Christineoftheopera-I won't tell. Honest. Cross my heart. He's fibbing, ignore him. I am not! Scarecrow, sweetie, you can't possibly shut up for a whole minute, let alone if you know something interesting.
Guest-Agreed. I don't know why they care now-you'd think that they'd rather me not have any, given the circumstances.
takeitbacknowyal-Me...? You...? WHEEEHEHEHEHEHE! Now look what you've done. She's fainted. I'm not picking her up. Just leave her there, she'll come round eventually.
GOTSAQUESTION-'Divided'...let me see...ah, yes. As you've no doubt discovered by making it this far (couldn't reach you any other way, I'm afraid), that's tucked up here, out of the way. And thank you for the compliment. :)
"Just married?"
She grins and wraps her arms around her companion.
"Mm-hm. This mornin'."
"Congratulations."
"Thank you." Her finger jabs him in the ribs. "Isn't that right, sweetie pie?"
"Yes, pumpkin."
"I'll set you up in room two-oh-three. It's got a king." The clerk winks. "Have fun, folks."
Once the door is shut and locked and a chair shoved up against it for good measure, she pulls the flowers out of her hair and shimmies out of the white sundress.
"Sweetie pie?"
"I had to make it convincing." she protests. "I think that's what people do."
"This is like being in a Disney film."
"No, there's no sex in Disney films…sweetie pie."
He scowls at her and drops back on the bed, one arm curled protectively over his ribs. They're lucky that woman they killed had a purse full of makeup-both of them have difficult-to-explain bruising on their faces and necks. Ah, Batman. Can't live with him, can't live without…well, he might not really care if Bats dies. It would be a shame, and he would feel robbed, but life would be fair less painful.
"Be gentle with me, I have a cracked rib."
"I have red lipstick."
If you say no, I'll never forgive you.
He doesn't say anything. A quick self-checkup says that nothing else is broken, but that he's going to be very sore later, especially if he lets himself get stiff.
"Anything broken?"
"I think I took a doorknob to the shoulder blade, but nothing's moving."
Oh, good.
Now you won't feel guilty.
Shut up, Scarecrow.
Come on, you know you want to.
I want an ice pack.
LAME.
She returns from the bathroom wearing one of his shirts-good bye, shirt-and drops down next to him.
"Ow."
"At least we won't be disturbed."
"Mm."
"What now?"
"Now we hide in here for a few days, coming out as little as possible."
"They'll notice if we don't come out."
"We're newlyweds. It's our job to have as much sex as humanly possible."
Why? In this day and age…never mind, maybe it's one of those weird wedding traditions. He doesn't really want to know.
He yawns and stretches out, trying not to be creeped out by the comforter. When did this thing last go through the wash? Was it washed properly? Are there traces of blood on it?
He doesn't really want to know that either.
"Tired?"
"Mm-mm."
"You're a dreadful liar."
Lipstick.
He ignores Scarecrow and closes his eyes. He's not really tired, but it was a long drive and the car they borrowed was a cheap one that made a nasty rattling noise.
"I dunno, though…" She reaches over and fiddles with his tie. "I mean, we do have a charade to keep up."
Damn right.
He ends up going downstairs later because they're out of coffee creamer. This place…who in their right mind thinks that two tiny little containers are enough?
The clerk from earlier is still there. Great.
Kill me now.
Swagger.
What?
Do it.
No.
Just a little swagger?
What do I look like, a twelve year-old boy?
Well…
I do not look twelve!
You sure as hell don't look thirty-whatever, either.
As long as I don't look twelve.
Aw, poor widdle baby. I could just pinch your cheeks!
He takes a deep breath, shakes his head, and leans on the counter.
"I'm down for some more coffee creamer?"
"Sure thing." A handful of the things strike his palm. "Having fun?"
He forces a smile and rubs his neck with his free hand.
"Yeah."
Now swagger back.
For the last time, Scarecrow, no.
You're lousy at this whole 'just married' thing.
If I let you do it, you'll gas the place and get us thrown in prison.
Yeah, probably.
"You look comfortable."
"Oh my god."
"What?"
"I let you go out…come here."
Before he can defend himself, she's grabbed him and is frantically rubbing her sleeve across his lips.
"There."
"What was that?"
"You had lipstick smudged on you."
You put lipstick on?
She had it on…must've gotten on me.
That's not as funny.
He drops the creamers by the coffee maker and does a quick for anything else. That bruise by his collarbone is really starting to turn purple.
"Let me see your shoulder."
"Why."
"Doorknob."
"Oh." Yeah, that's purple, too. Great. "Well?"
"The Joker would be proud."
"Son of a bitch."
He yawns and stretches out on the bed. Batman won't track them this far for at least another day, thank god-he's worn out now, in need of a long nap. Maybe a hard-boiled egg or something later on.
But nap first.
They're woken by a door being kicked in and a woman screaming, "JESUS!"
Batman's early.
But at least he's gotten the wrong room.
They take their window of opportunity to break the window and climb down. Yeah, there's the tank, crushing somebody's convertible. Oh, well. Those are ugly anyway. And hazardous. But mostly ugly.
Within two minutes, they've hotwired a minivan. Hopefully this one can manage bumpy roads.
THE END