CHAPTER SEVEN

"The first black domino fell with a glittering crimson dawn, an echoing sanguinity of derangement, and the first subtle explosion sang."

11:38 am.

The Gotham West Psychiatric Complex was having a rare day, after opening its doors around eight that morning. The sun cast a warm glow into the quaint waiting room in which an orderly woman was checking for disturbances and laying out fresh magazines. Everything was running smoothly and there was no actual appointments scheduled until twelve o'clock, but a transport vehicle was expected to arrive any minute now to gather a patient.

Taylor Henderson watched as her nurse rushed about the room, packing medications in her tote bag. She sighed, at least the morning was cheerful she rationalized, but at the same time she was a bit apprehensive. The eighteen year-old was nervous about her impending transport to Arkham Asylum, but it'd just be for an overnight observation by the esteemed Jeremiah Arkham, founder and sponsor of the establishment that held every variety of psychiatric case imaginable.

Taylor snorted; no wonder she was antsy. She took a deep breath; but it was just for a night, a harmless twenty-four hours. She could handle it; she was only going there to be observed. She would be the first to admit she felt horrible about why she was going; who wanted to tell a random stranger that she suffered from Bulimia? Was she ashamed? Of course, but despite her guilt and all the compliments she still did it. There was a part of her, though, that hoped this observation would further help her, like the sessions with her previous doctor, Harleen Quinzel, had. She had improved a lot since then, but the observation was still scheduled.

She'd be fine and as the nurse walked over to her where she leaned against the wall, she offered the woman a smile. She was grateful for the kindness she was afforded—they had allowed her stay overnight in order to ensure her transport.

"You ready, Taylor? Your ride is here."

"Yeah, it's time to kick this pop stand, huh?" She straightened her posture and followed the woman out.

"You nervous?" Taylor flushed a little and nodded, "Yeah, it's still a little weird to introduce myself to new doctors and talk about my disorder." The nurse offered her a kind smile, "I understand, but you keep your head up. I heard it's gotten a lot better."

"It has," and of that she was very proud. She walked the rest of the way to the entrance with a confident smile on her face. She was getting better; she could handle one measly observation night. She took her bag from the nurse and climbed into the small, comfortable transportation van.

She peered at the two men sitting in the front; one had short brown hair beneath his cap while the other appeared to have a black pony-tail. Typical, she thought and sat back as the van pulled off, the short-haired man the driver.

She hadn't expected much interaction from the driver or his partner, but their silence was skin-crawling. They weren't even talking to each other, but Taylor tried to shrug it off. It was still a little early, maybe they hadn't slept well, maybe they had had a fight, maybe—there were a lot reasons for their uncanny silence.

Yet out of all the reasons, she'd never suspect what would occur once the raven-haired man did decide to speak to her.

They had just turned onto the freeway, when the passenger turned his head and peered at her. He offered her an alluring smile that made her heart flutter. The gesture reached his eyes in a different manner, though. His eyes were bright with an unsettling wickedness. Involuntarily a shiver descended her spine, but she tried to hide it. 'Don't say anything, just smile back…'

"Arkham, eh?" He asked innocently.

Taylor nodded, her breath returning to normal, maybe he was just one of those people. He repeated her gesture as if noting it. "Nervous?"

"A little," her reply was soft and meek. He glanced at the driver before getting up and carefully making his way to sit beside her. She pressed herself a little against the interior of the vehicle, tensing at his behavior. He clasped his hands together, he was wearing a pair of green gloves—odd—and gave her an apologetic smile, but as with his other expression it didn't reach his hazel eyes. Her hesitance, she knew, shined in her own green orbs; he was staring at her as if she was something to devour. Her stomach grew nauseous at all the possibilities posed by that; the worse one making her gut churn.

"I'll not ask you what you're going to Arkham for; how rude would that be?" He chuckled, "but I was just curious about one thing." He stuck his hands in his pockets and his face scrunched as if pondering an appropriate way to phrase what he wanted to know. Finally he nodded. "You're a patient at Gotham West, before her other job offer, you had a Ms. Harleen Quinzel as your doctor, right?" She blinked. That was what he wanted to know? Did that really justify scaring her death and being so close? If it made him move she'd answer. "Yeah, she used to be my doctor."

"Do you happen to know where she works now?" Taylor was sad to say she that didn't and the nurses didn't want to talk about it. They seemed angry, scared—upset—at the subject. The man must have seen the answer in her expression. He smiled brightly, a little too brightly. "I know where she works. Would you like to see her again?" Taylor knew she shouldn't trust him, and she really didn't but she nodded anyway. "Sure, I'd love to, but it'd have to be later. Where does she work? Maybe later on a day I'm not doing anything I can visit her."

"Of course, she works at Arkham." Taylor's eyes widened. "Yeah, I know pretty lofty, huh? Well, I'm going to have him," he pointed to the driver, "let you see her, but you have got to be ready, and," he reached out and gripped her chin softly. The material of his gloves, chaffed the skin slightly. She had tried to get away, but his reflexes were too quick for her. He turned her head gently. "You don't look appropriate enough. I think—you know what I think?" She shook her head, her body beginning to shake in fear. She could see a strange lunacy overcome his cheerful features. He laughed at her. "I think you need to be…happier."

He leaned towards her and she instinctively pressed herself painfully into the inside of the van. He trapped her body there. She had no way to escape. "Is Harleen a good doctor?" Taylor whimpered, at his soft whisper filled with venom. He stared at her a moment and when he got no answer his grip on her chin fell away only to be replaced by his hand gripping her throat. She gasped, it caught—she was beginning to choke; he was cutting off her air. "I'm going to ask you again, Taylor Alessa Henderson," how did he know her name?! "…and you're going to answer me, alright? If you do, I'll let you breathe again, good?" She nodded frantically. "Great, now…Was Dr. Quinzel a good doctor to you?" She nodded immediately and gasped and coughed as he removed his hand, allowing air into her windpipe again.

"Did you like Dr. Quinzel?" She nodded again, aware that he was blocking her escape as he pressed her against the van with his own wiry body. "Cute. Did Harleen like you?" Why all these questions about her previous doctor? Was he some kind of stalker? But she shrugged, "I guess…so…" she replied quickly. She had seen his expression thin. His hand tapped her chin. "Well, then, that means I have the perfect girl for my plan." And she instantly knew this plan was not something she was going to like.

Taylor felt a cold dread settle over her as a matching sweat damped her skin. Her pulse and breathing quickened. She was not scared, no, she was absolutely terrified. She wanted to get out of there, escape, and she knew it was impossible. She felt tears prick her eyes and she shut them tightly. She bit her lip, but she knew her soft sobbing was heard by the lunatic above her. She just knew she was going to die.

"I really hate it when people turn their attention away, you know," he sing-songed. "Chin up, chit, no reason to be crying just yet, besides we don't want Dr. Quinzel to see your tears."

Was this a joke? Where was the hidden camera? She was going to punch whoever thought this was funny. "Are you going to open your eyes and look at me as you should to be polite, or am I going to have to use other methods to get cooperation?"

Her eyes flew open instantly. "Excellent, now where was I before you decided to interrupt my musings?" He hissed and suddenly she felt an excruciating sting on the side of her face. The blow was so hard that she slammed her head against his arm. She gasped. He'd slapped her, and the green gloves covering his hand had sharpened the strike.

"I hate being interrupted, you got that?!" She stared up fearfully at him. Why wasn't the driver helping? What was going on? Why wasn't anyone going to save her? What had she done to deserve this? Again…WHAT WAS GOING ON?! She sniffled and nodded.

"Please don't hurt me. What do you want? I'm sorry…please…" Her voice was so pitiful so frightened and staring into the demon-face of her assailant she knew he enjoyed it. "Your pain is so sweet, though, and what do I want? I want a certain person to suffer for her mulish, arrogant personality." His hand was soothing her reddened cheek, cradling her head against his arm. She whimpered. "Yes, now…be scared. You're going to be my warning to her."

"Sir, please, don't-" He placed a finger on her lips and shook his head. She felt him move. He had pulled something from his pocket and with one hand he had flicked it open.

In the late, morning light the silvery razored-edge of a switchblade glittered in his hand. She choked on her gasp and shook her head. He grinned. "I'm going to enjoy this," she heard him mutter as he pressed against her even tighter. In her fear she was paralyzed.

"Are we almost there?" He craned his head to the side.

"Yeah, boss, just a few more minutes." She heard the driver's voice finally.

He was in on it! Tears freely flowed down her cheeks as he returned his attention to her. "Plenty of time…plenty of time…" He brought the knife to her face and, though she tried to fight it—it only ended up in her lip being badly slashed in various places—he slid the blade into her mouth.

"Say hi to Dr. Quinzel for me if you're still conscious," he maneuvered it against one corner of her lip and she felt the sting as it bit into the skin, tasted coppery blood from her other injuries. "And one more thing before we get started…Be as vocal as you want, I want to hear you scream." His laughter was dark and Taylor's heart stopped. She didn't have any more time to think on his sinister chortle. The next thing she knew she was screaming and choking on a flood of blood as her cheek tore beneath the sharp blade.

It was indescribable. She would never forget that pain if she was fortunate to live. Nightmares would plague her for years on end, maybe longer. She had a low threshold and before he'd even finished his carving of one side, her eyes rolled back and she fainted into blissful blackness, her horrified, agonizing shriek still echoing in her mind.

She hummed as she waltzed down the hall to her customary visitation room. For once she was getting there a few minutes earlier. She'd beat the Joker in this time; have time to think up a strategy for the man…ponder that riddle with no distraction.

She felt refreshed and hopeful with a full night's sleep, and her mood was oddly cheery despite the fact that she was no closer to the decoding the Riddler's latest brainteaser. She'd be optimistic about it; she'd come through before. She'd not deny a small terror gnawing her internally, though, but it was dismissible.

Little did she know her life was about to take its first hurtle.

The room was dim as the door opened and her eyes followed the expanse of floor as it was revealed. When the whole room stood before her, Harleen's eyes were brought to the table. Her heart sputtered to a stop in her chest.

Upon the surface was a body. Hesitantly she flipped on the light switch. She held back a gasp as the figure jolted her memory and hurried over to the person's side. Taylor Henderson, a former patient of hers at Gotham West. She was pale, a light sweat covered her forehead and a black scarf was tied over her mouth and chin.

"Taylor?" She called in a normal voice and her anxiety increased when the girl didn't move or acknowledge her with any sound.

No…this couldn't be…

Harleen was reaching to take the girl's pulse when something caught her eye: a green slip of paper pinned to the teenager's shirt. Harleen wasted no time in ripping it away and holding it to her face. This note was typed just like all the others, showing premeditation.

Checkmate, Harley Quinn.

You failed! You failed! You failed!

Harleen's heart sunk. So this was his plan?! She'd known it the moment she saw the girl. She read the last bit of text.

Take off the scarf, and there's your surprise. Careful, though, I may not have been very pristine with my knife. You still want to play my game?

Knife? Harleen stuffed the note in her lab coat and with a swift, but shaking hand tore the bandanna off. Her eyes took in the horrendous sight a moment before her mind processed the information.

The girl's face had been split on both sides from lips to cheek. She'd been given what gangs called a Glasgow or Chelsea grin—the same permanent smile as the Joker. And it was still bleeding profusely which meant it was done recently. Harleen felt her stomach churn.

She'd seen worse at medical school, but those were in photos, on cadavers, on ER victims. This was on someone she knew personally. This one was still fresh. Harleen didn't back away, an action the Joker would have been proud of had he been there, but she brought her hands to her quivering mouth and screamed shrilly.

It had died down to loud gasps by the time the opposite door opened across the cell, revealing a guard and a handcuffed Joker, whose expression centered on her first.

"Dr. Quinzel," the guard began, seeing her distressed expression, but followed her stare. "What the-?!"

Harleen shook her head, "Just-just get me stitches. And," she reached out as the man began to leave, "antiseptic and painkillers…Morphine, lots of it."

The door shut with a loud sound in her ears. She turned on her heels and swiftly left the room as well to retrieve a bowl of warm water and wash clothes. She also had to call 9-1-1. She couldn't let her fear, her emotions affect her performance. The girl on the table needed her and she'd not disappoint; she couldn't stand to.

It was her fault…Taylor was suffering because of her.

The Joker remained handcuffed as he stood staring at the frail girl on the table. Her head was tilted to the side and scarlet drained off her face like water onto the pristine tabletop. He licked the corners of his own mouth as he glared at the female. The Riddler had done this?

He was affronted. The bastard was a copy-cat; how dare he take his own signature and emboss it on someone else. He'd just been a prissy bitch, carving up someone's face to just scare his Harley. If he wanted a message, he could have broadcast the girl's unfortunate picture across all of Gotham.

Amateur.

He figured very little was known about this Riddler fellow by most of Gotham. He was pitiful and the bastard had hurt his little harlequin. She was acting very composed, but that scream revealed the inner turmoil she was hiding behind those expressive baby-blues. He'd said it before; he was really not enjoying someone hurting his girl. Yes, his girl. He hated to see her cry and just yesterday, he'd told her he'd not let her be harmed. Well, then, it looked like he needed to contact his man in the police department to watch Harley, or maybe he could tell her himself. She wouldn't tell; something told him that.

Harleen entered back in with her supplies and set the bowl on the table. She reached in her pocket and pulled on the gloves she had grabbed. Her face was focused; she was pushing her emotions away. The Joker leaned against the wall, and watched her silently for once as she dipped a white cloth in the bowl and began wiping the young woman's face gently.

She gave the guard directions in a monotone voice without raising her head when he came back. He too became an audience to her work. She was quivering on the inside unbeknownst to the guard—perhaps the Joker knew. Every moment was a fight not to break into tears.

She uncapped the needle and after extracting the appropriate amount of morphine injected it carefully into Taylor's arm before setting off to work; stringing the flexible twine she would use to suture the gaping wounds.

Each stitch was precise, calculated and the room was deathly silent save for the sound of breathing from all its occupants. Harley lost herself, forcing herself to focus solely on the placement of the next stitch and listening for any sign of consciousness. It never came as she worked. A part of her was glad of that; she wasn't sure she could hold back her tears if the girl was to awake at that moment.

If only she had been around to sew his own grin. His dark eyes watched her intensely as her soft hands worked so deftly. He'd not cared for the scars; as if he could have then. Plastic surgery could minimize their appearance, but at the time of his own gift, he'd not had the money and now why get rid of them? They were quite the beauty mark.

Did the scars make the Joker who he was? Maybe, maybe not. The truth was there, but he liked watching people wonder whether this was the truth or not. He enjoyed the multiple lives it gave him. He loved to see Harley wondering the same thing as the others. Maybe one day he'd tell her the truth, but not now…no, not while he was in this place.

Besides, the one who had sutured his own wounds had only been out to cause him more pain, but, ah, he'd gotten that revenge. After that he'd not been the same, never the same. His eyes moved up her arm to her face. It was so intense and for the first time, perhaps the very first time he felt a jolt in his heart. Harley's face was a mask, concealing a deep hurt. She was quietly shattering from the inside. He didn't like the change in her attitude. He did not approve of someone causing her to fear her strong, anarchic intuition. She was beautiful as she was now, and if she would just let go a little more it would be explosive. But she shouldn't be pushed like this. No, she was too delicate for that.

Harleen closed her eyes, the final wire in place. She opened them long enough to snip the excess before her hands hit the table. Her head fell and she took deep breaths—she would not break down yet. The ambulance still had to come. Her hands clenched.

Why Taylor? The innocent had nothing to do with her! Even the Joker had more discretion. She didn't even reprimand herself for the thought. It was true. The bastard! Her anger began to grow, she wanted to morph her uncertainty, her fright into something more productive and with each silent moment it turned into a red, fiery wrath.

The Riddler was trying to break her…and it-

A low moan alerted her. Her eyes rose to Taylor's face.

It was working…

The young girl tried to speak, but pain and her sown mouth halted the attempt by Harleen's observance. She stared into the woman's face in shock as her hands hesitantly felt the seams of her mouth. Tears filled her eyes and she whimpered in horror.

Harleen put on her brightest smile. "It doesn't look as bad anymore, and, uh, just think…a little surgery can make the scars almost disappear." She wanted to hold the girl, but Taylor was dramatized enough.

Yet the girl was persistent. She gazed back up at Harley as her attention fell from her own injuries. She raised her hands and began to gesture, gurgling in distress. Harleen tensed her posture in attention.

"You," she spoke as the girl pointed first to herself. "You see…you saw…" Taylor pointed to her eyes. "Okay you saw…You saw…" Harleen jumped. "You saw him?!"

Taylor nodded. "You saw the man who did this to you?" Her tenor sounded encouraging, but then she fell back and hissed lowly. Her face paled and her hands clutched at her side. She groaned in pain.

Harleen's eyebrows furrowed, but it felt like the wind was knocked out of her as she feared further injury. She touched the girl's side. "May I?"

She groaned again. Her color wasn't looking well. Was she going into shock? Harleen wasted no more time and pulled her shirt up slightly.

"He stabbed her in the gut!" She gasped and raised her eyes to the guard. "She's going to bleed out! She's-" Her eyes found the Joker just as the intercom in the room buzzed.

"Dr. Quinzel, did you call the ambulance?" The same small voice from the bomb threat day inquired. Harleen pulled her eyes away and rushed to the blue button. "I did, send them stat! Don't ask questions, just send them!" She ordered and rushed to the girl.

"You're going to be okay," she smiled, but the girl's eyes were going hazy. She shook her head. "Taylor, no! No, stay awake for me a little longer, you can't sleep." She shook her gently and the door to the room flew open and a stretcher rushed in with two men at its head.

"She was attacked by the Riddler. Her mouth was cut open and she's been stabbed in the stomach. She's beginning to bleed out and she's going into shock." She quickly explained, both to recount the incident and to take any undue blame from her infamous patient for the job. The paramedics were staring at him in uneasiness. He may have been guilty of such crimes before, but he was not going to be blamed for one he sure as hell didn't commit.

They may not have believed her, but they nodded and went to work setting Taylor on the stretcher, getting her immobilized. It was a routine they rapidly completed. Harleen was still worried; adrenaline thudded in her ears as she gave a timid smile to the guard, one filled with innocent worry. She knew it would work as her eyes pleaded with him along with her voice, "Would you go with her, to make sure nothing happens, I know the chance is slim, but-"

"My pleasure, miss." He gave her a reassuring smile and a comforting squeeze on her shoulder as he rushed out with the paramedics. Harleen turned her back to the Joker and watched them go. When the door shut completely, blocking out the sound of rolling wheels, her body slackened for a mere moment.

"I should have known he was going to pull something like this…" Her mutter came and then she stiffened again. "The bastard! He's planning on her dying! I hope she makes it through to spit in his face. He wanted to kill her to get at me! I should have known the minute she was on the table. The sick, twisted, son of a-"

She hadn't heard the footsteps behind her and as she ranted and raved, much to both the Joker's amusement and something softer, more fragile within him. He came perilously close to her and raised his still cuffed wrists over her head, letting them fall so he was embracing her.

She was crushed pretty comfortably against him and his unexpected warmth calmed her fury and with slight difficulty she pivoted in his arms. His actions were having the opposite effect they normally had, but she desperately wanted comfort.

To say he was surprised would be an understatement. Still full of intriguing surprises she was. He had wanted to see her lash out at him, and then he would have known she was okay. Well, she definitely wasn't. Her head inclined to stare up at him and he noticed that he could just tuck her head under his chin.

Her soft lips quivered and her eyes misted. "Why?" She whispered and then she clutched his gray hospital scrubs and buried her head into his chest and let it go. She cried, not caring that it was the Joker who she had was seeking serenity from. She didn't care that he pulled her tighter against him, placing his head atop hers. She unhooked her fingers from his shirt and returned the embrace, staining the cotton with salty tears.

He closed his eyes as her arms wound around him as if seeking a pillar of balance. She was pretty shaken up, and he'd not had much experience comforting women, let alone anybody. He had never had a need to reassure anyone. But now, he just held her against him, his mind working awkwardly, but his stance strong. She had never returned any of his gestures with complimentary affection either. It was always acid and reprimands and as much fun as that was, this was rather nice. He wished his hands had been free to better hold the girl in his arms.

The ire stirred by her anguish was a new, possessive fervor. His eyes opened and they stared darkly at the wall. Some retribution was in order. And once he got out, there would be hell to pay.

Harley's body stiffened in his embrace suddenly. He smirked. What a time to come back to her senses…and here he was hoping. Her tears were a torrent, and there was yet more to express, but finally the persistent voice that called itself her rationality made it through.

'Harley, who are you hugging? Like he honestly cares and sympathizes with you. Get a grip!' It chided harshly and she stiffened. 'Oh, cry some more…besides you know you like it here.' She was reluctant to admit it, but the second voice was right. She did like it in his arms, and she shouldn't have felt as secure as she did. He didn't deserve the trust she gave him or the slight flutter she felt as her mind was acutely aware of her contact with him. She was a professional; she had made a huge mistake.

She lifted her head, trying to save face. Her eyes glanced elsewhere lest they give her away. "Ahem, um, thank you, I guess. I just lost it…so I'll be, uh, going now." She took a step back.

Only her quick thinking and experience from gymnastics stopped her from stumbling as her back pulled against the Joker's restraints and the metal chain of the cuffs dug into her body. Well, she felt stupid for that.

"Sor-"

Before her less than pleased apology was uttered, the Joker's hands cupped her bottom—fortunately for him his bound hands were tethered just low enough. Lucky, huh? She was hauled against him once again.

"What's the rush, babe? I rather enjoyed you being so close. Do you know how good you feel in my arms? It's like, anarchy within…I love it." He whispered to her and her face turned dark red. Oh, what had she gotten herself into his time? His lips skittered across her forehead, "And, your pert, little derrière. Mmmm…" Her eyes narrowed. If he did what she thought he was going to do, oh…

One of his hands cupped her bottom lovingly. He tried not to laugh as her lips pursed and her eyes darkened. With a speed he'd never seen she ducked; it was just quick enough to surprise him into loosening his grip. She slipped from his embrace and nimbly backed up.

Well, well, well…

She could be very feisty and fast when she wanted to be. How come she'd never acted this quickly before? He licked his lips. The evidence was piling against her. She was attracted to him, no more doubt about it…now if only she'd let herself believe that. If only she'd loosen her grip on all the rules that hindered her. There would come a time when she would…he could be patient when he wanted to be as well. And something told him to be now.

She glared at him and tilted her head before simply turning on her heel and leaving. She'd had enough and he…He just ruined her day more. Couldn't he have behaved for once?!

'Not his style, c'mon, though…' She brooded, but a side of her had reasoned that while she was still in his arms. And it was happy he'd stayed true to his character. He was still the Joker, but something had changed. Though still lewd and inappropriate, he'd been gentler, even in his voice.

She fought back a girly quiver, but she felt slightly better. And that sat well with her, more so than before, though it was still irritating. She shouldn't be getting these feelings. Maybe some time off would do her good. She didn't think she could come back after today and be okay. She was still numb, taking it all in.

Tomorrow would be worse and she needed to recover from this before she came back. She felt responsible for Taylor's disfigurement and her near death. She decided to visit the girl to make sure…well, that she wasn't dead. Her stomach rolled at the thought.

'Please, let her be alive.' She prayed, her hands quaking and her feet speeding up in her retreat.

Behind her in the now quiet room, the Joker was grinning deviously. She'd looked so…dangerous with that glare and her head angled like that. He wasn't scared, however. No, he was aroused. He giggled; she had no idea just how much more attracted he'd just become.

Harley just couldn't do anything unappealing it seemed. He was getting more and more tangled in her secret web and vice versa, not that either of them realized this, of course.

Edward had just stepped from the shower into his steamed filled bathroom when the doorbell rang. His sharp hazel eyes rose to glare at the dark oak door before he grabbed his black briefs and a pair of gray sweatpants off the vanity, hurriedly putting them on.

The mist wafted from the tiled, golden bathroom when he opened the door and nimbly descended the wooden stairs to the entry hall of his two floor penthouse. The doorbell rang again.

He pulled the door open and leaned against the frame, running a hand through his damp hair as he smiled disarmingly at his secretary from Nygma Inc. who stood holding a bowl covered by a dishtowel. Well, what an interesting surprise.

"Elisa," his voice was colored with surprise, "is everything fine?"

Normally he would have cared less and only asked out of expected concern, but today had been amazing and he was feeling generous. He'd succeeded in giving his message to Harleen and now he would wait for a while to see what her next move would be. If she had any sense, she'd quit.

"Yeah, everything's fine, Mr. Nashton, I was just worried about you." She blushed, and Edward remembered he was without a shirt, revealing his lean frame.

He smirked inwardly, but tilted his head, "About me, now why were worried about me?" She glanced away in shame, "You didn't come to work today and I tried contacting you, but your phone was off." He backed out of the door and gestured her in. "I'm sorry to have worried you, Elisa. I had a headache this morning and didn't think it would be a good idea coming into work with a migraine."

"Next time," Elisa smiled as she walked in, "you should tell me, I have a home remedy."

"I shall, milady." He bowed in a mock chivalry and Elisa laughed, a not unpleasant musical sound. He grinned and stared at her from beneath his eyelashes. "Is that a home remedy?" He pointed at the bowl she held as he straightened up.

"Not really," she shrugged, "just some homemade soup. I wish I could have brought it earlier, but I just got off work about two hours ago."

"Then just let me take that and you can be on your way," he held out his hands for the bowl, "you have a life, Elisa. Thanks for the concern." The girl had long had a crush on him and he had to admit she wasn't unattractive, and despite being a little naïve she was intelligent. And he was feeling generous, and it would be a lie if he said he hadn't thought about returning her small looks of affection, and now this gesture. She liked him, right?

"I don't want to interrupt your life any further," he smiled. She seemed a little hesitant, and Edward noticed that with excitement. "No, no I can put this down just lead me to the kitchen." She was stalling; he'd take it. He nodded and led her down a small, wood paneled hall into his modest, comfortable kitchen.

"You can put the bowl on the counter there," he pointed and she walked to the spot while he reclined against the frame of the entrance much like he did when he opened the front door. "I'll walk you out to your car, unless," his voice took a husky octave, "you'd like to stay and share the soup with me, I'm sure there's enough. I live by myself so I often don't have company." He stared at her figure with a cocked eyebrow, his body language open and speaking more than his words.

Her face once again bloomed in a cute blush. Edward grinned charmingly. "Then take a seat, Miss, and I'll get us two bowls, I'm excited to taste something crafted by a woman's hand again, being single can be so hard sometimes." He passed her as she made her way to the small circular maple table pushed towards the back of the room.

Edward easily pulled two newly washed bowls from the dishwasher and filled them with soup. This was too easy, and he was having fun seeing her reactions. He brought the bowls to the table.

"You want anything to drink? I have some soda, a couple bottles of beer, milk."

"Soda," she answered awkwardly.

"Would you like me to put on a shirt?" He laughed after he had extracted two cans of cola from his refrigerator. "It certainly isn't very appropriate walking around without one when I have a lovely woman in my presence." Chocolate might as well have been pouring from his mouth at his compliments and her cheeks went cherry. She shook her head, "It's my fault I came without notice, sorry if I surprised you. I looked up your address on the database and I happen to know this area."

He leaned over the table slightly dipping his spoon into the soup. "You looked me up on the database; doesn't that mean that you had to hack into the system?" He chuckled at her wide eyes. "Don't worry I won't tell. That's a skill there." She smiled, "I get bored at work...a friend started me out and I, uh, kinda figured out more from there."

"Interesting," he nodded and for a while she just spoke in between eating and he listened. She needed to get comfortable, and the soup was delicious.

"Did you like it?" She asked, noticing his bowl was empty. Hers was almost there. He nodded, a warm expression on his face. "You make me miss my mom's cooking." He leaned back and watched as she blushed, "Thanks, my grandmother taught me the recipe."

"No need to thank me for the compliment," he shrugged as she finished the last of her own bowl and wiped off her mouth with a napkin. "You're an amazing cook." He leaned over the table and placed his hand atop hers. "I should be thanking you for the soup," he whispered endearingly and noticed how her face unconsciously came closer his. Her lips opened a fraction. She was begging for it and he was happy to oblige.

He angled his head and rising from his chair slightly came closer to her and pressed his lips to hers chastely. Her eyes went wide and then became hooded, his mouth quirked slightly. Her free hand touched her lips. "Mr. Nashton?"

"Should I have not done that?" He asked in mere question. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself."

She glanced at him, but it was with fright, not of him but that she had chased him away. He knew she hadn't minded him doing that. She was just surprised. She stood up and gathered the bowls. "I'll put these in the sink for you. You can keep the bowl and return it to me after you finish the rest of the soup." He watched her, entranced as she moved about. Her lips had been so supple and he wanted to feel them again; it'd been a while since he had doted on a woman.

She hadn't minded his previous action so when she passed him to gather the soda cans he reached out and grabbed her hand. "You can leave them," he said. She nodded and stared deeply into his eyes as if living on his next words. He loved it. "You don't have to leave if you don't want to, Elisa." And he knew what meaning rested behind the words. The only question was would she take the offer?

She stared down at him in disbelief, but didn't move. Edward released her hand and hooked an arm around her waist and gently pulled her closer to him. Still she didn't protest, but her face was flushing again. His other arm locked around her waist and pulled her into his lap so she was seated like a child. His blood was heating quickly. "Stay with me, Elisa," he pleaded softly, "stay the night."

"Mr. Nashton," he could hear the longing in her voice, but there was uncertainty. "I won't ask for anything more than a night with you, if you want." If she gave in, though he knew there would be more nights. He could tell; such was her personality. She still seemed hesitant. He tagged on the line every woman wanted to hear, to know. "We've known each other so long, and I've watched you. You interest me, Elisa. You take my breath." She must have believed him because she maneuvered in his embrace to straddle him in the chair. He hummed in pleasure at their new position. "Call me Edward," he muttered heatedly against the column of her throat.

She stared down at him and licked her lips, but he would let her take the initiative. The wait wasn't long. She leaned down and kissed him softly. He reciprocated instantly and within seconds her fingers were buried in his hair as their kissed became more. She moaned into his open mouth with every caress of his tongue and he pulled her closer to him until there was no way she could be any nearer and her breath was gone. She breathed raggedly as he suckled the flesh of her neck, leaving a mark. He groaned at the sound of his name from her lips.

She would be such a beautiful puppet for him.

He made sure he had a firm grip on her thighs before he began to stand up. She wrapped her legs around him instinctively and their mouths fused again as he carried her from the kitchen and down the short distance of the hall. His bedroom door shut and the click of the lock echoed in the silence of the house.

He would break her so easily and build such a radiant partner from the pieces. He wouldn't regret shattering such a timid mind; she would be better, she would be powerful, and she would be wholly his.

Elisa…his little trickster. She would be his seductive Enigma.

Just a quick thanks for all the reviews! If anyone has some criticisms for me to make this story even better or for future reference if I am inspired for another Dark Knight fic, please feel free to speak. I need all the help I can get. ^^. To those that have offered me some criticisms, you have helped me immensely! Thanks all you readers and reviewers and I hope you're still enjoying this fic. I can't wait to hear your comments on this chapter!