Chapter Thirteen: The Most Rewarding Challenge

Strawberry: I wish this could be a later chapter, but I want to specify that he has "makeup issues" following his first encounter, bare-faced, with Fana. So in order for that to work, this chapter is going to have to be sooner rather than later to my displeasure… Oh well. If it's too horrible, you guys can kill me once the story is over, but I think it'll be okay for the most part. :P

When she had rolled out from under him and climbed to her feet, his mind immediately—and regrettably—flitted to the door. Mentally beating himself, he stood and followed her out of the room, eager to know where she was thinking of going. She had left him with an unreadable sort of smile: perhaps as if to suggest or hint at something. All he could think was that it meant she was going to leave now that she'd softened him, even at the little amount she had. He shook his head violently to himself and let out a threshold of sounds to show his disapproval. She looked over her shoulder at him in response, still smiling. He walked faster until he noticed that she was turning right rather than left; she wasn't heading for the door.

Simmering, he slowed down, but continued to trail after her as she walked through the doorway to the food court. He reached up and took hold of the upper frame of the doorway with both hands, stretching his arms, then relaxing, ignoring the fact that he knew he was doing it in part to be sure she wasn't going to leave. He wondered if the collar of the uniform shirt had been so tight the entire day.

"I haven't eaten yet," she announced as she opened the door of the refrigerator. He ignored her and stared at the chipping framework at his sides. He could hear her voice, clear as a bell in his head, but when he glanced at her, her lips were not moving, and she was preparing some sort of shoddy food for herself. Why didn't she just…go? What was her reason for staying there? Was it just because there was no one else out there for her to be with? She didn't have parents—good ones at least—and she was more than old enough to have been living on her own; she looked to have been in her mid-twenties. She had no husband, either. He could easily put two and two together to figure that she probably didn't have even a potential husband at the time, or she would have tried to escape.

"Why aren't you going anywhere?" Fana turned to see him lounging in the doorway. He released the frame and crossed his arms momentarily, then seemed to decide against the position and strode thoughtfully towards her. She mulled his words over in her head, though they had not been complex. She remembered on the night she had first been captured, and how she had noticed that he had tied her up. Yet…the same night, he had expected her to sleep on a bench, completely unmonitored. She remembered having thought about how odd it was that he didn't seem concerned about her escape. Perhaps he had been doubly wondering about the opposite.

He leaned over the counter, folding his hands on the ceramic surface. He looked over at her lazily, though the air of expectancy radiated from him. "You've had four days of…opportunity," he said to her. "So…what are you still doing here?" He was biting his upper lip with a sort of ferocity that continued to show her his interest in the subject. Fana raised her face to the cabinets, her expression remaining empty, as though she were staring right through the wood to the contents within. She squinted mildly and tipped her head forward.

"Just lazy, I guess," she answered finally, with a shrug and a gaze of finality. As he breathed, he felt his heart slow as if he had been tremendously let down in his analysis of Fana's means for staying. As if in answer to his meager reaction, she smirked and said, "I'm kidding." He gave her a look of condemnation but smirked at the fact that she might have been learning something after all. "No, I haven't left because…" She ran her hands through her hair with a sigh and said, "Because it's better than the way I was living before. It's a boring apartment. It's all…creaky and faulty and stained up. There's nothing to do but watch TV. So my general life is sitcoms, invites to parties that I always turn down, and the restaurant. I never liked…people much. Simply because I guess I don't trust them." She took a bite from an apple she had chosen and chewed momentarily. "What's refreshing…is being with somebody who doesn't want to pretend they're worth your trust. It's a view of people I'll probably never have the opportunity to get again…if I tried to get away. To me, I'm not a hostage. I'm on an adventure."

She sunk her teeth into the apple again and the sound of the liquidy crunch plagued his ears with the loudness of bells tolling. After a moment, she offered it to him, hardly meeting his gaze at all.

"What do you want for me?" he asked, massaging his neck as he dodged her hand. "What are you…wishing would happen to me?"

"I want you to keep being realistic," she said, peeling a white sticker off the apple she was handling. "You are realistic. I think…you're smart enough to recognize the weakness of people and…well…" She tilted her head to the side, thinking of how to state her point without being offensive. She tried to ignore the way he was staring at her with such a craving. Part of her wanted him to let her be, but the rest of her wanted him to stay beside her and listen. "I think you just think about the weaknesses too much. And that's what turns you off from even being a human. It is kind of a turn off; I don't like all the downfalls we have either. But you're denying the good. And there is good, even if you've never seen it. Maybe…I just want to show you, and I want for you to be able to see. Because there's no sense in living if you can't see all the colors. A world with all negatives is a black and white painting. And as charming as those can be, you need a little color once and a while."

He knew there was no sense in living. That was why he didn't care to preserve himself.

"And…in order for that to happen…" He felt excessively uncomfortable as they stood so naturally beside one another, him leaning against the counter and her fixing the platter of food she was preparing. "What…do you want from me?"

Fana stopped toying with the food and turned her head swiftly towards him as if he had said something out of the ordinary. Had he? He sincerely doubted it; and even if he had, it meant nothing to him. "I want…" She pushed off of the counter and faced him, resting her hip against the edge. "I want you to try, even though this isn't what you want to do. Because I know it isn't. I think…well, I think, that if I were you…" The smile faded from her face. "I'd really hate Fana Williams right now."

"No…no, no, no, you got that part wrong," he corrected her deeply. "This isn't about…hatred…or some kind of…bad thing…" He shrugged. "I just don't wanna do it, huh?"

"So you're going to fight me, is what you're saying," she interpreted.

"Yes. Of course I am. And I'm going to win."

"Well, then I'm already ahead in that case, aren't I?"

He smiled slyly. "Not at all, doll face. I…am ahead, to put it nicely."

"And what makes you ahead?"

"Because I'm always ahead. In…everything." He pushed his arms away from himself, his fingers still linked. "You may have a lead, kiddo…yeah…but that doesn't mean much. You see, I'm the authority. You're lucky…that you even got this far." He sighed mockingly and gave her a false look of care before changing it to his generalized hatred. "And let's just say…hah…you haven't even made a dent. Because you see, I do what I want, not what anyone else does. You think you're responsible for me…telling you something…but why would you be? You think it's some…huge accomplishment; it's not. I told you because you asked, and if you had been anyone else…I still would've told you, just because…I'm good at sharing."

Nodding, as if it were her cue, she collected her apple and pile of pretzels on a plastic plate and edged away from the counter, locking his eyes. He watched her until he was unable to crane his head any more in her direction. Relinquishing his ideas, he stared at the countertop, feeling drained.

Fana heavily tired him out, just by being there at all.

"Hm. Hey." His voice was low and uncharacterized, and his generously smooth tone surprised her as she turned to see what he wanted. He looked the same as he had before: just as menacing and hate-filled. He always looked like he was enjoying the punch line of an inside joke constantly at the same time as all the negative expressions identified his face. "Come here," he said shortly, his voice having returned to its normal, devious sound. He twisted his neck before fixing his eyes on her again as she started towards him, plate in hand. She stopped in front of him, and he seemed entirely lost in thought for the first few minutes. Then he spoke, following a long sigh. "You know…you missed something. When you were saying what you wanted for me."

She raised her eyebrows. "I did?"

Fana was convinced that all of her organs had completely stopped functioning all at once when his fingers climbed to her face. It was the way he had done it, not the fact that he had. It was a gentle sort of touch, light and unforced—much different than how he had touched her face previously. He was tilting her head this way and that as if searching for something secret hidden in her skull. His brow furrowed, he put on a believable act of curiosity. "You want me…to be…" He seemed to be searching for the proper word. "Human…don't you?" She could hear gravel crunching together in his voice. He noticed how soft her eyes had gone, as if she had forgotten the question before it had even been asked. The skin of her cheeks was even and comfortable against his thumb while he trailed it across her cheekbone.

"Yes," she finally answered. The side of his mouth rose in a scheming smile.

"Uh-huh…" He touched her eyebrow with his index finger. "I didn't really have to ask you that…now did I?" She was not sure how he had gotten her so close to him; she hardly wanted to think she had gone of her own accord. "You don't just want my consent…you want my…initiation." He had to lean forward only slightly in order to meet her lips, but he remained stationary. Biding his time, he chewed on the inside of his mouth as quietly as he could. She looked to have been completely unawares to him making any noise or motion whatsoever. "You want that?" he drawled.

"Yes," she replied. His grin widened.

"Say that for me. You want me to."

"I…want you to."

"Oh, what a fantastic suggestion! I'm thrilled you came up with…that." He inched forward and guided her closer to him in turn. "Come on…come on, you want it." He could feel her mouth against his and his heart gave a sickly thud. She started taking control, stepping further into his aura until she could positively feel him disapproving. He quickened pace, and she thought with a sense of irony that this would be the man whom she was allowing access to her affections. He started forward, forcing her backwards. Out of all people, a man whose name hardly existed at all; a man who was known as the Joker, and she was kissing him. Scars and everything. Couldn't there have been someone else?

Did she want it to have been someone else?

She was pinned against the wall. He had let go of her face, his hands creating a cage for her around her head as he pressed them against the concrete. He relinquished her lips, lifting his head slightly so that he was breathing across the center of her face. His breath was hot and powerful, as if he were shaking with some sort of raging feeling. She waited for him to move, impatiently leaving her hands at her sides. She knew she must have dropped something from her plate, but did not bother to check. She couldn't see what he was doing and did not bother opening her eyes to try.

Something cold and edged ran along her jawbone and down her neck. Breathing his air, she ignored it and continued to wait. His breath was transferred to her ear, feeling his mouth jovially touching it, perhaps even on accident by the way he changed pattern and moved it away. "Then if that's what you want," he started to whisper, still running whatever it was he was holding down Fana's neck. "You oughta be pretty satisfied right about now." He moved back sharply, and her eyes flew open like shutters. "Getting a few more leads…corrr-rect?" The object he was holding was removed from her skin; he lifted it to her face.

A knife glimmered in front of her, and behind it, he looked entirely pleased.

"I said I like things different," he said, switching the blade closed and heading out of the room. "Can't say I didn't warn you." Gaping, Fana stared at the doorway for what must have been minutes before returning her attention to the food on her plate. In that amount of time, she had lost all need for food.

"You won't go down without a fight, huh?" she muttered to herself, watching him stretch through the concession window. When he had been reaching his arms over his head for a moment, he let them swing down to his sides briefly before picking them up again and holding the sides of his head. He pulled his head downward, then forced it to the side. Then he shook his head childishly and smiled to himself, perfectly aware that she was still glaring at him. She turned away, annoyed. "That's fine. A challenge is more rewarding."