Clara enjoyed civilization and everything that came with it. It was surprising, because, if anyone, the commando always seemed at ease in the wild, surrounded by trees and water ponds, bushes and unkempt grass. Surrounded by predators, one of which she considered herself as well. But if the woman was asked, she would choose the comfort of a warm fireplace, soft couch and tea, drunk from a clean cup, together with a piece of chocolate. Just like a cat could learn to survive in the wild, Clara knew how to keep herself alive. And like the same feline, she would trade the harsh wind into the secured walls of a house.
Yet, the morning after metaphorically devouring the Joker, the morning after harassing him both mentally and physically, she found herself in his garden once more. Not searching for basil or thyme, but laying on the spiky, summer-dried grass. Staring at the sky and passing clouds.
Yesterday was not a goodbye. Definitely not, but it seemed that something clicked, changed, and could never be as it was. It seemed like a goodbye, and the surgeon couldn't explain this strange feeling of an upcoming loss. Her intuitive, ancient side screamed 'run', whilst the logical, more developed, humane part reasoned to analyze and find a solution to the problem. Except, there was no problem.
Crack. Somewhere behind here, a tiny sound echoed, disturbing the silence. Snap.
"It is fate, little assassin, for us to mee-t in the Garden of Eden over and over again." Clara closed her eyes, a slow smile stretching her bruised, chapped and dry lips.
"You're the master of your fate, just as you're the captain of your soul, J." The man crouched next to her, balancing on his heels. As the woman opened her eyes, she took in his bare face, two asymmetrical scars on the sides of his mouth, only one visible from this angle, strong, sharp facial structure, and the abysses, two bottomless abysses staring into space. She noticed his eyebrows furrowing, concentration written all over his face.
"Why does it sound, uh, familiar?"
"Familiar?"
"Mhhm. Master of your fate, captain of your soul. Does it have something to do with the Flying Dutchman's captain?"
"So you remember the story of the ruthless Hendrick Van der Decken. I'm proud of you."
"I'm no-t that old to have dementia, toots."
"I haven't said that. Furthermore, I doubt you're actually that much older than me, Joker, if any at all. Suspecting dementia in your case would indicate bad news to my own self."
"Yeah?"
"Hmm." Clara closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath as if preparing for something. And she was indeed, trying to remember once read lines. Those freezing orbs opened again, and the woman turned on her side, facing the Joker."Out of the night that covers me, black as the pit from pole to pole," The man's attention was on her now, his head turned towards the laying assassin. "I thank whatever gods may be, for my unconquerable soul."
"I'm, uh, not sure where are ya goin' with this-s-s."
"Hush." Clara rose, positioning herself in Budha's pose, her long fingers spread widely on her knees. "It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll," A tiny pause followed the lines, giving some dramatism to the speech, but also taking in the man's reaction. "I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul." Drumming silently on her muscular legs, Clara finished the poem with a dramatic drum-like sound, exposing white, straight teeth in a nothing-good-promising smile. "Remembered now?"
"No, but it does ring a bell." The woman's face returned to its normal neutral expression, one eyebrow lifted, for Joker indicating her slight amusement.
"Invictus by William Ernest Henley, an English poem written in eighteen seventy-five. Only a few lines. You might have read it before when you broke into my library, therefore you were able to recognize the last two lines of it."
"Mus-t be." Jack returned back to staring into the depths of trees. Clara noticed a small bird - a woodpecker - next to its thick trunk, looking for food probably. The creature kept Joker's attention focused on itself, and like a predator, he followed his slow, yet precise movements. "Ira."
"Hmm?" The woman turned to him, waiting for further words.
"We have, uh, stuff to do today."
"What stuff?"
"Stuffy stuff. We are, uh, burning down the Gotham General Hospital." He didn't see the surgeon's eyes widening, an almost pained expression making its way on her pale complexion, only for a moment. Next second, nobody could have guessed that Joker's statement affected the woman anyhow. Yet, the silence was enough for him to know her state, her reaction.
"Why?"
"Dent. Harvey Dent is in there. Not lookin' tha-t good anymore. Grieving for his dead soon-to-be spouse. Needin' a little push." Clara didn't say anything, so the man continued. "Yesterday, before our, uh, intimate interaction, I've burned a pile of money. Happened so tha-t Mr Lau was on top. But before, he said, uh, interesting things. Ya see, Dent is no-t happy. There have been some misunderstandings between him and Commissioner Gordon. Turns out, Harvey-boy has been telling truth all the time, and now Commissioner is confused. Has no idea who to trus-t."
"The truth?"
"Yeah. The truth that it was you who did some bad things. Under my influence, of course. You see, your true identity was just a useful substitute for your real crimes, which the boy kept pointing out. Gordon wanted to prove him wrong. Not anymore, toots." The man licked his lips, caressing the small scar on the lower one. "The boy hates ya, and he hates me, but mostly, he's blaming Commissioner for not listening, and therefore, in his eyes, Gordon is responsible for the girlie's death."
Ouch. Funny, how quickly things could turn around, and the hero becomes the enemy. "And where are you going with this?"
"It's interesting, little assassin, how the human brain works. Dent is not blaming you, because you were under my influence, and he probably does not blame me, because... Well, he just doesn't. The human ego is still in there, tempting and encouraging his hatred for the one who doubted him, the great Gotham's White Knight. The trouble was caused because nobody listened to him. Are ya following me, toots?"
"For now, yes. Still, why do you need to blow up the hospital?" The man turned his dark gaze towards her. The bird was absent.
"To send a message. An-d a symbol. Y'know, fire cleanses."
"A symbol of cleanliness? Are you serious?" It had to be a symbol of chaos if anything. Not cleansing. Definitely not cleansing.
"I am." With disbelieving eyes, Clara watched the man stand up, extending his arm for the woman. She slowly took his warm hand, allowing to be lifted from the ground. They both stood at a similar height, Jack only a few inches taller. Two metaphorical giants, too tiny to actually make any sense in this enormous, absurd-laced world. "Soon ya will understand. For now, just follow my lead. There are some, uh, things that I will need you to do. I really hope those creations of yours will work." He gave her a malicious grin, the one she was so familiar with, the same grin that she happened to almost enjoy seeing on the man's face.
Clara knew why Joker chose Harvey Dent as his target. She understood his psychology well. The man considered himself a victim, therefore he's prone to side with the one who provided him with the ability to seek revenge. Revenge for those who took his statement as an irrelevant piece of information, and not those who actually caused trouble. You don't get angry at a child for shattering an expensive vase, but rather get disappointed with those who failed to look after him. Herself and the Joker, they were two overgrown children, whilst James Gordon took the character of a supervisor. The supervisor was too arrogant to take the parent's warning into consideration, therefore he was responsible for the caused pain and misery. Simply as that. Basic psychology.
She must not forget to thank the Scarecrow for their therapy sessions. Over and over again they proved to be priceless.
The preparation was quick and precise. Mainly because there was almost nothing to do anymore. The bombs were packed, and Clara was responsible for putting them into specific places, which were marked on a relatively accurate map of the hospital's territory. At least accurate enough for the surgeon to recognize certain areas, as the Joker explained his plan while showing the points on the paper. She had to move quickly, otherwise, the man would blow her up together with her creations, which were connected to the detonator.
She watched him put on white clothes and apply the face paint with his bare fingers, not washing the hands afterwards. He never did, leaving the colours underneath his nails and in the creases of fingerprints. The woman recognized this unusual attire being an extra-large nurses' uniform, required to sneak inside without causing too much suspicion.
Her cold, calm eyes followed the man retrieving a wig, a bunch of orange hair, and putting it on. Steely gaze drifted down, amusement showing as she noted the dress ending in line with Joker's knees, exposing defined calves and his usual socks with colourful squares. The anarchist was easily recognizable, yet Clara was sure he will manage to go inside unnoticed, just like when he was dressed up as an honour guard. He was that good in what he was doing. People become suspicious when you're hiding. They don't pay attention to things that are on full display.
Joker lived close to the centre of Gotham, meaning it was close to the Gotham General. It would have taken them less than twenty minutes to reach it on feet. Yet, they spent only five minutes while driving, the one behind the steering wheel being a madman and murmuring commands into the phone, not paying much attention to the road nor the cars in front of them.
During those five minutes, Clara's mind was racing. She tried to repeat the plan over and over again, making sure she memorized every single detail. Joker being the Joker, the woman was sure something will go not according to the initial scheme, yet she found comfort in the knowledge that there, in fact, was a pattern to follow. In extreme-pressure situations, there could not exist a worse scenario than to start panicking because you don't know what to do. Planning before-hand ensured it won't happen.
"We are, uh, here." Clara snapped out of her hypnotical state, getting a grip of the reality once more. They were parked just outside the huge building.
Chaos. Patients and staff running around, the cops, so many cops, trying to evacuate every each of them. Everything is just as the Joker predicted. Apparently, he warned them about his great plans, only spreading mayhem and panic. Surrounded by it, it should have been easier to get to his target unnoticed. Silently observing the view, Clara caught a glimpse of the man looking at her through peripheral vision, and a slow smirk spread on her lips. He was judging her reaction. "Shall we go?"
"We shall." He handed her the car keys, her keys, and, with one last examination of their surroundings, stepped outside. Clara waited just until she lost him in the crowd. Closing the door, the woman manoeuvered towards the staff entrance, at the same time putting on her white doctor's coat. Joker retrieved it together with his own attire, god knows where from. The man's guess was that, in the middle of the chaos, even if other staff members recognized her, it wouldn't ring a bell in their heads. After all, Clara used to work here, and under the pressure, people tend to skip details, focusing on things they know, seeking familiarity and comfort. They knew her being a doctor, and they would concentrate on the fact she was one of them.
The bag underneath her coat was heavy, yet small and nearly impossible to see. Her handcrafts were well-made, unlike the typical homemade explosives that were rather cumbersome, it was easily portable. A wide range of knowledge was required, and also the familiarity with certain ingredients, to create something equally powerful and effective as the real thing.
It was not hard to reach the first destination undisturbed, and neither was the second one. They were underneath the main areas, therefore secluded from panicking people, who tried to escape the building, instead of wandering inside of it. The Joker obviously had a great understanding of structural destroying, she had to give him credit for that. If you place explosives randomly, the required result of making the whole building collapse will not be reached. Just like making efficient bombs required years of education in chemistry, the case with destroying something with the least effort demanded equal knowledge in physics and architecture, also imaginative and analytical thinking. Did Joker have those traits? Clara believed he did, he proved that indeed. Not that she was an expert in exploding things, but the placements of bombs seemed logical and reliable.
Third and fourth had to be located near the receptionist's table, in the main area. For the surgeon, who was used to seeing people, patients and staff, constantly moving in there, the newly abandoned hall seemed unnatural and foreign. That should have been expected, yet it still confused the woman for a minuscule second. It was not easy to let go of her past, of the environment that accepted Clara and took advantage of her brilliant skills, also providing her with the imaginary safety and a feeling of belonging somewhere. Yet, the woman understood she was not needed anymore, not here, not now. Although it wasn't her own mentality to destroy what didn't need her, she knew that the man, who she sided with at the moment, craved the chaos that destruction provided.
Observing her own trail of thought from a mental distance, Clara found irony in them. The irony, and a slight astonishment. From a young age, she was used to the constant change and learned how to adapt. To survive. Yet, the woman was a creature of habit, and letting go was always something of great discomfort. One would think that throughout the years, it would be suppressed, nearly forgotten, not given much attention to. Funny thing, the feeling has never disappeared. Just like then, now, Clara stood in an empty room, taking in the walls that voicelessly screamed of the months spent within them.
With a final, heavy sigh, she bent at the waist and gently placed one more bomb underneath the desk. If she had to let go, it will happen with a bang. Casting a curious look towards the receptionist's computer, which was left awake and unprotected, she quickly checked the device. Data about every patient was in there, Harvey Dent's room number, too. The Joker had to be where the White Knight was. "Half of the face burned, huh? A two-faced man. Nothing new." Amused, she finally moved forwards, to the final four areas.
The explosives were where they had to be - one outside the hospital, two in the left wing and also two in the right wing. With the bag empty and weightless, the woman decided to check upon the clown. Time continued going on, but still, quite a few minutes till the great explosion were left. Because she knew Gotham General well, Clara had no trouble reaching the required areas. Her work was fast, as productive as it could possibly be, leaving her with nothing else to do.
Jack was not as successful with time managing as she was. Clara caught sight of the man just as he got into one of the rooms. Before she could follow him, a cop passed Clara in a rush, not giving her a second glimpse. "Doctor, you'd better get moving, the building is collapsing any moment." The surgeon slowed down, thanking whatever gods for his lack of interest in her, and with troubled eyes watched the man get behind the same door that the Joker passed. Only muffled words reached Clara. "Ma'am, we're going to have to move him, now. Ma'am?" Quiet, wind-like sound from a silenced pistol failed to reach the assassin's ears and deliver the message. But the silence that stood afterwards spoke volumes on its own.
The woman crept closer and closer, reaching the opened door, peeking inside. Joker, with his back turned to her, had lost his wig, and at the current moment was ruffling his green, tangled hair. But Clara's gaze didn't stay on him for long. Her attention was focused on the man in the bed, who's one-half of the face was damaged beyond recognition. Macabre-looking wounds, one big, bloody hole where the skin was just a day ago, exposed flesh turning black and infected-looking. With the eyes of a doctor, Clara knew Dent needed professional supervision twenty-four/seven, otherwise, serious consequences might occur.
The woman leaned on the doorpost, not taking her eyes off of the wounded man. It's incredible he was still alive, she mused. Harvey's eye was barely holding its position in the socket, and the woman doubted he could actually see much with it. Didn't seem he was aware of his own wounds that much, as the man twisted and squirmed in the bed, trying to reach the Joker. The clown was talking, enraging him even further. With detached interest, Clara listened to their conversation, at the same time keeping an eye on what was happening outside the room.
"I don't want there to be any hard feelings between us, Harvey." Jack leaned backwards, making himself comfortable. Neither one of the men noticed the tall creature in the background, a mirthless twist of the mouth disfiguring her features. "When you and, uh..."
"RACHEL!" Dent interrupted the clown, a furious growl escaping his mouth. Joker gesticulated with his hand and continued as if nothing had happened.
"You and Rachel were being abducted, I was sitting in Gordon's cage. I didn't rig those charges..."
"Your men. Your plan. The surgeon." The clown twisted his head a tiny bit, analyzing his statements. His accusations.
"Do I really look like a guy with a plan?" Joker took a steady breath as if sniffing something in the air. "You know what I am? I am a dog chasing cars. I wouldn't know what to do with one if I caught it. Y'know, I jus-t do things." The man's artistic gesticulations gave additional effect, and, although not seeing his face, Clara knew him licking his lip. He always did that after a somewhat important statement. "The mob has plans-s-s.. The cops have plans. Gordon's got plans. Y'know," His head moved to the side subtly, with Dent following his lead, and suddenly, Clara found herself staring into two black abysses. "She has plans. They're schemers." Joker dedicated his attention back to the man in the bad, who was listening to his velvety voice hypnotized. "Schemers tryin' to control their little worlds. I am not a schemer. I try to show the schemers how pathetic their attempts to control things really are. So, when I say," Jack moved forwards, gripping Dent's hand in his own. "When I say that you and your girlfriend was nothing personal, you know I'm telling the truth."
A master of manipulations. The surgeon's jaw was locked tightly, to the point of, if put a little more pressure, the bone would break. Clara knew people outside were shouting and creating as much noise as only a panicking crowd could make, but for her, the world was silent. The woman's focus was on the anarchist, the chaotic, crazy madman in front, who decided to prove his point with actions, not just words.
The Joker released Harvey's restraints, talking whilst doing it. "It's the schemers that put you where you are. You were a schemer. You had plans. And... Look where it got you." Clara reacted the same moment as Dent half-jumped from the bed, reaching for Joker's throat. Except, her interference was not needed. The clown managed to control the wounded man with ease. He took a hold of the Two-Face arms, continuously talking. "I just did what I do bes-t. I took your little plan, and I turned it on itself. Look what I did to this city with a few drums of gas and a few bullets. Hmm? Y'know what I've noticed? Nobody panics when things go according to plan. Even when the plan is horrifying. If tomorrow I tell the press that a gangbanger will get shot, or a truckload of soldiers will be blown up, nobody panics. Because it's all part of a plan. But when I say that one little old mayor will die, everybody loses their minds!" Stupid, stupid, stupid. The idiot continued taunting the sleeping lion. Clara felt terror building up, as she noticed Joker taking a pistol out of a pocket, and handing it to the laying man. "Introduce a little anarchy. Upset the established order, and everything becomes chaos." Jack lowered his head, placing the gun against his forehead and closing his eyes momentarily. As they opened once more, there was not a drop of uneasiness in them, his stance calm and collected. "I am an agent of chaos-s-s. And y'know the thing about chaos? It's fair."
Breathing. Slow, steady breathing was heard coming from the Joker, and Clara had to remind herself to breathe, too. The woman's body was rigid, she was standing in the middle of the room without the ability to move, to do anything. Now, everything depended on the fallen White Knight. Harvey took a coin and showed one side of it to the clown. From a distance, Clara couldn't make the image engraved on it.
If she was immobile before, the assassin completely froze now, when Dent's words reached her. "You live." He turned the coin, and Clara saw the other side of the metal thing being burned and blackened. "You die." Blue met completely grey as he turned the mutilated face towards her. "And she will go together." The coin was being tossed upwards and landed on Harvey's palm. Clara couldn't see which side landed. She was waiting for an echo of the gun firing and prepared herself for the upcoming view of Jack's head exploding.
Nothing came. With a hateful look, Two-Face lowered the gun. The fate was merciful, deciding to save the tainted from their Last Court, at least for now.
Without another word, Joker turned around, moving towards the exit, making eye contact with the woman on his way. Their job was done. Before following him, she cast one last look to the man in the bed, who was already looking at her. A mere second passed, voiceless messages passing between them. A statement, a promise had yet to be said out loud. And it was, immediately.
"I won't forget." With a long, somewhat keen look, Clara nodded once.
"And you shouldn't." She finally turned, passing the door and following the clown's steps. The surgeon trailed behind, not trying to keep up with his long strides, but somehow, their paces equalized. She found herself going shoulder-to-shoulder with the Joker, neither of them saying anything. They both knew what was happening in each other's heads, words weren't needed to express anything. She was the schemer, trying to collect, to rationalize the chaos within her mind, whilst he was Chaos, embracing, enjoying the disorder.
Their ways didn't part until passing the final exit. Jack took the detonator from his seemingly bottomless pocket and with one final, somewhat longing look cast towards the tall woman, turned to the last bus remaining. Clara, on the other hand, had to reach her car and drive away on her own. But before she could make her way towards it, the Joker interrupted the silence. "I, uh, wouldn't have been killed, even if the coin had fallen the black side u-p." Surprise probably shone clearly on the assassin's face, an unspoken question hanging in the air. After a gentle caressing of the scar, a slow grin tore through the man's lips. "Couldn't, uh, let ya depart to Hell once more, could I?" The analogy of her previous journeys and adventures overseas stood proudly between them, and a silent vow not to let that happen again struck something inside Clara. Something that had been touched only a few times before, and something that was used to the cold, unbreakable cage that surrounded it.
Before she herself could say anything, the Joker brought the detonator up, moving it from side to side. "Time flies, toots. Ten seconds-s-s."
Unexpectedly, an amused smirk elongated the surgeon's lips. A strong, powerful body that was designed to survive turned around, sprinting towards the black Mustang in the corner of the parking lot. The second she took off, a loud bang echoed inside the Gotham General Hospital. In the rear-view mirror, the woman could make out individual parts of the building collapsing, a complete hell erupting.
An unexpected feeling of peace came, enveloping Clara in its embrace. A feeling of peace that the woman longed for her whole life. Something changed inside her, twisting and transforming, forming new, unpredictable pieces of personality. The old burned down together with the dying construction.
Suddenly, she saw a glimpse of a black, somewhat familiar sleek car speeding towards her. The last thing that the assassin felt was a vibration, before pain tore through her left side, completely drowning the sane part of her brain in burning furry and desperate craze.
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Song of the chapter: Black Sabbath - Falling Off The Edge Of The World