Title: My Favourite Game
Author: elvis_a
Pairing: Batman/Joker
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Rating: G through NC-17
Chapter 3/??
Summary: "There was no such thing as self-control anymore. The Joker laid the trap and Batman came running back every time, helplessly wrapped up in a game of 'catch the clown'."

Chapter 3 - Defeated:

Bruce slept unsoundly for the rest of the night. He dreamt that the Joker lay dead in a pool of blood on the carpet in the room down the hall. He felt a pang of remorse, knowing he would never kill the Joker no matter how much he deserved it, and perhaps he'd been overly violent with him last night.

He went downstairs in his Batsuit to make a cup of instant coffee. The clock read 11:00 AM. Bruce hadn't slept this late in months, and he knew every night would be just as restless as long as the Joker was here.

There hadn't been any time to think up a plan, and maybe now would be a good time to decide where this was going and mull things over. He grabbed his mug of coffee and a slice of leftover pizza. The food options were limited to whatever was in the freezer, and he hadn't been here in nearly a year. Whatever food was left was freezer-burned at best. He'd have to take a trip into town as soon as he got the chance.

Bruce cursed the Batsuit as he tried unsuccessfully to get comfortable on the couch. He didn't know how long he could maintain this ruse. Maybe it wouldn't be necessary. If he could return the Joker to Arkham Asylum, the citizens of Gotham might see reason and would understand that he was on their side. If only it were that simple.

Bruce was disturbed from his thoughts by a muffled crash from the floor above. Joker.

Sprinting up the stairs, he unlocked and threw open the door with the force of a hurricane. The small room within looked like a crime scene. The big picture window overlooking the lake was busted wide open, and the glass lay shattered on the carpet, window sill, and every other flat surface. It sparkled in the sunlight like glitter. The Joker was nowhere to be seen, and Bruce ran straight to the window, his boots crushing the glass into the floor. He didn't immediately see Joker out of the window, but after unlocking another door, he stepped out onto the balcony to get a better look. Glass lay in fragments everywhere, and Bruce cringed at the thought of cleaning the mess up. There was no time to waste now, though, and he hooked himself onto the rail of the balcony with a retractable wire from his belt, and lowered himself to the ground below.

"Damnit, Joker! You can't even stay locked up for a few hours, can you?" he muttered to himself before landing below.

He cursed his impulsiveness, and his underestimation of the Joker. He had brought the Joker here and had tried to outsmart him. Or at least Bruce thought that's why he brought him here. It was all turning fuzzy now, and he couldn't remember the details of last night over the throbbing in his head. Either way, he was now the one responsible for whatever trouble the Joker got himself into. If he had turned him over to the authorities from the start, Joker would be back in Arkham. Instead he was probably roaming the streets like some rabid stray dog, and Batman knew it was nobody's fault but his own. What the Joker had said last night to get his blood boiling held some truth now: they were nearly partners in crime. Batman had let himself fall prey to the Joker's game, and now he was being pulled helplessly along for the ride.

Bruce was already picturing the cover of tomorrow's "Gotham NOW!" tabloid.

Batman wanted to punch something- a wall, the Joker, anything at all really. Instead he decided to use all of his pent up energy to find the Joker- and when he did, that clown-faced freak would learn to stay locked up- back in a cell at Arkham. For now he would go out there and find him. It was all he could do.

---

Dusk was setting in as Batman pulled into the garage back at the cabin. Five and a half hours later, and the Joker was still nowhere to be seen. He had been everywhere, driving his black Mercedes to blend in, tinted windows hiding him from the world. It had been so much easier to blend in when he was the Batman. Bruce Wayne had started to feel like a cheap Halloween costume. Batman wanted to stand in the middle of Gotham Square and show the world he was not going to hide anymore. But things weren't that simple now.

He had driven down every road, traversed every path, skulked down every dark alley until he was restless, worn and hungry- but only one thing was for sure- Joker hadn't made his move yet. So why did he feel disappointed? He wanted to find the Joker before someone got hurt. And yet, he wanted something to happen that would make the people of Gotham call on him because there was nobody else who could save them.

Bruce felt sick to his stomach from the conflicting thoughts in his head. He tried to push them away by sitting on his recliner and reading the paper in the den of the cabin, but the words still buzzed dully in his mind, and the feelings still pulled at his chest. They didn't go away.

Day turned to night, and nighttime brought unsettling dreams that woke Bruce from an otherwise deep sleep. He had been exhausted from today's search, but knew he would have to continue looking again tomorrow. This was his only chance to shed his Batsuit and enjoy the fresh air against his skin. Even when he did don his Batsuit these days, he still felt like Bruce Wayne- useless and powerless- but at least now he could enjoy the feeling of air and full-range movement for a little while. In the morning he'd put his suit back on, in case the Joker came back.

In his dream he was walking down the city streets, no mask, no Batsuit. Just Bruce Wayne, exposed and defenseless. He felt itchy and irritated but he didn't know why. He heard whimpering from an adjacent alley and turned the corner to see a man slumped over on the ground with his back turned to him. Bruce walked over to him, reaching out for the man with his hand, but when he touched him he realized the man was not whimpering- he was laughing. Something about him seemed familiar though, in a comforting way- but when Bruce turned the stranger around to face him he was just an ordinary man, one he'd never seen before. He was holding his hand over his mouth, and Bruce was shocked to see blood pouring from behind his fingers. On further inspection, a knife lay on the ground beside him coated in blood.

"Are you okay?" he asked, but the stranger simply stared ahead as if he didn't see him. "I said 'are you okay?'," he shook the man, more violently than he intended. His hand dropped from his mouth, and blood dripped everywhere. His mouth had been sliced apart, each corner cut wide open from mouth to cheek into huge, comical grin.

"Hello, Batman," the man laughed.

"Joker? Joker is that you? Answer me, damnit! Joker!"

Bruce awoke with a start, sitting upright in his bed. He was sure he had screamed out loud. This was crazy. The clown was gone for only a day and he was already having disturbing dreams about him. He knew one thing was for sure now, and it was that he needed to find the Joker and bring him back. If not for his own sanity, then at least for the safety of the people. Still, the image of the Joker in his dream was engraved in his mind. That bloody smile, his exposed face free from the clown-faced mask that Batman had never seen him without. He never wanted to. The face in the dream haunted him, and he knew that to see the Joker's face would be too much to bear. It would make him too real, too complete, as if he were human. And that was something he didn't deserve.

A few hours into the day, Bruce decided to leave his Batsuit behind and head into town for supplies, and to keep his mind off of things. He didn't know how long he'd have to stay, but as long as the Joker was still out there somewhere, he would wait for him at the cabin in case he came back. Even if he couldn't catch him, he would make sure that in the event he returned he would stay locked up. He wasn't playing this game anymore. It wasn't safe to let him wander off on his own.

Bruce stocked up on food and drinks. He bought fresh sheets and a pair of purple pajamas. Thinking back on his dream from last night, visions of the Joker's human face plagued his thoughts. He bought a jar of face paint and some makeup for good measure, knowing that if the Joker came back he hoped that he would use it. It wasn't out of courtesy so much as it was the uneasy feeling he got when he tried to come to terms with the fact that Joker was just as human as himself, something he could not accept. As he made his way through town, every step he took made him feel uneasy. Each corner he turned had him looking over his shoulder, and every passerby made him look twice. He was restless now. He wanted to go back and wait, just in case the Joker returned. He wanted him to come back so this would all end.

He did whatever he could manage to ease his thoughts of the Joker, to stop himself from watching the minutes tick by on the clock hanging on the wall of the cabin den. He was in the Batsuit again, but it was starting to get easier. It had begun feeling more and more like his own skin again.

In the afternoon he called a contractor over to fix the window in the guest room. Still no Joker. He opened the new set of chartreuse sheets and fixed up the spare room adjacent to his. He wouldn't leave anything else to chance. He'd have the Joker right where he wanted him, and would keep an eye on him as much as he needed to. The room next to his had no balcony, no picture window. It was, for all intents and purposes, just a plain room, and he made sure to empty out any of the luxuries and extras. The purple pajamas were left folded on the guest bed, and the makeup left on the dresser.

After dinner, Bruce put an extra plate of leftovers in the fridge, in case Joker came back. He called Alfred, knowing he'd be wondering why he'd not been home for 2 nights, although it wasn't an uncommon occurrence.

"Master Bruce, shall I expect you home for dinner this evening?"

"No, Alfred. I've been called away on some business in Chicago to meet with some clients. I left first thing yesterday morning, and I didn't want to wake you. Very last minute plans. I might be another few days."

"This has nothing to do with the other night, sir?"

"Alfred, look..."

"You miss him, sir, don't you?"

"Who, the Joker?"

"Joker? I was referring to Batman, sir."

Bruce's face flushed with heat.

"Oh, him. Look Alfred, I've gotta go."

Later on in the evening, Bruce sat on the couch with nothing but his own thoughts to pass the time. He had already flipped through every news station and read every paper from town. The Joker hadn't even been spotted. Bruce knew he should have gone home by now. He could be in his room reading a good book, or having dinner with one of his associates. Not that any of that was important. Nothing he did lately was important now that he could no longer don his suit and patrol Gotham City, putting criminals behind bars and saving innocent people from the dangers that lurked in every deserted alley, every dark pathway. None of it mattered, but helped to ease the itching in his mind.

Why did he believe the Joker would come back? Worse yet, why did he WANT him to? He wanted to believe the other man would return, just as much as he didn't want to admit it to himself. Maybe it was so that he could be comforted that the streets were safe again once they were free of the killer clown. It was the best reason he could think of.

---

He wasn't sure when he'd dozed off, but Bruce woke up sprawled out on the couch sometime in the middle of the night. Someone was sitting by his feet.

"Joker?" he rubbed his eyes.

"Bats?" a mere whisper.

"What the-? Where have you been?" his mind raced frantically, not sure of what to say or do now that he was faced with the clown again.

"Well, that depends, Batsy. You see, when you've killed as many people as I have, it all starts to blend together. It's like one big, beautiful death. The people and places don't matter, they all start to fade after a while-"

"What've you done, Joker? Talk!" Batman grabbed the Joker by the front of his shirt and pulled him to his feet.

"Do you mean before I blew that old man to smithereens, or after? Because trust me, that one took me a long time. Even for me! You see, I was frustrated after being LOCKED UP for so long that I just had to take it out on someone. Hee hee!" the Joker bounced on his heels, giddy with excitement.

"You're sick!" Batman couldn't think straight. He wanted to throw up. He knew he was the one to blame for allowing this to happen. "What were you thinking when you killed an innocent man? You're disgusting, you're...you're..."

"I don't think, Bats, I just DO. Mmm, you should know me better than anyone by now," he flipped a stray hair from his face.

"You're going to stop killing people, Joker. You're going to stop destroying innocent life. I will make sure of that!" he released his grip on the smaller man, taking a few steps back, not wanting to touch him. For a moment he thought he really would throw up. Joker just stood there, bouncing up and down on his feet.

The Joker's voice was quiet now, with a false sense of innocence, " I did this for you, Batman. Isn't this what you wanted? Big, bad Joker kills an innocent man and Batman comes to save the day. Isn't that how it works?"

"I didn't want this!" it was a lie and he hated himself for it. He was just as sick and deranged as the Joker. He grabbed the clown once more, throwing him against the wall with as much force as he could muster. For all the shame he felt within himself, he would make the Joker pay. For the innocent life taken on his behalf, he would make the Joker suffer. For the numbness in his chest, he would make him feel pain. He drove his fist into any part of the smaller man that he could get his hands on. He clawed at him, battered, and overpowered him until he was still.

If it hadn't been for the ragged breathing coming from the man slumped on the floor, he could have been mistaken for dead. It took several minutes of pacing, panting, and punching the wall until Batman finally calmed down. He regained his composure and control, focusing on the beating of his heart until it slowed from a maddening throb to a steady rhythm. He flipped on the lights and was even more sickened by what he saw.

The Joker lay splayed on the floor, utterly unconscious. Not only did blood ooze from all over his body, but was caked on in dried up clumps. Bruce knelt beside him. There was glass stuck into his skin, already scabbing over- probably from when he jumped through the window. A black eye and a possible broken nose were also evident. His cuts were covered in dirt. From what he learned of first aid from Alfred, he knew he had to remove the glass before it became permanently embedded in his skin. He would also need to clean the cuts or they would become severely infected. He was Batman's responsibility now, and he had no choice but to lift the unconscious man up into his arms and carry him to the bathroom to give him the first aid he needed. He tried not to think about the fact that the man in his arms was a clown-faced psychopath who killed people for his own pleasure.

Joker was small-framed and light, and he carried him effortlessly into the bathroom on the second floor. Bruce removed the man's purple coat and unbuttoned his shirt and vest, checking for any glass lodged into his skin. Bruce worked carefully and diligently, not stopping to allow himself any remorse. He had lost control, something for which he was ashamed. He couldn't think about that now. Joker was covered in blood and dirt, and smelled filthy. He would have to wash all the dirt off or the cuts would never heal.

It felt awkward sitting here with the Joker in his arms, dabbing at his cuts with a towel. And yet he felt protective of him now, knowing that this was his own fault. He ran a hot shower, needing to wash the dirt from Joker's wounds. There was the predicament of how this was possible while the man was unconscious, not to mention he was not going to remove his clothes, but he would work around it.

He settled for taking off the Joker's shirt and vest, as well as his socks and shoes so that he was stripped down to nothing but his pants. Those would stay on. He climbed into the shower- Batsuit and all- with the Joker slumped against his body. He managed to hold the small man upright against him, though his head hung down and his messy wet hair hung over his face.

The water was steaming hot, and rinsed away the dirt and blood easily. Bruce cursed his Batsuit, wishing he could feel the hot water on his skin, to rinse away the discomfort he felt. He felt uncomfortable not in the Batsuit, but in his own skin. He was ill at ease because the Joker was pressed against his body, exposed and vulnerable in a way he never wanted to see him. The Joker was so human like this, and the water streamed down lightly muscled shoulders, soaking his pale skin and washing over his thin frame in a way that made him look more alive than Bruce had ever seen him in his awakened state.

He dabbed at a cut on the back of Joker's neck with a wash cloth. Stray strands of hair covered the exposed skin there, and Bruce brushed them aside before gently running a gloved finger along the wound. It was deep, and he would probably have to stitch it up. He finished by wiping all the dried dirt and blood from the Joker, holding him up with a shaky hand as he rubbed at his neck and chest. The Joker's entire body was covered in various scars, some he suspected were by Batman's hand. Some were grotesque, but they gave his body a certain character, counteracting all of his human-like qualities and making him more like the freak he was.

The Joker's head rolled back in his unconscious state, and came to rest against Bruce's chest where wisps of messy green-tainted hair stuck to his armor. He could see the Joker's face now, and his makeup was running down his face in streams, a chaotic mess of colors smeared across a canvas. It would have made him look more terrifying than usual if he hadn't been standing there in such a vulnerable and weak state. It made Bruce feel uneasy to see the clown like this, as if he were delving into a part of his psyche he was not meant to see. Bruce dabbed at Joker's nose, wiping the blood that had collected there, careful not to wipe off the makeup that coated his face. The Joker stirred at his ministrations as if coming to, but his head dropped down in front of him again and he was still.

Turning off the water, Bruce carefully lifted the Joker out of the shower. He was much cleaner now, and the cuts on his body were fresh and exposed. He wrapped a towel around his shoulders and held the unconscious man upright in his arms. Water dripped off of the weather-proof Batsuit in beads.

He set the smaller man on the cold, tiled floor, and Joker's body winced at the frigid contact. He would have to work quickly to mend his wounds before the knocked-out killer came to. Bruce would leave no more to chance. He pulled out a first aid kit and tried his best to think back on all the medical treatment he'd learned from Alfred. Working efficiently as he could in the confining suit, he disinfected, and dressed all the cuts, pulling out any stray bits of glass beneath the skin along the way before finally bandaging him up. His state was infinitely better now, no longer looking like he just walked away from a car crash.

"Let's get you to bed," Bruce muttered, not bothering to mask his voice with a Batman tone. With the Joker thrown over his shoulder he made his way to the bedroom he'd set up for his unwelcome guest. He'd had enough for today.

Looking away as best he could, he pulled the soaking wet pants from the Joker's lithe frame to quickly replace them with the new, drier set of pajamas he'd bought in town. Despite this awkward situation and the earlier events that night, the only sensation in his body was numbness. There was no more frustration or desperation, no more itchiness or anger. He pulled back the sheets and set the Joker down.

"This has to end," he whispered, only partially to himself. He pulled the covers up over the Joker's shoulders and sat himself down in the armchair in the corner, too tired to be tempted by reason and too defeated to care.

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1: Cat and Mouse

Chapter 2: Playing Rough