The Dark Knight Fic: "Royal Conversation"
Title: Royal Conversation [1/?]
Author: bathshua
Fandom: The Dark Knight (aka Nolanverse)
Rating: R (only for language)
Genre: General and AU, given the revelation of Batman's identity
Pairing/Characters: The Joker, Bruce Wayne
Warnings: Language
Word Count: 2,079
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. Sure as hell wish they did, though.
Notes: I just wanted an excuse to use a quote I posted for the Six-Word Drabble Meme, which is awesome. And also, to prove to myself again that I can occasionally NOT write pr0n. It can be done. Also, I may or may not continue this. If enough people like it, I may. We shall see!
Summary: What do I think would happen if the Joker eventually discovered Batman's identity? Probably not what many people would expect me to think.
...
He'd heard that the Joker had escaped Arkham. Again. Well, Batman had heard it. Bruce Wayne didn't know a thing about it. Or at least, that's what he submitted to all those who weren't Alfred or Lucius. No, Mr. Wayne coolly offered only passing concern about the asylum's general state of affairs. And nothing more. But the soft, steady voice veiled a nauseating trepidation about the news. It wasn't just the Joker who had gotten out - he'd brought a friend with him.
Harvey Dent, Gotham's late hero, had been seen at the Joker's side as they burst from the prison like a pair of devils. Face still half-ruined, fingers still clinging to that infernal coin. Dinner conversation threatened to spoil a once-healthy appetite as it turned to the latest crime waves. A string of bold bank robberies. Some homicides. Elaborate and brilliantly executed plots targeting the remainder of Gotham's elite criminal ring. All of it weighed on a weary mind and filled a hungry stomach with worry. It was but a matter of time now before the journalists caught on, until Dent's marred face flashed on every television screen in the city. After a terse smile and a sip of water, he wondered when he would be forced to confront him again. His friend, the District Attorney. He had wondered how long the Arkham staff would keep their mouths shut about their most notorious patients. He had wondered when the Coleman Reese of the orderlies would decide that silence simply didn't pay enough. And then, like salt on a fresh and oozing wound, the Joker found another means to escape. And again he started to shake the tightrope that Gotham was treading on.
Tiresome voices blended into the murmur of clientele and the clanking of silverware against china plates. Bruce Wayne was present in body only.
..
The penthouse seemed unusually dark. Normally, Alfred kept several small lights on for security, even when Master Wayne didn't have any midnight oil to burn. But as he had expected his butler's absence this particular night, he'd gone ahead and turned on a tiny wall light earlier in the day. It wasn't terribly bright, but it made getting undressed a bit easier. Although he knew Alfred was enjoying himself, he still missed his gentle smiles and calming demeanor. Bruce had arranged for him to attend a play he'd sorely wanted to see. After he had joked about wanting a day off, he thought it only fair to give him at least an evening. So there would be no sign of him until much later. Bruce had to grin at the freshly pressed sheets on his bed. I really don't deserve him. He unbuttoned his slacks and shirt, removing neither and only bothering to loosen his tie until it hung lazily around his neck. Falling backward onto his bed, he sighed. Now, he could breathe. The crisp scent of the linens pleased his nose.
His mind turned to all of the things that forever burdened his conscience. Things that had been lost, people who'd been wronged. Rachel. Harvey. His vapid dinner companions had seemed to like to hear themselves talk about matters of which they had not the slightest understanding. Such shameless insipidness annoyed him. Some people will never understand, Alfred once told him. Some people were never meant to understand. Those are the people we envy, but would never dare admit it, he'd said with a wink. Alfred had a knack for being right.
Eyelids were lulled to lowering by the swarm of memories. By days of unremitting stress. By a new kind of loneliness. Sleep really was one of his last sanctuaries and he thanked the stars for it whenever he could get it. It wasn't often that he could spend an evening in his own bed.
"It'd be cruel of me to wish you sweet dreams," Bruce jolted at the break in silence, eyes popped open again. He had begun to doze and it took several seconds for them to re-adjust to the weak light. The all-too-familiar voice continued, "Knowing all the...tragedy you've seen in your life."
Bruce could discern a figure at the far side of the room, loitering near the hallway. The vague outline of a long coat brushed just above the floor. But he wouldn't need to see the man's painted face. That voice and the queasiness he induced were quick to rip apart any question of his identity. He sprang out of the bed, preparing for an undoubtedly vicious fight. A fight that he admitted to himself he might not win. Shirt and pants undone, he was exposed in ways that he never wanted to be while in front of the Joker, a man who carried knives around like cigarettes.
"You!"
"Yeah?"
"What are you doing here?!" Semi-conscious of his actions, Bruce desperately sought to re-button his pants. But he fumbled in his attempt. Fingers groped in the dim light as the clown smirked and watched, letting his eyes venture downward at the spectacle.
"Rumor flies on swift wings, dear." Somehow, he managed to get his pants closed. And so went the free show. But a different one was set to begin. "Oh, and you can drop the big-bad-bat-monster-voice routine. It doesn't have the same charm when the costume isn't on. Just letting you know."
Bruce had scarcely noticed that he dropped his voice at all. He couldn't fight a sudden flush of embarrassment, one thankfully hidden by shadow. It quickly faded as he focused on the lunatic haunting his room.
"You have three seconds to get out of here." He moved closer to the clown leaning against the wall. Only a few feet separated them.
"Hey, hey, I'm not here to destroy you, if that's what you're worried about. I actually have no intention of laying a finger on your pretty little head. I have other motivations. I promise." Bruce's scowl failed to relax. The Joker vainly offered a hardly-sincere hand for shaking. "C'mon, have I broken any of my promises yet?"
"Where's Dent?"
"What's with all the questions? And besides, this one's a little déjà vu. Haven’t you asked me that before?"
"They say you two left Arkham together-" The clown's screechy laughter was a painful interruption.
"You make it sound so scandalous!" Laughter yielded to a teasing purr. "People will talk if you keep saying things like that-"
"He must have helped you escape, so where is he?"
"What am I, his keeper? He's off doing whatever it is that half-barbecued people do in their free time. I wouldn’t know what that is. Besides, he doesn't even know I'm here."
Bruce's eyes narrowed. "You’re telling me he wasn't interested in joining you?"
"I'm telling you I didn't want him to. See, this whole thing was on a strictly need-to-know basis. Dent...didn't need to know. No one did. And no one will." He chuckled. "What happens in Bruce Wayne's penthouse stays in Bruce Wayne's penthouse."
"How did you...what made you come here?"
"Oooh, I never reveal my sources. That would be...unprofessional of me." He rolled his eyes. "Or something. I will tell you that there's a certain enterprising doctor who thinks he knows who Batman is. Of course, I didn't confirm or deny his guess. I just moved on my own hunches. And here I am."
"Why come here if not to kill me-"
The Joker slapped a knee in mock hilarity. "How many times do I have to tell you, I don't wanna kill you! Though, if Batman really is Bruce Wayne, I may kill myself."
"Why is that?" No sooner had Bruce asked the question that the Joker had pulled a knife from his coat and pressed it to his breast. The rich shadow of the room made Bruce especially uneasy at this moment; he wanted to struggle against the blade, but something told him to stay stoic, unflinching. Perhaps, he thought, it was best to play his game and hear him out until boredom compelled him to leave. There were things that he could yet learn about this man now, of that he was certain.
"I've heard about you. Oh yeah, all about how much of a rich little plaything you are. About how your parents pretended to be living saints and how the city worshiped the ground all of you walked on. That is, until someone blew them away. A funny way of showing gratitude, wouldn't you say?"
"Don't you dare talk about my parents..."
"And now, you run around in a bat-suit, playing hero, pounding on low-lives, hoping your mask hides your crocodile tears." The blade dragged along flesh and a red trail followed. Bruce suppressed a wince.
"I said shut up already!"
"Look, I came here wanting to get an eyeful of you, so maybe I could see for myself if it was true what they say."
"So then why haven't you turned on the light yet? The sooner you do that, the sooner you can stop wasting my time. I'd like to go to bed."
"Hmm, someone's a bit testy. What, am I robbing you of beauty sleep?"
"Just do it already!"
"No. No, I'm not so sure I want to anymore. You've rained all over my parade."
"What the hell are you talking about--" The clown drew back a few steps, pulling his knife with him. Bruce's tensed muscles eased slightly. But he knew better than to drop his guard completely. He wondered what made the other man retreat.
"Batman has a name now, okay? And not just any name. And a past. That's a real buzz-kill."
"How do you figure?"
"The fact that you're Bruce Wayne is priceless, even I'll admit that. They call you the 'Prince of Gotham' and me, the 'Clown Prince of Crime'. You and I, we're royalty around here." The madman gave a dramatic sigh and nodded as he spoke. "But it ends there. I'll put it to you as nicely as I can: Bruce Wayne, you and your kind bore me."
"What?" Bruce's voice was incredulous, increasingly impatient. But his impatience spurred agitation in the Joker.
"Ya know what this is like for me?! This is like Christmas Eve when I was six years old and my father screamed at me in the middle of a drunken rage that Santa Clause wasn't real. That he'd been buying all of my 'little fucking presents' and that he'd had to work double-shifts for a month to afford them and that he'd thrown his back out doing it and that no, no, the Santa Clause in the store was just some horny old fuck that wanted to bounce children on his lap for shits and giggles!"
Ensuing silence was sponsored by disbelief. Bruce didn't try to conceal his skepticism when he finally replied.
"...Really?"
The Joker blinked and rolled a tongue across his lips. "...Alright, I was nine. But you get the point. You've really ripped me off here, ya know? Talk about buyer's remorse. I've invested a lot in you, believe it or not. Hell, I can hardly believe it."
"Tell me then...what did you want to find under the mask? Yourself?!"
The clown shook his head slowly, disappointedly. Eyes ever-glowing with madness were dulled with disillusionment. And a vague frown hung onto that perpetual grin.
"You just don't get it, do you? Frankly, I didn't wanna find anything under the mask. Call me naïve, but as far as I was concerned, the mask was your face. No, it is. And no one else will dare think otherwise. My, uh, proposal for that busybody associate of yours? Yeah, it still stands. For him, and for anyone else who would be dumb enough to go against my directive. No one is gonna ruin all of this for me. Including you."
Bruce just continued to stare through the dark. The Joker's voice had grown lower with each utterance. Such was an unsettling occurrence.
"So the next time you see me, I'd better be looking at the Bat-man." Patience exhausted, the clown turned around and moved to exit. A wrist flicked dismissively in the air as he went. "Meantime, I'll try to forget this ever happened."
He watched the Joker slip into the darkness of the hallway, moving on swift, nearly soundless feet - in like a ghost, out like one. Bruce's lips parted in shock. Confusion. Anger. Sadness. Frustration. Every emotion swirling about his mind could only force his mouth agape. But would not let any words pass through it.
He gasped and darted to the large window, dark eyes searching the ground far below. And the endless sky ahead. He whispered to the glass and his sparkling city.
"Where are you, Dent? Where has he hidden you this time?"
...
Author: bathshua
Fandom: The Dark Knight (aka Nolanverse)
Rating: R (only for language)
Genre: General and AU, given the revelation of Batman's identity
Pairing/Characters: The Joker, Bruce Wayne
Warnings: Language
Word Count: 2,079
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. Sure as hell wish they did, though.
Notes: I just wanted an excuse to use a quote I posted for the Six-Word Drabble Meme, which is awesome. And also, to prove to myself again that I can occasionally NOT write pr0n. It can be done. Also, I may or may not continue this. If enough people like it, I may. We shall see!
Summary: What do I think would happen if the Joker eventually discovered Batman's identity? Probably not what many people would expect me to think.
...
He'd heard that the Joker had escaped Arkham. Again. Well, Batman had heard it. Bruce Wayne didn't know a thing about it. Or at least, that's what he submitted to all those who weren't Alfred or Lucius. No, Mr. Wayne coolly offered only passing concern about the asylum's general state of affairs. And nothing more. But the soft, steady voice veiled a nauseating trepidation about the news. It wasn't just the Joker who had gotten out - he'd brought a friend with him.
Harvey Dent, Gotham's late hero, had been seen at the Joker's side as they burst from the prison like a pair of devils. Face still half-ruined, fingers still clinging to that infernal coin. Dinner conversation threatened to spoil a once-healthy appetite as it turned to the latest crime waves. A string of bold bank robberies. Some homicides. Elaborate and brilliantly executed plots targeting the remainder of Gotham's elite criminal ring. All of it weighed on a weary mind and filled a hungry stomach with worry. It was but a matter of time now before the journalists caught on, until Dent's marred face flashed on every television screen in the city. After a terse smile and a sip of water, he wondered when he would be forced to confront him again. His friend, the District Attorney. He had wondered how long the Arkham staff would keep their mouths shut about their most notorious patients. He had wondered when the Coleman Reese of the orderlies would decide that silence simply didn't pay enough. And then, like salt on a fresh and oozing wound, the Joker found another means to escape. And again he started to shake the tightrope that Gotham was treading on.
Tiresome voices blended into the murmur of clientele and the clanking of silverware against china plates. Bruce Wayne was present in body only.
..
The penthouse seemed unusually dark. Normally, Alfred kept several small lights on for security, even when Master Wayne didn't have any midnight oil to burn. But as he had expected his butler's absence this particular night, he'd gone ahead and turned on a tiny wall light earlier in the day. It wasn't terribly bright, but it made getting undressed a bit easier. Although he knew Alfred was enjoying himself, he still missed his gentle smiles and calming demeanor. Bruce had arranged for him to attend a play he'd sorely wanted to see. After he had joked about wanting a day off, he thought it only fair to give him at least an evening. So there would be no sign of him until much later. Bruce had to grin at the freshly pressed sheets on his bed. I really don't deserve him. He unbuttoned his slacks and shirt, removing neither and only bothering to loosen his tie until it hung lazily around his neck. Falling backward onto his bed, he sighed. Now, he could breathe. The crisp scent of the linens pleased his nose.
His mind turned to all of the things that forever burdened his conscience. Things that had been lost, people who'd been wronged. Rachel. Harvey. His vapid dinner companions had seemed to like to hear themselves talk about matters of which they had not the slightest understanding. Such shameless insipidness annoyed him. Some people will never understand, Alfred once told him. Some people were never meant to understand. Those are the people we envy, but would never dare admit it, he'd said with a wink. Alfred had a knack for being right.
Eyelids were lulled to lowering by the swarm of memories. By days of unremitting stress. By a new kind of loneliness. Sleep really was one of his last sanctuaries and he thanked the stars for it whenever he could get it. It wasn't often that he could spend an evening in his own bed.
"It'd be cruel of me to wish you sweet dreams," Bruce jolted at the break in silence, eyes popped open again. He had begun to doze and it took several seconds for them to re-adjust to the weak light. The all-too-familiar voice continued, "Knowing all the...tragedy you've seen in your life."
Bruce could discern a figure at the far side of the room, loitering near the hallway. The vague outline of a long coat brushed just above the floor. But he wouldn't need to see the man's painted face. That voice and the queasiness he induced were quick to rip apart any question of his identity. He sprang out of the bed, preparing for an undoubtedly vicious fight. A fight that he admitted to himself he might not win. Shirt and pants undone, he was exposed in ways that he never wanted to be while in front of the Joker, a man who carried knives around like cigarettes.
"You!"
"Yeah?"
"What are you doing here?!" Semi-conscious of his actions, Bruce desperately sought to re-button his pants. But he fumbled in his attempt. Fingers groped in the dim light as the clown smirked and watched, letting his eyes venture downward at the spectacle.
"Rumor flies on swift wings, dear." Somehow, he managed to get his pants closed. And so went the free show. But a different one was set to begin. "Oh, and you can drop the big-bad-bat-monster-voice routine. It doesn't have the same charm when the costume isn't on. Just letting you know."
Bruce had scarcely noticed that he dropped his voice at all. He couldn't fight a sudden flush of embarrassment, one thankfully hidden by shadow. It quickly faded as he focused on the lunatic haunting his room.
"You have three seconds to get out of here." He moved closer to the clown leaning against the wall. Only a few feet separated them.
"Hey, hey, I'm not here to destroy you, if that's what you're worried about. I actually have no intention of laying a finger on your pretty little head. I have other motivations. I promise." Bruce's scowl failed to relax. The Joker vainly offered a hardly-sincere hand for shaking. "C'mon, have I broken any of my promises yet?"
"Where's Dent?"
"What's with all the questions? And besides, this one's a little déjà vu. Haven’t you asked me that before?"
"They say you two left Arkham together-" The clown's screechy laughter was a painful interruption.
"You make it sound so scandalous!" Laughter yielded to a teasing purr. "People will talk if you keep saying things like that-"
"He must have helped you escape, so where is he?"
"What am I, his keeper? He's off doing whatever it is that half-barbecued people do in their free time. I wouldn’t know what that is. Besides, he doesn't even know I'm here."
Bruce's eyes narrowed. "You’re telling me he wasn't interested in joining you?"
"I'm telling you I didn't want him to. See, this whole thing was on a strictly need-to-know basis. Dent...didn't need to know. No one did. And no one will." He chuckled. "What happens in Bruce Wayne's penthouse stays in Bruce Wayne's penthouse."
"How did you...what made you come here?"
"Oooh, I never reveal my sources. That would be...unprofessional of me." He rolled his eyes. "Or something. I will tell you that there's a certain enterprising doctor who thinks he knows who Batman is. Of course, I didn't confirm or deny his guess. I just moved on my own hunches. And here I am."
"Why come here if not to kill me-"
The Joker slapped a knee in mock hilarity. "How many times do I have to tell you, I don't wanna kill you! Though, if Batman really is Bruce Wayne, I may kill myself."
"Why is that?" No sooner had Bruce asked the question that the Joker had pulled a knife from his coat and pressed it to his breast. The rich shadow of the room made Bruce especially uneasy at this moment; he wanted to struggle against the blade, but something told him to stay stoic, unflinching. Perhaps, he thought, it was best to play his game and hear him out until boredom compelled him to leave. There were things that he could yet learn about this man now, of that he was certain.
"I've heard about you. Oh yeah, all about how much of a rich little plaything you are. About how your parents pretended to be living saints and how the city worshiped the ground all of you walked on. That is, until someone blew them away. A funny way of showing gratitude, wouldn't you say?"
"Don't you dare talk about my parents..."
"And now, you run around in a bat-suit, playing hero, pounding on low-lives, hoping your mask hides your crocodile tears." The blade dragged along flesh and a red trail followed. Bruce suppressed a wince.
"I said shut up already!"
"Look, I came here wanting to get an eyeful of you, so maybe I could see for myself if it was true what they say."
"So then why haven't you turned on the light yet? The sooner you do that, the sooner you can stop wasting my time. I'd like to go to bed."
"Hmm, someone's a bit testy. What, am I robbing you of beauty sleep?"
"Just do it already!"
"No. No, I'm not so sure I want to anymore. You've rained all over my parade."
"What the hell are you talking about--" The clown drew back a few steps, pulling his knife with him. Bruce's tensed muscles eased slightly. But he knew better than to drop his guard completely. He wondered what made the other man retreat.
"Batman has a name now, okay? And not just any name. And a past. That's a real buzz-kill."
"How do you figure?"
"The fact that you're Bruce Wayne is priceless, even I'll admit that. They call you the 'Prince of Gotham' and me, the 'Clown Prince of Crime'. You and I, we're royalty around here." The madman gave a dramatic sigh and nodded as he spoke. "But it ends there. I'll put it to you as nicely as I can: Bruce Wayne, you and your kind bore me."
"What?" Bruce's voice was incredulous, increasingly impatient. But his impatience spurred agitation in the Joker.
"Ya know what this is like for me?! This is like Christmas Eve when I was six years old and my father screamed at me in the middle of a drunken rage that Santa Clause wasn't real. That he'd been buying all of my 'little fucking presents' and that he'd had to work double-shifts for a month to afford them and that he'd thrown his back out doing it and that no, no, the Santa Clause in the store was just some horny old fuck that wanted to bounce children on his lap for shits and giggles!"
Ensuing silence was sponsored by disbelief. Bruce didn't try to conceal his skepticism when he finally replied.
"...Really?"
The Joker blinked and rolled a tongue across his lips. "...Alright, I was nine. But you get the point. You've really ripped me off here, ya know? Talk about buyer's remorse. I've invested a lot in you, believe it or not. Hell, I can hardly believe it."
"Tell me then...what did you want to find under the mask? Yourself?!"
The clown shook his head slowly, disappointedly. Eyes ever-glowing with madness were dulled with disillusionment. And a vague frown hung onto that perpetual grin.
"You just don't get it, do you? Frankly, I didn't wanna find anything under the mask. Call me naïve, but as far as I was concerned, the mask was your face. No, it is. And no one else will dare think otherwise. My, uh, proposal for that busybody associate of yours? Yeah, it still stands. For him, and for anyone else who would be dumb enough to go against my directive. No one is gonna ruin all of this for me. Including you."
Bruce just continued to stare through the dark. The Joker's voice had grown lower with each utterance. Such was an unsettling occurrence.
"So the next time you see me, I'd better be looking at the Bat-man." Patience exhausted, the clown turned around and moved to exit. A wrist flicked dismissively in the air as he went. "Meantime, I'll try to forget this ever happened."
He watched the Joker slip into the darkness of the hallway, moving on swift, nearly soundless feet - in like a ghost, out like one. Bruce's lips parted in shock. Confusion. Anger. Sadness. Frustration. Every emotion swirling about his mind could only force his mouth agape. But would not let any words pass through it.
He gasped and darted to the large window, dark eyes searching the ground far below. And the endless sky ahead. He whispered to the glass and his sparkling city.
"Where are you, Dent? Where has he hidden you this time?"
...