"Merry Christmas, Mistah J!"
"It was until I saw you, my dear."
The voices drifted into Robin's unconscious from seemingly miles away; the high-pitched shrill of the first echoed by the sardonic retort of the second. It was a sound like nails on a chalkboard, causing him to involuntarily shudder, and dragged him reluctantly back to wakefulness.
"Mind the step, Puddin', and no peeking!"
"As much as I like role reversal, I do prefer to be the one doing the kidnapping..."
Robin recognised the voices that were serving as his alarm clock, the knowledge of who was coming towards him making him control his slow trip back to consciousness. He kept his eyes closed as he gradually became aware of his surroundings; the cold hard surface he was lying on, the distant drip of moisture trickling down damp walls, the approaching footsteps.
"But you can't leave Arkham, Mistah J," Harley Quinn's voice pierced his concussion-dulled ears as clear as day, making Robin acutely aware of the pain from the bruises that already littered his body. And this was before the inevitable torture had even begun. "You couldn't've kidnapped me."
"So you thought: 'why not wake ol' Joker up and drag him through the hallways blindfolded'?" The Joker retorted, sounding irritated; his voice slightly groggy with interrupted sleep.
"It's a surprise, Mistah J. I got you a present!" Harley announced proudly. Robin could feel her shadow fall across him, the soft patter of her feet mere inches from his face, telling him that he was lying on the ground. His arms and legs were tied awkwardly behind him, making his already abused limbs ache even more. "You can take off the blindfold now, Puddin'!"
There came a rustling of fabric as the Joker complied, followed by a beat of pure silence.
"Oh, Harley my dear! You shouldn't have!" the Joker practically cooed. "How did you...?"
"I snuck him in through the dead man's entrance," Harley replied smugly. Robin was wide awake now, though his eyes stayed closed behind the mask that remained comfortably on his face. His head was pounding with a vengeance, making it difficult to form a coherent thought, but he was beginning to put the pieces together. He really didn't like the picture that they made.
"Clever girl!" the Joker congratulated as Harley finished her graphic retelling of her smuggling adventure. Robin felt the taller psychopath kneel down in front of where he lay on his side and carefully cracked open his eyes. The Joker grinned and flicked open a switch blade. "Just what I always wanted."
And Robin realised where he was.
Arkham Asylum. Trussed up like a present for Harley Quinn's psychotic boyfriend.
How did this nightmare even start?
Three hours earlier...
...at Gotham Academy's Christmas Dance, Dick Grayson was bored. The evening had started off well enough; the music was good and it was a chance to meet up with friends that he normally wouldn't see during Christmas Break. But as the music slowed down and the couples overtook the dance floor, the novelty was beginning to wear off.
Being Gotham Academy and the higher education choice of the city's rich and powerful, a school dance couldn't just be in the gym decorated with streamers with someone's dad manning the iTunes library. No, it had to be big and themed and cost more to throw than most people earned in a year. This year's theme was the oh so clever wordplay of Snow Ball; complete with indoor snow machine, ice sculptures and animatronic snowmen.
But Dick was used to the excess of the Gotham elite, and merely rolled his eyes as he slouched on the bleachers. He'd been forced into formal dress for the evening, though now two hours in his tie was undone and suit jacket thrown on the bench beside him. Alfred would have a fit when he saw the creases later, but for now, Dick had more pressing concerns.
Such as Barbara Gordon and her dance partner, Devon Wynters.
The two of them were locked in a slow dance, Babs' long gown swishing elegantly with every sway, and her long red hair tied up Grecian style. As Dick watched her from the sidelines, his mind couldn't help but wander back to his birthday a few weeks prior where a game of spin the bottle had had the two of them stepping briefly over the boundaries of friendship. But then Devon's hands would stray too far south below Babs' waist and a sharp, burning sensation in his gut would force Dick's hands into fists. He knew that the two of them weren't dating or anything – Devon was just some dumb, water-polo-playing jock that Babs' tutored on weekends.
Not that it would matter if they were dating. Dick wasn't jealous. He was just... looking out for his friend, that's all.
Finally the song ended and Babs' skilfully extracted herself from Devon's octopus hands and skedaddled off of the dance floor. She climbed up the bleachers with a ballerina's grace and dropped down beside him. "Hey Dick, you all right?"
Dick made a non-committal sound in the back of his throat.
Babs' tutted and lightly shoved him; and that brief contact absolutely did not have him flashing back to their time in the closet. At all. "Come on, you've been sulking all night. What's the matter?"
"Nothing," Dick grumbled. Babs raised an disbelieving eyebrow. "I'm just bored, is all."
Babs grinned as the music began to liven up again and a new crowd of students congregated on the dance floor. "That's because you're not dancing!" She tugged his arm invitingly. "Come on, I love this song!"
Butterflies immediately swarmed in Dick's stomach; his cheeks surely flushing a far brighter red than her hair, though he could only hope that the lighting hid them. It shouldn't be that big a thing – they were friends, they had danced together before – but ever since their kiss... Well, a dance suddenly had so much more meaning. "Uh... umm..."
Wow, eloquent Grayson.
"Are you okay?" Babs asked, her bright smile turning into a concerned frown. "You've gone really pale. Are you not feeling well?"
Dick latched onto the proffered excuse and ran with it. "Uh, yeah. Actually, uh... I'm not..." Any second now he was going to remember how to speak in complete sentences, surely. Babs kept watching him with her beautiful blue eyes, those damn butterflies performing the cha-cha-cha on his stomach. "I need some air."
"Oh, okay," Babs said despondently as he stood abruptly and all but ran down the bleachers. "Do you want me to come with you?"
Outside? Alone? Just the two of them?
"Uh, no," Dick denied a little more bluntly than he had intended, Babs' slightly hurt expression the last thing he saw as he practically ran from the hall.
Smooth, Grayson. Real smooth.
Escaping the clutches of the Snow Ball and teenage hormones, Dick didn't stop running until he hit the Academy's main door and dropped onto the front steps. He cringed at his own awkwardness, wondering how the fricking Boy Wonder had been reduced to a blubbering wreck. It had just been one kiss... or two... under a dare no less.
And Babs seemed totally calm about it, so clearly she didn't think that it meant anything.
So there was nothing to get worked up about.
Now all he needed was for the butterflies partying on his lower intestine to get with the program.
"I really need to hit something," Dick muttered to himself, sighing heavily. He slumped forward, elbows on his knees, making the reassuring weight of his utility belt shift beneath his shirt. He had his 'other' uniform on beneath his dress clothes as well; his Bat training drilling in the need for him to always be prepared for anything. In case of emergencies he could pull out the mask and kick major butt. And didn't that just give him a fantastic idea?
Okay, so maybe needing to blow off some steam didn't really qualify as an 'emergency' or whatever... And maybe Bats had banned him from patrol tonight while Bruce Wayne was held up at an inescapable charity function...
But those thoughts were mere background noise as his mind was made up. He found himself a phone box and performed a quick change before emerging again as Robin, and feeling instantly better.
How could this masterful plan possibly go wrong?
Meanwhile...
...at a grand Charity Ball, Bruce Wayne was similarly bored. Extravagance and superiority surrounded him on all sides, closing around the only sane man claustrophobically like a wet blanket. He silently wished that the soda in his glass was actually the champagne that he was pretending it was. If it wasn't for the fact that this was a Wayne Foundation event, he would have escaped this madness hours ago. As it was he was still quietly considering the option.
Especially as he saw Vicki Vale making a beeline towards him.
"Why, Mr Wayne!" the reporter greeted enthusiastically, the deep plunge of her neckline guaranteed to get answers out of weaker men. She raised a sardonic eyebrow. "What a surprise to see you here this evening."
Bruce smiled charmingly, though it would be clear to anyone that truly knew him just how fake the expression was. "I thought it was about time I put in an appearance," he replied with a guilty half-shrug. "I've been busy recently and missed quite a few of these events."
"Ah yes, busy," Vicki repeated disbelievingly. "I'm sure you're life of wealth and leisure is rather hectic."
You have no idea. Bruce silently thought. Between the League, the Team, Gotham, the Light and everything else, the Wayne Foundation and its various galas hadn't exactly made it very high on his list of priorities. But that wasn't really something that he could share with a reporter, so he simply pretended that he hadn't even heard her comment, as distracted as he was by another daring neckline that sauntered past.
Vicki tutted in irritation. "Yes, well. I have a deadline," she said shortly, drawing his his apparently wandering attention back to her. "Have a good evening Mr Wayne."
"Always a pleasure, Miss Vale," Bruce replied. As she walked away to grill a more interesting victim, Bruce thanked his lucky stars that a conversation with the intrepid reporter had remained so brief. And then his phone buzzed in his pocket, announcing the next round of irritation from another reporter.
Clark Kent: Having fun?
Me: Tonnes.
Clark Kent: I can see that :P
Bruce looked up from the device and scanned the crowd until his eyes settled on a man slightly too tall and too broad in the shoulders to go completely unnoticed. Clark was hiding behind his spectacles (and how that disguise worked, Bruce would never know) and crammed into a suit classier than his usual red and blue; trailing after Lois Lane as she flittered from one Gotham elite to another, clearly on the hunt for some story. Clark met Bruce's look and winked; causing the latter to roll his eyes in exasperation.
Clark Kent: Wheres D tonite?
Me: School dance.
Clark Kent: Awww! ^0^
Me: Did you just 'awww' Robin? He's a highly skilled ninja and will kick your|
Bruce cleared his throat and deleted the last message before it sent; deciding that ignoring the Boyscout's immaturity was the better course of action. A response would only incite the man further.
So Bruce took his champagne/soda and put as much distance between himself and the mild mannered reporter as possible. But that manoeuvre only put him enticingly close to the exit. He could be out that door and on his way to one of Batman's emergency caches in under a minute. And then he could be doing something legitimately helpful for society rather than pandering to the rich snobs around him that were supposedly his kind.
There was only one thing that stopped him.
"Do not even think about it, Master Bruce."
On the other side of town...
...in Gotham's Doll Emporium, Harley Quinn was indulging in some late night Christmas shopping... for herself. The latest Sally Sweetums doll was going on sale the following day, but Harley couldn't be waiting in line for hours like those other poor schmucks. Why be a psychotic villain's girlfriend if you're just gonna follow the rules?No, breaking and entering was way more fun!
Grinning broadly, Harley slipped in through the building's skylight and dropped into the centre of the grand establishment; throwing in a spin and a somersault and finishing with flair. "Ta-daaaa!"
Rows and rows of lifeless eyes watched her display, so Harley bowed theatrically to her audience. "Thank you! Thank you! I'll be here 'til Tuesday!"
Unsurprisingly, the dolls didn't applaud in reply, but Harley kept beaming as if they had. She dropped into a handstand so that she was level with the bottom shelf, winked at it's occupant, and then cartwheeled off down the aisle.
Gotham's Doll Emporium was like a throwback to the Victorian era; lined with wooden shelves carved with intricate patterns and overshadowed by currently unlit chandeliers. Long shadows were cast by the glow of street lamps through the store's front window and the dull emergency lights. With girls' toys ranging from Barbie to classic china dolls, the place was innately creepy.
But Harley didn't mind. Creepy was her fetish after all.
Still cartwheeling like a schoolgirl, she searched up and down the aisles until she finally found the treasure that she sought. Piled high in boxes was a mountain of Sally Sweetums. The rag-dolls' blonde locks and rosy red cheeks gleamed idyllically down at her, and Harley couldn't help but sigh.
Just what she always wanted.
Well, since yesterday anyway.
With a prankster's glee she purposely chose a box from the bottom row, causing a landslide down the entire left hand side. She eagerly tore into the box and untangled her new Sally Sweetums from its packaging, hugging the doll close to her chest. It was adorable. It was perfect. It was...
...missing something.
Harley dropped to her knees as her stolen purchase fell vastly short of her expectations. It was Christmas, the time of year where a girl got exactly what she wanted. But it wasn't right. It was missing something. Someone.
She chewed her lip as tears threatened to spill down her powdered white cheeks. "I miss you Mistah J!" she howled, her withheld tears released in a loud sob.
Poor Puddin' was all locked up in Arkham without her ever since the nasty Injustice League convinced him to join them in some world conquering plot or whatever. Then the real League had shown up and the so-called super villains had rolled over and surrendered, leaving Mistah J with no choice but to go back to the asylum. Harley had nothing against Arkham, in fact she rather liked the place; but with her Puddin' all alone there at Christmas – it was enough to turn her triumphant moment sour.
She should pay him a visit.
Yeah. A conjugal visit. That would cheer them both right up!
Tears forgotten and Sally Sweetums abandoned, Harley clambered up the shelves and back up through the skylight, the brisk night air cutting through her seasonal costume. She scarpered across the roof, her shoes clip-clopping like reindeer hooves as she gleefully turned towards Arkham Isle.
But then another thought hit her like a snowball to the face. She hadn't gotten Puddin' a present! What kind of crazy girlfriend was she? He'd be mad if she showed up with nothing!
What could she get him? Socks? Christmas jumper? Prozac? Torture devices? Mistah J was just so hard to shop for!
Harley mulled over her options as she hopped across the rooftops. Down below the wonderful sounds of Gotham's night life reached her ears – the panicked screams of victims, the raucous laughter of muggers and rapists and drunkards, the distant gunfire of Penguin and Black Mask's gang war. A merrier tune than the horrific Christmas carols that she had been forced to endure this month.
And then a bright, mischievous cackle broke through the night smog.
Harley diverted her flight path to Arkham in order to investigate the goings-on in an alley down below. She dangled over the parapet like a gargoyle and watched as the garishly coloured Boy Wonder danced around a gang of thugs. His cape fluttered like torn wrapping paper as he jumped and flipped about.
And suddenly Harley Quinn knew exactly what to get her boyfriend for Christmas.
All she would need was some ribbon.
Which is how...
…Robin ended up in Arkham Asylum, tied up like a parcel complete with a bow. And his night didn't get any better from there.
Where he was curled up involuntarily on the ground, Robin had a fantastic view of Harley's Tinkerbell shoes. But with a little more twisting he was able to see the room that he was in. The ceiling was high and cracked from the damp, the strip lights that hung from it looking as if they were barely holding on to the plaster. The floor was once tiled, though now most of the ceramics were broken or missing; with a plughole set into the concrete a few yards from his face.
Behind his back he could feel a table leg, and a couple of other trolleys littered the space. From his angle on the floor, Robin couldn't see what was on them, but judging by the smell of the place it wasn't lollipops and candy canes. From somewhere behind him he could hear the hum of what sounded like an oven. That coupled with Harley's words of 'Dead Man's Entrance' had Robin suspicious of just where in Arkham he might be.
As if being in the asylum wasn't bad enough. He was in the damn morgue.
The Joker dropped down in a crouch in front of him, his switch blade passing from hand to hand. "Hello Bird Boy," he greeted with that eternal grin. "Do you know where you are?"
Robin wasn't gagged, but he settled for glaring defiantly anyway.
"You're in Arkham, boy," the Joker explained with flourish, as if Robin wasn't smart enough to have already figured that out from the clown's garishly orange prison jumpsuit. The Joker grabbed Robin by the ribbon that bound him so that he was sitting up, giving him a better view of the place. The psychopath gestured proudly around them and then bent down to Robin's ear and stage whispered, "Do you like what we've done with the place?"
Robin nodded at a wreath that had been hung below the barred window. It was made up of playing cards and what looked like blood splatters. "Very festive," he ground out.
"Isn't it though?" the Joker agreed, apparently missing the sarcasm. He slung his arm across Robin's shoulders as if they were old pals, the switch blade spinning idly in his other hand. "I really do love this time of year. The food, the music, the presents - oh! The presents! There's nothing I love more than tearing into a good gift and seeing what spills out!"
Harley giggled from where she was perched on the table.
"In fact," the Joker grinned impossibly wide. He took the switch blade and slid it beneath the ribbon that criss-crossed Robin's chest, purposely digging deep enough to slice the fabric and skin beneath. "I think it's about time that I open my present!"