Heylo! Well, it's still the weekend, i have no idea when I'll update next, it might be as early as tomorrow or as late as next weekend. I have absolutely no idea. Anyway, this story is bugging me, I really just want to go back to writing my little stories about the Joker and his comfortable life of crime... Batman was never in my agenda...
The Joker lounged against a wall, cleaning his fingernails with a knife.
Gordon was trying to extricate himself from the sheet that had tangled around his ankles. "This is ridiculous. Your plan to get out of the hospital was to play dress up?"
"Correction, the plan was to get myself out. You were never included. And you said I couldn't kill anyone."
"You can't."
"Your game is boring... want to play one of mine?"
"No."
"You're not being very nice."
Gordon straightened up and kicked the sheet out of his way. He stood, trying to get his bearings. It was a small room, little bigger than a bedroom, gurneys were spread out haphazardly side by side, crammed into corners, some were slightly tilted where they had been pushed forcefully into one another. It was like a scrapyard.
"Where are we?"
The Joker flipped the knife up and caught it by the blade in two fingers. "They sanitize these every four hours or so." He pocketed the knife and watched Gordon. "I was feeling rather proud of this plan. It worked didn't it?"
Gordon refused to look at him. The Joker had taken his makeup off and to see someone so universally hated looking so human put shivers up Gordon's spine. The one thing that had kept Gordon same throughout his time picking up the pieces of Gotham which had been strewn in his wake was to think of the Joker as a monster, not a human. To associate yourself with someone so... off... was crazy, was unthinkable. You did everything you could to see a person who killed and corrupted children not as someone, but as something.
And yet the Joker was flesh and blood, he had brown eyes, light skin, a handsome face.
But this 'man' had blown women to pieces, had tortured men. Had deprived Gordon of sleep for months at a time.
And yet at some point, the Joker had spillable blood, breakable bones. To be so disillusioned tore at Gordon. It was worse than realizing Batman had an identity, because the Commissioner had been proud to have some connection to a hero. But to have such a connection to a villain as well.
It wasn't enjoyable.
It wasn't right.
The joker dropped the lab coat that had concealed his bright purple clothing onto the speckled green floor.
"Someone could have recognized you." How could they not, they could sense it couldn't they, they would have been able to see through that surgical mask to the scars. You couldn't not recognize the Joker. He wasn't like them, you would know... Surely you would know...
"Take away my smile and my own mother wouldn't recognize me." He chuckled and fingered his scars fondly.
Gordon shuddered and turned to a door on the far end of the room. He had hated lying on the gurney, the metal had been so cold. And of course the sensation of being wheeled along by the Joker of all people. It was silent, the thin cloth blurred faces and sound. It was as if he had been dead, not just pretending. The dizzy feeling of being moved without walking.
It had been creepy.
Even without a mass murder being in total control of where he was going.
It was so simple why hadn't he though of it when he had tried to get Bruce out? Just wheel a gurney, don't shoot the damn guy, just push a table.
He was so fucking stupid sometimes.
He pushed at the door which opened with a groan of tired hinges. The Joker sighed and stepped out past Gordon who had frozen in place.
Eight cop cars were parked outside, just below where The Joker and The Commissioner now stood.
"Come on Gordon, no one is looking at you all the time."
The black shoes that The Joker wore were placed directly over an officer who was drinking coffee and, ironically, eating a donut.
"You're holding us up."
Why can't he talk softer?
It was also the sheer drop to the dumpsters that stopped Gordon. He wasn't afraid of heights, of course not. Well, not in a manner of speaking...
Taking a deep shaking breath, Gordon stepped out onto the thin metal grid of a landing. He didn't like this plan.
He gripped the rail tightly, his knuckled going white. It wasn't a bad fall, only fifty feet or so. Looked longer than it actually was.
"I've always wondered about you and bats. You tow must be very close, all those midnight calls..."
Don't look down.
"Don't get me wrong. I think it's sweet. Young love and all that." He giggled.
Head games, just head games, don't look down.
Gordon took one step at a time, half wanting to sprint down the steps and get it over and done with, and half wanting to stay up on the fire-escape for ever.
"So why'd you shoot him?"
Second landing, three more to go.
Gordon took another step, refusing to look at the joker who was applying his makeup as he went down the steps two at a time.
Third landing, two more to go.
"I was a little jealous you know, I mean I thought I knew Bats better than anyone, I thought we shared a dream."
He leaped lightly onto the ledge, swinging off the fire escape. Gordon followed slowly, clutching at the wall with sweaty hands. The cops below us didn't look up as the Joker kept talking, tip-toeing across the wall like an absurd tight rope walker.
He turned around suddenly, his purple coat flapping in the slight wind. "We are so alike you know. I liked Batman. The idea of him is just so... refreshing. But you killed that, you're such a down to earth guy."
Suddenly the Joker was right in front of Gordon, his eyes were no longer a warm brown, but had turned black, hard, unforgiving. The soft lines of an otherwise handsome face had become hard, the bone structure had somehow changed with the makeup. Light blond hair had grown greasy, and suddenly The Joker was a lot more frightening that Gordon had ever imagined.
"Get it?" The Joker whispered, his voice dropping a little lower.
Suddenly he laughed and turned to continue his skipping walk across the wall.
Just a head game, just a head game, don't look down.