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The Joker paces around the room calmly, this time Bats would surely be pleased! He knows he will! He just spent a week without killing anyone and even though his brain was screaming at him from the abstinence and his pulse was three times faster than usual it would be worth it. It would all be worth it when he sees his Bat.

The Bat-Signal flickers on, it’s nightfall, it’s time! The Bat would be here anytime now he giggles to himself and hums a random tune. It doesn’t take long until anxiety takes hold of his gut and he has to hum louder to not pay attention to the beat of his own heart. He glances at the small wooden table chipped at the sides, an old radio lies on top of it.

The Joker turns it on, tuning it on the closest radio station.  The beat of a familiar song comes into play and he closes his eyes trying to remember where it was from. He can’t.

Counting the days in the haze around you
Susanne on the wall


He doesn’t know why but something about the song depresses him, but the familiar feeling won’t leave him and so he keeps the song playing. He looks at the moon reflected on the window and paces around, restless.

 

No pain, summer rain

I'm lost for stupid again

 

From this room he can see a shadow of Arkham in the distance, he shudders. Just the thought of going there again…

The worst part of Arkham weren’t the shrinks, the crazy inmates or the meds (oh but the meds were terrible, slowing down his brain, addling his mind, leaving him in a fuzzy and nauseous haze) the worst part of Arkham was the time. The silent ticking clocks and screaming inmates like white noise. In Arkham time seemed to slow down and a day seemed like a year. A day in Arkham was a year of ponderings on his mind and all of them revolving around a certain foe of his and that was what would drive him --hehe batshit insane.

 

We are the same

Give it a name Susanne

 

He would ponder for hours and hours the small details about the Bat, --how he had managed to make a small cut in his cape, how his chin was most of the times shaved clean, how the Bat’s aftershave smelled like dark mint, how his lips were pink and seemed so soft, how his blue eyes would always look so fiery when he looked at them, how he had almost invisible eyelashes— and their differences –He was bold and strong  while he was skinny (but not fragile HA) but muscled, his Bat had such darkness in and outside him while he was always colorful inside and out, Bat’s eyes were blue while his were green (Grass green and pond blue ah yes he liked to think that)—and how they would fit perfectly together if Batsy ever gave him a chance to show him, how would be marvelous to hear the Bat laughing or how would it feel to teach him how to smile with his own lips on his. It were these thoughts that kept him going, counting the days until the next time he would have a meeting with him.

 

Counting the days in the haze around you

Susanne let the ether fall

 

And every day in Arkham was one day away from that, from the chance of making all those thoughts true. He could barely bear it. The Batman was like a drug, he couldn’t get enough of it. His high would be feeling those hands on him again, even if it was in heated punches. Had to feel those eyes on him, even if his gaze was burning cold from hatred. If hate is the closest to love he can get, he wants it, all of it.

 

Out of phase, I am all around you

Susanne on the wall

 

He can’t help the sarcastic half laugh that escapes him out of his sorrow, here he is waiting for the Bat to come and drag him back to Arkham again only so he can get a few minutes alone with him, just to feel him close before being dragged away from him once again. In his mind he finds it hilarious even if a little depressing

 

Joke’s on you he doesn’t care at all for you, just for his self-righteousness

 

A voice says in the back of his head.

 

His “rational” mind says it’s not true and the words spoken sounds exactly like the Dark Knight but even then something is hurt inside him.

 

He feels a hand on his shoulder and when he turns he sees the Bat in front of him.

 

The first thing he notices is his eyes. They aren’t looking coldly at him and something inside him flinches.

 

He knows what his gaze means. “Let me help you” they say. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”


For a moment they don’t talk or move. It doesn’t feel necessary.

 

The Harlequinn shakes his head slowly. That was how it would always go with them.

 

“Don’t you understand? There is no redemption for me.”

 

And that’s all there is before the Batman’s eyes harden once again and a Cheshire grin finds it’s place on the Clown’s face.

 

A dagger glints in the Joker’s hand.

 

They fight.

 

No pain, summer rain

I'm lost for stupid again

We are the same

Give it a name Susanne.