Disclaimer: Property of: Warner Bros, DC Comics, Legendary Films, Chris Nolan, Bale and Ledger. Seeing as I am not any of these lovely folks, it's not mine!

Warnings: Slash! Yay!

--Companion piece to Opposites Always Attract, but it can be read alone. I saw Dark Knight in IMAX again, that makes it 5 times I've seen it now. I just can't stop. I'm totally going on Wed or Thurs for number 6.

Concerning Knives and Bats

By: EIW

"You have a little fight in you. I like that."

"Then you're going to love me." – The Joker and Batman, The Dark Knight

The Joker often wondered what was hidden under all that black Kevlar and latex. What was really under that almost impenetrable suit? He was certain that it was something worth hiding, something worth keeping secret.

Not something like his face.

It's not that he's ashamed of his face, quite the contrary. He thinks that his scars set him apart. Make him better than these people. His scars take some looking behind. Like looking at abstract painting, it takes a real eye to spot the beauty in 'ugly' things. He's never met anyone that could look past it before, which is most convenient because it means that people are simple minded and easily led astray. Easily panicked, easily terrified. This is always fun to watch. Fun to take part in, fun to direct the chaos and fuel the burning inferno of petty minded hypocritical people running around loosing their minds, flailing about as he watch from the upper stories of a deserted building laughing maniacally at their misfortunes.

People don't mind seeing ugly things. They don't mind showing ugly or 'worthless' things to anyone. But when something is beautiful or has value, it must be hidden or protected. So that others won't steal the precious thing. People lock their stuff in houses. They have alarms and dogs guarding their beloved things. When someone has something pretty; they lock it away or hide it under masks, those can be emotional or literal masks, either way they're hiding.

These are the sort of things that the Joker wants to possess. He enjoys taking people's darling items and destroying them.

After all, it's not nice to hoard and not share.

The ultimate treasure that the Joker desires is Batman. To hide something behind all that protection, it must be something good, something worth possessing, something pretty.

Something so pretty that maybe, just maybe, he won't want to destroy it.

Maybe it doesn't have anything to do with being pretty, maybe it's because Batman can see behind the scars, behind the make-up into his twisted and grimy soul. He can see the Joker for what he truly is, an anarchist fighting against the established order and not as 'crazy' as everyone else thinks. It took a while, but with enough straining of his eyes Batman saw right into him. This is why the Joker would never give him up.

He'd never stop this thing with Batman.

The Joker loved playing his games with 'The Caped Crusader.'

He couldn't stop provoking the man, if he was a man, it was debatable. No one was that morally righteous, but maybe he was. After all, people thought that the Joker was a monster. Or crazy, they thought that a lot as well. He wasn't though. He was just the uncivilized agent of chaos that lurked under the surface in every person. Batman was the ordered and civilized ethical citizen that everyone wanted to be, but couldn't quite measure up to. They represented two extreme sides of humanity, the parts in all of us that are constantly at war with one another.

Batman was incorruptible. He gave everything to his city, his life, his woman, his nights. He was smart, fast, and funny at times. Not the 'normally humorous' kind of funny, but he had the same kind of humor that the Joker had. The menacing and dark kind of humor, it's the kind that allows one to laugh at the darkness. It's a vital characteristic to anyone that stalks out into Gotham's violent black nights.

His quick thinking was what had drawn the Joker to Batman in the first place. He hadn't ever had anyone that was that quick of their feet to play with in…well…ever. But it wasn't all mental exercises, the Joker's 'doings' often called for physical strength as well. And the strength that the Batman exuded was marvelous. He was the quintessential opponent.

He was…

Perfect.

At times the winged man could be overly cautious.

Didn't he know that the Joker would never kill him? He was too much fun. He was the reason that the Joker was alive. If he wasn't, then the Joker wouldn't have any reason to exist. He'd be pointless. There can't be one without the other. Batman didn't know that yet, maybe the Joker should explain that to him later. Maybe after the ferries…he'd certainly have the Bats attention then.

The Joker would taunt Batman; try to get him to fall, try to get him to lapse out of that role of hero, knowing that it wouldn't work. Not really wanting it to because then where would they be? But that's what they did, they played together. One trying to catch the other at a weak moment, but both knowing that they have no such thing.

The Joker was better at getting under Batman's skin then vice versa. He could tease and play mind games with the man until he was so frustrated that he'd resort to physical force, the Joker's favorite kind.

The last time he played that game, he'd gotten thrown into a tiled wall at the police station and then flipped onto a metal table. The Joker thought that they looked odd under the florescent lighting in the questioning bay. Two people, two children of the darkness, such as themselves shouldn't be in such unforgiving light. Batman looked less menacing and the Joker thought it clashed with his purple suit. It made his make-up look less intimidating as well.

Batman had picked him up effortlessly and his head had made an exquisite cracking sound as it was slammed into the white tile. He was disoriented for a moment and let himself lean into the cool tile; let his weight be held up by his companion. Batman had him by the collar and was breathing heavily against his face and neck. So close that Batman's chin had a dot of the Joker's white paint on it, nothing too noticeable unless you were that close together. His black suited body pressed heavily against the Joker's purple clad one. Asking him question and demanding answers, always so intense.

Batman was like an explosion sometimes.

He'd get upset and angry and then his fire would come out, his spark was lit. Then he'd explode into a fury of violence and intensity that the Joker strived to pull out every time, but only managed to provoke on special occasions. The Joker liked explosions. The raw power behind such an eruption caused him to smile until he thought that it would engulf his entire face. Which wasn't a bad thing; because even with the scars, the Joker personally thought that he had a charming smile.

The Joker thought that they'd had a very lovely night at the police station.

The Joker's laugh would gain octaves as the amount of physical contact between him and Batman increased.

Every punch was full of that beautifully painful physical contact that the Joker relished in. One punch to the mouth, head, and shoulder; like lovers plant kisses and caresses, they landed punches and kicks. Their fighting was their foreplay, at least the Joker surmised as much. He'd never really been anywhere near normal people relationships to actually compare. Much too boring, much too soft, much too fluffy.

Batman was fun, nothing like those normal folks. No matter how hard he tried to pretend that he was. It was almost sweet how hard he tried to be one of them. But the Joker knew that nothing got his blood pumping faster than a good fight with his make-up clad enemy. The Joker could feel Batman's heart beating rapidly under his suit whenever they were pressed together, locked in battle, which was actually quite frequently. He enjoyed the close up fighting as opposed to the far off combat. Well, with Batman anyways. Everyone else he usually just blew up or stabbed. He didn't really fight with anyone else. It felt wrong, which was a foreign feeling; it felt like he was cheating Batman out of something.

Batman was his.

His arch-nemesis, his mortal enemy, his twisted mirror image, his Batman. Not Scarecrow's or Dents or Dent's bunny's, and not even Gotham's Hero. Batman was his since they'd first laid eyes on one another at Dent's fundraiser party, at first glance.

That was that.

Nothing else to it.

He was crazed and slightly possessive of his things. He kept his knives on him at all times. He knew each one from the hilt of the handle to the point at the dazzling silver end.

Knives were pretty.

He'd always had a thing for bats too, with their spiked and shiny teeth, their dark eyes, and claw like feet and wing points. They were sharp like knives.

The Joker liked knives.

Ever since he'd gotten these scars, people had looked away, looked anywhere except at him. Scared, horrified, ashamed, embarrassed, and sometimes pityingly; they shrank away, everyone except Batman. He didn't look away.

Batman stared.

Stared at him like he was a specimen not of this world; stared at him like he was something special, something not common, like he was a rarity amongst this ordinary crowded world. Batman wanted to understand, desperately wanted to understand. The Joker would never let that happen. He couldn't lose Batman's attention like that easily.

Besides he was past the point of comprehension, far beyond that now. He knew what he was after, chaos. But to a man with a mind like Batman's, that was an almost incomprehensible concept. He'd explain it one day, perhaps. After they were locked away together, at least he hoped it would come to that. They'd have their own white padded cell, with only them. Retirement from this life of crime wouldn't be too bad if he had his opposite with him, if he had Batman.

But that was a long while away. So, they'd play their games. The Joker would kill people. Batman would try to stop him and save the insignificant lives of those unworthy to be saved, especially by someone as good as Batman. Play until they were dead, play until they were so tired that they would snap and get locked away, play because that's what the Joker did.

He played and did things.

He wasn't crazy, not really. He was simply obsessed with chaos, explosions, gunpowder, gasoline, dynamite, and above all else, Batman.

Hope that it wasn't too OOC. I know it is a bit because the Joker's such a perfect character that no one, but Heath can play/write him correctly. I write Bruce/Batman better, I think.

Thanks for reading! Please review!