Who Says That ***'s Not an Art?

The Joker slammed the door shut causing the door hinges to let out a low groan of annoy as they threatened to break. He hastily gripped his gloves off before flinging them across the room and kicking his shoes off. He found himself lying down on the water stained mattress that sat under a roof drip when he felt his lips dry as something on the window caught his attention.

“What the bloody hell is-” The Joker began to snarl as he ripped the taped Ace card off the wall.

Sure enough it was one of her calling cards; she had even decorated the Joker’s makeup pattern onto the front, as he flipped the card around all his emotion of previous rage drained as if he was hollow.

There on the back was a scan, a baby scan attached to the back with the words ‘Who gets the last laugh now?’ scribbled at the bottom.

Ace lurked in the shadows, usually she would have left straight after she put the card down but she wanted to know his reaction. The Joker came into view from the dirt incrusted window; he had his knife equipped in one hand as he roared inaudible things at the shaking goons. As they scurried off Ace saw him reach into his right inside pocket and pull out a card with an ace facing her, the Joker gave a weak smile before ramming it back into the material then storming off after the men. Ace had seen enough and slipped away.

“Leaving so soon?” Alfred whispered a hoarse voice from the darkness causing Ace to be taken back.

“Please, I-I need to be alone for a while, don’t tell Bruce, please. Just say I’ve been called away with family problems,” Ace pleaded as she heaved the bag of her stuff over one of her shoulders.

Alfred nodded and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead while pressing some car keys into her hand as she stepped out into the dry night air. Ace slipped herself as elegantly as she could despite her bump before starting the engine, the smell of burning rubber was all that was left to do with her.

As the rain began tapping against the door’s window her vision of the abandoned car park she had driven to blurred. She gripped her nails into the headrest as she pressed her back against the backseat chair. She was always alone no matter what, she had gone through childbirth alone but now she wasn’t alone. Using one of her beloved knifes she cut the umbilical cord before cleaning and wrapping the newborn in the Joker’s shirt. As the baby began to readjust to the new world she stared of the window, a single tear dripped down, a part of her scar showing as she began to sing.

“Baby mine, don't you cry,
Baby mine, dry your eyes,
Rest your head close to my heart,
Never to part, baby of mine,”