gothamscitizens | Clown in a cage

Clown in a cage

MCU is close to a madhouse.

Any cop-killer who gets brought into the GCPD's holding cells is looking at a rough night, but the Joker isn't just any cop-killer. He's the one responsible for the death of Commissioner Loeb, he's had everyone's families in a panic for days, and he just wreaked havoc all over the streets with -- according to the gossip -- nothing less than a bazooka. Or a grenade launcher, depending on who you ask.

A couple of the older guys on the force, men who can be relied on to stay calm and tough, are assigned to searching and disarming him of his knives before they shove him into a holding cell.

It's . . . a lot of knives.

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He won't talk? Fine. She can play along for a few minutes.

(one place . . . or several)

(Hold it together, Bryce.)

"Then why do you want to kill me?"

He actually bounces in his seat, laughing.

"I don't—I don't wanna kill you," he wheezes. "What would I do without you? Go back to rrippin' off mob dealers? No, no. No."

He leans back, tugging at the shoulder of his vest.

"No, you," he says, leaning forward again, looking up and meeting her eyes to be sure of communicating his absolute sincerity, "you. Complete. Me."

(Her skin crawls under the suit.)

She lashes out, backhanding him across the face.

"You are garbage who kills for money," she snarls.

"Don't talk like one of them," he demands, "you're not." With a quirk of his eyebrows, "Even if you'd like to be."

He props an elbow on the table, leaning forward again, as though to exclude from this discussion all the cops he knows are standing on the other side of the two-way mirror.

"To them, you're just a freak," he says. Brightly: "Like me!" He shifts in his seat again. "They need you right now. But when they don't..."

He looks up at her with something that closely resembles honest concern.

"They'll cast you out," he says. "Like a leper! Y'see, their morals – their code... it's a bad joke." He makes a letting-go gesture. "Dropped at the first sign'a trouble. They're only as good as the world allows them to be. I'll show you. When the chips are down, these uh... these civilized people—they'll eat each other. See, I'm not a monster," he explains sunnily. "I'm just ahead of the curve."

The last word is barely out of his mouth when she grabs his shirt and hauls him out of his chair, over the table, holding him inches from her face.

She is tired of this man laughing at her, and she is tired of playing by his rules. Something is roaring in her ears, blood and rage and fear.

"Where is she."

"You have all these rules and you think they'll save you," he gasps.

She slams him into the brick wall and pins him with an arm across his throat.

"I have one rule."

And it does not prevent her from breaking every bone in his body.

"Oooh," he breathes, "then that's the one you'll have to break to know the truth."

"Tell me where she is."

This is going to be too easy. Fuck it, let's see what she does when he lays it out.

"There's only minutes left," he says, as clear as he can with her gauntlet nearly crushing his windpipe, "so you're gonna have to play my little game if you wanna save one of them."

And it's obvious by now who she's going to choose.

"Them."

(She thinks suddenly, absurdly, of sitting with Falcone all those years ago as he casually pointed a gun at her face. You haven't thought about your friend in the DA's office. You haven't thought about your old butler. Bang!

But the Joker can't know who she is, and can't know her well enough to think to threaten Alfred. If he had worked out her identity, he would have trumpeted it across Gotham already.)

"You know, for a while there—" He swallows, jerks his chin up, tugs futilely on her arm to try to get a little breathing room. "I thought you really were Dawes. The way you threw yourself after him? But that's not it at all, is it."

Dent.

Rachel and Harvey.

She is not going to fail both of them and she is not going to let this monster gloat to her face.

(You can't let anyone see it, not even Rachel, because it's not what you're supposed to do, not the part you play. And you can't let the criminals see it because they'll all be after her then, and she's the last bright thing in the world, the last spar to cling to when you're drowning in nightmares. If she's gone -- if she leaves, scared off, if she dies and is taken away -- Bryce Wayne is done for.

Too late, though. He saw, and now Rachel is in danger and the man she loves is, too.)

Anything -- anything -- would be justified to get what she needs out of this scum.

Roaring, she flips him through the air and slams him onto the table.

Oh no. No no no.

The whole point of bringing her in for the bad Bat routine was so Jim could say he was playing by the books, because only she could get an answer.

She was not supposed to let him get to her like this. She was not supposed to buy into his act.

This side of the line, dammit!

She's one of Jim's men, and he will not lose her like this.

Jim breaks away from the observation window and runs to the door, but she's already jammed a chair under the handle.

Goddamnit.

Edited 2012-06-10 18:53 (UTC)

The Joker cackles.

"Lllllook at you go," he says hoarsely, grabbing for the edge of the table as the room spins around him.

He manages to push himself upright while the Bat shoves a chair against the door; tipping his head back and rolling his shoulders to settle the ache out of his spine, he adds, "Are you all one happy family, or would Dent be jealous—"

The words barely even register.

She grabs him by the neck and throws him into the mirrored window hard enough to splinter the glass.

"WHERE ARE THEY?"

"Killing is making a choice," he says earnestly. If it hurts, he doesn't seem to notice.

(He notices.)

She smashes a punch across his face.

"WHERE ARE THEY!"

It sends him to the floor. He doesn't mind.

"Choose between one life or the other," he continues, struggling to sit up again. "Your friend the assistant DA, or her handsome future husband?"

She can't even think of the words.

She punches him again.

The Joker giggles helplessly.

"You have nnnothing," he pants. "Nothing to threaten me with. Nothing to do – with all your strength."

Wrong, Joker. Very wrong.

She grabs him by the shirt again, pulling him up. Slamming him into the table again is sounding pretty good.

"But don't worry!" he says, patting the back of her hand. "I'm gonna tell you where they are. Both of 'em. And that's the point. You'll have to choose."

He licks his lips; his eyes dart to either side.

"He's at... 250 52nd Street, and she's... uh, on Avenue X, at Cicero."

That's all she needed.

She drops him without another thought and heads for the door, throwing the chair aside.

Jim is right outside, so close to the door that he needs to step back to let her pass.

Joker was wrong. It's not a choice. They have a team here.

"Which one are you going after?"

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gothamsheiress - 2012-06-10 19:34 (UTC) - Expand

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gothamshonestcop - 2012-06-10 19:39 (UTC) - Expand

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