Met Your Match

By the time Joker got there, Adelaide was completely unconscious. He threw himself on the floor beside her and put his ear to her chest. Her heart was beating, but just barely. He threw her over his shoulder to take her back to the mansion, calling out orders to his henchmen as he went. No one was to leave the club until the bouncer was found.

He talked to her all the way home, hoping she'd wake up. When she didn't, he pounded on the steering wheel with his fist and started driving faster. When he finally pulled into the garage, he rushed her inside. He put her gently on her bed and listened to her heartbeat again. It seemed slower. Taking off his jacket and throwing it to the floor, he left the room and came back a moment later with some makeshift surgical tools. He figured that the only way she was going to get any better was if he dug the bullet out of her stomach.

Her body jolted upwards as soon as he stuck his small forceps into the wound. Putting a hand on her shoulder to hold her down, he dug around until he finally grasped the bullet. Pulling it slowly, he finally got it out. He was surprised to see that it glowed green as he put it in a jar off to the side. He stitched the wound and listened once more to her heartbeat. He was pretty sure that it already sounded stronger.

He collapsed onto the floor beside her bed, staring at her. He had no idea how to respond to the feelings that were jolting through his body. As he looked at her, his heart seemed to swell in his chest, perhaps with something similar to love? He wasn't sure. What he did know, though, was that he'd never been so scared in his life, except for the day that he'd lost Harley. He decided right then and there that he wasn't going to let himself lose Adelaide too. He was going to find the man who'd done this, and he was going to make him pay.



When Adelaide's eyes finally crept open, she felt unbelievably fuzzy. She couldn't remember what happened or how she'd gotten back into her bed. The last thing she remembered was calling the bouncer into the office at the club. She remembered bits of their conversation, and then nothing else.

As she lay there for a few more minutes, things started rushing back. She remembered being shot. She remembered calling Mister J. She vaguely remembered being in the car, hearing his voice. After that, all she remembered was hearing J whisper to her and pain.

She sat up slowly, her stomach still shooting with pain. She lifted her blood-stained shirt and saw the sewn-up wound. She was actually pretty impressed with the Joker's skill; he seemed to have done it with minimal bleeding and without further damaging things than they already were. The thing that concerned her, though, was that the wound hadn't healed yet. She wasn't sure how long she'd been out, but was 100% sure that it should've been long enough for it to heal. The seam looked like it had just a slight sickly green glow to it.

She stood shakily, taking a moment to steady herself and then made her way downstairs. She looked around a little bit and found J in the study screaming at someone over the phone. He seemed to be talking to the person on the other end about the bouncer that had shot her. He screamed a little more before hanging up and directing his attention towards her. He smiled when he saw her, and his eyes were full of rage.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her, and she was surprised at his tone. It was the most normal she'd ever heard him sound, and probably the only time ever that he hadn't called her some ridiculous pet name. Mostly, she just thought he sounded... concerned, which worried her. His eyes focused on her slowly, and as they did they cleared and became filled with something else that she didn't recognize.

"Shitty. The wound isn't healing," she told him, and he stood from behind the desk and made his way over to her. He motioned for her to lift her shirt and she did. He inspected the wound, touching it lightly with two fingers and making her wince. Without a word he went and sat back down, pulling something out of the top drawer of his desk. It was the jar with the still-glowing bullet in it. He handed it to her and she sat down heavily in one of the chairs across from him.

"I don't know what it is," he told her, still using the tone that was much more human-like than normal for him. "I've been looking. I've been calling around. I've been at it all fuckin' night and I can't find a single thing. It must be something he made himself."

"No luck finding him?" she asked, even though she knew the answer.

"Every man I have is out looking for him. He will be found," he told her.

"Why do you care so much?" she asked him without really meaning to. The thought had been rising in her mind, but she hadn't really meant to ask.

"Because he can't get away with this."

"Why?"

"Because you could've died. You still could."

"What if I do?"

"You're not going to."

"But what if I do?"

"You're not going to! Now leave me alone to work," he told her, his voice falling back into its usual tone. She sat there for a moment more, staring at him and trying to figure out what the hell was going on inside his brain. Mostly, she'd just been fishing for him to admit that he liked her. But as she looked at him, she detected something more. There was more to it than that. "Go!" he thundered a moment later, and she did as she was told.

"Let me know when you find something," she told him quietly, shutting the door behind her as she went.