A splitting headache woke me from a dead sleep. I groaned, burrowing deeper into the comforter and blankets and pressing my head into the fluffy pillows.

Fuuuuuuuck…

Half a bottle of rosé by myself? Definitely wasn't a good idea. It seemed like a good idea— hell, even as a joke— in the moment the night before in a moment of desperation and vulnerability for a crumb of humor in my situation. Now I was starting to resent Frost for humoring me.

Water. Water and Ibuprofen. That's what I needed. At least in an immediate sense. I still needed to find a way out of here, call the police, Dr. Carlson, anybody. But I realized I needed to navigate this one thing at a time.

I wrenched myself up into a sitting position, my hand flying to my forehead, rubbing it, hoping the gentle motions would soothe the pain. Kicking the comforter off, I dragged myself out of bed and shuffled towards the bathroom. Please, please, please let there be some sort of well-stocked medicine cabinet or First-Aid Kit. I knew I'd need water, too, but again, one thing at a time.

Without my glasses, everything was blurrier than it needed to be, but I couldn't bring myself to drag my heavy sack of useless limbs back into the bedroom to fetch them. The medicine cabinet, after feeling around for it and leaving fingerprint smudges on the pristine mirrors, unfortunately was empty. I couldn't imagine the Joker had many guests when I managed to think about it for a moment before groaning in pain again.

No thinking. Only Ibuprofen.

But my stupid anxiety-riddled brain warred itself into agony thinking about whether I should shower first, or just throw on some clothes, before venturing downstairs. I didn't want to run the risk of running into my captor and risking any sort of interaction with him, nor did I want to face his brutish henchman, Frost, and his scowling and snarky remarks. If I faced both in my current state, I wasn't sure I wouldn't ask Frost to just shoot me right then and there with that flashy gun he kept in his suit jacket.

Another pang straight through my brain and I was headed straight to my bedroom door, fumbling with the lock. Fuck it all to hell, I didn't care if anyone saw me in my pajamas. I was in misery. I clung to the railing as I descended the stairs, wanting to go back for my glasses, but I was already on the go. There was no stopping me at that point.

I could hear general noises of suited henchmen coming to and fro, much like the previous night. I wondered how many people the Joker had in his employ and whether they regularly walked through his living space as such during the day and night. None of them paid me any mind, which I think on any normal day I would have preferred, but at that moment I wished one of them would; I had no idea where to look for Ibuprofen. One of them had to know, right?

Despite my careless attitude so far that morning, I found myself feeling anxious to approach any of them. There was no doubt that they'd be dangerous, but would any of them know how to help me? Would any of them be willing? I didn't know how often they came around or would know these things. The overthinking had me shrinking towards the wall at the bottom of the stairs.

I didn't like that they were ignoring me. I just had two single little needs, then I'd be back up in my room and out of the way.

But my head was killing me, I couldn't wait much longer until I'd be curled up on the ground holding my head between my knees. God, I really didn't want anyone to see me like that. I was already vulnerable enough. I'd just have to find everything myself.

I headed straight towards the kitchen, my hand partially covering my eyes to shield them from the lights that seemed far too bright, until I marched straight into a wall standing in the kitchen doorway. Peeking through my fingers, I saw the chains dangling from a thick neck, and the fine fabric of a suit jacket.

'Kill me now,' I pleaded inwardly.

Frost stared down at me, eyes hooded and with their perpetually unimpressed expression.

"You're in my way," I groaned. There was no way around him, he blocked the entire doorway. I couldn't even consider the two inch slivers between him and the door jambs on either side.

"Boss doesn't want ya wanderin' 'round too much yet," he said.

"I can barely see anything," I snapped back. "I'm not exploring, trust me. I just want some painkillers and water. I appreciate your sense of humor getting me the alcohol I requested, but now it's not funny."

I didn't see it, but I heard Frost snort. "Sit down." He turned back into the kitchen, passing a few blurry figures attending to some blurry tasks I couldn't see.

If I wasn't so hungover, I would have been happy to defy his command, but sitting at the grand dining table felt so good. The seats were luxuriously cushioned, and my jello legs just appreciated the relief. Within a few minutes, Frost returned, standing in front of me. I squinted up at him, feeling more vulnerable than ever given his humongous size. But he handed me a crystal glass and placed two blue gel pills into my palm.

"Thank you," I mumbled. I didn't really want to thank him, he gave me very little to be thankful for being a lackey for my kidnapper. But at least he gave me the two things that would help me in that moment. No one else offered to help. The henchmen still went about their business, ignoring me and talking amongst themselves. I even saw some of them leave through the front door.

"They're acting like I'm not even here," I muttered after downing the pills with a gulp of water.

"They've been ordered not to interact with you," Frost replied.

I peered up at him, my brows knit together, taking another gulp of my water. "Why?"

Frost shrugged. "Not my business to question what the boss does. All I know is if he gets wind that any of 'em talked to ya, even so much as looked at ya, their bodies would be found in pieces in dumpsters around the city."

My eyes widened in horror, the pain behind them sharp, but slowly dulling.. Stomach churning, I felt like I was about to hurl up those two Ibuprofen pills, and everything else my stomach wanted to release from hearing what Frost said. I took a few more gulps of water, but the water caught in my throat and I fought to not spit the water out. My hand covered my mouth as I continued swallowing the water, slowly, hoping it would ease the numbness covering my throat.

This was what I'd gotten myself into.

I eyed him suspiciously. "Do those rules not apply to you?"

Frost reached into his coat jacket, pulling out his phone, probably texting Joker about me being awake and hungover like no tomorrow. "Being his top guy, no, they don't."

Good to know. It made sense though. I rationalized that being the Joker's right hand man would require a high level of trust between the two. Joker couldn't— and wouldn't— trust just anyone to get so close. That much was evident with me. It must have required a monumental amount of loyalty, loyalty built over years and over unspeakable deeds and circumstances. It made me wonder how someone comes to work for the Joker, and what all is involved in becoming his right hand man.

"He must trust you a lot, then," I said through the hoarseness in my voice. He didn't respond, he was still tapping away at his phone. If I had any morsel of strength in me, I would take advantage of his distraction and try to run, take his phone, something, but another part of me told me it was completely pointless. "He's not here, is he?"

Frost continued to tap away. "Nothin' to worry about, he's at the club. No knowin' when he'll be back though."

When I racked my alcohol-puddled brain, I seemed to recall the Joker mentioning something like that when he was skulking around my room the night before. I knew he ran some sort of crime empire, not that I necessarily knew what that meant anyway, but I had no idea about the club. I wondered if it was a hub where he ran his crime empire, did the behind-the-scenes work. I couldn't even imagine what a club run by him would even be like; unsurprisingly, I spent most of my adult years holed up in my dorm rooms or apartments, or the library studying. I had the occasional outing with friends like Staz to karaoke bars, a trendy speakeasy, or the casual club where the early twenty-somethings frequented, but nothing underground.

"Great. Well, I don't want to be around when he is," I said. My stomach churned uneasily and I winced, lightly rubbing my hand over it. "I'm heading back up." I tried to stand, but failed miserably when all that did was just make me even more queasy. "As soon as I finish this water. I should eat at some point though."

"I'll have the cook make you something greasy and bring it up." Frost slipped his phone back into his jacket pocket.

I glanced at him wearily. Thankfully, my brain had slowed down a little since getting some painkillers and water in me, otherwise I was certain I would be overthinking, even agonizing over why Frost was being so accommodating. It was such a stark contrast to his attitude from my previous encounters with him.

"Thanks," I mumbled again.

After shuffling back up the stairs and showering, I was still slow-moving by the time I was dressed, and my hair combed, braided, and pinned. There was still a dull ache behind my eyes, but nothing that hydration and some food probably couldn't fix. A knock came at the door soon after I laid back down on my bed. Another silver tray sat on the floor outside my door, a porcelain plate piled with steaming food, a mug of ginger-y smelling tea, and another crystal glass of iced water.

I groaned in relief as I ate, savoring the greasy bacon and sausage and egg scramble mixed with peppers, onions, melted cheese, and oregano. Two slices of bread were cut horizontally, stacked on top of each other and slathered with butter and jam. There was a small bowl filled with sliced strawberries and oranges. The ginger tea was just the ticket to easing the rest of my stomach back into semi-normalcy. Bless this chef. If I never escaped this place, at least I could call this person my true hero.

A pang of anxiety started rushing over me at the thought, however. Now that the hangover was easing up, my brain had decided now was the time to start building up a major freak out.

Not now, not now, please…

God, I just wanted to leave. I still couldn't believe this was happening to me. Why couldn't it all be one horrible, long nightmare? My fucked up brain would do something like that to me. But, of course, it wasn't. It was every bit as real as the food I had just scarfed down.

Looking out the window, there were light, icy flurries filling the city with tiny specks of snow. I was so close to home, couldn't Dr. Carlson and Waller know that? Not unless they didn't have good tracking on him. I just wanted to talk to someone, anyone, who could help get me through this.

Maybe…

I twisted my head around to look at my bed, realizing my broken phone was still tucked under a pillow and hooked up to a charger. I stood carefully, not wanting to undo all the settling the tea and breakfast had done in my stomach, and rounded the bed to the other side. The phone was hidden well, and a small stone of relief dropped.

Holding it in my hands, I still winced at the state of it. Cracked, broken. It would be a miracle if it still even worked. I pressed it against my forehead, giving it a silent little prayer before I held down the power button for a few seconds.

Nothing.

I tried again. Holding it down harder and longer.

Still nothing.

I sighed. This was pointless. Of course it wouldn't work, even if I charged it all night. It's beyond repair. My one last hope of getting out of here. Completely gone.

I tossed it onto the night table in front of me with a curse. Rubbing my eyes seemed to massage some of the pain behind them. The pain was the only thing right then that was keeping me from falling into another bout of hopelessness. I refused to give in to despair. Where would that leave me? Even more vulnerable in the lair of the person who honestly knew too much about me and could hurt me the most. I was such a fool. I should have listened to Dr. Carlson.

A light glowed out of the corner of my eye. Squinting at it, I realized it was the power screen of my phone, distorted through the cracks.

Turning on.