The First Responder

by The Queen of Mean

They say that money is the root of all evil... Or perhaps, the lack of it could be considered the basis of all evil. Either way, this Gotham City paramedic finds herself in way over her head when the Joker makes her an offer he would not let her refuse. Rated M for adult situations, violence, and language. **Warning: much darker than the Jayde series**

12. Skin Deep

Leila stared down at the wet, soapy pillowcase in her hands, scowling as she flexed her aching fingers. Despite what she had guessed to the contrary, it seemed the Joker did, in fact, use permanent hair dye. She had been working on scrubbing the acid green stain from the linen for what felt like an hour by that point. Apparently, just the fact that his hair had been wet while lying in her bed was enough to leave faint but noticeable marks on the white material, evidence of her attempt at kindness toward the man. Fortunately, the smudges of greasepaint had come out with a simple run through the washing machine, but that damn hair dye was proving to be more stubborn. Leila did not know if she would ever fully understand what she had been thinking.

Yet, the day before, after he had slept for more than two hours and gotten dressed in his clean, customary purple ensemble, Joker had seemed more relaxed, less uptight in some miniscule way. Leila could only imagine that he was feeling better at finally being clean for once, after a comfortable sleep in a decent bed and although she wanted to feel some sort of annoyance that he had so blatantly exploited her compassion, she could not help but feel proud of herself. She had upheld her standards of how to deal with people who mistreated her and hoped it would somehow pay off in the long run. For then, however, Leila was getting the idea that her pillowcase was permanently and hopelessly ruined. So instead of wasting more time and effort on it, she gave it up as a bad job. Into the trashcan it went.

Upon Joker's departure the previous day, Leila had closed the door behind him and locked it, not that it helped, and had spent the remainder of the day battling thrills of anxiety over whether she had opened a proverbial can of worms. By allowing him to take a shower and sleep at her house that one time, would he think that she had somehow given him unspoken permission to do this on a regular basis? While she knew that this was most certainly not the case, she still had to wonder if he might show up in another two weeks, expecting the same royal treatment. That could not happen. But what could she do to prevent this? He was going to show up either way, she knew that, but there had to be some way she could make it so he did not need a shower...

Perhaps she could simply buy him a shower of his own. That made sense to her, seeing how he had complained or rather stated that he only had a sink in his 'house', which made staying clean and smelling fresh nearly impossible. But was there even such a thing as a 'portable shower'? If there was, surely it was bound to be very expensive and large, cumbersome to move or give to him in some discreet way. No, once she thought it through, a whole shower seemed a little too much. It was already a miracle in itself that she had told him point blank, to his face, that he smelled uncannily like a dumpster and lived to tell the tale, so she had to think that giving him an entire shower would be pushing her luck a little too hard. Her assistance had to be small, almost unnoticeable for what it was, something tactful but helpful, something that would make it completely unnecessary for him to come over to use her amenities.

With a sudden realization, Leila sat straight up; she knew exactly what to do. Rising from her seat on the couch, she glanced at the time on the front of her cable box, and upon seeing that she only had one hour left before she needed to be at work, she hurried into her bedroom to throw on her uniform and boots. Within minutes of this, she was headed out the door, saying a quick goodbye to Murphy and mentally running through a checklist for what she needed to buy.

Seeing how her shopping list was not that extensive, her trip into the store did not take nearly as long as she had expected it to and within twenty minutes, she was back in her car, setting the plastic bag of toiletries in the passenger seat beside her. For several long moments, she sat there, staring at the printed label on the plastic, wondering if there was any possible way for the Joker to grow angry or even embarrassed by her thoughtfulness. Part of her was quite tempted to run back into the store and return everything, but at the same time, she knew he truly needed these things. Not only that, but she needed them, for not only her privacy but her sanity as well. It was a horrifying thought but Leila had a very strong suspicion that Joker might be the type to come climbing into her shower while she was already in it. That was a situation she would very much like to avoid. If he killed her for her kindness, well...at least she could say she tried.

There was absolutely no point in returning home before work, so after carefully concealing the bag of 'gifts' for Joker beneath the passenger seat, Leila turned her car onto the street in the direction of the firehouse, figuring that Jay would be there by then and she could pass the time talking with him. As she drove, she allowed her mind to wander through a plan for how to get the bag of personal items to the Joker, preferably without direct contact with him and most especially without having to see him face to face. The last time she had seen him, he had been standing shirtless in her apartment and Leila was not keen to be caught blushing again. Yes, she did find him vile and repulsive, but alas, he was still a man, half-naked in her living room. Yet another reason to give him these things; she did not want him in her house unless he was fully clothed and there for a specific purpose. These unannounced visits were starting to wear on her nerves.

As expected, Jay had already arrived at the station before Leila and was inside the break room when she found him, thumbing his way through something on his phone and looking somewhat grumpy. Upon hearing her entrance, he glanced up, shaking his head as he set down his phone.

Leila stepped into the doorway, motioning to the device. "Everything alright?" she asked, frowning as Jay rolled his eyes.

"Yeah," he answered, his word escaping in the midst of a heavy sigh. "Just got an email from one of Kyle's teachers saying he's got a 'D' in chemistry, but that's not surprising. I failed chemistry in high school too." Jay paused, looking Leila up and down as though he had only just noticed she was there. His eyes bounced down to the watch on his wrist. "What are you doing here so early? You got another half hour before our shift starts."

Leila opened her mouth to reply but hesitated for a split second, wondering why she had not previously thought of something to say when asked this question. Although she supposed a trip to the store did seem innocent to an objective, outside party. Shrugging, she smiled, motioning with her thumb over her shoulder to the door through which she had just come. "I needed to run by the store for a few things and didn't feel like going back home." she answered. "Plus, I figured you'd be here already."

At the table, Jay let out a laugh, rubbing two fingers across his forehead firmly. "Yeah, this is my only hour of 'me time'," he explained.

Leila nodded, giving him a sympathetic smile. "Well, I'll leave you to it," she offered, but paused when Jay shook his head and opened his mouth, likely to say that he did not mind the company. "It's okay! I need to put my bag away anyways! You just enjoy your time alone with Jay. I'll be out in the dock."

With her bag stowed away in her locker, Leila ventured out into the empty docking bay, where it appeared that both ambulance and fire truck were currently out on a call and with a sigh, she took a seat at the tall workbench-style desk along the wall. She patted the pockets of her work pants, double checking that she had both phones with her. Ever since the night of the missed call, she had been almost obsessive about her 'work' phone, constantly checking her pockets or purse or the tables nearby, to be sure it was within range, close enough to be retrieved relatively quickly if it were to ring. Fortunately, aside from the previous day when it had woken her up at three in the morning, it had been silent.

It was not long before Leila looked up to see the familiar back end of a deep blue Jeep Grand Cherokee pulling into the space next to her gold Camry and within a few seconds, Matt was climbing out, slinging his bag over his shoulder. There was an unmistakable glow about his appearance that day and Leila stifled a snort of laughter as she remembered his date with the blond medical examiner two nights prior.

Once he had gotten close enough, she spoke. "How did it go?" she asked in a purposely offhanded tone of voice, hoping to surprise him into an honest answer.

A huge, silly grin nearly split his face in half as he pulled an expensive pair of sunglasses away from his eyes. "Awesome," he answered. "Saw her again last night, actually."

Leila laughed, shaking her head as Matt combed a few fingers through the front of his carefully coiffed hairstyle. "Knowing your charm, I'm sure she was simply powerless to resist." she mumbled sarcastically, raising her eyebrows as her handsome colleague cast her a dark look. Though just as he opened his mouth to reply, the door to the station house swung open and Jay stepped out, his face lighting up in a teasing, mischievous grin when he saw Matt, who, in turn, promptly flushed a shade of pink.

"O-o-o-h, Mister Casanova, fresh off a date, I see!" Jay crooned loudly, thumping Matt hard on the chest. "Did she say what a charming and handsome young man you are? Did she tell you how stunning your baby blue eyes are?" he continued, raising his voice to be heard, even when Matt slipped quickly into the firehouse, his ears practically glowing red. Jay looked at Leila, grinning widely as she laughed. "I never get tired of pokin' fun at that kid."

After a while, the joking and teasing died down and Jay and Leila were treated to a very misty-eyed account of Matt's two dates with the medical examiner, which, according to him, had ended with him taking her home at midnight, though neither of his coworkers were fool enough to believe that. Jay was warning Matt about the perils of sleeping with random girls and Matt was defending himself to Leila's immense amusement, when the door to the bay opened and their supervisor, Mitchell, poked his head around the corner.

He glanced at all three of them before stepping out. "Oh, I'm glad you guys are still here," he breathed, setting a piece of paper on the desk on Leila's left. "I got a memo this morning asking the Houses to try and conserve gas by staying at the station when not on a call. I guess-" At that, he paused and looked out into the parking lot, the team mimicking his motion to find that the familiar ambulance belonging to Station House 14 had pulled in. Mitchell continued. "I guess the price of diesel has gone up again so they want us to cut back where we can."

As the lead medic on the team, Jay nodded in compliance, shifting out of the way so the ambulance could pull in behind him. "You got it, boss man."

Leila supposed it was a good thing Mitchell had relayed the memo to the team before their shift, as nearly four hours later, they had yet to receive a call and normally, they would have gone out cruising around, wasting precious gasoline. With nothing to do but restock the ambulance, it was the first shift Leila had ever worked where she could admit she was officially bored. It seemed Matt felt some of that same restlessness as he sighed heavily, pushing an unopened box of latex gloves into a compartment.

"This is weird, don't you guys think?" he asked, turning to hop down from the truck and take a seat on the metal step above the back bumper. His eyes swiveled from Leila to Jay and back again, waiting for an answer.

Jay was the first to speak as Leila was currently focused on pointlessly reorganizing the multiple rows of tiny, glass, liquid medicine bottles. "What's that?" he asked, not bothering to look up from where he was flipping through a stack of papers, itemizing their inventory.

Matt tossed his hands into the air, indicating their surprisingly calm surroundings. "This!" he exclaimed. "The fact that we haven't gotten a call yet and it's already eight o'clock!" He paused, glancing back over his shoulder at Leila, who was forcefully ignoring him. She already knew where he was headed with this line of comments. "I mean...Leila, have you ever worked a shift where you got literally no calls?"

Still refusing to turn her head to look at him, she merely shrugged, shifting a bottle of Alprazolam to trade places with the closely named Alazopram. "Nope." she answered simply.

"See?" Matt continued. "It's almost too weird, you know what I mean? Almost like-"

"No, Matt, don't," Jay cut in, holding up a hand. "Don't start with that Joker shit again. It's been weeks-"

Leila felt her stomach drop to her ankles at the sound of the name. Now she definitely could not turn around.

"Exactly!" Matt went on, sounding more and more like an insane conspiracy theorist. "It's been almost a month since anyone's heard anything about him. Doesn't it seem like he's planning something big again? Like the calm before the storm?"

"And I guess part of his elaborate plan is to make all the nine-one-one calls in the city just...disappear? You really think that's what's goin' on, Matt?" he asked, but then had obviously looked to their third team member for support as she heard him say her name. "Leila? You believe what he's sayin' over here?"

Fixing a carefully nonchalant expression to her face, she turned, glancing between the two guys, her eyebrows raised. "Oh, no, I stopped bickering with him over that weeks ago," she said, thankful they could not hear how hard her heart was beating. "It's like you said, Jay," she went on, turning back to the bottles. "If Matt wants to be a paranoid princess about it, let him."

With that, the team went back to their time-wasting; Matt, huffing and grumbling under his breath, Jay, laughing quietly to himself and Leila, back to pretending to do something important. While she was almost entirely positive the strange lull in action was not caused by the Joker, she did wonder if she ought to ask him about any 'elaborate plans' he may or may not have been cooking up. There was a very good chance he would lie to her no matter what the answer was, but she did not think there would be any harm in asking. At least she hoped there would be no harm...

The sun had dipped below the horizon, the streetlights had come on an hour or so prior, and the team was about to draw straws to see which of them would make the trip to a nearby Starbucks when the calm quiet through the docking bay was shattered by an ear-piercing, shrill ring. Contrary to how it had been in the past, Leila did not waste one second in wondering dazedly whose phone it was. Both Matt and Jay looked at her expectantly as she quickly fumbled in her cargo pockets for the device. 'Unknown' was calling. Rolling her eyes, she held up a finger to her coworkers, hoping to give the impression that whoever was calling was providing a great annoyance by doing so. She felt a little like vomiting.

Once she had taken several large but discreet steps away from her colleagues to the opening of the bay, she answered, sliding a few more feet away, just to be safe. "Yes?"

"I'm dyin', Doc," came the voice of the Joker, sounding rather matter-of-fact for a person nearing death. "I need ya."

Leila paused, her eyebrows practically touching in the middle of her forehead. "You don't sound like you're dying..." she answered, lowering her voice when she noticed Matt glance over his shoulder in her direction.

"I pride myself on my ability to stay calm in the face of dire situations," replied Joker in a very monotone, flat voice, before it hitched back up into the more grating octave. "So you're on your way. Great."

Leila first looked at her watch before back at Jay and Matt, before replying. "If I don't come now you're definitely gonna die?" she asked, feeling more and more like she was really pushing his patience as there was a deep, annoyed sigh on the other end of the call.

"Yessssss," he groaned, in a pitch remarkably close to a whine. A second later, he was all business again. "Get here within fifteen minutes or you're fired. And I doubt you need reminding as to what 'fired' means." Click.

Goosebumps crawled along Leila's skin as she tucked the phone into her pocket, turning to walk over toward Matt and Jay, who were still discussing that trip to Starbucks. She sighed, shaking her head to make it seem as though that call had been completely unimportant.

As she predicted, Matt asked her first, relieving her of the duty of having to mention it. "Everything cool?" he asked, nodding toward her pocket with his head.

Leila waved a hand. "Yeah, it was my mom," she answered as airily as possible, meanwhile wondering how many of her allotted fifteen minutes she would waste lying to her friends. "She's begging me to come over there...Swears she's dying of food poisoning."she finished with a convincing roll of her eyes. "Do you guys mind if I head out early?"

Matt's face formed a sincere expression of concern as he turned more fully to face her. Leila felt her heart sink. "Do you want us all to go over there? I mean we're just sitting here and I'm sure-"

"No!" She answered with a bit more enthusiasm than she had intended, so she tried again, turning her volume down a bit. "No, it's really not necessary," she said calmly. "She's never been able to handle sickness well. I'm going to end up rubbing her back while she pukes. It's really nothing serious."

To her luck, Jay nodded, looking at his watch, his brow furrowed. "Yeah, you can head out. It's already nine and at this point, I'm kinda doubtin' we'll be doing anything too crazy on a Monday night. Tell your mom we hope she gets better though."

Leila had never felt as guilty in her life as she did leaving the station house. When had lying become so easy for her? That answer was simple; when she had completely abandoned her set of personal morals for a bit of cash. At least it still makes me feel like shit, she thought miserably. When it doesn't, I know I'm in trouble.

With her car once again parked in the narrow lane outside Riverside Auto Shop, Leila hesitated before climbing out, her eyes staring through the passenger seat to the bag she knew was beneath it. The urge to pretend she had never bought those things was great, but her desire to avoid more green-stained pillowcases and unexpected shower visits was greater. At least she had arrived on time to 'save' the Joker's life; perhaps this would weaken the blow she would receive if her 'gifts' were to offend him.

After stuffing the plastic bag into her kit, she climbed out and walked to the familiar rusty door, knocking and waiting for whoever would answer. A few moments later, it opened and Max stood in the way, smirking from between his lank curtains of greasy straight hair. Leila's eyes immediately dropped to the bandage wrapped around his right forearm and she motioned to it as she stepped inside behind him.

"Is it feeling alright?" she asked, in reference to the row of stitches she had applied the previous morning. Ahead of her, Max nodded but did not elaborate and instead, pointed toward the stairs leading up to the room where she knew Joker's 'lair' to be. Her stomach clenched. What sort of mess was she about to encounter? Was he really as hurt as he had expressed on the phone? Suddenly, she wished she had not brought the bag of toiletries in with her. The whole idea seemed more stupid than ever.

Trotting up the stairs, Leila could feel her heart banging hard on the inside of her ribcage, her mind conjuring up images of the Joker with his small intestine exposed, a few fingers missing, or a bullet hole in his chest. It was one thing to treat those sorts of wounds with an entire ambulance and team of fellow professionals at her disposal. Doing it all herself and expecting to live through the experience seemed foolish to the point of insanity, as surely, the Joker would summon enough strength to cut her throat or blow her brains out if he sensed his wounds were beyond her capabilities. Swallowing hard on the increasingly familiar lump in her throat, she continued until she found herself in the doorway to the dimly lit 'bedroom', where she found her patient, already seated, waiting, in his rickety, rolling desk chair. A wad of brown, generic paper towel was wrapped around his middle finger.

"What's up?" she asked, hurrying into the room and setting her kit down on the cluttered desk.

Across from her, Joker sat up in his chair, rolling his shoulders to shrug off his temporarily clean, green vest before tossing it carelessly onto the dingy mattress behind him. "I uh-" he began, frowning at his wrapped finger as he held it out in front of him. "-had a little accident, I guess you could say."

Leila glanced over her shoulder at him as she pulled on a pair of gloves, the apparent urgency of the situation causing her hands to tremble more than she would have liked. "Alright, come closer to the light so I can see it."

Using only his long legs, Joker wheeled himself closer to the desk, wearing an odd, smug sort of smirk as he placed his hand on the surface. She ignored his expression for the time being, hoping to look as calm and professional as possible while she turned his wrist with her fingers, so she could slowly, carefully begin unwinding the paper towel.

However, the more she uncovered his finger, the more she noticed a very suspicious lack of blood, until finally, she was left staring down at a small, shallow cut along the inside middle knuckle of his finger. Her hands dropped to her sides with a resounding plop as she straightened up to stare down into the Joker's glistening, black-ringed eyes.

The scarred corners of his mouth twitched as he clearly struggled against the urge to laugh at her expression. "What?" he asked in a tone no one could ever believe was innocent.

Leila motioned at his hand, laying palm-up on the desk in front of him. "Are you kidding me?" she asked sharply, forgoing any attempt at disguising her annoyance. "I lied to get out of work early because you said you were dying."

"It huuuuuurts..." he whined, his words interlaced with laughter as he rocked back in the chair, clutching his finger. "And you weren't doing anything important-"

"I was working!" she exclaimed, leaning forward into her kit to pull out the plastic bag. If he was going to lure her to his hovel for nothing more than a cut, then she might as well give him his damn 'gifts' before she left.

"You still are," Joker reminded her, squinting a very cheeky wink as he pointed one of his uninjured fingers at her. It seemed to Leila that he was about to go on, but was distracted by the items she was pulling from the bag and placing on the desk in front of him. His scowl was so deep, it was almost audible. "What's all this?" he asked, motioning to not one, but two sticks of men's deodorant.

Leila fished a green toothbrush from the bag and dropped it unceremoniously onto the desk, followed by a pair of nail clippers. "This is a 'stink prevention care package'," she explained, the bite to her voice still present, though not as sharp. She really could not care less at that point whether he as offended by her thoughtfulness. If he killed her for it, so be it. "You complained about only having a sink so I got you a few things." Finally, she glanced at Joker to find that his expression had completely fallen flat in the most comical way possible, his eyebrows heavy atop his eyes, his scars drooping.

His lips smacked slightly before he spoke. "With my money," he amended her statement, motioning with one lazy finger at the items before him. "How very thoughtful of me."

"Well, now you have no excuse to smell bad," she grumbled, hoping at the very least, he would use the deodorant and toothpaste. "And luckily, I found a new type of bandage at the store that I think will be perfect for dressing your cut."

As Joker leaned back in the chair, his black eyebrows raised in anticipation, Leila pulled a box from inside her kit and opened it, selecting one of the bandages inside. She knew the grin on her face was dangerous to wear at that moment, but she really couldn't help it. If he was going to taunt and jerk her around for no other reason than his own amusement, it was only fair that she do the same, though in a much smaller sense. Unwrapping the paper from around the bandage, she used her pinkies to spread his fingers apart until they were wide enough to wrap both sides of the elastic adhesive around the cut. She then stepped back, biting hard on her bottom lip to prevent a giggle from escaping.

It was a Barbie band-aid.

Joker brought his hand closer to his face, his scowl deepening the creased lines in his makeup as he studied the small, pink bandage around his finger, flexing and turning it to read the words 'You're a superstar!' printed along it. Leila held her breath, watching him closely for any indication that she might need to turn and run as fast as she could. However, when he simply sighed and leaned back in the chair, shaking his head, she finally allowed one ungraceful snort of laughter to escape through her nose.

"You got some balls, Doc, I'll give ya that," he commented, eyeing her profile as she grinned to herself, removing her useless latex gloves and stowing her box of band-aids in her kit.

"I couldn't resist," she answered in a relieved sigh. As unbelievable as it seemed, she was about to leave with both eyeballs and all of her extremities in tact. "Now I'd really like to go home if that's alright with you-"

"Ah, ah," Joker cut in, his expression morphing seamlessly into the sinister, narrowed glare Leila was coming to recognize as a precursor to trouble. Her stomach dropped as she hesitated with her hand on the straps to her bag of equipment, her mouth instantly going dry when she noticed his gaze drip down over her figure and back up again to her face. His head cocked to the side, his cleaner-than-usual green hair spilling onto his shoulder with the movement. "How am I supposed to take my face off without getting my lovely bandage wet? You're all about hygiene, aren't ya?"

Leila opened her mouth to reply, but hesitated, stammering once before she finally found an answer. "Yeah, but-" She paused to swallow, attempting to force some sort of moisture into her throat to ease her words. Once again, he was displaying his proclivity for overturning her boldness.

Joker clicked his tongue behind his yellowing teeth, reaching out with his uninjured hand to hook his pointer finger into the front belt loop of her black pants. A fuzzy, lightheaded sensation suddenly filled her brain, turning her thoughts of panic to nothing more than a blank static as he pulled her closer to him, one uncertain, wobbly step at a time.

"But nothing," he finished her previous statement, his voice dropping dangerously. "You said I had no excuse to be nasty and dirty anymore and...well, you're still here." Leila was now standing directly in front of him, her knees touching the faded purple material over his own, the contact alone making her feel sick, the same overwhelming tremors she had encountered the night he had 'treated' the cuts on her back. Joker tilted his head up, his eyebrows arching as he awaited an answer that was likely never to come. His black eyes glistened as he gave her belt loop one final, firm tug. "Sit."

Leila gasped as one of his brown shoes kicked the inside of her black boot, indicating silently that she was being instructed to part her legs and sit straddled on his lap facing him. She desperately did not want to do this. Joker seemed to sense her hesitation as in the next moment, he had reached out with both hands, firmly gripping her hips before forcing her onto him. A huff of surprise and fear escaped her lungs as she reluctantly obeyed, but attempted to situate herself as far back on his knees as possible. With less than a foot between their chests, Joker nodded his head in the direction of the kit sitting on the desk behind her.

"You might need that."

Fumbling fingers reached out toward the handles of the bag as she twisted tremulously on his lap, dragging the heavy kit from the surface and onto the floor beside her where it landed with a dull, clanking thud. She extracted the same items she had used weeks ago in the ambulance; gauze and hydrogen peroxide. Her hand momentarily strayed toward the bottle of rubbing alcohol, debating whether she was foolish enough to attempt to throw this in his eyes before making a quick exit through the door. No, she could not do that. The scars on his face spoke plainly of a man who was not averse to pain. It was unlikely any of his victims in the past had escaped after attempting to blind him.

Sitting up straight on his legs, Leila stared down at the first pad of gauze, her eyes straying briefly to his suspenders where the left strap fastened to his pants. She knew her callousness and stupid wit would not go unpunished, but this was not what she had been expecting. With the pad moistened and dripping peroxide, she lifted her eyes to his evil, gruesome face, where he sat watching her, his hands still rested on either side of her hips, lightly, but heavily enough to remind her they were there. Leila struggled to ignore this as she reached out toward the top corner of his face, to start at his brown hairline where the green dye had grown out.

It was a slow process at first, seeing how Leila's fingers were trembling so bad, she managed to drop two pieces of gauze in a row, though after a minute or two, she had started a gentle rhythm of wiping the greasepaint from his face in long, even motions. It was the same as it had been in the ambulance that first night; the dirty, faded white paint came away with ease, exposing his flesh-toned skin beneath it, freckled and smooth in some areas, creased with lines of normal aging in others. Joker had closed his eyes at some point and if he had not been drumming his fingers in an almost impatient manner against her hip, Leila might have guessed he had fallen asleep. The room was perfectly silent, their breathing creating the only sound, off rhythm from one another, yet slow, even. Inhale, exhale...Inhale, exhale. He had not said a word nor barely moved and for this, she was immensely thankful. Sitting on his lap was punishment enough without any mocking. Her heartbeat was deafening.

The gauze had reached his eyebrows, leaving a glistening, wet trail of peroxide in its wake as she rolled her finger gently across his left eyelid, taking black makeup along with it. His eyelashes and brows lightened into a shade of brown to match his natural hair as the greasepaint was removed, adding to the human appearance that she found so odd with this man. Her fear was ebbing and curiosity taking its place as she watched more and more of his face become visible to her, each time the gauze passed over his skin. However, a new apprehension was bubbling to the surface as she wiped white paint from the bridge of his nose.

How many people had seen the Joker without his characteristic mask of makeup? What was more, how many of those people had lived to talk about it? In the ambulance on the night of his original capture, Leila had not been forced to remove all of it, having stopped just shy of his scars and right eye. Was he really allowing her to see his naked face? What were the chances that Leila would be allowed to leave on her own volition after this? Swallowing down the urge to panic, she continued with her ministrations, glancing down to wet a new piece of gauze.

As her fingers resumed contact with his face, Leila gave a start of surprise when Joker shifted his weight beneath her, rocking to the side slightly. It had been so long since he had moved that Leila had nearly forgotten she was sitting on his lap. It seemed her mind had unconsciously decided to take her to another place, some place less dangerous and awkward, by blocking that particular thought. Joker had brought her back down to her personal hell with one simple movement and she hated him for that. A very slow, steadying breath of air escaped through her nose as she wiped the last of the white from his cheek, just millimeters above his violent scars.

This was it; she had reached the part she was most anxious to avoid. The first night she had met him, foolish fascination had opened a desire to touch his scars, see what the rippled, disfigured skin felt like beneath her gloved fingers. That night, she had been surrounded by other people, Matt, the armed guard standing over the Joker's shoulder. Now, however, she was completely alone, isolated in a small room with the same terrorist and there was no armed guard. What if she touched him the wrong way? Would he give her some warning, a growl or open his eyes to glare at her? His eyelids were still closed and had been that way since she had started. Leila stared at him for several long seconds as she hesitated with the wet gauze only inches from his face. She had to do it or he would wonder why she stopped, possibly even grow angry at her for making him wait.

As gently as she could, she pressed the gauze to the topmost, curved portion of the right, more symmetrical scar on his face, her gaze snapping to his eyes when she both felt and heard him take a slow, deep breath in through his nose. They were still closed. Was that sigh of boredom? Impatience? Or was he simply indicating silently that he did not hate what she was doing, giving her permission to continue? With her curiosity growing and her paranoia mounting, she went on, gliding her finger slowly, carefully along the scar toward the corner of his mouth, feeling the jagged skin ripple and curve beneath the cotton.

Ten fingers simultaneously twitched against her hips as the pad of her finger traveled along his bottom lip, pausing in the middle to wipe red makeup away from the deep, vertical scar there. Leila's eyes again shifted away from where they had focused on her movement to the loosened neckline of his blue shirt, where she saw the skin at the base of his throat erupt in a coating of small bumps. Her finger came away from his lip for only a second as she studied this reflexive, natural response from his nerves, whether from her soft touch against his scars or the chill of the peroxide, she wasn't sure and didn't care. Glancing down at her lap atop his, she noticed the same reaction along the skin of his exposed forearms, just as she had in the ambulance weeks earlier. That night, she had encountered a suspicion that he had enjoyed the feel of the cotton against his scars. Now, it seemed perfectly obvious that this was indeed the case. It was such an involuntary response to stimuli and Leila found it encouraging, the fact that he was still human enough to experience such a normal thing as goosebumps.

He shifted again beneath her weight, as if to propel her to continue. She did so immediately, hoping he did not realize what she had noticed crawling along his skin. The left scar was shorter, more malformed than the one opposite his mouth, as though the instrument had become stuck or perhaps the person inflicting the damage had given up or been stopped. There was a whole world of possibilities on the origin of these scars but honestly, Leila did not care to know. She knew that asking him would be equal to requesting a lie and there was no point in that. The scars were an enigma and she was alright with that. It seemed the Joker was too.

More irregular, uneven skin passed beneath the gauze and again, Leila caught herself staring at the raised scars. She was not wearing gloves. If she really wanted to, she could very easily brush a finger against one of the deep flaws in his face, experience what that sort of blemish felt like against normal skin. His eyes were still closed, so if she was ever going to do it, now was her chance. Biting her bottom lip to keep from making any sudden noises, Leila very gingerly let the tip of her middle finger pass over his left scar, fighting hard against the involuntary, automatic shiver that begged to wrack her body. However, it was not her own reaction that surprised her; it was the Joker's.

His broad chest expanded as he took a deep breath, exhaling a moment later, allowing it to escape his nose slowly. A deep hum rumbled from what seemed like the lowest reaches of his lungs. Leila held her own breath, watching his eyes in anxiety, waiting for him to open them and glare at her. He did not. Instead, he remained perfectly still, clearly waiting for her to remove the last bit of red makeup from his upper lip before moving on to his chin and jaw, where the rest of the white makeup remained. Leila continued without hesitation, finally spotting a light at the end of the tunnel. If she had made it this far without angering him or having a nervous breakdown of her own, it would be all too easy to quickly wipe the rest of his face clean. Then, and only then, would she request to leave. Leila could only hope that this would be the extent of her punishment.

His scars were now completely bare of makeup. A fresh, clean pad of peroxide-soaked gauze met the corner of his jaw near his ear, gliding along the edge to remove the white from the flesh beneath it. More freckles were revealed with her motion, and Leila chose to focus on this, rather than the fact that he was slowly moving his head against the pressure of her fingers, leaning into it as she reached the middle of his chin. It seemed silly at the time, but she could not help but feel reminded of Murphy when she scratched his cheek, grinding his face against her nails as though she could not scratch him hard enough. Leila had a feeling that the Joker's intentions were not quite as innocent as her cat's.

After copying her actions on the opposite side, she found herself staring resolutely at her pointer fingernail against the gauze, suddenly no longer interested or curious to see his face completely bare. Luckily, it seemed the Joker was not quite ready for this either as he very slowly tilted his head back, the tips of his wavy green hair sliding from his shoulders with his movement. Leila hesitated, unsure of what he was doing until her eyes found yet more white makeup just beneath the curve of his defined jaw where it met his neck. She grabbed another piece of gauze, wetting it quickly with a last spritz of peroxide before pressing it firmly to the underside of his chin. She was almost done.

As the last of the white makeup came away from his skin, Leila felt her heartbeat increasing in tempo and strength once again, practically rattling her entire body as Joker lowered his head. She was unable to look away, her gaze fastened, transfixed, on his exposed face. His eyes slowly opened, the corners of his bare lips twitching upward in a wry smirk as his gaze locked with hers. Leila felt like fainting. He was an absolute horror to behold.

The makeup seemed to accent and define every crease in his face, and without it, the Joker appeared at least five years younger, around her age perhaps. She supposed at some point in his life, he had once been attractive, the vestiges of good looks like ghostly echoes upon his scarred face, long lost in a past it seemed even he had forgotten. Chills slid up and down her spine as cold, detached brown eyes watched her take in the sight of him without his painted mask and vaguely, Leila managed to wonder if she was reacting the way he had been hoping she would. Traces of black remained, stuck, around his eyes against the lashes, the brown color of his irises deepened, intensified by it. It was perhaps a trick of the makeup that his eyes appeared black when surrounded by that color, but were revealed as a rich, chocolate brown without it. All of this she was noting, but only realizing one thing-

The Joker was even more terrifying without the makeup.

Leila gasped as the grip on her hips suddenly doubled in strength, his fingers clenching tight enough to leave bruises, his upper lip curling in a snarl that exposed the top row of his teeth, his eyes flashing as he yanked her further into his lap. A quiet, seemingly involuntary whimper of both pain and fear escaped her lungs as her legs were forced to separate further, her most private of areas brought flush against his own as her hands quickly met his heated chest, bracing herself against it in resistance.

It was unmistakable, more horrifying than it was embarrassing to feel a telltale firmness pressing against her over his lap, clearly the result of her careful ministrations, or perhaps the touch of her bare finger against his scar. He was not shy about it, nor ashamed as Leila's jaw went slack in surprise, her eyes widening slightly in fear as she stared back at him, unable to tear her eyes away from his face. He did not move, he did not grind himself against her, nor did he remove his hands from her hips. He merely held her there, forcing her to feel his reaction to her, enjoying the way her eyes had dilated in utter panic, sheer terror. This was his torture; an effective reminder of the power he held over her, a raw demonstration of his dominance. Leila was powerless to move, his cold gaze almost daring her to try. And in that moment, one thing was made perfectly clear to her. He was not punishing her; he was owning her.

In an instant, Leila was back on her feet, lifted forcefully from the Joker's lap by his grip on her waist, his face an unreadable mix of emotions, ranging from a dangerous, fierce anger, even to something that looked like amusement. His eyes were glazed and dilated, dark and deep with a haunting intensity she had yet to see. His head jerked in the direction of the door.

"Get out."

This was all he needed to say for Leila to grab her bag of equipment and practically run from the room, hot tears of pain, shame, and fear welling up along her eyelids as she struggled to move down the stairs on wobbly legs. The rest of the garage was empty, Max was nowhere to be seen, but she barely took notice of anything beyond the front door and her attempt to get through it. As thick, humid air met her face, her tears spilled down her cheeks, her body unable to stop until she had rammed against the side of her car in her haste to open the door. Fumbling hands searched for her keys and only once she had located them was she able to slide into the driver's seat, hastily shoving her kit into the space beside her. As her tires spun and squealed around corners, she was finally able to think, and one thing was made perfectly clear to her.

The Joker's evil was not skin deep.

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A/N: Hope you enjoyed it! As usual, feel free to add me on Facebook if you'd like to see pictures and updates on the story (Haven QueenofMean Hunter). Big thanks to my beta, Auriellis and thanks to all of you faithful and lovely readers for your reviews and support! Also, feel free to ask me questions in your reviews as well! I won't give out spoilers but I do enjoy answering your questions on my methods, ideas for the story, explaining something that was not clear enough and so forth. So until next time, lovies! -QoM