Disclaimer: I don't own The Dark Knight, or the store Slash N' Burn. (They have a site online, for the inquisitive).I own only this plot.

Chapter Forty-Seven: Bruce

I stare at the jumbled pile of clothes that now sits on my bed.

Nothing could prepare me for this trial by fire. I've never really been a clothes person (though my playboy persona did adore Armani suits), but now it seems I need to be.

The meds may be dulling my senses, but my mind is still trying to sort itself out. I'm tired, confused, hit by memories of Alfred at every turn. I can see his strong, loyal face behind my eyes every time I blink. My heart hurts every time it beats.

I take a deep breath. Exhale.

"So…these things are my 'wardrobe'?"

Joker looks strangely pleased. "I wasn't, ah, real sure of what you wanted, so I…guessed a little."

I pick up one of the items—a blue dandy shirt—and eye it warily. "…Where did you find these things, exactly?"

"Some of 'em I made, some I found when, ah, out and about. Take what you like—I can always get more. You can even put the ones you like in a 'keep' pile, if you want to be…anal about it."

"I see. You went through a lot of trouble, it seems." I begin picking through the clothes, blinking in surprise at what appears to be a knotted mass of suspenders.

Joker shrugs. "Not really. It's always a good idea to dress for success, in my, ah, career. Works wonders."

I stumble across an interesting find. A dark blue button-down shirt, and a bat-shaped buckle along the side of the shirt. Simple, but oddly elegant. It would be perfect for the summer ahead.

"What a coincidence," I remark dryly, holding up the shirt for Joker to see.

Joker giggles. "Isn't it great? The stuff one finds at bargain bins these days…that buckle number is from a little place called Slash N' Burn, if you're…curious."

I put the shirt aside and continue searching. Some things I instantly cast aside—Hawaiian shirts, tight jeans, a jock strap (why Joker thought I would need that I have no idea). It seems as though Joker dipped his toe into several subcultures to get all these styles—the Ivy League look, classic Western, punk, prep, grunge…the list goes on.

I decide to let my instincts guide me on this. It may seem like a strange idea, but since I'm still reflexively having "Bruce Wayne's" choices guide me, I need to give the growing "Batsy" a test run.

The results are…unexpected.

It seems that while black is still a favorite color of mine, blue is now somehow important. I now have blue motorcycle glasses, black or blue trousers and leather pants, a red and black button-down shirt, a blue vinyl shirt with no sleeves, and a simple black leather jacket. The "bat-shirt" is also in the pile.

"That's odd," I mutter, folding the clothes in a neat pile. "I've barely looked twice at these sort of things before…"

Joker chuckles. "That's why they'll be a great disguise! Who'd recognize, ah, the dreamy playboy Bruce Wayne in those?"

"Probably quite a few people, regardless." I run my hands through my hair. "One of the pitfalls of being a gossip magnet."

Joker rubs his chin with his thumb thoughtfully. "You've got a point there. Well…" He picks up the rest of the clothes and dumps them in the nearby laundry basket. "The boys'll take care of these things."

"How are they taking my being here?"

Joker shrugs. "About as well as you'd expect. I think they think you're a new member of our…little team."

I roll my eyes. "Is there some kind of fraternity ritual I have to perform?"

Joker laughs. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that." He stretches his arms over his head, making his skirt rise up slightly. "Noooo…we've already performed enough in that regard."

"No comment."

Joker grins and settles himself back in his purple chair, chuckling softly at the squeaking noise of protest it makes.

"Nice comeback. Real, ah, quick on the draw today, aren't you?"

I yawn. "I suppose so."

Joker reaches behind him and picks up a pickle jar filled with…bullets?

"See? Souvenirs!" He shakes the jar slightly, making the bullets rattle against the glass.

I stare at the jar, feeling almost numb. "Did they take all of those out?"

"Actually…nope." Joker shakes the jar again, grinning slyly. "I did more than just, ah, watch you bleed, y'know. I managed to take out the more…shallow ones, like the ones in your shoulder and arm. All the rest were the doctor's business."

"But how—"

"And here I thought you, ah, knew me by now. I always keep a First-Aid kit in all my cars, in case of…emergencies. Well, maybe it's more than a, ah, First-Aid kit. I can do a bit of…surgery."

The fact that Joker removed bullets from me is a fact I need to mull over for awhile. It seems a bit too good…

He picks up the crutches and props them up by the bed, brushing imaginary lint off his white linen skirt.

"Not yet, Joker," I say, leaning back and closing my eyes. "I'm tired."

"Not even one last try?" Joker's voice takes on a familiar tone: "Not even one last punch? Not even one last knot? Not even one last wrestle? Not even one last round?"

"Don't try that tone with me, Joker. I'm tired. Why don't you go play nurse somewhere else?"

I open my eyes and find myself facing an odd expression on Joker's face. It's a pout that I've seen a few times before—the crinkled eyebrows, the wide, glittering eyes, the bitten lip that curls downward ever-so-slightly. It's a pout that always throws me off guard.

But not today.

"I mean it, Joker. Just put the meds on the table, next to the water. And keep the bedpan close by. That's all."

The pout vanishes, replaced by an eerie smile. "Well. Can't argue with my…patient, can I? Nononooo."

Joker walks briskly over to his closet, rifling through his clothes with surprising force. "And since the patient wants his nursie to leave, nursie must go play with others. Never mind how nice nursie is being, oh no. Never mind how nursie isn't being mean at all—not a needle in sight! No, the patient is always right."

Joker stomps toward the door, pulling on a black coat. He roughly tugs a pair of black gloves on his slender hands, adjusts the lapels.

I don't want to say anything. I don't know if I should say anything.

Joker curtsies mockingly, pulling a knife out of his pocket. "Don't get up, I can…show myself out."

He slams the door shut behind him.