^gratuitous joker pic, 6 more below...

***Ok quick warning if you hate my author's notes, you'll despise me for this, but there's some good pics of Joker in there I promise just hold on***

I'M ALIVE, IT'S FINALLY HERE, oh my GOD it's finally here and tbh I'm not entirely satisfied with it, but my God, it'll have to do. If you haven't noticed, it's been well over a month since the last update, and I could not apologise more for it. Writer's block is my worst, sworn enemy. Suppose the near-ending of this chapter is my apology.

Thank you, all of you, for being so patient and kind and understanding with these slow updates. I honestly love you all so much, I don't quite have the words for it- you all amaze me. From kind comments to responses on my profiles, to just being plain cool, I could not tell you all enough how grateful I am for how GOOD you guys are. I was honestly expecting a bombard of 'update pls' 'did u abandon ur fic' 'where's the next update' 'i'm bored kys' 'jared leto was better anyway' 'did u die' comments but instead all I've had is positivity and understanding, which I could not thank you enough for. I was so afraid that by the time I updated this, you would've all forgotten me, or forgotten this fic, or just simply didn't care because I'd left it for so long- and it genuinely stressed me out- but nonetheless, all your comments and support give me confidence. You all keep me sane lmao :')

So anyway, here it is, and I hope you enjoy it. It's SO long, the longest chapter yet. The first half is mediocre. But I've worked on it for days and hours and days and hours, so I need to just fuckin rest for a minute. Maybe I'll come back to this published version and edit and tweak a few things, which will be best in the long run, I think.

I've also been messing around with like graphic editing a little, so I've made a new cover for Apples- again, with Raven Lyn on the front (please check her insta, theravenlyn), so tell me what you think of that, too!! (She's legit like, MY PERFECT June. I remember when I first saw her pic somewhere on Tumblr and actually gasped in awe, because it was ACTUALLY June. Gorgeous tbh)

But for now, enjoy the chapter, comment what you think, where I've lacked, where I should improve- and please, be honest, because I honestly appreciate every comment, criticism or just compliments, and it really encourages me to keep working. God bless you guys you fuckin rock my dudes- take my personal fav pics of Joker as payment please I beg you:

^Personal #1 fav, like, looking so good, daddy af, dominant and confident; he's in jail but does he give a damn?? Nahhh

^That snarl? Sign me the funk up binch

^Thirst joker. Mood. Also that jawline can cut me up from head to toe lmao

^The fuckin first time i saw this scene i was like twelve and let me tell you a thing,, this bitch hit puberty the minute she saw that wrist why is he so good (tmi??)

^...y'all know what this pic is about.

^Shoot me dadd--

Aaand another quick warning, this chapter is LOOO-OOO-OOONG. Like, long. Hopefully you'll have enough time to read it in one sitting but either way... don't forget to comment lmao

(But all joking aside, I love you so much. Your comments keep me living. And the Joker. I love him too, despite everything.)

---

Chapter 9: One Such Wonder

"Even if he is incurable... I don't care."

Index finger poking through a bitten hole on his straightjacket sleeve, he obsessively rewound the final entry on Junie's diary of dirty little secrets to repeat that one single sentence.

"--it's all garbage. It's bullshit. Even if he is incurable... I don't care."

Junie the freak, Junie the maniac, Junie... Junie!

"--hammered into you that being mentally ill somehow devalues you as a person--" Fast-forward.

"--bullshit. Even if he is incurable... I don't care." Rewind.

"--amazing how human he is--" Forward.

"--ven if he is incurable... I don't care." Rewind.

"--curabl--"

"--I don't care."

"--don't care."

"--don't care."

And of course she didn't. She didn't want to cure him, the clown solved, she was simply as simple as she always had been: curious. She just wanted to know what was inside his head. Of course, he didn't think of it in a literal sense, not until now... not until he figured out that Junie could actually see what was inside his head, and not just by classically shining a torch in his eyes.

"His eyes are open to the most obscure and minuscule things--"

She shone... herself through his eyes. Climbed into them! Through them! Imagine! He'd heard of everything from plant women to giant crocodile men to shape-shifters made of clay, but never of a girl who could split apart his brain and live vicariously through it, and know all of his secrets just by looking at him. He felt threatened, undeniably threatened, but there was a certain... infatuation he felt, a curiosity quite parallel to her own. He was rather proud of her. She played the role of doctor long enough to fool him, and then caught him out right at the last minute. Whether maliciously or not, this whole time, she did this all in the name of her own corrupt curiosity, and curing him was a backseat priority. To think- he'd almost given up on his Junie, almost killed her, believing that maybe she wasn't interesting enough to be a mystery. Now?

"I love mysteries--"

Now she was exactly what he'd guessed her to be when they first met- an anomaly. Out of place in her own world. She'd always seemed awkward, rather quiet, squeamish... but she had potential. He knew she had potential. With a power like hers, what the hell was she doing wasting her time in the madhouse? By now she could easily blackmail him to do her bidding, but if she'd really wanted to, she would've done her little magic tricks the minute she introduced herself a month ago. The fact that she held back and waited until now fascinated him. She could have the police force, the criminals on the streets, the Falcones, the entire mob; she could have all these people under her thumb as soon as she crawled into their heads to see what scared them, but she didn't. Whatever she could do- clairvoyance, she called it- had been kept a secret from everyone her entire life. It was like something was holding her back...

"Sometimes you shouldn't define people by their past--"

Her past. After listening to every single diary entry, he'd gleaned a vague idea of her past, hints scattered across multiple entries from the age of nineteen to now, and tried to piece her life together.

"--but it's hard not to."

Something happened in New York four years ago. At age eighteen, Junie Stoltz suffered something- her diary never stated what- but something so harrowing happened to the girl that she moved back to Gotham City. Moved back to Gotham, because she'd lived here before. She could've prospered in New York and yet she willingly turned on her heel and trekked back to this damned city... for what? If he could find out what happened, then surely he could turn her weaknesses into a weapon. Fuel for the fire. Uncover her cursed memories...

"--that's all they are."

...to uncover everyone else's.

"Memories."

***

Supposed she was just as mad as he was, Juniper Stoltz would've torn the entire apartment complex down trying to find her diary.

Her hands had rifled relentlessly through her handbag trying to find the damn thing, all because she had wanted to confide in her diary which she could not unto anyone else: what phenomenon she had found in the Joker's head. The unforgiving emptiness of his amnesia, such a miracle discovery that it simply could not be tucked away into the corners of her mind to be noted later; because after flicking through a series of books she owned dedicated to the research of memory, she believed she had finally found the exact thing, the most precise name of the thing that so specifically plagued him (or perhaps blessed him, knowing his amnesia freed him of guilt).

Retrograde amnesia. Very alike to the classic sense of amnesia, in which the subject (in this case, the Joker) is unable to retrieve information before a particular date. Three years ago. She'd learned this back in her high school days of studying Psychology, so it was a wonder why she hadn't recalled it until now.

Every piece fit into place too perfectly: he'd forgotten everything, twenty-seven, perhaps more years of his life, yet is still able to create new memories unlike its medical counterpart, anterograde amnesia (although mentioning that was not important in this case). She fawned over these pages, drank these words- still crying of guilt on her living room floor the same night she'd searched the Joker's vacant mind- and swallowed every piece of information until she had some form of inkling on what was wrong with him.

And the best part? She wasn't crazy. All this time, everyone had told her that his case was impossible, his mysteries unsolvable, his mind incurable- and she was perhaps the first person to finally discover what made him tick! He couldn't remember what destroyed his psyche because that was exactly it- forgetfulness! It was forgetfulness that made him this way! The mind of the subject struggles to create memories where none exist, and in turn, is reborn as another person entirely. Fashions a completely new identity on the foundation that they've forgotten the last. She hadn't been this deep into her beloved science for a long, long time, maybe because Arkham had sucked all the fun out of the human brain, taught her that criminals simply wanted to be criminals because they were ill... but never because they'd built themselves that way...

So of course she would want to theorise. After reading through the Joker's old medical documents (papers and files all plastered over her sofa and coffee table), she failed to find anything that indicated toward him having any kind of amnesia... no mention at all. Nobody had ever suspected of him suffering such an affliction. She couldn't even find a causality for his state beyond all the fake stories he'd fabricated for himself- the abusive father, prostitute mother, a soldier without a cause... so it meant that... she was the first.

She'd smile. The first. Juniper Stoltz, the first person to ever truly discover what had happened to the Joker. Kind of. She still had no idea how he'd gotten his amnesia, or even what his life was like before that... but that was what doctors- what scientists- do. They theorise.

Which had all come to a halt, of course, when she found that her diary simply wasn't there.

She was still trembling the next morning, clammy hands constricted around the driver's wheel on the way to Arkham. Sweating from every pore. Losing that diary, it threatened everything. Her work, her home, even her life. Metahumans didn't necessarily have the best reputation in Gotham, as the majority of them either became super-criminals or hermits. Juniper was the latter, with how she and Mama would spend most of their years together trying to research her abilities, hiding it from the world... such short, short years... if only they'd had more time. If only...

Frustratedly squeezing her eyes, she drove over the bridge connecting to the Narrows.

The Joker had it. Her diary. She knew he had it, knew in every inch of her bones like it were embedded there, stuck crawling through marrow threads- he has it, he has it, he has it. When her bag had spilled out in the therapy room- it had to have been then that he'd taken it, snatched it to claim as his own. If he'd listened to it- which undoubtedly he had, as similarly curious to her as he was- then he knew everything. Everything, everything, absolutely everything. From her clairvoyance to what she ate for breakfast, he knew it all. It terrified her in such a fleeting way, imagining what someone as malicious as him could do with all that information, all that knowledge about her private life, her thoughts on... him...! It was as if her whole life had already ended right when she realised the diary was lost, and here she was, wandering as a ghost in the false body of a doctor.

She didn't sleep. She didn't eat. She was going to work on the raw energy of nervous adrenaline, feeling sick and super-sensitive to everything around her. The bleak colours of Gotham drowned her. The scarce sunlight burned. Even the monotonous vibration of her car felt like she was being shaken in a soda can, ready to burst. She'd think to herself now, this is crazy... I am crazy. Running a hand through unbrushed locks. She was willingly going back to face him, when all she'd ever done in the past is run. Run from Gotham to New York, only to come running back. Run from Colter. Run from Arkham... but the Joker? Ha. The Joker she'd face with a tooth-grit grin, eyes fire and fists clenched.

June didn't linger in her car once she was parked in the asylum's lot, even though she was certain that she could've lived there forever, from panic alone. Refusing to stop, her quaking legs carried her up the asylum steps and into the building, where she was greeted by an oddly happy Jeanette at the front desk, her bony features upturned into a smile.

"Good morning, Miss Stoltz."

Panting thinly, June scrambled to find the desk pen so she could sign in on the board and hopefully move along as quickly as she could, but her fingers would stumble, hardly able to even write her own name beyond the panic she felt.

"Miss Stoltz, are you alright, dear?"

June rubbed her left eye vigorously with her free hand, trying to clear her vision so she could at least see what she was writing. "Uh, yeah, yeah, I'm fine, Jeanette. Just tired."

"I wasn't actually expecting you to come in today," said Jeanette.

She'd been so focused on the woman's voice that June had written 'Dr. Today' instead of her own name, and scribbled it out irritably to start again.

"Why not?" she asked.

Jeanette paused briefly, as if confused. "Well, after the attack in the therapy room yesterday afternoon, I didn't think you'd show."

The pen stuttered against the page as June looked up at the old woman, tired eyes narrowed suspiciously. "The attack?"

"Yes. During your session."

"When Colter assaulted the Joker?"

"No, dear," Jeanette frowned. "When the Joker assaulted you."

June could barely think. Then she remembered: the bloody nose. How Just Kenny had seen her with a bloody nose and the Joker stood over her, and misinterpreted the entire situation (not that there was any logical way to interpret it at all). Had word spread that fast?

Blinking hard, June attempted to write her name again, but was cut off by Jeanette. "Are you sure you're alright? You don't have to work today if you don't want to. I-I'm sure that Dr. Arkham could have Dr. Young fill in for you while you recov--"

"No, thank you, I'm fine," June unintentionally snapped, "What happened yesterday was... an accident. And I'm sure that patient 4479 will be on his best behaviour today." Even whilst putting on an act, the numbers tasted so sour in her mouth; but she was finally freed of the conversation when she unintelligibly scratched her name onto the register, shot Jeanette a forced smile and darted away before the woman could object.

But as soon as she dropped her smile, she had to stretch it back on again when she saw Cash- who wore the same worried expression that Jeanette did.

Cash pulled out his keycard ready to open the corridor doors for her, but still showed some compassion for June as she approached. "I hope you're feeling alright. Y'know. After what happened yesterday."

She quickly nodded, wanting to skip through the sympathetics, "Uh, yeah, um- do you- do you know how Colter's doing?"

"Colter? Thought you hated the man's guts."

"I-I do, but, like, y'know, Joker's a... dangerous... guy. Just wanted to..." She had her fingers crossed behind her back, hoping for the worst. "...check in."

Cash tutted jokingly, but indulged her anyway. "Well, since you're asking, the bastard's in hospital."

Yes!

"Pulled out his baton on the Joker, but by the time I got there, the Joker was the one holding it and was swinging and swinging--"

"What about him?"

"What? Joker?"

"Yeah." Then she noticed the weird look Cash shot her. "Y'know. Being my patient, physical health is just as... important as mental health. The two go hand-in-hand. So. Just wondering."

He chuckled with a shake of his head. "Doc, you wouldn't believe this, but, well... the crazy son of a bitch is fine. Not a scratch."

Were she on her own, she'd deeply sigh in relief, but held her breath to maintain composure; she didn't even know why she was glad that the Joker hadn't been beaten to hell. Maybe it was because Colter had already beat on him enough, or maybe because the Joker had her diary and didn't want to risk him losing it in a fist-fight. Or at the very least, if Colter hadn't beat on him, then the Joker wouldn't hold such a grudge against her for how yesterday turned out... and maybe give her diary back...

"A'right, Doc," Cash announced, opening the door for her. "Head on over. I'll be patrolling the corridors if you need me."

"Thanks, Cash." June smiled at him, a genuine smile, despite the nerves. God knows he was the only good guy in Arkham, and deserved better than what he got- she'd always wait for the day where he landed himself a better job, or maybe a better city...

If only things had turned out for herself that way.

Upon approaching the therapy room, June felt her chest tighten; maybe her lungs were shrinking, maybe she'd forgotten how to breathe. Suppose she was slowly dying, each step toward the therapy room being like sailing along the River Styx.

It was the sight of Just Kenny that brought her back to reality, reminded her that this was it- no turning back. His slouched position and half-asleep eyes didn't do much in encouraging her, but still she stood with a straightened back, trying to mimic confidence in the short minutes she had before her fear tore it down.

"Wow," Just Kenny unenthusiastically scoffed, "She returns."

"What did you expect?"

"After seeing what the Joker did to you?" He shook his head, "Run. Change locks. Maybe leave town."

"I'm still his doctor," she said, although thinking hard about it, she wasn't sure if it was true. "And I'm not running from anything." The same with that statement.

His mouth sat in a perpetually straight line, though the corners of his lips raised when he tried to smile, maybe show some emotion for her, but didn't care enough to. Instead, he cleared his throat and tried to act more natural. "Uh. The inmate's in there, there's just another guard prepping him up. He's back in the straightjacket."

"Patient."

"What?"

"You called him an inmate," said June, "He's a patient. We're in a hospital."

"My God. The Joker gives you a bloody nose, beats the shit outta Colter, won't st- won't stop fucking taunting me about that stupid song--"

June held in a snicker of laughter.

"--not even counting the other twisted shit he does for kicks- and you'd even bother to consider him human?" He tutted. "All you doctors are just as nuts as they are."

She could only reply with silence, not caring to try and argue. In fact, she understood what he was trying to say. Of course, as a doctor, June had to acknowledge that the Joker was human, that he was simply a sick mind that could be cured, but even she couldn't believe that after everything he'd done, the violence, the murders, the loss- she found herself empathising with the clown- sympathising, I meant sympathising- that even after he stole her diary, probably knew what she'd done to him yesterday and was more than likely ready to kill her, she still managed to believe that there still existed a shred of humanity in him.

Perhaps it was simply just the concept, the concept of him being a normal person at one point. Amnesia. He was somebody before all this. She found herself romanticising the thought, that perhaps before the horror that created the Joker, he was a man, just a man, who thought and felt and operated just like everyone else. If she could somehow trigger a memory, or maybe evoke some kind of emotion linked to his past self, then there might've been a way to draw out the person that existed before the amnesia. Before the Joker. If she could somehow bring that man back, then there might've finally been a cure.

There might've been a chance for her to--

"Dr. Stoltz?"

June blinked up at Just Kenny, "Huh?"

"Just wanted to ask if you were ready to go in."

"Oh. Um." Her stomach knotted- this was it. "Yes... please, uh, yes, please."

He nodded, then brought his hand back to knock on the door. "Frost! C'mon, the girl's waiting out here."

"Be out in a second- struggling with, uh- be out in a sec." Replied a gravelly voice, shortly after hearing some kind of scuffle.

The wait was short, rather awkward, but in a few seconds it was over.

Out from the therapy room walked a man, around the same height as the Joker, with sharp and stoney features that were fairly chiseled with age, although his almost white-blond hair suggested a rugged boyishness to him, lazily slicked back from his face. His eyes were the starkest blue she'd ever seen- and they stared right at her as soon as he'd exited the room, as if expecting her to be there. She'd noticed that there was something in his hand- something circular and grey- but before she could deduce what it was, he'd buried it deep into his pants pocket, which she realised were a size too big and constricted around his waist with a cheap leather belt. The image of a perfectly strange man, wildly reminiscent of someone as eccentric as the Joker himself.

Yet despite the oddity of him, there was also a certain warmth that radiated from his every action. The way he smiled, maybe, or the way he extended a hand out towards her, and in an unexpectedly kind fashion, politely acknowledged her. "Dr. Stoltz, right?"

Taken aback from the unusual gesture (nobody cared much for chivalry in Arkham anymore), June was apprehensive to reply. "Um--" With a shy laugh, she accepted his handshake, wondering how he'd known her name so suddenly- was it her name tag or her reputation? "Yeah, that's me."

"Jonny Frost. Pleasure to meet you." And it was this effortless act of generosity that she immediately took a liking to, forgetting all the questions about his ill-fitted clothes and missing name tag... he must be new, I guess. Really new.

Just Kenny coincidentally piped in as if to answer her thoughts, "He's new."

"Yeah, just signed on last week," Jonny nodded, hand eventually dropping from hers. "Say, you're, uh... his doctor, huh?"

"T-the Joker? Yeah. Yeah, I am."

"Tough nut to crack," he chuckled. "Gotta say, what you're doing is pretty admirable."

It took everything within her not to grin- but smiled anyway, teeth bared and almost giggling. "Wow, I- thank you." And she truly meant it; when had anyone ever acknowledged her work without questioning her, berating her, telling her she couldn't do it? His words were so refreshing to hear. 

"Really, it's impressive," he continued, "I mean I, um, I heard that after a while they'd stopped treating him, gave up. It's... nice that somebody stepped up for the job."

She shrugged. "I'm a doctor. I care about these people."

Jonny smiled, but it disappeared quite quickly. "Although I, uh... heard what happened with him yesterday."

"Yesterday?"

"The bloody nose."

June resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but the thought vanished when she subtly noticed that Just Kenny was gone momentarily, probably to the bathroom or to the vending machine while she and Jonny were conversing.

She sighed, "Really, it's- it was nothing, honestly. It wasn't like I was hurt or anything, he just--"

"He just didn't do it."

His words spurred absolute silence and although she was trying to look professional, June stepped back, looking for any distain, any menace in his eyes; but found nothing. Just the fixed certainty of a half-smile.

"He told me," said Jonny slowly, "He didn't lay a finger on you."

God. She held her breath, God, what is going on?

And then rather quickly, it hit her. He's working for the Joker. He must be. A short mystery solved in three seconds, yet she couldn't find it within herself to be scared- impressed rather, how quickly and unnoticeably the Joker had an extra pair of eyes to watch the asylum with. Still managing to rule over a domain in which he was kept, but evidently not imprisoned. Did she dare to question him? Who could she tell... who would even believe her? Perhaps it was simply just the paranoid delusion of a girl who didn't get enough sleep...

June cleared her throat, brows furrowing with that wonderment she hated so much. Even knowing that Jonny Frost was a puppet, that the Joker had more power than she thought, even then, her curiosity, her questions, her yearning to discover; it never dissipated.

"What... did he tell you?"

Jonny Frost glanced around the corridor, head still but eyes flitting fast, and swallowed almost nervously before leaning in close, mouth next to her ear. Too close for comfort, but then...

"He told me that you are... one such wonder, Miss Stoltz."

Then he pulled away, forced smile dropping, although never posed any threatening demeanour, just looked stern and sure, like he was certain of what he told her. His words repeated, ingrained. Quoted. She tried avoiding his gaze by looking to the floor, but as he passed by she felt only the chill of a ghost, leaving as swiftly as he came. His words scattered around her and never ceased to echo. Wonder. Wonder. Wonder. He works for the Joker.

"Wait, Jonny--"

But he was already gone. Leaving her with a million questions- let me know you. Let me look at you, open your eyes so I can see in them. For years she had never felt such craving to use her clairvoyance again; but one glimpse into the Joker's head and suddenly she wanted to look at everyone's. Devour it all. So many secrets in the most subtle of places... and she wanted to scavenge every single one until the world ran dry...

But then Just Kenny was back, a Soder Cola can in hand, and looking around for Jonny Frost just as Dr. Stoltz did. "Oh. He's gone." Again, he didn't much care, just simply got on with his job. "I'll open the door when you're ready, doc."

She wasn't even sure she was. She could act like it were every other session, but how could she? The Joker stole her diary. Knew who she was. Nothing about this was normal anymore. She didn't know what to expect, nor had she necessarily rehearsed a scenario in her head to get an idea of what exactly her goal was- the objective was to simply get her diary back, not stopping to think about what she'd do if he refused. Calling for help was null- audio or video recorders of any kind were strictly prohibited from the therapy rooms, so Dr. Arkham or one of his goon guards would have to search through her diary and listen, then find out about her clairvoyance and that she's a metahuman, then probably fire her. Not to mention that June carried her diary in her handbag, always close to her so that she made sure she wouldn't lose it. So much for that.

Not only that, but she hadn't really taken a moment to think that death could be a legitimate result of her actions. She could die today. Why not? He'd think it'd be funny, another metahuman dead simply because they were a genetic failure, caught red-handed. She'd tried to keep it a secret her whole life and now one of the most dangerous people in the world knew about it, and she hadn't even the common sense to run. She didn't care. She was leaving with that diary, even if it meant leaving in a body bag.

Juniper, back stiff but head up, nodded and took a deep breath. "Sure, I'm... yeah, I'm ready."

After taking a hasty sip of his soda, Just Kenny stepped to the side, glancing at her unusually drained face before unsheathing his keycard from his front pocket, sliding it through the scanner. The hefty click of the fat metal lock could be heard- seen even, passing through the tiny gap between door and frame- and every moment felt so agonisingly slow that she could scream, but endured each second, knowing that she was just minutes away from finding her diary and taking it back.

It was funny- thinking about how eager she was to stand outside this room for the first time. The first time curing the Joker, at least. A giant grin on her face, clipboard and pen in hand, wide-eyed and ready to dig out his secrets. To say she had been unafraid of him was an exaggeration- June was certain now more than ever that he would've slit her throat as soon as he found something sharp- but talking to him, working on his case, even sitting in the same room had brought her such excitement, almost a kind of starstruck wonder. The Joker was such an anomaly of nature, such a wild card, that she couldn't help but to... relate to him.

Just Kenny stood there, hand on the door. Waiting. How Juniper wished she could share such free time. But with a deep, shaky breath, June entered the interviewing room, never looking back, never hesitating, just looking forward, the door falling shut behind her. It closed with a heavy groan, followed by complete silence.

She stood still by the closed door for a good few seconds, bag clutched tightly between her trembling fingers. Her feet were pressed together so formally that her ankles touched. She didn't look up at the Joker, not for a long time, as if a a single glance would turn her body into stone. The room was cold, so, so cold... like death. Like she'd just stepped into the house of someone who'd died, and here she was, stood before the ghost that haunted it. The ghost spoke in plain English, but in a way that was gargled through a vaguely smiling mouth, speaking with multiple tongues and teeth. In another language, almost.

The ghost said, "Junie," and the Joker exhaled with a pleased sigh; monotonous, as though he said her name just to see what it sounded like. As if it had somehow changed, as if she had changed, knowing what he knew now. She seemed to look so different, despite being the spitting image of the girl who'd begun treating him a mere month ago: her labcoat, still donning that same coffee stain on its collar, the familiar stitching of the ladder up along the side of her tights, the little scuffs on the front of her shoes, her hair... her hair... had she ever really changed? Had she always just been a vague, unsolved mystery after all?

June felt her posture slacken with shyness, but then promptly straightened her back, and with a furrowed brow, she demanded, "Give it back."

He saw her eyes, stern and hard, but caught on immediately to the vulnerable warmth in them. Maybe it was fear, but the Joker knew better. If Junie was afraid, she wouldn't speak. No... her shoulders didn't drop because she was weak... they dropped because she was comfortable.

The Joker sighed again, pining nostalgia. He wanted to believe that she wasn't interesting enough to be a mystery the way she was now, but it simply wasn't true. That diary of hers; the elaborate stories, seeing people's memories, being able to split open their minds and peer at the gooey goodness inside? Oddly fitting for a girl so curious as Junie Stoltz. So fitting, in fact, that the real mystery was why she hadn't used her little magic trick on him in that very first session, or why she was even working in Arkham at all. With a power as invasive as hers, she didn't even need a job. Hell, Joker saw the potential in how she could manipulate people with all that information- yet she was just some doctor, who didn't even use her powers to cure people. She just... wasted it all away... for what?

"Sit down, Junie."

The sound of his voice made her twitch, just enough for her head to move, neck still bent down to the floor. Slowly, her feet began to move, one step forward in front of the other, trudging as though she was wading through water. Through mud. Through soil. Her casket-chair, her coffin-table.

Pulling out the chair, it scraped along the floor like knives; she took a single sidestep, letting her bag drop with a thud, and then descended into her seat, hands curled in her lap.

"Look at me, Junie."

Unhesitatingly, her eyes snapped up towards him and the two made eye contact immediately, brown bravely spilling into black, and the black melting into the paint around his eyes. He had to say- though he feared absolutely nothing- the sharpness of her stare was certainly something to behold, able to comprehend just exactly how much she loathed him in that moment, and all he did was smile, waiting for her to choose her next move. It came when she finally moved her head to gaze upon him in his entirety, when she beheld his tangled form trapped in a straightjacket, remnants of yesterday's makeup still caked on his face. It reminded her far too much of the time they'd first met- although now that they knew each other's secrets, it felt a lot like they were acquainting themselves with one another yet again. Testing the waters. Sizing each other up.

Her mouth went dry and she wasn't quite sure what to say. Her hands found their way to confidently sit atop the table, which Joker stared at from the confines of his straightjacket in... longing? Not like he wanted to hold her hands or touch them, but break them, in poignantly knowing that even hurting her would now ruin him too- the more he thought about her powers, the more he wanted them, maybe wanting her, and now murdering her was simply a fantasy that had to be put on hold...

The Joker was about to talk again: "Junie..." But it was as if he'd changed his mind, instead taking a brief moment of consideration to wet his mouth and reposition himself, all the while his eyes looked downwards at her hands, the table, thoughtfully. "I'm, uh... struggling to find the right... words to say."

"Then say nothing," she whispered.

"What was that?"

"I said, give it back."

The Joker smiled wide and menacingly, yellowed teeth on rotten display. "Ah... suppose you know I have it, then?"

His Junie refused to indulge him with a reply, though her hateful glare was more than enough to entertain him.

"Are you angry, Junie? Sad, perhaps?" He cooed in a mocking tone, but dropped the act as he leant far back in his chair. "Scared?"

"Just give it back, Joker."

He playfully swooned, "Oh, I do love it when you call me by my name..."

In this short second of silence, June's eyes rolled back, then painfully started to search the room for any sign of her diary; until she once again caught a glimpse of the Joker's smile from the corner of her eye, dead and soulless, joy without happiness...

"...Jun-i-perrr."

...the sickening smile of a madman.

June turned to him. She couldn't blink. She was afraid to. Afraid that if she looked away for even a moment, just one second, then he'd appear right in front of her, free of his restraints with his hands around her neck. Fingers gripping, digging, digging... it was all horrifyingly exciting, really. It made her sick and made her sad but still she'd squeal in knowing she was so important to him that he'd go so far as to kill her... but him saying her name was enough to satisfy hear fears. Her full name. Nobody had called her that. Ever. Perhaps Mama, once or twice in the rare occasion that she'd scolded her... maybe... but to hear someone actually say it, for the first time in years... startled her. It felt strange at first, like she hardly even recognised her own name. It certainly didn't feel like it, at least when she would write it down on formal documents and medical reports. Yet somehow, coming from his mouth, his tongue, his twisted, distorted, lying tongue... it sounded... right. Fitting. Finally a name she recognised.

"It's a lovely name," The Joker mused, snapping the curse of her stunned silence in half. "I mean it."

"It doesn't matter," June painfully whispered.

"Oh, but it does," he insistently nodded, "It does. Though, uh, while I do like Junie much better--" he hooked his ankles around the front legs of his chair with a tired groan, scraping it forward so he could get a better look at her. "--Juniper... well, that's unique."

She avoided looking at him, ignoring his smile, his casual exterior, thinking it all to be a trick. It had to be. She just simply couldn't shake the feeling of him watching her- because he was. Every movement, every breath, he was watching her. Studying her.

"Unique," he repeated, "And you and I both know- you are very, very unique. Aren't you?"

He knew. It was unquestionable now- she raised her head and the way he looked at her: he knew. He didn't just look at her, he looked inside of her, carving out every secret with a single blink of his eyes, his eyes, his dark, horrible, empty eyes... he stripped her of her secrets much like she had his...

He nodded again, inquisitively squinting. "Yes... you are. You're unique, Junie, different. One of a kind. Of course, after listening to that diary of yours, well- pfft--" He tutted in amusement. "I'd never realised what a catch you are."

His Junie's fists clenched atop the table in desperation and he bit back a grin at her scrunched up expression, only letting out a giggle when she pushed her chair back. "Joker, where is it?"

"You're not gonna play the game?" He childishly pouted.

"I'm sick to death of playing them."

"You're no fun."

"Tell me where it is."

"I hid it," he finally revealed, saying it with a warped sense of pride as though he thought himself to be a genius.

June bit the inside of her lip and eyed the room, blinking with exasperation. "Where?"

"In here," he stated, licking his lips once again.

"Where in here?"

"Tell me about your, uh... abil-i-ties... and I'll tell you where it is."

June swallowed hard as her whole body turned numb. He wasn't even bluffing. He really did know about her clairvoyance. And still he wore that bastard smile.

Disheartened, June's shoulders dropped and she frowned frustratedly, looking around the room to see if he'd hidden it in plain sight. The filing cabinets in the back, the drawers to the right, the cabinet to the left...

He'd noticed her wandering eyes, and chuckled. "You won't find it, Junie."

Something in her sparked, like a sudden switch in her brain had snapped and all she could think of was his awful satirical grin, teasing her, berating her, the same voice saying 'you can't do it' the way everyone else did. So she sort of smiled, lips pursed but showed no emotion behind the eyes. "Try me." And then began the search as she got up out of her seat.

"Aha..." The Joker went to laugh, but stopped when he realised she was being entirely serious. "Ah... where are you going off to, huh?" Junie paced around the room and he watched her, neck folding around as she roamed, peering behind the drawers and standing on her toes to check atop the filing cabinets.

The Joker shook his head, sarcastically mocking the girl. "A'right, Junie, a'right. Yeah, y'know what? You're doing a great job, please, don't let me stop you."

As she kept aimlessly searching, the Joker blew a few random curls of hair from his eyes, shifting in his seat as he followed her every move, knowing that she wouldn't find it- wouldn't have the guts to get it even if he did tell her. Of course, stuck in a straightjacket, he couldn't do much to stop her, only watch in contentment how this play unfolded.

"What's going on, Junie? Hm? Tell me, uh, tell me what little thoughts you got sparking inside that mad head of yours."

"Just--" she stormed back to the table and grabbed her chair, dragging it along the floor to stand it in front of the cabinet.

"What're you doing, Junie? Y-you gonna stand on that chair, now?" He spitefully laughed, brows raised as he watched her climb onto the chair. "Okay. A'right, you just go ahead and do that. Never mind that you look absolutely ridiculous, no- you don't care about that anymore, do you?"

Fingers holding the top of the cabinet, she poked her head over it to see the dust-covered top, devoid of the diary she so desperately searched for. "It's not about that. I just want--"

"Your diary back, yes, I know. Of course, if you'd just give me five minutes to explain myself you might actually learn something," he drawled, arms fidgeting in his straightjacket. Upon still seeing her stupidly search for her little toy, he groaned. "Y'know, I'm getting pretty bored of all this..."

"I don't care," June spat, climbing down off the chair and moving it to the next cabinet on the other side of the room, his dead eyes following her. Stubborn girl, she was, furiously stamping across the floor as the chair scraped behind her, slowly giving him a headache. Irritated and exhausted, tears pricked her eyes and the panic started to kick in, knowing that this could all just be a cruel joke, knowing he could just be playing her for a sap to see her break.

"Y'know," The Joker raised his legs and propped them up on the table, "The more I... listened to your diary, Junie, the more I discovered things about you." He bent his head back, hoping that she'd finally stopped her search, but was disappointed when he saw her stood on the chair once more. Regardless, he continued, "And... I wasn't so sure what to think." Suddenly, he laughed, "You had me confused, Junie. Me! And I- hah- am never confused..."

A shy tilt of her head, eyes secretly watching him through her hair made him realise that yes, she was in fact listening, truly and deeply, but with a kind of hatred he'd never quite seen before in anyone else. Didn't quite get her down from the chair though.

"But the more I learnt about you... oh, Jun-i-perrr..." (how he loved to toy with the name) "I found myself torn between wanting to believe that I somehow knew you were strange all along, and knowing that I didn't. In fact, I began to wonder if I'd ever even known you at all..." Junie descended from the chair and they locked eyes for no longer than a second before she dragged her chair to the next filing cabinet and tried to balance her kitten heels atop it again. Joker watched her little ankles nostalgically before blinking hard. "I dunno. Just- I always figured there was a mystery to solve about you, Junie. Didn't know it'd be, uh... this crazy, is all."

She stepped back down from the chair with a harsh slap of her heel, a maddened stamp of her feet, and swiftly turned her head to stare him down. At first, when seeing his disfigured face and its ruined wrinkles, the scars that greeted her with a smile that wasn't there; she felt nothing but contempt: this was the face of a man everyone hated, the face of a man she hated, and a face which she should refuse to believe belonged to a man at all. But then she supposed that like all lights in the darkness, her eyes start to focus a little better, until all that is, is simply... questions. Questions. Always questions- she could never think a certain thing about him without it raising another question. I hate him. Why? Because he kills. Why? Because he's mad. Why? Because he wants to be. Why? And then that- that right there, why does he want to be mad?- the question of choice versus chance, madness and sanity, is the exact niche in which she finds herself believing she sees a man in him. A person. And all hatred is gone. And the curiosity, it thrives.

"Y... you're not in denial?" She asked.

"Of what? Your powers?" Joker suddenly kicked his legs off the table and sat upright again. "No, no, no. Not at all, Junie. I mean, whatever happened yesterday had me hooked, your diary just sold me. And I knew that those, uh, those migraines and headaches came from somewhere."

Guiltily, she rubbed her arm.

"No, Junie. I know they exist. Your, uh... kind- excuse me--"

He tried looking for a more apt word but she said it for him: "Metahumans? Or s-super... humans?"

"Humans," he said, "Just of the strange variety." Capturing her gaze, he cocked his head to the side. "Freaks."

Immediately, she turned away. "I'm not a freak."

"Yes, you are, Junie."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, y--"

"Shut up!" She yelled through grit teeth, fists clenched around her sleeves in hugging herself- refusing the oncoming of tears, refusing, refusing. The outburst! He had her.

"Think about it," he demanded, hunched forwards to get his point across. "An abnormality of the established pattern of society. In, uh, social terms, you... are no-t... normal."

"Stop it." June pressed her palms against her forehead and closed her eyes, hardly able to bear listening anymore. Being normal is what she'd been trying to do this whole time- for years she'd tried finding herself at the bottom of a bottle, or maybe reclaim her lost childhood by moving back to Gotham City after New York failed her... after what happened to Mama she knew that normality was that unachievable American Dream, that picket-fence life everyone strived for... but she refused to believe it. She held onto it with baited breath, waiting for the day she came back. Waiting for the day that everything would fall into place again...

"You're not normal, Junie."

She wanted to scream. He seemingly spoke in snakes, the words constricting around her, choking and squeezing the very will to keep patient right out of her skin- fists clenched, nails that almost split open her palms, she could die, he should die, he should die...

"But neither am I."

Yet she still gave the bastard clown a chance. She always did. Relaxing her muscles, her limbs, fingers, hands, toes, she peeked back up at him past an angry brow and only wished she could hate him more. He was so goddamned conceited, so nonchalant- sat back in his chair, eyes fixed on her so casually, his mouth folded into an indescribable smile reminiscent of that of the Mona Lisa's, although not half as beautiful, or half as vague.

"That's the thing about us freaks, Junie- we're so comfortable in our own skin that we don't, uh, realise we're even acting or putting on any kind of mask within day-to-day life, not until the masks are torn off from our faces, leaving us with nothing but... ourselves." The word was said so quietly and softly as if it were a sacred thing, lightless eyes turned downward in this reflective moment of clarity. There was a certain tenderness to his voice, an understanding, that she simply couldn't help but to believe him, even when she knew he'd only ever spout lies to her. She knew and yet, like a moth, she wanted to fly closer...

"What... what do you mean?"

The Joker paused, slowly stood from his chair, and raised his brows innocently when Junie retreated backwards. "You ever, uh..." Walking around to the side of the table that faced Junie, he sat leant against its edge. "You ever felt like you're... trapped inside your own head before? Like- like a kinda cabin fever. You stay inside that head of yours for so long that you, uh, start to go a little crazy?" He asked, chuckling a little to keep the topic somehow lighthearted, though she wouldn't laugh along. It disappointed him, really, to see her so closed off when before she was always so open to him, always so welcoming and naïvely giving, but there was still that little spark of compliance when he noticed her mouth wavering in wanting to... agree?

And she did want to. She really did. Because she knew exactly what he was talking about: the claustrophobic feeling of no matter where you are, where you escape to, the only four walls that truly exist are inside your own head... with no way to get out of them. Drinking made them seem invisible. Pills helped let in a little light through the cracks. But nothing, nothing broke down those walls. All you could do is decorate them a little and make them feel like home.

The Joker knew she wasn't going to answer by now, and that was okay. He knew that he was getting to her. Word by word- slowly- he'd whittle off pieces of her so subtly that she wouldn't notice until half of her was gone. Until he could find her pulsating heart... and squeeze so that she'd bleed for mercy.

"Well, it's, uh... it's a real journey, lemme tell ya. A real moment of, uh, self-discovery, all that spiritual stuff. Once you sit alone with yourself, that's when you get to know who you really are, leaving yourself all vulnerable for the monsters to crawl our your eyes and ears to really shine a light on things. Some people call it an illness, some say it's part of the mourning process..."

June held in a strangled choke of anguish, holding herself tighter.

"Y'ask me? I think going crazy is your brain's way of shedding its skin. Like snakes!" he childishly smiled. "Purging all that weakness, all that filth, so it can grow back better, stronger."

"Just-" June bit her tongue desperately, "Just give me my--"

But he wouldn't listen, instead slowly stepping in slow circles, making sure her eyes would stay on him, focus on him. "Once a freak gets to know themselves, Junie, there's no more masks, no more acting, no more... no more hiding! In fact- ha-huh- a freak's best hiding place is in plain sight!" With a distant gaze, he bit his scars in a half-smile. "Now, I uh, I used to hate being called a freak- such a... derogatory term to lazily demonise the different and the odd- but once you embrace it, you're invincible. Invisible. Ultra-perceptive, watching the world from the darkest corners, holding yourself and giggling at how ridiculous everyone else seems..." His Junie, enamoured by his straightjacket-clad theatrics, had failed to acknowledge that he'd been slowly stepping closer, keeping her at full attention. "We're smarter than everyone else, Junie, we see things for how they really are. The world is like a two-way mirror: while we're watching everything from the other side, they're all too busy looking at their own reflections..." And quietly, he curled up into a fit of giggles, one of which was scarily contagious, now that she thought about it.

"So you think that... you're better than everyone?"

"We, Junie," he urged, making her flinch when suddenly his back sprang up straight again, "We're better than everyone." The last of his laughs sizzled in fast wheezes that almost sounded painful, and how Juniper wished she could somehow cure what ailed him (so foolishly). "The thing about us freaks is that we all communicate on the same wavelength, we all- y'know- we all... get each other. And somehow, always find a way to one another. Y'think that- that he and I was just some... chance encounter? Two guys who just so happened to fall into the same pit of madness?" Before June had a chance to ask who he was, the Joker tutted, "No, no... he and I, we were bound to find each other eventually. We were made specifically for one another. That's fate, Junie," he said, "Fate brings freaks together."

Inches away from him, she tried following his string of insane cries, she really did, but she could only shake her head in misery, saying, "Please stop, just tell me--"

"Your diaries... intrigue me," The Joker told her with the calmest voice he could possibly adjust himself to, nodding so sympathetically as to get her to listen, to agree- this was going far too perfectly and he loved it. "You wanted to be my doctor so badly- a year, wasn't it?"

"I--"

"A year, wasn't i-t?" He repeated harshly.

Defeatedly, she nodded.

"Yes. For a year you yearned to be where you are now- in this room, in front of me, walled off from the world," he moved in closer, and though she would hate to admit it, she surrendered so willingly, so eager to see his every angle, cascaded by the shadow of the wall she was so close to being pressed up against. "And despite everything, despite the warning signs, the threats, the fear... you never left. You always came back. You always came back to this room. You always came back to the asylum." And with a thick chuckle, so close that she could feel it on her cheek, the Joker smirked. "In fact, you've never felt more at home, have you?"

June scowled at him, but it didn't help that her anger was honestly getting her roused up; the fact that he didn't listen only made her want him to talk more, to retaliate, because what he was saying now said so much more about him than the emptiness of his head ever could. He'd built a faction of beliefs for himself, with nothing to build them off of but experience. Not old memories, not the past, but in simply creating himself, living a life lead by chaos. To hell with medical reports- she was keeping this to herself.

"Look around you, Junie," he motioned by turning his head, since arms were currently occupied. Her eyes followed where he looked. "Look at the decaying walls, the filthy floors, that beaten table. You don't see them. The cold metal of your seat. If it meant staying here in the madhouse, you wouldn't trade that ratty old chair for a velvet throne."

"It's not like that, I just like my job."

"Of course you do. Because you get to mingle with people who are just like you, Junie. Freaks." He took another step closer. "Like me."

"I'm not like you," she vowed, lips curled into a grimace. "I don't... I don't steal, or murder, or- or use people for my own gain--"

"That ain't the point. The point is, all freaks work better in numbers. I mean, if we all speak the same language then we may as well start talkin' right? Like, uh... look out for each other..." He caught her in a trance again, his stern eyes keeping her in place. "Stick together."

"You're not saying--"

"Look, look, look. I ain't saying we gotta be, uh... part-ners or anything. All I'm saying is your secrets..." He paused to lick his lips, "Are better off staying secrets, y'know what I mean?"

Unbelievably, she laughed. Spitefully, but she laughed. "Oh yeah? And what's in it for you?"

"Why, the pleasure of your company."

"Screw this." June pushed her hair back from her face and stepped out from beside him, storming off toward her abandoned handbag. "I'm done."

"Oh- hah- so--" The Joker had to rest against the wall to make sure he didn't burst out laughing, "S-so you're done, huh? You're done? Finished? Junie Stoltz, running away back to wonderland. Surprise... sur-priiise."

She turned on her heel just to glare at him. "You're insufferable."

"And you're delusional if you think I'm gonna let you walk out of that door without your precious little diary."

June stopped in her tracks, then slowly turned around to face him again. Glare, again. Scowl, again. Try to drill into his head just how much he was ruining her- though that would be what he would want, wouldn't it?

Joker raised his brows suggestively, tongue lapping at his lips in a feral, almost dog-like manner. "That is, of course, if you want me to give it to Jeremi-uh Arkham instead."

A threat. And June wasn't stupid enough to believe that he was lying- she knew him far too well. He was being serious. "What do you want?" She spat.

"I wan-t... answers, uh, I want answers, Junie."

"To what?"

He wriggled his arms uncomfortably. "Three questions." He watched her face contort from irritation to plain misery, eventually shifting back into that same old curious stare he adored so much, the look that made him know he had her under his thumb. "Three questions, and I'll tell you where your diary is. Swear."

June narrowed her eyes. "You swear?"

"I've said before, Jun-ieee," he clicked his tongue, "I'm a man of my word."

She just... breathed. Breathing. It was all she could do, all she could focus on, especially since her chest was shrinking and shrinking into a shallow hole more than it should be a cave, her own words trapped in between her rib-bones that caged it all- I don't believe you. I don't believe you, she wanted to say, but I want to hear you regardless. Don't stop talking. If you stop, I die. If I don't focus, I die. If I don't breathe, I die. And you? You'd make an ottoman out of my body to rest your feet upon.

So she nodded. Slowly and stiffly, sure, but she nodded. Inhaling heavily and trying to give herself more air than her lungs would allow, but nonetheless she'd let him have this one chance. This one moment.

The Joker smiled, and with confidence in his gait, began pacing on his heels.

"A'right, question one," he began, and Junie even took the time to make herself comfortable by leaning against the table, much like he had done earlier on. The thought amused him. "Your, uh, diary failed to mention when you got said, uh... powers. So- how long've you had them?"

"Since I was thirteen," June rather calmly replied, arms crossed over one another. "Hormones and menstruation is one thing- clairvoyance is another."

"S'that what you call it, huh? Clair-voy-ance?"

"The closest thing to it, yes."

"Huh." He then moved on. "Question two. Nosebleeds."

She hesitantly piped up, "Nosebleeds?"

"Yeah. I want to know why it happens." And why they suit you so much, darrr-linggg.

She shrugged. "It couples with the migraines- I'm... guessing you know about that, right?"

"I sure as hell felt them."

"But I mean, like, the further back into someone's memories I go--"

"The worse the migraines get." He nodded in understanding, which slightly terrified June by just how much he knew about her abilities, just from her diary alone...

"...right."

"Right."

"Well, um... the worse they get, the more pressure builds up, and blood vessels burst because of it. But usually..." Her words trailed off.

"What?"

"Usually I don't suffer from them. Not unless..."

"Unless what?" He impatiently asked.

"It depends how far back I go, and... I only get nosebleeds if I go back real far..." You've said too much, you've said too much--

"Oh?" This piqued the Joker's interest. "And how far back did you go in my head, Junie?"

"I-is that your third question...?"

"Not quite. My third question, oh Juniper, is what exactly you found in my head."

"U-um--" Nervously checking the clock, she began to run out of things to say, how to think; how the hell could she tell the Joker that he was an amnesiac? Of all people, him? Did he even know? "I'm not sure I--"

"That's a, uh, a rather easy question, don't you think?" He rhetorically asked, stepping towards her yet again, but only quite meeting in the middle. "I mean, it was easy enough for you to worm your way into my head, wasn't it?"

She angrily crossed her brows, "That's not--"

"Not true? It was damn painful, that's for sure."

"Well--"

"Not to mention- was it worth it, Junie? Was it really worth it? All that curiosity, your fake shy and hesitant act, all just so you could catch me off-guard- me- for a single moment of--"

"Stop--"

"--selfishness?" The Joker scoffed and laughed in ridicule, "That's a class act, Juniper."

"Will you just let me speak for one--"

"Gotta say, I had no idea you were so... scheme-y--"

"If I told you what I found, you wouldn't believe me."

The two finally stopped bickering, and they took this moment to simply breathe, to reflect, though the Joker wasn't letting a single second go to waste. Time was fleeting, and he had to keep Junie on her toes.

"Tell me. What you. Found." He repeated, voice stiff and heavy. "Tell me what you found in my head or I'll break that diary apart piece by goddamn piece."

June took a deep breath, blinking back tears, and an unhinged laugh of emptiness left her. "Alright. You wanna know what I found, Joker?"

Smiling maliciously, the Joker nodded. "Yes."

"You really wanna know?"

"Yes, I do."

"Fine," she said, arms tossed in the air as they fell back lifelessly to her sides. "You've got amnesia."

Silence. Complete and utter silence. Accompanied by the ticking of the clock. The buzzing of the light. The rain against the windows.

Shallow and quick, she could finally breathe again. It was finally said, out there, in the air, and stayed there until the two of them had time to process it. His threatening grin slowly dropped and his posture lost its structure completely, until he simply rested back against the wall, eyes wide and vacant. He stared at the floor for a long time. Unspeaking. Unfeeling. Was he breathing? He didn't know. Amnesia. Amnesia. Am. Nes. Ia. He repeated the word to himself until it sounded like a completely foreign language.

June stood against the table, watching as every colour and emotion drained from his scarred, painted face, and she trembled, afraid, so terrified that at any moment he could somehow break free of his restraints and kill her. News like this couldn't be taken lightly, not by anyone. Even she didn't believe that the most feared man in Gotham was the victim of simply forgetting everything. She wouldn't expect him to take it with any more acceptance to the idea than she did. When you're told that your whole life to a certain point doesn't exist, the whole universe crumbles around you; you question anything and everything you've ever known or seen or heard or tasted or even smelled. How you process the entire world. What's real? What's not? What's there to care about when nothing belongs to you and you belong to nothing? What a hazy world to live in, constantly obstructed by the lack of memories you have. The sun blocked out by the blindness of forgetting, your hundredth rainfall suddenly becoming your first.

The Joker had seen it differently before now, of course. Living in an asylum for a year granted infinite possibilities of meeting all kinds of cooky crazies, from murderers like him and Zsasz to superhumans (like Ivy or even Junie) and occasionally a humanoid crocodile or two, so meeting a few amnesiacs along the way wasn't exactly a rare occurrence. He'd thought about it before, how strange it was that things were a little... blurry... before a certain point... but he'd never sat down and really thought about it. He thought it was the pills that made him forget things. The chaos he used to distract himself, all the fun he could have with constructing explosives and playing with guns and the Batman (darling)- who really had time to dwell on the past anyway? And that incident, way back, in the amusement park, the earliest thing he could recall... he had just picked up from where he'd left off. So... was that it? Was that the great secret to the Clown Prince of Crime? To the Agent of Chaos? The unstoppable force in which the world seemingly revolved around? Forgetfulness?

"I don't believe you." The Joker calmly said. Words so soft that even she wasn't sure he'd said them.

June laughed. Unsmiling, she laughed- wide eyes, she laughed and she didn't stop until he looked at her. "You- you're kidding me, right?" Her laughs stopped, eventually morphing into teeth-grit anger. "After all this, after everything you've found out, after everything you know- I tell you that and you don't believe me?"

All the Joker did was stare at her, eyes empty, soulless. He was still trying to come to terms with the word.

"I--" She swallowed hard, "Excuse me for a moment." Crossing over to the door, he watched on as Junie habitually straightened out her clothes and tended to her hair, then she carefully opened the door with just a slim enough gap that she could fit half her body through. She asked the guard- Just Kenny, but the joke didn't even make him smile- for a cup of water and an apple from the cafeteria, then stayed and watched on as he left the corridor, leaving it empty. No witnesses. Joker was starting to like the look of this.

She returned to him, eyes flared and full of rage.

"I think we should play a game." June clapped her hands together. "Let's play doctor," she said condescendingly, as if talking to a child. "I'll be the doctor," she pointed to herself, "And you'll be my patient." then to him. "I- as good doctors do- am going to diagnose you with an illness I believe you're suffering from. Then, I'm going to tell you why I think you suffer from this affliction, your symptoms, and you're going to listen- because I am your doctor. Okay?"

The Joker responded with silence; amazement.

"Good." She pursed her lips, "Let's begin. I believe you are suffering from something called ret-ro-grade amnesia. Familiarise yourself with the term. Befriend it."

Again, he didn't say a word, just shuffled his arms about uncomfortably in the sleeves of his straightjacket as discreetly as he could.

"Now listen carefully. Retrograde amnesia is the inability to remember certain things before a particular date- usually the date of injury that causes this kind of illness. It could be afflicted by, for example, physical injuries like head trauma, or perhaps psychological issues such as emotional trauma--" she paused her slow treading and looked at him. "You with me so far?"

He was hearing her, of course, but not listening. Amnesia or no amnesia, he didn't care. This wasn't what her little tantrum was about, informing him or curing him; this was about control. She was provoked, and this was her go-to strategy. He liked it. He didn't show it but he liked it, her little bag of tricks that she kept for a rainy day. And he especially liked that she was actually being his doctor for once (intelligence suited her beautifully) and so it wasn't so much her words he focused on more than her posture, gestures, the calm yet inquisitive wave of her arms as she spoke. The clicking of her kitten heels as they traced back and forth the floor of their therapy room.

"Now, I'm gonna get into the specifics. What I found in your head." She explained, almost having her go at mocking him. "I managed to go back... three years. You can't remember a thing before twenty-seven. There's only three years in there. In here," she demonstrated, tapping her finger against her head. She then saw him, his empty stare and emotionless face, and found the sympathy within her again. Her voice was shaking and so were her hands and even her knees now as she daringly stepped closer but she was so reckless, so brave, so stupid in trying to somehow make a point. "I looked, Joker. You've listened to the diaries, you know how it works. I can see it all. Memories. I can relive them," she said. "I can go back decades. But you? All I saw was three years. Then nothing else. I saw three years of your life go by and then..." She shook her head in despair. "Nothing. And I've never experienced that before."

"Then it isn't true."

"I don't think you understand--"

"Oh, no, Junie, I understand perfectly." Taking a step forward, he wrestled with the arms in his straightjacket, uncomfortably trying to wriggle them loose. "If I really had amnesia, you would'a told somebody by now. That's a lotta profit."

"Who would I tell?" She asked, a sarcastic laugh leaving her. "Dr. Arkham? You think he'd believe me? I don't have any physical evidence!"

"Then you're lying to me."

She took a single step forward again. "What reason would I have to lie to you?"

He smirked. "Lots'a doctors like to play mind games, Junie. Take, uh, Crane for example--"

"I'm not Crane!" She yelled, gesturing with wide arms and swinging hands. "I'm not Dr. Young, I'm not Hugo Strange, I'm not Dr. Arkham! I'm not anyone else!"

Junie said all this so surely, so definitely, that he couldn't help himself but to admire her, almost. He saw such potential in her... he didn't exactly think she was lying to him, but the truth was almost too... dismal to believe. It explained a lot of things about his life now, but... who cared?

"I don't care how they treated you before and I don't care if you think they're right- I know I'm right, Joker, and I cross my damn heart over it." His Junie shook with every languid limb, every joint, even her lips started to tremble as her eyes brimmed with tears- the frustration, the bottled up angst was finally starting to spill. This was the mystery he'd been waiting for a month to solve, unfolding right before him. "I am so sick and tired of everyone telling me that this is all hopeless, and that I'm too young, or too female, or- hell- too black to get anything right, to be able to make a difference- because I know the truth, I know what happened to you, and I know within every inch of my entire being that I'm right. For once, I'm right--"

Sounds muted altogether, just as the films on his televisions did, and his darling doctor became an actress starring in a silent film, one of tragedy and of resentment, of destruction and reincarnation. Junie Stoltz was, to a certain uncertain extent, falling apart. Maybe not forever apart, but breaking enough that when she calmed down, she could pick the pieces back up and rebuild herself anew, the snakeskin shedding that the Joker had told her about before all this. And he just couldn't see past it: watching her effectively destroy herself was one of the most beautiful moments he'd witnessed since that rooftop brawl with his cape-clad-lover. Her matted lashes, her wet cheeks, freckles that saw through dewdrop tears and her hands, God, her hands were such wonderful things to behold. Holding herself. Gripping her hair, her temples, waving aimlessly in the air as she broke down- all this rage, all this exhaustion, this tired, lonely misery he knew she felt. He needn't empathise (he couldn't empathise) to understand and recognise every little emotion, but could read from the quivering verbs of her fingers, the juxtaposing pursing and trembling of her lips, the endless soliloquies that her crying eyes belied, was as clear and as apparent to him as his own two arms- which shook restlessly in his straightjacket until the first seam holding it together snapped- that she was grieving over herself, mourning the chances she'd lost, and was now willing to sacrifice anything to hold onto this one glimpse of hope in the blinding darkness of herself: the fact that she knew the great secret to the Joker that even the Joker himself didn't know about.

He was still coming to terms with it: his amnesia (perhaps to forget his past self is the cure, not the illness). And while he wouldn't usually admit or fall vulnerable to these kinds of things, he believed Junie Stoltz. He believed her. And he knew, so definitely and most unquestionably knew, that if he just let her have a moment of indulgence, if he could just show her that perhaps he might be the only other nutcase on this godforsaken planet that believed and even trusted her, she would be indebted to him. So indebted, in fact, that her so called 'burden' of genetic mutation might not have to be hers to carry alone.

The second set of seams on the back of his straightjacket snapped as he rolled his shoulders forward, but through cries and fluid expressions, Junie didn't notice. Her mouth was moving agitatedly, still shouting, still talking, but he'd been so focused on her little figure splitting apart in this moment that he could hardly hear her- blurred voice and ringing in his ears, like he were submerged underwater. Junie was on the shore, trying to pull him up for air, though of course by holding on she was effectively anchoring herself to him, drowning in this masochistic mess of madness and melancholy. It didn't matter if he couldn't feel, if he couldn't even bring himself to genuinely like her the way normal people did, because it was this version of Junie that he'd forever be so crazy about, even if she wasn't ever this way again: the Junie who cried endlessly, choking herself in a battle of rage and frustration, the tragic horrors of woe. Little Junie Stoltz, his little Junie Stoltz, in this exact silent second of screaming, was truly the pinnacle of morbid artistry. He never cared for crying people, as he didn't much care for Junie, but was instead obsessed with the clung-together tangle of her lashes, the pitying pink of her cheeks, the swollen snarl of her shrieking lips. Wet-faced and completely lurid. His palpitating darling. How funny it was to think, that she was as gorgeous at falling apart as buildings were at falling down...

"And--" Through sharp tears, June stopped, panting angrily when she fully noticed the Joker's distant expression, as though he were in another plane of existence entirely. "You're not even listening to me, are you?!"

One final feral tug of his arms tore the sleeves of his straightjacket clean of their stitches, and suddenly the string of fate that followed would forever plunge the two into a twisted game of anarchy and apathy, their lowest of lows.

His sleeved hands clamped the sides of his darling Juniper's aching face, and then, before either of them had the chance to even breathe, the two lost themselves- and each other- in the sinister surrender of sultry terror.

The immediate tilt in things: the first fear that inhabited June's troubled mind was the realisation that somehow he'd snapped his straightjacket and was now as free to move as she was... but that all seemed to whither and die when she felt the sensation of lips painfully pressed to her own. In the initial moment of all this, she wasn't sure which scared her most: his broken bindings or his mouth, and in an attempt to get away she beat her curled fists on his back, a muffled wail of fear trapped inside his open mouth- let go of me, let go, let go- it wasn't until she gripped him by the shoulders and unlatched him from her that she finally gasped in a strangled attempt to breathe; wide eyed and afraid, she stared at him in hopes of an explanation.

So she slapped him. Before the thought had even entirely occurred to her, June whipped her arm back and slapped the Joker blind across his left cheek, causing his head to recoil to the side jarringly, and all was quiet again. The clap of the sound echoed for a brief moment, followed by June's heavy panting and a groan that reverberated from the Joker's throat. God only knew what she was thinking- if she even knew herself- but despite the tingling burn on her right palm, the aftermath of a month's frustration, to lash out at him in such a primitive way felt inexplicably euphoric, as if this was what she'd been wanting to do this whole time without even knowing it. A month of confusion, a month of wanting, a month of hating, a month of yearning, a month of denying, all leading up to this.

In honest shock of the blow, the Joker couldn't even find it in himself to be angry at her. No, no... he adored her. Perhaps not in the pure, piety way, but what did it matter? Freaks weren't meant to feel the way others did (because we're smart, Junie, we're clever, Juniper), and so when he craned his neck back around to see her big brown eyes gazing up at him in both awestruck and irritation, he knew that this was what they were- this was what it all meant, what everything meant, the sign of change they were both waiting for. Murder? Such delusion, such needless chaos (for once!), even in his eyes. Why slice her apart from the outside, when he could crawl inside her and rip her chest open?

The Joker, open-mouthed with hair in his eyes, smiled at his Juniper. And this (oh this), was the picture that she would forever see behind her closed eyes, in the dark corners of her room, in the depth of her open closet. His blackened stare, so set in stone. Blood red lips that without even moving, told her exactly what she wanted to hear, what she wanted to do. So horrifically and dangerously handsome he was, and she snatched the strong jaw of his painted face and kissed him, drowning herself in the surrendering embrace of a love gone mad.

Groping at each other in a feral, monstrous way, they tangled themselves against the confines of their clothes as if somehow, with enough willpower, they'd simply melt away into stark nakedness. The hot, thrilling desperation of this- a game, a play, just a few theatrical flairs of the insane and deranged- kept them on their toes, wanting more, drinking from each other as if this were the last surviving oasis; her closed eyes, his knotted brows, the way she gasped between every breath and the way his sleeved thumbs dug into her lovely scalp.

He held her hair, and Junie closed her elbows behind his head, and then the two stumbled backwards over their feet (abandoning her precious heels along the way) until her arched hip found the edge of the table. He parted his lips to breathe and instead of reaching for air, she reached her tongue into his mouth, in turn finding his, kissing his, caressing his. Inside him softly. Wet. Tasting strangely of crushed berries and sour whiskey (of maybe she'd just found romance in the past habits of her alcoholism). Teeth clashing and grating and yet they didn't care. Her heart ached, her head hurt- was he a monster, a fiend, a madman who took advantage of such a divine moment in the exact meaninglessly selfish way that she did?- his Junie's tongue tasted like a freshly flavoured paradise and whipped cream atop cherry soda.

For a second there was a quick pause, enough time for the Joker to pull back from their little moment to bite the ends of his sleeves between his teeth, and tear them both off to free his hands from his straightjacket, finally. Eyes wide and back to being so innocuously doe-like, June watched him with the same curiosity that cursed her that long month ago (how distant it seemed), and oh, how much would she have loved to be trapped forever in this two-second reprieve, watching him stretch his arm out from his mouth, break his sleeves (break her heart) and spit the end out to the floor, lost in the trench alongside her shoes and missing diary... not able to tear her eyes away from him. She hated that she saw it, but he was so handsome- not beautiful- but such a pleasure to look at, the dark heavy jaw that could kill her with a kiss, the same mouth that would berate her endlessly and his scars- oh God, his scars!- she'd succumb again and again to the salacious pleasures of mottled skin beneath her fingers, if only he'd let her touch them...

The thought was brief, as was the breath she took, before the Joker's bare hands found the backs of her thighs and lifted her up onto the table, her head spinning, blood rushing, hands almost failing to keep up as she gripped onto the tops of his broad shoulders. Legs clenched tightly around his hips in wanton delight, her toes curled as did his fingertips beneath the hem of her skirt, causing her to- "oh--" moan, and her nylon tights to split wider up the ladder that was already in them, and her head to tip- roll- back, his lecherous lips to latch onto her neck- she could see it now, his wet mouth behind closed eyes, bloodied shades of raspberry pinks and strawberry reds and his tongue spilling into her mouth so welcomingly- her fingers to root themselves in his tangled hair; his hands squeezing, his lips, again- litanies written on the insides of his mouth and behind his teeth that were all about her; and how shamelessly she wanted to clamp his tongue between her teeth and bite- so violently- until it split in the middle and bled. Squelched scarlet bubbles and bled out all the secrets he held: his dirty secrets, his filthy secrets, like what happened when it was dark enough and he wasn't wearing a straightjacket, or how deftly his fast fingers would flit over himself in the rarity of showering. Hands free. Curling fingers and cracked knuckles, God, she could feel them now, in the dark- between her legs- her eyeballs flickering wildly beneath closed eyelids. His fingertips delving against her hot skin right where her skirt met her abdomen. And she didn't even want him to stop. Only cared to listen. Listen in dying curiosity to know what kind of thread-thin noises he wove between silken whispers and satin moans when he--

And then finally, somehow striking docility in this moment of disgusting, carnal desire, came the most awful sound: the heavy knock on the door, the door to this abstract universe (the other side of the two-way mirror the Joker spoke so intelligently about).

The two clung to each other's skin in red-handed recklessness, and the Joker watched as Junie's paint-covered face turned to the door in panic. In his hands, he could finally encompass her in her entirety. How small she was, how trembling, how little, how... crushable... but to see her bruised lips abused under the smearing of his red greasepaint... it was almost as adorable as yesterday's bloodied nose...

"Dr. Stoltz? I brought that apple and water you asked for," said Just Kenny, oblivious to the insanity that ensued behind the closed door.

"Give- oh--" Her stutters foolishly came in the form of whispered moans, "Give me a minute-!" And as she tried to stand she would only press herself into the Joker's torso, warm and exactly where she wanted to be. So much in fact, that when she stared up at him, ready to ask him to move, her lips became magnetised to his again and after a few greedy bites at each other's mouths, she eventually slid off the table, delicate foot greeting the cold floor again. Back to reality.

The clock had told them that they'd far overstayed their welcome, and the Joker watched as Junie shrugged her labcoat back over her shoulders and shyly slipped her feet into her strewn shoes, the curves of her ankles so supple as she stepped back into the dull routine of things. Her costume, her disguise. And it left him feeling... somber. He looked at her when she wasn't paying attention, when she was busy mourning over the state of her tights and not on what really mattered: the fact that she was covered with paint. It was funny. She was there, unaware, completely vulnerable and he had every advantage- strangle her, smash her head against the table, blind her, bite her- and yet he didn't. He barely even thought about it, only looked at her in her surrendered entirety.

"Junie," he muttered, her innocent eyes glancing at him tiredly. Her entire face, a painting. Greasepaint everywhere, streaks of white on her cheeks, black on the bridge of her nose, red all around her mouth and chin. It was funny now, how quickly they went from almost chewing out each other's throats to pretending like it had never happened, having to move on and pack away their toys to get on with the day. Almost sad, really, but the Joker wasn't one for sentimentality.

He licked his right thumb and with his left hand, held the nape of her neck to tilt her face toward him, then aimlessly tried to scrub the lesser smears of paint away, such as the white spots on her forehead and occasional streaks in her eyebrow. It barely did much though, so the Joker sighed and stretched his sleeves over his palm, rigorously scrubbing at her face where the paint did the most damage.

"Ow--" she complained, but jumped at the sound of her own voice. She'd been so focused on listening to his that she'd forgotten her own had even existed until now.

"Hold still," he barked, and within the next minute or so the greasepaint was gone, save for a few red blotches he'd decidedly left on her lips. When he was done, June tried to crookedly smile, but both she and the Joker knew that neither of them were really in the mood for sweetness- still reeling off of the tormented lust they'd achingly suffered- and so he pinched her chin in telling her he was done. "Alright," he softly sighed, letting his hand drop and instead pointed to the table. "It's over there."

Dazed and hardly in tune with the here-and-now, clueless Junie blinked hard. "Wh... what?"

"Your diary," the Joker confessed, "It's strapped under the table."

Her eyes widened. "What? It was there the whole time?"

He smiled, teeth slightly stained red with paint. "Right under your nose."

June huffed dramatically, then trotted over to the table, where she crouched down and looked beneath it. Lo and behold, there it was, strapped to the underside of the table by grey duct tape alongside mouldy chewing gum and candy wrappers: her beloved audio diary.

Without a single second's hesitation, she tore it from the table and stood, cupping it lovingly in her hands.  "Oh my God, I could just--"

"Kiss me?"

"--kill you right now, and--" Upon tearing off the duct tape, a sudden thought sparked in her head, and she recalled the moment she saw that new guard, Jonny Frost, shoving a grey circular object into his pocket... a roll of duct tape. Son of a bitch.

"What's the matter?" The Joker teased, peering over her shoulder to look at her diary, "Is it broken?"

"No, I..."

She wanted to protest, shut up, you're a thief, but even the thought of saying it made her feel vulnerable. Simply because... she didn't hate him. The past few weeks had made her change the way she'd seen her patient. Maybe it was because she didn't have many friends, or maybe it was because her lack of sex life for the past two or so years had really been messing with her head- maybe she was just going crazy; but the things she'd thought about him... about him doing... not necessarily to her, but just him in general... no normal doctor thought about their patients like that. Even before this had happened, she had been plagued by the lust-loving monster in her head, thrashing about and screaming. She'd become a sneaky little voyeur in her own head, always watching him as if through a keyhole, even when they were just sat over the table from one another. It always felt like she were looking through a window into another world when she watched him, a world particularly crafted for him, by him, that abided by his rules. He was a curiosity. A unique phenomenon born of chaos and something else, perhaps hidden deeper in his memories (she still wasn't sure if she'd learned her lesson yet, there were still memories she'd glazed over). She couldn't help but feel drawn to him, couldn't help but feel sucked in by his eyes, his sickening grin, even the goddamn paint he wore on his face seemed to fascinate her. She wished to shrink down to the tiniest, tiniest size, smaller and more slight than a single hair, and hide in the smiling creases of his eyes, and to see the world as he did. At least she'd finally had a taste.

"Junie, d'ya want that diary or not?" As she returned to the present moment, she blinked harshly and felt herself move again. "I'd gladly take it back, y'know."

"No, no, no--" she insisted, shoving the diary into the depths of her handbag. "I was just..."

"Daydreaming. Thinking. I know, Junie, you do it a million times a day," he groaned, and she was unsure whether to take his tone as a sign of jesting or boredom. She stepped closer to him, barely a foot away. "Tell me, Junie, d'ya always think this much when you're at home?"

She looked up at him to discover a playful gleam in his coal-black eyes. "My whole audio diary serves as evidence to how much I think."

"Huh. Lotta thinking." He brought a hand up to move a mess of hair from her eyes.

"Sometimes I envy you," she whispered.

He smirked. "Me?"

"In that cell, all day..." June stepped closer again, unsure what to do with her hands other than to grip them around the straps of her handbags. She just looked at him, and looked and looked and looked until his face was the only thing in her view. "All that time to think..."

"Among other things..." He dirtily mumbled under his breath, smirking when he caught her freckled cheeks turn red.

Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it, don't--

"Solitaire," he revealed. Her face scrunched in frustration.

"I--" She took a deep breath and sighed, pressing the back of her left hand to her cheeks to cool them down. "Look... I've gotta go."

"Then go," he said rather darkly, though he still put on a smile to imply that he was joking. Junie smiled at him for a second, so naïve and innocent, as if the thought of murdering her hadn't crossed his mind (which it did). But that smile... the damn girl was thanking him.

Then reality kicked in, her smile dropped, realising that this was the first step into the chaotic life he led and cared so much about. He'd... ruined her. He'd almost had her bent backwards over the damn table- his doctor- and yet she couldn't find it in herself to feel angry or upset, just... dismayed. Why? Why wasn't she mad?

(Why aren't you laughing?)

The Joker's arms fell limply to his sides as he walked circling around her, resting his weight back against the table before sitting on it. Tilting his head back, he admired her through tired, hooded eyes, black irises hidden beneath his black lashes and between his black painted lids.

"Are you gonna tell anyone about this?" She asked him, barely raising a glance as she played with her paint-smeared fingers. So innocent was the question, so sweet. Like two high schoolers after their first cigarette.

Joker exhaled deeply. In all honesty, he wasn't sure what to do with her. Killing her was... a thought. Just a thought, sadly, as her clairvoyance proved to be so useful to him. And how she'd opened herself up to him- literally, that table would never be the same- it might've been a while until he'd try raising a knife to her throat. It would eventually be the outcome, when she outlived her usefulness. Inevitable. But for now...

"Secret's safe with me, Junie."

"All of them?"

"So long as you don't go blabbing mine, yeah."

"How can I trust you?"

He smiled, leaning in close. "Man of my word, aren't I?"

She wanted to laugh, she really did. She wanted to feel anything other than distain for the clown who had only moments ago threatened her, growled in her face, accused her of being a liar (before of course, kissing her and biting her and touching her in places she'd only ever dreamed of). Instead, she simply grabbed tighter onto her handbag, thankful to even be alive to hold it, and began stepping backwards slowly toward the door as she observed the Joker sitting back down in his seat. They both held eye contact like it were a contest, and when her back hit the door she shivered, eventually turning around to leave. She lingered in the doorway, just to catch one last curious glance at him, and even found herself smiling, oddly.

Voiceless, she mouthed the word, goodbye.

He said nothing, only slightly smiled back. Just slightly. The door closed, Junie was gone, and he let go of a soft laugh he'd been holding onto. The clown chuckled to himself, sucking the insides of his scars. What a day, Junie, Junie, Junie Stoltz. What a day...

Outside the therapy room, June leant against the shut door with her eyes closed, a terrified sigh leaving her. She'd lived, sure, but at the same time she was dead. Juniper Stoltz... was not the same person coming out as she was going in.

"Uh, Dr. Stoltz?"

"Woah--" June held back a yelp of surprise, having completely forgotten that Just Kenny had been waiting outside for her. "S- uh- sorry, sorry, I forgot that, uh..."

He held up the glass of water and apple he'd fetched, "I got these for you like you asked, remember?"

"Oh, right, right, uh..." She coughed awkwardly. "Sorry, I got so carried away in there- I mean- like, time sure flies, haha..."

Unsure, he simply squinted at her. "Uh... yeah...?"

"Yeah. Um- I feel so bad, y'know? I mean, the patient's insomnia's been so awful that he just... fell right asleep in the middle of the session. I think it'd be best if you just left him for a while."

"But, I've got a break in, like, two minutes..."

"Just, uh, send over that new guard, uh... Jonny Frost--" nervously, she took the glass of water from his hand and at first took a sip, but was so scared of stopping that she simply downed the whole thing in four gulps. "--he'll know what to do." And she fumblingly put the glass back in his one hand, plucking the apple very awkwardly from the other. She smiled, giggling uncomfortably, and turned on her heel to leave the corridor. Caressing the red fruit in her hands, lovingly.

***

The pale, grey-eyed girl sat in the chair before the desk of the man she'd admittedly never met in person, only heard about, his voice never more than a mere crackle over the phone of the main office. She stayed obediently still, waiting for him to turn away from the window and put his whiskey glass down, perhaps ease the tension. Do something. He hadn't said a word since she'd come in. Only stood there like the uncertainty of God, back to her as he watched the rain bleed down the window pane on the other side of this rotten asylum.

Sometimes he'd gotten so drunk on the job he could swear that the walls would start to breathe. The floors would turn into syrup. He'd sometimes feel so haunted that he could hear the voices of the inmates he kept downstairs in extreme isolation... just sometimes. Nothing a little Xanax couldn't fix.

It didn't feel as long of a time as it actually was, but Dr. Arkham didn't breathe a single word until the sun had gone down. The pale girl fidgeted anxiously.

"Mara, isn't it?"

She answered so uncertainly, as if she didn't even know her name. "Yes, sir."

His body wouldn't move, as if his head was simply attached to it and not a part of it, and his neck cracked to the side with the slow fragility of ancient years rotted away. His nose, silhouetted by the red sunset that sliced through the cracks in the blinds, protruded and was as sharp and as straight as the edge of a knife. His lips were indistinguishable from the rest of his face, so flat and thin that they weren't even there. Dr. Arkham seemed like a vessel of something evil and ugly, much more of a horrifying beast than Mara could ever imagine a human man could ever be. Now she knew why June was so afraid.

"Find her home," he said, "Apartment building on the shores of Red Hook, Midtown. Apartment 818. Get in there and search for something, anything suspicious. Whatever your excuse, I don't care. She's up to something."

He held the joker card he'd found in her office tightly under his thumb, the painted face grinning back at him.

"I can feel it."

---

Junie! Sweetie! I am so sorry that a ugly ass bitch like Dr. Arkham would even say that, oh my god...

Ugh memes aside I am so GLAD to just get this chapter OUT of my BODY. Like purge it out of me. Idk if it was even good Jesus H...

Just a side note, half of this stuff I haven't edited properly. The kiss? Lmao. Y'all can tell me in the comments if it was good or not, if you want, because I have no idea. This chapter was one hell of a pain in my ass, and I haven't decided if I'm proud of it yet or not.

And yes, that is Jonny Frost. But not Suicide Squad Jonny Frost, the actual, original Jonny Frost from the Azzarello/Bermejo graphic novel. Surprisingly maybe one of my favourite Batman characters even though he's incredibly, incredibly minor? Anyway.

Here's to hoping next chapter will be better. Oh and also, I love you!

-tkj, writer's block most loathed target lmao