Hey, so I'm still alive. Just thought I'll let you know by posting a new chapter :P Thanxxx everyone for reviewing so far, and BreakOnThrough it was Joker browsing some porn on the internet lolz, not actually on Bruce's computer :P

Bruce woke before sunrise and strangely felt unable to go back to sleep. Eventually giving up on the doomed venture, he heavily rose from bed and made his way to the bathroom. Taking a quick shower and putting on a pair of loose trakies and a black wife beater, he walked quietly down the stairs and to the basement; a call had to be made. He switched the lights on and still somewhat lazily, for repetitive lack of sleep, shuffled over to the central computer. Aware enough to cautiously switch the system to mute before turning on the monitor, incase that porno was still holding the screen hostage. And how did the clown find gay porn so quickly on the net? Bruce felt a strange heat rise at the idea that the prince of crime was no stranger to internet porn, particularly sites that catered to the kind of activity displayed earlier. Thankfully the screen came up blank, with the usual desktop asking him to log in. Bruce typed in the anonymous Batman username and password, that allowed him to communicate via email and Skype with out being traced. Checking to see that the camera safely flashing in off mode, Bruce sent a Skype call to Gordon's private number.

"Hello," the voice sounded scratchy and resigned.

"Gordon," Batman replied, easily falling into character.

"Batman," the voice now sounded alert, though more than a touch apprehensive. A long silence followed, where Bruce could detect faint shuffling noises as Gordon walked out of his bedroom, to let his wife sleep "what's going on with you? Do you know you have the whole city out there looking for you right now? Why on earth did you break into Arkham last night, and with the Joker of all people? I…"

"Listen to me Gordon," Bruce rolled his eyes in resignation and took a seat in the plush desk chair; this might take a while. "I need your help."

"No shit," interrupted the other, sagely. Bruce let his eyes widen with a smirk. It appears the Lt. had some balls on him after all, and more than a hint of attitude buried under layers of passive façade.

"The Joker," he continued quickly, before the Commissioners testosterone levels kicked any higher and he decided to hang-up the phone, "is innocent of his cell-mates murder. She was butchered by the medical staff at Arkham."

"But that's impossible, Batman…"

"It's true, she was also raped there, but the Joker never touched her. He escaped in order to get her out."

"Batman, that inmate was found guilty of infanticide."

"Long story, but look into it more and I'll bet you'll find no evidence at the crime scene that couldn't have been planted there. She was innocent Gordon."

"And you know this because Joker told you," Gordon couldn't sound more skeptical if he tried.

"Yes. After everything I've done for this city, for once just trust me on this. The Joker promised the inmate that he would find her baby; and I agreed to assist him because I have reason to believe this child is in danger."

"Ok," hushed the detective in resignation, "what do you need me to do?"

"Order a full investigation into Arkham, particularly the lower levels. Make sure you interview the more lucid patients in Block X, that's the one that has an entrance through Block A. I guarantee you will find what is happening there worthy of investigation."

"And?" Something told Gordon, that wasn't all.

"Stay out of my way. I'm going after this baby and I might need to get dirty to get to the truth."

"As Commissioner, I'll do my best to keep the heat off you; but Batman you should know, what you did last night won't look good in todays' paper."

"I know, but it doesn't matter. I never held favor with this city; I do what's right and maybe one day that will be enough, but for the moment I need to rely on the few people who care enough to believe in me."

Gordon sighed, and soft ruffling of the bed sheets could be heard on the other end of the line, before the man replied.

"I'll do my best. Good Luck."

Bruce hung-up and sagged heavily into the chair.

"Was that really the Commissioner of Gotham?"

Bruce spun around so hard he almost did a full circle in his seat, barely catching himself with one foot. In front of him stood the young patient, wearing a pair of similar trakies to his own and a white t-shirt Bruce recognized as part of his old high school uniform. He looked pale and fragile, but the curious look on his face made him appear more put together than the night before.

"Yes. How are you feeling? Are you in pain?"

The boy shook his head and continued to frown at Bruce like he couldn't quite figure him out.

"You saved me."

"Yes."

"Why? I'm one of the bad guys."

Bruce frowned and leaned forward in the seat, placing his elbows atop his knees.

"What did you do?"

"I stole basketball shoes from that Nike store on Felloway Street."

"And…"

"That's it," shrugged the confused boy.

"Why did they put you in Arkham?"

"The nuns from the orphanage had my supervisor Mr. Challis testify in court that I'm unstable, and require 24hr hour supervision." Bruce winced, most likely they thought the boy's behaviour reflected badly on the orphanage and might incur budget cuts from Wayne Enterprises.

"Are you?"

"I don't think so,' mumbled the youth and gingerly scratched his arm.

Bruce sighed and got up from his chair to approach the boy. The teen startled and flinched when a firm hand landed on his skinny shoulder; but eased up when he only received a reassuring squeeze.

"Than you're not a bad guy, and everyone makes mistakes. What they did to you in there; no one deserves that; no matter how bad their crime."

"And the Joker, sir; does he deserve that?"

Bruce frowned and pat the shoulder reassuringly.

"No one," he said firmly, "the Joker, no matter how much damage he inflicted on the community in the past, needs therapy and maybe even compassion in order to understand him and find out the cause of his destructive character. Mindlessly cutting into people with no purpose does nothing but cause pain, ultimately damaging the mind beyond repair."

John nodded and stepped forward, sagging heavily into Bruce's chest. The older man lifted the youth carefully in his arms and carried him to the infirmary where he lay him down on the single bed and wrapped him tight in the blanket. John was watching him the whole time, with a grateful if somewhat dazed look in his eyes.

"He's not so bad sir, the Joker. I think you might be right, about him needing a bit of understanding," muttered the boy before he was interrupted by a massive yawn. Bruce smiled and tucked the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

"Sleep," he said and brushed the hair back of the boy's face in gentle strokes until John's breathing evened out and he was fast asleep. Getting up, Bruce quietly left the room and maid his way to the garage where he immediately spotted the Joker, occupying his chair and pushing himself to spin around in hazardous circles.

"Bruce-Bat, I want breakfast," he announced, his spinning uninterrupted.

"Shhh! Joker, how long have you been here," asked the crusader, suddenly suspicious at the clown's timely appearance.

"Long enough to know how highly you stake my chances for social integration."

Bruce had the decency to look sort of sheepish, though on his face the look didn't do much to give away his embarrassment. Jack caught himself mid-spin facing the desk and opened a new browser.

"What are you doing?"

"Searching."

"For porn?" Bruce approached the desk somewhat wearily.

"No silly," Joker let loose a stream of giggles, "then again maybe some hot Italian," Joker paused mid speech and gave a loud sardonic snort, intriguing Bruce enough to look over the clown's shoulder. "Or not so hot Italian, man is my face red; this guy's face looks like it's a had a few too many run-ins with the land mower."

Bruce couldn't help agree. The mug shot of a man, glowered menacingly at them through heavy bangs. The left side of his face looked raw and broken, as if the skin and muscle were torn off and put through a meat grinder before being papier-mâchéd back into place. He had broken bloated lips, that even stretched in a scowl showed signs of scaring that resembled a less significant replica of the Jokers' own scars. Bruce quickly scanned for a name on the plaque but their was only a number.

"Who is it?"

"Stanley Devitto."

"We need more information, we're leaving after breakfast."

"Ah…ok, but see I have this thing on my face, it's embarrassing really how obvious it is; and people tend to recognize it where ever I go. Then they start screaming, throwing things or more likely running in the opposite direction and…"

"I thought of that," Bruce cut in, unable to suppress a touch of excitement in his voice. It didn't come easy but while tossing and turning last night over that pointless fight with Alfred, it struck Bruce, that the Joker will need something to conceal his scars if they were to go out inquiring in broad day light. He remembered the skin-colored silicon mould Lucius gave him a few months back. Said it might be prudent to cover up his scars so no one he took to bed would catch on to his other persona. It was a touch too dark, him being quite a bit more tanned than the pale blonde, but Bruce figured he could use some of his ex-girlfriends' foundation.

"I have stuff that will cover up the scars and the rest you can wash off in the shower."

Jack looked ready to protest, but the brunette, lost in the midst of his enthusiasm, silenced him by slamming his hands atop bony shoulders and leaning in until their noses all but touched.

"Think Jack what's at stake here. Are you really going to put your pride ahead of Kat's baby?"

Joker scowled, frowned, smirked and head butted him. Bruce winced and pulled back, gingerly rubbing his forehead with one hand and glaring through his fingers at the cheerful man, who after blowing a raspberry at Bruce, resumed his spinning.

"I look like Michael Jackson!" whined the Joker for the tenth time in a row, while subconsciously rubbing the smooth plastic over his scars.

Bruce rolled his eyes, "It doesn't look that bad, in fact if I didn't know you had scars I would just assume you had a face lift."

"That doesn't make me feel any better Bats. I'm too young for facelifts and why would I want one? I've been told plenty of time that people could kill to have my character face."

"I'm sure," sighed the other. They had left shortly after a quick meal that Alfred prepared for them and left on the table. His desire not to eat with them, a clear indication that he was still pissed as hell; but Bruce had bigger problems. After the meal it took half an hour to convince Jack to shower alone, with the prince of crime clinging to his arm and begging for assistance, than clinging to his torso and begging for sex finally clinging to his leg and begging not to be left alone. Bruce deserved a gold star for effort, when he finally managed to get the other man safely in the shower, washing himself; and all it took was assisting the giggling clown with removing his clothe. Strangely the blonde had not washed his hair the night before and it took him almost an hour and two shampoo bottles to get the green tinge out of his locks, than of course he insisted he needed to condition with another two bottles to even out Bruce's supply. Finally two hours later, dressed casually in one of Bruce's shirts and the smallest pair of jeans he could find; hair blown dry and fluffy; Joker started applying the mould to his face and that's when the complaints' started.

'I look like my face melted…'

'This stuff is itchy, I'll just go wash it off…'

'I look like a freshly embalmed corpse…'

'I look ugly Bruce-Bat. You can hardly stand to look at me, how can we ever make love again?'

The last one earned the Joker an incredulous look, but still somehow they made it to the car; Bruce decided on a Jeep, in order to stay more inconspicuous; and all the way to the city, without incident. God bless his iron patients. Now they were sitting on a stake out, outside a shady looking joint in one of the more questionable parts of town. Earlier Gordon texted Batman Stanley Devitto's most common hunting ground and told him the approximate time frame.

"Can't believe we have to juts sit here; why can't we just go in and bust the place."

"Because," hissed Bruce, his patients running low, "I'm not Batman and you are not the Joker, right now we are Bruce and Jack and our job is to follow Devitto to Dominic."

Jack snorted, but suddenly narrowed his eyes in the direction of the dive.

"Well if it isn't Mince Face himself…"

Bruce turned his face forward and quickly caught sight of Devitto and two other heavy set men, getting into a stretch Bentleigh. They pulled away from the curb. Bruce started the engine and followed.