Rough, calloused fingers rubbed tiredly at throbbing temples. Nerve endings were restless under skin, under expensive silk sheets, black as an abyss. Bruce Wayne stared at the ceiling, hidden underneath shadows while his brain raced thoughts through itself in a seemingly never-ending cycle. Jaw clenching and unclenching, he swore he could still feel the Joker's hair in his hand, shiny and unwashed, greasy green dye covering dirty blonde, almost brown strands.
He was covered in a cold sweat, limbs spread awkwardly under the covers, appearing disjointed from his body. Bruce knew he wouldn't be getting any sleep. Not that sleep had been a common occurrence anyway. By day he was a billionaire and playboy but by night he adorned his suit and cowl, taking down criminals. Half the citizens of Gotham loved him; the other half thought he was to blame. How could one costumed lawbreaker be different from all the others right?
To them you're just a freak...like me. They need you right now, but when they don't, they'll cast you out, like a leper.
The Joker's manic giggles echoed through his mind. The psycho maniac had managed plunge the city into such chaos so easily, a crude smile eternally on his face as he did so. He wasn't worth saving.
For a brief moment Bruce entertained the idea of going to the kitchen but decided against it in fear of waking Alfred. He thought of the butler's worn face a few hours prior. The man had looked worn out, if not completely exhausted, worry over the package making him look years older. If anyone deserved a night's rest, it was him. Their earlier conversation tumbled through his mind again and again.
What if it's a trap?
But what if it's not sir?
The knowing look in Alfred's eyes still made him shudder, the vibrations traveling to the king sized mattress under him. The Joker had been taken. So what? The insane jester had tortured Gotham's citizens far too long, and at times, made Bruce question his own humanity. The murderous sociopath could die in a hole for all he cared.
So why this nagging feeling? There had been many instances where Batman could have easily ended the joker's life but something always stopped him. It was always his brute refusal to get blood on his hands. Above all he was a decent man even in indecent times and refused to stoop to the madman's level by taking the life of another human being, even if it was the Joker. Even after everything he's done…Dent…Rachel.
His fists balled with a renewed sense of anger, underused muscles straining against his body, as he stifled the urge to punch the nearest wall.
Rachel, his oldest friend, the woman he loved. He would've given up anything for her, even his other half. The joker had taken her from him and destroyed Dent in the process. He deserved to die.
But not like this.
No, even the homicidal anarchist needed someone to save him. It didn't come from a place of compassion, more pity and self-righteousness on the vigilante's part. Bruce had been told that compassion was his one weakness, but it wasn't until now that he thought it was true. He closed his eyes in deep resignation and allowed himself to become one with the shadows.
X
"Good morning Master Wayne, sleep well?"
Agitated, bloodshot eyes gave him his answer. Alfred nodded to himself and sat the breakfast tray on the bedside table with a dull clang. The sight of eggs and bacon made the billionaire's stomach churn almost painfully as he turned to the other items on the tray. His fingers fumbled ungracefully, nearly missing the handle to his mug of black coffee while a migraine bounced around like ball inside his skull. He took a grateful sip and flashed Alfred a grin that ended up looking more like a grimace.
"Did you locate the sender of the box?"
"I'm afraid not sir," Alfred answered, putting the cloche back on the metal tray. "No fingerprints, no return address, and the post office has no record of it."
Bruce nodded taking a deep gulp, hot, bitter liquid crashing into the back of his throat and burning his trachea. He coughed then, deep and robust, eyes widening in momentary panic as Alfred patted his chest. He could feel the coffee threatening to drip from his nostrils. He refused his body's natural instincts, like always, and managed to get his coughing under control.
"You alright sir?" The butler's eyes held a deeply engrained concern. His mouth was twisted in a frown as he examined the young man in front of him.
"I'm fine Alfred. But this situation isn't. How do we know this is really the Joker's hair? And even if it is, how do we know that he is in real danger? What if this is some prank?" There were silent for a moment, both contemplating the questions. Police sirens wailed past the manor, breaking their mutual concentration.
"I believe the police would have the Joker's DNA after his multiple incarcerations. They could compare the samples so we can know for sure. That would take care of at least one problem."
Bruce nodded in agreement; before he warily taking another sip. It went down easier than before and he sighed, half in relief, half in contemplation. He rubbed his fresh bruises absentmindedly as he came up with a course of action.
.
"I'll deliver it to Gordon tonight."
X
He growled, low in the throat, animalistic, with just the smallest hint of desperation. His fingers worked adamantly, attempting to remove the handcuffs strapped tightly around his admittedly thin wrists. He had bitten through the rope hours ago.
The nameless, faceless person keeping him here hadn't liked that. Three of the man's henchmen had pinned him down while the other two cuffed his arms and legs. Idiots. Almost as incompetent as his Hench-clowns and that was saying something. A fly buzzed around him, causing him to jerk in irritation, green hair becoming more disheveled than it already was. He snarled and the fly wisely retreated.
They had drugged him at first, holding down his resisting body as they jabbed a needle into his exposed flesh. It had been the cheap kind, making the world hazy and him nauseas. He had gotten better drugs at Arkham. In his dizzying state, a henchman had tried to take advantage of him. The man had gotten a knee to the face and a broken nose for his trouble. He was still The Joker after all, not some restrained whore for their own personal pleasure.
"C-can I get you anything, M-Mr. J-joker," The guy's voice was hesitant, brimming with a quiet terror he tried not to show but that bled through his eyes regardless.
The boy was young, early twenties with mousy brown hair and eyes that were simply too trusting. From what the Joker could gather, his older brother, a real meathead, the high school dropout type had roped the kid into this job. He had promised the sap enough money to alleviate his worries for college tuition and the boy had stupidly taken the bait. Now he stood in front of the most dangerous criminal in Gotham and looked as though he would thoroughly piss his pants.
The Joker grinned maliciously, like a cobra ready to strike. He licked his lips as the boy fidgeted, clammy hands trembling and sweat droplets appearing on his bare upper lip.
"Lemme think," Joker drawled, grinning wildly as the boy jumped, a tiny whimper escaping his lips as he did so. This could be fun. "How's about untying me?" He held up his restrained wrist as best he could, waving them back and forth for emphasis. "Hmm?"
The boy looked around the rundown warehouse, gulping nervously, brown eyes darting around.
"I, uh, can't do that. I'm…sorry."
The joker giggled then, high and cruel before full blown laughing in the kid's face.
"Oh, you're sorry huh? What's your name anyway?" He sat back against the wall, adjusting himself. Clearly the kid was gonna be there awhile, minus well get comfortable.
"Jonathan," he answered, wringing his hands in heavy discomfort. He shouldn't have been down here without his brother. Not with a murderer restrained only by a few handcuffs pilfered from Gotham's finest. The psycho could probably break free if he wanted to. But despite what the other henchmen said, he didn't think the Joker was crazy. Except for a few instances of him singing for hours, purposely off-key and the incident with the handsy henchman named Jake, the Joker hadn't been much of a nuisance. Then again, he was drugged most of the time.
Jonathan watched as a slow, almost truly happy smile split the joker's face apart, grease paint smearing to reveal gruesome scars. His lifeless eyes seemed to shine with a renewed energy as a handcuffed hand moved to tap soft, blood red lips in thought.
"I knew a guy named Jonathan once, called him Johnny though, Johnny Crane," the clown said finally, something close to fondness coloring his tone. He wasn't looking at Jonathan, if anything he was seeing past him as his smile faded, getting lost in the memories.
"What happened to him?"
The joker turned to the other man sharply, glaring daggers in his direction, mood flipping quicker than a coin. The angry look vanished just as quickly as it appeared.
"Oh, he, ah, well, left me…for this guy named Crow." He laughed maniacally then, sharp notes reaching all knew heights as he barked out his amusement. Jonathan was at a loss, feeling somewhat awkward but mostly terrified as the madman laughed, never breaking eye contact.
"You wanna know how I got these scars?" he asked after a moment of silence. He flashed rotten teeth and snickered lowly, madness shining behind emerald green irises.
Jonathan seemed unsure but stiffly nodded. Oh yes, the Joker thought, this could be fun.
X
Gordon yawned, eyes red and scratchy, breath reeking of the bitter sludge the precinct called coffee. Ink-marked fingers smoothed out graying eyebrows, then slid down his tired face to rub his jaw, which was in need of a shave. The jagged gravel of the rooftop dug into his worn cracked leather shoes as the cold air sliced through his clothes and pierced his skin, chilling him to the bone. His nicotine stained teeth chattered continuously and he nearly went back inside until he felt an even cooler presence.
Hidden in the shadows, exposed jaw barely discernable from his black cowl stood Batman. His mouth was set in determination but his eyes showed a distraction. Gordon offered him an acknowledging nod, which the Caped Crusader did not return. Large hands were wrapped around the cardboard box the hair had come in, but the request was stuck in his throat. How the hell would he explain this to Gordon?
"What do you have there?" Gordon questioned, noticing the bundle. Batman's fingers tightened around the box as his brain tried to put together an acceptable explanation. He nearly licked his lips before remembering how nervous that would make him appear.
"A package," he answered, voice its usual gravelly thickness. "It was dropped off at my door. No name, return address or prints recovered." He tossed the commissioner the box suddenly, the older man struggling to catch it. Batman smirked slightly but all remnants were gone when Gordon looked at him in confusion before gently opening the package and looking inside.
Gordon sighed, feeling a familiar fear infect his insides. He was used to the vigilante being cryptic with him but this this was something different. He ran a hand through graying locks before bravely pulling back the rectangular flaps a peeking into the box. Grungy hair stared back at him, the darkness making it look almost black. He nearly brushed his fingertips over it to make sure but something stopped him.
"What exactly do you want me to do?" His brow was knitted in confusion, looking from the box to batman then back to the box again.
"I believe this is the Joker's hair. I would like you to compare it to the DNA you have on him to confirm."
This only seemed to confuse the commissioner more. The Joker had sent batman a package? Why? Or was it not the Joker at all? The rational side of his brain, which was in need of sleep, tried to piece things together in a way that made sense. But trying to see into the Joker's mind was impossible. Gordon cleared his throat softly, sound barely audible over their combined breaths.
"I'll see what I can do," he said finally. "But things regarding you are still a bit…strained around here. It may take awhile."
"I understand."
"I can't make any promises."
Gordon turned around but Batman was already gone.
