Work Text:
It was a cold saturday evening when he decided that he was tired.
Tired of what? He didn't know.
Maybe he was finally tired of his mental instability, which caused all of his problems.
Nah, he thought.
He learnt how to cope with that a long time ago.
It was almost midnight.
He had spent the whole week trying to make his plan perfect: while everyone was concentrating on the mess he had made at the train station, the Bat was going to search him.
For a moment, he thought about the people he killed that night.
He laughed.
But what could he do about it?
He just didn't feel sorry.
It wasn't like he wanted to kill people just for fun, he thought, he was an artist, after all.
He liked to plan to destroy other people's plans.
He didn't feel responsible, he felt like justice was finally done.
Justice for him.
For what others had and he didn't have.
For all the times he's been judged, all the times he's been alone, and no one simply cared.
It felt like the world was almost balanced.
Almost.
There was only one thing that completed him.
As he was about to push the big purple button on that strange controller he had in his hand, the thing flew through the window of the 11th floor where he was in.
He saw his black fist hitting him right on the nose, he fell on his back.
He felt blood streaming out of his nose, out of the cut the Bat had made on his right cheek.
-Harder, Batsy- he mocked, touching his bleeding nose.
-Do you think it's funny?- the Bat said, cleaning his hand over his cape
-Do you have an idea of how many citizens you almost killed today?-
He did know, but he just laughed.
As he tried to stand up, the other man took him by the collar of his dark green shirt and pinned him against the wall.
He felt his gaze going from his weird, large smile to his shining eyes, and then back to his smile
-You're insane-
-Not as much as you are- he simply said, as he raised a finger to draw the contour of the mask. -You think I wouldn't notice? You love playing with me-
He dared to look in the deep eyes of the other and he saw fear. The same fear he had, the one that kept him up all night and ate him all day.
The fear of losing control.
Because, in it's own twisted way, even the Joker had all his stuff under control. And Batsy was the centre of his small, mad world.
Losing control meant losing him.
He couldn't afford that.
-I used to say I'm like a dog, chasing cars without knowing why. But you're the dog and I'm the hearse you're chasing.-
He felt his gloved hand through his curls, pulling them to make his mouth at he same height as his.
-And you fucking love chasing me, Batsy, it makes you feel powerful, like you have a purpose, doesn't it?- he licked the side of his mouth, where his scars still opened sometime.
-You love the fact that you'll never fully get me, but at the same time I'm the only one who will never leave. Look at us, aren't we just made for each other, darling?- he laughed as the other threw him to the other side of the room. He hit his head on the wall, and crawled himself to the corner. The Bat looked at him from above, but didn't say anything. He kicked the clown in the stomach.
-Stop pretending you know me- he said as he handcuffed the clown's hands together -I'm different from you, freak.-
And here it came, the tiredness from before.
He was exhausted of the other man pretending, tired of his mask, of his incorruptible sense of justice. He just wanted to see him fall into pieces, break down by his side. Maybe he just didn't want to be alone.
He felt his hand unconsciously caressing the gloved one, and when he realized it, it was too late.
They stared at each other, unable to speak, for what it seemed like eternity. He felt the Bat's other hand caressing his wet cheek, blood mixed with tears.
Was he crying? How ironic, he thought, but didn't laugh.
How could his body betray him like this, in front of Batman himself!
He felt the urge to escape, so he stood up, and went to the window.
He was ready to jump, he didn't care if he broke some bones, he didn't care even if he died, he had to escape.
As he was about to throw himself, the Bat catched him from behind, holding tight his waist with his arms.
The Joker turned around, feeling the other man shaking and breathing hard.
Was he worried?
Fuck.
He tried to fucking save him, this fucking bat.
He slowly raised his still tied hands and unlocked his mask. When he was sure the other wouldn't run away, he lifted it, looking at his deep brown eyes, full of confusion and fear, anger and exhaustion. He threw the mask away, and looked for the first time at the man he often dreamed about.
He stared into his deep dark eyes, as the other started to rub off the clown's makeup, revealing his scars, his wrinkles, the dark circles under his eyes.
He felt naked, even if he was fully dressed.
The warm eyes of the older man studied every detail of him, memorizing them all.
He closed his eyes, unable to look at the man in front of him, feeling his weight on him.
His lips brushed against his own, and the world crashed down.
He felt safe, felt normal.
Of course they weren't normal. Look a them, two freaks killing themselves, so sweetly they don't even realize what they're doing.
He caressed slowly the man's bearded cheek, feeling the other holding him closer
When they parted, he stood silent, but the other panicked.
He watched the man putting his mask back on, cursing, trying to explain what a giant mistake all of this was.
But he didn't talk.
Even when the other exited the room, looking at the clown one last time, before vanishing in the dark, he stood silent.
So here he was, smoking a cigarette on a cold saturday night, still handcuffed, watching Gotham's lights.
He heard sirens in the distance, sign that the Bat did his job even this time.
He closed his eyes, as the police entered through the door, pointing guns at him.
He was so tired.
But he laughed.