Disclaimer: I do not own, or pretend to own, anything to do with Batman or The Dark Knight. It remains to be seen whether or not I will accept responsibility for my OCs, as they tend to have a mind of their own.

REMIND ME TO SMILE

or

A PLACE TO REST AND FORGET YOURSELF (IN MY ARMS)

I

I've been hoping for a better day, it's a long time coming but I'll wait anyway.
Life's a miracle or a foolish tale? I don't know, go ask Shakespeare.

"Hey, this is Danielle Keyes, calling about the vacancy behind the bar. Mary said to ring today. Is she around? Okay, thanks. No, it's cool I'll hang on." The young woman threw herself on to the well-worn in sofa and idly shuffled through the sheaf of papers sitting on her coffee table while she waited on the phone. "Hi, Mary, it's Danny. I called earlier, but there was no- I'm sorry? The position's been filled? Oh, okay, uhm, thanks for your time." Mary jabbered away down the line. "No problem, I'm sure something will come up. Have a nice day. Yes, you too." She hung up on the last of her potential employers, a disappointed frown setting on her face. "Five calls," she muttered to herself as she separated the papers, one pile for keeping and the other bound for the trash can, being none too gentle about it. "Not one taker." She hissed as she received a deep papercut; it seemed even yesterday's junk mail was against her.

You are in the shit, the voice she loathed to call her inner monologue reminded her, up to your hips and sinking rapidly. She couldn't deny what was true; she had been out of employment for the past couple of months, not that she hadn't been trying to get a job. Her savings would keep her going temporarily, but bills needed paying and she had to eat. "Maybe I should go Bohemian?" she suggested aloud. "Smoke, drink, paint, mope around and say 'No!' to shaving." She shook her head at the idea and smiled a little at her own stupidity as she brushed her dirty blonde hair away from her eyes. Something would come up, she was certain; life had a funny sort of way about it, at last minute something always came up.

Danny left the living room and headed for the front door, opening it and picking up the newspaper that had been left on her doorstep; without so much as looking at it, she moved to the kitchen to make herself her usual morning coffee - black, three sugars. She sat at the small table in the kitchen and skimmed through the newspaper; it was no surprise to her that Gotham's Public Enemy number one, Batman, was on the front page, even though the article covered old ground and in the first paragraph admitted that there had been no progress in the manhunt for him. If there's nothing to say, what makes him so worthy of the front page? On page four there was a tiny article accompanied by a small picture of Arkham Asylum from which the infamous Joker had escaped – again – along with three other high risk patients; the people of Gotham were advised not to approach the escapees if they caught sight of them. Danny sighed and flipped to the next page, taking a sip of her coffee, she was fed up with hearing about villains and Batman news in general. She tore out a sheet of coupons for washing powder from page nine and set them down on the table before progressing through the rest of the newspaper on the lookout for more discounts, freebies and, above all, some mildly interesting news.

Four hours later saw Danielle running from the basement door for the phone, which rang shrilly in the lobby. "Danny Keyes," she answered.

"Hey, Danny, it's Phil!" She instantly recognised his chirpy voice.

"Phil!" she exclaimed, "how's you?"

"Great cheers, dah-ling! I don't have long to chat, so are you busy tonight?" he asked, evidently in a rush. Most likely at work, she considered after checking the time.

"Not that I'm aware of."

"There's a new nightclub, and it sounds like a riot... aaaand I really want to go." There was more than a hint of a whine in his voice.

"Name?"

"The Underground," Phil supplied.

"Uninformative. Anyone there I'll know?" she questioned further.

"Maybe, not sure; but you need some good old-fashioned cheering up! And I've got no-one to go with otherwise."

"You're going to get me smashed then?"

"Of course!" She laughed at his presumptuous nature.

"What time are we meeting?"

"Babes, I'll come and pick you up! I'll be over around nine-ish, if that sits well with you?"

"Nine's fine."

"Okay, must dash!" Before she could get her 'see you later' in, he had hung up.

Phil had shown up at Danny's nearer ten o'clock. She threw on her worn leather jacket over her outfit – dark drainpipe jeans, a white shirt and her favourite grey waistcoat, finished off with a dark purple leatherette tie. Phil's clothing, on the other hand, was a flamboyant ensemble of colours, patterns and accessories; she wondered how he managed to pull it off as they drove from Old Gotham, heading Downtown, making smalltalk. They reached The Underground at quarter to eleven, having spent a good fifteen minutes finding somewhere to park, and were relieved to see that the queue outside was not as horrendous as they had led themselves to believe it would be.

In the club by midnight, the pair made a beeline for the nearest bar and indulged in the 'two for one' shots before moving on to their usual poisons; for Danny it was gin and tonic, and for Phil it was Sex on the Beach. Phil tut-tutted at her choice of drink, twiddling the pink umbrella in his glass as he looked down on her.

"You shouldn't be drinking that," he shouted over the music, "unless you're forty-odd!"

"I like it!" she argued, "it's tasty."

He stooped down to her height to refrain from shouting. "It's more mascara thinner than drink, babes." They both laughed. "Ooh! I see Stacey!" he exclaimed, "Dear God, she needs to do something about that nose of hers! I'll come find you in a minute." With that Phil disappeared into the throng of people before her, following a woman whose hair resembled a bush and whose dress fit like a tent. Danny sighed, sipped her drink, and decided to have a wander around the place; the beat of the music pounded through her body as she snaked through the crowd and marvelled at how the sunken dance floor, so full of people, heaved and swayed as though it were in fact one entity. Beams of light flashed, illuminating the crowd in time to the music, and smoke from a machine swirled about the floor. She situated herself in an empty corner seat and, being a bit of an anthropologist, allowed her eyes to wander as she observed the dancers and passers-by.

Suddenly the crowd on the dance floor broke apart, except for one figure, though the music and those at the opposite end of the dancing crowd continued. The figure continued walking into the crowd, squaring up to the men and leering at the women. His lank green hair hung about his face which was sloppily covered in makeup. Before Danny could get a better look at him Phil came running over, seemingly from out of nowhere.

"We've got to go! The Joker's here!" he exclaimed, grabbing her arm in an effort to haul her to the exit. Danny searched the crowd behind her camp friend and spotted the culprit stalking off in the opposite direction from them. She allowed Phil to guide her speedily through the crowds to the winding stairs that led to the streets of Downtown Gotham. He had evidently had a few more drinks while he was off socialising and was a little on the sloshed side, so much so that Danny convinced him to let her get a cab home and made him promise her he would not drive. His office being a ten minute walk or so from where he had parked, he assured her he would wait until he left work before getting the car back. They managed to flag down a couple of taxis and said their goodbyes before each went back to their respective homes.

On the journey, she considered the appearance of the Joker in The Underground. In all honesty she had never gone out of her way to read up on the Joker, but she read The Gotham Times every day and occasionally caught the news on television; she knew what his face looked like, and had read descriptions of him in so many articles that his trademark look had found space in her mind and stored itself away for a rainy day. The makeup was good, but the hair was too green, and the suit was wrong; from what she gathered the Joker wore purple, this guy was in dark blue; and the scars – the infamous Chelsea grin – were not present underneath the makeup.

Just a wannabe, she realised with some distaste as the rain began to hammer on the passenger window.