Thank you all for the reviews! They're really encouraging! I was debating as to whether I would add the Joker's point of view, but I did. Let me know how you like it! I may add in more of his personal thoughts in the next chapter and do so more often.

Chapter 9

When I came to, I realized I was set up on a few thin blankets in a dingy room, curled up in a ball. The space smelled like it hadn't been cleaned in months. Used to waking up next to Brody, I felt a pang of loneliness without his repulsive pants wafting into my face. The drapes were pulled closed on the one window in the room. When I pulled them back, I cursed loudly, noticing the iron security bars spaced over the glass.

The door creaked open and a suit-clad Joker strode his way into the filthy space.

"Mmm. I see someone roused from their beauty sleep-uh." He popped his painted lips at the end of his sentence, adding an extra syllable.

I curled my fingers up into fists, feeling the bite of my nails creating crescent moons in my palms.

"What kind of deal requires me to be here?" I raised my voice.

"Calm down sweets," he grinned. "You didn't exactly ask what uh deal you were getting yourself into…" Smirking, he waited for an answer.

"Fine," I pursed my lips. "What type of deal is this? What do you want?"

He shrugged. "I don't exactly think you have a ripe enough attitude adjustment yet."

"Excuse me?" I rolled my eyes. "My attitude is just fine, clown."

"Weeeellll… until your behavior inches towards… adequate, you'll uh stay here." He smiled a dark look on his pallid face.

"Fine. I'd rather stay here alone than have to look at you."

He went stone cold. I barely had time to react before he slammed me against the wall and turned my face against the plaster. Leaning in close, he breathed on my face, "It's not a great idea to disrespect me, sweet cheeks."

I spat on him, even with my restricted movement. That just resulted in more pain when he threw me to the ground. I went skidding to the other side of the room, my spine hitting the wall.

I'd underestimated him back home. He was strong.

Taking advantage of my one free moment, I pretended to lay slumped on the ground as he slowly lowered his guard and turned to leave.

I ran at him, kicking the backs of his knees and sending him down, where I sat on his chest and threw punches left and right.

He gathered himself and grabbed my incoming fist, knocking it to the cement floor. Groaning in pain, I tried punching with my other hand, which he caught as well. Rolling me over, he lay on top of me as I flailed.

"Shhh," he giggled repeatedly as his purple gloves stroked my face.

His leather-clad fingers came away damp. For the second time in my life I could remember, I was crying. My dog was gone, I hadn't seen my father in months, Bruce and Alfred were probably worried sick, and now I'm trapped with a murderous clown.

I rolled away from him and stood to look out the barred window. Just empty streets. Not one I recognized. I left my back turned to the Joker so he wouldn't see the dirty tears streaming down my face.

The slamming of a door led me to believe he'd finally left.

A few days had already passed, leaving me hungrier than ever before. I refused to eat the food slid into the room, so I only drank the water provided with the disgusting trays. A bedpan and old food trays were the only things present in the tiny room.

The hunger pains were particularly bad today. I'd gone almost a week without food. The plastic tray was slid into the room again and I grabbed it, not even bothering to remove the water this time before I threw it across the room. Mush splattered everywhere with broken bits of ceramic plate. Even throwing my food wasted too much energy. I crumpled to the floor, drifting into unconsciousness, only aware of the violent pangs of hunger echoing in my stomach.

I awoke to purple cotton and a splitting headache. My choppy black hair fanned out across the bed I was lying on. Sighing, I rolled over, only to flatten a piece of paper with inky chicken scratch scrawled on it.

It was completely illegible, save for the Joker card pinned to the top. I heaved a sigh, dropped it, and tried to figure out where I was now.

The room was okay. Musty, but better than my prior arrangements. I sat on a king size bed with a purple comforter, black pillows strewn about carelessly. There were little amounts of furniture except for a leather armchair with a wooden table next to it. Opening the closet, I found randomized suits, most of the jackets either black or purple. However, my eyes lit up when I saw there was a tiny bathroom. With a shower.

I stripped out of my filthy week-old dress and climbed behind the faux glass door, letting the hot water pound against my skull. I shaved all the necessities, shampooed about four times, and thanked the almighty heavens that there was a bar of soap that didn't have a zesty male aroma.

Reaching for a towel, I wrapped one around myself, not even caring where it came from. Stepping out into the steamy room, I almost leapt right back behind the door.

"AHHH!"

"I see you're enjoying the amenities in my lovely room? He instinctively licked his painted lips.

"Yours?" I shrieked. "This is yours?"

"Uh… yes."

I pulleda Bruce Wayne and put my palm to my forehead. No use fighting. I was in a towel, for god's sake.

"Whatever," I muttered. "Just get out so I can put on my stupid dress."

"Didn't you read my note?"

I glared at him. "I tried."

He rolled his eyes, which looked obscene with all the dark makeup that shadowed them. "There's uh other clothes for you. I don't want you stinking up whatever room I throw you in."

"Gee thanks," I muttered, snatching a brush from his hands.

For once, he wasn't wearing gloves. Or a suit jacket.

I stared him down, motioning with my free hand. "Leave!"

"This is my bathroom."

With clenched teeth, I revised my order. "Please leave your bathroom."

"Ohh manners!" He smirked and let out a sardonic chuckle while biting the inside of his cheek. "You invested in some!" Clapping like a child, he giddily turned on his heel and left the bathroom, a bundle of clothes in his place.

Groaning, I took them. Whatever they were had to be better than the tattered gown I had on. Sifting through them, I started smiling. Tight black pants, a man's baggy scarlet sweater, and a pair of flat suede lace-up boots. Comfortable.

Yet, the smile rapidly disappeared when I found what was hiding underneath all the comfy fabrics: A pair of lacy underwear with a matching bra, colored black with hints of deep purple. Snarling, I put everything on. My old clothes were blown to hell anyway. Fat chance I was putting those back on my body after a clean shower.

Instead of meeting the clown, I emerged from the bathroom to find a blaring television I hadn't noticed before. Amazingly, my name was coming out of the small speakers hooked up on the wall.

I watched the screen, my mouth hanging open. "If anyone finds her and brings her back, there's a generous reward. From the both of us." There's something I thought I'd never see: Bruce and my father were standing side by side. Dad looked worried and aggravated. Bruce looked infuriated. Brody randomly paced next to them, my father absently stroking his fur at times. The rest of his free time was spent looking off to the side and running his hand through his greasy hair.

Clicking it off, I flopped into the armchair. I needed to get home. Now.

I was restricted to roam only the one room. Again, I was left for a few days, but this time I ate the food. I needed it if I actually wanted to get out of here. Every morning I rolled out of bed, trying not to remember that the Joker had actually slept in it, and did various forms of push-ups, sit-ups, and mountain climbers. I used his high towel rack that was attached to the wall for pull-ups. Luckily, I was light enough not to break it. As I came up for my last rep, all I could think of was my father's worried expression.

The Joker paced downstairs. He said he'd needed a deal, but what was it? He never planned. It was normally a good thing, but now the Joker wished he'd at least had some inkling as to why he needed the girl.

All the goons thought she was a plaything. In a way, yes. It was fun to mess around with her mind, jumbling her thoughts together and letting them crash to bits after jostling her again. And she was pretty. God, she had the looks. But she obviously hated him, just like her father and the rest of the mob. And he wasn't forcing her into anything like that. He may be cruel, but the Joker was above rape. So what to do with her?

Either use her or kill her.

But killing her would be a waste. Her fighting skills were beyond adequate and her absence was pissing off a lot of the mob, especially The Chechen and the Maronis.

Sighing, the Joker sat in the small kitchen of his warehouse, shooting one of his masked workers that took up space by the cabinets. Others quickly cleaned up the mess for fear of being shot themselves.

He needed time to think alone.

I came to a conclusion. He was trying to drive me insane. That must be it, right? The only people I saw were masked goons moving in and out of the room. They all had weapons and I had none. I had a pretty clear notion that they wanted to kill me, even if he hasn't yet.

The pounding of boots against a stairwell caught my attention. I stopped my exercise and collapsed onto the bed, pretending to take a nap.

The door flew open, making a loud banging noise against the wall.

"I'm HOOOOMMME!"

Burying myself in the pillows, I pulled the comforter over my head, which resulted in his heavy body landing on my covered one.

I winced. That would leave bruises.

"Y'know," a voice right above the blankets whispered in my ear. "Ya really shouldn't put yourself in positions like this. Makes me uh… anxious."

"Little shit," I grumbled.

I got a punch to the side of my ribs. Groaning, I pulled back the sheets to meet a familiar yellow-toothed smile.

"That's better!" The broad smile he gives creeps me out. All the time.

"Ugh, what?"

"We're going on a field trip today sweets! Get dressed."

"I am dressed."

"I'm uh not having you recognized." A poofy black skirt with a tattered top was thrown haphazardly in my direction. As well as my old makeup bag from Bruce's penthouse, which he must've picked up during my state of unconsciousness while exiting the party.

He left, giving me only a couple of minutes to dress before he returned with a knife in one hand and a bottle of black face paint in the other.

"You are not painting my face."

All I received in return was a dark look and a snigger as he waved the knife around, proving the point that I in fact was getting my face painted. Probably so people like dad wouldn't know who I was.

Fortunately, most of my face was left bare, except for around my eyes. Like his, my eyes were being thickly outlined in black, smudged at the borders. I learned to sit still after trying to smack his hand away and receiving a particularly bad cut on the arm.

When he was finished, he surveyed his work and watched me as I grudgingly applied black lipstick. Sighing, I turned to him and put my hands on my hips.

"Oh, doll. You're a CATCH."