A loud yelling pulled him out of his thoughts and he strained to make out the words from his cell. He could hear a man's voice loudly protesting his innocent intentions. Grinning as the sounds drew nearer, he leaned back and allowed the deepening shadows to hide his marred face. The door at the end of the passage clunked open and the shouted words became distinguishable.
"I fucking swear to you I meant nothin' by it." The culprit's voice was rough and toned with an accent that hailed from much further west than Gotham City. "It was just a fucking question. I'm married, look here." Two police officers came in view of the cell, one of them struggling with a cuffed but desperate fighting man whilst the other opened the cell door. The prisoner didn't bother trying to escape as the door opened, the shackle around his ankle prevented him from reaching anywhere beyond the door. Instead he just watched as his new cellmate was unceremoniously shoved into the small barred space, a well aimed kick silencing his protests and sending him crashing to the floor.
As the officer's jeers were cut off by the closing door, he took a moment to scrutinize the new addition to his limited life. It was obvious that this man's accent spoke the truth. His clothes were those of a cowboy, blue denim shirt and worn jeans, completed with comically spurred boots. As the new man struggled to his knees, the shadowy prisoner couldn't stop a frown from creasing his forehead as familiarity washed over him. There was something about this man, the way he moved, the way he winced, that seemed so familiar to him.
"Good evening." The man on the floor looked up with surprise in his eyes, searching in the shadows until he spotted the source of the voice. "Always a pleasure to see a fresh face. You are...?" He trailed off, not wanting to ask the real question that tugged at his mind; Have we ever met before?
"Twist." Came the tense reply followed by an extended hand. "Jack Twist." Again he felt a surge of familiarity, the certain assurance that somewhere at sometime he had met this cowboy, this Jack Twist. He stared at the offered hand, hesitating as he deliberated inwardly. Normally he would never shake someone's hand unless he then planned to pull them close and squeeze the life out of them but that simply wasn't an option. Without really knowing why, he reached out and took the hand in his, trying not to notice how well the calloused palm fitted in normally glove-clad one.
"It sure is a delight to meet you."
"Who are you?" Jack hauled himself onto the bench as he asked the question, leaning back against the wall, clutching his stomach. Even as he winced his eyes still peered through the shadows at his new acquaintance.
"I'm an entrepreneur of sorts." The cowboy frowned but didn't say anything, his eyes still searching, running up and down the purple trouser legs that protruded from the shadows, as if they might have a name tag on them. "What brings you down to my town?"
"They think I'm queer," Jack replied, his voice instantly increasing in volume. "I ain't queer. My wife and I are happily married." His eyes dropped to the shiny ring that the cowboy gestured to. From its clean unmarked surface it seemed the metal band spent more time staring at the inside of a pocket rather than the big wide world. He decided not to say anything, instead holding his silence as Jack launched into a long rambling explanation of his arrest, punctuated by insistent evidence of his innocence.
Without really realising it, he found himself watching the new jailbird, the words spoken in the stumbling accent quickly becoming meaningless. His eyes were drawn in particular to the cowboy' hands as they rolled through the air, accentuating points, and his lips as they formed the words themselves. Everything about this Jack Twist seemed to remind him of a distant, faded memory that he couldn't quite pull into focus. The harder he tried to remember, the further it seemed to float from his grasp; until he looked at Jack Twist again. Then that familiar tug returned, stronger each time but no longer annoying, more comforting than anything else.
"Who are you?" He hadn't noticed the silence Jack had lapsed into until the question was uttered. "What are you in here for?" Smiling from the shadows, he reached into his green vest pocket and pulled out the single card he kept there.
"I'm Gotham's finest criminal," he replied, not holding back the smug drawl he was so accustomed to using. "Have my business card." Calmly he tossed the red-backed card across the cell. It fluttered to the floor, landing next to Jack's foot. Leaning down with a grunt of pain, the cowboy picked up the card and stared at it, brow-furrowing.
"A playing card?" The confusion in his voice was evident. "The Joker?"
"Pleasure to meet you."
"Wait, I've heard of you."
"Most people have."
"You killed those men."
"Sounds like me."
"You murdered the Mayor."
"Probably my work."
"And the bombs on the ferries."
"Definitely me."
"But they caught you." The card was trembling in Jack's hand. "You went to Arkham Asylum."
"Now that doesn't seem like something I would do." The Joker tapped his fingers on his knee. "If memory serves, dear old Bats was called away and it was all too easy for Harley to leave a few doors open." He sighed heavily and gestured to the cell. "Unfortunately these bungling idiots found me paying Dr. Crane a rather forceful visit and threw me in here. I suppose I should be thankful those oafs didn't recognize me or my fame might cause me to require a more... padded cell."
"You're the fucking Joker." The identified criminal gave a dramatic sweep of his hands, bowing from the waist-up. He allowed the scraggly clumps of his hair to create a curtain between himself and the cowboy, keeping his face hidden until he retreated once again to the shadows. There was a long pause as Jack stared at the playing card in his hand, fingering its corner nervously. "Are you- Are you going to kill me?" The Joker couldn't stop a grin from stretching his face. He loved the intoxicating feeling of being in control, having the power to play with his victim's fear. It was like being God, watching the flickering emotion, be it fear, anger, pain or surprise, as he forced the life from those he killed.
"Should I?" This man was different though. The more the Joker thought about it, the more he was sure he wanted Jack Twist alive. He knew this cowboy, they had a kind of connection, somehow, the villain just didn't know what it was. "I don't see how killing you would help me."
"Well that's reassuring," Jack blurted out. As soon as the words had left his mouth he turned his eyes back to the playing card, cheeks reddening. Silence fell over the cell as the inmates slipped into their own pools of thought. Slowly evening drew her cloak around the city and the shadows claimed more and more of the barred space. The Joker pushed his thoughts towards masterminding an escape plan, the painful itch of being a captive starting to worm under his skin. Yet still he found his gaze wandering back to the cowboy across the room. Jack was staring at the cuff-ends of his blue shirt, oblivious to the watching criminal. His hand reached out and pulled back the well-worn sleeve, fingers stroking the light plaid shirt underneath. A strange, pained smile pulled at his lips and his hand clenched into a fist.
The Joker found himself transfixed by the two sleeves, the dark blue protecting the pale plaid. Like when he looked at Jack, the shirts were so familiar to him as if one of them were his. Something else stirred in him as well, a part of his mind that he had considered lost a long time ago. There was a longing for a home, a place in the middle of nowhere, a simple trailer visited only by those who knew where it was. It was there, somehow, that Jack Twist fitted in. Riding over distant mountains, cowboy hat perched at a jaunty angle, loudly mangling an old ditty in the wrong key. The Joker could imagine it as clearly as if it had already happened. He leaned forward, burying his face in his hands as he tried valiantly to understand.
"I don't believe you." The criminal jerked upright at the sound, having forgotten Jack was still there. The cowboy was watched his cellmate more closely now, his eyes beginning to adjust to the fading evening light. The blue sleeve had been folded back into place, hiding the plaid shirt once more. "You can't be the Joker. He's locked up in Arkham, not some out-of-the-way shit-hole of a town. Besides, everyone knows Joker has scars on his face that even these red-necks would notice."
"Well if you're so sure..." Before he could properly process what he was doing, the criminal stood up and stepped forward into the small stream of light that filtered through the bars from somewhere down the corridor. He felt a surging thrill as he let the yellow light fall over his un-painted features and his eyes fixed on the cowboy. There was a strange mixture of shock, confusion and something akin to awe laid across his face. Very slowly he stood up, skirting around the edge of the room, peering intensely at the Joker.
"Ennis?" His voice was a half-hopeful whisper. The name hit the Joker like a slap in the face. Out of nowhere memories burst into his mind, tackling his emotional barrier and bringing it crashing to the ground. Without thinking he leapt forward, stretching the chain around his ankle to the limits and shoved the cowboy back against the wall. A pounding heartbeat later his lips were pressing on Jack's in a desperate kiss. For a second he remained stiff against the wall then, as if by their own bidding, his hands were on the Joker's face and neck, tangling in his hair. He could feel the angry hunched scars under his fingertips but they didn't seem to matter anymore.
The Joker slid his hand along Jack's arm, feeling for the change from denim to plaid. He could remember that shirt. He wore it as he lay pressed against Jack, arm curled around his warm body. Floods of secret memories swarmed from where they had been locked away in the dark corners of his past. He remembered Brokeback Mountain and fishing trips. He remembered Jack's wife giving a stumbling excuse of a car accident.
Employing all the self-control he possessed, the Joker dropped his lips from his cowboy's. For a moment he pressed his forehead against Jack's, feeling their noses brush as the other all but begged him for another memory-laden kiss. Finally he wrenched himself away from Twist, practically throwing himself into the middle of the cell.
"What in the hell happened to you?" His voice, previously smooth and dangerous, had returned to its old, mumbled drawl that was so akin to Jack's. "Lureen said you were dead, killed in some freak accident."
"Yeah, well, it's easier on them if they say that." He was breathing heavily, arms hanging limply at his side. "Forget me, what about you?" He pushed off the wall, coming to stand in front of the criminal. Slowly he reached out and traced the smiling scars on either end of the man's lips. "Are you really the Joker? What happened to Ennis Del Mar?"
"I thought you were gone." The Joker's voice cracked under the heartbroken reply. Jack cupped a hand against the side of his face, thumb gently rubbing the scar there. He opened his mouth to reply when the door between the cells and the main body of the police station burst open. Instinct kicking in, the Joker stumbled back into the shadows, yanking Jack with him. Shouting voices filled the corridor, the garbled words merging into a frightening roar of sound that bounced off the walls. Footsteps charged down the room and at least ten men came to a stop outside the cell. They were all plain-clothed but the Joker could make out a few police officers in their midst. One such man stepped up to the bars, a ring of keys in hand.
"Here's the fucking queer." Without thinking, the Joker stepped forward as the door swung open, placing himself between the mob and Jack. "Get out of the way you freak. We only want the queer."
"Why," he asked although the answer was already clear from the metal bars, rope and batons the men were holding.
"We need to teach him a lesson." Preparing himself for a fight, the Joker calmly shook his head. A fist swung wildly at the criminal's face and experience kicked in as he dropped to the ground. Surging upwards, he tackled the man in the stomach, pushing him back into the mob crowded around the door. Suddenly a sharp pull on his leg yanked it out from under and he sprawled across the floor. The chain around his ankle dug in sharply, ripping at his leg. His opponent had been more fortunate. The wall of men had pushed him back into the cell and another, more burly member of the mob joined him.
"Ennis!" Jack had dropped down next to the Joker, hands inspecting the wound on his ankle.
"Get the fuck up." A gigantic hand grabbed Jack's shirt, hauling him to his feet. Without thinking, the cowboy slid his arms out from the denim shirt, allowing the buttons to pop off and scatter across the floor. Quickly he leapt away from the reaching hands of the officer, backing into the corner of the cell. Calmly the burly man tossed the shirt to the side and advanced on Jack, the rest of the mob joining in.
"No-" the Joker grunted, hauling himself to his feet. Ignoring the pulsating pain in his ankle he launched himself at the nearest attacker. Latching his arms around the man's neck, he squeezed as tightly as he could. Finally all hell broke loose in the small cell as the mob split into two distinct groups, each attacking one of the two inmates.
Two pairs of hands grabbed the Joker's vest and hauled him backwards as another helped to pry his arms from around his victim's neck. Eventually they succeeded and the criminal was slammed against the concrete wall, a foot meeting his face seconds later. Something snapped and blood spewed from his nose. Still he tried to stagger to his feet, managing to duck the first two punches aimed at him but the third knocked him to the ground again.
Across the room five more men had converged on Jack. Viciously he fought back with everything he had, kicking, punching, even biting but their sheer numbers overwhelmed him. A wooden baton whacked against his head and the cowboy dropped to his knees, dots passing across his vision. Rough hands yanked his hair back and the baton landed another, less powerful blow. This time they let him fall to the ground, kicks beating a mantra against his ribs.
"HEY!" A voice shouted above the hissed insults. "Don't kill him yet!" There were a few last kicks and then they stopped, obeying the voice. Jack curled up on the cold floor, silently screaming at the pain and wishing he would just pass out. "We'll take him out back." The hands returned, roughly hauling him to his knees and dragging him along the ground.
The Joker looked up the bloody puddle he was in to see his cowboy lugged through the door, Ennis' shirt stained red. "No," he called hoarsely. "Jack! Jack!" He struggled to his hands and knees, trying to push himself to the door. "JACK!" A metal crowbar swung out of nowhere, connecting with his head to give a sickening crunch. Darkness swarmed across his vision as he crashed to the floor once more. Just before he tipped into the darkness, Ennis felt the coarse denim fabric pressed against his scars.