Disclaimer: I don't own The Dark Knight, only this plot.

Chapter Eleven: Bruce

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It feels strange not to continue our usually-sexual encounter, but at the same time it's also a nice change.

I wouldn't have been able to play Joker's games anyway—that massage of his has left me in a warm puddle of limbs on the couch. So comfortable—I have no intention of moving.

Joker steps out of the bathroom, hands freshly washed. He grabs a nearby chair and pulls it toward the couch, sitting with one hand over the back of the chair, the other limp on the seat.

"So, was that as good as the masseurs in that private parlor of yours?" he asks, that all-too-familiar smug look in place.

"Mm-hmmm…" Is all I can say. No time for words, feels too nice. I haven't felt this relaxed in a long time…but I know it'll wear off soon, so I savor it while it lasts.

His words suddenly sink in.

"What are you talking about?" I try to ask, but what comes out is "Whasaryoo awkin' boot?"

Joker's laughter is loud and shrill. "I really got you, didn't I?"

I shake my head to clear away the haze. "How do you know about the parlor?"

Joker crosses his ankles, multi-colored socks flashing into view from beneath his pants' leg. "You're not the only one who does research, Batsy. I'm a little more…astute than you might think."

I glare at him. "Have you been stalking me?"

Joker snorts. "Oh, come on, Batsy, I don't need to stalk you. I know how you think by now. No, no, stalking is too simple for you. Besides, why stalk, when I can have you, here?"

I roll my eyes and turn my attention toward the window. There is a long period of silence, one that almost makes me close my eyes and sleep. But I can't with him in the room. No, that would be like sleeping in front of a hungry wolf. There's too big a chance of being eaten alive.

"Y'know, all it takes is one bad day to make Average Joe go ape. How're you feeling? Tired? A little sad? Maybe even…lost?"

My eyes snap open at Joker's slippery remarks. I turn my head to face him. A strange feeling of unease squirms inside my gut.

"A little tired, yes." I stand up and reach for my Batsuit, beginning to put it on. "I'm going to call it a day."

"All right, 'suit' yourself." Joker yawns and stretches. "But…before you go…"

I barely have time to react. One second he's sitting comfortably in his chair, the next he's inches away from my face.

I instinctively grab his hands, and he laughs gleefully as I squeeze his bony wrists tightly—but not enough to break them.

"See? See? You're kidding yourself, Batsy. You can pretend all you like that you're just as normal as everyone else, but believe me, you're not. And you never will be."

"You don't even try to hide who you are," I retort, "and the world sees you as an insane monster. How does that make you feel?"

Joker's face turns livid for an instant, then smoothes out into a deadly calm. "Don't play the shrink with me, Batsy. And I don't give a damn what the world sees me as. Call me a dandy, a demon, but I'm not de-ranged."

"And I'm not crazy either."

"Fine, fine, call yourself whatever you want, but…nor-mal-cyyy, it—it just doesn't suit you. You're able to meet me head-on…almost. No so-called 'normal' person could do that."

"What do you want?" I growl as Joker's fingers move as feebly as worms in my grasp.

"Good question," Joker says, suddenly all innocence again. "Think you're, ah, patient enough to wait for the answer?"

I let go of his hands. "Maybe."

"Good. By the way…figured out the punchline yet?"

"No. There's been no time."

"Oh." Joker looks disappointed, his expression a childish pout. "Oh, well. Maybe next time."

"Maybe," I echo as I quickly pull on the rest of my suit. "Next time…of course."

There's always a next time with Joker.