Safety Dance

Professional Disclaimer: I don't own any rights to Batman, The Joker, DC Comics, or anything recognizable from various storylines or forms of media featuring the Joker. I own only the original elements of this story, which I make no money from writing or publishing.

Personal Disclaimer: This is my first DC fic, and as a life-long Marvel fan, I apologize if there are any glaring plot holes. I will include more information in my Author's Note following the content, but I ask your forgiveness for whatever obvious issues you may see. Thank you.

Baroness was lonely. Thinking back on it, that was the only reason she had accepted this invitation - from her most-disliked coworker, no less - to go to a club. Baroness (Bear to her friends, but never Nessie) hated to dance. And yet…

"Nessie," Chelsea had simpered, "You simply must come with us to the club! You're always sitting at home by yourself. Come have some fun with the girls!" And Bear had accepted.

Moving to Gotham had been rough, far rougher than she must have at first believed, if she was willing to tag along to what was, by all accounts, one of the rougher clubs in the already-shady city. She regretted the decision now, listening to Chelsea attempt to explain the club's location to Amanda, one of the other girls going who had volunteered to drive a second vehicle so no one had to take a taxi. Bear hadn't realized how many people were coming along, but she supposed they could count themselves in a 'safety in numbers' scenario. It seemed as though it would be needed.

"It's called The Jester's Crown, surely you've heard of it," Chelsea was saying somewhat derisively to Amanda.

"Of course I've heard of it," Amanda defended herself, "I've just never been there. Is it in Old Gotham?"

"No, it's actually in the East End part of town." This apparently held meaning for Amanda, who nodded in understanding. Encouraged, Chelsea continued with, "Specifically, it's in the Bowery, really close to Crime Alley, on the outskirts of Crown Point."

"Ah, okay, I get the name now," Amanda giggled. Bear couldn't help frowning at the slightly younger girl, thanking her lucky star that they weren't facing each other directly. Amanda was nice enough, but Bear couldn't help but think that this club sounded like a wonderful place to go if you wanted to die a horrifically violent death.

Undeterred, Amanda said, "I'm pretty sure I know where you mean, but I'll follow you anyway. Is everyone ready to go?"

"Wait, are we going now?" a new-ish girl named Haven asked, adding, "We're all still dressed in our work clothes. We'll look a little odd in a club."

Bear nodded her agreement with this, thinking that she could probably come up with some kind of feasible excuse if she was given time to 'go change for the club'.

"No need!" Chelsea shrugged. "No matter what you wear, you're not going to stick out at Jester's Crown. Besides, everyone looks great! Even Nessie looks okay!"

Bear shot a withering look in Chelsea's direction, but the irritatingly-perky blonde seemed unfazed. "Come on girls, let's head out! The club's best DJ is on now, but his set is going to end if we wait much longer."

With that, all eight females piled into the two cars and made their way across Gotham City. Sitting in the cramped backseat of Amanda's Volkswagen Beetle, Bear nervously eyed the scenery as it shifted slowly from stately, gothic-style architecture to something that managed to be even less comforting. The car was rapidly surrounded by squat, unfriendly-looking buildings. If they could even be called buildings, Bear thought darkly. They were more aptly described as run-down concrete slabs with only a few scattered slices of fogged grey glass to serve as windows.

Between the broken-down husks, the shadows gathered thickly, seeming to drown anything in their midst. Or maybe that was Bear projecting. She certainly felt like she was drowning. In the span of the ten-minute car ride, she had thought over her regret of accepting the invitation upwards of fifty times. Bear shook herself, trying to dredge up some determination to take this experience as it came, focusing on the good rather than the bad, but as they pulled up to the nightclub, all of her good intentions disappeared with her sense of safety.

Somehow, despite her dislike for Chelsea, Bear hadn't really believed the woman would bring them somewhere unsafe. Her first look at the Jester's Crown made her reconsider. It looked like any other club she had ever been to (not that she had been to many, but they all seemed to look the same) except that the whole building seemed to be colored an odd gunmetal grey, broken up by splashes of brick-red paint. Bear fervently hoped it was a coincidence that most of the splashes were roughly head-level.

Rather than an official, properly-lit sign - or even a simple neon one - the name of the club was spray-painted on the side of a wall, seeming for all the world to have been placed there by a vandal and lit with a faulty spotlight that flickered on and off at a speed that would make an epileptic severely uncomfortable. The only upside was that the light distracted from how all but two of the blacked-out windows were broken. The others had been boarded up with sheets of plywood, presumably to keep light, homeless murderers, drug-addicted prostitutes, and bugs out of the building.

As everyone emerged from the parked cars, Haven said excitedly, "Wow, Chelsea! This place looks great!" Everyone echoed her sentiment and the group drifted readily toward the entrance of the club. Bear followed behind, feeling a little as though she had fallen into the Twilight Zone, but unwilling to stay outside in the rough neighborhood by herself.

The similarity to other clubs continued when Bear entered. The wall of noise was always to be expected. While she didn't enjoy the overload of her senses, Bear admitted to herself that it was almost comforting in this case. She made it through other nights doing things she didn't want to and would make it through this one just the same.

She trailed behind her group, managing to catch up just as they settled at a large, circular table set on one side of the room. Everyone sat down, scooting around the booth until each woman had a sufficiently-large seat. Chelsea, sitting somewhere toward the middle of the rounded cushion, leaned forward to speak, a bright smile exposing her perfectly straight teeth.

"We're so lucky! We got here in time for the DJ's last set. He's honestly the best guy they've got." The other women looked politely interested and Chelsea rolled her eyes as she pouted dramatically, "-So we shouldn't waste his talent by sitting here! Let's go dance!" Chelsea's carefully-highlighted curls bounced as she scooted back around to exit the booth, forcing several girls out before her. One by one, Bear's co-workers disappeared, shrugging, onto the dance floor.

"Are you coming, Baroness?"

Bear grimaced inwardly, resolving to speak to Gemma on Monday morning about her preferences where names were concerned. Gemma was nice enough, though, and Bear gave a small smile as she shook her head. "I don't really dance. I've mentioned that, right? When I go to the club, I usually end up guarding the table."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I think that's kind of what they were counting on," Gemma said, grimacing apologetically as she backed down the shallow trio of steps toward the dance floor. Left alone at the purse-scattered table, Bear sighed and wished that she was anywhere else.

Farther into the building, a pale man sprawled back against the rich violet leather of his couch, knowing the sharp contrast it made against his skin and the green of his hair. He luxuriated in the knowledge, savored the idea of the jarring sight he presented to anyone who dared to peer through the fogged air in an attempt to see the 'VIP' platform. The Joker chuckled softly to himself, exposing teeth that glinted metallically in the low light. The only 'Very Important Person' to have sat on this couch was currently occupying it and saw no purpose in sharing his status with another.

A subtle motion from Frost pulled the Joker's attention back to the current moment and he beckoned the man over, listening to the information given. "Thanks, Jonny-boy," Joker dismissed, drawing back into his thoughts as the man stepped back into the shadows at the edge of the platform.

So Markson had come through after all, he mused. A wicked grin played on his red lips as Joker mentally meandered through the directions his night could take. Whichever way he played things, his night was looking up.

Across the crowded club, Bear's night was not improving. She had warded off several advances, all from men who felt that - as she wasn't dancing - she ought to be drinking. Bear didn't mind beer and was actually rather fond of tequila, but felt that this wasn't the right environment to be less-than fully cognizant.

Added to that, Bear had yet to even glimpse any of her coworkers. She was pleased to avoid the awkward small talk that would inevitably ensue and the dance floor was packed, but she couldn't help but feel a little left out.

Deciding that was silly, Bear turned her attention to the music. Most of the songs were strange choices for a place where people wanted to dance. Normally, clubs focused on pop music; beat-driven songs that make it easy to disguise that one doesn't know how to dance. Not The Jester's Crown, apparently. Instead, the DJ played songs from heavier bands, more alternative. From just the short time Bear had been paying attention, she could pick out The Killers, My Chemical Romance, and even The Dropkick Murphys. The only sort of connection between the songs was a tendency toward themes of death or dying, though the motif of smiling seemed to be equally represented.

Strange themes for a club, especially when combined. Of course, Bear realized that this was far from an ordinary business. There were too many small touches, strange and off-putting quirks… It was as though the entire club was an inside joke. But who's the one laughing? Bear wondered, trying not to put too much thought into the chill that ran down her spine at the unspoken question.

"Say, Jonny," Joker drawled, jerking his chin at the henchman who obligingly moved closer. "Do ya notice anything odd about that corner?"

Frost watched the boss's eyes and followed their path to a round booth off the side of the dance floor. He studied it for a long moment, watching the small brunette woman scroll through her phone before shrugging at the Joker. "Not especially, boss."

"That woman isn't dancing."

"Want me to ask her to leave?"

"Now, why would I want to alienate a paying customer?" Joker asked rhetorically. "No, I just have to wonder… Why pay the cover charge to sit at a table not dancing, not drinking, and not getting picked up? Every guy making the rounds down there has gone up to her at least once and she's shut 'em all down."

Frost didn't have anything to say to this, but the Joker was on his own train of thought. He was fixating on this woman and he didn't know why, but she was bothering him. Why was she in his club so that she could avoid doing everything people do in clubs?

Finally, he looked up at the henchman, slapping his open hand loudly against the top of the table. "Frost, I want ya to go ask her to dance."

For once, Frost didn't immediately spring to action, sharpening the Joker's interest even further. "But boss, I don't dance."

"Ask her anyway," he ordered.

"She ain't exactly pretty," Frost expanded.

"Neither are you. Neither am I. Ask her to dance."

"But what if she says yes?"

"You'll get a bonus in your next paycheck," the Joker conceded with a crazed grin. Fascinated as he was with Jonny's new-found backbone, he did have other plans in place that he wanted to watch pan out. Perhaps that's why, when Frost continued to hesitate, he added, "That's a lot nicer than what you're gonna get if you're not asking her to dance in the next minute and a half."

Frost nodded once and started down the stairs while the Joker watched smilingly. Frost really was one of his favorite henchmen, almost entirely due to the man's deeply-buried moral compass. Joker was breaking him one half-step at a time, but he was doing it so slowly that Frost thought he was simply bending. That's the way Joker liked it. No one should be able to anticipate the game except for him. His green eyes wandered to the woman Frost was approaching and he mentally added, And I'm the only one who gets to play games in this place.

To say Frost was reluctant was an understatement. The woman wasn't his usual type, but that wouldn't have bothered him overly much in the past. No, she wasn't the issue here; the Joker was. Since Harley had disappeared, he had been steadily growing bored and everyone knew it was only a matter of time before he turned his sights on a new victim. The Joker was never satisfied unless he had something in the works.

What the boss needed, Frost decided as he approached the woman's couch, was someone to twist. Maybe he would find someone tonight. Markson had brought an entire crowd of females for him to pick through. Surely one of them would fit his standards… Either way, his attention surely wouldn't be held by this woman. She was medium height, brunette, and curvy with kind eyes and a peaceful demeanor, nearly the opposite of the blonde, manically-sadistic, physically-perfect Harley Quinn.

Frost stood next to the woman's couch and waited until he had attracted her attention. "Hello," he said awkwardly.

She turned to him and Frost was thrown by her eyes. They were large and impossibly dark, drawing him in so quickly and deep that he felt like he was drowning in their depths, at least until she smiled. "Hi."

"Do you- ah, do you mind if I sit down?"

He gestured at an empty stretch of cushion in the booth, feeling like an absolute imbecile, but she continued smiling. "Please, go right ahead."

"So…" he trailed, searching for something to say. "Are you having fun?"

She sighed, shoulders slumping. "Not especially," she admitted. "I'm just here because this coworker I kind of hate asked me to come and I'm sick of sitting at home by myself. But I really don't like to dance."

"Oh. That's actually why I came over here. Are you sure I can't convince you? Just one dance would be enough for h- for me."

The woman had frowned at his little slip, but simply shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. It's really sweet of you to ask and thank you for trying, but I'm just going to hang out here. You should go dance, though. I'm sure there are plenty of women who would love someone to go out on the floor with."

Frost shook his head. "I'm not much of dancer myself, to tell the truth. Is there any chance I could buy you a drink? You know, to make up for bothering you?"

"You haven't been bothering me," the woman said earnestly, leaning forward to lock his gaze with her own. "It's actually been really nice to talk to someone tonight. And I would take you up on the drink, but I have a feeling I'm going to end up as the Designated Driver tonight, so I'd better not."

He nodded understandingly and offered his hand. "My name's Jonny, by the way."

She smiled broadly, shaking his head. "I'm Baroness. It was lovely to meet you."

Frost took the hint for what it was and slid from the couch, returning her smile as he moved away. It was her eyes, he decided as he made his way back to the boss's platform. She looked at him, not through him as too many other women - hell, like people in general - seemed to do. She spoke to him like a real person and not a possibility, a means to be exploited if the right buttons were pushed. Baroness, despite the strange name, was real, and Frost suddenly realized how little in his life had seemed solid since he started working for the Joker.

As he reached the top of the smoke-shadowed staircase, Frost met the Joker's green eyes and shook his head slightly. With a grin that somehow seemed impishly thoughtful, the pale man sat back in his purple leather couch and continued watching the floor. When he was brave enough to pay attention, Frost noted that his boss's weighing gaze strayed often to the tucked-away couch where Baroness still sat.

Distraction came shortly in the slender, bubbly form of Markson as she bounded up the staircase, stopping just short of insult to get Joker's permission to proceed. True to form, Joker waited a long minute to acknowledge her, pretending not to notice the woman bouncing on her heels at the edge of his platform.

When he did speak, the Joker's tone was darkly expectant. "Well, Markson, what didja bring for me?"

Markson's pretty face was pulled into an expression of pride. She had always creeped Frost out a little, if he was being honest with himself. She looked so wholesome and sweet, but was utterly mercenary… and she was good at it. Frost carefully kept his eyes focused on the crowds filling the dance floor, though Markson was still close enough that she never left his peripheral vision.

"Joker, baby, I've brought you an amazing collection of the best women. You're going to be really pleased with everything-"

"Why don't ya let me decide what I'm gonna be real pleased with?" Joker interrupted. Frost could hear the sneer filling the boss's voice, but whether it was at Markson's incredible self-assurance or her attempt to call him by a pet name, he wasn't sure. "Where are they at?"

"Straight out there," Markson said, pointing at the dance floor and closing one carefully made-up blue eye in a childish attempt to aim more accurately. "I've kept them dancing in front of your platform all night. They think it's where the bass is best, but I wanted you to have the chance to look them all over-"

The Joker's pale form appeared just behind her shoulder, snaking an arm around to grip the lower half of her face with one tattooed hand. Judging by the way the tendons of the man's arm stood out, the hold over her mouth must have hurt, but Markson's eyes closed in a way that looked almost orgasmic. "Has anyone ever told you that you… talk… so… much…" Markson's mouth moved under the Joker's hand and, though Frost couldn't hear what she said, Joker's red mouth twisted in a chilling grin. "That's right, I have." He released her abruptly, pushing her slender form away from him so roughly she stumbled. "Now, which women are we talking about?"

Markson straightened up slowly, gulping a few breaths before saying in a slightly huskier voice, "The six women in business clothes, all dancing about ten feet from the bottom of your staircase." The platform grew silent, allowing the thumping music to take precedence while the Joker surveyed the offerings Markson had brought.

Frost fought not to let his face grow judgmental. Chelsea Markson had come to the Joker specifically, offering to help him find a replacement for Harley. She wanted to be compensated. At first, that was her only condition, the only thing it would take for her to deliver over an innocent woman to one of the worst monsters Gotham had to offer, but Markson's views had shifted over the time it had taken to find the right woman for the Clown Prince of Crime. Now, she wanted two things: compensation and a reward of a different sort, required to be given to her by the Joker himself. She was one of those women who desired powerful men, not to stand with them or even to belong to them, but to stake the most fragile claim. Frost didn't understand why anyone would volunteer to fuck the Joker, but Markson was a special kind of crazy. Arguably, the worst kind. Certainly the most dangerous. The Joker was the one who staked the claims, and Markson's deal was probably going to end the way most did with the Clown: death.

For now, Markson was still confident, saying with pride, "Well? Did I lie? I told you I had what you asked for. Six beautiful women, ready for you to take your pick. You get to craft your next Harley, take a blank slate and break her down. You're in charge of the whole process, from beginning to end-"

This time, the Joker's pale hand wrapped around Markson's throat instead of her face. "Stop… talking." He pulled her back against himself, her back resting flush against his naked chest. It was a power move, nothing more, but Frost could tell Markson took it as a proof of her irresistible nature. "You're right: ya brought me six beautiful women." Markson smiled softly, victoriously, but the Joker's grip tightened. As her breathing cut off abruptly, he said with a chuckle, "But I didn't ask for beauty."

Head pressed back against the crook of the Joker's shoulder, Markson still managed to gasp out, "Wh-what did you ask f-for?"

He tsked at her. "Weren't ya listening when I told ya? That was stupid. I told ya I wanted… sssspark."

Just as Markson's eyes began to lose focus, the Joker dropped his hand from her throat and stepped away, leaving her to collapse on the floor while he stepped to the edge of the platform. Nervously, Frost noted that the man's gaze strayed not to Markson's beautiful offerings, but to the lone woman sitting in a booth on the side of the dance floor.

"Now that's spark," he drawled before correcting, "The beginnings of it, anyway. She comes somewhere she doesn't want to be because she feels like she has to, but refuses to do what everyone else does."

"How is that-" Markson coughed dryly before continuing. "Spark? That sounds like a waste of time to me."

"Of course it does," Joker responded, patting her cheek somewhat harder than was necessary. "Because - despite your best efforts - you are entirely normal. Oh, don't get me wrong," he said, catching the outraged look in her eyes, "You're a bitch, but other than that, you're one-hundred percent average. She's an… aberration. She's different, and that makes me want to dig. Ya both know how I like to dig." He gave a cruel chuckle, flashing metallic teeth brightly enough for even Frost, still looking at the dance floor, to see before the expression dropped. Deadly serious, he said, "Markson, our deal can still stand if ya retrieve the couch girl and bring her to meet me. "

Markson's blue eyes heated to an uncomfortable level as she nodded sharply. "Point her out to me and I'll get her to you."

"Frost," Joker commanded simply.

Reluctant as he was to reveal the gentle Baroness to this freak, Frost knew any fight from him would do nothing but bring death. Markson stepped up beside him and he pointed vaguely over to the couch. "She's sitting over there."

"Come on, Frosty, ya can do better than that. Ya found out her name, didn't cha?"

Spine straightening at the implied reprimand from his boss, Frost nodded. "Her name is Baroness."

Markson's head whipped around as she stared at the henchman. "Baroness? You- You want Nessie, Joker?" She gave a loud guffaw that clashed terribly with the poised, graceful appearance she strove to present.

"Baroness," the Joker repeated softly, savoring the name. "Yes, that'd be her. Bring her to me, Markson. If ya fail… heh, the deal is off." He turned to take his place at the couch once more, but paused, tossing over his shoulder, "Bring Frost with ya. He's already spoken to her once. I'm sure he can convince her to join us here."

Markson snorted. "She's part of my group. I'm the one who brought her here. I'm sure I can get her to go anywhere I want."

Striving for a blank tone, Frost retorted, "Yeah, she mentioned you earlier. She doesn't like you much."

The blonde woman gaped while the Joker gave an appreciative chuckle. "Well, this just keeps getting better. Jonny, if Baroness hates Markson here so much, why did she come along?"

Before Frost could give some kind of inexact answer, Markson cut in. "I only invited her because it would look suspicious if she was the only one not invited. I never expected her to come along. She must be really desperate for company."

"Well, I'm sure we can fix that," Joker responded with a wicked grin. "Bring her to me."

It had been nearly an hour and a half since they had gotten to The Jester's Crown and Bear was well and truly sick of sitting at the sticky table, watching purses, and waiting for someone to come back. At this point, it was obvious that none of her coworkers actually cared. No, they were all utterly focused on their night dancing, and while she couldn't really blame them, Bear was beyond ready to leave. At this point, she was busy wondering how to get their attention to let someone know she was going to take a taxi home, but couldn't work out how to do so while not leaving their things unattended.

Bear called a taxi company she trusted and ordered a cab, due to arrive in roughly half an hour since they were based on the opposite side of Gotham. After everything was settled about a ride, Bear was ready to risk leaving the bags so she could walk to the dance floor and tell everyone what was going on, but she caught sight of a familiar someone walking up to the table. "Jonny! Still not dancing, huh?"

"'Jonny'?" a cruel voice parroted as Chelsea sashayed out from behind the sturdy body of Bear's earlier acquaintance. "Well, isn't that sweet? Nessie finally made a friend."

Deciding she wasn't in the mood for Chelsea's thinly-veiled sarcasm and hatefulness, Bear rolled her eyes and started edging out of the booth. "Hey, tell everyone I left, okay? I called a cab and I'll head home from here. See you Monday."

"Oh, I don't think you're going anywhere," Chelsea simpered, smiling sickeningly at Bear.

The curvier brunette narrowed dark eyes at her most-hated coworker. "You know what, Chelsea? Fuck off. I'm leaving and if you try to stop me, I'm going to make you eat your stapler."

"Shut up, bitch," Chelsea hissed, moving to stand uncomfortably close to Bear. Before she could ask what the blonde was doing, something was pressed firmly to her ribcage. "This is a knife. My favorite knife, in fact. You're going to move with me and act like nothing is wrong, or I'm going to cut you."

Bear stared disbelievingly at Chelsea while Jonny moved closer. "Boss isn't going to like your methods, Markson."

"Back off, Frost," Chelsea said flatly. "I know he likes to slice up his girls."

Jonny shook his head. "What he does and what he'll let other people do are two different things and I'll tell you again: he isn't going to like this."

Chelsea simply sniffed, grabbed Bear's right bicep with her free hand, and began tugging her roughly across the dance floor. Bear thought for sure someone would notice she was being taken somewhere against her will, but between the flashing lights, the booming music, and the gyrating crowds, they were attracting exactly zero attention. It looked like she was in for the long haul.

To her not-entirely-unwelcome shock, Bear wasn't dragged out of a side door and into the alleyway or anything similar. Instead, Chelsea pulled her at an angle across the dance floor and up to a fog-obscured staircase at the head of the club. Something in her cried out a warning and Bear stopped short.

Chelsea stopped along with her, throwing a vicious glare at her. "Keep it moving," she growled, pressing the blade a little closer to Bear's ribs.

Bear slowly began to climb the mist-shrouded staircase, carefully watching her step and reflecting thankfully that she had chosen flats for work that day instead of heels. There weren't many stairs, just enough to set the raised platform apart from the rest of the club, creating a sort of viewing area where one could see the dancing, feel the energy of the crowd, but not be part of it. It was odd and gave Bear the strangest sense of power, but when she reached the top of the staircase, other matters began to occupy her mind.

The platform was sparse, made up of a flat, glossy surface unlined by railings. A little dangerous, but Bear supposed if one was stupid enough to walk close to the edge, they knew what risks they were taking. The centerpiece of the area - and the only real furnishings - were a narrow table that appeared to be made up of the same material as the flooring, and a couch-like seat. It looked for all the world like someone had taken one side of a booth from a restaurant and placed it on the platform, leaving the occupant of the padded bench to stare over the mirror-like surface of the table at whoever stood before it. Of course, the color of the couch - a deep, rich shade of mulberry - was unusual enough to be off-putting, but not nearly so much as the man sitting in it.

He was sitting in an area crossed with heavy shadows, but what little Bear could see of him was eye-catching, to say the least, and she got the impression he would likely be a decently good-looking man if only he hadn't taken such obvious pains to avoid it. His eyebrows were shaved, leaving blank patches above his eyes that somehow made his face look incomplete. Added to the strangeness, his wide mouth was lined with a thick coat of bright red lipstick, standing out against his ghostly pale skin. His head was tipped back, his slightly-parted lips revealing glistening teeth. In fact, they seemed to be glistening a bit more than was normal, but Bear supposed that could be a trick of the lights. After all, these were the same lights that seemed to make his hair appear to be an odd greenish color.

The man's clothing made no effort toward normalization, either. He wore what seemed to be a suit jacket, buttoned only at the very bottom and left to gape at the top around his bare chest, his skin so light that it appeared at first to be a white shirt. Due to the odd light, Bear couldn't tell if the jacket was black or a very dark purple. She didn't know who would choose to buy - much less wear - a purple suit jacket, but she would bet the answer was 'someone who chooses to sit on a purple leather couch'.

Chelsea didn't stop at the edge of the platform, but instead began dragging Bear forward until they stood in the middle of the open space before the table. "Here you go, boss-man. Told you I could get her up here."

The man's face was still heavily obscured by shadows, but Bear could see that he inclined his head slightly to glance at them. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she could have sworn a slight flicker of anger crossed his expression as he noticed the knife held to her side.

His red-painted lips parted further as he said, "Markson, consider yourself dismissed."

Chelsea smiled flirtatiously at him and pulled the blade away from Bear's ribs with a flourish. She shot the bewildered brunette a fiery glare and retreated down the staircase they had just climbed. "Frost," came the next command. Jonny positioned himself at the top of the stairs. Bear wondered briefly if he was keeping people from trying to come up or stopping her from leaving the platform. Or it could be both, she mused, but her attention was grabbed shortly by movement from the man on the couch.

The man took a deep breath, face tilted toward the ceiling just above his head and slowly brought it down to face her as he exhaled. Some trick of the light had brought his face into sudden, sharp relief and Bear's eyes flicked across the newly-revealed details. The man's hair was indeed green and his jacket truly was purple, but neither were his most arresting feature. His eyes were open now, revealing irises a paler green than his hair, but no less striking. Tattoos in a spidery style stood out starkly against his chalky skin, but not nearly so much as the scarlet-dashed lips, now stretched into a wide, slightly-crazed smile.

"Hello," he greeted pleasantly enough, raking her over with his gaze.

"Hello," Bear answered back woodenly. Her mind was whirring at such a high speed that it would be impossible to string together a coherent sentence.

He gave a short chuckle, almost as though he could sense her desperate fear mingled with curiosity. "Well, I would say now is the time for introductions! What is your name?"

"What's yours?" Bear countered, instantly regretting the challenge in her tone.

He didn't seem to take immediate offense. Instead, his grin grew impossibly wider. "Ya don't know who I am?" Soundlessly, Bear shook her head. "How long have ya lived in Gotham, sweetness?"

"Five months," she answered shortly. Brief answers seemed to be best. They stopped her quavering voice from being too obvious.

The man nodded thoughtfully. "I guess we… ah, move in different circles." A thin, wild laugh burst from him. Bear must have missed the joke. "What brings ya to a place like Gotham?"

Bear took a deep breath, trying to sound collected as she answered, "I worked for a software company in Dallas. My supervisor told me I could transfer to the Gotham branch and get a promotion and pay raise, effective immediately." She gave a carefully careless shrug. "I would have been stupid to pass that up."

"And what is your new... position?"

The way he murmured the last word made Bear deeply uncomfortable, but she pressed on. "Executive Lead of Technical Development: User Interface Department."

He threw his head back and laughed. "A bullshit title for a bullshit position. How utterly insane."

Bear would have liked to argue, but he wasn't exactly wrong. The pay raise had been what she had promised, but the promotion was in name only. She still worked in a bland little cubicle with no view other than that of thirty other bland little cubicles. So, rather than argue, Bear just gave a small, acquiescing nod.

The man's laughter ended as abruptly as it had started. "But ya never answered my question. What's your name?"

Fortunately, Bear had enough time to think of something from the first time the question was asked. "Sara."

All traces of mirth disappeared from the man's face immediately, leaving a chilling man who obviously wasn't completely present mentally. Bear fought to keep her face blank as he tilted his head to the side, studying her intently. "The first thing ya need to know about me," he said, voice a soft warning, "is that I don't like liars."

"It's the truth," Bear lied. "S-A-R-A Owens, O-W-E-N-S."

He rose slowly from the purple leather couch, moving toward Bear with a smooth, gliding walk. "I really don't like liars." He began to walk behind her, but Bear turned to keep him in sight. He noticed her unease immediately, smirking a bit as he traced a finger under her jaw. "Don't… even try… to lie… Baroness." With the last word, he chucked her under the chin and stared down at her.

Bear regulated her breathing, refusing to meet the man's pale green gaze as he continued to move around her. "You sent Jonny down to talk to me."

"That's rii-iight," he sang out.

"How do you know I didn't give him a fake name? After all, 'Sara' is much more believable a name than 'Baroness'."

His mouth quirked up on one side. "Well, he's not my only source, Nessie." Bear desperately fought back a snort. Well, now she knew exactly who the man's other source was. Seems like Chelsea has a date with that stapler sooner rather than later.

The man was still pressing her, though. "That is what ya prefer to be called, isn't it?"

"Mm-hmm," Bear hummed in assent. "Nessie's fine."

He stopped short, eyes boring a hole in her face - though Bear refused to look. "Now, that is a lie. And… heh, ya know what they say about three strikes." Bear frowned, but before she could respond, he had grabbed a handful of her long hair. He knew how to pull hair, she reflected, much more calmly than she felt. He had gripped the strands close to her scalp, and so controlled almost all movement of her head. He forced her to look at him. "What is your name?"

At first, she didn't answer, but he tugged on her hair until her roots were screaming and she finally admitted, "Bear! My friends call me Bear."

"Bear," he repeated, smiling softly, looking for all the world like he wasn't physically controlling her. "How sweet. You're just like a teddy bear. That's what I'll call ya, too. Because we're going to be friends, Teddy Bear. I'm your new friend."

He released his grip and moved back to his couch. Bear forced herself not to rub at her head, but took the opportunity of him facing away to take in and release a long breath. The man was insane. He was unstable and dangerous and she needed to tread very carefully if she had any hope of getting out of here without him making boots from her skin or something.

When he had settled back on his seat, the man looked at her, smiling once more. "So, Teddy Bear, what'dja think of my club?"

Bear stayed silent for a long moment, not wanting to be honest and thus rude, but now she knew how violently he responded to lies. There was no winning, so she chose not to participate. He wasn't going to let her avoid this, though.

"Here's another thing ya need to know about me, little girl: I don't like repeating myself. What do you think of my club?" Each word was said with careful emphasis and a deep stare. He wasn't going to let this go.

"What do you want from me?" Bear asked finally, letting the defeat and weariness flow through her tone rather than risk sounding snappish and enraging him.

He tutted at her. "First off, I don't answer questions, I ask 'em. And second, that was rude, little Bear. I'll forgive ya, though, since it's partially my fault. I never told ya what to call me. How about… Mr. J?"

"Mr. J," Bear repeated, willing both of her eyebrows to stay in their rightful places rather than creep up her forehead. "Well, Mr. J, you don't like questions and you don't like repeating yourself… You must not be fond of children."

This was fairly rich coming from Bear, who had never been overly fond of children herself, but the man's ever-present smile grew chilling as he pressed fingertips to his bare chest. "Me? Not fond of children? Ha, ha, haaa... Don't be silly. I love 'em!" His green gaze narrowed, putting Bear into sharp focus. "Their screams are so much sweeter. So much more… honest."

Bear tried to keep from giving him the reaction he was obviously searching for, but she could feel herself pale. She had been warned - and had generally accepted - that Gotham was home to many criminals. She had even banked on encountering one at some point, but this man? He had admitted to killing children. Worse, he admitted to enjoying it. This more than anything else drove home the evil nature of the man Bear was currently conversing with.

Mr. J sat back with an air of satisfaction, somehow giving the impression that he knew every thought that had just run through her head. In a silky voice, he asked, "Any more questions?" Bear shook her head quickly.

"There's a good girl," he praised, making Bear's stomach flip unpleasantly. "Now, rephrase that first pesky question and answer mine, then we'll be okay."

Bear sighed. "I don't understand what you want from me. I can't flatter you and say nice things about your club without lying, which you also don't want me to do. I'm stuck with a lack of options."

He stared at her, obviously taken aback by the sudden venting of her frustrations. Fortunately, her complaints seemed to strike him as amusing rather than insulting. Cackling, he said, "Why don'tcha just be honest, Teddy Bear, and I'll deal with the rest. For the last time, what do you think of my club?"

"I didn't want to come here," Bear answered flatly. "I don't like dancing, I don't like clubs, and your particular business looks like the headquarters for an exceptionally violent gang of homeless carnies. At least, from the outside. Inside, this is actually a pretty nice place. It's definitely nicer than any of the clubs I've ever been to in Dallas."

Mr. J eyed her, nodding thoughtfully. "I would probably take that as more of a compliment if I believed ya ever went to more than three clubs the entire time you lived in Dallas, but thanks anyway." He leaned forward slightly. "And as for what I want from ya? Well, that's an entirely different topic, isn't it?"

Bear stiffened slightly before she could stop herself, but Mr. J settled back into the leather of the couch. "For now, let's just focus on tonight. I don't like that ya don't dance. It's bad for business, a pretty girl coming in here and sitting alone at a booth, not drinking or looking for a man. Throws people off."

Sensing they were getting to the point of this bizarre little meeting, Bear nodded understandingly. "Trust me, I don't want to disrupt your business, I was just making sure no one messed with the bags left at the table."

He laughed deeply once more. "Sweetness, in my club, no one is going to touch your bags. You go do whatever it is that ya choose to do, and I'll make sure your things are safe."

Bear gritted her teeth, knowing from his expectantly-raised lack of eyebrow that he was waiting for a show of gratitude. "Thank you, Mr. J. That is very kind of you."

"It is, isn't it?" he agreed. "Maybe ya should come over here and thank me more... personally."

Wanting desperately to ignore the graciously-extended hand, Bear glanced behind herself to find that Jonny had turned around and seemed ready to escort her into Mr. J's arms. Rather than risk being restrained somehow, Bear stepped forward and placed her hand into Mr. J's, stifling a shiver at the clamminess of his skin.

With his cold fingers gripping her own, Mr. J elegantly rose to his feet, pulling her to stand in front of him. Unsure of his plans, Bear tugged back a bit, but he wasn't having it. With one sharp jerk of her arm, Bear fell forward against him, cheek and shoulder making abrupt and unexpected contact with his tattooed chest.

She grabbed at his biceps, pushing to get herself back to a standing position, but he stopped the motion with a single hand pressing between her shoulder blades, keeping her trapped against him. Bear angled her head back far enough to remove it from his chest, but Mr. J's other hand crept up, gripping her chin to hold her face tipped up toward his. Bear frowned as pale skin, metallic teeth, and red-painted lips drew larger and larger in her field of vision, but just before she thought he was going to kiss her, Mr. J rested his lips against the corner of her mouth.

They stood like that for a long beat, faces pressed together but not moving, not kissing. Bear tried more than once to pull away, but his grip on her chin held firm. Just as she was thinking that he smelled better than she had expected, Mr. J began to slide his lips toward her ear.

Bear frowned even more deeply as he repeated the odd motion several more times, never reaching her ear, but never putting his lips truly against hers. When he had finished, Mr. J tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder and neck and linked his arms behind Bear's back, settling into a hug with a sigh as his chin rested on the top of her head. It was an odd motion, unexpectedly tender and entirely unfitting with their encounter so far, but he wasn't hurting her, so Bear couldn't bring herself to make too big a deal about it.

After what must have been nearly two full minutes, Mr. J's arms slackened and he allowed Bear to step back. Against her better judgment, she glanced up at his face and noted that his lipstick was smeared in what seemed to be a mirror image of what he had done to her. As Bear stared at the bright line of red slashed across the hollow under his cheekbone, she reached up to wipe the matching color from her own cheek, but he caught her hand before her fingertips could make contact.

"Ah, ah, little girl. Don't touch that. This mark is your safe word. Everyone who sees it will know that you're mine and to harm ya would be… heh, unwise. Leave it on until ya head home for the night."

Bear nodded, trying desperately to ignore the part of his statement claiming her. Surely he misspoke. He must have. There was no other explanation. And thus, ignoring the other obvious explanation, Bear said, "Thanks again, Mr. J. I'm going to head back down."

He nodded. "I'll see ya soon, Teddy Bear." With that chilling word of farewell - or was it a warning? - he sank back onto the seat of his couch as Jonny moved to the side. Not making eye contact with anyone, Bear rushed down the smoke-obscured stairs and onto the dance floor, mingling blindly with the rushing crowd until she was certain she had blended in, then darted out the door as subtly as she could.

By some miracle, the taxi she had called an eternity ago was still waiting for her and Bear quickly climbed into the back seat, giving directions to a diner several blocks from her apartment. After the night she had experienced, there was no such thing as being too cautious.

After the sound of Bear's footsteps had faded down the stairs, the Joker spread his arms wide, resting them along the back of the couch. "Oh, Jonny-boy? Be a sport and get Markson for me, wouldja?"

"Right away, boss." Frost also moved down the stairs while the Joker tipped his head back, regarding the ceiling with distant eyes as he considered the encounter that had just taken place.

Only a scant few minutes later, Frost returned with Markson trailing behind him. Joker would like to think the short time span was due to Frost's discipline and hard work, but he knew Markson had in all likelihood been waiting at the bottom of the staircase for any sign that her presence would be accepted.

"Well?" she drew out immediately. "Did you finally realize what a waste of time she is and send her away?"

The Joker deliberately avoided even glancing in Markson's direction as he said casually, "Watch yourself. Ya know how I feel about questions. And not that it's any of your business, but I find her to be quite... fascinating."

Markson snorted and he finally fixed her with his green stare, smirking as he tossed out, "I wouldn't be so dismissive if I was you. After all, she's the only one ya brought me who's even close to what I wanted. Though ya did admit it was an accidental inclusion, so maybe there's no credit to be given…"

"Please," she purred contemptuously. "She wouldn't have come here for anyone else. Nessie worships the ground I walk on, despite what lies she may have told to others."

The last word was hissed with a glare at Frost. Joker pretended to be rubbing his jaw as he stifled a grin. Markson was desperately trying to impress him. It made her easy to control, to manipulate. But he couldn't play too much with her. He still needed her for a little longer. When he could bring himself to listen to her whining prattle again, Markson was rambling on about how hard 'Nessie' tried to be her friend. Obviously, this was a lie as the bitch didn't even have his Teddy Bear's name right. Normally, the Joker would take strides to correct this behavior now, but he simply added it to the growing list of strikes against Markson. It would be time to settle her tab soon enough.

"Stop. Talking. And listen… carefully." The words were spat out as cutting commands. "You're going to do exactly as I say and then I'll consider our deal complete."

Markson listened eagerly to his every word after that, even contributing an idea or two, helping him streamline the forming plan, though they couldn't actually start putting it into place until Monday at the earliest. Before he sent her off, she paused. "Are you sure you want me to get rid of the other women? I mean, you can have some fun with them without having to put any effort into breaking them. Think of them as an appetizer, something to hold you over, a distraction until you get Nessie."

The Joker considered this. Honestly, he was leaning toward refusal, but the sudden surge of discomfort he felt from Frost gave him pause. Would it push the henchman closer to the edge if he did what he liked to these women? He eyed the tendons standing out on the back of Frost's neck. That was a yes, and his face broke into a wide grin. "Ya know what, Markson? I'm gonna take you up on that. Frost will help ya load 'em up. He knows where to take 'em."

Markson nodded, suddenly the picture of efficiency. "You'll probably want to have someone take care of a car out front. One of the other girls drove." She gave him a quick description of the vehicle and started down the stairs, instructing Frost to follow her in a few minutes.

When she had left, Joker turned to Frost expectantly. "And where has my little Teddy Bear run off to?"

Frost's shoulders tensed. "She left, boss. Walked straight down the stairs and out the front door."

"And, what? You didn't think that was important enough to mention before?" The question was phrased as casually as possible, but Frost knew enough to start groveling right away.

"I'm sorry, boss. You were talking to Markson about some heavy shit and I didn't want to interrupt. Plus, you told her to go do whatever she wanted. I didn't think you were restricting her to the club-"

"Oh, Frosty, Frosty, Frosty… Sounds like ya didn't think at all…" He paced for a moment before whipping around sharply to face his employee. "Make it up to me by following her and finding out everything you can. Everything. Don't come back until tomorrow, at least."

"So you don't want me to go with Markson?"

"No," he snapped. "Any moron can escort six unarmed women to my place, but I need a particular moron - you - to track her down. Do a good enough job and I'll… heh, I'll think about lightening your punishment."

Frost nodded and scurried away while Joker let out a frustrated sigh and ran hands through his green hair until it was as frazzled and chaotic as his thoughts. It was a good thing he had a few days before his plan was put into place. He needed to be at the top of his game for his new plaything. Fortunately, he mused, glinting gaze taking in the women being herded from the dance floor, there was no shortage of stones on which to sharpen his blade. Literally or metaphorically speaking.

Chuckling at his own wit, the Joker began making his deliberate way down the staircase leading from his platform.

On Monday morning, Bear found herself seated at her desk in her tiny, bland little cubicle at her boring, stereotypical job and couldn't help but feel thankful for it all. Over the past two days, her mind had strayed a thousand times to her encounter with the man who was likely a major criminal of Gotham. And though she had mostly stayed in her apartment, Bear hadn't noticed anyone following her or watching her movements. It would seem that she had walked away from her adventure without repercussion.

Nearly without repercussion, anyway. What effects Mr. J had on her were actually positive, such as a new appreciation for the simple perks of her life. She was careful not to let herself think she owed the man any sort of gratitude, however. He hadn't cared whether she was a better person for meeting him or any such romantic nonsense. No, he was a monster, and it was only through sheer luck that Bear had been left unscathed, especially considering how willing he seemed to be to harm her.

For her part, Bear had decided to avoid Chelsea as much as possible. The woman obviously had strong ties to Gotham's underworld, and while she didn't want to risk retaliation for turning Chelsea in, Bear just didn't want the trouble of trying to be around her.

So far, the avoidance had been easy. In fact, Bear hadn't seen any of the group that went to the club, but chalked it up to her reluctance to leave her desk. Burying herself in work was far more simple than navigating a social minefield or letting her mind wander to the man with the green hair and unnatural smile.

Bear shook off the thoughts of the mysterious and temperamental Mr. J and attempted for the eighth time to return to the spreadsheet she was supposed to be completing. As she worked, a pinprick of pain lit up on her neck. Bear tried to raise a hand to clap it over the spot, half expecting to find a mosquito or small bug on her skin, but her arm wouldn't move. Her steadily-increasing concern underwent a sharp spike when her muscles did began to move because they still weren't under her control. Instead of lifting a hand to her neck, every muscle in Bear's body began to jerk and spasm until they felt ready to rip themselves from her bones.

She fell from her swiveling desk chair, collapsing on the floor. Just before she passed out, Bear heard a voice speaking to her boss, offering to drive the sick woman to the hospital. From what little she could gather while flickering in and out of consciousness, Bear learned that there had been a terrible explosion in an office building downtown and all emergency personnel had been sent there, so waiting for an ambulance wasn't an option.

From there, things got a little dicey for Bear. She faded in and out, sometimes aware of movement or conversations going on around her. The last thing she was really aware of was being rested on a cold surface and hearing a woman's voice.

"Here she is, as promised."

"Gotta admit, Markson, I had my doubts that ya were gonna come through."

There was no doubt in Bear's addled mind that the second voice belonged to Mr. J. Something about the deep tone with the slightly deranged affectation made for an incredibly distinctive voice. And Markson… Of course Bear wasn't lucky enough to be done dealing with Chelsea-the-bitch.

Even as Bear realized the woman's identity, she gave a dry chuckle. "Please, baby. I wasn't going to fail you."

"Mmm, good. Are ya ready for that reward now?"

"So ready," Chelsea moaned breathily. Bear prayed that she wasn't going to have to listen as whatever reward was given, but soon afterward, she heard a soft choking noise.

"What's the matter, doll?" Mr. J asked, voice filled with false innocence. "I thought ya wanted me to put it in."

"Y-you just stabbed me!"

"That's right," he purred. "Didja really think I was going to let ya walk away from this? Not only do ya know too much about me, but I don't let people renegotiate terms after a deal has been struck. Plus, you were a real bitch to my Teddy Bear, here." Another stifled groan shot through the room. "Now, you're lucky I like ya. That was an artery shot. Quick death. Just for you, sweetness."

"J- Joker..."

"Shh... Just accept it and fade gracefully. You're good at the whole 'grace' thing."

A strangled gurgle was the only sound, and after it had passed, the room was silent once more.

It was actually a positive that Bear didn't have control over her facial muscles yet. So, Mr. J's real identity was The Joker - or at least, it was the best real identity society had for the man. Connections snapped in Bear's sluggish mind, piecing together all the news stories she had half-heard in waiting rooms and while she was searching for music on the radio. The Joker, possibly Gotham's most-feared criminal, and she was in an unknown location with him. And he had just killed a woman - one Bear knew fairly well - and he had cited her as one of the reasons why. After that particular group of revelations, it was easy to let her mind fade back into the comforting darkness that waited to envelop her.

The next thing Bear was aware of was her mind swimming closer to the surface. As she finally broke that mental surface, Bear tried to move her limbs, but quickly discovered that they were strapped down beside her body, which also wouldn't move. Honestly, that may have been an effect from whatever she had been drugged with, but either way, she was left with a lack of ability to move.

"Well, well… Finally, our Sleeping Beauty graces us with her presence!"

Bear winced at Mr- The Joker's loud announcement. Her head was still a bit tender, but his voice wasn't the only factor: bright lights were pointed directly at her face, and even cracking her eyelids open was nearly too much for Bear.

The Joker seemed characteristically unconcerned with her discomfort. "Oh, boys! Time to bring in the machines. Ya see," his voice seemed closer now, but Bear still couldn't make much out past the glare of the lights, "I have all kinds of fun waiting for ya. Call it… heh, a little welcome for you. Because I'm such a good friend, ya know?"

Bear swallowed the questions crowding her dry throat, not wanting to give the Joker any more of the fear he seemed to feed on. Of course, this left her with an awkward lack of things to say or do and she didn't want to risk enraging the Joker by making him believe she was ignoring him. After all, it seemed that she was now entirely at his mercy, a dangerous place if he was in a good mood. To purposely anger him now would be akin to signing her own death warrant.

Fortunately, the silence was filled by the noises of what seemed to be a handful of large men shuffling into the room and assembling something made up of a lot of small metal parts. While they worked, the Joker circled the metal table Bear was strapped to. She still couldn't see him especially well, but he was humming all the while and she could keep a general idea of his location. Eventually, he stopped by her head, leaning in slightly so that she was looking up at his pale face and crazed eyes.

"Oh, my little Teddy Bear," the Joker sighed gleefully. "The things I have planned for ya…"

"What are your plans?" Bear asked, finally cracking and asking one of her many cliché questions. She went about it carefully, however, pushing out her chin in a manner she hoped showed how unafraid she was trying to be while masking the terror she scarcely held in check.

Once again, he hummed softly for a moment, watching his people finish setting up whatever was going in the corner. "Ya know how I feel about questions. I don't usually answer 'em, especially when the one asking is strapped to a table and completely under my power, but-" he paused, turning to survey her with maliciously-gleaming eyes, "-when they're asked with such a tremble in the voice, such fear in the eyes… Well, call me a softie! I just can't... heh, help myself." His gaze turned - if possible - even more predatory as his tone darkened. "My plans? Well, little girl, I'm going to see if the Teddy Bear can be turned into a Grizzly."

Author's Note - Thank you so much for reading! I have to admit that I wasn't expecting this story to be quite so long as it turned out. As stated in the Personal Disclaimer section at the beginning of the story, I don't know much about the DC universe as a whole. This fic, I'm sorry to say, was the product of watching Suicide Squad, reading every Joker fic I could find with a decent word count, and having an idea I couldn't get rid of. I told myself I would just write a one-shot, but I certainly didn't expect it to be this long! I would also like to explain that the Safety Dance has really nothing to do with the story as a whole and I apologize for using it as a title, but I listened to it a lot while writing (along with various other songs I feel the Joker would play in his club) and thought, 'Why not?'

Also, lest anyone think I didn't do my research, I know the Grin And Bare It is Joker's accepted business, but I feel it's not entirely outside the realm of possibility that he would branch out and open up a dance club in addition to his strip club. And I also apologize if my understanding of Gotham's layout is a little skewed. I was unable to find a solid map, so the present setup is the product of scouring various Wikipedia articles and video game synopses.

All of the above being said, I really enjoyed writing this story (even with all of the hurricane-related stress going on) and I would love to hear your thoughts on it! Thanks again!