Your Frown Is My Umbrella

Back on the docks, Joker was still staring at Reign’s face in bewilderment.

“What is that?” he muttered and licked his lower lip in fascination.

He pocketed his knife and then cupped her face, using his gloved thumbs to rub away the remaining foundation from her skin.

“Uh,” she murmured and tried to shy away.

He only tightened his grip on her jaw.

Every muscle in her body went on lockdown at the sudden awkward intimacy of his touch. She still felt uncomfortable whenever Damian touched her, so it was no surprise that this situation was enough to make her tremble with irrepressible anxiety. She hadn’t known this man for more than five minutes.

“Stop fidgeting,” he demanded childishly and continued to smear his thumbs across her cheeks.

Feeling rather violated, she closed her eyes and leaned against the van as he tweaked, rubbed, and pinched at her face. The feel of his warm leather gloves against her skin felt strange, unfamiliar, and dangerous, like the embrace of a venomous snake.

Normally in instances like this, her subconscious would start singing her little ditty to get her by. Now however, it seemed that her thought process was scared stiff just as badly as she was. It was one thing for her to be disturbed while watching news reports of The Joker, but being in his presence was a whole other story. Just like watching a parade on television just couldn’t compare to actually being there…

Just as she began to think he meant to erode away her cheeks until her teeth shone through, he stopped. His hands landed on her shoulders. After several more moments of deafening silence, Reign slowly opened her eyes.

His face was an inch away from hers. Their noses were practically touching.

When she squeaked and tried to pull away, he simply held her shoulders tightly and continued to invade her personal space despite her obvious discomfort. She felt so exposed.

“How’d ya’ get those scars?” he murmured, his voice taking on a strange, almost affectionate quality.

She gaped up at him as his hot breath brushed over her reddened, tearstained face. She struggled to find the words that would make him understand the fact that she didn’t know any more about her scars than he did.

“I – I don’t know,” she muttered embarrassedly, averting her gaze to his tie again.

“What?” he scoffed coldly. “Hey, look at me.”

Any warmth or affection his tone had been holding a brief moment ago had since been extinguished. He meant business. When she looked into his dark, hypnotizing eyes again, it took her a moment to regain the use of her tongue.

“I don’t – I don’t remember how I got them.”

He raised his eyebrows incredulously, causing the paint on his forehead to crack and reveal narrow crevices of tanned skin.

“Haha, that’s kinda’ funny. You mean, you mean you don’t remember getting your face carved up like a little ole’ jack-o-lantern, hmm?” he mocked, lifting one hand from her shoulder and poking her in the face. “You’re lying.”

She winced and narrowed her eyes instinctively. She was telling the truth, but he didn’t believe her.

Humiliation and fear gripped her palpitating heart with a steely intensity that nearly made her dizzy. She suddenly felt very defensive. Just who did this man think he was? He didn’t know what she had been through. Now mind you, she couldn’t recall many fine details herself, but it was still her life. Who was he to judge?

“I don’t remember,” she stated crisply, and he almost seemed taken aback by her sudden self-assurance.

“Well you don’t just forget things like that,” he insisted, shaking his head resolutely. “Nuh uh.”

She stuck out her lower lip and blinked numbly. It was instances like this where she had to watch herself. Damian never appreciated her momentary lapses in self-control, so she doubted The Joker’s level for tolerance would be any higher. Being lippy usually resulted in a good punch to that dirty mouth of hers.

Keep it together, don’t get excited, she told herself, and don’t make him mad. Bad things happen when people get mad. Especially people like him.

He huffed loudly and ran a hand through his stringy green hair. Reign was so high-strung by now that when his puff of foul breath struck her in the face, she nearly gagged.

“Don’t feel like sharing, huh?” he mused, smirking menacingly. “Tell ya’ what, I’ll tell you my story, if you tell me yours first. Hmm? How’s that sound, buttercup?”

When she didn’t respond, he continued.

“Just think of it as, uh, a kind of Show and Tell,” he added.

When she still made no effort to speak, the patient smirk dropped from his face.

“Fine, be that way. I’ll make you tell me,” he muttered and cracked his jaw, almost as though he were preparing for something.

Reign would never know what he had planned on doing to her in that moment, because her mind suddenly decided to have a little Show and Tell presentation of its own. She flinched violently as a wave of déjà vu fell from the sky and clonked her on the head like a giant anvil.

Strands of his long dark hair were sticking to the ridges of his sweaty forehead like spider legs, and his eyes looked darker than the storm sewer in the street outside their house.

He cracked his jaw and smiled menacingly.

“Just like your mother,” he grumbled mockingly. “Just a big baby, always cryin’ whinin’ and beggin’…”

The Joker reminded her of her father.

*.*.*.*.*

He watched as her eyes widened and drained themselves of all reality. It looked like she was staring straight through him.

“No,” she sobbed suddenly and collapsed in his grip.

She was about to fall to her knees until Joker held fast, keeping her against the van. With her head hanging low, she hid her face behind that thick black mane of hers and shook fearfully in his grip.

“Daddy. Daddy. No,” she pleaded in whispers.

That was all he could make out. The rest of the words (he assumed they were words) that escaped her lips only consisted of sloppy slurs and guttural groans. Her voice cracked between breaths.

“Daddy?” he repeated confusedly.

What was wrong with her?

She was bent over and massaging the palm of her woolen left hand like it was hurting her. But that was impossible! He had barely touched the girl.

Maybe she has arthritis, he thought sarcastically.

“Hey,” he grumbled awkwardly. “Uh…”

Was she just faking so she could trick him into letting her go? That had to be it. If so, this was the first time anyone had tried to play the ‘Look Mister, I’m Insane, Too’ card. He had seen people in hysterics before, but this was different. Everything about this girl was different…

He shook his head incredulously before that thought could go any further. As entertaining as this sight should have been, it only made him feel more conflicted than anything else. Seeing her in such a vulnerable state didn’t make him as happy as it should of. Instead, he felt…

Mad.

*.*.*.*.*

Within moments Reign realized she was no longer that little seven-year-old girl cowering in her bedroom, and her father was nowhere to be seen. Instead, she was cowering before the most wanted criminal in Gotham. Though both situations were quite dreadful, it felt good to be back in the real world. At least, it did at first.

Forcing herself to stand up straight, she reluctantly glanced up at The Joker’s painted face and then immediately regretted it. She didn’t like what she saw.

His upper lip pulled back in a swift, jerking motion, which scrunched up his nose and gave him the appearance of a snarling dog; bared teeth and all. With his lips pulled back into a sneer that seemed to make her heart deflate, he glared hatefully up at the sky as though he was willing the fluffy white clouds to burst into flames.

Reign blinked up at his contorted, grimacing face. She truly believed he was a heartbeat away from lunging forward and sinking his yellowed teeth into her neck like a vampire. Or maybe he’d just use his knife and chop the windpipe out of her throat as though it were a piece of rusted plumping. Like the rusted plumbing beneath the sink at her house…

House… home… Damian, she thought miserably.

In her mind’s eye Damian was a saint compared to the man who stood before her now; sneering at the sky like it was falling down on him. In this instant, The Joker reminded her of Chicken Little; a character in a book she read as a child.

The sky is falling!

The sky is falling!

Maybe she would have thought this apocalyptic comparison funny if she hadn’t been scared to the point of paralysis.

Just when she thought she might get a chance to sneak away while he had an episode of his own, he smiled at her. This wasn’t just a half-assed lip twitch, either. This was a full-blown grin full of resentment, disbelief, and mistrust.

His smile held all of that, but not a single trace of happiness.

*.*.*.*.*

Being the twisted clown that he was, The Joker couldn’t help but smile at his misfortune. He really wasn’t enjoying this.

He figured he should put her out of her misery.

Wait. Putting someone out of their misery could be considered an act of compassion, right? Yes. It’d be a mercy killing, and that thought made him want to kick himself. Empathy didn’t run in his blood. He didn’t feel sorry for her, so he wasn’t going to ‘put her out of her misery’. Hell no.

So, if he killed her, would that mean he was only doing her a favor? He didn’t want that. Would he even get any joy out of it? He wasn’t sure. Death was a funny thing, but only if it occurred under the right circumstances. This situation seemed far from entertaining.

Oh it was such a fine line to walk!

His smile faltered as he examined the thin trails of scarred flesh that branched downwards from the corners of her mouth.

But those scars… She had scars! And they were like his – no, no they weren’t. Hers went down into a frown. His went up into a smile. That was completely different, and not similar at all, because he said so.

And what the hell was up with that crazy little ‘Daddy’ outburst? Hysterics were one thing, but this…

He winced in aggravation. The curiosity was eating away at him. Yeah, something was wrong. Very wrong. Mega wrong.

No, he didn’t like it.

Part of him just yearned to gouge out those pretty little eyes, cut up her face, and yank out every strand of raven black hair that fell over her shoulders like a polluted waterfall. An even bigger part of him wanted nothing more than to do the opposite. That was a very bad sign.

Someone must have sent her to mess with his head. That had to be it. Why else had she been hiding in his van like that? Maybe she was just a personalized letter bomb; ultimately rigged to blow up in his face if he gave her enough time to do so.

Joker growled and retrieved his knife from his coat pocket again. He had every intention of slashing her throat then; killing her and everything she was making him feel. No more tears, no more scars, and no more questions. Yeah, he could end all this right now and blow her stupid little plan straight out of the water. He watched her grey eyes widen in genuine terror as he twirled the knife in his fingers with a natural flourish.

He almost expected her to say something in her own defense. He had caught a brief glimpse of spunk in her eyes when he accused her of lying. But just as her confidence had started to pick up some momentum, she slapped a straightjacket over her tongue and went right back to being quiet. If she was sent to get something from him, wouldn’t she be trying to make a deal? Trying to negotiate?

So, maybe she was serious. The fear on her face was genuine, and so was the confusion. Maybe she was just a really good actress…

He shook his head again and cursed under his breath. All paranoid conspiracy theories aside, seeing her in such a frightened state still did nothing to make him happy. Why? Why was that?

It’s just those scars, he thought bitterly, those goddamn scars. It’s ALWAYS the scars!

They were throwing him off. After all, it wasn’t every day that you came across a young woman with scars running down her face. Although that really shouldn’t have meant anything to him, he couldn’t deny that it did.

‘GET OVER IT!’ angry voices shouted at him.

He had to. Last time he chickened out, things had ended up far more painful than necessary. And so, he tried to bring his knife up to her throat.

As it turns out, his body didn’t want to listen to him any more than his thoughts did.

As she bit down on her lip, he grunted irritably and felt his face contort into a pained grimace. His right arm would simply rise, shake, and then fall back to his side as though he were reenacting the mechanics of a rusty, old-fashioned water pump. He couldn’t do it.

After repeating that gesture several times, he glared hatefully at her wide teary eyes and wished she would just spontaneously combust. When another tear crept over the rim of her lashes, he felt the sudden disturbing urge to reach out and brush it away.

A deep shudder pranced up his spine as he worried he had become institutionalized during his short stay in Arkham. Maybe that was why he couldn’t bring himself to kill her; he was getting soft. Was that possible? After only one month?

He told himself that he’d have to go on a major killing spree later on in the day just to prove that theory wrong. But in the meantime, he still had this girl to deal with.

Unless she planned on bursting into flames at his will any time soon, it looked like he had three options to choose from.

Option A: He could keep her.

He winced.

Option B: He could give her to the guys, and they could dispose of her.

He growled.

Option C: Although it went against everything he believed in when it came to hostage situations, he thought he might be able to make an exception this time and let her walk away; with all of her limbs (and whatever was left of her sanity) intact.

He groaned.

With a disgruntled sigh, he smoothed back his hair, knife in hand, and stared her down. He knew he’d be kicking himself for this tomorrow, but he didn’t care.

He didn’t get where he was today by worrying about what he’d do tomorrow.