When Jason awoke the next morning he could feel an ache in his chest. It felt like he had endured a high impact thrust to his sternum. However, he could remember no such event happening. Come to think of it, his memory was sketchy to the prior nights activities. He sets up in his bed. His hand goes to the aching spot on his chest. He looks down and can see some bruising. Damn, what did he do last night?
He gets out of the bed and makes his way into the bathroom. He flips on the light and looks at his reflection. His fingers trace the bruise on his chest. His eyes then make out another bruise in the bend of his left arm. His fingers cross it as well. He thinks he remembered giving himself an injection. His shaved brows knit together as he tried to remember. Why had he done that?
He turns on the faucet and cups his hands under the running water. He splashes it up over his face. He reclines both palms on either side of the sink. As he stares down at it the water drips from his face. As he stared, tranced by the marble sink, more bits and pieces start returning to his memory.
...J...
His lips part as he recalls seeing his dead brother again last night. He raises his head slowly and looks at himself. It's then that he sees another bruise. This one was on his neck. He turns his head some for a better look at it. Damn, what had he done last night? The last thing he clearly remembered was being out with Cobblepot. Had he done this to him? Jason doubts it. But, perhaps the Penguin could help him fill in the blanks. Wait. He didn't need to ask the Penguin. Frost was the one that never left his sight.
He looks down to the counter. He saw a needle on the counter. Next to it lay some scattered cocaine, a razor blade, and straw. He sighs and reaches for the razor blade. He lines out the cocaine and picks up the straw. He leans over it and sucks it all up the straw and into his clogged sinuses. He grabs his nose and throws his head back. He sniffs and snorts, trying to get it all back. He blindly reaches out his hand and fumbles to get the faucet on.He gets his fingers wet and let's the drips fall into his nostril. Sniffing and snorting. Finally the water accumulated and it all broke through, filling his throat.
He stands a moment and waits for his pupils to expand. He waits for his heart to pick up it's pace. He waits for the rush. The rush that gave him the motivation to start his day. He leaves the bathroom and grabs a t-shirt. He looks at it. Fucking Batman. Why were all of J's shirts Batman? He really needed to go shopping for his own things. Maybe he wouldn't think of him as often then. And maybe, just maybe, he would stop seeing his apparition.
He leaves the bedroom and goes to the kitchen. There he finds the chef doing the evening meal preparations. Alfred was helping. He and the chef share a kinship of servitude. They had become friends. It was actually kind of nostalgic to have Alfred around, fussing after Jason as he had when he was a kid. It was warm and comforting. And Jason desperately needed the comfort.
"Good day master Joker sir, can I get you a cup of coffee, tea, or maybe hot chocolate?" Alfred greets Jason with a courteous bow.
Jason stares at him a moment as his mind starts to think over all the times Alfred had made him hot chocolate. But he wasn't a kid anymore. He wasn't Jason anymore.
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