Unholy Union

A/N: Good grief, I am SO sorry for not updating "Ink and Bandaids" in FOREVER, but I just haven't had the time to write something on my own. I know it seems weird that I have time to roleplay (hence this fun, fun stuff), but it's honestly less time consuming when you're only writing for one character. But anywhos, this is a surprisingly good crossover, in my opinion...the characters of The Joker and Maggie Evans contrast one another quite nicely, so I'm really enjoying how this is turning out. Their relationship is naturally volatile, but slightly tolerant. lol I have a feeling that Dark Shadows will become more popular after Depp's movie (I cannot WAIT!!), but for now...I guess Maggie will be like an OC to you? I've got vids of her on my YT channel, if you're THAT curious. lol The beginning kind of sucks since they were originally one-liners, but then fullblown paragraphs came about later on. It's kind of a dramedy, so I'm enjoying it thus far. Anywhos, I'll shut up now...enjoy! ;)

CO-WRITTEN WITH MELISSA

CH 1: An Unwelcome Stranger

Despite Maggie Evans' chipper disposition, the dark clouds gathering over the moon led her to believe that it wasn't going to be a very beautiful night. She'd just finished visiting the town fair, and had won herself a ridiculous-looking stuffed hippo. Rather pleased with her loot, she barely even realized that she'd knocked into someone until she saw the stranger catch her hippo, then return it to her with an eerie amount of silence.

"Oh! I-I'm so sorry, I…thank you" she pitifully returned, now taking the stuffed animal with a strained smile.

The man in question was covered by the shadow of the night, yet his voice was rather unnerving as he demanded, "Well thank me for what, beautiful? Most "normal" people don't, uh...thank me for my services." Giggling, he added, "I swear, the world these days...they're full of nothing but ingrates!"

Bemused, Maggie returned, "I-I meant thank you for picking up my stuffed animal… It's a silly little trinket, I know, but I just won it at the fair, and my little niece will so enjoy..." Suddenly seeing the man move into the eerie glow of the streetlamp, she froze in her tracks and gave an audible gasp.

"Wait, uh...this is a toy?" the painted man asked, giving it a disappointed look. "I was actually hoping it had some type of explosive device in it..." Shaking it next to his ear, he sighed when he didn't hear anything while mumbling, "Ah well, can't get everything we want in life, now can we?" When Maggie recoiled, he cruelly taunted, "Ahhh, so you're just like all the other little bunnies around here, are you? Are you, uh...afraaaaid of me? Is it the scars?" Glancing down at his hand, he pursed his lips. "Well, I suppose it could be my knife, but I always like to ask that question first. Makes people, uh...uncomfortable."

Clicking his tongue as he watched her movements, the Joker found that this area was already proving to be quite promising. In truth, he'd wanted to look into a new weapon that a dealer in Maine was providing, so in order to get to said destination, he needed to travel through the sleepy little town of Collinsport. Originally he'd thought it was a dud, but things were finally proving to be worthy of his interest.

Trembling violently, Maggie weakly offered, "I-I have money… It's not much, but you are welcome to what I have."

"Money?" Giggling, the Joker bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, shaking his head as he chided, "Beautiful, what do I look like, a vending machine? What could I possibly do with your money, hmm? I mean, do I actually look like someone who could go around spending cash at a convenient store? They wouldn't let me five feet through the door before calling security!" Chuckling, he twirled his blade and shook his head. "No...no. I like chaos, feeeeear, and blood. Know where I can find those things, by chance?"

Maggie's pocketbook slipped from her shoulder and fell to the sidewalk with a thud. She reached behind her, grappling wildly but her fingers only met the cold steel of the streetlamp, which she gripped for some semblance of salvation. She let her weight rest against it, as her knees were suddenly giving way. Her large brown eyes followed the glint of steel as the strange man brandished the blade for her benefit. Her lip trembled.

"What is it that you want?" she asked, his earlier words not quite registering.

The Joker giggled as he watched this foolish, yet deliciously predictable woman scurry after her pocketbook like a little frightened rodent, her movements flighty and unsure as she finally gave up and grabbed onto the streetlamp. "What is it I want?" he asked, genuinely uncertain. "Why is it you people always think I want something, hmm? Is it against the law for a guy like me to go take a walk and enjoy the cool night air?"

Taking a step forward, the clown prince relished in her fear. Fear was such a soothing, beautiful emotion, much like a kaleidoscope that led to deeper facets of one's soul. Reaching out and giving her cheek a mocking pat, he giggled when she recoiled and trembled harder, his face moving in toward hers as he asked, "Well what's the matter, kitten? I'm not going to hurt you...unless, of course, you give me a reason to do so. I mean, I may be a bad guy and all, but I don't necessarily enjoy hurting pretty little bunnies such as yourself. In fact, something about your eyes reminds me of this love-uh-ly creature I had to do away with mere years ago. She had a looot of fight in her, but she had a Bat and a White Knight who worshiped the very ground she walked on, and that was her downfall. I needed that extra push to leave her pursuers grappling with their own sanity, and you know what? Things didn't end so well for her, but they sure did for me!"

With a delighted cackle, the Joker began bouncing up and down as he danced around her with glee.

It occurred to Maggie she might flee, she might relinquish her grip on the streetlamp and bolt, screaming in terror, whilst the horrifying court jester pivoted and bounced, cackling. But he was sinewy and had the jerky, manic movements of a killer. She might stumble. She might break a heel, giving him just enough leeway to plunge that awful dagger into her back. Her eyes darted to a phone booth, just visible beyond the man's greasy curls. It seemed miles away. She could never make it.

"But I think you know I'm not her, don't you?" Maggie heard herself saying. She licked her lips. "I've done nothing to you. I was merely walking home... Y-you should let me go, shouldn't you? I'll say nothing. I give you my...my word."

Maggie was conscious of her chest heaving like a frantic sparrow's. She was immediately sorry for speaking, for the assailant seemed buoyed by her pathetic, cloying phrasings. His racoonish eyes riveted on her and he seemed to swirl the words in his mouth, tasting them. In the lamp light Maggie couldn't tell if his mouth were deformed or merely smeared with some ritualistic make-up, like the Emo kids that threw rocks at the museum where she volunteered. She tried not to look, but her eyes kept moving back to that fiendish mouth. That horrid chasm she was sure was about to spout her verdict, and send her to Heaven...or his Hell.

"What, you think I'm crazy?" the Joker asked, giving a mocking flutter of the lashes. "Come now, peaches, I already told you that you re-mind me of someone, thus insinuating that I know you aren't the Ghost of Christmas Past. And true, you've done nothing to me that I can recall, but I'm sure you're like all the other schmucks in this pathetic hellhole." Tapping his blade against his thigh, he sneered while adding, "Tell me this, sugar lump: if you were to see me dying in the streets, would you help me? Or would you merely give me a passing glance, look the other way, and then continue on as if you'd never seen anything? 'Cause, uh...I hate to be the bearer of bad news and all, but most of society would opt for the latter. That's not to say that there aren't any good people -- in fact, some are sickeningly good -- but what it all boils down to is that every man is out here for himself. If some Joe Blow were to walk down this street, do you honestly think he'd come to your aid?" With a giggle, the Joker twirled his blade and shook his head. "Dream on, gum drop! In this day and age, no one wants to get their hands dirty, anymore...everyone takes joy in stepping on the little man. There was once a time when I was a good person, but those days have looong been over." Noting how her panicked gaze kept flickering toward his scarlet maw, the Joker chuckled and seized her by the lapels of her coat, yanking her forward with a rough tug that caused her to momentarily lose her footing. Gliding his tongue across his lips, he bared his yellowed teeth in a sneer as he purred, "What's so in-ter-es-ting about my scars, hmm? Do they...re-pulse you? Do they make you consider me a monster?"

"Oh, God!" The words expelled from Maggie's lungs as her body slammed against his. She jerked her face away, her lips narrowly missing the fiendish painted ones that now hovered near her cheek, so close in fact she could feel his hot breath in whistling puffs. She pushed at his chest for a moment but realizing he held her fast, soon exhibited her palms in an attitude of surrender. Her eyes were large and panicked; so bright the gold around her irises could be discerned in the lamp light.

She could not get her footing and even if she could the man had fairly lifted her off the ground and was holding her aloft, supported only by the polyester lapels of her stylish blue trench coat. When the threads began to rip she felt one arm snake around the small of her back, keeping her from crumbling to the sidewalk. Struck mute as she was, any stray passersby might mistake them for lovers wrestling playfully, if indeed they couldn't see the ghastly face so near her own.

Maggie did not know what to do. Finally, when she could gather enough air, she spoke with her mouth close to his ear, and as gently as she could muster. "I am not one of those people. Not that I am perfect, mind you, but I would help you if...if you needed help. Is that what this is about? Do you need help, sir? Because perhaps...perhaps I can..." The words failed her and she began to sob, dropping her face into the shoulder of his garish purple coat.

Laughing uproariously when Maggie began to beat against his chest, he effortlessly thwarted her movements and pinned her against the fence beneath the streetlamp. She was so comically walleyed that he bit back several giggles, his left hand keeping her in place as his right tapped his blade against her cheek. The moment she offered to help, however, the Joker no longer felt as charitable as he once had. If there was anything he hated in society, it was pity. He did not need someone's pathetic attempts at assuaging his soul -- if he even had one any longer -- and he most certainly didn't need help from this tiny slip of a girl.

Annoyed when Maggie burst into tears, the Joker gave a low growl and moved his face in front of hers. "Look at me" he urged, keeping his voice low and even. When Maggie didn't respond right away, he gave a snarl and barked, "Look at me!" This seemed to do the trick, and he felt that lovely sense of control slipping back into his grasp as her honeyed gaze met with his. Her fear only seemed to be magnified by her tears, his left hand now curling into her locks before yanking her head roughly to the side. Pressing his blade firmly against her throat, he felt his breath come out harshly as he demanded, "Playing the sympathy card, are you? Trying to rub elbows with a freak? Or maybe, just maybe, you're hoping to get brownie points for your community service group?" With a dry laugh, he gestured roughly to his scars while asking, "Do I really look like a guy who needs your help? I've lived on my own for years, sugar pie, so I think I know a thing or two about survival. You, on the other hand, seem to need a lesson in manners."

"I didn't mean...I didn't know..." Maggie's words became incoherent sobs. When her head bobbed she felt the arm around her waist tighten and jostle her against the braided wire fence. She snapped to attention, suddenly aware that hysterics would only hasten her fate. "If you are trying to terrify me, you've quite succeeded. There...happy now? I can't escape. And you've just told me you need no help, so what more do you want? Because sooner or later someone is going to find us. Do you want my blood on your hands in addition to all your obvious...misfortune?"

Maggie closed her eyes slowly. Her words rang hollow to her very soul.

In actuality, the Joker was happy with her confession. Terror was like a drug to him, feeding the beast within until it blossomed into the blood-letting monster everyone was convinced he was. If he wasn't careful, he'd lose himself in his natural high and break his new toy...

Chuckling darkly, the Joker rolled his eyes to the left, and then again to his right before asking, "Someone's going to come find us, eh? Didn't you hear my earlier lecture that no one will come to your rescue? This isn't a fairytale, sweetness, so I'm afraid you won't have some knight riding in on a white horse. Maybe some Joe Blow might come riding up in a Pinto of some sort, but it's veeeery doubtful." Clicking his tongue, he added, "Why do you want to help me anyway, hmm? I mean, people like you are the ones who really get on my nerves. You search for all the answers in life, but for what? To alleviate your misery by solving someone else's problems?" Shaking his head, the Joker smugly observed, "Sorry, toots, but in the end you're just trying to prove that you're not completely worthless. You hold onto your only shred of hope by saving a life, but again, for what purpose?"

Quirking a brow at her last statement, he chuckled while asking, "Obvious misfortune? Is that what they call my condition, nowadays? And as for the whole 'blood on my hands' scenario, I can assure you that I'm not the slightest bit bothered by the idea of bathing in your blood."

Maggie struggled to swallow his words, like a bitter tonic. She opened her eyes slowly and leveled them on him. "Alright, I won't help you. I was merely trying to bargain, is that what you want to hear? It seems pretty obvious I'm incapable of being anything but your victim, so I ask you...why haven't you killed me yet?"

The Joker's smile gradually vanished from his features. He could feel his control starting to slip, because whenever his victims tended to fight back, they were no longer afraid of him. He honestly didn't know why he hadn't killed her yet -- it would be so easy, after all -- so perhaps he should just do as she asked. Forcing his lips to quirk upward into a grin he didn't feel, he chuckled dryly and asked, "So are you, uh...re-questing that I kill you? 'Cause I'd hate to deny such a looooovely lady her innermost desires. You didn't strike me as the type willing to end it all, but I'm flexible." Tapping his knife against her cheek, he reveled in the sight of her fear reflecting off the stainless steel, his hand just itching to tear the blade through her soft, supple flesh. She seemed like the type who someone would miss -- who someone would mourn if she were to die, so that made her blood all the more tempting. It always seemed as if the blood of the innocent was always the most rewarding, after all, and this particular female seemed beyond innocent...naive, even.

Leaning forward, he smugly purred, "What, aren't you going to fight back? How disappointing..." With a sigh, he took a slight step back while remarking, "Now that I think about it, you aren't like her at all...she would at least struggle to her last breath. Don't you value your life, beautiful? Don't you want to live?"

When he released her and stepped back, Maggie's legs gave way and she crumpled to his feet, her knee landing in a murky puddle that held his rippling, victorious reflection. She gave a soft cry and settled back on her haunches, messaging stinging palms speckled with dirt and bits of asphalt. There were only inches between them, but for a brief moment Maggie once again entertained the idea of flight, her soft, girlish face jerking right and left. Then her eyes settled back upon the blade he gripped in his hand, rotating the hilt with his grimy thumb.

"Of course I want to live," she said to the blade. "Is that what you want? Will begging help? Could it ever possibly make a difference to someone...like...?"

She shook the rest of the words away, sensing futility.

With a dramatic sigh, the Joker leaned forward and yanked Maggie back up to her feet, her limbs flailing in a comical fashion before he righted her on the sidewalk. "There, now...rather hard to talk whenever you're on the ground, don't you think?" Chuckling at her pitiful expression, he scratched his cheek with a gloved hand, then gave a shrug of his broad shoulders. "Begging rather annoys me, but I suppose I just wanted to see if you viewed your life to be as meaningless as it actually is, or if you're still one of those naive, hopelessly optimistic twits who believes everyone shits rainbows."

Now straightening his stance, the Joker found that even when he was hunched over he still towered over this foolish beauty, his lips pursing as he urged, "Tell me this, peaches...do you have a husband? Someone who'd just die if you didn't come home tonight?"

The man's words cut her to the core. Her face dissembled as a parade of lost loves flickered behind her doe-like eyes: her mother so long ago, then her father and finally Joe ...lost to her forever in mind, if not in spirit. There was no one at the cottage to await her return. No one. And with the Collinses, her employers, away at seaside, she might be dead for days before anyone troubled to notice. It occurred to her she might lie, she might tell this creature there was someone waiting at that very moment, and had most likely called out the entire police force in search of her. But she could not muster the resolve. Instead she closed her eyes slowly and shook her head. When she lifted her face to him again, a single tear glistened like a pear shaped diamond, then made a salty rivulet down her cheek.

"No..." she whispered. "There is no one."

The Joker was eagerly awaiting her response, ready to pounce and further pour salt in the wounds by promising to harm her loved ones, but when she uttered the simple negation, he found that he was genuinely stunned. Normally he was quite good at reading people, and he had been so sure that she was the type who received love and affection on a daily basis. How could he have misjudged her?

Frustrated by this unexpected turn of events, the Joker moved to speak when he suddenly found that he could no longer think straight, the flicker of a long-repressed memory tearing away at his subconscious like a hovering demon. Blood covered the kitchen floor, two women -- one being a small child -- lying their with their mouths agape in a look of horror. Each had a Glasgow smile akin to his own, only he was the only one alive and whimpering alongside them like a frightened puppy.

'Please don't let daddy hurt me anymore, Jack...'

'I won't, angel.'

Snarling, the Joker shoved Maggie roughly back against the fence and tore at his hair with his free hand. His control...it was slipping away like before, only this time he didn't care. All he wanted was to maim, hurt, kill...

Maggie bolted. She could barely see through her stinging eyes but still she ran, her heels echoing in the silent street. She realized her purse, with her car keys within, still lay beside the streetlamp. There was no turning back. When she reached the end of the fence she grabbed the post, swinging herself around the corner and into the field where at daybreak the Collinsport Junior High Band would practice woefully. Would they find her body in the reedy edges of the playing field?

The manicured grass was sopping from the earlier rain, sucking at her shoes until she felt as if she were traveling in slow motion. Her lungs ached. If she could make it across the field she would be back among civilization, where the teeming masses ate cotton candy and promptly expelled it on carnival rides. If she could only make the clearing...

The Joker found that he barely even noticed Maggie's departure, for all he could see was the smiling, sunny disposition of his little sister. She'd been the only silver lining in his endlessly stormy life, but once she was gone, he left, too. Not literally, of course, but he could sense that he was no longer "there" during certain parts of the day. When he was particularly driven by bloodlust, he knew it wasn't him inhabiting his body anymore, but his painted alter ego. And yet, did he really want to re-awaken the man inside? Either path led to his inevitable destruction, so it was best to just live life on the edge and pray that he'd go out with a bang opposed to some pitiful, meaningless death following his equally meaningless life.

Finally spotting the purse by the lamp post, the Joker bent over and lifted it into his hand before spilling the contents across the sidewalk. Riffling through her belongings, he finally found what he was looking for and read her ID. "Maggie Evans....in-ter-es-tiiiing" he purred, making note of her current place of residence. With a dark grin, he placed everything back into the purse before rising and making his way down the darkened streets of Collinsport. The grounds were as dead as his heart, but this town was notorious for having few inhabitants.

Swinging the purse back and forth, he briefly giggled once he realized how ridiculous he must look, but he knew he'd been in more 'embarrassing' predicaments than carrying someone's purse. Checking the ID one last time, he looked up at the establishment before him and shrugged. "Hmm, must be it...guess she's just another rich bitch." Practically skipping to the door, he eagerly awaited her response as he gave a spirited knock.

When Maggie heard the rapping at the door she dropped the alcohol soaked cotton ball she was using to dab the blood from her knee. She hobbled down the grand staircase of Collinwood. She had gone there half hoping one of the servants, even Mrs. Johnson, had remained behind. The house was deserted. Most of the household staff had gone with the eccentric millionaires to the summer house, leaving Maggie to look after things. She was alone with only the prospect of Willie Loomis, servant at the Old House, as her protector, but she knew he would not come that night. He was most likely at the Blue Whale, drinking up the modest wage Barnabas Collins provided. Still, Collinwood was a stronger fortress than her little cottage, and she had slammed the double doors with sobs of relief. Then she had called Sheriff Patterson.

Hearing the Sheriff's brisk knock quickened her heart and she yanked at the double bolts, calling out, "Yes, yes, I'm here, Sheriff, I –"

The night air that lifted her hair was cool for summer, but not nearly as chilling as the two eyes that peered into hers.

"Oh, God no!" Maggie shrieked and threw her body against the door.

"Ooh-hoo, hey, watch the face!" the Joker exclaimed, giggling as he caught the door from completely slamming shut. Wedging his foot in between the small crevice, he leaned in so he could see her terrified gaze and cheekily lifted her purse. "Miss this?" he crowed, sneering at the look of recognition on her face. "I, uh...only came by to drop this off, seeing how you left in such a hurry. Someone needs to teach you some manners, gum drop!"

Swinging the purse to and fro by the strap, he waited with an air of nonchalance for her to open the door...if she would open the door, that is. As he stared back at her, he noticed her eyes had suddenly gone down toward his midsection, and he followed her gaze and gave a small curse. He was bleeding through his vest, so it appeared that he'd re-opened his stitches again. With a heavy sigh, he gestured behind Maggie while asking, "You got any string or needles in there? I, uh...seem to be in need of a slight repair."

Maggie had never been one to stomach the sight of blood. She peered over her white knuckles that gripped the door frame, blinked with terror as the man glared back with hollow eyes, even winking as blood dotted the stoop like paint. She struggled to keep her strength, mentally calculating whether she could kick his boot away and lock him out. She could feel her stocking-covered feet sliding on the hardwood floor as the man's upper body pressed in.

"If I give you medical supplies will you leave?" She bargained weakly. "I have called the Sheriff. If you take them and go, I won't turn you in. You have my word, but you will have to hurry."

"You called the donut hounds? HA!" the Joker ridiculed, swaying slightly as he gave a giggle. "I'm good at hiding, so if I stitch myself up here, do you think I could hide under the rug, or something?" Chuckling, he clicked his tongue while assuring her, "Don't worry, sugar lump, I'm not interested in hurting you. We've had our fun for tonight, so I figured I'd save it for another day. In a re-lationship, you need to take things slow, after all!"

Laughing at his own joke, the clown prince mulled her prospect over and nodded. "Yeeeah, sure...I don't really need to be here, anyway. I just figured I needed a niiice, long vacation from the Bat and the exhaust fumes. That stuff messes with your brain." With a giggle, he pressed a hand against his midsection with a grunt, his painted brows furrowing as he hoped that it would somewhat staunch the blood.

In retrospect Maggie would never understand what prompted her to relax and step back, letting the man slide into the foyer like a serpent. Something made her believe him. Perhaps if she humored him, he wouldn't return later on and slit her throat. Whatever the reason, Maggie had never turned away the sick or wounded, especially during all those years of nursing her mother when she was a mere slip of a girl. When her mother had died, she'd cursed her inadequacy, even considered becoming a nurse herself, but by then what was the point, really? Was this what all those life lessons were leading to? This test of wills with a madman bleeding on her stoop? What cruel irony.

"Come to the kitchen. You won't have to climb the stairs that way." Maggie started to touch his elbow, recoiled visibly, and instead gestured to the door beneath the landing. They moved down a narrow corridor to Mrs. Johnson's well appointed kitchen, where Maggie pulled out a Captain's chair for him to sit near the light. She took a dishtowel and twisted it in her hands a moment, suddenly shy of him again. When he gave her a crooked grin, she knelt before him, trembling.

"Let's take a look, shall we?"

Maggie gingerly touched the crimson stain that radiated on his green vest like a blooming rose. Bright red.

The Joker chuckled under his breath, enjoying how she practically tripped over herself to avoid touching him. "Don't worry, I'm not full of 'scary, festering diseases'" he assured her, grinning as he followed her toward the kitchen. He could feel his wound beginning to rip and strain, his teeth gritting as he pressed his hand more snugly against the injury. Damn heists...sometimes they weren't worth the effort.

Plopping down into the offered chair, the Joker resisted the urge to kick off his shoes and get comfortable as she crouched down in front of him. Quirking a brow, he flinched slightly from her touch. "What are you doing?" he demanded, suddenly appearing a tad uncomfortable. He didn't like being touched, especially near his face. "I can do it myself" he assured her, swatting her hand away and moving back further in his seat. Sending her one last distrusting glance, the Joker grumbled to himself as he shrugged out of his coat and placed it on the back of his chair. With nimble fingers, he then unfastened his vest and the bottom of his honeycombed shirt, a growl escaping his lips when he saw the torn thread and his gaping wound. "Hmm...not as bad as I thought" he admitted, "but it could still use some work. Got any fishing wire, or something stronger than yarn?"

Maggie gave him a horrified look, but rummaged through the kitchen drawers nonetheless. She found the fishing line that Mrs. Johnson used for God knows what. A quick dip into the apron hanging on the wall peg produced a cushion sporting a variety of needles. These she handed to the man, then sat slowly in the chair facing him. As his fingers probed the bleeding mass, she was compelled to rise again, averting her gaze.

She opened an upper cabinet and sat a bottle of whiskey beside him. "I think you are going to need this," she said, twisting it open. "This is Quentin's special brand. It is quite good."

When he gave no answer, Maggie took alcohol and disinfectant from under the sink and soaked another dishtowel. "You need to clean the wound, don't you?" Her brow wrinkled when his surly features turned up at her. She never knew from one moment to the next if kindness would enchant or infuriate him.

When Maggie sat the whiskey down beside him, suggesting that he actually needed it, the Joker shrugged his shoulders and took a drink straight from the bottle. As his eyes lolled to the side, he noticed her shocked, yet disapproving gaze as he wiped the back of his mouth and set the whiskey back down. "Thanks" he muttered, "I really did need that." Noticing her hovering over him like a little moth drawn to the flame, he snapped, "Sit down already, wouldja? You're blocking my light."

Swiping the dish towel before Maggie sat down, the Joker's tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth as he began to dab at his wound, various portions of the gash beginning to clot while others continued to bleed. After he'd disinfected the wound in a half-assed fashion --he never was one for personal hygiene--the Joker took the offered needle and fishing wire while mumbling, "You mentioned earlier that you had no one....forgive me for being a skeptic, but I find that veeeery hard to believe. You seem, uh...too nice to be all alone in this cruel, unforgiving little world. Now that you know I'm not going to kill you, you can tell me the truth."

Maggie's features clouded. "There was someone once... Joe. He's at Wyndcliff now. Nervous exhaustion they call it. But I suppose you know that that's a euphemism for…" Maggie's eyes darted away. She didn't know why she had just made such a personal revelation. She had been in denial about Joe for so long. Perhaps it was facing death that night, or believing she had, that prompted such a reality check. She knew Joe would probably never recover. She had known that for a year now.

She watched him moving the needle slowly through his pale skin, the blood oozing through each stitch like teardrops. She swallowed back her nausea, considered taking a swig of the whiskey, but was afraid of losing her faculties around this man. Instead she put her palms together and leaning forward, wedging them between her knees. In her discomfort her feet curled up on their toes, and she began to fidget, her pretty legs bobbing up and down until he shot her an impatient look. She stilled, chewing her bottom lip and watching the slow pull of his fingers as he laced the wound. Now and again he swore softly, breaking the silence, and Maggie would wince in unison. Finally she could stand it no more, grabbed the bottle and took a tentative, dainty swig. She coughed and laid the back of her hand against her lips. "Forgive me," she whispered, realizing her quick movement had caused him to jab one of the fingers he used to squeeze the wound shut.

"Sooo, the men in white are saying he's crazy" the Joker confirmed, nodding without raising his gaze from his wound. "Trust me, I know that diagnosis better than the back of my hand. Just because I think 'differently', just because I believe that this world is corrupt, I'm automatically marked as a danger to society." Pursing his lips, he slyly confessed, "Weeeell, I suppose I am a danger to society, but we don't need to get into that right now. I'd like to think of myself as 'Gotham's Little Helper', 'cause 'killer' is such a strong word."

With a chuckle, the Joker noticed how pale Maggie's face had gotten, yet he decided not to tease her lest she vomit straight on his pants. He'd just dry-cleaned them, after all. Clicking his tongue, he finally looked up at her while prodding, "No parents, eh? I mean, uh...if you had them, I assume you would've mentioned them by now. You seem far too 'polite' to have been estranged from them, after all." Deciding not to interject that he didn't have any parents either, he pinched his wound more firmly closed to better enable his actions. When Maggie reached for the whiskey, he accidentally jabbed himself and swore softly. Tight-lipped and annoyed, he chose to say nothing to her apology since he was just thankful that she hadn't tried to touch him again. She didn't need to see all the scars that peppered his torso, or to dote on him like some pitiful little mother hen. He'd been alone for so many years that he was accustomed to taking care of himself. He didn't need to change his ways now.

Maggie's eyes puddled as if she'd been slapped, but she was surprised by the relative calm in which she responded, "Well, we all have parents…or at least …had them. My mother died years ago. 'Pop', my Father, died just a few months ago, actually. It's been…very hard."

She saw him stiffen at the mention of the word "father," and busied herself with the discarded dish towel, folding it over and moving to dab at his abdomen. When he jerked from her, she met his angry stare with gentle patience. "I assure you, I haven't any 'festering diseases', either. Come now, let me help you. It's gotten so bad you can't see what you are doing." She touched the wound again, letting the terry cloth absorbed the gore as she smiled ruefully. "After a while, it doesn't even seem like blood anymore, does it? Just…red."

She went to the sink, rinsed and twisted both cloths, then returned to him. Finally the wound was sewn as one long, jagged, but tightly closed line. "There," she said soothingly. "Much better. Very good." She said the words in the same tone she used for David, her pupil, when he solved a particularly difficult equation. When she smiled up at him, her smile was soft and genuine.

The Joker gripped his fist at the mentioning of Maggie's father, but not because he knew her actual father. He also felt a momentary sense of sorrow at the thought of his own mother, but he ignored it as he listened to her speak. "I'm, uh...I'm sorry" he muttered, truly not knowing what to say. He was never good at consoling people, but he felt as if it were the natural thing to respond with. Anxiously chewing on his scars, he muttered, "My mother died when I was 15, and then my dad died the same day.....as well as my little sister." Noting Maggie's questioning look, he grinned crookedly while explaining, "I killed him. And before you call me a monster, just know that he had it coming."

When Maggie tried to dab at his wound, the Joker gave a defensive snarl at her actions, only to sigh in resignation when she assured him he needed help. Begrudgingly allowing her to do her handiwork, he smirked slightly while agreeing, "Yeeeeah, kinda beautiful, huh? I've always enjoyed the sight of blood. There's something so....freeing about it."

After Maggie had cleaned off his wound, the Joker stared numbly down at the injury and sighed. He knew that it would scar like all his other injuries, thus assisting in the map of destruction that was his skin.

"It's going to leave a terrible scar, I'm afraid." Maggie sighed, as if reading his thoughts. She traced the line without touching it. "Men are lucky, though. Scars are a rite of passage, mapping their masculinity. For women? Just a blemish." She curled up her knee and ran her finger around the hole in her stocking, ringing the red scrape she'd received earlier in the night. She pursed her lips and blew on the injury, like a trusting, vulnerable child who believed in such cures. When she looked up again the man's eyes were following the line of her calf, and the shapely thigh easily revealed by her short dress. She lowered her leg and primly tugged at her skirt, which did little good.

A loud knocking at the kitchen door made Maggie cry out and jump to her feet. She locked eyes with the man.

"They're here already," she whispered. Her eyes were round as she debated what to do, or what he would allow her to do. Before he could respond, she put the bottle of whiskey into his hand and began whisking the dishtowel across the linoleum. She opened the pantry door and tossed the bloodied towel into the bin, motioning for the man to step inside. "Stay quiet. And for goodness sakes, don't harm him!" She closed the pantry door and twisted the knob at the stoop, squinting into the glare of the porch bulb.

"You alright, Miss Evans? I saw the light and came around back." Officer Davenport, deputy in training, stepped into the kitchen, rotating his cap in his hands. Maggie spoke before he could take out his notepad.

"I feel like such a hysteric for bothering you, but I'm much calmer now. I just got spooked when I came back to find the house quiet, especially after…well…"

Davenport's eyes scanned the room and halted on Maggie's open pocketbook lying on the kitchen table. "I thought you told Patterson your purse was –"

"Attempted to be stolen, yes, I did." Maggie twisted her hands. "He yanked so hard I fell to the ground." She showed her knee as evidence. "I was quite rattled and ran for shelter, and I was lucky to still be so near…near the carnival." She attempted a smile and gripped the counter for support. "Some mischievous teenager from the fair, no doubt, out for beer money. I never even saw his face."

"Then how do you –?"

"Just a feeling" Maggie chimed in, her voice quivering with forced assurance. "But if I remember something more, may I call tomorrow? I'm terribly exhausted." She waited until Davenport nodded slowly and moved towards the door.

"Sure thing, Miss Evans, you just call if you need us. Or if you want, I can stop by tomorrow and – "

"No need, but I'll be sure to call if I need you. Goodnight, Officer." She pushed the wary policeman out the door and leaned against it, her chest rising and falling. She cut her eyes towards the pantry. "Alright. It's safe." The pantry door creaked open and the man sidled into view. He yanked the string igniting the naked bulb that hung within, illuminating his ghastly features with an odd slant of yellow light. Maggie swallowed uneasily, suddenly unsure if she had done the right thing, resigning herself to an evening alone with this …thing. She struggled to make her voice even. "I can't believe he bought that. I'm such a terrible liar…" Maggie cupped her warm, flushed cheeks in her hands.

The Joker hadn't even had time to tease Maggie for her prudishness when she was suddenly at his side, yanking him to his feet and ushering him toward the pantry. "Alright, alright, watch it will ya? I'm precious cargo!" he acknowledged, grumbling to himself as she practically shoved him into the darkness. He naturally didn't mind though, because darkness was like a security blanket to him. It hid his ghastly features from the world, and aided him in his attacks against his enemies.

Before long, the inquisitive voice of a man reached the Joker's ears, and he strained to hear Maggie's anxious response. Sighing in disgust, he realized that it might take a while to scare the officer off, considering what a terrible liar she was. He could discern the catch in her voice, and it reminded him of the victims who continuously pleaded for their pathetic lives. Thinking of it in that vein pleased him, but since he knew she wasn't his victim any longer, it rather grated on his nerves since he didn't need to be thrown in some pitiful little prison.

Rather stunned when he realized Maggie had managed to get rid of the policeman, the Joker slowly opened the door and smirked as he leaned against the molding. As he switched on the light, he could tell that the sight of his sallow complexion considerably unnerved her, and it made him grin even wider. "What's wrong, am I only tolerable by candle light?" he teased, now exiting the pantry with a cheery whistle. "Although you're a terrible liar, I guess that guy's just a fool. There seem to be plenty of those around these days."

Realizing that he was a lot taller than Maggie than he'd remembered, the Joker hunched his shoulders a bit so he didn't dwarf her nearly as much. Shoving his hands into his pants pockets, he nodded once while acknowledging, "I suppose I misjudged you once again m'dear, but you've earned my respect. It's rather rare to meet people willing to abide by their word these days."

Maggie recoiled against the door, blinking her eyes nervously. She lifted her chin. "I kept my word because I trust you will keep yours as well. You see, I have another attribute besides hating to lie: I take people at their word. You won't make me sorry for that, will you?"

His cynical smile prompted her to lower her eyes. "That was preachy, I'm sorry… David says I get very pedantic and preachy when I'm tired." When he arched one brow at her, she clarified, "I am David Collins' governess. You see, I live here…most of the time…but I don't own this house." She glanced around and laughed at the irony that he might have supposed all of this for her – wealth, an elevated position in life, security.

There was an uncomfortable silence as his eyes bored into her. Finally she mustered, "Tomorrow is a holiday, so the family and servants will be away." Maggie neglected to mention that the annual last jaunt to the summer house often lasted weeks, depending on how good Roger found the fishing, or Quentin the female tourists. "You may stay on the condition…the condition that you…well, I think you know …"

She couldn't bear his eyes on her any longer, and moved past to the servant's back stairwell. "I can put you in the guest room. It's frilly and grand, but I think rather…sweet." She turned on the narrow, winding stairs to assure him of the sweetness of the room and he thudded into her, nearly knocking her backwards. She gave a little cry and her face colored again. It was amazing how two people so inclined not to touch kept colliding in confined spaces.

The room was indeed a confectionery of burgundies and pinks, most likely the boudoir of some Collins matron who passed from girl to spinsterhood without even the slightest brush with deflowering.

"I'm sure the linens require changing… We get so few guests here. Speaking of which…" Maggie crooked her finger and led him to an adjoining bath that featured an elaborate clawfoot tub, swathed in a pink canopy. She twisted the porcelain faucets and poured pink bath salts into the steaming stream of water. A frothy, rose-scented meringue formed on the water's rising surface. When Maggie turned back to the man he had a "You have got to be kidding" expression on his painted features.

This she acknowledged with, "I cannot let you sleep on Elizabeth Collins Stoddard's sheets bloodied and covered in greasepaint." Maggie had purposefully avoided asking the man about his gruesome makeup, afraid to know the true reason. She continued hurriedly, dipping her fingers, swirling and testing the temperature of his bath. "I can get you some of Roger's pajamas, if you'd like. It will give me a chance to soak your shirt and vest." She stared evenly at him. On this matter she was steadfast. "I know you think me very persnickety and provincial… Perhaps I am, but I find comfort in order. After tonight, I need the comfort of order." She dried her hands on a plush pink towel and folded it neatly beside the tub, adding softly, "Please. Let's at least play at civility, even if you feel none of it."

The Joker had been taking all of Maggie's words in with considerable bewilderment. As he gazed around him at the guest room, he snorted at the sight of the frilly femininity and scrunched his nose in disgust. He'd never been a fan of girly things, but something about this room was oddly comforting. In a way, it reminded him of his sister...his little angel.

Careful not to emote what he was truly feeling, the Joker scratched the back of his head as he wordlessly followed Maggie into the bathroom. When she poured some bath salts into the water, he could no longer keep quiet as he groused, "Ugh, you don't actually expect me to get in there with all that girly shit, do you? I've got a bad boy reputation to keep up, here!"

When Maggie insisted he couldn't sleep in her employer's sheets when he looked like a crime scene, the Joker groaned and dropped his head forward in acquiescence. She was absolutely right, of course, but he still didn't like the idea of smelling like a flower.

Finally speaking again, the Joker snapped, "Civility? What the hell are you talking about? If you're suggesting that you're going to stay here while I get a bath, you're completely out of your mind. Guess the men in white coats should've grabbed you too, while they were at it." Fully aware that his words were hurtful, he prided in the look of pain on Maggie's face as he turned and began to unfasten the row of buttons to his shirt.

Now giving Maggie a snide look over his shoulder, he gruffly added, "If you don't want to see my unmentionables, I suggest you either cover your eyes or get the hell out. I may enjoy being the center of attention and all, but this is just getting ridiculous. My idea of attention consists of blood, mayhem, and chaos, not pretty little bunnies who want to give me a sponge bath."

Cracking his neck, he shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it to the floor with a grunt. Testing his sore muscles by stretching, he looked over his shoulder again and chuckled when he noticed Maggie's averted gaze. In a way he was grateful, because he didn't want her pitying him because of all the scars, burns, and various lacerations that peppered his body like a map of destruction. He just so happened to take pride in his battle scars, so he didn't need Maggie doting over them as if they were something to feel sorry about.

Maggie was only too happy to exit the bathroom before he dropped his trousers. She retreated to her room, a little rattled by the way he alternately insulted her and referred to her as his "pretty little bunny." She leaned in the entrance of her own bath, unhooking her garters and letting the destroyed stockings slip off her tanned, silken legs. She briefly considered taking a bath herself, but thought it made her too vulnerable, luxuriating while a strange man was in the house. Instead, she locked the door and took a quick shower. When she emerged, powdered and lotioned with her hair in two pretty ribbons, she felt like a new girl…or a new bunny, she mused, smiling despite herself.

Having been raised predominately by her father, Maggie had grown into a shy beauty completely unaware of her sexual attractiveness. Her friend Carolyn had taught her to dress, and with that came a taste for fashionable, ultra feminine wear that showed her youthful figure to full advantage. Such was the negligee she chose, more for comfort and sweetness than any inkling of sexuality: a powder blue baby doll nightie, short and billowing from a high waist, topped by a diaphanous chiffon robe. With her pigtails she affected the look of a nine year old ready for her first slumber party, only her curves belied the fact, so much so that when she entered his bathroom again, The Joker couldn't help but do a double take.

"Forgive me for intruding," Maggie stepped lightly, placing the pajamas near the tub. She glanced demurely at him and, noting that the vestiges of the bubble bath covered any indecency, engaged him in conversation as she submerged his shirt and vest in the sink. The warm water immediately showed pink around her fingers as she massaged the fabric.

"I put some bandages and dressings by the bed. We don't want your wound to re-open during the night." She saw him wince as he leaned forward to scoop up the sponge floating near his knees. "Is it very painful?" She bit her bottom lip and whispered to herself, "Stupid question, Maggie." She took a tentative step towards the tub, folding one dripping hand over the other nervously. "I know you don't wish it, but…I can help …if you let me… I used to wash my mother's hair when she became too ill."

While Maggie had been off having her little pampering session, the Joker had formed a sort of entertainment of his own. Poking his toes out of the mass of bubbles, he held his breath and pretended to be a sinking ship, trying not to giggle as he imagined the helpless passengers leaping to their demise as he sank. The Joker had always had an overactive imagination as a child, so his boyish musings weren't anything out of the ordinary for him. Gotham was his playground, after all, so he didn't mind being viewed as a bratty little child so long as he was the one to have the last laugh.

When he resurfaced, the clown prince gave a snarl as the greasepaint bled down into his eyes, air blowing past his lips as he tried to spit out the excess paint and water. "Dammit" he grumbled, rubbing at his burning eyes as he blindly groped for a towel with his free hand. Finally finding it, he lifted it up and wiped at his eyes and mouth, cringing slightly when the cloth rubbed against his scars. Sometimes they actually hurt, and for whatever reason, they felt hyper-sensitive to him at that moment. Scratching his cheek, a cold, sinking feeling suddenly weighed down in his gut when he realized that he was somewhat barefaced. Cursing under his breath, he placed a hand over his eyes and groaned. Maggie had no business seeing the monster beneath the mask, especially since he'd laid that man to rest years ago. All that was left was a beast...a beast ready to drag the whole world down to its knees. After all, if God created man equal, why shouldn't they share in his pain?

Practically jumping out of his skin when Maggie padded into the room, the Joker was about to toss his bar of soap at her and scream about him being a "poor, defenseless virgin", but he froze when he spotted the transformed little prude. She suddenly didn't seem so...uptight anymore, only now he wanted to tease her about looking like a child molester's wet dream. Stifling a laugh, he suddenly remembered his appearance and hurriedly dunked down under the water. He resurfaced so that only his eyes and nose were visible, his painted brows rising as she began to talk. Damn, maybe it was true about women never being able to shut up...

Impatiently waiting for her to leave again, the Joker was dismayed to discover that Maggie didn't plan on going anywhere any time soon, which was only made obvious by her game of 20 Questions. Blowing bubbles in the water, the Joker gave an irritable, yet garbled response that sounded something akin to "Get lost", his eyes rolling skyward as she asked if it was painful. Still not wanting to show her his face, the Joker gave a thumb's up to indicate that hell yes, it hurt, but when Maggie still proved to be persistent, he jerked his hand toward her in a shooing motion. Her next offer, however, caused him to freeze on impulse. What the hell?

Finally surfacing enough so that his lips were visible, the Joker scoffed while snapping, "Do I look that incompetent to you? I'm a big boy, honey bunch, so I don't need anyone washing my hair or painting my toenails passion pink."

Hoping to change the subject, the Joker sullenly gibed, "Where's the rubber ducky, anyway? I can't sing "Rubber ducky, you're the one" if there's no little yellow duck." Sinking back down under his sudsy aegis, the clown prince continued to blow bubbles as he watched her cautiously out of the corner of his eye. He felt as though he couldn't trust her, although a twisted part of him genuinely wanted to.

Although he was the very epitome of insolence, Maggie was amused by the smeared raccoonish eyes peering above the surface of the water; even by his rude gesturing. There seemed a sense of diabolic play about the actions, and for Maggie at that point, any diversion was a welcome one. She crossed her arms.

"You could get next to cleanliness a lot quicker with my help, but if you'd rather soak there until you become a homicidal prune, be my guest. You can stew in your own juices all night. Matters little to me, because I actually have a warm, clean bed to go to."

The Joker harumphed at her response, his teeth grating against one another as he weighed his options. If she helped him, he could get out of the girly-smelling water a lot faster, but on the other hand, if he actually did let her assist him in bathing, she might see his face. Sliding down further underwater, he gave a groan that dispelled into a mini burst of bubbles. Spewing the water from his mouth like a spout, he glared sullenly up at her while shrugging his broad, scarred shoulders. "Fine" he muttered, "but don't bitch at me if you find anything living in my hair. I don't like to bathe, in case you haven't noticed."

"You have made a wise choice." Maggie moved to the end of the tub, pulled up a stool and slowly plucked the sponge from his reluctant hand. She briskly moved the soap against it, a pink flint, until it was a sparkling mass of bubbles and foam.

"Your back is like a sandbox, Mister," she gently teased, moving the sponge across his shoulders and up his grimy neck. There was a lithe, sinewy boyishness about him, powerful muscles evident beneath his taut skin, but the odd pallor gave him a frailty that touched her heart as she squeezed the sponge, sending a cascade of sudsy water down his back. Even in the low amber of the tea lights, she could suddenly discern a network of scars and jagged marks. She could tell many were old scars, perhaps from childhood. Lost in her sympathetic reverie, she ran the sponge along a particularly deep line in his shoulder. He flinched away from her furiously, the water sloshing against the sides of the deep tub.

Maggie pretended not to notice. "I'll do your hair now, yes?" There was an array of tonics and shampoos on the wicker stand, and Maggie squirted a vibrantly red gel into her palms. It also smelled of roses. She whisked her hands together and sank her fingers into his oily, green-dyed locks. It took three passes with the shampoo before the hair slipped silken and glossy between her fingers, the scalp squeaky clean and white. This was just as well, for by the third dunk he'd grown impatient with her ministering and shook his head like a dog, spraying the walls, and Maggie herself. She gave his head one final nudge and pulled herself up.

"The rest you can do yourself," she said, cutting her eyes at him. "I'll get your bed ready."

The sheets she gleefully chose from the airing cupboard were pale pink with a decidedly itchy lace trim. She could still hear him humming and making childish gunfire and conflagration noises as she stripped the bed and tugged on the fitted sheet. She could feel herself growing groggy and impatient as the opposite corner popped free every time she tugged her side. Modern sheets and the ancient beds of Collinwood did not an amicable match make. She had almost accomplished one half of her task when the sheet wrested itself free again, causing her to fall forward on her injured leg and conk her head against the headboard.

"Damn it!" she swore softly, curling into a fetal position and hugging her knee. Why was she doing this? she asked herself, a task that would be so much easier with his help, if only his maddeningly stubborn self would get out of the tub. Suppose he did plan to stay there all night, just to spite her?

Well let him, Maggie fumed, and she hoped he drowned on his grimy bubbles. As she lay there, breathing heavily in her exhausted fury, her eyes blinked and closed. The room became a slit of candle light, then blackness, his out of tune rendition of "Rubber Ducky" echoing in her head. The naked pillow felt soft against her cheek as she succumbed to a deep sleep.

"Ka-BLAM!" Giggling as his fist struck the sudsy water, the Joker watched as a mini tidal wave sloshed over the side and onto the floor. Peering down at the mess, his mouth formed into a pseudo-innocent 'O' before he shrugged it off and went back to playing with his sponge, making it absorb as much water as possible before suddenly giving a mocking bat of his lashes. "The rest you can do yourself" he mimicked in a high-pitched, gratingly irritating girl's voice. Rolling his eyes over his inner musings, he muttered something about refusing to clean the rest of his body, his head now turning so he could glance over his shoulder. To his relief, the door was still shut, but the noisy broad was disconcertingly...well...not so noisy.

With a begrudging groan, he hoisted himself out of the tub, but not without spilling another wave of water onto the floor. Making a face at the sight of the pink towel that awaited him, he scrubbed himself off from head to toe before carefully avoiding the large puddle at his feet. Grabbing his pin-striped pants (he refused to wear those girly pajamas), his tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth as he began to stick one leg in while he balanced himself on one foot, his balancing act soon turning into a fit of hopping before he toppled over and fell against the sink. "Son of a..." Biting his lip, he rubbed his now sore elbow before irritably completing the surprisingly bothersome task of dressing. "Might as well've gone naked" he grumbled, sending his wet shirt and vest a rueful look. He hoped they dried soon.

Wrapping the pink towel around his neck, the Joker realized he probably appeared to be the ultimate paradigm of femininity, considering how he was wearing purple pants, now had flowery, freshly-washed hair, and a doofy, fuzzy pink towel draped across his shoulders. Pursing his lips at the rather unpleasant realization, he was about to head toward the bed when he stopped dead in his tracks. Maggie was spread out across the mattress in the ultimate picture of serenity, her full lips parted in a delicate pout that made her seem more childlike and innocent than ever.

With a sigh, the Joker scratched the back of his head and fell at a momentary loss of what to do. Should he wake her? He didn't know where else to sleep, after all... But on the other hand, if he did wake her up, that meant she'd start talking again.

Cringing at the thought, the Joker uneasily tried to crawl over top of her, but tripped over one of her long legs and landed face-first against a large, fluffy pillow. "Ow" he grumbled, not even bothering to raise his head as he gave a long, resigned grunt. He was afraid he'd woken her, and if he had, he was surely in for it now.

Deciding to beat her to the punch, the Joker rolled over and cheekily asked, "Couldn't wait to get into bed with me, eh? 'Cause if you were that eager, all you had to do was ask!" With a giggle at her rapidly blushing cheeks, he mockingly fluttered his lashes before diving under the covers like a child at a slumber party. His feet were now where his head should be, but his voice was still audible as he called out, "Are you going to lie there hogging the blankets all night, or are you going to scoot over? I don't care if it's away or toward me, so long as I get my blankets."

Maggie heard little of what he said. The first words were lost in the panicked fog that cleared when she saw his black-smudged eyes peering across the pillow at her. The rest when the billowing covers stung her eyes as he dove beneath them. She began to kick and gasp, "Get off me, get off me!", even though he was nowhere on her per se, just disturbingly close. She rolled over onto the floor, crawled to the corner and hugged herself.

"You are vile," she chastised him, her brow knitting in a way that made her even more girlish and cute. "You didn't have to get into bed with me. You could have awakened me. Did you really think I was…waiting for you, inviting you to…oh you're such a…a man!" Maggie dug her heels into the Oriental rug, folded her arms over her knees and hid her crimson face.

Even though it certainly wasn't helping his situation, the Joker began rolling with laughter at her comical response, his body thrashing beneath the sheets amidst his giggle fit before he finally surfaced and peered out at her with a broad grin. "Lady, do you really think I came here to play Procreation? I was trying to get in bed to sleep, not to peek underneath your nightie." Smothering another cackle, he relished in her humility as he sat up, his arms draping across his knees as he tried to calm down.

Women were so predictable. Just because they figured men wanted "one thing" didn't mean that they actually did. When he'd calmed down to a considerable degree, he sent her a cheeky grin while slyly assuring her, "I am not like most men, peaches, so you can just re-lax. The only thing remotely manly about me is I enjoy belching every now and then. But other than that?" He shrugged. "I'm just, uh...different, I suppose. That's not to say I'm like women either, because I think I'd rather hang myself with my tie… No offense, of course."

Maggie shot him a withering look. "Trust me, at this particular moment I am not enjoying being a woman, either!" She rose and started for the door, but something caught her attention. Across the far pillow there was a long, black streak from the ridiculous greasepaint he insisted on using to keep his face masked from her. "Look at that," Maggie said with heartbreaking defeat. "You've ruined the bed clothes, already… You don't care about anything. Anything!" She burst into frustrated, exhausted tears.

The Joker gave the streak a glance of nonchalance, then returned his gaze to her when she broke into a hysterical fit of sobs. With a hardened look on his face, he fully sat up before snapping, "And why should I care about anything, hmm? I'd just say I'm acting in accordance to the hand I've been dealt, peaches, so don't take it so personally. I mean, can you honestly say you know what it's like to be viewed as a fuh-reak? Or how it feels to wake up one day and find your family massacred at your very feet?" Chuckling darkly, he barely repressed a full-blown fit of laughter as he snarled, "Do not preach at me with your hoity-toity, godlier-than-thou, condescending bullshit diatribes until you've been where I've been and walked where I've walked!"

Feeling his fury mount, the Joker curled his hands into two tight fists until his nails bit through the skin of his palms. He didn't want to hurt her, but if she continued to push him, he wouldn't hesitate to bathe in her blood.

"I lost my family!" Maggie jabbed her chest with her small fist. "I lost my family too, you self-pitying, loathsome fiend!" She was on the bed in seconds, flailing against his chest. "What? So you think you have some sort of monopoly on tragedy? You think that entitles you to hate and demoralize me?!" When he grabbed her wrists, she began to buck and twist and kick at him. "Well, go on, get your pathetic kicks on me! Kill me, maim me! You think I care, anymore? Just do one thing, Mister Man…" She faltered and found herself pinned against him, face to face, her breath coming in violent puffs that lifted his bangs from his forehead. "Let me see your face before I die… Let me see who you really are!"

The Joker was rather stunned when Maggie attacked him, yet her physical swipes weren't nearly as infuriating as her barbs. "Shut up!" he snarled, tempted to strike her as she began to kick and wriggle about in his grasp. Tightening his grip so that the bones of her wrists ground together, he momentarily saw a flash of blinding rage flit across his vision, his hands tempted to close around her throat and squeeze, and squeeze, and squeeze until there was nothing left.

He was quite tempted to do as she suggested, but when she declared that he show his true face, his eyes narrowed cruelly. "No" he hissed, his nails now digging into the sensitive skin of her wrists. The man beneath was all he had left...was the only semblance of the man he once was, and he wasn't willing to share that with anyone, especially some self-righteous bitch.

Swallowing hard from both rage and nerves, the Joker felt his adam's apple bob in his throat as he demanded, "Why is my identity so important to you, huh? Is this some twisted, psychological little mind game you're trying to play with me? 'Cause if you think that for one minute you can change who I am, you're wrong."

Maggie's lip curled. "Yes, yes, here we go again, the same litany of boo-hoo-hoo. Okay, I'll bite… I'll be the manipulative, conniving woman; I'll cling to you, and harangue at you, and keenly disappoint you. Doesn't matter that it's patently false! You had me sized up the moment you saw me walk out of the carnival holding that ridiculous stuffed Hippo. You were going to kill me simply for giving the impression of being simpering and happy, and …and…self righteous! So how simpering am I now, huh? And I'm not happy, damn you! In fact I am so unhappy that not a day has gone by since my father died that I haven't thought of throwing myself off Widow's Hill! And I wasn't so self-righteous that I didn't clean your wounds and that cesspool of a body of yours, so okay, I was wearing my mask when you met me and here it is, stripped away. It's your turn now. Your move. I don't care who or what you are, because I just want you to be honest. What does it matter in the long run, my brave sir? You're going to kill me afterwards, anyway."

If the Joker hadn't been so furious, he would've laughed. "Disappoint me? How in God's name can you disappoint me when I don't even know you? Not to mention, nothing gives me greater joy than hearing how you want to end your pitiful, meaningless little existence! After all, you're merely a thread in the great tapestry of life, so easily snipped and ripped away to make room for newer, and better threads. Don't think for one minute that I wanted to kill you to make me happy -- I wanted to kill you because it's fun" the Joker hissed, his eyes growing almost ink-blank within the dim lighting. "And I actually wasn't going to kill you since I'm a man of my word, but if you continuously persist in egging me on like this, I will kill you, and will take great pleasure in doing so."

Feeling his heart thudding hollowly in his ears, the Joker tightened his hold on her and felt the urge to smother her with his pillow. "Be honest?" he reiterated, tossing his head back in a dry, unfeeling laugh. "The only time I haven't been honest is the period before I became this...this thing. I'm no longer living a life of fabrication, sweet pea, so why should I show you the true lie, hmm? The man behind the mask is not the real me."

Maggie was starting to sway in his grasp, finding it rather hard to catch her breath. "It is you," she said. "You know it is…" Her head rolled back and she met his inky stare for a moment before careening forward onto his shoulder, all fight in her gone.

"Just do it," she said in one long sigh. "Please, just do it…"

At first the Joker was genuinely confused. Was she begging him to kill her, or to reveal his naked, scarred face? One option was clearly more preferable than the other, but before he could even think to ask her, he felt her head drop limply onto his shoulder. Moving away from her in disgust, the clown prince's upper lip curled into a snarl as he snapped, "Fine! I'll show you, but for what purpose, hmm? Will this give you some sick, tuh-wis-ted sort of satisfaction to see me wasting away before your very eyes? Will it make you happy to see the monster underneath the paint!?"

Chest heaving and eyes glittering dangerously, the Joker irefully seized the towel he'd dropped onto the floor and turned his back to her, his hands moving the towel roughly over his face so that it caused his skin to burn. Swallowing sharply after a few moments of this, he straightened his stance and dropped the towel at his feet, gazing down at the smeared streaks on the nappy fabric in dismay. His only aegis was now fully destroyed, and as he bitterly turned around to face Maggie, his eyes almost appeared hollow and resigned within the dim lighting.

Maggie gave a little sob of defeat when he pushed her off of him. She fell back onto the mattress, one arm thrown over her eyes as she wept bitterly. She felt the mattress give as he moved off the bed; could hear his animalistic snarls and bitter recriminations as he assaulted his features with the towel. When he demanded she look at him, she moved her arm and squinted into the candlelight. As he stepped closer she rose up on one elbow and peered at him.

He had large, soulful, dark eyes in a face that was once youthful and handsome, and a mouth marred by a criss-cross of scars on either side, the skin swollen and puckered. Across the sallow face were other scars and pock-marks that she couldn't tell if they were self-inflicted, or the wages of some perverse battle.

Maggie blinked slowly. A hundred things flashed across her mind, but she settled only on "Thank you." She lay back on her side again, curled her arm under her head and stared ahead.

Thankful when Maggie looked away, the Joker numbly sat down on the bed and followed her gaze toward the nameless point of interest, the corners of his mouth turning further south as he realized she was the first person he'd ever allowed to see his face. Sometimes he'd walked around without his greasepaint on, yes, but no one had ever actually known who he was. He was fully aware that he looked completely different without the garish mask, but he took a certain comfort in the ability to hide behind a thin layer of sticky, imperfect paint since it matched the equal imperfections of his soul. Finally registering Maggie's words, he grumbled, "Well what are you thanking me for? I wouldn't exactly consider this something to be grateful about, unless you have a fetish for perverse and gruesome appearances."

Flopping back against his pillow, he stared up at the ceiling and focused on a long, jagged crack. It reminded him of the scar on the left side of his mouth, all ugly and tattered since it had been delivered in a hurry. Immediately looking away, he instead closed his eyes and concentrated on the steady rising and falling of his bosom. He could feel Maggie's eyes boring into him even as he laid there, so without bothering to open his eyes, he sullenly muttered, "What is this, a tourist attraction? Stop staring at me like I'm in a petting zoo."

"I'm not staring at you, I'm just watching you. I know you didn't want to do that… So thank you." She felt compelled to touch him, but she instinctively knew it would be a bad idea. She had questions she wanted to ask, but couldn't expect candor and bonding after what had just happened. Her gentle nature bubbled up and she considered consoling him with words, telling him the scars were not so very bad, but she knew she'd be shamefully lying. They were that bad, and made all the more tragic by the glimmer of masculine beauty that still lurked underneath.

The moments ticked away until finally her words broke the silence, soft and matter-of-fact. "I believe I'd hate the world too, if I were you. But could you just not hate me? Not tonight at least? Now for now?"

The Joker cringed at her words. He knew he was a hopeless misanthrope, but that didn't mean he liked to be pegged down with certain attributes. He'd always prided in being unpredictable and completely unreadable, but if Maggie was able to see through him so well after a mere passing of hours, was he truly as well-collected as he liked to think?

With a bitter smile, the Joker wanted to insist that she didn't know the half of his sorrows, but he shrugged while mumbling, "And what would I have to do in order to prove that I don't, uh...hate you, hmm? Hold your hand and sing the friendship song?" As he awaited her response, he inwardly conceded that he didn't hate her. What he truly hated was the fact that he found himself less inclined to kill her, even after all that she'd made him do.

Maggie sat up on her knees, smoothed the brief material over her thighs and rested her hands there. Her face was soft and fragile again, the long lashes matted around brown eyes that still glistened with the tears of moments ago.

"I know you think I have some agenda, or expect something of you, but the only thing I expect is that you don't murder me in my bed. As changeful as you've been tonight, I can't imagine why I would believe you, but…I do. 'Not hating' means simply not doing …this…what we just did … this nasty verbal, physical sparring for the rest of …of…our time together. Yes, I know I am partly to blame for that. If my father had seen how I just behaved he would have been so very disappointed. He raised me to be more lady-like than that, but you were just so…so mocking and dismissive. It's been a difficult year for me, and I didn't know how to handle it."

He still had his eyes shut tightly, but she thought she saw a slight change in his face, a softening around the scarred mouth, and his breathing had changed to something less feral and trapped.

"But you know…" She saw him stiffen again and could see his pupils rolling beneath the lids as she started speaking, "I'm almost glad you did it. I haven't screamed or cried once since my father died, or since Joe was taken away. There always seemed to be some other task, something else to do, or some other person needing Maggie to do something for them… To clean up after them, listen to them, console them."

She bit her lip. "And you know what? Maybe I was just a little bit angry with you because you didn't need me. You didn't let me drown in mindless nurturing. You forced me to confront my demons. No sentimental pandering from you…no, sir…"

She heard him snort and he made a gesture like playing a sad violin. This time she was compelled to laugh. "Yes, I know, I am talking too much. I'm sorry."

In all honesty, the Joker was confused as to why Maggie was confessing all of this personal information. Perhaps she'd been alone for quite a while, just like he had, and had never been able to truly emote all she was feeling. Although he could empathize, he most certainly didn't plan on reciprocating her actions. Something about the idea of sharing his past unnerved him, and since he was a man who was rarely even ruffled by the slightest incident, he didn't like the feeling of helplessness it brought.

Finally opening his eyes, the Joker gazed up at the ceiling and released a long, even breath. "Keeping everything bottled up inside does something to people, sugar pie...something not very nice. Just be thankful you haven't ended up in the loony bin like me, or worse yet, dead." He didn't bother elaborating that statement, because she didn't need to know that he considered himself dead on the inside; that he was nothing more than an empty shell in search of his own extinction. He sought Batman with the hopes of making him break his one rule, but so far the self-righteous bastard seemed intent on just lugging him in to Arkham Asylum. Did Batsy actually think he wanted to escape? He rather enjoyed twisting the minds of his doctors, but he enjoyed harming the innocent far more.

With a deep sigh, the Joker rolled over onto his side with his back was facing Maggie, his eyelids drooping as he mumbled, "Yeah, sure, whatever you say, buttercup -- I won't hurt you, so long as you don't take advantage of me in the night. I'm a poor, defenseless little virgin waiting for awkward honeymoon sex." As he awaited her most likely hostile reaction, he couldn't help but smirk since he wondered if she could tell he'd actually been making fun of her, and not himself.

"Poor dear. Well, waiting isn't so hard, I should know." Maggie heard her own ridiculous revelation, yet she didn't care. She stifled her laughter with a melodramatic sigh. Something about the night had been so cathartic for her that she was slightly giddy. It was probably the exhaustion, but either way, his turning away from her, although she was certain he meant it as rudeness, was also a sign that he was comfortable with her.

Maggie went to the foot of the bed and angled her body over him, so her mouth was very close to his ear. "I can't seem to master the art of fitted sheets. You'll have to fix your bed, too, or just lay in the wrinkled mess. They're Egyptian cotton, so I'm sure they'll feel just as nice either way. By the way, you owe me $150 to replace my employer's sheets."

She moved towards the door, adding, "Since Mrs. Johnson is away, I'll bring your tray around, shall we say, 8am? It is a holiday, after all. You can sleep in!" She took a few more steps. "Oh, I suppose since you are my guest I should at least know your name…unless you'll let me steal your wallet in the night and find out on my own? I'm sure everyone has a name, so what's yours?"

The Joker snorted, but primarily only because she hadn't reacted in the way he'd intended. He hated it when people didn't take his bait, especially since he knew he would've gotten a good laugh from her most likely virginal, prudish response.

Practically jumping out of his skin when Maggie was suddenly hovering over him, the Joker snarled and gave her a much gentler push than he'd intended. "Fine, fine, whatever -- money's of no consequence to me" he grumbled, stubbornly rolling over yet again and pulling the sheets over his head. This woman was so infuriating at times, so it was a miracle he hadn't snapped and slit her throat. But he was a man of his word, and he didn't plan on breaking his promise just because he was bipolar.

When the Joker finally heard Maggie leaving, he froze upon hearing her request. "I don't have an ID, so you won't find it" he sullenly returned, still refusing to surface from under his sheets. Now licking his lips -- a habit he'd gained ever since he'd received his scars -- he snarled softly and snapped, "Haven't you learned enough about me for one night? Just call me J. Yeesh."

"Jay. How mysterious!" Maggie said with a decidedly dramatic edge. She was almost out the door before she decided to creep back to the end of the bed. "Oh, and Jay? You smell really nice!"

She darted out the door because she knew he was the type to throw things, even a dagger, and she could not risk him pock marking Elizabeth's door frame. Closing the door behind her while shaking her head, she smiled in spite of herself and continued on her merry way.

A/N - Next off, the cuh-ray-zy morning after. ;)