Game On

Sweating and dizzy, Bruce awoke from a nightmare. It faded as fast as he woke, but the sticky oppressive feeling wasn’t as quick to pass. Sitting up, slightly disoriented, he found he was still on the sofa. At least he didn’t feel fogged from the Joker’s laughing gas anymore.

The colorless sky carried into the room the gray of early morning. He rubbed his face and stood up, deciding not to think about the previous night until he was somewhere else entirely.

He went straight to the elevator and down to the garage, meaning to avoid Alfred, unsure what he may or may not have inferred from picking his master up off the floor last night. Bruce cringed inwardly. He couldn’t have been…presentable. The fact that he woke up presentable, fully dressed and arranged, filled him with a deep humiliation. Alfred was tactful and trustworthy, but he would know. Somehow that seemed an even worse sin.

The pre-dawn air of Gotham was just what he needed to help clear his head. After speeding on his motorcycle down to the docks, he descended into Batman’s underground center.

Bruce sat in front of the screens a long time before switching them on. The computers were running, as always -- monitoring and recording the latest news. That was fine. But he hesitated before turning on the bank of screens devoted to the Joker case. The video playback from the bank robbery and various news items was running in a loop, being scanned for information, logging time codes and mapping facial features and speech patterns. Searching, searching for clues but running into brick walls. Bruce held out hope that this would yet yield some feeble result -- unmasking one of the Joker’s cronies, perhaps. But as far as revealing anything about the Joker himself…Bruce decided that it would be inconclusive at best, misleading and muddling at worst. Detached study hadn’t proved useful, and meeting him had been utterly compromising.

The Joker was a madman. The Joker was dangerous. Those were the only two facts Bruce was sure of at the moment. Well, it was really only one fact, for mad and dangerous went hand-in-hand. But last night had, at least, offered perspective. This was an altogether new type of foe. He’d never before felt himself, as Bruce, struggle against himself, as Batman, so keenly. In some ways it was a relief to realize it -- the culmination of dozens of little changes that had been going on in Bruce for some time. The Joker brought them all to the forefront.

That was the thing about the insane sometimes -- their outrageous clarity in seeing right into people. He knew he could push Bruce in dangerous ways, if “dangerous” was encompassing enough a word to describe something so destructive. Many things are dangerous. Batman is “dangerous.” But Batman doesn’t pit men against their own monsters.

Only once before had Bruce…Batman…been tempted into sampling a bit of what his enemy was peddling. At the time, he had thought of it as research -- understanding one’s foe by entering into his world. Of course it had only led to disaster. It was animal and base and spoke to his darker side that he always tried to mask in the Batman persona. And yet it hadn’t been nearly as seductive as what the Joker offered.

For what did the Joker offer? He offered limitlessness. An escape. Options. Options were confusing.

A true hero knew with binary clarity how to choose his path. He was driven by absolutes and stood by them unflinchingly. Like Harvey Dent did.

Dent had seen it even before he had -- that Batman was changing. That the city needed someone different. Bat suit or not, being held at knifepoint or not, Bruce had no excuse for what he allowed last night. Nor was it entirely the Joker’s fault either. That Bruce could be swayed at all was just a symptom of the disease.

He needed to make plans.

He took up the phone, hitting the preset button direct to Lieutenant Gordon’s line. It rang once. It only ever rang once; Bruce felt a small measure of gratitude to know Gordon believed in Batman so strongly as to always be available.

“Gordon here.”

Bruce lowered his voice to the usual business-like tone. “Dent needs more protection.”

“We’re on it,” Gordon replied. “Though he’s doing his best to argue against it. Any leads on the Joker?”

Bruce’s eyes darted automatically to the laughing face held freakishly in “pause” on the video monitor above him. What could he tell Gordon? "Last night I kicked the shit out of the Joker, but ended up jerking him off and being jerked off in return. He didn’t get Dent, but I doubt he’ll simply give up. Harvey Dent is Gotham’s best hope for redemption simply by his own nature. And Rachel prefers him to me. Much of the city seems to think that Batman has crossed too many lines and is ready for retirement, and I’m suddenly inclined to agree with them."

“I’ll worry about the Joker. You worry about Dent,” he said instead.

“Worry about yourself a little too,” Gordon added. “You’re on the long list of people he’s targeted as well.”

He’s targeted the whole damned city. “I’ll handle it.”

“I know.”

“Gordon.”

“Yes?”

“Have you ever thought about how long this could go on?”

“What could?”

Batman. The criminals. Sweeping the trash off the city streets. Stopping the bad guys. Saving the good guys. Our partnership. Me. “The fight to clean up Gotham.”

Bruce waited through Gordon’s long pause, needing his honesty and straight talk. “When I look at what we have done, every minute of the struggle seems worthwhile,” Gordon began. “But every cop knows that there will always be a criminal element. It’s a law of nature in any population, isn’t it, that a certain percentage of them will be scumbags?

“There’s no such thing as utopia,” Gordon continued. “But Gotham has Batman’s protection. We can be different, as long as we have the city on our side.”

Protection’s not enough. It’s also a law of nature that nature tends toward disorder. “He wants the city.”

“Yes. God damn it,” came Gordon’s voice. “As if the mob wasn’t enough to contend with. The Joker’s put Gotham under siege.”

The undercurrent of frustration was clear beneath the anger in Gordon’s voice, and Bruce felt the same himself. One man couldn’t possibly take down the entire city, no matter how strong his anarchy, insanity, or connections. Though the combination was deadly, Batman couldn’t let it happen. He had to be a better hero than the Joker was a villain.

“He won’t get away with it,” Batman promised.


********************************


Bruce worked in the bat cave for the rest of the day, joined by Alfred in the afternoon. Discrete as ever, he mentioned so few specifics about the night before that Bruce could almost pretend it hadn’t happened, due to lack of evidence. But the images still lived in his mind.

A severe hand on his thigh. Warm breath puffing in his face. A smear of white paint on Bruce’s chin. That heavy rolling stroke pulling at him, daring him into an explosion. He spiraled willingly into it, despite what he told himself.

Alfred was supportive as only he could be. Bruce could almost always ground himself by relying on his trusted friend’s insights, but in this case they were far from comforting. Alfred’s theory was that the Joker was just a man who thought that breaking things down was -- what, amusing? Thrilling? So why pull Bruce into his vortex? Was the Joker frustrated because he didn’t get what he wanted with Dent, or did he just have to have a go at everyone who passed his way? The bastard did have a compelling knack for bending situations, as Bruce had seen first-hand.

Bruce packed up his things, and slung them in a bag onto his back.

The ride back home to his building was swift and quiet. Bruce parked his motorbike in the garage and went to the stairwell which led to the main lobby. He’d barely started up the first flight when a dark blur of grasping arms flew around him. Bruce’s reflexes took over his body, delivering an elbow to the attacker’s unprotected rib cage followed by a wrenching twist to his arm, spinning the man to land hard against the cement wall. Bruce grunted angrily as he held him there, looking him in the face. The Joker stared back, struggling to pull back the air which had been forced from his lungs.

Bruce wasted no time throwing a punch at the Joker, who immediately began to bleed from his lower lip. Making no move to strike back, he merely probed the wound with the tip of his tongue and smiled an even redder smile.

“Impressive, Wayne. But then, I’d expect no less from you.” The blood coated his gums and welled up in the spaces between his teeth. “I never met anyone so much on the offensive when it came to defending his hearth and home.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I came to see you,” the Joker sneered, wriggling as he regained his footing. Still pressed between Bruce and the wall, he pushed himself taller, eye-to-eye with Bruce.

“Well I’ve no wish to see you. In fact, by all rights I should turn you over to the cops right now after what you did.”

The Joker raised his eyebrows amusedly. “What I did? You were there too, you know. And you seemed to be enjoying yourself at the time. All over my clothing, I might add.” He glanced briefly downward, indicating that he still wore the same shirt. Bruce barely looked at it, repelled by the idea that the man was wearing his stains.

Bruce ignored the unwelcome familiarity as well, and pressed on. “I was referring to you terrorizing my guests and threatening Harvey Dent.”

“Oh,” the Joker said dismissively, not ready for a change of subject. His mouth hung open wider for a moment. The suggestive smile which curled the scarred corners of his lips triggered Bruce’s defenses. “No chance of a re-match then?”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed and muscles tensed in his jaw from clenching so hard.

“No answer? I’ll take that as a yes.” The Joker’s hand made brief contact with Bruce’s hip before he could lunge away.

Bruce’s fists tightened in the Joker’s collar, and despite wanting to continue violently, he reacted to the more immediate need of putting some distance between them. He swung the man around, and out of his grasp. Thrown toward the ascending steps, the Joker tripped against them and sprawled. Bruce forced away the red anger that was clouding his vision. Something about fighting the Joker distracted his clarity, which was the primary weapon he would need to defend himself. Now was not the time to draw on Batman’s fighting skills; not if he was to protect his identity. “You have no business coming here,” Bruce spat.

The Joker turned himself over and sat on the steps, one hand hanging from the railing. “I have a message for Dent.”

Bruce shook his head. “I’m not his keeper. We’re acquainted. That’s all.”

The Joker smirked and stood up. “Be that as it may, I think you’re the right one to hear this. You’re so well-connected, aren’t you? The district attorney and the Batman at the same party?”

“Batman’s arrival was your doing.”

The Joker stepped forward slowly. “Harvey and I need to have a chat about the Batman.”

Bruce tried not to step backward. “The policemen are in charge of Dent now.”

“So I noticed.” A foot stepped on top of Bruce’s own. “But that’s not an issue for long.”

Wait. Just wait, Bruce cautioned himself, taking metered breaths. “And Batman takes care of himself.”

Fully upon him, the Joker lowered his voice. “Oh, I’ll have to be careful if the police and Batman are on Dent’s side,” he said, without a trace of concern. Gloved hands held Bruce’s at his sides, creaking as they closed around his wrists. Too close. Too warm. That man gave off too damn much body heat.

“He won’t let you --” Bruce began.

“Batman won’t stick his neck out for Dent for long. He’s got too much to lose.” The words were inside Bruce’s head. His eyes had closed somehow and the Joker was enveloping his space, creeping into his judgment.

“I had a message for you too,” the Joker said.

“I’m getting your message,” Bruce answered, trying to pull away from the press of the Joker’s body. The rock-hard pressure being driven against his leg couldn’t be mistaken.

The Joker spoke even more quietly, in what could have been called a whisper if the tone weren’t so threatening. “Not entirely, you’re not. But you’re dying to feel that rush again, aren’t you? Good, isn’t it? Like being weightless, ready to be smashed into every direction at once. That is freedom. But that’s the trick. Once you’ve had a taste of freedom, it’s almost impossible to give up. Take it from someone who’s been locked up so many times he’s rather lost track.”

The anger and challenge rose again in the Joker’s growl. Bruce struggled to hear him over the muffled ringing in his ears. He implored him in silence to just stop…because if he didn’t stop, Bruce would have to decide what to do, and he couldn’t think of an alternative that didn’t involve a betrayal.

A devil on Bruce’s shoulder, the Joker continued to mutter his low temptations. “You could have it again if you want. That feeling; that freedom. I see how you want to lash out at me. Hey, I’m all for it. Go ahead. Fight me. Punch me again.”

Bruce’s arms were rising, being pulled upward and outward. He opened his eyes again to see the Joker wrapping Bruce’s own hands around the Joker’s throat. “Go on,” the Joker murmured. The Joker’s curling fingers drove Bruce’s nails into his skin. An artery throbbed under his fingertips with a pulse rate reminiscent of last night. God, it would feel good to strangle the freak or snap his neck. Undoubtedly it would save lives and solve many of Gotham’s problems. But Batman certainly wouldn’t do it; how could Bruce? What if the Joker decided to fight back? And what if he didn’t?

Though his arms trembled, Bruce rewarded himself with a lingering pressure on the windpipe beneath his thumbs. It bobbed and buzzed as the Joker chuckled encouragingly. So close. But so impossible. He was no murderer.

Drawing carefully from Batman’s reserve, Bruce tore his hands away and barreled past the Joker. With a shout he took to the staircase, out of safe options. He didn’t look back, dashing up as many flights of stairs as his legs and lungs could carry him.

As his chest pounded and muscles cramped, Bruce reeled up the staircase. He tried to tell himself he’d won by not giving in, but the cackling laugh echoing from below was a much more convincing cry of victory.


***********

[OK, I lied...the story is not "complete" as listed in the description. It was originally a one-shot, but I've decided to continue it. Sorry, I don't see how to edit the details so it doesn't say Complete. There will be two more chapters........eventually. Thanks for reading.]