Fan Fiction ❯ The Game We Play ❯ Unexpected ( Chapter 21 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Dark Jester 
Company of the uninvited kind shows up...
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Adventure / Angst / Drama / Psychological / Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 12.18.2002 | Pages: 4 | Words: 3.0K | Visits: 233 | Status: Completed
Company of the uninvited kind shows up...
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Adventure / Angst / Drama / Psychological / Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 12.18.2002 | Pages: 4 | Words: 3.0K | Visits: 233 | Status: Completed
Chapter 21 - Unexpected
Batman drummed his fingers on the computer console, trying to pinpoint Ivy and Harley's potential whereabouts based on sightings over the last twenty-four hours. He'd eliminated almost sixty percent of the city so far. That was promising.
He was concentrating surprisingly well, with none of the jaw-tightening tension that he was accustomed to. He leaned forward to reach the keyboard and realized he had his feet up on the desk.
A good twenty feet behind Batman stood the Joker, batcuffs in his hands. He was rooting through the weapons cove, again... and had been delighted to discover new playthings. "Soooo... It's been a few hours, now," Joker called. He giggled and chucked the cuffs at the back of Batman's head. "All you do is sit at the computer, darling. Sort of boring for us in the crowd without any knoweledge of them." He put his hands on his hips and made a face. "And I'm hungry. Feed me."
Batman reached back and caught the cuffs before they hit his head... without moving his body an inch.
"What do you want?" He asked flatly.
"You!" Joker hugged himself and laughed softly, trying not to strain his body.
"You already had that today." Bruce said with the slightest hint of a grin. "Pick another food group."
Joker mock-pouted, but dropped it when he realized his lover wasn't even looking. "Ummm..." He walked over toward Bruce and then leaned on the back of the chair, looking down at the top of the raven-colored scalp. "Something warm. And... I'm not sure. Have Alfred make something. Honestly...? I can't recall ever having a real MEAL. Just noodles that Harley used to make... and Asylum food. Nasty stuff, that."
Bruce put the Cray into suspend mode and looked up at the Joker, his brow furrowing thoughtfully.
"Harley made noodles?" He asked.
"Sometimes. But mostly she'd just open the box, dump it into a bowl and hand it to me. She always burned them when she made them. Put 'em in a pan with butter and turned on the flame. Never seemed to work. Smelled awful." Joker winced.
The corners of Bruce's mouth twitched and he shook his head in disbelief.
"No wonder you're so thin." He said, taking his feet off the desk, standing up, and stretching. His back popped in three places.
"What do you mean? Was she doing it wrong?" Joker peered at him curiously. "I always told her she was supposed to bake them. Was I right?"
"I believe pasta is boiled." Bruce responded, smirking. "But I'll check with Alfred."
"Boiled? How strange. Wouldn't it get wet that way?" Joker picked at a fuzz on the chair and watched it float downward.
"I'll check with Alfred." Bruce repeated, finding the conversation was slipping into stupidity too much for his liking.
Joker made a face and sat down in Bruce's chair. "So go check with him."
"Don't touch anything." Bruce commanded as he headed upstairs.
"Okay... can do!" Joker called. Immediately - the very SECOND Bruce was out of sight - his hands were all over the keyboard, mashing the buttons down over and over again. He stuck his tongue out in the general direction of the stairs and then laid his arms out all over the place. After a slight pause, and heavy breathing, Joker resumed his torment of the computer by opening up files upon files and then opening and closing the weapons cove.
Bruce closed the secret door to the Batcave and headed into the kitchen. He knew that Joker wouldn't listen to him, but there wasn't really anything important he could destroy in his current state anyway, since he'd hidden all the explosives.
In the kitchen of stately Wayne Manor, Alfred was busy washing the few dishes that had been dirtied throughout the course of the evening. There weren't very many to speak of, considering the Master hadn' shown his face for supper... but the old butler performed his duties, none-the-less.
In a very calm and normally toned voice, Alfred cleared his throat and asked, "Surfacing for refreshments, Sir?"
"Something like that." Bruce grumbled. "I told you to stay out of the cave."
"I DO apologize, Master Bruce. I only meant to do as I'm supposed to." Alfred set a dish down and perked a curious brow, turning to look at the man he'd raised. "Wearing your evening clothes, I see."
"Helps me think." Bruce said. "And I might have to go out later. Do we have any noodles?"
"The ones on our heads? Or do you mean the sort we keep in the pantry?" Alfred chuckled softly and dried his hands, folding the towel to place it on a rack nearby. "But yes, I believe I stocked the house with angel hair pasta. Feeling a craving for Italian tonight? Tired of Irish food?"
"Just make the damned noodles, Alfred." Bruce grumbled. "You boil those things, right?"
"Quite right, Sir. I always knew you were the bright one of the bunch." Alfred hummed to himself and pulled open the pantry, peering around for the aforementioned food. "So, speaking of boiled noodles... how IS our happy patient?"
"As well as can be expected, I suppose." Bruce said, a little sadly. "Whatever happens, I don't think he'll be hurting anyone anymore."
"Hmmm... quite the relief," Alfred commented nonchalantly.
Bruce didn't respond to that. Instead, he opened the refrigerator and started inspecting the contents.
"I assume by your demeanor that you found my donation useful, Sir? The ones on the medical tray?" Alfred pulled out a box of angel hair pasta, set it on the island in the middle of the room and pried the top open.
"You missed your calling, Alfred. You should have been a comedian." Bruce's voice was even, but he punctuated the statement by slamming the refrigerator door closed. Something crashed inside the appliance.
"I do agree." Alfred narrowed his eyes. "But cleaning up broken jars of condiments sates my drive for fulfillment. I'm afraid I just wouldn't have the time to practice anything."
"If you have something to say to me Alfred, say it." Bruce said as he started pacing the room. "Because this really isn't funny."
"I worry about you, Master Bruce." Alfred sighed and dumped the noodles into a pan. "You've been spending your evenings with somebody who spends HIS planning ways to kill you. I don't quite understand where the romance comes into play. Forgive me for intruding on such matters..."
"He won't do that any more." Bruce insisted.
"Oh? Won't he?" Alfred lifted a suspicious eyebrow and - with a hint of disgust - went about boiling his Master's supper. "Wasn't it he who killed Jason Todd? Such a fine lad. Too bad a crowbar was the last thing he saw."
"We went through that." Bruce said, leaning against the island in the middle of the kitchen. "He said he was sorry. I know it doesn't make things right, but. . . I understand him better now. We're not that different, really."
"Does this mean I should start trimming your evening wear with lavender? Or perhaps I could assist you as you slip into a comfortable straight-jacket. How does that sound?" Alfred stirred the noodles and looked over his shoulder. "Tell me, Sir... What about the Joker could you POSSIBLY hope to understand? Wasn't it only a few weeks ago you told me he was hopelessly insane? And did he not kill a man several NIGHTS ago?"
"That was my fault." Bruce said quickly. "As long as I pay attention to him, he's harmless. That's all he wants. And. . . I think that if I hadn't been born into a rich family, I could have ended up very much like him."
"So... this need for attention... is all one must have to be allowed to get away with murder?"
"I'm not excusing that, Alfred." Bruce said angrily. "But if I can stop it, why shouldn't I? All these years it's really been this easy, and I was too stupid to see it."
Alfred shrugged and returned to cooking. "So shall I order an appropriately sized coffin for him? Should we invite Miss Quinn to the funeral?"
"I'm not giving up on finding a cure for that disease." Bruce protested, then grew very quiet. His head lowered, as if part of him were struggling with the renewed understanding that Alfred was right.
"I'll ask him about Harley." He said into his chest.
There was a long pause where Alfred mulled over his thoughts. He hadn't seen the Master so disheartened in a long while and it upset him greatly. In an ease of motion, he set the pot down on the island, steaming and ready to be eaten... and then navigated around the kitchen toward Bruce. "All will be fine in the end, I'm sure."
Bruce looked up at him, his eyes shadowed by his browbone.
"When has anything ever turned out fine?" He demanded.
"Ummm... well..." Alfred winced and folded his hands neatly behind him. "Excuse me if I can't seem to find an example at the moment." There was a long pause.
"Do you... intend on speaking to Master Dick? He called twice this evening. Something about Christmas plans, I believe."
"When did he call last?" Bruce asked, looking a bit nervous.
"About an hour ago. Seemed fairly concerned. I told him you were out."
"I'd better call him." Bruce said, and headed to the phone.
"And tell him what, exactly, Sir?" Alfred scooped the noodles into a bowl.
"Depends on what he wants." Bruce said, dialing Dick's number.
~"Hello?"~ a voice on the other line asked.
"It's Bruce." came the reply. 'Hello's weren't his thing.
~"Hey, Bruce! You okay? Al said you were kinda busy..."~
"Yes, I'm fine. Just working. What is it?"
There was a sort of 'oh geez' laughter on the other line. ~"Just wondering if dinner was still on... y'know, the plans we made... Don't tell me you're backing out or anything."~
"No. I'm looking forward to it." Bruce said, then switched the phone to the other ear.
~"Ummm... Hey, Bruce? Get hit in the head tonight?"~
"Figuratively, I suppose I've had some sense knocked into me." Bruce admitted.
~"Ummm... cool."~ Dick paused and scratched his neck at his apartment. ~"Listen, you busy tonight? We could go shopping...?"~ He meant patroling, but knew saying something like that on the line would get his ass kicked all over the city.
"Maybe we should." Bruce said, sounding far away. "Maybe it's not too late."
~"Meet you someplace, then? Or hey, I'll drop by the house. I have something to show you, anyway."~
"We should sit down and talk, Dick. Seriously talk. Soon." Bruce said.
~"O-okay. I can be there in like... twenty minutes? That cool with you?"~ Dick fingered the cord nervously and wondered what was going on in his mentor and adoptive father's mind.
Bruce wasn't really listening. He was turning the years backward in his head, guilt piling on guilt piling on layer after layer of remorse.
"I'm proud of you, Dick." He said, his voice sounding strange in his own head. "You've suceeded so many places where I've failed. You might not believe me, but I love you. Very much. I won't say you're the closest thing to a son I have, because you ARE my son, even though I've been a lousy father. . . at least, I'd like you to be. I don't know. I'm not making a lot of sense."
After a kind of coughing sound, there was a muffled scuffling... and a soft curse from the background. ~"Oh! Sorry, Bruce... I uh, dropped the phone. Clumsy. Tired. Yeah."~ He sniffed a little and then tried really hard to think of something to say. ~"I... love you too, Bruce. Thanks."~
Bruce closed his eyes. "You have nothing to thank me for." He said. "You owe me nothing."
~"I'll be over in a while."~
The line went dead.
Bruce hung up the phone when he heard the dial tone.
"I think I scared him." He said to Alfred, feeling like he was dreaming.
"Do tell, Sir." Alfred smirked and offered a platter with two plates full of angel hair. "And would you like something to drink as well?"
"Water. . ." Bruce started, before pausing. "We're going to have to get purple kool-aid. Call it a hunch."
"I never considered you as one for such beverages." Alfred set the tray down and then shooed Bruce away. "I will bring you something to drink in a moment. You may want to check in on the Joker. I think I heard a crashing sound."
Bruce snorted a chuckle through his nose and shook his head. "His ability to destroy things gets endearing after a while."
"Endearing wasn't quite the word I was searching for." Alfred headed for the wine cellar, intent on bringing back something purple.
"You don't know him like I do." Bruce said to himself after Alfred had left.
***
"That was SO much better than anything Harley has EVER made!" Joker exclaimed. The last noodle dangled just outside his mouth before he sucked it in. Not realizing there was a bit of sauce on his nose, he went about squirming happily and reaching for his delightfully purple-tinted wine.
Bruce grabbed a napkin and wiped the sauce off the Joker's nose. "Alfred's an excellent cook." He said. "Although the wine was a little full-bodied for that meal. He picked it for the color though."
"Good choice," Joker answered giddily. He took a gulp from his glass and then glanced at the napkin. "Sorry again about knocking over the motorcycle."
Bruce winced and looked over at the trashed Redbird. "Hopefully I'll be able to fix it before anyone asks any questions."
"Hopefully," Joker agreed... and then started laughing. "It was kinda funny seeing your face, though. Especially when you found the files I changed..."
Bruce actually blushed at that. "Right. The files. Was that REALLY necessary? You could always have written me a note or something if you wanted to. . ." He cleared his throat. ". . .express that."
"But it was so much more entertaining to see the look in your eyes." Joker smiled and took another big drink from his glass. He set it down and then crawled over the bed to Bruce, rolling onto his back to lay in his lover's lap.
"I suppose the term 'dead sexy' seems harsher in print when it's in the 'distinguishing features' section of a bio database profile." Bruce mused. As he spoke, he absentmindedly brushed at the Joker's curls.
Joker arched further into Bruce's lap and made a cute purring noise at the back of his throat. "It describes you, though."
"That's a very subjective opinion." Bruce muttered, obviously embarrassed.
"A good opinion, though." Joker batted his eyes and blew Bruce a kiss. "Are you blushing?"
"Maybe." Bruce said, looking away quickly.
"Awww! This is so precious!" Joker turned and climbed up into a sitting position, wobbling a little bit from the alcohol in his veins. He leaned in and giggled, inches from Bruce's face.
Bruce looked back and noticed the Joker's pupils were dialated and his skin was flushed.
"You're drunk, Jack." He observed.
"Am not." Joker cuddled up to Bruce, sitting in his lap comfortably.
"Are too." Bruce shot back.
"Nu uh... you wouldn't know." Joker snuggled in as close as he could get, curling his fingers around Bruce's clothes.
"You HAVE to be." Bruce insisted cooly. "I had one glass. You polished off the bottle. Just don't throw up on me."
"Kay," Joker mumbled. Deviously, he traced a finger along Bruce's inner thigh and purred, "I'm ready for dessert."
Bruce arched an eyebrow. "Are you?"
"Mmmm... oh, yeah. Yummy Brucie." Joker tugged a little at Bruce's suit and trailed a few kisses down his neck.
Bruce laughed, but the sound quickly became a moan. He didn't drink often, and he was feeling very relaxed.
And happy. He actually felt happy.
Joker tugged at Bruce's top, trying to detach it from the rest of his costume. "I want in there," he growled, taking the belt off afterward.
Bruce was about to respond when a light started flashing on the console of the Bat computer and a soft buzzer sounded. Bruce whipped his head around and his eyes went hard.
"Perimeter breach. Upstairs." He said. "Who the hell is here?"
"Birdboy?" Joker mumbled, rolling his eyes as he sat back on the bed, legs bent at the knees and spread to look through them.
Bruce headed over to the computer, and switched the screen over to the security cameras in the house.
"Damn it. Yes." He cursed. "I just talked to him. What the hell is he doing here?!"
He grabbed the discarded belt and snapped it back on, then collected the other pieces of the Batman costume. As he did so, he watched Dick's progress through the house with Alfred in tow.
"He's coming down here." Bruce guessed. "Get dressed. I'll try to stop him at the top of the stairs, but if he sees you. . ."
He ended the thought by simply shaking his head, then pulled the cowl on.
"Dressed? In what?" Joker started standing up, a light giggle interrupting the progress. He wobbled and grinned, snatching up a large tee shirt Alfred had brought down earlier that night. He stripped off his pajamas, pulled the shirt on, and then went searching for the jeans he'd arrived in.
"No games, Jack. Not now." Batman hissed. He tossed the wine bottle out, straightened up the bed, then raced up the stairs to head Dick off.
Joker raised an eyebrow. "Do I EVER play games with you, Brucie?" He snickered and pulled on his jeans, marveling at the way they showed off his sleek form...
*
Batman drummed his fingers on the computer console, trying to pinpoint Ivy and Harley's potential whereabouts based on sightings over the last twenty-four hours. He'd eliminated almost sixty percent of the city so far. That was promising.
He was concentrating surprisingly well, with none of the jaw-tightening tension that he was accustomed to. He leaned forward to reach the keyboard and realized he had his feet up on the desk.
A good twenty feet behind Batman stood the Joker, batcuffs in his hands. He was rooting through the weapons cove, again... and had been delighted to discover new playthings. "Soooo... It's been a few hours, now," Joker called. He giggled and chucked the cuffs at the back of Batman's head. "All you do is sit at the computer, darling. Sort of boring for us in the crowd without any knoweledge of them." He put his hands on his hips and made a face. "And I'm hungry. Feed me."
Batman reached back and caught the cuffs before they hit his head... without moving his body an inch.
"What do you want?" He asked flatly.
"You!" Joker hugged himself and laughed softly, trying not to strain his body.
"You already had that today." Bruce said with the slightest hint of a grin. "Pick another food group."
Joker mock-pouted, but dropped it when he realized his lover wasn't even looking. "Ummm..." He walked over toward Bruce and then leaned on the back of the chair, looking down at the top of the raven-colored scalp. "Something warm. And... I'm not sure. Have Alfred make something. Honestly...? I can't recall ever having a real MEAL. Just noodles that Harley used to make... and Asylum food. Nasty stuff, that."
Bruce put the Cray into suspend mode and looked up at the Joker, his brow furrowing thoughtfully.
"Harley made noodles?" He asked.
"Sometimes. But mostly she'd just open the box, dump it into a bowl and hand it to me. She always burned them when she made them. Put 'em in a pan with butter and turned on the flame. Never seemed to work. Smelled awful." Joker winced.
The corners of Bruce's mouth twitched and he shook his head in disbelief.
"No wonder you're so thin." He said, taking his feet off the desk, standing up, and stretching. His back popped in three places.
"What do you mean? Was she doing it wrong?" Joker peered at him curiously. "I always told her she was supposed to bake them. Was I right?"
"I believe pasta is boiled." Bruce responded, smirking. "But I'll check with Alfred."
"Boiled? How strange. Wouldn't it get wet that way?" Joker picked at a fuzz on the chair and watched it float downward.
"I'll check with Alfred." Bruce repeated, finding the conversation was slipping into stupidity too much for his liking.
Joker made a face and sat down in Bruce's chair. "So go check with him."
"Don't touch anything." Bruce commanded as he headed upstairs.
"Okay... can do!" Joker called. Immediately - the very SECOND Bruce was out of sight - his hands were all over the keyboard, mashing the buttons down over and over again. He stuck his tongue out in the general direction of the stairs and then laid his arms out all over the place. After a slight pause, and heavy breathing, Joker resumed his torment of the computer by opening up files upon files and then opening and closing the weapons cove.
Bruce closed the secret door to the Batcave and headed into the kitchen. He knew that Joker wouldn't listen to him, but there wasn't really anything important he could destroy in his current state anyway, since he'd hidden all the explosives.
In the kitchen of stately Wayne Manor, Alfred was busy washing the few dishes that had been dirtied throughout the course of the evening. There weren't very many to speak of, considering the Master hadn' shown his face for supper... but the old butler performed his duties, none-the-less.
In a very calm and normally toned voice, Alfred cleared his throat and asked, "Surfacing for refreshments, Sir?"
"Something like that." Bruce grumbled. "I told you to stay out of the cave."
"I DO apologize, Master Bruce. I only meant to do as I'm supposed to." Alfred set a dish down and perked a curious brow, turning to look at the man he'd raised. "Wearing your evening clothes, I see."
"Helps me think." Bruce said. "And I might have to go out later. Do we have any noodles?"
"The ones on our heads? Or do you mean the sort we keep in the pantry?" Alfred chuckled softly and dried his hands, folding the towel to place it on a rack nearby. "But yes, I believe I stocked the house with angel hair pasta. Feeling a craving for Italian tonight? Tired of Irish food?"
"Just make the damned noodles, Alfred." Bruce grumbled. "You boil those things, right?"
"Quite right, Sir. I always knew you were the bright one of the bunch." Alfred hummed to himself and pulled open the pantry, peering around for the aforementioned food. "So, speaking of boiled noodles... how IS our happy patient?"
"As well as can be expected, I suppose." Bruce said, a little sadly. "Whatever happens, I don't think he'll be hurting anyone anymore."
"Hmmm... quite the relief," Alfred commented nonchalantly.
Bruce didn't respond to that. Instead, he opened the refrigerator and started inspecting the contents.
"I assume by your demeanor that you found my donation useful, Sir? The ones on the medical tray?" Alfred pulled out a box of angel hair pasta, set it on the island in the middle of the room and pried the top open.
"You missed your calling, Alfred. You should have been a comedian." Bruce's voice was even, but he punctuated the statement by slamming the refrigerator door closed. Something crashed inside the appliance.
"I do agree." Alfred narrowed his eyes. "But cleaning up broken jars of condiments sates my drive for fulfillment. I'm afraid I just wouldn't have the time to practice anything."
"If you have something to say to me Alfred, say it." Bruce said as he started pacing the room. "Because this really isn't funny."
"I worry about you, Master Bruce." Alfred sighed and dumped the noodles into a pan. "You've been spending your evenings with somebody who spends HIS planning ways to kill you. I don't quite understand where the romance comes into play. Forgive me for intruding on such matters..."
"He won't do that any more." Bruce insisted.
"Oh? Won't he?" Alfred lifted a suspicious eyebrow and - with a hint of disgust - went about boiling his Master's supper. "Wasn't it he who killed Jason Todd? Such a fine lad. Too bad a crowbar was the last thing he saw."
"We went through that." Bruce said, leaning against the island in the middle of the kitchen. "He said he was sorry. I know it doesn't make things right, but. . . I understand him better now. We're not that different, really."
"Does this mean I should start trimming your evening wear with lavender? Or perhaps I could assist you as you slip into a comfortable straight-jacket. How does that sound?" Alfred stirred the noodles and looked over his shoulder. "Tell me, Sir... What about the Joker could you POSSIBLY hope to understand? Wasn't it only a few weeks ago you told me he was hopelessly insane? And did he not kill a man several NIGHTS ago?"
"That was my fault." Bruce said quickly. "As long as I pay attention to him, he's harmless. That's all he wants. And. . . I think that if I hadn't been born into a rich family, I could have ended up very much like him."
"So... this need for attention... is all one must have to be allowed to get away with murder?"
"I'm not excusing that, Alfred." Bruce said angrily. "But if I can stop it, why shouldn't I? All these years it's really been this easy, and I was too stupid to see it."
Alfred shrugged and returned to cooking. "So shall I order an appropriately sized coffin for him? Should we invite Miss Quinn to the funeral?"
"I'm not giving up on finding a cure for that disease." Bruce protested, then grew very quiet. His head lowered, as if part of him were struggling with the renewed understanding that Alfred was right.
"I'll ask him about Harley." He said into his chest.
There was a long pause where Alfred mulled over his thoughts. He hadn't seen the Master so disheartened in a long while and it upset him greatly. In an ease of motion, he set the pot down on the island, steaming and ready to be eaten... and then navigated around the kitchen toward Bruce. "All will be fine in the end, I'm sure."
Bruce looked up at him, his eyes shadowed by his browbone.
"When has anything ever turned out fine?" He demanded.
"Ummm... well..." Alfred winced and folded his hands neatly behind him. "Excuse me if I can't seem to find an example at the moment." There was a long pause.
"Do you... intend on speaking to Master Dick? He called twice this evening. Something about Christmas plans, I believe."
"When did he call last?" Bruce asked, looking a bit nervous.
"About an hour ago. Seemed fairly concerned. I told him you were out."
"I'd better call him." Bruce said, and headed to the phone.
"And tell him what, exactly, Sir?" Alfred scooped the noodles into a bowl.
"Depends on what he wants." Bruce said, dialing Dick's number.
~"Hello?"~ a voice on the other line asked.
"It's Bruce." came the reply. 'Hello's weren't his thing.
~"Hey, Bruce! You okay? Al said you were kinda busy..."~
"Yes, I'm fine. Just working. What is it?"
There was a sort of 'oh geez' laughter on the other line. ~"Just wondering if dinner was still on... y'know, the plans we made... Don't tell me you're backing out or anything."~
"No. I'm looking forward to it." Bruce said, then switched the phone to the other ear.
~"Ummm... Hey, Bruce? Get hit in the head tonight?"~
"Figuratively, I suppose I've had some sense knocked into me." Bruce admitted.
~"Ummm... cool."~ Dick paused and scratched his neck at his apartment. ~"Listen, you busy tonight? We could go shopping...?"~ He meant patroling, but knew saying something like that on the line would get his ass kicked all over the city.
"Maybe we should." Bruce said, sounding far away. "Maybe it's not too late."
~"Meet you someplace, then? Or hey, I'll drop by the house. I have something to show you, anyway."~
"We should sit down and talk, Dick. Seriously talk. Soon." Bruce said.
~"O-okay. I can be there in like... twenty minutes? That cool with you?"~ Dick fingered the cord nervously and wondered what was going on in his mentor and adoptive father's mind.
Bruce wasn't really listening. He was turning the years backward in his head, guilt piling on guilt piling on layer after layer of remorse.
"I'm proud of you, Dick." He said, his voice sounding strange in his own head. "You've suceeded so many places where I've failed. You might not believe me, but I love you. Very much. I won't say you're the closest thing to a son I have, because you ARE my son, even though I've been a lousy father. . . at least, I'd like you to be. I don't know. I'm not making a lot of sense."
After a kind of coughing sound, there was a muffled scuffling... and a soft curse from the background. ~"Oh! Sorry, Bruce... I uh, dropped the phone. Clumsy. Tired. Yeah."~ He sniffed a little and then tried really hard to think of something to say. ~"I... love you too, Bruce. Thanks."~
Bruce closed his eyes. "You have nothing to thank me for." He said. "You owe me nothing."
~"I'll be over in a while."~
The line went dead.
Bruce hung up the phone when he heard the dial tone.
"I think I scared him." He said to Alfred, feeling like he was dreaming.
"Do tell, Sir." Alfred smirked and offered a platter with two plates full of angel hair. "And would you like something to drink as well?"
"Water. . ." Bruce started, before pausing. "We're going to have to get purple kool-aid. Call it a hunch."
"I never considered you as one for such beverages." Alfred set the tray down and then shooed Bruce away. "I will bring you something to drink in a moment. You may want to check in on the Joker. I think I heard a crashing sound."
Bruce snorted a chuckle through his nose and shook his head. "His ability to destroy things gets endearing after a while."
"Endearing wasn't quite the word I was searching for." Alfred headed for the wine cellar, intent on bringing back something purple.
"You don't know him like I do." Bruce said to himself after Alfred had left.
***
"That was SO much better than anything Harley has EVER made!" Joker exclaimed. The last noodle dangled just outside his mouth before he sucked it in. Not realizing there was a bit of sauce on his nose, he went about squirming happily and reaching for his delightfully purple-tinted wine.
Bruce grabbed a napkin and wiped the sauce off the Joker's nose. "Alfred's an excellent cook." He said. "Although the wine was a little full-bodied for that meal. He picked it for the color though."
"Good choice," Joker answered giddily. He took a gulp from his glass and then glanced at the napkin. "Sorry again about knocking over the motorcycle."
Bruce winced and looked over at the trashed Redbird. "Hopefully I'll be able to fix it before anyone asks any questions."
"Hopefully," Joker agreed... and then started laughing. "It was kinda funny seeing your face, though. Especially when you found the files I changed..."
Bruce actually blushed at that. "Right. The files. Was that REALLY necessary? You could always have written me a note or something if you wanted to. . ." He cleared his throat. ". . .express that."
"But it was so much more entertaining to see the look in your eyes." Joker smiled and took another big drink from his glass. He set it down and then crawled over the bed to Bruce, rolling onto his back to lay in his lover's lap.
"I suppose the term 'dead sexy' seems harsher in print when it's in the 'distinguishing features' section of a bio database profile." Bruce mused. As he spoke, he absentmindedly brushed at the Joker's curls.
Joker arched further into Bruce's lap and made a cute purring noise at the back of his throat. "It describes you, though."
"That's a very subjective opinion." Bruce muttered, obviously embarrassed.
"A good opinion, though." Joker batted his eyes and blew Bruce a kiss. "Are you blushing?"
"Maybe." Bruce said, looking away quickly.
"Awww! This is so precious!" Joker turned and climbed up into a sitting position, wobbling a little bit from the alcohol in his veins. He leaned in and giggled, inches from Bruce's face.
Bruce looked back and noticed the Joker's pupils were dialated and his skin was flushed.
"You're drunk, Jack." He observed.
"Am not." Joker cuddled up to Bruce, sitting in his lap comfortably.
"Are too." Bruce shot back.
"Nu uh... you wouldn't know." Joker snuggled in as close as he could get, curling his fingers around Bruce's clothes.
"You HAVE to be." Bruce insisted cooly. "I had one glass. You polished off the bottle. Just don't throw up on me."
"Kay," Joker mumbled. Deviously, he traced a finger along Bruce's inner thigh and purred, "I'm ready for dessert."
Bruce arched an eyebrow. "Are you?"
"Mmmm... oh, yeah. Yummy Brucie." Joker tugged a little at Bruce's suit and trailed a few kisses down his neck.
Bruce laughed, but the sound quickly became a moan. He didn't drink often, and he was feeling very relaxed.
And happy. He actually felt happy.
Joker tugged at Bruce's top, trying to detach it from the rest of his costume. "I want in there," he growled, taking the belt off afterward.
Bruce was about to respond when a light started flashing on the console of the Bat computer and a soft buzzer sounded. Bruce whipped his head around and his eyes went hard.
"Perimeter breach. Upstairs." He said. "Who the hell is here?"
"Birdboy?" Joker mumbled, rolling his eyes as he sat back on the bed, legs bent at the knees and spread to look through them.
Bruce headed over to the computer, and switched the screen over to the security cameras in the house.
"Damn it. Yes." He cursed. "I just talked to him. What the hell is he doing here?!"
He grabbed the discarded belt and snapped it back on, then collected the other pieces of the Batman costume. As he did so, he watched Dick's progress through the house with Alfred in tow.
"He's coming down here." Bruce guessed. "Get dressed. I'll try to stop him at the top of the stairs, but if he sees you. . ."
He ended the thought by simply shaking his head, then pulled the cowl on.
"Dressed? In what?" Joker started standing up, a light giggle interrupting the progress. He wobbled and grinned, snatching up a large tee shirt Alfred had brought down earlier that night. He stripped off his pajamas, pulled the shirt on, and then went searching for the jeans he'd arrived in.
"No games, Jack. Not now." Batman hissed. He tossed the wine bottle out, straightened up the bed, then raced up the stairs to head Dick off.
Joker raised an eyebrow. "Do I EVER play games with you, Brucie?" He snickered and pulled on his jeans, marveling at the way they showed off his sleek form...
*