"Alfred..." Bruce called out once the grandfather clock had shut tightly behind him. "Alfred, are you
there?"
Within seconds, the dependable older man appeared around the corner, making way towards his employer.
"Oh, thank heavens!" He breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing the now unmasked vigilante. "I was
worried sick Master Bruce. Haven't had word from you in over two hours time! And after you said you
were bringing that... that... _degenerate h_ere!"
Bruce sighed, casting his eyes downward.
"He's here."
Alfred felt a tinge of fear rip through him, though his face remained stoic as ever.
"I see." The older man said.
Again, Bruce sighed.
"Alfred, I had no choice." He began, hearing the clear reservation in his butler's voice. "And I thank
you for understanding, setting things up as I asked."
Alfred gave nothing but a silent nod.
A moment of silence past before Alfred again spoke.
"I trust you have our guest properly _restrained_, Master Bruce?"
The younger man nodded.
"Of course. He's in the holding cell."
"The one only recently erected?"
Again, Bruce gave a nod.
"He's so weak though, I'm scarcely sure it would make a difference whether he was there or not."
"Well, better safe then sorry, I always say." Alfred supplied.
Bruce looked up at him and smirked.
"Is that what you always say Alfred."
"When it comes to harboring escaped homicidal maniacs, I should think so." The butler replied with
quick wit.
Bruce shrugged.
"You have a point." He agreed.
"May I ask Sir, what precisely befell the madman?"
"I have it recorded here. But to be succession, they've been abusing him at Arkham, beating and
whipping him, dangerously long bouts of electroshock treatments, keeping him on a heavy dose of
sedatives. He said it started after that last time I'd apprehended him, said they'd broken his arm and
leg to ensure his immobility."
"And you believe him Sir?" Alfred sound incredulous.
The vigilante nodded.
"Yes. I examined him thoroughly. His skin is marred by immense bruising, some weeks old, some as new as
the last week, and his back is literally flayed open. He won't ever be rid of those scars. And both his
right arm and leg, as well as his collar bone have set at an odd angle, indicating a break and a
disallowance of proper recovery. They had him in a straight jacket after fracturing his bones and he
said it took him a week to figure his way out of it. By then the damage had been done. And his ribs are
cracked on both sides."
"And you don't believe he did this to himself Master Bruce? Perhaps as some ploy hoping you would react
just as you did?"
"No." Batman answered, shaking his head. "Believe me, that thought ran through my mind, but the damage
is too severe to be self-inflicted, even for a masochist such as him. And the weight loss is something
else. He's been literally starved. I gave him some of the soup you left and he actually threw up after
eating it. His body's been denied any substantial solids for so long that it actually rejected the
food. I've never seen him vomit before."
"And you're convinced he's sincere?" Alfred remained skeptical.
Bruce simply nodded.
"More then anything though, his demeanor tells me so. He's displeased. _Extremely_. He wouldn't be so
if this were his own design. He doesn't believe anyone deserves to treat him like this. Frankly,
neither do I."
"Really Master Bruce? It must be something terrible he suffered to make you say such a thing."
"He's _sick_ Alfred. He can't help his fractured mind. He can't help the way he was born. If I can
understand that, then these doctors should too. But evidently, they don't. He needs _help_. Treating
him like some unwanted animal will only make things worse."
Alfred was taken aback by the concern in his employer's voice. He'd never heard the master refer to the
lunatic in such a way. Whenever The Joker was brought up between the two, it was always with disdain
and venom.
"I see." The butler answered simply.
Bruce glanced over his shoulder, back to the clock before again turning his attention to his friend.
"Listen, Alfred..." He began. "Joker's wounds are severe, and on top of it, the maniac broke his own
thumb just now trying to escape."
Alfred's eyes went wide.
"Oh my..."
"I know." Bruce answered, rolling his eyes. "He's crazy. But he won't get out of that cell. Not while
I'm around." He reassured. "The problem is, until I can get Warden Sharp removed from Arkham, I can't
have The Joker returned there. He explained to me that the reason Sharp did this to him was because
he'd felt embarrassed by The Joker having escaped last time out under his watch. For it to happen
again, I wouldn't put it past the warden to do whatever it took to make sure it never happened again."
"I see..." Alfred nodded, picking up immediately on what his employer alluded to.
"You understand why I wouldn't be comfortable with bringing him back then?" Bruce asked.
The older man gave a nod.
"I wouldn't normally be worried even. Not with The Joker. He's proven more then enough times he's
capable of taking care of himself. He never would have gotten away from Arkham if he weren't so capable
as he is. But he's been so severely weakened, that anyone choosing to have their way with him now very
well could."
Again Alfred nodded.
"It will take the board of directors at least several weeks to review the evidence I've compiled and
come to a decision, along with the police department. I'm certain though, seeing and hearing what I
have, they won't hesitate to remove Sharp and bring him up on charges of gross negligence and abuse."
Bruce sighed, looking down.
"Until then, we have to keep The Joker here, as much as I hate doing so. You understand, don't you
Alfred?"
"Whatever you deem appropriate Sir, I will support you fully. You know that."
"Thanks Alfred." Bruce smiled at the older man, placing his hands on his shoulders.
"In the meantime, I've got to deliver this evidence. But I don't want you in the house with The Joker
alone. I don't feel he can get from that cell, but I'd rather be safe."
"Yes Master Bruce." Alfred agreed.
"So what I want you to do is go out and get some cloths for him. Mine don't fit him well and I can tell
he'll become agitated over it. More agitated then he already is, in any event."
"Do you know his measurements, Sir?" Alfred asked.
Batman shook his head.
"Not entirely." He answered. "He's 6'5", I know."
"Oh!" Alfred exclaimed. "I never knew!"
"He's tall." Batman answered simply.
Though Alfred's surprise was anything but unexpected. Batman realized that most people who'd never
encountered the maniac, for whatever reason, assumed him small. Certainly, smaller then himself. While
in weight and width, that was true, The Joker was indeed an imposing figure in height. And when people
were faced with him, they were often entirely taken aback by his physical presence.
The vigilante continued.
"He usually weighs in around 191, 192 lb. But right now I'd put his weight at somewhere between 130 and
135 lb."
"My word!" Again, Alfred grew shocked.
"He hasn't eaten anything substantial in months." Batman responded. "So to guess his waist, I would
say, right now 28, 29, maybe 30" at most. He's _very_ thin."
Alfred nodded.
"I would also pick up a 31 or 32", because hopefully, we'll get him to fill out a little while here. I
would estimate that's his usual pant size."
"Very well Sir. I shall purchase the requested items. Is there anything else?"
"Slippers for his feet. Make sure they're big."
"No shoes, Master Bruce?"
Batman shook his head.
"No. He can't have anything that could be used as a weapon."
"Oh, I see." Alfred nodded.
"And if you get back before I do, don't enter the house until I've arrived."
"Is he that dangerous Sir?" Alfred questioned. "I thought you said he was in rather a _weakened_
condition."
"Yes Alfred, he is." Bruce said pointedly. "I've seen him in seemingly compromised positions only for
him to turn around and attack with as much deadly force as he usually does. One thing I've learned
about The Joker is, you never underestimate him. He's unpredictable. _Truly_ unpredictable."
The older man didn't question him then, only saying that he understood.
From there, Bruce pulled his cowl over his head and turned back to the cave, while Alfred took up his
coat and umbrella before exiting through the front of the house.
**
The Joker awoke with a groan, feeling the immediate crush of a headache.
He struggled for a moment with opening his eyes, and when finally he did, his vision was blurred and he
rubbed at them vigorously to clear his sight.
As always, when waking, his mind had exploded in to an array of different thoughts and he again closed
his eyes, attempting to focus, to remember what had happened.
When finally he pinpointed on the events of the last hour, he again opened his eyes and felt an
immediate annoyance fill him.
"Damn him..." He whispered harshly, his voice coming out in a croak.
Moving to get up, he could feel his own body resisting, wanting him to be still. But he would have none
of that as he forced himself from the cot, willing himself to stay on his feet despite the feel of
imminent collapse. He had to hold his pants up to keep them from falling to his ankles.
The room was small, perhaps a few square feet larger then his cell back in Arkham. White walls, metal
door, no window though.
"Solitary confinement then?" He laughed, moving forward, towards the entrance. He still felt immensely
weak, and his vision blurred slightly around the edge of his sight. But he purposefully ignored the
difficulties he was having, stepping with purpose. There was no way for him to see outside the cell,
and he could tell from the muffled, heavy atmosphere of the place that the room was soundproof, making
it impossible for him to determine activities outside, or who and what was there.
"Clever little Bat..." He whispered to himself, pressing his palm against the cool metal of the door
before leaning against it, his ear pressed up along it. He heard nothing and rolled his eyes.
Soundproof.
Immediately he scanned the area, looking along each corner carefully. There was no furniture in the
room, with the exception of the cot he'd been on, along with a toilet and sink, each bolted to the
floor or wall. No chairs or tables, no shelving. His eyes then moved to the ceiling, noting the
ventilation system, covered by a metal grid. That brought a smile to his lips as he moved under it,
squinting up to observe the structure. He was tall enough to where he could reach and grasp the thing
fully, letting the pants fall to the floor without another thought.
It was screwed in tight, and pulling on it as he was would have no effect. But that hardly deterred
him. Enough weight placed on the thing would loosen it and he had an idea.
Pulling the slacks from his feet and off, he then looped them through the grate and managed to will
himself the strength to pull his entire body off the floor while holding tight to the material.
Swinging his legs up and to the ceiling, he then pulled with all the strength he had, gritting his
teeth in the effort.
It was hard for him. He was weak and could feel himself sweating profusely. But his determination was
as strong as ever, and even when his fingers began to ache and his lower body and shoulder sockets felt
on fire, he held on, pulling, until, finally, after nearly five minutes of holding himself in that
position, the grate began to shift, the screws pulling from the beams. This drove him harder still,
pushing his feet against the ceiling more firmly as he tugged with his arms.
At last, after much persistence, the covering came loose completely, ripping violently from its hold,
and it, along with The Joker, went crashing down to the floor.
It was a fair fall. Eight feet. And when he hit the ground, flat against his back, it sent a shock wave
of pain from top to bottom, eliciting a sharp gasp. The pain didn't bother him; it was more the shock
of it and his body's natural reaction to having the air knocked from it.
He rolled to his hands and knees from there, coughing abruptly before it turned to giggles.
"_Guano-breath must be out_..." He thought, "_Or he'd have come by now_."
Finally managing to stand, the pain in his ribs would have debilitated near anyone else, coursing
through his torso. But he behaved as though he felt nothing at all, reaching down and pulling the pants
back on before taking the grate in his hand, eyeing the thing closely before looking up to the now
gaping hole above. It was too small to move through, but at least now he had a weapon. If he could
manage to ambush Batsy with the thing, he might have a chance out of this place.
Of course, the problem lay in how to go about it. The Joker had no doubt the room was being surveyed,
and if Batman rolled the footage back before entering, he would know what he'd done. An attack then
would be impossible. With any luck though, he could hide the metal rack beneath the covers of the cot
and hope the dear would come to examine him, get close enough for him to ram the thing over his head.
He felt his blood boil, recalling how he'd been put out. He'd have never allowed it if it weren't for
his own body betraying him. The thought elicited a chuckle, the irony of a hard earned escape, only to
fall almost instantly back in to captivity. A worse captivity at that. Batman would always be more
difficult to free himself from. Though not near impossible, he knew. There was always a way out.
Moving again to the bed, he pushed the piece of metal tightly beneath the covers, lying atop it, one
hand shoved under, resting along the would be weapon.
"Come on Batsy..." He spoke quietly to himself. "Come and get it..."
**
Alfred stood along the caves entrance and had been doing so for the better part of twenty minutes. The
rain by then had stopped, but it was cold and late. He'd barely gotten to the department store before
it had closed and his mood was growing more foul by the moment. If Bruce didn't return within the next
ten minutes, he told himself, he'd be going back to the manor. Joker or no Joker.
As it was, Bruce did turn up, only a short while later, pulling up alongside the older man, the car's
roof sliding open.
"The requested items, Master Bruce." Alfred held out the bags from the department store.
Batman took them, nodding.
"Thank you Alfred." He said simply.
The Butler gave a nod before turning on his heel, heading for the house.
The vigilante watched him before commanding the entrance open, pulling in and driving to the docking
platform before leaping from the cabin. He eyed the holding cell across the cave before moving quickly
to room's main monitor and pulling up its surveillance.
The Joker's sleeping form appeared on the screen. And Batman eyed it with suspicion, moving the camera
around the rest of the area. Nothing seemed out of place, nothing that he could detect from the image
in any event.
He sighed, reaching in to the bag Alfred had given him, pulling out the stack of clothing, wrapped neat
in tissue paper.
There were shirts and slacks, all in a variety of bright colors, but nothing else other then a pair of
soft slippers.
Batman chuckled lightly to himself. Alfred always delivered.
Flicking his eyes back to the monitor, The Joker continued in his stillness, and the detective supposed
he ought to check on him, though he didn't particularly relish the concept. Taking up a single pair of
pants and shirt, he moved towards the cell, reminding himself to stay cautious as he punched in the
code to the electronic keypad, listening as the door opened with a swoosh.
The Joker had been listening for any sign he could, and when he heard the door unlock, he breathed in
deeply, his grip tightening around the grate. He hoped Batman wouldn't notice the now gapping hole in
the ceiling. He'd been careful to clean away all the debris and screws from the floor. He waited,
stilling himself as much as possible as he heard footsteps approach behind him. He was going to have to
time this exactly right and hit hard if he hoped for it to work.
Batman advanced slowly, keeping his eyes on the thin man. Reaching closer, he looked carefully for
signs of breathing. Seeing none, he quickly became concerned, reaching out.
"Joker..." He said quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder.
In the next instant, the madman suddenly shifted, violently, rising up with unexpected quickness, the
metal grate in his hands. Batman was taken aback, clearly unprepared for such an attack, and a moment
later, he felt a hard object crack across his temple, knocking him to the floor.
The Joker wasted no time in leaping from the cot, dropping the grate and making quickly for the cell
door, again kicking the pants from his ankles as he pulled it open and ran out in to the cave.
The vigilante rolled to his knees and stood quickly. The cowl had absorbed the majority of the impact.
It had been more surprise and lack of preparation which had caused him to go down.
He huffed angrily, dashing across the room after the lunatic, noting the grate along the way, inwardly
cursing himself, again, for not expecting it. How in the hell had the madman gotten that thing from the
ceiling?! He didn't have time to worry about that now though. He had to get to The Joker before he got
his hands on some real weapon.
Moving out in to the cave, the sociopath was no where in sight.
Batman's brow furrowed. This wasn't good.
"Joker!" He growled loudly. There was no response. "Don't do this! You won't get out of here!" He was
met with only more silence as he moved cautiously forward, scanning every inch within his view.
The Joker had moved quickly to find a hiding spot, but not knowing the area, and realizing Batman was
fast on his trail, he'd had little opportunity, simply going to whatever cover he first came upon,
behind a large chest of tools and crouching low. He could only hear the vigilante moving across the
floor, he couldn't see him, and he shook his head at the position he found himself in. He had nothing
to use against his captor, and he had no clue as to how to exit the place. He could feel his blood boil
in anger.
Batman strained his ears for any sound he could, knowing The Joker couldn't be far. He knew he had
every advantage. This was his ground. The Joker was out of his element here and weakened. Still, he was
dangerous, no matter what. Especially when cornered, the detective knew the madman capable of anything,
and would resort to whatever means necessary in order to ensure his escape.
The Joker knew he had only one option at this point. Batman would pass by him, and when he did, he
would push against the tool chest he hid behind, hopefully in to the vigilante. Maybe from there he'd
have a chance to grab a weapon from the spilled contents and then it would all come down to a physical
fight. The chances weren't good, he knew, but he had no other choice at this point.
As it happened, Batman did pass by the chest and The Joker didn't hesitate, growling viciously as he
pushed against the metal box, ramming it hard against the vigilante, knocking both to the ground.
Batman accessed immediately what had happened as he saw The Joker reach down and take up a large
wrench.
"Damnit!" He spit, pushing the chest off as quickly as was possible, rolling away just in time to miss
the wrench striking him against the shoulder. The madman wasn't playing, not this time. He wanted to
get away.
The detective rolled to his feet fast and stood, facing the lunatic down. The Joker's eyes raged with
insanity with his teeth bared in anger as he gripped the wrench tight in his hand.
"Joker! Listen to me!" Batman tried to reason, though he knew it was a useless endeavor.
"You should have let me _be _Batman!" He spit back.
"Why!?" The detective responded. "So you could _kill _Warded Sharp!?"
"YES!" The Joker screamed.
Batman stood starring at him in disbelief. There was actually desperation in the maniac's voice. It was
a sound wholly alien sounding. One Batman had never before heard from The Joker.
It was frightening.
"Joker, listen to me..." He again tried, but the madman just shook his head.
"_No_!" He hissed. "_Damn _you Batman! Let me go!"
"You know I can't do that Joker." The detective responded calmly.
"Argh!" The Joker growled in frustration, shaking his head violently. And in the next instant, he
lunged at Batman with as much passion as the vigilante had ever seen.
The detective fell back and to the side, avoiding the blow of the wrench by mere inches. The Joker
turned quickly, his eyes mad. He was consumed suddenly by faintness, but ignored it, again leaping
forward, weapon pulled back with intent. Batman once more side stepped, turning before The Joker could
regain his balance, reaching out and taking hold of the thin man and pulling him forcefully back,
spinning him round and throwing him across the ground.
The Joker scrambled to get up, still holding the wrench, his own light headedness nearly putting him
back down. And Batman was quickly upon him, grabbing tight to his shirt before laying in to him with a
right cross.
He had hoped it would be enough to put the lunatic out, but it wasn't as the madman continued to
struggle against the vigilante's hold, literally attempting to bite at his hands.
"_Stop it_!" Batman spit, slapping The Joker across the face.
The sociopath wasn't listening, brining the wrench up to hit Batman along his forearm. But the
detective quickly took hold of the maniac's wrist, pressuring the right point until he dropped the
weapon. The Joker grabbed hold of the vigilante's own wrist then, starring into the masked man's face
with deadly determination.
"._Go_!" He spit through clenched teeth.
"_No_!" Batman answered back, suddenly rearing a fist back and smashing it against the madman's face.
Still The Joker wouldn't go out, glaring back at him with as much intensity as before. So the vigilante
again hit him. But still the lunatic kept his gaze on him. His frustration growing, Batman hit The
Joker again and again, harder each time, but The Joker's eyes never deviated from his own... he wouldn't
go unconscious.
"Stop _starring_ at me!" Batman finally roared, once more rearing his fist back and smashing it hard
against The Joker's jaw. And suddenly, the lunatic began to laugh, a quiet chuckle at first which soon
grew to near uproarious laughter.
The detective's teeth ground together in anger.
"You think this is funny!" He hissed in to the madman's face.
At that point, The Joker had all but gone limp in the vigilante's hands, consumed by his own hysterics.
"Y-heeheehee-Your f-face-heehee!" He giggled maniacally. "If you could see your f-face-hahaha!"
Batman's expression turned pointedly in to a frown then and he could feel his own grip loosen as he
starred back at his enemy.
And as abruptly as his laughter had begun, it cut off and The Joker again resumed to fix his gaze on
the detective.
"You _enjoy_ it." He said, licking the blood from his lips, his tone suddenly as serious as his face.
"You restrain yourself, and you think somehow that makes you better then me. But you feel the thrill,
don't you? You take as much delight in it as I do, but you deny yourself its full experience because of
some deeply ingrained code of morality, telling you its _wrong_." He laughed sharply then. "It isn't
_wrong_! _You're_ wrong, you complete fool!" He continued in his hysterics. "You're entire life,
everything you allow to guide you, it's all a lie! All of it! Don't you understand!? The basis on which
you've built your existence, it's all a joke! A falsity! And you're miserable because, deep down, you
know it's true! You deny your very nature and you're bitter for it!" The madman laughed harder still.
Batman fumed. He could feel his blood boil in rage.
"Shut _up_!" He raged suddenly, slamming The Joker down against the floor. The blow knocked the wind
from the lunatic, and in the next instant, the vigilante came down hard on him, smashing an elbow
against his temple, this time, knocking him cold.