Life is so much better when you're dead

"I mean, you better brush up your self-preservation instincts, darling. Do you really want to get rabies from me?" Joker said, pouring the disinfectant over the bite marks scattered all over Bruce's skin. Bruce just smirked, wondering for a second about those instincts. He had to admit--lately he had given in completely to Joker's protective custody, and being taken care of felt a little too nice, a little too right, enough for him to forget about the various dangers of bites and other things; then again, the prospect of catching something from Joker didn't seem particularly scary to him. He listened to the madman mutter unhappily something about failing to tend to those wounds before they had fallen asleep, and slowly his thoughts trailed off a little, allowing him to give in again. His gaze kept circling around Joker's face, analyzing different details, the subtle changes of expression, the image going slightly out of focus in one minute and sharpening in another when something new would catch his attention. Sometimes, their eyes would meet, and he would smile as Joker would place another band-aid over another wound. Bruce was aware he was as far from dreaming as he could get, though everything seemed a little grainy, just like in his nightmare. Still, he was sure that the gray, foggy morning seeping into the room through the open window was real, covering the entire city, slinking around their home. He remembered what he had said last night, and he knew what it meant. It was their home now, and the thought of it didn't stir him in the least. Not right now.

A warm hand chose a bruiseless spot and patted him on the cheek gently. Joker raised his eyebrows and pouted, checking out the result of his ministrations. He squinted and cleared his throat. "No, really, y'know, it's you who should be reasonable. I'm worried," he said in a parental manner, dragging out the syllables.

"Really, y'know, it's you who shouldn't be worried," Bruce answered, mocking him a little. Joker leaned back and shot him a reproachful glare, smacking his lips. The springs of the mattress creaked quietly when he changed his position from straddling Bruce to sitting next to him; he didn't take his eyes off the other man. "Maybe I shouldn't, maybe I am; I'm just subversive like that," he said, smirking. Bruce gave him a slant look and smiled despite the pain.

"I could never imagine you worried over anything."

"Are you saying you were actually imagining me through all those years? Thinking of me in your spare time, mulling over various scenarios?"

"You would be surprised." Bruce chuckled and rubbed his forehead with his hands. He closed his eyes for a moment. Lean arms wrapped around him, strands of hair brushed against his neck, tickling the skin, and the slender, twitchy fingers clawed at his shoulder in a possessive gesture. That was their morning: talking about nothing and everything, washing the wounds, doing nothing really, being close, reluctant to pull away even for the time needed to go to the bathroom. Everything seemed to pass by in slow motion as opposed to the jump-cut sequences of which Bruce's memories mainly consisted; the memories of countless nights filled with fear and jagged doses of the emotion now suffusing everything, not wanting to go away, glueing them together with comfort, calmness and something without a name. Bruce turned his head to face the madman. He really liked to look at him in broad daylight. He liked to see those incisive eyes get clouded with slight confusion at his touch, and then soften in a way he would never suspect was possible with Joker. Maybe there was something perverse about enjoying the effect he had on him with a simple gesture, maybe there even was something morbid about it; right now, thinking of who this man really was and what he had done would only send a pang of weird longing through Bruce's body, longing to neutralize it somehow, to watch it melt, to feel it melt.

He pulled Joker closer, embracing him tightly. This was their new way, and it worked for both of them better than anything, much better than the old, tired mechanisms. One move, and the quiet, doubting monster dwelling inside of Bruce would coil up and wither. One touch, and the boiling, acerbic substance that seemed to normally be the Joker would subside, relenting more and more the tighter he held him. There were short moments of satisfaction at this small victory, but soon enough Bruce would give in himself, remaining still until they both felt harmless, unarmored, forgetting about what had just gone away almost unnoticed; the lingering traces, the memories of the old way.

"What are those crazy things we have slated for today?" Bruce asked, his arms still wrapped firmly around Joker.

"Well, uh..." The madman fixed his gaze at some distant point as if pondering the question. "We're going out and having breakfast, that's quite insane if you ask me, and then, we'll just, y'know, go with the flow, and at some point buy those goddamned bed sheets. I'm thrilled already," he chirped and shivered exaggeratedly.

"Well, I'm fucking petrified already." Bruce laughed softly and leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. Joker gasped and smacked him on the head, forcing Bruce to lift his eyelids and give him a scolding glare.

"Language," he hissed and cupped the other man's face in his hands, looking at the bruises critically. "Now, c'mon, you should have a positive attitude about it. It's a beautiful day, as can be seen, so just absorb the beauty. Be sprightly, be positive; we're getting new bed sheets," he uttered the last sentence in singsong. "I'll give you a makeover before we set out, hm? You oughta feel better immediately."

"I should hope so." Bruce sighed. He already felt rather good, he would even wager the more appropriate expression was that he felt great, and he knew that Joker knew it, and even shared it; it didn't need to be mentioned though.

"Wouldn't want anyone to find out you're being subject to domestic abuse now, would you?" Joker grinned and pranced to the bathroom, returning shortly with handfuls of make-up supplies. "Now, that would be unsightly," he muttered as he seated himself on the bed next to Bruce. The man smiled, and Joker smiled back at him in a wolfish, yet sort of tender way before he started to cover up some of the bruises.

"What do we want for breakfast?" Bruce asked quietly, still smiling a little.

"Pancakes."

"Doesn't sound very insane. Still petrifying, though."

"When you see the maitre'd of the place, you'll sing differently. Insane, I'm telling you." Joker leaned in and lowered his voice to a conspirational whisper.

The room got a little brighter for a moment, thanks to a stray streak of sunlight getting through the thick clouds, but in a matter of seconds it was gone. Bruce's eyes wandered down Joker's torso, stopping at some of the scars while the madman kept applying the make-up diligently, humming something to himself. Bruce didn't mind the pricks of pain at the touch, in fact he kind of enjoyed it as if it was the perfect reassurance of him being there, of Joker being there with him. It was everything that really mattered at the moment. Without thinking, he reached out to touch some of the scars he had given him, smoothing over the uneven skin with his fingertips, caressing it. He felt something strange for a second, being torn between wanting them to go away and the urge to get deeper, to burn into the other man. It could be done without blood, and he saw it when Joker looked at him. He still seemed a little startled every time Bruce would reach out to him on his own, and Bruce caught himself wanting to see more, again, but another part of him guided his hand until it rested on the blond hair, petting it in calming, languid strokes.

The corners of Joker's mouth twitched, and he tucked in his lower lip, smiling. He was giving the make-up its final touches, and as soon as he was done, he grabbed Bruce's hand and kissed the bondage marks on his wrist. "Get dressed, get dressed," he lilted and rose from the bed. Bruce moved his head, looking for his clothes on the floor, and began to pick them up slowly while Joker rummaged through his shirts.

"My pants are still damp," Bruce said, slightly amused.

"You don't say," answered Joker. "Take mine. They fit you, right?"

"Yeah." Bruce pulled on Joker's pinstriped pants and reached for his t-shirt. It had spots of dried blood on it. He sighed, trying to scratch them off with his fingernails, but the stains remained, so he just shrugged and put it on anyway, deciding he'll hide it under his jacket. The madman put on some randomly picked shirt, pants and suspenders and proceeded to the bathroom. "Time to get dapper," he announced.

Bruce smiled and followed him, but not because he wanted to watch Joker work on his scars. It just felt obvious to be where the other was. Joker must have thought the same; he opened the cabinet and gave Bruce an approving smile while the man seated himself on the edge of the bathtub, his eyes following the fingers slathering shaving gel over scarred cheeks and then, the precise sweeps of the straight razor. Minutes were passing, and finally Joker went on to the main task. With each layer of liquid latex and make-up, he began to turn into the man Bruce had seen a couple days earlier, dragging bags of alcohol into the house. The effect was flawless, yet the whole process didn't seem to take any effort on Joker's part; he just continued his routine, the movements of those usually twitchy hands steady and knowing as if he had been doing this his entire life. He was humming some strange melody that Bruce felt he knew, although Joker's rendition sounded much more eerie than what he thought was the original. Bruce curled his fingers over the edge of the tub; it was hard and cold, reminding him all of it was real, what he had said last night was real, what they were about to do was real, they were real. Joker finished preening himself in the mirror and turned to face him, grinning.

"So, how's this?" he asked and pointed at his face, his tongue darting out.

"I like you better without it," Bruce answered, not realizing what he had said until a couple moments later. He chuckled and lowered his head, shaking it slightly, but Joker approached him, unfazed, and placed his hands on the man's shoulders. He leaned in and kissed his hair.

"Flattery will get you anywhere," he murmured and got a hold of Bruce's hand, pulling him gently to make him stand up. On his way out of the bathroom, Bruce caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror; the bruises were covered completely, and there were only the band-aids under his lower lip and on his neck left to tell the story. He remembered the sharp teeth grinding his skin and the taste of tears. Warmth swept through his body; he looked at Joker with a sinking feeling in his stomach and followed him to the door.

They found themselves back in the dim room; the clouds seemed to have gotten even thicker, blocking more of the sunlight away. Joker picked a plum waistcoat and a brown and purple argyle necktie from the floor, put the waistcoat on without buttoning it and focused on the tie. Bruce smirked. He walked up to him and grabbed his hands.

"You're gonna end up with a botched knot again," he said quietly, raising his eyebrows a little, and began tying it, creating a perfect knot with a few quick movements. He straightened the necktie and glanced at Joker who seemed to be deeply offended and genuinely amused at the same time. Bruce just smiled.

"What do you mean, botched? Again?" Joker asked, sounding a little hurt. "You... you." He pouted and started to button his waistcoat. "You really pay attention, don't you," he added softly.

"When the details are all you have, you pay attention," Bruce said, the corners of his lips still curled up a little. He reached to the last button of the waistcoat and undid it. "If you wanna be dapper, leave this one undone." His hands lingered, picking at the fabric absently. Joker let out a high pitched giggle and took a step closer to Bruce.

"I'm gonna break hearts now," he said, still laughing. "You always leave yours undone, don't ya?"

"Yeah. I have to be the ultimate fashion victim of this city." Bruce's hands slipped underneath the fabric, his fingers playing with the suspender clips and wandering over Joker's shirt. He didn't think much of what he was doing. Joker moved even closer.

"No, no, you don't have to," he half-whispered.

Bruce reached up to the other man's face and evened out the make-up on his cheekbone with his fingertips; his other hand rested on the small of his back. Joker squinted, tilting his head.

"What now, my make-up's botched too? Hm?"

"Just a little bit."

"You're like the perfect wife, y'know?" The madman smiled, and Bruce felt that sinking sensation one more time when he looked into his eyes. Everything around was gray and cold except for what they had right now. His fingers brushed down the back of Joker's neck while his other arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him close. Two soft hands slid down his sides slowly and soon enough Joker was holding him tight, still smiling, their gazes still locked. It was enough for Bruce to drown in warmth, and it never ceased to amaze him how little Joker had to do to make him tingle all over. Fingers clawed at his back, and he leaned in, wanting to kiss him, but at this point he wasn't sure if he would be able to stop at that. His lips rested on Joker's forehead, then his temple, and his hands started to be a little anxious, moving over the patterned shirt. He felt something shut down inside his head. The familiar white noise clouded his thoughts for a second when Joker grabbed his hair and licked his lips, kissing him, very gently at first as if trying not to hurt him, but Bruce had already forgotten about pain. He pushed back.

They moved closer to each other until their bodies pressed flush together. Bruce's tongue slipped inside Joker's mouth, moving slowly, but insistently, and Joker responded with languid sweetness, so unlike his usual, harsh way. Bruce's arms stopped wandering over the other man's body, holding him tightly, protectively. There was a strange feeling shooting through him, something much more powerful than lust. Something almost euphoric. Joker broke the kiss, muttering something about being reasonable and sounding a little breathless, patting the band-aid under Bruce's lip gently. He didn't pull away too far; there were only inches between them, and his arms were still wrapped around the other man's neck and waist. Bruce leaned back a little bit to get a better look. He chuckled; Joker was literally glowing despite his gaze slowly regaining its sharp edge.

"Sofia was right," Bruce said, amused.

"About what?"

"About your buttery eyes and maidenly blushes."

Joker gasped. "What?"

"You don't remember?" Bruce smirked, playing with Joker's hair. "At the go-go club?"

"No... no, no." Joker bit his lower lip pensively. "I'm gonna have a little talk with that fishwife, tell her a thing or two about maidenly blushes."

"Provided she's still alive."

"She'd better be." The madman took a step back and grinned. "If not, I'll just go to her funeral and have fun, maybe even celebrate at her wake, and I expect you to tag along."

"If it would be any consolation to you, sure." Bruce cocked his eyebrow. "She brought you home that night, you know."

"I thought you did."

"No, she said I'd just do some uncomely things with you."

Joker wondered for a moment. "Now, she's drugging me, badmouthing me, buying me water and painkillers, and tucking me in bed. Why can't we kill her?"

"Because she might be just as well already dead."

"Ah, yeah." Joker felt a growling in his stomach and bent slightly. "...Another county heard from. We should go, darling." He threw his arms around Bruce's neck and kissed him one more time, as gently as possible. "C'mon, c'mon," he murmured and grabbed Bruce's hand, pulling him towards the door and grabbing his jacket from the chair on their way out. Another streak of sunlight brightened the room for a second before they left.


♣ ♣ ♣


It was cold outside, and kind of windy. The moment Bruce found himself surrounded by the chilly air and insipid sunlight, he acknowledged the slight soreness in his muscles, stinging pricks of pain when the fabric of his clothes brushed against the scratches, and the general reluctance to reemerge, to go back to the world of endless possibilities and threats. Trying to steer clear of such thoughts, he looked at Joker; the madman was smiling at him and squeezing his shoulder as they slowly approached the border of his turf. The deserted, dingy back alleys slowly transitioned into equally dingy, yet somewhat occupied areas. They passed a number of sleeping vagrants, and Bruce could have sworn he saw a slightly decayed, female hand protruding from underneath a pile of garbage, but it's not like he wasn't used to such images; it's not like he could have done anything about it. It's not like he could force himself to care at the moment.

Joker sighed and grabbed his hand without a word. A simple, human gesture of reassurance. It was out of place, but it was exactly what they both needed, and the further away from home they ventured, the more they realized it. What they had, what they had decided upon--it was still fledgling, vulnerable, prone to damage, and they knew it, they felt it. Bruce's fingers interlaced with Joker's, and his eyes bore into the pavement, sliding over various pieces of trash they passed. His grip tightened; he was walking down the alleys with the Joker, holding his hand, passing dead hookers and dying skells. And everything was just perfect. He felt a little nauseous and his head filled with strange buzzing.

"Y'know... We're not getting any better, are we?" Joker asked, smiling. Bruce looked at him. The sound of his voice sobered him up a little. "But we're right where we should be. Can't be anywhere else, right? Can't be any different."

"No, we can't. We don't have to, either." The nausea went away, and Bruce exhaled, the air coming out in a white cloud. Joker let go of his hand and wrapped his arm around his neck. They walked like this for a while, in silence. When no one could see them, Bruce stopped for a second and kissed Joker's temple; it felt like the last stolen moment of something he needed desperately to get through another minute, but that was it. He pulled away and they both went into the main street.


♣ ♣ ♣


The maitre'd of the seedy diner they entered was an elderly, incredibly dry and skinny, maroon-haired woman. As soon as Joker appeared in the entrance door, she threw a lighter at him with a cordial "Get the fuck out of here, Melvin", but the madman dodged the projectile with grace and advanced to a table. Bruce watched the lighter land at his feet as if in slow motion, and he looked up at the woman, but she wasn't paying any attention to him; she was earnestly staring daggers in Joker's direction. Bruce followed him and took a seat. The only customers beside them were three younger men in the other corner; probably college students, seemingly not very responsive and sipping on their tenth coffee.

"Told you to get the fuck out of here, you useless piece of shit," the woman droned from behind the counter.

"I will, but you know the drill, Annabelle," Joker answered with a grin and blew her a kiss.

"So how you want them goddamned pancakes this time?" she asked in monotone, not impressed.

"Take a wild guess."

"Fucking blueberry again, huh? What about you, pretty-pretty?" she asked Bruce, her voice losing the sour tinge.

"The same, I think," Bruce said, giving the woman his smuggest smile and watching her disappear in the back. He looked at Joker and raised his eyebrows. "Melvin...?" Joker looked back at him and shrugged.

"Yes, Francis?" he said, chuckling. Bruce stared for a little longer and burst out laughing. He rested his hands on the slightly sticky, checkered, plastic tablecloth and leaned back in his chair.

"Why is she so bitter with you?"

"Oh, that. Y'know, I used to be her favorite customer, but a few weeks ago this Jewish person, one of Sofia's stallions, came around here with friends. Offering unsolicited services."

"Like what?"

"Well, you know. Protection, things. I can't imagine them actually trying extortion in here since this place is so hot, I guess they just liked the location. So I was just sitting in the corner, drinking my coffee and having fun watching the quarrel, and Annabelle didn't appreciate my having fun in her direst moment. Shouldn't have laughed so hard, huh? But I did. I laughed a little and left, and ever since she has this term of endearment for me, Useless Piece Of Shit." Joker pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and placed one in his mouth. He lit it and took a drag contemplatively. "But I still leave her ample tips, and she still adores me."

"Yeah, I can tell." Bruce gave Joker a lopsided smirk, and his gaze trailed off, focusing on the smoke. He didn't think even for a second that Melvin could have been Joker's real name, or that this right here was a slice of his everyday life as a law-abiding citizen while at night he would don his costume and go on a prowl, like Bruce did. All it came down to were just names and appearances, and such things never determine the so called truth. The fact that he was Gotham's most prominent citizen and the Batman at the same time, and the fact that he was right now sitting in a forgotten diner with an apparently psychopathic mass murderer, waiting for his pancakes, wasn't any more real than the facade of latex, make-up and normality they were keeping up at the moment; in fact, all of it seemed insignificant. Oddly enough, everything that mattered right now was that they were together, and Bruce felt almost too comfortable in the surreality of it all, like it was the only thing that allowed him to be himself, whatever it meant. It felt just right.

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the lyrics of the song on the speakers--Too Many Fish In The Sea by The Marvelettes. Joker leaned in and grinned.

"We live in an aquarium, don't we," he said quietly. Bruce smirked and raised his eyebrows.

"In that case, I don't think there's anyone to change the water."

Joker kicked him under the table. "We're algae, we don't care. Be positive."

Their pancakes arrived. Annabelle placed the plates on the table and put a bottle of chocolate syrup in front of Joker.

"So you don't whine, motherfucker," she gnarled and turned around.

"Where's my coffee?" he asked, disappointed.

"Haven't pissed in it yet," the woman shouted from behind the counter. Shortly, she came back to their table with a pot, two cups, a few creamers and sugar packets. She arranged all of it on the dirty tablecloth and muttered something along the lines of "Hope you get ulcers, enjoy". She gave Bruce a quick glance and was just about to walk away, but something must have clicked in her head, and she stopped.

"Hey. Aren't you..." She pointed at Bruce and creased her drawn on eyebrows. "You look just like the douchebag Burt Wayne or what's his face... skinnier, though."

Bruce gave her the dumbest smile he could muster. "Heheh, yeah, I hear that a lot," he said without missing a beat, almost cheerfully; it's not like he had never been in such situation while going into the city in plain clothes.

"If we ever meet the guy, we'll fix him up so no one confuses Francis with him anymore. I mean, it's an outrage. He's much cuter than Wayne, right?" Joker smiled coaxingly at Annabelle. The woman stepped back and gave Bruce an assessing look.

"Sure is." She guffawed, exposing her crooked teeth. "But what are you two, gay or somethin'?"

"Yeah, yeah, zany." Joker smacked his lips and waved her off. She hissed and paced back to the counter, mumbling something unintelligible. Bruce was about to say something, but suddenly, his phone began to ring. He pulled it out of his pocket and pressed it to his ear.

"Hello?"

Joker squinted, trying to listen to the conversation. Bruce wasn't speaking much, mainly asking half-questions and agreeing to something reluctantly, and after a minute or two he hung up. He looked up at the madman, seeming a little relieved and confused at the same time.

"Who was it?" asked Joker.

"Mosheh Nissenbaum."

"The Jewish Person, right? That's his name?"

"Yeah. He wants me to be some place this afternoon, and he said Sofia's got a ruptured spleen, but she's going to make it. And he thanked me for the service rendered."

"See? They're thanking you, how very lovely." Joker grabbed the bottle of chocolate syrup and squeezed some of it over Bruce's pancakes, drawing a smiling heart. "Eat your pancakes, Francis."

Bruce chuckled and shook his head. "Alright, Melvin."