…Hiiiiiiiiiiii.

Sorry for the wait. Let's see if we can pick up the slack, here…

Disclaimer: I don't own The Dark Knight. Only this plot (and Charlie the puppy).

Chapter Ten: Batsy

In the end, it's all about nerve endings.

Skin is amazing: it bends, twists, moves under even the slightest touch. Beneath the skin are nerves, thousands upon thousands, ready to awaken. Scars are not very receptive to touch, but I can make do.

The feeling of warm blankets against warmer flesh is multifaceted: comforting, yet new. To me, anyway.

Under the right circumstances, even the slightest brush of skin against skin can cause a reaction: a red tint, a bitten lip, fingers curling. A not-so-slight brush evokes an even stronger reaction. The same fingers reach up, run through my hair, pulling me closer, pulling me down.

The lips are packed with nerve endings—and two pairs pressed together with hands skating up spines, tracing and touching, are a very pleasant combination. Muscles strain, shudder, and little nerves prick down the body, lower and lower, all systems go.

It's more difficult than expected to debate a return trip to Gotham while in the mood, but as said before, I can make do.

I can hear Joker step into the shower as he continues spewing his many examples of why we should go back to Gotham. By this point, I'm tempted to agree just to keep him quiet. Everything from keeping up with politics to missing Betty's pies, he's said it all.

Of course, I have my own reasons, namely rest and relaxation. When we go back to Gotham, we go back to work.

"…And I'll bet Gordon's a little, ah, anxious about where we are. We didn't leave him much to work with, y'know."

"True." I can hear the shower water rushing down and over Joker's body, splattering the floor with a hiss. "So, is that the end of your reasoning?"

"Guess so. Does it sound…reasonable?"

His tone reminds me of the hour we spent not too long ago.

"Surprisingly, yes." I turn my thoughts of Joker and his persuasive tendencies to Gotham and her stubborn refusal of change.

In some ways, I don't want to leave here. I like Wales and its rolling hills, its moors, and the wandering about we've been able to do. But I do miss Gotham, with its dank alleyways and multi-masked citizens and all the memories that nestle there.

Choices, choices.

Of course, in the end the choice is obvious, and always will be: where I go, Joker goes. Where Joker goes, I go. It's been that way this long, so…

"…Why stop now?" I chuckle and lean against the wall, hands in my pockets and the heady feeling of moving forward coursing through me.

"Hmm? Did you, ah, say something, Batsy?"

"Nothing important, no."

Joker snorts. "Yeah, right."

I sigh and shake my head. "Are you finished in there?"

"Y'know, Batsy, I'm just…thrilled that you've learned the virtues of, ah, patience. Really, I'm just blown away."

I feel a koan coming on. "Impatience must arrive before patience."

"How very…zen of you."

I pick up what we discarded in our "negotiations" (mainly clothes) and dump them on the bed. I can hear Schiff and Charlie walking in, Schiff chattering to the dog about how fun it is to be with "Boss", and what he's done in the name of fun. All of them are things most people would find horrifying, and even I'm a little unsettled still at what it means to be Joker's right-hand Bat.

Or rather, his batman.

Finally, Joker ambles out, a towel hanging around his neck as he dries off his hair. He's dripping all over the floor, and he hasn't even bothered to dry the rest of himself off. His scars wriggle into a smile as he grabs some new clothes and pulls them on.

"So," he says, buttoning his red paisley shirt. "When do you want to head out?"

I mull it over. "In a week, I think."

"Sounds good to me." Joker looks around the room, quickly finding what he's looking for—his cell phone. "I'll call the boys, tell 'em we're, ah, on the move."

Something occurs to me. "Do they trust me, you think?"

"They trust me…and I trust you. So don't worry about it." Joker grins and the cell phone beeps into life. "Hopefully they haven't, ah, gone too crazy while we've been gone."

I fall back onto the bed, looking up at the ceiling. "Leading the GCPD on a wild goose chase should be keeping them entertained. Though I hope Boss Boy's doing alright."

Joker lets out a wheezy chuckle. "Oh, boy, would that be fun to see—interrogating him is…tricky. But where's the fun in easy answers?"

"None whatsoever," I reply, watching fragments of sunlight shiver on white plaster.

"So, uh, by the way…" Joker's voice is suddenly softer, more thoughtful.

"What?"

"When we go back, you're going to need…a weapon. Something to, ah, protect yourself with. I know you don't like guns, soooo…you going to use your old bag of tricks? Will they fit in with your new, ah, look?"

I think it over. "I think it would make an impression to still use the Batarangs and the other tools. They're my specialty, after all. And besides, Gordon knows them well."

"True." Joker's towel drops to the floor with a wet slap. "I really do love the way you think, Batsy."

I feel the bed creak and bounce as Joker sits down beside me, now talking to Seymour about our return trip. The excitement in his voice slips through one ear and out the other as I feel my eyes droop closed.

I suppose it is time we came back. After all, where would Gotham be without its prodigal sons? (Safe.)