Hello there. PhoenixCrystal here. Nice to see you. XD
This is... really the first time I've ever tried this style of writing. I hope I've managed to pull it off. I just watched The Dark Knight again today for the first time in ages, and for some reason, this popped into my head, and I just had to write it. Hopefully, there will be someone out there who enjoys this!
Disclaimer: I don't own the Dark Knight or any of the characters from it.
She kicked the bag again, feeling the solid hit run through her body like a wave of electricity. A quick spin to the side to avoid the swing of the heavy thing, then a barrage of punches, causing it to drunkenly lurch to the side again. She pivoted on her heel and launched herself into the air, her leg whipping out to strike the bag in a ruthless roundhouse kick before she landed, dropping low on her knees and sliding beneath the bag as it swung hard at her, coming up on the other side, a knife appearing seemingly out of nowhere in her hand. She stabbed hard at the cloth of the bag, hitting it in what would have been its lower back, had it been a human rather than an inanimate object. Sand spurted, blood-like, from the cut, and she grinned, knowing that she would have won this fight.
Catching the bag before it could swing back and hit her in the face, she grabbed the roll of duct tape from the nearby table and patched the hole, adding to the already existing criss-cross of tape patches covering the surface of the bag's outer cover. She got to her feet, then, dropping the tape back onto the table and tucking the knife back into the hidden place of her long, close-fitting sleeve. She resumed a fighting stance, preparing to begin a new bout, when a creak from across the room had her freezing. Her hand groped for her knife.
"Who's there. I hear you."
Silence.
Crouched slightly, she paced towards the door like a cat, her ears cocked for the slightest sound. But there was nothing there... though the door did swing open at her light touch. Someone was in the room with her... but where?
It was the soft chuckle from directly behind her that had her wheeling, her knife poised to strike at the height of a man's throat. A rough hand caught her arm and twisted, wrenching the knife from her grasp and dumping her on the floor. The man laughed again, glee and wildness and sheer... insanity in the sound.
She knew who it was, then, and the answering laugh that left her was joyous, almost ecstatic. She was on her feet in a moment, but not to strike, not to wound. Her arms flew out, but not to hit. Instead, they enveloped the invader in what could only be called an enthusiastic embrace.
"You're back!"
"'couse I'm back... how could I not come and visit my favorite little girly, hmm?" The man's arms grabbed her tight, literally painfully so; had the gesture been from anyone else, she would have fought, struck to free herself, but from him... from him, this was the closest he could get to expressing affection. And so she took it, as she always did.
"Watch it, now... you'll get that bloody white stuff all over my face again," she teased, pulling back enough to see his face. He smiled at her – though he was always smiling, he managed a real one for her – and cackled with laughter.
"You sure ya don't like it? I still say you'd look looovely in white, my dear. We could paint you up, get you some more knives... I saw that move, by the way. Very pretty. You sure you don't want to play with me?"
"Oh, I'll play with you... just not like that. Not yet. Okay? Maybe someday." She watched as his face fell for a moment – even with his permanent smile, she could see the sadness in his eyes – before he shrugged, moving in that loose-jointed way that always amused her.
"Fine, doll, fine... I see how it is... findin' love in the arms of another, are we?" She resisted the urge to shiver – she knew he was making one of his jokes, but the harshness in her voice was a little too genuine for her liking – and wrapped her arms around his neck again, staring up into the darkness of his eyes.
"No. Never. You're the only one for me." She brushed a lock of his stringy hair back, smiling at him, smiling wide enough to match his own permanent smile. "Are you hungry? I can get some food, if you'd like." The eager look in his eyes made her giggle, and she released him, shaking her head. "Alright. Just wait for a bit... I'll make macaroni and cheese, alright?"
It took her about fifteen minutes to prepare their meal, during which time he paced about her loft, pausing occasionally to stare at items that she would have considered of little consequence: a hairbrush, a discarded towel, a bottle cap. She didn't do anything to stop him, however... not until he scooped a discarded bra from her hamper and held it up to the light, a wicked grin on his face.
"Put that back, please," she called calmly, stirring away at the pot of simmering noodles. He capered over to her, still smirking.
"But why? It's so pretty. See?" He wrapped it about her chest, holding it up as though to show her how it fit. As though she didn't know. "It fits just... perfectly," he cooed in her ear, maneuvering the cups so that they were around her breasts... copping a feel as he did so. She batted at him, feeling herself blush, for some odd reason, and he laughed hysterically, staggering back until he reached one of her two chairs. "Oh, doll, you're so angry when you're beautiful!" he chortled, and she couldn't help laughing as well.
"I think that really goes the other way around, that saying," she murmured, but gave him an amused glance to show him she wasn't taunting him. She knew he didn't like to be taunted... not one bit. He slapped his hands on his knees, inviting her to sit there, and she switched off the heat of the stove before going over and settling across his lap.
"Oh, I know, doll, I know... but I like it better that way. It... it fits you better, that way. Hmm?" He bounced his knees slightly, dandling her up and down as though she were a small child. She smiled lazily at him, wrapping her arms about his neck.
"If you say so." She leaned forward and pressed a swift kiss to his painted cheek before getting back up and starting the noodles again. He was silent for a moment, and a careful glance over her shoulder showed him feeling the place on his cheek where she'd kissed him like a young man receiving his first kiss from a girl he liked.
"... well... I do say so..." he mumbled, sounding as dazed as he looked, and she couldn't help giggling. He cast her a sharp glance, searching her face for a taunt, but she kept her expression open, letting him see her good will. Finally, he looked away again, dropping his gaze to the table. "Where's that mac and cheese? I'm getting hungry," he muttered.
"Just a few more minutes, I promise. I know you don't like it, but try to be patient." He gave her another sharp look, but she met this one with a wicked grin of her own. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."
Dinner was a simple but eagerly eaten affair; he always seemed overjoyed whenever he could get his hands on good food, and she herself was hungry after her practice earlier. After dinner, she offered to show him what she'd been practicing, and he agreed, flopping down on her beaten-down couch with one hand on his full stomach. He actually cheered after her display of perfectly controlled violence towards her punching bag, jumping up to catch her in another of his crushing embraces.
"Great, great job, my dear! You'll be ready to play cops and robbers in no time!" She hugged him back, but shook her head, biting her lip when he couldn't see her face.
"... sorry, but I don't think I'm quite ready for that, yet..." He was disappointed, she could tell, so she hastily added, "Maybe a bit more practice, first. Maybe then I'll be ready." He perked right up, and they went back to the couch, dropping down side-by-side to watch TV. He got bored with that after a while – he got bored with everything, sooner or later – and so they switched location to her bed. For a while they just lay next to each other, talking about what both of them had been up to recently. She told him about her job at the martial arts studio down the street, he told her about the latest game he'd played. After a while, he got bored with that, too, and demanded that she give him her earlier promise: her "making it up to him." She grinned and obliged, and for a while things turned in a much more... passionate direction. Only after they were both exhausted and panting, both of their faces smeared with about half of the paint that had once adorned only his, did they flop down side-by-side again, not looking at each other, not touching.
"... would you like to stay the night?" she asked, hesitant but inviting. She always asked, even though she knew what he would say... since he always said the same thing.
"Oh, doll, you know I'd like to, but that would make everything so... normal." He bounded to his feet, exhaustion gone, and tugged on his discarded clothing. "I've got to be off... so many places to be, things to see... games to play." She got up too, resigned: it always ended like this. It always had, with them.
"Alright... I understand. But you come again soon and see me, alright? It's been nearly two months, this time. I was... I was worried." He stared at her, incredulous, for several seconds, before laughing.
"Worried? You? About me? Oh, doll... you're so funny sometimes..." He grabbed her in a rough hug, kissing her just as roughly, smearing still more red and white across her face. Before she could even react, he was at the door, waving a farewell, and then when she rushed after him, hoping for one last goodbye, he was already in the elevator, the doors closing after him. But she'd heard the last thing he'd said, just before the doors closed completely...
"And they call me The Joker!"
Please review! I'm pretty much wanting to leave this a one-shot, but if anyone out there likes this and wants more, please let me know. Plus, reviews are awesome.
Thanks for reading!