You'd been with him all day.
From the moment the sun rose — not that either of you cared much about sunlight — he'd kept you close. Sitting beside him in the back of the blacked-out car, trailing him through dim warehouses, half-lit club offices, and one tense meeting where a guy ended up leaving without a finger.
Through it all, you were good. Quiet. Patient. You watched him work, watched that sharp mind turn gears and plan and threaten, slipping in and out of madness like it was just another outfit. But now, hours later, you were still at his side... and utterly, completely bored.
He hadn't noticed. Of course not. He was too focused — hunched over the massive map spread across his desk in his private lounge, talking to himself and pointing with that same intensity he always had when he was planning something big.
You stood off to the side, arms crossed and chewing your bottom lip. Waiting. Watching.
And then — a tiny idea bubbled up in your head. Something silly. Harmless.
You couldn't help it.
You stepped forward slowly, mimicking the way he paced in front of the map.
He slammed a hand down on the table and growled, "We take out the supply route here. Cut it off like a vein, watch the blood drain out."
You did the exact same thing — same pace, same movement — and dropped your voice to match his gravelly tone. "We take out the supply route here," you echoed dramatically, "and then we buy matching pajamas and take a vacation!"
He stopped.
You froze mid-gesture, trying not to laugh.
He slowly turned his head toward you, one pale brow arching. "What... was that?"
You blinked innocently. "What? I'm helping."
"You're mocking me," he said flatly, narrowing his eyes.
You pressed your fingers together like a guilty kid. "Maybe just a tiny bit."
He stared at you.
You stared back.
Then you grinned.
And when he started pacing again, you followed behind him like a shadow, copying every move. The exaggerated finger-pointing. The head tilts. The sudden turns. You even grabbed a rolled-up napkin and used it like a pretend cigar, squinting at the map like some deranged mobster.
When he threw his hands up in frustration, you did the same, letting out a long, dramatic sigh. "Baby," he said, voice tight, warning clear.
You mirrored him exactly. "Baby," you repeated in the same tone, frowning just like he did.
He stopped pacing. His jaw ticked.
You pressed your lips together, fighting a laugh.
"I swear to God, doll—"
"I swear to God, doll—" you echoed again before he could finish, your voice a perfect parody of his rough, threatening tone.
That did it.
He let out a sharp exhale through his nose, clearly trying not to smile. "You think you're funny."
You walked right up to him, eyes wide and sweet, like you weren't the one poking the most dangerous man in Gotham with a stick. "No," you said, blinking. "I think I'm adorable."
He stared down at you — the tension still there, but it was fading fast. His lips twitched. Then he sighed, long and dramatic, and dragged a hand down his face.
"You're gonna drive me off the deep end."
You beamed up at him. "You're already there, daddy."
He gave in to a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he reached out and pulled you close by the waist. "What am I gonna do with you, huh?"
You snuggled into his chest like nothing had happened at all. "Keep me forever. Duh."
He kissed the top of your head, muttering something about "brats" and "soft little monsters," but his arms didn't let go.
You might've annoyed him, yeah.
But you were also the only one who could make the Joker laugh when he didn't want to.
And he wouldn't change that for anything.
