Chapter Ten

Unmasked

The Bruce Wayne he had seen on television from time to time had always been impeccably dressed and without a single hair out of place but the real thing, now standing awkwardly in the doorway, was almost unnaturally attractive. He was tall (looked to be at least 6'1"), with smooth, lightly tanned skin and shiny, slicked back brunette hair. His two-piece, navy blue suit fit his strong-looking, well-built figure as if it were made only for him, which it likely had been. The billionaire was so handsome it was almost intimidating. No, not just handsome, but movie star handsome. Although, his eyes... those dark, angry eyes belonged to the Bat and none other. The Joker's fingers clenched and unclenced, wrists shackled to the heavy metal table he was seated before by tight, leather restraints.

For several moments the two remained still, staring each other down. Bruce's eyes were alight with anger and frustration while Joker's twinkled with merriment and cunning. Finally, the latter spoke, his voice gently cutting into the room's silence like a butter knife slicing through soft bread.

"Well, well. Well. Bruce Wayne. You're even prettier than your pictures." He grinned, his yellow eyeteeth glinting. "So. How'd you get rid of the stiffs? You break your, aha, one rule, just to get me alone again?"

Bruce glared down at him, his right upper lip inadvertently twitching against his nostril. He shut the door behind him, not breaking eye contact with the Joker as he pulled out the flimsy, fold-up chair opposite the other man and sat down. The small room with its dirty, white-washed walls and fluorescent lighting (Arkham's signature decor) was chilly and had a mysteriously stale smell about it. Another small stretch of silence passed between them as Bruce suffered under the Joker's incisive stare. Taking in the other's discomfiture with obvious relish, the Joker raised his eyebrows, as if to ask Bruce what he was waiting for. For some reason he couldn't quite discern, Bruce found that motion infuriating.

"How dare you?" he asked the Joker in a wavering tone, realizing as he spoke that he was seated before the criminal as Bruce Wayne, not Batman. Even speaking to the other in his normal voice made him feel uneasy, as did his expensive clothing. He yearned to be in the bat suit, to be anywhere else with this man, so that beating him senseless would feel right. Here, as he was, the urge to destroy the Joker was anything but. The criminal chuckled mirthlessly. He leaned forward, his hands twisting in their binds.

"Y'know, that, ah, phrase sounds a bit famil-i-ar. Doesn't it?" His eyes bored into Bruce's, insinuating the memory of himself shouting the three words into the other's brain. "Doesn't feel too, eheh, hot, to be the one saying that, does it?"

"Oh, please." Bruce finally looked down away from the Joker, running his hands up his face and back into his hair. "You're telling me that you did whatever dirty work I know you had to have done to find out who I am and to send me that-that-that obnoxious letter, just because you're mad that I brought you back here? You're absolutely insane! This is just where you belong! What did you think I was gonna do, keep you around for a while just to let you go free when I got bored?"

The Joker did not reply, only continued to watch Bruce with an amused smile plastered onto his face. It made Bruce want to throttle him but all he could do was clench his fingers tightly into his palms and gnaw on his lower lip. Joker's eyes fixated on his mouth for a long moment until Bruce realized he was watching him and stilled his teeth, sneering at the grinning clown. Joker giggled, the high-pitched sound piercing the room's stillness.

"I know it doesn't seem like it, but it's just as difficult for me to see you like... this, as it seems to be for you to be out of your suit. On the one hand," Joker began, leaning back in the seat his legs were strapped into, "I'm a bit disappointed. Under all the black armor and the cape and the, the, the bat ears, you're just another guy. It's almost as if you were..." Joker paused, deliberately looking him up and down. "Completely naked. That is to say, you're human. Just like anybody else. Well, haha. Not just anybody. You're Bruce Wayne! And that's the amusing part. I gotta hand it to you," Joker laughed, smacking his lips. "If I didn't look closely, I'd never have figured it out."

"And just how did you figure it out?" Bruce asked, taking the opening and running with it. He leaned forward in his seat, intensely studying the other's face. Joker mimicked his movements and darted his eyes back and forth, as if he didn't want anyone else to hear what he was about to say.

"Well, that's..." His tongue swiped across his dry lips. "For me to know, and you... to guess."

"...What?"

"Guess! Come on. I'm alone here most of the time, I have no one to play with anymore."

"You think this is a game?!" Bruce ground out, his voice merging with the Batman's on the last word. "This is my private life you're messing around with!"

He had risen abruptly from his chair, which clattered to the floor in his wake. The startling sound was sobering enough to stop him from reaching across the table and wrapping his trembling hands around the Joker's neck. He paused, hoping the orderly outside the room hadn't heard the noise and a moment's stillness passing by with no intervention from Syd confirmed that he had not.

"You really are him..." Joker said softly, more to himself than to Bruce. He shook his head, faded green hair falling around his bare face.

Bruce's cheeks went slightly red with embarrassment. Without a word, he righted the chair he'd knocked over and sat back down on it, straightening his suit jacket as he did so. The Joker was never going to speak to him truthfully if he allowed him to get under his skin this way. He would simply have to force himself to remain calm at all times and not give the madman any anger to feed off of. He sighed, noticeably relaxing his posture. He had to stop himself from grinning with triumph at the confused look the Joker was favoring him with. Perhaps he would be able to surprise some information out of the quixotic clown.

"Joker," he began, his voice low. "I want to thank you for keeping quiet about my identity."

Predictably, the still smiling man offered no response save for a stuttered giggle, his dark blond eyebrows furrowed. Bruce could tell that the Joker was suspicious of his sudden change of mood which also served to keep the criminal's guard down just slightly. He cleared his throat and continued.

"But now that you know who I am... well, it makes me feel vulnerable. You know? You have something on me that puts the cards in your favor. Our playing field is no longer level. Don't you think it's only fair that you at least tell me your first name?"

The Joker's uncertain grin immediately and minutely morphed into a smug smirk.

"'The'."

"What?"

"My first name, is "The"."

Bruce closed his eyes, willing himself to keep his composure. The lunatic never truly let his guard down at all and it was positively maddening. He forced himself to smile back at the other.

"That's very funny," he said dryly, refusing to give up. "You used to be a comedian?"

"No, not professionally. Always made my friends laugh, though."

"You had friends?" Bruce couldn't stop himself from asking, making the Joker chuckle.

"Why, sure, Ba-Brucie. Used to be a real popular fella, y'know."

Bruce grimaced at the nickname, but ignored it. "You don't say."

"Oh, but I do." Joker relaxed a bit in his stifling seat, taking comfort in spinning his tales. "Why, back when I was in high school, I had it all. Good grades, captain of the football team-no, really!-dated the prettiest girl in school. Myra Rae Finkle, her name was."

"Really?" Bruce asked sardonically, raising his eyebrows at the felon. This was far-fetched, even for him.

"Really. Oh, those were the days, Brucie. We'd take my Cadillac to the soda shop every Friday, Myra and I'd share a malted, we'd all take turns picking songs on the jukebox and dance and laugh. Those were good times."

"I see. So, you were born in, what, 1935?"

Joker, who had been completely engrossed in his story, turned back to Bruce with an almost sheepish expression.

"But don't I look good for my age?"

"I don't know. How old are you?"

"How old are you?"

Bruce smiled again, deciding it wouldn't do him any more harm to tell the man his age. It was a matter of public record, anyway.

"I'm 28. You look about my age, you know, without all of that stuff on your face."

Being reminded of his naked face caused the Joker to squirm a little in his seat. He twitched his head to one side, allowing more hair to fall over his features.

"So, just how much dough do you have, Brucie?" Joker asked, abruptly changing the subject away from himself. "I hear you're loaded. About how much did it cost you to buy your way in here to see me today?"

"That's none of your business, nor is it your concern, Joker," Bruce replied easily. The Joker mouthed the word "oh" at him, playfully. "Why is it that you don't want to share anything personal about yourself with me?"

"Oh, it isn't just you, Brucie. No one..." Joker stopped himself, as though he were considering his words before uttering them. "You already know everything there is to know about me. I am only what you see before you, nothing more, nothing less."

"How... philosophical," Bruce said in a weary tone, making it clear he wasn't buying what the Joker was selling. He knew there was a man hidden somewhere behind the brambles and thorns of that twisted mind, with a history and a past. He was not yet aware that he had abandoned his true purpose in coming here-which had been solely to make sure the criminal did not out him to the authorities-in order to pry into the other's seemingly impenetrable psyche. The Joker was an enigma. He was addictive, mysterious and fascinating. Bruce was all caught up in him without even realizing it.

"Do you think so?" the clown was asking him coyly, one eyebrow slightly risen.

"Mmm," Bruce answered absently. He was studying the Joker as one would a complicated jigsaw puzzle, planning his next move.

Unbeknownst to Bruce, his scrutiny was making Joker just the slightest bit nervous. Agitated. Largely immobilized and held in place by the chair and shackles, he felt like a piece of meat in a butcher shop and the man before him was instead a little old woman who was taking her time deciding just which slice she wanted to take home with her. The Joker began to drum his fingers against the cold table top and to tap his slippered feet. His dark green eyes flitted here and there, attempting to land anywhere but on Bruce although nothing else in the room proved to be half as interesting.

"Uh, Bruce?" Joker asked, his voice suddenly high and stringy. It made Bruce's dark eyes shoot up to meet his immediately, which, in turn, increased the Joker's nerves. He tittered faintly, as if on accident. "Why are you really here? I mean, e-heh, you know I'm not going to tell anyone about you. Hah, I wouldn't. Wouldn't be any fun at all, that."

Bruce blinked hard, as baffled by the question as he was by the man's sudden and unexplained reticent demeanor.

"Joker, you practically threatened me with that ridiculous letter of yours."

"Oh, that? Ha! I was just having fun with you, is all. Wanted to let you know I knew in the funniest way possible. I thought maybe we could be pen pals." Joker chuckled but he was practically sweating with what he called agitation. Something about Bruce Wayne, with his handsome face, intelligent eyes and tailored suit unnerved him greatly. He was not prepared for this, nor did he expect to experience such an alien feeling of mental discomfort around the man he knew as Batman. He wanted to tell him everything and he also wanted him to get out of this room immediately and leave him alone.

"You're telling me that you didn't want me to come here," Bruce was saying, now thoroughly confused. He opened his mouth to go on but a sharp rap against the outside of the door interrupted him. It must be his new buddy Sydney, signaling that it was time for him to go.

Bruce rose from his seat and sighed, disturbed to realize that he was reluctant to leave. He had felt that he'd stumbled into the process of chipping away at the Joker's well-constructed armor and now he wasn't able to finish dismantling it. It was decidedly unfortunate that the clown apparently had no desire to see him again (and after all of that, "you complete me" prattle of his), but despite his intense interest in unraveling the other's warped psyche, Bruce would not force his presence upon him. Aside from being short on time to spend with the recalcitrant inmate, he had his pride.

Not knowing what to say in parting, Bruce searched the Joker's downcast eyes for a moment before he turned to leave him, goaded on by another loud bang at the door.

He's not coming back. Nope, gone with the wind, that one. Agh, it gets so goddamned boring around here... Now I've got him thinking I don't wanna see him. Can't just sever the tie, who knows how long it'll be before I find another way outta here... Gotta give him something to go on and then come back, gotta make an offering, let him know I...

"Hey, Bats." Joker spoke clearly without a trace of anxiety in his tone. Bruce spun around, hand on the knob and brows raised in surprise.

"You were right. I'm 27." The Joker chortled mischievously. "I think."

Bruce was about to respond when the door opened, seemingly of its own accord, to reveal Sydney, the orderly's frowning face.

"Get a move on, Wayne, I ain't got all day," the man groused. Bruce only nodded, following him out of the room as if in shock.

"Don't be a stranger now, Brucie!" The Joker called after him, his words punctuated with gleeful cackles. "Oh! And bring me back my cards next time, you forgetful cad!"