I know this is late, so so so sorry!! Take this picture of Joker as an apology. What a gift. Tbh. Such a blessing, my skin is clear, my grades are excelling, my crops are watered. That shot of his tongue saved my life and I love him.

... anywayyy enjoy the chapter :)

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Chapter 6: Triangles, in a Sensory Way

"He likes silent film," Painfully smiling Juniper Stoltz said to her bedroom ceiling, audio diary next to her and recording every word. Atop her bedsheets in nothing but her underwear and a moth-bitten shirt, she laid there with her arms behind her head, legs crossed over each other as every once in a while, she lifted them to wriggle her toes to avoid pins and needles. The curtains danced slowly as the soft midnight breeze whispered through the opened crack in her window, rain sneaking in so the succulent plants lining her windowsill could get some water. Lights off, the most peaceful place in the world when accompanied with total and complete solitude.

It was the same night after her 'session' with Joker in the rec room, and somehow, all she could think about was the blurred pixels she watched with him on the screen and dwell upon how vividly she could remember his eyes, widely watching, infinitely empty, and she clutched to her stomach at the thought that there was still tomorrow, another day, more time spent with trying to decipher the murderer she used to watch on live TV a year ago. She'd spent a while thinking over whether enjoying her sessions with him was immoral or not, and then tried to dig deeper as to the reason why exactly she loved them so much. He was brash, thoughtless, irrational and dangerous, but he was also so interesting that he was like a walking, talking book of constantly flowing knowledge, pages full of things she'd never seen before and each chapter was like discovering another secret that always lead to something else. And he was so animated. So vivid. A streak of neon paint that cast itself upon the dreary asylum walls.

June drew endless circles over the knee he'd touched that same day, sparking electricity from her skin. "He likes... moving pictures, I guess. Doesn't like the colours all that much... hates the sound..." She sighed calmly as her bronze irises eyed the cracks in the ceiling, teeth brushing tongue. Her voice was nearly a whisper, as if her thoughts should've been a secret- which they were. "It's amazing how human he is. I dunno, I guess that after all the years of treating patients and having it hammered into you that being mentally ill somehow devalues you as a person... it's all garbage. It's bullshit. Even if he is incurable... I don't care." The words lingered in her mind long after she'd said them, silence accompanied by the soft breeze of 12:31 a.m. The only one listening being her handy little audio diary.

Incurable. It actually hit her: sometimes illnesses just couldn't be cured, no matter how much you tried. It was quite scary to think of it that way, but she knew how it felt. It was like mourning the loss of a loved one. You never really stopped- they'd always be dead, nothing would ever change that- but to get over it, you couldn't fix the person who'd passed, you had to fix yourself. Of course, it was all easier said than done, but pills wouldn't fix the Joker. Stuffing him up with Prozac or Xanax wouldn't stop him from killing people, it'd distract him for an hour before he jumped back onto that train of thought he was catching. And besides, people with depression weren't cured overnight, it was a process; the ones with bipolar disorder were sometimes stuck with it forever, but there was a difference between enduring it and living with it. To suffer in complete silence and let it devour you whole, or learn to make it a part of you, and not let it get in your way. But him... she couldn't pin any illness to him. The Joker would most likely always be... the Joker.

"His eyes are open to the most obscure and minuscule things, but closed to the obvious wrongs he's doing. God... not looking into his memories is the hardest thing I've ever done," She laughed, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "I love mysteries, but... I've been waiting on this case for a year, y'know? I suppose it's easy to forget that there's rules in the moment," She pondered, chewing her knuckle softly. "I just wanna know why he does the things he does. I like to figure out how people work. Watching them... do things. In the present, they're alive. Real. Sometimes you shouldn't define people by their past, y'know, their memories, but when they're so easy to just look into and find... it's hard not to. Memories are like... are like goldmines, but... that's all they are." Her hand dropped back down to her stomach, butterflies fluttering. "Memories."

And even long after she closed the diary entry with a muttered 'goodnight' and switched off the audio diary, she held it atop her tummy, hands fumbling to grasp something that could give her even the slightest comfort in such a troubled and confused time, mind muddled with the battling thoughts of retaining dignity and indulging herself in exactly what she wanted. The world around her was as pitch black as his eyes when she shut her own, and through a dreamless slumber she slept, the only nightmare she endured was the waking thought of his lips, blood red and wet, feigning smiles, before she was out like a light.

***

"Morning, June." Chirped Mara, stepping into the doctor's office with the latest issue of the Gotham Times in one hand and a coffee in the other, a giddy smile on her face. "June, you wouldn't guess who just spoke to me as I came here. Colter! Dressed in that tight shirt I love, too. God, he's so--" She stumbled upon her own words as she looked at the younger doctor, daydreaming to the point where it looked like she was simply sleeping with her eyes open. "June?"

But starstruck Juniper Stoltz was in a world of her own, pen in hand, other end in mouth, tongue secretively circling the end as her eyes gazed off into the distance, feeling as content as one could on a Tuesday morning in March. She'd woken up in such a peaceful mood, felt such relief at being able to come to work and just sit down and think, reminiscing about that TV set as if it were a nostalgic memory of years past, and she didn't even notice the secretary girl walk into her office, hardly even realising she was there. Je t'aime, je t'aime...

"June?" Mara squinted her eyes crossly and slapped down the newspaper she was holding on the desk in front of June, startling her enough to yelp and accidentally toss her pen to the floor. "June!"

"Ah! What?" She spluttered, fumbling for the audio diary that she'd left mindlessly on the desk, shoving it into her handbag by her feet.

The grey-eyed woman barely took any notice, only rolled her eyes with a sigh. "I said, Colter spoke to me down the hall."

Uninterested, June faked mutual happiness. "Really?"

"He sure did!" Mara sang, cheeks turning pink as she giggled. "I mean, he asked me where you were, but it doesn't matter- he called me by my name. He knows who I am!"

"Oh. Why, uh, why did he wanna see me?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. Mentioned something about him turning up to your apartment drunk, I think. Do you know what he meant?"

Impulsively lying, June shook her head. "No. Um. Did you, um, did you tell him where I am?"

"June, I was so caught up in the moment that I couldn't even get my words out. Jesus, I must've looked so stupid but his- his- his muscles and his eyes, they're--"

Gross.

"--just so gorgeous!"

"Is that really all you came to tell me?" June asked, lips curled slightly in apathy as she tilted her head to the side. She was happy that Mara could find some good in Colter- whatever or wherever that good was, she didn't know- but she'd never really spoken to him before. She had no idea of the things he was capable of. Looks are deceiving, and hell, there was a time during the very start of her internship that even June thought he was handsome, but it was nothing compared to how he'd embarrassed and degraded her in the past. Looks meant absolutely nothing when he was the biggest jerk on the planet.

Mara took a sip of her coffee and puckered her lips in thought, before she hummed in realisation. "No, actually, I just received a memo from Dr. Arkham to pass onto you."

June's stomach sank and a sickening feeling crawled up her throat- oh God, this was it, she was fired, the Joker had done something, she'd done something--

"He wanted me to tell you that, um... the... Joker..." She grimaced as the name left her mouth, "He's in the rec room today, it's been cleared out so it's just him and a few guards. He's been assigned to that art therapy thing you suggested."

Brows raised, she smiled in astonishment. "Today?"

"Yeah."

"Christ, that was quick."

"Looks like Dr. Arkham just wants to get this thing over with." June smiled at Mara's words but the joy was short lived as the pale girl stared the doctor down. "Y'know, June... it won't last long."

She rose to her feet and at hearing what the other girl had just said, stiffly paused. "What do you mean?"

"This little doctor thing you got going with that psycho." She took another sip of her coffee and shook her head with a spiteful laugh. "They never last. The longest one was with Dr. Young and that was barely even four months. It took him three weeks to start beating on Hugo Strange."

"Well... I'm still here. And anyway, he's not as simple as that. He's- he's aware of things and he's intelligent and--"

"Are you hearing yourself right now?"

"What?"

"June, you sound like you... you know the freak. Like you actually like him. You think you're special?"

"I think I'm capable." June defensively argued.

"June, you're..." Mara sighed, tapping her heel. "You're young and... y'know..." In an inhuman way, she vaguely gestured towards June, trying to explain with her hand what she was too ashamed to say with her own words.

It took a moment before it sank in, and June's eyes widened wildly when she realised the connotation behind what Mara was trying to say. "Excuse me?"

"N-not in that way, I just mean, like, well, y'know..." She stuttered desperately, waving her hand around like a fool.

"What?" June crossed her arms. "What is it? What're you trying to say?"

"Just that, well... you're from, like, a different background than most people who work here. L-like Cash and..." There was a disgustingly uncomfortable pause as Mara's face flushed a deep red- damn right she should be embarrassed. But her mouth was like a running faucet of absolute idiocy, she couldn't stop: "And I mean, with your dad being, um..."

"Hey, don't you dare say shit about him," June snapped, teeth grit frustratedly as Mara shrank back, ashamed. "He's not a part of my family, so don't you say shit. Like you have the right." Her words dripped with sourness and seething anger, and the longer she stared at Mara, the more her pale hand trembled around the coffee cup she was hopelessly grasping onto, as if silence could save her. June sighed heavily, head hung low as she ignored the woman in front of her. "Just... just get out of my office," She whispered.

Mara did exactly that, scrambling to pick the newspaper back up and left without even apologising or saying another word.

When the door shut, June threw her leg back and frustratedly kicked the side of her desk, gritting her teeth before instantly regretting it as she hurt her toe- "Oh, shit, oh, shit, ow, ow, ow, ow."

After calming down and composing herself in a presentable manner, she grabbed her bag and left. Trying to memorise the pattern of getting to the rec room was a tricky feat when all she could think about was Mara and her stupidly thoughtless words, and how she'd thought about her father for the first time in months, the faceless bastard returning to torment her mind once again. June hadn't even remembered he'd existed at all since her Mama... since...

Another thought distracted her as she rounded the corner, those familiar double doors in sight once again. Instead of the weirdo guard that was stood outside the day before, Aaron Cash stood in his place, greeting June warmly as she approached.

"Morning, doc. Here to see your patient?"

Relieved at the sight of his familiar face, she nodded with a returned smile, stopping briefly so he could sign in her details on his clipboard.

"Didn't know you were treating the clown." He commented, raising a stare at her as she held her breath, waiting for the repeated lecture. Cash dotted down the time on his clipboard- how fast he'd become fluent with his left hand- and pursed his lips with a nonchalant shrug. "Oh, well. Hard work, but I'm sure you manage, right doc?"

She puffed a small laugh of relief as she relaxed, nodding at his statement. He didn't ask why she was being so quiet, like most people did, just let her get on with what she was doing. Like a normal person.

"Go right on in, doc. There's a guard in there who's been watching him to wait until you arrived."

"Oh..." She stopped as she was about to walk in, turning on her heel. "Would it, um... would it be a problem for him to leave? Jok- uh, patient 4479 tends to be a lot calmer and open when they're not around," She said with a nervous laugh, his brow arched pensively. "I think he sees them as competition or something. Is it a... guy thing?" Lip bit, she whispered giggly.

At least he laughed, she thought, and he nodded, "Oh, I get it, doc. Sure, I'll get him out, just wait by here a sec."

Patiently waiting, Cash slipped into the rec room and she listened to his low voice converse with the other guard, as well as discreetly apologising to her patient by telling him to just continue with his painting, and it only took about two minutes for the process to be over with, Cash and the other guard stepping back out. They both had quite a surprised look on their faces, sure that they'd both turned paler since she'd last seen them, and Cash wordlessly held the door open for her. Too afraid to ask why they were acting so strange, June went inside. "My God," she heard him say as the door closed. "What kind of bastard is allowed to do paint like that?"

She had no idea what he even meant, and as she put on a smile she crossed to the centre of the room and saw Joker, figure hidden behind the easel but his legs still sticking out from either side, orange trousers ridden up so his ankles were clearly seen. Just beyond the canvas he sat behind was the emptied chessboard, and atop of it was (in a typical fashion) a vase of flowers; fake plastic lilies all bunched together in a tall teal vase and situated in such a way that the morning sunlight shone through the cloth-woven petals, turning the white threads into transparent gold. She was sure that he wouldn't be very amused by the tranquil object he got to copy, but hey, at least Dr. Arkham actually put in some effort for her to get these sessions.

"Good morning, Joker," June grinned, pulling up a chair so she could sit to his left. "How's art therapy go- oh my God."

The chair slipped from her grasp, metal legs hitting the floor with a clang and her handbag joined suit, unknowing of the contents that had rolled out of it. Eyes wide and mouth agape, June looked at the canvas before her, and paralysed she stood, mouth devoid of words. Head devoid of thoughts.

Every brush stroke of oil paint was a sentient being of its own- they protruded out just slightly from the canvas, making it real, free, unrestrained from its paper bindings. White petals bleeding red on the ends, blue-grey background, same teal vase, only messy, streaky, and the sunlight shone through every faux petal like it were molten gold. It was real, the painting before her was real, but was done in such a messy way, colours blended together, that it was almost grotesque, the motions of every swipe seemingly done with a violent strip back of his hand- what she was looking at was so much more than an art piece, it was a physical embodiment of his state of mind, how he saw the most peaceful objects as distorted, ruined, part of the blurred geometrical world he lived in. It was fantastic. Ethereal. His own hands- his hands! The same hands that had surely murdered a hundred men- had created something far more than plain art, it was something transcendent. And for a moment she doubted herself, unsure if what she saw was real.

"Oh my God," June whispered, stumbling back to sit in the chair. "You- you--"

Joker sat back in his chair with a heavy sigh, setting down his paintbrush beneath the canvas and swiped the back of his hand across his forehead, smearing white paint all down his arm. His fingers, covered with flecks of paint- blue, yellow, green, red- twitched and trembled slightly, and he looked at his palms as if he'd never seen them before. Shaking, exhausted. He must've been painting for hours.

June glanced at the canvas and then back to him as she resisted the urge to put her hand on his shoulder to grab his attention, and said in a breathless laugh, "Joker, you did this?"

He nodded, tongue obnoxiously lapping at his lips as he wiped his hands messily in his shirt. He was so nonchalant about the whole thing- how did he not realise that what he'd made was literal art good enough to be in a gallery?

"It's amazing," She mused, dipping her head so she could catch his gaze. Little did she know, it had been on her since the moment she walked in- was always on her- she just didn't get it. He was wondering whether painting a picture of her with her insides in her mouth would be a good idea. Oh, he could envision it now: oil painting, so that the gore would come to life and the strokes would help to shape the organs better; her dark skin painted in deep shades of blue, eyes completely white, holding her own heart in one hand and a lung in the other, and then her mouth, spilling with her own intestines, drowned red in blood, harsh, vivid red, so much so that it'd be orange. Her hair... her hair he'd keep the same. Just so that hint of Junie was still there underneath all the blood and guts. Yeah... maybe he'd keep that project private...

"Have you always been able to paint like that?" She asked anxiously, brown eyes gleaming as she smiled.

Would you believe beginner's luck, Junie?

Glancing at her from the corner of his eye, he tried to avoid the question and as he spotted her emptied bag on the floor, realised he was saved of the trouble. The black leather bag was open and out spilled various contents: a small planner diary, a tube of mascara, lipgloss, a pocket mirror and a film photograph of a younger Junie and a woman he guessed to be her mother. He couldn't resist a smile from coming to his lips as he bent down to pick it up, blue paint smearing the bottom corner of it.

"Hey, what's this?" He asked curiously, turning the polaroid around so he could see it better. Definitely a much younger Junie- she had to be fifteen or sixteen, look at all those freckles- stood next to her mother with their arms slung around each other, the Empire State Building in the background. She definitely looked very similar to her mother, with the same hair, dark eyes and tawny brown complexion, and the two looked much more like sisters than mother and child.

"Hey, give it back!" June cried as she snatched the photo from him, holding it close to her chest. Joker chuckled calmly, turning around to look at her.

"C'mon, Junie, I was only having a little look." He suddenly saw how defensive she got and sighed- great, now I've upset the girl. "Who, uh, who is that anyway? Your ma?"

She silently nodded.

He nodded back in response, pretending to be interested. "She, uh, I mean, you. You look a lot like her."

"Yeah." Junie mumbled quietly.

"How old were you there?"

"Fifteen."

"Ah." He sucked his front teeth as she slowly peeled back her fingers to look at the photo herself. Her index finger grazed the streak of blue he'd printed onto it and surprisingly, didn't say a word about it. "So, uh, New York, huh?"

"Can you stop being so awkward about it, please?" She snapped, making him smile in amusement. She placed the photo photo back in her bag, along with the rest of her belongings that had spilled out. He watched her dainty fingers firmly hold the pocket mirror as she slid it back into the slot inside her bag. Fingers he knew were easy to break. "These sessions are about you, not me." She said.

Joker rolled his eyes and sank back in his seat. Back to square one.

June looked at him, eyes softening as her posture slackened, a heavy sigh leaving her. Zipping up the bag, she held it on her lap and when Joker looked down to his strained hands, she frowned. "Look, I'm... sorry I snapped at you like that." As the words left her, he peeked up at her, face emotionless, but surprised. "I haven't had the best morning. There's been... a lot on my mind."

Joker bit back a huge smirk and repositioned himself in his chair, sitting on it backwards so his arms rested across the back of it. Legs jutting out at the sides, his toes curled in anticipation. He looked so comical. "Like what?" He asked her. He was already waiting for the 'it's not professional' schtick she liked to pull out when she felt guilty.

Junie huffed and placed her bag on the floor. "I dunno. Stupid people."

"Doll, I'm surrounded by them every day." He smiled, resting his cheek against his knuckle, elbow propped up on the chair's back. Junie's eyes looked up and he caught what looked like a smile, just a little one, enough to see that she was on her way to giving in.

"Yeah, well..." She shook her head with a soft laugh, although she wasn't smiling. "I suppose you've dealt with Colter before. You know how much of an assh- um, idiot he is."

"You can swear, Junie. I don't condemn profanity."

"If it's alright with you, I don't feel like I should."

"Whatever you say, doc."

She felt a pained twinge in her chest. The word 'doc' pierced her harshly, put her in her place, reminded her of where she was right now. And yet somehow, she felt nothing. The guilt that would always be bugging her if she so much as smiled at him, she couldn't feel it. Like her conscience had taken a vacation or something and all she was left with was her emotions and running mouth.

Junie looked awfully agitated. Hand raised to her mouth, she bit on her fingernails and gazed off into the distance, past him, past the painting, past the asylum walls. The Joker bit the insides of his scars. She was so vulnerable. So, so vulnerable. There was nothing sweeter than sitting before your prey knowing that they wouldn't expect that even for a second you'd jump and lash out at their throat, and that's exactly where the Joker was right now: in his little fantasy world of having Junie, dead, on the floor before him. The only reason he hadn't done it already was that there were too many prying eyes. Cameras, guards, witnesses- Jerry Arkham had emptily promised that one more incident would land him in the chair or under lethal injection. No more treatment. No more extreme isolation either, as cruel as it was. The Joker was reckless, sure, but he wasn't going to die if it wasn't on his own terms. And to be put down like a dog? What a disappointing way to wrap up his legacy.

"Junie--"

"Was it family that destroyed you?"

He was taken aback by her question. Turning his head and tilting it, he watched her from the corner of his eye and leant back in anticipation, those doe eyes of hers looking at him as if he had all the answers. Family? What would he know about family?

He answered, "Why? Did it destroy you?"

"That wasn't my question."

"That wasn't an answer." He forced a pretend smile for about half a second before he let it drop, Junie's face filled with absolute hopelessness. "Junie, you need to relax," He said, tongue wetting his lips. "I've painted a pretty picture all nice n'all. Because you said it'd put me at, uh, at ease. Don't wanna ruin it by making me all tense now, do you?"

She refused to look at him, bottom lip caught anxiously between her teeth. Shiny and white, they were like tiny pearls hidden behind her closed lips. He had to say, as plain as she was, her mouth fascinated him. Of course, it was intriguing to watch it move and talk, but when she didn't say anything at all, that was the best. Although, sometimes his mind did... wander a little... wonder what her tongue looks like...

She pursed her lips shyly, like she always did before changing the topic, blinking hard as if to resist tears, or perhaps feeling. Family, he thought. So simple, little Junie- it was family that bugged her.

"Have you, um, have you painted anything else?" Closing her hands in between her knees, she asked the question with one of the most forced smiles he'd ever seen, it looked like it hurt.

"Uh, yeah, sure." Joker nodded, but as he was about to get up, he decided that asking first would do less to get her paranoid, "Uh, alright if I...?" He pointed his thumb back towards the back corner of the room. Usually he wouldn't bother asking, but he could tell that Junie was a scared little squirmer. Probably a rat, too.

"Oh, of course, of course."

When Joker slowly rose from his seat, back turned to her, June silently let go of a choked breath of desperation, clutching her chest as her eyes welled up- Jesus, get ahold of yourself! Truthfully, she had no idea why she was so emotional. This talk of family and especially after Mara had pissed her off, it touched certain nerves and arose parts of her that she'd been suppressing for years; she hadn't thought about the lack of father she'd had since she was probably eighteen. All those years... had nothing changed?

Joker lazily sauntered over to the back of the room, paint-kissed hands swiping by his sides. There was a table there, and atop the table lay two other canvases, smaller than the one on his easel, with two other oil paintings he'd done that morning. His calloused hands carefully feathered over them to see if they'd dried, black eyes watching tentatively with stressed brows, and when he was sure that they were alright, he lifted them up and carried them back over, handing the first painting to Junie.

She took the canvas into her hands and with awe, she gasped breathlessly. "Oh, wow..." The canvas was about the length of her forearm, but even then she struggled to hold it as she looked at the abstract mess of red and black geometrical shapes. The painting itself was a nice juxtaposition- a series of different shaped triangles, then ruined with frustrated streaks of red and black paint, order and chaos all at once.

He saw her pupils dilate with wonder. "Uh, I did that one first. I was getting used to the, uh, the brushes. Then I noticed I could do more than just-ah, shapes."

"It's fantastic." Her words left her in the form of a thin sigh, a slight smile slowly tugging on her lips. Just as he was about to take it from her, she looked up. "Do you mind if I...?" Her fingers neared the canvas- she wanted to touch it.

His brows raised, surprised. She was asking him for permission. See, as a doctor, Junie could technically do whatever she wanted. Hell, she had the power to toss the painting to the floor and stamp her little kitten heels right through it if she wanted to, yet she was still asking if it was alright to even touch it. It felt good. It meant he still had power over people, even behind bars.

He nodded encouragingly, and watched how her delicate fingers folded downwards to meet the brush strokes on the canvas, fingertips kissing every protruding line and sinking dip. Her mouth, again, caught his attention. He saw the freckled bridge of her nose as she looked down at the painting, the crooked triangles caught in her eyes like the reflection of stars. There was this childlike wonder about Junie, from her curiosity to her naïvety, but also in the fact that she seemed to be a very sensitive person- of course emotionally, but also literally- she processed a lot of things through sight and touch and drank the world in a sensory way. Maybe it was just because she had those big Bambi eyes and little hands, but even he could tell the small nuances between her merely processing the world, and liking it. And he could tell she loved it. Lived for every detail. Surely she'd be the type of person who'd read books by tracing the letters on the pages- not because she struggled with them, but because she liked them so much. And he was almost certain that that little part of her would get her into lots of trouble, and that made her so sweetly corruptible. So tempting to twist and bend... and it was the thought of her, bones broken and jaw split, that amused him so much as to make his mouth water.

"Oh, I love how you did all the little shapes down here," June said, drawing her finger down the canvas to the bottom of it. "It actually reminds me of this horror film I watched last night... wait, no, sorry. That sounds rude. Yours is way better, excuse me." She tilted her head back up. "How did painting this make you feel?"

Joker knew that she was asking for medical reasons, but he still obliged her with an answer. "Uh... I'm not sure. I think I was just getting used to the feeling of something in my hands again..." His mind shifted to think about his knifes and his chest tightened, God how he missed them. It'd been almost a year since he'd cut somebody up nice and good. The painting, he had to admit, did relieve a lot of tension.

"If you don't mind me saying, I do notice that you fidget a little. With your hands."

"Fixated on guns n' knives, sweetheart. Hard to let go when you get so attached."

"You miss them?"

"So much." A phrase she'd never thought she'd hear him say, and with such passion too. His chest even ached.

Her smile wavered, but only for a moment, as she then pointed to the other canvas he held. "Can I have a look at that one?"

He nodded, and the two switched paintings. As soon as June's eyes landed on the second painting, she grinned widely. "Wow, I really like this one."

At first glance, it seemed quite mundane- again, an oil painting (she started sensing a pattern here) of what seemed to be a normal bowl of fruit, only hidden behind the apples and underneath the grapes were little green hand grenades, barely noticeable until she looked closely. She pulled back with a surprised look and she turned to Joker, who was goofily smiling with pride, even letting out a little laugh when he saw her face. He thought the idea of it all was quite funny, actually.

June shook her head and blinked, turning to him with an almost pleading stare. "Where did you learn to paint like this?" She asked in awe. "I mean, look at these, they're... they're outstanding."

"Does it matter? I did what you asked me to, didn't I?" He took the painting from her and her grasp almost remained holding it, arm left to hang weakly as he brought the two paintings back to the corner they were at.

"It isn't about that, Joker. It's about you. Where all this..." She paused as he sat down heavily in his chair, slouched forward towards the easel. "...this... artistry came from."

He was silent, words unspoken as he picked his brush back up and blotted it in the patch of red on his palette, the red that comforted him and made him think about something other than Junie and her nagging voice. So curious- but not even the good kind. The kind of curious that pissed him off, made her questions an unwelcome intrusion of his mind. He couldn't even feed her a lie; what was so interesting about being able to paint? What the hell did that say about him? He didn't remember where the hell he'd learnt it, didn't care either. In fact, his memory was rather blurry...

Minutes passed and June's question had long gone unanswered. She hated giving up so easily but she wasn't going to provoke The Joker if he refused to answer, and after a few seconds of thought, looking at his unfinished painting, her fingers found the strap of her bag and with an inward sigh she stood, wishing he would give her some indication that he was aware of her presence. He just sat there, painting, fingertips meeting closely at the end of the brush, like he were carefully carving shapes with a scalpel. Creating something new. She wondered what it felt to be the brush in his hand, but the thought left her mind as soon as it arose.

Turning to the door, June laid her hand on the handle and squeezing, she almost turned it. Almost. Until she turned around and looked at him, at first swearing he was looking back. But his eyes were on the canvas when she softly implored, "Paint..." Her words came out hard and strangled and she struggled with them. "Paint something you can remember. Anything." And then the next words left her mouth with such tenderness that she felt like she were blind, not quite seeing the murderer in the man before her. It was a childish plea, one that was said with an uncertain lilt of her voice and she felt something dangerously close to sympathy for him. "I won't tell anyone."

Joker didn't look up at her, not even when she left and the door finally clicked shut, but his eyes were cold and penetrating, the aimlessly painted flowers before him looking so... ugly. I won't tell. Ha. He snapped the paintbrush in his hand and let it drop to the floor, then ground the back of his teeth together irritably. Something I remember, huh? Okay, Junie, alright.

He looked at the circles of paint he had lined up on the palette and dipped his index finger into the red paint, cold against the warmth of his skin. He brought his finger up to the painting, right at the very top, and slowly dragged it downwards, the red paint slicing through the painting, through the flowers, harsh and vivid. Something you remember. He moved as slow as a snake through grass. Something you remember. He brought the red paint all the way down... until there was a long streak of it, cutting the painting in half. Something you remember.

When he'd finished, he sat back with a heavy breath and nodded in satisfaction.

Red line. That's something I remember.

---

Ahh I know this is late, and again, I apologise so much. I'm finally done with exams so hopefully I can update more! I'm also working on future chapters for this story and I've hit a sort of creative rut, where I know the plot, but it's tricky to put it into words I like... idk. I think I put too much pressure on myself to make every word of writing artistic and poetic and stuff, so maybe I just need a break. Idk. Tell me what you prefer, fast dialogue or deep, lengthy paragraphs of prose :')

So yeah, kinda short chapter in terms of the session! Just wanted to sort of integrate Joker's surprise artistic talent in here. Also, red line. Who knows what that means? Only I doooo ;) haha, all will be revealed in good time!!

Also, totally irrelevant- um?? Lee Bermejo's Joker graphic novel?? Has ANYONE read it??? Please?? UGH. Would LOVE to discuss!! Honestly my fav comic/graphic novel by FAR! And Jonny Frost is actually such a relatable character in the way that he's just some schmuck who gets what he wishes for, but at a price. I had no idea he was in Suicide Squad and WHAT A TRAGEDY. They just resorted him to some generic bodyguard!! What?? Anyway... :')

I hope you enjoyed, leave a comment telling me what you think! I appreciate every single one and it really motivates me to do my best, you guys are literally the sweetest when it comes to my writing, even if it's total garbage! Which reminds me- I uploaded Apples onto Fanfiction.net too (my account was kinda dead for a year) so if you wanna leave a lengthy review or just contact me there, you're more than welcome to do so! The name's "the-killing-j0k3", just like it is here. Thank yooou!

Till next time!

-tkj <3