You know, learning how tall Heath Ledger and Christian Bale are really shouldn't make me so giddy. (Heath = 6'1'', Christian = 6'0''). It's just that I don't have to skirt around Batman and Joker looking each other in the eye now, as that's how I had envisioned them.

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

Chapter Seventeen: Bruce


The crisp November air on my face is a welcome sensation, but it's clearly tempered by the smell of gas and trash. Cars go roaring by, people chatter loudly—and on occasion the scream of someone being mugged can be heard above the noise. Winter is coming, and now people will be even more hectic than usual, a little more desperate. Crime may very well reach new heights.

This is Gotham. This is my home.

I make myself look as inconspicuous as possible. It's easy, and a welcome relief. Most of the time, I'm either a boisterous billionaire or a masked vigilante, leaping from the shadows to unleash justice. I need time to be invisible.

Someone taps my shoulder, and I turn around to see Joker standing there, one hand in his pocket, smiling a smile that would be considered normal if not for the scars distorting it.

"The waiter showed me a room where we can talk. The joint's gonna be closed soon enough. They're 'sick'. H1N1 makes for a good cover." His eyes flicker with amusement.

"I'll be right with you," I say, stepping back inside the "joint" to make sure our waiter is all right.

Surprisingly, the waiter is safe, though more than a little frazzled. I wave casually at him as Joker walks back inside, still smiling.

"Told you," he says smugly. He clicks his tongue and points one long finger at the waiter before going up the stairs I didn't know were there.

The waiter's ears are still red.

I follow behind Joker, watching as he takes the steps two at a time.

--

The room we've been directed to is simple, but elegant.

Joker all but leaps into one of the chairs by the window, gesturing with his hand for me to do sit opposite him. I pick out the chair that's neither close nor far away. My body sinks into the plush velvet cushion.

"See? All it took was that simple gesture, and you did just what I wanted." Joker grinned. "Want to know why it worked?"

"I already know how," I reply coldly, resting my hands on my lap. "It's an expected response, from anyone at all. Someone asks you to sit, you sit."

Joker shrugs and props his feet up on the table with loud clunk, clunk sounds. "Good point. But that doesn't apply to everyone, and you know it."

I run my hands through my hair. "Yes, I know. But the Mob is a well-established, 'elite' group of gentlemen with criminal connections. They'll follow polite convention. Even your 'simple gestures'."

"Ah-tatatatata," Joker says, cocking his head to one side. "Don't be so shuuuuuure!"

The sing-song tone belies an undercurrent of genuine knowledge. I feel as though I'm a student again, learning all that I can about a different class of criminal. These are roles we haven't played before.

"Now, the Mob…" Joker makes a gesture with his hands that implies something far more devious than wriggling fingers. "They're schemers, just like you. They sit with their pile of green paper and plan how to get more. They didn't get to where they are without some sort of…leverage. They either killed someone, charmed them, or slept their way to the top. The latter's a bit of a rarity, though, as they consider their, ah, goods to be far more valuable than another rung on the ladder."

"Go on," I say, even though I know most of this already.

"So. When you meet with them, they'll be cordial on the outside, but on the inside…they'll be thinking of ways to, ah, bump you off. See, to them, you're just Pretty-boy Billionaire Bruce Wayne, not the Batman. In their minds, you're about as intimidating as a toothless Chou."

"So what do you propose I do?" I ask, wishing I didn't have to rely on him for the answers (and I probably don't).

Joker giggles and leans forward, his fingernails digging into the mahogany table. He's going to leave scratches, I can tell.

"Easy." He licks his lips. "You need to have…a presence."

"And how do I acquire this…'presence'?"

"Well…" Joker gets up and ambles over to me, his gaze never leaving mine. "Here's how you start. When you walk in, look 'em in the eyes. All of them. Show them you're…serious about all this. That's the first step."

I feel a shiver crawl up my spine. He's certainly serious about this—it's been awhile since I've seen him this intense.

I have the sudden urge to look away—but his cold hand slides around my chin, holds it.

"Look at me. You're learning something."

We stay like that for too long, just staring, not saying anything. Joker's eyes are like dark, endless pits, and in that gaze there's something indescribable. Whether it's insanity or something else entirely, I have no idea. And I'm not sure I want to know.

"Your turn!" Joker giggles and lets go of me, getting back into his seat. "Show me what you've got."

I walk over to the door, close it, try to get my mind back into gear. Look him in the eyes. Look him in the eyes. Show him I'm serious.

All right.

I open the door and gesture for the Joker to exit, explaining as he responds to my gesture much as I did his that at the meeting the Mob would be filing in, not me. I keep eye contact with him, barely blinking as he follows my command.

I hear a knock at the door—or is it the drumming of fingers?

Joker enters, slightly peevish. He grumbles under his breath—but holds my stare.

"Welcome," I say, feeling my voice grow thick with that familiar feeling of power. "I'm sure we're going to have a fine meeting. Please take a seat." I indicate a chair at the far end of the table.

Joker sits at the distant end of the long table. He's looks tense—his shoulders are hunched forward. But suddenly he relaxes and cups his hands over his mouth, calling "Hellooooo over there!"

I clear my throat, and Joker is silent.

Suddenly he grins and applauds loudly. "Yes! Yes! I like that. You're a fast learner, eh?"

"…Thank you." It feels strange saying that to him.

Joker looks at me thoughtfully. "Y'know, I think if you start off your meeting with the same attitude you just used, it'll be peachy."

I feel a rush from my success—a similar feeling from my first night on patrol as Batman. But it's something I hardly want to feel in response to Joker's comments.

Joker laughs loudly, and I inwardly flinch. "Lost for words? How very…flattering."

"Hardly. We haven't put this to the test yet." I get up and check my watch. It's later than I expected. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go. I'll be out on patrol later, so don't try anything."

Joker rolls his eyes and follows me to the door, saying "'Oh, Joker, thank you for giving me advice!'" He mocks my growling Batman tone while puffing out his chest.

I glare at him.

"'Oh, it was my pleasure, Batsy! Just don't forget to call on me!'" He switches to his normal voice, sliding an arm companionably around my shoulders. "So, Batsy, are we business partners?"

I look up at him, feeling something raw begin to trickle into my veins. "This is a test run. Nothing more."

Joker smiles. "Figured as much. Aaaanyway—"

I can't figure out how to react as a long, cold finger pokes my nose.

"—Later, Batsy! And don't worry about the check—I paid this time."

I try to catch him as he bolts out the door, but it's too late—his laughter is already fading away.