Title: A Stitch In Time

Author: Godell

Rating: PG

Warnings: Mild one-sided slash (Joker/Batman), hints of sexual situations.

Word Count: 558

Disclaimer: I don't own The Dark Knight. I own the plot of this oneshot.


Everything's almost ready.

I push the needle carefully in and through, watching as the stitches begin to…line up. My finished clothes are oh-so-carefully folded on the other end of this raggedy couch, blues and greens and purples—my colors, my, ah, costume. For Halloween.

The TV flickers and catches my attention.

"…Meanwhile, in Gotham, there have been rumors 'flying' around of a man bent on putting criminals in their place…"

Do tell.

"…The Gotham City Police Department is refusing to comment, but the criminals themselves are another matter…"

I keep stitching, gently brushing my fingers across the more…uneven edges of the waistcoat-to-be. Oh well. No sense in being perfect, after all. Perfect's boring. Perfect order and perfect chaos, perfect just doesn't work in the long run.

While the criminals on screen whine and screech and act so very very rude, I'm being constructive with my time. Like…arts and crafts.

I giggle at the row of drying masks on the windowsill. How dashing my buddies will be when we make our, ah, stops at a few banks. Too bad the masks aren't bulletproof.

But that's okay. I have that taken care of. If we lose somebody, fine. (It won't be your humble narrator, of course). Chicago's used to a few…dead bodies.

It's not about money…it's about getting attention.

…Though right now, I'm thinking more of this guy's attention. This…'bat'…man. I mean, it's not every day (or night) that some muscled freak in a rubber suit comes out of the sky to…punish you. It sounds like a sadomasochist's fantasy, doesn't it?

And I should know.

A spark of feeling shoots up to my brain. A drop of shiny red blood slowly appears on my thumb and glitters on the needle. I press it to my lips thoughtfully, the tip of my tongue slipping out and catching the drop.

It tastes like metal. Copper.

I laugh and lean back, resting my head on a ratty old pillow. I must look like some kind of…kid, sucking my thumb, half asleep.

"Now look what you made me do." I wag my finger at the TV, watching the Flying Rodent glare at the camera through blurry footage.

The newscaster looks serious. "Who is this strange man? Is he a cop? An ordinary citizen standing up for what's right? Or maybe some freak of nature?"

I can't help but grin at that. "Hell if I know, Mikey. But I'll find out for you."

The little program ends, but that weirdo still lingers in my mind. I look out the window of my little apartment, out at Chicago, all glitzy and promising…but used up. I just got here, and already I feel…antsy. Maybe it's because everybody's used Chicago by now. She's a tired old, ah, lady of the night.

But not Gotham. Oh, no, Gotham is a fresh-faced little whore, leaning against a street lamp with her pimp (a big ol' bat) behind her. She's wearing a steel mask to hide her…scars. Almost virginal. Ready for a night on the town.

I have to admit, though, her pimp isn't that bad either. There's such…mystery behind them both, y'know? So many masks to take off. So many things to learn, and break.

Lucky me…Gotham's only a bus ride away.

So don't you fly off anywhere, Bat-freak, I'm coming to you.

It's gonna be a fun Halloween.