Batman's fists curled as he kept watch over the Major Crimes Unit. The barely restrained anger wound him up until his body mirrored a bowstring ready to be released.
He was torn between storming the building, taking Miriam home himself, and staying in position—watching for any developments from above and trusting that the police would do their jobs: keep the Joker caged. Batman didn't have a lot of faith in the police, not entirely—but Gordon's miraculous return eased his mind.
Surveillance and waiting were skills Batman honed, but they were difficult to employ then. He could see the movements of the officers through the large windows, had seen the Joker in the police squad car before he was shoved into the building, his hands cuffed behind his back. He could see glimpses of the Joker sitting behind bars, but he also saw Miriam go into the holding cells.
Why is she in there? Where's Alfred?
Bruce Wayne, whom Batman had to keep suppressed under the surface in all of this, was fighting his way back up. Bruce wanted vengeance, to exact a bloody payment for all the Joker had done. Miriam in the same room as the Joker, even with bars between them, was enough to send him close to the edge of losing it entirely. Batman had to use reason, to employ the logic that Bruce often set aside. Going in there would only cause problems, reinforce the connection he had to Miriam—and he couldn't do that, not with anyone there who might use it against them. Batman's identity staying ambiguous was paramount—even as every part of Bruce, every feeling of attachment, obligation, responsibility, and love were pulling him to act without thought and with unrepentant violence.
He didn't have to struggle with himself for long. Gordon came into the room, put his arm around Miriam's shoulder and directed her out. It was good Batman couldn't see the Joker's expression, it would have made looking on difficult. He could only hear parts of their conversation, the rest obliterated by static and distance, but he knew he caught Alfred's words about heading home.
Batman let out a sigh of relief. He strained his eyes, watching Miriam until Alfred's car left the lot of the MCU—carrying them far from the Joker's reach.
Though that relief abated his tumultuous state of mind, Batman didn't leave his perch on the building opposite of the MCU. He kept up his vigil, watching for a while longer. The Joker wouldn't be able to hurt anyone—no one in Gotham, and especially not Miriam. But that didn't mean the Joker couldn't still cause trouble, and Batman would be ready for when he did.
He kept his post for two hours, watching and listening. Adjusting his position so the amplifier in his cowl could pick up more of the conversations happening in the building, Batman was uncertain what he was even listening for—but he wouldn't let it go. He stayed after Mayor Garcia appointed Gordon as the new commissioner and left for the night, getting in his black Escalade and driving away. He watched Jim Gordon leave with a sense of solace. One mistake in a sea of many that was undone—one life he wasn't responsible for ending.
Batman stood there, the cold seeping through his suit, and found himself rooted in place. This was a huge moment for him. Batman felt a surge of vindication—resounding victory. As much as that feeling filled his chest, it was tempered by something else: A nagging on his mind. This was a victory, one that was not only desperately needed. but necessary for the sake of keeping Gotham together. The city was on the edge and Batman had saved it from tipping completely. He thought so, anyway.
Then why does this not feel right?
The Mob was still a problem he would need to tackle. They were desperate as well, clinging to something that was already lost to them. He convinced himself that was what was still concerning him. Even desperate, they had proven to be more of a problem than Batman had originally estimated. In all his wanderings and time among the different criminal elements in Asia, he had thought he understood the way the world worked. The Joker had challenged those assumptions, but Batman had still met it and won. The cost had been high—higher than he ever thought he would pay. But it was over now, he had to convince himself of that.
Batman was already fixating on what needed doing. Having Gordon back would make it easier to continue working with the police. His relationship with the GCPD was tenuous, one built on uncertainty. Batman had an expansive knowledge of who was dirty, and it only grew with each new informant and when branches of the crime syndicates he was working so tirelessly to dismantle folded. Gordon was a staunch and reliable ally; a man Batman could depend on to maintain the connection he needed in order to bring the city back under control.
But, for now, Batman had earned several nights off. There were still massive efforts needed to pick up the pieces from the Joker's failed coup against the city—dealing with that would come. Batman needed to be put away for the time being. Bruce Wayne had his own collateral damage he needed to contend with, and he needed to train harder to keep pushing past his boundaries, to reinforce who he was as Batman.
If there was only one thing he'd take out of this, it was that the life of Bruce Wayne had no place with the workings of Batman—it left too much at risk. But that, too, would come. Years of struggle were ahead, and Bruce had failings he needed to make up for. Batman's Tumbler was gone, but the Pod sat in the alley behind him. Batman moved to drop off the ledge of the building when he froze.
"—What about Dent?"
"A unit's there now—"
Batman couldn't recognize the voices and they came inconsistently. He angled his amplifier towards the building, jumping to the next rooftop, his heart rate increasing to a rapid throb.
"What did that fucking clown say?"
"Some joke about lawyers and woodchippers. Unsettled Stephens enough to ask about it—"
Batman's mind raced. Activating his scope, he peered through the windows of the buildings. He recognized Detective Murphy and Sergeant Benning.
"Did you call the Commissioner?"
"Yeah—he's on the way. He said to prep the Joker for interrogation."
Batman jumped down from the rooftop, activating his cape to slow his fall as his boots landed against the concrete. He pulled out his small tablet, activating the screen that showed the tracking devices he'd planted on Miriam and Rachel. Rachel's showed up at her apartment building and Miriam's was moving through Midtown. The tightness in his chest eased. He was glad that his problems were limited to Harvey and the Joker. It made it easier for Bruce Wayne to sink back below and for the Batman to do his work—dealing with the Joker would be enough without adding the blind fury he felt whenever Miriam and Rachel were involved.
Sticking to the shadows, Batman waited by the back entrance of the MCU. The fall night air was damp, coating the pavement and brick building in cold dew. Batman perched himself by the door, keeping a view at the parking lot behind the building. He needed a plan with Gordon, and it was the most expedient way to get access to the Joker. Batman didn't have to wait long. Gordon pulled up minutes later, his tires squealing against the pavement. Gordon didn't bother to park straight as he leaped out of the vehicle, keys barely out of the ignition.
"Gordon," Batman said, detaching himself from the shadows of the door's alcove.
Gordon spun around, reaching for his sidearm. The tension left his frame as he dropped his hand from the gun's grip, his calm demeanour returning.
"You got here quick," Gordon said, still startled by Batman's sudden appearance. He should've been less jumpy after working with him for over a year, but fifteen years on the force had taught him to dread someone surprising him, even if it was Batman.
Gordon pinched the bridge of his nose before opening the back entrance to the precinct, motioning for Batman to follow. Gordon was beyond exhausted, having barely slept in days and living on adrenaline and caffeine alone. Barbara's tears of relief had quickly turned into anger at what he'd done, and he still needed to deal with the repercussions of his supposed-death on his children. Having him home for an hour only to have him torn away again was an added strain—one he was praying Barbara could understand. His years on the job had worn on them both, especially as Gotham's decline only seemed to accelerate. But he had never done this to her before, and he was hoping to God his marriage would survive it. Part of him was aching to be back at work, where things were familiar and his actions validated.
Gordon didn't know how to undo his mistakes, either.
"What do you know?" Batman's voice was less gravelly when he spoke with Gordon, but not by much; a gesture of familiarity and understanding between them.
He followed Gordon up the back set of stairs leading to the interrogation rooms and the holding cells, and he was glad Miriam and Alfred were long gone. It was strange for Batman to go through the door of a building in a more casual manner, not performing reconnaissance by going through windows or other means of entry. This was so close to mundane an action that it struck him as strange rather than comforting.
"Not much. Harvey Dent's missing and the Joker's having a good laugh—so nothing we shouldn't have expected but hit us in the balls anyway."
Gordon's words would have come across as glib in any other circumstance, but he was right. This was another layer of sophistication and difficulty that they should have expected but didn't. The Joker had proved to be anything but simple before, and they were underestimating him again—falling into a false sense of security anytime he fell into a pattern they had grown accustomed to with other criminals. When they had a suspect in custody—especially one as flagrant and wanton in their crimes as the Joker—the case always headed towards a form of conclusion, a sense of finality that would leave relief where relentless pursuit was before. Once again, the Joker had undermined them; pulled out another card to play.
Batman said nothing that would betray how he felt about all of this already. He was already castigating himself, going over every detail of the night and finding himself confounded as to how to find reason in any of this. The Joker seemed to know what moves they would make before they did, and Batman did not like being in the position where he didn't have the upper hand.
"Congratulations," Batman said.
Gordon stopped before pulling the door open to the bullpen of the MCU, looking confused before replying, "Ah—right. Guess I'll need to get used to that, huh?" Gordon rubbed the back of his neck.
Batman didn't answer, but a man like Gordon understood his silences. Words weren't always needed between them, and that was a quality Batman valued in Gordon beyond his staunch loyalty and fierce and steady force of will. He was an ally Batman couldn't have done without, and his sense of equanimity that Gordon was alive went beyond the easing of his conscience.
Gordon threw the door open and the officers inside gaped at Batman. Some of them had seen glimmers of the man on TV, others in flashes on the streets, but most had only heard about him in name alone. Most were wary of Batman, of what his influence brought before hell had broken loose two weeks ago, and now many looked outright hostile. Only a small minority still hero-worshipped Batman, and they skewed younger—marked by naïveté and not enough time on the force to feel jaded.
Batman ignored all of them, staying clear of the holding cells and following Gordon to a darkened hall. The Joker had been playing them for fools and Batman was eager to extract some much-needed retribution from the clown. Not just for Miriam—but for those who had died and the lives left in ruins by the madness of one man. He tried to suppress the thoughts about all the different ways the League of Shadows had taught him to kill an opponent—some more painful than others. Batman had to fight back the call for vengeance in Bruce's mind. Cool impartiality and calculated dispersion of pain were all that needed to be done. Indulging anything more than that and Batman would be skirting a line that was hard to pull back from.
"I need ten minutes alone with him," Batman said just as Gordon opened his mouth to speak.
Gordon gave him an appraising look. Weighing what he could read of Batman's mood and intentions. His eyebrows raised as he deliberated. "You have a plan in mind you'd like to share?" Gordon asked, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.
"I'll get him to talk. Is there anything else that matters at this point?"
Gordon hesitated. Letting Batman interrogate the Joker would break nearly every protocol in the book, but they didn't know what they were dealing with and the sense of uncertainty was mounting.
"Let me try first," Gordon said, holding up a hand as Batman quirked his head to the side. "I'll keep the lights off. You're good at hiding in the dark—stay in the back and if I can't get anywhere…" Gordon trailed off. He didn't really know what he was asking—didn't know the full extent of which he could ask Batman to do something so blatantly against the codes he vowed to uphold.
Serve and protect. That's your first concern, Gordon thought.
He sighed and shrugged up his shoulders. "If I can't get him to talk, then he's all yours," Gordon said, looking Batman in the eye as they made a silent agreement. Batman would hold himself back, wouldn't do anything that couldn't be fixed or explained.
"You'll take care of the others?" Batman asked, shooting his eyes where the other detectives and officers stood shaking with curiosity and apprehension.
"They'll listen to me. They don't have much of a choice now," Gordon said.
Gordon tried to ignore the familiarity of those words, how they were spoken to him often when his previous superiors had made him turn a blind eye to bribes and the corruption that permeated every aspect of his job. He rationalized it away: This wasn't the same, this was important and lives were on the line. It wasn't for his own personal gain. This was for the greater good. He had to believe that.
Gordon shook his head and opened the door of the interrogation room with the swipe of a keycard. Going to the table and turning on the lamp resting there, he turning off the other lights.
"Wait here. I'll get some detectives to bring him and come in after."
Batman nodded as the door shut and he took a familiar stance in the darkness.
When Gordon entered the room, he could feel the physical reaction of his skin crawling at the sight of the Joker's white face floating in the darkness. His smirk and the air of self-assured certainty was one that delved the room into an aura of hostility from the moment the door closed. The Joker was cuffed to the metal table and that gave Gordon some comfort. He wasn't familiar with the Joker in a one-on-one environment, how he could wield words just as well as he did knives.
"Evening, Commissioner," the Joker's voice rang out in the empty room. It was as much a taunt as a greeting.
Gordon took a long and silent breath before sitting opposite of the shackled man. Brushing off non-existent specks of dust from the table in a sweep of his arm, he looked at the face of the man who had murdered nearly a dozen of his men and colleagues—had tried, and damn near succeeded, to murder him only a few days before. Some of the officers were gutted, others their throats slit, more still with repetitive stab wounds in areas that would make them bleed but didn't pierce any vital organs. All of them had the Joker's smile replicated post-mortem, making the skin split and peel back like burned pages of a book. None of them were granted the mercy of a quick death; every one of them was a direct attack against the law enforcement of Gotham City. Gordon was granted the small clemency of being shot in the back.
He had interrogated child molesters, rapists, murderers, junkies, gangsters, deranged assailants—every manner of criminal and degenerate a city like Gotham could produce. All had posed their own challenge and required Gordon to develop a tough skin. He was difficult to disturb, distant but never detached, and cool where others had snapped. The Joker felt different. Sweat beaded along his hairline, but he wouldn't wipe it away, wouldn't draw any attention to it. He steeled himself before speaking. This was just another perp, no different from the other monsters who passed through the precinct's doors.
"Harvey Dent never made it home," Gordon said, his voice even and measured. He stared at the Joker's face, at the makeup that was almost completely gone, the way the shadows nearly hid his Glasgow smile, and Gordon's gut sent a pang he couldn't interpret.
"Of course not," the Joker said, as if this was a simple matter and Gordon had been too slow to catch on quick. He was at ease in his chair, his pallid face bobbing in the dark as he slithered in his seat.
"What have you done with him?"
Interrogations are a form of negotiation—each party having something the other wants. The Joker knew where Harvey Dent was, how to cause serious damage. And Gordon had the keys to his freedom. It should have been a clear line who had the advantage.
But nothing was clear with the Joker, and Gordon had been unable to see the clarity in the fact.
"Me?" The Joker asked with faked incredulity, raising one manacled hand to point at his chest. He looked around the room and shook his head in disbelief. "I was right here." As if to remind Gordon, the Joker thrust his wrists up at him, the metal clanging together.
He's lying, not even attempting to be convincing, Gordon thought.
He continued to stare at the Joker, hoping he would fill the silence with potential answers as to why this insanity wasn't allowed to end. The Joker's eyes went wide but never left Gordon's face.
"Who did you leave him with, hmm? Your people?" The mocking sneer slid into his voice, gliding under Gordon's skin and peeling it back.
The Joker squinted and looked at him from the side, critical of Gordon's judgement. With a small peeking of his tongue, his eyes travelled to a distant corner, as if he was speaking to more people than Gordon, his head adjusting in the dark of the room like it wasn't attached to a pair of shoulders.
"Assuming, of course, that they are still your people and not… Maroni's." The Joker's eyes stopped wandering, finding a home in Gordon's at the mention of the crime boss—another card played to nullify Gordon's efforts, every plan executed and put in place; a reversal of every good thing he'd sacrificed nearly everything for in service of the people of Gotham. Gordon went pale.
The insinuation wasn't lost on him. He took an involuntary swallow as he maintained his composure. Gordon had faith in his squad, but he couldn't kid himself. He knew the type of people he was working with. His mind ran through everything he knew about the men under his command, but he didn't think any of them would be willing to betray the GCPD to the man who was lining them up for slaughter. That defied logic, no matter how much money they were being paid.
"Does it depress you, Commissioner, to know just how alone you really are?"
Gordon's heart rate rose with every word coming out of the Joker's mouth. Anger and impotence were burgeoning into a physical manifestation of a tightening knot in his chest, especially because Gordon knew the Joker was striking at something true—even if he didn't want it to be.
"Does it make you feel responsible for Harvey Dent's, ah… current predicament? For all the, ah, good officers who died so valiantly in the line of duty?"
The key with interrogations is that you want to gain as much as possible while giving next to nothing in return. But Gordon didn't know what the Joker wanted. Not really. Even from the beginning with the demands for Batman to turn himself in, Gordon had not been able to make sense of the Joker. Targeting civil servants and law enforcement, data breaches, antagonizing the Batman, kidnapping a socialite and then terrorizing her, and murder—all of it didn't connect in Gordon's mind. He had none of the answers and the Joker smiled like he had all of them.
"All those people you let down, and for what, hmm? How many, ah, grieving widows will you have to visit before that all sinks in?" The Joker didn't break eye contact, leaning in an inch at a time, his words snaking into Gordon's ears with each uttered syllable and swipe of his tongue. "I'd just be riddled with guilt if I were you." The Joker smacked his lips as if the thought was one he savoured.
Gordon couldn't bite into the bait the Joker was dangling in front of him, even as anger made his ears sing. He pushed his thoughts down. There was a clear goal in mind; he had to maintain control and get answers.
"Where is he?" Gordon asked, not acknowledging the poison spewing from the Joker's mouth.
"What's the time?" the Joker asked, jerking his head back, unsatisfied that he couldn't get an overt rise out of Gordon. His mind was already thinking of another angle, another way to slide under Gordon's armour—a place to stick the knife between his ribs.
"What difference does that make?" Gordon thought this was an odd ploy and strange change in tone. He didn't like it—thinking of it as a way for the Joker to throw him off.
"Well, depending on the time, he may be in one spot or several," the Joker said, giving a pump of his eyebrows as he shifted forward in his seat—his hands mimicking the actions he described. His ghostly face weaved through the darkness of the room, giving him the appearance of a cobra.
Gordon's patience waned. He thought of Batman, waiting only a few feet away. If Gordon hadn't been the one to shut him in the room, he wouldn't have known at all that Batman was in there. He reached down to his pocket and pulled out the key that would unlock the Joker's handcuffs, twisting it in his fingers as he hoped he wasn't making another mistake.
"If we're going to play games…" Gordon reached across the table and uncuffed the Joker from the table, taking the silver cuffs and swinging them in his practiced hand.
"Mmm-hmm?" The Joker pulled his mouth up in a half-grin, an eyebrow rising. He'd dealt with dirty cops before, knew their routines and strategies. It would only make him laugh, but they didn't know that yet.
"Then I'm going to need a cup of coffee," Gordon said, his exhaustion creeping back in. He had no reason to regret his decision yet, but the night was long and held plenty of opportunities for that later.
Gordon continued to not give the Joker any discernable reaction. It was difficult to keep his expression neutral. He reached the other end of the long interrogation room, hand on the metal bar serving as a handle.
"Ah, the ol' 'good cop,' 'bad cop' routine?" the Joker asked, clicking his tongue and pointing his finger at Gordon. His smile grew as if he and Gordon were longtime friends playing the same ruse.
A buzzer sounded and Gordon pulled open the door. He even managed a tired smile.
"Not exactly."
For a moment the Joker was left in the dark by himself. His mind was calculating, thinking about which route Jimmy was gonna take, and keeping track of the running clock.
Seventeen minutes and counting, he thought, his smirk growing. Certainly know how to waste time, these fellas.
Never once did uncertainty cross the Joker's mind. This was already a match he had won—no one else knew it yet. He marvelled, not for the first time, about the power of words and prodding the right buttons. His grin turned into an insidious mask of knowing as he accepted the darkness surrounding him.
Harvey Dent's head was pounding, throbbing with a force that was at once reminiscent of his days in high school playing football and more recent incidents of drinking too much late into the night. But this feeling was different. It made his tongue thick and stick to the roof of his mouth. He shook his head, staving off the exhausting cloud around his mind.
The next thing that hit him was the smell. It was chemical, pungent, and burned his nostrils. He could recognize it—it was gasoline and ammonia.
He opened his eyes, blinking at the glaring lights in the room. When his vision cleared, his stomach clenched at the sight of dozens of oil drums surrounding him. He tried to move his arms, but soon realized they were tied behind him. Harvey's muscles ached, pulsating at the strain to keep his blood flowing through the tightened constraints. He tensed and pulled, testing how much give the rope had.
It had none.
Crying out for help would do him no good. There wouldn't be anyone close who would care to help him. He looked up and saw the timer they had placed for his convenience. If it was accurate, he had less than twenty minutes to think of a way out of there. And thinking was what Harvey did best.
Harvey's first thoughts were ones of anger. At Michael Wuertz—the bastard who had driven him to the butcher. Jim Gordon—the man who wouldn't listen. The Batman—the hero who had every tool at his disposal and yet never did all that was necessary, had failed to live up to every promised expectation. Harvey had told them—warned them both about the scum in Gordon's unit. He had fought so hard against the corruption in Gotham, and now—in a sick twist of irony—his undoing would be at the hands of those who championed the fight against the rot.
The Joker had won another battle, and with Harvey's death, he would damn near win the war. Harvey willed himself to focus his rage on him—at the clown who was tearing his world down.
It was hard not to see how he had fooled himself. With his father having been the same type of filth he worked so hard to prosecute—and his mother having been a victim of the systems' failures—Harvey knew the damage that corruption and perversion of justice could unleash. He had seen how the GCPD had worked with his father on the force, how he had gotten away with beating his wife while the other officers had laughed and turned a blind eye. Had allowed it to escalate until he had finally succeeded in murdering her.
Harvey had thought if he studied enough, worked harder than anyone else, was ruthless but fair—a staunch advocate of every letter of the law—it would see him through. He could prevent the deaths of the innocent like his mother and ensure the just prosecution of those who dealt out the pain. That belief had given him order, a way of making sense of his own life and the world around him. The structure the law had provided and the ethics binding it together was one that Harvey had trusted to remedy the ails of the world, it just needed the right people to execute its will. It had made sense. But now that certainty was vanishing.
Harvey's time was running out. He couldn't rely on anyone to find him—they'd all proven how useful they could be when it came to undoing the Joker's designs. Harvey began pulling at the ropes binding him to the chair when a voice made him stop. One intimately familiar—the one he wanted to wake up to and hear for the rest of his life.
"Hello? Can anyone hear me?"
It was Rachel.
"Hello?!"
Harvey's struggles morphed into desperate panic. He looked at the timer again, noticing now the old phone that was off the receiver. Harvey fought to get his mouth to work, to answer her so she knew she wasn't alone. His mind seemed to stop working when he focused on the time and how it was slipping so quickly.
Fourteen minutes and thirty-eight seconds.
Batman had stood in the dark during Gordon's failed attempts at getting the Joker to talk. He'd heard the same words, felt the same effects of the Joker acting like a needle going under the nailbed before tearing through completely. Batman had the beginnings of war in his mind, his sense of control slipping, but his breathing stayed silent and calm. Gordon getting out of his chair was signal enough—the time had come for Batman to come through again. He readied his mind, trying to quell the doubt.
The Joker is just a man. Open to the same fears and vulnerabilities. People aren't complicated—not when there's pain involved.
As quickly as Gordon had gone, the lights flashed on—the bright fluorescents blinding the Joker. He reached up an arm to shield his eyes as they adjusted to the rapid change in aperture. Batman took his opportunity to strike, coming up behind the Joker and slamming his head down on the table. The forced sense of restraint acted as the only barrier for the Joker not being knocked unconscious. He raised himself quickly, letting out an exaggerated groan of pain. Batman moved around to the other side, staring down the Joker.
"Never start with the head. That's torture one-oh-one. The victim gets all fuzzy." The Joker was talking like he meant to convey a helpful tip for Batman's lacking technique. The dismissal of such a blow wasn't one Batman would leave unanswered. "He can't feel the next—"
He interrupted him with his fist slamming down onto the Joker's hand, fracturing several bones but not breaking it completely. Where Batman expected grunts of pain, the Joker blinked and looked up at the ceiling, as if he just thought the pain away.
"See?" he said, turning to Batman and popping forward in his chair.
Pain was something universally avoided, it was a lesson Bruce Wayne had learned early and a drive that had been trained out of Batman. The Joker had no such training. Batman clearly wasn't hitting hard enough. Joker's lack of a reaction bothered him.
He's been eager this whole time to talk. Let him, Batman thought.
The thoughts were sound. A large part of him wanted to beat the Joker bloody, but that wasn't what he agreed to with Gordon. He sat in the chair Gordon had just occupied and looked in the face of the man who had caused so much pain and devastation. He didn't just think of Gotham, he thought of Miriam's terrified face and everything she had endured. The anger and blind rage that coursed through Bruce was buoying to the surface.
"You wanted me. Here I am." The Batman kept his words simple, vying for control to wrestle this situation back into territory he could manage.
The Joker's grin, the look of amusement in his eyes gave Batman pause—but it was the Joker's words that managed to unnerve him.
"'Let me not to the marriage of true minds
admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when alterations finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.'"
The Joker smacked his lips after his recitation, voice taking on an eerie lilt that was simultaneously mocking and antagonizing.
Did he—did he just quote Shakespeare at me? Batman thought.
Batman didn't deign the quote with a reaction. Of all the things he imagined the Joker saying when he finally had the chance to stare him down, he did not imagine it would be that. The Joker was at once menacing and disarming—villain and enthraller.
The Joker sighed, rolling his eyes up. "What? Not a fan of the classics, are ya? I know more recent stuff, too, I'll have you know—"
"What do you want?" Batman asked, interrupting him. Poetry, and its unwanted connotations he couldn't decipher, was not a subject he wanted the Joker to continue.
He rolled his eyes back to Batman, his marred smile growing wider. "I wanted to see what you'd do." The Joker's tongue darted along his mouth, skirting the edge of his bottom lip as he swiped against the other side of his scars. "And you didn't disappoin-t."
The Joker leaned forward on his elbows. Bringing himself closer and closer to Batman, who refused to back away. Batman stayed immovable—obstinate and stone-like. He waited for the Joker to continue—for him to answer his question.
The Joker only continued to undermine what Batman needed. The Joker's face turned mock-serious, his tone low in the spirit of camaraderie.
"You let—wait, what are we up to now? Twenty-nine people?" His lips made a gentle pop as he made a show of cringing.
Batman grimaced. The comments were meant to get a rise out of him, carefully constructed to make him upset. He couldn't let that happen.
"Thirty-three." It was impossible to not acknowledge the extent of the damage the Joker had wrought. It was a question that had no right answers, only ammunition for the Joker's expanding arsenal.
"Hah, that's right. You let thirty-three people die," the Joker said. He was constantly readjusting, shifting in his seat, filled with an energy that needed release. "Oh, and we can't forget—then you let Dent take your place. Even to a guy like me, that's cold."
Even the illusion that the Joker was somehow taking the high road bothered Batman. He saw it for what it was, another bear-baiting tactic to make him lose control.
Discipline above all else. You have nothing if you do not have self-control, Batman thought. He held his position, unwavering.
"Where's Dent?" Batman asked. Even with the Joker's diversion tactics, he wouldn't lose sight of what was important.
The Joker had no use for getting straight to the punchline. He wanted to draw this out, bring it down to the wire.
What good's a party without a sense of urgency? the Joker thought.
He shifted again, darting his eyes away and his chin jerking in sudden movements with each emphasized consonant. "Those Mob fools want you gone so they can go back to the way things were," the Joker said, his hand peppering through the air in a fluttering gesture, his eyes fixed on some faraway point. He adjusted back on his elbows, leaning further into Batman's personal space. "But I know the truth. There's no going back. You've changed things. Forever."
The Joker's words weren't a lie. Batman's existence—and his successes, had all but guaranteed a revolution to begin. It wouldn't just be limited to Gotham, it would ripple out in ways yet untold. With every Batman there would be a Joker—with every extreme, an opposite reaction was created; every move on the board met with a response until only one was left standing. The Batman had changed the name of the game, gave it a desperately needed sprucing up. Because he stood for more—was a pillar of change—he had everything to lose. And the Joker had everything to gain.
"Then why do you want to kill me?" Batman was still caught in a dichotic mode of thought—either there were friends or enemies, no relationships in between.
The Joker burst out laughing. He cackled like it was the greatest joke he'd ever heard. "I don't—I don't wanna kill you!" the Joker said in between fits of laughter, his voice rising at the ridiculousness of Batman's question. "What would I do without you? Go back to ripping off Mob dealers? No, no."
The Joker corrected his twisted suspenders, pulling at his collar and adjusting further. His eyes looked away before boring the full intensity of his gaze back on Batman. His tongue darted out of his mouth as his grin turned into a knowing smirk.
"Y'see, people are wrong when they say, ah, soulmates are limited to the confines of love, Bats." His tongue darted out of his mouth again, eyes full of a dark intensity Batman had not encountered before. His red smile split in two as it only grew wider, revealing the yellowed teeth beneath. "What they don't realize is that it can happen anywhere and just… pop-up in the strangest ways."
Batman didn't know what to say—how to counter the Joker without delving into pools of philosophy he didn't have time for. The Joker quirked an eyebrow, his tone still serious—but always with the edge of derision.
"Like you and me—who would have thought, hmm? Or, ah—" The Joker broke off in a laugh, pushing his chin back to his chest even as his torso stayed pressed forward. He looked up at Batman from under his brows. "Or me and my little sweet peach. No one saw that one coming either, did they?"
Batman forced himself to stay seated, to keep his arms resting on the tabletop, even as the rising bloodlust called for appeasement in the Joker's annihilation. His body acted beyond his control: He could feel his nostrils flare, the tensing of his muscles, the deepening of his frown. He wanted to crush the Joker's face until he was incapable of making any sound ever again. Calm was forced upon him, cooling his veins even as everything in him screamed.
"No, no, no, no—it's, ah, it's all because of you. You've completed me," the Joker breathed out in a forceful exhale, his hands pulling in to touch where his black heart lay.
Batman could keep himself from beating the Joker, but he couldn't resist the opportunity for biting back with words.
"You're garbage who kills for money. A lowlife terrorist who gets off on hurting others. A murdering psychopath who's going to rot," Batman said with his own level of low force.
Just like with everything else, the Joker didn't give Batman the reaction he expected. He flicked his wrist in the air, dismissing the Batman's insults.
"Don't talk like one of them. You're not. Even if you'd like to be," the Joker said, motioning towards the two-way glass where the near entirety of the MCU stood watching. The Joker pulled back for a moment, brushing the greasy strands of his hair back before slithering closer, meeting Batman's unflinching gaze with his own. "To them, you're just a freak—like me. They need you right now, but when they don't…"
The Joker smacked his lips together, his eyes darting off to the glass again—a pointed look of meaning. His eyebrows rose, head cocked to the side, as he looked Batman in the eye again. He spoke conspiratorially to Batman, and, despite himself, Batman felt drawn in.
"They'll cast you out—like a leper," the Joker said, biting his bottom lip in a show of concern.
Batman felt pinned in place at that moment. Just like he had for Gordon, the Joker named an uncertainty that kept Bruce in doubt—and his uncertainties prevented Batman from seeing clearly. Batman, by his very nature, was an outcast—an outlier on the edge of the systems that couldn't see their own flaws. It's what allowed him to be so effective, but it's also what would always leave him to act alone.
"Y'see, their morals, their code—it's a bad joke. Dropped at the first sign of trouble." The Joker's hands mimicked the motion as he kept staring, pulling in Batman closer to the truth of his words.
The Joker's fluid movements, the lulling effect of his words, and his sinister ability to undermine Batman's faith in his resolve kept him in a place where he was forced to consider the Joker's argument. He couldn't bring himself to continue the urgent line of questioning, and he found himself wanting to see what else the Joker would show—what reveals Batman had been foolish enough to leave exposed.
"They're only as good as the world allows them to be. Examples aren't exactly hard to find, are they? Only have to look beyond your, ah, doorstep and see it play out in front of your eyes."
It was a dark thought, but one Bruce had caught himself thinking during his travels—when he had encountered the desperate and avaricious, the warmongers and opportunists. Batman always refuted the idea, just as he had then. He truly believed, even after everything he had witnessed and fought against, that the world was ultimately good. Bruce Wayne had fears and doubts—flaws and dangerous impulses—and the Joker was appealing to all of them, a true master of aporia. Batman gave himself a firm check. He did not have the same limitations as Bruce—only those inherent in the man that held Batman back.
"I'll show you. When the chips are down, these—these civilized people will eat each other."
Batman scrutinized the Joker, with his worn and running makeup and the smell of death cloaked around him. The Joker was mercurial liquid in the form of a man and interacting with him was akin to speaking with madness incarnate. Not madness in the sense of mental illness—Batman was familiar with that. No, this was the madness of rejecting all that was rational, refuting everything that made sense in the world. This was something Batman had not encountered before. Being in his presence, having the Joker's eyes on him, was an erosion of every protective barrier Bruce had ever developed, getting closer to hitting a mark deep in his being—leaving him vulnerable and paralyzed.
"See, I'm not a monster," the Joker said, leaning back in his chair. His wiry body moved with smooth agility, winding back and getting in close. "I'm just ahead of the curve."
Batman didn't know what it was in those words that snapped him out of the trance-like state the Joker had him in. Maybe it was the denial of his nature, or the assertion that he was somehow above those he was terrorizing—punishing them for not seeing the world as he did. Whatever it was, it drove him into action. Pain, and Batman's control over it—both in himself and others—was the necessary route to take.
Batman grabbed the Joker by the vest, dragging him out of his seat and clearing the Joker's body over the length of the metal table. The Joker made no move to resist, at first surprised and then amused. He grew giddy.
"Where's Dent?" Batman growled. He was mad at himself for listening for so long, he needed to make up for lost time, to exact what he should have in the beginning. He ignored his silent promise to Gordon.
The Joker's hands landed on Batman's, giving him room to adjust himself and speak. The look of anger on Batman's face was good, but not good enough. The Joker needed to push him farther. His smile turned into one of mean condescension.
"You have all these rules and you think they'll save you—these attachments you think make you better," the Joker said. He tried to keep his laughter contained, suppressing it in his chest.
Batman slammed the Joker into a white-tiled support column of the interrogation room wall. The force of it made the Joker's teeth shake and a small grunt of discomfort escaped him, but nothing else. Batman was still holding back.
"I have one rule," Batman growled, his gauntlet pressing into the Joker's throat as he fought down the urge to push harder.
The Joker's hand pushed at Batman's grip, the hilarity of all of this made his voice high with a special kind of happiness he was growing addicted to.
"Oh. Well, that's the rule you'll have to break if you want to know the truth."
Batman paused. His grip easing.
"Which is?" he asked, his voice still low—trying to invoke menace upon a man who was immune to it.
"The only sensible way to live in this world is without rules." The Joker licked his lips and brought his eyes down from the ceiling. He really couldn't help himself, he popped up an eyebrow and smirked, even as his airway constricted. "And tonight, you're gonna break your one rule."
Batman didn't hesitate. Intimidation and the threat of death, and making those believable even if he never planned on acting on them, were pulls no man could ignore. He pushed harder, the blades of his gauntlet digging into the Joker's skin.
"I'm considering it."
His expression matched the threat. Batman was shaking with restraint—with the brutality he wanted to unleash. In any other man, Batman's tactics might have worked. But the Joker was right. If you controlled the pain, you controlled the hold others had on you. And the Joker was immune to the punishments Batman was willing to dish out. It was those he wasn't willing to do that interested the Joker. He pushed the knife further into the flank Batman had exposed on the ship—when he made such an obvious point of what was important to him beyond a rigid sense of the moral high ground.
"Oh, hah, there's only minutes left, Bats. This has been all sorts of… entertaining. Almost as much as Miriam—she really knows how to show a guy a good time."
The jab was a necessary one for the Joker because the effect was immediate. The tight control of Batman was gone. The rage of Bruce was present and eager to ravage. He jabbed a knee upward, cracking one of the Joker's ribs. Releasing his hold on Joker's neck, he freed his fist to strike a blow across his jaw—making a spray of red spit out from Joker's mouth and dot the walls.
The Joker allowed himself to really laugh then, to belt out his own cries of victory. Batman had given him what he desired—and he wanted more.
"Hahaha! So much fire, hmm? And you didn't even hear the terms of the game to save one of them." The Joker jerked his eyebrows at Batman as he raised his fist to strike again.
That caught him off guard. It gave Batman enough time to reassert a necessary level of thought and control beyond violence.
"'Them'?" Batman asked, voice quiet and fist lowering. His gut screamed at him, dawning dread creeping up his back. Self-reprobation wrecked him as the Joker's words washed over him.
"Y'know, for a while there, I thought you really were Dent. Do you always get frisky with your coworkers or is that, ah, something special you reserve for the pretty lawyers?" The Joker broke out in a knowing chuckle. Batman's jaw went slack. "You have an interesting choice of company there, Batsy. You really had me going—thinking you were into my sweet peach. Just when we were getting into the courtship phase! But no—no. A guy like you, you've got a taste for the finer things in life—especially when they're attached to someone else. Hmm?"
The anger and fury of Bruce shattered the safeguards of control he had created in his years of training, pushing Batman and his restraint to the side and unleashing his wrath. He grabbed Joker like he was a paperweight, flipping him over and slamming his body hard against the metal table. Visions of death, blood, and pain—levels he knew no one could ignore—flooded him. Batman was trying to regain command, to reassert the limits that would keep him whole. It was too late—Bruce had warped the Batman, forged his power into a weapon he could barely control. It took away his ability to discern, to think rationally.
The Joker was laughing, enjoying the effect he had on Batman. He laid on the table as Batman picked up the chair he had sat in minutes before and walked to the entrance of the room. He jammed the chair under the handle, blocking any intervention. He vaguely heard the pulls on the metal, the shouts and banging on the other side. They didn't matter. It was just him and the Joker.
"Look at you go!" the Joker forced out between the laughs that erupted from deep in his belly.
He was getting high off the anger, the savagery peeking through a man so self-contained—at the knowledge that what he had observed was right. He knew exactly where to hit Batman the hardest. It still wasn't enough. Batman was weak now, but the Joker would help make him strong. He knew he could get Batman over the edge, he just had to push a little harder. The Joker sat up and cracked his neck in an exaggerated motion.
"Though, Miri is a cutie, isn't she? I like her almost as much as you like Harvey's little bunny—"
Batman didn't let the demented fiend finish. The sound of Miriam's name coming out of his vile mouth, the mentions of Rachel—incited something deep in him, rooted in protectiveness as much as feelings of resounding impotence. As quick as he had been at the door, Batman was in front of the Joker again. In a blinding motion, he picked up the Joker and slammed him, face first, into the two-way mirror—shattering it and splitting the Joker's forehead open in a jagged gash along his hairline.
The Joker was still laughing—like he hadn't felt any of it—as the blood flowed down the side of his face and he reclined on the floor. The sound and sight of red blood only made Batman want to hit him harder. He towered over the infernal clown, his fists shaking—his body wrapped up in a tempest on the brink of going berserk.
"What have you done?!" Batman yelled, his voice hoarse and booming.
The Joker's own visions of vengeful angels were coming to fruition. His brilliance had reached new levels. Everything he could have ever wanted was being realized—and he had been the orchestrator of it all. Their blindness would leave him to be the only one left standing to bask in the rewards. It was too good a joke not to laugh, and so that's what he did. The Joker kept laughing.
Batman's blood was on fire, napalm in his veins. He gripped the Joker by the lapel and hit his face until his blood coated his fist. The Joker wasn't fighting back. He was letting Batman hit him—encouraging the escalation of blows through his voice alone. Batman wouldn't have the satisfaction of ending this in a mutual fist-fight—the Joker was giving the Batman a painful lesson of his own: It wasn't the physical that acted as the pathway to victory; this was a tactical match Batman had failed to prepare for.
"Where are they?!" Batman yelled, his desperation growing.
The Joker rolled from his position on the floor, bringing his face back in the range of Batman's fury. He blinked away the blood pooling around his eye and tried to contain the shuddering howls that kept his smile stretching ever larger.
"I really thought you were the type of guy to, ah, play all this close to the chest. Who knew you had so many friends! You made it almost too easy—" Batman's fist connected with the Joker's face again. He still laughed, encouraging Batman to hit him—egging him on—fanning the flames of his rage. "Don't know if you figured this out yet—but killing is about making a choice."
Batman backed the Joker up into a corner between the wall and one of the support columns. He kept hitting the Joker, widening the gash on his head and spraying blood with each drawback of his arm. Batman's rational line of thinking was gone. He could only keep up his own form of howling in the form of a question—one that had no easy answers.
"Where are they?!"
"You have to choose between one life or the other." The Joker still grinned, even as the blood seeped between his teeth. "Your friend the district attorney, or his blushing bride-to-be!" His laughter ascended to a higher crescendo of madness as Batman hit him again. The Joker could feel the skin swelling, the blood leaving him in streams, and he revelled in every second of it.
Eight minutes left, Batsy.
"You have nothing! Nothing to threaten me with—nothing to do with all your strength—"
Batman's hands wrapped around the Joker's throat, filled with every intention of squeezing the life out of the man. Joker's expression showed his elation at the prospect—his entrancement with the gifts Batman had given him.
Batman didn't know what to do. He began to realize how futile his efforts were, how the power that had carried him through every other situation was rendered useless, but the Joker had voiced it and made it real. The Joker wasn't reacting to the threats and pain that broke Jahan Shaddid and Salvatore Maroni. Batman had nothing on him. Nothing to leverage his position, no pain to throw in the Joker's face because he welcomed it with open arms.
And he was still laughing, still had more venom to spew.
"I think I'll pay Miri a check-up later. Someone's gotta keep an eye on her—goodness knows no one else is!" The Joker just laughed. He was delighted at Batman's reaction, at the disbelieving expression of horror. He kept pushing the blade in until he found the edges of Batman's heart. "But—that's a surprise, between you and me." The Joker even managed to give his eyebrows another pump as he muttered the words—as if it was a secret between two friends.
Batman slammed him against the wall again, his fist driving into the corded muscle of the Joker's torso and breaking two of his ribs. The sharp stab caused a grunt to escape the Joker, but nothing more—and it was quickly replaced with giggles.
Time to let him off the hook—he's got six minutes and counting, the Joker thought.
"Don't worry—I'm going to tell you where they are. Both of them—and that's the point. You'll have to choose."
Every word out of the Joker's mouth was a point of unravelling for Batman—for Bruce as his anger twisted the symbol he created. Batman was in no condition to ask questions, his grip only tightened as every piece of willpower he could summon kept him from snapping the Joker's neck.
"He's at 250 52nd street, and she's on Avenue X... at Cicero."
The information was the only thing he wanted to hear coming out of the Joker's mouth. Batman dropped the bleeding clown to the ground and tore out of the room, throwing the chair to the side and blowing past Gordon. From the way the Joker had spoken, Batman thought he only had Rachel and Harvey to save—Miriam may have been a future target, but he thought her safe for the time being. His mind latched onto Rachel. The choice the Joker posed was an easy one. Too easy. He didn't allow himself to think of their implications.
"Which one are you going after?" Gordon yelled as he sprinted to his squad car.
"Rachel," Batman answered, trying to master his own voice again
She doesn't deserve to die. Harvey knew what he was signing up for—he isn't Batman's priority.
"We're getting Dent!" Gordon called out, but Batman barely heard him.
Batman raced off into the night on the Pod. He'd already lost too much, and he wouldn't lose anyone else. His fury at himself matched what he felt for the Joker, but his fear outmatched it all and he hoped the price demanded for his mistakes was one he alone could pay.
Hey, everyone!
Now, this chapter was originally going to be longer, but I decided to split it into two. Because of the events happening in the other half, I thought it best to focus on the Joker and Batman's first prolonged interaction here. You'll notice that I used quite a few lines and elements from the movie again (full credits go to Jonathan and Christopher Nolan for those!), but I have reworked/altered a great deal of them. I wanted to up the Joker's ability to get under Batman's skin and how the Joker's most powerful weapons are his intellect and speechcraft. The Joker does have physical power as well, not on the same levels as Batman, of course, but it's not what he relies on.
Batman, despite having been at this for a year at this point, still has a lot to learn. In the Nolanverse, the Joker was his first real prolonged test of how much he could endure and it was an ordeal that shook him to his core and stunted who he was as Batman. The League of Shadows and Scarecrow were formidable in their own right, but they posed a more simplistic threat in a lot of ways. The Joker is so compelling as a villain because of his relationship to Batman - they are opposites but part of the same whole, which just doesn't exist with Batman's other villains. This is why I end the first scene of Batman feeling very at home in the dark and the Joker embracing that same darkness in the second. I wanted to emphasize how they contrast and compare, so you'll see that I've added other elements of this throughout.
Bruce Wayne and Batman are very clearly split in this fic, almost acting as two characters sharing a body in a lot of ways. Eventually, in canon, Bruce Wayne disappears entirely until his entire identity is subsumed into that of Batman. I believe that it's in Batman Beyond where Bruce confides to Terry McGinnis that in his own thoughts he refers to himself as Batman, not by his own name. That's a pretty huge shift in identity and not one that is easily achieved. In TDK trilogy, Bruce comes back in Batman Begins already embracing his old life as a lie and an act, but we see him get lost in a state of 'in-betweens' when personal relationships, like with Rachel, become involved. I want to heighten those moments, make them more intense, with Miriam's involvement in this AU. Just like Miriam is building up to a choice of how her world and self will be, Bruce/Batman is facing a similar decision. I want my intentions with that split to be clear, but I hope you'll let me know what you think and see how it plays out in future chapters.
Scott Synder suggested that the Joker embodies not only Batman's worst fears - which, in this fic, is having his family and loved ones targetted and being helpless to stop it because of his own sense of (unwitting) arrogance and unwillingness to ultimately rely on others - but also our own worst fears. It's been argued that The Dark Knight and the Joker's brand of anarchism that Heath Ledger and Christopher Nolan created purposely harkened back to 9/11 imagery and the very real fears and uncertainties that gripped America during that decade (the war in Iraq and Afghanistan, terrorism, ideas of surveillance, Bush-era administration and the divides in opinions about his policies, etc). This notion is an interesting one, especially considering how the Joker has evolved in every decade - and how he has only grown darker as our tolerance for violence and depravity increases with our desensitization to it. Though how I'm representing the Joker is very much rooted in the masterful portrayal done by Heath, I'm changing his targets and how he terrorizes Gotham and Batman. How I'm doing this will be revealed in the coming chapters, but I hope you all will stick around for the ride there.
And, of course, I extend my never-ending gratitude and sincerest thanks to everyone who's favourited, followed, and commented on this story. Hearing from you and having you continue to support this story has honestly been a huge bright spot in my life and it's given me an energy I haven't felt in years. It's been a massive encouragement for not only writing this fic, but my life outside of this, too. Thank you again - I'll be back again next Saturday!