The first 4 months after Joker's death.

-Grief-

-In the year since Joker's death Bruce had tried to return to normal.

He'd tried, that was all he could say.-

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He didn't leave his room for the first month, he simply lay there, staring at the spot where Joker had slept. He'd refused to eat for the most part, though Alfred brought him food anyway, thanking god whenever he found that Bruce had taken as much as a bite from the previous meal.

Dick did his best to assist him, but even his usually cheery mood was taking hits; seeing this once great man letting himself waste away like that…

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"Bruce. Please. You've got to eat." Dick pled to his mentor.

"I'm not hungry." Bruce grumbled, flicking his head up to look at Dick, the first time he'd done so since the young man had entered the room.

Bruce had been crying again, Dick could tell; his eyes were puffy and red. He'd not slept and the resulting dark circles now stained his perfect skin.

"I don't care, your body needs food," Dick tried not to snap at the older man, it'd just make him not want to talk.

"I don't need anything." Bruce mumbled, his eyes dropping again.

Dick sighed, he knew there was no point in pushing it, he placed the plate of tuna sandwiches on the bedside table, tying not to disturb the pictures that resided there.

He decided to return to the topic he had originally meant to talk about. "…I have some news, Bruce."

"Oh?" Bruce mumbled half-heartedly as he placed his head back on the pillow, laying and gazing at the space in the bed next to him, running his fingers over the indents in the surface.

Joker had laid there, and told him he'd loved him. And Bruce hadn't said it in return… He'd refused it.

He should have said it.

Three words, only three. Why had it been so hard?

"Yeah… Um… Wally has asked me to move in with him."

Bruce's eye's jerked to Dick's face, "What?"

"I said yes. But I want you to be ok with it. I don't want to leave you while you're like this." Dick said, trying to keep his tone soft, to not display the excitement that filled him at the thought of moving in with his flame-haired boyfriend.

Bruce furrowed his brow, "You'll be leaving Wayne manor?"

He didn't seem to understand what Dick had said.

Dick nodded, saying 'yes' quietly.

"And moving in with Wally?"

"Yes." Dick said again, a small smile dancing on his lips.

Bruce nodded, forcing a smile on his face, "Good. You deserve to be happy, be with the man you love."

Dick felt a slight blush appear on his face, "Yeah… I want you to be ok with it though. I won't be leaving until you're feeling better."

"I feel fine, Dick." Bruce mumbled in a tone, which was meant to be a stubborn one, but instead only invoked pity.

Dick gave out a huffed chuckled, shaking his head, "You're not. You can't even bring yourself to eat a god-damn tuna sandwich."

"Fine!" Bruce suddenly shouted, raising himself from the bed, "I'll eat the fucking sandwich!" He walked round the bed and pulled the plate from its wooden seat. He picked up the sandwich and shoved it into his mouth, trying to ignore the nausea in his stomach.

Dick watched the older man eat, biting his lip so he wouldn't tell him to stop. Tears had begun appearing in Bruce's eyes, he didn't want to eat, especially not this.

It was his favourite. Joker had known, somehow.

Bruce swallowed the last of his food and slid onto the floor, hands to his head. Tears again falling down his face.

"Thank you," Dick said gently, his mood sufficiently darkened.

Bruce growled loudly and threw the plate across the room, smashing it against the wall. "Shut up Dick. Don't you ever bring me that again. I hate tuna."

Dick furrowed his brow, "But it's your favourite, it always has been."

"People change, Dick. If I say I don't want tuna anymore then don't get me tuna anymore."

Dick held out a hand to Bruce, putting it gently on the other man's shoulder. "Ok Bruce, what would you like instead?"

Bruce lifted his head, "I don't want anything, Dick. I told you."

He fell into violent sobs, lowering his head again, "I don't…"

Dick lowered himself to Bruce's side, pulling him into a protested hug. Dick squeezed him gently, listening to his sobs. "You miss him don't you…?"

"O-Of course I f-fucking miss him. H-How would you f-feel…"Bruce mumbled through his sobs.

Dick closed his eyes and pulled Bruce closer, "…I know… I know…"

"The only m-man I love and h-he's…" Bruce couldn't bring himself to say the last word.

Dick felt himself begin to choke up, he hated seeing Bruce in this state.

"It'll be ok Bruce… You just need some time…"

Bruce nodded into Dick's chest, "I know…" he shuddered with his breath.

Dick sat with Bruce for a while, waiting for the older man to calm down.

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Part way through the second month Alfred found himself relieved to hear Bruce shout his name, the noise not coming from Bruce's room, but instead from the small living-room on the lower floor.

He began venturing out, at first it was to find things to read, or watch, to prevent boredom.

Alfred was thankful just for that.

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"Sir, nice to see that you're out of your room. We were beginning to think you'd never come out." Alfred said cheerily as he located Bruce, sitting on the small green sofa, staring blankly at the bookcase, with one book held limply in his hand.

Bruce nodded, "I need something else to read. Why don't we have any good books?"

Alfred smiled, walking to stand beside Bruce, "That depends on what you define as good, sir. I for example find 'The unicorn' rather enthralling."

Bruce looked down at the book in his hand, "I agree, I've just read it."

Alfred nodded, giving a slight 'ah' of understanding. "…Will one be showering today, sir?"

Bruce shook his head, "No, one will not."

… He didn't feel he deserved it; He felt awful, so why should he look anything other than that. 'Awful'…

Alfred sighed, letting his strict frame lax slightly, "We're all rather worried for you sir. You have several messages from each member of the Justice League asking for you."

"I don't want to talk to them." Bruce replied immediately, tearing his eyes from the books and bringing them to Alfred.

Alfred nodded, outstretching a hand to pat Bruce on the shoulder, "I understand sir, I just felt you should know that there are people who still care for you, and are missing your presence."

Bruce frowned, 'who still care for you' as if Joker had stopped caring now he was dead… "I'm going to go back to bed," he said, his head lulling back down as he did.

"Sir, please," Alfred said quietly, "I do not feel that would be the best thing for you."

Bruce's head snapped back up, "What the fuck would you know Alfred? Don't pretend you know what I'm going through."

"Sir!" Alfred said harshly, removing his hand from Bruce's shoulder, "I have lived almost twice the years you have, you cannot be suggesting that someone I love has not died in that time."

Bruce's frown softened, he would admit that that was a little harsh of him to say.

"Joker and I were in each other's lives for 20 years, that is half of my life… How could he leave like that…" Bruce's anger flittered into sadness, and sorrow ebbed in his chest again.

Alfred sighed, "I'm sure he didn't want to leave you… sir…"

"He killed himself. He wanted to die," Bruce growled weakly.

Alfred shook his head, "No sir, he didn't, he simply wanted to be able to control the circumstances of his death… Under the same conditions, I would wish the same."

Bruce frowned, "S-so you would blow yourself up, and kill 30 others in the process, rather than die of an aneurism?"

Alfred again shook his head, "No, sir, not at all, but given the opportunity I would rather die by choice than by force."

Bruce grunted listlessly, his gaze falling to his own uncovered feet, his toes twitching gently in anxiety.

Alfred gave a small smile to the younger man, "I do know what you're going through, sir. You will be ok."

Bruce's head jerked with a small nod. That had to be the 10th time he'd heard that this week. 'You'll be ok'.

He wouldn't be.

He couldn't.

Not with this gaping hole in his chest.

"People keep telling me that. Why do I not believe them."

.

At three months both Alfred and Dick were beginning to grow concerned by Bruce's immobility. He'd spend almost three weeks in physiotherapy before returning home, and was supposed to be continuing basic exercise routines to help keep his leg and shoulder in check, and he hadn't been doing them.

Tim had tried to get him to go down to the Batcave to use some of the exercise equipment down there, but Bruce had flat out refused, and the two had ended up having yet another argument.

Alfred had come to the decision it would be best to bring in some help, someone Bruce could talk to.

.

"He's in the sitting room, Master Wayne." Alfred smiled, leading Bruce gently towards the said room.

Bruce was frowning harshly, "I don't see why you called him here, I don't want to talk to him, I don't want to talk to anyone…"

Alfred stopped at the door, turning to look at his charge. Dishevelled would be the best way to describe him; stubble covering the lower half of his face, his hair ruffled and greasy, wearing baggy grey trousers that were dirty and a black t-shirt peppered with holes and stains.

"You may not want to sir, but you need to."

He opened the door and saw, sitting on the beige sofa, the soft smile and blonde hair of Doctor Mahogany.

"Doctor Mahogany," Bruce said to the young man with a gentle nod of hello.

"Bruce," The doctor nodded back, seeming a little too informal with his words.

Bruce swallowed gently, "I was told you-"

"Don't bother with all that, Bruce," the younger man said with a gentle wave of his hand, "I know who you are. If a teenager can figure it out so can I…"

Bruce's frown softened, the words catching him a little off guard, "Tim is one of the only people to work out who I am, he is a genius."

The doctor shook his head as Bruce approached his black armchair, "And I had degrees in psychology, chemistry and internal medicine by the age of 22, I am too a genius, sir."

Bruce gave a slight huff as he sat down, still reluctant to talk to the young man. "…How is Dr. Sing?" he asked, trying to make small talk.

Mahogany's smile dropped, "I… He didn't make it, he died in surgery."

Bruce frowned, "Oh… I'm sorry."

Mahogany waved his hand again, "Don't be, I hated that man."

"That doesn't mean he deserved to die." Bruce mumbled sadly, there was too much death in his life at the moment.

The doctor shook his head, trying to stop himself from smiling as he felt Bruce's tone; he was beginning to open up. "No one deserves to die, sir, but… it happens, people die, you know that better than anyone."

Bruce nodded, "Yeah, I do know. First my fucking parents, my son, two of my girlfriends, and now…"

Bruce could feel tears jumping in the back of his eyes, he was so tired of crying, but there was nothing else he could do. Nothing helped. Nothing could stop this pain.

Mahogany sat and waited for Bruce to finish his sentence.

"…Now Joker's dead…" Bruce finally said, once his eyes had stopped threatening him with tears.

The doctor nodded, "I know. He didn't deserve to die."

"Didn't he?" Bruce asked in a mumble.

"No."

Bruce's gaze fell to the floor, "The world's better off without him. I shouldn't feel like this…"

Mahogany leant forward on his chair, his elbows lazing on his knees, "You always wanted him to get better. You always wanted to fix him."

Bruce felt the tears coming back into his eyes, he nodded gently.

"You're now realising that that can never happen."

Bruce lifted a hand to his eyes, barricading the tears with his finger, "…What did you talk to him about?" he asked, suddenly remembering something the doctor had said about his theories about Joker.

Mahogany smiled gently, "Um, we used to talk about you and him. He kept telling me about the first time he met you."

Bruce's mouth spread into a sad smile, of course he did…

"…He loved you." Mahogany said gingerly.

Bruce nodded, now unable to stop the tears running down his face, "I-I know… I wish I-I'd said it back."

The doctor nodded, and paused for a second, "He has a grave, you know…"

Bruce blinked, trying to waive his tears. "I can't go."

"Why not?"

"People will see me."

Doctor Mahogany shrugged, "So? What does that matter? Surely people seeing you there is better than feeling like this."

Bruce frowned, "What would I even do there? I'm supposed to stand by a fucking headstone and tell him… that…"

With that the older man broke. Tears and sobs exploding from him.

Doctor Mahogany rushed to his side, holding a hand to Bruce's shoulder.

"You feel this pain Bruce?" he asked gently, "This? It's good, you've got to let yourself feel this. You need to tell him how you feel."

Bruce continued to sob, turning his head in a poor attempt to hide his teary reddened faced.

"Do you see now Bruce? You need to do this."

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Bruce started his physical therapy again, just the basic exercises, as little as he could get away with, just until he was well enough, by Alfred's standards, to venture from the house on his own.

By midway through the fourth month he was able to walk normally again, and found himself out in the street, walking to Joker's grave, as Doctor Mahogany had suggested.

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His eyes were affixed to the floor, he didn't want to see the outside world, he wanted to see Joker's grave, and then go back home.

Joker was not buried in Arkham's graveyard, the warden had feared that having the grave of the greatest criminal Gotham had ever known on their premises would bring too much attention to the area, and might bring in unwanted visitors.

Joker's body had its own small plot in a government owned graveyard. The place where they buried the homeless, the unwanted and the unknown.

Joker did not belong there.

Bruce swallowed hard as he walked across the yellowing grass, exhaling as he lifted his eyes.

Nausea quickly rose in him when he saw Joker's headstone.

The originally grey stone had been spray painted green, blackened dying roses surrounding the base of the small plinth.

The word carved on the grave was highlighted in purple, it simply said 'Joker'.

It wasn't graffiti, it was like someone had painted Joker's personality onto the stone.

Maybe Joker had told one of his men to do this for him.

To make his grave a dash of colour amongst the grey.

Bruce swallowed the lump in his throat and sat himself at the foot of the grave, simply staring at the purple word.

His eyes flicked down from the word, looking to the grass below the stone, "…I…"

The lump re-appeared in his throat, wanting him to cry.

"…I don't know what to say…"

He smiled gently, "You're usually the one to say the first word."

His eyes turned back up, looking at Joker's name, but seeing more than just that.

"You'd say something like… you'd say that I looked glum. Or something."

He began tugging nervously at the grass by his feet, trying to resist his tears. "…Of course I look 'glum'. I feel awful."

He frowned, annoyed at his own awkwardness.

"…I miss you…" he said quietly, "I don't understand it. There have been so many times where I've wanted you to… to not be there… But now, you're actually gone and I just… I'm so sorry."

A tear begin to track its way down his cheek, "I miss you so much, I dream of you… I can't sleep anymore because you're always there!"

He played with a blade of grass, twisting it around his finger, "My dreams have changed too… I used to dream of… of you touching me… I hated it."

He shook his head, he was lying to himself even now… "I liked it… I wanted more than just…"

The sentence trailed off as Bruce realised he was getting off topic. "Now I just replay that scene in my head… seeing you with those tubes… I hated seeing you like that. It hurts me so much."

Tears were now running fast down his cheeks, "I wish I could have killed you. I wish I could have spared you that. I'm so sorry I couldn't do it. I didn't understand…"

A short sob choked in his throat, "I love you."

He let himself fall into the void of darkness that filled his chest, letting tears of anguish fall from him, "I love you."

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Please review.

(the next part is where things get weird)