My Favourite Game - Chapter 4
Title: My Favourite Game
Author:
elvis_a
Pairing: Batman/Joker
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Rating: G through NC-17
Chapter 4/??
Summary: "There was no such thing as self-control anymore. The Joker laid the trap and Batman came running back every time, helplessly wrapped up in a game of 'catch the clown'."
Chapter 4 - Foolish:
Bruce must have dozed off immediately after putting the Joker to bed. He was startled awake from another unsettling dream when the clock beeped 7:00 AM. The usually dangerous man was passed out on the bed, snoring lightly now. Bruce wondered if he had awoken in the night and seen him sitting here.
Batman stretched out a bit in the chair, and his back ached from the confinement of the suit. He should have climbed into his own bed in the next room over after tearing the suit from his sweat-soaked body. He should have been having dreamless sleep in the comfort of his silk-sheeted bed at the manor. Instead, the Dark Knight felt obligated to keep watch over the sleeping criminal. It wasn't as if Batman had any duty or obligation to his people anymore, now that his services were no longer called upon. He was useless, and this was the closest he'd ever be to feeling what it was like to be the Batman again. This was all he could ever be.
Sunlight peeked through an opening in the curtains draped over the small window of the guest room, and Bruce knew he should sneak out before the Joker woke up. Last night was becoming a blur, each little detail seeming more absurd than the last, until all he was sure of was that Joker came back and was passed out on the bed. More likely he was sleeping, as he breathed deeply and evenly, his chest gently rising and falling with each breath.
Bruce left the Joker to his dreams, and locked the door quietly behind him. He had installed a dead bolt and and padlock to the door yesterday, and knowing that the only little window in the room was too small even for the Joker to climb through satisfied him enough to feel secure this time.
He wasted no time in shedding his Batsuit. Peeling it unceremoniously from his body, he felt the cool morning air sharply on his sweat-dampened skin. This was a feeling that had become increasingly foreign to Bruce, and he found it more uncomfortable every time.
"What's happening to me?" a sigh escaped his lips and Bruce was becoming more aware of just how odd he felt. He was starting to feel like a different person, which shouldn't be easy for a guy with more than one persona. This must be what the Joker feels like all the time, he thought. Uncomfortable in his own skin.
Bruce needed a drink.
"Alfred? Hey, Al. What's going on?"
"Master Bruce?"
"It's me, Al. It's Batman."
"Batman?"
"Shhh! I don't want anyone to know it's me."
"Sir, what's going on? Have you gotten yourself into some sort of trouble? Where are you?"
"No, Al listen to me. I have the Joker."
"Do you need me to send help?"
"No, you're not listening! I have him here."
"Where is here?"
"Here is here."
"Sir, you're not making any sense. What's going on?"
"Shit, Al. I'm drunk."
"I figured as much, Sir. I'm coming to get you. Tell me your location."
"I wanna stay, Al. I wanna stay with the Joker."
"Master Bruce, you need to listen! You need to tell me where you are. I won't take no for an answer. You are still my responsibility!"
"Al, I've gotta go. Don't send for help. We're okay here. Me and Joker."
"Master Bruce!"
"Bye, Al."
*click*
It was only eleven or so, and Bruce was on his fifth round of drinks. He didn't drink much, because he always lost control of himself, but it did help to numb the itching. There was always an itchy feeling when he was alone in his own skin. This was so Bruce Wayne of him, and he knew Batman would be ashamed. Before he could clean up after himself, he passed out on the floor beside the couch in the den.
---
It was early into the evening, and Bruce was already in bed. Following an afternoon spent throwing up 5 rounds of drinks and watching television in the dark, Bruce felt so unfulfilled he could do nothing to put an end to this day of monotony but sleep it off.
Tomorrow things would have to change, he told himself. Tomorrow he would knock the Joker out, escort him back to Arkham Asylum, and return to his mansion where he would live out an unsatisfying life in which Batman would never be needed...Damnit.
There had to be something he could do.
The floorboards outside his bedroom were creaking quietly. Bruce knew right away that the Joker was outside of his room, but he didn't know how. The clown had a gift for picking locks, there was no denying that, but this was impressive even by the Joker's standard.
Bruce slipped into his Batsuit, leaving nothing to chance anymore. He was able to put it on in less than a minute now. There was once a time when it took about five, but it was second nature to him now. He wouldn't waste any time.
He didn't stop to listen at the door, and didn't press his ear against the wood to pick up any sounds from the other side. He opened the door without hesitating. Joker was standing before him casually, like he was expecting this to happen- as if Batman were right on schedule.
"Hi," Joker grinned.
"I would ask how you got out but honestly it doesn't surprise me at this point," Bruce noted with mild frustration. "Come in."
Joker sounded skeptical, "You're inviting me in?"
"Ordering, not inviting. Inside, now," Bruce gestured toward the room with his hand.
There was a moment of hesitation, but Joker entered regardless. The room was turning dark, but not so much that Bruce couldn't see the man standing before him with fresh paint on his face. He must have found the makeup Bruce left for him. Neither of them spoke of it, and Bruce would not bring it up. It was applied a little more neatly than usual, as if put on by careful hands.
"This has to stop," Bruce cringed at the words as they escaped his lips. For once the Joker kept his mouth shut. He just stood there listening, waiting for some sort of explanation. "One of us has to be responsible. One of us has a life to get back to, one that happens to be a little more important than whatever this is. I don't even know what this is," his voice was calm but his tone serious. Joker just stood there blinking, and that annoyed him, "and what's more is that--"
"Hurt me, Batman."
"I'm sorry, what?" Bruce closed the door behind them.
"Hurt me. I've been bad, Batman. Punish me," the Joker's blank expression transformed to one of desperation in a matter of seconds. Bruce searched him for a sign of malice or a look of contempt, but there was none there; it was merely vulnerability twinged with a desperate and genuine longing. Longing for what, he dare not fathom.
"You're sick, Joker. You need help. You don't know what you're s-"
"I said HURT ME!" Joker sprang at Batman, pouncing him like a cat and knocking him backward onto the floor. The pair tumbled over. He didn't use any real force, and the gesture was almost non-threatening. It was a taunt, aimed to get under his skin. The Joker's plan was to irritate.
Bruce stood up, leaning against the door, his tone mimicking one of a parent scolding their misbehaved child, "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to bring you back to your room and pretend this didn't happen. You have three seconds to stand up. One...two...th--"
"Hurt me for Rachael," Joker laughed, rolling around on the floor.
"What did you say?" Batman hovered above the Joker now, looming over him in a threatening stance.
"Hurt me for Harvey Dent, Batman. For all the people I've killed. Avenge your little girlfriend. Or is it Harvey's girlfriend? No, that can't be it. Bruce Wayne's girlfriend, was it? Boy, did she get around. Bwahaha!" he was grinning from ear to ear now, rolling around on the floor like he'd just heard the best joke in the world.
Bruce Wayne. Joker knows about Bruce and Rachael. No, him and Rachael. And Batman and Rachael. If he could deduce that much, would he fill in the rest of the blanks? He already knew too much, more than Bruce would have ever thought to give him credit for. Bruce's head felt like it was spinning.
"Get up!" he gave the clown-faced freak a kick to the stomach in warning. "On your feet."
"Did I strike a nerve, hmmm Batsy? That must have stung, yeah? Big guy in the Batsuit can't even get a date with a girl after he saves her life. Bwahaha, oh man, hee hee. That's gold. But you couldn't save her, could you? Now I'm not saying it's your fault, but-"
"Say it, Joker. I dare you. I'm not going to hurt you, no. I'll do you one better and bring you straight up to Arkham where they'll lock you in a tiny cell with four walls and no window where you can rot away for the rest of your sorry life. Go ahead, keep talking. See what happens," Bruce was kneeling on the floor now, right beside the Joker. Their faces were inches apart now, and Batman could see a sickeningly smug look forming on the clown-coated face.
"Kaboom! Poor Rachael."
Whatever semblance of self control Bruce was holding over himself had slipped away. Too many times he let the Joker have this power over him, and loathed himself for it. Batman didn't react, he calculated first. Bruce on the other hand, he was a loose cannon.
Bruce drove his fist into the Joker's face, hitting him square in the mouth. One hit was all it took to have gone too far. The Joker's mangled mouth was spurting blood at an alarming rate, and had even splashed onto Bruce's own masked face at the impact of the blow.
As quickly as Bruce's onslaught of rage had hit him, it subsided. He looked down at the Joker below him, laying limply with eyes lidded and blood dripping down his chin. The Joker sighed wistfully, looking content with himself. He lay still for several moments like this, with Batman kneeling over him.
"Mmm, you don't disappoint do you, Bats? I ask and you deliver. That's why we get along so well, you know. We understand each other," his eyes opened and met with Bruce's as he sat up, face-to-face now with his rival. "You always give me what I want."
"I didn't want to hurt you," Bruce was ashamed yet again for letting his emotions control him. He studied the Joker, sitting before him with blood spread across his painted face, lips parted and breathing heavily. It still made Bruce uneasy how content the Joker looked, and even more so how his peaceful expression was quickly changing into a sort of hunger.
The Joker looked thoughtfully back at him, cocking his head to the side and his brow furrowed, "Um, Bats?"
Bruce's breath caught in his chest as the Joker held out a shaky hand in front of his face.
"Joker?" he felt dizzy like he would pass out. The smell of blood was thick in the air. Common sense told him to to restrain the Joker. He was probably going to try and strangle him or punch him back. He couldn't move though and closed his eyes in defeat.
Rough skin brushed gently against his bottom lip, smearing the blood that had pooled there. His eyes blinked open and the two sat frozen in silence, neither daring to move. Blood was rushing to Bruce's head, but why wasn't he pushing the Joker off and why was the clown's thumb pressed against his lips? This was so wrong. He had to stop it.
"Don't touch me!" his mind suddenly snapped to focus and he regained his senses. In wild panic Bruce shoved the Joker back, getting quickly to his feet. "Get out you freak!"
He opened the door and dragged the Joker by his nightshirt all the way into the hallway, disregarding his foe's kicking and thrashing as he struggled through the doorway. It didn't matter what the Joker did after that. If he found his way back to his room or not, Bruce didn't care now.
He collapsed onto his bed, not bothering to fuss with his Batsuit. The room was pitch black now, and he couldn't see. He was left with nothing but his thoughts.
The blood on his face was dry and sticky now. He bit his lip and the salty taste of the Joker's blood filled his mouth. He tasted human, real. He buried his face in his pillow and fell into a deep sleep.
---
Bruce was awoken by a sharp pain spreading over his body. He tried to sit up but something heavy was weighing his body down, and he felt around for the source of this unwelcome intrusion. The Batsuit. He hadn't taken it off the night before, and his whole body was stiff and sore from the restricting armor.
"Damnit," he cursed himself and rolled out of bed. It was nearly noon already. Another day of madness was on the agenda as long as the Joker hadn't escaped again in the night. He wouldn't have had a difficult time of it. He could simply have walked out the front door last night, and yet Bruce wasn't entirely shocked to see the pajama-clad man lounging on the couch in the living room watching cartoons when he came downstairs.
He wasn't even sure how to approach him. If it weren't for the face paint and scars, he might have looked perfectly normal laying there like that, but he wasn't, and Bruce was all too aware of that fact. The more Joker pretended to understand Bruce and fit into his world, the crazier he seemed.
On tv, a children's cartoon was playing. The Joker laughed hysterically at all the wrong parts, rolling around on the couch in amusement. Bruce felt as though he were seeing a side to the madman he wasn't meant to see. He stayed on the bottom step, not wanting to go any closer and announce his entrance, mesmerized at the odd scene in front of him.
"Morning Bats," Joker didn't even turn around. He just knew Bruce was there all along, and that made Bruce feel uneasy.
Bruce opened his mouth and then shut it again, struggling to find the words he needed to say. He wasn't even sure what they were supposed to be. Something about how Joker was making Bruce's life complicated and confusing and that he couldn't stay any longer. Out there, the Joker was dangerous. In here, he was just complicated, and Bruce only knew how to deal with him when he was dangerous. He had shown more sides to himself than Bruce wanted to see.
"Why didn't you leave?" it was the only question Bruce could come up with, and he wanted answers.
"I could ask you, 'Why did you bring me here?' but you and I both know already. It's the same reason I haven't left and the same reason you won't make me leave," Joker turned off the tv and sat up on the couch to face Bruce.
"What reason is that?" Bruce walked around the couch out into the open, taking a seat on the armchair across from Joker.
"You don't know? Think Batman, think. I thought it was obvious, Bats. You're breaking my heart here, come on! Use that little bat brain of yours."
"I'm not playing games, Joker!" Bruce was frustrated with all this beating around the bush. "Why didn't you leave?"
The Joker's expression was troubled, his brow furrowed as if deep in thought. Suddenly he broke into a huge grin. He was looking at Bruce with childlike eagerness now. "I didn't want to leave. Why the hell would I do that? I'm having too much fun here. I've gotta tell you, Bats, you're a lot more fun than those stiffs back at lock-down. Take last night for example-"
"Well this is where the fun ends. It's time now, Joker. You don't belong here and you have to go back," Bruce was on the edge of his seat.
"Okay, okay, okay already. I get it. Now you're getting all serious on me. Stop doing that," his tongue darted out nervously to lick his lips. "Let's be honest with each other. You go first! Why did you bring me here?"
"I-" he had no idea where to begin, "it doesn't matter. I thought I could keep you out of trouble. I was wrong. You have to go back now." It was the only believable explanation he could devise.
"I don't want to. Look what you've done to me," he gestured at himself. "Why should I go back?"
"Because you belong in a cell, that's why," all this going in circles was making Bruce frustrated.
"But I need you," Joker was chewing at his bottom lip. "I do. And you need me too. I can tell."
"You don't know what you're saying," Bruce stood up now, pacing the room frantically. "You're crazy."
"Stop thinking about it Batman. Just let it happen," Joker was standing now too, and the two foes were slowly circling each other as if stalking prey. "Stop resisting me."
"This is crazy," Bruce shoved past the Joker, knocking him aside, and headed straight out the door, slamming it shut behind him. It wasn't rational, and he knew he shouldn't leave the Joker there alone, but his head hurt and he needed to be as far away from the clown-faced psycho as possible. That's all he knew.
He got in his car, slowly making his way down the dirt road that would lead him out of town. Everything he thought he knew no longer made sense to him. Whatever he thought he knew about Bruce Wayne and Batman no longer seemed real.
He needed to go home. He should go talk to Alfred, and apologize for his behaviour from yesterday. He should think up some sort of excuse but he couldn't form a single thought.
After driving down the dirt path for ages, Bruce was nearing town but he wanted to turn around and go back. He couldn't just escape his fate. This was ridiculous. He was running away from the Joker. When did the madman start having this effect on him? He took turn and looped his way around town, down the dirt road that would lead him back. He wouldn't run anymore. It was draining him of every ounce of sanity left in himself, bleeding him dry.
He threw his keys down on the counter when he walked through the front door, lingering there for a moment. Something was off. The cabin was too quiet.
"Joker?" he grabbed some orange juice from the fridge and sipped straight out of the carton. "Joker-" he looked down at the counter, and there in a familiar messy scrawl was a note left in plain sight.
B-When you get this I'll be in a little padded cell. I'm going back to Arkham and turning myself in. You were wrong about me. I can't be good. Don't waste your time anymore. -J
Bruce crumpled the paper in his hand, throwing it in the trash can with a growl. How had things ended up this way?
The Joker came into his life, took control of it and the turned around and left him with nothing. They were a team. How was he supposed to be Batman without Joker? He couldn't. He couldn't accept that the Joker would just leave like that. How could he go back to the way things were?
He wished he could chase the Joker again, one last time. Every time the clown would make a break from the asylum, Bruce would take the bait and follow him anywhere just to catch him. How was he supposed to follow him if he turned himself in?
He felt so foolish for allowing this to happen. If the Joker was turning himself in, he should feel relieved, but in reality he just let Batman's last chance walk out the door. He didn't allow himself to entertain the hope that the Joker wouldn't stay true to his word and would make his way back to the city streets. He didn't let himself desire it, but he wanted to.
A pang of guilt washed over him, only to be replaced with intense anger, infuriated at himself. The Joker was a madman, not to be reasoned with, and here he was trying to tame him like some creature. He would have to let him go. He would have to let the Batman go. There was no way the citizens of Gotham would ever take him back with the deeds he had accepted the blame for.
Bruce battled with his emotions like this for awhile, teetering between hatred for the Joker, and of himself for needing the clown-faced killer. He did the only thing he knew how when he didn't know how to face his emotions- Bruce got violently angry.
He needed to take it out on something, or someone. The need to do something physical with all of his frustration was like an itch he couldn't scratch. If his nemesis were here now, he'd be on the receiving end, pinned beneath the caped crusader, writhing and squirming with his mangled lips contorted into a hungry grimace. Bruce could see nothing but that image in his head, and with a growl he pulled his arm back and threw a forceful punch into the oak door, nearly splitting the wood.
From that point on, he couldn't regain control of his emotions. He knew he needed to restrain himself before he took it out on some inanimate object, most likely something expensive to replace. He made his way up to the second floor and stumbled into the second door on the right, Joker's room.
This room felt isolated, with just a small window at the very top of the wall, letting a thin stream of light shine onto the carpet. Everything was clean and white, and it felt like a cell. Bruce used to spend a lot of time in here thinking during his time off, when he could slip away from the stresses of his daily routine. It was plain and bare enough that he could sit and think without interruption or distraction, which was why he never bothered to decorate it.
The only signs that the Joker had ever been here were the makeup on the nightstand, and the faint trace of a musky scent. Bruce stripped off his cowl and threw himself on the bed, gripping the pillow firmly in his gloved hands and burying his face in it. There was the musky scent of expensive cologne, but something more. Something that was all Joker.
Bruce's head was throbbing, and a knot ached in the back of his throat. He rarely allowed himself to just feel, and right now his feelings were staring him straight in the face. He couldn't push them away and run from them anymore. He felt the burning in his eyes, the hot flush of his face, and the dry lump in his throat but he could do nothing to stop it. He was rendered useless against the salty streaks running down his face onto the pillow. He was sickened by them.
He closed his eyes shut tight, his knuckles white from gripping the pillow between straining fingers. Everything dissolved around him until unconsciousness came and he fell into the deepest sleep he'd ever had.
---
Bruce fumbled around in the dark for his cowl, quickly slipping it over his head and reaching to switch on the lamp on the nightstand. A door had slammed in the kitchen downstairs and startled him back to consciousness. He laughed grimly at the thought of an intruder getting the fright of their life, breaking into the Dark Knight's house. It was almost an exciting prospect as it would be the first action Batman would have seen in a while.
Batman was on his feet, alert and ready to go. The burglar picked the wrong house to break in to. Bruce would not go easy on them-he had weeks of missed time to make up for.
Before Bruce could spring into action, though, a familiar face tiptoed through the door. Batman and Joker were face-to-face, and the look on Joker's face said he wasn't expecting to run into Batman here.
"Um, Bats?" Joker raised an eyebrow and his green eyes darted around the room suspiciously.
"Joker."
"Long time no see, Batfreak. Did you miss me?" the disheveled Joker took a step closer to the caped crusader.
Bruce took two steps back. "Where were you? What are you doing here? Why didn't you turn yourself in?" he gave the Joker a scorning look, but his voice played traitor to the relief he felt inside. The makeshift clown didn't seem to notice.
"Shh shh! Slow down there- let's take it back a few steps, shall we?" he fussed with a stray hair that clung to his painted face, still stepping in closer to the masked vigilante. " Do you mean to tell me that you wanted me to turn myself in, Bats?"
"I don't want anyone to get hurt!" he felt uncomfortable at the Joker's proximity to him, and began slowly circling him like a wolf to its prey. Bruce needed to have the control. He wouldn't let his archenemy have it.
"Not even me?" Joker raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
Especially not him. "I don't care what happens to you, as long as you're locked away where you can't take another innocent life."
"Who said they were innocent? No, no, no, that's NOT THE POINT THOUGH! I'm getting ahead of myself here. Yes, that's it," the Joker was deep in thought.
"What are you talking about?"
"Okay Bats, let's just say I...wasn't being honest with you. Like, let's say I didn't really kill that guy the other night. What if I didn't want to?"
"Why are you telling me this?" Bruce didn't know what to make of it.
"Let me rephrase this. Hmmm, let's sssseeee. Okay, okay. What if I didn't wanna kill people anymore?" the Joker tapped his foot impatiently, as if Bruce should have caught on already.
"I don't believe you," both men stopped circling.
"What if it wasn't satisfying anymore if there was nobody to catch me? How 'bout then?" Joker stepped in closer still, until the two men were inches apart.
"What's your point?" he could smell the Joker now. Could see a bead of sweat forming on his forehead, for what he didn't know. The room was cold, ice cold. Or maybe that was how he felt from standing so close to the clown-faced killer.
"MAYBE THERE'S JUST NO POINT IN KILLING ANYONE ANYMORE WITHOUT SOME FREAK IN A BAT COSTUME ALWAYS FOLLOWING ME AROUND!" He wrung his hands furiously in front of him, shaking a little more with each word. For such a small and slender man, he was truly terrifying at times like these. He was a loose cannon, ready to go off at any moment. That's what excited Bruce about him.
What terrified Bruce even more were the clown's words, and how much they resembled the thoughts in his head. What was the point in being Batman if there were no psychotic clown freak terrorizing the city? There would be no need.
"Why would I bother? Who's gonna come and stop me? Gordy? The cops? HAHAHA!" Joker was bouncing now on his heels, giddy with laughter.
"So what do we do?" Bruce voiced the concern tugging at his heart, not meaning to ask out loud, and yet knowing that Joker was wondering the same thing.
"Ohh, now we're talking!" he traced his tongue along red-stained lips.
"Tell me, why did you lie about killing that man?" Bruce demanded. He needed answers. None of this even made sense anymore.
"Don't change the subject, Batman," his usually nasal voice was replaced with a deep growl, and Bruce knew from experience that meant he was getting frustrated. "
Bruce took a step in toward Joker, placing a gloved hand on the smaller man's shoulder in warning, "We're playing by my rules now. Tell me why you lied."
"How else was I gonna get your attention, Bats?! You're a hard guy to please lately. I wanted you to get angry at me. I wanted you to...take it out on me. And you didn't disappoint. You really did a number on me that night. So my little...ah, plan, Batman? It worked," Joker reached up a purple-gloved hand and took Batman's hand off of his shoulder. "My rules. My game."
"Well why didn't you turn yourself in when you had the chance? Why did you come back? You knew if you didn't turn yourself over to the authorities, I would!"
"Well that's simple..." his tongue darted out to trace those scarred lips, "no more Joker means no more Batman."
Previous Chapters:
Chapter 1: Cat and Mouse
Chapter 2: Playing Rough
Chapter 3: Defeated