Author's Notes: Don't have much going on; just as a fair warning this chapter will have some sexual content. So if you are not into male on male slashiness don't read. Well then again I guess you wouldn't be reading this story if you hated male on male pairings. Just to note I've only written a handful of slash and sex scenes, still fairly new and practicing so be gentle. Anyway, enjoy the chapter the next one is gonna be the finale.

Bruce opened his eyes and saw from the clock on his nightstand that it was now nine. Everything around him was dark except the skin of the pale white man who was clinging loosely on to him. Jack seemed so peaceful sleeping naturally for once. A part of Bruce wanted to stay and continue resting with the Clown Prince. But deep down, he knew that with the fall of night that Gotham would need its Dark Knight. He cautiously pried himself out of slack embrace and eased himself off the bed as to not wake the sleeping clown. The moment he got off and stood firmly on the carpeted floor, Jack stirred. Bruce held his breath hoping he wouldn't wake up. When the jester shifted a bit only to maintain deep sleep the detective felt he could breathe easy. Bruce took a moment to look down on Jack, a moment to take in the beauty of the situation that lay before his vigilant blue gaze. The storm from before had cleared away allowing a dim moonlight to shine through the window and hit Jack. The light enveloped him, highlighting and amplifying the paleness of his skin. How he wanted to return to bed, but he was needed elsewhere. He silently retreated in to the darkness, leaving the respite of light that consumed the sleeping prince.

Thunder crashed into Jack's ears, pulling him from the comfort of his sleep. He awoke violently as he sat up in the bed, his heart beating mercilessly in his chest. When the sound faded into the distance he began taking deep breaths to settle his nerves. The first thing that caught his attention once he had settled down was that he was alone. His eyes looked to where his bat had lain beside him; the corners of his mouth tugged a bit as he feigned a smile. "Typical, always working," he sighed to himself. The next thing he noticed was the clock on the nightstand indicating that it was now ten in the morning. He stared incredulously at the time and couldn't believe he had slept for so long without being heavily sedated or comatose. The outside couldn't validate the time at all, the sun was absent only perpetual grey consumed the skies. It was probably going to rain again. He hated the rain; it only brought about hurt in him. It was a sort of physical and mental discomfort. Physical because it was like reliving his baptismal in the chemicals that created him. When he emerged from them and he removed that stupid helmet over his head the rain began to pour from the sky. Every inch of his skin was burning but when the rain hit him it was as if every drop were a needle endlessly jabbing his scarring skin. Whenever stormy weather hit this cursed city he felt as if he were reliving that pain though he never showed anyone his pain, not even to himself. He would merely stare out and writhe in silence. The mental drain that this dreary weather brought was through remembrance or lack of would be a better way to describe it. His life began that night, his christening many years ago. But there was a pain that the gloomy weather brought in his mind. Bits of pieces of something before would flood into his consciousness drowning his thoughts, suffocating him. Sounds, voices, images, smells, places, people, they all rushed in his head. None of them connected; none of them made sense; nothing in his life ever did. This mental strain didn't have so much hold on him as much as the physical aspect; the rain hadn't even begun to pour. But something about today made it all seem unbearable; he could feel lethargy and ennui begin to set in, there was nothing he wanted to do. Jack edged himself to the corner of the bed until his feet touched the ground and sat. He stared out the window and to the expansive property that was Wayne Manor. Eventually, his vision blurred to the point where he could see nothing, just endless grey. The wind howled in the distance, it was the only thing that broke the silence on the room. He could feel his skin sting with the all too familiar pain of his birth. The first drops of rain began to fall outside, it sounded like hammers falling and crashing onto concrete in his ears. But still he remained mute as the serenity and calm of everything around him only brought about chaos and pain inside him.

Alfred began to ascend the steps to his master's bedroom. Though his employer was long gone since yesterday night he was informed that the manor's guest was now residing in his mater's bedroom. He honestly didn't know how to refer him, would he call him the Joker, the moniker that the man has proudly proclaimed. Or should he call him Jack, the name he adopted for Bruce. Maybe he should just use pronouns and vague titles such as "sir". He was carrying a tray of toast and water once more, the clown hasn't eaten at all but he probably still couldn't stomach much. But just in case he found his appetite he also brought a side of butter and jam if he so desired. Alfred came up to the door and knocked. "May I step in?" There was no answer, another knock. "Sir?" Silence. The butler cautiously grabbed a firm hold on the knob and turned it slightly. It wasn't locked, in a smooth motion he opened the door and stepped inside. He saw the jester have his back to him as he was just sitting on the edge of the bed looking out the window. "I brought you something."

"I'm not hungry," he finally spoke. His voice seemed strained and tired. There was an eerie quiet in the room. The butler cleared his throat as he came close and laid the tray to the side of him.

"You know if you want to recover you're going to have to try and eat," stated Alfred as he noted that the man wasn't even looking at him. Those unnerving green eyes merely continued staring into space outside. "Master Bruce would appreciate if you would just try and eat a little."

At that comment the pale clown finally averted his toxic green eyes from the window and on to Alfred. This sudden action made the manservant jump a bit. He then looked down at the tray and slowly moved his hands to it. Alfred sighed in relief to himself; it was nice to see what people normally would describe as a deranged lunatic act so civilized and compliantly. He grabbed the small knife for the butter and jam for the toast. Before Alfred was about to suggest he allow him to spread the condiments, the clown dug the blade of the knife deep into his palm and ran it across his hand!

"My word… What are you doing!?" The madman didn't listen, he was about to stab the knife into his wrist before Alfred bravely pried the utensil away from his pale grasp. The clown said nothing he just held out his bleeding hand and allowed the blood flow freely down his palm and drip steadily on the carpet. It was unsettling watching this man react this way, he wasn't smiling, he wasn't sad, those haunting eyes just stared emptily at the wound. Alfred quickly left the room, taking the tray with him so that the jester wouldn't use anything else to harm himself. Upon returning with a medical kit on hand the pale man didn't move at all. He just remained in that same position. The butler hesitantly reached for the injured hand and began to treat it. When he pressed a rag to stop the bleeding the clown didn't move. When he sprayed the disinfectant he remained still. When he began to bandage the pale hand he maintained a rigid form, those lost green eyes staring out the window. It was as if the butler wasn't even there, it was as if nothing was in that dead frightening stare.

"Jack?" Alfred spoke uncertainly. Life began to spark back into those florescent eyes as they directed themselves onto the servant.

"Please, just go," Jack spoke softly. Alfred didn't know how to respond, he was honestly afraid what the unpredictable man would do if he were to deny his request. Reluctantly he made his way out the bedroom, before he left completely he looked back and saw Jack take his place on the bed and stare out as the rain audible pitter patter hit the window glass.

Around the late afternoon Bruce finally returned to the manor. After completing his nightly rounds bringing in low life lesser criminals into the care of the GCPD, morning hit. His attention was immediately dragged to a very important board meeting. There was no time for sleep; he had to push through exhaustion for this meeting. Finally returning to the manor he was immediately informed by Alfred about Jack's odd and frightening behavior. Since the morning Alfred would quietly check in on the disturbed clown only to find him hours on end staring out the bedroom window. He really didn't know how to handle the situation so waited for his Master's return. Hearing all this, Bruce quickly made his way to his bedroom.

As soon as he stepped in he saw Jack in the condition that Alfred had described him in, except he turned and greeted him with a lively smile. "Hello sweetheart. Did you have a nice day at work? I missed you."

"Jack, are you okay?" questioned Bruce as he approached. Jack made some room on the side of the bed and allowed him to sit.

"Sure I am why wouldn't I be?" Bruce noticed the bandages on his hand and the dried blood on the ground.

"Don't lie to me there's something wrong with you," answered Bruce, his voice heavy with concern.

Jack's smile began to grow; it contorted to the Joker's familiar grin. "Oh, darling, there's always something wrong with me." He began chuckling softly to himself; his mirth grew as the seconds passed.

Bruce couldn't handle it anymore, the man before him wasn't the same man from last night. This wasn't Jack this was the Joker. "Enough!"

The clown's laughter was cut short but the bloodied red grin was plastered on his ghostly white face. "What's the matter Batsy? Don't like what you see?"

"No I don't, I thought we were passed this. Please talk to me Jack; I know you're just trying to distract me from asking what's bothering you. It's not going to work, Alfred already told me how you were all day and I want to hear from you why."

"Nosey butler can't mind his own business. You know in my line of work, we beat snitches and put them in ditches. Heh, it's so true it even rhymes," he laughed.

Bruce was not amused; he hated hearing the Joker's twisted sense of humor. It bothered him even more hearing it from Jack. "Jack…"

"Oh knock it off; I don't want to hear any of this Jack business anymore!" he snapped. Thunder crashed in the background, Bruce found the added effect aided the pale man's sudden rage. "I've had enough of it," he continued in a low but menacing whisper.

His blue eyes gazed into those burning and searing pools of green. He was losing him; Bruce was losing the serenity he had found in those beautifully terrifying eyes. No, he couldn't, he refused to give in. He reached for him and embraced the pale figure. He was so rigid and like stone against Bruce. At some point he tried weakly nudging the bat away. But Bruce refused to let go, he was desperately trying to hold onto Jack. He refused to let this man drown in the waters of his own madness. The clash of thunder against the grey sky grew distant; the constant rhythm of rain hitting the earth lessened; only Jack's erratic heartbeat against his chest and his labored breath on the crook of his neck broke through the silence.

Eventually Jack relaxed into the embrace and slowly clasped his arms around his bat's waist. They remained that way for a moment longer. "Sorry."

Bruce was about to break their contact only to have Jack reaffirm his grip, by this action he knew that Jack didn't want to separate. "Jack?" Bruce's voice sounded a bit unsure, he wasn't positive if the clown wanted to be called that anymore.

"I was acting crazier than usual, it must be the weather," he whispered into the billionaire's uncertainty as a response to that name.

At that moment Bruce remembered Jack's words from yesterday. At certain points the jester would say he was in pain, he had implied it was connected to the rain. Bruce had dismissed it before because afterwards Jack seemed completely fine. It was obvious now that he still isn't okay. He wasn't going to make that mistake again he was going to be thorough this time. "Were you hurting all day?"

"Yes."

"Did it start hurting when the rain began?"

"Yes."

"Is that why you hurt yourself, to get your mind off the pain?"

"Yes."

"Are you still in pain?"

"No."

"No?" questioned Bruce. He could still hear rain drops lightly tapping against the bedroom window. Though it lessened he still inferred that Jack would still feel discomfort.

Jack finally loosened his embrace and allowed Bruce to detach himself so he could finally meet his eyes. Those crazed eyes lost all their intensity, a small smile completed the picture of who Bruce knew as Jack. "It doesn't hurt when you're here."

"It doesn't? What – kind of pain do you experience? What does it feel like?"

"I don't know how to really explain it. It's like – well imagine for a moment every part of your skin is set ablaze searing constantly without having any second of respite. Then imagine thousands of needles stabbing your burning flesh deep, endlessly, bearing deeper and deeper into you. But then imagine feeling just so empty and alone that you writhe in your pain in silence. The silence is your only companion, the pain so innate and intimate. You make it all just go away."

Bruce didn't know how to respond to that statement. He began to hold the pale injured hand gripping it tenderly in his hands. "I should change these bandages," he said as he went for the medical bag Alfred left by the foot of the bed. Bruce opened the bag and searched its contents. Once retrieving the bandages he noticed something else in the bag. He pulled out a tube of lubricant and held it incredulously in his hand.

"Sheesh Brucey being a little blunt are we?" he heard Jack joke.

Bruce's face turned red as he put the lube away. "No, it – God! Damn Alfred thinks he must be really funny…" he cursed to himself.

Jack couldn't help but let his laughter spit out of his mouth. He was full blown hysterical as he grabbed onto his sides and fell back over the bed. "I'm sorry – I'm sorry… Hahahaha! I – I – can't help it!" he tried to apologized but his laughter made it impossible to sound sincere.

"It's not funny!" Bruce retorted.

"It kinda… is," he smiled as he took deep breaths to put his mirth to rest. He sat up once he laughed himself off but he was still smiling over the situation. "Gotta hand it to the old man, he knows how to pull off a funny joke."

"Give me your hand," he sighed as he got the bandages ready. Jack conceded and allowed Bruce to redress his wound. As he finished bandaging the injury, Jack began pulling and tugging at the business man's tie with his free hand. "What are you doing?"

"Helping you get more comfortable," he said as he finally undid the tie once retrieving his other hand. When Jack began fingering the buttons to his white shirt Bruce backed off.

"I can do that myself," he snapped. Jack merely blinked a few times and merely brushed off the billionaire's brash outburst.

"My apologies Mr. Wayne," he smiled innocently.

"Aren't you going to turn around?"

"Hey, you've seen me naked loads of time. How come I can't get a peek, it's only fair right?" pouted Jack harmlessly.

Bruce merely sighed; he didn't want to fight with the clown anymore. He acquiesced and tossed his coat to the side. As soon as he exposed his torso after undoing each button of his shirt he turned to get a muscle shirt from his drawer. "Wait," spoke Jack. The knight stopped and allowed the prince to advance toward him. Jack began to trace the muscular frame of his bat with a white hand, lightly treading where scars lay on his body. "I'm responsible for some of these." His hand traveled passed bullet wounds, slash and stab marks from knives; all the scars that depicted their many dances. His hand touched his navel and traveled passed his ribs until he rested it firmly on his broad chest.

The bat brought his own hand to expose Jack's stark shoulder and outlined the prominent scar on it. The clown shuddered at the sudden action and looked up at Bruce. "Sorry I didn't…"

"It's fine I just wasn't expecting you to do that," he reassured with a smile. Having a better look, Bruce remembered that scar. He lost his temper with the Joker one night and threw a batarang at the clown, being careless with his aim. The weapon embedded itself deep into the Joker's shoulder, that moment Batman realized that if he had hit the Joker anywhere vital that he could've really killed him. He lowered his head down and placed a gentle caress on the scar. This action made Jack shiver feeling Bruce's lips against his skin. He let him come up and join their lips for a deep kiss.

Jack wanted this from Bruce all along, to initiate things and assert his confidence. He allowed him this control though normally they would be fighting for dominance. It was a nice change in dynamics, to let himself be enveloped in the raw power that exuded from his bat. He began biting and sucking on the blood red lower lip all while leading the pale man back onto the bed. As the knight laid the prince on his back he tore open the lavender top letting the buttons fall where they may. He marveled at the white yet scarred skin that lay before him. In that moment he began to waver, he wasn't all too sure how to precede their passionate act. Jack noticed the change; he didn't want to take the dominance away from Bruce but thought of a way to let him keep the lead. He sat up until he met the lower half of the detective but he paused before continuing.

"Tell me what you want me to do," he spoke in a low sensual whisper as he met his eyes. Bruce didn't know how to respond; Jack noticed and saw that it was going to take a bit more effort on his part to get the bat to engage. He began press his face against his inner thigh and teasing the zipper down with his teeth. He paused again and looked up to Bruce. The billionaire's face was flushed, there was a hard bulge beginning to scrape the lining of his briefs and pants. "Do you want me to go on?"

"Yes," he breathed out almost inaudibly. Jack smiled as he began undoing the belt and lowering the bottom clothing enough to reveal the bat's growing erection. He held its length in his palm, letting the girth fill his hand. His tongue pressed against the tip, sending shocks of ecstasy throughout Bruce's system. He then took Bruce's penis in his mouth, beginning to bob his head. As he sucked and licked he grabbed a firm hold of the base and skillfully fondled it. Bruce gripped and tangled his fingers through the clown's green locks, trying not to buck his hips into the jester's mouth and stand his ground. Those omniscient glowing eyes would look up at him, catching his flushed cheeks and every pleasure filled expression. The bat moaned and groaned lowly from Jack's sensual ministrations.

"Ja-ck I'm gonna…"

"Just let it go," he cut him short his words short and smothered. With a low groan he released inside Jack's mouth. Jack separated and swallowed the liquids in his mouth, wiping whatever remnants from his lips with the back of his hand. Bruce never was the kind to leave a lover dissatisfied and Jack's actions brought out the bat in him. He leaned over the pale form, laying him down and crashed their lips in a powerful kiss. Their tongues wrestled inside their mouths, Bruce broke their kiss and began biting and sucking at the clown's white neck leaving harsh bruises and hickeys. Jack reveled at the passion that was enveloped in a coat of pain. Bruce grabbed the jester's pale shaft and began stroking it roughly. This sudden action made Jack gasp and moan loudly. The way his Batman caressed and jerked him with his calloused rough hand was sent wave after wave of euphoria. Bruce disengaged himself from Jack for a moment, before the prince was about to asked why he saw his knight retrieve the lubricant.

"I guess I should thank Alfred for his little joke," Jack chuckled softly, again not knowing whether the butler was being thorough or dropping a hint. Bruce ignored the comment and coated his fingers with the lube. He started with a single finger inside Jack's backside. There was an obvious discomfort, but the clown refused to show it. But when the second then third finger went in his composure faltered. Bruce immediately took Jack's mind off the pain by kissing him deeply and stroking him once more.

Once he was done with the preparations, he slicked his penis; Jack took a pale hand and aided the flaccid member back to life. Now hard and rigid he began teasing Jack's entrance with his tip. Teasing turned to pain and pleasure as Bruce inched himself deeper into Jack. As soon as he was all the way in both men took a moment to settle the connection. Harsh, erratic gasps escaped their mouths; Jack was face to face with Bruce. His breath was hot against the crook of his bat's neck. Bruce began to thrust in and out of Jack who was holding tightly to the muscular frame. Jack's nails bore severely into his bat's back. Bruce gripped firmly onto Jack, only lifting his head slightly to roughly kiss the jester's stark white neck and blood red lips. He was pumping hard into Jack; he could feel the clown's erection rubbing against him. A faint red smile surfaced onto the white face, he's never been so close to his Batman, he never in a million years deemed such a lustful and passionate act with this man possible. Jack ejaculated between them and soon afterwards, Bruce with a low growl came deep inside the prince.

They lay on the bed, a hot and sweaty pile of tangled flesh after such display of carnal desire. The rain was quiet, silent, merely a distant act of nature that remained mute now. Striking blue eyes gazed into fluorescent pools of green. The rush and high of the moment began to fade, Jack relaxed his head against his beloved knight's chest and closed his eyes. Bruce leaned in close and settled a light kiss on Jack's forehead. "I love you, Jack," he said in an almost soundless whisper.