Duty, Honor, Obligation Verse: Decade One, Year Three (Jason’s Perspective)
There’s a bone jarring thump of steel on bone, and then a gunshot rings out, bright red blooming on the Joker’s chest, just below his right shoulder. Jason twists to see Sheila Haywood crumbled on the warehouse floor, unconscious and bleeding from her temple.
“What a shame,” Mrs. J says coolly, stepping up besides Jason. “I missed.” And Jason had really never gotten why Dick and B acted like she was so frightening before. He does now, because the cool nothing-look in her eyes as she stands next to Jason, pistol in hand, is the most frightening thing he’s ever seen. More than fear gas, more than two-face, more than the Joker. He shivers, and ducks behind her, remembering what Dick had said right before he introduced them:
‘She doesn’t really have limits, little wing. Don’t piss her off, okay?’
She’s terrifying, but Jason’s not scared at all. Everything’s going to be okay, because Mrs. J doesn’t have limits, and she’s not going to let anything happen to them.
Mrs. J hefts the Joker’s crowbar, a thoughtful look crossing her face.
“I’ve never killed a man before,” she says, a mild unconcern in her voice clearly implying it wasn’t for moral objection the statement was true. “What do you think, Robin?”
Jason grins, a hysterical amusement bubbling in his chest. “Think B would object, Mrs. J.” She nods, looking ever so faintly disappointed.
“True enough.” She walks over to the Joker, prods him with her toe. “What to do with you then?”
The Joker howls a laugh. “Old Batsy employing girls to do his job? Tsk, tsk, he’s going soft.”
Mrs. J smiles. “I work for myself.”
“Oh! Another do-gooder hero-type! You don’t have the figure for it, sweets,” the Joker mocks. Jason winces, because even he knows better than to goad Mrs. J like that. She laughs, a howling, inhuman sound that sends a chill up Jason’s spine.
“Blind fool,” She says, still laughing. “I’m no hero. I’m just. like. you.”
She prods him with her toe, crouching to look the Joker in the eye. Jason can’t see what’s in her eyes, and he never, ever wants to.
“Want to know the difference between us, brother? I’ve won,” Mrs. J says in a terrible parody of tenderness. She lays her hand on the Joker’s cheek. “You’ll never have more than this, the moment when you almost meant something to somebody. You’ll always be this empty, this meaningless. The living dead, waiting for the grave to claim him, already condemned to the dustbin of history.”
She rises to her feet, wiping her hands like she’s touched sometime unpleasant. “Come along, Robin. Batman’s looking for you.”
“…yeah, okay,” Jason said shakily, giving in to the insanity. He lets Mrs. J wrap her arm over his shoulder and guide him out of the warehouse.