Title: Laughing At Shadows
Author: Silverkitsune1
Summary: Ianto acts as butler for Gotham's mad clown.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I own neither Torchwood or Batman.
Warnings: Ianto/Joker. Crossover with Dark Knight. Spoilers for movie and all through most all of Torchwood.
Author's Note: Thank you to lj users Madtheo and samcandoit for their wonderful betas.
Chapter One / ?
There are days when Joker refuses to let Ianto work. Ripping the files he's just finished sorting (by purchasing date, and then alphabetized by last name, all color coded, of course) out of his grip and setting them on fire. Sometimes he shoves the Welshman away from the crates of dynamite he dusts, all the while mumbling darkly, perhaps to himself, or perhaps to Ianto, about dogs and cars or bats and rifts. These interruptions remind Ianto of someone else, but he can never remember who.
Joker likes to rub his thumbs up the sides of Ianto's face once he's got his full attention, fingernails nipping the edges of his mouth before they trace upward in a smile that Ianto won't make. The rest of Joker's lose fingers will wiggle and twitch as though offended that one of their own has grown so still; insulted that a digit is in the place where a finely sharpened knife should be. Ianto always stills under his touch, but not in the way of a rabbit caught by the fox, heart thrumming at a pace so fast it must be painful. There's a fondness to his pauses, more indulgence and patience than his boss usually tolerates. Ianto wonders if there's something this man likes about his calm. The eye of the hurricane that makes the storms he brings down that much more violent.
"Do you want to know how I got these scars?" he'll always ask.
But Ianto never hears the story. The question is never followed by a fanciful tale, which in turn is never followed by a knife dipping into the thumbnail's imprint.
Instead he'll get a playful smack to the cheek or a hard bruising kiss, and the Joker will wrap an arm around his waist, leading him into the darker parts of the building.
"What are your thoughts on kids? I hate kids. I think there should be more of them."
Tonight Ianto waits on the edge of the pier while the Joker sets their warehouse on fire; three priceless works of art, 5 million dollars and exactly 103 helium balloons of various colors going up with the wood, nails and copper tubing. Ianto shoves his chilling hands deep into the pocketfs of his black pinstripe suit. He spares a moment of thought on the piles of green paper he'd meticulously organized across the cracked cement floor, each bundle holding exactly 23 and set at a perfect right angle.
When the Joker stalks back, he looks at Ianto appraisingly, knife flashing like quicksilver in his palm as he flips it from handle to blade. One incorrect catch will leave a finger in the dust, and what a laugh that would drag out of the other man. He shoves Ianto hard as he passes, and unprepared, the younger man pinwheels, beginning his fall through the air and into infinity.
A hand snakes out to snag his tie, his free fall halted in suspended animation, feet scrabbling on the wood as his body seems to float above the obsidian swells beneath the dock. The salvational silk is so dark green in color that it looks black even in the light, and therefore has no chance here under the night-time sky. Joker holds him there, and his tongue darts out to moisten his chops like a hound after a heavy meal.
Ianto stares curiously into the Joker's eyes. The heavy liner makes him feel as though he's being dragged into fathomless vacuity, and the cold seeps through the thin material of his suit coat like winter's chill.
"You know what I like the most about you?" the Joker asks. "The accent. Not a lot of accents around here. Variety is the spice of life."
A hard pull and Ianto stumbles forward, his center of balance thrown in the opposite direction of the lapping, polluted waters. The Joker spins them both around giving Ianto a clear view of the fire painted building one foot lightly pressing over Ianto's black dress shoes no doubt scuffing them. There's a crash from inside the warehouse, along with the sound of screaming metal, but Ianto's attention is dragged away from the flickering firelight when his tie is pulled taught, and a streak of silver splits it in two.
Ianto tilts his head, and smoothes a hand down the front of his dress shirt. "The authorities will be here soon, sir."
The Joker grins. "I'm in the mood for some high conversation. We're all dressed up, but have no place to go. What's say we find one?"