Disclaimer: I don't own The Dark Knight.

Chapter Nineteen: Bruce


I pause and watch Joker's long, slender fingers absently remove his tie. "Angry. At you, for the most part, but at Harvey too."

"Because we weren't playing by your, ah, precious rules?" The long fingers toy with my cape, then my shoulder armor.

"You could say that." I shrug out of the first plates of Kevlar, getting them out of the way. "It was more because I wasn't sure if you were actually intending to kill Harvey, or if you knew it was really me."

Joker grins and slithers out of his waistcoat. "Y'know, you two almost got me. Thought I was seeing double there for a bit. But then you kinda…exploded in front of me. Subtle."

"You're welcome." I unhinge a few more pieces of Kevlar, shivering as those fingers touch my exposed skin, tracing the scars on my chest and stomach, the shallow new wounds. "You were fixated on Harvey, which meant I had to hold you at bay."

"Mmm…" Joker's scars graze my cheek, the uneven layers of skin making my cringe inwardly. "If it makes you feel any 'better'…I wanted you to catch me."

"I already knew that. What I don't understand is what possessed you to stand in the middle of the road and wait for me to run you over."

Joker doesn't answer at first, too concerned for his shirt. He watches me move it out of harm's way and relaxes.

"It was a test," he hisses as with one hand he steadies himself on the seat. "See, you'd already shown you had no problem…tearing through half of Gotham to get to me. So, the question was: what was your limit? Did you…have any?"

I find myself struggling with a warm, lanky body. Our teeth make sharp clicking noises, hands clutching arms, forcing them down, shoving them away.

Joker wriggles out of my grasp. "You went for me!" His voice rises hysterically, and his red scars blossom into a grin. "No cowardice from you, oh, no, no, no. Just power coming at me, going sixty, seventy, eighty! I'd never seen anything like it."

He visibly calms down, though his eyes are still bright.

"That's when I decided I'd make you my new opponent in the game for Gotham's soul!"

With a flick of my wrists my hands are free, and his laughter scrapes against my ears. I drag my fingers across his chest, watching his smug smile slowly melt.

"All you had to do was…keep going." Joker's eyes bore unblinkingly into me, one hand mimicking my gestures.

"But I didn't do what you wanted, did I?"

"Hmmm…" Joker bites his lip thoughtfully. "Good question."

The Tumbler seems hot, almost muggy as I take sharp breaths, understanding that I've gained the upper hand tonight. The Tumbler is small, and this is a new experience. We could even be caught flagrante delicto—possibly.

"I thought about it," I whisper, as Joker's eyes shut tight. "It would have been easy. Too easy."

I grit my teeth as nails meet flesh, and the memory of that chase flashes hot before my eyes. I can feel cotton brush against the back of my knees—is he still wearing his socks?

"You're…a hunter, aren't you?" Joker asks, and I feel myself tense up. "Just like me. It's no fun unless there's something to gain."

"No…" I look down at him, a knight surveying his squire. "I decided that you were more useful alive—both for Gotham and for myself. My One Rule was—and is—'too precious to be lost for the cheap thrill of revenge'."

"Like I said," Joker's eyes snap open, and he grins. "You don't lie very well."

"I'm…" I put a bit more force behind my words. In my mind, there is a brief flash of Harvey is smiling at me from behind a champagne glass, Rachel at his side.

"Not…"

Joker begins to laugh, his entire body shaking violently. His war paint is beginning to crack at the edges.

"Lying."

"Just…k-keep on telling yourself that…!" Joker cranes his head toward me, eyes half-lidded. "No matter…how hard you try…you get it. You get why…you and I are here…and not…out there."

"This is for momentary gain, nothing more."

"If you say so."

Any chance of retaliation is lost as we move in discordant near-harmony—pain and pleasure.

The leather seats creak in protest. The world spins, goes to white. I wait patiently for it to realign itself, listening to Joker's shallow breathing.

--

I open my eyes to find Joker already dressed, pulling on his gloves. He gives me a self-assured grin as I automatically open up the Tumbler for him, letting the cool night air in.

"Sorry about, ah, making a messof your little toy, here."

Joker slips out, feet hitting the pavement with barely a sound. "But y'know, you did invite me in."

"I don't want my identity to be involved in this. This is Batman's time."

Joker rolls his eyes and leans against the Tumbler, peering in at me. His footing is slightly off-kilter. Looks like someone isn't as unflappable as he'd like to think. Not that I'm any better—my mind feels stuffed with cotton, and my heart is still racing from the rush.

I look over my "battle wounds". The cuts are shallow, easily healed—even the knife wounds. I can't see what my back looks like, obviously—I'll ask Alfred to look.

"No problem. I just like it when you're…excited to see me. An adrenaline rush does wonders to your mood, as you've noticed. Besides, a little sparring helps keep the old bones from a-creakin'."

I mull over his words, trying to think of a suitable answer through the haze.

But when I turn to reply, my words are cut off by the sound of a trashcan being kicked over in the shadows, disturbing the momentary quiet of a Gotham evening.