'...You're stormy like monsoon rains,
You excite me like a mountain stream
With you I'm swimming in India…'
-Pink Rhythm
"Are we assuming that she, um...that she painted this?"
"India sent me a few pieces of her art when she was away."
Rachel looked to the painting, propped against her desk, then to Bruce.
"...And?"
"She painted it, trust me," Bruce murmured, kneading his temples. Rachel sighed, feeling his migraine miraculously creeping up on her.
"They dusted for-"
"Yes, dusted for prints. Samples of the paint went out. Plenty of original jokes were made."
"I'm sorry, Bruce. I don't want to be that person-"
"So don't."
She huffed and held up her hands.
"We know that she's alive. Isn't that what's most important?" Exasperated, Bruce pointed to the canvas.
"Forced my little sister...to do this."
Rachel walked around and sat behind the desk. Her elbows hit the glass with a dangerous thud.
"We can't assume or imagine the details but I think it's obvious. He's not going to hurt her. He's obsessed."
"Obsession is by far the most dangerous thing there is." His gaze drifted back to the painting. "Sounds like an
assumption, Rachel. Take your own advice."
"Any leads?"
"I'm done with the Narrows but there are some abandoned industrial parks North of the city that trash likes to hole up in. I've already called Gordon."
"And what are you going to do?"
The Joker was gone when she woke up, along with the painting.
Begrudgingly, she slipped off the bed and went into the bathroom.
"You didn't lock the door."
It didn't have one to begin with. She scoffed. It'd been a joke. Of course. She started to worry at the buttons of his shirt. There was a good amount of paint dried to the sleeves. India wondered if he'd yell about that, too.
Her movements slowed, eyes looking down at the buttons with clouded interest as her thoughts wandered.
They wandered too far, into the dark and foggy forest of the mind, where she couldn't make out shapes or reason or find her way to a place more sensible and clear. Deeper she went, into the small bit of herself that had never been exposed or explored. Something that was thrilling.
India had woken up sometime in the night, she was almost sure of it, and draped around her was an arm that had not been there before, or should ever be.
The buttons lost her interest and glanced up at herself again, disgust creasing her brow.
Because when she awoke again and that arm was gone, a wintry emptiness had replaced it and that wasn't right.
"Stop it, India," she whispered to herself, hastily turning on the sink. The basin slowly filled with icy water. She watched in a daze, so rooted in her own turmoil that she almost didn't hear the bursts of irregular gunfire from down below.
"Priority mail is a great thing. Best thing we've come up with yet, Dave." The Joker looked at him a moment and did a roundabout nod. "I don't mean uh, us specifically, but mankind. Know what I mean?"
Dave, formerly known as Ashley, didn't know if his boss was referring to him dropping off the painting at the Wayne building or making a joke. So he decided to agree.
"I agree, boss." His eyes flitted down to his clothes. The Joker's usual ensemble had been missing the patterned shirt for two days; the jacket over vest look was almost distracting.
The Joker sitting at a desk made of crates was even moreso.
"Gotta wonder how our golden boy felt, looking at it. And…what our other golden boy will do to help."
"I have no idea, boss."
"I didn't ask but uh, good-"
He was cut off by one of his men bursting through the door, an automatic something or other at the ready in one hand.
"GPD! Cops, everywhere!" Gunfire rang out behind him on the first floor, along with the screaming of fifty or more thugs that were ready to wage war and didn't know why. The unnamed tank ran back out with an almost comical warcry.
The Joker stood up, pulling a pistol from beneath the desk.
He wasn't for plans. The ruination of such things was where he thrived. But this was different, because his first thought was to go to India.
"Get myself trapped at the fucking top? Can't do that."
"W-What uh, what should we do? What do you want me to do?" Dave asked nervously, eyes darting around like mad. The Joker stood still and careful, weighing his options that looked more and more shitty as each second ticked away.
India. India.
"Get your pansy ass upstairs to my room and make sure she gets out of this in one piece."
"T-The hostage? But you said-"
"Yeah, said, past fucking tense."
More gunfire rang out through the building, the sound of a chopper clipping away at the air and rain.
"How can I get her out of here?! We're surrounded."
"You have some balls, Dave," The Joker replied lowly. "You can't get her out. I said keep her in one piece." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the key, throwing it at his henchman with unnecessary force. He caught it. "That means ending up in custody…or ending up dead. You uh, ready for the big leagues?"
"There isn't much to lose, boss. I guess." He reached into the back of his jeans that were too tight and too loose at the same time and pulled out a small piece, then promptly threw it down on the ground. "She'll be safer without me having that...right?"
"Two surprises in a matter of minutes. The world must be burning, Dave." The chopper was closer, and he couldn't imagine that The Batman wasn't far behind, or already there. "You pull this off, I'll throw you some sort of bone."
They beamed at one another; a shockingly meaningful exchange that the both of them could respect.
The henchman formerly known as Ashley sprinted up the peeling staircase with an overwhelming sense of pride and accomplishment.
Incredibly silly.
It wasn't a graduation or promotion or a tangible stepping stone, one after the next, leading to the betterment of his life.
But it was the best he had.
No questions. No use in wondering why the business magnate's adopted and physically estranged sister was so important to his boss.
Boss only in belief.
At the very least, the gunfire that continued on in sporadic and trained bursts below him didn't cause much concern. He wasn't close with the men. Less than half, he could call by name, and he figured it was the same for the lot of them.
Searchlights passed over him, though the beanstalk windows of the warehouse, bathing him and everyone else in accusatory light. He could almost feel the heat of them.
One more story.
And then he was there, before the door, hand digging into his pocket for the key.
Ashley flinched at a particularly vicious mortar round.
Mortar. Was that it?
He had worked in a fast food joint a state and a half away, years before discovering how simple life could potentially be when you buried morals in wet sand. Some scumfuck had been his boss, an acne-ridden cumstain more than a few years his junior, who constantly ate into him over his lack of urgency. He moved too slow, cleaned too slow, dropped potatoes in the fryer too slow. That era of employment ended when Ashley decided to fling a basket of onion rings fresh out of the greasy vat into pimple's face.
Thus began the era of incarceration.
Ashley didn't know why he was thinking on his past and what had led him into the putrid, crime-addled underbelly of Gotham.
"Shut up," he hissed to himself, damp fingers finally catching the business end of the key and sticking it into the antiquated lock. He hurried inside, slamming the door behind him. More searchlights passed over the Joker's bedroom. He looked for the silhouette of his mysterious hostage, checked the far side of the bed and underneath. Nothing.
"Hello? I'm…I'm not gonna hurt you. The boss sent me…"
His words faded as he noticed the closed door to the left of him. He approached, pushing it open with ease. It wasn't locked.
The lights were off but the shape of her was clear against the reflective white of the bathtub. Ashley reached for a switch, fumbling for a moment before his palm caught the plastic and flipped it.
Huddled against the porcelain was the girl, knees drawn up to her chest and eyes wide beneath a head of unruly hair.
"Stay away," she whispered, curling into herself even more.
"Alright. Like I said, not gonna hurt you. He wants me to-"
"He?"
"The Joker. Everything Gotham has is raining down on this place right now. I gotta…keep you safe." He finished with a gulp, inexplicably embarrassed. "They'll probably take you away."
The girl shifted, her gaze brightening.
"Police? The police?" She asked, voice shaking. Ashley glanced out into the room.
"Police, SWAT…yeah."
The shouting was getting closer and the gunfire was fading. They were beginning to clear the stairs. A bead of sweat dripped from his brow.
"Hop in the tub."
"What?"
Ashley approached her, leaned down slowly and grasped her shoulders. She rose up with him, shaking in his hands.
"Get in the tub and stay low. When they bust in, shout out and let them know you're here." He nodded, waiting for her to respond.
She was very pretty. The Joker had more layers than he'd thought.
"W-What will you do?" Ashley cocked his head like a lab, taken aback by her apparent concern.
"I dumped my piece. They won't gun me down. Get in there." He pulled back and gave her an encouraging nod.
"The world spins," India whispered softly, painfully, forcing Ashley to pause just long enough for the door to be battered in, and just long enough for the walls to ring back the sounds of gunfire into every sense he had. The loudness of bullets being taken from the chamber, forced through handguns, the smell.
And then the searing metal bits moving through him with unbelievable ease; hot knifes through the butter of his body.
Then her face.
Those wide, dark eyes that he knew had captured his boss.
God, that wild, curled hair.
Ashley fell to the worn hardwood with a smile.
