A/N: Please remember that this story is rated M, and is inted for mature audiences only. Each chapter will begin with an opening scene from the courtroom as the first chapter did. The stars indicate the transition into the past.
"Miss Hinson," the prosecution continued, "can you tell the jury the circumstances under which the defendant came to live in your home?"
"He broke in and told me that he would kill me if I told anyone that he was there. I became restricted to my bedroom and the entry way. He forced me to go out and "act naturally" so as not to arouse suspicion." She told this to the jury in a matter of fact tone, not unlike the one she had used the night she first met the Joker.
"And how did the defendant ensure that you would return?"
"He would follow me on occasion and threaten me in secluded areas or threaten me when I came home. I'm not really sure how he did it; and that's what scared me the most."
"And the money?"
"He demanded that I fund his…operation, as he called it." Christine quickly stole a glance at the Joker. To anyone else, it looked like she was afraid of him.
He had been in the Hinson manor for only a few days now. He had spent most of his time there asleep, with food appearing just inside his bedroom door at meal times. It was on the fourth day he decided to get up and explore his new home. She must not have been kidding about owning the police; not only had they not come for him but the room looked like it had cost an easily half million to furnish and decorate.
Daddy's girl… he mused as he looked around. He soon found that his suit had been cleaned and was neatly laid out for him. He was impressed at how good it looked and wandered into the bathroom, another testament to the owner's wealth. He quickly showered and shaved before dressing. He secured the knot in his tie and slicked his green hair back.
As he preened in the mirror, he began to wonder even more why the girl had taken him in. He remembered her look on that night; there was no fear in her face, not even surprise at his appearance. His mind drifted and he remembered the way her cream nightgown had pooled on the floor as she stood from the chaise lounge.
He walked back into the bedroom and looked for his weapons. He checked his coat, and then found he didn't need to. Every gun and knife he had packed was now neatly laid on a bench at the foot of the bed. He put the coat down and went to the window and drew the heavy curtains.
It took him a while for his eyes to adjust to the light. When he refocused, he could see the window gave a view of an inner courtyard with a large swimming pool in the center. To the side of the pool, he saw the young woman lounging in a bikini on a pool chair. She had on large dark sunglasses and looked asleep. For a minute, he pictured her with a large slit in her throat with blood gently streaming out. The thought made him smile and he decided to pay his heroine a visit.
She met him half way. The Joker would not get to cast the looming shadow over her that he had hoped would incite fear. Instead, she lifted her sunglasses and gave him a wry smile as they approached each other in the hallway.
"Look who's up," she purred as she came to a stop in front of him. She eyed his suit and had to admit that she liked it. "I saw you in the window and thought you might be heading down."
"Who are you?" the Joker demanded as he reached for his gun.
She expected as much and grabbed his gun hand as she pressed up against him for extra strength. She smiled when she saw he'd been taken by surprise.
"Not a very grateful clown, are we?" she said, her smile gone. She eased up and brushed passes him. "Christine Hinson, " she stated as she continued down the hall. The Joker stood there for a moment; that name was familiar.
"Not Christine Hinson as in the reclusive billionaire heiress who occasionally transforms into a boozing, partying, tabloid gracing, train wreck," he laughed.
She turned in the hallway and looked at him with those hunting eyes again, "So you've heard of me too, Mr. Joker. Dinner's at six; it's Chinese take out." With that, she found a corner and disappeared behind it.
Christine Hinson, the Joker thought as he glared across the table at her. He had only decided to stay at the table out of sheer curiosity. He had heard of her alright; who hadn't? Her family was up there with the Waynes as far as fortune and power went. She was famous in her own right though for her famed Dr. Jekyll and Miss Hyde personality. Most of the time, she was locked up in the family estate analyzing business investments. She'd inherited Daddy's brains and Mommy's looks, and Gotham expected her to be as bookwormish and sensible an adult as she had been a child. But what the city hadn't counted on was a rogue wild streak. Not often, but often enough to earn some attention, Gotham's sweetheart would hit the town like a veteran party girl. She'd dance, drink, fight, you name it, and then back into her castle she'd go, like it was all a dream. Sometimes, she'd even show up at business meetings the next day without a hint of what she had done or where she had been the night before.
The Joker wondered which part of her was harboring him. He stared at her as she ate her Chinese take out. She was also poring over a stack of papers, presumable stock reports. He also wondered how good of a set up he could get out of her. Not just money, but who could she put him in contact with to get his next plan rolling? Yes, he was already cooking up another crime. Something that would get the Bat's attention, but still have a hefty payout. He wondered if the Batman would come rescue Miss Hinson if he dangled her over a vat of acid or Joker Venom. The Joker smiled a sick smile to himself.
Christine lazily lifted her eyes to gaze at her guest. "Happy thoughts," she asked simply.
"Very," he replied as he raised a glass of wine to her. She responded in kind and smiled at him.
The next morning Christine found the Joker in her study. There were papers everywhere. At first she was annoyed and then a paper caught her eye. It was a drawing; they were all drawings. Some were of various machines, others looked to be floor plans or maps. She picked some up to examine them as she stepped further into the room. The Joker was sitting at her desk, absorbed in his work.
"Planning a murder?" she asked softly.
Not softly enough, though. The Joker whipped around and caught her by the throat. Instinctively, she grabbed at her assailant's hand as it firmly constricted her airway. The Joker dangled her a few inches from the ground for a moment before he realized who she was and let her crumple into a heap on the floor. Christine caught her breath there on the floor and the criminal took in her appearance.
Her long dark hair hung softly over her shoulders as she gasped for breath. Her eyelashes fluttered when she looked up at him from the floor. He liked the way she looked down there, with her shoulders hunched and arms on the floor. It was as close to frightened and submissive as he had yet seen her. Her strong demeanor had been constantly annoying him.
Rich bitch…he thought as he looked down on her. Her eyes were locked on his now, and they were fiery. She looked like she might spring back up and attack him herself. The Joker continued to glare coldly at her.
Christine slowly got up and brought herself to her full height in her four inch heels. She squared her shoulders and the Joker took in her pale blue sundress. He decided that it didn't suit his tastes at all. He wanted to burn it. Even the color was offensive to him.
"What do you need to make these plans work out?" she asked him in a businesslike tone.
The question took him by surprise. He could have easily killed her and made no apologies for it, and now she was offering help?
"How much?" she asked again, as if she was speaking to a child that didn't understand what she had said before.
"Upwards of ten grand," he finally replied, "…why?"
"It's yours," she told him, "as long as you do me one favor."
Here it was; the catch. He knew that things were too good to be true. He set his stained mouth into a firm red line.
"Do you know Mitchell Daniels, of Technicorp?" she asked him.
"Fucker got that limp when he forgot to send me a certain shipment," he growled.
Christine smiled slyly at him, "Good. Then I'd like you to finish what you started. Daniels just screwed me out of several thousand dollars, again, and I promised him that if he ever double crossed me again that he wouldn't live to tell about it. More than the money though, he's an annoying prick who thinks I belong in a sorority. Get rid of him and I will personally finance whatever needs you may have."
The Joker was now smiling himself. Murderous rich bitch, he thought, and he began to like his new business partner.
"That's all?" he asked as he took a step toward her.
"That's all," she cooed in reply.
"Anything special…?"
"Rip. Him. Apart." Her eyes were cold now, but her smile stayed. The Joker gave her a ceremonious and dramatic bow.
"As you wish."
Murdering Mitchell Daniels seemed to have been their bonding moment. She and the Joker spent many evening in the library with a bottle of wine discussing the finer points of his various plans. Christine mostly listened. She seemed to most enjoy hearing his hatred for the Batman.
"It's too bad he doesn't have a little Batwife and Batlings," he mused to her one night, "some family I could torture. That would be fun."
"I assure you that being the Batwife is probably torture enough, if she even gets to move from Bat-girlfriend to Batwife," she'd replied flatly, "Can't imagine what woman would put up with it."
"No?" he asked, curious what her mind was up to.
"How could you possibly feel safe with a man like that? A man who will always choose to save the masses even if it means letting you die. A man who always has a priority above you on his list. A man whose only true love is the so called 'greater good'. No thank you, not me."
The Joker appreciated her thoughts and her company. Increasingly, he became fond of watching her by the pool from his window. If anyone ever held a candle to being his mental equal, she came the closest. As he watched her, he could almost feel her watching him back. She certainly wasn't hard to look at with her slim body and long legs. Her skin was a deep golden tan, a stark contrast to his own. He briefly thought of Harley. She was so much smarter than Harley, but certainly as insane, and she was far more beautiful.
One afternoon, the Joker woke late. He went to the window and did not see his vixenish financer. He wandered to her study; not there either. He found her nowhere on the premises, and became enraged.
He tore through the house with his knives, destroying what he could with them. After minute or so, the inanimate objects become dissatisfying and he craved blood.
The Joker spirited his way into the city, fully armed and on the hunt. He lurked down alley ways, slashing at the various homeless he found. He wanted something more prominent though, a victim that would get headlines. In the distance he heard the loud thumping music of a night club and moved toward it. The perfect place to find a good victim. Perhaps he'd find a young blonde and quietly slice her up and then place her back at a table as if nothing had happened. That would certainly cause an uproar and be extremely satisfying as he imagined the woman being Christine while he carved up the delicate flesh. He silently worked his way in through the back of the club and looked for his victim. The excitement of fresh murder made him grin. As he perused the scene a flash of purple on the bar caught his eye.
It was her. In a metallic purple cocktail dress that was shorter than short and showed a lot of cleavage. She was dancing with some other scantily clad women and had a half full cocktail in her hand. She downed the rest of her drink and threw the glass down before swinging around a pole and elegantly layering herself down on the bar. He couldn't hear her, but she had definitely ordered shots as a whole row appeared before from the bartender. She downed three before hopping off the bar and sauntering through the crowd. The men in the room stared at her ravenously and the Joker wanted to murder something more than ever. Her cocky attitude infuriated him, only he was allowed to be that cocky! He quickly formulated a new plan and left the club.
When Christine arrived home, she stumbled through the entry way, not bothering to turn on the lights. She'd barely gotten two steps in when she felt her arms wrench tight behind her back and the cold metal of a sharp knife under her neck. She was very drunk and had difficulty maintaining her balance.
"You weren't here," the Joker hissed in her ear as he yanked her to him and pressed the knife harder into her skin.
"I went out," she drawled calmly.
"You don't go out unless I say so," he continued to growl.
Christine began to laugh and nestled herself against him, "Is that so?"
The Joker removed the knife and violently threw her against the stairs. She whimpered and tried to get up. Instead, the Joker straddled her and pinned her arms above her head with one hand. Christine's back hurt with the stair that was pressing into it. The Joker leaned down, his body gently brushing her and whispered harshly into her ear.
"I saw you out there."
"I know," she whispered back and gently slid one of her long legs against the inside of his. He once again wrenched her from her resting place and threw her up against a wall. He held onto her waist and glared at her, her chest heaving up and down, eyes locked on his without an ounce of fear. She was nothing like Harley, Christine was ready to fight, that's what the look in her eyes had always been.
The Joker crushed her mouth in a searing kiss. It was unexpected, but not unwelcome. She reciprocated in kind and wrapped her legs around his own slender wait as she tangled her fingers in his green hair. He lost himself in his own act and slid his hands under her short dress to support her from beneath. His red mouth moved down to her collarbone where he began to bit and suck. Christine moaned at the sensation and then found herself thrown on the entry way table where the Joker gave into his baser instincts with her.
Christine now lay naked on the cold stone floor of her entry way, her dress flung down there as well long ago. Her purple heels were all that remained on her body, save for some new bruises and other battle wounds. Her Clown Faced guest lay beside her similarly disrobed, seemingly asleep. She sat up and attempted to move for her dress. A strong hand caught her by the arm and she saw his sunken black eyes staring up at her. Silently, he guided her back to the floor until he was looming over her with his stained face.
"Do not go out alone," he said quietly. With that, he got up, collected his clothes, and walked up the dark stair way.
Christine smiled quietly to herself as his dark form disappeared.
