I'm not crazy. I'm not. (Joker Fan-Fiction)

Chapter 15

“The whole city?!”

I nodded solemnly, watching as Harley’s expression morphed from one of abject horror to pure anger in a matter of minutes. 

“He can’t destroy my Puddin’s city!” She screeched, bolting up from her place on the floor. “That’s his job!” 

Joker’s mouth twitched up in mild amusement from his seat across from me, before falling back into a thin line. 

“Leave, Harley,” he ordered, voice dropping into a low baritone. 

“But-”

“Now.”

She whined for a moment, making a pathetic squealing noise before shuffling from the room like a petulant child. 

“So this...Wes... would really raid this whole city to get to you?” he asked, drumming his fingers against his knee. He’d taken off his coat, and it now hung from the back of the fold out chair nearly brushing the floor. 

“Yes,” I said, tone firm and undoubtable. I knew what Wes was capable of - hell, I’d seen it firsthand. “Which is why I need to ask you a few things.”

He stared me down for a minute, tonguing his scars through his cheek before waving his hand, indicating for me to go on. 

“Who’s the best weapons dealer in this city? Preferably big arms dealers. Wes doesn’t play fair and I need every advantage I can get.”

He looked thoughtful, eyes focused on something behind my right shoulder. 

“Old...Eddie. Down on seventh street,” he replied,  bobbing his head once as if to say ‘Yeah, he’s a good one. Good choice.’

“Any underground routes into the Arkham and City Hall archives?” I asked, and his dark eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

“A few,” he answered guardedly.

I sighed. 

“I’m not going to look up anything about you or anyone else. But when, if, I leave, I need to make sure there will be no trace of me. I was never here,” I said. 

“No...records?” 

“Precisely,” I answered, only to be met with a smug grin. “What?” I snapped, irritated. He said nothing, just tilted his head to the side, green hair brushing his shoulder.  

“Joker,” I warned, baring my teeth. Now was not the time for one of his games. He shook his head, tapping his chin in mock though. 

My nerves, frayed as they were, weren’t taking his childish antics well. I snarled, getting ready to launch myself across the floor at him when he held up his hand in a ‘wait’ gesture. 

“‘Ill remember you,” he said after a few beats of silence. “Unless you plan to kill me and every single person who’s laid eyes on you, you’re out of...luck. It’s not that easy to just disappear. You could invest in a disguise, or you could go for a...make-over,” he chuckled, but I heard the double meaning. A makeover as extreme as his. One that would leave me unrecognizable. “All of us will remember,” he laughed, stopping short when he noticed my sharp stare.  

“Of course you will,” I spat, crossing my arms, “but who will believe you? You’re not exactly credible witnesses. Sure, the guy in the bat suit might be taken seriously by the cops, but they’ll deny my existence. It’s their job to do so. They’ll blame it on one of you, or on some freak disaster. On a rogue orderly, maybe a cop gone bad. I was trained to be invisible and I’m damn good at what I do. Do you think, for even a moment, that if I didn’t want you to see me you would have? That if I wanted you dead you’d still be breathing? You need a functioning brain to remember things. I’ve torn minds into ribbons faster than you could take your morning piss, and by the time I was done with them you’d look sane.” My tone was tight with simmering rage as I finished my small speech. But not at, Joker, no. At myself. For letting something as simple as a few jeers get to me.

“The sewers. Bane has the map. They’ll get you..uh...everywhere, in this city.” 

To be honest, I was shocked that he’d actually answered at all. 

His expression was impassive, almost bored, but his eyes. Emotions were flitting across the irises so fast I couldn’t have caught them if I tried. 

His legs were stiff, his chest visibly tensed through the fabric of his blue shirt. 

I frowned at his new posture, but didn’t comment. 

“That’s all I needed,” I said, standing, sensing the sudden tension. He remained in his chair, just staring up at me with that damned indecipherable expression. 

He didn’t acknowledge my parting nod, just turned slightly in his chair as I made my way to the door. 

I had one foot outside when he spoke. 

“You already had a makeover didn’t you?” he asked, that double meaning hanging in the air, heavy as a cloud of smoke. 

I was quiet, blinking against the mist that coated my lashes. 

“Yes,” I whispered, though I know, somehow, he heard. 

With that I stepped back out into the grimy streets of Gotham, closing the door softly behind me. 

I stood outside for a minute more before taking to the shadows once again.