Title: Cut Me Loose
Word Count: 9045
Disclaimer: This work is based on characters and concepts created and owned by DC Comics, Warner Bros. and other entities and corporations. No money is being made and no copyright and/or trademark infringement is intended.
Warnings: Nolan-verse, violence, mayhem, non-explicit Batman/Joker
This fic was co-written with Razothredfire on 5/20/2012. I never got around to posting it here because of 's inability to create co-authors without creating a new account. This fic was betaed by 1Bad_Joke.
Stuck on the end of this ball and chain
And I'm on my way back down again
Stood on a bridge, tied to a noose
You came along and you cut me loose.
~Amsterdam, Coldplay
Joker waited in the place he'd chosen as his command center, oddly serious of face for once as he studied the papers and maps spread in front of him. Several cheap, outdated televisions spewed noise pollution into the room, their programs mostly ignored. A police radio sat on one end of the table, a large digital clock beside it. Walkie-talkies and a couple of cell phones waited silently on the other end.
He'd planned for weeks. As far as he could tell, nothing had been overlooked – he'd put more work into this than he'd ever expended for the first time he'd come to Gotham. Cooking up a scheme to crack Dent had been child's play when compared to the amount of timing, training, and equipment that had gone into this.
The teams were scattered by now, all of them well versed in their orders. They undoubtedly thought he was insane, working slavishly on plans when he intended to keep none of the obvious spoils for himself. He cared nothing for the money and goods that would be stolen, already having informed the teams about how things would be divvied up between them. If they wondered why he was keeping nothing for himself, they didn't question. They knew better to question by now, both for the sake of the large amount of compensation they were being paid and for the privilege of continuing to draw breath.
Joker sighed, staring at the clock beside him. It would start, soon. Once the sun dipped below the horizon everything would be put into motion like a well-placed chain of dominoes. The men would check in, and he'd be on the line to assist should something go terribly awry, but all the cogs of the terrible machine were in place. All that was left was to start it up.
The clown chuckled as GNN turned to the early edition of the news, one of the traffic cameras zooming out for a moment to focus on the Gotham skyline. The sky was just beginning to turn a fiery shade of red.
Joker raised his glass. "To weeks without sleep. To madness. To victory." Emptying the container, the liquid burning its way down his throat, Joker grabbed one of the walkie-talkies. "Goodnight, kids. Off you go. Get some pleasant dreams."
The madman leaned back, knowing the rest of the teams were monitoring the time and setting their schedule alarms. It was just a matter of watching and waiting, now.
It started innocently enough, the news reporting that a call had been placed informing the police that a bomb had been hidden somewhere among the warehouses at the Docks. A short time later a bomb did go off, but at the opposite side of the city; Arkham's walls had just been breached, spilling a significant number of the criminally insane into the Narrows. When a large fire began spreading in Gotham Heights shortly thereafter, Joker smiled.
The police radio was going nuts, filled with as much confusion as the news networks. They'd think it was an unfortunate night, perhaps. A coincidence, at this point. When the chaos continued into the next day, on into the night, stretching out without ceasing… Eventually they'd understand, once they could no longer keep up and the fatigue began to wear on them all.
This was a siege. This was war.
"I just can't believe it," the man said. He was shaken, Batman observed clinically, but unharmed. "They burned down my store. Took everything. Why would they do that?"
Why indeed? In the past few days, Batman had learned that sometimes, there was no answer to that question.
The crime spree started with the breakout of Arkham Asylum but in the past three days, there was no part of Gotham that remained untouched. The barrage was constant, relentless. And the crimes seemed to have no connection. A gang war erupted in the Narrows, fourteen people dead, including two children hit by stray bullets in a drive-by shooting. A group of masked men broke into a private party at Vauxhall and demanded the partygoer's jewelry, no one harmed but over a half million in precious gems and cash stolen. Another gang robbed a bank near Monolith Square, killing twelve people. The Scarecrow released fear toxin at the Wayne Botanical Garden; two dead.
Forty-three. That was the death toll so far. Forty-three people in three days. Batman kept the names in his head, people he had never met and now never would—a list of failures.
None of the crimes seemed connected. Batman had been over and over it in his mind, every location, every crime, looking for a pattern until his eyes ached. But there was nothing.
It was as if the city had decided to go mad.
The police frequency chattered, the dispatcher's urgent voice calling all available units to Gotham Light and Power. Another bomb threat had been called in.
"Stay here until the police arrive," Batman told the shop owner.
He was gone before the man could reply.
Five hours later the bomb had been recovered and the remaining gunmen—three out of seven that had opened fire on GCPD units at the scene—have been escorted to lockup. Batman recognized two of them—formerly Gambol's men, thugs who'd worked for the Joker in the past.
He wondered, not for the first time, where the Joker fit into all this. The clown had been unnaturally quiet for the past few days. The chaos engulfing Gotham seemed right up his alley, but Batman had seen no sign of him. It was unsettling, like waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Batman scrubbed a tired hand over his face. He didn't want to think about Joker right now. He couldn't think about anything but the next crisis to be averted, the next life to save. There was no room in his head for anything else. He was so tired. He'd been running on nothing but adrenaline for the last eighteen hours, despite Alfred's pleas to come back to the manor and "eat something, at least."
There was no time for that. People were dying and Batman could not stop, could not rest. He had to set things right, enforce order, makes the streets of Gotham safe once again. He had no time for weakness, for tiredness or hunger. The hollow ache in his belly reminded him to keep pure, to rise above human concerns and be the savior Gotham needed.
But, even as he sped to the next crime scene, he feared it wasn't enough.
Joker grimly received the first reports of deaths and captures. The numbers didn't really matter; he'd spent enough time and promised enough money that he'd recruited the vast majority of the criminal pool in Gotham. He could lose 50% of the teams and still be effective.
Neither would the captured men be able to tell the police much, even if they were inclined to rat on the plan. Each team had a time schedule, but no team knew any other team's schedule, what or where things were scheduled, or who was on the other teams. Nobody knew where the command center was, or even if Joker was within the city limits. There was no way to utilize the members of one team to take out the rest.
The most they'd be able to tell the police was that Joker was the man pulling all the strings.
Gotham was burning in the meantime. All the news channels confirmed that this was the worst crime spree that had ever happened in the city's history. The way they were hammering away at the Gotham Police Department had left no one in doubt that the strings of events were connected. The news cut to views of the packed bridges and ferries, taking in all the citizens that had decided to flee off the island until things had settled down again.
I don't think so. Joker smiled, picking up one of the walkie-talkies. "Ginger, are you ready for a hot night on the town?" A gruff voiced "Ginger" answered in the affirmative on the other line, and suddenly the live video feed on the news channel turned into a fireworks show. Hidden explosives rocked the car-packed bridges, severing the threads of concrete connecting Gotham to the mainland and dumping their passengers into the water many feet below. One by one, each ferry met the same fate, erupting in flames and sinking.
A separate team was trained to watch for this and would be taking care of the rest of the Docks. Until they were done, nobody was getting off the island.
Gordon put up the Batsignal once he got a brief moment to breathe. Hardly anyone was manning the station, a bare-bones crew guarding the cells and taking phone calls while the rest of the force desperately reacted to each new emergency on the streets. They were all running on coffee at this point; nobody had gone home since this nightmare had started. Going home would just mean an explosion in a body count that was already much, much too high.
Waiting by the signal as the precious minutes ticked by, Gordon wondered whether Batman was too entangled in the crimes on the streets to respond. He wished, not for the first time, that he had a better way to get in touch with the man than lighting up the sky and crossing his fingers. In a critical situation, the information they could share with one another could make the difference between life and death. They hadn't gotten much out of the thugs they'd captured, but what they had learned was alarming. Joker was acting as the ringleader for this horror, and he somehow had gotten damn near the entire criminal population to work for him in this.
What was even scarier was that not one of the men they'd arrested knew Joker's end game. Gordon secretly feared that there wasn't one. Joker's purpose seemed to be terror. And the people of Gotham were terrorized. Shops were empty, banks closed until further notice, public areas deserted. Cars choked the bridges off the island as the citizens with means attempted to flee to the mainland.
And then, explosion after explosion rocked the city, cutting the bridges and Gotham off from the rest of the world.
Mayor Gonzales had given in after that, petitioning the governor for an immediate pardon for the Batman and ordering Gordon to put the signal up.
It had been lighting the sky now for a half hour and no sign of Batman.
The two lieutenants waiting with Gordon shifted tiredly, faces grey with exhaustion.
"Wilson, Rainey, why don't you go get some coffee? I'll wait."
Wilson nodded, giving him a wan smile. She was new to GCPD, a transfer from Boston and tough as nails. Gordon liked her no-nonsense approach and her down-to-earth attitude.
"You want us to bring you back some, chief?"
"Nah," he waved a hand at her. "If I drink anymore of the office shit my stomach will shrivel up."
She cracked a tired chuckle and followed Rainey into the stairwell and out of sight.
A few seconds later, Gordon was aware of another presence on the roof.
"Batman," he acknowledged. He didn't take his eyes off the city skyline, smoke curling over the edges of the buildings as the sun streaked blood-red across the clouds. The blare of sirens was a constant now, filtering in as background noise.
"Gordon," Batman growled quietly.
"You've heard about the pardon?"
It had been all over GNN for the last hour. Most of the reporters decried the governor's actions, calling it an election year stunt. Gordon had switched it off in disgust. It was just like those vultures to turn against the one man who'd done the most good in Gotham.
Batman grunted an assent.
"It's good to have you back," Gordon admitted.
"I was never gone."
Gordon huffed out a laugh because yes, he'd known that. But it was still good to work together again, to not have to play out the charade of pursuing the vigilante for crimes Gordon knew he hadn't committed.
His companion had joined him at the edge of the roof, a dark presence in Gordon's peripheral vision.
"We think the Joker is behind this," Gordon told him. He saw Batman's gloved fingers tighten against the brick. "The men we arrested from the Power bombing? They said they got their orders from him."
"We need to find him," Batman said flatly.
"Yes," Gordon agreed. "But I can't spare the manpower. Every last officer I have are trying to recover survivors or patrolling the streets." He removed his glasses, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. "I'm running my people ragged. The Governor was talking about sending the National Guard in but now that the bridges are out…" He sighed. "I have 30,000 men and we can't keep up."
"I'll find him," Batman vowed. "I'll bring him in."
Gordon nodded and straightened, putting his glasses back on. "If you need help—"
But Batman had already disappeared.
Bruce peeled the cowl from his face and dropped it onto the chair with a sigh. He sank down onto the bed, threading his hands through his hair and kneading his throbbing temples. GNN chattered in the background, two reporters debating whether Batman had gotten away with the murder of Harvey Dent.
"Ultimately, the murder of Harvey Dent must take a backseat to the current crises," a plastic-looking blond man was saying. "Gotham needs Batman right now. And I'm sure Dent would agree that the governor is justified in—"
Bruce switched it off with disgust.
He'd spent hours scouring every abandoned building in the Narrows. No sign of Joker. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to hate Joker for doing this to his city. He wanted to be able to call upon all his old icy rage and pursue Joker like the spirit of vengeance. But he didn't have the energy anymore.
He was so goddamned tired that he could hardly think straight.
"Master Bruce, you really ought to get some sleep," Alfred murmured. Bruce took the aspirin Alfred handed him and swallowed them dry. "Just an hour," he coaxed.
"Just an hour," Bruce agreed and laid back, closing his stinging eyes.
The death toll was at one hundred eighteen now, too many to know all their names anymore. One hundred eighteen and it would be more, if the police hadn't cleared the rest of the bridges before they'd been blown. Fifty-six people had died on New Trigate Bridge and crews were still shifting through rubble, trying to recover bodies. No sign of Joker and the body count just kept piling up.
One hundred eighteen dead and the entire city at a standstill.
Gotham needed Batman again.
And so he'd been pardoned.
He didn't know why he was surprised. Of course they needed him to come back. Who else could deal with the Joker? Of course this was going to happen.
Still, he could not help but feel revolted at how cynical the whole thing was. For all they knew, he'd killed four people, including the white knight of Gotham. And now they were willing to forgive him that because he was useful again. Justice took a back seat to expedience.
Joker's voice came unbidden: You see, their morals, their code...it's a bad joke, dropped at the first sign of trouble.
Bruce shook his head and turned over, trying to silence his racing thoughts.
They need you now, but when they don't…
Bruce had chosen to be cast out. He'd taken the blame for Harvey and he'd done it happily, knowing he was preserving the integrity of a good man.
They're only as good as the world allows them to be.
No. That wasn't true. They needed him, needed his protection against the horror that Joker inflicted. He couldn't blame them for being afraid.
This was all Joker's fault.
Bruce held tightly to that thought as he finally slid towards sleep.
It seemed that only minutes had passed before Alfred was shaking him awake again.
"I'm sorry, Master Bruce but you're needed." The old man gestured to the television, turning up the volume on the remote.
"…dozens of people pouring in to the shopping center now, looting and burning. At least three people are confirmed dead. SWAT teams have assembled on the scene but the crowd refuses to disperse. The scene is a powderkeg…"
Bruce had already levered himself out of bed, snapping body armor in place and pulling on his cowl. It took him fifteen minutes to get the Tumbler to the shopping center and by that time, the riot had escalated. Tear gas canisters lined the street, choking smoke wafting into the afternoon sky.
"We got most of the crowd controlled but there's a group that refuses to leave. They've barricaded themselves in the store," Gordon told him grimly. "They're armed. Three officers down."
"Joker's men?" Batman guessed.
Gordon cut him a look. "Not as far as we know." What he wasn't saying was that these were regular citizens, taking advantage of the panic to abandon social norms.
"How many?"
"A dozen, we think. No hostages."
Batman nodded.
Getting into the sporting goods store that the rioters had settled into was relatively easy. Batman made his way through the ventilation system and dropped down onto them, managing to knock out two men before the rest knew what hit them.
It was easy, after that. He moved methodically from man to man, incapacitating them while they looked around wildly, trying to figure out what was going on. The last man managed to squeeze off a shot at him, but the armor absorbed the impact and he went down like the rest.
A few minutes later, they were disarmed and herded into the back of a police van. Stripped of their face masks and guns, they looked normal, sheepish and a bit bewildered. Regular people, forced into insanity by the Joker's mayhem.
"Hey, you're Batman," the man who'd taken a shot at him said with wonder. "Man, my wife loves you."
The man next to him rolled his eyes. "Brown-noser," he sneered. "He's nothing." He turned on Batman with narrowed eyes, leaning forward as much as the handcuffs would allow. "You're just as much a murderer as Joker."
Batman clenched his jaw and turned away. He'd pulled the ID of both men when he'd apprehended them. Jacob Dransfield was the brother of one of the victims of Crane's fear toxin attack on the Botanical Garden. Batman had kept Crane alive to stand trial and obviously, the man blamed Batman for Crane's escape.
Batman ignored the small voice in his head that agreed.
The commissioner was waiting just outside the semi-circle of police vans that surrounded the strip mall."Thank you," Gordon said gratefully. His face way grey with exhaustion, the deep lines around his eyes making him look ancient. "I think we—"
"Master Bruce?"
Batman held up a hand, cutting Gordon's words short as he focused on the receiver in his cowl.
"What is it?"
"I think you ought to come home as quickly as possible." Alfred's voice sounded tight, almost afraid.
"What's happened? Are you all right?"
"Yes," Alfred said at once. "I'm fine. But…you've received a package."
A manila envelope sat in the middle of the kitchen table. It was small-not large enough for a bomb-and flat. It was addressed to "B.M.," the initials and the address scrawled in large block letters in red felt-tip. A familiar smiley face filled in the return address spot.
Bruce could feel the floor falling out from under him.
The Joker had sent him a package. Here, to the penthouse.
He knew. Joker knew Batman and Bruce Wayne were one and the same.
"Master Bruce, would you—"
"Pack a bag," Bruce interrupted. "Get out of the house."
"Master Bruce, I will not leave you."
"It's not safe here anymore," Bruce told him flatly. "I can't keep you safe."
"It was never safe, Master Bruce. I knew what I was signing up for."
Bruce shook his head. He admired Alfred's courage but this was too much.
"I can't have you here," he said as gently as he could. "I can't worry about what he's going to do to you. Please, just…take the helicopter and go to your sister's for a while."
Bruce looked into Alfred's face earnestly. Alfred's face looked worn and old. When had Alfred gotten old?
"Please," Bruce said again.
Alfred nodded. "Very well," he said.
A few seconds later, Bruce was alone in the kitchen. He reached out for the package and noticed that his hand was trembling. Fatigue, he dismissed. He slid a finger into the gap between the envelope and the flap, ripping it open and upending the contents onto the table. A DVD tumbled from the package. No note, nothing else. Just the disk, labeled in Joker's messy scrawl-The Upright Citizens of Gotham.
Bruce didn't hesitate, didn't pretend to debate with himself about whether he should watch it. He was not to pass up the chance at any clue to Joker's whereabouts. He popped the DVD into the player and switched it on.
The video was not the expected clown cam. Instead, the footage was a grainy long-shot over the heads of a hundred or so people, mostly sitting in neat rows of chairs. He could barely make out individual faces but there was sound, the rustling of a restless crowd and a man in front, counting little slips of paper. It took Bruce long minutes to identify the scene and then his blood ran cold.
It was footage from the inside of the passenger ferry, all those months ago.
"The tally is 196 votes against," the man was saying. "And 340 votes for."
The man contemplated a black shape in his hand, the remote trigger for the explosives on the prisoner's ferry, Bruce recognized now.
"Do it!" a voice cried from the back.
The man shook his head. "I voted for it, same as most of you. But I didn't say I'd do it." He set the remote down and stepped away from it.
"Let me," the same voice that had cried out said. Another man, slighter, with a white shirt on, broke from the crowd. "No one wants to get their hands dirty," he sneered. "Fine. I'll do it." He picked up the remote and looked around. The crowd murmured but no one said a word to stop him.
Bruce knew the ending. He knew that neither group had triggered the device and killed the other, despite Joker's threats. He knew…but he still felt his breathing come shorter as he watched the man try to work up the courage to detonate the device.
After what seemed like an eternity, the businessman set the device back down and the footage abruptly cut to a familiar painted face.
"It wasn't goodness that saved the prisoners on the ferry that night," Joker said. "It was cowardice. They all voted to murder their –ah- fellow citizens and save themselves. But no one had the guts to pull the trigger. You see, Brucie? I'm not as alone as you thought."
Joker's raucous laughter swelled up and over Bruce like a wave. He reached out and switched the TV off, silencing the room abruptly.
They had voted to kill the passengers on the other ferry.
They had pardoned him, even though everyone believed he was a murderer.
They had killed three police officers, for nothing.
They're only as good as the world allows them to be. When the chips are down, these civilized people…they'll eat each other.
Bruce shook his head, trying to ease the iron fist around his heart.
No. This was all Joker's fault. He had to find him. He had to end this.
Then everything would be okay.
The city continued to burn through the next day into the evening. A few of the criminals were killed or captured here and there, but it seemed to not make a dent in their numbers. Cops were starting to drop from exhaustion and stress, and still no one had any idea how to stop the relentless assault on the city. None of the people they questioned had the faintest idea where Joker was.
Lieutenants Rainey and Wilson had gone back out, planning on picking up supplies at one of the few stores still open after responding to emergencies for a full shift. They'd just stepped out of the squad car when it happened, too sudden and unexpected for their fatigued bodies to react in time. Rainey went down after taking bullets to the torso and head. Wilson had just gotten her gun unholstered with numb, shaking fingers and was raising it to shoot when a club found its mark, blacking out her vision. She could feel hands quickly binding her arms behind her as her knees hit the pavement. A bag went over her head, and she was dragged away into the dark.
Wilson awoke with a blindfold obscuring her vision, a gag in her mouth, and restraints holding her against a hard, flat surface. She could only hear Joker as he paced the room, setting up the equipment and getting the lighting just right. The men out in the streets were doing just fine without constant supervision right now. Now was the time to up the ante and let his target know just what sort of game they were playing.
He started the camera rolling, his features oddly serious beneath the ghoulish makeup as he stared into the lens. The room lighting caught his eyes in a strange way, making the clown look a bit like a nighttime predator caught on film for a nature special. A hyena, perhaps.
"This will be seen by a lot of you tonight, but there's only one watcher that really matters. Bat. I know you've figured out by now that I'm the guy running the show. You also can't find me or you would have by now." The man licked his lips and grinned, the light turning the expression feral.
"You've probably started wondering 'why' at this point. Or you should be, if you hadn't already. Why all of this? Why this effort? Why so much planning, so many people, so much violence? I'm going to give you the answer."
Leaning over the edge of the table, Joker hovered like a shadow of death over the bound Wilson, a wicked knife appearing in one hand. "Light and dark. They often seem completely at odds with each other, but really… they're a bit symbiotic. It's not just futile to try to destroy the other, it's foolish. They can't exist without one another. They perish without the balance, start falling to pieces." Joker moved suddenly, cutting a finger off Wilson's left hand, ignoring the muffled scream. "You start killing the other off totally, completely… and you kill your own side as well." Another slice, this time opening a rent in the woman's thigh.
"You indulge the delusion that you can destroy the other side and keep your own because you're playing with moral absolutes. Despite everything, despite what I've done and what I've told you before, you continue to wage a war of extinction. You rigidly refuse to settle for anything less than the complete destruction of the Gotham underworld, despite of the fact you won't take the final step and actually kill its members."
Another set of quick movements, a few more lines of bright red opening up and pouring forth. The police woman was shaking now, realizing she wasn't getting out of this alive. "I want you to actually listen for once. This is apparently the only way to make you pay attention. We are two sides of the same whole. Neither of us is anything without the other. I've told you as much before, but you refused to bend. You refuse to admit there is grey, just as you refuse to see the balance, the way each side compliments the other. You refuse to explore this, and you refuse to brook any deals, any compromises. You dismissed it all and continued to wage your little war. Your war to soothe your sense of righteousness, of moral self-importance, ignoring the fact that your actions are the cause of all this death.."
He paused and then looked straight into the camera. "You could have stopped this at any time."
Another finger and an ear came off. "Well, you're paying attention now. Now that the other side is organized and fighting back for its survival. Now that the body count is piling up, weighed against your stubbornness, your refusal to bend. Your refusal to compromise and accept my offer."
Joker's jaw hardened in anger and he moved to the end of the table, leaned over Wilson's head – a predator moving in for the kill. "You're seeing what happens when you decide to wage war. You get war back. I don't want to kill you. I'd rather we not destroy one another. I'd much rather we come to agreeable terms, a deal. But if you insist on this path, you've now had a small taste of the hell you're going to get. We won't go down without a fight, and all the work you've done for this city will be as if you never existed, never made a bit of difference. We'll fight until one of us bleeds out, but both of us will die." The knife moved across Wilson's throat; she was dead within moments. "…likely, Gotham will die with us."
Joker stalked up to the camera in silence, regarding it for a moment before turning it off.
The video was delivered anonymously to GNN and aired in an emergency broadcast almost immediately after it was received.
Bruce watched the broadcast with growing horror. The woman—Wilson—screamed against the gag, jerking away from Joker's probing knife. Each movement of the knife and each word spoken by the Joker sank into Bruce's soul.
We'll fight until one of use bleeds out, but both of us will die. Likely, Gotham will die with us.
Bruce stepped to the window, surveying the city below. Smoke rose from the rubble of burned buildings, sirens and screams rending the air. The city looked like it was in its death throes already.
This has to end, he thought. He'd believed that losing Rachel was the worst thing the Joker could do to him. But now he knew differently. This slow war of attrition was wearing him down. Bruce was so tired, the kind of bone-deep weariness that doesn't go away with a good night of sleep.
He looked down at the city and he thought, ludicrously, of the first time he'd gone out as Batman. There had been a mugger, threatening a woman with a gun. He'd intervened and fought the man off, only to turn back and find the woman bleeding out from a knife wound to the chest. He'd been so intent on catching the first criminal that he'd completely missed his partner, lingering in the darkness.
He used to know their names. Every name of every person he'd failed to save.
There were too many now.
So many dead. And Bruce was beginning to suspect that he was responsible.
Yes, Joker had set the whole thing up but Batman was the reason Joker was here. The reason he existed. Light and dark, chaos and order. You complete me.
He'd refused to bend. He'd refused Joker's oblique offer of a truce. He'd been so sure that he was right—the incorruptible Batman. And now his city was dying around him and his tattered integrity didn't seem like enough of a defense for this devastation.
Bruce pressed his hot cheek to the glass and closed his eyes.
His head felt heavy, his eyelids weighted. He closed them and tried to empty his mind, try to relax into his exhaustion. But when he closed his eyes he saw the face of the woman he'd failed to save staring back at him, her open eyes accusing and he could hear Joker's voice, whispering over and over: They're only as good as the world allows them to be.
He snapped out of sleep when video began to replay from the beginning, this time with news crew commentary. Bruce wrenched himself from the window and switched over to the recording he'd made.
"This will be seen by a lot of you tonight.." Joker's voice started.
Bruce clenched his fists at the nasal drawl.
You refuse to explore this, Joker's voice rang in his mind. You refuse to brook any deals…this is your fault.
He muted the sound and ignored the voice in his head that agreed with Joker. Instead, he spent the next hour backtracking and analyzing the video frame by frame, looking for a clue to Joker's whereabouts. An empty warehouse, judging from the concrete walls and the eerie echo when Joker spoke. He focused on the windows. Judging from the light and the timeline of Wilson's abduction, the video had been shot only a few hours ago. There were buildings in the background and Bruce spent long minutes zooming in, looking for something identifiable. Finally, his efforts paid off.
"Gordon," he growled into the phone. "I've got the address for where he kept Wilson. I'm texting it now. I'll meet you there."
It was obvious from the moment he arrived that the warehouse had long since been abandoned by Joker. Nevertheless, Batman spent half the night going over the scene, unwilling to miss any clue that Joker might had left behind. Not that Batman expected him to. Joker was much too smart for that and, after a few hours, he finally gave up and allowed GCPD to move Wilson's cold body. Gordon looked shaken as his men snapped to attention, saluting as the paramedics loaded her into the ambulance.
Batman felt numb.
"Wilson was one of ours," Gordon told him after the ambulance had driven away. "Every man I have is going to be looking for Joker now. If you want him to live, you'd better find him first."
Batman nodded slowly. There were no clues here, nothing to get him any closer to finding Joker.
It didn't matter, though. He had another way to find the clown.
Wayne Tower was nearly deserted when Bruce stepped inside. He'd traded his Batman suit in for Armani, looking every inch the playboy as he made his way up the elevator. He stopped by Lucius' office on the way, making sure his CEO was out before he rode the elevator back down to Applied Sciences. Lucius wouldn't approve of what he was about to do, of that Bruce was sure. But he had to find Joker, had to stop this madness. He couldn't let his integrity, or the disapproval of his friend, deter him anymore. Too many people were dead because he had been unwilling to use every tool at his disposal to bring the clown down. He wasn't going to allow any more death, no matter what it cost him.
Bruce switched on the lights on the fourteenth floor and made his way to the nearest workstation. He logged into the computer, using the same username and password that he'd used to create the cell phone sonar program. He had not been entirely honest when he'd told Lucius that typing in his name would destroy the system his CEO had so disapproved of. True, the trigger had self-destructed the mainframe but Bruce had kept a backup of the program, just in case.
He pulled up the file and inserted a thumbdrive into the tower.
"I never thought I'd see you sink so low," a voice said from behind him.
Bruce turned slowly in his chair, a sense of the inevitable hanging over him as he greeted, "Lucius."
"How long did you think you could keep that program hidden from me?" Lucius asked. He didn't sound angry, merely curious.
"I didn't mean to—"
"Yes you did," the other man cut him off. "You lied to me. You violated my trust and you're about to violate the privacy of every person in this city. Again."
"I have to do this," Bruce said. He sighed, swiping a hand across his eye, trying to shake off the grey spots dancing at the end of his vision. "I have to catch Joker." Surely Lucius could understand that?
"Not like this," Lucius' voice exploded and he sounded furious now. "Not this way. You're supposed to be the good guy."
"I am the good guy," Bruce said dully. He should feel angry. After everything he'd sacrificed he shouldn't have sit here and listen to Lucius question his commitment, but all he felt was a deep, yawning emptiness. "I have to catch him, don't you understand? I have to end this."
"This will never end," Lucius said and his face looked sad, almost pitying. "You've gone too far. You're obsessed with this man. You always have been." Bruce opened his mouth to deny it but Lucius overrode him. "And I'm not going to let you do this."
"This is my fault, Lucius. He…he is doing this because of me. I have to find him. I understand if you can't be party to it. I'll accept your resignation—"
Lucius shook his head, the pitying expression deepening to something harder. "No. I'm not resigning," he said. He stepped closer, right into Bruce's personal space and there was disdain in his eyes. "I found that file months ago and replaced it. I think you'll find that you've just copied Microsoft Office Suite onto your thumbdrive."
Lucius smiled at him, the sweet smile of a man who knew he'd won. "Good night, Mr. Wayne," he said icily and turned on his heel.
Bruce sat in the empty office space for a long time afterward, feeling nothing.
When he got home, there were two things on his kitchen table. The first was a box with a folded bit of cream-colored stationary on top. It bore his name in Alfred's careful handwriting. The other was a playing card, with red words scribbled across it.
Bruce ignored the card, unfolding Alfred's note.
To Master Bruce, it read. Sometimes the only solution for men who want to watch the world burn is this.
He opened the box. Alfred's service revolver laid inside, glinting dimly against the blue velvet. Bruce took it out slowly, testing the weight of it in his hand.
He felt nothing.
His eyes drifted to the playing card.
The Joker card wasn't just an indication that the clown had been here; the red scrawl around the borders outlined a message. Time to choose: yourself, or your city? Tick tock, Bat. A rough doodle of Gotham's famous clock tower graced the lower left corner of the card, arrows in the right corner indicating a time.
Joker wanted to meet, and now he'd given Bruce both a time and a place. An opportunity to take him out.
He felt nothing.
He stared down at both notes, letting the numbness fill him up until it was all there was. It didn't matter anymore. His honor, his Rule. None of it mattered now. He'd brought this war to Gotham and he had to end it. See Lucius, you were wrong, he thought. There is a way to end this.
He clutched the revolver to his chest, cradling it like a lover. He blinked and felt tears on his cheeks and didn't understand why they were there.
He felt nothing.
At twenty to midnight he roused himself, making his way through the dark house to the door.
He took the gun with him.
The clock had just finished striking the hour when Bruce made his way up the stairs to the tower mechanical room. He hadn't changed out of his suit—Joker knew who he was so it hardly seemed to matter—but he had stripped off his suit jacket and tie. His hands were shaking as he pushed the door open. The gun was tucked in his waistband, a welcome weight that cut through the numbness wrapped around him like a thick fog.
The mechanical room was dark and surprisingly cramped, dominated by a massive set of metal arms that pivoted as the heavy cable of the pendulum pushed them back and forth in quick, tidy orbits. The pendulum itself started at the ceiling and dropped through a wide hole in the floor, the counterbalance swinging away far below. The tick-tick-tick of the mechanism was deafening in the enclosed space.
"Joker!" Bruce called out and felt a tiny surge of satisfaction at how steady his voice sounded.
"Patience, Bat. Are you-"
Joker was cut off as a shot rang out. The first bullet went wide, pinging harmlessly against metal. Bruce fired again and again—emptying the clip towards the sound of Joker's voice-a quick staccato of bullets that ricocheted uselessly off the gears of the clock and back towards Bruce. He felt the thud of something hit his shoulder and he spun, the last shot embedding itself in the wood frame of the door as he fell.
The pain cut through the fog in his mind. He was bleeding, crimson soaking through his white dress shirt. He watched it in fascination, the dark trail slowly seeping through the fabric, blossoming from his shoulder and inching towards his elbow.
He felt Joker appear by his side and the clown's white hands reached for him.
"Don't touch me," he warned. He meant it to sound vicious but it only sounded desperate and strained.
Joker paid him no mind, pulling the empty gun from his numb hand.
"Ya know, I really didn't think you had it in you," he said in that sing-song way of his. He sounded almost approving, like Bruce had done something good.
Bruce closed his eyes and breathed out through his nose. He felt Joker prodding at his shoulder, the sharp pain forcing the numbness to retreat even further. Joker was tying something around his arm, cutting off the flow of blood, and Bruce felt tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, frustration and despair leaking down his cheeks.
This is the end, he thought. There was nothing left to do but let Joker finally kill him.
"You've won," Bruce said bitterly. "Just do it."
Joker's voice held a ghost of a smile. "I don't want to kill you, Bruce. I never did." The madman watched him closely, taking in all the little twinges of emotion crossing Bruce's face now that his exhaustion made it difficult for him to hide what was going through his mind.
"You didn't want to listen, didn't want to understand that. I know. I know you better than you think," he laughed, touching fingertips lightly to Bruce's cheek. His fingers came back wet, and Bruce realized he'd just caught a tear that had escaped.
"I did tell you I wouldn't go down without a hell of a fight, Bat," Joker told him and his hands were cradling Bruce's face now, savoring his victory. "You almost had a lucky shot, there."
And oh god, the realization of what he'd just done was crashing down on him now; the knowledge that he had tried and almost succeeded in breaking his One Rule choking him. All the exhaustion and desperation he'd felt over the past week crested like a wave and dragged him down, down, down. Bruce slumped forward, his fingers clenching unconsciously in Joker's shirt. He couldn't breathe. He hung his head and tried to pull in a ragged breath, but couldn't manage because despair was pressing down like a weight on his chest and he couldn't fucking breathe.
And then Joker's fingers were on his back, long and fanned wide and warm through his thin dress shirt and Bruce was being pulled into Joker's lean body and suddenly, he took in a ragged lungful of air and then another, and he thought stupidly that yes, he could relearn to breath like this. He was shaking but Joker was warm and Bruce couldn't fight him, couldn't even pretend to push him off because Joker was the only warm thing he'd felt in days and he was so tired of fighting.
"What do you want from me?" he choked out.
"All I wanted, all I want, is you. For you to bend a little. Open up a little. All of this would have been unnecessary if you'd just listened at the beginning."
His arms tightened around Bruce and Bruce felt Joker's lips brush his ear as he murmured, "You complete me. I told you that. And on some level you know I complete you too."
Bruce felt a surge of electric heat throb through him and he was suddenly acutely aware of Joker's closeness. He felt himself flush and jerked away, unnerved. His shoulder ached when he moved and he looked down at Joker's garish purple tie, now tied tightly around his left arm, and refused to meet Joker's eyes.
"Even though," Joker finished pointedly. "That thought scares and disgusts you."
Bruce wanted to deny it, wanted to tell Joker that he wasn't afraid, but the words died in his throat. He was ashamed of his own weakness, ashamed of how much he'd already given away to this man.
Joker shook his head. "It doesn't have to be like this, Bat. You don't have to be like this." Taking advantage of the man's weakened state, Joker reached out again, carding fingers through his hair.
Bruce wanted to pull away but it felt so good, it felt so fucking good to be touched and to be wanted for himself that he leaned slightly into Joker's hands, even as he sneered, "What the hell do you care?"
"Ya know, for a smart guy, you can be really stupid," Joker said and then he leaned forward and kissed Bruce.
The kiss was light and relatively chaste. Nevertheless, Bruce's spine went rigid, a cacophony of emotions ripping through him at the press of Joker's lips on his. Surprise. Fear. Shame. Underneath it all a thread of lust wound its way around him. Bruce didn't have the energy to be surprised because now that it had finally happened, Bruce realized that it had been coming for a long time, maybe since the first time he'd met Joker. All his rage, all his determination, all his efforts had been vainly trying to deny this.
His eyes wandered up Joker's thin body to his face and Joker's mouth was quirking at the corners, like Bruce's whole worldview wasn't crumbling right in front of him.
Bruce met Joker's eyes and found himself smirking back. For a moment, his vision hummed, tiny pinpricks of light bursting against the darkness in his vision. He shut his eyes against it, wanting to retreat into the darkness but the light expanded, filling him up.
They're only as good as the world allows them to be.
He caught Joker's eye again. Joker grinned at him and Bruce opened his mouth and let the laughter pour out of him, jagged shards ripping out of his throat like shrapnel as his hands tightened bruisingly around Joker's wrists. The laughter went on and on, rocking Bruce back with the force of it, the darkness inside of him rushing away and blinding, dazzling light filling the space. The weight that had been crushing his chest lightened, disappeared. He felt a dizzying sense of levity settle into his limbs and Bruce reeled with the shock of it, the vast, wide-open sense of limitlessness.
And then Joker was there, wrapping comforting arms around his tired body, not imprisoning him but grounding him. He felt Joker's smile against his cheek and he closed his eyes, his arms lifting of their own accord to return the embrace.
They stayed like that for long minutes, Bruce nestled into Joker's warmth like he never wanted to leave. The strange feeling of expansiveness was wearing off, replaced by the exhaustion that had been dogging his days. Bruce shifted closer and was almost ready to slip into sleep when Joker pulled back, offering him a hand up.
He packed Bruce into a stolen car and drove him to an abandoned apartment complex near the docks. It had been one of the places Bruce had searched days ago, when he was so desperate to find Joker, but he doesn't have the energy to do anything but smirk slightly at the irony. They made their way slowly up the stairs, Bruce leaning on Joker a little. His shoulder was throbbing but it was a distant ache, dull against his fatigue. Joker pushed the door open and led Bruce through the darkened apartment. Bruce was too tired to take in much of it, roused only when Joker laid a palm flat on Bruce's chest and pushed him onto the bed. Bruce went willingly, allowing Joker to climb in beside him and pull the covers over them both. Bruce instinctively rolled towards Joker and Joker's hand came up to card through Bruce's hair.
"I've kept you up for quite awhile," he said softly. "Sleep now. We'll have time to talk later."
Bruce sighed contentedly and slid into darkness.