Life is so much better when you're dead

They had been disputing very ardently for a very long time what should be done next. Joker's propositions danced on the verge of being completely impractical and unviable, and Bruce refrained from coming up with ideas of his own, instead trying to remain calm while explaining why the prospect of going fishing to the Palisades in torrential rain didn't seem that attractive. Still, he felt he knew why Joker really wanted to go to the Palisades, and that was the somewhat problematic part.

"You want to roam around my base, just say it already," Bruce said, one hand on the car's door handle, the other cradling the packet of gummy dinosaurs. They had been in this parking lot for so long now.

"No, no, I've already done that, twice," Joker purred, leaning back in his seat. Bruce just grimaced in response. "No, honestly," he continued. "I've been there. When it was still under construction after you'd burnt it, no one paid too much attention."

Bruce couldn't force himself to even pretend to be moved with the sudden revelation that his arch nemesis had frolicked around his cave while he resided on the other side of the river, oblivious to everything going on at the manor territory. "Found anything interesting?" he asked.

"Nothing." Joker sighed. "You weren't there. I was kind of hoping I'd find you there, gnashing your teeth, crying for your loved ones and, you know, stuff."

"I haven't been there in over a year."

"So..." Joker smiled demurely, but Bruce just raised his eyebrows, silent. "Oh, come on."

"I told you. Just say it already."

"Yeah, yeah, I wanna see where you hang out these days. Please?"

Bruce closed his eyes and chuckled. He also couldn't pretend that he had a reason not to take him there, so he just bit another head off another dinosaur.

"Drive north," he said. He didn't have a reason, but still, it felt strange to say it, to draw a full circle with just two words. He was about to guide Joker to the place where he had decided to start his crusade after the madman, and he was about to do it for recreational purposes, for lack of a better explanation. Another part of him was going tumbling down, landing right next to their designer sheets. Joker was grinning and seemed happy; Bruce didn't seem like anything, giving directions from time to time, chewing on the sweet, extinct carrion, blaming all of it on sugar overdose. Joker rolled down the window a bit and lit a cigarette while they waited for the light.

"Just how much do you smoke?" Bruce asked with a slight reprimand in his voice.

"Are you starting to nag at me by any chance?" Joker chirped. "That's just beautiful."

Bruce cocked his eyebrow. "You like that, don't you," he stated smugly, and Joker almost choked on the smoke.

"Yes." A segue of coughing. "Don't rouse me when I'm driving."

They kept going, but the scenery behind the windows wasn't changing; the same old, gray buildings, the same old, dark corners, places Bruce used to patrol nightly. He used to differentiate among all those streets and rooftops, but not right now. Even as they passed spots bearing some significance in their mutual past, he wasn't moved. Although, he did feel some kind of excitement gnawing gently at his insides as they moved closer to their destination, slowly revealing its nature. The realization came as a slight shock--he was actually exhilarated about taking Joker there. It felt like the most obvious thing to do now, like taking your fiancé to your parents' house for the first time or something equally inappropriate, yet strangely fitting.

Finally, they arrived. Bruce felt calm, maybe even numb in a way, but inside, the sense of how right it felt to come here still clashed with how wrong it really was. The car stopped by the net fence, and Bruce knelt in his seat, turning around to find the keys in the bag he had thrown in the backseat. Joker leaned out the window, giving the shipping yard and the Wayne Enterprises, No Trespassing signs a once-over. Everything seemed exceedingly quiet when Bruce got out of the car and unlocked the gate, allowing Joker to slowly drive into the yard. It seemed like deliberately letting a viper into your most dearly protected nest, but still, Bruce just couldn't help wanting to see what would become of a move as insidious as this one. Betraying what Batman had fought for seemed to be his main activity as of late, he might as well carry it out to the end. There was no real reluctance, no uncertainty.

Bruce unlocked the container's gate and went inside, motioning for Joker to follow him and keep driving until the car was in the right spot, and the secret lift slowly went down. When they reached the basement, the lights began to switch on one by one, revealing the stark interior. Joker hesitantly left the car and looked around.

"Chilly," he droned.

"What did you expect?" Bruce smiled and retrieved his bag from the car. He threw it on the floor and started looking for some dry clothes; it was indeed pretty cold, and the soaked rags he was wearing weren't helping. "You didn't get too wet, right?" he asked. Joker shook his head and crossed his arms, squinting, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. Finally, he stopped scoping the surroundings and turned to Bruce, watching him discard the wet clothes on the floor and put on a black long sleeve T-shirt. Their eyes met for a short, silent moment, and Joker smiled nervously, taking off his gloves. Bruce didn't really know what to make of it; it was him who should be nervous about the whole thing, yet in the end, he was absolutely comfortable. He cocked his head, observing. Joker seemed mitigated, and that was definitely unusual, maybe even slightly unnerving.

"Come on in." Bruce smirked and gestured inwards. They walked past the tumbler, the spare tires and piles of other equipment, and Joker kept staring at everything intently, strangely reserved. The sound of their steps reverberated across the hall until they stopped in front of the multiple screens fixed above the desk. Bruce looked at Joker's face, remembering how he had watched the video of him right here, time and time again, how the image of a laughing psychopath had bored into his mind. He tried to recall what he had felt back then, but it was all an indiscernible blur with very few clear, jagged memories digging into it like shrapnel. It seemed like a different, distant life. Still, there was a sense of continuity, that all of it was simply unavoidable, natural, and not just the amassed convolutions of his drives and values. Remembering the painted face displayed on each of those screens left him unaffected; he couldn't even tell the color of his eyes back then. Now, he could just reach out and touch him, grab him. Different things mattered. Back then, it was mainly about the strain, the painful tugging at his sanity, now it was about wondering if Joker was cold, of all things.

"I see you've got a fireplace here." Joker grinned and motioned to the furnaces.

"Yeah, but there's nothing to burn in it."

Joker seated himself in a chair and started to spin slowly, scrutinizing everything he had laid his eyes upon. Bruce just watched him for a moment, the familiar sinking sensation taking over him again, and he walked up behind him, grabbing the back of the chair and stopping the lazy pivoting. Joker arched his neck and looked up with a slight smile.

"There's still the heater, you know," Bruce said quietly.

"I was wondering if you really are so stern and spend your winters here with nary a blanket."

"I'm not." Bruce started to push the chair towards the wall, and Joker leaned back, enjoying the short ride. They stopped next to an extension cord lying on the floor. Bruce walked behind the tool table, picked up an electric heater and brought it back, plugging it in. "Some time ago, the heating system broke down, and I didn't exactly feel like fixing it... didn't feel like anything, really. So, Alfred brought me this." He grabbed another chair and dragged it next to Joker's, took a seat facing the madman and slicked back his damp hair. Joker moved a little closer with his chair. As the heater started to efficiently produce warmth, he freed himself of his black jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.

"Can I smoke here?" he asked. Bruce nodded slowly, and he withdrew cigarettes from his pocket. "No nagging this time?" He smiled. Something about that smile seemed unnatural in just how natural it looked.

"Well, just how much do you smoke?"

Joker was still smiling, the healthy dose of insanity slowly returning to his eyes to Bruce's relief.

"Well, uh... lessee.. three packs a day, give or take," he muttered, rubbing his chin contemplatively.

"Is this why your teeth look like that?" Bruce asked and reached out, gently pulling down Joker's lower lip with his thumb and exposing the slightly yellowed slivers of bone. The madman, taken aback at first, let out a sudden cackle and shook his head.

"No, no... I mean, yeah... I mean..." Another drag. "I actually had them whitened some time ago, because, y'know, there used to be days when I couldn't brush them even if I wanted to, then I could but I'd stopped looking by then, and then there was the day when I had to grow up as a person and get myself an honest job."

"What... kind of job?"

"I, uh..." Joker dissolved into laughter again. "I helped rebuild your house, sweetheart."

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. Somehow, he knew he should have expected this the moment Joker mentioned even being there. He tried not to laugh. "Are you at least qualified to do this kind of thing? I mean, it's not gonna collapse now, right...?"

"I'm qualified to do things you wouldn't dare to dream of. Specialization is good for insects." Joker nodded as if agreeing with his own dictum. "But y'know... I only started smoking like this maybe a year ago, after I'd gone to the dentist... heheh, I remember the look he gave me."

"Was there any particular reason?"

"Why he gave me a look of disdain?"

"Why you started smoking so much."

Joker leaned in a little, scooting even closer with his chair until their legs were touching. He patted Bruce's thigh. "Stress," he mumbled with the cigarette hanging from his lips. "It takes the best of all of us. You probably smoked a fair share too, when you were in college or some other stressful institution."

"Not long ago you were sure I had virgin lungs."

"Now I'm not sure of anything." As Joker said it, the corners of his mouth twitched nervously, almost unnoticeably, but Bruce managed to catch that. He leaned in as well; Joker's hand was still resting on his thigh, long fingers drumming against it.

"I did smoke in college."

The madman grinned victoriously. "Well. As soon as you get better, I know just what I'm gonna do."

"What do you mean, better?"

"No, no, it's just that you seem so... pale. Wouldn't have the heart to offer you one now, and I, uh, I wanna see."

"See me smoke?" Bruce laughed quietly. He reached out and took the half-finished cigarette out of Joker's hand, putting it in his mouth without hesitation. He inhaled the bitter fumes. "You seem pale too, you know," he said. The warm hand moved from his thigh and ghosted up his forearm. Bruce looked up to meet Joker's eyes and took another drag; he was positive he would get dizzy at once, but he didn't. He felt good, his fingers slowly wrapping around Joker's elbow, and soon enough, he realized he had a slight smile plastered on his face for quite some time now.

"What else did you do in college?" Joker asked.

"Not much... plotting a murder," Bruce said absently, wondering if they were really having this conversation.

"Yeah, that can get really aggravating. And you know what, you look fabulous when you smoke."

"That's why I quit. You want the rest?" Bruce held up the remains of the cigarette, but Joker shook his head, so he threw it on the floor and stomped on it.

"So I look pale, huh?" the madman continued. "Well, you seem concerned."

"I just wanna know what it is that you find so stressful."

Joker lowered his head a little, licking his lips. "Well, what do you think?" he said in a quiet, surprisingly husky voice and rolled his eyes to the side. "We've had some tough months lately, didn't we. I was kind of getting anxious, had to keep my hands occupied." Bruce's eyes wandered all over Joker's face, noticing the small signs of emotional exhaustion for the first time. It had never occurred to him that for Joker the last two years could have been equally harsh, that while Bruce was desperately trying to fall asleep or hitting himself in helpless anger, he was probably facing something similar.

With his head still hanged, Joker kept staring at Bruce's hand slowly moving over his own, watching how his fingers brushed against his wrist, the soft touch making his skin tingle. Everything around them seemed so detached and distant--the cold light, the cold devices, and the faint smell of steel and emptiness. He didn't want to be taken over by this, but all of it was giving him a sense of foreboding. He didn't want to think about it. He wanted to sink completely into the warm touch, but the more he tried, the things he had been trying to smother down were becoming more and more lucid. Both him and Bruce were conscious, sober, and every move or touch meant exactly what it was supposed to mean. Subtle as it was, it burned into him and forced his heart to slightly quicken its pace, mixing fear with his blood.

And he didn't see it coming. Bruce leaned forward and kissed him, and it was short, soft, almost painfully sweet. And it meant exactly what it was supposed to mean, making his heart nearly jump out of his chest. His hands wandered to Bruce's face of their own accord, touching the stubble covered jaw, moving down his neck until his fingers clawed at the black shirt.

"C'mere..." Joker muttered, tugging a little. "Your balls won't wither if you sit in another man's lap, I promise."

Bruce smiled and did exactly what he was asked for, straddling his lap and wrapping him in an embrace. Joker closed his eyes and rested his head on Bruce's shoulder, trying to breathe slowly, but it wasn't that simple. He started to laugh. Bruce began to stroke his hair, rocking back and forth gently, as if without knowing, until the vise-like grip of Joker's arms around him loosened a little bit and the laughter gradually died away.

"You know what..." Joker started, his voice low and gravelly. "Before I met you, I had a really hard time remembering anything... all of it just passed me by. And as soon as you came along, it stopped. And I remember everything of the past two years, because you were just everywhere." The lazy petting didn't stop, and somehow, it cleared his thoughts. Joker relaxed a little and burrowed into the warmth enveloping him. "Now, it's become just plain scary. My main concerns used to be be if tonight you beat me to death or make me need another little surgery, but you just wouldn't snap. It was all deliberate on your part, wasn't it... the way you'd stopped hitting me. How you'd let me closer and closer. Now look where that got me. You smile at me and I'm scared because it's just... all I've ever wanted. Bad things tend to happen when you get what you want."

Bruce listened to the quiet, stuttery talking, slightly shocked with his frankness, with the twin-like relation of Joker's thoughts to his own, but then again, it wasn't unexpected. He felt one of the very last lines of his defense break with a surge of warmth rushing through him, and he pulled Joker even closer, cradling him as if he was a child.

"I just don't want to someday wake up somewhere, in a white place like this," Joker gestured around the hall, "knowing that all of it is gone, remembering you and knowing that you're gone."

Bruce leaned back a few inches just to get a better look, his arms still wrapped firmly around the other man. Joker seemed relaxed, but in a resigned kind of way, his eyelids half-closed, gaze fixed downwards. He felt the need to tell him something, but the thought of it halted him with a realization of what it could later turn into. Bruce closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to Joker's. No, he needed to tell him something, no matter how insignificant or ridiculous it would be, somehow it had to be said out loud as an assertion of what they had both consensually gotten into.

"I think you're overreacting," he started and pressed his lips against Joker's temple. "What do you think this is... between you and me?" Joker didn't say anything, so he just kept going, his mind surprisingly clear of any noise. "If you're scared of what's going to happen, I will tell you right now. You will grow more and more frustrated and disoriented, wanting to reclaim what I've apparently bereaved you of by simply existing, and your fear will increase without you even knowing it until you overflow. And I will be having recurring lapses, indulging myself to self-loathing, a little more every day, wishing myself dead while you'll be wishing me dead just because you won't be able to stand the fear and confusion. I won't either, it will be too much. In the end, we'll get so close, we'll be trying to kill each other out of fear of loss. Every once in a while, that is." Bruce cupped Joker's face in his hands and looked at him. "But think of all the things we can do in between."

Joker laughed quietly. "You make it sound so... easy."

"It's not that complicated."

"I guess the poor ol' missus was right... I worry too much. It's just that, I can't help it, y'know."

Bruce grabbed Joker's hands, their fingers interlacing. "I can help you keep your hands occupied so you don't have to smoke so much, and it'll get better, eventually."

Joker grinned. "Are you quite positive?"

"Not really." Bruce smiled back, feeling completely disarmed at the sight; it didn't look anything like the slightly neurotic grin he was used to. "But it's going to be alright, in a way."


♣ ♣ ♣

Looking back at all the hours they had spent underground in his base, Bruce wondered how was it possible that each minute had morphed into another so seamlessly, that everything appeared so obviously natural and harmless when there was just the two of them with nothing else to steal their attention. Looking back at the whole day, it seemed to have been suffused with warmth and the sense of everything being right where it belonged, despite the obvious askewness of it all. Now it was getting dark, and they were driving towards some restaurant on invitation of none other than Mosheh Nissenbaum. Bruce had to explain over the phone why Joker absolutely had to be present as well, and it surprised him how inexorable he was on that matter. All in all, he succeeded, but knowing that without Joker on his side his mind would simply fill with dull buzzing left him feeling somewhat queasy. This addiction was proliferating throughout his whole being much faster than he thought. At least Joker got a few laughs listening to the conversation.

Finally, they arrived where they were supposed to arrive. The place was located in a pretty quiet part of the city, so looking for a place to park didn't produce difficulties. Slowly, they left the car and went inside, greeted by a sketchy character in a black suit who directed them towards a table across the room. The interior matched the unimpressive outer appearance, but it certainly wasn't a display of squalor; not very sophisticated, yet cozy. It also seemed almost completely empty; apparently, another vip soiree. Mosheh stood up and acknowledged them with a huge grin, the long braids of his beard swaying a little as he waved for them to come closer and take a seat at the table he and Yaguchi were sitting at. Joker stood up as well and greeted the visitors with a slight bow.

"Good evening, gentlemen, it's a pleasure meeting you again," he said courteously.

"Ditto," said Mosheh. "We haven't been properly introduced, pleased to meet you." He held out his hand in Joker's direction. Joker shook it vigorously.

"Enchanté," he purred.

"See? This is what I call good pronunciation," Mosheh said to Yaguchi and sat down, motioning for everyone to follow his example. "So, let's start with this little issue which is James Sul-"

"You fucking lout," Yaguchi interrupted.

"Pardon his Japanese."

"No, what I really wanted to say is that we're indeed very indebted to you, mister Wayne. Thanks to your aid, the main figures of the Viti family are now presented with charges of attempted murder. The judiciary system of this city is quite well oiled in our favor, their lawyers have been persuaded and their immediate funds have found a better use than serving as bail, so we're bound to be rid of them for quite a spell. Still, nothing is indicating that all of it was contrived, and we owe this opportunity to you. Please accept our sincerest gratitude." Yaguchi lowered his head slightly.

Joker turned in Bruce's direction, maudlin admiration gleaming in his eyes. He grabbed his hand. "I'm proud of you," he said. Bruce looked back at him, worried that he would loose it and start laughing uncontrollably any second now, but he managed to keep his poise. The surreality struck him again, and he had to cope with it somehow. Yaguchi was, to put it simply, an unbelievably eerie character. The cordial kindness of his words seemed absolutely genuine, yet something about his low, strangely smooth voice and gestures was definitely unsettling. In the end, it was hard not to take his little speech seriously and feel like one has in fact done a good deed. Bruce nodded, accepting their sincerest gratitude.

"Yes, my associate here has put it quite nicely." Mosheh cleared his throat. "Can I proceed now?" Yaguchi nodded, so he continued. "What we'd like to ask of you this time is pretty trivial, at least for now. Might turn into something big with time."

"Okay, what is it?" Bruce asked.

"Do you know of a man called James Sullivan?"

"Heard of him."

"The thing about James Sullivan, he is Sofia's uncle. Which has absolutely nothing to do with anything, but we like to keep him assured that it does, and so we show him respect and trust, he keeps a certain autonomy and runs a few affairs of his own. And a few bigger errands for us every now and then, that's why we keep him anyway." Mosheh pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it, spreading it on the table. It was a small map of Gotham City. "Look here, the blocks marked in blue are his joints and usual routes. What I want you to do is show up there every now and then, see what they're doing, just to keep them in line so they don't feel too rowdy. We can't exactly send someone over there and give his goons a beating for, say, muling because in theory, this is none of our business. If one of his goons gets caught, it doesn't automatically make Sullivan look bad, but if one of his goons gets caught and starts talking, it might. And if anything associated with us in even the smallest way starts looking bad, you know, it's never a good thing."

"Yes. It's totally a bad thing," Yaguchi said with a sneer, glaring at his friend.

"To put it differently, yes," Mosheh sneered back at him irritably.

Joker huddled up to Bruce. "Just look at them all bantering about, this is so adorable", he chirped. Bruce rubbed his forehead and took a deep breath. The task seemed feasible, and somehow, he didn't feel strained over the fact that he was being forced to work in mob's favor. At least, not right now. He thanked his conscience for cutting him some slack for the time being and reached out for the map, folding it and putting it in his pocket.

"Very well. Would that be all?" he asked.

"Yeah, I guess." Mosheh looked at Yaguchi for a second, and they both nodded. "At least for now."

"So, we should get going," Bruce turned to Joker, but the madman shook his head.

"No, no, no, let's stay. I'm hungry. What's the specialité de la maison?" he asked, looking at Mosheh intently.

"This is some good pronunciation," the man said, pointing his finger at Joker and elbowing Yaguchi at the same time.

"Yeah. I'd recommend yakisoba, but if you want seasoned partridge with redcurrant sauce, we also have that," said the one-eyed man without a trace of sarcasm in his voice. If that wasn't enough, he motioned for one of the thugs standing by the door, and to Bruce's surprise, the man shortly appeared next to their table with a menu. Joker grabbed the booklet from his hands and immediately started perusing the contents, nodding approvingly from time to time. Bruce took this moment to give the men in front of him a closer look. Both of them seemed to be in their late thirties or even early forties, and they definitely didn't fit the stereotype of a gangster with their eccentric mannerisms. Come to think of it, Sofia wasn't exactly a specimen either. They weren't intimidating in the traditional meaning of that word. He caught himself wondering why in the world were they doing what they were doing, or if it really was just public service in their understanding. Suddenly, Joker almost shoved the menu in his face.

"How about this?" he asked, pointing to lamb chops with pomegranate relish.

"It's fine, just please don't ask me to be convincing," Bruce said with a smile, suddenly realizing he was pretty hungry as well. Joker smiled back at him, the familiar, crazed mischief glinting in his eyes; it was a nice sight.

"What do you want with it?"

"Whatever you're having."

Joker turned to the ponderous thug and listed everything he wanted while the man jotted it down meticulously. Yaguchi added yakisoba to the list, and Mosheh ordered something Bruce probably wouldn't be even able to pronounce correctly.

"And a bottle of something full-blooded. I trust you to do the right thing, Mickey!" Mosheh shouted after the thug as he slowly walked away from the table.

Joker squinted and turned around to catch another glimpse of the makeshift waiter. "Was that the Mickey?" he asked tentatively.

"Why, yes." Yaguchi grinned. Joker started to giggle uncontrollably.

"Who was that?" Bruce asked, cocking his eyebrow.

"The man who had ravished Doctor Crane long time," Joker explained with difficulty, still laughing.

"What...?"

"Allow me to explain," Yaguchi joined the exchange. Minute by minute, the dreary yarn of Jonathan Crane's predicament unraveled itself to Bruce's sincere horror, but he had to admit, he sort of understood why Joker was laughing so hard the whole time. He now felt he had a new kind of respect for Sofia's ingenuity, but still, the only reaction he allowed himself to display was shaking his head in disbelief. Soon after the one-eyed man had finished his story, the food arrived along with a bottle of Bowmore, brought to their table by three thugs, one more frightening than the other. Joker happily began to devour his food, and the rest of the men soon followed suit, but it didn't take long for the madman to speak up again.

"So, how exactly did you and Sofa meet?"

"You mean Sofia?" Yaguchi asked, smiling. At the same time, he turned to Mosheh and tied the braids of his beard behind his neck. "It's getting in your food, you swine." He turned back to face Joker. "Usually she does that," he motioned to his associate. Mosheh didn't seem to be bothered with such treating, he just continued eating in peace.

"But about your question," Yaguchi continued. "Why is it of importance?"

"It's not by any means, but it looks like a group date, so let's find a common subject."

Yaguchi chuckled and nodded. "Well then, we met her in Japan. She was kind of working in the service sector at the time."

"What does that mean?"

"Let's put it that way," Mosheh joined the conversation. "Me and him, we were hauling a dearly departed one night, and the departed was about to be disposed for the sake of the immaculate image of Yaguchi's, god bless his tortured soul, ex-boss. We brought the body to this little workshop where some happy old men were polishing engines like everything was right with the world. They told us to go to a room in the back, and so we did. And there was this little red haired girlie, treating some other dearly departed with a handsaw and singing Mother Macree. Not a pretty sight, but we delivered a few more bodies afterwards and made acquaintance."

"And that's it?"

"No, not really," said Yaguchi and poured himself and Mosheh a glass of whisky, offering the bottle to Bruce and Joker, but they shook their heads. He put it back on the table and took a sip from his glass. "Her brother was sent to Japan by their father to establish some new, how to put it, sex trip routes for Japanese businessmen overseas, and she just tagged along. So, her brother did what he was supposed to, but somehow the wrong people found out and he was sent back to the States immediately. Back in the States, he got excommunicated from the organization for some reason, even deported to Italy. Apart from us, he was the only person who knew she was there, and after he left... she was in no position to move."

"Quite so," Mosheh added. "It was like, a strike of luck that she'd met us, I mean... it's not like it's necessary to give you all the juicy details, but his boss took a liking to her, and when she wouldn't come into his house for free candy, figuratively speaking, things got ugly."

"One day, I went to the boss's house, I don't remember what for, I was one of the head guys so I was at his house quite often." Yaguchi lit a cigarette. "So I went and I saw that skeleton jacket of hers on the floor, and I could swear I heard something like whimpering from behind the door before the boss came out to meet me. I went back home and told my associate here what I'd seen and heard, and since both of us felt the administration of the whole shebang was going down anyway, we figured maybe we could find something compromising in the boss's house, something useful for blackmailing him, like, for example, a nineteen year old girl with her... no, no need for details. She was there, in no position to move, as was mentioned earlier, and that was pretty compromising."

"You know how to tell a story," Joker droned, drumming his fingers against the table and chewing slowly.

Yaguchi looked at Mosheh, Mosheh looked at his glass, and they both shrugged.

"Yeah, at his boss's house we found a nineteen year old gaijin girl with all her limbs sewn together, her eyes and mouth sewn shut and her left cheek sewn to her shoulder, and that just happened to be Sofia," Mosheh continued. "The boss had this thing, you know, he picked a gaijin girl without a visa, pumped her with morphine, sewed her up, tube fed her, basically a half-alive sperm bank. Sofia got to be the seventh of his lovelies."

Joker raised his eyebrows and gave Bruce a look. Bruce looked back at him, wincing a little.

"That's outrageous," the madman said. "Do continue."

Mosheh guffawed and shook his head. "No, that's not the ugly part. You see, while we were foraging that house, the guards had been already sent away on vacation because we just happened to be somewhat wealthy that night. The boss was gone for day or two. And she was left there all alone, all sewn up. Later, she told us that for the whole two weeks she was mainly trying not to fall asleep because then she wouldn't know if she had moved and torn the stitches. It happened once and that's why her left cheek is all messed up. So, when we found her and unstitched her, she fell asleep pretty much on the spot." He took another huge sip of his whisky. "It was horrible, I mean, back then she really looked just like a little kid and we felt a little sorry for her, but we also knew who she was and sensed business, so with such a dual incentive we stayed there and kinda nursed her for a day or two, because my associate here just happens to be a has-been doctor. Sure you want all the juicy details?"

Joker nodded with a huge grin, and Mosheh sighed, looking at Yaguchi. The one-eyed man downed his drink, cleared his throat and started talking.

"The boss came back eventually and it kind of surprised him to see Sofia sitting comfortably in his armchair, wrapped in a blanket and laughing at him like an idiot..."

"That was adorable," Mosheh interjected.

"...and the sight of us holding him at gunpoint in his own office must have been unusual too. The first thing we did was slap him around a little to make him tender, then we tied him to a chair. Sofia's legs were in pretty nasty condition and she didn't want to walk, so we moved her chair so it faced his, and she started talking business."

"And that went rather nice," Mosheh interjected again.

"Yeah, we just kept bringing him various documents to sign and held a phone next to his ear until everyone believed he had gone on extended vacation. He also made us rich, so to speak, mainly her. We did that for a week or two, without feeding him. But yeah, Sofia had a pretty good grasp of what she was doing, I liked that. Now, here comes the funny part. By the time we were done, we'd found plenty of stuff in his house, some contraptions I don't even want to know what he used for. Sofia was doing well, she had bronchitis or something at the time, but she was having fun. She fed the guy and let him sleep for a day so he was aware of everything. Then, she put his head in a vise and started carving him up. He was squealing like a pig and she was just cutting off his lips trying to get even crescents, and she got pissed because she was getting those cough attacks and she messed up. So she cut off his nostrils, and by the time she got to the eyelids, the guy lost it. He was screaming so hard he puked all over himself, and she just scooped it all up and put it back in his mouth, and then duct taped his face until he swallowed it all."

"That coughing part was funny," Joker said as he finished eating his lamb chops. Bruce was glad he was already done with his meal and cursed his overly detailed imagination, but he kept on listening without a word.

"Yeah, and then after the guy'd gone blind after a few days, she plucked out his eyes, pushed them into his mouth and duct taped it again. He was puking through his nose, that was nice." Yaguchi smiled to the memories, and Bruce almost flinched at the sight. That man was the definition of unsettling. "But he didn't suffocate, somehow, so she took that big, antique clock that he had, grabbed some tools and started messing with it, still coughing like mad, telling she liked the arts and crafts classes as a kid. She made this little device with an ice pick fixed to one of the gears and placed it between his legs so the pick would dig into his urethra half an inch every five minutes. And we left him like that. We left the country the next day, came back a few years later. No one talks about what happened to him, which is a shame, we did a good job."

♣ ♣ ♣

They left the parking garage and started walking towards home. There was hardly anybody in sight; the wet pavement glistened in the insipid, yellowish light, undisturbed by pedestrians. Bruce glanced at his cell phone. It was quite late as they had spent much more time in that restaurant than he had initially intended, but the Bowmore was disappearing quite quickly, and Yaguchi indeed was a living treasury of morbidly engrossing stories. Bruce had actually caught himself listening quite closely, while Joker had unabashedly goaded the one-eyed man into divulging more tales of such kind. Finally, the time had come to return home. Bruce felt a little strange about saying it out clearly--they were going home. With his bag on his shoulder, he walked the empty street with Joker on his side. Everything seemed so eerily familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He was anxious for some reason. Joker moved a little closer, their arms touching briefly, and Bruce turned his head to see him. Joker was smiling. It was that disarming grin that Bruce still wasn't used to, and it didn't fail to halt him for a second this time either.

"How are ya?" Joker asked.

"Why? Do I seem pale again?" Bruce felt a faint smile slide onto his lips, even though the anxiety had slowly started to turn into regular fear, and he just couldn't shake it off.

"Your face, at first just ghostly, turned a whiter shade of pale," Joker crooned.

Bruce chuckled nervously. "I'm not gonna lie and tell you I'm just tired," he said, his voice quiet and weak. "It's just that..." He shook his head. "No, never mind."

Joker glared at him for a couple more seconds, but he didn't say anything. Bruce noticed him slide his hand underneath his jacket and heard a silent click. They kept walking without a word. It was really dark, it was really cold, the lantern light was just that particular, sickly shade of yellow Bruce hated. The stench of those rain soaked alleys he had remembered all too clearly, as well as the steps in the distance, the glimpse of a shadow, the comfort of someone close next to you as you return home, the chasm between what had been and what was about to be. Bruce knew something was going to happen, he felt it crawling right underneath his skin, turning his insides into mush. His head felt cold and empty; he unwittingly started counting down. He was wrong by maybe two seconds. They entered another dark alley. And then, he came along.

Bruce could hear the heavy breathing, he could smell the odor of dirty, soaked clothes and alcohol. He couldn't discern his face, but he didn't have to. He knew his face, he had seen it so many times in his nightmares. Now, it had returned to deride him. He felt nauseous.

"Wallets. Fast," the man hissed, holding them at gunpoint.

"Fine," Joker said slowly. Bruce could barely hear him; the loud thumping of his own blood echoed in his head. "Just take it easy." He pulled out his wallet and held it out, but his hands were trembling and he dropped it to the ground. "It's fine," Joker repeated as the man knelt to pick it up, the gun still pointed in their direction. "Just take it and go."

Joker only needed one split second of distraction when the robber lowered his gaze to grab his quarry. Bruce couldn't see him reach inside his jacket and pull out his gun, he could only hear the shot and the soft sound of a brain splattering against a wall. He braced himself, but he was much too weak. He dropped to his knees. Next thing he knew, Joker's arms were wrapped around him, and he was trying to breathe and not to vomit, covering his mouth with his hand. He stared at the body sprawled on the filthy concrete, he stared at the blood and brain matter flowing out of his skull, he stared at his face, but he couldn't see it. He shut his eyes tight. Joker's fingers were slowly running through his hair, and he pressed his face into the crook of the madman's neck unknowingly, his breath ragged and shallow. His head was completely empty.

He had no idea for how long he had been kneeling there, and later he couldn't recall the exact moment when he had allowed Joker to help him to his feet and started walking home. He only remembered the firm grip, the feel of Joker's leather glove around his hand. He also remembered hearing a laughter as they were going up the stairs, but he couldn't tell if it was his own.