#also yes the cat's name is a reference to that Family Guy Adam West thing
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The Cat
Relationship(s): Arthur Fleck x OC/Arthur Fleck x reader
Warnings: Alcohol drinking (sort of), some cursing, cat
A/N: I was legit bummed when I learned Arthur was originally supposed to have a cat in the movie but they cut it out. Cause, ya know, cats. So wrote this little diddy.
“Hey, get back here!” You whisper-hissed at the fluffy form darting from your apartment. It was 5:33 PM at night and you worried that Paulie would take the chance to jump into someone else’s apartment as one of your neighbors came home from work. The smell of Mrs. Ramirez’s cooking had probably wafted down the hall to tempt him. Lord knows it tempted you as you hadn’t eaten anything since last night.
Paulie stopped at the opposite end of the hall, where he hunched against a corner. Luckily, no one had crossed your paths yet. You breathed a sigh of relief at that, because you...technically weren’t supposed to have Paulie, or any pets for that matter, in this building. Not that it stopped Mrs. Porter on the second floor from having her parakeets or the Skylar couple on the 6th floor with their tropical fish. No one really gave a damn about the rules—which more or less included you, but knowing your luck, you’d be the one to get caught.
“C’mon Paulie, come to mama.” You loved animals, but you probably wouldn’t have adopted Paulie if you hadn’t found him as a trembling, starving kitten mewing beside the dumpsters of your building. Paulie seemed to think the sun rose and set in you, but he wasn’t nearly as warm toward anyone else, really. Which made you dubious that he would be able to live with anyone else, and thus made any idea of re-homing him seem out of the question.
You held a small bag of treats and a bell ball out to him, but he seemed to huddle even further into the wall, while eyeing you with a look that indicated he could bolt at any second. You sighed in frustration.
You jumped when you heard the ding of the old elevator at the center of the hallway. “Shit,” you mumbled to yourself. You prayed it wasn’t one of your nosier neighbors—or worse yet, your landlord.
You turned around to see a tall, lanky man with dark hair. Art? Arthur? You were vaguely aware he lived on your same floor; you had crossed paths several times and one or twice engaged in small talk while traveling up or down that elevator. He seemed nice, if a little timid and sad. You hoped he wasn’t the sort to make a big deal about Paulie.
He didn’t seem to notice your cat at first as he smiled at you. “Hello,” he said as he fished around in his coat pocket for his keys.
“Um...hiiii.”
He turned from his door to look at you. You suddenly realized you probably made an amusing sight, clutching the treats and colorful cat ball, with what was likely a panicked look on your face, trying to act like everything was normal.
“Are you okay?” He asked you.
“I’m fine. I, uh, um.” Your shoulders drooped. “Just trying to corral my cat.”
As if on cue Paulie let out a long mew from behind you. You looked behind you to see he had finally removed himself from the corner and was warily walking closer.
Arthur bent down and reached out a thin hand to Paulie. “Hi little guy,” he cooed gently to the animal.
“Be careful, he’s been known to scratch—” you stopped short when Paulie sniffed at Arthur’s outstretched fingers, before rubbing his tiny, furry forehead all over them.
“Woah, he doesn’t usually do that.”
You were even more shocked when Paulie got even closer to your neighbor and Arthur scooped him up into his arms.
“Wow,” you exhaled. “You have a magic touch, Mister. Do you work with animals or something?”
You had noticed he blushed a bit at your saying “magic touch.” He shook his head. “Oh no—well, sometimes I work around animals. I work as a party clown.”
“Huh.” You smiled. “I never knew anyone who did anything like that. Must be interesting. Do you like it? Do you only do parties or other stuff?” You didn’t mean to give him the fifth degree, but you were genuinely curious; you, your family, and most everyone you knew worked dusty, dull office jobs.
He seemed to brighten the more and more you spoke. “I love it. I get sent to lot of different assignments, actually. I like working with kids the best—I’ll go to the children’s hospital a lot.”
Jeeze, you thought, you could never do something like that. “Wow. So you’re like a clown for hire? Have horn, will travel—that sort thing?”
Arthur started to laugh. So boisterously and uncontrollably, he handed over Paulie to you, and eventually had to cover his mouth.
“Jeeze, I don’t think I’m that funny.”
Arthur shook his head. He fished into his pants pockets, took out what looked like a laminated business card, and handed it to you, while his laughing continued and seemed to pain him. The card explained that this was a medical condition of his.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you said as you handed it back to him. “That must suck some serious balls.” Though Arthur’s laughter had calmed a bit, hearing that last line from you caused some renewed laughter. “Ah jeeze! I need to learn how to keep my big fat mouth shut.” You felt horrible, and Paulie seemed to be getting restless in your arms.
The thought occurred to you. “Would you like a night cap or something else to calm your nerves?” You said as you tilted your head toward your apartment. “Feels like the least I can do, especially after you helped me catch Paulie.”
He had managed to get much of the laughter under control at that point, though he still coughed and sputtered as his chest heaved up and down noticeably. “Sure,” he wheezed.
You held Paulie close to you as you trekked back to your door, your neighbor in toe. It had just occurred to you that you were inviting who was essentially a stranger into your apartment. For a nightcap. Not the smartest move, especially in good ol’ Gotham City. Maybe it was the pity and guilt clouding your judgment, but from what you did know of him he seemed like a good soul and you didn’t sense any threat from him.
You shifted Paulie to your opposite shoulder as you moved to open your front door. You stepped in and held the door open with your body, motioning for Arthur to come in. He was rubbing his chest, but was largely quiet. You shut the door and finally let Paulie go.
You noticed Arthur had stopped in the middle of the living room, looking around as if he wasn’t sure where he should sit. “Go ahead and have a seat. I don’t have a scotch guarded or plastic-covered couch or anything like that.” You pursed your lips. Would he find that comment funny and start laughing again? It wasn’t really funny, but you weren’t entirely sure what set off Arthur’s laughing. You suspected social anxiety played some part in it, but it was hard for you to tell whether you were observing things correctly or projecting your own insecurities onto this conundrum.
You unlocked your liquor cabinet, which sat opposite your couch. You bent over initially, but realizing that would give your neighbor a good view of your ass, you moved to crouch instead. You dug around a bit and found what you were looking for.
You started to make two gin and tonics. “I live alone, obviously, but I inherited some good stuff from my grandparents, who were career alcoholics. I’d rather it not get stolen, so I have it locked up in here, where I keep some everyday stash as well.” Arthur said nothing.
You turned around, drinks in hand, to see Paulie had plopped himself next to Arthur, his belly on full display as he rolled around a bit and—purred?
You walked up to this curious sight and held out one of the drinks. “Here ya go neighbor. My name’s y/n, by the way.”
He looked up and smiled at you. “Thank you.” He accepted the drink, and held it carefully between his two hands, as if it were a warming cup of coffee or soup. You sat to his right, so Paulie was between the two of you.
“I have to say, I’ve never seen Paulie warm up to someone like he has with you,” you said as you motioned to the feline, who was now rubbing his furry forehead against Arthur’s right leg.
“He is very cute, and very sweet,” Arthur commented, as he gently stroked Paulie’s fur.
“Well, with most people he would be hissing and trying to bite their toes off by now, or have run off to hide under my bed,” you admitted.
“That’s hard to believe,” Arthur said as he continued petting Paulie. He had taken a single drink of the gin and set it aside on your coffee table.
“I guess....” Your mind searched your memory to think of who else Paulie had been friendly with. He loved your best friend, a nurse at Gotham General. He liked your grandmother, when she was still alive, right after you had rescued Paulie as a kitten. You couldn’t think of anyone else. “I guess he’s a good judge of character.” You smiled up at Arthur. “And most people aren’t great.... Present company excepted.”
Arthur’s eyes flew up to meet yours, before quickly looking down. His lips curled into a smile as some of that blush returned to his cheeks and he reached for his drink.
#joker#joker 2019#joker fanfiction#joker fanfic#fanfic#arthur fleck#arthur fleck x reader#arthur fleck x oc#arthur fleck x you#fluffy#in more ways than one#I don’t know where I’m going with this#feels like there should be more buttttt.....#I donno#friends to lovers#maybe#I just kind of want to see him with a salty woman who isn’t Harley Quinn#also yes the cat's name is a reference to that Family Guy Adam West thing#the cat
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The Cat, Chapter 25
Warnings: Not really any.
Self-indulgent Author’s Note will be left until the end.
.....
The early 1990s
You sat in your office, enjoying the view of the sunset outside as it threw shades of peach, pink and purple across the skyscrapers of Gotham.
You spied the clock sitting at the right end of your desk. You should be heading home, but you had a few more things to tend to before the day was out.
There was a knock at the door.
You were pretty sure who it was. “Come on in Sam.”
Your assistant stepped in. “Hey Jennifer, do you need anything else before I step out?”
You smiled and shook your head. “No I’m fine. You head on home to that lasagna you’ve been dreaming about all day.”
“Definitely. See you tomorrow.”
By the time you finally called it quits, your office was mostly dark, except for the light cast by the desk lamp to your left. You switched it off; there was enough ambient light from outside that you could see and pack up your things easily. As you were doing so, you heard a rustling noise from behind you.
You stopped, turned around.
“Well hi there, baby brother.”
He was standing in the farthest, darkest corner of the room, in his tactical gear and other clothing meant to protect him, make him seem menacing. Make him remind one of a...bat. Of all damn things.
He didn’t respond right away.
You sighed. “I always knew this day would come,” you admitted, as you continued to pack up your things.
“You know what I want,” he stated finally.
You turned around, setting your purse and briefcase down on your desk. “Tell me. Did it really take this long to figure it out?”
He was still young then. Cocky. Talkative. Insecure.
“There had been rumors of a girl for sometime.”
You laughed. “Heh, ‘Girl,’” you repeated, scoffing, before running your hand over your face as you looked away.
“I’m old enough to be your mother, boy,” you shot back.
He said nothing to that.
You sighed, dropped your shoulders. “Can you get on with it so I can go home?”
“You have things I need. Information.”
“And what would all that be exactly.” You were starting to feel like this encounter was going to take more than a moment of your time. You turned back to the credenza behind your desk and grabbed the cut-glass decanter filled with your favorite scotch. You uncorked the glass stopper, before pouring yourself a drink.
Your eyes wandered to the stack of vinyl sitting to the right, beside a record player. Perhaps to show some disdain for even having to have this conversation, you stepped over and started flipping through the albums. The Ramones, Fleetwood Mac, Michael Jackson, The Police.... Along with some he had actually been the first to introduce you to: Oingo Boingo, Ministry, Tears for Fears, The Church, The Smithereens, Billy Idol, The Smiths.
You flipped to one in particular. Night Time, by the Killing Joke. Written in green Sharpie on the front: “From You-Know-Who.” Followed by a smiley face. “I love you.”
They were all treasured possessions. Welcomed gifts.
You could recall one night, early on, when he came home, grinning like the Cheshire Cat through the painted smile, and presented you with a diamond bib necklace that easily was worth more than you had made in your whole lifetime.
You stared at it for a moment, before grabbing it and throwing it so hard against the far wall, that it shattered into a million pieces.
He quickly got the hint.
“You have the file.” Bruce’s words broke through your memories.
You turned back to him. “The what now.”
“Don’t play dumb. The file Arthur Fleck stole from Arkham State Hospital in 1981. You have it.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Why wouldn’t you have it?”
“Why would anyone still have it?”
He stepped a little closer. Just a bit.
“There was a woman calling the Gotham Gazette about a week after it was stolen, with information that would only be in that file. From an insurance company, supposedly.”
You looked down, then up. “And?”
Just the faintest smile formed on his lips. “Jennifer Louise Cullen, or occasionally Louise Stewart. Previously lived at 2250 Anderson Avenue, Apartment H8, Gotham City. A few doors down from Arthur Fleck.”
“So?” you broke in after taking a sip of scotch.
“You were frequently seen with him. Supposedly a couple. Supposedly going to run off and get married, before...the riots broke out.”
A smile broke out on your face, before you started to laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
You nodded. “I thought so.”
Some confusion showed through the cracks of composure.
“My friend, at the clerk’s office,” you started to explain. “He was found dead a couple of weeks after...everything. Had a bad heart, but I knew. I knew. The way he was found....”
Silence.
“He was the only one I ever said that to. About eloping.”
More silence.
“I suppose it’s the birth certificate that you’re really after. I mean, the file just sort of supports everything your Daddy claimed was true, right?”
He stepped an inch closer. You could make out his features a bit more--what you could see, through the literal and metaphorical masks. There was a bit of resemblance there.... You knew from so many, though not every, night, falling asleep to his brother’s face.
“I suppose it was just a coincidence that within a year and a half of your...liaison with him, your boss mysteriously disappeared?”
You froze. “I had nothing to do with that.”
“But he had it done for you, didn’t he?”
You had no answer to that.
He shrugged, let his eyes travel the room. “You seemed to benefit nicely by it as well.”
You set your jaw. Pursed your lips as you shook your head. So much had happened that you couldn’t fully put a finger on, even while Arthur was still locked away in Arkham. Harold. Stanford. Men in nondescript suits and no names who snooped around your old apartment building for months. Probably were the ones to break into your apartment that one time you came home to a freshly broken door lock, a scared-as-shit Paulie hiding under your bed, and your rifled-through belongings, but nothing stolen. Who you figured out were watching and following you and Sophie and a few others in the building. Arthur’s apartment which stayed empty for more than a year while other units switched out tenants first.
Whatever leviathan with the Wayne name on it that controlled so much of Gotham was flailing about wildly in the wake of its head being cut off. Even your company was teetering on the brink at one point. Many people quit, seeking steadier places of employ, and officially Stanford had suddenly and inexplicably been one of them, but there had been rumors that a mysterious gas leak in his home had lead to his untimely demise. You couldn’t really find out much about it, but you hadn’t tried really hard to find out more, either.
“You could…benefit this city greatly, if you handed over what you have.”
You gave him an incredulous look. “Excuse me while I laugh at that.” You took another drink.
“Is it easy? Loving someone when you know what they’ve done? The blood on their hands? When does that blood transfer to yours?”
You huffed. “This about someone who’s probably done more real good for this city than the Waynes ever did.”
“If you’re referring to his Robin Hood act, perhaps you’re as delusional as your own health records indicate, Ms. Cullen.”
You narrowed your eyes at him.
You straightened your shoulders as you put your drink down. “Do you want to know the truth? The full, honest, clear truth? There is a needless war raging on right now, ravaging this godforsaken city and claiming lives because two brothers can’t stop swinging their goddamn dicks around at each other. Can’t get over their daddy issues, so they play them out for the rest of us to deal with.” You let out an exasperated sigh. Picked up your glass and held it aloft. “But hey, your antics are good for my business.”
He mulled over your words. “Were it better if I went against everything I stood for, and…ended it, once and for all?
Another sip. Your eyebrows perked up. “For me or for Gotham?”
He said nothing. For a moment, you honestly wondered if he was seeking your permission.
You sighed. “I’m not sure one of you can exist without the other,” you said, to yourself as much as to him.
“Finishing this doesn’t have to mean finishing the man himself. You could…assist me in seeing that he’s restrained for good.”
You laughed coldly. The way he made that sound…. God, so much of what made Bruce what he was was precisely what led to all this bullshit in the first place. What had made Arthur what he was.
Besides, you had figured out long ago that what he proposed would never work. Well, really, Arthur had.
You could remember so vividly the night he had escaped. A year and seven months after you last held his hand. So much political bullshit at the federal and state level meant that Arkham State Hospital was about to experience severe cuts in funding, and he and others were going to be transferred into a special wing of Blackgate Prison exclusively for the criminally insane, supposedly.
You were so terrified for him.
You had only visited him twice while he was in Arkham. Gave a fake name both times. It was distressing to see him so out of it like he was. For his sake, but also partly because you could still remember what that felt like.
He’d begged you to stay away. You weren’t entirely sure if it was out of a feeling of protectiveness or shame. Maybe both.
The second time, when you mentioned the break in to your apartment, and the other unusual, unnerving goings-on…that seemed to get his attention. Clear some of the fog. To spark something.
You’d find out later he was in touch with people while inside. The “followers.” They saw his transfer as their chance, and they took it.
You’d left early that day when you heard the news. Were glued to the TV the whole night, but so little concrete information came out of it.
You just wanted to know he was safe.
When you heard a knocking on your window, the one with the fire escape outside, you didn’t dare to hope. It could be something horrible. Dangerous. But it wasn’t.
Your heart about damn near stopped when you saw his face.
Stopped again when you kissed for the first time in an eternity. Pulled each other close and didn’t let go.
Later, as you lay in bed close to him, thinking he was asleep, his hand reached up and started to stroke your hair.
“I tried, you know,” he spoke up in that gentle, scratchy voice. “For your sake. Our sake. Even mine. One last chance. I behaved while there, stayed out of trouble. Did as I was told. There…was this doctor. Leslie Thompkins. She knew her shit. And she was actually kind. The first person besides you who gave a damn.” He ran a hand over his face. “It helped. Someone was helping. Finally. Then with the cuts she had to leave, find a job elsewhere. They tried to saddle me with some other…clown, but he was so pointless. The whole thing was so pointless. Is so pointless.” That coupled with what you had told him had been impetus enough for him; he’d had enough.
There would be no Arkham again. He’d promised that.
“I can’t help you,” you told his brother. You finished your drink and turned back to your credenza. You mulled over whether to pour a fresh one or simply clean the glass and place it back amongst the others.
You heard his voice behind you, closer this time: “Maybe you should try, regardless. Everything comes to light eventually.”
By the time you turned around to question those cryptic words, he had already retreated to the shadows. A piece of paper sat on your desk that wasn’t there before. Embossed, official, with the county seal of the place you were born, but it was a marriage license. Bearing your name and signature. And the name and signature of a Jack Napier.
You couldn’t help but let out a short laugh. “I told him that name was too on the nose.”
You looked up and eyed him. “How long did it take your people to find that?”
A pause as he drew his head back. “Look beneath it.”
Your brow wrinkled. You looked down and slid the marriage certificate away. There was a birth certificate beneath it, for a Bernadette Cullen. That had been your grandmother’s name, but it was someone else’s name now.
You looked up at him slowly. Fear and rage simultaneously rising in you at realizing what card he was trying to play.
You wanted to kill him.
“I wondered why soon after breaking out and his return as Joker, he suddenly disappeared for several months--”
You stormed up to him, steadying yourself on the way. You conveyed how you felt through your eyes, as they bore directly into his. When you were just a foot away from him, you spoke in a low, dangerous whisper: “Don’t.”
Neither of you said anything for a moment. You drew back. Eyed him up and down. “I’ll never help you. Ever. And if you ever do anything toward her--anything--I will make sure he kills you.” You shrugged. “Or I might just do it myself.”
….
The bell dinged for your floor right before the doors slid open smoothly. This building had been his idea. You protested at the thought of moving from your old building--it was a shit hole, but it was your shit hole, where the two of you had met and fallen in love, but he had a point when he said it wasn’t safe anymore.
The Art Deco jewel you lived near the top of now once housed some of Gotham’s most notable mobsters and bootleggers during the Prohibition Era. Behind its wood-paneled walls were still the hidden passageways and rooms and stairwells that made their business easier to conduct. That now made it easier for Arthur to come and go without being detected.
You punched your security code into the panel beside your door before slipping in your key.
Once inside, you dropped your things onto the table to your right with a thud. Let out a sigh as you kicked off your heels. It had been a long day.
“Mrrow?”
You looked down to see Frank Sinatra staring expectantly up at you.
“I suppose you want to be fed, huh?”
In answer, the feline wound his way around your stocking-clad legs and started to purr. Some things never changed.
The morning after Arthur came home to you, you awoke to find Paulie curled up on his chest again. A habit that would continue until the cat’s death of old age a little less than a decade later. Arthur was accepted again, but whenever Joker was around, Paulie still kept his distance. You weren’t sure if something about Joker’s look just spooked the animal, or it was something more. You didn’t think too deeply on it.
“Don’t listen to him. He’s been fed already.”
The voice was a little rougher, probably from an additional ten years or so of smoking, but it was also still soft, gentle.
You turned around to see Arthur, hands in his pockets, leaning against the nearest doorway. Slacks, button down, sweater; his fashion sense hadn’t changed much when he was Arthur. It hadn’t changed much for the other guy, either.
His features were a bit more lined. His face and frame a bit fuller, from age as much as your cooking. Some gray hair around the temples…from what you could tell through the frequent twinge of green.
“Hi,” you smiled a smile reflecting so many emotions, but mostly relief, happiness. Love.
He stepped up to you. “Hi yourself.” You fell easily, comfortably into a hug. He turned and kissed your temple. You felt yourself melt for the millionth and far from the last time.
“Ma! You’re home!”
Bernadette. Sweet little Bernie. Who took so much after her father except for her eyes--a soft blue some people mistook for gray. Arthur would tell you and her that that was a sign she had her mother’s sweet soul in her.
She wasn’t exactly planned.... With Arthur gone that year and a half, concerning yourself with birth control seemed pointless, and it had been totally forgotten his first night back. But when you found out and told Arthur, you both vowed that she never be made to feel like she was a mistake or unwanted.
To the great relief of you both, the mental storm clouds that took up permanent residence in your heads didn’t seem to have been passed down to her.
With a big smile, she ran up and hugged the both of you. You combed your fingers through her dark, curly hair. “How was your day sweetheart?”
“I got another A--see the proof’s right here--”
You took the stapled papers held up to you and scanned the first page. Of course it was in math. How this child seemed to shine in the subject when neither of you had any real interest or aptitude in it (unless it was counting money), neither one of you could figure out.
Looking down at her, your…run in with her uncle suddenly came unbidden back into your conscious thoughts, and you frowned.
“Did…did I do something wrong?”
You shook your head. “No. Not at all Bernie.” You handed the papers back as you put on a smile. “Why don’t you go post that on the fridge with the others, hmm?”
“Sure!” Bernadette ran off for the kitchen.
“Is something wrong?” Arthur whispered into your ear. The arm around your midsection tightened.
You looked at him. You debated with how to answer that question, even just to yourself.
You should probably tell him who visited you tonight. What it could possibly mean. What you were thinking….
The strain of the relationship had taken its toll at times. He wasn’t always there when he was needed. When Paulie died, for instance, though that ultimately seemed to upset him more than it had you. There was always a high chance when you came home…he wouldn’t. But you knew you were too far gone from the moment he gave that look in the donut shop, years ago. Arguably, even earlier. It was a connection that would always be there, even if you had long ago left him. That would always make you a target. It seemed safer to be under his protection rather than trying to stay away. Besides, you had been able to carry on your life here in Gotham. Now had a beautiful daughter he’d given you. Everything else could be pushed away, forgotten. You were good at that.
Maybe you’d tell him, maybe not. But at the very least, it could wait for another night.
You fell into another embrace. He touched his lips to your forehead and you sighed.
You drew back a bit and locked eyes.
“No. Never with you.”
.....
Author’s Note: So I wanted to say thank you to everyone who’s given this story love over the last few months. I never dreamt my being peeved at Arthur not having a cat in the movie would turn into me writing a book basically. lol I wanted to thank especially @help-i-am-obssessed @mardema @imjustchillinbud @soulsdontbreaktheybeeend and @greasepaintenthusiast for their comments/reposts/likes, and recently @elusive-ivory for her lovely message. Writing this has helped give me some great practice as well as a lot of needed confidence about my writing in general; I’m now working on an original novel idea that I’m really excited about.
Writing this also helped me deal with some personal stuff as well. Besides my own struggles with mental illness, I...dated and was (and I guess am) in love with a guy with clinical depression. We had these great first few months that were abruptly cut short when he had a bad episode and pushed me away a lot. I stuck by him, tried to make it work. We were together for almost three years but I realized I just couldn’t help him. I guess I wanted to write something about that idea: how love doesn’t or can’t always save.
We’re still friends (if I mention my “best friend” on here...that’s actually him lol). Joke around a lot. Argue occasionally. We actually saw Joker together and both loved it. I remember his mother was really sick around the time and he was hesitant about watching what we were thinking was going to be Penny dying of some disease and that being one of the things that would set Arthur off, that that would trigger him. When it turned out Penny was just sort of narcissistic and delusional, I joked that she turned out to be more like my mom than his.
Anyway.... I guess my feelings, whatever they would be categorized as at this point, towards him are part of why I came to love Arthur so much. Maybe it ruins the realism or message of the story a bit, but I wanted to give Arthur and Jennifer a happy ending (of sorts?). Reality sucks; that’s why we have stories, fandom, fan fic. To give us something better.
Thanks again, particularly if you actually read all that. lol
--Mel
#joker#joker 2019#joker film#joker movie#joker fandom#joker fan fiction#joker fan fic#joker fanficion#joker fanfic#arthur fleck#arthur fleck x reader#arthur fleck x you#arthur fleck x oc#fluffy#because of a cat#also yes the cat's name is a reference to that Family Guy Adam West thing#I just kind of want to see him with a salty woman who isn’t Harley Quinn#friends to lovers#slow burn#happy ending#kinda#I tried to make it a realistic happy ending#to make their relationship realistic#anyway#thanks
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The Cat, Chapter 2
Relationship(s): Arthur Fleck x OC/Arthur Fleck x reader
Warnings: Alcohol drinking, some cursing, punk rock, cat
A/N: I was legit bummed when I learned Arthur was originally supposed to have a cat in the movie but they cut it out. Cause, ya know, cats. So wrote this little diddy.
“What do you do for work?” He asked you as he took another sip of his drink.
“Secretary for an insurance company.” You said simply.
“Is that exciting?”
It was boring as watching paint dry, at least the administrative tasks you dealt with. Many of the cases themselves could be interesting, but at the end of the day, “Everybody wants their payout.”
Arthur nodded, but didn’t say anything. You continued to nurse your drinks in silence for a bit, before your television caught your eye. “Hey, wanna see something cool?” You said as you lightly jabbed him with your elbow.
His face brightened. “Sure.”
You rose from the couch carefully, so as to try and not wake Paulie, who seemed content as he lay—eyes closed, throat purring, and paws curled under him—right smack next to Arthur.
“My family used to live in the hills, so we’ve always had cable, so we could actually watch television. No antennae reception and all that. So, I’ve always been a little spoiled by having these extra channels....” You switched on your old television and scooped up your remote.
“It’s one of my few luxuries,” you shrugged. “Besides the booze.” You plopped back down next to Paulie and Arthur. “I guess I’m more just used to having them, really. I fall asleep to CNN many nights, it’s that boring. But this new channel just debuted. It’s called MTV.”
You switched your TV’s clicker to the right channel. The Rolling Stones appeared on screen. You continued talking excitedly about these things called “music videos,” and which of them so far had been your favorites and which ones were too odd or boring for your tastes.
You realized you had been rambling a bit and stopped talking as you finished off your drink. You noticed Arthur was taking in everything you were saying, though, with an amused smile.
“Sorry. I have no idea if you even care about this stuff. I tend to over share like that. What’s your favorite music, if you have any?”
“I love music! I don’t listen to the newer stuff too much, though. My mom and I listen to a lot of Frank Sinatra, Jimmy Durante, Perry Como, Nat King Cole, Dinah Shore, that sort of stuff.”
You nodded. “I admittedly never really have those people on my turn table. They...bring up some old memories, for sure.” You thought of your parents and grandparents, of times gone by that were not exactly halcyon.
“Are you close with your mother?”
“I take care of her—have for as long as I can remember. She...lives with me,” he admitted.
“Oh,” you said, some what surprised.
“I mean—”
“Hey. There’s nothing you have to explain. I took care of my grandmother toward the end, although she was so close to death already....” You turned away. Bringing up that subject stung more than you thought it would.
“Sorry,” Arthur said quietly.
“Nothing to worry about,” you said cheerily as you wiped the back of your hand up against your nose quickly. You rose quickly from your couch again; this time Paulie joined you. Even though you just wore culottes, a tank top, and had your hair up in a haphazard bun, you still felt hot, uncomfortable. You went over to your stereo system and started flipping through your your records. Paulie was rubbing himself against your legs. Sometimes it hurt your heart how good that cat was.
“I am perfectly fine with letting you borrow any number of my records...if you feel so inclined, of course.”
“I better get going....” You turned to see Arthur had rose from your couch. He handed the unfinished glass of gin to you. “My mother’s probably wondering where I am.”
You took the glass from him. “Oh, no, God, I imagine I’ve kept you way too long. I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to worry about,” he smiled, mirroring your earlier words. “I had a good time.”
You smiled back. “Well, you’re welcome back any time, Arthur.”
He nodded. “I’d like that.”
Of course, Paulie felt the need to interject his opinion at that moment. You motioned down to him. “I think he would, too.”
You didn’t see him the rest of the work week. You had been managing to get off work at a reasonable hour that week, so you wondered if maybe he had some random assignments that kept him out to the wee hours, or he was just busy looking after his mother. You didn’t know exactly how sick she was, and didn’t exactly think it polite to ask the next time you saw him.
You shrugged to yourself, as you sat in front of your bathroom mirror and continued applying your eyeliner. You weren’t crazy about the overly smudged look...though you knew by the time the night was over it would look like that anyway. You applied a heavy dose of mascara to both sets of lashes before standing back and surveying your handiwork.
Your hand hovered over your meager collection of lipsticks. You wore exactly one conservative pink shade when you went to work, and wore nothing the rest of the time. But you liked to have a little fun on your nights out. You picked a dark red.
You fluffed up your hair a few times as you grabbed your purse and headed for the door. “I’ll be back in a while baby doll,” you said to Paulie. You looked over to see him sitting on your couch, his leg straight up as he was...washing certain things.
“Okay...you have fun with that.”
You sighed as the aging elevator made achingly made its way down to the first floor. It shuddered at it reached its destination and the doors slowly slid open.
As soon as your way was clear you rushed out—bumping into someone in the process.
“Oh gosh I’m so sorry!”
“Sorry ma’am.”
Wait. “Arthur?”
He looked up and regarded you with a quizzical look. “Y/n?”
“Yeah,” you laughed. “It’s me.” You realized how strange you must have looked compared to when he last saw you: teased hair, intense make up, black leather jacket, torn jeans, and black combat boots. Partly out of nerves and partly out of amusement, you decided to twirl around so he got a full look of you.
“Uh—” Arthur struggled for words.
“Okay, I swear I look like a normal human being most of the time.”
You saw his expression change and worried briefly whether he might fall into a laughing fit, but instead he just smiled. “I kind of like it.”
“Thanks!” Your impulsiveness got the better of you. “Oh my gosh, Arthur. You should come with me. I’m going to the Bowery to see this up and coming band, called Killing Joke. You should totally come with,” you said as you gentle tugged on his free arm, avoiding the one holding a single bag of groceries.
“Oh I don’t know, I don’t normally—”
“C’mon, it’ll be fun! Let someone else entertain you for a change, huh?”
At your saying that, something seemed to click. “You know what, sure.”
....
You waited downstairs while Arthur took care of whatever he needed to before he could join you. He emerged from the elevator, his hands stuck in his pockets.
You smiled as you lifted yourself off of the wall you were leaning against. “Ready?”
“Yeah. I have to admit, I don’t know where this is....”
You winked at him. “I know the way.”
....
The Bowery was an abandoned meat packing plant in the Coventry neighborhood of Gotham. Turned into a dive bar/music venue by its latest owner in the late 1970s, it was meant to attract punk rockers and their fans. It also happened to be one of your favorite haunts on Saturday night.
“I know the bartender there, Earl. He’s pretty sweet on me, I guess because I tip relatively well, or just at all.” You chuckled.
You knew the two of you made an interesting couple: the punk rocker and the quiet, conservative guy sitting next to her on the subway. He wasn’t really dressed for the Bowery, but you didn’t care, and didn’t really think anyone else would, either. “Squares,” from school teachers to investment bankers, would regularly visit the place, you supposed out of some morbid curiosity. You just counted your lucky stars you never saw your boss there.
The Bowery was definitely active when you both arrived. Everyone was excited to see an act like Killing Joke. You both stepped inside.
It was loud. Very loud, though not intolerably so. You saw some familiar faces and you lead the way to the bar.
“Hi Earl! Two tequila shots, huh?”
“Sure honey,” Earl responded before turning to the racks of alcohol behind him. He turned back to you with with two shot glasses in hand.
“Thanks!” You slapped down some cash before taking the glasses and handing one to Arthur.
“Bottom’s up!” You said before kicking back the tequila. Arthur hesitated, but eventually followed suit. To his credit, he didn’t choke at all; just made a sour face.
You both found a relatively comfortable place to watch the show from. Every once and a while, you could hear his laughter—that high pitched chuckle that reverberated from deep in his chest, but besides bothering a few people immediately around you, it was too drowned out by the music for it to really be noticed.
Almost an hour passed when you noticed that Arthur seemed vaguely uncomfortable. He was shifting from foot to foot and folding and remolding his arms a lot.
“You ready to go?” you asked him with a friendly smile.
He shook his head. “The show’s not over.”
“It’s okay. I’m pretty tired as well.”
You took his hand before leading the way through the thronging crowd in the Browery. You didn’t notice straightaway when Arthur had bumped hard into a nasty bloke with more face piercings than hair on his head.
“Hey,” he grabbed Arthur by the edge of his jacket and yanked him from your grasp.
“S-sorry!” He semi-yelled to the man, who seemingly had no intention of letting Arthur go.
“Hey!” You shoved your way in between two men. “It was a fucking accident, okay?” You glared at the man.
“Let ’em go Chauncey....” Earl warned from his perch behind the bar.
The man let go of Arthur. He eyed the both of you with narrowed eyes before turning his attention back to the stage.
You tipped an imaginary hat to Earl before taking Arthur by the hand again and continuing your exit.
....
Once outside, you both took a breath of fresh air—which was somewhat a mistake as the trash outside made it not that fresh. You both coughed a bit.
Out of the corner of your eye you saw Arthur retrieve a pack of cigarettes and a box of matches from his coat pocket. “That was...quite intense,” he said with a lit cigarette bouncing on his lip.
“That’s why I enjoy it so much! It’s so different from my normal, boring every day life.”
The two of you walked in companionable silence for a while, as you headed for the nearest metro station.
Arthur took a long drag of his cigarette. “Don’t think I’ve known anyone quite like you, y/n.”
“Thank you. I pride myself on not being like anyone else, to a degree.”
Another beat.
“I don’t think I’ve known anyone quite like you, either.”
Arthur looked to you, then looked down. Took another drag. “Is that bad?”
“Not at all. Quite the opposite, actually.” You went to shove your hands in your leather jacket to protect them from the cold, but you left one out and held it out toward him. He gave you an askance smile before taking it in his own.
Taglist (feel free to ask to not be on this, but I assume those who went out of their way to repost the last chapter would want to be notified; also if you want to be on it, let me know--next chapter will be up pretty quickly):
@ghoulsguilty @imjustchillinbud @help-i-am-obssessed @bananabreaddough @misstgrey92 @800458
#joker#joker 2019#joker film#joker fanfiction#fanfic#Arthur Fleck#arthur fleck x reader#arthur fleck x oc#arthur fleck x you#fluffy#in more ways than one#because cats#friends to lovers#I just kind of want to see him with a salty woman who isn’t Harley Quinn#also yes the cat's name is a reference to that Family Guy Adam West thing#the cat
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The Cat, Chapter 24
Warnings: Some violence sort of? Angst.
A/N: Sorry there was sort of another gap in between updates. Life getting in the way again. Also, for a while I’ve imagined in my head little scenes and lines that I wanted to include toward the end of this story, and it took a bit longer to write something coherent that included all of them. I imagine the next chapter will similarly be a bit delayed for the same reason--and yes, there is one last chapter after this one.
Previous chapters can be found here.
This is also the second longest chapter I’ve written so far (#sorrynotsorry), so here’s a cut for ya.
Arthur walked into his apartment, setting down the items he’d purchased that day. Who knew green hair dye was so hard to find?
He looked around. Something didn’t quite feel right in the apartment, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. He questioned himself, whether he wasn’t becoming paranoid, on top of everything else, as seemingly everything was as he left it earlier that day.
Arthur shuffled back to his front door and slid the chain lock into place.
He paused. His shoulders slumped. He should just go to you and apologize profusely for everything he did, was. Hope you wouldn’t slam your door in his face or worse. He never meant to scare or hurt you. He’d been avoiding you out of a sense of shame, embarrassment. Intense self-hatred. Fear.
He glanced back at the small bag sitting on his coffee table, and he suddenly felt very foolish. He had no idea where, when, how. Though he knew exactly why. He also still wasn’t sure he even should.
His mind returned to his television appearance tomorrow night. He smiled, all other concerns slipping away, as he turned on his heel and skipped into the living room.
….
The knock on the door was unexpected.
He didn’t think it was you; the knock didn’t sound like you; you also never once rang his doorbell. He’d also been in your apartment earlier that day, so he knew you weren’t home.
He found a sharp pair of hair shears in his mother’s vanity before going out to greet whoever it was.
He was annoyed to see Randall and happy to see Gary.
“We heard your mother died…. from that girl--your…uh…friend? She came around the shop asking about you.”
Arthur was confused by that at first, then smiled. “Did she?”
“Yeah…. She, uh, sounded concerned. We just wanted to swing by and check on ya, see how ya were doin’….”
Arthur smiled even wider. “She is a sweet girl.” It occurred to him then--you had been inside his apartment. Maybe multiple times…. Maybe even broken in. But he could only chuckle inside when thinking about it.
Any softness in Arthur disappeared momentarily as he realized why Randall was really there.
He’d had about enough of Randall’s bullshit.
….
Arthur stood before his bathroom mirror, admiring his finished make-up--the white greasepaint reapplied after, well, making a mess of things earlier--and the outfit of bright red, yellow, and green he’d put together.
It was quite the look.
“Looks good…” your voice purred inside his mind.
Joker smiled, before switching off the bathroom light and heading out.
Later in the afternoon, there was no one around to observe Joker as he reached up and slipped your spare key form its crack above the door frame. It was still there.
He’d left something inside earlier, but he wanted to add something more. He wanted to be sure.
He still wasn’t sure he wanted to leave behind the thing that sat heavily in his jacket pocket. It felt like the sort of thing that should be given in person. Something you should be able to accept or reject.
God, he didn’t want to think of what he’d do if you rejected it.
It stayed in his pocket, as he left your apartment, maybe for the last time. Careful to lock the door and replace the spare key.
As he walked down the hall toward the elevator, a momentary sadness came over him when he realized both times today that he’d been inside your apartment, he hadn’t seen little Paulie.
He pushed the thought away as he focused on what was ahead of him.
….
Joker rubbed his sore ribs as he found his way to NCB’s Studios. That cab sure did a number on him. He was immensely relieved when, later, he checked and found both items on his person were still there, and intact. As well as the .38.
He entered the lobby of NCB Studios and found a production assistant, who looked at him confused.
“I didn’t know Murray was supposed to have on any clown act tonight?” The PA scratched their headset-haloed head.
Joker giggled. “Oh, I’m his special guest!”
“Oh, that guy! Sure, right this way.”
“Call me Joker, by the way,” he smiled.
“Uh, sure! Right this way Joker….”
….
He would be the last guest on that night. Perfect, he thought. Out with a bang.
The waiting around was a bit boring, though.
Joker frowned into the mirrors in his dressing room, as he saw how rough he looked after his earlier shenanigans. Just as he thought of it, an older woman with short hair and small, round glasses entered Joker’s dressing room. She stopped in her tracks when she saw him. “Uhh....”
“Hi there!” he said, giving her a friendly, exaggerated wave.
“Uhh, hi. I’m Ruth. Hair and make-up for Murray’s guests. Arthur Fleck?”
“If you say so....” Joker pouted.
“Well, honey, I’m here to do your make-up--”
“Oh, I am so relieved. It...ran a little, because I ran a little, to get here.” Joker laughed.
Ruth shrugged. She’d seen crazier. “Well, you happen to be in luck because I do have some clown make-up in my toolkit.” Ruth dropped a large make-up box onto the counter, unclasped it and opened it up. She searched and found her pot of white greasepaint, along with a smaller pot of blue-green that matched his triangles. She kept searching for something else. “Hmmm....”
“Oh, I have that.”
Ruth turned to Joker, as he pulled out a tube of lipstick where it was tucked away in his shirtsleeve. Your lipstick. That same dark red shade from that night at the Bowery, and that other night at Pogo’s. He handed it to Ruth, who examined it.
“Hmm, Revlon, #22, Harlequin Red. Nice choice.”
Joker hummed. “She does have good taste. After all, she picked me.” He grinned.
She tucked some tissues into his shirt color to protect them. “Well,” she exhaled, “let’s get started doll.”
….
Ruth was a miracle worker. Joker looked even better than before. Your lipstick did look good on him.
He stood alone in his dressing room, as he rolled the capped tube around in his hand.
His mind flashed to that one morning, when you had to leave early for work, but he stayed behind in your apartment to feed Paulie and tend to some other things for you. When he got up from bed to use your bathroom after you’d gone, he’d found a note scrawled in one of your more pink shades of lipstick on the bathroom mirror. It was a dirty, cheeky note, referencing…one of your activities from the night before. Punctuated by one of your kisses.
He uncapped the lipstick in his hand and brought it to the mirror. He wanted to write something personal, meaningful, to evoke you, but that seemed pointless, in light of the fact that you’d never see it. You were also still his little secret. He decided on something more generic. Something seemingly benign but which wouldn’t seem as much later.
Put on a
HAPPY fACE
….
You woke up, showered, got yourself ready for the day that Thursday.
You smiled at and greeted all co-workers you encountered as you entered your office building and found your way to your desk.
“Hey,” Karen said as she came up to you. “How’s it going? How’s the boyfriend?”
“Fine, fine,” you smiled, in a manner slightly off-kilter, but which Karen was not familiar with enough to recognize. “Say, what’s the word on the Peters claim?”
“Oh God, that one….”
You were able to deal with work because consciously, you had blocked out anything to do with Arthur Fleck. Nothing of that element of your life entered your brain as you went about your various duties. When the clock turned to 4:30, you felt a slight pang of dread, as certain worries, memories, tried to intrude into your conscious thoughts. You shoved it all down, while offering to stay later at work.
You didn’t get home until closer to 7 PM. Your mind was a total blank as you walked up to your building, entered, checked the mail, pushed the elevator call button, then rode the creaking carriage up to your floor.
When the doors slid open you stepped out into a flurry of activity. Cops, paramedics, and your fellow neighbors filled the hallway.
“What’s going…” you started, before noticing that the activity was focused around Arthur’s door.
You rushed up to a uniformed officer standing by the door, which had police tape crossing it. “What the hell’s going on? What happened?”
“Please, Ma’am, this is an active crime scene. We need you and everyone else to please return to your homes--”
“Active crime scene?!” On instinct, you tried to push past the cop, but he gripped your arms and shoved you back. “Hey!”
“Please, just, I need to see--” you almost managed to get the door open, but the cop stopped you again.
“Ma’am, if you continue with this behavior I’m gonna have to put you arrest.”
You shrunk back. The last thing you wanted was to go with a cop anywhere. “Okay….”
You started walking away, as you became numb, unsure what to do other than head in the general direction of your apartment.
“Hey Gordon, come in here for a bit,” you heard someone say behind you. You turned to see that same cop head inside Arthur’s apartment. You made a mental note of that name. Maybe you could call the police station later and find out more from that officer, or at least complain about him.
You moved automatically to your apartment door. Slowly found your key chain and inserted your apartment key into the lock. You entered just as slowly.
Your foot kicked something that subsequently slid slightly across the floor.
You dropped your bags and stepped toward it. You looked down, confused. Crouching down, you scooped it up: It was a magician’s wand, with paper flowers sprouting from the top of it.
You knew immediately who it was from.
There was a torn-out piece of notebook paper wrapped around the wand. You unwound the paper. It bore a short poem:
“I’ll always love you.
You make my heart pitter patter
You made me feel
Like I matter”
--Arthur
Oh God. You dropped to the floor, hard, but you didn’t care.
A sob broke from deep inside you, following by a downpour of tears.
He’d done it. Your mind couldn’t help but create a gruesome picture of whatever Arthur had done to himself to have the cops investigating it.
Had someone heard the gunshot? Did he leave the door open for someone to find him? Did they see the newspaper collage and put two and two together?
Your thoughts ran to nothing. You were so tired. So tired. Your love was gone, and you did nothing to stop it, could do nothing about it now.
….
You’d eventually dragged yourself off the floor, and changed out of your work clothes. You didn’t shower or remove your make-up. You broke out a new bottle of Bushmills and had drained most of it.
You had settled on your couch. Letting the TV quietly lead you in and out of sleep the rest of the night.
You lay with your back to it, facing the back of the couch. At the top of which lay the magician’s wand with the note wrapped around it. You’d look up at it, but didn’t touch it. You felt a potent mix of anger and sadness at it.
If what the note said was true, why did he leave?
You sighed, miserable. Paulie was sitting at your head. Purring. Trying to cheer up his momma. You’d reach up and pet him occasionally.
As you tried to fall back asleep at one point, a ghost spoke through your television….
“You know, when I was a kid….”
It couldn’t be. You were starting to question your own sanity. Did you just hear Arthur?
He was still talking.
You rolled around and sat up on the couch. He was on your television screen.
It was footage of Arthur, from his appearance at the open mic night at Pogo’s. You weren’t even aware he was being filmed that night.
You watched the clip as it was played and played again, utterly confused. Then you saw Murray Franklin’s face.
“Now, if you’ll join me in welcoming…Joker!”
A man with green hair, in clown make-up, a red suit, yellow vest, and bottle-green shirt, danced out, oozing charisma and charm. He did a little spin before sauntering up to Murray and shaking his hand.
He greeted an older woman--was that Dr. Sally?--by planting a lingering kiss on her. You felt a funny, unexpected pang of jealousy.
He took his seat next to the late night host--this man. You knew who he was, and it wasn’t Arthur. You’d met him before, shortly before fucking him, or rather he fucked you. You knew exactly who he was.
You moved forward, sitting on your coffee table right smack in front of your television set.
You watched with rapt attention.
After some discussion of his…colorful appearance, they invited him to tell a joke. You noticed Murray’s condescending stance toward Arth--Joker.
He told a knock-knock joke, one about a policeman telling a woman her son had been killed by a drunk driver, and your blood ran cold.
He was scolded by the others on the show for his tasteless joke.
“Sorry…. It’s been a rough few weeks, Murray. Maybe that’s why I…killed those three Wall Street guys.”
You gasped, echoing the sound that filled the television studio. God, he just admitted to murder on national broadcast television. Said it wasn’t a joke.
You moved forward again, so your feet were planted on the ground and your hands gripped the edge of your coffee table.
Murray asked if he was serious, if this confession was to really be believed.
“I’ve got…nothing left to lose. Nothing can hurt me anymore.”
That lead to a diatribe about comedy and what is right and wrong, but you were only half listening, because you felt like someone had stabbed you in the gut.
Nothing left to lose. There was a slight hesitation there, but he said it nonetheless.
The mention of Thomas Wayne brought your full attention back to the conversation being carried on through the screen. Joker spoke compellingly about the lack of empathy he’d experienced, that too many experienced. But of course Franklin read it as self-pity. Not everyone is awful….
“You’re awful, Murray….” Your gut clenched. You recognized the tone Joker’s voice took and the look that came over his face and the danger inherent in both.
The late night host became defensive--even more so after Arthur stated he’d only been invited on to be made fun of. So that was it. You had a feeling, but you wondered if Arthur knew.
Still, the more you watched, the more unhinged Arthur seemed to have become. It eventually escalated to the point where he was yelling. You could feel yourself white-knuckling the coffee table beneath you.
Out of nowhere, Joker pulled a gun, and shot Murray Franklin’s brains out.
You sat stock still, unable to register what had just happened. Then all at once it came crashing upon you like a tsunami: a wave of nausea that had you running into the bathroom and vomiting up anything and everything you’d eaten in the last day.
Good god.
….
Gotham had been plunged into chaos.
How was it possible? Were there that many in the city who were so angry? The rioting, looting, violence, had raged on for two days. It was so bad, your work had actually told you and everyone else to stay home that Friday.
You didn’t even feel safe leaving your apartment. Someone had broken into a couple of units on the ground floor that Thursday night that everything went to hell, and you could have sworn someone had tried to open your door last night.
You could hear yelling, screaming, breaking glass, police sirens and a cacophony of other sounds from outside even now.
You shut your eyes against a gunshot that sounded unnervingly close.
You opened your eyes. You were lying on your side on top of your bedclothes, near-fetal position, resting your head on your hands. You were facing two photos propped up on your side table. One of them, the Polaroid you took of Arthur holding Paulie, the other the baby photo of him you’d found amongst Penny’s things.
You tried to remember, to focus on that man, and not the one you saw pulling the trigger of a gun when you closed your eyes. But it was hard when nearly every channel on TV kept replaying his Murray Franklin interview and some even the footage of the shooting.
So you had retreated into your room with Paulie. Trying to wait out the storm.
You were also on high alert. Listening for any little possible sign of danger.
Eventually, you did hear the sound of your front door creak open.
As you reached behind the photos on your bedside table to grab your .22, you heard the crack of your chain lock being broken off the door.
As you quietly got up and moved toward your bedroom door, you felt odd. Like you knew who was out there….
“Honey, I’m home!”
You closed your eyes. Shook your head, before you opened the door wide and stepped out, gun held aloft by both hands.
You pointed it right at his face, which Joker found amusing.
“Well, hello to you too, dear.”
“You broke into my apartment.”
“Well, only fair. After all, you broke into mine.”
“Why are you here?”
“Why wouldn’t I be here?”
“I need you to fucking leave.”
He waggled a disapproving finger at you. “Ah ah ah. You won’t get rid of me that easily this time.”
He moved toward you, but you moved back and to the side, trying to maintain a certain distance while simultaneously moving closer toward an exit.
Joker sighed. “If you really want to know, I missed you.”
You couldn’t tell how serious or sincere he was being. The painted and bloody smile distracted from his real expression, particularly in the semi-dark of your apartment.
“Missed me?”
“Mmmm-hmm.” He made a big step forward but you moved back and to the side again. You were trying to gauge whether you could make it to the front door before he could reach you.
Honestly, you didn’t want to have to use the gun. It was still Arthur there, underneath the garish clothes, dyed hair, smudged make-up, and dried blood.
Your arms were dropping slightly.
He moved subtly closer. “C’mon Baby, I won’t hurt you.”
Your eyes narrowed. “A little too late for that.”
Joker looked confused, then concerned. He rushed up to you, so your gun was pointed inches away from his face. He even reached up and made sure it pointed right into his forehead. “If I hurt you, go ahead. I deserve it then.”
Your hands shook. You took away one hand so the .22 was held in just one. Would you be doing Gotham a favor by just pulling the trigger? You could say he threatened you, but somewhere along the way you’d have to explain your relationship, and it would just get messy.
You also just…couldn’t. Never could. You’d probably let him kill you first.
You uncocked the gun and let your arm drop. A little smile crept onto his face, before you smacked it off. Hard.
“Don’t you ever, ever, fucking joke about my parents, even indirectly.”
He rubbed his cheek. He looked unsure for a moment, then it clicked--the knock knock joke. “You’ll never get by in life, if you can’t see the humor in everything.”
You cocked your head at him, before cocking your gun and pointing it back at him. “Alright, maybe I change my mind.”
He stepped into the gun again.
“I wouldn’t blame you, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“It’s not worth much at this point.”
“I figure.” He smiled sheepishly.
You sighed. You uncocked the .22 again and let your arm drop. Your nerves, sadness, and lack of sleep were catching up to you, as the sense of danger was passing.
You shook your head. “Where have you even been since….”
“Oh, here and there. My followers have been pretty useful in helping me evade the police so far.”
You looked at him, incredulous. “Your ‘followers’?”
“Yeah,” he smiled. “People who agree with me about how fucked up everything is. How cruel the world has become. They’ve gone through a lot of the same shit I have, we have. They saw what I did on the Murray Franklin show, and now I’m their hero. Their symbol for change, for recognition.”
“Are you sure they’re not just laughing at you?”
Joker’s expression soured. “What do you mean?”
“Oh c’mon. Think about it. Why was anyone tuned into to Murray in the first place? To laugh at the freak everyone couldn’t get enough of. That weirdo, Arthur-what’s-his-name. But you end your little appearance unexpectedly by splattering a celebrity’s brains on the wall, and suddenly they all smell blood. They see their chance to go apeshit and let out all their pent up rage over whatever. You’re not the leader of some goddamn cause, you’re an excuse.”
Joker’s face was unreadable for a moment—you thought maybe you saw a flash of anger, denial—before he shrugged, smiled. “Tomato, tomahto.”
You sighed heavily. Sat down on your couch before putting your head in your hands. “So what have you been doing the last couple of days?” You looked up. “Partying with your new friends?”
“Oh, I’ve certainly made some interesting friends lately.” The Laugh rose from his thin frame comfortably, melodically.
You looked at him--really looked at him. He looked like a train wreck. “Have you even slept at all in the past few nights?”
“Hmm….” He rubbed his chin, before letting his hand fall away. He grinned. “Don’t think so.”
You rolled your eyes as you looked away. Looked back. “You know if you don’t sleep after 48 hours you start hallucinating and losing your mind, right?”
Joker chuckled. “Well, a little late for that.”
You gave him a wry smile. “Clearly.”
You looked away and the pile of Arthur-related documents you’d accumulated caught your eye. You rose and rushed over to it, grabbing up the birth certificate that sat on top of everything else. You brought it to Joker.
“Read this,” you directed, before handing it to him.
Joker’s eyes scanned the seal-embossed paper in his hand for a few moments. He started to laugh, before flicking it away, letting it fall like a feather onto the floor.
You stared down at it. Clicked your tongue. “Yeah, well, I just risked my job to get that, ya know, no big deal,” you shrugged as you looked up at him.
“It’s not important anymore, but I appreciate your doing that.”
“Is it? And do you?” you inquired. You pointed down. “Cause the paper laying on the floor there says otherwise.”
He shrugged himself, frowned. ”It’s just not who I am anymore.”
You threw up your hands. “So Arthur Fleck is no more. Just...kaput?”
Joker fished around in one of his pants pockets. Found what he was looking for in a crumpled Stuttons box and Bic lighter. He pulled one out and lit it, taking a deep drag. “Pretty much.”
You pursed your lips. “So who’s Jennifer Cullen to...Joker, or whatever your name is. Besides maybe a good lay?” you added bitterly.
He smirked at that.
He took another long drag. “Everything.” His green eyes took on a gentle quality, and you were suddenly confused, though also still hurting.
You lifted your chin. “This from the man with, quote, ‘nothing left to lose’?”
A drag. “Maybe I was lying then.”
“Why?”
“Because….” He reached up and brought his hand to your cheek, rubbed his thumb over it. “You’re my little secret,” he muttered. A genuine, faltering smile on his face.
You didn’t move away. If anything, in spite of what you felt just seconds before, you found yourself leaning into his touch.
He moved subtly closer. His hand moved down to your neck and palmed it. In spite of everything, you still melted at his touch, particularly to that weak spot.
“My Princess,” he said gently.
You couldn’t help a few tears from falling from your eyes, particularly as you closed them. With his other hand, he moved to wipe these away.
“And I’ll do anything to protect you.”
You opened your eyes; you felt a pang of dread. “What does that mean, especially now?”
“I don’t know. Not sure yet.” He drew away. “But you‘ve done more for me than anyone else in my life, and that won’t be forgotten.”
There was air of finality in those words that made you worry, but you didn’t want to confront or acknowledge it, at least just yet. “What did I do?” you asked sadly, semi-rhetorically.
“Love me, mainly,” he chuckled softly. “Acknowledge I existed in the first place. Just...gave a damn. I...I saw you came to my mother’s funeral.”
You hesitated. “You…you knew I was there? At the cemetery?” you asked, uncertain.
Joker gave you a gentle look. “Of course. I always see you.”
You looked down, away.
“No, don’t think for one moment that you aren’t loved in return. Appreciated. Cherished. However fucked in the head I am.”
A fresh round of tears welled up in your eyes. A sob escaped from you.
The cigarette was stubbed out, before he took you into his arms. You hugged him back. You both stayed like that for some time.
“I just wish,” you finally said into his shoulder, “that I was--that I could have done enough to save you. To help you.”
He drew back a bit. He smiled softly, shook his head. “That wasn’t your job.”
“Art—” you reached up and caressed his face through the sweat-smeared, faded make-up and dried, flaking blood, and you watched as its expression became a blank. A void. Before slowly morphing into alarm, panic.
“Where am I?”
“What?”
He pulled away. Stumbled back, as he seemed to become confused by his surroundings. “What’s…where….”
You were confused at first; what was happening? Then you wondered if maybe this was his sleeplessness finally catching up to him. Or something worse.
“Why--why are there two of you?” He kept looking between you and a corner of the room.
By this time he had walked back into a wall, and the look on his face was one of fright.
You walked up to him slowly. “Shhhh,” you cooed. “It’s okay. It’s okay Arthur.”
When you were close enough, you reached out a hand to caress his cheek again.
“Are you…?”
“I’m here. I’m real.” You nodded reassuringly, tried to smile. “It’s Jennifer, Arthur. Jenny.” You looked down, then up. “I love you, and you love me. Hmm?”
He nodded in recognition. “Love you,” he echoed.
You sighed in relief.
“Let’s go to bed, eh? Get some rest.”
He let you lead him into your bedroom. You sat him down on your bed.
“Let’s get you cleaned up a bit first.”
You went and got some cold cream along with a damp washcloth from your bathroom. Carefully, you cleaned his face and neck, so it was a bit more Arthur Fleck sitting in front of you again.
You moved to return the cream and cloth to your bathroom.
“Jenny?”
“Yeah--oh--” you let out upon turning around and being enveloped in a strong hug around your waist. He laid his head, with its mane of still-green dyed hair, against your chest.
“What happens tomorrow?” he wondered aloud.
You stroked his hair. You hadn’t wanted to think about that, but now you had to.
“I think...I think you need to turn yourself in. Go to Arkham, and turn yourself in.”
He moved swiftly to look up at you. “But, Arkham--”
You shook your head. “I don’t want to see you in prison. And you need help, Arthur.” New tears were falling now. “Trust me, it’s the last place I’d want you or anyone to go, and you know why. But I don’t see any other way that--that won’t take you away from me completely.”
Arthur frowned, before nestling his head back against your chest.
“Let’s not think of that now,” you whispered into his hair after a few moments.
You moved to pull back the quilt comforter and sheets on your bed. Paulie jumped up on the bed. He didn’t seem scared of Arthur like last time, but he didn’t approach Arthur like he used to, either. He sat at the head of the bed, just watching the two of you.
Beside you, Arthur started to remove his red suit jacket. “Oh.”
“What?” you asked, as you went about fluffing up the pillows.
You were alarmed when Arthur half-collapsed to the floor, so he was kneeling beside you.
You turned to see him holding up a small, velvet box.
“Oh--I should probably open it.” He reached up and pulled back the lid, revealing a thin band of gold. A simple, round-cut stone at the top.
“I sold the last of anything valuable I had--Penny had--to have the money to buy it.”
You honestly couldn’t think what to say at first. Then: “You have a spectacularly bad sense of timing.” You took the box from him. Studied the ring inside.
“Heh,” Arthur pushed himself up. You noticed for the first time he was holding his ribs and wincing. “I have all the guts of a whore after meeting Jack the Ripper, is more my problem.” You chuckled a bit at that; he smiled.
He stared down at you, staring down at the ring. “You don’t have to take it. I wouldn’t blame you--”
You pinched the ring and pulled it out from the velvet display. You tossed the box. You were about to slip it on your left ring finger, before his hands came over yours.
“I should do that.” He took the ring and slipped it on your finger. Damn, it fit perfectly and everything.
You looked up and the two of your locked eyes. This was insane. He was. You probably were, at least a little. He had crossed a line and entered a place from which there was no going back. If you had any sense, you would have had him leave, for good. But you couldn’t, knowing what had shoved him so violently over that line. There were selfish reasons, too, that made even less sense. But at that moment so much of you just didn’t care. Damn whatever the future brought as well.
He didn’t deserve you at all. He knew what he had done. What he was now. But here you were, and as long as he could, he was going to hold on tightly. He wanted to ask you to wait, but there was a good chance there would be nothing to wait for, so he didn’t.
Instead, he bought you close. As you hugged him back, he pressed his lips to your forehead.
“I just realized. Today is my birthday. Of all things. Of all days. And the best gift I could have gotten is in my arms right now.”
…..
You were standing a safe distance away, behind a gate. The late-November cold stung, as a gust of wind thrashed across your face while you watched the entrance to the hospital. You had a scarf on and your hands were shoved into the pockets of your jacket for warmth, but you felt none.
He’d changed into his old clothes in the morning. Wore that camel-beige hoodie pulled over his head as you both covertly made your way from your apartment to Arkham. About a block from the hospital, you separated, so no one from the hospital would see you together. You squeezed his hand one last time.
He’d made it past some orderlies. Narrowly avoided a cop.
Before he stepped inside, he looked around.
Damn if he didn’t spot you.
He let his gaze linger just a second, before he disappeared inside the hospital.
….
You did go back home for the holidays that year, but you of course went alone.
You needed to get away from Gotham, to forget about things for a bit, although you had brought certain things with you.
Like the ring, though you wore it on a long chain hidden beneath your shirt.
You’d managed to dodge or brush off the inevitable questions from your relatives. Most of them seemed to understand, and soon stopped asking.
Early one morning, before anyone else had woken up for the day, you descended the creaking wooden stairs into the root cellar of your grandparents’ old home, now occupied by your cousin and her husband.
You looked around. Not much had been changed.
You walked up to the old china hutch against the far wall, still holding an impressive collection of preserves. Carefully, you removed each of these, before you shoved the hutch back.
You felt along the wall behind it. You found it. The hidden space in the wall where, when younger, you’d hidden the sling shot you’d won at the county fair from your cousins, and a little later the diary you didn’t want your parents to find.
No one living besides you knew of this space.
Carefully, you placed Penny’s last letter to Thomas Wayne, the brown file folder with the older, unsent letters and photos, Penny’s Arkham file, and Arthur’s birth certificate, into a metal box. You’d kept the Polaroid and the baby photo out; they were with you at all times, just like the ring.
You sealed the box and maneuvered it into the secret space.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” you whispered, as you shoved the hutch back into place.
A/N 2: Again, there will be another chapter after this, so stay tuned....
#joker#joker 2019#joker movie#joker film#joker fanfic#joker fanfiction#joker fan fic#joker fan fiction#arthur fleck#arthur fleck x reader#arthur fleck x you#arthur fleck x oc#fluffy#because of a cat#Paulie#also yes the cat's name is a reference to that Family Guy Adam West thing#I just kind of want to see him with a salty woman who isn’t Harley Quinn#friends to lovers#to...?#slow burn too I guess#oh boy feels#and angst
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The Cat, Chapter 4
Relationship(s): Arthur Fleck x OC/Arthur Fleck x reader
Warnings: Hospitals and treatment, mention of physical attack, mention of alcohol use, language, cat
A/N: Finally.
You stared up at the popcorn ceiling in your small office space, trying to make out any possible patterns or letters or numbers. You couldn’t really see anything, except maybe the scowling face of your supervisor, but that was always sort of floating around somewhere in your mind--you had seen it so many times.
You started when the telephone at your desk rang. “Shit.” You hated when they called during lunch.
You picked up the receiver. “Platinum Insurance Services, this is Ms. L/n, how can I be of service?”
“Oh cut the crap,” the voice of Nancy, your friend who nursed the sick and dying at Gotham General, said over the line. “It’s me.”
You shifted in your seat as you glanced around; no one was looking. “Hey...why are you calling me at work?” You took up a pen and pad of paper so you at least appeared to be working.
“Well, your boyfriend is here, for one.”
“Excuse me, what now?”
“Goes by the name of Arthur Fleck. Adorable but depressed, kind of like Eeyore. Works as a clown. Lives in your same building. You guys may or may not have--”
“Okay, yeah that all--mostly sounds familiar. What is he doing there?”
“Well, apparently he got the shit beat out of him while he was at work. Bunch of punk kids, it sounds like. Jumped him. Did quite a number on him, too. Plenty of lacerations and contusions, especially around his ribs. He’s lucky it wasn’t worse, actually.”
You rubbed the bridge of your nose before throwing your hands out. “Who the fuck jumps a clown?”
Nancy sighed. “I donno, but he’s not doing so great. Put him on some pain killers, but the doc and I are a little wary of just letting him hop, skip and a jump home by himself. We tried calling his emergency contact, a Penelope Fleck, but he insisted that we don’t.”
“I don’t blame him,” you said under your breath.
“Huh?”
“Nothing, nothing. I guess you’re pressing me into service, then?”
“Well, he is your--”
“We’re not dating,” you stated.
”Neighbor,” Nancy finished. “But whatever you say....” she smiled.
You rolled your eyes. “Okay, just try to keep him there for at least an hour. I need to coax my handlers into letting me leave early, then try and grab a taxi or something....” you said in an increasingly low whisper.
“I’ll come up with something,” Nancy assured you.
“Thanks. See you in a bit.” You hung up. You put your head in your hands and blew out a breath of tension. Why did people have to be such fucking assholes?
....
Something in you recoiled the minute you set food in the hospital. It looked, smelled, and felt of bleached white surfaces, all around you. Definitely some graffiti, here and there, but the place was Mr. Clean’s wet dream compared to the much of the rest of the city. Still, hospitals made your skin crawl and conjured memories you’d rather stay forgotten.
You traveled up to the fifth floor and stopped at the nurses’ desk; you looked around but didn’t see Nancy right away. “Here for an Arthur Fleck?”
A graying woman in a starched white uniform sitting behind the desk didn’t even look up from her files. “Name?”
“Uh, y/n l/n.”
“Oh, the girlfriend.”
You could kill Nancy.
“Uh...yeah.”
“This way.”
The gray nurse rose slowly from her seat, but stopped when Nancy finally appeared. “It’s alright Grace, I got it.”
Nurse Gray Grace lowered herself onto her chair without further acknowledgment of you or Nancy.
You rounded the nurse’s station and followed Nancy, who looked at you sheepishly. “Sorry about the girlfriend routine, but if you aren’t some kind of family admin gets funny about who can see patients and traipse around the hospital.”
You sighed. “Arthur hasn’t heard anyone refer to me by that title, has he?”
“No no....although I’m not sure if he’s out of it enough that he’d really notice.”
“Jeeeze, is he really that bad off?”
Nancy sighed this time. “Compared to the shit I see everyday, not really...but you know our cautious doctors and their love of overcharging everyone’s insurance with excessive treatment.”
“Is he...really loopy or anything?”
“Not really, last I checked. Although the guy doesn’t speak much.”
“Okay....”
Nancy stopped in front of a closed exam room. “In here,” she said, before turning the knob and holding the door open for you. You stepped inside to see Arthur sitting on one of the numerous plastic and vinyl chairs that were scattered all over the hospital. His hands were in his lap and his chin rested on his chest.
You turned and nodded to Nancy, who nodded back before wordlessly shutting the door, leaving the two of you alone in the exam room. You strode up to Arthur, but even the click of your heels against the linoleum floor didn’t seem to break him from his semi-stupor.
You sighed, before knocking one of your heeled feet against one of the front legs of his chair to get his attention. “Hey there sport.”
Arthur finally looked up. He tried to put on a week smile. “Hi.” A confused look came over his face. “How are you here?”
“My friend let me know you were here,” you said quietly.
“You...you look so different.” Yeah, you probably did. You realized then that he’d never seen you in your “uniform” before: long skirt, long blazer, soft blouse, heels and a neat bun at the nape of your neck. All pastels and non-threatening conformity. You peeled off the facade as soon you stepped through your front door every night.
“Yeah...” you blew out. “I hate it, but I just came from work, so....” You looked Arthur over. “It sounds—and looks—like you just did, too.” He had on oversized shoes, baggy pants with the hobo patches, orange vest beneath a red, white, and blue plaid jacket, even the green wig and tiny bowler hat. His clown make up had been mostly washed off, though; it looked like some bruises were developing on his face.
You looked away for a moment, before sitting next to him in another cheap plastic and vinyl chair.
“What happened?” you asked gently.
Arthur took a few ragged breaths. “I was supposed to stand outside this store that’s going out of business and hold an Everything Must Go sign, twirl it around to get people’s attention, ya know. Out of nowhere, this kid, knocked the sign out of my hand, and he and his friends just made off with it! So I chased after them, ‘cause I didn’t want to lose their sign, and eventually I caught up to them, but....”
You gave him his time.
“They....” He shifted in his seat. You could tell a laugh was bubbling up to the surface. “They smashed it against my face, came out of nowhere and smashed it against my face. Ha ha—then they knocked me to the ground—hah, hah, hah—and kicked me, over and over—”
Your hand was covering your mouth, trying to suppress a visceral reaction of your own.
“They ran off, but the sign was smashed—” The laugh came in full force, and Arthur bent over in pain.
You reached over and started rubbing Arthur’s back. “It’s okay,” you whispered. The laughing subsided.
You turned in your seat. “Arthur, I solemnly swear on my grandmother’s grave, if we’re ever together and you see one of those fuckers, I will walk up to him and knee him in the balls so hard he can never breed.”
He chuckled—not the involuntary laugh that would shake his whole body—but a light laugh that would brighten his face. “I’d like that.”
“I’ve come to bring you home, Arthur,” you said gently.
He looked at you, disbelieving at first, then with a look of relief and—God he was breaking your heart—sad appreciation. “I...really?”
“Of course. What are friends for?” you added, possibly subconsciously rebuffing all the boyfriend-girlfriend language that had been lobbed at you for the past hour or two.
“But, my mother....”
“You can recoup at my place for a bit. Though...you probably should tell her?” You weren’t sure you were giving the most sound advice there; this could cause his mother to freak out, or worse for Arthur, she wouldn’t really respond to it at all. “But we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
Arthur said nothing, falling back into his quiet, drug-addled thoughts.
You pursed your lips. You reached out and took Arthur’s right hand, and turned it so it was covering yours. You rubbed the side of his palm with your thumb.
It worked; it got his attention, as he sat up straighter in the chair, and his eyes opened wider.
“May I?” You said as you gently tugged on his wig with your other hand. He nodded, and you moved to gently remove it from his head; the little bowler hat, attached, came with it. “Cute,” you said, as you flicked it with your thumb and middle finger. He smiled.
“You don’t have to do all this.”
“Do what?”
“Have pity on me.”
“Maybe it’s not pity.”
The blush returned.
You sat back in your chair; you were still holding his hand. “I did tell my boss my plumbing broke and my apartment was filling up with water, so if you could like, break some of my pipes later, that would be great.”
That chuckle. You breathed a sigh of relief when it didn’t turn into a full blown laugh. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”
You squeezed his hand. “Let’s go home.”
....
Once Arthur was given his discharge papers, you hailed a taxi that dropped you off at your apartment building. The cabbie shot you guys a questioning look when you first got in, but a good glare from you and he stopped.
You forgot how quiet your apartment was in the afternoons when you’d normally be at work. Even the unemployed tenants were usually out and about by that time, hustling for work or something else.
Paulie was there to greet the two of you as you walked through the door. He mewed several times; you were sure you were getting the fifth degree. He’d want to be fed early, just because you were home, but it wasn’t gonna happen.
Arthur collapsed onto your couch.
“Do you want to change? I could maybe sneak into your apartment and grab some clothes?”
“It’s okay....” He reached forward for the plaid duffel bag he’d been carrying around. He reached in and pulled out a burgundy pullover. The colorful blazer and vest were cast aside, as well as a button down he’d been wearing beneath them. That’s when you saw the bandaging wound tightly around his battered ribs. Seeing all this made you wonder why he had just changed back into his costume, but then Gotham Metro wasn’t the warmest place, and seeing him shirtless for the first time made you realize just how thin he was. He must have been cold a lot.
You felt the opposite at that moment. You excused yourself so you could change in your room and to leave him to finish changing himself.
You shed your office wear and pulled on some not-torn jeans and a stripped, shortsleeved top. You thought of taking off your makeup, but something compelled you to leave it on.
After what seemed like an acceptable amount of time, you emerged from your room into the living room. Arthur sat on your couch, rubbing his sides. A scowl had settled on his face.
You marched over to the telephone you had hanging on a nail in your kitchen wall. “How about we order a big fat, greasy pizza?”
He let out a breath. “That sounds perfect.”
You decided on toppings pretty quickly—luckily your tastes in that regard seemed to be pretty similar.
Once the pizza was on its way, you made a beeline for your liquor cabinet, but stopped short. Arthur shouldn’t be drinking anything in his state, and it felt awkward to imbibe without being able to offer your guest any. You made yourself a cup of tea instead.
You placed a cup of water in front of Arthur on your coffee table, along with a couple of ibuprofen from the bottle they’d given him. “Bottom’s up.”
“Y/n?”
“Yeah?” You turned around and suddenly found yourself in Arthur’s embrace. His arms encircled your waist while he lay his head against your chest. This should feel more awkward, you thought, but it didn’t. All your concern in that moment was on his well-being...but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t get something out of this closeness. You kissed the top of his head and rubbed his back reassuringly.
Taglist (feel free to ask to not be on this, but I assume those who went out of their way to repost the last chapter(s) would want to be notified; also if you want to be on it, let me know–next chapter will be up pretty quickly):
@ghoulsguilty @imjustchillinbud @help-i-am-obssessed @bananabreaddough @misstgrey92 @800458 @fandomfansworld @vcat55
#joker#joker 2019#joker film#joker fanfiction#fanfic#Arthur Fleck#arthur fleck x reader#arthur fleck x oc#arthur fleck x you#fluffy#in more ways than one#because cat#friends to lovers#I just kind of want to see him with a salty woman who isn’t Harley Quinn#also yes the cat's name is a reference to that Family Guy Adam West thing#finally some movie shit right?
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The Cat, Chapter 7
Warnings: Self harm I guess? Language
A/N: Uh-oh, someone’s ear is in danger of having hair brushed over it....
The next day you knew your boss was starting his vacation, so you wore your leather moto jacket over your work clothes to and from work. It still garnered you some stares from other co-workers, but you didn’t give a fuck at that point.
You had your hands shoved into your pockets on the way home, a thin scarf wrapped around your neck and tucked into the zipped-up jacket. It was getting gradually colder as the calendar moved into the last quarter of the year.
You turned a corner. You were now on your street and less than two blocks from your apartment building. Your eyes darted around involuntarily. You wanted to punch yourself in the face; now you were even starting to look for him everywhere, expecting and hoping you’d bump into him even in a place as big as Gotham City. Like some stupid school girl crush.
It was just friendship, you reminded yourself over and over. A nice one. One that stirred many pleasant feelings you hadn’t felt in a long time.
So much about your relationship felt natural, easy. Which struck you as so strange, because he was so unlike the people you usually gravitated towards, or who gravitated towards you. Tough, brash, cynical. Friendly but...hard, because they had to be. Arthur was so much more of a gentle soul. Definitely depressed--who wasn’t in Gotham?--but he had an element of innocence in him you rarely saw in anyone else.
Now, his awkwardness certainty did remind you of someone.... It was just easier for you to hide that aspect of your character behind the brusque exterior. Arthur wore his heart on his sleeve.
You continued walking. You shivered against the cold as you noticed the sky above you had turned gray, dark.
You weren’t sure at first, but the figure that had just rounded the corner looked familiar. Nope--it was definitely him. As if your thoughts had the power to conjure him up at any moment. Something wasn’t right, though.
“Art--Arthur!” you rushed up to him. “Are--are you limping?”
He didn’t seem to notice you at first. It was fairly noisy around you, but you hadn’t exactly been as quiet as a church mouse, either.
You practically had to bump into him before he’d acknowledge you. “Hey, what’s going on?”
He finally turned toward you. The scowl again, but mixed with something else...fatigue, wariness?
“Oh hi, y/n. How are you?” There was something insincere about his demeanor. It was a smile worn over the surface, like a mask.
You both continued to walk through the courtyard of your building, toward the front entrance. You said nothing as you entered the building together; you watched him carefully as he went to check his mailbox, finding nothing but a flier for a new Chinese restaurant inside, which he quickly tossed.
You let him walk ahead of you for several feet, as he headed for the elevator. “Stop right there.”
He turned around and faced you.
“You’re limping and you’re going to march--or, walk, as carefully as possible--straight up my apartment and tell me why.”
His shoulders drooped. “It’s...it’s nothing. I was just stupid earlier.” He looked utterly defeated.
You stepped up to him--so close you weren’t even a few inches apart. “My apartment, Mister. Post-haste.”
A real, genuine smile grew on his face. “O--okay.” He nodded eagerly.
....
He flopped down on your couch. “I did it to myself.”
“Okay,” you said slowly. “How?”
He started to take off his shoes. “Just...a bad day at work.”
“What happened?” you said as you sat down cross-legged on your coffee table in front of him. You thanked yourself mentally for having chosen slacks that morning.
He shook his head, sighed. Hesitated.
You waited patiently.
“That sign...thing, that happened on Monday?”
“Yeah?”
“Hoyt--he’s my boss--he had me come into his office. Said the business complained about me leaving, said I took their sign.” He avoided making eye contact with you.
“That makes absolutely no sense. Why would you keep a sign?”
“That’s what I said, and I told him I got jumped. But he said...said that made no sense. Why would I get jumped for a sign by a bunch of kids?”
“Yeah.”
“But I asked, why would I even keep the sign for myself? And he said, I don’t know, why do people do anything?”
You pursued your lips and nodded, looked away. Yep, you’ve heard this sort of bullshit before. “He sounds a lot like my boss, actually,” you clicked. “Will try to use logic against you, then will argue logic doesn’t exist.”
Arthur set his jaw. “I just.... I didn’t take it!”
“I know that, but pricks like him don’t care.”
Arthur put his head in his hands as he moved forward, then proceeded to wince. He bent forward and peeled off his socks, revealing his left foot to be red, swollen, and bleeding a bit in some places.
“Jesus!” you hissed. “Did your boss proceed to beat you or something?”
“No, no, this was me.”
“Huh?”
Arthur sighed. “It’s...stupid. I...”
You waited.
“I guess I took it out on some garbage, out back.”
You nodded. You looked around your apartment. You pointed to some shelves in the corner of the room. “See that set of glass dishes back there?”
Arthur looked. “Yeah.”
You turned back to him. “I used to have six goblets in the set. There’s a reason there’s only four now.”
He looked at you a bit confused, then realized. “Oh.”
“In fact, there’s probably small pieces of them still embedded in that wall there, as hard as I threw them,” you smiled, motioning to the wall behind him.
He even turned around and looked. Then looked back at you with a smile. You patted him on the leg. “Let’s get that leg taken care of.”
....
You had plenty of ice packs and first aid supplies. A consequence of hanging around a lot of punk clubs and venues, you explained. Carefully, you had washed off the blood with warm water and peroxide--
“Ow!”
“Sorry! Just don’t want any of this to get infected. You were kicking around trash earlier.”
--and you’d managed to bring down a lot of the swelling. You’d more or less forced him to take some more ibuprofen to help with all the pain.
You were now both sitting on your couch, watching TV, Arthur’s leg propped up on a throw pillow on your coffee table. You were sitting to his left, and you’d lightly swat him if he tried to take his injured leg off the coffee table.
At one point, the leg moved, and you went to swat, but he caught your hand instead. Held onto it.
“Can I....”
“Can you what?”
“Can I...” he let out a shaky breath. His hand was slightly shaking, too. He closed his eyes. “Can I kiss your hand?”
You didn’t believe you had heard right at first. Then, “Ye--yes.”
He brought your hand up to his lips, and slowly pressed his lips to the back of your hand. He stared down at it for a moment, before turning it over.
You watched him intently. The look on his face was all consternation, focus.
He rubbed his thumb along your palm a few times. He raised your hand again, but instead of kissing said palm, he brought his lips down on your wrist, and let them linger there for a few seconds.
You immediately felt it, the electric shock that contact produced, as it ricocheted through your body. A small whimper sounded from within your throat.
He suddenly let go.
“I better go,” he said as he quickly rose from the couch. “Thanks, um, for everything,” he said while half-looking at you, before rushing out of your apartment, closing your door behind him.
“Um, okay,” you said to yourself as you threw your hands up, befuddled and more than a little disappointed. Left alone to listen to the rain falling outside.
Taglist: @ghoulsguilty @imjustchillinbud @help-i-am-obssessed @bananabreaddough @misstgrey92 @800458 @fandomfansworld @marss-anonymous @vcat55 @art-flirt @honking4joker @famousalmondloverangel @lsksl @anonymous034 @just-antiyou @mardema @ughthatimagineblog
#joker#joker film#joker (2019)#joker fanfiction#joker fanfic#Arthur Fleck#arthur fleck x reader#arthur fleck x oc#arthur fleck x you#fluffy#in more ways than one#because cat#friends to lovers#slow burn too I guess#I just kind of want to see him with a salty woman who isn’t Harley Quinn#also yes the cat's name is a reference to that Family Guy Adam West thing#finally some smut amI right?
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The Cat, Chapter 5
Warnings: None that I can think of. Mild language?
A/N: I’m not a liar yaaaay....
You shut the door behind you after throwing the pizza box down your building’s thrash chute. It was nearing 9 o’clock. The two of you had been eating, talking, watching TV. Not paying attention to reality as much as possible.
You sat down next to Arthur, who was watching your TV and smoking. “How are you feeling?”
He smiled at you. “Better.”
“That’s good!” You pursed your lips. “Do you think you’re ready to face your mother?” He’d told you earlier he sometimes kept odd hours because of his work, or because he had to run errands or the like. But he usually tried to be home before 10 PM when he’d make sure she had whatever she needed before they would watch Live with Murray Franklin and she would head off to bed.
He took a deep breath. “I guess so.” He went to stand up, but he winched and sat back down. “If I can.” He had not really moved from your couch all night, so he hadn’t really tested his strength yet.
“Nancy told me it might get worse before it gets better,” you sighed, talking about his pain.
Arthur forced himself to stand. “I should go see how she is.”
You stood as well. “Hey.”
He turned around.
“Are you...sleeping over there?”
“I...don’t understand what you’re asking?”
You sighed. “I mean. Unless your mom is the one sleeping on the couch over there--which I have my doubts--I have to imagine you are. And that would probably be pretty painful in your state.”
Arthur shrugged. “It’s fine, I mean, I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Yes you do.”
“I don’t--”
You looked away, then back at him. “Look, I don’t know how bad off your mom is. If you need to be there all night to make sure she doesn’t fall or swallow her tongue or anything, but if not.... You can take my bed and I can sleep on my couch.”
That look again. That look that tore at your heart. That look of gentleness and appreciation, but also some disbelief. “That’s...that’s kind of you, but you don’t have to put yourself out--”
“Oh please. Half the nights I’m out here sleeping on the couch with Paulie, watching CNN. Remember?”
Arthur considered it. He briefly glanced over at your bedroom, before looking away. “I don’t know. My mom’s fine, for the most part, throughout the night. But....” He blushed again. He stepped a bit closer to you and semi-whispered, “What would she say if she knew I was in another woman’s bed overnight?”
“It’s none of her Goddamn business.”
You’d thought he’d gotten used to your brashness, but he did look a little shocked at your saying that.
“Sorry, but we’re friends, and it’s not that big a deal. If she brings it up, maybe remind her you don’t have your own bed.”
“Well,” he said as he stood up a little straighter. “Maybe I will. Or, I’ll just wait ‘til she’s asleep and sneak out.”
You rolled your eyes. “Whatever,” you smirked. “Just try to come back by twelve. That’s when I usually pass out.”
....
After Arthur left you busied yourself with preparing for bed. You dragged out one of your pillows and a spare blanket from your bedroom to your couch. You did question yourself mentally whether there was anything in your bedroom or bathroom that you didn’t want him to chance upon, but after a quick check you were assured your living space was acceptable to male company.
Male company. Had been a while since you had any of that. Six months? A year? Something like that. And it wasn’t really anything to write home about, if you’d still had a home to write back to.
You snuggled yourself into your usual spot on the couch and switched the channel from MTV to CNN. Paulie settled next to you. It was maybe an hour later when you heard a knock on the door.
“Come on in!” you yelled out, then heard a few knocks from your upstairs neighbor. “Yeah yeah!” you said up to your ceiling as Arthur stepped into your apartment.
“What?”
“Nothing, just our lovely neighbors.”
You extricated yourself from your blanket and cat and approached Arthur, who had changed into a long sleeve shirt and pajama bottoms.
You jerked your head toward your bedroom, which he followed you into.
“So, my alarm clock goes off pretty early, around 5 AM. Just all the hassle of getting one’s hair and make-up ready for the day takes up so much time in the mornings--” You turned back to Arthur, “But then...I guess you of all you people would understand that.”
“Sort of,” he said. “But we all get ready at work before we go to a job.”
“Ah.... Well, actually, when do you have to get up for work? I can reset the alarm.” You scooped up your alarm clock and started fiddling with the dials on the back.
“I’m not working tomorrow, actually.”
You stopped fiddling with your clock. “Oh.”
He sat down on the bed next to you. “I mean, you could still set it. I’m seeing my social worker tomorrow. I see her once a month....” He looked down, a darkness set over his face.
“Um, what do you see her for?” you asked as you turned toward him. “If you don’t mind me asking,” you quickly added.
“Mandated therapy, once a month,” he repeated. “Ever since I....” The thought was never finished. He went on to talk about being on different medications, and seeing her in part to get his prescriptions renewed or changed.
You nodded. “Makes sense.” You looked down at your clock, then up at Arthur. “What time do you want to get up?”
“You can keep it at 5.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Are you sure? I mean, if you don’t have to get up that early.”
“If if means we could have some coffee in the morning before you leave for work, then it’s fine.”
You smiled involuntarily. “Okay.” You set your alarm clock back on your end table. You turned back to Arthur, and it suddenly dawned on you that both of you were sitting just inches apart, on your bed. Neither of you said anything for a few moments, just making occasional eye contact before looking away. Like a couple of awkward high school-aged kids.
You wonder if he felt it too--this headiness that enveloped you and filled the room. You’d be lying if you said the thought of reaching over and kissing him hadn’t entered your brain at least a couple of times already in your short friendship, and some part of you suspected it had entered his brain at least once, but this felt like such a dangerous space and bad time to entertain those thoughts.
You shot up from your bed. “Well, I’ll see ya tomorrow morning.” You went to shut the door. “Sleep tight--”
“Could--could you keep the door open?”
“Sure,” you smiled reassuringly. “Night.”
“Night,” he replied.
Taglist:
@ghoulsguilty @imjustchillinbud @help-i-am-obssessed @bananabreaddough @misstgrey92 @800458 @fandomfansworld @marss-anonymous
@vcat55 @art-flirt @honking4joker (If I’m missing somebody, let me know. Like I said I’m Boomer-ing this stuff badly right now. 😅)
#SO CLOSE#joker#joker film#joker 2019#joker fanfiction#Arthur Fleck#arthur fleck x reader#arthur fleck x oc#arthur fleck x you#fluffy#in more ways than one#because cat#friends to lovers#slow burn too I guess#I just kind of want to see him with a salty woman who isn’t Harley Quinn#also yes the cat's name is a reference to that Family Guy Adam West thing
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The Cat, Chapter 6
Warnings: Shitty therapy, alcohol use, cat
A/N: Writing this helps me forget my life for a bit.
When you awoke the next morning, it was before the other alarm clock you had in your living room had gone off. There was something about having another person--a man--Arthur--in your apartment, that had you extra aware of your surroundings. Not in a negative sense...in fact, you could have sworn you woke up with a smile on your face.
You looked down to see that Paulie wasn’t with you. You sat up lazily from where you lay on the couch. “Paulie?” you called out in a quiet, scratchy voice. You looked around as you rubbed your neck. A thought came to your brain as you looked at your bedroom.
You got up and padded quietly to your bedroom door. You peeked in. Arthur was sleeping in a semi-fetal position, facing to the left, and settled close to him was Paulie, also laying on his side, facing Arthur. Both were under the bed covers.
Damn. This sight was so adorable, you thought your heart might explode from it. If you knew where you hid your Polaroid camera away, you might have grabbed it and snapped a photo of this moment forever.
Suddenly you remembered what Arthur said the previous night about coffee. You went to start a pot brewing.
....
“...There’s this girl....”
Deborah Kane looked up from her case file, but didn’t say anything.
“Woman,” Arthur corrected. “She lives a few doors down.”
“The single mother?”
Arthur was surprised she’d remember that. “No. This is someone else. Someone else entirely.”
Kane said nothing, just waited.
Arthur hesitated. He wasn’t sure he wanted to discuss you. A part of him certainly wanted to. To give every detail about this new person in his life--what you were like, what you had already taught him, and how you had been kind to him. But another part of him wanted to jealously guard the fact of your existence, to keep you all to himself. As if revealing you to anyone--besides his mother--would spoil things or make you disappear.
He also had a practical concern. It had to do with his medication and things he could remember being told or reading once about how they could impede a man’s ability to...please a woman. But even the thought of uttering those concerns out loud made him nauseous. He also doubted whether he had any right to even entertain such thoughts.
“Never mind,” he said on an exhale of cloud smoke.
Kane scrawled a short note into his file anyway.
....
Your workday was fairly miserable as expected. You had to catch up on work from the day before, and your boss was clearly still unhappy about your leaving early at all. At least he didn’t ask to call your landlord or for any other sort of proof about your broken plumbing story.
You came home fairly late. You’d managed to catch the 6:15 train and arrive home close to 7. You emerged out of the elevator to see a familiar face sitting on the floor in front of your door. That scowl was on his face again.
“Well, I wasn’t expecting a package today,” you said as you sauntered up to him.
The scowl dissolved into a smile. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself. How’d therapy go?”
He shrugged. “Okay.” He took a draw on a cigarette you hadn’t previously noticed. As he stood up, he moved the jacket that was draped over his hands, revealing a rolled up pharmacy bag he was holding. You recognized the name and logo from the pharmacy down the hill from your building.
“Want a whiskey neat to wash those down with?” you asked as you pointed to the bag.
“I probably shouldn’t....”
“Well, I am certainly going to have one,” you said as you flipped through your the keys on your key chain and, upon finding the apartment key, unlocked your door.
There was Paulie again. Ready to greet the two of you. Ready to demand feeding.
“Yeah, yeah. Can the humans eat first?” you said to your baby as you dropped your bags onto your kitchen counter.
Arthur sat on one of the three pub chairs that stood on the living room-side of your kitchen counter. “I was just gonna make myself a bologna sandwich, nothing fancy, but I can certainly make seconds,” you offered.
“Sounds good,” he smiled.
You shed your blazer and kicked off your shoes. You went about gathering together the few sandwich makings you had.
You looked up at Arthur, who was leaning forward, his head perched on his left hand. There was residing on his features the faintest smile. You couldn’t tell if it was him trying to be polite or...something else.
You stuck out your tongue at him one point to relieve your own tension at being so closely watched, then kicked yourself, wondering if it would set him off somehow. He just smiled a little wider.
You set out everything and started assembling. “Does the therapy help? Talking to someone?” you asked Arthur, unwittingly echoing what his therapist had asked earlier that day.
The smile faded. He dropped his arm. Shifted in his chair. He started to laugh, but dryly, cynically. “It’s something to do on a Tuesday.”
You smiled bitterly to yourself.
“I...actually went to therapy for a while. After.... certain things.” You threw out your now empty bologna package into the trash.
You shook your head. “Sometimes, certain things never really heal, no matter how much you rub salve on them.”
That darkness crept over his features again. “Seems like that.” He reached for his pharmacy bottles as you finished up with the sandwiches. You placed one on a plate, which you set before him.
“Absolutely sure you don’t want a whiskey to wash those down with?” You asked as you headed for your liquor stash.
“Nah, I’m fine,” he answered.
You returned with your mostly-full glass. You took a large swig, before picking up your sandwich.
“I’ll have a water, though.”
You stopped as you were about to take a bite. “Coming right up,” you smiled.
Taglist:
@ghoulsguilty @imjustchillinbud @help-i-am-obssessed @bananabreaddough @misstgrey92 @800458 @fandomfansworld @marss-anonymous @vcat55 @art-flirt @honking4joker @famousalmondloverangel @lsksl @anonymous034
#joker#joker 2019#joker (2019)#joker film#joker fanfiction#joker fan fiction#fan fic#Arthur Fleck#arthur fleck x reader#arthur fleck x oc#arthur fleck x you#fluffy#in more ways than one#because cat#friends to lovers#slow burn too I guess#I just kind of want to see him with a salty woman who isn’t Harley Quinn#also yes the cat's name is a reference to that Family Guy Adam West thing
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The Cat Masterpost/List
Summary: Trying to catch your fleeing feline leads to a chance encounter with a neighbor that will change your lives forever. Arthur Fleck x reader / OC. Adult-y stuff throughout, obviously.
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
It’s also on FF.net, as a 3rd person/OC fic, because their rules are weird: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13418322/1/The-Cat. I use the same names used over there, where needed, here as placeholders, just to make it feel a little less clunky. Otherwise it remains a reader insert here.
Also, because I’m a huge dork, I created a play list over on ol’ Spotify, with all the music that inspired and is mention in this fic: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3Ce3A4IYJ8NPnz0lQnnhuM?si=MfZeybCVTC26MB1Oi6xt-g More songs will be added as the story goes on and/or I just feel like it. 😂
Tagging - I’m not going to include the list here.... I may tag the usual suspects in the comments or just send it to them/you in Tumblr’s messenger, since nothing I do seems to get all of them to work in a post. 🙄 Also let me know if ya wanna be added or removed, prefer to be messaged each time a new chapter is up, etc.
Next chapter should be up today, and will be included here when it’s up.
#joker#joker 2019#joker (2019)#joker film#joker fanfic#joker fanfiction#joker fan fiction#joker fan fic#arthur fleck#arthur fleck x reader#arthur fleck x oc#arthur fleck x you#fluffy#because there's a CAT up in this story#friends to lovers#slow burn too I guess#I just kind of want to see him with a salty woman who isn’t Harley Quinn#also yes the cat's name is a reference to that Family Guy Adam West thing
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The Cat, Chapter 9
Warnings: None really.
A/N: Giving the people what they want....
“What are you moving? Are you going somewhere?” he was quick to add.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you said softly. “In fact, I...don’t really have to move anything, really.”
He looked over at you, confused.
“I mean, I have wanted to look for something, though it’s probably just buried in this one box in my closet.”
“Then...”
You reached your apartment door and went to open it. “Maybe I just needed an excuse to drag you over here. Maybe you needed one to get away from your mother for a bit. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, ‘kay?”
He smiled. “Okay.”
You entered your apartment and shut the door behind both of you.
“It’s actually this closet right here,” you said, pointing to the door right next to your front door. You opened it, revealing a coat closet with a shelf at the top. You yanked on a pull string and a light bulb flickered to life inside. You reached up to try and grab one of two boxes that sat on the shelf, but you were having a difficult time.
You sighed. “Actually, Art, if you could grab this for me.” You pointed to the one on the right.
“Sure.” He got the box down and set it on the floor.
“Thanks,” you said, sitting down on the entryway floor in front of the box. You started to dig through it. Arthur sat down on the floor across from you.
You pulled out random things--catalogs, an old pair of reading glasses, an old wallet, a roll of tape, some pens, some broken costume jewelry. You tossed it all aside, while Arthur would pick up some of these things and look them over, before maybe asking you about their significance. Paulie had also come over and started to sniff at these random items.
“Ah, here it is,” you said as you pulled out a Polaroid camera. “I hope it still has film,” you said you turned it over in your hands.
“What do you need that for?”
“Um...something I saw the other day that made me think of it.”
You looked over at Paulie. “I think I want to test it out. Could you hold Paulie for a second?”
“Okay...sure,” he said as he picked up your cat.
Paulie mewed in confusion as he was picked up. Arthur held him out to you, as if you were going to take Paulie. “Um, I mean, could you hold him in your arms, ya know, like the other day?”
“Oh, sure,” he said. He held Paulie curled against him. Paulie looked up at him the same way he looked at you, and your heart melted a little bit.
“Okay, on the count of three....one, two, three.” You pressed the trigger and the light went off. The camera made the usual noises, and a few seconds later the familiar square emerged from the front of it. “Let’s see....” You grabbed it, and proceeded to fan it around several dozen times, trying to get it to develop faster. A few moments later, you had a picture of a smiling Arthur holding a content Paulie. You didn’t know that day, but you would hold onto that picture for the rest of your life.
Arthur let go of Paulie, who had grown bored of the two of you and went off to do something else.
Arthur peered into the box. “What are those?”
He was pointing down at some rocks and geodes that sat at the bottom of the box. You picked up one of them and admired it for a few seconds. “Oh. These. Souvenir from a camping trip to the Southwest with my grandparents, years ago.... They took me to this quartz mine....” You shook your head. “I got to hammer and stab at some rocks for like an hour, so it was fun I guess.”
Arthur picked some of the rocks, turned them over in his hands. “Huh. I’ve never even been outside of Gotham....”
You thought about that for a second, then shrugged. “I hated the desert. I wanted to go back home to the mountains, back where things were green and alive.” You shook your head again. Started to chuckle.
“What?”
“Ya know that song, ‘Horse with No Name’?”
Arthur shook his head.
You pushed him lightly on the arm. “I have so much yet to teach you. Anyway, it’s this song about this guy in the desert, and he’s lost or something, has no water, and he’s starting to lose his mind. He starts to forget his own name. That song played at one point while we were driving through the actual desert. My Grandpa loved to tease me. That song had just played, and he said, ‘Ya know, that could happen to you, if you get lost out here. If you wander off the path too far, baby, you might just forget your own name.’” You laughed.
“That sounds sort of frightening, actually....”
You shook your head. “I guess it’s a weird in-joke. I mean, it unnerved me a bit when he first told me that, yeah, but then the three of us just sort of laughed about it.”
Arthur just nodded again.
A beat.
“...and my feet are falling asleep,” you announced. You struggled to get up on your deaden feet. “Ow.”
Arthur stood up quickly. “Here, let me help you.” He was stronger than he appeared; he took your hands in his and pulled you up.
“Ow,” you said trying to shake some circulation back into your lower limbs. “I hate when I do that.”
You looked up, to see Arthur staring down at you. “Hi,” he said softly.
“Hi,” you echoed. You felt your cheeks get hot.
“I...I better see if my mom wants something...ya know.”
You nodded. Sighed as you looked down, then up at him. “Yeah, I know.”
You both said nothing for a few seconds. There was that headiness again. At least this time the two of you were managing to maintain actual eye contact. You hadn’t really noticed the hazel, but more green, color of his eyes. You wondered how he saw yours. Your mother always saw them as gray, like hers, but your grandmother and a few others saw them as a steely blue.
You noticed as his hands went up, hovered over your arms. You watched as they came up shakily over your shoulders. You could hear his breathing, and your own.
“I...um....” Arthur hung his head. You could see his courage faltering.
“Do it. I want you to.”
He looked back up, searched your face. He bent down and pressed his lips to yours--was about to draw back--then his hands moved to wrap around you.
He was now cradling your head and pressing you to him, as the kiss got deeper, deeper.... You hung onto his arms, moved your hands to his back, dug your nails in. Somewhere in your lust-fogged brain you wondered if he would flinch, because of the bruises there, but he didn’t.
You wanted the kiss to last forever, but you needed to come up for air. You drew back. You both took deep breaths. He rested his head on your shoulder, then moved to plant a kiss on your neck. Somehow, out of everything that just happened, that one action would have been enough to have make you say yes to anything he would have asked.
But no such question came. He drew back. “I need to go,” he shook his head. “I have work tomorrow.”
“Me too,” you said, settling your head against his chest. He smelled of soap and cigarette smoke. “Where are they sending you?”
“Bank. Then this children’s hospital.”
You smiled up at him. “My hero,” you whispered to him, as you traced a line along his jaw with your index finger. He smiled at you like you were everything good in the world.
Taglist: @ghoulsguilty @imjustchillinbud @help-i-am-obssessed @bananabreaddough @misstgrey92 @800458 @fandomfansworld @marss-anonymous @vcat55 @art-flirt @honking4joker @famousalmondloverangel @lsksl @anonymous034 @just-antiyou @mardema @ughthatimagineblog @bookwormmarvel @creepystalkerinavan
#joker#joker film#joker 2019#joker (2019)#joker fanfiction#joker fanfic#Arthur Fleck#arthur fleck x reader#arthur fleck x oc#arthur fleck x you#fluffy#in more ways than one#because cat#friends to lovers#slow burn too I guess#I just kind of want to see him with a salty woman who isn’t Harley Quinn#also yes the cat's name is a reference to that Family Guy Adam West thing
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The Cat, Chapter 3
Relationship(s): Arthur Fleck x OC/Arthur Fleck x reader
Warnings: Mom stuff
A/N: I promise the next chapter will finally tap into the movie plot 😅
The next time you saw each other was that Monday as you both arrived home from work, and a few more times that week. He took you up on your offer of listening to some of your albums. It was so much music he had never really been exposed to: The Ramones, The Clash, The Sex Pistols, Joy Division, to Fleetwood Mac, The Police, David Bowie, Steely Dan, to Michael Jackson, Stevie Wonder, Warren Zevon, and more. Some of it he liked and some of it he didn’t.
One day you heard a knock on the door and he had bought sardines for Paulie. You held the aluminum can in your hand like it was gold. “Oh, thank you. He’ll love that.” You invited him in and you both talked for a good three hours before he had to head home to check on his mother. Paulie sat in his lap for at least three quarters of that time, which just continued to amaze you.
That Friday you made a big pot of roast beef stew. Your thought was to subsist on it through the weekend, so you could be a bit lazy and not even have to cook that Saturday or Sunday, but it seemed like you had so much you’d still have a heap of leftovers by Monday. It dawned on you this might be your excuse to drop by and meet Mamma Fleck.
You spooned out a good portion into a sealable glass dish before heading over. You were pretty sure Arthur was home; you could hear talking inside. You knocked gingerly three times on the door.
The door opened while still locked on its chain and Arthur peered at you through the crack. “Oh!” He undid the chain and opened the door wider. “Hi!”
“Hey there.” You held up the dish. “Ya know I made all this extra stew and realized Paulie and I probably won’t be able to finish it before it goes bad, so I thought....” You handed it over.
He smiled widely. “That’s sweet, thank you.” He took it from you. He admired the food through the glass Pyrex, as if he hadn’t seen something so delicious in a long time.
“Um, you don’t have to, but, if you want to introduce me to your mom, I’d like to meet her.”
The smile disappeared from Arthur’s face. “Oh....” He looked back inside, then back to you. He seemed to struggle with whether to in fact invite you in, but he ultimately relented. “Sure,” he breathed.
You stepped inside. The apartment’s layout was a mirror image of your own. Which made you wonder briefly who slept where, as you knew yours was a one bedroom.
“Mom, I have someone I want you to meet,” he called out. He deposited your dish in their fridge before leading you into the living room. Sitting in a high backed chair was a frail woman with fading strawberry blonde hair, blanket draped over her lap. Arthur introduced you, and said his mother’s name was Penny. She seemed a bit perplexed at your presence, but she did smile at you. “Hello.”
You made a small wave. “Hi there. Nice to meet ya.”
You assumed like so many mothers she would make a crack to her son about you being his new girlfriend, or at least some coy remark about spending so much time with him lately. But she simply turned her attention back to the television set in their living room.
Arthur motioned to their couch. “Please, sit.”
“Uh, sure.”
Arthur lit a cigarette before you both started talking about how your respective days had gone. Penny continued to sit quietly, paying the both of you no mind.
The only life you saw from her was when a campaign ad came on the screen, one for Thomas Wayne’s mayoral campaign. “Oh look Happy, look who it is,” she said to Arthur as she held a shaking hand out to him.
Arthur sighed in frustration. “I see it, Ma.”
You groaned inwardly. Wayne had his tentacles in nearly everything in Gotham, including your insurance company. Now he wanted to be mayor, too.
Arthur’s annoyance didn’t seem to subside until the commercial ended, even then something seemed to preoccupy him.
“I better get going. Early morning tomorrow, and all that.” You stood. “Again, nice to meet you, Mrs. Fleck.”
She turned away from her television. “Oh yes, nice to meet you.” And back to the screen.
Arthur walked you back to your place. “Sorry about mom, she’s....”
“Stuck in her own little world?” you supplied.
Arthur considered that. “Yeah, I guess you can say that.”
“It’s okay. I’ve known a few people like that in my life.” You hugged yourself. “Just hope it doesn’t take too much of toll on you.”
There was something about Arthur’s response that told you no one had really considered that before, including himself. “It’s...it’s okay.”
You gave him a hug, a beat after realizing the hug was not asked for and may have been unwanted, so you went to draw back, but his arms came up quickly to wrap around you in return. You both stood like that for who knew how long.
Eventually, you both drew back. “I’ll see you, maybe tomorrow?”
“Okay,” he said as he gave you a tender smile that told you you were in trouble.
Taglist (feel free to ask to not be on this, but I assume those who went out of their way to repost the last chapter(s) would want to be notified; also if you want to be on it, let me know–next chapter will be up pretty quickly):
@ghoulsguilty @imjustchillinbud @help-i-am-obssessed @bananabreaddough @misstgrey92 @800458 @fandomfansworld @vcat55
#joker#joker 2019#joker film#joker fanfiction#fanfic#Arthur Fleck#arthur fleck x reader#arthur fleck x oc#arthur fleck x you#fluffy#in more ways than one#because cat#friends to lovers#I just kind of want to see him with a salty woman who isn’t Harley Quinn#also yes the cat's name is a reference to that Family Guy Adam West thing#I grew up with this music hence its here#*on the oldies station#I'm not that old
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Cat Masterpost/List
Oh look who’s back with another one of these things.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
On Fanfic.net as a 3rd person fic: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13418322/1/The-Cat, because their rules over there are weird.
I won’t add anything else here, mostly because I’m being lazy.
Enjoy.
#joker#joker 2019#joker film#joker fan fic#joker fan fiction#joker fanfic#joker fanfiction#arthur fleck#arthur fleck x reader#arthur fleck x you#arthur fleck x oc#fluffy#because of a cat#also gettin angsty up in this bitch#friends to lovers#slow burn too I guess#I just kind of want to see him with a salty woman who isn’t Harley Quinn#also yes the cat's name is a reference to that Family Guy Adam West thing
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The Cat, Chapter 12
Warnings: Some adult talk, language
A/N: So far it hasn’t come up, but this the first chapter where I’m using a specific name for the love interest, instead of just y/n, l/n, etc., which feels clunky and awkward. Of course as it is a x reader fic, think of it just as a placeholder.
You dragged yourself reluctantly into work that Monday morning. It was difficult to have to acknowledge that the weekend was over. You couldn’t remember the last time you enjoyed a weekend more, or spent more of a weekend in bed when you weren’t sick. Coincidence, for sure.
Your boss was due to come back on that Monday, however, and you were naturally looking forward to seeing him like a hole in the head. You had a feeling he would be even less thrilled at coming back to work, and would thus find something to nitpick and demean you over.
“Ms. Cullen, can you come to my office for a bit?” he said as he passed by your desk not even half hour after you got there.
You hated when you were right.
You entered Stanford’s office with what you thought was enough mental and emotional preparation for whatever he shot at you, but somehow he always ended up being more devastating than you could expect. And this time he had some good ammunition: your latest system for managing the auto accident cases was flawed--granted, he had conceived of it initially--but you had implemented it in your own way you felt worked, but he had pointed out its flaws and you had to admit he was right about a few of them. Of course, he took full advantage of this opportunity to make you feel like an idiot. All you could do was smile pleasantly.
You wanted more than anything to just go home at 5, but you were stuck cleaning up the mess for an additional two or three hours, which you had suspected would be the case anyway. You had told Arthur not to wait up for you because of this suspicion.
By the time you finally left, you had a lovely splitting headache as a reward for your efforts.
....
The weekend had been euphoric to Arthur. He felt it still even as he emptied his locker and made his exit from Ha Ha’s that Monday morning. All his former co-workers noticed something was different, but only made crude remarks as he made his way out:
“Jeeze, wonder if Arthur got laid over the weekend or something?”
“Arthur?! C’mon.”
Some part of him wanted to go back and sort of defend your honor, or his ego, by stating he had, in fact, gotten laid, multiple times, by the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. But again, you were his little secret, one he still guarded jealously.
You also weren’t entirely the reason for the spring in his step after that weekend.
His mother had mentioned you, but in disinterested passing. Referred to you as that “neighbor girl.” She had, in fact, not really noticed his absence. But then, he hadn’t told her he has been fired, either, and working randomly, or just running errands, over the weekend were fairly common occurrences for Arthur.
No one else really knew about you. Not that he had a whole lot of people to tell. He sometimes talked to your other neighbor, Sophie. Someone he had a bit of a crush on at one point. She would ask about his mother and they’d make other, brief small talk when they’d travel the building’s elevator together or meet at the caged mailboxes.
“You seem happy about something...or somebody,” she said that Sunday around noon when he went to check the mail. He’d actually forgotten the day before, the first time in a long time, to check for any letters for his mother.
“Happy....” That nickname that he hated, that always seemed ironic. Now suddenly didn’t.
He just turned to her and smiled a wry smile before miming puling a zipper over his mouth, turning a lock, then throwing away the key.
Sophie smiled as she shook her head. “Good for you, Arthur,” she chuckled.
....
Arthur had left his house that Monday at the usual time. He still didn’t want to reveal his employment situation to his mother. It would just cause her to worry, maybe even have a panic attack. He didn’t want to put her through that, especially if there was something he could do to rectify the situation before he’d even have to.
After clearing out of Ha Ha’s, he’d gone directly over to their competitor in Gotham, Laughing Stock, and inquired about any openings.
“Arthur Fleck.... Hey, aren’t you the guy who brought a .38 to the kid’s hospital last week?”
Damn, word spread fast.
He’d gone to a few other general talent agencies, but was either given the cold shoulder or told there was (supposedly) no openings.
He bought a stack of newspapers. He scanned through their Help Wanted sections after planting himself in a booth at a greasy-spoon diner near his apartment.
“Ya know, we do serve other stuff besides water....” Arthur looked up to see a tight-lipped, narrow-eyed waitress holding a coffee pot in one hand while the other was pressed fisted against her hip.
“Um, coffee, please?”
Waitress Tight-Lips produced a coffee cup and poured some of the dark liquid into it. “Here. Hope you didn’t want decaf,” she said as she already started walking away.
“Thanks...” he said while watching her walk away from him. The coffee wasn’t as bad as might have been expected, but Arthur took his time drinking it.
Later Arthur found his way to Pogo’s, his favorite comedy club in the city. They had open mic nights Mondays and Thursdays, granted there was enough interest. Tonight, like many nights before, he had gone to study the acts of other wannabe comedians, to see what worked and what didn’t.
Arthur was half paying attention. Partly because he had done this so many times now that he felt restless sitting there for the millionth time, listening to somebody who wasn’t him. He wanted to try his hand at this, and felt like this Thursday would be a good day to try.
You were the other reason he wasn’t really paying attention. He hoped you didn’t have to work as late as you predicted, mostly out of concern for your well-being, somewhat out of a selfish need to have you at home when he returned there later.
Memories of the weekend also floated through his mind. Caused him to feel tight; made him wonder whether he shouldn’t dump the glass of ice water on the table into his lap before he got up to leave. Put a huge grin on his face even when no one was up on stage dispensing jokes of questionable quality.
He also thought vaguely of the future. He looked down at his notebook. Your name was written several times on the right page:
Jennifer Cullen
Jennifer Cullen
Jennifer Cullen, etc.
He picked up his pen. He crossed out the last Cullen and wrote “Fleck” next to it. Considered it for a few moments.
Jennifer Fleck. Hmm.
He hated his last name--the sound, look, and feel of it. But it was one of the few things he had to give to you, especially in light of his current employment situation. He wondered, worried, whether you would gladly take it, begrudgingly accept it, or just refuse it.
A part of him wanted to kick himself. It was much too early to be thinking of any of this. How long had you even known each other? What was that an acceptable amount of time before someone started thinking of such things? Was a month or two too soon? It felt sort of soon, but then he could recall watching this couple on the bus once. They were dressed nicely. The girl held a single sunflower in her lap. They mentioned something about traveling to the courthouse.
“How long you been together?” someone asked.
“Three weeks!” the girl said with glee.
“Sometimes, you just know,” the guy said.
....
It was around 9 PM when Arthur got home.
No letter for mom. What else was new.
He traveled upstairs to your floor. He stepped up to your door. Listened. It was strangely silent; he expected the TV to be on or something. He started to worry.
Arthur reached up and felt the top of the door frame. Found the spare key you kept there half hidden in a crack. He slipped it out and used it to open the door.
Your apartment was dark, the only illumination being some slivers of moonlight that fell through some of the windows and past their heavy curtains.
“Jenny? Jennifer?” he called out. Then, more quietly: “Paulie?” But nothing.
“Jenn--” he jumped a bit when he noticed movement on the couch that he wasn’t expecting.
“What?” you asked in a pained voice.
He rushed over, concerned. “What are doing on the couch? In a dark apartment?” he asked as he knelt down next to you.
You groaned into the velour of your couch. “Just.... Funny. My skull feels like someone’s shoved a spear through it.”
“What??”
“I--not--I just have a migraine,” you breathed. “Had a bad day.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said, and went to stroke your hair, which caused you to flinch.
“Please, just--I kind of just want to be alone right now.”
Arthur drew back.
“Okay.”
He stood up slowly, a little shakily. “You sure you don’t need anything?” he asked as gently as possible.
“No, I’m okay. Relatively speaking.”
“You sure?”
You sighed. “Yes.”
Arthur just nodded before leaving your apartment. He was disappointed, if not a little hurt, by this. Your pushing him away. He walked into his own apartment with a sour mood. He would have done anything to make you feel better. Admittedly...a small, selfish part of him sort of hoped ‘anything’ would include sex, but he had no idea really if that helped with such things as migraines. A bigger part of him would have stayed up all night tending to you and trying to get you to feel better however he could.
He had also wanted to tell you about his day, share all his efforts, get your take on things. Hear your reassurances that everything would be okay. Yours was a big silence when he couldn’t talk to you.
Penny was asleep in her chair again. He didn’t wake her up right away. He looked over at his phone and answering machine. There was a message.
He turned the volume down and pressed play. It was Debra Kane. She wanted to see him for an impromptu meeting as soon as possible--tomorrow, if he could manage it.
Well, what the fuck else did he have to do.
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The Cat, Chapter 11
Warnings: Not really any.
A/N: I just wanted to write some fluff, mmkay? Much of the next chapter is already written, btw.
You stood in your kitchen later that same day, watching two steaks slowly sear to a crisp in your frying pan. You poked at them a few times. Sighed. Cooking--good cooking--required a patience you never really had, but you were trying tonight. Arthur was just so skin and bones, and you were afraid your activities over the last 24 hours had worn him down even more, despite his claims to the contrary. If you had brought him home, tsk-tsk-ing aunts and cousins would have been mortified that you hadn’t fattened him up yet.
You stopped yourself. Home. That place that felt so distant, physically and emotionally. Bringing Arthur home.... To that place you weren’t even sure even qualified as “home” anymore. Nancy once told you home could just be the people around you, even a single person. You smiled to yourself involuntarily, then wanted to kick yourself, because it didn’t make sense. It was still too early, you chided yourself. You’d known each other, what, a month or two? In the Biblical sense? About a day.
Sometimes you just know. Something else Nancy said on occasion. But how did you truly know when you had no real previous situation to compare this to?
You broke out of your thoughts when your front door swung open. “Honey, I’m home!”
You chuckled. You knew with his tone and inflection he was referencing I Love Lucy, but God damn--his timing. “In here, still cooking....”
Arthur had gone over to tend to his mother; he had been gone about an hour or so. You wondered what--if anything--he had told her. Surely she noticed his absence? Then again, it was Penny Fleck....
He came into the kitchen. He imitated what you did earlier that day, by holding his hands behind him and leaning over to smell what was cooking on the stove. “Smells good.”
You wondered if that imitation was some form of teasing, or came from his social awkwardness. You could relate to the latter. You could remember being younger and after a day with your cousins or your friends, you found you had picked up their mannerisms and common sayings. You hadn’t known how to be yourself. Still didn’t at times.
“Thanks,” you said. After the meat had browned all around to what seemed like an acceptable color, you transferred the pan to your stove. “They should be done...at some point.” You glanced over at your smoke detector and breathed a sigh of relief that it hadn’t gone off yet.
Arthur had been watching you carefully. Once you seemed to be done with the food, at least for the time being, he brought you into his arms. You said nothing, just melded to him. He planted a kiss on your forehead, and you smiled into his neck.
For some uncounted moments you were both oblivious to everything else but each other. The muffled music from the down the hall. The screaming baby one floor down. Paulie’s insistent mews and pawing at your feet. The smoke coming from your stove....
And there was your smoke detector.
“Shit,” you hissed, quickly detaching yourself from Arthur and grabbing a nearby potholder. “Can you open the windows?”
“Yeah, sure,” he head, before rushing over to open your kitchen window first.
Within a few minutes the two of your were able to salvage dinner and clear the smoke our of your apartment. The steaks were largely fine; if anything, the smoke had inadvertently given them a good flavor. Maybe you were better at this than you thought.
He seemed to enjoy the meat, as well as the vegetables you nuked in your microwave to accompany them. You were getting a little annoyed after he slipped the fifth scrap of steak to Paulie, though. You lightly kicked his leg under your round dining table you both sat at. “Hey, quit doing that. Paulie is fat enough. You need to eat.”
Arthur quickly looked up at you. You instantly felt bad. Didn’t mean it to sound like some comment on his looks or more indirectly on how he didn’t really have the money to feed himself properly, particularly now.
“I mean...you’ll need the energy, if we keep doing what we’re doing.”
He smiled, amused. “And what’s that exactly?” he asked as he leaned forward, arms crossed, on your table.
You rolled your eyes and held back a smirk of your own. “Well, screwing each other’s brains out, obviously.”
He smiled wider. You thought maybe he’d laugh, but he didn’t. “You probably have a point,” he conceded, as he nodded slightly. He sliced off a good piece of the steak and popped it into his mouth.
....
You let him bring over some of his own records the next day. Dean Martin, Bing Crosby, Andy Williams, Etta James. Other than Etta, you didn’t have this stuff in your rotation. It was hard not to think of Mom and Pops and Grams and Gramps when these sweet voices touched your ears. But that Sunday morning in bed you got to talking about your interests more and you had encouraged him to share more of what he loved. As he swayed you around to Sunday Kind of Love--again, appropriate--you found the old associations in your head were starting to be erased, though, and written over by new, more pleasant ones.
It was now your turn, though. You slipped the Ramones’ Pleasant Dreams out of its sleeve, flipped it over in your hands a few times. You placed it carefully down on your turntable. You picked up the needle and let it drop a few times until you found roughly the start of The KKK Took My Baby Away.
As Johnny’s guitar and Tommy’s drums shook your walls, you turned back to Arthur. “My turn,” you smiled as you pointedly raised your eyebrows. You held out your hands to him.
He was laughing--naturally, comfortably. “I mean--how do you even dance to it?” He took your hands, let you pull him up off your couch.
You shrugged. “Pretty much just thrash around, like so,” you said as you moved around your shoulders, rocked your head, jumped up and down, then switched into more specific moves you had accumulated from years of watching American Band Stand with your family and then by yourself. Arthur watched you closely. He recognized many of your moves and did them himself even better.
“See, you’re a natural!” you near-shouted over the music.
“I thought it would be more violent than this,” he also semi-shouted.
The song cut out and you both stopped dead in your tracks, as if you were both suddenly frozen. You both started to crack up at yourselves.
You shook your head. “I don’t bang around in a mosh pit or try to break skulls with other punks when I go to the concerts and such...usually, anyway.”
“That’s a relief. Your skull is too beautiful to be broken.”
You canted your head at that. “Thanks?”
“I mean, everything about you is. Beautiful, I mean.”
A big smile spread over your face. You looked away. “You trying to get me in bed again Fleck?”
He slowly smiled himself. “Maybe.”
You moved closer to him. “Well, it’s working.”
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The Cat, Chapter 14
Warnings: Some adult-y stuff at the end I guess?
A/N: So the next chapter or two after this is going to be a little nuts. Am a little anxious but also looking forward to writing it/them. So stay tuned.
The conductor’s voice came over the intercom system, announcing your stop as the next one. You took a deep breath, before checking if you had all your things with you. You didn’t get up until the train actually stopped; you didn’t want to have to grab, or really touch, anything on the train in order to steady yourself while it was still moving. After several years of living, working, and commuting in Gotham, you had seen enough things to make you never really want to touch anything outside of your apartment.
The train slowed, and as soon it stopped, you shot up, clutching your things as you exited the train car.
You were about to rush up the stairs to the main level, when it dawned on you that Arthur was here somewhere, waiting for you.
You looked around. You spotted him sitting on a bench facing the train cars, smoking a cigarette. The hood of his camel-beige jacket was pulled up and over his head, which you found a little odd.
You sat directly next to him, looking straight in front of you as you said, “Your mission, should you choose to accept it, Mr. Phelps....” You held out the notebook you used at work to write down important information and reminders.
He looked over at you like you were a little crazy, though he was also smiling while doing it. “Huh?”
You laughed, shook your head. “Just feels like we’re having some clandestine meeting or something.” You reached over and tugged on his hood for emphasis.
He stopped smiling. “Oh. Was just...cold.”
You nodded.
“I don’t know about you, but I could use a big fat burger after today,” you told him. “My treat,” you added.
He took a drag, a smile forming around his cigarette. “I think I could, too.” He flicked his cigarette away and stood up. Offered you his hand. You smirked as you look at it, before taking it in your own.
You both emerged from the train station. It was definitely cold, and dark, outside. Though you noticed that once you reached street level, Arthur quickly pushed down his hood.
A questioned formed in your mind, but it seemed to be answered when you observed him looking around a lot, stopping you when you were about to cross the street at the wrong time or step into a bad crack or puddle, casting wary glances at any scrupulous looking characters that came anywhere near you. At one point, after you turned a corner, you were walking closest to the street, and Arthur stopped you, guided your walking so you moved over and he was standing between you and the street instead.
A small thing, but you couldn’t remember the last time a man had done that for you, even back home.
You stopped at a hole-in-the-wall burger joint close to your apartment building. You both sat a table in the corner and ordered your cheese burgers. You thought of ordering a beer--the only alcohol this place would have--but some some shred of decency you held onto prompted you to just order a Coke instead.
“How was your day?” you asked him. Always a bit of a loaded question, when asked of any one out of work like Arthur was, but you felt like you needed to focus on him, and it was the most obvious question to ask.
Arthur just shrugged in response.
Well, this was conversation was going well.
“...Anything happen?”
Arthur turned the glass of Coca Cola in his hands. “Saw Debra Kane today.”
“Your social worker? Why? I thought you didn’t have to see her for another couple of weeks.”
Arthur sighed. Just kept looking at his soda.
You looked away, then back at him. “Ya know, the whole...talking thing. It is a two way street in a relationship.”
Arthur gave a small nod, while setting his jaw. He sat up straighter in his seat. “I guess...funding is being cut to a bunch of city services. So I’m not going to see her anymore.”
“Oh.” You weren’t sure what to say to that. “So today was your last meeting?”
Arthur nodded, pursed his lips. “Also, since there’s no more money, I guess it means no more drugs.”
“Drugs? Your medication?” You were aware of them--sort of. The assortment of pills Arthur took. He had told you about them, even seen him take some of them. You hadn’t pushed on this topic, demanded to know exactly what he was on or anything like that. It was his business. He was handling it. But this news was a little unsettling.
“Yeah,” Arthur ran his hand over his face. “Not sure sure what I’m supposed to do about it.” There was a small, somewhat nervous laugh. The Laugh didn’t make an appearance, though you thought it would.
You considered the problem for a moment. “There isn’t somewhere else you can go to get them? Some other state or city program?”
“No.” He took a swig of his Coke and you shifted in your seat. What a shit thing to happen when he was already out of work and, well, poor as a church mouse. You had faith in Arthur, that he’d continue to do what he had to and look for work so he could support himself and his mother, but you were also naturally a major cynic and a bit of a nihilist. You had your doubts, just because the world as a whole was what it was. You were suddenly very worried for him.
“Listen, if you....” You were about to offer to pay for at least some of his meds. You stopped short because, for one, it occurred to you that without anyone to even prescribe them, the meds probably couldn’t be gotten anyway. For another, you weren’t sure if Arthur’s pride would be hurt and he’d possibly feel affronted at your offering such assistance. His girlfriend was already footing the bill for dinner and such.
You covered his hand with yours. “If you need anything, I’m here, you know that, right?”
That seemed like a safe, generic compromise.
He smiled warmly, if a little weakly. “I know,” he said quietly to you.
A portly man wearing a stained apron approached your table with two food baskets in hand. “Here ya go. Sorry it took a bit to get out here, don’t have anyone else workin’ with me tonight.”
“Don’t worry about it,” you told him, as he placed the baskets on your table. You both thanked him before starting to dig in.
....
You spent the rest of the evening trying to focus on other things, trying to get each other to laugh. You were both in a fairly happy, lighter mood by the time you walked into your apartment.
Paulie was there again. Awaiting your arrival.
“How--how does he know when we’re coming home?” Arthur asked.
You hummed. “Mmm, don’t know. His weird cat senses I guess,” you said as you shed your blazer and thew it over a chair. You switched on your television and headed for your liquor cabinet. You were in the process of making a Tom Collins when Arthur approached you.
“Hi,” he said softly.
You looked at him and smiled. “Hi....” You looked back down at your drink. As you were working on it, you felt his fingers trace their way up and down your back. You felt your breathing quicken.
You turned, about to head to your fridge for the ice and lemon juice, but someone was standing in your way.
“I’ve missed you,” he said softly, as he brushed his fingers over your arms.
You squeezed the glass in your hands. “I’ve missed you too,” you breathed, as you looked into his eyes, forgetting yourself in them, in the moment.
He took the glass from your hands, set it down on top of your liquor cabinet, before enveloping you in a hug. At first, he rested his forehead on yours, and you both shut your eyes for a few moments.
“I’ve missed you a lot,” he said, as one hand moved down to your ass, where a good squeeze had you pressing into him, and whatever that was in his pants, while the other moved to the front, where he squeezed one of your breasts through your clothing.
You giggled a bit. Kissed him on the lips, then along the jaw. “Why don’t you show me just how much?” you whispered into his ear.
To your brief disappointment and then surprise, he pulled away from you, before he scooped you up in his arms and carried you, bridal-style, into your bedroom. The drink you had been making left forgotten. The photo album on the coffee table left unnoticed, for the time being.
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The Cat, Chapter 13
Warnings: Discussion of medication & treatment; course language; cat
A/N: So here’s that sweet Arthur & Paulie interaction you’ve all been waiting for I’m sure.... Also, another chapter should be posted right after this one, because I have no sense of length....
You felt like shit.
You had a litany of reasons, starting with the obvious: The migraine had largely mellowed out, but it felt as if some imprint of it was still tracked across your gray matter. You made a mental note to take some aspirin after brewing up some coffee.
Your back was starting to ache, so there was also that. Maybe these snoozefests on the couch were becoming a bad idea as you were starting your thirties in earnest....
The damn time change recently meant that sunlight was shinning through one of your windows and directly into your eyes, even though it was only 6 AM. You groaned out loud. Why couldn’t it be nice and dark most of the day?
You had also, relatively speaking, slept in longer than you should have. Which meant you would only have so much time to make yourself look presentable before catching your train. But then, after yesterday, the amount of fucks you had to give toward making a good presentation at work were damn near close to zero.
The biggest thing, though, that weighed on you so hard it felt like you were going to suffocate, was how empty your apartment felt, and exactly who was to blame for that.
You quickly showered and got dressed. Swiped some light make-up across your face so you didn’t look quite so dead. Swallowed more than the recommended dosage of Tylenol along with a lukewarm cup of coffee.
You still had about about an hour before the train, but you had a stop to make first.
You knocked at his door, praying he was there, that it wouldn’t wake his mother, that he’d listen to you.
After what felt like an eternity, his front door creaked open, then opened wider when he saw it was you. When he didn’t say anything at first, you started in: “Look, I am a Class A Bitch, especially when I...when I feel like shit and things are shit. I push people away when I feel like shit, when I feel weak....” You looked away briefly, laughed bitterly. “And after my boss made me feel like a total moron yesterday I guess I felt all of two inches tall, on top of physically feeling ill. I just wasn’t up for being a couple.... I, I don’t know how to let--”
He grasped your hand and pulled you inside. Shut his door before enveloping you in a hug. You hugged him back.
“Just keep talking to me,” he spoke into your hair. It took you a few seconds to realize he was speaking generally.
You nodded. “Okay,” you whispered. You drew back. “Boy do you have the right woman for that.”
He grinned at you, then the grin faded a bit. “You have to work, huh?”
You sighed. “Yeah. I’m going to try and make it home at a reasonable hour tonight. Don’t think I have enough whiskey to survive another almost-all-nighter like last night.”
That Laugh spilled out of his mouth briefly before he could stop it. Luckily it didn’t catch him in a strangle hold this time. He coughed, then took a deep breath. “I hope you don’t have to leave work late, either.”
“Eh, fingers crossed.”
He was looking at you again, with that tender look that made your insides turn to jelly.
“Jennifer, um, would you....”
“...would I what?”
“Would you--would you come watch me this Thursday when I perform at Pogo’s?”
You smiled widely. “Oh my God--you’re gonna do it! Their open mic night, right?”
“Ye-yeah! I figured it’s time I finally give it a shot.”
“Fuck yeah, of course I’ll be there! I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
God, he looked so proud and happy in that moment.
You looked toward his door. “Hey, um, I’ll try to call from the office later today. Maybe let you know how things are going and when you can expect me home?”
“That would be nice,” he smiled. “Is there something I could do while you’re gone?”
“Yeah, actually, I was gonna ask, if you’re free around 4:30 or 5, if you could go over and feed Paulie? Don’t think he was too happy about having to settle for his dry food last night.”
“Of course.” He paused, before pulling you back into a hug. Kissed your temple. You hugged him back again, and in running your hand up and down his back it struck you just how thin he was. Had he lost weight even just in the last 24 hours or so?
You wanted to stay, but with a peak at your wrist watch you knew you had to leave as soon as possible. Somehow you both moved into a kiss and you sighed internally; you were going to be late at this rate.
“Okay, okay, I really gotta go,” you said as you tried to extricate yourself from Arthur’s embrace and his apartment.
“Sorry, I just....”
“I know,” you smiled. “See you tonight.”
....
Arthur wasn’t sure whether to get off the bus at his usual spot. It seemed pointless, when he didn’t have to stop at the pharmacy on the way home.
No more drugs. It was strange to think about.
It was bad news. Maybe. Of course, he was on all the drugs for a reason, but the longer he had been on them the more it felt like they weren’t even there.
Not entirely, some of the side effects were there, though not as bad as he feared they’d be when he had first been prescribed many of them.
Still, he wondered faintly whether it wouldn’t possibly be some sort of blessing to be rid of them. They were like half a dozen metal balls chained to his feet, constantly following him around, dragging him down, never to be forgotten. Take this one with water, these with a meal, but this one on an empty stomach. So on.
He was afraid what he might become without them, but he also didn’t want to think of what he had become because of them.
Arthur gave exactly one moment to the thought that he’d never see his social worker Debra Kane again.
Fuck her, he thought. And he went on with his day.
....
Arthur didn’t want to bother to pretend that he was out working that Tuesday. He bought some more papers and brought them home after his late morning session with Kane.
“Happy, is that you? What are you doing home?”
Arthur bristled at the question. “Just--just an early day today Mom.”
By 4 PM, he was feeling discouraged, restless. It was a little early, but he figured paying Paulie a visit might be a good distraction.
Arthur unlocked your door and was a little surprised to find Paulie sitting directly before him. Almost as if he was expecting him.
“Mroww?”
“Uh, hi, I’m here to feed you.”
Paulie perked up; almost as if he could understand Arthur. Arthur found it amusing.
He’d watched you feed Paulie before, so he knew where to go to retrieve the cat’s his wet food and your can opener. Trying to navigate his way around your kitchen while Paulie was rubbing against his legs was another matter.
As soon as the cat’s food was plopped into his dish, though, Arthur might as well have not even been standing there, as far as Paulie was concerned. Not that he wasn’t used to feeling that way. “Okay then....”
After cleaning up, Arthur scanned your apartment. He looked for something he could help with or make better since he was there with nothing to do while you were at work. But there wasn’t really anything; your apartment was neat, well-kept.
He ambled over to your record collection. Flipped through some of your albums. He looked down at the bottom shelf of the bookcase next to them. He observed some random books--a dictionary, a couple of cookbooks, some mystery novels.
A photo album.
He debated with himself. He probably shouldn’t look at it. It was so many memories and moments and feelings of yours, but that was also precisely why he wanted to look at it. Not as personal as a diary or journal, arguably, but still.
He slipped the album from its place on your bookshelf and brought it over with him to your couch. He opened it to the first page. There was a wedding photo that took up that first page. It appeared old.... Arthur struggled to gauge its era. 1920s? Maybe even earlier. It was one of those black and white photos that had been colorized--maybe even by you. It struck him as eerie, but the woman could have been a dead ringer for you.
He laughed to himself. Maybe you were really a vampire or something.
He turned the plastic-covered pages to find family group shots, candid snapshots, shots of birthday cake and barbecues, more wedding photos, baby pictures. He was pretty sure one of the babies was you, but couldn’t be sure. He did recognize you in a young, awkward girl who didn’t really smile and who grew up as the pages progressed. He smiled at seeing these other, earlier versions of you.
He also saw whom he was sure were your parents. The woman had your same coloring and build. Something about the man’s features were similar to yours. They were standing or sitting close to you in many of the photos. You seemed to be most unhappy in the photos with them.
He focused on your father. He supposed that’s the person he should ask the question of first, to get his approval, do it the proper way. He moved his fingers over one photo of the three of you and debated again. He decided; as long as he was careful, it should be okay. He slowly peeled the plastic covering back and carefully lifted the photo from the sticky cardboard. He turned it over. He recognized your handwriting:
Mom - Dad
Me
He replaced the photo, disappointed. Well, he supposed that’s what you would call them. Not sure why he expected something else. Maybe because he didn’t know his father, and he often didn’t think of Penny as his mother. She was his charge, his burden, he hated to say. He even found himself sometimes calling her Penny, much to her chagrin. But he needed to know this man’s name, how to find him. But how?
He quickly flipped through all the pages with his thumb. But he didn’t see any writing, except for the last page, which featured what looked like a recent photo of you and your grandmother, your older doppelgänger. In pencil on the sticky page at the bottom, you had wrote:
Love you
My hero
He stared at that for a few seconds. Thought back to the time you had called him that. He felt a variety of emotions that made him turn back to the first pages of the album.
Everyone was dressed simply. Many wore hard looks. Stood against old houses, aging businesses, and beat up cars, all set against a backdrop of trees, rolling plains, and green hills. They were what he once heard referred to as “salt of the earth” people. Endearing. So different from what he had--or didn’t have--while growing up. Arthur felt a touch of envy towards you in that moment.
Shit. He suddenly realized all this historical stalking of his was probably making him miss your phone call. He had been listening carefully all afternoon but it hadn’t come yet. He left the photo album on your coffee table without thinking and quickly left your apartment, barely remembering to lock the door on the way out.
As it so happened, about ten minutes after he’d returned to his own place, the phone rang.
He picked it up after the first ring.
“Oh, hey,” you said over the line. “How ya doin’?”
“I’m fine...okay. Great! How are you?”
You laughed softly. “It’s...life. Is what it is. Listen, I should be leaving within an hour, so granted I make the 5:42 train, I should be home around 6.”
“5:42...” he echoed. “I can meet you at the train and walk you home.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s dark out.... I’d worry about you walking home alone.” Reading so many papers lately had filled Arthur’s head with so many unnerving stories, particularly involving young women.
“I can take care of myself--” You stopped yourself. This couple thing was not coming naturally, as much you wanted it to. “Please meet me at the Barker Street Station around 6? If you can.”
“I’ll be there.”
Taglist Squad: @ghoulsguilty @imjustchillinbud @help-i-am-obssessed @bananabreaddough @misstgrey92 @800458 @fandomfansworld @marss-anonymous @vcat55 @art-flirt @honking4joker @famousalmondloverangel @lsksl @anonymous034 @just-antiyou @mardema @ughthatimagineblog @bookwormmarvel @creepystalkerinavan
#joker#joker 2019#joker film#joker fanfiction#joker fanfic#joker fan fiction#joker fan fic#Arthur Fleck#arthur fleck x reader#arthur fleck x oc#arthur fleck x you#fluffy#because cat#slow burn too I guess#friends to lovers#I just kind of want to see him with a salty woman who isn’t Harley Quinn#also yes the cat's name is a reference to that Family Guy Adam West thing
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