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Title: Slaughter is the Best Medicine
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ellerkay (previously published under collectively)
Part: 3/?
Word count: 2,767
Pairing: Joker/Scarecrow
Rating/warnings: NC-17; somewhat dubious con (fairly mild)
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit. All characters and settings belong to Warner Brothers and DC Comics.
Summary: The Joker takes a considerably more active interest in Jonathan's life.
Part 1
Part 2
For over three weeks, Jonathan saw nothing of the Joker. More surprisingly, there was nothing about him on the news. He hadn't robbed or killed anyone, at least not on a large enough scale to attract attention. Jonathan suspected that if the Joker was killing, he'd make sure the media knew about it.
Then again, if he was killing and he didn't want anyone to find out, they probably wouldn't. It was possible he'd been quietly busy, difficult as it was to imagine him doing anything low-profile.
Occasionally, on slow news days, the anchors would remind everyone that the Joker was still at large and should be presumed armed and dangerous. He was not to be approached for any reason. Jonathan had to wonder who would be stupid enough to approach the Joker, for any reason. Besides the Batman, of course.
The police, apparently, had no leads as to his whereabouts. They probably would have been interested in Jonathan's information, once they got over glaring at him and being deeply suspicious of his motives in handing it over. But Jonathan had never called them.
Given the Joker's long silence, it shouldn't have been such a surprise when Jonathan came home from work one day to find all his possessions were gone.
***
He entered the dark apartment and put his keys down on the table next to the door. They fell to the floor as soon as they realized that there wasn't a table to support them, and when Jonathan frowned and flicked on the hall light he could sense the emptiness of the rooms, even those he couldn't see. He walked slowly through the apartment. The air was a little chilly, as if no one had been living there for some time.
He had almost circled back to the front door when a thought struck him and he ran down the hall to his bedroom, heart pounding. It took him a second to find the board he was looking for, without the furniture marking the spot, but after a moment he located it and pried it up slightly frantically.
The space underneath was...space. His mask and the vials of his toxin were gone.
Jonathan stared into it for a moment, fighting a rising feeling of panic. With a distant part of his mind he wondered why he felt so lost without the mask, and filed away the thought for further consideration.
"Missing something, doctor?" The voice came from just behind him and Jonathan started, jumping to his feet and whirling to face the Joker. The Joker was grinning at him, dressed in his usual, holding a dilapidated briefcase. Jonathan took a subtle breath and willed himself calm. The worst thing to do was appear to be upset by him. It was bad enough he'd jumped at the sound of his voice.
"It would appear that I am," he answered. "Did you do this?"
"Of course."
"Why did you find it necessary to steal my things?"
The Joker affected an expression of great hurt. "I didn't steal your things," he said. "Would I do that to my lover?" He paused, clearly hoping for a reaction, but Jonathan stared back expressionlessly. The Joker shook his head. "No, no, no. I've provided you a service. Free movers!"
"I wasn't aware I was moving anywhere."
"Oh, well. I thought it would be more fun as a surprise."
"It certainly is surprising. Where am I moving, then? And why?"
Now the Joker looked surprised, as if it should be obvious. "You're moving in with me."
"Ah." He'd been afraid of that. The Joker leered at him.
"I decided that your talents are being wasted in that asylum, shut in all day with the crazy people.”
“That’s an interesting interpretation, considering I’m a psychiatrist. I can’t really imagine where I could be of use, if you don’t think an asylum is appropriate.”
The Joker shook his head impatiently. “Psychiatry is your job.” He licked his lips. “Those lovely chemicals are your calling.” He pressed his hand to Jonathan’s chest and smirked. “Besides, you’re too skinny. And pale.” Jonathan found the assessment rather amusing, considering the source. "You need fresh air, exercise. Your drugs shouldn’t be hidden away – they should be out in the world. And so should you. So, I've decided you're going to become my partner." He delivered this last sentence magnanimously, with the air of someone bestowing a great honor.
"Thank you," Jonathan said, so flatly it could have been interpreted as sarcastic. The Joker smirked.
"You're welcome," he said. "Come on, it's time to go. Oh, and you'll be wanting this." He shoved the briefcase into Jonathan's hands. Jonathan looked at it. "Go on, open it."
Jonathan knelt down, placed the briefcase on the floor, and opened it. Inside was his mask, the dispenser, and two canisters of his compound.
"I know how you hate to be without it." Jonathan looked up, and the Joker was grinning down at him. "Put it on."
***
They had walked a few blocks away from Jonathan’s apartment - former apartment, he corrected himself. The Joker was uncharacteristically silent. With his mask on, Jonathan knew he stuck out terribly. Yet he felt confident, not uncomfortable.
His feeling of confidence took a sharp nose dive when the Joker’s hand closed suddenly around his wrist and he pulled him down an alley.
“Did you see police - ?” Jonathan started to ask as the Joker pulled off his mask and pushed him roughly against a brick wall. He kissed him hard. Jonathan gave a small moan but pulled his head back when the Joker pressed his hand against his crotch.
“I think a celebration is in order,” the Joker hissed into his ear. “To our new partnership.”
“Not here,” Jonathan said, but the Joker was rubbing his cock through his pants and he was getting hard despite his trepidation.
“Not for nothing, doctor, but you owe me a favor.” The Joker licked Jonathan’s neck and thrust his erection into Jonathan’s thigh.
“I thought that favor was discharged the last time you visited me.” Jonathan was trying to look around the dark alley. From what he could see, it was deserted, but it was filthy.
“No, no,” the Joker said, running his hands over Jonathan’s body. “That was just part of our session.”
He had undone Jonathan’s belt now, and Jonathan groaned when he wrapped a hand around his cock.
“Wouldn’t it be more appropriate to…christen the new apartment, or wherever it is I’m living now?”
“Later.” The Joker was stroking him slowly, and Jonathan’s breath came a little faster.
“I thought it would be something I wanted, too,” he tried finally.
The Joker pulled back to look into his face and grinned. “Don’t you dare pretend you don’t,” he said. Jonathan tried to think of a convincing argument, but the Joker gave his cock one final tug and pulled his hand out of his pants.
“Turn around,” he ordered. Jonathan froze for a moment, then turned slowly, heart pounding. Instinctively he put his hands against the brick wall in front of him and heard a small noise of approval from behind him. The Joker pulled down his pants and ran his hands over Jonathan’s ass. The night air was warm, but strange on his exposed skin. There was something slightly terrifying about this, but his erection hadn’t diminished at all.
He heard the Joker rummaging in his pockets and a moment later his cool, slippery finger was circling Jonathan’s ass. He pushed it slowly in, and after a moment added another. Jonathan groaned, head down. The strange feeling was there in the back of his mind, but it didn’t seem to be overwhelming him. It just meant he wasn’t protesting this; instead, he was abandoning himself to it, and enjoying it far more than he thought he really should be.
When he’d spent a few minutes working three fingers slowly in and out of Jonathan's ass, the Joker pulled them out altogether. Jonathan rested his forehead against the wall and panted, the sound of his own breath harsh in his ears. Under it he could hear more rustling, and then the Joker had grabbed his hip in one hand and was sliding his cock into him. Even slicked and prepared, it hurt a little, and Jonathan bit his lip. The pain was minor enough, though, to still be mostly enjoyable. When the Joker was all the way in he paused, leaning forward and biting Jonathan’s shoulder none-too-gently.
“Comfortable, doctor?” he asked.
“As much as can be expected,” Jonathan said, and the Joker laughed low and wrapped his hand around Jonathan’s cock again. Jonathan pressed his hands harder against the wall and closed his eyes, thrusting into the Joker’s still-slippery hand. The Joker’s hips jutted forward faster as the minutes ticked by and he gripped Jonathan’s hip tightly with his free hand, stroking him in time with his thrusts. Jonathan moaned loudly, forgetting their exposed position. The Joker growled in his ear and squeezed him and Jonathan cried out, cum splattering on the wall in front of him. The Joker thrust wildly for another minute and came with a grunt and a shudder, leaning over onto Jonathan’s back and breathing hard into his ear.
Abruptly he pulled out, making Jonathan gasp. Jonathan pulled up his pants and belted them again slowly. His legs were a little shaky. The Joker grabbed him and kissed him, sliding his tongue into his mouth and biting at his bottom lip.
“I think,” he said, with a grin, “that this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” He giggled and started walking out of the alleyway. “Come on, I’ll drive you to your new home.”
In a few strides Jonathan had caught up with him. “You have a car with you?”
“Yeah, it’s parked right outside your apartment. Your former apartment.”
Jonathan blinked. “Then why were we walking?”
The Joker raised his eyebrows. “To get to the alley,” he said, as if it were obvious.
***
The Joker drove just like he walked and talked; that is to say, like a complete maniac. He went at least thirty miles over the speed limit at all times, Jonathan noted, his eyes glued to the speedometer and his hand clutching the armrest between the driver’s and passenger’s seats. He didn’t say a word as the Joker ran red lights and weaved between cars. He tried counting the number of times they nearly slammed into another car and gave up at fifteen.
It was nerve-wracking, yet exhilarating. There was something about being with the Joker that made one feel immortal, Jonathan reflected. Nothing seemed to touch him, and it made you think nothing could touch you either, at least while you were with him. Still, Jonathan decided he shouldn’t discount the possibility of a passenger-side collision with one of the cars the Joker cut off.
Miraculously still alive half an hour later, they pulled up outside an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Gotham. Jonathan’s heart sank at the sight of it. He’d lived in squalor before, out of necessity, but it had never been his preference. He’d rather liked the neat little apartment the Joker was forcing him to abandon. It hadn’t been very expensive, but it had been clean, and it had been his. After his time as a patient at Arkham, Jonathan had learned the true value of having one’s own space.
“Home sweet home,” the Joker said. Jonathan followed him with some trepidation towards the door which apparently led into the factory.
“Stand down, boys, daddy's home,” the Joker said to a couple of burly-looking men outside the door. They relaxed their grips on the semiautomatics they were holding and let them both through without a word.
Inside, the warehouse was mostly a large open space. There were a few doors in the back which, Jonathan assumed, led to other rooms. There were a few staircases up to a catwalk which ran around all the walls. There were more doors there, all closed. Probably they had once been managers' offices and the like, Jonathan thought.
The space on the floor was largely bare. There were some old, dingy couches arranged in a square around a coffetable which was stained with rings where glasses had stood and scarred from cigarettes. A couple henchman lounged on the couches. A few feet away stood a round table with a number of folding chairs. More henchmen were playing cards around it.
There was also a large desk made of stainless steel with four computers arranged on its surface. They were the only things in the place that looked new, and they looked very new indeed. Jonathan didn’t know much about computers, but he thought they were probably state-of-the-art technology.
“I hope none of you have aces up your sleeves,” the Joker said. “Or worse.” The men looked up. Many of them had fear in their eyes, and several of them looked more fearful at the sight of Jonathan. He smiled thinly at them. They were former patients.
“This is Scarecrow,” the Joker said. “I want you all to show him the respect you’d show me. Well, maybe not quite as much.” He looked around and smirked. “I think some of you are acquainted already, aren’t you? Show of hands, how many have been involved in the good doctor’s experiments?”
Three hands went up. One of the men looked like he was ready to bolt for the door, and only fear of the Joker was keeping him in his seat. Jonathan remembered him. Malcolm Landon, a schizophrenic with violent tendencies. He’d thought the fear drug had sublimated the violence permanently, but if anyone could bring it out again, he was sure it was the Joker. Besides, people’s personalities never really changed. Malcolm would always be attracted to violence.
“Play your cards right,” the Joker said with a snigger, “and maybe you’ll get to be in some more.” Malcolm actually stood up at that, but the Joker shot him a look and he sunk back down again slowly.
“Let’s go,” the Joker said. He walked to one of the staircases that led to the catwalk and bounded up it. Jonathan followed more slowly. A few doors from the top of the stairs, the Joker turned and dangled a key in front of Jonathan’s nose. It hung from a keychain with a little jester figure attached, clothed in purple and green.
“Take it,” the Joker said. Jonathan obeyed, and the Joker gestured to the door in front of them.
“What is this?” Jonathan asked. The Joker only giggled, and Jonathan turned the key in the lock and opened the door. The Joker reached around him, and Jonathan saw – his apartment. More or less. There was no front hallway; the door opened directly onto the living room. Of course it was a different shape than his old apartment, but the furniture was arranged in almost the same way. On the left wall was a door which opened onto his bedroom, which had a small but clean bathroom off of it. Everything was clean and modern, and finished, unlike the rest of the building.
“You haven’t seen the best part, doctor,” the Joker called from the living room. Jonathan walked back in and saw that there was another door, on the right wall of the room. The Joker opened it and motioned him through.
One side looked like a normal study – it had his desk and the bookshelves that held his psychology and psychopharmacology books. The other side could have been a mad scientist’s lab. There were beakers and burners and a cabinet full of nasty-looking chemicals and other ingredients. Nothing was happening with them at the moment, of course, but Jonathan could imagine test tubes bubbling and he looked around half-expecting to see a Tesla coil waiting to be turned on. He smiled.
“What did you mean downstairs, when you said some of your men might be able to take part in my experiments?” he asked, without turning around.
“Oh, well, I have some ideas for your new compound.”
“My new compound.”
“Yeah.” Jonathan could hear the grin in his voice.
“And what would that be?”
The Joker walked up close behind him, leaning to whisper in his ear. “I’ll tell you in the morning,” he muttered. Jonathan shivered, and the Joker withdrew, walking towards the door.
“Doctor,” he said, before he went through. Jonathan turned to face him, and he smirked.
“Just a tip - nothing says 'thank you' like head,” he said, and left the apartment.
Author:
ellerkay (previously published under collectively)Part: 3/?
Word count: 2,767
Pairing: Joker/Scarecrow
Rating/warnings: NC-17; somewhat dubious con (fairly mild)
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit. All characters and settings belong to Warner Brothers and DC Comics.
Summary: The Joker takes a considerably more active interest in Jonathan's life.
Part 1
Part 2
For over three weeks, Jonathan saw nothing of the Joker. More surprisingly, there was nothing about him on the news. He hadn't robbed or killed anyone, at least not on a large enough scale to attract attention. Jonathan suspected that if the Joker was killing, he'd make sure the media knew about it.
Then again, if he was killing and he didn't want anyone to find out, they probably wouldn't. It was possible he'd been quietly busy, difficult as it was to imagine him doing anything low-profile.
Occasionally, on slow news days, the anchors would remind everyone that the Joker was still at large and should be presumed armed and dangerous. He was not to be approached for any reason. Jonathan had to wonder who would be stupid enough to approach the Joker, for any reason. Besides the Batman, of course.
The police, apparently, had no leads as to his whereabouts. They probably would have been interested in Jonathan's information, once they got over glaring at him and being deeply suspicious of his motives in handing it over. But Jonathan had never called them.
Given the Joker's long silence, it shouldn't have been such a surprise when Jonathan came home from work one day to find all his possessions were gone.
***
He entered the dark apartment and put his keys down on the table next to the door. They fell to the floor as soon as they realized that there wasn't a table to support them, and when Jonathan frowned and flicked on the hall light he could sense the emptiness of the rooms, even those he couldn't see. He walked slowly through the apartment. The air was a little chilly, as if no one had been living there for some time.
He had almost circled back to the front door when a thought struck him and he ran down the hall to his bedroom, heart pounding. It took him a second to find the board he was looking for, without the furniture marking the spot, but after a moment he located it and pried it up slightly frantically.
The space underneath was...space. His mask and the vials of his toxin were gone.
Jonathan stared into it for a moment, fighting a rising feeling of panic. With a distant part of his mind he wondered why he felt so lost without the mask, and filed away the thought for further consideration.
"Missing something, doctor?" The voice came from just behind him and Jonathan started, jumping to his feet and whirling to face the Joker. The Joker was grinning at him, dressed in his usual, holding a dilapidated briefcase. Jonathan took a subtle breath and willed himself calm. The worst thing to do was appear to be upset by him. It was bad enough he'd jumped at the sound of his voice.
"It would appear that I am," he answered. "Did you do this?"
"Of course."
"Why did you find it necessary to steal my things?"
The Joker affected an expression of great hurt. "I didn't steal your things," he said. "Would I do that to my lover?" He paused, clearly hoping for a reaction, but Jonathan stared back expressionlessly. The Joker shook his head. "No, no, no. I've provided you a service. Free movers!"
"I wasn't aware I was moving anywhere."
"Oh, well. I thought it would be more fun as a surprise."
"It certainly is surprising. Where am I moving, then? And why?"
Now the Joker looked surprised, as if it should be obvious. "You're moving in with me."
"Ah." He'd been afraid of that. The Joker leered at him.
"I decided that your talents are being wasted in that asylum, shut in all day with the crazy people.”
“That’s an interesting interpretation, considering I’m a psychiatrist. I can’t really imagine where I could be of use, if you don’t think an asylum is appropriate.”
The Joker shook his head impatiently. “Psychiatry is your job.” He licked his lips. “Those lovely chemicals are your calling.” He pressed his hand to Jonathan’s chest and smirked. “Besides, you’re too skinny. And pale.” Jonathan found the assessment rather amusing, considering the source. "You need fresh air, exercise. Your drugs shouldn’t be hidden away – they should be out in the world. And so should you. So, I've decided you're going to become my partner." He delivered this last sentence magnanimously, with the air of someone bestowing a great honor.
"Thank you," Jonathan said, so flatly it could have been interpreted as sarcastic. The Joker smirked.
"You're welcome," he said. "Come on, it's time to go. Oh, and you'll be wanting this." He shoved the briefcase into Jonathan's hands. Jonathan looked at it. "Go on, open it."
Jonathan knelt down, placed the briefcase on the floor, and opened it. Inside was his mask, the dispenser, and two canisters of his compound.
"I know how you hate to be without it." Jonathan looked up, and the Joker was grinning down at him. "Put it on."
***
They had walked a few blocks away from Jonathan’s apartment - former apartment, he corrected himself. The Joker was uncharacteristically silent. With his mask on, Jonathan knew he stuck out terribly. Yet he felt confident, not uncomfortable.
His feeling of confidence took a sharp nose dive when the Joker’s hand closed suddenly around his wrist and he pulled him down an alley.
“Did you see police - ?” Jonathan started to ask as the Joker pulled off his mask and pushed him roughly against a brick wall. He kissed him hard. Jonathan gave a small moan but pulled his head back when the Joker pressed his hand against his crotch.
“I think a celebration is in order,” the Joker hissed into his ear. “To our new partnership.”
“Not here,” Jonathan said, but the Joker was rubbing his cock through his pants and he was getting hard despite his trepidation.
“Not for nothing, doctor, but you owe me a favor.” The Joker licked Jonathan’s neck and thrust his erection into Jonathan’s thigh.
“I thought that favor was discharged the last time you visited me.” Jonathan was trying to look around the dark alley. From what he could see, it was deserted, but it was filthy.
“No, no,” the Joker said, running his hands over Jonathan’s body. “That was just part of our session.”
He had undone Jonathan’s belt now, and Jonathan groaned when he wrapped a hand around his cock.
“Wouldn’t it be more appropriate to…christen the new apartment, or wherever it is I’m living now?”
“Later.” The Joker was stroking him slowly, and Jonathan’s breath came a little faster.
“I thought it would be something I wanted, too,” he tried finally.
The Joker pulled back to look into his face and grinned. “Don’t you dare pretend you don’t,” he said. Jonathan tried to think of a convincing argument, but the Joker gave his cock one final tug and pulled his hand out of his pants.
“Turn around,” he ordered. Jonathan froze for a moment, then turned slowly, heart pounding. Instinctively he put his hands against the brick wall in front of him and heard a small noise of approval from behind him. The Joker pulled down his pants and ran his hands over Jonathan’s ass. The night air was warm, but strange on his exposed skin. There was something slightly terrifying about this, but his erection hadn’t diminished at all.
He heard the Joker rummaging in his pockets and a moment later his cool, slippery finger was circling Jonathan’s ass. He pushed it slowly in, and after a moment added another. Jonathan groaned, head down. The strange feeling was there in the back of his mind, but it didn’t seem to be overwhelming him. It just meant he wasn’t protesting this; instead, he was abandoning himself to it, and enjoying it far more than he thought he really should be.
When he’d spent a few minutes working three fingers slowly in and out of Jonathan's ass, the Joker pulled them out altogether. Jonathan rested his forehead against the wall and panted, the sound of his own breath harsh in his ears. Under it he could hear more rustling, and then the Joker had grabbed his hip in one hand and was sliding his cock into him. Even slicked and prepared, it hurt a little, and Jonathan bit his lip. The pain was minor enough, though, to still be mostly enjoyable. When the Joker was all the way in he paused, leaning forward and biting Jonathan’s shoulder none-too-gently.
“Comfortable, doctor?” he asked.
“As much as can be expected,” Jonathan said, and the Joker laughed low and wrapped his hand around Jonathan’s cock again. Jonathan pressed his hands harder against the wall and closed his eyes, thrusting into the Joker’s still-slippery hand. The Joker’s hips jutted forward faster as the minutes ticked by and he gripped Jonathan’s hip tightly with his free hand, stroking him in time with his thrusts. Jonathan moaned loudly, forgetting their exposed position. The Joker growled in his ear and squeezed him and Jonathan cried out, cum splattering on the wall in front of him. The Joker thrust wildly for another minute and came with a grunt and a shudder, leaning over onto Jonathan’s back and breathing hard into his ear.
Abruptly he pulled out, making Jonathan gasp. Jonathan pulled up his pants and belted them again slowly. His legs were a little shaky. The Joker grabbed him and kissed him, sliding his tongue into his mouth and biting at his bottom lip.
“I think,” he said, with a grin, “that this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” He giggled and started walking out of the alleyway. “Come on, I’ll drive you to your new home.”
In a few strides Jonathan had caught up with him. “You have a car with you?”
“Yeah, it’s parked right outside your apartment. Your former apartment.”
Jonathan blinked. “Then why were we walking?”
The Joker raised his eyebrows. “To get to the alley,” he said, as if it were obvious.
***
The Joker drove just like he walked and talked; that is to say, like a complete maniac. He went at least thirty miles over the speed limit at all times, Jonathan noted, his eyes glued to the speedometer and his hand clutching the armrest between the driver’s and passenger’s seats. He didn’t say a word as the Joker ran red lights and weaved between cars. He tried counting the number of times they nearly slammed into another car and gave up at fifteen.
It was nerve-wracking, yet exhilarating. There was something about being with the Joker that made one feel immortal, Jonathan reflected. Nothing seemed to touch him, and it made you think nothing could touch you either, at least while you were with him. Still, Jonathan decided he shouldn’t discount the possibility of a passenger-side collision with one of the cars the Joker cut off.
Miraculously still alive half an hour later, they pulled up outside an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Gotham. Jonathan’s heart sank at the sight of it. He’d lived in squalor before, out of necessity, but it had never been his preference. He’d rather liked the neat little apartment the Joker was forcing him to abandon. It hadn’t been very expensive, but it had been clean, and it had been his. After his time as a patient at Arkham, Jonathan had learned the true value of having one’s own space.
“Home sweet home,” the Joker said. Jonathan followed him with some trepidation towards the door which apparently led into the factory.
“Stand down, boys, daddy's home,” the Joker said to a couple of burly-looking men outside the door. They relaxed their grips on the semiautomatics they were holding and let them both through without a word.
Inside, the warehouse was mostly a large open space. There were a few doors in the back which, Jonathan assumed, led to other rooms. There were a few staircases up to a catwalk which ran around all the walls. There were more doors there, all closed. Probably they had once been managers' offices and the like, Jonathan thought.
The space on the floor was largely bare. There were some old, dingy couches arranged in a square around a coffetable which was stained with rings where glasses had stood and scarred from cigarettes. A couple henchman lounged on the couches. A few feet away stood a round table with a number of folding chairs. More henchmen were playing cards around it.
There was also a large desk made of stainless steel with four computers arranged on its surface. They were the only things in the place that looked new, and they looked very new indeed. Jonathan didn’t know much about computers, but he thought they were probably state-of-the-art technology.
“I hope none of you have aces up your sleeves,” the Joker said. “Or worse.” The men looked up. Many of them had fear in their eyes, and several of them looked more fearful at the sight of Jonathan. He smiled thinly at them. They were former patients.
“This is Scarecrow,” the Joker said. “I want you all to show him the respect you’d show me. Well, maybe not quite as much.” He looked around and smirked. “I think some of you are acquainted already, aren’t you? Show of hands, how many have been involved in the good doctor’s experiments?”
Three hands went up. One of the men looked like he was ready to bolt for the door, and only fear of the Joker was keeping him in his seat. Jonathan remembered him. Malcolm Landon, a schizophrenic with violent tendencies. He’d thought the fear drug had sublimated the violence permanently, but if anyone could bring it out again, he was sure it was the Joker. Besides, people’s personalities never really changed. Malcolm would always be attracted to violence.
“Play your cards right,” the Joker said with a snigger, “and maybe you’ll get to be in some more.” Malcolm actually stood up at that, but the Joker shot him a look and he sunk back down again slowly.
“Let’s go,” the Joker said. He walked to one of the staircases that led to the catwalk and bounded up it. Jonathan followed more slowly. A few doors from the top of the stairs, the Joker turned and dangled a key in front of Jonathan’s nose. It hung from a keychain with a little jester figure attached, clothed in purple and green.
“Take it,” the Joker said. Jonathan obeyed, and the Joker gestured to the door in front of them.
“What is this?” Jonathan asked. The Joker only giggled, and Jonathan turned the key in the lock and opened the door. The Joker reached around him, and Jonathan saw – his apartment. More or less. There was no front hallway; the door opened directly onto the living room. Of course it was a different shape than his old apartment, but the furniture was arranged in almost the same way. On the left wall was a door which opened onto his bedroom, which had a small but clean bathroom off of it. Everything was clean and modern, and finished, unlike the rest of the building.
“You haven’t seen the best part, doctor,” the Joker called from the living room. Jonathan walked back in and saw that there was another door, on the right wall of the room. The Joker opened it and motioned him through.
One side looked like a normal study – it had his desk and the bookshelves that held his psychology and psychopharmacology books. The other side could have been a mad scientist’s lab. There were beakers and burners and a cabinet full of nasty-looking chemicals and other ingredients. Nothing was happening with them at the moment, of course, but Jonathan could imagine test tubes bubbling and he looked around half-expecting to see a Tesla coil waiting to be turned on. He smiled.
“What did you mean downstairs, when you said some of your men might be able to take part in my experiments?” he asked, without turning around.
“Oh, well, I have some ideas for your new compound.”
“My new compound.”
“Yeah.” Jonathan could hear the grin in his voice.
“And what would that be?”
The Joker walked up close behind him, leaning to whisper in his ear. “I’ll tell you in the morning,” he muttered. Jonathan shivered, and the Joker withdrew, walking towards the door.
“Doctor,” he said, before he went through. Jonathan turned to face him, and he smirked.
“Just a tip - nothing says 'thank you' like head,” he said, and left the apartment.