Keys

by Jtlahj

Sequel to Hellcats & Their Cages. Blaze has moved on. She has emerged from her battle with The Joker damaged, but victorious, and has trained tirelessly to never be the victim again. In fact, she uses her newfound skills to clean the scum off the streets of Gotham alongside the new Batman. However, her new self is tested when an old foe targets the city's new saviors. TW: SA.

6. Probe

Chapter 6

I fluffed up one my pillow with particular ferocity. It was a built-in pillow to one of our emergency sleeping bags in the panic room that was swelteringly warm.

I huffed, violently readjusting into an equally uncomfortable position. My eyes were trained diligently on the faint greenish glow of the monitor. My half-asleep brain was sure that Blake would be stolen by The Joker the second I so much as blinked.

Though why still I care about a fucking traitor is beyond me.

Blake had set the lock to only open from the outside, a feature I wasn't aware of until that night. I wondered to myself if he had planned this for a rainy day. I tried to envision a world in which my Blake would plan to keep me captive.

The fuzzy image of Blake's sleeping form curled up on the leather couch just outside the door both soothed and irritated me.

"Must be nice," I muttered to myself, watching his chest take another deep rise and fall. How could he sleep after what he'd done to me?

I jolted awake with a start. I was sure that moments before I had been semi-awake glaring at Blake through the monitor. However, when I looked up at the monitor, a creased leather cushion and a dimly lit lamp in the corner of the room were the only signs of his previous presence. What little light had managed to slip through the curtains of the basement was gone.

It was nighttime.

I shuffled over to the monitor on my knees and tapped it. The image on the screen shifted to another view of the basement. I clicked again. And again. No sign of Blake.

Did the fucker leave without me?

The safehouse was a cottage in the middle of the woods about a quarter of a mile hike from the Batcave. No one, not even Lucius or Gordon, was aware that we owned this cottage. It was bought under a fake name and chosen by Blake and I because it had no official address. We had paid for it in cash from a surly old hermit. Despite its small size, Blake had managed to find wall space for three cameras per room, giving me quite a few images to sift through before I found something helpful. I was eventually met with the feed of our small garage which only contained the shattered remains of The Rumbler from the explosion. Blake's personal motorcycle was gone.

"Fuck."

My fingers still tapped the screen for a few more beats. How could he leave to go find The Joker without me? Where is he now?

I was soon met with the image of the kitchen. I squinted my eyes and saw that my laptop with the tracking software was gone from the counter where I'd left it.

"Shit!" I thumped the steel of the door with my fist and immediately regretted it as I felt a stab of pain from my broken thumb. I flicked the lights on in the panic room and saw that my thumb had turned a caustic purple around the base of the joint.

My stomach growled with hunger suddenly. I sighed and was just reaching toward one of the many cans of food on the shelves surround me when I stopped.

The chime of our doorbell rang out.

I had never heard it ring before. We didn't get many visitors in our couldn't-be-more-secret safehouse.

A beat of silence passed that made me wonder if I was finally losing my sanity and I'd imagined the doorbell. But there it was again, and this time it rang twice in a row. On second thought, I remembered a doorbell ringing out from the last moment of my dream. Had that been the thing to wake me?

I felt my brow crease as I began flicking through the videos on the screen again with caution. Images of the interior of our living room and kitchen greeted me unhelpfully before I paused.

The image was of the front exterior of the cottage.

The same hulking black getaway vehicle from last night was spewing a cloud of fog from its tailpipe in our driveway.

I felt the blood shunt away from my face in a dizzying rush. My mind fell silent with the static of pure panic.

No.

My cautious fingers tapped once more. This time, I was met with a clear image of a barely-lit masculine form on our doorstep.

My eyes widened. The form was tall, lean, with longish dirty blonde hair. A hulking shoulder was poised against the doorframe casually. Confidently. As if the man was waiting for a family friend to usher him into their home.

Though I couldn't see much of him in the dim light, I knew it was him.

The Joker found our home.

"No," I said to myself, a part of my mind fighting to reject the image in front of me.

I looked down at myself sharply, remembering. I was nearly nude, sporting only my simple black bra and panties from last night. I cursed myself for stripping down to put on my bat suit before Blake grabbed me last night. I had only my sleeping bag around my shoulders to cover me. There were no extra clothes in the small shelter space.

I looked back up at the screen. The Joker was turned away from the camera now, which was aimed down at the doorstep. He bounced down to his knees and scooped up a palm-sized rock from our walking path. He tossed it up in the air playfully and caught it with a flourish when he was standing again.

Rather athletically, he pitched the rock into the window next to the door. Though muffled through layers of walls and flooring, I heard the glass shatter and the rock tumble a floor above me.

Tears tightened my throat as I watched him lazily wander towards the house again. This time, he gave the camera a good glimpse of him. His face, to my surprise, was bare of his usual gruesome makeup. His smile oozed self-congratulation and curiosity. He was wearing a dark plain t-shirt paired with brown slacks. There were no bright colors in his hair or outfit and something about the bizarre normalcy of him made my stomach sink. I'd only seen his bare face once, and it was right before he raped me.

What is he hoping to gain from breaking in? Is he just trying to scare us? Is he going to burn the place down? Trying to gather intel? Or does he know I'm here alone? Doesn't he know that my home would have an alert system?

Our alarm system was far from typical, though. An alert was probably dinging at that very moment into Blake's batsuit.

I felt my thoughts cascade down in a sickening spiral.

What if he knows it's Blake and I that are notified of a breech? What if he knows that Blake is somehow incapacitated and can't respond to the alert?

I would have been less vulnerable to him if I was hanging from a meat hook. I pictured myself slapping Blake last night and felt suddenly justified for the act of violence that had tormented me all night. He had left me alone with no weapons and nearly naked to boot. I was locked in a room that I couldn't escape from like a caged puppy. Blake might as well have hog tied me and mailed me to him.

My only hope was that he didn't know I was here. I flicked through a few more images with shaky hands. There were no silhouettes in the car nor forms lurking around the perimeter that I could see.

He's alone. That means I can kill him.

I stood unsteadily. I tried to ignore the clanging of shattering glass downstairs as he finished what he started with the window to make a path for himself to enter. I looked around myself for a weapon. In the small panic room, there was little more than shelves stacked strategically with cans of food and jugs of water. There were no weapons, only spare survival gear. I ruffled through the first aid kit and quickly unearthed a pair of tiny scissors about the size of my palm.

I clutched the scissors to my chest as I attempted to formulate a plan. I couldn't help my eyes from flicking over to the screen. The image was of an empty porch. The Joker was inside.

No.

I sifted through the images until I saw movement. The fucker was strolling through our kitchen. My kitchen. One hand was in his pocket and the other ran over the medical instruments I'd left on the kitchen table. His head tilted up and, quite by accident, he made eye contact with the lens of a camera and straight into my soul. He smiled a smile that made my legs feel like jelly.

Does he know I'm watching?

He must know something. He's not trying to be quiet or tactful. If he knows I'm here, he knows I can't run or attack him even if I hear him coming.

Or he doesn't know I'm here at all and assumes that we'll look back on the footage.

I silently prayed that he would come and go never knowing that I was so vulnerable feet away from him.

Something caught his attention. He sharply turned his head to look through the archway that framed the kitchen and into the hallway. He straightened from his position over the table and began to saunter down the hall. Closer to me.

What does he see? I wondered with dread blooming like nightshade in my gut.

He took his time walking down the hall. I began to hear his heavy footsteps just above me and felt a burst in my chest. His footsteps were so much heavier than when last we met, his hits so much harder. A distant part of myself wondered how I could possibly kill him this time when he had every advantage.

I flicked to a view of the hallway. His long hand was splayed out in the darkness, visible only because a sliver of light fell across his palm.

I sucked in a shocked breath. It was the light from the lamp Blake had left on in the basement leaking into the hallway. The house was otherwise completely devoid of life and light. The lamp might as well have been a cracked door during the deadliest game of hide-and-seek, giving me away entirely.

"Fuck!" I hissed to myself as I scrambled to turn off the panic room lightswitch. I hoped that, without the light seeping through the edges of the room, the door might be overlooked.

The basement door above me creaked open with a mewling yawn.

I closed my eyes against the stifling swells of panic making my hands curl involuntarily. My location was compromised and there was no two ways about it – he would find me eventually. I forced my racing mind to still and accept that rotten truth. I forced myself to think that this was a good thing that he would find me. That, if I could catch him by surprise and topple the shelf onto him as he entered the panic room, I might be able to stab him with the scissors too. I pictured it as if I was watching a movie and liked what I saw.

I forced my eyes open and navigated back to the same video view of the basement that I had been watching Blake sleep on. Illumination fell over the room and I could see The Joker clearer than ever with his hand poised over the light switch.

"Blaaa-aaaze," his voice taunted me, seeping like poisoned gas beneath the metal door.

I forced myself to keep my shaky breathing quiet. As stealthily as possible, I slunk with my back against the wall next to the door. I poised my hands on the shelf and mentally prepared myself to shove it and its contents on The Joker the second he entered the room. My cautious eyes peered over my extended arm at the screen. He was irritatingly wandering again, dragging a hand through his hair as he explored the room without much interest. No, his real interest belonged entirely to the panic room door. A quick look around the basement would have told him that I wasn't hiding behind the parse furniture.

Like a dog following the scent of blood, he tilted his head up as he took steps toward the panic room door.

"You aren't hiding from little old me, are you?" his voice was as amused as ever, and growing louder.

On the monitor, he was pondering the screen that operated the locks of the panic room. He was less than three feet away from me now, separated from me only by the thick metal door. My breathing was fast and harsh and I forced it to calm as I pictured again and again what would happen when he entered.

Just topple the shelf and stab him. It'll be easy.

He was jabbing the monitor with inpatient fingers.

I pictured someone, anyone, to be my opponent instead of The Joker. If it were anyone but him, I would have been smiling at the silliness of someone thinking that they could break into my home and leave unscathed. Blaze from a few days ago would have sound the situation funny, even.

There was a metallic jolt. The door slitted open and saturated the room with dull light that made me blink. His silhouette eclipsed the long rectangle of light on the floor. I bit my lip, forcing my rapid breathing to still.

To my surprise, he just stood there for a moment. The hulking silhouette cocked its head inquisitively. I imagined he was looking down at my rumpled sleeping bag. He turned his head to the side and I could see his profile as he considered the destroyed control panel on the wall opposite to me. He chuckled.

He still hadn't walked inside the room. His silhouette was turning my way now. I had moments before he caught sight of me and my slim advantage was crushed. I had to forget about toppling the shelf on him.

Now or never.

I sliced the scissors up towards his throat, aiming for the scar that I had left those many years ago.

He reacted just in time to save himself. His back arched away from me in the same instant that the tip of the scissors met his skin. A small slice zipped up the left side of his jaw instead of on his neck thanks to his quick reaction.

I pulled my hand back again to strike. His hand shot out, capturing my right hand and yanking my body in front of him.

"There you are!"

Without missing a beat, I opened my fist and let my scissors drop into my waiting left hand. My broken thumb protested with a sharp pang, but I ignored it. Rather than wasting precious milliseconds winding up for another shot as his neck, I went for his gut instead.

If I can surprise him enough with an injury to the gut, maybe he'll reel back and leave his neck open for another strike.

His slid his hips back at the last moment and my scissors just managed to cut a slit in his shirt instead of his skin.

He caught my left hand just as it redirected towards his neck again. The scissors were inches away from his Adam's apple and I strained against his hold on my wrist with a snarl. However, I quickly discovered that the point was moot and I was at a disadvantage due to his gainful angle and strength.

Changing up my tactics, I drove my knee up into his groin. His legs twisted to the side, evading my intention with ease. My new targets were his knees. I cocked my leg back, but before I could land my blow, he used his grip on my wrists to shove me back hard into the panic room. My shoulders impacted the metal shelves with a painful clatter, but I managed to stay upright.

When I looked up again, his dark silhouette was closing the distance between us. His long arm was extended in front of him, aiming for my throat. I quickly snatched his open hand and twirled, manipulating his weight so he stumbled forward toward the shelf. I stretched his arm behind his back and used my palm to shove his shoulder deeper into the shelf before he could steady himself. He didn't try to resist or pull against me.

I'm getting the upper hand. I can do this. I can do this.

I felt him inhale and I knew that he was getting ready to taunt me again. I struck the back of his head to shut him up and began looking around for my scissors. I hadn't even noticed that they were knocked out of my hand at some point during our scuffle.

The large muscles that comprised his shoulder began to move under my hand. I looked back at him to see him grinning madly over his left shoulder at me. The side of his face aimed toward me was peeled up in a monstrous grin. Blood seeped down into the collar of his shirt from the slice I'd left on his jaw. His movements weren't reflective of an escape attempt. No, the movements were from his chest heaving with his growing laughter that began to fill the small space. He looked me up and down from the corner of his eye, catching sight of my near-nakedness, and his laugh intensified.

Instant fear snaked through me.

He's trying to distract you. And it's working.

I snapped back to reality. I ignored his blatant inspection of me in favor of looking for my scissors again. They were nowhere to be found on the panic room floor, though it was hard to tell in the dim light.

I knew I couldn't restrain him to the shelf forever and I likely wouldn't be able to kill him without a tool of some kind. My best bet would be to incapacitate him in this room and see if I could trap him like Blake trapped me.

Before I could overthink it, I slammed my bare foot into the back of his knee. His leg buckled and slammed into the metal of the shelf. For good measure, I aimed another fist at the side of his face nearest me. My knuckles impacted his cheekbone with a satisfying crack.

I felt him begin to twist out of my hold on his arm and knew I had to act quickly. I released him and turned toward the open panic room door at my back.

I didn't make it a full step before my head was wretched back. The Joker had a fistful of my curls and I could feel him closing the distance between our bodies again.

Without thinking, I grabbed the edge of the shelf to our right and ripped it down with some effort. His hand released my hair and I had a suspended moment to jolt out of the way of the heavy falling shelf and cans of food. I looked back to catch a glimpse of him being caught in the face with a massive can of green beans. However, he had managed to avoid most of the fallen objects by stepping forward. The shelf hadn't fallen directly on top of him and he was still coming for me.

I darted out of the room and grabbed the edge of the heavy metal door. I pushed back on it with all my might. The doors momentum stopped abruptly and, for a moment, I thought my attempt to seal him in the room was successful. I looked down to see a big black boot jammed between the door frame and the door, preventing it from fully shutting.

Shit.

I strained against the door, trying to buy myself time to think through a new tactic. It was only a matter of time before he would shove open the door and surely send me flying back. I had to pick an opportune moment to get a good head start on him.

But where will you run to? Outside, into the woods? Try to make it to the Batcave? Or, to the weapons array upstairs in the bedroom?

I decided on the latter, though I pictured myself reprimanding at an on-screen heroine for running up the stairs instead of out the front door.

"Will you really, sweet pea?" his voice chuckled lightly as if reading my mind. He didn't sound the least bit short of breath or strained. I couldn't see his face, only his white knuckles as they curled around the edge of the door frame in preparation for a great shove, "Do you really think you could run anywhere that I couldn't find you – especially when you're dressed like that?"

He knew I was planning to make a break for it. I seethed, hating that he knew me well enough to anticipate my moves. But I knew that I could make it upstairs before he could catch me. I was the hellcat, after all, faster than any coed in my college career and faster still since I became Batwoman and honed my body for my craft.

I closed my eyes and, just as his shoulder roughly slammed into the door, I pulled my weight away from it. He fell through the doorway and crashed to the ground.

I leaped over his recovering form and zipped toward the stairs.

"Big gamble trying to run, sweetheart!"

His excited voice was beneath me in the basement below, but growing closer. I darted through the still-open basement door and aimed toward the set of stairs that lead to our bedroom, ignoring my impulse to run through the front door instead.

Your goal isn't to escape like a helpless victim, it's to kill him, I reminded myself.

My feet punished the steps beneath me as I all-but-flew up the first few stairs.

My progress was suddenly arrested by a vice. The Joker had leaped up to grab my arm over the banister to the stairs as he passed. His weight shifted back down to the floor and he ripped me down with him. My ribs slammed into the stair banister and then I was falling with an ungraceful twist. I landed with a clatter, impacting my ribs and the side of my head on the hardwood floor. Ringing sounded in my ears and my vision flashed, though I still felt my phantom limbs struggle to arrange themselves in such a way that I could stand.

"Oohhh, no you don't," he taunted before I caught a glimpse of his knee flashing toward my face. The blow landed squarely on my nose and my head clapped back against the flooring harshly.

I tasted the familiar, bright zing of blood.

Get up, goddamn it.

Though there was hair in my eyes, I flipped onto my back in an attempt to stand. He wasn't having that, though. His weight fell on my back and his hand fisted in my hair.

He pulled my head back. I growled at the lash of pain from my scalp. His other hand cleared the hair out of my face with mocking gentleness that make me want to hear him scream. I moved to elbow him, but the hand that cleared my hair away went to restrain both of my struggling fists.

"Well, hello, princess. Here, I thought I was giving you a surprise visit but I see that you got all dressed up for the occasion."

"Get the fuck off me!" I screamed ferociously, trying not to feel like a mouse caught in a trap against him.

My hair rustled as he breathed out a chuckle. He dipped his head forward and began laying kisses onto my neck and shoulder as I struggled. I felt my skin prick with anxious redness along the areas that he touched, my face burning.

Something gave way in our tangled lower halves. My foot was free. I drove my heel back hard and knew that I landed it right into his crotch. He grunted and shifted forward, falling on top of me.

He laughed wildly right into my ear, his voice barely pained, "Don't you know cheap junk shots are poor form, sweetheart? I treated your junk a lot kinder than that last night."

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

I managed to yank one wrist out from his hold and drove my elbow back hard into his ribs. He grunted again on the impact, but giggled afterward as if we were playfighting. He shifted his weight around and sharply hooked his arm under my hips. He flipped me so I was on my back and quickly settled back on top of me.

I had forgotten what his plain face looked like. His skin was tanner than I remembered. Freckles splashed on his nose and around his eyes in a way that almost made him look human in the barely-there lighting. He sported a few scattered cuts and scrapes from yesterday. My heart thrummed when I realized The Joker had the same sewn-up slice disappearing into his hairline as Blake. Without his cartoonish makeup on, I could see that his eyes were not, in fact, black, but a rich brown like layers of canyon rock. His scars were less noticeable when he didn't paint them up and his jaw was sharp like a knife. A distant part of my mind wondered what had inspired him to show up without his usual getup, but I decided I didn't want to know.

The look in his eyes, though, was as evil as they come despite his more threadbare appearance. His gaze was bright and electric, shocking me momentarily. He looked… excited.

What is he staring at?

And then I remembered that I was without a cowl, without armor, without clothes, even, literally bare before him.

It was the first time that he'd seen my face after so many years.

No.

"Blaze."

No.

"It's so good to see all of you again," his thumb brushed the scar on my lower lip and terror coiled in me like a snake.

"This isn't happening!" I screamed childishly, finally breaking from my trance and lashing out at him. My fist aimed for his throat. However, due to my precarious position stuck between him and the ground, it was easy for him to restrain me. After a moment's struggle, he slammed my wrists down on either side of my face triumphantly.

His smile down at me was genuine and warm despite the situation and I grumbled in frustration, twisting around every which way to find some amount of purchase, some way of escaping.

"Struggle all you want. You need to learn that your best efforts against me are useless."

"No!" I screamed, still straining against him and shutting my eyes against the dreadful look in his. His pupils were large, and not just because of the dim light. The look of his blown eyes gave him a demonic appearance that matched his soul.

"Yes, pet. All this crime fighting has gone to your pretty," he laid a kiss on my temple, "little," a kiss on my cheek, "head," and a kiss on my mouth.

I dodged him, but he was already pulling his face away from mine, "I don't know what you're talking about!"

A sharp and immediate backhanded slap. My already-damaged nose smarted with pain that I didn't have time to feel. More blood lathed my tongue.

His voice was warm and sweet as fucking apple pie as he nuzzled my neck, "You don't have to pretend with me. I know you and Batwoman are one in the same because you couldn't keep it together last night. Now you and your Batboy are mine to toy with."

Emotions flashed around me like trees past a racing car. All of the emotions were different flavors of guilt, I realized, and then I hated myself even more for feeling exactly what he wanted me to feel.

His face pulled back from my neck, then, and something unquiet settled over his features.

"The problem is, my sweet, that you seem to think that you're worth something now. That you have some sort of agency over your pathetic little life," he laughed at my frustrated growl and grabbed the bottom half of my face. His voice suddenly morphed into a heated snarl, "And yet, you're even letting your Bat Boy keep you captive now. Tell me, how did that come about?"

"None of your fucking business!"

Darkness loomed in his chuckle and I could feel his giddiness slipping away in favor of something more menacing. A part of me was almost grateful for the change – anything to avoid the unfamiliar, almost-tender parts of him.

"I asked you a question, sweet cheeks."

I forced my erratic breathing to calm down. I wasn't doing myself any favors by tiring myself out with my wild thrashing. I needed to focus and try to get the upper hand again. Or, I needed to try to buy time until Blake got home.

"Let me go and I'll tell you."

A thick eyebrow quirked up, "I see you're still trying to bargain back your control. I can think of a few ways to show you who's really the boss," his head tilted forward and I realized he meant to kiss me again. I moved to headbutt him, but he saw it coming a mile away. His hand shot out and grabbed my jaw again, pinning my head against the floorboards beneath me.

His lips hovered just above mine. His body jostled only slightly with my erratic twisting to escape the kiss. His lips pressed into mine once, fleetingly, before pulling away. I could feel his breath rush into my lips. His breathing was choppier now than when we were fighting.

"You're going to answer my questions, or I'm going to kiss you. Simple as that, sweetheart," he threatened calmly. His tone was low, husky, natural. I felt tears choke me, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of letting them spill, "And who knows what a kiss could turn into when you greet me in nothing but your little black panties."

I couldn't help it. It was too real. He was pinning me down again, crowding me, suffocating me, kissing me. I was naked, the only thing between him and I were scraps of thin underwear and his mercy as much as I hated to admit it.

I couldn't hold it back any longer. I screamed out for help in spite of myself.

But I knew it was hopeless. We couldn't have been more alone in that moment. The surrounding forest was not well-traveled and our supposed-safehouse was vacant except for him and I.

He chortled loudly at my scream, his eyelids lidded and irises dancing over my tormented face. When I fell silent, he looked excited as he said, "Scream louder for me, pet. But you better hope that no one comes to save you."

He was right, of course. The last thing that I wanted was to bring someone else into The Joker's crosshairs. The scream had been entirely impulsive, born out of a mix of instinct and desperation.

"I am not your pet!" I screeched, trying to strike out at him again with my legs without much success.

"That's where you're wrong! That has been decided for you, by me. You just haven't accepted being my pet yet. There's a difference!"

"Shut up and get the fuck off – !"

He cut me off with another kiss. It was not restrained as the previous kisses had been. This kiss spoke of the torture that he planned to inflict on me. I could feel traces of his bloodlust left on my skin where he touched and I knew this was a kiss meant to intimidate, to hurt. His teeth nipped my lips, his fingers forceful as they held my face in place.

He pulled away from me suddenly and whispered gruffly, "I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it, pet. You don't get to make demands of me. Now tell me what I want to know."

"Get off of me and I'll tell you!"

He bit his lip hard and looked down at me, his gaze simmering with annoyance, "Listening isn't one of your strong suits, is it? Maybe you need more than the threat of a kiss to inspire you? I can think of one thing or another that could loosen your tongue." His burning fingers pushed my lower back and arched my back against him. He was erect, jabbing into my stomach persistently and I couldn't help but remember the ripping feeling of him inside me.

"Get off me!"

"Keep begging, baby. It's all you can do now. Poor Batwoman. Without your armor, you're just a powerless weakling like you always have been," he sneered down at me as I felt tears threaten to spill.

Dark brown eyes traced the path of my first tears down my cheeks into my hairline. His snarl morphed into something softer.

He slapped my cheek twice lightly and took a deep breath. He bowed his head as if to calm himself, his big chest heaving and his pelvis still pressed into me. When he looked back up at me, his animalistic eyes were duller, more contained.

"Alright, I'll be the first to admit I've already gotten carried away. You tend to have that effect on me," he glared down at me, all hints of humor gone, "But I actually didn't come here to hurt you." At my look of distrust, he chuckled softly, "Don't look at me like that. I came here to talk to you. It's you who made things… physical."

"Get off me, then."

"I will, but only if you're a good girl for me. Only if you can actually manage to listen for once and not run or fight or try to kill me. Deal, princess?"

"So, if I agree and you get off me, you won't touch me anymore?"

"As long as you tell me what I want to know, yes."

As much as I hated to admit it, he held all of the power in this moment.

"Fine," I ground out.

"Peachy," he jolted forward suddenly and landed a kiss to my forehead affectionately. I jerked away, but he was already pulling his face back before I could do much else. He reached into his pocket and came out with a length of rope.

"What the fuck is that for? I thought you said you'd let me go."

His grin was dry as he wound the rope around my pinned wrists despite my renewed struggles, "Do you really think I trust you?"

I grunted in humiliation as he wretched the rope as tight as it could go, cutting off my circulation. True to his word, though, he did push off of me once his work was done.

I scuttled back as best as I could without the use of my arms and stood against the banister of the stairs. I couldn't stop my eyes from darting to the door and then up the stairs, two tracks of my brain planning out separate escape routes now that I was semi-freed.

"Blaa-aaze," he cautioned, watching me with his hands in his pockets and a challenge in his eyes, "Do you really have the guts to try to run from me again? Aren't you scared of what the mad dog might do to you if give him a chase?"

I glared at him, trying to stand tall despite my bound limbs and nearly-nude form, "Say what you came here to say and then go."

His long fingers curled into two tight fists in his pockets and the muscles of his forearms rippled, though his tone remained nonchalant, "You're kind of demanding considering the circumstances, don't you think?"

"What do you want?" I snarled, feeling my cheeks heat anew with rage.

His split a cold smile.

"Well, I was planning on a quick, menacing in-and-out," he smirked at his own innuendo and I envisioned my fist going through his face, "but you've chosen your own adventure, haven't you?"

He started toward me. Acting on pure instinct, I started anxious steps towards the front door. My feet crunched down on the broken glass from the window, but I didn't care. I yanked open the door halfway with my bound hands and felt a gust of cool Gotham air swirl around my midsection.

A loud thud sounded from above my head. The door slammed shut in the same moment. I looked up to see The Joker's hand splayed out on the wood of the door. His chest touched to my shoulders and I could feel his breathing was fast.

Don't cry anymore. Don't you dare fucking cry.

"Where does my little bunny think she's hopping off to?"

I flipped around, ready to shove my bound fists right into his throat. He anticipated the move, though, and his hands quickly snaked around both of my arms tightly.

"Come on, hellcat. You look thirsty."

He began stomping me toward the kitchen. I resisted, though my mind was elsewhere. I remembered the medical equipment on the kitchen table.

The scissors.

He nipped that in the bud quickly, though. The second we entered the kitchen, he swept a long arm across the kitchen table, knocking the rubbing alcohol, saline, and the scissors clean into the next room.

His warm hands fell on my shoulders and he shoved me down into a seat. He instantly pushed me down again the moment I tried to stand, though his voice was still sickly sweet.

"Are you trying to tempt me, sweetheart?" a hand suddenly twisted in my hair while his other shot out to hold my pin wrists to the table. He yanked my face back so I was forced to look up at him, "We can go back to how it was before I so kindly let you get up off the floor from beneath me. If you can somehow manage to just sit there and look pretty and not be a fucking menace for once… you and I will have a little chat and I'll leave without hurting you anymore. Capache?"

I did nothing but glare.

He smiled an unnerving smile when I didn't reply and shrugged down so he could whisper right in my ear, his lips tickling, "If I see you so much as look at the door or the scissors or if you even twitch in a way that I don't like, I am dragging your sorry ass upstairs and I will fuck you bloody in his bed. Understand?"

I grimaced up at the crack on the ceiling behind his shoulder and forced myself to say nothing.

"Finally! So that's what it takes to behave! Threatening to fuck you is going to be as useful as a cattle prod. Just what ya need to keep the pet in line," he poked my ribs playfully, back to his giddy fucking self.

I shook my head out of his grip and he let me. He shrugged away from me and began flipping open cabinets casually. I resisted the urge to use my bound hands to rub my throbbing scalp.

"So much to teach you," was the only bit I caught of his unintelligible rambling as he searched for what I guessed were drinking glasses based on his 'thirsty' comment from earlier.

He looked so wrong in my kitchen. The looseness of his limbs as he chaotically slapped opened my cabinets mimicked nonchalance, though I knew he was watching me like a hawk in his peripheral vision. I considered why he chose to show restraint tonight. As much as it pained me to admit it, we both knew that he could overpower me with my hands tied. And, yet, he chose not to touch me. My tongue probed a cut on the side on of my cheek as I studied him, confident that he had motives beyond exercising his willpower.

Two drinking glasses emerged like trophies from a cabinet. He languidly slipped over to the sink with his prize. He flicked the faucet on and I could see him watching my reflection on the window above the sink. When the glasses were filled, he slammed down both cups on the table with enough force that I wondered how the glasses stayed intact. Water sloshed and a soft drip could be heard as a stream began to make its way to the floor.

He watched me through narrow eyes as he sat down in the chair across from me. His index finger traced around the rim of his glass and a sharp ringing sound rang out. I gritted my teeth. He gave a lazy half-smile before tilted the glass up to his lips and downing it with two big gulps. I idly pondered how many of his little smirks were genuine and how many were in place only to imply control. His eyes never left mine, even as he slammed the glass back down onto the table.

I bit my lip, the words, "What the hell are you staring at?" coming to mind. He smiled again and I had the chilling thought that he could read my mind. I wondered if he could sense that, for the moment, I was willing to play his little game if only to save my own skin.

"It really is so good to see your face again, Blaze," earnest Joker was back again, his eyes flooded with a warmth that made me want to puke. I inspected the shockingly large amount of freckles peppering his nose and cheeks, more appreciable in the well-lit kitchen than in the darkness of the hallway. He looked so… human.

I worked my jaw, fighting the retort threatening to spill out.

"You're still every bit the mean little redhead whose tears tasted like sunshine."

I clenched and unclenched my fists and toes, trying to distract myself.

"But you have so much unlearning to do. I can't wait to get you back in that headspace of that one, singular moment when I was first buried inside you that you just looked so… helpless," he leaned forward with smile that would put the devil to shame, "I've had all these years to think of ways to make you look like that again."

A furious blush crackled the skin on my neck and cheeks. My leg bounced under the table. I realized that I had been glaring at him without blinking since he sat down.

He can't fucking talk to me like this. I'm Blaze Fucking Plissken. I'm Batwoman.

He's pressing you, trying to see how far he can stretch your momentary obedience for kicks. He must not be worried at all that Blake is going to come back, even though he looks like he's unarmed and alone.

"So, after all that planning, imagine my surprise when Batman shows up to my exact location an hour ago. Just Batman. No trusty Bat Babe at his side like I knew you would be… At first, I thought you sent him alone or maybe you tried to run from me. Either one of those options made me think that I didn't know you as well as I thought I did. That's why I came, sweetheart, to give you a piece of my mind for being such a little coward… But now I see the truth. Now I can see what a real partner-in-crime looks like. You let him lock you in that basement. Didn't you tell him that you're mine to bully, hellcat?"

I fumed, feeling my breathing grow shallower and more erratic by the second. I felt my blush descend to my chest.

Where is Blake now?

"Why did he do it?"

I growled through tight teeth before he could start in on me, "Because I wanted to go after you."

"When?"

"Last night."

"And he thought… what? You were too injured to go after me?"

"I wanted to go without him."

His instant bark of a laugh made my nails bite into my palms.

"And what about our encounter the other day made you think you could take me all by yourself?" another irritating chortle, his eyes darting away inquisitively and then back to me, "Aw, but then again, think of how much fun we could have had if you had waltzed into my room wearing this."

I just glared.

"Why are you wearing that, by the way? Did he pick up on some of my other habits like ripping your clothes off and having his way with you? Did you beg him to fuck you like I fucked you?"

"God!" I buried my faced in my hands for a moment, too mortified by his question to keep a straight face. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

A rabid grip ripped my bound wrists away from my face. His other hand forced my struggling chin up so I could meet his serious brown eyes.

"I don't like it when you cover your face from me."

"I don't care what you like!"

He resisted my tugs against his hold on my wrist, his eyes began to sparkle again in that way that made my spine shoot with fear, "I asked you a question."

"No, he did not do that to me! I'm not dressed because I was putting on my suit when he cornered me."

After studying me for a moment, he released me. I pulled my bound wrists back to myself.

He dragged his hand down his face, chuckling to himself as his eyes darted appreciatively over my bare torso. I couldn't help but use my arms to cover as much of myself as possible from his penetrating gaze, "So, he dragged a very naked you through this house like a caveman and tossed you into his cage for the night? And you still think he's your white knight, huh? I can practically hear your thoughts wondering when he's going to rush in and save poor little you from me. He's going to be busy for a while, cupcake."

"What happened when he came to you?"

His eyelids were heavy as his eyes returned to my half-naked form. I looked down and saw that my leaning position gave him a better view of my cleavage than before and I straightened.

"Did I say you could ask questions?"

I worked my jaw, willing myself to keep quiet and play the smart game instead of snapping at him like I wanted. His eyes attempted to wring every possible flicker of emotion from my face, though gave nothing away themselves, like a poker player.

"Mmm, look at you. I can see the two parts of yourself fighting against each other. On the one hand, you know that I have the upper hand here. I mean, I caught you with your pants down, literally…" he smirked at his own joke, his gaze still heady at he considered the truth of his words, "The other part of you is defiant until the end, unwilling to give me even an inch no matter the circumstances. Yet here you sit, like a good little girl for me. So, this means you're willing to set aside your pride to avoid being raped," his hand cupped his jaw as he leaned forward, continuing his inspection of me with swelling pupils, "But that just won't do, will it? Because, when I finally decide to scoop you up, I don't want to have to choose between touching you and you being obedient… no… I'll have to find something else to hold over your head, won't I?"

"You will never take me again."

"No?" he questioned, eyes shining again in the dim light, "Well, then, maybe I should just take you while I have you bound because you seem so sure. What do you think, pet?"

"You already said you wouldn't take me. I thought you hated liars."

His fingers covered the smile growing like a cancer on his mouth, "Not as much as I hate the idea of you thinking you have a shred of hope."

My last thread of control snapped, "Is that what you came here to say – the same tired bullshit as yesterday? You couldn't stand to stay away from me for one day?"

"What if my answer to that is, 'yes?'"

I flinched against the unexpected warmth in his response. I had to look away.

I cursed myself for breaking eye contact with the beast, feeling his eagerness grow at my response, "What if I said that I can't get enough of you? What if I said you're all I've thought about for years?"

My eyes widened, then narrowed. I yanked my anger from the riot of emotions within me and spat, "Well, isn't that just too fucking bad for you?" I quoted his words from last night that had cut me so deeply.

"Is it, though? I don't think you've considered how much… fun it's going to be to knock you off your little pedestal. Tell me, little hellcat," he leaned in closer, resting his chin on laced fingers. His voice was deep and as natural as it ever was, "are you feeling it yet? The claustrophobia of me pressing in on you from all sides? Last night, coming home from the diner, did you feel my eyes on you? Did you feel my claim throb in that bruise on your cheek when you woke?"

My gaze fell to the drinking glass in front of me and I imagined the sound it would make as it shattered across his temple. I wondered if that would be enough to knock him out.

I considered his newfound quickness and decided on another course of action. Stalling. I had to find a balance between keeping him here and keeping him away from me.

"I don't feel anything when it comes you to except for annoyance. After I stepped on you like the roach you are, I forgot about you."

I managed not to flinch at the riot of laughter that burst from him. His taut belly shook and he pitched his head back for a suspended moment. My fist closed subconsciously on the drinking glass and I was tensing. Before I could so much as twitch towards him with the glass, he stood. My heart leapt, but he was only standing so he could double over with mirth. The opportunity had come and gone like a comet and I cursed myself for my nervous hesitation.

"Keep laughing, clown. You mean less to me than shit I scraped off my boot."

His laughter intensified and might as well have been sandpaper to my ego. So much for sounding convincing. Though I knew it wasn't the smartest move, I debated lunging at him to quell the frustration building inside me. I fought to keep myself looking callous.

Don't let him know how he affects you. Your emotions are to him what blood in the water is to a shark.

His irritating giggles died down as he considered me. His expression barely held back more laughter, but his deep natural voice shone through, "This is why I like bothering you, cupcake."

"Why's that?"

"You present everything I hate about this world of ours."

"Oh, please, spare me another villain motivation speech."

I tilted an eyebrow, watching him as he scrapped a dining chair across the floorboards with a heinous screech. He sat on the chair when it was resting next to me, his left knee nearly touching mine beneath the table.

Don't you dare fucking react.

He rested his chin on a balled fist, studying me with laughter still crinkling the skin around his eyes.

Silence. I strangled down the panic welling up in my throat. He didn't move to touch me, just stared, and somehow that was worse.

"What, nothing snarky to say now? When I'm close?"

His arm stretched out across the back of my chair, his skin not quite touching mine. I forced myself to stare back at him. Something about the deliberateness of his actions made something unfamiliar bloom in my chest. The feeling was a cousin to fear, but not quite. My anxious blush was nearly painful.

"Oh, come on. You don't want to know why I'm so infatuated? Why I just want to eat you up?"

The truth was, the most detached part of my brain had always wondered why me? I had accepted long ago that I would never know. Perhaps, if he was still sitting across the table, I could have gotten the answer I so craved. But now, with him cornering me, crowding me, the dread might as well have sewn my lips shut.

I realized I had been peering down at my joined hands. I cracked the gaze that I never meant to drop back up to him.

Unexpectedly, he leaned in. I flinched away to avoid our lips meeting, turning my face back toward my clenched fists on the table. He didn't kiss my cheek as I feared he might. Instead, his breath tickled my ear as he whispered, "Your lips say that I don't affect you. Yet, I don't even have to touch you to make you mute with fear. That's what I love about you, hellcat. You are proof that there are certain truths that you can't cheat."

Did he just say - ?

No, he couldn't have.

But he did.

Did he just say 'love?!'

My thoughts scattered in a maddening flurry. I reacted without thinking. I felt myself begin to stand jerkily. Anything to get away from him and the realization threatening to choke me.

Calloused hands pinned my shoulders back down, forcing me to sit again.

All the while, the word echoed to a dizzying crescendo in my thoughts.

Love.

"Shhhhh, sh, shhh," he hushed unsympathetically as I grunted and thrashed madly, but I was caught between him and the wall to my other side, "This is just what I was talking about, darling. You fight the truth no matter to odds. I, on the other hand, accept the truth no matter the cost."

I forced myself to close my eyes to him and pull in a deep breath. I was nearly deaf, dumb, and blind from panic after hearing that godforsaken word. He let me gather my thoughts. I tried not to think of the heat of his gaze singing the side of my face closest to him. I tried not to think of the burn of his warm hands tangled up in my limbs to keep me still.

His touch might as well have been a hot poker for as much as I was able to ignore it.

"Get. Your filthy fucking hands. Off. Of. Me."

"Hmmm," instead of letting me go, his thumb began to idly stroke the pounding pulse in my wrist. His voice was quiet and tender, like pillow talk, and it made my throat sore with tears again, "And what do I get in return if I do, sweetheart?"

"Do I look like I'm in the mood for one of your games?"

His head cocked at that, "All the more fun to play, then."

I jerked my limbs against his again, but I only succeeded in making the darkness in his eyes turn bright.

"What do you want?"

"In terms of… what? Now, today, tomorrow? What's in my five-year plan?" he smiled to himself, having the time of his fucking life as my heart threatened to burst from my rib cage. His hand had moved to intertwine its fingers into mine. His fingers held mine captive when I tried to pull away.

His tone was distracted as he watched our snarled hands push and pull against each other, "Oh, you must mean what do I want in exchange for me not touching you? Is that it, cupcake?"

"Yes," I snarled out against my better judgement. Every instinct in my body told me to fight, yell, kick, and scream, but where had that gotten me so far? If he thought I was willing to play his game, maybe I could get the upper hand for once.

For once.

His thumb tried to rub away a genuine lobsided grin that popped up at the corner of his lips as he pondered aloud, "Well, I had a few special pictures of you that I kept in prison. My favorites were usually ones of you crying… They were my favorites because I knew that you were still feeling my fingers around your wrists," his fingers mimicked his speech obediently, "Still feeling my cum leaking out of you…" one of his hands cupped my thigh just above my knee. His voice became less wistful then, as if he were resurfacing from a day dream, "But I already got a fair few of your tears last night, didn't I?"

"Just tell me what the fuck you want."

I have to get his goddamn hands off of me.

"Well, antsy pantsy, I haven't made up my mind yet, cupcake, just listen and follow along with me."

I pressed my lips together when his hand began kneading my thigh.

"So, I've already had a good amount of tears from you… You know what I wasn't expecting you to give up so easily?" he didn't wait for me to reply, his fingers clenching on my leg so hard it hurt, "That little scream you did earlier."

My blush deepened as I remembered my embarrassing and ill-considered cry for help.

"Yeah, you know what? That's what I want from you, sweetheart. I want you to scream for me."

I was silent. My mind could barely process his words anymore, too engrossed in the sickening heat of his fingers that slowly worked up my leg.

"No? Well, maybe you can use some inspiration. Maybe I can tell you a little bit more about that word you seemed to enjoy so much earlier – love."

I stiffened, my limbs tensing against his ineffectively. The Joker's rough hand closed like a necklace around my throat and pushed my back up against the spine of the chair.

My breath and energy were momentarily stolen, so I had no choice but to listen. Hot breath tumbled across my cheek as he whispered excitedly, "I know you saw the truth in my eyes last night, darling. You saw the love."

I shook my head, blood burning my cheeks against the grip of his hand.

"Wrong answer."

I wanted him to burn alive.

I could practically hear the crackle of his blistered flesh, smell the stench of dead fucking meat and white-hot smoke. If he were to have burst into flames right that very moment, I would have stayed in the room and burned myself just so I could hear his screams.

I hope he goes low and slow, like a Thanksgiving turkey, even if I have to go with him.

I promised myself that I would watch him die one day.

Because I knew what he was going to say.

It wasn't fondness that I saw in his eyes last night, or now.

"It's love, Blaze. I love you."

My heart stilled.

"I realized it the moment I saw you yesterday."

No.

"At some point as I planned all of this, I felt a shift inside when I thought of you. When I looked at the photos that my little spy took of you."

Please, no.

"The first few months, it felt so good to watch you be broken. But then, you started to heal in Chicago. I saw the bits of you form again into a new version of you. You went days, then weeks, without crying."

I had stopped struggling long ago without realizing it.

"And then you took up the mantle. Did you know I was watching you, sweetheart? Did you feel the shift in me? Did you feel my love growing alongside my blinding fucking fury?"

God, no.

"It's kind of funny when you think about it. I had been concocting all sorts of ways to make you suffer without realizing that my own heart was beating me to it. It was lightyears ahead of my brain. It must have known that the best revenge was to make a big bad like me fall in love with his cocky little lamb. Poetic, isn't it?"

I felt my lips move and heard my strangled voice as if it was in another room, "It's not."

His head quirked to the side, "What?" his hand loosened marginally around my throat.

"What you feel, it's not love," I croaked.

He sucked his teeth, considering my statement, "Don't hold my lack of experience with love against me, cupcake. Can you tell I've never loved anyone before you? I've never wanted to own someone so completely."

I shook my head, chasing some of the fog away, "That isn't love."

"Let me guess – you think to love is to hold and cherish and blah, blah, blah… Silly girl. My love isn't one that cuddles and pines. My love for you is one that annihilates. It wants to swallow every whimper and lick every tear and taste that scared little pussy until your throat is too raw to scream anymore."

"No," tears that I didn't have the energy to hold back anymore tumbled down my cheeks.

"Aw," he mocked, catching a stray tear on his thumb. True to his word, he sucked his thumb in my periphery and hummed appreciatively, "Poor little thing. I am going to eat you alive."

My gaze cracked to him and my voice sounded surprisingly calm, "You can't possibly think I would ever love you back."

He smirked at me again, an awful smirk that settled in my gut like a stone, though this time his gaze almost held pity, "What do I look like – a mad man?"

That was it. The fog that had descended over me cleared with a dizzying rush.

I was sitting with hands bound in a chair at my kitchen table. I was nearly nude and trying to ignore the sickening warmth of his body curled into mine from the chair next to me, the now loosened grip of his around my neck. He was seated on the side of his chair, his knees in a wide V with my chair between them. I wondered if the posture was subconscious on his part to keep the chair and me immobile between him at the wall at my back. The point was moot, though, as I had just sat here like a statue as he professed his love for me. I let him tell me that which was worse than any nightmare I'd ever dreamed up without even so much as a struggle.

He was right – his love was leagues worse than any physical violation he could dream up. But the fog was clear now and the reality of my situation came into sharp focus.

I knew with sudden crystal clarity that I could wait for Blake no longer. That I didn't need to wait for him. That the only reason why he continued to best me in fights was because I had allowed him to scramble my mind.

The terror that moments before stunned me into submission fled from me like a grease fire beneath a blanket. Calmness warmed the tension in my tight shoulders and clenched fists. The drum-like pounding of my heart in my ears dissolved.

When I turned my eyes to him again, I was no longer a battle-weary Blaze. I was myself again, my new self that feared no man.

Not even him.

The Joker was watching me like a man enraptured in the most holy text. Though I only looked at him a split second before I jolted into movement, my mind registered the shockingly human, almost-handsome look to him. Even his scars looked so much less harsh in that moment, no more noticeable than his many freckles. His flashing dark eyes were the only hint to his sadistic intentions.

Sadistic intentions.

I had my own.

My joined fists flashed to his nose, too quick for even my eyes to catch. His chin hitched back. With one powerful shove, him and his chair went flailing backward onto the kitchen floor.

I was on him before he could hope to recover. My bound hands trapped one of his long arms in an arm bar hold. My right leg coiled around his neck and squeezed like an anaconda when he tried to stand with me still on his arm.

He was saying something in between all of this, but it was as if the human parts of my brain were flicked off. The human part of me had failed me, making me perceive him as some unsolvable equation, some giant that I had no hope of defeating.

I had no use for words or thoughts. I was a beast neutralizing a great threat. A viper twisting around a tiger until it felt its vertebrae snap. I was an underdog only in appearance. Years of fighting had made me an underdog to no one.

Win, or die.

I watched him, now enraptured myself, as his face reddened. The joint of my knee was an inescapable clamp around his windpipe despite his best efforts. I frowned slightly when his throat emitted a strange whistling sound and I tightened my grip on him. Whistling meant that some air was getting in.

I realized something as I considered his limbs inelegantly fighting mine. If I could keep my mind shuttered to my fear of him, my body could defeat him.

Unhappy recognition churned in his eyes as he studied me back and his limbs suddenly stilled. Two silent understandings passed between us – he couldn't escape this hold and his words weren't reaching me.

My lizard brain stuttered at the sudden slackness in his limbs. The animal part of me craved my prey to act like prey.

Despite the scarlet smeared on his face and the tears gathering in his eyes, the fucker smiled.

A touch of fear slipped down my back.

He's trying to win back control. Don't let him.

I forced my eyes shut and channeled my energy into clamping my bound hands tighter around his arm and coiling my leg tighter around his throat.

After some straining of what felt like every muscle in my body, I felt the joints in his arm gradually lose as I painstakingly hyperextended his elbow. I imagined the sound his bone would make if it snapped out of his skin and the image made me strain evermore. This was the same arm that had curled around my throat last night. The same hand that held my wrists down as he raped me all those years ago. This hand deserved to break and be useless like I was for so many months.

I should have seen it coming. With my eyes closed and my attention lost in one of his limbs, he had no other way to reach the scared part of me.

A soft touch to my groin broke through my mental barriers like a hammer through glass.

My eyes snapped open against my will. A long, tan hand reached over my twisted limbs and was beginning to probe the flesh between my thighs softly.

The rest of the universe fell away in that moment and I recoiled away from him without thinking. My limbs loosened just enough for him to rip his throat from under my thigh. I tried to regain my grip when my clarity returned, but it was too late. The arm that moments before was my victim rotated suddenly and gripped my throat.

No.

I cocked my leg back, preparing to catch his jaw with my heel. Before I could land it, there was a great shift. With a wild lurch, he flexed the arm that I was coiled around. Still laying on his back, he began to swing me toward the floor to his right.

My hands instinctively shot out to prevent my face from slamming into the floorboards. He slid his arm from between my thighs with a lurch. And, just like that, my upper hand was lost and I was braced face-down on the floor.

"Sweet thing," he half-growled a laugh behind me as I attempted to right myself, "What did I say about fighting me?"