AN: A million awesome points to spazberry, for deciding to make an amazingly great fan art (fic art?) to the story, a beautiful picture of the Joker sleeping, from the chapter where Jonathan sees him without makeup. The sketch of it is on Deviant art, at this link http: // atroxbasium. deviantart. com/ art /Crane-Contemplates-a-Clown-108116187. You should all check it out and tell her how great she is. I'm flattered beyond reason.
Thanks for the reviews!
He was carried to the van, and instructed to lie down in the back, so to spill as little blood as possible. The Joker sat beside him as they rode, and though Jonathan couldn't make out his features clearly, glasses being off, but it seemed Joker had changed back into his suit, sans makeup.
"Do you think that's wise?" he asked. "I mean, I know things tend to work out in your favor, but really. Especially to a hospital you've already terrorized?"
He shrugged. "Nothing bad can happen to me, Jonny. It's like a universal constant."
Jonathan felt the urge to smack his head in exasperation, then remembered that he couldn't thanks to the makeup, and sighed. "Please tell me you don't actually believe that."
"Know what? When you manage to play chicken with the Batman and not get run over, then you can lecture me on my worldview."
He shook his head. All right, so the Joker wasn't nearly as recognizable without the makeup, but the suit and scars were highly memorable. The excuse of 'It's Halloween' could work, possibly, but who would want to dress as a psychotic terrorist? Then again, this was Gotham. "One of these days, your luck is going to run out. You know that, right?"
"I know no such thing. Look, we're here." He pulled a scarf out of one of his pockets, wrapping it around his nose and mouth. Oh. Well, that improved the disguise about a hundredfold. "Close your eyes and try to look like you're dying."
"I already look like I'm dying." He said, as the Joker picked him up.
"Yeah, but it always looks better when you put effort into it. Right, here's the plan. I carry you in, they take you from me, and I'll start knocking off the rest of the staff and all. Wait until you hear screaming, and then do as you please, okay?"
"Okay," he said, and was promptly slapped, lightly, across the unpainted side of his face.
"Dying people don't talk, kitten."
"But you—" Another slap, and he fell silent, with an inward sigh. Then they were rushing forward, the movement he was unable to see making him feel nauseous. He heard the slide of automatic doors, the murmur of voices quickly becoming louder, when they caught sight of him, he guessed, a mild panic, and then he was taken from the Joker's arms, the sensation nearly making him open his eyes from shock. He'd forgotten that there were only a handful of people he could stand to be touched by, and all but one of them were back in Arkham. The sudden, strange loss of security came very close to making him break character, and only imagining the Joker's displeasure if he did so made him keep his eyes shut.
To his immense relief, he was very quickly placed on a gurney or something similar, and pulled somewhere, the wheels below him sliding to a stop as he felt cold metal against his stomach—nearly making him move again—scissors, cutting through the shirt. He opened his eyes just barely, only enough to take in what was going on, and watched as they pulled the fabric off of him, hovering over him and talking rapidly. Upon pulling of the right sleeve, the canister of toxin was discovered, his arm pulled up by the wrist strap.
"What the—"
There was screaming, suddenly, somewhere down the hall. The doctors, or nurses, or whatever they were turned toward the doorway in confusion, and Jonathan took advantage of the movement to sit up, pulling his wrist free. By the time the woman holding him had turned around, he'd fired, her taking the blast straight in the face. She fell to the floor at once, laughing before she even hit, her companions taking a second to look down at her before turning around, a second he took to fire again, rapidly. A few were hit directly; the remaining quickly disposed of as well. Jonathan had no fighting ability whatsoever, but fear made many stupid, and stupidity was easy to take advantage of. Not to mention that the best thing about the toxin; he didn't actually have to fight hand to hand. Some might consider that cowardly. He considered it making a wise decision.
Standing, he watched the fake blood drip from his body onto his shoes for a few seconds, before turning to admire his handiwork. Most of them were still in the process of dying, but the one he'd shot first appeared to be dead, smile frozen on her face. He knelt down, checking for a pulse to confirm it and finding none, contemplating for a moment why her death had come so quickly. She was older, so that may explain it, or perhaps the toxin had brought out some horrible past experience to terrible to relive. Shame he couldn't perform an autopsy at the moment. Ah well. She was dead with the smile still in place, and the screaming down the halls reminded him that the Joker would be requiring assistance.
He encountered no less than ten people on his way through the ward, following the screams, and disposed of them all with little trouble. Well, beyond the panicked orderly who'd managed to slam him into a wall, but that one had been force fed such an amount of the laughing gas that he was dead before the effects could even start. Jonathan could feel the start of bruises around his throat and was still angry about it, though the way the others he'd ran into had been running around like chickens with their heads cut off had helped to improve his mood. Panic had that lovely little way of blinding people to their surroundings, making running up to what seemed like a horrifically injured stranger and asking what was going on sound just perfectly logical. It was fantastic, and nicely contradictory given that the 'flight' in flight-or-fight response was supposed to lessen chance of death, not increase it. Had the Joker not been expecting him, he would have stopped to study it all.
Jonathan found the Joker in one of the triage areas, makeup reapplied, and slitting a nurse's throat. He watched the blood splatter strike the wall, red dripping down the tile like a twisted piece of modern art. "Hello, Jonny! How's it working out?"
"It works," he said, smiling. "Even after they're dead, I mean."
"Fantastic." He let the body collapse to the floor, taking Jonathan by the waist and lifting him into the air, spinning him around for a brief, dizzying second. The incongruity of such a romantic act in such a macabre situation might have amused him, were he not too busy being relieved at the Joker's touch. He hadn't realized how safe it made him feel until he was taken from the clown, and realized, somewhat, that this was the last person he should depend on for security, but he didn't care. As soon as his shoes touched the floor again, their lips were together, hard and passionate. He hoped they'd never stop, toxin be damned, and the kiss stretched out so long, he thought for a moment that it really might not end.
Of course it did, however, with the Joker pulling back. He tried leaning in a second time only to be pushed away, softly. "I've got things to do, kitten."
"Then can I come?" He was holding his hand like a child, but somehow, he didn't feel completely disgusted with himself for doing it. Even Scarecrow had nothing to say, though Jonathan couldn't tell if that was from agreement or repulsion. Probably repulsion.
"No. I need you to guard the doors." Holding his hand in return, Joker dragged him back through the hall, stepping over the bodies the pair had left in their wake, until they came to face the sliding glass doors that marked the entrance to the ER. "Anyone comes in, take 'em down. Think you can do that?"
He shook his wrist, listening to the sloshing from inside the canister. It still sounded fairly full. "Yes."
"Good. I'll be back soon, and don't worry, all right? I'll be on the lookout for guys wielding trash cans."
"And bats," Jonathan added, to the clown's retreating back.
He laughed. "I'm always on the lookout for bats, honey."
"Yes, but you'd enjoy running into him," Jonathan muttered, turning back to the doors. He told himself that he wasn't jealous. No, he just didn't want the Joker sent back to Arkham. What was he supposed to do without him? Certainly, he'd lived on his own, and evaded the Bat before, but never after crimes of this magnitude. The entire city would come down on them like a stack of bricks after this. At least the last time the Joker had attacked a hospital, it had been empty.
He sat on the counter of the nurses' station for about twenty minutes or so, getting up only to deal with the occasional newcomer, trying to convince himself that he wasn't concerned for the Joker's safety. He can take care of himself. That bank thing was a one-time slip up. Right. Just like the time with the bank manager and the shotgun. Or when he was in a semi truck as it flipped over. Or thrown out of a building. Or any of his other near death experiences. Maybe he wasn't that lucky, after all.
He tasted plastic in his mouth and realized he'd been trying to bite his nails through the Band-Aids. He pulled his fingers from his mouth and Hello Kitty stared up at him, her expressionless face somehow seeming to convey a sense of deep disappointment. "Hey, I'm trying to quit."
No response. Thank God he hadn't completely lost it and started hearing voices. Voices besides Scarecrow, anyway.
He was just about out of his mind with worry when the Joker returned, garbage bag swung over his shoulder like Santa Claus gone Satanic. "Hello kitten."
He resisted the urge to tackle-hug him, thankfully. His dignity would not have survived that. "Get what you needed?"
"Yep."
"Which is what?" he asked, eying the bag.
"You'll see." Joker put the bag on the floor, knotting the top. "Miss me?"
He nodded.
"I think you're becoming an addict, scaredy cat."
"Am not. I just feel safe around you. What's wrong with that?"
"Safe?" Joker repeated. A number of expressions flashed over his face, as if he wasn't sure whether to be amused, surprised, or annoyed at the information. He seemed to settle on a vague confusion. "You feel safe around me? I thought I scared the hell outta you."
"When you drugged me, yes." And the rest of the time as well, thought he didn't want to admit it and risk alienating the Joker. Still, even with the constant, if not powerful fear that Joker would eviscerate him for some minor offense hanging over his head, it was preferable to being around other, unknown people. "But not like this. I trust you."
"Well, that's no fun." Joker stepped behind the counter, searching through the cabinets. "I like it when you're afraid of me. Makes things more entertaining."
"What are you looking for?" he asked, suddenly apprehensive.
He laughed. "See, like that."
"That's not fear," Jonathan protested. Oh, this can't be good. "It's curiosity."
"Like hell it is. Found it!' he announced, straightening up. Jonathan turned to see what he was holding, only to find a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to lie down.
"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, forcing himself to breathe normally. Much like Scarecrow, Joker seemed to feed off fear—or any negative emotion—and he wasn't going to add fuel to the fire, not if he could help it. There were hands on his abdomen now, pulling the liquid latex off, the sensation painful. What remained of his shirt, the left sleeve that hadn't been removed before he'd begun his attack, was pulled off, used to wipe away as much of the blood and makeup as possible. "Joker?"
He felt the cold touch of metal against his body again, stiffening for a moment before he realized that whatever it was, it wasn't sharp.
"Seeing if I scare you."
"What?"
A sigh. "I'm listening to your heartbeat."
He blinked, going from apprehensive to totally lost. "Is that a stethoscope?"
"Yep. Quiet, I'm listening." A pause, about thirty seconds long. "It's pretty steady." He sounded disappointed.
"I told you, I'm not afraid of you."
"Really?" A hand brushed against his face. "Hey, it sped up a little."
"Yes, because I wasn't expecting to be touched, not because I was afraid."
"Mmm-hmm?" The Joker smirked. Oh, that couldn't signify anything good. The hand moved from his face to his throat, trailing lightly over the bruised skin. He felt the flesh where the hand had been break out in goose bumps, though a flush of heat was spreading through him. "Sped up again. Sure I don't make you nervous, Jonny?"
Does 'bothered and hot' count as nervous? he wondered. Of course it did, at least as far as the Joker was concerned. Any intimate activity with him was just as likely to end with painful, gruesome death as it was to end with cuddling. For the love of God, don't let this be the former.
Joker moved down again, this time to the end of his sternum. He stopped, listened, smirked.
"What?" Jonathan asked, trying very hard to ignore the way his pants suddenly felt tighter.
"You sound like Bambi's little rabbit friend."
He stared. "Who?"
"Thumper. God, I need to show you Disney sometime." He knelt down, lips close enough to Jonathan's throat that he could feel the breath there, when he next spoke. "Are you nervous?"
"N—" he began, and then the Joker's hand was moving down again, his tongue lightly moving over Jonathan's skin, and all he could do was moan.
"Are you being honest with me, kitten?"
His hand had paused at the start of Jonathan's pants, threatening to go no lower, and he could not stand for that. Not after that build-up. "I'm n-nervous," he said, knowing he was completely humiliating himself and not caring.
"I can tell," he said, tapping the end of the stethoscope with the hand still holding it. "Do you want me to stop?"
"No. God, no."
"You sure?" he asked, eyes glittering.
So he wants me to beg. Damn it. "Yes, I'm sure. Absolutely s-sure. Coming down from a mountaintop and starting a religion sure—just go on, you bastard!"
"Language, Jonny," he said, still smirking, but his hand went between the fabric and Jonathan's skin, moving down once more, and Jonathan lost the ability to care about his complete emasculation. Or anything for that matter, beyond the sensation.
AN: Sorry if the sexiness traumatized anyone for life. I thought it came across as fairly normal, almost cute foreplay (given the couple and the situation, anyway) but when I mentioned it to a friend he nearly died. So if I've given you horrible mental scars, I apologize.