A storm raged outside. Rachel could not see it, there were no windows in the room, but the wind still howled outside and the rain roughly pounded against the roof. Every now and again, thunder would sound, causing her to curl deeper into her cot. She hated thunder storms, and she hated being alone in them even more. Joker had left a few hours ago, cackling about a date with Batsy. Hopefully he would be careful.
Yes, despite what logic told her, she was attached to this mysterious man. He was kind to her and his company was actually enjoyable. Their conversations were often entertaining and she had found that he was quite an intelligent individual. His views on human nature, while jaded and pessimistic, did make a great deal of sense. Humans were vicious, but they were also weak-minded. They had a tendency to resist change and reject anything that did not fit in the tiny box of their lives. He claimed that he was simply improving the human species by killing off those too weak to adapt to new situations. He was also keeping the police force in top condition. Although she hated to admit it, he always gave them a way to avoid total disaster. In a way, he was like a spider. He's unpleasant, but he does do the world a bit of a favor. Maybe, just maybe, he and Batman weren't that different. Yes, Batman did avoid killing people, but wolves killed the weak to better the caribou population. They were similar in a not similar way. Make sense?
The door flung open and Rachel jumped up, preparing to defend herself should her life (or virtue) be in danger. However, in walked four dark figures that seemed to be carrying a large load. At first, the object was unrecognizable, but as her eyes adjusted and her mind made sense of it all, she realized that the object was in fact a person, the Joker to be more specific. They laid him gently on the bed and left, unable to do more. She had to give it to them, despite their harsh nature, the henchmen really were loyal to him. Stupid people... you did not entire into the Joker's employ and become attached to him.
She rushed to the bed and crawled over to kneel at his side. All she could make out was that he was mess, but nothing else. However, flipping on a lamp, she gasped at the extent of his wounds. There were several deep lacerations along his chest and arms, soaking his clothes in blood. He was grasping his abdomen protectively, indicating that something was not quite right. On his face, there were several nasty cuts and bruises that were also bleeding heavily, but that was just the nature of head wounds. He needed to be cleaned up now.
"Don't move," she commanded him as she left for the bathroom. He gave a chocking laugh, followed by a groan.
"You don't have to worry about that," he called after her weakly. She got to the bathroom and began assessing what she needed. Towels, water, needle, thread, bandages and alcohol. She grabbed a few clothes that looked fairly clean, and dug around in the cabinets, and found a few roles of gauze. Giving up there, she ran into the kitchen and filled up a pot of water, cursing over how long that took. Finally, she secured a bottle of whiskey and ran back. She would have to look later for something to stitch him up. He was still laying in the same position she had left him in, and ever now and again he would emit and low groan. He must have been in a lot of pain because he was not laughing now.
"I have to clean your wounds now, and that will require me to remove your shirts. Are you alright with that?" she asked, knowing that that would probably count as an intimate gesture to him. Something told her that the Joker did not normally expose skin if it was possible. The man wore gloves for crying out loud! He shot her a look that basically questioned her sanity.
"I'm...in... A LOT OF PAIN!" he dramatically responded. "Propriety is not an issue here." Well, that was all she needed. With trembling fingers, she undid the buttons of his vest and shirt and pulled back the folds of the article along with his jacket. Besides the cuts, there were deep bruises forming along his ribs and belly. Unfortunately, his clothes still obstructed her mediation. He needed to be fully gone of the jacket and shirt. "Either you have a very light touch or nothing is happening. Please stop exploring the art work and get with the healing," he half teased, half griped. She cleared her throat and slipped her hands under his side to turn him onto his side. "OW!" he exclaimed with a cold look over his shoulder.
"Sorry, but I have to get these off you. Oh my," she gasped as she saw his back. Along the center was a long gash and three puncture marks. What did he do to irritate Bruce so much? This was terrible and totally out of character for her gentle friend. She slipped his arm out of the sleeves and then rolled him over to his other side, much to his protests, and did the same thing so she could cast the garments away. He was returned to his back and she began dabbing the deep cuts with water to remove the excess blood. Next, she poured water over the cuts to flush out any dirt. Preferably, she would actually have tweezers to further inspect and remove any foreign materials, but that was not an option. He would be lucky not to get an infection from this, and being who he was, there was no chance a hospital or clinic would help him. Poor thing! Finally, she opened the whiskey bottle and doused the lacerations with the liquid. He let out a pained cry and bit down on his knuckles. "I thought you liked pain," she teased him, hoping to get his mind off the searing pain.
"Yes, sharp, quick pain, not this prolonged agony," he corrected her. So even the Joker had a limit to what he could take.
"I am sorry, but you're quite prone to infection right now, and because I cannot ensure that all the dirt and whatnot is out, I have to try to kill bacterial somehow. It was good enough for the Civil War soldiers," she reasoned.
"Yeah, and back then they hacked off whole limbs for bullet wounds... without anesthetics too! You're not planning on that are you?" he bit back. Someone was a bit unhappy.
"It did come to mind." She finished the disinfecting and put the bottle aside. It was still needed for his back and face. "Erm, I don't suppose you have a needle and threat would you?" she asked.
"Tiny box on the left side," he informed her, indicating his series of boxes under the bed. She hoped off and found a box filled with thread, needles, and buttons. Why so many buttons?
"Do you have a color preference?" she laughed.
"You're pushing it," he growled. Okay, no more jokes for now. She selected the dark purple thread, figuring it was better than lime green since there was an abhorrent lack of black and cut a long length. After threading the needle, she dipped it in the whiskey and plunged it into his flesh. He let out a small chuckle and a sigh. "That's more like it." He relaxed as she stitched him shut. "So... where did you learn to stitch? Finishing school?" he laughed. She shot him a glare. While it was good he was feeling better, he was easier on the mind while incapacitated.
"Bruce Wayne's butler, Alfred, taught us. We got into a lot of trouble sometimes, especially Bruce, so he took it upon himself to teach us a few things. I was a lot better at it than Bruce," she lightly gloated. When your best friend was the richest kid around, there were few things you could brag about. She took what she got.
"Aw yes, playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne was your best friend. I forgot about that. So, what's the guy really like?"
"He's nice and rather simple in his desires. He's not what the media plays him up to be," she said resolutely. She had to be careful that she wasn't giving away anything that might help him make the connection. "Now, what I want to know is what the hell you did to earn such a beating!" His giggling stopped, and his eyes filled with a new kind of pain.
"Well, as you probably don't know, the outside world thinks you're dead. I simply hoped to put Batsy's mind at ease and let him know his little girlfriend is safe with me. You know, I have a sensitive spot for the guy, and hated to see him hurt. He's no fun then. However, this little exchange came with a price, mainly being that he doesn't touch me. Well, he didn't take too kindly to me not giving him a location. A simple, "She's okay," isn't good enough for him, so be breaks the agreement and lets out a whole lot of frustration on my vulnerable self," he finished, his voice cracking and a tear falling from his eye which he quickly wiped away. "So much for my good deed of the year," he tried to joke. Her heart cried with him. He had just been trying to be nice. How could Bruce not see that this could have been an opportunity to help guide him to a better life? On that note, how could Bruce have been so stupid? This was the Joker! Of course he wasn't going to give out all the information just yet. He should have been happy with what he got. He just had never seemed like the person to beat a man to a pulp for a lack of cooperation. Sure, he must have been going through a lot the last few weeks, but elation he should have felt should have ebbed some of his anger away. Maybe she didn't know her friend as well as he thought.
"That's terrible! You were just trying to be nice. You're sure you weren't threatening anyone in the process, or blowing anything up?" she wanted to verify, hoping to redeem Bruce.
"No," he promised. "I had sent out a news blurb asking him to meet me there, alone which he did respect, and that I would help ease his suffering mind. No tomfoolery, I swear." Her heart broke at his sincerity. She could not think of anything else to say. The cuts were finally closed. She dressed them with patches of gauze and moved him onto his side again. There was nothing she could do about the bruises.
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'And the Oscar goes to... ME!' he thought gleefully! Oh Rachel was so trusting! She actually thought he had been playing the good citizen on this meeting. While the events were mostly, true, he had been blowing up a few parked cars, but nothing terrible. Oh, and it turns out that Batman's armour was quite susceptible to his shoe knife. He had gotten a few nice stabs to the thigh before Batman had decided to use him as a punching bag and practice target for his flying gauntlet, razor thingys. Oh, but he had been so close to getting him to break his one rule. He could almost taste the sensation of death, before the inner voice caught up with Batboy and he fled. So, while he had told her most of the truth, a few facts were changed to help win her over. Maybe in a few more weeks he could let her go and start spying for him. Granted, he would have to know that she was totally his.
A sharp pain repeatedly pierced his back as Rachel sewed his back together. He closed his eyes in ecstacy as the searing pain that drowned out the terrible aches. This was just another sign of his superiority to other humans. They allowed themselves to be controlled by their pain. He was able to train his mind to accept it, and enjoy it. It was like a sign saying that he was still alive, still allowed another day to cause chaos. There was no sweeter gift.
Finally, his back was finished and taped up. She gently rolled him over, her fingertips warm on his flesh. Her touch was so soft, so foreign... it made him uncomfortable. Usually any contact was in the form of a punch or kick. He wasn't sure how to react to this kindness.
"I'm going to have to wash the make-up off," she admitted. His smile melted. This was one thing he had hoped to avoid. It was bad enough she had seen his I.D. There was no reason that she needed to see his face for real. Then again, infection was a bad thing, and there was no way he would be able to do it himself, so it would be best for someone who had seen him to do this, instead of allowing another person to see his weakness underneath.
"Do what you must," he finally caved. Rachel flashed him a guilty smile and began washing away his mask.
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Rachel's hands were shaking even worse than before. This was the first time she would see the real Joker in actuality. The card had been taken years prior, so the image may have changed. The water washed away the paint, revealing pale, ivory skin. It was smooth and soft beneath her fingers. Having started at the forehead, she moved her way down, awed at how young he still looked. Then again, if she did the math correctly, he was only a year older than herself, but he just seemed so much more... experienced. She reached his scars and felt him tense as the cloth washed over them. They were an odd shape, not smooth and straight like a blade, but jagged and uneven. He had not been cut open, at least not initially. His lips were a pale pink without the red paint and for a moment she was captivated by how delicate they appeared. Looking over the complete unexposed face, she felt her breath catch. He looked so human, so strong, and yet so vulnerable. Her heart was soaring and breaking at the sight, and she allowed her fingertips to touch him as she wiped away a few spots she had missed. Meeting his dark, brown eyes, the only feature still recognizable, she realized that he was uncomfortable with the entire thing, meaning he was on a short fuse and she better hurry up already.
Thankfully, the cuts were not deep and she quickly washed, disinfected, and bandaged them. She was disappointed when he asked her to retrieve the paint jars, signalling that she would not be able to watch him longer. He was truly good looking, as she had told him, and the scars were not that noticeable. Actually, she thought they added character and personality.
"Help me up," he instructed, trying to push himself into a sitting position.
"You'll rip your stitches!" she scolded him, earning a surprised look. People normally did not talk back to him. "Let me do it." He did not appear impressed with the situation, but further movement caused him to wince and giggle, so he laid back down and allowed her to do it. "Do you have a general process for this?" she asked, at a loss as to what she should do.
"Primer first (helps it stick), then the white, then black, and finally red. White covers the entire face, red's on the mouth and scars, and for the black, just follow the bone," he advised. It was truly simple. She fished around and found a black tube of primer.
"Hey, I use this brand too," she commented. He gave her a, "Don't insult me like that" look, and she bashfully rubbed the milky paste over his skin. It was a strange sensation, rubbing his face like that. It was such an intimate act, touching his bare skin. Something had to be criminal about this. Afterwards, she unscrewed the lid off the white paint jar and began painting him up. This seemed to also be a base layer, so she spread it everyone. Since he did not correct her, she assumed it was right.
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NO NO NO! No one was suppose to touch him like this! It was wrong! He hated it! He hated how soft she was, how gentle her fingers travelled along his cheek bone, how his lips tingled after she touched them. It was not right! This had to be considered cruel and unusual punishment. He'd rather rip his stitches than endure this, but it hurt too much to move. CURSES! Something was so wrong with this.
What bothered him even more, is that the was not half as uncomfortable with this set-up as he should have been. Regrettably, something was actually... pleasant about her touch. What was with that? Here she was, a mere pawn, a silly girl, painting his face, and he was fine-ish with it. NO! Talk about a dilemma. He was so supposed to be hating this, but he wasn't. No, he wasn't leaping circles, glad to be here, but it wasn't the end of the world. Why wasn't the world ending? Gah! This felt like when Jack had still been here. This emotional acceptance... it was such a Jack thing. That was not okay. It was a good thing she was needed... and that it would have been too hard to manipulate another lawyer. He tapped his feet together in annoyance. He was not pleased.
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The white and black were done. He looked like a ghoul without his bright red smile. Well, time to correct that. She looked for a tube of red lipstick, but all she found was another jar. She opened it to find the correct shade of red paint glaring up at her. She sighed, a bit put-off at the thought of having to touch his lips again, and this time, focusing on them. It was fine with the primer and white base. They had been hasty touches. Now, her fingers would have to move slowly and deliberately. It was not a good situation. Taking a deep breath, she dipped her index finger in and placed it on the delicate skin. The red mixed with the white, becoming a lovely pink. However, he might not appreciate it, so she applied another coat so that it was the bright, blood red. Her fingers began to tingle from the contact. His breath was delicate and warm on her fingers and his lips were so soft. They began moving slower, lingering over each inch, studying their soft surface. But there came a time when she had no excuse for staying and moved onto his scars. They were a different soft, a waxy texture. She moved with the same slowness and explored the various peaks of his scar tissue. She wished her fingers could melt in with them, could become one with the flesh, so that she might learn their story. It would be a terrible, but fascinating tale, that would finally reveal to her why he was who he was. To learn that story, would be to learn who the Joker, who Jack Napier was. To have him reveal that story would be the ultimate act of trust.
His face was done. He let out a soft sigh of relief and opened his eyes. They had been clenched shut the entire process. She smiled down at him and got up to put the box away and pull the sheet over him. It was late, that much she knew, and they were both tired, emotionally and physically. She put the pot and soiled towels in one corner and then crawled into her cot, her eyes drifting shut. A loud clap of thunder rang out and she jumped with surprise, unfortunately emitting a loud squeak. A throaty chuckle drifted over from the bed.
"Scare of storms?" he laughed. Her cheeks burned and she nodded.
"Ever since I was I kid," she admitted.
"Just remember, you've survived this long with me, and I'm much more dangerous than that storm. It can't hurt you here." For whatever reason, that comforted her, and she was able to drift off into an easy sleep.
A/N: Wow, my longest chapter yet! So... wanted to start laying the seeds for their relationship. Nothing will happen for a few chapters yet, but it's a start. Also, next chapter will have more of a Harvey focus, because he's been a busy little bee. Oh, I have plans for him! Also, this makes this story tie with my longest one yet. Never written anything past 16 chapters. YAY! I feel proud of myself. So, please review.