A bit of a time skip for this chapter, nothing major, but June's about a month into treating the Joker.

Also a HUGE apology to EVERYONE on behalf of how late this is. I don't think I've ever been this late when it comes to uploading chapters, but BS excuses aside, school is literally devouring me. I'm in year 12, see (idk what the American/other equivalent is) and since it's almost the end of the school year they've been piling work on us to prepare us for next year- so I genuinely haven't had ANY time to write- this is the first time I've properly written in almost three weeks, so I'm incredibly sorry! Hopefully by the end of the month I can continue to update more again, especially since the next chapter is... well... no spoilers but it gets the show on the road...

Again, sorry, and thank you all for being patient! Also, for those of you who'd like to be regularly updated and stuff, check out my profile- I usually post there when there's issues like this.

Aside from that enjoy! Treat yourself to a picture of Mr. J as posted above <3 I've literally been surrounding myself with him so much lately and I ACTUALLY love him oh my God. I forget how handsome and gruesome he is. Like he's so scary wow. Enjoy :)

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Chapter 7: Darling Little Pill Box

She didn't like shopping much, introverted Juniper Stoltz. Going out into the city was something she'd much rather avoid than ever face, but her fridge was empty and so she had to go grocery shopping (Chinese takeaway had started to lose its taste the sixth time she'd ordered it). It was made much worse by the fact that it was gone ten at night and walking from her car into the supermarket made her anxious, terrified she'd be jumped on the short twelve second walk over, but once she was there, she was relieved to find out that there weren't many people around, just the late night shoppers who had just come home from work, much like her. She pushed the cart around for what felt like hours, just passing through the same aisles over and over like some endless dream sequence, going in circles trying to decide whether she had enough money for her to deserve those cinnamon buns. Stark lights flickered above her and buzzed, the same elevator-like tune on repeat. A surprisingly haunting place.

Her cart was barely full but then again, she didn't have a lot of money. Working on the Joker granted her no raise apparently, even when she told Dr. Arkham about his paintings, which elicited the dismal response of an eye-roll and denial when he said, I'm sure it's just a momentary fluke of creativity, it'll pass. And anyway, the paintings meant nothing when the Joker refused to tell her where he'd learnt to do it in the first place.

June stopped by the fruit aisle and looked at the apples, gently plucking one from its box and cupped it in her hands, and suddenly her mind was lost again in adventuring back to that forbidden realm of reflecting on things she shouldn't be. The apple. That rotten apple on the Joker's dinner tray, so vivid, so red, rolling across at her. She could hear it- as slick as the edge of a penny- rolling towards her. Rolling. His mouth painted red, as red as the fruit he offered to her. His hands stroking his own knuckles. His fingers clicking. Snapping. Rolling. His ridiculously uncouth grin when he said, guess how old I am. The harsh and bone-snapping crunch of the apple when he let his yellowed teeth sink into them like the gracious offering of flesh to a dog, the apple rolling, rolling, dropping to the tray. Pink jello. Apple rolling. Guess how old I am. I wouldn't be interested if I were a mere three years older than you, Junie. Oh, Junie. The apple again. Tempting. Fruitful Eve and the Devil-mouthed snake. Rolling across the table. Rolling, her head rolling back against her own pillow last night, mouth open and eyes closed at the thought of his hands--

A gasp left her as the apple slipped from her open palm and hit the floor with a crunch, splitting a chunk off of its side. June leapt back from it and yanked her cart towards her, and as dishonest as a child caught red-handed, she walked away so she wouldn't be held accountable. Nobody was looking, surely.

She refuged to the checkout, the only one open that night. Some teenage boy was working at it, about eighteen, the bags under his eyes as dark as his hair. His bored expression didn't change when he saw her.

No words were said when he scanned her items and she loaded them into a bag, but as she picked up the salad box and looked at the chewing gum display to her left, she also saw a display of boxes of playing cards and trading cards, all lined up like soldiers. She froze when she saw the fifty-two card deck. Playing cards. It ignited something. And then Joker wriggled his way back into her thoughts again. She'd always wondered what he did in that cell after-hours. Probably in a straightjacket, just staring up at the ceiling, but still, she wondered. Even during lunch or when he was in the rec room, his hands were always fidgeting, always toying with something, desperately fixated and yearning for those knives he'd had snatched away from him. She didn't deny for a second that she felt sympathetic for him, as silly as it was; she couldn't help but see that there was someone who existed even after she left the asylum. Even now, at ten o'clock on a Wednesday night, he was just in his cell, either awake or sleeping, with nothing but the walls to keep him company. It was human to feel that she wanted to make the experience less excruciating for him, wasn't it? Her job was to cure him, never stretch out his suffering.

The clerk still had a tin of canned peaches held out to her. "Uh, ma'am?"

She blinked, back in reality and took the can from his milky hand. "I'm sorry. Um, how much are those deck of cards?"

He furrowed his brows as though she looked stupid. She most likely was. "Uh, a dollar."

"Thanks. I'll have that too, please." June picked one up and tossed it in front of him.

And then they both said nothing once more until the last item was scanned and she was gone, spilling her pocket change into his hand, or what was left of it. He didn't stop her, didn't ask whether she wanted a receipt or not, just held the thin piece of paper into the air while he checked his phone and when he realised she had long gone, he sighed, scrunching it up and tossing it to the empty checkout in front of his.

June's car was cold when she got in, but huddled up in her coat, she was content on staying there. She eyed the box of cigarettes on the dashboard and defeatedly leaned over to get them, pulled out the lighter in her pocket and she lit it, throwing the lighter into the empty passenger's seat when she was done. She hadn't had a cigarette in months- was never truly an addict- and even though the taste wasn't as good or as cool as it used to be when she was eighteen, she felt a sense of relief in bringing back the clot of smoke down her throat, was happy to feel it settle in her chest and dissolve when she breathed back out. Eyes hard and fixed on the lamppost at the other end of the parking lot. A gust of wind carried a plastic bag over three parking spaces- rolling- until it got trapped underneath a rusted pickup truck. It caught her eye for only a second before she thought about the other interesting thing in her life- the Joker.

Looking at the cigarette propped between her fingers, she wondered if he smoked. Maybe he liked hard drugs. Or drinking.

Her brows knitted together as she took another drag, deep and long this time.

Or maybe murder was his other vice. She didn't know. Then sadly realised, she didn't care. She didn't care, not in the ignorant way, but in the way that for some reason, somehow, it wouldn't repulse her to find out his addictions. He could've told her he was a casino owner in Vegas who snorted coke off of strippers- or whatever they do in the movies- and she wouldn't care. She'd simply be enamoured, leaning forward, listening, always listening. Watch the words roll out of his mouth- rolling- and swim up into her ears, forever stitched into her brain to cover up the things she wanted to stop thinking about, so she didn't feel as bad in comparison to him. That was her burden: guilt. Guilt, it was... it was a strange thing. Plagued you for no reason sometimes, and it stayed with you, leeched onto your life and sucked up all the good things and turned it into deep and sickening tar. It'd been such a constant for her that she could hardly remember what she'd done to feel it, but it was always there in the back of her mind. She still hoped for some normalcy. Joker must've felt some guilt, she hoped- he killed people for kicks, he said- and yet he managed to wear guilt like a charm bracelet. How did he do it? She would've killed to know.

Fingers shyly fiddling with the pocket on her coat, she propped the cigarette between her teeth as she dug out the deck of cards amongst old candy wrappers and pieces of paper with addresses, numbers and grocery lists, and she held it in her hand and took the cigarette back out of her mouth. Softly stroking her thumb along the box of cards, she exhaled heavily, a poignant sigh of... something. Sympathy, maybe. Thinking of Joker- wonder what he's doing right now- how fascinating it all was to think that he had a life outside of her work hours, even though that life was stuck inside the walls of a cell. She wondered, pondered- sliding out the top tongue of the little box and flicking to the back to take out the joker card- right now, this minute, what was he doing, and what would he be doing if she were there. And that was a dangerous thing to think about, as the night time made her thoughts wander to places they really shouldn't go. Images of his pale painted flesh and how it smeared the underside of his chin as it got caught on the straightjacket he was bound to, his green matted hair, spiralled into childish little semibreves on the paper-thin pillow he never really slept on; his mouth, so red, so ambiguous and red, sat in a straight and unwavering line as he did nothing but bide his time with the unsleeping daydreams that the ceiling offered him. She wondered. What he was like when nobody else was around.

June threw her cigarette out of the window and then, peacefully bringing the joker card to be pressed against her half-dried lips, she had no intention of kissing it or anything silly like that; she just held it to her closed mouth, just to see what it felt like, to see if it made her feel any warmer.

It did.

***

9:55 a.m, next day. Thumb pressed against the joker card she'd taken out from the deck. She was in the confines of her office yet again, closed off to the rest of the world, the rain hammering down against the windows and bringing her comfort, a kind of knocking from the outside world that reminded her that everything was still moving. That even when she wasn't bothered to contribute, the world still turned.

Cue the knocking at the door.

Her head snapped up and she frantically hid the joker card between a stack of papers beside her. "Um- come in."

June went stiff as Colter trudged in slowly, almost shamefully, hands clamped together in front of him as his boots obnoxiously treaded in. His face was contorted into a pitied frown, but June could still see exactly how his eyes looked at her with contempt, and as he went to shut the door, June almost yelped.

"No, don't close it!"

He stopped in his tracks, brow raised with a grimace on his face. "Why not?"

"I-I don't like the door shut." She said.

"Why not?" He almost smirked, toying with the door handle.

"Um. Claustrophobia."

He finally let go of the door handle and she could let go of her breath again. It was all a lie- in truth, she preferred the door closed. But with Colter in her office, it was different. With Colter in her office, that was what incited her nonexistent claustrophobia. Being locked in with him. "What do you want?" She asked.

"Wanted to- uh, is that lipstick?"

June instinctively reached up to touch her slightly reddened lips. "No," she lied.

"Oh. Uh. Anyway. I wanted to, uh, talk about the other night." He drawled, the aftermath of another drunken night watching the late night 80's porno movies.

June had to think for a moment about what he was talking about, but then it came to her: the night he'd dumbly showed up and bawled outside her door all night. The night she didn't sleep.

Stuttering shyly, she placed her hands under the desk, on her lap. "Oh." Fingers pressing down the hem of her skirt.

Where she'd expected him to apologise for his drunken and stupid behaviour, his attitude changed completely and he was stood there, beefy arms crossed as he glared down at her. "Whadd'ya want me to do, Junie? Huh?"

"I said not to call me J--"

"I've been so nice to you. I open doors for you--"

"Unlocking the interviewing room for me doesn't count, Colter."

"--I always tell my friends how hot I think you are--"

"You tell them I'm the only hot black girl you've ever met."

"--and I even turned down Mara for you. Do you know how hot she is?" He almost shouted, getting red in the face. "I do so damn much for you and you always turn me down- you owe me, Junie. I deserve you. I've done so much for you."

"You grope me by the vending machine when I go to get a cola." She said, bottom lip trembling as she saw how angry he had suddenly gotten. A ticking time-bomb.

He brushed it off with a scoff. "C'mon, I haven't done that in months."

"Because I don't go by the vending machine anymore, Colter! Because of you!" June's voice was louder than she'd meant it to be, but she almost didn't care. It was ridiculous- this whole farce. Endless, it'd been going on for years. Constantly harassing her and following her and he was the reason she'd changed the locks.

Colter sighed heavily and sarcastically laughed, in spite of her. "Y'know what, Junie?"

"What?" She barked.

"You're a fucking ungrateful bitch."

"Oh, please elaborate." She retorted, getting ready to grab her bag and leave for the interview with the Joker. God, what she'd give to be sat with him right now, away from the freak she was currently dealing with. They'd be talking about much more intellectual things, things she liked and things he saw as strange. How she relished to be in the company of a madman instead of the intrusion of a guard who she walked by every day!

"When you were an intern here," He began, "I showed you everything. I showed you where everything was, who everyone was, and I really liked you."

"And you had a girlfriend."

"It didn't matter. I would'a cheated on her for you."

"That isn't a compliment."

"How the fuck not? Sacrifice! It means I'd sacrifice her for you! And me and her, we had, like, fucking great sex."

"That's still not a compliment! It's gross!" She forced a spiteful laugh, arms tossed in the air.

"You even went on a date with me."

"One time!" She cried, standing up and gathering her things. She was ready to make a break for it at this point. "We went on one date. And you know full well that I had no idea you were already with someone."

Colter rolled his eyes. "Oh, c'mon, like it mattered. I spent my whole fuckin' rent money on that restaurant."

"So you don't remember how it turned out afterwards? How you decided to take a 'shortcut' down that street so we could meet your friends? I--" Her throat felt like it closed up and she shook her head. "Forget it. Get out of my office, Colter."

"Don't fuckin' talk to me like--"

"I'm calling Cash right now if you don't leave." She threatened, pointing to the phone on her desk.

Unbelieving of her, he smiled perversely, arms crossed.

She crossed towards the phone and suddenly he stiffened, uncrossing his arms. That millisecond frame before June picked up the phone was eerie and tense, it was the feeling she got each time she walked home at night or passed by an alleyway. It was complete and total vulnerability, even with the door open, even with her fingers on the phone- it was a gamble between him running out the door or seizing her throat in his hand.

But then the fear stopped, when she picked up the telephone and Colter let out a defeated and poisonous sigh, hissing under his breath before giving up, like the relentless hunter who'd mistakenly let his prey get away. "Fuck you, Junie," He said, spitting the nickname out as if he chose it, like he owned it. "Fuck you." Then he left, and on the way out, he purposely swung the door open so it hit the wall, denting it. She cried out as if the wall were herself.

June let go of the phone and hunched over her desk, knees shaking and heart thumping. The butterflies in her tummy that Colter incited were never pleasant, never, they always tasted sour and made her lose her appetite, and the worst thing was that Colter never stopped. He never did. He was sleazy and jumped from girl to girl to woman to woman, but no matter how many times he got rejected, he'd be fixated on that one girl until he could finally have his way. To June it was obvious: it wasn't about obsession or love, or reputation or even sex, it was about power. It was always about power. Power was the exact thing that Colter had always had. Captain of the football team, who lost his virginity to raping the head cheerleader on campus- that part of his brain had always terrified June. She didn't stay in his head to watch, of course, but once she'd seen the memory of him tearing off that poor girl's dress as she whimpered stop, it was enough. He was addicted to that kind of power. Belittled and abused his mother, poor woman. Beat up patients no matter how sane or insane, super criminal or not. And then June. Perversely groping her since she was nineteen and so wide-eyed when she first met him, how he seemed so noble at first glance with his muscled physique and kind, caring (lying) mouth. Oh, let me carry your bag for you, miss. Oh, let me show you around. What's your name? June? What a pretty name. June. Like the month. June. Let me introduce you to the others, June. Let me take you out Saturday, June. Let me order you this drink, June. Let me show you a shortcut to my place, June. Let me introduce you to the others. June, it's just the guys from work. June. Don't call the fucking cops, June. You fucking bitch, June. You goddamn fucking bitch.

Funny how memories stay even when you try to forget them.

She escaped her thoughts by following the usual routine: check the time, linger until it was time for her patient interview and then go after locking up her office and pocketing the keys. Her hand grasped for the audio diary in her bag and her fingers slid across the deck of cards she'd taken, still debating what exactly she was going to do with them. Perhaps... give them to him...? It was against every rule, but...

Interviewing room, the silver plaque on the door and another nameless guard stood next to it. She had to stop thinking about her issues in work. It was disrupting her concentration. She didn't even remember the walk on the way here.

"Is the patient in there?" June asked the guard, impatiently tapping her foot.

The guard sighed tiredly as if he wasn't even payed to do this crap, and just unlocked the door for her. It seemed like the two of them were having less than good mornings.

They wasted no time on small talk. No time talking at all, actually. June simply stepped into the interviewing room and when the door shut, her shoulders dropped, relaxed. Home at last, it felt like.

"Morning, Joker." Came the routine greeting as she sat down.

The clown was hunched over the table with his arms folded to make a pillow for his tired head, but the instant he heard the sound of her heels delicately tracing the room- before she even had the time to speak- he'd shot up, alert, ears perked if he were a dog.

"You're a little late, aren't you, Junie?" Of course, it was only by a few minutes, but he counted every second on that clock when she didn't show up, passing the time by teasing her in the back of his mind. She was never usually so careless, his Junie. Always very punctual- except for that first day- but it was excusable; it all was, especially when he was having so much fun with his... his... what's the quote from that weird book he'd seen? My... palpitating darling? Yes. Junie, his palpitating darling. The title fit her like the finest pair of shoes.

Today, he'd noticed, she looked sleepless and tired (like she always did), but this morning was different, she was agitated. As if something were bothering her. And was she wearing... lipstick?

"Junie?" He cooed upon realising her silence. "I said, why're you so late, doll?"

"Got distracted," She sighed, looking at how he childishly sat, black dot-eyes gazing up at her. "Unwelcome guest in my office."

He jokingly raised a brow. "Anyone I'd be interested to know about?"

She laughed with malice, the spiteful and revengeful cackle of a child. "Colter, actually."

Grinning widely, Joker slowly sat up and hummed, pleased with her answer. Interested. Excited. "What's he done this time? Camped in your office instead of your apartment?"

"Looking for conflict. I dunno what his deal is." She groaned, running her fingers through her thick, tightened curls. She hadn't brushed it, he noticed, and he rather liked it.

"Ooh, that actually does remind me--" He shuffled his chair forward, "--you never, uh, told me what's going on between you two. And you swore to tell me if I did art therapy." His eyes were narrowed and he searched her face, attention caught when he saw her rifling through her bag for something. "I mean, a promise is a prom-uh... what're you doing?"

She raised her head for only a moment but then kept looking. "Sorry, I, um..." Her fingers scrambled for the pill box in her bag- somewhere, somewhere, next to the bottle of water. "Sorry, I have a splitting headache and I'm trying to look for my painkillers. I should've done this earlier. Sorry."

"Well, don't apologise, sweetheart. We all make mistakes." He mocked her in an emotionless tone, tongue pressed against the front of his teeth. She was hunched over in such a way that she was practically under the table, and all he could see of Junie was her dark hair moving over the side of the table as she searched and searched. Such an odd girl. That was always the word to describe her with: odd. Curious and odd. Oddly curious.

"No, it..." She finally found the box and grasped it along with the water bottle, sitting normally again as she placed them both on the table. She brushed a few stray curls from her eyes and watched him carefully as if he'd snatch the pill box. He never did, he just sat back casually, calmly, looking at her with those wonderfully intrusive eyes of his. "It's very--"

"Unprofessional?" His tone was beyond condescending.

"Yeah." Sighing, she unscrewed the cap of the water bottle with calm and languid fingers.

The Joker found great satisfaction in seeing her like this: much like him, popping pills to make it through the day. Of course, she did it by choice, but he never bored of swallowing his own happy pills if it meant he could stop feeling nostalgic about his other half for a few hours. Oh, how the Joker missed him. Tall, dark, brooding... and only the mouth and eyes were seen, only they mattered... much like himself.

He shook the thought quickly- not going there again.

"I take pills," He said to his less-favoured companion, "You take pills. Junie, we're starting to have a lot in common here." He grinned toothily, propping his head up by his cheek.

"They're painkillers, Joker," She said, pausing briefly to pop one in her mouth and swallow it down with some water. "I'm not on any kind of actual meds." Although there was that time when she was eighteen...

"Well, you ought'a be."

"Excuse me?" She snapped, mouth still half full with water. The words gargled in the bottom of her mouth and at this very moment he swore she was just a girl again, hand pressed over her puckered lips to avoid looking rude.

"Pardon my saying, of course, I mean it in, uh, no offence or anything. But you always look so tired. Do you even sleep?" He placed his hands back on the table with a false look of concern. She dejectedly packed away her bottle and pill box- darling little pill box, yet her hands were almost just as small- and then he sighed, regretful of not paying enough attention to her taking the pills; seeing the pill in her hand, the way she swallowed it. It would've been amusing to watch her neck bend back so much and her throat tense and contort as she gulped it down. He had such a disgusting fascination with her neck and muscles, a grotesque obsession, as he imagined snapping everything that held them together between his fingers and jaws. This was the kind of thing he thought about when he didn't sleep at night- murdering her beautifully.

But there was something wrong here. With all this, there was something wrong. He felt awfully dismal, and it dawned upon him after a few moments of her apprehensive silence that- with an inward sigh- Junie had started to lose her spark. At first it wasn't at all apparent, it just seemed like she was being a bit quiet, but then he looked at her, her dullish doe eyes now swollen with sleeplessness, her mouth permanently folded into that pitied frown that didn't amuse him at all. Maybe it was just because he'd expected the most out of today's session, but it felt so... underwhelming to see her. And as pretty as she looked when she downed a palmful of pills, he realised that it made her real, too real to be entertaining, so real that he realised that she looked, sat, walked, talked, acted just like everyone else; and as funny as it could be at times to dissect someone's personality like that, he'd had at least the tiniest shred of hope that Junie would finally be the exception- the one who stood out from the rest. She was awfully bright compared to the other doctors that'd treated him, surprisingly sympathetic and out-of-the-blue odd. But if she were just always like this- miserable, tired, knuckle-biting and lip-pursing- she was no fun at all. Her curiosity would dissipate, dissolve into nothing. And he was bored.

"Junie." He dully said, her eyes now lurid with an empty transparence. She wasn't listening to him- again- daydreaming and getting lost in her thoughts- again- that silly brat (perhaps brat was too harsh, brats were aware of their brattiness, Junie was just a tad bit delusional at times. Odd, odd, odd and strange).

Joker's question lingered on her mind. Did she ever sleep? Did she care whether she did or not? All she ever did was think about him, talk about him into her little audio diary, her whole world revolved around him and she didn't know why. It was killing her, seeing his face behind her closed but-not-asleep eyes, hearing his voice in the television static hours after her programmes had ended. Why? Why was it like that? Why was she so obsessed with the only criminal she wasn't afraid of?

Joker could've slapped her for her incessant daydreaming. He clicked his fingers, tapped them on the table in front of her, "Junie. Junie. Ju-u-unie."

She regained consciousness, her rounded eyes glassy with lethargy and perhaps even the feeling of wanting to cry. She was about a month into treating him by now. Twenty or thirty-something days of sitting opposite him, pretending like she was doing all of this in the name of science, and denying herself that she did this all just to feed her own selfish curiosity, just to spit in everyone's face and laugh at those who told her she could never cure him. But right then, looking at him... she realised that for the longest time, she'd only ever seen him as human, part-monster, and never the other way around, like it was supposed to be. No matter how deep she looked without wriggling into his memories for the evidence, she could never see him for the murdering madman he was; she only saw fragments of a man trapped inside the walls of this asylum, a man who liked movies, was a sensational and anonymous painter, a man whose makeup had just become a part of him, it was just who he was, never to conceal, never a façade. She had been studying him for hours and yet she had really learned nothing. And maybe it was this that kept her up at night, how she would've for once liked to have offered him her cup of coffee so they could both just talk about the things they didn't have in common. The strange things he liked to do, like never turning the volume on. Playing with his hands. In one session before he'd said that he liked liquorice- the only person June had ever met who had finally agreed with her on that front. Liquorice? Of course it was against the rules to bring him that- but the thought was... nice. It'd make a change from those damned apples he always tried to offer whenever she accompanied him to lunch. And still she wished to forever dwell in the crunching sounds of his teeth sinking into that fruit- just to feel what his mouth would--

"Junie, you haven't, uh, spoken about anything but those precious little pills of yours. Say, s'there any point to this session?" His voice seemed to echo around her like ripples and she looked up to see him bored, elbows on the table, cheek in hand, again. What a soul-crushing thing it was to see him miserable and so down-looking of her. It was almost as if she wanted to please him.

"I suppose I could wrap this session up earl..." As June reached down for her bag, she saw it, sat atop all the other belongings she had crammed in there; the little rectangular box, the fifty-two card deck. Already frayed at the edges, she remembered briefly falling asleep into a thirty minute slumber in the car, with it in her hand like some kind of comfort toy. She glanced up at him, ever-bored, ever-gloomy. The exhaustion of someone who just simply didn't care.

Then, she was bent over toward her bag again, tiny body disappearing almost completely under the table once more, and he clenched his fists in absolute frustration. Her and that damned bag- the hell was she looking for now? More pills to gobble down? Joker rolled his eyes. God, oh, God- not that there is a God- please overdose.

Teeth grit, he hardened his eyes at her. "Junie, I swear, one more minute of you--"

"I found it, I found it." Her left hand came peeking out from under the table and she raised a finger in her defence.

"Wh- found what? Sleeping pills? Please, share." He groaned sarcastically, sliding down in his chair as he hunched over unenthusiastically.

"No, I've got--" She paused a moment to sit upright, tidying her hair as she placed something on her lap. "I've got--"

"Problems? Cooties? Wouldn't surprise me."

"Stop being so mean."

"Then stop being so vapid and tell me what you've got."

Licking her lips, she shyly pursed them and placed something on the table, sliding it towards him. Brows knotted suspiciously, he watched as her little index finger pushed it along, and then, realising the table was a tad bit larger than she'd anticipated, she rose out of her seat and leant over it, forearm outstretched and her sleeve rode up as it rarely ever did, those three star-like freckles visible on her wrist like he was watching her through a magnifying glass. Hair falling over her shoulders, frayed curls pressed against her blushing cheeks. And then the lightest thud when she sat back down. Her girlish sigh of relief.

It took him perhaps a moment to finally tear his eyes away from her and actually look at whatever she'd got, sat in the middle of the table.

It was small, a little rectangular box, the size of his palm, perhaps smaller (it was then he thought about how little her pill box was in her own hand, and then wondered how tiny it'd look in his) and when his eyes fixed on the red writing on the top, his brows shot up in... dare he say, interest.

He peeked up to see Junie grinning childishly, lips stretched with the first genuine display of kindness without that unwanted side order of pity he'd ever seen her give. She urged him with a little tilt of her hand, "Go on, have a look."

He reached out towards the box and held it, leftover face paint on his hands smudging a streak of white across it as he looked at it, then sighed with the shallow chuckle that followed. Playing cards. She got him playing cards. She was now smiling with that shy distance she always held and he looked at her as if to say, really? Playing cards. Out of everything in the world- knives, guns, explosives, sweet, sweet gasoline- she'd given him a deck of goddamned playing cards.

"Oh, Junie," He tutted, turning the box over in his hands and clicking his tongue, "Oh, Junie, Junie, Junie..."

Worriedly, her shoulders rose and she frowned, "Don't- don't you like it?"

He shook his head, "Oh, Junie, it isn't that, it's..." His breath hitched into a laugh and he opened the box, pouring the cards into his hand, smile widening so much that surely his scars could disappear behind it. Stupid wasn't the word he'd ever use to describe her- but naïve? Perhaps so. That was not to say, of course, he looked down upon the action, no, never, in fact, he admired it. They both knew very well that patients weren't allowed to be given anything by their doctors other than approved medicines and therapy talks- smiles were hardly even encouraged- and yet she'd just brought him something that would entertain him for far longer than she probably ever could. Such recklessness! Such blind bravery, his little Junie Stoltz! Such a silly act of kindness that'd surely get her into lots of trouble (that was, of course, if he decided to tell anybody). He could perhaps try to get her to bring in a gun next time...

She spoke as timidly as the first time they met, such a long, long time ago, it seemed... "Since we were talking about how you fidget with your hands, well..." She shrugged, "It got me thinking. So I thought you might like them."

His eyes were dark with malice and the need- the want, the ache, the insatiable thirst- to praise his little... (that quote, that quote?) palpitating darling- the need to praise his palpitating Junie to encourage her to do it again. He falsified a smile as kind and as grateful as he could make it seem- yes, thank you, oh, doctor, how lovely, how kind, yes, but maybe next time bring me something a little more... knife-shaped? Or perhaps something with a bomb strapped to it? Just a birthday gift idea.

"Junie, you shouldn't have." He grinned, teeth grinding as he let the cards slip and shuffle in his fingers, smooth and cold.

She laughed, almost in relief. "No, I really shouldn't have. I'm really not- not even allowed, actually."

"Then why risk it?" He chuckled, amazed at her... willingness. Her whole thought process. Queen of Hearts, King of Spades, Ace, Ace, Ace...

Her whole body stiffened with a sheepish shrug as she simply tried to giggle away her worries- it was like she'd been stung by his question. "I don't know, I don't know. I guess I just felt..."

Shuffling the cards, he peered up at her when he saw that she fell silent. "...sympathetic?"

"I suppose, yeah."

He smirked to himself. Like a book, Junie, you're like a goddamned book and it's all written in the title.

And again, silence. The nice kind, June felt. The silence that was filled with nothing no more restless than the soft flicking and snapping of cards, his hands- oh no, his hands- how expertly they moved, twisted, wrist bending, fingers crooked at catching every card that left his grasp for a second- her thighs tightening, lip bit, thoughts go away, thoughts go aw--

"Where's the, uh, last one?"

June let go of a breath so massive that it sounded like she was being strangled. The creases in his forehead tightened as he wondered what her deal was.

"W-what- what was that?" She dazedly asked, fingers gripping knees.

"Where's the last card?" He asked.

"What last card?"

"The joker card. It ain't here."

June blinked cluelessly at him before she remembered, knew, just exactly where the joker card was. In between that pile of papers in her office, the same card that kept her company like a goddamn house guest when she placed it on her bedside table the night before. It was just a funny little decoration, a little joking poke to herself, nothing more, nothing more...

She puckered her lips and shook her head. "I don't know. Manufacturing issue, maybe?"

"Hm." He didn't believe her, but neither did he care to. He could tell when she was lying by the raised octave in her timid little voice. Uncaring, he changed the subject. "Uh, say, wanna see a magic trick, Junie?"

Unsettled, she raised a curious brow. "What... kind of magic trick?" She asked, well aware that his idea of a magic trick ranged from a simple coin toss to a pencil through the eye.

He showed her the cards in his hands, still shuffling. "Just a--" He blew a strand of hair from his eyes, "Just a simple card trick, nothing more. Un-fortunate-ly I don't got any hats I can pull rabbits outt'a, so cards'll have to do. Whadd'ya say?" His smile was goofy and crooked, wanting her to play along.

After a moment's thought, she decided that it was seemingly harmless. "Alright, fine. What've I got to do?"

He smirked a little, it took no convincing whatsoever to get her to cooperate. "All you've gotta do, Junie, is just sit there nice and quiet for me while I shuffle these cards here."

Almost excited, she stilled her rocking legs and nodded, patiently waiting. When was the last time she'd seen a magic trick anyway?

Shuffling once more- the seventh time, to make the order completely random- he fanned the cards out, face down, and offered them to her. "Pick a card, Junie, any card."

It was nice. Junie was easily entertained by cheap party tricks and card games, so with an eager smile, she plucked one right out of the centre.

"Don't let me see it. Memorise it."

She did exactly that, leaning back and holding the card close to her face, both thumbs pressed tightly as she held it. Queen of Hearts.

"Done?"

"Mhm." She nodded.

"A'right, now put it back," He said, shuffling the cards into a pile and splitting it in the middle so she could slot it there. He shuffled the cards again and she caught herself watching him in what felt to be mesmerisation, his concentrated stare and his furrowed brow as he randomised the deck, fingers folding in and out delicately as he picked a few cards and shuffled them back in.

He split the deck into three, still face down, and once he'd lined the three stacks side by side, he motioned them to her. "Flip over the, uh, top ones n' tell me if your card's there."

She muttered a small 'okay' and flipped over the first card: the three of Diamonds; the second: the Queen of Hearts and then the third: the Ace of Clubs.

He watched her now lively brown eyes scan the three. "Well? Is it there?"

"Yes." She nodded.

His large hands scooped up the cards again, mouth tilted, and began shuffling for the ninth time. As he did so, he noticed how closely she was watching his hands with her mouth agape and he smirked deviously, teasing her. "These are magic fingers, Junie. That's the only magician's secret I'll share."

Her eyes widened at his words and at first she denied she'd even heard them. "Magic fingers?"

He slowly licked his bottom lip, cards snap snap snapping, and nodded, eyes so dim and dark that it was like staring into the bottom of endless wells. So- so he had said that?

"Of course," He began with a tilt of his head, "Only a magician's, uh, glamorous assistant gets to see what they can really do." Oh, he could've screamed with laughter at the colour of her face! So red that an apple held nothing to her! And her chest, her little- always the words little, and curious, and odd when it came to describing Junie, wasn't it?- her little chest and compact rib cage, how it shakily rose and fell, so soft, so light, like a feather. Too damn delicate for her own good. He couldn't wait to tear her apart, limb by skinny little limb. Like plucking legs off of a spider.

As June went to ask what exactly being a glamorous assistant meant, or even required, he slapped down the deck of cards on the table, snapping her violently out of her trance. He pointed to the deck. "Okay, so, this is the, uh, the big reveal. I'm gonna show you three cards and if one'a them's yours, then the magic works."

"And if it doesn't?"

There was a short pause of hesitation before he scoffed with a laugh. "Wasn't ever dressed to be a magician anyway," he joked, gesturing to his painted face.

June quietly chuckled as he dramatically prepared himself for the reveal, pretending to be all anxious and nervous about it, an immature act that still managed to amuse her. He placed the first card down in front of her, face up. Six of Clubs.

"This your card?"

She leant over the table and she grinned with a shake of her head.

"How about..." He placed down the second one. "This one?" Ace of Spades.

"Nope."

Joker took a moment to peer over the table and he eyed the card, before tutting. "That's a lucky card, Junie. Shame."

"Oh. Well--"

"Okay, okay, last try." He acted silly as he took a deep breath in and exhaled through his circled lips as he blew air into her face, making her scoff and shake her head. Her lovely curls followed her. He slapped the last card down and looked up at her expectantly.

Eight of diamonds.

June broke out into a smile but she still shook her head. "N... no. It's not my card."

He was silent as he looked at her, eyes piercing deep. She was worried for a second what might happen; maybe he'd lunge at her and strangle her for somehow messing up his act, or maybe he'd kill her for thinking that she was lying. But instead he picked up the deck and bent it back so they all flew into her face, causing her to yelp in laughter and swat them away. "Hey, stop it!" She couldn't help but giggle as he spitefully laughed, probably the happiest he'd ever seen her- and for such a stupid reason. She must've been weak.

As her laughter died down, she turned her head and stared at all the cards littering the table and the floor, watching with forgetful fearlessness as he just up and rose out of his seat to collect the cards on the floor as she leaned over to scoop up the ones on the table, neatening them up into a pile. He was crouched down on the floor, picking up each one individually simply to stall for time so he could catch a glimpse of her on her tiptoes as she reached over the table. Her shoes were perhaps a tiny bit too big for her and when she rested forward on her toes her heels came loose from the shoes and he saw the inward arch of her foot, concealed by black nylon stockings, and how tiny her ankles were and he wondered how on earth they managed to support her whole body, being that small. He wanted to... kill her. Black and interested eyes practically walking up her form. He could do it- engulf her bony little ankles in his hand and yank them back, get her jaw to collide with the table and smash right back up into her skull, her eyes- pop! She'd be gone. One less thing to think about when he didn't sleep and hey, he even got a deck of cards out of it.

After she'd collected the cards together, June stepped back to get her bag and when she saw him crouched next to her, she yelped in shock. Her palm slapped over her mouth, her eyes widened and then crinkled with a shy and embarrassed laugh, eventually crouching down with him to help collect the cards. God knows if somebody walked in with them all over the floor- she'd be fired on the spot.

Maybe it was because he was sickly voyeuristic, but every time he saw Junie in another varied position, like now, crouched down so small that her back was hunched and her bare palms pressed against the floor, the spark she had slowly vanished. She became less and less of a mystery the more things she did, and he knew that when she'd done everything, shown him everything, used up all her kindness on him in the name of sympathy, she'd be spent. Done, book finished, and the last page would be such a bore. And when she had all the cards collected in her previously pill-box-bearing palms, she offered them to him, smiling. Smiling. Smiling when he wanted to murder her! It was hilariously sick, so, so hilarious and sick and grotesque and yes, just gross. It was gross. He wanted to kill her so damn much when she smiled so obliviously that it drove him insane- more so than he already was, if at all.

Still, he took the cards from her and they both rose, all the cards in a pile now. They exchanged no words as he put them all back into the box.

"Well..." June sighed, placing her bag on the table, "I think our session's finished..."

"What day's it tomorrow?" He asked to fill the silence, voice a low and monotonous hum.

"Um... Tuesday."

"Righ-t."

"Right."

So awkward she was, with her handbag over her shoulder, hand knotted around the strap so tight that she shook, a tremulous and fake smile on her lips. With a shy nod, she turned on her heel, almost stumbling, and stepped toward the door. His eyes were narrowed at her, little black-eyed slits that didn't like the prospect of her simply just leaving. He glanced at the deck of cards as if they'd speak to him.

"Uh, Junie."

She turned her head with a hum and was startled to find him stepping towards her, towering and tall, and she began to pace backwards until she was met with the chilling embrace of the wall against her spine, as if it could help her. There she was, sure she was about to die, eyes shut tight when there was hardly an inch between them.

Then came the most terrifying feeling in her life- his hand, right there, it was against her neck, she was so sure, and when she expected it to tighten around her throat, closing the only glimpse of life and breath and everything she had, it pulled on her hair, the strands that were tied to the nape of her neck.

Her eyes were shut, so scared, and he grinned to himself, eyes almost rolling into the back of his head and- God, yes, he knew that's what her hair would feel like. Velvet. Like velvet. Black ribbons of velveteen gold. Of course, when she opened an eye to look at him, he pretended to feel around in her hair like there was something in it. "What's this here?"

Both eyes snapping open wide, she panted like she couldn't breathe, "What is it?"

"I feel something right here." He told her very matter-of-factly, finger behind her ear.

June went to reach her hands up, fearing it was a bug or something, but he swatted them away stubbornly. She reasoned hopelessly, "It might be a... a hairpin maybe, or a--"

He shook his head, "No, definitely not tha-t."

She silently whined, tongue bit, "Oh my God, it's totally a bug, ew, gross, gross, gross..."

"No, it's--" He then hummed in satisfaction, smiling widely. "Ah... I think I found something of yours."

Confused, Junie's curious (curious, curious, curious, curious and odd!) eyes searched his in panic. "Mine? What do you mean, mine- what- what is it?"

He snapped his fingers behind her ear and she stiffly jumped, but soon and surprisingly relaxed as he pulled something out from her hair, and presented it to her all whilst grinning, almost cruelly. And there it was, June was looking at her card, the Queen of Hearts.

Left speechless, he spoke in turn of her, "I know I used up my three guesses, but, uh..." he sucked the insides of his scars and flicked the back of the card with his finger. "S'this your card?"

Hesitantly reaching for it, June held the card and stared at him as if he'd conjured it up from pure magic. It was the only explanation, surely to God. He was smirking at her, far too close for her to be enjoying it, and with a hollow gasp, she whispered, "The magic works."

He chuckled, softly and stepped back once. "S'that a yes?"

June stuttered breathlessly, the card fluttering from her fingers and she swiftly stepped away from the wall, turning to the door so fast that the second her hand was on the handle, it swung open and she was gone, leaving him alone for the next few minutes.

And he laughed, he laughed so split-achingly and hard that his stomach hurt, he laughed violently enough that he had to sit on the table to steady himself, hands gripping the deck of cards in knowing that his Junie had grown weak at the mere act of him pretending to be sweet. And he also laughed, giggled, shook and trembled with glee at the thought that the next session, he wouldn't be so kind. Junie was spent, see, she was done, her fun was expendable and she had become nothing more than a repeated distraction to numb him, medication that had lost its effect fast. She was the temporary replacement of his other incorruptible project (who was much more than a project, thankyouverymuch- that immovable object was his star-crossed, cape-clad dreamboat- dreambat- thankyouverymuch), but replacements didn't go very far, especially when he couldn't forget the original. There was no replacing his first, especially with someone so ordinary as Junie Stoltz- and to stand in the place of his (dark, dark) knight- it was laughable! Unheard of!

Yet it was awfully dismal to think so, after what fun they'd had, but he'd decided through cracked laughs and torn howls that their next session would finally be their last. Next session, he was to brutally murder and artistically mangle poor, innocent, doe-eyed and palpitating Junie Stoltz.

---

Yes, he's talking about Batsy.

So for those of you who aren't Nabokov fans, that 'weird' book quote Joker mentions ("my palpitating darling", which I'm only repeating over and over again through narrative bc Joker is weird) is from Vladimir Nabokov's 'Lolita', one of my all time favourite books. It's disgustingly controversial (for those of you who haven't read it, it's practically a 'diary' noting the events of 40-ish year old Humbert Humbert pursuing his landlord's 12 year old daughter, Dolores Haze)- and just to make it clear if you do know about it, I do not romanticise it in any way shape or form, although the aesthetics of the films are quite pretty :) The book is pretty long and stuffed FULL of purple prose, metaphors, etc etc, so if you don't much care or have time to read it, I recommend watching the 1997 film. The book is just UGH it's so good, the writing is far more beautiful than I could ever comprehend, and the romantic language is used to juxtapose/contrast the horrid events and his perverse fantasies, which is absolute genius on Nabokov's part. If you really want a complicated book to dissect, go ahead and get a copy!!

And yeah, on another note, in case it wasn't obvious or if none of you already knew, I think older men are THE BEST and tbh if nobody was against it, Joker would totally be like 35-40 in this story lmao. But alas, a lotta people aren't into it, so whatever! I support ur romantic endeavours or whatever ur type is, even if ur type is none at all! And people have also asked, like, "woah, Junie's way young to be a psychiatrist, did she like, skip a grade???" and my answer is just like, well, age gap. When I originally planned it out she was still only about 25ish, but the more I planned her past (which will play a part, along with Joker's), the more I realised that I had to get the time and age correct, so I had to lower it down to just 22.

Anyways, enough about that. I wanted to know what you think about this chapter! The first few drafts I absolutely detested, buuut once the playing cards were out it kinda grew on me. I hope my writing isn't that confusing (I know I can get carried away with prose and feelings and just with Joker in general... I have never had so much fun writing a character before, especially since his POV is a first for me) but basically at this point he's kinda realising that he's getting bored with poor Junie and wants a new toy to play with. Y'know. As evident by the murder fantasies.

Love you all!

-tkj