Part 2
Title: Unholy Union
Author(s): Angelique & Mel
Genre: Crossover (DK/Dark Shadows)
Character(s): The Joker, Maggie Evans, etc
Rating: PG-13
Summary: When a woman with a ridiculous amount of compassion comes across an injured, bleeding Joker, wits are matched and demons are confronted. Will he allow her to dote on him, or will he open Maggie's eyes to the ugliness of the world? DK/Dark Shadows XOver
not so noisy.
With a begrudging groan, he hoisted himself out of the tub, but not without spilling another wave of water onto the floor. Making a face at the sight of the pink towel that awaited him, he scrubbed himself off from head to toe before carefully avoiding the large puddle at his feet. Grabbing his pin-striped pants (he refused to wear those girly pajamas), his tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth as he began to stick one leg in while he balanced himself on one foot, his balancing act soon turning into a fit of hopping before he toppled over and fell against the sink. "Son of a..." Biting his lip, he rubbed his now sore elbow before irritably completing the surprisingly bothersome task of dressing. "Might as well've gone naked" he grumbled, sending his wet shirt and vest a rueful look. He hoped they dried soon.
Wrapping the pink towel around his neck, the Joker realized he probably appeared to be the ultimate paradigm of femininity, considering how he was wearing purple pants, now had flowery, freshly-washed hair, and a doofy, fuzzy pink towel draped across his shoulders. Pursing his lips at the rather unpleasant realization, he was about to head toward the bed when he stopped dead in his tracks. Maggie was spread out across the mattress in the ultimate picture of serenity, her full lips parted in a delicate pout that made her seem more childlike and innocent than ever.
With a sigh, the Joker scratched the back of his head and fell at a momentary loss of what to do. Should he wake her? He didn't know where else to sleep, after all... But on the other hand, if he did wake her up, that meant she'd start talking again.
Cringing at the thought, the Joker uneasily tried to crawl over top of her, but tripped over one of her long legs and landed face-first against a large, fluffy pillow. "Ow" he grumbled, not even bothering to raise his head as he gave a long, resigned grunt. He was afraid he'd woken her, and if he had, he was surely in for it now.
Deciding to beat her to the punch, the Joker rolled over and cheekily asked, "Couldn't wait to get into bed with me, eh? ‘Cause if you were that eager, all you had to do was ask!" With a giggle at her rapidly blushing cheeks, he mockingly fluttered his lashes before diving under the covers like a child at a slumber party. His feet were now where his head should be, but his voice was still audible as he called out, "Are you going to lie there hogging the blankets all night, or are you going to scoot over? I don't care if it's away or toward me, so long as I get my blankets."
Maggie heard little of what he said. The first words were lost in the panicked fog that cleared when she saw his black-smudged eyes peering across the pillow at her. The rest came when the billowing covers stung her eyes as he dove beneath them. She began to kick and gasp, “Get off me, get off me!”, even though he was nowhere on her per se, just disturbingly close. She rolled over onto the floor, crawled to the corner and hugged herself.
“You are vile,” she chastised him, her brow knitting in a way that made her even more girlish and cute. “You didn’t have to get into bed with me. You could have awakened me. Did you really think I was…waiting for you, inviting you to…oh you’re such a…a man!” Maggie dug her heels into the Oriental rug, folded her arms over her knees and hid her crimson face.
Even though it certainly wasn't helping his situation, the Joker began rolling with laughter at her comical response, his body thrashing beneath the sheets amidst his giggle fit before he finally surfaced and peered out at her with a broad grin. "Lady, do you really think I came here to play Procreation? I was trying to get in bed to sleep, not to peek underneath your nightie." Smothering another cackle, he relished in her humility as he sat up, his arms draping across his knees as he tried to calm down.
Women were so predictable. Just because they figured men wanted "one thing" didn't mean that they actually did. When he'd calmed down to a considerable degree, he sent her a cheeky grin while slyly assuring her, "I am not like most men, peaches, so you can just re-lax. The only thing remotely manly about me is I enjoy belching every now and then. But other than that?" He shrugged. "I'm just, uh...different, I suppose. That's not to say I'm like women either, because I think I'd rather hang myself with my tie… No offense, of course."
Maggie shot him a withering look. “Trust me, at this particular moment I am not enjoying being a woman, either!” She rose and started for the door, but something caught her attention. Across the far pillow there was a long, black streak from the ridiculous greasepaint he insisted on using to keep his face masked from her. “Look at that,” Maggie said with heartbreaking defeat. “You’ve ruined the bed clothes, already… You don’t care about anything. Anything!” She burst into frustrated, exhausted tears.
The Joker gave the streak a glance of nonchalance, then returned his gaze to her when she broke into a hysterical fit of sobs. With a hardened look on his face, he fully sat up before snapping, "And why should I care about anything, hmm? I'd just say I'm acting in accordance to the hand I've been dealt, peaches, so don't take it so personally. I mean, can you honestly say you know what it's like to be viewed as a fuh-reak? Or how it feels to wake up one day and find your family massacred at your very feet?" Chuckling darkly, he barely repressed a full-blown fit of laughter as he snarled, "Do not preach at me with your hoity-toity, godlier-than-thou, condescending bullshit diatribes until you've been where I’ve been and walked where I've walked!"
Feeling his fury mount, the Joker curled his hands into two tight fists until his nails bit through the skin of his palms. He didn't want to hurt her, but if she continued to push him, he wouldn't hesitate to bathe in her blood.
“I lost my family!” Maggie jabbed her chest with her small fist. “I lost my family too, you self-pitying, loathsome fiend!” She was on the bed in seconds, flailing against his chest. “What? So you think you have some sort of monopoly on tragedy? You think that entitles you to hate and demoralize me?!” When he grabbed her wrists, she began to buck and twist and kick at him. “Well, go on, get your pathetic kicks from me! Kill me, maim me! You think I care, anymore? Just do one thing, Mister Man…” She faltered and found herself pinned against him, face to face, her breath coming in violent puffs that lifted his bangs from his forehead. “Let me see your face before I die… Let me see who you really are!”
The Joker was rather stunned when Maggie attacked him, yet her physical swipes weren't nearly as infuriating as her barbs. "Shut up!" he snarled, tempted to strike her as she began to kick and wriggle about in his grasp. Tightening his grip so that the bones of her wrists ground together, he momentarily saw a flash of blinding rage flit across his vision, his hands tempted to close around her throat and squeeze, and squeeze, and squeeze until there was nothing left.
He was quite tempted to do as she suggested, but when she declared that he show his true face, his eyes narrowed cruelly. "No" he hissed, his nails now digging into the sensitive skin of her wrists. The man beneath was all he had left...was the only semblance of the man he once was, and he wasn't willing to share that with anyone, especially some self-righteous bitch.
Swallowing hard from both rage and nerves, the Joker felt his adam's apple bob in his throat as he demanded, "Why is my identity so important to you, huh? Is this some twisted, psychological little mind game you're trying to play with me? 'Cause if you think that for one minute you can change who I am, you're wrong."
Maggie’s lip curled. “Yes, yes, here we go again, the same litany of boo-hoo-hoo. Okay, I’ll bite… I’ll be the manipulative, conniving woman; I’ll cling to you, and harangue at you, and keenly disappoint you. Doesn’t matter that it’s patently false! You had me sized up the moment you saw me walk out of the carnival holding that ridiculous stuffed Hippo. You were going to kill me simply for giving the impression of being simpering and happy, and …and…self righteous! So how simpering am I now, huh? And I’m not happy, damn you! In fact I am so unhappy that not a day has gone by since my father died that I haven’t thought of throwing myself off Widow’s Hill! And I wasn’t so self-righteous that I didn’t clean your wounds and that cesspool of a body of yours, so okay, I was wearing my mask when you met me and here it is, stripped away. It’s your turn now. Your move. I don’t care who or what you are, because I just want you to be honest. What does it matter in the long run, my brave sir? You’re going to kill me afterwards, anyway.”
If the Joker hadn't been so furious, he would have laughed. "Disappoint me? How in God's name can you disappoint me when I don't even know you? Not to mention, nothing gives me greater joy than hearing how you want to end your pitiful, meaningless little existence! After all, you're merely a thread in the great tapestry of life, so easily snipped and ripped away to make room for newer, and better threads. Don't think for one minute that I wanted to kill you to make me happy -- I wanted to kill you because it's fun" the Joker hissed, his eyes growing almost ink-blank within the dim lighting. "And I actually wasn't going to kill you since I'm a man of my word, but if you continuously persist in egging me on like this, I will kill you, and will take great pleasure in doing so."
Feeling his heart thudding hollowly in his ears, the Joker tightened his hold on her and felt the urge to smother her with his pillow. "Be honest?" he reiterated, tossing his head back in a dry, unfeeling laugh. "The only time I haven't been honest is the period before I became this...this thing. I'm no longer living a life of fabrication, sweet pea, so why should I show you the true lie, hmm? The man behind the mask is not the real me."
Maggie was starting to sway in his grasp, finding it rather hard to catch her breath. “It is you,” she said. “You know it is…” Her head rolled back and she met his inky stare for a moment before careening forward onto his shoulder, all fight in her gone.
“Just do it,” she said in one long sigh. “Please, just do it…”
At first the Joker was genuinely confused. Was she begging him to kill her, or to reveal his naked, scarred face? One option was clearly more preferable than the other, but before he could even think to ask her, he felt her head drop limply onto his shoulder. Moving away from her in disgust, the clown prince's upper lip curled into a snarl as he snapped, "Fine! I'll show you, but for what purpose, hmm? Will this give you some sick, tuh-wis-ted sort of satisfaction to see me wasting away before your very eyes? Will it make you happy to see the monster underneath the paint!?"
Chest heaving and eyes glittering dangerously, the Joker irefully seized the towel he'd dropped onto the floor and turned his back to her, his hands moving the towel roughly over his face so that it caused his skin to burn. Swallowing sharply after a few moments of this, he straightened his stance and dropped the towel at his feet, gazing down at the smeared streaks on the nappy fabric in dismay. His only aegis was now fully destroyed, and as he bitterly turned around to face Maggie, his eyes almost appeared hollow and resigned within the dim lighting.
Maggie gave a little sob of defeat when he pushed her off of him. She fell back onto the mattress, one arm thrown over her eyes as she wept bitterly. She felt the mattress give as he moved off the bed; could hear his animalistic snarls and bitter recriminations as he assaulted his features with the towel. When he demanded she look at him, she moved her arm and squinted into the candlelight. As he stepped closer she rose up on one elbow and peered at him.
He had large, soulful, dark eyes in a face that was once youthful and handsome, and a mouth marred by a criss-cross of scars on either side, the skin swollen and puckered. Across the sallow face were other scars and pock-marks that she couldn’t tell if they were self-inflicted, or the wages of some perverse battle.
Maggie blinked slowly. A hundred things flashed across her mind, but she settled only on “Thank you.” She lay back on her side again, curled her arm under her head and stared ahead.
Thankful when Maggie looked away, the Joker numbly sat down on the bed and followed her gaze toward the nameless point of interest, the corners of his mouth turning further south as he realized she was the first person he'd ever allowed to see his face. Sometimes he'd walked around without his greasepaint on, yes, but no one had ever actually known who he was. He was fully aware that he looked completely different without the garish mask, but he took a certain comfort in the ability to hide behind a thin layer of sticky, imperfect paint since it matched the equal imperfections of his soul. Finally registering Maggie's words, he grumbled, "Well what are you thanking me for? I wouldn't exactly consider this something to be grateful about, unless you have a fetish for perverse and gruesome appearances."
Flopping back against his pillow, he stared up at the ceiling and focused on a long, jagged crack. It reminded him of the scar on the left side of his mouth, all ugly and tattered since it had been delivered in a hurry. Immediately looking away, he instead closed his eyes and concentrated on the steady rising and falling of his bosom. He could feel Maggie's eyes boring into him even as he laid there, so without bothering to open his eyes, he sullenly muttered, "What is this, a tourist attraction? Stop staring at me like I'm in a petting zoo."
“I’m not staring at you, I’m just watching you. I know you didn’t want to do that… So thank you.” She felt compelled to touch him, but she instinctively knew it would be a bad idea. She had questions she wanted to ask, but couldn’t expect candor and bonding after what had just happened. Her gentle nature bubbled up and she considered consoling him with words, telling him the scars were not so very bad, but she knew she’d be shamefully lying. They were that bad, and made all the more tragic by the glimmer of masculine beauty that still lurked underneath.
The moments ticked away until finally her words broke the silence, soft and matter-of-fact. “I believe I’d hate the world too, if I were you. But could you just not hate me? Not tonight at least? Now for now?”
The Joker cringed at her words. He knew he was a hopeless misanthrope, but that didn't mean he liked to be pegged down with certain attributes. He'd always prided in being unpredictable and completely unreadable, but if Maggie was able to see through him so well after a mere passing of hours, was he truly as well-collected as he liked to think?
With a bitter smile, the Joker wanted to insist that she didn't know the half of his sorrows, but he shrugged while mumbling, "And what would I have to do in order to prove that I don't, uh...hate you, hmm? Hold your hand and sing the friendship song?" As he awaited her response, he inwardly conceded that he didn't hate her. What he truly hated was the fact that he found himself less inclined to kill her, even after all that she’d made him do.
Maggie sat up on her knees, smoothed the brief material over her thighs, and rested her hands there. Her face was soft and fragile again, the long lashes matted around brown eyes that still glistened with the tears from moments ago.
“I know you think I have some agenda, or expect something of you, but the only thing I expect is that you don’t murder me in my bed. As changeful as you’ve been tonight, I can’t imagine why I would believe you, but…I do. ‘Not hating’ means simply not doing. This…what we just did … this nasty verbal, physical sparring for the rest of our time together. Yes, I know I am partly to blame for that. If my father had seen how I just behaved he would have been so very disappointed. He raised me to be more lady-like than that, but you were just so…so mocking and dismissive. It’s been a difficult year for me, and I didn’t know how to handle it.”
He still had his eyes shut tightly, but she thought she saw a slight change in his face, a softening around the scarred mouth, and his breathing had changed to something less feral and trapped.
“But you know…” She saw him stiffen again and could see his pupils rolling beneath the lids as she started speaking, “I’m almost glad you did it. I haven’t screamed or cried once since my father died, or since Joe was taken away. There always seemed to be some other task, something else to do, or some other person needing Maggie to do something for them… To clean up after them, listen to them, console them.”
She bit her lip. “And you know what? Maybe I was just a little bit angry with you because you didn’t need me. You didn't let me drown in mindless nurturing. You forced me to confront my demons. No sentimental pandering from you…no, sir…”
She heard him snort and he made a gesture like playing a sad violin. This time she was compelled to laugh. “Yes, I know, I am talking too much. I’m sorry.”
In all honesty, the Joker was confused as to why Maggie was confessing all of this personal information. Perhaps she'd been alone for quite a while, just like he had, and had never been able to truly emote all she was feeling. Although he could empathize, he most certainly didn't plan on reciprocating her actions. Something about the idea of sharing his past unnerved him, and since he was a man who was rarely even ruffled by the slightest incident, he didn't like the feeling of helplessness it brought.
Finally opening his eyes, the Joker gazed up at the ceiling and released a long, even breath. "Keeping everything bottled up inside does something to people, sugar pie...something not very nice. Just be thankful you haven't ended up in the loony bin like me, or worse yet, dead." He didn't bother elaborating that statement, because she didn't need to know that he considered himself dead on the inside; that he was nothing more than an empty shell in search of his own extinction. He sought Batman with the hopes of making him break his one rule, but so far the self-righteous bastard seemed intent on just lugging him in to Arkham Asylum. Did Batsy actually think he wanted to escape? He rather enjoyed twisting the minds of his doctors, but he enjoyed harming the innocent far more.
With a deep sigh, the Joker rolled over onto his side with his back facing Maggie, his eyelids drooping as he mumbled, "Yeah, sure, whatever you say, buttercup -- I won't hurt you, so long as you don't take advantage of me in the night. I'm a poor, defenseless little virgin waiting for awkward honeymoon sex." As he awaited her most likely hostile reaction, he couldn't help but smirk since he wondered if she could tell he'd actually been making fun of her, and not himself.
“Poor dear. Well, waiting isn’t so hard, I should know.” Maggie heard her own ridiculous revelation, yet didn’t care. She stifled her laughter with a melodramatic sigh. Something about the night had been so cathartic for her that she was slightly giddy. It was probably the exhaustion, but either way, his turning away from her, although she was certain he meant it as rudeness, was also a sign that he was comfortable with her.
Maggie went to the foot of the bed and angled her body over him, so her mouth was very close to his ear. “I can’t seem to master the art of fitted sheets. You’ll have to fix your bed, too, or just lay in the wrinkled mess. They’re Egyptian cotton, so I’m sure they’ll feel just as nice either way. Oh, and you owe me $150 to replace my employer’s sheets.”
She moved towards the door, adding, “Since Mrs. Johnson is away, I’ll bring your tray around, shall we say, 8am? It is a holiday, after all. You can sleep in!” She took a few more steps. “Oh, and I suppose since you are my guest, I should at least know your name…unless you’ll let me steal your wallet in the night and find out on my own? I’m sure everyone has a name, so what’s yours?”
The Joker snorted, but primarily only because she hadn't reacted in the way he'd intended. He hated it when people didn't take his bait, especially since he knew he would've gotten a good laugh from her most likely virginal, prudish response.
Practically jumping out of his skin when Maggie was suddenly hovering over him, the Joker snarled and gave her a much gentler push than he'd intended. "Fine, fine, whatever -- money's of no consequence to me" he grumbled, stubbornly rolling over yet again and pulling the sheets over his head. This woman was so infuriating at times, so it was a miracle he hadn't snapped and slit her throat. But he was a man of his word, and he didn't plan on breaking his promise just because he was bipolar.
When the Joker finally heard Maggie leaving, he froze upon hearing her request. "I don't have an ID, so you won't find it" he sullenly returned, still refusing to surface from underneath his sheets. Now licking his lips -- a habit he'd gained ever since he'd received his scars -- he snarled softly and snapped, "Haven't you learned enough about me for one night? Just call me J. Yeesh."
“J. How mysterious!” Maggie said with a decidedly dramatic edge. She was almost out the door before she decided to creep back to the end of the bed. “Oh, and J? You smell really nice!”
She darted out the door because she knew he was the type to throw things, even a dagger, and she could not risk him pock marking Elizabeth’s door frame. Closing the door behind her while shaking her head, she smiled in spite of herself and continued on her merry way.
Author(s): Angelique & Mel
Genre: Crossover (DK/Dark Shadows)
Character(s): The Joker, Maggie Evans, etc
Rating: PG-13
Summary: When a woman with a ridiculous amount of compassion comes across an injured, bleeding Joker, wits are matched and demons are confronted. Will he allow her to dote on him, or will he open Maggie's eyes to the ugliness of the world? DK/Dark Shadows XOver
not so noisy.
With a begrudging groan, he hoisted himself out of the tub, but not without spilling another wave of water onto the floor. Making a face at the sight of the pink towel that awaited him, he scrubbed himself off from head to toe before carefully avoiding the large puddle at his feet. Grabbing his pin-striped pants (he refused to wear those girly pajamas), his tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth as he began to stick one leg in while he balanced himself on one foot, his balancing act soon turning into a fit of hopping before he toppled over and fell against the sink. "Son of a..." Biting his lip, he rubbed his now sore elbow before irritably completing the surprisingly bothersome task of dressing. "Might as well've gone naked" he grumbled, sending his wet shirt and vest a rueful look. He hoped they dried soon.
Wrapping the pink towel around his neck, the Joker realized he probably appeared to be the ultimate paradigm of femininity, considering how he was wearing purple pants, now had flowery, freshly-washed hair, and a doofy, fuzzy pink towel draped across his shoulders. Pursing his lips at the rather unpleasant realization, he was about to head toward the bed when he stopped dead in his tracks. Maggie was spread out across the mattress in the ultimate picture of serenity, her full lips parted in a delicate pout that made her seem more childlike and innocent than ever.
With a sigh, the Joker scratched the back of his head and fell at a momentary loss of what to do. Should he wake her? He didn't know where else to sleep, after all... But on the other hand, if he did wake her up, that meant she'd start talking again.
Cringing at the thought, the Joker uneasily tried to crawl over top of her, but tripped over one of her long legs and landed face-first against a large, fluffy pillow. "Ow" he grumbled, not even bothering to raise his head as he gave a long, resigned grunt. He was afraid he'd woken her, and if he had, he was surely in for it now.
Deciding to beat her to the punch, the Joker rolled over and cheekily asked, "Couldn't wait to get into bed with me, eh? ‘Cause if you were that eager, all you had to do was ask!" With a giggle at her rapidly blushing cheeks, he mockingly fluttered his lashes before diving under the covers like a child at a slumber party. His feet were now where his head should be, but his voice was still audible as he called out, "Are you going to lie there hogging the blankets all night, or are you going to scoot over? I don't care if it's away or toward me, so long as I get my blankets."
Maggie heard little of what he said. The first words were lost in the panicked fog that cleared when she saw his black-smudged eyes peering across the pillow at her. The rest came when the billowing covers stung her eyes as he dove beneath them. She began to kick and gasp, “Get off me, get off me!”, even though he was nowhere on her per se, just disturbingly close. She rolled over onto the floor, crawled to the corner and hugged herself.
“You are vile,” she chastised him, her brow knitting in a way that made her even more girlish and cute. “You didn’t have to get into bed with me. You could have awakened me. Did you really think I was…waiting for you, inviting you to…oh you’re such a…a man!” Maggie dug her heels into the Oriental rug, folded her arms over her knees and hid her crimson face.
Even though it certainly wasn't helping his situation, the Joker began rolling with laughter at her comical response, his body thrashing beneath the sheets amidst his giggle fit before he finally surfaced and peered out at her with a broad grin. "Lady, do you really think I came here to play Procreation? I was trying to get in bed to sleep, not to peek underneath your nightie." Smothering another cackle, he relished in her humility as he sat up, his arms draping across his knees as he tried to calm down.
Women were so predictable. Just because they figured men wanted "one thing" didn't mean that they actually did. When he'd calmed down to a considerable degree, he sent her a cheeky grin while slyly assuring her, "I am not like most men, peaches, so you can just re-lax. The only thing remotely manly about me is I enjoy belching every now and then. But other than that?" He shrugged. "I'm just, uh...different, I suppose. That's not to say I'm like women either, because I think I'd rather hang myself with my tie… No offense, of course."
Maggie shot him a withering look. “Trust me, at this particular moment I am not enjoying being a woman, either!” She rose and started for the door, but something caught her attention. Across the far pillow there was a long, black streak from the ridiculous greasepaint he insisted on using to keep his face masked from her. “Look at that,” Maggie said with heartbreaking defeat. “You’ve ruined the bed clothes, already… You don’t care about anything. Anything!” She burst into frustrated, exhausted tears.
The Joker gave the streak a glance of nonchalance, then returned his gaze to her when she broke into a hysterical fit of sobs. With a hardened look on his face, he fully sat up before snapping, "And why should I care about anything, hmm? I'd just say I'm acting in accordance to the hand I've been dealt, peaches, so don't take it so personally. I mean, can you honestly say you know what it's like to be viewed as a fuh-reak? Or how it feels to wake up one day and find your family massacred at your very feet?" Chuckling darkly, he barely repressed a full-blown fit of laughter as he snarled, "Do not preach at me with your hoity-toity, godlier-than-thou, condescending bullshit diatribes until you've been where I’ve been and walked where I've walked!"
Feeling his fury mount, the Joker curled his hands into two tight fists until his nails bit through the skin of his palms. He didn't want to hurt her, but if she continued to push him, he wouldn't hesitate to bathe in her blood.
“I lost my family!” Maggie jabbed her chest with her small fist. “I lost my family too, you self-pitying, loathsome fiend!” She was on the bed in seconds, flailing against his chest. “What? So you think you have some sort of monopoly on tragedy? You think that entitles you to hate and demoralize me?!” When he grabbed her wrists, she began to buck and twist and kick at him. “Well, go on, get your pathetic kicks from me! Kill me, maim me! You think I care, anymore? Just do one thing, Mister Man…” She faltered and found herself pinned against him, face to face, her breath coming in violent puffs that lifted his bangs from his forehead. “Let me see your face before I die… Let me see who you really are!”
The Joker was rather stunned when Maggie attacked him, yet her physical swipes weren't nearly as infuriating as her barbs. "Shut up!" he snarled, tempted to strike her as she began to kick and wriggle about in his grasp. Tightening his grip so that the bones of her wrists ground together, he momentarily saw a flash of blinding rage flit across his vision, his hands tempted to close around her throat and squeeze, and squeeze, and squeeze until there was nothing left.
He was quite tempted to do as she suggested, but when she declared that he show his true face, his eyes narrowed cruelly. "No" he hissed, his nails now digging into the sensitive skin of her wrists. The man beneath was all he had left...was the only semblance of the man he once was, and he wasn't willing to share that with anyone, especially some self-righteous bitch.
Swallowing hard from both rage and nerves, the Joker felt his adam's apple bob in his throat as he demanded, "Why is my identity so important to you, huh? Is this some twisted, psychological little mind game you're trying to play with me? 'Cause if you think that for one minute you can change who I am, you're wrong."
Maggie’s lip curled. “Yes, yes, here we go again, the same litany of boo-hoo-hoo. Okay, I’ll bite… I’ll be the manipulative, conniving woman; I’ll cling to you, and harangue at you, and keenly disappoint you. Doesn’t matter that it’s patently false! You had me sized up the moment you saw me walk out of the carnival holding that ridiculous stuffed Hippo. You were going to kill me simply for giving the impression of being simpering and happy, and …and…self righteous! So how simpering am I now, huh? And I’m not happy, damn you! In fact I am so unhappy that not a day has gone by since my father died that I haven’t thought of throwing myself off Widow’s Hill! And I wasn’t so self-righteous that I didn’t clean your wounds and that cesspool of a body of yours, so okay, I was wearing my mask when you met me and here it is, stripped away. It’s your turn now. Your move. I don’t care who or what you are, because I just want you to be honest. What does it matter in the long run, my brave sir? You’re going to kill me afterwards, anyway.”
If the Joker hadn't been so furious, he would have laughed. "Disappoint me? How in God's name can you disappoint me when I don't even know you? Not to mention, nothing gives me greater joy than hearing how you want to end your pitiful, meaningless little existence! After all, you're merely a thread in the great tapestry of life, so easily snipped and ripped away to make room for newer, and better threads. Don't think for one minute that I wanted to kill you to make me happy -- I wanted to kill you because it's fun" the Joker hissed, his eyes growing almost ink-blank within the dim lighting. "And I actually wasn't going to kill you since I'm a man of my word, but if you continuously persist in egging me on like this, I will kill you, and will take great pleasure in doing so."
Feeling his heart thudding hollowly in his ears, the Joker tightened his hold on her and felt the urge to smother her with his pillow. "Be honest?" he reiterated, tossing his head back in a dry, unfeeling laugh. "The only time I haven't been honest is the period before I became this...this thing. I'm no longer living a life of fabrication, sweet pea, so why should I show you the true lie, hmm? The man behind the mask is not the real me."
Maggie was starting to sway in his grasp, finding it rather hard to catch her breath. “It is you,” she said. “You know it is…” Her head rolled back and she met his inky stare for a moment before careening forward onto his shoulder, all fight in her gone.
“Just do it,” she said in one long sigh. “Please, just do it…”
At first the Joker was genuinely confused. Was she begging him to kill her, or to reveal his naked, scarred face? One option was clearly more preferable than the other, but before he could even think to ask her, he felt her head drop limply onto his shoulder. Moving away from her in disgust, the clown prince's upper lip curled into a snarl as he snapped, "Fine! I'll show you, but for what purpose, hmm? Will this give you some sick, tuh-wis-ted sort of satisfaction to see me wasting away before your very eyes? Will it make you happy to see the monster underneath the paint!?"
Chest heaving and eyes glittering dangerously, the Joker irefully seized the towel he'd dropped onto the floor and turned his back to her, his hands moving the towel roughly over his face so that it caused his skin to burn. Swallowing sharply after a few moments of this, he straightened his stance and dropped the towel at his feet, gazing down at the smeared streaks on the nappy fabric in dismay. His only aegis was now fully destroyed, and as he bitterly turned around to face Maggie, his eyes almost appeared hollow and resigned within the dim lighting.
Maggie gave a little sob of defeat when he pushed her off of him. She fell back onto the mattress, one arm thrown over her eyes as she wept bitterly. She felt the mattress give as he moved off the bed; could hear his animalistic snarls and bitter recriminations as he assaulted his features with the towel. When he demanded she look at him, she moved her arm and squinted into the candlelight. As he stepped closer she rose up on one elbow and peered at him.
He had large, soulful, dark eyes in a face that was once youthful and handsome, and a mouth marred by a criss-cross of scars on either side, the skin swollen and puckered. Across the sallow face were other scars and pock-marks that she couldn’t tell if they were self-inflicted, or the wages of some perverse battle.
Maggie blinked slowly. A hundred things flashed across her mind, but she settled only on “Thank you.” She lay back on her side again, curled her arm under her head and stared ahead.
Thankful when Maggie looked away, the Joker numbly sat down on the bed and followed her gaze toward the nameless point of interest, the corners of his mouth turning further south as he realized she was the first person he'd ever allowed to see his face. Sometimes he'd walked around without his greasepaint on, yes, but no one had ever actually known who he was. He was fully aware that he looked completely different without the garish mask, but he took a certain comfort in the ability to hide behind a thin layer of sticky, imperfect paint since it matched the equal imperfections of his soul. Finally registering Maggie's words, he grumbled, "Well what are you thanking me for? I wouldn't exactly consider this something to be grateful about, unless you have a fetish for perverse and gruesome appearances."
Flopping back against his pillow, he stared up at the ceiling and focused on a long, jagged crack. It reminded him of the scar on the left side of his mouth, all ugly and tattered since it had been delivered in a hurry. Immediately looking away, he instead closed his eyes and concentrated on the steady rising and falling of his bosom. He could feel Maggie's eyes boring into him even as he laid there, so without bothering to open his eyes, he sullenly muttered, "What is this, a tourist attraction? Stop staring at me like I'm in a petting zoo."
“I’m not staring at you, I’m just watching you. I know you didn’t want to do that… So thank you.” She felt compelled to touch him, but she instinctively knew it would be a bad idea. She had questions she wanted to ask, but couldn’t expect candor and bonding after what had just happened. Her gentle nature bubbled up and she considered consoling him with words, telling him the scars were not so very bad, but she knew she’d be shamefully lying. They were that bad, and made all the more tragic by the glimmer of masculine beauty that still lurked underneath.
The moments ticked away until finally her words broke the silence, soft and matter-of-fact. “I believe I’d hate the world too, if I were you. But could you just not hate me? Not tonight at least? Now for now?”
The Joker cringed at her words. He knew he was a hopeless misanthrope, but that didn't mean he liked to be pegged down with certain attributes. He'd always prided in being unpredictable and completely unreadable, but if Maggie was able to see through him so well after a mere passing of hours, was he truly as well-collected as he liked to think?
With a bitter smile, the Joker wanted to insist that she didn't know the half of his sorrows, but he shrugged while mumbling, "And what would I have to do in order to prove that I don't, uh...hate you, hmm? Hold your hand and sing the friendship song?" As he awaited her response, he inwardly conceded that he didn't hate her. What he truly hated was the fact that he found himself less inclined to kill her, even after all that she’d made him do.
Maggie sat up on her knees, smoothed the brief material over her thighs, and rested her hands there. Her face was soft and fragile again, the long lashes matted around brown eyes that still glistened with the tears from moments ago.
“I know you think I have some agenda, or expect something of you, but the only thing I expect is that you don’t murder me in my bed. As changeful as you’ve been tonight, I can’t imagine why I would believe you, but…I do. ‘Not hating’ means simply not doing. This…what we just did … this nasty verbal, physical sparring for the rest of our time together. Yes, I know I am partly to blame for that. If my father had seen how I just behaved he would have been so very disappointed. He raised me to be more lady-like than that, but you were just so…so mocking and dismissive. It’s been a difficult year for me, and I didn’t know how to handle it.”
He still had his eyes shut tightly, but she thought she saw a slight change in his face, a softening around the scarred mouth, and his breathing had changed to something less feral and trapped.
“But you know…” She saw him stiffen again and could see his pupils rolling beneath the lids as she started speaking, “I’m almost glad you did it. I haven’t screamed or cried once since my father died, or since Joe was taken away. There always seemed to be some other task, something else to do, or some other person needing Maggie to do something for them… To clean up after them, listen to them, console them.”
She bit her lip. “And you know what? Maybe I was just a little bit angry with you because you didn’t need me. You didn't let me drown in mindless nurturing. You forced me to confront my demons. No sentimental pandering from you…no, sir…”
She heard him snort and he made a gesture like playing a sad violin. This time she was compelled to laugh. “Yes, I know, I am talking too much. I’m sorry.”
In all honesty, the Joker was confused as to why Maggie was confessing all of this personal information. Perhaps she'd been alone for quite a while, just like he had, and had never been able to truly emote all she was feeling. Although he could empathize, he most certainly didn't plan on reciprocating her actions. Something about the idea of sharing his past unnerved him, and since he was a man who was rarely even ruffled by the slightest incident, he didn't like the feeling of helplessness it brought.
Finally opening his eyes, the Joker gazed up at the ceiling and released a long, even breath. "Keeping everything bottled up inside does something to people, sugar pie...something not very nice. Just be thankful you haven't ended up in the loony bin like me, or worse yet, dead." He didn't bother elaborating that statement, because she didn't need to know that he considered himself dead on the inside; that he was nothing more than an empty shell in search of his own extinction. He sought Batman with the hopes of making him break his one rule, but so far the self-righteous bastard seemed intent on just lugging him in to Arkham Asylum. Did Batsy actually think he wanted to escape? He rather enjoyed twisting the minds of his doctors, but he enjoyed harming the innocent far more.
With a deep sigh, the Joker rolled over onto his side with his back facing Maggie, his eyelids drooping as he mumbled, "Yeah, sure, whatever you say, buttercup -- I won't hurt you, so long as you don't take advantage of me in the night. I'm a poor, defenseless little virgin waiting for awkward honeymoon sex." As he awaited her most likely hostile reaction, he couldn't help but smirk since he wondered if she could tell he'd actually been making fun of her, and not himself.
“Poor dear. Well, waiting isn’t so hard, I should know.” Maggie heard her own ridiculous revelation, yet didn’t care. She stifled her laughter with a melodramatic sigh. Something about the night had been so cathartic for her that she was slightly giddy. It was probably the exhaustion, but either way, his turning away from her, although she was certain he meant it as rudeness, was also a sign that he was comfortable with her.
Maggie went to the foot of the bed and angled her body over him, so her mouth was very close to his ear. “I can’t seem to master the art of fitted sheets. You’ll have to fix your bed, too, or just lay in the wrinkled mess. They’re Egyptian cotton, so I’m sure they’ll feel just as nice either way. Oh, and you owe me $150 to replace my employer’s sheets.”
She moved towards the door, adding, “Since Mrs. Johnson is away, I’ll bring your tray around, shall we say, 8am? It is a holiday, after all. You can sleep in!” She took a few more steps. “Oh, and I suppose since you are my guest, I should at least know your name…unless you’ll let me steal your wallet in the night and find out on my own? I’m sure everyone has a name, so what’s yours?”
The Joker snorted, but primarily only because she hadn't reacted in the way he'd intended. He hated it when people didn't take his bait, especially since he knew he would've gotten a good laugh from her most likely virginal, prudish response.
Practically jumping out of his skin when Maggie was suddenly hovering over him, the Joker snarled and gave her a much gentler push than he'd intended. "Fine, fine, whatever -- money's of no consequence to me" he grumbled, stubbornly rolling over yet again and pulling the sheets over his head. This woman was so infuriating at times, so it was a miracle he hadn't snapped and slit her throat. But he was a man of his word, and he didn't plan on breaking his promise just because he was bipolar.
When the Joker finally heard Maggie leaving, he froze upon hearing her request. "I don't have an ID, so you won't find it" he sullenly returned, still refusing to surface from underneath his sheets. Now licking his lips -- a habit he'd gained ever since he'd received his scars -- he snarled softly and snapped, "Haven't you learned enough about me for one night? Just call me J. Yeesh."
“J. How mysterious!” Maggie said with a decidedly dramatic edge. She was almost out the door before she decided to creep back to the end of the bed. “Oh, and J? You smell really nice!”
She darted out the door because she knew he was the type to throw things, even a dagger, and she could not risk him pock marking Elizabeth’s door frame. Closing the door behind her while shaking her head, she smiled in spite of herself and continued on her merry way.