(Batman fic) Speak, chapter 7
Title: Speak
Author: larissafae
Fandom: Batman, Nolanverse.
Pairing: Jack/Rachel
Chapter rating: PG-13
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: If they were mine, this wouldn't be a fanfic, now, would it?
Summary: A rehabilitated Jack Napier is brought into police custody after his wife of four years, Dr. Harleen Quinzel, falls to her death from their apartment. The only ones who seem to be on his side are Gordon and Rachel, who are haunted by the fact that 'rehabilitated' doesn't always mean 'cured'.
Notes: I've slipped a few references to other fics into "Speak," some of them serious and some (probably most) of them humourous. If you see something that sounds like I got it from a fic you wrote, I promise you that I'm poking the good kind of fun, not the bad kind.
Previous chapters:
1
2
3
4
5
6
He was nuzzling her neck gently, one arm around her waist and the other across her upper chest, a silent apology for snapping at her at the table. Rachel rinsed the last dish off and then turned in his embrace, running her fingers through his hair as he raised his head just enough to meet her gaze. She was relaxed, comfortable with him leaning against her, and there'd been no sign of her earlier breakdown all evening.
Still, her friend was perceptive. “Are you all right?” he asked in a low voice, brushing a bit of hair behind her ear.
Rachel nodded as she sighed, not wanting to talk. She had to, though; she had to lay down some boundaries tonight. “Jack . . .” He leaned down to kiss her but paused and drew back when she placed her hand on his chest. Rachel reached behind her to where his hands rested at the small of her back, covering them with her own and keeping them there. Nothing she could think to say sounded right, no matter what the advice she'd gotten earlier was.
Jack, though, wonderful Jack, was on top of the moment. “This isn't right,” he said. Rachel bit her lower lip and looked up at him. “I mean, for anyone else, the stigma of being with the Joker would be too much after a while, wouldn't it? The press, the rumours . . .” He tilted his head as her lip quivered. “But . . . that it's you . . . Especially because it's you, it just won't work, will it?”
Rachel took a few deep breaths and reached for the calm voice that had guided her during her frantic phone call. “You're my friend, Jack,” she told him firmly. “You're not going to stop being my friend. I don't care who you used to be; you're Jack Napier now, and I'm not going to stop caring about you.” She took a deep breath. “But, yes, I have to think of the public's perception of me, and they won't be happy if we're . . . if we . . .” She sighed and rubbed her arms. “It's a matter of public trust, Jack,” Rachel said as he started to look away. “And being with you will shatter that trust.”
“But you want to be with me,” he pressed gently, lowering his forehead to hers.
Rachel sighed and nodded. Be honest, and they could work something out. “I want to be with you,” she admitted.
Jack squeezed his arms around her waist tightly, burying his face in her neck and laughing. He picked her up and swing her around, and when he set her down again he kissed her. Rachel tried to push him away but he took her hands and entwined their fingers, so she gave up and returned his kisses until he lifted her up onto the sink and then she did push away.
“Jack, please!”
“I'm good at keeping secrets, Rachel,” he whispered in her ear. “I am so good at keeping secrets.” He pulled back to grasp her face between his hands, the gleeful smile on his lips magnetic, and she'd never seen him so happy as he was right now. He was almost begging her with his soft words and soft kisses. “Please, Rachel . . . no one has to know . . .”
She shook her head and covered his hands with her own. “Jack, the point of a relationship is that people know. Not everyone, but I don't want to make up excuses for why I'm not bringing a date to the company Christmas party, or not be able to hold your hand while we're walking down the street.” She curled her hands around the back of his neck. “I don't want to have to hide you,” she whispered. “I want to be able to tell my mother that there's this wonderful man in my life, who makes me laugh, who looks at me like I'm the most incredible thing on earth, who makes me happier than I've been in the last ten years.” Rachel blinked tears from her eyes. All this had been building for the last seven months and she clung to Jack, not wanting to let him go, ever. “I want to bring you to one of Bruce's ridiculous parties and hold your hand when it gets to be too much for you. I want . . . God, I want . . .”
“Me?” he asked, pulling their hips together.
Rachel sucked in her breath and nodded. “Yes, that, too. But, Jack . . . I can't.”
“Why not?” he interrupted. His brow was furrowed as he stared at her. “What's so wrong with taking what you want when it's offered to you? And why do people have to know? I'd prefer that they didn't. I know I'm not the sanest man alive,” and he raised his voice over her protests, “but it's not like I'm dry-humping you in alleys or, or trying to kill you.”
“But you did,” Rachel stressed. “And that's what people are going to remember.” He was getting frustrated and trying to pull away, but she grabbed his shoulders and held him close. “Jack, please, if I wasn't the D.A., I ---”
“Then why don't you quit?” he asked sharply. “Just quit. I'm sure there are lots of jobs you can get ---”
“That's not the point, Jack! I can't quit my job. I don't want to quit my job.” She shook her head pleadingly. “Please, Jack ---”
He shoved away from her and Rachel almost ended up with her rear in the sink as he paced across the kitchen. “I hate this fucking city,” he snarled. “I hate it's rules, I hate it's people, I hate ---”
“Jack.” His head whipped around at her forceful tone and he blinked, the animal snarl that had spread across his features smoothing out slightly. Rachel hopped off the edge of the sink and reached for him, taking his hand and pulling him with her into the living room. He followed, head tilted to the side as he watched her curiously. She sat him on the couch and stood in front of him with her hands on her hips. “This city has done nothing wrong, Jack. They hate you because of decisions that you made, and now you're paying the price for those decisions. I wish to God that you hadn't made those choices, but you did. You did, Jack, and you have to face the consequences. This --- us --- is one of those consequences.”
“I'm an atheist,” he reminded her.
Rachel rolled her eyes, but wasn't deterred. “I know you've changed, Jack.” Her gaze softened and her voice lowered. “I also know it's not as permanent or stable a change as it seems like.”
The shocked look he gave her made Rachel sigh and sink down beside him on the couch. She took his hand, holding the back of it to her cheek.
“Rachel ---”
She raised her hand. “It's mostly small things. A certain look in your eye, or the way you laugh, and . . .” She sighed and took a deep breath. “And your apparent insomnia.” Jack started guiltily. “I know you go out at night, Jack. The first time I called you and you didn't answer, I figured you were ignoring the phone. But then you answered when I'd forgotten my briefcase, and I started to worry. I called the next night and you didn't answer, so I drove over.” Rachel held his hand between her breasts as he tried to pull away. Being out after dark without prior permission, much less supervision, was breaking his parole.
“Look, Rachel, I just walk around, all right? I'm not doing anything wrong.” He wasn't meeting her gaze.
Her voice was very, very soft. “And those muggers they found last week?”
Jack jumped up and almost yanked Rachel off the couch in the process. He started pacing again, frantic and nervous. “I didn't do anything wrong!” he repeatedly loudly. “I didn't kill them!” Rachel was still watching him, her heart pounding in her chest as his agitation rose. This wasn't going to be an easy fit to calm him down from. “Yeah, they tried to mug me, so what? I left them unconscious. I did!” he yelled as he glared at her. Rachel shut her mouth quickly. “I made sure they were still breathing, and I went right back home after it happened! Fuck, Rachel, what do you want from me?! Do you really expect me to sleep in that fucking empty apartment night after god damned lonely night? Every fucking time I go to bed, I'm reminded of Harleen! I remember the way she felt, the way she smelled, the way she tasted . . .” He tilted his head back, hands clenched as his throat convulsed. “Oh God, the way she tasted . . .” Opening his eyes and looking down at her once more, Jack's lip curled into a snarl. “So yeah, Rachel, I get the hell out of there sometimes, during the only fucking time I won't get stared at like the freak I am!” He turned and grabbed the wooden vase her mother had given her last year, throwing it at the wall. Rachel jumped at the noise, one hand curled at her throat as she watched Jack warily. He growled in frustration when the vase didn't shatter and stalked over to it, picking it up and hurling it against another wall.
“Jack, stop,” Rachel whispered. “Please stop. You're scaring me.”
That usually worked, but this time he whirled on her and stormed over, leaning down and placing his hands on either side of her shoulders on the couch.
“Well, maybe you should be afraid, love,” he growled at her. Their faces were centimetres apart and Rachel's eyes fluttered closed despite herself. “Maybe you should be terrified that you'll end up just like Harleen.” Rachel's heart skipped another beat and her breath was fast and shallow and he drew closer to her, nipping gently at her lower lip. “Maybe I'll bite you just like I bit her,” he whispered, punctuating his speech with more nips, each one a little harder than the last. Rachel leaned back, but she didn't have anywhere to go. She was fighting back tears, pushing gently against his chest as he continued his assault, whispering soft pleas for him to stop. “Maybe we'll be fucking, and it be so good that time, and you'll rake your nails so hard down my back that it will leave more scars, and I'll love it, I'll bite down on your lip as I come inside of you and then you'll bleed, Rachel, you will bleed into me and I'll fucking love it, even as you're crawling off of me and running out the door, I'll be wanting to rip your fucking lip off and eat it, I'll be shouting for you to stop but still I'll be wanting to eat you alive, then you'll scream and I'll rush out to save you but you'll be gone, falling, and then you'll be dead, too.”
He'd straddled her hips and was holding the back of her neck with one hand, the other holding her wrists so she couldn't beat at his heaving chest and now Rachel was crying, terrified as his voice dropped to a shaking whisper, his face buried in her neck. About this time Batman should come crashing through her window, but Bruce was in Las Vegas, an entire continent away, and she was all alone with Jack and his raging demons.
“Who will save me then, Rachel? Who will stop me from doing whatever I want? Who will keep all my fantasies at bay?” He pressed their cheeks together, flinching when she whimpered and tried to pull away.
“Jack, please . . . please let me go . . .”
He pulled back and looked at her in horror, tears streaming down his face. “Oh, God, Rachel, I'm so sorry . . .” And he did let her go, backing away from her slowly and whispering apologies. His face was so twisted with disgust and hate that Rachel reached out to him and whispered his name, but he shook his head violently and yanked her front door open, and she heard his heavy footsteps in the hall as he ran away.
Rachel curled in on herself and burst into tears, still shaking with fear. The last time she'd been that afraid had been when she'd been tied in that warehouse, hearing Harvey's panicked voice, knowing that she wasn't going to survive but needing to comfort him, to make him believe . . .
Suddenly Rachel sat up and scrambled for her phone, and it took her two tries until she'd found Dr. Morgenson's number and dialed it. He'd told her, he'd said that if Jack ever got physically violent with her, call him as soon as she was safe.
“H, hello?”
It was a woman's sleepy voice that answered, and Rachel almost started laughing with hysteria as she curled up on the couch. “M-may I please speak with Dr. Morgenson?” she forced out.
“Uh . . . James, it's for you . . . I'm sorry, who is this?”
“Rachel Dawes,” she whispered, gulping back sobs.
“It's Rachel D---”
“Rachel. What's wrong?”
She did start laughing at his concerned voice, laughing and crying and the good doctor took a few minutes to talk gently to her, calm her down, suppress the hysteria that felt like it was going to consume her. Rachel took another deep breath and held it, and he waited.
“Now, tell me what's wrong, Rachel. Are you safe?”
“I'm safe,” she whispered. “It's just . . . you said that if, if Jack ever . . .” The tears jumped to her throat again and again Dr. Morgenson spoke to her gently, easing her out of it. “He . . . we . . . oh, God, Doctor, he scared me so much . . .” She gulped down air, hiccuped, and with gentle prodding told Morgenson what had happened. He was quiet for a while, and there was rustling from his end of the line.
Then, “Do you know where Jack is right now?”
“No,” she murmured, exhausted. “He ran out.”
The man on the other end might have cursed, except Rachel was sure he didn't know how to, so she must have been hearing things. “Are you hurt, Rachel? I want you to get up and look in the mirror. Did he hurt you?”
“Uh . . .” Rachel heaved herself off of the couch and staggered to the bathroom, and winced as she caught sight of her face. “Yeah,” she mumbled. She hadn't realised how much her lip hurt. “He kept biting my lip. It's . . .” She peered closer, this way and that. “It's just bruised, is all.” Then she snorted. “'Is all.' Right. This is what the beginning of battered wife syndrome must feel like.”
“Be glad it's still attached,” she was advised, “and no, this isn't the beginning of battered wife syndrome. We need to find Jack, Rachel.” He must have sense her wince. “If we don't, I don't know what he'll do, not in this mental state. I hope he's still around your apartment, but . . .”
Rachel went cold at the thought of Jack hurting someone, or worse, getting hurt himself. She dried her eyes and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. “All right,” she said in a steady voice. “All right.” She walked back to the living room and slid into her sneakers, then headed out the door. “I'll call you if I find him.”
“I'll head to his apartment --- I know a few of his usual haunts, and he might have gone to one of them. No, Sarah, it's fine, nothing big . . . Well, yes, then it is, but I'll be back soon. I love you.” He coughed lightly. “I understand your position, by the way, but I do think you ought to consider . . . low-key dating.”
“You tell me this after Jack almost bites my lip off?” Rachel asked, but she was too concerned with looking for Jack to be snippy. She pushed the elevator button, and waited until both had opened to emptiness before heading to the stairs, thinking he might be sitting in the stairwell.
“The thought of losing you terrifies him, Rachel. He's trying to hold on to you the best he knows how, but . . . he doesn't quite know how to do it in a healthy manner. He tells me he sleeps much better at night when you stay over.”
Rachel flushed as she walked quickly down the stairs. Jack would have been more likely to run down ten flights of stairs --- oh, dear God, please don't let him have tripped and fallen --- than take the elevator in the agitated state he was in.
“It's nothing sexual,” she said defensively. “I've just fallen asleep a few times, after a stressful day.”
“That's still a big sign of trust,” she was reminded. “Where do you live, again?”
“Lower Fifth.” She was panting by this time, wishing she'd taken the elevator.
“There's a bar on Seventh he goes to sometimes. Louie's. You might try there.”
“Really,” Rachel murmured. Bars --- and the accompanying alcohol --- were also on the list of things he wasn't allowed.
“He doesn't drink. It's dark and quiet and he doesn't get stared at there.” There was a moment's hesitation. “He loves you, Rachel.”
Rachel gulped back tears and wiped at her face. “I know,” she whispered. She didn't want to hear it from Dr. Morgenson, she wanted to hear it from Jack, even though she couldn't let him know the truth, ever . . . “Look, I'm running down ten flights of stairs. Call you if I find him.”
He was distracted. “Same here. Talk to you soon.”
“Yeah.” Rachel slid her phone into her purse and concentrated on getting down the stairs. The asshole wasn't on them, damn him, and she was sweaty and out of breath when she got to the ground floor. He wasn't in the lobby, either, and then she pushed out the front door and into the street. “Jack?” she called. There was no answer. “Shit . . .”
She got to her car without finding him, and headed straight to Louie's, going slowly and glancing down all the side streets and alleys she passed. It was a wonder, she thought as she pulled into an empty parking spot along the street and got out, that she hadn't been pulled over for cruising. Louie's was smoky and a little dingy, a biker bar where it looked like there was probably a fight most every night. She got wolf-whistles and a couple of catcalls as she flashed her ID at the bouncer and slipped in the door, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the dark. She took a slow circuit around the bar, then walked up to the bartender when she didn't see him.
The skinny Indian glanced up at her as he poured a drink. “Yeah?”
“I'm looking for someone,” Rachel said. “He might have come in within the last twenty minutes. About six feet, walks with a slouch, scars . . .” She traced her finger over her lips in a smiley-face pattern, watching the man carefully.
There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes, but he shook his head. “He hasn't been in tonight.”
Rachel sighed and pulled a business card out, scribbling her cell phone number on the back and handing it to him. “If he does, call me right away, all right?” His eyebrows raised as he looked her card over. “It's nothing official.”
“Sure.”
“Thank you.” Rachel pushed away from the bar and tried not to kick anything as she walked out. The cool night air was blessedly free of smoke and she inhaled deeply, going back to her car. Where else could she look? How far could he have gotten by now? She nibbled on her lower lip and then started the car, circling slowly around back toward his apartment. She got all the way there and was contemplating heading to the park to look when her phone buzzed with an unfamiliar number.
Rachel grabbed at it. “Rachel Dawes.”
“Uh, this is Raja, from Louie's. Your friend just came in.”
Rachel breathed out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God. I'll be there in a few minutes.”
“Yeah . . . you want me to keep him here if he tries to leave?”
She winced as she ran a red light. No one else needed to get hurt tonight. “No, let him go if he wants. Just call if he leaves.”
“Sure. There's not going to be trouble, is there?”
He was clearly worried about his bar. “No, I just need to pick him up. Thank you so much.”
“No problem.”
Rachel gripped the steering wheel tightly after they'd hung up, then flipped her phone open at a red light that she actually stopped for, dialing Dr. Morgenson's number again.
He picked up before the first ring ended. “Did you find him?”
“He's at Louie's; I'm headed there now.”
“Thank God for small favors. I'll meet you there.”
It was almost midnight when Rachel pulled up to Louie's again, and she was surprised that it had taken two hours to find Jack. She ignored the men outside and when she walked in, Raja looked up and tilted his head at the far end of the bar, where Jack was hunched over a glass. The bartender mouthed 'water' at her and she nodded as she slung her purse over her shoulder and walked slowly to her friend. Her heart was pounding as she tried to think of what to say.
She hadn't thought of anything by the time she stood beside him, and even though he must have known someone was there, he didn't move, which was unusual for him. Rachel took a deep breath. “Jack . . .”
He jumped and jerked his head around, his eyes wide and wild before he turned back to his glass and lowered his face to it.
“Leave me alone,” he rasped.
“Jack, you need to come with me.” His knuckles were bloody and Rachel hoped it was just his. “Please, Jack.”
He flinched and shied away when she put her hand on his back and rubbed gently. “I don't want to see you, Rachel,” he growled, “so just go away.” He arched his back again, trying to get away from her touch, but Rachel kept rubbing. “I said go away!”
She flinched just a bit, tears in her eyes, but Rachel stood her ground. “I'm not leaving you alone, Jack.”
“Weren't you paying attention to what I did to you?!” he whispered hoarsely. “Oh God, I could have . . . I wanted to . . .”
“But you didn't,” she said soothingly, drawing nearer and resting her cheek on his shoulder as he drew in shuddering breaths.
“I don't want to hurt you.” He was absolutely miserable and Rachel blinked her tears away as she kissed his shoulder gently. He flinched like she'd hit him. “I can't take the chance that I'll hurt you again, because I might not stop if I do. So please . . . please, Rachel, leave me alone.” He snorted. “You don't even want to be with me.”
Rachel wrapped her arms around him and pulled his head to her chest, running her fingers through his hair. He was stiff, but leaned almost desperately into the contact.
“I think it's obvious that I do,” Rachel murmured, “seeing as how I'm here right now.” He grunted, nuzzling her breast. “Come home with me, Jack,” she urged quietly. “Please. You don't always have to be alone.”
There were footsteps behind her and she glanced up to see Dr. Morgenson hanging back a bit. “Go with her, Jack.”
He shook his head. “I'll hurt her again.”
“I don't think you will. I've brought a sedative that should put you out for the night; I figured you'd need it.”
Jack finally looked up, eyes and cheeks wet. “Why do you put up with me?” he whispered to Rachel.
She smiled through her own tears and brushed his bangs back from his forehead before kissing it firmly. “Because I like having a psychopathic boyfriend that I have to hide from the world,” she said against his skin.
He trembled. “You're just trying to get me to leave with you.”
“If you don't come home with me,” Rachel told him, “I'm going to call the police down here. Your parole will be revoked, and you'll be put in a maximum-security prison for the rest of your life.” She tilted his chin up and met his wide-eyed gaze. “I'm serious, Jack. Get your ass off of that stool, take the sedative, and get in my car.”
Jack looked to Dr. Morgenson, but the psychiatrist was clearly siding with Rachel. Finally he sighed and stood up, following Rachel tamely out the door. Once at her car Dr. Morgenson handed Rachel Jack's bag of medications, then took out a syringe and small bottle. He shook it, then stabbed the needle into the top and drew some out before nodding to Jack. Rachel took his hand as he held his other arm out, and Dr. Morgenson rolled his sleeve up to plunge the needle into Jack's bicep. Jack didn't even flinch, and after he'd pulled the needle out, Morgenson yawned.
“I want you in my office at nine a.m. sharp,” he ordered. Jack nodded as Rachel opened the passenger door. “You ought to be able to get home before it really kicks in,” he told Rachel. “Will you be all right?”
Rachel looked down at Jack as he listlessly put his seatbelt on, then nodded. “We'll be fine. Thank you, Doctor.”
Morgenson raised his eyebrows at her. “I want you in my office at five, young lady.” He cut her off when she opened her mouth to protest. “I'll consider it part of Jack's counseling; you both need to figure out how to deal with each other better. Nine for him, five for you. Am I understood?”
Rachel nodded meekly. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now get him to bed, and take care.”
“You, too.” He watched them drive off and Rachel glanced over at Jack, his head tilted back against the headrest, before reaching out to touch his shoulder. “Jack?”
“I'd rather go to prison than hurt you.”
Rachel smiled slightly, a twitch of her lips more than anything. “I'd rather neither happened.”
“I love you. Can I say that?”
Her chest hurt as Rachel nodded. “You can say whatever you want.” He was silent after that, clearly drifting off, but jerked awake as soon as she stopped the car. “Come on, Jack.”
It wasn't easy getting him out of the car, as the sedative was kicking in and he wasn't too keen on being of use anyway, but Rachel got him into the elevator without too much difficulty and leaned her head against his chest as the doors slid shut. Then she wrinkled her nose.
“Did you fall into a puddle?”
“. . . Might have. Yeah.”
“You're filthy.” She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “We'll give you a bath.”
“Too tired.”
“I'll help.” The elevator came to a nauseating stop and the doors slid open, and Jack draped his arms over Rachel's shoulders as she coaxed him into the hallway. He was leaning heavily on her the whole time, breathing shallowly as she fumbled for her keys. “You're not helping, Jack.”
“Not trying to.”
She got them inside and he leaned against the wall while she locked up, head tilted back as he watched her out of slitted eyes. “Come on,” Rachel said, taking his hand and pulling him to the bathroom. He followed, watching her with a tired frown as she plugged the tub up and turned the tap on, then sat him on the toilet and started unbuttoning his shirt.
Rachel's hands were shaking slightly as she worked at his clothing, concentrating on the button and not his torso as it was slowly revealed. There were scars on it, and one long scar across his stomach that looked like someone had tried to gut him, but it wasn't as bad as Rachel had thought it would be. She'd always imagined his body would be as mangled as his face, if not more.
She unlaced his shoes with a sigh, and then tugged his socks off while he shrugged out of his shirt. Rachel paused at his belt, but she'd come this far and he was, indeed, filthy, so she undid it with hesitant hands and then unfastened his pants. She pulled him up, her heart pounding, and then pushed them off of his hips --- had he lost weight? --- along with his boxers.
“Into the tub,” she urged him, and when he complied and draped his arms over the edge she gathered his clothes up. “Stay right there.”
She took them to the washer and started the small load as quickly as she could, hurrying back to the bathroom with the fear of finding Jack trying to let himself drown, but he'd stayed put and was . . . yes, he was snoring slightly. Rachel had to smile as she turned the water off and disrobed, then sank into the steaming hot water gratefully. She sent silent thanks for the extra-deep tub --- almost a jacuzzi, really --- and then pulled Jack's limp form back against her. He mumbled something and turned his cheek into her shoulder, one hand going around her waist as the other rested on her breast. Rachel kissed his cheek and cradled him for a while before pulling her body wash and scrubby close, pouring some onto the green netting and then running it lightly over Jack's back and shoulders. He shifted in her arms but settled down after a moment, making soft noises as she did her best to wash him off. It would have worked better if he'd been awake, but she managed, and even got his hair lathered and rinsed.
Rachel wrapped her arms and legs around Jack then and leaned back against the headrest attached to the bath tub, holding him tightly as she let the water relax her. He sighed into her neck and she kissed his cheek, her lips lingering on his moist skin. She had so much to think about, but she knew who to turn to and it could wait until the morning. She had to wake Jack up just enough to get him out of the tub and onto her bed, where she gently toweled him off before covering him up. She wrapped herself up in towels, then switched the laundry and stood in her doorway for a few minutes, watching the man sleep. He was curled slightly on his side, one hand reaching toward the empty side of the bed, and that prompted Rachel to slide under the covers, molding herself to his warm body. He snuggled against her with a pleased sigh, holding her against himself tightly as they both drifted off.
Author: larissafae
Fandom: Batman, Nolanverse.
Pairing: Jack/Rachel
Chapter rating: PG-13
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: If they were mine, this wouldn't be a fanfic, now, would it?
Summary: A rehabilitated Jack Napier is brought into police custody after his wife of four years, Dr. Harleen Quinzel, falls to her death from their apartment. The only ones who seem to be on his side are Gordon and Rachel, who are haunted by the fact that 'rehabilitated' doesn't always mean 'cured'.
Notes: I've slipped a few references to other fics into "Speak," some of them serious and some (probably most) of them humourous. If you see something that sounds like I got it from a fic you wrote, I promise you that I'm poking the good kind of fun, not the bad kind.
Previous chapters:
1
2
3
4
5
6
He was nuzzling her neck gently, one arm around her waist and the other across her upper chest, a silent apology for snapping at her at the table. Rachel rinsed the last dish off and then turned in his embrace, running her fingers through his hair as he raised his head just enough to meet her gaze. She was relaxed, comfortable with him leaning against her, and there'd been no sign of her earlier breakdown all evening.
Still, her friend was perceptive. “Are you all right?” he asked in a low voice, brushing a bit of hair behind her ear.
Rachel nodded as she sighed, not wanting to talk. She had to, though; she had to lay down some boundaries tonight. “Jack . . .” He leaned down to kiss her but paused and drew back when she placed her hand on his chest. Rachel reached behind her to where his hands rested at the small of her back, covering them with her own and keeping them there. Nothing she could think to say sounded right, no matter what the advice she'd gotten earlier was.
Jack, though, wonderful Jack, was on top of the moment. “This isn't right,” he said. Rachel bit her lower lip and looked up at him. “I mean, for anyone else, the stigma of being with the Joker would be too much after a while, wouldn't it? The press, the rumours . . .” He tilted his head as her lip quivered. “But . . . that it's you . . . Especially because it's you, it just won't work, will it?”
Rachel took a few deep breaths and reached for the calm voice that had guided her during her frantic phone call. “You're my friend, Jack,” she told him firmly. “You're not going to stop being my friend. I don't care who you used to be; you're Jack Napier now, and I'm not going to stop caring about you.” She took a deep breath. “But, yes, I have to think of the public's perception of me, and they won't be happy if we're . . . if we . . .” She sighed and rubbed her arms. “It's a matter of public trust, Jack,” Rachel said as he started to look away. “And being with you will shatter that trust.”
“But you want to be with me,” he pressed gently, lowering his forehead to hers.
Rachel sighed and nodded. Be honest, and they could work something out. “I want to be with you,” she admitted.
Jack squeezed his arms around her waist tightly, burying his face in her neck and laughing. He picked her up and swing her around, and when he set her down again he kissed her. Rachel tried to push him away but he took her hands and entwined their fingers, so she gave up and returned his kisses until he lifted her up onto the sink and then she did push away.
“Jack, please!”
“I'm good at keeping secrets, Rachel,” he whispered in her ear. “I am so good at keeping secrets.” He pulled back to grasp her face between his hands, the gleeful smile on his lips magnetic, and she'd never seen him so happy as he was right now. He was almost begging her with his soft words and soft kisses. “Please, Rachel . . . no one has to know . . .”
She shook her head and covered his hands with her own. “Jack, the point of a relationship is that people know. Not everyone, but I don't want to make up excuses for why I'm not bringing a date to the company Christmas party, or not be able to hold your hand while we're walking down the street.” She curled her hands around the back of his neck. “I don't want to have to hide you,” she whispered. “I want to be able to tell my mother that there's this wonderful man in my life, who makes me laugh, who looks at me like I'm the most incredible thing on earth, who makes me happier than I've been in the last ten years.” Rachel blinked tears from her eyes. All this had been building for the last seven months and she clung to Jack, not wanting to let him go, ever. “I want to bring you to one of Bruce's ridiculous parties and hold your hand when it gets to be too much for you. I want . . . God, I want . . .”
“Me?” he asked, pulling their hips together.
Rachel sucked in her breath and nodded. “Yes, that, too. But, Jack . . . I can't.”
“Why not?” he interrupted. His brow was furrowed as he stared at her. “What's so wrong with taking what you want when it's offered to you? And why do people have to know? I'd prefer that they didn't. I know I'm not the sanest man alive,” and he raised his voice over her protests, “but it's not like I'm dry-humping you in alleys or, or trying to kill you.”
“But you did,” Rachel stressed. “And that's what people are going to remember.” He was getting frustrated and trying to pull away, but she grabbed his shoulders and held him close. “Jack, please, if I wasn't the D.A., I ---”
“Then why don't you quit?” he asked sharply. “Just quit. I'm sure there are lots of jobs you can get ---”
“That's not the point, Jack! I can't quit my job. I don't want to quit my job.” She shook her head pleadingly. “Please, Jack ---”
He shoved away from her and Rachel almost ended up with her rear in the sink as he paced across the kitchen. “I hate this fucking city,” he snarled. “I hate it's rules, I hate it's people, I hate ---”
“Jack.” His head whipped around at her forceful tone and he blinked, the animal snarl that had spread across his features smoothing out slightly. Rachel hopped off the edge of the sink and reached for him, taking his hand and pulling him with her into the living room. He followed, head tilted to the side as he watched her curiously. She sat him on the couch and stood in front of him with her hands on her hips. “This city has done nothing wrong, Jack. They hate you because of decisions that you made, and now you're paying the price for those decisions. I wish to God that you hadn't made those choices, but you did. You did, Jack, and you have to face the consequences. This --- us --- is one of those consequences.”
“I'm an atheist,” he reminded her.
Rachel rolled her eyes, but wasn't deterred. “I know you've changed, Jack.” Her gaze softened and her voice lowered. “I also know it's not as permanent or stable a change as it seems like.”
The shocked look he gave her made Rachel sigh and sink down beside him on the couch. She took his hand, holding the back of it to her cheek.
“Rachel ---”
She raised her hand. “It's mostly small things. A certain look in your eye, or the way you laugh, and . . .” She sighed and took a deep breath. “And your apparent insomnia.” Jack started guiltily. “I know you go out at night, Jack. The first time I called you and you didn't answer, I figured you were ignoring the phone. But then you answered when I'd forgotten my briefcase, and I started to worry. I called the next night and you didn't answer, so I drove over.” Rachel held his hand between her breasts as he tried to pull away. Being out after dark without prior permission, much less supervision, was breaking his parole.
“Look, Rachel, I just walk around, all right? I'm not doing anything wrong.” He wasn't meeting her gaze.
Her voice was very, very soft. “And those muggers they found last week?”
Jack jumped up and almost yanked Rachel off the couch in the process. He started pacing again, frantic and nervous. “I didn't do anything wrong!” he repeatedly loudly. “I didn't kill them!” Rachel was still watching him, her heart pounding in her chest as his agitation rose. This wasn't going to be an easy fit to calm him down from. “Yeah, they tried to mug me, so what? I left them unconscious. I did!” he yelled as he glared at her. Rachel shut her mouth quickly. “I made sure they were still breathing, and I went right back home after it happened! Fuck, Rachel, what do you want from me?! Do you really expect me to sleep in that fucking empty apartment night after god damned lonely night? Every fucking time I go to bed, I'm reminded of Harleen! I remember the way she felt, the way she smelled, the way she tasted . . .” He tilted his head back, hands clenched as his throat convulsed. “Oh God, the way she tasted . . .” Opening his eyes and looking down at her once more, Jack's lip curled into a snarl. “So yeah, Rachel, I get the hell out of there sometimes, during the only fucking time I won't get stared at like the freak I am!” He turned and grabbed the wooden vase her mother had given her last year, throwing it at the wall. Rachel jumped at the noise, one hand curled at her throat as she watched Jack warily. He growled in frustration when the vase didn't shatter and stalked over to it, picking it up and hurling it against another wall.
“Jack, stop,” Rachel whispered. “Please stop. You're scaring me.”
That usually worked, but this time he whirled on her and stormed over, leaning down and placing his hands on either side of her shoulders on the couch.
“Well, maybe you should be afraid, love,” he growled at her. Their faces were centimetres apart and Rachel's eyes fluttered closed despite herself. “Maybe you should be terrified that you'll end up just like Harleen.” Rachel's heart skipped another beat and her breath was fast and shallow and he drew closer to her, nipping gently at her lower lip. “Maybe I'll bite you just like I bit her,” he whispered, punctuating his speech with more nips, each one a little harder than the last. Rachel leaned back, but she didn't have anywhere to go. She was fighting back tears, pushing gently against his chest as he continued his assault, whispering soft pleas for him to stop. “Maybe we'll be fucking, and it be so good that time, and you'll rake your nails so hard down my back that it will leave more scars, and I'll love it, I'll bite down on your lip as I come inside of you and then you'll bleed, Rachel, you will bleed into me and I'll fucking love it, even as you're crawling off of me and running out the door, I'll be wanting to rip your fucking lip off and eat it, I'll be shouting for you to stop but still I'll be wanting to eat you alive, then you'll scream and I'll rush out to save you but you'll be gone, falling, and then you'll be dead, too.”
He'd straddled her hips and was holding the back of her neck with one hand, the other holding her wrists so she couldn't beat at his heaving chest and now Rachel was crying, terrified as his voice dropped to a shaking whisper, his face buried in her neck. About this time Batman should come crashing through her window, but Bruce was in Las Vegas, an entire continent away, and she was all alone with Jack and his raging demons.
“Who will save me then, Rachel? Who will stop me from doing whatever I want? Who will keep all my fantasies at bay?” He pressed their cheeks together, flinching when she whimpered and tried to pull away.
“Jack, please . . . please let me go . . .”
He pulled back and looked at her in horror, tears streaming down his face. “Oh, God, Rachel, I'm so sorry . . .” And he did let her go, backing away from her slowly and whispering apologies. His face was so twisted with disgust and hate that Rachel reached out to him and whispered his name, but he shook his head violently and yanked her front door open, and she heard his heavy footsteps in the hall as he ran away.
Rachel curled in on herself and burst into tears, still shaking with fear. The last time she'd been that afraid had been when she'd been tied in that warehouse, hearing Harvey's panicked voice, knowing that she wasn't going to survive but needing to comfort him, to make him believe . . .
Suddenly Rachel sat up and scrambled for her phone, and it took her two tries until she'd found Dr. Morgenson's number and dialed it. He'd told her, he'd said that if Jack ever got physically violent with her, call him as soon as she was safe.
“H, hello?”
It was a woman's sleepy voice that answered, and Rachel almost started laughing with hysteria as she curled up on the couch. “M-may I please speak with Dr. Morgenson?” she forced out.
“Uh . . . James, it's for you . . . I'm sorry, who is this?”
“Rachel Dawes,” she whispered, gulping back sobs.
“It's Rachel D---”
“Rachel. What's wrong?”
She did start laughing at his concerned voice, laughing and crying and the good doctor took a few minutes to talk gently to her, calm her down, suppress the hysteria that felt like it was going to consume her. Rachel took another deep breath and held it, and he waited.
“Now, tell me what's wrong, Rachel. Are you safe?”
“I'm safe,” she whispered. “It's just . . . you said that if, if Jack ever . . .” The tears jumped to her throat again and again Dr. Morgenson spoke to her gently, easing her out of it. “He . . . we . . . oh, God, Doctor, he scared me so much . . .” She gulped down air, hiccuped, and with gentle prodding told Morgenson what had happened. He was quiet for a while, and there was rustling from his end of the line.
Then, “Do you know where Jack is right now?”
“No,” she murmured, exhausted. “He ran out.”
The man on the other end might have cursed, except Rachel was sure he didn't know how to, so she must have been hearing things. “Are you hurt, Rachel? I want you to get up and look in the mirror. Did he hurt you?”
“Uh . . .” Rachel heaved herself off of the couch and staggered to the bathroom, and winced as she caught sight of her face. “Yeah,” she mumbled. She hadn't realised how much her lip hurt. “He kept biting my lip. It's . . .” She peered closer, this way and that. “It's just bruised, is all.” Then she snorted. “'Is all.' Right. This is what the beginning of battered wife syndrome must feel like.”
“Be glad it's still attached,” she was advised, “and no, this isn't the beginning of battered wife syndrome. We need to find Jack, Rachel.” He must have sense her wince. “If we don't, I don't know what he'll do, not in this mental state. I hope he's still around your apartment, but . . .”
Rachel went cold at the thought of Jack hurting someone, or worse, getting hurt himself. She dried her eyes and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. “All right,” she said in a steady voice. “All right.” She walked back to the living room and slid into her sneakers, then headed out the door. “I'll call you if I find him.”
“I'll head to his apartment --- I know a few of his usual haunts, and he might have gone to one of them. No, Sarah, it's fine, nothing big . . . Well, yes, then it is, but I'll be back soon. I love you.” He coughed lightly. “I understand your position, by the way, but I do think you ought to consider . . . low-key dating.”
“You tell me this after Jack almost bites my lip off?” Rachel asked, but she was too concerned with looking for Jack to be snippy. She pushed the elevator button, and waited until both had opened to emptiness before heading to the stairs, thinking he might be sitting in the stairwell.
“The thought of losing you terrifies him, Rachel. He's trying to hold on to you the best he knows how, but . . . he doesn't quite know how to do it in a healthy manner. He tells me he sleeps much better at night when you stay over.”
Rachel flushed as she walked quickly down the stairs. Jack would have been more likely to run down ten flights of stairs --- oh, dear God, please don't let him have tripped and fallen --- than take the elevator in the agitated state he was in.
“It's nothing sexual,” she said defensively. “I've just fallen asleep a few times, after a stressful day.”
“That's still a big sign of trust,” she was reminded. “Where do you live, again?”
“Lower Fifth.” She was panting by this time, wishing she'd taken the elevator.
“There's a bar on Seventh he goes to sometimes. Louie's. You might try there.”
“Really,” Rachel murmured. Bars --- and the accompanying alcohol --- were also on the list of things he wasn't allowed.
“He doesn't drink. It's dark and quiet and he doesn't get stared at there.” There was a moment's hesitation. “He loves you, Rachel.”
Rachel gulped back tears and wiped at her face. “I know,” she whispered. She didn't want to hear it from Dr. Morgenson, she wanted to hear it from Jack, even though she couldn't let him know the truth, ever . . . “Look, I'm running down ten flights of stairs. Call you if I find him.”
He was distracted. “Same here. Talk to you soon.”
“Yeah.” Rachel slid her phone into her purse and concentrated on getting down the stairs. The asshole wasn't on them, damn him, and she was sweaty and out of breath when she got to the ground floor. He wasn't in the lobby, either, and then she pushed out the front door and into the street. “Jack?” she called. There was no answer. “Shit . . .”
She got to her car without finding him, and headed straight to Louie's, going slowly and glancing down all the side streets and alleys she passed. It was a wonder, she thought as she pulled into an empty parking spot along the street and got out, that she hadn't been pulled over for cruising. Louie's was smoky and a little dingy, a biker bar where it looked like there was probably a fight most every night. She got wolf-whistles and a couple of catcalls as she flashed her ID at the bouncer and slipped in the door, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the dark. She took a slow circuit around the bar, then walked up to the bartender when she didn't see him.
The skinny Indian glanced up at her as he poured a drink. “Yeah?”
“I'm looking for someone,” Rachel said. “He might have come in within the last twenty minutes. About six feet, walks with a slouch, scars . . .” She traced her finger over her lips in a smiley-face pattern, watching the man carefully.
There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes, but he shook his head. “He hasn't been in tonight.”
Rachel sighed and pulled a business card out, scribbling her cell phone number on the back and handing it to him. “If he does, call me right away, all right?” His eyebrows raised as he looked her card over. “It's nothing official.”
“Sure.”
“Thank you.” Rachel pushed away from the bar and tried not to kick anything as she walked out. The cool night air was blessedly free of smoke and she inhaled deeply, going back to her car. Where else could she look? How far could he have gotten by now? She nibbled on her lower lip and then started the car, circling slowly around back toward his apartment. She got all the way there and was contemplating heading to the park to look when her phone buzzed with an unfamiliar number.
Rachel grabbed at it. “Rachel Dawes.”
“Uh, this is Raja, from Louie's. Your friend just came in.”
Rachel breathed out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God. I'll be there in a few minutes.”
“Yeah . . . you want me to keep him here if he tries to leave?”
She winced as she ran a red light. No one else needed to get hurt tonight. “No, let him go if he wants. Just call if he leaves.”
“Sure. There's not going to be trouble, is there?”
He was clearly worried about his bar. “No, I just need to pick him up. Thank you so much.”
“No problem.”
Rachel gripped the steering wheel tightly after they'd hung up, then flipped her phone open at a red light that she actually stopped for, dialing Dr. Morgenson's number again.
He picked up before the first ring ended. “Did you find him?”
“He's at Louie's; I'm headed there now.”
“Thank God for small favors. I'll meet you there.”
It was almost midnight when Rachel pulled up to Louie's again, and she was surprised that it had taken two hours to find Jack. She ignored the men outside and when she walked in, Raja looked up and tilted his head at the far end of the bar, where Jack was hunched over a glass. The bartender mouthed 'water' at her and she nodded as she slung her purse over her shoulder and walked slowly to her friend. Her heart was pounding as she tried to think of what to say.
She hadn't thought of anything by the time she stood beside him, and even though he must have known someone was there, he didn't move, which was unusual for him. Rachel took a deep breath. “Jack . . .”
He jumped and jerked his head around, his eyes wide and wild before he turned back to his glass and lowered his face to it.
“Leave me alone,” he rasped.
“Jack, you need to come with me.” His knuckles were bloody and Rachel hoped it was just his. “Please, Jack.”
He flinched and shied away when she put her hand on his back and rubbed gently. “I don't want to see you, Rachel,” he growled, “so just go away.” He arched his back again, trying to get away from her touch, but Rachel kept rubbing. “I said go away!”
She flinched just a bit, tears in her eyes, but Rachel stood her ground. “I'm not leaving you alone, Jack.”
“Weren't you paying attention to what I did to you?!” he whispered hoarsely. “Oh God, I could have . . . I wanted to . . .”
“But you didn't,” she said soothingly, drawing nearer and resting her cheek on his shoulder as he drew in shuddering breaths.
“I don't want to hurt you.” He was absolutely miserable and Rachel blinked her tears away as she kissed his shoulder gently. He flinched like she'd hit him. “I can't take the chance that I'll hurt you again, because I might not stop if I do. So please . . . please, Rachel, leave me alone.” He snorted. “You don't even want to be with me.”
Rachel wrapped her arms around him and pulled his head to her chest, running her fingers through his hair. He was stiff, but leaned almost desperately into the contact.
“I think it's obvious that I do,” Rachel murmured, “seeing as how I'm here right now.” He grunted, nuzzling her breast. “Come home with me, Jack,” she urged quietly. “Please. You don't always have to be alone.”
There were footsteps behind her and she glanced up to see Dr. Morgenson hanging back a bit. “Go with her, Jack.”
He shook his head. “I'll hurt her again.”
“I don't think you will. I've brought a sedative that should put you out for the night; I figured you'd need it.”
Jack finally looked up, eyes and cheeks wet. “Why do you put up with me?” he whispered to Rachel.
She smiled through her own tears and brushed his bangs back from his forehead before kissing it firmly. “Because I like having a psychopathic boyfriend that I have to hide from the world,” she said against his skin.
He trembled. “You're just trying to get me to leave with you.”
“If you don't come home with me,” Rachel told him, “I'm going to call the police down here. Your parole will be revoked, and you'll be put in a maximum-security prison for the rest of your life.” She tilted his chin up and met his wide-eyed gaze. “I'm serious, Jack. Get your ass off of that stool, take the sedative, and get in my car.”
Jack looked to Dr. Morgenson, but the psychiatrist was clearly siding with Rachel. Finally he sighed and stood up, following Rachel tamely out the door. Once at her car Dr. Morgenson handed Rachel Jack's bag of medications, then took out a syringe and small bottle. He shook it, then stabbed the needle into the top and drew some out before nodding to Jack. Rachel took his hand as he held his other arm out, and Dr. Morgenson rolled his sleeve up to plunge the needle into Jack's bicep. Jack didn't even flinch, and after he'd pulled the needle out, Morgenson yawned.
“I want you in my office at nine a.m. sharp,” he ordered. Jack nodded as Rachel opened the passenger door. “You ought to be able to get home before it really kicks in,” he told Rachel. “Will you be all right?”
Rachel looked down at Jack as he listlessly put his seatbelt on, then nodded. “We'll be fine. Thank you, Doctor.”
Morgenson raised his eyebrows at her. “I want you in my office at five, young lady.” He cut her off when she opened her mouth to protest. “I'll consider it part of Jack's counseling; you both need to figure out how to deal with each other better. Nine for him, five for you. Am I understood?”
Rachel nodded meekly. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now get him to bed, and take care.”
“You, too.” He watched them drive off and Rachel glanced over at Jack, his head tilted back against the headrest, before reaching out to touch his shoulder. “Jack?”
“I'd rather go to prison than hurt you.”
Rachel smiled slightly, a twitch of her lips more than anything. “I'd rather neither happened.”
“I love you. Can I say that?”
Her chest hurt as Rachel nodded. “You can say whatever you want.” He was silent after that, clearly drifting off, but jerked awake as soon as she stopped the car. “Come on, Jack.”
It wasn't easy getting him out of the car, as the sedative was kicking in and he wasn't too keen on being of use anyway, but Rachel got him into the elevator without too much difficulty and leaned her head against his chest as the doors slid shut. Then she wrinkled her nose.
“Did you fall into a puddle?”
“. . . Might have. Yeah.”
“You're filthy.” She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “We'll give you a bath.”
“Too tired.”
“I'll help.” The elevator came to a nauseating stop and the doors slid open, and Jack draped his arms over Rachel's shoulders as she coaxed him into the hallway. He was leaning heavily on her the whole time, breathing shallowly as she fumbled for her keys. “You're not helping, Jack.”
“Not trying to.”
She got them inside and he leaned against the wall while she locked up, head tilted back as he watched her out of slitted eyes. “Come on,” Rachel said, taking his hand and pulling him to the bathroom. He followed, watching her with a tired frown as she plugged the tub up and turned the tap on, then sat him on the toilet and started unbuttoning his shirt.
Rachel's hands were shaking slightly as she worked at his clothing, concentrating on the button and not his torso as it was slowly revealed. There were scars on it, and one long scar across his stomach that looked like someone had tried to gut him, but it wasn't as bad as Rachel had thought it would be. She'd always imagined his body would be as mangled as his face, if not more.
She unlaced his shoes with a sigh, and then tugged his socks off while he shrugged out of his shirt. Rachel paused at his belt, but she'd come this far and he was, indeed, filthy, so she undid it with hesitant hands and then unfastened his pants. She pulled him up, her heart pounding, and then pushed them off of his hips --- had he lost weight? --- along with his boxers.
“Into the tub,” she urged him, and when he complied and draped his arms over the edge she gathered his clothes up. “Stay right there.”
She took them to the washer and started the small load as quickly as she could, hurrying back to the bathroom with the fear of finding Jack trying to let himself drown, but he'd stayed put and was . . . yes, he was snoring slightly. Rachel had to smile as she turned the water off and disrobed, then sank into the steaming hot water gratefully. She sent silent thanks for the extra-deep tub --- almost a jacuzzi, really --- and then pulled Jack's limp form back against her. He mumbled something and turned his cheek into her shoulder, one hand going around her waist as the other rested on her breast. Rachel kissed his cheek and cradled him for a while before pulling her body wash and scrubby close, pouring some onto the green netting and then running it lightly over Jack's back and shoulders. He shifted in her arms but settled down after a moment, making soft noises as she did her best to wash him off. It would have worked better if he'd been awake, but she managed, and even got his hair lathered and rinsed.
Rachel wrapped her arms and legs around Jack then and leaned back against the headrest attached to the bath tub, holding him tightly as she let the water relax her. He sighed into her neck and she kissed his cheek, her lips lingering on his moist skin. She had so much to think about, but she knew who to turn to and it could wait until the morning. She had to wake Jack up just enough to get him out of the tub and onto her bed, where she gently toweled him off before covering him up. She wrapped herself up in towels, then switched the laundry and stood in her doorway for a few minutes, watching the man sleep. He was curled slightly on his side, one hand reaching toward the empty side of the bed, and that prompted Rachel to slide under the covers, molding herself to his warm body. He snuggled against her with a pleased sigh, holding her against himself tightly as they both drifted off.