A/N: -returns from long vanishing spell- WRITER'S BLOCK NEEDS TO GO DIE. Seriously. –cough- But yes, I have come back with a spiffy new installment, and am still trying to work out the plot. :3 It'll go fast, but I hope it won't seem too rushed, because they already have known each other for a fairly long time.

Okay, enjoy part two! Thanks to everyone who's been reading. :D

-insert clever disclaimer here-




The Joker knew that what he was doing was dangerous, even for him. Sure, dodging bullets and routinely pissing off mob bosses wasn't labeled the most accident free job, but he was good at that. There was nothing he had to really lose, so it wasn't dangerous at all.

Continuing to flirt with Batsy-poo, however, now there was something to lose.


Why the hell did he do that? Okay, so it was true that he was probably one of the most impulsive people in the whole worthless world, but that…well. It wasn't hard for him to randomly decide to start toying and playing and flirting, but being so inclined for one select person was so weird. Don't worry, it wasn't a planned thing or anything; he just wanted to. Wanted to, wanted to, wanted to.

He stared briefly at the knife in his fingers. Without a knife he felt like he was missing a part of him. "What does Batsy always have to carry with him, hm? See, he doesn't need anything, right? That's why he wouldn't get you."

Nobody understood the clown. He didn't understand himself. Eventually though, he'd just gotten used to it because he couldn't help it. That was how he was. Not crazy. Only him. And by no reason was he ever going to become an obedient, sweet and innocent little doll like the rest of the world.

Playing with dolls was what he liked, not being one.


Seriously now, why the fuck was he leaving Batsy such an open invitation?

Seriously. And seriously as in seriously, not like a bad pun. (Although, him being so serious did make him laugh with mirth. Ah, the world and life in general were funny places, no matter how much he hated them both.)

"Batsy, Batsy, look at me… I'm playing with knives again, aren't I? Haha…Mommy always said not to play with knives. Look where I ended up soon after! Oh, am I talking to myself again? Bad…bad habit…"

Sometimes the hench-clowns would stumble in on him and be scared witless. Now that was hilarious. You really can't blame him for playing it up sometimes.

But, trying to distract himself from the whole huge Batman issue at hand was totally not working. He was still very much not distracted.

Those damn uncontrollable impulses… "Come on, why couldn't it be an impulse to go blow up the Eifel Tower or something?" He whined to himself, shoving away his knife. "Batsy?! Ah, maybe I am crazy after all…"

All of the time in the interrogation room and on the roof of the Pruit Building too, he had been thinking in some corner of his mind or another that he wouldn't mind it if those lips would kiss him. Actually, when he'd said "You complete me," he'd been halfway hoping Gotham's lovely dark knight might take what he's said the wrong way (the right way?) and kiss him, if only to prove it was a phase.

A phase like some hormonal teenager.

Ha ha…ha…

No, the sad part was it wasn't a phase; otherwise the Joker wouldn't have been so eager to show up again the next Saturday.


Bruce Wayne wasn't exactly having a much better time figuring out what was going on. He was sitting once again surrounded by pretty women, the prettiest ones Gotham had to offer, and there was no question that each and every one of them were absolutely fawning over him. Making total fools of themselves.

He could have had any one of them he wanted. Any one of them.

But he didn't.

He was bored of them.


Him, the one who wasted hours going after them and was well known for it, was bored.

There just wasn't any excitement in it. For some reason he was never satisfied anymore. Hell, he hadn't been in ages. Not since…not since the Joker had been apprehended by the SWAT team on the roof.

He was begging for that to be a simple coincidence, but somehow he was aware it wasn't.

God, why can't it be a coincidence? He pleaded inside his pounding head, and quickly found himself answering back reluctantly, Because you know it's not. You damn well know that it's not.

Biting his lip, he suddenly felt out of place. That was odd, he thought, because he was very talented at charming all of these women. Flash a grin, hold your head high, speak like you're sure of yourself, and you'll have them. He knew exactly what to do around them, but this time he was getting lost inside his own head and not paying attention.

They were noticing, and one tall blonde was starting to complain. "Bruce, did you hear my question…?" She whined, running a thin finger down his arm. "What kind of perfume do you think is sexiest, hmmm?" Her voice was a seductive drawl, and some of the others bristled and glared at her.

"What? Per-perfume…?" He tried to snap back into his usual attentive self, but he wasn't into it today.

"What fragrance makes you lose yourself, you know…?" Ah, the way she wouldn't let up. if she didn't quit soon a cat fight was almost certainly going to erupt. None of the women Bruce dabbled in ever knew when to stop. Or maybe they just enjoyed making each other jealous.

Fragrance. A fragrance that made him lose himself…

Well, funny you should ask that, darling.

Without much hesitation at all, and answer sprung out from his throat, and it was the most truthful thing he'd told them all day. "Grease paint and gun powder."

Taken by total surprise, the blonde woman pulled away and fell back into the arm of her chair. Wrinkling her perfect nose, she winced, "Why would you ever say that?!"

The Wayne heir tried to recover. "Oh, no reason…" he muttered. (Liar. Liar, liar, pants on fire.)

Oh, but was he flaming…


Saturday couldn't have come soon enough. Bruce needed to feel like he had answers, or he was absolutely terrified he might have some sort of epic breakdown. His headaches refused to go away, and sleep was getting scarcer and scarcer as the week progressed. He was so anxious that he left the costume of the Bat in its case.

And he wasn't quite sure if it was because he actually felt comfortable with where he was going or just because he couldn't even spare two minutes more of delay.

Alley and rooftops, tooftops and alleys… They were so welcoming.


Clowns, fucking clowns…

Not so welcoming, but so penetrating…

He drive fast, needless to say. And the clown still beat him there.

He was calmly waiting, leaned up against a brick wall and twirling a knife in his hand. This one was real, because playing the same trick twice was boring. Too much like a plan that way…and he knew not to trust plans, because they all went wrong anyway. Like, someone could tell you that no, absolutely not, would he hit you over the head with a frying pan. And maybe, stupidly, you might go ahead and believe him because you thought he was your friend. Ten minutes later, BAM! A frying pan comes slamming into your head, and the whole plan goes to hell.

Admittedly, perhaps it wasn't the greatest example, but that was how the Joker saw things.

Speaking of seeing, however, he was sort of surprised when he saw Bruce Wayne tearing onto the scene instead of the Batman.

Hm, seems like somebody's getting braver? Wonder what came over him. Interesting though… The Joker glanced at him, feigning uncaring. You know, in person instead of in the tabloids, Brucie looks even better.

Brucie was in no mood to be ignored. He wanted a few answers, damn it, not silence! "You're the one who told me to come here, so talk to me, you son of a bitch." He growled coldly, trying to ignore the way his heart suddenly felt light.

The Joker gave a long sigh and grinned a half smile. "Really, you don't need to call me names… That's no way to make a person like you."

"I never said I wanted you to like me!"

He chuckled. "Defensive, defensive. Would you feel better if I put away my pretty little knife? Would you calm down some? I don't like talking to such hyper people…"

"I'm not defensive!" Bruce sputtered, gritting his teeth and knowing full well that he was being defensive, but he hated the feeling in his chest and he wanted it to go away. It didn't belong there near the Joker.

He knew it did, though. Just by the way it wouldn't leave, he knew it did belong there in some twisted way.

"Mhm. Keep telling yourself that, honey."

Bruce cringed. "I wasn't telling myself anything. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do," The Joker disagreed cheerfully, "I've got to say though, your real voice is much more flattering than the creepy one you use as Batsy."

God, he wouldn't shut up about anything but what he wanted to hear."Damn it. Tell me what you want me here for, or I'll just leave. I am busy, and I do have better things to do…"

"I'm bored," The Joker said simply, glancing at him. "I'm even being relatively good as of late. No explosions, no bank robberies, no tormenting the mob, no scaring civilians… But, ah, it's so boring. However, you're fun. So I say to myself, 'Hey, let's play with Batsy!' And then- and then you play right along…you are fun, Batsy. The way you dig yourself into such holes all the time, it's really quite—"

"SHUT UP." Shut up, shut up, shut up, I can't listen to you talking like that any more! He'd slammed the clown hard into the wall, and pinned him there by the arms. The Wayne heir knew what the Joker was saying was true, and he knew that there wasn't any other reason.

But oh, he just wanted his heart to quit that goddamned fluttery feeling inside when the clown said those things. Fuck, and it was like his skin was overheating or something, because it was getting hotter than usual inside his business suit.

"Ha ha…ha, oh my!" The Joker licked his lips and goaded him on, enjoying himself even though he must have been uncomfortable under Bruce's tight grip. "If I didn't know better, I'd, ah, say you were going to kiss me or something, judging by this, ah, very compromising position, hmmmm?"

The way he drew out the last 'hm' pushed Bruce too far, and the heat and the head ache and the contact made him lose control.

"What fragrance makes you lose yourself?"

"Grease pain and gun powder."

Lose yourself.

Grease paint.


Lose yourself.

…Fuck it.

And he wanted so badly for it all to go away, to disappear, that he did exactly what the Joker had plainly suggested he try.

Their lips met.

And the most horribly part was that his heart did come back together, but the moment he pulled away, it fell right back into hungry, fluttery fragments.

Slightly stunned, the clown prince blinked and had an uncertain look on his scarred face. "Um…wow. You didn't have to take me so literally. What was that about…?"

Bruce blinked as well and back away, frightened by how his skin was tingling with pleasure. "Wait, you didn't mean for that to…?"

"Not..necessarily… Um, wow. Definitely can't say I'm bored now."