Day Five: Lipstick and Bruises

It was getting harder for him.

Bruce could tell. He was more on edge than ever before. He'd made a mistake, giving him the knife. After all, on their anniversary, they hadn't just been celebrating a year together- it had also been a year since the Joker had killed anyone. At first his difficulties had been more obvious. He'd been helping Bruce with his 'night job' and every so often he'd see him stop a crook, or a goon, or someone- and he'd keep his hands around his throat for a moment longer than he needed to, or cut deeper than necessary. Then he got better at hiding his struggle, and eventually he told Bruce he wouldn't be helping Batman anymore.

"It just isn't right for me," was his explanation, but that night Bruce found him in the Cave, staring forlornly at the Batmobile.

And in the week after their anniversary, Bruce saw him doing little things. Nicking himself with his razor. Dropping things. He took a sudden interest in lighting candles, and every time he did so, he managed to burn his fingers. Whether he was hurting himself on purpose or by accident, he had no idea.

The next week, an abandoned warehouse exploded. The bomber was never identified, and there was no way it could've been the Joker- he'd been with Bruce that day- but when it came on the news, he had something in his eyes that looked guilty, and hungry, and all too familiar. He found plans for a warehouse exactly like the one that had exploded in his desk.

I'm trying too hard. It's like I want it to be him. He's probably fine.

Later that week, a condemned building was set on fire. Some of Gotham's homeless population had been living there illegally- five of them died, and seven were badly injured. The Joker watched the news, looking guiltier and hungrier, twirling his knife between his hands. He didn't notice when it slipped, and Bruce had to grab his hand and stop the blood flow.

"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine."

The week after that, a sparse apartment building went sky-high. He couldn't find the Joker anywhere.

"Sir," Alfred started as Bruce ate dinner alone. "Has it occurred to you that the Joker-"

"It has," Bruce said. He stood and went to get a bottle of wine from the cabinet.

"Master Bruce-"

He poured himself a tall glass of wine. He didn't normally drink, but right now, he wanted something harder than water.

"It can't be him, Alfred." He downed the entire glass. "It can't be."

The next week, it was a hospital.

"Joker." Bruce's voice came out more ragged than he'd intended. The clown was sitting on the edge of Wayne Tower's roof, his legs hanging out over the sky, watching yet another explosion. He was wearing the purple suit.

"Brucey-bat."

He crossed over to stand behind him. "I'd hoped it wouldn't be you." He glanced down to see that he wasn't wearing the gloves that matched his suit- his hands were bare, except for the ring around his finger. The ring Bruce had given him. He was toying with a joker card.

"I thought about leaving one at the buildings," he said. "I really, really wanted to. But I didn't want you to know it was me."
Bruce removed his cape and put it around the Joker's shoulders. He pulled up his knees, tugging the cape around him.

"I didn't want you to know I was going back down that road."
"You're not. We're going to get you help."
"No." The Joker said sharply. "I'm not going to Arkham."

"Okay." Bruce sat down next to him.

"I'm not that guilty."

"At least you feel sorry."

"But I don't. I don't feel sorry at all. Not about the buildings. I'm sorry for letting you down."

"I should have been more supportive."

"You were perfect. I'm the one who screwed it all up." He sighed. "I suppose you will have to take me back to Arkham."

"Joker-"

"I tried so hard." His voice wobbled. "I did everything I could think of, to try and keep from killing people. I took karate. I trained in your Cave. I picked as many fights as I could."

"With who?"
The Joker snorted. "My friends. By the way, Harvey's hanging around Second Street. You're welcome." He sighed again, and hid his head between his legs. "But- none of that worked."

"If you'd just talked to me-"
"I even tried hurting myself." He raised his head again, and Bruce saw that he was crying. "Just so I wouldn't kill anyone."

Bruce grabbed his arm immediately and rolled up the sleeve. The Joker's arm was bruised and bloody.

"I'm sorry."

He turned and punched the Joker in the face. He fell, and Bruce grabbed him by the shoulders so he wouldn't lose his balance.

"Don't fall." His voice shook, and he pulled the Joker closer to him. He buried his face in his shoulder.

"If you'd just talked to me-"

The Joker looked up, his face bleak and desperate. A small part of Bruce cracked in half.

He closed the gap between them. When he finally pulled away, lipstick was smudged over the Joker's face. A bruise was forming on his cheek where he'd hit him. A tiny, odd part of him was almost proud- at least the Joker had one mark that he hadn't caused himself.

"I have to take you back."

The Joker nodded, and pulled the ring off. "This is yours."

"I gave it to you."
"And I'm asking you to hold onto it for me. You can keep it in your belt."

Bruce took the ring and tucked it into an empty compartment in his belt. "Let's go."

The Joker stood clumsily, and grabbed ahold of Bruce. He fired a grappling hook into the sky and swung away, the Joker clinging to him. They were going where they'd gone so many times before. Only this time, everything was different.