Author: Co-written by Jay Narra & Liana Kerzner
Rating: R
Pairing: Batman/Joker
Fandom: Think "The Killing Joke," & "Arkham Asylum." Mildly BTAS. Some point after the comic "Death In The Family."
Feedback: Definitely! Appreciated! raytheoncentaur3@yahoo.com
Archive: Yes, certainly! Just let me know it's there!
Disclaimer: Batman & Joker are (c) DC! Not mine!
Summary: More emotions flare when bad news is given. Joker tries to help Batman out of his shell of isolation.
The Game We Play, Chapter 12 - A Breakthrough
Co-written by Jay Narra & Liana Kerzner
"DAMN IT!"
The flask shattered and the pinkish liquid it contained started to drip onto the floor. Batman leaned on the table holding the now-destroyed lab equipment, his head in his hands.
Another failure. He'd had nothing but failures for a week now. No combination of antivirals, antibiotics, radiation, chemotherapy or even experimental gene therapy had any effect on the Joker Virus, as the CDC had named it after he'd notified them of the Joker's infection. There had been one promising lead: A Lexcorp scientist had found a chemical that killed the virus... but it killed everything else as well. It was back to the drawing board.
He had nothing. With all the favors he'd called in, with labs around the world working on this, he had nothing. And he was running out of time.
He watched the liquid ooze between the curved shards of glass and drip down into a widening puddle on the floor, sinking into a non-functional stupor. He'd lost track of the last time he'd slept.
Drip...
Drip...
Drip...
The liquid tapping of the solution hitting the ground suddenly became incredibly annoying, and to stop the sound, Batman flipped over the table. Beakers, test tubes, flasks, bunsen burners,
centrifuges and numerous other scientific tools crashed and shattered against the walls and floor.
Batman glared at the hissing, tinkling, creaking mess like it was alive.
A low rumble of weak protest rose from the bed Joker slept in, the figure under the sheets shifting and rolling onto his other side. His eyelids fluttered and squeezed closed against the dim light from across the cave, unwilling to open just yet.
But then there was the crash of noise and aggressive snarls... and dull green eyes snapped open. Panic swept through his frail body.
*Arkham...?!*
Joker shot forward in bed, his expression charged with horror. "No!" he gasped. "Not here!" The stiffened feeling in his muscles told him to rest, but the unbalanced emotions and skewed perception of reality left Joker in a state of disorientation. He couldn't force himself to lay back down or even to do so much as move.
There were padded walls surrounding him, choking him, making it impossible to breathe! Cold, cushioned walls and no windows anywhere!
"Why?!" he pleaded through clenched teeth.
Batman ignored the Joker's question. . . or didn't hear it. . . or his brain didn't process it. . . It didn't matter which it was, he chose not to respond.
Instead, he put his foot through the underside of the table, slamming the broken wooden frame against the wall and crushing many of the glass shards to powder.
"Bats?" Joker called out, struggling to cope with the sudden awakening into reality. He had been out for a good time now, completely still and not even doing so much as rising to eat. At one point a few minutes ago, there had been an IV attached to his arm. Now it hung loosely in the air, bouncing against the metal stand nearby. "Batman?" he tried again, rubbing at his eyes furiously. "Answer me..." He pushed the sheets aside and tried to find the edge of the bed.
"Why's... the bed... so long...?" Joker reached out with shaking fingers, his hand going past the edge and into the air. In his mind, the sheets were still under his fingertips, but were hazy and
discolored. He crawled off of the mattress and onto the hard floor of the Batcave, further confused and having trouble piecing anything together. He sat cross-legged against the bed and rubbed at his eyes and forehead, trying to regain some feeling of reality... or sanity.
It was then he realized he was freezing... just as his sight blurred and then focused sharply. The cave was so bitterly cold! He frowned and hid his hands in the sleeves of his robe.... huh? "I'm wearing a robe," he commented softly. "...and, and nothing underneath." The last part was said a little awkwardly. He wasn't too thrilled about the situation at hand. Who had dared change HIM?!
Oh yes... Batman. That bugger.
"Batman?" he called out more loudly this time, once more realizing his predicament. Slowly, things began smoothing over and returning to normal. He could hear himself think.
A smell caught his attention, as well. It was familiar... deep... soothing...
Oh, the delight! The robe smelled like his favorite rodent!
"What?!" Batman snapped, still riding the adrenaline and frustration fueled rage that had lead to the destruction of the table and lab equipment.
"What are you doing?" Joker asked softly. "What's all that noise? It hurts my head." He frowned and peered through the darkness toward the computer and lab area... where a tall figure stood.
Batman turned around. "Nothing." It took him a moment to locate the Joker. "Why are you on the floor?"
"I... climbed out of bed," the clown explained slowly, not sure of the answer, either. "And since I can't find the strength in my legs to stand, I'm... I'm sitting." He gestured a little and then refocused his attention on Batman, his face changing expressions... to one of intense curiosity. "If you haven't been doing anything, then what was that noise just now...?"
"Glass breaking." The Dark Knight said cryptically as he approached the Joker.
"Because you broke it," Joker added pointedly.
"What's your point?"
Joker sighed and scratched at his hair, wincing when it hurt. "What do you think it is?" he countered, his voice unmistakably patronizing. "I want to know WHY." He shivered a little and pulled the robe tighter around his body. "Bats don't usually tend to be aggressive unless provoked. I think I read that in a magazine somewhere."
"So I was provoked." Batman said, crouching down to the Joker's level and collecting him up off the floor.
"How?" was the immediate response. Joker watched his self-proclaimed 'care-taker' with curious - and yet hazy - eyes.
"Don't push me on this, Joker." Batman warned as he lifted the frail, green-haired man off the ground.
"Have I ever... pushed you on anything...?" Joker smirked to himself proudly, feeling the tiniest bit irratated at being set back onto the bed. "How long have I been asleep?"
"Almost eighteen hours." Batman responded. "I had to check to make sure you were breathing a few times. I hope you don't mind the change of clothes."
"If it were anyone else," Joker warned, furrowing his brows as though he were trying to intimidate Batman. After a meaningful pause, he continued with, "...but it wasn't." He was about to let it drop when he started speaking again. Foolishly, so. "Though I must say you chose a risque outfit - or lack thereof - for me to don. Is this intentional? But before you answer... remember, you aren't allowed to hit me right now." Obviously, there were a few trust issues hanging in the air.
"I didn't have any purple pajamas." Batman growled. "And another comment like that and I'm going to lose my temper."
"A comment like what?" Joker asked, not really minding at the moment that Batman was being difficult. "The sexual innuendo? Or the thing about you hitting me whenever angry? Let me rephrase that: The one about you using as much force as you can muster in your body to cause me physical harm - and in some cases, nearly fatal injuries...?"
Batman's hand flew out from beneath his cape and grabbed the Joker by the throat, pinning him against the headboard.
"You want to know why I flipped that table over, Joker?" He spat through gritted teeth. "Because for almost four days now, I've been trying to find a cure for that little bioweapon you infected
yourself with during your little party at the hospital. I'm trying to find a cure for the disease that's making it impossible for you to stand up right now, and if I can't, you're going to die! And so far, I can't!"
A look of nothing more than simple pain flashed over Joker's face. "Let go of me!" he demanded, gritting his teeth against the sound rising in his throat. Weakly, he pushed at Batman's arms, his hands feeling as pathetic as that of a small child. He ended up holding his breath, having learned to be patient when put in this situation. Batman was a pattern upon himself.
Batman released him. "You didn't hear a damned thing I just said." He grumbled, and fled toward the mess of broken glass and twisted metal to busy himself cleaning it up.
"No," Joker instantly corrected, his voice tinged with aristocratic distaste. "I heard it. But I don't care. You don't... so why should I?" He fidgeted with his robe, tucking one part underneath the
other. There was a very large part of him that didn't even really believe Batman's words. It was too unrealistic. Him? ...Dying?
Batman turned slowly. Even with the cowl masking his features, in was obvious that his eyes were burning with emotion.
"I haven't slept in three days." He said slowly. "How DARE you say I don't care?"
Joker shrugged and picked at his nails nonchalantly. "It was bound to happen someday," he answered quickly. "If you didn't kill me, I'd do it myself." He dared to peek upward at Batman, noting the look of unchecked emotion flaring around his entire body language. This was his own way of testing... seeing where they were.
With an inhuman growl, Batman leapt through the air and pounced on Joker, grabbing him by the front of the robe and slamming him into the bed.
"After everything you said to me the other night, you say THAT?!" He raged, his face so close to the Joker's that his breath was moving a few green wisps of hair. "HOW. DARE. YOU?!"
With each word, he slammed the Joker into the mattress again.
The first instinct in the Joker's brain was to fight back. He growled and struggled under Batman, twisting his body as best he could while being violently shoved into the mattress. His heart was
pounding so hard he thought it would probably just give out on him at this point... and there was a very distinct feeling of dread forming in the back of his mind. What if Batman weren't lying? Could it even be possible...?
After realizing the struggle was entirely in vain, he collapsed and gave in, blinking in response to Batman's breath on his face. There was far too much passion in the Bats' voice. It unnerved the Joker and seriously got him thinking. One such trail of thought was that the closeness of their bodies. It was driving him mad.
"Sorry," he gasped helplessly.
Batman glared at the Joker, enjoying the fear in those green eyes, letting himself be consumed by hate for the moment.
"You deserve to die." He said in that quiet tone he only used when absolutely immobilized by rage. "Painfully, as far as I'm concerned. But that's not my decision to make."
"Then get off me and let me leave!" Joker hissed. "I'll go find a quiet place to rot! You'll never have to do so much as LOOK at me again, if you like! I'll completely vanish from the world, and you can go on living your hellish existence... all... alone." He placed his hands on Batman's chest and pushed. "Or at least put me back in Arkham. That way I can not only die, but I can do it in a cold place. A place that doesn't joke around about it's care for it's patients."
Batman's anger died as he thought back to the night he'd spent locked in Arkham with the Joker. He nodded slowly, remembering the disheartening sound of water dripping that seemed ever-present in that dreary place. He remembered thinking that Arkham made you crazy as opposed to making you sane.
Why had this never occurred to him before?
"That's a problem there." He said quietly. "I didn't really see it before. Do you think things would have been different had you received proper treatment?"
"It depends on what you mean when you say 'treatmeant'," Joker answered, keeping his voice soft. "The only treatment I need is attention. Yours." He blinked a few times and shifted his legs a
little. The room was so quiet except for their breathing. It made him feel vulnerable... a feeling he didn't enjoy, but seemed to be dealing with.
Batman looked down at him.
"You've had my complete attention for the last six days." He said. "Doesn't seem to have helped much."
"Funny way you have of showing it," Joker spat. "You know... you say you don't think it's helped at all, but aren't we talking? Aren't we conversing on a semi-sane level?"
"I've tried talking to you on a semi-sane level before." The Dark Knight pointed out, his voice level as his mind started to work on this new mystery, calming his frustrations over the one he couldn't solve. "You were more interested in shooting at me than talking at the time."
"It's in the past." Joker couldn't really form an argument. Batman was right this once. "I can't tell you what goes through my mind when I pull the trigger, Bats. It... just happens. But it doesn't
have to happen... ever again."
"How can you say that if you don't understand why you do it?" Batman asked, sounding more sad than anything.
"Can't you just try and accept what I say?" Joker tried to hide the hurt on his face. In the back of his mind, he was thinking about the news the Dark Knight had brought him. Something told him he'd never have the chance to hold a gun at arm's length... even if he ever wanted to. "I don't think I could hurt you again." The soft-spoken statement was deeply a psychological declaration... but could be applied to his physical state, as well.
Batman stared at the Joker in silence. His immediate reaction was *Can you blame me?* followed by *I can't take the chance that you're lying*. But neither of those statements would do any good. And he wasn't going to tell the Joker that he wanted to believe him and give him that kind of psychological leverage, even if he WAS. . . dying.
Everyone he cared about died. . . why did that thought occur to him at that moment? . . .
Stop fighting it, Bruce.
He'd thought that because he DID care about the Joker. He saw a lot of himself in his greatest foe. They both had the same driving madness infesting their brains... a specific madness that came from having everything around which your life was structured ripped away from you. The only difference between them was that Batman fought his madness; isolated it; used it. Joker succumbed to it. He let it use him.
He now knew what to say.
"I know why you kill."
Joker looked upward into Batman's eyes, a frown set into place as he tried to make sense of the response he'd been given. "Why?" he asked, not daring to blink. He might miss something important.
"For the same reason I don't." Batman said immediately. "Because it's so easy for you. Death is such a part of your life that you don't even think about it. That part of your humanity that's revolted at the thought of killing another person is gone. Someone or something took it, and you can't get it back. You kill because by repeating the cycle, you reconnect with humanity. You give back what was done to you. You know how much death hurts, even if it's just the death of a part of you. You've stared it in the face. And it's made you what you are. Twisted you. I don't kill because I know I could, and I'd enjoy it. It would feel right. It would be fun."
He took a breath. "My rejection of that has lead me to reject many joys in life. You were right, Joker. We're the same, except for one crucial choice."
There was clear unease in the Joker's eyes, reflecting the doubt running through his mind. What Batman said had made too much sense... and it made him uncomfortable. "You don't have to reject anything. You can keep your choice - your way of doing things - and still enjoy life." Joker brought his hands up and put a soft pressure on Batman's fists, hoping he'd let up on his chest a
little. "I want to enjoy the rest of my life." The tone of his voice was a sort of plea, changing his mood with it. "Let me enjoy it with you."
Batman's hands went weak: the Joker had resigned himself to the idea that 'the rest of his life' didn't amount to very much time.
'I want to enjoy the rest of my life. Let me enjoy it with you.'
It sounded very much like a dying man's last wish. How many of those had he heard? Too many if he could recognize one that quickly.
And he'd never refused one. Even when the cop who investigated his parents' murder asked him to close that one unsolved case, he'd agreed. Compared to that, this should be easy. But it didn't feel easy.
His fists opened and his palms rose up to rest on the Joker's shoulders. He blinked, and when he once again looked at the Joker's pale face, his emerald green eyes and bright red lips, he didn't see
an adversary.
He saw a victim. A victim of himself, perhaps, but a victim nonetheless. A helpless victim. Like Bruce Wayne had been the night his parents were killed. The very thing he swore to help, swore to protect, swore to never be again.
In that moment, he understood: the insane freedom that he'd so envied in the Joker was just as much a curse as his unbending sense of responsibility. The mystery of tragedy was unsolvable. No matter what choice you made, you were still left broken, altered, lonely. There was no right answer. No definitive solution. No way to fix it. Things would never make sense, no matter what he did, no matter what choices he made.
Lonely. So lonely.
And he saw that loneliness reflected in those green eyes. The Joker had chosen differently, but had ended up in the same place. Lonely.
And he was begging for Batman to take that away. He saw strength in the Dark Knight. Conviction based on a different chosen path. He seemed to want that. . .
That made sense. Batman wanted to experience the Joker's anarchy, so why shouldn't the reverse be true? Could they perhaps together find a middle ground that led them out of the prison of misery that held them both captive?
It was worth a try.
"I'm not sure I know how." He said. "But I'll try."
*
END