Joker drove aimlessly, and arrived at last, for some reason, at the Gotham Bridge. He parked his car and headed out to stand on the bridge, gazing down into the water. A light snow had just begun to fall as he looked down at the waves lapping softly against the metal structure. Here on the edges of the city, the traffic was muffled, and the whole scene was one of peace and tranquility.
But the Joker didn't feel peaceful or tranquil. He always had a lot going on in his mind, but most of it was usually happy, taking great delight in the amusing, often violent punchlines of the jokes he played on unsuspecting citizens and Batman. But right now he was filled with emotions which were almost alien to him – anxiety, and most unusual of all, a kind of nagging self-doubt, a hint of dissatisfaction with his life, although he honestly couldn't be sure if that was it exactly. The Joker had never felt such things before, and for all he knew, these completely alien emotions could be almost anything. But they had started after the meeting with Lex, so he was pretty sure something he had said had been the cause of them. The Joker wasn't normally the type to care what anyone thought about him, especially not that laughing stock Luthor. But he also knew that other people's words didn't have any power unless some part of you believes them. Somewhere in whatever passed for his heart, Lex's words had hit home.
Nobody, not even Harley, had as high an opinion of the Joker as the Joker had of himself. He had always known himself to be the best, brightest, and funniest guy who ever drew breath, a criminal and comic genius. And his life had been nothing but one hilarious joke after another, an endless routine of gut-busting (sometimes literally) gags. He had never planned his life, and he had never expected it to be anything else than him fighting his nemesis night after night in a never-ending series of punchlines and punch-ups. And then Harley had come along, but even that hadn't changed things much, at least in Joker's mind. He had still fought Batman, only there was someone else competing for his attention now, someone very persistent and frequently annoying. But he supposed he had gotten used to the annoyance of Harley hanging about his neck, and had even begun to find moments of enjoyment and entertainment out of her companionship. But he had never seen his life or himself as being hugely altered by her.
Until the kids had come along. Joker supposed he was a changed man – he could never have seen himself as a good or loving father before he became one. But that had just seemed natural from the moment he first held them. Maybe that was love or something – the Joker had never really understood that word, and never really thought himself capable of it. Maybe love was getting used to that weight around your neck. Maybe love was even needing it, and letting it bend you into a slightly different shape than the one you were before. But nothing had fundamentally changed about him, just because he had a family he cared for now. He was still the Clown Prince of Crime, the greatest supervillain Gotham City had ever known, and Batman's number one nemesis. Wasn't he?
There was that nagging self-doubt again, and Joker frowned. This must be what normal people went through, questioning themselves and their decisions all the time. Joker wondered why more of them weren't grateful when he killed them.
He climbed out onto the railing of the bridge, enjoying the recklessness of it, the devil-may-care attitude he always carried with him. He could fall at any time, and he loved the danger and uncertainty of that. What was life without a little risk, after all? The Joker didn't worry about things, which was why this anxious feeling was so unusual for him. He knew that life was one big joke, and that people just had to see the funny side of it. Even death and tragedy could be funny from a certain point of view. And life was so chaotic and random that anybody could die at any time, so what was the point of worrying about it? Joker didn't worry about anything.
Except now, as he stared into the water, he did. He worried that if he died, right now, he would leave behind a fading, meaningless legacy. He worried that all his hard work to make his reputation as the funniest master criminal around would be forgotten – that people would remember him as a man who had gone soft in his old age and lost his touch. That sometimes happened to comedians as they got older – their routines became more bland and inoffensive. They got lazy and sold out and focused on other things, and lost their reputations. They lost their ability to be funny and random and spontaneous, which was the key to all good comedy, in Joker's view. And nobody remembered them after they were gone for the comedy greats they were – they remembered them as sad, pathetic old men.
And suddenly Joker realized what he felt along with the anxiety and self-doubt. He felt afraid. Fear had never been something the Joker was even remotely familiar with, unless it was evoking fear in other people, which he was very good at doing. Or at least, he had been. He was afraid of losing that reputation, of losing that identity, of losing his legendary status. The Clown Prince of Crime was afraid of being dethroned. And not dethroned by any rival criminal – many had tried and none had succeeded. No, Joker was afraid of being dethroned voluntarily, of the thought that he would one day abdicate, and destroy his reputation by his own actions. That one day he wouldn't want to be the Clown Prince of Crime anymore, that he might not even want to fight Batman anymore. That he would be content with a home and a family, like any regular guy could be. And that would never be something that could content the Joker.
He remembered vaguely a long time ago, back when he had first started having the first stirrings of feelings for Harley. He remembered being slightly afraid then too, afraid of caring about her and loving her, because he knew love could make people do crazy things. And not the good kinda crazy. He was afraid that if he loved her too much, if he started to need her, then he would lose a part of himself, since the Joker didn't love or need anybody. And now he felt he had lost another part of himself because of the kids. He couldn't even question his love for them. But could the Joker really be the Joker if he loved his children? Could the Joker really be the Joker if he loved anyone?
The wind stirred the cables overhead on the bridge, startling Joker from his thoughts. He looked up, letting the snow settle on his clothes, and then looked back down into the water again. With a small smile, he let go of the railing and plunged down. The water came up to meet him and he shut his eyes, still smiling. And just as expected, before he hit the water, he was caught.
He opened his eyes and beamed. "I knew you'd always be there to catch me!" he exclaimed, hugging Batman tightly. "Told the kiddies that too…"
"What on earth are you doing?" demanded Batman, who had one arm around him and another on the Batclaw, which reeled them back up toward the bridge. "What kinda joke is there in a suicide attempt?"
"I dunno, but it's something a lot of people seem to find funny at this time of year," replied Joker, shrugging. "Anyway, it wasn't a real suicide attempt – I knew you were there, and I knew you'd save me, you big softie, you! You can't stand to see me hurt unless you're the one hurting me."
"I'm sure the feeling's mutual," growled Batman as they climbed back onto the bridge. "Now tell me what the scheme is."
"No scheme, Bats," said Joker, dusting the snow off his jacket, and then reaching to do the same for Batman's cape, before he was batted away. "I was just doing some soul-searching here on the bridge."
"You don't have a soul," snapped Batman.
"Maybe not," agreed Joker. "It's just an expression."
Batman studied him. "You're seriously expecting me to believe that you're just out here minding your own business?"
"Yes," retorted Joker. "You have such a suspicious, paranoid mind, Batsy!" he giggled.
"I know you too well," retorted Batman.
"Probably better than I know myself," agreed Joker. He snapped his fingers. "Say, that's it! Maybe you can help me!"
"Help you?" repeated Batman. "Why would I do that? Short of returning you to Arkham, of course, which I'm going to do before you can cause any trouble over Christmas…"
"Look, just hear me out," said Joker, holding up his hands as Batman approached him with the Batcuffs. "Then I promise I'll come with you quietly. Cross my heart and hope to die."
"I don't trust you," said Batman, bluntly.
"There, y'see? You do know me!" said Joker, beaming. "The fact of the matter is, Batsy, I've just come from a meeting with Lexy…"
"Luthor's in town?" demanded Batman. "Why? What's he up to?"
"I'll tell you," said Joker, smiling. "If you help me out."
Batman slowly lowered the Batcuffs resignedly. "How?" he muttered.
"I just need a teeny-weeney, itsy-bitsy favor," said Joker. "I need you to remind me of the worst things I've ever done."
"That could take a while," retorted Batman. "Why?"
"Let's just say I'm having a change of heart, so to speak," said Joker. "Something, let's call it my conscience, is bothering me, and I need to be confronted with the deeds of my past and reconcile myself with them if I have any hope of moving on in the future."
Batman stared at him. "What are you saying?" he asked at last.
"I'm saying I need to be confronted with the worst of my sins," said Joker. "My most heinous crimes, and who knows those better than you?"
"I don't want to remember those, especially not at Christmas…" began Batman.
"It's the only way to help me," said Joker. "Don't you understand what I'm saying, Bats? I'm a changed man."
"This is your Christmas joke, isn't it?" asked Batman.
"Maybe," said Joker, grinning. "Or maybe it's my New Year's resolution. Can you take the chance that I might be serious for once, Bats?"
Batman nodded slowly. "I guess we'll be going for a drive, then," he muttered.
"We can take your car," said Joker, heading for the Batmobile. "It has those ejector seats if I can't keep my resolution and we end up fighting. Mine only has the one. Harley's been nagging me to put in a second, but I don't think it's worth the money. Anyway, she doesn't mind going back to Arkham…"