Freak Accidents and Other Love Stories (Chapter 1)
He lay on the filthy hardwood floor of his Gotham apartment, tracing constellations in the air with his fingers and staring up at the flat white surface of the ceiling like it held all the answers to the universe. He had stumbled home last night with the taste of blood on his tongue and glass shards in his arm. He hadn't bothered to remove them and the arm would probably become infected soon. He lifted the bottle of wine next to him and swallowed what remained of its contents in three long gulps. He hadn't showered in days: his white face paint was smeared and cracked and his wavy brown-dyed-green hair was lank and greasy and hung in tangled snarls around his face. If you feel so filthy, so dirty, so fucked up… He wearily stood up and walked to the bathroom.
He tried not to look at his reflection as he pulled the glass out of his left arm and doused the angry red cuts in peroxide, but he couldn't help it. Freak! He saw the revulsion, the disgust mingled with fear as they backed away from him. He smashed the mirror with a dirty mug from the cluttered bathroom counter. The shower took forever to heat up and the water was scalding when it finished. He stepped under the torrent of water and scrubbed himself raw, hoping his tense muscles would relax.
Bruce slipped into the apartment through an open window walking cautiously forward. He looked at the chaos of the clutter and knew he had come to the right place: the room looked like a demented child with anger issues had gotten a hold of a can of spray paint and a baseball bat and decided to redecorate. Probably not too far from the truth. Where was the murdering bastard? He heard the shower tap shut off and stepped forward to investigate… and knocked a lamp over.
He had just stepped into the steam-filled john and tugged on a pair of dark grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips when he heard it; the sound of breaking glass in his bedroom. His breath caught in his throat. There was no time to paint war on his face, no time to hide or run. He could hear the breath of his enemy on the other side of the thin door; he could smell him. He fought the tremors that shook his hand as he rested his fingers against the doorknob… and was flung backward as Batman shoved the door open from the other side. The vigilante caught his injured arm before he fell backwards into the tub and threw him bodily out the door. His head hit the wall and he fell heavily to the ground, ears ringing.
"Get up," Batman growled flatly.
He hated how weak his arms felt as he pushed himself off the floor. His head pounded in protest and the world blurred before his eyes. Deciding that he was in no condition to fight, he warily closed his eyes and tilted his head back, trying to regain some sort of composure. Out of nowhere he felt rubber-sheathed fingers caress his abdomen, tracing the tops of the scars that disappeared beneath his sweatpants, the scars no one was supposed to see. He jerked away from the gloved hand, taking a big step back until he was pressed against the wall, arms hovering protectively over the scars.
Bruce stared at the man, taken aback. He kept his voice at a low growl, allowing disgust to seep into his words, overriding his usual arid tone. "I knew you were a sick bastard, but even I never imagined you would go that far. Slicing yourself open for the hell of it? What, does your own blood gushing over your skin turn you on or something? You make me sick--" The Joker slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. They were evenly matched, and the madman drew blood every time his fists made contact with Batman's body. He was relentless. What the hell had he said to get this strong a reaction? Those scars… shit.
"Stop," he rasped. The Joker's eyes shone with angry, unshed tears and he refused to listen, continuing to hit the vigilante until blood from his abused knuckles began to slide down his fingers. Bruce tried to grab the man's shoulders, but he fought off his grasp with surprising strength. So Batman grabbed the Joker by the roots of his hair and dragged him into a violent kiss.
To be continued…
A/N: Anyone NOT expecting that? I know the pairing isn't exactly original, but I watched the Dark Knight for the first time in ages and I couldn't resist… The lyrics are from the brilliant song Riot, by Three Days Grace.