This week has not been the greatest. I sympathize with Batman quite a bit in this chapter—and the later ones to come. But hey, at least here he gets something romantic…sort-of.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Dark Knight, but I do own this plot.

Chapter Ten: Bruce

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Today has not been a good day.

Unsurprisingly, Joker's antics aren't helping things. Then again, I doubt he's the sentimental "milk-and-cookies" type. I'm not, either, so in that regard we're even.

"Hold still," I growl as I snap the handcuffs onto yet another Joker minion.

"The Boss s-said—to come straight home once we see you—he'll be mad—"

"He's not your father," I tell him simply, watching his de-masked face contort into a blubbering mess. "Now, why did he tell you that?"

The goon sobs out a curse and I have to restrain myself from pushing for information. He's a man beset by hallucinations—he won't be able to tell me anything useful.

I decide to leave him to the authorities.

That's the tenth one tonight. Strangely enough, all of the "crimes" the clowns have committed are relatively minor—burglary, graffiti, and disturbing the peace. No murders, no arson, no threats on anyone's life. Truly minor infractions.

Something's not right.

Gordon contacts me. "There's no sign of any other clowns around. We found a few of your handcuffs lying around, too. The clowns just…vanished."

I turn around to check if my latest catch is still there. He isn't.

Damn it.

I close my eyes. "Let them be," I growl. "I'll deal with them some other time."

There is a crackling pause. Then: "All right. Nice doing business with you."

"Thanks."

With that, I head to the hotel. Joker has some explaining to do.

--

I settle into the shadows just as Joker all-but-prances into the room, holding a rather large jar of oil in his hand.

He is wearing (surprisingly) simple clothes for once—a white-collared shirt and simple black pants. I wonder what the occasion is. Normally he wears his purple suit, but this time it seems he wants something a little different.

At least he isn't wearing a dress again. Once was enough…

I see that he has a clean white towel draped over a nearby couch, and a pillow near the armrest. A single dusty lamp is lighting up the room, casting everything in a dim glow. And Joker is smiling a smile that reminds me of every "nanny" movie I've ever been dragged to by my marriage-crazed dates.

"I'm guessing you, ah, had a bad day?"

"Yes. And it's your fault."

Joker gives me a grief-stricken look that does nothing to hide his amusement. "How could I do that?"

"Well—"

"Wait, wait, wait." Joker gestures toward the couch. "First, take off that gear. Can't have you collapsing on me."

I sigh and take off the Batsuit piece by piece as per usual, noting that Joker doesn't look quite as hungry as he usually does. He's more thoughtful somehow.

"Great, great. Now. Sit down." Joker gestures toward the couch again, and his eyes flicker slightly with impatience. "No, better yet, lie down on your stomach."

I do as he says, wondering what he has up his sleeve. "What's this all about?"

Joker bares his teeth in a way that is clearly meant to be reassuring. "Relaaax."

"Coming from you, that's never a good sign." I sigh and try to relax, knowing that he knows any wrong move will result in a "game" that he won't like.

"Thanks. Now, you were saying?" Joker moves out of my line of vision, and I force myself to lie still.

"Well, at first everything was more business-oriented," I explain, closing my eyes. "I found out that the Mob had scared two of my business partners into closing a deal. I dealt with that problem through negotiations on both sides—and that took most of my day."

I stop as something warm slowly trickles across my shoulders, then down my back. Long, deadly-soft fingers rub and slap the warm something-or-other across my skin. That jar suddenly makes a lot more sense.

"Go on."

"I had to be oblivious to a mugging on my way home—didn't fit my image as 'Playboy Billionaire'. I called the police department, at least, but the mugger escaped just as I called. I would have gone looking for him, but…"

I crane my neck to scowl at Joker. It's rather difficult to scowl when warmth seems to be seeping into your very pores, but I do my best. Joker's hands are the hands of an artist and a killer, and he knows when to use their various abilities to his advantage.

"…But I'm guessing I, ah, kinda ruined that plan?" He actually sounds sheepish for once.

"What inspired you to send out your men for no reason at all?" I ask bitterly, unable to hold back a sigh as my muscles slowly loosen up.

"I'm not sure."

I snort. "Liar."

Joker giggles and makes a "tsk-tsk" noise. "C'mon, Batsy, don't abuse the masseur. You should know that."

Joker's hands continue their ministrations, and I feel my bad mood slide away—for the most part. I'm being massaged by my nemesis, after all, and there's something more than a little off about that. Normally I'm the one who tries to be gentle, not the other way around.

"Okay, flip over, Batsy. There we go." Joker grunts and assists in turning me over—I can't seem to find the energy to do so myself. His hands smell like fresh grapes.

"Why are you doing this, then?" I ask, groaning softly at the familiar-but-different touch.

"I was supposed to take care of you after last time, remember? That was part of our deal. We both need to be…well, at our best for this whole thing to work. After you ran off—"

"I didn't run." I scowl, irritated at Joker's choice of words.

"Suuuuure you didn't. Anyway, when you ran or flew or bunjee-jumped away, I remembered our deal and, ah, got a little worried. So I made this."

I can't help but be surprised. "You were worried?"

"Well, you are a better class of order. I'm a better class of criminal. See?"

I close my eyes as he moves his attention toward my feet. I have a feeling there's something wrong with this scene, but at the same time, it's been a rough day and—

"So…did you get a good look at this mugger guy?"

I open my eyes and stare at Joker, who is putting on his best "Don't-look-at-me" expression. His hands are splayed out on my stomach, rubbing gently. His eyes are half-lidded, cunning. I wonder if he's been standing in the same position this whole time.

"Why do you want to know?"

Joker grins. "Just a businessman's curiosity. I might know the guy, see. Or girl."

"It was a man. He had a tattoo on his left cheek. I can't remember what it was exactly."

"Gotcha. By the way, feel any better?"

"Much. I'm guessing you want payback for your service?" I slowly sit up, sighing with relief at how easily I can move my body now.

"Oh, no, no. You've had a rough day, Batsy, and I…respect that."

Joker yawns and ambles over to the bathroom, leaving me alone with my suspicions.