Author: Co-written by Jay Narra & Liana Kerzner
Rating: R
Pairing: Batman/Joker
Fandom: Think "The Killing Joke," & "Arkham Asylum." Mildly BTAS. Some point after the comic "Death In The Family."
Feedback: Definitely! Appreciated! raytheoncentaur3@yahoo.com
Archive: Yes, certainly! Just let me know it's there!
Disclaimer: Batman & Joker are (c) DC! Not mine!
Summary: A talk in the Batcave. Tension rises and is momentarily calmed...
The Game We Play, Chapter 11 - The Cave-In
Co-written by Jay Narra & Liana Kerzner
"Joker." The darkly spoken word came through the phone before it had a chance to ring.
On the other end of the line, the Joker turned to glance around the street, pulling the door to the booth closed behind him. He was quiet, waiting for Batman to say something. Breathing heavily
against the receiver, he pressed it to his ear as he slumped against the metal.
"Where are you?" Batman demanded.
"Pleasant as ever," Joker commented, a sickening rise of nausea overpowering the uncaring attitude he'd tried so hard to put up. "I don't... know." He glanced around the street, trying to find
something he could use as to help Batman get to where he was. After another few long moments, it dawned on him that there was a sign above the booth. "Fifth and Marshall Street."
"Stay there."
The line went dead.
A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Joker's mouth. He hung the phone up and then slid down the side of the booth, pulling his legs up to his chin. *He's coming...*
*****
After five painfully slow minutes, an insistent squealing of tires from a few blocks away trickled down the street. A few seconds later, a set of headlights snaked around the corner and flew toward the Joker.
"Ooooh..." Joker crawled halfway out of the booth and then laid on the ground, unable to push his body any further. He needed food and sleep... neither of which had come his way in a steady manner these last few days.
The headlights came to a stop so close to the Joker that he could feel the heat of the car's idling engine on his face.
The door opened.
A black boot hit the ground. A cape snaked out.
Batman emerged from the car.
"Nice night for a drive, eh, Bats?" The Joker's voice wavered, barely lifting above a whisper. "What... what is a cute Bat doing... in a bad part of town... like this...?"
Batman looked down at him, pitying him, and yet admiring the brave face he was putting on. The darkness of the cape engulfed Joker and the next thing he knew, strong arms were lifting him gently off the ground.
Joker nestled his head against Batman's chest, closing his eyes. The feel of the satiny - and remarkably heavy - cape laying over his body was soothing in a way that only he could know. As many times as Robin had probably sat in the Batmobile, the boy had probably never been allowed to feel such comfort in such an intimate way.
Batman tried to control his breathing as he carried Joker to the passenger side of the car, but it was still a little ragged. He couldn't stand seeing the Joker like this and feeling like it was his fault.
*I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.* He thought, but when he tried to say the words, they wouldn't come. Batman settled the Joker into the passenger seat in silence.
"Tired," Joker mumbled, slipping down into the seat. He raised his pale green eyes to meet with Batman's, once more remembering the flash of blue he'd seen that night.
The Bat nodded and gently closed the car door. He darted around the back of the car to the driver's side, got in, and closed that door as well. He put the car in reverse, squealed it around 180 degrees, and sped off toward the Batcave.
"Where are we going?" Joker asked timdly. "Please... don't hurt me again... and I don't... want to go back... to Ark..." He trailed off, laying heavily into the seat as his breathing steadied itself.
"We're not going there." Batman said, his voice betraying more emotion than it usually did. "You'll like where we're going."
Joker nodded and stayed quiet, trying to envision someplace he'd WANT to go. He wasn't coming up with a whole lot. Must be quite the place...
"Try to sleep." Batman said, his voice surprisingly soothing. "I'll wake you when we get there."
"Soun's good..." Joker turned on his side, watching Batman's arm - which was all he could see from this position - as he drifted off to sleep.
*****
"Joker? Joker, wake up. We're here."
Batman's voice slid into the Joker's subconscious as he gently shook him, trying to wake him up. The batcave was in darkness except for the spotlight on the car.
Joker grumbled in his sleep and fought to wake up, fluttering his eyes for a while before opening them. "Where's here..?" he asked groggily. "What's going on?" He couldn't remember how they'd ended up in the car together... "I thought..."
"Shhh." Batman hushed. He lifted the Joker out of the car and carried him to the medical table in the cave. He removed Joker's sweat soaked shirt and started inspecting the incisions.
"These are infected." He observed.
"So?" Joker quickly answered. Natural urge. He had to do it. "It's cold," he then commented. Frowning, he clenched his fists.
Batman grabbed some cotton swabs and disinfectant and wordlessly started cleaning the Joker's wounds.
"Ow!" was hissed immediately. "Do you have to be so rough?" Joker pushed Batman's hands away and shivered all over. "My head hurts," he groaned.
Surprisingly, Batman's attentions became gentler. "It's going to sting."
"So don't do it," Joker snapped. "Why're you even bothering? You're just going to throw me back in Arkham anyway... it doesn't matter if I'm infected."
"Not this time." Batman replied with a hint of sadness. "Not until you're well, anyway."
Joker paused mid-speech, lifted his eyebrows and tried to focus his eyes on Batman's face. "What do you mean, 'until you're well'? What's wrong with me? I had my surgery and so I'll be up and running in no time." The expression on his face said very clearly that he was thinking things of a negative nature.
Batman took a breath, preparing to tell him. He paused, then decided against it. If the Joker didn't know, perhaps it was better if he didn't for now.
"You wanted my attention, now you've got it." He said instead. He found a few broken stitches. Those would have to be fixed.
"That's not what you were going to say," Joker observed. "I may be feeling... well... down... but that doesn't mean I'm not perceptive." He narrowed his eyes and tried to sit up. "What did you mean?"
"You're not going to get the medical attention you need at Arkham." Batman explained. "So you're going to stay here for a while."
It was just then that Joker noticed the incredibly dark room they were in. "Where ARE we?" he asked, peering around, trying to catch a glimpse of anything besides the Batmobile. He laid down after a few seconds, feeling too weak to stay up on his elbows.
A fluttering of bat wings drifted down from overhead. Batman switched on a bank of lights to reveal the cave.
Joker blinked a few times and stared in awe at the cave. "So..." he giggled... "Do you uhh.. sleep here, too? I mean.. upside down?"
Batman smirked. "Sometimes."
"Hee! You'll have to show me how." Joker smiled and scratched at his scalp.
Batman pulled the Joker's hand away from his head. "Don't do that."
Joker lifted an eyebrow and let his arm go limp in Batman's hand. No sense fighting. "Weirdo. Why can't I scratch myself?"
"Your skin in very delicate right now. You'll end up bleeding." Batman explained, picking up a syringe. "I need a blood sample, then I'll fix your stitches."
"Oh... okay," Joker muttered. He wasn't really too sure what Batman was talking about, and as a result, his curiosity rose. "Why do you need a blood sample? It's not like I'm dying or something. I just had a surgery, is all."
Batman paused momentarily, then forced himself to continue. "Widespread infection. Can't be too careful."
"Why is it I don't believe you?" Joker pressed. "But... ok, if you want to play with my blood... be my guest."
Batman fought down a rising anger and poked the needle into the Joker's arm. He took the blood sample and withdrew the needle. "I also think you and I need to talk." He said.
Joker winced and bit his lip, glaring up at Batman. "That hurt," he whined. "What do you want to talk about? Are we going to have a sleepover? I want to do your hair if we are."
"Your message." Batman said darkly from over his shoulder.
"Oh." Joker ground his teeth in irratation. "That."
"You always go about things the wrong way."
Joker shot up on the table and snarled. He ignored the renewed throbbing in his head, blinked away his blurry eyesight and spat, "And so I suppose YOU do everything the RIGHT WAY, DON'T YOU?! You who felt it necessary to attack me while I was healing! You who left me for DAYS in that hell-hole you call a hospital!"
"I left you in good hands until you killed that doctor!" Batman snarled in response.
"You shouldn't have left," Joker hissed. "If you hadn't been so caught up in yourself, you would've deciphered the real meaning in what I'd said that night."
Batman shook his head and turned away from the Joker again. "What hidden meaning? I can't trust you. You've proven that again and again."
Joker wanted to kick and scream. He wanted to throw a fit and break everything he could find. Batman was so infuriating! "There WAS no hidden meaning, you oaf! That's what I'm trying to get across to you! You jumped to conclusions!" He turned away from Batman, his expression dark... angry.
Batman whipped around in a wave of whirling cape and moved around the table to stand in front of Joker. "You actually expect me to believe that you were going to just stop? Why? For my attention? That's ridiculous."
"Why is it so ridiculous to want attention?!" Joker growled, his eyes holding nothing but contempt. "I explained these things to you before! I don't feel I should have to do it again." He turned away again, refusing to look up high enough to catch Batman's stare - as surely as he was giving it.
Batman sighed. "Is the offer still on the table?"
Joker shrugged angrily and crossed his arms over his bare chest, shivering a little in the cold of Batman's cave. "I don't know. I'm going to have to think about it. I'm not so sure it's worth it."
Batman was starting to settle into his statue-like frozen glare. "What would make it worth it?"
Joker let out a soft 'hmph' and refused to answer.
Batman gave up. He strode away to his lab equiptment and started preparing the Joker's blood sample for analysis.
Sharply attentive eyes followed Batman's progress. Joker forced himself to his feet, wobbled a little and followed, leaning on the table next to Batman. "You," he muttered.
Batman glanced over at him briefly, then went back to work. Just when anyone would assume he had forgotten about them, he said, "I'm listening."
"Are you, now?" Joker growled. He sighed and leaned more of his weight onto the table, having difficulty remaining upright. "I told you already about how... how I feel. Inside." He put a thin hand over his face and rolled his eyes. "About the 'game', as I put it before. I just.. how... with Harley..." Joker made a face and shook his head back and forth a few times.
"The problem with 'the game' is that you keep changing the rules." Batman said. "You've said a lot of things. I'm still trying to determine what to believe. But. . ." He took a breath. The caped shoulders rose and fell. He lifted a slide up to the light and placed a drop of the Joker's blood on it. "Nothing would make me happier than if you stopped. . . what you do."
"And nothing would make me happier if I didn't have to strive to feel that way," Joker responded softly. "I need the game to stay alive, Batman. It keeps me warm." He slid down to the floor, pressing his back against the counter.
Batman stiffened at the Joker's mention of warmth as he thought back to the night at Arkham. He whipped around to find the Joker was no longer on the table. He looked around frantically until he found him on the ground. Angrily, he spat, "That's because you're a psychopath!"
Joker inhaled sharply, unnerved by the wrenching feeling in his chest. "What does that make you?" he demanded.
Batman glared at him. "What does that mean?"
"You haven't answered my question," Joker hissed. "But it doesn't matter because you could care less about what I have to say. Everything that comes out of my mouth can be written off as lies or
psyocopathic dribbles."
"And you're trying to tell me it's not?"
Joker shot Batman a nasty glare, moving to get up from the floor. "You're a pest," he snapped. "Sometimes I wish would've overestimated you." He trudged a few feet away, haunched over - half because he was weak, and half because he was feeling mentally lousy. "Tell me, Batsy... Did you believe a single word I said that night? And tell me this... was I lying when I told you I'd stop
wreaking havoc? No. I was being honest. But you don't care. Batman is always right... and there's no arguing it with you, is there?"
Batman stayed quiet for a long time, mulling over the Joker's words. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost animal. "Which night?"
Joker wheeled around to face him, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Dammit, Batman! Don't be so stupid! You know perfectly well what night I'm talking about! I didn't say anything important at the hospital, so it MUST BE the other one!" He clenched his fists and bit back against a wave of nausea.
"Saying you'd give up crime isn't important?" Batman asked calmly.
"No," Joker answered, his voice collected and as bland as he could make it. "Not if I don't have any reason to."
Batman rolled his eyes behind his cowl. "You must have thought you had a reason."
"I thought I did... yes," Joker answered, keeping his voice just barely level. If he were going to communicate with the Bat, maybe he had to speak his language. Stay calm... detached.
"So it was important."
"I... suppose." Joker shivered a little, giving the immediate area a quick look-over.
"But you were talking about the night at Arkham."
"And?" Joker grumbled. He narrowed his eyes and frowned.
Batman crossed his arms. "So let's talk. No more games."
Joker lifted an eyebrow, trying to read Batman's facial expression... but of course, there was next to nothing to read. He walked toward the table and made quite the effort in climbing onto it. "So talk."
"Let's start over." The Dark Knight said. "For the purposes of this conversation, I'll take everything you say at face value."
There was a hint of some kind of excitement on the Joker's face when Batman spoke. "Good way to start." He scratched below the stitches on his stomach and shrugged a little. He was unsure of how to begin the conversation... and hoping Batman would do it.
Batman took his time choosing his words. He wasn't comfortable with this conversation, but he was tired of running in circles. "Let's start with the hospital." He prompted.
"Ok," Joker answered simply. He wasn't going to make this at all easy for the Bat... this was going to be a two-sided conversation if it KILLED him. "About the hospital..."
"You were going to give it all up."
Joker let out a long sigh and rubbed at his eyes. Batman wasn't going to let that one drop. "The operative word in that sentence is 'were'." He folded his arms and kept his eyes low, watching the ground instead of the other man. "...And I suppose I still could. I want to. But I... need..." The last word was emphasized with a brief gesture and a change in tone of voice.
The Bat took an angry step toward him. "Damn it, Joker! I said no games!" He slammed his fist down on the metal table. When he moved his hand, a fist sized dent remained.
"You and your brute force," Joker spat, his voice utterly sopping with disgust. "You get angry and you act. I'm not playing games, but I'm having a difficult time telling you what I'm feeling. When was the last time you had a heart to heart with somebody? Why don't you try telling ME something that makes you uncomfortable?"
"If you get a single complete thought out without jerking me around I will!" Batman snapped.
If Batman paid close enough attention, he'd notice the Joker was trembling slightly, keeping up the illusion of pride even as he felt himself react out of fear. "Fine." He closed his eyes and then
cleared his throat, forcing out, "I need you... in my life. I may as well repeat myself and say that you fill a void. You may be the last being a normal person would go to for comfort - being as how you tend to block off all emotion - but that's what I find when I'm with you. And it doesn't matter so much that you're slamming me into walls or throwing me over buildings. You're still who you are in those moments. The pain fades away..."
Pupiless slits stared unblinking at Joker through the dark cowl. The room descended into silence, save the sounds of the bats, a faint hum of machines, and a faraway sound of dripping water.
Bruce was holding his breath.
He knew the Joker was telling the truth, not because they'd made a deal -- those had been broken in the past -- but because his words cut through the body armor, skin and bone to the very thing he'd be terrified all these years that someone would penetrate.
The Joker's words had touched his heart.
'You're still who you are in those moments.'
Was it possible that the Joker, despite his madness or perhaps because of it, could see what no one else could? No one knew who he was. Even those who knew Batman and Bruce Wayne shared the same body didn't know who he was, really. He'd made sure of that. He only let people see pieces, not letting anyone understand the whole and possibly force him to deal with things he could not reconcile. He had even managed to hide from himself, bury his deepest feelings and desires and leave them in an unmarked grave. But the Joker, the JOKER of all people, had managed to dig them up the other night in that cell at Arkham. He'd seen them, felt his vulnerabilty.
So let him answer the question.
"Who am I?" Batman asked.
"Everyone." Joker met Batman's eyes, trying his best to form coherent sentences. "You're everyone and everything to me. You're everything I lost when I was changed. You're what heats my skin and soothes my thoughts when I can't think straight." He scooted forward on the table. "You're Batman... and you're whoever it is you're hiding under that mask. And you're also a frightened torrent of emotions, waiting for someone to sort them out and put them back into place."
The air was so cold. The temperature had dropped significantly, and it was a subconscious decision when the Joker rose from the table and took a few steps toward Batman.
"But most importantly... and moreso than any of the rest of what I just said... you're mine." Joker dared to close the distance between them, pressing his forehead into Batman's chest. "And I still...
love you."
Batman's hand slowly came up and gently touched the back of the Joker's head, pressing him against his chest ever so slightly. He looked down at his hand, feeling like it belonged to someone else: he hadn't intended to do what he'd just done. Despite that, he knew it was the right thing to do. If there was anything he knew, it was pain, longing, the desire to love and be loved in return. These were precisely the things he hid behind both of the masks he wore, and yet, it was there if anyone looked hard enough to see.
He didn't trust himself to speak. He hoped his slow, controlled, reassuring breathing, and the slight shifting of his fingers through the Joker's hair would be enough communication, at least until he could manage more.
"Why do you have to be so quiet?" Joker asked softly. "I can... turn around if you..." He gestured a little bit with one finger, laying both hands on Batman's chest afterward. "..y'know.. if you want to take off your cowl..?" He shifted slightly, turning his face to the side so that his left cheek met with the suit. Batman's fingers in his hair sent shivers down his neck, bringing a sense of ease over the situation.
"It doesn't have anything to do with the mask this time." Batman responded, holding the Joker as if the clown were a frightened child. "I just don't know what to say."
Joker cleared his throat. "I don't seem to be afflicted with the same problem," he joked lightly. "I... really wish you could tell me what you're thinking." He closed his eyes and sighed a little bit,
soothed by the suddenly very real scent and feel of Batman.
"I'm. . . I'm sorry this didn't happen sooner." Batman stammered, feeling a dull ache in his chest over the thought that the Joker very well might be dying. What would life be like if. . .
He pushed the thought away. No. He was going to live. That's why Batman had to still be careful, because in a short time, the Joker would be out tormenting him again. That's the way it had to be.
"I am too," Joker mumbled. "But... now things can be different." He wasn't sure how, but he knew they had to be. This... this was so very simplistic, just being there with him... in his arms. If
honesty was all it took, he didn't know whether or not the old routine would be easy to revert to. Why bother with risking the chance...? In the back of his mind, he dreaded getting better. It meant he'd be sent off to Arkham, again. There was probably nothing he could do - short of going sane - that would keep him from ending up there, again.
If that happened... he would make it his goal to break out. And then what...?
Batman felt the anger rising in him again; that self-defense mechanism against hope. The flash of rage broke the gentleness of the moment. He cleared his throat and let go of the Joker.
"You should rest." He said, without emotion. "And I have to fix those stitches."
Joker stepped away slowly, folding his arms over his chest. "Fine." His voice sounded bland, defeated... a shell of his normal edgy tone. With more effort than he cared to admit to, Joker climbed back onto the table and rolled onto his side, turned away from Batman. He shivered a little and frowned, feeling a chill pass through his skin. There was a part of him deep inside that knew he wasn't just suffering from being shirtless...
Batman saw him shiver and gently covered him with a blanket, except for the area where the stitches had torn. He got the necessary surgical tools and started applying novocaine to the area.
Silently, Joker allowed Batman access to his wounds. Why make it difficult at this point? He then grumbled something incoherent and watched the cowled face for anything readable.
Batman gently cut away some of the badly infected tissue and repaired the Joker's torn stitches. The finished product was hospital quality. "Do you feel like sleeping?" He asked him.
Joker shrugged and poked at the repaired stitches, wincing when he touched them. "I... suppose. But this isn't exactly comfortable. It's a little cold." He ignored it when his stomach growled, and
went about trying to sit up.
Batman put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from moving. He scooped him up and carried him over to the bed in the Batcave and sat him on the edge as he pulled back the covers. "I'll get you
settled in, then I'll go get your food." He said.
"You're going to trust me to leave me down here on my own?" Joker asked, laying back without having to be told to. He sighed and settled into the mattress, pushing his feet down under the sheets.
"You're not going anywhere." Batman observed.
"Somehow that isn't nearly as reassuring as if you'd simply said 'yes.'" Joker shrugged and pulled the sheets up to his chin. "But... I don't really need to eat right now, Batman." The look of his starved body said differently, but he reached out to touch his hand insistently. "Just stay here."
Batman backed away from the bed. "I'll be back. I promise." He said
"No!" Joker immediately protested. "Please...? Just... stay with me. I'd feel better if you would." He snaked a bare - and blindingly white - arm out from the sheets, patting the bed on the other side.
"You need to eat, or an IV drip." Batman said darkly. "Take your pick."
Joker frowned and then sighed, defeated and knowing better than to argue. "Food," he mumbled.
The Bat nodded and disappeared into the river of darkness that snaked it's way through the batcave.
*
end