Desperate times, Desperate Measures

The Joker gripped his stomach as it growled angrily at him. He rolled over in his cot in misery as the pain intensified slightly. He hasn't eaten anything in three days, and hasn't drunken anything in one. Water seemed to make the pain worse anyways. It seemed that his fucking stomach didn't understand that if he ate any of Arkham's shit he'd be knowingly taking unknown drugs. And what would that do to his reputation?

"The Joker is too pussy to go a few days without food to get out of fucking Arkham"

Fuck that shit. This pain was nothing. He'd get out of here easy... with or without Harley's help.

That fucking whore. Leaving him in here for God knows how long. She was obviously too weak to be with him. He should get a real partner... maybe he'll make something to force Bane do everything he wants...

Wait, wait. Partner? She was his toy.

He grimaced. With that little slip of the mind he'd even called Bane a partner. Hell, no one would be his "partner"... the correct word for them would be "puppet". He chuckled. Puppets. Doing everything he wanted... well... unless he pushed her too hard... in which case she has a psychological break down and may try to kill him.

It usually happens when he's abused her and left her to think on it for too long. Or he just plainly pushed her too far and then he continues to rub salt in it.

He frowned. Not knowing how long he was in here presented another variable... was Harley going to try to kill him when she came to get him? That would present a problem... while she'd be more than willing to kill anyone that came near them she'd also hinder his attempts to get out... it would probably be a better bet to get out alone.

He turned on his back and looked up at the ceiling.

It still nagged at him though. Why hadn't she come? Was she somewhere else? Had they decided that locking him up was necessary for her recovery?

Did they think that if he got out he'd go to get her? Did they really think he cared enough to risk his chance to get out? There have been plenty of times where he's broken out without her. Each time she breaks herself out within two months... huh that might be why.

If they keep her here, there's always that reminder... but somewhere else they could get her to focus on herself. And what about ole Joker?

They leave him in this box with nothing to do BUT think about Harley. Bastards. He didn't even know where his harlequin was.

Gone

The Joker frowned and turned away from the wall. That word had been getting under his skin. He'd thought about scratching it away but he didn't want to deal with the paint chippings.

He sighed softly and started tracing circles on his sheets. He was feeling lonely actually. While he hated people, normal people mostly, he did enjoy striking fear into their hearts or creating some sort of mind game. It was just boring in this box.

Harley had been fun... "Harley..." he whispered, "Where are you?" He growled at himself and turned back onto his back. His eyes flew straight to the word Gone.

He was about to stand up and scratch the word away when his food slot opened.

His fury blasted and he shoved the tray back and started banging his fists on the door. "LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT! LETMEOUTLETMEOUTLETMEOUT LET. ME. OUT!" he shouted.

He took a step back and took some deep breaths, letting his anger seethe out just to be replaced by anticipation. Maybe they'd open the door and take him back to his cell. When he talked to one of the other inmates he'd find out what happened.

Or he'll just pull their eyes out of their skulls and run.

But the slot was just filled by another food tray with a cup of pills rather than pudding. The Joker just lay back on the bed and rolled over. Closing his eyes against the word Gone.

"Did you finally figure out you're better off kid?" he mused. "It took you long enough... Seven years with me is more than enough for anyone... but god damn it you have fucking horrible timing. When I get out of this, WITHOUT YOU, I'm coming after you."

He started wondering how he would do that... he needed someone to at least open the door. But they obviously were doing everything they could not to.

Why would they? If he were dying? Maybe... but they'd probably cuff him and he didn't want to deal with restraints when he's up against bayonets and guns.

He needed to be conscious but he needed them inside.

It needed to benefit them. So the act needed to disturb them. Sound? No they'd just wait it out. Sight? They couldn't see him. Touch? He didn't have anything to start a fire or an annoying vibration. Smell?

Smell. He has something that rots -the food -and while the staff had plugs the scent would disturb the inmates and wouldn't that be a ruckus.

See? He doesn't need anyone to help him and certainly not some nutty girl. Stupid harlequin. She's gonna wish she had helped him.

The Joker had his nose and mouth covered. A pile made of about twenty meals lay in the corner to his left. He had worried that the food wouldn't give off a strong enough odor, but by the ninth one that thought went out the window.

He had eaten a few but he tried his best to avoid it. The smell killed his appetite anyways.

With twenty meals he had no doubt it was a matter of time, so he has been simply waiting in the corner, just far enough that the door wouldn't hit him.

But this waiting game was becoming very monotonous very fast. A bomb would make things much more expedient... Harley had bombs. She had fun with them too.

His eyes automatically flew to the word Gone but he just closed his eyes.

"C'mon Joker... don't lose your marbles now."

He laughed. "Well sir, I didn't think I had any left.

"Well, you probably had a couple.

"I would have never known... ha! Who would have ever thought the Joker had marbles?

"She did."

He growled and opened his eyes. His eyes flew to the word /Gone/ again. Damn it. It was staring at him. Constantly reminding him of the fact he had been abandoned.

He grabbed his head. No. No. Nonononono! This damned cell wasn't going to break him! That damned girl wasn't going to break him! She was nothing! Unimportant! Worthless! She was dirt! She was dust! She was dead! She should be on the streets! She should be in a gutter!

SHE SHOULD NOT BE IN HIS MIND!

He jumped up with the full intent to scratch the damned word away. Even if his fingers bled, every letter would be forever gone!

But as he began to scratch, he felt a jolt. He tried to ignore it but the more he scratched at the wall the more uneasy he felt. The more he began to question.

Why this word? Why that name? Why were those two ideas connected? Why couldn't one be without the other?

Gone. Harley.

Harley. Gone.

He stopped.

Harley... gone... Harley's gone. Harley is gone.

Of course she was gone! She was... she was...

He collapsed on his cot as the world tilted. He held his head as his mind went white.

Where was Harley?

Excellent question Joker... Where is Harley? To be answered in the next few chapters...

Please review. :)