Joker relocated Celine's unconscious body to a slightly larger room serving as a recovery unit for his men's more gruesome injuries. Most were police or Batman-inflicted, but a few were courtesy of himself. Sometimes he simply couldn't help it. There were levels of stupidity he could overlook and there were levels he...couldn't. The levels he couldn't usually ended with someone getting injured. In most cases, fatally.

"Hiya Doc."

Ed peeked up from his glasses, folding the corner of the Gotham Gazette. Miraculously, he'd gone almost twenty-four hours without having to tend to any of Joker's personnel. Which meant boss man was in a good mood. He had been too up until Nelson stopped by earlier with concerns that he'd acquired syphilis after a rowdy night out. Ed had been quick to inform him he wasn't that kind of doctor. The less malformed genitalia he was exposed to the better.

"Need the missus here patched up," he indicated, dropping Celine down on a creaky mattress. "Had a uh little too much fun with her."

His pity was brief. Joker paid well for his loyalty. Three years later and he no longer questioned his boss's motives or intentions.

"What are the critical points?"

"I uh." He brushed back some of her white-blonde strands so her face was more visible. "May have nicked a vein in her forearm. Think I broke her nose too. And maybe a teeny tiiiiny cut below her jugular."

He giggled at this, index finger following the shallow trail along her neck; tracing it back and forth a few times.

Ed surveyed the scene with well-hidden intrigue.

"Give me an hour and she'll be good as new."

Joker lingered for...practical purposes as Ed got to work patching the girl up. Her t-shirt and jeans were bloodied beyond repair, so, they were the first articles of clothing to be cut and discarded.

"Shit," Ed mumbled as soon as her bare thighs were revealed. "How many you think there are?"

From pelvis to kneecap her thighs were littered with self-inflicted cuts. They were well-healed over, indicating they weren't carved any time recently, but the amount was enough to temporarily usher in a contemplative silence.

"Seventy-four," Joker counted, fingers grazing one that curved into her knee cap. "She's been a busy girl."

Despite her voluptuous, half-naked form - which was certainly easy on the eyes – it was her scars he couldn't keep his eyes off of. He hadn't taken her for a cutter, presuming her to be much too...soft for such a debasing act. It both heightened her appeal and muddled his understanding of who she was.

In light of her conversation with Aesop, Joker had her pegged as a naïve girl with idealistic tendencies. These types tended not to stay alive long in a city as crime-ridden as Gotham. She may have carried a resolve, but he figured after their...spar, that resolve would crumble with the ease of a house of cards, and he'd hold the privilege of introducing her to how the world actually worked.

He hadn't counted on her ability to adapt. He hadn't counted on her nerve. And he certainly hadn't counted on her refusal to maim him when given the chance.

She probably wasn't aware of it, but the more she subverted his expectations, the more heightened his curiosity became. It was probably in his best interest to return her before Batsy came knocking on his door, but he couldn't bring himself to do it just yet. He needed to tinker around a little more in her psyche. Get a solid feel for his white rabbit before sending her hopping back, preferably knocked off her high horse.

"Need to be patched up too?"

Joker tore his gaze away from her thighs. His wounds weren't anything he couldn't handle himself.

"I'll be fine, Doc. Focus on Slicerella here and let me know if uh anything changes."

"Will do."

Three hours later and Joker was stripping himself out of blood-soaked clothes. His meeting with the newest mafia family to Gotham – mouthy transplants from Bangkok – had not gone as smoothly as he had hoped. Granted, it was always nice to establish who ran the show in this festering fleabox of a city, but his suit was thoroughly ruined and he didn't look forward to having a new one tailored. His seamster was getting up there in years and his quality of work wasn't what it used to be. He considered on more than one occasion simply putting the old man out of his misery, but Abe had served him diligently in the past, often on short notice, and it was a little more difficult gathering the motivation to kill him as opposed to others in his employment.

After a long shower, he placed his order to Abe, which wouldn't be ready for a week. An entire week! It was enough to put him in a grumpy mood. Which is why the henchman who knocked on his door ended up being the lucky recipient of a blade to the abdomen.

"Well," Joker stressed as the man hunched over, fingers struggling to prevent more blood from seeping out, "are you here for a reason or did you just wanna bleed out on the floor for shits and giggles?"

He gurgled and coughed.

"Um uh I-Crane's here- t-to see you."

He slapped the man on the shoulder hard enough to send him toppling out into the hallway.

"Best go see Doc. That does not look pretty," he remarked with a giggle. "Oh, and uh- if our favorite hostage is up, have Doc send her my direction."

When he strolled into the lounge area – when his men weren't preoccupied with their duties, they took to polishing their weapons and playing cards here – the former doctor was indeed waiting for him, all by his lonesome.

Joker blew out a low whistle.

"Lookin' a little worse for the wear there Johnny. Hear you've been having a helluva time evading the Bat."

Crane's hair was disheveled, and dark circles had formed under his eyes. The white dress shirt he wore was matted with dirt and scattered with cuts. He looked like someone had tossed him down a mountain. Several times.

The former psychologist combed a hand through his hair, attempting to appear somewhat composed.

"I'm here to negotiate Celine Harlow's release."

Joker's eyes narrowed.

"On uh whose behalf?"

This question seemed to annoy Crane. He stalked forward.

"I don't see how that's relevant."

"Oh no no no no Johnny boy, it very much is relevant. I've uh...grown quite attached to my rabbit. Need to sorta...know who I'll be releasing her to. Would hate for it to be someone...untoward."

Crane's jaw flexed. He had to wrestle to keep Scarecrow at bay.

"I'll give you two tanks of the newest serum," he offered as coolly as possible. "Perfected and longer lasting than any past versions. Something the...Batman won't have an antidote to. Not right away at least."

"Hmm...tempting as that is, you-ah didn't exactly answer my question," Joker maintained, throwing himself down on a well-worn couch. "And until ya answer with the truth, I'll uh have to insist on keeping my rabbit in her cage where she belongs."

"Fuck that."

Crane and Joker snapped their attention to the figure lingering at the entryway of the lounge, using the wall to support herself. Upon baring witness to the amount of crazy occupying the lounge, Ed returned to tend to the latest near-casualty.

"Welcome back, sweets!" Joker greeted. "I was just telling the good doctor how well we've been getting along."

She wandered further into the room clad in black sweats that engulfed her. Her nose appeared to be back in position and bandaged up.

"John?"

Crane blushed and dropped his gaze to the floor.

"Cel-ahem Miss Harlow."

Celine had just passed the moth-eaten couch he reclined on when Joker reached out and grabbed her by the waistband of her sweatpants. With a sharp tug, she landed on his lap, fingers digging into his shoulders to maintain balance.

She threw him a dirty look, causing Joker to grin sheepishly.

"Whoops." He shrugged and spread his legs so she could settle herself in between them. "Now that you're here, might as well get cozy. And uh...enlighten me of your relation with the good doctor. You-you're aware he's a little bit um...nuts, right?"

She tried to scoot to the very edge of the cushion, but he yanked her back into him a little harder than he needed to. To his delight, she chose not to fight. Not because she enjoyed her position, but because she was a smart cookie and knew when to choose her battles. It was quickly becoming one of his favorite traits of hers.

"You don't have to tell him anything," Crane said.

"Oh you hush," Joker scolded, rubbing his cheek against her shoulder blade. "You're not getting my rabbit until I learn the nature of your...relationship."

She tilted her head toward him. Just for fun, he nipped at her earlobe. His reward was a tantalizing shade of pink spreading from her cheekbone down to her collarbone.

"Are the pet names necessary?" she asked with a grimace. "I don't go around calling you my big grizzly bear."

"Maybe you should start," came his suggestion. "I don't mind in the slightest."

He followed this up with a throaty growl into her ear, nearly missing the quick upturn of her lip.

"I met John when he was head psychologist at Arkham," she explained, focus returning to Crane. "I'd finished securing an investor for my app and needed to find licensed psychologists. John...helped me with that."

She shifted slightly between his thighs.

"Mmm..." he hummed, "I could believe that's all it was, but you're on a first name base with him. Ya don't gotta be shy with me...did you let him taste some of your sugar? Lick up some of your honey? Bareback it 'til the cows came home?"

Crane was eying him murderously, fingers twitching against his leg.

"No, no, and certainly not," she denied, glancing at him. "John was a professional in every sense of the word. We've known each other for almost two years. You called Aesop, Ace. It stands to reason that the longer you know someone, the less formal you need to be in each other's presence, right?"

He eyed her impishly.

"Well, by your logic then, seeing as we've uh gotten comfy with each other and you gave me quite the big ole' smooch...pet names are a natural progression in our relationship."

"That kiss was nothing more than strategy and you know it." She twisted on his lap to face him. "When you corner an animal, no matter how domesticated it might be, the deep-seeded reaction is to do whatever possible to survive. It was survivor's instinct. If you need me to explain that to you, I take it you haven't been laid in a very long time."

Crane nearly smacked himself in the face. Did the daft girl not realize he was trying to save her? Mouthing off to the psychotic clown (nevermind how amusing he found it) was all but a death sentence.

He jumped a little when Joker responded with a boisterous cackle.

"Oooh are ya offering?" He pinched the jutting flesh above her hip. When she jerked up, he lifted her by the edge of her thigh, so she was sitting sideways across his lap. "'Cos you know I won't say no to you."

She stared at him. Hard. Her expression had gone blank, as if she were determining all the avenues in which to respond.

Joker meanwhile attempted to give her his best suave look. Which mainly consisted of wagging his eyebrows and grinning in a way that hinted at all the filthy things he was capable of doing to her.

"No thank you," she elected on, dropping her gaze.

"Now now," he said, sneaking a finger beneath her chin, "no need to get shy on me, little bunny."

She wrapped a couple of her fingers around the one under her chin. Her eyes didn't waver as she spoke.

"That's not shyness, it's survivor's instinct," she reiterated. "Seeing as you probably won't react well to me saying I'd rather plow a used dildo you big dumb bear, I settled on no thank you."

In the blink of an eye, Joker shoved her off him. She landed on the floor in an awkward heap, groaning softly.

Crane made to step toward her, but Joker was already on his feet, positioning himself in front of her slumped body.

"Ah ta-ta-ta, take another step forward and I'll skin both you lovebirds alive and hang ya above my bed."

Celine peeked at Jonathan through Joker's legs. His calm expression registered successfully. Be cool and mind your tongue.

She would do this out of necessity, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. A violent Joker she could handle. Violence – no matter the sanity of the individual carrying it out – tended to be relatively predictable. The body moved more primally when bad thoughts brewed.

What she was having a hard time with was Joker's blatant flirtation. He did it to get under her skin and throw her off, and she surprised herself by engaging with it. When they weren't at each other's throat, banter came suspiciously easy. And in these moments, her tongue wasn't as disciplined as it needed to be.

"This negotiation is over," Joker confirmed, licking at his scars. "I suggest you scram. Celine and I need to discuss...courtesy...and uh...manners."

She threw Jonathan a genuinely troubled look.

"I'd make that discussion quick," Jonathan suggested, clasping his arms behind him. "Every citizen in Gotham is looking for Miss Harlow, Batman included. And he won't be nearly as...cordial as I've been."

Joker cocked his head, considering this.

A moment later and Crane was howling something fierce as he tried to remove the knife lodged into the fleshy interior of his shoulder.

Celine couldn't help but scramble up to her feet, freezing only when Joker turned and aimed a stormy look at her.

"Well uh, this has been fun," he said, offering Crane a mocking bow. "And no rush at all, but if you could get that knife back to me when it's uh...not in ya, I'd appreciate it."

She longed to offer Jonathan a soothing word, but Joker had snatched her by the upper arm and flung her in front of him. She just barely gathered her balance, the throbbing in her arm reawakening with a vengeance.

This is good. John knows I'm here. Even if Joker loses it and kills me, my body won't be lost in a river or beneath several feet of concrete. Bright side. Bright side!

Joker trailed her silently. The only indication she was heading in the right direction came from his tugs on the back of her sweatshirt. He would halt and then steer her in the appropriate direction.

They ended up back in the room of their knife spar. As he locked the door, she languidly scanned the blood splats, wondering whose was whose.

"I'm gonna give ya one last chance-." His blade sank into her cheek with a sting. "-to tell me how you and Johnny boy know each other."

She closed her eyes, palms coming to rest atop one another. Her breathing – which had escalated upon witnessing Jonathan being stabbed – slowed. She inhaled for five seconds, paused, exhaled for seven. Inhale for five. Pause. Exhale for seven.

Joker had only read about what she was doing. It served a variant of purposes, namely calming one's anxiety and being a precursor to easing into a meditative state.

She had closed her eyes in front of the most dangerous man in Gotham and worked on re-centering herself.

"I don't like many people knowing this," she started, eyes still closed. "It's not guilt I feel...but it's similar. I've come to peace with my decision, but it's earned me some notoriety."

Her eyes popped open, burning with a tangible energy.

"Everything I told you is true. John-."

Joker's opposite hand grabbed her cheek and pinched until her eyes were watering.

"You refer to him either as Crane or Crow, got it?"

He could tell this was one of those times she wanted to argue, but after a few seconds, chose to stand down.

Smart girl, he thought, unable to keep his thumb from stroking her cheek as reward.

"Jo-Crane never cared for the purpose of my app. He's always had a calculated, open and shut take on suicide. Lots of his views are very Darwinian-inspired."

She paused to make sure he knew what she meant.

He barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

"I'm not an idiot like the masses."

"I-sorry."

Her gaze faltered. Joker removed the blade from her cheek and slipped it under her chin, pressing up until her focus was back on him.

There was so much awareness and animation in her eyes...if you knew enough about humans, studied them long enough...you could read her like an open book. And she knew she was to him because he watched her the same way she watched others. Reading, analyzing, storing away micro-expressions and barely-there reactions to muse over later.

In that moment, they recognized the other capable of this: a deep understanding of the variety of emotions humanity could produce.

They stared at each other until Joker finally broke the spell.

"I'm surprised you'd uh...associate with someone like Crane. Seems like it'd go against your more...bohemian values."

"He is callous and clinical and...mostly deprived of empathy." She smiled crookedly at this. "One of the best indicators of what sort of person I'm dealing with is their reaction to those in a more submissive role."

When Joker cocked his head, she elaborated.

"I take people I'm trying to figure out, to fast food places or diners where there's a wait staff. I take them to pet stores or dog parks. How you treat customer service workers who are in a position where they are strong-armed into taking the brunt of human incivility...how you treat animals that are smaller and less developed mentally than you...your reaction in these sort of environments are some of the best tell-tale signs of what your values are at the core."

Joker contemplated this. His grin sprouted not soon after.

"I uh take it Johnny boy failed the moral compass test."

"He scared the shit out of me," she admitted. "Sometimes, you can recognize when you're in the presence of true apathy. The only reason I didn't book it in the other direction...well...maybe two reasons. One...I'd never had the chance to observe a sociopath up close. He didn't catch on for awhile that I was doing this. The second reason is...we shared a common interest in mind-altering substances."

She was no longer struggling to meet his eyes. Now that he encouraged her along, she was back to being at ease around him. Even though she shouldn't have been.

But Joker couldn't deny he liked it. Someone speaking without fear or hesitation around him. He hated it, and he liked it. Especially when it came from someone as layered as her.

Not thinking twice, he slid one hand around her waist and settled it on her back. The other skimmed its way along the length of her arm before snaking into her hovering fingers. She was startled, but then Joker began to sway with her, guiding her patiently around the room.

She chose not to say anything. If he preferred to dance with her over holding a knife to her face, who was she to complain?

"You know of his fear serum?"

"Mhm," he hummed, abruptly dipping her.

"Well-." She was brought back up for air. "-He told me a little bit about it after I mentioned how micro dosing on psilocybin in magic mushrooms was pioneering a new way of treating depression and anxiety."

"A product of the wrong decade, eh flower child?"

The playful remark stained her cheeks pink.

"We all have our own path to recovery," she deflected. "Some of our paths are a little more...unorthodox than others. A little less sociably acceptable. The mind is the most corporeal tool we have in this plane of existence, even if a lot of it is nothing but chemical reactions. Jo-Crane and I understood this. Perception creates our physical reality."

"I couldn't agree more." He twirled her around until she was dizzy on her feet, body slumping into his. The move gave him an excuse to pull her in closer.

Momentarily lightheaded, Celine blinked a few times.

"I-I told him of my experiences with psychedelics and how much they helped me in unraveling years of self-inflicted trauma. He told me about the prototype of his hallucinogen-based fear serum. I uh...I was intrigued."

He froze, fingers ever so slowly tightening around hers.

"You...let him test his serum on you?"

She was surprised to hear such disdain in his tone. It snapped her out of the warm stupor she'd cocooned herself in.

"I volunteered," she answered just as sharply. "I wanted to test my limits mentally. I wanted to acquaintance myself with a state of consciousness that if...if explored and understood well enough...could help...liberate me of what held me back."

They were no longer swaying, frozen in the middle of the room, gripping each other.

"I let him dose me with the prototype eleven times," she confirmed. "I built up a resistance to it by the end. Mind over matter. Because of John...I fear very little. I'm able to recognize when my mind runs away with anxiety. When it seeks to heighten the unknown until I'm petrified with indecision. He...went on to do awful things to others. Gas unsuspecting civilians and use his perfected toxin as an agent of control for areas in his life he felt lacking in. I don't ever think of our time together and not feel guilty. But-."

Her eyes flicked to the floor before meeting his.

"-sometimes, you can't help when your desire for knowledge compliments someone else's. You can't help when your morbid curiosity can be reflected like a mirror. John and I...beneath our ethical disagreements, we share many of the same existence-rooted questions, many of the same hopes of gaining true freedom in this lifetime. We've just gone about two separate paths in achieving it. But...people don't come into your life for no reason. And...as fucked up as it is...our search for the truth has bound us together. There isn't a reaction I can't make that he won't understand. There isn't a look he can send someone that I won't be able to decrypt. That...that is the full nature of our relationship. We're two odd ducks who happen to be riding an even wavelength."

She didn't know whether to be more nervous for her sake or for Jonathan's. The full nature of her relationship with the former doctor was privy only to the counselor she'd gone too after Crane's capture. Her feelings at the time – when guilt didn't weigh down like an anchor – caused a conflict of conscience. Jonathan had been the most dangerous and morally absent friend she ever made, and what's more, despite everything he had done to contradict her values, she missed him when he got put away.

Her counselor had been a freshly graduated psychology major with an emphasis in neurology, and thankfully worked her through these feelings one session at a time. Rather than scold her like she assumed would happen, she had been complimented for the ability to navigate life's grayer moments. Strengths and weaknesses existed within every human being alive, but most chose to focus on one or the other. She understood human beings were complex and provided they didn't commit to one version of themselves, held a multitude of reasons for doing what they did at any given moment.

Celine hadn't condoned Jonathan's cruelty and the first time she visited him at Arkham, she acknowledged his mayhem with a slap to the face. He wasn't remorseful for his actions, but he had been remorseful that he disappointed her. Between them was still a mutual respect cultivated in their time together that refused to die. Even seeing him earlier had her heart brimming with a familiar warmth.

She didn't have to agree with him or jump through hoops to justify his actions. If he ever tried harming someone in her presence, she'd do whatever humanly possible to prevent it. That was her being true to herself. But on the same coin...they cared for each other...they got one another.

Sometimes, that simply was that. Some relationships are meant to thrive in a gray area so as to further the knowledge of self. And meeting Jonathan Crane was like opening up a doorway to a deeper realm of less polished, less easily determined emotions. Only when they were deciphered and compartmentalized appropriately and in a helpful manner did she become just a little bit more whole.

"Do you think I'm crazy?" she blurted.

Joker had backed away after her revelation, keeping a cool distance between them.

"Crazy is...relative." She had a had a difficult time reading him; he was intentionally closing himself off from her. "Do you think you're crazy?"

"Most of Gotham would probably raise hell at seeing someone like me and someone like you conversing so amicably. It's a defiance of narrative expectations. I-I think you're right, crazy is relative."

The residual silence was interrupted by a mournful bellow from Celine's stomach. She blushed and patted at it.

Before she could think to ask how long she'd be remaining a hostage, Joker turned and exited the room; the click of the lock left to echo in her ear drums.