Treaty

Somehow, I knew Batman would get my signal. Admittedly it did take most of the night for him to show, but I knew I could capture his attention. I knew he'd come.

I'm on the rooftop where Dad took me that night when they sent him back to Arkham. I figured this would be the most obvious place, what with what happened last time and the fact that this building is right in front of Arkham's front gates. In the building below my feet there is an abandoned apartment with a large window facing the walls of Arkham Asylum. It's been abandoned for as long as I can remember. It was the window that captured my attention when I started thinking of how I could contact Batman.

It's been five days since Dad killed that queen in front of me. There's been a killing every night since; each one dead outside a bar with a Glasgow smile cut into their faces. It got to Tuesday before I made the definitive decision to play his game. I've got no choice. Not anymore.

Tuesday night I stole a spotlight from a hardware store near Aparo Park in Old Gotham. I used an old permanent marker I had in the apartment to draw a bat logo on the globe and then I broke into the abandoned apartment. I practiced shining the light through the window, aiming the spotlight so the beam hit the dead centre of the heavy metal gates. Wednesday was spent thinking of what I would tell Batman. I'd brushed him off two times already and I was pretty sure that he knew I was the Joker's son. Whatever I came up with, it had to be damn good for him to even consider listening to me.

And tonight. Tonight was the night. I got here early, just as the sun was setting. I knew that from now on it would all be a waiting game. I snuck back into the abandoned apartment and plugged the spotlight in before climbing back up to the roof and sitting on the edge, watching the walls of Arkham Asylum and my fake Bat signal.

I watched the moon climb higher and higher amongst the dark storm clouds as the night wore on. My signal seemed dim in comparison with the brightness of the numerous streetlights but I knew it had been seen. I'd seen people stop and look. Three patrol cars have passed the gates, driving slower as they neared the light. It's been seen.

The time passes slowly. My watch was stolen a couple of weeks ago and I haven't got round to getting a new one so I have no idea what the time is. It just feels like a heck of a long time. I'm yawning a lot though, so it must be early in the morning. I slide back from the edge just a bit; a precaution in case I fall asleep and go over the edge. That would not be a pretty landing.

"What do you want?"

I freeze in mid-yawn. I close my mouth and lower my hand before I turn around and get to my feet. Batman glares at me, apparently unamused.

"Gimmie a sec," I mutter as I head for the door to the building. "I'm just gonna turn it off." He moves to block my exit. Now it is my turn to glare, unamused. "I spent all night trying to get in contact with you. I'm not about to run off. I just want to turn off that night in case it gets any more attention. The police are after your Bat-ass, after all." I push past him and run for the apartment where I turn off the light and pack it up to take it with me as I head back up to the roof.

He's standing motionless as I emerge onto the dark rooftop. As he hears my footsteps he snaps his head around and, with a small jerk of his head, orders me to move faster. I leave the spotlight near the door and comply with his order, running across the roof to a spot just in front of where he's standing. He turns his head to look me directly in the eye. I wilt, casting my eyes down. He's really not impressed and I am so afraid of him right now.

"What do you want?" He growls for the second time.

My heart skips a beat before I remember that he's not Dad, before I remember that he's not going to strike me or try to cut me. It makes me stand a little taller. "I need your help."

He gives away next to nothing of his emotions but even I can tell that he's a little taken aback at what I've just said. He covers in a split second and the expression is lost behind his blank face. "Why?"

I swallow, my Adam's apple feeling like a rock lodged in my windpipe, making it impossible to draw a deep breath. "The Joker's going to kill me," I mumble. "Him and Quinn. They're after me. He hates me, he wants me dead."

"I'm not a bodyguard," he growls and turns to leave.

"Wait!" The strangled cry catches in my throat and I forget everything I was planning on saying. He stops walking but doesn't look at me. "I'll tell you everything. Everything you want to know," I plead. He looks at me over his shoulder. I hug myself against the cold breeze to keep myself from trembling. "Just... please help me."

Suddenly there is a crack of thunder and the heavens open, the rain coming down in buckets. I watch him through the mist of rain, his cape billowing slightly in the small breeze. "What do I want to know?"

I'm panting as I stare at him, trying desperately to think of the right answer. We're writing up verbal contracts and we both know it. "Everything. Anything. Ask me a question and if I know it, the answer's yours. I'll sell him out if only you'll just help me."

He takes a few steps towards me and I look up to meet his gaze. "And what do you want from me?"

"I just want you to catch him." He gives me a strange look. I wipe a strand of wet hair out of my eyes before I continue. "I just want you to catch him and Quinn before they get me. You've gotta get Quinn too. She's been helping him escape for ages, I'm sure of it. That time, before Quinzel became Quinn, when he brought me here and let you catch him, you must've seen it, he just stopped fighting, he just wanted to know you were still out there, it was all just so he could get back into Arkham. It's all part of his plan."

"I know all that." His tone makes me hang my head. "You're wasting my time."

My head snaps up. "I can give you one good reason to stay and help me." He says nothing. I take a deep breath and sigh. "The Joker is my father." It feels strangely satisfying to say those words aloud. And, for the briefest of moments, I can see a small smirk on Batman's lips that vanishes the instant it appears. With my doubts confirmed, I hang my head, defeated, and wait for him to say something.

"I know."

"You just needed me to confirm it."

"Yes."

My frustration overflows. "You bastard," I mutter. "You bastard!" I say again, yelling as I bring my head up with a snap. My fist dives into my pocket, enclosing the small handle of the switchblade that I stole from Dad's room all those weeks ago. "You played me, you bastard!" I take a few angry steps towards him, yanking my fist from my pocket and drawing the blade. I try to thrust the small blade between the plates of his suit and he grabs my wrist, twisting it painfully until I have to drop the knife. Numbly I draw my fist back and punch his stomach, willing my fists to make contact with soft flesh instead of the hard, unyielding plates. He lets me go until I can't take the stinging pain of my knuckles any longer. A gloved hand clamps down on my fist as I pull it back to take one final swing. I stop, panting and soaked to the skin, to glare up him. He drops my hand and I let it fall to my side. Something unspoken passes between us; I don't think I could explain it if I tried. I exhale slowly, ignoring the water dripping into my eyes. I feel defeated. Beaten. Dad's won. Batman's won. And what hope did I ever have in the first place? "What..." I sigh. "What do you want to know?"

"What is his plan?"

"I don't really know." I hesitate, rubbing my nose with the back of my hand. "They've all been drag queens. And... He hates that I... do a drag act. I, I think he's going to try to get them all, one by one, 'til it's just me. And then I think he's going to kill me."

He nods once, a short, sharp movement. "I'll need names, locations."

"I can write you a list."

"Bring it here tomorrow night." He turns to leave and, this time, I make no effort to stop him. He crosses the roof before he turns to look at me again. "If you cross me or waste my time, you will not like what will happen to you."

I shake my head, clutching my arms close to my chest. "I won't. I wouldn't."

He looks at me for a moment longer before he leaps off the roof. I run across to where he leapt from in time to see him get on that bike of his and ride away. I hope he gets back to wherever he comes from without the police catching him. They say they haven't seen him in years. I hope it stays that way, if only for a little while longer. I remain motionless for a while, letting the rain run down my face and back. When I start to shiver, I walk over to where I left the spotlight and pick it up, then head down the fire escape stairs.

The rain eases a bit as I make the short walk back to the apartment, but the wind has started to pick up and, as I'm completely drenched, I start to tremble violently as the biting wind seems to make the temperature drop quickly. Despite my exhaustion, I run the remaining distance in a desperate attempt to escape the cold.

Inside the apartment feels no warmer than outside. But there is a reason for that.

I stand frozen as I stare at the gaping hole in the glass of my window as the rain shoots in and the ratty old curtains whirl wildly in the breeze. The brick that made the hole is lying about a foot away from my bed, partially wrapped in an old piece of newspaper tied to it with brown string. Glass is all over the floor.

Treading gingerly across the floor, I pick up the brick and loosen the string, leaving the brick on the floor and taking the newspaper. Pulling the blanket off my bed, I take it and the newspaper to the living room where it is slightly warmer. Wrapping the blanket around myself, I sit on the sofa and smooth out the newspaper. I always knew it was from Dad; I'm not stupid. The newspaper opens to the obituary page on which Dad has scrawled death threats and 'jokes', literally covering the paper in his writing except for a brief notice remembering the loss of six drag queens. Scowling, I toss the paper away and wrap myself up tighter in the blanket, shivering against the cold. The night passes slowly before I manage to drift to sleep.