I am SO SO sorry with how long this has taken me. Some of you would remember that I mentioned I am in my final year of school, and let me tell you, it is HECTIC. I am now into the first few days of my holidays and have been writing furiously to get this out as quickly as possible. If you ever want to know where I am on a story if it's been a while since an update, I often post on my profile saying if I'm halfway through/unable to write etc etc, so check that if it has been a while since I updated. That being said, enjoy :)

10

Bells was breathing heavily and looking at the bodies slumped around her, feeling cold. Her ears were ringing from the blast of the gunshots, and the leftover adrenaline in her system caused her hands to shake. She turned slowly and saw the Joker in the doorway, the purple leather of his gloves distorting the sharp sound of his clapping. His clothes were rumpled, as if he'd been sleeping. Bells' eyes narrowed, and, holding the gun in one hand, she tore of the gag with the other.

'You were there the whole time?!' she snarled, swinging the gun up to point it at him. The Joker grinned at her.

'You didn't need my help. You did so well on your own,' he said, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Bells looked down at the gun in her hands, and lowered it. She had done well. She'd been bound and gagged but still had managed to kill all four of her attackers. A savage grin came over her face and the Joker noted it curiously, cocking his head to the side. He crossed the room, pulling a switchblade out of his pocket as he did so, and came to a stop in front of her. Bells saw his gaze slide leisurely down her naked body, but she didn't blush or try to hide. There was no need for that; there was no shame in nakedness, she decided now. It pleased her that the Joker seemed to find her desirable. He cut through the binding on her wrists, the shape blade sliding through the leather like butter, and Isabelle worked feeling back into her fingers. There was a small spatter of blood on her thigh, and she looked at it cautiously, waiting for the nausea to hit. She didn't feel sick, even with the metallic scent of the blood as it permeated the air. She felt calm. She knew logically what she had done, but couldn't feel any of what she knew any sane person would be feeling. Bells felt… victorious. There was no other way of putting it. She admitted to herself that if this was ever taken to court (she seriously doubted it) she could file for self-defence.

Bells frowned. There was no guilt. Perhaps she had just become accustomed to the violent way of life she had found herself in. It wasn't a bad thing really. After all, that's all evolution was; adapting to ones surroundings. She was adapting, so what? In this way of life, you adapt or you die. Bells eyed the bodies lying haphazardly on the floor. Weak, that's what they were. It was natural selection at play, weeding the weak from the herd.

'Weak,' Bells said out loud, voicing the thought.

The Joker looked at the men.

'Yes,' he agreed. 'Sheep flocking to their shepherd.'

He grinned suddenly, manically, and Bells grinned back, showing all of her teeth.

'I'm Bo Peep,' she giggled.

He tilted his head to the side, as if amused, and motioned her to follow. Bells dropped the gun to the floor with a metallic thunk. Stepping over her ruined clothes – she had no need of them now – she followed him out of the doorway. She couldn't help but notice the way in which his peroxide hair caressed the back of his neck. She longed to touch it, to pull it, to twist it in her fingers. Bells restrained herself from reaching out. She wasn't crazy, after all.

They were walking down the hallway when the first of the men cautiously looked out of the door of the living room, wakened by the gunshots. Bells revelled in the widened eyes as they took in her naked, blood splattered form. She flashed a wink to Sly, who was unable to keep his eyes off her breasts as she walked past him.

'Nice lookin' Bells!' called one of the men, Cur, she thought, from the doorway. Bells barely had time to smirk at him before the Joker flew around, knocking her against the wall in the process, drew a knife and slit Cur's throat. Bells bit back a yelp, and looked in fascination as blood spurted out of the thin cut, pulsing with his fading heartbeat. Cur's knees hit the floor, and he fell face forward onto the cement floor, his blood pooling and nibbling at Bells' toes. She dipped her big toe in cautiously, noting its warmth. She had never seen the Joker react in that way before, defensively, as if he was… protective? Of her? She looked up, and met his gaze. His eyes were narrowed, and his breathing was heavy. Was it her having making him have his reaction?

Without a word, he pushed past her, strode into his office, slamming the door behind him. Bells looked after him, deep in thought. Was it possible? Absent-mindedly, she reached up to touch the scar that marred the side of her face, and then her lips.

'Ow!' Bells protested, pushing Sly away. The box of bandages he had been holding skittered onto the floor, and he looked at it with an amused sigh.

'Let me see it,' he said gently, pushing up her bloodied sleeve. A long cut marred her from shoulder to elbow – another one of the Joker's gifts in training. It oozed blood, and Bells followed its progress down her forearm with an interested murmur. Sly retrieved the roll of bandage and began wrapping it carefully up her arm, Bells deep in thought. The Joker was often on her mind nowadays. In the time before him, Bells would never have admitted her crush to Simon. Now, though, how could she think it was shameful to have sexual desire? She had seen sexual desire in many forms since her capture; there was nothing wrong about it. Bells was perfectly comfortable to admit her desire for the Joker… And perhaps he desired her? His actions the past few days seemed to demonstrate this. In training that day he had been harsh; harsher than he had been in a while, and moved with recklessness about him that seemed all the more dangerous. Bells had even managed to get a cut in, plunging the little knife into the web between his thumb and finger while he was distracted. That worried her, though. The Joker was never distracted. He went about his work with a single-minded determination that was at times frightening. He didn't get distracted. And what was he distracted by? Bells couldn't help but notice that it was her breasts he was looking at before she landed the knife. He had given a little start, and slowly pulled the knife out, looking at her all the time. She was so confused with his nonchalant reaction that she didn't realise when his hand whipped out, and she didn't have time to react when he cut a vicious line up her arm, their blood intermingling in her wound. He threw the knife down at her feet and stalked out of the room, while Sly ran to get medical supplies.

Sly. Now he was obvious. He did nothing to hide his feelings for her. Bells often caught him looking at her, and she found she quite enjoyed it. He was easier then the Joker. The Joker was a dangerous man to desire. One could never quite figure him out. Bells looked at Sly, carefully tying off the end of the bandage, the concentration on his face so endearing. Perhaps?

Anything to get her mind off the Joker.

Forgetting the deep cut on her arm, Bells drew herself up to Sly, looking into his flecked brown eyes. He blinked uncertainly as she trailed her hand up his arm.

'Bells,' he croaked, his voice raspy, 'What…'

'Shh,' she whispered into his ear, enjoying the way it made him shiver. She could feel the control she craved; it was pleasing to realise that she could control as well with her body as with a gun.

'I've seen you looking at me,' she said, wrapping one hand into his long hair, briefly imagining it was the Joker's.

Snap out of it.

Bells could hear Sly's breath quickening, and she felt her own pulse quickening in return. This was safer, she decided. Sly was safer. She could pretend he was the Joker. This was the safe course.

Safe.

Before she could think any further, Bells pressed her lips to Sly's. He responded immediately, drawing her legs over his hips. Straddling him, she plunged her tongue into his mouth, coiling her fingers further into his hair. She could feel his erection through her tight jeans, and she ground into him, making him groan in pleasure. He pulled her closer, crushing her breasts into his chest, and she gasped as his hands found her hair, pulling down hard and exposing her neck. His lips left hers and she cried out in loss, but he found her neck and she panted in pleasure at his expertise, sucking behind her ear and sending sparks of pleasure into her core. Her nerves endings were on fire, and her fingertips were tingling as she gripped the hem of his shirt, and drew it up, breaking contact to get it over his head and onto the cement floor. She splayed her fingers on her chest, marvelling at its strength. Momentarily, she wondered if the Joker was scarred on his chest.

Snap out of it.

Bells felt Sly's fingers struggling at the hem of her shirt, and she drew it up, pulling it over her head and throwing it to the floor. Immediately she could feel his hands at her waist, stroking gently, sending shivers up her spine. She hungrily pressed her mouth to his again, wondering what her scar felt like to him, and wondering what the Joker's scars would feel like if she kissed him.

For fucks sake, snap out of it.

Bells pressed herself more firmly against Sly, her breasts against his chest. She could feel him grin into her teeth, and she smiled back, pulling him closer. Sly stiffened and coughed into her mouth. Bells drew back, repulsed, and opened her mouth to speak when she saw the blood bubble from his lips, his eyes large and blank, his hands scrabbling at his neck. Her eyes widened, and she wiped a hand across her mouth, blanching when the back of her hand came up red. Sly slowly slipped forward, his greasy hair falling to the side to reveal a knife buried in the back of his neck.

'Fuck!' she yelped, scrambling out of his embrace, and Sly's body fell with a thud onto the concrete floor.

Bells spat the blood out of her mouth, and slowly looked up. The Joker stood silhouetted in the doorway, breathing heavily. She slowly got to her feet.

'What the fuck do you think you're doing?!' she hissed, clenching her fists and taking a step forward without realising.

The Joker looked at her coldly, 'I thought I made it quite clear that you belong to me.'

'But… But you killed him!' she whispered, gesturing hopelessly at Sly's body sprawled out on the ground.

'Like I said. You belong to me,' the Joker hissed, taking a step into the room. Bells involuntarily stepped backwards, almost stumbling over Sly.

'He was the only friend I had here,' Bells said quietly, looking down at him.

'And just look what you did to him,' the Joker said maliciously, grinning at her.

'What I did?!' Bells shrieked, 'that was you, you sick fuck! You killed him, you freak!'

She stopped, her eyes widening as she realised what she had said.

He doesn't like being called a freak.

The Joker growled, and with a speed that continued to surprise her, he crossed the room and had her by the arm in a matter of seconds, wrenching her close. They were nose to nose, and Bells could see each individual eyelash, dirty with back greasepaint.

'You don't seem to be able to remember simple lessons,' he whispered, and Bells could feel his breath on her lips. Holding her arm in one hand, he grasped her hair with the other and wrenched downwards, exposing her neck to him.

'I'm sorry,' Bells croaked, scrabbling at his hand uselessly. The Joker said nothing, his tongue flicking out to lick his scars. He looked at her neck, noting the taut tendons and her gasping breaths. He could see the uneven criss-crossing of scars, the old fading reminders, and the new red and puffy lessons. The Joker could see her chest heaving, unused to the restrained position, and her peaked nipples, still aroused. Moving lower, he could see the new, barely there abdominal muscles; the result of the training he had put her through. These too were crossed with cuts, some scabbing and some still leaking blood. He had done well with her. The Joker paused in his survey. She had to be taught that she was not free to be with whomever she wanted; she was his and no-one else. He couldn't allow anyone else to touch her – not because he wanted her, but because she was his property, and he didn't let anybody touch his property. The Joker looked at the cooling body on the floor, sprawled clumsily on the ground, his favourite knife protruding from the back of the neck. He allowed himself a moment of annoyance at the loss of his most competent crew-member, but quickly the annoyance gave way to derision. Sly was the one at fault here. Bells was the one at fault for believing that she could forget about him by being with somebody else. He knew that that was what this was – she had no feelings for Sly at all. She had been trying to cover up her feelings for him. The Joker had been careful in her treatment of her lately, feigning attachment to her by killing the crew-member – Cur, he thought – when he made a lewd remark. He watched as Bells looked at him in a new light, believing that it was jealousy that drew the knife and slew the man, not a larger scheme, not a larger purpose, not showing Gotham how weak they all truly were. She was easy to manipulate, this one, she was easy to mould. The Joker had already seen her, looking at the gun in her hands, feeling the power that he'd taught her to feel. In a few short months he had taken her, a weak, pathetic whimpering girl, and broken her to reign. It had been easy, easy to show her his way, and for her to embrace it. Bells had barely even flinched when he cut Cur's throat, although Sly appeared to be a different matter. The Joker looked at the body again, wondering why Sly thought that he could touch what was his. Was it not clear enough? She needed a marker, to show that only he could touch her.

Bells' breaths were coming in gasps, her air-passage half closed off, as the Joker looked her over. What was he doing? What was he waiting for? She saw him glance over at Sly's body, and she closed her eyes, a single tear escaping. It was her fault he was dead – she might as well have thrown the knife herself. She had to commend the Joker for his accuracy; the knife was buried directly in the centre of his neck. She pressed her eyes more tightly shut, watching the colours dance across her eyelids. Her hands dropped to her sides. Perhaps this was it. Perhaps she'd finally pushed him too far.

She opened her eyes to see the Joker watching her, cocking his head to the side in the curious way that he had. He looked at her exposed neck and grinned, his teeth startlingly yellow against the red of the greasepaint that he wore. He dipped his head downwards, and Bells shivered as she felt his breath against the juncture between her neck and shoulder. He trailed his tongue up to her earlobe, giggling as he did it, retracing Sly's steps. Bells tried to cringe away, but he was clutching her hair tight, and with his other gloved hand he gripped her close, pressing her chest against his. His vest was coarse against her nipples, and Bells felt them harden into peaks, and she wasn't sure whether to be disgusted or pleased that she was aroused. The Joker grinned into her shoulder as, without realising, Bells pressed herself closer to him, closing her eyes.

She. Is. Mine.

Bells' eyes flew open and she shrieked as the Joker buried his teeth into her shoulder. She struggled furiously, trying to ignore the white-hot pain that was shooting up her neck and down her arm, whimpering all the while. She felt him break the skin, and she gave a groan, falling limp with tears blurring her vision. The pain was immense, and it was all she could think about, and it was all that she could feel, and, as she squeezed her eyes shut, it was all that she could see; the black and the red and the white, the ghoulish face that laughed at her while she screamed.

The teeth finally withdrew, and Bells hung limply in the Joker's hold. She could feel blood running down her shoulder and dripping down her breast, warm and wet. Bells opened her eyes slowly, still hazy with pain, tears welling up. The Joker was looking at his creation on her shoulder, and Bells shuddered to see her blood on his lips and smeared across his mouth and his scars. Slowly she looked down at her shoulder, wincing with pain as she moved. It was a bloody mess of ripped skin and teeth marks, smeared with red and white greasepaint. Bells felt fresh tears well up, and she let out a sob.

The Joker heard her, and looked up grinning, his normally yellow teeth red.

'Hey, hey, hey,' he said, giggling. 'That didn't hurt did it?'

'Fuck you,' she whispered, her head falling limply to the side as he released his hold on her hair.

He put a leather gloved finger to her lips, 'No need to be rude, Bells. Now everybody knows, don't you see? Nobody else can touch you.'

Bells frowned, trying to block out the throbbing of her shoulder. They were still close enough that she could hear the Joker's breathing and smell her blood on his lips. Was that what this was about? Was he… claiming her? That didn't make sense, though. Hadn't he already done that with the scar on her cheek? That was a marker, wasn't it? That she was his? Perhaps this was different, a different mark for a different warning. Her eyes drifted to Sly's corpse, staining the air with the metallic scent of blood. 'You belong to me', the Joker had said, but clearly she hadn't grasped at his full meaning. She belonged to him, her body belonged to him. Bells looked at the Joker, understanding dawning. This was his way of telling the world that she was his, in every way. He desired her, she realised. He desired her. Bells forgot the pain in her shoulder, the pain in her wrist as he crushed it in his strong fingers. Her mouth falling open, she looked up at the Joker, who was watching her oddly with a slight smile, looking as though some plan of his had fallen into place.

It had.

Bruce Wayne paced across the marble floors of his pent-house, his footsteps ringing across the room and echoing off the walls. He ignored Alfred's gentle but insistent knocks on the door. Finally, he collapsed down onto his bed, ruffling the crisp newsheets. He hadn't slept there for days, occupied as he was. Bruce heard Alfred walking away, presumably to bed. He ran tired hands through his hair, trying to ignore the sound of Rachel turning over in bed the next room over.

Too much, too many things to think about. Harvey Dent, leaving Schiff's life up to chance like that. Disappointing, so disappointing - Dent was Gotham's only hope, and there he was, acting the criminal. Then there was Gordon, one of the only men to know his real identity, one of the only men not to care who was behind the mask, one of the only men to believe in what Bruce was doing. Now he was gone, another dead body, another pawn in the Joker's game. And Isabelle Richards. She had never turned up at the hospital. The poor girl was probably traumatised, maybe dead, and there was nothing, nothing, Bruce could do about it. He had been all over the Narrow's in his limited free time, but he was one man and the Narrows was large.

Bruce held his head in his hands.

He was failing.

There you go, people, hope you enjoyed it! Please let me know what you think, reviews really make me write faster, and I love hearing everybody's thoughts :) Seriously, review, review, review x