Chapter XXVIII: Two Against One
*(9:40, 1 hour, 20 minutes left)
Harvey stared into the mirror, unsure of the man who stared back. Sure, it was his face, but Maya had worked her usual magic so that he was damn near unrecognizable. His hair was buzzed around the sides and back, the friendly ash blonde dyed an austere deep brown that made his face look meaner; his chin was peppered with dark stubble that resembled a beard––even his eyebrows had been dyed and augmented to fit his new look. Gone were his grey eyes, replaced by a deep blue that seemed at home in his new face.
"Still getting used to it?" asked Selena, popping up behind him. He blinked a few times, eyes still irritated from the dye Maya had used on his irises.
"I never want a needle that close to my eyes again," he answered, glancing at her. She too had gotten Maya's makeover treatment, swapping her natural light green eyes for a brown the color of coffee; when Harvey had asked, she said she was too hot on all the databases and needed to change her looks a bit. He suspected it was because of Lucky's affinity for dark-eyed girls, but stayed quiet on the matter.
"Yeah well, no one said it was pleasant, but you wanted to disappear."
And disappear he had. In less than 48 hours he'd gotten rid of his official cell phone, murdered no less than four men, and changed his appearance so drastically that not even Gordon was likely to recognize him without doing a double take.
"Thanks for your help Sel," said Harvey earnestly. Sure, she and Lucky had teased him every step of the way, but at least they were there.
"Don't go getting all sentimental on me now, Harv. You've still got a girlfriend to save," she purred, nudging his side.
"Two, actually," he corrected. "Hand me a burner will ya? I've gotta catch up with the GCPD."
She threw him a cheap cellphone and sauntered off, in search of Lucky no doubt. Harvey punched the numbers hurriedly, praying desperately that Gordon had been competent for once. At this point, there was no room for error and he knew it––Rachel would either leave Joker's lair alive, or in a bodybag. And Ava––oh, Ava––her fate was equally as uncertain.
I've gotta get to her, he thought vehemently, trying his best to ignore the nagging addendum. If she's still alive.
Joker had been very specific––the hostages who were still breathing would be released. Harvey knew his girl. She was a fighter and fiery to boot, sometimes too much so. But he also knew Joker and his anarchic, cruel mind. The thought of Ava in the clutches of a man who killed people for fun boiled his blood. The thought of her dead, snuffed out like a candle by Gotham's worst? That threatened to undo him completely.
The phone rang once, then again before Gordon answered. "Hello?"
"Tell me you've found them all," demanded Harvey, too impatient for pleasantries.
"We've found all but one," said Gordon, frustration dripping from the words. Harvey heard the exhaustion in the commissioner's voice but couldn't bring himself to quite care. Joker was very specific in what
"What the hell do you mean 'all but'? You're telling me there's still one of his minions running around?"
"Harvey we've looked everywhere––all the hideouts you told us about, the ones you didn't, we even got Batman to search one of the Narrows quadrants for us––nothing. Ever consider Joker's just told you there's ten to mess with your head?"
"Of course I have, but Rachel's life can't wait for us to make an educated guess! There's less than an hour, and if we don't find that last man she'll be dead either way, so find him, Gordon."
"And what are you gonna do, huh? Where have you been in all this, Dent––hiding with your tail between your legs?" Harvey growled, a touch of his old malice returning. He knew Gordon was stretched thin, that he wasn't solely upset at him. He also knew that the pressure of Joker's threat was getting to him. But that did little to ease his anger.
In less than two hours, she'll be dead and none of this will matter.
"I've about had it with your shit, Gordon," snarled Harvey, voice rising with every word. He was aware of Selena's footsteps down the hallway, and of Lucky who'd come to lean in the doorframe–– it did nothing to calm him down. "Always wondering what I'm doing, where I'm going. You really wanna know what I'm up to? I'm getting shit done since your corrupt department doesn't have the common sense not to take bribes from the mob who's probably under Joker's thumb."
"Oh, you smug son of a bitch! You think it's easy doing my job––"
"Enough!" grated a third voice, and Harvey rolled his eyes, immediately recognizing the voice. Batman.
"How long has he been on the phone? And does he have an address?" asked Harvey.
"I've narrowed it down to two possible locations––250 52nd Street and one on Avenue X," said the masked man. "Gordon says you've gone off the grid, but I'm picking up your location at 60th and Lexington."
Of course he has to show off. Harvey knew there was no use in trying to deceive the vigilante; he had tech a decade ahead of anything that should be available. "Yeah. I'll take 52nd. Call me as soon as you find anything."
"Selena!" called Harvey, slinging a go bag over his shoulder. When she didn't answer he headed for her trophy room and poked his head in. It never ceased to amaze him, filled with more jewels, trinkets and priceless artifacts than he could count. But what caught his attention wasn't the room, but Selena herself. She was wrapped around Lucky like the cat that he so often teased her about being.
Oh brother, he thought. It didn't surprise him at all to find them like this. Selena had taken a shine to Lucky ever since he'd taken them in, and though he never engaged her when they were younger, Harvey knew his mentor had taken a liking to the pretty little thief. A lot changes in a few years. From the looks of it, they'd been involved for quite some time.
With no time to waste, he rapped sharply on the doorframe, startling them out of their embrace.
"Don't you two look cozy?" snickered Harvey. For once he'd gotten the drop on Selena, who looked as if she'd die being caught in Lucky's arms. She quickly untangled herself and shot Harvey a glare that would've been intimidating had it not been for her furious blush. Lucky only winked. "Sel, I need to borrow your bike––Batman's got a potential location on Rachel."
She nodded, snatched the keys off a sidetable and tossed them in his direction. "You better be careful with it. That baby's a prototype from Waynetech, took months to score."
"I promise I'll bring her home safe and sound," said Harvey catching them. He'd turned to start down the hallway when Lucky called out after him.
"Don't get yourself killed, kid––we kinda like having you around again."
Harvey flashed him a tight smile and hurried for the front door, praying that Batman's intel was right. As much as Rachel had pissed him off in the last few weeks, she'd didn't deserve to die at all, let alone at the hands of Joker in some sort of sick game. Racing outside toward the Selena's sleek tumbler-style bike, he remembered what she'd said to him the night of the fundraiser.
"Whether you like it or not, we're partners, remember?"
I do, he thought, hopping on. And you're not gonna die tonight.
-X-
"Curly," called Parker, knocking on Ava's new room door. She'd inherited the rich old man's holding room by proxy, except now it was slightly adapted for human occupation. A game of blackjack had won her Dopey's old bed, a lumpy cot that she scrubbed for an entire day before sleeping on it even crossed her mind; Parker and Ryan helped her lug a few cinderblocks to her new quarters, which she used with a piece of scrap wood to make a table against the far wall (Bozo had offered, but she didn't trust him farther than she could see him).
Once, she'd taken a dangerous, yet successful scavenging mission down Joker's hallway to grab a murky mirror she'd seen laying dejected on the floor. All things considered, her hovel was still a hovel, but now it was hers. And while life was still very much a shitshow, it did her good to consider herself more than a temporary fixture—a simple reminder that she'd be alive another day.
They can't kill you if you've got a room, she thought with a flippant smirk. Parker knocked again, and Ava knew he wasn't going away. Sometimes, he'd just knock on her door only to quote some horrible one-liner from a Western and giddily take off, as if annoying her was the best pasttime he'd ever known. But this wasn't that—she could hear the urgency in his voice, so she sighed and opened up.
"If you start with the Butch Cassidy shit again, I swear..." she threatened lazily, knife in her tensed hands. That was new too, a "gift" from Joker himself one fine day. Dropped outside of her door, it was attached to a card scrawled with his typical HAHAs and a challenge: Let's even the odds. You against me doll, who wins?
"Boss wants you outside," answered Parker.
Lovely, thought Ava, not in the mood for another of his errands. Then again, she wasn't in much of a place to object. "What is it this time? Bringing him his food again?"
That had happened twice now. Both times it looked like he wanted to devour her instead of the fast food in her hand; she shook the thought away.
"He didn't tell me, just that it was important and that you should come now," said Parker, beckoning her to follow him.
"Alright I'm coming," she whined petulantly, if only to conceal the innate terror of being summoned by Gotham's worst. In the span of only a few days she'd become a quasi-accepted member of the ruthless, murder-prone clownshoes family, and absolutely none of her was fond of it. Only one thing kept her from complete despair, a rather cliche affirmance from her Aunt Hazel. This too shall pass.
Side by side they made the short trip down the hallway, Ava rolling her eyes all the while—Parker was quoting Westerns again. Back in the main warehouse, she found Ryan picking something out of his teeth with the tip of his knife, and Joker sitting on one of the high tables, lazily dangling his feet off the edge.
Though she refused to acknowledge it, Ava felt his stare as soon as she entered the room. It was incessant, willing her to look in his direction while promising her undoing if she did. So she focused on everything else, only settling on him once she and Parker had stopped just before where he stood.
Joker said nothing for a moment, content to gaze at her. Hands splayed out behind him, head quirked to the side, and chewing his crimson lip, Ava thought him a reimagined Mad Hatter, with chaos instead of silly phrases and a kind heart. Too quickly, she realized her own role.
Fuck, she thought, unwavering even as he slicked his hair back with his knife—a signature gesture. I guess that makes me Alice.
"Good boy! You brought me the Golden Girl!" cheered Joker, clapping his hands together suddenly. Ava jumped, and though his attention was on Parker, a split-second sideways glance told her he'd caught it. Damn it. In less than five minutes she'd broken her cardinal rule: Show no weakness.
"Anything else boss?" asked Parker, barely flinching when Joker jumped off the table and towered over him.
Joker arched a brow and smirked smugly. "Nothing else—I'd hate to keep you from your daily appointment with your Busty Black Babes collection."
Ava's mouth dropped and she looked over at Parker, who merely shrugged and hurried out of the room with a blush. She barked out a laugh, an incredulous can-you-believe-this-guy, and immediately looked around for someone to share it with. This was the type of story she'd tell Pam over a night of drinks—the guy who helped her move some of her furniture also kept a porn stash of Vivica A. Fox lookalikes. She could see her reaction now—the wide green eyes and shake of red hair.
"Coincidence? I think not!" she'd laugh, punching Ava's arm. "Ask the guy out, Aves!" Honestly, if this were a normal circumstance—if she were back home, if that guy didn't have twelve tallies on his skin from past kills, and she wasn't fighting for her life from a nutjob—maybe the joke would prompt a genuine smile instead of the urge to cry.
Unfortunately for her, there was only Joker, who found it wildly funny. "Did you see that? Scurried outta here like a rat!"
"Yeah, fucking hilarious..." mumbled Ava, all traces of levity gone. All too quickly she realized what Joker had done and gulped. It was never good to be alone with him.
"Aw come on, you gotta learn to see the humor in things," he whined, with an obscene pout reminiscent of an overgrown manchild. Then before she could object, he'd crossed the distance between them and wrapped an arm about her waist so they were standing side by side.
It took every ounce of Ava's will not to scream. She trembled violently under his touch, all semblance of her tough exterior dissolved. Show no fear, show no fear, drummed her mind, frantically trying to regain itself. But her mind was too wrapped up in the sensory—his gloves dug into her hip, and his cologne hung heavy in the air.
"Besides, we wouldn't want him spoiling our fun," said Joker, dropping his mouth to her ear; even through the layers of his clothes, she could feel the heat rolling off of him, a perpetual fever. Just then, a nasty shiver snuck up Ava's neck and bloomed. Then, bellowing out into the warehouse, he shouted: "Bring 'em out!"
Bozo emerged with the last of the hostages—two GCPD officers. Wasting no time, he sat them down in two chairs, placed a gun on a nearby table, and left; Ryan cleared out too, folding up his knife and walking out without a word.
Joker started toward them without warning, nearly tripping Ava up as his long strides dragged her over to the two cops. Her mind had passed racing ages ago—it was whirling, barely keeping up as the pieces crashed into place.
"No, no, no," she started, footsteps slowing; Joker's grip on her side only tightened, a silent command:keep walking. "You can't possibly think—"
"Oh, but I do," said Joker, shoving her toward the hostages. Ava stared helplessly at them, battered and bruised beyond recognition, pain etched onto their faces. The gun's presence no longer seemed to faze them, death's inevitability simply a fact. Their uniforms were filthy, everything soiled save for their nametags—Officer Reynolds and O'Malley. "Time to join the big kids, Ava."
He's asking you to murder them. The reality slammed her as he guided her toward the shiny chrome revolver. She
could tell it'd been polished. It glinted under the light, a gleaming indicator of just how far she'd fallen, how far she had left to go. Ava quickly considered her options, whether she'd answer his challenge; a resounding "hell no" followed.
All was silent as he guided her to the gun, placed it in her numbed hands and aimed it at the police officers. Joker had moved behind her now—Ava felt his hot breath on her neck, the wide shoulders that pressed against her tense ones. His touch was firm yet gentle, and she felt her stomach toss at how cavalier he was about all of this; Reynolds had begun crying, quietly pleading that he be allowed to call his wife once more.
"Just point and shoot," he purred, voice dropping an octave. His breath came quicker, and Ava got the vague impression that it turned him on, the pre-kill rush. Grateful she wasn't pressed against him tightly enough to find out, she focused on the situation at hand.
"Really? That easy?" asked Ava, surprised by how confident she sounded. Internally, she was just the opposite, calculating how long it'd take her to shoot him and run out. She'd steal the car keys out of his pocket and race down the road until she came in contact with civilization again. The GCPD would find Joker dead, she'd track Pam and Harvey down, scream at them for not coming to get her, and everything would go back to normal...
Except that it wouldn't. Because at this exact moment, she had a gun aimed at two GCPD officers and the devil in her ear.
"Miss, you don't have to do this," said O'Malley, an Irish bull of a man with close-cropped red hair. He tipped his head subtly, and Ava got the message: "Shoot the bastard and let us go."
"He's right, y'know," agreed Joker, smacking his lips. Ava felt him draw closer and resisted the urge to vomit—either her previous theory was right, or he had a peculiarly-placed gun on his belt. "Ya don't. Hell, you could do what I know you're going to try to—shoot me and let these pathetic dogs go. And that would work, doll—really it would. Except that by the time you do, I'll have gutted you like a pig and shot them anyway."
As if to prove his point, Ava felt the tip of a knife dig into her lower back; she cried out. The blood left a warm, sticky trail on her skin, and she didn't squirm lest she do any further damage. Joker had pushed just hard enough to break the skin without any major injury. Still, she knew it'd only take one good thrust to render her a bleeding, helpless mess.
Plan B then, she thought, quickly reevaluating. Whether she had to shoot these men or not, he wasn't going to win tonight.
"Now do as I say," he resumed, pointing a purple finger over to the men. "Shoot them."
"As you wish," said Ava, much to the horror of the cops. Reynolds was hysterical; O'Malley settled for a horrified stare that urged her to reconsider.
Two quick shots rang out, and with one desperate yank Ava freed herself of Joker's grasp. She glanced over at the cops—neither was dead, both shot in some non-fatal place. O'Malley took a hit to the shoulder, Reynolds to the lower arm.
Quickly now, she thought, wasting no time. Her heart raced as she stood in front of the cops, pointing her gun directly at Joker, who only cackled—rude, wide-mouthed, his too-red tongue wagging. He seemed on the brink of hysteria, clutching his stomach and switching his gaze from the cops back to her.
O'Malley and Reynolds howled in pain, staring angrily at her. "What are you waiting for? Get the fuck up and run!" shouted Ava.
At last Joker regained himself, kohl eyes radiating one very clear thought: You're fucked.
"Oh, Ava," he said, smacking his lips. Ava's heart leapt into her throat and she struggled to keep her hands from shaking. You've got one shot—make it count or we're dead. "You've got nerve, I'll give you that."
"Stay the fuck away from me or I'll shoot," she bellowed, siphoning every ounce of courage she had. He ignored her, slowly crossing the chasm between them. The cops had finally stood, trying to hobble away from the standoff. Though she hadn't expected them to stick around, there was something bitterly funny about them scurrying away from a problem they were paid to fix. Everyday heroes, huh?
"Will you?" quizzed Joker, all traces of levity gone. She'd provoked the demon and she watched him unfurl before her eyes. His entire face went grim, eyes darkening, and snarling with an expression that promised pain if something didn't change fast. He seemed to grow taller, and his steps were nearly twice as quick so that it only took him seconds to reach her.
Ava pulled the trigger—once, twice, then again in hopes of hearing the thunderous sounds of shots fired. To her intense dismay, there was only the slight clicking of an empty barrel. Joker stood before her, a sardonic smirk on his face, but otherwise unharmed. Fuck.
"You really thought I was going to give you more than two bullets?" he giggled, leaning over so far she thought he'd topple over. He drew nearer so that they were only a foot apart. "But kudos to you for pulling the trigger—that takes guts. Too bad it won't get you anywhere...unless you count dead as a place."
He whipped a knife out of his pocket and plunged it into Ava's thigh. The blade stood firmly in the wound, red dripping from the incision. She screamed, tears rushing her eyes as she stared at him in horror.
"I told you not to try me," growled Joker with such menace that Ava was sure he'd kill her. He seized her face in his hands and bared his teeth, willing her to understand exactly who she was dealing with. She could do nothing but pray as his black eyes bored into hers.
Not like this, she thought, trying her best to get away from him; he held fast. I can't die like this.
Just when it seemed he'd do something—choke her, slit her throat like Evelyn, torture her slowly until she begged for mercy—the cops' footsteps jolted him out of his trance. Joker released his grip and pulled a gun from his inner jacket. Aiming effortlessly, he fired off twice, grunting in satisfaction when both cops thudded to the floor.
Joker turned back to her with a sharp eye, fury undissipated. He gestured wildly with the gun, making it clear death was still very much on the table. "Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you."
"Just one?" shot Ava, aware that even though death was a real possibility, they were still playing a game. She'd been too predictable this time—he saw her coming from miles away. Reckless, she chided. Joker was subtle; the brazen show he put on for the cops and Batman was bullshit. Though she couldn't explain how, Ava knew he wasn't truly upset about her pulling the gun on him.
You're pissed you haven't broken me yet, she concluded, desperately hoping her theory was correct. Following his cues was exhausting, especially because they were ever-shifting and rarely genuine. Joker quirked an impatient brow.
"First of all, I answered your challenge. Though I'd argue that loading my gun with only two bullets counts as cheating," she started, doing her best to don a confident face despite the knife lodged in her leg. "Why kill me unless you're afraid of losing?"
Ava converted the grimace on her face into a smirk and continued, struck by a flash of genius. Use his words against him. It was beyond risky, especially given the whole milkshake incident, but she didn't have much of a choice—this was literally life and death.
"Besides, if your gun was truly in your jacket, then I felt something very different when you were behind me—it could give a girl ideas."
Joker stared blankly at her, face betraying nothing, which in many ways was worse than the death threats. Come on, gimme something, she thought, shifting on her feet. At long last, he slowly holstered the gun and reached forward to pull the knife from her leg. Ava kept her eyes on him, bracing for the worst. Sure the gun was gone, but this man was literally the Houdini of blades.
But he didn't further her injuries, nor did he remove the blade. Instead he ran his fingers up her thigh until they barely brushed the blade, then back down again. She remained stock-still, doing her best to navigate the tense exchange. His fingers were oddly soothing, though the look on his face was anything but. Ava knew it anywhere—kohl lids hooded, crimson lips parted, gaze blistering—arousal.
This time, she didn't shy away from it; rather, she experimented, pressing her thigh against his hand and cocking a brow. Emboldened, Joker's fingers strayed upwards from the cut towards her hip before abruptly yanking the blade out by the hilt. Ava hissed, but gave him nothing else.
"Congratulations, Ava. You get to live another night..." husked Joker, wiping the blood off on his pant leg. He put his hand in her hair again, pulling her mere inches from his face and licking his lips as if deciding how to devour her. Ava breathed out a chuckle and bit her lip, daring him to lose it right then and there. Come on, prove me right...
But he didn't, instead letting her go and starting off toward his room; for what, she had a fairly good idea. Without looking back, he called out in a nasal singsong. "By the way, doll—you were riiight about the gun."
Ava waited until she heard his door close before processing it all. Panic, the inevitable disgust, and subsequent confusion at how quickly she'd assumed the role of temptress. Though she was thoroughly shaken, there was something extremely gratifying in having found a weak spot in Joker's murderous armor. Gotcha. Sure, flirtation was playing it close to the chest—too close if he actually decided to make a move—but it was the only move on the board.
A fresh headache blared in her brain, and her wounded leg throbbed urgently. Parker. Porn collection aside, he was the only one she trusted enough to stitch it properly. Ava hobbled to his room, doing her best not to vomit as she passed the two dead cops.
"Sorry you weren't fast enough," she muttered, glancing quickly at the two bodies. More than guilt, there was annoyance at the fact that her plan didn't pan out, that she'd stuck her neck out for nothing. Impatient, she banged twice on Parker's door. The moans and tacky music from the other side ceased, and she could hear him shuffling around. A moment later, it opened.
"What happened to you?" he asked, looking at her gashed leg. Ava searched for a word that could adequately describe the last hour, but only found one.
Pushing past him and making a beeline for his bottle of scotch, she answered. "Foreplay."
A/N: Hey guys! Okay, so I didn't mean to make Harvey's "game" go on so long, but I honestly got so wrapped up writing Ava and Joker that I didn't want to make the chapter too long by adding another Harvey in there. Don't worry though, he'll be the 1st thing I cover next chapter.
Anyway, hope you guys enjoy. As always, reviews are really appreciated.
Til next time,
~L.L.
