A/N: Thank you to ALL of you! And thank you also to my anonymous reviewers: Jenn, Tasha, b2, Helen, Censes and xxJokersgirlxx!
Disclaimer: I don't own Batman.
Enjoy!
The winds were in the Batman's favor.
Any moment now, and he would come barreling over the guard rail.
Anna winced as the Joker squeezed her arm in anticipation, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. Telling his men to stand down, he honestly resembled a child let loose in a toy store, unsure of which aisle to visit first and wanting to simply buy everything. His animated murmuring was lost in her hair, though the few words she was able to catch didn't improve her spirits any.
Having returned his glove to its rightful place, he pulled absentmindedly at the tangles, seemingly unable to decide if he was talking to her or only to himself. "No, no, can't have you looking like trash, not for the Bat. You'll see. We'll see. He's going to try, oh he'll try…" A few giggles, the words tumbling from his lips like debris tossed from the tornadoes ripping through his mind. "But don't you hmm, look so pretty in red… Prettier than on the pavement… The Bat, he won't know what to do… but we will. I do. I know."
A tentative voice from behind. "Boss?"
She could practically imagine him rolling his eyes, his lips smacking in annoyance. "What is it?"
"… He's coming."
Turning in time towards the opposite wall, she watched in awe as a shadow broke away from the neighboring rooftop and elegantly soared downward towards them, buoyed on the same winds which tormented her exposed flesh. She had never actually received a chance to see the Batman, having left before he came on the scene, but now that she had she could understand why her husband hadn't been able to resist. Whoever the Batman was, he had almost risen above his own humanity.
No wonder Jack wanted to drag him back down.
The specter landed on the concrete, eyes swiftly assessing the situation before heading to work. The cape and black armor blurred together in the evening gloom, and Anna couldn't help but think how convenient it was that there was only one lantern. The Batman didn't seem to mind, of course; incapacitating the two men nearest to him, he dismantled their guns with amazing precision and advanced closer. A few punches and uppercuts were enough to break bones and send the next two to the ground. The driver from the van, Sanford if she remembered correctly, hung back and lowered his weapon, no doubt seeing the futility of the situation.
Four men out of action and it had only been minutes.
The Joker didn't even seem worried, she noted. Rather, he seemed excited.
He slipped his right arm around her waist, hugging her to him as if they were the perfect happy couple they had never been. Their recent exchange forgotten, he seemed entirely engrossed in the Bat, kinetic energy coursing like live wires under his skin. Shaking his finger at the other man, his voice was jovial, head inclined in his direction.
"I was hoping you'd show up tonight, did ya know that? You see, my wife," he pulled her half in front of him, running the knife over her hair and chuckling, "her hostess skills haven't really ah, been used that much lately. I wanted to give her the pleasure of some… quality company. Show her off to my ha, friends. Isn't she just beautiful?"
Her husband batted his eyes tauntingly, his voice dropping an octave. "Like that D.A. girl, wouldn't you say?"
Only a few meters away, Anna watched as one armored glove slowly curled in rage. His voice was much harsher than she expected, tiptoeing the border between protective and malevolent. "Give her to me. Where is the other hostage?"
A series of giggles ripped through her husband, as if he hadn't heard something so funny in ages. "Oh you are always so eager, aren't you? Give me this, tell me that. I think… you need to stop and smell the roses in life." A smile cracking across his features, he gave her another squeeze. "Isn't that right, darling?"
Her eyes locked on the Batman, she remained still, watching the muscles move into position beneath the armor.
He sprang towards them.
And before Anna could breathe, she was against the guardrail, no, bent over the guardrail, one of the Joker's hands tightly knotted in her hair.
"Ah tatata, no closer…. I wonder, would you save my wife too?"
The street whirling dizzily below her, all moving lights and changing shadows, she raised her hands to grip his arm. Her stomach roiled dangerously, heart pounding so violently she swore it damn near broke her ribcage. Heights were one thing that had always managed to terrify her.
If the Batman said anything, she didn't hear it. The minutes stretched ever on.
"But you know, as fun as this is…" He suddenly wrenched her upwards, the street spinning away as fast as it had appeared, catching her nimbly as she stumbled from the rail. Breathless, she didn't even realize who supported her until she glanced up to see his tongue licentiously adoring the scars. "I'm rather ah, busy." His eyebrows shot up at the last word, a grin taking root.
"You see, I've got fireworks to watch… and I hmm promised her some fireworks." His arm looped around her once more, the Batman appraising them as one would wild animals. "Wouldn't want to disappoint my wife, now would I?"
Stealing a glance between their faces, the Batman grimaced, some part of him warring with another on the morality of leaving her there. Or at least that's what she figured, judging by the anguish written into the lines of his body.
Seemingly making up his mind, she watched him run for the northeast corner of the Roosevelt Building, a part of her sinking in frustration. Hundreds of people outweighed a single individual, but it didn't staunch the hope from bleeding out of her.
"Oh and if you're going to ah spoil our show, you're going to have to be quick!" The Joker cackled, his chest heaving with the mirth flowing through his veins, arms tightening around her. Swiveling as much as she could, the Batman was nothing but a shadow soaring towards the atrium, leaving her with the man she once considered her husband.
The rooftop receded into silence, broken only by his fitful laughing.
His chest expanded and contracted as he pulled in more air, heat pouring from his body to blanket her own, a personal furnace straight from Hell. Crushed against him as she was, she could definitely feel him through the fabric of his trousers, as sick as they came. She shivered, and not from the wind.
Running his hand absentmindedly along her arm, he looked down at her, hilarity still dancing in his eyes. "He'll be back some other time, and all the freaks can be ha, together again. And, darling, I wouldn't have dropped ya, he would have just gone right over too… and you both would die. Where would I be then? All alone and bored? " He seemed to think on it, his brow furrowing. "No… no. Definitely not."
She wasn't exactly sure he knew what he was saying, though she wasn't about to ask.
"But now that we're alone…." Sighing exaggeratedly, he suddenly released her to dig around in the pockets of his coat, almost looking as if he couldn't find his keys. "You have a… job to do."
Nodding slightly as his fingers found their prey, he pulled out a cell phone and a folded sheet of paper, something ridiculously mundane emerging from the tent of horrors. There was a label on the phone, some sort of official seal, but she couldn't identify what it was. His voice was the usual high falsetto, as if he were explaining to a child how to tie their shoe.
"Now, I'm going to dial this number right here, and you're going to read what's written on this paper here. Word for word. If you say anything else… you'll wish you had never opene-d your mouth. And for his sake," he jerked his thumb towards Sanford, "make it sound convincing. Understan-d?"
Wariness plain on her face, she nodded, struggling to ignore the ache blooming in her temples. This was going to be one hell of a long night, and she had to be center stage.
The keypad of the clunky contraption entering the light from the lantern, he deftly punched in the numbers, shoving it to her ear and unfolding the message. As the phone rang on the other end, she scanned the note, her eyes widening in shock and more than a little incredulity. He had to be joking, there was no way –
"Gotham Central Terminal."
Her breath catching, she quickly recovered, determinedly avoiding his gaze. "This is Amelia St. John of north block maintenance. I'm currently heading up from –" she held the paper closer "– Tunnel 46A, lower level. The Batman is planting a bomb in 47B."
"A bomb?" Confusion entered the previously apathetic male voice. "The Batman?"
Convincing herself it was just acting, she kept up the charade. "Yes, a bomb, I'm telling you, I was just working down there but I got away. He said he was only after the executives on the financial district train traveling above, that he wanted to tackle the corruption of the financial world. But, I've worked in the tunnels for years, and that thing is right beneath the main support center. It'll blow away the whole terminal, not just the train. You have to get everybody out of there."
"But there are trains coming in –"
"Dear god, are you insane? Just get everybody out!" That part hadn't been on the paper, but this was no longer acting; the bomb was very, very real, no matter who put it there.
In the background, she could hear the clicking of buttons, the faint wail of a siren ringing through the complex. Shouts and screams followed, picked up by the speakers of the phone, transported a block over and nearly seventy stories up to the ears of their maestro. The Joker closed his eyes in bliss, savoring the prelude to his fireworks, before snatching the phone from her hand.
His thumb brought the call, and the screams, to an end.
"You, come here." Sanford hesitantly obliged, surprised when the phone was thrust roughly into his hands. "I want you to ah destroy this. Go wait in the van, you'll find another cell phone on the dash. Pretend to be someone down there and call all the news networks." The thug nodded, clown mask eerily joyful given the circumstances, and passed the unconscious bodies of his associates on his way to the roof exit.
If only she could be so lucky as to follow.
Rolling his shoulders, her husband rubbed his hands in glee, unable to resist returning to the guard rail once more with her. An endless stream of people were already flooding the avenues around Gotham Central, recklessly fleeing the danger lurking within the tunnels under their feet. It was like disturbing an ant hill, she thought; sweep away the dirt or pour water on the mound and they all came scrambling out.
Except, of course, ants didn't scream.
The constant shrieking and keening of sirens were fierce competition for the wind, cars swerving and crashing to avoid the onrush of people, spotlights flickering on across the city. Panic erupted in Technicolor for four square blocks, then nine, creating a horrific domino effect as the deaths no doubt piled up. Swarms of people were still leaving the terminal, the urgency escalating in their movements, blocking the doorways with bodies as thousands fought to escape.
Open-mouthed, Anna couldn't even think; there was nothing but the chaos below her and enveloping heat behind her.
A whisper at her ear, lips just brushing her skin.
"Just think of all the people being hmm, trample-d to death. They'll kill … each other just to save themselves. And all because of the Batman."
"No one's going to believe that." It came out as nothing more than a murmur, her mind transfixed in horror by what was happening.
"No? No?" He chuckled lightly, whispering smooth poison into her mind. "Why shouldn't they? He's down there, isn't he? He's already let five people die in pursuing little old me, and another five, with Dent. As far as they know…" He lowered his lids, gazing at her through his lashes. "He's a regular ah… maniac by this point. When people already hate you, it doesn't take much to push. It. Even. Further."
Mouth opening to retort, she held her breath as the world came tumbling down.
The entire building, elegant marble and ornate façade, seemed to shift, rows of columns cracking as the weight was rearranged from the inside. The central supports snapped and came out of alignment, causing the main building to bulge outwards for one long second, before caving in upon itself with one of the loudest explosions she had ever heard. People caught in the doorways screamed and screamed, before being cut off sharply by tons of falling marble. The windows were blown out by the force, assaulting her eardrums and anyone too close at the time. The glass atrium shattered as the structure continued to fall, raining glass and debris upon those not quick enough to escape the surrounding area, great plumes of dust borne upwards and outwards by the wind.
Fire licked at the rubble, quickly growing into an inferno fit for Hell itself.
And throughout it all, he laughed.
Jack, the Joker, the Devil himself, laughed.
Laughed and encircled her even tighter, jumping up and down, tossing her this way and that, shuddering in excitement and the rush that came from crushing people's lives. Coughing as the dust cloud rolled their way, she struggled to disentangle herself, unable to get the image of the building collapsing upon everyone inside out of her mind. She can't breathe from the dust; her wounds have opened again from all the movement, blood running down her torso, her knees failing beneath her.
She wants to ask him why. Why everything?
As it is, she only sees his serpentine grin before the lights go out.
Her eyes open slowly.
For a moment she has no idea where she is, there is nothing but a sea of white and vague haze of fumes drifting about her head. She is lying down on a lumpy mattress, a series of beeps emitting from God knows where, it hurts to try to pinpoint the sound. Her arms feel like lead, but there is an itching sensation at her wrist, almost… like…
Tubes.
She gasps and attempts to raise her head.
A wave of blinding agony sends her back to the pillow. Her face, dear god, it's on fire, it's burning away, it is. She feels like her head has been submerged in boiling oil, her mouth, nose, and eyes radiating scorching surges of pain as the skin is stripped away. Her mouth opens to scream, but she can't make a sound, and suddenly there is a ripping sensation on her lips and dear God it hurts –
"Anna, Anna, don't do that."
A rough hand strokes her own, the low voice battling with the pain for dominance in her head. She follows the phrases like breadcrumbs, leading her from the well of agony swallowing her mind. "I'm here… it's alright… it's going to be ok…"
Jack's voice.
The hospital. She's in the hospital and Jack is sitting beside her.
Holding her breath, she slowly turns her head, muscles sluggishly responding and leaping to fire at the littlest strain. His dirty-blonde hair, just curly enough for her to love running her hands through it, dangles in front of his dark eyes. The gentle angles of his face are tight with worry and regret, and there are dark circles marring his olive skin.
He smiles weakly, but she can't return it.
She tries not to think of being strapped to the metal chair, the burly man delivering a punch to her face to break her nose. She doesn't think of the pain and the way it snapped her head back. Her mind definitely doesn't think of the glint of the knife as he takes it from the table, holding it up to the light for her to see. She doesn't imagine the nicks and cuts it makes over her forehead and below her eyes, the shallow but quick to scar gashes it leaves wherever he wishes. She doesn't even consider the way he slipped it between her lips, swiftly plunging it into her cheeks and efficiently raking it through, how she swallows both her screams and her blood. She doesn't think of him doing the same to the other side, whispering, 'This is from Gambol' as she screams and screams and screams…
Everything comes crashing back.
He squeezes her hand tightly and whispers that he is there, she snaps back to reality, this new reality. She can tell he wants to touch her face but is afraid, afraid he'll hurt her, afraid to feel the ridges of the stitches and the wounds as he tries to stay to unbroken skin. She is afraid, but she wants – no, she needs, to know.
Best to get it all over with. Best to see.
Wetting her lips carefully, she can taste the tang of blood, probably smearing it further across the wounds. They must be rather horrible, she would bet, if the unevenness and jagged texture inside her mouth is any indication. But she'll reserve judgment until she sees the truth, and refuses to allow herself to hope, yet hope she does.
There is a hand mirror flat on the table behind him, probably for when she awoke. Her fingers twitch towards it and she looks pointedly in its direction over his left shoulder, willing him to get the idea. He's a bright man so he figures it out quickly, and hesitantly reaches for it.
"I don't think this is really the ah, the best thing for you right now, Anna. Please, just wait a bit, ok?"
She closes her eyes, having none of it. He knows this is a command.
Bringing it closer to her face, he tilts it so she can see.
A freak stares back at her.
If she could move her mouth, she would be screaming as a dread settles into her stomach. The thick black stitches extend inches upwards from the corners of her lips, looking for all the world like train tracks, the skin swollen and jagged beneath them. One nearest her mouth has begun to bleed again, and her lips are smeared messily with crimson, fringes of black hanging limply from her flesh. Rows of stitches mar her forehead, below her eyes, her chin, just under her ear; angry red swathes crisscrossing her visage. Where such gashes are absent, her skin is paler than normal from the blood loss, a pasty, sickly color she has never had before.
Her eyes are almost completely blackened from the broken nose, purple so dark it is almost black stretching to just beneath her eyebrows.
"It's not so bad, Anna. Really. It's just a lot of ah... bruising and blood, all that'll go away soon." She can hear his voice, but can barely tear her eyes away from the image encased in the mirror. "It won't be so bad; nothing's changed between you and me. I promise you, I don't care – I won't care about the scars."
Listening to his promises, Anna can't allow herself to believe, knowing what guys will say when they feel they have to. She got it over with, but as the tears start to prick her eyes, she almost wishes she hadn't.
Her eyes close, and he sighs, returning to his seat but still holding tightly to her hand. It is a welcome pressure and right then, she wishes she could thank him.
But most of all, she wants to ask him why. Why me? Why this?
Why everything?
A/N: I got an idea while writing, mostly by accident, when I remembered that breaking one's nose (something I had included just for detail before in the first chapter) can give you a double black eye. Combined with the scars and paleness from blood loss... it completely hit me out of the blue... who does she look like?
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