Hey guys! So, things change up a bit in this chapter from where it originally was. Next chapter it begins to change a lot. So just a heads up that you won't be reading the same chapters verbatim for very long. Anyway, here we go:
Chapter 4:
They sat in silence for several moments, The Joker again going back to eating, this time breaking open a bottle of Coke, gulping half it's contents down in one swig.
Bruce studied him, trying to work out in his mind whether or not the lunatic was sincere.
He decided he couldn't be, not with all the heartless, inhumane acts he'd seen him perform. It was impossible for him to believe the madman was capable of any emotion even remotely human.
He shook his head.
"No." He said. "You don't care about me. You don't care about anyone."
At this The Joker stopped, staring hard at the crusader. His expression was serious and he looked suddenly displeased.
"That's not true." He said. "I care about you. I love you even." And then, suddenly, he grinned.
"If you really did, then why do you hurt me? Why do you do things you know I'm against? That isn't indicative at all of someone loving another."
"I do it to make you mad." The Joker giggled. "You're so cute when you're mad, after all."
Abruptly Batman threw his sandwich to the ground and lurched forward, grabbing hold of the madman's suspender straps and jerking him forward, causing him to drop his soda.
"Stop playing games with me!" He growled.
The Joker frowned, grabbing the vigilante by the wrists.
"I'm not." He hissed. "Besides, I'm not the one living in a constant state of denial."
Bruce raised his hand then, backhanding The Joker across the face and letting him fall backward, to the ground.
For a moment the madman lay on his back in a heap, before finally pushing himself to a sitting position, holding the back of his hand against his mouth. Pulling it away, he saw blood, his lip having split.
His eyes darted to Batman, and in them was fury.
"That's right dear." He began. "Kick me around and tell yourself its proof enough that you don't care."
Bruce seethed, standing fully and rushing the lunatic.
Quick as lightening he took The Joker up by the collar of his shirt, lifting him fully off the ground and pushing forward until his back slammed hard against a thick Oak. The Joker held tight to his wrists as Batman leaned heavy in to him, pressing his elbow and forearm painfully against his chest.
"I'll kill you!" The detective raged.
"Oh, yeah? And that would be, what, the hundredth time you've threatened it?" The Joker laughed. "Come on Batsy! When are you ever going to admit it? You need me as much as I need you."
The vigilante's teeth ground together in rage as he pulled the lunatic off before again slamming him back.
The Joker felt the air go from his lungs and he laughed, the sound coming out a high pitched wheeze.
"Oh, wow. Just how I always imagined our first date!"
Again Batman pulled him forward and slammed him back, releasing a growl of fury.
And again The Joker only laughed, hanging limp from the vigilante's hands, appearing as a rag doll.
Some seconds past, the madman's laughter slowly dying away as he realized Batman hadn't again crushed him against the trunk. Silence grew around them in the moments following, each man staring hard at the other, Bruce with his gauntleted hands buried deep in to the fabric of The Joker's patterned shirt, The Joker himself holding tight to the detective's wrists, gazing intently in to his eyes.
And still more silence past.
"Sooo…" The Joker began at last, when it seemed the situation was stagnant.
Suddenly Batman leaned in, lying hard against the madman's chest, pushing him more firmly against the tree so that he couldn't move, and then, without warning, he just let him drop, turning away in obvious frustration, his cape whipping around his body like some living creature.
The Joker stared up at him, blinking.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair, pushing himself to a sitting position.
"You never learn, do you?" He began. "I tell you something you don't like, you act all indignant, and then there's that inevitable anger. But it's your reaction afterward which is the real kicker, hmm? The unadulterated, unhidden self-loathing. You hate yourself in that moment. And it's because I've done nothing but tell you the truth, a truth you know but you find yourself with the particular weakness of being unable to accept it."
Bruce shook his head, his broad shoulders rigid, unmoving.
"No." He said in a sharp rasp. "No. You lie. Everything you say is a lie!"
"No Bruce. No. You're only lying to yourself."
The vigilante turned quickly towards him, his eyes wide.
The clown stared back.
And suddenly a smile began to spread over his lips. His usual expression; that cocky smirk, always taunting, making you feel as though he knew something you never would, or even could. The one which always made you feel as though the lunatic were ten steps ahead and you would never catch up.
Batman felt fire race through his veins, his skin growing hot with rage, and he lunged forward, a scream like some rabid animals escaping his throat as, with vicious speed, he took hold with both hands The Joker's collar, lifting him from the ground, an instant later slamming him on to his back, so hard the air went instantly from the lunatic's lungs.
The Joker felt the laughter bubbling up in his throat, ready to erupt.
But it never got the chance as Batman sunk his fist hard in to his face, and without a moment's hesitation, did it again, never allowing the madman to express the apparent glee he always felt in falling victim to the detective's lethal hands.
It was a mix of panic and confusion which now gripped him, drove his fists down so viciously, and a sudden, overwhelming desire to keep the sound of The Joker's hilarity from escaping.
He couldn't deal with it. Not now.
And so he beat him without mercy, without respite.
When he no longer could get the desired leverage from his punches, he lifted The Joker by his hair, and continued to connect the balled up rubber of his gauntlet with his already bloodied face, over and over, barely a moment lasting between each blow.
Only when the madman had ceased movement of any kind did Batman realize he'd fallen unconscious. And then he realized what he'd done, and he let go his curled hand from The Joker's now tangled, blood splattered hair, letting him fall to the still wet grass, his long limbs splayed out, his body a limp and broken heap.
The crusader stared at him for a long, few moments, as though what he was seeing couldn't be real, as though he were trying to discern an illusion.
And suddenly he felt nauseous, stumbling backward, away, his feet hitting the array of food from The Joker's picnic basket, causing him nearly to fall as abruptly he turned, and began to run. Run as fast as his legs would carry him. Run away from him.
/
The Joker awoke in pain. A lot of pain. Slowly his eyes opened and at first it seemed as though the world around him spun in dizzying circles, as though he were on a merry-go- round, and he brought his hand up, resting it against his forehead to make it stop. After a while it did, and somehow he managed to roll to his side, and then on to his knees, groaning audibly as he did.
Pain ripped through him. Particularly his face, which he could tell already was badly swollen. And then he realized he couldn't breath through his nose, and quickly discerned it to be broken.
Standing erect, the spinning returned and he nearly fell face first from its intensity. It was making him sick.
He giggled.
"Wohooo!" He breathed, his hand reaching out for purchase against the same tree he'd earlier been slammed viciously against, his other hand pressing against his temple. "Silly merry-go-round. Stop."
He stood like that for a good, few minutes, waiting for the world to stand still. When it finally did, he moved from the tree, noting immediately the scattered remains of his picnic basket. He stumbled to it, taking up one of the unopened sodas and snapping open its top, chugging half its contents in one gulp. It burned down his throat, but he didn't care.
He tossed it away then and looked up, peering at the sky. It was light and he knew in just a short while the sun would come creeping over the horizon. He'd been out for a good 3 or 4 hours, he supposed. And he laughed again. He guessed he should get home now. Before someone called the cops on him.
Gazing around the still darkened park, he saw no sign of Batman and felt himself actually disappointed.
He couldn't actually recall what had happened. The last thing he remembered was Batsy punching him in the face, but it wasn't as though that were unusual.
Something had set him off though.
And then The Joker remembered.
He hadn't exactly intended for that slip. It had just sort of… happened.
Batman sure had freaked though.
So, mission accomplished, the madman thought with a giggle.
At least, partially...
It frustrated him sometimes, the Bat's refusal to acknowledge… certain things. It was frustrating seeing the pain he was in for that refusal.
He didn't want his darling in such a state. It was, after all, difficult enough, being as they were.
As only they were.
Alone together…
He sighed.
In any event, it would give the big galoot something to think about, maybe add a little spice to their next encounter.
He giggled, feeling the familiar sensation of all-consuming excitement wash over his body.
And then he began to laugh loudly.
He could only imagine the kind of turmoil Batman now found himself in. Surely, he must be pitching some kind of fit. And that meant it wouldn't be long at all before the vigilante came searching for him again.
How perfect it was.
The Joker barely could contain his jubilation as he moved out of the park, beginning the long walk back to his place, up in the Northeast projects, practically skipping along, singing raucously.
When he at last reached it, his hand went for the knob, twisting it and swinging the door wide.
"Honey, I'm hooooome!" He called, laughing still as he entered the small, sparsely decorated apartment. The building was abandoned, and as far as he knew, and he knew, he was the only current resident.
He literally could walk across the space in five, regular strides, that's how small it was, with only two rooms. The main living area, which contained both a kitchenette and space for a mattress, and then off to the right, a bathroom, barely large enough to hold a single standing shower, toilet and sink.
He made his way there, flipping the light switch. It flickered on, struggling at first, but then filling the tiny room with harsh, bright light. There were no fixtures over the bulbs.
He moved to the mirror over the sink, which had a large crack running diagonally and straight through its center.
For the first time he saw his state.
There was dried blood covering his face, both from his nose and mouth, as well as split skin along his cheek bones. His hair had flecks of blood in it as well, as did his shirt. The entire area around his nose was swollen, as was his left eye. Nearly swollen shut, in fact. And his cloths looked completely ruined, covered in mud and grass stains. He frowned. He'd just gotten this outfit the other day and quite liked it, really. He shrugged. Oh well. Plenty more where that came from.
Turning on the faucet, he cupped cold water in to his hands, throwing it over his face, watching as the blood turned the clear liquid red, swirling down the drain.
Looking back in the mirror, he saw his nose was bleeding again. Definitely broken. He'd had several of those in his lifetime. He laughed, reaching down and pulling open a drawer below the sink, taking from it a medical kit.
He'd set it himself.
/
Bruce turned restlessly in his bed for what seemed the hundredth time. He couldn't sleep, at all. He'd been lying there awake for the past two hours, his mind filling with the horrible images of earlier that night.
He still couldn't believe it.
How long had the madman known? And why in the hell was he choosing to reveal it just now?
Thought's raced through his mind of what it could mean. About him, about The Joker, about everything he'd said.
He'd thought maybe it was some elaborate trick on the Joker's part. But what trick? He'd said his name for Christ's sake! Causally he'd said it, like he was addressing an old friend. And there was no mistake. When he'd seen the look on the clown's face, it was obvious he knew who he was.
And he kept thinking of how he'd reacted afterwards. How badly he'd beaten The Joker up, without any real reason for it. Certainly, the madman was always a threat, but he'd been doing nothing even remotely threatening at the time. He'd just been sitting there, going on to him about his temper, about how every time someone forced him to face an unwanted reality, he would react violently. How he would explode because of a refusal to accept things as they were, because, maybe, deep down, he thought if he kicked the shit out of whatever was bothering him bad enough, it would just go away. And that was exactly what he'd done then, wasn't it? He'd only proven the Joker's point, and he was sure that, wherever the lunatic now was, he was having a good old laugh about it. That was assuming he hadn't beaten the poor son of a bitch to death.
But he'd been overrun by panic, by uncertainty, and that had quickly morphed in to rage, and the need to release it. And he had. He couldn't remember the last time he'd hit The Joker so hard, or so repeatedly. Like he'd been taking out the disgust he felt of himself on the lunatic. No, it wasn't like that. It was that. And that just made him hate himself more.
The Joker was a liar. He was lying when he said he cared about him. He was lying when he said he loved him. He was too psychotic to love anyone. He couldn't even love himself properly. Not with the way he constantly compromised his own well being.
Everything he said was said with the purpose of getting a rise out of him.
That was all.
Bruce felt his mouth twist in to a frown.
But then, why the hell did he feel so bad when he recalled the look of hurt on the madman's face, after he'd hit him the first time that night?
Finally he threw the covers from himself, unable to sleep.
He'd had it!
The only logical solution he could conjure up, the only way he could make amends for his own stupidity, was to again find The Joker, question him about what he knew, find out his intentions, and then take him back to Arkham. And if the lunatic so much as looked like he might resist, Bruce had convinced himself he would lay him down. No more funny business. No more conversations, or games of chess, or freaking picnics!
He was through messing around.