Spoiled

Blake had a pocket knife. He was gripping it with white knuckles when the sensation of strangling finally faded and I stopped thinking of the squirming roaches in the fluorescent lights overhead. He'd moved slightly away from me and I prayed that I hadn't hit him in my stupor. All of the tension in his body was dissolved save for the clenching of his hand. His eyes were closed and maybe if I knew him a little less I would believe he was truly asleep.

"You have a knife."

He turned his bloodless face toward me. He had moments left of consciousness, if that. "I want you to have it."

I crawled over to him. I cradled his sweaty head on my chest and thought hard. There was tightness in my face from dried tears. "No, you're going to keep it. And when he tries it again you're going to cut free and kill him."

"No…" he swallowed hard, "No, you should have it. You'll be closer to him."

I kissed his temple and crossed my legs to hide the blood on my inner thighs. "Too close. He'll see me try to get free, he'll feel the knife under my clothes. He pays too much attention to me… I want you to promise me something though, Robin. Are you listening?"

He nodded and felt a tear hit my wrist. He knew what was coming. "If you get away and I don't, I need you to run. I'll even fight him if you promise to run. You can't help me if you're in here."

His tears puddled down into the crook of my elbow. There was a long stretch of silence and I thought he'd finally passed out. The tension in his fist fell and I slid the knife securely into his back pocket. I thankfully succumbed to sleep, but not so soon that I missed the slight nod Blake issued against my chest.

There was much waiting to be done when I woke. I inspected Blake's thigh wounds, trying to be gentle in my movements as he was a distinctly light sleeper. He'd shrugged to put his head in my lap, fully curled into a fetal position. At some point in the night, his lapse in consciousness had turned into slumber. He was dreaming. His upper lip and forehead twinkled with perspiration, aided by the smothering heat in the room. His forehead perforated with concern in his sleep, his mouth slightly parted.

There were sounds of The Joker's men shuffling about outside, loud male voices booming. It occurred to me that, in my panic, I'd never checked if the door was locked. I lightly slid Blake's head onto the floor and achingly stood. I limped to the door and twisted the doorknob. I was not surprised to find it was locked and apparently bolted from the outside. I wondered how many lives had been bled dry in that room to necessitate a double-lock.

I'd only just shrugged away from the door when I heard the deadbolt slide. I backed away protectively over Blake. "Wake up."

I couldn't spare half a moment to see if he responded to my request. I expected to see The Joker step through the door, back to torment us. Instead, I was met with one of the men who'd dragged Blake in yesterday. The one who so diligently sought my eyes.

He held a tray with a large plate of what looked to be rice and beans. He hadn't shut the door behind him. He seemed entirely unconcerned with our ability to escape.

I assumed from the scratch of fabric on fabric and the subtle but distinct click of a pocket knife that Blake was standing and made the same decision that I had.

I moved first. I dove and smacked the tray up toward his face before kneeing him hard in the balls. The man hefted halfway to the ground, tan face covered in food and shock. Blake issued an impressively precise hit to the edge of the man's jaw with the butt of the knife and the man went completely slack. The plate clattered loudly to the floor with him. He didn't even have time to scream.

To the chorus of the plate slowly rotating to eventual stillness, we flipped his body away from the door. I snatched the mostly-clean fork from the ground, as there was no better weapon in sight or in the man's pockets. My main and most potent objective was to get Blake away from here.

I put a hand on Blake's chest when he reached emphatically for the door handle. I slid my head a bit out of the crevice. The warehouse was awash with light. It was midday. The massive room was thankfully devoid of men, the voices concentrated to the most extreme corners. I hadn't noticed before, but what appeared to be tens of towering shelves formed the entire right half of the room. I didn't have much time to investigate, however, before Blake's patience reached its limit. His hand snatched mine and we stumbled along the only available route to the door. The north-facing wall was loosely covered in newspaper which offered privacy if little reprieve from the sun's rays.

We were both uncharacteristically slow thanks to our injuries. I felt completely and entirely naked, ready to feel the bite of a bullet in my back at any moment. Our feet made loud scuffs on the gritty cement beneath us. There was no change in tone or volume of men's business-like murmurs. It was out of luck and luck alone that no one had spotted us at first as we shuffled through the middle of the warehouse.

It took a painfully long amount of time for us to get halfway there. I was able to see the Gotham sky through the peeling corners of the newspaper on the windows; it was raining despite itself. I felt the beginnings of hope bubble up in my throat at the relative silence to my back. While the room was massive and our footfalls staggering, it looked to me as though we could actually make it. I half-sobbed, half-giggled, clutching Blake despite the pain that radiated from my every limb. Blake didn't look as convinced as I did.

When we were about three-quarters the way there, the screams first came and my hope fell heavily, "Fuck! The girl!"

I didn't look back, but I saw Blake's reaction when he did. His jaw clenched and he snapped his face forward. "Move!"

Impossibly, I pushed myself harder. Feet shuffled and men yelled. I heard and felt guns centered on my back within seconds and wondered for a suspended second if I was taking my last breath.

Another voice sliced through the cacophony as only it could, "Miss Blazeyyy you're not going to make me shoot your friend, are you? I have so many more fun games planned for him!"

I yanked Blake in front of me so he was shielded by my body. Feet were drawing closer and I couldn't hold back a cry of frustration. We were steps from the door. An ill-timed glance behind me showed The Joker running full-speed in my direction, led by two of his armed men. They were no less than a hundred feet back but gaining quickly.

I splayed my palm between Blake's muscular, pale shoulder blades. There was a consuming sadness blooming in place of the hope I felt moments before. There was the distinct possibility that both of us would not escape.

"Remember what you promised me!"

He looked back and clenched my hand around something metallic just as he crashed into the door. The door was mercifully unlocked and Blake all-but fell through it. His arms pumped at his sides, his energy apparently renewed by the bright Gotham day, which spit thin raindrops on us. He was growing farther away from me.

I was barely out of the threshold when a fleshy weight flung itself upon me from the side. I collided hard with the cement, feeling it lift the top few layers of skin on my right forearm and thigh. I blindly sunk my fork deep into my assailant. I felt more than heard his scream as he pushed himself away from me. I used the nearest wall for support to stand.

The item that Blake had clenched my hand around moments before was at my feet, knocked from my fist by the impact of the hit. It was Blake's pocket knife. I caught his bright eyes as I straightened up from retrieving it. Blake was frozen, hesitating behind the bricks of the building at the end of the block. Though he was far, I knew his face well enough to see the redness around his eyes, the pain in the set of his mouth. He didn't want to leave me though I doubted very much that someone as street savvy and well-trained as Blake would be found by even career criminals.

"Run!" I screamed over the groans of the man at my feet. I saw that I'd managed to sink the fork into my assailant's ribs.

That's all it took from me for him to disappear behind the corner. He was gone. I swallowed against the finality of it. I grit my teeth and willed my energy on getting myself as far as possible from the warehouse. I'd already lost half of my lead. I barely got behind the silver sedan parked across the street when I heard the heavy footfalls of The Joker and his men leaving the warehouse.

I fell immediately to my knees behind the silver sedan upon hearing the shuffling of feet. With some effort, I rolled myself beneath the car. I knew I was biding my time until he found me, but every moment The Joker spent looking for me he wasn't looking for Blake.

"I know, she's mine," The Joker intoned just loud enough for me to hear.

I folded my arms across my chest, glaring up at the sedan's grimy undercarriage. I tried to hush my exasperated breathing. I couldn't be sure, but I thought I heard footfalls fan out in both ways down the street.

And then there was another stream of scuffs growing louder. I couldn't keep myself from peeking. A pair of brown shoes with the same patterned green socks as yesterday walked heel-to-toe around the bumper of a car across the street. "Come on, cupcake. If you come out right now, I'll pretend like I'm surprised and I didn't already know where you're hiding."

I squeezed my eyes shut tightly together. My hand was clenched hard around the opened knife. His steps were agonizingly slow, no more than ten feet to my right.

"I mean, I know you grew up in a foster home but I'd think you played hide-and-seek at least once before. This is pitiful, sweetling."

Rain misted across my face as the wind lightly buffeted. I refused to answer, hoping against hope that he was bluffing when he said he knew where I was.

His feet stopped inches away from my cheek. He sighed when my panicked breath was my only response. There was the click of a pocket knife being unsheathed and dull thunk that I couldn't make sense of. Until, that was, the tire closest to my feet sunk with a low whoosh of air. The underbelly of the car was inches from my nose. He was slashing the tires.

"Blazzzeeyyy, my offer is expiring. You can still come out."

I watched his feet with dread as they drawled toward my head. Another thunk, another low whoosh. The underbelly was practically touching my face now.

I jumped into movement without really thinking but I was not about to let him taunt me any further. I slashed at the scuffed brown shoe inches from my face. The Joker was already stepping back, allowing my knife to only slice through the leather toe. His other foot slapped down on the pavement where my extended hand was microseconds before. He didn't manage to stomp on my hand, however a short glinting blade materialized from the sole of the shoe.

"Oh, almost got me there!"

I crawled between the underside of the car and the curb on the opposite side of the car before he could stab me. I limped my way into a nearby alley. There was a narrow dark green door at the end of the brightly-lit alley, which I soon saw to be a dead end. The alley was clogged with two massive dumpsters, between which I could barely fit. The stench of heat-baked garbage only amplified my terror as I shuffled toward the door. I felt more than heard The Joker behind me.

It only took about fifteen steps for me to reach the end of the alley. I thankfully fell against the door and twisted the doorknob. It was locked. Of course it was.

He was behind me. I pressed my forehead to the cool metal of the door in defeat, feeling my forehead slick with sweat and rain. His breath washed down on the top of my head. I considered using the knife against him, but I knew my chances of actually sinking it into him while he was anticipating an attack were unlikely at best.

"Do you have any idea what it does to me when you run?" At the last word, I felt his chest press into my back lightly. The cool underside of his forearms touched me as he planted his hands on either side of my head. His smell mixed with the smell of the alley.

I pressed my eyes into my arm as hard as I possibly could. He punched the metal near my head and succeeded in making me jump, though not turn around. Hard fingers snatched my jaw and flipped me around after a long moment. I hid the open knife behind my thigh as I rotated to face him. His makeup looked stark and freshly applied compared to its faded glory last night.

"Awww," he laughingly taunted as though I was an angry kitten when I scowled at him. His voice was disturbingly emphatic as always. "You look like you just crawled out of a grave, cupcake. Is it fucked up that I prefer you when you're all grimy and beaten than when you're all dolled up and beaten?"

I tried to look as though I'd given up. I glared down at his toes, trying to look as docile as possible, as he went in on me. His nails dragged raggedly up my leg and he thumbed the scar on my lip. His thumb pressed against my teeth, seeking access into my mouth. "What do you think, sweetling, should I fuck you into the wall of a dirty alley or into the floor of a dirty warehouse? I'm a gentleman, so I'll let you choose."

I could hold back no longer. I was quick and precise, if slightly telegraphed. I was aiming for his unevenly white throat, partially exposed by his high patterned collar. He jolted away from me and rather than a slice to his neck a slice appeared on his sternum. I didn't have time to assess how deep I'd managed to cut him before I was twisted in hard arms. His fingers were an iron cage around mine, trying to squeeze the knife from my fingers. I felt his blood saturate my back. I struggled to maintain my hold on the knife handle.

"Did I ever tell you how much I really, really like those little tiny black shorts you girls wear?"

"Boss!" A henchman thankfully interrupted. "We couldn't find him."

The Joker's hard sigh washed across my hair. I couldn't tell if he was more upset about being interrupted from roughing me up or his men's failure to retrieve Blake. Either way, I gave him another thing to be upset about when I erupted into manic laughter.

"He got away! He got away, you fuck! He's gunna kill you!" The Joker's good mood was spoiled by my mirth. He ripped the knife from my hand and tucked me under his arm like a football. My involuntary giggles were reaching an almost Joker-level of intensity. "You have nothing over me now, asshole! I got him away! I got him away and it was fucking easy!"

I laughed even harder when I saw the rice still caught to the front of the beat up man's shirt and the glare on his bruised face. All of those big, strong men couldn't keep me from doing what I had to do even when I was injured and shaken. It was funny, really.

I laughed and shrieked all the way across the street, all the way behind the warehouse, even when The Joker was issuing clippy orders to several of his men, even when The Joker plopped me down in the passenger's seat of a car. I stopped abruptly, however, when I noted the slumped, balding form in the backseat.

The Joker fell into the driver's side of the car. He tried to look nonchalant as he fired up the car. He seemed to be waiting for me to ask about the passenger. I could only stare as the wild relief in me turned to dread. Cold fingers cupped my chin and rotated my horror-stricken face. I knew who it was seated behind me, though the head was flipped down to his chest and his face hidden. It was The Joker's surprise, as promised to me last night.

"What's wrong, princess? Not up for a little family reunion?"