Disclaimer: Batman is owned by DC Comics and whoever else owns it. I in no way claim it as my own; I'm just borrowing. Any OCs are mine and the plot is also mine, except for anything from TDK.

A/N: Sorry for the unannounced hiatus, but life happens. Updates will be infrequent unless I get a burst of inspiration.

I'd like to thank Lynx Klaw for reviewing my first fic. (Chapter by chapter no less!) If you read this, I'm glad you like the story.

Queen Takes Pawn

by Syrenia

Chapter Six - Blackbird's Song

A scream. A vase shattering against the wall. A pained scream.

Crow had dodged the vase, alright, but an array of large shards that were produced as it shattered against the wall were now lodged into her body.

She sank to her knees with a strangled breath, and not even the Joker who had thrown the vase could stop her men and some of his own from rushing to her.

Blood poured out of her fresh, new wounds. One large shard was stuck in her side, another, slightly smaller, protruding from her upper arm, and small ones were littered about.

The Joker watched blankly as the more medically knowledgeable of their henchmen shouted orders to the others - orders he couldn't quite hear.

Everything was foggy for the clown; he hadn't meant to supply her wounds that might be fatal.

"It's a good sign she's not bleedin' at the mouth," a plain thug with some medical know-how assured some of the others who were more frozen with worry.

However, Crow herself was halfway hiccuping in short breaths, the shock clouding her brain. She couldn't even feel the pain yet, Chelsie inside of her and crying out in the darkness.

Chelsie wasn't afraid to die, but that didn't mean she wanted to. Not now, at least, as there was so much left that she could accomplish, like helping Crow find out the Bat's identity or eventually finding a way to spring Jonathan and his Scarecrow from Arkham. No, she did not want to die - not now and not for a good while to come.

"Apply pressure around the wounds," ordered the same thug, others complying.

"Did it hit a vital organ?" one clown-masked henchman questioned.

The other one sighed, but replied favorably, "I think it was damn near close, but not quite."

Crow stared ahead, still on her knees; her eyes were unseeing.

"It ain't like we can take 'er to a hospital, sos I think we'd do best by removin' the shards ourselves, fellas," a different man in a clown mask suggested.

Suddenly, Crow's eyes rolled back and she abruptly fainted.

The Joker watched the henchmen work on Crow. None of them would even look in his direction, and whether it was because they were too focused on the brunette or because they were secretly pissed at him, he didn't know.

"Is she gonna die?" one clown-masked henchman finally asked, everyone glaring at him a moment before wordlessly returning to their jobs.

Of course she would live, the Clown Prince reasoned; she was Crow, a very resilient woman.

She couldn't die on him just like that.

He was feeling... dread; he didn't want to be the reason for his own toy's untimely death.

This time, their fight had started out simple enough; Crow had refused to quit the toxin business, even when he told her it wasn't a request. He didn't want her dealing with the mob. Dealings with the mob could get you killed.

Ironic how he endangered her life over an attempt to keep her safe.

Not that he had actually been aiming the vase at her.

And who was stupid enough to buy a vase and leave it right in his path anyway?

It's not like a villain hideout required flowers for shit's sake!

"Is she breathin'?" he heard someone ask.

"Barely," replied another.

He couldn't take it; without a word to anyone, he left the warehouse.

The clown went away from the warehouse, aimlessly wandering alleyways.

He remembered acutely now how he felt when he found his pregnant wife dead, the memory itself playing out in his head, a memory that had long been buried.

He shook his head, attempting to throw out the memory and only succeeding in slightly dislodging it.

Jeannie he had loved as Jack, but he didn't love Crow, so why was he feeling this way - feeling like it was his fault that someone he actually cared for was dead?

It would be a miracle if she didn't die, after all.

He held his head as he walked the street, a knife gripped in his hand for some kind of comfort.

'I don't love her. Don't love her,' he assured himself in his confused mind.

But if he didn't love her, why did it matter so much that she was hurt? Why did it matter that he may be the reason for her death? Why did he want to know she was alright?

Questions continually ran through his thoughts, disturbing him - plaguing his mind.

And so on they went until a tiny voice in the back of his mind whispered, 'You care about her...'

Eventually, Crow's wounds were under some sort of control, heavily bandaged.

Her current location was in a cot in the makeshift infirmary in her warehouse hideout.

One clown-masked thug and one plain one sat on guard beside her sleeping body.

The Maroni-lent thug had dark blue eyes and short, spiked grey hair while the one in a clown mask wore his hair long in a dark brown shade, his eyes that were mostly obscured behind the mask a dark green.

"So what were they fightin' about that got the Joker so pissed?" asked the plain-clothed thug, looking to the one in the mask.

"Same thing Boss has been fightin' with 'er about for almost a month since he found out she was dealin' with the mob," the other replied with a helpless shrug.

The other man snorted, "Why's that guy actin' like he gives a rat's about 'er?"

"Dunno, Joe," replied the other with a more clueless shrug. "But Boss is pretty distracted by 'er. I mean, I've never known the guy to be followin' after dames, sos he must see somethin' special in 'er."

"Crow's a helluva lot nicer than the clown or the crazy ex-doctor," pointed out the Maroni-lent man thoughtfully. "Don't see why 'er type's attractin' such crazies."

"Well, ya gotta admit she's a li'l bit off," the clown thug reminded him.

"It's understandable with what she went through with the ex-doc," said the other man insistently, having been around for the birth of Crow. "I've been around since before she started up with that Crow personality, and it all started after our ol' lead thug raped 'er and then she saw his bloody death at Crane's hands... She just kinda lost some sanity after that."

They sat in silence afterward, watching the blackbird sleep.

The next day, Chelsie woke up slowly, a sharp pain in her side making her groan.

Opening her eyes, her stormy gaze noticed she was in the warehouse's makeshift infirmary, and she was lying on a small cot.

She was hardly able to move, the pain in her side and arm causing dots in her vision.

"You, ah... shouldn'-t move," a familiar voice advised, Chelsie looking to her left to see the clown sitting in a nearby chair, twirling around one of his damned knives.

She glared at him briefly before looking away and up to the ceiling, resting back into the bed with an annoyed huff.

Chelsie didn't expect him to apologize, of course; he would have to acquire a working heart to do that. So in return, she decided not to grace him with a single word, eyes glued to the ceiling as she glowered up at it.

Crow was still in the back of her mind, brooding and being angry at the clown for nearly killing them both.

Suddenly, Crow took over after Chelsie blinked away.

"Why are you here, puddin' pop?" she demanded with barely concealed anger in her tone, eyes staring at the ceiling. "Come to see if your aim was better than it looked?"

He fidgeted uncomfortably, "I wasn'-t aiming for you, dollfac-e."

The brunette snorted, then spoke disbelievingly, "Whatever you say, lambiekins."

"Look. Listen," he said, his serious tone making her look over at him as he stared at the wall past her. "I kill you and there'sss no one to rule Gotham with. I don'-t wan-t to kill you."

"Then maybe you should try not to throw things in my general vicinity," she snapped at him with a snarl, quickly looking away, her cheeks flushed with anger.

"I gotta protect my Chelsie, so I think you should... take a hike... You know... have a nice day... somewhere else," she alluded to him leaving not so tactfully, waving a dismissive hand in his general direction.

He growled, replying, "No, no, no... You're mine now, little Crow."

Crow's stormy eyes narrowed as she stared ahead of her and grit her teeth; she was no man's possession. The brunette didn't appreciate anyone claiming ownership of her like an object. She knew what it felt like all too well, remembering all those years with that goth prick of a boyfriend Chelsie once latched herself onto.

However, the blackbird held her tongue; Crow was not in the mood to get killed before she was on top of the game. No, she still had something left to do.

Instantly, a tune came into her mind, a smile forming on her lips.

She crossed her arms behind her head and lapped one leg over the other as she began to hum Diana Krall's version of Bye Bye Blackbird.

The Clown Prince watched her closely, noticing the drastic change in demeanor. He didn't know the soft tune she was humming, but from her unexpected reaction, he knew she had something up her sleeve - some ace in the hole he could only ponder at.

When didn't she have something up her sleeve?