It's poker night. The one night a month the rogue's gallery of Gotham emerges from their perspective slums and gather in some uneasy truce at someone's house. This night it's at Jonathan Crane's flat.
It's a little after midnight and they are all gathered around a large circular table brought out from the basement for just the occasion. Penguin is leaned back in his chair, smoking a cigar. Two-face is rigid, nervously fiddling his coin in his hand. Hatter wears a broad grin, his hat on the floor behind him, red hair sticking up at all angles. Ivy and Catwoman sit between Harley Quinn, and attempt some form of comfort while offhandedly playing with chips and shooting each other knowing, exasperated glances.
"I just don't know," Harley says, running a hand through her blonde hair, exposing her cards to everyone at the table and looking very nearly close to tears. The men groan. They've heard this before.
"I haven't seen him in weeks!" she cries. "This isn't like Mistah J at all."
Everyone is silent and regarding each other, daring the others to intervene first.
"Oh Harley," Ivy says finally, tucking a strand of hair behind her friend's ear. "Joker always does this. At least he's not knocking you around right now."
"Perhaps," Crane says at the head of the table and his voice commands attention like no other. They turn to him as he unhurriedly shuffles his cards and adjusts his glasses. "Perhaps he just needs space."
"Space?" Harley cries, as if the very notion were horrifying. "From me? Why Dr. Crane? What could be so important that he doesn't need me?"
And Crane smirks but says nothing.
"If the Joker is busy," Penguin says wearily, blowing smoke rings toward the ceiling, "that means he's planning something. Something big."
"Then we should hear about it soon enough," Hatter replies and throws more chips into the pile, "now are we here to talk about the only one of us who's too insane to receive an invite to these little soirees or are we gonna play some poker?"
The game continues. Crane, as always, is winning. Two-face is following close behind and the chips pile up on both sides. The others fold soon after and are now watching the two men intently, making side bets as to who's going to win.
It's not comradery they feel. They all have guns or knives or poisons up sleeves and in holsters. But for now this is the closest they ever feel. It's peaceful.
Then they hear the footsteps on the stairs.
They're consistent and ominous, the creaking of the old wood and the hand sliding down the rail. Crane looks up with a concerned but unsurprised look on his face. Penguin nudges him with the butt of his cigar and laughs.
"You got some girl upstairs doc?"
The steps cease.
"If he did, I would have killed her by now."
The Joker stands with a lopsided grin at their expressions of terror. He's wearing a pair of purple boxers and one of Crane's Oxford, the top 3 buttons undone, the sleeves pulled up to the elbows. He's recently showered, his hair damp green-ish blonde ringlets, his face mostly devoid of paint.
The Rogue's gallery is silent at the sight of him, a combination of seeing him maskless for the first time, his attire, his sudden appearance. Ivy is taken aback by how young he must be, Two-Face is shocked by how lean he is, the suits always making him appear broader. The others are mostly caught up by the naked scars rippling up his cheeks.
"Mistah J?" Harley asks, her voice trembling in reverence of him. Her eyes go glassy again and for a second it seems that she might cry. But she remembers tears annoy him. "What are you doing here?"
The silence that follows is lethal. No one moves. Finally, Joker stretches and yawns and turns to Crane, who is staring at him amusedly.
"Having a party without me doc?" He asks, fixing the doctor with an unreadable smile.
"I figured you'd be in bed by now," The doctor replies, rising from his chair. He is taller than the Joker they all realize. "Why aren't you in bed?"
"They hurt."
"Do they?" The doctor raises a challenging brow. "I did them myself."
"Mistah J where have ya been?" Harley cries and approaches him. He stares at her blankly, fingers twitching at his sides.
When she goes to touch him a hand stops her. But it isn't Joker's. Crane has her hand in a death grip, his stare cold behind the glint of his glasses.
"Don't," he says icily, "don't touch him."
She retracts her hand as if it were burned. The two men stare at her before Crane says, "Go into the kitchen. Let me have a look at them."
The Joker obeys him and the silence makes the room so heavy that for long moments nobody speaks.
The kitchen is right next to the dining room and they can all see the clown seat himself on the island, offhandedly swinging his legs like a child. Crane goes to him, taps his thigh twice with one finger and the Joker obediently spreads his legs for the doctor to stand between them.
Harley is frozen in place, silent tears tracking down her supple cheeks. Ivy wants to reach out to her but doubts the safety in doing so.
"Let me have a look," Crane purrs, deftly undoing the buttons of Joker's shirt til his lean and muscled torso is exposed for all to see. His chest is a network of ugly scars and bruises in different stages of healing.
"The Bat really had his way with you," Crane remarks and there's something in his voice, equal parts possessiveness and something else the other criminals can't quite name and probably never will.
The Joker chuckles. "Doesn't he always?"
Crane doesn't answer him, instead probing at the freshly done stitches on his side. The Joker doesn't wince until he presses down just a tad too forcefully.
"Well," the doctor says finally, "I can put more numbing agent on it later. Just let it breathe and try not to get it wet."
"I was careful in the shower."
"I meant with blood," The doctor replies with a devilish grin and begins buttoning his shirt again.
"Wait," Joker whines, sounding so young that the other criminals are immediately taken aback. "You didn't kiss it." And they level each other with a stare, Crane seemingly asking him just how much he wanted to hurt the sad blonde bimbo he keeps around for some reason.
But Jonathan would be lying if he said he could resist the wide green eyes staring at him with so much mischief. There's an audible gasp in the room when he leans down and ceremoniously kisses the stitches on the Joker's side and dead silence when he grabs the Joker's hair in a vice grip and kisses his exposed neck and then his defenseless lips.
"Now," Crane hums against his cheek and his easily picks up the clown and places him securely on the ground, "Off to bed."
"Johnny –"
"How do you expect to play with the Bat tomorrow if you can barely stand?"
The Joker seems to concede his point and finally lifts his eyes to the subpar specimen seated at the table. A slowed pleased smile takes over his lips as they all avoid his gaze.
"Sorry to interrupt you're little game boys and girls," he says.
"Joker how could –!" A knife whizzes just shy of Catwoman's ear, so close she can feel the breeze as it goes by, digging into the wall behind her.
"Careful," Crane purrs, looking very pleased and very, very dangerous. Harley runs away sobbing, out the door which hangs open long after her retreat.
The Joker's eyes are dark green, another knife poised calmly in his hand. Jonathan comes to stand behind him, easing the knife from his grasp and laying it on the counter. He whispers something into the madman's ears and whatever it is, it seems to appease him enough to send him up the stairs.
"Crane, what the fuck are you doing with him?" Penguin asks after the lethal quiet has gone on long enough to be unbearable.
The doctor turns to him with a challenging grin. "You really want to know?"
"What he means is," Hatter interjects, looking nervously at his companions for support, "what are you getting out of this?"
The same thing we get out of these half-peaceful poker nights, Crane almost wants to say, just a little bit of solace and care. But these people are not his friends. He does not trust them. So instead he arches one eyebrow, offers a wolfish grin and hardens his voice.
"You better leave."
And he watches as they grab their money and chips and head for the door. But not before making plans for next month's game at Hatter's abode. Because even if they're not friends, they are the closest thing.
