Not Done Yet

A/N: I am sooo sorry to take so long to update. Please, please review, let me know you're still out there!! Hugs!

Warnings: This chapter has some alcohol and tobacco use, implied S&M, implied spanking, and general naughtiness, just so you know....

* * *

Alfred returned from the market loaded down with bags of groceries. He set them down, realized he was smelling something out of place, and whirled around to see the Joker, sitting at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette. The older man's eyebrows instantly knit together in disapproval.

"Master Wayne does not like people smoking in his house," he stated firmly.

"Ummm...Master Wayne...is not...here," rejoined the Joker with a wink, as he exhaled a cloud of smoke.

"Nevertheless, I...oh, good Lord," Alfred muttered irritably as he noticed the Joker was using a saucer from Martha Wayne's wedding china as an ashtray. The butler rummaged in a cabinet for something more suitable, and snatched away the heirloom and replaced it with an actual ashtray.

"Thanks, that's lots better," quipped Jack sarcastically.

"Again, I really don't think Master Wayne would be happy to have his home stunk up with tobacco."

"Oh, relax. I just like a smoke with my booze," and with that, Jack raised a bottle of whiskey to his lips and took a long pull from it. Alfred recognized the bottle as a very old and rare one, clearly pilfered from Bruce Wayne's locked liquor cabinet.

Alfred's eyes widened in genuine concern.

"Jack! I know for a fact that you are NOT supposed to combine alcohol with your medications...."

"Aw, is that concern for my health I hear in your voice?"

"No, for mine. If something were to happen to you, Master Wayne would be most upset, and I would have to pick up the pieces."

Jack gave the butler a sneer of indifference.

"Look, pal, I'm not gonna do anything to hurt Bruce. He's been a real peach, looking after me, trying to help me....This is just...self-medication. Something to distract me from my troubles--believe me, you don't want me getting into anything more, uh, interesting, do you?" His words were slightly slurred, indicating that he had consumed quite a bit of the bottle's contents already.

Alfred took a seat at the table.

"The best thing you could do for Master Wayne is to leave," he said quietly.

The Joker narrowed his eyes at the older man.

"Oh, yeah? How's that?"

"Master Wayne has devoted his life to doing good for this city. You...you'll do nothing but bring him down. He deserves better."

Jack leaned back in his chair and thoughtfully took another puff off his cigarette and another swig of whiskey, apparently giving great weight to Alfred's words. He pointed the cigarette meaningfully at the butler's face.

"You know, I thought you and I were doin' ok...gettin' to be buddies, almost. But, you really don't like me, do ya?"

"I don't like the things you've done, and I don't like that Bruce Wayne has put himself in a position to lose so much on account of you."

A slow grin crossed Jack's scarred face. He nodded knowingly.

"Oh, I get it....you can't stand the fact that Bruce and I fuck, can ya? That he sticks his big ol' dick up my ass practically every night? That he comes home at lunch sometimes just so I can suck him off? Tell me, do you ever hear us goin' at it? Does it make ya sick?....Or, do you wish you could watch...?"

Alfred took a deep calming breath, and hissed, "What Master Wayne does in his private life is his own affair. I'm simply concerned that he is going to be...disappointed in you. In your ability to maintain your tenuous grip on your sanity...I'm afraid you're going to hurt Bruce very badly, perhaps to the point that he won't recover...that's what I can't stand."

With that, Alfred stood up and began putting away the groceries.

Jack frowned. He didn't care what the older man thought of him, but the butler had put into words something that had nagged at the clown's subconscious for quite some time. What if the craziness did take hold of him again? He wasn't getting therapy, his medications weren't being monitored...what if he did do something to hurt Bruce? He sighed heavily.

"You think I should disappear?" he asked softly.

Alfred turned to look at the former madman.

"Would you?" he asked, amazed.

Jack looked up and Alfred could see genuine pain in his eyes.

"Yeah...I'd hit the road in a heartbeat if I thought I was going to screw up Bruce's life even worse than it already is. But...don't you think....don't you think...you know, he said he was going to help me get to see my kid again...I...I'd really like that...if I left, don't you think Bruce would feel bad? Don't you think...he cares about me, a little bit, maybe?"

The two looked at each other for a long moment.

"I think Master Wayne cares for you a great deal, and yes, I do think he'd feel terrible if you left, for a lot of reasons. Listen, mate...put away the booze. Have a little patience. I know Bruce is working very hard to find some way to help you see your little boy, and much as I worry about it all, I know it would mean a lot to him for you to be happy. So, please," Alfred reached for the bottle and Jack allowed him to take it, "don't wreck things now. Give Bruce a chance. He's given you one."

Jack nodded quietly and stubbed out the cigarette. Alfred removed the ashtray and found some air freshener.

Jack put his head in his hands and combed his fingers through his tangled blond locks in frustration.

"I just can't sit here! I need something to do...I-I'm feeling completely useless unless Bruce is by my side...I can't stand that, do you know what I mean?" He looked at Alfred with raw emotion on his face.

Alfred nodded. He supposed he could empathize with the clown, no matter how much he resented his presence. And, all things considered, he knew Jack was doing his best not to disappoint Bruce....

"Talk to him. Tell him how you're feeling."

"There's nothing he can do...."

"Still. Talk to him. That's what people who care about each other do...." Alfred reached out his hand and awkwardly patted the younger man on his shoulder. To the butler's distinct alarm, Jack rose quickly from the table, and for a terrifying moment, Alfred was certain a knife or fist was going to come into contact with his body, but instead, Jack threw himself into Alfred's arms and hugged him. He smelled heavily of alcohol and cigarette smoke, but after a shocked pause, Alfred gingerly patted his back.

"You're a real decent guy, you know that? Real decent. If I'd of had someone like you around when I was growing up, maybe I wouldn't be so...you know, fucked up...." Jack pulled away and Alfred saw a tear glinting in the slight young man's eye.

"You've had a bit more to drink than I thought, 'aven't you, Jack?" the butler asked in amusement.

"Oh...yeah, I guess I'm pretty loaded...." Jack agreed.

"Why don't you go upstairs and take a nap, sleep it off, before Bruce comes home, eh? He wouldn't like to see you so upset...."

"Yeah...ok. Thanks, Alfred." Jack turned and wove his way slowly from the room.

Alfred watched him retreat, and shook his head worriedly.

Master Wayne had his work cut out for him, that much was certain.

* * *

Days passed.

One night, Rachel Dawes stood at the entry point for Bruce Wayne's penthouse. She had a briefcase full of papers and an answer. She didn't care what time it was, she was going to see Bruce and tell him of her findings. He had said to call, day or night, when she had something, but she was too excited to bother picking up the phone, and had headed over straight from her office, barely bothering to pick up her jacket on the way.

And, anyway, she was desperately curious to see the Joker in what was apparently his new habitat.

She pressed the buzzer and identified herself to a sleepy-sounding Alfred; he in turn pressed a button giving her access to the door, and within a few minutes, Rachel was standing in Bruce's living room. Alfred greeted her in a bathrobe and slippers.

"I'm afraid Master Wayne has already gone to bed--I'm going to have to go up and rouse him," Alfred stated, a trifle irritably, Rachel thought.

"Oh, please don't bother, I'll do it myself. Believe me, Bruce wants to see me, he won't care if I wake him up," Rachel assured the butler as she brusquely headed toward the stairs. Alfred's eyes widened as he suddenly grasped that Rachel intended to barrel up to Bruce's bedroom--the one he shared with the Joker, dear God--and he hastily scurried after her.

"Rachel, please, let me go up there, you're a guest--I'll get him to come down..." Alfred entreated.

"No, no, it's all right! Gosh, you think I'm scared of Bruce Wayne? Ha!" She had reached the top of the stairs, with Alfred close behind her, continuing to protest.

"It's not that, ma'am, it's just that--well, privacy, you know--there are certain protocols in this situation--I have specific instructions--please, for your own sake, let me ask him...."

Rachel was already at Bruce's bedroom door and she rapped loudly. Alfred stood worriedly behind her and they were both still for a moment, listening for a response to her knock. There was none, so Rachel rapped again, this time adding, "BRUCE! Wake UP! I have some information on Jack's case! OPEN THE DOOR!" There was a sound of rustling, a bed creaking, and suddenly the door opened a small crack.

"Whaddya want?" asked whoever was on the other side. All Rachel could see of him was a tangle of blond curls and a suspicious eye peering at her. In a rush of horror, she realized--this was the Joker! Unbound, unsupervised...a madman wandering free...yet, somehow, Bruce trusted him, apparently. Rachel steeled herself and, trying to assume her best assistant DA voice, made her own introduction.

"Ah...um, hello! I'm Rachel, is...Bruce there?" she asked faltering awkwardly. Alfred attempted to put himself between her and the presence at the door, but failed.

"Yeah, yeah, I know you. Listen, sweetheart, I don't know who the hell you think you are, but you don't just go banging on a man's bedroom door in the middle of the fucking night. Your ex-boyfriend needs his beauty sleep, now fuck off, will ya?" The door slammed behind him.

Alfred stepped forward. He cleared his throat and called firmly, "Jack, Rachel has some rather important news, will you please ask Master Wayne to meet us downstairs?"

They heard some muffled voices--one of which sounded unintelligible and strained--and more bed creaking. The Joker returned to the door, this time fully opening it to reveal two very disturbing sights; one, himself, in leather chaps--nothing underneath--and a steel-studded black leather vest, and two, Bruce trussed up on the bed, naked, face-down with a ball-gag in his mouth. He was red-faced and futilely attempting to yell around the gag.

The Joker glanced back at his captive, and waved dismissively. "What's that, angel? I can't understand you." He turned back to the pair at the door and in a loud aside said, "I think he wants to say something, let me check," he winked and walked over to the bed and leaned down. Rachel tried not to enjoy the sight of Jack's firm, round rear end as he retreated, and tried to erase the memory of seeing his prominent genitalia hanging at the front of his revealing outfit.

Chuckling, the Joker removed the gag, and Bruce's first sputter of words was rather incomprehensible, although the gist of it was lost on no one, basically a simple promise of painful death for Jack following a lengthy and detailed bout of torture. After a few garbled exclamations, he clearly stated, "JACK! UNTIE ME RIGHT NOW, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!" Jack sat on the bed and began doing just that, all the while humming cheerfully.

"There ya go, big guy. Here, let me get your robe," Jack snorted in barely-contained glee, dodging as Bruce took a vicious swipe at his head. He glanced back at the pair in the doorway, who were turning to make a hasty retreat. "Hey, you two better stick around if you don't want to have to testify at his trial. I assume he'd at least be arrested if he actually killed me, huh?" the Joker chortled, gingerly handing Bruce his robe, trying to stay out of range of his fist.

Bruce took the proffered cover-up, and hissed, "Put your clothes on, freak," before slipping on the garment and standing up. Without looking at his guest or his butler, he grabbed his discarded pants and shirt from the floor and headed to the bathroom to dress. The Joker, snickering nastily, began gathering his own clothes, but was apparently missing an item.

"Bruu-uuce! Whaddya do with my pants?" he asked plaintively. No answer came from the bathroom. "Aw, come on, you threw 'em somewhere, where'd....ah, here we go." Rachel watched in a combination of distaste and interest as he knelt to reach under the bed, his bare ass sticking up in the air for a moment. He pulled out a pair of worn jeans, stood and headed for the privacy of the bathroom as well, smiling lasciviously at Rachel as he passed her.

Without the clown make up, she thought in amusement, he wasn't a bad-looking fellow. She realized she was grinning a bit more broadly than was appropriate, and quickly smoothed her face into a placid, neutral expression.

She heard some words exchanged in the bathroom, sounds of a struggle, then a series of sharp "smack!"-ing sounds as of a hand repeatedly striking firm bare flesh, a theatrical howl of pain followed by maniacal laughter, and soon Bruce strode out fully dressed, a malevolent glare on his face.

"Let's go downstairs, shall we?" he asked brusquely, rubbing his right hand as if it smarted. "Jack, you wretched bastard, stay up here," he ordered grimly as his lover reappeared, now wearing jeans and a t-shirt, ruefully rubbing his bottom.

Jack frowned. "Why? I thought this was about me."

"It is, but I want to hear what Rachel has to say without your interruptions and bullshit. Just stay here, I'll call you when we need you. If we need you," the dark-haired man spat in a renewed swell of barely concealed temper.

Abruptly, Bruce headed out of the room, leaving Rachel and Alfred to awkwardly nod at Jack, turn, and follow Bruce downstairs.

Jack obediently stayed in the bedroom, and a slow grin crossed his face as the throbbing heat from the sting of Bruce's hand on his back cheeks began to subside.

Their little game had already proved to be lots of fun. He'd had no idea it could be even more fun with an audience! Bruce really was a good sport....

Chucking, he lay down on the bed, switched on the TV with the remote, and, began to mull over what could possibly be going on downstairs. He tried to relax, but there was now a worried frown on his scarred but handsome face, as he settled in to await whatever news Rachel Dawes brought with her, hoping it was something good.