"What makes me want to do this anymore..." Bruce said, shaking his head weakly, eyes closing a bit as he heaved a deep, shaky breath. "...This is so much less fulfilling...than it was when people cared..." He was watching the city from the top of a building, crouched down, shaking his head. A gentle breeze blew, moved his cape very gently along the grimy rooftop.

There was that feeling again. He was being watched...by someone. He grunted, audibly, as he pushed himself to his feet, rheumatoid-stricken knees disagreeing all the way to standing. A silent arguement, he always called it. An arguement with the nerves that were frayed by stress and age.

"Where are you..." He said, quietly, turning around, eyes narrow behind the slightly ratty cowl. He still felt so alive, but every time the rheumatoid flared, or his arms blazed with the pain of sprains and breaks past, it knocked him down to size just a bit more. This /would/ have to be his last run, he realized, with a sickening feeling in his gut. He wasn't made out to be Batman anymore.

"Hee...hee hee....hee hee....hee hee hee..."

"Good God. Jack Na-pi-er." Bruce growled, shaking his head. "What the hell has happened to you..."

"I could ask the same, Brucie boy. You look just SO happy to see me." That purple suit, that green hair, and the still-white face of the Joker was all Bruce needed to crouch at the ready. Jack came out of the shadows, chuckling wheezily, shaking his head. "Now, come on, dearie..." He started, grinning putridly, laughing a bit at the way Bruce cringed. "...I just want to talk to you...As long as you think that we can be...reasonable..." He started laughing, harder, as he pulled a long pistol out of his coat.

""I know this trick, you senile old fool." Bruce said, with a disapproving shake of his head. But what surprised him, though, was when he aimed and pulled the trigger. It was a loud BANG, louder than he would have expected, and he gasped as he attempted to dodge the bullet sailing through the air. When it caught his shoulder though it sent a deep jolt of pain through his entire arm. "Jesus!" He gasped, stumbling backwards, "That's right, Brucie old boy, I have a /working/ gun this time!" He cackled, as Bruce attempted to swoop around him, gritting his teeth as blood trickled down his arm. The Joker, though, was still ready as he turned, pistolwhipping Bruce with the long barrel and sending him hard to the rooftop.

"Dammit, Bruce, I said we could be reasonable!" He choked out, wheezing laughter following his sentence as he pinned Bruce's neck with one gloved hand, the other ripping off his cowl. "Bruuuuuucie." He whistled condescendingly, shaking his head. "You're just so ... old, now, and deserve to be put to sleep...like a broken legged...horse!" The effort was very evident as he coughed again, spitting onto the ground. This gave Bruce enough of a chance to grab both of the Joker's decrepit wrists and twist them the wrong way. This made him howl and recoil, giving Bruce the leeway to push him to the ground, pinning him.

"I could do this all day, Jack." Bruce growled, eyes narrow. He saw a sudden moment of vulnerability, though, in the Joker's face. This made him ease up, just enough, even though that was the only moment of vulnerability he had ever seen. The Joker then grinned, giggling, and kneed him in the crotch which would send him back onto his back, groaning in pain.

"Now, see, Brucie, I don't know why you just keep /fighting/ like this. Let's just make things easy, hm?" Jack was panting, between every word, picking up his long, lethal pistol and pointing it just shy of Bruce's temple.

The gun didn't have a chance to fire before Bruce weakly, through pain-hazed vision, was able to smack the long and unwieldy barrel away. The bullet buried itself into the shingles of the rooftop, and the backfire of the gun was able to knock Jack off balance.

He didn't account for the fact that he was near enough to the edge of the roof to send him off the edge.

The Joker, once sturdy on his feet, now stumbled, eyes wide and frozen in a gaze of surprise as he fell off the edge of the building. He giggled weakly as one foot landed wrong, whispering "Wheee...." as the other foot fell into open air.

Bruce got up, some of the pain finally wearing off, and stumbled over towards the edge of the roof just in time to hear a grotesque CRACK. The Joker had ended up, on the street, back bent in two or three different directions. Blood pooled around him and stained his purple suit as Bruce realized he was dead. "WHO THE HELL'S GOT THE LAST LAUGH NOW!?" He screamed at him, eyes narrow as he picked up his cowl in a tight, shaking fist.

What seemed to piss him off the most, though, was how the Joker even finally died with a smile plastered on his face.