Batman and all related characters are property of DC Comics.
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What he wouldn't do:
The Joker and Harley.
By
Yuna Honey
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Paul Artman, 31, was a methodical man. He stuck to the rules and made sure that everything followed the adequate procedures as best as he could. That was what had allowed him to excel as a security guard. He had worked six years as one of the guards on Gotham's Mercy hospital. He mostly watched over the warehouse where medical supplies were stored. An easy job, to say the least, which he complemented by helping keep the inventory in order. The only drawbacks were the druggies wanting to sneak in and steal substances they wouldn't know what to do with later and of course, the rare occasion a crazy fuck from Arkham decided the Hospital was a nice target. But that came with living in Gotham, and Paul could deal with the druggies; he was a tall and lean man who kept in good shape and went to practice at the shooting range everyday, earning good marks thanks to his constant training.
Still, much to his shame, he had not done anything one night the Ventriloquist tried to raid the warehouse. He instead hid under an ambulance until Batman and one of his kids arrived to stop the mad gangster. He had seen it all from his hiding place and had to admit the Bat was an effective bastard, and the all clad in black girl who had helped him had been a well-oiled fighting machine of the highest order. Between the two of them, the Ventriloquist and his men had been reduced to bloody punching bags on the floor in less than a minute. Hardly a shot was made. That was how effective the Bat was.
That had happened two years ago. The experience had an impact on Paul, who still remembered what Batman had told him.
"You should have done something, even calling the police would have helped," the Bat had reprimanded in a tone that made Paul believe the vigilante had blamed him for letting the Ventriloquist in.
It took Paul days to finally be able to forget Batman's words, but he couldn't deny they had some truth behind them. He had been a coward. And should have called for help instead of hiding; next time something like that happened Paul would do the right thing and call the police.
A couple of months after the Ventriloquist incident, she arrived to the Hospital. Shelley Mitchell, 27, brunette, slim, tall, quick to smile, pretty as they came and the kindest nurse he had ever met. He took a liking to her immediately, and had started circling her until she had agreed to have a date with him. Surprisingly, things went well and in the following months, Paul found himself with a new girlfriend.
She often came to see him to the warehouse when her shift ended so they could talk for a bit and arrange a date or simply to enjoy each other's company; it wasn't so difficult for her, since the Hospital and the warehouse were connected by a hall behind the main building, to ensure whatever was need would be moved quickly from one place to the other.
Things were getting serious with Shelley though, and Paul was starting to make plans to ask her the big question. He was considering doing it the following week, as it would be their second anniversary and in his mind it was the perfect time. He would have to make reservations somewhere fancy, of course, so it was a good thing he had been saving some money.
An alien noise broke Paul's romantic thoughts, and he was just coming out from between the rows of boxes filled with supplies in order to check the large gates of the warehouse when a truck smashed through them with a loud crash.
Paul ducked behind the boxes immediately, reaching for his gun at the same time. He carried an M&P45 mid-size, and he for once was happy he went for the 10 round magazine; if the maniacal laughter he heard was an indication of who had broken into the warehouse, he would need them all.
He spied from his hiding position to see that, as he feared, the Joker was jumping off the bus, laughing hysterically. His henchwoman, Harley, quickly followed.
"Isn't it a shame that those boring thugs refused to help me, Harley?" the mad clown asked, bouncing a sports bag from one hand to the other. "I tell them about my great plan to blow up a maternity ward and they all abandon me! Such a lousy crowd, I tell you! I'm glad they're dead!"
"I'm still with you, Mr. J!" the insane woman offered with a purr. "I'll stick to yah until the end!"
"I know you will, petty-pet," the clown then patted Harley on the head as if he would a loyal dog. "We'll make a great 'baby-que' and this time Gordon doesn't have a wife-y to interrupt us while we're cooking! O-o-oh Batsy is so going to love this one! Now, where are the guards? We need some hostages to make our way to those noisy, little poo-machines!"
"Don't worry puddin', they should arrive soon!"
Paul bit his tongue to hold back a scream and wiped the sweat off his forehead. The clown wanted to blast the maternity ward. Shelley worked there. There were about fifteen babies there, too. He knew the silent alarms had already gone off and that Police was on their way. But it would be too late by the time they arrived. Should he wait for Batman to save his ass again?
An image of Shelley entered his mind then. No. He couldn't wait for Batman. Every time the Joker and Batman faced each other someone else died. This time it could be Shelley. And the babies… he couldn't let him get to the children.
He then noticed that both clowns were looking at the door that led to the hallway connecting the warehouse and the Hospital. They were obviously expecting to see some movement there. But soon they would try to hide and prepare and ambush. He didn't have much time! If he was going to do something this was the perfect opportunity.
And so he did. He took a deep breath and stood up as silently as he could, gun at the ready and aiming for the Joker; the clown was less than twenty steps away, it was an easy shot. Easy shot, even a kid could do it.
Paul shot his gun.
The bullet hit the clown in the back of the head, cutting off the madman's giggling as he dropped to the floor. He didn't move afterwards.
Paul didn't have the time to think about what he had just done. A shriek of rage put him back to attention. The girl, Harley, was rushing at him, screaming and swearing how she would carve his eyes out with a spoon.
He shot her. She managed to dodge three bullets, but the fourth hit her on the stomach. She didn't stop but she slowed down. She tried reaching for her own gun, but didn't get to grab it, for Paul shot her two more times and she finally dropped dead.
He walked towards the Joker, he wasn't moving and his head rested on a puddle of blood. Paul emptied his gun on the clown's skull, just to make sure he was truly dead.
He finally heard the police sirens approaching.
-Epilogue.-
Shelley Artman caressed the face of her sleeping husband and smiled. A year ago all of this seemed like an impossible dream. After killing the Joker, Paul had been the center of attention, every newspaper and TV reporter wanted to talk to him. He had refused to talk to them. He didn't want any attention that would draw a possible revenge from Poison Ivy, and had chosen to keep a low profile until he finally managed to find a job in Fawcett City. She had followed him, and shortly after she found a job at Fawcett's General Hospital, the two had wed.
"Good morning, Shelley. Have I told you how beautiful you look this morning?"
She looked back at her husband and smiled to him. "You always say that, thank you."
"You were thinking about something, what was it?"
"About the reason why we came here," she answered. "This city; it's calmer than Gotham, but I…"
"Do you want to go back there? Now that Ivy's dead we could try," he offered.
"No, I don't want to go back," she replied. "I love Fawecett, but..., do you want to return?"
"I can't. Not after what happened with Batman."
Batman. Shelley had always wanted to know what had happened between the superhero and her husband that night when the Joker died. Taking advantage of Paul's talkative mood, she asked him. "What did he tell you?"
"He asked me why I did it," Paul recalled. "He said I had no right to take a life."
"And what did you answer?"
"I got furious! The Joker wanted to kill babies and put you in danger. I told Batman that all I did was what he wouldn't do: the sane thing by blowing that clown's brains out."
"He... got angry at that, I assume?"
"I don't know. He turned and told me I would become a target, and that I should get out of Gotham forever," Paul sighed. "I followed his advice and well... here we are. And you know what? I don't regret it one bit. Do you?"
She leaned on his chest and kissed him. "Of course not, Mr. Artman."
Paul wrapped his arms around her and deepened the kiss. His wife started to complain about getting late for work, but he managed to make her change her mind about it.
-End.-
Author's note:
One of the things that I find particularly interesting about DC comics is how they allow the Joker to get away with the things he does. The Clown Prince of Crime (love that silver age nickname, it's just so silly) in the modern DCU is a homicidal maniac who doesn't have any empathy and kills as easy as he blinks. Batman' refusal to kill the Joker is, of course, the way to keep the character showing up and selling magazines, but fortunately, this is fanfiction, and I can get to write a story that shows what I think could be a possible outcome for the Joker and Harley.
About characterization; yes, I made the Joker threaten to kill babies. Not the first time it has happened, actually. During "No Man's Land" finale, the Joker kidnapped all of Ghotam's recently born children and was ready to kill them until Sarah Essen Gordon traded her life for theirs. That is the reference Joker makes in the chapter.