Warnings: Some violence sort of? Angst.
A/N: Sorry there was sort of another gap in between updates. Life getting in the way again. Also, for a while I've imagined in my head little scenes and lines that I wanted to include toward the end of this story, and it took a bit longer to write something coherent that included all of them. I imagine the next chapter will similarly be a bit delayed for the same reason–and yes, there is one last chapter after this one.
...
Arthur walked into his apartment, setting down the items he'd purchased that day. Who knew green hair dye was so hard to find?
He looked around. Something didn't quite feel right in the apartment, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. He questioned himself, whether he wasn't becoming paranoid, on top of everything else, as seemingly everything was as he left it earlier that day.
Arthur shuffled back to his front door and slid the chain lock into place.
He paused. His shoulders slumped. He should just go to her and apologize profusely for everything he did, was. Hope she wouldn't slam her door in his face or worse. He never meant to scare or hurt Jennifer. He'd been avoiding her out of a sense of shame, embarrassment. Intense self-hatred. Fear.
He glanced back at the small bag sitting on his coffee table, and he suddenly felt very foolish. He had no idea where, when, how. Though he knew exactly why. He also still wasn't sure he even should.
His mind returned to his television appearance tomorrow night. He smiled, all other concerns slipping away, as he turned on his heel and skipped into the living room.
….
The knock on the door was unexpected.
He didn't think it was Jennifer; the knock didn't sound like her; she also never once rang his doorbell. He'd also been in her apartment earlier that day, so he knew she wasn't home.
He found a sharp pair of hair shears in his mother's vanity before going out to greet whoever it was.
He was annoyed to see Randall and happy to see Gary.
"We heard your mother died…. from that girl–your…uh…friend? She came around the shop asking about you."
Arthur was confused by that at first, then smiled. "Did she?"
"Yeah…. She, uh, sounded concerned. We just wanted to swing by and check on ya, see how ya were doin'…."
Arthur smiled even wider. "She is a sweet girl." It occurred to him then–Jennifer had been inside his apartment. Maybe multiple times…. Maybe even broken in. But he could only chuckle inside when thinking about it.
Any softness in Arthur disappeared momentarily as he realized why Randall was really there.
He'd had about enough of Randall's bullshit.
….
Arthur stood before his bathroom mirror, admiring his finished make-up–the white greasepaint reapplied after, well, making a mess of things earlier–and the outfit of bright red, yellow, and green he'd put together.
It was quite the look.
"Looks good…" Jennifer's voice purred inside his mind.
Joker smiled, before switching off the bathroom light and heading out.
Later in the afternoon, there was no one around to observe Joker as he reached up and slipped her spare key form its crack above the door frame. It was still there.
He'd left something inside earlier, but he wanted to add something more. He wanted to be sure.
He still wasn't sure he wanted to leave behind the thing that sat heavily in his jacket pocket. It felt like the sort of thing that should be given in person. Something she should be able to accept or reject.
God, he didn't want to think of what he'd do if she rejected it.
It stayed in his pocket, as he left her apartment, maybe for the last time. Careful to lock the door and replace the spare key.
As he walked down the hall toward the elevator, a momentary sadness came over him when he realized both times today that he'd been inside Jennifer's apartment, he hadn't seen little Paulie.
He pushed the thought away as he focused on what was ahead of him.
….
Joker rubbed his sore ribs as he found his way to NCB's Studios. That cab sure did a number on him. He was immensely relieved when, later, he checked and found both items on his person were still there, and intact. As well as the .38.
He entered the lobby of NCB Studios and found a production assistant, who looked at him confused.
"I didn't know Murray was supposed to have on any clown act tonight?" The PA scratched their headset-haloed head.
Joker giggled. "Oh, I'm his special guest!"
"Oh, that guy! Sure, right this way."
"Call me Joker, by the way," he smiled.
"Uh, sure! Right this way Joker…."
….
He would be the last guest on that night. Perfect, he thought. Out with a bang.
The waiting around was a bit boring, though.
Joker frowned into the mirrors in his dressing room, as he saw how rough he looked after his earlier shenanigans. Just as he thought of it, an older woman with short hair and small, round glasses entered Joker's dressing room. She stopped in her tracks when she saw him. "Uhh…."
"Hi there!" he said, giving her a friendly, exaggerated wave.
"Uhh, hi. I'm Ruth. Hair and make-up for Murray's guests. Arthur Fleck?"
"If you say so…." Joker pouted.
"Well, honey, I'm here to do your make-up–"
"Oh, I am so relieved. It…ran a little, because I ran a little, to get here." Joker laughed.
Ruth shrugged. She'd seen crazier. "Well, you happen to be in luck because I do have some clown make-up in my toolkit." Ruth dropped a large make-up box onto the counter, unclasped it and opened it up. She searched and found her pot of white greasepaint, along with a smaller pot of blue-green that matched his triangles. She kept searching for something else. "Hmmm…."
"Oh, I have that."
Ruth turned to Joker, as he pulled out a tube of lipstick where it was tucked away in his shirtsleeve. Jennifer's lipstick. That same dark red shade from that night at the Bowery, and that other night at Pogo's. He handed it to Ruth, who examined it.
"Hmm, Revlon, #22, Harlequin Red. Nice choice."
Joker hummed. "She does have good taste. After all, she picked me." He grinned.
She tucked some tissues into his shirt color to protect them. "Well," she exhaled, "let's get started doll."
….
Ruth was a miracle worker. Joker looked even better than before. Her lipstick did look good on him.
He stood alone in his dressing room, as he rolled the capped tube around in his hand.
His mind flashed to that one morning, when Jennifer had to leave early for work, but he stayed behind in her apartment to feed Paulie and tend to some other things for her. When he got up from bed to use her bathroom after she'd gone, he'd found a note scrawled in one of her more pink shades of lipstick on the bathroom mirror. It was a dirty, cheeky note, referencing…one of their activities from the night before. Punctuated by one of her kisses.
He uncapped the lipstick in his hand and brought it to the mirror. He wanted to write something personal, meaningful, to evoke her, but that seemed pointless, in light of the fact that she'd never see it. She was also still his little secret. He decided on something more generic. Something seemingly benign but which wouldn't seem as much later.
Put on a
HAPPY fACE
….
Jennifer woke up, showered, got herself ready for the day that Thursday.
She smiled at and greeted all co-workers she encountered as she entered her office building and found her way to her desk.
"Hey," Karen said as she came up to her. "How's it going? How's the boyfriend?"
"Fine, fine," she smiled, in a manner slightly off-kilter, but which Karen was not familiar with enough to recognize. "Say, what's the word on the Peters claim?"
"Oh God, that one…."
She was able to deal with work because consciously, she had blocked out anything to do with Arthur Fleck. Nothing of that element of her life entered her brain as she went about her various duties. When the clock turned to 4:30, she felt a slight pang of dread, as certain worries, memories, tried to intrude into her conscious thoughts. She shoved it all down, while offering to stay later at work.
She didn't get home until closer to 7 PM. Her mind was a total blank as she walked up to her building, entered, checked the mail, pushed the elevator call button, then rode the creaking carriage up to her floor.
When the doors slid open she stepped out into a flurry of activity. Cops, paramedics, and her fellow neighbors filled the hallway.
"What's going…" Jennifer started, before noticing that the activity was focused around Arthur's door.
She rushed up to a uniformed officer standing by the door, which had police tape crossing it. "What the hell's going on? What happened?"
"Please, Ma'am, this is an active crime scene. We need you and everyone else to please return to your homes–"
"Active crime scene?!" On instinct, she tried to push past the cop, but he gripped her arms and shoved her back. "Hey!"
"Please, just, I need to see–" She almost managed to get the door open, but the cop stopped her again.
"Ma'am, if you continue with this behavior I'm gonna have to put you arrest."
Jennifer shrunk back. The last thing she wanted was to go with a cop anywhere. "Okay…."
She started walking away, as she became numb, unsure what to do other than head in the general direction of her apartment.
"Hey Gordon, come in here for a bit," she heard someone say behind her. She turned to see that same cop head inside Arthur's apartment. She made a mental note of that name. Maybe she could call the police station later and find out more from that officer, or at least complain about him.
Jennifer moved automatically to her apartment door. Slowly found her key chain and inserted her apartment key into the lock. She entered just as slowly.
Her foot kicked something that subsequently slid slightly across the floor.
She dropped her bags and stepped toward it. She looked down, confused. Crouching down, she scooped it up: It was a magician's wand, with paper flowers sprouting from the top of it.
She knew immediately who it was from.
There was a torn-out piece of notebook paper wrapped around the wand. She unwound the paper. It bore a short poem:
"I'll always love you.
You make my heart pitter patter
You made me feel
Like I matter"
–Arthur
Oh God. She dropped to the floor, hard, but she didn't care.
A sob broke from deep inside her, following by a downpour of tears.
He'd done it. Jennifer's mind couldn't help but create a gruesome picture of whatever Arthur had done to himself to have the cops investigating it.
Had someone heard the gunshot? Did he leave the door open for someone to find him? Did they see the newspaper collage and put two and two together?
Her thoughts ran to nothing. She was so tired. So tired. Her love was gone, and she did nothing to stop it, could do nothing about it now.
….
She'd eventually dragged herself off the floor, and changed out of her work clothes. She didn't shower or remove her make-up. She broke out a new bottle of Bushmills and had drained most of it.
Jennifer had settled on her couch. Letting the TV quietly lead her in and out of sleep the rest of the night.
She lay with her back to it, facing the back of the couch. At the top of which lay the magician's wand with the note wrapped around it. She'd look up at it, but didn't touch it. She felt a potent mix of anger and sadness at it.
If what the note said was true, why did he leave?
She sighed, miserable. Paulie was sitting at her head. Purring. Trying to cheer up his momma. She'd reach up and pet him occasionally.
As Jennifer tried to fall back asleep at one point, a ghost spoke through her television….
"You know, when I was a kid…."
It couldn't be. She was starting to question her own sanity. Did she just hear Arthur?
He was still talking.
She rolled around and sat up on the couch. He was on her television screen.
It was footage of Arthur, from his appearance at the open mic night at Pogo's. She wasn't even aware he was being filmed that night.
She watched the clip as it was played and played again, utterly confused. Then she saw Murray Franklin's face.
"Now, if you'll join me in welcoming…Joker!"
A man with green hair, in clown make-up, a red suit, yellow vest, and bottle-green shirt, danced out, oozing charisma and charm. He did a little spin before sauntering up to Murray and shaking his hand.
He greeted an older woman–was that Dr. Sally?–by planting a lingering kiss on her. Jennifer felt a funny, unexpected pang of jealousy.
He took his seat next to the late night host–this man. Jennifer knew who he was, and it wasn't Arthur. She'd met him before, shortly before fucking him, or rather he fucked her. She knew exactly who he was.
She moved forward, sitting on her coffee table right smack in front of her television set.
She watched with rapt attention.
After some discussion of his…colorful appearance, they invited him to tell a joke. She noticed Murray's condescending stance toward Arth–Joker.
He told a knock-knock joke, one about a policeman telling a woman her son had been killed by a drunk driver, and her blood ran cold.
He was scolded by the others on the show for his tasteless joke.
"Sorry…. It's been a rough few weeks, Murray. Maybe that's why I…killed those three Wall Street guys."
Jennifer gasped, echoing the sound that filled the television studio. God, he just admitted to murder on national broadcast television. Said it wasn't a joke.
She moved forward again, so her feet were planted on the ground and her hands gripped the edge of her coffee table.
Murray asked if he was serious, if this confession was to really be believed.
"I've got…nothing left to lose. Nothing can hurt me anymore."
That lead to a diatribe about comedy and what is right and wrong, but she was only half listening, because she felt like someone had stabbed her in the gut.
Nothing left to lose. There was a slight hesitation there, but he said it nonetheless.
The mention of Thomas Wayne brought her full attention back to the conversation being carried on through the screen. Joker spoke compellingly about the lack of empathy he'd experienced, that too many experienced. But of course Murray read it as self-pity. Not everyone is awful….
"You're awful, Murray…." Her gut clenched. She recognized the tone Joker's voice took and the look that came over his face and the danger inherent in both.
The late night host became defensive–even more so after Arthur stated he'd only been invited on to be made fun of. So that was it. She had a feeling, but she wondered if Arthur knew.
Still, the more Jennifer watched, the more unhinged Arthur seemed to have become. It eventually escalated to the point where he was yelling. She could feel herself white-knuckling the coffee table beneath her.
Out of nowhere, Joker pulled a gun, and shot Murray Franklin's brains out.
Jennifer sat stock still, unable to register what had just happened. Then all at once it came crashing upon her like a tsunami: a wave of nausea that had her running into the bathroom and vomiting up anything and everything she'd eaten in the last day.
Good god.
….
Gotham had been plunged into chaos.
How was it possible? Were there that many in the city who were so angry? The rioting, looting, violence, had raged on for two days. It was so bad, her work had actually told her and everyone else to stay home that Friday.
Jennifer didn't even feel safe leaving her apartment. Someone had broken into a couple of units on the ground floor that Thursday night that everything went to hell, and she could have sworn someone had tried to open her door last night.
She could hear yelling, screaming, breaking glass, police sirens and a cacophony of other sounds from outside even now.
She shut her eyes against a gunshot that sounded unnervingly close.
She opened her eyes. She was lying on her side on top of her bedclothes, near-fetal position, resting her head on her hands. She was facing two photos propped up on her side table. One of them, the Polaroid she took of Arthur holding Paulie, the other the baby photo of him she'd found amongst Penny's things.
Jennifer tried to remember, to focus on that man, and not the one she saw pulling the trigger of a gun when she closed her eyes. But it was hard when nearly every channel on TV kept replaying his Murray Franklin interview and some even the footage of the shooting.
So she had retreated into her room with Paulie. Trying to wait out the storm.
She was also on high alert. Listening for any little possible sign of danger.
Eventually, she did hear the sound of her front door creak open.
As Jennifer reached behind the photos on her bedside table to grab her .22, she heard the crack of her chain lock being broken off the door.
As she quietly got up and moved toward her bedroom door, she felt odd. Like she knew who was out there….
"Honey, I'm home!"
Jennifer closed her eyes. Shook her head, before she opened the door wide and stepped out, gun held aloft by both hands.
She pointed it right at his face, which Joker found amusing.
"Well, hello to you too, dear."
"You broke into my apartment."
"Well, only fair. After all, you broke into mine."
"Why are you here?"
"Why wouldn't I be here?"
"I need you to fucking leave."
He waggled a disapproving finger at her. "Ah ah ah. You won't get rid of me that easily this time."
He moved toward her, but she moved back and to the side, trying to maintain a certain distance while simultaneously moving closer toward an exit.
Joker sighed. "If you really want to know, I missed you."
She couldn't tell how serious or sincere he was being. The painted and bloody smile distracted from his real expression, particularly in the semi-dark of her apartment.
"Missed me?"
"Mmmm-hmm." He made a big step forward but she moved back and to the side again. She was trying to gauge whether she could make it to the front door before he could reach her.
Honestly, she didn't want to have to use the gun. It was still Arthur there, underneath the garish clothes, dyed hair, smudged make-up, and dried blood.
Jennifer's arms were dropping slightly.
He moved subtly closer. "C'mon Baby, I won't hurt you."
Her eyes narrowed. "A little too late for that."
Joker looked confused, then concerned. He rushed up to her, so her gun was pointed inches away from his face. He even reached up and made sure it pointed right into his forehead. "If I hurt you, go ahead. I deserve it then."
Her hands shook. She took away one hand so the .22 was held in just one. Would she be doing Gotham a favor by just pulling the trigger? She could say he threatened her, but somewhere along the way she'd have to explain their relationship, and it would just get messy.
She also just…couldn't. Never could. She'd probably let him kill her first.
Jennifer uncocked the gun and let her arm drop. A little smile crept onto Joker's face, before she smacked it off. Hard.
"Don't you ever, ever, fucking joke about my parents, even indirectly."
He rubbed his cheek. He looked unsure for a moment, then it clicked–the knock knock joke. "You'll never get by in life, if you can't see the humor in everything."
She cocked her head at him, before cocking her gun and pointing it back at him. "Alright, maybe I change my mind."
He stepped into the gun again.
"I wouldn't blame you, but for what it's worth, I'm sorry."
"It's not worth much at this point."
"I figure." He smiled sheepishly.
She sighed. Uncocked the .22 again and let her arm drop. Her nerves, sadness, and lack of sleep were catching up to her, as the sense of danger was passing.
She shook her head. "Where have you even been since…."
"Oh, here and there. My followers have been pretty useful in helping me evade the police so far."
She looked at him, incredulous. "Your 'followers'?"
"Yeah," he smiled. "People who agree with me about how fucked up everything is. How cruel the world has become. They've gone through a lot of the same shit I have, we have. They saw what I did on the Murray Franklin show, and now I'm their hero. Their symbol for change, for recognition."
"Are you sure they're not just laughing at you?"
Joker's expression soured. "What do you mean?"
"Oh c'mon. Think about it. Why was anyone tuned into to Murray in the first place? To laugh at the freak everyone couldn't get enough of. That weirdo, Arthur-what's-his-name. But you end your little appearance unexpectedly by splattering a celebrity's brains on the wall, and suddenly they all smell blood. They see their chance to go apeshit and let out all their pent up rage over whatever. You're not the leader of some goddamn cause, you're an excuse."
Joker's face was unreadable for a moment—she thought maybe she saw a flash of anger, denial—before he shrugged, smiled. "Tomato, tomahto."
Jennifer sighed heavily. Sat down on her couch before putting her head in her hands. "So what have you been doing the last couple of days?" She looked up. "Partying with your new friends?"
"Oh, I've certainly made some interesting friends lately." The Laugh rose from his thin frame comfortably, melodically.
She looked at him–really looked at him. He looked like a train wreck. "Have you even slept at all in the past few nights?"
"Hmm…." He rubbed his chin, before letting his hand fall away. He grinned. "Don't think so."
She rolled her eyes as she looked away. Looked back. "You know if you don't sleep after 48 hours you start hallucinating and losing your mind, right?"
Joker chuckled. "Well, a little late for that."
Jennifer gave him a wry smile. "Clearly."
She looked away and the pile of Arthur-related documents she'd accumulated caught her eye. She rose and rushed over to it, grabbing up the birth certificate that sat on top of everything else. She brought it to Joker.
"Read this," she directed, before handing it to him.
Joker's eyes scanned the seal-embossed paper in his hand for a few moments. He started to laugh, before flicking it away, letting it fall like a feather onto the floor.
She stared down at it. Clicked her tongue. "Yeah, well, I just risked my job to get that, ya know, no big deal," she shrugged as she looked up at him.
"It's not important anymore, but I appreciate your doing that."
"Is it? And do you?" she inquired. She pointed down. "Cause the paper laying on the floor there says otherwise."
He shrugged himself, frowned. "It's just not who I am anymore."
She threw up her hands. "So Arthur Fleck is no more. Just…kaput?"
Joker fished around in one of his pants pockets. Found what he was looking for in a crumpled Stuttons box and Bic lighter. He pulled one out and lit it, taking a deep drag. "Pretty much."
She pursed her lips. "So who's Jennifer Cullen to…Joker, or whatever your name is. Besides maybe a good lay?" she added bitterly.
He smirked at that.
He took another long drag. "Everything." His green eyes took on a gentle quality, and she was suddenly confused, though also still hurting.
She lifted her chin. "This from the man with, quote, 'nothing left to lose'?"
A drag. "Maybe I was lying then."
"Why?"
"Because…." He reached up and brought his hand to her cheek, rubbed his thumb over it. "You're my little secret," he muttered. A genuine, faltering smile on his face.
Jennifer didn't move away. If anything, in spite of what she felt just seconds before, she found herself leaning into his touch.
He moved subtly closer. His hand moved down to her neck and palmed it. In spite of everything, she still melted at his touch, particularly to that weak spot.
"My Princess," he said gently.
She couldn't help a few tears from falling from her eyes, particularly as she closed them. With his other hand, he moved to wipe these away.
"And I'll do anything to protect you."
She opened her eyes; she felt a pang of dread. "What does that mean, especially now?"
"I don't know. Not sure yet." He drew away. "But you've done more for me than anyone else in my life, and that won't be forgotten."
There was air of finality in those words that made her worry, but she didn't want to confront or acknowledge it, at least just yet. "What did I do?" she asked sadly, semi-rhetorically.
"Love me, mainly," he chuckled softly. "Acknowledge I existed in the first place. Just…gave a damn. I…I saw you came to my mother's funeral."
She hesitated. "You…you knew I was there? At the cemetery?" she asked, uncertain.
Joker gave her a gentle look. "Of course. I always see you."
Jennifer looked down, away.
"No, don't think for one moment that you aren't loved in return. Appreciated. Cherished. However fucked in the head I am."
A fresh round of tears welled up in her eyes. A sob escaped from her.
The cigarette was stubbed out, before he took her into his arms. She hugged him back. They stayed like that for some time.
"I just wish," she finally said into his shoulder, "that I was–that I could have done enough to save you. To help you."
He drew back a bit. He smiled softly, shook his head. "That wasn't your job."
"Art—" she reached up and caressed his face through the sweat-smeared, faded make-up and dried, flaking blood, and she watched as its expression became a blank. A void. Before slowly morphing into alarm, panic.
"Where am I?"
"What?"
He pulled away. Stumbled back, as he seemed to become confused by his surroundings. "What's…where…."
She was confused at first; what was happening? Then she wondered if maybe this was his sleeplessness finally catching up to him. Or something worse.
"Why–why are there two of you?" He kept looking between Jennifer and a corner of the room.
By this time he had walked back into a wall, and the look on his face was one of fright.
She walked up to him slowly. "Shhhh," she cooed. "It's okay. It's okay Arthur."
When she was close enough, she reached out a hand to caress his cheek again.
"Are you…?"
"I'm here. I'm real." She nodded reassuringly, tried to smile. "It's Jennifer, Arthur. Jenny." She looked down, then up. "I love you, and you love me. Hmm?"
He nodded in recognition. "Love you," he echoed.
She sighed in relief.
"Let's go to bed, eh? Get some rest."
He let her lead him into her bedroom. She sat him down on her bed.
"Let's get you cleaned up a bit first."
She went and got some cold cream along with a damp washcloth from her bathroom. Carefully, she cleaned his face and neck, so it was a bit more Arthur Fleck sitting in front of her again.
Jennifer moved to return the cream and cloth to her bathroom.
"Jenny?"
"Yeah–oh–" she let out upon turning around and being enveloped in a strong hug around her waist. He laid his head, with its mane of still-green dyed hair, against her chest.
"What happens tomorrow?" he wondered aloud.
She stroked his hair. She hadn't wanted to think about that, but now she had to.
"I think…I think you need to turn yourself in. Go to Arkham, and turn yourself in."
He moved swiftly to look up at her. "But, Arkham–"
She shook her head. "I don't want to see you in prison. And you need help, Arthur." New tears were falling now. "Trust me, it's the last place I'd want you or anyone to go, and you know why. But I don't see any other way that–that won't take you away from me completely."
Arthur frowned, before nestling his head back against her chest.
"Let's not think of that now," she whispered into his hair after a few moments.
She moved to pull back the quilt comforter and sheets on her bed. Paulie jumped up on the bed. He didn't seem scared of Arthur like last time, but he didn't approach Arthur like he used to, either. He sat at the head of the bed, just watching the two of them.
Beside Jennifer, Arthur started to remove his red suit jacket. "Oh."
"What?" she asked, as she went about fluffing up the pillows.
She was alarmed when Arthur half-collapsed to the floor, so he was kneeling beside her.
She turned to see him holding up a small, velvet box.
"Oh–I should probably open it." He reached up and pulled back the lid, revealing a thin band of gold. A simple, round-cut stone at the top.
"I sold the last of anything valuable I had–Penny had–to have the money to buy it."
She honestly couldn't think what to say at first. Then: "You have a spectacularly bad sense of timing." She took the box from him. Studied the ring inside.
"Heh," Arthur pushed himself up. Jennifer noticed for the first time he was holding his ribs and wincing. "I have all the guts of a whore after meeting Jack the Ripper, is more my problem." She chuckled a bit at that; he smiled.
He stared down at her, staring down at the ring. "You don't have to take it. I wouldn't blame you–"
She pinched the ring and pulled it out from the velvet display. She tossed the box. She was about to slip it on her left ring finger, before his hands came over hers.
"I should do that." He took the ring and slipped it on her finger. Damn, it fit perfectly and everything.
She looked up and the they locked eyes. This was insane. He was. She probably was, at least a little. He had crossed a line and entered a place from which there was no going back. If she had any sense, she would have had him leave, for good. But she couldn't, knowing what had shoved him so violently over that line. There were selfish reasons, too, that made even less sense. But at that moment so much of her just didn't care. Damn whatever the future brought as well.
He didn't deserve her at all. He knew what he had done. What he was now. But here she was, and as long as he could, he was going to hold on tightly. He wanted to ask her to wait, but there was a good chance there would be nothing to wait for, so he didn't.
Instead, he bought her close. As she hugged him back, he pressed his lips to her forehead.
"I just realized. Today is my birthday. Of all things. Of all days. And the best gift I could have gotten is in my arms right now."
…..
She was standing a safe distance away, behind a gate. The late-November cold stung, as a gust of wind thrashed across her face while she watched the entrance to the hospital. Jennifer had a scarf on and her hands were shoved into the pockets of her jacket for warmth, but she felt none.
He'd changed into his old clothes in the morning. Wore that camel-beige hoodie pulled over his head as they covertly made their way from her apartment to Arkham. About a block from the hospital, they separated, so no one from the hospital would see them together. She squeezed his hand one last time.
He'd made it past some orderlies. Narrowly avoided a cop.
Before he stepped inside, he looked around.
Damn if he didn't spot her.
He let his gaze linger just a second, before he disappeared inside the hospital.
….
She did go back home for the holidays that year, but she of course went alone.
She needed to get away from Gotham, to forget about things for a bit, although she had brought certain things with her.
Like the ring, though she wore it on a long chain hidden beneath her shirt.
She'd managed to dodge or brush off the inevitable questions from her relatives. Most of them seemed to understand, and soon stopped asking.
Early one morning, before anyone else had woken up for the day, she descended the creaking wooden stairs into the root cellar of her grandparents' old home, now occupied by her cousin and her husband.
She looked around. Not much had been changed.
She walked up to the old china hutch against the far wall, still holding an impressive collection of preserves. Carefully, she removed each of these, before she shoved the hutch back.
She felt along the wall behind it. She found it. The hidden space in the wall where, when younger, Jennifer had hidden the sling shot she'd won at the county fair from her cousins, and a little later the diary she didn't want her parents to find.
No one living besides Jennifer knew of this space.
Carefully, she placed Penny's last letter to Thomas Wayne, the brown file folder with the older, unsent letters and photos, Penny's Arkham file, and Arthur's birth certificate, into a metal box. She'd kept the Polaroid and the baby photo out; they were with her at all times, just like the ring.
She sealed the box and maneuvered it into the space.
"Your secret's safe with me," she whispered, as she shoved the hutch back into place.
...
A/N 2: Again, there will be one more chapter after this, so stay tuned….