In the Mind of Madness

“Your palms are sweating.”

Kenna’s teeth clamped together, resisting the omnipresent urge to shove The Joker away from her.

“That’s because I’m nervous.” she whispered, eyes darting around the crowded restaurant.

The Joker scoffed quietly at her side. “About what?”

“Being recognized. You look completely different without that stuff on your face and your hair all…normal. I’m almost as notorious as you now.” Kenna shifted uncomfortably when the hostess gave her a funny look.

“Doll, you’re wearing a wig.” pointed out The Joker impatiently. “No one is gonna know who you are. Besides, I thought that was what you wanted: To be ‘rescued’.”

Kenna scowled sideways at him. “Not when I know you have the detonator to the bomb in Alan’s apartment in your pocket.”

“Maybe King is at a strip club trying to find your doppelganger and your mom and her boyfriend are at a hotel so they can screw privately. You could take your chances.” The Joker nearly whispered in her ear.

A shiver of disgust ran down Kenna’s spine. “You’re absolutely nauseating.”

“Now, now. Save that talk for the bedroom.” replied The Joker in a voice that the people standing in line near them probably heard.

Kenna responded with an incredulous shake of her head, blushing furiously. If there was one place she never thought she’d be standing it was in the nicest restaurant in Gotham next to The Joker, who was dressed in a white dress shirt under a simple black suit and blue tie.

His hair was rinsed free of green dye as well, the color now a natural dark blonde, the normally flyaway curls slicked back to his head smoothly. The scars stemming from the corners of his mouth into a smile were covered quite well with makeup, Kenna’s handiwork. At first Darla was going to take on the task, but when she brought the makeup and was about to actually touch her boss’s face Darla couldn’t do it. Kenna understood, but fearlessly dabbed the makeup on in very close proximity. She would never admit it out loud, but without it he looked handsome. Even before the makeup covered his noticeable scars.

She was wearing a short black wig, her pale eyebrows penciled in dark to match. In the deep red dress she felt uncomfortable, but The Joker had given it to her with a look that told her she had no choice in the matter. It was tight on all her curves, forcing more cleavage than Kenna was used to, stopping just above her knees. The black heels she wore with it put her at about the same height as The Joker if not a little taller, who had an arm curled around her waist comfortably. For him anyway.

The décor of the restaurant was old-fashioned French, rather like a ballroom. Marble and stone finishing, a huge crystal chandelier above the dining area that was partly visible from the lobby. There was a long wait to get in, a haughty woman in a pant suit taking her time checking reservations. By the fancy dress she saw on everyone, the decorum, and all the exotic-looking food Kenna could tell it was exclusive and possibly reservation only.

“Am I allowed to know what we’re doing here?” grumbled Kenna, glancing at her arm winding around The Joker’s back so her hand could rest on his shoulder. He wouldn’t let go of her waist and her arm had gotten tired all stiff at her side.

The Joker made a thoughtful noise, his fingers drumming on her hip. “Hmm. You have been rather uncooperative this last few days. Maybe I should keep you in the dark.” he tilted his head towards her ear so his breath would tickle her when he spoke next. “As punishment.”

She was very proud of herself for not shivering even a little.

“But if I don’t know what’s going on, I’ll just bug you the whole time and make this harder.” Kenna replied, batting her mascara-coated eyelashes in a mock flirtatious manner.

He smirked at her in a way that was almost fond. They were next in line. “Good point, princess. I’ll tell you once we get seated. I had to kill to get the right table.”

The sparkle in his eye told Kenna he had literally killed to get the table, but she couldn’t reproach him for it because he was stepping forward and smiling politely at the hostess. He almost looked like a normal human being. How could no one see the madness shining in those eyes? Maybe Kenna was just used to it.

“Good evening.” she started in a monotone, face clearly saying she wasn’t interested in small talk or anything of the like. “Name?”

The Joker winked almost imperceptibly at Kenna. “Gilder, Lance.”

The woman’s claw-like black nail traveled down the book of names on her podium, stopping suddenly. “There you are, Mr. Gilder. Jacob will be your waiter, he’ll take you back now. Enjoy your meal.”

Without more than a nod at the hostess The Joker followed the waiter who approached them. He looked like he was in his early twenties and was wearing gray slacks and a black apron over a white button down with a red vest. Kenna wondered briefly who Lance Gilder was and why The Joker had murdered him just to claim his reservation, but The Joker was tugging her along after the waiter named Jacob.

“Here’s your table, Mr. and Mrs. Gilder.” the waiter gestured to one of the many circular tables covered by a white table cloth. A small bouquet of roses in a silver vase was in the middle of each table, surrounded by several small candles that flickered in the rather dim lighting inside the restaurant.

Kenna sat in the chair the waiter pulled out for her, smiling weakly at him in thanks, trying not to show how much it disturbed her to be called ‘Mrs. Gilder’ when The Joker was being ‘Mr. Gilder’. The Joker sat down himself before the young man could get around to holding his chair out for him, giving Kenna a lascivious look as the waiter placed two black menus on the table.

“May I start you off with something to drink? I recommend the --”

The Joker cut him off with a growl disguised as clearing his throat. “Come back in ten minutes. We’ll order then.”

“Very well, sir.” Jacob smiled and walked away, Kenna able to catch a glimpse of the slightly unnerved look on his face.

Once they were alone (well, in the middle of the completely full restaurant, but the soft chatter and quartette playing covered their voices) Kenna crossed her legs and leaned close to the table, raising an eyebrow at The Joker in questioning.

“You look like Louise Brooks.” snorted The Joker, eyes darting around them. “If you have to know, you stubborn only child you, this has to do with the mob. Specifically the guy that’s appointed himself as the new head. He’s eating here tonight.”

Kenna looked over her shoulder like Marlin Brando would be smoking a cigar right behind her. “Which one is he?”

“He‘s sitting right behind me, dingbat. Why do you think I went through so much trouble for this table?”

She turned back around, scowling as The Joker sniggered at her. She looked behind him and saw two men at a table drinking dark liquid out of glasses filled with ice. Their faces were solemn and they were talking in low voices. The one whose face Kenna could see was very thin and looked anxious. She could only see the back of the other man, but he was large and had vibrant red hair.

“The red-haired?”

“That’s him.” The Joker barely mumbled the name, since they were so close to the target. “He’s ruthless, but I don’t think he’s as clever as Maroni was.”

Kenna furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “I thought mob guys had to be either Italian or Sicilian. He’s Irish, isn’t he?”

“That’s your traditional mob.” explained The Joker, opening his menu and peering into it with bored chestnut eyes. “As most things in Gotham are, the mob here is all jumbled together. You got your Czechs, your Irish, your Africans, your Italians, your Japanese. It’s all a big mess of stupid thugs and dope fiends.”

Making a thoughtful noise, Kenna followed suit. The menu was in French, causing her to immediately shut it and resolve to have whatever The Joker was having. “Ah. Why are you interested in him if you think the mob is just thugs and drug addicts?”

“Gotta make money somehow.” grunted The Joker, apparently not too happy with the idea. “I hate money. I wish I could burn all of it…but unfortunately it is currency, and I can’t steal everything I need. And the mob is just bursting with money, waiting for me to squeeze it out of them. Should be a sport, really.”

“Good point. But is there anything you don’t want to burn?” Kenna asked, smirking with her red gloss-coated lips. Darla had insisted Kenna go all out with her makeup, and Kenna relented because she didn’t wear it often before her kidnapping, so it would make her even harder to recognize.

The Joker returned her stare comfortably. Too comfortably. “Not really, toots. Keep testing me and we’ll see just how flammable you are.”

Kenna cocked her head to one side as if to say ‘I’m up to the challenge’, but then Jacob was returning. She heard The Joker ordering, but her eyes were skipping around the restaurant. There were only two visible exits: the one they came in and the fire door, which was obviously locked at the moment. Kenna noticed Jacob had turned to her and smiled falsely.

“I’ll have the same.”

“Very good. I’ll bring your wine out immediately.”

After watching him leave Kenna snorted quietly, The Joker giving her a look. “He’s terrified of you. And he doesn’t even know who you are.”

“Just who I am. He was looking down your dress, you know.”

Kenna flushed and glanced after Jacob. He was looking back at her as well, spinning around when she caught his eye. The Joker covered his manic laughing with the back of his hand. Kenna crossed her arms and grimaced.

“Not my fault you dressed me up like a hooker.” she mumbled.

The Joker had to stifle another bout of amusement. “The goal was to change your appearance, and you look different. Like a modern goth rather than a stuffy prude therapist.”

“I do look a little gothic.” mused Kenna, studying her reflection in the back of her soup spoon. After a moment she snarled fiercely at The Joker. “Hey, I’m not a stuffy prude.”

“You have selective hearing, dollface.” The Joker shook his head, grinning at Kenna as Jacob returned with their bottle of wine.

Four minutes later Kenna was halfway through her glass of wine, holding it under her chin so she could smell it and give The Joker a surprised look. “This is really good. I hate white wine.”

The Joker’s eyes focused, having been rather distant as he listened to the conversation going on behind him. “So do I. Red has always been my choice. Much…richer.”

“Mm.” Kenna ignored the sultry way he was looking at her, sipping more wine and inspecting the restaurant.

She hadn’t thought about it until now, but she’d been eating a lot of crappy food. When she got any food at all. A crony of The Joker’s would bring Chinese or pizza, sometimes Indian if Kenna got lucky. Once in a while she wouldn’t eat for an entire day, until she actually got upset enough by it to complain to The Joker, who would either mock her or call for food. The smells of actual food combining in the restaurant were making her stomach rumble and her mouth water.

“I can’t hear over your stomach.”

Kenna turned pink and shifted in her chair. “Maybe if you fed me regularly it wouldn’t be an issue.”

The Joker sneered, entertained by her discomfort, but didn’t reply. It was clear he was trying very hard to overhear the conversation behind him, so Kenna didn’t risk upsetting him by saying anymore. She pursed her lips on the thin rim of the wine glass, preparing to take another sip before she saw a familiar face walk into the restaurant.

Her lips stayed slightly open, eyes shooting wide as Bruce Wayne waltzed in with an attractive woman on his arm. Bruce was saying something to her with a smirk on his face, then she was giggling and whispering in his ear. Kenna watched in horror as they came closer. Bruce’s hazel eyes landed on her face for a moment, but there was nothing more than interest in her beautiful features. Kenna exhaled shakily as Bruce and his date sat down to her right and two tables back.

“What?” asked The Joker’s voice, almost startling Kenna into dropping her wine.

She shook her head minutely, forcing herself to look away from Bruce. “Nothing.”

For a second she thought he would persist, but The Joker was listening too intently to the voices behind him. Kenna couldn’t distinguish one voice from the other in the buzz of talking, but he seemed enrapt. Her eyes were moving back to Bruce of their own accord, watching intently as he spoke to the woman he was with lightly, his eyebrows rising and falling with expression.

There it was. Her one and only chance for escape. Sitting just a few feet away drinking wine and wearing a gray suit.

Kenna had to use every ounce of her self-control to keep her anxiety from her face. Somehow she managed to retain her rigid expression, occasionally tapping her nails on the tabletop to complete the façade of disinterest. Really she was about to burst. She wanted to signal him somehow, but The Joker’s eyes were almost constantly on her, despite the fact that they were dazed he would notice if she moved. Also Bruce seemed completely wrapped up in his date, only glancing at the table next to him once in a while.

Quite a while passed with nothing from The Joker and nothing from Bruce Wayne. Kenna sat in the middle of the lion’s den, eating her food with barely any regard for the taste, though she’d been looking forward to it only moments before. Going over to say anything to Bruce was too risky; The Joker hadn’t seen him yet, but he would surely turn if Kenna tried to reach him, and that detonator was just inside the pocket of his trousers…

Then Kenna considered what Bruce would do if she actually approached him. Most likely he would shout for help. All of Gotham thought she was a criminal now, and she doubted that they’d listen to her story even after she was arrested. They would use her to get to The Joker, then throw her in jail or Arkham to rot with him.

She sighed and pushed a roasted carrot around her plate, daring a peek at The Joker to find him eating with a vague expression. She wondered briefly what the mobsters were talking about, why it had him so interested, but she couldn’t really focus on it.

Her shoulders slumped as she realized that any moment the men would be done eating, and surely The Joker would put his full attention back on her, then be ready to leave. Her opportunity was slipping from her fingers, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

Just before she could sink into desolation there was movement from Bruce’s table. Kenna jerked up, watching as Bruce set his napkin on the table, smiling apologetically at his date, standing and walking for the bathroom. On reflex Kenna stood as well, walking down the aisle between the tables. A firm hand caught her wrist almost instantaneously.

“Where do you think you’re going?” purred the familiar cold voice.

To someone glancing over it probably looked like an affectionate husband stopping his wife to say something before she went to the bathroom, but Kenna could feel the blood flow cut off to her hand.

“I have to go to the bathroom. Is that okay?” Kenna snapped, forcing herself to look at The Joker’s face so he wouldn’t follow her eyes to Bruce.

He scowled at her momentarily. “I don’t think I have to remind you what will happen if you try something, toots.”

“You don’t. I simply need to use the restroom.”

“More than five minutes and I press the button.” threatened The Joker before releasing her.

Kenna nodded and set off at a quick pace after Bruce, trying not to lose her balance in the tall heels. Her heart was racing, sweat forming on her forehead and palms. Bruce went into the men’s room, the wood door shutting behind him softly. As soon as Kenna could reach her hand came out for the golden doorknob, but it twisted and opened before she could get there.

A man emerged, halting in shock when he saw Kenna standing there reaching for the knob. He glanced at the other door to make sure he’d been in the right bathroom, giving her one last bemused look before leaving. Kenna took in a slow breath through her nose, squaring her shoulders, and pulled open the door.

Bruce was at the sink, washing his hands with a pensive expression. He didn’t even look up when the door opened and shut. Kenna couldn’t hold it anymore and beamed. She was finally alone with someone who could actually help her.

“Bruce.” she said his name like it was thanks to some unknown deity.

He turned his head, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. After a moment there was a slight glint in his eye like he knew who she was. Kenna looked back briefly to lock the door, leaning against it with a sigh of relief. Her eyes shut and she shook her head tiredly.

“Bruce, I am so glad to see y-- AH!”

Then Bruce Wayne grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back.