Secret Santa Fic Prompt 17
Title: And Cassandra Makes Three [parts 1-5/?]
Prompt/Summary: 17. I'd like to read a fic in which Bruce and Joker make up a real family, without losing too much of their canon (Nolanverse) personalities. Rating, lenght, and everyhting else is trusted to the writer's imagination./An earthquake either brings new rules to Gotham, or completely breaks them; it definitely brings a would-be child assassin into Joker and Batman's own little world. (told through loosely connected/chronological drabbles/vigenettes)
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: everything
Time: Post-TDK
Notes: Nolanverse mixed with comics elements, in the use of the No Man's Land Storyline (of all things, a huge earthquake devastates Gotham City, and their national government essentially abandons them and puts them under quarantine) and the character of Cassandra Cain, the 2nd Batgirl succeeding Barbara Gordon (though for this story, she's the first). [more detailed info summary links: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cassandra_Cain , http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/No_Man%27s_Land_(comics]
Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Batman or Joker and their playground.
1
The earthquake had not only ripped open a wide gaping door out of Arkham, but the rest of the city…Well. It was so beautiful, it was unreal--as if the clown were walking through a genuine fantasy and had to stab a knife straight through his knee to convince himself that all the delightful chaos was real. In an improvised hideout with the barest of essentials and not even any henchmen collected yet, the Joker stared at his meager bed:
There was a little scrap of a thing curled up on his simple cot, all tangled up in the covers with only a mop of dark hair showing.
"Somebody's been sleeping in my bed…" He couldn't resist, even if it was only for himself--Goldie Locks slept on, only bolting awake when the Joker ripped the blanket off. The clown giggled; the thing was really entangled in the covers, coming away with them so that he held the squirming Itty Bitty Person up above the floor, as if netting a particularly large bunny.
He let the intruder shake itself out--a girl, surely, if the long hair wasn't evidence enough, there were her features that were the right shade of soft. 'Course, could still be just a slip of a boy with hair gone wild while out on the street all on his lonesome--and the kid had definitely been a small beggar thing for a while, made a nice image of drowning in oversized clothes and a face gaunt enough that he just could not wait until he could add a nice pair of skull's gaping eye sockets.
Looking about 12 years old, the girl--he'd just stick with the assumption until he could tell if the voice was any good indicator of gender--swiped the hair out of her eyes, bright chocolate candies blinking blearily at him from tan skin.
His smile grew as her eyes widened, gratified with the way she took all of his glory in, the way she trailed over his clothes, his hair, everything. He pursed his lips when he noticed that, curiously, he saw no quiver shining in her eyes, not even a trembling lip.
Why, she was raising her hand to touch his scar--oh, what cheek!
The Joker snatched her wrist before her fingers grazed, and it was small in his glove, but like his, hiding secret strength, he could tell, could feel it all wiry and firm through the leather. And it was fact, the kid remained remarkably unafraid. He kneeled before the kid, who still sat with the covers all in her lap.
"People always wanna know how I got it," he waved his free hand around his stitched badge, "but few ever want to touch it." Again the tic, the urge to lick, left over from when the wound had been fresh and new and he just had to lap all the red up--but he was good at using the instinct to his advantage whenever he actually noticed it, and made sure to amplify it, make it look especially lecherous to the kid (sometimes you just had to go cornball).
When those chocolate eyes remained as vacant as ever, the Joker checked her pulse--nope, still there. Maybe mind-numbing shock, but that couldn't be, wasn't familiar at all.
"Heloooo--" he began as a lark, pressing his face in further, reducing their personal space to zilch--then paused, stared, and pulled back. "Hello?" He snapped out much flatter now, and her expression--she couldn’t understand a word he was saying.
The Joker let go of her wrist, which dropped to her side with about as much life as a doll, and sat back on his heels; "Huh. Haven't dealt with a really foreign audience before; kinda disappointed, thought globalization did its job indoctrinating everyone into mangling the English language--"
He asked her name in Spanish. The kid blinked, and he shrugged, tried Chinese. Nada. Russian (oooh the pups still looked so happy just stripping leftovers off the bones of that almost-fanboy); now her brow was creasing and she looked utterly confused. Ok, German. Now she looked embarrassed. Language after language, dialect after dialect, even a few dead ones for a laugh, and still she just stared at him with furrowed brow--finally, the clown got the bright idea she was deaf and mute.
His hands flew through the gestures; no response. He slowed down--still no comprehension. The Joker tapped his fingers across his knee; then he went to the drawers and grabbed a pencil--no tricks tonight, ladies and gentlemen--and crumpled sheets of paper, began writing out the languages he had talked through, one by one. The kid willingly followed him, and watched with an inquisitive tilt of her head.
One by one, he showed her the writing--about as much success with his words and the signing. The Joker crushed the last paper further, rolling it into a ball and tossing it over his shoulder, joining the other rumpled orbs; he slipped the pencil into one of his coat's inner pockets, they were always such marvelously multi-purpose things. One hand braced against the drawers for support, he leaned and towered over the girl, shooting her annoyed glares while she continued to watch him with mute fascination--how much time was wasted, and no fun to show for it? And damn the girl for arousing his curiosity and giving nothing in return!
Well, he'd simply have to try harder, the old-fashioned way--
The girl clumsily imitated his sign; he perked with interest, as she patted her clumsy copy, then slowly closed it into a fist, and did an even slower punch. He held up a flat palm, her punchy-looky thing softly striking it. She looked up at him expectantly, but he could only arch a brow and frown; "Message not received, sweetheart."
And then the doors blew open and the crack of gunfire resounded. Quick note of their clothing: not cops, so surely the Mob or some other gang, and impressive how quick they bounce back after all of Gotham buckled and cracked along the seams; perhaps they figured in the wake of natural disaster was the best time to finally rid themselves of his particular brand of disease?
The girl was fast and strong--pulled him right behind a corner before he could react. He showed his gratitude; shoved her out of the way with a vicious kick and left the corner, whipping out his own gun and firing, a knife sliding into his other hand.
He hit a couple before--well. The girl really was quite the dancer. Sure, mob-of-the-week was surprised by a little 12-year-old barreling into them, but still. It was her own mojo that tripped them up into knock-out hits, dodged their bullets--why, she was practically Bat-like.
The Joker hummed 'Everyone Was Kung-Fu Fighting' as he put his gun away and searched one of the down-and-out men for--yes: their car keys. As the kid took down the last few guys that were at least five times her size, and the Joker walked forward calmly after pocketing the pilfered keys, he wondered if Batsy had any bastard kids lying around, whether he had finally released his inner-Mad Scientist and dabbled in some cloning.
"Beautiful job, kid; need an agent?" He pulled one unconscious meatbag up and prepped his knife; "I can just see it now; introducing the next Karate Kid--"
He stopped laughing when the mini-ninja slapped his knife away, pushing him more gently away from the meatbag and keeping herself between the two.
The Joker rolled his eyes; definitely Bat-like.
He returned the favor for one of his many precious knives, backhanding the kid. The grumpiness she had instigated quelled a little when she came back for more; if anyone could appreciate such energy, it was him. The clown arched a brow as she curiously hesitated; he could see it wasn't out of blood lust--though she did seem to regrettably lack such a definitive thing--but she looked, frankly, confused again--but even more so, her eyes going bug-eyed for a bit and her teeth clenching, and the little dear just had no idea what to do with herself--
He kicked her down; she got up--he slammed her down. Rewind, repeat. Bloodied fist raised in the air, the clown lowered it with a bemused shake of his head, folding arms across his chest; the kid could only crawl now, and so she crawled and spread herself over the meatbag that started it all, still protecting him.
Why?
"You know this guy?" The Joker lightly slapped her bruised cheek, already knowing the answer--the kid had really dispassionately struck that guy down as much as any of the thugs she dealt with. She glared at him with her one good eye left.
He stared at her another moment, considering; then he took her by the shoulders. "Fine, I won't kill, maim, or otherwise play with any of these suckers," he hauled her outside to one of the mobman's cars, shifted in his coat for the keys; opened the thing up, tossed her inside. He took the girl by the chin; "I just hate a silent audience." He shook his head like an agitated dog as he started up the car; "Worst thing in the world."
2
This was oddly roundabout even for him, but it struck his fancy, and he wondered about things most people would not even pick up.
So, the Joker sat on the couch and watched Steamboat Willie and other old Disney cartoons on a miraculously functioning television he had found in the wreck, and waited for the girl to escape from the bed he had cuffed her too. He had made the game challenging enough, but with particular weak spots that she could break through if she were as cunning as she suggested in pummeling those men.
Sure enough, he heard what he had been straining his ears for: the pitter-patter of widdle feet in the morning, every suburban dream realized.
Taking up the remote, he raised the volume, wondering if the brat would take the bait (where was Harvey when you needed a 50-50 chance pun?) There: he heard the pitter-patter pause, could see perfectly in his mind's eye the girl's eyes trail to that glowing screen, her ears straining more than his. And there: the pitter-patter edge closer, but not daring to cross into his sight.
His head twisted around swiftly, and it was too endearing how she jumped back just a smidge. Heightening his smile to its most disarming and Prince Charming, he patted the couch cushion. Those chocolate eyes stared at him a moment, then back at Mickey--then she slowly joined him, but seated on the floor at his feet, and the Joker really much preferred this (he had always wanted a pet).
"Never actually sat down and watch tv, did ya Sparky?"
Her absorbed silence was all the confirmation he needed.
3
"Hey, a full-blown assassin; I'm flattered." The Joker slid the knife down his sleeve, but just held it, still facing what's-his-name--Cain, yeah, that's who Batsy warned him about, the pessimistic worrywart (I knew you cared!). The assassin was somethin' though, messed one of his arms up already, just a couple notches below Batman really.
But before the clown could make another move against the considerably bulkier man, the little mime girl pulled him back and shoved him in the closet--locked. His good arm rattled the knob; nothing, and he stared at in disbelief. She had locked the door on him? His teeth only started grinding a little before quieting down a little to hear Cain breathe, "Cassandra!?" Then just biff, pow, kablooey--then the musical tingling of shattering glass, and all the Joker had left to do was to play at banging and rattling and raging against the door again.
Finally he calmed down enough to use the knife to jiggle between the door and the frame; then he finally just methodically began stabbing through the door and prying away at the weakened scraps of ex-tree.
He was not really that surprised to see Batman holding the girl; the Joker clapped, delighting in how his arm stung. His trademark laugh, and that seemed to stir the kid; she squirmed, and oh Batsy looked so confused, unsure what to do with her--she broke away and ran to him, experimentally poking at the red soaking through his violet coat.
Then Cain climbed up the window and almost shot the clown through the head--if only the Dear Dork Knight had not shoved him and the brat out of the way.
"My hero," said the clown giddily, then switched to a flat tone: "I thought you took care of him?" He clucked his tongue when it seemed the Bat was too distracted with shoving the girl back, arms full with lowering her raised fists.
Well, Joker can be distracted too: looking over Batman's shoulder as he struggled to keep the girl from joining the fight again, he noted the particular way Cain eyed the child, the degree of his stare.
4
He owed the clown nothing, had no reason to explain anything at all to him.
But there was the girl curled in the Joker's lap, careful to avoid his wounded arm, and the clown almost seeming to return her trust--just letting her be, softly petting her head, almost fatherly.
"So, your name's Cassie, huh?" The child merely sleepily pressed closer in response to the Joker's words.
"Cassandra Cain," began Bruce, breaking the silence; being informative tended to make him feel less self-conscious.
The Joker arched a brow; "I already got the gist that my would-be executioner was her dear old dad."
Batman shook his head, and continued; "There's more though, you know there's more…"
"Of course there's always more…" A sly shark-like grin, and yet the petting remained gentle.
"You saw how she fought--"
"You mean turned into a mini-demon beating the crap out of society's machismo pipe dreams?"
The Knight's gloved fists clenched; "She was an experiment."
Throwing his head back slightly and chuckling, the Joker quipped, "So you do admit to entertaining your more Frankenstein instincts…"
Bruce wondered if the clown could see the muscle throbbing in his jaw; "Not mine--"
"Cain's, Cain's, I know," snapped the Joker in a bored tone and with an airy wave of his hand, before it returned back to petting Cass.
"More of a…social experiment," and the clown grinned at that, and dear god, did Batman just share a private joke with the madman? "Cain was…I met Cain--"
"I got that gist too."
"--while I trained with Ra's Al Ghul in my travels. I understood that he was working in the capacity of a bodyguard for Ra's--but until now, never to what extent--"
"Wait, wait--this guy tried to sire a top-of-the-line bodyguard for Raja?" Actually, it made sense; start 'em young if you want quality, the Joker understood that.
"To create the perfect bodyguard, yes." Joker had to giggle at the way Batsy's voice grew quieter as he continued, "From birth, Cain trained Cassandra in combat, and only in that; any communication she learned was through combat, through the body, the language of it." A snarl; "Even in body, you're unpredictable."
"And you're too repressed for the kid to make heads or tails of you," replied the clown, before releasing a low whistle. "Well, mystery solved." Batman tensed as Joker brought the girl closer to him, enfolding her in his embrace; chin on her head, he said, "I bet you're salivating at the thought Bats, positively jealous of our girl here--you barely speak, I'm sure you'd just love to trade in that cancerous voice of yours for sheer power--"
Instinctively, Batman made a harsh movement forward, and out of reflex that special inviting smile played round the Joker's lips--but then Cass muttered incomprehensibly in her sleep and turned over before quieting down again, breaking the two out of their routine, both staring at her, mesmerized, as if really seeing her for the first time.
The Joker licked his lips; "Finish the story, Batsy." The question was unspoken, and Bruce answered, what little he could.
"Besides what I see as the obvious, I don't know the exact reason why she ran away."
A bemused snort; "Some detective you are--you heard Cain go on about doing something 'too soon, right?'"
"Yes;" Bruce massaged his forehead, the emerging theory as ugly as everything else. "A bodyguard must be willing to do everything in his--"
"Her; so politically incorrect, Babe."
"--her power to defend the charge."
"'Oh Baby Girl, you were much too young, I should've made you kill someone when you reached puberty!'" Barking out a laugh, and then the Joker did something that almost made Batman close his eyes so that he would not see: the clown pressed a quick soft kiss against the girl's forehead, and a small grin tugged at her lips unconsciously.
5
"Were are you gonna take her? Child services the next rock over?" The Joker actually dared to take Batman by the shoulders, turned him toward what remained of the wall, made it so easy to see, all the buildings just as accessible now, so easy to just walk right in!
"Take a good, long look. I mean seriously, you can, there aren't any skyscrapers blocking the sky now--and hey, it's on fire too!" Guanoman was remarkably still even for him; the clown pretended not notice though, pushing away and framing the smoking sky, the crumbling edifices in makeshift telephoto fingers arranged just so.
"You've won." And just to make everything else completely unreal...to convince the Joker that, no, this really is all just a hallucination Arkham has him all drugged up on.
The clown slowly turned back to his other half, arms folded over his chest, and waited--it would be anticlimatic, and really, he sensed that there was something more to this.
"What now?" And Joker smiled a thin smile; how sweet, Batsy trying to be cruel.
"The universe's agreed with you, and in the process made you without purpose, and I'm sure you know how hated a vacuum is; how…obsolete…"
"I still have you, killer." Right up in his ear, whispered and giddy, "'BFF' 'til they wrap us up in leftover straightjackets," laughing under his breathe at himself, and his partner.
"It's funny you think you need to remind me of that." And now Batman took his shoulder, "I know that."
"Well, now we're getting to the point." Batsy shot a glance to the corner, and the clown followed: Cassie remained curled in her blanket, face half-pressed against the wall and drooling. Unusually, Joker failed to take note of the way Batman flinched at the almost non-malicious smile that graced his face.
"Truce," snapped the Knight, blunt. The clown froze, then pulled away, looked at the Bat, who for his part closed his eyes, bracing himself: predictable cackling.
His eyes snapped open when Joker said 'ok' in a light voice, which only started the clown into another fit when he saw the Knight's face.
The girl flew awake, wiping the gunk out of her eyes--both looked at her, the clown smirking; "So joint custody then, Papa Bat?"
Prompt/Summary: 17. I'd like to read a fic in which Bruce and Joker make up a real family, without losing too much of their canon (Nolanverse) personalities. Rating, lenght, and everyhting else is trusted to the writer's imagination./An earthquake either brings new rules to Gotham, or completely breaks them; it definitely brings a would-be child assassin into Joker and Batman's own little world. (told through loosely connected/chronological drabbles/vigenettes)
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: everything
Time: Post-TDK
Notes: Nolanverse mixed with comics elements, in the use of the No Man's Land Storyline (of all things, a huge earthquake devastates Gotham City, and their national government essentially abandons them and puts them under quarantine) and the character of Cassandra Cain, the 2nd Batgirl succeeding Barbara Gordon (though for this story, she's the first). [more detailed info summary links: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cassandra_Cain , http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/No_Man%27s_Land_(comics]
Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Batman or Joker and their playground.
1
The earthquake had not only ripped open a wide gaping door out of Arkham, but the rest of the city…Well. It was so beautiful, it was unreal--as if the clown were walking through a genuine fantasy and had to stab a knife straight through his knee to convince himself that all the delightful chaos was real. In an improvised hideout with the barest of essentials and not even any henchmen collected yet, the Joker stared at his meager bed:
There was a little scrap of a thing curled up on his simple cot, all tangled up in the covers with only a mop of dark hair showing.
"Somebody's been sleeping in my bed…" He couldn't resist, even if it was only for himself--Goldie Locks slept on, only bolting awake when the Joker ripped the blanket off. The clown giggled; the thing was really entangled in the covers, coming away with them so that he held the squirming Itty Bitty Person up above the floor, as if netting a particularly large bunny.
He let the intruder shake itself out--a girl, surely, if the long hair wasn't evidence enough, there were her features that were the right shade of soft. 'Course, could still be just a slip of a boy with hair gone wild while out on the street all on his lonesome--and the kid had definitely been a small beggar thing for a while, made a nice image of drowning in oversized clothes and a face gaunt enough that he just could not wait until he could add a nice pair of skull's gaping eye sockets.
Looking about 12 years old, the girl--he'd just stick with the assumption until he could tell if the voice was any good indicator of gender--swiped the hair out of her eyes, bright chocolate candies blinking blearily at him from tan skin.
His smile grew as her eyes widened, gratified with the way she took all of his glory in, the way she trailed over his clothes, his hair, everything. He pursed his lips when he noticed that, curiously, he saw no quiver shining in her eyes, not even a trembling lip.
Why, she was raising her hand to touch his scar--oh, what cheek!
The Joker snatched her wrist before her fingers grazed, and it was small in his glove, but like his, hiding secret strength, he could tell, could feel it all wiry and firm through the leather. And it was fact, the kid remained remarkably unafraid. He kneeled before the kid, who still sat with the covers all in her lap.
"People always wanna know how I got it," he waved his free hand around his stitched badge, "but few ever want to touch it." Again the tic, the urge to lick, left over from when the wound had been fresh and new and he just had to lap all the red up--but he was good at using the instinct to his advantage whenever he actually noticed it, and made sure to amplify it, make it look especially lecherous to the kid (sometimes you just had to go cornball).
When those chocolate eyes remained as vacant as ever, the Joker checked her pulse--nope, still there. Maybe mind-numbing shock, but that couldn't be, wasn't familiar at all.
"Heloooo--" he began as a lark, pressing his face in further, reducing their personal space to zilch--then paused, stared, and pulled back. "Hello?" He snapped out much flatter now, and her expression--she couldn’t understand a word he was saying.
The Joker let go of her wrist, which dropped to her side with about as much life as a doll, and sat back on his heels; "Huh. Haven't dealt with a really foreign audience before; kinda disappointed, thought globalization did its job indoctrinating everyone into mangling the English language--"
He asked her name in Spanish. The kid blinked, and he shrugged, tried Chinese. Nada. Russian (oooh the pups still looked so happy just stripping leftovers off the bones of that almost-fanboy); now her brow was creasing and she looked utterly confused. Ok, German. Now she looked embarrassed. Language after language, dialect after dialect, even a few dead ones for a laugh, and still she just stared at him with furrowed brow--finally, the clown got the bright idea she was deaf and mute.
His hands flew through the gestures; no response. He slowed down--still no comprehension. The Joker tapped his fingers across his knee; then he went to the drawers and grabbed a pencil--no tricks tonight, ladies and gentlemen--and crumpled sheets of paper, began writing out the languages he had talked through, one by one. The kid willingly followed him, and watched with an inquisitive tilt of her head.
One by one, he showed her the writing--about as much success with his words and the signing. The Joker crushed the last paper further, rolling it into a ball and tossing it over his shoulder, joining the other rumpled orbs; he slipped the pencil into one of his coat's inner pockets, they were always such marvelously multi-purpose things. One hand braced against the drawers for support, he leaned and towered over the girl, shooting her annoyed glares while she continued to watch him with mute fascination--how much time was wasted, and no fun to show for it? And damn the girl for arousing his curiosity and giving nothing in return!
Well, he'd simply have to try harder, the old-fashioned way--
The girl clumsily imitated his sign; he perked with interest, as she patted her clumsy copy, then slowly closed it into a fist, and did an even slower punch. He held up a flat palm, her punchy-looky thing softly striking it. She looked up at him expectantly, but he could only arch a brow and frown; "Message not received, sweetheart."
And then the doors blew open and the crack of gunfire resounded. Quick note of their clothing: not cops, so surely the Mob or some other gang, and impressive how quick they bounce back after all of Gotham buckled and cracked along the seams; perhaps they figured in the wake of natural disaster was the best time to finally rid themselves of his particular brand of disease?
The girl was fast and strong--pulled him right behind a corner before he could react. He showed his gratitude; shoved her out of the way with a vicious kick and left the corner, whipping out his own gun and firing, a knife sliding into his other hand.
He hit a couple before--well. The girl really was quite the dancer. Sure, mob-of-the-week was surprised by a little 12-year-old barreling into them, but still. It was her own mojo that tripped them up into knock-out hits, dodged their bullets--why, she was practically Bat-like.
The Joker hummed 'Everyone Was Kung-Fu Fighting' as he put his gun away and searched one of the down-and-out men for--yes: their car keys. As the kid took down the last few guys that were at least five times her size, and the Joker walked forward calmly after pocketing the pilfered keys, he wondered if Batsy had any bastard kids lying around, whether he had finally released his inner-Mad Scientist and dabbled in some cloning.
"Beautiful job, kid; need an agent?" He pulled one unconscious meatbag up and prepped his knife; "I can just see it now; introducing the next Karate Kid--"
He stopped laughing when the mini-ninja slapped his knife away, pushing him more gently away from the meatbag and keeping herself between the two.
The Joker rolled his eyes; definitely Bat-like.
He returned the favor for one of his many precious knives, backhanding the kid. The grumpiness she had instigated quelled a little when she came back for more; if anyone could appreciate such energy, it was him. The clown arched a brow as she curiously hesitated; he could see it wasn't out of blood lust--though she did seem to regrettably lack such a definitive thing--but she looked, frankly, confused again--but even more so, her eyes going bug-eyed for a bit and her teeth clenching, and the little dear just had no idea what to do with herself--
He kicked her down; she got up--he slammed her down. Rewind, repeat. Bloodied fist raised in the air, the clown lowered it with a bemused shake of his head, folding arms across his chest; the kid could only crawl now, and so she crawled and spread herself over the meatbag that started it all, still protecting him.
Why?
"You know this guy?" The Joker lightly slapped her bruised cheek, already knowing the answer--the kid had really dispassionately struck that guy down as much as any of the thugs she dealt with. She glared at him with her one good eye left.
He stared at her another moment, considering; then he took her by the shoulders. "Fine, I won't kill, maim, or otherwise play with any of these suckers," he hauled her outside to one of the mobman's cars, shifted in his coat for the keys; opened the thing up, tossed her inside. He took the girl by the chin; "I just hate a silent audience." He shook his head like an agitated dog as he started up the car; "Worst thing in the world."
2
This was oddly roundabout even for him, but it struck his fancy, and he wondered about things most people would not even pick up.
So, the Joker sat on the couch and watched Steamboat Willie and other old Disney cartoons on a miraculously functioning television he had found in the wreck, and waited for the girl to escape from the bed he had cuffed her too. He had made the game challenging enough, but with particular weak spots that she could break through if she were as cunning as she suggested in pummeling those men.
Sure enough, he heard what he had been straining his ears for: the pitter-patter of widdle feet in the morning, every suburban dream realized.
Taking up the remote, he raised the volume, wondering if the brat would take the bait (where was Harvey when you needed a 50-50 chance pun?) There: he heard the pitter-patter pause, could see perfectly in his mind's eye the girl's eyes trail to that glowing screen, her ears straining more than his. And there: the pitter-patter edge closer, but not daring to cross into his sight.
His head twisted around swiftly, and it was too endearing how she jumped back just a smidge. Heightening his smile to its most disarming and Prince Charming, he patted the couch cushion. Those chocolate eyes stared at him a moment, then back at Mickey--then she slowly joined him, but seated on the floor at his feet, and the Joker really much preferred this (he had always wanted a pet).
"Never actually sat down and watch tv, did ya Sparky?"
Her absorbed silence was all the confirmation he needed.
3
"Hey, a full-blown assassin; I'm flattered." The Joker slid the knife down his sleeve, but just held it, still facing what's-his-name--Cain, yeah, that's who Batsy warned him about, the pessimistic worrywart (I knew you cared!). The assassin was somethin' though, messed one of his arms up already, just a couple notches below Batman really.
But before the clown could make another move against the considerably bulkier man, the little mime girl pulled him back and shoved him in the closet--locked. His good arm rattled the knob; nothing, and he stared at in disbelief. She had locked the door on him? His teeth only started grinding a little before quieting down a little to hear Cain breathe, "Cassandra!?" Then just biff, pow, kablooey--then the musical tingling of shattering glass, and all the Joker had left to do was to play at banging and rattling and raging against the door again.
Finally he calmed down enough to use the knife to jiggle between the door and the frame; then he finally just methodically began stabbing through the door and prying away at the weakened scraps of ex-tree.
He was not really that surprised to see Batman holding the girl; the Joker clapped, delighting in how his arm stung. His trademark laugh, and that seemed to stir the kid; she squirmed, and oh Batsy looked so confused, unsure what to do with her--she broke away and ran to him, experimentally poking at the red soaking through his violet coat.
Then Cain climbed up the window and almost shot the clown through the head--if only the Dear Dork Knight had not shoved him and the brat out of the way.
"My hero," said the clown giddily, then switched to a flat tone: "I thought you took care of him?" He clucked his tongue when it seemed the Bat was too distracted with shoving the girl back, arms full with lowering her raised fists.
Well, Joker can be distracted too: looking over Batman's shoulder as he struggled to keep the girl from joining the fight again, he noted the particular way Cain eyed the child, the degree of his stare.
4
He owed the clown nothing, had no reason to explain anything at all to him.
But there was the girl curled in the Joker's lap, careful to avoid his wounded arm, and the clown almost seeming to return her trust--just letting her be, softly petting her head, almost fatherly.
"So, your name's Cassie, huh?" The child merely sleepily pressed closer in response to the Joker's words.
"Cassandra Cain," began Bruce, breaking the silence; being informative tended to make him feel less self-conscious.
The Joker arched a brow; "I already got the gist that my would-be executioner was her dear old dad."
Batman shook his head, and continued; "There's more though, you know there's more…"
"Of course there's always more…" A sly shark-like grin, and yet the petting remained gentle.
"You saw how she fought--"
"You mean turned into a mini-demon beating the crap out of society's machismo pipe dreams?"
The Knight's gloved fists clenched; "She was an experiment."
Throwing his head back slightly and chuckling, the Joker quipped, "So you do admit to entertaining your more Frankenstein instincts…"
Bruce wondered if the clown could see the muscle throbbing in his jaw; "Not mine--"
"Cain's, Cain's, I know," snapped the Joker in a bored tone and with an airy wave of his hand, before it returned back to petting Cass.
"More of a…social experiment," and the clown grinned at that, and dear god, did Batman just share a private joke with the madman? "Cain was…I met Cain--"
"I got that gist too."
"--while I trained with Ra's Al Ghul in my travels. I understood that he was working in the capacity of a bodyguard for Ra's--but until now, never to what extent--"
"Wait, wait--this guy tried to sire a top-of-the-line bodyguard for Raja?" Actually, it made sense; start 'em young if you want quality, the Joker understood that.
"To create the perfect bodyguard, yes." Joker had to giggle at the way Batsy's voice grew quieter as he continued, "From birth, Cain trained Cassandra in combat, and only in that; any communication she learned was through combat, through the body, the language of it." A snarl; "Even in body, you're unpredictable."
"And you're too repressed for the kid to make heads or tails of you," replied the clown, before releasing a low whistle. "Well, mystery solved." Batman tensed as Joker brought the girl closer to him, enfolding her in his embrace; chin on her head, he said, "I bet you're salivating at the thought Bats, positively jealous of our girl here--you barely speak, I'm sure you'd just love to trade in that cancerous voice of yours for sheer power--"
Instinctively, Batman made a harsh movement forward, and out of reflex that special inviting smile played round the Joker's lips--but then Cass muttered incomprehensibly in her sleep and turned over before quieting down again, breaking the two out of their routine, both staring at her, mesmerized, as if really seeing her for the first time.
The Joker licked his lips; "Finish the story, Batsy." The question was unspoken, and Bruce answered, what little he could.
"Besides what I see as the obvious, I don't know the exact reason why she ran away."
A bemused snort; "Some detective you are--you heard Cain go on about doing something 'too soon, right?'"
"Yes;" Bruce massaged his forehead, the emerging theory as ugly as everything else. "A bodyguard must be willing to do everything in his--"
"Her; so politically incorrect, Babe."
"--her power to defend the charge."
"'Oh Baby Girl, you were much too young, I should've made you kill someone when you reached puberty!'" Barking out a laugh, and then the Joker did something that almost made Batman close his eyes so that he would not see: the clown pressed a quick soft kiss against the girl's forehead, and a small grin tugged at her lips unconsciously.
5
"Were are you gonna take her? Child services the next rock over?" The Joker actually dared to take Batman by the shoulders, turned him toward what remained of the wall, made it so easy to see, all the buildings just as accessible now, so easy to just walk right in!
"Take a good, long look. I mean seriously, you can, there aren't any skyscrapers blocking the sky now--and hey, it's on fire too!" Guanoman was remarkably still even for him; the clown pretended not notice though, pushing away and framing the smoking sky, the crumbling edifices in makeshift telephoto fingers arranged just so.
"You've won." And just to make everything else completely unreal...to convince the Joker that, no, this really is all just a hallucination Arkham has him all drugged up on.
The clown slowly turned back to his other half, arms folded over his chest, and waited--it would be anticlimatic, and really, he sensed that there was something more to this.
"What now?" And Joker smiled a thin smile; how sweet, Batsy trying to be cruel.
"The universe's agreed with you, and in the process made you without purpose, and I'm sure you know how hated a vacuum is; how…obsolete…"
"I still have you, killer." Right up in his ear, whispered and giddy, "'BFF' 'til they wrap us up in leftover straightjackets," laughing under his breathe at himself, and his partner.
"It's funny you think you need to remind me of that." And now Batman took his shoulder, "I know that."
"Well, now we're getting to the point." Batsy shot a glance to the corner, and the clown followed: Cassie remained curled in her blanket, face half-pressed against the wall and drooling. Unusually, Joker failed to take note of the way Batman flinched at the almost non-malicious smile that graced his face.
"Truce," snapped the Knight, blunt. The clown froze, then pulled away, looked at the Bat, who for his part closed his eyes, bracing himself: predictable cackling.
His eyes snapped open when Joker said 'ok' in a light voice, which only started the clown into another fit when he saw the Knight's face.
The girl flew awake, wiping the gunk out of her eyes--both looked at her, the clown smirking; "So joint custody then, Papa Bat?"