*A/N This chapter mentions songs by the late, great Frank Sinatra, which I included especially for the wonderful VeloySR595  *

--1st person POV--

"There, their and they're...." Joker gave an exasperated sigh then clenched his jaw in frustration. "Why have three words that all sound the same but spelt differently?"

He threw a severley disgruntled look up at you, which noticeably altered as soon as you leaned over his shoulder to get a closer look at the dusty old document that was spread out on the desk in front of him.

"Because they have different meanings." You explained patiently, "There as in, over there--"

"I know, I know. You've already told me. It's just so.....stupidly complicated."

"I agree, the English language is confusing. The spellings, meanings, grammar structure... it's very difficult."

One painted eyebrow hitched higher than the other, his expression now one of bemused incredulity, and you had to stifle the impulse to giggle.

"Grammar structure." He parroted. "You know what, I don't even wanna know."

You placed a reassuring hand on his arm and gave it a bolstering squeeze, trying to encourage him. "But you're doing great, Jo. It just takes a bit of time to get the hang of it, and lets face it....we have plenty of time."

Joker immediately brightened at that. His green gaze darted to your hand, where it still lingered on his arm, before coming to rest on your face. The way he looked at you so intently made your pulse misbehave.

Feeling suddenly self conscious, you hastily removed your hand and retreated to your seat. You must make a mental note to stop leaning in so closely to him, and the casual touching habit you seemed to have developed would have to be curbed too.

Several days had passed since your late night conversation with Joker, and since then the two of you seemed to have forged a fragile truce. Heck, you'd even settled into something that resembled a routine.

At nighttime the pair of you now slept in the living room; you on the worn but comfortable couch, Joker in the chair by the fire; his feet propped up on a foot stool.

You almost felt bad for him. Sleeping in the chair could hardly be comfortable, but it was his choice to keep you prisoner here, so maybe he deserved the discomfort.

But....at least he stayed with you and didn't leave you locked alone in the bedroom where the ghostly voices would torment you.

He still continued to surprise you that way, whenever you caught glimpses of that kinder, gentler temperament that he tried to keep well hidden. A softer side to his nature that you were witnessing with steadily increasing regularity.

You spent your days together sifting through the old archives; searching for anything that connected the name of your adopted uncle to the once infamous asylum.

"What's his name again?" Joker had asked, the first day he'd led you through the dilapidated building to the musty old archive library.

"Montague Fitzwilliam Dagenhart."

He'd snickered then, making you giggle in spite of yourself. You naturally felt quite defensive of your old uncle. He had after all been the only parental figure in your life who had consistently shown you any real kind of love and kindness.

But you knew Joker didn't mean any offence. It was just his sense of humour. He did, you had noticed, harbour a strong disdain for the rich. Having read the newspaper articles in the bedroom drawer, you knew that Joker came from a  background of economical hardship, so you could relate to him on that score.

But whenever he poked fun at your uncle Monty he was playfully teasing you. It was what you did; banter back and forth, but there was never any real malice in his words.

"Montague Fitzwilliam Dagenhart. Now that is a name that reeks of money. What was he some kind of wealthy eccentric? Or do you have to have a hyphen in your name to qualify as one of those?"

"You know, I think you might be onto something there. You only qualify as eccentric if you're insanely rich."

He'd grinned at you then, his eyes glistening with dark mirth as though he was quietly pleased that you shared his dry, sardonic sense of humour.

"Exactly! If you're poor you're not eccentric, you're just batshit crazy."

"Ironic then isn't it, how madness is a common trait amongst the upper classes. It must be all that inbreeding." You'd retorted. "The adverse affects of having a very shallow gene pool."

He had then roared with laughter, almost choking on the smoke he'd just inhaled from his cigarette; resulting in a coughing fit which culminated in you feeling compelled to slap him gently on the back.

"Shallow as a puddle." He'd responded finally, his voice sounding much raspier than usual. "Must be a real drag attending a family wedding, to be listed as father of the bride and uncle of the groom."

"But who cares so long as that family blood stays blue." You chuckled. "As for uncle Monty, all I know is his great grandfather was from England."

"Ah, I might've guessed. Probably one of those aristocrats that spent every spare second of his time on horseback, shooting foxes for fun."

As the pair of you had sifted through the old records; carefully searching through each yellowing document, Joker had unexpectedly disclosed to you that his language skills were considerably lacking.

He wasn't illiterate exactly, on the contrary he was considerably articulate, but he struggled when it came to the written word, and astonishingly, his inability to spell correctly had always been a cause of embarrassment to him.

So you'd offered to help him brush up on his grammar, and whilst you used the endless supply of patient records as a source of reading material, you both found yourselves being intrigued by the notes in the files. Each patient had a story, and as an avid reader, you found their stories more gripping, saddening, and fascinating than any novel you'd ever read.

Time passed surprisingly quickly that way. When you weren't helping Joker out with his English; the two of you sitting side by side; laughing or discussing the cases you were reading, you were theorising about the parts that hadn't been documented. Either making educational guesses based on the information you had, to fill in the blanks, or inventing fantastical backstories for your own entertainment.

"Enid Fortesque....committed at the age of twenty one because she was prone to violent outbursts and fits of hysteria....she escaped in 1906 and was never found." Joker was now reading aloud.

He then sat back in his seat, looking at you expectantly.

"Hm...I think...her family locked her away in the attic of their farmhouse, because she felt an affinity with the animals....." You mused, doing your best to ignore the way Joker was grinning with amusement at your wild imagination. "......They thought she was an embarrassment, and falsely accused her of being violent and hysterical, when really she was just pissed at how they mistreated her."

He chuckled and rested his chin on his hand, "So she ran away and.....then what?"

"She.....she changed her identity and.....set up a shelter for sick animals." You ended triumphantly.

"So a happy ending huh? But what if.....what if she was an axe murderer and massacred her entire family?" He grinned devilishly.

"Jesus, Jo! Why do your backstories have to be so grim?"

"They're not grim. They're realistic. It's just real, nasty, ugly life." He countered, then paused contemplatively before adding, "Besides, she would have her reasons.....perhaps...perhaps her parents were forcing her into an arranged marriage, when she'd already met the love of her life."

"So it was a crime of passion." You smiled, pleasantly surprised by the romanticism of his theory. "I suppose if you put it like that....it sounds almost romantic. Almost."

He shifted in the chair, manoeuvring his body with some difficulty so that he was turned towards you.

"So....you like romance huh? Funny. I didn't have you pegged as the type who'd go for all that champagne and roses stuff."

"Hey, there's a fine line between being romantic and cringey." You pointed out, feeling your cheeks begin to burn. "But I think it's fair to say every girl loves a bit of romance."

"Is that right."

"Well, yeah of course." You laughed, feeling slightly bewildered. "Wait, don't tell me you've never taken any of your, um, lady friends, dancing? Or to dinner?"

Arthur shifted awkwardly, his cheeks growing pink beneath the face paint.

Lady friends?

Hell, he'd only just recently lost his virginity. To a woman who could hardly be described as a lady. She had in fact been an exotic dancer at a club, a dancer who was known to do extras for the right price. However, in his case she'd made an exception. Not wanting cash for sexual favours, but rather the notoriety for having slept with the infamous clown prince of crime.

She wasn't his girlfriend. There hadn't been any dates. They'd spent one or two nights together. The sex had been awkward and deeply unsatisfying. It wasn't that she wasn't attractive, and she was certainly keen, but Joker couldn't help wondering if the experience would've been more enjoyable if they'd shared some sort of meaningful connection.

It had irritated him. Such sentimentality was typical of Arthur, but Arthur wasn't in the driving seat any more. It was necessary to silence the simpering idiot in order to improve himself, and Joker would much rather feel nothing.

But nothing is what he had felt when he'd had sex, and that was immensely frustrating. All his life he'd lacked the confidence to approach women, and finally he'd got laid but... to say it was underwhelming was putting it mildly.

Perhaps, he realised, it would be better with the right woman, and the more time he spent with you, the more he was inclined to wonder if you could quite possibly be that woman.

You just felt so.....right.

Unbeknownst to you, your insightful words on romance inspired him, and he began to formulate a plan. A plan that he put into action later that night, once the light began to fade and you'd made your way back upstairs.

Joker knew only too well that you don't get a second chance at a first impression, but maybe, just maybe, he could win you over if he really tried.

"Candles?" You shot a look of enquiry over your shoulder as you took the half-eaten loaf of bread from the antique sideboard.

Since when did he bother using candles?

"I feel like a little....ambience...for a change." He replied, carefully lighting all of the tapered candles he could find in the impressively ornate candelabras. Not all of them had wicks, but there was enough of them to cast a beautiful warm, golden glow over the room.

Your brow furrowed in bewilderment but you couldn't refrain from smiling at his quirkiness, as you set to work toasting a piece of bread on the fire with an old toasting fork.

That was the only food that was left now, bread and butter, so toast had been your staple diet for the past two days. You'd eaten all the cheese, so you couldn't even shake it up a little by having cheese on toast, or cheese sandwiches.

Thank god it was Friday tomorrow, which meant shopping day. The day when Joker's boys would call to bring fresh supplies. And as a show of his willingness to be fair, he'd assured you they would get you whatever you wanted or needed.

What you needed was a way out of here, but seeing as you were yet to find a safe opportunity to escape, instead you'd have to settle for what you wanted....which was a decent meal.

"D'you like music?" Joker asked suddenly, interrupting your thoughts.

You looked up to see him now fiddling with an old record player , and you found yourself watching with keen interest.

"Yeah I love music." You replied. "Though it depends on the artist."

He wiped the dust from the old 78' with the sleeve of his jacket, then placed it carefully on the turntable. Within seconds the large room was filled with wonderful music; the scratchy sound of the vinyl adding to the atmosphere.

It was Frank Sinatra, you realised, and soon found yourself humming along to the tune of, "Fly Me To The Moon".

"This okay?" He asked, sauntering over.

You stared up at him as he closed the distance between you; casual and unhurried. There was an understated confidence to him sometimes. He didn't show it much but when he did.....you found it impossibly sexy.

Shit. You internally wanted to scream. You really shouldn't find him attractive at all. Aside from him being your captor, you knew what he was. What he was capable of. What was wrong with you?

"Um, y-yeah....it's great." You managed to croak.

"(y/n).....d'you think the toast is done?"

You looked down and groaned, seeing the charred piece of bread. You'd been so distracted you'd held it too close to the fire and for too long. You hadn't even noticed the smell of it burning.

"Shit!"

Joker chuckled and crouched down beside you, "Here, let me."

"I am capable of toasting a bit of bread, Jo."

"Well....clearly not." He snickered, trying to wrestle the long fork from your hand.

"This was one time, that's all. I've never burnt it before."

"I know, I know..." He chuckled, "Come on, just let me do it. I want to."

Sighing in defeat, you surrendered the fork to him, and went to take a seat on the couch.

"Why do you want to do it? I made it for myself this morning, and yesterday."

He shrugged, noncommittal. Then eventually said, "I know it's not exactly....perfect." He gesticulated wildly with the fork, waving the fresh slice of bread around haphazardly. "But I'll make you something nice to eat tomorrow. We can even sit at the table and eat properly....together....if you'd like."

You blinked at him in delighted surprise. He'd mentioned there was a microwave somewhere, not that he'd ever actually used it. But now he was offering to cook for you!

"What?" He demanded, somewhat self-consciously. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know." He huffed slightly, dragging a hand through his green curls. "Just....like that. All weirdly. I don't know what you're thinking."

His nervous preening really made you want to giggle, but in that sobering moment you realised it was a blessing that he didn't know what you were thinking. Because you were thinking what a weirdly wonderful creature he truly was, and you kind of adored him for it.

You bit your bottom lip, trying to suppress a goofy smile. "You just...never cease to surprise me, Jo." You smiled at him shyly.

If you didn't know better, you could've sworn he puffed his chest out ever so slightly, seemingly pleased by the compliment.

"It's a week today since you arrived." He admitted, in a voice that sounded all loaded, and heavy and deliberate, "We made it this far, I figured that's worth.....celebrating."

You opened your mouth to say something, but you had no idea what. So you closed it again, your lips breaking into a big grin instead.

Celebrating? He wanted to celebrate you having been here a full week, without having to murder you, you thought, darkly.

Although, his efforts were quite sweet.

God, a full week. The week had passed by so strangely. At times it felt as if you'd been there forever, then at other times it didn't seem like you'd been stuck with him all that long.

As Joker made a pile of toast, and boiled water on the fire for coffee, you settled back into the couch; an odd feeling of contentment settling over you.

This was like some form of bizarre, undomestic bliss. You liked being part of a pair, having someone to share funny moments and laugh with. You actually enjoyed the criminal clown's company. Especially when you could engage in good conversation, and poke fun at the absurdity of the world together.

Perhaps you'd been on your own for too long. But if the truth be told, you'd never actually found someone who felt so emphatically right to be around.

With his hair freshly smoothed back, and slightly lopsided smile, you felt prickly and warm as Joker sat down beside you. He was quietly singing along to "That's Life" as he puffed on a cigarette, and when his knee accidentally brushed yours you felt your heart begin to beat twice as fast as it had been before.

You stole a subtle, sideways glance at him. If he'd felt anything too, he certainly didn't show it.

The evening wore on, and by the time you'd cleared your plate, the pair of you had sort of sunk further into the couch; you were sharing the footstool, his feet crossed over at the ankle, your shoulders touching, without you having even noticed.

You talked about music, a topic that was very close to Joker's heart, and it was undeniably nice discovering you had so much in common when it came to musical preferences.

By then you'd figured the record had to be a compilation of Sinatra's greatest hits, as the upbeat tempo of "You Make Me Feel So Young" bounced off the walls, and suddenly Joker was up on his feet; unable to resist the urge to dance.

You watched him, slightly mesmerised by the sight of his graceful movements, the swirl of colour he created as his body swayed in time to the music.

"You're a man of many talents." You told him, "I never would've expected you to be such a good dancer."

"I have music in me. But I dance even better with a partner."

He drew steadily closer, his proximity sucking all the oxygen out of the room. Extending his open hand to you, he met your gaze with a lazy smile.

"Dance with me, (y/n)."

It didn't seem like a request. His tone was slightly peremptory; but it sounded more like playful coaxing than a demand.

Your brain slowed to a crawl, and you felt like you were having an outer-body experience, as you were drawn to him like a magnet, powerless to the pull.

Your hand was trembling slightly as you took his; allowing him to gently tug on your arm, pulling you up off the couch.

"I'm a terrible dancer." You warned him.

"I don't believe that."

His hand was cool and smooth, and yours seemed so much smaller once he laced his fingers through your own.

And then he was spinning you around and pulling you back in, guiding you around the room with assertive mastery.

As cliched as it seemed, as if by magic, you could feel all of your cares lifting from you. In spite of everything, you'd never felt so lighthearted. So carefree. So alive.

You giggled and he laughed with genuine, pure joy, as you swung each other around playfully, holding onto one another's hand.

Due to all the laughter, you only vaguely became aware of the song changing when the tempo grew much slower. You halted awkwardly, not sure of what to do. Then suddenly he tugged you gently towards him. You felt him place a hand at the small of your back, as he boldly drew you in close.

"Oh, uh....okay." You said, feeling somewhat embarrassed.

You went with it though, as it felt completely natural. Even though the song, "Something Stupid" was undeniably romantic.

"....and then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like.....I love you." He sang along to the lyrics, gently resting his chin on the top of your head.

And that was it. Your senses seemed to all come alive at once, so now every scent and touch became heightened. The dancing that had started so innocently, now felt overwhelmingly intimate, as you grew acutely aware of the sturdiness of Joker's chest beneath his green shirt. His subtle, masculine strength, the lean muscles of his thighs as they pressed against yours.

As you moved sensually slower now to the music, you could feel your heart racing, blood rushing to your face, and you was only glad that he couldn't actually see it.
Your face was comfortably tucked into the space between his neck and his shoulder. The smell of him -- cigarette smoke,mixed with men's cologne  -- was an alarmingly intoxicating combination.

Instinctively Joker's eyes closed as he buried his face in your hair. He could feel you melting into him, as if your bodies were somehow fusing together. Your feminine curves tailor-made for the lean muscles of his wiry body.

Your (h/c) hair smelt like a summer meadow, putting him in mind of sunshine and warmth, and everything he wanted, which had him struggling with the impulse to kiss you gently on the forehead. To breach that boundary.

He'd never felt this way before. He was terribly confused but couldn't give a damn. He'd never wanted anyone as badly as this.

"You...you are real aren't you?" He asked, suddenly terrified by the thought. "I mean, I'm not.....imagining that you're here, am I?"

You lifted your head, almost bumping his nose. "You're not imagining it, Jo." You replied honestly, feeling his heart hammering through his shirt as if it was trying to escape his chest.

He drew in a sharp, unsteady breath. "Good, thats...good. My mind, it plays tricks on me sometimes."

"Well, does this feel real enough for you?" You snaked your arms around his middle and gave him a small squeeze for reassurance.

In response he slipped his arms around your waist.

A shaky warmth trickled down your spine, gathering low in your belly like liquid fire. You didn't dare think that it signified anything, even though the tingling of your nerves suggested otherwise. You wasn't sure if you could trust your instincts because...it seemed impossible.

At some point you had come to a complete standstill, which had apparently escaped both your notice. But now you knew intuitively, just as he knew, that if you tilted your head just so....you'd be able to kiss.

You had absolutely no idea where such a thought had come from, but it disturbed you to find yourself wondering what it would be like to kiss him.

You were trying desperately hard not to think about it, but your mind had other ideas. It was overriding your rationality, as if you had no control over your brain at all. All common sense went out the window, your thoughts kept returning to Joker's painted lips, and what his kisses would be like. Would they be firm and powerful, not wet and weak? Not the kind where you'd have to wipe your mouth afterwards with the back of your hand.

It didn't hurt to indulge in the fantasy, you reasoned, but in reality you had to protect yourself.

You'd always dreamed of falling in lust and love with a charismatic stranger who would sweep you off your feet. You wanted that for yourself. But with Joker....? Really?

He fitted that ideal so nicely, in spite of his questionable reputation.

Yes, you wanted that with him so badly that it scared you. In fact, you hadn't realised just how much you did want it until now. Now that the possibility was presenting itself to you.

Perhaps you'd noticed it before but tried to ignore it. The looks that passed between you, the way you casually touched him in a friendly sort of way, when in all honesty you found it hard to keep your traitorous hands off him.

This was insanity.

Clearly you were suffering with a severe case of Stockholm Syndrome. It was like Beauty and the Beast, or Phantom of the Opera.

The hopeless romantic in you was bound to fall for the criminal clown, because he seemed so lost. Misunderstood and neglected. But as uncle Monty would say, life wasn't a fairy story.

This was real life, and the harsh reality was Joker was your captor. He'd been holding you against your will, so to be developing feelings for him was utterly ridiculous.

Yet in the background the words of Frank Sinatra filled your ears, where they then in turn filtered down into your hopelessly smitten heart;

"Fairytales can come true, it can happen to you...."

His beautiful green eyes stared down at you. He didn't move an inch. Your gaze locked, your faces so close there was just a breath or two between you. The moment seemed to hang; charged with anticipation and possibility.

A flicker of panic sparked at the back of your mind. You couldn't do this. Could you? You shouldn't want to, but Jesus, you were aching for him to kiss you. You could feel his breath on your lips, see his painted eyelashes flickering shut in the half light.

He closed his eyes.....then pulled back, exhaling shakily as if he'd been holding his breath.

Ugh, well. That was that then.

You pulled back too, and the taught silence between you shattered.

You must've misread the whole lips-almost-touching, gazes-locked thing. Really you ought to be relieved, but you were shaking. Your skin was hot, your pulse fluttering. You were all churned up, and....disappointed.

Joker coughed, clearing his throat. "Uh, it's getting late. I think maybe we should call it a night."

You hummed in response, your heart sinking further into the floor as he crossed the room and turned off the record player. He glanced back at you, still with an unmistakable heat in his eyes. But there was a little crease between his eyebrows.

You were certain he'd been thinking about kissing you.

You didn't know it, but Joker was now battling feelings of regret and frustration. He'd been so close. So close to kissing you, but now he'd blown it.

As Joker, he was bold and impulsive. But Joker was still Arthur, so of course the impulsiveness had deserted him, at a potentially crucial moment. Only to be replaced by his old, panicked indecision, those feelings still painfully familiar to him.

In his head he played out all the scenarios, the different ways in which it could have gone. If he'd kissed you and you'd stopped him. If he'd kissed you and you hadn't stopped him....that was the most torturous thought. It was best not to pursue that one, he decided.

"Do you ever actually manage to get any sleep in that chair?" You asked then, hoping to lighten the mood.

"Not really, but I'm used to it."

"But you shouldn't have to be used to it. This place might technically belong to me, but it's your home."

"What's your point?"

That was an interesting question. Just where exactly were you going with this?

"My point is.....you could...." You swallowed hard; trying to steady the tremor in your voice, ".....you could sleep on the couch. With me. If you wanted."

His head snapped up, but you couldn't bring yourself to look at him.

"But the couch is.....kinda small." He said eventually.

True. You'd both be squashed together on there, which would be tortuously awkward.

"Well, we could share the bed instead." You spoke quickly, before you lost your nerve. "I'm fine in there when I'm not alone, and it's big enough to share without us....I mean, we wouldn't have to...." You faltered, not knowing what to say without making it sound like an inappropriate proposition. "You know what I mean. It's no big deal, just sharing a bed."

He remained silent for what felt like the longest few seconds of your life, before finally responding with a barely audible, "O-okay."

You helped him extinguish the candles, then headed for the bedroom.....together.