Eyes That See

xoxo

"Oh, yes, I'll be your lover too."

Bruce closed his eyes. The cold hard rain hit his face and he grit his teeth. He was angry, but most of all he was afraid. Yes, he was truly afraid. For the first time in a long time, and that in and of itself was frightening enough.

"…Oh and you'll be my Queen," warm lips pressed against his ear lobe, and a sickeningly hot rush of air hit the shell of his ear.

"…And I'll be your King," thin fingers crept up his water soaked arms, he bit his lip. He wondered briefly how this had happened, but he knew that he didn't have time to contemplate it. Not with the perfectly insane man stood above him, so dangerously close.

His hands, bound behind his back didn't even struggle to find escape, for once it felt hopeless. His body felt heavy under the rain, sitting like a lead heap on top of the hard chair under his body. The street around him was old, dark and hard to see. The only thing now that was clear was the body.

The body that laid unceremoniously on the slightly flooded, and cold ground. The body that had once been…Bruce couldn't even finish the thought. The singing voice, pushed him out of his thoughts, forceful and yet soft. He almost cringed. Almost.

"And we'll melt into each other's eyes," Bruce couldn't help but open his eyes at the lyrics. And he hated himself for it. Because the moment that he did terribly vibrant green eyes waited, ready to stare into his own blue ones.

There was a twisted sort of satisfaction in those mossy green eyes, but it was shallow, Bruce could tell. There was something else hidden there, deeper and more foreboding, something that he didn't want to find. Bruce closed his eyes, and wished that this would be over. That maybe even, he hadn't ever been born.

"Stop," he said. But his voice held no conviction, no strength. Like he'd given up. It was hoarse and it cracked, it sounded like he felt. Miserable.

Those rough fingers, not Bruce's own, and known for their odd gesticulations lifted from his shoulders to rest on the sides of his jaw. They pressed hard at the skin under his ears, before their touch went almost gentle. Bruce felt sick.

His face was turned up, and if he hadn't kept his eyes closed he was sure that he would have been forced to look into the eyes that he truly despised. The eyes that seemed to reflect something more terrifying than even his own death. His own soul.

Darkness, yes, that was undeniable. Freedom, possibly, that was debatable. Chaos, most definitely, that was indisputable. Love, never, that was impossible.

"Oh, but Brucey don't you like my singing? I'm singing ju-st for…you," Bruce opened his eyes, not able to help himself. "There's those eyes, my eyes. I've been waiting for those eyes."

Bruce chose not to say anything back. Instead he worked his hardest to find a way to not look at the body lying only feet away from them both. The rain soaked through his white, pinstriped button up. His sleeves were rolled up at the ends and were stained with blood not his own.

"…And you'll look at me with eyes that see," the Joker continued singing again, his voice was low, and rasped. It had a sharp edge to it, and yet it was somehow casual, in an inexplicable sort of way. His voice held sporadic inflections, and baritones; none of which made sense, but nothing about the man- if he could even be called that- did.

"Oh, so-o serious," his voice dropped once again, and his Chelsea grin stretched as his lips moved down and into a frown. Bruce cringed. The Joker's already smudged white make-up ran, leaving his slightly too pale skin to reveale itself.

"I only put him out of his mis-ery…" the Joker got down into a crouch before the chair that Bruce was tied to. He reached his arms around Bruce like he was about to hug him and let his hands rest on the thick chains holding the millionaires' hands together behind him.

The make-up covered man rested his chin against Bruce's chest and sighed in an almost dreamy sort of way. "You know, when you ignore me like this…" he made a low sounding noise of disapproval and upset before continuing, "Are you ma-d at me, Brucey…?" He tilted his head to the side and his surprisingly strong hands gripped Bruce's wrists making the man hiss at the sudden sensation.

The dark haired male sat ramrod straight in his chair and forced himself to stare above the Joker's head. He refused to look at the man resting against him. Not when the body…Not when Alfred was so close.

"It's just you and me now, Brucey. Just you and me… Always you and me!" Bruce didn't even flinch, the shout from the Joker not effecting him. Not anymore.

"Oh, don't ignore me. You can't ignore me. I'm your other half. Not the better half, admittedly, but you still need me. Don't pre-tend," the Joker was impossibly close to him now, practically leaning on his front as his red painted lips hovered over Bruce's.

The teasing note in the Joker's voice ceased to effect Bruce. His eyes stared hard into the lifeless ones of the man lying dead, and bleeding on the wet pavement. A hard slap, meant only to get Bruce's attention forced him to look away, but he didn't look to the Joker either.

It only seemed to agitate the Harlequin of Hate. He pursed his lips, an overtly dramatic amount, and scrunched his eye brows together, "I can't see him."

Bruce knew what the Joker must be speaking about, but he continued to ignore him. His face hard, and betraying the warring emotions inside him. He could only hope that his eyes wouldn't give him away.

"I know he's there… But he's gotten…lost," the hard look of concentration soon feel from the Joker's face and he moved up and away from Bruce, stoic almost. He walked slowly over to Alfred's hapless body. His steps were slurred in a way, much like his speaking, slow and uneven.

"Ashes to ashes. Dust to…dust," he leaned down suddenly, his body bent awkwardly and he ran his fingers over the front of Alfred's dark suit. He made a gruff sounding noise as he leaned up, his contemplative look back once again.

"He's so dur-ty. But aren't they all?" he twisted the upper half of his body and turned to look at Bruce again, though not fully facing him. His dark purple suit soaked, looked almost black now, it was odd, and too dark for the man. Which was odd considering the color of his soul.

Still there was no response from Bruce, as he stared almost unblinkingly at the space just above Alfred's body. His body was no longer stiff, or afraid, it was leaning heavily against the old wire framed chair. He was sprawled in an uncommonly seen position for Bruce Wayne.

"At least do something, Way-ne…" the high pitched tone was back, his impatience was clear. But Bruce chose to ignore it, he closed his eyes again, and tried to block everything out. He wasn't sure that it would work, but it was better than dealing with this new reality.

Before even seconds had passed the Joker's hands were pressed against the sides of his neck, he stood behind Bruce's chair his body pressed close behind the businessman. His warm, calloused fingers moved easily against the wet skin of Bruce's neck.

When the Joker leaned down his lips brushed against the side of Bruce's cheek. The movement was enough to make Bruce react, but not by much. The Joker noticed it almost immediately. "Hmmn…"

As the Joker's newest realization hit him, a grin pulled at his lips. His noise of approval, made something stir in Bruce; or more than just one thing really, many things: Disgust. Revulsion. Hatred. Anger. Misery. Need. But need for what, Bruce wasn't so sure anymore.

"I li-ke you…Brucey," the odd pauses and stretches of his words and sentences hadn't bothered Bruce before. Much. But at his last statement, Bruce's fists clenched. It was almost like he'd ignited something new in Bruce.

He had always hated the Joker. He had always wanted to find justice for the man's actions. He's always wanted to put him away. Fight him. But now? Now, there was something new. He wanted to kill him. He wanted to end the life that belonged to the Joker. The sick and twisted lie that the monster was, or at least pretended to be was going to come to an untimely end if Bruce had anything to do with it. No matter what promises he'd made to himself in the past.

That deep seated hatred was not the only thing that burned inside Bruce's human body though. His skin was hot, fighting the cold of the rain; his flesh was red, contrasting the pale of the man in front of him; and his eyes were hard, beckoning the jester closer.

Many things came in pairs: good and bad, light and dark, love and hate, pleasure and pain, hero and villain, Batman and Joker, Bruce and Jack. They were all the same, and yet they were so incredibly different that it seemed almost unreal.

They couldn't exist without one another though. That was an undeniable statement of fact. Like a hero needed a villain, the Batman needed the Joker. The hate inside of him, needed the pleasure that the Joker could offer. The love inside of him needed the pain that the Joker could give. The twisted need he felt for his dark counterpart, matched only the perverted want the Joker felt for his light match.

"And I hate you, Jack," the Joker's body jerked away from his own. The sound of his name a jolt to his system. The Joker's face contorted in sudden anger, hot and heady in its seething viciousness.

He moved quickly, and shrewdly to now face Bruce. The hard blue eyes that looked up at him through thick black lashes had him baring his teeth. "Nau-ghty, Brucey. Hate is a strong word," he lifted a finger and wagged it slowly in front of Bruce's face.

His anger flowed freely as he leaned once again toward Bruce. Bruce didn't even bother to move away. He wouldn't be pushed any longer. He felt his own matching fury matching the Joker's, threatening to burn a hole in his chest.

Foggy, but hard green eyes stared into Bruce's eyes and for a moment Bruce had convinced himself that he was staring into his own eyes. Suddenly the lucidity found there only seconds before receded as the eyes widened and a new grin plastered itself on Joker's face.

"I found him. I found my Batsy," the man raved. His voice was high, as the tenor of it seemed to rise once again, sounding wild. Mad.

"And there's not even a mask on," the Joker lifted a hand and taped the wet forehead of the Batman. The skin there was warm, and smooth, but soaked and the Joker let his finger slide down the middle of his forehead, nose and then lips.

Bruce struggled, moving against the finger pressed to his lips. He felt it now. Batman's power, his strength. His sense of dark justice and clarity. He was no longer a frightened Bruce Wayne, but the commanding and capable Batman.

He could hardly feel the rain hitting his skin, heavy and biting now. He felt no fear, or distress. He felt the power of his almost arrogant conviction, and a renewed sense of vindication as he stared at the low dark form of the man before him.

It didn't matter that Batman now realized he truly did need the Joker. It didn't matter that Bruce now realized that he wanted Jack. It didn't matter now that they were destined. He would end it. Whether it took the rest of his life. Whether he spent all his years chasing the cat to his mouse, or the mouse to his cat, he would do it one way or another.

His arms pulled against the chains, that only seemed to grip him harder as he yanked. His muscles stretched and twitched in exertion, but he hardly noticed. His face pulled down and into that familiar scowl, full of a cold anger that kept the crime filled streets of Gotham City on high alert.

"Joker," his voice was low, it was thick and deep. It was not the voice of Bruce Wayne, but that of Batman. The sound of it made the Joker's red lips smack, and distend in a sickly sort of satisfied smile creep onto his face.

"Hello, lover. Wel-come home."

A loud clap of thunder was the Joker's only response, or warning before the Batman's chair tipped back cracking as it split under the force of Batman's body. A cackling laugh echoed on the street as the Joker lurched forward, ready to begin again.

Another round. Another fight. Another means to an end, or beginning. To each his own, really.

xoxo

A/N: Yea, so I know its all over the place, and probably really crappy, but there it is. My first Batman fic, and my first try at Batman/Joker. I hope at least some parts of it were understandable. I know it needs developing, and I do need a better understanding of the both of them (I think it will come with time), but I hope this was at least marginally acceptable. Love to all.

P.s. I know the Joker's dialog is probably hard to read. But I tried to imitate the pauses and stretches in Heath Ledger's "Joker voice." It probably didn't work out well, and if it didn't please feel free to tell me, and if I get enough complaints I'll change it.

I hope you decide to review!

-Marry