‹ Prequel: Smile for Me
Status: Ongoing
Smile With Me
Scars
“Why all the scars?” he asks one day, when we’re curled on opposite sides of the couch we always seem to end up on. The helmet is off, his eyes holding mine.
“Don’t you already know? The Batfamily knows everything.” It was what Joker had told me over and over, frustrated. His madness constantly foiled. Red Hood just grins.
“I haven’t been part of that family for years.” It makes me want to laugh, like Batman would let go of anything, no matter how damaged.
“Anyway, about the scars…”
“I used to cut myself, one for every day spent away from Joker. He used to cut me when he got bored. And a lot of people have hit me.”
“That’s fucked up.”
I shrug. “It’s whatever.”
“What was it…like?” For once, he sounds young. Curious.
“Uh, I’m pretty sure you’ve been cut up and hit before.”
He waves a hand. “No, no, uh…you slept with the Joker. What was that like?”
I wrinkle my nose, hating the reminder. But this is the first time Hood has talked about the Joker casually, not even a subtle twitch to his jaw. I find myself wanting to tell him. Give him more than I gave the reporters, or the therapists at Arkham. To them, I bit the inside of my cheek hard and laughed with bloody teeth, so confident in the protective veneer of madness. Hood distracts me with a cough.
“Quinn?”
“Yeah, I, uh…sorry. It was intense, really. Kinda sloppy. I don’t…he never, uh, raped me, if that’s what you’re asking,” I bite out, ignoring the memories of another man’s hands forcing my thighs open, of searing pain and his wet gasps in my ear. That man is dead, one of the few good things Joker ever did for me.
“Oh, I won’t…well. That’s good.” We sit in silence for a few moments before I poke his thigh with his toe.
“So, how’s our hunt for the Joker going?”
“He’s looking for something. S’not you. We’re getting closer.”
“Yeah? Sometimes I think it’s taking so long cause you wanna spend time with me,” I tease, and his eyes crinkle at the corners.
“Damn, you got me.” We laugh, and I wonder if this is what it’s like to have friends.
“Don’t you already know? The Batfamily knows everything.” It was what Joker had told me over and over, frustrated. His madness constantly foiled. Red Hood just grins.
“I haven’t been part of that family for years.” It makes me want to laugh, like Batman would let go of anything, no matter how damaged.
“Anyway, about the scars…”
“I used to cut myself, one for every day spent away from Joker. He used to cut me when he got bored. And a lot of people have hit me.”
“That’s fucked up.”
I shrug. “It’s whatever.”
“What was it…like?” For once, he sounds young. Curious.
“Uh, I’m pretty sure you’ve been cut up and hit before.”
He waves a hand. “No, no, uh…you slept with the Joker. What was that like?”
I wrinkle my nose, hating the reminder. But this is the first time Hood has talked about the Joker casually, not even a subtle twitch to his jaw. I find myself wanting to tell him. Give him more than I gave the reporters, or the therapists at Arkham. To them, I bit the inside of my cheek hard and laughed with bloody teeth, so confident in the protective veneer of madness. Hood distracts me with a cough.
“Quinn?”
“Yeah, I, uh…sorry. It was intense, really. Kinda sloppy. I don’t…he never, uh, raped me, if that’s what you’re asking,” I bite out, ignoring the memories of another man’s hands forcing my thighs open, of searing pain and his wet gasps in my ear. That man is dead, one of the few good things Joker ever did for me.
“Oh, I won’t…well. That’s good.” We sit in silence for a few moments before I poke his thigh with his toe.
“So, how’s our hunt for the Joker going?”
“He’s looking for something. S’not you. We’re getting closer.”
“Yeah? Sometimes I think it’s taking so long cause you wanna spend time with me,” I tease, and his eyes crinkle at the corners.
“Damn, you got me.” We laugh, and I wonder if this is what it’s like to have friends.