shamechamber | Bad Fic Tropes? I DON'T KNOW

[ She tries to smile but it pulls painfully on her split lip. ]

Well, you keep letting me in, so... Can I?

Ivy wouldn't stand you again, then?

[Sigh. That look on her face. It makes him feel so...]

Fine. Come inside.

She's in Peru.

[ She doesn't mean to say he's not her first choice, but he already knows anyway. She steps inside and drips sadly on the floor. ]

Um. Do you got a shirt I could borrow, maybe?

[He doesn't like thinking that she lightens the place up with her presence. He feels she does. Under his skin. He taps his foot. It aggravates him.]

Back room. First draw on the left.

[ She's oblivious to his irritation, as usual. She only ever pays attention until she gets what she wants. ]

Thanks! You're a real pal, Crane.

[ She's light on her feet as she brushes past him, popping up on her toes to plant a quick kiss on the sharp planes of his face, and leaves wet footprints trailing behind her as she sashays down the hall. ]

I'm borrowing your shower too!

[Crane has always observed others. From his childhood, when he watched his peers from beneath a tree, at a distance, and into his career - and then from behind the bars of his cell. He pays attention because he wants to understand her better. What makes her tick...

He follows her, observant now as he was then.]

Fine. But it's only running cold, I'm afraid.

Geez! If I wanted cold water, I'd have stayed outside!

[ She was really looking forward to using up all the hot water, but their lifestyle doesn't always lend itself to luxury. She'll have to be quick about it. Harley helps herself to a clean shirt and a pair of boxers, because she's not shy but she is, sometimes, considerate.

... And because she doesn't want a frozen booty.

She heads toward the bathroom and pauses with her hand on the doorknob.]

You gonna follow me in here too?

Of course not.

[Well he had followed Sherry, hadn't he? He's not scared so what are these feelings?]

I'll be waiting in the sitting room.

Mmkay. Bee are bee.

[ She steps in the bathroom and shuts the door, setting the folded clothes on top of the toilet lid and stripping out of her soaked outfit. She leaves that in the sink for now, and turns on the shower.

Cold. Sure enough.

She eyes it with trepidation and takes a deep breath. Then another. Then she rearranges her clothes in the sink. Oh my god just do it already okay here she goes.

Even knowing what's coming, she still screams. Ffffuck it's REALLY REALLY BAD.

She rinses off the grime and dried blood as fast as she can, not even bothering to check she got all of it before hopping out and shutting off the COLDEST SHOWER IN THE WORLD, JESUS CHRIST. She rubs herself dry with the towel until her skin is rubbed raw, trying to generate any kind of heat.

When she comes back into the sitting room, her hair is hanging loose in limp tendrils that still cling damply to her face and neck, and she's wrapped herself in the blanket off his bed. ]

That was awful. I mean, thanks. But that was awful.

[He leans forward over the table and pours his eyes over his research. One file is observations on dates, times and crowds at the Gotham Museum. A second is a shopping list of chemicals and tools. The third is a dossier of exhibits to be stolem to fund said list. And a jade scarecrow that he must take for himself.]

Well, yes. [He gives a boyish smile.] That's why I use the handbasin. But are you all right? You're looking a bit red.

I'm cold. An' everything hurts.

[ She sits next to him, close enough to lean her head on his shoulder and look over his papers. Even through the blanket she is clearly shivering. ]

Who even made a jade scarecrow? Isn't that usually, like, for cats an' stuff like that?

[His heart is beating faster. He doesn't move as she checks his papers. She's close enough that he smells the cleanliness of being fresh out the shower. She's so cold. The opposite of what Sherry had been. Heat and passion and being ruled by his heart instead of his mind. The contrast is unbearable. Terrifying. Fascinating.]

I don't care about mediocre stuff like that, Harley. I... you really are cold.

Yeah. But you aren't.

[ She wraps the blanket around them both and folds her legs over his. ]

[He had never felt close to someone before. Not like this. He had never dared to think that he could feel this way. He doesn't have to fear rejection or look away and, well, who cares about the Joker anyway?]

Yes, well, was it your erstwhile boyfriend again who did... [YOU KNOW. THOSE SCARS.] again? What am I saying. Of course it was.

[ Harley is the one who looks away, shame burning under her skin. So what if she and Mistah J got into it from time to time? What couple doesn't have their rough spots? She opens her mouth to defend him but can't make the words come out, so she picks at the fraying edge of the blanket and shrugs instead. ]

Well, y'know...

[Harley looks away. What does embarrassment and shame represent if not fear? He looks at her sharply. His eyes are even colder than before. Like ice.]

Yes I do, Harley. I'm a psychiatrist. I know everything about you. So spit it out.

[ Even under his frozen gaze, the heat rises to her face. What can she do under such eyes but comply? ]

He had a bad day.

[ She smiles sadly and that cut in her lip opens up again, the blood welling up bringing a shock of color to her pale face. ]

[His eyes half-close. Then he sighs heavily.]

That clown's behavior is habitual, you know. I don't know why you stay, speaking honestly. He's an animal.

He's not--!

[ She ducks her head to his shoulder and huffs against his neck. She's running out of ways to explain her relationship, and running out of excuses to herself. ]

Well not everyone can be a gentleman like you, Jon.

Of course not. None of those neanderthals have the intellect required.

[Look at him ruffling his plumage! He is the best.]

[ She huffs again. They're all geniuses, except for Croc and herself, but he is right to be proud. She doesn't dare say it out loud, but he might even be smarter than her ever-lovin' Puddin. ]

You don't gotta be smart to be nice. And you are nice, Jonathan, at least to me. Don't worry, I won't tell anybody.

Edited 2015-12-29 17:19 (UTC)

[He leans against the back of the couch. She is right. He is a genius. He is misunderstood beneath it all, too. But why? Why does he do what he does> Maybe it's so he doesn't feel so empty. Loneliness kills the mind. He's not going to say it, but it's nice having someone around.

He quirks a brow.]

Do I look frightened? Really?

No.

[ She touches her trembling fingertips to his sharp jaw and as her warm blue eyes meet his icy pools, she is filled with such beautiful, tender pity. ]

You look lonely.

[He grabs her hand and, his lithe fingers coiling around hers, moves it over to her face. He pushes back her hair and then wipes that blood off her split lip. He feels his chest tightening.

His face reddens. Awkward.]

Well, not so much as I do at this minute.

[ She reflexively licks her lip, her tongue barely brushing his finger, and she's immediately overcome with embarrassment. She always knew he was handsome in a sort of abstract way, but she didn't realize until this moment under his piercingly pale gaze.

She can't remember the last time anybody looked at her this way. She's not sure if the Joker ever did. She feels so achingly lonely and small. ]

Oh Jonathan, I wish I'd met you first...

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