After lightly arguing with Bruce over who would get the leftover pizza, she conceded the victory by sticking out her tongue at him, a gesture that proved not very well-thoughtout as Bruce attempted to snatch it with his fingers a moment later. Stubborn didn't even begin to cover it.
She received a text from an unknown number via her house and landscaping app just as she unlocked her front door.
He doesn't like that you're friends with Bruce Wayne. Gets all twitchy and growly when I tell him you two are hanging out.
-A
Cocking her head, Celine brought the phone to her chin, unsure how to respond.
Why would he care?
Her phone dinged a moment later.
I have no idea. Just…be careful. It gets him really worked up. I'd hate for him to take it out on you or him.
-A
Thanks for the heads up. Happen to find anything out yet?
She wandered to her mini flat screen, flicking it on for background noise. Having written most of the morning and mid-afternoon, she was ready to unwind a little bit.
He's gone currently. Left an hour ago, don't know where. I'm trying to pick the lock to his bedroom. Not going so well.
-A
Please be careful and cover your tracks.
Will do.
-A
She set her phone on the couch armrest. Twilight was descending onto Gotham and Celine was momentarily drawn to the scene outside her living room. Which meant she failed to notice the figure emerging from her bedroom.
"You uh…have quite the array of vibrators."
Her spine stiffened. One hand pawed as subtly as it could for the taser gun. Slowly, she turned to him, eyes first, followed by her body.
He was leaning smugly against her bedroom entrance, arms crossed, clad in his suit but missing his coat. To her horror he lifted one of her rather…ahem…sizable ones and eyed it curiously.
"Hm…I wonder how'd this compare in size to me? What ah-was it you said? Nine inches?"
She could barely breathe. A blush stained her cheeks so swiftly she temporarily experienced a heat flash.
He knows. He knows about Aesop in me.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said as evenly as possible.
"Mm…I was shown-uh…your little get together. Must say toots, I'm ah…extremely flattered." He ran the hand not holding her vibrator, through his hair. "The bipolar part however…was frankly ah a little teeny tiny rude."
She couldn't form a single coherent word. Never in her wildest dreams would she think Joker would break into her vibrator collection.
He doesn't appear to know…of Aesop's newfound allegiance. Otherwise, he'd be dead.
"Mm…" He tossed the vibrator behind him. It landed somewhere on the ground with a thump. "What's wrong bunny, Joker got your tongue?"
He giggled at his own joke.
It was when he took his first step toward her that she remembered how to move her limbs. She whipped out the taser gun, pointed it at him, was able to savor the momentary look of surprise on his face, before pulling the trigger.
The tips of the prods struck him in the meaty flesh of his shoulder. His body shook like a marionette doll, dropping to the floor as one hand pawed at the wires. She quickly flicked the switch allowing the wires to rapidly return to her gun.
He was panting heavily, arms shaking from the strain of supporting him.
She didn't think twice. She shot him again, this one sinking in somewhere near his collarbone. His whole body jerked erratically before his arms collapsed from the weight of supporting him.
Five seconds later and he was passed out on the hardwood floors.
She was startled out of her trance by a ding! on her phone.
Refusing to loosen an inch on her gun, she peeked at the message.
You're not going to like this. I haven't found much, but he has a blueprint layout of your apartment building. Found it in the trash.
-A
Her thumb hovered over the keyboard, unsure how to reply.
He's here.
The response was instant.
Are you okay?
-A
She released a deep breath, flicking the switch to make the wires recoil.
Yeah…um…he got into my vibrator collection and I shot him with my taser gun.
That's certainly a sentence I never thought I'd type, she thought wryly.
Are you going to call Batman?
-A
It was a good question. She should. She'd promised as much to Bruce. He'd kill her if she kept it a secret from him that Joker had broken in.
And yet…
The longer he stayed here the longer Aesop had to snoop. That was one benefit. And she hated to admit it, but her curiosity was killing her regarding what his endgame was. He'd broken into her apartment and went through her vibrator stash. He'd had her trailed for weeks. He didn't try hurting her despite having the advantage of stealth.
She longed to interrogate him. Understand where he was coming from. Then deliver him to Batman.
I'm going to handcuff him. Give you more time to search. Try to get answers myself. I'll send you a text when I release him to Batman.
Be careful. Handcuffs don't keep him bound for long. He's a master escapist.
-A
I'll be sure to wrap them around extra snug.
She tossed her phone onto a couch cushion and reholstered her taser gun.
He's going to be pissed when he wakes up. Aesop is right. I have to make sure they're tight. Maybe use two pairs.
She was hesitant in approaching him to get to her bedroom. Even unconscious, he still carried a threatening aura.
Tip toeing past him she assessed the damage in her room. Her bed looked laid in, but not by her. Her blankets and pillows were scattered differently than how she last left them. All five of her dresser drawers had been ripped out.
She ignored the mess for the time being and walked to her closet. Inside an antique, oak-barrel chest she'd gotten as a gift from her mother were a pair of fuzzy red handcuffs and a pair of fuzzy hot pink ones. The first ever vibrator she'd purchased from Lover's Lane was around the holidays. Which meant every customer was a recipient to two extra pairs (one for him, one for her) because…tis the season to tie up your loved ones for being naughty and not nice!
She grabbed the cuffs and made her way back into the living room, relieved to still see him passed out.
The way her apartment worked was an exposed brick living room melted into a semi-open kitchen with a mini island. One half bath right by her front door and then her bedroom opposite the kitchen with its own full bath inside. What was unique about her apartment was that the landlord responsible for the renovation of the firehouse elected not to take out the pole the firemen used. Thus, it sat right near her windows just kitty corner from the television.
Bruce had teased her once that she should hire a fireman stripper to put it to good use. She was half-tempted to at times.
Moving Joker's body was not…easy. The man's muscles were deceiving, weighing him down as she slung two arms beneath his arm pits and tried to move backwards.
He stirred a little as she did this, which only hastened her tugs.
By the grace of God she managed to slide him all the way to the fireman pole, the hardwoods aiding in her effort. She eyed the pole with a half grin. Around Christmas she liked to string white and blue Christmas lights around it for an extra pinch of festivity. She wondered what Joker would look like tied to it by her lights.
That is dangerous territory we are definitely NOT straying into.
She dropped down on a knee and worked on propelling his torso against the pole. A slumbering groan escaped him. She lifted his arms, slung the pink handcuffs around the pole, and cuffed his wrists. Tight. She then took the red ones, slung them around the pole, and cuffed him just as tightly so the two cuffs formed a crisscross. She'd seen it on a police drama before and prayed it wouldn't fail her.
She backed away, suddenly feeling all trepidation desert her.
Here was the most dangerous man in Gotham, slung back against a pole in her living room, secured by red and pink fuzzy handcuffs, stunned into unconsciousness. It was equal parts cute as it was hilarious.
She couldn't help it. Grabbing her phone, she brought it up to Joker, making sure to get his whole body in frame. She snapped a couple of photos, one of him long-distance and one of his cuffed wrists.
I shouldn't. It's cruel.
She tilted her head.
He's had me stalked and filmed.
Before she knew it, her thumb had sent the two photos to Aesop with the message
Does he not look adorable?!
She was surprised she'd used that word but didn't linger too long on why. It's not like she was lying.
OH MY GOD. HE'S GOING TO KILL U.
:'D
-A
He can try. But that won't erase the fact that I got him into them. And that these photos exist. We could probably blackmail him?
If you live long enough to, that's not a bad idea.
-A
She pocketed her phone and went to go sit down on the couch. Her body lingered over the cushion furthest from him but decided at the last minute to go to the one closest. He would pick up on that…that he'd rattled her…that she wanted to maintain a safe distance. If she needed him to lower his guard she needed to behave as if she didn't have a murderous anarchist in her living room.
To help with this, she turned on Kitchen Nightmares. The show never failed to make her laugh and Gordon Ramsey was the husband of her daydreams.
The episode wasn't even ten minutes in when Gordon learned the servers don't make tips, but hourly. She mimicked his outrage, flipping the owner off.
"This…amuses you?"
She hadn't noticed him wake up. Turning to him with an exaggerated smile, she tucked her legs under her.
"What…this show or you handcuffed to a pole?"
He tried to tug himself free but wasn't successful. One tongue dabbed up all the saliva that'd slobbered out in his sleep.
"If ah…if ya wanted to chain me up so badly ya should have just asked."
He wriggled his eyebrows at her.
Undeterred by his flirtatiousness, she leaned toward him.
"I took a few photos while you were passed out. Tempting not to wanna share them with the press. So very, very tempting."
He barked out a laugh at that.
"And uh deepen the rumors that you 'nd I are in cahoots? I'm ah…starting to think ya wrote those articles yourself."
She snorted.
"And I'm starting to think you want them to be true."
He released a low whistle, banging his foot a few times on her floor.
"Mm…you are in a feisty mood. Wish ah…you'd have shown more of this in our time together."
"I have the advantage."
His reply was a promise.
"For now."
Her smile dropped at that. She returned her attention to the screen.
"You're having someone follow me, aren't you?"
She could hear the smile in his voice.
"May-be."
"Why?"
"Why not?"
She looked at him. He was wearing a cocky grin, biting at his lower lip. It was clear she'd be pulling teeth to make him act serious. Unfortunately, it seemed like the only way to get that seriousness was to piss him off. Not something she looked forward to doing.
She tuned back into the show, content momentarily to ignore him. If he wasn't going to answer her questions, she wasn't going to engage him.
And that seemed to be exactly what set him off.
Her attention was hyper focused on the show as Gordon completely destroyed the "soggy as anything" blue ribbon burger, criticizing the combination of seasonings.
Joker tried to snatch her attention back by sing-songing her name. When this didn't work, he began to sing, badly and off key, Stacy's Mom, except replacing Stacy with Celine. This one got to her a little bit. She had to put a hand over her mouth to prevent an accidental smile.
When she continued to ignore him even through a commercial, taking to scrolling through her phone, his voice had lost its playfulness.
"You uh…plan on keeping me here all night? Surprised Batman hasn't been called yet."
She continued to tune him out.
"CELINE!"
His voice was black with rage.
Still, she ignored him.
"I am not a-ah patient ma-."
"Why are you having me followed?" she tried again, offering him a quick scan.
"Because…I want to."
"Why?"
His eye twitched.
"Because."
"You're not being released from that pole until you tell me. So, if this is how you're choosing to respond, I'd get comfy. You have a long night ahead of you."
He growled at her. Quite literally. Like an outraged puppy.
It was meant to be a threat, but she ended up smiling instead, wishing she could have gotten it on video.
Kitchen Nightmares was back and this time Gordon was ready to put the executive chef wife and owner husband in their place. She paused it briefly to run to her room and retrieve her blanket. She also grabbed a quilt.
Upon returning she tossed the blanket on the couch for her and approached Joker's seething form.
His brows shot down in confusion as she knelt in front of him and wrapped the quilt around the pole and then his body.
"Not a big fan of when it gets stuffy in here," she explained, tucking it around him like a clown burrito. "So, I always keep the AC running at its highest setting. Just uh in case you were cold."
Truthfully, her own action confused her. And it confused the man wrapped in the quilt.
She abruptly stood and walked back to her seat, slinging her blanket around her form.
Joker was oddly silent, which was a nice change. She could feel her cheek tingle anytime he stared at her. Her eyes remained firmly on the show.
The wife was absolutely losing it during the dinner service, causing Gordon to shake his head in disbelief. And then the husband threatened Gordon, which caused her to say out loud, "Stay the hell back beeyotch, or else I'll come for yo ass."
The episode left on a cliffhanger. Would Gordon throw down with these guys? She really hoped so.
"This amuses you?"
She debated ignoring him, but he asked it this time with much less provocation.
"It does," she answered. "I love reality TV, it's something I'm willing to suspend my disbelief for because I end up entertained more than anything else. We're all just…animals watching other animals. I've learned a lot about people watching these shows, even the scripted ones."
He was studying her with a cock of the head. She was temporarily reeled in by his gaze.
"Kitchen Nightmares for example," she went on. "Shows the strength of denial. And how easy it is to adopt a delusional version of self that's too afraid to acknowledge how things actually are. Some people…they die strangers to themselves."
Her eyes returned to the show.
The couple clearly were not fans of Mr. Ramsay and the feeling was mutual. She wondered how the next day sit-down would go. They looked like they couldn't be bothered to even stand in the same room.
"I have to pee."
"Congratulations," she said without sparing him a glance.
"I will pee on your floor."
"Do it," she challenged. "I've cleaned up urine before. And my floors are hardwood, so it won't be a big deal. Plus, you'd be sitting in a puddle of your own piss. That would amuse me very much."
She caught him pouting at her, stomping one of his feet.
"You're being mean."
"You broke into my apartment with the intention of doing God knows what. I think I can spare being a little mean to you."
A smirk swept over his lips.
"It uh…it may have involved using what was in ah…your first drawer."
She sighed, rubbing the flush out of her cheeks.
"You really haven't gotten laid in a long time, have you?"
"I always welcome volunteers."
"Volunteers or hostages?"
His smirk deepened.
"Afraid you'll like it?"
"Afraid you will?"
He laughed loudly at the response, shaking his head.
"This is fun!" he exclaimed.
"Why are you having me followed?"
"Because I ah want to see what my little hostage has been up t-a since we last parted. Or uh you departed from a five-story window."
"I wouldn't have had to if you would have just returned me with the others."
He hummed under his breath.
"I'm glad I didn't."
He said this so lowly she wasn't sure if she heard him correctly.
"Ya have a fifth in your upper kitchen cabinet. Unopened. Thought ah you'd have quit considering your…past."
Of course he'd have snooped around her place. The question remained: why?
"I bought that fifth when I was twenty-four. It was the day I became committed to staying sober. I have it up there as a test of will. So many days I'll come home and be tempted to crack it open. It's been seven years and I haven't. I'm proud of myself for how far I've come."
Joker leaned back.
"That uh…why ya flunked outta college?"
Her brows shot together.
"Read your Wikipedia."
"Of course you did," she mumbled.
How much research had he done on her? What all did he know? Why did he want to know it?
"It was a dark time in my life," she explained. "I wasn't what I am now. I was weak-willed and easily persuaded. I lacked the motivation to do anything other than get fucked up."
"What ah…what woke ya up?"
She turned to him.
"You really want to know?"
"Duh. I wouldn't ask if I didn't."
"Right." She nodded. "Um, my mom had me when she was young. Raised me with the help of family and close friends. She wanted me to have a better life than how hers turned out. She was so, so excited when I got the full ride to GIT."
She looked down at her feet, surprised to feel the sting of tears lurking in her sockets.
"She contracted a rare form of leukemia my freshman year at GIT. I hadn't realized how badly she'd deteriorated in such a short amount of time. I was also lying to her about my grades. Lying to her about how depressed I was. Didn't come home to see her as often as I should have. She'd always been able to read me so well and I was scared she'd see how far I'd fallen from the potential I had. See me and feel disappointed. She uh…passed just after my sophomore year. At the time I was so depressed for flunking out that I didn't answer any phone calls. I didn't feel like I existed. Like I was a part of this planet. And…I ended up missing her funeral. Saying goodbye properly."
The tears came and she let them.
"Feel it, feel it, feel it," she whispered to herself. "It's okay. Feel it. You loved, you're alive."
She laughed a little to herself. She wasn't truly alone. During a tarot reading shortly after she and Agatha had become acquainted, it was revealed her mother had become part of the entourage of spirit guides committed to guiding her on the journey that was this life. She felt it most often in moments when darkness crept in. A strength greater than herself, helping her along.
Celine wiped at her cheeks.
"The other wake up call was uh…a best friend of mine from home who went to GIT with me. Her name was Cathy. We uh…both were struggling with some stuff and used to ditch college classes to hit up the bar. Partied a lot too. She got into heroin during this time. Lost twenty pounds in a month. I…I should have been such a better friend to her. Been the voice of reason. There uh…there was a party in this fancy hotel in Gotham's business district. Her dealer invited us, he was a pharmacist that supplied to a lot of college kids. I don't remember anything past midnight. But, some time during the night she'd climbed up to the roof and jumped. It ah…haunted me for a long time to imagine how lonely she was. No one there to talk her down, to convince her it was worth living. It took me a long time to forgive myself for that one."
Joker was lapping at his scars, gaze piercing her.
"And uh…what makes ya think it wasn't your fault?"
Her head snapped to him so fast she gave herself whiplash. She didn't answer immediately, gauging him. The hint of a smile was resting at the corner of his lips.
She burst into laughter, producing a confused frown from him.
"Oh…oh I was waiting for it," she said with a shake of the head. "So hungry for a way to use all that against me. You think I would have told you any of that if I thought either event was my fault? I've struggled with depression all my life. Its symptoms can include withdrawal, low self-esteem, lack of motivation, suicidal thoughts, self-mutilation... Do you really think someone bearing all those symptoms is in a state of mind to care for others? To be present? To talk someone else down from the ledge when they're struggling not to dive over themselves?"
He blinked at her.
"You're so eager to learn everything there is to know about me," she continued. "Let me fill you in on something crucial. I've been broken many times, usually by my own hand. And it's always been me that put myself back together. No one breaks me but me. No one fixes me but me. There is no room for anybody else's input. Who are you? A stranger with no regard for anyone else but yourself. Someone who thrives on being unpredictable yet whose need to control is so predictable. It's fucking sad, frankly. You will never rise to your potential."
He watched her blankly, not breathing.
"I've met myself deeply. I've found the courage to forgive myself for what I could not change when I lacked the strength. Who are you? Who are you? Someone that's forsaken themselves from ever experiencing love and happiness. I pity that you made that choice for yourself. I pity you Joker."
In the blink of an eye he lunged at her, tugging wildly on the handcuffs. His teeth were bared, anger morphing his eyes into a molten black.
She didn't move an inch, watching him thrash and knock loose his quilt in the process.
Instead, she leaned back, content to ignore his struggles and dive back into the program.
Oh dang! It looked like Ramsay had given up for the first time in the show's history. He was refusing to help them.
God that Amy's eyes are fucking intense. I'd be scared to meet her alone in an alleyway. She could give Joker a run for his money.
He was still thrashing, but not as hard.
"If you're done throwing your tantrum, I'll grab us something to eat."
He was panting, glaring at her from above one arm, strands of green nearly blocking out his depthless stare.
"I'm going to fucking kill you."
Celine raised a brow.
"You don't even know what I was going to make us. You might really like it."
"I'll fucking gut you from abdomen to collar."
She whistled in reply.
"Sounds like a lot of work."
His glare lessened as she failed to respond to his threats.
"You don't believe me."
She shrugged.
"You don't strike me as someone who puts in a lot of work for a small payout. You've had me followed, you researched me, you snuck into my apartment for a reason. I doubt it's just to slice me open so…anticlimactically. So, I'll ask again…for what purpose are you having me followed?"
"BECAUSE I FUCKING WANT TO."
"Why?" she asked calmly.
"Sometimes," he stressed, "there isn't a why. There just is the reason. You're gonna have to deal with that cause I'm not answering that god damn question again."
From the way he stared at her she got the impression he believed his own words.
There is always a why. He hasn't examined it. Because he can't or because he won't? Whatever the reasoning, it's clear he's sensitive about it.
She exhaled and nodded.
"Fine. Do you want something to eat? You've lost weight since I last saw you. I could feel your ribs."
"I ah just threatened to pour open your insides and you're offering me dinner?"
"Just rolling with it. No point in being afraid, it'll get me nowhere and irritate you. I could use one of my vibrators on you instead?"
When he cackled it sounded reluctant. Like he'd been committed to basking in the murderous headspace he'd worked himself into.
"I've answered your question. So…you should just uh…let me go."
"Tomorrow," she decided. "I think Gotham could use a break from your terror for one night."
Am I really doing this? Housing him overnight, when he could very well escape, or worse, murder me?
She could tell Joker's thoughts were of a similar mindset.
"Why aren't you calling Batman?"
"Do you want me to?"
He crossed his legs.
"Ya know...your friends were right about you. You are one weird fucking girl. Like me."
"You're a girl too?"
She examined him closer.
"You were holding back on me as my hostage. I'd have ah killed ya the first night if you were this mouthy."
"Knowing when to shut up is an important skill to harness."
"This is you harnessing it?"
She couldn't hold back her smile.
"You're just as mouthy as I am." She stood. "Now, you've kinda worked me up into a state where I don't feel like slaving away for you. So, takeout it is. What will it be?"
"I uh…wouldn't mind eating out what's between your legs."
Just like that her cheeks were back to glowing red.
How does he do that? Go from batshit crazy to laying on compliments that'd make a nun desert her covenant?
"This food." She gestured down at her groin. "Is too expensive for you. Second choice."
"Mmm…too expensive?" he bit his lip and giggled. "And what about your ass? Or your neck? Or that delectable little mouth of yours? That one ya let me have access too for free."
"Indian it is," she decided, spinning around to the sound of his laughter.
Celine is playing with fire, let's hope she doesn't get burned.