her ordinary life upside down.

When she looked up and over at him, she saw that he was just standing there tranquilly, aiming his gun languidly at the people near him, once in a while firing. She should have been disturbed by the act of violence, but she was not, oddly enough. Celeste was not a violent person, but being a nurse had its consequences, and she now barely flinched at the thought of death, the sight of blood. Death was just how the world worked, that was all. Although she knew death took a toll on people, sometimes even her. No one could just kill a man and not feel some remorse…right?

So as she watched this man shoot down people he did not even know randomly, she could not help but feel a twinge of fascination, as twisted as it was. Would it have made a difference and he had known about the people he was so randomly killing, known about their lives, known their names?

No, she had a feeling that to this man, although she could not see his face, it didn't matter. They were all the same to him, all ordinary, just like her, all pathetic in their normal lives. So when he turned to look at her, the gun raised and pointed at a place between her eyes, she did not attempt to prove that she was anything but ordinary, appearing, she was sure, to him like the others he had just killed, a girl in baggy clothes staring at him with blue eyes. But then, he did something she did not see coming, in all of her ordinary 26 years of life: he lowered the gun. She watched as he stared at her through that frozen mask, his head cocking slightly in an inquisitively manner as he regarded her. She stared back, even though she could not see his face. His hair reached to his shoulders, and in the light she could only tell that it was dirty blonde and messy, falling in small little waves. He wore a slightly faded purple suit, uncommon for a robbery, and underneath of it she could see an emerald vest, covering what she could tell was a lean and muscular figure. She felt a slight thrill go through her body for the man, and was startled by it. This man was a murderer, a criminal, and she felt attracted to him? She couldn't even see his face? But still, the way he could feel his eyes on her, searching, prodding through her average mind…

And then there was the sound of glass shattering, in their moment was ruined. Celeste looked over to see a man holding a shotgun bravely as he glared down the assailants, who dove to hide behind a nearby desk. Celeste could no longer see that masked man from her position, and was happy for it. The man with the shotgun fired at them more, asking them if they knew who they were robbing in whatnot. Celeste found she really couldn't pay attention. Her eyes were glued to the desk the masked man hid behind, waiting for him to emerge from behind it.

The man managed to shoot one of the robbers in the arm—not the one that had captured her interest—before he ran out of bullets, and a second later the purple suited assailant popped up over the desk to finish the man off. Celeste didn't even notice the old man stumble over near her before falling, bleeding, a foot away from her; she was too busy watching the men in clown masks pile up the bags of money they had stolen.

She was startled to see one of the clowns point his gun at the purple suited clown's head, and her breath caught as she awaited the inevitable shot. But then, right before her shocked blue eyes, a bus—a bright yellow _school_ bus, burst through the wall behind him, running the man down and stopping with it's hatch an inch away from the purple suited clown and the bags of money. The back hatch to the bus opened and out jumped another clown, who quickly helped load the bags into the bus. Everything had gone according to plan, she could tell, and she remained unnoticed as usual until the man lying dying near her spoke up again, calling out to the thugs.

Celeste felt her body tense up when the purple suited clown paused in grabbing the bags, and turned back, the light playing across his blonde hair to reveal to her streaks of green blended into it as he slowly made his way--stalking--towards the man and, also, much to her terror, her. He stopped right next to the man, crouching down over him until he was towering over him, a looming presence that demanded attention. The man's eyes widened in fear, as he realized he had just called for his death to come.

She heard through her heart pounding in her ears the injured man ask what the clown believed in, and when he answered….It was the first time she would hear her voice, and she would—could—never forget it.

"I believe… that what ever doesn't kill you… only makes you…" His voice was dark, rough, utterly dripping with evil as he leaned in closer, his hand reaching up to the clown mask and, with a flourish, he ripped it off, revealing his face to her. She barely held in her gasp of horror, of shock, of astonishment. His face was covered in makeup, but not just any makeup: clown makeup. The white paint that covered every feature on his face was cracked and smeared, and his eyes…His eyes were black pits burning with hell fire, accentuated by the black circles painted around them. But it was his mouth, more than his hellish eyes, that shocked Celeste the most. His lips were painted blood red that extended beyond the normal point, reaching almost up to his ears in a large sinister grin in a path, she noticed in horror, that was followed based on scars, scars that extended form the corner of his mouth all the way up to his ears, puffy, ragged lines in his face that were both horrifying and intriguing to her at the same kind. This man, and his demented smile screamed abnormality, screamed the very opposite of everything she was. This man, this monster…

The man he was talking too whimpered as he leaned in, sinisterly close, to finish his sentence, drawing the pistol from his pocket. "Stranger." And with that, the old man who had so bravely tried to fight off the clowns, stop the robbery, got a bullet through his head. Celeste closed her eyes; she could no longer help it, when she saw the blood leaking from his head, saw some brain matter on the floor amongst the blood beneath his lifeless body. When she got the guts to open her eyes again the man with the clown face, the scars, was now standing, staring down at her with those dark hollow eyes. She felt herself shudder, her heart race and flutter frantically, but she did not looked away. That amused him, as his external smile widened as a real smile crossed his painted lips. He put the gun back in his pocket, still studying her, but even without the weapon she still felt fear inside of her, animalistic fear that was as strong as ever.

Her eyes followed his every move as he leaned down over her, some of his green tinted blonde hair falling across his forehead and getting stuck on the white makeup. He licked at the side of his lips with his tongue, touched those awful scars, and Celeste was reminded of a serpent examining it's prey, the poor little field mouse—her.

She shivered as his dark voice whispered to her, his tone holding the semblances of distorted glee meant to inspire fear. "Don't worry beautiful, you'll see me again." And then, as she stared one last time into his dark eyes, he began to cackle, the sound rattling off of the walls of the room, high pitched and distorted sounding, just like the man that it was coming from. His piercing laugh filled her skull, vibrating off the walls of her psyche and making them crumble, crash and crush her. Her ears stung from it, her mind burned from it. As darkness began to claim her vision, darkness as dark as his eyes, which were still watching her, she tried to find some sense of ordinary, some type of normalcy in the situation. There was no demented clown, there was no robbery…

But all the ordinary in her life was gone, lost in that one instant to her curiosity, and she fell into the darkness knowing that she could never get it back.

**What do you think? Review please! **


	2. An Invitation

_Chapter 2: An Invitation_

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except Celeste Williams**

The first thing she became aware of, before her senses could even fully kick in, was the steady throbbing going through her head, shooting from temple to temple in waves of aches. She raised a shaky hand to her head, eyes still closed, still lost somewhere between the folds of reality and dreams, and ran her cold hand over her forehead, pressing it to it to soothe the agonizing pounding that seemed to be in tune with her heart beat.

Slowly her eyes fluttered open, blurry at first, and she had to blink several times to adjust them. A white stained ceiling was the first thing she saw, and her eyes widened, her grogginess vanished, as she recognized it. She was in her apartment. She sat up slowly, wide eyes looking around, flickering over the familiar surroundings, her recognizable space, and she tried to understand. The bank…

She remembered it all so clearly. She had been stopping in to cash in her paycheck when they had entered, with guns, and then…All of it. The man with the shotgun dying next to her, his brain matter spraying across the floor, the men in clown masks, the shouting, the bags of money, the guns…But mostly, more than anything, she remembered _him_, the man with the scars on his face that formed an eternal smile, the man with the smeared and cracked clown makeup, his burning black eyes… She began to shake just thinking about him, wincing as her head throbbed painfully again. She looked around her room in a wonder now, wondering if perhaps it had all been a dream. She was in her bed, and when she looked over at the clock on her nightstand the red letters told her it was 4:34 AM. It would have made more sense if she had dreamt it all up; in fact, she would have preferred it that way. She could still hear his voice, so dark and dangerous, whispering to her that line, that line that had had her heart nearly exploding and had made her mind go blank in terror.

"_Don't worry beautiful, you'll see me again…" _

She raised a hand to her forehead again, ran it through her hair, which must have come loose from its ponytail over night. No, she wouldn't see him again; it had all just been a dream after all, a terrifying, way too realistic dream that she never wanted to have again. She shouldn't have eaten dinner last night, she mentally berated herself as she climbed out of bed. She always had bad dreams when she went to bed on an empty stomach. She would never make that mistake again, that was for sure. In fact, she should just go eat now. She was sure there was an apple in the tiny kitchen, or at least some type of quick food.

As she stumbled her way into her living room—which contained her tiny kitchen in the corner of it—she saw that Brandy was sound asleep on the couch, and giggled a little. Her dog seemed to think that she was human sometimes, with the way she jumped up on furniture as though she had the right too. Celeste decided to just let her dog sleep and reprimand her in the morning for it.

She kept the lights off, the room dimly lit by the city lights that poured in from the large window across the room, and began her search for food. She did not have much; like everyone else who lived in a city, she liked to eat out, and grocery shopping was a rare event. But as she had thought she did have a couple apples in a bowl on the counter, and wasted no time in snatching it up to bite into it's smooth, red surface. As she munched down on her apple, she looked over to her phone, and saw the red flash on the answering machine that told her that she had messages. Curious—since it was the middle of the night—she pressed the button, and played them.

The first one was from her best friend and colleague Anne, whose desperate voice filled the silent area. _"Oh god Celeste, I just saw the news! You were in that bank robbery…Oh god, please tell me you're home and all right! Damn, call me back as soon as you get this, ok? You better be ok!" _

The apple slipped form her fingers to fall to the floor as she backed away from the machine, trembling, eyes wide and shock pulsating trough her. In an instant she took off down the hallway to the bathroom, slapped the lights on, and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She was appeared the same as she always had, only much paler, her eyes much more wide in terror as she looked down and saw that she still wore her baggy clothes from yesterday. The clothes she had worn during the…

"Oh God…" she leaned against the sink, squeezed her eyes shut. It really had happened all of it, and that man, that scarred, devil of man, had been real. The wall of denial her mind had fabricated, that delicate belief that she had fantasized about her returning home unscathed from work, having never gone to the bank, crumbled at her feet, exposing her to the terrifying reality of what had happened, and what she had seen. She opened her eyes and stared into them, noticing how bloodshot they were, how unnaturally wide and dark the blue of them was. She couldn't look at herself anymore; it only made her remember.

Yanking open the mirror to expose the medicine cabinet behind it, she grabbed the bottle of Tylenol and ripped the cap off of it, hurriedly taking two pills and dry swallowing them. Her headache seemed to be the only thing she could fix at the moment, and it frustrated her. Why couldn't she just repress the memories? She leaned against the sink again and tried, but failed; his ghoulish face haunted her, the sounds of gunshots ringing in her ears. And his laugh…She could still remember that high pitched sound, so loud and mad, echoing in her ears, and it only made her headache worse. There was no way she could forget such a thing, but she knew that she had to move past it; any normal person would. It was over, she told herself as she left the bathroom, flicking off that unforgiving light. It was passed, and she had a life to get back to, considering it was not over; she had not, by some miracle, died in that bank, so she'd make use of her life.

There were two other messages on her machine; one was from the police—Commissioner Gordon was his name—informing her that the Batman had brought her safely back to her apartment once she had been found unconscious in the bank. That gave her some relief; at least now she knew how she had gotten home, because the terrified part of her had thought it might have been the man with the scars. And believe it or not, she felt as though she could trust the Batman, even if he was a vigilante. But she had a feeling that he had rules that he had to follow, and as strange as it was she…trusted the masked man. At least he wore a mask and not cracked clown makeup…But she had to stop thinking about that, about him. The chances of ever seeing him again were slim to none. She told herself that repeatedly as she hit the button to play the final message, and was relieved to find that it was just a hang up. Nothing to worry about…

The clock in the kitchen, faintly illuminated by the city lights glow, read 5:03 AM; it was really hard to believe that so little time had passed since she had awoken. So many things had happened, had been realized…But she had to start getting ready for work, had to start living her normal life and starting her ordinary day. She could not pause, could not stop and think. She shed her clothes and a feeling of renewal consumed her, as though the clothes had held all of the abnormalities as she turned the shower on and stepped under the hot spray, feeling it pound at her skin, wash away all that happened. She would pretend that everything was fine, that she had never sent that scarred man; alone in her white bathroom, under the soothing spray of water, it was easy to forget. Almost….too easy.

But to her, that was just normal.

**--**

Her day went by without any kind of problems, as smooth and mundane as it always was, and she could not have enjoyed it more. Her patients were doing better; Mrs. Smith was now starting to eat solid foods after having stomach surgery, and little Anna Beth's skin was starting to grow back after having been burned in a severe fire. As for her other patients—she believed there had to be over twenty of them by now—they were all smiles and compliments, luckily none having had seen the news last night to hear about eh bank robbery she had been involved in. In fact, with the exception of Anne, who had practically wept in relief when she saw her, no one said anything, or acted any differently. And even if they had seen the news…They just did not care, it was as simple as that. Celeste knew she should be insulted, but she couldn't will herself to be; she was not that kind of person, and she knew very well that she was no one extraordinary. If she were just to leave one day, no one would mind; they could easily replace her, boring old Celeste. And she didn't mind.

She was smiling actually as she walked down the white hallways, her comfy plain tennis shoes making no sound on the hard tiled floor. She passed door after door, and knew almost every person behind them. Room 302—Eileen Marks, room 303—Alice Whitham, room 304 Timothy Jenkins… She was passing by room 312 when the door suddenly opened and Dr. Hopkins stepped out, fumbling with the file he held in his pudgy hands. When he looked over and noticed her a bright grin suddenly overtook his jolly features, and Celeste felt a pulse of trepidation as she smiled back kindly.

"Ah Celeste!" the good doctor beamed, "Just the person I was looking for!"

"Uh…" He was looking for her? He never had before; before she was just like every other nurse in this maze of a hospital, one among hundreds. She had never been singled out… "Yes sir, why were you looking for me?"

"Because my dear, Mr. Bruce Wayne himself asked if you'd be his nurse!"

Celeste bit back her gasp. Bruce Wayne was far from just an ordinary man, or even a normal patient. The man was a billionaire, a playboy, one of the star names in Gotham. Everyone knew who he was, how rich he was, what he did each day—he was Gotham's celebrity in a way, and to know that he wanted _her_ to be his nurse…Well, you could understand if she felt more than a little intimidated.

"Me sir?" she flushed, "I don't think I'm suitable for-"

"Nonsense my girl, he asked specifically for you! Will you deny Bruce Wayne?" He stared at her intently, as though daring her to say no. She could only shake her head in astonishment.

"But Dr. Hopkins, why me? I don't…"

"You'll just have to ask him that!" Dr. Hopkins exclaimed, "Now hurry along in there; Mr. Wayne is not to be kept waiting!" She did not get to ask anymore questions as Dr. Hopkins bustled past her and hurried down the hallway, leaving her standing alone and dumbfounded before the hospital room that contained Gotham city's billionaire inside. And she thought her life was getting back to normal…

It took her a moment to compose herself. She was not vain, but she really wished she had a mirror to look in; she was pretty sure her face was blood red and sweaty. She wiped her hands nervously on her blue scrubs, which she was mortified to see where dirty with applesauce—Mrs. Smith was not a good eater—and placed her hand on the cool doorknob, taking in a deep breath as she tried her best to imagine this as a normal patient she was looking into, a normal person and not a billionaire…

The door opened smoothly and she stepped through, her hands clenched together as her eyes automatically flew to the figure sitting on the hospital bed. And all the cool thoughts she had collected fell from her head. Bruce Wayne was just as handsome in person as he was in the media pictures she had seen of him. His dark eyes, so deep and endearing, met hers evenly, a crooked smile that made her knees weak crossing his full lips as he regarded her.

"So you're Celeste Williams, aren't you?" His voice was deep and charming, and Celeste felt herself inhale sharply, her face burning up.

"Y-Yes, that's me, Mr. Wayne…"

"Please," he smiled, "call me Bruce." Now that certainly surprised her. She gaped at him for a moment before realizing how rude she was being and blushed scarlet, eyeing him almost wearily.

"W-Why should I call you Bruce…?"

"Why shouldn't you?" he replied smoothly, "You are my nurse after all…"

"Um, I just wanted to know Mr. Wayne…Bruce…Why did you pick me? I mean, there are so many other nurses…"

"Yes, but none of them are you," he said that so casually, stared at her so intently, that she instantly began to turn bright red and shift awkwardly from foot to foot in the doorway. "And I've heard you were a good nurse."

"Who…Who told you that?"

"Someone I work with," he replied rather vaguely, quickly changing the subject before she could ask more. "Now aren't you going to look at me?"

"Um…" Great, that had only made her blush even more! Yes, she sure was looking at him… She was sure that her face was almost purple by now as she walked—or rather stumbled in a daze—over to his side.

"Where are you hurt at?" she tried to sound business like, but the instant he lifted up his shirt to expose his finely chiseled chest all thoughts on business, all her thoughts on injured and whatnot, faded into a pile of female appreciative goo. This man had muscles…He must work out a lot, something she appreciated in a man… But she could never think of such things. With a shake of her flustered head she drew her eyes away from the muscles that twitched slightly under her gaze and moved them down to the source of this, uh, exposure. There was a long cut in his side, not deep enough to call for any stitches but definitely prominent and bleeding slightly. Immediately jumping into action she grabbed some gauze and, not waiting for his permission, moved forward to press it to the wound to stem the blood flow. She heard him inhale sharply at the contact, but did not ease up the pressure; billionaire or not, Bruce Wayne would just have to deal with discomfort. To distract him, she scrambled for something to say, well aware of how close her body was to his.

"So, uh, M-Mr. Wayne, tell me about yourself…" She knew it was stupid, but could she really be blamed for asking such a foolish thing? He was so attractive and she was so close to him…

"What would you like to know, Miss. Williams?" There was definitely an edge of amusement in his voice, and she blushed in humiliation.

"Uh, what…What do you do in your spare time?" she nervously stuttered, lifting the gauze a little to see that the wound had stopped bleeding. She was well aware of his dark eyes following her as she moved away from him to throw the gauze away, going over to the sink to prepare an antibacterial swab.

"In my spare time I do what everyone else does, I suppose…" Her back was to him, so that she did not see that flash go through his eyes. Oh yes, he did what everyone else did alright… "What do you do Miss. Williams?"

"I…" She went back over to him, swab in hand, and sat on the bed beside him, careful not to meet his eyes as she began to trace the wound with the antibacterial swab, feeling him shiver slightly. "I do what every one else does I suppose. I'm not that interesting…"

"I don't believe that." He said it so firmly that she could not resist looking up at him, and was startled to find him staring down at her with bright brown eyes. "I do not believe you're not interesting; everyone's interesting in some way."

She bit her lip and had to look away, blushing deeply and fumbling with the swab as she finished cleaning the laceration. She needed to change the subject fast, before she exploded from nerves. "I…How did you get your injury?" There, that was a reasonable, nurse-like question to ask.

"Oh, I fell on something. Now tell me what you like to do." He dismissed her question fluidly, but Celeste did notice how abrupt it was. Fell on something, did he? She looked back over the wound, ran her eyes over the clean cut about three inches long. It appeared as though he had 'fallen' on a knife or something…

But she did not comment, instead deciding to follow him and change the subject. "Well, I like to go for walks, and…and I like to work here…" She really could not think of anything; did she even have any real hobbies? She had always enjoyed reading but…that just seemed too weak, too boring. Her hobbies were her life, which wasn't much…

"Tell me Celeste…" When he said her name she blushed again, and tried not to notice the knowing smile he gave her when she did. He stopped and allowed her to start taping gauze over the wound, and Celeste was left to wonder what exactly he wanted to say. The man was psyching her out…It was only when she was done and washing her hands that he continued, standing from the small hospital bed as she turned back to face him. "Tell me, do you like parties?"

"Parties?" she blinked at him, "I…It depends…"

"I'm throwing a charity event this Saturday at the Ritz (Uh, couldn't think of a restaurant name. Seriously, what would you call that place?) and I think you should come."

"Oh, I…" Now she was really blushing, staring up at him in shock. Was he…No, he couldn't be asking her on a date, not if it was a charity event…

"Please Celeste, I'd like it if you came…" What was he doing? Staring down at her so tenderly…And what was she doing, reacting to him this way? She barely knew him for God's sake! But still, he was rich, handsome, and seemed so sweet… Celeste had never really been in love. She had thought she had been once, but that proved to be wrong when she didn't mind seeing her boyfriend suck face with her old best friend. No, she had not minded at all, but had just left them both to continue on in her simple, uncomplicated existence, burying herself in the familiar and her job. And now, to think of a relationship again…It had been years, five years, she thought, and Bruce Wayne was certainly the perfect candidate…What did she have to loose?

And so she nodded, still blushing, unable to meet his eyes as he grinned in happiness and relief. "Oh thank god, I'd thought I'd have to grovel!"

She shot him a quick, meek look, tugging at her shirt in nervousness. "You would really grovel for me?"

His smile just widened, and he said no more. After giving her directions to the restaurant and telling her to wear something beautiful, he gave her one last charming smile that made her heart flutter and left, just like that, leaving her alone and a mess of nerves in the empty hospital room. She sank down on the bed, the one Bruce Wayne had occupied only minutes ago, and began the process of sorting out her thoughts. She never left things alone; she always had to review them, shift them around, until hey were perfect, until they met her needs. She was not to get her expectations up. She looked down at the address she clutched in her hands for a moment before tucking it away in the pocket to her scrubs. She wouldn't tell anyone either. Saturday was only two days away, and she had to plan accordingly. She thought she had an old dress in the back of her closet, but she could not be sure. Perhaps tomorrow she'd go dress shopping? By herself, of course; it was much quicker that way, and less complicated when she had only her opinion to buy upon, to listen to.

Celeste was already planning on how much she would eat and drink, how many songs she would dance too, as she exited the room to go back to her job, and before long the only reminder of the encounter was the written address crumpled in her pocket.

**Please Review and tell me what you think! Oh, and do you think Celeste will fall for Bruce or someone more…insane, perhaps? Keep reading and you'll find out! **


	3. In Her Head

_Chapter 3: In Her Head_

**Disclaimer: I don't own anyone from Batman, although I do own Celeste! **

By the time Celeste's shift ended at the hospital, it was 11PM and she was all but dead on her feet. She was one of the people who liked to go to bed early and wake up early, especially considering her shift began at 7AM every morning. Not that she ever complained; if she did not work at the hospital, than her life would be even more mundane and dull than it already was. At least at the hospital she got to see interesting—and sometimes disturbing—sights that mixed up her day, and the people she met…

Her hand closed around the address she still had tucked into the pocket of her scrubs as she unlocked her apartment door. Mr. Bruce Wayne…A faint blush covered her cheeks as she entered her dark apartment, immediately moving over and switching on the light in her kitchen. He was a character all right, and certainly an enigma. That cut on his side…She doubted that he could have fallen on something to cause such a clean gash. That left only assault; but who would assault Mr. Wayne? And certainly he would have gone to the police…

She was too tired to muse. All she really knew was that for some reason she could not fathom, Bruce Wayne had taken an interest in her. Even just the thought made her blush now, as she pulled some snacks down out of her cabinet. The last two days had been too odd for her; she had to do something ordinary, such as watching TV.

As she sat down on her couch armed with a bag of chips and kicked her shoes off, she allowed the feeling of ease to creep into her system before reaching for the TV remote. She had opened her bag of chips and was munching on them contentedly as she watched the late night news, listening in to the daily happenings.

It was then that they mentioned the bank robbery that she had been in. Celeste tried her best to brush it off, warding off the memories firmly as she swallowed another chip. It had already happened, and she had survived; in the end, wasn't that all that mattered? It should not matter to an ordinary person, and so it wouldn't matter to Celeste.

When the subject changed she thought it would be over, thought that nothing else could have possibly reminded her. But then the newswoman, a frown marring her made up features, mentioned a videotape that contained a man with a painted on clown face who went by the name of the Joker.

The Joker.

Celeste felt her heart skip a beat, and her breath caught in her throat when an image of him, the Joker, flashed across the screen, so life like and terrifying. It was _him_ alright, the man with the insane laughter, the man with the scars. The Joker…

She tried not to listen in as they talked about him, but she could not resist.

'_The Joker is currently being hunted expansively, and if anyone has any information, they are expected to call Gotham City Police. We now take you to Commissioner Jim Gordon of the GCP, who has details on yesterday's robbery."_

The camera switched to footage shot earlier today of a man standing outside of the Police Station, his glasses pushed up far on his angular nose and accentuating his blue eyes as he spoke into the microphone.

"_In response to yesterday's robbery, all the banks in the area will be watched in case this misfortunate circumstance happens again. As for this Joker character, it is believed that he is perhaps working for well known crime boss Maroni to retrieve money for him. This is just a suspicion, but regarding Maroni the new DA Defense Attorney Harvey Dent has been called in. We are adamant when it comes to protecting Gotham's citizens, and we will do all that we can to stop and catch this criminal known as the Joker." _

The camera switched back to the anchor woman, who just went on again about how Gotham's citizen were guaranteed protection and a whole bunch of other irritating shit that no one believed but was meant to reassure. Celeste had heard enough however, and turned the TV off rather roughly, throwing the remote down as she stared at her pale face in the dark reflection on the TV. Knowing that the police were on the case did little to reassure her; she remembered clearly the mad glint she had seen in the Joker's eyes. He was a man that was not to be reckoned with, and the only person Celeste could think of that would be able to stop him was Batman. But then, no one really knew if the Batman was 'good' either. A masked vigilante dressed in black…he did not exactly win the public's affection that way.

Sighing to herself she stood from her comfy seat, deciding that she had already seen too much and needed to go to bed. She put the chips away and entered her tiny bedroom, stripping out of her scrubs into her oversized tee shirt and sweatpants. Brandy was already on her floor asleep, and as Celeste moved past her with her dirty scrubs she reached down to give her yellow dog a soft pat on the head.

Before she threw her scrubs in the laundry hamper, she took the address out of the pocket and set it on her dresser. Saturday…She bit her lip. That was now only a day away. Would she really go? The Ritz was not a place normal people often got a chance to go too, especially someone as ordinary as her. It was certainly an opportunity, but…

"Ugh, I need sleep!" she grumbled, petting Brandy again as she threw herself into her bed. As she pulled her sheets up around her and flicked off the light, she could not help but notice how dark it was. Now Celeste had never been one to be afraid of the dark. Many thought that was kind of peculiar; who isn't afraid of the unknown darkness? In the darkness, everything was hidden and appeared distorted, but to Celeste…She just thought that it was calming. Or at least, she usually did. Tonight something seemed…off. As though she were being watched somewhere through that darkness, from one of the shadows in her room. She brushed it aside and only buried deeper beneath her covers. She had just allowed all that Joker nonsense to get o her head, allowed the panic that had consumed her during the robbery to affect her.

Celeste was never one to let herself get affected, ever. She was always calm, always even and smooth. Her life was eventless, and she loved it that way. And so this main event, this man known as the 'Joker', had understandably shaken her up, and she despised him for it.

She hated him…

But she did not fear him, and that was the difference. That was what separated her from millions, from all of Gotham City and set her apart, in the mind of that madman who had attracted her attention…

Celeste Williams was abnormal in the sense that she truly thought she was normal.

--

By Saturday night, Celeste was a nervous wreck. She did not know if she was still invited or not; she had not heard from Bruce Wayne at all, and so she was unsure. He had given her the address however so…Did that mean she was to meet him there? She could not be certain, and when she wasn't certain, it always drove her crazy.

She had a pretty dress all picked out, one she had gotten on sale for half price at a little shop near her apartment. She had thought it had looked good on her then, but now as she studied it under the yellow light of her room, she was uncertain. Red just didn't look that good on her, when she thought about it. Green looked better, or blue to match her eyes, but certainly not red. What had she been thinking picking a dress such a color? And such a revealing one at that! It was far too low cut in the back, and although the straps were modestly thick and the material went across her chest in a demure way, she still thought it looked too promiscuous. It was floor length, but the silk material had a way of clinging to her legs, and since she believed herself not to be in shape, well…The image was revolting to her, a harlot in bright red with fat legs.

But it was too late—if she were to go that is—to find something else to wear. This princess cut red number was really all she had, and although it was ordinary enough, she absolutely despised it. Would Mr. Wayne mind if she wore just jeans and a shirt? It was certainly more practical, but not at all elegant, and she groaned in frustration. No, she'd have to stick with the dress…if she was even going, that is. At this point she was still unsure. She still could not possibly imagine what Bruce Wayne could see in her.

She looked over to the mirror behind her dresser and assessed her features. She did have a nice face with aristocratic features, and her eyes were an enchanting blue, but that was it. Her hair was just plain blonde, even though it was all natural, and fell almost past her breasts in golden waves. She could not decide what to do with it, so she opted just to leave it down; after all, it was long enough to at least cover half of her back that the dress would expose.

She had to make a decision quickly; the clock already read 7:38PM, and she had to be at the Ritz, according to the address, by 8. If she went it would certainly be extraordinary, but she was so scared of making a fool out of herself. She was by no means upper class, and to be the date of a billionaire…It was more than a little intimidating.

But Bruce had really been kind to her, and he seemed to be genuinely interested for reasons she could not understand. Would it really be so bad? All she had to do was smile and laugh, she kept telling herself, and according to Bruce, it was a fundraiser, and she was always keen on helping others. So what, really, did she have to lose?

Yet still her hands shook a little as she picked up her dress and began to slide it on over the black lingerie set she wore. It was ridiculous, to be nervous over something that had yet to happen, yet she was, anticipation already flooding her being. The dress reminded her of blood as she slid it on, zipping it up and stepping back to examine her full appearance in the mirror. It still looked bad to her, but at least it was fancy, being all silky and smooth and vibrant against her pale skin.

Next came the makeup. Celeste still decided not to put a lot of makeup on, despite the occasion and the dress. The only outrageous thing she did was apply blood red lipstick to her full lips and fastened a single diamond on a golden chain around her neck. The gem caught the light and reflected her eye color in the mirror to her as she turned away, absently reaching up to grab the cool stone, which had been a graduation gift from her mother. It was the only present she had ever received from her, so it was important as well as sad.

She brushed her hair out slowly as she listened to the news drifting in to her from the other room, absently listening for anything involving the Joker. Once the golden locks looked fairly decent she read the clock again, seeing that it was now 7:48PM and she had to get going.

Giving Brandy a kiss on the head she grabbed her simple black purse and turned everything off, her heart fluttering almost frightfully in her chest as she stepped out of her apartment into the silent hallway. Her dress glided around her in an elegant way as she started down the stairs, clutching her purse more protectively every time she saw a shadow. She still could not help but feel uneasy at the dark, still could not help but think that she was being watched. But that was simply preposterous…

She was on the last flight of stairs when she heard it, movement on the staircase above her. She froze, halfway down the steps, straining her ears against the darkness for any sounds. It could be a neighbor; in fact, the possibility that it was was likely, so her reaction, her racing heart, was completely unnecessary…

And then she heard it. It was the faintest of sounds, and could easily have been imagined. Later, Celeste would try to convince herself that it had all been in her head, that her fucked up mind had conjured it, but at that moment, in the darkened hallway, it was horribly real.

_His _laughter; the Joker's laughter.

That dark cackle that she remembered so distinctly, that horrid sound that echoed insanity, was layered in it. She was frozen on the steps in fear for another moment, just listening, just panicking, when the sounds of footsteps were heard, and she jumped into action. Her high heeled feet carried her down the rest of the stairs and out the door into the alleyway behind her apartment, and she hurried down it, passing the overflowing trashcans and running over old sheets of newspaper that stuck to her shoes.

At the mouth of it, as she stood halfway in the street, she turned back to look at the door, half expecting the Joker to emerge from it with that grin on his face, with a gun in his hands aimed at her. But it didn't; she stayed alone, trembling and wide eyed, at the edge of the alley, people brushing past the terrified girl in the red dress with ease, no one bothering to stop and ask if she was alright.

And she was alright. Although her breathing was ragged, her face pale and eyes wide, she was alright, because she was alone, and the Joker had not really been there. It was just her overactive imagination, that's all. As she hailed a cab and climbed in, told the driver the address she had by now memorized by heart, she told herself that the shadow in her apartment window was just her lamp, and that the barking she heard from Brandy didn't mean anything. Brandy was just excited at something, that was all, and it might not even be Brandy at all…

It was all in her head, and she chose to believe that.

**Sorry this chapter was short, I wanted to do the dinner party in the next chapter because well…I just felt like it, haha. No, seriously though, the next chapter will be hopefully longer, cuz Mr. Harvey Dent is going to be introduced. What fun.**

**Please Review! **


	4. The Banquet

_**Chapter 4: The Banquet**_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or any relate characters_

_Ok, I tried to base this movie off of that scene in the Dark Knight where Bruce and that Russian ballerina—whatever her name is, see Rachel and Harvey in the restaurant, but I forgot the dialogue, and couldn't find the script anywhere, so…I tried to remember, but I'm sure I didn't so, huzzah, it's all from scratch except like two lines! I know, how creatively forgetful am I?_

She arrived at the restaurant at 8:08—eight minutes late and counting. She knew that it was only eight minutes, hardly any time at all, but she could not help but freak out. She had been taught to always be punctual; if she wasn't, then…

But that was the past, and she really had no reason to fear now, not now that her father was gone. Yet still, years of being under his tyranny had instilled the belief of complete promptness inside of her, so that when the clock in the dash board of the cab reached eight she had all but had a heart attack in the backseat. She was already out of the cab and throwing her money at the driver before it could even fully stop, her high heeled feet making her stumble some as she hurried—hurried as in sprinted—towards the big glass doors that led into the fancy restaurant.

She was running through the doors, flustered and panting some for breath, when she ran directly into a hard chest on the other side of the door, the impact sending her stumbling back some as two hands grabbed her shoulders to steady her.

Wide eyed and panting, Celeste stared up through the tangled golden locks of hair in her face into the startled face of Bruce Wayne.

"O-oh, Mr. Wayne!" she stammered, awkwardly moving back away from him as his hands fell from her shoulders. "I-I'm sorry I'm late, I had wardrobe problems…"

"Wardrobe problems?" Bruce raised a brow, studying and mentally critiquing the simple yet elegant dress she wore. "I don't see any problems; you look stunning to me."

Celeste blushed lightly as she muttered a quick, "thank you," under her breath, unused to getting compliments from anyone, especially billionaires.

She took the arm he offered her, still blushing, and allowed him to lead her into the building, following him down the fancy marble hallway to the elevator at the end.

"So tell me Celeste, why did you think that you were late?" he asked as they stepped in the elevator, and he pressed the button for floor 15, the top floor.

She was quiet as the elevator began to move up, and he continued. "I mean, you really weren't! Hell, I was just as late as you; I had just arrived when you showed up. I thought I'd be the one making you wait!"

"I wouldn't have minded waiting for you," she smiled shyly at him, and he smiled right back.

"That's why I like you Celeste, you're sweet, unlike everyone else in this screwed up city." He commented, and she blushed lightly again, trying to tell herself that it was nothing.

The elevator reached the top floor when she responded.

"That's just what makes Gotham so interesting."

He threw her a look as he offered his arm again and they stepped out into the restaurant filled with a crowd of Gotham's richest and finest, and did not answer her.

They were received by the waiter who all but bowed to Bruce, and were led through the maze of tables, champagne and fancy dresses to their seat all the way in the back, right next to the wall that was really a big floor length window overlooking Gotham at night which, in Celeste's opinion, was not a very pretty sight, with all the crime it contained.

"Do you think Batman is out there running around?" Celeste asked as they were seated, and Bruce gave her a curious look.

"I don't know, why? Do you want him to be?" he asked, and she looked away from his rather intense gaze, flustered.

"W-Well he is a hero, and he has helped the city, so…So why wouldn't I want him to be out there?"

"Because he's not really a hero," Bruce replied simply, "He's a masked vigilante and know one really knows what he wants. Do you trust him Celeste?"

"Me?" she stuttered, "Oh, I really can't say; I mean, he's never saved ne or anything or wronged me, so I have no reason to hate him…"

"Tell me," Bruce leaned forward a little, his dark eyes boring into hers in a way that made her shift uncomfortably and fiddle with her menu. "Do you think Batman's helped Gotham?"

"Oh certainly! If not for him, who else would clean up these disgusting streets? In my opinion, Batman's doing Gotham a favor, and not many appreciate him for it."

"Do you?" Bruce suddenly all but demanded, his voice holding a slight edge of desperation. "Do you appreciate Batman Celeste?"

"I…" There was something in his eyes, she noticed, something dark and almost…desperate, as though her opinion meant the world to him. She couldn't understand it, but she could give him the answer he wanted.

"Yes Bruce," she smiled as brightly as she could at him, her eyes trailing over to the dark window and the distant city lights. "I believe in Batman," she said with conviction, "And I know that he'll save this city…One way or another."

"You…You truly believe in the masked vigilante that much?" His voice held some traces of disbelief as she looked back at him, still smiling.

"Yes," she replied, "If not him, then who will save us?"

He didn't have an answer, because there wasn't one. They sat in silence for a moment, scanning their menus with downcast eyes, Celeste once in awhile sneaking a peek at him over her menu as she recalled the conversation they had just had. That startling desperation, that edge to his voice…

"Bruce?" she slowly inquired and he looked up with a smile.

"Yes? Do you have any questions about the menu? I know some of the selections are fancy, so I usually end up just getting the steak…"

"All of the selections look lovely, but, um, my question doesn't have to do with that. It's about Batman…" She almost missed the way he tensed, shifted in his seat and cleared his throat.

"Oh, still on this subject are we?" he sighed in a detached tone that Celeste did not quite believe.

"Um, I'm sorry if you don't like the subject, and I don't mean to pry, but, um…You asked me if I believed that the Batman could save this city. Tell me Bruce, what you think; do you think he can?"

"Do I?" Bruce looked almost startled by the question, his eyebrows raising high as he leaned back in his chair and regarded her. "I suppose," he slowly replied, "It all depends on if he's able to stand the corruption of this city but…But I just don't know, I can't say…"

"Oh come on, where's your belief?" she lightly teased, sensing that the atmosphere was growing too thick, too heavy and awkward. She had a knack for noticing things like that, with the childhood she had lived…

Bruce's answer was a half a smile and silence, his attention turning back down to the menu, signaling the end of the conversation.

Celeste was contemplating all that had happened and his rather eerie response to her question when he suddenly gasped, and she looked up in question to see him staring over at a table on the other end of the room, a huge smile covering his handsome face.

"Bruce, what is it?" she asked, feeling slightly nervous when he turned that grin on her. She blinked, startled, when he suddenly stood, placing his menu on the table as he reached over to grab her gently by her wrist and guide her up to her feet as well.

"Uh, Bruce?" she squeaked, following him as he gently dragged her along in the direction where he had been looking. "Where are we-"

"Rachel's here," Bruce revealed right as they reached a table and stopped, and Celeste could only repeat that name in her head as Bruce turned to address the brown haired woman and blonde haired man sitting at the table, the woman wearing a look of shock upon seeing the playboy billionaire.

"Bruce?" she gasped slightly and Bruce's smile widened.

"Rachel, what a coincidence!" Bruce threw back, his smile growing even wider as he turned to face the blonde haired man. "And look at this, with Gotham's new DA no less, Harvey Dent!" As Harvey smiled back kindly at Bruce, Celeste studied the new additions to the night, who she recognized as Rachel Dawes and, as Bruce had said, Gotham's new D.A., Harvey Dent. They looked just as she had always seen them in the news, both looking glamorous in their evening wear with dazzling smiles on their faces—although Celeste noticed Rachel's looked a little forced.

She was forced from her thoughts when Rachel turned her smile on her and asked, "Who's your friend?"

"Oh this lovely creature," Bruce tightened his grip on her arm as she smiled shyly, "Is Celeste Williams."

"Celeste, it's a pleasure to meet you," Harvey Dent smiled, and she nodded to him in thanks, not trusting her voice as she stared into the face of one of Gotham's other celebrities. She had never expected this, any of it…

"Let's have the waiter pull up a table," Bruce suggested, and Harvey looked at him in slight skepticism.

"Are we allowed to do that?"

"Of course!" Bruce scoffed a little, still smiling, "I own the place after all!"

Oh, Celeste thought absently as with a snap of his fingers Bruce had half the restaurants service at his side; that was why they all practically worshipped him, because he kept them employed. What suck ups…She made a mental note to never degrade herself like that, even for her boss. She refused to be pushed down, to be bossed around, not anymore, not after having to live with it for so long. But that was the past and, as a table was pushed up and she and Bruce sat down across from Rachel and Harvey, this was the present.

"So tell me Celeste, how did you and Bruce meet?" Rachel immediately questioned, and for a second Celeste thought that it was because she was jealous. But as Celeste replayed the words in her head, as she was prone to do, she only heard genuine curiosity in the woman's voice, and her smile widened for her.

"Bruce came in the hospital where I was working for a chest injury." She explained, and watched as Rachel's eyes widened and snapped to Bruce's.

"A chest injury?" she repeated, her voice lowering in a rather odd way. "Are…Are you alright? What happened?"

"Oh, I just fell down on something, that's all. You know me Rachel, always clumsy!" the billionaire laughed, and his old friend smiled and rolled her eyes in what appeared to be a rather forced way.

"Did you need stitches?" Harvey questioned, and Bruce looked over at her with a raised brow, wanting her to answer it.

"Oh, oh no. Uh, it was a faint cut, just a lesion of the skin, actually…." She murmured, and Harvey grinned.

"A lesion, huh? Now I know you're a nurse!" he joked, and she giggled back weakly. "Rachel here's not too good with injuries, or anything other than law." He turned to face the now lightly scowling Rachel, who gently smacked his arm as he laughed. "That's not funny jerk! I'm just not good when it comes to the sight of blood," she said to Celeste, who nodded in understanding.

"That's a shame too, because so many would be great nurses if not for that fear," Celeste replied, and Rachel nodded in agreement.

"Yes…In fact, I was thinking of majoring in nursing, and I would have, if not for that not so little fear. But, in some ways I'm happy I didn't; I like the law, and the people I meet in it."

Rachel's smile and eyes immediately found Harvey's and Celeste immediately knew what she met. As she watched them smile and gaze into each other's eyes for a moment, she was struck by an odd jealousy she had never felt before. She was not jealous of their love per say, but rather their closeness to each other, the way they could look so relaxed and carefree… Celeste had never truly been close to anyone; she had had a couple boyfriends, but she had never let herself get too close, her trust always lacking. No one could really blame her for that if they knew of her childhood, but since she refused to tell anyone about it, for fear of having to relive it…All of her relationships turned cold just as they turned hot, and she was sure that the same thing would happen with the billionaire lounging next to her.

"You two sure are close," Bruce commented, and Celeste noted the rather longing sound in his voice, shifting in her seat to get a better view of him beside her. He was staring across the table at the still smiling Rachel and Harvey, and his eyes were oddly dark. Rachel's smile faded a little as she looked away from Harvey over to Bruce.

"Of course, we work together," she replied coolly, and both Celeste and Bruce recognized it as an obvious lie, especially when Harvey pouted at her.

"Now Rachel, you know that's not-"

Harvey's response was cut short; in a rather lucky way it seemed, by the waiter, who came to collect orders. Celeste had never really looked over her menu; she had been too immersed in thoughts and conversations too pay any attention to food. So when it came time for her to announce her order she said the only thing that made sense—steak—and blushed at the tiny laugh Bruce gave.

"I see you've taken my advice," he said, leaning in towards her with a smile on his face.

"It was the only thing I saw that I knew what it was, like you said," she shyly replied, and he chuckled again, looking back over to Rachel and Harvey. "Celeste's never been to this restaurant. What do you think of it so far Celeste?"

"It's…" She wanted to say that it was quite stuffy and the service was too overbearing, until she remembered that Bruce owned it. "It's lovely, and this wine is superb." That said, she pointedly took another sip of the red wine, wearing a smile on her face the entire time.

"She's right Bruce; this really is a nice place," Harvey agreed, "Especially compared to the city it's in."

"Gotham's not that bad Harvey," Rachel smiled, rolling her eyes, and Harvey did not return the expression.

"Yes, it really is Rachel; you know it is. With men like Maroni running around…"

Salvatore Maroni—there were few who lived in Gotham who did not know that name. Maroni was the leader of the biggest mafia in the city, and had drug rings and robberies alike spawning up everywhere. Celeste knew, from watching the news, that as the new D.A. of Gotham Harvey Dent was handling the case of Maroni, and it was up to him to get Maroni to confess to being the ruler of the infamous mob. So far things had apparently not been going so well…

"You still haven't gotten a confession out of him?" Bruce asked, and Harvey sighed wearily, shaking his head.

"No, though trust me, I've been trying. The other day one of the witnesses from his group actually pulled a gun on me in court; that did not go down too well."

"At least you proved that you have a nice right hook," Rachel joked, and Harvey smiled faintly, shaking his head.

"It still doesn't make up fro the fact that Maroni got away…again."

"Well, at least you know that you're intimidating him," Celeste quietly spoke up, pushing down a blush when everyone looked at her. "I mean, if one of his thugs pulled a gun on you…It's a clear sign that Maroni's becoming intimidated, right?"

"Yes," Harvey nodded, "It's what I believe as well, especially because he did it in a public place—a courtroom no less! I'm going to continue to hound him; that is for sure. Some time he's just gotta crack; I'll make sure of it."

"My, my," Bruce exclaimed, leaning back in his chair to regard Harvey. "You sure sound confident!"

"Well, one's gotta be in this business; we can't all just beat the truth out of someone! The law's a cautious thing…"

"And the law's a true thing, unlike this vigilante known as Batman," Bruce said, and again Celeste heard a hint of wistfulness in his voice that had her looking over at him, leaning back in his chair and staring at Harvey with another odd look on his face. A quick glance at Rachel and Harvey showed that she was the only one that seemed to notice, although…Rachel seemed slightly startled…

"The Batman?" Harvey repeated, also leaning back in his seat as he raised a blonde brow. "I do not really believe that what the Batman does is 'bad'; I mean, he cleans of the streets for us…"

"But what kind of city should idolize a masked vigilante?" Bruce continued, leaning forward and meeting Harvey's eyes evenly.

"Gotham's proud of an ordinary man standing up for what's right," Harvey clearly pointed out, and Bruce sighed a little.

"Maybe Gotham doesn't need that, not anymore. Maybe it needs elected officials, like you, not a man who thinks he's above the law. I mean, who even appointed the Batman?"

"We did," it was Celeste who answered, her voice quiet as she looked down at the table. "We did when we let scum bags take control of this city."

"Exactly!" Harvey slammed a hand down on the table, making it shake slightly as his blue eyes glinted in the candlelight. "We appointed the Batman by letting things spiral out of control, by giving into the crime. The Batman was appointed, almost subconsciously, to save us, to save this city. The same concept can be sent throughout history; when their enemies were at the gate, the Romans would suspend democracy and appoint one man to protect the city. It wasn't considered an honor. It was considered a public service. The Batman holds the same concept; he does not consider himself to be a hero, he just does what he's supposed to do, what he's been appointed to do."

For a moment everything was silent, the words being absorbed and processed. Celeste thought she saw a look pass between Rachel and Bruce before Rachel looked away to give Harvey a teasing smile. "Harvey, that makes sense, but you're forgetting something—the last person to defend Rome was Julius Caesar and he ultimately brought about Rome's destruction."

"Well, I guess you either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain," was Harvey's response, and once more there was a pause, Celeste's eyes lowering to the candle flickering in the center of the table. The hero and the villain; she had always wondered just how thin that line was, and now…

"Look, whoever the Batman is, he doesn't want to spend the rest of his life doing this. How could he? Batman's looking for someone to take up his mantle." Harvey continued, and next to her Celeste heard Bruce shift. She looked over to Harvey and raised a light brow.

"Someone like you, Mr. Dent?" Celeste quietly asked, and Harvey met her eyes.

"Maybe Celeste; maybe if I'm up to it."

From there the conversation stopped with the arrival of the food. No one discussed the Batman again; it was as though the subject was suddenly forbidden, especially since Bruce did not say much more the rest of dinner.

Idle things were discussed as they ate; the government somewhat, hobbies and such. Rachel inquired about her life, and Celeste did not quite know how to answer, instead telling her about her current life only; she preferred not to have a past.

It was only when the plates were cleared and they were sitting around drinking that another interesting topic arouse, at Celeste's own prompting.

"Have any of you heard of the Joker?"

And immediately the whole table seemed to freeze.

"The Joker?" Bruce cleared his throat and took another rather deep sip of his wine, nearly draining the glass. "Is he that freak with the face paint appearing all over the news?"

"Oh yeah, I've seen a picture of him," Rachel added, "Apparently he was a part of a bank robbery a couple days or so ago, and police are looking into him. I don't know if he can be considered a threat…"

"Yet," Harvey finished, "the man seems to have lunatic written all over him; why else would he paint his face like a clown?"

"Maybe it just means something," Celeste murmured almost absently, "Perhaps he just wants to say something, wants to prove something…"

"Yeah, that he's 100 insane. I wouldn't worry about him; wait until he reappears again, if he even will, before worrying," Bruce said, reaching for the wine bottle to refill his glass to the brim.

And that was that; the conversation on the Joker was ended, although, fro some reason, it never really left her mind. Even when it came time to say goodbye to Harvey and Rachel she was still thinking about it; the way Bruce had tensed, the way he had so abruptly ended the conversation…But mostly all she could think of was the Joker's face, of those scars at his mouth, the crimson that was smeared across them. And those black eyes…

She was lost deep in her thoughts as Bruce escorted her out of the restaurant, and as the elevator descended they were both silent. It was only when they stepped outside into the chilled air of the night when Celeste came back into herself, and gently tried to retract her arm from Bruce's. She blinked up at him startled when he refused to let her go, and could only stare and follow him over to a long black limo waiting right outside the door.

"Um, Bruce?" she squeaked as they approached the limo, lightly tugging on the arm he held captive as the chauffeur opened the door. "Bruce, really, I don't need a ride home, I-"

"You don't need a ride home, but I'm offering you one anyway" he said before pulling her into the warm dark interior, where she fell with a gasp onto the plush seat next to him. She could only look over helplessly as the door was closed and she was trapped.

The silence continued as the car pulled away from the curb, and Celeste looked over to find Bruce watching her.

"Y-Yes?" she squeaked, glad that the car was dark as she blushed heavily. She could have sworn he was laughing at her, but in the darkness she could not be sure.

"You're very beautiful, you know that?" he told her, and her face inflamed even more.

"Um, t-thank you. I'm not used to be called that…"

"Are you serious?" she smiled at the disbelief in his voice, and shook her head.

"Yes, I assure you I am. You see, I didn't really grow up around loving people, and to them, compliments were meaningless…"

She could feel him regarding her, and shifted nervously, once again thankful for the darkness. If he could see her…

"You've had a rough life, haven't you?" he quietly said, and she did not answer him; she couldn't, and was glad when he did not continue.

As usual, she remained silent, and when she felt his warm hand find hers in the darkness, she did not move away from him, no did she squeeze his hand back. She let him hold her hand the whole way back to her apartment, and never once glanced over at him, staring instead out the window at the corruption that was Gotham City. She felt Bruce tense again when a squad of police cars flew by, and did not let herself wonder why; she knew from experience that private matters should not be pried into.

When they pulled up outside of her apartment building, she allowed herself to feel embarrassed, knowing how run down it must look to his rich eyes. But he did not comment, nor did he look offended. He walked her to the buildings front door, and she blushed, knowing what was coming as a knot of anxiety formed in her chest.

When she turned to face him, she was caught off guard by the intensity in his eyes, and mentally braced herself, inhaling sharply as she whispered his name.

"Bruce-"

"You know when I first met you in the hospital, and you told me there was nothing interesting about you? What was it…that you were normal?" Her heart began to pound as he leaned in, his warm breath skimming her cheek as his eyes, those dark, intense eyes, read her soul. "Well, I never believed it…"

And he was leaning in, closer and closer, and her heart was beating faster and faster… Hot breath on her lips…

And then she turned her face, and those lips, so hot and soft, met the fair skin of her cheek instead.

As Bruce pulled away, a questioning almost hurt look on his face, she could not meet his eyes, instead staring down at her hands, fiddling nervously with the silk of her dress.

"Bruce, I…" she bit her lip, listened to the silence that danced between them, weighed them down. Slowly she raised her head, her blue eyes reflecting all of the compassion her heart had left in it. "Bruce, I really like you, it's just…I don't know, I…I can't do this, not yet. Please understand…"

And he did understand; she could see it enter his dark eyes, cloud them over as the hurt expression left his face to leave it just as handsome and smooth as ever.

"I understand Celeste, I do." And he smiled at her, reaching out that warm hand to grab her chin, tilting her face up to his. Staring into his eyes he leaned in again, placing a gentle kiss upon her forehead, and when he drew back she was smiling too, her cheeks darkened in a rosy blush.

"Thank you Bruce," she smiled, moving away from him towards the door as he began to walk back to his limo.

"I'll call you sometime, ok?" he called back to her just as she was about to slip inside the apartment, and she looked back to see him watching her, his dark eyes as intense as always.

"Yes…" she answered, and before he could say anymore, and before her emotions could curl up and smother her she slipped through the door, slamming the door behind her and hurrying up the stairs, her footsteps echoing in a way around her that made her think that she was being followed. In fact, as she got closer to her apartment, the more she began to think back to what had happened before she had left, when she had heard that laughter…

Maybe she should have stayed with Bruce? He certainly made her feel safe…She picked up her pace, reaching her floor with a sigh of relief as she fumbled around in her purse for her keys. The hallway light was dim and she cringed, hating how it flickered and wishing she had never noticed it as more disturbing thoughts jumped in her head.

As soon as she opened the door she was searching the wall for the light switch, relief flooding her as light filled the tiny space, revealing everything to her and dispersing the shadows. Nothing appeared to be out of place…

The window was open in her bedroom and she shivered, wondering why she had opened it in the first place as she slammed it shut. She wasted no time in shedding the red silk dress, letting it pool at her feet like blood and leaving it there, walking over to her closet and extracting a simple oversized t-shirt and cotton shorts, the perfect outfit to wear after being forced to wear that fancy silk all night.

Exhaustion was catching up to her—her clock read 12:47 as she crawled into bed, in the distance hearing the sound of Brandy whimpering in the other room. Any other night she would have gotten up to investigate, but tonight…

"Shut up Brandy!" she called, and was satisfied when the whining stopped. She rolled over to turn off the light, sighing as her room became immersed in darkness once more, that sweet, relaxing darkness. As she rolled over so that she was on her stomach, pulling the blankets up around her, she thought about her night, and all that had happened. It was still so hard to believe, and yet…her feet still hurt from her high heels, and she could still see that fancy restaurant in detail, and Bruce…

She did not know how she felt about Bruce. Strangely enough, she found that she wasn't that attracted to him. Sure, she liked him and everything, but love…? She could not see them together, no matter how hard she might want to, she just couldn't. There was just…She didn't want to say 'difference', but it was the only word she could think of. Bruce would always live the life of a billionaire and she…she wanted just to be normal. Long ago in a different life she had been just like him, and the money, the fancy places…They had never been for her, and never would be again. Her past self was gone, she was sure, and Bruce…Being with him would just be like bringing it back up again. If there was one thing Celeste valued the most it was freedom, and the life of the rich, of those in Bruce's world, did not have that—they only thought they did. They were trapped as long as they were famous, as long as the media hounded them, as long as they had some big duty to the world. And with Bruce…She was getting herself caught in that storm all over again, wasn't she?

She sighed again, buried her face, still made up, into the pillow.

"Why can't my life be simple?" she muttered in the darkness, never expecting an answer.

So imagine her horror when she did get one, from a frighteningly familiar voice.

"You're life's never gonna be simple again _doll_…"

Her eyes snapped open as the covers were ripped away from her, and her heart all but stopped when she fell off the bed to see a blade glinting in the darkness, a white face, marred with that sinister red smile, hovering just beyond it.

She had no time to scream before he pounced, and that blade was falling towards her…

_I'm evil, I know, cuz trust me: that was a cliffie! Maybe this will prompt some reviews, hm? I wonder what our favorite Joker will do to her…But I can say one thing: the next chapters gonna be amazing! And Celeste's past will be revealed…So stay tuned and review, cuz reviews will inspire me to write it faster!_


	5. Scars

_**Chapter : Scars**_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or any related characters. I do however, own Celeste and her sad tale**

She was being crushed, the air falling out of her lungs in a great gush of air that a part of her considered her final breath. The blade did not penetrate her skin as she had expected, did not sink into her muscles, her heart, and destroy that vital organ as she had predicted. Instead the flashing instrument meant to bring about pain and death—her pain and death—raised to her throat, that thin, pale column that could so easily be destroyed, the skin shredded at the faintest of pressure. And her blood…

She stared up into the eyes of the man—the creature—doing this to her, pressing that blade to her throat, sitting almost completely on top of her. It was too dark to see his eyes; they were black chasms that blended with the darkness of the room so easily, and all she could see was the white of his makeup smeared haphazardly all over his face, and those red lips, appearing like lines of blood as they stretched up his face in that forever smile, highlighting the scars that tainted him, made him into the freak clown that he was. A madman, a robber, a criminal, a criminal, a…

A Joker.

She heard him laugh, the demonic sound splitting the silent air and sending her already racing heart galloping, a bird fluttering around helplessly in a cage trying to get free, only to realize that there was no escape. Trapped in her chest, trapped under the weight of a madman wielding a knife…

She tensed, her body rigid as he leaned down towards her, and she could see the metallic glint of the blade reflected in those dark eyes, the only light they held.

"I just knew I would find you doll, I knew it!" he exclaimed in a childish voice not meant for a grown man, speaking for the insanity that radiated off his entire countenance. She could only stop breathing, could only stare up at him helplessly trapped, caught, as the blade dug deeper into her neck.

"What…What do you want with me?" she whispered breathlessly, and he giggled again, pressing closer until his white caked face filled her entire vision, and she could not look away.

"Hmm, you talk back—I like that! Too often my victims are too afraid to even get out a sentence. Am I _that_ scary?" he giggled, and they both knew that it was true. He just was that scary, and he knew it; he _used _it…

But Celeste had seen a lot of horrible things in her life, many things that would make an average, ordinary person flinch and turn away in disgust. And this clown, this Joker…She found him to be nothing compared to the horrors she had already survived through.

"How…How did you find me?" she quietly asked, and he laughed again, just as she expected. "Why would you even want to find me?"

"Why?" he repeated, and she felt the sharp edge of the blade move up to caress her cheek. "Because, Celeste Williams, you, uh, _intrigue _me. There's something about you that's different, and guess what? I know what it is, hehehe!"

She froze, her already wide eyes growing even larger until they almost hurt, pupils contracting in panic. He noticed and only laughed again, pressing the blade into her cheek so that a thin line formed, a few droplets of blood seeping out of the wound like tears and falling down the curve of her cheek, warm and thick. But she didn't notice; she did not even feel the pain. There was only one thing on her mind and one thing only—he knew about her past. Somehow he had learned of it, and now…

"What, did you really think no one would find out? You're not that hard to trace Celeste Williams, not hard to find _at all_." He chuckled, and she tried to recoil, but there was no place to go. There never was.

"Why would you look into me?" she whispered, her voice edged in her inner pain, reflecting all that internal suffering, only making him laugh harder, press down on to her harder until she could barely breathe at all.

"I already said doll, you intrigue me! Jeez, are you retarded or something? That would only make you more interesting, hehe!" he cackled, "But you know, you're not that good at covering up your past, not at all. In fact, I know all about it…Would you like to hear it?"

Despite all of the courage she tried to maintain, despite all she'd put up with in the past, she began to shake, her breath hitching and heart beating unsteadily at the mention of her past, the thing she had tried to bury, the thing that she wished laid in a grave with _his _body…

"Do you still remember it Celeste, all of it?" he was saying, laughing, "Do you remember what it was like to hold a knife, just like this one, in your hand?" He trailed the blade down the side of her neck to leave behind a thin path of blood as her body began to crumble under sobs.

"Please stop…"

"Oh, but I'm not finished! Everyone thought it was your mother didn't they? He raped her every night, he beat her, he beat you; it was only a matter of time, people thought, before she snapped. But you…You snapped first, didn't you Celeste? You couldn't handle that abuse anymore, the abuse you had tolerated for 17 years, so…You did the deed. Hmm, very admirable the way you did it too. How many times was he stabbed? Fifty wasn't it? You must have really hated him, your own father…"

She felt a glove clad finger replace the blade, felt the rough digit trace the mark the knife had just made, pressing into the wound, forcing more blood to come out. "You know, it's interesting…How does it feel I wonder, to know that you have the same blood of the man you killed? To know that it flows through your veins too…How does it feel?"

She could not answer him; she barely even heard him. The weight of what she had done back then, all that she had suffered, was pulling her down, and she was helpless as the memories, the images—so vivid still—tormented her brain, electrocuted her psyche. And still…Still he continued with the truth…

"Do you recall what if felt like, Celeste, to drag his body? Hm, do you?"

She could not look into his white face anymore, could not stand the darkness that came from his eyes, the blood that spilled from his red lips, so she closed her eyes, forgetting who was on top of her as she fought the demon from the past, that fierce beast with the bloodshot eyes, her…her father…

She gasped as the Joker smacked her cheek, turning her head to the side as the area stung in agony, her eyes blearily opening when the blade pressed back to her jugular, when the psycho with the clown's face leaned down so close to her that she could finally see his dark eyes glaring at her, feel his hot breath—the breath of hell—on her face.

"Oh no, don't look away Celeste, don't deny it pet. You remember how they took her away? Your mother, screaming her innocence, and you…You stayed silent, left all alone in that mansion that was your prison, but you didn't mind. You like being alone; it let's the darkness grow. You live at a shelter for awhile—no one will adopt you, and you don't want them too. You visit your mother only twice, and hate both yourself and her every time you go there, see her wretched state. She grows suicidal, cut her wrists and almost bled to death one day in her cell, but the guards found her just in time. In some ways, you were sad that that bitch didn't die; it would rid you of the last link to your past. When you turned 18, you came here to Gotham, and knew you wanted to be a nurse—thought saving people would be your atonement for ending a life, didn't you? Gotham seemed like a perfect place, a sewer of a city where all the freaks—like me—and criminals run together, a big parade of crime and death. You fit right in, don't you doll? Here you thought you'd live a normal life, be an ordinary woman with a past that died long ago; you thought the blood was gone from your hands, you thought that life would be better. But you forget: you live off of the money of the man you killed? Is that another reason you killed him Celeste, for his money? Rick Williams, millionaire—you were his only child and you were a mistake in the first place—both you and your mother were. Born as a result of your mother being raped by him…How does it feel? To be a mistake…"

She is crying now, slow, silent tears that fall down and sting the cut on her cheek, fall to the floor beneath her with the blood. He laughs, and she wants to close her eyes, wants to forget who she is, wants…Wants the knife at her throat to finish the job. She was an ordinary woman now, and she tries to convince herself that it is all over, but…To hear it all again, from the lips of a stranger, a madman…There was no mercy—in him, or her story, and she could not stop it, could do no more than cry from it. All of that strength she had built, her normal life…It was threatening to be destroyed, and her tears were the only thing she could do to stop it.

He laughs again, leaning in to make a gash in her throat, enough to cause pain but not life threatening—unfortunately. She tells herself that she does not have a death wish, but grows tired of lying to herself. When he begins to speak again, she is listening, and hates herself for it.

"You know, you're just like _me_, in a way. So lost, so lusting for blood…Oh, shh, shh, shh, you know it's true. It felt good to have his blood on your hands didn't it? It made you feel…invincible, invulnerable. Nothing could hurt you anymore…I could give you that feeling again, doll, that feeling of _completion _you've been denied for too long. Go on, why don't you let it loose? Let it consume you…Let it scar you like…Like me! Me! Hehehehe!"

She tries to curl into herself but finds that she can't, not with him pressing down on her, placing such vile thoughts in her head. She wants to be ordinary, she wants to say, never like him, never a monster. She wants to spit in his face and die with pride, and yet…Since when has she ever had pride? His words circle around in her head and she tried to understand them; was he asking her to join him? The thought was repulsive, and yet…

"Come on, just become _damaged_, become _broken_, as you were meant to be. Me and you…We aren't meant for this 'civilized' existence. You know better than I do how bad it is, having grown up in that rich part of town. How much did you, uh, _loathe _them? Those people, this world…Isn't it really _hideous_? Worse than me, and I'm just, well…" He laughed again, and the sound eats at her, and she represses a whimper. She tried to find a reason to ignore him, but can't. She really didn't like society when she thought about it, but she refused to let him get to her; she had learned to live on her own, and she would survive on her own. She had been ordered around for too long…

So as he continued to laugh above her, laughing and laughing at nothing but her demise, she gathers that courage she had gained from that past, from that night, and raises her hand, that slim arm, and rams her fist into his face. Later she would shudder over how foolish that move her been, but not now, not as he fell back, laughter stopping, in surprise, the knife falling from her neck as she kicked him off of her. She just could not listen to him anymore, could not let him poison her.

She was not strong but she was quick; by the time he stood again, still giggling to himself, she had made it across the tiny space into her kitchen, a kitchen knife in her hand. She brandished it with all the strength she could, keeping her eyes trained on him as she followed his approach through the darkness. His laughter, that haunting sound, let her know just where he was, and she tightened her grip on the knife's handle. She was not unfamiliar with this weapon—they both knew that, so when he saw her with it his chuckling became full grown laughter that thickened the tense air, made her inwardly shudder.

"What's the matter dear, did you realize the truth in my words?" he cocked his painted face to the side, stepped forward as she stepped back, hitting the counter. Trapped again…

She grit her teeth, gave his haunting face her best death glare. "We are nothing alike. I killed him to survive…"

"But you liked it, you liked it!" he answered in a sing song voice, taking another step towards her.

She shakily raised the blade up higher, leveling the sharp point with his approaching chest. "I'm not afraid to kill again," she whispers fiercely to him, staring directly into his black eyes in warning. "I'm not afraid to kill to preserve this life…"

His laughter echoes all around her, just as it had when she had first seen him those days ago at the robbery, as he takes that final step forward, chest pressed to the blade. He leans in as she begins to tremble, sweat, and her eyes darkening. "Then by all means…" he smiles, that already huge smile widening to expose rows of yellow teeth, making the scars stretch up to his ears, extend beyond al comprehension. She shivers; gasping as his hand suddenly darts out and grabs the hand that held the knife. She could only stare and gape as he lowers her hand, still clutching the knife, down to the arm he extended, and with one quick slash he had ripped a horizontal gash through his own wrist, the blood spilling down onto the floor as she jerked back, screaming, and the knife, now coated in his blood, fell to the floor with a clatter.

In an instant he had grabbed her roughly around the waist, his knife once again pressing into the skin at her throat, the tip stroking it gently, almost like a lover. She exhaled loudly and tried to control her shaking, feeling his hand ghost over her hair, brushing it back in a deceptively soothing gesture. With the Joker, nothing was as it seemed…

"I can't make you smile…" he says in a suddenly—curiously—serious voice. "Not until you're ready, not until you're, uh, _scarred_ even more. One murder's not enough doll…"

And then he was gone, the blade leaving her throat as he body falls from his embrace, and she has to lean back against the counter to keep her balance. Through wide eyes she watches him flounce from the room, humming cheerfully to himself as he goes to her bedroom window, turning back to give her another horrifying grin as he reaches into his purple jacket, withdrawing a card which he throws down on her bed.

"Call me when you're ready, doll."

And then the window is open, a cold breeze caressing her even from across the room as he slips out into the night, and the sounds of him clambering down the fire escape are heard, along with the occasional sinister giggle.

Left alone, Celeste fell to the floor, body overcome with shaking, with emotions that she did not want to comprehend. She wanted to believe that none of those things had just happened, but she couldn't; her neck was still bleeding slightly, cheek burning from the cut and the slap he had placed upon her. Scarred her with…

She managed to drag herself to the bathroom just as the bile she knew would be coming came up, and into the porcelain bowl she released all that she had digested, everything within her as silent tears continued to pour down her face. When she was finished she did not sink to the floor, not yet, but instead stumbled over to her sink, to her mirror. She stared into the glass, at the reflection of herself under the burning, white lights and traced the tears that still fell, stared at the bruise forming on her right cheek, at the long, thin cut on her left. Scars…The mental ones were always worse than the physical ones, so when the Joker had said that she was not scarred, he had lied—she was scarred, it just was not visible to his crazed eyes.

What she had done…She glares at herself in the mirror, noticing how blood shot her eyes were, how pale she was. She almost looked like she had back then, on that night when she had committed that act that had changed her life. She still remembered, and beneath the veneer of this life that she had made, she could never forget…

_It had been a sunny day, a bright day. The perfect day to commit the worst of crimes. She stood in his room, waiting, the knife clutched behind her back, hand digging into the hilt. She had been planning this for months, this one moment, and nothing would go wrong; nothing…_

_She was silent when he entered, staggering in as always, not seeming to notice her standing there, in the shadows of his room, the bringer of his death. He was a fat man, a disgusting pig of a man. He had once been handsome, but the drugs and alcohol had done their job and made him into this glutton of a man, so hideous both outwardly and inwardly, his looks finally betraying who he really was on the inside._

_He had noticed her only when she stepped forward, knife still hidden, out of the shadows and into the moonlight, which had fallen in pale shafts of light through the big French windows. _

_He had glared at her, yelled at her. His words…_

"_Get the fuck to bed brat, I'm fucking tired, can't you see that? Get the hell outta here!" _

_She had not responded—she was tired of being ordered around. It was when he had taken a threatening step towards her, hands curled into those fists that she knew from experience could break bones, that she withdrew the knife, let him see it. And all he had done was laugh. Everyone underestimated her, it seems, and no one knew just what she was capable of. But he would learn…_

"_What the fuck do you think you can do with that, little girl? Are you actually threatening me?"_

_Yes, she was, she answered, and she was going to free herself, end this pain. He had not believed her—he would learn…_

_The first time she stabbed him had shocked them both. The blade had pierced into his chest with startling ease, buried only half way in as blood bloomed around the blade, seeping through his shirt, lost in his fat. His eyes had glared at her and he had roared, that tremendous roar that she had heard so often in her nightmares, and he reached out to her. She wasted no time in digging the knife in to the hilt, and listened to him moan, groan in agony. For all that he had done…_

_She had watched the blood spread with almost eager eyes, and an odd feeling of….euphoria had washed over her, and all guilt—not that she really had any—was swept away. Who was the powerless one now? She had taunted him, as she stabbed him again, in the arms, in the legs; in every place he had hurt her. _

_He had fallen and she went with him, his blood staining the white carpet, the opposite of his soul, his blood, as she sliced and slashed, hungry for more, to see all that blood to shed as much of his blood as he had shed hers. Over and over she stabbed, becoming as bloody as he was, but with blood not her own. On the fiftieth stab—she had absently counted—she dropped the knife on the bed, wiping the handle off on the sheet, under the bathroom faucet, to remove her prints, and left the room, just like that, leaving his dead, severely mutilated body to bleed out, to be discovered by a maid an hour later. _

_By then she had already burned her bloody clothes in the fireplace downstairs, and had already put on the proper mourning face. _

_When the police had arrived to inspect the scene of the crime, her mother was the immediate suspect. It did not bother her to know that; the useless woman had never helped her, and always, always had allowed her to suffer from his wrath. And so she had let her take the fall without an expression on her face, without a feeling in her heart. And her screaming, her screaming for innocence…it fell on deaf ears. _

_During her mother's trial she had refused to speak, claiming that she was too distraught when really she did not feel like I, did not want to reopen her closing wounds. When her mother was convicted Celeste gave her a brief hug goodbye, promised to visit when she could—which meant, in her mind, never._

_The orphanage had not been the best of places—there were a total of four murders while she was there, but it was a home, so she did not care. They tried to pawn her off to eager want-to-be parents, but she had rebelled, and been labeled a troubled child in which no one wanted, despite her money. But that was fine with her—she wanted herself, wanted to be successful on her own, and live an ordinary life all on her own._

_She dreamed of an untroubled existence, and when she turned 18 and was able to leave that hell hole, she did exactly that, leaving it far behind as she went to start her life. The only question had been where to start it at? Where was she to go when she had nothing? Where did all the lost souls flock? Her answer seemed to come to her in her dreams, in the form of the crime infested city known as Gotham. She moved there into her small apartment before Batman had rose up, and as she began to start her life and forget her past, Batman finally appeared. _

_He solved the crimes on the streets as she fixed the crimes in her heart—that was why she defended him so ardently. He just wanted to do what was good, to save people, just as she wanted to start her life and leave the past. But…When she turned twenty, her life started, that past life she so despised caught up with her again._

_Her mother had turned suicidal, and Celeste was called to come visit her; she needed support apparently, and as reluctant as she was to do so, Celeste went, knowing it would look odd if she chose not to. Her mother had been in the Special Treatment ward of the jail, and on lockdown. Her cell had been slightly padded, and the sight of it had made Celeste freak out. This was not normal…_

_Her mother was thinner than she remembered her, bones protruding, blue eyes vacant and sunken. She wore the traditional orange jumpsuit, and her wrist was heavily bandaged. She had tried to kill herself, slit her wrists vertically with a razor provided by a foolish guard, a newbie, when asked. She would have bled to death if a guard had not walked by and seen the blood. Her mother had lost enough blood to be sent to the hospital for a week, where she was treated by a psychologist and diagnosed with a deep, dark depression. _

_When her mother saw her then, for the first time in years, she did not react, but merely stared with those sunken eyes, stared at the daughter who had betrayed her. Not much was said between them; her mother asked where she was living, what she was doing—general questions. She responded just as coolly, and never gave too much away. The subject of her father was never discussed, and she had problem meeting the depressed woman's eyes. _

_She left that padded cell in a hurry, and did not look back. When she got home she changed her phone number; she would not be dragged back to that jail again, to that past and broken woman. _

_And so, her life went on. She was free, and she lived. Over time things got better, the nightmares ceased, and she knew that what she did was good—killed one of her tormentors, and locked away the other for life. _

_She was happy, content and…and normal. She had her father's millions of dollars, but never used it; she had a mansion in her name but never went there. She never left Gotham, its cold, dirty streets being her home, the place, she knew deep inside, for scum like her. Even if she had killed for a reason…_

_But was reason really enough to kill? Did she have to kill for freedom? She could have done so many other things, and yet…Murder had been her first and seemingly only choice. Fifty times…That number, his blood, haunted her, and she knew, god did she know, that what she had done was wrong, horrifying, and…_

_And she had enjoyed it…Enjoyed it too much. She could never forget that euphoria at having the blood on her hands, that red blood, that knife in her hand, so cold and lethal…_

And that was what made her so abnormal; her joy for such a thing… She was trembling as the memories faded, turning the facet on cold and splashing that cold liquid on her face, trying desperately to disperse something that would never leave, even with all her facades, her thoughts and reasons. There really wasn't a reason…

She fell onto her bed in a heap of despair, and on the way discovered, lying at the foot of her bed, a gutted Brandy. That's when the screaming started. Her tears were relentless as she gaped down at her dog's still form, took in the blood staining the carpet. The Joker…She now knew why the whimpering had stopped.

The room was spinning, and yet she could not faint. Her faithful companion dead, her past taunting her, haunting her…

She left Brandy's body at the foot of the bed, and tried not to notice the blood, tried to fight down the bile churning inside of her again. In the center of her despair he stood, smiling that eternal smile, dark eyes flashing like a blade…What had he said?

"_Not until you're, uh, scarred even more…" _

She whimpered, curled into herself, and pressed her hands to her head. All of it was too much…She thought back to the banquet, how happy she had been, and wondered if that could even exist inside the same life. She could never feel that way again she was sure, not so long as she was being hunted by a madman, not so long as her dog was dead at her feet…

It was then that her foot hit it, that card. Through tear blurred eyes she looked down, and saw the face of the Joker staring up at her, that classic Joker, and for some reason wanted to laugh. As she reached down to pick it up, holding it daintily between her index finger and thumb as she stared at the jester grinning at her on the card. The Joker was his card…

With a scream that was half laughter, half pain she threw it away from her, and it fluttered, soundlessly, the Joker still smiling, into the blood at the foot of her bed, the blood of her dog, and blood of the innocent…Still smiling.

And Celeste, through her sobs, finally found her escape only in the dark void that was sleep, and hoped that she would never wake up.

**Ok, that was the past of Celeste. I tried to make it sad but sort of...relieving. I don't know, what did you think? Poor Brandy…I didn't originally mean to kill her, it just fit, I don't know…The italics by the way symbolized a flashback of sorts in case you didn't catch that, and I tried to make the Joker in character, but you have to write VERY creatively to keep him in character, hahaha. Please Review and I'll try to post another chapter soon! **


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