The loudly obnoxious invitation was in bright purple and green, as if to make sure the recipient would know just who it was from. Bruce looked at it in distaste, pushing back his cowl, and stared up at the banks of computers in front of him. He'd already done every analysis he could on the material—there was no toxin, no hidden code; to all appearances it was a perfectly ordinary card, colors aside.

The Joker had always been an unpredictable menace, but after his sudden acquisition of wealth his antics had been focused less on murder and mayhem than an elaborate stunt to spend his money like water while acting out a broad parody of the lifestyle of the rich. And somehow, he always managed to be there, even when Bruce would rather have forgotten about him.

It's preferable to his usual ways, Bruce reminded himself. But the discomfort lingered. Just because the other shoe hadn't dropped yet didn't mean it wouldn't.

"What's that?" Tim asked, peering over Bruce's shoulder. "Is that from the Joker? Is it a threat?"

"It's an invitation," Bruce said, wearily, leaning back to make space as Tim climbed up to perch on the edge of the chair, feet swinging, taking the card from his hand and looking it over critically.

"He's hosting a party for Gotham's elite."

"So are you gonna go?" Tim asked. Bruce grunted. He had an incredible urge burn the letter and damn the consequences, but the thought of the havoc the Joker might wreak on an innocent populous stayed him.

Yes," he said at last. "It will be an excuse to keep an eye on him."

"Not that you need one," Tim muttered sideways under his breath. Bruce did not dignify his words with a response.

/

"Bruce WAYNE," the Joker said, coming up to his guest and smiling jovially. The billionaire had spent the evening standing beside a table and making small talk to whomever approached him, but had made no effort to look as though he was enjoying himself. This wasn't an undercover mission, just a reconnaissance until things inevitably went south, and it would work as well from here as anywhere. "My my, I think we've met, haven't we."

"Have we?" Bruce asked blandly, standing apparently relaxed and unconcerned at the sudden aggressive presence of the host in his space, a fact which, to Batman's experienced gaze, thoroughly annoyed the clown. "I don't recall."

"Oh, I think you do… that time Mr. Kaiser had made a little casino in my name, and we had the honor of playing cards…"

Bruce blinked. An almost imperceptible show of surprise.

"Yes, that was me," the Joker continued. "It's funny how close one gets to death sometimes without knowing so, isn't it?" he leaned against the table beside Bruce, just a little too close, and Bruce looked over at him to meet his dark, glittering eyes. "Of course," he continued, "I'm reformed now; cured by the good doctors of Arkham."

"My congratulations," Bruce said, holding his glass up slightly in the Joker's direction.

The Joker continued, after a long and speculative look over Bruce's drink, "You're a very strange man, Bruce Wayne. You're not afraid of me. Not many men could say that." He paused. "Fewer have survived."

"I suppose it's good that you've changed your ways, then," Bruce said, with a fake chuckle, and took a slight sip from his glass. "Anyway, I don't see them being particularly afraid of you." He nodded over to the mingling crowd that was taking advantage of the Joker's hospitality. The Joker waved over one of the servers (slightly subdued for the occasion, though the Joker's version of subdued included larger amounts of purple and garish patterns than anyone else's). "Them? They're starstruck," the Joker said dismissively. "It's just my natural charm."

Bruce privately agreed with the assessment, but didn't say so out loud.

It was strange standing next to the Joker without the protection of his armor. The Joker was right when he said Bruce wasn't afraid of him, but there was a hyperawareness of their positions and of how far he could push at any given moment. Perhaps he wasn't immune to the thrill, the wild recklessness that had driven the other partygoers to accept an invitation from a notorious killer.

The difference was, he knew what he was doing, and he was aware of the possible consequences. They were not.

"Charm?" Bruce asked, lightly. "I wasn't aware you had any." The Joker watched him as though wondering what it would be like to strangle him, but all he did was grip his glass a little tighter, and after a moment, take a careless drink. He set it on the edge of the buffet, grinning wide with shark teeth. "We met at a bad time. I'm really very pleasant, once you get to know me."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, and Joker laughed. "Not convinced?"

"Not very, no," Bruce said blandly. There was a silence long enough to become uncomfortable, probably calculated precisely for that effect. He took the opportunity to browse the buffet for more hors d'oeuvres, deliberately ignoring the presence at his side.

"So tell me, Brucie," Joker said, slowly, watching him place a small tartlet onto his place. "You can't be as perfect as you want the press to believe."

"I'd hardly say my image is perfect," Bruce said, amused.

Joker waved a hand. "A few blemishes here and there, artfully placed. It's humanizing. Where did you learn to cheat at cards?"

"It's Bruce. And I think you'll find it was nothing more than beginner's luck," Bruce said smoothly.

"Save it for the cameras," Joker said sourly. In a moment, he continued. "Is everyone with money as much of a liar as you are?"

"You'd have to ask them," Bruce said.

"No, no, but you're different," Joker muttered under his breath, dropping his gaze as though for a moment he'd forgotten Bruce's presence. He tilted the wine in his glass till it hovered just on the brink of overflowing. "Must be the dead parents. Is that it?"

"Surprisingly, tragedy doesn't pass anyone by," Bruce snapped, speaking before he thought better of it. "Even the privileged. I assume you would know, having caused enough of them yourself."

Joker looked up, a hidden, calculating look in his dark eyes. Bruce did not react, but recognized the hint of something dangerous. He wondered at the reasons for his own vehement reply. Was it merely a restlessness, disgust with the charade the Joker put forth to the world, and one they swallowed eagerly, without a thought? The thought of provoking the Joker to action held a grim satisfaction that Batman did not deny. For the taunt to reach Bruce would mean vulnerability, an unexpected opening in his guard. One he hadn't noticed.

"Tragedy and I are old friends," Joker said, the tone of his voice indecipherable. He put down his glass, Bruce watching the movement as though the liquor in it contained a bomb.

"You live the same carefree life as all the rest of these deluded creatures. Does it hurt, going against your true nature?"

"You tell me," Bruce said.

The Joker smiled. "Touché. And my true nature?"

"A madman. A killer. Someone too dangerous to let out into the public."

"But not too dangerous for you."

Bruce hesitated, sensing the perilous ground of that quietly spoken sentence. "Too dangerous for anywhere but a padded cell."

The Joker's lips thinned in annoyance, but he recovered quickly, and smiled. "As dangerous as all that? I'm flattered. I'll put it in my scrapbook. Maybe I can show my therapist."

Bruce spared a thought for whoever that unfortunate person was now, and hoped they would get out of the Joker's game alive and still halfway sane.

/

"So how'd the party go?" Tim asked.

"It's past your bedtime," Bruce said, walking to his room.

"Not well, then," Tim said. He ran to catch up to Bruce, unfazed by the brooding figure. "Joker didn't start attacking people, or you'd look angry, not grumpy. Is that why you're grumpy? 'Cause he didn't make trouble?"

"Nothing happened at the party, Tim," Bruce said, stopping at the door. "I don't know what I thought I'd find there."

"Hm." Tim peered at him critically, obviously trying to piece together the facts. Batman thought, distractedly, that he'd been a good choice for a Robin, even if it hadn't exactly been part of the plan.

/

Two weeks later, and he was staring at another card, this time an invitation to a smaller get-together on a yacht. Bruce stared at it, baffled. He hadn't even known Joker had bought a yacht. And why was he invited? He hadn't tried to make an impression on Joker, particularly; and he was aware that this apparent interest directed to him was potentially dangerous. Yet it would make it easier to keep an eye on the Joker—and a small get-together on a yacht was a perfect excuse for the Joker's villainous activities. Kidnapping for ransom? Perhaps that could explain it. Bruce took the batsuit Alfred had packed in his briefcase and reminded Tim not to get involved in this case unless he was ordered to.

"Sure," Tim said, rolling his eyes. He didn't seem as on-edge as Bruce about the matter. He'd pointed out that in Bruce's surveillance, he hadn't seen any evidence of unsavory dealings with the yacht, and reminded him that the joker's last party had turned out to be innocuous. That was all true, but it only made Bruce more suspicious. Joker was… Joker. He was always up to something. Anything evil or depraved that could be dreamt up, Joker had done it, or tried to. Not being able to tease out his plans, to be able to think ahead and figure out damage control, made him deeply unsettled. None of this fit the Joker's usual pattern.

There were only a few people invited; less than ten altogether. Penguin was one of them, along with a few of the rich that he particularly disliked, after his own disastrous attempts to be accepted into high society. Cobblepot seemed to recognize the slight, but he'd come regardless.

"I like to keep an eye on things like 'the Joker'…" Cobblepot said, gesturing slightly with his umbrella, as the two stood to the side of the small gathering at the edge of the yacht, backs to the glittering water. It was a perfect day for a joyride; the sun bright, the air warm, the breeze cool but not too strong. Bruce was unsurprised to find a few of his past celebrity dates in attendance, but noticed that they were all ones who had publically ended on bad terms with him. It seemed the two were thrown together as Joker's dubious guests of honor. "It doesn't do to be surprised in my line of work."

"Really?" Bruce said, all innocence. "I didn't know running a nightclub involved keeping track of criminal activities."

Cobblepot squawked, and the edge of his mouth tilted up in a mocking half-smile. "We are in Gotham, my dear Mr. Wayne. Keeping track of 'criminal activities' is merely insurance."

Bruce laughed. "I can't argue with that."

"Pengy!" Joker said, striding over to the two with a dangerous smile. "Pal, there you are. You should mingle! This is a gathering among friends, you know."

"So I see," Cobblepot said stiffly, obviously seething at being called by yet another disliked nickname. Joker laughed, more in amusement than in threat, and Penguin rolled his eyes.

"Now now, you act like I brought you here to torture you."

"I wouldn't imply such a thing," Penguin said, with his trademark bravado. A bead of sweat was trailing its way down his hairline, which Bruce noted with interest; but he stood otherwise quite casually in the Joker's presence, looking him in the eye. Joker, who had, on occasion, professed the seemingly sincere sentiment that the Penguin was his best friend—which Penguin dared not contradict him on—was in a chummy mood to be sure.

"I've never been able to invite you to my establishment before," Joker said. "Consider it payback for your hospitality on so many occasions. I don't forget my debts, you know," he added, in a darker voice.

"I understand," Cobblepot said, in a strangled sort of gasp.

A reference to something? Bruce wondered. Perhaps the yacht was a cover of some sort after all. But if all the Joker wanted to do was talk to the Penguin, he could have gone to the Iceberg Lounge to do it. This seemed more like a show of power, an effort to humiliate, maybe some move in a larger game.

"Perhaps I will take you up on your offer to mingle," Cobblepot said at last, breaking gaze with the Joker. He tipped his hat. "Mr. Wayne."

Joker watched Cobblepot waddling off with his eyes glittering in thought, before turning to Bruce.

"You seem very interested in the Penguin, Bruce. Friend of yours?"

"I've seen him around," Bruce said, "but not really."

"That's good," Joker said. "He's a little too slippery. I wouldn't like to think of you getting tangled in his nets."

Bruce couldn't help but be amused by this description of the Penguin. If there was any villain easier to deal with than Cobblepot, he hadn't met them. But Joker suddenly seemed insistent on painting the man as a threat.

"And how have you been, Brucie? A man like you must get bored."

"No, not really," Bruce said blandly. "If I get tired of something, I can always pick up another hobby."

"Ah, yes… adrenaline junkie, aren't you? I think I remember reading about that, in one of those magazines."

"Just a little," Bruce said.

"Bird-watching too, if I recall," Joker said. "Is that why you were interested in him?"

Bruce coughed to cover up a startled laugh. "Well, I'm just an amateur really," he said.

"You've been published in a few journals. I've done my homework."

"Really?" Bruce said, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not sure if I should be flattered or afraid."

Joker smiled. "Oh, afraid, most definitely," he said.

He's right, Bruce thought. I shouldn't be taking this so blasé. But it would be more than suspicious if he acted put-off now, all of a sudden. The airhead act had done him good in the past, and with luck, it would fool the Joker as well. And there was still that part of him that refused to give Joker the satisfaction of seeing him intimidated.


Notes: I don't know if it originally came from somewhere else, but the reference to Bruce's interest in bird-watching was inspired by Third Wheel by Unpretty (which is a retelling of the STAS/BTAS crossover World's Finest, & is AWESOME) archiveofourown (dot org) (slash) works /6918955 /chapters /15784000

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