Hi all!
We reached 10,000 views already, that's so insane. Thank you so so much for reading and supporting this book, I know it's not perfect but I'm really proud of what I've achieved for my first ever story!
Well done to anyone who caught on to that big character reveal, more on that soon ;)
As always, review, favourite, follow; I'd appreciate any support you can give me.
XOXOXO -Improbable Dreamer
Three years
Three years since the pain, three years since she wanted to die.
Three years of therapy and justification, forgiveness, anger, frustration. Three years of rebuilding herself. Three years of staring at blood-stained walls and deliberating what she would do if she was ever met with this situation; if she ever saw him again.
She thought she could handle it, but she was wrong, so wrong.
"Sweetheart."
There it was again, like a razorblade cutting deep into her chest so that all her confidence and rationality oozed out, one solitary drop at a time.
"…Sweetheart?"
Cat turned her head away, her throat and chest felt like she'd just eaten a plate of shattered glass.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Adrenaline wanted her to run, to run away from the danger. She could feel her heart pumping so rapidly that she almost expected it to rip a hole through her deep red blouse.
Fuck. It's not real. It can't be real. Why is he alive? Why is he here?
Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?
"Swee…Cat?"
She shook her head slightly, barely a fraction of movement.
Joker remained at a reasonable distance; either from respect or caution Cat really didn't know...or care.
"Caterina, talk to me, please?"
His voice was verging on pleading, and she noticed an odd waver in the enunciation of her name.
All these facts merely ricocheted off the wall she was putting up in her mind. She had gone into mental-lockdown, and as a result she was suddenly feeling excruciatingly numb.
"You're….You're dead." Cat breathed and gradually brought her hands to her lips. "You're dead. They told me…You're dead."
She was caught in a loop of these thoughts, but repeating the phrase couldn't make it anymore true.
"No, I'm not," He stepped forward cautiously but kept his arms firmly attached to his sides. "Cat, tell me what to do, tell me what you want me to do."
She stopped, tried to remember how to breathe, and pulled her handgun out of her coat pocket in one fluid movement.
"Hands behind your back."
"Cat…"
"I'M NOT FUCKING KIDDING!" Cat screamed, she tried to ignore the lump that was painfully forming in her throat. She paused, caught herself, and counted to ten with a number of steady breaths.
When Cat had substantial control of her emotions, she continued in a monotonous voice.
"Hands behind your back, before I show you your insides."
Joker opened his mouth, paused, deliberated, and finally decided to remain silent.
"Okay, Cat, whatever…whatever you want."
He slowly folded his arms behind his back and waited for further instruction. Cat was lost for words, she was so unbelievably shaken that she didn't have full power over her limbs, she felt like she was watching herself from afar.
"Nothing's gonna happen that you don't want, Cat, let's just talk."
Cat pushed the barrel of the gun deep into the dip of Joker's neck, her finger hovered dangerously close to the trigger.
It was tempting, it was easy. Cat could erase all of this with a little pressure, a little noise, a little blood.
Three years.
Three years to build a conscience, a pathetic morale code.
"Let's go." Cat firmly grabbed Joker's shoulder, which was clad in a flattering dark suit. She pretended that she didn't notice how he'd lost the intimidating face paint, the long messy hair, how he seemed to be in better shape with a flattering pepper of stubble.
Three years, it wasn't fair that he looked younger and better than he ever had.
Cat took a deliberate, shaky breath, and began to take long strides in the direction of the apartment.
"Okay, this is how it is…" Joker muttered to himself, stumbling as he tried to keep up with her relentless pace.
Cat clenched her jaw together tightly. He sounded disappointed, heartbroken even; but he was The Joker, he didn't have a fucking heart.
Cat closed the distance between the apartment and the streetlamp in record time, she didn't give either of them the chance to speak.
It was seriously fucked up; if Cat was so enraged, why did her gaze keep falling to his lips?
Cat walked in without uttering a word. She hauled Joker through the narrow door and slammed it shut behind them.
Crane and Yvonne wordlessly appeared at the end of the hall, like they could sense that something ground-breaking had occurred.
Crane muttered a quiet 'oh' as the two of them passed, and Yvonne quickly averted her gaze.
"Rope, chain, duct tape. What do we have?" Cat turned on her heel and stared past Joker, she met Crane's eye almost accusingly.
"Uh, right, okay," Crane stumbled forwards and nervously pushed his glasses up his nose, something about Cat's lack of emotion and barely contained restraint was incredibly frightening. "I think I have some zip ties lying around."
He dashed out of the room without a moment's hesitation, leaving Cat, Yvonne, and Joker alone in silence.
"Cat, I-"
"How long?" Cat cut Yvonne off abruptly, she was not in the mood for shallow sympathies and sugar-coated white lies.
Yvonne swallowed and was obviously trying to form a sentence out of broken truths
'A few months.'
'I kept it from you.'
'I'm sorry.'
But none of these mattered anymore, the damage was done.
Crane re-entered a few moments later with a number of black zip ties. With the gun still pointed at his neck, Joker was lead down the length of the apartment until he and Cat reached the small storage room. Yvonne kept most of her research papers and old furniture in this old, wooden-floored room. Cat slid most of these aside and pulled out a metal chair. A single, old fashioned lightbulb hung from the middle of the ceiling, its metal chain catching the light.
"Sit." She waved the gun towards the chair, around them, clouds of dust particles flittered in and out of the column of light.
Joker sat almost immediately, his obedience and submission very uncharacteristic.
There was a truth in the air that neither of them voiced, a buzzing in the back of their minds;
If he really wanted to escape, he would've done so.
Cat tried to keep her mind silent as she worked on the zip ties. One around Joker's hands that he clasped together behind the chair, one around his ankles. But on Joker, these ties were as effective as dental floss.
"If this will make you feel better." He commented lightly, as Cat gave a secure tug around his ankles to test the ties' strength.
"Yes, actually." She snapped in response. "I'd feel even better about putting a bullet through your face."
He gazed up at her with an odd expression, not exactly bemusement or pity; but a sort of guilt.
Cat scoffed quietly and got to her feet, she wiped her hands down her jeans in an attempt to get rid of the violent shaking. Without another word, Cat marched out of the room and pulled the heavy door behind her until it clicked into place.
She paused for a moment, her back pressed against the door, and took a number of deep breaths.
'She could handle this, she was strong enough.'
Cat kicked off from the door and made her way to the living room. The world around her seemed to be caught in motion blur, she couldn't feel the contact of her feet on the ground and she was only barely aware of her own heartbeat ringing in her ears.
Yvonne appeared at her side, biting her swollen and bleeding lip; the stress was still affecting her.
'Listen, Cat," Yvonne leaned against the wall, displaying some level of distance and uncertainly. "I'm not trying to apologize, to make this up to you. God knows that won't help. I want to tell you, to ask you; I want Joker dead."
Cat didn't blink.
"I thought you might."
Yvonne nodded curtly, a small muscle was twinging beside her ear like she was putting everything she had into not freaking out.
"He…" She swallowed and attempted to steady her shaky voice. "…He tried to kill us, he hurt Iris. You can be mad with me, I don't care."
Cat winced at her unkind words.
"I'm not angry, not with you." Cat replied honestly. "I know why you lied. I just wish, I think I wish he was dead."
It was hard to admit, but again it was true. If Joker died in another part of the city, his body cast down into a gutter; It would be a relief. But he didn't, he was alive, and no matter how she felt, Cat couldn't hurt him so directly.
"I don't think Joker attacked us." Cat chose her words tactfully, very wary of Yvonne's expression.
"Something someone said to me, a Sergeant, I think Jack Napier is somehow behind this."
Yvonne's upper lip twitched into a snarl.
"That gangster? Really? He's working for Joker. Don't you see, Cat? They're all manipulating you."
Cat slammed a hand into the wall in frustration, the sudden crack caused Yvonne to jolt into a standing position.
"You think I'm not fucking sick of everyone controlling me? Everyone trying to get close to me with some sick, cruel agenda?
Cat hesitated and exhaled aggressively through her nose. She ran a hand through her hair in frustration.
"I just want someone to care about me." She muttered bitterly. "But that's too much, isn't it? It's too much to think that I could mean anything to anyone. That I could actually have that connection…"
Cat faded off until her voice was barely a whisper, she shook her head once and wiped at non-existent tears.
"Whatever," Cat crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "Well, I'm in control this time. Joker stays, unharmed, locked up, until we can work out who's trying to kill us. If anyone goes behind me, anyone,"
Cat hardened her gaze and lowered her voice, Yvonne took a subconscious step back.
"I will not hesitate to use violence. I am at that point, I don't give anymore fucks. Do not test me."
Yvonne flinched, of equal portions anger and fear.
"Cat," Yvonne's voice was soft and sad. "I know…a lot of…"
She cleared her throat in uneasiness, but found the courage to press on despite Cat's scowl of distaste.
"Something I said..about always being on your side. I meant it, and I just what to know where we are."
Yvonne gestured between them with a shaky, pale hand. Cat exhaled sharply through her nose.
"I can't be fucked lying anymore." Cat kept her voice frighteningly light. "What's the point? The truth is much simpler than that; I don't trust you anymore."
Yvonne was lost for words, but she accepted Cat's statement with a bowed head; it was fairly given.
"We're still on the same side," Cat reassured with a half-hearted attempt. "We're working together, and if it comes down to it; I'll risk my life for you. Just don't expect any form of friendship."
Cat didn't wait for a reply, she no longer had the patience to indulge people in acts of common courtesy. She shook her head again in irritated disbelief and made her way down the hall.
"Crane."
In a moment, Crane had slipped around the corner wearing an expression of concern.
"Yeah?"
Cat clasped her shaking hands together, she chewed on her bottom lip nervously until she tasted the metallic aftertaste of blood.
"I'm going to see if I can find Napier. Can you stay here, keep an eye on them?"
He gave a single, solitary nod, before pausing with a frown.
"Wait, which one?" He asked.
Cat sighed.
"Both."
Crane nodded again, and was about to turn away when he hesitated. He seemed to be heavily deliberating something, and after a moment he came to some sort of uneasy conclusion.
"Are you…" He paused, sighed, and tried again.
"Are you okay?"
Cat shrugged stiffly, after a long moment of uncomfortable silence she managed to answer.
"I think so." She trembled slightly. "But don't…don't keep asking me that. It'll get harder and harder to lie."
Crane looked down, and Cat felt a wave of pity for him; he was so willing to be called upon, so ready to follow her orders.
He must've noticed her sympathetic expression, because he managed a thin smile and pulled Cat into an unexpected yet reassuring hug.
"You'll be fine. If you made me care about these unintelligible petty criminals, you can do anything."
Cat bit her tongue sharply as tears threatened to spill from her eyes.
Oh, how she wanted to trust him.
Cat gave a final nod, a final sigh, before she hugged her arms to her chest and retreated into the night.
Crane watched her leave with a miserable expression, he felt oddly helpless for the first time in his life. And has the door swung closed, he wondered rather bitterly if he would ever see Caterina again.
"Please," He murmured to no one. "Caterina, don't do something you'll regret."
The only reply he received was the blaring horn of a passing car.
Cat pushed her way past sweaty bodies and benches of various brightly coloured alcohol. Around her, the room flashed with red and yellow strobe lighting to indistinguishable generic pop music. Luckily, she wasn't attracting any attention thanks to the raised platform. The speaker's announced a name, a girl in a scandalous outfit waltzed on stage, and the crowd erupted into various roars and wolf-whistles as she began to dance.
Cat wrinkled her nose in distaste as the newest dancer, a pretty blonde named 'Angel', accepted a handful of cash in exchange for a rather distasteful action. It wasn't the girl who Cat disliked -she was just an obscure performer- it was the vulgar, middle-aged men who indulged her.
On the other side of the club, Cat caught the eye of a tall, broad shouldered, Latino man, complete with a black goatee and neck tattoos.
She tried her best not to laugh as she made her way over; after all, it wasn't his fault that she found gangsters so comical.
"Morgan." He had to raise his gruff voice above the music. "What the hell 'you doing here?"
He crossed his tree-trunk arms over his chest and loomed over her, though something about his wide eyes surrendered a sense of fear and intimidation.
"Napier's not gonna' like this, get out."
Cat squared her shoulders and narrowed her eyes in the most menacing way she could; it was difficult, considering her body was basically the size of one of his arms.
"I want to talk to Napier." She lifted her chin slightly. "You know who I am, you know what I'll do if I'm disrespected."
The man swallowed, glanced quickly over his shoulder, and lowered his deep voice.
"Look, Morgan." He uttered, slowly uncrossing his arms. "No disrespect here, you got a rep. We know who you are and what you do. But Napier 'aint…he 'aint some uptown gangster anymore, you'll know what I mean."
Cat frowned; she knew that Joker had intended to pass his title on to Napier, but Joker was still running the city. Napier was given a very specific and very controlled amount of influence, he was allowed to continue in Gotham, because he had a purpose.
"Napier runs this place?" Cat asked bitterly, glancing around at the women, alcohol, and eager guests.
"Nah," The man waved a ring-laden hand. "Let's just say he has his thumb on the man who does. Morgan, leave, now, I don't wanna' hurt you."
Cat opened her mouth to respond, but her disobedience was interrupted by a loud, obnoxious voice behind her.
"Well, well, Caterina Morgan, in the flesh!"
The way he said 'flesh' made Cat shudder inwardly, he carried the word between his teeth with a disturbing relish.
"Napier." Cat attempted to keep her tone light as she turned to face him. "Your boy here said you didn't want to talk."
She could barely make out his features in the inconsistent light flashing, but something about his face was just wrong; he had strange markings on his face that were either tattoos or scars.
"No no no." Napier grinned with a singsong voice, he flashed the familiar silver-capped teeth and wolf-like smile. "I always have time for old friends."
Again, the way he said old friends, like it had a much darker and more menacing subtext.
Cat followed Napier away from the crowds and loud music, until they came to a curtained off section of the club. It had pleasant wine-red couches, a private, illuminated bar, and a number of buff, shady looking men in tattoos and thick gold chains.
It was a little gangster club house.
All the men nodded at Napier respectfully as the two of them entered, and Cat sat down on one of the plush couches feeling slightly outnumbered.
Napier sat down on an adjacent couch and turned to her with a smile. Cat took advantage of the steady, yellow lighting, and took in Napier's appearance.
He was barely recognisable.
His dark hair had been dyed a bright, lime green, though he still maintained a modern 'shaved sides' look. His face was unusually pale, and it took Cat a moment to realise that his hands and neck were of a similar pasty shade; like that was his actual skin. Napier still had a number of dark neck tattoos that plunged into his deep purple dress-shirt, but an additional number of designs marked his forehead and cheeks, she could just make out the word 'damaged' written in cursive on his forehead.
His wide silver eyes also seemed to be lined in dark makeup, then again, the 'sunken' look might be due to his unusual skin tone. It was only when Cat noticed his mouth did she fully recognise what she was looking at; it was painted in blood-red, a guise she knew all too well.
"What the fuck are you trying to pull?" Cat snarled at him and nodded at his appearance. He wasn't Joker, he'd never be Joker.
"Like it?" Napier extended his arms and splayed his hands. "It was a gift, a gift from your boyfriend."
"Joker did this?" Cat asked, she felt a sudden chill in the air around her that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
"Well," Napier twirled a purple, gold-topped cane in his hand that Cat only just realised he was holding. "Him, and a vat of acid."
It all came flooding back, the night that Cat infiltrated the Prewitt building.
Joker had ordered his men to take someone to a chemical plant.
"Sorry." Cat mumbled, she really didn't know what else to say. It was obvious that the acid had burned him, stained his skin, left subtle scars around his eyes and mouth.
"Are you?"
Napier lifted his left hand and held it, palm-side-out against his chin A crude grinning mouth had been inked over his pale skin, and it fit over his own face almost too well; like a puzzle piece.
Cat decided it would be safer to change topics.
"Why are you trying to kill me?" She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him accusingly, he merely raised one side of his mouth in a half-smile.
"Kill you? No, no, no." Napier laughed, as if she'd just told him a joke. "I wasn't after you, I was after a little red-head who worked at Arkham."
"Yvonne?" Cat asked; this hadn't been the answer she was expecting.
"Mhm, she…she worked with a patient for a while -a friend of mine- and let's just say."
Napier leaned forwards until his elbows rested on his knees.
"Let's just say I want revenge."
It was an odd truth, and one that Cat wasn't sure she believed.
"Revenge?" Cat repeated indignantly. "That's not your style."
He leaned back against the couch and shrugged.
"You'd be surprised."
The men around them had gone strangely quiet, they were spectating the conversation with an air of anticipation, like there was a truth that Napier was about to disclose.
However, he remained silent with a subtle smile, and Cat was left with a huge feeling of unease over her shoulders.
"Is that it?" Cat asked, she noticed the weight of her handgun in her pocket and drew a level of comfort from it.
"Well, no, I actually have a bit of a proposition for you."
Napier lifted his chin at the bartender, who arrived at his elbow in a second with two clear glasses. He offered one to Cat with a polite smile, she decided it was best to accept any forms of friendship he displayed.
The whiskey was sour, and burned her throat as she swallowed. Cat had never been one for alcohol, she just couldn't appreciate the painful sensations and bitter aftertaste as anything more than a technique for getting drunk.
"As you know, I'm building a…well, a team." Napier continued in a casual tone, swirling the amber-coloured liquid in his glass.
"Right now, it's all muscles and weapons." He waved a hand in distaste. "I need more. I need serial killers, I need psychopaths, I need experience and elegance."
Napier nodded at Cat proudly, as if he had just described her in a flattering way. Cat just frowned quizzically and tried to make sense of what he was saying.
"You're trying to…recruit me?" She asked, her voice rising in disbelief. This certainly hadn't gone the way she expected.
Napier clapped his hands once, creating a loud and jarring noise that echoed around them. When he continued, he did so in a fast and irritated tone, like her negative response angered him.
"I'm offering an opportunity to get in on this travelling circus while it's still in production. I'm offering money and powerful friends. You'd be absolutely insane to decline."
Cat didn't hesitate to shake her head.
"Thanks, but no, I have a team."
Napier stared at her in disbelief. After a moment, he shook his head and grinned.
"Those…those freaks." He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing down the green strands. "You call those manipulative animals your friends?"
Cat didn't have an answer, at least, not one that she wanted to admit.
"Don't you see?" Napier asked in a high-pitched voice, smiling like a madman. "They get into your head. They drill through your skull while your being treated. They erase your mind and fill it with lies, fill it with fake promises and assurance."
He was at such a level of volume now that he was practically shouting. Cat noted that this outburst of anger probably had a deeper meaning behind it.
"They worm their way in through cracks in your broken mind, and they expect you to care?
Napier laughed loudly and hollowly, his gaze was distant and his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.
Cat waited until his outburst had subsided, before leaning forwards and addressing him with a suppressed glare.
"I don't know what Joker did to you," She began in a low voice. "But I do know what you did to my team, one might never wake up. So, this," she gestured between them. "This isn't a friendly rendezvous, this isn't old friends reuniting. This is me, confronting you, about a war you started."
Cat paused to assess her options. One option was the handgun in her pocket, two shots through his head, and the eliminating of a very real threat. A second option was much more dangerous, and came into her head more like an afterthought than anything.
God how she wanted to shoot him.
Cat sighed and massaged the bridge of her nose.
"You did save my life." She began begrudgingly. "You got me out of that Asylum, so I figure I owe you something."
Napier remained stock-still, watching her like a tiger hunting its prey.
"I'm calling a truce, at least for the time being. I'm not gonna shoot you, I'm not gonna hunt you down with my very dangerous colleagues."
Cat waited for Napier to respond in anger, he remained uncharacteristically quiet.
"I'm leaving now, and hopefully, I never see you again."
Cat didn't press her luck, she stood up while Napier was still silent and made her way out of the curtained-room.
Napier watched her leave with a bemused expression. Despite what It may have looked like, the conversation had gone exactly the way he wanted it to.
"Mister J?"
Sanchez walked up to the couch and glanced down at him in concern.
"Morgan's leaving, want me to shoot her?"
Napier shook his head slowly, a small smile gradually spreading over his face.
"Leave her-" He leisurely smoothed his hair back against his neck, and looked up at Sanchez with knowing expression.
"-She's not the one we're after."