** A/N hey guys, I hope you're all keeping safe out there?
I'm so sorry for not posting as regular as I would like to. I've been struggling to find the motivation to write recently. It's like, the ideas are all there but I can't motivate myself enough to get them typed out. So, thank you all for your continued patience and understanding, especially
Avengerssoulmate , MarinaCasares & VeloySR595 ! Your support means so much to me 💖
Nothing much happens in this chapter, other than reader & our adorable clown getting to know each other a little better. I promise the next update will be more exciting!
Hope you all enjoy! 💜 EAG20 **
-- 1st person POV --
The sound of the old clock echoed down the hallway outside your room; alerting you to the fact that it was now 2:30 in the morning.
Christ, is that all it was? You'd never known for time to drag by like this.
Alone in this spooky, shabby room of the asylum, it felt like the longest night of your damn life.
The ghostly voices had been plaguing you intermittently. So much so that you'd begged, pleaded, and even resorted to commanding them to leave you be.
They didn't listen.
Perhaps they didn't hear you like you heard them. Or perhaps it was all in your head, in which case pleading for them to be silent most likely wouldn't work.
On the other hand if they were the voices of spirits, maybe they enjoyed tormenting you.
Whatever the reason, you were tired and emotionally overwrought. Your nerves well passed being frayed, they were in tatters.
In desperation you'd pulled the old comforter over your head, hoping to find some peace, some way of escape. Ironically you weren't finding the comforter at all comforting. You were struggling to breath. The heaviness of the damp, musty quilt was suffocating, but you persevered.
Perhaps suffocating slowly was preferable to being driven mad by disembodied voices.
Just as you were cursing the feebleness of the human body for it's dependence on oxygen, another sound caught your attention.
You held your breath, what little of it you had, as your ears strained to listen. The sound of a key turning in a lock, then the slow creak of the door....your door.
An icy chill of terror raced over your skin and made the small hairs on your arms stand on end. You shivered and pulled the bedclothes tighter around you.
But then your senses started to kick in, and you began to reason with your irrational fears.
It had to be a human hand that had turned that key, surely. It wasn't a restless spirit. The tortured soul of some long-dead Arkham inmate.
It had to be someone of flesh and blood, and that someone.....could only be one person.
"Jo?" You called out, throwing the covers back with a flourish.
You'd never been so happy to see someone in your entire life.
Except....what you saw when you emerged from your quilt-cocoon made all the colour drain from your face.
In the doorway stood a lean figure with a ghoulish white face, like something that had stepped straight off the set of a scary movie.
You heard an ear-piercing scream that was surely shrill enough to shatter glass, and it took you a few frantic seconds to realise it was in fact actually coming from you.
In response, the spectral figure....let out a sharp exclamation of their own...
"AAH, FUCK--!" He clutched a hand to his chest, clearly shaken. "What's your problem? You trying to give me a fucking heart attack?"
You blinked rapidly, recognising the raspy, honeyed tones of your captor.
Well, captor he may be, but you were flooded with a huge wave of relief that overwhelmed you to the brink of tears.
"I nearly gave you a heart attack!" You shakily managed to respond, as you stared at him accusingly. "What's with the face? How was I to know it was you?"
"I had a bath." He replied, as if the answer was obvious. But your bewildered expression demanded further explanation. He huffed, "I don't feel comfortable without my paint, alright? I was just halfway through applying it when...." The words got stuck in his throat; halted by his brain.
He wasn't going to divulge to you that he'd felt compelled to make sure that you were alright. That he'd had a very uncharacteristic attack of conscience, which alarmingly seemed to be a common occurrence where you were concerned.
"When....what?" You urged, perplexed.
But he had no intentions of elaborating or telling you the truth. Just like Joker wouldn't ever admit that you were the reason he had re-applied his makeup. Ordinarily he would be alone, so there was no need for it.
But with you here, he had to don his greasepaint night and day. He didn't want you seeing his face without it. The face he disliked so much.
It was his old face.
Joker had outgrown Arthur, and it irritated him at times even having to look in the mirror when his face was free of greasepaint.
It was his war paint, it helped him to face the world. Even though technically he'd now chosen to hide from it, the makeup still made him feel like himself.
Joker.
That was who he was.
Who he had to be.
Tonight he'd settled on leaving his face white, and had forgone painting his eyes and lips, simply because he couldn't be bothered. As long as his face was covered to some extent, that would suffice.
He hadn't stopped to consider he might inadvertently frighten the crap out of you.
"I....thought you might need to use the bathroom." He lied grossly, shrugging one shoulder. "That's why I'm here."
You stared at him, resisting the urge to retaliate with something scathing. You bit your tongue. Now was not the time for verbally sparring with the quarrelsome clown.
You were tired. Emotional. And far too thankful for his unexpected but welcome intrusion.
"Actually I could use the bathroom."
You fought your way out from beneath the heavy, damp blankets and stood, shivering slightly.
Comically, he inhaled in shock as he took-in what you were wearing.
Just what were you wearing? Some sort of pyjama shorts and a cozy, oversized sweater.
Oh god, this is what he'd been dreading.
It wasn't exactly a lacy negligé, but still.
You were showing way too much flesh for his liking.
He weren't to know that the only pyjamas you'd packed were short and vest sets, much to your chagrin. But how was you to know that instead of spending your nights in the warmth and comfort of a hotel room, you'd be locked up in a dank old mansion?
You'd only put your shorts on because it was too uncomfortable sleeping in jeans or pants.
Now you had calmed down, you also found yourself taking notice of what Joker himself was wearing.
The red suit was gone; in it's place a light grey, long-sleeved T.shirt, and loose fitting sweatpants. The kind that were a little too long so they were practically gathered under the heels of his bare feet; a detail that you found oddly cute, which disturbed you.
There was nothing cute about Joker, aka Arthur Fleck. How could he be? He was a murderer.
As you approached him he cleared his throat, "Aren't you going to....p-put on some pants?"
"I am wearing pants." You lifted the hem of your long sweater, in order to prove that you weren't pant-less.
"O-okay."
You were blushing hotly now. "I wouldn't walk around in my underwear you know."
Thankfully the subdued lighting in the room disguised his blushes. The soft pink of his cheeks made his face look slightly purple beneath the white paint.
He hadn't assumed you were just wearing panties with the sweater. If he had he probably would've fainted. He'd seen the shorts beneath the sweater, he'd just hoped that you would put on some pants to cover your smooth, bare legs.
He then cursed himself for being so irrationally affected by your femininity. It was as if his acute male awareness had shifted into overdrive.
Taking the oil lamp, he escorted you to the bathroom in silence.
At night time the winding hallways were even more menacing, more oppressive. The shadows were longer, the darkness even more dense, and every little sound was amplified. The soft shuffling of two pairs of feet almost deafening, and the walls groaned as if the building itself was a living, breathing thing.
Once you'd finished and rejoined him, the thought occurred to you that he was going to take you back once again to that awful room, and lock you in. Lock you in with those persistent voices that plagued you and kept you awake.
"J-Jo, please.....don't make me go back there alone."
He halted in his tracks and threw his head back. Closing his eyes he groaned as if in pain, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was weary of your persistent whining.
But you weren't whining. Not really. You had your reasons.
"I'm not staying with you." He insisted, coldly.
You gazed up at him, desperation making you panic.
Although a good few inches taller than you, Joker wasn't an overly tall guy. But the height difference between you enabled him to affix his gaze beyond you, as he stared off over your shoulder.
"Please. I can't be alone in there....I can't, it....it's--"
He was now forced to look at you, as you unexpectedly began to cry.
You felt pitiful. Crying yet again. It was infuriating, not being able to control your emotions like this. But the circumstances you found yourself in were getting to you. They had got to you. It felt like torture. The voices you hadn't heard since childhood having now returned, were chipping away at your resolve. Making you feel mentally weak, and emotionally drained.
"You're shaking." Joker pointed out, his painted brows drawing together in a deep frown.
He was right. You were indeed shaking. Shaking like an autumn leaf clinging to the branch of a tree, caught in a gale.
"It's just a room." He tried to reason. "I know the old place is kinda creepy but--"
"It isn't that. It's the..." You sniffled, trying to get a hold of yourself. Part of you wanted to just tell him the truth, the other part not so much. You were so accustomed to being judged.
"The what?" He asked sternly, his patience rapidly running out.
When you didn't answer however, the tightness in his clenched jaw eased. The tone of his voice softening once again to warm honey, that seemed to soothe you like a child.
"Tell you what, I'll make a deal with you." He proposed, the hint of a smile transforming his ghostly white face. "We can go to the living room. I'll make us some coffee, and then you can tell me about it. Deal?"
You raised teary eyes to him and nodded, "Okay...b-but on one condition..."
He raised a brow in apparent amusement. As if he suddenly relished your audacity. The way you had no qualms calling the shots, or negotiating the terms of a deal with the infamous crown prince of crime.
"And what condition might that be, little girl?" He smirked, throwing in the nickname that irked you so much, just for good measure. Just because he actually kinda enjoyed the way you asserted yourself and wasn't afraid to stand up to him.
The novelty of having men and women alike fawning over him had grown old real quick for Joker. The way they fell over themselves to do his every bidding was tiresome. It's like they were mindless drones. Subservient and too afraid to challenge his authority.
Well, surprisingly for him he was finding he rather liked the way you challenged it.
"I want to come with you." You levelled at him.
He stared at you agog. As if he wasn't comprehending.
"I'm sorry, come with me where exactly?"
"Well to the kitchen. While you make the coffee. I don't want to be left up here by myself."
His shoulders began to shake as he turned and headed back down the hall to his living quarters.
"What's so funny?" Hackles rising, you scuttled after him. "I have my reasons for being afraid, okay. You don't have to laugh at me--"
"I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing at the thought of me going down to the kitchens to make a pot of coffee." He chuckled. "The ceiling has practically caved in in that part of the building. I doubt anyone has set foot in there since the asylum closed."
The bubble of resentment that had been lodged in your chest, began to dissolve.
"Oh. Right, I see. Sorry I just thought that..."
"That's your problem, (y/n). You think too much. You're very presumptuous."
Really? You thought, feeling slightly chided. The former Arkham hospital inmate and resident lunatic was now psychoanalysing you.
How was that for irony?
>>------------------------------------->>
As it turned out, Joker boiled hot water using an old kettle on the fire, and the coffee was freeze-dried granules that came out of a jar.
But you accepted the hot beverage from him gratefully, as you sat at one end of the couch. The rough woollen blanket tucked around your legs.
It was warm and comfortable in the cavernous old room. Despite it's neglected state, it was more snug than the godawful room that doubled as your holding cell.
But you managed to put that from your mind. At least you were here now. He'd taken pity on you, so you couldn't help thawing towards him.
"So....you gonna tell me your story or what?" He spoke suddenly, pulling another log from the rack at the side of the fire. "A deals a deal."
You sighed. "It's a long story."
Joker jabbed at the flaming logs with an iron poker, with a level of expertise which suggested he'd done it many times before. "Well neither of us are going anywhere."
Hm. Infuriating jackass.
You wanted to keep your guard up, you really did.
But.....throughout every ridiculous conversation the two of you had, you were admittedly unwilling to tear your eyes away from his face, and now was no different, as you watched him stoking the fire.
At first you had thought it was due to the makeup.
But now you weren't so convinced.
It was the expressions beneath it that fascinated you. The way his entire countenance conveyed his thoughts, from his active dark brows, to his lively green eyes. To his mobile mouth which quirked into that lazy smile of his.
He was smiling at you now, showing his slightly yellowing teeth. Displaying that one crooked, overlapping tooth, which was unfathomably cute.
All in all, you found yourself surprisingly captivated by him.
When he was being amiable and engaging, he had a vitality about him that made your fingers twitch with the irrational urge to reach out and touch him. Because to touch something so marvellous and rare, was extraordinarily appealing to your romantic nature.
He was an anomaly. A layered mystery to be uncovered, and you found yourself wanting to get closer to the man beneath the greasepaint, not just for selfish reasons.
You'd had every intention of getting closer to him, believing that it may hold the key to your freedom. Maybe even the difference between life and death.
But now you were finding that you genuinely wanted to get closer, to get to know Arthur Fleck, without the need for any hidden agenda.
Your curiosity had gotten the better of you.
"I'll tell you my story....if you tell me something about you."
He looked up at you, none too happy.
"That wasn't the deal."
"Aw, come on Jo. I'm not asking for your entire backstory. Just...." You shrugged hopelessly. ".....I don't know....something. I'd like to know you better. That's all."
He gave an exaggerated huff, acting like he was more irritated than he actually was.
"Fine. I'll tell you one thing. Just one. But you go first." He set the poker back in it's stand with a metallic clunk, then came and flopped himself down on the couch with an almost clumsy grace.
The man really had zero qualms about breaching your personal space. His proximity altered the air around you, making your skin prickle like static electricity.
No part of him was touching you, but the old couch suddenly seemed so much smaller. How was it that his gangly body took up more space than it ought to? It was unnatural.
"Okay, but....you're going to think I'm weird."
The corner of his mouth kicked-up in bemusement. "Weird? Really? Can you not see who you're talking to?"
You tried and failed to suppress a giggle, but as you considered what you were about to disclose to him, any lingering traces of laughter faded.
You were afraid. Terrified of being judged. You knew it shouldn't matter and that it made no sense, fretting over his opinion of you, yet still you felt dread gathering in the pit of your gut.
But in spite of your reservations, you found yourself telling him anyway.
You tell him about your family giving you up; possibly due to them being alarmed by their weird offspring that claimed to hear "voices"
You tell him about your foster family, who sought treatment for you. Treatment that came in the forms of psychiatric analysis, behavioural therapy, and medication.
You even tell him how the medication never really helped, and how you haven't heard the dreaded voices for years, until coming here.
All the while, Joker listened carefully. He never once interrupted, or looked at you in disbelief.
He just sat in silence and listened to you as you talked.
That in itself was a novel experience. You couldn't ever recall anyone paying this much close attention to what you had to say. It made you feel as if your words, your feelings, your fears...:actually mattered.
"So.....pretty crazy, huh?"
Your stomach shifted uneasily and you noticed that the hands you were hugging yourself with were pinching into your skin.
"I don't think so." Joker mused, lifting his cigarette to his white lips, "I mean, the way I see it is....whether these voices are dead people or just all in your head, it doesn't make you crazy. It just means you're different, that's all." He exhaled a cloud of smoke which clung to the air around his head like a silvery shroud. "It's too bad your parents didn't realise you're just special. But people are always frightened of what they don't understand."
Finally, the knots that had been violently twisting in your stomach began to loosen. His understanding words unravelling them like a ball of twine.
"I....I can imagine people are afraid of you." You ventured, cautiously. "But I suppose that's the way you want it, right?"
"People were afraid of me before I became who I am, so yeah I figured I might as well give them something to be afraid of."
In the glow of the firelight, his emerald eyes darkened into two onyx stones.
"But if everyone is afraid of you, that must be a lonely way to live."
He coughed and cleared his throat, keen to change the subject. "I hope you realise that counts as the one thing I agreed to tell you."
"Wait, no! That's not fair!" You protested, giggling in response to his mischievous eyes glittering with suppressed mirth.
You jabbed at his ribs with your finger, and almost squealed with delight when he squirmed.
"Ticklish huh? Who'd have thought it."
His laughter washed over you; soft, gentle, and natural. Not at all obnoxious or forced. Just delightfully real and warm, and beautiful.
"Alright, enough!" He caught hold of your wrist and gently tugged you towards him.
You gasped slightly as you found yourself almost nose to nose with him. Your heart thundered in your ears; the blood whooshing around your head.
A subtle shift in his posture alerted you to him tilting his body closer towards you.
You held your breath.
Even your eyes fluttered shut of their own accord, as if acting on pure instinct.
And then.....
He licked the side of your face.
"Ew!" You pushed him away, laughing in spite of yourself. "That is so gross!"
Joker could hardly speak for laughing, and his laughter was infectious. "You tickled me, it's only fair!"
"No, what's fair is you telling me something about yourself, Jo. You promised!"
"Okay okay."
He dragged his hands through his hair, trying to reconstruct some composure.
"I.....I know how you feel." He blurted, surprising himself.
Shit. Where had that come from?
Something deep inside of him knew as if instinctively, that if he looked in the mirror now, even if he had all of his makeup on, it would reflect the man he saw -- the man the world saw -- but all they saw, somehow wouldn't be right.
Outwardly he was Joker. A product of society, years of suffering indifference, abuse and neglect. He was charismatic, dangerous, as inscrutable as a sphinx.
Yet now, inside.... he felt disarmed. Vulnerable. His carefully cultivated armour had been penetrated, and so alarmingly quickly.
You alone somehow possessed the power to dismantle walls he had built around him, so high and deep.
With you he felt.....defenceless.
Funny, he thought, how once, fireworks and anger, love and frustrations, ambition and fear had raged within him beneath the surface, when all the world saw was the meek brown haired man, too timid and afraid of his own shadow.
He clenched his fists, the muscles flexing in his jaw.
Perhaps it was the white face paint. Yes that must be it.
At the minute he was neither Arthur or Joker, but rather some maudlin hybrid that was dwelling on his emotions too much.
"Jo? Are you okay?"
Your sweet voice clawed him back into the moment, tearing his thoughts down around his head.
"O-oh, yeah. Sorry, I must've zoned out."
You stared at him unblinking, unable to contain your eagerness.
"I, um, I was adopted." He continued, finally. "And....I've had to see shrinks in the past. A lot of shrinks actually." He forced a laugh.
The laugh that was a mere echo compared to how he'd laughed just a few minutes ago.
He grinned. "Turns out, I'm not right in the head either, so....you're in good company (y/n)."
You nodded. "Yeah. Perhaps we're both in the right place too. We probably belong here."
His secrets were no revelation to you of course, having read all about his life and upbringing.
But he didn't know that. Which meant they were secrets to him, and the fact that he'd willingly opened up to you about matters so deeply personal, made this a huge deal.
And his bravery and honesty really meant something to you. It meant a lot to you in fact.
"Here's an idea..." He spoke again suddenly, derailing your train of thought. "Speaking of being here....we could take a look in the old office tomorrow, there's loads of old paperwork and stuff. Maybe we might find something that ties your foster-uncle to this place."
"Like what exactly? He bought this place a few years ago. His lawyer gave me the deeds."
Joker shrugged, "I don't know. Perhaps he had a relative that worked here, or was an inmate or something. It's just a thought. It would give us something to do."
You paused, considering his suggestion. Even if this was a crackpot idea, it was still another big development.
He was thinking up ways to kill time for you. Ways that would involve you spending time together, and away from that dreaded room down the hall.
"Okay cool." You shrugged. "I'm game if you are."
"Cool." He mimicked.
He then smiled goofily and lowered his gaze, looking every inch like you'd just agreed to go on a date with him.
No, that was just your imagination running away with itself again.
It had to be.