He didn't know why he'd brought the stupid gun. What was he thinking, anyway? This went against all his ethics, vague as they were these days, and the painful thing was he'd gotten it specifically because when he'd seen it in the shop window it had all but screamed "Don't F*** With Me". It was exactly what he'd been going for, but when a guy in an outfit like his walked about toting a gun that seemed like it had been made from a modified bazooka, the aforementioned was not the first impression one got. The Joker knew, good and well, that he would never use the stupid thing to begin with, so in the end the 10,000 dollar chunk of metal and gunpowder ended up just being a shiny prop for the Joker to 'oo' and 'aw' over upon seeing it and snicker a little at how bad it looked juxtaposed to the freaking Batman.

Frankly, it pissed Batman off.

It was because of this, in part, that he continuously pressed the gun's nose spitefully into the small of The Joker's back, as though that somehow made it more threatening. When after another warning jab the Joker purred at him, he became aware that this was not having the effect he was going for.

Screw ethics. He was already regretting not loading the bastard.

He'd picked the Joker up from an alley, in the part of Gotham that even his reach just barely grazed, in his Porsche. It was his least conspicuous car, and there was no way he was going to go in the batmobile. He'd already taken the precaution of switching the license plate out to a fake one, so no one foolishly though Bruce Wayne and the Joker were in league, since people could be stupid like that.

At first, The Joker had been nonplussed by the presence of a luxury vehicle pulled up right in front of him. Then he'd pulled out the joker venom and Batman had to all but kick the door open and scream for him to get in before he realized who it was. Even then, he hesitated before putting the venom away, and even when he did, he did so with a reluctant pout.

The Joker was wearing a three piece suit, as per usual, pinstripes going down it and Bruce had tried and failed to get him to not wear purple. The minor, pathetic triumph was that he managed to convince him to not wear a green dress shirt: he'd worn an indigo blue one instead.

"Wear this," said Bruce, forcing an ear piece into the Joker's ear, not impressed with his faux obliviousness. "It's a two way radio, so we'll be able to hear one another."

"What?"

"And you will be reading this," he went on and thrust the speech he'd painstakingly put together with Alfred into the Joker's hands, even knowing it would probably go to waste. "Do not screw it up."

The Joker narrowed his eyes in scrutiny of the speech, flipping it over a few times as though he'd never seen such a strange thing. You'd think the man would have been around more mirrors.

"I am confused, Batsman."

"Batman," Bruce growled. "And I am taking you to a press conference explaining why you are such a lunatic. And that you are going to aid the police in trying to understand the workings of the truly insane criminal mind."

"Well, then, that's their first mistake." The Joker hooked his arm around Batman's neck, pulling their faces uncomfortably close. Bruce could hear the way the Joker sucked on the inside of his cheek between words, pulling at the outlines of his smile. The erratic heartbeat pulsing through the Joker's neck. And most of all, the vestigial laughter thrumming in the Joker's throat. "They think there are 'workings' to people like us."

"We aren't the same."

"But see," the madman went on, ignoring Batman's interjection, "those regular people are the one's with workings. They have cogs and springs and things that you can just," the Joker clenched his fist in front of Batman's face, nails piercing his palm, "throw a spanner into. But you and me—we're different, see? We're the ghosts in the machine. We don't have bits and pieces—we can't be deconstructed and broken down. See, the thing with us is, we just are. And we just do. The Batman ought to know that more than anyone." The Joker grinned, and Bruce could feel him breathing between his clenched teeth. "If you could think of a good reason for what you do anymore, you'd have long given up on screwless guys like me."

The Batman swallowed, trying not to breathe in the Joker's dirtied air. The man's breath smelled of sickly mix of candy and sulfur--simoltaneously pungent and sweet. The man wasn't wrong—about his own mind. There'd never been any particular reason or rhyme to the laughing man's actions. There'd only been actions. And the Batman, who'd always been involved. Who'd always been both the answer and the cause. Who'd always been...there. He shut his eyes for a second, then concentrated on the road again and elbowed the Joker away from him.

"I don't care whether that's true or not," he said with slow consideration. "Either way, just for today, you will have a conscience. Understood?"

The Joker stared at Bruce, then with an abruptness that made the man have to force down the reflex to punch something, he burst into laughter and slapped his knee.

"You kill me, Bats!" he said gleefully. "You slay me!"

"I'll be slaying you right now if you don't shut up," Bruce hissed.

"I would never have guessed myself Gotham's humanitarian. I know I put a lot of smiles on everyone's faces…brought a bang to the usual disquieting quietness, and I thought I was doing a little good. But to get a reward for it… . I think…the person I have most to thank is…you."

"Be quiet," said Batman. "Barely anyone knows you're showing. The press was told we'd just be having a discussion with someone who was tuned to the workings of the criminal mind."

"Ohhh," said the Joker. It was not a sound of conviction. "Then won't I be arrested or something?"

"Well, that's nothing new, is it?"

"I could use a holiday I suppose. Feel my neck. I have so many knots I could run my own balloon animal shop." Bruce didn't indulge a reply, not that the Joker paid him any mind. "So, uh, you have ulterior motives right?"

"Why would you say that?"

"You're not the knight in obsidian armour everyone seems to think you are," the Joker sneered. "You might have good reasons, but you always do bad things to get there. Am I right?"

"No," lied the Batman. "But if something does go wrong, just go with it."

"I'd rather go with you."

You will not kill this man, Bruce.

"Easier said than done," he grunted to himself.

They stopped where the conference was being held and Batman shoved the Joker's shoulder with the gun just for the sake of it.

"Get out," he said. Why was he not surprised when the Joker pouted and slouched in his seat.

"I don't want to," he said. "I'm turning down my award."

"Get out, Joker," Bruce repeated. He spotted the yellow daisy pinned to the man's lapel and realized it was best to get rid of all the clown implements; safety precautions as it were. "And take off that flower. You're not going to venom anyone."

The Joker sneered. "Are you going to wave your little gun at me?

The stupid gun.

No. No. No. He wasn't going to be reduced to screaming loon just because the Joker new how to grin his nerves. He needed to go about this like an adult. He needed to be the mature one.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

He needed to stop making it sound like the Joker was his child. Boy, that somehow felt as though he was issuing some kind of challenge to himself. When did that happen?

"If you do not obey everything I tell you," he said sternly, "I will never associate with you ever again."

The Joker stared on for over a minute, every painted muscle still, and then he uttered in a miserable little voice, "Why are you being so mean to me?"

"Just do it."

The Joker did what he was told then began to get out of the car. Funny how the only thing the Joker could be swayed with was also the only person who was looking for what made him weak.

"I don't know why you keep acting like I'm some kind of infectious disease," the clown sighed.

"You are."

"Contagious, am I?" said the laughing man proudly and Bruce's shoulder's hunched in disgust.

"You're more like cancer," he corrected himself.

"Ask yourself this then, Bats. Consider it a favour from me to you. If this was any other 'bad guy'," said the Joker, leaning over the open car door his arm on the edge, his eyes expectant and mocking, "would you find it so easy to trust them? By the way, cancer spreads too. Throughout your whole self, even your soul. We have the same soul, you and me--" He smiled, and it was a smile both lucid and knowing, "--cancer and all."

The very assumption caused bile to rile up the inside of his throat and he had to clench his teeth to keep it in. So what if he thought others were more likely to backstab him, to freeze his car, to send a flock of flightless birds at it, so what? And, sure, he 'trusted' in the Joker's twisted incorrigibility, in his insistence on doing the same thing over and over, the same way he trusted in his own. He had faith in their cycle, and the Joker's perpetual promise that he'd keep Batman fighting until the only ones the Batman had any ability to fight were his own demons. But he was so used to it that while they were no means friends, their conversations were almost amiable enough that they were only on the fringe of being enemies. Admitting it to himself made his throat burn with loathing for both himself and the man who was making him this way. Or at least make him realize that this had always been the case. But he would never admit it. Not until the scum of Gotham finally pulled him into the ground.

The Batman leaned towards the Joker, his teeth bared until you could see the edges of his gums, and made it as clear as he possiby could that he was not laughing.

"You don't have a soul," he stated, leaning further towards the Joker with every syllable until his head was physically sticking out the car and the Joker had to retreat half a foot to keep their foreheads from bumping, "you are a criminal, you are a monster, you are a madman."

"You're in broad daylight."

Batman slammed the door of the car shut abruptly as he could and took off down the street, knowing full well that the Joker was cackling away on the sidewalk. How could he have been so careless? He was lucky no one had been paying attention or God knew what would have happened. His publicity was inherently bad, true, but he didn't know if he could take propaganda stating he was palling about with his arch-enemy.

He skid to a stop twenty blocks away—close enough to be able to get there in only a few minutes if anything went awry, but far enough that he wouldn't be suspicious. He left the car and hid on top of an apartment roof, shrouded in the pale shadow of the chimney. He pulled the portable monitor that had been routed to receive the video feed of the cameras inside the conference hall and switched it on. It was already bustling.

He was quickly regretting giving the Joker such a large audience.

The Joker appeared abruptly on one of the cameras, his expression both nonplussed and amused. There was even a moment where he almost looked human—it took place about five seconds before he made a grab at one of the officers (thankfully one of the ones who knew about his guest appearance) standing around and grinned at him maniacally without saying a word. The officer gritted his teeth and led the Joker to the front of the hall with a painful reluctance. His hand gravitated just above his gun and his trigger finger kept twitching, not that Batman could blame him. Nonetheless, if the Joker's life was threatened he'd have to cut this whole thing short, and that wasn't in the cards. Unless, of course, the Joker pulled an extra one from his sleeve.

He could hear the crowd in the conference hall beginning to speak quickly through the Joker's ear piece, confused now because they couldn't believe their eyes. Batman almost wondered if he'd walked nonchalantly in there like the Joker had, people would be just as unsure. One would think they'd have a little more conviction in regards to perhaps one of the most recognized faces there ever was.

"I think they like my suit," the Joker's voice crackled in Batman's ear.

He rolled his eyes.

"I don't think that's it."

"You don't know, though, do you? You can't even see their faces."

"Yes, I can."

On the screen, the Joker stopped and looked around a little, before looking up and right into one of the cameras installed in the corner of the room. He had the expression of someone who knew that, no matter what they were actually able to see, they were looking right into you, and that you were looking right back.

"Want me to take off my jacket?"

"Get moving. We don't want a riot to break out."

"You're really just raining on my parade today, Bats. What did I ever do to you?"

Batman's teeth grinded together until they might as well have been flat. How could someone be so maliciously oblivious to everything? To the whole world? It was as though the Joker wasn't even living there—he was in a place all his own, with Bruce standing right outside the door.

The officer took the Joker to a podium at the front of the room and gave him a threat that he received with a relatively blank expression before walking away. Batman felt sorry for every one of the people in that room, but it was the only way. How did someone who always had a plan Z end up having to work his way up through the worst possible scenario before he could find the best possible solution? Maybe his problem was he thought too much. Maybe he just needed to do.

He didn't even manage to catch the slip of thought, even as it slid through his consciousness, gumming up the works. He only realized it had come to mind when it occurred that he'd heard something similar many times before.

He really is a disease.

"Is this supposed to be funny?" said one of the reporters in the crowd once everyone had settled down. If his expression was anything to go by, he was not one of the ones amused. "We were told we'd have an expert talking to us—not an impersonator."

"Impersonator?" echoed the Joker.

"What does someone who dresses up as a serial killer for a living have to tell us about crazies that we don't already know?"

"Well, that question would make a lot of sense," said the Joker, steepling his fingers, nodding his head and happily going along with the show, "if it weren't for the fact that I am a 'serial killer' for a living."

The reporters in the crowd seemed confused for a second. It didn't take long before the man who'd made the statement went sheet white, his skin almost the colour of the Joker's.

The uproar followed shortly after. Some people were just screaming angrily at whoever they thought could discern their words, others bolted towards the doors, though the police had closed them and were telling everyone to calm down even though you could tell they were frightened too. The Joker could, apparently, get a place spiraling into Bedlam just by being there.

"It's the suit," the laughing man stated. "It's driving them crazy."

"You think that's what's doing it?" said Bruce. He pulled a device from his belt, a thin black circle with a button that he pressed quickly. A screech went into his ear at the same moment it echoed through the conference hall as he sent feedback through the Joker's mic, and everyone quieted down simply because they realized they could do little else. It really paid to have resources sometimes.

"Listen, I'm just here to read my acceptance speech and I'll get out of here," said the Joker, garnering gazes that managed to be more perturbed than horrified, "so, if I get this done now, you can get happily home to your little families and die another day. I'm just saying."

The people in the conference room looked at one another uneasily, at the policemen, and at the Joker, and strangely enough they decided to trust all those factors and what kindness each of them possessed and sat down.

"Okay, let's see this." The Joker looked at the speech and pressed it out onto the pedestal so he could read it. "Alright, here I go. Uh, 'you may know me from the news'—no, really? I never thought the people in this city were too bright, but I think they'd notice me." Bruce realized as soon as he heard that that there was no way the Joker was going to take this seriously. He was right. The Joker went on, chopping bits out and skipping bit altogether while he talked, without the slightest regard for how incoherent it made him sound. "'I am deeply…' yadda yadda yadda, not interesting, 'recent crimes'. Hello, what's this?" he said, and gave the paper further scrutiny. "'Because I am aware of the recent heinous crimes of the criminal organization Multiply, I have decided to offer my services to the Gotham police department in order to put these villains behind bars.'" He stopped then looked up at the camera, and the Batman instinctively started to wave his hands in front of the screen to try and get him to stop. "What is this?" He held up the speech to the camera, crimson lips pulled low. "Is this why you haven't been showing up on time lately? You've found someone else? You've…you've been cheating on me? I…I can't even…" He shook his head and made his lip quiver theatrically. "I'm hurt. And…and…very hurt."

"Would you be quiet?" Bruce snapped. "They're not supposed to know I'm talking to you."

"Eh, we'll chalk it up to the voices. They think I'm crazy anyway."

"You are crazy!"

"Hey, you, in the nice suit. The one that's almost on par with mine." The Joker pointed to a meek looking man young cowering in the far corner with his head in his hands. If he hadn't wet himself before, chances were he'd done it now. "Can you clear this up for me?"

"Please. Allow me to fill you in."

The Joker blinked when a man dressed all in black stepped almost protectively in front of the man in the suit. The man was tall, with pitch black eyes and red hair that was slicked back over his head. His face was rough and long, his eyes and cheeks aristocratic in definition, yet his expression was frigid. It was as though he was frozen and burning at the same time.

"We are Multiply," he said, his voice gruff. He pulled a strange looking gun with blue rings going up and down the nose from his back and aimed it squarely at the Joker. And the Batman had thought his gun looked like a bazooka. "The newest tier in Gotham's hierarchy, and it's most powerful. We are the usurpers of the helm of darkness. And we," his eyes flashed, "are the ones who will judge you."

The Joker narrowed one eye in skepticism, then hunched his shoulders so he could whisper through the ear piece. "Egad." Ironically, the expression on his face all but screamed 'crazy alert'. "It's like the chicken joke all over again."

"Stay calm, Joker," said Bruce. "We were expecting this to happen—this group's been proclaiming its hate for you for weeks. Your name's been in every one of the murders they've committed. We figured we might have a chance at catching one of their members if we brought you into the open. Just try to talk to him. See if you can get him to explain himself."

"Ha," the Joker laughed, and Bruce wasn't sure if he'd heard him or not. "Multiply. Sounds like a toilet-paper brand. So, uh, what's your gimmick? Exploding bathroom mints?"

The man with red hair stumbled back as though he'd been hit before he bared his teeth warningly at the Joker. His trigger finger was tightening—Batman wasn't sure whether it would be good or bad if he decided to shoot. "Aren't you in tune with the world around you? Haven't you watched the news? Read the papers? Aren't you aware of the terror we've instilled in the hearts of every citizen of Gotham!?"

The Joker snorted. "That would be like a celebrity watching their own movie."

"Haven't you ever heard of a premier…!?" Batman hissed.

"We'll prove ourselves to this city, finally," the man went on, "by not only killing the most feared man in Gotham, but by taking his place! Now," he turned his back to the Joker and looked at the innocent people who were gaping all around him, and grabbed the poor man in the nice suit for the sake of having a hostage. It was not that man's day today, was it? "Everyone get on the ground! Or today will be the last day you ever see the sun."

The fear in everyone's eyes proliferated to the point that even as they fell to their knees and bowed their heads to the floor, they looked as though they were crying. Of course they were. They were trapped in a room with two parties known exclusively for their violence and instability. None of them thought they were making it alive.

Batman swallowed. He hoped to God the Joker didn't do anything stupid—he shouldn't have put the lives of all these people in his hands to begin with. But, damn it, damn it, damn it, he'd trusted him to make things work. With his only shred of naiveté, he'd trusted the Joker not to knock anymore screws loose out of the both of them.

Where had he conceived such a dumb idea?

"Did you hear that?" the Joker said to him, the calmness in which he stated it making his chest tense. "This guy is cramping my act."

"Don't do anything," Batman warned, his voice strained as he tried to think up a plan of action that the Joker would fall neatly into.

"Look at him," he hissed, his eyes narrowed on the man, who was still busy getting the guns from the cops in the room and warning everyone to obey if they wanted to live. "Waving that thing around. Bet it doesn't even have a bang sign in it. What sort of gun doesn't have a bang sign in it? I'll tell you. A bad one. From China. Where the squealers live."

"Don't do anything, Joker," Bruce repeated, hoping he sounded severe enough to curb the laughing man's misplaced enthusiasm. There was a few seconds of pause, and on the monitor he held he saw the Joker begin to calmly tap his fingers on the pedestal. Tap, tap, tap. He stood up straight.

"… I can't hear you."

"Joker," said Bruce.

"I'm ignoring you, now."

"Joker!" he yelled, then saw the man pull the device from his ear and heard it skitter on the floor. "Joker, answer me!" He snarled angrily and shot to his feet, latching the monitor onto his belt. He should have known better than to think this would end well. "Goddamn you!"

He jumped from the apartment roof, his cape spreading and catching the air, and he landed without sound in the darkness of an alley just beside the building. Feet thudding across the ground, he hurried to his car and jumped in, setting the monitor just beside him so he could glance at it every few seconds. The Joker had left the stage and was standing in front of the agent of Multiply, a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

"You mean to kill me, sweetheart?" the Joker said between his teeth. "You mean to take my place? And why's 'at?"

"So we can prove," said the man, "that we can."

There was a bang in the earpiece loud enough to make Bruce let out a cry and toss his earpiece onto the passenger seat. The monitor had turned into a zigzagging layer of black and white haze. Still, it was only when heard the Joker's voice, loud enough that he could hear it from an ear piece to feet away, that he stepped on the gas.

"You mean to steal my punchline," the Joker stated, his voice hissing and crackling as the ear piece began to give out. "You will not steal my punchline."

The car skid to a stop two blocks away from the hall—the roads were already too backed up for him to get there by driving. With all the agility he could muster, he swung himself up onto the balcony railings of an apartment and bounded from building to building, almost flying. He slipped past the commotion outside the hall, through the shadows like blood through water, before he appeared—and it could only be described as 'appearing'—standing in the center of the hall.

The Joker was standing with his back to the man, his shoulders hunched and fists clenched. In front of him, the agent of Multiply lay face down in a slowly spreading pool of his own blood. For him, Batman felt a tiny bit of remorse, not because he was dead, but because he had to die. The gun was on the far side of the room, smoke billowing from the muzzle.

On his knees, less than a foot from the Joker, a red welt on his wrist, was the man in the nice suit. His eyes were wide, appearance nigh indescribable, but whatever that expression was it was not one of fear.

"Joker."

The Joker turned to the Batman, breathing heavily, and as soon as he saw the man he was smiling his usual crazed smile. Seeing it was almost welcoming.

There was a hole the size of a dinner plate burned through the Joker's jacket, the ends of his clothes were singed, and he had a bloody knife in his hand. Whatever he'd survived, the chances were that he shouldn't have. Batman looked around him, seeing how some of the windows had been smashed to pieces, as the glass in the cameras had been, and there was a thin layer of dust on the floor and everyone standing on it as though the ceiling had come loose. It looked as though the room had been hit by a sonic boom.

Coming ever closer, the Batman could hear the wail of police sirens.

"Leave," he told the Joker though he knew full well the laughing man would know it to mean 'come'. With that, everyone turned to stare at him, finally noticing he was there. The police officers still in the room looked back and forth as though they weren't sure who they were supposed to arrest first. Or whether they should do anything at all.

The Joker snickered a little. His eyes were incredulous. Still, he heeded to the Batman and put the knife beneath his jacket.

"I like your hat," the Joker said to one of the men in blue on his way out, plucking said hat from the man's head and putting it on his own. He patted the man on the cheek gratefully. "Thanks."

The eyes of every person in the room followed him until he was gone.

The Batman waited a few seconds for his distraction to arrive, and as soon as the reinforcements burst in, he disappeared.

The Joker had managed to locate the car on his own and was already sitting slouched in the passenger seat. Batman would have preferred it if he'd just gotten lost somewhere in the city instead.

"You killed him," the Batman said, getting in.

"He was asking for it," said the Joker, wiping off his knife with the edge of the police cap he'd stolen. "I wanted to have him go out with a smile, but sometimes, you know, the world just plays you a wildcard." He tilted his head. "So, I was bait, eh?" he said. "For that guy."

"Nnn," the Batman confirmed. He started the engine.

He would have to get rid of the Joker one way or another.

Maybe he needed to ditch the car.

He could always get a new one.

"So, this Charmin--"

"Multiply."

"—what have they done to get you so involved?"

"The making large, crowded buildings look like Swiss cheese did it for me," said Bruce. "It helps that we have no idea who they are, why they're doing this, or where they come from. We just know them from the carnage."

A little like you.

A part of him was surprised that the Joker didn't echo his thoughts. Instead, the white-faced man went on a tangent of his own. "And they hate me because…?"

"Who knows? They're just out to get you. So--"

"I'm the best lure. Right." He tutted. "There's those ulterior motives I was telling you about, rearing their ugly heads."

"You're just lucky you weren't killed," said Batman, and he was only half aware at the time who he was giving those words to. "The hole in your jacket could just as easily have been in your skull."

"You thought I was going to die?" the Joker said mockingly. The way he made it sound, you would have thought it was absurd consider him even a little human. "I appreciate the concern, Batsman."

The Batman's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "I'm dropping you off at Arkham."

"Still…the nerve of that guy…trying to steal my punchline." The Joker pressed his face against the window, and his breath made mist spread in and out from his mouth. The police cap made darkness play across the sharp edges of his face and on the outlines of his lips. "My punchline. You don't really see people with that brand of stupid this day 'n age."

"You sound angry," Batman observed, mostly because he was still trying to gauge the exact breadth of the man's spectrum of emotions.

"You're joking with me, Bats," the Joker snickered, as though for irony. He turned to the Batman with his grin spread to the edges of his narrowed eyes, half his face shrouded in the shadows of the city and his hate, save for the white glare of his teeth. "I'm furious."


I think I may have found a plot! Astounding! This has never occurred in my life time before. I am not joking with you.

Anyway, to those who asked, this won't be yaoi. While I do read with the goggles a lot, I think I should reel in my usual inclinations and write this as it would be--with Joker on some strange verge of asexuality. But, mind you, this is the Joker were talking about. It's going to have a few subliminal slashy vibes, because, you know, the Joker is weird like that, but it won't end up with them in the sack, so you don't have to worry about it. Still, those that do have every right to squee over it if they get that feel. I don't have a problem with it.

Moving on, i think this is going to be some funny cross between canon (not that such a thing actually exists in the convoluted string of comic book continuity) and the Dark Knight. We'll see where that takes me.

Also, to all non-americans and americans who don't watch a buttload of tv or do a ton of shopping, Charmin is a toilet paper brand. Yeah.

Anyway to those who've read what I've written so far, to those who've commented, and those that added me to their various lists and such, the pure awesomeness that is you would make the universe implode if it was paying any attention. Thank you. ^__^