Summary: A shared event in their lives remains an undiscussed topic between The Bat and the Clown. Fem Joker.
After it was over and both reached their zenith, she climbed off him and sat in the passenger's seat.
They sat silently, catching their breath; neither dared to look at the other. After a while, their breathing became less erratic; they turned from one another to make themselves decent.
He grimaced when he caught sight of her torn underwear on his side of the car, and she did the saw when she noticed his cowl on her side.
He handed her the ruined lace panties without looking at her, and she did the same with his cowl.
Batman would never do this, goddammit Bruce.
Once Joker had her shorts back on, he started the vehicle; the silence was deafening.
He could have sworn he heard sobbing as the engine revved up.
'Batman?' She said in a quiet, almost frightened voice.
'What?' He said more harshly than he intended; she jumped at his voice and cringed away.
He didn't know how to decipher the action; he wasn't sure if he wanted to.
'I need to shower.'
'Why?'
'I'll need new clothes too, my shorts...'
She was embarrassed, so was he, but...
'I don't want to deal with the added stress of your escape.'
'It's going to mess up the seat.'
'Use your torn-' he couldn't finish the sentence.
'I can't show up to Arkham with torn undies soaked with-' she stopped.
'It wouldn't be the first time.'
'I don't feel clean.' She said tightly. 'There's a lake nearby. Can I just... I won't try to escape; I just... It feels wrong, you know.'
It feels wrong because it is wrong; even she could comprehend that.
Why couldn't you, Bruce?
