Summary: Two years after the Joker terrorized Gotham, the city seems to be finally seeing the dawn that Harvey Dent promised. A new D.A has followed on where he left, cracking down on crime and the underworld is getting more and more quiet. But when a young psychologist forms an unlikely obsession with her charge, everything Batman and the Commissioner have worked so hard to create starts to fall apart. With danger thrown at him from every angle, can Batman save his city or is it too much for the Dark Knight?
Spoilers: Batman Begins & The Dark Knight (if you haven't seen them which I believe to be impossible but just in case)
Pairings: Joker/Harley (well as much as possible for a psychotic man wearing make up) & Bruce Wayne/Silver St Cloud (maybe, no promises on that one)
Disclaimer: No I really don't own any of these characters except the District Attorney (your city is mine Batman) and maybe the dead henchmen. Pencil Trick anyone?
A/N: Mostly movie-verse with some comic-verse thrown in. There are a few characters you'll recognise from the comics such as Silver St Cloud in my best attempt to Nolanize her, so she's changed a little. Rated T for now, although it might get a little gruesome so it could go up. Alfred appreciates reviews as much as I do and prizes for anyone that correctly guesses the three villains I'm throwing into this. I'm giving you the Joker & Harley for free obviously but points for the other two, who will become clear later on.
Alfred glanced up from his paper as he heard the heavy thud somewhere in the apartment, glancing over at the clock hanging over the mantelpiece. Four thirty am. It was relatively early for Master Wayne and rather late for himself. Over the years, Alfred Pennyworth had become accustomed to the various noises of the Wayne households. From manor to penthouse - and most recently the underground room that served as a headquarters of some sort – he knew every inch of brick, mortar and stone. There was no amount of creaks and squeaks that would disturb him at this time in the morning.
Nothing of course, except the sound of silence. Most nights, the butler found it easy, or as easy as he ever would, to fall asleep and deal with Master Wayne in the morning. But sometimes his hidden feelings of doubt would get too much and he'd get up to do whatever little jobs he could find around the property. It was getting harder to find activities to keep himself occupied as their place of residence got smaller, but Alfred was pleased with that nights polishing of the little silver they had left. With a small sigh, he put down the previous days paper and got himself up from the chair, walking in the direction of the familiar noise.
"You know, you can use the door Master Bruce." He informed the dark figure who was picking himself up from the floor. "It might do your reputation a bit of good being associated with Batman."
"Two and a half years and you still haven't forgiven me?" Bruce retorted once he had reappeared from under the black mask. He threw it aside and collapsed onto his bed, wincing a little as he leant on his arm. He shot back up and twisted it round, taking a look at the gash someone had taken out of him. After years of bruises and knife marks, the pain was barely noticeable and eyeing it Bruce saw it wasn't that deep. It would be another scar to add to the collection, but a story about potholing in the mountains would cover it. Nobody really questioned Bruce Wayne. Sometimes he wondered whether it was because of his name, or because they honestly didn't care. But his covers were accepted with minimal fuss, and life was made a little easier. One of them at least.
"My best china went up with that house." He was reminded by his loyal friend. "And I do bloody hate this new art deco stuff. A lot of all tosh and bloody hard to get clean." While he muttered his annoyances over the behind schedule building works of Wayne Manor, Alfred moved over and sat beside Bruce, getting a good look at his arm. "So, what was it tonight sir?" he asked as he once again got up, gathering the first aid kit he'd installed in the bedroom after more than a few incidents that left a nasty blood stain or two.
"Lucky shot." Bruce replied quietly as he fingered the slash in the fabric between the two joints in his suit. He'd need that repaired, which meant a trip to see Lucius but it wasn't anything too major. "I got distracted, he caught me from behind. It's not major. Won't need any stitches." He held out his arm, balling his fingers into a fist to work out the cramps in them.
"Even so sir, better safe than sorry." Alfred eyed Bruce while he attended to the wound, cleaning it with antiseptic cream once he had satisfied himself it was indeed nothing serious. Almost three years and Alfred still worried every night Bruce went out to help out in a way nobody else could. He encouraged him and offered him advice and help where he could, but that didn't quell any worries that one day he wouldn't come home. The three years had passed with any major injuries that kept him off his feet for more than a few days at most, but every single scar and bruise reminded Alfred that night Master Wayne might not be so lucky. It had grown even harder for him the last two years, with the police so relentlessly tracking him for a crime he hadn't committed. But, he was safe for now, and as Alfred put the tube back into the small red box, he could see Bruce's eyes start to droop heavily.
He got to his feet and nodded his head to the boy, for he was always little Master Wayne to Alfred. "Get some rest sir. Bruce Wayne has to be in the office in seven hours." That statement drew a groan from Bruce, and once again he flopped back down on the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes. The butler suppressed a smile and nodded his head again, switching the lights out as he left the room with one last "goodnight Master Bruce."
As he heard the door click, Bruce pushed himself back up with a heavy sigh. He was in great shape, but even so the nights got a little hard sometimes and left every muscle in him aching. Tonight had been one of those nights. The mobsters were getting smart again, pulled from their false sense of security and faith that the police would catch the Batman. They travelled in larger numbers, attempting to overpower him during drug runs and pick ups. The police had shown up halfway through, leaving him distracted enough for one of them to get a lucky swipe. There was only so much Commissioner Gordon could do to distract his colleagues while he got away, and he had only left moments before the GCPD swarmed the docks. The dogs lost his scent a few back roads later, and once again he was safe for another night.
He got to his feet and began to peel himself out of the suit, careful not to knock the carefully cleaned wound. It would heal in a few days and there would be nothing left but a small, silver scar, no different from the various ones all over his skin. Throwing it aside, he crawled into bed and collapsed once more, arching up his hips and wiggling under the sheets. Down the hall he could hear Alfred shuffling into his own room. He'd be up again in a matter of hours, and Bruce would once again wonder how an old man could survive on such little sleep. He had a theory that he napped during the day while Bruce was safely in the public eye, but had yet to catch the butler in the act.
He tried to stay awake, to think over the drugs run he had foiled that night. The criminal underworld had been quiet, suspiciously so. When they ventured out, they travelled in numbers they hoped would be too much for him, but even those were becoming less frequent. The papers said it was because they were scared, because Gotham was finally getting out of the darkness. A new District Attorney following on where Harvey Dent had left off, leading the city into the dawn he had promised. But as Bruce finally gave into sleep, he couldn't help but think not all quiet was a blessing.
"It's in here somewhere." The blonde woman sighed, kneeling onto the cold tiled floor and emptying the contents of her bag. The security guard took the opportunity to get a sneaky glance down her blouse, offering her a friendly smile when she looked up. She was pretty, with the potential to be rather beautiful if only she didn't dress her features down to be bland and normal. But the security guard didn't reckon she cared about anything but work, not if she was here at five am.
"No problem." He nodded, watching her pick up the various contents and shove them back inside. She held up the ID card, offering a flustered smile. "You'll have to leave your bag with the desk though." He reminded her, taking a look at the card and then waving her through the metal detector. "Late night rules. Not that we have many visitors at this time of night. Or morning."
"I know, I know, but I forgot a few notes for my meeting in the morning." The blonde sighed, giving her bag over to the woman behind the desk. She quickly scribbled her signature onto the sign in sheet and continued down the hallway. On a better day, she would have stopped and made small talk with the staff but tonight she was simply exhausted. Waking up at four am to remember she had left the notes that were key to her entire presentation was not a pleasant experience. Finally reaching the tiny room that served as her office, Harleen shoved the key roughly into the lock and stepped inside. "Alright, I had them…. Here." She muttered to herself, pushing back the blonde bangs from her eyes. Eyeing her desk, she couldn't see the notes she had meticulously written anywhere.
After a few minutes of searching, Harleen stood in the middle of her office and closed her eyes, practising the – rather useless she might add – breathing exercises her sister had taught her in an attempt to quell the childish urge to stomp her feet. Tomorrow was looming even closer, and she had yet to have more than three hours sleep. Not to mention she had wanted to go over her presentation. The committee was difficult to convince, especially when it came to him. Various colleagues of hers had requested time to study the man only known as The Joker, and not one request had been granted. Harleen knew that it was for their own good, as like her, they were fascinated with the man who had no name, no prints. Nothing. It was as if he hadn't existed before he came to this town. Curiosity killed the cat, as they said. But Harleen was confident they would see things her way. Despite her rather misleading appearance, Dr Harleen Quinzel had a knack for making things swing in her favour.
If only she could find those notes. Walking over to her desk in a fruitless attempt to convince herself she hadn't look hard enough, she began pulling drawers open and shuffling through the papers stored in them. Nothing, but she hadn't expected there to be. She sat down in her chair, holding her head in her hands and rubbing at her temples. As she ran through her actions when she had left her office the night before and wondered if she had misplaced them at home, she spotted something in the corner of her eye. Piled under a bunch of memos, some notes from other people in the building asking a favour, she spotted her own curly handwriting. Giving the corner of the paper a tug, she pulled it from the pile, knocking some of the memos off the top of the pile.
"There you are." She smiled, her mood already improving as she collected her coat from the back of her chair and stood up, holding the papers to her chest protectively. She ignored the papers on the floor, promising to get to them in the morning after her meetings. Shutting off the lights and locking her door, Harleen walked back down the hallway, rifling through her notes. She stopped as something dropped out from between two of the sheets, landing on the floor at her feet. She knelt down, picking up the yellowed piece of card and turning it over in her hands. On one side there was nothing, yet on the other there was a crude drawing of what was unmistakably a jester, dressed in the usual red and black harlequin patterned outfits so popular amongst them. She stared at it for a moment, slowly straightening back up and continuing back towards the door.
"Here you are Doctor. Doctor?" Harleen snapped her attention away from the card that she figured was some kind of joke, looking at the woman she had almost passed, who was now holding out her bag.
"Right. Thanks." She smiled, shoving the card into her pocket and taking her bag, slipping her notes inside. "Goodnight."