"Don't look so unhappy. You get to see lover boy Michael again; you should smile." He tells her this while she's got her hands cuffed behind her back and she's being shoved into the back of a cold warehouse. Number thirteen. When he shoves her she staggers a few paces before her knees buckle and she falls to her knees on the cold cement, hanging her head. The tape went out just under an hour ago, and so they'll be coming very soon. Well, hopefully, just Keegan is going to show up. If not, Julia is sure that she's going to be sliced to ribbons and mailed to Gordon's doorstep.
"Have fun." Joker chimes, before the warehouse door slams shut and Julia is sunk into pure, mindless darkness. Her heart speeds up to the pace of a drum but she can't seem to get to her feet, because her hands being behind her throw off her balance. She tries to stagger to her feet and only succeeds in falling on her face, and feels the cold concrete against her cheek. It's wet. She's going to go even madder than before in this vast black room.
What does she do?
What will she do?
Oh god, what can she do?
She hears the door open and sits up, with difficulty, looking at the lone figure in the doorway. It's Michael. He has a gun leveled at her, holding a flashlight in the other hand and keeping it above his gun, looking around.
"Michelle?" He asks, and she's disgusted by how he's acting. Caring. Kind. Misleading. "Oh Michelle, I'm so glad you're alright-" He makes his way over to her and kneels in front of her, but she turns her head away from him. Angry.
"Ugh, Michelle…it's really not how you heard it. The newspapers, they exaggerate things…misquoted me…I never told them about half of the things you said. I mean, I even arrested some of the mafia guys that gave you back to that clown freak. Come on, Michelle!" He turns her head back to face him, smiling kindly, and she almost falls for it. She wants to, so damn badly. "Believe me?" He asks, softly, and for a moment, she begins to mouth 'yes'. Then, she thinks, and she stops, and stares at him.
"I never said that…I was caught by the mafia…Michael." Her tone becomes dull, and his soft expression turns stony. He's been foiled. "You're in with the mafia, aren't you? You're a dirty cop."
"Smart girl," Michael sneers, grabbing her by the hair and putting his gun in her face. She's staring down the barrel. "Yeah, I'm dirty. Who isn't, nowadays? But now, I can't let you go. You'll probably tattle on me if I do, won't you? I can't afford that."
"No, I won't, I swear-"Julia begins, and he throws her to the floor.
"The others are waiting for me to radio them to come in, so we're not going to be bothered. You know," He paces around her, slowly, keeping his gun trained on her, "When I saw you on the tape, I wanted to see if I could get you for myself. You're a beautiful woman. Not before, Michelle, but now you are. I wanted you."
"We don't need to do this-" She starts, before he kicks her in the ribs and she goes silent with a pained whimper.
"Yes, Michelle, oh yes we do. No loose ends. But they'll never wonder about me, of course; Michael Keegan, the brightest up-and-coming young officer, failed to save the hostage Michelle King. They'll never wonder if they find you with a bullet in your pretty face; Joker kills all his hostages sooner or later. I'll say that I walked in here and found you dead. I leave in a car; you leave in a body bag. It's easy." She sits up as he kneels down and aims the gun at her face again. He likes having this much control. It sickens her, almost as much as the terror makes her sick.
"Why did you do it?" She asks, quietly, and he blinks.
"What?"
"Why did you betray me? I trusted you…" She won't say love. She'll never admit that she loved him. He smirks, slightly, and for a moment, lets the gun lower from her face.
"You trusted me? I wanted you to. I knew that I could use you. You're Michelle King, the woman with the worst luck in Gotham. You told me all about yourself; your shitty childhood, the run in with that psychotic stalker that locked you up and fucked you every night saying 'I love you' for what, three years? Your adoptive parents dying, you being left with and then abandoned by your uncaring stepbrother, having to skim dates for dinners just to feed yourself, being stuck with that prick Jonny or Jim or whatever the fuck his name was, I wasn't really listening, being snatched as a hostage by that crazy bastard Joker…you told it all to me. And so when Joker snatched you again, because he never leaves any loose ends either, I unloaded it all to the press. They all called me a hero for dealing with a space case like you. Compassionate.
"I led you on so that I could get recognition. And once I had it, I became popular. Interviews. Newspaper articles. Everyone wanted to know more about you, sick bitch that you are, through me. But I had to…exaggerate a little bit. You're boring. I took your words and made them spicier, more interesting; you went from a victim to a sympathizer. Poor girl to crazy bitch. Gotham likes a hero, but damn, do they love a villain." He brushes her blond hair out of her bruised face, and she looks so innocent and sad and fragile that he, for a split second, reconsiders. He's not heartless.
Her hands rise up and she slams her fist against his chin, knocking him back. He fires his gun, and the bullet flying up past Julia and she snatches the gun out of his numb hands. She hears him swear at her and she runs in the opposite direction of him, ducking behind some steel drums right as muffled fire rings out and bullets ping off of the wall in front of her. He's got a silencer on a second gun. Fuck.
"Michelle, we don't have to play this game. It can either be quick," She hears him walking towards her slowly, "Or it can be slow. Believe me, you don't want it slow and I don't have time to do it that way. So come out and let's finish it quick." Julia ducks as he fires at the blond crown of her head, and crawls along the cold floor, hampered by the handcuffs still on her wrists. The concrete is scraping against the palms of her hands and it's not long before Michael is following little specks and spots of blood along the flooring with his flashlight, and he fires again at a flash of blond far ahead of him. She whirls around a corner, back against a large crate, panting. She has a gun. He has a gun. She's a horrible shot. He's had professional training.
She's fucked.
He's going to win.
"Hey doll," He says in her ear, a half second before turning the corner and shooting at her. The bullet grazes her shoulder and she cries out, running away and towards the door. Pain explodes in her leg and she falls screaming, clutching it against her as blood stains her hands and clothes.
"Don't make it hard." He says, walking towards her easily as she crawls away from him pitifully, once again forgetting the pistol in her hand scraping against the concrete flooring. "We've got no time left. It was fun; you can't say that it wasn't." Her back hits a steel drum and she raises the pistol at him, terrified. He laughs.
"You won't do it. You can't. You've told me so." He smiles, knowing that she can't possibly bring herself to do it. She aims for a moment, shakily, before lowering the gun in defeat and hanging her head. "Good girl. Now, say goodni-" He starts, before she whips around the barrel and shoves it. It topples to the ground and rolls towards him, and he trips over it and hits the concrete.
"Bitch!" He spits, as she staggers away, leaving a trail of blood behind her. He feels like something's missing, like he's lighter somehow, but he ignores it and gives chase. "I'll blow your goddamn head off! Get back here!" He fires at her, but his flashlight has rolled away and he can only track her by sound. Her breathing is loud enough that she can't ever truly disappear. He stands and follows the wall, after her.
"I don't want this! Please, Michael!" Julia cries from somewhere far-off, and he laughs sharply.
"You think we can stop? I'm not stopping 'til you're dead, Michelle. I have to do this. I…I can't afford not to."
"Why? Why can't we just talk this out?"
"Because…" He says through his teeth, as he sees her taking shelter behind a large crate, a moving shadow amongst other shadows. "Never compromise. Never leave any loose ends. I can't stop, because…I have to…help her…save her." He breathes the last part, turning the corner, and through a small window high above them, he can see her, dimly. She's holding his radio, and her thumb has been on the button the entire time. Her bruised and battered face holds an expression of sadness and victory, and anger. She's leveling her gun at him, and it's aiming at his heart.
"It's over, Michael. They know now." Her voice quakes, as she watches him stare at the radio, in shock.
"You…you bitch!" He snarls, advancing on her. "Do you know what you've done??"
"No. And I don't care." Julia says, simply, and Michael sees that she's crying. She fires her gun and he stares down at his chest, where the fabric is quickly being soaked with blood. She's shot him. The woman that said, very clearly, that she never wanted to take a life again, that she would rather die than kill again, has just shot him. He lets out a wheeze, falling to his knees, blood dripping onto the concrete. She lets the gun barrel fall slightly, and it's all the space he needs. He jerks his own gun up at her and puts his finger on the trigger, glaring. If he's going to die, she's going to die too. Julia can't react fast enough, and just stares.
"Goodnight, Julia."
He's about to fire when something collides with his hand, and he drops the gun while clutching his hand to his chest, a moment later, he drops to the concrete motionless. It's something small and thrown. Michelle recognizes that it's a small bat-shaped boomerang like object, and looks up to the rafters, wide-eyed. She sees him, a shadow against shadows, for a split second before he fades back into the darkness, disappearing, and the warehouse doors fly open. Cops rush in, shouting. Julia can't understand what they're saying; her vision is becoming fuzzy around the edges. She can't really feel the pain in her leg anymore, dropping to her knees, as she hears Michael breathe out the word 'Samantha'. Julia collapses beside him, right as people are around them, shaking her, lifting her and moving her out into sweet, bright sunlight.
She aches all over, and can't understand, comprehend, what the various cop's and paramedic's words mean. Soon enough, she closes her eyes and lets herself fade into unconsciousness, let come what may.