Fan Fiction ❯ The Game We Play ❯ Deeper Levels 1 ( Chapter 19 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Chapter 19 - Deeper Levels

Bruce awoke slowly, but the dull throbbing pain in his leg made him reluctant to become fully conscious. The pain in his head didn't help things much either. He opened one eye a little, scouting things out before becoming officially awake.

Batcave. Everything normal.

He opened his eyes and blinked a few times, then tried to move his leg. He groaned as the aching stiffness in the limb objected to his disturbance of it.

"You slept a long time," a familiar voice commented. Beside Bruce sat the Joker, his legs crossed and his elbows leaning on them as he watched his friend. "Eight hours, infact. Not like you, is it?"

"Has it been eight hours?" Bruce mumbled. He rolled onto his back and gingerly tried to pull himself to a sitting position. He was definitely not a morning person. "No. That's not normal."

"Are you feeling better?" Joker perked his head to the side curiously, watching as Bruce hefted his body upward.

Bruce winced, feeling the stitches tug. "Define better."

"Mmmmmm, nope. I don't think I want to." Joker grinned and looked generally cheerful, though his actual body looked worse all around.

"Fine, then I don't have to answer." Bruce grumbled.

"Ohhh, be a sour-puss, will you?" With a soft giggle, Joker pulled himself forward and poked a finger into Bruce's forehead. "Better... I define it as... not feeling nearly so bent outta shape as last night."

"Then no. . ." Bruce answered, pausing to pull himself up against the headboard. "I don't feel better. It never feels better the next day."

Joker couldn't shrug the grin on his face, although he did feel bad for Bruce. After pausing a beat, he went back to digging at his nails like he'd been doing before his friend had come to. And... if Bruce were to look closely enough, he'd recognize the color of red on Joker's right hand.

Bruce absently glanced at the Joker's hands, his eyes drawn to the movement. He looked away again before the information registered.

His head snapped back again and he grabbed at the Joker's wrists. "What did you do?"

Joker's dark eyes widened, catching a flash of light before being blocked out by the Batman's form. "N-nothing," the clown mumbled. He winced a little bit as the pain registered in his consciousness, and then asked, "Let go of me? It hurts. You're squeezing too hard." A trickle of blood ran down the finger closest to Bruce's face.

Bruce eased up his grip, but he kept hold of the Joker's hand. His eyes narrowed questioningly.

"I had to clean my nails," Joker stated calmly.

"By ripping them out?" Bruce snapped.

Joker frowned and looked at his nails. "No, they're still there."

"Why do you do things like this?" Bruce's voice was plaintive.

A guilty expression formed over Joker's eyes as he listened to the question. He searched for an answer, comparing the right hand to his left... the bloodied nails to the clean ones... and struggled to form something that made sense. "I... I... was nervous."

"Why?"

Joker shrugged once and averted his eyes. "I don't know. You made me upset. I'm sorry. I won't do it again." He hid his hand behind his back and tried searching for something to make him pull his smile back up.

He couldn't find anything.

"I was asleep. How could I have made you anything?" Bruce inquired.

"So what're we eating tonight?"

Another frustrated growl. "Fingers, apparently."

"Ooooh, yummy!" Joker went to clap his hands, but paused and hid his right again. His eager smile faded once more.

Bruce shook his head. "I don't understand you sometimes. . . most of the time."

"It's okay. I don't understand YOU at all!" Joker chuckled and tilted sideways, his entire frame going with his head. "Kidding, you know."

Bruce slowly tilted his head to match the Joker's eyeline. "What purpose does sitting like this serve?"

Joker shrugged and then blinked once, his expression changing to serene giddiness afterward. "It's fun to do!" He scrunched up his nose and then launched a play-attack on Bruce, his coordination off... and entirely unsuccessful. He landed face-first in the blankets, and couldn't help but giggle as he leaned up on his elbows. Now about two inches from Bruce, he batted his eyes quickly. "Lots of fun."

"That was graceful." Bruce muttered, trying to stay cool.

"Like you'd do any better," Joker growled. He tried not to laugh, but found the task nearby impossible, and giggled instead. Further interested in play, he head-butted Bruce's knee.

Bruce winced. He had to pick that knee. "Please don't do that."

"Why not?" Joker rolled onto his back and stared up at the taller man.

"'Cause it hurts. . . should I get you a ball of string to play with?"

Joker shook his head a few times, very decisively. "Nah, I'm fine." He continued to stare.

Bruce blinked slowly, looking down at the Joker, not sure what to make of this new personality wrinkle. "Comfy?"

"In your lap? Of course!" Joker squirmed up a little for punctuation, resting his head on Bruce's leg. "So, did you do any dreaming last night?"

"No. Not last night." Bruce said, feeling a strange and unfamiliar sensation spread through his body due to the Joker's nearness. "I don't dream often, but that's usually because I don't sleep much. When I do dream, they're not often pleasant."

His hand moved, seemingly on it's own, and started playing with the Joker's hair.

"I just keep reliving the night my parents were killed. Small details have changed over the years, but it's always the same basic dream, except for the few times that I've been affected by Scarecrow's fear toxin or the like."

"I was thinking about that a while ago." Joker closed his eyes and gestured briefly with his left hand. "About your parents. I can't... imagine the way you must feel about that. I find it hard to imagine losing much of anything... seeing as I can't remember my own life." Joker sighed, momentarily let-down about the fact. "I dreamed last night."

Strong fingers dragged along the Joker's scalp and that all-too-familiar deep voice asked, "About what?"

"Arkham," Joker whispered. He opened his eyes to look upward, searching Bruce's expression to make sense of him. A shiver followed the fingers in his hair, soothing his off-centered mood.

Bruce nodded thoughtfully, looking at nothing in particular. His fingers started twisting in loops around the Joker's curls and both his expression and his voice had a far away quality.

"What happened in the dream?"

An immediate flush of color passed over Joker's face as he remembered the dream so very clearly. He looked away and focused his concentration on Bruce's fingers. "All the things that happen there."

"Bad dreams, then."

"Yeah. Bad dreams."

"I'm sorry. I really didn't know how bad it was there." The movements of Bruce's hand had fallen into a steady, almost hypnotic rhythm, circling the Joker's scalp.

"You still don't fully understand it. You won't ever understand it." Joker sighed and reached up to take Bruce's idle hand in both of his. He smiled faintly and massaged the palm.

"We all have our crosses to bear." Bruce murmured, his blue eyes dulling until they were almost grey. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

"Maybe later," Joker answered softly. "I'm not in the mood for reliving helplessness." He added a little more pressure to his gentle massaging of Bruce's hand.

"When is anyone ever in the mood for that?" Bruce asked, his hand curling a little in response to the Joker's touch. "I've been running from that very thing all my life. Why do you think I started this whole vigilante thing? It wasn't entirely about revenge, not even at first. It was about never being helpless again. But no matter how many criminals I catch and how many bones I break, I still feel like a victim, and I hate it."

His hand squeezed around a handful of the Joker's hair as he fought off the memories that were threatening to torment him again.

Joker caught his breath in his throat and eased out of Bruce's grip. With a gentle look to his eyes, he climbed into Bruce's lap and made himself comfortable, laying down on his side there. "I get what you're saying. But I'm talking about more of a physical situation than mental. It doesn't matter, I suppose. It's all one in the same." He reached down for the large hand resting nearby and pulled it in close to his chest.

"When my back was broken I could barely move." Bruce said quietly. "I've never felt so physically helpless in all my life. I hated it. I don't know that I've ever really recovered from that."

"Shhh," Joker urged. "Let's try not to be depressing, tonight. Kay?" He turned and met eyes with the blue ones up above him. "We can do all that later. I just want to be with you." He pressed himself in closer.

Bruce nodded slowly, then closed his eyes and rested his head back against the headboard. He was trying to keep his 'rational' mind from engaging. He took slow, measured breaths, and tried to think of nothing.

Joker shifted yet again, sitting up in Bruce's lap. He held his breath and studied the other man's features, bringing his left hand up to explore the base of his neck gingerly.

Bruce shivered at the Joker's touch. He felt an inexplicable fear rise up in him, and he stayed quiet and still, afraid of lashing out.

"You get so quiet," Joker murmured softly. "One would imagine that you're doing a lot of thinking." He couldn't help but lean in closer as he fingered the hollow of Bruce's throat.

A reflex cough made Bruce twitch as it reawakened the pain in his leg. "Trying. . ." He paused and cleared his throat. "Not to think."

"Interesting." Joker's eyes gleamed with a devious nature as he chewed on his lower lip. After throwing out all sense, he leaned in and pressed his lips to the skin his fingers had just parted from.

A soft, uncomfortable whimper squeaked out of Bruce's throat. He felt locked up again, the way he'd felt in Arkham. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, but his mind was flying through a myriad of thoughts, some rational, some not, some related and some total nonsequiters.

He'd never wanted to just stop thinking so much in his life.

The noise that vibrated under Joker's lips and broke the silence did nothing but encourage him. He pressed in a little more and reached up to stroke the hair on the back of Bruce's neck. He delivered another kiss soon afterward, this time a little higher.

Bruce squeezed his eyes shut and every muscle in his body tensed. This caused the wound in his leg to send waves of pain up into his hip and across his stomach. He gritted his teeth and groaned against it.

Why was this scaring him so much?

"Relax," Joker said teasingly. "You're not wearing that silly cape anymore... remember?" He trailed a finger up over Bruce's chest and then let it join the other at the back of his head. Joker smiled to himself and nuzzled up against his friend's face. "I won't hurt you. I don't have a gun in my hand or poison in my clothes. Not even a buzzer... see?" Thin hands pressed into Bruce's hair.

"What. . . are you going to do?" Bruce managed to ask, not sure whether he wanted an answer.

"Don't be silly, Brucie." Joker mock-pouted, tinting his voice with a feminine luster. "Probably exactly what you're thinking." He tugged at him a little and leaned backward. "C'mon. You don't want to feel helpless...? Let me empower you."

Bruce's incredulity gave him the courage to open his eyes. His expression conveyed an almost cartoonish sense of disbelief.

"What are you talking about?"

Joker grinned and stretched out on his back lazily, reaching his arms up for Bruce. "Come down here with me. Please? Just try and let yourself feel." The thin fingers curled and beckoned for him, dusting over his shoulders eagerly.

Bruce winced at the mere thought of moving, but to his surprise, his body had already started to slide down the headboard.

*Try and let yourself feel.* Didn't the Joker understand that was the hardest thing in the world for him to do?

Joker cooed softly, trying to urge the Dark Knight to sink all the way down into the bed. He sat up and crawled back over Bruce, lifting the covers to climb underneath them. With a sort of domineering manner, he sat on Bruce's stomach and pressed his hands into his chest. "Have I told you I think you're beautiful?" he asked playfully. "Because you are." He bent over and kissed Bruce's chin, the fingers of his right hand burying themselves into his dark hair.

Bruce swallowed loudly. "Yes. You have." He answered in a whisper. He noticed his breath coming in insistent bursts, his chest actually moving the Joker a little with each harsh breath.

*This must be how Harley feels when she's near me,* Joker mused, comparing the feelings in his body to what he gathered from his henchwench's responses. A warmth settled in his stomach and made him impatient, desiring more contact than he was getting. The quivering of Bruce's chest under his hand drove him almost to the edge of his willpower, and he felt his breathing speed up to match it.

"Can I... touch you?" he asked timidly, remembering that person under him was not somebody to be abused and tossed aside... it was somebody he took care in trying to be near. Somebody who might... return that care... if provoked.

"Isn't that what you've been doing?" Bruce responded with a slightly defensive tone as he looked down at the Joker's hands. He saw the damage he'd inflicted on one of them again. It was so sad. He flinched and resigned himself to the situation. "Yes, if that will make you happy."

"I just want to make you happy," Joker mumbled, engaging Bruce in a gentle kiss. His left hand strayed, wandering down over the sleek stomach beneath him. Sitting on Bruce wasn't going to work for much longer, as he was blocking himself off from what he really wanted. Joker raised his weight up from Bruce and then shifted, stretching his body out into a laying position, instead. He smiled faintly, trying to further the kiss without ruining what he'd been able to work up to so far. An eager hand found its way to the tender flesh of his friend's nipple, closing over it in a possessive manner. A brief impulse told Joker to pull away... but he reminded himself that they were past - far past - beating each other senseless.

Bruce grabbed the Joker's wrist and pulled his intrusive hand away, not being comfortable with that. . . yet. As a compromise, he decided not to break the kiss.

No one had to know about this. What would it really hurt?

He considered that thinking about things 'hurting' wasn't a good idea at present.

A low growl passed between Joker's lips as all of a sudden, his entire frame tensed up. In a flash of pure aggression, his arm snapped away, breaking out of Bruce's hold.

Nobody had ever accused the Joker of being a patient man.

At this point, Batman took over for Bruce Wayne. His hand snatched up the Joker's wrist again and grabbed the other one as well, then shook the thin man, hard. He was NOT going to be taken advantage of this way. He was NOT going to be manipulated. The Joker was NOT going to get off on his fear.

Joker hissed and clenched both fists, not minding the throb of pain in his right fingers as he did so. They could be ignored. This ARROGANCE could not be!

*Wait. What am I thinking...?* The clown blinked a few times, his eyes clearing of hatred.

But it HURT, dammit! "Stop it!" he demanded, pushing his arms downward into Bruce's hands. "You aren't playing fair!" His teeth ground together anxiously, making enough noise to be noticable. "You were supposed to be in a good mood! Stop trying to trick me!"

*Gawd, put yourself on hold,* Joker scolded himself mentally. *Can you hear what you sound like?*

"I'm trying to trick *you*?" Bruce demanded incredulously. "Maybe if I thought you gave a damn whether or not I wanted this too I'd be in a better mood!"

"I hate you!" Joker shrieked all of a sudden... and then went perfectly silent. His face lost all rage, and melted down into nothing. "No, I don't... I love you. I couldn't hate you if my li-..." He sighed and trailed off. With an almost defeated sound to his voice, he said, "I hate Joker. I hate him!" Louder, and much more angrily, he raged, "I hate my scrawny neck and my bleached out skin! I hate everything I've ever thought or said or felt because it's only succeeded in KILLING ME!" He fought to get out of Bruce's arms, trying to sit up while battling his will to break down and throw a hissy fit on the mattress. "Don't you tell me I don't care! I sacrificed myself to get close to you! I sacrificed my freedom, my personal thoughts, my BODY of which you INJURED... and MY LIFE! I've given you ALL I CAN GIVE! What more do you have to take from me before I can just... be... Jack?"

Bruce's eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to tell me you're dying for me?" His tone implied strongly that the Joker's answer had better be 'no'.

Joker stood up on the bed, pulling the sheets with him before they fell down around his ankles, and moved to leave. "No. I'm dying because of you."

Bruce sunk into himself and pulled his knees up to his chest, not caring that it hurt. He hugged his legs and rested his head on his arms. He couldn't deny that. He had another death on his head. When was this going to stop?

"Oh, what's this?" Joker hissed. He set one foot after the other on the ground and then turned to glare at Bruce. "Going to cry, now? It's about damned time. It had to happen someday. May as well be the day I've decided I'm not sure I want to care, anymore. All I'm trying to do is show you that it doesn't have to HURT to feel love for someone. All YOU can seem to do is get angry and abusive. I swear. If it wasn't for the bit about mummy and daddy being dead, I'd think you were neglected, locked away in attics and raped with brooms."

He put two tense hands on his hips and tilted them slightly. "Don't pretend to care about me. I'm not going to fall for your charms this time. I thought I believed you, before. I thought maybe - just MAYBE - I'd have a chance at being sated for just ONE moment in my miserable existence. But noooooooooooo! Not with dear old Batsy around! Can't happen, CAN IT?! Well, that's just peachy-keen with me, dearest. See that corner over there?" Joker pointed. "I'm going to go occupy it. Come and fetch me when you've grown up an inch."

But when Bruce didn't growl, speak or even move behind him, Joker stopped and tilted his head to look. A long sigh broke the air of rage, and he settled down onto the cave floor. "Why do you do this?" he whispered. "Why do you play this game of yo-yo with my affections? I hate seeing you like this... almost more than I hate your butler."

Joker waited a beat for comical effect, and then crawled over toward the bed, leaned on it and stared imploringly at Bruce. "Tell me you want me to leave and I will."

Bruce shook his head almost imperceptably against his arms. He didn't want Joker to leave, even though he knew that his time with the Joker was limited.

In the silence that followed, he gave up. He wasn't going to get out of this without being completely emotionally destroyed, so why not just give the Joker what he wanted? What he wanted, what he was comfortable with, none of it mattered. All that mattered was trying to atone for destroying yet another life.

One mistake. It had only been one mistake. But he wasn't allowed to make mistakes.

Without lifting his head, he reached out a hand to the Joker.

"What?" Joker gestured to Bruce's hand as though he could care less about it, and stood up. "I want to hear something from you."

Bruce sighed and squeezed his hand into a fist, then slowly let his hand open again.

"Come here. . ." He mumbled. "Please?"

Joker sat down on the bed like an angry mother and scowled, but didn't take Bruce's hand. What was to say he wouldn't crush his fingers again?

Bruce's arm went limp and he reluctantly looked up. He winced when he saw the Joker's expression and dropped his head again, wishing he could cry.

*Don't do that,* Joker's inner self whined. *You're too easy to forgive.* He scooted up onto the bed and made a face, snatching up Bruce's hand as though there were a trap beneath it.

Bruce's hand closed around the Joker's desperately, and he straightened his legs out, ignoring the pain. He pulled back on the Joker's hand, coaxing him closer.

The look on Joker's face slowly morphed, going from determined aloofness to utter confusion. He gave in and let himself be pulled, however, helping by crawling along the mattress.

As soon as he could, Bruce put his arm around the Joker's shoulders and pulled him in next to him. Staring straight ahead, he positioned the Joker's head in front of his bare shoulder and pressed him into his chest.

"Tell me what you want me to do." He said quietly.

Joker took a while to think, limply allowing himself to be held. But the longer he thought about it, the more the embrace burned. It stung his skin like fire, peeling the flesh back to rip at his bones. It drove him mad.

Batman. Bruce. Death. Add those things together and the Joker could see nothing.

He made a soft choking noise... fell silent... and then halted his breathing for almost half a minute.

"No," he finally answered. "I don't want you to do what I want you to do. I want you to do what YOU want to do." Joker pulled away a little bit. "And if that means I have to give up my chance at being happy... so be it. I'll leave. I can go someplace else. If worse comes to worse I can always make use of those delightful bridges around town." His tone was anything but light-hearted.

Bruce pulled Joker back against him.

"I'm not really good at doing things for myself." He explained. "I often need an outside reason to do anything. . ."

He stopped himself and sighed. Then laughed ironically.

"I never realized how pathetic I am before." He said, smiling ruefully and shaking his head.

"Funny how I never missed it," Joker taunted. He neglected to do anymore moving or speaking, however.

Bruce nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah. You always did see right through me."

"Good thing, too." Joker settled in against Bruce's chest.

Bruce blinked slowly and kissed the top of the Joker's head. "I'd like to say I never thought it would end up like this." He nodded at their relative body positions. "But something I never wanted to admit existed always knew it was a possibility."

Joker nodded slowly and closed his eyes, trying so very hard to just enjoy the moment. "I honestly never really thought about it before that night in Arkham.never made sense until then."

"You seemed to understand things so well though." Bruce said. "You've always known how to manipulate me, like you understood me better than I understood myself. You've forced me to realize some very difficult things. I suppose I'm grateful for that, or I will be when I don't feel like I swallowed a cheese grater."

He paused for a moment, then looked down at the Joker. It wasn't unpleasant, as he feared it would be.

"Do you really hate Alfred?" He asked.

Joker giggled and looked up to meet with Bruce's clear blue eyes. "Not really. He's funny in that old disapproving father kind of way." He decided it best not to talk further about manipulating and cheese graters.

Bruce smiled and nodded. "He is that." He agreed. "I think he'll talk to me like I'm six years old for the rest of my life. Actually, he wasn't as condescending when I was six."

Smirking, the Joker shook his head several times. "Poor, poor, Brucie. At least you have a parental figure."

Bruce made a face. "I never let him be that. I should have, but. . . I don't seem to do anything right when it comes to other people."

He sighed and his posture slumped a little.

"Yeah, you seem to have a problem with dealing with other people." Joker grinned playfully and reached up to brush away a few strands of raven hair from the brooding and significantly darker-skinned forehead.

Bruce nodded. "Yep. And they all seem to fall in love with me anyway." He said, sounding depressed. "And. . ."

*Then they end up dead,* He thought.

"I try to keep people away." He said instead. "People seem to want what they can't have."

"Are you telling me I can't have you, then?" Joker smiled, though his tone was very serious.

Bruce shook his head sadly. "No. But I know I can't keep you. I tend to want the ones I can't have too. I fell in love with the daughter of one of my most powerful, corrupted enemies, for God's sake. How sick is that?"

"Pretty sick," Joker agreed. "But about keeping me... I'd sit in a cage all day if that's what it took to show you I wasn't going anywhere. You can have me if you want me... for as long as I can give anything."

Bruce started laughing. "I wish you'd told me that years ago. It would have saved me a lot of time chasing after you to put you back in Arkham."

Joker grinned deviously. "And you would've taken me home rather than left me in a straight jacket? Is that what I'm supposed to be getting out of that?" He snuggled in closer and rested his chin on Bruce's chest, arching to look up at him, anyway.

Bruce sighed. "I guess that's what I was getting at, but I probably wouldn't have been agreeable before I completely lost my mind, which I'm convinced I've now done."

"Oh, how perfect!" Joker exclaimed. "Now that you've lost your mind, you can communicate with me properly!" He threw his arms around Bruce and laughed gleefully, daring to be forward.

Bruce smiled. Openly smiled. "That explains a few things, doesn't it?"

His smile weakened as he looked down at the Joker, then, with a slight shrug, he rested his hands on the other man's back.

"I suppose if I'm nuts, I'm not really accountable for my actions, am I?" He joked... and then grew serious. "Jack, I have to ask you something, and I need you to answer honestly, okay?"

"I'm not sure I like how that sounds," Joker commented thoughtfully, holding onto Bruce none-the-less. "But sure, I haven't lied to you in a while. Go for it."

"The first person you killed." He said, his eyes boring into the Joker's. "Did you do it before or after someone determined you were crazy?"

"What an odd question," Joker mused. "I'm really not so sure how to answer it, either. I don't think I was a bad person before my... um, make-over. The first person I remember... killing... I..." He had to really stop and think. Years had passed since that night at the chemical plant. "I'm sorry, Bruce. I can't remember my first... kill."

"But after the plant. . ." Bruce murmured thoughtfully. "No. It wasn't the same. It couldn't have been the same. People expected you to be like this, the same way they were so quick to believe *I* killed someone. If something bad happens to you, somehow you're allowed to return the favor. . . It's like the rules society sets out change."

He examined the Joker's face as if for the first time. Truly, he was seeing him very differently.

"You're not a villain at all, are you?" He asked, suddenly seeing a tragic beauty in those vibrant green eyes. "You're just someone the world forgot. You couldn't mold your piece of the world into what you wanted it to be like I did, so you became exactly what people expected you to become."

He didn't wait for an answer. He didn't want a verbal response. Things made sense again. He'd recaptured that moment of clarity he'd had that night in Arkham, that moment where he felt free. But this time, he was more than free. He felt euphoric. Things made sense. Life made sense. He no longer had to function within that tiny, safe hole he'd dug for himself. Yes, bad things happened, but they happened to everyone. That didn't mean that he had to be miserable for the rest of his life. He was allowed to do things that felt good, even if they made no sense above and beyond enjoyment. Everything didn't have to be practical.

He laughed when he realized that he'd just summed up one of the messages of the book that started this whole rapidly-tumbling change in his life.

Giddily, he grabbed the Joker's face and kissed him. And he enjoyed it. And he was allowed to enjoy it. This wasn't about what he was 'supposed' to do. This wasn't about right and wrong. This just was.

He kissed the Joker again. And again, letting his hands slide under his pale, thin arms to pull him closer. Bruce could feel his heart pounding in his chest and his breath coming hard and fast. He shivered as a tingle raced up his spine.

Darkness and death and all the other things that had previously defined him were the furthest things from his mind. When he opened his eyes, he saw white, framed by green. Purity. Life.

And it made him happy.

*