Smile With Me

I have a panic attack while the Hood is gone. Understandable, considering how the past few days have gone. I started having them when I left Joker. I was getting a hold on them until he kidnapped me. I sit on Hood’s bed, wincing every time my gasps for air hurt my ribs.

I can’t breathe, can’t think, can only focus on the Joker coming for me. I dig my nails into my thighs, remind myself that someone like Red Hood would have protection everywhere in his home. Doesn’t help much. I tense when the door opens, look around for a weapon. It’s just the Hood. He take his helmet off, shakes out his hair, and frowns at me. I’m shaking.

“Uh…”

“Sorry, so…I, panic attack.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Give me a knife?” I always feel safer with a knife in my hands. I kept the one Joker gave me, but it’s back in Haiti. I couldn’t find any in here. Hood pulls one out of his jacket and tosses it to me. It’s just a switchblade, but I feel better already.

“Thanks.” I open it, turn it around and around in my hands. The hopeless, scared feeling is fading. Hood sits crosslegged in front of me, takes of his jacket and puts it on the floor beside him. There are dark shadows under his eyes.

“I’m gonna get a beer. Be right back.” I nod. When he comes back I realize his arm is bleeding.

I motion at it, asking, “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah. It won’t need stitches.”

“Kay.”

“It was Poison Ivy. Damn plants.”

“Yeah, well, that’s…that’s Poison Ivy, with the plants.” He gives me a weird look and smirks.

“Yeah, that’s Poison Ivy.” I’m feeling better, with a knife in my hands and someone to talk to.

“She hates the Joker, too.”

“Most people do.”

I shrug. “She could actually do something about it.”

“She won’t, though, because if he survived, he’s come straight for her, burn her and every plant in Gotham alive.”

“Yeah.” I don’t know much about Poison Ivy. I only met her a few times. She was friendly, but cold. Distant. “Can I keep the knife?”

He frowns. “No.”

“Alright.” I wasn’t expecting him to agree. I spent years with the Joker, did time in Arkham. He has no reason to trust me. “You need any help with that cut?”

“Nah. I’ve had worse.”

“Right.” I yawn, making him yawn, too. We’ll sleep soon enough.

“Want something to eat?” I shake my head.

“Okay. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

“Uh, wait. Do you have any aloe?” I know he does. The entire apartment smells of it.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Can I have some?” I motion vaguely at my scars. “They’re itchy.” I started taking care of my scars when I ran to Haiti. Aloe makes the itching of the deepest ones go away.

“Sure. I have the same problem,” he tells me, heading to the bathroom. He comes back with the biggest tub of aloe I’ve ever seen. I smile.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. “ He leaves to the kitchen, where I can hear the sound of food being made. I cover the worst scars-my face, the one up my spine, the word that Joker carved into my hip-and lay back, feeling greasy but comfortable. Sleep comes easily.

My dreams are filled with the faces of people I know in Haiti, mouths slashed open like mine. I wake up screaming, the Hood bent over me.

“Quinn, I need you to relax. You’re going to hurt your ribs,” he says calmly. I realize I’ve wrapped my fingers in the front of his shirt. It takes effort to uncoil them.

“I..sorry,” I rasp, laying back.

“Nightmares?”

“Always.”

“You gonna cry?”

“Probably.” He takes a step back, smoothing out his shirt.

“I’ll be in the other room, then.”

“Okay.” He leaves, and I curl up to cry pathetically into my hands. I fall asleep after that, and don’t dream.

When the Hood comes back the next morning, I’m brave enough to ask the question that’s been bothering me. He comes in the door and tugs his helmet off, tosses it aside with a clunk, then perches on the table.

I slide a beer across to him. I’ve learned his habits quickly. I’m good at keeping people happy. I’ve had to be.

“Thanks,” he says, finishing it in seconds. “Now, what do you want?” I’m quiet for a bit. “You can ask. I probably won’t get mad.”

“Where’s…where’s Scarecrow?” I mumble. My worst fear, the man who poisoned the Narrows, the man Joker handed me over to for experiments once.

“Crane? He’s long gone.”

I look up, hopeful. “Dead?” “Nah. Disappeared. He left with that red headed chick, the bodyguard. Mary? Marie? No…Miriam. It was a few months after you left, I think.”

I can remember a Miriam. I saw her once, when Joker took me along to bother Poison Ivy. I remember a red headed woman, tall and strong, fearless. Her face was thin and angular. She had looked at me with disgust.

“He’s not coming back?”

The Hood shrugs. “I don’t think so. He seemed pretty done with the whole evil doctor thing after Catwoman nearly cut his throat.” I relax into my chair, relieved. At least Scarecrow isn’t around.