AN: I meant to have this up at a reasonable time, but ended up catching up with my sister over Facebook. Sorry.

Thanks for the reviews!

I don't kill, Bruce reminded himself, forcing to ignore the overwhelming desire to beat the Joker until he was just grinding pieces of bone and tissues into the ground. I don't kill, no matter how much he's begging for it. I'm above that. He had to be above that, because if he couldn't, he'd be no better than the scum sitting before him, offering himself in the most perverse way he could. Well, maybe not the most perverse, but he didn't want to consider alternatives.

Joker remained in that pose, unmoving. "Sooo? What's it gonna be?"

"You're insane."

"Your point? Your views on my sanity notwithstanding, I remain fully capable of killing us all. So, you can search me, or not search me, or just stand there and let me destroy everything. You're good at that."

It occurred to Batman that he'd never made a rule against excessive violence, at least not formally. And at this moment, the guilt he'd surely feel tomorrow seemed worth it in exchange for the satisfaction of knocking the Joker's teeth out. And breaking a few of his ribs.

"Like with that chick," the Joker went on. "What's-her-face, the one you let get blown to pieces? Ooh, Rachel, wasn't i—"

"Whore."

The both of them stopped; Joker mid-taunt, Batman mid-pounce. It took a second for him to figure out just who had spoken, the mention of Rachel's name from that monster's mouth had almost pushed him over the edge. It would have, if he'd kept on. With effort, he forced himself to control his breathing, turned to face the speaker.

Jonathan Crane. For a moment, Bruce thought his comment had been directed at Rachel, until he followed the doctor's contemptuous gaze and realized he was staring at the Joker. The Joker blinked, several times, but remained still.

"What did you just say?" His voice shook, slightly, on 'what', but remained controlled otherwise. Disturbingly controlled, considering the source.

"I called you a whore," Crane said matter-of-factly, as Nigma went white beside him. "Which you are. I mean, honestly. Do you hear the things coming out of your mouth?"

"Jonathan. Do you have a death wish?"

"Do you?" Expression softening, though only slightly, he turned away from the Joker, to face Batman. "This may have escaped your notice, but you were seconds away from death there. Yes, what I said was, as far as I'm concerned, completely true, but it had the added advantage of distracting you. The both of you. So you didn't get attacked and accidentally kill us all." He paused, looked back at the clown. "So you're welcome."

Bruce forced himself to relax, as much as possible given the circumstances. He had come dangerously close to losing control, and that could not happen, not when the detonators were still out of his possession, and working. If the Joker felt gratitude at the explanation, he didn't show it. Beside him, Harleen Quinzel straightened, looking over her shoulder at Crane. "Thanks, Jonathan. That was really—"

Joker pushed her off the bed, on the side away from Batman. He heard the detonator hit the floor, but Harley was back up in an instant, having retrieved it. "It was not 'really' anything," the Joker said, "besides stupid and asking to get hurt. Got it?"

She nodded, looking down.

"Everything is asking to get hurt, when it's around you," Crane said. Nigma tried putting a hand over his companion's mouth and was brushed off. "I'd rather die on my feet than live on my knees, I think."

"Funny, last time you got on your knees for me, I seem to remember you enjoyed it quite a bit, slut." He gave a glance to Crane, though for only a second, and he'd looked back before Batman could make a move.

Crane went red. "I—I wasn't even on my knees, idiot."

"It's an expression, Sherlock."

If there was one thing he could go forever without hearing about, it was the sex lives of these maniacs. "Enough."

"Agreed." Joker leaned back again, having not moved out of that depraved pose. "So are you up for this or not, Batsy?" He giggled; beside him, Quinzel cast a glance to either side as if looking for a place to hide. Smarter than she looked, Batman reflected, just barely withstanding the desire to send the clown flying through the windows.

"Take your shoes off."

Joker tilted his head. "What?"

He wasn't about to forget the switchblades concealed inside. "Your shoes. Take them off."

"But I need my shoes," Joker protested, though his tone suggested he was arguing for the sake of arguing, rather than any genuine concern. "I mean, what if I was to step on something? I could get tetanus. You wouldn't want that, would you, Bats? You'd be sad, wouldn't you, if that happened?"

If by sad you mean laughing about it whenever Alfred's not listening. All right, taking pleasure in another's suffering was not acceptable. Didn't make the idea any less amusing. He didn't answer, only stood, waiting.

"Fiiiiine." The Joker pouted, then smiled abruptly and sat up, unlacing his shoes. He began humming something, which Bruce recognized after a moment to be 'It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood." He kicked his shoes off, brought his legs apart again, grinning. "Happy?"

"Stand up."

"Hold this, Harl." Joker gave his detonator to her and stood, straightening his clothes. "So, how do you want me, darl—"

Batman's hand closed around his throat, cutting him off, shoving him back into the wall. His head hit cinderblock with a sound that Bruce felt guilty pleasure upon hearing. Anyway, it was necessary for someone like the Joker to be restrained to search him. He hadn't really hurt him, not judging by the laughter. He reassured himself that he would have felt guilt if he had.

"Mistah J!" Quinzel's eyes went wide with fear, an expression Batman was used to seeing, used to causing. Still, though he'd adjusted to seeing that look from the faces of those beyond the criminals he was trying to inspire terror in, he'd never gotten comfortable with it. With being viewed as the monster. Quinzel may be insane, but it was unnerving to see a woman who looked like a damsel in distress—albeit one in face paint and a clown costume—staring at him as if he was the dragon.

"'Skay, Harley-girl." Even with half his air supply cut off, he still managed to sound cheerful. God, how he hated him. "I like it rough."

"For the love of God," Crane muttered.

"Don't be jealous, Jonny. You had your turn with this, remember?" His smile faltered, for a second. "Certainly spoke fondly of it. A lot."

He was taken aback at that, though he hid it. He assumed the Joker was referring to the time he'd searched Crane, which had not, by any stretch of the imagination, been pleasant for either of them. It had ended with Crane in hysterics and him bleeding and poisoned. Either Crane had an incredibly warped idea of pleasure or the Joker was lying. Well, that was obvious. The Joker was lying. That's all he ever did.

Searching the Joker, as he expected, was not easy. Not because he struggled, but because he was stocked with enough weapons to provide for a small army. All of which had been quite deliberately placed around his hips. And the obscene moaning sounds he kept making whenever Batman touched him were seriously making Bruce reconsider his one rule. He wondered if it wouldn't be easier, less likely to lead to an accidental murder, if he just knocked the clown out, but he couldn't risk it, as long as Quinzel had the detonators.

He let go as soon as he'd made sure there were no weapons left, and the Joker slumped back against the wall, not out of shortage of breath, or pain. His expression was of exaggerated satisfaction, like a porn actress, made even more ridiculous by the makeup. He reached out, took the detonator back from Harley, then put his free hand behind his ear and brought in back down, cigarette in his grasp. "Got a light, sailor?"

Batman chose not to dignify that with a response. The Joker shrugged, and grinning, put the unlit cigarette in his mouth anyway. "So, we're off?"

He shot a glance to Quinzel, the detonator still in her hand. "How do I know she won't set that off?"

"Give it to him, Harl."

Wordless, she handed it over and Joker stepped back, putting his own detonator out of reach. Batman considered the situation. Locking the Joker up was a given; he had to be subdued. But there was the matter of the other three rogues, all notorious for their own breakouts. He could hardly trust them left unattended, but it wasn't as if he could bring them on this miserable little expedition. Crane was obviously not on good terms with the Joker, and Nigma more than likely didn't want to be involved, but bringing all of them at once was just asking to be attacked by one and have the others follow suit. Nor was there time to hunt down a staff member; for all he knew, everyone in charge of the patients had been killed. And besides, it wasn't wise to make the Joker any more impatient than he was now.

Currently, he was shuffling from one foot to the other, like an impatient child. "Hey. Batsy."

The only choice left seemed to be intimidating. It was said that Jonathan Crane was the master of fear. And depending on the situation, he was. But if Batman was trying, he took the title easily.

"You know what I can do." Ignoring the Joker for the moment, he regarded the other three, meeting their eyes one at a time. His voice was hardly human now, becoming something darker, rougher. "I'm going to leave you here. Alone. And once I'm through with him, I'm coming back." He ignored the whining sound the Joker made at that, went on. "And I expect all of you to be here. You can try leaving. You might even get away. But I will make you regret it." It wasn't a promise so much as a statement of fact, and they knew it. "Understand?"

Crane and Nigma could only nod assent. Quinzel muttered the smallest, most timid "Yes sir," he'd ever heard.

"Good." He took the Joker by the arm, tightly. Tightly enough that he thought he heard bones grinding. "Come on."

Joker cast a glance over his shoulder at Crane as they walked, a smug look which Batman assumed was meant to convey success, 'I've got him and you don't.' He steadied himself to keep from applying the pressure necessary to actually break bones. It was bad enough that the man had to threaten his city, and destroy all he'd worked for. That he was a constant reminder of Rachel's death—and the deaths of so many others—and Harvey's downfall didn't help in the least. But to throw the grotesque mockery of sexuality on top of things, that was crossing a line. Of course, the Joker was all about crossing lines, not crossing them so much as charging over them with a tank full of dead bodies, driving that tank into an orphanage, and then capturing all the orphans and abandoning them in an adult film store. The man was the definition of excess, along with other words such as evil and psychotic.

They got about three feet until the hall before Joker spat the cigarette out and whistled. "Damn, that was a speech. You oughta write for politicians, you know that?"

"Quiet." He was trying to walk as fast as possible, but the Joker was dragging his feet and for such a comparatively thin man, it was impeding their progress a lot.

"Wait!" The Joker stopped moving altogether. The cry was so sudden, so seemingly sincere that Batman was stunned, for a moment. "Wait a second."

"What?" he growled, not in the mood to hear anything the clown had to say, even if it was a warning of an oncoming apocalypse.

"I want you to hold my hand." His expression was the picture of innocence, if the picture had been slashed and then painted on.

He could only stare. "What?"

"I want you. To hold my hand." He repeated it as if they were separate sentences, as if that would make the request less horrible to hear. "C'mon, Bats, aren't we friends?"

"No." He tried pulling the clown forward, to no effect. He'd gone stiff as a board, the static pose more unnerving than it should have been on the usually hyperactive man. "I've already given into all your other idiotic requests. Come on."

"No. This isn't any good at all. It's how you moved Jonathan. I'm better than him, our relationship is closer than he'll ever be to you. So I deserve a more intimate touch."

For God's sake. "We do not have a relationship."

Joker pouted. "Denial's more than just a river in Egypt, you know."

As if you're on to talk. "And I prefer dealing with him anyway. At least he can be reasonable."

The energy of the hallway itself seemed to change as Joker went stiffer than ever. His eyes narrowed, scars turning down. He brought up the hand holding the detonator so slowly, there were times when it seemed he wasn't moving at all. "Hold my hand. Now."

"Fine." All right, so making the Joker jealous was a terrible idea. At least when he had access to weapons. He'd keep that in mind. He took the gloved hand, tried to ignore the way the Joker instantly relaxed they made contact. He should really be immune to mind games like this, but touching the person who had threatened his city so intimately was like touching a leper. "Happy?"

"Yep." Joker tried leaning up against him and he stepped to the side. Detonator or not, there was no way that would happen. The Joker regained his balance, frowned. "You know, I get the feeling you're not happy to see me."

"You don't say."

"Aw, c'mon, Batsy. Don't be like that. I mean, I didn't kill anybody this time, doesn't that make you happy?"

He paused. That couldn't be true. "If you didn't kill anyone, then what happened to all the employees?"

"Locked in the supply closets." He noted Batman's dubious look and pouted more than ever. "Look, this is me we're talking about, Bats. Do you honestly think I'd bother to hide bodies if I went on a rampage? You should be grateful here, really. I mean, I wanted to kill 'em. I had—well, not plans, ideas I guess—for the corpses. I was gonna pose them all with the bomb boxes like they were exchanging gifts. Cool, huh?"

"You're disgusting."

"Yeah, yeah, I can see you're less than thrilled. The point is, I didn't, because I knew you wouldn't like it. Doesn't that make you happy? Doesn't that make me a little bit trustworthy?"

"If I thought for even a second that you did it out of a sense of right and wrong, it might." He came to a halt in front of the Joker's cell. The door was locked, of course. Fantastic. Now he'd have to lock pick with a homicidal clown standing nearby, holding a detonator. Things just got better and better, didn't they?

"Aw. It proves you're a good influence, doesn't it? Here." He reached into his vest, pulled out a pass key. "And now I'll be safely locked up. I like this cell, I can see the Batsignal out the window, kinda sorta. The light it casts, anyway, the window's too high to really see it. You got what you wanted and nobody got hurt. That's a good day, you know. You should appreciate it."

He opened the door, pushed the Joker inside. "Give me the detonator."

Joker giggled. "Wanna know something funny?"

"No." He reminded himself that, tempting as it was, it was not all right to beat an unarmed man into unconsciousness, particularly one in the cell of an asylum. "I want the detonator."

"You'll like this, though." He stepped back, holding it behind his back. "You'll think it's funny."

"I don't have time for games. Hand that over, now."

"Fine." He held his hand out, the detonator gone the instant it was in Batman's reach. "The bombs don't work, by the way."

Batman stopped, halfway through the act of slamming the door. "What?"

"The bombs. They're not hooked up to anything. And the detonators aren't wired to blow anything either. Nothing at all." Joker smirked, glancing over the door of his cell, where the light from the window on the other side, from the Batsignal, shone on the wall. "Funny, huh?"

Batman slammed the door in his face and walked away, not looking back.

AN: "Yeah, yeah, I can see you're less than thrilled" is from the Batman The Animated Series episode "Mad Love," where it was spoken by Harley, after she's explained her death trap to Batman. Harley's "Yes sir" comes from 'Harlequinade,' after Batman yells at her for pressing random buttons in the Batmobile.

'It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood' is the opening song from Mr. Roger's Neighborhood, which Mr. Rogers would sing while taking off his shoes after coming in.