Warnings: References to gay sex, couple of f-bombs, mucho angst, un-beta'd. Disclaimer: It's time to face the music guys. I'm afraid the truth is, I don't own anything Batman related. The horror! It's all DC's and WB's. And those tight fisted assholes won't let me get anyway near the boys, so I have to make do with writing perverted things about them. Hope you're happy DC.
Author's Note: Okaaaay. So I finally got this done after a lot of stalling and distractions. I'm not all that happy with it because it's so dialogue heavy, but it's gonna have to do. (: However, I'm happy to say for once I avoided the fluff bug completely. Okay, pretty much completely. But in its place is a crapload of angst. So beware. Also there's no sex in this, like at all. :O I know! I'm not sure this has ever happened before... Maybe it's a sign of impending doom. Who knows? Oh and this is the first sequel I've ever written, so let me know what you think! And I know some of you told me you felt 'Soap And Symbiosis' was a part of this universe too, so I guess you could read this as a prequel to that if you wished. (: And yes, I have a penchant for cheesy titles. It's a sickness. Sue me.
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Bruce ran a quivering hand through his bed-messed hair and audibly gulped, hard and long. His face was pulled into what appeared to be a permanent wince. It's not everyday that the man who raised you catches you having sex with your psychotic, murderous arch foe and so Bruce wasn't quite sure how to approach the situation. As it stood, they were sat in the living room; he and Joker on the larger sofa, Alfred on the other. The elderly man's posture was rigid, tense, and fatigue was exposed through the harsh indents on his forehead and the bruise-coloured circles underneath his eyes. Bruce had never seen Alfred look quite his age before, but right now, his expression heavily carried each of his years. Guilt swept through him with an avalanche of compunction. He was the cause of that grief-stricken look on the butler's kind face. He was the one who inflicted the melancholy image where there should be a quick-witted smile. This was his fault. It hurt. Badly.
Contrastingly, the chaotic clown was slouched where he sat; his expression caught between maniacal glee and confusion; he didn't understand why Bruce wanted, needed him there. If Batsy was in the dog house with Jeeves, what did that have to do with him? But in addition to his insatiable curiosity, he'd seen the way Bruce's face contracted with anxiety when his butler was waking up and in his unease, he'd looked to him. The Batman had turned to the Joker in his disquietude, his visage the picture of nervous vulnerability. And that was enough in itself to cause the murderer to want to stay. Who was he to say 'no' to his other half when he needed him? But it didn't mean he had to play nice with Jervis. Especially if he made Brucey rethink this whole thing. It was pretty obvious that the old man was important to Bruce, and he didn't want to test the theory that the playboy would choose the Butler over him in an instant. So if Riff Raff over there put Bruce in an angsty-bat mood, he'd be forced to intervene. Not that he didn't want to rile up the grey haired man; quite the opposite. New playmates were always fun to tease. But until he had to, he'd keep quiet. For the Bat's sake. He really couldn't deal with his distinctive brand of brooding right now. Odin knows he'd had enough of that to last him twenty life times. But none-the-less he couldn't refrain from sneaking quick grins at the horrified-looking butler when Bruce was off staring into the wall or frowning as he fumbled for words. This was going to be interesting to say the least.
Bruce fidgeted, feeling entirely uncomfortable in Alfred's presence, which was so wrong in itself. Being in the butler's company usually had a calming effect of Bruce. It reminded him that he was not alone. Right now it merely reminded him that his dirty little secret was exposed like a puss-covered war wound and it was in severe danger of becoming fatally infected. Bruce had never regretted anything more than having Alfred find out in such a manner. And why hadn't the Joker mentioned something earlier? If he'd have pointed out they had company when he first noticed, Bruce might've been able to save his fatherly figure a morsel of heartache. He could see his sometimes-enemy's smirks out of the corner of his eye and wanted to hit that stupid grin off his face or at least yell at him for it, but he couldn't show that kind of weakness in front of Alfred. He was well aware that the old man must've thought he was crazy for embarking on whatever he had with the clown and to fight and bicker in his presence would only bring about further speculation on the hazardous relationship and would concern Alfred even more. And that was something Bruce really wanted to avoid. Glancing at the Joker in a manner which he hoped subtly conveyed the disapproval he felt, he was suddenly struck with the notion that he had for all intents purposes alignedhimself with the Jclown in Alfred's eyes. He'd left the shaken elderly man to sit alone while he'd chosen instead to be next to the murderer for this conversation. Cringing slightly at what message that must've projected to his former guardian, he fought the urge to thrust his palm to his head in self-annoyance. He was supposed to be making it easier for Alfred, not rubbing his face in it, not that his face hadn't already been well and truly smashed into all the gory details.
He had absolutely no idea where to start, what to say that could possibly excuse, justify his behaviour. Bruce was completely at a loss as to what he could do that would reassure Alfred that he hadn't completely lost his mind, and if he had, he was still on the 'good' side. Because really, there wasn't anything to say that could clear Alfred's fear. He had plenty of reasons to be afraid of this situation, hell Bruce had spent a significant amount of time in the grips of the emotion himself; a good six months or so. It seemed that fear almost preyed on Bruce Wayne and his family, each time coming back with a vendetta, stronger, more ruthless. And now Bruce was all but terrified about how Alfred would react. He would be well within his rights to phone the police and have the clown collected and carted off to the place where he should have been permanently incarcerated years ago. And what could the playboy do to stop him?. It's what Bruce should be doing. It's what he had been doing for so long. The clown would escape maim several innocents, set up a new game for Batman and eventually the vigilante would catch him and send him back to Arkham only for him to escape and start the whole thing again after a few weeks. The routine had stuck like super glue to the two enemies for the longest of times.
But then things became complicated, twisted emotions bubbled to the surface and possessed both of them until sending the madman to Gordon time and time again ceased being an option. He wasn't sure how he'd feel should Alfred decide to 'do the right thing'. Or perhaps the butler would demand that Bruce stop whatever it was that he had with the murderer, and how would that effect Bruce? The Englishman rarely requested anything of Bruce and the billionaire never denied him anything he did ask, but he wasn't sure he could just give up the Joker cold-turkey. Even if he was the same psychotic clown that had ripped his life apart without a single reservation, he had reluctantly and unknowingly let him become his lover. They'd developed an understanding of mutual need, a fragile sanctuary between lethal battles. The brief moments that they could meet together and leave all the baggage from their war for the heart of Gotham behind and forget just for short intervals that they were supposed to be destroying the other; these moments were coveted. They had both come to rely on them in their way, almost obsessively planning their lives, their fights and affairs around these meetings. The brief flashes in the dark of flesh on flesh, of how they could clutch and grab onto some semblance of truth in the vague ocean they were lost in, these became more than just routine. They were jagged pieces of a life neither of them could ever hope to have. Perhaps something they could've achieved if things were different. Having sex with the Joker wasn't just about primal need- although that was a factor too- it was about reminding himself that they were human while simultaneously reminded himself that they could never really be. It was an obsession, he knew that, but it was also vital. And he'd never even faced that himself until now. Until he had to. Because something had ripped open the thin layer of skin shielding them from outside scrutiny and things had become a little more dangerous. Bruce found himself almost praying that this wouldn't end tonight. And it was this fact that shook him even more than the harsh frown lines polluting his old friend's normally warm face.
After Alfred had woken up from whatever it was that had knocked him out, he wouldn't meet Bruce's gaze and absolutely refused point blank to even look in the Joker's direction. The playboy had guided him to his bedroom in a heavy silence and proceeded to shoo out all of the guests, searching the penthouse for straddlers fornicating in the dark corners of the apartment. When the ruckus of the credit card-army had finally died down, he'd returned to his bedroom and found a hesitant-looking psychopath sat crossed-legged on his bed. Hesitance is not something Bruce would ever have associated with the nightmarish clown and seeing it plastered so blatantly on his pasty face disturbed some fleeting part of him. It was all he could do to stop himself from whispering words of reassurance, something which would be way over the unspoken boundaries they'd set for themselves. And even if he wanted to, how could he have reassured someone of something that could potentially have a catastrophic outcome? Or at least it could be catastrophic for him. So instead, he'd just beckoned the maniac to follow him into the sitting area and they had sat, waiting in stony silence for the elderly man to venture out of his room and into the lion's den.
Not surprisingly, the silence still hadn't dissipated since Alfred had joined them. In fact, the anticipation had hardened, coating the air with a heavy sense of foreboding, a sickly gangrenous undercurrent of anxiety slithering through the heated room touching both the butler and the vigilante, and putting the criminal slightly on edge. Bruce felt almost like he couldn't breathe. Like the weight of what had happened was crumbling down on him, burying him in a febrile wreckage of emotions. The Batman within him was clawing to escape the narcotic state he'd put himself in, but something inside him was registering the tepid temperature of the room as sweltering heat. It was unbearable, and while he knew it didn't really exist, he had to do something to ease the pressure of the calefaction.
Standing with an urgency that startled even the constantly-alert clown, he all but bolted over to the window, cracking it open the second he approached it. As the welcomed bitter cold breeze swept through the gap, he breathed in deeply, feeling some of the nervousness disappear under the soothing sting of the gust. He could taste the frost in the air and smell the scent of ember lingering in the city's atmosphere. Police lights twinkled like distant fireworks under the murky sky. People were shouting, their voices echoing in the night air, merging together to form one singular voice. It calmed him somehow to know that everything was still the same out there. His life had perhaps come apart at the seams in what was supposed to be the secure sanctuary of his home, but outside, in the place he truly belonged, everything had carried on undisturbed. There was no note of earth shattering horror running through the smog, just the remaining uneasy, tense and yet calm mood Gotham sunk into between battles. Things started to fuse back together in his mind. This wasn't the worst thing that could've happened. He'd faced the scourge of the city – a large part of which was currently sprawled on his couch- as his alter ego and he could handle this. If there was something he could do to save the shattered remains of his family and keep the strained truce, of sorts, with his enemy, he'd seize that opportunity. He would just have to summon every ounce of fortitude he possessed, for facing mass murderers, psychopaths and costumed villains was nothing compared to facing parental disappointment.
A not-so-polite, forced cough rumbled through his thoughts, alerting him to the present and to the impending conversation that was lurking in the ether like a poisonous gas. That noise was the first the Joker had made since he'd exited the bedroom, he'd just sat there and, minus the view silly faces he'd caught him pulling, he'd behaved and Bruce was clinging onto the hope that perhaps this could go a little more easily than he'd though. But he wasn't stupid; he knew this behaviour wouldn't last and that this conversation needed to be brief if he was to keep Alfred from the Joker's erratic mood swings. But how do you keep a conversation brief when there's so much to say? He turned back to face the only two people left in the world that knew pretty much everything about him and breathed in deeply, calling on all inner strength he had as he proceeded to take his seat once more.
"Alfred", he began, his voice a lot calmer than he would've expected, something the elderly butler seemed to notice instantly, "Alfred, I... I guess I... Look, you shouldn't have had to see... that." The billionaire's eyebrows tightened as he grappled idiotically for the words, mentally berating himself all the while.'Oh, great start, Bruce' his thoughts chided, 'Yeah, you show him you know exactly what you're doing.' Alfred studied Bruce's face, his eyes still not meeting the playboy's, but didn't say a word. It was apparent he wasn't going to make this easy for Bruce. The young man sighed and ran a hand through his hair, ignoring the fact he still clearly wore a 'bed head.'
"This... this isn't something I was prepared for," he mumbled, tripping on the words, his usual eloquence failing him greatly when he most needed it, "I know there's nothing I can say that would-"
"How long?" Alfred's voice sliced through Bruce's stuttering with an authority he had never heard come from the usually well spoken man. The playboy's eyes widened slightly in response. Even as a child Alfred never spoke to him with such a powerful, almost superior tone. It was... unnerving.
"What?" Oh, he'd heard the question loud and clear, but Bruce just didn't know, couldn't know how he was supposed to answer it. It wasn't that it was too vague or ambiguous, but he wasn't sure if he could tell the butler the truth.
"How long have you been... with him?" the Englishman repeated, spitting out the last word with venom, earning an insulted snort from the painted man. Bruce wet his lips, his frown becoming more pronounced. He knew how this was going to sound, and didn't really want to acknowledge the reality of the situation. Apparently, the clown had other ideas.
"Don't tell me you don't know, Batsy", he cried in disbelief, an overly exaggerated look of shock on his face, "And here I thought I meant something to you". Bruce glared at the psychopath who was currently forcing a sulky expression and tightly crossing his arms across his chest. Alfred's lip curled up in disdain at having to be witness such a creature first hand. He couldn't even begin to contemplate how Master Bruce endured his outbursts.
"Well, fine" the maniac huffed in mock annoyance, "Since our dear darling Bat is clearly going to forget our anniversary this year, I'll answer. Exactly one year, two months and twenty seven days, Jeeves". Bruce screwed his eyes up, fury beginning to simmer underneath his skin. Of course the idiot was going to cut in unceremoniously. Of course he was going to make things worse. What did he think was going to happen? That the painted murderer was going to be a shoulder to cry on? Alfred's mouth fell open and Bruce winced like he'd been struck, fighting off the urge to slam his fist into those scarred lips.
"How long?" the butler gasped, looking absolutely horrified. He blinked and gazed around the room as though a haze had descended and he was trying to peer through it. When his eyes finally rested on Bruce, the playboy wished the walls would close in on him. When his voice came, it was horribly quiet and flooded with anguish.
"Master Wayne... she's only been dead a year and a half". Shame racked through Bruce's body. He knew this. He'd known it at the time when he'd started sleeping with the Joker. It would blot out her face from his nightmares, he could bury himself in the murderer and not have to face her brown eyes. Not have to face the guilt. Her scent was replaced by gasoline and cinnamon, the sound of her voice blocked by a nasal tone. He'd quickly immersed himself into the Joker, allowing himself to be swallowed completely so he didn't have to face up to reality. And now he was being forced to meet it head on. The odium tasted like offal on his tongue.
"I know, Alfred" he whispered, looking down at the floor, wanting it to crack open and consume him. The elderly man rouse to his feet, a burning look of anger in his eyes.
"Do you, sir? Because I really don't think you do!" he shouted, the sound echoing through the empty house and chilling Bruce to the bone. He could feel the Joker twitch, preparing for the possibility of attack. Ridiculous, he knew, but the clown would jump at any opportunity for a fight, so he'd have to be on guard.
"Her body was barely cold and you were jumping in bed with the monster who killed her... Did you even care for her at all?" Alfred was all but shaking in anger, and what could Bruce say? He was right. Nothing could excuse what he'd done. Rachel's memory had become more and more perverted each time he would lie down with her killer and he'd done nothing to stop it then, he couldn't deny that.
"Now, now Al, let's not get ahead of ourselves, hmm?" the Joker said, shaking his finger at the usually stoic butler. "I think it's pretty clear Rachey baby lacked that certain something I've got in abundance. And let's be honest, Brucey's only human and what man could resist such a beauty as myself?" The sentence trailed off into maddened giggles, much to Bruce's rage.
"Be quiet", he ordered through gritted teeth, giving the clown a look he normally reserved for battles atop of skyscrapers. The criminal waved a hand at him in dismissal and turned to face the butler, venomous eyes glowing with mischief. A tongue slithered out and swiped at marred ruby lips.
"And I actually put out," the villain said, his smugness pungent and vile, "unlike that cock-teasing whor-" He didn't have chance to finish his insult as the elderly man started towards him, anger rivalling Batman's coating his face.
"Why, you son of a bitch!" he growled,all evidence of butler etiquette absent as he shot towards the giggling maniac, intent on harming him, age be damned. Bruce bounced up and seized the elderly man's shoulders, feeling uncertain whether or not the Joker would refrain from severely harming him. And whether or not Alfred would succeed in harming the Joker for that matter. He may have been old, but Bruce knew he was more than capable of taking care of himself. The playboy, though used to the clown's jibes, couldn't help but mirror Alfred's anger and as he restrained his former guardian, he scowled at his enemy, feeling oddly betrayed that he'd so easily managed to enrage his mentor.
"Joker, go sit in my bedroom" he barked at the menace, who's smile faded rapidly as his features pulled into an image of confusion, edging on exasperation.
"I thought you wanted me to talk?" he whined, almost pouting. It wasn't fair for the Bat to expel him from the game so early, especially since Jeeves looked like he wanted to scrap a little.
"Just go!" the vigilante growled as Alfred pulled himself out of his grasp, looking indignant. "And don't come back out until I come and get you". The Joker let out a long suffering sigh and shrugged getting up and flouncing in the direction of Bruce's bedroom, in what appeared to be a rather impressive imitation of a scorned teenager. As the inevitable loud slam of the door rattled through the penthouse , the sound a bit louder than required, for the sake of hyperbole, both men stared at where the Joker had disappeared to, neither knowing what to say next.
It should have been easier to talk without the criminal's distracting and annoying ways, but Bruce immediately felt isolated. Like he was absolutely alone in this. The bitter silence returned, drilling holes in Bruce's mind as he tried to formulate a plan. Alfred needed, deserved the truth, but it required voicing words Bruce had never even processed in the safety of his own thoughts. A bitter chuckle, sounding so out of place in the situation that Bruce snapped his head up in shock, interrupted his thoughts.
"You know, you never slammed doors as a child," said Alfred, a warm, wistful look lurking in his eyes as he stared at the firmly closed door the psychopath had exited through. "Despite everything, you would never through a tantrum. You always used to get on with it. It was so peculiar, wrong for a child" The old man turned towards Bruce, letting his eyes wander over the young man's pained expression. "I suppose he's making up for it now."
Bruce smiled, a tight, hopeless smile one would find during a dying man's last meal.
"I suppose he is." The words tasted sour in his mouth, the seemingly comradely sentences spiked with venomous undertones, so unlike how he was used to talking to his friend. He couldn't let this carry on. He needed Alfred more than he could ever express. He was his only family. Everything he had become, all the good he possessed, that was down to Alfred. Animosity wasn't something he could even fathom in relation to the Englishman. He'd always told Bruce he'd never give up on him, and Bruce was about to put that to the test.
"Alfred, listen", he began, firmly pushing all reservations aside. He needed to get this out clearly. He wanted his butler to understand. "What you saw was inexcusable. You were never meant to find out like that. I can't imagine wh... " he choked down his own embarrassment, "what that was like to witness and I'm truly, truly sorry." He regarded Alfred's face, ignoring the burning blush coating his cheeks and hoping the butler could see his sorrow and take the apology for what it was. The butler's narrow eyes softened slightly much to Bruce's relief, but didn't regain their usual kind
"I doubt you'd ever have told me at all, sir." the old man spoke with a touch of resentment filling the cracks of his voice. "You seemed quite... pleased to be keeping it all secret" Bruce frowned, not knowing how to respond to that. Truth is, he'd never really thought about telling Alfred. It had always felt like a part of his life that was far removed from anything else. Separate from the socialites he knew as Bruce Wayne; billionaire playboy, separate from the deadly nightly battles of Batman and separate even from his family, from Alfred. It was his and his alone and he'd never even particularly considered whether or not Alfred should know.
"It wasn't like that, Alfred" he blurted out, feeling ridiculously like a spouse accused of cheating, "It was just... private." The elderly man snorted and shook his head in a disbelieving manner.
"'Private' , Master Wayne is you having a lady friend over. Medical problems are 'private', what you do when you lock yourself in the bathroom is 'private'." Despite everything, Bruce still turned the colour of a tomato at this suggestion. "Shagging the bloody Joker into the sheets I change daily is not private! It's... it's... well, it's illegal for a start."
Bruce couldn't stop the small laugh from escaping his throat. He shook his head and glanced back at his guardian.
"Nothing I do is technically legal, Alfred" he muttered. The man was probably right though. What would knowingly fornicating with a mass murderer be tried under? Aiding and abetting? Perversion of the course of justice? Bestiality? The old man glared at him through the eyes of a parent.
"Yes Master Wayne, but those things have a purpose" he stressed, his hands clenching into fists "What Batman does is productive. It saves good, decent people. You cannot possibly compare what you do for this city with what you do with the man who unravels all that work."
Bruce sighed deeply, the truth of the man's words registering inside of him. He'd been through all this time and time again trying to justify everything. He'd argued Alfred's corner himself.
"I know, Alfred. Believe me I know" he walked over to the arm of the sofa and sat down. "But the Joker and I... that has a 'purpose' too." The butler folded his arms across his chest, lifting an eyebrow in blatant incredulity
"Oh really, sir?" he said sharply, "And what possible purpose could sticking it to your worst enemy have?" The vulgar expression, so out of character for the elderly man, disintegrated something within Bruce. He felt his resolve melting. The prospect of the glimmer of peace he had found while lying with the Joker being taken away from him was dangling right in front of him, out of reach. It tugged and snapped something in his chest.
"Alfred" the name came out almost as a plea, his voice cracking on this second syllable, drawing a look on concern form the elderly man, despite his anger. Bruce could feel his throat tighten, making sounds difficult to form. "I need this." The butler stared at his former ward and sighed, bringing a hand up to pinch his nose.
"Why?" he said after a few minutes of awkward silence. "Out of everyone, why him?" 'And isn't that just the million dollar question?' Bruce thought to himself humourlessly. He ran a hand through his chocolate locks and back down his face.
"It just happened" he remarked feebly, knowing it wouldn't satisfy Alfred's need to know.
"Bruce" said the butler, the disapproval evident in his tone. The billionaire picked his head up, slightly wet eyes staring up at the man who raised him.
"When my parents died" he started, the words too hard to say without stopping to wet his lips, "I felt so... alone. Like everything I had know had been torn from underneath my feet. The isolation was unbearable, Alfred." He looked out of the window, a deep frown setting on his face. "I always felt like there was something... missing. I know I had you and Rachel, but there was some kind of hole, I guess, inside and it was eating at me. You must've seen it Alfred, nothing gets by you." Oh, and how true that was. The butler's face had softened greatly, the vulnerability on the boy he thought of as his son's face taking precedence over his fury.
"I did, sir. But I thought that's what Batman was for" he whispered, almost afraid of finding out he'd neglected to notice something else in Bruce's life. The billionaire shook his head, melancholy lathered all over his perfect features.
"No. I was already Batman" he murmured, cobalt eyes burning into the ground, "As soon as they were taken from me, I was already him. It just took me a while to get up the nerve to do something about it." Images of him standing with a gun in his pocket flashed through his mind, mixing in with the cold face of Ra's al Ghul and nameless men in a prison this side of hell. "That space was never filled." The coming words tasted like the sweetest poison. Things he couldn't admit to himself, but owed it to Alfred to at least admit them to him. He drew in a large gulp of air, the wind still pouring in from the icy city through the window, reminding him of normality. Or as normal as you could get in that town.
"And then when he came to Gotham and we fought, all of the explosions and death and carnage surrounding us like a circus ring, something just clicked into place." He closed his eyes, remembering the sensations, the excitement he knew he shouldn't have felt when the Joker would escape Arkham. He could still smell the gasoline from the first escape attempt, could still feel the way lassitude and weariness had dissolved and made way for the passion of the fight, the challenge it would present.
"I felt needed, Alfred. For the first time in my life, I felt like I meant something to someone." Like I was essential. Alfred regarded Bruce with a look of confusion, his brain trying desperately to comprehend the string of words. To join them up with his memories of Bruce at the corresponding time. Did Bruce seem a little too keen to answer the call when the Joker escaped all those times? He couldn't be sure. Dammit, how didn't he notice?
"But how could that possibly have come to... ?" Alfred's voice trailed off as a sickened air once again flickered across his leathered features , eliciting a grimace from Bruce. The playboy fiddled with the hem of the shirt he'd hastily pulled on to hide his naked form from Alfred back in the bedroom. To say these things aloud, it was... difficult to say the least. But how could he possibly deny the elderly man the answers he needed? Somewhere inside of him he was just hoping that it was enough. That Alfred wouldn't simply toddle off and call Gordon and have them both locked up in a mental asylum. God knows Bruce probably needed it.
"Do you remember when I asked for you help with going through the tapes from the interrogation after Harvey's disappearance?" Bruce asked after a few moments. Alfred regarded him sceptically. The time period the billionaire was referring to was immensely difficult for both of them. Everything had passed by in a blur, nothing stuck or made sense. When he recalled those weeks, it played like a distorted montage in his thoughts, the crackling film of his memories sticking and pausing, making it all seem so distant, so removed. Except for those tapes. They were clear cut in his mind. The image of the Joker speaking so passionately, that first real insight into the putrid soul of the madman, the terrifyingly acute intelligence and sharp mind splayed open on screen- it was all burned into his brain, cindering it at its core. How could he possibly forget the terror that slithered through his body at listening to the murderer of the little girl who grew up around him speak like that to his pseudo-son. He could only imagine this new transpiration would accompany its predecessor in tormenting Alfred's psyche.
"Of course". The short, biting sentence prevented Alfred from expanding on his thoughts. Prevented him from venting his opinions on the fact that was the same creature Bruce had been feverishly coupling with not an hour earlier. That twisted, crazed, sub-human beast from those interrogation tapes was sat in his Master's bedroom, waiting for the billionaire to return to him. He had to swallow the onslaught of bile.
"The things he said to me, all those observations and innuendos he wasn't just taunting me. Everything he said was a confession of how he truly felt... And he became obsessed with trying to prove tit all to me" Bruce's eyes glossed over as he recalled the first few months of their 'war."
"He was constantly drilling it into my skull, trying to make me see was he saw. He wanted me to look at the world and see poison polluting it, he wanted me to show me that we were two of a kind in a sea of meaninglessness lies and corruption." Alfred snorted in disgust, hearing the echo of diseased words coming from Bruce's mouth.
"He was wrong." Bruce stated simply, "But in a way" God, I hope he can't hear me from in there...
"He was right." The butler look startled at the conclusion his Master had drawn, but neglected to say anything. He wanted to hear what Bruce had to say. Wanted to understand how he could possibly have sank so slow. The billionaire stood up again and walked over to the large window, peering out over a lost city, like a God on Mount Olympus. He allowed the sting of the draft to whip at his skin, the goosebumps rising immediately in its wake.
"He matches everything I could possibly throw at him. Everything I stand for, he opposes and vis versa. The Joker is Batman's complete opposite in every way" his voice had lowered unconsciously "But he's also my equal. He's the only other one who cares enough about what happens to this city to do something about it." Granted, that 'something' involved death and mayhem, but the clown believed in his cause, and chose to make it known to the masses. Just like Batman. Bruce turned to face the surprised butler.
"Alfred, I don't expect you to understand, but think about it. Who in the world could accept me, all of me, but-"
"A madman, sir?" Alfred interjected, a glimmer of sardonic humour coating his voice, something Bruce couldn't help grin at.
"Not what I was going to say, but I suppose you'd be correct" he chuckled, not quite as mirthlessly as one would expect. The butler strolled over to the window to join his surrogate son, trying very hard to keep his features neutral. They gazed out over the blinking lights of a desperate city, the sirens littering the night's silence, falling on their ears like a lullaby. Familiar. Home. It soothed them both. Alfred's breath frosted over the glass, covering the area which looked out over city hall with a thin mist as he exhaled.
"When I saw you... together" each man tried to avoid the other's eye as Alfred began to recount the horribly awkward scene. "There was something I could see in the way you looked at each other. I suppose now that you've said that, it makes sense in a way." The fog on the glass began to withdraw under the harsh laws of time as Alfred expression grew pensive. "Your eyes, Master Bruce, were so dark. Black, even. And they were burning with something I didn't care to look at long enough to identify. And his." Bruce's blue orbs flickered to the old man's face as he searched for the right description. There wasn't as much fury present any more. Just confusion.
"His were so alive." Alfred moved so he was fully facing Bruce. "The glittered, Master Wayne, and not in madness. There was a balance there that I couldn't understand, perhaps you can." Bruce felt his throat contract. He really didn't want to hear this. Didn't want to acknowledge the sense in what Alfred was saying. But the butler was persistent.
"... And the way you moved. Sir, forgive me, but I have never seen anything so savage with passion in all my years", the grey-haired man couldn't help but give a small smile at the strawberry hue appearing on Bruce's face. Something very petty within him was drawing revenge from embarrassing his ward, but he was speaking from his heart. "Master Wayne, you were tearing into one another, and looked happy to be doing it. That darkness in your eyes startled me, but he welcomed it. Accepted all of it." Alfred's forehead twitched as if the thoughts were just occurring to him. Like he was thinking it over. "Perhaps... he is what you need. I'm not sure I think he's good for you, sir. But... he does seem to understand you." Alfred rested a hand on Bruce's shoulder. The contact between them didn't go unnoticed. Bruce smiled. "Master Wayne, after everything you've done, the person you've become for this city, you deserve that kind of comprehension"
The playboy dipped his head, the smile on his face adopting a grave quality about it.
"You just wish it wasn't coming from the Joker." It wasn't a question but Alfred inclined his head in a disappointed show of agreement. "You have no idea how much I wish it wasn't him, Alfred." He didn't mean it to sound cruel, but it was the truth. After everything that man had done to him, how could he not want something more out of life. Finding out the person most suited to him was the man who took his childhood love away from him was a difficult process, and facing it again now wasn't exactly a day a the fairground. But there was a part of Alfred's silence that told him he sympathised, and for this Bruce wanted to thank the man.
"And you... care for him?" the butler asked, disdain momentarily absent from his voice as he searched Bruce's sapphire eyes for an answer. The taller man sighed deeply and let his head briefly fall backwards. Did he? Honestly? He wasn't even sure if he knew the answer himself, or whether he could face up to it even if he did.
"Sometimes" he decided after a while, voicing the thought as soon as it touched his mind. "Do I loose sleep worrying if I haven't seen him for a few days? No. But there are... moments. Not often, but every now and then, moments where he stops being a cruel bringer of chaos and exposes something human to me." Bruce's voice quietened until it was almost a whisper, as though he were hiding the thoughts from his own ears. "And yeah, in those instances, I guess I care. A bit." He regarded Alfred's forlorn expression and let go of a large gulp of air. "Sick isn't it?" This drew out a soft laugh from the elderly man.
"Quite, sir." The sound of sincere laughter lightened the atmosphere somewhat, though not much as they both withdrew to the solitude of their own thoughts, processing everything that has been said. The words had been a shock to both of them.
"It's normal, Master Bruce, you shouldn't berate yourself for it" Bruce looked up in surprise at the almost encouraging words. Guidance was Alfred's forte but he didn't expect it in this situation. The butler met his gaze with an almost amused one. "Believe it or not, sir, caring about someone you spend intimate time with, no matter how depraved they are, is entirely acceptable. It doesn't make you a bad person" Bruce felt his chest tighten. He wanted to run over to the old man, the sole remaining member of his maimed family, and envelop him in a tight embrace, but he'd restrain himself for now.
"Will he be living here, sir?" Alfred's question came as shock to Bruce and it was so normal he wanted to laugh. The next logical stage of a 'relationship' would be to move in together. But that wasn't something Bruce could even fathom with the maniac he called his lover.
"No, Alfred not at all" he reassured the man, noting the silent exhalation of relief. "He does come here sometimes though. Not often, but I promise you won't have to see him at all."
"I have to say that is a relief, sir. I think I've seen quite enough of that man to last me a lifetime" Bruce wondered why the blush even bothered withdrawing from his face if the butler was going to call it back time after time, though he had to admit, he was practically overjoyed to hear the Alfred tease him.
"Yeah. I am really sorry about that, Alfred" he said sheepishly. The balding man's chest expanded with air and he seemed to contemplate something for a few minutes before looking back over to Bruce.
"I don't agree with it sir." Bruce tried to interject, but Alfred raised a silencing hand, "I think it's amoral and harmful and it would do you good to see a psychiatrist, but... " Bruce was struck with the notion he'd never been so pleased to here that sole coordinating conjunction in his entire life "but, I won't stand in your way. It is , after all, your life, Master Wayne."
The playboy felt a warm smile flood his features, feeling like a child who'd just been told they were going to Disneyland on vacation.
"Thank you, Alfred. You have no idea how much this means to me" Bruce's pulse quickened in excitement, childish but not quite so innocent as his thoughts moved over the prospect that everything might be okay. His old friend was still by his side and he could carry on his meetings with the Joker. An outcome he didn't exactly expect. The butler nodded in acknowledgement.
"The minute something goes wrong-"
"I know, Alfred. 'I told you so.'" The vigilante grinned over to his comrade, letting the familiar banter cleanse his nerves and sooth the tension in his body. Alfred smiled warmly in return, glad to be out of the awkwardness as much as Bruce was.
"Exactly, sir" he chuckled. "And who knows, perhaps you can have a positive influence on the little creature. He has been toning down his escapades recently." Bruce shook his head.
"I wouldn't hold your breath, Alfred. He is beyond rehabilitation." Bruce sighed, the veracity of that statement penetrating his pours. He knew this, but sometimes it was a difficult concept to realise. The things he'd begun to understand about the madman were used to blot out the fact he was a mass murdering psychopath during their time together. Like how he could be genuinely funny when he didn't try too hard. Or that he was almost endearingly inexperienced in bedroom activity and yet threw himself completely into the role. Those little things made things easier and harder at the same time, but Bruce was none the less grateful for their existence.
"Well, I suppose I'd have to stick around to make sure he doesn't kill you both then." the old man quipped "Or at least to stop him from urinating on the shag pile." The two men shared an honest laugh before Alfred caught Bruce's eye and looked at him. Hard. He moved closer to the playboy and placed on arms on each of his biceps, holding him still while he looked in his eyes.
"I will never give up on you sir, you will believe that one day." The words elicited an expression mirroring a wounded puppy from Bruce and he tucked in his lip, just like he had all those years ago beneath the inferno that used to be the family manor. He almost felt guilty for doubting the Englishman. He had never given him cause to. The two moved into an easy familial embrace, something they hadn't shared since Bruce's childhood. Bruce thought how close he had come to loosing this man and glistening tears pricked at his eyeballs. He stepped back and wiped his eyes, unable to feel embarrassed any longer in the other man's presence.
"However, I'm going to need that stiff drink." the old man chuckled to himself, shaking his head "I think I've had all that I can take tonight." Bruce silently agreed. He didn't drink, but the nights events were more than enough to evoke the urge to get completely and utterly intoxicated. The champagne bottles dotted around the room left over from the party started to look less like a mess in his home and a little more appealing.
"Now, if you'll excuse me and there's nothing further, Master Wayne, I would much like to adjourn for the eveni- uh, morning, I suppose. " the old man gestured to the large vintage clock on the wall. Bruce immediately felt bad for keeping the butler up so late, though he was probably used to it considering his stubborn habit of waiting up until Bruce returned from patrolling each night.
"Of course. Goodnight Alfred" he said, feeling pleasantly light as he watched Alfred smile and turn to walk away "And Alfred" he called just as the man was about to exit the room. "Thank you. I mean it. You didn't have to do this... "
"Yes I did, sir." the butler amended, "Yes I did." And with that, the godsend that was Alfred Pennyworth left the room, leaving Bruce to his thoughts and the solitude of the empty living area. He felt stunned. He was amazed at how well that had gone considering the repulsive manner in which the Englishman had discovered his affair with the Joker. The butler had been so understanding, he wasn't sure he could do the same if he found himself in a similar situation. But then again, he was no Alfred. Bruce smirked lightly.
'I ought to give him a raise' he thought, only half kidding. He walked back to the open window and breathed in the cool air one last time before shutting out the noise of the city below him.
* * *
After a few minutes of private thought, he finally called upon enough energy to move his exhausted frame towards his bedroom. Opening the door, his heart jumped briefly when he came back to see the Joker sprawled on his bed, playing 'Itsy Bitsy spider' with his fingers. He had assumed that the clown wouldn't have stuck around for the entire length of the conversation and really wasn't expecting him to find him in his bedroom as he crossed the threshold. He wasn't sure how he felt about it.
"I didn't think you'd still be here" he murmured, feeling exceptionally drained at that second. The madman twitched in response to his voice and leaned up onto his elbows.
"I had to make sure you came out of there alive didn't I?" he drawled, Bruce's ears strangely welcoming that nasal voice. "Where would it leave me if Daddy Bat offed you, huh?" Bruce glared at the man who grinned up at him in response. His gaze was twinkling with that look that screamed 'I know something you don't.' Bruce eyed him speculatively before realisation sunk in and he let out the breath he'd been holding.
"How much did you hear?" he mumbled in annoyance. The Joker sat up fully, a huge smile stretching his scars.
"Oh, you know, a fair bit" he smirked, earning a hard scowl in return. The clown clasped his hands together in a mockery of a gleeful girl and brought them up to his cheek.
"Oh Batsy, baby, I never knew you 'caaaared'" he faux-swooned much to Bruce's annoyance, but the billionaire couldn't bring himself to let the usual fury flow through his veins. He had felt enough of that for one night. He merely grumbled a 'Shut up' and proceeded to pull off his shirt and disappear into the bathroom. He didn't have the energy to play the madman's games at that moment.
"No really, Bats, I'm touched." the Joker called after him, his legs dangling off the bed. "Though I have to say, telling the old guy I was 'right' had to be the icing on the top of a bea-utiful evening." He giggled, triumph evident on his features. "You're full of surprises aren't you, gorgeous?" Bruce returned to the room, shirtless and having changed his pants to slacks in preparation for sleep. He cast an incredulous glare into the Joker's direction.
"You neglected to mention the bit where I told him you were wrong" he groused, earning a ripple of giggles from the lunatic sitting on his bed.
"Oh, but you always say that, dear." the clown prince grinned, "I think I like this, ah, new development a lot more." Bruce huffed and placed his dirty clothes in the laundry basket, vowing to clean them himself to give his saintly butler some help. The room still smelt of sex, the slightly salty scent hovering in the warm air and the Joker, though fully dressed, still looked freshly fucked, the slight glow on his cheeks not yet faded, his hair still sticking up at odd angles. If this was him a couple of hours after sex, Bruce didn't want to know what he must've looked like to Alfred during. He was usually far too immersed in sensation to notice the maniac's appearance when they coupled, but he would often let his eyes fall over his strangely handsome, painted features afterwards. It was habit, and pleasant to fall into.
"You would." Bruce sighed in response to the madman's declaration. "Because you're an obnoxious ass" The Joker guffawed in jest at the playboy's insult, wagging a finger in disapproval.
"Oh, you don't mean that" he decided, standing up and walking over to his prey.
"Oh really?" Bruce quizzed sarcastically, folding his arms as he raised an eyebrow at the approaching villain. "And why is that?" The Joker licked his lips, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards as he looped his long arms around his lover's neck.
"Because, beautiful, you care about me, remember?" he purred leaning into the brunette with a leer. Bruce swatted his hands away, annoyance registering on his handsome, yet tired, face.
"If you were listening properly, you would've heard me say 'sometimes'. Right now would be one of those moments where I really couldn't care less what happened to you" he snarled walking away from the murderer. "I almost lost my closest friend tonight, the man who raised me. And ,thanks to you, I've just had the single most exhausting hour of my entire life." It was true. He sincerely could not recall an instant where he had felt as drained.
The Joker scoffed, his smirk disappearing from his face in record time. He turned around in a full circle, raising his arms in absolute exasperation.
"Thanks to me?" he squeaked, high-pitched anger coating his voice "Of course, how fucking stupid of me. I forced you to drag me back here in the middle of your little soiree. I captured you and tied you up like the evil, moustached-villain I am. Hell, I freaking raped you, right? Give me a break, Bruce" the clown sneered. Bruce pulled a hand through his hair. He really, really didn't want to argue right now, but the damn idiot evoked it from him.
"You knew he was there!" he bellowed, feeling a vein throb at the front of his head, "You knew, and you didn't fucking say anything."
"Correction, Batman, I knew someone was there" he snarled, emerald eyes becoming murky "Y'know something? Someday you're gonna have to stop blaming me for every little issue you have, darling." His eyes narrowed, projecting his anger right into Bruce. The funny thing was, Bruce didn't even really blame him. Not exactly. He was just as much at fault if he was honest. It was just convenient to have someone to yell at, to take his frustrations out on. It just felt like the natural progression of things to shout at his enemy, to purge all the negative emotions from his body. Like that was expected of him. Like it's what he should be doing. But it felt a little too forced. He couldn't really bring himself to care. He just wanted to sleep.
The maniac watched Bruce with hateful eyes, the olive beacons in the black pits boring into the billionaire's emotionless face. He made a disgusted sound and threw his arms up in the air.
"Well, fine" he barked, almost disappointed that the argument had come to an abrupt end, "You stand there and sulk, Batman, I'm out. Sayonara sister." The man grabbed his purple coat from the floor and made his way to the exist.
"Wait" Bruce called, spilling out the word before he could think about it. Truth be told, he didn't even want to think right now. The painted man stilled, waiting for whatever it was Bruce had to say.
"Look... just stay?" he asked, tiredness flowing hungrily in his speech. Too many things were changing all at once, it was sucking the energy from him, consuming him physically and emotionally. He wanted something familiar, something stable just for the moment. The fact he was thinking of the mass murdering ,nameless fiend only known as the Joker as something that could provide 'stability' would be laughable, if it was completely unnerving. He saw the clown's shoulders droop as he sighed and turned slowly back around to face Bruce.
The bags under the handsome man's eyes were deep, a deep charcoal colour, his hair was lacking its usual pristine appearance and fatigue was written all over his face. There was just a little too much debility showing. He looked a little too close to vulnerable. It didn't feel right to the Joker. And what kind of soul mate would he be if he didn't stick around to help his helpless little bat? See, Joker didn't need to pretend that he didn't care. He only had one person in the entire universe that mattered to him. There was only one other that truly existed. How could he not care about him? If the Bat was too stubborn to admit the same, well then that was his problem. But that needy gaze on Brucey's beautiful little face had the Joker shutting the door without a second thought.
The vigilante smiled slightly and slowly moved to the bed, crawling under the covers like they were calling to him. He lay his head on the pillow and watched the Joker remove his clothes through drowsy, squinted eyes. The maniac stretched his arms up and yawned, cracking his bones before coming over to join Bruce in the bed they had coupled in a few hours earlier. He wormed under the covers and let his head fall backwards, facing Bruce. The vigilante still had a pained look about him, but the Joker figured he'd have to sleep it off, because the both of them were far too tired to do anything about it right then. He leant forward and placed his jagged lips onto Bruce's, catching the larger man's lower lip lightly. Bruce applied gentle pressure with his mouth for a few seconds, luxuriating in the the warmth of his occasional lover for a few sparse moments before pulling back and letting the claws of slumber start dig into his flesh and drag him down into its deceptively warm, unyielding embrace.
The Joker withdrew and moved away slightly. He brushed a slender hand over Bruce's messy hair before yanking it away and closing his eyes.
"G'night Bats" he murmured, beginning to follow his enemy, playmate, lover into the journey to unconsciousness as they both lay there. Not touching, but sharing body heat. The Joker just letting Bruce sense his presence as he was lulled out of the waking world. It was enough for now. Just to be there. It was enough.
And yet neither of them knew if the Joker was still going to be there in the morning.
Oh and by the way guys, the "In Flight Entertainment" sequel should be posted in the next week or so. No promises though because I am swamped right now. (: Please leave a review and let me know what you think about this one. I'm contemplating doing a follow up for this. Probably just Alfred's POV as he thinks things over in his bedroom. Or maybe a few paragraphs on all of their thoughts. Should I give it a go or not? Let me know if you want it!