TC Stark: Well, hello lovelies! I'm so happy that this story has been picked up! Thank you for all going on this journey along with me. Sadly, the Joker was not in this chapter. I just wanted to take this to sort of introduce the aspects of my character a little. Do not worry, he will return in chapter three! Okay, let's answer to some reviews! Line Sagittaurius- While Michelle Whilliams is very beautiful (and had the fortune of being with Heath Ledger), I would not view her as Darya. She's too sweet lol I also don't know who I would have in mind, I have a million different ideas lol I have like Pauley Perrette, Anne Hathaway, Girl with the Dragon Tattoo Swedish or American in mind lol I'm too confused, so I just go on how I described her. No actress has really come to mind lol Alley1328- Right!? Lol I have had that idea in minds for like...a really long time lol Supernovart- I love Clara Bow! Tisiphone- lol I love you! Thank you for your advice, I am definitely going to try and slow it down. All criticisms are welcomed do to my inexperience in the Joker's world =) Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I only own Darya and my ideas!
Chapter Two
A most peculiar thing had occurred. Two weeks had passed and for some reason the Joker hadn't made another attack on Gotham. Every day that passed sent the people more and more on edge. What was he planning? Why hadn't he attacked yet? Why wasn't the police force doing something? And most importantly, should they get on with their lives?
Darya had decided to move on with her life. Spending nine days in the hospital had not been a trip to a beach resort. There had been moments in the beginning when the doctors weren't sure if she was even going to live. By the time the Joker had dropped her off at the police station, she had lost a lot of blood. And if it weren't for Jim Gordon applying pressure to the wound, then she surely would have bled to death.
The only good thing about staying at a hospital, was the lovely medication the doctors had put her on. For the first week she had a wonderful stream of morphine flowing through her veins. Every time her body began to hurt, she made sure to press the button even if at times it made her head fuzzy. It was better to just forget.
And when Darya had left the hospital, the doctor had given him a supply and refill script for Oxycontin. Something she made sure to take regularly. Two weeks later, she was still sore. But, luckily the swelling had gone down. The Joker had wanted something that would stay on her body forever. And it certainly would. The jagged skin had been stitched together by a laser that would eventually disappear, so she wouldn't have to go back to get thread taken out. But, ugly red scars would remain with her forever. A constant reminder of her run-in with the clown prince.
It was turning close to nine at night. She would need to catch her bus soon if she wanted to make it to work on time. The bus. Darya gave a small scoff, to herself; while pulling a white tank top on. It seemed foolish to hop back on the very vehicle she was yanked from. She always road the same bus at the same time. It would be very easy for the Joker to find her again and perhaps finish the job.
But, than again cabs were too expensive and she was no way close to ever buying a car. No, she was forced to be thrown back to the very form of transportation that had led to meeting the Joker. But, it would have been irrational to think that every time she stepped on a bus that bad things would happen to her. No, she needed to move on with her life and think rationally.
Pouring a glob of mousse in her left hand, Darya rubbed her palms together before moving the product through the top of her hair. Smoothing down the sides of her scalp, she flipped up the front, which was the longest part. The routine was just that. A mindless activity that was done almost involuntarily; her mind numb to the actions she was doing.
Pain was setting in again. Each time she took a breath, the skin around her scars stretch and she felt gut wrenching pain. It was awful being so vulnerable. That wasn't a good way to be in Gotham city. Even before clowned princes ran around the streets, there were always wild criminals that were willing to do anything to get a kick.
Darya slipped a pair of form fitting black skinny jeans on, before almost doubling over in pain. That damn Joker. There was no doubt that she had been scared half to death by her encounter with the scarred man. There was no reason not to be absolutely terrified. The madman was just that. Insane. Crazy. And extremely unpredictable. How could she not be scared?
But, right now she was in pain and the natural reaction was to be angered by the person who had caused that pain. How the hell was she supposed to work why in agony? Scarred or not, she needed to take money. Her job wasn't a guarantee and if she couldn't make it, than her boss would surely replace her. Bad enough she needed to take two weeks off by of the flu.
After taking an Oxycontin, Darya pulled on a pair of buckled boots before running for the bus. Luckily, it wasn't stopped by any clowned prince. Two weeks had passed by and Gotham was slowly returning to its daily routine. People went back to window shopping, back to spending money. Back to loving anything superficial that the Joker absolutely hated.
And that meant that Darya needed to go back to world. People wanted to spend ridiculous amounts of money on buying sweets. On buying cookies and cakes that were overpriced simply because they were made in the upper class part of Gotham. Of course someone like her would never fit in that kind of environment. She would be shunned. But, those with money had no problem employing people like her to work the over night shift. The shift where they were unseen by the rest of population and had to do all the prep work.
The bakery Darya worked in was already closed, when she arrived at work. The girls who were fortunate enough to work with the people, who had the look; were waiting for the blonde to arrive. This way they could let her in and they could leave to go home. So they could enjoy their nights. They wouldn't have to worry about who made the dough and who decorated the cookies, for it would all be done while they slept.
"Hey, Darya," One of the girls greeted, "Feeling any better?"
She gave them a small smile, "Yea. Sorry, how was it without me?"
"Not bad. Daryl took your shifts, but I don't think he liked it very much."
"Well, I didn't want to get anyone sick," Darya yawned. Oxycontin may have helped her pain, but it was making her a little lethargic. Removing her hoodie, she excused herself, "Hey, mind if I use the bathroom before you guys leave?"
"Go ahead."
Darya nodded, while excusing herself to the bathroom. The nice thing about working overnights was that she had freedom of doing what she pleased. The girls during the day had uniforms to wear. Pink shirts, black slacks, and a white apron. They worked in an upper class area where they needed to look very put together. She fortunately could wear whatever she pleased and play music to pass the time.
Making sure the door was closed and locked, Darya reached deep within the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a very tiny bag. In that bag was a white substance. Something she took regularly in order to keep herself awake. It could also be attributed to the fact that she was so thin. She had enough money to eat, but when someone was on cocaine they really didn't feel like eating.
Trying her best to make a straight line with the powder, she sloppily cupped the substance and bowed her face down. She didn't have a straw or even a dollar bill to roll up. So, with her best effort, she snorted in the powder and had to press her nose a little too close to the sink. A lot closer than she had wanted to.
As the cocaine flew up her nostrils, she jerked her head back and paused for a moment. Gripping her nose, she closed her eyes and let the drug settle in. It was a bad habit, but after working overnights at the same bakery for a year, she found it to be the only way she was able to get through the day. It could have been worse.
Finally shaking her head, she cleaned any excess cocaine off the sink before tucking the bag back into her pocket. Looking into the mirror, Darya forced a smile as she turned around and exited the bathroom. Two girls waited patiently, as the blonde smiled, "Alright, girls, you're free to go."
Jim Gordon had been worried about Darya for the entire two weeks. Due to the police station being in shambles, he hadn't been able to visit her. The Joker hadn't made an attack, but that didn't mean anyone rested easy. He was still out there and that was all that mattered. The Joker would hide out forever and if he did, it would only be to keep the people on edge. Let them live every day in fear.
But, he thought it was important to check up on the young girl. It had to have been traumatizing for anyone to have any kind of encounter with the Joker. Let alone one that left someone marred forever. He couldn't imagine how the young girl was coping with that kind of tragedy. For each day for the rest of her life, she would look down and see the message the Joker intended for the rest of the world to read.
"Commissioner, Ms. Orlov is here." A young officer let him know.
Jim nodded. He had sent another office to pick Darya up from the address she had left him. It was his understanding that she lived on her own, in a one bedroom on the boarder of the Narrows and mid-town. The neighborhood wasn't as terrible as it was deeper in the Narrows, but because of it's location the cost was cheaper than if she lived in a better area.
The older man wasn't sure if she had parents or not. He wasn't sure if they were dead or alive. Wherever they were, they weren't in her life. Or at least available for her. She lived alone and upon leaving the hospital, had gone back to living in her one apartment. Jim figured if she had a close relationship with her parents than she would go live with them after such a traumatic experience. But, it was his understanding that she had even gone back to work.
It was one of the things he admired about Gotham. Its undying ability to pick back up and continue on with their day. The city had always been known about it's crimes. Even those who weren't from the island knew its statistics. It took a certain kind of person to live there. The cold hard truth was, if the people weren't able to pick up and move on, they were as good as dead.
Soon, the younger officer returned with Darya. She looked in much better spirits than the first time she met. It was his understanding that she had worked an overnight shift and yet, she looked quite upbeat. Jim smiled as they shook hands and both sat down afterwords. Her eyes were looking all over the office, gazing over the various photos he had of his family.
"Cute kids." Darya casually pointed out, while crossing her legs and tucking her hands in her pockets.
"Thank you," Jim smiled and nodded, "Thank you for coming in. I know you worked a long shift last night."
She shrugged, "I don't mind. I wasn't very tired."
Shifting a bit uncomfortably in his seat, the older man tried his best to maintain small talk before shifting to more pressing manners, "What do you do at work?"
"Make dough...prepare batter...ice the cookies...every once in a while I actually ice a cake if it's for early enough in the morning." Darya gave a wry smile.
"Had you always wanted to be a baker?"
It was then that her smile shifted into more of an uncomfortable smile and he could see her body tense. Pursing her lips together, she simply replied, "No."
Jim could see how uncomfortable she was with the question. How unwilling she was to press on. Not wanting to make her feel uneasy, he moved on, "Ms. Orlov, I just wanted to call you in to see how you were doing."
"I'm just fine."
"I mean...how are you recovering?"
Darya couldn't blame the older man for the question. He reminded her of her grandfather. Extremely caring. Perhaps a little too much. She was just another statistic in Gotham. Dozens of women were attacked each year. A lot were marred for the rest of their lives. Some were raped. And some were even killed. The fact that it was by the hands of the Joker was the only reason she stood out. Or maybe he really was one of those men who just cared too much?
Either way she shrugged and tried to keep it simpler, "Doctor says it'll scar...I could get a tattoo maybe," Sighing, she scratched at her head uneasily, "But, I'll always know it's there."
"We haven't received anything to indicate that he...is seeking you out."
Darya gave a small laugh, "I was only supposed to deliver a message."
"We can always get security to guard your apartment." Jim offered.
Shaking her head, she refused, "No. That would just...I don't know, I wouldn't feel comfortable with that. Thank you though."
"Well, the offer will stand."
Darya smiled. She did like Jim Gordon. But, there really wasn't any need for security guards. If the Joker really wanted to go after her, than he would have. Placing cops in front of her doors or outside her apartment would just be child's play for scarred man. And she wouldn't really like sending young men to their deaths just for her sake.
The air then became awkward between them. Jim already saw that small talk wouldn't work and she had already refused his help. She seemed like a very polite young lady, but not willing to really reveal much about herself. She was quite closed off. He expected...different. Anyone who had experienced the Joker would have been left crying and completely broken. Her defense mechanism seemed to be to forget the whole thing had even happened.
Amidst his thoughts, Jim began to notice something about Darya. She sat there calmly, with her hands tucked away in her pocket. Not fazed at all. He had seen how hurt she was that night. She had to be affected by the situation. She must have been in some kind of denial. Or perhaps she just didn't want to break down in front of him.
As she sat ever so calmly, he noticed a small trail of blood seep out of her left nostril. It dropped down ever so slowly, which was why she probably didn't notice. Frowning, Jim politely pointed out, "Um, Darya, your nose."
"Wha?" She raised an eyebrow, while reaching up.
Upon touching her nostril and feeling the liquid, she gasped. She retracted her fingers and saw the blood that painted them. Extremely embarrassed, she covered her mouth completely and apologized with wide eyes, "Oh, shit. I'm so sorry."
Jim quickly handed the younger girl a box of tissues. She quickly grabbed one and tilted her head back, before pressing the soft tissues up against her nostrils. She pinched her nose together and kept her neck craned back for a moment. When she was finally convinced, or hoped; that the bleeding had stopped, she moved her head forward and quickly balled the tissue up in the palm of her hand.
"Jim, I'm so sorry." She looked at him almost worrisome.
"Please, don't be," He was worried as well, "Has that been happening after the attack?"
Pushing the tissues up against her nostrils, for good measure; she shook her head, "This happens every once and a while...has been for a few years."
Jim's eyebrows furrowed together, as she wiped away any excess blood. She didn't seem shocked at all by the sight of her own blood. Her reaction was simply based on that fact that she had bled in front of him. That she had bleed in front of someone. He needed to look at her a bit worried now, wondering why someone would think so casually about having constant nosebleeds.
Clearing his throat, he asked, "Have you seen a doctor about this?"
Darya's Hazel eyes flicked up at him, pulling back her hand and giving him a weak smile, "They're just nosebleeds. Nothing to worry about."
Jim slowly nodded, while shifting uncomfortably in his chair, "Well...Ms. Orlov, please let me know if you need any help at all."
"Thank you for being so kind." She smiled, while standing up and shaking his hand.
Darya couldn't have left that police station any faster. She felt completely mortified. She couldn't believe she had actually bled in front of Jim Gordon. It was completely embarrassing. And the way he had looked at her. She knew he would ponder what was wrong with her and wonder why she had pushed the concern aside. Hopefully, he would just think it was because she didn't want to admit what was wrong with her and she wasn't doing anything harmful to herself.
Groaning, she took out a pack of cigarettes and placed one in between her lips. While holding a flame in front of the tobacco filled, she cursed angrily, "Fuck."
