Chapter Fifteen: Always Smiling

Strawberry: Do you wanna know why I wrote this chapter? The scars are too easy. You can't savor all the little…emotions. XD Okay, I'm done. Anyways, this chapter really accentuates the way they both have changed slightly, whether or not either of them admit it. Fana is obviously in better spirits now that she's "taken him under her wing" if you will. It's a matter of how they react to one another. It's quite a…chemical sort of reaction in my opinion. :P Enjoy!

The meaningless, gleeful smile that remained on his face made her wonder just what went on in his head. He was lounging on the couch, never removing his glare from her while she stood with only slight movement before him. "Do you know something, Fana banana?" he asked with a loafing tone. Before even catching the slightest glimpse of her attention, he went on to say, "There are no pictures in here." She simply stared, her fiery eyes plaguing him unwontedly. "And I'm a, uh…hah, a creative man, if you will…I need a little light in my life. Hm?" He nodded to her, raising his eyebrows and puffing out his lower lip to ask if she agreed but she didn't take the bait. "What's on your mind, doll face?" he said dully. "You're being qui-et."

She sighed and pursed her lips momentarily, wondering if it mattered enough to inquire after. Shrugging, she said, "I woke up last night, and I saw you on the floor…you were sleeping. I was thinking that you were probably uncomfortable. And you have…somewhere more comfortable to sleep." Without any warning, he shot forward, throwing himself violently into a sitting position. He looked dumbfounded for a moment until he burst into a fit of laughter. Clutching at his sides, he felt his stomach muscles tense.

"I don't—I don't care about comfort," he said through his amusement. Catching sight of her disapproval, he sighed submissively and calmed himself. "So what's your point, doll face?"

"I woke up…and you were this close to me." She imitated the distance with her hands.

"And I woke up next to you," he added with a smile. "Maybe we're just…lucky." As she breathed, Fana made a light "whooshing" sound with her lips and massaged her temples. He clutched his ribcage as he made eye contact with her and asked, "Are you that concerned with my welfare?" He nodded as if to answer for her. "Tell me what you're so worried about." Lifting his arms and batting them around his head, he depicted the picture of some sort of mind-blowing action. "Give me an idea…huh? Give me…something." He watched her curiously until he was certain she had no idea what to say.

As she stood there absently, her eyes flitting between him and her surroundings, which shouldn't have been anything new to her. The television wasn't on, and there wasn't even one mild temptation or distraction that should have occupied her attention. But there she stood, looking around the room as if she had never been there before; as if she hadn't spend the last five days of her life with full view of that room. He stared at her in wonder, trying to discover what she had found to be so interesting. Very consciously, he peered around the room, puckering and gnawing at his mouth as he looked. As vibrant and strong as alcohol or some life-threatening drug, he could taste the metallic paint slapped across his mouth, defining him. Fana didn't like it, he recalled from the day before. Even with that in mind, he didn't care the least bit, knowing well that he was who he was no matter what the past dictated.

Unless, of course, his past was the reason he was who he was.

"I just wondered why you chose to sleep there," came her voice, sparring with the determination he was wielding. "Or if you didn't choose to, what were you even doing there?" He smiled at her overboard suspicions.

"Ah, so you know what you're doing after all," he started with a smirk. "You sound a little suspicious…yeah? Am I righ-t?" He raised his eyebrows and leaned back again. "Mm, yeah, remember…when I said that you shouldn't trust me?" She narrowed her eyes, trying to think what he was referring to until her thoughts rested on the previous morning. Slowly, creating a swirl of anticipation, she nodded. "Oh, good!" he said expressively. "Good, good, good, I thought you forgot. Would you look at the way a man gets sucked free of power when there's a woman around…hahaha!" He sat up again and journeyed to the opposite end of the couch, pushing his abdomen against the cushions as he draped his arms over the arm. Instantly catching her attention, his tongue slid over his mouth. "You see, I'm telling you…that you should take a little more care, huh? Don't be so…willing…" He licked his lips get again and nodded. "You'll be eaten alive."

"I'm not suspicious," she said defensively. He turned his head to the side with a, "Tch," followed by more silence on his part. "I just said I was…curious."

"And curiosity killed the cat," he murmured just loudly enough for her to hear.

"Stop." His face turned to half-mocking disbelief, though in the pit of his stomach, there was no mocking at all. Fana's tone had gone gaunt and hollow as though she were…angry. He managed to chuckle for a moment before she went on. "You're completely ignoring what I'm saying to you. Now stop, or else I won't be able to hold a conversation with you."

"Oh, what a terrible fate!" he joked plainly, rolling his eyes. "Lemme tell you something. Not everything has this…little…deeper meaning thing you keep looking for…everywhere you go. Especially not the things I do because…" He shook his head, his jaw sliding around sloppily. "I have no motives, Fana ba…nana. I have no…no plan like the rest of you. Y'know, I just do things. Like a dog chasing cars." Fana considered his words and disagreed as soon as she could find an argument. Opening her mouth to protest, she silenced herself at the sight of his weary eyes wrestling for her cooperation. "I slept there because…you were just there. That's how everything is, and someone's gotta teach you that sooner or later. Sometimes when things are there, I…mold myself into the situation, into the storyline. Because I love a little limelight. I was there because you were there. Ooh, how romantic…" He laughed largely. "You have motives, though," he accused darkly as he simmered. "You tell me why you ended up on the floor beside me…no telling…ha, you had a reason…"

Fana looked down at her hands, each one swinging loosely at her sides. Raising one to her face, she contemplated whether or not she knew at all why she had gone down beside him when she awoke ahead of him. She remembered the way it had made her feel like he was closer to her, more in terms of humanity than anything else. Maybe she had had no reason, and was only acting impulsively, perhaps to say the least.

With a rush of wind, the door opened and a hurried clown who was hunched over as he power walked. At the sound of the heavy door opening, Fana looked in that direction as if expecting the Joker to have already been there, pushing the man out of the way. But looking back at him on the couch, he had his head craned simply in that direction as if he had highly expected the entrance. Knowing him—or rather, not knowing him—there was definite margin for the fact that he might have expected it. Fana returned her attention to the crony and cringed at the way he noticed them in the room. As he walked, his strides slowed, but not before he did some sort of disbelieving double take. At the sight of the Joker, he gave a sharp nod of respect and exited the area, his destination quite obviously being the upstairs hallway.

He was looking at her before she had looked back at him. Nothing needed to be said because there was nothing to say. It was simply a happening, just like it had been a happening that it had been Fana who stepped out to defend Rachel. There was no meaning or pattern; it was just something that happened.

"Because I like who could be." He had to rack his brains for whatever the previous question had been. "I like who you are, even though…I honestly don't want you to stay that way." There was expectancy in her eyes as she waited for him to reply. He smacked his lips together, mulling over his ideas only to find that he didn't have any.

"All right, I'll throw you a bone," he said exasperatedly. "I like you back, doll face."

Fana never responded to his words but to lower herself onto the arm of the couch, forcing him to draw his torso back to avoid being sat on. Almost offended that she couldn't have chosen a better location, he gawked at her stony glare that was fixated on seemingly nothing in particular. He scratched his scalp deftly with one finger and found smaller means of distraction until she spoke again. "Can you help me understand something?" she asked him. Turning his head away so that he could smile without putting her out, he thought of how wondrous it was to know that she was not only listening: she was seeking.

"Probably," he answered realistically, toying numbly with the chain on his belt loop. Fana sighed as if preparing herself for the battlefield. He snickered.

"You said…you were the one who cut yourself the last time it happened," she said vaguely, aware that she was treading on dangerous ground. Whereas previously he had been looking off sensibly in another direction, at her words, he turned and stared at the wall across from the couch, his expression taut with harnessed anger. She swallowed and continued. "Can I…hear what made you do it? Did she…push you that far?"

He stood up as if prompted by a spring. Fana stood along with him defensively, ready to remain stabilized. "She asked for it," he answered defiantly. "Hah…don't pin this on me…" He pushed past her, striding idly to the wall where a table was lined.

"No, I'm not." Fana trailed after him. "I just thought—"

"You don't know the things she sai-d," he accused, resting his forehead against the wall so that he was not facing her. "Mm, see, I had no choice, Fana banana. Well…hah…maybe I did. But she needed a lesson, and at that point…I had to be the teacher."

He felt Fana embracing him cautiously from behind. He sneered at the blank wall, shaking his head darkly. "I did this for her," he said, his voice empty. "Call it the mark of a madman—still there, so it might as well be—but I didn't think there was anything else to do. She just needed to be taught a little…she just needed to know that such superficial things didn't matter. Not even the pain mattered, but shouldn't it have mattered more…that I would've done it? As a human, of course—it should've mattered to her as a human. And maybe I never should've married one. Hah…" He pressed his hands firmly against the wall, letting his weight fall solely on the muscles of his arms. Fana still did not let go of him, though he wished more than anything she had just gone away.

He wished it because he liked her. He had a fondness for her. And the Joker didn't do fondness.

"They carve her face," he mused awkwardly. Fana tightened her grip around his waist, wishing that would admit it to himself that he wasn't so different. He always compared himself to people as if he wasn't one. And then, he would turn around and say that everyone was the same and nothing really mattered. So if believed that everyone was the same, she told him mentally, you wouldn't think yourself so different. "And we have no money for surgeries," he said, allowing himself no regret or remorse for the memory. He hated memories. And when he remembered them…it was only because he had learned to see the funny side. "She can't take it…I just wanna see her smile again." He turned around, viciously forcing away Fana's arms. He rested his elbows behind him on the tall-legged table that stood there and tilted his head curiously to the left. Observing her for a moment—the way her arms still hovered towards him as if she hoped he would accept her again—he squeezed her face in his hand, pulling it towards him and downward. "Hm?" he said, then forcing her to meet his gaze. "I just want her to know that I don't care about the scars."

"You were trying to identify with her," she concluded, but he only shook his head. "Then—"

"So…" he interrupted, giving her neck a jerk. "I stick a razor in my mouth and do this…" He smacked his lips together, making those eccentric movements that accentuated the scars. He turned his head to the right and then the left so that she could see each side very clearly, though he knew she'd already had an eye-full. "…To myself…and you know what?" His heart gave a sickening clench as though someone had ripped it from his body and was toying with it. "And you know…wh-at?" he hissed, the "H" making a whipping sound. He gave Fana's face a shake and she finally moved her hands up to his wrist, hardly placing any pressure on it, but obviously ready to attempt throwing him off of her. "She can't stand the sight of me. She leaves…And now…" Her eyes were glittering with compassion; he hated it, but walked through the waters as if it were something he could never part with. He released her, subdued, and she could see his entire expression soften. "I see the funny side…" When he exhaled, an entire piece of him seemed to leave him on the expelled air. "Now…I'm always smiling…"

"If you can remember something like that, and still feel that strongly," said Fana blindly, "Then, no. You aren't always smiling." She reached for him once more, at first to unseeing eyes. He tore his gaze in the other direction scathingly, hating the way she was executing such power and she was human. Maybe, he thought, giving in. Maybe there's a way to be human and still be powerful. He sighed and outstretched his arms as if it were a terrible task and she immediately pressed into him, holding him close as his hands rested stupidly on her back. Heh…and neither of which…I care about being. I don't need anything. I don't need anyone. I don't need a…pointless classification.

"Do you miss her?" she said, massaging the back of his head. He considered it briefly.

"…Yes," he answered, and she felt his fingers tense against the small of her back. She buried her head in his neck, noticing the way that he didn't carry the dirty odor of the Joker that night. He had a spiced scent; it may have been the reason that the first sight she'd seen of him that day had been of him walking through the icehouse door. Would he have gone out for some kind of cologne or soap? She doubted it, but the way he smelled…it was cooling and steaming at the same time, making her nostrils tingle from its intensity.

She knew that his wife—whoever she was—was still out there. She wondered if he ever thought of that and if it contributed at all to how he felt. "Good," she cooed into his ear. "Good…"

The thing about Fana was that she had some kind of mystifying aura, he decided. She didn't just be, or just exist physically…she did the same thing internally with her emotions. By and by, it wasn't as though he wished that he were the same way. It was more that he cared about discovering her as he assumed she did about him. More than anything, it enraged him to know that he couldn't fight back against emotions. He could avoid them, shun them, and let them bound off his chest for as long as he pleased. But he couldn't avoid hers and what they did to him. She was…winning. Only so far, granted, but she was.

Stupid, stupid…perfect Fana.