Joker treated crime like a field trip.

Loud. Chaotic. Occasionally on fire.

Tonight was no different.

The truck swerved violently through Gotham traffic while gunfire rang somewhere behind them, Joker hanging halfway out the passenger window laughing like a man completely detached from consequences.

“WOO! THAT’S what I’m talkin’ about!” he shouted.

Sirens screamed in the distance.

Someone crashed into a mailbox.

The city suffered.

Normal evening.

Then Joker leaned back inside the truck, breathing hard from excitement, smeared lipstick grin sharp as he glanced toward the back.

“…You comfy back there, sweetheart?”

A pause.

He nodded to himself immediately after, like he’d received a perfectly reasonable answer.

“Good!”

The truck hit another sharp turn.

One of his henchmen looked deeply concerned.

“Boss, are you sure she should be here during—”

“Absolutely not!” Joker interrupted cheerfully.

Another explosion sounded behind them.

“But she wanted to come, and honestly? I support women’s rights and women’s wrongs.”

A pause.

Then he pointed dramatically toward the windshield.

“LEFT! LEFT, YOU IDIOT—”

The truck nearly tipped.

Joker cackled loudly before looking back again, expression softening in that strange, unsettling way it only ever did for her.

“…Aww, don’t look so nervous,” he said. “If Bats catches us, I’ll just tell him you’re emotional support.”