Chapter 35- Black Out Days

Joker heard it before he saw it. The Slaughter truck shook beneath them, the bolts in the metal floor clattering. After that came the thunderous, rousing rumble of what could only be trouble. It's about time you showed, he mused, cackling as Batman's infamous tumbler rushed by the open truck door in a blur of black. He looked over at Erickson wishing momentarily for one of his other goons. These guys were just so boring, paid mercenaries instead of Arkham rejects he'd recruited on his trip through the Narrows.

He could almost taste Erickson's fear as he handed Joker the RPG ammo. Oh calm down, it's just one measley grenade—you'd think he'd never seen one before. Snatching it from Erickson, Joker loaded the launcher and waited for the opportune moment.

Batman's tumbler had caught up with the lumbering truck and cut it off. Joker lurched as the Slaughter truck skidded to a stop, throwing Erickson on his ass.

"Calvary's here, boys!" laughed Joker, kicking an M-76 his way. His smile soured when he saw that Erickson had hit his head, a steady trickle of blood dripping from the cut; Joker rolled his eyes. "Gear up."

Erickson grabbed the gun and took a tentative spot near the open door, waiting for a clear shot at the Batman. But there wasn't one and Joker was tired of waiting. Deciding his crew could do with one less idiot in it, he shoved Erickson from the truck. Unfortunately for Erickson, Batman had swapped the tumbler for a motorcycle, wherever the hell that came from.

How the hell does he afford all this stuff? mused Joker in the moment before Erickson—who'd just hit the ground and was in the process of standing up—was struck by the motorcycle. Erickson's body was thrown about a good twenty feet. Joker shielded himself from the blood that hit the truck door and hopped out from the truck, confident that Batman was far enough away.

"That looks like it hurt," said Joker, glancing at an unconscious, likely-dead Erickson. He was going to put a bullet in the poor guy's brain, but there was little time for that. Batman was on his way, and from the looks of it, he was pissed.

"Showtime," he said, poising the RPG on his shoulder and squinting one eye for aiming. Batman was hurtling toward him at inhuman speeds, undoubtedly counting on the fact that Joker would flinch. You thought wrong, Batsy.

Joker held his ground, the throttle of Batman's motorcycle growing louder all the while.

"Hit me, hit me—come on, I want you to do it," he whispered, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

Batman was fifty feet away. Joker advanced, ready to shoot. Batman was thirty feet away.

"Come on, HIT ME!" Joker aimed just to the left of Batman's bike—he didn't want to kill the guy, just send a message. Batman was twenty feet away. Joker shot the RPG, but Batman swerved out of the way, bearing down harder on the gas.

Batman was ten feet away, and Joker could make out the brown eyes beneath the black cowl. Joker tossed the RPG to the side—there was no need for it now. Batman would hit him. Except he didn't, swerving around him in such dramatic fashion it looked like a figure-skating maneuver.

"You just couldn't let me go, could you?" snarled Joker, picking up the RPG once more. It was empty, and all he ammo was back on the truck, but he could use it as a club if necessary. Batman looped around and hopped off bike, evidently in no mood to play footsies all night.

Three bat-shaped knives whirled through the darkness, knocking the RPG out of his hand. Well, there goes that one. Truth be told, he didn't intend on making it this far. So, when Batman descended on him with one hell of haymaker, Joker did the one thing he always did—laugh.

And he continued to laugh as Batman rained blow after blow on his head, the heavy black gloves cracking away at Joker's jaw.

Aren't we angry? thought Joker, barely aware of the pain. There was a certain stupidity in it, hitting someone so many times—eventually they just grow fuzzy, unable to offer anything more than gurgles over their own blood; Joker learned that lesson in the early days, back when he'd pummel a henchman until the bones smooshed back into heir brains.

It seemed Batman had just learned this lesson because he stopped by degrees. There were sirens in the distance, and Joker knew the GCPD wouldn't take well to their Dark Knight murdering the most wanted man in the city.

Still, that didn't stop Batman from screaming in Joker's face, strings of spittle flying about. "You killed her!"

He had half a mind to ask who—there were far too many hers he'd killed—but the Caped Crusader soon answered. "You killed Rachel."

Joker couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled on his lips. Dawes? Really? Of all the people for Gotham's vigilante to worry about, and he picks some A.D.A? Maybe Dent really is under that thing, he mused, returning to his earlier theory. He was about to retort with some smart ass remark, but it seemed the GCPD had other plans.

From the screeching squad cars that kicked up dust and parked their tires near his head, Joker saw six officers running towards them headed up by Jim Gordon. Guns deployed, they shouted various obscenities mixed with commands—all of it sounded far away, buried under the haze of a pending concussion.

"Hands above your head, motherfucker—don't move! Thanks, Batman." Joker complied, completely unbothered by the whole thing. The gang van had taken the detour route home, which meant that his men—and most importantly, Ava—would be back at the warehouse in 30 minutes tops.

They know what to do, he mused as he was shoved into a cop car. True, there was no specific plan, but they'd figure it out. Ryan, Parker, Anders—they were veterans. But it was Ava that truly caught his attention. In her time with them, she'd gone from timid survivor, to murderess to something truly wonderful: his.

He'd branded her, and whether she liked it or not, that would show itself soon. As the squad car pulled away, tailed by Batman, Joker knew that he'd hear reports of his crew (and girl) in no time.

See you soon, doll.

-X-

They'd made it back to the warehouse just in time for her to see the horror. Bozo drove like a bat out of hell so it only took them 20 minutes to reach the industrial sector of Gotham. Ava jumped out of the car before he could even park it, desperate for fresh air that didn't smell of salt. Joker and Erickson would arrive at any moment and any freedom she might enjoy would be stripped immediately.

"You don't look too good," said Parker, looking over at her. Ava waved him off and hurried for the bathroom, barely making it to the sink before hurling.

"Goddamn it," she rasped, scooping water into her mouth. True, her sick was tinged purple, and nausea was a direct side effect of Joker's fear toxin. But she knew that wasn't the only reason she was pressed up against the dingy bathroom tile, clutching at her chest.

Rather, it was evidence of what'd she'd become, what she knew to be true of herself. Lifetimes away from the reporter with the backpack on her shoulders and dreams of Gotham journalism, she was hardened: cruel. Criminal. She'd killed someone—or three hundred, depending on how you looked at it. That was something Bludhaven Ava would never have done.

Maybe they won't do it, she mused, thinking of the ferry hostages. Sure, they were pumped up far too many CCs of fear toxin and were likely seizing by now. But it did her stomach good to believe that these people wouldn't kill each other tonight or any other there was still good in Gotham.

Unfortunately for her, the GCN breaking news report said otherwise.

"This just in," said the anchor, raising a hand to his earpiece. "We have confirmed reports that the Joker has been apprehended by the Batman and GCPD."

Ava couldn't help the sigh of relief that puffed her chest. As for Ryan and Parker, they looked rather perplexed, like a child who had their stuffed animal taken away. The anchor's next words wiped all of that relief away in a single blow.

"Unfortunately, Batman did not arrive in time to diffuse the bombs Joker's gang planted on the Gotham ferries, and the estimated 300 hostages on board are presumed dead in the explosions on Gotham Bay."

"Well that sucks," said Ryan, shoveling a fistful of stale chips into his mouth. "Really thought they would've made it."

"How? We've been on that shit, you've seen Curly on it—it's bad enough with one vial. But with 20 or 30? They didn't stand a chance," answered Parker, shoving Ryan aside so he could get at the chips.

Ava gaped at them, not believing her ears. First, they didn't give a shit that they'd just assisted the murder of 300 people. Second—and perhaps this was the one she cared about most—they'd seen her on Joker's fear toxin.

"Wait, when did you see me?" she said, rounding on them; they recognized their mistake and immediately tried to backtrack, but Ava wasn't having it. Shouting into the silent warehouse, she demanded again: "Answer me!"

"Boss asked us to tie you up so he could tape you for the news," said Ryan coolly, attempting to soothe her ire. "So we did—brought in duct tape and strapped you to the chair. You were pretty out of it, mumbling all sorts of things."

"Like what?" snarled Ava, hand reaching for the gun on her belt. Did she really intend to shoot them? No. If anything, Ryan and Parker had become like brothers. Thieving, conniving and prone to violence sure, but brothers nonetheless. They were the only reason she was still alive.

But just then, nothing appealed to her more than shooting her way out, hopping in the car and heading straight for Harvey's place. If he'll have you, piped reason not keen to let her forget what (or rather who) she'd done.

Harvey would want to know what she'd been through, what she'd done, how she'd made it out. And somehow, Ava didn't see "I slept with a sociopath and killed three men" going over well.

"That you loved that DA guy—Dent," said Parker, refusing to meet her eyes.

"What else?" she asked, not convinced they'd told her everything.

"Curly, you don't want to know," butted Ryan with a cautionary glance.

"Tell me!" shrieked Ava, suddenly panicked; her stomach began to toss again.

With a great sigh and an annoyed plunk as he set the bag of chips down, Ryan answered. "Well, you may or may not have said that you and Boss enjoyed...foreplay on occasion."

Ava could've died right there. She wracked her brain for what the hell she could've been talking about. Foreplay wasn't even a remote possibility between them, not for as terrified as she'd been (and still was) of him unless—Shit!

"You mean the knife he stuck in my leg?" countered Ava, squirming under their incredulous stares. "I'd hardly call that foreplay!"

"I'm just telling you what you said when you were out. Don't get at mad at me because you can't hold your fear toxin," said Ryan, with a teasing lilt.

Ava thought to argue back, but realized she didn't have anything to say. Ryan was right—she had indeed called the incident with Joker and the cops "foreplay," in the same way yanking hair and leaving bruises on skin was "sweet." The truth of the matter was that she'd put herself in this position (willingly or not), and was currently reaping the bitter fruit.

"It's not important. Just tell me what we're going to do about this whole capture situation," she conceded, waving the issue away with a hand.

Ryan looked at Parker, who then looked to her. "We were hoping you had an idea."

"Me?" balked Ava, throwing her hands up. "Why the hell would I know what to do? He's your boss!"

Parker's mean streak was back, brow low set as vitriol flew from his mouth. "And he's your boy—"

The look on Ava's face cut him short, two parts menace and one part fury. She slid her gun fully off of her belt and held it casually at her waist. Parker's eyes widened as Ava toyed with the weapon, waving it about a she gestured for him to continue.

"My what, Parker? What were you going to say?" she challenged, eyes narrowed.

"Nothing," he lied, throwing his hands up defensively. Ryan said nothing, only stared at her with something like admiration on his face.

"That's what I thought," she said, not bothering to put the gun away. "Now Ryan, do you have any actual ideas? A way to break him out, maybe?"

"Break him out? What, miss him already?" laughed Ryan. "Ava, you know the GCPD will literally destroy us before we get within 50 feet of the precinct."

"Miss him? No. If it were up to me, I'd have shot you two and run back home to 'that DA guy' I love so much. Unfortunately, Joker would find me in a matter of days," answered Ava, relishing the shock on their faces.

Hell, even she was surprised by how vehement she sounded—assured, undaunted, angry. She knew it was the truth as the words left her mouth, that she'd shoot two or ten or fifteen bullets at Ryan and Parker if it meant she could go home to Harvey and Pam. But she couldn't, at least not while Joker was a major player on the Gotham scene.

Still, admitting to Joker's two favorite henchmen that she'd kill them without qualm wasn't something she'd anticipated doing. Then again, neither was devising a hostile gang takeover, compliments of gasoline and Joker's mob money.

"So," she said, free hand on her hip. "What are we blowing up next?"

A/N: Back at it again with the sporadic updates! I figure I've got about another 20 chapters to go, so hopefully with the new break in my schedule I can finish this up by summer (reviews make the writing process go faster...at least a little bit ;) Anyway, hope y'all are doing well!

Til next time,

~L.L.