The Dark Knight Fic: "It's My Party"
Title: It's My Party
Author: bathshua
Fandom: The Dark Knight (aka Nolanverse)
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Crack!, quite possibly. Just so you're not surprised by the ensuing insanity.
Character: Harvey (Two-Face), The Joker, Dr. Crane, Batman, Thomas Schiff, unnamed henchmen
Pairing: Suggestions of Harvey/Joker, nothing explicit
Warnings: Some slashy undertones and the Joker in drag. Not sure it needs to be a 'warning', but always err on the side of caution.
Word Count: 1,171
Disclaimer: All things Batman don't belong to me. Sure as hell wish they did, though.
Notes: I hardly ever write crack, but for some reason this just seemed like it would work out well. Please don't slaughter me. And for those who are wondering, I was inspired to write this when "It's My Party" by Lesley Gore popped up on my MP3 shuffler, and uh, the rest is history. Again, please don't slaughter me. I will say that if anyone illustrated this, I'd love them forever. They could have my unborn children and everything! Or just lots of e-cookies. Those work too.
Summary: It's Harvey's birthday and some friends have thrown him a party.
Crossposted to darkknightfic harveyjoker and westillbelieve.
...
He couldn't believe that they threw him a party. He'd barely remembered his own birthday and never expected anyone else to make an event of it. The clown had asked him what he wanted on at least three different occasions, flashing a slippery grin every time. And every time he'd replied that he just wanted peace and quiet. Much-desired time to himself, for once. The two of them went everywhere together: to bars, Mob restaurants, movie theaters, to say nothing of all the heists. It'd been a full year of partnership - an especially lucrative one at that. But he wanted a break. A break from the often trying monotony that was their...relationship. He hesitated to use that term.
But tonight, their usually dank, dismal slum in the Narrows was more alive than it had ever been. Buzzed sighs cut through twisting cigarette smoke. Beer bottles cluttered every available space. Empty pizza boxes littered the floor. The intermittent clapping and hollering of a card game served as background music, as did the mutterings of a clearly intoxicated Dr. Crane. Eyes fighting to remain open, he tried asking the birthday boy if he wanted to see his mask. But Harvey had just snickered at the psychiatrist's slurred words and abruptly moved to the other side of the room. Crane was so sloshed that he wasn't able to follow him. Harvey himself now lounged on a dingy old recliner, a bottle of Jameson in his hand. His face hinted at something between irritation and nonchalance, but he remained quiet. Composed. On the inside, he was positively indignant. Every now and then, one of the henchmen would try to strike up an awkward conversation with him, but he would just stare ahead. Small talk wasn't anything he was interested in. Quite the contrary. Obviously, he couldn't have expected the Joker to have heeded his request and let him alone. An endless pain in the ass, that man was. But by this point, he couldn't really imagine life without him. Harvey feared that they'd become dangerously domestic.
With the madman back on his mind, he noticed his absence now. Tired eyes scanned the hazy room, but there was no sign of him. No shrieking laughter, no loud and purposefully bad jokes being told, no glints of steel in tricky fingers. He was gone. And Harvey wasn't complaining. Maybe the party would start to wind down, with its shameless ringleader conspicuously absent. Maybe he could be the grouchy host and begin throwing people out. He wasn't looking forward to the post-party cleanup, but he would worry about that later. If past experience was any indication, the Joker would drink himself senseless tonight, pass out on the couch, whine about his life-threatening hangover for the entire next day and refuse to do anything for himself. Harvey, while nursing his own pulsing headache, would have to gather and bag the garbage, cook them both food and routinely refill the whimpering clown's water glass. Maybe tonight would be different, he thought. Maybe he'd gotten bored and wandered off to go rattle some mobsters' cages. With any luck, he'd be caught and that'd be the end of him - for a few days anyway.
A brisk knock at the door hushed the low murmur of the room. All but one of the revelers shifted their attention to it. Harvey figured it was just the clown returned from some midnight carousing, but he wondered why he didn't simply barge in like usual. After all, he was never one to knock. Ever. But after the door was opened, there was no telltale cackling. Only the squeaking of wheels.
The excessively reticent young man whom the Joker called "Schiff" grinned as he pushed a cart across the threshold. Wild eyes laughed at some private joke.
"Here. It's here." His few words were met with a chorus of "oohs" and "aahs". He himself softly giggled.
Harvey shifted in his chair, turning to face the cart and the outrageously large white cake that sat upon it. A long cloth covered the lower half of the cart, almost brushing the ground. Something about all of this didn't seem right, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. What was it hiding?
The candles adorning the cake were being lit by a nearby henchman, one whose name forever eluded either of them. It wasn't like their men ran around with name badges, nor did they especially care who they were. As long as they did their job, they said. With all of the candles finally lit, eyes were on Harvey, urging him to get up and give them a ceremonial blowing-out. Though exhausted and annoyed, he still had a shred of good humor in him. And he obliged, bottle of Jameson still in hand. He even made a wish before he did so. The old habit was a striking reminder of old sentimentality that he thought his new consciousness would have thoroughly crushed. Not so.
It took more than one blow to finish the job but when he did, he grinned. The cake did look tasty, he mused. Maybe the Joker actually did something right here.
The guests proceeded to sing the birthday song to him, drunken voices crashing together in obnoxious discord. Harvey found it somewhat amusing, especially when they got to his name: it had become a hopelessly mangled shadow of its former self. That was okay with him. It was all good entertainment.
But Harvey's good eye widened as the top of the cake suddenly split open: hands pushed upward, followed by arms. Then a head of bright red hair, long hair that cascaded over a painted face. That ruby grin stretching over it. A tight burgundy dress straining across a taut body. A male body. A body he was so reluctantly familiar with.
Playing at a coy seduction, the man in the cake leaned forward, hands on his thighs. The wink he gave added insult to injury. "Happy Birthday, Harveeeey."
He didn't know whether to laugh it off and play it cool in the face of such a maddening sight. Or, whether to leap at the Joker and throw his hands around his neck and crush the very life out of him. His eyes burned with embarrassment and frustration, but mostly rage. Rage that he couldn't decide which way to turn. The laughter of the men behind him only fueled that rage. In this moment, he wanted to kill them all just for being there.
Anger turned to horror when the door burst open again, now filled with the sweep of black. A masked face stared back, one equally horrified. Lips twisted in mixed shock and revulsion. No sound fell, not even a gasp. Nothing, until the inebriated doctor let slip a series of nervous giggles. The clown took them as his cue.
"Soooo, uh, I invited Bats too. I hope you don't mind."
Harvey charged toward the Batman, thrusting forth his hands.
"Take me to the MCU. NOW."
...
Author: bathshua
Fandom: The Dark Knight (aka Nolanverse)
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Crack!, quite possibly. Just so you're not surprised by the ensuing insanity.
Character: Harvey (Two-Face), The Joker, Dr. Crane, Batman, Thomas Schiff, unnamed henchmen
Pairing: Suggestions of Harvey/Joker, nothing explicit
Warnings: Some slashy undertones and the Joker in drag. Not sure it needs to be a 'warning', but always err on the side of caution.
Word Count: 1,171
Disclaimer: All things Batman don't belong to me. Sure as hell wish they did, though.
Notes: I hardly ever write crack, but for some reason this just seemed like it would work out well. Please don't slaughter me. And for those who are wondering, I was inspired to write this when "It's My Party" by Lesley Gore popped up on my MP3 shuffler, and uh, the rest is history. Again, please don't slaughter me. I will say that if anyone illustrated this, I'd love them forever. They could have my unborn children and everything! Or just lots of e-cookies. Those work too.
Summary: It's Harvey's birthday and some friends have thrown him a party.
Crossposted to darkknightfic harveyjoker and westillbelieve.
...
He couldn't believe that they threw him a party. He'd barely remembered his own birthday and never expected anyone else to make an event of it. The clown had asked him what he wanted on at least three different occasions, flashing a slippery grin every time. And every time he'd replied that he just wanted peace and quiet. Much-desired time to himself, for once. The two of them went everywhere together: to bars, Mob restaurants, movie theaters, to say nothing of all the heists. It'd been a full year of partnership - an especially lucrative one at that. But he wanted a break. A break from the often trying monotony that was their...relationship. He hesitated to use that term.
But tonight, their usually dank, dismal slum in the Narrows was more alive than it had ever been. Buzzed sighs cut through twisting cigarette smoke. Beer bottles cluttered every available space. Empty pizza boxes littered the floor. The intermittent clapping and hollering of a card game served as background music, as did the mutterings of a clearly intoxicated Dr. Crane. Eyes fighting to remain open, he tried asking the birthday boy if he wanted to see his mask. But Harvey had just snickered at the psychiatrist's slurred words and abruptly moved to the other side of the room. Crane was so sloshed that he wasn't able to follow him. Harvey himself now lounged on a dingy old recliner, a bottle of Jameson in his hand. His face hinted at something between irritation and nonchalance, but he remained quiet. Composed. On the inside, he was positively indignant. Every now and then, one of the henchmen would try to strike up an awkward conversation with him, but he would just stare ahead. Small talk wasn't anything he was interested in. Quite the contrary. Obviously, he couldn't have expected the Joker to have heeded his request and let him alone. An endless pain in the ass, that man was. But by this point, he couldn't really imagine life without him. Harvey feared that they'd become dangerously domestic.
With the madman back on his mind, he noticed his absence now. Tired eyes scanned the hazy room, but there was no sign of him. No shrieking laughter, no loud and purposefully bad jokes being told, no glints of steel in tricky fingers. He was gone. And Harvey wasn't complaining. Maybe the party would start to wind down, with its shameless ringleader conspicuously absent. Maybe he could be the grouchy host and begin throwing people out. He wasn't looking forward to the post-party cleanup, but he would worry about that later. If past experience was any indication, the Joker would drink himself senseless tonight, pass out on the couch, whine about his life-threatening hangover for the entire next day and refuse to do anything for himself. Harvey, while nursing his own pulsing headache, would have to gather and bag the garbage, cook them both food and routinely refill the whimpering clown's water glass. Maybe tonight would be different, he thought. Maybe he'd gotten bored and wandered off to go rattle some mobsters' cages. With any luck, he'd be caught and that'd be the end of him - for a few days anyway.
A brisk knock at the door hushed the low murmur of the room. All but one of the revelers shifted their attention to it. Harvey figured it was just the clown returned from some midnight carousing, but he wondered why he didn't simply barge in like usual. After all, he was never one to knock. Ever. But after the door was opened, there was no telltale cackling. Only the squeaking of wheels.
The excessively reticent young man whom the Joker called "Schiff" grinned as he pushed a cart across the threshold. Wild eyes laughed at some private joke.
"Here. It's here." His few words were met with a chorus of "oohs" and "aahs". He himself softly giggled.
Harvey shifted in his chair, turning to face the cart and the outrageously large white cake that sat upon it. A long cloth covered the lower half of the cart, almost brushing the ground. Something about all of this didn't seem right, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. What was it hiding?
The candles adorning the cake were being lit by a nearby henchman, one whose name forever eluded either of them. It wasn't like their men ran around with name badges, nor did they especially care who they were. As long as they did their job, they said. With all of the candles finally lit, eyes were on Harvey, urging him to get up and give them a ceremonial blowing-out. Though exhausted and annoyed, he still had a shred of good humor in him. And he obliged, bottle of Jameson still in hand. He even made a wish before he did so. The old habit was a striking reminder of old sentimentality that he thought his new consciousness would have thoroughly crushed. Not so.
It took more than one blow to finish the job but when he did, he grinned. The cake did look tasty, he mused. Maybe the Joker actually did something right here.
The guests proceeded to sing the birthday song to him, drunken voices crashing together in obnoxious discord. Harvey found it somewhat amusing, especially when they got to his name: it had become a hopelessly mangled shadow of its former self. That was okay with him. It was all good entertainment.
But Harvey's good eye widened as the top of the cake suddenly split open: hands pushed upward, followed by arms. Then a head of bright red hair, long hair that cascaded over a painted face. That ruby grin stretching over it. A tight burgundy dress straining across a taut body. A male body. A body he was so reluctantly familiar with.
Playing at a coy seduction, the man in the cake leaned forward, hands on his thighs. The wink he gave added insult to injury. "Happy Birthday, Harveeeey."
He didn't know whether to laugh it off and play it cool in the face of such a maddening sight. Or, whether to leap at the Joker and throw his hands around his neck and crush the very life out of him. His eyes burned with embarrassment and frustration, but mostly rage. Rage that he couldn't decide which way to turn. The laughter of the men behind him only fueled that rage. In this moment, he wanted to kill them all just for being there.
Anger turned to horror when the door burst open again, now filled with the sweep of black. A masked face stared back, one equally horrified. Lips twisted in mixed shock and revulsion. No sound fell, not even a gasp. Nothing, until the inebriated doctor let slip a series of nervous giggles. The clown took them as his cue.
"Soooo, uh, I invited Bats too. I hope you don't mind."
Harvey charged toward the Batman, thrusting forth his hands.
"Take me to the MCU. NOW."
...