My sincere thanks go out to all of you who are reading this story. I am incredibly flattered by those who have marked it for alerts and as a favorite. Taluliaka, thank you again for your reviews, since I can't send you a PM. :)

* FOREPLAY *

Chapter 37

. . . . . . .

The Joker stopped abruptly at the top of the staircase. From Lois' precarious vantage point, the stairs before her seemed unusually steep. She cringed at the prospect of being dragged down them, especially by her hair, which the Joker seemed intent on doing.

He looked back over his shoulder. "Barkerrr, go fetch my bag, and make sure to bring me camera number..." (smack) "...three. But before you do that, get my clothes off that kid, will ya?" Barker nodded and bent down to undress DJ's lifeless body as gingerly as he could, clearly unnerved at having to touch a corpse.

The Joker tilted his head to watch Barker. Oh, this is just toooo easy.

"BOO!" He shouted at Barker at the top of his lungs, startling Lois as well. The little man screamed and jumped backward from the body, flapping his wrists effeminately. This display doubled the Joker over in a fit of laughter. With his free hand, he slapped his thigh with enthusiasm.

Lois could see part of the scene through tangled hair that covered her face. The clown clearly held no one in favor when it came to getting a laugh, even if it came at the expense of his own lackeys. It didn't matter to him who was denigrated. Everyone was a target.

When the Joker's laughter died down to a hoarse giggle, he looked down at the Metallica t-shirt he wore and scoffed. He raised his eyebrows at Lois. "I was always more of an Ozzy fan, myself. Turn around and face the wall." He pushed her face roughly against the peeling wallpaper and released his hold on her hair, and she could see him wriggle to get out of the shirt from the corner of her eye.

He balled up the shirt and tossed it in Barker's direction. "Use that to mop up all the blood that got on my clothes." He dipped his head down to his left shoulder, cracking his neck. "I'd prefer to, ah, go deeper into the night in my own threads." He pulled at the long sleeves of the black crew neck shirt he'd been wearing underneath. He considered the color, and clucked his disapproval. "Black is so… boring. I can think of someone who wears a lot of black. Because he doesn't know how to cut loose and have some fun."

The Joker spun Lois around, and closed his hand around her throat. He leaned in, an all-too familiar breach of her personal space she'd endured many times over already. A smile played on one side of his jagged mouth. "Not like us, huh, Sweet Tart? We know how to have fun-ah!"

His tongue snaked out over his bottom lip and caressed his front teeth. His hand found its way to the back of her head to grab her hair once more. "Here we go, Lois." He licked his lips. "Ready... or… not."

Oh my God.

He pulled her down the stairs swiftly. It was the same staircase that Mooney's body had been carried down only a few hours earlier, before being tossed over the Winter Hill Overpass onto the Gotham Expressway below.

By contrast, Mooney's corpse – lifeless and completely desensitized to pain – had been taken down the stairs with much more care than the Joker was showing Lois. She kept her balance for the first few steps down toward the second floor, but she couldn't keep up with the Joker's pace. She was bent down at the waist, for the weight of his hand on the back of her head.

Inevitably, gravity took its course.

She pitched forward, coming down hard on the wooden stairs on her stomach, nearly taking him out with her. She put her arms out in front of her to shield her ribcage from the fall, her forearms taking the brunt of the force by hitting the edge of the steps. The blow was sharp, and it felt like she'd been struck across the arms with a baseball bat. Pain shot through her knees and she winced as her hipbones came down on a step's edge.

Her arms shielded her torso, but not her head. She watched as the edge of a wooden stair rushed toward her face. At the last fraction of a second, her head snapped to a halt, inches over the blunt edge. Her nose and cheekbone would have shattered, had the Joker not kept his fist locked in her hair, preventing her face from hitting the edge of the step.

She'd seen enough of his actions that night to know that her face was spared the impact on the stairs only because he'd not relinquished his grip on her as she fell. It had nothing to do with his wanting to protect her, nor sparing her from pain. It was all about control. He wanted to show her who was in charge.

As if any doubt had ever crossed her mind.

Her eyes stung with tears from the throbbing pain in her arms and stinging of her hair being pulled. The Joker bent down to look Lois in the face with mock sympathy. "Whoops, did my bunny fall down?" His smile broadened, and in the dim light the scars on his face seemed to dance through the mist of her eyes like slithering snakes. His voice dropped in register. "Well, tough shit." He gave her hair another yank. "Up. Move."

She tried to push herself to her knees, which was an awkward feat while facing downward on a staircase. He offered no help, and did not let go of her hair. She got to her hands and knees and crawled down the rest of the stairs behind him, a painful exercise on uncarpeted stairs.

She could hear him snicker above her. "Crawling after a man, Lois? I woulda thought that a gal of your in-dee-pen-dence wouldn't sink to such behavior."

I hate you. I hate every bone in that rotten, vile body of yours, you son of a bitch.

At the landing, he waited for her to get to her feet. "Up up up." His direction was issued fast. "Up. C'mon, up up. Up." She was barely vertical when she felt herself being pulled forward again. "This way… it's playtime, Sweet Tart." A manic giggle passed over his lips, and from Lois' view of his feet, she would swear that he was… skipping.

He pulled her over to a long couch and pushed her forcefully by the back of her head before finally releasing her. She fell onto her stomach upon a tattered sofa with holes and cupreous stains on it. It was the blood that had flowed from Mooney's gaping head wounds after the Joker had put three rounds into his skull at point-blank range, just over twenty-four hours earlier.

The stains hadn't quite dried, and their metallic odor mingled with that of beer spilled on the cushions. Lois hoisted herself up with revulsion, sitting back on the sofa to distance herself from the gore.

"Playtime," the Joker repeated. Then he spun and lunged at her. He halted his own momentum, bracing his weight by catching the armrest and back of the couch, sandwiching Lois between his arms. He raised his eyebrows, and leaned his head in toward hers. His voice was raspy. "Plaaaaaaay." He pushed off and turned from her.

"Play." He walked from the couch.

She wiped at her tears with her shirtsleeves, looking around the room. A large flat screen TV was in one corner, with a second right next to it. Both were connected to what appeared to be a satellite box and a DVD player.

"Play play play."

There were a few boxes in another corner, and the windows were boarded up. It had a musty smell to it. Lois bet the room hadn't been aired out in years.

"Pla-ay." The pitch was sing-songy.

Crushed cigarettes littered the floor. The place was filthy. At a glance, The Room upstairs was more inviting.

Except for Curtis' body in it, with a hunting knife lodged in his skull, lifeless eyes frozen open. And his severed ear somewhere on the floor.

"P-p-p-plaaaaaaay."

Lois shuddered, still craving the familiarity of the room she'd been dragged from. She watched as the Joker pulled a cheap wooden coffee table across the floor, placing it several feet away from the couch. He turned a box upside down and placed it on the top of the coffee table. He turned to face her, straightening up and stopping abruptly. His arms fell to his sides, head tilted, jutting forward and down. His stance was wide. The Chelsea grin spread across his face.

His voice was soft.

"Plaaaaaay."

It was the most menacing whisper Lois had ever heard.

In the backroom of a strip club, two men were talking business.

The nervous waitress gave them a wide berth, the iron control of their faculties exuding a menacing air that frightened her. Both men watched with faces like stone when patrons passed their table to use the restrooms, which was an increasingly frequent occurrence: the revelation of the Joker's attack on Gotham sent droves of men streaming into strip clubs and underground brothels all over the city. The logic was that if the city were going to hell, they were going to get their kicks while they still could.

One of the two men leaned in to ask a question, but his partner held up his hand to silence him. Both turned to view a man walking by their table, and they looked upon him with open hostility. The abrupt silence was necessary.

Their line of work demanded discretion.

Earlier in the evening, their services had been contracted. Upon receiving their charge, they had agreed to meet in a locale not frequented by Gotham's finest in blue uniforms. They had come to discuss whether arson or bullets was the most effective means to their end.

Bounty hunters.

As one of the men with a shaved head reached into his jacket to pull out a vibrating cell phone, his colleague with a black ponytail glared at a man who stumbled out of the bathroom and let his curious gaze linger a bit too long. Unnerved by being on the receiving end of such an angry look, the hapless patron cleared his throat and looked to the floor before walking away quickly.

The bald man tapped his colleague on the arm with the back of his hand. "Look at this." He passed his cell phone over, allowing him to read the text message.

The swarthy man raised his eyebrows. "Screw the Cartelli hit." He smiled a mouth full of gold teeth, and tapped the screen of the cell phone. "Let's score the motherfucker."

The bald man nodded. Both men stood up, and walked out of the lounge without paying for their drinks or their meal. The waitress who had kept a wary eye on them called to the bartender when she saw them bailing on their tab, and pointed at the pair. The bartender pulled his collar up to his mouth, to speak into the microphone wired to it. The bouncer outside the club put his fingers up to his ear, to better hear the words coming through his earpiece from the bartender.

He turned to block the way of the two men leaving. "Excuse me. Did you gentlemen forget something before you left?"

The bald man picked at his teeth with a toothpick. "I dunno." He turned to his colleague. "Hamad, did we forget something?"

Hamad smiled. The gold teeth caught the eye of the bouncer. He'd seen that smile somewhere before. It was ferocious and distracting, which was why he didn't raise his arms to block the straight razor that was brought cleanly across his jugular in a swift stroke.

"No," Hamad spoke to the body that dropped before them to the sidewalk. "We didn't forget nothing."

They stepped over the bouncer as the blood drained from his body. The bald man looked back at him. "'S'cuse us. We've got a clown to catch and a reward to collect."

All over Gotham, text messages were transmitting to the cell phones of bounty hunters, felons and degenerates. Secretive phone calls were made, fueled by avarice and the thirst for glory. Bargains were struck and alliances among thieves were forged. No one in Gotham was fool enough to think that one person alone could bring down the Joker.

It would require collaboration, derelicts willing to put aside past transgressions with each other for the promise of a dizzying sum of money. Competing drug pushers phoned each other, money launderers contacted pimps, and down-and-out ex-cons went from bar to bar, seeking out anyone known to carry a weapon who would join them in their quest for Maroni's promised reward.

Schemes were hatched. Even by those entrusted to keep order.

"Jonas, look at this." Edward walked down the length of the prison cellblock's corridor to the other guard on the third floor. A few of the inmates whose cells he passed weren't sleeping, and his action caught their attention. After Edward's shadow drifted by, they quietly crept to the cell bars, and held out mirrors to monitor from a safe distance one of the institution's most notorious employees, known for breaking rules and inmates' bodies when the warden's back was turned.

They saw him hand a cell phone to Jonas Hodge, who whistled when he read the text message.

"Damn, that's a hell of a lot of money."

"You bet your ass it is." Edward grinned, nodding encouragingly at Jonas.

Jonas shrugged and snickered. "Aw, come on, man. How on earth would you get your hands on that reward? Since the Batman went dark, there ain't no one who can take down the Joker."

Edward nodded. "Right. No one can take him down. It would take a whole posse of killers. Like the ones they got in BHL-1." He smiled.

Jonas felt his stomach turn. Despite the liberal politics of Mayor Garcia, Gotham was still in a conservative state that supported the death penalty. Block H, Level One of the Gotham Maximum Security Penitentiary was where the worst of the worst were kept, biding their time until their number was up. "You gotta be kiddin' me."

Edward held up the cell phone and shook it in Jonas' face, tauntingly. "I got ten million reasons why I ain't kiddin'. Those boys down there just need a little convincing, that's all."

He passed by Jonas, who grabbed his upper arm to halt him. "Don't do it, man. If you get caught, it's your ass. They'll lock you up with the rest of the inmates in gen pop. And you know what they'll do to you, if they get the chance."

Edward swatted Jonas' hand away. "Who's gonna tell 'em? I know you're not dumb enough to rat me out. Are ya?" He moved his hand over the billy club at his belt.

Jonas swallowed, thinking of the last guard who had crossed Edward. That unfortunate man met with an untimely "accident", and was now on permanent disability, taking his food through a feeding tube. Jonas shook his head. "No, I ain't sayin' nothin'."

Edward nodded. "That's what I thought. Fuck this place, man. This reward is my ticket outta here. I could do a hell of a lot with ten million dollars, and I could disappear out of the country before getting caught. If you change your mind and want in on the action, you better act fast. You know where I'll be."

Jonas watched as Edward sauntered to the bank of elevators at the end of the hall. He was making his way to Block H. Both the prison's general population and guards agreed that the H stood for "hell".

It may as well have: Jonas knew that Edward was off to strike a deal with the devil. A whole floor of devils, really.

Edward went forth confidently, with a business proposition for the inmates on Death Row.

The Joker bounded over the back of the couch, and Lois craned her neck to follow his movements. "I'll trade ya." She watched him take the Glock 22 out of the back of the kid's jeans he wore, and he handed it to Barker, who gave him something in return.

Oh, hell. Is that the camera he was asking for? Her heart skipped a beat when he walked around the couch, and she saw that a camcorder wasn't the only thing he was holding.

The Joker had traded the Glock 22 for a single action revolver.

He stuck the gun in the waistband of the jeans behind his back, and leaped over the back of the sofa, landing cross-legged next to Lois. The weight of his body hitting the sofa bounced her upward when the creaky springs released their load.

Lois absently processed that Barker had left the room. She drew her knees up to her chest and hugged her legs to her body tightly, viewing the Joker with apprehension. She could feel welts forming where her body had struck the edges of the steps from her fall.

He put the camcorder in his lap and leaned in. "Well, Sweet Tart-ah, you're about to be in for quite a show. I promise you shock and horror and scandal!" His hands fluttered about him dramatically, and his voice had crescendoed like that of a circus ringmaster. "So in preparation for your, um… your entertainment, I want to… loosen you up a bit, first. With a little game, and maybe some refreshments."

He paused to see if it were sinking in. "You look tense. I want to make sure that you're going to be good and ah, receptive, to what you're going to watch. See, I'm thoughtful like that." He nodded in a self-congratulatory gesture.

Lois was confused. Loosen me up so I can watch something? What the hell does that mean?

He smiled with closed lips, and a threatening laugh rumbled from his chest. "Just you wait." He leaned in and whispered, "It's gonna be a doozy." He winked at her.

Lois pressed herself further into the couch to distance herself from him.

He held out both of his hands toward her, fists closed and palms facing downward. "Pick a hand." She eyed him mistrustfully. He had an eager expression on his face, like a kid who hoped a parent would humor him with engagement. "C'mon, pick one."

Her eyes fell to his left hand. She pointed at it. "That one."

He shook his head. "Nuh uh. You're not doing it right." He shook both hands up and down. "You have to tap the back of the hand you choose."

His childishness continued to confound her. Lois frowned, and reached for his left hand, not wanting to touch him if she could avoid it. "This one." She tapped the back of his left hand with her fingertips.

His movements were as quick as a striking cobra.

Before she could retract her hand, he swiped with his right and seized her wrist with it. He pulled her toward himself with a swift yank, and her head snapped back from the quick jolt. When the momentum carried her head forward again, they were face to face.

"Well, Sweet Tart, you do have an appetite for danger, don't you?" He turned his left hand over and opened it up.

There was a single bullet cradled in his palm.

He raised his eyebrows at her and licked his lips. "Won't this be fun-ah?"

She pushed herself away from him as he released her wrist. He reached behind him and pulled the revolver from his waistband. He opened the cylinder, pushed the bullet into one of the chambers, gave it a good spin and then swung the cylinder back into position with a flick of his wrist. He aimed the gun at Lois.

He picked up the camcorder and brought it up to his shoulder.

"Here's how my little game works. I'm going to ask you six questions. You're going to answer them. If you lie to me, I pull the trigger." He tucked his lips in as he considered the gun in his hands. "I'd suggest that you don't lie. M'kay? One of the chambers has a little something inside of it." He frowned, as if in deep concentration. "And if I shoot you, you won't be able to appreciate the show afterwards." He nodded and raised his eyebrows. (smack) "Because you'll either be in a lotta pain, or you'll be dead. Get it?"

Lois couldn't imagine why she would knowingly lie and put herself in harm's way, but if she had to, she knew she had a good poker face. You had to, if you were a reporter who backed powerful people into awkward corners. She felt her confidence wax. This was more her arena, fielding tough questions. "Okay, no problem."

"Good." He nodded. Then, a screeching cackle burst from the depths of his lungs, and he started bouncing on the couch. "This is gonna be such a special video. See, it's for a good friend of mine."

He clicked the camera on, and pointed it at himself. He spoke in a low, gravely voice. "Hello, Batman. This video is not for the Gee Pee Dee, and it's not for Gee See En. It's for you, my friend. All for you. You remember that lady from the other videos? Mizzzz Lois Lane? Well—" (smack) "—I haven't killed her. Yet. As you can see." The Joker turned the camera around and zoomed in on Lois' tear-stained face. "Wave to the Batman, Lois."

Lois didn't wave. She slowly blinked and turned her face down toward the floor. The Joker scolded her. "You know, for someone who works in television, you're doing a lousy job of engaging the viewer, toots."

He bounced up from the couch and turned the camera on himself. "Well, I'm going to try to change that. Get her to show some reactions that will engage the viewer." He circled the coffee table, setting the camera down on the overturned box. He leaned his face down to ensure that the frame was capturing the full length of the couch. Once he made his adjustments, he got down on all fours on the floor, and stuck his face in the frame, filling up the screen.

"I've got a special game lined up, and I thought that you'd, ah, like to watch." He smiled and ran his tongue over his lips. "That is, if you're into watching games. You know," he touched the tip of his tongue to the middle of his upper lip, then retracted it. "Foreplay. We'll see if you're a voyeuristic bat or not."

Lois stiffened. What?

The Joker turned his head to look back at Lois, the gruesome scar on the left side of his face filling the camera frame. Then he moved back from the camera, and brought the revolver around, placing it in view of the camera. "Let's see if I end up banging her or not."

He came back over to the couch, sat on the opposite end from Lois, and kicked off DJ's sneakers. Lois watched as he wriggled his toes inside of the teenager's dingy athletic socks. Stretching his legs out on the cushions, he crossed his feet at the ankles. He kept his hand on the revolver, resting casually on the back of the couch. "All right, then. Question number one." He narrowed his eyes and ran his tongue along the outer corner of his mouth. "Why did you come to Gotham?"

Lois paused. Had that been earlier in the evening? She had lost her sense of time. It felt as though she'd been trapped in hell for days. "I came to interview Bruce Wayne." She didn't volunteer any more information. He didn't blink as he watched her, and it was unsettling.

"Nooooooo… that's not a complete answer. Why did you come to Gotham… to interview Bruce Wayne?"

Oh, shit. Poker face, Lo. "Bruce Wayne called me to tell me he had further information about you, which I could find useful. He said that it was enough to fill another episode of Metropolis Live."

His expression didn't change. He sat in silence. He considered her answer, and studied her face.

"Mmm hmmm. And you, being the, ah, eager little busy beaver that you are, you just jumped at the chance to gather more dirt so you could run another show– " he placed his left hand on his chest, "-at my expense, so you could knock out your competition in the ratings game for a second consecutive night."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement. A truth.

Lois shrugged and looked away. "Yeah."

"Loissss?" His voice coaxed her to meet his expression. She turned her face back to him.

He lifted the gun so the barrel was level with her eyes, and pulled the trigger.

A click resounded when the hammer snapped shut on a hollow chamber.

Lois jumped backward, stunned. "Why did you do that?"

"You lied to me." His voice was plain and matter of fact. "When you lie, I pull the trigger. That's how the game works." He turned to face the camera, talking to it as if it really were the Batman. "That's how the game works," he repeated. He looked back at Lois. "Getting dirt on me isn't the only reason you drove all the way from Gotham to meet with Bruce Wayne." A knowing smile played on his lips.

Lois eyed the gun, knowing that the cylinder had rotated, and there was a twenty percent chance that the bullet was in the next chamber. "What if I had chosen your right hand, when you asked me to pick a hand?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Then we'd be playing Yahtzee, of course. I've got the game around here somewhere." He motioned in a circle with the revolver, before training it on Lois again. "But you didn't choose my right hand. You chose my left hand, so this is the game we're playing."

Lois swallowed. Naturally, I'd pick the hand with the bullet.

"Question number t—oh, goody!" He grinned as Barker returned to the room carrying the two boxes of pizza, and a sack with the bottle of Jaegermeister in it. "Right over here, little pal." He motioned for Barker to set the pizzas down on the floor by the couch. As Barker crossed in front of him, the Joker leaned forward. "Uh, Barker, you're blocking the camera's view of me."

Barker gasped, horrified that he had unwittingly displeased the man he idolized. "Sir! Mr. Joker, I am so sorry!" He scooted off to the side, in front of Lois.

The Joker nodded. "That's better." It didn't matter if Lois was blocked from the camera's view. Obscuring him, however, was inexcusable.

Barker dutifully opened the pizza boxes, and pulled the liquor bottle from the bag and set it down.

The Joker paused when he saw the Jaegermeister bottle still intact. "Huh." He stuck his tongue out of his mouth to the side, and bit it in thought. Then he shrugged his shoulders and snickered. "I thought the kid broke it." He turned toward Lois, and wrinkled his brow and mouth in an exaggerated show of remorse. "Oops, I guess I shot that kid for nothing." He watched Lois' face for a reaction. Her disgust was thinly veiled.

"What?" He scoffed. "It was a clear-cut case of B and E." Lois didn't look convinced. He scowled at her. "Y'know, if I were any other citizen of Gotham defending my home against an intruder, you'd say that I was within my rights. But because it's me, you think that I'm a murderer." He looked at the camera. "I was just defending myself, Batman." He nodded with his eyebrows raised. "Honest. Those boys could have been after anything. For all I know, they came here to violate me because I'm so damned good-looking. A pretty boy like me just has to defend his virtue. You probably wouldn't understand that," (smack) "so take my word for it. You wear a mask, so you could look like Quasimodo, for all I know."

Lois eyed the food, not wanting to engage him any further regarding the dead kid. She watched him pull out a slice from the pizza with the double anchovies box, and cram half of it in his mouth. "Have some," he directed with a full mouth, keeping the gun aimed in her general direction. Lois didn't answer, rubbing the welts on her forearms.

"Mmm… salty fishies." With a few more bites he'd eaten the rest of the slice up to the crust. He threw it over his shoulder onto the floor, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. "Hey, I know a joke about Quasimodo. One day, Quasimoto breaks free of the tower and starts running around the streets of Paris, scaring people because he's so ugly. He runs by a tailor's shop. One tailor turns to the other and says, 'Do you know who that was?', and the other tailor says, 'I don't know his name, but his face rings a bell.'" The Joker raised his eyebrows. "Eh? Good one, huh?"

Lois didn't react. The Joker frowned at her and sulked. "Jeez, you need a sense of humor."

Barker had returned to his post beside the Joker's duffle bag. The Joker tipped his head toward the boxes. "You can have a slice, too, Barker."

Lois could hear the swell of appreciation in the little man's voice. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Joker!" Barker walked over, in front of Lois, and took a slice of pizza. He started to sit down, when the Joker's voice stopped him in his tracks. "No. Out. Get out, now. This is between me and her and…" he nodded in the camera's direction, "…him."

Crushed, Barker nodded in defeat and left the room. Lois noted Barker's dejection. Under difference circumstances, she might even have felt sorry for him.

The Joker cocked his head to the side. "Question number two: did Bruce Wayne dump you before or after he got you in the sack?"

Lois blinked twice, not thinking she'd heard the question correctly. She squinted her eyes at him and her mouth opened in disbelief. "What?"

"You heard me. Before or after?"

Lois scoffed. "Neither! I've never slept with Bruce Wayne. I've never even been on a date with him!"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, technically you don't have to go on a date to bump uglies with someone."

This lunatic is such a disgusting lowlife. "I've never slept with him, okay?" She could feel the blood rush to her face in indignation.

"Ah," the Joker nodded, "because he dumped you first, before it got that far."

"We've never dated!" Her fists were clenched.

"Really? See, I think the two of you would make a smashing couple: the billionaire playboy with rocks in his head, and the comely, if vapid, television reporter. Your last names even rhyme." He nodded. "You two would make a good match."

"Well, you're wrong! I've never dated that arrogant son of a bitch, and I never would."

"Hmmm." The Joker closed one eye, and brought the gun up to aim it at Lois' face. She clenched her teeth.

"Okay, I believe you." He tilted the gun back so the barrel pointed toward the ceiling. "Whatever grudge you're holding against Bruce Wayne, you might want to see a counselor. Maybe consider an anger management group-ah."

Lois glared at him, cursing him in her head. "He ditched a good friend of mine in the middle of a function he had invited her to, and left with another woman. My friend was devastated."

"Uh huh," he smirked. "If yoooooooooou say so."

Lois regretted not shooting the Joker in the back when he first handed her the gun to guard Curtis.

The Joker reached for the bottle of Jagermeister and opened it. He took a brief swig, keeping his eyes on Lois. Then he extended his arm toward her. "Have a drink."

Lois sneered. "No thanks."

He raised the gun again. "That wasn't a polite offer, Sweet Tart."

She reluctantly took the bottle from him. His smile had vanished and he was watching her like a hawk. She wiped at the mouth of the bottle with the sleeve of her shirt, and tipped the bottle back to her lips. After a sip, she wrinkled her face from the sting of the alcohol. She tried handing him the bottle back, but he wouldn't take it. "Drink a mouthful. You need it, Tartlette."

Hell, I probably do. She tilted the bottle back again, and felt the burning liquid fill her mouth. Her eyes started to water, and she gulped down all that was in her mouth. She started to cough, and he took the bottle from her. "That's more like it." He nodded his approval, and took another drink himself.

He looked at the camera. "So, bringing you up to speed, I think Lois lied on the first question. But I think that she told the truth on the second question, even though she got a little bit testy and bitchy when she answered." He swung his gaze over to Lois. "Didn'cha?"

Lois scowled at him. He looked back at the camera. "See? She's still being bitchy right now. Four more questions to go, and, ah, five more chambers in the cylinder to play with."

He eyed her, thinking of the second video he had shot earlier, and decided to pursue another uncomfortable subject that she had avoided. He knew it would make her squirm.

And that, in turn, would make the Batman squirm when he watched this video.

Making people squirm was fun.

"Question number threeeeee. Mizzzz Lane, you deny any romantic involvement with Bruce Wayne. So have you ever had…" he licked his lips, "feelings for anyone you've interviewed?"

Lois stiffened, and closed her eyes. That question hit like a punch to the gut.

He probed further. "You know, the type of feelings that make you feel all warm and tingly inside? All rainbows and unicorns and flowery schoolgirl shit like that?"

She started to shake her head until she heard the hammer cock. "Ah ah ah, Lois. Tell the truth. And I mean feelings for someone other than me. It's fairly obvious how attracted you are to me, but I'm more interested in your…" he cleared his throat, "past endeavors."

Her eyes scanned the ceiling.

The Joker looked at the camera, adding his own aside. "And she really is attracted to me. If you only saw the moves that she was putting on me earlier! Not suitable for general viewing audiences, I can tell you that."

Lois didn't hear the lies he was feeding to the camera. She felt a cry stick in her throat, picturing him, thinking of the last time she'd seen him. He'd been so warm to her, and she'd been so cold to him.

"Tick tock, Lois. Yes or no?"

She closed her eyes, and two tears ran down her face. "Yes." Her voice was hushed.

The Joker leaned in. "Aw, are you crying? I gotta get this on film." He went to the camera and picked it up, walking up to Lois' side. He tapped her on the head with the barrel of the gun. "Look up." She turned her face upward, and he filmed her silently for several seconds, letting the tears speak for themselves. He placed the camera back on the box and returned to the couch. "I believe you."

Lois wiped her eyes and sniffed. The Joker leaned down and picked an anchovy off a slice of pizza. He considered it, and then tossed it at Lois. It hit her in the upper arm, and stuck to her blouse. He picked up another anchovy, throwing that one at her as well. It struck her chin and dropped down to her lap. "What are you doing?" Exhaustion replaced annoyance in her voice. She swiped both fish pieces to the floor.

"Tossing toppings." He picked up two anchovies, eating one and tossing the other at her, which stuck to the front of her blouse on her chest. He bit his lip to keep from laughing. "You, uh, you got a fishie on your boob, there, Lois." He cleared his throat. "Question four."

Lois peeled the fish from her shirt and threw it back at him. He ducked and it sailed over his left shoulder. "Playing with your food shows bad manners." He scoffed and shook his finger at her. "Were you raised in a barn?"

Lois bent her head down to hide her face, cradling her knees.

"Uh, wait, that wasn't my question. My official question for our little game is… who did you have feelings for?" He paused. "No, wait, I didn't say that right. Whom did you have feelings for?" He scratched his head in a dramatic show of consternation. "No, that's still not right. I'm not supposed to end with a preposition. For whom did you have feelings? There, now I sound like a tee-vee reporter!"

She kept her head down.

"Who was it, Sweet Tart, aside from me, of course?"

Lois wouldn't look up, even when she heard the hammer of the revolver cock.

"No answer is the same as a false answer, chickadee. Who was it?"

She shook her head, keeping her face hidden. She couldn't bring herself to say his name, because she knew the tears would start. And the way she felt, they'd never stop.

"Hmmm… okay, then." He leaned over and rested the gun's barrel on the crown on her head. "Wrong response, Lois." He pulled the trigger, and she flinched when it slammed on an empty chamber.

"Looks like you dodged another bullet, Sweet Tart. Speaking of bullets…" He lolled his head back until it touched the couch's armrest behind him. He giggled, and tipped his head down again to look at Lois. "…is the Man of Steel really faster than a speeding bullet? That's not a game question, just an inquiry on my part. So, is he?"

Lois raised her eyes to meet his. There was a wide grin on his face, and his eyes were black with malicious intent.

She could see it on his face.

He knows. He knows that I care about Superman. He knows, and he's going to get in his jabs where he can.

The questioning continued. "Is he really more powerful than a… a locomotive?" He flicked his tongue out salaciously.

Lois could feel the tears welling in her eyes, threatening to start.

"Here's something else I've wondered." The Joker leaned in conspiratorially. "If he's really strong, like, freakishly strong, like everyone says he is…"

She bit her lip, not wanting to betray anything she knew to this madman.

"…then how do you suppose the guy has sex without shooting some chick clean off his lap from Metropolis all the way to Gotham?"

Lois' jaw dropped. Why did you just put that visual in my head?

The Joker went on further, "I mean, since he's supposed to be such a boy scout, maybe that's how he discovered he can fly." (smack) "Maybe he felt guilty about sending women into orbit like missiles each time he shot his wad, and tried to catch them before they hit the ground again. Like trying to catch a pop fly in baseball." He looked up around the ceiling. "I haven't heard of women dropping from the sky in Gotham, so I guess he must be doing a pretty good job of catching them before they hit the ground."

And then it happened. Exhaustion, terror, hunger and the Jaegermeister had weakened Lois to the point of no resistance. With this asinine scenario the Joker was describing, she did the only thing she could.

She started to laugh.

He cocked his head to the side, a glint of triumph in his eyes. "Are you … laughing, Lois?"

Yes, God help me, I am. I can't help it. That ridiculous picture you've painted…

And she couldn't stop. She was furious at herself for laughing, but unable to halt her giggles. After everything she'd been through in the evening so far, the visual of a woman flying off Superman's lap like a cannonball from a cannon struck her as absolutely hysterical. It was crude, immature, totally inappropriate, and exactly the dose of levity that she needed.

This is terrible. Why am I laughing at this? I would never tolerate anyone talking this way about Superman, so why do I find this so funny?

She knew why. If she didn't laugh, she'd grab the Joker's revolver and try to put a bullet in her own skull, to end the tortuous madness. He knew why she was laughing, as well, and he was glad it finally happened. The Joker needed her to release the resistance she was clinging to. It would make her more malleable.

He looked her up and down as her laughter subsided. This game was working just as he had intended.

When it was time for her lesson, she'd be ready.

"Question five, Sweet Tart. Do you think that a manipulative, lying tart like you deserves to be saved?"

The last of her laughter caught in her throat, and she choked. "What?"

"Does a woman like you, someone who was the catalyst to the killing of countless people and the destruction of a city… does she deserve to be rescued?"

Her face fell. She had been distracted from the turmoil outside of this house, and this was a crushing reminder.

He repeated his question. "Do you deserve to be rescued, Lois?"

If you say no, you're giving him reason to kill you right here and now. If you say yes, he'll continue his torture to prove you wrong. Do you even care anymore?

Do you? Do you care, Lo?

No.

"No." Her voice was firm, and she looked him in the face.

He tipped his chin down and raised the barrel of the gun. "Liar." He cocked the hammer. "You think that you do still deserve to be rescued. That you somehow still matter." He aimed the gun in Lois' direction. He pulled the trigger.

The hammer made contact, snapping back on the chamber with the lone bullet. And he knew it.

Which was why he aimed the gun to the side of her head.

The blast was painfully loud, and Lois' head reflexively snapped to the side as the bullet shot past the top of her left ear, just grazing it. Blood started to flow.

She clutched the side of her head, then screamed when she brought her hands to her face and saw blood. The Joker's mood had blackened again. He knew she was lying, and by his own terms of the game, he had to shoot her. But he couldn't afford to kill her yet. He tossed the revolver down onto the floor, as Lois began to rock in the fetal position. She leaned backward into the couch, her head throbbing and ears ringing from the blast.

No sooner had her back made contact with the cushion, and the Joker was upon her. He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, and dragged her off the couch onto the floor. He pulled her up to her knees, and got down on his, so they were face to face in front of the camera.

He held her head firmly by putting his left hand behind the base of her skull and squeezing. His right hand reached backward for something behind him.

"No more bullets, no more bullets, but the game's not over yet, Sweet Tart-ah. Just one more question for you." She tried to push him away, but he drew his face right into hers. They were nose to nose. "Question number six."

He brought his right hand up to their faces. The glint of metal caught Lois' eye.

A knife.

He tapped the flat of the blade on her left cheek, and licked his lips. "So. Lois." He pulled away from her, only a few inches, and brought the knife up to his own mouth. He traced the scar on his left cheek, from his lips outward toward his ear, then did the same on the right side.

"Want to know how I got these scars?"

. . . . . . .

Author's Notes for "Foreplay"

. . . . . . .

The Joker is exceptionally skilled at reading people's body language, and he remembers everything. Ever since the second video, he'd been waiting to make crude remarks about Superman to get under Lois' skin. He understands all-too well what it means to be infatuated with someone.

-4ofCups, 2009.03.29