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!
Archive: Yes, certainly! Just let me know it's there!
Disclaimer: Batman & Joker are (c) DC! Not mine!
Summary: The story of Bruce and Jack begins...
The Game We Play, Chapter 17 - Changing The Rules
Co-written by Jay Narra & Liana Kerzner
Batman froze. His reactions were a mess of contradictions that kept cancelling each other out like matter and anti-matter. The ingrained instincts of many years fought the newly-emerged wishes of the recent past. As the Joker got closer, all he could do was breathe in harsh spurts. Those red lips, the ones that had touched his that night in Arkham, the ones he associated with hate and death and an endless struggle, but also with one of the few moments since the Bat was born that things had made total sense to him. In those moments in that prison for the insane, he'd felt safe from himself. He wasn't going to hurt anyone. No one was going to die.
He swallowed hard. The Joker WAS going to die. Breath was going to stop moving between those ruby lips, and his pale skin...
He couldn't bring himself to think about it. The Joker couldn't die. Not now! Not when everything was finally starting to make sense. But the logical part of him knew that he was going to. Everyone died. Especially anyone. . .
Anyone that he loved. It was the very reason he'd tried his best to stay distanced from Dick. If he refused that one thing, Dick would be spared the fate of everyone that he dared care about.
But it was already too late for the Joker, so what was the point in fighting? To spare himself pain? He'd learned by then that never worked. Denying your feelings for someone only made it hurt worse when they were gone, and yet he still kept clinging to those old patterns.
His parents had died. He'd denied himself a son who had always been desperate for his approval. He'd lost numerous lovers, because he pushed them away; Vesper had even died because he'd forced her out of his life.
Then there was Sasha. Another brave woman who foolishly loved him. Who stayed around through his abuse and his neglect and his blindness to her feelings. She'd given him everything, and he'd let her rot. He'd let her die. He'd lost her.
And Talia. Poor, torn, lovesick Talia. She could have been so much, but in the end, she was nothing more than a pawn of the men in her life: her father, Luthor, and any of the 'suitors' her father had determined worthy.
Including him. Most of all him. He'd ground her up with his unbending ethics and his cold need for boundaries until she'd started avoiding him. And it had hurt. And then she disappeared. Perhaps Luthor killed her for trying to ruin his company. Perhaps her father had gotten to her. Perhaps she'd just decided that she needed to get away from all the pain.
He realized he'd been running. Running his whole life, not trying to fight crime and injustice, but trying to fight himself. Creating Batman was a way of absolving himself of any emotional onnection to the people in his life. Deep down inside, he'd always known that had been wrong. That's why he'd always seen the Bat as a monster.
He almost collapsed as the weight of his repeated error crashed down on him. He was no hero. He was a coward. Clark, Diana, Kyle, Wally, Arthur, and even Eel in his own strange way had found their own ways to love and be loved in return. They were stronger than him, willing to risk. Hell, even J'onn, who didn't even appear human in his true form, dared to love a woman who was a single parent, and for years did nothing about it for her sake. He'd watched it all; recorded it. Made note of their weaknesses so he could use them if need be. But had he learned from it? No. He'd been too afraid.
Driven by a sudden undeniable curiousity, Batman pried the mask from Joker's face, tilting his head down to meet his eyes. In those pools of green he saw the same need, the same desire, as he'd seen in all those he'd cast aside, tossed away, and kept at arm's length. He saw his chance at redemption. He needed to break through his fear, break through the walls he'd built up to keep
everyone out, and do something because someone needed him to do it, not because his master plan dictated it. It wasn't being selfish: it was precisely the opposite.
The Joker's eyes said, *Love me.*
If anyone found out about this, it would destroy him. It would crumble everyone's conceptions of who and what he was. But this wasn't about maintaining that facade anymore. He had to do this.
He had to reach out. He had to be a source of comfort to someone. And why not the Joker? Why not start with someone that he'd hurt so many times?
It didn't mean it had to stop there.
He slid his hands up the Joker's body and slowly brought his arms around those fragile, pale shoulders. He pulled the now-trembling form of his former arch-nemesis toward him, and, closing his eyes, lowered his head to meet those crimson lips with his.
*Forgive me,* He thought. It was a plea to all those he'd ever wronged. A plea for redemption.
There had been a few good moments where Joker was wondering just WHAT exactly was going on. Batman had fallen silent and not even so much as moved... until all at once, he was being kissed. The silence right beforehand had been unbearable, sending all the wrong signals. He'd been sure the Bat would shove him away, turn around and stalk off. He'd expected to be hit, to be yelled at... anything but what was happening.
Not that he was complaining.
Joker felt himself falling apart at the seams, unable to keep up with his brain as it ran in circles, scratching at anything that made sense. Everything was being turned upside-down, and he couldn't have cared less. All that mattered was Batman. It's all that had ever mattered... and all that would EVER matter.
Living had always been so cheap in the Joker's journey through the years. It had been so misused - so neglected. Nobody had ever really cared about him beside Harley, and she wasn't much to brag about. She was obsessed. There was a difference between loving someone and wanting to live off of the air they breathed.
The hand holding onto Batman's thumb tightened briefly, tensing while his other slid down the broad chest he was leaning against. His fingers moved, pressing into Batman's palm and then to his gloved digits, forcing them out as he slid in between them. He held Batman's hand tenderly, scooting forward to fill in as much space between them as possible.
Joker had to be close. The defenses were down, and Batman was vulnerable. He was trying to share his emotions, and the Joker would be there to scoop them up. He'd be there to throw himself to the floor, pick up the pieces and cradle them in his arms. He would be there as long as he could make himself continue breathing.
And it was then he recognized the shudder in his breath as his heart struggled to keep up, completely overwhelmed with the situation's intensity. He felt a build-up of passion, pleading to be released as he furthered the kiss, pressing his lips back. He was careful not to try and assume control, knowing how the Bat responded to such things. The Joker would let himself be guided. He would step down and just give in... submit completely to whatever it was the Batman
wanted.
Wanting was more than the Batman had done in all these years, and the Joker understood this.
Batman tensed up momentarily and tried to pry his hand away from the Joker's, but quickly forced the panic away and squeezed the his hand, searching for the strength to continue to stay open. He had to do this. As much as his defense mechanisms were screaming at him, as unnatural as it felt, he had to. Something told him that if he couldn't break free of the prison he'd built himself now, he never would.
The Joker recognized immediately that Batman was feeling tense and sought to do anything he could to relieve it. He pressed himself in close, his right arm snaking around the large chest to hold it. He rubbed the muscles gently, his other hand squeezing down on Batman's to show him he cared.
Bruce's body ached. He felt tired. Broken. He felt like he was dying. No longer able to stand, he sank to his knees in front of the Joker.
"What's wrong?" Joker asked, both hands meeting over the one that belonged to the Dark Knight. He fell down beside Batman and leaned in, pressing his face to the larger man's neck.
Batman dropped sideways into a sitting position, staring blankly at a spot on the floor in front of him. He shrugged the Joker's head away and turned to face him, searching for anything that would stop his chest from feeling like it was going to explode. He wished the Joker had stayed on his feet. He knew that seeing Batman like this was probably tearing his friend apart, but he couldn't help it: he was overwhelmed by the supressed emotions of too many years.
"Is this. . .supposed to hurt?" He struggled to ask.
"No more than it hurts when you pull away," Joker answered. "It's because you've ignored the most important part of your entire being for so long. Just let it do what it wants. Let yourself feel." He followed Batman timidly, taking a seat beside him on the floor.
"It's not that simple." Batman said, fighting to speak. "I. . . I can't breathe."
"Why are you so afraid of me?" Joker stared at him intently. "Isn't there something I can do to help you? Name it and I'll do it." He felt his pulse slowing, evening out after the sudden kiss... but
wanted so much more. The rush had left him worn, slightly irratated and feeling empty. He craved for the contact again, pleading inwardly that it would be offered.
"It's not you. It's me I'm afraid of." Bruce explained. "I. . . There's something about me that ruins people's lives. I don't know what, but it feels so real sometimes I can't make myself believe it's not there."
"I ruined my life," Joker whispered. "You merely helped me mold it into something real. I was mad long before I hit that vat of chemicals, Batman. You don't ruin everything. You make things better. You bring order to chaos." He frowned and leaned forward, lowering himself to the floor on his side. He faced Batman and watched him from this new position. The pain medication seemed to lose its edge, dulling to make his body hurt a little. But beyond that, he was tired. He'd expended so much energy in being awake that he hadn't even recognized the exhaustion building up. "Don't push me away," he pleaded. "You promised to try and make me happy before I died. All I want is to be as close to you as I can."
"I'm not stopping you." Batman said, his voice taking on a dark rumble as his emotions continued to overwhelm him. "But the 'order' you speak of is all a lie, Joker. No matter how much order I bring to the world around me, I can't stop the chaos in myself. It's eating me alive and has been for years. It's almost gotten to the point where I can't feel."
Joker paused to mull over Batman's words, raising up into a sitting position once more. "Let me stop it for you." He moved closer, resting both hands on the thickly muscled thighs, barely contained beneath the old fabric of Batman's suit. "Let me be the one to help you feel, again."
Batman looked up as he felt himself shiver at the Joker's touch. He nodded slowly, forcing away the habitual suspicions he'd built up over time until he could barely see past them.
"How do you intend to do that?" He asked.
Joker had to collect himself, feeling his mind fall to pieces under Batman's gaze. "By making you feel," he explained in a soothing voice. He let a hand roam Batman's chest, trailing along the collar bone and then down the middle of his pectoral muscles. Joker's other hand joined the first and repeated the process. Immediately after, his right slid back to Batman's shoulder, gripping it firmly while his other lingered over Batman's heart. "Would you let me try?"
Batman nodded, then shook his head, obviously conflicted. He really didn't feel like being touched: he felt like crawling into a corner and hiding. He couldn't even form logical thought patterns anymore. Things were just. . . happening.
On top of that, there was still the residual instinct that the Joker being this close was hazardous to Batman's health. Part of him expected a gun to appear in the Joker's hand at any moment, even
though he knew logically it was impossible. . . but logically, kissing the Joker would have been impossible, and he'd done that twice now.
"How do you intend to do that?" He repeated cautiously.
The look on Batman's face alerted Joker that he was still uncomfortable, but it wasn't enough to deter him from doing what he felt was needed. "Before I give you your answer, I need you to
understand that I only want to help you. I could never hurt you again. Not even if you hurt me." He climbed up into Batman's lap and sat on him, his legs on either side of his 'seat'. "I intend on
making you feel by doing this." He demonstrated his meaning by leaning in for a kiss, taking Batman's mouth before any protest could be made.
*Here we go again.* Bruce thought, detaching his mind from what was happening to his body... without even thinking about it. Stupid Eastern technique. Stupid training. Stupid mind/body control issues. He didn't want to be in control right now. He didn't want to be numb. He wanted to enjoy one stupid kiss without everything being high drama. So what he'd never been attracted to men? So what the Joker was the last person he'd ever have considered dropping his guard with. For one god damned minute he'd like to enjoy something without there being ulterior motives or guilt involved. Just feel good with no side effects.
Like the Joker did. He just waltzed through life like nothing mattered.
He squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could and tried to focus on the sensation of the Joker's mouth touching his. But everything seemed so impersonal somehow.
It was the damned mask. That had to be it.
But he couldn't take it off, could he?
The same line of thought seemed to be going through the Joker's mind - but in reverse. He hated that the Batman was so wrapped up in being distant. He hated the cold feeling he received everytime he tried moving closer.
He tried to convince himself to hate Batman.
But his favorite playmate was suffering, and the Joker was finding it impossible to break through and pull him out. He was at a loss, eager to do anything he possibly could... and feeling restrained. He broke the kiss impatiently, unable to pretend he could enjoy something so forced. "Dammit," he hissed, trailing his lips down over Batman's throat. "Stop thinking for once. I can feel your brain working even as you sit here. What is it? Why can't you relate?" He pulled away to stare at Batman's face, trying to discover the eyes he KNEW were hidden there.
"Take it off," he said simply.
"What?" Bruce asked, trying to play dumb.
"Your mask, Batman. It's in the way."
"What's your real name?" Batman shot back.
The Joker stopped himself midspeech and backed away onto the floor. He sat up straight and then proceeded to get up on his knees. "I demand that you take off your mask. I asked first."
Batman sighed, nodded, and got to his feet, unable to believe he was actually considering doing this. He reached back and detached the headpiece from the back of the suit, then paused.
"If I do, will you tell me?" He asked.
Joker felt his heart thundering, his blood beating through every vein as though it would destroy him. This absolutely was not happening. Batman was not here, willing to share his secrets with
him.
He forced himself to remain calm... just long enough to answer, "I will tell you anything I can remember of life before you... if that's what you want. Including my name."
"If you're lying. . ." Batman began, then realized he had no threats left. He was defenseless. Helpless. He might as well concede defeat.
He placed his hands on either side of the cowl and took a deep breath, giving himself a last chance to come to his senses and back out of this.
But what was the point of that? This game was over.
His thumbs detached the cape from the shoulders of the suit. Now all he had to do was lift the mask off.
He held his breath, realizing that in a way, this was signalling the end of Batman.
"I'm not lying. I haven't lied about anything since the night in Arkham." Joker climbed to his feet and stepped forward, waiting for the moment he'd dreamed of for years on end. He wanted to see what the Batman had been hiding all along. If this mask was what kept him from being more open with life, then Joker wanted it burned.
Batman nodded and took a step back, finding a shadow that hid his face from the Joker's eager eyes. He closed his eyes and lifted the cowl off his head. He turned the mask around to look at the barrier that had kept him safe from so much of the outside world for so long, and as he looked at those soulless eye slits, an alkaline taste filled his mouth. He hated the Bat. He always had. But up until now, he'd seen it as being necessary.
Perhaps it was, but at that moment, the Bat's presence felt wrong.
With a disgusted grunt, he threw the cowl at the Joker's feet, then lifted his head up and stepped forward slowly. His eyes caught the light first in a flash of blue, then the darkness peeled back to
reveal his face.
Joker gasped the very moment he caught sight of Ba-...Bruce.
His eyes were wild with amazement, meeting those of his greatest enemy. So they WERE blue... just as he'd suspected. They were a beautiful, breathtaking blue - the kind you could find in a set of artist's paint. There was so much darkness in them, and it gave the look a dangerous appeal, searing into his flesh mercilessly. He imagined he could pass out any moment, slumping onto the ground without the will to move ever again.
Seconds passed as the Joker stared, unable to break out of his entrancement. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, hurrying forward to bury himself into Batman's arms. The identity was of no concern. The magic was in seeing his face the way it was meant to be seen... nevermind that he was also the last person he'd ever suspected. Nevermind that all the pieces of the puzzle fit together, now.
He had Batman the way he wanted him.
Joker felt alive.
"Your name." Bruce said insistently as his arms closed around the Joker. He felt weak, vulnerable, jittery, but he could FEEL those things. The mask was gone, and with it, the blockages that had prevented feelings of any sort.
The Joker sighed and closed his eyes. "I'm not sure what my name is," he responded slowly. "I've forgotten most of what happened before I became who I am, now. The last thing I remember being called was 'Jack'. And... I can't even remember who called me that."
"Jack." Bruce repeated, trying the name out. "It's as good as anything, I suppose. Better than Joker for sure."
"I hope you don't intend on using it," Joker immediately answered. "Jack is a weird name. No more so than yours... But weird, none-the-less."
"I'm not calling you Joker anymore." Bruce said. "And I don't want you calling me Batman."
*Wow, that's weird.* He thought. "That game's over. New rules now."
"I... don't know how easy that's going to be for me." Joker held onto the front of Batman's cloth suit, his fingers tugging at it slightly. "But I can try... Bruce."
Bruce grinned. "There, was that so hard?" He asked.
"I guess not." Joker turned to watch his right hand as he picked at the bat symbol. "Why do you sound different? Your voice changed a little when you took off the mask."
"Because I'm a different person when I'm not wearing it," the man who spent his nights as Batman explained gently. He wasn't going to get into specifics, since he doubted the Joker was interested in them. "You sound different when. . . well, let's just say I hope I never hear that voice again."
"What makes you so different when you put it on? You're still the same person." Joker tilted his head to look upwards at Bruce, narrowing his eyes after the last comment. "Wait... what do you
mean? What voice? How do I sound different?"
Bruce scratched the back of his head, unsure how to explain this without triggering something unpleasant.
"The hardest thing for Batman when he deals with the Joker is predicting what he's going to do next. Sometimes he's dealing with a homicidal maniac hell-bent on destruction, sometimes he's dealing with a childlike character who's distracted by snowflakes. . . or yellow Bat symbols on people's chests."
He took a moment to pry the Joker's. . . Jack's hand away from his clothing.
"But as soon as I. . . he hears the Joker's voice, he knows which one he's dealing with. That make sense?"
"Are you patronizing me?" Joker demanded - though there was a severe lack of malice in his tone. "I'm not childlike." He wiggled his fingers out of Bruce's hand and then resumed picking at the clothing.
"So what are the giant teddy bears and exploding hobby horses then? Just a die-hard gimmick?" Bruce asked, again removing the insistent hand.
"If you don't stop-" Joker backed up a few inches and used both hands to try and escape Bruce's. "-I'm going to be forced to use drastic measures." He grunted and managed to get away once more, returning to leaning on Bruce's chest. He turned onto his other shoulder, then, and picked at the symbol with his left hand. "I like bears sometimes," he said simply. "They're funny."
Bruce laughed and shook his head, then grabbed at Jack's left hand. "My point exactly." He said. "Now stop that. It feels weird."
"Make me stop it," he challenged, using his right to resume the slow process of trying to peel off the Bat sign.
"Jack." Bruce said sternly, starting to become annoyed. How would he make him stop it?
Distracted by snowflakes. Of course.
"Hey, look! A giant penny!" He said, pointing at the giant coin displayed prominently in the cave.
Joker stuck his tongue out and made a face, but dropped his hand as well. The other was still being held onto... and he didn't mind it in the least. "Giant pennies are boring," he responded cooly. "I'm more interested in you."
*Damn it. Okay, he wants me, he's gonna get me.* Bruce thought. *As long as he stops picking at me.*
The plate under the symbol was shifting against his fingers, and was starting to irritate his skin.
"Come on then. I'll show you the house."
"Not right now," Joker protested. "I don't feel well enough to go walking around a mansion. That IS what you live in, right? That's why the bathroom was so nice? And why you have all this... stuff..." He waved his hands around and then looked down at his pajamas. "Purple," he commented to himself. "I like this, by the way."
"I thought you would." Bruce replied, rubbing at his chest. "If you'll excuse me, I've got to get out of this thing."
He grabbed the clothes Alfred had brought him and headed for the back of the cave.
The Joker paused... and then followed after Bruce.
"Stay there." Bruce called out over his shoulder.
"Why?" Joker's voice was inquisitive, not in the least concerned with leaving Bruce alone to himself. He quickened his pace to keep up with the taller man.
Bruce stopped moving with a growly sigh.
*Because I like you Jack, just not that much,* he thought, but considered that an inappropriate comment in lieu of the fact he'd just kissed him. Damn this was getting confusing.
"Because I don't like people watching me change." He said instead.
Joker shrugged once. "I don't mind watching. I'll understand if you're embarrassed. I mean, c'mon... you're pitifully misshappen. But that's okay."
Batman mode kicked in and Joker was greeted with That look when Bruce turned around. The presence of actual pupils made the whole effect even more frightening than usual.
"Hey!" Joker immediately chastised. "We're playing with new rules, remember? You have to at least pretend to enjoy my company." He looked faintly hurt, but tried concealing it.
"That doesn't mean you get to see me naked." Batman said darkly, backing into the alcove that led to the area the suits were kept. When he stepped though the first set of doors, they slammed shut.
Joker folded his arms over his chest and stormed off. "Batman, YOU are a grade-a jerk." He went back to the mattress and climbed onto it, rolling onto his stomach while he waited. After a while of getting bored, he began pulling threads out of the quilt.
When Joker was on his third thread, Bruce Wayne emerged from the airlock type doors wearing a three-button white shirt and casual navy blue pants. There was a slightly greater air of indifference to the way he walked now. He located the Joker on the bed and watched him destroy the quilt without saying a word.
Joker ignored Bruce's approach for a couple of seconds and pulled viciously at the quilt, quiet ripping sounds floating up into the air. "Go 'way, Bat," he grumbled.
"Suit yourself." Bruce said with a shrug, then turned and started toward the stairs.
"Jerk," Joker mumbled when Bruce turned around. He sniffled a little and pulled the covers up over his head, remembering suddenly that he was hungry, still. "Go sit in your big dumb mansion. See if I care."
"I think I'll do that." Bruce said cooly, starting to understand the rules of this new game.
Joker couldn't help but think to himself that maybe this had been a bad idea. Maybe he was better off just knowing Batman. Neither one seemed to care much. They liked to play pretend... to push and shove. There was no real identity for that man. He just was. It sickened the Joker on a level he'd never realized he had, before.
Batman and Bruce. The same person... very much so. And both men had issues with showing their feelings. Joker could see he wasn't going to be let in long enough to understand him, so what was the use?
"Good. Lord knows I don't need YOUR company, BRUCE," he hissed suddenly. "I can talk to this pillow and get the same satisfaction out of it."
Bruce paused on the first step. Why had he reverted to old patterns?
The answer came to him instantly: because he had time alone, time to firm up his cowardly defenses again.
No. He wasn't going to do that.
He turned around and headed back toward the Joker. However, he couldn't resist one more volley.
"I'd like to see that." He said. "That should prove interesting."
"Like you, the pillow wouldn't be able to translate my words into anything he could put to use, though." Joker pulled the covers further over himself, hearing the approaching footsteps and trying not to care.
"If I'm not putting it to use then why am I getting to you?" Bruce asked smugly as he sauntered over.
"Shut up," Joker snapped. "You aren't getting to me." He rolled onto his stomach and pouted.
Bruce sat on the bed and leaned slowly over to the Joker, grasping the green curl in the middle of his forehead and pulling down on it to stretch it out.
"A few minutes ago you couldn't keep your hands off me."
"Don't insult me," Joker answered softly. He didn't move to pull away, but didn't bother to turn and acknoweledge Bruce, either.
"Insult you?! Why would I do that?" Bruce replied playfully. To punctuate the sentence, he let go of the Joker's curl so it bounced back up against his head.
Joker growled and brushed at his hair with a quick flash of white... before his hand vanished under the sheet. "Because you can. Because you think it's funny that I want to be close to you."
"Wasn't it *you* who told me I needed to have a better sense of humor?" Bruce asked, poking the Joker's nose.
Joker pushed back the sheets and sat upright. He glared at Bruce, every hint of compassion vanished from his shards of emerald. "Not about things like that." He tried really hard to ignore the lingering sensation of something on his nose, but ended up brushing at it anyway. For the first time in weeks, he assumed the look of his domineering, viciously psycopathic persona. Not even his voice betrayed the feelings in his throat. "If you're going to sit around and poke fun of me, you may as well stop speaking with me. I haven't the patience for it. Let me die in peace."
He paused and then added softly, "Batman doesn't have a sense of humor."
Bruce sat up and backed off, WAY off.
"Hey, Batman's not here anymore, remember? Come on Jack, settle down. I'm just playing with you."
Not good. Psycho Joker not good.
"Oh, excuse me," Joker said with a rising tint of aggression. "I was having trouble telling the difference. Pretty boy equals Bruce. Pointed ears equals Batman. Right. Got it, now." His last three words were said with lowered eyebrows. "I don't WANT you to 'play' with me. I want you to talk and love me or to treat me like you always have. Beat me, handcuff me and throw me away. Both things do not make a good combination. Which is it going to be?"
He had to refrain from clenching his fists... and dug his nails into his legs, instead.
Bruce blinked a few times, then scooted into the center of the bed.
"Hey, come on! I didn't mean to upset you!" He said, prying the Joker's hands away from the fragile skin of his legs. "I thought I was doing what you wanted me to do! I'm sorry. If you want to talk, we'll talk, just. . . I can do that, sure."
He rubbed the thumb of his right hand into the Joker's left palm.
Joker swallowed hard and tried to relax. He was backing himself into a corner... pushing away from what he wanted. But it was so easy to do with the B-... with Bruce around. "I was wrong. You have a sense of humor... a very harsh, distancing sense of humor." He made a face
and then tried at smiling.
"Well, it's a start, right?" He said with a sad smile. "I'm not quite so appealing without the mask to you, am I?"
"You don't care either way, so I won't answer your question," Joker explained warily. He looked downward and sulked, his entire form sinking into the mattress. He waited a beat and then glanced at Bruce's hand holding his, massaging his palm slowly.
"Why do you think I don't care?" Blue eyes blinked rapidly as Bruce wrestled with the turn things had taken. The irony of it wasn't lost on him.
Joker shrugged and refused to answer. He was feeling miserable. "Is it hot in here?" he asked suddenly. He looked back up at Bruce and frowned, the sickness apparent in his expression. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, having detected a strange feeling in his eyes... as though he were getting too emotional.
"No. It's cold." Bruce grumbled and pulled his hand away. "I'm trying here Jack. You're not making this easy."
Joker sighed and laid down, curling up fetally. "You're appealing with or without the mask," Joker finally answered. "I get the feeling you don't care because you poke so much fun at it... or belittle my feelings by brushing them aside. You aren't making this easy, either."
"Okay, three weeks ago you were trying to kill me, so I'm going through an adjustment period." Bruce said, not knowing what to do with himself. "I don't. . . when you say you want me to. . . what do you mean by 'love you' exactly?"
"Exactly like what it means when it comes from anyone else," Joker sighed. He blinked twice and tried not to notice the stiffening sensation in his limbs. "'I love you' is hard to misinterprate. I assure you... there are no hidden meanings."
"I love Di-. . . my son in a different way than I loved Ta-. . . certain women in my life." Bruce said, tripping over names as he tried to avoid bringing up specific people. "That's the distinction
I'm asking for."
Joker felt his tongue move to speak before his brain thought to be careful, but luckily he managed to cut himself off completely before saying something stupid. He ran his finger along the sheet and stared at it, afraid to meet Bruce's eyes. "I suppose that I love you the second way, then. The... way one does when desiring another so badly it hurts."
Bruce sighed and bowed his head. He was afraid that was what the answer would be. How was he going to respond to that?
"Umm. . ." He began, then cleared his throat, not sure what to say. "I. . . Um. . . damn. . . I don't know what to say." He stammered.
The Joker closed his eyes and cut Bruce off with, "Then don't say anything. I don't wanna hear anything from you. I asked to spend the rest of my days happily... So just... don't."
"No no. You don't understand." Bruce protested miserably.
"Yes, I do." Joker rolled over and coughed lightly.
"No! I'm just confused! I don't know what to think!" Bruce explained before being distracted by the image on the computer screen changing.
"Damn it." He hissed and headed over to check out what had come in.
"You never do," Joker whispered to himself. He waited to hear what was wrong... but then grew impatient and asked, "One of my friends out causing trouble, tonight?"
"Define 'friend'." Batman said, absorbing the information. "I don't believe you and Ms. Isley get along."
"What?!" Joker demanded. "The WEED?!" He sat up and snarled, climbing out of the bed. "You're going to beat her within an inch of her life, right? Hit her in the stomach? Throw her into a wildfire?"
"I take it she's not a friend." Batman said with a slight smirk. "And the wildfire's out." He shook his head. "Wonderful. She had help too."
"Don't tell me," Joker pleaded. "Please, don't tell me it's who I think it is. Because I'll kill-..." He closed his hands over his face and turned away. "Why can't we do the wildfire?"
"'Cause we don't do killin', Mista J." Bats said flatly. "Does that count as not telling you?"
"I hate you both," Joker responded. He folded his arms and pouted. "Fine. Go play with the girls. Have fun."
"I'm hurt." Batman said, more comfortable but less happy with 'I hate you' than 'I love you'. "And you're going with me."
"I am MOST certainly NOT going with you. And you KNOW I was joking. Although I'm beginning to think I sh- nevermind. Go suit up and do your flying rodent thing." He waved his hand over his shoulder, trying his best to dismiss the situation entirely.
"And leave you alone here... angry? I don't think so." Batman replied as he headed back to where the uniforms were kept, retrieving his newer cowl from the car where Joker had left
it. "Besides, you need to get out, I think."
And perhaps, just perhaps, seeing Harley would make Joker reconsider the whole love thing before he himself had to.
"I'm not angry. I'm hurt. I'm confused. And I'm feeling tired." He folded his arms defiantly, turned to look at Bruce, and set his face in stone. "Besides, I'm wearing pajamas."
"So?" Batman responded. "You'll stay in the car. And I'm angry, confused and tired, and I have to go to work."
Joker shook his head decisively. "No."
"You're going." Batman's tone didn't leave much room for debate.
Joker narrowed his eyes dangerously. He took a step backward into the cave's shadows, purposefully giving the worst kind of look he could muster. "Make me," he hissed.
"I give up. Fine." Batman said, exasperated. "I'll see you when I get back." He turned and headed for the car, feeling more than a little disappointed.
*
end