Just a little reflection on my favourite jester and his bat: a glimpse of their routine, and of their hidden courage. Dedicated to lovejoker and her inspiring art, and to every reader who loves these two. Thanks, and wait for my coming long-fic. Sorry for every grammar mistake!
Just the sound of your steps
You hear him coming, although you pretend to sleep.
It's an unmistakable sound; lighter, more human without those absurd varnished shoes, yet, it's the same: that clumsy grace, that pace too restless and too mettlesome to be a dancer's one. You can almost see them, the bony feet, the white, lean ankles. You held your breath thousand times to perceive it among the shadows, fists curled, mind stretched for the swish of a knife or the ghost of a laugh. And now, that clop means a fresh body against yours, and a whisper in the ear.
Goodnight, B.
Joker walked as if he had to crush the world, getting ready to devour it and showing the flesh to the enemies; J isn't different. He too moves to a music only he can hear, and he too advances without asking permission and without hesitation. And, you realized one evening, you like it: you like his clunky rhythm, the hunger of life in every gesture. Because it's true what you said to him, that you couldn't love what he's now, if he hadn't been the Joker.
Now you hear him stop and climb into the bed, slipping under the blankets; just a moment, and a hard chest pushes on your back. Near your nape, you feel a stretching smile. It's the same smile soiled by blood and dark you fought for years, but like nearly everything in humans, it can change, and transform and become a painful, hopeful thing. Everytime you see it, it's a shiver made half of what he stole from you, and half of what he gave you.
And he wouldn't be him, if he hadn't that smile.
A long hand slids on your arm. -Ehi, B-Boy. Goodnight.-
Your fingers reach for his; funny, how it seems natural.
-Goodnight, J.-
As you hear slowing down the breath behind your neck, that breath of liquorice and memories of chemicals, you think about his smile, about the bad healed scar in his past, and the one in your own. You know that neither of you could ever ignore the scar, and that what was before it is lost forever. But after all, this is your challenge: not to return to the old road, but to try and walk on a new one. As two freaks. Two legends.
Two men.
A rustle. -Brucey?-
-Yes?-.
-Thanks for all this crazy enterprise.-
It's your turn to smile. -You're welcome.-
You shut up, close to him, close to his heart. The slumber is a wadding caress, or a road just born. And beyond your pace, you don't want anyone but these gauche, invincible steps.