Before we begin this chapter, I would like to have a moment of silence for Heath Ledger, who died on this day (January 22, 2008). Without him, the Joker we all know and love would not have existed. He was an incredible actor and a wonderful father. May he rest in peace.

Thank you.

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

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Bruce


Joker's scent is permeating the sheets even now.

There's the too-sweet smell of his cologne, with an undercurrent of the tang of blood and metal, with an afterthought of greasepaint. It's surrounding me, lulling me, almost, and I'm fighting to keep hold of my senses.

It wouldn't be heroic (or sane) to fall asleep to him in any way, shape or form.

As if on cue, Alfred walks in.

"Master Bruce, I need to speak to you about…this clown. The Joker."

I try to look Alfred in the eye, but I can't, somehow. "It's nothing."

Alfred sighs and sits down in the chair beside my bed, looking more worried than I've seen him in a long time. "Sir, if I may say so, he's a pretty obvious 'nothing'. I'm not a fool, Master Bruce, though you may have forgotten."

I slowly raise my head from the pillow, shaking my head. "I never thought you were."

Alfred chuckles softly. "You certainly tried your best to keep me in the dark, sir. But the Joker's little…'territorial markings' and the like became more obvious after this."

"Then why didn't you speak up?"

"Because, sir, I still wasn't entirely sure of anything yet. I had only guesses. Were you fighting with someone or, shall we say, on a rendezvous? I had to keep an eye on you, as always. Unfortunately, it took until this morning to put the puzzle together."

"Oh." There's nothing else I can say, really.

"Speaking of puzzles…" Alfred takes a scrap of paper out of his pocket. "'Mr. J' wanted me to give this to you."

I take the paper and unfold it, staring at the nearly incomprehensible writing in purple crayon:

You OWE me! I'll be back next time I need a good breakfast.

Lots of laughs,

J

A red lipstick print covers the bottom of the paper, mocking me.

"Disgusting." I put the paper on my nightstand, running a hand through my hair. "He never quits…"

"Shall I throw it out, sir?"

I look at the paper again and shake my head. "No. I'll get rid of it later."

Alfred gives me a look. "I see."

There is a somber feeling in my chest. "Do you…disapprove with my actions?"

Alfred chuckles again. "Master Bruce, I've seen many things in my time—some of which you've probably only heard of from newspaper clippings. What you're doing isn't the problem, it's who you're doing it with."

I wet my lips and wait for him to continue, feeling more like a child than ever.

"You see, Master Bruce, a man like him only considers you useful for one thing: satisfying his needs. One day, he'll leave and never come back, looking for someone else to satisfy him. Or perhaps you'll both go too far, and find yourselves in a hole neither of you can crawl out of."

"I'm starting to understand him, though. Trust me. I think he's starting to cave in."

"Apparently you are too, since he's quite…familiar with your so-called 'alter-ego'."

I sigh and cover my face with my hand. "I don't know how it happened, Alfred. But now that he knows who I am…"

"When did he find out, sir?"

"In late September or so. Maybe early October."

"Do you want to continue the…'relationship'?"

"After what happened last night, Alfred? Probably not."

"'Probably' is not 'certainly', Master Bruce. Think before you act."

I lift my hand from my face, watching the sun illuminate the tips of my fingers.

"The problem with Joker is he acts before you think. He can be talking about the weather, or complimenting you on your perfect timing, and then he'll…" I cut myself off, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

"I understand, sir."

I smile briefly at Alfred. "Thanks. Anyway, I'll think about what I want. In the meantime, we have a party to plan."

"I would suggest sleeping instead, sir. You're still a little…green around the gills."

I sigh. "All right, I suppose. I'll leave it to you."

"Very well, sir. I'll be back with more orange juice soon. Call if you need me." Alfred prepares to stand up.

"Alfred?"

"Yes, Master Bruce?"

"Have you given up on me?"

Alfred smiles. He understands.

"Never."

I nod gratefully and close my eyes.

"Oh, and Alfred?"

"Yes, Master Bruce?"

"We're going to need to clean these sheets sometime soon."

"I was just about to suggest that, sir."

--

I'm back in the Narrows again.

Mother and Father are lying lifeless on the ground, and I'm sitting there, still trying to figure out what happened. I can't breathe, I'm so scared—

Something's walking toward me. I can hear it's feet making sharp, heavy thuds on the pavement, and the swish of a coat.

The Something comes into focus, and I see that it's a clown. A scarred, wild clown with dark eyes and odd green hair.

He crouches down next to me, lifting my tiny child-hand with his long fingers, lifting it to his lips. I feel warmth on my fingertips as his lips pass over them, one by one, a smile growing on his red, red lips. With each touch, I can feel myself becoming a boy no longer…

The warmth is on my lips now, as his hand runs through my hair possessively, familiarly. My heart's going to burst, I think…

The clown pulls away and takes me by the hand, pulling me up.

"Now you're free!" he says.

Like a bat dropping from the roof of the cave to take flight, I spread my wings.