Life is so much better when you're dead

They sauntered down the sidewalk without haste, Joker humming something and smoking a cigarette, the smoke insistently floating in Bruce's direction each time the madman exhaled, sometimes getting in Bruce's eyes. He didn't mind, though. The weather hadn't changed much since they left the apartment. It was still blindingly gray, cold and surreal, and a small rain had joined the picture, but that wasn't important either. Bruce looked down, seeing Joker's gray, suede shoes, his own black ones, pinstriped pants belonging to the madman wrapped around his own legs, flat cigarette butts on the pavement and a fresh one thrown by Joker, remaining behind them just to be stomped on by another pedestrian some time later as they slowly advanced towards a decrepit parking garage. Bruce watched the tiny drops of rain on Joker's jacket; he thought it must have been woolen, but he had no idea why it had crossed his mind. They walked up to the attendant booth. Bruce wasn't really listening to the madman talk to the bored cashier, instead focusing on how Joker's hair got even more curly and frizzy because of the rain, and somehow, he found the fact interesting enough to stare a little longer as he followed him to the slot.

Their steps echoed in the nearly empty building until they approached a black PT Cruiser and stopped in front of it. Joker wiped a nonexistent speck of dust off its hood with the sleeve of his jacket and gave Bruce a half-smile, amused with the other man's incredulous expression. Bruce remained silent for a couple more seconds with his eyebrow slightly cocked before he decided to speak up.

"You actually own this?" he asked.

"No, uh... I actually use this," Joker answered slowly, trying to define the nature of his relationship with the car. "It's just here, I have the keys. I buy it gas." He opened the door and motioned for Bruce to get inside. "Sometimes."

Bruce sat in the passenger seat, watching Joker position himself behind the wheel and fasten his seatbelt.

"Do you have a license?" he asked tentatively, smiling.

Joker shot him a slant look. He reached to the glove compartment, fumbled inside of it for a moment and withdrew a few plastic cards. He handed them to Bruce in a smug manner, staring at him with anticipation as Bruce squinted and examined the cards thoroughly. All of them were perfectly bonafide looking driver's licenses, each belonging to a different person, yet all of them seemed to share Joker's retouched features. Bruce gave the printed names a cursive look and looked up just to see a huge grin slide onto Joker's face. He couldn't help but smile too.

"Roger Waters...?" Bruce chuckled.

"Waters, Roger, yeah..." Joker reached inside his jacket. "Rock and roll," he murmured to himself, pulling out an old looking, leather wallet. He opened it and took out two more plastic cards which he presented to Bruce.

"Today I'm staying in character," he stated.

Bruce glared at the cards, one of them being an ID, the other a driver's license, both belonging to a Melvin Callaghan.

"All forged, right?" Bruce asked quietly.

"No, this one's real, or me name ain't Melvin Callaghan, macree."

Bruce laughed softly and fastened his own seatbelt. "Yer name ain't Melvin Callaghan," he said. Joker looked at him with approval and nodded.

"Good to see you're up to speed." The madman reached to the glove compartment one more time, this time pulling out a bag of gummy dinosaurs. He opened it, retrieved a fistful and started sticking them in his mouth, at the same time throwing the bag so it landed in Bruce's lap. Bruce was still smiling and he couldn't stop. He took one dinosaur and bit off its head while Joker started the engine, and they began to drive down the exit ramp. He wanted to ask him something, but after a few seconds he wasn't sure if he really wanted to hear the answer. He wasn't sure if there even was an answer, and if it was in any way significant. Nonetheless, he gave Joker a look and the man looked back at him, his mouth full of gummy substance and attempting to smile. It took him a while to grind and swallow each dinosaur he had stuffed himself with, but as soon as he was done, he started talking, his nasal voice eerily carefree as usual.

"I had turned quite a few civil servants into millionaires just to be relieved of this kind of encumbrance... before they met their demise," he said as they joined the traffic; at this hour it was far from being congested, and the streets seemed nearly lifeless. Bruce kept staring at Joker. The madman gave him a quick look with the slight smirk that appeared to be pasted onto his face permanently, and his eyes sharp as usual. His gaze focused back on the road as he continued. "I just... y'know, I couldn't for the life of me find one good reason for all those certificates and records to lay around. For some, uh, name to connect it all and pertain to me."

"You paid off some people to erase you?"

"I paid them to delete a couple of files, that's all." Joker shrugged. "As for erasing, uh... me... if I were to be defined by a name someone else'd given me, to be identified with numbers and dates... y'know, those things I had nothing to do with... why should they be more real than me?" He tilted his head and smiled confidently, as if his reasoning was the very pinnacle of common sense.

Bruce smirked. "You're sounding like a disgruntled youth right now."

"Yeah," Joker sighed. "But I'm just being pragmatic."

Bruce rested his head against the window, watching the rain drops slide down while they waited for the light. He could definitely see the pragmatism, maybe even appreciate it in a way.

"And you're just jealous," Joker added, leaning in and squinting, and Bruce smirked. Perhaps jealousy was a more suited expression than appreciation. Thinking of his own well-charted identity as Bruce Wayne, he felt discomfort that seemed almost physical. The world is too small for someone like Bruce Wayne to disappear. A tragically orphaned son of a renowned doctor, sweet, generous billionaire, harmless and stupid for these; honorable, noble and knowing the right from wrong for those--there was a face for everyone, each of them well described and documented, and everyone held those faces in a vise-like grip, defining him against his will. The Batman is as good as dead. It takes so little to leave you with nothing. All those words he had heard in his life, all the sentences summarizing him, all the truisms couldn't possibly begin to cover the instance of Bruce Wayne sitting in a PT Cruiser with a mass murderer, eating gummy dinosaurs and trying desperately not to laugh, or not to cry--he couldn't determine any longer.

"I want to drop by my apartment... to grab a couple things," he said quietly after a prolonged moment of silence that, surprisingly enough, wasn't uncomfortable in the least.

"Whatever you say, darling," said Joker, glancing quickly at Bruce. "But y'know, you could've just said you wanna talk to your legal guardian and tell him you're not gonna be home for supper. I'd understand."

"Your sagacity is unnerving."

"Well, I'm trying."

Bruce turned his head away from the gray image of the streets and his eyes rested on Joker's face; he seemed so calm and concentrated on driving, it just didn't seem to add up compared to his usual bravado when it came to handling vehicles, but then again, the only times Bruce could contemplate Joker's driving skills were the nights spent chasing him in his tumbler many, many months ago. The times of keeping up the appearances of perpetrator and prosecutor for the sake of... he didn't know what anymore. He kept looking at him, realizing how merely the sight of the madman sitting right next to him, all well and not bleeding from his ministrations, made him feel so tranquil, comfortable. Simply being near him made everything appear perfectly right, despite the jarring awareness of nothing being really right. Bruce tried to recall the smeared greasepaint, the blood, the strain in his muscles, and he couldn't process how he had managed to live like that for all this time when all this time the solution was so easy. Then again, he had never dared to think absurdity could be easy. He had never dared to think it could feel more real than pain and nausea.

Joker's features weren't morphing into demonic features he had remembered from the countless nights spent looking at the painted face, balancing on the edge of consciousness. For once, Bruce realized that what he had right there wasn't going to go anywhere, and that the man sitting beside him was tangible, real, not going to change into another nightmare. Perhaps the nightmare had seeped into his waking state and was there to stay, but it sobered him up, and looking at Joker, the shape of his eyes, lips, his rounded nose, his freckles--it drove away any trail of doubt that had been lingering in his head, for good.

Minute by minute, they were getting closer to Bruce's home. The burden of the choice that had been made seemed to grow heavier with each second, but there was no other way; all of it was there to stay, for good.

♣ ♣ ♣

The elevator looked the same, nothing had changed ever since he used it last time a few days earlier, yet everything felt different. The 'P' button lighted up. Joker was waiting for him in the car. Sweat was trickling down his back, and numerous explanations ran through Bruce's head as he was being taken up to his penthouse, about to face Alfred. His legal guardian. Bruce chuckled, but it didn't bring any relief. On contrary; the knot in his stomach tightened, yet he was strangely sure of everything that had to be done.

The door slid open, and there he was, about to enter his home where everything seemed so bland and proper, the black-clad silhouette of his butler greeting him as he stepped out of the elevator. He walked up to Alfred in silence, trying to muster a smile, but after a few seconds he realized something had taken over him, and the smile just forced itself onto his face without any effort on his part, and he looked at the man, wondering if he had ever felt so happy to see him. Alfred gave him a careful look, but his weary eyes seemed to be smiling as well, despite the obvious concern veiling his gaze.

"Alfred..." Bruce started. "I'm sorry I didn't call you or anything... again."

"You needn't worry about me, sir. Compared to your seven-year absence, such jaunts seem quite harmless."

"I'm not so sure."

Alfred smiled, but it was evident it was hard for him. Bruce started to feel stinging in his eyes and swallowed, forcing down something that seemed to be growing in his throat. He hanged his head and took one step closer.

"Listen, I..." he paused, trying to figure out what he really intended to say. "I might not be... coming back for a while." Alfred was silent, and it felt more suppressing than anything he could have said right now. "And... you don't have to stay here... go spend some time with your family, if you like..." Bruce kept staring at his shoes, at Joker's pants he was wearing, unable to face the other man. The silence began to feel unbearable, and the stinging in his eyes grew more persistent.

"Master... Bruce," Alfred said quietly, and Bruce felt something wet run down his cheek. He couldn't remember when his butler called him that last--for the past several years he had been Master Wayne and nothing else. He looked up; Alfred was still smiling, but he seemed much more at ease now. "Just make sure to let me know if you ever wish for my services in the future."

Bruce chuckled and wiped the tear from his cheek, unknowingly smearing some of his make-up and unveiling a bit of bruised skin. "I don't know if you'd ever want to hang around again, if you knew..." He clenched his eyes shut. "I'm sorry, Alfred. This time you should give up on me, for your own good."

The old man laughed quietly, and Bruce immediately felt a wave of calmness wash over him; the laughter sounded so genuine, it made all the guilt dissipate, leaving him slightly bemused, yet at the same time feeling more relaxed, safe.

"Never," said Alfred, and Bruce laughed as well. "I've become much too old for being unbiased, sir," he added after a moment. "And you've suffered long enough. Too long for being selfless. Pardon me being so bold, Master Bruce, but..." he looked at his employer, thinking. "You're laughing... and you haven't laughed in two years. Whatever it is you're doing now... I didn't spend thirty two bloody years of my life looking after you just to watch you wither away like this."

Bruce took a couple more steps forward without thinking, and soon enough he found himself hugging the man just like he used to as a little boy, crying for his parents. The tears were flowing down his face, sinking into the black suit, and he felt like all the years separating him from being that helpless child hadn't passed at all. Alfred returned the embrace, patting him on the back. He laughed silently.

"Just be sure not to do anything stupid."

Bruce chuckled. "You know... I think I've been doing nothing but stupid things for the past few days."

"Well then," Alfred pushed him away gently. "Keep it up until it stops being stupid."

"You don't really think it would work, do you...?"

"Actually, I'm quite certain it would."

"What if... someone else had to suffer in order for it to work? What if someone had to die?" Bruce paused for a second. "What would you say then, Alfred?"

"I told you, sir. I'm too old for being unbiased." The butler hanged his head, still smiling, and Bruce's eyes clouded again.

♣ ♣ ♣

Bruce threw the bag filled with toiletries and clothes in the back seat and got in the car, taking his place next to Joker. He was completely soaked since the rain had become a deluge during the time he had spent in his penthouse, and the raindrops were trickling down his face, but Joker could tell some of them were originating from Bruce's eyes. The madman leaned in, scooting a little closer in his seat.

"You're crying," he stated.

Bruce looked up and smiled. "I am." Joker smiled back at him and wrapped his arm around his neck, and Bruce couldn't bring himself to care about being sighted by anyone right now, shunning thoughts out of his head when soft lips pressed against his, when warmth spread all over his body despite the cold, wet clothes sticking to his skin. His hands moved unknowingly, finding the tangled hair, brushing down the latex-covered cheeks, touching the smooth neck, fingers sliding beneath the collar of the patterned shirt. He let himself be pulled closer, he closed his eyes when Joker started scattering gentle kisses all over his face, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to cry harder or laugh. The sudden surge of emotions was blinding and deafening, and he simply put his arms around Joker, holding on to him as tightly as possible, burrowing his face into his neck. These emotions seemed almost childish in their purity, and he didn't quite know what to make of it, but he remained silent, motionless, breathing in the smell of cigarettes, rain and him. It stopped being absurd, it stopped being stupid for this one moment.

♣ ♣ ♣

Joker of course had to choose one of the most exclusive stores in the whole city. The entire journey to this place had seemed like a blur to Bruce, its duration measured with the monotonous bows of the wipers, the undulating urge to cry for some reason, the warmth that Joker had given him, still present despite the cold and rain-soaked clothes he was wearing. It didn't matter; he was used to his skin being cold. He couldn't feel it anymore, actually. He felt warm despite the frigid lighting in the store and the stiff silhouettes of other customers who stared suspiciously when they thought he wasn't looking.

They walked around the displays, Bruce wearing a pair of sunglasses he had grabbed from home, Joker rubbing his chin contemplatively, examining each and every set of bedlinen available with much more engrossment Bruce found necessary. They had been there close to an hour now.

"What about those?" asked Joker, giggling and pointing at a rose print set from Laura Ashley.

"That would suit our usual excretions," Bruce answered calmly.

"Yeah, would take you quite a while to notice any stains and start complaining."

"There are limits to being pragmatic, you know."

"What limits?"

"Laura Ashley...?"

"Y'know, if you shaved and lost those awful sunglasses, maybe it'd help you get in touch with your feminine side."

"Can't be done. I don't think I could endure being called 'Burt Wayne' in public again."

"Cheer up, Francis." Joker elbowed him good-naturedly. "What about those?" He motioned in the direction of a paisley print bedding from Tommy Hilfiger.

"Too quaint."

"You really make me proud." Joker smiled and his eyes wandered back to the displays. "When are you supposed to meet mister Nissenbaum?" he asked, turning a set from Michael Kors in his hands and scrutinizing the details of its pattern.

"At six." Bruce automatically glanced at his wrist to see what time it was, but he remembered he hadn't put on his watch last night before setting out. He wouldn't be able to wear it now anyway because the bondage marks still stung a little. He retrieved his cell phone from his pocket; it was eleven. Joker stepped closer and peeked at the screen.

"The principles of detection tell me we've got many hours to spend, dear Francis."

"Not in here. These are fine. Let's get out of here."

Joker clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Gotta be more convincing."

Bruce tilted his head and shot Joker a look filled with reprimand, but the man looked back at him, unfazed and grinning. The first thought that crossed Bruce's mind was that Joker's teeth looked much less yellow than, say, a year ago, but he chucked the meaningless realization away and leaned in, trying to give his face a serious look despite the sudden urge to laugh. He grabbed the Michael Kors from Joker's hands, and his trademark billionaire smirk slid onto his lips.

"The design is called Jaipur, which is the capital of the Rajasthan state of India, also called the Pink City. I think the subtle double-entendre of its name corresponds well with the nature of what we are seeking for right here, and the eclectic amalgam of patterns and muted colors appeals perfectly to our diversified lifestyles. The design is a statement in itself, and I strongly suggest acquiring this one. Melvin."

Joker stared in silence for a second before he burst into laughing, attracting the scolding eyes of the store attendants. He grabbed Bruce's arm as if trying to hold on to something since the augmenting cackling seemed to debilitate him severely.

"Can I ask you to be even more convincing?" he managed to say in the end.

"Don't you dare," said Bruce, barely keeping up the facade of composure. With the bed sheets in one hand and Joker's elbow in the other, he advanced in the direction of the cash register, dragging the man along and trying to remain deadpan while Joker kept laughing unabashedly. Before they reached their quarry, Bruce decided it was necessary to make a short stop. He covered Joker's mouth with his hand, giving a concerned female attendant a dazzling smile, keeping at it until the madman calmed down a little. Finally, Joker took a deep breath, closed his eyes and patted Bruce's shoulder reassuringly.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he muttered, his voice vibrating with stifled mirth.

"Good. I thought you were having a seizure."

"No, no, don't be silly."

Joker cleared his throat and forwarded his steps to the register. In complete silence, he pulled out his wallet and paid with cash. Bruce managed to sneak a peek at his financial resources and had to admit they seemed quite ample. For once, he didn't care at all how many people had to die or go bankrupt in order for Joker to be able to pay for their new designer sheets. Because those were their sheets now, and with that came the responsibility of trying not to care. They really were a statement in themselves.