Life is so much better when you're dead

It didn't really feel like a dream. The image was blurry, but every few seconds it became so crisp, Bruce could tell every detail of the scarred face that was so close to him now; the puckers and dimples of the Glasgow smile and patches of stubble Joker must have overlooked in his razor virtuosity were brushing against his unarmored, vulnerable neck. The knowing hands wandered all over his body, spurring fiery tingles in every inch of his skin, and the arms tightened around him, whisking away the remains of hesitation. His head filled with the familiar white noise. There was only the feel of Joker's skin, the warmth of his lips, the way he moved--insistently and almost frantically, yet there was some sensual tenderness hidden underneath it all. Bruce found himself kissing him back. His fingers started to claw at his patterned shirt, trying to tug it out of his pinstriped pants and sneak beneath it.

Joker gasped when Bruce's nails grazed gently against his ribs. He kissed him with more viciousness, and something inside of him snapped at the realization the other's tongue wasn't the docile, submissive creature he was so very used to--it attacked him back while the hand moving underneath his shirt pulled him even closer. He broke the kiss and looked at Bruce, breathing heavily, but he couldn't keep away for too long; he didn't really know how he managed to take off the man's shirt, but he did it quickly enough, despite his hands trembling. His eyes slid down the tempting flesh; the rising chest and the pulsating veins were just luring his tongue, and he couldn't resist even if he wanted to. Bruce's arms wrapped around him demurely, and his fingers tangled in his curly hair as he sucked at the skin of his neck until it bloomed with red marks. Joker slid his hands under him and lifted him slightly, pushing him onto the bed. Bruce took the hint. Soon enough, he was lying on the dirty sheets with Joker crawling on top of him. He looked at the ceiling, but there was nothing except the drunken whirlwind, so he closed his eyes for a second. The madman was scattering kisses all over his face and neck, and his hands were moving aimlessly over his chest, smoothing down his sides without haste, slipping under him and caressing the small of his back. The teasing fingers flicked against the muscles of his lower stomach, causing an eruption of warmth at the back of his spine, and without thinking, Bruce spread his legs wider so Joker could settle between them and lean down, rubbing against him languidly.

Joker was still kissing and licking him all over, as if he couldn't sate himself, his hunger seemingly growing with each second. Bruce didn't know if it was the alcohol's doing, but it felt so good; compared to everything he had experienced in the past, it felt like it was the first time someone really wanted him--but it was the Joker, the very core of his nightmares, the marrow of his growing madness. Still, his arms were pulling the man closer, his lips were seeking for the warm and soft lips of someone who had been skinning his mind alive for the past two years, and it was all that he wanted, nothing else could weed out this urge, he wanted to be wanted by this man, to dissolve against him, to kill the voices of those he had killed, and to finally forget.

The tongue started to circle over his nipple, and Bruce sucked in breath as the velvet lips closed around it, the moist tip moving against it back and forth. His back arched a little, and Joker moved his hips slyly against the heat growing between his legs. A trail of wet, lingering kisses ascended up his chest and neck until they were face to face. Maybe it was a dream, after all; Joker couldn't have possibly had it in him to look at him like this, and Bruce's lips stretched in a smile--it was the best dream he had ever had, that much he could admit in this state. He would forget it later, probably. Right now, he was reaching up to cup the madman's face in his hands and kiss him one more time. Joker slid his arms under his back, embracing him--they were holding each other while kissing--it had to be a dream. Bruce's smile widened, and he felt two light pecks land on each corner of his lips before the tongue wandered down his neck, massaging the more sensitive spots while it kept going further and further down.

The fabric of Joker's shirt chafing against his skin finally became frustrating, and Bruce pushed the madman away gently, just enough so he could reach to the buttons and start undoing them, the effort evidently slowed down with his intoxication. Joker slapped his hands away playfully, slid off his suspenders and took care of the shirt in a second, ripping the buttons off. He leaned over Bruce, allowing his hands to ghost down his bared chest, his own hands petting the dark hair. His heartbeat quickened and he started to shiver because Bruce just couldn't stop touching him, as if unaware of what it did to the man, indulging himself to the feel of his skin. It almost surprised him how smooth and warm, how human Joker's body felt against his, but all of this most probably wasn't real. Bruce closed his eyes and licked the madman's neck when he lowered his head to place a kiss on his temple. He had always wanted to do it, and he knew it. He wanted to taste him, to be closer; he wanted what was beneath the layers of custom clothes and make up, and he had to deny himself of that every single time, trying to trick his mind into believing he was fucking merely a mirage of his own insanity, while his fingers would helplessly claw over the soft fabric of Joker's vest. Every single time. His arms closed tighter around the lean body. He kissed the spot between the man's collarbones, listening to him purr with pleasure when his tongue started to stroke his earlobe, and his teeth nipped gently at the delicate flesh.

Joker burrowed his face into the crook of his neck, almost giving in to his embrace, but this odd moment of compliance ended quickly with the lips starting their journey anew over Bruce's body. His tongue rolled over the hardened nipple while his hand slowly smoothed down the man's stomach until it reached the waistband of his jeans. After loitering for a few seconds, it slid further down between his thighs, rubbing lazily, but incessantly. Bruce's breath quickened, and he finally gave into a quiet moan. The deft tongue and the teeth brushing gently against the vulnerable nub of flesh sent a surge of tickling heat through his entire body with each stroke, and his neck arched back when the touch of the hand became firmer, its movements growing faster. He almost let out a disappointed cry when it stopped, resting at his hip, but the hot tongue began to descend down his chest, flicking over his ribs and leaving a trail of teasing tingles in its wake. Joker bit at his hipbone lightly while his fingers slid under his ass, tightening. The teeth grazed down the fly of his jeans. The vibrations and the madman's hot breath made his hips jerk involuntarily, and he realized he had no control over his reactions anymore. The fingers moved to his waistband and started to maneuver around it, but Joker's hands were shaking too badly to conduct this simple task.

"Uh... could you..." Joker purred and started to tug at the seams with his teeth. Bruce reached down, and after a few feverish, failed attempts, he finally managed to unzip his pants. Joker pulled them off his body immediately. "Now, that's teamwork..." he muttered under his breath and plunged down, lapping up the bead of precome from the tip of Bruce's cock and kissing it gently. Bruce let out a stifled groan, and his thighs shuddered in a spasm of pleasure. The moist tongue tickled the throbbing veins and slid back up, lingering a little in the tiny slit at the tip until he started to squirm, but it ended too quickly. Bruce sighed helplessly when the hot mouth let go of him. Joker crawled up to face him and kissed him on the cheek, cradling the back of his head in his hand. "Don't go anywhere," he whispered and climbed off him, disappearing for a few moments. Bruce started to feel cold the moment Joker broke the contact, but soon enough, the madman was leaning over him again, caressing his skin and nuzzling his neck. It didn't distract Bruce's attention from the small bottle Joker had brought with him and placed on the bed.

"What's this?" he asked amusedly, nodding towards it.

"Oh, this... you know, um... I really wouldn't want you to go through what I had to after our first time." Joker grinned deviously, but his eyes still didn't hold any threat. "Don't worry, dear... I'll be gentle," he murmured and his lips flicked against the slight smile that crept onto Bruce's face.

"You mean... you want to-"

"Shhh..." A firm kiss silenced him, and Bruce just gave the madman a questioning look. "Yeah, I... I want to." Another warm kiss left his lips tingling. Bruce just closed his eyes for a moment and nodded unknowingly. Joker reached for the bottle. He opened the cap, pouring the lotion on his hand profusely, and Bruce felt his pulse quicken when his gaze followed this hand sliding between his legs. His teeth gritted at the foreign, yet oddly pleasant sensation of the slippery fingers lingering for a while before one of them started to enter him slowly. The muscles of his stomach flexed involuntarily. It took him some time to get accustomed to this languid friction inside of him, but after a while, he started to like it, and when the second finger joined, stretching him and scissoring with the other one, curling upwards, rubbing his prostate--he couldn't help it, he started to writhe and moan quietly, and Joker didn't want to stop. He kept fingering him diligently while his other hand closed around his leaking cock.

Bruce twitched, and his hips bucked up on their own. The tingling spreading over his entire body slowly started to drive him mad. He looked at Joker, and he really didn't care what he might have thought of his pleading gaze, he needed him, close, as close as possible. Joker stopped his ministrations, unzipped his pants and spread some lube over his own cock, looking back at Bruce with a strangely affectionate smile. He crept in between his legs, his hands ghosting up the insides of his thighs, and leaned down, licking the taut muscles of his stomach. As the hot tongue meandered upwards, his hands slid under Bruce's hips and pulled them up a little. The man arched against him. The remains of will left his body, and he gave in completely, immersed in scorching anticipation. Finally, Joker started to enter him. Bruce's breath quickened even more, coming in ragged gasps. It burned, but he had never wanted anything more in his life. He wanted to feel Joker move inside of him, he wanted to come apart with his weight pressing into him--he wanted all of this for so long now, even if he barely ever acknowledged it.

He let out a groan of pleasure mixed with impatience when Joker started to slowly pull out. The madman prepared him well; it didn't really hurt too much, and the alcohol filling his veins helped him relax even more. A new surge of heat erupted in his lower stomach when Joker angled another languid thrust up a little, the throbbing, hard flesh moving against the right spot. The fingers tightened over his hips, and Bruce began to push back despite the burning. The tip of his cock rubbed against Joker's skin when he leaned in a little more before he started to pull out again, but he didn't make him wait too long for another burst of pleasure, moving his hips knowingly and aiming perfectly. Bruce couldn't help the soft whimpering leaving his mouth, and his back curved again on its own, his hips moving of their own accord. The smooth skin ghosted against his cock one more time, and his hips bucked up even harder.

He closed his eyes, and his lips curled back in a satisfied, lustful grin, because after a few minutes of this maddening preparation, Joker finally took the hint and quit being gentle. Bruce knew why it felt so good, and that's why the dormant but still sentient part of him really hoped it was a dream. Deep down, though, he started to realize all of this really was happening. The Joker was fucking him, pushing into him with such cruel ferocity, and he was just coming undone in front of him, unabashed, his entire body begging for more because he loved it, he loved the feel of Joker's nails digging into his skin and scratching down his ribs, clawing at his chest as if he wanted to rip it open and crawl inside him, his teeth and tongue teasing his nipples, his hands wandering further and further down--Bruce wasn't moaning anymore, he screamed when the fingers closed around his cock, smoothing it in one second, stroking hard in another, soft fingertips slicked with his precome massaging its tip, circling around it over and over again.

The agonizing pleasure was accumulating in his lower abdomen, and his senses started to shut out one by one. Bruce didn't know what he was doing anymore. His arms reached up, snaking around Joker's body, and he pulled him closer, his fingers curling over the hot skin. He clung to him, hiding his face in the crook of his neck and breathing in his smell, the screams slowly dying away, giving place to short, fervid gasps. His eyes rolled back. The heat just kept building up, spreading over him in rippling, paralyzing waves with each insistent thrust, with the teeth biting at his earlobe, with the fingers stroking harder and faster, with the firm flesh rubbing against him, melting and merging with his own, until something in him burst out without any warning. His whole body convulsed and thrashed against the bed, but Joker hadn't stopped yet, pushing into him, seeping the fever into each of his veins until he thought he was about to overflow. The sudden release snatched the scant remains of awareness out of his head. He went blind for a few seconds, and the only things keeping him conscious were Joker's teeth biting into his neck and his cock still moving deep inside him as he came.

His body slowly started to fall prey to the numbing comfort when he heard the delicious sound coming out of Joker's throat as he reached his own release. He sighed at the feel of the moist warmth filling him, and his arms slid down the madman's slippery skin, welcoming him when he just fell down like a lifeless lump, breathing heavily against his neck. Bruce burrowed his face into the blond curls and closed his eyes. Finally, Joker pulled out. His arms wrapped around the other man, but he still couldn't lift his head, and after a few seconds, Bruce felt the soft lips pressed against his skin stretch in a smile. The image was pulsating in accord with the stirred blood still rushing through his veins, blurring out and shifting. A wave of soft tingles ran through his body with each breath, and his mind still didn't want to switch gears and acknowledge what he had done. He chose to bask in his lapse a little longer. A scarred cheek brushed against his face, and soon enough, Joker was looking at him from behind half-closed eyelids. He was smiling. Bruce gave him a slight, sated smirk in return, even though this strangely tranquil gaze sent shivers down his spine. He thought he saw something else in his eyes, something that made his insides churn in a strangely pleasant way, but it couldn't be real. He was too drunk to see straight.

The madman rolled off him and landed on his back with a soft grunt, and after a few moments of lying motionless, he started to worm towards the pillow. His hand closed around Bruce's wrist, urging him to come join him, and it took the man a good while before he managed to muster enough strength to simply lift himself and crawl a little further. Finally, his head dropped against the make-up covered pillow, and he breathed in the bitter smell of greasepaint. His eyelids felt so heavy, but his gaze followed Joker's movements longingly. This time he couldn't force himself to be sickened with this urge to be close to him, and he felt almost grateful for getting himself intoxicated to such extent. He sighed when the warm body returned to him, slender arms throwing the slightly dirty sheets over both of them before they wrapped around him tightly, and he felt a soft kiss land on his forehead before he fell asleep.


♣ ♣ ♣


Bruce woke up to the sound of running water, and it took him some effort to unglue his stubborn eyelids. He looked around, realizing he couldn't have slept for too long; it was dark outside, and he still felt very much under influence. Finally, the drunken grogginess subdued him, and he closed his eyes again. There wasn't much to see anyway; Joker was in the bathroom, taking a shower or God knows doing what. Bruce just remained as he was, his mind continuing on being pleasantly empty. Slowly, some purely physiological needs began to coyly draw his attention, and he acknowledged that he was thirsty, that he needed to go pretty bad, and that the air was so dense with the cigarette smoke it was almost tangible, making him dizzy in a particularly nauseating way. As soon as he had spelled it out to himself, Joker emerged from the bathroom, a little wet and wearing only some fancily patterned boxers, with a toothbrush sticking from his mouth. Bruce's eyelids lifted up slightly, and he watched the madman saunter to the window, humming some weird melody. He propped it open and disappeared in the bathroom again.

The fresh air seeping in seduced him strongly enough, and Bruce finally unclenched his eyes completely, blinking until he could see somewhat clearly. He lifted himself with a silent grunt and leaned to the side in a quest for his own boxers. They were lying on the floor, along with his jeans and shirt. He reached for them, being painfully aware of each of his muscles, and slowly pulled them on, deciding to remain oblivious to Joker's crusted semen remaining in and on his body. He didn't mind it, actually--what was important was the air. Bruce tottered in its direction and leaned his head out the window, breathing in voraciously. He felt better immediately. Something wet landed on his cheek, followed by something equally wet splashing against his forehead; it was raining. The cold droplets helped to sway away his nausea, and after a couple of minutes, he decided it was safe to retreat into the warmth of the room, just in time to witness Joker get out of the bathroom again.

"Darling!" the madman cooed, clasping his hands theatrically. Bruce cocked his eyebrow and looked at him with caution. Finally, he became clearly aware of the residue sticking to his skin, and of the weird, slightly burning sensation inside. It had really happened. He swallowed with difficulty.

"Did I wake you?" Joker tilted his head and grinned. "Sorry," he mouthed.

"No, I... I kinda have to go to the bathroom," Bruce muttered, and forwarded his hesitant steps in the desired direction. When he went past Joker, he received a friendly pat on the back. He stopped for a second. It had really happened. It doesn't get any worse than that, so what the hell.

"Do you have a, uh... A spare toothbrush?" he asked quietly without making eye contact.

"Toothbrush... Oh, sure. Plenty." Joker gave him a wide smile and pranced to the wooden shelves. Bruce squinted. As venomous as he was, Joker didn't really have a habit of being sarcastic in such a cliché way. "What color do you fancy, dear?" the madman asked, excavating a handful of brand new, unopened toothbrushes from underneath a pile of magazines and rubbish. Bruce gave him a suspicious look.

"Why do you have so many of them?"

"Uh..." Joker creased his eyebrows and looked up, mulling over the question. "Precautionary measures, I guess. So..." He walked up to Bruce. "Who's the lucky toothbrush?" he purred and held them out courteously. Bruce just rolled his eyes to the side at the lame quip, but he couldn't stop the faint smile from creeping onto his face. He grabbed one without looking and went straight to the bathroom. He could hear an exaggerated gasp and a high pitched "You smiled again...!", but he closed the door quickly before he gave in to a quiet chuckle.

He paced to the sink. The mirror didn't lift his morale too much, because he caught himself watching the scratch and bite marks with some kind of morbid appreciation. The skin of his neck was basically one big hickey, and he didn't mind that either. He was still drunk, sure, but he had sobered enough for the tedious disgust and shame to rear their ugly heads already. They were really long due. Bruce pouted slightly and lowered his gaze, pondering this anomaly. By this time he should have been eagerly wallowing in denial and angst, but he was still so calm--and it still was real. Finally, he shrugged and approached the toilet, the objective of relieving his bladder prevailing over anything else.

As soon as he was done, he got in the bathtub. The cool water didn't really help him regain his sobriety, but after soaking for a while, he felt much fresher nonetheless. He dried himself with the yet again damp towel picked from the floor, pulled on his boxers, walked back to the sink, brushed his teeth, and lapped up some water. Having performed all of those rituals, he couldn't lie to himself anymore. Despite the obvious hindrance of his cognitive abilities and the slight soreness here and there, he had never felt better in his whole life. He cocked his head pensively at his own reflection--still no disgust.

"C'mere, darling, get a load of this!" Joker called in a gravelly voice--it seemed the alcohol wasn't kind on him either. Bruce turned his head towards the door and slowly left the bathroom, his gaze automatically drawn to the TV set. He grimaced at the sight.

"Miss La Cosa Nostra has made the news." The madman lifted a glass to his mouth. He was drinking some brownish liquor on the rocks, evidently hailing the principle of fighting fire with fire. Bruce walked up to the bed and took a seat next to him. Sofia was a guest on Gotham Tonight, being interviewed by none other than Mike Engel himself, and the current topic was the recent assault at one of her restaurants.

"...I assure you, it wasn't some full blown mob argument. My business here is legitimate. It was a one sided expression of misplaced aggravation where I and my associates unfortunately played the roles of victims."

"It sounds as if you were aware of the identity of the assailants."

"I have my bets. I'm sure you do as well, Mike."

"Is it possible that the assault was conducted by the members of the Viti family?"

"Everything is possible."

Joker lit a cigarette and took a huge drag. "So, that's how she looks... no wonder she likes to prance around in a mask." Bruce gave him a quick glance and raised his eyebrows. Sofia was no beauty, sure, but she wasn't particularly appalling either; simply, smack in the middle of plain.

"What do you mean?"

"Just look at her, I mean... she looks... blank. Like Jeffrey Dahmer or something." Joker took another sip and cringed. "Never mind. Am I supposed to be affronted by what she's saying?"

Bruce scrutinized her for a couple more seconds. Her hair was pinned up neatly, and she was dressed quite elegantly, emitting a somewhat corporate aura. The jagged scars he remembered she had on her left cheek were covered up, and indeed, she did look blank. Even her speech seemed unnatural, compared to what he had heard in her office; the slight stammer and the weird, slurring accent were completely gone, but Engel didn't seem to notice that it was an elaborate act. On contrary. He seemed to be convinced with every answer she would come up with, dealing even with the most drilling questions. She knew what she was doing, and she retained the facade of legitimacy without any visible effort--so different than Sal Maroni and the likes of him.

"I don't know... Depending on how she chooses to play it out, you might have done her a big favor." Bruce turned his head and looked at Joker again. He was wearing the now buttonless shirt with its sleeves rolled up, and when he yawned, stretching out his arms, Bruce caught a glimpse of dark, purple bruises covering his ribs--this particular detail had eluded him earlier. "Did she do that?" He pointed at them.

"Uh... yeah. I think." Another drag off the cigarette. "I don't really remember. But, y'know... why can't we just kill her? I mean, seriously, even if we killed her, and one of her 'associates' would show that video to the whole white world, couldn't you just, I don't know... leave? You could fake your own death and leave the country just like that." Joker snapped his fingers and took another sip. "You could dwell in Europe and cultivate hops happily forever after."

Bruce's eyebrows furrowed at this sound advice. It was the most straightforward way to go about this whole situation, and, most probably, the most appropriate. Sans the killing, of course. He should just leave this city for good, but somehow, the perspective didn't spur any enthusiasm in him. Quite the opposite. He gave Joker a slant look.

"What would you do if I left? Take up knitting?"

Joker dissolved into hiccupping laughter, choking on his drink. He fanned his face with his hand and swallowed, his body still shaking with waves of giggling. "Oh, don't tell me you think I would just stay behind...? No, no... I would follow you everywhere. I mean, you could spend the rest of your life on some God forbidden island, separating baby chicks by gender for all I care, I'm still going to be there making it hard for you."

Bruce kept looking at him, fighting with all his might not to crack a smile. "I wish I could say that's a relief," he muttered. Joker still had this ridiculously affectionate grin on his face, and Bruce started to reevaluate each premise indicating all of this was indeed real. Or maybe it was just the lack of make up that made the madman appear like this; whatever it was, something about him was so enticing right now, Bruce just couldn't quite process it. It didn't even feel like the usual sickly temptation. It seemed just normal, natural.

"So just say it." Joker chirped and tilted his head. Bruce squinted amusedly and finally allowed himself a soundless chuckle. Joker was next to him in a second, cupping his face in his hands and squeezing his cheeks together. "You did it again...!"

"What...?" Bruce groaned unhappily.

"You smiled again."

"I'm sorry."

The madman grinned and placed a light kiss on Bruce's lips, still kneading his face. Finally, without any warning, he leaned against him and simply hugged him. Bruce sucked in breath and went completely rigid. This was wrong on so many levels, he didn't even know where to start, but Joker just seemed to dabble happily in this absurdity without giving it a second thought. And he dragged him along. Bruce relaxed a little; he had noticed a long time ago that Joker's proximity had a calming, even lulling effect on him, and now was the perfect moment to finally admit it. It doesn't get any worse. Not now, at least.

"You know what, dear... That Italian wench won't weed us out unless we let her. So, don't worry, don't worry," Joker murmured in his ear, and Bruce slowly started to give in to the warmth. "Wanna go back to sleep?"

"I've got two years to make up for, so I guess..."

The madman turned off the television and pulled Bruce’s arm gently as he lay down. "C'mere," he said quietly, and Bruce once again felt grateful for getting himself this drunk. Joker wrapped himself around him, and he tucked his head against his neck since there really was no other place he could put it. He still didn’t mind, though, and he almost enjoyed the absence of disgust that would normally start romping in his stomach by now. Maybe it was just his body's way of yearning for sleep. Whatever it was, it worked, and he slipped into unconsciousness within a few minutes.


♣ ♣ ♣


Weirdest dream ever: some insolent, cold fingers were tightening over his forearm and shaking it for some obscure reason. Joker grunted scoldingly. The fingers didn't vanish like they were supposed to, and their grip became stronger as the shaking grew more insistent. The madman lifted one of his eyelids. Blur, blur, blur, redhead, blur, blah. His eyelid gave up. The fingers grabbed his hair and pulled his head up, and his eyelid lifted up one more time, deciding to give it another go. Blur, blur, more redhead. Pfft... Finally, the tiresome redheaded thing budged, and he began to fall back into the warm oblivion, but a sudden splash of cold water against his face terminated his bliss mercilessly. He opened his eyes, shocked, burning indignation lighting his gaze as he fixed it upon the thing.

"What-" he started, but another splash silenced him efficiently. Sofia reached over him while he was trying to get rid of the unsolicited liquid from his eyes and nostrils, and pinched Bruce who was still sleeping soundly. He wasn't especially thrilled with the prospect of waking up either, so it took her a few more pinches and pokes before he finally fluttered his eyelids and looked up. By this time, Joker had already dealt with the water and was staring daggers in the direction of the girl, evidently displeased and a little dazed at that.

"What-" Bruce started, but the remainder of his utterance was muffled with a cold hand pressed against his mouth.

"I ask the questions first," said Sofia. She let go of Bruce's face, taking a step back and sizing both of them up. "What the fuck are you friends of Dorothy doing at this date and hour? Weren't you supposed to be somewhere yesterday, Wayne?"

"What the fuck are you doing here...?" Bruce groaned quietly. "How did you even get in here...?"

"Fire escape. I was just driving around and noticed your bike, parked ever so conveniently under it, and the window was open, so, you know, you were just asking for it."

Bruce scrunched his face and pressed his palm to his forehead. He gave Joker a glance; if he felt as miserable as he looked, then they were joined in their ailing. The hangover really went over the top; his veins were almost crying out loud, his pulse was resonating in his aching head, and he was so thirsty. His eyes slid back to Sofia, the weak stare hopelessly trying to render her presence null. Unfortunately, she was as real as the fact that he was lying in bed with the Joker. And he thought it doesn't get any worse...

"Since you're holding my cup in your paw, which you've taken without permission, go fetch me some water, wench," Joker droned, rubbing his eyes. Surprisingly enough, Sofia turned around and forwarded her steps to the kitchen.

"You want some too, Wayne?" she asked.

"What do you think, of course he does," Joker hissed and looked at Bruce. The man looked back at him, slightly disoriented with Sofia's obedience, but Joker just shrugged, equally confused. She came back in a few moments, holding two ceramic cups filled with tap water. The madman squinted; she didn't look quite so blank anymore. Her long hair was hanging in ragged, frizzy strands, the scars weren't covered up and she was wearing the same jacket he had remembered from their last encounter--the one embroidered with a skeleton design. The corporate aura was gone, and without it she appeared kind of eerie, in the worst possible way.

"You look nice today. Thank you," said Joker weakly as he received the cup. He inhaled the contents in two gulps and handed it back to her. "Refill, please." Sofia just snarled at him, but she took the cup anyway. The madman turned his face in Bruce's direction, cocking his eyebrows and smirking mischievously, but Bruce couldn't find it in him to prevent the malevolent plan that was undoubtedly hatching in his mind. He just stared at him as he reached beneath the pillow and pulled out a knife, and it didn't faze him as much as it should. He took another sip of water and cringed a little; that was the most condemning reaction Joker was going to get from him.

Sofia reappeared in their sight range. She handed Joker his water and observed as he tilted the cup to his mouth, gobbling up the soothing liquid. His other hand was hidden beneath the sheets, and it wasn't until he finished drinking that it finally darted in the girl’s direction. Bruce watched without too much enthusiasm, but he was indeed impressed with Joker's ability to spring up in such style despite his state. The madman pushed Sofia against the wall, sticking the blade in her mouth, but, unfortunately, it was the end of his mettle. Soon enough, he was pressing the knife to his forehead, wincing and writhing in pain, swaying on his legs a little.

"Uhh... where was I," he coughed, and placed the knife back in the girl's mouth. "So, uh... Actually, it's quite nice of you for having dropped in and everything, and I really don't want to appear hostile, but..." Another violent attack of coughing. "As I was saying, I..." Joker swallowed and cleared his throat, rolling his eyes and trying to get back on his train of thought. "What I'm trying to say, is that I think I, um... Darling? Are we killing her...? Because I don't remember if we decided on anything..."

"We're not killing her," Bruce grunted, clenching his eyes shut and rubbing his temples.

"That's the spirit, Wayne," said Sofia. Joker looked at her with disbelief; his hand had slipped a little, and the blade went into the corner of her mouth as she spoke, but she didn't seem to notice until the madman cleared his throat again, pointing at the cut.

"Hm...? Oh. Goddammit." She pushed Joker's hand away and reached up, wiping the trickling blood off her chin. "You have a tissue or something, maybe?"

"Toilet paper. In the bathroom." Joker pointed in its direction. He squinted and tilted his head as she disappeared inside. The cut was deep enough to hurt pretty badly, yet it seemed as if she hadn't even felt the knife. He blinked repeatedly, remembering how he had lacerated her arm the last time--she didn't seem to be moved by that either. His gaze fixed on Bruce who was still sitting on the bed, but the man just shook his head at him, a grave reprimand filling his eyes.

"What...?" asked Joker, but he didn't get to finish. Sofia emerged with a wad of bloody toilet paper pressed to her mouth.

"Okay, Wayne, as you can see, I haven't got the time. I'm gonna have to get that stitched up. What's your answer?"

"Can't you see it's not the best moment to discuss such things?" Bruce sighed and rubbed his temples some more.

"That's your problem, son. You were supposed to be in my office last night, but you chose to throw a little bacchanalia with your special friend. I tried to call you at home, and even your butler didn't know where you were."

"Oh, shit. Alfred..." Bruce finally rose from the bed and approached his jacket lying on the floor. He reached inside the pocket for his cell phone. The battery was dead.

"You're so grounded," Joker said gravelly, wiping the blood off his knife with the hem of his shirt. Bruce grimaced at him in response before his eyes locked with Sofia's.

"As you can see, I haven't got the time either. I need to... get home, somehow."

"Slippery move, Wayne. Not good enough, though. But yeah, since I take it you've already agreed, I can give you a lift if you want."

"I haven't agreed."

"Not in writing, yet. So, what's it gonna be? You're too detained to drive your bike, you know."

Bruce stared at Joker as if expecting an answer from him. The madman just grinned. "Oh, you can take him home, alright. But only if I can tag along,"

Sofia creased her eyebrows. "Yeah... sure... But--I ain't letting you two anywhere near my car unless you stop looking like a couple of ass fondling hobos."

Joker rolled his eyes and started to pace towards the bathroom. "Tricky, but we'll manage. You want something to cover up the hickeys, dear?" he asked Bruce. The man just looked at him wearily and nodded after a couple of seconds, wondering if this day could get any worse, or if it had already reached the ultimate limit.