The house Celine grew up in rested on one of the numerous tree-concealed lots at the top of a system of cliffs overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. It'd been constructed in the late 1960s by her grandfather – Joachim Harlow - with the intention of being a home to retire to with his wife after their kids had all married and settled down. Unfortunately, he never got around to moving in; a massive heart attack cutting his intentions short. In his will, he left the property to be shared amongst his four children- Lucien, June, Reed, and Nora.
For quite a number of years, the cottage-style beach house remained untouched. Despite the jaw-dropping scenery and close proximity to the ocean, no one wanted to reside in the bones of their father's dream house. In their minds, it wasn't theirs, it was his, even if he was long gone.
It was only when the oldest of the siblings – Lucien and June – married and had children of their own that the house slowly became the epicenter for week-long vacations during the spring, summer, and autumn months. And Lucien being as handy as he was, gradually updated and renovated that which fell susceptible to time, and erosion (courtesy of some wicked, wicked storms).
The house's transition from a place of vacation to a place of residence occurred between the years 1978 and 1979 when one jobless and broke Nora Harlow learned she was pregnant. She'd been reassured by her boyfriend at the time that once the pregnancy was completed, they would move their way inland toward Bangor and find an affordable apartment to start their family in. Unfortunately for her, he skipped town a month before she was expected to deliver, and she never saw or heard from him again.
Thankfully, Nora was not unloved. Her siblings rallied together when she needed them most and decided Celine would be raised not only near family, but a place that could really give her a special childhood. Thus, their grandfather's treasured retirement home became Nora and Celine's.
"Pretty secluded up here. Got any neighbors nearby?"
She jumped a little, not realizing he'd woken up the moment her tires had hit the unpaved driveway weaving up to the house.
"I think the closest are two miles north," she answered, thumbs tapping rhythmically against the steering wheel. "We're basically on our own up here. The woods on the west side of the property stretch maybe…fifty acres?"
When he didn't follow this up with anything, she glanced his way.
"Why? Scouting out potential dumping spots for my body?"
His grin was wolfish.
"No no…not on the agenda…yet. Might-ah surprise you to learn, but I'm a guy that values his privacy. Not a fan of people poking their noses where they don't belong."
She nodded at the response. That appeared to be something else they had in common. The inherent love for privacy. After all, they were rather unusual themselves. It was only fair they had a space free of prying eyes, to be as weird and unusual as they wanted.
Joker was quiet for the last half mile leading up to the house, scanning his environment through narrowed lids, one knee bouncing up and down. Her reassurance of absolute privacy did little to keep him from taking note of what was where and any potential routes leading to and from the house. It made her consider just how excellent of a game hunter he could be. Quiet when the moment required it, perceptive, constantly weighing out his options, lethal with a rifle.
"Did you want to rest a little bit inside?" she asked, pulling up to the detached garage.
His eyes were on her instantly.
"Mmm…depends. Where are you gonna be?"
Again, his consideration puzzled her. But unlike the last time, she chose not to showcase it on her face.
"Honestly?" She threw the car in park and turned the ignition off. "I'm heading down to the beach. The Atlantic and I…we've been parted for far too long."
When he didn't respond to this, she opened her car door and stepped out.
The first thing she did was raise her arms up and stretch. Nearly eight hours in the car had her muscles stiff and slightly numb.
Did something just pop? Sheesh I am getting old.
Earlier in the day the temperature, with humidity, made it feel like a sweltering 95. Now at just a minute past six in the evening it'd descended to a manageable 77. Though slightly overcast, it wasn't so bad as to keep the sun hidden for long. The breeze wafting across the Atlantic normally helped keep the weather tolerable, but a heatwave was passing through Maine and she just happened to be there at its tail end.
Roughly twenty yards to her left was the house, but her focus was on the cliffs to her right. They loomed an imposing sixty feet above the sandy, wave-swept shores beneath them. She still hadn't a clue how it is her grandfather managed to engineer a wooden, railed-in staircase against the cliff; supported by four massive beams. The task had to have required quite a bit of manpower and patience for the coast's ever-turbulent climate.
Thankfully, her Uncle Lucien took to examining the beams and stairs each spring after a heavy winter to ensure the structure hadn't rotted or become unstable. A few updates had been made over the years to ensure no accident could occur to adult or child.
She approached the edge of the cliff where the stairs began; gaze sweeping over the Atlantic. From a distance the ocean appeared almost a light green due to the plant life and algae blooming in the area. Upon a closer inspection, however, she knew the green would give way to a near-indigo color.
Her feet carried her to the first step and from there she began making her way downward, palms brushing along the cobwebbed rails on either side of her.
The rails had been constructed from a weather-resistant type of cedar, bearing the markings of various pocketknives and switchblades. Back on her 18th birthday she'd had her closest friends over for a weekend long bash. Before they left Sunday evening, they'd each carved their names as well as the date and year into a part of the structure in commemoration of the adventures they'd shared. And those were just one of numerous souvenirs lining the rail. Cousins, aunts, uncles, extended relatives, good friends…each had at one point or another left their mark behind. Running her fingertips along the engravings brought back some of her favorite, most beloved memories. The structure was by all means a relic…a time capsule of the past four decades.
The stairs within the rails extended ten steps before zig zagging in the opposite direction with ten more steps and so on and so forth until you reached the shore at the bottom.
The breeze was lukewarm against her face and the waves weren't rising any taller than a foot. She closed her eyes as she walked; letting muscle memory guide her.
On countless occasions she considered setting up some sort of high-end recording device on the shore to record the various soundscapes throughout the day. Very few things were as soothing as laying back in the sand, closing your eyes, and listening to the crash of waves against the shoreline as gulls chirped above. Or when a storm was coming through and the wind suddenly picked up speed, whistling through the cliffs and trees as thunder reverberated in the distance. On particularly misty evenings, it wasn't unusual for a ship from a local lighthouse to be navigating the waters and throwing on its foghorn to warn other passing ships that there were cliffs nearby. Its grumble was low and soothing, especially if there was a fire crackling in the brick-lined firepit on the beach.
With only touch and sound to steer her, she was somewhat overwhelmed by how much she had missed this place. Perhaps more intensely this time around because the past two months had been defined by chaos and uncertainty. And so much had changed in the near year she'd been away: absent a finger, down a best friend, interiorly well-rattled, united with her soulmate…she wouldn't consider her life to be normal, but being back home again…it was the closest to it she could experience. Normal really didn't sound half bad right then.
When her sandals finally landed on the bottom step, she slipped out of them and opened her eyes. Venturing a few steps forward, she let her toes sink into the toasty sand until they encountered coolness below the surface. Her body slackened at the sensation.
On either side of her the beach extended roughly a half mile; the cliffs behind her caving the sand in like they were lumbering guards. Depending on the severity of the winter, the length of the shore fluctuated. Some summers you needed to walk nearly fifty feet out before encountering water. Some summers you had maybe twenty feet at your disposal before the waves moistened your toes.
This year it appeared to be a healthy mix between the two. Personally, Celine was a sucker for a longer walk to the water. A few summers back a little family get-together was thrown at the house and everyone under the age of thirty participated in a sandcastle-off. They all got a section of the beach and had an hour to create the most elaborate, eye-catching structure they could with saltwater, seaweed, twigs, seashells, rocks, and any other debris that just happened to wash up.
Her cousin Marc, a recent graduate from a college in Maryland specializing in architectural design, easily had everyone beat. He ended up recreating an intricate fort from South Carolina that'd been standing since the days of the American Revolution. It'd been so impressive that everyone else immediately conceded him the victory.
She smiled at the memory, inching a few feet forward.
"I'm home," she whispered to herself.
Her spine tingled in response.
I think we can do better than that.
Cupping both hands around her mouth, she shouted, "I'M HOME! I'M HOOOOOOME!"
Her arms shot into the air, wind suddenly picking up speed as if it deemed her yell a challenge. By the time it had regressed back to a breeze, her eyes were bright, her cheeks flush, and her hair more tangled than before. She giggled to herself, plopping down on her butt.
For a couple of minutes, she did nothing but bask beneath the sun, fingers rubbing sand along what part of her legs were exposed until they created a delicious friction. With a deep exhale, she dropped onto her back and extended both arms and legs; closing her eyes. Slowly at first, she began moving her limbs up and down; creating the shallowest impression of what she deemed 'sand angels'. Then, her movements started to speed up until both arms and legs were depressed a few inches into the ground.
The sun continued beaming down on her, waves rolling gently against the cliffs.
Maybe if I can't swim this summer, I can at least convince Uncle Reed to part with one of his kayaks for the week. It'd have to be a day where the wind is in my favor. Last thing I need is to end up in Nova Scotia. Apologetic nature aside, I'm too foul-mouthed to make it is a Canadian.
The sun abruptly disappeared. One eye slid open.
Joker was staring down at her with a slight cock of the head. Though his expression was neutral, his eyes took note of all her movements and facial responses. It was clear this was a version of her he'd not yet been formally introduced to…this carefree summer-child who bellowed her excitement about being home at the top of her lungs.
"Hi," she greeted with one crinkled eye.
His nod was discrete, almost on the verge of reluctant.
Encircling his green hair and highlighting the dark natural blonde not entirely expunged was a halo of bright yellow. She didn't dare mention how ethereal he looked.
This isn't an environment I ever thought I'd glimpse him in. Take him out of the gloom and industrial skyscrapers of Gotham and he looks…lost…on edge. I…need to get him to relax. Immerse him in this moment.
"Lay down," she suggested, patting the spot beside her. "Make sand angels with me."
When he continued standing, she closed her eye and resumed burrowing herself further into the sand.
Not two minutes passed before she sensed Joker lowering himself next to her. Initially, all he did was sit, legs splayed, hands sinking into the sand on either side of him, studying his surroundings closely. As if he was anticipating a threat.
But when no threat arrived – other than a particularly rough smack of water against coastline – Joker slowly lowered himself onto his back.
Not wishing to disrupt the promising moment, Celine kept to herself; fingers digging into the sand until it made a home beneath her fingernails.
She heard the shifting of fabric and then the faintest brush of a finger. This movement was repeated. Some sand landed on her wrist.
He's…doing it. He's making sand angels! Or would they be clown angels? Sand clowns?
A smile crept onto her lips. She yearned to savor the moment for as long as she could.
Beside her, Joker let his arms and legs do the thinking for him. Seconds later and he'd christened himself with some pretty impressive wings.
Celine began to softly hum "Wouldn't It Be Nice" by the Beach Boys. It was only after making it through the first chorus that she glanced at her companion.
"Sorry," she mentioned. "Probably not a Beach Boys fan? I-their music makes me feel good…and I feel good… in this moment."
Their eyes met and briefly, her throat constricted; denying passage to any word seeking to get through.
Staring back at her was…Jack.
The alteration in him was imperceptible; had she not been peering at him as intently as she was, she'd have missed it. But he was there, lingering at the entrance of his pupils; irises vacant of any malice or patronization; viewing her nakedly, openly. One foot was hovering in the air; craving to step outside into the sunlight with her for the first time in decades. Her soul was nearly pulsating in contentment upon bearing witness to this, so very compelled to cross the mere inches separating them and ghost her lips against his dry ones. It was taking a great deal of strength not to lean forward.
Alas, the moment was fleeting. Almost as if the Jack that had become Joker realized someone was staring at her who shouldn't have been…one blink of the eyes and poof! he was gone. Shoved back inside and tossed down the basement stairs, the door leading to him locked and bolted. Guard up.
She dared not mention what Joker knew she perceived. That he came out – however temporary – was very encouraging.
"How old were you when you had your first existential crisis?"
His brows pinched together at the question. He had been banking on her mentioning the moment they'd just shared. That she didn't had his jaw easing just the slightest.
"Can't say," he answered. "It was a long time ago."
"My first one was sometime around age nine," she said. "And I don't know about you, but it lasted all throughout my teenage years. I…used to beat myself all the time. There was so much unexplainable suffering happening in the world…so many injustices being done…I felt not only powerless to stop it all, but guilty that I was alive and in good physical health while so many others lacked access to the privileges I had. It made enjoying days like this so, so difficult."
She cupped some sand in her palm and let it trickle out between her fingers.
"Looking back on it now," she mused, "I think…there are days that have to happen to you. And those days…if you can work through them…come out a more realized, honest self…then moments like these can be more aptly appreciated. You'll take nothing for granted because you didn't always see the world this way, and you're so…relieved that you finally do."
A handful of gulls chose that moment to squawk their agreement. She briefly tried to locate them, but they were out of eye range.
"Mm…you wanna know what I think?"
His low tone was soothing, but there was an inflection to it that had her mildly suspicious.
"Sure."
In a series of movements too quick to prevent, he shot up to his butt, buried both hands into the sand between them and proceeded to dump all that'd accumulated in his palms directly onto her.
She jerked, coughing slightly as some grains got lodged in her throat. Having gotten the advantage, Joker was now on his knees, shoveling his hands into the shore beneath him and splattering her with bucket-fulls of sand.
"Asshole!" she griped through her teeth, attempting to push herself up against his onslaught. "This is why you're single!"
He chortled loudly at that; pausing briefly in his assault.
"For now," was his sly response.
Before he could resume burying her, she jolted up to her knees via an elbow and proceeded to throw her entire weight into Joker's torso. Taken off guard, she managed to propel them both onto his back. Sadly, her companion's reflexes were lightning quick.
He slid an arm around her waist and rolled them over. Not to be outdone, Celine grasped at his vest with both hands and with a combined effort from her hips and thighs flipped them over so he was on his back again.
They continued trying to gain the upper hand on each other; steamrolling all sand and seashells in their path; until Joker had Celine pinned at the very edge of the coast where the waves extended just enough to dampen the very tips of her hair.
She was panting hard beneath him; unable to hold back a lopsided smile as he skimmed his hands along her forearms before interlocking them with her fingers. Sadly, he wasn't nearly as winded as her.
His strands of green threatened to obscure her from view; so, he leaned down until the tips of his locks were curtained around her pink cheeks. Though he did little to ease his weight off of her, somehow, she didn't mind it, too enamored with the deviousness gleaming in his eyes.
"You are a disrupter of peace," she declared in between inhales. "A killer of moods. A thief of serenity."
"Mmmm…my girl's such a flatterer," he purred, grazing his nose along the curve of her jaw. "What ah else am I?"
"A scoundrel, a scalawag, a good for nothing-."
His tongue slipped into her mouth before she could continue "complimenting" him. The grip around her fingers tightened as he angled his mouth to delve his tongue in deeper, a moan emanating from his chest as she swirled her tongue around his and rolled her hips up into the stiffening cock pressing into her stomach.
Were they back in Gotham, she would have cut their activity short and found a way to worm her way out of the kiss. In that environment it was all too easy to remember who it was she was kissing.
But with the waves echoing in her ears, the gulls soaring to and from above, and the heat that'd seemingly entrapped them into the same cocoon, breaking the kiss was the furthest from her mind.
Don't think, just…be.
He removed one hand from hers and tangled it into her hair; grabbing a firm hold of her roots so he could hold her in place. She mewled at the scraping of teeth along her bottom lip, legs breaking free from beneath his shins and coming to wrap around his waist, tugging him closer into her.
He eagerly ground himself into her core, tongue sinking back into the warmth of her mouth; content to play a lazy game of 'tag-you're-it!'
Only when oxygen became an essential need did she pry her mouth away from his, tilting her head to the side to catch her breath. Joker wasn't dissuaded by any means. He peppered her jawline with a series of hasty kisses, some of which were followed up by a harsh nip…as if to leave evidence of the flesh he'd plundered. It wasn't until he sucked in her pulse point with teeth that she threaded her free hand into his hair and pulled him back.
"Easy there, Casanova," she sounded out, chest rising and falling. "Uranium might be your favorite element, but oxygen is mine."
"Casanova?" he repeated, observing her through hooded lids. "Heat's getting to ya."
No, she longed to say. You are every bit as handsome as I just alluded to…had I the breath, I would lick and kiss your scars until you came in your boxers.
She refrained, not wanting to push it. If Joker caught her getting sentimental the moment might blow up in her face.
"It might be," she said. "Mind giving me some breathing room?"
He lifted his upper torso off her, resting his weight on both palms located on either side of her head. His gaze was a mix of fondness and triumph. As if she were a prize long denied to him and caging her in against him was the only way to ensure she didn't evade him once more.
A glint from beside her briefly caught his attention. He snatched up the object buried halfway into the sand. It'd slipped off of her during their tussle.
Her intake of breath was subtle. In his hand was Sally; blade – to her relief - tucked in. Still, it did little to squelch the simmering tension in her gut.
Joker moved back to sit on her waist, examining his old friend with a cock of the head. He flipped the blade open.
"You brought her with you?" he asked, staring at the weapon with a squint.
She swallowed a few times; ensuring her voice didn't come out shaky.
"You said to keep her on me from now on, right?"
He met her eyes, expression vacant of all emotion. She missed his playfulness instantly.
Wouldn't that be the icing on the cake? Going from a Hallmark movie moment to one of those Lifetime murder marathons? 'My Soulmate is a Homicidal Clown: The Celine Harlow Story'.
A chuckle shot out of her.
Ay you nutso, stop laughing!
She clamped down on her tongue, bottom lip quivering from the effort it took to contain her mirth.
"And just what-ah exactly has you tickled so pink?"
He was thumbing the handle with short, deliberate strokes.
"Getting stabbed to death by you after having just been kissed senseless," she blurted. "You tossing me into the ocean. A missing person's report being filed by my relatives. The rights to my story being sold to the Lifetime network. Getting played by Charlize Theron. Her winning an Oscar because she played me better than I played myself."
One of his brows arched up; halting his stroking of the blade.
"Murder on the mind mu-ch?"
"Ha! You're one to talk," she countered, extending a hand. "May I have her back?"
He brought the tip of the blade to his lips.
"Even after her…starring role in your disfigurement?"
The spot where she lacked a pinky throbbed in response to this question.
"Yes…I might not be as motivated as you to use her, but her presence is…comforting."
She couldn't identify the noise that got caught in his throat.
Again, I surprised him. Why? I'm doing what he told me to. Then again…considering my aversion to violence, perhaps keeping Sally on me despite who its owner is…pleases him?
"You're an odd one," he murmured, dropping the handle into her outstretched hand.
"Who's the flatterer now?" she answered, relaxing only when Sally was in her possession once more. "I don't know about you, but I could use a shower. Mind letting me up so I can give you an official tour?"
Internally, she figured he would put up more of a fuss. Or try and twist the situation to his advantage.
Instead, he leaned down, rubbed each of his cheeks all over her face so she was smeared with white and red greasepaint, before pushing up to his feet and strolling over to the staircase.
She patted the smudges he'd left behind.
And I'm the odd one?
Choosing not to look to much into it, she got to her feet and followed after him.
What awaited her at the top of the stairs made all of her fuzzy feelings instantly subside.
Just a little bit ahead of her Joker had one hand behind his back clutching one of his thicker-bladed knives. His shoulders were hunched forward, eyes glued to the black Chevrolet truck rumbling down the driveway toward her car. To him, the unidentifiable vehicle was the threat he'd been perusing for earlier. Someone was infringing upon their privacy; someone he didn't know; and the natural instinct was to withdraw something that could serve as a deterrent to whomever was at the driver's wheel.
She intervened before he could let his suspicion snowball into something more dangerous.
"It's alright," she soothed, placing a hand on his lower back. "That's my Uncle Lucien."
A grumble brewed in the back of his throat.
"What's he doing here?"
She almost shuddered at the hostility in his voice. Had she really just rolled around on the beach and made out with the same man beside her?
"Greeting me?" she guessed. "And probably dropping off some food. My Aunt June and Uncle Martin live a town over, and they oversee their own farm and vegetable garden. They make sure to hook me up with fresh produce, eggs, and whatever else I'll need for the week. I promise he means you no harm."
A few friendly honks in their direction helped soften the tension in Joker's shoulders ever so slightly.
She raised her arm up and offered her uncle a wave.
When he finally parked next to her car, she made to step forward, but caught herself at the last second.
"Please put it away," she requested, glancing up at him. "You said so long as you're not provoked, there won't be a problem."
A tic shot through his jaw.
She lowered her voice and rested a hand on his chest, not speaking until he looked down at her.
"Please."
He scoured her expression for a long moment, trying to whiff out the faintest hint of deception. When only genuineness greeted him, he slowly flicked the blade closed and tucked it back into his pocket.
"Ask him to do something for you. Inherently, love is not a selfish emotion. If he does what you ask for no one's benefit but your own…there may still be hope."
That constituted as doing something for her, right? Especially when it required submerging his own feelings of unease about the situation.
Her attention was pulled to the ding! of the truck door being thrown open.
"Thank you," she said. "You wanted to meet my family, right? Let's meet them…angel cakes."
His lips twitched at the endearment.
Guide him back. Find a way to put him at ease like he'd been on the beach.
"If it ain't my favorite niece," he called, moving toward them. "How you been sunshine?"
She approached him with long strides, grinning widely.
"Not as good as you, moonshine." She did a double-take. "Did-did Aunt Dolores finally hack your beard off?"
When they were mere inches from each other, he drew her into a tight hug of which she returned, arms coming to rest around his back.
Her Uncle Lucien was just shy of 63 years of age and prior to this moment, had been recognized for the past decade by his burly, sandy-silver beard that'd extended all the way down to his sternum. It wasn't unusual for him to let his wife Dolores or their grandchildren braid a few of the strands whenever they felt he needed to spruce up his appearance a bit.
Now, with only a short, prickly stubble present, he was nearly a stranger. The bristly gray hair on his head appeared to have gotten a very close call with a razor as well.
For most his life Lucien worked in some shape or form beneath the sun, be it fixing up roofs or putting up siding in the area, a mechanic on his sister June's farm, or offering his services as a freelance landscaper. His tanned skin reflected decades of being outdoors; his hands a working man's- well-worn and thick with callouses. Though nearly a senior citizen, his arms were defined and corded with muscle. Sun wrinkles and laugh lines were prominent throughout his face, but his blue eyes never lost that zest for life, that challenge for a new project. He was essential to the family; someone Joachim would have been proud to call a son, a successor.
"That she did," he answered against her. "Worried birds were gonna start making a nest out of it."
She leaned back to absorb his clean-shaven face.
"You look ten years younger."
He smiled at the compliment, but it was brief. She knew the moment he noticed the splotches of healing bruises on her face. It made her wish she'd had the hindsight to use a bit of concealer to hide them from view.
Instinctively, his eyes shot behind her. Joker was lingering not a full ten feet away. From Lucien's furrowed brow, she knew her companion wasn't wearing all that welcoming of an expression.
I really should have rehearsed this more.
"Uncle," she said, bringing his attention back to her, "this is my friend Jack. I hope you don't mind; he's going to be staying with me for the week."
Joker didn't acknowledge her greeting.
Celine took a step back; glancing between the two. They very much resembled two big dogs taking the other in, gauging each other's threat level.
Before she could attempt to calm the tension between the two, Lucien spoke; switching to the second language nearly all of her family members had been taught from birth - French.
"Did he do this to you, Cece?"
She quickly shook her head, answering him in the same language.
"Of course not, he wouldn't be standing here if he had. He has a penchant for theatrics, hence the face paint. But he's a good friend to me, Uncle. Truly."
Internally, she cringed a little at the generous descriptor. Did good friends hold each other hostage?
"You sure?" he followed up, re-scanning her face.
"I am," she promised. "And I prefer we speak in a language we all understand. It's not very polite to make my guest feel excluded."
His nod took a few seconds to appear.
"Jack is it?" Lucien asked, walking toward him with an extended arm. "Lucien Harlow. Cece's favorite uncle, though we'll keep that secret just between us."
Joker stared at the outstretched hand. He made no move to shake it.
Instead, he looked at her.
"Cece?"
She blushed a little, offering him a shrug.
"They've called me that since I was old enough to talk. It makes me feel…juvenile. I'm not a kid anymore."
"No," Lucien agreed, lowering his hand. "You're not. But heaven help it my tongues got a difficult time calling you anything else. You'll always be little Cece to us."
The warmth lighting up Lucien's face seemed to quell the distrust vibrating off of Joker's form. His shoulders descended a bit.
"Ce-cee," he enunciated, licking his bottom lip. "Cuuu-te."
The stare he pinned her with had her cheeks reddening in color.
Lucien looked between the two. Amazingly, he wasn't hung up on Joker's scars. And if he was, he did a very good job masking it.
"And how'd you two manage to acquaint yourselves?"
Before Celine could hash out another fib, Joker answered.
"Always been an admirer of her…app. It ah really helped me through some rough times."
Lucien nodded.
"He's ex-military," Celine pitched in, relieved Joker wasn't trying to sabotage the introduction. "Came home from Afghanistan with some PTSD and a few…battle scars. He actually reached out to me through a letter. And um, his gratitude made me want to schedule a meet-up with him. We've been…inseparable ever since."
Joker smirked at her use of 'inseparable'.
"That we have," he murmured lowly. "I'd spend every day with her, given the chance."
Now, he was entering the territory of facetiousness. Lucien didn't seem to pick up on it.
"I knew that endeavor would open doors for you," he said, smiling at her. "I'm proud of you, sunshine."
"That's kind of you," she accepted quietly.
Lucien's gaze returned to Joker. He set his hands on his hips and kicked at the dust beneath his feet. It drew both of their eyes to his scuffed-up work boots.
"Jack…mind telling me who roughened up my niece? And whether I gotta assemble a search party to hunt them down?"
Though it was a clear attempt at humor, Lucien's tone was dead serious. This seemed to further put Joker at ease. It appeared this was one commonality they could agree on- you messed with Celine, you messed with all those that were fond of her.
"Mugging gone wrong," she answered before Joker could. "You know how bad crime's gotten in Gotham. Unfortunately, it was the wrong place at the wrong time."
Lucien's smile slipped.
"They've been dealt with," Joker confirmed not a second later, wearing an unsettling smirk. "I saw to that personally."
She could tell Lucien wasn't sure whether to be impressed or worried. After a few moments of contemplation, he settled on the former.
"Good to know someone's watching out for her. Cece's the sorta gal to reach out and help anyone. We love that about her, but…there's always the concern she'll extend a hand to someone who don't deserve it."
"Mm…that person wouldn't have hands for long."
My God could he act any more like a serial killer?
"Got a delivery to drop off?" she redirected, looking at his truck.
This snapped Lucien out of his train of thought. He followed her gaze.
"That I do," he said. "Since Marty put that fence up earlier in the spring to keep the deer out, June's had a good haul. We got us three gallons of milk, three half gallons of apple cider, four quarts of blueberries, four quarts of strawberries, couple basins of apples, four dozen eggs, six bags of vacuum sealed chicken breast, two bags of potatoes, half a sack of sweet corn, and a quart of carrots, peas, radishes, cucumbers, bell peppers, tomatoes, and lettuce."
She whistled…or attempted to at least. It came out sounding more like a deflated balloon. Whistling…wasn't her strong suit.
"She's bent on spoiling me rotten."
"If that ain't the truth," he mused, rubbing his chin. "Fishing's been decent this month, so if you're not opposed, I can drop by some salmon and trout later in the evening."
"Only if you can spare it."
"It'll pick back up," he assured. "This heat wave ain't doing me any favors, but once it settles, I'll be hitting my limits again. Forgot to mention, I got six bundles of firewood back at the house for you. Couldn't fit it all in the back. I'll bring that by too."
"Thank you," she stated, offering Lucien a squeeze on his shoulder. "I appreciate you all looking out for me."
"Ain't no trouble at all. Lemme get everything inside for you."
"I'll help."
He went to the back of his pick-up and undid the hatch, revealing a smorgasbord of goodies.
Joker watched them unload the fruit, produce and dairy, making no move to help. Not that Celine expected it out of him. In fact, it was nice to share this moment with her uncle. She and Joker had been attached at the hip for the past eight hours. She needed a little bit of room to breathe.
The house Joachim built bore a lovely cottage-like exterior with canary yellow siding all the way around. The trimming along the windows and roof was a softer white, and the roof itself a seafoam green color with an equally green metal chimney protruding upward to release smoke when the wooden fireplace inside was in use. After Nora's death left the house vacant for a time, Lucien made an addition to the roof so it could cover the two attached porches – one facing the woods to the west, one facing the cliffs and ocean to the east.
They entered through the white, double french doors and made their way to the kitchen.
After setting the three gallons of milk onto the tile counter, Lucien risked a peek at the slightly ajar front door. He was just able to make out Joker lingering near the entrance, staring in their direction unblinkingly.
"Hm."
He turned his back toward him and looked at her.
Celine arched a brow, dragging the sack of corn over to sit next to her.
"Go ahead, I know you've got a lot to say."
Lucien was careful about choosing his words.
"He's…different."
"Aren't we all?"
His sigh was cautious.
"Seems…polite. But there's a look in his eye that unsettles me. You know it takes a lot to do that."
She nodded.
"He…didn't have the best experience in Afghanistan. Honorably discharged, but he saw things no one should be exposed to."
"And the scars?"
"They-." She opted for a bit of truth. "-he doesn't talk about how he got them. I…don't push him to tell me."
"A man's secrets are his own," he agreed, peering at her face. "Just a friend of yours you said?"
"Nothing more," she promised.
"Mind explaining why your face is covered in some of his paint?"
She stared at the floorboards, fighting the urge to palm her hot cheeks.
"I-he…heh…we were wrestling in the sand and he sort of…rubbed his face all over mine."
The silence was deafening. She felt like she was being interrogated by Bruce all over again after he'd rescued her.
"Just friends?" he repeated.
"Just friends."
"Mm." He stepped closer to her. "You ain't outta your depths with this one, are ya?"
Yes! Yes I am!
"I hope not," she said. "Jack is…special to me. When it's just us…he…forgets who he is and all that had happened to him. Just…I know it's asking a lot, but please give him the benefit of the doubt. There's more to him than meets the eye."
Hopefully.
It took him some time to respond. That he was being so apprehensive was both sweet and nerve-wracking. Though she had only in the past few years explored her extrasensory gifts, she had always suspected her Uncle Lucien to have something special about him as well. A certain insight he carried that had him known amongst everyone as the best advice giver they'd ever met. She'd attributed it to the wisdom that came with age but wondered – especially now – if he wasn't somewhat in tune to the same version of self she was. Her own intuition hinted he wasn't entirely comfortable with the situation…wasn't as willing to accept Jack on her word alone. And truthfully…she didn't blame him one bit.
"I will," he settled on, "for you."
"Thank you."
They needed to make two more trips to get everything off Lucien's truck bed and into the house. Joker was quiet the entire time, mostly re-scanning his environment until he had it committed to memory. He didn't stray far from their parked vehicles, watching them with a neutral expression.
"Welp, that appears to be the last of it." Lucien brushed his hands together. "I'll be by in an hour or two to drop off the fish and firewood."
"I might run up to Wally World, so you're welcome to leave it inside." She embraced him again, holding him tight. "Thank you again, tell June I appreciate the living hell out of her."
When they pulled back, Lucien began to make his way to the driver's side door. Celine inched her way toward Joker. They were almost in the clear.
He paused before hopping in, turning to them.
"Sorta tradition 'round here each summer Cece comes up," he mentioned, meeting Joker's eyes, "to have a family cookout on my property. Grill some meats, munch on some corn, have a few beers, shoot a few rifles. Might we be expecting you Jack?"
Ah…fudge. I forgot all about that. And it is a family affair…aunts, uncles, cousins, family friends…there's no way Jack would feel comfortable in that sort of environment.
Apparently, Joker thought differently.
He wrapped an arm around Celine's shoulders, tugging her into his side. The politest smirk she'd ever seen, revealed itself.
"You may," he assured, thumb stroking her shoulder. "I look forward to meeting my future in-laws."
She bunched her hands into fists to prevent them from smacking him.
Lucien's eyes widened a tad. He coughed before answering.
"I'm sure they'll all be very interested to meet you." He glanced between them. "Day after tomorrow sound peachy?"
Her tongue felt like a cinderblock.
"Peachy keen," Joker confirmed, lapping up the saliva around his scars.
He threw them a final wave before hopping into his truck, backing around Celine's car, and pulling onto the driveway; tossing them a few extra honks just in case they didn't feel welcome enough.
The moment his truck was out of view, Celine pushed Joker away from her. He allowed it, giggling at the reaction.
"Why?" she demanded, throwing a hand in the air. "He might not look it, but Lu's a terrible gossip. Do you realize the predicament you just put us in?"
"Oh, don't be like that sweets, it'll be fun! We'll hold hands, give each other eskimo kisses, make lovey dovey eyes at each other, reassure your family you're not going to die alone…sounds like a good time to me."
She groaned, glaring up at the sky.
Joker took this opportunity to get right up in her personal space. One of his hands shot out and pinched her cheek.
"You're soooooo easy," he teased, biting at his lip.
She knocked his hand loose with a scowl.
"If that's the case how come you haven't gotten laid yet?"
His grin turned downright predatory. She dearly wished she'd have rethought her choice of words.
"All in good time, sweets. All in good…time."
She backed up a step and ran a hand over her face. Not bothering to stifle her groan, she peeked at him through index finger and middle.
"You really want to come with me to the cookout? Surrounded by people you don't know? Good people. People that believe in helping others, in family values. The exact sort you wouldn't hesitate to murder just to give yourself a laugh."
He took a step toward her, regaining the lost space between them.
"Your uncle sorta shoved the invitation in my hand. Wasn't ah going to be rude."
"You should have been."
He frowned at her sharp response. She could tell he wanted to answer with something equally as sharp…just as cutting. But he seemed to rethink his approach. Which she'd have found astounding if she wasn't so annoyed by him.
"I'll let ya in on a little secret, Cece." Her brows narrowed at his condescending tone. "I don't get my rocks off killing random hicks in Bumfuck, Nowhere. Not unless they give me a reason to. I like to shake things u-p. Stir the pot. Disturb the unnatural order of things. When I kill, I want it to send a message. You know that better than anyone. Not all psychopaths want to mow down every person they see…though that idea has its appeal some days more than others."
She listened carefully to his words. Even though he voiced them with quite a bit of harshness, she suspected them to be very nearly true. And that he even bothered saying them for her benefit…
"Okay." She released a lengthy sigh. "I'm picking up what you're putting down."
"Good. Not in the business of repeating myself."
Her gaze traveled to the front of the house. Then to her trunk.
"So…ready for that tour?"
He was in decent spirits once more.
"Oh yes, very, very ready."
If you're curious at all, this is almost exactly what I had pictured for Celine's home (just a little larger, with a few additions) - flickr dot com / photos / pej / 46768975
(no spaces in the URL and use . for dot, fanfiction won't let me upload the URL without making half of it disappear.