Hey guys! Please don't hit me!
I know I've been gone forever. For that, I am SO SO SO SO SOOOOO sorry!
Um… But… I was… KIDNAPPED by PIRATES (for realz, PIRATES!) and forced to smuggle drugs up and down the coast of Mexico, for fear of death. Throughout it all, however, never forgetting any of you beautiful readers, I wrote parts of this chapter in a water logged address book, which I kept hidden beneath a floor board for fear that my captor, Captain T.S. Voldemort, would find it. He detests the written word, you see. The scoundrel.
It was a hard time for me, but I learned a lot, especially about swordplay, how much money you can get from a wedding ring, and how to fight sharks. So now I know how to fight sharks.
Anyway, one night there was this terrible storm, and I was thrown overboard to the vicious sea by the gusting gales. A blessing at first, it turned into a curse when I realized I had left the address book containing this chapter aboard! I HAD to get it, dear readers, because if I didn't it would be ANOTHER couple months of me sitting at my laptop going, "duuuuuuuuhhhhh… wut?"
So, after fighting off like ten BILLION sharks, I snuck back aboard and retrieved the book. I'll spare you the details. And now here it is! Rescued from Captain Voldemort. You may praise me.
…
I have a confession. I lied to you just there.
The truth is, the end of the school year caught up with me. I got spring fever really bad, went to very little school, partied too much, then studied my ass off and got decent grades. Throughout it all, I wrote pieces of this chapter, but I was overwhelmed by the other stuff in my life.
I really do apologize, because it's inexcusable. I hope I haven't lost too many readers, and I will try my best to never make you wait this long again.
Having said that, I love this chapter. I think it is, if not worth the wait, then certainly worth a review or two. Because, as I've said, those make me work harder. It's true! Just look at how long it's been since I updated my stories with FEW reviews!
Also, I started another fic… Should be up soon, but it's not Dark Knight. If you like Repo! The Genetic Opera, keep an eye out! :)
Um… I want to thank the lovely Tamara Evans, as always. She's my best friend and the best beta a writer could ask for. So much of this chap, especially the gun scene, is her doing. She's a regular military badass, you see. I love you, Tams!
Another person I wanted to thank personally is the lovely anonymous reviewer, zalarith. Your review really got me moving, and, dear, I worked for you a lot, just to show you that you're not cursed. It really means a lot to me that you reviewed my story. Thank you! :*
Ok, review please! There's an AN at the bottom that addresses some VERY IMPORTANT issues and plot points brought up by numerous reviewers! I guarantee, you will find something of interest at the end of this chapter, so please read it!
Also note: the length of this chapter is really pretty ridiculous. That's how much I love you. :)
Again, I beg your forgiveness and, as always, I ask you to review.
Someone had been killed.
The coppery scent of blood hung on the air, and a scarlet stain crept over the concrete floor near where the hostages sat huddled, all of them ghost white. None of them were even daring to move anymore, many holding their breath out of sheer terror.
Jess glanced around, confused, as the Joker pushed past her to continue doing whatever he had been doing, humming lowly, off-key. She stepped away from the door and saw the body almost immediately, some part of her recoiling instinctively before curiosity took hold. She wanted to know which hostage was dead and who had killed him.
Both of these questions were answered as soon as she stepped closer, her heels clicking on the concrete floor. The men around her, holding guns, glanced warily in her direction as she moved closer to the corpse, on some level understanding that the fact that the body hadn't been moved or hidden from her was significant in and of itself.
In the past they would've cleared the body immediately. In the past, they would have kept the deed more subtle to avoid her hysterics.
It would seem the Joker didn't care to do so anymore.
And Jess found that, even though she was now standing over a still-warm body, oozing scarlet from the slit in its neck, she felt no connection to it. It was gross, yes—the stench of blood made her gag—but somewhere along the line, she'd lost the connection between this hostage's death and anything personal concerning her own life. It was like watching a fictional movie in which someone is killed, or reading it in a book. It was… odd, to say the least.
There had been a time when she'd prided herself on her empathy. Death of a stranger, it seemed, had ceased to evoke an emotional response.
Jess wondered when that had happened.
Jess wondered how the Joker had known. She hadn't even been aware of it.
She looked down at the corpse's face.
"Who killed him?" she asked Josh, who was standing closest to her, scratching his nose casually.
"The boss," he replied. Jess nodded and looked back down at the boy's white lips, his blank eyes. She could simply imagine what had happened…
As soon as her back had been turned, the Joker had probably hauled the boy off the ground. He would have whimpered pitifully, holding the place on his head where Jess had kicked him, one hand clutching his bruised stomach. The Joker would have said something clever—"I think she likes you, David. Y'know, I could set you two up…" or "Women can be so touchy…"—laughed, and then he suddenly would have turned serious, his grip transferring to David's hair, his teeth bared in a snarling grimace. Jess could imagine him forcing his head back, exposing the neck, and sliding his knife along the skin, raising goose-bumps while the boy sniveled and plead.
The cut would have been quick and deep. The boy would have gurgled, slumped to the floor, and died.
Jess took a deep breath and blinked.
How long had she been staring at the corpse? And why wasn't she more upset about it?
Shaking her head, disturbed more by her lack of reaction than anything else, she walked away, receiving a friendly pat on the back from Josh who was lovingly cleaning his gun.
Something was going on outside. Men had been exiting and reentering the warehouse in small groups—three, four at the most—for the past half hour. Jess would have loved to go check on what was happening, but she happened to know the Joker was out there and, while he was no longer angry with her or liable to snap, she was still feeling justifiably irked. She simply didn't want to be around him right now… But that feeling would soon pass, she knew.
Instead, Jess was sitting on a crate near the side wall of the warehouse, reading an old, coffee stained instruction sheet she'd found in one of the Twenty's boxes on how to load, fire, take apart and clean a Glock 37, the likes of which could be found in numerous quantities among the supplies brought by the men. She was planning on taking a weapon for herself—the pursuit by the green car had her thoroughly rattled and she'd decided it was better to be packing and protected than left with no means of defense. This one looked good… a semi-automatic pistol with a four and a half inch barrel and a ten round capacity. Besides, it was absolutely gorgeous: sleek and streamlined, long but slim, and painted a beautiful matte black. She'd fallen for the gun as soon as they'd been taken from their cases, which was odd because she'd never been much of a firearms girl.
Then again, before Gotham, she'd never been much of a crime or violence girl, either, but look at her now.
The thought of being forced to kill someone still filled her with dread, however. She wouldn't become a murderer.
The Joker had made her do so many things she never would have dreamed of doing before this, but she wouldn't kill for him.
Well… perhaps to save his life, but, from what he had demonstrated thus far, those would have to be a pretty fucking incredible set of circumstances.
However, knowing how to scare off or halt someone coming after her with malicious intent would be a valuable asset. In fact, she didn't see how it could be avoided at this point. She was, after all, sleeping with the most dangerous, wanted man in Gotham. Everyone, literally everyone, was after them. They had no friends besides themselves.
Filled with newfound purpose, Jess hopped off her crate and strode confidently towards the weapons store. None of the men kept careful count of the guns that didn't belong to them personally—there were always more to be found, and easily, though sometimes sentimental value was attached to a particular weapon—so she didn't worry about her pick being terribly missed. She picked up one of the cleverly designed and rather compact Glock cases, reading the label attached to the side to ensure the make and model matched the number on her instruction sheet, which she pocketed.
Unlatching and opening the case, she retrieved the weapon, noticing that the magazine had already been loaded with bullets. Remembering the directions, she inserted the magazine, feeling the satisfying "click" of metal latching home. Jess regarded the weapon, holding it in her palms, testing the substantial weight, feeling the cool, impersonal touch of metal warm to match her heat, become a part of her on some level.
She raised the gun and aimed, closing her non-dominant eye like the instructions said, her finger testing the trigger. She couldn't fire it inside without making some kind of to-do about it, but she wasn't exactly fond of the idea of practice-shooting around the rest of the men and the Joker. She'd never fired a gun before—besides the BB variety in her uncle's backyard—and she was fairly sure the first few times would be simply terrible.
"Can I help you with that?"
Jess jumped and spun, dropping the gun to her side as she turned to face the stern countenance of Jackson, the member of the Twenty who tended to spend most of his time with the weapons. Not sure what else to say, Jess simply replied:
"Teach me."
Jackson's eyes softened and he gingerly took the Glock from her, motioning that she should follow him outside.
She really only got a glimpse of the men loading some heavy barrels into the back of the school bus before Jackson took her attention with a sharp, "Jesster, watch."
Making sure she attended carefully, he taught her how to release the magazine, how to "clear and safe" a weapon, how to chamber a round, pop a round from the chamber, and how to load ammunition into the magazine. As she slowly and carefully repeated each step, Jackson went off on a short (and, for him, rare) tangent about the awesomely devastating effects of "hydro-shok" ammunition on the soft tissue of the human body. Jess was unsure of whether to be enthralled or horrified, though for some reason she found a smirk mirroring Jackson's pulling at the corners of her mouth.
Jess followed the steps for the third time, sure she had them down, if not a bit clumsily. She held the weapon out, pointed downrange, confirming her visual observation of "clear and safe" before handing it, along with the magazine, off to the expert.
Jackson's focus immediately shifted back to the weapon, and he went both silent and serious. His skilled hands slid the magazine home, pulling back and releasing the slide to chamber a round in almost the same moment. Fluidly, he raised the gun to shoulder height, keeping his arm outstretched, his right hand wrapped around the gun, poised over the trigger, his left holding the weapon steadily in place.
"Two hands, Jess," he told her. "Always two hands, at least till you get accurate, or you'll shoot someone you don't want to and break your own fucking wrist. Take off those heels for the first time or you'll break your fuckin' ankles, too," they both chuckled at this, "and don't even think about touching that trigger until you've got your target all lined up."
He lowered the weapon, pointing it at the ground, and hunched to meet Jess's eyes intensely. "Listen to me." Jackson didn't really… talk that much, so Jess met his eyes, giving over her full attention.
"The fact that we're… well, honestly, we're the bad guys in this story…" he pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing. "Well, that don't mean shit, Jess. 'Cause with what we're doing… if you don't shoot them," he gently pressed his free index finger into the center of Jess's chest, right over her heart, "I can personally guarantee, they will shoot you."
Jackson let this sink in before delivering his final point.
"So, as a rule, my one rule," he raised that same index finger in the air to accentuate his point, "do not, do not, ever aim that weapon at someone you don't fully intend to kill."
Jess recognized the utter gravity of what she was learning to do. Defend herself, yes, handy justification, but in the process, she could possibly… well, probably take a life. Kill. She waited for some horror or revulsion to overwhelm her, some desire to throw down the gun and wave a white flag.
Nothing came.
Jackson straightened again. "Hey—Jesster—we clear?" Jess furrowed her brow, nodding the affirmative. "Uh-huh." Unconvinced—interpreting Jess's silent aw for a lapse in attention—Jackson reached forward and grabbed both of her hands, wrapping them firmly around the weapon, massive palms cradling her fingers, controlling them. Then he forced her to point the unclear and certainly unsafe weapon at his own chest, pressing the metal barrel into his skin.
Jess's hand shook as she met his eyes, but she dared not pull away. Clearly, Jackson had not appreciated Jess's preoccupation and was out to prove a point.
"What's the one rule again?" he whispered dangerously, his eyebrows quirked as though he truly didn't remember.
"Don't…" she started reciting the rule. Too slowly, apparently. His fingers pressed hers against the trigger. "Jesus, Jackson! Don't point—" he pulled the barrel into his chest a bit more firmly, "Okay, okay! Do not point a weapon at a-anything you're not prepared to kill!" She rushed the last phrase, and Jackson smiled, shifting away, taking the gun with him.
"Close enough," he said, holding back an obvious smirk as Jess fought with her anger—born from fear—and her shaking hands. Jackson continued with the lesson as though nothing at all had transpired.
A habit of men around here, Jess thought.
" Check out my stance: shoulder width between feet, left foot a little forward, body leaning towards the target slightly. We're gonna be aiming for the warehouse over... see that old sign?"
Jackson pointed the pistol at the wooden wall of the warehouse in the next lot, about fifty feet away, where a dented metal sign saying something like "No Dumping" clung to the side. Jess nodded wordlessly. She was being expected to focus on important information. Adrenaline was only going to hamper her first firing lesson. She concentrated on breathing slowly, evenly.
"Alright, now you wanna aim using the sight on top of the barrel. The top of the sight should be lined up where you want your bullet to hit, and you always want to keep that in focus. Not the target, the sight. The target needs to be out of focus, blurry. With a Glock—good choice, by the way—the safety's on the trigger, so you pull to deactivate that, but stop before you get to stage two. When you pull it the rest of the way, it needs to be controlled and steady, or else your aim's gonna get fucked. Cover your ears." Jess nodded and did so.
Before firing, Jackson turned to the men at the bus fifty yards away and shouted, "Just practicing!" He then pulled the trigger. The gun fired with a wonderful, resonant "BANG" and Jess could see the sign dent as a bullet crushed into its precise middle.
She laughed, clapping her hands, and reached for the gun. Smirking, Jackson handed it her way and watched her line herself up, giving instruction every so often and forcibly moving her arms and legs. He was being really cool. She probably thanked him at least five times, and every time she did he humbly replied, "Forget it, Jesster."
The first time she fired a gun, Jess was not prepared—not for the backlash in her hands and arms, the enormous noise, nor the feeling of power when she watched wood from the wall next to the sign fly away as the bullet drove its way through.
Jackson laughed and clapped her on the back as she stood there, surprised and delighted, her ears ringing and her head buzzing.
"Your aim's terrible," he told her with a smile. "Embarrassing, actually. But, hey, everything else was actually pretty good. You'll pick it up quick, just keep practicing."
"Anything you say, Chief," Jess replied breathlessly, which actually made Jackson laugh.
"Again."
She resumed her shooting position, raised the gun, took aim and fired. This time she held her hands slightly steadier and the bullet ricocheted off the very edge of the metal sign, to dent into a trashcan across the alley. Jess burst into laughter at that, but with a stern look from her teacher she got back to business, aiming and firing multiple shots, until the gun clicked and the magazine was cleared
"Don't pull the trigger too much when it's empty," Jackson ordered. "It's not very good for the piece. Always keep in mind how many bullets you have left in your gun; this one holds ten. Keep ammo on your person at all times. You don't want to be empty, especially in the middle of a shoot-out."
"You planning to get her into many shoot-outs?" Blake asked, walking over from the buses to the see Jess's progress.
"It's a very real possibility," Jess replied for Jackson. "We're not exactly liked."
Blake's lip twitched into a half smile and he wiped his hands down the fronts of his jeans, leaving greasy black smears.
"Shit," he muttered, noticing the stains he'd just made on his clothing. Jess frowned and examined his hands, the palms of which were covered in what looked like oil.
"What are you guys loading?"
Blake looked away from her, towards the bus, his lips tightening, suddenly seeming reluctant to answer. After a moment, as though trying to figure out how best to word this, he replied, "Oh, you know. The usual."
This response kind of pissed Jess off. She was just on the verge of being completely let into the workings of this group, but people like Blake were still trying to protect her, keep her out. She wanted to be fully integrated; instead of sitting on the sidelines, watching, she wanted to play the game.
The nearer this possibility seemed, the more she wanted it. So, she tried a different approach.
"What are we doing tonight, then?"
Blake offered her a cheeky grin.
"Oh," he said. "You know. The usual."
If one were to speak to Jess now, as she looked back on this time in her life, she would say that she was happier not knowing, that she would give anything to go back to the days of blissful ignorance, when the true labors of the Twenty were not fully revealed to her. Underestimating the mercilessness and brutality of the group she lived and worked with was a wonderful defense mechanism, and it worked for a long time to keep her spirit and faith intact. Jess would say, now, that her desire to really understand them, to be truly integrated and let in on everything they did, was foolish, naïve, and surprisingly self-destructive. She would say she would give anything to go back to innocence.
Then again, everyone is wiser in retrospect.
At the time it seemed to Jess that she was on the edge of a yawning chasm which separated her from the rest of the Twenty. Of course, as she clung to this group—the only beings like her in this entire universe—she felt that gap between them like an empty hole in her chest; she watched how closely they were bonded with each other and yearned to be part of that bond. Of course, people like Blake and Keith were truly there for her, and she was grateful for their friendship. But after her fight with Billy she'd never felt more removed from the Twenty as a whole. It was an empty sensation, painful and dull at the same time. Jess, knowing just how emotion-based her reactions tended to be, wanted to be rid of it.
However… if she was going to be honest with herself (really, brutally, completely honest), she supposed her desire for integration had something to do with her desire for the Joker. Not simply impressing him—though of course that was a major factor—but understanding him, really experiencing the brilliance of his genius and having him confide in her somehow, instead of keeping her apart so she wouldn't get in the way.
She didn't think he knew when he started this whole thing that adding an inexperienced member to the team, much less a female one, would lead to so much trouble. She was sure it delighted him, but surprise tended to do that. Imagine his surprise when he found out she could deal with the full extent of crime, do anything and everything he asked her to do… and she would do it, if only to show him she could.
Imagine how that would delight him.
She couldn't see many other ways to really bond with him, perhaps gain his affection (his love) in return. He'd blocked her every attempt to do so in any other aspect besides in their physical relationship, their fighting and, on the occasions when she was able to rise (or lower) to his level, their interesting, even meaningful, albeit short-lived, conversations.
She knew he couldn't keep himself away from her, she knew he wanted to keep her around, but she wanted him to allow himself to feel towards her without begrudging himself that emotion. He wouldn't do it willingly; he'd want to keep her, as he noted before, expendable. Perhaps that was some sort of defense, in case she abandoned him or… died.
Or, perhaps, he just didn't care that much.
Jess knew this, but knowing didn't make it any easier. She wanted him to want to want her.
In short, she wanted to prove that she was right for him.
It was for these reasons that, when a number of men started climbing into the bus to take off to wherever they were going with those barrels, Jess got in, too, despite a deep inkling that all was not going to be well.
The sky over Gotham Harbor was growing darker, a heavy grey weighing down low over the murky waters. The air smelled like salt and rust; the sounds of the dock creaking, and the shrill of a gull or two, were the only noises to greet them as they stopped the bus and jumped out of the emergency exit at the back. A few of the men got straight to work, unloading the barrels of oil or gas or whatever and rolling them down the deserted dock, while the rest stood guard around the gates thirty yards away, machine guns resting in the crooks of their elbows.
Jess turned out to the vast expanse of ocean which opened beyond the borders of the far-off stretches of land forming the sides of the bay. She loved the sea, but these city waters held no semblance of their distant cousins – they were dirty, cloudy, filled with the slime and trash of Gotham and waste from the engines of the endless masses of oil tankards, commercial steam ships and lean private speed boats which docked here.
This particular section of dock seemed isolated, at least for now, probably thanks to a slight-of-hand by the Clown Prince of Crime. The vessel towards which the barrels were being sent seemed to be some kind of tourist ferry, which left Jess with a definite sense of foreboding as the words Engel had been forced to read came back to her…
"Come nightfall, this city is mine, and anyone left here plays by my rules. If you don't want to be in the game, get out now. But the bridge-and-tunnel crowd are in for a surprise."
No, no one would risk the usual paths out of the city, back towards the mainland, not with a terrorist threat in the works (though Jess had her doubts as to whether the Joker was actually orchestrating anything on the bridges or tunnels; it would be just like him to lie in order to keep people here. She certainly hadn't heard of anything.) This left them turning towards the Atlantic as an escape route, perhaps trying to catch a boat to nearby Metropolis, or farther. Many of them would board their own speedboats, perhaps a yacht or two, maybe even a cruise ship, but the rest would turn towards…
"Wait!" Jess was racing down the docks after the last of the barrels, hardly giving herself time to think this through. There were two ferries anchored there, she saw now, and casks were being loaded into them evenly. She stopped and stared as the closest one was hauled from Seth to Drew.
A bomb, Jess thought, recognizing the bundled wires on top of each container. She looked at the other ferry. Two bombs, one for each boat.
What was the Joker playing at? The people on these boats weren't mob bosses or men trying to usurp his quest for the city; they were ordinary citizens, Gothamites, and if these drums of oil exploded, they'd be killed in hundreds!
For all her thoughts about apathy towards the death of a stranger, Jess could not see this happen! This wasn't some stupid kid who didn't know when to shut his mouth. This was on a much grander scale.
Before, it had been different. Before, the Joker had only ever killed those on the other side—people who got in his way, got mixed up in his world; people who were asking for it, who, through their own decisions and actions, had caught the Joker's attention and wound up in a coffin. The Joker's murders were carefully and personally chosen; they had all had a point, god-dammit! But this scheme… This was so out of character. She'd never seen the Joker arbitrarily carrying out a mass-murder, and for what? Innocents, families, men, women and, dear god, children would be on these ferries! Had her faith in him all been wrong? How could he do this?
Jess turned on her heel, fuming, panic and distress welling up inside as she marched back down the docks to confront the boss. He was standing by the bus, eyes cast meditatively out towards the bay, a tiny smile playing at the corners of his mouth. She could just imagine his wicked thoughts, sparking rapid-fire through his head; too quick to catch hold of and examine in length but too substantial to disregard.
How uncomfortable it must have been, to be trapped in that brain which caused so much trouble, which thought of things in a way which skewed them beyond recognition. For a moment she regarded him, a little struck by pity.
Not that he'd change anything about his situation, that nagging little voice at the back of her head—which was growing quieter by the day—spoke up. The thought was enough to send her sweetening compassion far away, and she squared her shoulders and marched up to him.
"J," she said, loudly and sharply. His eyes lifted away from the horizon and he swung his head to look at her, intrigued by her tone, his tongue running along the inside of his cheek. "What the fuck is this?" This was a demand, and his eyebrows popped up.
"So full of conflict today, Jesster," he said lowly. "Don't you ever get tired of egging me on? That's what you're doing, you know, with all your little…" his left fist clenched in irritation, automatically, spasmodically, "questions."
"Just answer me," Jess ordered, bent on her refusal to play games with him. "What… the fuck… is this?"
Jess could see the Joker prepare himself for another brawl: his posture grew tense, especially around his shoulders and back, and he lowered his head, looking at her from under his eyebrows, his smile tilted in an uncanny, frightening way. A show of defense, she understood now, like the snarling red grimace on the wings of a toxic butterfly. He was warning her away, giving her one last chance to flee before she was poisoned and destroyed.
But she was no longer afraid of him. That particular emotion had been absent for a while now.
Well… perhaps that wasn't completely true. But Jess certainly wasn't scared that he might decide to up and kill her, what with all that "you are mine, I want you" crap he'd spewed last time they'd spoken. Crap that had, by the by, softened her enough that she'd given him a smoldering kiss before walking away to look at the guns. He'd apparently figured he'd gotten away with it, that he had been completely forgiven, that their conflict and the horror of his attempts to force himself on her were forgotten.
But even though she wasn't mad anymore didn't mean he was suddenly in her good graces. He'd assumed he was, the idiot.
Men.
The point was, she could speak her mind around him now and not have to fear a knife to the throat. She was sure he loved that as much as he hated it.
"Ah… well… Jesster," his eyes locked onto hers and he grinned, "what does it look like this is?" Jess didn't say anything for a moment, staring at him with silent, shaking rage. He took this as an opportunity to continue. "I mean, you're a smart kid, right? You've, uh, been around the block a few times? Hm?" He was making fun of her now. She sneered.
He paused, looked to the side quickly and licked his lips. Then, eyes darting around, he approached her, his makeup and oil stained hands reaching up to slide long fingers down the contours of her jaw. She shivered but kept eye contact, jutting out her chin to demonstrate just how unafraid she was. The Joker cocked a half grin and Jess realized he was never more fascinated with her than at times like this, when she stood up to him. There was a sort of interest, a strange kind of gentility in his eyes, as though he was in the midst of trying to solve her, loving both the game and the puzzle itself. She couldn't understand why she was more confusing to him than the majority of their friends (for lack of a better word).
Perhaps, as she'd pondered before, the Joker simply didn't understand women.
"You're committing mass-murder," she told him bluntly, allowing her voice to shake a little with suppressed anger.
He blinked; that thin thread of affection in his eyes snapped and he leaned away, tilting his head to the side, his mouth opening slightly while his tongue played at the corner of those blemished lips. He regarded her carefully for a long moment, eyebrows raised slightly, and she simply stared back, waiting for his next move.
"Y'know…" he said, abruptly launching into speech, his hands making characteristic circles in the air, "there's not much to it, Jesster. The idea's simple… classic, even. It's, uh… it's been done before. We just make our little bombs and stow them as a nice surprise for the folks on the ferries. Trust me," he grinned and cupped a hand around the back of her neck, forcibly bringing her closer, "it'll be a blast."
Jess snorted in disgust and pushed away from him, hard, her hands connecting with his shoulders. He relinquished his grip easily, however, still watching with interest, curious to see how she'd handle this, perhaps a little wary after how badly they'd been getting along today. Knowing she was in the mood for a fight anyway. Waiting to calculate his own actions to counteract hers.
Like a game of chess.
Why was everything a game to him?
"You think that's brilliant, don't you?" she asked. The Joker managed to look mildly pleased with himself, raising his eyebrows as if to say, "Yeah?" Jess pursed her lips. "You know, this whole… experience hasn't exactly been a real fucking joy, J. I've been through a lot of shit getting to this point. I've seen a lot. I've learned a lot, and you can't deny that. And not everything I've learned has been pleasant; in fact, the vast majority of your little… life lessons have seriously sucked."
"What's your point, Jesster?" He was getting impatient.
"My point, J, is that if I didn't find you a little redeemable sometimes, I would not still be here. It wouldn't matter that you have connections all over the Gotham underground or that you're good in bed; I would be gone, or at the least I wouldn't make it easy for you to keep me around." She sighed. "But you manage to endear yourself to me; I don't get how, but you do and you know that. But right now, seeing what you're planning, what you're about to do… I can't find a single redeemable characteristic about you… especially after today."
The Joker looked unimpressed.
"Are you trying to leave me, Jesster?" he asked ironically, cocking his head, wearing a condescending expression.
"Don't insult me," Jess snapped. "I'm well aware you don't consider that a threat and I know nothing I say is gonna change your little fucking scheme. That's not my motive. Why move towards an unreachable goal? But I want you to know something." She looked right into his eyes as she said this, portraying to him her depth of solemnity. "This disgusts me. You, at this moment, disgust me."
He opened his mouth to reply but Jess held up a forceful hand, feeling an incredible surge of bravery. He showed no signs of open hostility, after all. In fact, once again he seemed fascinated by her actions. His eyebrows popped up again when she quieted him, but he slowly shut his mouth, staring into her eyes with a dark expression.
"What is this for, J? To prove a point? To get Batman out of hiding? Or is it just to fuck around, have some laughs at the expense of hundreds of people's lives? Because that… That is more fucked up than I thought even you were capable of. You know," she laughed scornfully, "I kind of thought you had a point, like you were doing this shit for a reason. What the fuck is this gonna do? You won't even be there to see it! So why do all these innocent people have to die, J? What's your reasoning here? What is this for?" Gotham. "What will this get you?" Gotham. "What are you after?" Gotham. "What statement are you making here? What is this claiming?"
Gotham.
Jess stopped, her lips still drawn, caught suddenly in deep thought, the kind which etches creases in the lines of your brow. She stared at the ground, working her jaw a little, intensely focused on this realization that she couldn't quite believe she'd just had. Looking for answers, she glanced up to the Joker for a long moment.
In the instant their eyes met, dark gaze locking onto dark gaze, an understanding passed between them, far superior to any communication she'd had with him to date. Like an electric spark, a surge of synergy… if only for a second, a split second, Jess completely understood him; she was suddenly acutely aware that she was thinking exactly what he was, that she had guessed everything, that she comprehended.
Something had connected between them; she'd gone to a different state of mind for just an instant, and the result was a startling, electric change in energy, as though the bond between them had grown stronger, pulsing with a new, feverish glow.
"It's for Gotham," she said. The Joker was still and silent, but his look took on a different aspect. He stared at her, intense and anticipatory, something about him predatory, hungry, wolfish, while he simultaneously managed to be somehow appreciative of her. In that moment, she knew she had it right. His silence reaffirmed her thoughts; the fact that, for once, they were on the same page was enough to make her heart start racing and her cheeks flush with pleasure.
She'd caught up! She was sharing a serious idea with the largest role model she'd ever had in her life, a man who commanded her initially reluctant respect because he was so much more than she was in every way. But this meant the gap between them was closing and that… that felt too good to explain. There was something in his eyes, some concentrated desire for her to continue, for her to share her epiphany.
Because this epiphany? This changed things.
We all need change.
"Of course it is," she muttered as she thought, mysteries unraveling themselves seemingly of their own accord. She seemed to have found the final puzzle piece, the invaluable cut which, once added, allowed the rest of the picture to fall into place. "Of course that's what it's for. To show them… exactly what you're capable of, exactly what you'll do to…"
"Get this city," the Joker finished her sentence lowly, his eyes flicking back to the long stretch of buildings on the western horizon. His shoulders hunched slightly as he looked at it, the predatory stance of a hunter about to capture his long-awaited prey.
"This is a way of waking them up out of their fog…"
One way of many, doubtless. Hadn't she thought before how the citizens of Gotham were like timid sheep, stuck in the monotony of their subjective day to days? This stunt would show them how delicate were their forces of balance, their opinions of right and wrong. This would show that those rich bureaucrats up in their fancy offices didn't control this city; neither did the mob, the gangs; neither did Bruce Wayne. No one controlled this city. Only chaos had reign here… and chaos was the Joker's game. It was his home, his comfort zone.
He was only perfectly at ease when nothing was.
"People who are not 'supposed' to die will die," Jess muttered, looking at the ground. "That's the way chaos works, isn't it… Because life's not like a story, not even in this world…" The Joker's head snapped up at this, his eyes searching hers feverishly. For a moment, she panicked. The issue of her being from a different universe was a subject they'd never broached, and she wondered how he'd handle it. She wasn't sure it had even been okay to mention it; it was that one issue no one wanted to approach with him, that unspoken facet of their lives that was kept out of conscious thought, the better for sanity. The statement had slipped out, really. Jess had always had a big mouth.
"Go on, Jesster," the Joker said quietly, his voice cracking a little. Jess shivered at his tone. He was goading her on; he wanted to hear what she was thinking.
"They're not from where I consider real," she said. He was silent, giving no hint to whether or not this was news to him. She didn't know how it could be. He'd contacted them, after all. "They're not real, not to me, and, I'm beginning to think, somehow they're not even very real to you either… We're on different planes than them…"
A light drizzling rain had begun to fall. Jess watched a drop land on the Joker's shoulder and slide down his suit, leaving a dark purple trail along the lapel. She got the urge to reach out and wipe it away, but restrained herself. She thought touching him would be like sticking her fingers in an electrical socket, and she had to keep her wits for at least a little while longer.
"We're on different levels… They're just figures in the dark and, I suppose, if this is the way the story goes, then they were meant to die…" She paused, shook her head. "No, that's not right, is it? None of them were meant to, but that's the whole point. The absence of meaning. The fact that there really isn't a point."
Her eyes locked on his again. He was smiling a little.
"That's it, isn't it?" she whispered.
Jess checked herself. She was flushed, overwhelmed; she felt as though her heart were leaping and plummeting at once, as though she'd just jumped off a building and was learning to place her trust in nothing, in absence, in empty air.
The truth is, there is no truth.
"What is real anyway?" she asked. "What's real to me, what was always real to me, is certainly not what was real to you. It's not even what's real to me anymore. If things can change like that, doesn't that mean reality's subjective? How can any of us have the… insolence to try and say what's true or false or right or wrong? I mean, learning to look past it has been one of the most… enlightening… experiences of my life. Why go according to how people say it's supposed to be? Things…" She looked back to the city, thinking of the filth, the hate, the disease, death and sadness, the corporate bigwigs in their comfy office chairs, the lusts for power and money and more at all costs, the rich getting richer, the poor getting poorer… Man's desire for control was killing him.
"Things aren't working the way they are," she said simply, but she felt it, deep in her chest.
They were like motes of dust on stream of wind among countless streams of wind, governed only by a lack of order. And trying to control that chaos only led to the oppression of others. True freedom was found in lack of order.
"You… we are fighting for Gotham's soul."
The Joker's smile widened. "I like that, Jesster," he muttered. "Gotham's soul…"
Jess looked around, struck by utter disbelief and shaking from a forceful epiphany. Then, slowly, her lips curled and she managed a quiet chuckle. "I don't know why I didn't get that before…"
Her eyes scanned the distant horizon, where the darkening sky met a grey, tumultuous sea. Allowing herself a moment of silent contemplation, she ignored the Joker's presence behind her, unable to shake that little smile, blown away at how perfectly everything had clicked into place. She had learned; he'd taught her, in his way, and she found herself going back over memorable things he'd said, finding more meaning in them now. Understanding the way his mind worked, the truths under which he was operating, allowed her more of an insight into him than ever.
She remembered all the times he'd told her to give up, to stop fighting. He'd known that chaos would override any morals or ideals she'd had when she'd come to Gotham; the only one strong and stubborn enough to keep his useless values, to continue operating under them, was Batman. That was why he and the Joker were perfect enemies; he would never stop attempting to protect Gotham from its true nature, while the Joker would never stop attempting to bring that true nature to the surface.
A hand fell softly onto her shoulder, startling her from her reverie.
"Thinking again, Jesster?" the Joker asked, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. Jess nodded and looked up at him, her gaze softening.
She turned, pressing against him as his hand slid down her arm, thinking back to earlier, how angry she'd been with him. How did he have the power to make her forgive him so easily? He'd done nothing, really, besides listen when she needed to talk to collect her thoughts. Somehow he always knew exactly what to say and do to achieve his goals… and he was well aware he had that rare power of insight. He utilized it frequently.
"You have a problem with that?" Jess retorted playfully, her voice low and sultry.
The Joker cocked a crooked half-grin, half-sneer, a quiet growl resounding deep in his throat, the masculine tenor of which immediately fanned to life that lusty fire. Smiling, Jess reached up for the back of his neck at the precise moment he pulled her arm forcibly towards him. Their bodies connected solidly an instant before their lips did, and Jess reveled in the firm press of his abdomen, in the heat emitting from beneath his clothes.
She loved this man.
The Joker's kiss was fierce, passionate, and he immediately took control of the pace. Jess's head fell back as he pulled her closer still, almost crushing her against him, so tight she nearly couldn't breathe. But it was wonderful. She had never felt so needed before, so craved, so much like she was taken and would never be released… It was glorious, a mix of the terror of entrapment and the passion of desire. His tongue flicked against her lips softly, tracing their shape before forcing its way into her mouth, deepening the kiss brutally. Simultaneously, his hands trailed down her arms and suddenly ten strong fingers had grasped both of her wrists, bringing them behind her back and ensnaring them there in one large palm, effectively trapping her against him. Jess struggled for the sport of it, knowing he'd love her doing so. Sure enough, he growled again, smiling against her lips, and his hipbones collided against hers. The kiss turned animal, unthinking, vicious, teeth clicking against teeth as they bit each other's lips, pleasurable in its ugliness, exactly what a loving kiss shouldn't be; the Joker's free hand flew up to cup her chin, forcing her face closer to his until there was nothing but their mingled breath, teeth, tongues and lips. It was exhilarating. All of her rage, her fear, her sadness and hate spilled out into him; he drank them down and returned for more, taking her sins, sharing them, loving them.
A shock of pain streaked through her as his teeth grazed the corner of her mouth on his way to lick and suck on her neck. She felt around her lips with her tongue—breathing heavily, the Joker's ministrations raising hot and cold goosebumps all over her body—and found a small well of blood had sprung up at a side. The coppery taste was oddly appealing; it reminded her of him.
But this was the breaking point of her will. She was starting to feel shaky, on edge, wild, almost, as though she might blow completely apart at any second. His tight hold kept her together, but it was the very thing making her crack.
"You scratched me" was all she could think to say.
He brought his mouth back to hers at this, not comprehending or not caring or both, and the feel of his painted lips was too much at first. Jess moaned, not able—or willing—to keep from doing so, feeling wonderfully over stimulated as his flaking makeup translated itself to her face, leaving behind streaks of white and red.
White hot.
Red hot.
His dark eyes were wide open. That was nothing new. He never wanted to miss a second, wanted to experience everything with every sense he had.
If the Joker didn't know how to live, no one did.
Taking a clue from him, Jess met his intense gaze, which grew even more turbulent in this connection, so powerful she almost looked away like a submissive dog. But in locking their eyes, she upped the heat. The Joker pulled her closer, releasing her wrists to clasp tightly at her body, bending her backwards a little, translating her weight into his arms, fingers digging into her ass and thighs. She grabbed his belt loops, slamming their hips together forcefully. He grunted, grip tightening painfully, his tongue doing indecent, wonderful things to her mouth. They gazed at each other as they kissed, and once more she felt their link, so strong in this moment…
Finally, Jess forcibly ripped herself away from him, breathing heavily, still looking into his burning brown eyes. He growled at her for it, a release of some of the tension building up inside him, evident in his tightening shoulders. But Jess held her ground.
"We have to go somewhere. Now."
This was an order, there was no mistaking. Jess had just given the Joker an order.
He stared at her for a long moment, obviously more than a little pissed off, shoulders heaving, before, finally, he nodded and glanced around the area quickly and feverishly.
"C'mon," he muttered, grabbing her wrist again and pulling. She trotted after him, his long strides taking two of hers as he walked with absolute purpose and resolve towards the school bus parked at the end of the pier, just inside the forbidding fence.
"Out," he barked at Keith and Jackson, who had been lounging inside the now-empty vehicle. He was still breathing heavily, his teeth bared, and the men glanced at Jess both curiously and a little anxiously as they passed, jumping out of the emergency exit and walking towards the waterfront, where the rest of the men were preparing the bombs. At that moment, she could honestly not have cared less how she looked to them; it felt like her heart was pumping acid through her veins with every beat. The Joker, to them, must have looked murderous. She knew better, however.
The Joker caught Jess's eye, smiled, and slammed the door after them, locking it solidly before turning back to face her. She started towards him as he slowly raised his hands and pulled off his purple gloves, tossing them aside only to grip her hips and drag her on top of him, falling backwards into a double seat. She straddled his firm thighs—God, he had an incredible body—making sure to grind into him; it wasn't tough to figure out whether or not he was turned on.
"We have to make this fast," he rasped, tugging her dress up over her thighs, skimming his hands between her legs. Caught in the sexual craze, Jess reached to unbutton his vest, coarsely forcing his jacket off broad shoulders and onto the cheap vinyl bus seat—a sort of poor-man's bottom sheet. He laid back quickly, banging his head against the metal window frame but not even pausing in his removal of her costume, making no secret of his desire to reveal more of her skin. His hands were everywhere, schizophrenic, unfocused and frenzied. But he managed to let her know with his touch that he possessed every part of her… in essence, he was her god.
Jess was fine with that. She studied his bare torso, ran her fingers along the scars there, felt the taught skin of the years-old burns. Watching his movements and the contractions of his solid muscles beneath that scarred and imperfect skin only fueled her arousal, tapping into some deep-seated evolutionary sexual urge triggered by muscular frames and displays of strength, of dominance. He was such a mystery; there would always be the possibility of discovering more about him. That meant he would never, ever get boring. That was such an amazing, appealing facet of his existence.
She leaned down to kiss him, fisting a hand in his sweaty, tangled curls. Their bodies connected. Bare skin met bare skin; it felt like an electric current passed through her every pore. The Joker's coarse hands explored her torso roughly, squeezing and rubbing, and he laughed whenever she gasped in surprise or pleasure. The man was full of surprises, one of which was his unceasing ability to elicit pleasure in new and increasingly provocative ways.
He moved too quickly to understand or completely follow, making Jess cry out in all the right ways before she was even aware his hands had shifted. He was always self-satisfied when he brought forth such vocal expressions of gratification from her lips, smiling a little, tonguing the scar that twisted its way up his lower lip as his eyes focused directly on his task. How he could move with such speed and precision was beyond her; she made him moan much less often than he did her, but he wasn't complaining. He thoroughly enjoyed it all. Of this much Jess was certain.
The fact that she was on top, straddling his—regrettably, still clothed—hips, meant very little at the moment. It was quite clear who was in control. But when Jess's hands slid down his stomach to start working at his belt buckle, the Joker laughed against her mouth, once more abruptly capturing both wrists in his hands. In half a second, too fast to really register what had happened, he'd flipped them so that Jess was now the one laying on the bus seat, her knees dangling over the edge. The Joker's coat bunched beneath her and she felt the cheap vinyl stick to the beads of sweat forming on her naked back. The air started to smell muggy, delicious, and the Joker knelt in the bus's aisle, between her widened legs, kissing her stomach, her bare breasts, teeth nipping, tongue flicking, sure to leave marks.
As he undid his own belt and removed the rest of her clothes, Jess thought bizarrely that a bus was such an odd place to do it. Not her idea of romance, but, God… She honestly could not think of anywhere hotter. Not that either of them were doing much thinking at the moment.
He lifted himself over her, his weight settling on top of her as his hands secured her wrists high above her head. She'd seen things like this in movies, shows of such dominance, and now she completely understood why it was so popular… He was displaying utter control over her and it felt so safe this way, so sexy. He was doing this because, against all (and I mean, quite literally, all) odds, he wanted her. He wanted her more than anything else right now. It felt like she'd won everything the world had to offer. Her heart was pounding a rapid tattoo; she didn't think she could get much more steamed up…
Moving rapidly, fumbling, he unbuckled his purple trousers and kicked them away, both of them finally completely naked, sweaty bodies moving as one. She arched her back, trying to contain the moan threatening to burst through her lips at the mere feel of him. He was boiling hot, every piece of him a streak of fire, and he slid his tongue up her neck, hands gripping and groping, spreading her legs forcibly, teeth nipping her earlobe…
He wasted no more time with teasing her. Jess's head fell back, her lips parting in a silent, involuntary gasp as he entered her. She could never remember feeling so wonderful, so consumed.
When he finally settled his full weight onto her, hips thrusting frantically, and he kissed her again, things lost control. Jess's mind went completely blank at the corners, all her attention focused in a heated beam on the man whose body moved with hers. There was nothing but this, this fire, this heat, this frenzy, this extreme, all-encompassing power he had over her.
He was going fast, too fast, painfully fast, and it was incredible. More than incredible. It was fucking divine. All she could do was cry his name over and over; there was only him, only them, together.
We.
Us.
"J…" Barely managed between heated breaths.
"Jess…"
It was all that mattered, all that existed. There was no Gotham, no Twenty, no Batman, no battle, no guns, no death… Reality at that moment came down to Jesster and Joker, alone, together.
She looked straight into him, meeting his eyes, matching his intensity, and felt everything else collapse.
VERY IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE! PLEASE READ!
Thank you all so much for your amazing reviews. A few of you are coming out of the woodwork and letting me know what you really feel, which is incredibly gratifying because THAT is when I start to improve. When I get constructive criticism, I mean. Now, of course, I love all of you who tell me you love the story, but I am also incredibly grateful to those who point out—intelligently and with some semblance of courtesy—where I'm going wrong.
Having said that, I felt I should explain some things that have been bothering ME about my own story, because I don't feel they're getting across as well as I would like, and I don't know how to really put them in.
1.) Cliché?
Haha, now I don't want to sound like a complete jerk here, but when people tell me my story's "a little cliché," I say, "Why, yes. Yes it is." And there's little to be done that can change that. But I'm justified.
Please listen and listen well, for this one point I'm justifiably passionate about. I started writing this story BEFORE the opening night of Dark Knight, based solely on some absolutely riveting trailers with a few amazing frames of this sexy new Joker tossing his knife around. These led to a rather extraordinary, vivid dream, one I still remember. I outlined and posted the first chapter at a time when most other people hadn't even seen the movie, and almost no one had posted a Joker/OC story for it. At the time this fic was conjured, written and posted, my plot was original! No one else had written it, at least not from what I'd seen, and the now-classic "normal girl gets turned into Joker's henchman and also they have sex" thing did not even exist at the time I first published this story! At least, not for Dark Knight. For comic fanfiction, I'm sure there are stories out there. But I never read comic book fanfic. I'm sure I'd love it though…
Now, I'm NOT claiming I was the first to write as much, or even a part of the faction that created that movement (which is undoubtedly a movement, I mean, let's be honest). That honor goes to all of you incredible authors out there who have contributed (and, in the interest of harsh truths, quite a few not-so-incredible authors who have also contributed…) However, what DOES frustrate me is that in staying true to my original outline, I'm getting accused of being cliché! It irritates me, honestly, but there's not anything I can do about it. Loyal and wonderful readers, please understand that any perceived cliché-ness is not for lack of trying or creativity. I had nothing to go off of besides the trailers when I first conceived You Can't Spell, and had nothing aside from the moviw when I first wrote it.
Having said that, I think my story is unique, as are most stories. Besides, I love writing it, "cliché" or otherwise, love it or hate it.
2.) (And this is something that probably bothers ALL of us) The apparently common assumption that every male in this story is in love with Jess.
Um, guys? Literally not a single person is. Well, maybe Billy, but he's not going to forgive her any time soon. He honestly feels more hate towards her than affection and there will be no more romantic themes between the two characters – that ship has long since sailed. The rest of the Twenty either think of Jess as someone they must protect, like a kid sister (I mean, she's from the 'real' world, too. She's one of their small and unique group in a world otherwise occupied by DC characters. Of COURSE they're gonna bond with her in some manner) or they are pretty ambiguous about her thoughts and feelings. I am aware that I don't spend a lot of time describing the members of the Twenty who don't really hang out with Jess, but that's because she doesn't really know them, either. They feel the same about each other—like they're part of a team and they should stick together because they're from the same place. In fact, that's one of the driving forces behind the strong bonds amongst the Twenty. They are the only people there of their kind (that is, not what they consider "fictional"). Step into their shoes, please. How would you feel if such an, albeit unlikely, occurrence came to pass? If they didn't all stick together, they'd be lost. And they know that.
But that's pretty much the extent of it, and a lot of things go on behind Jess's back that she doesn't see. Most commonly, the rolling of eyes. In regards to Jess's actions, the reactions of the other men are sugar-coated by people like Blake and Keith, because they don't want to hurt her feelings or start trouble in the group – you know, big brother behavior. And Jess is none the wiser.
***Keep in mind, Jess's point of view does not represent the views of the rest of the Twenty!**
They all have their own seperate feelings considering the events in this story, many of which differ drastically from what we experience through Jess's POV. Do NOT take for granted that what she is thinking reflects the thought process of anyone else. Simply because the Twenty is (mostly) not straight-out mean to her doesn't mean they're in love with her.
As for Blake… Well, let's just say I have plans for the guy. He's really the one who cares most about her.
The Joker? God, I have NO idea how he feels about all of this. Why don't you ask him yourself? ;)
3.) The tears of Jessica.
People are complaining about how often Jess cries. This problem confuses me. What do you want her to do? I'm older than Jess, and I know I'd be bawling my eyes out at every turn in the road (maybe that's JUST me, but I doubt I'm alone in that assertion… I hope I'm not, anyway! Why wouldn't you cry? This is scary stuff! Are you all hardened bandits? Murderers? GASP… are… are you all HIGHWAYMEN! I KNEW IT!... I've been playing too much Fable II…). She's not the most insanely strong, tough badass on the planet. She's an eighteen year old girl and a die-hard romantic on top of that. But does that make her a Mary-Sue? I have always worked and continue to work very hard on NOT writing a Mary-Sue; on keeping her "normal," if a little hardened. I'm trying to allow change in the deliberate effort to create a dynamic character. Thank you for any help you can provide on that!
4.) The alternate universes.
A lot of you mention this! I don't know how deeply I'm going to go into the mechanics of the DC/Reality crossover, but it's certainly a pivotal point of the story which drives the action of every single original character (and one or two characters who are not mine, wink wink). It is not contestable, (as much as I enjoy debating the finer points of physics and string theory, lol) and while it's easy to forget where the Twenty come from, I hope you all keep it in mind. There's a REASON I remind you every so often that they consider this fiction. I promise, there's a reason.
I don't want to give away too much. What I can tell you is that I certainly don't think of the warp into the DC world like a magical leap through the boundaries of fiction, a la Narnia. In the realm of quantum physics, there is no reality or unreality. The theory (and that's all it is as of now, a theory) states that there are infinite universes existing simultaneously with ours. If anything happens—whether in a story, a movie, a song or the imagination—it is happening in some other universe's subjective reality. You follow? :) I merely latched onto that fascination idea, thinking it might make an interesting plot device, and utilized it as such.
In the most succinct terms I can conjure, it is possible that we experience just one of countless universes. Gotham is in a parallel universe to ours. In my story, the wall between the worlds fell for a while and people crossed over. How remains a mystery… for now. ;)
That's not to say this is my spiritual philosophy, but that's what happened in my story. So, you see, I do think about it... quite a lot, in fact. :)
So that's my rant. I'm not attacking anyone, and I'm not bitter or mad or anything. I just think it's fair that my thoughts are known, and I think that, if you're still here and reading, you have a better grasp of what I'm doing. Review or PM me and let me know what you think! I love having Joker related discussions, so, seriously, don't be shy. I appreciate all of you readers beyond measure. You're incredible and you… you light up my life. :')
Xoxo
Immy