It was a moment. A brief flash of the man he’d been for decades. It passed very quickly though, the massive, grotesque smile. There were lines around his eyes now he no longer used the over the top makeup that had for so long struck terror into the citizens of Gotham. He sat back into the gently whirring massage chair that was his almost constant companion, his back an entire citadel of aches. The years of taking on the Batman had taken their toll on him.
He spared a thought for his old enemy and chuckled at the thought of the sheer mass of injuries he must have lived through. How he’d envied the brute force with which Bane had literally broken Batsy on one beautiful, almost tragic occasion. The iconic rictus flickered on his face again for a moment.
He grabbed his cane, the one with the jewel encrusted joker head on it, the only bit of memorabilia he’d kept from the old days. It had been a gift from old Cobblepot, and it was worth an absolute fortune. Not that he cared that much about money anymore.
He walked out to the street, hobbling slightly. He wasn’t a particularly old man, but he was, physically at least, a broken one. He just wanted to live out the rest of his days with the rest of his wealth. He paused at a newspaper stand and looked at the headlines.
“Top of the morning to you sir!”
The vendor’s voice was bright and cheerful. Too cheerful. And who in Gotham used a greeting like that? He got halfway in character, and the grin came out to play. The vendor recoiled a bit.
“Good morning to you, kind citizen. I haven’t my glasses on me, so pray tell, what does the news say?
His smile didn’t shift as the vendor told about crime after crime that the Batman had foiled. If the vendor had any training in reading body language, however, he’d have noticed the clenching of both fists around the head of the cane, the slight twitch in the eye, and the way the seemingly harmless man had drawn himself up to his full height. He didn’t though, and it was just as well for him, as there’s no telling what might have happened if he’d been thought to be goading the Clown Prince.
“And he vouched for the Joker’s old broad! You know, Harley Queen or something! She’s strictly on the straight an’ narrow now.”
The Joker winced at the mispronunciation, said a hurried thank you and walked away. He was angry, and knowing why he was angry made him even more so.
He hurried back to the abandoned amusement park he called home. It was familiar, a safe haven for a clown in an un-mad, sanitised world. He’d had the traps removed and a few creature comforts installed, but apart from that it was a functional fairground. His functional fairground.
He often left the carousel spinning so he could waltz to the music - by himself, now that Harley wasn’t here. She hadn’t left Gotham, but she had refused to stand by him during his trial. He had deserved that, of course. She had been devoted to him and when she had needed him most, he had tossed her aside like an old toy. He’d always been abusive towards her, but the coldness with which he had rejected her had even stunned the Batman.
He remembered it well. It had been one of the things that had escalated his downfall. He had set an elaborate trap for the Dark Knight. It would have been hilarious. It was a pastiche of all the big villains Batman had ever fought - a coin deluge a la TwoFace, a Penguinesque attack by a genetically modified peregrine falcon, a physical and psychological pummelling by Bane, slow acting poison by Ivy - all part of an elaborate death trap maze courtesy of the Riddler which he was forced to go through under the Mad Hatter’s mind control. The Joker chuckled at the perfect plan. He’d even got Carmine Falcone and Rupert Thorne to team up to decimate Wayne Industries and leave the Batman penniless.
He’d blamed Harley, of course. She must have done something wrong. It had been the perfect plan. So when Harley inevitably came running, screaming for her Pudding, he didn’t tell her to get lost. He delivered her to Hugo Strange at Arkham Asylum and had her remanded as a risk to society, staying to watch the initial shock treatments - not that they helped his mood much.
Still, he missed Harley somewhat.
He turned on the TV in an attempt to distract himself. Harley was on the news. Her voice had lost some of its pitch, but she seemed happy.
His anger was misplaced, he knew. It had never been Harley’s fault. If he really wanted to kill the Batman he should have shot him in the head at point blank range.
The thought calmed him somewhat. A dead Batman meant anarchy in Gotham. Exciting. He hadn’t been excited in years. He wouldn’t lead the brave new world Batman’s death would usher in, but he could be the catalyst. He could kill the Batman.
“Ha ha! Ha ha ha ha ha! Kill the Batman!”
It sounded amazing out loud. The thought reverberated in his head, filling every part of his psyche. Suddenly it was crystal clear. For the Joker to find peace, the batman had to die.
He spent the next few days plotting. There had to be a crime with all the hallmarks of the Joker’s devious mind to draw out old Batsy. He toyed with the idea of bringing Harley in, but decided against it. It had to be personal.
When the Joker’s ghastly visage appeared above the city, commissioner Sarah Essen hoped and prayed it was a prank. She had been promoted to Commissioner after her husband died at the Joker’s hand, and she had lived in terror until the Batman finally caught the Clown Prince and put him in a facility as far away from Gotham as humanly possible - the Phantom Zone.
It was harder for her to get up to the roof these days, and she was thankful the Batman had upped his game in the years following the Joker’s comeuppance. She rarely had to summon him ever, but tonight she had to know.
He was already there, brooding in front of the filtered strobe light that was casting the Joker’s face into the night sky.
The gravelly baritone Bruce Wayne assumed when in his Batman persona had never really deceived her, she liked to think.
The silence between them seemed heavy with questions.
“They shouldn’t have let him out,” the Commissioner said quietly.
“Doesn’t matter. I need to take him down.”
The Batman looked in her direction for the first time that night. His cowl only covered the top of his face, and slight fuzz that covered his chin was flecked with grey. You may be in peak human condition, but nobody lives forever, she thought.
“Nothing, nothing. It has to be done.”
In the few moments she spent contemplating her next words, he left. She looked up and was relieved at the fact. There was a time she would have been furious at the abruptness of his departure. Now she just wanted it to end. All of it.
She hobbled back down the fire escape to her office and waited for the inevitable rush of activity that would signify a Joker sighting.
Gotham City Bank. The Batman had foiled more robbery attempts than he could count. All of his Robins had numbers. Batgirl had... he remembered what the Joker had done to Batgirl. To Jason. To Commissioner Gordon.
Every important building had a skylight with an external lock that opened with a digital key that only Batman, the Commissioner and the Mayor had. The real key to the city, Mayor West used to say with a rich little chuckle that often made the Batman half smile in spite of himself.
He slid down into the building from the bank’s skylight. He knew the Joker would be expecting it, but he didn’t have the patience for stealth. He wanted the Joker taken down as quickly as possible.
The little circle pressed into his temple the moment his feet touched the floor.
“Hello Batsy,” the Joker spat. There was mirth in his voice, but it was tinged with an incredible amount of bitterness. Batman shifted his weight and launched his right arm up, knocking the gun out of the Joker’s hand. It spun up in the air and he spun to face his old foe, throwing a black gloved hand towards the Joker.
The Batman touched a pressure point on his cowl and murmured “switch to infra red.”
“Oh I’m not hiding Batsy, although you might want to wish I was.”
He closed the distance between them before batman had a chance to react.
The first two shots flung the Batman back onto the floor of the bank, the Kevlar that protected his chest battered, his ageing heart beating against it like a marching band. He made to get up, but the Joker swept his feet out from under him. The former maniac sat on Batman’s chest, put the gun a couple inches above the horrified face, and pulled the trigger.
Tears filled his eyes as he walked away, but he wiped them and held his head high as he got into the chauffeur driven limousine that was waiting for him. He wiped off his make up carefully and changed out of the purple suit. Dark slacks and a fitted nude-striped shirt were offset by plain white sneakers, and he became a rich middle aged man about town trying to have a good time.
Essen sensed that something was amiss before the Joker’s signal went out. She ran into the dark bank. Her hands shook as she surveyed the scene in front of her.
She thought quickly, her mind moving faster than her feeble frame would allow.
Nobody had called it in, so she had time to do what had to be done.
“You, Conroy! With me. And you, Timms. The rest of you stay here and let me know as soon as the paramedics get here.”
Between them they hurriedly shrugged the cape, cowl and suit off the still warm body, and shoved them behind a counter. When there was no way of connecting Bruce Wayne to the Batman, she looked into her officers’ faces.
“One word of this gets out, and your careers, your lives as you know them, are over.”
The she raised her voice.
“Civilian down! Where is the damn paramedic!?”
The whispers started as the paramedics stretchered the still form out into the ambulance. Essen climbed in with the body and the vehicle moved swiftly through Gotham without its sirens. The Commissioner held a press conference as soon as she returned to the station. Bruce Wayne had been shot dead at point blank range earlier that evening. Police were exploring the possibility it was related to the sighting of the Joker symbol over Gotham earlier in the evening. Yes, the Joker had agreed to come in for questioning. No, there would be no further comments until a breakthrough was made in the investigation. As she hobbled back into the station, she wished for the first time in a long time that her husband was still alive. She considered calling Barbara, but they spoke too rarely to be any source of comfort to one another. She called Bullock instead. He’d been rough around the edges when he was an officer with her husband, but he was a good man, and one of the few whose corruption her husband had overlooked in favour of his other qualities. He lived on a farm outside Gotham these days, retired since Commissioner Gordon’s death. He picked up the phone on the first ring.
“Harvey, did you see the press conference?”
Silence. Harvey Bullock had always been jealous of the Batman, unwilling to work with a vigilante but in awe of the undeniable effectiveness of his methods. He had grown to greatly respect the Batman, and one of the reasons he’d retired was the knowledge that the Batman was there to protect Gotham better than he ever could.
“I’m on my way,” he said, and hung up the phone.
Blood seeped from the deep gouges on Selina’s arm. In fairness, she had almost strangled Isis when she’d heard. The tears flowed freely down her face. After all this time, she still loved the Batman fiercely, and it was out of respect for him that she had stopped being Catwoman. He had paid her the courtesy of telling her he was going to take down Gotham’s criminals for good. She had laughed in his gorgeously sculpted face and then kissed it, but he hadn’t responded. It had been a matter of days later when the Joker had been sent to the Phantom Zone.
She picked up her phone. It emitted a whiny laugh that made her wince.
“Hey darlin’” Harley minced down the line.
“Harley, I think the Joker killed the Batman.”
For the first time in their shared existence, Harley Quinn spoke without a lilt to her voice.
“No. Bruce Wayne’s death was announced a few hours after the Joker’s signal went out over Gotham.”
“That’s not how it works. He’d kill anyone close to Batman, but he’d never kill him. He wouldn’t have a reason to go on.”
Selina paused for a moment.
“You need to sit tight,” Harley replied. “I’m going down to Gotham PD to offer them my assistance. I know the Joker better than anyone, and if he’s guilty I can get him to tell me. Just seeing me will make his blood boil.”
“Harley, I know what he did to you?”
“It’s Dr. Quinzel, and I know what he did as well. That’s why I don’t wear a fool’s costume anymore. I’m done being anyone’s idiot.”
Harley put her voice back on.
Jerome Napier didn’t like to be called Jack. He liked the sound of Jerome. It was round. It rhymed with ‘home’. He couldn’t at this point remember what his real name was, and every time the psychiatrists who had spent years curing the Joker had tried to induce the memory, the psychosis returned. In the end they reminded him he’d once gone by the name Jack Napier, and he’d allowed them call him that. He much preferred Jerome though.
He was in the precinct now, explaining how he couldn’t possibly have killed Bruce Wayne to an enraged Harvey Bullock.
“You’re not even an officer anymore, Mr Bullock,” he said quietly, interrupting an invective filled rant. “I don’t have to answer your questions, and I don’t want to.”
Commissioner Essen walked in and chuckled mirthlessly.
“You will answer all our questions, Joker.”
Jerome winced at the name. He’d only killed the Batman to finally set himself free, and he felt more at peace than he had in years. He was mildly surprised to find out Bruce Wayne was Batman, but then again he’d always hated the rich fool just as much, so it was no real loss. It did kind of ruin the whole Dark Knight aesthetic for him though.
He mused silently, unimpressed and uninterested in the discussion around him. There was no way they could tie him to this. A copycat must have done it. He was cured.
After seven centuries Ra’s still spoke with the clarity and authority of a well tuned bell. Talia turned away from Damian and faced her father.
The Demon Head paused for a moment. He looked at his grandson with a glint in his eye and malice in his heart, and spoke quietly.
Damian hadn’t been paying much attention to anyone, lost in his own musings and uninterested in anything but himself. He didn’t want to go to Gotham and he didn’t want to see his father. He didn’t even want to be here.
“To honour your father’s legacy.”
He’d forgotten about his grandfather’s formidable temper. In a flash he was on his back, a sword at his neck.
“You will not disrespect me. You will not question me. Your father, although I despised him greatly, was a man of honour and you will keep his name alive.”
“You are the Son of the Bat and the grandscion of the Demon Head. You are more than capable.”
His mother’s voice still sounded like smooth, rich syrup over ice cream. He stopped arguing and started thinking.
“My costume will be comfortable, and white. I will have horns. I will be at once angel and demon and bat.”
Ra’s could see the homage and the individuality, and he respected it. He had his personal costumier and technicians work with Damian and ordered them to get him ready within days. As the straight faced young man left with them, he spoke quietly to Talia.
“It’s about time the brat started to do something worthwhile.”
Talia smiled. She didn’t agree with the Demon Head’s reason, but her heart was heavy, and she could think of no better way to honour her beloved than what he had come up with. And having Damian out of the way would make it easier to bring Bruce back to her.
The Joker almost jumped out of his seat when Harley walked into the room.
Let’s rephrase that, since they’re both civilians now. Jerome almost jumped out of his seat when Dr Quinzel walked into the interrogation room.
The question was at once pure incredulity and infinite scorn.
“Come to gloat have you?”
“Awww puddin’” she fawned sarcastically. “No I haven’t. I’m here to find out why you killed Batman.”
“Don’t play coy with me, Jack Napier.”
He longed to wrap his hands around that neck and squeeze it till it snapped. How dare she gather the nerve to be anything but obsequious to him. He looked in her beautiful eyes and it hit him. She wasn’t asking him if he did it because she knew. He may have twisted her all ends up and played on her emotions to an incredible degree, but she was still a clinically trained psychiatrist, and she’d studied him for years.
“It’s the only way I can be free, Dr Quinzel.”
For the first time since he’d become the Joker, he realised that by killing the Batman he’d acknowledged that the game was over and he’d been beaten. He spoke then. He spoke about how he only wanted to be left alone, how he was tired of everything and everybody. He didn’t regret what he’d done, but he wasn’t that person anymore - or at least he didn’t want to be. How else could he prove to himself that he wasn’t the Joker anymore? The Joker would never have killed the Batman - it would be suicide. Harley let him finish and smiled.
Selina helped Talia because she didn’t know what else to do. Everyone else seemed useful. Harley had gotten a full confession out of the Joker, Bullock had started working with the new White Bat to keep the streets of Gotham safe, the Commissioner had taken Arkham in hand and the Joker was in a secure unit having the last vestiges of the Clown Prince stripped away. When Talia had come to her to ask her to rob Bruce Wayne’s grave, it had seemed disgusting and disrespectful, but it had given her something to do other than mope and nurse her broken heart.
Getting past the police stationed to control the crowds that had gathered every day since the murder was the easy part. She had considered putting on the old Catwoman costume, but even though she was still the same size she had been all those years ago, it didn’t feel right. She had squeezed into a comfortable pair of jeans and a turtleneck sweater, and she looked just like any other mourner. She had taken advantage of an understandable lapse in concentration to slip past the patrol and eased herself down into the Wayne Family crypt. Talia joined her a few moments later, and they made short work of opening the ornately carved coffin. When they emerged with the body, she noticed a neat pile of uniformed officers leaning against a nearby tree. She chuckled and looked over at her employer, who shrugged. A sudden gust of wind brought her back to the present, and the grin slid right off her face.
This was Bruce Wayne’s body they were carrying, the man both of them had loved above any other. The man both of them had loved not as the playboy billionaire philanthropist, but as Gotham’s gruff, taciturn guardian of the night. She knew Bruce and Batman would both disapprove of being brought back by the Lazarus Pit, but she was as desperate as Talia to see his face again, to smirk at him knowing her insistence on being Catwoman drove him crazy.
The drive to Gotham Airport was uneventful. They picked Harley up from the precinct and flew straight for Nanda Parbat.
Ra’s was expecting them, and did not try to stop them, only warning them that as the Batman had killed in his career and had lived in the darkness, his madness would be severe.
Four of his maidens prepared Bruce Wayne’s corpse for the ritual. He was anointed with healing and soothing oils, swathed in the rich black and gold cloth that only high ranking League of Assassins members were permitted to fashion into robes, and placed on a quickly assembled wooden platform.
“This part of the process is often harrowing to those who have loved the resurrected,” Ra’s warned. The three women looked at him, unmoving. He shrugged and raised his hands. The maidens disappeared, and four pallbearers took their place. They hoisted the platform on broad shoulders and walked over to the gently bubbling pit. Ra’s lowered his hands, and they lowered the platform carefully into the pit, careful not to touch the surface of the water. The Bat’s body lay just beneath the surface, and the water churned around him. Greens and reds erupted around him as the baleful life giving force made its way into his body.
All of a sudden the churning stopped. Bruce lay still, still just beneath the water, a beatific smile of his face. Moments passed, moments that seemed like aeons to the women. Talia had seen this before - with her own father - so she knew it was only a matter of time. Selina’s perfectly manicured nails were tearing into the leather of her jacket as she hugged herself.
Harley’s whisper was urgent, worried. She didn’t care much for the Batman, but it had been Bruce Wayne who had made it possible for her to return to her career after decades as the Joker’s accomplice. Even as Batman he had treated her with more dignity and respect than the maniac she had loved.
He only ever tried to stop me from hurting people
The revelation hit her hard, and her eyes opened in shock. The man she had antagonised for most of her adult life had consistently avoided hurting her and she had paid him no notice whatsoever.
Lost in her thoughts, she missed the moment when Bruce emerged from the pit. His leap landed him directly on on of Ra’s men, who stood no chance against the man Ra’s himself had trained. In a second a neck snapped loudly, and Bruce was crouched like a panther, ready to pounce on anyone. His jet black hair was streaked grey at the sides, his eyes wild and menacing, full of a cunning none of the women had seen in Batman. His smile was cruel and taunting.
The remaining three men jumped on Bruce. It was the last thing any of them did. Free of the usual restraint the Batman showed, the deranged person before them murdered the men with devastating efficiency. He stood up, his back still arched, and approached the women.
Ra’s, who had watched impassively from a nearby doorway, pounced. Sensing an equal, Feral Bruce stalked.
“That’s it,” Ra’s taunted as they circled one another.
Talia, quite sensibly, poked a syringe in Bruce’s neck as he passed her, and pushed the plunger as he turned to face her. He managed one wildly aimed slap that she easily avoided before he crumpled to the floor unconscious.
After Jerome Napier’s confession was made public, his trial became a bit of a circus. He was glad he hadn’t laid eyes on Harley since that night. She had gotten under his skin the way only she could - made him admit murder, and would probably be the reason he went away for a long, long time.
He chuckled at the thought. Funny enough, he felt no malice towards her. He no longer wanted to wring her throat and laugh at her as she suffocated under his ministrations. He was at peace.
I killed the Batman. The game is over. I’ve lost, but so has he, and so has Gotham.
The Jovial Conniver Commonly Called the Joker.
He laughed out loud, and someone in an adjoining cell yelled at him to shut up.
He laughed louder, elevating the hearty laugh to the chilling tone all of Gotham knew only too well.
It was good to know people still had a little respect.
That’s how long it took Harley, Talia and Selina to restore Bruce’s sanity. They weren’t helped by the fact he was furious at them for raising him. He almost killed Harley when she remarked drily that he could at least be thankful for a second chance.
“I’ve never seen him so serene,” she said after rubbing her neck for a few moments. “It’s weird.”
Her comment about Bruce had only been a response to a fresh bout of anger. He’d stormed into the room raging at Talia and Selina for subjecting him to the Lazarus Pit, interrupting Harley mid flow. She’d snapped at his rudeness more than anything.
“Yes. It seems the Joker has finally found peace in your death.”
Not many people knew how to contact the League of Assassins, and even fewer could get a direct link to the inner chambers. When one of Ra’s men walked into Bruce’s room with a small, inauspicious looking phone, he knew who it would be.
“Father, the Joker helped me bring in Hubert Cobblepot and Edward Nigma, Jr.”
“He worked extensively with and against their parents, so when they tried to hold the city to ransom as a sort of trial for me, Jerome Napier asked to see me.”
“I’m not you, father. I have no personal agenda against him. If he has one against me, he hides it well. He didn’t lie to me once - you know I can tell.”
“And he helped you crack the case.”
“Wide open, as they say.”
Bruce let out a long, low whistle. This was a turn of events he hadn’t expected. Still...
“Did he help you as the Joker, or as Napier?”
“Both.” There was a familiar smirk in the younger Wayne’s voice. “He refuses to be addressed as the Joker, but he takes great pleasure in ruining people’s plans - only now he’s targeting criminals.”
“I have to go. I merely thought this might interest you.”
“Bye dad,” Damian said with an exaggerated flourish.
It was safe to say they didn’t have the best relationship.
When Bruce asked Harley to go with him on a trip around the world, Selina and Talia nearly lost it. He needed them to keep an eye on the Joker and Damian, and he needed Harley to keep an eye on his mind. If there were any other reasons, he kept them to himself.
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