"Let's start simple: How did you two meet?"
A squeal of delight rang past dry, upturned lips. "Do you wanna tell it or shall I?" He leaned across the generous space towards his brunette counterpart. A grimace to match the clown's grin. With no reaction other than his Bat pressing farther away from him and being silent as the grave, he brushed it aside and wiggled back into his seat. "He's shy," he told the pretty blonde like it was the only explanation for the other's stand offish behavior.
"Where. To. Start..." He flipped greasy gold tendrils from his vision and stared in concentration at the ceiling, watching with renewed enthusiasm as the scene took shape above him: A mildew stain bleeding black and spilling out to coat the canvas in misty twilight. The air moist and ripe with sirens and screams. He could almost feel the cold fire escape railing under his white-knuckle grasp. His fists absently clenched within the cramped pull of strait jacket sleeves knotted around him which reminded him of the present.
"It-tuh depends..." he baited with a sly glance at the man to his left.
"Depends on what?" Quinzel pressed, taking the bait. Pen poised and ready to recount the tale in shorthand.
Bruce could only fight the urge to roll his eyes at the young woman's idiocy. "Can't you see that's what he wants---to drag you inside his warped brain and make you play his games? Everything's a game to him."
"Depends on which version Bats wants to hear: When I met the Bat or when the Bat met me."
"There's a difference?"
"Big difference," the clown answered, smacking his lips and suppressing giggles. His Bat's head twitching a fraction of an inch towards the conversation. "He gets where I'm going. Did I pique your interest, Batsy? I'll laugh till I choke if you remember."
"... what are you going on about, Joker?" Bruce finally croaked. His better judgement screaming at him to forget about it and not play along. But the idea of having come across this monster before the killings made him uneasy; as if Harvey's fall and Rachel's death was preventable if only he had realized it then and acted promptly.
"You mean ya don't remember, Bats? You break my heart -really you do- surely you, uh, recall those good ole days... with the- the, er, Ninja Bat?" The accompanying image of black drobe with a ski mask tickled his funny bone. "Seriously, a ski mask? How droll."
"How does he know about that?"
"Could you elaborate on that, Mr. J? I'm not following." As if the teasing was for her! The female psychiatrist's presence was a regrettable condition of this beautiful arrangement with his flying rodent. He'd grudgingly accept it for now.
"No, I don't think I will, Harley m'dear. See this is 'Couples Couseling' and I can't be the only half of this, ah, coupling to be par-ticipating." A flash of tongue prodded the corner of his scarred mouth, and with it came a stained toothy grin at the first signs of agreement from his doctor.
"He does have a point, Bruce-"
"Batman," the Joker interjected with a possessive snap of his jaws. His dark eyes narrowed at her startled expression.
"Ye- yes, sorry..."
Bruce found her recoil particularly odd. The look of fear and hurt was much to the likeness of a scolded child. How could that be though? She was the doctor here, the one in charge...
She pressed on despite it. Her voice weakened but recovering. "What is your response to Mr. J's comments about your lack of participation? Was he right to call you on that?"
His mind was too engrossed in old memories of the few times he ventured out into the night before kevlar plates, memory cloth, and skulpted pointy ears. All was a hazy blur. He remembered holding a stapler to Gordon and the brilliant stretch of bruises up and down his side the morning after. Could he have forgotten? No, no, information can not be forgotten, merely lost. Though he figured it hard to believe it possible to misplace the Joker anywhere. The man stuck out like an infected, oozing thumb.
"Batsyyy," a nasaly falsetto sliced through to his attention. The Joker having grown frustrated with the other's tight-lipped passiveness. "Save your---moments of reflection for your time. This, this is our time. Now be a good bat and tell the nice lady how you met me. You're cramping our session. Maybe I'll tell ya my version later." Muddy brown fixated on the clock. "Times flys... when you're having too much fun."
His lips pulled tighter into his mouth; teeth biting down to maintain his silence. How could Alfred knowingly put him in this situation? This couldn't be deemed humane.
"You can shut me out all ya want, but I'm not goin' anywhere. You and me----all we got is time, and hey I'll be the, uh... the understanding spouse and radiate patience. I'll wait til those pesky insecurities and niggling emotions building those walls around you weaken and crumble..." He sucked in a chilling breath. Eyes slipping closed in the prospect of the sweet anarchy sure to follow his Bat's fall. He should have tattled on the vigilante sooner. Having him within reach in this somewhat controlled environment would be, for now, the ideal playground. Outside Arkham walls, Gotham was an even crazier place to play; too many distractions. Here, Bats couldn't steal away into the night and hide in his cozy, damp cave. He'll have Nurse Joker 24/7, kissing his boo boos (most likely will be administered by his hand) and basically orchestrating Batsy's entire hospital stay so that it would a most pleasant one. Chaos in the midst of chaos isn't funny, but chaos spilling out like a sliced jugular onto crisp and clean order is.
Miss Quinzel, now he hadn't counted on her. She and her fresh faced optimism and googly eyes was a nice surprise. WIth maybe a flick of his wrist she'd break, easier than Harvey. Harvey, Harley, HA! She would take less effort to manipulate that's for sure. Just a few choice comments and well placed, longing sighs and he got his time here. Now. With the best thing since waterproof mascara.
"Ready to, uh, shatter the silence?"
"He's just going to keep talking and talking and talking and he's not going to stop just because I won't reciprocate. He'll find something to say. He has the quiet and the time. We have the time. So. Much. Time. Oh god-" Stomach acids boiled and rolled in frothing fire inside Bruce at that particular thought. His hand wanted to fly up and cover his mouth in reflex but low and behold the jacket held his arms securely against his sides. He looked away from his orange-wrapped thighs with hateful eyes, an unfamiliar wetness smearing his normally sharp vision.
Quinzel looked on with half-hearted sympathy. "I think that'll be all for-"
"No. No. No." The Joker ground out. "You asked us a question -a very simple question- and we intend to answer it, isn't that right, Batsy Baby?" His voice had softened but hung on to that authoritative edge.
"It's not fair to push-"
"Tell her; it's not hard. I'm ashamed it's taking us this long."
Her pretty pink lips flew open to the likeness of a blow up doll but something deliciously unexpected happened.
Brucey started to talk, albeit a flat, lack of pizazz speech but something worth shutting your trap -"That means you, Harley-girl"- and listening closely."I saw that disgusting video..." The expression on his face matched his words, disgusted. "Then at Dent's fundraiser I threw for him."
"Oh? And what happened there?" The Joker pressed, as if he didn't know.
"You know, so don't," Bats deadpanned, focusing on the grains lining the door. Any media outlet could tell that story. The socialites sqawked about it for weeks after. How awkward it was to be approached on his whereabouts when rumors placed him fleeing to his panic room and abandoning his guests. Little did they know... well, now they do.
"Batsy, I just wanna hear your P-O-V of the encounter. Not too much to ask now, is it?"
Although he loathed to admit it, it felt good to be talking some again, having spent weeks in basic silence. Having the harlequin near triggered something in him where the wariness and self doubt evaporated away. A phantom cowl hugging his face and mostly filling the void inside.
"Come oooooon..." the clown groaned just to aggravate his foe.
"Fine," he growled. He had to give it to the jester, he knew how to bring out his inner bat.
"And there. You. Are." If he couldn't have his Bat in the hard rubber flesh, than he'd certainly get him in spirit and provoking for sparing growls wasn't below him. A giddiness swept him up in the ice-glazed recount of their glorious face-to-face all those long, boring months ago.
"You and your men poured out of the elevator, fired a single shot to the ceiling, and sought out Harvey Dent."
"Yeah, I never did find that slippery, lil bugger," Joker reflected with a reminiscent grin.
"That's because I put him unconscious and hid him where you wouldn't find him."
"Yeah, that makes sense... but get to the good part already!"
But Bruce didn't want to think about "The Good Part," because that involved exposing a part of himself Batman couldn't afford to have withering away inside him. He didn't trust himself to mention a shred of her and not reveal some level of emotion. That devil may cry bastard was to blame. The relief to talk quickly turned on him too soon.
"Jeesh, you're taking too long," he griped; oblivious or completely uncaring to the shift in the atmosphere. He saw the tender nerve his Bat presented and pounced on it like a wolf on a limping lamb. Hopefully he'd come out of this tasting blood.
He'd have to continue for the sake of the tale. "So then I'm asking quite nicely for the whereabouts of the ex district attorney and no one seems to know. Well there I was stranded with no, ah, law book-thumping prize..." He paused to moisten his lips, uncrossing and recrossing his gangly legs. The casual gesture would just infuriate the brunette, brooding in his fabric hug. "Get used to it, buddy!" This next part could be handled in one of two ways; the thing was which one would be more painful and appealed to his style.
"... so I settled for a loved one, and wasn't she a looker, though I've seen much, much better." He was feeling charitable, so he shot the blonde hanging on his every word from across a wink.
The psychiatrist's cheeks heated to a most unbecoming beet root. "Joker, you lady killer you- oh that's right-"
"She interrupted me you see, and I didn't like that... not at all in fact, so I tell her a little story about these." His chin lifted in the air to draw more attention to his scars. He wanted so very much for the Bat to look at him and see him smiling.
"Yes, go on..." Miss Harleen Quinzel appeared exceedingly interested. The excited flicker in her eyes was borderline disturbing.
"Well, I come to dis-cover that Harvey's bunny doesn't have much of a heart---see, she didn't care about my sad, sad story. She hit me and I -oh ho- and I replied, 'You got a little fight in ya...'" He said it just as he did all that time ago, with the amused growl and flirtation of a fat, pink tongue. "'I like that...' Then Batsy, you popped out of nowhere and said--- no, you made that one, perfect promise that set my blood a boilin'."
He shivered, imagining the cool moisture of face paint smoothing across his feverish skin. Much like how the Batman made him remember to feel. His ever-twitching tongue pushed past his lips and lazily traced the pale curves.
Air froze in Bruce's lungs. The sweet image of Rachel fresh and pulsing in his mind. She looked so gorgeous that night, "and I saved her then." He listened along with every ounce of his pained attention.
"And I do, Batsy," the clown groaned, wriggling in his jacket. The fabric binding him was suffocating. He needed a hit. "Believe me when I say I do."
The pen sank in her slackened grip. Blush raging. She glanced back and forth between the pair, getting the distinct impression she was intruding: Joker writhing in his seat, looking at Bruce with fierce adoration and smiling dreamily; Bruce hunched and stark still, shallow pants rushing in and out of his flared nostrils. His dark eyes boring holes into a scuff mark on the floor.
"Any----- Any response to that, Bruce?" she asked feebly.
His rapid breathing cut off abruptly -scaring her- and forced a deep intake of stale office air. Skin bristled. His adams apple bobbed painfully under the emotional vice. "... I'd like to go back to my room now."
The Joker burst into cackling fits as she nodded and buzzed for Michael to take him back. When the tall orderly shuffled in, he smiled sweetly at her and tended to the fallen hero. He expected as much that the freak would be laughing. He always laughs. Quinzel stood also out of respect for their departure. She never felt so small when the dark knight looked her square in the eye.
"... this is why good and evil don't talk things out."
"Oh no see I don't feel that's true, Bats." The Joker managed to control himself long enough to acknowledge his arch nemesis. Tears of mirth trickled down into his scars. Bruce couldn't even look at him; in fact not at all yet. "I don't believe in good and evil. People are either charming or tedious." ***
Bruce quickly exited with Michael at his heels, ignoring whatever the clown had said. Before Quinzel could do anything, he leapt from his chair and poked his head out the door. "Just some food for thought for ya, babe!" he called after. His laughter echoing down the hall -filling every crack and eardrum- until it bounded back around the clown prince. His scars hiding his frown and furious stare as his handlers wrestled him for control.
______________________________
***Oscar Wilde
Thanks so much for the awesome reviews! Going away for the weekend and I wanted to have this up. Hope you enjoyed!
