Her phone was teeming with text and call alerts by the time she woke up. When she saw it was noon already, she nearly crawled back under her blankets, content to stay there for the entirety of the day. It wasn't like her to sleep in so late, but her body was finally catching up with the non-stop errand-running of the past two days. Dr. Ensinger had emphasized getting proper rest…from the way her muscles strained just getting out of bed, her body appeared to agree.
Bruce had called twice, the most recent one being an hour ago. An Arkham State Hospital number also attempted to reach her three times. She refrained from calling either back for the time being. Just until her texts were taken care of.
Agatha's was short and sweet.
Friday. 8PM. See you here :)
Taj's was, in his own way, wholly supportive.
What a BITCH. Let's hope we can sue her ass for all she's got.
Stephanie's was most likely written while half asleep.
Gotchu. Sunday the pikle truck comes I'll haveit
She interpreted that to mean stop by Sunday. And maybe she was getting a pickle too?
John's was straight and to the point.
Would you like me to take care of her for you?
She hastily replied to that one, knowing full well what John's idea of taking care of something entailed. Yes, Martha was a malicious pest, but she'd not done anything worthy of a torturous death.
No thank you. Leave the damage control to me. Thank you for offering.
Aesop's was grounding.
Those close to you know better. Those you've helped know better. You'll still have me at the end of all this.
And he was right. Years of learning how to establish her own boundaries and letting in the right people so she didn't have to overexert herself to meet them halfway, would pay off. She wasn't alone in this and those who truly cared for her would still be there when the brunt of this was over. That's what she chose to focus on.
She ended up calling Bruce back while scrambling up some eggs.
"Have you been outside yet?" was his first question.
"No, just woke up."
"You might want to take the emergency exit in the back. The front of your place is crawling with reporters."
"Ah…thanks for the heads up."
"I talked with our lawyers and they can draw up a-."
"Bruce…" She watched the eggs curdle in the frying pan, gnawing on her bottom lip. "Don't worry about it."
"…come again?".
"We aren't going to sue her," she stated. "I'm not going to spend the rest of this year going back and forth in courtrooms. She isn't worth the effort. You've done more than enough for me. Let me handle this."
He was silent for a long moment.
"Are you sure?"
"I am. She wants a reaction out of me. I refuse to give her one. I'll talk to a few reporters outside…clarify our version of events. They'll either believe me or they won't. I have no control beyond that. And suing Martha…it's going to look like we have something to hide."
"I understand where you're coming from," came his slow response, "but if we don't fight this the media circus will only escalate. And seeing as you're the owner and creator…it's you they're going to crucify."
She sighed, turning off the stove.
"It'll be rough for a little bit…but I'm not new to facing scrutiny. Nothing they print in the press could be worse than what I've said to myself throughout my life. Just…trust this is going to pass."
When he didn't answer right away, she repeated his name.
"…okay. I…I trust you. I just…I don't like seeing you vilified. It's the exact opposite of what you are."
"You and those close to me know that. Its enough for me to weather this storm."
She knew he wasn't fully convinced not to take legal action, but ultimately, he was only the investor. The decision was hers to make and she had made it.
I hope I'm going about this the right way. Combating vengeance with vengeance…it may turn me into a person I don't care on being. It's tempting to go after her, but…I have to remember…she's behaving like this because she lost a daughter. It's not my place to deepen that wound.
Bruce offered her a hesitant goodbye before hanging up. Her next call was to the number that'd rang her from Arkham.
"Miss Harlow," Dr. Suarez greeted. "I thought you may want to know some of the other doctors associated with Oz, myself included, have been contacted by members of the press. How do you want us to handle this?"
She scooped some eggs into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
"You're under no obligation to speak with them, but if any of you would like to…I won't stop you."
"If any of us choose to, know that we have your back. This Graves woman…she seeks to spite you at every turn. We won't allow it."
"The feeling is mutual. I know the hours you've all put into being a listening ear when no one else would. We'll all make it out of this one way or another."
"Yes," he agreed, sounding a little cheerier. "I am sorry you are being put through this. But if there is anyone who can endure it, it is you. Should you need anything else, call my personal number."
"I will, thank you."
Once her eggs were all eaten up, she cracked her knuckles and released a deep sigh.
"You got this," she said to herself. "You are kind and you are tough and you are patient. Even if you lose everything, you at least have yourself. That's something no entity can take away. Right? Right."
She high fived herself, ready to face the music no matter how deafening the beat.
x_X_x_X_x
The rest of Wednesday and Thursday was strenuous to say the least. Even after a calm, articulative interview with the reporters buzzing outside her apartment building; Gotham's media just couldn't let a "scandal" slide. She blamed it on boredom. Now that Joker was lying low and the City Council members were on their best behavior, there wasn't a big bad to focus on. A few mob-related stories here and there, but overall, she was the proverbial sacrificial lamb.
At first it was easy to ignore. Yes, she'd been followed going to stores and had photographs snapped of her getting on transportation, but headphones easily took care of that issue.
Until those photographs appeared on the front page of next day's paper, accompanied by a headline to the effect of "Aloof App Creator Strolls About Gotham in Light of User's Suicide" or "Business as Usual for Scandal-Plagued App Creator." She tried not to let her eyes scan the papers while walking, but they did so on their own accord. And it made guilt weigh all the heavier in her stomach.
Martha Graves was on a roll interview-wise, managing to snag three more news time slots to relay her sob story to. Each interview painted her in a worse light than the one before. It wasn't even Bruce she focused the brunt of her anger on anymore. A target was painted on her back and Martha was bent on shooting at it until there was nothing left.
Though most late-night talk show hosts didn't stoop so low as to poke fun at the tragedy, there was one – The Late Show with Elliot Fry – that dedicated a near ten-minute monologue on her bruised-up appearance. Elliot even went so far as to suggest, as atonement for Martha's loss, that she have some compassion knocked into her. He of course followed this up with "Kidding, only kidding." but it didn't keep the audience from loudly applauding.
To make matters worse Taj had informed her their user base had dropped 10% since she'd become front page news. Her explanation regarding the lawsuit apparently wasn't convincing enough. Even Bruce's statements to the press did little to curb the beating she was receiving.
An unintended consequence of Martha's interviews was the cult following she had amassed, both among religious folks and mothers who had lost children to suicide. They took to the tragedy like Elle was their own. Which would have been sweet if they didn't take out their frustrations on her.
She'd been hustling home early Thursday when out of nowhere an egg struck her right in the forehead.
"You oughta be ashamed of yourself!" someone shouted from behind the shoulders of the few reporters who still took to hounding her mercilessly despite having given her version of events already.
Needless to say, she didn't leave her apartment for the rest of the day.
She wasn't going to lie…being portrayed as a heartless, greedy bitch, hurt. She knew herself better of course but being painted in that light by people who shaped the opinions of the public made it difficult not to want to argue that portrayal. Her reputation wasn't something she felt the need to maintain, but witnessing it crumble before her eyes made it much more personal than she anticipated. Bruce begged her repeatedly to let him help stifle the damage being inflicted upon her. He took the most offense to the smear campaign being run. Anytime she thought about giving in and letting him help, her pacifist nature declined it.
Let this run its course, it urged. She isn't worth saying words you can't take back.
Gingerly, she gave in to this voice. Come Friday and she would be reunited with Agatha. If there was anyone to guide her on how she should handle her current situation, it was her.
Thursday evening found her further at work on a rough draft of her essay "The Nature of Shame." A bit of smooth jazz was playing in the background.
Hesitant as she was to admit it, Joker's feedback aided her tremendously. John had labeled her a utilitarian, which was in line with how a lot of her decision-making skills were made. If she could make a choice for the betterment of all, she would.
And yet…that she allowed Joker to continuously escape and averted telling the truth to Bruce about their liaisons…it forced her to come to an uncomfortable realization: not only did she feel a very tangible shame for her association with him, but that shame caused her to choose him over Gotham's safety. Which then begged the question…was this shame useful or corrosive? When did her morals shift so extremely that she could no longer tell whether what was good for her was also good for everyone else?
It was in the middle of this conundrum that an explosion erupted from somewhere outside, rattling her windows and nearly knocking the few vases she still had left onto the floor.
She shot up from her couch and peered out the window but saw nothing. The explosion had come from the front of her building. Which meant she wouldn't be able to see what caused it without going out the front door. Last time she checked, at least a handful of reporters were still lurking. As persistent as her curiosity was, she wasn't willing to leave the confines of her apartment and risk another yolky assault.
After gathering a few breaths to ground herself, she slowly returned to the couch and tentatively continued her draft.
So focused was she on it that when her door handle started to jiggle, she paid it no mind. Neither did she catch her locks flipping 180 degrees.
Maybe this will be a half and half piece. Shame holds a myriad of faces. It can benefit the masses just as much as it deteriorates the-.
"Watcha working on?"
She jumped at the voice, heart nearly bursting out of her throat. Her fingers cautiously pulled away from the keyboard.
Please be a figment of my overworked imagination.
When she risked a glance to her left, that hope vanished.
Minus the purple coat, he was dressed as he'd been the first time she laid eyes on him.
Disappointment briefly flooded her. She'd almost gotten used to seeing him nearly bare faced. It humanized him and accentuated what she suspected was a fairly handsome face underneath.
By the bouncing he was doing off the balls of his feet, he appeared to be excited.
It didn't take long for her to venture a guess as to why.
"I take it that explosion was your doing?"
She gave herself props for sounding more composed than she felt.
His grin was crooked.
"Yup. You've been very, very tricky to get to. Not ah-not a fan of that."
She didn't know whether to disapprove of the action or thank him.
When he didn't say anything else, her eyes returned to her laptop screen.
"Was there something you wanted?" she asked, re-reading the last paragraph she'd typed out.
"Hmm…you've been taking quite the bashing from the media."
She shrugged and gestured at her nearly healed face.
"I'm used to it. They can think whatever they want. It'll blow over eventually."
He frowned at the statement.
"That woman…she's not gonna let up until she's destroyed you."
It exited her mouth before she could think it through.
"Let her."
He stalked toward her, cocking his head as his eyes gleaned over her person.
"You've given up."
She met his gaze, brows furrowing.
"Refusing to engage isn't the same as giving up. It's not in my nature to fight hate with hate."
"You're letting her rail ya," he continued, plopping down on the couch next to her and propping up his feet on the table. "And doing nothing about it. That…that isn't in your nature. You're a fighter whether ya wanna admit that to yourself or not. I've uh…got the scars and bruises to prove it."
It was his turn to gesture at himself. Reluctantly, a half smile formed on her lips.
"You're different."
"Duh."
"I mean-." She struggled for the words. "-if I don't fight you back, I have my life to lose. Martha? There's nothing she can't take from me that will matter. Not in the long run anyway. I'll endure, like I've always done."
"Hmm…" he reclined his head on the couch, eyeing her with a squint. "And what if I told ya she's revving up to take ya to court again?"
Her jaw tightened.
"You're lying."
"Am not," he defended, bringing a hand to his chest in mock outrage. "Vindictive little bitch doesn't know when to quit. You not playing ball with her gets under her skin. Trust me, I know the feeling."
She looked at her laptop.
"Let her," she repeated.
She made to move forward and continue typing, but Joker shot out a hand and grabbed her by the chin. He forced her head toward him, studying her intently. There was a dead seriousness in his expression that screamed at her not to turn away.
"What's gotten into ya, hm?" He shook her chin a little. "Willing to let some zealous little cunt run ya right into the ground. Willing to let morons dictate your image. Since when didja bend over and take it?"
"Why do you even care?" she shot back. "The media does the same thing to you and I don't see you making a fuss."
"In my line of work, any publicity is good publicity," he countered with a smirk. "You…you're actually doing something decent for this rotting corpse of a city. Not uh exactly understanding why you're not reminding them of that."
She was confused. Why would he want her to be proactive? What would he gain to see her reputation remain credible? It seemed very much unlike him. He sought to eviscerate white knight crusaders like herself. Stranger yet, he was beginning to sound a lot like Bruce.
"Those who know me…those who I've helped…they know better," she assured. "It's their graces I want to remain good in, not any talk show hosts or news anchors or bored reporters looking to fuel the flames. I've spoken my truth…the longer Martha speaks hers…or her version of it anyway…the less desire I have to defend myself. From my point of view, she's digging her grave. I'm content watching from a distance."
He grumbled something she didn't hear. His thumb brushed over the split on her bottom lip.
"I don't buy it," he said, releasing her. "Not entirely. I'm gonna take a wild little guess and say you don't got the cojones t'a end her once and for all. I mean…wouldn't take much to reveal to the "truth-seeking" press just what sorta woman she is. Letting her boyfriend rape her daughter…for years! You could crush her with a few carefully chosen words. That you don't…makes me wonder if I hadn't given you too much credit."
"I'm not you," she reminded. "Mercy is a virtue. Just because you lack it doesn't mean I should either."
His sigh was low and drawn out.
"Shoulda anticipated that response. Such a compassionate bunny…it's a wonder you haven't been gobbled up yet."
She eyed him warily.
"I've had a few close calls."
He released an ear-piercing laugh at that, slapping his knee twice.
"That uh…that you have."
I should tell him to leave. I should make an excuse to walk away and grab the taser gun. I should shoot him and call Bruce. I should-.
"How did you know Martha was aware of her daughter's abuse?"
He licked his bottom lip, eyeing her coyishly.
"You had me curious," he admitted. "Offering me bits and pieces of the puzzle, but no…too stubborn to give me the whole picture. But that's alright, I've got all the patience in the world. If someone's out to get my snookums, I gotta learn all the details."
Her brain briefly spazzed out.
"Snookums?"
He batted his eyelashes, trying not to release a shit-eating grin.
"Snookums," she repeated, staring into his suddenly amused features. "That you even have that word in your vocabulary…"
"You loooooove it," he returned, lapping at one of his scarred cheeks. "Could ya imagine what you'd do without me?"
"Do you want that list alphabetically or chronologically?"
"Mm…" He cracked his neck. "Tell me something sweets…were you spanked a bunch as a kid?"
For emphasis, he swung his hand through the air.
"No."
"Hmpf…figured. Sometimes…well…more often than not…I've got this little fantasy playing in my head. Do ya wanna hear about it?"
"I would prefer not to, but something tells me you're going to tell me anyway"
He beamed at that, shifting to sit on his side so he faced her.
"You know me soooo well."
She crossed her arms.
"Go ahead."
"So, I got this little fantasy going…one of many starring you-."
"I didn't need to know that."
"-where you're dressed in this teeny tiny skirt. And you're being so damn…promiscuous. Flaunting your cute little behind in front of men that uh aren't me. A clown can only handle so much disrespect, ya know? I ah I sling you over my lap and get to work on spanking that bouncy little ass of yours until it's the perfect shade of cherry red. You're of course moaning up a storm-."
"I wouldn't."
"-and I slip my hand in between your thighs and wouldn't ya know it you're absolutely soaked?"
"Why? Did I go swimming in this fantasy of yours?"
"Mm…you keep up that lip and I'll re-enact it."
"Pfft…I'd like to see you tr-."
Joker shot an arm around her back and tugged her over his parted thighs. A squeak escaped her as he slipped off his leather glove with his teeth and cupped one of her ass cheeks, giving it a few experimental squeezes.
She tried to push herself back up, but his elbow was lodged firmly into her back, keeping her in place.
"You motherfu-."
Smack.
Joker grinned at the jolt her body underwent. He massaged the area he'd struck her, snagging his bottom lip between his teeth and sucking it in.
"Your mommy was much too soft on ya," he remarked. "Lucky for you, daddy's more than willing to make up for it."
Smack. Smack.
She grunted into the cushion.
"Let me up damn it!"
Smack. Smack. Smack.
"Oh no no no no…I've been dying to get you into this position. Not gonna waste such a uh prime opportunity."
From the stiffness pressing into her stomach, she knew he wasn't lying.
"If you don't let me up-."
Smack. Smack.
"-I'm going to-."
Smack. Smack. Smack.
"God damn it!"
Just as he made to bring his hand down again, she launched her elbow into his crotch. The moment the pressure on her back disappeared, she pushed herself up and slapped him across the face. Then once more from the opposite direction.
He had one hand cupping his crotch and another massaging the sting out of his cheek. His eyes darkened a shade as he examined her.
She was panting, too frazzled to get the proper words out.
"Asshole," she settled on. "You ever try something like that again and it'll be the last thing you do."
He cocked his head.
"Not smart to make threats you don't plan on following through with."
Her left eye twitched. He was quickly propelling her past her boiling point, and she wasn't sure she held the discipline not to go off on him.
"You and I are not friends," she blurted. "I don't know what you think you're entitled to in that fucked up brain of yours but touching me like that isn't one of those things. Keep your perverted fantasies to yourself. Keep your god damn hands to yourself. Better yet? Leave me the fuck alone!"
She'd tapped into an agitation she hadn't realize had festered in the back of her mind from the past few days. Her chest heaved as images of newspaper headlines passed through her brain. Her shoulders shook as she recalled being hit in the face just for going about her day. All she'd wanted to do was help others the way she wished she had been. All she wanted was to give a reason to continue fighting to those convinced they no longer had the strength.
Both hands flew to her face, covering her eyes as ragged breaths spewed out of her. At some point she'd involuntarily begun to cry; palms growing slick from the tears.
Breathe. Just…breathe.
Her bottom lip trembled. There suddenly wasn't enough oxygen in her lungs.
Joker grabbed her wrists and removed her hands from her face. She blinked through the tears. A hiccup escaped her.
He dragged her onto his lap; her thighs coming to rest on each side of his. Humming under his breath, he pulled her into his torso in a tight embrace, one hand stroking her back in soothing motions.
"Sh sh shhh," he murmured into her hair. "Let it out. Just like that…mmm…that-a girl."
She sniffled into his dress shirt, instantly at ease from the warmth radiating off his body. Did he ever get cold? He seemed to be an ever-chugging furnace. And his strength... the cord-like muscles kept her firmly secured to him; ensuring she'd not be going anywhere anytime soon. The cologne he'd worn from the night he masqueraded as a police officer emanated off him; along with the stenches of grease and something slightly metallic.
Why am I putty in his hands? Why does being held by him sometimes feel like resting by a fire after spending a day out in a blizzard? And why on earth is the magnetism between our bodies so strong? So right? I mean…I'm relaxing in the arms of a bona fide serial killer. This behavior goes far beyond recognizing the shadow self in others.
For the time being she wouldn't harp too much on answering to those questions. He was actually…comforting her; something she genuinely didn't think him capable of. What was the saying? Best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Not yet anyway.
"I wish," she muttered against him once the tears had subsided, "I could just-just gather all those pickle loaf motherfuckers in the same room and force them into a game of Russian roulette."
His chest rumbled in amusement against her.
"You only gotta ask and I'll have it arranged."
Though he voiced this lightly, she knew he wasn't kidding.
"Don't tempt me," was her stifled response.
She tried to lean back a little, but he wasn't giving her much room to do so. With a tilt of the head, she analyzed his expression. The tender moment was quickly passing. Her brain sought to detect his underlying goal.
"You did that intentionally, didn't you?"
His brows rose.
"I do everything intentionally. You uh gotta be more speci-fic."
"You were trying to piss me off with the spanking."
His shrug was evasive.
"Maaaaaybe."
"Why?"
"Well it uh was obvious you were wound up," he observed. "Amicably as you're handling your situation, I suspected there were a few not so nice feelings being kept buried. Better I get them out then them. That's what they want after all…herding ya into a corner, cameras trained on ya, waiting for ya to-."
He bared his teeth at her and snapped them a few times.
"-crack and go berserk. Not so different than the doctors at Arkham."
She studied him closely for half a minute.
"…and you wanted an excuse to feel my ass."
The corners of his lips twitched.
"That uh…that too." One hand shot down to her ass and squeezed a cheek. "Can ya blame me? Tough not to wanna mark it all up. Hands, teeth, fingernails…did I mention teeth?"
She blushed at the throaty declaration, momentarily closing her eyes. Her thoughts were being scattered all over the place. She needed to maintain focus.
He was right in one regard. Her public-led persecution had bothered her more than she let on. You could only remain so positive and levelheaded for so long. Every now and again, one needed to break down just to return to equilibrium again.
"You provoked me into getting that anger out," she relayed to herself, unconsciously rubbing her palms over his shoulders. "Not for my benefit…no…you're getting something out of it."
He rolled his eyes.
"I'll save ya the guesswork," he offered. "You're umm…what's the polite way of saying this to an independent, modern-age gal such as yourself…mine. Yes, yes…mine. Which means no one is allowed to hurt ya but me. That clear things up for you?"
Her eyes slowly opened.
"Yours?"
It's not the first time he'd alluded to it, but in all honesty, she assumed it was something he said to irritate her, not because it was something he truly believed.
"Mhm."
His gaze kept flicking to her lips. She got the impression he kept having to tune into the conversation; so rampantly led was his imagination.
"But I'm not."
He met her stare dead on. There was something in his tone of voice that reminded her of a dog readying itself to pounce on another dog that'd wandered into its territory. She wasn't sure if she was the other dog or the territory.
"Help me understand…you're not a stupid man," she carefully released. "You pride yourself in seeing things as they are. No sugar coating, no smoke screens. Why bother feeding such an unnecessary delusion? One that benefits you in no way by believing."
One of his hands snuck into her hair and slowly gripped onto her locks until he had complete control of her head movements. He brought her toward him until only inches separated their noses.
"And uh…what makes you so sure it's delusion and not reality? Hm?" His voice lowered with each punctuating sentence. "So awfully sure…and yet, you know better than most…reality is subjective. My reality says…no…my instinct insists that you're mine. Has insisted it from the moment Batsy stole you away. My brain happens to agree. What about that has you struggling so hard to understand?"
"I can't be yours if I don't consent to it."
"Wrong," he practically sang. "History is written by the conquerors. By visionaries willing to enforce their perception of how the world should be. Take Europeans discovering the Americas. Do you think the natives mutually consented to being conquered? No-pe. To the victor go the spoils…and what a deeee-licious spoil you are."
She was getting a headache listening to his logic. How could he have concluded something like this in just under a month? How could he be so sure? Which instinct dictated that she was his? And was it organic or conditioned?
Sighing, she wearily ran a hand over her face.
He released the hold he had on her hair, taking to patting it instead.
"Have you had this reaction to any other woman before?" she tried out, almost not wanting to know. "This…need to…own?"
His eyed her for a long moment, not saying anything. Which was an answer in itself.
"Awesome," she grumbled. "What are the advantages of being yours? Enlighten me, please."
"I uh…I keep trying but you manage to slip away before I can."
He rolled his pelvis up and against her, cock jutting into the apex of her thighs.
She buried her face in the crook of his neck, face heating up. He tightened his arms around her with a self-satisfied grin.
In a messed-up way this was becoming a new norm. Her straddling his lap while he basked in keeping her there. She wished so badly he wasn't who he was. It would make giving in so much less ethically compromising.
"Since I ah finally got your undivided attention," he mentioned, "mind uh…mind telling me what I'm doing on a dating website?"
She bursted into giggles against his neck, nearly having forgotten all about that. The longer he stayed silent, the harder her giggles became.
He pinched her side as a warning.
"What makes you think I had something to do with it?" she asked as nonchalantly as she could.
"Tracked the account to your e-mail, honeybunches," came his high-pitched response.
"Ah…well, you got me there." She leaned back to peer at him. "Just…looking out for your wellbeing. I'm not crazy enough to fuck you, but plenty in Gotham are. I was doing you a favor really."
He lapped at his scars, gaze narrowing.
"A favor, hm?"
"Um…yeah?"
Abruptly, he stood, forcing her to wrap both arms around his neck.
"A favor for little ole' me," he stated, heading in the direction of her bedroom. "I've ah-I've got this running theory 'bout ya. Well, I've got several, but this one occupies my brain the most. I think secretly… you like playing with fire. Crow, Ace, yours truly…"
They crossed the threshold of her bedroom, his arms crushing her against him. She dreaded the end destination for reasons that weren't so easily admittable.
"How many can say they've tango'd with Gotham's finest and lived to tell about it?" He twirled them once around the room, grin deepening as she held on to him for dear life. "You've got a knack for attracting trouble…and that trouble is just as attracted to you. You're doing neither of us any favors in denying it. You and I…we are…inevitable."
She couldn't tear her gaze away from him, cheeks throbbing fiercely.
Does he have a point? I attribute it to recognizing the yin and yang in everyone…do I…purposely seek out troubled individuals?
His self-assuredness had her itching to return a theory of her own. And secure some power back into her hands. From the way their charged banter was going, it wouldn't take long for them to hash it out in her bed. That seemed to be how these encounters ended up as of late.
Just as well, she'd made a choice earlier in the week. He wasn't worth losing the friends that genuinely cared about her. Friends whose motives she seldom had to question.
"I've got a theory about you too."
"Mmm," he rumbled, "pray tell."
When in doubt…weird them-yadda yadda, I know the drill.
"I think you….…like big butts and you cannot lie, those other Gothamites can't deny," she rapped, gesturing with one hand as if she had a mic in the other. "That when I walk in with a thick waist and a round thing in your face you get SPRUNG…want to pull up tough 'cause you notice my butt was stuffed. Deep in the jeans I'm wearing, you're hooked and you can't stop staring…oh baby you wanna get with me…and take my picture. Your henchmen tried to warn ya, but with my butt it makes you…oh so horny."
His jaw unhinged so fast she nearly re-erupted into giggles.
Thoroughly emboldened by his shock, she swept a few green locks out of his face. Her hand slid down to his cheek, thumb skimming over his scar tissue with the gentlest of brushes.
Time to enlighten him on what me being his will entail. This is going to be fun!
"I'll clue you in on something else. You really, really don't wanna fuck me, Jack," she relayed, tongue peeking out from the corner of her lips. "I'm the type to get attached easily. I'm the type to call and text non-stop. You won't ever sleep comfortably again…I'll wanna know where you're at, who you're with, what you're doing, when you'll be home."
His eyes widened; panic briefly clouding his expression.
What a typically male response. I can't believe I didn't try this sooner.
Her index finger trailed over to his bottom lip. She hooked the top half into his mouth, licking her own as she did so.
"If you fuck me Jack, I'll want to get married. And don't even get me started on kids. I'll want at least seven." She pulled her index finger out of his mouth and slipped it into her own, tasting him. "I'll force you to meet what family I still have left and all my childhood friends and in no time you'll be having dinners with Bruce and I at an upscale, overpriced Italian place as paparazzi discretely take photos of us from the bushes outside, proclaiming in the next day's issue that you've turned over a new leaf…that you've gone…soft."
She desperately wanted to laugh but didn't wish to expose her bluff.
Joker appeared to be torn between fighting back a cringe each time she spoke and eyeing her hand and tongue movements like a lustful hawk.
"And for the record…Jack…I don't think I'm attracted to trouble," she said. "John and Aesop…they had buried their humanity. I consider myself an…excavator of it. You, on the other hand…"
She leaned toward him, lips nearly touching his parted ones. His breath was hot and fast against hers. His eyes were trained on hers; nearly as black as his pupils. That he'd maintained his silence for so long filled her with an indescribable power.
"I-."
Knock. Knock.
Her head shot to the front door. Joker gripped her jaw and tilted her attention back to him.
"Finish it," he demanded lowly. "Finish. What. You. Were. Going. To. Say."
Knock. Knock. Knock.
She tried to shimmy out of his grasp, but he refused to budge, fingers digging deeper into her skin.
"Maybe next time, grizzly bear."
Her hands dropped to his sides and roughly dug into his ribs. It was all that was needed for him to release her onto her feet.
She exhaled deeply before turning and heading over to see who her guest was. To her relief, he made no move to follow.
Upon opening her door, her body relaxed.
Her landlord – a cantankerous woman of sixty-three – stood there with arms crossed. A lit cigarette was bobbing between her lips. She made it evident early on she didn't give a shit if you smoked in the building, so long as it wasn't crack or meth. They got on well with one another, mostly because Celine was a pro at paying her rent on time and minding her own business.
"I saw you called," she rasped, a few ashes flicking onto the carpet. "You having plumbing issues again?"
She stepped out into the hallway and closed the door until there was only a crack visible.
"Um, no not exactly. I'll be out of the country for three months and was wondering if-."
"Thousand-dollar deposit," was her speedy response, eyeing her up and down. "Just in case you decide to disappear on me. You'll get it back when you return. Anything else?"
"Uh…no…that about covers it. Thanks Miss Pendergrass."
"Plumbing's good?" she reiterated.
"Plumbing's excellent."
Her nod was sharp.
"Get some rest," she suggested. "You look like someone beat the living hell outta you."
"I-yeah."
She was gone before Celine could form a more articulate response.
Well, at least something's going my way.
By the time she returned to her bedroom, Joker was long gone. The window to her bedroom was ajar. Down the fire escape he went.
She shut her window and wandered back to the couch; shaking her head every so often. Their encounters were so bizarre and unpredictable that there was always a recovery period needed to gather her bearings.
What would I have said had we not been interrupted?
She wouldn't allow herself to linger on that. He was gone and she now knew how to make him keep his distance. It was a breakthrough. A silver lining out of the chronic migraine that was the last few days. She only needed to make it a little while longer and she'd be in the clear.
It was only when she was getting ready for bed that she noticed he'd left his purple glove behind. As much as his actions sickened her at times, she hadn't the heart to toss it out.
He's meticulous. There's no way this wasn't intentional.
In the dimness of her apartment, she tried it on. Unsurprisingly, it was much too big for her. Which then set off a series of unhelpful reminders about just how large his hands were and how pleasant his calloused fingers felt against her smooth skin and how – bless the universe he wasn't a mind reader – not exactly terrible it felt to have him grip onto her ass in such a confident manner.
Needless to say, that glove ended up locked away in a drawer as far away from her bedroom as possible; lest it followed into her dreams.
x_X_x_X_x
It was nearly two in the morning and Jonathan Crane couldn't get to sleep to save his life. For once, it wasn't Scarecrow's doing. No, his thoughts orbited around one person and one person only.
That Celine didn't take him up on his offer to handle the Graves woman gnawed at him tirelessly. He'd skimmed the newspaper headlines, he'd seen the photo snapped of her trying to clean eggshells out of her hair, he watched the interviews the Graves woman pumped out like an assembly line…something needed to be done.
Granted, he didn't have Celine's permission, but surely what she didn't know couldn't hurt her. He wasn't doing this out of self-interest or to further nourish his madness…the greatest friend he'd ever known was being slandered and humiliated before his very eyes. He refused to let it continue happening, especially when he had the means to aid her like she so often aided him.
Mind made up, he got up and snatched a vial out of a filing cabinet. With steady hands, he emptied the liquid into a syringe. Scarecrow was suddenly very intrigued by his actions.
Our first test subject? About time Johnny, I was beginning to think we'd never get the chance to reap the rewards of our labor.
His nod was imperceptible.
"It's as good a time as any," he responded, unable to hide the quiver of excitement in his voice.
He quickly switched into all-black clothes. It wouldn't do to be detected.
The journey to Martha Graves's rowhome in north Gotham took just under a half hour. Personally, John loved this time of night. Those going about their business were seldom bothered unless they looked like easy prey. Other than a mouthy drunk slumped against a closed bar, he made it to his destination undisturbed.
He first scouted her street for activity, relieved to find it dead silent. He then scanned her rowhome, less than pleased to see a dull light pulsing through closed window blinds. He'd really hoped to catch her in the midst of sleep. Much easier to subdue an unaware target.
But he prided himself on being adaptable, this time being no different.
The rowhouses all shared an expansive backyard with a backdoor leading out to it. He readied himself to pick the lock leading into Martha's home, but to his surprise, the door was already open.
Hm…she doesn't strike me as the type to trust so easily. Only fools and the suicidal leave their doors unlocked in this city.
He scanned his surroundings a final time before slipping inside the house.
The layout was pretty straightforward. To his immediate right was a dated kitchen with a powder room attached. The hallway he lingered in had two doors on either side to choose from. Both were closed. Up ahead on the right-hand side was the lit entryway to what he assumed the living room was. It was in this direction he crept; ears perked up for the slightest hint of movement.
The nearer to the living room he got, the slower his steps became. He wasn't sure if he was hearing things correctly, but it sounded like muffled sobbing up ahead. Yes. Definite sobbing.
I may just catch her unawares yet.
He froze upon hearing a voice sound from the room. A male one. Not Martha Graves.
Overcome by curiosity, he covered the remaining distance to the living room, one hand wrapped around the silencer tucked away in the back of his pants.
When he peeked around the corner, John nearly lost his grip on the gun.
"You- what are you doing here?"
Martha was bound and gagged to a kitchen chair, hair askew, mascara running down her cheeks, tears glistening in a never-ending flow down her face. What looked like a wash cloth had been stuffed deep into her mouth and partially into her throat.
But John barely paid her any attention.
"Johnny boy!" Joker exclaimed, straightening from his bent position over a coffee table. "What a coincidence. I'd ah have Martha here offer ya some refreshments but umm…she's a bit…tied up…hahahaha…"
His mouth opened and closed a few times. His gaze swiveled between Martha and the reoccurring thorn in his side.
"What are you doing here?" he repeated.
He didn't enjoy being blindsided. It was always one of his least favorite things about the experimental stage of a hypothesis. That one in one millionth possibility that so seldom if at all ever occurred, he didn't even bother entertaining it. Then again, what a precise way to describe the man in front of him. The Joker…the wildcard…never to be ruled out.
"Well if you must know," he answered, bringing the cap of a pen to his mouth, "Martha here and I were polishing up the most heartfelt suicide note. Don't get excited, hers not mine. It's real Pulitzer Prize material so far, isn't that right Mar?"
He patted her on the head with a gloved hand, grin widening as the woman renewed her frantic sobbing, head shaking back and forth.
What sounded like 'please' escaped from behind her gag. Her tear-filled eyes gazed imploringly at John.
"Oh, you hush now," Joker chided, flicking the tip of the pen against her forehead. "Or I'll cut out your tongue and give ya something to really scream about."
If possible, her sobbing became more erratic.
John watched anguish contort her features. She was so very, very afraid that god help him if it didn't make him a little hard.
He readjusted himself before venturing a step forward.
"It appears we are here for similar reasons," he tested out. "Might I…join you?"
Joker shrugged.
"Why not? The more the uh merrier!"
He allowed himself to relax ever so slightly. They still had unfinished business, but for the time being it appeared a temporary truce had been formed in lieu of a more mutual goal.
Martha's screams resumed as John approached her, syringe in hand. A meaty vein throbbing near the pulse of her neck caught his attention.
Joker rested an elbow on the coffee table, momentarily content to observe the proceedings.
"It's a liquid version of my serum," he explained, pricking Martha's vein with the tip of the needle before pushing down on the plunger. "Though I prefer the gaseous form because of the perimeter it can cover, a liquid version too has its purposes. Discreteness being the primary one. As you can imagine the test subject works up quite the sweat…and it is through sweat that the serum secretes back out after having run its course. Quick, personal, and doesn't leave a trace."
Joker whistled, watching Martha's rapidly shifting expressions with great interest.
"Give it to me straight Doc, she gonna suffer much?"
John was glad Celine wasn't there to witness his smile. He didn't think she would want to be around him for quite some time.
"Excruciatingly," he assured. "With no means of fending off her hallucinatory terrorizers she will slowly start to go mad. Her psyche will snap beneath the strain of trying to separate what is and isn't reality. After a time, the two will become indistinguishable."
"Impressive," Joker praised, offering him a round of applause. "I knew the night was still young. Just couldn't figure out what was missing. How about it Martha? Did Johnny here knock it outta the park?"
She was choking on her own screams, rocking back and forth in the chair; bloodshot eyes staring at an unknowable horror.
"Good, good," he mumbled to himself, returning his attention to the slip of paper beneath his palm.
"A suicide note?" John inquired, temporarily ignoring Martha and cautiously nearing Joker. "Believable, I hope. This cannot in any way trace back to-."
He noticed Joker's shoulders briefly tense.
Ah…we are not in a headspace to admit why we're doing this. Or rather…for who.
"-you or I," he redirected. "Prior to your little stunt with the City Council members, the Commissioner wanted you dead or alive. Now, I very much think it's the former."
"Mm…I'm gonna have t'a disagree with you there, Doc. The more ah…destructive your legacy, the more valuable your worth. What fun would I be to him dead? None. At. All. He likes to see me bleed and squirm just as much as I enjoy making his colleagues bleed and…squirm. Tit for tat. I get caught, I get thrown into Arkham, I escape…lather, rinse, repeat."
John reluctantly conceded him that point. Especially if the Bat was the one handling the capture.
"If you say so," was his cool response.
He knelt in front of Martha to get a more intimate view of her face, ignoring Joker's rumbles and grumbles to himself as he resumed her suicide note.
By the time three o'clock rolled around, Joker had successfully written out the final draft of a worthy goodbye. Martha was barely coherent, eyes permanently pried open; all awareness for reality extinguished. Her fear had temporarily reduced her to a vegetative, insconscious state.
Because of this, it didn't take much effort to move her hand in accordance to what Joker had written for her. Granted, it was somewhat sloppy, but what else did people expect from a mentally troubled individual?
Once this was finished, John opted to help Joker steady her atop the kitchen chair while he finished up the noose. It was wrapped snugly around the base of a ceiling fan. Martha was so far gone – never to return – that she let them handle her body however they wanted.
It wasn't long before her neck was forced into the noose and tightened to the point of nearly cutting off oxygen.
They stepped back from the finished product. Martha had only the kitchen chair beneath her feet preventing her from death.
"Like mother like daughter, eh?"
John wasn't able to hold back a snicker at the comment.
"Since uh…I got here first it's only fair I do the honors."
"By all means," John offered.
Joker lifted his right leg and kicked the chair out from beneath Martha Graves's feet.
She gasped and wheezed for what seemed like minutes, body spasming wildly; directionless and disoriented. The body was trying valiantly to combat death while the mind had already experienced the deterioration of sanity.
When she finally stopped moving, well and thoroughly deceased, Joker cocked his head, finger tapping at his chin. John eyed him warily.
What more can he do to her in death?
This question was soon answered.
Humming to himself, Joker trotted over to the light switches and flipped on the one furthest from him.
Immediately, the ceiling fan started to spin, Martha's body spinning right along with it.
John watched in disbelief as Joker pulled out a cell phone and began to film the dead woman's body, soaring in a perfect circle through the air like a limp piñata.
"Weeeee!" Joker added, giggling every so often. "I ah…I oughta send this into Gotham's Funniest Home Videos. It'd be a realll hoot, don't ya think?"
Grimacing, John glanced down the hallway toward the back door.
"I've done what I came here to do. Have…fun."
Joker sighed, lowering his phone.
"Such a sourpuss," he mumbled. "Just ah…give me a sec, won't ya?"
John left Joker to turn off the ceiling fan, grateful to be back outside in the fresh air. At some point the woman had soiled herself. It was quickly stinking up the inside.
"Old bag had expensive taste," Joker declared after closing and locking the back door. "Want one?"
He shook a nearly empty pack of American Spirits.
What's gotten into him? It's a wonder he hasn't gone for me next.
"Sure."
Whatever kept this uneasy peace.
He took one out of the pack and accepted the matches Joker handed him.
Whereas Joker's drag was smooth and deep, John ended up coughing after the first hit; not having had a cigarette since high school. He ignored the clown's laughter at him.
Save for the occasional screech of tires and buzzing from flickering streetlamps, the night was silent. Joker was already halfway through his while John debated discretely tossing it beneath his shoe, stubbing it out, and taking his leave.
I cannot just yet…what Celine's revealed to me about him…something needs to be said. She has his attention whether she wants it or not, especially in light of tonight's actions. The least I can do is…redirect it in a helpful way.
He chose his words very carefully.
"It is no secret why I am here," he began, flicking a few ashes to the ground. "And as much as Scarecrow loathes me doing this for someone else's benefit, I cannot find it in me to match his disgust. For a very long time the act of taking someone else's life was an activity of self-indulgence and nothing more. More recently however…I've come to an epiphany."
He refused to glance at the other man. This needed to be said with the utmost certainty.
"Killing someone for my benefit and the benefit of someone else carries a more potent euphoria. You get not only the thrill of stifling the life out of someone, but the knowledge that who you're doing it for is better off because you had done what they perhaps could not. Making someone suffer is all well and good, but ultimately it is…limiting. To have a reason for it beyond your own self-interest brings an added enjoyability to it. Life suddenly is not so…monotonous."
He let the cigarette drop from his hand, toe crushing it against the grass.
"Celine shared a quote with me once from a Zen Buddhist doctrine she was studying. 'The root of all suffering is attachment'. I couldn't help but point out how paradoxical it was to her nature. She assured me non-attachment and love could co-exist harmoniously. So long as one acknowledged nothing lasted forever, death was a natural part of life, people come and go without your control…then making the effort to love is always worth the risk. And I do love her. Very, very much. I would do anything within my power to make her life easier. To have purpose like that…to be the reason for someone else's happiness…very little matches that."
Joker's cigarette butt soon joined his on the ground. A heavy hand struck the back of his shoulder. The fingernails dug into him tight.
"Next time I see ya," Joker stated, all playfulness gone from his voice, "I'll be taking my raincheck."
He patted him twice on the cheek before picking up his stubbed cigarette and sauntering away, whistling as he did so.
John buried his hands into his pockets and sighed.
Did I only aggravate the situation?
He shook his head. Someone like Joker would ruminate on what he'd just said in private. And if he was as obsessed with Celine as he suspected, he would attempt to figure out how he could be an asset to her as opposed to an obstacle.
Because there was no denying that's what it was. Joker didn't love. He viewed people as assets or expendables. He would venture a guess and say he didn't quite know which category to put Celine in. Which was both good and bad. Good in that he would find any excuse to keep her alive until he figured it out. Bad in that if she ended up in the latter category, he didn't foresee her living too much longer. He'd not had the courage to be upfront with her, but obsessed is exactly what Joker was. Tonight only re-verified that. If he could steer that obsession to benefit Celine…get him open to the idea of aiding her from the shadows as he did…remind him you could be fond of someone and not lose your villainous credentials…her chances of becoming an asset were that much greater. It was too late to shake loose Joker's interest. He could only work with what was already at play.
If it is as simple as that, why do I feel like I am not seeing something? Even 'obsession' seems too light of a term for his actions.
He risked a last minute glance at his surroundings before picking his crushed cigarette up and heading off in the opposite direction of the clown; reeling over all the possible outcomes of Joker and Celine's acquaintanceship, wondering just what word, if any, he could use to describe it.
The things we do for love :' )
Hopefully John's efforts aren't in vain!
Next chapter Celine finally sees her dear, extra "perceptive" friend Agatha. It will be a very lengthy chapter and one that sort of establishes what kind of underlying theme will navigate this story. I intended to write their meeting a lot sooner (and it was one of the first exchanges I knew for certain would be written as soon as I started this story)...but Joker and Celine's antics have postponed it...which is good as it will make it all the more profound.
Thank you for all the love and feedback y'all have graced me with. I hope everyone is safe and in good health. Take care of yourselves and each other.