Chapter 2

a/n: I've had 25 hits, and only 1 review. What gives? If you like it, say so! If you don't, say so! :-) FF lets you leave anonymous reviews, so you can still be lazy and leave a review! Just let me know how you think it's going!

I don't own Gotham city or any of that fluff. Not that they're in Gotham city right now (they're not!)

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Stepping out of the shower, Ethan was greeted by the sound of breaking glass. He quickly threw on a pair of boxers and half-ran into the kitchen, where he heard Meredith murmuring.

"Oh. Whoops!" she said.

Coffee ran from the broken mug and spread over the kitchen table, saturating everything in its path--the bills, the sticky note, and the test papers Ethan had brought home to grade.

"Damn! Meredith--the papers!" he exclaimed, scrambling to pick up the fanned-out stack before they were ruined, but it was too late. All of them were stained dark. "How could you do this? I'm already under a lot of stress right now, you know that!" he said, shaking the papers at her.

"I'm sorry! I was just--" she began, half-heartedly.

"You know what? 'Sorry' isn't going to fix this!" Ethan dropped the wet stack on the table, sending droplets of coffee to the edges of the tabletop. She looked at him with distant eyes. "Don't just stand there, grab a towel or something and help me!" he roared. He was annoyed at her for being so apathetic. She leaned against the countertop behind her.

"Fine, I'll do it myself!" Ethan shouted. He knew it was unlike himself to be so short-tempered, but at the same time he was warming up to the idea of gaining a little control. He tried to push the thought away despite the tiny smirk that grew within. Ethan threw open the bottom cabinet drawer, got out some towels, and dried up the mess. When he looked up, Meredith wasn't at the counter. She'd gone into the den and was now sitting in the gray armchair, shuffling a deck of cards on the coffee table. Ethan walked in and sat on the couch on the other side of the table. He mindlessly watched her fingers split the deck and shuffle the cards together in one fluid motion. The cards were well-worn, the box ragged. They were the cards she used almost every night at Drew's. He took a deep breath. Meredith looked up at him, her bands covering one eye. He began.

"Look, I'm sorry for yelling. I'm just..." He sighed.

"...Going through a lot right now?" she finished.

"Yeah."

"You say that all the time! You are so uptight! And it never gets any better, it only gets worse! I mean, I come home and--"

"Can we not talk about this right now? Let's just drop it."

"See! There you go again! Why are you so serious all the time? Lighten up a little!" Meredith spread the cards on the table between them with one hand. She picked up the King of Hearts and slid it to him. A suicide king. "See, you're like this guy. He's so sad and old-looking. And look what he's doing to himself! No queen wants him!" she chuckled.

Ethan stared at the card before him--the weary eyes, the sullen look, the sword thrust in the head. True, he felf like that most of the time. His memories of happiness were moving farther and farther away as time went on.

Meredith was still talking, but he paid her no attention. He wasn't interested in her harangue. He wasn't even looking at the card anymore and had instead fixed his gaze on the blank wall to his left. When he looked down again, the King of Hearts was gone and had been replaced with another card, Meredith's fingers still on it. He tuned back into her voice.

"...should be more like him!" she finished, pulling her hand away. A white-faced figure clad in motley stood on one toe, holding a staff on which a severed head was perched. A joker card.

He looked back up at Meredith, who smiled expectantly. "You...want me to dress in tights and behead people?" He raised an eyebrow. To be honest, it wasn't such a bad idea at this point. Well, minus the tights. He'd rather dress like a gentleman. His face relaxed into a half-smile at the thought. Meredith took notice.

"That's what I like to see!" She rose and walked around to where he say and placed her hand on his bare back. "I don't know about the whole killing-people-idea, but if it's what makes you happy, go for it! Be a hit man--make me some more money!" She kissed him on the temple and started down the hall. "Now come to bed! It's late! You can't be a good jesterif you don't get enough sleep, you know!" she called over her shoulder.

But he'd stopped smiling. She's brought up the most painful subject currently at hand. Money. The deluge of worry had returned, and he was drowning again. He ran a hand over his light brown hair. He liked to keep it short--he looked cleaner that way. It got curly and unruly if he let it go, and he didn't want to look like a psycho...

He looked down at the card again.

...or a clown.

Besides, appearances were crucial to Meredith. She always looked pristine, never shabby. She pulled every look off perfectly, even when she went out to the bar just to play poker with her faceless friends. He knew he'd catch hell if he let himself go.

Ethan stood up and turned out the nearby lamp, then turned to walk down the hall when something caught his eye. Their wedding picture, illuminated softly by the hall nightlight. He looked at himself. So he had been happy at one time. That was when the days of honey were upon them, and everything seemed right in the world. He could barely remember them now. He crept down the hall and slipped into bed beside Meredith, falling at last into a fitful sleep.