Author's Note: Back again for another update. I'd be surprised if anyone's still interested in this. I didn't mean for it to go SO LONG between updates. Though, if anyone's reading this now, I WILL work harder at getting this story finished up. Once a week or more. I've been dragging this story on for too long. (In my opinion, so far, this is the best fic I've ever wrote!) Enjoy!


Jack had taken a quick shower, wearing only his shorts now as he stretched out on Bruce's bed. He had talked to Alfred a few minutes ago, getting the feeling that the help wasn't warming up to him. In fact, it seemed like his presence was doing the exact opposite to Alfred. Didn't matter. Jack was counting down the days he would no longer have to worry about the old fart hanging around. He and Bruce would soon be on some tropical beach somewhere on their own private island. At least, that was what Jack imagined. For all he knew, Bruce had an identical penthouse in Paris or Moscow or something that no one knew about.

He had nodded off when the door opened a few minutes later. Jack sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as Bruce walked in, closing the door behind him. Slowly as if he was stalling something. Jack sat up a bit straighter, immediately getting the feeling that something wasn't right. He clenched the sheets tightly in his fist, saying nothing as Bruce moved around the room, obviously doing nothing to keep from looking at Jack. Forcing himself to relax, Jack waited patiently. Bruce had been working on possible whereabouts of Bane. That was it. He was still thinking about it and was probably upset with himself for not coming up with anything. He just needed to relax. Jack moved to get up and go to him.

Bruce stopped at the end of the bed, shaking his head and gesturing for Jack to sit back down. When he did, Bruce finally looked at him. "We need to talk," he said. He was using the same tone he had when he had left Jack in that crazy house. "About why I'm here."

" 'I'm'," Jack repeated, feeling sweat break out all over his body. "Not why we're here?"

Bruce shook his head, crossing his arms. He looked hesitant. Pained. "Did you ever sit down and think about the fact that, out of the blue, I just got up and came here to Gotham?" he asked. "To work something out that could have been done over the phone? If I hadn't've come here, the problem with Bane..."

Jack wasn't following. "I know how obsessed you are with your company, Bruce," he said. "That's why-"

"I left to deal with my company in person to get away from the stress of you and your problems," Bruce said, shocking Jack into silence. "It's a long walk from the kitchen to here when you've got a lot to think about."

"My problems give you stress?" Jack asked. He had never gotten that impression. Of course, he had never gotten the impression that Bruce Wayne and the Batman were the same person either. "How come you never told me?"

"I'm telling you now."

"That doesn't make it better," Jack said. "This is a lot different than you coming out as Batman." He rolled off the bed and stood up. "Why do we expect anything to be the same as it was?"

"What do you mean?"

"Before you went to Princeton," Jack said, his back still to Bruce. "During the short time I worked and lived at the Manor."

"We were young then."

"And different."

"Jack..."

Jack turned to Bruce, who hadn't moved from the end of the bed. "I wish we could go back," he said. "I wish I could be the same as I was, but I can't. Because of you." Bruce raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. Maybe during his walk from the kitchen to the bedroom, he had thought about this as well. "I was damaged when I met you, but I got better."

"That first time, you left me," Bruce said. "If you think your lifestyle is my fault-"

"I'm always better when I'm with you," Jack said, walking over to Bruce, who turned his head and looked away. "I told you as much when I was in that goddamned hospital! And what did you do about it? You left me there."

"Jack..."

"You don't want to hear it, but I bet it's rolling around in that brain of yours as well!" Jack said. He pushed Bruce, causing the other to turn and look at him. "You pushed me over the brink of insanity. If you had gotten me out of that hospital, the Joker would never-" He was cut off when Bruce suddenly punched him, sending him crashing to the floor.

Jack propped himself up on one elbow, lifting his other hand to his face and came away with blood. He didn't wipe the rest from his split lip as he looked up at Bruce, who stood there looking halfway between apologetic and pissed off. "That why you tried so fucking hard to help me?" he asked, now needing a reaction from Bruce. It was a lot better than Bruce just standing there silent. "Needed to fix your mistake before things got worse?" He tilted his head to the side slightly, a smile appearing on his face. "But then I killed Rachel and you decided it was hopeless. Better to just concoct a plan to get me out of Gotham."

"You brought this on yourself," Bruce said. "You manipulated me into caring for you when all you ever wanted was a good fuck. You got it and I'm not fixing any more of your problems. I'm done." He walked past Jack and out the door and Jack didn't try to stop him. What would be the point?

Jack sat up, wiping the blood from his mouth. The anger he had felt had abated and he then realized what had just happened. And what had happened? How could it have gone wrong so quickly? Jack now regretted every word that came out of his mouth. He scrambled to his feet and ran out of the room, calling for Bruce as he ran down the stairs, stopping when he saw Alfred standing in the living room.

"Master Bruce said he had things to do at Wayne Enterprises," Alfred said. "He'll be back in the morning." He turned and went back to whatever he had been doing. Cleaning up even though the place didn't need it.

Jack remained at the bottom of the stairs, his hand gripping the railing tightly. "I asked you to get Bruce," he said, the amusement he had felt at making Alfred feel as uncomfortable as he could was long gone. "What did you say to him?" It was the only explanation for Bruce's behavior. He had been hesitant and pained because he knew he had broken his promise to Jack. The promise that he wouldn't listen to Alfred.

"I did what you wanted," Alfred said without stopping what he was doing.

"But you had to make sure you got your word in."

Alfred stopped and looked at him. "If you think I had anything to do with Master Bruce storming out a few minutes ago, you're mistaken," he said. "You'd get a better answer from those voices in your head."

"I'm not crazy," Jack said, stepping away from the stairs and further into the living room. Closer to Alfred, though the other didn't move, but he did look wary about Jack's position now. "I've never had 'voices in my head.' You're only putting this off on me because you know I'm unstable. I know better. Bruce knows better. If he was here right now, I bet you he'd say-"

"I merely told him he should think about what problem he had with you," Alfred said. "Did he not bring up the fact that he practically came running to Gotham after only a few months with no intention of bringing you along?"

"He wouldn't have brought it up-"

"It would have come up sooner or later," Alfred said. "Most likely after he dealt with Bane. And then you would have gotten a talk about how he couldn't leave his company in such a vulnerable state."

"He told me-"

"And you still believe him?"

Jack snapped just then. He vaulted over the couch and attacked Alfred, who didn't have time to react. Jack was on autopilot as he beat, pushed, and kicked Alfred around. Alfred tried fighting back, but it did him no good. Jack was running on pure anger and hatred. He beat Alfred until the help was only a moaning mess on the floor.

Spattered with blood, Jack got to his feet and calmly walked into the kitchen, grabbed a knife then came back as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And as he knelt next to Alfred, pulling the old man up, he knew that it was the most natural thing in the world to him.

"You know," Jack said, resting the blade of the knife against Alfred's bloodied cheek. "There's a certain...enjoyment when you kill someone slowly. You can really feel the fear coming from them. And the pain...that's the best part." He gave one lick across Alfred's cheek, leaving a bloodless streak. "Why don't we leave a present for dear Brucey, huh? I think he'll like that." He hauled Alfred up off the floor and onto the couch. Alfred was barely conscious, but he would still feel what Jack had planned for him.

Jack straddled Alfred, actually getting turned on by all the blood. "If I didn't hate you so much, I'd honestly fuck you," he said as he used the knife to cut Alfred's shirt open. "Too bad I don't feel like killing you slowly." Without another word or thought, he slit Alfred's throat, the blood spraying out and covering him while it ran down Alfred's exposed chest. Jack was a bit glad that all he was wearing was his boxer shorts. He wouldn't have to worry about cleaning his clothes. The blood against his bare skin woke something in him. Perhaps everyone was right. Maybe he was crazy.

Jack got off of Alfred and, using the butler's blood, he walked over to the window and wrote 'HAHAHAHA!' It made him giggle in excitement. He walked back over to Alfred, a bit surprised that the help was still alive, though not for long. Jack smiled as he finished up with what he would leave for Bruce. Once he was done, he went upstairs to take another shower then got dressed and left the penthouse.

He had gone in as Jack and left as the Joker.


Bruce had told Alfred that he was going to Wayne Enterprises, but his company was the last thing on his mind. The only thing on his mind right now was Jack and that he wanted to tell him he was sorry. So, after a long drive, Bruce turned around and headed back to the penthouse. It was a long elevator ride to the top. As he walked in, things were quiet. He didn't want to imagine the rant Jack might have been on after he had left.

As he walked further into the penthouse, the sudden sight before him brought him to an abrupt halt. Alfred was on the couch, covered in blood with a kitchen knife sticking out of his chest. His throat was cut, but what drained him of everything was the way Alfred's face was carved up. Into a permanent smile. A laughing message on the window stared back at him. Bruce dropped to his knees, knowing that all hope was lost. How could he redeem Jack after this? How could he forgive him for this? Alfred had been right not to trust Jack and it was Bruce's fault.

Bruce got to his feet. He knew what he had to do. He would mourn for Alfred later. When he had time to mourn for both him and Jack. Bruce needed to find Jack before something else happened.

At the sound of footsteps, Bruce turned, but was knocked out before he could see who it was.


A.N.: If anyone hates me for killing off Alfred...you really should have seen that one coming. Just saying. Expect more chapters soon! After roughly three years, this story might be finally coming to an end.