AN: A quick FYI:
This IS a jokachel story, don't worry.
However, no, this is not exclusively a jokachel fic.
While this isn't exactly what you would call "cannon", it does fit realistically into the movie time line, and does not directly contradict movie events so much as it works around them. I mean come on, the Dark Night is an amazing film, who would want to screw with that?..now that Joker on the other hand.. ;)
That said, if you're looking for some PWP, look elsewhere. However,
A Warning: Contains violence, sex (possible noncon), incest, and strong language.
Disclaimer: I am not the creator of the Nolanverse.
Happy Reading :)
FLUSH
A Dark Knight fan fiction, by Rosetta Penn
TEASER
Dirt. Dirt, dirt, all around. Dirty dirty things.
Dirty blue shoes, dirty pants, dirty socks, dirty blueish brow marks on his cheeks, dirty fingernails. Stains on the carpet, messy clothes all over the floor, filthy, filthy noises all around. His little head was all filled up with dark filthy sounds. Banging and screaming and crying. He hugged his knees to his chest and pulled on curly brown chunks of hair.
Father and Mommy Karen were fighting each other, again. They were making loud noises in the kitchen. Loud scary noises that made him want to disappear into the dirty whitewashed wall behind him.
He squeezed the deck of playing cards in his hands. He had seen them in the grocery store when Mommy Karen took him shopping. They were thick, and glossy, and each card had a pretty red pattern on the back. It was the kind of pattern you could never get tired of looking at, because each time you saw it you found something new, just like magic.
Yeah, just like magic.
That's why he got them. Mommy Karen had a magic baby that could live inside her belly. When the baby came out he though it'd probably like some magic cards to remind it of it's old home. He knew what it was like to be homesick. When he was younger he used to live in a different house, Father lived there too, but Mommy Karen didn't. He couldn't remember much of it, but he knew it was better then this house. He knew it didn't have the crunchy bugs, and the backyard had a tree.
A dish broke against the kitchen wall, He cringed and clutched more tightly at the playing cards.
"Shit Karen! You know what Maroni has me doing out there all day!"
"Yes I know, and I can't do this! I can't do it any more Jack! I'm leaving!"
"Fine! Haul your fucking ass out of here! Go live on the fucking street, with you're fucking trash friends! That's what you are, you're trash, nothing but fucking trash!"
He cringed at the raised voices.
A well-worn loafer nudged his own. He turned and looked up. Warm wool trousers, rolled up sleeves, smell of gun smoke, it was a familiar figure. The man raised his eyebrows.
"Heya little Joker, what's, uh, up?"
"Mommy Karen and Father are fighting again"
"Wha? Oh yeah, sounds like real nasty one eh…how bout a Joke?"
"I'm scared"
The man gave him a puzzled glance and ruffled his greasy brown hair. He pursed his lips, making a messy popping noise, and leaned in closer to the little boy.
"How bout a scary Joke then?"
"There's no such thing"
The man gave a wild, low timbered, chuckle.
"No such thing? Kid, kid, kid, all right now listen to me. This kinda thing, this kinda mess, happens all the time. And if there ain't no way out, you gotta twist it, grind it into your fist, until it cracks. Till it cracks a nice big smile."
The man received a doubtful stare.
"Don't look at me like that kid. When I tell you something I mean it. I've always been here for you. But I'm a man of my word see and you gotta trust me, or I'm not coming round to see you anymore, got it?"
There was a brief pause, then the boy nodded.
"Now then look at that over there, look at him shaking her. She's wobbling about like an great big penguin, you can't tell me that doesn't make you want to laugh."
"I-"
Suddenly his fathers furious red face turned towards him, the boy's words caught in his throat and his hands began shaking slightly. The playing cards rattled in their hard plastic case.
"What are you staring at?" His father snarled, taking an angry step towards him.
The woman scrambled up to her feet, steadying herself on a metal folding chair.
"Jack, leave him alone."
"Who are you talking to boy?" His father demanded. Fear locked up the young boy's jaw, he couldn't make a sound.
"Jack, he's scared that's all. Leave him alone…people are starting to ask questions-"
"God damn it, the freaky little fucks talking to them fucking ghosts again! There's something wrong with kid, he's god damn embarrassment!"
"Jack…"
In a few short strides his father was towering above him, grabbing His face in his large hand, jolting him back and forth.
"Who are you talking to? Huh? Answer me you freaky little bastard! Answer me!"
The big mans hand raised, tightening into a fist. The woman screamed.
"Jack stop it!"
"He's my son! He's not gonna grown up to be some crazy fucking lunatic!"
The man's closed fist raised higher.
Jack!"
*J*
"What do you propose?" The Chechen's man's rough voice slipped the question into the air. It hung there for a moment, watching, waiting, and then,
"It's simple" He began naturally "We, uh, kill the batman"
An apprehensive laughter trickled down the table.
"If it's so simple why haven't you done it?" the Chechen man challenged, his words curling with mockery.
He felt the anger spurn up inside him, but suppressed it. At least for the time being. Big Mr. Glaring Gambol over there was starting to get on his nerves…
"If you're good at something, never do it for free"
Another pause.
"How much you want?"
He smiled. Good, now they were getting somewhere.
"Uh…half" Again, the nervous laughter. Though this time it was a bit more forthcoming.
"You're crazy" The Chechen jested.
His fingers clenched inside their leather covering, twitching on the little pull string inside his jacket, his breath came faster. He twisted his neck to the side. Not. Now.
"I'm not," He said, clenching his teeth on his anger. He thought of that thugs head slamming into the pencil. Boom. Slam. He inhaled deeply through his nose. "No, I'm not."
*J*
There were hallways. There were lots of rooms. There were uncomfortable padded chairs. There was funny music. There were people in funny pink dresses and funny white coats. There was screaming. There was a sign that read "Gotham General".
Mommy Karen started screaming last night so they had brought her here, she was still screaming. The magic baby had to come out now, but it didn't want to leave. Father had looked worried. The little boy turned to the man beside him.
"Why is the magic baby hurting Mommy Karen?"
The man clicked his tounge.
"How'd you like it if someone tried to rip you outta your house kid?"
"How- how did the baby get inside?"
"I told you kid, magic"
"But what kind of-"
The man turned to him angrily.
"Why? What's it matter? Why should I know the why and the how? Do you know? Stop questioning kid. Just do. Just go and do. It's time you learned to stop living life so serious."
The boy sat back in he seat crestfallen.
Meanwhile a frazzled looking Doctor stepped out of the adjacent hospital room. Leaning back against the wall, he straightened his tie in a manor that suggested a familiarity with the action. His brow furrowed with concern when he locked eyes with the boy and he began taking worried steps toward him, when a pink uniformed NA blocked his path. He stole one more troubled glance at the boy, and then began to speak to the intern in hushed tones.
"…Called it at 3:12. She hemoraged, placenta previa, not much we could have done." The doctor paused for a moment, glancing again at the boy "Hey be careful in there, boyfriend nearly took my head off, and…look I got another patient up in critical, but when your done in there, take a look at that boy. I think-" a series of ringing beeps vibrated from under the doctors coat, he removed the small black pager from his belt, "Shit. I have to go." He hurried off in the other direction mumbling something about "incompetent residents".
The boy pondered the woman approaching him, her heels clicking sharply on the hospital's tile floor. Kneeling, she tugged lightly on the hem of his shorts.
"Hey sweetie" she smiled sweetly, "How would you like to see your new baby sister?"
She reminded him of Mommy Karen a little. Something about that sweet sunny smile. A smile that was a bit too sweet to be genuine. A forced smile, but not a false one. It suggested a conflicting frame of mind, a hopeless optimism, an empty confidence. It was a smile the better half of Gotham was well acquainted with.
The woman was holding out her hand to him. The little boy looked at the chair opposite him where the man in the brown trousers sat, cross-legged, whistling to himself. When he saw the boy staring he raised his eyebrows in mock jest.
"Ok" said the boy, the NA's warm hand closed around his. "What's her name?" he asked.
"Jillian."
"Jillian" he repeated slowly.
She led him down the hallway, quickening her pace as she passed the room Mommy Karen was is. They walked into a room with soft pink walls and a light turquoise border around the ceiling. It was full of all kinds of confusing machinery the boy found completely unfamiliar, but he was ushered past all of theses and led behind a curtain to a rather industrial sort of metal and plastic bassinet. Inside was the most incredible thing the boy had ever seen.
She was so new. He had never had anything new in his life, not clothes, or shoes, or toys. She smelled clean, and fresh, and she was so incredibly tiny. Her wrinkled little face, her pink puffy cheeks, her soft sleepy gurgling; it was such an adorable innocence.
"She's magical," he whispered.
The brown trousered man leaned over him. "I told ya didn't I?"
*J*
"Evening, Commissioner" he drawled mockingly, twiddling his thumbs.
Commissioner Gordon walked up to the table, pulled up a chair, and sat down. He was angry.
"Harvey Dent never made it home"
He chewed at his bottom lip and looked up from the table.
"Of course not" he said off handedly.
"What have you done with him?" Gordon demanded.
"Me?" Feigning innocence he widened his eyes questioningly, while tilting his head to the side and pursing his lips in a gruesome pout. "I was right here" He held up his handcuffed wrists. "Who did you leave him with, hm? Your people?"
Gordon's mouth tightened to an angry thin line, but worry was just starting to cross his old tired eyes. It was just too amusing.
"That's assuming of course that they are still your people, and not Maroni's" he let every syllable of the name roll past his lips with a sinister emphasis.
He smacked his lips, tasting the gritty pool of emotions pouring out of the commissioner. Anger, fear, worry, guilt, yes, so much guilt. And yet he barely understood what real guilt was.
"Does it depress you commissioner? To know just how alone you really are? Does it make you feel responsible for Harvey Dent's current predicament?" The commissioner's fist banged angrily on the table.
"Where is he?" he repeated more loudly.
"What's the time?" he asked. He sat back, drinking in the not so sudden break in the man's composure.
"What difference does that make?"
"Well," he began slowly. His tongue flickered out of his mouth and he bit down on the inside of his cheek. "Depending on the time, he may be in one spot or…several."
*J*
Thwack.
"Ace, I win," he said slapping his card atop the monolium flooring. He reached for his prize, two heavily used red motiefed playing cards. A tiny, suntanned hand curled itself around his wrist.
"I don't think so" Jillian smirked, holding her own weathered card out of reach. He twisted his wrist from her grasp.
"No way! Only a Joker can beat that ace and I won both from you ages ago!"
"Are you sure?" she teased coyly, placing her winning card daintily on top of the pile. He frowned as she swept up her winnings.
"I swear I had that card" he muttered beneath his breath, "this isn't fair" but he threw another card down on the floor, seven spades. Jillian laughed, setting her card next to his.
"Of course not"
"Then you admit to cheating! I did have that card, you're not playing fair!"
"Jackie, dahling, life doesn't play fair. Why should I?"
"Because!"
"Oh, yes, well of course. When you put it that way-" Jillian trailed off as her eyes rolled down to look at the card she'd just played "Eight of clubs. Looks like I win again."
She reached for the cards but he got there first, yanking them out of her grasp, which earned him a tackling, and sever kicks to the gut. Much struggling, and a little snarling, later he managed somehow to pin her to the floor, kicking and screaming though she was.
"Cheating son of a bitch, get off me!"
"Hyporyite," he ridiculed. And don't talk like that. It's not the way intelligent people speak. Try talking like that in a courtroom and they'll hold you in-in-"
"Contempt, genius"
"Yeah, contempt." He sighed, relaxing his hold a bit. "Christ, you know, sometimes I really can't believe you're just a kid"
"That's because I'm not!" she shot back angrily "And anyway the day I set foot in a courtroom I'll have to trade in mothers old sewing machine for a pair of skates in order to get there, because hell will have frozen over"
"Well, we're not in hell"
She gave him a dubious glance. "Oh really?"
He scowled, "Look you're gonna get to college, then law school, where after you'll land a prestigious internship in Gotham's snootiest law firm-"
"But I want to work for the city"
"And you'll be the best DA Gotham's ever seen. Heck, you'll be the best Judge Gotham's ever seen. Her honor Madam Jillian-"
"Jack stop." She interrupted seriously. Her voice was small and deflated. "I've known for a long time we don't have the money for college. It's ok."
"Jill, I'm going to get you there." She starred back up at him doubtfully. "Even if I have to hold up a bank." She laughed. He loved the sound of her laugh. It was a blessedly melodious sound, pure and strong, just like her.
"Hmm, well, I suppose once I get my degree I could always get you out, by reasons of insanity of course" His grip on her tightened, his body going rigid. Shadows began creeping there way into the corners of his eyes. Jillian faltered, realizing exactly what she had said.
"Jack-Jack I'm sorry. I didn't mean…you know it seems so long ago for me, I was just a kid"
"You're still a kid" he interrupted angrily. But his body calmed, it had been an honest mistake. She hadn't meant anything by it. "But it's a deal."
"Good" she said, beginning to squirm impatiently under him "Because if I'm going to be a judge then I can say whatever I want. Now get the fuck off me!" Her knee shot up to jab him in the gut and he rolled off her groaning. He felt his temper beginning to flare, that really hurt,
"Jill cut it out, I mean it!" he shouted "That's not kind of filth I want slipping through my innocent little sisters lips"
She screamed, pushed him roughly, and jumped to her feet, whirling round to him. Jillian had quite the temper of her own and he could see outrage burning in her eyes.
"Really?" she yelled, kicking the wall "Well, what exactly would you like to slip through my innocent little lips?"
He reeled back from her "That's sick!"
She kicked the cards across the floor. "Why? She demanded shrilly. "Because I'm such a child? I see the way you look at me!"
"Because you're my SISTER!" he bellowed after her.
"Half!" Her voice was chocking up and she thought her saw her eyes grow watery.
"That doesn't matter!" He turned around to leave but she grabbed his arm and forced him to look in her direction.
"No. No it doesn't. What matters is that I love you, and you love me!"
He shoved her off of himself "Not like that!"
She stepped back, calm rage burning inside her.
"But you let him love me like that Jack." She turned and sprinted from the room.
*J*
"Okay, stop!" He did. Or rather, everything else did, everything but a faint, churning buzz. That voice…
He turned. It wasn't. Of course it wasn't. She was gone. Jillian was gone. And yet, the resemblance was uncanny. It wasn't really physical, otherwise he would have noticed it much sooner. He recognized the woman of course. Rachel Dawes, assistant D.A., intelligent, attractive enough, especially for a lawyer. But she was older, while Jillian had been so unforgivably young…beautiful…
"Well, hello, beautiful" the taunt rolled past his lips. He tossed the old man to the side. His mind raced forward while his body shifted into auto drive, filling in the blank spaces in a mechanical fashion with nonchalant, practiced, cruelty. He sauntered towards her, raising his hand to slick back his hair with his knife. "You must be Harvey's new squeeze, hmm? And you are beautiful."
He drew closer to her, smell of something sharp and tangy, sophisticated. Fear. He breathed in deeper, slower. She cowered, bending inwards towards herself, locking him out. No. He circled her. Her pulse raced. The buzzing continued, growing louder. He was loosing control. Control of her, control of himself, control of the situation…Jillian…no. He locked himself more fully into auto drive. Pushing the words out, pre editing them, creating a scenario of his choosing.
"You look nervous" She was nervous. She was scared of him. It was her fault, she gave him this feeling. He hated it, hated her. Lawyer bitch, she wasn't his sister. She was nothing like Jillian. Jillian was never scared. She was so brave. What the hell was this woman staring at? Him?
"Is it the scars?" Her body said yes, her eyes said no. "You want to know how I got them? Come'ere"
*J*
"You're going to have to pay for that."
"I can fix it for twenty bucks."
Jillian shook her head at fist-sized hole in the wall. Her eyes wandered up the pale yellow wallpaper; evidently the hospitals go at creating "cheery" atmosphere. A building full of shrinks should know better.
"You could fix drywall for twenty bucks. I don't know what that is. Do you?" He didn't answer. "Jack?" She took a cautious step forward; her hand raised a few hesitant inches above his shoulder.
"Don't touch me."
"I want to" she said, her hand falling helplessly back by her side.
"Don't"
They stood there in silence for a moment that tripped into a while. Jillian watched her brother watch the floor. He dropped to his knees.
"I'm not leaving," she whispered.
"I don't want you to"
"Good." She breathed in deeply, the air felt tight. "Can I touch you now?"
"No"
"I want to"
"Don't"
She swallowed leaden tears and sank to the floor beside him.
"So that's…" she began hesitantly, "I mean, without your medication, that's what it's like. That's him."
"Yeah"
"I never realized..I mean that was real Jack. I really thought you we're talking to another person" Jillian shifted uneasily on her feet. She heard him suck in another tight breath through his nostrils. "But, the doctor said he would give you the better pills right?"
"Yeah" His voice was heavy with exhaustion, brimming with tears.
She felt her own composure splinter apart. She batted at her eyes quickly, looking up at the ceiling and over to the wall until the yellow pattern blurred in front of her. "Ok"
"It's not just the pills Jill. I need..I need help." he was disgusted with frail weakness of his voice.
Jillian shook her head above him. "But you know it's not real. You've always known it's not real."
"Not always"
"Well not when you were a kid, but everyone believes in their imaginary friends when they're kids"
"He's not imaginary"
"But he's not real!" Jillian's palm flattened sharply against the wall, Jack felt the vibration jolt against his back. "Jack, why didn't the other pills work?"
His head fell back against the wall. "I'm supposed to come back…talk to him"
"So you'll talk-"
"We can't come back here Jill" he interrupted.
"Why?"
"We don't have the money"
"But you're sick." She said insistently. "The hospital has to treat you if you're sick, it doesn't matter if you have the money."
"Only if you're really sick" As he closed his eyes a salty tear snuck down his cheek. "I'd have to be an inpatient, and I'm not leaving you."
With a light thud Jillian dropped to her knees beside him. The warmth in her brown eyes started him so much that he jumped as she took his hand in both of hers. Jillian mistook the gesture for hardness, and clamped her hands tighter around his.
"Ok," she said, holding his hand more firmly still. He could feel the pulse in her wrist thump under his. "So you talk to me."
She bent closer to him, and her top lip landed candy sweet atop his.
*J*
"There's only minutes left, you're going to have to play my little game if you want to save one of them."
"Them?"
The Batman's grip tightened on his collar, pushing him further back into the wall. The Joker saw the masked man's forceful lip twitch upward slightly with furious confusion. He thought it was beautiful.
"You know for awhile there I really thought you were Dent, the way you threw yourself after her" The batman flipped him upside down onto the table, he laughed in pain. "Look at you go! Does Harvey know about you and his little bunny?"
His head smashed into the double mirror. The pain crunching down through spine was delightful. But not as delightful as the knowledge that he had shattered the Batman's control ages ago. In a moment of sinful satisfaction he allowed himself to picture Rachel in his mind, fear pulsing through her veins as his hand had twisted around her neck.
A fist pounded into his face.
"Where are they?" The Batman demanded, his fist already rushing down a second time.
"Killing is making a choice" he insisted, biting his lip on laughter. "Choose between one life or the other. Your friend the district attorney, or his blushing bride to be." When the Batman's fist pummeled into his face yet again, he let go, bursting into hysterics.
"You have nothing!" he shouted. He could feel his face beginning to swell and go numb; he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to prolong the pain. "Nothing to do with all your strength!"
He felt himself wedged against the wall once more, but he knew it wasn't the Batman that held him there, not really. It was the panic radiating from under his armor, the terror, the complete and total feeling of helplessness. He felt himself swell with arrogance at the comrodity he had tied between them.
"Don't worry, I'm going to tell you where they are, both of em, and that's the point," his tongue curled outward as his mouth twisted into a smirk. "You have to choose."
Because I won't, he thought as he rattled off the two address's. Because I refuse, and she cannot. Not yet.
*J*
It was the smell.
More then anything else, it was the smell that caused his heart to stop beating. It wasn't her screams, or the heat, or the sick black smoke billowing up from the space beneath the door. He had experienced all those things before. Even the bloody metallic taste, pooling through his lips from corners of his mouth, was painfully familiar to him. However the smell of charred hair and burning flesh was something new to his senses.
Jack slammed himself repeatedly against the locked door in front of him. He cried out in pain and rage as the wood splintered under the weight of his shoulder, the threatening groan of the old hinges taunting him. The smoke was coming slower. He failed to notice that the last of Jillian's brittle screams had stopped minutes ago. With a final shudder of protest the door buckled and gave way. Jack burst out into the hallway, coughing on a hot breath of smoke.
He swaggered into Jillian's bedroom. Phantom figures flashed before his eyes. His father, drunk off the bottle of whiskey he slammed on the nightstand, had discovered them together in Jillian's bed.
Jack's foot bumped into something on the floor, a knife. He saw his father bending over him, his eyes furious. But not with disgust, with jealousy.
"You kiss her with those lips boy?" And he had brought the knife up against the corner of Jack's mouth…
Jillian had side tackled him. His father swore and spun around, throwing her on the ground, but not before she managed to pry the knife out of his hands.
"You know you're mother was a whore too" He'd yanked her up from the floor by a fistful of hair and pinned her against the wall.
"Your sweet little ass has had it too easy. I think it's time you learn how a kid like you earns her own way out on the streets." His eyes raked down her body like sludge and he pressed himself up against her fully.
"Or maybe you'd prefer the two of us come up with a separate arrangement," his hands slid down to her hips, "Baby.."
"Get bent" Jillian had hissed, and she'd rammed the knife into his gut.
His father had roared and smashed the whiskey bottle from the nightstand over her head. She had fallen to floor unconscious, whiskey dripping off her hair and face.
"Bitch! Dumb fucking bitch!" his father had screamed, doubling with pain as he ripped the knife from his side. Blood began gush dark red from the wound as he'd continued to shout, "You'll burn in hell for that you dirty cunt! Fuck!"
From across the room Jack had watched his father fumble for something in his pocket, a lighter. He'd pitched himself forward across the floor but the older man had been too quick, catching him hard with his foot under the chin. Jack had reeled backward dizzy with pain, and his father dragged him into the room across the hall.
"If you know what's good for you you'll stay in there you little shit!" he'd shouted, before locking the door and staggering back into Jillian's bedroom. Moments later Jack had started to smell the burning.
Now a low moaning tore him from the horrors playing in his mind. He saw his father slumped over on the floor, barely conscious and soaked in blood from the waist down. Jack picked the knife up off the floor and silently approached him, kneeling down. His father's eyes widened and his legs pushed uselessly against the floorboard as he tried to push himself away.
Jack felt a warm hand close comfortingly on his shoulder. He turned surprised and found himself looking up at a familiar face.
"Crack a smile for me?" He blinked and the man was gone.
Jack turned back to his father. He grabbed his chin in one hand, using the other to force the knife between his teeth. His father's eyes shook in their sockets, pupils dilated. He leaned forward and smacked his lips against the dying man's ear,
"Smile pretty for me." His father's lips twitched upward faintly. "Bigger," he commanded, his voice taking on an unrecognizable low tone. He pressed the knife into the corner of his mouth until a small red bead dribbled down his chin. His father whimpered under him in response and Jack shook his head. In one quick motion he dragged the knife up through his cheek until it connected with his jaw. "Better."
He rose, letting his father's head full back limp. He scanned the room and his eyes locked onto Jillian's make shift vanity made from an old desk and a cracked mirror. He knew the desk drawers would be full of her possessions.
Jack opened the long top drawer. Despite the fact that the desk was practically an antique the smell that came out of the open drawer was fresh and new, like her. He was reminded of the first time her saw her in the hospital. She was the most wonderful thing he had ever set eyes on.
Scattered loosely among a variety of cosmetics and other objects was a familiar deck of playing cards. Most of them were turned over, an anonymous red patterned mystery, but a few were turned face up. One specific card caught his attention in particular. It was different then all the others. Instead of a uniform number, five twirling block letters spelled out its identity J- O- K-
He crushed it in his fist.
His fingers curled next around a small red tube of lipstick. He uncapped it and lifted it to his lips, letting it slide across them like cream silk. Gasping, he flicked his tongue out hoping to taste some trace of her, and imagining the ghost her sweet lips pressing and pulling on his.
Jack looked up into the mirror; his eyes bore no recognition in the man looking back at him. The stranger in the reflection lifted his hand and slipped it beneath his shirt to lie flat and heavy on top the left side of his chest. He expected to feel a pounding hemorrhage strong enough to bring the city's tallest buildings to a tremble. There was only stillness, and silence.
