The Joker uses unconventional methods to get acquainted with Annie and launches a devastating attack on one of the essential aspects of life in Gotham, causing a crisis that will have lasting consequences for the city's stability and Dent's political career.
Notes: I'll be posting new chapters each week. The story diverges from the movie during the ballroom scene in part 1.
Special note for part 3: There is one event in the story this week that I've posted in whole on ao3 but did not include here (link in the text to go to the story on ao3). The portion depicts torture. If that is something that is not triggering for you, please follow the link to ao3 to read that part. I felt it was important to include in the story and gives insight into the characters.
(There is also a scene in the last portion of part 3 where I cleaned up the language slightly. If you'd like the original version, feel free to continue reading on ao3.)
I wanted to share an additional note just in relation to violence being part of the relationship at all. This scene of the story was written this way because I asked myself the question of what Annie's character would do after drinking the coffee in part 2. She likes to have absolute control over herself, so I felt she would have a strong reaction, completely shut down, and refuse to interact with the Joker. Then I asked what the Joker would do when confronted with that. This scene answered that question for me, and also provided a sort of forced moment of intimacy for the two characters. The Joker in my imagination for this story has a great capacity for cruelty and a great capacity for tenderness as well. Hope you can enjoy, whether you decide to skip or not!
TW: Brief mention of blood, brief cursing/crude sexual language, mention of underage marriage in character's past, some violence
"'I've been here a long time, playing with your hair. You must have been thinking about something… important,' he said, his voice sounding strangely familiar.
He leaned in closer, his scarf falling down and exposing his scarred lips. He spoke as if he was telling her a secret that was only between the two of them. 'You know, people will think we're lovers, here on the rocks, watching the water.'"
As the social fabric of Gotham begins to fray and the Joker's intrusion into her life escalates, Anna struggles to maintain control. But is she threatened by the Joker or by something within herself?
Annie had been on alert for weeks now, terrified that the Joker would return. She wished she had somewhere else to go, to hide out in - but she knew no one here, and she realized that if he wanted to find her, he likely would. It seemed like he held the strings that controlled life in Gotham now, and he was orchestrating a mass puppet show where he decided what would happen next.
She knew going to the police was not an option. The officer's skepticism about her story and his threats about Arkham had taken away that possibility. As afraid as she was of the Joker, even dying in freedom was more appealing to her than living in Arkham. She had spent enough of her life in other people's prisons.
Whatever drug she had been given in the coffee wore off completely within a day and didn't seem to have any lingering effects. However, the feeling of loosing herself and having no control had disturbed her to her core. She found herself checking and re-checking her cups, her meals, her plates to make sure nothing unexpected was there. She consoled herself by changing the lock on her door and hoping that he would forget about her. She was utterly confused by his focus on her. She was nobody. It made no sense, but then again, nothing he did seemed to follow a logical path.
She was standing in the kitchen in the morning hours, trying to pull herself together for another day of work. She had not been able to sleep, jolting at every small sound in fear.
Then, she heard it, the click of the lock. The door didn't open, though. She heard muffled conversation and an unmistakable voice. He was back. She dropped to the floor, closing her eyes and drawing her legs to her chest, curling herself into a tight ball. She couldn't handle this again.
"Hello there!" he chimed lightly as he finally opened the door. His voice changed, becoming accusatory. "You changed the locks. But don't worry, I always bring an expert with me." He grinned, motioning theatrically with his purple-clad arms to one of the men behind him.
"Where are you?" He walked directly to the kitchen as if he could sense her there. He saw her curled up on the floor and said with exaggerated concern, "Oh, this won't do."
He motioned to his men to leave the apartment. She heard the retreating steps and the slamming door.
He dropped down to sit cross legged in front of her, the almost childlike pose in surreal contrast to his long jacket and menacing appearance.
"Let's talk it over, just you and me. Was it the coffee..? I thought you might enjoy that," he said, removing his gloves. He turned to grab a small trashcan from under the sink, keeping it in easy reach. He reached over and tried unsuccessfully to pull her clenched eyelids open.
She stayed motionless, clutching her knees to her chest, without replying or looking at him.
"You know, you brought this on yourself. I just want to talk."
[omitted portion, see notes above, click on this link to ao3 to read, go to chapter 3]
He reached down and gently lifted her to a standing position near the sink. She stood stunned, her fingers burning but her body relaxing in relief that the immediate threat seemed to be over. He guided her hands to the sink and gently washed each wound. She looked at him in wide-eyed fear, though she was so shaken by what had happened, she had to lean on him for support.
He acted as if he was impressed as he dried her hands and waited for the bleeding to slow.
"Don't be embarrassed," he said consolingly. "I break most of these so-called gangsters much quicker."
"So where are you from?" he asked with false familiarity. The scene was so absurd, with this bizarre figure dabbing at her fingertips. She doubled over in a sudden fit of laughter, the sound ringing oddly off the walls and uncontrollably bursting from her mouth. It was as if her body had already exhausted her capacity for crying and needed to find another outlet for her emotions. She struggled with all her might to regain control and was finally able to catch her breath.
He looked curiously at her, continuing with the towel, and repeated, "Where are you from?" in the same sing-song voice.
She took a deep breath. "I'm from upstate. I was raised in the Church."
He looked at her quizzically as some of the pieces began to fall into place for him. He had heard of the Church, a notoriously closed community of radical Christians in a remote, rural part of the state. A few men in his crew were members who had escaped from the group. From them he knew that that the cult group stockpiled weapons, intimidating the local government and causing them to turn a blind eye to their infringements of the law. From what he knew, they kept women in tightly controlled traditional roles, and it was extremely rare for them to escape from the group.
The complexity of his thoughts about her past belied the simplicity of his questions.
"Did Jesus save you?" he asked.
"No… I left," she said airily, looking into the distance blankly.
"Do you have any ice?" he said, and she looked at him confused, disturbed from her train of thought.
He wondered at the lack of creature comforts in this young woman's life - it seemed like she didn't have the simplest things. He reached into the freezer and found frozen vegetables, which he wrapped quickly with the towel and applied to the wounds, continuing to hold her hands so that the bag would stay positioned squarely on her fingertips.
"That's like a cult, right? So was there lots of sex stuff?" he asked nonchalantly.
"No, there was no sex stuff. Not until marriage," she said, the word marriage catching in her throat.
"Oh. When did you… marry?"
"Oh…" He raised his eyebrows.
He could see that she was in a fragile state. He adjusted the direction of his questions. "What did you do there, in this 'Church'?"
She searched her mind for something from her past she could share. "Well, when I was a child, we were taught to memorize Bible verses. All the time. Some of us memorized whole books of the Bible. You know, when you memorize something…" She trailed off, suddenly aware that she was speaking freely with the man who had so recently inflicted unbearable pain on her. She should be more cautious.
He had been studying her hands but in a moment, rolled his eyes back toward her face. He tightened his grip. "Do tell," he said, the sternness of his expression in stark contrast to the lighthearted words.
She tried to regain her train of thought. "When you memorize something, it's not just words on the page anymore. It's not something you are reading. The meaning, it becomes deeper. It… becomes a part of you." She stared forward, focusing on nothing.
"But, I left that behind." she said, and her mind turned to the financial burden of the legal fees that still suffocated her.
He looked at her, waiting for her to continue.
"A group of us wanted to leave, but the local government - they are afraid of the Church. And some of the men, they have allies there in important positions. They created a legal battle, and it was difficult for me to get the divorce. I lost everything. Now I… it's hard for me to even keep this apartment."
"Do you like Gotham?" he asked.
She looked up, startled by the question, and thought for a moment. "Yes, I like Gotham. It's the only place… where I can disappear." She stumbled on the words and realized that the one chief freedom of her life was also now lost, as she cast a sidelong glance toward him. She was no longer anonymous, allowed to hide in the masses of Gotham's parade of poor and rich, sane and insane. Now he had singled her out, for who knows what reason.
He continued to hold the ice on her fingertips. He was supporting her hands so carefully, it was hard for her to believe that he was the reason for her pain.
He didn't push her to speak further but sat a long time with her, silently. She slowly began to relax and leaned back on the cabinet doors.
"Kitten, do you have any food in this little apartment?" he asked out of nowhere.
"Yes, I have some food - I just went to the store yesterday." She was confused, was he hungry?
"Ok, good. They may decide to close the stores for a while." With that enigmatic statement he rose, balancing her hands and the frozen bag on her lap so she could continue holding it there.
"They will heal quickly, just give them some air and keep them clean," he said simply, motioning to her hands. "Now I have some other business to attend to - bye for now."
She continued to lean back against the cabinets, too overwhelmed to think of any kind of reply.
He hummed as he left, locking the door after him. Did he have a key to her door? The thought drifted through her mind as she leaned her head back, exhausted. Her fatigue took over now that he was gone, and she soon found herself sleeping where she was, propped up by the kitchen cabinets.
Whoever has will be given more, and they will have an abundance. Whoever does not have, even what they have will be taken from them. (Matthew 13:12)
The first shoppers to walk into the supermarkets that morning didn't notice the playing card peeking through the clear plastic wrap on the loaf of bread. They didn't see the corner of the ace of diamonds sticking out of the cereal box, or the three of hearts sealed inside the bag of carrots. They were busy, goal-oriented, getting their shopping done before work. But by the time one of the early morning shoppers had discovered the soggy queen of clubs inside the yogurt they opened that evening, it was already all the news stations were talking about.
Playing cards had shown up randomly, a few in all the main grocery stores in Gotham. But now the news was coming in that cards had been found in a few places far from the city - in other regions, in other states - all the way to the opposite side of the country. Government officials still hadn't made any definitive statements, delayed as usual by the slowness of bureaucracy. But experts were already telling people not to eat the food.
The radio broadcast came that evening, interrupting the usual easy listening music on the station that many of the stores played on their loudspeakers. But for those who didn't hear it, the local and national news quickly picked it up, playing it again and again as their analysts tried to interpret it. It was unmistakably the Joker's voice - by now, residents of Gotham were familiar with his drawling tone.
"Good evening! Were you surprised to find my cards in the grocery stores today? Don't worry, everything you bought is safe to eat, despite what they are telling you. But the problem will be tomorrow. You see, when they restock tonight, the food won't be marked with cards. There will be something worse in it, something invisible.
"Some of the food in the next shipment has been poisoned - you won't taste it or smell it, but it will take effect quickly. So I recommend a diet for a while. Let's find out what happens when Gotham is hungry. And how will the new mayor handle this? Will he rescue you?"
After the broadcast, finally, the authorities began to take action. They had to simply close the stores. There was no way, until they developed some kind of testing, to tell which food was safe and which had been tampered with. The federal government led the investigation effort and started to trace the playing cards back to major distribution centers, but the spread of the cards didn't follow the same logic as a simple outbreak of foodborne illness. The distribution was random, since the Joker had infiltrated some factories and not others.
The authorities reeled at the depth of the problem - not only were they not able to certify that any food was safe, even though it was likely the vast majority was - they also couldn't simply produce more food the next day. Factories had been compromised by the Joker. There were workers out there who had cooperated with him to add the playing cards and perhaps some type of poison. The workforce could not be trusted. The massive machinery of food production all over the country halted until a way forward could be found.
With all the major stores closed, a lucrative illicit market for food immediately sprang up all over Gotham. Where the food came from was anyone's guess, but those who had money were still eating. Those who didn't, or didn't have anything stocked away, were not.
As is often the case, the part of the city hardest hit was the part that was most ill-equipped to handle the shortage, Lower Gotham. The area was more tightly packed with people, and many residents already lived a hand to mouth existence. Rescue supplies like that used for emergency operations after natural disasters came to Gotham, but that allotted to Lower Gotham quickly disappeared, stolen by organized crime rings as well as individuals who were simply desperate. After the majority of the first shipment was taken, the food deliveries to Lower Gotham slowed to a trickle. Many people left for Upper Gotham or even departed from the city altogether.
The police who should have been overseeing the food distribution were busy elsewhere, looking for the Joker. Mayor Dent directed all of the manpower and financial resources of the city toward finding him. Checkpoints appeared on all the major thoroughfares. Murmurs began to circulate, especially in Lower Gotham, about Dent's handling of the crisis and why he was letting citizens starve while he pursued his fixation on the Joker.
People like Annie, with no connections and no resources, suffered the most. When she learned the stores were closing, she began to ration. She had experienced hunger before, and began the first week with few concerns about it. What mostly bothered her was that her employer, Gotham Culinary, immediately went on hiatus. Without food to serve and all events cancelled, there was no business to be had. She had no money coming in now, and she certainly couldn't afford to pursue the high priced food being sold on street corners at skyrocketing prices.
In the second week, she began to worry. She was seeing more and more desperate people on her walks in the city, and she decided she should not leave her apartment until the crisis ended. By the third week, she was out of provisions.
The situation had grown so dire in cities across the country that the federal government had abandoned its pursuit of answers and the compromised workers, and instead simply focused on reopening the factories, regardless of the danger. They didn't have the resources to test every article of food in the country for every possible type of contamination. It was finally accepted that it would probably never be known for certain whether the Joker actually poisoned any of the food supply, or whether the whole ordeal was simply another one of his tricks.
They found the machinery of production, after it had ground to a halt, difficult to bring back to life again. Not enough workers came back after the hiatus, and the intricate network of travel for goods had been so disrupted that delays and problems plagued the efforts to reopen. Still, hope began to spread in some areas where stores would briefly open their doors. The goods would be bought up immediately, forcing them to close again.
Annie's region of Lower Gotham would be one of the last to see this relief, and by the fourth week, all of her thoughts centered around food. She couldn't sleep well, but instead had taken to simply sitting in the middle of the open floor and laying down to doze for short naps anytime she felt drowsiness set in.
She watched the blackbirds fly past her window, she watched the sun set, she waited for the long hours to pass.
Annie had developed a frequent habit of running her tongue along the inside of her teeth. It was as if her mouth needed something to do since it had no food to chew, and the iron sweet taste was irresistible. It had been two weeks since she ran out of food.
She was sitting on the floor of the studio apartment when she heard the door open and knew it must be the Joker. Her eyes darted around the room as he entered with two of his men, and she struggled to compose herself. She stood and tried to back away into the kitchen.
"I thought I would stop by," he said smoothly, looking carefully around the room. "I'm sorry I've been… delayed. This Dent, he's really trying to find me. He doesn't realize it's his own people he needs to be worried about."
He walked toward her. The men accompanying him looked uneasy, as if her hunger was contagious. They seemed to think that if they came too far into the room, they would catch her disease. The Joker strode toward her until he was uncomfortably close as usual, seemingly unbothered by the clear evidence of starvation surrounding them.
"What do you want?" she asked in a raspy voice. Despite her strongest efforts, she couldn't control the habitual movement of her tongue.
After studying her face closely, he turned to his men. "Can't you see she's hungry? Go get her something to eat!" He motioned them away to complete their assignment. He took her hand gently and led her back to the spot on the floor where she had been, guiding her down to a sitting position again.
"Where will they find food?" she asked.
"Anything is possible if you have enough money. Don't you know that, kitten?" he said, a broad smile breaking out over his painted face.
His mood seemed to change, becoming more agitated. He began pacing around the room. "The mayor hasn't been taking very good care of Lower Gotham, now has he? He's even worse than I thought he would be. I should let everyone know what he's been up to." Her mind had trouble focusing, and she couldn't grasp much of what he was saying.
He took the sandwich from the men when they returned, glaring at them. "This wasn't the best option, but we'll make it work."
He settled himself down cross-legged on the floor in front of her, breaking the sandwich into sections with his gloved hands, giving her the first portion. She barely looked at it before taking it to her lips. Her tongue rolled the food from side to side in her mouth. Each bite was a perfection of flavor. She felt that she could taste every ingredient, sharply and distinctly. She had finished the piece in no time.
She looked up to find his eyes lingering on her, as if he had been watching attentively. She barely gave it a second thought.
"More," she mumbled. "I'd like more," she asked more clearly. He handed her another section. She gobbled it up as if it was nothing.
"More!" she commanded loudly. He looked at her, amused.
She lunged at the section he still had in his hand, but he was too fast and had it out of her reach immediately. She couldn't fight for it, she was too weak. Tears came to her eyes and she fell onto his knee, sobbing. He leaned over and drew the hair away from the side of her face. "It will make you sick," he said quietly in her ear. "You have to slow down." He moved to get up. "Just… rest for now."
He left the apartment, giving orders to his men on his way. "Wait four hours, then stock the kitchen, bring everything from the van up here."
The first few days were tough, but now Annie was regaining her strength. The Joker had been right about not overdoing the food at first - the first few small meals she had made her extremely sick as her body got used to eating again. It had all taken a physical toll, but what had bothered her the most was how foggy her thinking had become when she was without food. But now, she welcomed the return of her mental faculties. Everything seemed fresher, newer, now that she could concentrate and move freely again.
One of her chief sources of entertainment in the isolated apartment was exploring the odd hodgepodge of food that the Joker's men had brought to her. There were the cheapest canned items they seemed to have gotten from a surplus discount store, next to jars of olives and caviar that must have cost hundreds. She had no idea how they had gathered such a strange collection.
Despite her enjoyment of the food and her thankfulness to simply have enough to eat, the Joker still loomed like a dark shadow over her life. Every day she remembered what had happened the last time she saw him. She was ashamed that she fell on his knee so easily, groveling in front of him for food. It was as if she had no control of herself when real hunger took hold. She was glad he left so quickly - she didn't like the idea of him seeing her when she was so… compromised.
Without her job to occupy her time, her days took on a surreal quality. She would leave the apartment in the morning to walk in the city, enjoying the fresh air. The atmosphere of desperation was gone and had been replaced by a quiet solitude on the streets. Food was trickling into Lower Gotham again, and stores would periodically open.
This day was like any other. She had just returned from a walk and was ready to unlock her door when she heard a click and felt cold metal on the back of her neck. She realized she wasn't alone.
"Unlock the door," a voice commanded. It wasn't the Joker's familiar tone. Her breathing became panicked. The Joker's threatening and erratic presence had almost become part of her daily reality. This situation was completely different, completely unexpected.
"I said, open the door, bitch." The man hit the back of her head with the heel of his other hand, jarring her head forward. She quickly complied, and took the moment of entry into the apartment as a chance to turn around to see her attacker, holding her hands in the air in surrender.
The man entered after her, keeping the gun trained on her. She was surprised to see how ordinary he appeared. Brown hair, normal button down shirt. Nothing distinguished him from men she met every day walking on the street.
"I didn't tell you to turn around, but that's fine. I wanted to take a look at you. This is the Joker's favorite bitch." The man walked around her, closer now, as if he was appraising her to set a price.
"Wow, I didn't expect this. There's not much here. Nothing in the chest, she looks like a little boy. Maybe there's something sweet down below, though." He came closer and motioned toward her body with the gun.
"Is it sweet for him there? I don't know, doesn't look that good to me." He stood back again, moving his gaze to her face. "You know, maybe it's those eyes, those are something. Does he like having those angel eyes look at him? Maybe that's it. But I don't think that would do it for me."
She stood completely frozen, shocked by the crudeness of his words.
"I wonder why he comes here…" He stopped his circuit and stood in front of her. "You know he has every whore in Gotham on his payroll, right? He knows all the best ones. When he's done with them, some of them are crying. Those girls are used to it, they don't usually cry."
The man smiled, and she sensed danger. "Sometimes, on a good day, he gives them some extra cash, and then it's our turn, we get to have a go too. I wonder if he'll do that with you? Maybe I'll get to have a taste?" He suddenly put an arm behind her waist and pulled her closer. She felt sick, understanding the direction he was taking them. "There must be some reason he comes here, maybe I should find out…"
Suddenly she felt another presence in the room and spied the scraggly hair and white makeup over the man's shoulder. The Joker came closer, softly stepping up behind him. He looked at her, putting his finger to his lips silently. She drew her eyes away and back to the man that held her to avoid giving away his position. In another second, two gloved hands and a knife appeared at the man's throat. His arm fell from her waist. One of the Joker's goons followed and quickly took his gun.
The Joker let go of his hold on the man and moved in front of him. "Now what have you been telling the little kitten here, Benjamin," he said slowly, malevolently, drawing out the syllables of his name. "Talking about me and the ladies of the night here in Gotham? I do have my favorites, don't I. But I don't usually leave them crying, not too often…" He seemed lost in thought, staring into the distance.
His tone changed and he focused his eyes back on the man in front of him. "Well, let's see, now we have a problem." The Joker pulled the man's collar tight, so that he was struggling for breath. "You know where she lives, and I like to come on my visits sometimes…. I think we'll have to make an example of you. I don't want to have this problem again. Smith, come here."
The man who entered with the Joker came closer. "Why don't you call Don, tell him I've got something for him." He let go of the man's collar and patted him on the back as he sputtered. "Tell him I've got a surprise for him and his men, a very nice surprise." He enunciated the words forcefully, almost hissing. The man who had accosted her stood still, his eyes wide. "Ok, bye bye." The Joker slipped the knife back into his pocket and the two men left, Smith with a gun to the back of her attacker.
"This is such a fortunate occasion, kitten." The Joker turned around, lifting his arms in a theatrical flourish as if nothing had happened. "I was in the neighborhood and decided I need to stay here tonight. That naughty mayor has sent out too many extra patrols." She remained where she stood, shaken and unsure of what to do.
"Oh, are you still worried? I'm sorry about that, but now you don't have anything to be afraid of. You see, when you run an organization, sometimes you have to make an example out of someone. Now that he volunteered, I don't think we'll see anyone coming over here to bother you. I'll make sure that they all know how Ben-ja-min turns out." She stood still, unable to answer.
"I see, do you feel sorry for dear Benjamin? You want me to let him go? Ok." He paused, his face becoming cold, expressionless. "He'll tell his buddies about you, the worst of them, and someone else will come to you and try to outdo what he did today. Or maybe he'll just come back with a few friends and…" What he left unsaid chilled her more than his words had. "So do you want me to be… merciful? Hmm?"
She swallowed hard, coming to terms with her position and how real the danger was. "No," she said.
"Ok, that's good. It's settled." His more lighthearted demeanor seemed to have returned. He put his hand on her shoulder and brought his face in close. "Men are horrible, aren't they?" he said with exaggerated sympathy. She could only give him a sideways glance.
He turned and stretched his arms upward as if he was an average person arriving home from work, ready to call it a day. "So you do whatever you do. I'm tired, it's been a long day." He took off his purple coat, balling it up in his hands as if he would use it as a pillow. "I'll sleep here on the floor, so you can have your bed." She looked at him warily, making it clear from her expression that she would not be getting into her bed. She was not willing to appear so vulnerable around him.
"All right, then I'll take the bed," he said, promptly dropping the jacket to the floor and lying down on the mattress. He got up again slowly as if he had forgotten something and went to the coat, taking his knife from the pocket and placing it by the pillow. He didn't retract the blade and left it there, glistening next to him. He laid down again, facing her across the room.
She was unsure of what to do. She simply collapsed down to the floor, sitting where she had been standing. She was facing him, naturally wanting to be aware of any danger that might develop. He seemed frustrated by her vigilance and returned her look with an unblinking stare that unnerved her. She decided the best course of action was to turn around and face the other way, even though it meant she couldn't keep an eye on his activities.
He had a natural tendency to deceive, but she was somewhat convinced that he simply wanted to sleep. Despite his makeup and seemingly unending store of energy, he did walk in a stilted way today, like he had been in some kind of fight. With the danger she faced earlier, his particular brand of fear in her mind also seemed…familiar. She went ahead and laid down on the floor on her side, staring at the opposite wall. Of course she couldn't sleep.
She stayed where she was for a long time, until the quiet assured her he must be sleeping. She got up slowly, inching her way to a sitting position in the silence and carefully lifting her head to look around the room. With the rolling blackouts, it was completely dark except for the moonlight, which tonight was brightly streaming in through the open window. The air was hot and still.
The glint of his knife to the side of the pillow drew her gaze. Her eyes were fixed on it, realizing that she could stop this reign of terror, all his crimes, with one act. If she just picked up the knife and did the right thing - he was a killer, a lion stalking every institution in the city, and it would never end if he was left to roam. His men would certainly respond eventually, but her life was of so little value to her now, it barely seemed worth clinging to.
Other than a hopeless struggle to keep body and soul together in this city, all she seemed left with was her fear of this man. Her eyes involuntarily travelled from the glinting knife up to his face, with the makeup strewn over it haphazardly. She risked a closer look, edging nearer to the bed. Every line and blotch seemed like a work of art, every shadow perfectly aligned. The white paint gave him an unearthly glow in the dim room. She looked at his patterned shirt - he was like a sleeping jaguar, the luster of its coat shining every time it breathed. He was perfection - perfection fueled by chaos, but nonetheless she felt it would somehow be an unspeakable sin to kill this beautiful animal in the moonlight. Her tension eased as she realized she couldn't do it. She couldn't harm him.
She looked at his sleeping face for some time, her eyes studying the intricate patterns so arbitrarily interlaced on his skin. She finally began to pull back, turning around, ready to crawl back to her corner of the room and perhaps even sleep for a short time.
At her first movement, she was shocked to see his eyes snap open.
"Well hello, kitten." His voice was gruff, heavy.
She froze in fear, their faces inches away from one another. A smile curved around the edges of his lips. He sat up slightly and picked up the knife, holding the shining blade there between them. She held her breath.
"Yes, it is beautiful, isn't it," he said quietly. He retracted the blade and slipped it into his pocket.
"Good night," he said, reclining again on his side and closing his eyes. She began to move away as subtly as she could.
"Since you bothered to come over here to see me, why don't you just stay?" he said suddenly, not bothering to open his eyes. The way he said the words made it clear to her that she shouldn't try to move. She sat perfectly rigid and still on the floor. Hours seemed to pass, and exhaustion finally caught up with her. She slowly let her body lean against the side of the mattress, and finally her head fell back against him. She gave up, feeling his chest rise and fall with slow, regular breaths as she fell asleep.
Additional notes: This is fanfic, so of course I don't own any characters from The Dark Knight (Joker, Batman, etc.). The main female character is original.
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