Hokay, kiddos, here's the deal. I'm going to impose a one-chapter-a-week rule on myself. I definitely overestimated how quickly I'd be able to get these chapters out. I'd rather have them more spaced out and actually be able to deliver when I say I will than promise I'll have the next one done in two days and then let everyone down, lol. If I happen to be able to post more than once a week, great. But that's going to be the general rhythm unless I say otherwise.
Shoutout to Floetry and Laxelle for the reviews! Thanks babes, keep em coming.
On another note, I wanted to clear up some things about this fic compared to the actual TDK plotline. The timeline in this fic is different than in the movie, as I'm sure you've gathered. A lot more time has passed in the fic between the Joker's first threat on TV and the deaths of the public officials in Gotham. I also would like to note that to be honest, the plotline of TDK is really not important to this fic, so don't think about it too much when you're reading. My final note is that in this fic, Wayne manor isn't under construction, and Bruce still lives there. You'll see why that is in a bit. For our purposes, he really only uses his loft in the Diamond District for parties.
Anyway, here's chapter 9. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own OC's. The Joker and Bruce Wayne/The Batman are property of DC Comics.
Chapter 9
Salomé lay in the tub, relishing the feeling of the Epsom-salted hot water on her aching limbs. Her whole body was sore, her face especially. She had been shocked upon waking up this morning and seeing her reflection for the first time since the beat-down Larry Perkins had given her last night. Her lower lip was split and swollen, and she had a fearsome black eye.
I can't go to work looking like this, she'd realized. She had called Claudia and told her that she wasn't feeling well, that she was worried it was the flu, that they had too much work to do on the new collection to risk everyone getting sick if she came in. She said she'd be working from home until she felt better, and they would have teleconference meetings with the whole team if they needed to.
Then, she had run the water in the tub, saturated it with Epsom salt and lavender-scented bubbles, and lowered herself into the almost-too-hot-to-stand bath. She didn't think she'd get any work done today. She had too much to think about.
She had killed a man. Sure, he was a shitty human being, but a human being nonetheless. And she had killed him.
He gave you no choice, the dragon inside her whispered, lifting its head.
There's always a choice.
He would've killed you.
I could've just knocked him out or something, I didn't have to kill him.
You tried that. He was too strong.
She sighed, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes and ignoring the jolt of pain at the pressure on her bruise. She knew that she didn't really have a choice in the moment. But at the end of the day, it was still her fault. She was 5'3" and 110 pounds soaking wet, yet she had catapulted herself to the rescue as though she were an equal match to a man like Larry Perkins. Who was she becoming? Why did she think she'd be able to do this- to live as a masked vigilante like the Batman, when she didn't have even half of his physical prowess? She gasped and jerked her hands from her eyes, holding them a few inches from either side of her face as she remembered.
The Batman.
She had met the Batman. She had spoken to him. She recalled the feeling of stunning admiration and awe she felt in his presence, and how his heroic power and protectiveness had drawn her in. Guilt and shame filled her as she thought of Larry Perkins again. The Batman wouldn't have killed him.
It would've ended with one of your deaths anyway.
Then I should've stayed out of it.
You did what you needed to do. And you liked it.
She slowly lowered her hands back into the hot water as her attention turned to the ache in between her legs, laced with residual pleasure from her encounter with the Joker the night before.
The second she thought of him, all traces of the guilt and shame that had filled her a moment ago seemed to evaporate from her body and were replaced with burning strength and something even hotter- devotion, or love, she wasn't sure. She thought about the fact that Larry Perkins' wife would never again have to live in terror of the person she shared a bed with. She could move on with her life and be with someone who treated her well.
And that was thanks to the Joker. Salomé closed her eyes and smiled softly, exhaling. She thought of how good it felt to have his body so close to hers when they saw each other, and how he had recognized her desperate need the night before and met it head-on, how he had acquiesced when she begged him, and how he had sated her so completely even though it was clearly against his usual practice. She thought about how he always seemed to seek her out, even before she had actually met him. That must mean he cares for me, at least a little bit, right? She allowed herself to hope.
As she had walked home after seeing him, she had felt afraid of the wild and reckless pleasure he'd ignited in her. But now, thinking about how his actions- saving Salomé, and unleashing the power that had been locked inside her- touched the lives of people like Larry's wife, she felt pride, not fear.
She wondered when she would see the Joker again, and if this was always how things would be- meeting in the dark, unexpected and at his leisure. She had no idea how to find him or get in touch with him. And now, with her beat-up face, she had to lay low for a while. She didn't want to have any visible injuries that could tie her to Perkins' death if the police were sniffing around. And besides, her whole body was aching. She needed to be at her best in case she had to fight.
She squeezed her eyes shut and slid down in the tub until her head was fully submerged. She thought about how the Joker hadn't allowed her to kiss him, and wondered what it would be like if he did- wondered if she would ever get the chance to find out. She tried to imagine what he would taste like. God, I'm really falling hard. What the fuck am I doing? I don't even know his name or what his face looks like under all that makeup.
She held her breath until her lungs started to burn and then slowly sat up, sucking in a deep breath of air. She sat there a moment longer before standing up and reaching for her towel.
She spent the next few hours in her home office, leafing through some of the files that her father had given her. One in particular stuck out. It was the file of a man named Casey McMahon who had a child pornography charge on his sheet. His wife had also accused him of molesting one of their children, but he had gotten off on a technicality. He was on the sex offender registry. She sat back in her chair and sighed, wishing she didn't have the bruises on her face so that she could get started on watching him. She set his file aside and turned to her computer, pulling her drawing tablet out of her desk drawer so she could get to work on the next collection.
The sun had set by the time she finally gave up on trying to work. She had done about thirty sketches, only to erase them immediately after finishing. She couldn't focus. Every time she would try to draw something serious, her thoughts would return to Larry Perkins, or her meeting with the Batman, or the Joker.
She wished he were here. She realized that he was the only one she could see right now, in her current state. He had already seen it. She had wanted to call Martha or Chloe to ask them to come and hang out with her, but she would have too much explaining to do about her black eye and split lip, and there was no plausible lie she could tell about how she got them. She bit her lip in frustration.
She eventually flopped down on the couch and turned the TV on, flipping through the channels. The fourth time she made the full circuit of channels without picking something, she finally stood up. She felt like she was going crazy. Before she could change her mind, she marched into her room and pulled off her leggings and t-shirt, replacing them with a black slip dress and her boots. She pulled her mask on, wincing when it made contact with her black eye. She dabbed concealer on the visible edge of the bruise peeking out from behind the mask.
She slid her brass knuckles onto her hands and stopped in her office to check Casey McMahon's file for his address. She hadn't bothered to turn the light on, and was leafing through the file by the weak light shining through the doorway from the living room.
"Playing it a little fast and loose, aren't we?"
She dropped the file and whirled around, gasping. She could only see his silhouette in the doorway, but she knew it was him. She could see that he had nixed his jacket again tonight, wearing his waistcoat and shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hands were hidden in his pockets, but she was sure they were covered in his signature leather gloves.
"How the fuck did you get in here?"
He pulled one hand from his pocket and waved the key fob to the elevator in front of her. "You might not want to keep one of these in your car anymore, doll. Makes it all too easy for your enemies to get to you."
She had caught her breath now, and felt a little bubble of excitement swell up in her belly. He's here, she thought. She had to suppress the grin that was fighting to spread across her face.
"Didn't think you were my enemy," she said evenly.
"More fool you," he drawled.
She stared at him a moment before speaking again, unsure of what to do.
"Seems kind of messed up that you can show up whenever and wherever you want, and you always seem to know where I am and what I'm doing, but if I want to see you I can't."
"And why on earth would you want to see me?" he asked with a smirk.
She narrowed her eyes at him but didn't answer, striding towards the door and brushing past him into the living room. She moved toward the elevator, but the Joker's voice stopped her.
"Now, are you sure that's a good idea? I mean, you're all banged up, doll. I might not be around to swoop in and save you next time." His voice dripped with mocking.
"Why do you give a fuck whether I go out or not?" She internally braced herself for the answer, feeling a shameful flicker of hope that he really did care.
"Oh, I don't," he said, flopping down onto the sofa and crossing an ankle over his knee like he owned the place, "but I've invested a significant amount of time and manpower into you, little bird, and I don't like wasted investments. If you go out there and get picked up by the Batman or that silly police commissioner, who are no doubt looking for the criminal"- she flinched at the word- "who slit that wife beater's throat in cold blood, that's exactly what you'll be."
She hated to admit it, but his words stung. An investment? She glared at him. "I'd love to stay and chat, Joker, but I was actually just stepping out when you decided to show up uninvited, so if you wouldn't mind…" She gestured towards the elevator. He raised his eyebrows at her, but didn't move. "Fine. Make yourself at home," she said sarcastically.
She turned on her heel and stalked off towards the elevator, jabbing the button with her finger. Just as the doors opened, she felt his hand wrap around her arm and yank her back. He spun her by the arm and slammed her back against the wall next to the doors. He stared at her, but said nothing. She held his gaze.
After several minutes, he slowly lifted his hand to her mask and pulled it off over her head. His eyes drifted down to her bruise for a second before returning to hers. His body wasn't touching hers, but it was close enough for her to feel his heat. She could smell his sage-y scent.
"I was hoping I would see you," she said, her voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. His expression was smooth and unreadable. "You're the only one I can see like this. I can't tell anyone else about what happened."
Still, he didn't speak. He just kept looking at her. Once again, he slowly lifted his hand to her face. He traced her black eye with his gloved thumb. She placed a trembling hand over his and drew her thumb underneath his palm to flatten out his fingers, before pressing his hand gently into her cheek. He pressed the pad of his thumb into her bruise, causing her to hiss in pain, but she didn't break eye contact. She slid her hand down to his bare wrist and let it rest there, relishing the shiver that went through her when his forearm brushed against her collarbone.
He reached over with his other hand and pressed the button for the elevator. He let his hand rest on her face, his thumb still pressed down against her bruise, and held her gaze until the elevator doors dinged open. Then he dropped his hand and turned to go.
She grabbed his forearm with both hands before she could stop herself. "Wait!"
He stopped, but didn't turn. She realized that she was clutching his forearm and quickly dropped her hands, wringing them in front of her stomach and looking down.
"Could you, um…. Would you come back tomorrow?" she asked in a tiny voice.
She kept her eyes down, waiting for him to make a snide comment of rejection or simply scoff at her. She heard him turn, and looked up to see his signature smirk.
"Maybe, if you're good," he drawled. Then he stepped into the elevator and turned to face her.
She watched his smirk broaden as the doors closed.
He didn't come the next day.
Or the day after.
Or the day after that.
Even though she was going crazy with cabin fever and she wanted to get started on her next suspect, she forced herself to stay inside. She tried to throw herself into her work, but it was hard to focus when she was constantly wondering when and if the Joker would show up.
She didn't even know what she would do if he did show up. It wasn't like they were going to sit and watch a movie together. But she still craved his presence.
She craved him sexually, of course. She fantasized about wiping the paint off his face and sliding her tongue against his, and about how it would feel to have him inside her. How it would feel to drive him to his breaking point and shove him past it. She fantasized about him saying her name while he came.
But more than anything, she just wanted him to be here. She wanted to be near him, and to take his glove off to touch his bare hand. These were the things that really stirred her. He hadn't given her so much as a kind word to indicate he actually cared about her as more than an "investment", as he had put it. She thought he must care for her in some capacity, otherwise he wouldn't still be in her life. But she was completely devoted to him now, and she couldn't draw back from that. He had set her on a trajectory the night he had saved her from Liam Noss, and there was no way she could veer off now. She was too far in.
It had been four days since he had been in her apartment. Her face was a little better, but her lip still bore a prominent scab and her eye was still bruised, although it had faded somewhat.
She lay in the bath with her eyes closed, lingering in the space between sleep and wakefulness. She let the scent of the rose oil in the water soothe her. She slid down to dunk her head under the water, lingering there for a moment before sliding back up to her previous position, with her head against the rim of the tub and one knee bent and poking out of the water.
When she finally opened her eyes, she was confronted with the sight of the Joker sitting on the chair in front of her vanity table. He had turned it around so that he was facing her through the steam from the bath. His jacket was hung over the back of the chair on top of her towel, leaving him as he was yesterday with his sleeves rolled up. She loved seeing him that way, with the sinews of his arms and shoulders visible. His hands, in their gloves as usual, were folded on his lap, and he had an ankle crossed over his knee. His green hair was swept to one side, like it had been the first night she met him.
She barely reacted to him, still floating in her dreamlike state. She was aware that the water didn't cover her entire chest, and that her nipples just peeked out of the water when she inhaled, but she didn't care. She held his gaze through heavily lidded eyes, letting her head continue to rest back against the tub. She dimly wondered if he was really here, or if she had fully fallen asleep and was dreaming. Either way, she was happy to see him.
"Hi," she said, her voice coming out sleepy, hoarse and low. He remained silent, continuing to study her. His eyes flicked down to her chest and back up to hers. "Some people would call this perverted stalking behavior, you know."
He snorted. "But not you," he said. She shook her head slowly. The steam swirling in the bathroom made everything hazy, and she was starting to be sure that this was a dream. It was just too weird.
"Are you really here, or am I dreaming?" she murmured.
He stood and approached the tub, squatting down next to it. He began to reach a gloved hand out to her face.
"Glove off?" she asked.
He paused, looking at her for a second, before pulling his glove off and reaching out again. He clamped his thumb and forefinger down over her lower lip, right on her scab. She gasped softly at the stab of pain, and then ran her tongue over his finger. He pulled slowly on her lip until it bounced out of his fingers, his eyes never leaving hers. She remarked silently to herself that whenever they were together it was as if their eyes were magnets, unable to pull away from each other.
"So? Am I here or not?" He cocked an eyebrow at her teasingly. His hand still hung over the side of the tub, only a couple of inches away from her face.
She smiled dreamily at him, moving her face to the side to rub her dewy cheek against the back of his fingers. He didn't smile back, but turned his hand and ran his fingertips down the side of her neck, hooking them around a wet lock of her hair as he pulled away. Her eyes widened at this sudden gesture of affection, but then he stood and crossed back to his seat by the vanity.
She was coming out of her dream state now. He sat in silence, looking at her expectantly. She realized that he would probably leave in a few minutes, and a pang of disappointment rang through her. She didn't want him to go.
"You haven't killed anyone," she said matter-of-factly.
He raised an eyebrow in question.
"That day on TV, with the Batman impersonator. The day I got raped," she continued. She thought she saw him twitch a little at the word "rape", but she couldn't be sure. "You said you'd kill more people if the Batman didn't reveal his identity, and he hasn't. But you haven't killed anyone. Why?"
He studied her a moment. "I've been distracted."
"With what?" she asked, her heart beating a little faster. Does he mean me?
"Don't play dumb, little bird."
"I'm not."
He narrowed is eyes at her. His voice, which she realized had been close to normal for the whole of their conversation, regained its sardonic tone full-force. "I've been distracted because I've been keeping tabs on my little experiment with you. I just had to see how it played out. But not to worry, doll, people will die soon enough." His voice took a chilling note on the last sentence, and she sat up in the tub, drawing her knees up in front of her chest and wrapping her arms around them. But she had more questions.
"What's the deal with you and the Batman, anyway? Why are you doing this?"
"Because he's the only thing standing in between this city and chaos," he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes boring into hers, "and chaos, little bird, is my favorite word."
"Why do you call me that?" she asked, changing the subject.
He stared at her, but didn't answer. She looked down at her knees for a moment, shivering. The water in the tub was lukewarm at best, now.
"Joker?"
"Hmm?"
"Could you pass me my towel?"
He paused for a beat before standing up and sliding her white, fluffy towel out from under his jacket. He ambled over to the tub and held it out expectantly, remaining on his feet at his full height so that she would have to stand up out of the water to grab it from him. His eyes glinted with amusement as he looked down at her.
She kept her expression smooth as she stood from the tub, noting that his eyes never left hers. She felt a twinge of disappointment. She wanted him to look at her, she realized. She stood for a beat, waiting, but he was stubborn. He kept his gaze locked on hers. Finally, she pulled the towel out of his hand and wrapped it around herself as she stepped out of the tub and stood facing him. She hadn't noticed before how tall he was, because she was always wearing her heeled boots when she saw him. But now, naked and in her bare feet, she saw that he almost towered over her, with the top of her head barely reaching his collarbone.
"Are you going to leave now?" she asked.
"Just full of questions tonight, aren't we?"
"I wish you wouldn't," she said quietly, looking down at his hands, which she now noticed were both bare of gloves.
He hooked a forefinger under her chin.
"Careful what you wish for, doll."
And then he turned, grabbed his jacket and gloves off the chair, and strode gracefully out of the bathroom.
Salomé felt wide awake and restless after the Joker left. She wanted to get outside and walk, and she decided that since he had just left, he wouldn't be keeping tabs on her at this moment. She donned her Nightmoth outfit and slipped into the elevator, getting out at the loading dock exit instead of the parking lot. She would remain on foot so as to keep a lower profile.
She didn't go to Casey McMahon's, deciding instead to walk aimlessly through the alleyways. She didn't want to be near McMahon until she was fully recovered and ready to fight. In any case, she wasn't in the mood for spy-work tonight. She just wanted some air.
She walked at a leisurely pace, lost in thought about what the Joker had said. She wondered who he would kill, and she felt thankful that she was as close to him as she was. She was sure he wouldn't target either of her parents.
She had been walking for over an hour and had just crossed back into the Diamond District when an enormous, hard hand wrapped around her wrist and yanked her into a little dead-end alley that branched off from where she was walking. The brick slammed against her back and then she was looking up into the gorgeous and imposing face of the Batman, which was inches away from hers.
"Who are you?" he growled. His hand was still wrapped tight around her wrist, but it didn't hurt. She became hyper-aware of the fact that his muscled body was an inch away from hers- if she inhaled deeply, their chests would touch.
"Let go of me," she said. He ignored her.
"I just had a talk with Lieutenant Gordon about a new masked outlaw on the scene, who signed a note left at a murder last week. Know anything about that?"
She didn't answer.
"Let me help you out here. The victim was the very same guy you were watching the night we met-"
"No, the victim was his wife," she retorted, instinctively pushing herself off the wall in her anger and colliding with his hard chest. It felt warm and solid against her own soft, more fragile frame. She liked it. He was so tall that she had to crane her head back to look at him.
"-and the note was signed 'The Nightmoth'." She snapped her mouth closed at that, scowling up at him. She didn't move away, though, and neither did he. Her body was still against his.
"He was going to kill me." Her voice was quiet, and she looked down, almost bumping her forehead on his chest. "He had his hand around my throat, and I had no choice. He deserved worse."
He grabbed her jaw with his thumb and forefinger and firmly pulled it upwards, forcing her to look at him. "Who are you?" he asked again.
"You first," she replied smoothly.
"We aren't talking about me."
"We are now."
"Answer my question, Nightmoth."
"I will, gladly. Just as soon as you answer mine."
He growled in frustration, releasing her jaw and stepping back.
"Watch your back. I protected you today, but I might not always be able to." He turned to go, but she called out to him.
"Why did you?" she asked, stepping closer to him. "Protect me, I mean?"
He regarded her meaningfully. "I feel… connected to you somehow. Maybe because I think we have a lot in common."
"A lot in common? You're much more of a hero than I am," she said.
He continued to look at her, and made a growling noise deep in his throat.
"Stay out of trouble," he said. Then he walked out of the alley, turned a corner, and disappeared.
Hope you liked it! More coming soon :) Leave a review and let me know what you think.
xo nightmoth
