Let me just stop you right there. I am already fully aware of the bevy of 'soulmate' entries on this site.

This is intended to be a short story in 2 parts.

-Elk

Summary: I was broken when my soul mark became a scar, my destined gone before we ever met. After overcoming this rare tragedy my life repaired, but nothing lasts forever, especially death, especially in Gotham City.

Revenant

Part 1

It was almost three o'clock in the morning when my soulmate died.

The paired sensations of heat and suffocation roused me from deep sleep, my hands clutching helplessly over my heart. There was a chemical burning in my mouth, my nose, and blinding my eyes. This phantom pain only lasted seconds, even if it felt like my entire life was ending.

I pulled in deep gasps of oxygen as the horrifying impressions ebbed. As soon as I was able to move without the acidic taste of bile rising up from the back of my throat, I climbed down from my bunk and padded over to the mirror mounted on the back of the dorm room door. My roommate was home for the weekend, so I felt no hesitation divesting myself of my nightshirt and flicking on the light.

The words that had been over my heart since I was twelve were devastated by five red, inflamed marks.

"Four fingers and a thumb," I said numbly as my fingertips hovered over the sight, afraid to apply pressure and induce more pain.

It was like my brain couldn't fathom the events that had just occurred, so it shut down. I was too stressed from my classwork, being away from home…

There was nothing left to be done.

I didn't even bother turning the light back off. All I recall now is climbing the ladder back up to my bed to recoup of loss of sleep I suffered during the week.

Well, that's not entirely true, I remember crying and not understanding why I did. I'd never worried about my 'destined love' in the past. If it was destiny, then everything would all work out, wouldn't it? They would be a natural fit and preoccupation took up valuable cognitive faculties better used elsewhere.

Of course, I realized, in time, that OF COURSE I was heartbroken, my perfect companion, the only certainty that I had in life, was just fucking gone, and they had left this world in a gruesome, painful way.

I truly felt what it was like to live a life without any possible certainty.

I was terrified of being free.

...

My retrospective tendencies fell me hardest whenever I'm confronted with a scene of two destined people meeting. Why did mine have to be taken away from me?

I left collage the following year. Becoming untethered, some cute little shorthand for "your soul mate died and now you're all alone," wasn't something that happened very often, so there weren't a lot of resources I could pull from as I struggled to come to terms. My family tried to offer support, but none of them had been born with a soul mark. I just ended up resenting them for a while.

It wasn't until I left home to carve out my own space that I found peace.

I found it in Gotham City.

My first apartment was, to put it mildly, a shithole. I loved it. There was no one sharing my bathroom, all the kitchen appliances were mine, and I could strut around naked as the day I born whenever I god damn fancied.

Over a decade later, the apartments had improved, along with the jobs, and now I reside in a tidy midtown place with a single neighbor who leaves me the hell alone.

The dream.

...

It only stops raining fifteen minutes before I'm ready to go out.

"Holy shit!" I exclaim as I catch myself in the mirror, then cup my hands around my mouth to yell. "Who in the hell is that beautiful-ass bitch?" There is no shame in getting amped up for a social interaction you instinctively dread. I give my dress another once over, smoothing down the shimmering blue fabric with a pleased hiss. It had cost me an arm and a leg, so if it looked this good it was worth it.

My blonde curls were left to fly free, after the proper application of as much goop as was necessary to keep from frizzing up in this humidity. I pull on my obnoxiously yellow overcoat from the rack and hurry out to meet my friend, Carlos, currently yelling drunken obscenities from the street.

"The pregame is strong with this one." He cheers as we swagger towards a group of our mutual friends. "Yes, your mighty hammer of drunkenness is unchallenged." Carlos slaps my shoulder with the back of his hand. "Star Wars, girl, that shit was STAR WARS." I scrunch up my shoulders. "You're trying to tell me there isn't one dude with a hammer in the WHOLE of Start Wars?" Carlos lets out a deeply irritated sigh and walks faster to lose me. "Don't walk next to me."

I cackle happily in response, and he joins in as we finally managed to merge with the rest of the group.

One crowded car ride later, we spill into the club. I don't really have the personality for clubbing unless I'm well and truly sloshed. Tonight, unfortunately, I am not in the mood to drink, so I let my awkward compass guide me to an empty booth near the back. This place is impressively decadent. It was apparently bought out by Gotham's flavor of the month baddie, who was then bought out by someone a little more baddie and a little flashier. 'Think there's enough gold in here?' I muse just before wiggling a finger at Carlos to beckon him closer. "I can leave in two hours, right?" My voice is muffled by the persistent beat. "Yes, Regina, two hours." He replies, then disappears after an indulgent smile.

I make what I feel qualifies as an effort. My shoulders shimmy the appropriate amount, my head rocks from side to side with something that borders enthusiasm. If I manage to stay appropriately invisible in the club space, then I'll avoid being approached by someone.

This isn't to say I have some selfish Hobbesian personality, I just don't feel like handling the task of making a new friend, sexy or otherwise. The last two attempts at making sexy friends had ended with them staring in mortification at my dead mark, followed up by trying to console me like it had just happened.

It got old.

Fast.

"'scuse me, Miss."

"Jesus jumping Christ!" My heart leaps into my throat; I jerk my head to the left to confront the voice that somehow managed to sneak up on me. My head tilts back, dude was tall, and I offer up an embarrassed smile. "Sorry, guy." My voice is strong, even with the brief injection of adrenaline in my veins. He returns my apology with a shrug, a stupid smile and his stupid, handsome face. "Didn't mean to scare ya, I just wanted to come say, 'hello,' is all." He's got that stereotypical lower-class Gotham accent. I'm feeling it.

Maybe I can forgo my self-imposed exile for a couple of minutes. I offer up a hand to Mr. Handsome with a stupid smile of my own.

"Regina."

He wastes no time in taking my hand for a gentle shake.

"Jonny."

Once he releases my hand, I nod towards the throng of people populating the dance floor. "You want to dance or stare at each other?" This makes Jonny smile in a way that seems almost bashful. "Woman lookin' like you, I could do either." I can't help but laugh as I slide out of the booth. "10 out of 10." I reply coolly, "no splash." He catches up with me as I start towards the floor, pulling my hand into his so we don't lose each other in the sea of warm bodies.

The bass thrums loud enough that it becomes the whole world, moving to it is like breathing, twisting and grinding to life.

Somehow, I run into the one guy who couldn't keep up with the beat if he was nailed to his ass. In an effort to salvage his dignity, I wrap his arm around my waist and sway my hips to the flow of the music, laughing brightly when he begins to finally get it, sliding my own arms around his neck. The heat of our bodies builds as we continue to gyrate, his expensive suit and my knockoff the only thing between us.

Then suddenly my back is against his chest, his fingers grip me ruthlessly on my thighs, his face bows to my neck so he can speak directly into my ear. "You're'a real good dancer, sweetheart." If I had been drunk I might not have picked up on the abrupt change in Jonny's tone and body. Where he was before as uncoordinated as a dad at a barbecue, he now molds himself perfectly to my back, working my frame like a fucking masterclass in seduction through dance. I turn my body to face him, to ask that he let me go, but he stops me with a large hand pressed flat on my belly.

"Do me a favor, Gina."

"Regina, motherfucker."

His chest vibrates with laughter.

The touch of his fingers on my chin almost makes me jerk away, though I know he'll just tighten his grip, so I relent. "Do me a favor, REGINA, and look up there for me." Jonny keeps his face level with mine as we both raise our gaze to a room constructed with four walls of painted glass. I assume it's a manager's office. Built on the second level of the club, it's able to observe everything like some disco panopticon. Most of the glass is painted gold to obscure the inside, save for a few strategic locations where the occupant can observe the activities going on below them.

It is in one of these windows that I track an unmoving silhouette of someone positioned in such a way that I think they could be watching us. Jonny seemed to sense my realization and slowed our dance to a listless sway. "Whadda think?" His voice seems far away as my eyes continue to search the window, daring whoever is in there to properly show themselves. "Not sure she's gonna go for that, Boss." He isn't talk to me? Is he talking to the person in the window? I can feel my indignation grow, the asshole with his hands all over me, manhandling me, isn't even paying me any attention.

"You're sure?"

He must have an earpiece in.

"If you say so, Boss."

He releases me without ceremony.

"Got time for another favor, sweetheart?"

My eyes haven't left the window where the shadow still stares down at me; I swear I can see eyes burning in the dark.

"You got time to kiss every last inch of my ass?" I swing my body around towards Jonny, my left fist comes up to land a sloppy punch against the ear where I hope he's keeping his communicating device.

Nah.

He shakes off the blow with a mildly miffed expression, he's more amused than he'd be if it actually hurt. "Baby, if it were up to me I'd make all the time in the world, but apparently the boss needs a word." Everyone around us was either too drunk or too into minding their own business to come to my aid as I am abruptly ushered back to my booth.

We return to find it occupied.

"You always do such good work, Frost."

All the bass in the world can't disguise the cartoonish voice of the mythical creature staring at me over folded hands. The ease at which he studies me is unnerving, I've never felt more mortal in my entire life.

"I try, Boss."

"Take a walk, Jonny."

"Sure thing. Have a good night, Gina."

"Regina, god dammit!"

Any further tirade is interrupted by the howling laughter of Gotham's green-haired poster boy for mental health reform. "You are so MAD right now." He points out obviously, leaning his cheek against one of his open hands, the other turning into a fist that he slams on the tabletop. Despite my blood freezing at the sound of his cackle, I feel my eyes harden. I spent years listening to my family rant and rave about the dangers of moving to this city, never once had anything of true merit happened to me.

I was unprepared for how pissed off it made me that all that karma came back to me in the form of a face to face with The Joker.

"Sit."

He gestures towards the space across from him with a ring-heavy hand. I weigh my options in silence. If I decline, then he'll probably stab me.

Rumor had it he was a VERY stab-y kind of guy.

There was also the chance the he'd have his tall, handsome, dickhead goon stab me.

Also, not great.

The impatient tilt of his head, married with the animalistic bearing of his teeth make the decision for me, and I slide into the booth as calmly as possible. His expression brightens manically as he leans over the table, his torso stretching ridiculously to swipe the decorative metal display into the floor, giving us an uninterrupted view on one another.

The Joker lingered, resting both of his palms against the glossy wood to keep himself up right, his eyes peering widely towards mine.

"It's like a magic eye painting, except I don't have to squint to see what I'm lookin' for."

The absolute fuck?

His hooded gaze drops from my eyes to survey the rest of my features, lingering on my lips, before falling down swiftly to my tits.

Charming.

I can feel the rhythmic flow of his breath across my face. When had he moved closer? I notice now that all of his body is on the table, his knees where the display had been moments earlier. Someone must have drugged me when I wasn't paying attention. Maybe I whacked my head against something in the bathroom and I'm bleeding out on the floor, this whole experience created by my dying brain.

"Nasty little cut…" The tip of his finger grazes my collar, a cool brush over the very top of my dead mark. My body on autopilot, I catch his wrist. "Untethered." I respond as I always do when this happens. His eyes remain on my fingers that have captured his limb. "Is that why you're out here, Ra-gen-uh? Trying to find someone to fill that hole?" His tone is dark, not suggestive like before, a sliver of aggression makes me let his wrist go.

There is something electric buzzes in the air around us. "Why am I here…?" My words trail as I ponder what to call him.

"J?" He provides, mocking my questioning tenor with a higher pitched one of his own. "Why am I here?" I ask again, snapping my teeth together when he touches my throat with a few of his roaming fingers; they raise up to sweep carefully over my lips, encouraging me to continue.

"Mr. J?" I whisper in a breathy voice, mocking the situation as he did before. This was apparently, however, exactly what he wanted, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head as he dips his mouth precariously close to my own. "You have nooooo idea how fucking delicious that sounds."

Warnings swell in chest, my heart beats hard enough to rival the music booming from the floor.

From one breath to the next I'm out of my seat, dragged down some mangy corridor, and alone in the room with the guy who'd just been panting at me like an overheated dog. The Joker, who I now see has a god damn pimp cane and is swinging it by his side, fixes me with a malicious stare. He remains silent, but I can tell there is a hurricane of crazy spiraling inside his head.

Was he trying to figure out whether not he was going to kill me? What could I have possibly done to invoke his wrath? I was literally just sitting in a corner when Jonny or Frost or whatever the fuck his name was, came over to me!

It's The Joker, he'd burn down his own strip club when they'd run out of olives. He probably wasn't beyond just stone cold ending a bitch.

Finally, he speaks, and all my muscles tighten accordingly.

"Ya ever go through life thinkin' there ain't nobody who gets you?" His voice slithers across the room at me. He, thankfully, decided to stay where he was, twirling that cane around in circles by the top. "That's a ri-DIC-u-lous question for you! OF COURSE YOU DO! It's like some tried to rip your god damn heart out, for cripes sake!" His laughter echoes in the big, empty room.

He sobers instantly. His emotional highs and lows were going to give me whiplash. "I always knew there was someone out there who got me, or who WOULD get me when I found her."

I find myself wrapping up my chest with my arms. It was time to find the door.

"Because, Regina, as sad-" Mr. J frowns dramatically, "and as miserable as this broad feels." He drops his right shoulder back suddenly, like a person miming emotional pain made physical. "It's a walk in the sunshine and rainbow filled fucking PARK compared to a head jammed full of ghosts." I take a step backward towards the exit, a mistake that sends Joker across the room and into my space. "Full of a pair of smiling faces. Faces that meet and laugh and dance and fuck and go to the beach and baby showers." My field of vision becomes only his pale, tattooed face as he looms before me with deadly stillness.

"Your face, baby."