Thank you so much for the reviews, follows and faves, I certainly didn't expect anyone to read this at all. Sorry about the much delayed update, I've been swamped with college and work, but I finally finished my beauty course, so now my only commitment is my part time job. So that means more updating. Woo!

I unexpectedly had to re-download Microsoft word, and for some reason I am stuck with a French version, so we'll see how that pans out. Also, I don't think this has spell check either, so please point out any horrendus mistakes. Like my spelling of horrendus, I don't really know how to spell that.

Probably no smut in this chapter, but seeing how I just have a very vague outline of the story in my head, and I fill in the blanks as I go along, you never know.

Love The Joker's voice? Watch this: watch?v=tsRbhBXPgKk

Anyway, on with the story. I realise now that I failed to write a disclamier in the last chapter, so I'mma take care of this baby right now. I do not own The Dark Knight or any it's characters.

It's been 8 years since Bruce and the Joker last saw each other. How will things go when they meet again after all this time?

8 years later – The Joker

Sitting in the middle of his off-white, padded cell he had come to call 'home' over the past 8 years, The Joker stared blankly at the door in front of him. To anyone watching him, it would seem he was calm, almost serene, just staring into space like most of other Arkham residents.

But on the inside, The Joker was screaming, laughing manically, tearing down mental walls with anger. He had never gotten over the betrayal Batman left behind. He promised himself that if he ever saw that flying rodent again he'd make him regret it. Severely. Even without his cowel, The Joker was certain he would know. He would just know.

He was jerked out of his furious mental tyride by the obnoxiously loud clicking of his cell door opening. Snapping his eyes up at the heavy metal door, he saw one of the older doctors saunter in, closely examining his clipboard.

The Joker hated how they acted around him now. They were hardly afraid anymore, and treated him like a misbehaving chid. Even the newbies, gone were the days when they would cower in fear under his gaze, and try to complete their duties as quickly as possible before racing out of his cell. Now they acted as if they worked in an old folks home, chatting at him about nonsense, humming, and some even dared to smile at him.

The doctor glanced up from his clipboard long enough to take in The Joker, makeup-less and confined in a straight jacket. Even after 8 years he wasn't mentally fit enough to leave a padded cell or even be taken out of that damnned jacket. They had made little progress concerning his mental state. He just seemed to have quitened down. He had hardly talked for 3 years now, except on some rare nights, his manic laughter could be heard echoing through the halls of Arkham.

Looking back to his clipboard the doctor said what he came to tell The Joker.

"The Board of Arkham Asylum will be visiting every cell block today, even this one, so be on your best behaviour and we may get funding for some new toys."

This had caught The Joker's attention now, if only slightly. The Board hardly ever visited, and when they had, they never came to his cell block. Probably deemed too 'dangerous' for them. There must be some major funding being discussed if they went out of their way to pay little ol' him a visit.

'Maybe I'll invite them in for tea and bickies.'

The Joker snorted with laughter when he thought this, imagining all those stuffy suits sitting on the floor of his cell, sipping from fine china and passing around biscuits, graciously declining with an 'Oh no no, I'm watching my figure'.

The doctor looked down at him and raised an eyebrow when he heard the sudden burst of laughter from the clown.

"Something funny?" He asked with disdain.

The Joker stopped laughing aburptly and just stared at him. Seeing this, the doctor rolled his eyes and turned to leave.

"They'll be here this afternoon." He said over his shoulder.

To this, The Joker responded with a low "Can't wait.", as he watched him leave.

Bruce

Bruce nervosly straightend his tie in the mirror for what must have been the dozenth time. He was restless and felt slightly sick at the thought of seeing The Joker again after so long.

"Master Wayne, I think you managed to get your tie perfectly straight the 8th time round." Came a thick English-accented voice.

Hearing this, Bruce turned to face Alfred, and sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"I assume you are nervous for today's inspection, sir?"

"I tried to deny that I was feeling that, but I can't anymore. I have to face him in just a few hours. What if he tries to escape, or hurts someone? Or worse... what if he realizes it's me." Bruce whispered, looking away from the old butlers face.

"Now now Master Wayne, I am sure everything will go off without a hitch. Remember, The Joker has been docile for years now, not one attack or threatening word uttered from him." Alfred reassured.

Bruce sighed and looked back into the mirror.

"You're right Alfred, I've been worrying over nothing." He forced a smile at his reflection and patted down his crisp, Armani suit. The butler frowned at the man's fiddling, but said nothing.

"I shall have the car ready for you outside in an hour, Master Wayne."

"Very well Alfred." Was all the billionaire replied with, still trifiling with his suit.

Alfred sighed at this, and turned to leave him to his thoughts.

As the sleek, black car pulled up outside Arkham Asylum, Bruce Wayne had butterflies in his stomach. He felt as if he was about to go on his first date, but in reality he was about to be face to face with his arch nemisis. Well, maybe face to huge, metal door looking in at The Joker's face, but it was all the same really.

Bruce wasn't prepared for this.

As he stepped out of the car, he noted that the skies had changed from the sunny, bright scape it had been when he left, and was now a dark, murky grey.

'Perfect, suits my apprehension.' He thought to himself.

He leant steadily on his cane as he started the small walk to Arkham's front door.

There, he was greeted by the other members of the Board, apparently he was slightly late and they had all been waiting for him. Bruce didn't care though, his mind was set on getting this over quickly.

The Board was led around the grimey halls of Arkham, checking each cell and its inhabitants. All too quickly they were walking, or in Bruce's case, slightly hobbling, down the corridoor to the maximum security cells.

Bruce hardly glanced into the cells of the other inmates, his eyes plastered on the cell at the very end of the corridoor. His eyes grazed over the large clear square of what must have been tempered glass, so even if the strong glass was broken, it couldn't be used to harm anyone.1

Suddenly, they were moving to the end of the corridoor, right to where Bruce had been eyeing.

"Now, this cell is home to one of Gotham's most infamous criminals. Behind this door is The Joker, real name unknown, to us and maybe even to him. We guess that he is around 30 to 35 years of age." The head doctor announced.

Bruce, wearily staying at the back of the group, wasn't entirely sure if it really was The Joker in there. Shouldn't the halls be echoing with crazed laughter? Or at least some joke orientated insults would be being thrown around.

"Mr Wayne, wont you come closer for a better look? He is quite docile at the moment." The doctor said as he put his hand on Bruce's shoulder, gently steering him closer to the door. He didn't stop until Bruce was almost pressed against the glass.

Bruce was rather annoyed by the doctor's forwardness, but that annoyance quickly fizzled out when he looked into the padded cell.

The Joker was staring at him. Sitting in the middle of his cell, no makeup, dirty blonde hair, just staring at him. No, not at him, into him.

Bruce locked gazes with the homocidal maniac, unable to look away. The noisy chattering of the other board members died away as he zoned out, and it was just him and The Joker. The latter of the two started narrowing his brown eyes suspiously as he stared into Bruce's pale blue ones. The Joker seemed to be analyzing in his face. He then scrunched up his nose and narrowed his eyes furthur, focusing on Bruce's mouth and jaw.

'What the heck is he doing...?' Bruce thought to himself. Then it hit him. The Joker was trying to black out the top half of his face, so he could imagine the bottom half being... No. He can't. Bruce's eyes widened with shock and he speedily ducked out of view of the window.

He felt his heart start to race under the layers of expensive fabric. Then he heard a sound that made his blood run cold. The Joker's all too familiar cackling. His shrill, crazed laugh piercing straight through Bruce, as he felt his stomach drop.

He knew.

Holy shit balls. I actually intended to complete this last night when I started it, but I fell asleep :/

Tempered glass is extremley strong, but if it does break, it only breaks into small cubes and thefore not harmful. So you see why I thought it would be an ideal glass to use in this situation.

Anyway, thanks for reading and I hope to get the next chapter up in the next couple of days. I apprecate any reviews as this is my first proper fanfic, and yeah. I kind of feel like I tend to speed through the story, and they end up too short, but, I guess thats just the way I write.

Also like I said, please point out any spelling errors as I have no spell check, but I have re-read and fixed any mistakes that I have noticed. Thanks!