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His shoes are planted firmly on the edge. The tips of them don't even touch the concrete. Joker wiggles his toes for the heck of it and feels his balance falter. He waves his arms around like little windmills to steady himself.
“Woah!”
Dipping forward at the waist, he faces the choppy waters below, rippling and turbulent and dark. It reminds him of the swirling light show of dull lines when you close your eyes and focus on the back of your eyelids. What sort of creatures lurk beneath those muddy waters? Or beneath his eyelids for that matter? He files away a reminder to google the nautical animals of Gotham later. Joker rights himself and pretty soon, he’s standing still and tall again. Before him lies the great black expanse of Gotham River at night. Twinkling little specks of light reflect off the water and the city surrounds him from all angles, shining bright and polluting the evening skies with artificial luminescence.
Behind, the wall of cop cars shine their gaudy lights at him too but instead of helping him regain his footing, the clinking of guns cocking are the response of Gotham's so-called finest. He would have fallen prematurely and they would have been happy to thrust lead into his skull as he careened down. So he raises an arm, bends it at the elbow and waves the detonator around, reminding GCPD exactly why they are parked several feet behind him and not subjecting him to a flurry of bullets or subduing him to the ground.
Simultaneously, he brings his other hand up towards his face. God, his nails are almost perfect. The left purple glove snagged against a loose screw when he climbed up here and was subsequently lost to the wind. So he gets a chance to admire the black nail polish topped with silver glitter. It’s very reminiscent of the shining water below or Gotham’s skyline.
But they’re only almost perfect. He sees a little old lady in the Narrows every couple weeks to get them done. Yolanda. He calls her Yoly. A retired nail spa owner with Alzheimer's who offered to do his nails some odd day a couple of years ago because her employees were too scared to get him in a chair. But yesterday, she wasn't available. Her daughter said she had to go to the hospital so he settled for second pickings. And he was happy when he left the salon but he isn't happy now.
Because his nail polish is chipped. Inconvenient. On the left index finger. He wants to fault Yoly’s daughter but he knows his favorite label recently changed their polish formula. A brand change is calling to him now. And a sternly worded letter to the manufacturer about spreading lies on their nail polish bottles. Better yet, he’ll march into their headquarters himself and give them a piece of his mind.
"New and improved my ass." He grumbles to himself.
Joker's ears pick up on the tires screeching behind him. He sighs, disappointed. More backup. Not the screeching of the batmobile. He knows that sound. Just how many of these special units sit around waiting for him to make an appearance? They never want to get the call but they anticipate it everyday. And then they show up in droves, act all unhappy to be in his company. They should be grateful honestly. He keeps their jobs fresh and lively. Keeps them on their toes. Who would they be chasing after otherwise? Riddler? Snore.
But their arrival reminds him why he's here. Back to the task at hand. Joker extends his hands in front of chest, arms out, like a diver ready to jump. Which is essentially what he is right now. No coach needed. Not his first high dive. Not his first go at standing atop a bridge. Not even the first time he's climbed atop of this particular train overpass, which extends out of Gotham River and helps wayward travelers get across the water without having to swim to work.
There's a chorus of shouts and commands at his olympic gesture, frantically urging him not to move. Not to jump. Or maybe they’re telling him to do them all a favor and just do it already. But he isn’t paying attention.
Hey, now that's a visual. Suited techies swimming to their respective skyscrapers. Money hungry leeches.
Anyway. Yes, this is certainly not his first time jumping into a swirling body of water.
Wait a minute.
Why is the water swirling?
"Hey, why is the water swirling?" Joker inquires over his shoulder, towards the army of SWAT officers. They look at each other, not stupid enough to lower their weapons but thrown off by the sudden random question.
"The- the ferry just went by!" an anonymous officer provides, who then shouts to someone else, "Why the hell are they still running? Tell the docks to halt all boats now!"
Hmm. He hadn't noticed. Too busy looking at his chipped nail polish.
The wind billows his tail coats out. Not as dramatic as Batsy’s cape but it still makes him feel like he could fly with them. Oh goodness, he would never adopt a cape if he got to choose his own skintight hero costume. Are you kidding? How has Superman not been sucked into a jet turbine yet? Only his darling can really pull it off. Because he looks so damn sexy in it. He’s too smart to get sucked into an airplane engine. Superman's just dumb and lucky. Plus, Bats uses that cape strategically, an extension of his arsenal of tools and weapons and an asset to his expert level stealth capabilities.
And when they fuck, that cape envelopes the two of them into their own little world.
Being up here naturally brings up fantasies of flying. Because he’ll be in the air soon. Superman can fly. Cause he's an alien or whatever. So what the hell does he need a cape for? Birds fly and you don’t see them wearing little capes.
Oh, he hates to think about birds. Guaranteed way to make him grumpy. He harbors a particular animosity towards birds. Pigeons and ducks are exceptions. They're smart. They’re his neighbors. They've learned how to survive and thrive amongst the absolute devastation that humanity has dumped onto them. They take humanity's trash and muck and they make do. He can relate to that. Okay, technically all birds have been forced to adapt to all the desolation and ruin people have brought onto this planet. But you won't always find a robin nestled in a Gotham alleyway, the uppity little shits prefer the parks or suburbs, but you'll definitely find a one legged pigeon. And you'll always find ducks hunting for scraps in their dirty little pools within the city's urban waters.
He sits in the park some nights and feeds them. If a runner gets stabbed in the process, so be it. They scared the ducks away, and disturbed his tranquility.
Yes, he hates birds for very specific reasons but it’s in this moment, one step away from being in the air himself, that the Joker can't help but think about how birds must feel mid flight. Do their feathers tickle against the wind like the cotton of his suit tickles his skin right now? Are birds ticklish?
He's going to tickle Bruiser the next time he visits his little duck family in Robinson Park. Bruiser is his absolute favorite of the group. He looked up the breed once and discovered that Bruiser is a ring necked duck. Terrible name. The ring around his neck is pale brown at best. But oh, Bruiser is a looker. He's the biggest duck of the waddle: glossy deep black feathers with gray sides and yellow eyes. And he knows he is big. The handsome little creature. Plus, he likes spicy corn nuts. The other birds don't eat them. But Bruiser does.
And why is he called Bruiser, one might ask. Well, it's really not that complicated. The little big guy pecks out of his hand with such strength that his palm is often bruised purple for days after. And the other reason, well does he really need to spell it out? It rhymes with hatsy. He looks like hatsy.
The L train rumbles below him, passing by. Judging by the timing of the train, it's what, 10:30 in the evening? Less than ten trains will be going by until the last one at midnight. Then they switch to the L Owl. Try saying that five times. L Owl, L Owl, L Owl, L Owl, L Owl.
He tries to under his breath, muttering to himself. Of course it makes him giggle when his tongue gets all tied up with the vowels.
"Joker!"
Ah. There he is. Joker takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, soaking in the angry tone breaking through the shrieking winds, cutting through gusts of air and landing over to him, sweet music to his ears.
He doesn't shout back or acknowledge his name being called. He doesn't need to. Batsy can see him just fine. And he can hear him. He can hear him think. He knows he can. Because he is everywhere. Always there. Whispering into the indents of his brain.
I’m here to stop you. To hurt you. Bleed you.
He turns his head, and speaks over his shoulder, very intentionally keeping his voice steady and unstrained.
"And I love you for it, darling. It’s so good to see you. But it’s always good to see you. Ever since the day you came barreling into my life and helped me shed those unnecessary layers, I've never stopped seeing you. The problem is you refuse to see what I see. "
He performs a spinning pirouette, and he knows that his darling's heart had to drop when he did it. It's too dangerous. He could fall.
He finishes his turn and comes face to face with him. An imposing, shadowed presence, his great dark beast, towering and demonic and vibrating with unused strength. Deadly strength that is held back by steady morals, a respect for life and a heart of gold.
Oh, that face. That stupidly handsome face. Even mostly obscured by an ear tipped cowl, his brooding beauty is noticeable. A strong jawline, like marble chiseled by Michelangelo himself. Those deeply tortured blue eyes just out of sight. And those lips, always curved with upset, lips that would always be stained with blood if he had any say. Or stained with his lipstick. Either way, it would be red. Deep, hellish red. And that bubbling frustration. Bats is angry. He’s always angry. And right now, he’s angry that he can't just run over and grab him from the edge of the bridge and pummel into him for doing something so stupid. Forcing half of Gotham's police force out here to watch him play.
They call Bruce Wayne the Prince of Gotham. But he’s more than that.
He’s the bat. And the bat is Gotham’s god.
“You don’t even know how special you are.”
He continues his one sided conversation. The dark knight stands there, just a few paces away, but not daring to move as long as he holds a detonator and the knowledge of a random bomb’s whereabouts in his hands. Joker chuckles softly.
"It's okay though love. We found each other, didn't we? And now we have the rest of our lives to see. I want to show you how important you are. Not only to me but to them. So that they may also become disciples. And I, your most loyal and dedicated follower."
His eyes narrow. Bats is confused. It's sweet.
"Where's the bomb?" he asks. Sticking to the script, it appears. He ignores it.
"Aren’t you going to try and reason with me? Don't do it Joker! You have so much to live for!"
He's not suicidal by the way. It's all part of his present.
"Shut up. The bomb." Batman hisses back, impatience and worry whirling together.
Joker frowns.
"Oh, who cares about that now? You're here, I'm here, it's a beautiful night. Get over here and enjoy it with me. I planned all this for you after all."
"We aren't doing that."
"Hey, try saying 'L Owl' five times fast-"
"No. This has gone on long enough. Step away from the edge and tell me where the bomb is."
"Hmm. Maybe if you say please." Joker raises his nose at him, teasing.
Those glove covered fists clench tighter. He can practically hear the rubbery material squeak together from here.
Batman speaks through a grinding mouth and stiff jaw.
"Plea-"
"Of course, love! I can't refuse you when you've asked so nicely!"
So he steps away from the edge, but not in the direction his Batsy wanted him to. The bridge rises above him, floating higher into the sky and the moon illuminates the boring gray metal. He falls down, watches the bridge and the police lights get farther and farther away and loses the detonator instantly. But it wasn’t real anyway. There’s no bomb.
There’s a rushing of blood from ears to feet. What a sensation. Sloshing in this meat suit. Like a water balloon. Waiting to explode on impact as it's thrown towards its target.
Time stops. He's falling back, but he’s not moving at all. The clown is beaming with pleasure, enjoying the rush, the wind in his hair, and watching his darling peer over the edge and jump over to rescue him.
If he could stay like this forever, suspended in air as his greatest love leaps after him, he would. They'd stay here, two fated lovers in free fall. Because being frozen like this would mean that the bat would remain in a perpetual state of chasing after him. Always receiving his undivided attention.
Batsy grabs his hand just as he submerges into the icy water. The bat loses his grip just as easily as he obtained it, a hair's breadth too late.
The impact is like hitting concrete. He would know.
It's painful, the shock that is felt from being in the air to this sudden onslaught of bone chilling liquid. He inhaled water, forgot to hold his breath for that split second and now his lungs are burning. Like swallowing embers as they roar at their hottest. He fixates on the sting too long and remembers that he is but a man who needs oxygen. So he inhales more water. Oh great, now he's drowning. Oops.
He cannot breathe underwater. What a fatal flaw. He did once though. That day, he inhaled all that green goo and it transformed him. That day, he morphed from human to something even more terrible. Stripped of everything that made him feel real. He wouldn’t have changed it for anything.
Just as his lungs reach an excruciatingly painful point, a nozzle is shoved into his mouth. The funny little breathing apparatus Bats always keeps in his utility belt. Gotta be prepared. He spits some of the water choking his lungs into it.
He twists and turns in Batsy's arms, makes it difficult for the vigilante to maintain a grip on him as he swims the two of them to the surface. They break through and Bats propels through the water as fast as he can, pulls them both out at the riverbank and into a runoff tunnel, away from everything and everyone. Rushing waters and gusting winds give way to the silence of a hollowed abandoned pathway.
Bruce rips the breathing contraption off of Joker’s face and the Joker coughs and spits the remaining bit of water out of his throat. But his darling won’t give him a chance to collect himself and shoves him against the tunnel wall.
“You held your breath that whole time?” he giggles.
"Where's the bomb?" Bats shouts into his face. He laughs and coughs and laughs again.
"Hahaha! There isn't one. I just wanted to see you baby." He purrs.
"Enough with the damn games, tell me where-"
He cuts him off, clocking him on the chin with a smile on his face and then pulling the bat by the back of his cowl, smashing their lips together. It’s like a spoonful of sugar in the morning for the Joker. And an acidic poison for the bat.
And he won't kiss him back. The poor thing is too angry, breathing hard from his fuming. So mad at him for being forcibly subjected to another nerve wracking performance tonight. Conflicted because underneath all of it, Batsy still wants to do this as much as he does.
So of course the resistance doesn’t last long. Bruce loses his internal battle and is kissing him back with a desperation shortly after his momentary resistance. Joker pulls him in tight, pressing nails into seemingly impenetrable cowl, chipping his black polish more, moaning into that deliciously bloodied mouth, and Bruce growls in response, presses himself flush against Joker's chest, explores with tongue, and eventually dirties it all even further by attacking his neck with teeth and leaving little love bites all over.
“Mmm…”
Joker won’t say that the onslaught to his neck is better than the bat’s punches but they come pretty damn close. Both are laced with the same frantic and aggressive energy.
Batman trails his lips over Joker's adam’s apple and then back to his lips, claiming his mouth greedily again, pinning Joker's hands to the tunnel wall and not breaking their kisses only until they’re both forced to come up for air. Their lips stay against each other but separate just enough to catch their breaths.
"Happy anniversary, darling." Joker whispers into his lips.
Bruce pulls back, mouth slightly ajar, breathing hitched.
"What?" the bat asks in a huff, suspicion in his tone. He unpins the Joker’s hands and steps back a fraction. It becomes more clear that Joker was being truthful about the bomb. Or lack thereof. Rather, the bat was baited once again. Forced to entertain the clown's gestures of love, and evidently an anniversary gift tonight.
"You know what I'm talking about. Hell, it's kind of my birthday too if you think about it. Are you going to sing to me?"
How many years has it been? He doesn't actually know if it was today. Joker just decided it had to be this particular day. Something told him it was. It felt like today was the day it all started. He knows it happened in the autumn. There were leaves crunching beneath his soaked shoes when he crawled out of the tunnel runoff and onto the sidewalk above. They crunched and cracked until he wandered to wherever he wandered to recover and immediately plan out a set of grand gestures for the first time, to meet his creator once again. To show him the fruits of his labor. What he helped erect by baptizing him into a whole new way of experiencing life. Equally maddening, except this time he would get to have fun. His world had suddenly been painted green and purple and black and blue that night.
Joker rests his head on Bruce's chest, nuzzles against it, and wraps his arms around his middle. He sighs, content. Above, the police are frantically searching for them and will make their way down to this tunnel in about four minutes, judging by his calculations. Simultaneously, the caped vigilante is thinking the same. He can feel Joker’s damp hair tickle just beneath his chin. Bruce raises his arms, but hesitates, and hovers by Joker's shoulder for a moment.
He shouldn't give Joker more rewards tonight. But he can't help it. Gripping Joker’s shoulder with one arm and clutching him further onto the bat signal on his chest, Bruce lowers his face enough to feel those wet green curls dampen his mouth. It’s silent except for the dripping of wet clothes and batsuit and the distant roaring of waves hitting the shore’s rocky collection.
"Look, see, you got to save me this time."
Bruce’s heart drops.
"You still fell in." He rebuttals evenly, a rumbling whisper, masking the notes of bittersweet disappoint that want to spill out.
"Exactly. But this time you got to catch me."
It's almost romantic if it didn't shatter Bruce’s heart so.
Bruce pivots. "This was reckless. And stupid and dangerous."
"I know. All in a night's work."
"The bomb squad is here. You're wasting everyone's time and resources."
Joker feels Bruce's hand dig into his shoulder, the concern too overwhelming to hide, "They could have gotten hurt- you could have gotte-"
"Of course they're here. I’m the one that keeps their whole department alive.” Joker cuts him off, unwilling to hear that worry reach him. He doesn’t want it.
Bruce loosens his hold on Joker's shoulders and Joker can already hear his dear dark prince charming about to declare midnight, anticipates him making the moves to return him to his castle. Asylum. So he grabs Bruce's face again, eyes shining with love and mania and speaks into those lips one more time.
"Jumping off of high places, diving into Gotham River, or sprinting over the rooftops. What's the common denominator here? It's not bombs or bullets or people dying, love. Sometimes there isn't a bomb and sometimes people don't die. No, it's you, Batsy. It's you running. Or jumping. After me. This is your present too. We’ll do this forever. Do you hear me darling? You don’t get to stop running after me. Run to me, love. Until your lungs bleed. Jump over those high edges and catch me. Hold me and bleed me and I’ll do the same until we've drained each other. Drained each other until we become dust and float together for eternity."
He stares into that cowl knowing that those conflicted blue eyes will be staring right back. Bruce makes a move to hold his face and kiss him again. Joker stops this, presses his palm on an exposed cheek, and buzzes Bruce with a smile on his face. The bat's teeth grit and his body tenses from the sudden electric shock.
Hey, it’s a classic. You can never hate on a classic.
Joker sprints off, cackling, and the rhythmic thudding of heavy tactical boots follow. The shadows of the two men exiting the secluded passageway dance across its concrete walls. Across graffiti and filth and dilapidated infrastructure. There’s chaos above but here, the tunnel empties again, still and silent once more.
Rare is this love
Keep it covered
I need you to run to me
Run to me lover
Run until you feel your lungs bleeding
-Run by Hozier