Warning: this will eventually be slash, so if you don't like it, you don't have to read it. I own nothing, no matter how much I wish I did, Batman is the property of DC and genius director Christopher Nolan (although he loses some love for thinking Robin's too gay to be in the movies…)
It wasn't natural, and it wasn't normal.
Absolutely furious with himself, the Joker sat sulking on the roof of one of Gotham's larger department stores. This, in itself, was ridiculous. Criminal masterminds did not sulk, especially not one floor up from the women's lingerie department. And criminal masterminds never, ever got stupid little crushes on the superheroes whose city they were trying to masterfully criminalize. The joker ran one hand through his curly green-blonde hair. This was absurd. Well, he wasn't going to dwell on it anymore. Consider that train of thought royally crashed. Run completely off the tracks – no, more than that! Run off the tracks with a bomb strapped under every other car, every drink poisoned, every piece of crockery in the dining car shattered…
The Joker groaned. He was still dwelling.
It was all that one stupid henchman's fault, he decided. That's what he got for hiring bozos like that in the first place…he was going to have to be even more choosy from now on.
The day had started out completely innocent, a nice stormy, gloomy day, full of potential for mayhem. He'd been discussing his latest plan to draw out the Batman (this one involved rigging a nearby amusement park) when, to his complete shock, some complete jackass in a clown mask grumbled something about them always doing the same thing. What could the Joker say? He loved bombs.
Thinking that matter was settled, the Joker had made to move on, only to be interrupted a second time. "It's not the bombs, boss," said the henchman, clearing his throat nervously. "It's Batman. Why always him?" The Joker froze, for one millisecond actually lost for words. "We should try some new targets, boss. Remember that one time we went after the mob? That was fun…"
The Joker made a hissing sound through his teeth, hoping he sounded more like an angry cat as opposed to a deflating tire. "Because," he said, carefully containing his anger. "The Batman is what stands between us and complete chaos. Besides, he's the only person left who's any, uh, fun to play with." The Joker grinned widely, his scars warping his smile into something more twisted. "Torturing him is the highlight of my day."
"That or the fact you're completely in love with the guy," muttered the henchman. It was that particular henchman's bad luck that the Joker had chosen to address them in the middle of breakfast. His fork went sailing through the air with deadly accuracy, burying itself in the unfortunate man's eye. He gave a gurgling scream and collapsed on the ground. The Joker had given the rest of his men a warning smile (on him, scarier than any glare) and stalked away.
The worst part, he reflected, many hours later, had been the tiny shred of truth that he'd seen in the man's words. Not that he was in love with Batman – good God no! But his obsessiveness might (to others' eyes of course, he knew better) look a bit like a… like a crush! The thought alone was enough to make him want to strap a bomb to a box of kittens and chuck it into a crowded street. And so he'd retired to the top of the department store to brood.
But brooding, the Joker soon realized, was no fun at all. If anything, it only made things worse.
And then there was the other problem.
The fact that Batman had all but disappeared.
Sure, he was everywhere you looked, with GOTHAM'S MOST WANTED CRIMINAL typed in bold under his face. It was nice to see people setting the dogs on the hero fro a change – maybe all this would force Batman to see just how alike they really were…
And they were alike.
The Joker knew it.
That's what made torturing Batman so much… fun.
Didn't Batman like stopping the Joker too? If so, then where was he? There was only one answer – the Joker would have to pull an even bigger heist, something so depraved Batman would have to show himself.
What to do, what to do… the Joker frowned, one knee drawn up to his chest, the other leg dangling off the edge of the building as he mused. He'd already blown up a hospital, did the whole Harvey Dent thing, almost killed Commissioner Gordon… not to mention the whole deal with the trial. That was, if he did say so himself, a brilliant piece of depravity. Just last week he'd freed all the animals from the Gotham zoo, which had been fun and deliciously destructive. Still, thought the Joker wistfully, he was really more of a people person at heart. This new plan – whatever it would be – would have to involve the sophisticated brilliance that only came from dealing with good old Homo Sapiens Sapiens.
The Joker climbed back to his feet with cat-like grace. Whatever the solution was, it wasn't going to come to him here. The atmosphere on the building was stifling, managing to dampen even his perennial good mood. He sighed, twisted smile as wide as ever, and stretched. It had been a long night. And it was sure to be a long day – the smile grew wider, more warped – a long, fun day.
He spread his arms wide, throwing back his head and laughing as he looked down at the dark spread of Gotham. Such a ripe city. And it was his – all his. Yum.
There was a sudden, quiet sound behind him.
The Joker whirled around, to see a dark figure no less then three feet away. Batman? – No. Too short. And, quite obviously, not dressed as a bat. So who? The stranger stood motionless, hands clasped behind his back. He wasn't very tall, maybe five foot eight, and dressed in a black suit that looked at least two sizes two large. A broad brimmed black hat was pulled down low over his eyes, shielding most of his face. The only things visible were the man's thin lips, which had been painted a bright, disturbing shade of red.
"Uh…" the Joker grinned wider. "Well, who might you be?" he asked, folding his arms.
The other man remained silent, only smiling politely.
The Joker took a small step forward. The other man didn't move. "Kind of quiet one, are we?" he asked. "I think I like you."
The other man's smile widened. It was a weird smile, the Joker reflected briefly. The kind of smile of Venus Fly Trap might have – if Venus Fly Traps had mouths. "That's good," he said. His voice was soft and strangely effeminate.
"Well, uh, I'd love to stop and chat, but I have things to do, ya know," said the Joker, breaking the silence that followed. "People to kill, stuff to, ah, explode."
"I don't think you should go just yet," said the man quietly.
The Joker laughed incredulously, raising his eyebrows. Automatically his hand went to his knife. Part of him wanted to run the man through, get the conversation over with, but part of him was intrigued. Besides, running him through then and there wouldn't be much fun, would it? He pulled the thin blade from his breast pocket. "Do you know how I got these scars?" he asked, making his tone light-hearted and conversational as he idly ran his fingers over the blade.
The man's smile spread, growing positively angelic. "Yes."
The Joker blinked, finger freezing at the tip of his knife. Well. That was certainly unexpected. He looked more closely at the strange man, cat-like curiosity piqued. "You didn't tell me who you were," he said, trying to catch of glimpse of the other man's face.
"I didn't?" the man asked, his tone unreadable. "Don't you know?"
"Uh, no," smirked the Joker. "That's why I'm asking, you see."
The man merely smiled all the wider, his hand moving slowly to his pocket. When he spoke his voice was breathy, light with something the Joker knew well: excitement. "I'm your biggest fan."
The nagging little voice in the back of the Joker's head was trying to tell him something was wrong. Unfortunately, he had never made a career of listening to that particular little voice. "Well, uh. Isn't that nice. Look at me, I'm bl – "
He didn't even notice the stun gun until the man whipped it out with sudden, unexpected speed and shot several volts of electricity into his chest. The Joker dropped to his knees, head fuzzy and spinning. He was dimly aware of the cold concrete under his hands, the distant sound of his own laughter, and then he smelled the chloroform and everything turned black.
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