Page 204 of Joker

I don’t blame him. But that’s not what this is.

“I just don’t want to be the woman in the room waiting to hear what happened,” I tell him.

The words are softer now. Not sharp. Not defiant. Just honest.

His expression changes. Not much.

Enough.

“You’re not,” he says.

I blink.

He takes one step closer, then another, until he’s standing between my knees and I have to tilt my head back to look at him properly. “You’re the reason.”

That one hits me square in the center of the chest.

Not because it’s romantic. Because it’s respect. Because it’s agency. Because it’s him looking at me and seeing a survivor, not just a wound.

My eyes sting instantly.

Joker notices that too. He reaches down and cups my jaw, thumb brushing once under my eye before the tears can fully gather. “Don’t cry on me now, angel.”

I let out one shaky, half-laughing breath. “Bossy.”

His mouth twitches. “Violently so.”

That should not make my chest feel warmer than it does. It does anyway. Because this is us. Because even here, even now, with war waiting outside this room and the worst man I’ve ever known somewhere out there breathing on borrowed time, he can still make space for this.

For me.

For something that feels human.

“I’m serious,” he says after a second, voice dropping again. “You’re helping. But only from here. Only where I can keep you safe.”

I nod. “I know.”

He studies me like he’s checking for resistance.

I let him. Then I say the thing that’s been clawing at me since he walked in. “Are you going to come back to me?”

That one lands differently. He goes still. Really still. Not Joker still. Not dangerous still.

Something deeper. More personal.

His hand shifts from my jaw to the back of my neck, fingers spreading there like he needs to hold on to something solid for a second. Then he leans down until his forehead rests against mine. The contact is rough. Warm. Anchoring.

It breaks something open in me immediately.

“I’m coming back,” he says quietly.

Not a vow shouted into the dark. Not some dramatic declaration. Just certainty. Just him.

“You better,” I whisper.

His breath ghosts across my mouth. “There isn’t anything left of me that doesn’t belong with you two.”

And there it is.