Chapter Text
The Crackdown was not the best bar in the Gotham City. It was barely the best bar on the street, but it was better than most. The floor tiles were cracked and the bar stools squeaked and the tables wobbled, but it had a charm to it that seemed to keep its few regulars coming back. The drinks were good, the bathrooms were clean, and the bartenders were friendly, and that seemed to be enough for most of them.
The bar was quiet now. It was Sunday, which meant closing time was early, and the last of their patrons long gone for the night. The only sound was the soft murmur of the city outside and the occasional canned laughter from the TV on the far end of the wall.
From behind the bar, Lydia wrinkled her nose at the smell of bleach as the owner, Roy, tossed a graying rag into a bucket and hung up his mop. He insisted on mopping the floors himself every night, despite the fact that he was pushing seventy. He had a bent back and pure white hair, but he had more life in him than most people Lydia knew.
“You heading out, Roy?” Lydia asked. She lifted a dripping rack of glasses out of the sink and onto the counter, grabbing a rag to polish them up. No dishwasher here; Roy said washing them by hand “built character.”
Roy shuffled toward the door, glancing up at her with a nod. “Yep, think so,” he sighed, then frowned at the rack of glasses. “Ah, don’t break your back or nothin’, those can wait. You should get home.”
Lydia smirked and started working her way through the glasses, shaking her head. “No can do, mister, I can’t leave a job unfinished. Makes me itchy.”
“Maybe get that looked at,” Roy said, and grabbed his coat from the rack near the door. “Really, Lydia – I don’t like you walking home this late. There’s all sorta weirdos around here at night.”
“You mean other than you?” Lydia asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Ah.” Roy waved her off, a small smile on his lips. “I get it, you’re a big girl. Just…be careful, alright? I don’t want you getting mugged, or blown up, or God knows what else happens around here nowadays.”
Lydia sighed, nodding absently. She got enough of that from her mother. Mom was…protective, but raising a kid alone in Gotham would do that to you. Didn’t make it any less embarrassing. “I’ll be fine, Roy, just get home to the wife.”
Roy guffawed. “I’m telling Larry you said that,” he said, passing her a sly wink. “Am I seeing you tomorrow?”
“I’ll be here at five.” Lydia smiled. “Have a good night.”
Roy shrugged on his coat and waved to her as he walked out the door, the ancient bells over the door jingling off-tone as they did.
Chuckling to herself, Lydia leaned back against the counter and set the glass beneath the bar, trying not to dread the walk home. Even if she was a “big girl,” the Crackdown was a little too close to the Bowery for comfort, and God knew her mother always had plenty to say about that. But nothing had happened so far, beyond getting some sharp looks from a few ruffians, as Roy would say. She’d kept her head down and her eyes forward and so far, she’d gotten away with it.
Suddenly the television toned, and she looked up to see that whatever low-rate sitcom had been showing had been replaced by shaky footage of the river, the sound of helicopter blades chopping through the audio. A few figures were visible standing by the water, moving steadily across the shore. After a few beats, a voice came on over the feed.
“We’re interrupting now to bring you a live feed of the search effort that have just concluded on the bank of the Finger River, we’re being told that the body of Jervis Tetch, also known as the Mad Hatter, has been retrieved from the water.”
Lydia whistled to herself, leaning back against the counter. This kind of thing didn’t happen that often – the only people that really took care of these weirdos was the Batman, and he had his “moral code” and all. She never thought she’d see the day one of them actually bit it.
“Tetch, who had not been spotted for multiple weeks, was presumed to be in hiding before an anonymous tip informed authorities that a body matching Tetch’s description had been spotted in the river. Retribution is expected from Tetch’s allies, and so all citizens have been advised to avoid the area if possible – ”
With a huff, Lydia picked up the remote and turned the TV off. She’d hear all the details from Mom later, she had no doubt.
“Good riddance,” Lydia murmured beneath her breath. She crouched down, pushing the glasses into the back of the shelf, thinking about Thai food and which restaurants would be open this time of night when those off-tone bells went off again as the door swung open.
Shit. Roy must have forgotten to flip the sign again. She brushed some stray water droplets off her jeans and stood up. “Hey, sorry, but we’re actually – ” she froze.
The Joker was standing at the door.
At first Lydia thought she had to be dreaming, and then she considered hallucinating, and then she considered she must have just lost it altogether, and just stood there staring, struck dumb.
She’d seen him before, of course, but only on the news, usually wielding some comically huge weapon and threatening to blow up more of the already-crumbling infrastructure, before the Batman inevitably showed up to nip it in the bud. It was always the sort of thing she’d laugh about with her friends, about clowns and crazy vigilantes and how far into ground the city was sinking, but she’d never really had to face any of it herself.
The Joker was standing with his arm still outstretched, pinning the door to the wall as he scanned the room. He was taller than she would have guessed – damn, how tall must the fucking Batman be? – and rail thin, his skin just as stark white and his lips just as red and his hair and eyes even greener, if that was possible. After a moment those eyes fixed on her, and he raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Lydia stared. Her mouth was still open, but no words were making their way out.
The Joker let go of the door, and it fell shut behind him, the bells tinkling again as it did. He waved a hand impatiently. “‘Sorry, you’re actually’ what?”
Lydia drew in a sharp breath, suddenly managing to make her tongue move again. Quietly, she managed, “…closed.”
He stared at her, and for a moment she was terrified she’d made him angry, but then he snorted, shoving his hand into the pocket of his bright purple coat.
“Oh, don’t you worry, doll, I won’t be long!” Apparently unperturbed, he strode toward the bar, and Lydia jumped back on pure instinct. The Joker did not appear to notice. “I’m just waiting for someone, is all. I should be out of your hair soon enough.”
He slid gracefully onto one of the bar stools. It squeaked loudly, and that seemed to captivate him for a moment as he leaned back and forward, making it squeak more, smirking when he turned back to her. “Musical chairs, eh? That’s fun.”
Lydia was pressing herself into the sink, leaning back as far as she could as the Joker propped his elbows on the counter, resting his chin upon purple-gloved, interlaced fingers. There was a developing bruise on the cusp of his jaw and a lightly bleeding cut on his cheek, but he showed no signs of pain as he said, “You got cranberry juice?”
Lydia blinked a few times. “Juice…?”
His head tilted, his smile spreading a little wider. “This is a bar, isn’t it? You must make your fair share of cosmopolitans. Vodka cran? Sea breeze?”
The customers at the Crackdown were more whiskey-straight kind of guys, but Lydia glanced warily down at a container of red juice next to a bin of lemons. Slowly, she nodded. “…We have cranberry, yeah.”
The Joker grinned and clasped his hands together. “Delightful! Pour some for me, won’t you?”
“You mean…just the juice?” Her mouth seemed to be moving on its own. Why was she asking? Shouldn’t she be running away by now? She glanced briefly towards the back door, wondering how terrible of an idea that would be.
Meanwhile, the Joker was nodding at her. “That’ll be the ticket. Make it a tall one, boss.” He winked.
After another pause, Lydia gingerly grabbed the juice and one of her freshly-washed cups and, having to force her hands not to shake, poured a glass. She pushed it toward him with the very tips of her fingers.
The Joker’s gaze followed her every move, a slight gleam in his eye. “Very much obliged, Miss…?” He squinted, then abruptly reached across the counter toward Lydia, grabbing the name tag pinned to her shirt. “...Lydia.” He giggled; a high-pitched sound, almost cartoonish. “Lydia, Lydia, Lydia.”
Still holding onto her shirt, Joker looked up at her, a new kind of grin spreading across his face, and he sang, lightly, “Oh Lydia, oh, Lydia, say have you met Lydia? Oh, Lydia, the tattooed lady…”
He let go and leaned back, reaching into an inside pocket of his jacket, still singing softly to himself. Lydia’s heart jumped, wondering if she should bolt – but a moment later he emerged with a bright pink crazy straw, and plopped it into his drink.
“…on her back is the battle of Waterloo, beside it the wreck of the Hesperus too, and proudly above the waves, the Red, White and Blue...!” Joker grabbed up the glass, nodding to her like he expected her to sing along. “Haven’t you ever heard that song?” He took a sip through his straw, the red liquid snaking through the loops. He swallowed, then frowned and scanned her almost suspiciously. “I don’t mean to be rude, Lydia, but I feel like I’m doing most of the heavy lifting in this particular conversation.”
Lydia started chewing the inside of her cheek. After pulling in a deeper breath, she said, “I’m...sorry, I…you just. Surprised me.”
“You mean clowns don’t walk in on you every day? What a shame.” His eye twinkled. “No wonder you’re so quiet. You must be bored out of your poor, fragile little skull.”
Lydia tensed. She was not used to this much talk about her skull. “Uh – ?”
The Joker dissolved into a bout of giggles, leaning forward. “Oh, relax, would you? I’m not gonna hurt you. Frankly, I’m not really in a state to – ” and as if to demonstrate, he suddenly drew in a sharp breath, his hand clasping at his side. He winced in pain, and Lydia saw once he pulled his hand away that there was a dark stain spreading across his sage green waistcoat.
Reflexively, Lydia gasped. “Jesus,” her gut turned a little. “is that…are you…?” She trailed off. It somehow felt absurd to ask him if he was alright when just being in the same room as him made her want to faint.
The Joker waved her off. “I’ve had better, believe me. This is just a little love bite.” He glanced over at her and winked. “Though, I’ve only got so much of the red stuff in me. I better top myself off.” He picked up the juice and took another swig, the color vividly bright compared to the red that was now staining his glove.
Lydia shook her head in disbelief. “How did – what happened?”
“Oh,” Joker leaned his head back, letting the word out with all the exasperation of an overworked housewife. “Well. The ol’ ball and chain and I are having a bit of a spat at the moment. And you know something, Lydia? I think I might be in the dog house. Ever had a beau throw one of these things at you?” He gave his hand a dramatic flourish, like a magician – and seemingly plucked a long, thin object out of thin air. “They’re sharp.” He tossed it onto the bar, and Lydia jumped back a little, freezing to see a bat-shaped blade, one edge streaked with bright crimson.
Her stomach flipped. A fucking batarang. She was always scrolling past posts of fanatics selling them online, having snuck onto some crime scene to snatch up the ones that got left behind. “Holy shit,” she said, looking up at him.
The Joker nodded. “Right? And get this, he was aiming for my hand. Talented bastard.” He knocked back the last of the juice like a shot and slammed it on the table. “That’s damn good stuff, Lydia. You sure know how to make ‘em.” He pushed up his sleeve and glanced at his wrist. Notably, he was not wearing a watch. “Rats. I think I’m getting low on downtime. He’ll follow my little pawprints here soon enough.”
Lydia stared. “Wait. What?” No way. No way the fucking Batman was about walk in here. This was not what she needed right now. She was supposed to be watching bad TV on her couch. She was supposed to be eating Thai food.
The Joker was fishing around in his pockets again, tongue clicking in annoyance. “Say, Lydia, you got a pen? This is important.”
“You – ?” Lydia froze for a second, and then looked to the cash register, where a pen was always perched on the drawer. Quickly, she grabbed it and handed it over, wringing her hands together fitfully.
It was out of her hand in an instant as the Joker swiped a napkin from the bar. He clicked the pen, grinning at the red tip. “Oh, perfect. Red ink is a real tone setter. You have the mind of an artist, Lydia.” As he spoke, he artfully swept the pen across the napkin, his handwriting fluid and clean, like something you’d see on a wedding card – but she couldn’t read it from her angle.
The Joker dotted some I’s (with hearts, it looked like) and signed the note with a flourish before setting to work folding the napkin. His eyebrows were knitted in focus as he did so, his face strangely free of that broad smile for once, and in a few moments he had shaped it into a perfect, if slightly bloodstained, miniature envelope. He looked up and beamed at Lydia proudly.
“Look at that,” He said. “See that? Arkham Craft Wednesdays. Never missed one. They taught me to decoupage.” He grinned and held the napkin out to her. “Do me a favor, Lydia, my friend?”
Multiple alarm bells went off in Lydia’s mind, including holy shit he’s about to steal my fucking soul but she shook it off. Being polite seemed to have been good enough so far. She just had to keep from losing her mind a few more minutes, and then she could go slam her head into a wall until she forgot this whole thing ever happened.
“Okay,” Lydia said, but couldn’t hide the tremor in her voice.
The Joker did not miss it. He scoffed. “Oh, don’t get yourself all worked up, it’s nothing. Just make sure he takes this when he gets here, alright? He’ll probably be all cranky, as usual, but he can never resist one of my little love letters.” He smiled, but not quite like he had been before. There was something different about this one, something…warm. It almost looked…
Right when she thought she must be seeing things, the Joker propped his chin up on his hand, and began swinging his feet a little. His eyes were dreamy and faraway, looking for all the world like a lovesick teenager. “Ah, Lydia. You’re gonna love him. But paws off, you hear?” He suddenly looked back at her, eyebrows raised. “I do happen to be the jealous type.”
Lydia raised her hands. “Got it,” she said. The last thing she wanted was more of this. “Totally.”
“I knew you were smart.” The Joker said, and offered her the napkin. Lydia took it carefully, nodding.
“I’ll…make sure he gets it,” she said.
The Joker’s eyes twinkled. “I know.” He looked like he might go on, but from outside came the sound of a crack, like metal on brick, and new smile, this one more familiar, spread across the Joker’s pale face. “Oh, dear. I think that’s my cue.” He looked at Lydia, eyes twinkling with some vicious cocktail of delight and mischief. He shook out his lapels and stood, taking a moment to check on his injured side. Apparently satisfied, he spun on his heel to face her, holding his arms out stylishly. “How do I look?”
“…Good,” Lydia said, and was surprised to realize she wasn’t just saying so. It certainly wasn’t subtle, but he held himself with such elegance that he could have fooled her into thinking it was black tie attire. Everything he wore was fitted to perfection, probably tailored specifically for him. Does the Joker have a tailor? Who the fuck is the Joker’s tailor?
The Joker waved a hand at her. “Look at you, building my ego! You’ll make me blush.”
They both looked up as something thudded into the roof overhead. Lydia flinched, fighting the urge to duck, but The Joker was bouncing on the balls of his feet. “So sorry to cut this short, Lydia, but I do have a schedule to keep!” He reached into another of his seemingly bottomless pockets and pulled out a slip of paper, slapping it onto the bar. “A little token of my appreciation.” He pointed to the back door. “That an exit?”
Lydia glanced over. “Yeah?”
“Perfect. Auf wiedersehen goodnight, then, Lydia. We must do this again sometime!” He started for the back door, then froze, looking back at her over his shoulder. “Oh – and, could you do me one more favor? Now that we’re friends?”
Lydia didn’t love the ice lurking beneath his tone, but at this point she just needed him to leave. Resolving to press her luck one last time, Lydia said, “Yes?”
The Joker’s face hardened. It actually sent a chill rushing down Lydia’s spine, like cold water. She hadn’t thought that kind of thing actually happened. He said, “Don’t read that note.”
Lydia’s mouth was suddenly extremely dry. She swallowed painfully and said, “I won’t.”
His brow arched. “Promise?”
Lydia nodded rapidly. “Promise.”
And just like that, the grin was back. The Joker’s eyes drifted upward as the sound of boots pounding across the roof became more and more obvious, and he winked.
“Be careful on your way home, Lydia darling. All sorts of weirdos hang around here at night.” And with that, he practically skipped out the back door, slamming it shut behind him, and suddenly, the room was silent again.
Lydia let out an enormous breath. “Oh my fucking god,” She said, to no one in particular – but she didn’t have much time to process before those fucking bells warned her to yet another arrival.
Lydia looked at the door to see a shadow swallowing it up, so tall it almost had to duck to enter – might have been easier if the cowl didn’t have those stupid little ears – but the effect was striking; black armor from head to toe, the cloak flowing from his shoulders. All that was visible were a pair of very blue eyes, which immediately locked onto her.
For some reason, her heart started racing, and she found herself reaching up to press the heel of her palm to her chest. Maybe she was just going fucking insane, but she almost thought she preferred the Joker.
The Batman slowly entered the Crackdown, the thump of his heavy boots echoing through the room so loudly she found herself wanting to cover her ears – and made her realize how silent the Joker’s footsteps had been. Like a fuckin’ cat.
As he drew closer, the Batman’s eyes scanned the bar in front of her. The batarang, the smudges of blood, the empty glass with the crazy straw…it didn’t exactly take the world’s greatest detective to figure this one out.
He looked up at her again. “He was here?” It wasn’t so much a question as a confirmation. It was barely worthy of a question mark. His voice was low and rattled in her head like a firework. His eyes were piercing. Lydia didn’t know eyes could actually do that. She was learning a lot of new things tonight.
Lydia drew in a shaky breath, and let it out. “Yeah.”
The eyes darted over her. “Did he hurt you?”
A shockingly difficult question. Lydia looked down at herself, as if the Joker might have secretly stabbed her when she wasn’t paying attention. “…No?” She said.
A slight nod. “Where did he go?” There was an edge to the question, as if he thought she might not answer – and if the press was to be believed at all, he was the type to go above and beyond when asking questions.
She lifted her hand and pointed wordlessly at the back door.
With hardly even an acknowledgement, he made for the door, his strides growing quicker, his fists curling, a man on a mission. Lydia was almost relieved before she realized the note was still in her hand, and she blurted out, “Wait!”
Almost immediately, he stopped. The Batman looked back at her, his expression completely unreadable. She could only hope he wasn’t pissed.
After waiting probably a bit too long, she stuck her arm straight out toward him, the note pinched painfully between two fingers. “He told me to give this to you.”
His gaze immediately dropped to her hand. After a moment’s pause, he slowly strode toward her, and she had to force herself not to step back. The guy had to be seven fucking feet tall. Was he on stilts?
The Batman took the napkin gingerly, and unfolded it – he seemed to know just where to pull it to make it come apart in one movement. His eyes flitted across the red writing on the napkin, and then, all at once, he grew very still.
Lydia reminded herself to stop holding her breath.
He turned to her, stepping up close to the bar. “Did you read this?”
Lydia was already shaking her head before he finished asking. “Absolutely fucking not.” She almost laughed as she said it, at the absurdity of the entire situation. Here she was playing messenger for a fancy clown man and guy in a bulletproof cape.
The Batman didn’t react immediately, but it seemed her answer was satisfactory. He balled the napkin up in his fist, nodding to himself quietly. He looked back to the door.
“What’s your name?”
This again. “…Lydia?”
He started for the back door. “Go home, Lydia,” he said, and swept for the back door, disappearing just as the Joker had moments ago – and finally, hopefully, she was alone.
Well. He didn’t have to fucking tell her twice.
She stumbled out from behind the door and flipped the welcome sign to closed, slamming into the window with a vengeance. She grabbed hold of the door, but froze, glancing back at the bar.
Was it even worth it? What if it was something that was going to explode, or shoot acid at her face, or something? She looked out at the dark street, the dim orange streetlights, and cursed her stupid curiosity as she walked back over to the bar and picked up the slip of paper that the Joker had left on the bar.
It was just that – a piece of paper, clearly torn out of a wide-ruled notebook. On one side it was scrawled, in bright green crayon,
“I O U – 1 FAVOR. :)”
Lydia stared at it, feeling a worm of unease clench her gut. No need to panic. He’s nuts. Maybe he’ll forget. Lydia turned the paper over.
On the other side, it said, “I WON’T FORGET!!!!”
Lydia let her hand fall against her leg, letting a deep sigh leave her body.
“Fuck.”