Built like the fertile earth from which life sprung. Painted into the world from a flawless dream, softer than-

"He was still like, a little alive, sort of. After he uh, fell."

"Didn't fall," he replied nonchalantly. "Going to assume you all know that."

The half-bearded goon nodded excitedly. "Yeah, boss. Of course."

"No boss, no sir, no saluting or any other paramilitary fucking bullshit, got it? Wanna spread that around for me?"

"You have a-a scratch or something on your face, sir-...eh, yeah a scratch." The Joker chuckled, continuing down the stairs.

"Last thing I need, right? Tell me where to find ice. Another thing. A little inventory action. Get a count on weapons and explosives."

"Are we doing something?"

"Yeah, something. Ice?"

"Old walk-in freezer by the back doors." The lackey pointed. "Anything else I can do?" The Joker stopped.

"As far as all of you fuckers are concerned, there is no hostage. There is nobody in that room up there. And if you get curious? Cut your own balls off before I do."

"No curiosity here. Like, at all," he responded quickly, banjo-eyed. The Joker believed him, more or less. Just a kid.

"Good. What's your name? You can answer this wrong. It is actually possible for me to disagree." Half-beard tensed, glanced at a group of men walking by who were failing miserably at discrete eavesdropping.

"Uh, Dave? Dave. That's my name."

"That'll work."


"You gave him some fake name?"

"Wasn't about to tell him my name is Ashley, okay?"


She wasn't where he left her on the bed, or in the bedroom. More agitated than worried, he checked the bathroom and found her huddled next to the sink, sheet wrapped tight enough around her to be a second skin.

He had no reason to feel bad, spoiled bitch deserved a shot of reality, was probably asking for it, lost a good man because of-

"India." She looked up at him. Remorse tried igniting, but he dumped water on that shit as swiftly as possible.

A dark purple flower was blooming across her right cheek.

"Get up."

"Why are you doing this to me?" She whispered, clutching the sheet so tight he was sure he heard it rip.

"I told you. Because I can." He grabbed an arm and hoisted her up, pulling her very close. "Haven't you ever, for a single moment, wanted to watch it all burn?" She shook her head, tears spilling freely.

"Why would I ever want such a thing?"

"I guess that's the difference between all of you...and me. I told you in the hospital. I wouldn't send you away." He led her out into the bedroom. "I'm going to uh, dangle you around like the proverbial carrot." India tried tugging away from him, but he didn't feel any real intent behind it.

"I'm not a carrot."

"Sit." He pointed to the bed and she did so without question as he dug around in his jacket pocket for the rag filled with ice. "For that shiner." She recoiled.

"I don't want it."

"Spoil those classic good looks?"

"Stop teasing me."

"I'm not."

After a silent battle of wills, India begrudgingly took the makeshift ice pack, brushed away the tears and touched it to her cheek. She winced.

"Did you really...throw-"

"Did I kill him? Yes."

"Someone is dead because of me." He scoffed and slipped off the purple jacket.

"Can't help but wonder why you would care whether that animal lived or died." The hexagons on his shirt warped with the nimble fingers unbuttoning it, green suspenders snapping free from his shoulders. "Is it an act? Do you pretend to be that...forgiving, like the whole of our society?"

Her face scrunched, tears perched by nothing more than air on the tips of her lashes.

"Do you pretend that you're not an animal?"

"Sure don't." He chuckled and pulled off the shirt. "Wear this until I find something else." Her eyes went wide and he found himself remembering her breasts, splashed with freckles.

"I'm...I'm not-"

"You are." The Joker tossed it as he headed towards the bathroom. "I'd appreciate some privacy. If you peep, you join."


The shirt reached almost to her knees. It was softened from overuse and small threads stuck out from most of the buttons. India wondered if it was the only one he had. Pipes groaned in the walls as the shower began to gush.

She'd known he was at least solid; hitting him had been like hitting stone.

Shirtless, he was lean and coiled with strained muscles. She didn't understand how a man could put on a costume and talk like a movie villain and look like that underneath it all. Thinking about it made her face uncomfortably hot.

She stood up slowly and went over to the jeans she'd been forced to take off. Now, she didn't want to put them on. They reeked of humiliation. A reminder that even in the Joker's holding cell, she wasn't safe from the monsters in his employ.

But it was cold and he'd seen enough of her already. She pulled them on and breathed shakily, glancing out the window to get a sense of what time it was. Almost evening, maybe.

Was Bruce worried for her? Did he maybe not care at all? After so many years, she could be just another stranger to him. He certainly was to her, in a way. What few memories she had of their childhood together were vague, but she remembered wanting to be a big girl, like Rachel, and how she would tell Bruce to let her tag along with them.

India thought they'd end up married. He'd always loved Rachel, even as a little boy. During their short reunion, he'd made no mention of her, and she hadn't seen a ring.

Thinking about everything made her heart feel leaden and dark. Frustrated, she sat down on the edge of the mattress and massaged her temples until the bathroom door flew open and released a comically large plume of steam. Something inside begged her to smile, even laugh, but she kept her mouth straight and still.

Until he sauntered out. Green hair dripping, towel wrapped around his hips, the damp sheen on his face giving prominence to the scars.

It wasn't funny. It was terrifying.

"What?" He threw up his hands, eyebrows raised. India swallowed and lowered her eyes.

"Could you uh, put some clothes on?"

"Gee, thought we had a real intimacy going on-"

"Please stop teasing me."

"Please stop making demands, princess, because I have a project for you and if you keep this up, you'll go back to staring at the wall and being uh, teased." India brightened.

"Project?"

"You took some fancy art courses." The Joker began pacing around, looking at her carefully and licking his lips. She felt a chill.

"I-I suppose."

"Painting? Know how to use paints?"

"Yes?"

"Great!" He clapped his hands and ran into the bathroom. India could hear his bare feet slapping on the tile. When he came out, his arms were full of tubes and jars of greasepaint. He dropped them on the floor in front of her. His juvenile glee was palpable, like confetti she couldn't see.

"Think of this as a test. Pass this and uh, you get to do something a little more advanced!" Before she could protest, he sat down next to her. Close. When she tried to move away, a hand grabbed her leg.

"Paint my face."

"Oh, I...I can't do that." Anger flashed across his face. The grip on her leg tightened. "I don't have brushes," she explained quickly.

"Not a problem until you make it one, India. Use those cute little fingers."


Her touch was remarkably gentle. He'd never felt anything quite like it. Reluctance seemed to fade as she went on, applying an even white mask to his face until she dipped a finger into the clotted red paint meant for his lips. The joker scooted closer.

"This should help," he murmured. "My shirt is very becoming on you."

Oh, that rattled her.

"Do you want the...the scars done?" She whispered, warm breath fanning over his cheeks.

"Yes."

She peered at him, dusky lashes fluttering.

If he touched them, would his skin come back sooty?

She started from the left, tenderly applying bright red to his raised skin, eyes sparkling beneath her curly bangs. Worked her way carefully across, endlessly blushing.

The thrill it gave him was indescribable. Each cell in his body was on fire, every nerve alert. His hand remained on her leg, and through it all, he wanted so badly to bring it farther up, towards something utterly beyond his grasp.

But he wasn't Kurt. Maybe a murdering schizoid but nothing like Kurt.

When she seemed satisfied with his mouth, her attention turned to his eyes. He closed them to let her work, wondering what way she might be looking at him when he couldn't see her do so.

"Alright," India sighed. "Done, I suppose." The Joker blinked.

"Fantastic. Can't wait to see." He gave her knee a small squeeze and stood up, adjusting the towel that was beginning to slack dangerously before running back into the bathroom.

A quick swipe of his hand to clear the mirror and one look and he was storming back out.

"India, care to tell me what you did to my face?"

"I don't know!" She yelped defensively.

"You painted me like a clown. Like I've fallen off a fucking circus wagon!"

"But isn't that what...you usually do?"

"You're unbelievable." She went to protest, but something happened. She stopped herself and gulped, the corners of her lips quaking.

Trying not to smile.

"You think this is funny? It's a joke?" Her hand flew up to her mouth, hiding the grin that made her eyes glimmer with unmistakable mischief.

It looked good on her. Pissed him off but it looked good.

"Ah, fuck you. Just sit there while I get this off."