A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Also to my anonymous reviewers: Jenn and xxJokersgirlxx! The Joker's POV is in the flashback.
Disclaimer: I don't own Batman.
Enjoy!
Her mouth tightened, fingernails digging into her palm.
"No, that's where you're wrong, Jack. We're not the same, we never were."
Sickened by the feeling of him under her, Anna unhooked her leg and sat on the edge of the bed, some part of her missing his heat. Her elbows propped on her knees, she let icy indifference wash over her, trying to think. "Years ago, maybe, I wouldn't have said that. I would have hoped that somewhere underneath, you were like me. Or that I was like you. But now…." Glancing over her shoulder, she took in the raging fire of his eyes, knowing he could complete her thought without needing to hear it.
Now, he was more like the old her than she ever was. Carefree, spontaneous, passionate, everything taken to the maximum. And she, now more like that awkward twenty-one year old in the park than he had ever been. Worried, grim, and dissatisfied, hiding behind a façade.
This wasn't how she had seen her life.
When little girls dressed up in mother's clothes and make-up, they didn't think, I want to marry a sociopath. When students daydreamed in high school classes, their minds didn't envision cramped one bedroom apartments and dead-end jobs. No one dreamed of too little money and too much pain, of gambling and drinking, blowing train stations to kingdom come.
Shaking her head, she stared sightlessly at the ground, knife held listlessly in one hand. "I don't know how it came to this."
The Joker sneered behind her, his breathing still heavy, no doubt finding such introspection a useless activity. One of his knees roughly made contact with her lower back, sending a low jolt through her body. "Go look in the mirror, for that one. You don't see what you don't… wantto see. You blame me for everything, always did. I didn't want that-that thing you wanted me to sign. I didn't go drinking, hell I didn't even go gamblin-g. You did, Anna." He chuckled darkly, his calf coming to rest against her backside. He was probably in pain, she knew he was, but he hid it well. "Does it… hurt you, Anna, to think that you were the one to screw u-p your own life?"
Gritting her teeth, she turned half-around, the mockingly innocent expression on his face nothing but insulting. Well, figures he would be furious, even if he had abandoned it for a deceptively sweet tone. "I'm not going to deny what I did, but even you know, somewhere in that twisted head of yours, that you were the catalyst. I could never please you, and I tried, God knows I tried. What I put in, I never got back – when it came to anything. You choked off my life until there was nothing but you. I was your possession, or you wanted me to be, at least. All so you could play your little mind games." Leaning forward, she noted his tangled greenish locks, the slight tilt of his head as he appraised her. "Tell me, Jack, you think this is what I wanted? You think this is what I wanted out of life?"
Rolling his eyes, he readjusted his arms, his lips smacking together with a soft pop. She could hear the exasperation in his voice, completely at odds with the tension and strain in his body. "So let me see… you're angry – at me – for the way life took your little plans and expectations and turned them upside down. Don't ever hope" he said the word as if it were disgusting, "for a fair-y-tale life, because life just ain't goin' to give it to ya. No, life – life gave you me, and it's staying that way."
"Over my dead body, Jack."
Anger slowly set to boil within her chest, Anna crossly leapt from the bed, reaching for her discarded jeans. Realizing the irony of her statement, she hastily slipped into them, the denim crusted with blood, dirt, and who knew what else as it slid over her thighs. She refused to see the smirk she knew was on his lips.
Her legs ached as she fought with the stiff material, forcing her words out gruffly. "What the hell did you ever see in me anyway?"
"That's just the thing… I saw you. Everyone else only thought, that they knew you. I saw you for who you really are." The exasperation had faded, but he sounded like he was explaining something that shouldn't have needed any.
If she didn't know him to be a bit off before, she certainly would have believed it now. Brushing aside his comments, she quickly set to work on her buttons. "Sure… so from a few conversations you saw me for who I really was –"
"Not was. Are. You haven't changed, even though you'd like to think so. I always saw that sadness inside you, underneath the colorrrs. That pain was just waiting to come out. I had to help it along, you were mine from the moment I saw you. You just… don't realize it yet." He started to giggle, completely losing it as the words tumbled from his mouth.
Feeling like she was staring at a car wreck, Anna watched as his shoulder shook in mirth she didn't understand, howls of laughter echoing around the room. She hadn't known his obsession ran so deep from the very beginning, but the thought chilled her, knotting cords of worry to lie among the blooms of desire. Contradictions and vexation swirled in her brain, making it so very hard to decide on a single course of action. There was only thing for certain, no matter the way he had made her feel.
She couldn't stay here.
Still clutching the knife, she turned away from the mattress and the quaking form upon it, half-formed plans running through her head. Jack could keep laughing all he wanted, the sound had become almost familiar to her, as he couldn't directly do anything to stop her. The ropes would hold tightly for as long they needed to, and if he called in his men… well then they would have a front row seat to the humbling of a God. But in the meantime, she figured, it wouldn't hurt to look around for something of use, would it?
Walking to the dresser, she tore irritably through the bags and exposed items, seeing nothing that would pass for a long range weapon. Hammers and nails, skewers, some knives the size of or smaller than the one already in her hand. A few of the blades could be thrown, but she didn't trust her aim, especially if it was dark. Scowling, she realized she didn't even know night from day in the windowless prison of a bedroom.
"You won't find anything there." His tone laconic, he was still swallowing the last of his giggles as she spun to face him.
Anna fought to keep emotion from her voice, beginning to wonder what he was playing at. "What's that supposed to mean? Is there something else?"
"No." The Joker shrugged, his yellowed teeth bared in a grin. "I'm just saying, there isn't anything there."
Trust him to find it amusing to plant the seed of hope and watch it drown in her tears. If she knew him at all, he probably just wanted to see her search frantically for a nonexistent gun, launched on the ultimate wild goose chase, before summoning his men or forcing her into freeing him.
Hope and fear, the two single greatest weapons in his arsenal, and both were utilized solely for amusement.
Schooling her features into a semblance of composure, she shrugged, turning back to the bags littering the floor. Either a bottle of gin or a gun, whichever came out of the bag first would be enough for her. "Can't hurt to look. I don't trust you much."
He actually had the gall to look offended, his eyes widening in false surprise. "Not trust me? I've been nothing but a constant and loyal husband. The truth is… fleeting, in comparison. Can't say the same for you though, can I?"
She ignored his taunt, eyeing the bag of mousetraps to her left and peeking into the next, nothing but more of the usual meeting her gaze. Her calves were starting to throb from crouching, pockmarked with bruises and gashes that smarted as her muscles shifted beneath them. She tossed aside the empty bags and quickly moved on, a growl starting low in her throat as bag after bag proved useless.
As if picking up on her frustration, Jack couldn't resist the opportunity to press it further. The silence had been killing him, she knew, he was nearly always talking – either to himself or to another, it didn't truly matter. "So ah, darling, did you hmm… prove even less faithful while you were in Chi-ca-go?"
Standing, she made for the closet, not bothering to rise to his bait. She was many things, but foolish and begging for a beating were not included, no matter how satisfying the look on his face would be. "I'm not going to answer that." The door opened with a slight creak, spilling light into the musty and regrettably empty interior. A soft sigh escaping her lips, she turned and caught sight of the bed, notably its darkened underbelly.
"Oh but you should… you really should, Anna." He cooed disdainfully, hiding the iron that ran beneath the sanguine coating. The idea of his possession being touched by another was simply revolting, that much was obvious. His eyes followed her as she knelt beside the mattress, ducking her head to scan what its black shadow hid.
Nothing but papers, what looked like doodles and drawings of bomb plans, a sketch or two of a building no doubt blown to smithereens. No guns, no knives, not even a mousetrap. Farther towards the headboard, she could see a rectangular object, not that large, hulking just beyond her reach. Blindly reaching under, she strained to grasp it, her fingers brushing something rough as her chin rested on the ground. One inch further, and she found purchase, dragging it into the light.
Anna blinked.
Its edges were uneven, what looked like scorch marks racing along the back cover. The front was folded and half ripped away, but she didn't need a title to recognize the frayed yellow pages, still intact after years of countless wear and tear. She had never thought she would be so happy to see it again, an indication that her Jack was not merely a figment of her memories but had been a living person, so different from and yet the same as the man now struggling to see what she had found.
Without a word, she stood and headed for the dresser, novel tightly clutched to her chest. The Joker's knife and Jack's book, held in both of her hands.
Laying it carefully on the only exposed stretch of wood, she made no mention of it, almost taking comfort from its presence. There were men in the hallway ready to shoot her, she was searching for the wind as her husband watched and laughed, but oddly enough, Dostoevsky brought a bit of peace.
The switchblade warm in her hand, her fingers crept to the first drawer, carefully pulling it from its wooden home. What looked like two shirts lay crumpled inside, one marred with old brown-black stains. They were of cheaper material, she noted, than the shirt he had been wearing recently, the hues not as vibrant and the hint of a tag sticking out from the collar. Oddly enough, it looked like his blood, given the rips in the fabric itself.
The drawer closed with a dull thud.
The second held blank sheets of paper, pencils no more than stubs littered among the sharpies. A few cell phones, all missing batteries as her quick check proved, lay scattered on top.
Closing it swiftly, she reached for the last drawer, practically feeling his eyes bore into her back. More shirts in outrageous patterns met her eyes, some ripped and bloodstained, others seemingly discarded in favor of more expensive fare. Technicolor socks, none of them matching, were interspersed among the rumpled collared shirts, most with holes. Flicking through them with the tip of her knife, she couldn't help but think how like Jack that –
A sock fell away, exposing the gleaming metal beneath.
Barely breathing, she reached into the sea of color, her hand seizing her prize and dragging it from the depths.
Her mouth opening and closing of its own accord, a giddy sense of victory coursed through her veins. Her hand absentmindedly ghosted over the long barrel, the metal dull and heavy in her hands. Some men had the odd piece or hidden object in their sock drawer, he had a .44 Magnum.
Gaze jumping to his, she couldn't help but perceive the lack of shock, though he certainly didn't seem elated. It was possible he had forgotten about it, but that explanation seemed too simple for a man so complex, who predicted actions before the person themselves knew what they wanted to do. She wet her lips, hardly trusting herself to speak, voice shaky as it was. "Did you plan this?"
"I never plan for anything." He murmured darkly, emotions warring in the trenches of his face, no clear victor emerging even as he continued. "And ah, what are you going to do with tha-t?"
Brows furrowing, she couldn't think of a witty answer, couldn't think of anything but the fundamental choice before her. Searching for a gun she may never find was one thing, actually holding the weapon and intending to use it, die with it even, was entirely another. "I still have to weigh my options."
His tongue darted between his lips, about to speak but distracted by the way she moved her hands along the gun, each swipe visibly sending shocks down his form. Sighing quietly, she halted her actions, observing as he pulled himself together with a grunt of pain.
"Whatever you decide – and oh, I'll let you decide, I think – you won't be free. No matter where you go, who you're with, you can't escape." His voice swooped to the lower part of its range, chilling her with its timbre. "I'll follow you. I'll follow you, and the Batman will follow me, and we'll. Never. Be. Apart. We'll be like a… roulette wheel, spinning around and around and around. Except the ball is never going to land. You can't leave. Not again."
Being on the run was better than being here. There were three men out there, and the catch was – indeed the very twinkle in his eye – that it was either her or them. If he wanted to see her squirm, looking over her shoulder every minute of every day for a flash of purple, then he would not be rewarded.
Anna thought maybe, just maybe… that didn't seem so bad.
Flipping the safety on the gun, she took a breath.
His eyes followed the movement.
I shuffle in beside her, fake leather seat smelling faintly of alcohol and cheap cologne. She tells the driver our address, or at least I think she does, I'm not listening.
That bastard's face swims before my eyes. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.
The door slams shut and the cab takes off, the driver humming along to a ridiculous pop song, enough to make me want to… I don't know what. I'd think of something eventually, I know. To spare myself I turn to the window, colors blending with the rain into a phantasmagoric display, one I know Anna can't see like I do. I want to show her how I see the world, the urge so strong at times it feels like it's blazing through my skin, on and on and on… I hope the blaze doesn't catch her too.
I wouldn't mind if it swallowed her father.
The silence is oppressive, but I can't bring myself to speak. Most of the time, I can't live without it, but now… I try to make sense of the emotions whirling in my head, the sort that are unwelcome in my life yet show up anyway. Someday I think I'll just slam the door, they've always been strangers to me.
Slam the door and burn the house down.
I shouldn't be embarrassed, why am I embarrassed? I'm not the ignorant pig, the self-satisfied fool, the father of my fiancé who thinks he knows everything in the world. I try to convince myself that I'm not to blame, but I can't meet her eyes.
I don't want to see the disappointment written there.
"Hey." She reaches for my limp hand, gives it a squeeze, flashing a smile I guess is reassuring. It sure as hell ain't working. "Don't worry about it, ok?"
She is a remarkable woman, but she doesn't… understand some things. She doesn't understand why I worry so much, why it festers under my skin until I want to scratch it out. It's like a survival mechanism, holding back the things I don't want to see, that part of myself I don't want to know.
She says I worry too much.
I have enough to worry about.
Mouth tightening, my free hand forms into a fist. My throat is tight, the words having to punch their way out of me. "I know that… that this night meant, a lot, to you… I'm sorry I screwed it up for you."
There, I said it.
I rarely ever apologize.
"No you didn't, Jack. They're just, like that. They're quite the uh, the teasers."
She is a good woman, I think, a tantalizing blend of verve and sorrow that makes my very mouth water. I can hear the honesty in her voice, I always can. I can read her in ways she doesn't know. That she didn't hear her father's words I am thankful, for I would hear the shame even more.
Some of the names he called me, she would not be happy.
"Yeah well, apparently I have a pole up my ass." There, I said that too.
Anna sighs and moves closer, her heat welcome in the cold. Leaning her head on my shoulder, she draws small circles on my thigh, and she would smile if she knew how much it affected me. "They just don't know you like I do. They don't know you when you… loosen up."
I want to grin but I can't, it isn't proper. I'm always doing that, grinning when most say I shouldn't be, and I don't know why. Squeezing her hand gently, I lay a kiss on her black hair, curling my arm around her. She fits well here, with my arm around her, small compared to my broad shoulders and chest. This always manages to calm me down.
"I don't think your father likes me, I tried to be nice."
Yes, yes I did. I wouldn't have cared normally, but I did it for her.
"My father doesn't like most guys, trust me. He has old ideas sometimes; he just doesn't understand that I don't want the things he thinks I should want. I want you."
Did I say she is a good girl?
She is an amazing girl, all the more because she is mine and mine alone. Exquisite, but only because of that fact, all physical beauty merely incidental, a figment of society. If she lost it, I should not care, so long as she never lost that flame which spurs me to her side time and time again.
To make her laugh and to ease the choler boiling within me, I imitate the gruff voice of her father. It isn't hard, it sounds like a dog's growl, somewhere between death and a pitfight. "'Accountant? My daughter marry an accountant? Say, where you work boy – oh that place, you'll never get anywhere.'" Didn't matter I had only been working there about six months and, given my boss' hatred, probably for not much more, but I wasn't about to bring that up.
"He's just angry because they wanted me to marry a doctor." She chuckles, but I can't find the heart to join in, sensing the lie beneath her well-meaning words.
"Maybe this is something you can laugh off, but I can't." Like they usually do, my thoughts scatter chaotically, alighting on a passage from, appropriately, The Idiot: A Novel in Four Parts. Given her determined state of mind, I don't think she'd appreciate such self-deprecating humor, especially not after tonight.
"Why not? He was being ridiculous – I don't take him seriously, and he's my father."
"I'd wanted to make a good ah, impression, he's my... father-in-law. Waiting so long probably wasn't the best idea, either." The hatred and anger are bubbling up again, something I thought I had under lock and key for years. When I see her father's face, I see his face, the one I had hoped to leave behind. The last time I saw my father's face, it was smashed on the pavement, not even by my own hand though I almost wish it was. "Some sort of approval would have been nice. I'm sick of wanting it. Why do I need it?"
For a second, I can't believe I actually just said that.
She doesn't acknowledge the privacy of the statement, merely kissed my hand. "You have mine."
"Well, thanks." The memory of her father is still in my head, and the mimic returned with a vengeance. When I want to mock something, I am a force to be reckoned with, unfortunately. "'You live there – in that dump? It's all you can afford? Well that's what you get for being an accountant. I can't believe my daughter's living there. To think we raised her to - '"
"- Don't listen to him, I like our apartment. It has you in it, after all. Don't worry about money."
Sighing, I cast her a glance, secretly happy that I have her in the deck life has chosen to deal me. I am not happy for many things, it's always been a fleeting state of being, but here we are. She doesn't know what I would do for her, though I think she need only ask. "No, we should be worried about it." I sigh, just wanting to get home so I can fall into her body and forget this whole mess. "Sometimes I feel like burning all of it, and just walking away."
That feeling is stronger lately, but always, she is with me. I would feed others to the flames, but not her.
She laughs, taking it as a joke, albeit one I didn't intend. "An accountant, burning money. I would love to see it."
I remain silent, pondering the idea of a flaming stack of cash, a pleasant sight indeed. She speaks again, her voice is quiet, and I strain to listen. "But, Jack... you ever just want to leave our life? We could move, you know, go to Chicago."
My stomach plummets but I can't explain why, normally I'd be overjoyed at the idea. There is something tying me to this place, strings about my arms and legs. "I don't think I could, Anna. I'm too attached to Gotham, keep feeling like there's something I should do."
"What is it?" She tilts her head, and I can't help but smile.
"I don't know." A beat. "Keep you happy?"
She laughs as the car comes to a stop, pulling me into the rain as soon as she hands over the bills.
"Then do your worst, Jack. I insist."
A/N: I hope you enjoyed this, I'd like to know what you think. Sorry for the long delay, I do take your comments into consideration!
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