Bruce Wayne came home after a night spent drinking. Life as "The Batman" was becoming increasingly difficult to handle, and alcohol was his new favourite distraction. He knew that would come back to bite him one of these nights when he was summoned while drunk. Oh well. It hadn't happened yet, and might not happen anytime soon. He hadn't been needed lately, for whatever reason. Bruce wasn't sure if he was upset or relieved by that.

He wandered over to his personal bar to pour himself another drink before bed. "Just one," he said.

"Now we both now that isn't true, Brucey," a voice said from behind him.

Bruce froze. He knew that voice. He knew who would be standing there when he turned around.

"'Cause we both know what's going to happen," the Joker continued. "'Just one' will turn into just one more, and one more will turn into another one, blah blah blah." He circled slowly around Bruce before leaning up against the bar. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you cliche."

"What are you talking about?" Bruce muttered. He knew he should be more afraid, but he was surprisingly calm. It was probably because he wasn't entirely sure if the Joker was really there, or if he was a figment of his intoxicated imagination.

"What am I talking about," the Joker mocked. "Y'know, the young, hot playboy with demons turning to alcohol to solve his nonexistent problems, it's boring."

Bruce felt a flash of anger. What did the Joker know about his life? Strike that, actually. Batman had become his life, and the Joker seemed to know quite a bit about that.

"I have plenty of problems," was all Bruce said.

"Oh yes, like Mommy and Daddy? I heard all about that, my poor baby." The Joker leaned in closer. "Would you like to compare sad childhood stories?"

"I'll take a rain check," Bruce said, rubbing his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Well I was hoping you could lend me a few bucks, Mr. Wayne," the Joker said gravely. "I need an abortion, and the baby's yours." He held his composure for about five seconds, and then fell apart, snickering. "I bet that's a sentence you're used to hearing, huh?" He managed to ask between loud, raucous laughs.

"Would you keep your voice down?" Bruce hissed.

"What? Afraid your little butler will disapprove of your guest? Didn't know you cared so much about the opinions of lowly working folks," the Joker said.

"I don't want you deciding to kill him if he comes in here."

"Who says I haven't already?" The Joker dropped his voice. It was almost seductive, the way he has suddenly become so serious, and frightening.

"What did you do to him?" Bruce asked. He suddenly realized how bad this situation was. Why was the Joker in his house? Did he know about who he was? He cursed the drinks he'd taken in earlier; now he really needed to have his wits about him. He didn't have any armor on to protect himself, the way he usually did when he had to deal with the Joker.

"Nothing, nothing, don't worry." He picked up the bottle of gin that Bruce had just been about to pour. "I could never see the appeal with this stuff," he took off the cover and sniffed. "Ugh! Yeah that's terrible. Like I said, Batsy, boring boring."

Bruce almost threw up. "What did you call me?"

"You heard me." The Joker smoothed his hair back with one hand while the other reached for Bruce's. He took hold of his fingers and rubbed his thumb across them. "Don't worry, I'm not going to go blabbing. I feel a little embarrassed, actually. I go around, declaring that Batman is my arch nemesis, and who does he turn out to be? Like I said, some little pretty boy with a drinking problem."

Bruce pulled his hand out of the Joker's grip. He was still in shock, and the only thing he could manage to say was "I don't have a drinking problem."

"Haha," The Joker looked hurt. "Listen, just 'cause you go to a swanky upscale establishment for your liquor doesn't make you any less of an alcoholic than someone who chugs it down in a dive on the side of the highway, alright? But as I was saying, you're not really worthy of me."

"Well then, what do you want?"

"'What do you want, what do you want,' can't you think of anything better to ask me?" The Joker mumbled.

"Like what?"

"I don't know, how about, what's my favourite colour, what's my idea of a perfect date, how do I like to be kissed?" He studied Bruce and felt a flutter of satisfaction when his nemesis blushed. "But fine, if you are going to be all pouty about it, I just wanted to pay you a visit."

"I don't think it's that simple," Bruce said.

The Joker rolled his eyes. "There's no pleasing you, is there? Can't I just pop by to say hello?"

Bruce noticed the Joker was getting anxious. He started to fiddle with his hands, and his tongue darted out of his mouth to tap on the side of his lip in an almost OCD like way. There were so many elements to the Joker's psychosis; Bruce added that to the growing list he had tucked away in the back of his mind. He didn't know which was more alarming; the Joker calm, or the Joker on edge.

"Why would you do that?"

"Why wouldn't I? Can't a friend just come by to see another friend?" He took a step or two closer to Bruce, who took three steps backward.

"You're not my friend," Bruce said, trying to sound firm.

The Joker stuck out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. "That's not very nice, Brucey."

Bruce held out his arm in front of him. "See this scar here? That's from you."

"Mhmm," The Joker said, staring down at the old wound almost greedily.

"Friends usually don't give other friends scars, for one thing" Bruce said. Trying to reason with the Joker was obviously going to fail, but it was fun trying, strangely enough.

"Come on, that was business. That was work, you know. It wasn't anything personal." He kept moving toward Bruce, unbuttoning the bottom part of his shirt.

"What are you doing?" Bruce asked. He kept backing away, and almost knocked a chair over. He grabbed hold of it to steady himself.

"Geez, don't be so nervous, Batsy. I'm just showing you a lovely little memento you left with me." He lifted up his shirt to reveal a deep purple, jagged scar. That was the first thing Bruce noticed. The next was how narrow the Joker's waist was. He knew he was small, but wasn't really aware before how thin he truly was. It was odd seeing a part of the Joker that wasn't painted. He knew that somewhere underneath those clothes was someone quite human. He was, psychologically, a monster, but in every other sense he was just as much a person as Bruce was. He couldn't help but wonder, and it made him shudder, about what he looked like everywhere else.

The Joker giggled. "It's rude to stare, you know." He kept his shirt lifted, raising it a little higher, even. He ran one finger casually across the scar, smiling at the way Bruce's eyes followed it. "But come on, I must have left more scars on you than that. I know you've given me more than this." His grin widened slightly, the permanent trail twitching upward. "C'mon, Bats, I'll show you mine if you show me yours."