You Don't Own Me

It was almost a whole week before he finally woke up. Violet figured they were probably keeping him down as long as they could without killing him so that there would be less chance of him breaking out right away. She knew his history; but then again so did anyone in Gotham who'd watched the news even once. He had a tendency to break out of Arkham within the first month or so every time he ended up in. It had happened countless times, and Violet had always wondered how the hell he'd managed it.

When he did finally wake up, he started screaming hysterically almost instantly. Violet tried to ignore it for as long as she could, but eventually she moved to the window between their cells. As she peered in at him, she was surprised at what she saw. He was lying in a small heap in the corner of the small cell, his eyes flowing with tears to accompany his screams. When she looked at him a little closer, she figured out what his problem was. On either side of his head, there were distinct round burn marks. They'd obviously been electro-shocking him in the middle of the night when she hadn't been up to hear his door opening and closing.

"Hey! Mister J!" she yelled, trying to make him hear her over himself. She had to try a few times before he finally turned her way.

"I can't... something's wrong," he said to her, frantic. His blue eyes were wide and almost seemed to glow from across his cell.

"Come over here," she instructed him gently, and had to repeat it a couple of times before he finally did it. When he was standing right on the other side of the bars, she looked at him intently.

"They're electro-shocking you. They're trying to take your memories away so that they can 'fix' you," she told him, and he nodded slowly. You've got to resist," she told him, and he looked at her blankly. "Fight it. Think hard about who you are, about what means something to you. Think hard about your life, about the things you've done. It'll make the headache go away. I promise. You've got to try though," she told him, and he closed his eyes for a few long moments. So long, in fact, that she thought that he might somehow be sleeping standing up. But finally he opened his eyes again, and he was a completely different person. His posture instantly straightened and the look of his eyes returned to normal. He raked a hand through his messy hair, pushed his palms into his eyes for a moment, and then looked at her quizzically.

"How did you know that would work?" he asked her, and she shrugged.

"Notice how you don't see those burns on me?" he nodded. "They tried when I first got here, and then I figured out how to beat it and they gave up," she said, shrugging again.

"What's your name?" he asked her, and just his tone indicated that he was attracted to her.

"Violet."

"What are you in here for?"

"I killed twelve men."

"C'mon, kitten. Don't you dare deprive me of the details."

"I broke into a recovery meeting for men that had abused children. I killed my father and all eleven other participants," she said, wishing she didn't have to keep saying it out loud.

"Mmm, delicious," he mumbled, and when her eyes connected with his again, the look she found in them made her uncomfortable. "What a delicious little Violent Violet," he said, and she cringed at the nickname.

"Please don't call me that," she said, clutching her head. She could feel a migraine coming on. She moved from the window and plopped down on her lumpy mattress.

"Anything for you, little one," he said. She listened as his footsteps retreated back across his own room and rolled her eyes at the ceiling.

"That's what you get for being helpful. Creepy flirting," she whispered to herself, rolling over so that she was facing the wall. A moment later, she heard a small chuckle come from through the window between hers and the Joker's cell, as if he'd heard her quiet words and found them amusing.