The newspaper came down loudly on Gordon's desk, pictures staring up at him. "This makes 14 dead cops in three days Commissioner." The young cop looked down at Gordon, eyes anxious and on fire with the passion of his hatred. "Commissioner?"

Gordon sighed, rubbed a hand over his face. "Yes. Yes I know." His head was pounding, though that was the least of his troubles. Joker's occasional games had become a fact of life for Gotham, but for a long time now there had been little severe damage. Batman had told him that he had it under control, that Joker wouldn't be a threat any longer and that he would actually cause less trouble if they didn't try to haul him back to Arkham. It had gone so well he had started to believe it, had been shocked to see the mob dwindled down by the madman's actions. But now…ever since the night of the hostage situation at the orphanage Joker had been on a rampage against cops and cops alone. There were a multitude of killings, but most of them weren't his typical impersonal rigged explosions or shootings carried about by his men. These were brutally done, almost all knife killings, ringing with the Joker's own personal touch. Those were the facts the city saw, but it wasn't the whole picture. Even Gordon didn't have the whole picture, but he had pieced together a better idea than anyone else could have.

Though he hadn't seen it personally he had heard a SWAT team had come close to catching Batman three nights before, and that he had been wounded in the chase. That in itself wouldn't have been shocking, but since that night had received no contact from the dark knight, no texts, no visits. It wasn't right, and though he would have been worried enough anyway, that fact coupled with these killings…

He had long suspected something behind even the slight level of control Batman had seemed to have over the Joker and now…now it seemed he might have been right. And if these killings were reprisals, it could only mean that the city had lost their guardian. Lost him, and Gordon wouldn't even be allowed to mourn him.

"…and I told them I'd ask you."

Gordon sighed, rubbed his temples. He wasn't in the slightest sure what the young man had said. "I'm sorry, Dalton, what was that?"

"They want a press conference, sir. The public wants to know what's being done to stop the Joker killings." The boy fidgeted nervously. "Sir…what..."

"What are we going to do? I don't know. Honestly, I don't know." When he had run loose on Gotham before their sole chance of catching him had relied on the Batman's abilities and now that they didn't have that... he wasn't sure that they stood a chance. Joker was like smoke in the wind, a master not only of crime but escape. And this time, it seemed it wasn't just about the game anymore, a fact likely to make him more dangerous than ever. "I'll be at the press conference, you can tell them that. But I don't know what we're going to do."

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"I wasn't there…I wasn't…I…."

"That's funny, I don't recall telling you I cared where you were." Joker took the man's chin, turned his head slowly to scrutinize the man's eyes. "You see, I really don't care where you were or who you are…" The knife in his other hand trailed lazily across the man's lips, almost a caress. "None of that matters. The only thing that does…" He pressed an already bloody hand against the man's chest, pushing him against the wall. "Is this." The word turned into a snarl and his hand clenched tight around the man's badge, ripping it forcefully from his shirt and tossing it backwards to clatter on the floor.

He took his time, the man's screams echoing from the white walls of the empty room and ringing in his ears. The blood slid down the knife and over his hands, running in rivulets down his arms. It was over too quickly, and when the man stopped breathing he kept cutting for a moment, carving laughter into his chest.

When he was finished he backed away panting, hands sticky with congealing blood. There were two other corpses on the floor but he ignored them, stepping over their legs as he crossed out the door and into the night. He shoved a bar across the door of the entrance into the basement of the abandoned church in the Narrows, leaving it just as he had found it…well, if you didn't count the bodies and the red handprint on the door.

He looked up absently, distracted. There had been no signal, not for a long, long time now. Still, he knew they had been in touch, he and Gordon.

Should pay him a visit soon…

His gaze drifted down to his own hands, and for the first time he seemed to really notice the state of them. Well, it wasn't a problem, but he might clean up first. Some fresh paint for his face, yes….

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It didn't take him long to get back to Wayne Manor, but he didn't take his usual entrance. They had almost always come in through the caves but he took the front door, picking the lock and slipping silently into the foyer. He saw no sign of Alfred but he didn't let his guard down, palming a knife as he moved into the kitchen. He pulled down a glass from the cabinet and filled it in the sink, twitching nervously with his back to the doorway.

When the lights flipped on he dropped the glass to shatter in the sink, whirling around to face Alfred in the doorway. The butler held a gun level in one hand, though he didn't look as if he truly intended to use it. They were at a wordless standstill for a moment until Alfred's eyes softened, the gun dipping just a little bit. "Thought you might come back."

"I'm not staying."

"No, I didn't believe you would." Joker shifted left and Alfred followed him with both his eyes and the gun, focused.

"Well? Going to call Gordon?" Joker's eyes were blazing, a challenge in them. Gun or not, he could probably kill Alfred before they could get here, and he knew they both knew it. Alfred had been around him long enough to understand him at least well enough for that.

Alfred sighed, looked him over for a long moment before stepping back and lowering the gun, slowly. "No. And don't make me regret it." He looked him over again, eyebrows rising as he studied something on Joker's head. "What the hell happened to your head?"

My head? He reached up with his empty hand to swipe over the area Alfred was eyeing, hissing as his fingers roughly brushed an open, bloody gash. He shrugged slightly, unconcerned. Knife still held up, he edged past Alfred in the door, watching him steadily until he reached the stairs.

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The blood came off easily under the hot water, revealing a half dozen cuts on his arms that he couldn't even remember getting. He rummaged around in the bathroom drawers, throwing everything he encountered on the floor until he found his paint. A good deal of it had rubbed off since he had last applied it, and it felt so good to cover his face fully again.

Finished, he wandered out into the bedroom, drifted magnetically toward the bed. He had come back up here the night he left to get his shirt, and he had grabbed the knife lying on top of it. The other he had forgotten in his haste but he saw it now, the tip shining from where it lay just under the bed. He picked it up slowly, studied the thin line of his own dried blood on the blade. He licked it cautiously, but dried and cold it didn't taste the same and he let the blade fall, disinterested.

There was paint on the sheets, the pillowcases especially. He sank to sit on the edge of the bed before he realized it, his body tensing as he registered Bruce's scent. His chest constricted painfully, fingers twitching tighter around the knife hilt in his pocket.

Shouldn't have come here. Work to do.

"Hungry?" He twitched, jerked back to look in the direction of the voice. Alfred didn't have any food, but he was holding something…

"What do you want?"

Alfred stretched his hands out, showed that he held rubbing alcohol and a needle and thread for stitching his cuts. "You look damn awful. Since you're here for…however long you're going to be here, I thought-"

Joker leapt to his feet, glaring dangerously. "Thought you'd try to fix me up? Touching, Jeeves, but I'm not interested."

Alfred's eyes hardened, mouth thinning into a firm line. "Do you really think I'm here for you? If it had been up to me I would have had you thrown back in Arkham, and no matter how much time you've spent here, if not for him I wouldn't really give a damn what happens to you." He softened a bit, the fury short lived. "But that doesn't matter really, because he did care. And therefore, so do I. But seeing as I am not him, I would never presume to try to force anything on you. Only offer."

Joker rubbed the blade with his thumb absently, eyes still locked with the other man's. "I don't need your help. I don't."

"Very well." He nodded once, turned back toward the door, paused with his hand on it. "If you should change your mind, there's plenty of food in the fridge and I should be around. Stay here as long as you like. I can't imagine you've found anywhere else safe to rest; you look bloody exhausted."

And he was. He hadn't slept in…the very memory of the last time he had really slept made him twitch and growl, his thumb pressing into the blade until it bled. "I won't be staying."

"Very well."

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Joker hummed happily as he sat back to admire his handiwork, head cocked. The new glass cover for the searchlight had been smashed, regular bulbs replaced with red. On the surface the body of a cop he had found on patrol on 17th street was tied tightly enough to stretch across the top, arranged in as bat-like a fashion as possible. The man's head lolled sickly, eyes open, blood soaking his shirt from a slit throat.

Yes, it looks nice. Very nice. Fitting present for a man as influential as the commissioner, hehe.

He flipped lever to turn the light on, shining the 'repaired' symbol up into the night sky. Perfect. Now to wait…

It didn't take long. In fact, it didn't take half as long as he'd thought. Soon, he could hear footsteps pounding up in the stairwell, and it seemed as if his luck was holding. He could only hear one man.

Gordon burst out of the door with a sort of wild eyed hope, his eyes widening when he took in the symbol. He let the door swing shut with loud slam, eyes focused on the dead man on the spotlight. He shook out of the spell relative quickly, though the shock lasted long enough that the Joker had to suppress a chuckle. Gordon crossed over and slammed the lever down, eyes sweeping the roof, searching.

Joker slid from the shadows seamlessly, grinning. "Expecting someone, Commissioner?" Gordon swore and jerked, spun around in the direction of the voice. His hand had fallen to his gun but Joker was closer than he thought, and much quicker. A gloved hand shot out to grab his wrist in a bruising grip. Joker shook his head, tsking softly. "Now, now, now…is that any way to greet a guest, hm? Have some manners, Gordon."

"What the hell do you want?" To his credit his voice was steady, his eyes showing only the faintest trace of fear.

Joker jerked the gun from his holster and slid it into one of his many coat pockets before shoving Gordon roughly back, leaning back against the bloody searchlight. "It's not so much what I want…I'm just here to inform you that things have…changed."

"I've already noticed. Except this time, you haven't even told us what we're playing for."

Joker's gaze drifted down to meet the commissioner's, eyes impossibly cold. "We're not playing. Not anymore."

For a moment, Gordon's breath stopped. Then… "He's…he's dead." Gordon's eyes flicked to Joker's hand, watched his fingers clench around his knife. "I had…he had told me that you…"

"You knew nothing." He spat the words out with sudden fury, pushing himself off the metal to stalk forward. "And to think, he thought he was your knight. Isn't it funny how in the end, we always kill the things we claim we love, hm?" He darted forward, caught the older man's shirt front easily even though he moved to back away. "Were you there?"

Gordon swallowed hard, shook his head ever so slightly. "No. No, I wasn't. But I heard afterward that…that he had almost been caught, that he had been injured. I've been waiting to hear from him, I've been…" he trailed off, swallowed hard again. "I didn't want this, dammit!"

"Then maybe you should have blamed the real culprit to begin with instead of vilifying the one that wanted to save your ass…not that it matters. It would have come to this anyway, just like I told him it would." He reached up almost gently with his right hand, stroked the blade of the knife against Gordon's cheek. "You lawmakers…you're all the same. He never fit into your world, no…not even yours. And anything that doesn't fit, well…" He shook his head, grinning. "That can't be tolerated."

Something like recognition flitted across Gordon's features, and he hesitated before speaking again. "He was…I…I'm sorry."

Furious, Joker threw him to the rooftop with enough force that his head cracked against the stone. "Apologize to yourself."

Don't need his pity. Don't need any of it.

Joker cackled, eyes glinting. "Your're the one that's going to need it!" He dug in his pocket, pulled out five joker cards already prepared. He threw them to the ground at Gordon's feet. "For the ones you haven't found yet." He whirled, ready to leave, hand gripping the ladder, then

"What do you think you're going to achieve? I want to take you alive but the majority of the men out there don't have the same morals, certainly not after everything you're doing now." he could almost hear Gordon's uncertainty, the heaviness in the air before he spoke again. "He wouldn't have-"

He didn't have a chance to finish the sentence. Joker was on him, knee in his chest, blade to his throat. "Don't, don't tell me….don't." His voice shook with rage, his hands perfectly steady. After a few deep breaths, and the sight of blood welling up on Gordon's neck from the pressure of the blade, he seemed to calm, marginally. He patted Gordon's shoulder in such a loving manner that he could feel the commissioner shudder beneath him, driving him into another fit of laughter. "Can't kill you now, that'd ruin everything."

He leapt back and disappeared in a whirl of coat, leaving Gordon to press a hand to the trickle of blood on his neck, sweep up the joker cards. The first four held locations, the fifth said simply

Always save the best for last…guess what you are?

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Everything was off in the abandoned gas station and it was cold enough that a chill was sinking in, not that he really noticed. He vaulted easily over the counter, rummaged around in drawers below. There wasn't much that had been left, mostly old scraps of paper but he found a lighter at the back that still came on when he tested it. Pocketing that he slumped back against the wall, easing himself down to rest with his back firmly wedged in the corner.

He was fairly well hidden here, and it seemed safe enough.

Can wait just a bit before going back out. Want to give Gordon enough time to follow those tips and be sufficiently horrified, heh. Just an hour or so…

His eyes were locked on the door, ears straining to hear any sound approaching the building. No matter how hard he tried, though, exhaustion was catching up with him. Before he could stop it, his head was nodding back against the wall, eyes closing…

He jabbed a knife into the chest of a fallen cop, watched his body jerk upward into the blade, twitching futilely. There was an oppressive silence at first as he began to carve a smile into the man's cheeks, but it broke suddenly, horrified screams slicing through the still air. There was another man watching and he took him too, slower, rolling up his sleeves to keep them relatively clean as he did. It was over too soon and he wasn't satisfied, wasn't nearly…

His head whipped around, taking his surroundings in. This wasn't the empty warehouse he had been in moments ago. This was…

"Hey. Told you I wouldn't be long."

His body jerked, flipped over in Bruce's bed to face the doorway. Joker could feel his heart thumping erratically and he scrambled backwards and off the bed, eyes wide. "You…you're…"

Bruce's brow furrowed slightly, confused. "Yes, I'm…here. What were you doing while I was gone?"

Joker shook his head, ran his tongue across the inside of his scars as he looked down at his arms. They were still positively bathed in the officers' blood but if Bruce had noticed, he hadn't said anything. "I…What?"

Bruce shook his head, sat down on the edge of the bed and offered a hand out to Joker where he had fallen, pulling him close. "Seriously, what did you do while I was gone? I would have been willing to bet money you were going to complain about how long I was-"

Suddenly, Joker's confusion didn't matter. He launched himself at the man on the bed, straddling him and pushing him back, ignoring his interrupted sentence and devouring his lips with single minded hunger. Soft, desperate noises came from his chest involuntarily, one hand clutching vice tight against a wonderfully familiar muscular bicep, the other wrapped behind Bruce's neck. He could feel something hot and wet at the corners of his eyes that he didn't recognize, could feel an equally foreign weight in his chest, pressing on his lungs, impeding what breath he did take in desperate gasps.

It was a long time before Bruce reached up and stopped him. Long, but not long enough. He whimpered at the lack of contact, strained to press forward and claim those lips again.

"Hey…what's wrong?" He could feel Bruce's breath against his skin, warm and soft. His thumb reached up to brush against Joker's cheek, streaking damp paint.

"You…" He licked his lips, tasted Bruce on them. "Stupid dream. I blame you and your save-those-that-hate-you obsession."

Bruce's lips quirked into a smile, and he felt his chest shake once with amusement. "That's…one I haven't heard before, at least not in that context. Can I ask about this dream or is that off limits?"

"Off limits." He lunged forward to capture the other man in a kiss again, moaning delightedly when Bruce took aggressive control of the kiss, his tongue probing Joker's mouth. When they broke from it Joker nuzzled against his cheek, nibbled his jaw before biting once, hard and possessive. Bruce groaned, one hand coming up to tangle in Joker's hair. "Be still." He slithered backwards down his body, let himself fall to his knees on the floor, head resting against his lover's thighs.

Bruce made a low noise of approval as Joker unfastened his pants, the hand on Joker's head entangling further in his wavy hair. He licked his lips once, anticipating the way Batsy would taste, the way he would scream for him as he took him into his mouth.

As Joker reached to pull the last barrier down the hand on his head went limp, the thigh his cheek pressed against cold through the fabric. He scrambled to his feet to look down on Bruce, a bloody, gaping hole in his side, eyes wide and staring but utterly lifeless.

"No." His voice was a pained low growl, the agonizing clawing beginning somewhere just inside his ribcage. He reached for Bruce's hand only to find the room inexplicably tilting, staggering backwards only to find that there wasn't glass in the window, and he was falling, falling…

He jerked violently awake, head crashing back to slam into the wall behind him. Immediately he was seeing stars, one hand snapping up to press against the sure-to-be rising welt on the back of his head. Slowly, he registered his racing pulse, the cold sweat that covered his body, gluing his clothes to his skin. The dream had been so real, so vivid all the way through to the ghastly end…

Feeling less rested than he had when he sat down he stood up and shook his arms out, rolled his shoulders to work the muscles there. It was past time to get back to work. He dropped a hand into one of his coat pockets, jostling around until he found the police radio he had stolen off one of his first victims. Twisting the knob to tune in to the conversation he leaned against the counter as he listened.

For awhile the talk was inane, petty criminals, unimportant things. Still, boring as it may have been it gave him a handful of locations, one just over the bridge from the area of the Narrows he was in at the moment. Whistling as he pocketed the radio, he headed out the door.

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When it came down to it, a lot of his work came down to luck. Luck, and really incredible timing. He had been preparing to fire on a motorcycle cop as he climbed back on his bike, but the man's words to the cop on the bike next to him were just interesting enough to make him pause.

"Yeah, Gordon said he's gonna talk to a lot of us tomorrow night, at the MCU. Tell us the 'plan' about how to handle these Joker attacks." The man laughed derisively, and Joker bit his hand to resist laughing with him. "Personally, I don't think he's got a 'plan'."

The other cop shook his head, grim. "Neither do I. Only thing I know needs to be done is to get that clown off the streets, dead or alive. Just like with that Batman, I hear they think he's-"

The man's next words cut off sharply, body slouching like a ragdoll after a bullet to the head.

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Standing before a slightly warped bathroom mirror Joker tugged on his collar, frowning when it wouldn't lay just as he wanted it. The other man had been bigger than him and the shirt was baggy. "Well, beggars can't be choosers can they, Ross?"

He kicked the cuffed man at his feet hard in the stomach as he said his name, chuckling happily at the groan that slipped his lips, muffled by the duct tape.

He hadn't bothered to lose his makeup for this, wearing the cops clothes only for the beautiful irony. He had opted for making a personal entrance over secrecy, counting on one of his men to set off the detonator he had left in a vent over the last toilet.

"Aaaand now," He bent low enough to grab the chain between the cuffs, yanking the beaten officer to his feet. "Showtime." Pulling the radio from his pants pocket he connected, contacted his men. "Clear?"

"Yes, boss."

He slipped the radio back into his pocket and took a knife up instead, thumbing the blade open. "Beautiful."

A quick, monitored jaunt over to the back of the MCU brought him in a back entrance, two guards already dead on the floor courtesy of his goons. They came in handy but he had used them only minimally, for this. These last few jobs had been personal, his and his alone. Barely taking the time to press his ear against the door for the sounds of shuffling in the conference room he kicked the handle and burst inside, the point of the knife rammed tight into Ross's neck.

"Sorry to crash your little party, but I believe I should have received an invitation!" He cackled at the way the officer's closest to the door recoiled, hands twitching for the guns but stopping at the sight of their comrade held so tightly at knife point. "I am after all, heh, wearing the right uniform."

With his free hand he ripped off his own homemade name tag, threw it down at the feet of a nearby officer. The man eyed it like a viper and Joker laughed all the more. "Go on, pick it up, pick it up. Go on."

He did, hands shaking slightly, and he pulled it up close to his eyes to read. "Jim…Jim Gordon." His brown eyes blazed, scorching. "You son of a bitch." He jerked toward Joker who let his own hand jerk in response, knife tip digging into Ross's neck enough to draw blood.

The men closest to him all cursed, backing away reflexively.

"Heh heh heh, that's better. Now…" He slid closer to the other side of the room, positioning himself nearer to the central point Gordon had planned to speak from. "We could all end this in a mutually satisfying way if you would, ah, hand over those responsible…" His words turned into an angry snarl, low and intense. "for the Batman." In his mind he saw it again, the pool of blood on stone, the way Bruce's fingers had tried to wrap around his…

Stupid idiot. They're just animals, mindless, worthless,

"Yeah, I thought you were working with him you sick, psychopathic-"

"Hey!" Gordon's voice cut through, loud and commanding enough to quiet even the other man's fury. He wormed his way through men, coming up to take his place across from Joker. "What happened the other night was an accident. But if you blame me then blame me. I'll go with you."

Joker twitched, drew a little more blood from his captive. "That's not the deal." He licked his lips, eyes narrowing. "You weren't the one."

Gordon shrugged, gestured at the nametag on the floor. "Does it matter? You've already named me next. Whoever it was isn't going to come forward right now anyway, you've got them all scared stiff. And isn't that what you wanted, what you always want?"

"I want answers." He growled, trapped Gordon with his gaze. "You're last."

Technically, so are most of them…as long as they're good and stay in the building, that is, hehe.

"What difference does the order make? Take me now, and you can keep searching later. I guarantee you, you'll get no information out of them now." Gordon took a step closer, tentatively. "Look, you-"

A gunshot cut his words short, coming from Gordon's left to graze Ross' left shoulder and bury itself in Joker's. Ever one for quick reflexes he slashed the man's throat even as his arm jerked back, but the cut wasn't quite as deep as it should have been. A young cop with dark tanned skin darted forward, gun held out as he shot him again and again, eyes devoid of anything but ice. Even after Joker had fallen to the floor he kept shooting, emptying his gun in rage.

Gordon noticed the instant chaos in the room through a sort of haze, letting the noise shift to a dull buzz in his ears as he moved to stand next the triumphant young officer, Tony Yeager. A couple of men hand lunged forward to grab Ross up off the floor, one holding a hand to the wound in his neck, another to his shoulder. A third had their phone out, dialing 911.

Tony flashed a somewhat grim smile at Gordon then, the boy's eyes shining with exuberance. "We finally got the son of a bitch. He's really dead." His voice was all but shaking with pride.

Gordon nodded, swallowed back the sick feeling somewhere in his chest that reminded him just how dead anyone would be after taking that many shots to the chest. It was overkill, it was brutal, it was beneath them…but it was done, and he couldn't bring himself to be entirely sorry. All the same…

Tony's face fell a little seeing the hesitation on Gordon's features, his forehead wrinkling a little in confusion. "Sir, we had to. I…I only did what I thought was necessary."

Blood covered the stolen blue shirt on Joker's chest from at least 6 points that Gordon could see, his head lolling against the floor, blood trailing from his lips across one scar. Necessary… He could hear the Joker's words from two nights before ringing in his ears, telling him they weren't playing anymore…

Whatever the man's plans had been, Gordon was equally certain he hadn't been planning to get himself out. This had been easy, too painfully easy, and maybe Joker hadn't expected this of them but he had to have known he was walking into a den, just like he had before when he had every intention of being taken in…

He had, certainly had another plan here that they would probably now never know, but whatever it had been, nothing ever happened to this man that he hadn't in some way wanted. Even if he had intended to drag it out a little longer, the more he thought about it the more certain Gordon was that Joker had had no real expectations of making it out of the situation alive.

As long as he had wanted to get Joker, he couldn't seem to muster the relief this should have brought. He felt as if they had somehow lost instead of won, as if by killing this monster they had, in the end, begun to play his game. Sickened, Gordon turned away. "Congratulations." His hand clapped lightly on the boy's shoulder as walked away.

Over. This nightmare is finally over.

No matter how hard he tried to smile, it felt nothing like it should.

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*sighs* Poor Joker, but there was just no happy way this could end…

This prompt was just such a depressing one for our guys… *pets them*