Merry Christmas! Ha! I did say I'd have a chapter in by Xmas day, didn't I? Didn't I?

I get overly excited for Christmas…when really I should not x_x

Despite this I still have my "Chanukah" tree (note: sarcasm)


Chapter Eight

Jack


I want my food dead. Not sick, not dying, dead.

-Oscar Wilde


I stared blankly up at the ceiling, my head hanging carelessly over the side of the Joker's bed. I noted dismally the rips and tears in the browning wallpaper, but I couldn't really bring myself to care that the ceiling could collapse and crash down on me at any given moment.

I was beyond caring.

On the outside, I may have looked emotionless, bored. But on the inside, my mind was a swirl of frantic emotions. I felt betrayed, hurt, angry. How long had Harvey kept this a secret from me? That he was the Batman? Why had he kept it a secret from me? I had always assumed that we were two peas in a pod – him and I.

Obviously not, my mind spat back at me, furiously. Really, I should have been angry at the Joker, for showing me that. This was what he wanted, wasn't? He wanted me to start distrusting my brother. I knew what he was doing – I wasn't an idiot. He wanted to create a divide between me and Harvey.

I wouldn't allow that. The Joker would not tear us apart. Sure, I felt broken and betrayed, angry at my own brother for lying – but I could learn to live with it. I could learn to live with his secret. The Joker had gotten what he wanted – temporarily – but I was strong. He would not make me fall into any kind of crazy depression, or make me hate my brother.

A smile wormed itself onto my face. Yes, I was strong. Harvey and I were strong. Any obstacle we faced, we would overcome it. We always had, even before our parents' death. Even when father beat us every night and –

No.

I stopped myself right there. Thinking about those nights wouldn't bring me any justice. With a ragged sigh, I got up from the bed, and stretched. As I did, a loud frightening growl ripped through the silent room, penetrating the quiet atmosphere instantly.

I was scared for half a second, before realising, with a smack to my forehead, that it was my stomach making the rumblies.

Really, it was a surprise I had even made it alive to this point. Most people in my situation would have died or something by now – but by sheer luck I was alive. I definitely wasn't one of those brave heroines who kicked the villain's ass and saved the day. I was one of those forgotten cowards who ran away at the opportune moment.

I wouldn't have even really given myself the title 'sidekick' – because sidekicks required bravery, which I certainly did not have.

My stomach growled again, reminding me that I hadn't eaten in quite a long while. I'd really been too occupied in saving my own behind. If it was Harvey locked up in this stuffy old room, he'd be making plans to find out as much he could about the Joker and his lackeys. Food would be the last thing on his mind.


Obviously the Joker was too preoccupied with creating havoc on this fine evening, because when I creeped out the bedroom, he was nowhere in sight – aside from the odd lackey dotted about the room. Apparently, luck was not on my side today, because a goon noticed me the moment I stepped out the door.

"What are you up to?" He grumbled suspiciously, raising his head from a crumpled newspaper. I straightened up and smiled nervously.

"Food," I answered, pointing a thumb in the general direction of the kitchen. The goon narrowed his eyes, and stood up, his posture defensive. I rolled my eyes. What did he expect me to do? Claw his eyes out?

"How did you get out?" He asked me, warily. I pursed my lips at his stupidity.

"The door was unlocked," I replied nonchalantly. The goon looked like he wanted to say something about that, but I beat him to it. "The Joker probably knew I'd get hungry at some point, and left it open." I said quickly. My stomach rumbled again.

The goon seemed to contemplate this for a few moments. "But he told us to make sure you didn't leave his room," He said, crossing his beefy arms. I grimaced.

"All I want is some food," I whined like a child, clutching my stomach. I noticed a subtle flinch in his posture. Ahh – time to use that to my advantage. I widened my eyes innocently and stuck out my bottom lip – this always worked on Harvey. He was the biggest suck-up for puppy-dog faces…

"Please?" I whispered, fluttering my eyelashes for extra effect. "I'm really, really hungry." The goon hadn't quite melted yet, but his eyes had softened considerably. He was on the borderline to becoming mush (bwahaha).

"Well, um, why don't you go back into the room?" The goon suggested, looking extremely awkward. "I'll bring something in for you. That way we both won't get in trouble if the boss comes back."

I internally applauded his efforts on compromising, but I was a stubborn bitch.

I let my eyes shine over with a fresh coat of tears, allowing my bottom lip to quiver at the same time. Oh yeah. He'd crumble and fall to pieces now. I was doubly sure of myself. The goon did look like he was about to cave.

"I can make her something," A deep, husky voice interrupted us. I forced myself not to hiss in frustration. The goon immediately snapped out of it. He swivelled round to face the talker. "Just go back to your reading," The voice continued, mockingly.

The goon tensed up in surprised annoyance. "How the hell did you get out, too?" He muttered. "Did the boss leave every hostage's door open?"

I peered round the goon's frame to see a man, who looked maybe around Harvey's age – mid-twenties or so. I would be lying if I said he wasn't handsome. He was tall, lean and tanned – three perfect traits combined. There was no mistaking the lovely six-pack through that tight black shirt of his, and his well-defined biceps.

The man had a sharp, cutting jaw and high cheekbones, giving him a distinct, clear look. His scrupulous features would have made any other man look intimidating, but his soft brown eyes made him seem nicer, friendlier. He had dark blonde hair, which hung around his face in messy, sandy tendrils.

The handsome stranger's ruby red lips stretched up his tanned face when he saw my head peeking round the goon's body. He winked at me surreptitiously, before addressing the none-too-pleased goon.

"I can cook," He continued, his voice still a deep tone. He was a few inches taller than the muscled goon, allowing him to look down upon the man. I watched him smirk; obviously knowing himself the advantage this gave him. The goon did look more than ruffled.

"How did you get out?" The goon repeated, reaching for a gun at his waist. The man rolled his eyes, looking unsurprised at this turn of events. I narrowed my eyes at this devilishly pretty stranger. Was he asking to be shot? I'd abandon the cockiness in a heartbeat to save my own hide.

I heard a grunt from the ripped couches, and an older looking goon paced over to us. He laid a hand on the younger goon's shoulder, and shook his head. This, thankfully, stopped him from potentially blasting the handsome guy's brains all over the wallpaper in nice messy splodges.

"It's fine. The Joker allows him to walk about," The older goon grunted, and my raised my eyebrows in surprise. The Joker let one of his hostages walk about? Those two must have been pretty tight-knit, then. Maybe this guy developed a bad case of Stockholm syndrome. But, then again…with the Joker? Ew.

I mentally chided myself. Why did I think of these kinds of things?!

"He's a hostage," The goon with the gun said, exasperated. "He could escape!"

"I wouldn't really call him a hostage," The older guy muttered, glancing over at the handsome guy – whose smirk widened indefinitely when we looked over at him. "He's been here so long, he's more like a…um…"

"Reluctant guest?" I offered dryly from behind the goon's back. Handsome guy peered over his shoulder at me and grinned, showing off his pearly whites. I almost swooned. Almost.

"Uh, sure. Yeah. Reluctant guest, whatever," The older goon waved his hand in dismissal. "Just don't shoot a bullet through his head if you do see the kid about. Boss is pretty fond of him." Then he trudged off to do whatever a goon does at this hour.

The younger goon sighed. "Go make the girl some food then," He mumbled. Handsome guy just watched him, a wide grin on his face. Creepy.

Younger goon made a face. "Can you, um, not stare at me like that, kid?" He asked, narrowing his eyes. "It's kinda unnerving."

"Then don't stare back," Handsome guy returned, his brown eyes alight with mischief. He watched him like a hawk. "Then it won't be as…unnerving."

Both guys stood there, one of them unnecessarily staring, the other swaying about awkwardly, trying and failing to avoid the unnecessary staring.

I rolled my eyes, sighing. Feh.

I decided to go to the kitchen myself. Honestly, men and their testosterone-fuelled stare-downs. However, before I passed them, a nice, muscly arm shot out in front of me, blocking my way. I looked back into the tanned face of the smirking handsome guy. I arched my brows challengingly.

"I said I would cook for you," He told me. Was that arrogance I heard in his tone? Well.

I crossed my arms, my eyes narrowed to slits. "I can very well cook myself, thank you very much." Handsome guy roved his gaze down me then up again, before grinning slyly at me. My jaw dropped. The nerve!

I raised my hand to slap him, but he caught my hand before I could hear that satisfying smack. He raised a blonde eyebrow.

"No need to get angry," He said huskily. My lips thinned. I switched my gaze over to the side – but the young, awkward goon had fled the scene. Handsome guy's fingers laced through mine, and he started pulling me towards the kitchen.

"What are you going to cook?" I muttered, defeated. Just give me food! He led me over to a stool and shoved me down onto it. Hm, what a gentlemen. I watched him as he flittered about the tiny kitchen, retrieving a wok (who knew the Joker kept a wok?) and several packets of ingredients from the fridge.

He didn't answer me as he worked, but I had a pretty good idea of what he was making. "Stir-fry?" I tried. He grunted something unintelligible. I sighed, choosing to keep quiet instead. Guess he wasn't much of a talker. Shame – the ladies would be falling at his feet.

I snorted. Not me, I thought smugly.

It was only later when the sounds of sizzling chicken and rice and the wonderful aroma of stir-fry could be smelt that he spoke.

"My name is Jack," He told me, turning round with a plate in his hand. He put two plates down on the table, one for me and one for him. I'll admit that it looked delicious.

"Nice to meet you, Jack," I replied, lifting my eyes to peer at him. I was a little disturbed to see that his eyes were boring into me. His gaze was pretty intense, so much so, it made his eyes seem darker.

I looked away first, picking up my fork as I did so. But I still felt his burning stare.

I cleared my throat. "Thanks for this," I told him, opting not to look up. The younger goon was right – his stare was unnerving. Especially if the full force of it was trained on you.

"No problem," Jack replied, his deep voice just a tad softer. I was about to dig in to this amazing dish – to let my tastebuds soar with happiness – but his hand shout out again to lock around my wrist. I growled and glared up at his forehead.

I only realised a few seconds later that he was chuckling. My God, that chuckle was sexy.

No, no! Bad Abby! Bad girl!

"You can look at me, you know," Jack teased, laughing lightly. I huffed, letting my gaze drop down. His eyes were lighter now, not as creepy. I frowned at him, and tried to pull my hand away. His grip just tightened.

"What?" I asked distastefully. Jack just grinned at my annoyance.

"Aren't you going to say grace?"

"What?" I repeated dumbly. Jack rolled his eyes.

"To say grace. Bless this meal." My mouth must have resembled a very embarrassing O-shape, because he was laughing again.

"Er, right. Yeah." I used to say grace before meal times with my family – but that was before my mother and father died. Harvey and I lost faith after that. It was oddly nostalgic. Though times back then were pretty rough for Harvey and me – it was one of the better memories. Jack removed his hand after that, and he clasped his hands together. I followed.

After saying grace, Jack (finally) let me eat. It was a good thing to, because my stomach sounded like an angry lion on a rampage. I think Jack could hear it, judging by the wide, arrogant smirk on his face. Jeez.

"I think you should go back to your room, now," Jack said after we had finished. "The Joker is coming back soon."

I set my fork down. "How do you know?" I sighed, rubbing my full stomach. Jack shrugged, an odd glint in his eye.

"I just do," He replied mysteriously. Ugh. He was staring at me creepily again.

"Right-o," I said nervously. Anything to get away from that god awful stare. "Nice to meet you Jack," I told him again, walking back towards my temporary (but comfortable) prison.

"Nice to meet you too, Abigail," I heard him say back.

It wasn't until much, much later – that I wondered how he had known my name when I had never told him it.


P.S. – I'm still laughing my ass off at that quote xD

P.S.S – MERRY CHRISTMAS:)

P.S.S. S – Never try to edit stories at quarter to eleven at night, because they will resemble a form of gibberish (maybe that's just me? Haha).