Of Madmen, Misfits & Everything In Between
Pairing: Joker/OC
Rating: K+
Warnings: Mild swearing.
A/N: It's 5 AM where I am and I have work in a couple of hours but...eh. Here's the chapter as promised. Hope you like it!
Chapter Four- "Life Ain't Fair, Darlin'."
"Someone's in a good mood," Iona chirped (because, really, that's what Iona did) as they made their way out of class.
Misha hummed but said nothing. Truth be told, she was in a good mood. She'd been in a good mood since last night after their ridiculous game of not spin the bottle. She'd been so happy that she had made and eaten breakfast for herself and had not minded when Jack complained about it being burnt nor did she grimace at the fact that it was burnt.
She was in such a good mood that she doubted anything or anyone could make her feel otherwise.
And she had no idea why, especially since her brain kept telling her that this would not last. And- God- how right that turned out to be.
Misha and Iona made their way out of their college campus and were stopped by the chauffeur (for he had to be a chauffeur, given how he was dressed right?) of a rather neat looking BMW.
"Miss Alau'din?" he asked her as though he did this every day. Misha frowned, beside her, Iona was grinning excitedly. She mentally rolled her eyes at her friend's lack of perception. After all, did they or did they not live in Gotham- one of the most dangerous cities in America, if not the world? There was nothing great about someone randomly coming up to them- especially if they seemed to have a rich donor behind them. Misha had an inkling of who it might be and hoped with all her might that it was not.
Of course, there was only so much power in hoping.
"Uh-huh," she said indifferently.
"Come with me," he said, "Mr Alau'din wants to see you."
She rolled her eyes but nodded anyway. Then, turning to Iona said, "I'll see you in a while hmmm?"
Her friend nodded, giving her a thumbs up before walking off. Misha glanced after her, watching her leave. Some friend, willing to leave her in the lion's den alone.
Not that she ought to blame Iona. She had no idea.
No one did.
Not that she expected them to anyway. After all, it was her choice not to.
Misha followed him and curtly thanked him when he opened the door of the vehicle and stepped inside.
"Good evening," the cold voice greeted her.
She sighed before muttering in reply.
"Speak up, I can't hear you," her aunt's voice was sharp. Misha briefly looked at her and then back to her uncle.
"Good evening," she managed a little loudly.
"And how are you?" her uncle asked.
"Good."
Her aunt was busy inspecting her nails as if they were more important than her. Actually, Misha realized, her nails were more important to her than Misha was. Typical.
She did not really care much about her aunt. What she did care about, though, was why her uncle and aunt were seeing her. They did not care about her. The last time she saw them, they'd made it pretty obvious. So why were they bugging her now?
"Misha," her uncle began. "you know that your grandfather has been sick for quite a long time."
Yeah, since I was born, if I recall.
She nodded in acknowledgement.
"And the doctors have given up at this point and we have the option to pull the plug anytime but we haven't." Obviously because then you'll lose everything.
"Well," he leaned forward, "we've decided to pull the plug."
Misha frowned slightly. This was news to her!
"Of course, we'd like you to sign a few documents first," her aunt interjected. Her uncle looked quite pained at the thought but nodded anyway and handed Misha a bundle of documents.
Misha took them and read the front page, wondering what on earth would they want her to-
Of course.
It was a document denouncing her claim on the family business. Everything was sorted out, she found out as she read through the pages. With her out of the line of succession, her uncle would get their family business. Years and years of hard work done by her grandfather and father would pass on to this man and his family.
She wanted to tear the document and give it back to him. She wanted to let him have a piece of her mind. She wanted to threaten him, take him to court for depriving her of her birthright this time, forever- and oh, that hurt- and sue him for fraud, ill- treatment and all those horrible things he and his family had done to her and yet-
And yet, she said nothing.
Her knuckles were white as she held the papers but she went on to ask for a pen which she was quickly provided with. She could feel a bitter taste in her mouth as she signed the papers and handed it back to him.
This is not what her parents- her grandfather, even- would want her to do. But she did not have a choice now did she?
She'd need money to go to court, money and resources which she did not have. It would become a major issue- broadcasted from Gotham all the way to New York. She'd be looked at as the poor orphan girl who got the wrong end of the stick- the Cinderella without the happy ending and if there was one thing she could not do was stand the attention. And after all, what would be the point of it all anyway?
Her aunt and uncle were cunning- she'd give them credit for that. They would probably use their resources and influence to make her look bad. She had come to Gotham for a new start; this was not the way to go with it.
So she made her choice and stepped out of the car at the first stop and walked back home. She did not look up, or behind to see if they were following her (her uncle did that sometimes out of pity or guilt or- and this was hilarious- misplaced protective instincts since she lived in the single most dangerous part of town) and resorted to simply looking at the ground, wondering why the hell were her eyes stinging so much.
It was not something she ought to cry about. It had been pretty obvious to her that she was a nuisance to her relations and they would eventually get rid of her. She had known this since she was twelve years old. Why was it hurting so much?
Misha did not want to acknowledge it but she did know the answer. Some part of her had actually thought that- well- someday, she'd get the justice she deserved. Of course, it was a fancy passing but it had stayed in her subconscious and was killing her at this very moment. She had thought that she would have the opportunity to get justice when the time came but of course, she had been rather naïve hadn't she?
There were only two kinds of people in the world: those without power who were too afraid to try to gain it somehow and those with power who could make the powerless do what they wanted. And Misha was one of the powerless. She was weak- so weak that it was almost pathetic.
And before she knew it, she was standing at the gate of her apartment building. The closing of a car's door alerted her and yes, she had been right. He had followed her here. She briefly wondered what he wanted. Hadn't he taken enough already?
She turned slightly and saw her uncle standing next to her.
Once upon a time, Jury (A/N: pronounced Ju-rie where JU is like JU in JUG; it means brave in Arabic or so, says my foreign language teacher) Alau'din had been her most favorite uncle, spoiling her rotten to the immense annoyance of her mother. They would go to the Central Park together and eat ice cream and more often than not, he'd take her shopping to some high end store or toy shop and return her home way past her bedtime. That had been twelve years ago. Misha would be nineteen in November, two months from now. And God, it seemed a lifetime ago.
"Who's your course coming along?" he inquired as though he actually cared.
"Good," she replied simply.
"You're in your…?"
"Second year."
"And you're studying Business administration?"
"...Yes." She did not know what he was getting at.
"You know, once you're done you can come back to New York and we can talk abo-"
"Uncle, I don't need your pity," she stopped him, meeting his gaze for the first time because that is exactly what she hated the most after attention- pity. "There's a reason I moved to Gotham and I'd like to say here. You can offer someone else a job at your company. Someone who might actually want it." With that, she walked into the apartment building knowing full well that he would not follow her. His wife would not let him. She was surprised her aunt even let him speak to her, let alone venture into this part of town.
What she did not notice however, was that Jack had seen the entire exchange through her sitting room's window.
"So who's the rich dude?" he asked her the moment she was inside. Misha looked upwards at the ceiling and sighed as if to say 'really?' to whoever it was that dwelled in the Heavens and was letting this happen to her.
"My uncle," she answered making her way towards the kitchen. To nobody's surprise, the Joker followed her.
"You know, I look forward to the day you stop using my make up," she stated before setting off to work. She wanted to make something nice today- something that would make her feel better. The rabbit hole was almost within sight and she did not want to go down it tonight.
"I thought you said you weren't rich," he countered. Misha could have punched him for that. Unknowingly, he was sprinkling salt to her wounds and it hurt.
"You know, for one of the most dangerous criminals in Gotham, you're ridiculously dense," she mused as she decided what to make- stir fry or ramen noodles?
"What's better?" she finally admitted defeat and asked him, holding up the two ready-to-make packages of food.
"Noodles please," he said, "and try not to burn it."
She glared at him and set to work. Once the noodles began to boil, there really was not much to do. And that's when Misha felt her thoughts wander off again…
Her uncle Jury was seven years younger than her father. He was seventeen when her father married her mother and had only finished his education when she was born. The young Jury Alau'din adored his niece. Maybe it was because she was the only child born after years of trying. Maybe it was because she was the only child Jury had ever come in immediate contact with.
No one knew.
But everyone knew that Jury worshipped his niece. Her father would often be away on business trips so it was Jury and her own mother who she knew well as she grew up. It was safe to say that Jury was a substitute father for Misha in her early years. He was her best friend, her confider and even her protector.
She remembered well when one day she came home with a vicious scratch on the side of her face. Her mother had been shocked when she saw it but had only told her to be more careful.
Jury on the other hand, had been most displeased. With utmost strictness, he had demanded in the most firm voice she had ever heard from him (back then) to tell her exactly what and who had been responsible for it.
Misha told him. It was nothing really, she'd said at the end. It was just this one boy in class who'd scratched her. Her teacher had said that he did it because he liked her.
"That's rubbish," he growled, "what kind of school teaches their children that? I say Misha, if a boy hits you, he means to hurt you. He most certainly does not like you."
Her uncle was furious, to say the least.
The next day, he'd gone up to the Principal. Misha never found out what he said to her. All she remembered was some hushed noises coming from the Principal's office as she waited for him. When she went to class, she found that the boy who'd scratched her- Ryan White- had vanished and Misha became the coolest girl in nursery group II with the awesome uncle who got The Ryan White, aka the guy who ate glue without feeling sick the least, suspended.
At present, Misha realized that something was burning. Alarmed, she found that the noodles had burned. A lump of sickly brown was staring back at her from the pot and from the sitting room, the Joker groaned aloud.
"Why'd ya burn it now?" he asked her loudly. Suddenly he was standing in front of her, looking very displeased at the outcome of the meal. "Really?" he asked. "What the hell is wrong with you? How can you burn ramen noodles? Jesus, Misha!"
He was angry and at that very moment it became too much for Misha; the rabbit hole was within sight now- just waiting for her to fall through it and she felt horrible. She wanted to positively die at that moment and before she knew it, she was hugging the Joker of all people and crying- sobbing into his chest because really, only she was that fucked up.
She didn't quite remember how it happened. It could have been magic for all she knew- and really, she found that she did not care about it at all. But somehow, she found herself on the couch with Jack, her head resting on his chest, breathing heavily as he played with her hair.
She vaguely recalled crying and screaming profanities.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled.
"Shh, it's fine," he said softly.
Misha found that she rather liked their seating arrangement.
"I really don't know what happened," she admitted.
"I guess everyone has their breaking point," he joked, "this was yours. Though, most people are a bit more dramatic."
She smiled wearily at that.
"Of course," she agreed.
"You didn't tell me what caused it though," he said.
"It's nothing really," she shrugged. "Nothing to talk about."
"Ah, but that's what got you in this position now didn't it?" For someone who was mad, he sure talked a lot of sense sometimes.
"I guess…"
"Tell me. I won't hold it against you," he assured her.
"You couldn't even if you wanted to," she pointed out.
He sighed in defeat.
"My uncle is fucking bastard," she told him.
"Isn't everyone that?"
"He is," she sneered, "he just took away my inheritance from me and had the audacity to recruit me to work for him. ME! Can you believe it?"
He didn't look surprised when he said, "Well, there's the rich for ya." And then as though something clicked, said, "So you are a rich kid."
Misha glared at him. "No," she insisted, "I'm not. I don't want to be if that's what money will do to you. It's just- gosh, it's so unfair!"
He said nothing and she went on, "It's so unfair how his kids get everything they'd ever want and I've always had to work for it. My parents died when I was twelve and ever since then, he's made my life miserable. I was made to attend public school while his kids went to some great private school. His kids need only say it to get something, it'd take days of contemplation to give me permission to join my school for a fucking compulsory fieldwork."
She hadn't realized it but she'd buried her face deeper into his chest so that she could smell him. He smelt of gunpowder and motor oil and strangely peppermint. He smelled… nice. And that, she thought, was something refreshing.
"Life ain't fair, darl," he told her and for once, she simply nodded. He was only right after all. They stayed like that for a while and before she knew it, they'd ended up asleep.