Disclaimer: I don't own The Dark Knight, Batman, or anything else in this story, actually. And I'm not stealing any $$ by writing this fanfic, so Batman doesn't need to come after me in the dead of night.
A/N: Originally started back in January of '09. The horizontal bars represent "scene change." Please review if you read! I welcome critique, compliments, and even insults! I'm not an easily insulted person, unless you insult my family or my God.
Rated T for crime and violence.
The Joker's Revenge
Jim Gordon stood by his bedroom window, taking solace in the embrace of his beloved wife. He—yes, even he, police commissioner of all of Gotham—needed her comfort right now: he didn't know if he could bear another day on the job without it. He didn't know if he could bear another day on the job even with it. A single tear slid down his cheek. What would he be asked to do tomorrow? Destroy the Tumbler, or, as it was starting to be called, the Batmobile?
"He saved my son's life," he whispered in Barbara's ear. His voice broke as he continued, "And how do I repay him?"
"Batman knows what's best for Gotham," she murmured consolingly.
"I destroyed the Bat Signal and turned a murderer into a knight in shining armor. Now I'm leading a manhunt for Gotham's true hero."
"Batman asked you to do all those things," she was quick to point out. Before Jim could answer, he heard the creaking of a floorboard. He glanced up to see what he'd known he would: James Gordon, Jr., was standing uncertainly at the door.
"Jimmy, honey, you should be in bed," Barbara chided him, crossing the room to stand next to her son. "You have school tomorrow."
The boy ducked his head in apology and said in a low voice, "Sorry, Mom. I wanted to say good night." Barbara smiled and bent down to kiss him on the cheek.
"All right, now, say good night to your father and then straight to bed." Jim squatted down as his son hurried across the room. He wrapped his arms around the boy who was the apple of his eye.
"Good night, son."
"Good night." Jimmy smiled and added in a whisper, "And don't worry, Daddy. Batman won't be mad at you. He can take it." Jim ruffled the thatch of blond hair on his son's head and gave him a light push toward the door. As Jimmy left, Police Commissioner Gordon muttered, "I just don't know if I can."
Elsewhere in Gotham, nefarious things were afoot. A truck labeled "Arkham Mental Institution" had come to a stop in front of a red light. The fact that the vehicle was alone at the intersection was unusual in a city as large as Gotham, even at three o'clock in the morning. The red light turned green with barely a moment's hesitation. Engine growling, the truck started to move forward.
A hand poked out from the shadows of a nearby alley and tossed a smoking grenade underneath the vehicle. The little bomb clinked once against the pavement. It detonated before the second bounce. In a roar of flame and shrapnel, the trailer was separated from the truck's front end and thrown backwards. It skidded a good twenty yards before slowing to a stop.
Out of the smoke a man emerged. He stepped from the trailer as though nothing had happened and began to dust off his tailored violet suit. When he had finished, he gave each of his black leather gloves a tug at the wrist to tweak them back into place. After that, he rumpled his green hair just so. His hand moved to stroke his face, which was so strikingly devoid of make-up. Still stroking distractedly, he made his way up the street.
"Commissioner Gordon? I have some very bad news."
Jim Gordon took in the pale, drawn face of the police officer who'd been speaking and reached automatically for his cup of coffee.
"And it's only six in the morning, too," he commented dryly. "Doesn't the Gotham underworld ever sleep?"
"Sir, the Joker has escaped custody," the officer said in a rush. Jim choked on his latest swallow of the potent caffeine drink.
"How?" he asked hoarsely.
"A group of doctors from Arkham lobbied successfully to have him attend psychiatry classes there. One of their trucks came to pick him up, but it was blown apart at the intersection of 13th Avenue and Olive Street. The driver is dead."
Gordon slammed his coffee cup down on the desk. "Get me to that intersection now!" he barked. "I'll head a team of investigators to track down evidence. Where was the Joker last sighted?"
"We have two witnesses that claim he robbed a nearby store. One of them was the clerk on duty; the other said the Joker used him as a hostage."
"With what weapons?" Jim asked skeptically.
"As their story goes, he used a piece of broken glass—held it against the man's throat. He made off with a set of four kitchen knives, a handgun, twenty-eight decks of cards, and a make-up kit."
Even the strange shopping list didn't cause Jim to miss a beat. "Put all units on the alert," he ordered tersely. "Send out an APB. The Joker won't be loose for long."