Secret Santa 2009 - Fic Prompt 27 - The Devil You Know.
Title: The Devil You Know.
Author: Miranda Fox
Rating: PG-13.
Fandom: TDK/Nolanverse.
Disclaimer: Batman and his world are copyright of DC Comics, Warner Bros et al.
Prompt: 27. The Joker saves Batman's life, leading Batman to realize just how much the Joker really does need him.
Author’s Note: My thanks to the prompter. I hope you like this!
Bruce flipped his cell phone shut, quelling the impulse to fling the damned thing across the room in sheer frustration. Putting the blame on his perfectly innocent cellular wasn’t going to change anything or make him feel better. What Bruce needed was a distraction to take the edge off his anxiety, but he just couldn’t concentrate long enough to think of anything constructive to do. So he resigned himself to just waiting and...
And what? Did he honestly want the Joker to recover, knowing perfectly well what hell the clown would unleash upon the streets of Gotham when he was healed enough to escape Arkham yet again? Wouldn’t he and the city in general be much better off if he didn’t survive?
It was the way Bruce knew he should, according to all reason and logic, feel. But he didn’t.
Because he saved my life tonight.
The Joker had killed Rachel, turned Harvey into a madman and inspired all manner of wannabe freaks to rise up and flood the streets, no doubt all part of the plan, as the Joker was fond of saying. Yet Bruce also couldn’t ignore the facts of what had occurred less than two days ago: the Joker had risked his own life to save his. Bruce had heard very clearly the clown’s fury when he rushed at Black Mask’s thugs, not the least bit concerned of the danger he was putting himself in.
Bruce wanted him to live because he needed to know the answer to one very simply question: why?
His fingers ghosted over the bandaged wound at his left side. It had been so damn close.
-
Batman was a frustrating person to tail. The costume meant he was often difficult, if not impossible, to see in the dark (which was the idea, obviously) and if you took your gaze off of him for even a second you’d lose him, as the Joker had done tonight. However, he wasn’t at all upset about it as he was now shadowing the very same criminals Batman had been following before he’d vanished. If past experience were any sort of a reliable indicator, and it usually was, the Bat would show himself soon enough. Then the fun would begin.
Following Batman around on his nightly patrols had become the Joker’s new hobby. He’d been doing it for about a month; oh he could be a real sneak when he put his mind to it! That he could apparently out-sneak the prince of sneaks added to the already delicious hilarity, and it had been terribly hard not to wave Batman’s failure to ever detect the presence of his most hated adversary in his face whenever they crossed paths.
In the grand scheme of things though, it wasn’t worth it to lose this slice of personal utopia to brag and taunt, no matter how much he would enjoy doing so. The spying was not even close to being in the same league as their more personal encounters - nothing could compare to those - but the Joker had learned so much from his nightly snooping, and the temptation to tell Batman all about these discoveries continually nagged at him.
For example, the Joker now knew for certain what he had suspected all along: Batman didn’t feel for other criminals what he did for him. There was none of the rage nor the suppressed delight when he hurt them, and it never lasted as long either, which leant itself to a rather Freudian interpretation if one were so inclined. The Joker was also willing to bet his substantial knife collection that the look of burning fury in Batman’s eyes wasn’t there either.
All of that passion: it was for him and him alone.
Which was as it should be. They fed off one another, needed their opposite as much as they both needed to breathe. As long as they were clashing, the world had a certain balance to it. If one fell, so would the other, for what purpose would the one left behind have now that his other half was gone from the world?
Lost as he was in these ruminations, the Joker wasn’t looking where he was going and caught his foot on something that he couldn’t quite make out in the dark. It was all he could not to fall on his ass, but the damage was already done. The sound would alert Batman and he’d be well and truly screwed.
Cursing, the Joker ducked behind a dumpster and prayed that by some stroke of dumb luck he hadn’t been spotted.
Dumb luck, it would seem, was with him tonight. Perhaps the noise he had made wasn’t quite as thunderous as it had sounded in his own ears, since a quick glance from his hiding place assured him that the men Batman had been following didn’t seem to have heard him. In any case, his presence had remained undiscovered...
Enraged yelling followed by the sound of gunfire broke out, causing the Joker to jump at the sudden assault of noise. A fight. Excellent! He did so love a good scrap, especially if his Bat was involved.
Carefully, he inched out of his hiding place to see what he could see. The men were looking this way and that, disorientated, as they fruitlessly tried to discern the location of their assailant, who was nothing more than a savage blur in their midst. As always happened when Batman tangled with such dimwits, they resorted to simply shooting at anything that moved. Inevitably, the only thing they hit were their fellow thugs-in-arms, who fell to their knees wounded or, in one case, stone cold dead.
The Joker couldn’t help it. He broke into peals of laughter at this spectacular show of ineptitude and silently applauded Batman’s skill.
Then everything went horrible wrong.
Another gun shot rang out. This one hit the intended target. The Joker watched with increasing horror as Batman staggered, snarling in pain. What was the good of that fancy armour if it provided no protection from bullets? His gut twisted in a way he wasn’t used to at all. If he were to give a name to it, the Joker would say this feeling was ‘worry.’
What should he do? Coming out of hiding would give the game away, ruining his fun. On the other hand, Batman dying would ruin his fun forevermore. Shit.
The thug raised his gun again, and the Joker didn’t have any more time to waste on inner debate.
He lunged for the gunman, letting out a scream that held no real words to it, just pure naked fury. All the Joker knew now was that he could never lose Batman, because then he would be nothing and that thought was utterly terrifying.
-
The Joker eventually recovered. Hardly surprising given what horrors he had apparently already survived in his life, Bruce mused. He had got hold of his Arkham file as soon as he was able to when the Joker was first incarcerated, and the details of the other scars he possessed had made Bruce’s toes curl in revulsion. He was hardly the type who fainted at the sight of blood - hell, he was Batman and he saw blood all the time! He’d also seen more mutilated people - both alive and dead - than he cared to remember, yet still those details had disturbed him greatly. So much so that he had allowed himself to feel measure of pity for the madman.
Exactly three months had passed now since that fateful night. Bruce’s own wound had healed okay, the bullet had gone straight through and missed hitting anything vital, but having a hole punched in you hurt worse than anything and he hadn’t felt at all fortunate at the time.
If that was what it felt like to be shot once, being shot three times must’ve been excruciating. The Joker had handled the pain well though, by all accounts. Predictably, the minute he was conscious all he had seemed to care about was escaping. He hadn’t managed it, but he would eventually...perhaps even soon.
Ah, but that isn’t true, Bruce’s mind corrected, his very first concern wasn’t escaping and you know that.
The thought made him wince. According to what Gordon had told him, the first thing the Joker had asked about was indeed Batman: specifically Batman’s welfare. That had invited some uncomfortable questions from the Commissioner and all Bruce could tell him was the truth: he didn’t know why the Joker was so concerned about the man he was supposed to hate. How could anyone know such a thing? The Joker was a mystery to all but himself.
Gordon had seemed satisfied with that explanation. Bruce had almost believed it too. But this whole episode had led him to understand, although not accept, an undeniable fact. Oh, he’d entertained the idea once or twice whenever he thought about the interrogation room where they had shared their first proper ‘conversation.’ He’d always managed to dismiss the Joker’s words as delusional rubbish, the ramblings of a madman who desperately didn’t want to be alone in the world, who wanted to prove everyone was like him in order to justify his own abhorrent existence.
Bruce had honestly believed those rationalizations at the time. Some of it was accurate: the Joker had been alone and it was Batman who had called him into action and given him a purpose. Before the Joker had come along to royally fuck everything up, hadn’t Bruce himself wanted to give up Batman? Wasn’t it the Joker who had made him face up to the inconvenient truth of the situation he had chosen for himself: that there could never be any end to his war?
He was Order. The Joker was Chaos. If Chaos died, what would Order be left to oppose?
Only his own demons and that would never be enough to sustain him.
EDIT: can a mod remove the Secret Santa 2008 tag? I have the dumb today it seems. :(
Author: Miranda Fox
Rating: PG-13.
Fandom: TDK/Nolanverse.
Disclaimer: Batman and his world are copyright of DC Comics, Warner Bros et al.
Prompt: 27. The Joker saves Batman's life, leading Batman to realize just how much the Joker really does need him.
Author’s Note: My thanks to the prompter. I hope you like this!
Bruce flipped his cell phone shut, quelling the impulse to fling the damned thing across the room in sheer frustration. Putting the blame on his perfectly innocent cellular wasn’t going to change anything or make him feel better. What Bruce needed was a distraction to take the edge off his anxiety, but he just couldn’t concentrate long enough to think of anything constructive to do. So he resigned himself to just waiting and...
And what? Did he honestly want the Joker to recover, knowing perfectly well what hell the clown would unleash upon the streets of Gotham when he was healed enough to escape Arkham yet again? Wouldn’t he and the city in general be much better off if he didn’t survive?
It was the way Bruce knew he should, according to all reason and logic, feel. But he didn’t.
Because he saved my life tonight.
The Joker had killed Rachel, turned Harvey into a madman and inspired all manner of wannabe freaks to rise up and flood the streets, no doubt all part of the plan, as the Joker was fond of saying. Yet Bruce also couldn’t ignore the facts of what had occurred less than two days ago: the Joker had risked his own life to save his. Bruce had heard very clearly the clown’s fury when he rushed at Black Mask’s thugs, not the least bit concerned of the danger he was putting himself in.
Bruce wanted him to live because he needed to know the answer to one very simply question: why?
His fingers ghosted over the bandaged wound at his left side. It had been so damn close.
-
Batman was a frustrating person to tail. The costume meant he was often difficult, if not impossible, to see in the dark (which was the idea, obviously) and if you took your gaze off of him for even a second you’d lose him, as the Joker had done tonight. However, he wasn’t at all upset about it as he was now shadowing the very same criminals Batman had been following before he’d vanished. If past experience were any sort of a reliable indicator, and it usually was, the Bat would show himself soon enough. Then the fun would begin.
Following Batman around on his nightly patrols had become the Joker’s new hobby. He’d been doing it for about a month; oh he could be a real sneak when he put his mind to it! That he could apparently out-sneak the prince of sneaks added to the already delicious hilarity, and it had been terribly hard not to wave Batman’s failure to ever detect the presence of his most hated adversary in his face whenever they crossed paths.
In the grand scheme of things though, it wasn’t worth it to lose this slice of personal utopia to brag and taunt, no matter how much he would enjoy doing so. The spying was not even close to being in the same league as their more personal encounters - nothing could compare to those - but the Joker had learned so much from his nightly snooping, and the temptation to tell Batman all about these discoveries continually nagged at him.
For example, the Joker now knew for certain what he had suspected all along: Batman didn’t feel for other criminals what he did for him. There was none of the rage nor the suppressed delight when he hurt them, and it never lasted as long either, which leant itself to a rather Freudian interpretation if one were so inclined. The Joker was also willing to bet his substantial knife collection that the look of burning fury in Batman’s eyes wasn’t there either.
All of that passion: it was for him and him alone.
Which was as it should be. They fed off one another, needed their opposite as much as they both needed to breathe. As long as they were clashing, the world had a certain balance to it. If one fell, so would the other, for what purpose would the one left behind have now that his other half was gone from the world?
Lost as he was in these ruminations, the Joker wasn’t looking where he was going and caught his foot on something that he couldn’t quite make out in the dark. It was all he could not to fall on his ass, but the damage was already done. The sound would alert Batman and he’d be well and truly screwed.
Cursing, the Joker ducked behind a dumpster and prayed that by some stroke of dumb luck he hadn’t been spotted.
Dumb luck, it would seem, was with him tonight. Perhaps the noise he had made wasn’t quite as thunderous as it had sounded in his own ears, since a quick glance from his hiding place assured him that the men Batman had been following didn’t seem to have heard him. In any case, his presence had remained undiscovered...
Enraged yelling followed by the sound of gunfire broke out, causing the Joker to jump at the sudden assault of noise. A fight. Excellent! He did so love a good scrap, especially if his Bat was involved.
Carefully, he inched out of his hiding place to see what he could see. The men were looking this way and that, disorientated, as they fruitlessly tried to discern the location of their assailant, who was nothing more than a savage blur in their midst. As always happened when Batman tangled with such dimwits, they resorted to simply shooting at anything that moved. Inevitably, the only thing they hit were their fellow thugs-in-arms, who fell to their knees wounded or, in one case, stone cold dead.
The Joker couldn’t help it. He broke into peals of laughter at this spectacular show of ineptitude and silently applauded Batman’s skill.
Then everything went horrible wrong.
Another gun shot rang out. This one hit the intended target. The Joker watched with increasing horror as Batman staggered, snarling in pain. What was the good of that fancy armour if it provided no protection from bullets? His gut twisted in a way he wasn’t used to at all. If he were to give a name to it, the Joker would say this feeling was ‘worry.’
What should he do? Coming out of hiding would give the game away, ruining his fun. On the other hand, Batman dying would ruin his fun forevermore. Shit.
The thug raised his gun again, and the Joker didn’t have any more time to waste on inner debate.
He lunged for the gunman, letting out a scream that held no real words to it, just pure naked fury. All the Joker knew now was that he could never lose Batman, because then he would be nothing and that thought was utterly terrifying.
-
The Joker eventually recovered. Hardly surprising given what horrors he had apparently already survived in his life, Bruce mused. He had got hold of his Arkham file as soon as he was able to when the Joker was first incarcerated, and the details of the other scars he possessed had made Bruce’s toes curl in revulsion. He was hardly the type who fainted at the sight of blood - hell, he was Batman and he saw blood all the time! He’d also seen more mutilated people - both alive and dead - than he cared to remember, yet still those details had disturbed him greatly. So much so that he had allowed himself to feel measure of pity for the madman.
Exactly three months had passed now since that fateful night. Bruce’s own wound had healed okay, the bullet had gone straight through and missed hitting anything vital, but having a hole punched in you hurt worse than anything and he hadn’t felt at all fortunate at the time.
If that was what it felt like to be shot once, being shot three times must’ve been excruciating. The Joker had handled the pain well though, by all accounts. Predictably, the minute he was conscious all he had seemed to care about was escaping. He hadn’t managed it, but he would eventually...perhaps even soon.
Ah, but that isn’t true, Bruce’s mind corrected, his very first concern wasn’t escaping and you know that.
The thought made him wince. According to what Gordon had told him, the first thing the Joker had asked about was indeed Batman: specifically Batman’s welfare. That had invited some uncomfortable questions from the Commissioner and all Bruce could tell him was the truth: he didn’t know why the Joker was so concerned about the man he was supposed to hate. How could anyone know such a thing? The Joker was a mystery to all but himself.
Gordon had seemed satisfied with that explanation. Bruce had almost believed it too. But this whole episode had led him to understand, although not accept, an undeniable fact. Oh, he’d entertained the idea once or twice whenever he thought about the interrogation room where they had shared their first proper ‘conversation.’ He’d always managed to dismiss the Joker’s words as delusional rubbish, the ramblings of a madman who desperately didn’t want to be alone in the world, who wanted to prove everyone was like him in order to justify his own abhorrent existence.
Bruce had honestly believed those rationalizations at the time. Some of it was accurate: the Joker had been alone and it was Batman who had called him into action and given him a purpose. Before the Joker had come along to royally fuck everything up, hadn’t Bruce himself wanted to give up Batman? Wasn’t it the Joker who had made him face up to the inconvenient truth of the situation he had chosen for himself: that there could never be any end to his war?
He was Order. The Joker was Chaos. If Chaos died, what would Order be left to oppose?
Only his own demons and that would never be enough to sustain him.
EDIT: can a mod remove the Secret Santa 2008 tag? I have the dumb today it seems. :(