A Three Jokers Orgin story. So there's been a lot of Joker in the news lately. Lots of debate about giving him an origin story. Should he have one? Should it be multiple choice? Should it be a mystery? Well I'm curious by nature. I love the origin s...
A gut-wrenching, soul shattering sound of pain and defeat came from the Joker. New tears cascade down his wet ivory face. He throws the drink in his hand across the room and it breaks over his bedroom door.
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He could still taste Bruce on his lips. He could still smell him in his nostrils. He could still feel his fantom hand on his face. How he would give anything to not be able to. It wasn't real. His hands shake at his sides and desperately needed to break something. Anything.
Bruce was toying with him, he didn't want to kiss the Joker anymore than he wanted to kiss a metal pole in an ice storm. No. Bruce was playing with his mind. He was trying to turn the tables on him with that little performance. He was trying to confuse him. Was trying to get the upper hand over him. He was wanting to lead the dance somewhere that would throw the Joker off his game. He was trying to out clever him. Trying to fool the Joker into thinking he cared, just to get close enough to slap on the cuffs.
"You fool. You just showed him your real Achilles heel. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Now he knows how you feel. Now he can manipulate you like a puppet. And what happened to the whole 'love don't live here anymore' speech? I thought we agreed that the Joker doesn't feel those things."
The Joker takes his head in his hands. He couldn't breathe to find the breath to argue with the voice. Besides, what could he say when it was right? He was a stupid fool. He told himself that his feelings died with Jeannie and Jack. He promised himself, no more feelings that could in any way resemble love. Love wasn't real! Love was just one big joke and he vowed to never forget the punch line. What the hell was he thinking to kiss bats? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
The Joker's frantic eyes fall down to his bed, the same bed that had Bruce in it moments ago. How far would have Bruce gone? How far would he tease the Joker? How much detail was he willing to put into the facade? Would he have kept going and going until... No. No way. Bruce had balls but he had morals first and foremost.
"That's right, too many damn morals to make the mistake of getting involved with the likes of you."
Again, the voice was absolutely right. A man like Bruce Wayne, a man like Batman, could never develop any sort of romantic feelings for a cold blooded murderer. Not for some crazy freak force of nature that destroys everything it touches. No. The Joker had obviously been sniffing too many of his own chemical concoctions to believe that. It wasn't probable. It wasn't likely. It just wasn't possible.
With a growl the Joker's arm rakes across his dresser, knocking down everything on it. None of it mattered anyway. Nothing in the entire room mattered to the Joker. Not the designer clothes, not the expensive furniture, not the million dollars in his sock drawer, and not the gold and platinum jewelry. The only thing in the room that mattered to him, had just walked out of it.
Was the Joker crazy to tell Bruce to leave? He should have milked all he could from the experience. He should have patiently waited to see how far Bruce was willing to go. And he should have let him with a great big smile on his face. But no, he stopped Bruce before he could make a mistake. He was a mistake. He would always be a mistake. He was too damaged, too broken for anyone. And there simply was no fixing him. There was no magic cure.
