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Ashes, Ashes	By : JaneKrahe Category: DC Verse Comics > Batman Views: 6446 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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She was in soft grey, neither light nor dark, a place of calm and eventuality. A voice was calling her name, but she was too comfortable to answer. All she wanted to do was slip into the shadow, and sleep. The voice got louder, and Barbara got annoyed. Who was interrupting such wondrous peace? Who would dare invade this place of solitude and reflection and -

Breath, blessed air, came rushing into Barbara’s lungs. She gasped and coughed, and flailed. She was in water, water so warm it hurt, water up to her chest. Her instincts told her she was drowning.

But there was a hand at her back, a strong, rough hand that held her above the water, kept her breath in her lungs. She opened her eyes and realized that the voice she’d been hearing was the Joker’s. She was sitting in a bathtub, and he was holding her there, one arm around her back, his other hand at her sternum, steadying her. Her sweater was gone, revealing a white camisole.

She took a few deep breaths, and her senses came back. She looked over at the Joker. He was glaring at her, looking furious. “Wha - what happened?” she asked breathlessly.

“Are you *trying* to kill yourself?” he demanded. “Because if you are, sugar, you could have just asked. There are much better ways to die than freezing to death.”

“You’re going to kill me anyway, aren’t you?” Barbara shot back. “What difference does it make when or how I die? Everyone dies eventually.”

For some reason, Joker just got angrier. “I never said I was going to kill you frivolously,” he snarled. “I don’t kill needlessly.”

Barbara, after a short struggle, managed to sit up. “You killed a sixty-year-old Catholic priest! What’s not frivolous about that?”

Joker stood. She noticed for the first time that he had a knife in his hand. “Cops,” he spat. “Never do your homework, do you? You just assume, well, he’s a priest, it must be some random madman, who kills a priest?” He swooped down on her, bring the knife to her throat, his face to hers. “Did none of you bother to take a look at that priest’s past? Or the pasts of any of the other people I’ve killed, hmm? No. Because if you had, then you’d know that Father O’Reilly just *loved* raping altar boys. You’d know, because he was accused in eight parishes. Eight! And what did they do? Just send him to another church, another fresh batch of victims. And don’t even get me started on the cops.” Joker stood again. Barbara was speechless, and still couldn’t move very well.

She looked up at him, and was struck by the realization that the Joker was man. He wasn’t just some nightmare out of a fairytale, he was a flesh-and-blood man. His sleeves were rolled up, and she could see the veins in his arms, the scars shining on his skin. He seemed so human in that moment, so real, that Barbara wondered for the first time about the side she was on, and whether the cops, Batman, and her father, really had it right. Maybe there was more to it then good and evil, decency and decadence.

She looked into the Joker’s eyes, so dark and bright, and he stared back. As she watched, his gaze traveled down, swept across her form and back again, slowly and deliberately. He met her eyes once more, and after several moments of silence, he held a hand out to her. “Come on,” he said. “If we don’t find you some dry clothes, you’ll freeze again, and I’m not saving you a second time.”

Barbara took his hand and he lifted her effortlessly out of the tub. She stumbled on her still-tingling feet and he caught her in his arms, and held her up. They stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, for what seemed like forever, both unable to move. Barbara looked up at the Joker, and her breath caught in her throat as he leaned forward, as if to kiss her.

She couldn’t pull away, no matter how much she wanted to, and she couldn’t close the distance between them, no matter how much she needed to. She simply went still, and waited. He lowered his head, his eyes on her mouth. His lips hovered a directly above hers, so close, but they stayed there. Then, he released her, and turned away. Barbara tried not to acknowledge the disappointment that rushed through her.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to make due with clothes left over from the hotel’s occupants,” he said, his tone business-like and brisk.

“Where’s my sweater?” Barbara asked.

“I - had to cut it off you.”

“Oh.”

“Come on.” Joker led her to a linen closet in the hall, but the only thing they found there was a spare maid’s uniform.

“I’m *not* wearing that,” Barbara declared.

Joker grinned at her. “So, you’d rather be naked, then?”

Barbara glared at him. “Fine,” she grumbled, and took the dress from him. It was powder blue, and buttoned down the front, and was way too short for comfort. “My room’s warmer, you can change in there.”

Barbara went into the Joker’s room, but stopped when she realized he was following her. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

“It’s my room,” he replied, smirking.

“You are *not* watching me change,” she said.

Joker shut the door, then walked over and sat on the bed. He crossed his arm, then looked her, his eyebrows raised. “Well? What are you waiting for?” He licked his lips.

Barbara bit back an angry retort. Fine, she thought. You want to play games? Let’s play.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Joker regretted his cheekiness almost immediately. Barbara tossed the dress to him. He caught it, then froze as she pulled her camisole over her head. Very… very… slowly. Her skin was pale, her waist small, flowing to a perfect swell of hips. She tossed the camisole aside. The bra underneath was see-through lace in a violent shade of purple. Strangely enough, it matched the Joker’s coat perfectly.

Barbara took three languid steps forward, and Joker marveled at her body. She was like a painting of a goddess, but with a blazing energy, and eyes that danced. It hurt to look at her, everything in and on him hurt, but there was beauty in the pain, and no one understood beautiful pain the way Joker did.

Her hands went to the button on her designer jeans, and Joker held his breath, transfixed. She undid the button, then slowly pulled down the zipper. Joker’s mind flew, so fast and bright he thought he might die. Her thumbs slipped under the waistband, and began to lower it.

Joker couldn’t take it anymore. “Stop,” he said. She looked at him for a moment, then continued. He stood. “I said ‘Stop’!” he cried.

“What’s wrong, Joker?” she asked with false sweetness. “Anxious?”

Joker went to her, dropped to his knees in front of her. He took a deep breath, then placed his hands on her jeans, and began to pull them down himself. They slid over her full hips, and further, revealing pale thighs, fit calves, and underwear that matched the bra.

He felt he’d stopped breathing, but he must be breathing, because he could smell her skin, so lovely sweet. Tentatively, he placed a hand on her abdomen, feeling her cool flesh, so like silk. He looked up, and saw that she was looking down at him, her face unreadable. But she wasn’t stopping him.

He slid his hand down, over her belly button, down to the waistband of her underwear. He hesitated. He knew what he wanted, but he was afraid to do it, afraid she would run again. He wasn’t sure he could take it if she ran from him a second time. Instead, he laid a kiss on her stomach, right next to his hand. He paused. She didn’t push him away. It gave him enough courage to do it again. This time, he made it last, tasting her flesh, savoring it. He knew what her blood tasted like now, and a certain part of him was desperate to taste it again, but he didn’t want to scare her. He lowered his lips about an inch. He nibbled her skin ever so slightly, and heard her gasp. He bit harder, sucking her flesh into his mouth, hard enough to bruise.

He nearly jumped when he felt something that sent shivers down his spine. He looked up. Barbara had run her fingers through his hair, her nails raking his scalp.

The scent of her was driving him mad, and he had no idea what he might do if this game continued. He didn’t get a chance to find out, though, because at that moment, a flurry of knocks pounded on his door.

Joker released Barbara so fast she almost fell. He jumped to his feet and ran to the door, not daring to look back. “What?” he growled through the wood.

“Um, sir, you missed your meeting with Dr. Crane,” came the voice of one of his men.

Goddamnit! Joker raged at himself. One pretty face and everything goes to shit! He knew it was more than that, but he didn’t want to admit it, not yet. Admitting it would make it real, and he didn’t want it to be real, because reality was hell, and in reality, a woman like Barbara Gordon would never look twice at Joker. Never. “It’s fine,” he said to the man on the other side of the door. “Not a problem.” He listed to the boot-steps as the man walked away. And then, though he didn’t want to, he turned around to face Barbara.

She had gotten dressed in the maid’s uniform, and though it fit snugly, it was nothing compared with the splendor of her bare skin. They had crossed a line, and Joker knew he would never be the same.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Barbara wasted no time leaving the room after she and Joker had been forced back to their senses. She hurried back to her room, heart pounding, but couldn’t sit on the bed, because it was still wet from her little jaunt in the shower. So, she sank to the floor, wondering why it took a man like the Joker to truly turn her on. Why was she so attracted to him, why did she want nothing more than for him to do as he wished with her, to take away all her control, to make her his? And why, in God’s name, did she do something so stupid? She was *teasing* the Joker. You might as well tease a starving dog. This wasn’t some drunken college frat-boy, this was a cold-blooded killer, and she had tried to drive him crazy - well, crazier.

She sat on the floor for nearly an hour, until a knock on her door made her heart stop. She stood, and called in a wavering voice, “Um… yes?”

“Joker wants to talk to you. He’s in his room.”

Barbara let out a deep breath. “And what if I say no?”

“Then I drag you down there, and you see him angry, instead of just annoyed.”

He had a point. “Alright, I’m coming.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stepped out of the room. A man stood there, shorter and thicker than Joker, a rifle in his hands and a clown mask on his face. “I don’t need you to escort me,” Barbara snapped at him.

“Not to be rude, miss,” the man said, his voice slightly muffled, “but you don’t scare me half as much as he does.”

Barbara almost laughed. “Fair enough.” She followed the man back to the Joker’s bedroom, her heart fluttery. She wasn’t sure what he wanted, but she knew she wouldn’t like it - or rather she would like it, and therefore would not. Barbara sighed. Her own thoughts didn’t make sense anymore. The man opened the door; she went in and heard it close behind her.

Joker was standing by an old roll-top desk, looking through what appeared to be a police file. How did he get that? she wondered. She took a few steps forward and waited. He didn’t turn around. She cleared her throat.

Joker turned. She suddenly recognized the file in his hands. It was her own employment file with the Thirteenth Precinct. More specifically, it was her psychological analysis. “This is fascinating,” he said with a smirk. He leaned against the desk and, looking down at the file, began reading. “It my opinion that Ms. Gordon is not fit for active duty. I believe she has a serious difficulty in expressing her emotions. She is quick to anger, does not readily trust, and could be a liability to her partner. I do not think she would be able to handle more disturbing cases, especially those involving women and children. She is, in effect, a ‘loose cannon’,” Joker mad air-quotations with one hand around the words “loose cannon”. “In conclusion, this office does not approve her for active duty, signed, Dr. Katz, this day, et cetera, et cetera.” He dropped the file on the desk and looked at her, his arms crossed. “Well,” he said, “I had… no idea the Commissioner’s daughter could be so… exciting.”

She glared at him. She had never read the file. She had been pulled aside by her father one day and told she couldn’t be a cop, but she was never told why. Being a psychology major, she understood it, but she didn’t like it. “Happy now, Joker?” she demanded.

His smirk faded, and he said seriously, “‘Happy’ is not a word I’ve ever used to describe myself.” He pushed himself off the desk and took a few steps toward her. Barbara backed away, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. Joker stopped, and his expression hardened. “You must know that I can’t release you yet,” he said.

Barbara nodded. She knew that if he released her now, the mobster he’d used her to threaten would come after her. She was good, but she couldn’t fight them all.

“But I’m not ready to kill you, either,” he continued. “See, you have a great deal of… usefulness… and I’m not quite ready to give that up. So,” he chirped, and began pacing around the room, “if you stay here, no arguments, no fighting, no trying to kill me with my own blades -” he looked at her admonishingly, “ - then I will let you live. I will send you straight back to your father. You will be put under police protection; the mobsters won’t be able to lay a finger on you. You’ll be safe, and I will have had a chance to have little fun in the underworld.” He stopped pacing, and looked at her. “Deal?” He held out his hand.

Barbara’s mind raced, but she could think of no alternative. She sighed. “Deal.” As they shook hands, Barbara couldn’t help but feel that she’d just made a deal with the Devil. And she couldn’t help but wonder, where is the fine print?

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Joker sat at his desk, looking at Barbara Gordon’s employment file. She was twenty-one years old, born on Halloween. Joker laughed to himself. Quite a pair, aren’t we? he thought. He turned a page, looking at her medical history. She was healthy as a horse, except for… now what did that mean? He took his glasses out of his pocket, slipped them on, and leaned closer. Ovarian cysts… that didn’t sound pleasant… operation performed at age fifteen… complications arose… heart stopped *twice* during procedure… forced to perform partial hysterectomy - hysterectomy? Joker took off his glasses and looked to the door, as if he could see all the way down the hall into her room. Damn, Joker thought, shaking his head. No wonder she was so cold. Her own mother leaves, and then she finds out she’ll never be one herself. And at fifteen, no less. He put his glasses back on and continued to read. She graduated high school at sixteen, completed medical school at twenty, earning a PhD is psychology, having minored in sociology. She was smart. Really smart.

Joker sighed and tossed the file aside. He removed his glasses and leaned back in the chair his hands behind his head. He put his feet up and began twisting the chair from side to side, deep in thought. For some reason a song kept running through his head. He couldn’t place it right away, but he knew it was sang by a woman with a husky voice. Lyrics floated through his mind: “My love must be a kind of blind love./ I can’t see anyone but you.” Joker fell into a sudden memory of his mother, sitting at her vanity, getting ready to go to a banquet with his father. He’d sat at her feet and watched her. Her hair was short, and jet black, and she wore it in old-fashioned pin curls, slicked with a product called Mrs. Baxter’s Pleasant Pomade. It smelled like sugar cookies. The song was playing on an old radio. “And dear, I wonder if you find love/ an optical illusion, too?/ Are the stars out tonight?/ I don’t know if it’s cloudy or bright./ Cause I only have eyes for you.” His mother had placed a dangling diamond earring in her ear, then turned and smiled down at him. He remembered looking up at her, loving her so much he thought he might burst. She was his world. Because when his father was home, when his father was drunk, when his father was mad, she was always there, telling him she loved him more than anything, and that she would protect him, for always and ever.

That was why she took the beatings, the abuse, because it kept his father’s attention off him. Then, one day when he was ten-years-old, he’d seen his father hit his mother, and something in him had snapped. He lunged at his father, scratching at his face, his eyes. His father had tossed him across the room. It was then that his mother had gone into the kitchen and got the carving knife. He’d lain on the floor and watched his beautiful, shining mother standing in the doorway, her eyes blazing. She’d raised the knife and said, “I told you, Eric, if you ever laid a hand on my son, I would kill you.” She’d run at his father… but she was so delicate compared to him.

Joker had watched from the corner, tears coursing down his face. He watched her fall forward to the ground. She looked at him, blood running down her face. She had mouthed *I love you* at him, and smiled. And then she died.

When Joker had awoken in the hospital, a stone-faced social worker had told him he was now a ward of the state. He couldn’t speak because of the stitches, but the man wouldn’t have listened anyway.

Joker looked around his room, trying to bring himself out of the past. But one image stuck with him. The last thing he’d seen before he passed out. He lay bleeding on the floor, and had looked up at his father, towering above him. His father, in his black uniform. His father, with his shining badge pinned to his chest. Joker hated that badge.

And that hate made him strong.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Barbara awoke the next morning to find a plate of hot food sitting on the bedside table. There were pancakes, eggs, hash browns, and bacon, all of it making her so hungry her head spin. She sat up, and pulled the plate towards her. Was it poisoned? She sighed. Who gives a shit? she told herself. It’s food. She dug in, savoring her first meal in over a day. When she’d devoured over half the plate, she noticed a large mug of coffee on the table as well. She grabbed it and took a drink. It was strong, and mixed with French Vanilla creamer. Her favorite. She didn’t even care how he knew. The coffee was too good to worry about it.

When she was done, she stood, and wandered out into the hall. One of the armed clowns waited for her. “Boss is down in the old ballroom,” he said gruffly. “I’m supposed to take you there.”

Barbara nodded, and followed him down three flights of stairs. The reached to entrance to the ballroom, a large set of ornate double doors. He opened them for her, and closed them behind her.

Joker stood across the large, white marble floor, his back to her. “What did you want, Joker?” she called, her voice echoing in the empty room. He turned, and Barbara gasped. He wasn’t wearing any of the face paint.

She walked forward, mesmerized. He looked so… *different*. She reached him and stared, wordlessly. The scars on his face were deep, but underneath them, she could see how truly handsome he was. Or, perhaps, because of them. For, try as she might, she couldn’t picture him without them. He wouldn’t seem right.

He frowned. “What are you staring at?”

Barbara smiled at the irony. “I’m staring at you,” she replied.

Joker raised a hand to his face, looking shocked when he realized his face was bare. “Oh,” he said after a moment. Then, his expression turned hostile, and he snapped, “Well, I can’t wear that stuff all the time, can I?”

Barbara raised her hands in surrender. “Did I complain?” For the first time, Joker looked confused. “So… what did you want?” she prompted him.

Joker shook his head, then said, “I’ve arranged for Dr. Crane to meet me here tonight to make up for… well…” he drifted off. Barbara grew uncomfortable, remembering what had made him miss the meeting. “Anyway,” he continued, “I want you to be here. How good are you at acting?”

It was Barbara’s turned to be confused. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want him to think you’re my hostage. See, he’s a little crazy. That kind of thing won’t scare him. But if he thinks you’re my partner, well - that makes me all the dangerous. If I’m working with the Commissioner’s daughter, that makes me crazier than him. And that’s the only thing Crane fears. Coming up against someone worse than he is. So, can you act?”

“Well, I suppose,” Barbara replied. “I am a psychologist, after all.”

“Now, I want you to think about this,” Joker said, walking towards her. “You have to act like a criminal. You have to act like someone who enjoys hurting people. You have be cruel, and sadistic, and crazy. You have to be like me.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Barbara said automatically.

“Nevertheless,” Joker continued, “that is what I need from you. Can you do it?”

Barbara looked him in the eye. She nodded. “Yes.”

“Good,” he said. “Get ready. He’ll be here at midnight.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

~Working on Chapter 4, kiddos, and special thanks to Harley and Gevaisa for thier reviews. Luvs!~
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Ashes, Ashes