I've Been Wrong Before

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Author's Note: God, I'm sorry for the late updates. I'm normally not this slow on the updating process. *slaps wrist*

Tell me what you think :D

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Chapter Four: Lovely Company

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Maybe she just doesn't like talking to you.

Seeing Victor Zsass frown as deeply as he did, I turned to look at my defender.

Personally, I'd never met the prisoner, not even when he was first captured and brought to Arkham for 'treatment'. He'd only been here a few months, but already, entering as he did, Joker had established a reputation. Blowing up Gotham General had been the high point of his career as a professional criminal—robbing the mob blind was just bonus.

His mellow drawl was a ringing to my memory; how he appeared on television was no identical to his appearance currently. While he'd taped the brute torture of Brian Douglas (one of many who were aspiring to be Batman in many more ways than one), I'd grown to familiarize myself with the white greasepaint, charcoal-ringed eyes, and lipstick stains. It wasn't so much of a 'nightmare' as it was a comfort...

For some reason, I found the idea of a criminal matching our vigilante's theatricality comforting. At least with Joker around, I could retreat to my reality that Batman was, after all, just a man in a cape and he happened to know a few gut-pounding moves to save his ass when it came down to it.

Joker was the same way...although, I hardly doubted—at times—he was a man at all.

The smile he sent Zsass now was placed in my direction, the latter forgotten.

"What's it to you, Clown, who she wants or doesn't want to talk to?" questioned Victor.

He stood behind me in his own rotting cell but I didn't need to turn around to figure he was all the way at the window, fingers groping the bars with an intent to kill. The victim, being me or possibly the 'clown' in front of me, was uncertain. But I could hear the grinding of his teeth just barely over the harsh deliberation he spat through the bars.

"Oh," Joker drawled from behind the bars; he sat in his bed, back against the wall with his knees bent; his hands laid lazily on his thighs as if he were waiting patiently for a doctor's visit, not sitting in a cell meant for crazies. Joker smirked past me at Victor, adding, "It's no concern of mine who she talks to—I'm only pointing out the obvious."

"No one was talking to you." Victor growled.

"Funny how that suddenly matters." Joker responded calmly.

I couldn't suppress a smile when Victor spat on the floor and then returned to the wall of his cell; his intentions were pure murder, but I Reckoned the only thing he had better to do than sulk in his cell was to seethe. And seethe, he did. The mutters of curses that trailed from his licentious tongue made my jaw drop. But I couldn't deny it—some of the patients I favorited.

And while I'd never been up in Maximum Security for save only that one time, I believed Joker was already turning out to be one of my favorites. His lucid disposition, the relaxed smile he sent me, and the interesting gaze his eyes suggested only made me wonder if he wasn't so much a prisoner in this asylum, rather more like a guest.

That got me thinking.

I disobeyed one of the several rules on Level 2—only never realizing at that point that I'd be disobeying all of them before my time at Arkham was served. In some ways, I felt like my own prisoner in this place, and I wasn't even locked up in a cell.

Disobeying the rule of many, I stepped past the yellow line. It was a marker for visitors (mainly lawyers or cops who had unfinished business or loose ends to tie up for trials and court cases for no simple civilians ever had a mind to make a visit to these people). Visitors and personnel alike were instructed to sit/stand behind or at the yellow line.

I, of course, had the fullest intentions on thanking my defender.

When I stepped past the line, Joker's eyes, which had been humorously narrowed in amusement of Victor's childish reaction, now turned curiously to me, a simple security guard who was bypassing the rules and regulations of all that I implemented. Up until now, that was.

Joker was not the same man as I remembered on television.

Morally, he was completely the same—the lack of, really. The scars were the same. The empty expression was the same. But alas, the makeup did him little justice. After all, he was completely different in appearance...the scars were more obvious, carved in his skin. It was hard to tell whether or not he carved them himself, or someone else had the misfortune of damaging an otherwise attractive face...I half-smiled. I did realize that this man...this person...this patient had been attractive at one point...then again, in a rigid, haggard, bad-ass, criminal kind of way, he was still attractive.

"This isn't a zoo, Officer." Joker stated, getting to his feet. He strolled towards the door.

That's right. Strolled.

I smiled in spite of his comment, obviously indicating my staring.

He looked at me curiously, eyes glancing me up and down. At first, I thought he was being the usual male, observing my hindquarters as I walked away or taking in the fact that I was a medium-breasted broad; the uniform certainly failed to hide anything of the shape of my curvaceous form. However, in his observation of me, I didn't recognize perversion. It was more of a realization that I was not Lyle, or Cecil O'Brien, or the common guard.

The realization I saw in his face was entertainment, for he cracked a grin.

"I've not seen you around." Joker stated, pointing at me.

His voice had an odd way of sounding deep like a lion's purr, but a cunning devil's hiss of a serpent. It granted me chills down my back like I'd never known before.

It was one thing to see the person on television, and know he was up to no good. It was a whole new playing field when you were up close, seeing the real deal, watching him smile...smiling at me as if I was a long lost friend, rather than a guard. I figured he'd make a ridiculous sexist comment—my being a woman, after all, and in a place like this. But he proved me wrong.

"Did uh," Joker cracked another grin as if he couldn't help it, "Did Lyle take the day off?"

I heard the sarcasm in his voice when he mentioned my supervisor. Lyle. The word rolled off his tongue in cynical enjoyment...he obviously didn't care for the man. Then again, I couldn't blame him; one could observe how little I liked him, aside from defending my honor and gender for that matter.

"He went home, yes." I returned softly.

"For a security guard," Joker drawled, "You're awfully soft-spoken."

"I don't know what to say to you." I stated.

Joker giggled—it wasn't high-pitched; it was almost a simple laugh that he found me amusing. And in finding me in such a way, he commented, "Right to the point, huh? You're funny."

I found that statement a bit ironic. Joker was Joker...a clown, and supposedly 'funny'. Him finding humor in my response was both disturbing and yet, flattering.

Kate, what are you doing?

I don't know...

Stop talking to him.

Why?

"You can always thank me," Joker pointed out.

At this point, his hands wrapped around the bars; long fingers coiling around them as if they were part of his home, not a cell, part of his life, not a barrier. Part of him.

I mentally slapped myself when I felt a part of me long for that kind of extension. What if I was that bar—ohhh...

Kate, stop it! What the hell?!

"Thank you for what?" I asked quietly.

Joker chuckled, "Easily distracted, aren't you?" He shrugged, "Don't blame you though."

"Why don't you blame me?" I questioned.

He shrugged again, this time only one shoulder and said smoothly, "Locked in here long enough, Doll face, you'll forget who you are. It's hard to find something that makes you feel yourself again—something that makes you feel complete. With all these distrac-tions-jobs, relationships, work, and people like him" (Joker nodded his head at the cell across from him, towards Victor) "it's hard to keep your head above proverbial waters...hard to mind your surroundings."

I found myself staring at him, thinking over his words. He did have a point.

I stopped thinking for a second .

Did he just call me 'Dollface'?

Yes, he did.

Wow.

My heart started beating like a hammer, pounding against my chest. What was this feeling I had? It was anxiety. It was excitement. Did Joker enstill these feelings or did I come up with them all on my own? Did I intentionally feel a bit...aroused...by the way he called me 'Doll face'? Maybe it's the caffeine...maybe it's the job.

It's getting to you, Kate. Get a hold of...

"Aren't ya going to say it?" Joker questioned, smirking at me.

"Say what?"

"'Thank you'." Joker returned, his voice deepening into a low guttural purr.

I frowned: "I could have handled it on my own, you know."

"Typical cop—so ungrateful." Joker stated; his tone was apathetic, but the glint in his eyes said otherwise. "What's your name, Dollface? I might have to put you down on my wall of fame."

"Fame?" I repeated.

"Fame," he confirmed.

"What's your Wall of Fame?"

Joker indicated with a wave of his hand the wall behind him. Narrowing my eyes to take a closer look, I figured it was a bunch of names he'd placed on his hit list whenever he managed to escape from this dump; find all the people that wronged him in the past and kill them. Somehow, I didn't find that convincing. Joker was apathetic—too detached, too far above the lines of killing people for personal regards.

"I doubt it's a hit list," I observed lightly.

Joker looked at me pointedly, saying, "Looks like someone graduated from college."

"Hm."

Joker chuckled at my unhappy response. He simply stepped back, gesturing to his cell dramatically. In his orange uniform, he'd have looked little appealing to any woman, any cop, any redeemable morally-constructed person who, when seeing him, might have spat at him for even looking at them. But what I saw made my conscience scream in protest, and what made my body long for something more than just a rougher experience.

When he stepped back, I saw Joker as something more than just a symbol of what chaos could animate. He burned money, for the fuck of it. He blew up hospitals, armed ferries, and did all of this for simple doo-da amusement. And what's more, he was able to do it.

What was more, he was irredeemably attractive. The scars were jagged, but not unattractive. His eyes were bothersome to me—empty, but not completely lacking in expression. What made my skin tingle more was that he was toned from his muscular defined forearms to whatever other part of them that yet to be revealed to me. I figured at the very least—regarding his criminal activity—he required a lot of running, hand-to-hand combat, lifting...

I bet he could make love to me on a stove of left over lasagna dinners...

KATE! HALT YOUR THOUGHTS!

"So what is your hall of fame?" I questioned, looking at him. "Why the names on the wall? Are you going to kill them?"

"Kill them?" repeated Joker mysteriously. He smirked: "Of course not. Something much worse. Much, much worse—you couldn't wrap your mind around the plans I have for them." He stepped towards the cell door. "A little female rent-a-cop security guard like you shouldn't be bothered by those thoughts. It'd only keep you up all hours of the night, pondering what should have been, could have been, and never will be."

Okay...now I'm a little scared.

"Don't be nervous," Joker reassured, smiling plainly. "You don't have anything to worry about, Doll Face. After all—the only sin you're guilty of committing is not being polite." He chuckled: "You've not thanked me yet."

"What should I be thanking you for?" I asked quietly.

He passed over my question and asked, instead: "Have many friends, Doll Face?"

"It's Officer Richardson."

"I know your name," Joker returned, bored. He indicated my badge with his eyes: "But something tells me you'd rather be on first-name basis with me."

I stared at him. One could understand why I lost my reserve so quickly. Part of me wondered if he read my mind this entire time, or was I that of an open book? Oh god...were my nipples peaking out of my shirt?

I glanced down discreetly, wondering if that had been my dead giveaway. My ultimate sign that I was already pining for a man that I shouldn't even want to be around. God, I was only around him for not even thirty minutes and I was losing my mind...maybe I could lose more than that...

Kate, Shut UP!

"W-what?" I muttered.

Joker smiled.

His hands were on the cell bars again. The smile that curved his mouth was one of amusement and knowing. And I found it more appealing than I should. A dirty little secret of mine already exposed to a darker force, one that I wanted to penetrate my morally constructed...

KATE SHUT THE FUCK UP!

"First name basis," Joker repeated.

I watched his tongue dart over his lips and thoughtfully probe at his scars. Not even my mind could force my eyes to look at that tease in itself.

What killed me more was that I found the same hypnotic state while watching him on that tape, taken in the moment he appeared on GCN. 'Every day he doesn't, people will die. Starting tonight. I'm a man of my word..."

"Tell me..." Joker purred. "Officer Richardson." He grinned when I stepped away from his door. "Do you have friends outside of work?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Oh, it's nothing personal." Joker returned wholeheartedly, shaking his head as if I'd taken this question to heart, a stinger.

"I didn't take it personally." I commented.

"Then no harm done."

"No harm can be done."

"Oh plenty of harm can be done," Joker corrected, chuckling.

"You sound pretty sure of yourself." I uttered callously.

"Then, with that observation in mind, you should realize that you're an open book and I've been reading you like an atlas." He purred the last bit, a lion's deep sultry ruse that made the hairs on my neck stand on end, yet simultaneously caused a slight rupture of my loins.

You're sick, Kate.

Oh, so sick, I countered thoughtfully.

"Lyle," Joker listed—definitely a daydream breaker, "Cecil, Scott Pritchard..." He smirked, "I doubt those are your true friends. You just don't seem the type to uh hang around with them more than is needed. Is that why you're up here, Officer, hm? To get away from them, and to get a glimpse of your past" (he glimpsed at Victor) "or to see a few celebrities before you retire to your listless apartment?"

I frowned at his observations, however wrong they were.

"How do you know my 'type'?" I questioned coolly.

Joker raised his head so his eyes looked downward to me. Arrogance revealed itself to me in a small snort of laughter when he said smoothly, "I know 'em, when I see 'em, Officer."

"Know what?" I returned.

Joker sighed, "Squealers. Two-timers. Liars...past dwellers" (at the last, he smiled at Victor, who apparently responded with a middle finger because Joker giggled a bit) "and then, moralistic cops like you."

"What about cops like me?"

Joker smirked: "Hiding behind aloof denial, are we?" He chuckled when I frowned.

You're not that hard to read, Doll Face."

"Stop calling me that."

"Make me." Joker returned, smirking, still.

I stared at him—did he really think I was that stupid?

Apparently not, for he grinned broadly when I didn't even make a move towards him.

"You're wrong, by the way." I said smoothly, gaining back my sheer calm.

"Oh yeah?" Joker offered. "About?"

"Why I came up here." I said. "I didn't come up here to meet the pests of my past. How do you know about that anyway?"

Victor thought he'd join the conversation and responded, "I told him—and I loved every minute of the reminisce."

I glowered at Joker, not at him, but at the misfortune of hearing that man speak. Joker smirked at me, knowing my anger was flaring. I had yet to reveal my hot temper but it was simmering. The familiar tension started aching in my neck; the clenched fists as I pride myself on restraint, and the tightening of my chest as I listened to Victor repeat the past through his gob. Joker sighed deeply.

"Look, now you've gone and upset the girl." Joker stated, smiling at my reaction.

"She was looking hot and bothered, anyway." Victor said: "Thought I'd help."

Joker snorted derisively, "I didn't realize I had an assistant."

"This ain't no magic show, freak."

I frowned, and turned to look at Victor.

"You don't have to call people names, Zsass." I stated coldly.

Victor raised his eyebrows in surprise—after all, I was afraid of him. But fear has a funny way of leaving my face when I get angry, and right now, I was pissed.

"It ain't no name-calling," Victor breathed. He smirked at me: "He is a freak."

"He hasn't called you any names." I stated.

"Yeah," Joker said from behind me, "I've not called you any names."

"Stay out of this, Clown."

"As if you can do anything from over there," I laughed, pointing at him. "Silly little boy with nothing but a remedial cage and a flat tire."

Joker giggled, "I think she just insulted your boys, Vicky."

My anger dissipated upon hearing Joker's nickname for the mass-murdering serial killer before me. Vicky...Vicky. What replaced my anger was growing grin as I laughed at Victor.

"If I get out of here..." Victor threatened.

"That's right," I said quietly. I stepped towards his door and with all the malice I could muster, I breathed: "If."

Victor snarled at me like a stark-raving dog, but I could care very little. I turned my nose up at him and then began walking away, not before I stopped, turning on my heel and walked towards Joker's corner. He straightened upon seeing my brief return and I smiled beautifully at him.

"Thank you." I told him quietly.

Joker cracked a grin (which I found most attractive, indeed, despite my mental advisors) and said smoothly, "You're welcome, Officer."

"Katelynn." I uttered.

Joker grinned, "Katelynn." He licked his scars thoughtfully and said after a moment, "I like Kate better."

I heard the emphasis he placed on the 't' in my name. And for some reason, it made me smile.

"Fine." I returned.

I glanced at my watch.

Joker saw me do so, for he replied: "Late, late, late, late for an important date."

I glanced at him. And there he was, smirking at me again.

"Come back and see me again, Kate." Joker purred. "Gets awfully lonely in here. I do love lovely company."

I quickly walked away before he could see the heat rising in my cheeks. But I had a bad feeling (that felt good?) he already knew for there was a rather suspicious, dark chuckle emitting through the hall as I hurriedly went through the door, past the nurse's station and down to the breakroom for a luncheon with Cullson.

Any company would be great—so to be ridden my naughty thoughts and even worse, the excitement and pleasure that was rousing my body with imaginative scenarios of making Joker feel less lonely.