Disclaimer: Batman is owned by DC Comics and whoever else owns it. I in no way claim it as my own; I'm just borrowing. Any OCs are mine and the plot is also mine, except for anything from TDK.


A/N: This skips past a lot of events to the end where the Joker is finally caught. (Remember? Where he's just... hangin' around? Yeah.) From there, you are to assume the Clown went to Arkham.

This is the epilogue and a third installment of the series is next.

It shall be known as Poker Face.


Queen Takes Pawn

by Syrenia


Epilogue - One Option


In a few days time, it was the end of the game; the Joker was caught, sent to Arkham and such was announced on the news.

"I don't think that was in his vague li'l plans, sweetheart," Crow told her host before popping her lips, at a sudden loss for words.


Of all the things Crow thought about the Clown - such as that he was a psychotic, possessive, brilliant and admirable being of god-like proportions sent to earth as a deity of discordance, chaos and anarchy, for starters - she had never thought of the mind-blowing possibility that he would fail in his epic quest to show the Gothamites their own true colors and the reality of the world.

It was simply mind-boggling that the Clown Prince of Psychos had lost the battle.

However, she reasoned, he had not lost the war.

And, oh, if she gave the Clown the Bat's true identity, the man would surely win the war.

That thought alone was very persuasive to the bird girl, but she decided not to jump the gun. She had to be calm, cool and collected; she had to keep a hold of her valuable information until the time was undeniably right for it to be revealed to the most deserving party.

She was in no hurry; she could wait and plot and watch the world as it believed it was a little bit safer with the Joker behind bars.

How wrong the world was! How wrong Gotham was!

Gotham was not safe; it would never be safe, especially if she had anything to say about it.

After all, Crow despised the Gothamites.

The people of the city earned her ire as no Gothamite she had ever met had truly befriended her host. As dumb as Chelsie could be at the best of times, Crow was still loyal to her other half, you see, and not a single soul had ever given so much as a warm smile to her Chelsie. For such, she despised the lot of them.

They were no better than a herd of cattle, and that herd was slowly being sent to slaughter.

How she would love to be the one to send them to slaughter, but she knew she was not meant for that kind of greatness. The one meant to change the world, such as he had said he would, was the Joker.

The Clown was meant for revolution, she realized; he was meant to usher in the end of days for Gotham.

Yes, Judgment Day was coming for the Gothamites. If her part was simply to aid the Clown, then so be it; she would play her part proudly.

She knew he wanted nothing more than to watch the world burn.

After all, only from ashes can there be rebirth.

Gotham would be like a phoenix, the bird girl believed; from its ashes it would rise anew in a more brilliant form built in the image of the man-god that had conquered it.

Yes, all her thoughts were romanticized, but Crow firmly believed the Clown was ahead of the curve.

Only time would tell on whether she was to stay with him or follow the Scarecrow.

And the Scarecrow; what did he want? Fear. He wanted Gotham to quake with beautiful, terrible, terribly beautiful fright.

He had once succeeded in plunging a part of the city into sheer terror, as Chelsie knew all too well.

For such, Crow had to admire Jonny and his Scarecrow to some degree.

If she found herself following him, she would help him rebuild his toxin business, if such was as he desired, and she would then proceed to be his loyal little agent of fear. She could be his accomplice and help round up victims for his tests.

Of course, she might persuade him - just a little - to do something bigger than simply study the fears of random Gothamites.

What could be bigger, you might ask?

Well, for starters, setting free Arkham's crazy patients would certainly stir up some delicious fright.

And, of course, throwing a little fear spit into the mix might only heighten the fun.

Ah, time would tell; time would tell.


'What do we do, then?' asked Chelsie suddenly, inwardly worried and bringing Crow back to gravity.

"The Clown's game is over for now, sweetheart; this means we have only one option," began the bird girl with a sigh. "We turn ourselves in and go to Arkham."

'What?!' Chelsie cried out in horror.

"Now stop screamin' and hear me out," snapped the blackbird. "We have two criminal masterminds who think they love us and they're both in Arkham. We also have the Bat's true identity. In the end of the end, sweetheart, we have to choose whose side we're on."

The host cringed, 'You mean choose which criminal mastermind we're in love with?'

"I imagine we'll be stuck in some kind of group therapy since the Doc probably yapped all about us to his shrink," Crow concluded sullenly. "In the end, we have to choose if we love one of them. If neither, we break out alone and fly solo. Understand me, sweetheart?"

'Yeah. I understand,' Chelsie reluctantly agreed with an inward sigh.


It was a sight to behold, really. One week later, she made her move.

Crow, fully clad in costume, snuck herself into Arkham in the middle of the day.

She had simply walked into the employee lounge, startling every employee in the room.

And one such employee, a little blonde-haired, blue-eyed psychiatrist, was Harleen Quinzel.

And that was where Crow/Chelsie now stood.


"Hello, ladies and gentlemen," began Crow theatrically, bowing wide and low. "For my finale, I'll be turnin' myself in."

Harleen sat in the back, facing the others. Secretly, she smiled, watching the bird girl with some kind of admiration. Her newest patient was the Joker and all he'd talked about in the last week were three things: chaos, the Batman and his bird girl and her host.

"Now, how do I sign up for treatment around here?" asked the blackbird as she rose to full height, looking around the room expectantly, hands to her hips impatiently.

And that was where it all began.