I think long and hard when he's done antagonizing me (for laughing! Honestly! Come on!) and finally set myself at his Ikea!desk propped against the wall. My feet don't touch the floor. The seat is a 'Guiness' bar-stool. It's not a suitable chair, and this is not a suitable life.

I scratch things down on a piece of paper and pray to a God I'm still questioning Cleave won't see me. I make two lists, the paper divided down the middle, and to the left it says 'Pros'. To the right, it reads 'Cons'.

I huddle over and start writing. Under 'pros' it reads: 'Nice, always willing to make me laugh, smiles all the time, will clearly get me out of near death situations' and, for good measure, I look around and then write, 'Good sex (?)'.

I'm still working on remembering that last one. Was it so traumatic I blocked it out? If it was, Cleave's in up to his neck. That's break-up material to the max.

The cons section reads a number of things: 'Psychotic murderer, Psychotic murderer, Psychotic murderer, Psychotic murderer, bad moods are dangerous, psychotic murderer'. I chew the rainbow-colored eraser of the pencil and ignore the slight sting at the forefront of my head. The gash at the side doesn't look as repulsive, but it sure as fuck feels like Mario threw a hammer into my brain.

That's a good reason not to bear a child, right? Psychotic murderer?

A child with the genetics of a psychotic murderer. It sounds suitable enough to me, but—

"Joker..." That voice is unmistakable. I freeze up. My spine goes tense. I'm reminded of something Cleave said, something earlier—

"…don't go a-wanderin' around. Or standin' in front of the wind-duh-ows…."

I feel like someone dipped me in a tub full of ice water. My skin chills, and I realize—

"Ah ah, now, ah—Battsy, don't make me call the coppers on yooou." His giggle is sporadic, and the sound that follows is a dull thud. I can hear his feet scratching against the wall and, after I've ducked under the desk, I'm panicking.

Why is he so close to here?

He'll see me he'll see me he'll see me…

"—Ivy—" is the only word I catch out of his Bat-mumbles, and Cleave collapses into another fit of subtle laughs. I can hear the expression in his voice. It's wide, arrogant, and I can picture him in my head wiggling his eyebrows and purring in the worst way possible.

"I don't know a ding-dang-diddly about this Iiiiiivy you're—ah—a-talkin' about. Why would I know anything, anyway?"

"You're always connected, we all know it. You know something.—"He pauses, I hear it in his tone. I shake, "Where's your girl, Joker? Where is she?"

"Buried her in the yard with Lassie, Bat-cakes. She wasn't playing nice, so I just had to play naughty."

I play naughty but—for you, I just might have to play nice…

His voice makes me break out into gooseflesh, the Bat's. All I can remember is the frail aspect of mortality hanging by a thread, my inability to crawl away, the smell of how close death is when it finally hits you. Minutes, seconds, ticking away. My stomach ties into knots. If he kicks Cleave enough, will he give up the ghost? If he prods harder, will Cleave rat me out?

Why are they outside?

This is so unfair. I've got a handicap. How can I be expected to do anything when my head's throbbing?

Unconsciously, in the betraying part of my brain, I realize I won't be able to consider this baby concept any longer if good ol' Bat-for-brains leaves me bleeding and split wide open on the unforgiving cement. I note that 'Batman' is a con.

After all, being in a relationship with Cleveland also comes with Batman as a bonus accessory.

"Ivy wouldn't bother with him, anyway, she just isn't that kinda gaaal."

The next thing I know, he's strutting right in from absolutely nowhere. I stare up with wide, grey eyes from under the desk. I think I've never paled this hard in my entire life.

He kneels down to offer a hand to help me out, and grinning, he speaks, "The walls are full of tricks and bricks and things like clocks that also tick."

Within seconds, from what I swear are brief feet away from our abode, the sound of a tremendous explosion goes off.

And I pale harder.

Is he insane?

Strike that.

Is he insaner?