Batman had checked the air duct after placing The Joker back in his cell, this time cuffing both his
wrists together, behind his back. He knew it would be uncomfortable for the madman, but he frankly
didn't care.
The vent had been ripped violently from its screws, and Bruce looked back to The Joker suspiciously
before again brining his gaze to the now damaged ceiling. There's no way the maniac would haven been
strong enough to tear the thing away with his bare hands. Would he?
The vigilante shook his head.
No.
That's when he noticed the slacks lying on the ground, and, taking them up, saw the wear against the
seams.
Huffing in annoyance, he exited the room and marched with purpose towards the cave's main computer
grid, bringing up the security footage from the last two hours, winding it back to the beginning. From
there, he fast-forwarded through the tape. Nothing happened through the first twenty minutes, but then
he saw The Joker sit up and he stopped the process, watching carefully.
The psychopath was talking to himself, but his speaking had been so low that the audio had failed to
pick it up well enough to hear. And then Batman saw him struggle to his feet. He could tell from the
way The Joker moved that the action alone had taken a great deal of determination. Watching the madman
observer his surroundings and then move towards the cell door, pressing his ear against it, Batman's
brow furrowed.
The Joker was dangerously clever, and it was more then apparent from the footage that he'd been
attempting to determine how he might escape his prison. The detective shook his head. The lunatic never
stopped, did he? It was going to be hard to keep him. He'd already nearly escaped, and if anyone could
figure a way out of that cell, he knew, it was The Joker. The sociopath matched his own skill as an
escape artist, perhaps even surpassed it, when considering how far he was willing to go, how unhesitant
he was to harm himself in order to get free from any binds.
Continuing to watch, he leaned in closer to the monitor when he saw The Joker move under the
ventilation system. The lunatic had reached up and gripped the thing with his hands and Batman snorted
at the thin man's height. Any one of his other enemies would have had to jump to reach the grate.
He felt his eyes go wide as he watched The Joker suddenly take off his own pants and loop them through
the metal cover before lifting himself off the ground entirely and swinging his legs up, his feet
pressed to the ceiling so he balled in to a curled position. From there Batman observed as the maniac
pulled with intensity against the slacks. He could scarcely believe what he was seeing as The Joker
held himself that way for several minutes before, finally, the grate came loose and he went crashing to
the floor.
The audio was able to pick up the sharp gasp which had come from the lunatic, and Batman watched with
even greater disbelief as The Joker rolled to his hands and knees and began to laugh.
He shook his head. This man was truly mad. With his current condition, his fractured ribs and the
wounds along his back, he knew the pain caused by the fall must have been enormous. But The Joker
didn't seem to even care, simply pushing himself to his feet, from there pulling the pants back on,
then sweeping the debris under the bed before concealing the metal cover beneath the cot's blanket and
laying atop it.
Batman stood then, shutting the monitor off in disgust.
His agitation was high, and while consciously he was putting it off to his having to stop The Joker
from twice escaping, all in the same night, what truly was causing his disturbance was what the madman
had said to him.
He told himself The Joker was wrong. He didn't enjoy it! He did what was necessary. The maniac refused
to cooperate, refused his help, instead making it harder on himself. If he didn't act that way, Bruce
would have no occasion to do what he did to him.
His brow furrowed, his mouth twisting in to a frown.
What the hell was wrong with him!? It was as though he were feeling guilt over having smashed the
lunatic's face in. He reasoned within his mind that there was no cause to feel such a thing.
It was just the psychopath's ability to manipulate again. He always knew the right thing to say, or the
wrong thing, whichever way one viewed it.
What perturbed him most was The Joker's insistence that Batman's entire world was predicated on nothing
more then a lie.
_That_ was a lie, he thought bitterly.
But the lunatic's twisted tongue spun it so convincingly. He was so apt in instilling doubt. It made
him incredibly dangerous and the vigilante knew it. He told himself he couldn't allow The Joker to
infiltrate his mind that way. He had to keep him out. That was the madman's main form of attack.
Emotional, mental. He could better spot a person's weaknesses then anyone the vigilante had ever known,
and he wouldn't hesitate in the least to use those weaknesses to his advantage. Batman was _aware_ of
this. So he told himself he had to steel himself against such offensive mounts from The Joker, try to
engage him as little as possible in conversation.
Already he'd allowed the maniac to talk him in to a rage. He'd allowed himself to be talked out of
control. And he knew that was exactly what The Joker had intended, had wanted.
It was an all around bad idea to converse with the man, he decided, moving away from the council.
He needed to rest.
**
By the time he'd awoken, several hours had past. Not that he would have known, being confined as he
was. Still, he sensed as much. Moving to get up, he quickly realized his hands were bound behind him,
and he felt his own eyes roll at the absurdity.
Glancing to his left, he noted a pile of cloths, lying beside the bed. So the sweetheart knew he was
going to get out of these things, leaving him to dress himself. He giggled softly at the thought. In
his earlier hast to get away, he hadn't bothered with dislocating his thumb, simply snapping it. Of
course, now that it was broken already, he simply unset it, dislocating the other before slipping his
hands through the manacles.
Eyeing the stack of cloths, he moved from the cot, picking the pile up gingerly and examining its
contents closely. He scoffed at the make.
"Where the hell did he pick these up from? Nordstrom's?" He frowned, rubbing the material between his
fingers. The colors were alright, blue and yellow, but the mix... Some kind of _blend_! Rayon and cotton,
no doubt.
"No taste..." He grumbled bitterly before shrugging, pulling off the shirt he wore. He had no pants.
Apparently, Batman hadn't bothered to redress him this time.
He laughed.
"Too disgusted, heh Batsy..." He grinned widely, slipping in to the shirt and slacks. They fit better,
but still woefully off his measurements.
Well, they'd have to do, for now.
Looking about, noting that the ventilation system remained uncovered, he was about to move to examine
the door, to pin point its weak spots, when he heard it unlatch from its lock, watching as it pulled
open.
Batman's large frame filled the entry way, and he stood still as a statue, eyeing The Joker stoically.
The madman's eyes traveled to the vigilantes hands, noting he held a platter of food.
He smiled.
"Come to feed me again Batsy?"
The detective didn't bother to answer, moving in to the cell and shutting the door behind him, never
taking his eyes from his enemy.
The Joker watched as he placed the tray on the floor, then stood, saying nothing.
"How sweet you are darling." The Joker kept grinning. "You know, you remind me of those school yard
bullies. You know, the ones who endlessly harass poor, young girls because, secretly, they harbor a
crush..."
He paused for effect, his smile widening.
"I'm your girl, aren't I dear?"
Batman could feel his muscles tense, his hands gripping in to fists.
"_Don't indulge him Bruce. Don't even acknowledge it._" He told himself, breathing in deeply to calm
his nerves.
The Joker kept his eyes fixed on the detective, quirking his head to the side.
"The silent treatment, eh?" He laughed. "I understand. Don't want me getting in to that pretty, little
head of yours; rattling around all the many pieces you try so desperately to keep hidden."
He paused, and took a step forward.
"Stay where you are Joker." Batman said, warning in his voice.
"Oh, but sweetheart, when has that ever worked?" The madman ignored him, continuing. "When has ignoring
me _ever _stopped me from _getting_ to you?" He advanced forward.
Batman stiffened more.
"Joker, _stay_!" He spit, anger boiling up inside him.
The lunatic stopped momentarily.
"Oh, is that how you now regard me?" He chuckled. "As a dog? Oh, but we both know I'm far too cute. A
puppy then? Perhaps?"
The vigilante said nothing, and so The Joker continued forward.
"You can pretend all you like cupcake. That I'm not there, in your thoughts. As though it will keep
safe those dirty, little secretes. But you and I, we both know..." He stopped mere inches from where
Batman stood, then lowered his voice to a whisper. "I can make you lose control whenever I damn well
please..."
Batman felt a shot of rage explode through him instantaneously, his jaw clenching tight, his eyes going
wide in fury. Suddenly, he'd lifted his hand, rearing it back to strike the madman across the face, and
only did he stop when he heard The Joker's laughter ringing in his ears and he realized exactly what
had happened.
He stared at the madman in disbelief, and The Joker simply continued to laugh, never taking a step
back.
When finally his hysterics began to die away, he straightened, looking the vigilante pointedly in the
eye.
"See?" He said simply, calmly.
Batman bristled, relaxing his stance, his hand coming back down to hang at his side.
They glared at each other for a long, few seconds before the detective abruptly reached out, taking
hold of The Joker's shirt and pulling him forward.
"You listen to me and you listen _good_!" He growled. "Whether you realize it or not, I'm trying to
_help_ you. But if you prefer, I can drop you off at Arkham's door step, no questions asked. And in
your current condition..." He suddenly pushed The Joker away, hard enough so that the madman stumbled,
falling to the ground. "I very much doubt you'd survive another session with Warden Sharp."
The Joker starred up at him, still grinning.
"Oh, but darling, you'd never do such a thing." He laughed. "You couldn't bare the burden of guilt,
letting me go back, knowing what waited. It's against your _ethical_ standards."
Batman came in on him, leaning down to look him in the face.
"How does that make you feel, _Joker_?" He said quietly. "You're so proud, aren't you? So confident in
yourself. So how does it feel? To know a two-bit quack like Sharp, a lowly _asylum_ director, was able
to reduce you to a shivering, quaking mess of a man, barely able to stand on your own?"
The Joker shifted, his smile faltering for a moment, his face going blank.
"That's..." He began, but was cut off by Batman continuing.
"Kept and tortured. Starved. You just barely got away with your life. If Sharp was able to do it to
you, Joker, it seems to me _anyone _could. You're _vulnerable_. And that's why you're so angry, isn't
it? Because this is a wake up call. You like to think of yourself as something _more_ then human, as
beyond the reach of others, beyond their influence and impact. You like to think you're above it all,
above being _hurt_. But your _not_! You're just as susceptible as the rest of us. The great _clown
prince of crime_, at the mercy of any who would have with him their way."
The Joker had stopped smiling completely then, his mouth now turned to a pronounced frown. He felt rage
erupt inside him, consume him, and for a moment, he was blinded by the emotion, lurching forward to
attack his tormentor, a murderous intent fueling him on.
"Shut _UP_!" He screamed, reaching his hands for Batman's throat. But the vigilante took hold of his
wrists, easily overpowering him as he was wrestled to the floor, on to his back, the detective
straddling him, hovering over, controlling his movement.
The madman struggled and strained against his captor, writhingly violently against the tight hold. But
Batman refused to give, tightening his grasp before pinning The Joker's hands to the floor, along
either side of his head.
"Let me _go_, _damn you_!" The lunatic spit, his eyes ablaze in fury, trying in vain to free himself.
The detective leaned in close to his face, and The Joker tried desperately to bite at him.
"You're right Joker, I _won't _bring you back. Not until Sharp and the guards who did this to you are
removed. But I want you to think about how _lucky _you are that it was _me_ who found you and not
someone else. Not one among your peers. Two-Face is walking the streets. I know he'd _love_ to get his
hands on you. Not one of the many, innocent people of this city who you've made in to your victims. How
many people would love to _end_ you? Take you someplace hidden and torture you for as long as they were
able to keep you alive?"
The Joker fought more viciously, wriggling in furious desperation to get away.
"Let me _GO_!"
"Don't think for one minute that it wouldn't have happened either Joker." Batman went on, ignoring the
madman's futile attempts against him. "You couldn't fend off a _child_ in your state. Anyone... _anyone_
could do what I'm doing now. Take advantage of you, subdue you... _control_ you."
The Joker went ballistic then, pushing against the heavier man with all the strength he had, a shrill,
inhuman cry escaping his throat, like some vicious animal trapped and desperate.
Batman looked upon him in shock for a moment, at the absolute savagery he saw in the man, the insanity,
before suddenly, he released his wrists and stood.
The Joker just laid there, his chest heaving with the exertion of his struggle. It seemed, for a
moment, he hadn't even realized he'd been let go. And then, abruptly, he rolled to his knees and fell
back, on to his bottom, pushing away until his back hit a wall. He kept his vividly light green eyes on
the detective, a look of pure, unadulterated hatred flashing within them, before suddenly he stood.
"Nobody controls me..." He whispered, his voice coming out in a hiss. "Nobody!" And he stepped forward,
intending to attack. He wanted so badly to _hurt_ the bastard. But he never got so far as again, his
world became a sickening merry-go-round of rotating circles and he stumbled forward, falling hard to
his knees, bile rising up in his throat, threatening to spill from his mouth.
Batman starred hard at him for a moment, saying nothing, his gaze intense.
"... I pity you Joker." He finally spoke, shaking his head. "I really do..."
And then he turned, walking back towards the cell's exit.
"There's food there." He waved to the tray, looking back.
The Joker's head hung low as he tried to will the vomit back down his throat, his fingers curling in
rage, underneath his palms, digging hard enough in to the flesh to draw blood. He refused to humiliate
himself further in front of this man.
"Eat it slowly, or you'll throw up again." The vigilante continued, opening the door. Before stepping
out, he turned fully to face the madman.
"There's no revenge for you this time Joker." He said. "No satisfaction. You'll have to live with
what's been done."
The Joker looked up at him finally, despite the room spinning before his eyes, his anger enveloping
every fiber of his being.
"You're my prisoner now." Batman went on. "And under my watch... you won't be getting out."
With that, he turned, stepping out of the room, locking the door behind him.
The Joker's teeth ground hard together as his eyes shut tight. And he stayed in that position, on his
knees, for several seconds until, finally, he could no longer hold in his anger, and he forced himself
to his feet, stumbling uneasily over to the food tray and taking it up in his hands, hurling it with
all his strength against the closed door.
"I DON'T _NEED_ YOUR GOD DAMNED _PITY_, BATMAN!" He yelled as the food and platter smashed against the
metal entry, its contents flying all over the place.
All the madman could see was red as he spun around, looking for something, _anything_, he could
destroy.
"_You're_ the one who garners pity! You wretch! Wallowing... WALLOWING in self-loathing!"
He nearly ran to the bolted on sink, taking the porcelain tight in his hands and pulling, leaning back
so that all his weight was supported only by his hold on the thing, straining so hard to get the
fixture from the wall that his face began to turn red with the effort.
And finally, it became too much, and he lost his grip, falling backward, on to his bottom.
He staggered to his feet again, running to the toilet, trying to lift the tank lid. But the thing was
welded tight. So he clawed at the handle, trying to rip it from its spot, so persistent that finally
his fingers began to tear and bleed.
Finally it was gotten and he starred at the small, plastic object for a moment, realizing at once its
uselessness and raging further, slamming it against the floor so hard, it shattered. And he then moved
to the cot, tearing the blanket and pillow away, digging his now bloodied fingers in to the material of
the bed, attempting desperately to tear a hole through the thick covering.
It yielded no results and, finally, he gave up, turning violently and hurling himself towards the
scattered tray, taking it up and driving it wildly, viciously against the metal door, over and over
until the thing broke in to pieces.
And then he dropped suddenly to his knees, gripping his head between his hands, his fingers digging
painfully in to his scalp as his eyes closed and his teeth ground together.
He looked as though he were in the worst kind of pain.
Batman had been watching all of this unfold on the room's security monitor, taken aback.
The madman was losing it.
Leaving the room, though he denied it to himself, Bruce had felt an all-consuming gratification at what
he had done, finally wiping the smile from The Joker's face, _hurting _him the way he had. But he
couldn't admit how much he'd enjoyed it, he couldn't accept he'd felt those things, felt immense
satisfaction at overpowering and controlling the lunatic, at making him squirm and writhe. So he
ignored the sensation, while at the same time indulging his curiosity to see how the psychopath would
react.
Seeing what he now did though, he was suddenly consumed by a nagging feeling of guilt as he realized
The Joker may very well hurt himself in his rage and desperation.
And his fear became reality as he watched the maniac again rise to his feet and move to the wall,
suddenly smashing his own head against the metal repeatedly.
"Damnit!" Batman hissed, turning from the monitor and running for the cell.
Unlocking the door as quickly as possible, he rushed in and towards The Joker, wrapping the madman in
his arms from behind and pulling him from the wall.
"Joker, _stop it_!" He growled against the thin man's ear.
But The Joker only fought viciously against the hold, flailing madly.
Bruce held tight, nearly losing his grip when he was thumbed in the eye.
It drove the vigilante harder to gain control as he forced the madman forward and down, until his lay
flat on his stomach, Batman pinning his wrists to the floor.
From the position he now found himself in, and from the exhaustion of having exerted so much energy
tearing the place apart, The Joker could barely move at all as the vigilante leaned down on him from
behind.
Batman watched him carefully, noting his ragged and struggled breath, and finally the blood trickling
from the lunatic's forehead, on to the floor, along with his bloodied fingers and again unset, broken
thumb.
He shook his head.
"Joker, you have to stop..." He finally said.
He waited for his enemy to explode, to struggle against him, but The Joker just lay still, doing
nothing, the side of his face pressed flat against the concrete floor.
"Let me up." He finally said, his voice quiet, calm even.
"If I let you up, are you going to go berserk again?"
The Joker said nothing, remaining still.
"If you do, I'll have to put you down." Batman warned.
When again the madman failed to respond, the detective loosened his grip before standing slowly.
The Joker didn't move for several seconds, just lying there. Batman made sure never to take his eyes
from him. And finally the thin man pushed himself to his hands and knees, and then to a sitting
position.
He didn't bother to go from the spot, to stand or address the vigilante, instead keeping his back to
him, brining his knees up and hooking his arms around them, holding his wrist in his hand.
Batman breathed in deep, at last moving around to stand in front of the lunatic. He frowned when the
thought entered his mind that The Joker looked very much like a child who'd had his feelings hurt.
The gash on his head was substantial.
"You split your head open." The vigilante spoke. "It'll need stitches." Glancing down to his hand, he
again noted the broken thumb, nearly sighing in frustration. "And that'll need to be reset." He
finished, wondering incredulously how the madman did these things to himself and still managed to stay
alive.
The Joker hadn't yet looked at Batman, keeping his eyes trained on the floor.
Batman wanted to roll his eyes at The Joker's sudden childish behavior.
It seemed incomprehensible to him, how someone who's I.Q. had been measured at well above 190, as far
up to 200, could at the same time display such immaturity, could so resemble a little boy, both in how
he would carry and conducted himself.
The detective sighed.
"I'll gather what'd needed." He said, moving away. "And we'll get that done."
The Joker began to shake his head then.
"Let me alone..." He spoke finally, his voice a whisper.
Batman turned back to him.
"I can't do that Joker." He answered. "You require medical attention."
"What I _require_," The madman finally looked up to him. "Is to be left _alone_."
The detective shook his head.
"You either _let_ me stitch you up and reset that, or I'll incapacitate you and do it then."
The Joker just stared at him, his face twisted in to disgust.
He knew there was nothing he could do. No chance he had of fighting back. He was simply too weak. And
the realization alone nearly threw him in to a rage.
The two men glared at each other intently for several seconds until, finally, The Joker looked away,
again falling silent.
Batman watched him further for a long moment, at last taking that as his queue to leave and retrieve
the supplies.
He hoped the madman would cooperate, just this once.