Commissioner Jim Gordon was having both a profoundly good day and a profoundly bad one. On the one hand, he had lost more good men and women of the force than he had on any other single day in his time as commissioner. On top of that, the vigilante who he had put so much faith in had led his men into a killzone while he had taken the Joker down behind the scenes. On the other, he had still called in so they could come collect him, rather than just going in and killing him. And because of that, easily the worst openly public criminal the city had ever seen was going to be put to justice, and the city could finally, hopefully heal from the madness and death he had sown across her.

As he watched the Joker be hauled, laughing, up the stairs and into the precinct, he couldn't believe he used to pity him, had worked to find him a fair judge so he wouldn't be falsely convicted after such a horrible accident. It was hard to not feel responsible for the man's months long reign of terror. Jim shook himself before he could go back down that rabbit hole. Too many nights had already been spent following that train of thought, drinks flowing to try to stifle the guilt. No more. Now the madman would see the consequences of his actions. He would never hurt anyone again and Jim could finally forgive himself. Heavens knew it was causing problems at home.

He watched as the Joker was patted down again, more knives being pulled from obscure pockets. They were numbered, for reasons he couldn't fathom, and didn't care to. That made it somewhat easy, though, because while they didn't know how many he had, they were missing numbers three and six. They checked his shoes again, and one officer nearly stabbed himself when he pressed the six embossed into the sole and a blade popped out of the front. The Joker laughed, because of course. Forty-five minutes and two body cavity searches later, and Jim figured there had never been a number three for this exact reason, no matter how many times Joker asked for a third search. He really hated this man. Of course, he hated him for what he had done to the city and her people, but now he really, really hated him. He never shut up, always something clever to say, and several times Jim had to shoot glares at officers trying to hold back smiles. The last thing this idiot needed was encouragement. He just wanted to throw him in a cell somewhere easily forgotten and go home. As much as Jim had been trying to avoid drinking, he could feel a bottle calling his name. And he still had stacks of paperwork to deal with. Great.

.....

Joker was placed in his own cell instead of central holding, which was rather boring if you asked him. No one did, though, and he was mostly left alone. Aside from the guards who brought him meals. They were all too happy to interact with him, spitting in his food or throwing the entire tray at him. Of course, his only response was laughter and mockery, but it was fun. It was even more fun to watch various commanding officers and eventually the commissioner do their best to dissuade the attempts to beat the tar out of him. "He can't have anything to use against us, we have to do this by the book, he can't get out on a technicality." The words were repeated ad nauseum, though Joker could see in the commissioner's eyes that he desperately wished he could let them do whatever they wanted. He spared many an evil grin for the poor man. In his downtime he reviewed Blackgate again, working step by step through plans to escape set ages ago. It was going to be hilarious to watch the city look on in horror as the man they thought they were free of returned. All those plans lasted as long as the trial.

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.....

Gregory was changing jobs. Maybe names, too. It's not like he could ever get another case after this one. Defending the Joker? Really?? He would be lucky if he wasn't shot in the street. The Joker??? Oh, he was absolutely going to die. He sat, staring across the small, metal table at the bleached white man grinning back at him. He sighed. "Let's get this over with. I'm Gregory Hirsch, I've been assigned by the state as your attorney. I'll be representing you in your upcoming trial and attempting to defend against the many charges brought against you. Is there anything you can tell me that would make my job easier?" Please, God, let there be something. "No, but would you like to hear a joke?" Gregory wondered if he would be able to afford taking up a drug habit. Preferably something strong. He scrubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands. Already he felt like he hadn't slept in a week. "No, but I get the sense that no matter my answer, you're still going to tell me." The ghoulish man's smile somehow stretched further. Without the makeup or hair dye he was just disturbing. "You've read my file! I like you already. So, a lawyer goes to Hell..." That bullet couldn't come fast enough.

.....

The day of the trial finally arrived, and the Joker and his attorney were both strapped up in bulletproof vests and escorted into the courthouse, the Joker stopping every few steps to wave to the cameras and laughing wildly when he was shoved back into motion. At the top of the stairs, he stopped yet again, turning around fully to wave and blow kisses, with his entourage still surrounding him. A flash of light in a window across the street. Joker dove to the ground and his lawyer's head just about exploded. Screams spread across the crowd as the reporters scattered. And yet, somehow, all the cacophony was drowned out by the Joker himself shrieking his lawyer's name before leaping at the corpse, yelling that he knew CPR, and pounding the headless body's chest while laughing maniacally. He only got three or so strikes in before being tackled and physically dragged into the courthouse. The trial was off to a tremendous start.

.....

The jury sat in deliberation, and every one of them wished they were anywhere else. Jury duty was supposed to be easy, go in, pretend to listen, take the bribe, and give the verdict they were paid to give. But this was the Joker. If they did anything less than suggest the death penalty be brought back, there would be mobs in the streets demanding their heads. And if they did, then there were the psychos who idolized him that they would have to hide from, let alone the Joker's own men. And then, of course they found a bribe. As if this wasn't all difficult and stressful enough as it was. A bribe that promises, if you don't know what I want, I can come after you. A bribe that lists their names and addresses. A bribe that tells them to... send him to Arkham? Why would he want to go to Arkham? That place, for all it pretends to be a morally upright psychological facility, is little more than a horror movie waiting to happen. No one wanted to go to Arkham. Hell, most would rather risk it in Blackgate than run the chance that you wake up one day, strapped to a table, with your head cut open. Hadn't he already broken out of Arkham? Before becoming the Joker? So he knew what the place was like, was he really so insane that he would want to go back? Too many unanswerable questions. Maybe they could suggest the maximum security ward? Glances were exchanged. Was this even a solution they could live with? Was this a solution they would live a week past? More unanswerable questions. But this seemed like the only *mostly* safe way forward. They hoped so, at least. Nods, very hesitant nods, but nods all the same, all around. The bribe was silently distributed, and it burned in each pocket it was placed.