#Jerome could do all the distractions while Jeremiah takes care of the business | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

villainau · 6 years

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both aus / general

very soft hair when it’s not styled but you can’t touch it unless you’ve caught him when he’s sleepy and/or just waking up because you will be assassinated

his uncle’s surname is trumble so tbh valeska probably wasn’t lila’s real surname. she’d have changed it to sound more “exotic” in the circus. but let’s thank god for that and the fact that the twins are valeskas

doesn’t tend to lie because he’s more the “cruel honesty” type, but is a very good liar when he does - not as good as jeremiah because lying was always jeremiah’s forte, but jerome can easily put on an act or think up a story on the spot with enough detail to make it convincing

can easily go days without sleeping, and when he does fall asleep it’s only in his actual bed like 40% of the time

throws all of his red clothes in with jeremiah’s white clothes for washing constantly

swears so often. can easily say “fucking” twice in one sentence and throws one use of “shit” in there for good measure

no short sleeves outside ever. in private maybe, but not for long

his favourite colour is red, but he actually kinda likes pink too, especially hot pink

his first word was “miah”

villain au

lowkey hates being touched from behind e.g. pats on the back, a hand on his shoulder, etc, especially unexpectedly (and just hates the feeling of being snuck up on in general). he’ll stiffen like hell and the only people who can get away with it without him reflexively whacking their hands off of him are jeremiah and bruce, but they tend not to do it anyway because they can tell he doesn’t like it

absolutely had a super embarrassing doodle of a heart in his diary with “j + b” inside it, along with some v crude scribbles of things like him and bruce holding hands and them stabbing someone

Scary Kinks tbh. knives, pain (both others’ and his), blood, whatever, he has very little sense of limits. he is honestly not above even sticking a gun in your mouth if that’s what he’s feelin’. he’s only done that with bruce once, during the rebellious phase and the early days of the physical stuff, when he was still pushing limits and seeing how far bruce was really willing to go here and there weren’t a ton of Romo Feelings involved; he’d straddled bruce on a chair and he put the barrel of a pistol to bruce’s mouth, expecting nervousness or panic or some kind of reaction along those lines - but bruce just maintained steady eye contact and opened his mouth slightly, with no fear and watching him right back, which basically resulted in jerome thinking oh and yep, brucie’s something alright, grinning and throwing the gun off to the side to be ignored while they got on with Things. he wouldn’t do that with bruce anymore though - as dangerous as their lives generally are and as much as he loves that, he’s far less willing to go carelessly pointing loaded guns at bruce himself these days

does not like being tied up during NSFW Activities because he hates feeling confined/trapped and not being able to move his arms and not feeling in control because it’s too vulnerable, but bruce being tied up is Another Matter Entirely

lowkey praise kink. will either tell you to shut up or find Ways to distract you from talking if you actually try it, but is secretly kinda into it because he requires positive feedback in Most Things

identifies as bi but really couldn’t give a flying fuck about gender. if you’re fun and you can give him a good time, the rest is background noise

is annoyed when people are taller than him, so he avoids standing directly next to people who are too often (but on the other hand really likes standing next to shorter people because he likes to make it obvious that he Wins)

takes the fact that jonathan is the only person in the team taller than him as a personal threat. once idly mused to him about the possibility of sawing off his feet so he could be superior and just got a very deadpan try it. look and decided “…….maybe some other time”. it was probably a joke anyway. like 90%.

despite having a boyfriend who wears black almost exclusively, he pretty much never wears black himself. he’ll occasionally wear dark suits or one item of black clothing or whatever, but he always has something in his outfit with colour and tends to go for brightness over anything else

sends awful memes in the team group chat at 3am and no one thinks they’re funny except him and jervis. sometimes ivy does, and she occasionally sends a nice response even if she doesn’t just to be polite, but other times they are just Too Bad even for her

does also pm ivy Nice Things that remind him of her though, and these she does like. he also sends her random pictures of animals and flowers w captions like “is it just me or does this beanstalk kinda look like jonathan” and she can’t help giggling a lil at some of them and then feeling bad for it

master of the ironic “UWU” and “OWO” emojis and everyone else hates it

him and jervis are the only people jonathan actually responds to on the phone (other people can call him but he’ll just silently listen to what you have to say and then hang up, so it’s in the air whether he even heard you or not) and he finds it disproportionately funny that jonathan once answered the phone with “whomst.” instead of “hello”

he never self-harmed in the sense of cutting, but he also doesn’t have the same reservations about causing himself pain that others do, so he’s done things like put out cigarettes on his wrists/hands, test the sharpness of knives on himself, etc. and physical pain can be something of a release for him

generally fearless, but he was genuinely scared of his mother, uncle and the men his mother had over - killing lila and zach helped with a lot of this and made him feel like he’d won. he still gets a little on edge when someone reminds him of them in speech/appearance/personality, but he’s more likely to use it as an opportunity to prove to himself that he has power over the memory of lila/zach and that they can’t hurt him anymore by getting one over on the person in question too

in the very early stages of the abuse, he coped with it by believing that his mother loved him no matter what and clung to the hope that it would all stop one day and she’d sober up and love him properly. it sinking in that she didn’t love him at all and that it was never going to change was one of the things that ended up contributing to his eventual psychotic break

what is a stable self-esteem? jerome doesn’t know. can go from calling himself garbage to calling himself a god in .0002 seconds

tried to strangle an arkham therapist once because she brought up his childhood abuse and kept pushing him to talk about it and he just lost it. after that, all attempts at therapy for him were dropped

has an uncomfortable amount of knowledge about how to set broken bones and put in dislocated joints because there were times in the circus when things got really really bad and he should have gotten hospital treatment, but obviously nobody would have taken him, so he had to learn to do even the serious shit himself. early on, he came dangerously close to seriously fucking himself up and making his injuries worse more than once thanks to his amateur first attempts at fixing them

people in the circus were kinda-sorta aware of what went on with his mother, but basically just didn’t care; it wasn’t their business

touch-starved. one of the reasons he reacts so strongly the times when bruce is super gentle with him is because literally no one has ever just touched him softly before (and generally he isn’t used to being touched at all without pain immediately following) so at first it’s almost too much

generally isn’t affected by his facial scars and isn’t self-conscious about them at all, but is very used to other people finding them scary/unpleasant so was genuinely thrown off-balance the first time bruce traced them and called him beautiful

surprisingly, he can actually cook - he had to make his own food a lot in the circus when he was younger, it was either that or scrounge from the circus food stalls, bc lila sure as hell wasn’t making him meals - he just chooses not to anymore because, frankly, he can’t be bothered

he and bruce don’t really ever say “i love you” in so many words. they know what they have going on, so why would they need to verbalise it all the time when they already know it’s there? jerome’s really not into that kind of thing anyway, and honestly bruce isn’t the most emotionally open person either. bruce was the first of them to acknowledge and accept how he felt, and never denied it when asked by someone else, but he knows jerome and his background and thus never said it first in order to avoid pushing him into territory that may be uncomfortable for him. but the first time either of them said the words to the other, it came, surprisingly, from jerome, spur-of-the-moment - one of the nights he spends in the city with bruce alone, doing the dark shit they do. at one point, bruce slit a man’s throat in a particularly vicious way; jerome was at his shoulder, watching how he did it, and it came out without him really meaning it to: “god, i fucking love you.” bruce might not need to hear it, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel good when he does - he made sure jerome had no chance of trying to play it off as a joke by turning around and promptly distracting him with a kiss. ...blood-covered and all.

has some experience with sleeping rough because sometimes lila would just kick him out because she didn’t want to see him that night, so he had to crash with someone else in the circus if they took pity on him or find somewhere else on the grounds/surrounding streets. he’d venture back a couple of days later when he knew she was out, and she’d come back and see he was there - she wouldn’t say anything and would basically just blank him, and that was the cue that he was safe to say

used to cry a lot and got called a crybaby by other kids in the circus when he was very young. over time, he taught himself to laugh whenever he felt like crying, and it got to the point where it was just an ingrained thing, so instead of breaking down and crying, he would get half-involuntary laughing fits instead. he got into a mindset of “everything is hilarious if you just think about it for long enough” as another coping method, because why should he be sad when everything in the world and everything that is happening to him is so damn funny?

doesn’t happen often, but very occasionally he sleep-talks and says some weird shit and bruce is just like “……..Alright.” he never remembers this in the morning

sleeping position varies depending on the time period. he’s either curled up on the very edge of the bed and taking up as little space as possible without falling off, or he’s sprawled out over the entire thing, and there’s no in-between. the ‘taking up no space’ thing is left over from childhood, but bruce notices this and the longer he’s with bruce and the more comfortable he gets with him (and the more it sinks in that, no, there will not be Consequences if he just lets himself relax - because he does a great job most of the time of not showing any vulnerability over his childhood, but when it comes to night-time and sleeping with someone else there, old habits and fears kick in a little at first), the more he just becomes The Most Fidgety Sleeper Ever. bruce gets smacked awake by his arm in his face a few times, but he has figured out a Solution - if he intertwines his fingers with jerome’s or shifts jerome’s arm down to his waist or something, jerome will just latch onto him in his sleep because warmth. no mentions of this in the morning allowed though, and he was definitely not cuddling, never call it that, he can’t control what he does when he’s asleep, BRUCE

still has nightmares sometimes - nights are when he’s at his most vulnerable basically, so bruce knows damn well that jerome letting him see that side of him is a gesture of trust

is lowkey intimidated by ecco because that girl picked his ass up when he was unconscious and dead weight, so she could absolutely pick him up while he’s fully awake, and that’s just too much strength for such a tiny woman. he will never admit this. tries to scare her instead because he has a reputation to uphold and is eternally annoyed about the fact that she doesn’t seem at all affected (but he’s convinced that she’s just hiding her fear really well)

high school au

climbs through bruce’s window a lot unnecessarily because he doesn’t want alfred to open the door. alfred usually finds out he’s there anyway, so he would be perfectly fine just going to bruce’s house the normal way, but he likes to pretend that he’s being sneaky and thus cool

watches a lot of stand-up comedy but is also the world’s worst critic and constantly makes comments about how he “could have made that joke better” or “there was a better way to word that”, which is what originally kickstarts the idea of going into comedy himself

………hm………. concept………. jerome w a pierced tongue………

watched twilight “ironically”. team edward if he had to choose, but thinks both edward and jacob are idiots and will get into an argument about this. will also legitimately debate about vampires vs werewolves. thinks that there should have been a big bloody fight at the end where everyone died, because if there is no violence/gore it’s a shit movie, this is a non-negotiable rule of his

has a fondness for gross/creepy creatures. he’s not at all scared of spiders and will kidnap the bigger ones in glasses and attempt to keep them until jeremiah (and later bruce) makes him put it outside. he’ll straight-up pick up a spider and let it run across his hands while other people scream about it

before bruce and elijah come along and before things start to change, he’s essentially living for jeremiah. if it weren’t for the fact that he has to look out for jeremiah and would never leave him in that environment alone and the fact that they promised each other they would always be there for each other no matter what, jerome’s lack of self-preservation would be a lot worse than it is bc without that to keep him tied to something he just wouldn’t care

when they were very little, the twins had a habit of sneaking into each other’s beds to sleep at night, usually after it had been a bad day with their mother and something had happened. they grew out of it when they got a little older, especially jerome once he stopped being so open with vulnerability/affection, but it was still a comfort that they slept near each other thanks to their caravan being too small for anything else so they knew the other was close-by. once jerome developed a habit of sneaking out at nights, this was also how jeremiah would often hear him leaving or would wake up and immediately notice he was gone

no one will play mario kart with him anymore because he gets ridiculously competitive and ruthless and he has no honour. he will shove you off of your seat so he can overtake you while you’re still getting up.

the only people who can tell him and jeremiah apart by voice alone are bruce and elijah. if anyone else calls their apartment, it’s just impossible to immediately work out who’s answered the phone at first unless they throw in a really obvious mannerism. if the person who picked up the phone is speaking with their mouth full and answered with “yo wassup”, it’s probably jerome. that or jeremiah’s finally broken.

speaking of phone calls, jerome is a nightmare when jeremiah is expecting a work call. if jerome gets to the phone first, it’s just: “is - is this mr. valeska?” “…you’re gonna have to be more specific, pal.” “…the j. valeska that i was supposed to call–?” “nope, pause, do better than that.” then the caller has to wait on the line while they hear “[muffled voice in the distance] JEROME, IS THAT THE CALL I SAID WAS IMPORTANT” “i dunno, maybe. i wasn’t really listening” “i SPECIFICALLY TOLD YOU NOT TO ANSWER THE PHONE IF IT RANG WHILE I WAS SHOWERING” and then vague sounds of clattering and voices before they get a flustered jeremiah on the line like “i am so sorry”

jerome is by far the messier twin, so his room is always a heap of dirty clothes and food packets and empty bottles/cans, but jeremiah can get really fixated on his work so his computer desk and his work-spaces are just full of papers and documents and empty coffee mugs. whenever he gets on at jerome about cleaning up after himself, jerome’s like [WILL SMITH POSE @ JEREMIAH’S DESK] WHAT ARE THOOOOOOSE

jerome and elijah have been to the hospital so many times because of the stupid shit they do that they’re basically on a first-name basis with a bunch of the doctors and nurses. whenever they come in, it’s like “oh, what have you boys done now?” (but really the nurses all love them bc they’ve charmed them and their stories about what happened this time are always hilarious)

bruce cooks sometimes and jerome “helps”, by which i mean he sits at the kitchen counter and just gossips to him, plays on his phone and/or watches him without actually lifting a finger to do anything - until he gets bored and things end up burning because bruce gets Distracted. eventually bruce enlists him to help chop vegetables and stir things because if he’s here, he can be useful, and jerome’s like “hmm what do i get in return?” so they develop a barter system where [x] activity gets jerome [x] amount of kisses and thus things actually get done while satisfying both of them without too much distraction. the only issue being that jerome keeps a) raising his prices and b) insisting on getting rewards for the most ridiculous shit now, like passing a bag of carrots over the counter because it’s just “SO MUCH UNPAID LABOUR, BRUCE”

still has moments where he reflexively flinches if someone significantly older/bigger/taller than him moves too quickly or suddenly, though people around his size/age or less are fine

is actually more self-conscious about his burnt hand than he lets on. he puts on a front like it doesn’t bother him, but the fact that he’s usually wearing fingerless gloves or has a bandage wrapped around it or has his sleeves pulled over his hands when he can’t have either of those says something. he actually managed to keep bruce and elijah from seeing it for quite a while, since that would have been harder to explain away than other things - they noticed he usually had his hands covered but didn’t think it was for a particular reason beyond it being a Jerome Quirk. one of the most notable things that happens in the future when things start to improve is that he stops wearing the gloves and eventually actually lets bruce hold that hand, whereas before if bruce tried he’d usually pull away and switch sides so bruce could hold the other

the others convinced him to see a therapist after he was officially diagnosed and unexpectedly he agreed (mostly to get everyone off his back), and he was assigned to a relatively young woman called bee. he didn’t expect it to accomplish anything and basically spent the first few sessions being an uncooperative shit and turning everything back on her and giving her smartass answers to her questions. it took a long while, but she eventually proved to be Cool and Funny enough for him to start warming up to her - which didn’t mean he was any more cooperative with the therapy side of things, but it did mean he started to use the phone number she gave him to text her about completely unrelated things in the vein of “holy shit bee you’re not gonna believe what miah just did”. she went along with it and their sessions morphed into jerome mostly giving her Gossip or them having casual conversations - but girl knew what she was doing. he gradually started to talk about bruce, jeremiah and elijah, about his relationship, about school, about the circus, and eventually opened up more about certain things that happened. he never quite got to the point of discussing his feelings about the abuse in-depth (though he did end up telling her a fair amount abt how he felt about bruce) but all in all therapy ended up having a positive effect on him, though bee was v talented at letting him think he wasn’t really giving her much info and that every realisation he came to during their sessions was down to him alone and not because he was talking things through with someone

likes hugs/cuddling/hand-holding much more than he will ever let on

never completely stops smoking, but he does tone it down after they all leave high school. he’ll smoke with other people and sometimes when he’s really bored or waiting for someone, but it’s not one of his first methods of passing the time anymore. trying to get him to stop drinking is a lost cause, though.

#t: original #ch: jerome valeska

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villainau · 6 years

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The Joker’s Mind and His Harlequin

They were hopeless, truly. Right from the start. One a genius, his intellect raw and unparalleled, capable of bringing the whole of Gotham to their knees. The other a finer specimen of Gotham’s seedy underbelly, a hitman in the shape of a wordless marionette. Violent and chaotic, both a force to be reckoned with in their own rights, but together…even the sharpest of minds and the most observant eyes could fall short of the mark.

The Maniacs. A Legion of Horribles. Now this, a band of some of Gotham’s most notorious criminals with a few surprising additions. Jerome truly was quite the collector it would seem. Not only that his movement had gained form, shape and direction beyond that of ceaseless destruction. While they had for a time been permitted freedom in their reign of terror, they couldn’t go unchecked forever. While she had never worn the crown herself, Fish tasked herself with the duty of keeping the young misfits in line. She would interrogate, meanwhile the Harlequin would watch from his place at her side, ready to strike should the situation turn.

The turn he had come to expect never came. His bullets went unspent and his guns never left their holster. Under any other circumstances he would have come to think the job a disappointment. While the Harlequin prided himself in his composure and true marksman’s abilities in the face of murder, he revelled in the chaos of it all. To fire a gun before his target had even the chance to see it coming, it brought with it a thrill like none other. To find himself stripped of that pleasure on the job, it was saddening. Though lucky for him, this job came with a whole new level of intrigue.

His name: Jeremiah Valeska. Twin brother to Jerome Valeska, a man of whom so much remained unknown. Two of them, should the world be so unfortunate. And yet here they were right before his very eyes. Watching from the shady edge of a wall, looking at Jeremiah was like turning his gaze back on a memory which had already begun to fade with age. How old had he been back then? Seventeen, perhaps? Alas, this was not the man from his memories.

While the boy from the circus had been exuberant, quick to draw all eyes to himself, Jeremiah was more reserved and held himself with a steady confidence. No, the boy from the circus has been none other than Jerome himself, before he had turned to murder, before his face had been marked with scars to last a lifetime. Even so, the resemblance between the twins was striking—not something the Harlequin couldn’t appreciate all things considered.

Though it wasn’t simply a handsome face which drew in the Harlequin. Although Jeremiah had been as silent as the Harlequin himself throughout their meeting, his eyes told a far deeper tale. Intense and calculating, a mind on overdrive to solve the mystery known as Fish and her silent accomplice. Those eyes knew no fear in that moment, only an overwhelming astonishment and a determination to solve this puzzle. Even in silence Jeremiah made it known he would not be outsmarted again.

Right from the start, it was Jeremiah’s self-assured intellect which stole the Harlequin’s gaze. He cared not for Jerome and his showy dramatics, as much was to be expected of the maniac, but his brother, he remained a mystery still waiting to be pieced together.

Even as he made his leave, from behind his mask and coated in a dusting of black, the Harlequin’s striking blue eyes remained fixed on Jeremiah. Already he held himself in anticipation for his return. If nobody else could tell him more about the unknown twin, well, he would just have to find it out for himself.

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Endless twists and turns, the maze truly had been constructed to keep others out. And to think Fish had made it seem so simple last time. No matter, the Harlequin was not so easily deterred, he would find his way through the maze one way or another—if only to bring back the look of utter astonishment upon Jeremiah’s face. To be bested not once, but twice, it would drive him insane. Oh, how it would feel to have those insightful eyes drawn into a frenzy by his own hand. Nothing could sound more delightful. He would crack the maze once more and that look would be his prize at the end.

It took the Harlequin longer than he would have liked to reach the centre of the maze, one too many dead ends and far too many cameras for his liking. Though he came to care less upon the discovery of a study of sorts, one wall lined with screen after screen, all depicting a different corner of the vast labyrinth base. In his moments alone with the wall of screens, the Harlequin made one quick discovery. While they were few, the maze held blind spots within its walls. That would be useful for next time. Though his study of the screens was cut short by the image of his prize fast approaching from down the hall.

Little effort at all was needed for the marionette to fade into the darkness, into the shadows cast by the low glow of the screens. He watched as Jeremiah busied himself with papers spread across the desk, collecting and arranging them, only to set them back down moments later in favour of running a hand through otherwise neat ginger hair, and start the process again. Even a genius found roadblocks in their research every now and then. Perhaps it was time to give him a bit of a distraction from his troubles.

“Tell me, what use are cameras left unmanned?” Giving just the slightest incline of his head to the screens, the porcelain white of his mask shone out of the darkness. “I could have shot you and you would have been none the wiser.”

The young man gave a start, though he refused to show it on his face. Whether or not this puppet, this Harlequin, could be trusted remained to be seen and Jeremiah was not so easily bested. Rounding on the Harlequin with an unfaltering gaze, he looked him over once. Twice. He hadn’t even a hand on his gun. “If you had come to kill me you wouldn’t have made yourself known.”

“Not just a pretty face, I see,” said the Harlequin, amusement catching on his tongue with a gently ringing tone to his voice and corners of his eyes crinkling behind his mask. Oh, this one would be fun. With a carefree air to his step the Harlequin drew closer to Jeremiah, it was hardly civil to be talking to a shadow. “So, are you going to tell me about the camera or not?”

How easily Jeremiah had found himself stunned into silence. Fish had assured them they had not seen the last of the Harlequin, though never had he paused to consider he himself would act as that point of contact. Jerome would have been far better suited to the role, and yet here he was. Here with that voice. That voice like a song, lighting up with the slightest touch of laughter as he drew forwards. Put simply, Jeremiah was hopeless. Doomed from the moment the Harlequin set his eyes on him.

One second, two, an uncertain cough and a hasty adjustment to push his glasses up his nose— Was that a hint of glitter peeking out of the mask? No, that doesn’t matter. Composure, right. “The cameras are to tell me when you’ve gotten lost. Though we don’t often have this many guests.”

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Over the coming weeks one visit turned into two, two turned into three; eventually the unlikely pair worked up somewhat of a routine. Before they knew it with each coming day the Harlequin would sneak into the base, intent on working his way through the maze faster and faster while avoiding detection. Each day in the late afternoon he would pay Jeremiah a visit before setting out to hunt that day’s bounty. Without fail Jeremiah would be waiting, watching his screens from the corner of his eye.

Gradually his surprise faded and instead Jeremiah greeted the Harlequin with a telling smile touching his lips. At times his lips would quirk in delight at having won their game, having spotted as the Harlequin took a wrong turn and threw his trajectory far off track. Once or twice Jeremiah found himself taking pity on the pour soul—consumed with a ceaseless frustration brought on by the maze—and with that smile came a glass of whisky or brandy. A consolation prize for his efforts. Those times business went long forgotten, replaced by a blossoming comfortable familiarity. Other times Jeremiah’s smile would form softer, a not unpleasant sense of pride to be met with those masked blue eyes shining with enthusiasm after besting the labyrinth.

Today was the latter. After just a few short minutes in the maze the Harlequin waltzed into Jeremiah’s study, only glancing over to him as he lent back into the sofa, one foot resting atop his other knee. There was that smile. “I win,” he said, his voice betraying the smile of his own which hung behind the ever present porcelain mask. How did the Harlequin smile?

“That you do.” It was getting easier for Jeremiah to concede defeat, at least with the Harlequin. While it had once been an insult to his design to find his maze defeated with such ease, it was different when he found himself wanting to see another succeed. “Perhaps I should make some renovations, give you a real challenge.”

The Harlequin gasps, painted fingers raising to press against his chest. “You’d do that, just for me? But you can’t. We wouldn’t want the others to think you were giving me special treatment now would we, Mr Valeska?”

Any answer Jeremiah could have given was cut short by doors bursting open in an angry rage. Jerome with Selina fast on his heels. Though the Harlequin had crossed paths with Jerome and the others countless times, in his urgency to explain Bruce’s capture, it was almost as though he didn’t see the second figure sat just a few feet across the room from his brother.

What compelled the Harlequin to join in their rescue mission, even his wasn’t quite sure. Yet it felt like the natural course of action. Twin guns in hand, the Harlequin joined the first assault on the GCPD and fought beside Jerome Valeska, Selina Kyle and the Scarecrow. What an unlikely team they must have looked. Unlikely yet deadly.

There even came a time, caught up in his determination to free Bruce, Jerome came near to staring down the loser’s end of the barrel. They never even saw it coming. Before they had managed even to raise their finger to the trigger, the Harlequin had fired a quick shot through their head. Silent though he was, he revelled in the joy of the kill. Oh, and how pleased Jeremiah would be to hear of what he had done! He never paused to consider why Jeremiah had been brought so suddenly to mind. Any hitman worth his title wouldn’t lose sight of the task at hand.

Before he knew it their job was done and the eight of them left the GCPD in a state of utter disarray. Bruce was no longer theirs, a fearsome alliance had made itself known and their numbers had taken several heavy hits. A job well done if you ask Jerome. The eight of them make a good—Wait, the eight of them? “When did this guy get here?”

Jerome truly hadn’t noticed him at all.

For once the Harlequin fell quiet not out of necessity, but rather from a simple state of shock. To have gone unnoticed, it was an affront to his very state of being. And to think he’d saved that guy from being shot! Jerome paid him little mind however, there had been more important matters at hand than to question when his merry band of misfits had added a jester to their ranks.

Eyes grew wide behind his mask and he could do naught but turn to Jeremiah in questioning. Had he heard that right? “But I saved him. They almost shot him but I put a bullet through their brain, and he didn’t see that?”

“Don’t mind him, I’m sure you did well.” With a sympathetic smile Jeremiah gave the Harlequin a light pat to the back, the touch gentle yet grounding. “Thank you for preventing my brother from turning himself into a corpse.” At least he’d made Jeremiah happy.

Any other day the Harlequin would have parted ways following a job well done, but this time he hung towards the back of the group with Jeremiah, feet carrying him back to their base on instinct. Perhaps it was a lingering state of surprise which brought him along, or perhaps it was an unwillingness to part ways with Jeremiah after Jerome had cut their meeting so painfully short, but before he knew it they were back where they started. Only this time the redhead filled the space by his side on the couch, desk and chair seamlessly abandoned.

“So, how does it feel knowing you’re one of the most wanted criminals in Gotham now?” An air of amusement filled the space around them as the Harlequin posed his question.

“I have been a wanted man for some time now, now they just know who they’re searching for.” Jeremiah was prideful in his claim, knowing now every piece of his world would hold his name. No second rate criminal of Gotham, he was a genius with plans beyond their imagination. “They’ll be after you now too. Guilty by association.”

“Don’t worry about me, my hands are dirty enough without your help. Besides, they don’t know who I am. They’d be lucky to find anyone who does.”

“A true enigma.”

“That’s just the way I like it.”

The Harlequin’s mask held greater purpose than simply to appear imposing and sinister, the image of a nightmarish haunted figure. In shielding himself he built walls between himself and the world at large. They could fear the Harlequin and never know the man behind the mask, the sweet face of a killer, or even the sound of his name. He held all the cards and he felt powerful for it.

Time was foreign concept within the bunker. It held no sign of the outside world, no hint of sky or the changing light of day. And yet for every second inside the world beyond its walls ticked on none the wiser. Parting ways steadily became more irksome, but it couldn’t be helped. “Murder waits for no man and Zsasz will have my head if I’m even a minute late.”

His stance held casual as ever as moved to make his exit, though the Harlequin gave pause as he held the handle. Without turning back to face Jeremiah, just one word slipped from his lips—quieter, more serious than he had spoken all evening. A name. “Elijah.”

“What was tha—“

“My name. It’s Elijah Quinn.”

Trust was not something so easily granted within Gotham. With trust came danger, the threat of a knife to your throat or gun to you head at the moment of the changing tide. Trust couldn’t be bought, but it hadn’t taken long for Jeremiah Valeska to gain the Harlequin’s trust. In handing over his name he gave Jeremiah a weapon, yet trusted him never to use it. More than anyone Jeremiah knew the weight of a name. In one sense of the word, the Harlequin and Xander Wilde were one and the same.

“Don’t go ratting me out to Gordon now, will you?” Glancing over his shoulder to Jeremiah, a gleeful mischief had sparked back in his eyes and, where he able to see behind the mask, he would have seen a bright smile light up Elijah’s features.

“I would never dream of it.” Simple and steady he spoke, though a churning flutter settled deep within. An enigma indeed. An enigma who, so soon after proclaiming his preference for secrecy, had deemed him worthy of the truth. A truth spoken so softly, yet with such apparent ease. Never before had Jeremiah come to treasure a name so entirely in an instant.

But treasure it he would. Elijah Quinn. That name would haunt his thoughts for the rest of the night. No, haunt was the wrong word, that would suggest it unwelcome in his mind. Elijah was anything but unwelcome.

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In this world there are few things more attractive than a sharp mind and a witty tongue. Some are born with one, others with neither, but on rare occasions there are those born with both. Jeremiah was one such lucky soul, though he brought something new to the table. Never was he more passionate than when speaking about his work. Usually a thinker, an observer, it was enchanting to watch him come alive.

For twenty minutes he rambled ceaselessly about his latest breakthrough, what it meant for his research, how they could use it, the destructive forces it would put at their fingertips. Never before had Elijah seen Jeremiah allow his words to consume him so, yet he was glad for it and the glimmer of light it brought to his eyes. Something beyond simple pride and enjoyment.

“Elijah, do you know what this means?”

Oh, how he’d come to cherish the sound of his name on Jeremiah’s tongue. To begin with it had been tentative, perhaps even flustered, with an air of trust still fresh between them. With each utterance he spoke with more assurance, the weight of the word in his mouth as natural as any other—more so even. Even now with the Harlequin mask still firmly in place, he spoke the name with a casual familiarity neither had ever anticipated.

Hidden behind a guise of white, lips tinted in red turned upward at the sound of his name. “I haven’t a clue, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

For just a moment Jeremiah faltered, his enthusiasm dimming in favour of steady control and minor uncertainty. Years spent with little more than his own thoughts for company had truly taken their toll. Nerves sounding in a mirthless laugh as Jeremiah pressed his glasses up his now, stealing himself for a second longer. “Right, you didn’t come here to listen to me talk like this. Was there something you needed?”

“Not at all. I could listen to you talk all day. The confidence looks good on you.” There’s a pause as Elijah draws towards the table littered with Jeremiah’s work and…was that a wink? No, of course not. Just a trick of the light. Only there’s a smile in those eyes which causes his cheeks to blossom with pink.

Elijah related for now, offering Jeremiah an escape as he took up the small model of his work. “Why don’t you tell me about this? Why the blue?”

As quickly as his spark diminished, Jeremiah was brought to life again by a single question. With the renewed passion came a signature imposing grin, mad to the core. “It’s so blue it’s almost white. Safe. Clean. Nobody would pause to question it, but you see—“ fingers brush against fingers as Jeremiah takes the model from Elijah’s grasp, wordless as he flips a switch “—everyone starts to panic the moment they see red.” Gaze turned to meet Elijah, malevolent delight dances just under the surface.

Intelligence. Wit. Passion. All were attractive in their own right, but Jeremiah was something else entirely. He need only embrace the confidence which embodied him in face of his work. Mask be damned, how easy it would be for Elijah to reach out and press lips to lips. Indulge in just a moment in desire as sinister churnings allowed that brilliant mind to take over every of his inhibitions.

To feel himself undone so entirely by but a single glance, it was shocking—unheard of—and yet there was not a fraction of his being which deigned to revel under Jeremiah’s scrutiny.

------------

The decision was a simple one to make in the end. Their visits continued on as usual, but in that moment something more had sparked. Something truly undeniable and inescapable—something he cared not to escape. A time bomb waiting to explode. Elijah’s fingers itched to break the walls between them, yet with each flirtatious glance and teasing word Jeremiah would blossom a vivid red. How satisfying it was to watch something so brilliant and terrifying broken down with such ease. Few could know such pleasure. Though this got them nowhere Elijah was more than willing to give Jeremiah a gentle push in the right direction.

The trip through the maze that day was cruel. While he had with time grown accustomed to each twist and turn the maze was unrelenting to even the simplest of mistakes.

Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Elijah was late. Just a cursory glance at the screens was all Jeremiah needed to learn why. “Oh, Elijah, you’ve wandered far from the mark this time.” With a tender smile which reached his eyes Jeremiah did the unheard of: venture forth to rescue someone from the trap of his own creation.

In just a few minutes Elijah rounded the corner to find Jeremiah waiting and amused. A smile on his lips, laughter in his eyes, completely in control. “And here I thought you’d won for good.”

Spurred on by the sudden change to the rules, an impishness took over the Harlequin as he drew forward. “You know me, I like to keep things interesting. Besides…” As close as they were, palm pressed against palm. Light at first but then firm, assertive and without reservation. “Getting rescued by the handsome knight still seems like a win to me.” Boldened when Jeremiah didn’t pull away, Elijah twined their fingers together.

Though uncertain and hesitant at first, slowly Jeremiah encapsulated his hand in turn. “Maybe I should let you get lost next time?”

“You don’t sound so sure about that. I think you’d miss having me around.”

Even with his head covered by the Harlequin headpiece, he didn’t miss the sound of a soft intake of breath. “I…admit I would rather meet you face to f-…mask than watch you over a screen.”

“Then shall we, my dear Jeremiah?” Perhaps he had entered into a mood to push his luck, but much to his surprise Jeremiah gave no hint of resistance beyond the flush of his cheeks and hesitant uncertainty to his composure. Elijah counted that as a win too. He never once loosed his grip on their hands until they were alone in the study once more—at which point Jeremiah busied himself with getting them each a drink.

Sometimes a little liquid courage could do a world of good.

An hour and a couple of glasses later Elijah sat reclined on the sofa as he watched Jeremiah pour a third glass, both still laughing softly at the last comment to pass between them in a mildly tipsy haze.

What came next Elijah even had not anticipated, and yet in the moment it seemed the only correct course of action. “You know, aren’t knights supposed to receive a token of gratitude, or whatever, for their efforts?”

“This is hardly a fairy-tale, I doubt custom and tradition is necessary here.”

A heavy, exasperated sigh is the only sound to be heard as Elijah raises to his feet, Jeremiah’s back to him as he sets aside the glimmering crystal decanter. “Could you not be all logical for once?”

“You want me to set aside logic for fair—“ Already a chuckle had passes from Jeremiah as he turned back to face Elijah, though all sound and movement ceased when he caught sight of what had been done.

Elijah, or better yet the Harlequin, prided himself in his anonymity. To walk through Gotham freely, a man untethered by his crimes in ways few others were capable. Without a name he acted as a ghost, impossible to track down lest he be caught. Without a face he acted the innocent, free to walk away simply by removing a mask. Never before had secrecy acted as a burden. Never, until he met Jeremiah Valeska.

Where once had been a blank slate of porcelain white, dark rimmed eyes and emotionless lips, now there was a face. The face of a young man, bright and colourful, standing in such contrast to his usual composition. A shock of blonde hair laced with pink and blue in place of a stark black headpiece. A smile which grew by the second, cheerful, unashamed and utterly amused. His eyes, they were the same. The same teasing sparkle in his pupils, the same crinkle to the corners as he smiled, and the same deep seas of blue. Only now shadows of the mask failed to conceal his brightness, the splash of colour lining his eyes, complete with a small black heart at the crest of his cheek. There had been glitter.

Jeremiah, he stared. All regard for ordinary social standards lost.

Of all the scenarios Elijah had played out in his mind, none had ended quite like this. Though he’d never expected such a dumbfounded and utterly adorable look to cross the face of a killer either. There was no containing a burst of playful laughter. “I would say you could take a picture, but I don’t usually let that happen.”

A telling sign of nerves, Jeremiah coughs, fixes his glasses and flattens his tie. “Right… Right. I’m sorry. You just…took me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting—“ Inelegant for one so usually astute, he gestured over Elijah’s entire being.

“I know, I know. So few do.” With a dazzling smile and a melodic twill to his tone, he moved to collect one of the forgotten glasses. Oh, how he wanted to lean in, close the space between them and give him a true cause for astonishment. But no, no he couldn’t be so cruel. A smile was all he sought to bring to Jeremiah’s face, but to take advantage would do them no favours. Trust, compassion, kindness, all things he desired—wanted to provide—which others were eternally denied. Even the darkest minds could learn to love.

With a light ghosting touch down his forearm, Elijah took his hand once more before clasping Jeremiah’s hand around the glass. “It’s good for the nerves,” he said simply before taking up his own glass and returning to the sofa. He’d waited this long, he could wait a bit longer if it meant Jeremiah’s comfort.

When it came time to make his leave, Elijah left with his mask firmly in place once more but a decided spring to his step. Just at the door his path crossed with none other than Jerome, prompting a glance over his shoulder to find Jeremiah worrying his hands needlessly once more. “Go easy on him, he’s had a bit of a shock.” There was no disguising the gaiety which overwhelmed his tone.

What Jerome found inside was his brother inconsolably flustered. Picking up a glass to move it away, only to return it to its original spot. Taking his glasses off his face, though no matter how many times he cleaned them they just wouldn’t stay clear enough. A muttering under his breath of words which sounded suspiciously not unlike he’s so beautiful.

In the end Jerome saw just one course of action. Stop Jeremiah in his tracks and give him a couple hits to the cheek until he came back to his senses. “Come back to me, broski. Getcha head out your pants, we’ve got work to do.”

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Each visit went much the same after that. Flirtations welcomed and returned, a lingering touch of fingertips, glances with the promise of something more, but progress was not without its own challenges. Namely Jeremiah’s uneasiness whenever they drew close to toeing the line of the next barrier in their path. He wanted, man did he want, but wants were not so easily acted upon for the redhead.

More and more often Elijah took to joining others on their missions, at times even drawn back to the bunker late into the night. With fewer jobs taken from Zsasz he found little reason to leave when his could be so much better spent there. One such time came following a mission with Selina. It was simple really. Break in, nab some information, take care of any witnesses and get out. But it was late when they returned, later than Elijah had anticipated.

Fleetingly he considered parting ways with Selina once the job was done, but that would mean forgoing his daily visit with Jeremiah—as late as it was. Ultimately his craving to see the young man won out. The thought of passing a day without even a moment shared in his company…it had become unimaginable.

Even as they reached the base, he half expected to find Jeremiah had retired for the night, though Elijah found himself pleasantly surprised that not the case. Leaning in as he watched from the doorway of Jeremiah’s study, he smiled whilst shaking out his hair. In that room he no longer had need for a mask. “I should have known you’d be the kind to work through the night.”

With time came familiarity, a familiarity with broke Jeremiah’s stuttering speechlessness whenever he caught sight of Elijah’s face. Even so, to think what had stood before him this whole time… “Guilty as charged. But I see I’m not the only one working late tonight. How did it go with Selina, didn’t give you too much trouble?”

Abandoning his spot by the door, Elijah took up roost leaning against Jeremiah’s desk just to his side, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Trouble? Not at all. She’s feisty, makes the job more interesting when you can have some fun.”

“Fun?” Don’t say it, was that a flash of jealousy in his eye.

“Oh, you know, petty theft, wanton murder, all that jazz.” Dismissively he waves a hand, showing off the chip to his dark nails and a lingering stain of blood under the surface. “Just your average Friday night here in Gotham.”

“For some of us perhaps,” he said, shaking his head a touch while collecting together papers.

“Not your idea of fun? No, I don’t believe that. You just need a reminder what it’s like to get your hands dirty.”

“And what do I gain from this venture of yours?” Grin sly, he quirks brow

“Two of the best guns in Gotham watching your back and a good looking man on your arm.” Amusement dissipated, replaced with a forward seriousness. And with that, just as he had done those few short weeks ago, Elijah’s hand came to rest on Jeremiah’s arm.

In an instant he crumbled. “I… That’s quite…quite the offer.” Eyes flash from Elijah’s face to his hand, arm tense under his touch. Not uncomfortable, not at ease. Fight or flight, time to choose. When it came to Elijah, fight was never an option. But flight, that required some desire for escape; yet escape was far from his mind. No, sometimes there came a third option: to freeze.

Jeremiah froze entirely. For some time now he’d known it would come down to this, but in the moment it never made it any easier. Stolen glances as their group made plans. The unspoken clasping of their hands out of a simple need to touch. How with each passing day their faces drew closer, so close as to smell the burn of whisky on the other’s breath, yet an unbreakable barrier set between them, leaving them helpless to breach those final inches.

Elijah’s hand was on his now, fingers locked—when had that happened—thumb brushing softly up and down. The motion repetitive, soothing in it steady, always constant pace. The ticking of a clock or the swing of a pendulum, ever present, ever reliable, just as Elijah was in that moment.

His smile, so often bright, cheerful, troublesome even, right then it was soft, reassuring. Everything about the blonde inviting, a respite from the stresses of human interaction. Put simply, he was different.

Finally, Jeremiah dared to meet his eyes—eyes filled with adoration. It didn’t make sense, how such a gaze could be turned on someone like him. Right from the start he hadn’t understood why he had been chosen as the focus of the Harlequin’s attention. And even then why Elijah had taken the time to embed himself in Jeremiah’s life so entirely—so much so he couldn’t help notice his absence. So much of what they shared didn’t make sense, but that didn’t matter.

What mattered was the simple fact that they did.

“Shhh, just go with it.” So close now. When had they gotten so close? Don’t think. It would be so easy to pull away, to escape. Please don’t pull away. Just feel. You can do it. Things don’t always need to make sense or have reason. Some things just are.

So he went with it.

Lips to lips. Two magnets finally meeting in the middle. A spring released from its coil. Hands tightening, no longer holding but instead clinging. The feel of Elijah’s free hand on his cheek, fingertips catching on short hairs at his neck, grounding him to reality. Jeremiah caught that arm in his hand too. It was so much. It was everything.

One long firm kiss turned into two, three, four, quick and desperate like they needed to make up for lost time. And then, finally, Jeremiah could feel the pleasant sensation of lips upturning against his own. Messy and unguided though it became, the very feel of Elijah’s joy brought with it a feel of something entirely new. In the end quick pecks were stolen between delighted laughter, their foreheads pressed together as their hands held on tight. There would be no turning back now.

For the first time, that night Elijah never left the bunker. Neither moved further than the press of their lips, but for now that was enough. Kissing, holding, speaking, in the end sleep came for them on the sofa in Jeremiah’s study, Elijah’s head against the crook of his shoulder and warms wrapped securely around his waist. Whatever this was, it felt right.

Even before they took up arms as one, the Harlequin belonged to the Joker’s Mind and he would have it no other way.

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In the past Elijah’s loyalty had only ever been available for purchase. It was the kind of loyalty which came with the naming of a target and ended with a bloodied bullet. In working for Zsasz he had picked up a certain professionalism to his work, to avoid personal entanglement. You never knew at whose head you gun would be aimed next.

But this, these people, Jeremiah, it was different. Nothing bought, nothing bartered. Just a simple exchange of trust and acceptance. Eclectic and unexpected though it may be, the group had found in each other a family of sorts—all willing to stand by one another until the end. To find himself caring for others, and to be cared for in turn, it came as a strange and unexpected change of pace. Though it wasn’t unwelcome.

Of all the advantages which came with taking up the base as his permanent residence, there was one which stood out above all others—the added time spent at Jeremiah’s side. Between lingering glances and the brush of fingertips as they stood side by side, their growing closeness had not gone unnoticed by the others, though neither had yet taken the steps to placing labels on their relationship.

Though that wasn’t all. True to his word, when the time came Elijah took Jeremiah with him on his next job. Just the two of them, ready to paint the town red. The job was simple really: break in and take out those who had begun to make themselves somewhat of a pain in Zsasz’s side. In truth, the Harlequin could have carried it out alone, but it was more fun this way.

That was how they found themselves wandering the seedier dark alleys of Gotham late one evening, cursed shadows in the night, always ready to strike.

Illuminated by the lingering dull glow of streetlights, a single figure stood at the mouth to an alley, just in view of guards blocking a sturdy metal door.

“Turn around. It’s not safe around here alone.”

“Oh, you’re mistaken.” Even as they drew their guns, Jeremiah continued forward. “You see, I’m not alone.” In a swift fluid motion, two bodied acting as one, Jeremiah stepped to the side and the Harlequin filled the empty space.

Two gunshots in quick succession. Two bodies slumped to the ground. The Harlequin never failed to hit his mark.

Even as he fired, Jeremiah held a hand steady to Elijah’s back—contact which never broke until they reached the door, standing side by side. A show of affection even as they killed. A show of pride in his partner’s abilities. A certain possessiveness that this wondrous killer could be called his own.

“Nicely done,” though all Jeremiah received in playful shrug of his shoulders, a tinkling of bells the only sound to brain the still evening air. He hadn’t seen anything yet.

Inside Jeremiah showed his true colours, a willingness to enter into the fray himself, to filthy is hands with the stains of bloodshed. For each of the Harlequin’s bullets came a stab wound painfully drawn out. They worked well together. While one took out a trigger waiting in the distance, the other was armed and ready for a stab to the back. They threw in their all, faithful in the other’s abilities to keep them from harm. Nobody fought harder than for something they were unwilling to lose.

In the end it came down to just one man hidden behind a locked door. Foolish really, to think a lock could keep fate at bay with the lights of each of his subordinates already snuffed out. With eyes locked, keycards slipped through a scanner. One beep, two. Red lights turned green. His fate was sealed.

Ordinarily the Harlequin would have been the one to take the final shot—whose hand could he trust to make it count more than his own—but this time he had other plans. In a movement so agile he slipped around Jeremiah’s back, not a sound to be heard with his steps—not even the tell-tale ring of bells by his head—black painted nails coming to rest against his shoulder. In his hand Elijah offered a gun, one of his favourites, the barrel intricately patterned with floral detail, and he spoke for the first time since setting off on their mission. “Care to do the honours?”

Jeremiah smiled.

When they left not a soul remained and Jeremiah’s hands had been satisfyingly dirtied, so much so the spatter of blood still yet lingered upon his face. With each of his actions there had come a calculated destructive force, a wild pleasure which drove Elijah insane. He could hardly contain himself. Perhaps he wouldn’t have, were it not for the dead stares of the dearly deceased.

In the confines of Jeremiah’s room, Elijah’s mask was the first to go—a twin marking of blood streaked across a stark white cheek. “I meant it when I said confidence suits you.” On instinct hands came to rest against hips, pulling that brilliant man close. Before Jeremiah had chance to give as much as a word in reply Elijah had stolen his lips. He left his mark. Where the red tinge to his lips rubbed off on Jeremiah, blood mixing with paint. They parted, eyes hooded and dark. “You look good in red too.”

Freshly red lips curled upward, equal parts amusement and adoration. “You talk far too much.”

“Then maybe you should do something about that.”

And do something he did. When they came together again a fire had been sparked, a fire which raged and refused to cease. Hands touching, roaming, pushing aside layer after layer of irksome clothing. Neat hair became ruffled and wild, clothing creased as it lay forgotten on the ground. Equal parts push and pull, in seeing each other at their finest, it all ended with a hungry fall into Jeremiah’s bed.

No longer meek and hesitant, the redhead had grown confident in his pursuit. While he still could not yet understand, he was more than willing to oblige. The knowledge of why was not always so important as the reality of it all. If this was what Elijah wanted, then he would get it—Jeremiah couldn’t say no to that face, and better yet, he wanted it too. The weight of a body firm yet pliable against his own. An innate instinct driving them on as one. Where he ended and Elijah began he could no longer tell. Finding himself writhing in ecstasy with a man he had come to cherish so entirely. To finally, and truly, lay waste to all worry and concern for what this could mean for them. It was everything he’d never known he wanted.

That night Elijah made Jeremiah’s bed his own and they spent the night wrapped in each other’s arms. In the morning the blonde woke to find a deep red bruise by the base of his neck, a mark he wore with pride.

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Even the best laid plans can go awry. Jeremiah and Elijah learnt the hard way the added danger which came when working with someone you couldn’t stand to lose. As much as they gave strength, they were each other’s weaknesses, a means with which to exploit their control and resolve. Could either shoot knowing it would it would bring the end to their love? It would be no better than pulling the trigger themselves.

Jeremiah, Elijah, Selina and Bruce, together they had planned to steal components for Jeremiah’s research. They had planned for some killing along the way, no job for them was without its complications. Things didn’t go to plan. There were more security than they had accounted for, far more. To their own astonishment, they were doing well—almost at their mark.

Until there came a single gunshot.

Bruce and Selina, both in view just up ahead, their attention turned down the hall. Jeremiah had been at the back. The path out should have been clear. They thought they’d gotten them all. They were wrong.

Elijah turned just in time to see Jeremiah fall, his face turned away, a spattering of blood at his back. The world around him seemed to freeze. The sound of Bruce shouting in the distance nothing more than a hushed murmur, unable to penetrate his clouded mind. Each and every movement grew slow, yet his mind raced. Heartbeat pounding in his ears, Elijah saw red.

Jeremiah, his Jeremiah, motionless on the ground. That fool wouldn’t live long enough to realise his mistake.

For once the Harlequin wasn’t silent.

Rounding on the attacker he cried out, guttural and animalistic. An unbridled rage which knew no bounds. Without thought he took aim and fired. And fired. And fired. And fired. Bullet after bullet to the head. Twisted and mutilated, brains spread across the floor, with each shot he ceased to resemble a person.

It wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough.

“I…I think he’s dead,” while spoken with a pained hiss, amusement too rung in his voice.

For the second time in moments Elijah froze. There on the ground, clutching his arm tight as blood seeped through his suit sleeve, sat Jeremiah very much alive. While pain ripped through him it had been touching to see the lengths Elijah had been willing to go on protective instinct. Such unrelenting rage unleashed in his defence, never before had he witnessed such a display of devotion—save for his brother, perhaps.

The mangled corpse went forgotten, discarded as Elijah rushed to Jeremiah’s side. Knowing all was not lost, nothing meant more than ensure his safety. No mission was worth the loss of his love. There would always be time for murder and theft later.

No time was wasted in returning Jeremiah to the base, Elijah set firmly at his side all the while. He refused to allow any further harm to befall him.

It came with thankful ease to discover Jeremiah faced no true danger in his injury. They were well equipt enough to patch up his wounds with no need for a doctor, though his arm would from then on sport a messy scar from unskilled stitches. Still, it was preferable to the alternative.

Carefully and with the utmost focus, Elijah wrapped bandages around his arm. If he couldn’t keep Jeremiah free from harm’s way, he would champion his recovery. Only after helping him into a fresh shirt—after all Jeremiah looked good in red, though Elijah found he cared for it less when the blood was his own—that Jerome appeared, no injury clear on the surface.

What Jerome found was the sight of the couple sat close, knee to knee, foreheads touching. Elijah cradled Jeremiah’s face in his hands, the softest touch, such fear for a fragile treasure too easily shattered. Under their breath, Jerome could hear the muttered words of “I thought I lost you,” and in the stark artificial light he caught sight of a dark stain roll down Elijah’s cheek. What Jeremiah had survived, Elijah’s make up had not.

A cursory glance to Bruce was all was all he needed to fill Jerome in on their day’s events. Their mistake, Jeremiah’s injury, Elijah’s speed and rage as he leapt to his defence—a protectiveness to rival even Jerome. Now he could be his brother had found for himself someone who cared as deeply for him as he himself. Perhaps he hadn’t given Elijah enough credit before now.

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In the days that followed there came a shift. Elijah no longer cared to skirt around the truth of what they were. They came so close to losing everything, too close, now he refused to miss out on more time used to its fullest. And Jeremiah, while he still truly did not understand why, he could accept and embrace that Elijah had truly come to love him. He loved him too.

For weeks the truth had been known by all, though never had it been spoken aloud. Now it didn’t need to be spoken. The reality of their relationship stood bold and bright for all to see.

Even for the most sinister of killers in Gotham, their team spent down time in each other’s company. The changes to their affections became apparent to their group right away. No longer were glances stolen and lingering, but now they sought each other out shamelessly, wearing their fondness with pride. Physical affections were no longer quite so subtle either. While once they had kept to the light brush of fingers—anything further reserved for stolen moments of privacy—now they were free with casual intimacy.

Reclined on the sofa, Elijah sat in Jeremiah’s lap, their hands clasped as they spoke in muted tones. Smiles lingered ever present upon their lips, only ever break for brief stolen kisses. For a time they allowed themselves the simple pleasures of revelling in each other’s company. It was a pleasant hopelessness neither had seen coming, yet equally neither could live without.

Despite it all, Jerome had gagged in exaggeration at the sight. Sickeningly sweet had been his words. Couldn’t they just make out like any normal couple? Selina had said it was about damn time.

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Things were not always quite so simple and happy for the pair, however. Years spent with just his own mind for company, hidden away from even the light of the sun, had taken their toll on Jeremiah. While others his age made friends and played games, the young engineer had kept to his studies. The brilliance of his mind went unchallenged, undisputed, though it was the product of his isolation. Where his mind had flourished, his skills with others had suffered.

In the beginning it had taken months for Jeremiah to grow accustomed to the sound of talk and laugher throughout his maze, to the sight of movement within his cameras. In those early days, he stole himself, reminded himself that these people—his friends—were safe, they meant him no harm. While he assured himself of their friendship—and even with time coming to think of them all as kin in their own right—it had taken time to adjust.

All the while Jerome acted as an anchor. From the moment his brother walked back into his life, Jerome made himself an ever present constant, a means for which to ground Jeremiah when his mind went wild. At times he would sink into himself, grow withdrawn and distant, unable to form ordinary social functions. Even in those moments Jerome was permitted his company.

With time, as their relationship flourished, Elijah too shifted alignment in Jeremiah’s mind. No longer was he an unknown. Elijah wasn’t just another person. In no time at all he had become his partner, lover, and dearest friend. The Harlequin to his Joker. A comforting respite from the woes of ordinary human interaction.

While Jeremiah grew closer, more open, with his new family, some days were harder to bare. There were times he would find himself left behind to his research while the others departed for their own missions, at times for even days on end. It was all too easy for him to slip back to his former self in those times and it left him at a loss upon their return.

Sometimes, no matter how dear, they were too much.

Too many voices. Too many people. Too much movement. Too much sound. Much too much.

To begin with he was fine, but then as time wore on he began to shift. What was initially a bust of laughter just a fraction too loud became a yell in his ear. Words began to lose all sense of meaning. His eyes couldn’t focus on what stood right before his face. All sound became muffled and distant, his mind plunged under the water. Everything overwhelmed; there was no escape.

Heart beating fast in his chest, breathing quick and bated, it was in a frantic panic that Elijah found him crumped against the white slate of his maze walls moments after his escape. Ivy poked her head out of the room in worry for him, but the boys paid her no mind. Jeremiah too deep in himself, Elijah too focused on his love.

How it happened, Jeremiah couldn’t recall. But when finally he began to calm, coming back to himself, he was in their room laid out on their bed. The lights were out and Elijah held him close, one hand stroking soothingly over his hair. “Shhhh, it’s okay. I have you. You’re safe.” A steady rhythmic heartbeat pressed against the palm of his hand, calming his own. Shallow long breaths came with the rise and fall of Elijah’s chest, a measure to align himself. “I have you. You’re okay. Just relax.”

That voice was his favourite sound. Melodic, soft-spoken and loving. Even in a world filled with endless uproar, Elijah’s voice allowed him to find ease. He too came as an anchor in the darkness, holding Jeremiah steady and strong whenever he found himself in danger of slipping under. His voice never to loud, his presence never too much. In Elijah’s arms he could find focus once more, regain some sense of peace, and finally feel like this could be home.

At times, even monsters needed a touch of compassion and care.

------------

Months and months of planning, researching, building, it was all mounting in this. A single switch held in Jeremiah’s hand, for now concealed but in time they would know. Every card in their hand. Every move theirs to plan. The GCPD had truly been backed into the corner, no room for negotiation, no room for escape.

Elijah had been quick to take a hostage, gun poised on the temple of the first woman to pass him on the street. She had been innocent. She had been slow.

Behind Jeremiah stood a small army—the inane cultists, Jerome’s deranged followers, repurposed somewhat for just this occasion. Level-headed and calm even as he looked down the barrel of a gun, he appeared powerful and imposing. He radiated confidence, a self-assurance which had been cultivated and tended since the moment he took his place as Jerome’s second. He wore power well.

Never before had Elijah been quite so proud of what he had watched his partner become. A radiant evil blossoming into full bloom. Magnificent.

“Let her go or I’ll shoot.” Typical, of course they turn on the guy with the hostage.

“Not so fast, detective.” Measured and precise, Jeremiah stepped forward. Out came that magic button. “You harm the Harlequin here and I blow up half of Gotham. It’s your choice.” Already they had felt a taste of what it would be like to lose one another for their cause. That wouldn’t happen again. There was nothing either wouldn’t do if it meant the other’s safety.

Wordlessly Bullock shrunk back, hesitant. “That’s what I thought, now you’ll do as I say.”

And yet, even with the threat of explosives, the GCPD just never knew when to quit. Surely a single woman could not be worth every unknown in Gotham? Even so, they pressed on.

Considering her release, the Harlequin gave a roll of his shoulders, barrel of the gun tapping the side of her head, and the bells on his hat rang a jovial requiem through the tense air. Alright, maybe it wasn’t true consideration, but the appearance of it counted for something, right?

In the end he turned his sights on Jeremiah, mischief shining in his eyes. “Hmmm… What do you say, Jeremiah, my dear?” That dazzling half smile was all he needed to pull the trigger. There came no hesitation as Jeremiah gave the go ahead, she was gone in spirit and Elijah dropped her body to the ground, rounding instead to stand in pride of place at his partner’s side.

“As I was saying, nobody needed to die. Apart from her,” said Jeremiah, giving a moment’s pause to glance at the woman’s corpse still bleeding out on the sidewalk. In the end he would have, might have, let her go, but they pushed his hand the second they threatened Elijah.

“Oh, and these.” In his hand he held a second button, so like the first in every way—only this one held a certain death count. “I know seeing is believing, and I do want you to believe me. It seems you’ve had some trouble with that so far, so…” Jeremiah pressed the button before any had the chance to react.

In the near distance the clock tower exploded. A mighty plume of destructive flame ripping through the very structure of the building, sending rubble tumbling down in a great cloud of black smoke. With purpose no longer, Jeremiah dropped the button to the ground, fingers loosening just enough for it to slip from his grasp. How something so simple had caused such chaos, it was amazing to see.

And the control Jeremiah had won through it all, Elijah could think of nothing more beautiful. He revelled in the fear his beloved had wrought through the GCPD in just a few short minutes. Truly, Jeremiah Valeska was a brilliant man, capable of bringing markings, musings on a page into an all too real terrifying reality.

This was only the start. For today. For their goals. Their team had so much more to show, so much more to do. Measured chaos and destruction to rain down on Gotham, all to meet their own ends. The Harlequin would do it all while standing at Jeremiah’s side, close enough to protect, close enough to witness his brand of terror first hand.

From the start Jeremiah Valeska and Elijah Quinn had been hopeless, destined to stumble through chaos until they came to meet in the middle. But to be hopeless was not always quite so unwelcome as it may appear. In hopelessness, even the most destructive human forces had found themselves in possession of an equal capacity for love as though who stood in the light.

To some finding love would count itself a weakness, but in the months since their meeting Jeremiah and Elijah had come to learn it stretched far beyond that. Weakness though it may be, it too brought them strength. A strength to push each other on through the darkest moments. A strength to find reason worthy of stepping beyond every rule they placed against themselves. It was a strength to watch each other stand tall, doing whatever it took to survive. And yet it also gave the strength to allow themselves stripped bare, exposed and vulnerable to the world.

Vulnerability, the greatest weakness to one who wished to appear above the world.

In their world of insane annihilation they were fearsome and unrelenting, but when it came to each other they knew nothing but tenderness and devotion.

A love which stretched beyond the confines of morality and acceptable social construct. Beauty, insanity, intelligence, terror, all found love in equal measure. It was a love which only grew with every fond word and vehement act.

The Harlequin and the Joke’s Mind were truly kindred spirits thrust into a single discordant world; once they found each other they would never let go.

#t: original #ship: jeremiah x elijah #In which I fall far too deep into this ship #I have zero regrets.#I love these boys so much.

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