To the Point of Obsession

I opened my eyes, looking at Jack before closing them in pain. "My head hurts," I whispered, trying to sit up.

"Don't," Jack said, holding my arm. "Just stay still."

"Is it bad?" I asked, looking at him.

He looked at my side. "I'll have to stitch it."

"I'm sorry," I said, longing to be able to hug Jack. I realized we were in the bedroom, and I was on the bed, Jack kneeling on the floor next to me.

"You didn't do anything wrong," he said, grabbing my hand. "I was the one that let him do this to you."

I sighed, and leaned over enough so I could kiss him. He was too gentle, he used too much care. It was like he was afraid I would break if he touched me the wrong way. "Don't," I said, pulling away, but kept my face at his neck.

He pulled away, letting go of my waist and neck. "I'm sorry," he whispered, standing up.

I rolled off the bed and stopped Jack from leaving. I regretted moving and sighed in pain. Jack turned and examined my face, and carefully placed his hands on my hips, not going near my cut. "I need you," I mumbled, taking a step towards him, erasing the gap between us.

"I can't," he said, kissing my neck. He knew exactly what I meant by my statement.

"Yes you can. I need you," I repeated.

"You're hurt," he reasoned, pulling away and looking at the wound. "I can't hurt you."

"It won't hurt me," I said, kissing his scars, and then his lips. "I promise."

"Please, let me stitch you up, Doll."

I sighed and looked away from him. "The one thing I've ever asked for you don't give me," I said, sitting on the bed. I ignored the sting as I lay down.

Jack smiled, grabbing a medical kit from the closet. "I love you," he said, looking back at me. "That's why I can't. I don't want you to be uncomfortable… even if you want it in the beginning, I can't stop myself."

I stared at him, not sure of what to say. He took out a pair of scissors and cut the dress down the side, moving the material so he could clean the cut. I saw that it was huge. It was at least a half inch deep and four inches long. The bleeding had stopped, but caked, dried blood covered my side and stomach.

"You've asked for a lot of things," he pointed out, taking a cloth full of hydrogen peroxide on it and cleaning the wound.

"But you want this too, that's different, Jack."

"Why do you call me Jack here, but nowhere else?"

"You aren't Jack anywhere else," I said plainly, counting the ceiling tiles as he began to stitch. "You're the Joker."

He smiled faintly. "I'm sorry," he repeated a few minutes later.

I looked away from the fifty-sixth tile and looked at him. "Shut up. You wouldn't say that to anyone else. You would say, 'oh, too bad you got hurt, that might get infected,' and make them clean it themselves. Don't act any different for me," I said, turning so my back was to him.

Jack sat on the bed, wiping the blood from my side. "What did Harley do," he asked, slowly cleaning the blood.

"She was too nice."

He laughed. "She was always nice… to everyone. She worked at Arkham."

"I knew that, when she and you started working together, it was in the paper. And when she and Wayne started dating he paid the court to not charge her. He said that she was forced into it."

Jack got off the bed and put away the medical kit. He humphed when he reacted to my words, but stayed silent and lay down beside me. He kissed my neck, whispering, "I wouldn't do this with anyone besides you, it isn't always a bad thing."

I smiled and turned to him. "I love you, too, Jack."