Title: She Belongs to Him

Rating: M for Mature

Warnings: violence, use of alcohol, sexual themes

Summary: The Joker kidnapped a seventeen year old girl nearly three months ago. Batman and Gordon have had no luck finding her. When Batman finally catches her wandering the streets, can she finally tell them who the Joker is? Joker/Oc

A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please.

Chapter 4

"Twice he's gotten past security and made it to her! How is this possible?" Gordon demanded the next day, throwing the confiscated packet of cards on the desk. Forensics had already told them the blood belonged to none other than AJ herself, long dried and crusted over, the cells dead. The slickness of the baggy made them slide nearly to his chair as he rounded the desk and plopped down. The two guards were standing just in front of him, rather embarrassed at their lack of diligence, but Gordon didn't care for their feelings. He was furious.

His feelings for AJ were similar to the feelings he had for his son, a fierce protectiveness and the sense that he was her only safeguard from harm. Even a broken toy could be fixed after all, and the girl would be able to go home in a week's time. At the risk of being called old-fashioned, he felt that one woman—a nun, even—could not protect AJ from the Joker. After all, that boy had tried and failed. Two heavily armed guards had tried and failed. Even batman had failed.

"How does a person miss a man with a clown face?" Gordon demanded, slamming his hand on the desk.

The blonde one with eyes like the cool ocean spoke first, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. "He must've disguised himself, sir."

The other said, "We're getting the footage now, sir. It should be here by the morning."

Gordon turned his back on them, folding his arms and staring out the window. Gotham was beautiful at night if a little more dangerous. The threat of batman lingered, frightening drug dealers and criminals away from doing what they thought they must. Everyone but the Joker flinched at the thought of the vigilante. That helped but not enough.

"Where were you two?" he pushed. "What was so important that you left that helpless girl to the Joker?"

Neither answered, but Gordon wasn't expecting them to. There was no excuse good enough, and they hung their heads.

"Out," he spat. "I'll deal with your punishment later. You'll be lucky if I don't send you back to the academy for this. Tell Susan I want Delves and Wayne in here in twenty minutes, suited up and armed. They'll be your replacements. Don't bother coming in until I call you. Dismissed."

Disappointed in themselves or angry with their punishment, the boys exited quite swiftly, grumbling quietly to themselves as they went out into the hall. If they hadn't been such promising young men, Gordon probably would have sent them back to the academy. Collapsing into his chair, suddenly emotionally and mentally fatigued, Gordon buried his head into his hands. No matter what he did, the Joker just kept slipping through their security. Two men weren't enough apparently, but how much more protection could he give her? There were cameras, doctors, other patients, and armed guards to deal with. With the Joker also blowing up banks left and right and murders popping up all over the city on top of the minor crimes of everyday life, he couldn't afford to double or triple the guard as he pleased. There just weren't enough men or women for the job.

Gordon took a sip of his coffee, bitterness welling up on his tongue with the first sip. It was cold, too, as if to add to his displeasure. Of course, he sighed, he'd gotten the coffee six hours earlier and a thermos could only keep things warm for so long. Setting the thermos down, Gordon tried to remember the last time he'd actually gone home and slept in his own bed with his wife and son safe and sound. For the last week he'd been spending every last second of free time at the hospital, but if he was honest with himself—and he felt that honesty was the best policy for such a situation—they were only detaining the girl for questioning out of sheer desperation. AJ would be able to tell them nothing. She was so far gone into her own little world, singing and playing invisible pianos, that there was no hope of getting anything useful out of her. His only hope was that she would be more coherent after they weaned her off the medication.

Taking one last look at the dejected paperwork piling up on his desk, his cold coffee, and the picture of his family in the corner, Gordon grabbed his jacket and headed for the roof. Criminals more easily intimidated than the Joker were out on the streets, seeking to go bump in the night, and Gordon intended on reminding them just what was out there that could bump them back.

AJ was mostly silent that night at the hospital, not even humming softly to herself as per usual. Her glazed green eyes stared out the window at the sky where batman's symbol blazed on to intimidate the thugs of Gotham while just outside her room two ghouls dressed in police uniforms barked and whistled at the pretty nurses. Sister Augustine was disgusted by the riff-raff that Commissioner Gordon assigned to protect 'such an important witness', but she didn't say anything to curb their behavior. She was trying not to draw attention to herself as visiting hours were long over, and she didn't quite feel comfortable leaving AJ again when the Joker could easily sneak in.

The child had been singing to herself and rocking quite dramatically earlier, but when Sister Augustine began reading from the bible, she had calmed down. It was very similar to taking care of a child. The child was older and insane rather than just innocent, but the thought was there.

"And God spoke: 'Light!'. And light appeared. God saw that light was good and separated light from dark. God named the light Day, he named the dark Night. It was evening, it was morning," the sister read quietly, thumb stroking AJ's hand as those thin and bruised fingers clenched and unclenched in the most basic of actions.

Suddenly someone was at the door, and the sister glanced up, sheepish. It was one of the nurses with her hands on her hips, blonde hair in her eyes, and an amused smile on her face. Shaking her finger as her heels clicked on the floor, she said, "You're not supposed to be here." The woman had a delightful southern accent. Immediately her hands went to work, checking vitals, bandages, and wires.

"I know," Sister Augustine folded her hands over the closed bible. "I just don't feel safe with those two guarding her."

The nurse wrinkled her nose. "Oh, I know. They are the most awful, degenerate men I've ever met. Can you hear them whistling every time one of us walks by? I swear that one of them pinched me right on the—" she cut off, blushing suddenly. "Sorry, Sister."

Sister Augustine smiled. "All is forgiven, but tell me, is she showing any signs of improvement at all?" Her worried eyes drifted to the invalid lying in the bed.

The nurse crossed her arms and leaned back, cocking one hip out. "As far as I can tell, physically she's getting better. The leg won't ever heal proper, but her cuts and scrapes are doing great. There's no infection as far as I can tell, and the doctor said we can take her off the antibiotics soon enough. Of course, you know about her eye. She's blind," the nurse gestured vaguely in the air, attempting to be sympathetic but appearing more awkward about the whole thing. "Mentally, I don't know. You'll have to talk to the shrink for that. I'm sorry."

"Not at all," the sister replied, holding up a hand. "You've given me more information than those useless doctors have all week. I'm afraid that since I'm not officially family, they've been keeping very quiet about the whole thing. Rather sad, actually."

Looking very pleased with herself much like a child who had just received a pat on the head, the nurse smiled. Then she frowned. "I don't mean to be rude, Sister, but you should probably go home now. Those idiots—I mean, guys—outside aren't much use as human beings, but they've got guns. They can protect her better than you can."

"Oh, but we have something better than guns." Ignoring the nurse's confused look, Sister Augustine sighed and stood up, leaning over to kiss AJ on the forehead. The child shifted, opening one eye but otherwise didn't react. As the Joker had stolen AJ's rosary, Sister Augustine produced another one and swiftly tied it to the railing around her bed. "God will protect her. She is special, and He won't let anything else happen to her."

Appearing awkward, the nurse nodded. "Sure."

"Well, dear girl," she said, addressing AJ, "I will see you in the morning for breakfast. Good night. Would you be kind enough to escort me outside, Miss…?"

"Jackson," the nurse smiled, shining teeth luminescent in the dark. "I'm Victoria Jackson." As the nun maneuvered around the bed, she offered a hand. "And you are?"

"You may call me Sister Augustine." They shook, and Miss Jackson shot a glare at the two guards as she walked the nun to the exit, hyperaware of any pinching that might take place.

In her bed, AJ watched them go with slow breaths, the hazy state of her mind making it harder to process all the information. There were certainly a lot of things to take in. Each individual sound of machinery whirring nearly deafened her along with the noise the guards made, Sister Augustine's incessant breathing and talking, and the sound of her own heart gushing blood in her ears made her want to tear her hair out. With weak muscles, the invalid used her arms to sit up, ripping out wires as she went. The intravenous needle went flying as a prick of pain shot through her hand. Blood trickled out from under tape, but she paid no mind as she threw back the covers with shaking hands.

Beneath the nice, clean sheets hiding her lower half was a heavy, metal cage encasing her leg from ankle to thigh. Beneath the metal embedded into her skin and bone was thick, heavy plaster to keep her from twisting. Dimly, she wondered why it was so heavy and figured it must be the drugs. Already she was getting tired, but she didn't want to lie in the bed anymore. Using her arms to scoot down the length of the bed, she twisted and lifted her metal leg up, letting it drop over the side. The resounding bang was enough to have her scream aloud.

Her leg fell quickly as heavy things are wont to do and banged directly into the side of the bed, overbalancing her. Throwing her hands up, she crashed to the ground, smacking her knee harshly on the floor. The scream bubbled up from within, too loud to push down. She was in too much pain to stop it anyway. At the sound, the guards whipped around and started calling for help as she struggled to move, one hand over her mouth, the other hand crawling at the linoleum floor. There was no traction. The cast was too heavy. She couldn't move, and soon the entire hospital seemed to be crowded in her room trying to lift her up off the ground. She clawed, she bit, she scratched, but to no avail. When they finally secured her into the bed with much cursing and grunting and sweating, they tied her down with heavy straps on her wrists and one ankle.

Victoria Jackson's heels clicked across the ground as she rushed into the room a few minutes later. "What happened? One of the nurses said there was a code blue," she demanded breathlessly, genuine concern coloring her voice. Code blue was a death. The girl had just been fine a moment ago.

A redhead scowled at her, nursing a bleeding bite wound. "No, she's fine. Stupid girl crawled out of her bed and fell to the ground. She bit me and two of the doctors!"

"My god," Victoria gasped. "You tied her down?" Blue eyes outlined in makeup ran along the length of the bed, taking in the other nurses as they reattached the wires and medication to the still struggling girl.

"We had to," the redhead defended. "That leg is hardly stable. Who knows what type of damage she's done now? If she tried to walk on it, we might have to operate again."

"Shhh," the woman by the bedside said. "She's humming again."

AJ had gone limp, eyes staring at the ceiling as she began to sing a lullaby.

"Has she said anything?" Gordon demanded of the lieutenant just outside the doors. To his right, they were carrying out the boy's body in a black bag, the zipper shining in the light from the ambulance. The priest that watched over the orphanage had two small children in his arms, a few of the nuns carrying toddlers as the older children stared in awe on the ground. According to the report, the father and the young boy—Eric, Gordon thought—had heard the gunshots. Eric had gone to investigate, thinking it was just the girl knocking down a few pots and pans.

"Nothing yet," the lieutenant said, breath coming out in puffs of smoke from the cold. "She's shivering in that corner in the pantry. There's a group of firefighters in there now trying to coax her out, but she won't budge. They don't want to drag her out if they don't have to."

"I should think not," Gordon said. "I don't want her any more traumatized than she's already been." Patting the man on the back, Gordon ascended the stairs while rubbing his hands together, the cold biting at the tips of his fingers. A few of the firefighters nodded their heads as they walked past, but it was a nasty business for all. No one was interested in exchanging a few pleasant words. The shooter was still unknown, and he hoped the girl could give them a clue as to who had attacked her.

Slinking through the kitchen, Gordon opened the pantry door to reveal two firefighters crouched on the ground with their hands out as if trying to coax a kitten with a treat. The girl was sitting in the corner with her arms wrapped around her torso, rocking back and forth. What he saw on her face made his blood run cold. There, on her mouth and cheek, was the very distinct face paint of the Joker. The red marred her pretty mouth a bloody red, and the white stained her left cheek. He immediately recognized the girl as Amethyst Danvers, the girl that had, just a few days before, been taken to the hospital for a gun wound also reportedly delivered by the Joker.

Shaking off his initial shock, he crouched down and patted the male firefighter on the shoulder. Taking off his gloves, he spoke softly to her. "Miss Danvers, my name is Commissioner Gordon. I'm here to take you to the hospital. You've been the victim of a vicious attack, and we only want to help."

"It won't do no good, Mr. Gordon," the man shook his head. "She won't say nothing."

Gordon ignored him. "Miss Danvers, I'm going to approach you now. I want you to remain calm. We mean you absolutely no harm." Addressing the firefighter, he said, "Give me your flashlight."

Confused, the man unhooked the device from his belt and placed it in the commissioner's hands. Standing up, Gordon took a few steps toward her and crouched down. She barely registered his presence, startling green eyes flickering up to glance at his face. Up close, he could see the shadow of bruises on her jaw as if fingers had dug particularly hard into the skin. They were yellow and almost healed. Had the Joker done the damage previously?

Carefully, he reached up a hand and tried to grip her jaw. She jumped, afraid, and curled in her on herself. "He was here…he was here," she said quickly. "He was here again. He…he killed Eric!"

"I know, I know," Gordon said patiently, gently brushing a curtain of fine hair from her face. "I want you to try to remain calm. You don't have to tell us anything right now."

Suddenly, her fingers lashed out like a viper, latching onto his arm. "But it was the Joker! You're looking for him. Batman is looking for him. Why is—why is he coming after me?"

Gordon turned around and looked pointedly at the syringe in the woman firefighter's hand. He reached his hand back. "I don't know, but we're going to find out. Can you stand up with me?" The coldness of the syringe settled in his hand, and he curled his fingers around it. Tentatively, the girl stood up with him, using him as leverage and not putting any weight on the cast. It seemed she was no longer in a catatonic state, but whatever was in the needle would no doubt calm her down even more. From what he could see, there were no extensive injuries, but he wanted to get her off the wounded leg.

"Someone get me the wheelchair," he said to the firefighters. Taking her arm, he looped it around his neck. "We'll get you into the wheelchair, and I'll give you something to help you calm down."

She hung her head suddenly. "I'm sorry. I didn't—I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to worry about. You're safe now," he said. The wheelchair was forced through the door with some complication, and Gordon helped her sit down. Then he lifted up her sleeve and uncapped the needle.

"Wait," she pleaded just before he stuck her. "Is—Is Eric? He's…." she trailed off.

Gordon tried not to let his face crumple, but she noticed anyway. A lump formed in his throat as she nodded, taking deep breaths to try and calm herself down.

"I guess…I guess I knew that," she sighed before promptly bursting into tears. Gordon injected her with the sedative immediately afterward.

After hearing about AJ's half-hearted escape attempt from the hospital, Gordon was already feeling hints of a headache. At least his men had been able to keep her from escaping. Had a crippled young woman ready to be transferred into psychiatric been able to walk out on them without their notice, he might have been forced by the mayor into early retirement.

Paperwork was piling on his desk, and as much as he wanted to visit AJ to try one last time to get through her hazy mind, he needed to do the other part of his job. As time went on, he was beginning to see AJ in a more callous light. She couldn't be used for information anymore, clearly, but the Joker was obviously incredibly interested in her. Batman, the next time he came around, would most likely try to convince him to use her as bait for the madman. Gordon wouldn't consider it, but he would understand that they needed to look for other options.

The more he thought about the girl, the more his mind drifted back to the day he had to go down to the orphanage to pick her up. Only two days after that, she'd been kidnapped for a month. No one had seen her be abducted. No one knew where she was. There were no clues, no signs of her at all. Then Batman had found her wandering a ruin of a building? It didn't make sense. Why was she so beaten up? Why was she so mentally scarred? Had she been the lover of that madman, and if so, how could they exploit that?

How sick did a person have to be to break a human being to that degree in just one month?

Gordon shook his head. In part, he blamed himself. After the first attack, he had just brushed the girl off as another victim of the Joker. He should have seen how special she was for having survived the encounter. After the second incident with the death of the boy, he should have taken her into protective custody, not sent her back to the orphanage with a promise to apprehend the Joker and a pat on the back for surviving not once but twice. He had been such a fool, and the girl had paid the price for his stupidity.

Even now he was failing her. The Joker seemed to get through every barrier, and in her delicate condition there was little else he could save. A bit callously, Gordon wondered what the Joker could want in the broken husk of the girl. Surely whatever he had sought was gone, replaced by the mutterings of a madwoman. He had succeeded in pulling the wings off the fly, so what else did he want? Why was she special? She was only an eighteen year old girl.

Running a hand through his hair, Gordon felt fatigue wash through him. In a few hours he would go down to the hospital to scope out her condition. As soon as the doctors felt her leg was sufficiently patched, they would send her psychiatric. Hopefully, with the security a bit tighter among the lunatics, he wouldn't have to worry so much about protecting her. But while the relief was small, there was a growing apprehension with each little step she took toward recovery. The Joker's note had been clear.

Once the toy was fixed, he wanted to play with her again.

Thanks for reading. Review please.