Halcyon Echoes

"I'm your waiter today," I say, then point at my name tag. "I'm Jess, nice to meet you."

He raises an amused non-existent brow, a lopsided smirk forming on his thin lips as I hold my breath in anticipation of hearing him. "Hello, 'Jess'," he says, raising an arm to wave, his voice sounding matter-of-fact.

My gaze is glued to his raised arm. The strong muscled arms, in a black button-up shirt under a black jacket with rolled-up sleeves, are covered in neat small tally marks, sending chills down my spine. I can't tear my eyes away as an old memory of someone talking about a man in Gotham who used tally marks to count his kills resurfaces. My heart races, taking every bit of willpower to push these thoughts aside and focus on taking his order.

"What can I get you?" I barely manage to choke out.

"Victor," he calmly replies.

"Excuse me?" I ask, taken aback.

"I'm Victor Zsasz, nice to meet you," he states confidently, as if revealing his name is enough to instill fear in me.

He baffles me with that statement, but I couldn't care less about who he is. I decide to placate him so I can get his order and get it over with. "What can I get you this lovely evening, Victor?"

The words pour from my lips, dripping with saccharine sweetness that earned me the top Customer Service award two times in a row. I give him my brightest smile, about to start listing the specials. But he speaks before I can.

His eyes bore into me as he says the words, "You can get me one Harley. Harley Quinn, to be exact."

My heart thuds in my chest as I stand paralyzed, facing Victor. He slowly leans back, stretching out both arms and revealing two guns tucked away under his jacket, calm and remaining in place with a smile on his lips. Fear courses through my veins as I battle between my fight or flight instinct. Flight wins the battle—I turn around and dash toward the bar crowd. Adrenaline pumps as my feet pound the wood floor in a desperate attempt to flee.

But I know it's too late; I'm found.

II.

I start packing immediately when I get home. Home is a small apartment on top of a Chinese Restaurant, a good several miles from the bar. I'm ready for something like this to happen. I change my clothes, throwing the brown wig off my head. I put on a hoodie and then a cap, hiding my blonde hair underneath. I grab my duffle bag, filled with clothes, IDs, wigs, my shotgun, and knives. I also take my pistol, hiding it in the pocket of my hoodie, keeping my hand on it just in case. With a deep breath to steady myself, I open the door ready to run out when I crash right into the arms of Victor Zsasz.

“Hello,” he greets me like we are friends, pushing his way in as I back away.

In a quick, swift movement, I have my pistol pointed right at him. He has his two pointed right back.

“That’s not nice,” he feigns disappointment.

“This isn’t either!” I pull the trigger, and the pistol fires. The bullet hits him on the shoulder during his quick deflection. Before I know it, he is on top of me, holding me down, and my pistol brushes away far from my hands to the other side of the room. I kick and struggle, but his grasp on me is too powerful. It all happens so fast, and I feel my head bang against the wooden floor. A sharp pain courses through my head. The darkness takes over.

III.

I wake up, my arms and legs tied as I lay in bed. The ceiling is different, the sheets beneath me aren’t my own, and a further study of my surroundings tells me I am not at home anymore. This is some motel in the middle of nowhere.

I try to open my mouth to scream, but find I can’t, with duct tape over them. I wiggle about trying to see if I can free my hands and legs, but the zip ties make it impossible.

I am angry. Angry that I let myself lower my guard down. I got entangled with another psychopath, and this time I’m not sure if I can get out of it.

I look around and see Victor shirtless and stitching his wound in the bathroom. The door is wide open, and my position gives me a good view of him.

He is muscular, muscles chiseled on his pale skin. There are markings everywhere, mainly on his arms. They are tally marks in groupings of five, small but evident. I don’t bother to count because I know it is probably a count for how many people he has killed.

I am certain I’ll be a tally mark added soon.

“I can feel you staring daggers,” he calls out, not taking his eyes off of his shoulder he is stitching up.

He has that smirk again, I am certain of it. I can hear it through his voice, a nonchalant humorous tone, which unnerves me.

A string of curse words and threats stream out of my gagged mouth. It is met with him turning around to lock eyes with me, amusement all over his face.

I continue to struggle on the bed as I watch him.

He finishes sewing up his injury. It is clear the bullet had grazed his shoulder. I never was a good shot with pistols (give me a shotgun and a bazooka, and I’m golden).

He cleans the area around him meticulously; makes sure there isn’t blood anywhere. He then washes his hands and then splashes water on his face; dries it with a towel.

Victor walks out of the restroom, shirtless, only wearing his black slacks. He has scars all over his chest, from bullet wounds, knives, and whatever else. Lower on his abdomen is a long slash and scar, the scar a lighter color than his already pale skin. I don’t even want to know how he survived such a ghastly wound.

I continue to curse until I’m out of breath and result in giving him the nastiest of stares. Victor ignores me as he throws on a black long-sleeve button-up, and his holster which had his guns and knives. Again he is very meticulous and neat in his ways.

It is another thing for me to add to my long list of dislikes about this man. Why couldn’t he be like other goons, who were crass, unintelligent, and predictable? Those I could handle. But this man, he is unlike anyone I’ve met.

I get the sense that no attempt at using my sexuality to get close and then disarm him would work.

“Don’t worry,” he says to me as he stands by my bedside, peering down at me. Those dark, black eyes show interest and curiosity, and something else. His facial expression remains neutral until he smiles at me.

I feel his cool hands touch my bound hands. I try to move away from his touch, but to no avail as I feel him check my wrists as if to see if they are cutting into them. He does the same for my legs, which I try to use to kick him. That doesn’t work, and any attempt is futile.

After my attempt to hit him by flailing about failed, I find myself breathless. I want him to get angry, to react so that he’d be vulnerable, and I can find some way to get out. But he doesn’t do any of that. He studies me for a moment, his arms crossed in front of him.

In that moment, as I catch my breath, my stomach lets out a loud growl which catches his attention. It is my body telling me how hungry I am. How embarrassing, that my body betrayed me to show just how weak I feel.

“Ah,” Victor chuckles as if my grumbling stomach was the equivalent of a vocal exchange.

I watch as he gives me a final look, then saunters out of the room without a word.

While he is away, I am able to get myself off the bed (or fall off of it ungracefully, to be exact). I figure that if I maneuver myself, I’d somehow be able to find a way to get out of my bounds and get the fuck out of there, or at least find something to injure him with.

Those plans go out the window, however, when shortly after he returns with a handful of granola bars and bottles of water.

The sight of me lying face up on the floor doesn’t seem to bother him, as he saunters into the room and places the food on a nearby table.

“Doesn’t look that comfortable,” he says as he crouches down to me. He looks amused at my predicament, and leans forward to brush the fallen strands of my blonde hair out of my eyes. I jerk at his touch, but it only causes him to keep my head steady to continue to look up at him.

“We probably should go over ground rules.”

He picks me up with ease and flops me down to sit on the bed, my back against the headboard.

“First, Don’t think you can get away. You won’t. Second, no hard feelings. I’m just doing a job. I got the hit, if I like it, I take it. Joker put a decent penny on you, so…. Third, I will kill you. What kind of hit man doesn’t finish a job?”

That smile again. If I could, I would shoot it right off his face.

“But first? I’m going to make sure you eat something. It’s a long drive back to Gotham, and someone is anxious to see you, Harley Quinn.”

It is worse than I thought, although I shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course, Joker wouldn’t let me go. 6 months of peace was too good to be true, living with a new identity and building a life for myself.

Mr. J just had to have what he couldn’t, even though he was the one who broke it off. So now he wants me back, but this time to be killed.

What an asshole.

“If I can’t have you, then no one can, my sweets.” He would say that to me in the past when he thought my eyes lingered, and he’d follow it with a rough choking of my throat which I didn’t mind. But that was the old Harley. I’m not that Harley anymore.

Knowing Joker’s penchant for dramatics and torture, I have the feeling he’ll get me to Gotham, torture me until I’m begging to die and that’s where Victor Zsasz comes in.

Fuck fuck fuck.

IV.

Victor Zsasz is the oddest man I’ve ever met. That’s a lot to say when you count my years with Joker.

I can’t quite read him; he is a walking anomaly. When I expect him to be rough and uncaring, I find him gentle and caring… in a “I’m a hitman, you’re my hostage and I’ll kill you, but need to keep alive for now” kind of way.

He feeds me granola bars and doesn’t mind my multiple attempts to bite his hand off. He simply shrugs it off, then offers the granola to me again until I end up eating it. Anyone else would have slapped me silly and probably drawn blood. But not Victor. He even asks how I want my water, “Bubbly or still?” My first thought is “Are you fucking serious?” before nodding towards the Guava flavored La Croix can, which he opens and places a straw on for me to sip. That continues on throughout our journey, the days-long drive to Gotham.

During the drive, as I lie bound and gagged in the backseat with a blanket over me so I won’t be seen, I am forced to listen to his choices of National Public Radio, obscure news and financial podcasts, in between 1950s music, heavy metal, and classical music. It is to the point that I find myself even enjoying the variety before it dawns on me that this is a person hired to kill me! I won’t lie though; it is nice to have completed all 3 episodes of one of his true crime podcasts.

But I digress.

“That is riveting, isn’t it?”

He asks me after the podcast ends, like we are good friends about to have a debrief. Too bad, one of us is bound, but he doesn’t seem to care. “I guessed it was the overly friendly neighbor from the start. I mean, come on, who the hell has such a huge knife collection? Right?”

I roll my eyes. I’m sure he is aware of how annoyed and irritated I am by his bizarre and odd personality for a hitman.

I curse out loud, which comes out completely muffled.

He takes it to me saying, “Sure, let’s start the next season!”

And with a click, I hear the podcast announcer’s voice…

And I have no choice but to listen.

I need a break from imagining all the ways I plan to hurt him and Mr. J when I get myself out of here.

V.

We are one day away from Gotham, from what I gather, and are rested in a motel in the middle of nowhere. A desert wasteland surrounds us, with nothing but cacti and Joshua trees, at least that is what I can make out through the tiny window vent in the bathroom when I shower.

Another odd thing to add to the list about my captor… he actually lets me refresh myself with a shower and use the restroom in peace. When I say peace, I mean in a “your hands are tied, the bathroom door is open, good luck and washing yourself” kind of way.

The door remains open to the bathroom as I stand there naked, washing the grime and blood from my face and body. I glare at him and curse him with what feels like empty threats, even though he makes no move to do anything sexually inappropriate to me. For all I know, I feel like a piece of dried toast he is looking at. His dark eyes are unreadable.

When I am done, he tosses a towel to me and points at a set of new clothes he gives me. They are black leggings, a gray long sleeve, and a black cap. He apparently tosses out my original clothes minus the shoes. Makes sense since they are bloodied and grimed, and are my uniform from my job at the bar.

I am surprised Joker doesn’t ask that I wear my Harlequin costume just for shits and giggles when I get handed back to him. It would have been something; he would have called with glee like I am a present of some sort tied up in a pretty little bow just for him.

After I shower and dress, we go through the same ritual of the previous couple of days. He makes sure my bindings are intact, makes sure I’m fed, and subdues me when I once again try to get out and kick and scream as hard as I could with no luck. He is too strong, and sometimes it feels like he knows exactly my next move before I do it. After the bustle of my failed attempt to attack him and get away, I lay there frustrated and exhausted, tears stinging my eyes, and I watch him undress to take his shower.

Victor undresses in front of me. He has no shame at all, uncaring whether I see him or not.

He takes his clothes off, neatly folds them to a table nearby, and I watch as his chiseled features and tight muscular form move to stretch as he goes in to take a shower. It’s a quick shower, but I still manage to get a look at his body… it’s either that or close my eyes. It doesn’t hurt to know what I am dealing with.

He truly is a man with many scars. A quick exit from the shower and a walk out, fully naked in his form as he has a towel on his neck, gives me ample view of what he looks like below the waist. Hard muscle, tight abs, and he is pleasing and well endowed.

Whoa. Hold on.

I shake my head and shut my eyes when he notices me stare, but not before I catch his smirk.

“Maybe in a different time, we could have been friends, right?”

I shake my head, trying my best to ignore the warmth that is coursing through me at the sight of him. Did Stockholm syndrome kick in after only a few days? I pray it didn’t, and that whatever I am feeling isn’t some screwed-up attraction I am having for him.

“Oh, Harley, baby, what if you just like men who teeny tiny want to kill you?” A voice in my head says. I tell that side of myself to shut up and die, and so thought it did… until that night.

That night we rest in the motel room, me tied to the bed, Victor on a chair facing me and watching intently. I’ve tried to stay awake and wait for him to sleep, but every time I fall asleep before him. It’s making me wonder if he drugged my bubbly water with something that knocked me out. Whatever it was, I fell into a deep and vivid sleep...

My eyes flutter shut as Victor's wet kisses dance along my neck, lingering and exploring the curves of my collarbone. He takes one pert nipple between his lips, suckling and licking as his strong hand cups the other. His gaze is intense as he switches attention to my other side, lavishing devoted attention to that sensitive tip. I moan and run my fingers through his clean-shaven head, urging him down further with my hands. His smirk intensifies as he catches me looking and teases me by tugging my left nipple gently between his teeth. Unable to resist, I arch my back towards him in pleasure.

Victor's lips are soft and gentle as they move down my stomach, sending shivers of pleasure through me. His hands tug down my bright pink panties, revealing my glistening center. He licks his lips, clearly anticipating what is to come.

I gasp in pleasure as his tongue swirls over my folds, tasting my sweetness hungrily. His mouth envelops my clit and I arch against him, tightening my grip around his head and shoulders as wave after wave of pleasure cascade through me.

He continues to please me, pushing me closer and closer to the edge with each flick of his tongue and movement of his fingers inside me. My hips rock against him as I feel myself careening into a state of pure erotic bliss. His mouth and tongue work tirelessly until finally, I let out a moan and fall over the edge. "Hmm...Victor..."

My eyes shoot open. Oh god, that was...hot... and so vivid. 

I pray that I didn’t moan in my sleep as I look around and catch Victor sitting on the corner of the room, sharpening his knives. It doesn’t seem like he notices my erotic dream, and why would he? That, of course, changes when he finally looks up from his work and meets my gaze.

He smirks at me.

“I hope you had sweet dreams and got rest,” he winks at me. My breath hitches, at the thought that I may have moaned in my sleep, which I prayed to all the gods above wasn’t the case.

“We’ll be heading out soon,” he says.

Thank goodness.

VI.

It all happens so fast. One minute, Victor is gassing up the car in the middle of nowhere, and the next, I hear gunshots and yelling. I don't know what's going on, but one thing's for sure – I'm totally and utterly screwed if I don't get out. I think about the reality of attempting to break my hand to get out of the ties, dislocating a shoulder, or— who am I kidding? I try all of that to no avail because somehow Victor Zsasz knows precisely how to prevent me from getting any success in that.

Before I can think about my impending death, I feel the car open and rough hands pulling me out of the vehicle. I thrash and try to kick as much as I can, make contact with something, and then still find myself hoisted up in large arms and thrown on the dirt ground. I cry out in pain as I fall face-first. Luckily, the moment causes the gag in my mouth to loosen, and I can push it down my chin. I then turn my body to look at the man before me.

"Well, well, if it isn't Harley Quinn. I'll make this quick doll. Joker wants your head and my men, and I want that money..."

The thug draws his gun and positions it in front of me, pointing straight at my head. I don't realize it, but tears fall from my eyes as my life flashes before me, and I pray it will be quick like he said. Everybody does anyway, and perhaps that's my time.

"Tell Joker I think he's a fucking ass—"

Bang! A loud gunshot and the sound and the feel of blood splattering across my face stop me. In slow motion, I watch, horrified, as the body of the thug comes tumbling down towards me, and I miraculously roll over before he can thoroughly crush me. I can't get away too fast, so I'm pinned slightly by half on him on my shoulder. He's heavy as fuck.

I feel his blood still draining from the hole in his neck, and I feel like gagging. I try my best to shove his body off me, but to no avail, since my legs and arms are bound.

Then it hits me. Who shot this man? And I look up and see Victor leaning against his car, his gun in one hand and another holding onto his shoulder. He looks pale, and his eyes have a savage glint.

"You okay?" He asks, his eyes never leaving mine as he does a once-over of my situation. I nod, unable to find the words, as I break our eye contact and quickly glance around us.

The dirt parking lot is littered with dead bodies of thugs similarly dressed as the one on me. All are dead, bloodied, and their van parked close by is littered with bullet holes. Victor apparently did all this by himself. And he also saved me.

I look at him again, watch as he stumbles over to me, and heaves the body off of me. He helps me to my feet and, in the process, even leans on me a little. I can tell he's injured; a bullet wound to his shoulder or chest, maybe? I can't tell, but there isn't much blood, at least that I can tell from his black long-sleeve shirt.

I watch as he quickly retrieves a knife and cuts the cords around my feet but leaves my hands tied. Of course, he wouldn't let me go that easy. He damn well knows I couldn't run either, not knowing where I'd go, who was still out there heading our way. My injuries probably don't give me the benefit of making it out alive to begin with.

We stumble back to the car and slide down until he sits against it side by side, both breathing heavily and the effort of walking there. Him from his injury and lifting the large body off me, and me from having the wind knocked out of me and what feels like some sprain on my ankle. Luckily, I had the gag off and could breathe a lot better and speak now.

"Fuck!" The words come from my mouth, my comments in anger and frustration at my horrible situation. I'm sitting next to the hitman hired to kill me, who saved me and who Joker thought would be funny to put a hit on with me. What is this fuckery?

I hear a chuckle next to me, and I glare at the source. Victor rests his head against the car and closes his eyes.

"Joker is something else, isn't he? Putting a hitman on a hitman for his girl."

"I'm not his girl!" I yell back, "He thinks this is funny, that's why. The chaos of it all; the more people die, the better." I'm livid, my voice rising from hysteria. "If he can't have me, he'd rather I'm dead. Typical Mr.J— Joker."

He doesn't bother to look at me and simply chuckles again.

"Well, Harley Quinn, it's your lucky day."

His eyes open, and with a quick swift of his hands, he pulls out a switchblade and turns to me. My eyes widen. Is this it? Is this the way I die?

"Turn around. I'm setting you free," he says. I don't know how to react.

He places a hand under my chin to force me to look up at him and meet his intense gaze. "But don't fucking try anything. I can easily slit your throat and be done with it if you do."

"Okay," I whisper back.

With quick movements, he cuts the zip ties on my hands and cuts off the gag and tape that had initially covered my mouth, but it falls around my neck. I am finally free.

"That's it?" I ask when we both stand up, stretching our aching muscles.

He seems taken aback by the comment but ignores it as he walks around searching the pockets of the dead and gathering money, ammo, and weapons he sees fit. I am surprised he doesn't think about the likelihood of quickly shooting him dead with the gun close by. The thought enters my mind, but the oddity of the situation and the fact he saved me keep preventing me from doing it.

"Check the van over there; you might be able to take it," he says through gritted teeth as he stands up from searching for a body.

I look back there. Then, back at him. I see the fatigue setting in and his movement slowing. I make a move towards him instead, and in one swift motion, I see a gun pointed right at me.

"Really?" I ask, folding my hands. "Don't be an ass, I'm trying to help you."

"Don't need it," he grunts as he walks slowly to his car, and I follow next to him and hold him up before he trips forward. He doesn't decline it, and it's then that I feel the wetness of blood right near his upper back.

"I gave you a way out. I won't kill you. My contract with Joker is void after this shit he's trying to pull off."

"Okay, but I don't even know where the hell we are."

"Head that way," he moves his head to the right of us. "Gotham's there."

"I'm trying to get away from the evil ex, not run back to him!"

"Go wherever you like. Go before some more of Joker's goons come."

"What about you?"

"What about me?" he hisses as he shifts and clutches at his shoulder. Ah, it looks like it may have been a wound to the shoulder or maybe worse.

"Going back to Gotham right now is not a good idea if Joker is after you too," I tell him, examining him closely. He's already a pale man, but he looks more pale than ever. Is he injured anywhere else?

"Not your business. I'll go wherever I want," he says as he tries to push himself up to stand but struggles to do so.

"Where are you heading to? Look at you; you think you can drive like this?"

He glances at me with a curious look. "God, you're an annoying one. Maybe they're right when they say you've got a screw loose."

I am taken aback. "Excuse me?"

"Every other hostage would get the fuck away from their captor, but here you are trying to help yours and find out where they're going." He tries to get up again, then decides against it. He lets out a laugh and a hiss at the motion it caused. "What is it you want from me, Harley Quinn?"

"Maybe we can help each other."

"No."

"Hear me out!"

"No."

"I'll drive you wherever and help you until you're wherever you need to if it's not in Gotham. And only if you help me."

"Doesn't make sense. I don't need the help."

"You're not looking so good. Think you can drive to where you have to go without passing out?"

"Yes."

I watch him, annoyed at his stubbornness and the fact that, for some reason, a part of my brain thinks it might make more sense to have him as an ally for now, especially since he clearly is pissed off by Joker.

I throw my hands up in exhaustion. It was worth a try, and clearly, it didn't work. Do I do my best checking body after body for a key, gun, jacket, and cash I could use? I put on a jacket when, at a distance, I see dust on the ground a few miles away.

"Oh fuck! There's more coming!"

I hurriedly try to get a key anywhere, a gun and anything. They'd be here soon. "Where the hell is the key?"

"Harley, get in here!"

I turn around and see Victor as he grabs a key to one of the vehicles. I don't bother to ask questions as I get in, and he hurriedly drives the car out of the area so fast I think I'm going to be sick.

I look behind us as I see the dust clouds and cars begin to disappear in the distance. I keep looking, the window down and a gun on hand, ready just in case.

I give quick glances at Victor, who looks paler than before but seems determined and focused to get us on the freeway so it'd be harder to tail us.

"Tell me if you see them or anyone tailing us. And if they shoot, you shoot."

"Okay," I hear myself saying.

I watch and look, and minutes turn to half an hour, and soon I find Victor and me pulling over at an underpass, several miles away from the freeway, somewhere in the town of South Point, near the financial district of sorts by the look of it.

"Get out," he says.

"What?" Is this the end of the line?

"Need to switch cars, just in case."

I look around and notice several cars parked under the underpass and all the way down to the following streets.

I watch as he gets out quickly, and I follow suit. He opens his jacket to get some sort of tools, and I put my hand out to take them, and he does so in understanding.

"Let me," I say as I see a white sedan in front of us; not too bad and inconspicuous since they are prevalent everywhere. In a few minutes, I get the door open, and the car jump-started; I am thankful this model doesn't have any alarms since it's a basic car.

I look back and wait for Victor to get in, observing Release as he opens the door and joins me. I then wonder what kind of crazy I am when I could have just easily left him in the dust and driven away. But he saved you, a small voice in the back of my head tells me. Yeah, I've lost it.

"Where to?"

I give a once-over as he fastens his seatbelt. He is not looking good, but thankfully, he is still coherent.

I feel a nudge on my right side, and startled, I look down to see him pointing a gun right at me.

"Really?"

"Follow my directions, don't deviate, and we're good."

"You know I can just crash this fucking car and get this over with."

I hear him snicker beside me, and he gasps in pain. I watch as he places his gun back in his inside pocket, but I know damn well his hands are close enough to aim and shoot at lightning speed if needed. I don't think he trusts me that much.

"Drive straight, make a left."

VII.

"You have got to be kidding me, Zsasz. I say no visitors, and you bring me your hostage."

The woman in front of us—I read her name tag—Dr. Doris Bradley of Gentle Care Veterinary is clearly angry at Victor.

I plop down on the break room chair, too tired yet curious to keep my mouth shut and just watch the spectacle unfold.

Assassin brings victim to a small-town vet. The vet curses him out but checks our wounds anyway. Gives us meds. Let us stay the night. That's the gist of it. Makes for a ridiculous scene, like something out of a dark comedy.

We're in the back of a strip mall veterinary clinic, squeezed between a nail salon and a smoke shop. Who'd have thought?

It's not my place to say anything, though. I stay quiet as they argue and come to an agreement - Doc Bradley will patch us up as a favor to Victor.

"Look, you owe me!" Victor insists.

"Once you're patched up, you gotta leave," Doris replies.

"Give us at least a day to lay low here. I'm beaten, and those doggy pain meds are kicking in," he yawns.

Doris shakes her head in annoyance. "Ugh, fine. But only because I'm closed on Sundays."

"Yeah, yeah," Victor yawns loudly. "Let's get on with it."

The vet huffs but starts prepping to treat us.

Clearly, these two go way back for her to trust him in her office like this. We ain't her first non-pet patients, I gather.

She looks us over briskly, not gentle at all.

I watch in fascination as Doris treats Victor's wounds none too gently. She curses as she digs the bullet out of his shoulder. But he doesn't make a sound, gritting his teeth through what must have been excruciating.

My turn next. I get stitches above my eye and a cocktail of meds. I try to be as tough as Victor. But I can't help crying out and swearing as Doris stitches up my temple. Victor and Doris both chuckle at my outbursts, the jerks.

After patching us up, Doris shows us to a back room with a couch, TV, and fridge stocked with food and beer—a secret hideout in the vet's office. Victor explains places like this are common in Gotham for treating injuries discreetly. I realize Doris must have treated Victor before to trust him this much.

"It's nothing fancy, but it's safe. No one will find us here."

I guess if Victor trusts this doctor lady, I should too.

He grabs us water from the fridge and sprawls out on the couch, clearly beat.

I take a seat at the table, figuring I can sleep here. Victor needs the couch more with that bum shoulder.

With our injuries seen to, I study Victor as he lies shirtless on the couch, eyes closed. I take the chance to really look him over. Shirtless, bandaged, scars everywhere, but not the chaotic tally marks I expected. No, they're clean and precise, almost beautiful in their patterns. His body is crisscrossed with scars, but his infamous tally marks aren't chaotic like I'd heard. No, they march in neat, orderly rows down his arms and chest. Victor is meticulous in everything, even keeping count of his kills. Meticulous.

My eyes wander lower, down his muscular abdomen towards his—

"Rude to stare, you know," he startles me from my ogling. That smug smile lets me know he's onto me.

I meet his eyes, feeling flushed. "I wasn't staring!" I lie unconvincingly. "Just making sure your bandages aren't leaking."

I feel my cheeks flush as he leisurely looks me up and down with that roguish smile. "Uh-huh, sure."

I huff, annoyed that he's made me flustered.

He just grins. "Good chat." He goes back to resting with his arms over his eyes.

"You're infuriating," I tell him.

"Is there any way to talk to someone who saved you?" he asks.

"I saved you too, remember?!" I shoot back.

"Ah yes, thanks," he says casually.

"That's it?" I nearly scream in frustration.

He raises an eyebrow, amused at riling me up. "What else do you want? We're resting here, then going our separate ways."

His nonchalance bugs me. "You know I can't go back to Gotham," I say seriously.

"You'll figure something out," he replies. "Don't doubt you'll find a way far from there. Take the car tomorrow when you leave. You can get a good head start."

I'm shocked at his kindness but also suspicious. "What's in this for you?"

"Simple. I recoup, then plan my attack on Joker for violating our contract." He says this so matter-of-factly. Victor actually thinks he can take on Mr. J! Just because Joker double-crossed him on a job. The arrogance!

"What makes you think you can get to Joker?" I ask incredulously. "What do you expect to gain from going after him?"

"You ask a lot of questions," Victor sits up to look me in the eye. "How about we take turns? I'll answer if you answer my question first."

I nod, grudgingly admitting it's fair.

"What made you leave The Joker after all these years?"

I sigh, the hurt still raw. "He betrayed me. I sabotaged my heist so he could pull it off himself. I thought we were partners, but he just used me. When I tried to end it, he laughed in my face. Called me weak. Then, to punish me, he puts a hit on me, just because, what? I finally decided I'm not coming back, and I don't need him."

I wait tensely for Victor's reaction. Would he mock my relationship with Joker? See me as pathetic? But his angular face remains impassive. Victor seems to consider this.

"My turn again," I say quickly before I lose my nerve. "Don't you think going after Joker is suicide?"

"Maybe. But no one violates a contract with me, crosses me, and lives." Victor says this so calmly, so matter-of-factly. His ruthlessness makes me shiver.

Victor's casual disregard for his own life stuns me. "You'd risk death just for revenge?" I ask incredulously.

Victor smiles that dangerous, wolfish smile. "Who says I fear death? It holds no power over me."

I believe him. Victor fears nothing, not even Gotham's most deranged killer. That makes him either incredibly brave or utterly insane. Perhaps both. But I find him fascinating - a ruthless assassin with his own moral code.

Sensing my interest, Victor's gaze turns predatory. "Why does knowing what I do not frighten you away?"

I meet his burning stare boldly. "Because I'm a little crazy too."

The very air between us seems electric. This dangerous dance is just beginning...

Victor leans closer, eyes probing my core. "More than a little crazy, I think. You thrive on risk, like me."

I can't deny it. Recklessness courses through my veins.

Victor's voice drops lower. "Yet you're still letting Joker drive you away. Why let him retain that control?"

Victor's question catches me off guard. As much as I hate to admit it, he has a point - I'm still letting Mr. J dictate my actions.

"I guess...part of me is worried if I stay in Gotham, I'll get sucked back into his world again," I confess.

Victor nods thoughtfully. "Understandable. But running won't reclaim your power. You need to confront him head-on."

His confidence in me is empowering. I realize Victor is right - it's time to stop playing the victim.

"You know what? Screw Joker," I say defiantly. "I'm done being afraid. Gotham is my city, too, and I won't be driven out."

Victor smiles approvingly. "What will you do instead?"

I consider the question. Just staying put isn't enough. I need to make a bold move, show Joker he can't control me anymore.

A dangerous plan starts forming in my mind. "I'm going to hit him where it really hurts," I say slowly. "I'll destroy his precious Ace Chemicals - the place where he became who he is – and his main safehouse. I’ll destroy everything until he has nothing."

Blowing up Joker's monument would be the ultimate act of defiance. Victor's eyes light up with interest as I outline my idea.

"Interesting plan," he remarks. "I'd offer to help, but our end goals differ."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

Victor's compliment on my bold plan takes me by surprise. But his next words give me pause.

"I mean, our end goals don't fully align," he elaborates. "You seek to provoke the Joker by destroying Ace Chemicals and his safehouse. I intend to eliminate him permanently."

His casual statement of lethal intent sends a chill through me. I don't know yet if I plan to kill Joker. Maybe I've been in a codependent relationship for too long, forgetting to put myself first above Mr. J, even though time and time and again, he's put me in harm's way if it means he'd be positioned in a better position.

His eyes study me, and I feel like he can read my thoughts. I have to think fast.

"Maybe our goals aren't so incompatible after all," I muse. "Here's a thought - I'll blow up Ace Chemicals as a distraction for Joker. While he scrambles to respond, you can… do whatever you want to him."

Victor turns this over in his mind, eyes glinting. "A coordinated attack to divide his focus...intriguing."

Sensing his interest, I press on. "Just imagine it - Joker frantic over his precious factory in ruins, too distracted to notice the knife aimed at his back."

A slow, wolfish smile spreads over Victor's face. "His arrogance blinded me to the threat - I'll relish seeing his shock." He focuses back on me. "Interesting."

I grin, get up from the table, and walk towards him. I outstretch my hand, "Partners in vengeance?"

Victor grasps my outstretched hand, his touch electric, his lips curved in a smile, meeting my gaze intensely. "I haven't agreed yet. Let's talk tomorrow."

I'm taken aback by Victor's response. I had felt certain he would jump at the chance to take down Joker together. But he wants to wait until tomorrow to decide.

"What's there to talk about?" I ask, confused. "It's the perfect plan!"

Victor regards me steadily. "Perhaps. But we've both been through it today. Our judgment may be clouded."

I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up a hand. "You need rest, time to clear your head. As do I. We can discuss this with fresh eyes in the morning."

I sigh, seeing the logic in waiting even though my thirst for vengeance burns. "Alright, we'll sleep on it," I concede.

Victor nods, seemingly satisfied. He lays back down on the couch while I settle into an armchair, adrenaline finally draining away.

As I drift off, I think over Victor's caution. He's ruthless yet disciplined, unlike my more impulsive nature. We balance each other out.

Tomorrow, we will finalize our plans. But separately reflecting tonight showed wisdom. Victor's restraint reins in my wildness. Together, we would be unstoppable against Joker.

With that reassuring thought, I let sleep take me, dreaming of the coming day. And I wake up to the sound of Victor's low hum of an unfamiliar tune. He's sitting on the edge of his seat, staring at me with calculating eyes. The night has given him time to think, and now he seems more confident.

"I'm in," he says finally and folds his arms across his chest.

A smile spreads across my face as I settle back into my chair, ready for what is about to come next. "Alright then, let's do this."

They opted for one of the private nooks towards the back, figuring it would help them warm up faster away from any drafts. Sliding into the worn leather booth, Sarah peeled off her soaked jacket while Bucky ordered their drinks.

He soon returned with two steaming mugs - a chai tea latte for himself and a pumpkin spice latte for Sarah, her favorite. He also brought a freshly baked cinnamon pastry for them to share.

Settling across each other, they held the warm mugs to their faces, letting the heat seep into their chilled skin.

"Mmm, this is perfect," Sarah said after a long sip of her latte. "Just what I needed."

"I'm glad you like it," Bucky replied. "Nothing better than warming up with something hot to drink on a cold rainy day."

Sarah smiled at him over her mug. "And even better when you have good company to share it with."

Bucky reached across the table to squeeze her hand gently. "I love spending time with you, rain or shine."

Sarah rubbed her thumb over his knuckles. "Me too, Bucky. I'm so happy we're together."

They continued chatting and enjoying their treats, simply content to be in each other's presence. The sound of the rain pattering on the window and the faint music playing in the cafe made it feel extra cozy.

When Sarah took another sip of her pumpkin spice latte, Bucky watched her closely. "I've never actually tried one of those before," he mused.

"No? Here, have a taste," Sarah said, handing her mug over.

Bucky took it and brought it to his lips. But before he drank, he set the mug down and reached for Sarah's hand again. His eyes locked onto hers intensely.

Sarah gave him a questioning look. "What is it?"

"There's something I want to taste more," Bucky murmured. He gently tilted her chin up as he leaned in.

Sarah's eyes fluttered shut as Bucky's lips met hers in a soft, lingering kiss. She could taste the sweetness of the pumpkin spice latte as their kiss deepened. When they finally broke apart, her lips felt tingly and plump.

Bucky gently brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. "Delicious," he whispered huskily.

Sarah blushed at the desire in his eyes. No matter how many times they kissed, it always felt new and exciting. She picked up her mug again and took a sip, watching Bucky over the rim, a twinkle in her eyes.

"You're right, that is good," Bucky chuckled.

Dinner was a lively affair, with Sarah's two kids, AJ and Cass, eagerly relating stories of their school day and Sarah's laughter easily filling the room. Bucky smiled, noticing how comfortable and at ease everyone seemed in her presence. As they ate, conversation flowed effortlessly among them--talking about books they had read, the latest movies, politics, and even the quirky neighbor down the street.

Amidst all this, Bucky found himself stealing glances at Sarah from time to time. He couldn't help but be drawn to her vibrant spirit and easy warmth surrounding their dinner table. Whenever his gaze met hers, she smiled knowingly back at him, and he felt a pleasant shiver run down his spine each time they locked eyes.

After dinner, Sam challenged his nephews to a race of their new toy trucks in the living room. The kids cheered and squealed in delight as their little vehicles zoomed around on the carpet.

Bucky smiled as he watched the kids laughing and racing their little toy trucks around the living room. They were so carefree and happy in that moment, making him feel happy for them.

He and Sarah soon went about cleaning up the dinner they had shared. Sarah had prepared a delicious meal, and Bucky noticed how peaceful and comfortable the kitchen was compared to the chaos in the other room. As they worked together, they kept up a steady conversation about movies, books, and other topics easily.

Bucky couldn't help but steal glances at Sarah as they worked. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun, revealing her soft neckline, and she had ditched her sweater in the kitchen's warmth. He was struck by how casually beautiful she was--he noticed how her eyes lit up when she talked about something she was passionate about or how her lips slightly curved upwards into an easy smile when she laughed at one of his jokes.

Bucky and Sarah continued to clean together comfortably. As Bucky reached for a plate, Sarah's hand accidentally brushed against his metal arm. He instinctively tensed, expecting her to recoil from the reminder of his dark past.

But instead, she simply smiled softly and gave him an understanding look. Sarah didn't flinch away. Instead, her fingers lingered, openly grazing along the smooth metal plates. She touched his arm as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Just like she had accepted every part of him since they first met, seeing him for who he was now, not who he used to be.

At that moment, Bucky felt a warmth in his chest that he hadn't felt in a long time. He met Sarah's warm gaze, noticing the way her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled at him, and he found himself drawing closer to her, wanting badly to capture her lips in his in a gentle kiss. She inched forward to meet his, but Sam's voice in the other room distracted them and she pulled away.

From the living room, Sam's voice rang out. "Cass, no throwing the trucks!" Then softer, to himself, "Definitely gotta talk to Bucky about flirting with my sister..."

Bucky ducked his head sheepishly, but Sarah just grinned and playfully bumped his shoulder. "Don't worry about him," she whispered. As she slid her hand down Bucky's metal arm, he shivered pleasantly.

"It's nice getting to spend time with you tonight," she said softly. "Joining us for dinner meant a lot for the boys."

"Just the boys?" Bucky couldn't help but shoot his shot, feeling a connection grow between them.

Sarah smiled beautifully at him. "It meant a lot to me too. I figured you'd already know that."

Bucky swallowed, his heart pounding in his chest as he nervously looked into Sarah's eyes. He wanted to make the most of this moment, to express the feelings he had been harboring for her since they had first met.

"Maybe next time you'll let me cook for you, just us two," he blurted out, instantly regretting how cheesy it sounded.

Sarah tilted her head and gave him a small grin. "Yeah?"

The corners of Bucky's mouth lifted into a timid smile as Sarah waited patiently for his response. He nodded slowly, feeling bolder than before. He stepped closer and caught her hand, gently running his thumb over her knuckles. "Go on a date with me, Sarah?"

Sarah blushed and looked up at him through thick lashes, her eyes bright and her smile as beautiful as ever. "Yes. I'd really like that, Bucky."

Bucky couldn't help but smile widely and gave her hand a gentle squeeze, feeling a warmth in his chest that he hadn't felt in a long time. This amazing woman was going to give him a shot.

The two of them stayed like that for what felt like an eternity before Sam's voice interrupted them from the living room. "You two almost done in there?" they heard Sam call out.

Bucky and Sarah shared knowing glances and chuckled to themselves. Sarah called back to Sam jokingly, "Almost," before returning to Bucky.

Yeah, he was definitely in trouble here with Sam for asking Sarah out on a date. But one look at her glowing smile made him think some risks are worth taking.

After living in New York City for a few years, he was unaccustomed to experiencing Halloween like this. New Orleans' proximity meant that Halloween was taken very seriously here. His neighbors went all out with scary decorations, and some even hosted light shows or static haunts in their garages.

It was the first time Bucky had experienced Halloween in his new neighborhood, and he could feel the excitement from both children and adults alike. He walked into the living room to look at the clock – it was 7 p.m.; he had a few more hours before kids would be done trick-or-treating. After making sure he had enough candy to last until 9 p.m., he set out a sizeable pumpkin-shaped bucket full of treats on a table near the entrance of his door, which he'd grab and provide the little ghouls and goblins who would come by.

One by one, groups of costumed children started arriving at Bucky's house. There were toddlers with their parents, gaggles of elementary schoolers, and even a few high schoolers. Bucky watched them all take turns selecting handfuls of candy from the white bucket he'd set out on the porch. He couldn't help feeling a pang of regret that he'd bought so much candy – but then again, it was worth it just to see how delighted they were.

The most recent group of trick-treaters waved him goodbye as they ran off to his neighbor's house to continue their journey for more candy. Just as he was about to close the door, he spotted a familiar face walking up the sidewalk towards him. It was Sarah, Sam's sister, donning a classic black witch's hat over her long hair and wearing a playful smirk on her face. Their eyes met.

Sarah stood before Bucky, her face lit up with a brilliant smile. “Trick r’ treat!” she said.

He was temporarily stunned by her beauty before composing himself.

"Hey! What are you supposed to be? Aren’t you old for trick-or-treating?" He joked, looking at her costume and wondering why she had come to his neighborhood.

"I'm old enough, thank you very much," She chuckled teasingly, sticking her tongue out playfully. Bucky noticed that Sarah was alone and asked about her boys AJ and Cass.

"Oh, I just dropped them off at a friend's place a few blocks away from here," She answered, grinning shyly as she revealed her true purpose: to visit him. "They're all trick-or-treating together, so I thought I'd swing by and see you."

Bucky felt his heart swell with warmth as he imagined her thinking of him. It was like a dream come true. He opened the door wider to welcome her in, and when she entered, they both erupted into laughter at the sight of all the candy bags he had bought.

"Okay, that's SO much candy! The kids will love you!" Sarah said, still stifling giggles.

"I'm trying to get rid of them," he said sheepishly as he directed her to the bowl on the entry table near the door.

Sarah laughed again at his over-preparedness before following Bucky to his kitchen, where he opened the fridge and asked if she wanted any refreshments.

"I have beer, apple cider, sparkling water..." She accepted his offer enthusiastically with a look of admiration.

"Oh, apple cider would be amazing!"

He twisted open an apple cider for her and handed it across the counter while opening himself a bottle of beer. Bucky could hear children's voices from outside, but there were no trick-or-treaters yet who had arrived and rang his doorbell. There was a small lull before another surge of trick-or-treaters came.

The two caught up so naturally. Bucky could feel an ease in their conversation as Sarah shared stories about her two boys deciding to be Sherlock Holmes and one a t-rex for Halloween. They even talked about the best costumes they've seen so far, reminiscing about their childhood trick-or-treating experiences.

As the night wore on, Bucky found himself completely entranced by Sarah's infectious laughter and sparkling eyes. They moved to the living room couch, sitting side by side in close proximity. He couldn't help but lean in closer to her as she spoke, wanting to absorb every word she said like a sponge.

Suddenly, they were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell ringing. Bucky glanced at his watch and noticed it was getting pretty late - it must have been close to 10 pm already.

"Let me get that," he said quickly, feeling the familiar pang of disappointment when he realized their intimate conversation had come to an end. He stood up and took his bowl of candy before opening the door.

"Trick-or-treat!" A group of four kids dressed as Pokemon with their parents dressed as a Pokemon Trainer greeted him. Bucky smiled warmly and spoke kindly to the little elementary school kids, nodding in approval at their costumes and giving them generous amounts of candy.

Sarah peered over the couch to watch Bucky interact with the children and felt her heart swell with admiration. More and more trick-or-treaters kept coming until it seemed like the line would never end. At one point, Sarah decided to join Bucky in front of the doorway, giving out candy alongside him from a bag she took off the counter.

The line continued for a solid fifteen minutes until another lull came forth and no new trick-or-treaters came by. Bucky closed the door and joined Sarah on the couch as they both flopped down in exhaustion.

"Tiring, huh?" Sarah asked with twinkling eyes as she settled into the spot beside him.

Bucky gave her a sheepish smile and ran his fingers through his disheveled hair. "It feels like it never ends…" He paused and added with a hint of mischief in his voice, "But I don't mind it too much when I have a beautiful woman by my side."

"I..." she was almost taken aback by his forwardness, then her smile widened, revealing small dimples along the sides of her mouth. "You could always just leave the bowl outside and just let them take whatever they want."

"You think that'll work?" His heart raced as he moved closer to her on the couch.

"I think so," she said, her voice low and sultry as she scooted close to him. She grabbed the bowl of candy and rummaged through it.

"Looking for something specific?" he asked her, amused.

"Hmmm... I'm looking for a Hershey's chocolate bar, the white chocolate one." Bucky watched her closely, admiring how graceful her long fingers were as they searched through the bowl.

"There should be a ton there, not many kids picked them when I let them select which candies to get." Her eyes sparkled as she looked up at him, and he felt drawn into her gaze.

"Are you kidding? They're so picky nowadays, huh?" They laughed together, and the room seemed to heat up exponentially with each passing second.

"Ah! I found one! I couldn't pass up all this free candy," Sarah teased as she pulled out a mini white chocolate bar. As she unwrapped it and took a small nibble, Bucky found himself mesmerized by those lush lips and the way they moved around the confection.

"Want a bite?" Sarah asked, catching his gaze and holding out the candy. She slowly bit the bottom of her lip before smiling at him innocently, but there was something else about her expression - an invitation - that made Bucky's stomach flip. He had been wanting to kiss those lips since he'd first seen them curve into that mischievous grin earlier tonight.

Heart pounding, Bucky's gaze slowly moved from Sarah's lips to her eyes. He leaned in, and instead of taking the offered candy, he brushed his lips against hers. They both gasped at the sudden contact, and as if this was a sign, their kiss deepened.

Sarah tasted like chocolate and felt so soft under his fingers as they explored each other's faces and bodies. His hands moved to her hips and pulled her closer until their bodies were flush against each other. Their tongues collided in a passionate dance of desire that left them both breathless when they finally pulled apart.

"That was..." Sarah whispered, trailing off with a sigh.

"Amazing," Bucky finished for her. The air was electric between them, heavy with unspoken longing that neither of them wanted to break.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang again and they jumped apart as if electrocuted, laughter bubbling out of them before they remembered why they were there. As Bucky went to answer the door, his mind was still on the kiss he had shared with Sarah moments ago.

As the night went on and more trick-r-treaters arrived and departed, the couple found themselves alone on the couch, close but not touching. Finally, Bucky spoke up. "Sarah, I know we've been friends only for a short time, but tonight...that kiss...I can't stop thinking about it." Sarah smiled at him from under her eyelashes, and he could see the same desire reflected in her eyes that he was feeling in his own heart. Without another word, their lips met again and this time it was slow and tender - like two puzzle pieces coming together after searching for so long.

Sarah gently pulled away from Bucky and pressed her body against his, her arms wrapping around his neck as though she never wanted to let go. "Bucky... I've always wanted to do this with you," she said softly.

As her lips met him, a spark of electricity coursed through her body. She felt the warmth radiating from his chest and the gentle beat of his heart as she pressed herself closer into him. The kiss grew more passionate with each passing moment, and Sarah felt an intense desire building inside of her.

She reached up to grasp Bucky's face in her hands and trace the outline of it with her fingertips. His long, wavy hair was so soft against her skin that she wanted to keep touching it forever. He repositioned them both on the couch, so she was straddling him with her legs on either side of his thighs.

Sarah could feel Bucky's excitement pressing into her, and his hands moved up under her shirt to explore the warmth of her skin. She gasped at his touch and dug her fingers into his back, wanting this moment to never end.

Suddenly, Bucky pulled away and looked deep into her eyes. In a voice full of longing he whispered "Sarah – I want you" and at that moment, all doubts fled from Sarah's mind - she knew this is what she wanted too.

Without another word, she pressed her lips against his once more and this time they were both overcome with passion. Bucky grabbed her hips and pressed her close to him, their bodies melting together as his fingers ran up her back before unfastening her bra, revealing her creamy skin beneath the moonlight that filtered through the window. She held her breath as his hands moved across her body, exploring every curve with delicate touches and sending sparks of pleasure through her veins. He left trails of fire over her neck as his lips traveled down before lightly brushing over one nipple, eliciting a soft gasp from Sarah's lips.

Just then, Sarah's phone started ringing, and the sound of it shattered the silence in the room like a gunshot. She wanted to ignore it, but she knew it was likely her sons calling to let her know they'd be ready to be picked up soon. With a reluctant groan, she pulled away from Bucky and grabbed her phone, which stopped ringing before she could answer it.

A quick glance confirmed it was indeed her kids, and a text message from her kid's friend's mom indicated that they were done trick-or-treating and ready to be picked up. "I don't wanna go," Sarah said with a sigh.

Bucky wrapped his strong arms around her, giving her a sad smile and planting a kiss on her forehead. His breath tickled her skin as he whispered gently, "Me neither," in response to her words, then attempted to lighten the mood with a joke about their unusual entourage. They both laughed, and Sarah could feel the tension melting like ice in the sun.

Bucky pulled her close and nuzzled against her neck, sending tingles of pleasure down her spine before she reluctantly leaned back from his embrace. She looked into his eyes and saw something that made her heart skip a beat – it was longing, familiar and yet fresh and new at the same time. Locked in each other's gaze, Sarah raised herself to capture Bucky's lips in a soft kiss.

She smiled as she pulled away from him and started gathering her clothes off the floor, nerves suddenly bubbling up inside of her when Sarah realized how bold she had been. Before she could put on her shirt, however, Bucky stood up and stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. He cupped her face tenderly between his hands and searched for something in her eyes.

"We'll have to finish this later," he murmured softly. Another shiver coursed through Sarah's body as she looked into his beautiful blue eyes, nodding in agreement to his suggestion before leaning forward to give him one last kiss goodbye.