WAKING UP ON WAYNE'S IMPORTED GOOSE-FEATHERED PILLOWS WAS HEAVEN IN OF ITSEF.
Stephanie sighed, giggling when she saw that Bruce was awake and already staring at her.
"Are you watching me sleep?" She asked, her morning voice a lot lower than it usually was.
"What if I said yes?"
"Then I'd call you a creep."
"Really?" Queried Bruce Wayne, grabbing her waist under the covers and pulling her closer. "That's not what you said last night."
Stephanie's cheeks burned as her memories replayed the five to six rounds that occurred. She had honestly stopped counting after the third.
"What happens in your bedroom stays in your bedroom," Stephanie joked, patting his bare chest and secretly ogling at his muscles.
"What a shame," He sighed. "I was about to let Gotham Gossip know how much of a screamer you are."
"Bruce!" Stephanie exclaimed, slapping his arm.
"What? It's true."
Stephanie grabbed her pillow and attempted to suffocate him with it. However, Bruce was much bigger, and he overpowered her in seconds. He pinned her wrists down to the mattress, grinning wolfishly.
"Now," He hummed, placing kisses on her collarbone. "Where were we?"
A knock sounded from the door.
"Master Wayne, breakfast is ready."
Stephanie's eyes bugged out. "Albert's been here the whole time?" She hissed.
"He lives here, baby," Bruce said. To Alfred he called out, "We'll be right there!"
"Is that Miss. Carmichael, I hear?" Stephanie thought she detected a smile in his voice.
"Hello, Alfred," She greeted shyly. Bruce snickered.
"I'll make sure to get you some breakfast as well, Miss."
"Thank you Alfred," Bruce said, looking slightly impatient. They listened as his steps retreated.
"Alright, you heard the man," Stephanie said. "Time to shower."
She wrapped her body up in Bruce's duvet, carefully waddling to his bathroom.
She walked in and placed the duvet on a hanger, jumping when she noticed Bruce had followed her inside and shut the door.
"Yes?" She said, looking at him expectantly.
"I'm showering," Bruce explained succinctly. He smacked her bottom as he walked past, starting the water and grinning at her through the clear curtains, his defined ab muscles on full display. He was so nice to look at but Stephanie had a preference for muscular backs.
As if hearing her thoughts, Bruce turned his back to her, getting his brown hair wet. "Coming?"
After that rejuvenating shower that took longer than expected, Bruce and Stephanie came into the living room laughing like children. She was wearing a ludicrously luxurious bathrobe from Wayne's closet. Bruce had slapped on his boxers and wore nothing on top, offering his shirt to the girl instead. Stephane had accepted it but had thrown on a bathrobe just because she wanted to look somewhat presentable in front of Alfred and not the half-naked bumbling idiot she was most likely acting like right now.
When she saw the breakfast spread, Stephanie gasped. She had never seen this much food in one place before, except maybe for special occasions when Wayne enterprises organized catering for their employees.
"Thank you, Alfred!" She gushed, immediately grabbing a croissant.
The butler nodded with his pleasant smile before turning on the TV. The news blared across Bruce's spacious penthouse. Alfred brought out his notepad and said, "Miss. Carmichael, forgive me for interrupting your breakfast, but I must ask if the Kensington's have been informed of Mr. Wayne's fundraiser tomorrow night?"
Stephanie swallowed her croissant, gulping down some orange juice as well.
"Yes. I called them yesterday around 4 pm."
"Strange," hummed Alfred. "They have not RSVP'd."
"You can blame me," said Bruce who had an egg on his plate. "I may or may not have punched their son the last time we invited them to a fundraiser."
"Ah," said Alfred, crossing off the name on his list. "Their silence is logical."
Stephanie cocked her head to the side, giving Bruce a look.
"Long story," He said. "How's the rest of the list, Alfred?"
"I think your fundraiser will be a great success, sir."
"And why do you think I wanted to hold a party for Harvey Dent?"
Alfred said casually, "I assumed it was your usual reason for socializing beyond myself and the scum of Gotham's underbelly: to try and impress Miss Carmichael."
Bruce chuckled. "Very droll but not entirely correct."
Stephanie playfully scrunched her nose.
"Sorry, honey," said Bruce. "Actually it's Dent. You see-"
Burce's deep voice died down. His eyes flew to the TV where Stephanie could see the Batman hanging by the neck. Across the screen, a banner said in bold, 'BATMAN DEAD?'.
Stephanie's heart skipped a beat. What the hell was going on?
The TV cut back to a news reporter.
"...Police released video footage found concealed on the body. Sensitive viewers be aware: it is disturbing."
A video of horrible quality started playing. In the video, there was a blindfolded man wearing a makeshift Batman costume. His face was bruised and bloody. Stephanie examined the video, noticing the man was in a very bright room despite how dark the video came across.
She froze as the person behind the camera spoke for the first time.
"Tell them your name," came a familiar grating voice.
The Joker.
The man answered weakly, "Brian Douglas."
"Are you the real Batman?"
"N-No."
"Why do you dress up like him?"
"He's a symbol... that we don't have to be afraid of scum like you..."
"But you do, Brian. You really do."
Shuffling.
"You think the Batman's helped Gotham?"
Brian nodded uncertainly.
"Look at me."
Brian avoided his gaze.
"LOOK AT ME!"
The man looked up, complete fear in the depths of his mud-colored eyes. The camera suddenly swung to the Joker, who looked devilish under the bright lights.
"This is how crazy Batman's made Gotham. You want order in Gotham? Batman has to go. Soooo..."
Joker leaned in, red lips and scars expanding across the screen.
"Batman must take off his mask, and turn himself in."
The camera shook.
"Every day he doesn't... people will die. Starting tonight. I'm a man of my word!"
The inhabitants of the penthouse stared at each other.
Bruce exchanged a glance with Alfred.
The butler nodded as the billionaire stood up from his chair.
"Where are you going?" Stephanie asked but her words were muffled since she was drinking orange juice again.
"I gotta go check on some stuff for the party tonight," Bruce informed her, walking up to her and kissing her cheek. "I'll see you later tonight?"
"Mhm," agreed Stephanie. Bruce left the living room, presumably to get dressed and go.
Stephanie looked at the TV, realizing it was the afternoon newscast.
"Alfred, what time is it?" She asked.
"It's a quarter till noon, ma'am."
"Shit!" Stephanie hissed, jumping out of her seat as if she had been electrocuted.
Alfred chuckled, "Is something the matter, Miss?"
"I'm late for work."
Bruce rejoined Stephanie and Alfred, dressed in his suit. "Hmmm, whatever will your boss think?"
"Haha," Stephanie said, grabbing her heels and shoving them on. "It would be funny but you aren't my only boss, Mr. Wayne."
Mary and Shonda would have her head, not to mention, Lucious Fox.
"In that case, take the Bugatti. She'll get you there in no time," Bruce tossed her a set of car keys. She stared at it, not completely understanding his generous offer.
"What?"
"It's the one that matches your eyes."
Then, Bruce Wayne opened the door and disappeared.
"This way, ma'am," said Alfred helpfully, leading her to the elevator and to the garage.
---- Δ ----
"Sweet ride," commented Kyle Dent, the nineteen-year-old intern Stephanie had befriended. "Did you win the lottery overnight?"
She parked in her usual spot at Wayne enterprises, nodding to Kyle and Reese as she took extra care not to scratch the car. Stephanie wasn't the best driver, but she was also not the worst. As this vehicle was worth at least her kidney, Stephanie figured it was wise to be cautious.
"It's Wayne's," Reese said in a low voice. His eyebrows pushed together forcefully, displaying deep displeasure.
"It's borrowed," said Stephanie, locking the door. She fixed her hair by looking at the tinted window, cursing when her baby hairs stood up stubbornly.
"Rough night?" Reese asked.
"You could say that," answered Stephanie.
Kyle whistled lowly as he circled the car, getting as close to it as he dared. "I've always wanted a Bugatti Type 57SC Atlantic. It's a custom color too."
Stephanie sighed, rummaging through her bag and looking for her employee pass.
"Your dress is inside out, by the way," snickered Kyle.
"No it's-" Stephanie's voice died in her throat as she looked down and saw the stitching. "...not."
"Oh no, Stephanie's doing her walk of shame! Who was it? C'mon, tell me. Tell me!" squealed Kyle.
"Would you shut up, Dent?" Reese inquired darkly.
"Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of bed," said the intern. "Come on, Stephanie. Who was the lucky guy?"
She sealed her lips, refusing to entertain Kyle Dent's obsession with office gossip. She finally found her pass, pressing her floor number and waiting as the two men squeezed in beside her.
"It's Wayne," said Reese suddenly.
"What-?"
"-pardon?"
Stephanie and Kyle spoke at the same time.
"You spent the night at Bruce Wayne's," explained Reese. Oddly, his face was red as if it was poorly concealing anger.
Kyle gasped, "No way."
"Well?" asked Reese. "Am I right? You obviously didn't get home last night and you come to work three hours late and you're driving Wayne's car. Admit it, Stephanie, you slept with your boss."
"Okay, you don't have to go around advertising it," said Stephanie, slightly offended at how personally Reese was taking it.
"No, you do that pretty well on your own," spat Reese before the elevator dinged. "Kyle, follow me."
The intern gave Stephanie a sheepish smile before following his superior out the elevator door.
Stephanie rubbed her face, groaning. She had expected some snide remarks from the people at Wayne enterprises, namely the secretaries who seemed to dislike her immensely, but not her own friends.
Prepare yourself, her consciousness warned her. It's only the beginning.
---- Δ ----
Surprisingly, the malicious gossip was kept to a minimum at work, though Stephanie was still quite nervous. Why? Perhaps because she was entering Harvey Dent's party as Bruce Wayne's lover, and she wasn't keen on paparazzi hounding her at the event, or worse, following her home.
"Where should the flowers go?" Kyle Dent asked, breathless and frazzled. He had sweetly volunteered to help Stephanie oversee the event and also to network with the "loaded old men" who would inevitably show up. Stephanie was not sure why Kyle was hellbent on impressing the wealthy class of Gotham, but she understood the importance of networking. She also understood Kyle's desire to make a name of his own and desire to not eternally be associated with his uncle who was a DA or his father who was a businessman.
Stephanie pointed to the table full of appetizers. "There."
Kyle nodded and sped away, weaving his way across the dance floor. He was wearing a distinctive orange suit that stood out like a sore thumb, but Stephanie thought it suited his one-of-a-kind sense of humor.
The young woman herself had donned a sleek silk lavender slip-dress that fell to a little below her knees. She had a matching set of stacked silver necklaces and bracelets that she had invested in after a month of working at Wayne enterprises. Her makeup, the usually smoky eye look, had been replaced with a hint of whimsical purple and lavender, which made her look all the more like a sweet fairy.
"You look exceptional," Albert complimented Stephanie. "Some liquid courage, ma'am?"
Stephanie frowned, not particularly keen on drinking on the job. As the first few guests showed up at the door and fussed about how the lights were a tad too bright and the food was not as grand as they expected, she took the glass of champagne gratefully.
"Cheers," She said, downing the drink in seconds. Alfred nodded and moved on to greet the early guests.
Stephanie sucked in a breath and then put her game face on. Time to entertain...
As the venue filled up and Stephanie had gone around thanking everyone for joining, Bruce Wayne called her.
"Mr. Dent! Miss.Dawes...glad you two could make it!" Stephanie heard Alfred.
She answered her phone. "Hey."
"Hey, honey. How's the party?"
She looked around. "It's going well, thankfully, but we're missing our handsome host."
"Yeah, about that..." said Bruce. "Come up to the rooftop."
"What's the magic word?"
"Please?"
"Should I even ask what you have up your sleeve, Wayne?"
"Why don't you come up and find out, Carmichael?"
She rolled her eyes as he flipped the question onto her. "I'll be there in five."
Stephanie went into the elevator, smiling at a group of guests amiably before pressing the 68th floor. She checked her watch as she waited for the doors to open. As the elevator dinged, Stephanie felt the hairs on her neck stand straight up. Suddenly, her eyes flew left and right, noticing how this floor was incredibly dark, unlike the other floors. Stephanie took out her smartphone and walked out, clicking the flashlight icon and illuminating the hallway in front of her.
Her stomach flipped.
Something's not right.
She turned around. The elevator doors slammed shut.
Stephanie shined the light on the panel, freezing when she saw a gloved hand blocking the buttons. She stumbled back, flashlight light snaking its way to find the face of the stranger in the dark.
Suddenly the hand lashed out, knocking her and the phone to the floor. She reached for it but not before scuffed black boots greeted Stephanie's vision and kicked her phone away.
"You weren't home last night."
"Should we dispose of her, boss?" came a voice from behind Stephanie.
The Joker lifted her up effortlessly and held her arm in his hand tightly. He shined the flashlight on his goon, who had a clown mask on.
"Don't be rude to a lady," He reprimanded him. "We're gonna escort her back to the party, gentlemen."
Dread filled Stephanie's stomach. She immediately thought of Alfred and Kyle, along with the rest of Gotham's wealthy class cluelessly perusing the halls down below.
"No, you're not."
"Who's gonna stop me, princess?"
"The Batman," She blurted out. Bruce Wayne.
He shoved her in the elevator, gun pressed to her back. "Good. I'm countin' on that."
---- Δ ----
"Uncle Harvey! Uncle Harvey! Did you just see that? Wayne came to the party in a helicopter," Kyle said, his brown eyes full of awe. "That's so sick."
Harvey Dent grimaced, finding his opinion of the ostentatious billionaire to be a bit more complicated than his nephew's praise.
"And guess what? Wayne owns a Bugatti Atlantic in this really cool custom color. He even let my friend Stephanie borrow it."
"He lets his employees drive his cars?" asked Dent.
Kyle rubbed his forehead. "Well, Steph's special. Mr. Wayne's clearly in love with her."
"Carmichael, right?" Harvey asked. He remembered the twenty-something-year-old with caramel brown hair and stunning green eyes that had been with Bruce Wayne on their accidental double date. He had to admit, she was a sight for sore eyes. To Harvey Dent, Stephanie Carmichael embodied a wide-eyed, pouty-lipped, timeless kind of beauty that was hard to find. Rachel had gotten a little... aggressive with her but Harvey Dent admired the way Stephanie Carmichael handled the situation in a mature manner.
"Yeah. She's awesome too."
"I bet she is. Kyle, one sec. I gotta go find Rachel."
Kyle nodded. "Sure thing."
Harvey Dent threw a look over his shoulder, "And stop avoiding your father. He's real proud you're doing so well with this internship."
Kyle rolled his eyes. He thought no one had noticed his aversion to the group of people his father was currently chatting up.
"Mr. Dent, I believe there are some more guests arriving," informed Alfred. "Why don't you greet them in the front?"
"On it!" He said.
As Kyle made his way to the main room, an ear-ringing noise echoed across the venue. A shotgun, he realized, then the screaming started. He ran to the source of the noise, heart beating out of his chest - to be greeted by six thugs in clown masks, and a fitful brown-haired friend in the middle of the bodies.
"Stephanie," He whispered. He paled as he glimpsed the man holding her still - the notorious Joker. He was a gruesome vision, shrouded in insane laughter and depraved, soulless brown eyes. However, it wasn't the horribly done face makeup or the gun in his white paint-stained hands that aroused fear in the depths of Kyle Dent's heart, but it was the mere manner in which the Joker moved through the terrified guests with his lips spread out into a sinister Glasgow smile.
A predator. An animal. A force of nature.
His eyes were alight with that same dark fire, the one that had been stoked in Stephanie's apartment and now ran rampant as he prowled across the floor. His grip on her arm cut the circulation on her right side, and Stephanie was becoming light-headed as they walked on. Even so, the scars lining his mouth became more prominent as the lights from the ceiling shone on the Joker like a spotlight, so much so that Stephanie could see the roughly healed stitchings slapped on his face.
The Joker spoke, "I only have one question: where is Harvey Dent?"
He dragged Stephanie with him, who stumbled in her heels.
"I'll settle for his loved ones..."
An older gentleman with round spectacles stood up, "We're not intimidated by thugs."
The Joker stopped, swinging his gaze to the man. His lips pulled themselves into a somewhat affectionate smile. "You know, you remind me of my father."
He let go of Stephanie only for her to be kept in place by the stockier criminal on her left.
"You ain't going anywhere, sweetheart," He told her.
She studied possible different routes of escape. Fighting the guy holding her: negative. He was too big. Plus, he had weapons. Slamming her foot as hard as she could and then running away: not likely, both the thugs and regular folks blocked her path of exit. Bargaining: maybe, if she mentioned Sal in some way but something about these men told her that they didn't have any respect for Sal Maroni and his crime legacy. If they did, they would be working for him.
The Joker grabbed the man, flicking his blade up and placing it in the gentleman's mouth.
"I hated my father."
Stephanie stood silently, finding no words were able to escape from her mouth. She had known the Joker was crass and heartless. She had seen the crimes he committed blasted on screen for all of Gotham to hear and see. Yet, his cruelty had never felt real to her because he was so different within the four walls of her apartment, lazily stretching his arms like a cat by the fire or snoring on her couch. Save for the makeup, he looked and acted relatively normal. Only then and again would Stephanie be reminded of who he was, and this was one of those times.
But if anyone had the privilege of speaking up...it was her. She hoped the Joker wouldn't mind a little dialogue, or at least a conversation long enough to let the Batman return.
"Stop!" She heard herself say.
"Let him go!" Another voice chimed in - Rachel.
She cursed internally. Rachel Dawes probably felt safe due to the fact that she knew the Batman would arrive, but she didn't have anything to help her out with the Joker. Although Stephanie knew the Joker would not hesitate to kill her, she also knew that he liked her in his own diabolic, warped way. At least, he'd hesitate before he sliced Stephanie's neck.
The Joker dropped the man, who crashed into his wife's arms. He turned to Stephanie and then Rachel. He motioned to his goons and one of them grabbed Rachel while the other grabbed Stephanie.
Cool metal on her head.
Great. Now they had a gun trained on her. Running away was no longer an option.
However, that also meant the Joker wasn't focused on her. He liked torturing his victims. If he was going to kill her it would be with a knife - intimately and quickly.
"Hello, beautiful. You must be Harvey's squeeze," The Joker said. He grabbed Rachel's face and held the knife up to it.
"And you are beautiful. You look nervous- it's the scars isn't it? Wanna know how I got them?"
Rachel's entire body was shaking, though the woman tried not to show it. Although she didn't particularly like Rachel Dawes, Stephanie knew she had to say something; she needed to distract the Joker.
"Mister Joker," She said, willing her eyes not to give away the fact that, firstly, she knew him and, secondly, that she was stalling. As Stephanie pulled out the little notebook she kept on her self during working hours, she hoped the Joker would be a little amused at her playing pretend. After all, he seemed to enjoy their "therapy" sessions. "I'm a reporter for Gotham Daily. Now, mind you, this is a little out of my pay grade, but I've got an idea and your picture is front and center. How did you get those scars?"
Silence.
Once Stephanie said those words, she realized how stupid they sounded. To anyone else, it would appear she made a lame attempt at catching his attention, but she had a feeling it would work. The Joker was a performer first and a criminals mastermind second. Part of the reason he was feared was because he was a relentlessly ruthless caricature of a man who shot up banks and stalked alleyways.
The persona wasn't truly him, not really, if the way he acted in her apartment was anything to go by. However, the Joker knew he had to be larger than life to win Gotham's attention.
So, Stephanie would do the same; she'd make a character out of herself in these few moments. If anything, the Joker would appreciate the sentiment.
The Joker's eyes darkened. His mouth twitched, unsure whether to frown, laugh, or smirk. As his fists loosened and the knife lowered itself, he stalked over to her with a livid demeanor.
Crap, thought Stephanie. I've severely underestimated him.
The people at the party held their breaths.
He towered over her, eyes examining her poker face.
"You're sharp," He said. She remembered him complimenting her with the way the first time they sat down and had a conversation, but this time he did it in a tone of displeasure. "Like a little...knife!"
He grabbed a fistful of her hair and stuck the blade in her mouth, tearing a quarter of an inch of skin and tissue on her face. Stephanie gasped as the pain assaulted her and tried wrenching her body away, which only made matters worse.
The Joker stared at her, curious as to why she was not reacting to the pain. His other victims, they pleaded. They negotiated. They got angry. They shook in terror. Their hearts pounded so loudly he could feel it.
Stephanie Carmichael? She only held his gaze.
"It's an exclusive interview," She said, biting down on the blade in an attempt to stop the Joker from completely disfiguring her face. Unbeknownst to Stephanie, the action made her look like she was smiling through the blood that welled up in her mouth. The sight was so insatiably gruesome that a group of older women grew light headed. Rachel Dawes sucked in a breath and whispered, "Oh my god."
A thick trickle ran down her chin, and drops of blood landed on her beautiful lavender dress, like a waterfall made of wine. "You want to spread your message? Do it. I'm listening. We're all listening."
At the mention of the other people in the room, the Joker dragged his gaze away from Stephanie's green eyes. He finally smiled, widely showing all his teeth.
"You wanna know how I got these," He took the knife out of Stephanie's mouth and gestured to his scars. "Do ya?"
Rachel watched, terrified.
"I had a wife, beautiful like you twos," He pointed to Rachel and Stephanie. "Who tells me I worry too much. Who says I need-a smile mooore. Who gambles. And gets in deep with the sharks. One day they carve her face, and we've got no money for surgeries. She can't take it."
His grip fell from Stephanie's hair to her neck and tightened. "I just want to see her smile again. I just want her t'know I don't care about the....scars. So I put a razor in my mouth and do this to myself... And you know what?"
The Joker chokes on his smile, barking out a loud laugh that echoed in the room.
Stephanie watched as he looked around, commanding the people's attention effortlessly. She touched her mouth, wincing. Suddenly she felt eyes on her from the ceiling. Looking up, Stephanie was greeted with the sight of the Dark Knight of Gotham waiting in the shadows. He acknowledged her with a nod.
"She can't stand the sight of me...she leaves! See, now I see the funny side. Now I'm always smiling."
He raised the knife up and waved it to the crowd. Stephanie slammed her heeled foot onto the Joker's black boots, and punched him in the stomach, sending him reeling backwards.
"A little fight in ya. I like that."
"Then you're going to love me," said the Batman.
Rachel grabbed Stephanie's arm and dragged her out of range.
"You okay?" The older woman asked.
"Yeah. You?"
The Joker giggled, elated that the Batman had joined their party. The Batman aimed a straight punch, spinning the Joker down and disarming him swiftly. The Joker's men snap into action but the Batman took them head on, two at the same time. He dodged kicks and hooks with the ease of a professional fighter, moving silently even with the bulk of his bat armor.
The Joker clicked a blade from the toe of his shoe and kicked, jabbing in-between the plates of armor covering the Batman's ribcage.
Stephanie watched in sick fascination. Their fighting styles were so different. The Joker had seemingly no direction when the Batman was carefully deliberate. She wasn't sure which one was more effective. The Joker had more strength, she reckoned. He was pure aggression in a purple suit. The Batman was more defensive in nature. He struck with purpose.
The Batman hurled the Joker across the room. Another one of the Joker's goons lunged for the Batman, who sidestepped and knocked him out cold.
As the Joker stumbled to his feet, Rachel Dawes shoved Stephanie roughly into the crowd.
"Ow," Stephanie hissed. What the hell was that for?
She jumped when two hands encircled her waist.
"Hey," said Kyle softly. "Hey. It's just me. You're okay."
But things weren't okay. The nightmare wasn't even over. The Joker grab Rachel and press his knife to her throat.
"Drop the knife," said the Batman.
"Sure. Just take off your mask and show us all who you are..."
Rachel shook her head. The Joker raised his shotgun to the side and fired, blowing out the pane of glass next to him. Night air and the city noise broke the tense silence. The Joker dangled Rachel Dawes out the window.
"Let her go."
The Joker chuckled, a perverse mirth lighting up his eyes. "Very poor choice of words..."
The Joker did as told. He dropped Rachel Dawes. Without a second thought, the Batman dove after her.
It was just the Joker and the party-goers.
He made his way to the elevator, whistling casually. The crowd hurriedly parted for him like he was Moses and they were the Red Sea. He waited patiently and got in. As the elevator doors closed, he looked at her one last time. Stephanie could read the Joker perfectly.
He was royally pissed.
And she was the person that had to deal with it later.