Arkham Asylum
Christmas morning
six years later
Melodic whistles filled the quiet atmosphere, as a certain green haired man pressed his lips together. At least it used to be all green, now it was splashes of white and light green that had receded quite far back on his head. The man resembled a rather crude drawing of himself twenty years ago.
He wasn't quiet sure why he was here. No one but doctors came to visit him, coming to probe him and try and get a lead for their new book, however they always came during the day in the set visiting hours. If his brain was correct, it was currently one am.
Nevertheless he kept up his tune, which he was very aware that was driving the guards keeping an eye on him simply mad. That was always the goal at the end of the day. Asking them what was going on hadn't bore any fruit, and so he let his eyes roam the dimly lit room, looking for answers. Violence may have proved useful for getting such information, but he was restrained in a straight jacket, and he still didn't have the use of his legs. Even he wasn't that much of a miracle worker.
After far too long counting the insect scuttling around the four walls, the metal door clicked, and it was opened to present a slim woman, dressed in a smart charcoal dress suit and black high heels. Her face was no nonsense, and the guard on the door stepped aside to let her pass into the room. The woman's voice was soft and had a glint of a Gotham accent as she thanked him, and approached the metal table that the criminal was sat at, which was firmly screwed into the floor, along with the metal seat which she now perched on.
One light hanging above them illuminated her face, and his face split up with a grin.
"Mar-cel-leeen." he purred, looking over her white features. "My little girl came down here to see me after all these years."
Her face didn't change or react to anything he said; she kept her cool well. "I haven't got much time, but this won't take very long at all. All I came here to do is gloat, and honestly, seeing you still rotting in that wheelchair has gotten my Christmas off to a great start already."
His face stiffened. "That's your handiwork, I do remember. But don't think it'll stop me - if Barbara Gordon made a full recovery, then so will I." he retorted.
She smiled, her ruby red lips crinkling up at the sides. "I'd like to see you try. But best wishes on your recovery, old man." she chuckled, lacing her hands together. "Well, aren't you going to ask me how my life is going since we saw each other last?"
"No. Frankly my dear I don't give two-" he started, but she smugly cut him off.
"I got married to Victor, that lovely guy you tried to have killed, for one." she listed, holding up her slender hand to reveal a ring. "Oh dad I'm sure you'd hate him, he hasn't tried to kill me even once, which is a lot more than you can say."
The man grunted, refusing to give her the acknowledgement of his reply.
"Oh and you might be interested to know, but you're a grandad." she added, and his eye lit up just slightly. She supposed even homicidal maniacs liked the idea of having grandchildren. "Not that you'll ever see him, but Archie is a lovely little boy, only around eight months, but still a little genius." The woman smiled to herself. "Do you know what the funniest part is?"
He narrowed his brow. "What?" he asked, through ground teeth, as though he had grown past the point of withstanding her presence.
"He looks absolutely nothing like you. He's a perfectly normal little boy, who is going to have a perfectly normal upbringing, who thinks his grandparents are dead. Because they are, you're so very dead to me."
"Why did you come here today then?" His voice was low and commanding, but he had no control over her.
"Oh, I nearly forgot - to give you your Christmas present." She searched through her bag and put a wrapped present on the table. Aware that his hands were bound, she tore off the gift wrap for him, until a shoebox was left.
He paused. "What is it?" There was a glimmer that it was a weapon, and that this dreadfully annoying woman had come to break him out of here.
She gave him a grin, and removed the lid. Inside sat a clean, and pristine pair of shoes. Soccer shoes in particular.
She laughed, a light tinkly laugh that was beginning to sound like her mother's. "I thought you might like them for when you make your full recovery."
If he hadn't been restrained so well, the man would have strangled the life out of her and snapped her pretty little neck. His lip curled. "You're not funny, you know."
She gave him a wide smile and stood up. "Oh I know, dad." With a few steps she walked toward the door, and the guard opened it for her, though she turned back just once more.
With a smile she added: "Merry Christmas, clown."
