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Bruce found him on the overlook above Gotham Harbor, leaning casually against the railing as though no time had passed at all. The Joker was ever a creature of unpredictable habit, but Bruce had known him to favor particular haunts on occasion—and the view of Gotham’s skyline from across the bay had been one of his favorites.
That was, of course, when Bruce still knew him. Whatever is currently draping itself across the pier’s railing is a different beast entirely. Gone is the boyish mop of fluffy green hair that Bruce remembers. In its place lies sleek, dark hair that's been slicked back in an austere fashion, the green appearing almost black in the meager lighting. The Joker’s manner of dress is no brighter. The tailored overcoat he wears is a dark purple, wrapped around a black turtleneck. It’s a far cry from the vivid colors Arlene used to sew for him.
There is always something that betrays him, however. Bruce clings to the scrap of familiarity even as he loathes himself. At either side of the Joker’s head, two strands of flyaway hair swoop up and down in a gentle curve—despite the obvious attempts to flatten them down. Thus they remain, defiant in their persistent whimsy. He can’t help but think they look a little bit like horns.
Bruce has spent too long staring, unwilling to accept the reality of the man in front of him. The same, but different. He hadn’t wanted to believe the initial reports, wanting to instead persist in the delusion that this nightmare of his own making was finally over. It was a stupid thing to believe—that the Joker would ever truly leave him.
Finally, he speaks up, rumbling out, “Joker.”
The aforementioned nightmare raises his head and turns to look over at Bruce, already smiling. It’s no maniacal grin, not yet—it’s only a small smile, knowing and expectant.
Bruce despises it all the same.
“Why Bats, it’s been forever. How ya been? I can’t believe you and Kitty finally tied the knot, I think Ozzy owes me fifty bucks now.”
Jack sighs, resting his chin on his palm. “We made that bet ages ago, though. He’ll never pay up now—the old miser.”
Bruce thinks that the Joker must have lost weight. His face is sharper than he remembers, all hard edges and hollow cheekbones. It makes him look older, like he’s lost his death grip on youth and finally decided to grow up some time in his late thirties.
His eyes haven’t changed, at least. They still twinkle with the same vacant light, opaque through the sheen of radioactive sea glass.
Bruce doesn’t like how much the Joker seems to have already picked up on his personal life, but he’s not here for small talk. He just needs to know.
“Why did you come back?”
Jack inclines his head. “Aww. You missed me? That’s okay. I missed you too.”
He pushes off from the railing and approaches Bruce from the side, circling him like a particularly gleeful shark.
“You’ve been busy, and I get that, I really do. That said, it wouldn’t have hurt to send me and the missus a wedding invitation, now would it?”
Bruce grits his teeth. “Yes. It would have.”
Ouch.
“Ah, well. You know I had a speech written out and everything. Maybe next time, then—when you two lovebirds renew your vows, of course.”
“You still haven’t told me why you came back to Gotham.”
Jack narrows his eyes and offers Bruce a small, awful smile. “Shouldn’t you be asking me why I left?”
Bruce is silent. There’s nothing to be said.
All at once, Jack’s tone lightens, and the warmth of his smile rises just a few degrees above freezing. “I’ve been busy too,” he says, stepping away from Bruce in a lazy spin. “You know how it is. Life gets in the way. Not that I’m complaining, of course. Little Sylvia is just the cutest thing ever, isn’t she? Who am I kidding? Of course she is!”
Jack does another lazy spin before stopping abruptly in place. “You know, I’d show you a picture, but I figured that you’ve already seen plenty of her—on account of all the spying on us you’ve been doing through our kitchen window, you weirdo.”
Ah, there it is. Bruce was wondering when the Joker would bring that up. Truth be told, he hasn’t been keeping tabs on him or Arlene for over a year. Not since the last incident, back when the Joker was still wearing leg braces. A few months before that, Bruce had tracked them down to their new hideout, well over an hour away from Gotham, and had been monitoring them closely for any signs of criminal activity ever since.
He had been sure the Joker was up to something when he broke from his usual routine during his commute home from work, where he sang at a nightclub in one of the nicer parts of town. This detour had taken the Joker to a house a few neighborhoods over, where he was greeted at the door by none other than Jonny Frost. Bruce had been wondering where the Joker’s right-hand man had scuttled off to, and now he had his answer.
Bruce had watched as the two men spoke candidly with one another over drinks for a few hours, after which the Joker had waved goodbye and left. If anything incriminating had been spoken, Bruce hadn’t heard it. It was all perfectly innocuous, in fact, and that had been what worried him the most.
Bruce had made his presence known to the Joker as he was making his way across the street to his car. He wasn’t sure what reaction he had been expecting from the Joker, maybe dull surprise or the usual laughter. What he hadn’t anticipated was the naked panic. The Joker had quite literally leapt out of the way as Bruce’s shadow descended on him, further than a man in twin leg braces should have been able to manage, and stared at him with an expression that could only be described as hunted, his chest heaving in rapid succession.
It had been enough to make Bruce pause for a moment before he asked the Joker what he was planning. And then, there was the laugh—equal parts hysterical and incredulous. “Nothing,” of course, had been his answer, followed by a particularly venomous, “Now get lost.”
Bruce doesn't know why he hadn’t expected this to change everything. Maybe because he had seen the Joker bounce back from worse—multiple times. Maybe because he had never been so certain of anything as he was of the Joker’s devotion.
The Joker wasn’t supposed to be afraid of anything—especially not him.
Bruce shouldn’t feel guilty. He should be glad that he finally got through to the lunatic. Even if it nearly cost him everything. Even if it cost him his son. The Joker deserved worse, if anything. Much worse. Bruce isn’t sure if he could have stopped himself—if it wasn’t for the Joker’s own son begging him not to do it.
Always—always the mirror.
Yes, Bruce gets the joke.
Jason might not have died that night, but Bruce knows that he wishes he did—if he couldn’t be Robin any longer.
He wouldn’t have run away otherwise.
Bruce has never stopped looking for him—though right now it feels like it’s never counted for less. It's just another of Bruce’s failures, another one of his regrets, the same as the one currently staring him in the face.
Despite everything, Bruce had ultimately gone against his instincts—and let the Joker be. He settled on reading police reports from the Joker’s new city of choice instead, where the clown never so much as glued a mailbox shut. Better the devil you know, and Bruce hadn’t been sure how much longer he’d know this Joker if he continued to pressure him.
Well, so much for that.
Jack raises his hands—as if in appeasement—even though Bruce has made no move towards him. He chuckles and says, “Just kidding. I know you only do it because you care.”
He dips his head, neatly bowing like a magician who’s just been requested an encore. “It seems like we must have inspired you a little bit, huh? You never told me that you and Kitty had taken an interest in baking.”
Jack’s smile takes on a manic edge, and he giggles—sounding like an excited child. “Oh, tell me, Bats. When is your little one due out of the oven?”
Now, this prompts Bruce to make a move towards Jack.
He lunges forward with his arms outstretched, hands poised to snag Jack by the collar of his overcoat. Something in the action is half-hearted, though, and the madman simply dances out of his grasp, laughing all the while.
“How the hell do you know that?”
Jack stops and turns back to face him, furrowing his brow. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s not exactly a secret you would keep from a friend.”
“You’re not my friend.”
For once, the Joker frowns. “I’m not?”
Bruce sets his jaw. “No. How can you even still say that? After everything that you’ve done?”
Jack points a thumb towards his chest, eyes wide with faux alarm. “After everything I’ve done?”
“Don’t play dumb, Joker.”
He chuckles. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been accused of playing the fool.”
Jack looks at the ground and closes his eyes, a small smile playing across his too-dark lips. After a moment, he opens his eyes again and looks up, gaze intent, like he’s searching for something within the white lenses of Bruce’s cowl.
He grins. “You know, having children, it’s a bit like carrying wood into a house fire. Kinder will be kindling, I suppose.”
He lets out a short bark of laughter.
“Oh. It’s all a bit ghoulish in the grand scheme of things, isn’t it? All that effort, just for everything to go up in smoke. Then again, I have to imagine that you kind of like that sort of thing.” His grin widens. “You do, don’t you?”
Bruce holds the Joker’s gaze. “How can you say that when you have children of your own? You claim to love them, do you not?”
Bruce’s voice is firm—resolute in its matching intensity, equal and opposite—but Jack can sense the burning anger roiling underneath, waiting to burst forth.
He shudders.
“Of course I love them, silly. I couldn’t not love them even if I wanted to. That’s the joke.”
Jack takes a step back and raises his arms above his head in a stilted manner, then rocks back on his heels and hangs limply, as if he’s being held up by puppet strings.
The Joker grins broadly at him.
Yes, Bruce gets the joke.
“I don’t find it very funny.”
Jack laughs. He laughs very hard, doubling over like Bruce has already punched him in the gut. He crumples over himself—cut from his strings. He recovers after a few moments, still dry-heaving with silent laughter, and wipes a tear from his eye.
“Oh Bruce, you never do.”
Jack swings his arms down and turns to leave. “Well, it was nice talking to you again. I missed this. And don’t worry, I’ll be sure to report any suspicious characters I see. We parents need to support each other, neighborhood watch and all that—right, friend?"
He grins again, waving goodbye before taking off at a characteristic pace, somewhere between a skip and a skitter.
Bruce won't be chasing him tonight, if that's what he wants. Instead, he watches as Jack bounds off into the night, listening to that telltale whooping laughter as his pale silhouette disappears entirely, consumed by shadows.