Lmaooo not that happy about the start of this chapter, but alas, it's here. Quite a few important things- also keep your eye on Junie's audio diary. No spoilers, but it plays an important role later on in the story... aaand I've said too much!! ;)

Also updates may be a little slow these next 2 weeks as I have my A-level exams!! So sorry about that!!

Aaand also a quick note regarding a question I wanna ask (and that I've posted on my profile): What day and time for you is convenient for me to upload?? I live in the UK and I know that a lot of you are in the US or other places, and like me, have school or some of you have work. My Saturdays are usually the best times for me to upload but I just wanted to double check with all of you when it's best!! If you could leave a comment telling me when (or even specify your time zone if you need), it'd help me out a lot!! I've never had much of an uploading routine or schedule but I know that some of you might like to read a chapter in bulk at once, instead of having to put it down every once in a while because of school or sleep, etc. I'm pretty slow at writing and editing these days, so I know there can be a wait sometimes and I do wanna improve on that!!

And bc I got carried away there's another big ass author's note on the end because well hm I SUCK and need VALIDATION so yeah there's that bone app the teeth

Anyways, I'm just chewing up the word count by now. Enjoy!!

---

Chapter 4: Spit in the Palm

It was eleven o'clock that Thursday night when tired and troubled Juniper Stoltz turned off the television, sinking back into her sofa as she rubbed her irritated and sleep-deprived eyes. Scattered around her was an ocean of doctor's reports and the same old repeated case files of the Joker's- patient 4479's- and again, she found nothing in those documents that gave her mind any peace. She wasn't sure what she was looking for in those notes; perhaps comfort, or advice, anything those failed doctors could tell her about the clown that she hopelessly wished to cure, just to put her mind at ease for once. But this had to be the tenth night in a row where she'd stayed up all night rereading those damned documents, practically able to recite it all by memory if she wanted to. It was as if each time she opened the blue folder full of those papers, she'd somehow expect a fresh new one to appear from thin air, listing all the answers to every question she'd ever asked. The answer, she already knew, and it was simple: use my clairvoyance, look at his memories, write it all down and go. But she knew it wasn't that easy. It was wrong. She'd had that gift graced upon her unwillingly; she'd been studying Psychology for years and she worked for these sessions. And not only could the memory-meddling hurt her patient, but herself as well, what with all the migraines and nosebleeds it elicited if she went back far enough.

Sometimes she wished her mother were here to tell her what to do.

Sighing heavily, June got up from the sofa and crossed the cluttered living room to her bookcase, picking up any stray papers and stacking them on the end of the coffee table, which sat rather neatly in front of the old television set she simply couldn't afford to replace. The screen bulged out like a bubble and emitted static whenever she turned it on. It reminded her a little bit of her childhood- turning on the TV to watch the Saturday morning cartoons and pressing her hand to the screen to feel the static, listening to the near-silent popping that accompanied the white noise as it vanished. Mama would playfully scare her with stories of how the static was deathly radioactive and would make little June's brain all fuzzy and mutate beyond repair, but even at age seven, she knew that her Mama was only joking. Although, that would explain the clairvoyance... if she weren't lying.

She chuckled softly at the memory and looked at the picture frame atop her bookcase- her and Mama at graduation day. The picture always made her laugh, as it was supposed to be a nice photo where she'd smile calmly at the camera while her mother would lovingly sling her arm around her shoulder, but instead, eighteen-year-old June was stood like a stiff board, her shoulders hunched, clutching her diploma like her life depended on it, and behind her calm and simple smile, her eyes were wide with joy and excitement, barely able to contain her feelings as Mama wrapped her arms around her, grinning gleefully. June's hair was the same then as it was now, wild and free, curls that bounced with a whole life of its own, and even back then you could tell, with how her hair sprang out the bottom of her graduation hat to settle just on her shoulders, Mama's hair practically matching. It was May- not even halfway through that odd, odd year. They both looked so happy. So carefree. That despite the struggle of growing up with June's abnormal powers and the daily reminder that over time, her clairvoyance worked better albeit more intrusive, the two made family of each other, happy despite everything else.

June picked up the photo and brushed her thumb across the glass, wiping away the dust that'd collected there. Simpler times. Before...

No. She bit back the reminder and placed the photograph back down, setting her mind back on what she intended to get in the first place. Audio diary, right. She found it sitting atop a pile of books on the bookcase, and she snatched it.

June pressed the record button. It blinked red. She cleared her throat.

"Thursday..." She yawned, carrying the audio diary with her into the kitchen. "...fifth of March. It's been a long week, so I haven't had much time to record any entries. The Joker is..." Her eyes searched the cabinet for a clean mug as she thought of the right phrase to describe him. "...an enigma. Unpredictable. Half the time he's making jokes and the other half he's talking about... me." She swallowed at the reminder of how yesterday's session had turned out, the constant questions of her, her and Colter, her age, her likes and dislikes, all over the cafeteria table. The rotten apple, rolling across the table to her. She laughed to herself, "All I know is that he doesn't like colour TV and he likes the song Footloose. Although on Tuesday he said he understands the fear of darkness." She brought down a mug from the cabinet and started to prepare her coffee, boiling the water. "He has an interesting perspective on it. That he thinks it's good that we fear some things, because it's instinctual and has helped us survive for so long," She said, leaning against the counter. "He's intelligent. Smart. Aware. Our session actually started to veer off course on Tuesday and he began to... point out the social injustices of everyday life." June paused to bite her knuckle, anxious as she remembered how personal he got, how he'd lured out her inner demons. Dr. Arkham. Colter. How goddamn long she'd plead to get the same job as everyone else.

June would never dare to say it out loud or even admit it to herself, but thinking back on his observations, she almost... admired him. Or it. His views, she meant- excluding the murdering part, of course. He was smart and quick, witty and unafraid to speak his mind; he understood how things worked and wasn't naïve like she was, didn't try to hide the frustration behind polite smiles and pursed lips like she did, wasn't scared of Colter or anyone who put him in his place like she felt- but it was still all wrong. Such intelligence and awareness was wasted on a killer, who took out his anger on innocent people and mutilated corpses instead of the faces of those he opposed and did everyone wrong, he should do everyone a favour and--

The kettle whistled, eliciting a shrill yelp from June as she held her chest, spinning around to see the audio diary on the counter, red light still flickering. Picking it up, she tried to wrap the entry up. "U-um, so yeah, he's a challenge. I'm... kinda looking forward to seeing him again though..." She shyly said, as if sharing a secret only she knew. The confession fell upon her with a strange weight, as if her excitement was tying her down- how dare she enjoy her job, right?

With a heavy sigh, she pressed the button and ended the entry, before putting the audio diary back down and holding her head, eyes closed stressfully. Her head was all over the place. The Joker was irritating her to the point where trying to work with him was such a chore, despite her wanting to do it. Sometimes she swore she was going crazy...

As she poured the boiling water into her coffee mug, she stirred in the grains, lost in her thoughts. At least it was Friday tomorrow.

Just as she was about to go and slump back into her sofa, halfway upon leaving the kitchen there was a thumping knock at her door, a triple staccato beat, knock knock knock. June's eyes narrowed as she checked the time on her watch, the hand almost ticking to midnight. Who the hell would knock at this time? Maybe it was the landlord telling her to go the hell to sleep- maybe the lights were keeping her neighbours up somehow- or maybe it was Mrs. Curnow next door asking if she'd found her dead cat yet.

June sighed and staggered over to the door, bare feet slapping against the hard floor as she rehearsed her speech: I owe you my greatest apologies, Mrs. Curnow, but I'm afraid that Smokey has passed away. Unfortunately I saw his dead and half-rotten carcass on the side of the road on the way to work last week, so please stop asking. Sincerely...

But as she twisted all of the locks and opened the door, she wasn't greeted with the small and frail figure of the old lady, but instead a looming tower of a man, made of muscle and stinking of beer and stale cigarettes. Her neck slowly bent upwards as she met the eyes of her late night guest, and then her stomach sank.

June stammered in confusion, "O-oh, um, good evening, Colter." She pressed herself between the gap of the door, trying hard to hide both herself and her apartment without somehow angering him. He was obviously drunk, with his tie twisted awkwardly around his unbuttoned uniform collar and his hair dishevelled, his eyes glassy and red. Her hands clenched around the coffee cup nervously as she tried to figure out why he was here.

He grinned like a cheshire cat, the sides of his mouth stretched in a grotesque way as his golden tooth glinted in the dim lighting of the corridor outside. "Evenin', Junie. How come you're up so late?" His speech was drawled and his breath stank of alcohol, not that she expected anything different.

"I-I could ask you the same thing. And stop calling me Junie." She coughed in trying to steady her trembling voice.

The bastard even had the audacity to try and open the door but when June fought back discreetly, he settled for just leaning on the doorframe, his face disgustingly close to hers. She was suddenly very conscious of how little she was wearing, only decked out in a stretched t-shirt and her underwear, a pair of boxer shorts that did nothing at all to hide her legs, and when his eyes trailed down to look at them, she even tried to step behind the red door as if it'd protect her.

"Colter, seriously, what're you doing here? It's nearly midnight."

He simply laughed at her attempt to be stern, staggering back on his heels. "Just wanted to come see ya, Junie. I've been feeling very lonely with you ignorin' me."

"You're drunk," she stated as if he had no idea, then tried closing her door again. "Goodnight, Colter."

His palm slammed between the door and stopped her from closing it, as he hiccuped in laughter. "C'mon, toots. Just let me in. I've been needin' to hold a little somethin' warm at night..." His voice was slow and as soft as he could make it, but of course she didn't trust him. He'd come here for a reason. Staring into his eyes, she saw nothing but lust. Nothing but the perverse gaze of a man who could never take no for an answer. They stared in silence for what seemed like minutes but was barely even seconds, June's breath hitched as she tried pressing her shoulder to the door, but Colter would only stop it from closing every time, rendering her attempts useless, and it was at this moment where she wished Mrs. Curnow would harass her about her cat, just to distract him. Fear coursed through her as thick as her own blood. 

"Colter, please, go ho--" Her voice was cut off as he pushed against the door, nearly forcing it open, but June slammed herself against it until he let go, and as soon as the door was closed, her fingers scrambled frantically for the locks.

The worst part was, this wasn't exactly the first time this had happened.

June gasped inwardly as Colter's hands beat on the door, shaking it hard and trying to twist the doorknob as she slid and turned every lock and chain, all four of them, and only when she pressed her back against it in relief did she let go of the breath she was holding, and swore to herself as she looked down at the coffee spills on her clothes and the floor.

Colter continued to pound on the door, even as she rushed to the kitchen to put down her mug and clean up the mess. "C'mon, Junie! Junie!" He slammed his fist against the door and whined, "June! Open the door, baby!" His hiccups of protest still managed to scare her, even when she knew that he was too drunk to kick the door down... hopefully.

The thumping was incessant, and June, trying to hold her breath as if to silence herself so he wouldn't hear her, looked for her phone around the living room. Heavily breathing, she whispered, "C'mon, c'mon, where are you..." and there it was, underneath the piles of paperwork on her coffee table, her mobile phone; grabbing it, she desperately called the first person she could think of, Mara, but after the fifth ring there was no answer, and she knew that at midnight, nobody else would pick up. Should she call the cops? The thought was tempting, but stupid. They had more important things to worry about than some guy outside her door, surely. This was Gotham City. They'd think she was just some prank caller.

Colter's voice boomed, "Junie! Ju-unie! Let me in, sweetheart. I just wanna talk ta' you."

"Go away!" She cried, standing as far away from the door as possible, hugging her arms to her chest. This was a nightmare.

Thud. "Open!" Thud. "The damn!" Thud. "Door!"

Biting back screams of fear and frustration, she couldn't handle it anymore. Switching off every light and electronic, she retreated back to her bedroom, feeling her way around in the dark. This had worked before, just waiting in hiding until he eventually forgot she was in here. She stepped around the piles of laundry as the knocking on her door continued like a broken record, and when she fell on her bed, she crawled under the crumpled bedsheets and curled into a ball, holding her trembling self in hopes that he'd go away.

The horrifying truth was that this wasn't out of the blue for Juniper Stoltz. This was Colter Barnes in his purest, most primal form, who would stop at nothing to get her. This was the third time he'd camped outside her apartment, drunk, hopelessly singing obscene ballads in trying to get her to let him in. She'd known him for so long at this point that she couldn't truly plan a day for herself without the reminder that Colter, somehow, someway, would ruin it all for her. It was awful. Ever since that internship at Arkham she'd had when she was nineteen, moved fresh from New York back to Gotham, he'd always been there, like an everlasting presence, a cloud that never stopped following her, a shadow. And no matter how many times she cried or begged or screamed at him to go away, he'd never leave.

Pulling the covers over her head, she tried shutting her eyes and going to sleep, but it wouldn't work. He kept knocking. Kept calling her name. Told the landlord to fuck off when he tried to interfere, and knowing the weasel landlord, he did exactly as he was told. June felt trapped in her own home, unable to call for help, unable to do anything but hide herself and try to sleep.

It continued for six hours. And Juniper Stoltz didn't sleep that night.

***

The morning after was equivalent to the feeling of being tortured. June, sleepless and exhausted, still trudged her way to work after Colter had left, which was only ten minutes before her alarm for work went off. It was no exaggeration when it was said she hadn't slept that night- each time her eyes fell shut and she was sure she was finally about to drift off to sleep, Colter either shouted or knocked to catch her attention. He'd asked her thirty-two times to let him in. Called her a bitch sixteen times. Asked to fuck her twenty-eight times. Although after the first two hours she'd lost count.

She'd ignored anyone who dared to speak to her when she got to Arkham, simply pointing to the bags under her eyes when Mara asked her if she was feeling alright. That conversation was short but not so sweet, as June passed through the main office Mara had asked, "Morning, June. How you feeling?"

That was when June pointed to her eyes, lifelessly.

"Oh. Colter's called in sick. Can you believe that?"

"No."

"Okay."

And after that, June left.

Now she was in the interviewing room, sat across the table from Joker, who was playing with a loose seam on his sleeve, wrapping it around his finger to see how many times he could do it before the end of his finger turned blue, seemingly content with himself. She hadn't really tried to speak to him as most of her efforts went into keeping her eyes open and her head balanced, making sure she kept her eyes on Joker no matter what.

It was funny; being Friday, she'd seen how more and more disheveled he'd become throughout the week, and today he had a wild case of bed-head, his hair knotted and sticking up on one side, the green already beginning to fade. She watched for almost twenty minutes how he'd just keep wrapping the orange thread around his finger, mumbling to himself incoherently and indirectly to her. He'd noticed her silence, her lack of attention, but didn't care enough to ask.

Nearly thirty minutes into the session, she finally spoke.

"Have you ever tried art therapy?"

Inquisitive and owl-eyed Dr. Junie Stoltz asked the question as mundanely as though she were on a date, asking him what music he liked, or what his favourite movie was, her voice shrill and slow with wonder. Her head hung tiredly to the side, cheek propped up by her hand and the elbow she had resting on the table had begun to ache, but she couldn't risk just... falling asleep. Colter had been a waking nightmare, and here she was enduring the aftermath.

Finally letting go of the thread, the blood rushing back to his finger, Joker mimicked her pose, although subconsciously. Her sudden lack of vigour was oddly contagious.

"Yeah, I have," He answered, slowly licking his lips. "It's called murder."

June narrowed her eyes at him, but barely had the energy to bother scolding him. One blink and she was sure she'd fall asleep. "Joker, please. Just straight answers today..." She paused to yawn and when she settled, picked her words back up. "...I'm too tired for jokes."

He'd noticed the dark circles under her eyes as soon as she walked in, but didn't question her in case it pissed her off. Last thing he needed was her whining in the back of his head, 'that's private information'. This time, though, he raised the statement, "You look like you haven't slept."

She huffed out a totally emotionless laugh. "You'd be right."

Join the club, he'd say, although his insomnia never bothered him. It was a choice to him; he'd just sleep whenever he fell asleep. Could be in bed, could be at the lunch table or even during a session- although Junie hadn't had the privilege to witness that yet.

He knotted his brows to fake concern. "How come?"

June was currently in a state where she didn't properly think before she talked, just let the words roll out of her mouth whenever she felt like it. "Bastard Colter stayed outside my apartment for six hours. By the time he left, I had to go to work. And now I'm here."

The language that came out of her mouth was... enjoyable to hear. So full of life and honest. Bastard. That was the first time he'd heard her swear, he thinks. She spat the word, bastard. It said a lot. He liked it.

Joker slowly sat upright, palms flat on the table, and double checked to make sure he'd heard her right. "He... stood outside your apartment?"

She nodded slowly, eyes barely open.

"All night?"

Nod.

"For six hours?"

"Six and a half, actually." She smiled sarcastically. "His motivation impresses me. Too bad he isn't motivated enough to leave me alone."

At this point, Joker was nosy about the situation, wanting to know more. He knew that Colter had issues- his visits to Joker's cell simply to beat on him showed it, and he hit hard- but stalking women was a different ballpark. "Didn't you, uh, call the police?"

She scoffed, "The GCPD's busy hunting down rapists and murderers and they're still searching their own department for corrupt cops. You think they'll just drop everything to drive away some dude who decided to take camp outside my door? They don't care."

Joker smirked to himself, the way she felt about the cops in the city- she was suddenly one in a million. Usually every staff member of Arkham sided with them; the cops were the shining example of good and justice in this city, and half the criminals they caught they brought to Arkham anyway, so they were mostly forced to be friends from that reason alone. But even Junie could see how blind they actually were, much like him in a way, which piqued his interest. To share his beliefs, his ideals, in the way he did, meant something. And to think, it was his doctor, of all people...

"Don't trust cops, Junie?"

"It's not that." She shook her head, tucking loose curls behind her ear before propping her head up again. "It's that they've got priorities, and I respect that. I don't want their best men to come and save me from my ivory tower while there's a mugging going on just around the corner. People could die while I'm just... sat there twiddling my thumbs."

"Afraid of guilt, then?"

Junie's mouth moved to answer him, but suddenly her eyes locked onto him, slowly turning empty as her focus remained somewhere else. There she goes, mind drifting. He could always see on her face whenever she was deep in thought, and this was one of those moments where she'd suddenly lost all grip on where she was, forgetting her surroundings entirely. He didn't know what she was thinking, didn't care much to ask, but it was always this- her mind wandering, smile dropping- that made him feel like she had secrets. Secrets he sort of wanted to dig up.

And then, she was back as soon as she'd left, blinking hard.

Guilt? A strong word for someone like her. But June still had to agree, "Something like that."

There would've been an awkward silence, had Joker not deliberately tried to cycle through different questions to occupy himself. He had to keep it going, keep her awake, get his answers now that she was too tired to notice that he was digging for them. "Why don't you tell Dr. Arkham about it?"

June rolled her eyes. "He hates me. Only listens to me if it's about a patient. About you," she said, before finally lifting her head and sitting up, palms folded on the table in front of her. "Which brings me to the question..." Yawn. "Art therapy. Have you tried art therapy?"

Joker, trying to resist another witty retort, admittedly thought about it. Art therapy. Art. Strange. The word felt somehow familiar to him, in the way that he knew exactly what to do when it was said. This strange instinct within him, as in, yes, I know Art, she's an old friend of mine, yet he couldn't even remember ever picking up a paintbrush in his life, let alone actually paint anything. Or draw. Or sculpt or sketch. His artistic merit had never stretched further than posing and mutilating a corpse, or painting his own face. And that was with his bare hands, using tools no more meticulous than a knife.

But the words that spouted in his head: art... artist... canvas... stretcher... oil, pastel, acrylic, charcoal... how did he know all this? Perhaps he'd read about it in a magazine somewhere, or seen it while searching for face paint. Funny how that works.

He sighed, trying to chase his thoughts away. "No. I, uh, haven't."

June's shoulders dropped in relief. Finally, something she could work with. "Would you like to try it?"

He eyed her suspiciously, "What would tha-t, uh, entail?"

"Well," she began, rubbing her eyes before blinking. "The sessions would take place once a week. Or more, if you find it works for you. You can paint, sketch, sculpt, anything you want. Use kiddie crayons if you want to."

"Will I be-ah, under supervision?" He asked.

June reluctantly nodded.

"What if I wanna, uh... paint naughty pictures, though?" He smiled crookedly, raising a brow. June swallowed dryly. "An artist must be in his best state of mind if he, uh, wants to work. Can't, uh, con-cen-trate when he's being watched."

She laced her fingers together in her lap, where he couldn't see her squirm. But he saw how her shoulders had raised to her neck, her tired lashes fluttering dazedly. "Well, if, um... if painting like that... helps you, I'm sure the doctor supervising you won't interfere. I could sit in with you, if you'd like."

Joker's smirk widened as he chuckled. "Well, actually, Junie, I was hoping you'd be my model."

She shot him an unimpressed glare, but under the table her hands tightened together, and her thighs, unwillingly.

He scoffed when he saw her aloof reaction. "Quit pouting, Junie. It's called a joke." Although thinking about it, he wouldn't mind her being his muse. She had the right face for painting, the big round eyes that would be painted nicely with the right swirl of a brush, the curved shoulders that could easily be mimicked by the brush gliding along the canvas as smooth as water. Quick spatters of paint for the freckles, fingertips to get the right frizz in her hair... how did he know how to do this again?

June stuttered defensively, "Quit it with the... the..." She almost didn't want to say it. Flirting? Was he?

"The...?" He dared her to say it.

As she tried to find her voice, she found herself in a kind of trance, eyes grazing quickly over the features of his face, stern and shaped, sculpted like art (not too shabby, actually), and to avoid eye contact she glanced down to his hands on the table, much like she'd done the Wednesday before, her thoughts lost between the web of his thumb and her concentration laced around his fingers, just like that orange thread had once been mere minutes ago. Dextrous... long... clench his fists and his knuckles turn white... veins protruding... she wondered if he'd ever choked anyone to death with them, or choked them for... other, somehow less innocent reasons. She imagined them moving. In motion. Hands around a gun, fingers looped in the trigger. Juggling a knife into the air and catching it expertly by the handle. Tying rope. Tightening. And then she imagined them mundanely; his hand twisting a doorknob or tugging at the hem of his shirt, un-looping a belt (his belt?), pulling... pulling...

For the short minute that she didn't talk to him, the Joker had watched her closely, her hazy eyes glazed over with a certain kind of distance to them, like her body was here but her mind was not- and following her line of sight eventually lead him to looking at his own hands, wondering what she'd seen on them. He turned them over and looked at his palms, the faded paint collected in the creases of skin that laid there, like lines in the soil waiting to sow seeds. There was nothing out of place there, so why was she looking at them?

June's eyes flickered up to look at him and her face flushed red, freckled cheeks turning pink as she began to realise where she was. What she was thinking. And her thoughts were not far from being totally, completely, out of order- she should not be thinking or even looking at him in that way. Not her patient.

Clearing her throat, she changed the subject before he could talk. "So, um. Painting. How-- how'd you feel about painting?"

His answer came quick. "Don't know. Don't recall ever trying it." But he just simply wasn't buying it, whatever plastic façade she was trying to put on- he'd seen how detached she'd become. A little daydreamer. The girl's mind wandered far too much for her to be concentrating. Then again, maybe it was something he could take advantage of...

June's mouth quirked to one corner, almost stumped at his answer. "Do you... think you'd like to?"

"Junie, don't be getting my hopes up that I'll be painting-ah, extravagan-t works of art when I only so much know how to draw a stick figure."

"You don't have to be good at it to enjoy it," She softly said with a smile, her voice somewhat falsely reassuring. "If it helps you to relax and calm down, you won't care if you're good at it or not..." Long yawn this time. "Trust me."

Trust me. Odd thing for her to be saying.

Joker raised his brows at her, arms folded, suspiciously shaking his head. "You ain't convincing me much, Junie."

Suddenly, she was overwhelmed. His answer, his stubbornness- situated in his spot like a goddamn rock, immovable- it was once interesting but had now begun to frustrate her, and God, God, she could cry. Why couldn't he just take what he was given?

She pressed her hands to her face and groaned in frustration, the crinkles between her brows folding together as she squeezed her eyes shut; and this was the most human he'd ever seen her. Behind that mask of a capable doctor was little Junie who felt so much, who felt enough to be able to drop the act and simply emote- and this was it, there she was, right before him, her elbows on the table, his little sleep-deprived plaything, and she groaned and grit her teeth in mental agony, in annoyance, in simply being pushed to the edge of her own emotions.

"For the love of--" She took a deep breath in and sighed, her shoulders dropping dramatically. "Please. I'm asking you to just- I'm begging here. Just cooperate with me once. Just once," she whined, her mouth almost quivering into a pout. He bit his lip as to not burst out laughing, teeth clamped hard as he watched in amazement at how easily she'd cracked. "Just go to one art therapy session. Please, I--" She stopped for a moment, trying to regain her composure, and leant over the table to try and speak to him, to reason with the insane man before her. "I really need this. If I can show Dr. Arkham that I can do one, just one thing right, if I make a little bit of progress, I'll be happy. We've completed nothing. You tell me nothing. I shouldn't have to beg my own patient, yet here I am."

There was a silence. And then the Joker laughed, a tiny giggle that seethed through his amused smile, as he nibbled the crook of his finger in thought. She wasn't walking into his trap; she was waltzing right through it, fingers dancing over every string in his web, plucking, God, she was practically singing for him to snatch her. This girl was so simplistically supple that he'd had her asking him favours and it was only their fifth session. She was just too. Much. Fun.

He chuckled at her, index finger aimlessly tracing a line on the table. "You're a curious one, aren't you, Junie?"

Blinking tiredly at him, it took her a minute before she croaked, "Dr. Stoltz."

This time he didn't hold back as he laughed, just a soft huff of glee and all she did was watch him, eyes watered with lethargy and frustration, perhaps she was upset. It got worse now, he was doubling over and he couldn't stop laughing, not at his silly doctor but with her; at the fact that after all of that unprofessionalism, that pathetic begging and that guttural groan of frustration she still dared to ask him to call her by her formal title as if it mattered. As if this conversation alone hadn't already passed the boundary of doctor, of patient, of whatever made-up social barrier that separated the two, and he was laughing, so much laughing that it hurt her to listen to, almost as bad as Colter calling her by her name. It was endless anarchy, his laughter, dancing in his mouth- doctor! Doctor! And she still wanted him to call her doctor!

She was so embarrassed that she could've cried, and she dipped her head to hide behind her wild curls in hopes that somehow he wouldn't see her. Couldn't she just have one thing go right for her?

Eventually, Joker's laughs died down into soft grumbling giggle, and his eyes were on Junie, always on Junie, as he was so sure that from this moment on she was his plaything, his toy, the doctor he'd keep just for a little longer before he decided to call it quits on this little charade.

He was game. He was game. His only question was, of course, was she?

Leaning forward over the table, he rested his elbows outwardly as he kept his eyes on her, never tearing away his gaze as if the second he'd look away, she'd disappear.

"A'right," He finally hummed, tongue tracing his lip. "Let's make a deal."

"Deal?" The doe-eyed girl asked, brows knotted together in hesitation.

"Yeah," He said, deeply breathing. "A deal."

Curiously, she tilted her head and arched a brow, playing with a strand of black hair around her finger. She didn't much anticipate what his idea of a 'deal' was- perhaps a gun or a knife or maybe just that she'd go away. She prayed that it be something simple, for her own sake.

"What kind of deal?" She questioned.

"Nothing major, Junie." He shook his head to position himself comfortably, eyes piercing her skin, her rounded features. "I'll do this, uh, art therapy. I'll do anything you want me to do- I'll sit, I'll stand, I'll dance, sing, paint you a pretty goddamn picture of the Mona Lisa if you want. I'll behave and co-op-erate. Anything you want, dear."

The bittersweet nickname lingered on the front of his tongue and the back of his teeth for so long in her mind, and June hadn't realised that with every empty promise he'd made her, she'd leaned forward closer and closer in wonder, in obliviousness, in simple curiosity, just to hear what he'd say next. How could he call her something so sweetly while he still managed to stare her in the eyes- those wondrous black voids that sucked her in completely. Dear. Deer. Doe. And indeed she was, caught completely in the pitch headlights that didn't shine, but blacked out. She was in his shadow completely and it loomed, endless.

"Bu-t."

And she felt cheated, completely torn away from the false goodness he so unwillingly held. The confusion in her eyes when he said, "I want a TV."

The silence that followed was undeniably awkward, and June thought for a moment that he was joking. Yet, he didn't laugh, nor even smiled, and knew that he was being entirely serious. "You want... a TV?"

"Yeah."

She shook her head and sighed. "No, Joker, look, I can't just bring you a-a television set for your cell, I can't--"

"No, not my cell, silly," He tutted, waving his hand. "There's a TV here. In the recreational room. Where the better patients spend their, uh, leisurely time. Playing chess or whatever losers do..." The last observation was said as a silent mutter under his breath to which she could barely hear.

June knew about the rec room, although she hadn't had the chance to go in there. But how on earth could she convince Dr. Arkham? Why would he agree to let Joker mingle with the other patients? It was promoted anarchy.

"I don't... I don't know..." She nibbled her lip, twiddling her thumbs.

"C'mon," He'd lowered his voice to a babyish whisper, almost raising out of his seat with each inch further he leant over the table. He wanted to tempt her, draw her in- soft voice- she'd come for the honey, not the vinegar. June could hear his tongue tracing the interiors of his mouth, audible clicking as his palms pressed down on the table so hard that his fingertips turned white. "Anything you want, doc. You're the one in control here, I'm giving you the reigns."

As June raised her head, she was face to face with him, this clown-clad killer in assigned disguise. The hard, vibrant orange that was simply too harsh to look at, causing her eyes to drift to look at things she shouldn't. His murderous hands, his empty eyes, his lying mouth. Red lips that didn't smile without being forced to by his scars. How gruesome they were now that she could see them up close- and the symmetry! There was no such thing! The right side was a clean cut line, a swift glide of the blade, and the left side bore such mottled and uneven skin that the scar was simply a cluster of thick tissue, and she couldn't possibly guess how it happened. Touching them- whilst dangerous and completely unconventional- was a dream of hers.

She blinked hard. Observation. Observation, not a dream. Professionalism.

"So...?" The Joker's voice made itself heard one more as the vowel stretched on for what seemed like minutes, echoing around the room and circling her entirely. "That a deal, Junie?"

Screw it.

"You've got to swear on it." She sternly said, knowing exactly just how dangerously stupid she was being. But anything for some recognition, right?

Joker's mouth soon stretched into a malicious smirk as he sat back in his chair, arms folded. "D'ya believe in pinky swears? Spitting in the palm? How'd you wanna go about it, sweetheart?"

"Just--" She rubbed her eyes irritably as she gestured with wide hands."Just give me your word, okay?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, nodding. "Lucky for you, I am a man of my word." His words were vague, his words were so unidentifiable to her ears, and his words were ones that lingered in the air between them both, just out of her reach to understand. Why was he so goddamn unreadable? "However, Junie, I hope you're as truthful as you claim to be, too. There's no bargain on your end for lying, so..." He stopped to smile. "Like I said, you got all the cards here."

She nodded, tired eyes suddenly awake as they drifted to the clock on the back wall. She had to go. Go before her lethargy got her into more absurdity.

June took her things in silence, standing up and routinely smoothing down her skirt as the guard on the other side knocked to let her know that the session was up. "Ten o'clock," He said (he was some other guard, not Just Kenny).

"Junie." Joker's voice stopped her from turning toward the door, and she looked at him, awaiting an answer. It was so peculiar: he just sat there and didn't say anything, looking at her like she was something else entirely. It wasn't hatred, it wasn't happiness, it wasn't anger, it wasn't irritation; it was something so undecipherable that even he didn't know why he called her name. It was right on the tip of his tongue, what he wanted to say, but even then, he just didn't know. It didn't even taste like a threat. Just the confusing feeling of wanting to lock the door so she couldn't leave. Five more minutes. I have to devour her precious little head for five more minutes.

"What is it?" She softly asked.

Curious. Curious. Curious. He'd thought of the word a million times and it was the only one that circled in his head when he'd caught himself looking at her, the only apparent emotion that swam in her eyes apart from the confusion and the discomfort and the ever-lingering sadness; his Junie Stoltz was much different from anyone else's, his Junie Stoltz was curious, the curious little doe with the wild head of hair. And he hated it. He hated this. She was so different from him, so blunt and apparent and so simple that she could never work with him, and yet he saw a kindred spirit within her, a twin, like they were bound together by more than just medical records and the table they both sat over in the therapy room. He could never guess what it was, could never figure it out in any mundane, simple way, but there was something inside Junie, something that couldn't be seen by the human eye, and it haunted her. He had a knack of seeing other people's demons and usually he'd toy with them until they broke. But her? Junie? He couldn't see it. Couldn't figure her out. Maybe if he'd slice her open from top to bottom it'd all spill out then, her secrets, her ghosts, the skeletons in her closet- and the one in her skin, haha.

Joker eventually shook his head with a crooked smile, dismissing her. "Nothing," He said, and her tired eyes relaxed. "But one more thing."

"What?"

"Lunch." He was subtle with his grin. "Instead of jello for pudding, I'd like apples from now on."

June was silent, with nothing to say, but then her chest heaved and she coughed up a laugh, a tiny, breathless laugh, a silent giggle that was hidden behind a straightened mouth. And this time, as she left, she made a note to ask Dr. Arkham to serve the apples that weren't rotten.

---

Don't be fooled, that indistinguishable feeling isn't 'love', like those other fanfics around here (yes, even AoS had that cliché element and OOC-ness). All will be revealed in good time :)

And just to clarify, as I have seen the odd comment or two (not bad ones, btw!!), there are a lot of strange and gory imagery on Joker's part, like him sporadically thinking about gruesomely killing June and talking a length about what her insides would look like (see the last chapter), and even in this chapter there are weird murder-talk and borderline innuendos ("something inside Junie"/"devour her head", which isn't even innuendo it's just weird) and yeah, it is all a little strange sounding and even uncomfortable. Not so much the gory parts but the sexual-when-it's-not-really stuff feels a little strange to write because of the true meaning contrasting the underlying connotations. Which is good! I think! For me at least!! Because I want to write Joker right, I want him to make things confusing and double-meaning and uncomfortable at times, because he's the type of guy to lead you astray and have you thinking of those things. And as intelligent and bright as Junie is, even she begins to question herself, which you will see as her character develops. So basically to clear up questions and confusions, 'did Joker really just say that'? Yes, he did, it's weird, I know, and yes, there shall be more of that. He laughed while almost falling to his death in TDK, and he will revel at the thought of skinning precious little Junie alive... until things start to get interesting ;)

I just hope this doesn't end up as a cliché mess lmao.

Anyways thanks for ur support!! Please comment and tell me what you liked about this chapter, maybe what you disliked, some constructive criticism would be very helpful- I learn through feedback, guys, I better myself through the mistakes you point out. I hate asking for comments and stuff because it sounds like I'm just doing all of this for reads and popularity (which I am NOT btw, like some people on here, but that's a rant for another day)- but *please*, if you can, leave a comment and maybe share this story with those you'd think would like it. I know it's silly, but escalating numbers and reads don't really mean much in terms of you guys' presence- it's the comments that count for me and let me know you're there, and like I said, let me know what I'm doing wrong and how to keep up with what I'm doing right. Maybe it's just because I compare this to AoS so much- which got a TON of unexpected reads out of nowhere- but I feel like I worked doubly hard on this story and it's only getting half the recognition :( I don't know. It's just that I wrote AoS on a depression-ridden whim and as much popularity as it gained, it's not as good as it could've been, and I've been planning Apples ever since it finished. Maybe I'm just paranoid!

But yeah, enough of that depressing stuff. I'd really appreciate any ol' comment you leave. Even if it's just your fav line from this chapter. Or memes. Anything tbh. It'd mean a lot to me! 

Thank u and until next time :)

-tkj