Title: Stranger
Fandom: The Dark Knight
Characters & Pairing: Bruce Wayne(/Batman)/Joker
Rating: R
Notes: Part 1 in a new arc; follows {I. Cell-Block Tango, II. Unstoppable Force, III. Immovable Object, and IV. Deep, Deep Water}. I suggest reading the first set of four before dabbling in this, because it all refers back to established events. This piece and those that will follow it technically happen between Immovable Object and Deep, Deep Water. I'd find it impossible to move forward without fleshing out the last handful of meetings between them that led up to Bruce's release.
Summary: Absence makes the heart grow -


Bruce couldn't lie to himself: the month off had taken some kind of toll. His mind felt empty, hollow in the absence of something to search for. For the time being, he'd abandoned his efforts at discovering the Joker's identity. At his most recent visit, Alfred had made a good point. What good was chasing a ghost when you looked well on the way to becoming one yourself? Bruce had accepted the criticism and started taking the iron supplements that the orderlies began pushing at him every morning at breakfast. It was probably the world's most expensive course of vitamins.

He'd done his level best not to bring up his meetings with the Joker at all; in fact, Alfred had beaten him to the punch. And how's the poor bastard doing, then?

Not so sure, Bruce had said, flipping through the book Alfred had brought. I didn't see him this month. He's been more...disturbed than usual, something like that.

Alfred had frowned, folding his arms. Genuinely sorry to hear that, sir. Clever as you are, I thought you would've got something directly from the horse's mouth.

You might say that, Bruce had thought, but kept on flipping.

Alfred had nodded, murmured farewell, and left.

It was a collection of short stories, one of those America's Best anthologies from just a few years ago. Its contents ranged from the bizarre to the boring, but by the time the fifteenth of the next month had rolled around - ironic, that their rendezvous date was always the ides - Bruce had finished it. In a moment of whimsy, he stuffed it in his pocket to bring along. He doubted the Joker liked to be seen reading, but he refused to accept that a mind so agile and easy with words didn't indulge in literature at all.

When Clive instructed him to put his hands behind his back, Bruce raised an eyebrow.

"He wants you handcuffed. I didn't ask why. He's handcuffed, too. Fair's fair."

Interesting, he thought, and let himself be led to the holding cell.

Until the guards left them alone, the Joker stood still and menacing across from Bruce, silently glaring. His eyes seemed more sunken than usual, even without benefit of blackening. Bruce realized with some shock that it was because he'd lost weight. On a frame that wasn't generous to begin with, the effect was startling and even eerie. His features were far more pronounced than Bruce would ever have guessed, the scars far more livid. Bruce wondered idly if he should have considered bringing some of his iron supplements instead of the book.

"Why so silent?" asked the Joker, finally, his lips quirking into a lurid grin. "After that little stunt you pulled ages ago, shouldn't I be giving you the cold shoulder? Hmmm?"

"I gave you some time to yourself," Bruce replied reasonably. "Wasn't it enough?"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," chided the Joker, "Batsy, darling, it was too much. Can't you see how I've been pining? Look at me now! Skin and bones! You really must tell that boy-toy butler of yours to smuggle in some of those tasty prawn canapés. You know the ones. With little red cherries on top."

"I'm afraid Alfred doesn't personally cater my parties, but I'll see what I can do."

"My, my, but those guards haven't had the courtesy to teach you some manners. Am I the only one fit for target practice around here?"

Must be the scars, Bruce thought. Makes you easier to see.

The Joker narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, straining as if he'd missed something.

"What was that, Batman? See, I'm not your kind, so I can't read your ditty little sonar messages, or whatever - "

"Do you really want me to say it?" Bruce snapped, wondering how it had taken so little time for the Joker to get under his skin. He'd even been looking forward to this, if only for a little variety, for some return to normalcy. The thought made him choke on desperate laughter, but he couldn't let it out. He couldn't.

The Joker considered, and then said, "No. Maybe you've learned some manners after all." He cocked his head again, apparently fixated on Bruce's pocket. "What's this, Mr. Wayne? A brick in your pocket, or are you just happy to see - "

"It's a book," Bruce said matter-of-factly. "Alfred brought it for me last time he came. Since I'm finished with it, I thought you might be interested. You can only do so much with a sick mind and a deck of cards."

The Joker closed his eyes and sighed, severely disappointed. "Just when I think we've gotten around the elephant in the cell, you go and let loose one of your pearls of wisdom. Tell me, Batman, exactly what do you think regarding our little...dalliance? Has it kept you up nights? Given you nightmares? Even, dare I say, kept you warm? Because, let me tell you, those flea-ridden blankets they give us are pathetic. But his past month and change? Batsy, I've barely noticed. You're all I need." That lucid, lively gleam shone in his newly open eyes, only this time it was dangerously manipulated.

Bruce took a discreet breath and shrugged, determined to keep his cool. "I haven't thought about it much, to be honest. Even though I'm in prison, I've still got a company to run. Alfred brings me a lot of paperwork, and then there are the newspapers to follow, and - "

"That's not the question I asked," hissed the Joker, bearing down on him in three swift strides. They were nose to nose now, and the Joker's entire body had begun to vibrate with the same wiry energy that had always made him seem so solid before. Now, he seemed incongruously fragile. Bruce knew full well it was only an illusion.

Chasing ghosts, Bruce thought, his mind awash in pity. He's certainly white as one.

"Batsy, darling, I can't hear you!" he raged, brutally punctuating each word.

Bruce closed his eyes and clenched his fists - anything to escape the mad, bottomless eyes and twisted lips. He'd grown to hate this fury because it was, he knew, a perfect (if contorted) mirror of his own. He counted to five and let out his breath.

"Okay, that's fine - you've called my bluff. I did give it some thought."

The Joker rocked back on his heels and winked, appeased. "Aaaand?"

"Thanks for not ripping me to shreds. You had plenty of chance."

The Joker frowned and made a quizzical sound in the back of his throat. That still wasn't the answer he'd been fishing for, but it seemed to interest him. "Elaborate."

Bruce shrugged again. "I mean, you didn't seem to be enjoying yourself. I thought you'd at least get that in exchange for the information I was trying to get off of you - literally. But I'm sure you've already figured that out."

"You're a tough case, Mr. Wayne," said the Joker, finally, effecting the chief doctor's placid tones. "On the one hand, you think anything you want is yours for the taking, so long as you drop a fat enough check in your intended victim's lap. On the other hand, you're not very good at reading body language."

Bruce stared at the floor. Of all the accusations that had been hurled at him, that one might just be the truest. That it was coming from the Joker added insult to injury.

"Tell me, what would you have me do? It's over and done with. I can't go back and change my tactics. You don't think I regret it?"

The Joker smiled wanly, shaking his head. "Oh, nononono. Not you."

"Well, then let me ask you this: did you get anything out of it? Because if I didn't know any better, you really seemed to be enjoying - "

"You may not regret it," continued the Joker, completely ignoring him, beginning to stroll in a wide arc, "but you're at least willing to admit that you might've been wrong. Now, tell me, Batsy: did you get anything out of it? Because if I didn't know any better, there was twice as much mess as there should have been. Tell me, are you enjoying those old rags that used to be my socks?"

Rage coursed through Bruce's veins, and he strained desperately against the handcuffs. Nothing happened; they held fast. The Joker paused and smirked at him, rattling his own wrists to no avail.

"Oh, Batsy, so sweet of you to consider another go. Why, I'd pick us out of these bonds in a heartbeat, but those lovely ladies with the breakfast trays took away my hairpin. Would you like to hear where I got that? Your old friend Harvey remembers very well, but I hear they've got him so heavily drugged that he doesn't know one side of his face from the other. Nice touch, by the by, letting all of Gotham think he's dead. It's true, you know. I gave him last rites."

New information, thought Bruce, his mind racing. Keep him talking!

The Joker paused, stepping up close to Bruce again, tilting his head back so that their lips almost touched. "Then again, what doesn't kill you really does make you stranger," he mused, his eyes tracing the line of Bruce's jaw. "Harvey's living proof, and so am I, because who would've guessed that I would find myself wanting this?"

The Joker's kiss was as searching and slow as any Rachel had ever given him.

"Time's up, boys," said Clive, rattling the keys loudly as he unlocked the cell door.

Bruce jerked his head to the side and blinked at the guards, stunned and embarrassed.

The Joker was already on the floor, on his back, kicking and howling like a banshee.

"I'm not gonna ask," said Clive, gesturing. "C'mon, Anderson. Let's get the clown first."

"So looo - ooong, lover!" shouted the Joker as they wrestled him up. "Till next time!"

"Yeah, whatever," Bruce muttered, waving him off. "Don't be a stranger." Once they were gone, he sat down on the padded floor and stared at it.

Stranger indeed, he thought. To Alfred and his enemies, but most of all to himself.