Batman breathed in deeply, again folding his arms across his chest and, momentarily, casting his eyes
downward.
He was put off by The Joker's demeanor. He could tell the madman was playing it off as though it were
no big deal, but underneath, he was angry. _Very_ angry. And an angry Joker, Batman had more then once
found out, was a dangerous Joker. Inwardly the vigilante rolled his eyes at the thought. Any Joker,
whatever mood, whatever _version_, was dangerous. But when he wasn't happy, which seemed a rare thing,
then his thirst for blood pushed out any inclination for prankster antics he usually might have had.
When like this, there _was _no chance, however slim it may have usually been, that he would slap you
with a pie instead of shoot you with a bullet. The Joker _was_ susceptible to anger, though, Batman had
also learned, it was quite the task driving him to it. When The Joker said he was a happy individual,
he wasn't lying.
It was in this knowledge that the detective had known something bad had happened to The Joker, even
before he'd recounted the details.
He looked up. The Joker still kept his gaze away, and it looked as though he were concentrating fully
on some spot Batman couldn't himself discern.
He cleared his throat loudly to get the lunatics attention.
"We should document this." He said slowly. "So the board knows you're telling the truth."
The Joker's head snapped around to look at the vigilante, and suddenly a wide smile spread across his
lips.
"Oh, you mean..."
"I mean we need to take photographs of your injuries!" Batman was quick to cut him off, knowing what
the manic was about to imply.
The Joker's grin widened and he batted his eyelashes before erupting in to laughter.
"Oh, Batsy, There's no need for shame. After all, my body is a desirable commodity to many."
This time Batman did roll his eyes. He knew The Joker would often use this tactic on the asylum
security. It was his way of getting them to snap and beat him. The masochist in him.
It made men uncomfortable.
And The Joker was a master of creating uncomfortable situations.
The vigilante stood and moved towards the shackled man, taking a small, electronic device from his
belt.
"What's that?" The Joker questioned him, eyeing the thing. There was suspicion in his voice.
"A camera." Batman answered.
The Joker kept his eyes on the contraption as the vigilante moved closer.
His mind had been working the entire time, observing his surroundings, trying to figure how best to
escape the place. He _wasn't_ going back to Arkham, and he wasn't going to let Sharpie and his one remaining lackey off
that easy. If deary here had his way, all that would become of the worthless wastes of space would be a
slap on the wrist, a loss of their jobs. Certainly, they wouldn't be doing time. The Joker knew no jury
would convict either for slighting him.
Though escaping the bat would prove far greater a challenge then from those simpletons. He knew that.
Especially in his present condition. Still, he had to try.
The Joker acted quickly, reaching his free hand on to his shackled one, and the vigilante's eyes shot
wide as he heard the loud crack and watched the madman slip from the manacle. The lunatic had snapped
his own thumb back, breaking it so he could slip his hand through the loop. He hadn't even flinched.
"_Damn it_ Joker!" Batman cursed, seeing his enemy practically leap from the bed and begin to move
across the cave. "You maniac!"
He watched as the pants he'd supplied fell to the madman's feet.
"Whoops." The Joker giggled madly before kicking the slacks quickly from his ankles and continuing.
Batman perused quickly, making fast ground. It was immediately obvious that The Joker's condition was
rendering him extremely weak. Batman wondered as he approached how the madman had even the strength to
stand.
And just when he was upon him, reaching out to take hold of his enemy, The Joker stopped and ducked,
causing the vigilante to tumble clumsily over his back.
Swiftly Batman rolled to his knees and turned, seeing The Joker scurrying off in the opposite
direction.
"Tricky son of a bitch!" He swore under his breath, getting fast to his feet.
And again he charged after The Joker, more careful this time. The vigilante silently scolded himself
for not expecting that. And so when The Joker again stopped, so too did Batman. And he watched,
expecting the madman to again duck down, or turn and face him.
But he didn't.
Instead he stood there for a moment, totally still. And The Dark Knight stood equally silent, watching
for any sign the arch nemesis might try something.
His eyes instead shot wide in shock when The Joker swayed slightly and then abruptly fell to his knees.
The maniac had been overcome with a wave of nausea and dizziness, all at once, and suddenly, he
couldn't feel the ground beneath his feet and he'd lost his balance.
Batman approached slowly as he watched the madman tremble terribly, and then gag, and in the next
instant, vomit violently.
The vigilante could feel his mouth turn downwards in to a frown.
He'd never seen that happen before. Not with The Joker.
He moved closer.
"Joker..." He began quietly as the maniac's body quaked.
He reached for his enemy, placing a hand gently upon his shoulder.
But he was taken aback when The Joker turned violently, a murderous rage in his eyes.
"Stay _back_ Batman!" He hissed before again, abruptly, heaving.
"Joker, you need to rest." Batman protested, cautiously reaching a hand forward.
"I've had all the rest I can take!" The Joker spit. "I don't sleep! Do you understand me!? I don't
sleep!"
The vigilante stared at him in amazement.
"Joker, you're making no sense..." He began calmly, only to be cut off by a sharp streak of laughter.
"Oh, no, no, no! I'm making _perfect_ sense darling! _Perfect_ sense!" He continued to chuckle, wiping
the bile away from his mouth with the back of his forearm, leaning weakly forward on to his other palm.
Batman kept focused on him.
"Couldn't..." The Joker began, then stopped. "... Couldn't you have just let me _be_!?"
The detective now felt utter confusion. He'd absolutely never seen the man in such a state. Almost as
though... he were desperate.
"Joker, listen to me..." He tried again.
But the madman simply shook his head and again tried to rise.
Batman moved for him, but The Joker had scarcely made it off his knees before he again fell forward,
gagging sharply.
"Ah hee, ah heeheehee!" The thin man slurred his laughter, again wiping at his own mouth. "I think your
soup made me sick Batsy..."
The detective watched for only a moment as The Joker crawled forward before he reached out and took
hold of him, pulling him backward.
Again he was shocked by how easily he accomplished this.
The Joker's thin build was dangerously deceptive. The countless times they'd fought, the vigilante had
been made more then aware of just how incredibly strong the madman was. He had never been easy to take
out, never easy to hold down or incapacitate. His threshold for punishment was unlike any Batman had
ever seen. He could just take and take and take. Sometimes the crusader found himself having to hammer
the lunatic directly in the face a dozen or more times before he would finally succumb to the beating
and go unconscious.
But now he pulled the psychopath to him without so much as a hint of resistance.
"Let me go Batman." The Joker tried to pull away, but the detective held him fast.
"No." He said simply, falling to his own knees and pulling the thin man close.
He didn't want to do this. But as usual, the lunatic was leaving him little choice. He pressed his
forearm to The Joker's chest, reaching his free arm around to his belt and taking from it a cloth and
small vile of chloroform, struggling to keep the madman from squirming as he applied the liquid to the
rag.
The Joker pushed harder against Batman's hold.
"Don't you _dare_!" He spit, realizing all too quickly what the vigilante had planned.
But Batman simply ignored him, pressing the cloth quickly against The Joker's nose and mouth, holding
it there firmly.
He was surprised by how valiantly the madman suddenly struggled, pulling with greater strength at the
detective's forearm, trying to pry the hand from his face. But he was failing as the chemical took
affect, and soon Batman felt the maniac go limp in his arms.
He looked down at him then, seeing how he'd slightly slumped forward, his head falling to the side.
"Damn it Joker..." He mumbled to himself. "Why do you always have to make things so hard?"
He noticed the broken thumb then. It was positioned at an awkward angle, and it looked extremely
painful. The vigilante shook his head in disbelief. He wondered how anyone could do such a thing to
themselves and show no sign of hesitation or that it had even hurt.
It was all the proof one needed of The Joker's insanity.
Slowly Batman stood, his hands hooked under the madman's arms, lifting him to his feet, before picking
him up wholly and putting him over his shoulder.
At least this would make things easier, he thought half-heartedly, moving to put The Joker back on the
bed.
Gingerly, he held the thin man upright, carefully lifting the oversized shirt over his head so that he
sat only in the underwear he'd been given.
The thought of this being easier was reinforced by knowing The Joker, incapacitated as he was, wouldn't
be able to flirt and make shameless references as he usually would in such a situation.
Gently the detective felt along The Joker's torso, along his ribs. Sure enough, they'd been fractured
on both sides, and the vigilante made note of this by speaking in to his recorder. He would need to
bandage him. But first it was necessary he take photographs of the bruising and lacerations along the
madman's skin.
And so he laid him back down, once again retrieving his digital camera, snapping pictures of the
damage.
The Joker's body was bizarre, Batman thought. His skin was literally chalk white, over every square
inch, though now one couldn't tell due to the bruising. He was long and thin, his abdomen slightly
concave, his chest totally flat, skinny arms and legs, like a spider, but with wide shoulder's and
immensely defined facial features, high cheek bones, a long, though not hooked nose like was often
depicted in satirical cartoons of him, and a flat brow ridge which transitioned smoothly to his
forehead. And of course, the startling contrast of his vividly green hair, and long, thin red lips. His
eyes most especially were strange. They were a bright green, almost florescent, or neon, as though they
glowed, _illuminated_ in the dark. And they were strikingly clear, with often pinpoint pupils at their
center. The vigilante understood, looking at him, why so many who'd encountered him thought him more an
apparition then a human being. He looked surreal, his appearance something Batman had never totally
gotten used to.
When finally he'd finished documenting the lunatic's injuries, having to sit him up again to take
pictures of his flayed back, the vigilante set about bandaging the open wounds and setting The Joker's
now broken thumb and ribs.
From there, he once more dressed him and carried him to a holding cell he'd only just recently built.
He wondered about the coincidental nature of it as he placed The Joker on to the cot inside, turning
once more to look at him before he left, closing and locking the door behind him.