YIKES SO GUESS WHO'S BACK AFTER TWENTY SEVEN YEARS I SKIPPED SCHOOL TO UPDATE THIS AAAAAA!!! Gosh y'all have no idea how sorry I am for leaving you with the last chapter for so long, hopefully this extreeeemely long chapter filled with drama will make up for it... eek! So the beginning of this chapter is a little lengthy but TRUST ME. If ur into the drama, ur gonna wanna read it. Take a fucking sip, babes

So just in case y'all need a recap since it has been like,, September since I updated: June n Joker got frisky [but y'all knew that] and Dr. Arkham asked Mara,, the snake,, to run an investigative errand for him. Drama ensues, the plot thickens, etc. In this chapter there's just.... a lot.... but it's all important to the plot so please read. PLUS i introduce one of my all time fav characters so. Yea!

Also another important author's note at the end for those who want some gossip and to uh. Follow a special Heath/Joker themed twitter I made specifically to post ab them shameless self promo....

Enjoy! The next chapter will probably take pretty long too but hopefully since I'm getting my mental health more under control it won't be AS long. Thank u so much for the lovely support and messages I've been receiving lately!!

[p.s. roughish version so i'll come back to edit later lmao]

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Chapter 10: Solitaire

Apartment 818, right at the very top of the complex in centre Red Hook, six flights up. Juniper Stoltz was sure that the stairs in her complex was where half of her calories disappeared to. Of course, she wondered how Colter could ever bother sometimes stalking her all the way home when he had to trek this many stairs- drunk, too- but she never doubted the persistence of the predatory male.

Red door, faux golden handle. A rusted door lock. Handbag slung over her arm, she sighed, steadying the first lopsided 8 that hung on her door, tilted to the left thanks to a missing screw. Ever since the owner of the complex yelled at her for Colter having broken her peephole (which wasn't even her fault) she'd been far too nervous to ask about the slightly jammed doorknob or the broken number on her door (which had also been Colter's fault). She simply made do.

Scoffing to herself, June rubbed her forehead. Why was she thinking about this, of all things? Of all the trivial happenings in her life, what the hell was so interesting or concerning about her own door that it was worth worrying about over, say, the Joker discovering her clairvoyance? Her diary? What the inside of her own mouth tasted like? Why wasn't she scared? Why couldn't she feel anything?

She was numb, she supposed. To all of it, she was numb. There had been bad times in her life, years of depression, bouts of loneliness and death, and, Death- that to even bask in something as wrong as touching her patient was nothing less than sane and responsible in her head. So backwards she was now, her brain twisted upside-down, that she really did trust the Joker to keep her secrets so long as she had a firm hold of his. And yet here she was, staring at her beaten door, thinking that to be the worst inconvenience since their session that day. Priorities.

She turned the key in the lock and jiggled the handle, waiting for it to pop back into place before pushing through the door. Inside, she slammed it shut and dropped her bag. For a few moments she stood there in the soothing silence of her living room, feeling as though she'd come back home a different person, a changed spirit in the wrong body. The body of a doctor who she could hardly pretend to be anymore, as there was someone on this earth who'd broken through that façade and seen who she really was.

That was when the image of him briefly glinted in the front of her mind; June's face contorted into one of pain (and pining and wanting and desperate, desperate craving) and suddenly she ran into the arms of her sofa stomach-first, hiding her face in the cushions. Him. Him, oh, him- butterflies in her stomach- why, why him, of everyone? Why was it that the only person who seemed to understand her was someone as mad, as sick, as lonely and as deranged as the Joker? Someone who saw murder as murder but also as art, someone whose beliefs were opposite to hers, and yet in the same exact vein? Why did he have to nod at her, and say yes, Junie, I believe in you. Yes, Junie, I understand, Junie, yes, Junie, you're just like me. Me. Who is 'me'? June asked this endlessly every night to empty rooms and shadowed bedsheets: who is 'me' to the Joker, a man who has no 'me' but the 'me' that was created less than three years go? The 'me' that sprung up from nowhere, the 'me' with no name. Such a peculiar 'me', she thought, and with a hidden smile pillowed by her wrists, shut her eyes and remembered how roughly and attentively that 'me' set his lips on her own, teeth chafing teeth, mouth agape in welcoming her into his humble abode- his mouth- the mouth of a man with no 'me', but the mouth of a man that tasted so sweet as to trap her thoughts to his tastebuds, silently and perpetually wishing to taste them again.

Annoyedly, she beat the pillow as she forced herself up and onto her feet, stomping toward her handbag by the door whilst her doctor's labcoat rode down her arms- I am sane, I am sane, I am sane. No more thinking about him like that, no more fantasising, no more touching, no more kissing. After promising herself this: I will never lose myself around him again- the thin white coat fell somewhere beside her handbag, not to be worn again until morning.

In her bag, she pulled out her audio diary- returned to her finally- and softly held it to her chest as if it'd still her aggravated self. So much anxiety and worry and fear, all for it to be mended by a heated kiss that meant nothing. That was all it was, right? It was meaningless, wasn't it?

She wandered with her diary to the kitchen as she usually did, ready to make herself a cup of coffee to calm herself down. After what had happened in the past few days, she thought she deserved it, though when she went to flick the kettle on, she couldn't help but constantly glance down at the little device in her hands (little, she says, even though her diary is bigger than her two hands put together) and think to herself in complete woe and wonderment that the Joker had listened to everything that was in there. Everything, just as he said he did. Of course, she did stop for a moment to question his legitimacy- how mad does one have to be to trust a madman?- but he hadn't ever really lied before. Not to her, at least. There'd been little jokes here and there, white lies, avoided questions and now, knowing he had amnesia, having just forgotten the majority of it all, but he hadn't directly lied to her before. It didn't make him a good person, God, no, but when put into perspective, he'd treated her in a rather fair, almost gentle way: not reaching out to attack her (just reaching out to touch her) and never trying to kill her (just kiss her, just once) and even though it was still comparing antisocial behaviour to sociopathic behaviour, she'd always come out unscathed, hadn't she?

What the Joker was proposing to her was only fair, given the circumstances: she keeps his secret, and he keeps hers. It seemed all so simple saying it in her head, though when put in that situation, when put in the moment, the lines tend to get a little... well, they bend a lot, and swerve and knot and tangle until there's an even patch to be found again. She'd noticed that his behaviour comes in waves: he'd be calm for a while, docile, sedated... and then the built-up emotion comes out in a sudden burst of passion, whether it be an argument or a glare, a sudden fleeting thought of murder, or apparently a mangled kiss over the therapy table. And then calm again. He was predictably unpredictable, not like a time bomb, but a natural disaster, a volcano just waiting to erupt and wipe everything out before starting fresh again. Back to sleep. Back to calm.

Away from her thoughts, she blinked hard and focused instead on her diary. As June's thumbs brushed over the buttons on it, she noticed some residue leftover on it- paint. White paint. With the Joker's manhandling, she hoped he hadn't broken her diary, so she switched it on with high hopes, and luckily the screen lit up. She exhaled in relief. She'd been terrified for a moment that four years of research had been lost, though it looked like everything was fine. She began scrolling through the list of entries, just to make sure he hadn't deleted anything, though nothing seemed out of place.

Except for one entry.

Bringing her face close to the tiny screen, she analysed the numbers of the date next to the entry, to see when it had appeared there. April 4th, 1:23am. The early hours of that exact same day.

How bizzare, she thought, as she didn't remember recording anything then. In fact, she didn't even have her diary, at that time the Joker... had it...

A hesitant thumb lingered over the play button, the question of whether to listen to it or not ping-ponging back and forth in her head. On April 4th, 1:23am, the Joker had her diary. And to think, if he could figure out how it worked enough to listen to her entries, then surely he found no trouble in discovering how to create one himself...

And just like that, just as she was about to press play, there came a cacophonous knock at her front door. It was frantic and quick, but not harsh and heavy, not the thumping noise of Colter's broad fists- instead the sound of small knuckles tapping and tapping and tapping.

Junie went to go run to the door, then realised that her diary was still in hand. Awkwardly bobbing from one foot to the other, she desperately tossed her diary into her handbag in a fleeting moment of panic.

She approached the door rather quickly, more relaxed in knowing it wasn't Colter- he preferred catcalling over knocking- but she pressed her ear to the door for a moment to try and see if she could hear who was on the other side. As if that worked.

She asked, "Who is it?"

"It's Mara. You in there? I'm, uh... I kinda need help."

Tucking her hair behind her ears (though the curls always fell back out) June unlocked and slid the bolt on the door, then opened it, revealing Mara soaked in rain wearing her creased uniform. The pale girl was shivering, holding herself tightly.

Confused, June checked the time on her watch. "Mara, it's almost night time, what're you doing here? Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah, I'm..." she sniffled as if she was crying, "I'm fine, but... I need a place to stay."

Without question, June stepped to the side and let her in, hastily shutting the door. "Jeez, Mara, you- you're absolutely drenched. Stay there a sec, lemme go get you a towel." Wasting no time, she was in and out of the bathroom with a fresh, blue towel and handed it to Mara, who took it with strange hesitance, not expecting such kindness without having to earn it first. It was usually like that in Gotham, always tit for tat, not doing anything for anyone until they've done something for you. June, however, was different, and it was indiscernible whether or not that was a good thing.

June didn't know exactly what she was doing. The company was unexpected, but here she was quickly making the rounds throughout her apartment, flicking her kettle on in case Mara wanted a coffee and clearing her shower if her clothes needed hanging up. It was all an act of subconsciousness, but kindness, nonetheless.

"What happened to you, anyway?" June asked, speeding around her apartment to find a spare blanket whilst simultaneously tidying the living room.

Mara watched her uneasily as she bounced from one end of the room to the other, clearing out the sofa and moving the coffee table. "Uh, there was... an accident at my apartment complex. A... fire. I didn't know who else to ask. Where else to stay."

"It's alright," June assured her. "Are you hurt at all?"

"No, it, um, happened when I was at work."

"Late night shift again?" June smiled, poking her head around her bedroom door as she searched for a blanket.

Looking down, Mara bit her tongue in what vaguely tasted like guilt. "Uh... yeah."

June circled the sofa and laid down the blanket and spare pillow before returning to Mara, who was drying her hair with the towel. "Do you want me to hang up your clothes? I've got some spare jammies if you need any."

"I'm fine--"

"Here," June peeled Mara's coat from her arms and slung it over her shoulder, not caring if she got herself wet. "Do you want some coffee?"

"No, I'm--"

"Tea, then?"

"No, I don't need any--"

"Hot chocolate?"

"June--"

"Water?"

"June!"

"What?"

Mara swallowed hard, waiting for June to calm down. "Thank you for offering and everything, but I just wanna go to sleep."

Smile slowly dropping, June looked down at the droplets of water that had landed on the floor around Mara, then awkwardly tried to laugh. "Oh, um, sure, sure, sorry, I know I can get carried away, I just..." She shrugged. "I'm just worried, y'know?"

"You seem paranoid," Mara scoffed, then asked the question, "Anything on your mind?"

There was an eerie silence for a while, tense and never-ending. Of course there were things on her mind, she was thinking of a million things all at once and almost all of them were about the Joker. She wouldn't dare say a thing. All the while Mara waited there with baited breath, anticipating the moment that June finally spilled.

June just shook her head and smiled. "No, no. Just tired and... just tired, I guess."

"You're always tired."

The air felt strange, and June couldn't bring herself to say much. There had never been much to say to begin with. She changed the subject. "Um, go and take a rest on the couch, and I'll, uh..." Her sentence ended halfway as she wandered to her bedroom, hanging Mara's coat up on the bathroom door handle on the way there. "I'll just hang back in my room and..."

Mara's eyes shifted around the apartment, and the moment she glanced back at June's indescribable expression, she'd noticed that a few things were... off.

"I'll just go to sleep then," said Mara, inching toward the ready-made sofa and sitting on it. "I usually don't sleep this late."

"I usually don't sleep this early..." June tried to joke, but her laughter came out in the form of a small and strange whimper, gaze growing more and more distant as she neared the light switch. "I'll just, turn this light off and--" her finger flipped the switch, the whole room turning dark. "--go to bed. I'm a pretty heavy sleeper, so don't worry about waking me up." She smiled warmly, though her lips were crooked, her voice wavering. Everything felt grey, with how Mara had rejected her help, and in a way June felt useless, unwanted. She'd always thought her problem was that bad things happened to her because she was too reserved, but every time she offered a helping hand it was always slapped away, even unnoticed by most. Maybe that was why she was so obsessed with the attention the Joker spoon-fed her. It made her feel useful for once, even if she really was just a toy.

Mara eventually just nodded, getting under the blankets without even mumbling a 'thank you' or a 'goodnight'. June stood in her bedroom doorway for a moment, watching with uncertain eyes as Mara simply closed her eyes and slept. Seemingly slept, anyway.

Quietly closing her door, June crossed her bedroom and in her bedside drawer, she pulled out an orange bottle of pills, sleeping pills, freshly bought from the local pharmacist a few days beforehand. After undressing and throwing on a shirt, she hummed quietly to herself and poured a single pill into her palm, chalky and white (like the paint he wore, oh, how sweet). She sat in her bed and took her water bottle, placing the pill on her tongue and gulping it down before waiting, just waiting, until the warm embrace of sleep swallowed her just as she had swallowed it- and she melted into the dark thought of him.

On the other side of the door, Mara also waited, upright with her ear pressed to June's bedroom door. Hearing her every movement, each footstep across the floor, the shuffling of her bedsheets, the plastic rattling of... something... and then her breaths, quickly, sharply... slowly, deeply... then finally, silence. Everything was still. All that Mara could hear now were her own nervous breaths, scratching dryly at the sides of her throat.

She stepped away from the bedroom door and brought her phone out from her pocket, switching the torch on. Time to get to work.

Mara- the selfish spy- wandered from one side of the apartment to the other, detouring in June's bathroom to see what it was like. The door creaked open eerily, an omen of danger that never came. At first glance, June's bathroom was much like her own: white tiles, mould growing in from the top corners of the ceiling from dampness, the unopened blinds gathering dust for months, maybe years. Completely inconspicuous, average Gotham living.

But upon closer inspection of her reflection in the scratched mirror cabinet, she noticed multiple lipstick tubes, some fresh and unused- new, even- all strewn across the sink. Picking up a lipstick tube carefully, she popped off the lid and turned the barrel, watching as the bullet pirouetted from its case. Red. Mara furrowed her brows. She'd never seen June wear red before, at least, she didn't think so. She opened another one. Also red, but perhaps a shade lighter. Then the next. Red again, but darker, more of a wine colour. Some of the lipstick tubes- most notably the ones that looked more pink or coral than red- seemed to be put to one side, as if to discard them. As if their colour was... wrong.

Setting the lipsticks back down where she found them, Mara took a quick glance at herself in the mirror, fixing her hair and eyeliner. Then she realised that the mirror was in fact a cabinet, and when pressed, it popped open with a satisfying click. Immediately she perked, greeted by rows of pill bottles with varying colours and uses.

"Hello..." she whispered to herself, mouth slightly curled into a grin. The light from her phone shone through the coloured bottles, creating stain-glass patterns of oranges and blues and greens inside the cabinet. Closer, she read the labels, wondering what they meant (she wasn't good with all that chemical stuff that the doctors knew about) but she deduced their uses eventually. Anti-depressants, a lot of them were anti-depressants. Perhaps one or two were anti-anxiety pills and one bottle in particular, a light brown one, was anti-psychotics. Mara had no idea what anti-psychotics did, but she'd heard somewhere that they helped people relax. So like Xanax. I think. This bottle wasn't used very much, still almost full to the brim completely with pills. June had never mentioned ever using pills for anything other than menstrual pains, so to see all of this was a shock. She quickly switched to the camera on her phone and took a picture of it all, switching back to the torch when she was done.

When she left the bathroom, she crouched by June's bookshelf next to the TV, turning her head to the side so that she could read their spines. Apparently June was a conspiracist or something, with how many books she had on superhuman abilities like telepathy, and a lot of brain stuff. Many of them were about Psychology, but she owned even more on books about how exactly the brain worked, even categorised into sections: books on personality, books on forming memories and books on people like a man named Henry Molaison (who she remembered June saying that he had some form of amnesia where he couldn't create new memories without forgetting them). June was weird like that. Her books were weird. She was weird. Quickly snapping a photo of the bookshelf, Mara stood up with a roll of her eyes.

When she was on her feet, she was face to face with a photograph atop the bookshelf, an old one of June at graduation with her mother. Mara knew that there was something up with June's family life. She knew that her father had left them or something, apparently because he was white, but never, not once, had June ever spoke about her mother. Mara was never really bothered enough to ask about it- especially with how June had yelled at her to get out her office a few weeks ago just after mentioning her dad... God, she was so weird.

In the kitchen she found nothing save for a few empty boxes of Chinese takeaway piling up in her trash and a lot of dirty mugs in her sink, so at this point Mara felt it was time to leave. As she grabbed her coat, she was ready to make a break for it, but almost stumbled over June's handbag left on the floor in the doorway. She covered her mouth as to not make a sound. Then slowly, she crouched down next to it, quickly examining the bottle before she turned to the bag.

"Vodka?" She mouthed silently. She hadn't seen a glimpse of any shot glasses- did she just drink straight from the bottle?

Great, so she's weird and a drunk. What a weirdo. She took a picture.

Then there was the bag. Quietly popping it open, she delved her hands into the bag as slowly and delicately as she could, careful of the objects rattling against one another. She found another red lipstick, a pocket mirror, some cigarettes (they both smoked the same brand yet she'd never seen June hold a cigarette in all the three years she'd known her), and she was about to leave once again until she felt her hand brush against an oddly shaped object, rectangular and heavy. Her fingers smoothed the top of it, feeling the bumps of a few buttons and...

"What the..."

Slowly pulling it out of the bag, she shone her light on it and struck a confused glare, turning the object from one side to another. She'd seen these before... it was one of those voice recorders that the doctors sometimes used during sessions, although she knew that these weren't allowed in Arkham anymore. Curiously, she switched it on. She didn't play anything, lest the noise wake June up, but she sat there scrolling through entry dates for a good few minutes... there were hundreds of them, thousands. Like a diary, almost.

Inwardly gasping, she shoved it in her coat pocket and got up, quickly glancing back at June's bedroom door to make sure it was still shut. With a silent turn of the doorknob, Mara left the apartment, and after skipping down an infinite flight of stairs, she ran through the rain into her car, slamming the door shut behind her.

Frantically unlocking her phone, she scrolled through her contacts until she found the number she needed and waited, biting her nails as she looked at the voice recorder again, sat in her deep coat pocket.

The line clicked. "Hello?"

"Sorry, sir, I know it's late, but..." she turned the voice recorder from side to side in her hand, a smile playing on her lips. "I went to her apartment... I've got something you really need to see."

"Good. Be sure not to meddle with anything you've found. Meet me in my office tomorrow morning..." Dr. Arkham chuckled menacingly. "...we have much to discuss."

***

When June awoke the next morning to find that Mara was gone, her head was in slight shambles, to say the least. Maybe it was because she was still a little drowsy from the sleeping meds, but she was surprisingly emotional about the whole thing, worried that Mara had left because she'd been no help or something. Maybe she'd just left early. She didn't know, and yet she cared too much. She thought about it so much that she'd forgotten to have breakfast before she left for work.

The ride there was a subconscious blur, not really focused on what happened around her. A lot of this was because of the sleeping pills- woken up too early, she supposed. Maybe it wasn't safe to drive, but she had to make it to work; when she drove up to the asylum, she parked her car there without really any second thought. Pocketing the keys, she headed for the door and into the reception, following the same dull routine of--

"Morning, Jeanette."

"Morning, Dr. Stoltz."

--and signing in, smiling at whoever and just heading straight toward the interviewing room. She really had nothing else to do, almost too anxious to bother looking for Mara. Maybe she just didn't like the apartment...

At the end of her walk, she spied Jonny Frost outside the therapy room- wearing the same mismatched uniform void of a nametag- who gave her a kind grin as she approached. June smiled at first, but that smile slowly dropped as her lethargy began to catch up with her and suddenly the colours of her surroundings amplified by tenfold, all jumbled together. The blond man quickly caught onto this, and shot her a concerned look, "Dr. Stoltz, are you alright?"

June almost didn't respond, practically falling asleep on the spot. "I... water..." she slurred, and with a raised hand she started to sway from one foot to the other. Even her eyes began falling shut.

It was only a moment before almost toppling over completely that Jonny rushed over to her and snagged her wrist, holding it tightly to stop her from falling. There was that quick second of relief that he'd caught her, but that was then overshadowed by his astoundment on the size of the poor girl. He'd never really noticed just from looking at her, but now, actually holding her- one hand around her wrist and one propping up her bicep- she was tiny. Absolutely tiny, like a fragile china doll that he was nearly too scared to hold. He'd heard the Joker rave on about this for a while now, it's hilarious, she's so small, so little, so bendy-breaky-fragile-itsy-bitsy like she's made of string. He just thought the boss was being his usual eccentric self but now he understood. His fingers could surely circle her wrist three times over if he really tried.

"Dr. Stoltz, are you okay?"

Then came the pain. The lights were too harsh. Now she regretted having woken up so early after taking the sleeping pills. Gripping her head, June's face scrunched up as she handed Jonny her handbag with a surprising amount of trust, yet she still pulled her wrist away from him defensively- as if he'd more likely steal her wrist than her bag.

"I'm- I'm fine, just... there's some painkillers and water in there, could you- Jesus- could you get them for me?"

"Sure, doc, sure," he nodded, thrusting his hand into her bag and fishing out the bottle and pill box- the little metal one that Joker didn't stop rambling about when he escorted him back to his cell. Again, the Joker was very fond of the word 'little' when describing anything alluding to the girl. As he searched, he saw Dr. Stoltz from the corner of his eye stand with her back against the wall, rubbing her eyes to try and wake herself up. Then she started looking at Jonny. Her eyes trailed up and down as if she were reading a book, reading him. He pretended like he didn't notice.

Staring down at his hands roaming through her belongings, she wondered why she felt she could trust him, this stranger, enough to have him even hold her bag. It was crazy. There was so much danger in her daily life now, and Jonny was just another cog in the same maniacal machine. It was obvious that he worked for the Joker but she feared bringing it up in case the Joker caught on and killed her for it, and there was no way she'd satiate her curiosity over the immense risk of being murdered for it.

And yet... there was something about Jonny, not something different or strange or wonderful or even special, or anything at all; there was something about him, the idea of him, perhaps, that enthralled her. The Joker had somebody working for him, and Jonny kept living to see another day, kept working with this psycho-maniac, and didn't look the least bit jarred by it. By anything. She tried to imagine what it was like, working for, if not alongside, the Joker. Being considered an ally... perhaps a friend... then the sour taste of that frightful kiss came back, and she quickly shook the thought.

June wrung her hands shyly as he kept looking through her bag, peaceful silence as the blurriness in her eyes subsided a little as time passed. A question crossed her mind. She asked it before she could resist.

"Is he going to kill me?"

Her voice shook with uncertainty, Jonny craned his neck up towards her to see that her eyes were filled completely with worry, but also with curiosity. Curiosity. The first word that the Joker had used to describe her. He knew why now, looking at her. Curiosity was embedded in every inch of her being; she had those eyes, eyes that always wondered even without speaking a word. He realised as her question processed that those words would get her killed- he knew she was aware of who he was working for- though he knew from the Joker not to underestimate her quick wit. What did he have to lose in answering a simple question?

"Y'want the truth?"

She nodded.

"I don't know," said Jonny, "Y'ask me, God knows why he does what he does. Sometimes there's a plan, sometimes not... but you're... you're the wild card. I think. I know."

She chirped rather morosely, "Wild card?"

Jonny had to stop searching her bag as he pushed forward a laugh, one of incredulousness. "I mean, you damn near came outta nowhere. One day, he doesn't know you exist, next day, you're on his case. 'Like' is too strong a word, but he seems to be... he's fascinated by you. He said there's somethin', uh... special about you. He wouldn't tell me what it was, but..."

Jonny was almost hurt at how brightly her eyes gleamed, seeming... thankful. Or relieved. Hard to tell really, but all the same he felt bad about it. Nothing good could ever come of this, and she seemed to like the sound of her being 'special'.

"...he insisted that there's a... I guess, reason for all this."

"All this?" she asked. "What does that mean?"

Jonny smiled. "He wouldn't tell me that, either."

June's mouth sat in a disappointed frown, until she couldn't resist but to smile back.

He eventually found her pill box and water bottle, and handed it to her patiently as she popped a painkiller in her mouth and took some water to swallow it down. Even then, he offered to put them back into her bag for her, the tiniest kind gesture that June still somehow felt gracious for. Jonny didn't wave her away, never glared at her, was always full of smiles and she'd only known him for five minutes. He was the nicest person she'd encountered in the asylum ever since she started working there. She knew he was with bad people (and the Joker was very bad people), but it was strange, she couldn't help but to like Jonny Frost; perhaps because it felt like they were both in on one big secret that only she, Jonny and the Joker knew about. Or because Jonny somehow made her feel safe without brandishing any big weapon or by indiscreetly glancing around at any given moment. He just felt safe. Junie could only hope that it wasn't just some big joke.

Jonny handed her bag back after packing her things away, then ran his fingers tensely through his thick blond- almost silver- locks. "What's the matter, anyway? Um, if you don't mind me asking."

She fixed her handbag over her shoulder. "You mean the... the wooziness?"

"Yeah."

"A mix of things..." she said, shifting from resting on one heel to the other. "I don't really get much sleep."

"Oh. D'ya take any sleeping meds?"

"I think that's the problem. I take a few sleeping pills from time to time, so that's probably what messes with me. Last night I took some but, um... I think I woke up a little too early. It's starting to catch up with me."

Jonny laughed with her, but then slowed down a little when he realised that June looked more worried than happy, her laughs sharp and thin instead of heartfelt. He didn't really question it.

"Don't tell," she joked. "I'm not really supposed to be taking meds so soon before work."

Silently and without explanation, he held out his pinky finger toward her. She stared at it dubiously, the childish action somehow uncharacteristic of what she'd expected- despite not knowing him at all. "I can keep a secret if you can," said Jonny Frost.

It was only meant as a dumb joke, but June still managed to stifle a smile and wrapped her pinky around his, quickly knotting around the harshly calloused skin before letting go.

"Alright," Jonny eventually said, unlocking the door for her, "I'll call you out when he's ready."

"Ready?"

"There's only so much he can talk about in one hour. I think he'd like a little extra time, y'know?"

"Oh..." Her stomach churned in nervousness and she resisted looking inside. She could only wonder what the Joker wanted to do that took more than an hour... her thoughts immediately went to murder, but then went... elsewhere... please don't.

"Dr. Stoltz?"

Yanked out of her daze by his words, head clouded with... such thoughts about what Joker could do in that time. Such thoughts. Then she turned back to Jonny with a slight chuckle. "Listen, if we're gonna be keeping each other's secrets, you can just call me by my name, y'know."

He grinned, brows raised in amusement. With every word, he seemed to understand more and more; about her, about the Joker, what it was about her that the clown saw some kind of value in. She was likeable. A swell girl. Jonny Frost could only hope that the Joker would take it easy on her, at least make it painless when he did eventually decide to get rid of her...

"Alright, then. June."

"But just June," she stressed, widening her eyes to emphasise her point. "Like, please don't call me Junie because Colter's started doing it and I really hate it but, like, I guess I can handle Joker saying it but when other people say it, it makes me so uncomfortable, like, you don't even know--"

"I know," he eased her nerves with another laugh, "He told me."

Her babbling ceased almost immediately and she played childishly with her nails, smiling at the thought. The thought of the Joker even talking about her- even if his thoughts were so perversely violent- and the fact that he even remembered her pet peeves and... God, get a grip of yourself. "Of course he did."

Jonny opened the door for her and comically waved at her, to which she just smiled before stepping inside. She waited for the usual cue of the door locking, which came and went so quickly she barely heard it. Everything seemed to be finally put on pause, on mute, letting her to simply breathe for a moment and catch up. Everything seemed... okay.

Of course, when she raised her eyes at the man sat on the other end of the table, that feeling of peace vanished instantly, replaced by something sinister... and at the same time, excitement stirred within her, fingertips digging into the straps of her bag. The danger... returning to such a place after disaster had ensued just mere hours ago... the mischief of such manic events parading under the guise of...

...the Joker, in the midst of playing solitaire. The clown looked rather calm, his cards laid out neatly before him, and by the looks of it he was close to winning. Perhaps it was just the light, but he looked different. His hair was clean, his makeup fresh. But the first thing she really noticed, as she ever did, were his fingers, languidly moving over the cards as he put them where they needed to be stacked, six of diamonds atop the seven of spades, now the five, each card hitting the table with the tiniest snap, accompanied by the low mumbling of words under his breath. In complete concentration, he hadn't noticed her walk through the door.

She sat and placed her bag down as usual, but instead of the routined hello, good morning, how are you, she patiently sat with her hands in her lap, eagerly watching him play, cards snapping every so often. A few minutes in and the painkillers got to work, her head clear and devoid of that ringing sound that always accompanied it.

"Queen of Spades, and-uh..." He picked up the last card and placed it atop the Spades pile. "King of Spades." Snap. "Done." The Joker spread his hands over the cards and mixed them up all over again, scooping them into his hands as he began to shuffle them; then he finally looked up. "Jonny Jonny! Where's--" He froze at the sight of Junie sitting there right in front of him, a polite smile on her lips. "Never mind."

June awkwardly laughed and pointed vaguely at the cards. "I was just, um, waiting for you to... finish..." Her posture dropped its elegance as she slouched like a child in her seat, wide eyes looking up at him for some kind of reaction. Not the scared kind of wide eyes, but the wide eyes that he liked the most- the curious kind. His Junie was back.

"Well," he hummed with a smack of his lips, tapping the mismatched cards against the table as he shuffled them, "I'm, uh, finished, doll. Unless you wanna play?" He offered, gesturing the pile towards her.

Junie shook her head with a modest smile. "No thanks. I don't really know how to play much card games."

Licking his lips in a messy, feral manner, he waved a paint covered hand at her dismissively. "No matter, no matter, I'll teach ya. We can try, uh... poker."

She shook her head again, this time with more vigour, enough so that her hair followed her movements like it had so many times before. "Joker..."

"C'mon, lemme teach ya something."

"No, I--"

"Just one game--"

"Really, I'm fine. You just keep on playing."

Joker grinned widely, head tilted down but his eyes looking up, an almost scary sight until he retorted, "Well, suit yourself," before he continued to shuffle the cards again.

Peacefully, June smiled (so much smiling today, her mouth was starting to hurt), and she began playing with her own hands atop the table as the Joker wove his between cards, pouring them into each hand and playing quick tricks with them. It was almost like she were trying to mimic his movements, wondering what it felt like to be his fingers, although she'd have much more interest in knowing what the cards were experiencing, sliding across and between and to and fro in his palms, between his fingers, under his thumb. She felt her heart throb, her chest burn and a warmth blossoming inside her stomach- just as innocently and yet at the same time perversely as it did when she were a teenage girl, developing unconventional crushes on unconventional people. Not a lot had changed, now that she thought about it.

"I'm... sorry."

The words tumbled out in such a fumbled and ill-timed way it was almost embarrassing.

He fanned out the cards and thumbed through every one before his eyes glanced up at her. Like single dots poked on plain paper. "Where'd this come from, huh? Sorry for what?"

"I dunno..." she shrugged. "Everything?"

"Everything?" He mimicked her in a scratchy voice, pouting sarcastically.

"Well, y'know." She looked up and suddenly their eyes clicked again- not just making plain contact but they clicked- for the first time in what felt to be so, so long. "Me."

Joker began shuffling for the fourth time. "You're sorry for... yourself?"

"I'm sorry for what I did." She rephrased.

"Which is...?" He waited for her to finish his sentence with a tilt of his head.

Really, he just wanted her to acknowledge what she did- mainly to prove that he hadn't hallucinated the whole thing (God knows what lovely things his happy pills show him)- but also to prove that she was aware of what she'd done. Aware that she'd broken the rules and aware that she was slowly, but very surely, losing control of her actions. Forgetting about rules and ethics and professionalism. It, the idea of her, maybe even just Junie herself, had been playing on his mind like clockwork ever since he'd listened to her diary; those sleepless nights of thoughtlessly staring at the ceiling now had his mind turned into a massive cork-board of evidence, filled with thoughts of her and why and how and where, imaginary red strings all joining the dots as if she were put together by coloured thumbtacks and old photographs... but he couldn't deduce much of her on his own. He wasn't exactly one for detective work, always liked it when secrets stayed secrets; mysteries were what made people interesting, and it was usually the disappointing reveal that made him lose interest and pull out a knife. But Junie was different, she wasn't entirely normal, her mysteries laid deeper than just her clairvoyance (after all, he'd already discovered it and still he was obscenely obsessed with her) and Junie, Junie-Junie-Junie, she was a freak... just like him. Although... she wasn't quite him... his other darling... tall and cape-clad and frowning with strong fists extending so bittersweetly across his jaw as he hits him with the force of a million stinging kisses...

Shaking the thought, he ignored it- ignored him- and focused on the corruptible little project sat before him. His earlier question was responded to with her reluctant silence, pretty little lucky lips locked shut.

Again, he pressed, "Which is...?" And still she remained quiet. "C'mon, sweet cheeks, what're you sorry for?" I wanna hear you say it, say it, say it, say it-t-t!

With a venomous glare and then a roll of her eyes, she eventually broke. "Going through your memories."

Finally satisfied, he smiled. "There. Not so hard to say, now is it, Junie?"

"It's not easy for me to admit to alright? I feel... stupid." Junie hugged herself, arms wrapped around her stomach.

"Why?"

"I'm a doctor. I can't just be looking into patient's heads whenever I want to."

"Hm." Joker shrugged. "I dunno. Always liked your curiosity."

And June felt breathless. He liked... he... oh, no, there it was again- throbbing fire and endless burning, right in her stomach, in her blood, bubbling, bursting, boiling her alive; her arms and legs, four languid limbs useless as they all turned to jelly, everything churning, head twirling like a spinning top, and him, merely shuffling his cards again without so much as batting an eye- so nonchalantly! Her eyes wide, hurting, she'd never imagine him to utter the words 'like' and 'you' in the same sentence! And he was shuffling his damn cards for the fifth time! Like he'd said nothing! She wished so much to snatch them away, fluttering to the floor much like her own consciousness, grab him by the wrists, the collar, the face and say look! Look what you've done to me! I'm reeling with ignorant joy because you complimented me! A compliment! That was all it took to get her all fuzzy and warm like in the movies. Only it wasn't like the movies at all- in the movies they were happy to feel so stupidly happy, romanticised the fact that it felt like they were going insane, they'd give up their life to feel how she felt right then in that moment- and she felt like she was in agony! Butterflies! Like a schoolgirl! Over a blindly given compliment that meant nothing to him!

Burying her head in her hands, she inhaled deeply, and then breathed out through gritted teeth as if it'd filter out all the sickeningly wonderful feelings swimming in her stomach. Gross. She wished to pluck out every butterfly inside of her belly and clip their wings. Pin them to the wall! String them up like holiday lights- but strip them down before he could see her shame.

Junie was oddly quiet. Peeking up from his cards, he arched a brow at her. "Y'alright?" Her jaw-clenched silence was concerning.

Craning her neck upwards, she smiled through stiff teeth. "Yep. Fine." She placed her hands on the table, thumbs pressed together as a rather short silence followed.

She was looking down at her hands again, his curious little clairvoyant. The Joker supposed that discovering her powers would've changed everything, might've blossomed a different facet of her personality, but still her restlessness remained, all her quirks and tics and odd habits. Like an itch she never bothered to scratch. He liked that. He could, in a way, relate to that. He liked seeing himself in people. Not out of insecurity, but because that meant that they could be like him, the fact that they had something in common with an unforgiving agent of chaos. And of course it made perfect sense that Junie did.

She too, had very expressive hands, so childish and small, always grasping something or extending outward, yearning, fingers spreading when she'd tell a story, the repeated rolling of her wrist when she couldn't quite get the words out. Her legs, crossing and uncrossing, nylon sifting against nylon. Her mouth. Tongue and teeth ticking and tutting and telling him to try trace his train of thought before he got carried away with discussing violent things again. He saw her tongue sometimes, if she focused on saying a vowel for long enough. He'd grown a repulsive fondness for the thing. Wet and pink and velvety and one day he'd expect to see a polished pearl perched atop it. An offering. Waiting. A gift of thanks when she would eventually (finally) delve her mouth somewhere it shouldn't belong...

Those late-night thoughts were coming back to him again...

His hands slowed, cards eventually stilling. He said to her, "Look at me." And she did almost without question, her brown eyes peering up at him through thick black lashes, beholding a certain glow to them that he wasn't quite sure he'd seen before. Look at those eyes, he wanted to praise her, hold her face between one firm hand and turn it from side to side, lemme look at those eyes, lemme have a look. Just a look. Good girl. Where does the clairvoyant start and where does she end? Black pupil or syrup-brown iris? Show me what mysteries you hide, Junie Stoltz. Tell me why your eyes work the way they do, Junie Stoltz. Bring me some kind of reprieve to end these dull thoughts of your face, my citrine darling. Darrr-linggg. At first the nickname was to mock her, but now it fit her all too well, too precious and valuable and rare to let slip between his fingers. Between his fingers. Fingers. Look at her little fingers, so small, so sweet, how they'd go crunch crunch crunch under his heel...

Amidst his train of thought, he noticed something. "Huh."

Junie blinked and ceased to play with her hands. "What?"

"You actually look like you've had a good night's rest for once." The circles weren't entirely gone, but they weren't on the verge of purple anymore.

Relieved it wasn't something else, she exhaled with a laugh. "Oh... yeah, I um, had some help."

He narrowed his eyes at her, fingers frozen around the cards he held. "Help? Sleeping?" He wanted to clench a fist in vain, from who? With who?

"I, um..." She cleared her throat very modestly. "Had a select few... pills. They help me sleep," Her voice was relaxed, almost automatic, but then she straightened herself out- hands pressing her clothes. "But, um, not all the time- in fact, I rarely take them." Junie said with a strange tilt of her head, a kind of laid-back, nonchalant way of bragging. Boasting. And yet the way she said it, how he could see the lump of words crawl down her neck as she swallowed afterwords, suggested a lie. He ignored it, wouldn't bother to call her out- like he was one to talk- but why would she hide it? So what?

Instead, he hummed as if he was interested. "Well, pills are there to help, Junie," He told her with an intellectual nod of his head, shuffling his cards for the final seventh time. She unnervingly dropped her smile at his words. "They... fill in the holes in your head. Uh, com-plete what the brain fails to do."

"I know what they do. I'm a doctor."

"I know, I know, I ain't patronising you. Just... saying."

"Saying what?" Her back was as straight and stiff as a board.

He held in a laugh. "Just sayin', there's no harm in taking the occasional happy pill every now and then," Joker was practically encouraging her, but he knew her well enough to know that she was somewhat identifying in what he was saying. If she'd taken painkillers during their session before, then it wasn't entirely unreasonable to assume she popped a few at home, either. "They're made to make you feel good. Feelin' sad? Some Prozac'll fix ya right up. On edge? Xanax. And by the looks of ya, those sleeping pills did wonders for you, Junie."

Joker's gait folded forwards slightly, hunching over the table in a way that the gap between them was beginning to close. Just beginning. Enough to have her avoid his gaze and play with her hands again when the silence began to brew.

From the corner of her mouth, June admitted, "They give me headaches."

"Well, good job you, uh, carry that pill box with ya," Darling little pill box... box, box, box... box you right up, Junie, box you up and lock it shut... "Go on, pop a painkiller. I won't tell." He teased with a wink.

"I... already took one on the way in." She said shamefully, but then realised that this was a gateway to finally get off the subject. "In fact, Jonny helped me."

Mouth dumbly opened, he stared at her in confusion until it hit him, "Oh, Jonny-Jonny. Jonny-Jonny Frost. Thought you meant, uh, Jonny Crane for a second there. Huh. Anyway," He wetted his mouth with an obnoxious lapping of his tongue and started to set up his solitaire game. "He's, uh... good people. Been around since before the bank robbery last year."

Relieved that the past subject was finally over, June relaxed completely and fell again into that naïve state she constantly found herself in when she was around him. Guard down, chin propped up lazily in her hand, elbow on table. Getting too lost in his features to be deemed 'okay'.

"I know," She said, "He told me."

Snap went the card as Joker placed it down, and then he stilled completely, staring off into space as he processed what she'd said. Then, as quickly as he'd stopped, he started moving again, coughing to ease the tension. "That's, uh..."

Looking up at her again, he saw her brows knitted anxiously and it surprised him to see her liking someone like that. Someone like Jonny Jonny. He was odd, that one- so seemingly obsessed with the Joker, wanting to be exactly like him, wanting to be a big shot. He was a good kid though, rarely ever questioned orders, rarely ever screwed them up, either. But he had also been cowardly once, at the start, not willing to take many risks unless the Joker himself pushed him- literally and figuratively. So it was awfully strange that after- what, a day?- Junie was already defending the guy over a misunderstanding he wasn't even angry about. Maybe he was glad she'd befriended him so quickly. Another pair of eyes to watch her with.

"I promised him I wouldn't tell."

Snap. He placed the card down, searching her calm eyes for any signs of lying, but saw none. Junie, Junie, Junie. She's doing those doe-eyes again.

He was quick to brush off his suspicion with a mocking joke, "Promised? Already?" He snickered, "Geez, what's next? Friendship bracelets?"

"Joker, stop. He seems like a real nice guy."

"Yeah, well..." He grimaced in trying to find a way to insult Jonny Jonny, or maybe even Junie for being so trusting, but fell short of an excuse to condemn either of them. He continued his solitaire game. "I got your secrets. So keep mine."

June resisted a smile. She liked the way he phrased it, like she finally shared something with the clown. "My lips are sealed," she told him with a mimic zip of her lips, fingers pinched together at the corner of her mouth. When the Joker raised his eyes again to look at her, she smiled so sweetly, perhaps too sweetly (sugar rots your tee-eeth) and he moved his tongue inside his cheeks, across his scars, the soft gummed bumps on the inside of his mouth. Maybe he'd find the words to say somewhere in the sliced grooves of his scars- and he convincingly tried, tongue pressing and pressing until his cheek ached, but he had nothing. No words, for once not even a retort. For now he just let her smile, humoured her with a feigned chuckle, yet Junie couldn't resist but to smile, teeth biting lip as she giggled in saccharine song. The Joker felt his own mouth begin to stretch as he grinned, and then Junie grinned, then she laughed, hunched over momentarily as she hid her reddened face behind her hair. He could never get over it- he supposed it was satisfying, in a way, to pluck those childish laughs right out of her mouth even when she didn't want to whisper a single word of joy. It meant he was winning. That he was getting to her. That was why he smiled.

After she was done giggling, the Joker went back to his solitaire game while his coy companion threw her head back, tossing her hair away from her face, and nestled her head in her crossed arms atop the table, never exactly looking away from him. Relaxed with her head cradled in her arms, at ease, insouciant, but eyes wide and attentive, watching him with barely a blink. She'd never imagine somebody so terrifying to look so... pleasing to the eye at times. With his head bent down to play his cards, she could only really see the downturned bridge of his nose and his strong forehead, frown-lines paving their way between streaks of paint, but the longer she looked, the more she felt like a voyeur, like she'd stared at him for a moment too long when she shouldn't really be looking at him at all. That was what it felt like a lot of the time- like she was watching him through a keyhole, unbeknownst to anybody else but herself... until his eyes would raise and look back through the other side. And every glance would be terrifyingly thrilling.

"Do you still think so low of me?"

Snap. Five of spades on six of hearts, and then her, tilted head still nestled in her left elbow. "Whadd'ya mean?" Intellectual eyes searched hers as he jokingly tipped his head to the side to mimic her.

His move made her decide to sit up normally again. "In your memories, you..." She blinked hard. "After the magic trick with the cards, you... you wanted to kill me." Junie's eyes filled with such a sadness that what he felt was in the same vein as guilt, but not quite. It was more like he'd been caught red handed. So not only could she see memories, but apparently she felt them now, too. She'd definitely forgot to state that in her diary. Great.

So he raised the question, "And how do you know that?" Snap. His thumb pressed down on the face of the nine of diamonds.

"I could feel it. When I'm reliving memories, it's like stepping into their body. Their head." She explained it so simply, as though her clairvoyance wasn't the craziest thing in the world. "Memories and emotions are two sides of the same coin- it dictates what the memory means, and how much, y'know?"

"Yeah," he drawled, snapping the card, concentrating with narrowed eyes.

"So not only do I relive the memory, but I relive their feelings and emotions, too."

"Like mind reading?" Snap.

She shook her head, "No, not quite. Just the feeling and emotion behind it. Like, um..." She searched for an example. "Like say, if I see a memory of a person getting mugged, for example, I'd feel the fear and panic. Or, like, a wedding. I'd feel joy and love."

He laughed, setting down his card, another annoying snap. "And what did you feel in my memory, Junie?"

Her lips pursed into an uncomfortable frown, almost a melancholy one.

"Bloodlust," she said.

The Joker was quiet. He wasn't quite certain on what he should say. What could he say? Sorry I want to kill you?

"How long have you thought of me like that?" She softly asked.

He sighed, "Christ- I dunno- uh, a while? The first session? I mean, whadd'ya want me to say?"

"The truth."

Snap. He shrugged carelessly. "Look, the truth doesn't matter, doll. If I really really really wanted to kill ya, you'd be in the morgue already."

"That doesn't... comfort me, Joker, that..." She frowned both angrily and upset. "...that scares me."

"I ain't trying to comfort you," He harshly stated, mouth bent into a grimace. "Junie, you of all people should know that you ain't the only one I've thought about dead."

"No, I'm not stupid, I know what you think of other people too, it's just..." Her words seemed to dissolve into silence.

Snap. The card finally caught her eye. "Just what?"

"I mean if you had the goddamned audacity to kiss me, then maybe I meant more than..." The noise wouldn't stop, snap, snap, snap, snap, every card leaving his fingers so skilfully- so annoyingly. "Stop... playing with the goddamn cards." She nearly spoke in a whisper, gesturing toward his solitaire game. She was starting to hide her face amongst her hair again, not quite making eye contact with him in fear he'd kill her with nothing more than a glance.

Holding back a smile, Joker plucked a card from the dealing deck- the three of hearts- slowly brought his hand back to the middle of his game, and found the four of spades without even having to look at it, only look at Junie, his Junie Junie Junie, whose eyes were fire, watching his hand for every slight movement as it approached the row of cards closer and closer. The corners of his mouth raised in a smirk as he lowered his hand down, wrist a mere hair's length from touching the table.

Then before he could put the card down his wrist turned warm, covered, caged between lithe little fingers that grasped at him, stopping his hand from ever placing the card down. Junie, half raised from her seat, leaning over the table with her left palm pressed against its surface, fingers spread like a star and her right hand clamped around his wrist like the world's most delicate darling pair of handcuffs. Finally, bound together. He looked at her hand around him with a curiosity that surely could've matched her own, observing how her grip seemed firm but felt gentle, her fingers feeling just as small and little as he'd been imagining them to be for the past few weeks.

Without even looking at her, he knew that she was looking at her own hand too. And she was- wondering why, how, what was it that could've held her back, but didn't? The snapping of the cards began to irritate her but all she had to do was ask him to stop a second time, maybe with a pretty please, scatter a cherry on top if she had to- but never touch him. She hated people touching her if it ever dared to cross the line of a handshake yet here she was, grabbing him out of- what- desperation? What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she let go? Why couldn't she untangle her fingers and straighten out her clothes and return with a sheepish laugh as if the whole thing hadn't happened? Why couldn't she sit down? Why, why couldn't she just sit back down?

The Joker could hear her breathing. Erratic, thin, like she was forgetting how to do it. Panicking, and when he took a peek at her face her mouth was parted, lips almost trembling, but her eyes for once weren't so wide with fear anymore. They were glazed over, half-open, matted lashes shadowing her irises over to the point where he couldn't quite see them. Her face was flushed, dewy and red. Then he realised that she wasn't breathing like that because she was panicked... not at all...

Her breaths stopped for a moment so she could swallow, perhaps regain her thought- but no, her fingers squeezed tighter.

Not panicked at all.

The Joker licked his lips quietly, watching her very, very closely, drinking in every movement she made, every twitch in her expression, even how her hand hadn't moved and it'd been over a minute. Slowly getting up from his seat (so slow), not daring to let his arm move or the card fall from his fingers, he decidedly began whittling away at the space between them by leaning over the table as she did, carefully observing her as her left palm began to slacken- she wanted to move it. And this was when he knew this was how he was going to bend and break her: play along to whatever little game this was, let her touch, let her feel, let her indulge herself and feed her curiosity until she was full and could no longer take another bite... then he'd have her. Her clairvoyance, her secrets, her trust- everything. But this, the coy little fingertips against his skin...

June's right hand loosened, but never left his wrist, like she wanted to pull away but couldn't. Stuck. Her thumb brushed upwards against the coarse hairs that began at his wrists and found herself smiling hazily, head tilted to one side as if she was curious to see what moving her thumb over his arm would do. Her left hand eventually moved like he guessed it would, and clumsily so, right atop his neatly structured solitaire game, sending the cards to slide out of place beneath her hand. Grasping the table, clinging. Her eyes looked down but there was the involuntary tipping back of her neck that lead her to warmth, much like how plants bloom in the same direction of the sun, yearning to follow it and touch it... and so did she, at the very top of the joint where wrist met hand, her fingers unfolded from its fist and her fingertips danced slowly along the tops of the hairs on his arm (her head screaming no no no but her hands dying to know what it felt like to hold the Devil's hand) and he was waiting for her, just stood there waiting, his free hand itching for a knife. It stung how bad he wanted to take advantage of her vulnerability- to the point where he may very well snap off a piece of the table and bludgeon her with it- but what a sight it was to see her hand skirt its way toward his hand, so softly, so hesitantly, in an almost fearful way. She was still so afraid of consequence... but he wanted to see her give in, to watch her come apart by the seams with the simple tug of her hand--

--the gentle hand that walked so featherlight across the top of his own; her brows stressed upward in a hopeless attempt to hold in every sigh and whisper and moan of relief, of finally knowing what the hand of a killer's felt like, but not just any killer, no, no... the Joker was something else, something much more. Nature's cruelest joke, only the punchline came when her fingertips found the bruised bumps of his knuckles and the bones beneath, and when she bravely ventured into the valleys between the webs of his fingers, she smiled at the sight and the feeling of the chalky paint that hid between closed fingers. So he parted them. The card finally fell, and her digits slipped right between his, but neither of them ever cared to squeeze around the other. The Joker sure as hell didn't- he knew she was smarter than babyish hand-holding. And the idea of him voluntarily entwining their fingers was absurd. Their mangled hands mingled together to mimic the spread legs of a spider.

Junie's face was turned upwards to him, as if expecting something she wasn't consciously or even willingly asking for, a gentlemanly kiss on the cheek that he would never bestow her the pleasure of giving. Up close, like this, she looked better. The ceiling light may have been too harsh but the way that he stood over her shadowed her features perfectly, and her brows were much darker than he'd noticed before, and she had ringleted baby hairs lacing her hair line, and she was rather beautiful, and her name was Junie Junie Junie Stoltz and her eyes were so startlingly colourful when she finally brought them up to look at him.

Different. Still the same big brown Bambi eyes but even though they were as curious as ever, perhaps even shy, they weren't scared. In fact, they were fearless. Unmoving. Like for once she wasn't trying to look away, wasn't trying to search for anything, not even his memories. She was just... looking. Maybe that was worse than trying to wriggle her way into his brain: looking simply for the sake of looking, admiring, studying. It was such a strange feeling to him, to realise that he wasn't in control; which was not to say that he was vulnerable or had lost his grip on her, but instead realised that she was as conscious of her actions as he was, she was just as sober and awake and aware of what she was doing. She wasn't carrying out this act of curiosity in a daze. He didn't need control over a situation where she'd willingly dance to his tune anyway. Hell, she was the one playing it. How she moved: so eagerly, yet so slowly, afraid perhaps that at any moment the fly trap would snap shut and swallow her whole.

The Joker was... something. June simply couldn't accept the false idea that he was just some criminal in an orange uniform, gripping a strangling hand around whatever idea of power he once had to maintain his image. And that was it- looking at him now, into him, far deeper than memories perhaps, and yet only scratching the surface of what he was- she knew that the Joker wasn't an image. He wasn't a walking façade clothed in anarchy to hide the damaged person underneath, she knew (knew so definitely, so stubbornly, insisting that she was right) that the Joker was in every inch of him, that the Joker was in his veins, in his blood, in his bones and the Joker was... terrifying. The Joker wasn't some mask that this anonymous man wore to incite fear, the Joker was fear. He was anarchy. He was Chaos with a capital C. And there was something so scarily intriguing about it that merely glossing over his intelligence as insanity, his chaos as control, his morbid beauty as mere boredom of the bloodthirsty instinct of the criminal degenerate- it was all a futile attempt to pretend that her fear was nonexistent. Her fear was real, alright. And she would drown herself in it, if it meant that she could steal just one squashed whisper from his mutilated mouth.

Closing in on the space between them, her selfish lips parted with wanting to spill her entire soul into his mouth, she felt absolutely nothing but the terror trying with all its might to hold her back, constricting its lanky arms around her until she trembled so much that breathing failed her. If she could feel so much fear from simply looking at him, then God (oh God), she would die a million times just to know how sweet it tasted...

Her eyes shut. Mouth open. Fingers clenching and yet never holding the cards beneath her hands, she succumbed to every single frightened thought as if it were already predetermined by some higher dealer of fate, against her will and yet so willing, and she longed for the feeling of teeth and tongue and cheek and gum and--

Click-click-click, the trance was broken. Their entire worlds crumbled as the interviewing room door clicked itself open and finally, whatever bridge that was built up between them had ultimately collapsed, breathing and gasped desperately as though they'd had each other by the throats. Their mouths hadn't even touched and yet it felt like they were holding their breaths for hours. Waiting, ever on the brink, for that one fluid fall into toxic and physical frenzy, the Joker hissed, "How many fuckin' times am I gonna get cockblocked in this goddamned..."

The moment of reflection was fleeting, June suddenly drawing her hand away from the Joker's with the rapidity of getting stung, but clinging momentarily out of desperate hesitance; and a weighted groan sunk through his stomach, one of severe disappointment. So close. Darting his eyes to the open door, he quickly thought of a tactic to murder whoever had decided to interrupt his... work... only to see Jonny Jonny Frost, face red and clothes a mess. Breathing heavily. He'd ran.

"Joker, t-there's- there's somethin' going on."

June pulled her entire body away from the table, bringing her arms to her chest as she pretended that the moment before had never even occurred (had it?) and her nervous habits kicked back into place when she pressed her hands down her clothes, straightened her hair, the usual. Teeth grit heavily, the Joker sighed and tore his eyes away from the girl before him, glaring Jonny Jonny down with such venom and malice that it burned. Interrupted when he was clearly busy- he had her! He had her right under his thumb! He could cleave and cut and carve up that idiot boy until he was nothing but a neatly slice-and-diced meal for barging in like that, ruining the flow of it all- all he needed was another second and surely to God she would've moaned his name as if it were the only damned one she knew.

"Jonny Jonny. I'm uh, in the middle of something here," the Joker tried to say in hiding his frustration behind a smile. "You're supposed to be, uh, on patrol... elsewhere."

"I'm sorry, it's just... uh, Dr. Stoltz?"

"June," she reminded.

"June," he nodded, "Uh, Dr. Arkham wants to see you in his office."

She looked at the clown whose fists were clenched as if her neck laid invisible and clamped in his palm, and the sullen glare in his eye was of no pleasure for her to see. Certainly not for Johnny to see. Her gaze kept flickering between the Joker and his henchman, just waiting for something to happen.

She nervously interjected, "I- um- why- he knows we're in the middle of a session, right?"

"Yeah, he oughta know better. Put his head on straight. Go on, Johnny Johnny, tell the old man to stick it..." the Joker's hand finally relaxed and moved to Junie's wrist. "...the good doctor's busy."

"He didn't look happy," said Johnny Frost.

The Joker's fingers cramped up before he could touch a hair on her arm; a low growl of annoyance reverberated from his chest. This sound closed June's eyes, a shrill and surrendered sigh trapped deep in her throat. There was something so delicious about the anger that bubbled in his throat, too much, so much so that she had to scrunch her eyes to try and stop thinking about it.

When she cleared her head, she faced Johnny with a brave brow furrowed tightly. "Is it- um. Is it urgent?"

"Called me to his office himself," said Johnny, "He knew I was on duty here—"

"Johnny Johnny, if he finds out you're here on my business because your ass slipped up, I swear to God—"

"Joker, I should go," said Junie rather compliantly, a completely different character from the one who was mere seconds away from kissing him two minutes ago. A frustrated grimace pulled his upper lip into a groan and she was fast to try and tame him. "I'll be five minutes, I'll try to make it as quick as possible. Anyway, we have tomorrow's session—"

"I wanted to talk today."

Well, I want to talk every day, she thought, but never dared to say it. Craning her neck to look at Johnny Frost again, she wished to somehow reason with him. It wasn't his fault, he was just the messenger... but something in her wanted to stay. She didn't quite know what. A touch? A kiss? What left was there in a man who was no good for her, whose main motivation now was to exploit her? She looked again at the Joker and sighed deeply, struck with genuine regret over the need to pull away, but not the want.

"I'll be five minutes."

Her promise, much like her voice, wavered unbelievably thin, and it fizzled in the air; not like a firework, but like a dead flame. Slowly, she rose from her seat, the Joker's obsessive eyes glued to the last sight of her palms pressed snug against the table- such playful things, her hands- and after plucking up her bag, she waved goodbye with a pursed smile before being lead by Johnny Johnny to the door.

June kept her eyes on the Joker for a good short while, supposedly to try and burn his face into her mind (as if it already hadn't been), and his face... a bit like a bad picture, really; it got worse the longer she stared at it- fuzzy- seemed to slowly eat itself up as the lines in his face set deeper around his eyes, and then his scars, his dreadful, dreadful scars... they engulfed his entire jaw in a fake grin, the last thing she saw as Johnny Frost closed the door behind them. Her eyes hurt and she blinked the Joker's face away as hard as she could. Blink his face into black oblivion.

"I'm real sorry about that, Doc- uh- June. Honest, Dr. Arkham—"

"It's fine, it's alright," she assured Johnny, giving a quick smile that eased his wringing hands right away. "I'd best hurry up to his office, though... old bastard's never liked me much..."

"Sounds like the feeling's mutual," he teased, the two of them starting to walk each other out of the therapy wing and into the main corridors of Arkham.

She glanced over her shoulder and then back at her companion, "I-I think you should stay with Joker—"

"Nothin' to worry about, he'll stay put. Anyway, he told me to keep an eye on you."

"Why?"

A shrug. "I don't like to question the boss. Suppose it's just to keep a tab on you. He likes to keep tabs on everyone. He's always preferred to know what happens around here, and, well, it's hard when you're locked in a cell all day."

"I just wish he'd behave. Maybe they'd actually let him go outside and breathe some fresh air," she sighed. "I mean, he exhibits psychopathic and sociopathic traits but he's not clinically... he's not insane. Just..."

"Unbelievably violent."

"Exactly."

"I know, June. I've seen the worst of it."

She swallowed. "Yeah."

Dr. Arkham's office door was in sight now. It stood, seeming a hundred feet tall, as a statue dedicated to her despair. The two stopped still. Latching onto her bag tightly, June shut her eyes and felt as her heart sank into her stomach, nervousness like she'd never felt before. Somehow she still found herself more scared of the double mahogany doors than she did the Joker's erratic temper, more terrified of Dr. Arkham's beady eyes and bottle-glasses than she was the clown's scarred visage. Those doors... despite overcoming Dr. Arkham's constant rejections that long, long month or so ago... those doors still stood as a testament to his tyranny, ever glaring, ever shut.

"Time to get this over with," June whispered, a sharp inhale leaving her feeling almost lightheaded. "Did he tell you what he wanted, by the way?"

Johnny shook his head. "He just looked real... well... I mean, angry ain't the word, but he..."

As his brows wrinkled in perplexed distress, June sought out the answer, "What? He what?"

"He... he looked sick, June. Not, like- not like ill-sick, but... deranged sick. He... he smiled. He smiled a million miles long but his eyes were dark, so fuckin' dark. Listen, I don't wanna scare ya—"

"I'm gonna lose my job, aren't I?"

"No—"

"Just—" she took another breath and rubbed her temples. "Jesus..."

It was lost. Everything was lost. All her progress, all her determination, her research, her dedication... completely and utterly void. Gone before anything had truly vanished; she was still caught in the middle of everything, stuck in the web and waiting... waiting... for the hammer to fall. And she worried, of course she worried, but the numbness that rapidly consumed her was so much that she could hardly think about anything but her own selfish wants. For one fleeting moment, one snap second, she thought about the Joker. Not out of yearning or out of anything wanton or desperate, but out of regret... when, God, when would she ever find another case study like that?

A suddenly primal instinct came over her; when would she ever find such a ripe mind to delve her hands into and consume, cannibalistically crack open the skeleton window into the mind and eat and eat and eat until the memories... the bountiful, abundant memories... until they all rotted in her hands like swollen fruit, caving in on their own corpses... when would she ever find such an intelligent thinker, such a diversely mad character, someone whose outside-ness felt so on par with her own that once, for once, she didn't feel like the only dreamer walking this waking, lucid world? How scary it had all been, this whole time, wading alongside her demons in nightmares, with no hand to hold but her own when clasped in dishonest, unthought prayer... and then suddenly, a deranged man- the devil- sprung up from hell to do nothing much but keep her company, perhaps make her feel more sane than she actually was. These sudden thoughts came to her in such scornful succession that it made her sick, and perhaps all this time she hadn't been trying to cure the Joker- but cure herself... the fear that an ailment such as guilt is permanent was enough to almost drive her to squash between her legs a man with no morals, no fair judgement, somebody who could very much think for himself, but never others... what had this past month accounted for but the dilapidation of her own mind, the allowing herself to indulge, the letting of greed to feast and fester and infect... all under the guise of 'treatment', when in fact she had fallen drunk in feeling something akin to 'lovesick', void of the 'love' part- at least she thinks- what then? What when everything she'd invested herself in for the past month disappeared? Was there any surprise that this careless binge would come to an end?

And like this, no less... oh, how... anticlimactic. These delights... with such unsatisfying ends.

"I'm gonna go in now," she told Johnny. She wished her head wasn't so damn loud.

"Sure, sure," he replied, "I'll wait out here if ya like."

She smiled, soft and sweet. "That'd be... nice."

He nodded, and then stood with his back against a nearby wall, glancing around to check if the hallways were empty. It didn't matter, he just didn't like being watched. However his attention was caught sideways when June stepped timidly towards the door, almost like a mouse knowing full well that they were to be caught in a trap. Mouse. She was a very mousy girl now that he thought about it; but if she were a mouse, then what the hell was Joker?

She'd always feel so belittled by these doors. So tiny, and they were so heavy, so big, so greatly gargantuan that they were hardly doors at all, but entire walls that just seemed to open and close with some great mystery behind them. That mystery was hardly a secret anymore, though as soon as she felt the sinking of her heel in the thick, swallowing crimson carpet of Dr. Jeremiah Arkham's office, there was that fear again- again, again, every time, each time, all the time. She was so... sick of being scared of him. The constant fear and anxiousness was honestly choking... maybe today would finally be the end of it.

The door shut.

The slamming would echo in June's ears for quite some time, raising her eyes to look up at the spidery man sat behind his mahogany desk (mahogany, mahogany, why always that...). For once he actually seemed relaxed, even unashamed of the half-empty glass he had next to his unscrewed whiskey bottle, right beside him for anyone to see. In this room, all the light that bled through the windows was red. The blinds were red. The carpets were red. The tie he wore around his neck: red. The clouded sun behind him looked like the opening of hell, and there was something about that image that hardly struck her as terrifying, just obvious. Of course he'd be sinister. He was smiling. June had never seen him smile. Perhaps it was this smile she should be afraid of- just like Johnny had said, sick- and not the artificial grin that the Joker was marred with.

"Sit, miss Stoltz. Make yourself comfortable," he suddenly said, the joy in his voice making her jump. Stunned, she saw his hand motion to the bottle on his desk. "Have a drink if you'd like. Or maybe you'd prefer something else? Merlot?"

Eyes glancing around the room, June waited to see if this was some sort of... prank... not that he was at all the joking type, but it was either that or some extremely odd dream. Everything else seemed fine, so why this? Why the sudden chivalry?

"Dr. Arkham, are... are you okay?"

"The best I've been in a long time, miss Stoltz. Now please, I insist, sit. We have quite a lot to talk about."

Carefully, she inched towards the chair. She half expected it to spring up from the floor or even explode, or for Dr. Arkham to launch a spindly arm around her neck and strangle her; but nothing happened. She sat as comfortably as if she owned it, and set her bag down on her lap. Dr. Arkham sighed with a smile. June swallowed.

"Yes, a lot to talk about..." he repeated shortly, pushing his glasses up along the bridge of his nose. "Starting with some... concerns I have."

"Con...cerns?"

"Just little ones, just a few," he waved his hand. "Nothing of much matter anymore."

"Listen, um... you're... if you're going to fire me, why is this--"

"Fire you?" He exclaimed.

She froze. "You're... not going to fire me?"

He looked as though she'd said something insane. "Why would I fire you? You're a valuable psychiatrist."

"I..." she searched for a reason at first, but then stopped. She wouldn't say anything. She didn't quite know herself why he would fire her- it wasn't like he'd seen what she had been doing with her patient- but at the same time, this all seemed so... iffy. The second she'd seen his smile, she knew something was off. This left a taste in her mouth worse than she could've anticipated.

He blinked for a few moments, then pursed his almost-lips. "No matter. I just wanted to discuss some things, as usual. With your patient."

"What about my patient?"

"How he's doing."

Never asked that before, she thought, but then the word struck her. He. How he's doing. Never had Dr. Arkham called the Joker a he. Something definitely wasn't right. "Sir--"

"It's just an evaluation, miss Stoltz. A mandatory process, I assure you," he nodded insistently. "However, I am concerned that... well... your patient seems to be exhibiting certain behaviours- mood swings- ah... just two days ago he attacked one of our best security guards, a mister... um, Colter. Colter is in the hospital, which I am sure you're aware of, yes?"

"Yes."

"What motive would your patient have to attack him?"

She straightened her back. "Colter provoked my patient. He came into the therapy room during a scheduled session, which interfered with the conversation, my patient's focus. Colter is notorious for being brash, loud, violent--"

"Do those characteristics demand a need to be beaten? By his own baton?"

"The Joker is a violent individual, sir. We can only tame him so much, can only... can only give him so many types of sedatives- I'm sorry, how is this my concern that Colter interrupted a session?"

Dr. Arkham raised his brows. "It should be your concern. He's your patient. My concern is that another guard... Ken--"

"Kenny."

"Kenneth," he pressed, "Kenneth saw you on the floor with a bloodied nose. Did your patient... attack you?"

Her head fell down reluctantly. "No..."

"Why didn't you report anything?"

"He didn't attack me, I just... I just got sick and got a nosebl--"

"A nosebleed isn't something that goes unnoticed, miss Stoltz."

"I just said, I was sick."

"He said you were on the floor."

"Dropped my keys."

"The clown was stood over you."

"Well, maybe he was just trying to help me back up," she snapped. "Listen, what happened on that day wasn't anything more controversial than the Joker's medication being ineffective. It's hardly a surprise- you pump him with so much dopamine he's probably half numb to the stuff, irritable, scratching to see straight."

Dr. Arkham was silent, eyes flaring even though he tried to calm down. They didn't speak for a moment, almost void of things to say, but at the same time there was so much. All this talk was cheap... he was going to win either way.

June huffed, "I had a nosebleed. So what, maybe I get them all the time. Yes, I was on the floor but Dr. Arkham, I assure you, there is not one single bruise or scratch or scrape or a single hair damaged on my head because my patient is innocent."

"Your patient beat Colter with--"

"His own baton, yes, because Colter pulled it out first. Colter locked himself in the cell with my patient, and he has done so time and time and time again- so when are you gonna do something about it? Huh? What, you finally decided to listen just because your lapdog is in the hospital?" she scoffed, "How many more beatings does Colter have to get before you start doing something about it? Huh? How much more does he have to take before you start pulling some strings? If that's what it takes to make you listen, you'd best start dressing him in SWAT gear, Dr. Arkham, because--"

"Is that a threat?"

"Not on my part, no. I want you to listen, but I can't. You're my employer, I can only do so much. But the Joker--"

"The Joker's a mad dog."

"And you're the one keeping him on a leash," she said. "He's gonna bite you a thousand times if you don't listen to what he wants. If you don't stop strangling him and yanking him back with that collar, he'd lose all his teeth in your hand before he ever stops fighting."

"And what does he want, miss Stoltz?"

"He..." A million things, surely, but with a solemn sigh, June dropped her shoulders. "He just wants to breathe."

June herself hardly believed her own words. Part of her honestly didn't know why she was insistent on putting up so much of a fight, even if it was for the sake of somebody as deranged as the Joker. All she knew was that she was right, so definitely right, and that despite it all, he didn't deserve the short end of the stick he got. Maybe there really wasn't anything in it for her, but how could she care? How could she care when just mere moments ago she was so certain she would lose her job? And along with it, all the things that had kept her on her feet, stopped her from thinking too much about worse times...

"You're mad after all."

For a moment, she could've sworn the voice sounded like her own, but there sat Dr. Arkham, slack-jawed and waiting on her.

"Excuse me?"

His eyes, grey and clouded, lit up. "I knew it. I was right."

"Right?" Immediately her mouth dried. "Right about what?"

"Miss Stoltz," he hummed very seriously, but then suddenly broke out into a chuckle, shaking his head. "Ha... miss Stoltz, miss Stoltz, miss Stoltz..." Slowly he began to remove his glasses, looked up at her, and began folding them in his lap, the room so quiet that the clinking of the metal frames could be heard chafing against each other. June was waiting. Waiting for something, and surely not anything good. Nothing good could ever come from Dr. Arkham thinking he was 'right', his back perked confidently, wrinkled and ravaged face full of sudden... tranquility. No anger behind the eyes, no malice. Just a soundless evil, an evil so, so quiet...as he already knew he'd won.

"Sir..."

"I doubted it at first, miss Stoltz, I really did," he hummed thoughtfully, suddenly reaching for his whiskey glass. "I never wanted you on that case, you know. I never wanted anybody on that case. Not anymore. For the first sixth months doctors came and went... trying to cure a sickness more resilient and stubborn than a cancerous tumour... ha. That's what the Joker is," he said, raising his glass to her. "A tumour." And he drank the glass dry.

June's eyes darted around the room as if she would find something in the shadows. Her heart was choking, beating and pulsating so uncomfortably she could feel the thing moving in her chest. Upon hearing him clear his throat, she looked back at him. He was staring dead into her soul.

"You know what they do to tumours, don't you?"

Blinking hard, she stayed still.

"They remove them."

Dr. Arkham slammed his glass back down on the table, eliciting a close-throated yelp from June. She wouldn't let the sound escape. She couldn't let him know. She couldn't let him know she was scared.

"They remove tumours," He dragged the whiskey bottle by the neck along to him and refilled his glass, rested back in his chair. "I wanted to... remove the Joker. A cancer upon Gotham, a... disease. How could anyone let such a rampant little germ fester this great city? You've got to... kill it off... before it... multiplies." He glanced up at her.

The urge to look away was strong, but she kept a level head, strong willed Juniper.

"It's why I kept it locked up in extreme isolation for sixth months. To stop it from spreading. And yet somehow..." he chuckled without a smile, screwing the lid back on the whiskey bottle. "Somehow you come in here, day after day after day, to drop all your cases... for the Joker's." He drank again. "Tell me, miss Stoltz, what... attracted you to such a case?"

"I... saw a challenge and I wanted to take it."

"A challenge? Quite a big risk for a man who could kill you, isn't it?"

"Maybe I just like the thrill of it," came her sarcastic sneer.

"A fanatic, are you? An admirer?"

"Oh, please."

"Doctors hardly cure patients for the thrill of it, miss--"

"God, I did it I knew I could do it, okay?" she snapped, hushing the whole room. "I wanted to take on his case because yes, he's a criminal and yes, his psyche is damaged almost irreparably but I knew I could do it. I had so much faith, so much... so much confidence and I knew I could do it."

"Knew?" He smirked.

June clenched a fist. "Know."

"You're... persistent, I have to give you that," he admitted, raising his glass to her. He drank, and she could almost imagine the bitterness in her own throat, though maybe that was just sickness. Just one more minute... one more minute for him to cut the chase and this'd all be over with. She didn't even know why she was here, why he was taunting her like this, talking, talking, talking... was he toying with her? Torturing her for his own amusement? Playing with her, really, just to see how long she'd hold out. If that was how he wanted to play, she'd wait... she'd wait all day.

"Though, I suppose a lot of your confidence must come from the fact that you're a metahuman, mustn't it?"

The shock was so overwhelming, so blood-curdling-ly sharp and cold, that her fear almost came in the form of a sickness and the need to vomit, pressing her hand to her mouth as a half 'holy shit' escaped her lips, whispered, strangled. Her wide eyes made contact with Dr. Arkham's, a wicked and cruel expression on his face: his lips in the shape of a snarl, his eyes bloodshot and somewhat unfocused, but excited. The old bastard looked like he hadn't slept, like he'd been sitting on this secret and was just dying to divulge it- not even to anyone notable, but to June herself, just to make sure that she knew.

But she was paralysed. Sat there, hands sweating profusely around the straps of her handbag and her eyes unmoving, unblinking, she couldn't speak. Here she was, sat in front of a racist drunkard who was already renowned for hating the very people he was 'curing', telling her that he knew what she possessed. God knows what he'd do, and the thought of just bursting out crying briefly crossed her mind. She felt like it. Never, not even under the Joker's cutting gaze, had she ever felt so vulnerable and naked, so... so helpless. Not even when he found out, not even a fraction as bad. What now? What the hell now? How did he even know?

Dr. Arkham's gaze never faltered, instead he kept his eyes on her as he raised the glass to his mouth and drank again, brows raised for a moment. Something clicked, and June's eyes trailed down. When she saw it, she gasped inwardly, tears in her eyes.

He balanced the barrel of the handgun atop the table and pointed it at a slanted angle, upwards to her chest. Placing his glass down, he sighed contently as though nothing had happened. As if he hadn't just fucking pointed a gun at her.

"Now, I don't particularly want to use this and dirty my carpets with your filth but if you even think of moving or screaming--"

"You fucking bastard," she spat, shaking her head. "You're a sick fuck."

"Such a vulgar mouth," he drawled, rolling his eyes. "I'd have the right mind to close it if I were you."

She whispered through tears, "Oh my God, you've got a fucking gun--"

"Can't risk it."

"How do you even know--"

He reached into the draw with his left hand and without a word, pulled out a familiar object. As soon as June laid her eyes on it she quietly sighed, her whole chest numb. Everything... she'd done everything... she'd tried everything just to keep it a secret...

"A diary," Dr. Arkham mused, "Making a case study of yourself. It's... fascinating, miss Stoltz."

She went to reach into her handbag, not believing that it had gone missing again, but Dr. Arkham flinched the gun toward her. "H-how did you get it, how..."

He smiled, "A friend of yours. Marla? Mara? She was very helpful. At the right price, of course."

"Oh my God, you're all snakes," she frightfully laughed, pressing her palms on her forehead, "Jesus Christ, next you'll be telling me Cash is--"

"Shh," he hissed, raising the gun again, which made her fall silent immediately. He checked his watch and kept his eye on it, raising his finger. "Any time now..."

They waited. June had no idea what for, she just wanted to disappear. Dr. Arkham laid his wrist on the table and she watched the time with him, and as it suddenly struck the hour, voices came from outside.

"Excuse me, I'm on duty here--" Johnny. She closed her eyes, fearing the worst. "Listen- uh- Dr. Arkham said he- ARGH, FUCK!" The sparking sound of a taser was all that could be heard before a deafening silence, and Dr. Arkham laughed.

"What a lovely sound..." he mused. "Don't think I didn't know about the clown's rat. He may think he has this place under his thumb but forgets who's in charge of it... and three, two, one..."

The doors behind June swung open, a deafening crack in the terrorising silence that cut through her, and she almost rose when she saw two guards decked out in gear step in, though the reminder of the gun kept her seated long enough to stay still. She spun her head around to ask Dr. Arkham why, and what the hell was happening, and why she deserved this, and why--

--until a gargantuan hand yanked her hair to the side, freeing her neck, and in deep, deep, (deeper than hell, than hell, than hell) sank a needle... and by the time it surfaced again she was towed under into a slumber so thick and black that then... drowning in molasses... everything was fine again. Everything was still... and Juniper Stoltz fell to the ground in a blind sleep.

---

ohhhh my god oh my god oh my , god okay okay oh my god so i finally finished it oh my god she's like twenty k words long i'm so TIRED

Okay, so, I'm so sorry for taking so long to update. I truly planned to update on Heath's death anniversary but... heck if you read my update about it you'll understand just what a state I was in. Sobbing all day, for Heath, for the Joker- the two people I love dearly never getting to know just how much. Urgh. Anyway, here's the chapter, hope you enjoyed it!!

So basically, just a hint at what's to come, this is basically 'act one' or 'part one' of this story, these ten chapters spent in the asylum, and from this point everything is gonna change... AAAA I'M SO EXCITED TO SHOW YOU!! I have soooo many plans for this story oh my goooodness

ANYWAY so the self promo thing I wanted to talk ab was this!!

Yea, I made a twitter just so I could let off some steam and stop rambling ab the Joker's dick on my profile all the time [though that hasn't seemed to stop lmao]. I would really appreciate a follow; I just love interacting with all of you and perhaps instead of inbox on here [annoying, slow, I never get the notifications] you'd prefer to dm me! I also just post total crap that I find funny and I'm just an asshole in general lmao. Also just notifications for when i update fics.

These are uh,, my personal fav tweets so far;

I wish i was funny.

And I plan to post a lot of threads of pictures of Joker and Heath. Just an all around positive experience for me lmao, plus y'all might get to see my cute face! If u don't want me for my talents then at least stay for my visual appeal ;)

Also i'm currently on priv so when u search me, tap on the name u typed in and it'll take u to my acc. Or just check the link back on my profile page here!! Hope to see u honeys there, don't forget to drop ur @ in the comments so I can recognise y'all on twitter (yes, i do recognise all ur usernames and profiles, i read the comments all the time eek)

Love y'all!!

-tkj