Slipping Into Entropy - Part 36
Brushing skin-toned foundation over the dried spots filling in his many scars, Joker began the painstaking work of blending everything in. He honestly hoped he'd never have to go through such lengths to hide himself very often; he'd never felt apologetic about the way he looked before, and he resented any action that made himself seem so.
It was a bit of extra work not only to cover up the scars on his face, but add the slight prosthetics that would change subtle parts of his features, making him look just a little bit different than the face that had been projected across news screens in Gotham not so long ago. With these alterations finished, Joker worked on tucking his hair under and putting the brown wig in place with spirit gum. No one would ever recognize him when he was through.
While waiting in the other room, Bruce allowed himself some time to relax, or attempt to, leaning back and closing his eyes. The flutter of tiny creatures overhead became soothing. There were times he'd spent days down here, completely alone, but once he got used to the noises they made, their presence was almost comforting.
Finishing the last few touches, Joker was finally satisfied with the disguise. Pulling the borrowed clothing back on, careful not to smear the dried paint that coated the quick fixes he's put on his skin, he walked out into the cave looking like a complete stranger. He could have been any other nondescript man in a crowd, but for his eyes and the way he held himself, shoulders hunched over as he stalked instead of walking like a normal person.
Bruce pulled himself back up hearing the soft footfalls echo through the cave. He took the Joker's new persona in with dull amazement. The few times he'd seen the man do something like this never failed to astonish him on some level. He'd gotten used to seeing the Joker while he looked like he couldn't put together a costume to save his life. The getup he usually wore, the dirty clothes and misshapen clown paint, looked like it had been put together by a child. This....was a stark contrast to that skill level.
Frowning at the amazed look Bruce was giving him, Joker crossed his arms, feeling oddly self-conscious. "What? Why are you looking at me like that? I know it's different," he grumbled. He disliked the whole... bland, normal look to the disguise. He knew it was necessary sometimes, especially when he needed to move places without detection. He didn't have to like it, however. "The sooner we get things over with, the sooner I can get this off."
"Right. Back to the city then." Bruce shook off the expression he realized he was making and jumped to his feet. He picked up a bag he'd been carrying with them since Chicago and headed for the exit. With the Joker looking like he did, he felt confident that they could move about in the open without worry.
Shoving his hands sullenly into his pockets, Joker shadowed Bruce, following him out of the cave. As nice as it would be to have his own clothes, he wasn't really looking forward to being scrutinized by a tailor while in disguise. Neither was he looking forward to having to deal with the butler while looking like this. He was far too used to manipulating the way he normally looked to scare others into submission or whatever reaction he wanted.
Oblivious to his thoughts, Bruce led them to the garage. A small, silver Porsche would be their mode of transportation back into Gotham. After firing up the engine and switching the radio station from news of "the Joker's heavily suspected vendetta against Bruce Wayne" to something more rock 'n roll, they spun out of the driveway and sped off for the city.
Despite Bruce's crazy driving and seemingly constant disregard for the speed limit, how he behaved behind the wheel wasn't the source of Joker's tension. Part of him wondered if the other man wouldn't make him do this more often simply so he could go out in public and keep up appearances while keeping an eye on him. He wasn't sure what irritated him more - the thought that he'd have to hide who he was upon Bruce's whim, or that he'd take him along to watch his behavior instead of just wanting to take him along.
They made it into the city within record time. With a bit of helpful gadgetry, Bruce could see where patrol cars stationed themselves along the highway and avoiding speed traps was simple enough. Once downtown, their progress slowed. A valet took the keys when they reached Bruce's temporary home and hideout, and they were left to step through the small current of pedestrians milling into and out of the lobby.
Ducking and trying not to be blinded by the photography flashes that seemed to hound Bruce Wayne no matter where he went or how unexpected the visit, Joker stepped quickly to keep up with the taller man, breathing a sigh of relief when they made it to the elevator before glaring at Bruce. "...of all the luck, Bat's other part-time job is being a paparazzi darling," he grumbled.
"Thought you liked the attention," Bruce commented as they rose through the levels. It was getting to the point where even he could feel the discomfort radiating from the Joker. There was really nothing he could do about it. If he took the man out, he'd be having an even harder time than with just one tailor. Besides, hopefully it would distract him from Alfred.
"Certain kinds of attention. There's a difference between getting attention when you want it, as a reaction to things you've said and done, and people who just hound you with cameras everywhere, taking picture after picture, with no real reason." The flashes of cameras had put him slightly on edge before, but he'd never remembered quite why until Bat had forced him on that hellish trip down memory lane.
Bruce considered it. "They used to bother me more." Before he became Batman, before he had somewhere else to turn from the paparazzi who hounded him, it had bothered him greatly that they searched out and exploited every tiny detail of his life. After he'd found a purpose, they couldn't reach him. They could hunt Bruce Wayne as long as they liked and they'd still never see what was underneath. Once he'd learned how to use their exploits to a tactical advantage, it became easier.
"Yes, well, nobody connects your real face to you, now do they?" Joker muttered, breathing a sigh of relief when the elevator doors closed on the masses of people on the ground floor. "You just take it off and no one's the wiser. I have to rely on paint, a few tricks, and luck if I want a night on the town. I'm actually amazed at how unobservant people are in person, but film can present other problems." The madman smirked suddenly, gesturing to his altered face. "You know, I didn't bother with any of this for the mayor, and not a one of them noticed until I fired."
That caught Bruce by surprise. Though, he hadn't been down on the street long since capturing the real policemen, and, "You had a team of men with you at the time." He was sure they provided cover for the Joker whenever possible, but still that was fairly amazing. "Whatever happened to all of those goons you recruited out of Arkham, anyway?"
The man just shrugged, obviously uncaring. "Dead, disappeared, disabled. I know some of them are still floating around, probably at the usual contact points. It's a little like being a caretaker; if you want to find where all the leaves and garbage have been drifting on the wind and collecting, you have to look in all the dark corners."
It was the answer Bruce had expected, and he gave a half smile in response. He assumed the Joker rarely kept ties with his colleagues, and if he had, probably wouldn't rat them out at Bruce's whim.
The elevator reached its landing and with a merry ding of the doors, Bruce stepped off and into the penthouse foyer. The place rarely changed. Everything was still as neatly kept, cleaned, and polished as ever. The three hundred and sixty degree view of the city below was spotless through floor to ceiling windows. Bruce could never tell if the place was always as clean as it was because of Alfred, or because no one ever used the space to its full potential. Speaking of the butler, there he stood waiting for them, as if he'd known they would arrive the moment they stepped on the elevator down in the lobby. Which was likely. The secretaries usually informed him of Bruce's arrival. He shouldn't have been surprised.
Joker didn't bat an eye at Alfred's presence or disapproving expression, ignoring him and instead moving to perch on the arm of a nearby couch halfway between Bruce and the butler. He didn't want to give the man any ideas that he was afraid of him or cowering behind Bat for protection.
"It's good to see you home, Master Wayne," Alfred said, ignoring the Joker.
Bruce took a deep breath and acknowledged the butler. "I'm expecting an appointment soon. She should have called to confirm by now." The strain that hung in the air was almost tangible. No one made a move to either recognize it, nor ease it.
"Ms. Vivian Hearn. The designer," Alfred replied slowly, wearing a mask as close to Bruce's of normalcy. It was all business as usual. Except for the Joker in the room. "She said she was having coffee at the cafe downstairs. Shall I send for her?"
Bruce nodded. "Yes."
Joker grinned at Alfred as he walked sharply over to the phone to contact the service people at the ground level office. The butler's stiff demeanor struck him every time, and it was an irresistible impulse to want to crack it and see what lay beneath. "...Bat, has he always walked like that since you've known him, or did he piss someone off enough that they rammed a steel pole up his ass and into his spine?"
Bruce's expression went sour instantaneously. Moreso than even Alfred's who glared daggers at the fugitive over the phone and began speaking in even tones to a woman down in the lobby. Bruce stalked into the middle of the room, close enough to stand between the two other men. "No, but if you don't play nice, I could show you what it's like."
"You already have, in case you've forgotten," the insane man purred back, looking completely at ease draped over the couch. "And I am playing nice. He put a hole in me, and you've forbade me from reciprocating, so the least I can do to repay him is punch one through his ego."
Knowing Alfred did very much not want to hear about the things Bruce did to the Joker in the dark, he moved up to the man so that they were face to face. "Don't. You've done enough." He knew this wasn't going to turn out well if he let it continue. What started out as malicious prodding for the Joker soon dissolved into chaos.
"Bat, Riff-Raff most likely appreciates your attempt to hold his hand, but he's a big boy - he can stand on his own two feet, and he'll have to do so around me eventually. I'm sure he knows I'm only pulling his chain. Don't you, Freddy?" Part of him was intrigued by the relationship between Bruce and Alfred, not knowing quite what to make of it or their protective stances towards one another.
Setting the phone back on its stand, Alfred moved to stand behind Bruce's shoulder. "Ms. Hearn is on her way." His tone didn't flatten at all, not until he spoke to the Joker. "I have little interest in speaking with you at all, actually. In fact, I would be just as happy to believe that you are a figment of Bruce's imagination and nothing more."
"But you and I both know that isn't true, and you'll have to deal with it sooner or later. I'm not going away, and you already failed to kill me. I don't think Batsy would be very happy if you tried again."
Alfred turned away, doing his best to put forth a blank face. He was unable to soften the hard line his mouth had become, betraying his feeling on the matter. With as stiff a gait as the Joker pointed out before, he left them, heading for the foyer to greet the woman Bruce had commissioned. When he was gone, Bruce searched out the Joker's gaze. "I'll talk to him."
"Fine. You'll have to forgive me for being curious to see what a poke or two would do to a humorless stiff." That was as close to an apology as Bruce was going to get, although Joker didn't sound remorseful in the least. His eyes flickered nervously to the door, wondering just how good his disguise might hold up and if his lover was going to help at all like he'd suggested.
Bruce had only enough time to sigh before a shrill, drawn out "Mister Waaaaayne!" emanated from the hall and spilled forth into their open room. The acoustics in the place amplified the sound of heels clacking a staccato beat into the marble floor and all eyes were invariably drawn to their owner, Ms. Vivian Hearn, a lanky blond with energy to spare come toward them in a hurry. "It's so nice to meet you," she said with a flourish, immediately holding out a hand for Bruce to take, which he did, at a much slower pace as well as casually putting a hand on her shoulder to calm her nerves, or at least take her exuberance down a notch.
"Likewise," he replied, "I'm glad you could come."
Joker's eyes widened at the energy pouring off the skinny woman; he had no idea that he had a somewhat similar effect when he walked into the room, one big bundle of high-tension nerves. His gaze flickered over her, sizing her up. She'd better do as she's told, not try to impose her own ideas and taste. He waited for Bruce to speak first, unsure of what story they were going to feed to the tailor.
Her eyes glanced over to the man inspecting her carefully from the couch and Bruce noted that she was likely a person who noticed when they were being watched. If she could sense the tension she'd just walked into, she didn't show it. "This is, Lewis, Lewis White. My cousin. Anyway, he's going to be staying in Gotham for a short time, and well, he says he needs a new wardrobe." Bruce allowed her to watch him eye up the Joker ill fitted clothing with a bemused smile, so she gave one in return.
"I think we can manage that," she replied, reaching out to take the Joker's hands and pull him to his feet so that she could look at him. "Do you have anything in mind?"
Ignoring the offered hand, Joker stood on his own. "Yes, but before I tell you the designs I was thinking of, I think we should see what colors and fabric you have to work with. I'm afraid I'm rather... particular." He wondered how long he was going to have to argue with the woman before she'd just shut up and make the damn clothes. It hadn't been a chore with the last tailor because... well, the last tailor had been fearing for his life and bodily integrity.
"Alright, we can work with that." She clapped her hands together to smooth out the awkward motion of having her proffered hand sidestepped and pulled out of her shoulder bag a binder full of fabric swatches. "I have a few examples, but we can always work up more designs." Showing it to the Joker, she pulled yet another book from the bag, containing illustrations of her latest line of suits, jackets, and other apparel.
As interesting as it was to watch the Joker work to get what he wanted while under her scrutiny, Bruce new he would be bored of this soon. He sent Alfred off to get them drinks and then pulled up a chair opposite the couch to observe them from.
Joker pawed through the materials, choosing a number of truly odd swatches and others that could have been tastefully made into something wearable... and putting them into garish, eye-catching combinations. While he did pick a number of dark colors, they seemed to be only deep varieties of the same shades he'd chosen in eye-blindingly bright samples, as well. Nothing was toned down. He seemed determined to obtain clothing of the sort a street circus performer would wear. "Give me that book. Don't tell me you don't have anything that layers, anything with pockets. I need both."
At first, Vivian seemed a little taken aback by his forwardness, but she quickly complied and handed over the designs. "Of course. If you'd like, I can add more into almost any of the jackets." She looked curiously over the swatches he'd pulled out and put together. "What kind of occasions are you planning for? Are we thinking three piece, dinner, casual, or....something more interesting?"
Raising an eyebrow, Joker shrugged. "Any and all of the above. I'm afraid all of my clothes were... lost on the trip here, and I have no idea if they'll ever turn up again. Bruce has lent me some of his things, but they neither fit my body nor my tastes. Everything he owns seem to be black and drab and morbid. It makes me wonder if he's a closeted goth, among other things..."
Vivian laughed outright at Bruce's expense. An impassive Alfred returned with drinks; Bruce turned his a few times in his hands before he set it down on the table and reclining back once again. "Lewis here is a performer," he explained good-naturedly. "And you know how they can get...." He smirked and rolled his eyes in emphasis.
"Pay no attention to him. He's just sour because he didn't like my latest magic trick," Joker shot back good-naturedly. "Apparently, it's also embarrassing to know jokes that make a notorious womanizer blush. It's not good for one's reputation, I'm told, so I'm not allowed to regale people with that part of my repertoire without permission." Tsking, he turned back to the book of patterns, leafing through it and noting the ones he liked.
"Is that so?" Her tone was just a little too conspiratorial for Bruce's tastes, and he coughed into the glass that he'd just brought to his lips.
When she gave him a look, he held up his hands in mock defeat. "Guilty as charged." It was at this point that Alfred left the room. Bruce watched him go out of the corner of his eye. He knew the man didn't want to stay and watch this charade, and he couldn't blame him. He only hoped the butler would understand later. Turning his attention back to the designer who had an eyebrow raised in his direction, he tried to placate her interest. "It's just too bad that he thinks he's funny."
"No, it's too bad you're the only one who happens to think I'm not funny. You and your prude of a butler," Joker laughed softly, grinning as he continued to pick sketches out of the pattern book. "I think you're just mad I put a kink in your plans whenever we happen to be out for a night on the town together."
With a wave of the hand and inclination of the head in concession, Bruce let the dispute go, unwilling to let it escalate in present company.
"Sounds like you have quite a time, nevertheless," the designer interrupted, rather tactfully whether she knew it or not, as she marked a few of the items the Joker was looking through. Noting the blatantly unusual tastes, she tried to dig up more interesting styles. Anything that looked like it could be worn on a stage was handed his way.
Everything that got passed over to him was keenly examined before being approved with a nod. "Yes, exactly. Anything you have along these lines. If it can be altered to go in layers and have pockets added, so much the better." Handing her back the other sketches he'd picked out of the book,
Joker's gaze flickered sideways to Bruce, questioning. What are we going to do when she wants to do measurements? The fixes won't hold up to close inspection!
They went on like that for some time. Bruce was surprised at the Joker's blatant questing glances of apprehension. On him, the look almost seemed funny. But Bruce didn't want to throw off their game just as badly as the Joker, so while she was finalizing some of the designs with the madman in disguise, he began rummaging through her bag. "Aha." Pulling out the tape measure when he found it, he stood up and wrapped it around his waist.
She laughed before going back to work. It was a good sign. "I'll need that in a few minutes, don't lose it."
"Lose it? Don't worry. How do you do this, anyway?" Bruce asked thoughtfully, pulling it around himself. He plucked a diagram out of the folder she'd set down and studied it, noting the places on the figure that needed to be measured. "Hmmm....." Imitating a serious tone, he unwound the tape from himself and pulled it taut in his hands. "I'm afraid all this has been for naught. Somebody's going to be too shy to go through with the rest of it."
Giving both of them a sheepish grin, Joker held out his hands apologetically. "Hey, I've told you - on stage and in character is one thing. Off-stage and up close is another. I don't even use the assistants some of the other guys do. I've told you all this before, Bruce."
Vivian raised an eyebrow, obviously under the impression that Bruce had been joking. "Well there's... a few of these you can do yourself, but...." She looked to Bruce for help. "Would it be easier if you...?"
"See this? This is just one of those things that he's going to use against me later." Bruce commented with a dramatic sigh, but folded the diagram in his hand anyway.
"If you get all the measurements marked on that sheet, I promise not to tell," she replied.
"She won't tell, but you'd best watch yourself the next time you go drinking, Bruce. It'd be a shame if the hotels had more fodder to add to the rumor mill," Joker laughed, teasing but looking every bit the grateful relative for getting helped out of a tight spot. "I suppose we'd better get this over with. You will excuse us, won't you?" he asked Vivian, giving her a lopsided smile as he elbowed Bruce slightly.
"We'll be right back," Bruce told her apologetically. "If you need anything, Alfred's lurking just outside the door." He was right too. They passed him as he led the Joker down the hall and to a small billiards room, closing the door behind them. Ill at ease with the situation as he was, Bruce still counted on him to keep the curious designer company, and out of trouble, while he left her alone.
Sighing as soon as they were away from the woman, Joker dropped the act, his body flowing back into the odd, hunched posture and stilted gait that he displayed whenever he wasn't putting on a facade. "At least you picked a good one. She actually has decent patterns and fabric. I do not, however," he admonished, his mouth twisting in distaste. "...approve of Lewis."
Bruce, a little less quick to drop the guise, smiled to himself. "You liked Barry, Barry White, better then? You could be Lewis White? Less conspicuous than Lewis Carroll at least." After studying the paper for a moment, he moved behind the Joker, tilting his shoulders back so that he stood up straight and began measuring across his shoulders. "I thought you might like her." Things went smoothly. Bruce marked numbers next to each of the points on the diagram, and with the Joker relaxed, he didn't have to worry either.
Joker cooperated for once, moving and standing as Bruce positioned him. "I don't like either," he muttered, glaring at the taller man as he measured. "Can't you come up with something that doesn't sound like it belongs to a rickety old grandfather sipping tea in someone's parlor? They'd suit Freddy more." Watching him mark down the numbers, he had little idea of why any of them would be that important, much less what figures were the normal average. "The lady's fine, as long as she doesn't get nosy or gossip."
"Everybody talks," Bruce answered as he moved along down the Joker's body. "And everybody forms their own conjectures, opinions. There's no avoiding it." Arms, torso, waist. Soon he was down on his knees in front of the Joker. "You pick the name next time."
Joker smirked, the familiar expression and eyes very odd in a different face. "I will, then. You do realize, though, that if she talks to a reporter and the reporter digs along your family bloodline and discovers no cousin, some very different conclusions will be drawn? Especially taken into context that you lied about who I was. Just something to consider." Placing one hand along the back of Bruce's neck, he chuckled. "...what I wouldn't give to see you like this more often."
The tape measure rose up the inside of his leg while the hairs on Bruce's neck tingled. "If she talks then they'll conclude that I was hiding the truth. Because I don't have a cousin named Lewis, and because I will have a strange man in my presence. And then they'll be bending over backwards to validate the conspiracy that I have a gay lover." Bruce's eyes flickered up to the green ones staring down at him. "They will not be bending over backwards looking for the Batman."
"Clever man. You really don't care how people view you as long as they're not seeing what you really are, do you?" He pressed slightly as Bruce finished measuring, pulling him closer still. "What a heartbreak for all those young women out there, preening and posturing in the hopes of being picked to produce the Wayne heir and live a life of luxury. Their knight isn't so shining, and someone else is already riding along behind him."
"You think so?" Bruce set down the tape and ran his hands up the Joker's legs. "No, I don't need them to see me....." There was a lot, a lot, of truly slanderous things to be said about Bruce Wayne, and most of them put into motion by Bruce himself. He didn't want to think about how much he regretted that with Rachel. "...just....just the ones who matter."
"And which ones are those?" Joker asked, stroking Bruce's hair. "I see you, but who else does? Not your company, not those who you chat with when you go to your social occasions. Not your parents' friends. Does even Pennyworth really know who you are anymore?"
Bruce almost smiled into the Joker's leg. "Ahh, you've found the catch then." He'd been good at this thing. So good that his Rachel, who'd once believed in him, fell for one misdirected act after another until she couldn't see Bruce at all any longer. Those acts had been meant for everyone but her. Bruce had thought about what the Joker had said days ago, about her leaving him. The real irony was that he'd been his own saboteur. And no matter how much he wished for her back....even if she were still alive, she would never believe in him again. And Alfred....he could only hope that Alfred would see through him. He hadn't screwed up so completely with Alfred yet. Finally he met the Joker's eyes again. Staring into them, he realized he'd gone into a place where none of them could follow.
Dropping down to his own knees until he was only a little below Bruce's eye level instead of towering above him, Joker flashed him a humorless smile. "Yes, that is the catch, isn't it? What to do when one's greatest enemy becomes one's only close friend, hmmm?" Leaning close until they were almost nose-to-nose, his hand tightened on Bruce's neck. "You won't fool me though, Bat. I see you no matter what you do."
".....good." Even if it was the Joker, it felt good to have another cognizant being recognize what he was....without judgment. That was something he never thought he would say. "Let's get you some clothes." He rose to his feet a moment later, aware that they'd been gone longer than they should have been.
"Funny. I was just thinking the opposite: 'let's get rid of yours'," the smaller man teased, leading the way out of the room and into the tailor's presence again. Joker couldn't quite keep a smirk off his face.
"Touche," Bruce said to himself, willing his own features impassive as he followed the Joker.
Vivian, who was now sitting at the couch conversing with Alfred, gave her pleased client a quirked eyebrow. "With a look like that, it couldn't have gone as badly as you'd thought it would."
"Yes, well, Bruce has a way with lightening the mood at every occasion and making things more pleasant. You should come to one of his famous parties sometime and see for yourself." Sitting in one of the other armchairs, Joker made himself at home, directing the brunt of his smile at Alfred, who seemed less than pleased.
"I'll have to check my schedule," she said to Bruce as he handed over the chart, but from the smile and look in her eye, it was easy to tell that she would be thrilled.
"He just can't wait to crash one," Bruce replied conspiratorially.
It was then that Alfred decided to chime in. "And I can't wait to clean up the mess. Really Master Wayne, one of these days you should let an occasion go un-crashed. It could do wonders for your, and my, health."
"Now Freddy, you know I wouldn't do anything to put undue strain on your heart. We're all family, after all. Family is supposed to be about giving each other grief and good stories, not heart attacks. Or is there something we need to talk about? I'm sure Bruce would let you have a vacation if you needed one," Joker suggested, having a difficult time keeping a straight face.
"I might if Bruce ever took one," Alfred replied with a pointed look at the subject, who raised his eyebrows harmlessly in response.
Before things got too awkward, Bruce picked up a few finalized sets of clothes and laughed. "Doesn't matter where you go; vacation, parties, even a show, you'll crash it."
That brought her attention back to the subject at hand right away. "Don't blame me, those are all his doing. I'm just the one who gets to make it."
"Oh, he knows. I'm far too corrupted for any sort of redemption. He doesn't even try to argue with me anymore, most of the time. I think he's finally realized it doesn't do any good," Joker laughed, curious as to what Bruce actually thought of the flamboyant outfits he'd put together on the planning sheets. "It doesn't matter if he thinks they're horrible. He'll still foot the bill anyways."
"Right. Speaking of, you can bill me once you get an estimate in." Bruce rose to his feet, helping Vivian put away her books and loose papers as she did the same.
"Well thank you very much Mr. Wayne. It should only be a day or two before I'll have your items delivered," she replied happily. After a healthy amount of thank yous and call me soons, Alfred escorted her back down to the lobby.
Joker looked extraordinarily pleased with himself, excited at the prospect of having his own clothing once more and Bruce actually keeping his promise in that regard. Peeling back the edges of the wig and removing it, he shook his real hair out, glad to be done with the act for the moment.
Once Bruce had seen them out the door, he returned to watch the Joker remove the pieces of his disguise. It was strange to be almost as relieved as the fugitive to be rid of it, but he didn't really like watching the Joker lurk about with all that stuff on either. He stood against one long metal beam of the door frame, just observing. Even without the hair, and a slight change of posture, the Joker was an entirely different person.
It was, in a way, as if Bruce hadn't really been lying to the young designer; Joker really was a man of the stage, full of trickery and illusion and grandiose emotional gestures. That was only a part of the whole that comprised the high-strung man and all his murderous tendencies, however. Noticing Bruce watching him, he raised an eyebrow. "...is it safe to get rid of this, or are you planning something that will just make me put it all on again?"
"Go ahead," Bruce answered without moving from his perch. He wondered how often the Joker made himself up like this to go out. He was good at it, but Bruce suspected that it wasn't very often. It would be hard for a man like the Joker, who reveled in being and surviving different in a world of people he considered to be lying to themselves, to fade in and out of a normal life even for the little things. Bruce himself couldn't explain why he didn't like it when the Joker dressed up. He looked cleaner, he looked respectable, he looked good even. It just wasn't....why he'd kept the Joker with him.
As soon as the words left Bruce's lips Joker began tearing at all his careful work, stripping off the layers to expose who he really was beneath it all. He didn't like hiding, behaving like he had something to apologize for. Perhaps some people, like Bat, thought he should feel remorse and sorrow and promise to be a good little girl scout from now on, but Joker didn't. He didn't feel the least bit sorry or apologetic and resented anything that might make him appear so. If other people were displeased, it was their problem.
Lifting up the collar of his borrowed shirt, he pulled at some of the makeup covering the scars all over his body, feeling slightly itchy with all that unnatural substance stuck to him.
Finally Bruce came to life. "You should change that bandage." He disappeared down the hall for a few minutes while the Joker continued to strip himself of Bruce's fake cousin and returned with a small medical kit and a clean set of bandages.
Removing the shirt, Joker continued to claw at his skin, removing the latex and putty and scratching at the residue left behind until his skin had slightly reddened streaks from his nails. He'd never had to cover his whole body as a precaution before. It made him want to take sandpaper to himself.
Moving up to him, Bruce slit the old bandage in half and carefully peeled it away. Much of the gauze over the actual shot wound had all but merged with the man's skin with coagulated blood. He peeled that piece away slower than the rest, thinking yet again how lucky the Joker had been that none of the shot had broken a rib or pierced a lung. The pain was probably awful, but as the madman had proved, not debilitating.
Hissing as the covering was peeled away and pulled at the edges of the healing wound, Joker shut his eyes and arched back against Bruce. It was truly bizarre how his mind had somehow switched how it processed pain and pleasure, mixing and confusing the senses. "How does it look? Shall we have Freddy give me a matching one on the other side?"
"Do that, just an inch or two toward the center of your chest, and it would have gone into your heart." In spite of Bruce's admonishment, his eyes wandered down the madman's spine when he writhed through the pain. Along with a good application of disinfectant, he took out a wet cloth and swabbed over the wound. Idly, his other hand found its way to the base of the Joker's spine, both holding him still while Bruce worked and drawing slow circles into his skin.
The burning, stinging liquid only made the madman moan and squirm with pleasure, not pain as normal people knew it. He was panting and breathless by the time Bruce finished cleaning the wound and surrounding skin, one arm reaching backwards to steady himself against the taller man's hip. "....mmm. And you care if I die, even if it's out of your control and your hands are kept clean?"
"Yes." It was barely hesitant this time. "Yes I would." Since their little conversation on deals not so very long ago, since only yesterday, and the day before, since..... Since Bruce had agreed to take a second look at the Joker and himself, he knew that he would care if the Joker died.
"Mmmmm," came the hummed response, Joker turning his head up until he found Bruce's gaze. "We're in the same place, then. Now you see why I can't kill you, don't want to, and will not allow anyone else to, either." The man's half-smile held a hint of violence. "I'll make anyone who tries very, very sorry. That they tried, and that they were ever born."
Bruce leaned into the Joker's slowly swaying form and spoke softly, "I don't want anyone else to die either." Abruptly his hands pulled the new bandage around the Joker's torso tight and just as he pressed his lips to the Joker's neck, just underneath his ear, a small but pointed cough from across the room ended Bruce's words before he had a chance to speak them.
Alfred stood at the room's threshold, watching them with bitter eyes. "Ms. Hearn says she would be happy to do business with you again, sir."
"Ah. Impeccable timing, Freddy. Do they teach that at butlery school? Or did you have it differently at the turn of the century? Was it like driver's licenses, where you mailed in 10 cents and became an official part of the butler club?" Feeling Bruce's hands tighten, Joker fell silent, his head bowed slightly as he gave in to his lover's silent request.
Grateful for the Joker's sudden quiet, Bruce swallowed in embarrassment and finished tying the bandage. "Thank you, Alfred." The old man nodded once, and then turned on his heel, leaving the two of them to their previous activities. Bruce sighed and began collecting the kit back together and throwing the old cloths away. "I need to talk to him. .......I also need to go out tonight. Batman needs to come back to Gotham."
"You know I won't try to stop you from either. I wouldn't succeed anyways," Joker muttered, bitter at the interruption. "Go do what you need to do. I'm used to entertaining myself." Catching the look Bruce shot him, his expression soured. "...alright, none of it will involve blowing anything up or vandalizing something. Happy?"
"Yes." Just before Bruce picked up his bag and left the room, he stopped. "Thank you." And then he was gone again, headed off in Alfred's wake, bag slung heavily over his shoulder as though it weighed far more that it did. It was only evening and already he was exhausted. Or maybe just dreading the oncoming confrontation.