#two violently *no pun intended* different jokers

[wait-whos-batman]

[noladyme]

Chess. Chapter 6

Y/N never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. She only took what she needed, or what she felt others needed. She’d stayed out of sight for a long time, avoiding anything that could get her in to too much trouble. But for some reason Rick Flag shows up in her life, and in an instant, everything changes.

TW: Violence, language, sexual themes, blood

(This story is obviously non-canon, i.e. Diablo and GQ, but I hope you’ll enjoy it either way. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.)

“St. Roch, Louisiana. We’re staying in our own backyard”. Flag was reading from a tablet; as we were taken through a long hallway, leading from the cellblock, to what seemed to be a large garage.

I had a guards pistol aimed at me, as it’s owner followed my every move, with cold eyes.

I had spent the rest the day before, trying to wrap my mind around my new situation.

I was officially a prisoner at Belle Reve – a high security penitentiary, in the sweatiest asscrack of the Louisiana swamps. I was there for the kidnapping and assault of judge Jeremiah Kelper. 

The assault and maiming had been of such a horrible nature, that I was committed to this facility, without trial. My conviction was a formality, as I apparently confessed to the guards of Belle Reve, the night of my arrival.

I was to serve life, without parole.

There was no mention of the incident in Wayne Tower in my file.

Unofficially, I was the newest member of Task Force X, a top-secret group of meta-humans, and people with exceptional skills, required to complete missions of a classified nature.

These individuals also happened to all be convicted felons, and the scum of the earth.

There was Floyd Lawton; a.k.a. Deadshot. The man who never missed a shot. During dinner – sloppy joes, yum… – he’d shown me a picture of a cute 8 year old girl, who had his eyes.

“She’s a bit older now, writes me every day. She just got an A on her biology report!”, he’d exclaimed proudly. It was clear Floyd loved his daughter, more than anything.

Killer Croc – Waylon Jones. He was huge, terrifying; and made me feel safer than I had in weeks, just by his presence. Croc – as he insisted on being called – had won me over, by calling me cher’.

I’d talked to him about Sammy, and recounted some of the trucker stories he’d told me.

After Croc’d told me he’d once eaten a truckdriver, he said: “I’m glad it wasn’t your boss. He seems like a decent guy”.

I’d been surprised by the gentle and kind demeanor of Chato Santana; or, Diablo, as they called him. I’d seen a videoclip on the news once, of him torching a group of inmates at a prison he was held at. I thought he’d be a hothead – pun intended – but he turned out to be calm and remorseful about his violent past.

Harley. Now, she was a different story. She was about as calm as a puppy on poppers. She also seemed to have no remorse for anything she’d done, as the sidekick and girlfriend of the Joker. I was equal parts terrified and enthralled by her person.

She’d spent most of the rest of the day, singing lullabies to a picture of a hyena, and doing her nails. Once, she’d disappeared for about an hour, before returning to her former activities, with a satisfied smile plastered over her pretty face.

We soon discovered what Harley had been doing, when the napping Digger Harkness – Captain Boomerang, the australian – suddenly screamed; jumping up and down, scratching at his body.

“Ants! Bloody fire ants!”, he’d yelped with a shrill voice; running towards the bathroom.

He’d returned a while later, shaking his coat, and sending the giggling Harley a deadly look. His arms and neck were covered in tiny and angry red welts; that he’d scratched at for the rest of the day.

This was my new family. I was very aware that none of us had chosen to be here, but it seemed that we were all determined to make the best of it, until such an opportunity arose, that we’d be able to leave.

Apparently, Harley had tried to run multiple times – even having made it back to the Clown; and stayed of the grid for a few months, before arriving back at Belle Reve, with a pair of roller skates, and a taxidermized beaver.

I didn’t know when or if I’d be able to escape; so for now, I decided to settle in.

---

In the middle of the large garage stood a helicopter the size of a tank. In front of it stood six crates; each of our names written on the side of one of them.

The rest of the squad seemed to know the procedure. They opened their crates, and dug through them. Flag paced back and forth in front of us, carrying a machinegun.

“You know the deal”, he hollered. “Three weapons. Two ranged, one for close combat. Croc and Diablo, you are both the exceptions”. No weapons for them, I guessed.

“Oy, colonel”, Digger called.

“No, Digger”, Flag answered, before the aussie had a chance to ask. “Boomerangs do not count as close range, though they can be used as such. You bring two. No more”. Digger cursed under his breath.

They’d all been through this before. I couldn’t help but feel like it was the first day of school, and that I’d forgotten my backpack at home.

“You alright?”, Floyd asked from behind me.

“Yeah”, I answered. “It’s just…new. How do you do this? How do you work for these people, who treat you like shit, and then demand that you risk your lives for them?”. I bent to open my crate, and started going through the equipment in it.

“Look”, said Floyd. “Ain’t none of us here who wants to be here. Except for maybe Harley”, he smiled, and looked at the person in question.

She was swinging an oversized fairground hammer, almost knocking over a soldier who was busy checking out her ass.

“We do this, because we have to, for one reason or another”. He looked at me seriously. “I’m here for my little girl. Every time I finish one of these missions, I’m one step closer to seeing her again; and to show her that her daddy’s not a monster”.

I pulled out my jacket, stood up, and looked at it.

“You find whatever reason you need to do this, but make sure it’s important enough, not just to survive for, but to live for”, Floyd finished, patted my shoulder, and walked away.

I sighed and returned to my crate. I had no idea what in my life was important enough to live for at this point.

I didn’t have a family to protect or impress. That had all ended after Hatter had entered my life.

Sammy… he was a friend, but he’d be better of if I didn’t return. Ever.

That left my cats. But they were fine where they were.

So what?

I was interrupted in my train of thought by Flag, who suddenly appeared next to me.

“Hey. You need to get ready. Liftoff in 10”.

“Sir, yes, sir”, I retorted, and rolled my eyes.

I went behind a tall crate to change into my outfit. Leggings, top, boots, jacket; and finally, my claws. I tested the knives once, against the crate in front of me, carving through the thin metal easily.

Retracting the claws, I went to join the others.

Flag stopped me before I had a chance to enter the chopper with the rest of the crew.

“One last thing, Chess”, he said, and pulled out a strange looking harness, made out of some synthetic material and wires.

“What’s that?”, I asked, skeptically.

“This is an armed device, that will explode, should you decide to… smile, without being ordered to do so, by myself”.

I looked him, dumbfounded. “You’re gonna blow me up if I go invisible?”, I guffawed.

“No”, he answered. “I’ll blow that nano-bomb in your neck if you try to run away. This device will explode on it’s own, whenever its sensors recognize that you are using your powers”.

I shook my head, confused.

“If I’m not here to do that, then why am I here?”.

Flag used a strange key to unlock the harness.

“After what happened yesterday…” he started. I interrupted him.

“You mean when I didn’t run away?”, I spat.

He was unmoved by my exclamation.

“After what happened yesterday”, he repeated, “Waller seems to think it would be better if I take control of when you should… do your thing. You’ll be able to make things you touch invisible, as usual; but you cannot disappear yourself”.

He held up the newest addition to my outfit, to let me put it on.

“From now on, you will be wearing this whenever you are not in your cell. I can disarm the device at any time, for as long as I deem necessary”.

I stepped back, shaking my head.

“No”.

Flag frowned.

“Put it on”, he said, a slight edge to his voice.

“No”, I repeated, and crossed my arms in front of me.

Flag exhaled through his nose.

“Put it on, or I’ll put it on you myself”, he growled. I tilted my head, and raised my eyebrows at him.

“Is that a promise?”, I asked.

He raised his chin, and looked down at me.

“I can have one of GQs men do it”.

I ripped the harness from his hands, and begun to put it on; trying to figure out where each strap was supposed to go.

There were two straps, one going over each shoulder. One strap went around my torso, from my back to my front. Holding it all together, was one last strap, starting from my back, going down between my legs, and connecting with the others, on the middle of my chest.

Flag grabbed the straps in front of me, connecting them to a round disc, with a small red light in the middle. He tightened the harness as much as he could, making me bump against him; and locked the disc with the key.

“You go invisible; you die. You try to take it off; you die. You even think of trying to steal the key, guess what…”.

“I die?”, I jestered.

“You die”, he answered.

I tried to move around in the strange contraption.

“How am I supposed to pee in this?”, I asked angrily.

“We’ll climb that mountain when we get to it”, he answered, and turned his back to me, walking away.

“Old Fashioned”, I called after him. He turned around.

“What?”, he asked.

“If you’re gonna ride me this hard, it’s only polite to buy me a drink”, I said; turned my back to him, and walked away to join the squad.

---

Landing in St. Roch, our first destination was an old gas station just outside of town. It was abandoned by its owners; probably due to the explosions going off less than a mile away.

“You have your orders”, Flag called. “We go in discretely, locate our target, and take them out”.

“It’s probably going to be more complicated than that”, Diablo muttered next to me. Croc growled in agreement.

“You know, Flag, we’d probably be even more discrete, if you didn’t have Y/N here tied up like a Christmas ham”, Floyd smirked at him.

Flag frowned.

“This is Chess’ first mission. Let her find her legs before we throw her into it”, he said. “Let’s head out!”.

“Someone’s got a crush”, Harley said in a singsong voice, skipping past me.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, I asked.

Digger chuckled, and followed her.

“She means, he wants a gander at your map of Tassie”, he winked back at me, and took a swig of the can of beer he’d taken from one of the fridges in the small store.

I shook my head, and feeling a machinegun between my shoulders – I was just thrilled that the Tweedles had joined us on this little fieldtrip – I followed the rest of the group.

Sneaking past a checkpoint – Floyd taking out the inhabitants from afar – we made our way downtown.

I heard crying from behind a dumpster, and stopped to see what it was. A young woman was hiding behind it; shaking in fear.

“Are you ok?”, I asked, reaching a hand towards her.

“Chess!”, Flag called, from a few yards away. “Get your ass over here”.

“She might need help”, I said, and stepped towards the crying woman.

She recoiled from my touch.

“No! Please leave me alone!”, she cried.

Floyd came up behind me.

“She’s afraid of us, Chess”, he said. “Just leave her alone”. He went back to the group, who continued down the street, leaving me alone with Flag and the terrified woman.

I backed away from her, a lump in my throat. Turning around, I walked up to Flag, trying desperately to hold back tears. Behind me, I heard the woman get up, and run down the street, away from us.

I looked up at Flag.

“I wasn’t going to hurt her”, I said quietly.

“I know”, he said shortly. “But she doesn’t”. He made to touch my shoulder; but changed his mind, straightened his back, and turned around.

“Let’s go, kitten”.

We joined the others.

“That was quick”, Harley smiled. “It’s ok, colonel. It happens to all men”.

“Lady, I will rip your pigtails off with my bare hands”, he growled at her, stomping to the front of the group.

“Never happened to me”, Croc winked at Harley, who beamed back at him.

Another checkpoint. Digger took care of this one.

Huddling up behind a couple of cars, we finally saw our target. A lieutenant of Ra’s Al Ghul, who had been stirring up trouble, laying the groundwork for a new stronghold for his master. They had chosen to set up shop in the town square; having tied up a group of around 10 hostages to a statue in the middle.

Flag started barking orders in a hushed voice.

“Alright. Floyd, you got the roofs. Keep in radio contact”. It was clear he trusted Floyd more than the rest of the group.

“Croc, see that van? Make sure anyone in it, and in the immediate vicinity of it, don’t have the chance to warn the target”. Croc went down on all fours, and disappeared into a nearby shrubbery.

“Diablo and Digger. I want you on each side of that building. If they do spot us; I want you to bottleneck them into that alley”, he said, pointing in the direction he meant. “GQ, you and your men join them. One on the flame, two on boomer”. Digger scoffed at the nickname.

“Harley; I want you… actually you just do whatever it is you do, without giving the rest of us away”, he sighed at her.

“Sure thing, boss”, she mock-saluted him. “Go team!”.

“You got your orders. Go!”, he finished; and the group scattered, each to their assigned positions.

“What am I supposed to do?”, I asked, feeling slightly left over.

“You stay on me”, he answered, and looked through his binoculars.

A few minutes went by. Hearing a growl from the direction of Crocs assigned post, I saw blood spatter on the inside of the windows of the van.

I heard Harleys voice yelling; “Batter up!”, followed by a clank and a loud scream.

Some of the lieutenants soldiers began scrambling.

“Goddamnit, Quinn!”, Flag cussed. “You! Stay here!”, he growled at me, and ran in the direction of Harleys voice, leaving behind his binoculars. I picked them up, and looked through them.

In the square, the soldiers were rigging up chains and wires around the hostages. Connected to the wires were multiple red sticks I recognized from movies I’d seen. Dynamite.

I looked in the direction Flag had gone. He and Harley were arguing quietly behind a bus.

I looked back at the town square. Our target was walking back and forth in front of the hostages, ranting about something I couldn’t make out.

I tried zooming in with the binoculars. Military tech for the win, I thought, and looked through them again.

In his hand, the lieutenant was holding what seemed to be a tablet. Large numbers read 5:00. The bastard walked up to a teenage boy, who had a stick of dynamite strapped to his chest. He put his hand on his cheek, and said something to him, that made the boy break down in tears. He then pressed a button on the screen. The numbers began to count down.

4:59.

4:58.

4:57…

Fuck!, I thought, and threw the binoculars on the ground.

Reminded of my harness, I rolled my eyes. Ok. So I couldn’t smile. But I did know how to move quietly and quickly. I pulled up my hood, and closed my jacket.

I snuck forward. I heard a gunshot and a grunt behind me, and looked back; seeing an enemy soldier on the ground, a bullet hole right between his eyes. Thanks, Floyd, I smiled up at the roof of a nearby building, seeing Deadshots white hood disappear back into the darkness.

I moved forward again, hiding behind a truck. A stone landed on the ground next to me; and looking in the direction of the thrower, I saw Flag waving at me.

“Get back!”, he mouthed at me angrily. I shook my head, and looked towards the hostages. Continuing forward, I suddenly heard a beep. Looking down, I saw the light on the disc on my chest turn from red to green.

Looking back at Flag – his wrist raised, pushing some buttons on what looked like a watch – I smirked, and nodded at him. Thanks, I thought.

A purr moving through my body; I smiled.

Readying my claws, I ran towards the square. A soldier looked in my direction, having heard my movement, but unable to see me. Oops. Quietly now, I thought, and scaled a car next to him, making as little sound as I could.

I saw Digger and the Tweedles running towards a group of soldiers exiting a building. They finished them of quickly, but not before having drawn enough attention to make the lieutenant aware of their presence.

He yelled something I couldn’t I understand, and dropped the tablet he had been holding.

Gunfire sounded, and I ran faster, making my way to the group of hostages.

I reappeared, startling a few of the hostages who screamed at me.

Picking up the tablet from the ground, I desperately began pushing the screen, trying to make the countdown stop.

2:35.

2:34.

2:33…

There was no way I could stop the detonation.

I spun around, ran to the statue, and began pulling at the wires.

“You’ll make it go off!”, the teenage boy from before shouted at me.

I ran to the back of the statue, finding a simple lock, holding together the two ends of the chain intertwined with the wires.

This I can handle, I smiled, and got out my kit.

I managed to break two of the lockpicks, my hands shaking from the stress of the situation. I looked at the tablet on the ground.

1:01.

1:00.

0:59…

Taking a deep breath, I gave it one more try. Please, please, please!.

The lock opened.

I grabbed one end of the chain, and ran with it around the statue, releasing the hostages. The teenage boy carefully pulled at the tape that held the stick of dynamite to his chest, and put the red stick gingerly on the ground.

“Thanks!”, he smiled at me, and ran. I smiled after him.

An elderly woman was having trouble keeping up with the others.

0:37.

0:36.

0:35…

“Just go on”, she yelled at me.

“No!”, I answered, and ran to put her arm around my neck. Stumbling a few steps forward, the woman was suddenly lifted from the ground, screaming, as Croc – with a smile plastered across his gruesome face – ran to safety, the old woman hanging over his shoulder.

We did it!, I thought, and went to run after him.

Someone grabbed my leg, holding me in place. Looking down, I saw the lieutenant – a gash across his face, and a gunshot to his chest – laughing up at me. His strong hands were holding on to my leg, making it impossible for me to move.

I looked towards the group waiting for me at a safe distance. The hostages were continuing down the street, running towards sirens and blinking lights.

0:15.

0:14.

0:13…

Flag screamed something at me, Edwards and his soldiers holding him back.

I yanked at my leg, desperately trying to get the dying man to let me go.

0:09.

0:08.

0:07…

I lifted my fist and screamed; cutting through my captors arm. He let go with a yelp; and I ran.

0:03.

0.02.

0:01…

0:00.....

Tag list:

@gloriousgam3r​

@hyp-oh-critical​

[jokersmild]

I still owe a number of things, but I wanted to take the time to explain my interpretation of the Joker's romantic inclinations - particularly in regards to Harley Quinn and Batman. Heads up that this is incredibly long, hence the readmore!

To understand the Joker, you have to first understand that he is completely and utterly insane. That's not to say that he doesn't follow logic or make rational decisions, simply that if normality is a spectrum with pale house, picket fence, a 9-5 job, and two pets on one side, the Joker is on the exact opposite side. He is the embodiment of chaos, and so he cannot feel 'love' or anything similar in the way that the average, mentally sound human can. Love is something that he's capable of processing - he loves jokes, he loves violence and death - but when it comes to loving creatures that are alive, what he feels would be more comparable to curiosity in varying levels. At his most curious, you have Batman and Harley Quinn. His least curious would likely be harmless animals, newborn babies, and mundane tasks. The more curious about something the Joker is, the longer he keeps it around, and the more he attempts to mold it to fit a shape he finds most pleasing.

I'm sure most of you who have read this far already know the story of how he came to meet Harley Quinn, but just in case, I'll summarize briefly. She worked as a psychologist fresh out of college at Arkham and talked her way into getting Joker as her first patient. She wanted to write a story on him to gain fame and fortune, but he ended up seducing and manipulating her, turning her into the Harley you know today. The reason he put so much effort into twisting her into something he finds pleasing is because he saw her potential on their very first meeting. The Joker is incredibly intelligent, especially socially, and is capable of picking up on the subtlest of hints. He spent (likely) somewhere around a year as he patient, testing her, prodding for minute details like her favorite colors, her hobbies, and her grades in school, and given all that time, he was able to learn enough about her past and personality to successfully get inside her head. The more she fell for his lies, the more she stretched as he pulled, the more he wanted to do more. She became an experiment of sorts, a test to see just how much he could change this prim and proper pencil skirt wearing doctor to someone like him - a murderous clown who views life as a joke. When she finally snapped and became 'Harley Quinn', he had intended to toss her aside, since his test had been a success and there was nothing more to see. But she continued to surprise him. She proved herself to be competent as a henchman where no others had before, she proved that she could match his pace, complement his theatrical appearance and mannerisms, and that she had far more to show him than he'd thought possible.

A fact worth noting is that the Joker never intended for her to fall in love with him. He doesn't suffer from any self esteem issues (in fact, it's quite the opposite as he has Narcissism), but he assumed that a woman nearly half his age would have no interest in an asylum inmate. When she first showed signs of romantic attraction, Harley genuinely surprised him. The Joker's past has never included romantic relationships (note, I mean the Joker and not the man he was before), and he never intended it to aside from his pining for Batman. He wasn't sure how to react for the first time in ages, and it was the fact that she was able to render him speechless and stunned that began his spiral into what he later realized is love. After she joined with him, after the months of pet names, hand holding, hugs, and soft kisses on cheeks and foreheads, the Joker realized that he enjoyed her company. And not in the way that he enjoyed a crying, screaming victim's, but not entirely dissimilar to the way he felt about Batman. The Joker wanted to keep her around, keep her happy (as he does so enjoy her laughter and excited squeals), and name her his number two. Once he came to that conclusion, he became ill. He knew that it wasn't 'The Joker in love with Harley Quinn', but rather, the man he was before (Jack, John, or Arthur if you please) in love with her. She appealed to what tiny scraps of sanity he had left. Harley showed him unconditional affection and kindness, she was patient with him, supportive, and an ever present source of camaraderie. Sure, she had fallen for The Joker's clowny antics, but she fell for the glimpses of sanity that only she had been able to see. The Joker worried that keeping her close would ease some of the symptoms of his insanity, that he would cease to be 'The Joker' if he and Harley remained an item. So he attempted to kill her. And when she didn't die, he learned that she was no pushover - he had turned her into something near an equal. At that point, he had little choice but to keep her close. She knew his secrets, had seen him cry of all things, and he had unknowingly given her power over him that no one else, not even Batman has. He loves her, not just his sanity, but even the Joker himself came to love Harley for her tenacity, insanity, bloodlust, and theatrics. It makes little sense why he would abuse her as he does if he loves her, but the Joker, as I mentioned, does not process love in a sane way. He continues to test her to this day, and the most common test is of her loyalty. No one is a constant in his life aside from Batman, the other Gotham Rogues shift from friend to foe in moments, and he'd convinced himself she would be the same. You could say that he's incapable of accepting that he's loved, and because he refused to believe she would stay with him, he continued to prod her in search of the button that would trigger the 'leave' response. Now that he found it and she has truly left him, he can't accept that, either. He made her, his tests are the reason she is who she is, and she will always love him. She has to love him, because his sanity will always love her. It's similar to not knowing what he had until it was gone - although he knew what he had, he simply wasn't capable of carrying the weight of love.

In Batman's case, the Joker loves him because he created the Joker. Think of it as a sort of... accidental 'Mad Love' scenario. In many of his origin stories (the Killing Joke being my primary inspiration), Batman led the Joker to the chemical vat, and his dark and brooding nature is what encouraged the Joker to take on a light and jovial one. They are day and night, light and shadow, and the Joker feels Batman completes him. A world without Batman simply wouldn't make sense (a concept he's currently struggling with here in isola), as you can't have a left hand without a right. It would just be a hand. Batman would just be a man dressed as a bat, and the Joker would just be a clown.

The main point to take out of the differences in the Joker's feelings for Harley and Batman, is that the Joker is obsessed with Batman. Their relationship is one of need. It is the stage on which the Joker's theatrics take place and Batman's stoic and determined nature shine. What he feels for Harley isn't need, but rather, comfort. He doesn't have to put on a show for her like he does the rest of the world. He doesn't have to wear the lipstick or the suit for her to see him for who he truly is. If our resident Harley wants to explain her feelings for the Joker, she's more than welcome to as I can't speak for her interpretation, but what I do strongly believe is that Harley will continue to love the Joker because he's the first person who looked at her and saw her, not what she presented. They have this in common, the ability to understand one another as no one else can, and thus they will always be connected - whether it's romantic or platonic. They claim to despise each other, and while Harley is more likely to be vocal about her hidden desire to care for him, the Joker feels the same. He's said as much to her on a few rare occasions, even though most only see his aggressive and violent behavior toward her. That's just one aspect of his emotions, and it's crucial to keep in mind that the Joker sees himself as an actor, the co-star alongside Batman, and he's nothing if not dedicated to performance. He has many faces (no pun intended), and there are as many Jokers as there are comics, movies, and shows he appears in. Each writer has their own opinion, their own ideas, and I have mine.

In conclusion, I ask that you take a moment to consider that the Joker is more than he appears. Yes, he is a serial killer and a terrorist dressed as a clown. But he is also a man whose wife and child died the day before he fell into a vat of toxic chemicals that forever altered his physical and mental state. I don't want anyone to sympathize with him - The Joker is intended to be a truly terrible and awful villain, someone who feels not a single ounce of regret, unlike Harley who sometimes feels guilt for her actions and draws moral lines. There is some small piece of who he once was deep down inside, but it's not going to surface. He will have no redemption arc. He will never be a good person. But there is, was, and always will be the potential for him to be a good partner. Whatever happens in Isola will remain a mystery until it happens, as sometimes plans go awry as muses run rampant, but I thank you for reading this to its conclusion, and for attempting to see the small flickers or goodness he shows toward Harley in rare and vulnerable moments. Because even though the Joker represents true evil and rampant chaos, even the darkest depths must have light somewhere nearby - otherwise how would you compare its darkness?