Disclaimer: I don't own The Dark Knight, only this plot and the hotels.
Chapter Forty: Bruce
The fire's social residue lingers in my mind as New Year's goes by in a flurry of champagne, glamorous dresses, and resolutions no one in Gotham intends to keep. I watch my back constantly, keeping my eyes open for anything unusual.
Clearly the Mob is biding their time, waiting for the right moment to strike. So far, there have been no attempts on my life—but I'm sure they'll occur sometime soon. And when they do, I'll be ready for them.
But while that problem is slowly manifesting, another more persistent one is to be solved.
I can't locate Joker. After searching all the usual spots, I've come up empty handed. Since it's too late now to try and get some sleep, I change out of the Batsuit and head up to my office.
I have one last detail to take care of before I can rest for the night.
As Alfred reminds me too often, the life of a Wayne is never easy.
I enter my security code, then the retinal scanner, and finally the voice identification to pass through the last door and into my office.
As I walk in the lights come on automatically. Everything appears normal…except for my chair, which is turned toward the window.
Then, like some kind of black-and-white horror movie, the chair slowly turns…
"Well, hiiiiiiiiiiiii there, Batsy," Joker drawls, comfortably seated in my office at Wayne Enterprises in the dead of night, scribbling away on a piece of paper. "Looks like you finally, ah, caught up to me. Bravo."
I storm up to him, my winter coat swishing behind me. "What the hell are you doing here?" I growl.
"Waiting for you. Look, I drew a masterpiece!" Joker holds up several papers, each with doodles on them. "I don't know what it's going to be called yet, but here's the story." Joker clears his throat.
I glare at him. "I don't have time for stories. I've been hunting you down all night. How did you get in here?"
Joker gives me a surprisingly deadpan look. "Do you really need me to answer that?" He shuffles his papers. "Now, shush. There'll betime for that story."
And to think—right now, I could be indulging my new hobby, making candles at home. I have two vanilla-scented candles that are ready to be made at this very moment. I could be waiting patiently for the wax to melt, slowly dipping the wicks into the container, watching the wax accumulate to the desired amount, the vanilla oil stirred in the mixture…
Many people would be surprised to hear Bruce Wayne of all people makes candles for recreation. They shouldn't be. It calms the mind, envelopes you in the strong but soothing fragrances, be they regular wax or herbs…lets you think.
But instead, I'm here.
I slam my hands on the desk, and Joker moves the wheeling chair backwards, mildly alarmed.
"The hotel is nothing but burned rubble—"
"—Which was your idea, smarty-Bat!" Joker reminds me, grinning.
I continue "—And now we have only two…places: your hideout or my house."
Joker's eyes widen. "Why, Batsy—I never thought you cared!" He claps delightedly, accidentally crunching the papers as a result. He doesn't seem to notice.
I brush the stubby crayons on my desk aside. "We're going to have to come up with something else."
Joker leans back, a thoughtful look on his face. "…Y'know who could help?"
"Who?" I have a sinking feeling.
Joker grins. "Al."
--
Alfred isn't exactly pleased with me as I hurriedly usher Joker into the penthouse, closing the door behind me sharply.
"Nice to see you again, Al," Joker says cheerily, as he gets comfortable in my favorite sofa yet again. "We've, ah, got a bit of an issue here, and…"
Alfred pinches the bridge of his nose and looks at me irritably. "Master Bruce, is this really necessary?"
"If we don't want him to blow up half of Gotham, unfortunately, yes." I sit down beside Alfred. "We're…stuck…in a 'your place or mine' situation."
"Normally, sir, I would say 'I told you so', but—"
"See, Batsy? Al told you so." Joker wags a condescending finger in my direction. "Now look what you've done. Bad Batsy, no biscuit."
I sigh and rub my temples. "I don't have the patience to deal with your taunts right now."
Joker laughs. "And yet, you're more than happy to deal with this…problem."
Alfred clears his throat. "If I may suggest, sir, isn't it simply a matter of taking a room for the evening? In one of the finer hotels? Discreetly, of course."
Joker nods in approval. "Why didn't we think of that…?" He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Sooooo…how about the Chauve-Soiris downtown?"
Of course that would be the first one he'd choose.
"Too obvious."
"The Marigold?"
"The Mob owns it."
"How about…The Gotham?"
"That place isn't designed for subtlety."
Joker rolls his eyes. "You're not exactly…known for that virtue either, y'know. Fine. That little place by the bay?"
"…If you're talking about the Prewitt Building, not completed yet. That's under constant watch anyway."
Joker's eyebrows wiggle in an all-too-familiar way. "We could either fix that or…take advantage of it."
Typical. I sigh and try to find the (nearly dry) well of patience within me. "Actually, Joker…your house was very comfortable."
Why does admitting that make my skin crawl?
There's a moment of silence. Joker stares at me unblinkingly.
Joker grins. "Then my place it is!" He glances over at Alfred. "I'll, ah, have him back by morning. Promise."
Alfred raises his eyebrows, and glances at his watch. "Since you're here…and there are so few hours remaining before dawn…And I'm sure Master Bruce has no further patience for chasing you about Gotham…"
I nod, already feeling a headache come on at the very idea.
Joker pouts. "But it's fun!"
Alfred gives him a look I know very well—he's about to give advice. "Would you prefer 'Batsy' dead on his feet or awake and kicking?"
Joker blinks. "…Oh."
Alfred nods. "Precisely."
I try to get the conversation back to business, hoping to get rid of this headache by getting off the subject.
"Joker, have you encountered the Mob lately?"
Joker giggles. "Oh, yes. They tried to, ah, bribe me into getting rid of you, but…"
"But?"
A chilling giggle escapes Joker's lips. "Buuuuut…we had to, ah, cut the deal short."
Alfred adjusts his glasses, but I can see the grim amusement in his eyes before it fades away. "I'm glad to see your loyalty is unwavering, Mr. J."
"They ratted me out before. I'm not stupid." Joker snorts and reaches over to clap me on the shoulder. "Besiiiiides, who'd wanna rat out a fellow freak?"
"I'm touched." I roll my eyes and move away slightly, letting Joker's hand slide off my shoulder.
Alfred looks at me thoughtfully for a moment before speaking. "What was it the…now ex-messengers tried to bribe you with, Mr. J?"
Joker shrugs. "Money, fast cars, escort services, a place in, ah, polite society. Stupid things—stuff I can get easily." He laughs. "Well, okay, maybe not the last one…not that I care about that. As far as I'm concerned, society is…more a dirge…than a ditty."
I force my lips to stay in their usual, neutral frown, but it's surprisingly difficult. Unfortunately, Joker picks up on it.
"Too late—I saw that." Joker moves a little closer, pushing my lips up into a smile. "You wanna do this, but instead"—he lets go, and I return to frowning—"you do this. That's just stubborn."
"And your constant attempts to make me smile are equally stubborn."
"At least I'm trying to, ah, make a change. You'll…get wrinkles if you frown this much." Joker folds his arms over his chest, head cocked to one side. "And you don't want wrinkles at thirty-three or so, do ya?"
"I'll live." I stand up and head toward the kitchen. "I'm going to go get something to drink."
"Milk!" Joker calls. "In a wine glass."
"I'll be back in a minute." I turn to look at Alfred. "Could you…?"
"Of course, Master Bruce."
