Someone recently favorite this and was like, wait, it's been—what? Three years? Four? What the hell is wrong with me? I've written a bit more about this and thought about it a lot, especially with all the business resurging in the DC movies, and I never truly abandon anything… So here goes!

-13-

I used to be such a nerd about Halloween. If I wasn't trick-or-treating, I was taking my cousins and if I couldn't take them, I was taking my nieces and nephews. I'd go to parties, and spend the whole month watching horror movies and decorating personal spaces to please my aesthetic. As the years passed, I learned to restrain myself—especially after I started during rounds at the hospital. Halloween, like most holidays, was a dangerous time. The threat of tainted candy was very much real, add in the past-times of teens and adults, and I quickly learned Halloween wasn't always good fun. Even after I switched fields, October was a hard time. Halloween is a time for terror, and whether people relive their own horror or face the realization that they like to inflict that terror, it's a near impossible process to dismantle and assuage those fears.

This year, I hadn't even noticed its approach. Between the move, the job, the fight and distance with Maegen—well, it wasn't really on my mind. I probably wouldn't have minded much except that now I had a reason to look forward to it.

At Arkham, it was pre-established that the display of the holiday is prohibited by the staff. As some of the inmates label themselves as Wiccan, we must adhere to their practice at a limited stance, but as staff, we refrain.

"I al-ways loved Halloween," the Joker purrs in front of me. I can't help but be disgusted that we have something in common. "Best day of the year. Well, other than my birthday, but I'm a-a bit biased."

"What's your favorite part?"

"T-ell me yours and I'll tell you mine."

This Clarice/Hannibal thing is downright frustrating, but I suppose if I'm being completely honest, it's mostly because it doesn't work. I can't tell if what he says is the truth or not, if it's genuine or feigned. I suppose in the end it's all just madness, but I'm doing my best to pick this apart. It's all I've got going for me unfortunately.

"I'm not a fan of Halloween," I lie, "So I guess I have to say that I enjoy the candy."

"Liar," he smacks, and I stiffen as his dark eyes drip from my face and caress my form. It makes me feel slick and I want to cover myself, even though I'm still more than moderately covered. Chill sets in earlier here than in the south and I'm constantly draping myself in sweaters and blankets when I'm alone.

"I can't enjoy candy?"

"With that body, it's not your vice."

I quirk an eyebrow instead of rolling my eyes, feeling unsettled. Not so much because he was just oogling me, but also because he's right. While I do enjoy sugary treats, especially near the holidays, it's not my immediate splurge. I enjoy fatty foods more than anything. But at the same times, there's no way for him to know he's right unless I tell him, hence the lack of eyeroll.

"C'mon, Stark, just tell me."

"I just did."

He scoffs, leaning as far back in his chair as the restraints will allow and slouches in a petulant manner. I stare, and when he finally meets my eye again, I smile in an expectant manner.

His gaze becomes dull, a look he gets sometimes when I talks of things that are supposedly in the past, but I'm distracted by his mouth. His tongue flickers out to trace the edge of his right scar before slowly dragging the appendage to moisten his bottom lip. It retreats and the curved tips of his teeth scrape against the soft inner skin.

"The screams," he says, and I'm startled. It takes effort to raise my gaze, not that it matters because he's not looking at me. "They're ev-ry-wher-e. The TV, the children. People racing through ha-aunted houses, drunken fools in the streetsss."

"Sounds noisy," I offer.

"I th-thought it was all just fun-n-games," he continues as though he didn't hear me, "when I was young-errr. But then I grew up, and realized I just liked them."

Must love it here then, I think sardonically, holding back a sigh. While the information is morbid, it's not exactly unexpected.

He seems relaxed, I notice. Could be the new medication I had started him on. He's only been on it for a handful of days but they do administer the drug a couple of hours before our sessions start. It's supposed to mellow him out, if only so that he'd stop hurting himself in his cell. But I can see the possible effects: his shoulders have slouched a bit and his eyes seem softer, the crowfeet smoothed out. It made him look fresh, less like a madman in a straightjacket. He had once been handsome, that much was clear, and I wonder when the madness truly set in. What was his potential before?

"How long did you fight it?" I ask after a long moment, keeping my voice soft. My accent slips out heavily but it doesn't disrupt the atmosphere.

"Hmmmm…" he trails off, the rest of the breath an exhale through his nose. "I was…young. I-I didn't understand. By the time I realized, it was just me. It didn't matter anymore." His voice trailed off and he continued to murmur, until he stopped. He had fallen asleep, or into a deep stupor, and for the next minute, I watched his behavior.

He was handsome even now, scars or not. His hair had grown since my time here, brushing his shoulders, and without the green dye, it was a more common blonde. It was thin, though that might due to its fineness. Stubble was beginning to spread at the curve of his chin, and from his cringing smiles, his teeth were in better shape. (He'd been eating raw mint for an indeterminate amount of time and it had stained his teeth.)

It was strange, to view him as human.

Our session was due to end after another ten minutes, so I spent that time organizing my notes and shuffling some papers. It was relaxing, oddly enough, but there was nothing I could do to stop the buzzer from ringing in our room. The Joker straightened at the noise, looking disoriented, but his gaze hadn't even focused when the orderlies handled him out of the room.

By the time I reached my office, I felt drained. I made myself a cup of coffee and kicked off my shoes, spending the next portion of my day reviewing medical histories, especially Trojacek's. The girl had been hopped from one medication after another, it was impossible to see any progress since there hadn't been enough time for the drugs to really invest in her system.

I was exhausted. So much so that when my cell went off, I answered with, "Dr. Stark speaking."

"I don't think I've ever heard you refer to yourself as doctor before." I perk, because it's Bruce. It's Bruce and he's teasing me, and it's so nice in comparison to my earlier slump.

"You haven't really known me that long so I can't hold it against you," I counter.

"I appreciate that. Do you have a minute to talk? I know you're at work."

"Yeah, it's fine." And it was. I have an office for a reason, and I know for fact that Diane has banged in her office. "What's up?"

"It's about the benefit next week—" OH, God, he's rejecting me "—I forgot to mention that it's a costume party."

Physically muffling my sigh of relief, I'm forced into a pause. I like costume parties. They're fun when everyone actually agrees that it's a costume party.

"I'm sure I can find something? What were you going to go as?"

"Honestly, I hadn't planned on going before I asked you so I haven't gotten anything." My face heats at the mention of him asking me, the memory of us in his office, and how I really wanted to continue, but I try to focus on the conversation instead. "I'm pretty much okay with anything so long as I don't have to wear tights."

"You sure? You'd make one buff Peter Pan." I joke.

"Positive."

"Hm. Well, do you want to match?"

"Match?"

"Yeah. Like, salt and pepper shakers. Or Power Rangers."

"Power Rangers?"

"Hey," I immediately begin to defend, "that is a great series—We could be Mario and Luigi!"

"I…vaguely remember them."

"How vaguely?"

"Pretty vaguely."

"That's a no then." I mull over some ideas and begin to toss out whatever comes to mind. "We could do something more generic, like zombies or Harry Potter characters."

"We could if you wanted. What were you last year?"

Half-laughing, I say, "A formal apology." Good times.

"A what?"

"A formal apology! I wore a real nice dress and carried a sign saying 'sorry.' It was awesome."

"…You were a pun?"

"I love puns."

"No judgment. I just…wasn't expecting that."

"What were you expecting?"

I took the wrong moment to take a sip of my coffee because Bruce's response of "A doctor" made me want to gag.

"I'm not that unoriginal! I usually put a lot of thought into costumes and parties!"

"What's your best one then?"

"Amy Winehouse two years ago," I immediately respond. It was truly my best effort, I'd even ordered those peel off tattoos to match. "May she rest in peace," I add.

"Really?" And he does sound surprised. "You'll have to dig out some of those photos for next time." And boy, did I have photos. Photos for days. I'm not sober in like, most of them, but it had been a really good time.

"I will," I promise lazily. At that moment, my office phone goes off and I pause to read the ID. It's coming from Victoria in HR. "Hold on a second," I say into my cell before pulling it away from my ear. I answer the landline and put it on speaker. "This is Chase."

"Hey, Chase," she greets, her voice sounding both muffled and busied. "Sorry to bother you but I was going through some paperwork down here and I'm missing some signatures. Would you mind heading this way so we can get them taken care of?"

"Sure, I'll be there in a bit."

I hang up on the landline and immediately lift my cell back up. "You still there?"

"Of course."

"Good," I say with a smile. "Sorry about that, but I've got to take care of some work."

"No worries, I'll let you go. Call or text me if you come up with any ideas."

"Why do I have to do all the work?"

"I'm not that creative." And I think that's such bullshit. "I'll talk to you later, bye."

"Bye."

Hanging up, I fall back onto my chair and breathe deep.

He really is a nice guy.

The year I had dressed up as Amy Winehouse was the same year that Meagen dressed up as Lily Allen. We'd actually had a lot of fun. Lucas was there and so were some of our mutual friends. It was held at one of their houses back in Texas and it was just crowded enough that you didn't know everyone but just sparse enough that you couldn't feel overwhelmed. We'd acted out that year, playing beer pong and blaring music through most of the night. It's sad to think about, but my frustration wins out.

A/N: I kept having to go back and read chapters but I keep forgetting what I already established lol I have a lot of inconsistencies with this fic, but that's to be expected with the gaps between chapters. I might fix it one day but for now, it is what it is. Feel free to point them out as you read, it'd really help me in the long run!

(And I'm totally taking suggestions for cute couple outfits! I want something that would cover their faces or atleast Bruce's face. I have like, one specific idea, but I'm not sold on it so if you've got something, let me know!)

Happy Easter!